Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Anon on tumblr wanted: "What if Sam had survived, but Jessie and Ron still died?"

Warnings: Clearly spoilers to 6x09, and au in terms of Sam surviving. This fic deals with the idea of Carol raising Sam into adulthood after his mother and brother's deaths and has Caryl as a background relationship. – adult language, old age, character deaths, Dementia/Alzheimers.

Opia

"The monsters will come and you won't be able to run away when they come for you. The one's out there… And they will tear you apart and eat you up all while you're still alive. "

"Sam. C'mon. C'mon. Sweetheart. Sam."

"I can't do it."

"Yes you can. Sam. Sam. C'mon."

"C'mon Sam."

"Sam. Sam…"

"Sam. Hey, you can do this. Sam. Just look at Mom."

"Honey, you can do it. Sam, come with me. Sam. Honey I need you to come with me.

"Mom!"

"Sam!"

It'd been a long time since that night.

Going on thirty odd years, give or take.

But he could still see it, clear as day in his dreams.

Truth was, he still carried the weight.

It wasn't what people liked to hear.

He knew that.

But it was honest.

People wanted to hear things like he doesn't blame himself.

That the sound of his mother's screams don't keep him up at night.

That the look on Ron's face when he'd pointed the gun at Carl didn't stick with him long after he'd forgiven Michonne for the act itself.

People liked to hear neat words and catch phrases.

Things that were synchronized, alphabetized and followed a straight path to the finish.

As if grief and healing were part of some twelve step program you could cure by giving up caffeine and maxing out your vacation days at work.

Or at least that's what he remembered people saying, anyway.

It wasn't like anyone actually had vacation days anymore.

Thankfully, Rachel, his wife - Tobin's daughter - was of the opinion that all that was a steaming pile of bullshit. Reminding him - probably for the five hundredth time since she'd marched up to him a couple years after the walls went back up and told him bluntly that she was his girlfriend - what a lucky son of a gun he really was.

Rachel didn't take bullshit from anyone, least of all him.

And god, did he love her for it.

He kept busy.

Grew up.

Grew strong.

Now he helped run things around town, more or less. Second in a lot of ways after Carl and Maggie. He had a seat on the council and a sketch book full of new plans to fortify the eastern wall and dig a new well for their ever expanding crops.

He maintained a running line of communication between at least four different groups of survivors that they'd come across over the years. Trading supplies and information on a near weekly basis. Securing ties. Maintaining alliances that were crucial for their survival when push came to shove.

They protected each other, whether that meant from walkers or roving bands of worse. Recycling good old fashioned diplomacy as the old way of doing things slipped back their bloody, cast-off skins. Familiar rhythms in an unfamiliar time.

He supposed it made sense, considering what the world was now.

He and Rachel had a couple kids of their own and were currently trying for a third.

They had two girls.

The first one carried on his mother's name.

The second, Carol's.

He didn't take pride in being a better father than his old man.

In his opinion, pride had nothing to do with being a decent human being.

He'd come to terms with those pitfalls a long time ago.

So yeah, he kept busy.

And if he spent less time asleep than he should have, well, it wasn't like he was the only one.

They all kept busy.

These days there wasn't any other way.

The world didn't really change.

There were still walkers.

Still good people mixed together with the bad.

The only thing that really did change as the people around them.

They started to get old.

She started to get old.

He was up on the wall talking to Rosita and Spencer about the night's watch when Judith appeared underneath them. Dark hair blowing thick around her face in the growing wind. Giving the moment a timeless quality that lingered – thick as molasses through the mid-summer air – as he sank down on her haunches and helped her up the ladder.

All it took was the sight of her upside down smile and sad eyes when she reached the top for his heart to do a nose dive into his gut.

"She was lucid, more or less," Judith explained as they walked towards the infirmary. "More than she's been in months. It's what she wanted, she was pretty clear. Denise and Edwards said that it could happen naturally any day now and I know Carol wouldn't want to tur- I told them you'd want to be there. But if you want company, I can-"

Somewhere down the road his girls were playing with chalk across the crumbling blacktop. Filling the still air with giggling laughter and the occasional squabbling over colors. It was such a stark counterpoint to their conversation now that it nearly made his head spin.

"No," he replied firmly, shaking his head. Voice strong and quietly steady despite them being the first words he'd said since jumping down from the ladder. "I'll be fine."

It was only partly a lie.

He sat quietly on the floor by her bed.

Not trusting the rickety chair Judith and Carl used when they came to see her.

And with good reason.

Because while Ron had all the hallmarks of taking after their mother, he'd grown fully into his father's frame. Tall, broad, and with enough in the way of muscles that he could hold his own when it came down to it.

He leaned back against the mattress, closing his eyes and just listening to her quiet breathing. Letting it all spiral out as a couple decades worth of memories hazes in and out of his mind's eye.

She'd taken him in afterwards

Raised him.

Made him strong.

She'd been there for every moment, every milestone and childish achievement.

She'd taught him how to hold a knife, shoot a gun, everything.

And she'd been front and center in the first row of Father Gabriel's church the day he and Rachel had finally made it official. Happy tears trickling down her wrinkled cheeks as they'd finished their vows. Taking her adoptive grandmotherly duties on with pride and quiet-gusto as the years snuck by on them all.

But about a year ago she started forgetting things.

Getting confused.

She started wandering outside the walls. Nearly getting bit a handful of times before he and Carl decided she couldn't be trusted to go out on her own anymore. She started leaving the elements on the stove burning after she made something to eat. Leaving the facets going after she'd taken a bath. Sometimes even struggling with names she knew like breathing any other day of the week.

She slapped him clear across the face the day he'd taken her knife and gun away. Repeatedly breaking his heart into shards when her eyes clouded and she flinched away from him whenever he came through the door of her room just a bit too quickly. Thinking he was someone called "Ed."

Still, he took care of her, they all did. They took shifts keeping her company, making sure she didn't wander. Reminding her why she couldn't go for a walk beyond the walls and carefully skirting around her peppering questions about the others. About Daryl and Rick.

About Sophia.

But slowly she got worse.

Bedridden.

And he supposed that this, what was happening right here and right now, had only been a matter of time.

He jerked himself upright when she cried out, looking around widely. Trembling with salt-track tears as he patted her age-thin hand carefully. Making sure she saw him coming before he rubbed his thumb over the prominent bones of her wrist.

"Shhh...It's okay," he soothed quietly, remembering moments just like this when he'd woken up to her rocking him through one nightmare after another. Seeing his mother's face. Ron's. Over and over. Getting him through each and every night until he found a way to make the monsters go away on his own. Taking comfort in the grip of cool metal under his hands as she taught him how to make the monsters go away.

"We're safe. We're fine," he assured, clambering awkwardly to his feet as hovered carefully above her. Probably trying and failing not to loom as he shifted around from foot to foot – nervous and uncertain of his welcome. "We're in Alexandria, remember?"

She blinked her eyes clear, lids tired and crinkled over. Frowning at him.

But he couldn't help the smile that took over when she squinted up at him and-

"Sam?"

"Yeah, that's right. It's me," he hummed, pleased in spite of himself. Struggling through it as she recognized him for the first time in weeks. Maybe months. Calling him by name, just like she used to. "You had a bad dream."

She nodded mutely, accepting the explanation as he snagged the glass of water and straw from the side table and coaxed her through a few swallows. Shoulders slumping as her bowl of soup, blended thin so her sore gums could handle it, remained untouched on the side table.

"Will you tell Daryl to come see me when he gets back?" she asked, after a handful of beats. Making him shudder through an exhale as he bit down on the inside of his cheek - the moment ruined. "I need to tell him something, he left without-"

She never stopped asking for him. It had been the first thing out of her mouth the day they figured she had her first episode. She had been told what'd happened a million times, but it was like she'd never really come to terms with it. Maybe she didn't want to. Either way, as far as she was concerned Daryl was always coming home. Due through the gates any minute.

He didn't have to ask to know why. Everyone knew what they'd meant to one another. Just like everyone knew that while they had separate rooms, they rarely slept apart. They had been each other's constant for so long part of him wondered if what happened to her mind was just another consequence. Having one without the other for too long.

"Of course I will," he replied, feeling the sting of tears start to build behind his eyes as she subsided. Seeming to sink back into herself in inches, slowly relaxing back into the mattress, like he'd taken some huge weight off her shoulders. Giving him a tremulous smile for his trouble when he nodded, clearly pleased with his answer. "I promise."

She never remembered this part.

The part where he'd just turned fifteen and Rick and Daryl never made it home after a routine visit to Hilltop. The part where they never found the bodies or any trace of Aaron and Eric or the truck they'd been driving. The part where they'd sent out search parties and Carol only came back home to see him every other week as they fanned out, desperate for something. Some clue. Anything. But there was nothing. They were just gone.

Frankly, he didn't know if her forgetting was a good thing or a bad thing when it came down to it. He'd learned that a lie was kinder. It eased her down and made her think she had a good handle on things – that she'd see him soon – only to cycle back to the start when she forgot she'd asked in the first place. The worst part was that nowadays the lies came easy. They still felt like ashes in his mouth, but the difference was now he was used to swallowing them.

"Close your eyes, try and get some rest," he urged, silently pleading. Not sure how the hell he thought he was going to do this as she looked up at him with those sharp little eyes of her. Just like she used too. Making his heart thud uncomfortably in his chest as for one insane moment he almost thought she was going to call him on it. That she knew. But then-

"Every time I sleep, I see them," she admitted, voice quavering-weak. Worn and tired in a way that seemed to transcend anything he rightly recognized. Something that reminded him of the rust that was starting to weaken the supporting girders on the wall. The ones that would need to be replaced as soon as they found the right steel.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke, kneeling beside her as he unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and tried not to make it seem like last rites.

Like a goodbye.

"Do you remember what you told me after? After the walls came down and the walkers got in? After everyone fought them off?" he asked gently, trying to find the woman he'd known then in her face. Eventually exhuming the echo from the brightness of her eyes as she watched him uncertainly – probably expecting placation or worse, another lie.

She shook her head, listening as best she could.

"You told me that the worst monsters were the ones that lived in here," he said slowly, pointing to his temple before he carefully cupped her fragile hand in his and pressed a kiss into the small of it.

"I won't let either of them get you, okay?" he assured, leaning down so they were eye to eye. So that she could see the strength she'd helped shape. "You spent so long keeping me safe, let me return the favor, huh?"

He waited until she'd drifted off again before he took his knife from its sheath and took a deep breath.

"What happens if you can't live with it?"

"Do you turn into one of the monsters?"

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

Reference:

- The title, "opia" is a rare word meaning: "the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye."

- Thank you to gunslingerdixon for providing the dialogue from the episode used in this fic.