This one-shot is set in Season Four after the prison falls. Scenario: You've been on the run with Daryl since the Governor took down the prison. The two of you have no destination and you have no clue if anyone else survived the attack. Terrible dreams haunt you and it's getting hard to deal with, but a your friend is there to help.

This is my first TWD fanfiction. I hope you like it. Please review.

All rights go to the owners of The Walking Dead.

-D

A Thankful Night

You were lucky to run into one member of the group on your way out.

You wanted to look for other survivors, but he urged you to leave, to get away while you still could.

The two of you ran, ran as far as you could possibly push yourselves to go.

Nowhere is safe, though. You're both aware of that.

You don't have anything on you except the weapons the two of you always carry with you: two knives and his crossbow.

By the time the two of you can't go on any longer without rest, it's already dark.

The best the two of you could do for the night is to make a small camp in the woods and hope that nothing or no one finds you.

The fire you build is small, but big enough for just the two of you. You manage to find and roll a couple of big logs around the fire.

Your muscles are screaming and the burning is barely vanishing in your chest. You try to stay awake because you don't want to leave him to the watch by himself.

But you eventually fall into a light sleep and he shakes you awake. He says that he'll take watch anyways and that you should lay down.

You comply and he sits across from you on the other side of the fire. You can see him just staring into the orange embers of the fire.

You wonder what he's thinking. You've never really been able to read him, but you tell yourself that's probably a good thing these days.

The two of you were never that close, but at the same time, you are.

Neither of you are good at expressing yourselves. The bond that the two of you have isn't anything other than that of family and you're grateful for that.

His presence alone is enough for you to feel comfortable and convince yourself to try and sleep.

Sleep doesn't come easy to you since you were separated from the group, though.

The images of fire, walkers and blood.

The sounds of non-stop gunfire, buildings collapsing and your family screaming, trying to get to safety.

It haunts you and your dreams. It always will.

Eventually, the images become too much for you and you're terror-stricken.

You throw yourself up off the ground and attempt to control your breathing.

The night air is cool, but your covered with sweat. You don't even bother to wipe it away anymore. It just comes back, every damn time.

You don't register where you are for a moment because you're so engulfed in your dreams.

You also don't remember that he's there with you. Watching as you heave and start to cry.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his movement. He's walking towards you.

He sits down beside you. He doesn't say anything and in the moment and you don't care. You're just glad you're not alone.

Where would you be if you were?

Your breathing is calmed, but the silent tears continue to fall down your dirty face.

You tell yourself to get it under control and to toughen up. You tell yourself that you knew the prison was too good to be true; that you knew it wouldn't last forever, because in this world, there is nothing good anymore.

You pull out the red handkerchief he gave you a few nights ago. This nightly routine has become so familiar to the both of you that he told you to keep it.

You know that your crying probably makes him feel incommodious, but you're forever grateful that he's with you.

He never looks at you when you're crying.

You know that just because he doesn't show it, doesn't mean that he's not hurting. He keeps it inside; it's not the first time it's happened, and you know it's not the last.

Then he does something he's never done before.

He puts his arm around you and pulls you closer into his side.

You don't even question it, you just sulk and tremble into his body. It's unfamiliar, but it's easy.

Every time you cry, you tell yourself one thing: You're not made out for this world.

You can't help the negative thoughts. Sometimes they just consume you.

In his attempt to comfort you, you can't help but think about the others.

Did they survive?

Where are they?

... who's dead?

You can't help but feel guilty, too. You were a part of the team that went looking for the enemy. You never found him, so you assumed the best, that he was long gone or dead. Now, you know that was a mistake.

You don't have to say anything to each other. You already know that he feels the same way. But there's nothing you can do now.

With your head resting heavily on his sleeveless shoulder, you feel sleep coming to pull you down. To pull you down into darkness and into a fearful state.

But you let it take you anyway. Your eyes start to close. The sound of his breathing lulls you into a deep slumber.

For the first time in a long time, you managed to get some sleep.

The sun shines down onto your face and invites you to open your eyes. When they do open, you realize you're still in his embrace. He's sleeping, too.

You start to silently question why he didn't wake you for your watch shift, but you let it go as he starts to shift around.

You remove yourself from his arm and he watches you as you stand up and dust yourself off the best that you can.

You look down at him and manage to provide him with a small, thanking him for the previous night.

His quick nod and eye contact is enough for you. That's the best you're going to get out of him, anyway. But you don't mind.

The silence says everything the two of you could never possibly say.

With morning, you collect your few belongings and get ready to take on the day.

He's with you as long as you watch his back, but you hope that tonight will be different. That tonight, you can fall into a dreamless sleep.