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"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞."

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.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

To Mom,

I ain't written in a while, I'm sorry. Things just keep happening, my mind is always hurting and I can't seem to figure out what to even say to you no more. It feels selfish that every time I write, I just tell you 'bout how shitty I feel, but I guess it's the truth. Feels like everything is shitty recently.

Carl's gone, Mom. I can't hardly believe it even when I say it out loud. He got bit. We was helping someone, Siddiq, trying to save him, but Carl... he didn't make it. And I—I feel like I should've been there sooner. I know it's stupid, I can't go back and change it, but sometimes I feel like if I'd just gotten to him quicker, I could've done something. Even if it didn't help, at least I wouldn't feel so much like it's my fault. But I wasn't. I wasn't there in time. And now he's gone.

Everyone keeps telling me it's not my fault, and maybe I know that deep down. But there's this voice in my head, it sounds a lot like Lincoln, saying it is my fault. He keeps acting like I'm the reason things go bad, and it hurts. 

He's tried to hurt me before, shooting at me like I was the enemy. And I don't know why he's got all this hate for me. He was my best friend, Mom, or I thought he was. We used to look out for each other. But now he looks at me like I'm the enemy, and it makes me feel so alone. I don't get why he hates me, not after all we've been through. I've tried being nice, tried to keep us close, but he just pushes me away.

At least Henry's been nice to me. We talk, and he listens, even when he doesn't understand all of it. It helps to have someone, just someone who doesn't hate me or look at me like I'm a monster. But, he's kinda strange sometimes, I catch him looking at me weirdly then going all red. I don't get it.

Also, the other day, Daryl and I were talking, just the two of us, and he looked at me real serious and said I could be a Dixon if I wanted. I didn't know what to say at first; I just kind of stared at him. He's been calling me "his kid" for as long as I can remember, always looking out for me like nobody else ever has, so when he said that, it was like something clicked. Like maybe I could actually belong somewhere again.

I think he saw how much it meant to me, 'cause he didn't say much else after that. He just put a hand on my shoulder, like he always does when he's trying to say stuff he can't put into words. Being his kid, being a Dixon, it feels right. After everything with Negan, Daryl's been the one to stay by my side, picking me up every time I fall, never letting me feel alone. He's not like the others who leave. He's here, and I need that more than anything. I hope you'd understand, Mom. I think you would.

I always used to say you'd like Daryl, I mean, he's different, but he's real good. He's always been good to me, even when he was all grumpy when I first met him. I'm happy that he's been like a dad to me, but it's still hard, knowing that Negan's still there, still in my life.

Speaking of Negan...I know everyone wants him dead. They talk about it like it's the only answer, like he's just a monster that needs to be gone. 

And I know he's different now than what I remember. I know he's done bad things, awful things. But I can't sit here and pretend I'm okay with killing him. He's still my father, and that doesn't just go away. 

I know how everyone would feel if they knew I still cared, but I do, even if it doesn't make any sense. There's this part of me that can't hate him, that still wants to believe maybe he's got some good in him somewhere, even if it's buried real deep.

Sometimes, I wish you were here to tell me what I'm supposed to feel. I still remember the way he was with me, before all this, and I can't just pretend like that wasn't real. But when people talk about him, all they see is the bad he's done, and it's like I'm supposed to forget every good moment we had.

I think there's something you and I both share, Mom—we're too quick to forgive. Like back when Dad was shitty, we didn't even hesitate; we just forgave him, no questions asked. Sometimes, I wish I could hold onto grudges a little longer, but that just ain't who I am.

I also haven't read Carl's letter yet. He wrote to some'a us before he died, and I've been carrying it around, just staring at it sometimes. But I can't bring myself to open it. I'm scared of what he wrote, like it'll make him being gone feel even more real. 

I miss him so much already. He was like a big brother, you know? Always looking out for me, telling me it was gonna be okay even when it wasn't. And now he's gone, and it just feels like the world's a little darker without him.

I don't know if I'll ever be as strong as I thought I could be. Seems like no matter how hard I try, something always goes wrong, and I end up feeling like a burden to everyone. It's like I don't know how to stand up for myself anymore. I keep thinking of all the times I could've been braver, stronger, and then maybe Carl wouldn't be gone, and maybe Lincoln wouldn't hate me, and maybe I'd feel like I belonged somewhere.

This world keeps making me lose myself, sometimes it's hard to remember who I am, or what I like. I just keep changing, and I hate it. Is it so bad for me to just want to be happy for longer than a day? 

Sorry this letter ain't very happy, 'part from me being a Dixon now, nothing ever good happens no more. I just wish you were here, telling me that what I'm doing ain't bad, that I ain't making the wrong choices. I love you so much, Mom.

I'll try to write again soon.

Love, Sunny.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

After the attack on Hilltop, there were so many injured, people scattered around, wounded and struggling. Tara had been hit by an arrow—one of Dwight's. Turns out, she'd been right about him all along. He deserved to die that day, and Sunny almost wished Tara had finished him off when she'd had the chance. Dwight had never really been on their side, not truly. He was still the same prick he'd always been, just pretending otherwise.

Sunny decided she needed to keep herself busy, to shake off the guilt and frustration swirling inside her. She made her way toward Barrington House, hoping to find Henry. A distraction was what she needed, something to stop her from spiraling any further.

As she walked, she spotted Daryl up ahead, watching the aftermath as people tended to the wounded. He caught her eye, his expression softening. "Hey, Sun," he called, stepping closer. "How ya doin'?"

She shrugged, trying to keep her face neutral. "I'm fine," she murmured, though they both knew it wasn't the truth.

He nodded, though he didn't look convinced. "Siddiq's helpin' with a lot of the people who got hurt. Been takin' care of them. People should be fine, we're goin' to be fine."

Sunny gave a small nod, but her stomach twisted at the mention of Siddiq. She'd been avoiding him, keeping her distance whenever he was around. It wasn't his fault, really, but every time she saw him, she thought of Carl—of everything they'd lost that day. The guilt dug deeper, reminding her of all the things she wished she'd done differently.

Daryl noticed her hesitation and sighed. "Listen," he began, voice low. "Best you stay away from Lincoln right now."

Sunny nodded, her gaze falling to the ground. She knew that was probably the right call. Lincoln had been more distant, angrier than ever, and his coldness cut deep. But somehow, even though she understood his pain, it didn't make it hurt any less.

Seeing her expression, Daryl's face softened. "Don't let him push ya around, alright? He's grievin'—I get that. But that don't give him the right to hurt you."

"I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just... I don't want him to hate me."

Daryl's eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite place, a mix of regret and understanding. "Sun, he already does," he said quietly. He sighed when he saw the hurt flash across her face, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. "Sorry, I know that's not what ya wanted to hear. Just... don't let him take it out on ya, alright? You got enough on your plate."

He was right, but the words hit her harder than she'd expected, and she struggled to keep her composure. She didn't want Lincoln to hate her, but the truth was painfully clear—he did, and nothing she did seemed to change that.

Sunny took a deep breath, looking up at Daryl. She could see the concern in his eyes, the protectiveness he'd always shown her. He'd been the one who stayed, who'd been there through every terrible moment and loss. Maybe she needed to understand that some people would hate you no matter what, but that didn't make it any easier.

They both heard a noise behind them, making them turn to see a car door opening and Tara stepping out. Wasn't she supposed to be on bed rest?

"Hey. You shouldn't be out here," Daryl said, frowning at her.

"Oh, it's just, it's just a scratch," Tara replied, brushing it off with a shrug. "I can help."

"What if it wasn't?" Daryl pressed.

"Then it'd be my own damn fault. He's back with them because of me," Tara said, her voice laced with frustration.

"No, he's back with 'em 'cause he's a prick. Ain't your fault," Sunny added.

"Yeah, he's back 'cause that's who he is," Daryl said, his tone dropping lower.

"We got lucky. Finding Maggie... Rick. It could've been different. It was, for me... back when I was with the Governor."

Sunny blinked, surprised. She often forgot Tara had once been with the Governor. She'd only learned about it months after meeting her. Not that she held it against Tara; the woman hadn't known who the Governor truly was.

"Yeah, but you weren't one of 'em," Daryl muttered.

"But I was with them," Tara countered, crossing her arms. "Your brother, too."

Daryl stiffened, his expression hardening. "My brother? My brother ran the wrong way his whole life. If he were here, if I stuck with him when he left, we'd be with the Saviors too, or some other group just like 'em. But I'd have figured out who they were, just like you did."

Sunny took a sharp breath. She couldn't imagine losing both her father and Daryl, couldn't bear the thought of him being one of them, as cruel as Negan. She was grateful that what he said wasn't reality, she wouldn't know how to cope.

"Maybe that's what happened to Dwight," Tara said softly.

"That before or after he killed your girl?" Daryl shot back, and Sunny tugged his sleeve, trying to silently ask him to drop it before his words cut too deep. But he pulled his arm away. "Or is that all square now?"

Tara's face tightened, and she took a small step forward. "It is. Look, I might hate him forever, but he saved my life."

"No, he tried to kill ya last night," Daryl argued.

"When we were in the woods, when we were coming here, I saw him try and help us win," Tara said, her voice firm.

"Yeah, well, I saw what I saw too," Daryl growled, turning sharply and marching away.

Sunny frowned, glancing up at Tara. She tried to offer a small, sympathetic smile, hoping it showed she was sorry for Daryl's mood, though she wasn't exactly skilled at communicating with just her eyes. Then, with one last nod, she followed after him.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

Since the night she had seen Negan again, it was nearly impossible for Sunny to get a full night's sleep. Her mind relentlessly replayed that moment, and as the weeks went on, it felt like more and more awful memories piled on top of it.

Every time she closed her eyes, it was as if she was stuck reliving the moments that haunted her—The Claimers, Gareth, The Wolves, Negan, losing Carl, and finally, seeing Lincoln fire a shot at her. Her mind had become an unending nightmare, and it wasn't surprising that sleep never seemed to come.

Her and Daryl had been assigned one of the smaller rooms in Barrington House. She was lucky to even have a bed, especially with Hilltop so overcrowded that people were sleeping in the hallways. Daryl had insisted she take the bed, while he camped out on the floor next to her.

But after hours of tossing and turning, the restless ache became unbearable. She sat up quietly, glancing over to see Daryl sound asleep. With a soft exhale, she slipped out of the bed and tiptoed toward the door. The house seemed like a maze in the dark as she carefully made her way around the sleeping figures, trying not to disturb anyone.

When she reached the stairs, her eyes caught a glimpse of Henry. She paused, watching as he quickly glanced around before making his way toward the front door. A frown pulled at her face, her curiosity getting the better of her. She decided to follow.

She closed the door quietly behind her, immediately regretting not putting on her boots. Her fluffy slippers, a gift from Enid, squelched in the mud. Dammit, she thought, hurrying to catch up.

"Henry!" she whisper-yelled, her voice a mix of concern and frustration. The boy jerked around, startled at first, but his expression softened when he realized it was just her.

"What are you doin'?" Sunny asked, a frown creasing her brow.

Henry looked startled and shifted on his feet, glancing around nervously. "Just needed some fresh air," he mumbled.

Sunny crossed her arms, giving him a skeptical look. "Stop bullshittin' me."

He sighed, his gaze drifting toward the pen where the captured Saviors were being held. "One of them... one of them killed my brother," he admitted, his voice thick with pain. "I need to make it right. I want to kill him."

Sunny's frown deepened as she looked at him. "Henry, that's dangerous. Ya could get hurt or worse."

Henry shook his head, jaw clenched. "I don't want you to be mad at me, but this... this is something I have to do."

He turned and started walking toward the pen, his expression set. Sunny watched him for a moment, hesitation gnawing at her. She knew he was grieving, but this wasn't the way. With a frustrated groan, she followed him, not about to let him face this alone.

The girl was quick to join his side, once she did, he gave her a smile, glad that she was joining him. It reminded her of Carl, how he'd do something stupid and even more stupidly, she'd join him too. God, she missed him.

As the two children reached the pen, Sunny saw tons of sleeping Saviors. She'd made sure to stay far away from, she didn't want them to see her, and more importantly, Daryl had given her strict instructions to stay away, scared she'd be in danger.

Henry stuck the end of his gun through the metal fencing, nudging Gregory on the back. Sunny didn't even know Gregory had been in there, but she wasn't surprised. Daryl had told her that he had been working with Negan when they went to attack, he was nothing but a coward.

Startled, Gregory quickly jumped up, turning to see the two children. Henry was quick to put his fingers to his lips, shushing the man as he held onto the gun that was way too big for him. "You're Gregory, right?" The boy asked.

"Thank god. Yes." The man then pointed towards the locked gate. "Let me out." He told them.

Sunny scoffed, did he think they were here to help him escape? She still hated him from the first time they had met him, when he treated all of them like dogs and was nothing but an asshole. She glared at him through the fencing, she didn't like him one bit.

"Do you know which one killed my brother?" Henry asked.

"I-I don't know who your brother is. I don't know any of these people. I'm not one of them." Gregory spoke, looking around warily. 

"Sure seems like it," Sunny mumbled.

Gregory sighed, looking around then focusing back on the boy. "That's a very dangerous weapon you got there, kiddo. Uh, I don't want you to get hurt... I don't want anyone to get hurt. Why don't you give it to me an then we can talk, huh?"

Both of the children stared at him with blank expressions, sure, they were kids. But they weren't stupid. Sunny just wished she'd stayed in bed now.

Gregory stepped back, realizing that plan wouldn't work out, he'd have to take another approach. "I'm sorry about your brother. But killing them isn't gonna bring him back"

"No. But it'll make me feel better." Henry replied, Sunny raised an eyebrow at his words, surprised by the boy who acted all shy and nervous around her. "It already did once. And why would you be in here if you're not one of them? I'm not dumb. One of you knows who killed Ben, and if I have to, I'll start shooting until someone tells me."

"Henry," Sunny whispered, frowning at the boy. Though she understood him, she knew this wasn't the right way to handle it. If anything, it was going to just end up with him putting both of them in danger. She tried pulling him away, but he was frozen in place, adamant that he needed to do this.

"Hey, kid. I get it," a man spoke up, his voice was kind, but Sunny knew not to be fooled, he was a savior after all. "My big brother died, too. Killing a bunch of guys who might had something to do with it sounds pretty damn good in theory. But, it's not gonna make you feel any better. Not for long. I know."

It was as if the man was speaking from his own experience, Sunny didn't understand him though. He seemed kind, really kind. But why was he with the saviors if he actually was?

"What's up, Al?" A Savior trying to sleep groaned.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep." 'Al' replied, speaking calmly.

Then, out of no where, screams began to echo from the Barrington house, loud, agonizing screams, startling them all. All of the saviors jumped up at the sound, trying to get a look at what was happening.

Sunny instantly pulled out her knife, looking around, her heart racing. "Henry, we gotta help," she said urgently.

"Music to my ears," one of the Saviors sneered, grinning at the sounds of distress.

The taunt made Henry step forward, raising his gun. "Was it you?" he demanded.

The man just smirked, unbothered. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, kid."

Henry inserted the key into the lock, turning it with a sharp click as the padlock clattered to the ground. Sunny's eyes widened. "Henry, what the fuck are you doin'?" she demanded, her voice rising in panic.

But Henry ignored her completely. He pushed the gate open and stepped right into the pen, his gun raised, causing all the Saviors to step back, their hands instinctively going up in surrender. "I want the guy who killed my brother. Somebody better tell me now!" he commanded, his voice hard with resolve.

Al, calm and collected, raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Look, I know you're angry. Okay? I get it. I was, too. But words are a lot easier to live with than actions, alright?" He said, trying to reason with the boy.

"Henry, please. We gotta go," Sunny pleaded, her voice soft but urgent as she stood behind him.

"Sunny's right, kid," Al spoke again, his voice kind but firm. "You gotta get outta here."

Sunny furrowed her brow. How did he know her name? But then again, she'd been at the Sanctuary long enough; she was known as Negan's daughter, even if that didn't sit well with her.

But Henry wasn't listening. His gun was steady in his hands, moving from one Savior to the next. "Be a man and step forward so I don't have to kill your friends," he warned. "I'm gonna count to ten, and if no one steps up, I'll start shooting."

Sunny's chest tightened as she watched him. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: Henry looked like Kevin McCallister, the kid from that Christmas movie her mom always loved. She hated that the thought even made her smile at a time like this.

She stepped closer, trying to pull him back, her voice a soft plea. "Henry, we gotta go... this... this ain't right."

She knew the Saviors were dangerous, some of them probably deserved to die. But there was a part of her, a part that still wanted to see the good in people, that couldn't ignore how these men were acting—hands raised in surrender, scared out of their minds. This wasn't right.

"Please..." she begged quietly, her heart pounding.

But Henry's mind was made up. He was beyond reason now.

"1... 2... 3..." Henry began counting, his voice steady.

Then, out of nowhere, a walker appeared behind one of the men, its teeth sinking deep into his neck. The man's scream tore through the chaos as he flailed in a desperate attempt to free himself. The Saviors panicked, scrambling around, and Henry fired off shots, trying to take down the walker.

It was pure chaos. Everything was happening too fast for Sunny to process.

Before she knew it, the man Henry had accused of killing Benjamin lunged at him, tackling the boy to the ground and knocking the gun from his hands. The man grabbed the weapon, and in the frenzy, Sunny tried to wrestle it from his grip. But once again, she was reminded that she was just a kid—no match for the strength of a grown man.

He shoved her roughly, sending her sprawling backward. Her head slammed against a rock, and a sharp pain shot through her skull, stealing her breath.

Her vision began to blur, the pain escalating, growing unbearable. But through the haze, she could hear the man's voice—distant, almost muffled now. "Gates open, boys. Let's go!" he yelled.

A stampede of feet passed over her, the sound of running men echoing in her ears. Black spots danced in her vision, and the world began to slip away. But before the darkness could claim her fully, she heard one of the men shout, his voice filled with urgency.

"Someone grab Negan's girl!"

And then, nothing. The pain, the voices, the chaos—all faded into an overwhelming, suffocating darkness.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .