﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫. 𝐈𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐈𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬."

·········

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

Turns out, drinking straight liquor when you have never been near any kind of alcohol isn't a good idea. Sunny's head was aching, she wasn't even sure how long it had been that she stayed out in the woods, just crying, staring into the night sky. 

And on top of that, it appears that sneaking out of Hilltop doesn't lead to a simple scolding. Nope. You got locked in a cell. 

Somehow, which Sunny didn't even bother to fight or question, Lincoln had gotten back to the Hilltop before her. As soon as she scaled the walls, rather sloppy, she was met with Tara, standing there with her arms crossed. She was not happy.

So, Sunny had spent the night in the gloomy cell, trying not to puke her guts up from whatever weird drink she'd stupidly decided to swig. She hoped it would help take the pain away, but, it had just made it all worse.

Tara had gave her a long speech about how the lock down at night keeps everyone safe, it was a rule that needed to stay in place. That she was stupid for sneaking out and worst of all, she was going to tell Daryl the minute she got back.

Sunny knew she should be scared, scared to face Daryl's wrath because she knew for sure he was going to yell at her. But, for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to care.

She was sat on the cold bench in the cell, her back against the rough stone wall, knees drawn to her chest. The wooden horse rested in her hands, its tiny, carved body smooth beneath her trembling fingers. She turned it over and over, her gaze fixed on it as if it held some kind of answer. She couldn't stop thinking about Daryl.

Daryl had given her this horse so long ago, back when she'd been in the prison, just a kid scared out of her mind. It was supposed to remind her to stay strong, to keep going no matter how bad things got. 

She'd carried it with her ever since, through every dark moment, every heartbreak. But now, staring at it under the dim glow of the cell's flickering lantern, she wasn't so sure. Maybe Daryl had been wrong about her. Maybe she wasn't strong at all.

Her chest ached with an invisible weight, like all the hurt she'd shoved deep down over the past six years had suddenly clawed its way back to the surface. Lincoln's words echoed in her mind, sharp and relentless: "You're just like him." She could almost hear him saying it again, see the look on his face. He'd said it as an insult, but really, It was just the truth.

Sunny clenched her jaw, trying to push the thought away, but it wouldn't leave. It felt like every terrible thing she'd ever feared about herself was laid bare. No matter how far she ran, no matter how much she tried to be different, people would always see Negan when they looked at her. She was his shadow, walking around in a smaller body, and nothing could change that.

Her fingers tightened around the horse. She thought of Negan sitting in that cell in Alexandria, staring at the walls day after day. He deserved to be there, she knew that. But now, here she was, locked up just like him.

Maybe I'm just like him, she thought bitterly, the words twisting like a knife in her stomach. He made choices, and now I've made mine. Stupid, reckless choices that only hurt the people I care about.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. Crying wouldn't fix anything. She didn't even know what she was crying for anymore. The guilt? The anger? The fact that, deep down, she still loved her dad even though she hated him, too? Or was it for Daryl? For the look she knew would be on his face when he found out? She could handle Tara's lecture, but Daryl... Daryl was different.

Sunny leaned forward, resting her forehead on her knees. The ache in her chest spread, tightening her throat and making it hard to breathe. She wanted to be better—for Daryl, for herself—but it felt like the world was determined to keep her trapped in her father's shadow. She hated that Lincoln had been the one to remind her. She hated that he'd been right.

The silence in the cell was unbearable. She pressed her palms against her ears, as if she could block out the weight of her thoughts. It didn't work. All she could hear was the quiet hum of her own breathing and the distant sound of voices outside the walls.

And then, her mind wandered back to Daryl again. To the woods. To the nights sitting around a small fire, talking about nothing and everything. He'd been the one constant in her life, the one person who never looked at her like she was just Negan's kid. He didn't care about the past. He cared about her.

But would that change now? She'd let him down. She'd done something stupid, something dangerous. What if he was finally tired of cleaning up after her mistakes?

The thought made her stomach churn. She bit her lip, staring down at the wooden horse, its smooth surface now smeared with the dampness of her hands. You have to do better, Sunny, she told herself. For him. For you.

But another voice whispered in the back of her mind, colder and harsher: What's the point? No matter what you do, they'll still see you as Negan's daughter. You'll always be him.

She closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Somewhere deep inside, she knew that voice was lying. She wasn't her father. She wasn't him. But in this moment, sitting in a cell, staring at a wooden horse that suddenly felt too heavy to hold, it was hard to believe it. It was hard to believe anything. 

It just felt as if, no matter how far she ran, she'll always be his. His daughter. His legacy. It doesn't matter what she did—they'll always hate her.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

Sunny woke up to yelling. A lot of yelling. And she knew that voice too well.

"The hell ya mean she's in a damn cell?!" She could hear Daryl's yell. Dammit, he was already pissed.

"Daryl-" She heard someone yell after him, but, the doors to the cells burst open. The first face she saw was the man as she sat up from the small bunk. He looked mad.

"Hi," she quietly spoke, waving a little.

Daryl stormed into the cell block, his boots echoing on the concrete floor. His face was set in a scowl, and his eyes were sharp, flicking over her like he was assessing if she was hurt. She wasn't sure if it was good or bad that he hadn't immediately started yelling.

"Hi?" He repeated, his voice low and full of irritation. "You're sittin' there in a damn cell, lookin' at me like this is no big deal, and all you got to say is hi?"

Sunny's hand dropped awkwardly, her attempted wave forgotten. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as she shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn't as bad as it clearly was.

"Uh... surprise?" She muttered.

Daryl's eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath like he was trying to hold back the storm brewing inside him. It didn't work.

"Surprise?" His voice rose, echoing off the walls. "What the hell were you thinkin'? Sneakin' out? Drinking? You coulda got yourself killed out there, Sunny!"

Sunny flinched at his tone but kept her gaze on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. "I wasn't gonna get killed. I'm fine."

"Fine?" He stepped closer, his movements sharp and agitated. "Do you got any idea what's goin' on out there right now? Walkers everywhere, these freaks in masks—Jesus is dead!" His voice cracked on the last word, and the room went silent.

Sunny's head snapped up at that, her stomach twisting at the raw pain in his voice. "What?" She whispered, her own anger and defensiveness draining away in an instant.

"Jesus," Daryl said again, softer this time. He ran a hand down his face, his shoulders sagging. "He's gone. Some group killed him."

Sunny felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Jesus was one of the good ones, always kind, always looking out for people. The idea that he was just... gone didn't seem real.

Daryl's eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Then he shook his head and pointed toward her, his frustration bubbling back up.

"And while all that was goin' on, you were sneakin' out, drinkin' somethin' you had no business touchin', and endin' up in a damn cell! What the hell, Sunny?!"

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could she say? He was right. She'd been reckless. Stupid. She stared down at her hands, still clutching the wooden horse, the guilt twisting tighter in her chest.

"Daryl!" She heard Michonne yell, making Daryl advert his attention away from the girl. Michonne and Tara then marched into the cell, a shaking figure who was sobbing in between them with a bag on her head.

"Who the hell is that?" Sunny asked, but she didn't get an answer as Daryl stormed over to them, helping them lead the girl into the cell next to Sunny's.

The girl was harshly pushed onto one of the chairs, Michonne standing above her. "No more bullshit!"

"I already told you-" The girl nervously began, the bag was no longer over her head, showing a girl around Sunny's age. She was just a kid, what had she done to deserve to be treated so harshly?

"How many more of you are there?!" Michonne cut her off, glaring down at her. For such treatment, Sunny could only assume that this girl had a part to play in Jesus' death.

"They're all dead!" The girl cried, shaking her head. "My family's all dead! Please just stop..."

"Not until you start answering our questions," Michonne said sternly.

"Your name. Start with your name," Tara added.

"I told you, I don't have one. None of us do. None of us did. That's not how it worked." The girl cried.

"How did it work?"

"Why do you wear their skins?" Daryl then asked. Skins? What the hell were skins? Sunny had no idea what was happening right now. "Answer!" Daryl then yelled, making even Sunny flinch.

"They were... they were good people! We were good. It's what we did to live. That's... that's all we wanted to do. Live."

"Oh, you're saying you had to do this?!" Tara yelled.

"You wouldn't undertand-"

"Then make us understand!" Michonne quickly cut the girl off. "What the hell were you doing?"

The girl was scared, terrified even, that much was obvious as she shakily looked around. "We... we were just trying to see if they were good people, too. But then you attacked us, and now they're dead! They're all dead. And I don't have anything."

Michonne then got in the girls face, her eyes narrowed. "What did your people know about us? Do they know about this place? Huh?!"

"I don't know anything. I don't know anything," the girl sobbed out. "They didn't tell me anything, please stop asking me. Just leave me alone, please. Please just leave me alone." She cried.

Sunny knew that she had no idea what had went down, and maybe she was stupid, maybe it was the part of her that still wanted to see the good in people, but she felt bad. The girl was crying, she was scared, she was just a kid. 

The three adults shared a small nod, then reluctantly, the two women then walked out of the cells. But, Daryl didn't, instead he stopped outside of her cell, unlocking the door.

"You're lettin' me out?" She asked quietly.

But, the man had no words, instead he just gripped her arm, pulling her out of the cell block as she tried to keep up with his angry strides.

Sunny stumbled slightly, trying to match Daryl's pace as he stormed out of the cell block. His grip on her arm wasn't rough, but it was firm enough to let her know he wasn't in the mood for her usual sass. She felt her heart racing, not from fear exactly, but from the tension rolling off him in waves.

Trying to ease the tension, Sunny cleared her throat, her voice timid at first. "You ever see that one SpongeBob episode where Patrick 'n SpongeBob are in a cell for like... a minute?" She glanced up at him, her lips twitching into a nervous smile. "Kinda feels like that."

Daryl didn't even acknowledge her. He didn't slow down, didn't look at her, didn't react. Just kept walking, his jaw clenched so tight she thought it might shatter.

Sunny's smile faded, and her chest tightened. She hated when he ignored her like this. Sure, she'd messed up, but at least she was trying to lighten the mood. "Okay, cool. Just gonna pretend I didn't say anythin'," she mumbled, her tone edging with sarcasm now.

Still nothing.

As they approached one of the trailers, Daryl finally let go of her arm, opening the door and motioning for her to go inside. She hesitated, unsure of what to expect, but the look he gave her left no room for argument. She slipped past him into the dimly lit space, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides.

Daryl followed her in, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary. The sound made her jump, and she glanced over at him, trying to gauge his mood. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at her, his expression unreadable.

Sunny shifted on her feet, the silence stretching uncomfortably. "Look, I know I screwed up," she started, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I wasn't—"

"You weren't thinkin'," Daryl interrupted, his voice low but sharp. "That's the problem, Sunny. You weren't thinkin'. You don't just sneak out in the middle of the night like that, especially now. Ya don't drink yourself stupid when there's walkers out there—or worse."

"I wasn't drunk," she protested weakly, though she knew it wasn't much of a defense. "You're the one who wanted me to make friends, that's what I did." She shrugged. 

"Friends, huh?" Daryl's voice cut through the air like a blade, his eyes narrowing. "That what you call sneakin' out, drinkin' God knows what, and gettin' thrown in a cell? 'Cause I sure as hell don't."

Sunny's frustration bubbled to the surface, her nerves giving way to irritation. "I didn't ask to get locked up, okay? I was just trying to—" She cut herself off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. What had she been trying to do? Prove something? Forget everything?

Daryl pushed off the door, his arms falling to his sides as he stepped closer. "You were just tryin' to what, Sunny? Get yourself killed? 'Cause that's what it damn near looks like from where I'm standin'."

"God, why do you always jump to that?" Sunny snapped, her voice rising. "I can take care of myself, Daryl. I've been takin' care of myself for years!"

His expression hardened, a flicker of anger crossing his face. "Yeah? And how's that workin' out for ya? Locked up in a cell, hungover, and lucky you didn't get yourself eaten or worse out there. You got no clue what's out there, do ya? We just lost Jesus, Sunny. Ya don't know what I've seen tonight. You don't know what's comin'."

Sunny's stomach twisted at his words, but her own frustration bubbled to the surface. "Yeah? Well, maybe if you told me what the hell is goin' on, I wouldn't have to guess!" She shot back, her voice rising. "You never tell me anythin', Daryl. You just get mad and act like I'm supposed to understand!"

Daryl's jaw worked as he stared at her, the tension between them thick enough to choke on. "Ain't the time to explain," he said, his tone sharp and final. "All you need to know is it ain't safe, and you can't be pullin' this kinda shit."

Sunny clenched her fists, her anger flaring. "Oh, so I'm just supposed to sit in the dark and do what I'm told like a good little kid? That it? You don't get to shut me out, Daryl! Not when you're the one who made me believe I mattered!"

Daryl recoiled slightly at her words, but the anger in his eyes didn't fade. "This ain't about you matterin', Sunny. This is about stayin' alive. You think I'm mad 'cause I like yellin'? I'm mad 'cause I can't lose you. You hear me? I can't lose you, too."

His words hung in the air, raw and heavy, but Sunny didn't back down. Her chest heaved as she glared at him, her voice trembling with frustration. She felt the same way she had back in the cell—small, cornered, and stupid. "I wasn't thinkin', okay? I just—" She stopped, trying to find the words. "I just needed to get out."

"Needed to get out? You coulda got yourself killed!" He stepped closer, his voice rising. "You don't just get to do whatever the hell you want, Sunny. You ain't a little kid anymore!"

Her anger flared, her face heating up. "Yeah? Well, maybe I didn't want to sit listenin' to Lincoln remind me that everyone here hates me! Maybe I didn't wanna sit around feelin' like I don't belong here. Like I'll never belong here!"

Daryl's face softened for just a moment, but his frustration quickly returned. "That ain't an excuse to do somethin' dumb like that! You know better, Sunny."

"Do I?!" She snapped, stepping closer to him. Her voice cracked, but she didn't care. "Because right now it feels like no matter what I do, it's never good enough. I can't change who I am or who my dad was, so what's the point? Everyone's already decided who I am, so why bother?"

Daryl stared at her, his eyes narrowing. "You done feelin' sorry for yourself?" He asked, his voice low and cutting.

Her mouth fell open, stunned. "Feelin' sorry for myself? Are you fuckin' kiddin' me right now?"

"You think you're the only one strugglin'? You think I ain't got enough to deal with without worryin' if you're gonna get yourself killed sneakin' out like a damn fool?" His voice was rising again, his frustration boiling over.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said bitterly, her eyes stinging. "I didn't realize me existin' was such a burden for you."

"That ain't what I said, and you know it," Daryl snapped back, his voice sharp.

Sunny shook her head, her anger and hurt mixing into something messy and overwhelming. "You don't get it," she said, her voice quieter now but no less heated. "You don't know what it's like to have people look at you and just see someone else. To feel like no matter what you do, it's not enough to make them forget who you came from."

Daryl opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a long breath, running a hand down his face.

"You're right," he finally said, his voice quieter. "I don't know what that's like. But I do know you ain't your dad. And I know you don't get to use that as an excuse to screw up."

Sunny blinked at him, her anger deflating slightly. She looked down at her feet, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. "I'm just tired," she muttered, her voice barely audible. "You think I don't see it? The way people look at me? The whispers? Lincoln's right—nobody will ever see me as anythin' but Negan's daughter."

"That's bull—" Daryl started, but she cut him off, her voice breaking.

"It's not! It's not, Daryl!" She yelled, tears pricking her eyes. "And maybe they're right. Maybe I'm just like him. I mean, look at me—locked in that cell just like he was. Maybe this is who I am."

"Stop it," Daryl barked, his voice harsh enough to make her flinch. "You don't get to talk like that. You ain't him, Sunny. You never been him, and you never will be."

Sunny shook her head, the tears spilling over now. "How do you know? You don't know what's inside me. What if I am like him? What if I can't change?"

Daryl stepped forward, his hands gripping her shoulders firmly but not unkindly. "You listen to me," he said, his voice low but steady. "You're not him. I don't care what Lincoln or anyone else says. You're my kid. And you're better than this."

Her lip quivered, and she looked away, the fight draining out of her. "I don't feel better," she whispered. "I feel like... like no matter what I do, it don't matter. People are always gonna hate me."

Daryl sighed, his grip softening. "Yeah, maybe some of 'em will. But that don't mean you stop fightin'. You don't let 'em win by givin' up on yourself."

Sunny sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Feels like I already did."

"Well, you didn't," Daryl said firmly. "You're here. You're still standin'. That's all that matters right now."

The room fell silent again, the weight of their words settling between them. Sunny stared down at the floor, her fingers fidgeting nervously. She wanted to believe him, wanted to hold on to the strength he saw in her. But the doubt lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind.

Daryl let out a long breath, his anger fading as he watched her. He crouched down in front of her, his voice softer now. "Sun, look at me."

She didn't move.

"Sunny."

Reluctantly, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. His expression wasn't angry anymore. It was something else—something heavier.

"You ain't your dad," he said firmly. "You hear me? You ain't him. You never been him, and you never will be. And if these people can't see that, then screw 'em. You're better than that."

"But what if I'm not?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What if Lincoln's right? I'm locked in a cell, just like he was. What if I'm just like him?"

"You think I'd spend six years in the woods with you if you were like him? You're nothin' like your dad, Sunny. You're you. And you're better than this."

The tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself cry, letting out everything she'd been holding in.

Daryl wrapped his arms around her, his hand resting on the back of her head. "We'll figure this out," he murmured. "We'll get through it. But you gotta stop runnin', Sunny. You ain't alone, you hear me? You got me."

She nodded against his shoulder, her grip tightening. For the first time in a long time, she believed him.

Daryl pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her tear-streaked face. His hands rested on her shoulders, his blue eyes searching hers. "So, lemme get this straight," he said, his voice rough but calm now. "You got shitfaced 'cause Lincoln said somethin' to you?"

Sunny shrugged, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Pretty much," she muttered, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. Saying it out loud made it sound even more ridiculous than it had in her head.

Daryl exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a tight line. He stood up, pacing the small space of the trailer, running a hand through his hair. "Kid, you're smarter than this," he said, his tone exasperated. "You gonna let one dumbass comment from Lincoln—of all people—mess you up like that?"

"It ain't just one comment, Daryl," she spoke quietly. "Lincoln just said what everyone else is too scared to say out loud." She mumbled.

Daryl crossed his arms, leaning back slightly as he studied her. "You think Lincoln's opinion matters more than yer own?" He asked, his voice quieter now but no less serious.

Sunny hesitated, her chest tightening. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice cracking. "I just... it feels like no matter what I do, that's all anyone sees. I'm tired of fightin' it."

"Then stop fightin' them," Daryl said firmly. "Start fightin' for you. Lincoln don't know a damn thing about you, Sun. Not like I do. Not like the people who actually give a damn about you do."

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she refused to let them fall. "What if he's right, though?" she whispered. "What if I am just like him?"

"You ain't," Daryl said without hesitation, stepping closer. His voice softened, but it was still steady, unshakable. "You're my kid. Not his. You're stubborn, yeah, and you got a smart mouth, but that's about where the similarities end. You care, Sunny. You care so damn much it hurts. That's somethin' he never had."

Sunny wiped at her face with the sleeve of her jacket, sniffling as she looked up at him. "You really think that?"

"I don't think it," Daryl said, his gaze steady. "I know it. You've been through hell, and you're still standin'. That ain't somethin' Negan taught you. That's all you."

For a moment, the trailer was silent except for the muffled sounds of Hilltop outside. Sunny's shoulders slumped, the weight of her emotions crashing down on her. "I don't know how to make it stop," she admitted, her voice small. "I don't know how to stop feeling like this."

Daryl stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You don't gotta figure it out right now," he said. "But you can't drown yourself in booze or run away every time it gets hard. You come to me. You hear me? You talk to me."

She nodded slowly, her lip trembling. "Okay," she whispered.

"Good," Daryl said, his voice softening even more. "We're gonna figure it out, Sunny. You ain't alone in this." 

He held her shoulder tight, wondering whether they should've just stayed out in the woods forever. They'd came back to walkers killing people and Sunny once again feeling broken. He didn't know if coming here had been a bad choice.

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .