﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫."

·········

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

The gates of Hilltop creaked open, a slow, heavy sound that seemed to echo in Sunny's mind. She stumbled slightly as she walked through, her feet numb, her mind still buzzing with the chaos she had left behind. The familiar surroundings felt strange and distant, like she was seeing it all from behind a thick pane of glass. 

People's faces blurred together—some were staring, others looking away, and a few seemed to recognize her and look relieved. The relief was almost painful to witness, knowing that they didn't see what she'd seen, didn't understand what she was feeling. 

It felt like she'd left a part of herself back in that building, still standing frozen as Rick and Morgan's violent actions replayed in her head.

Her breath hitched as she struggled to hold herself together, she hugged her arms around herself, hoping the tightness of her own grip would keep her steady. But her mind kept flashing back to those final moments, to the blood that had coated Rick's hands, to Morgan's cold, expressionless face as he swung that stick over and over.

Then, suddenly, someone was rushing toward her, and she barely had a moment to react before strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a hug. She tensed, not immediately registering who it was, until the familiar scent of leather and the roughness of the arms around her sank in. Daryl. 

She could feel his heartbeat against her, steady and strong, grounding her even as she stood there, still dazed and uncertain. Daryl's voice was low and gruff, a mixture of relief and a bit of anger.

"Damn it, Sun. Thought we lost ya." He didn't pull away, didn't let go, and in that moment, she felt safe, like maybe she could let her guard down, just for a second. She didn't say anything back—couldn't really find the words—but she let herself lean into him, taking in his warmth, the solidness of his presence. The shock she'd been carrying started to ease, just a little, enough to remind her that she was here, that she'd made it back, that she wasn't alone.

When he finally pulled back, Daryl looked her over, his eyes searching her face with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable. She could tell he was looking for something, maybe a sign that she was hurt, maybe just reassurance that she was really here. "You okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The question was simple, but the weight behind it hit her hard. He wasn't just asking if she'd made it back without a scratch—he wanted to know if she was alright, if she was really alright.

Sunny swallowed, trying to steady her voice. "Yeah, I... I'm fine," she managed, though the words felt hollow. Her face betrayed her, a shadow of doubt crossing her eyes as she looked away, unable to meet Daryl's gaze. 

She felt like a part of her was still trapped in that building, watching Rick and Morgan, trying to make sense of what had happened, trying to find a way to justify it. But she couldn't, not fully. And standing here, with Daryl looking at her with such worry, it felt even harder to explain.

Daryl's gaze softened, and he seemed to understand that something was weighing on her, something she wasn't ready to talk about. "S'good you're back," he said quietly. "I was goin' crazy knowin' those assholes took ya, but if ya need to talk, y'know I'm here." The words were gruff, but they held a warmth that made her chest ache. Daryl wasn't one to push, and in this moment, his steady presence was all she needed.

Sunny forced a small smile, nodding. "Thanks," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She could feel the tension in her body slowly unwinding, but a heaviness remained, a weight she knew wouldn't be easy to shake. 

She wanted to tell Daryl everything, to unload the confusion, the pain, the lingering horror of what she'd witnessed. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled up with memories of Carl and the promises he'd made her believe in—a world where things didn't have to be like this.

She wrapped her arms around herself again, the cold air biting against her skin as she turned slightly away. Her gaze drifted over the familiar surroundings of Hilltop, but they felt strange and foreign, like they didn't quite belong to her anymore. She felt a strange urge to be alone, to get away from the curious stares and concerned glances of the others.

Daryl seemed to sense this, and he gave her a small nod. "Alright. You go get some rest." He paused, his eyes softening, and reached out, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

With a soft murmur of thanks, she turned and slipped away, needing space to breathe, to think, to process. She knew she needed to finally read Carl's words to her, to truly understand how to feel about everything that had happened. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the kindness he always had.

The girl was quick to go to her room in Barrington house, she shuffled through her backpack, throwing things out to get to it. Then she saw it, the envelope right at the bottom that was now slightly crumpled. She took it out, her fingers lightly brushing against her name written on the front.

The letter felt heavier than before, as if it held not just his words, but his hopes, his ideals, everything he'd believed in. She wanted to believe in those things too, to hold onto the light he'd seen in the world. But after what she'd seen with Rick and Morgan, the lines between right and wrong felt blurred, distorted.

Sunny held the letter tightly, feeling Carl's presence beside her, guiding her even though he was gone. She knew she needed to read his words, to remind herself of the kindness he'd carried, to find a way to make sense of everything. But she was scared—scared that maybe the world Carl had believed in didn't exist anymore, that it had been swallowed up by violence and cruelty.

Yet, as she sat there, she could almost hear Carl's voice, gentle but unwavering, urging her to believe in something more. She took a deep breath, letting his memory fill her, giving her the strength to hold on, to face the darkness without letting it consume her.

Clutching the letter tightly, Sunny turned and made her way toward a quieter spot, ready to finally read the words he'd left for her, hoping they'd give her the strength to face the turmoil within.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

Sunny slipped outside the gates with ease; the guards were too distracted to notice her figure moving quietly through the shadows. She didn't think she could handle being surrounded by everyone at Hilltop right now—not with Carl's letter tucked in her pocket, waiting to be read. She needed quiet, a space where the memory of him could fill the silence, where she could let herself feel the full weight of his absence.

The woods were cool and hushed, and she welcomed the solitude. Her footsteps crunched lightly on fallen leaves as she walked until she found a small clearing and a rough log to sit on. It was a quiet spot, far enough away that no one would come looking for her. She sat down, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around herself, grounding herself in the steady calm of the forest.

After a few breaths, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter. Her hands trembled as she stared down at it, the familiar scrawl of her name on the envelope feeling both comforting and painful. Carl's handwriting. 

He'd put his heart into these words, and now they were all she had left of him. Her throat tightened as she held the envelope, still not ready to open it. She'd known this moment would come, but part of her had been pretending it wasn't real—as if, by not reading it, she could keep some part of him alive.

But the truth was in her hands. Carl was gone, and reading this letter would mean facing that reality, fully and completely. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath, trying to steady herself. After a long pause, she carefully unfolded the envelope, feeling the weight of each movement, each second stretching painfully.

Inside, his letter lay folded neatly. She unfolded it slowly, as if hurrying might somehow lessen its importance. She held her breath again as she began to read.

Sunny,

I don't know where to start. Maybe at the farm—because that's where it started, right? You became my sister a long time ago. I never told you that, but I don't think I needed to. I guess you became that somewhere in between all those games of hangman and I spy, all those late-night talks, and the way you'd always make me laugh when things got really bad. You did that for everyone, you know. You've kept us all going a lot longer than you realize.

When I was at the Sanctuary, after you told Negan off, he wouldn't stop talking about you. Even after everything went down, he kept coming back to you. He told me about how, when you were little, you'd cry at movies when the villain died because you thought they deserved a second chance. I saw it hit him hard. I saw it on his face, like he was wondering if he deserved one too.

And, though you try to hide it from everyone, I know you love him, Sunny. You always spoke well of him before, and I think there could be a way for him to be like how you used to talk about him again. We just have to give him a chance.

I know he's been a pretty lousy dad, and you have every reason to hate him. But hearing him talk about you, I couldn't help but think—even if he's done terrible things, that man does love you. And you still love him too, deep down. He's your dad, after all. I think he always will be, in some way.

And I think you're the only one who can make him—and everyone—see that things don't have to keep going like this. You have this way of seeing the good in people, of finding hope when it's hard to see. That's why I believe in you, Sunny. I think you can help my dad see that there's still a future worth fighting for—a way forward that doesn't end in more blood.

My dad, he's set on ending Negan. But I don't know if he has to. Sunny, I think maybe you're the one who can make him see that things don't have to be this way. That there's a future that's worth all of this, a way forward that doesn't end in more fighting. You're the one who can make him see that every life is worth something, that we can find peace and let things start over, the way they used to be.

You've always been able to see things that way, looking for the good in people even when nobody else can. That's why I think it's got to be you, Sunny. If anyone can show my dad there's a way out of all of this, it's you. You're the one who can convince him that there's a future, that we can still make a world that isn't all fighting and survival. You can be that bridge for all of us.

And take care of Judith for me. I know you will, but beat her at hangman, just for me. She'll need someone to show her all the new words you know. I'll never forget the day you pulled out "borborygmus" just to win. You were so smug.

I'm going to miss you, Sunny. I'm glad we got to spend these last few days together. I'll miss your smile, your jokes, and the way you've always been the first one to give someone a second chance. I hope you stay that way, no matter how hard things get. Don't lose that hope.

Love,

—Carl

Sunny clutched the letter to her chest, her heart feeling like it was breaking all over again. The finality of his words sank in, the weight of the loss settling heavily over her. But beneath the grief, there was a flicker of something else—something warm and comforting. Carl had seen the best in her, had believed that she could be a light in this dark world, even when she doubted it herself.

She stayed there on the log, letting the silence wrap around her, letting Carl's words linger in the air, a reminder of the person she wanted to be. She knew she couldn't let him down, couldn't let his hope die with him. She had to find a way forward, even if it felt impossible, even if it took everything she had.

Sunny felt her heart twist painfully. Carl had seen something in her that went deeper than she'd ever realized, something that had always made her want to believe in people, to give them the benefit of the doubt, even when they'd given her every reason not to. And her dad—he'd seen it too, hadn't he? Maybe Carl was right; maybe that small, quiet part of her still wanted to believe in the possibility of change, of redemption, even for someone like Negan.

It had been days since Carl had died, and Sunny hadn't been given the proper chance to grieve for her brother. The world had kept moving, and she had to move with it—there was no choice. Every day, she had to push through the endless demands of survival, each step a reminder that the world didn't stop, no matter how much it tore her apart inside.

But now, alone in the woods, the silence was broken. A sob tore through her, violent and raw, forcing her entire body to jolt with the intensity of it. Her chest ached with the weight of her grief, and the tears came like an uncontrollable flood, soaking her face and staining her hands. She couldn't hold them back any longer, couldn't pretend that she was fine or that it didn't matter. Carl was gone. He was really gone.

The reality of it hit her with a crushing force, one she hadn't allowed herself to fully feel until now. She sank to her knees, her hands shaking as she reached to clutch at the earth beneath her, as if trying to anchor herself to something solid, something real. 

His smile. His voice. The way he used to tease her, always so certain, so sure of himself. He'd always been there, in a way she had taken for granted. It wasn't just that he was family. He had been a constant. And now, that constant was gone.

Her breath came in jagged gasps, the sobs wracking her body in waves. She couldn't stop it. She didn't know how. She had spent days running from it, from this moment, and now it had caught up to her.

"Carl..." Her voice cracked, the name tasting like ash on her tongue. It felt so wrong to say it in the past tense, as if speaking his name somehow made it more final. More real. But it was real. And that realization ripped through her like a blade.

For a moment, it felt as though time had stopped. The world, the whole universe, seemed to stand still in this single, agonizing instant. She could almost feel Carl's presence, like a faint echo, as if he was still there with her in the quiet of the woods, telling her it would be okay. But it wasn't. Nothing about this was okay.

Her tears were endless. They fell like they would never stop. The pain was too much to bear, too much to carry, and yet, she had no choice. There was no escaping it.

Sunny tried to steady her breath, to calm the storm inside her, but nothing worked. She couldn't fight it anymore. She had to let it out, let herself feel the full weight of her loss, because if she didn't, it would consume her from the inside.

The thought of him lying in that grave, cold and still, felt like a cruel joke. How could it be possible? How could the world just take him like that? How could she have to keep going, keep surviving, knowing he wasn't there anymore?

Her hands trembled as she wiped her face, but it didn't stop the tears. She knew they wouldn't stop for a long time. She could barely remember the last time she cried this hard, the last time she let herself fall apart completely. And now, Carl's death had broken her in a way that felt like it would never heal.

But in the midst of the storm of emotions, something else crept into her heart—a quiet, haunting thought that began to take root in her mind. Carl had been so full of hope. So full of light, even in the darkest times. He had believed that there was always a way forward, that there could be a future worth fighting for. His faith in people, in the possibility of a better world, had always been one of the things she admired most about him.

And now, she had to carry that. She had to hold onto his hope, even if it felt impossible. Carl had always believed that no matter how dark things got, there was still good left in the world. She had to believe that, too. For him. For herself.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

Sunny wasn't sure how long it had been, how long she'd sat out there with her grief laid bare. But the sky was dark now, stars scattered above like they'd been watching her vigil the whole time. Hours must have passed. 

She didn't bother trying to sneak back in; she just trudged toward the gates, her head down, not caring if anyone saw her. The guards exchanged looks, confused, but she ignored them, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

As she entered Barrington House, her body felt heavy, her eyes swollen and raw. She stepped into her room to find Daryl already there, his back to her as he stuffed a few last things into a pack. When the door creaked open, he spun around, his crossbow at the ready, eyes narrowed in concern that quickly turned to anger.

"Where the hell have ya been?" He growled, his voice low and rough. "Was about to go out searchin' for you, thought ya got taken again."

Sunny just frowned, her gaze falling to the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Went into the woods," she murmured, her voice hoarse from hours of crying.

Daryl scoffed, his frustration evident. "You stupid or somethin'? Got Saviors crawlin' all over out there. What the hell were ya thinkin'?"

Instead of responding, Sunny reached into her pocket, her hands trembling as she pulled out the crumpled letter. She took a shaky breath and crossed the room, placing it carefully on the bed between them, a silent explanation.

Daryl's expression softened as he looked at the letter. His frustration faded, replaced with a quiet understanding. He glanced at her, his gaze searching her face, seeing the raw pain etched in her red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. He didn't say anything, just let the silence fill the room as he took it all in. After a beat, he nodded and picked up the letter, his fingers grazing the worn edges.

Sunny sat down heavily on the bed, feeling the weight of everything settling on her shoulders. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. "I... I just needed a minute, you know? To... to let it out. It.. it hadn't felt real, yet. Not really."

The man sighed, sitting next to the girl. "You... you wanna talk 'bout it?" He asked softly, he was still mad that she went outside the walls on her own, but looking at her tear stained cheeks, he knew it wasn't the time to argue.

Sunny took a deep breath, bracing herself. Her voice was low but steady when she spoke. "Negan don't gotta die, Daryl."

Daryl looked away, his face tightening. He let out a rough sigh. "Dammit, Sun. We've been over this."

Sunny frowned, her expression pleading. "Carl... he imagined somethin' better for all of us. For everyone." Her voice softened as she looked down, almost as if she could see Carl's words right there on the floor, still echoing. "I believe in that, too. I do." Her voice wavered, remembering the boy who'd spent his last days hoping they could live in a world without more bloodshed. "What Morgan and Rick did to those people... that ain't right. It's not what he would've wanted."

Daryl huffed, shaking his head, running a hand over his face. "Maybe it ain't right, but it's how it's gotta be," he muttered, trying to sound firm, though his voice held a note of uncertainty.

But Sunny didn't back down. She shook her head, a stubborn fire sparking in her eyes. "My dad doesn't gotta die."

At her words, Daryl tensed, every muscle in his body locking up. How could she still call him that? He clenched his jaw, biting back his initial reaction. He'd heard her say it before, of course, but it didn't make it any easier. "He ain't no dad to you," he grumbled, unable to hide the edge in his tone.

How could she see him that way? After everything Negan had done, all the pain he'd caused—did she really still see him as her father? Daryl's thoughts wrestled with each other, a frustration and hurt he didn't know how to untangle. 

He wanted to protect Sunny from her own loyalty to Negan, to shake her free of whatever was keeping her tied to a man like that. But he knew, deep down, he'd never truly understand the bond she held onto, the memories she had before all of this darkness and blood.

Sunny's shoulders slumped a little as she looked down, her hands wringing together. "I know he's done shitty things. I know that, Daryl. But... he's still my dad. He always will be." Her voice cracked, a whisper, like the weight of her own words hurt to carry. "I can't just... wish him dead. I want him to change. I want him to be... the way he was before."

Daryl let out another sigh, but this time, it was more of a defeated one. He softened a little, seeing the pain etched in her face, the struggle in her eyes. He couldn't take that from her—couldn't change what Negan was to her, no matter how much he wanted to. He wished it were as simple as just letting go. For him, it was; he had no love lost for Negan. But for Sunny, it was a line drawn across her heart, splitting her loyalty between two opposing sides.

"Sun," he began, softer this time, "I get it. I know ya want things to be different. I know you got that hope in you. And hell, maybe Carl saw somethin' none of us can right now. But Negan... he's done things we can't forget. We can't just let him be out there."

She nodded slowly, looking away, her brow furrowing. She felt torn, like a storm was raging inside her between the loyalty she felt toward the man who raised her and the family who took her in. In her heart, she couldn't imagine a world where she had to watch her father die, but she couldn't bear to see Daryl, Rick, and the others keep losing pieces of themselves to the cycle of killing.

"I just... I just think Carl was right," she whispered. "If we keep goin' like this, with more death and more fighting... we'll end up losin' everything. And I don't wanna lose anyone else. I don't wanna lose myself."

Daryl saw the tremble in her hands and realized that her world was so much more tangled than his, caught between her love for her family now and the family she'd had before. He hated that she was forced to hold so many broken things together, hated that Negan still had a grip on her, that his shadow still loomed so large in her heart. In his mind, there was only one way to end it. Negan dying.

Daryl took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he looked at her, his voice rough and unwavering. "This is how it's gonna go, Sun. Don't matter who he was to ya, he ain't nothin' but a prick now. He's gonna die."

Sunny felt the words like a blow, her heart squeezing painfully at hearing it so final, so absolute. Her thoughts tumbled over each other, clashing between what she knew Negan had done and the memories she still carried of him—the man he used to be to her. She stood up, fists clenched, shaking her head as she stepped forward.

"No," she said fiercely, voice quivering with emotion. "Carl wanted better, Daryl! I want better! It don't gotta end like this! It don't!"

Daryl didn't budge, his jaw set. He kept his gaze fixed on her, his face steely. "That's where you're wrong. Sometimes, this world don't give you better. Sometimes, it don't give you a damn thing except what you take back from it. That man is a monster, Sunny, and he's gotta die."

She stared at him, heart pounding. She wanted him to understand, to see what she saw—that people could change, that maybe there was another way. But all she saw was that same hard, unmovable look. "I don't care what you think," she spat, her voice tight with anger and hurt. "Fuck you, Daryl. Just... just fuck you!"

Daryl flinched, his expression darkening, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang between them. She felt a bitter anger welling up, frustrated that he couldn't understand. She wanted to yell, to scream, to make him see that killing Negan wouldn't fix what had already been broken.

Daryl looked away, jaw tense as he spoke quietly, "If it's gotta be me, I'll be the one to put him down. So you don't have to deal with this shit no more."

Sunny shook her head, backing up a step, her voice breaking. "You don't get it, do you? If you do this, you're just makin' us all like 'em. It's not just him that dies, it's somethin' in all of us. The dad I knew dies, too 'n I don't know if I can handle that."

For a moment, his face softened, almost like he wanted to reach out, to make her understand his side of it. But he only shook his head, letting his frustration win. "I'd do it if it meant keepin' you safe," he said, his voice hoarse. "Even if you hate me for it."

Sunny clenched her fists, feeling the weight of his words settle on her, like the air had turned thick and impossible to breathe. How could he be so willing to close the door on any hope for a different way? She couldn't accept it. She wouldn't.

Negan couldn't die.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

I hate this lmao but I'm just trying to rush my way through the end of s8