AN: So this idea came from a very detailed prompt on Tumblr that was given by fandomlifetookmyhandandsaidrun. I'm taking a little poetic license with it and making a few changes to what was requested, but I hope it still turns out to be something they can enjoy.

I hope you all enjoy it too.

It's AU and it'll be a little OOC in places, perhaps, but it's simply a nice story written for the sake of entertainment. I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Every Georgia resident that had been dreaming of a real white Christmas was pinching themselves right now. It was something of a freak snow. The weather channel alternated between calling a potential "crisis" in an area that wasn't equipped to handle it and wasn't prepared to deal with it, and calling it a "Christmas miracle". By Christmas Eve it was steadily falling—large and beautiful snowflakes that didn't even appear to be real were drifting toward the ground quickly enough to obscure someone's vision—and by Christmas morning it was expected to be deep enough to land most people inside for at least a week if the weather didn't warm up.

Carol wanted to stay inside, like some of the wise and knowing whether people suggested, but Sophia was supposed to sing that night and she had her heart set on it. She'd been practicing for over a month, dedicated to the little choir practices at the church more than she'd been to any of the passing hobbies that she'd taken up to drop shortly after, and Carol hated to break her heart by telling her that the same snow she'd been hoping for would be the snow that took away another thing she wanted.

She was too young and too accustomed to the fact that life could be filled with disappointment.

So Carol had loaded her daughter into the car and she'd set off for the church. They were going to be late. Carol didn't know how to drive in the snow. Her windshield wipers could buy her some visibility, but they could do nothing for the blurred surroundings around her that were brought on by the falling snow and the tricks that the sun played as it was dropping down for the evening. Her car didn't seem to know how to handle the snow either. She held, stiffly, to the steering wheel and tried to will it not to slide and slip as it hit patches on the road that her eyes had missed but her tires had found. They were going to be late because carol couldn't bring herself to drive even fast enough for the pin on the speedometer to seem like it wasn't struggling to register something.

But getting there late and alive was better than getting there on time and prepared for their own funerals.

"Mama! It's too late! They already started!" Sophia whined from the back seat, her eyes glued on the clock on the dash. Carol glanced back, assured herself that the girl was buckled and simply whining from her spot instead of slipping out of the seatbelt like she sometimes did, and then she glued her eyes back on the road. Around her there were a few cars that she'd told Sophia were "parked" alongside the road or in the ditches. She didn't want to end up "parking" in a similar fashion.

"Sophia, we don't even know how many people are going to be there, sweetheart," Carol said. "The weather's really bad and a lot of people probably just stayed home."

"It's Christmas Eve," Sophia pointed out. "They have to be there."

Carol hummed.

"They'll celebrate from home," Carol assured her daughter. "And we'll get there, but I want you to understand that there might not be too many people."

Carol heard the sound of Sophia sitting forward and bringing her body roughly back toward the seat in frustration as she checked the time again.

"Mama—I don't think we're going to be there," Sophia pointed out.

Carol didn't want to tell her daughter that every muscle she had was tense and every nerve on end because she feared she might fail at the simple task of driving her car and injure them both. She laughed, nervously, instead.

"We'll be there," Carol said. "At this rate? We might be there all night."

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Daryl's teeth were actually chattering beyond his control by the time he made it to the church. At the moment, it appeared to be the only public building even open in all the miles that he'd walked. By the time he reached it, he felt like he was moving forward, almost dragging his feet, in the fashion of Frankenstein's monster and not at all like anything that anyone wanted to encounter on a Christmas Eve.

If he'd been smart, he would have put the run off. He would have called the company, explained the weather, begged an extension, and taken the pay cut. At least begging the extension, though it would cost he and his brother some business, would have possibly been something the company forgave eventually and would have reminded them that they were a small, family owned, trucking business—and that was the reason they'd wanted to go with them in the first place.

But Daryl had wanted to do good on his word to get the load out for them. Yes, they could deliver before Christmas. Yes, they were still running despite the holidays. Yes, Dixon's Trucking could come through for them.

Except Daryl hadn't counted on the snow. He hadn't counted on the fact that the truck—bought second hand because that's really all they could afford until this business actually took off, and this run wouldn't be likely to be the one that got them really going places—would finally just shit out on him trying to handle his new driving pattern in the weather. He hadn't counted that it would break down, practically roll over and die with four tires up in the air, and leave him on the side of the highway outside some forsaken and forgotten sleepy town. And he hadn't counted on the fact that his usually questionable radio communication would go out entirely and leave him with no way to let his brother, or the company, know that the run was indefinitely delayed and their shipment was being refrigerated by Mother Nature.

His only hope was to try to find a phone and, if he was lucky, to find somewhere to keep from freezing to death. The snow, although pretty enough to look at, didn't exactly inspire the thoughts of "walking through a winter wonderland" that he'd heard about so much. It was falling fast and it seemed to get in his eyes as he walked. It stung against his cheeks and it melted the moment it touched it. He was as soggy as if it had been lightly raining the whole time he was in it, but he was cold and half frozen too because the air around him didn't warm when it touched him the way that the snowflakes did.

All of Georgia had gone comatose. People hid like the snow was acid snow and Daryl hadn't been able to find a single business open between here and the small stretch of highway where he left his truck to rest in peace. He'd considered going right up to someone's front door and knocking—in the spirit of good will toward men—but these days he knew that he was almost guaranteed to be turned away with the way that he looked at the moment. Worse, he might end up on the wrong end of a gun if someone wasn't feeling too brotherly with the quickly approaching holiday.

So the church, with half a dozen cars in the parking lot and a small and recently changed sign out front declaring that they were still "on" for the night, had been like a beacon of blessing in the quickly fading hours of dim light.

Maybe, after all, there were some Christmas miracles.

Drifting from the outside of the church, as Daryl mounted the brick steps, were the sounds of Christmas carols roughly sung by a small choir. The notes, even as they hit his ears through heavy doors, were almost painfully off key and sharp. But it wasn't about the music, he knew that. It wasn't about how it sounded. It was about how it felt.

He remembered his mother telling him that. Hearing a chorus of a familiar song—though it had been so many years since he'd sang it—drifting out to him in broken notes had immediately taken Daryl back to another cold Georgia night. There hadn't been snow then, but his child mind had told him that there could be. His child mind had told him that there should be.

At the time, he'd been like every other child. The disappointments of Christmases past didn't bring down his spirit for the promise of the one to come. Before he was asleep, there were already visions of sugar plums dancing in his head. He could remember watching the sky, seeing the blinking and twinkling lights up there that weren't hidden at all by clouds promising snow, and he could remember wondering if one of them was Santa—and if Santa would find him that year. After all, he wasn't a perfect kid, but he was at least half as good as some of the kids he knew that got major hauls for Christmas—so he should get at least half as much.

He could remember the feeling of his mother's cold but soft hand wrapped around his. The other would be dragging Merle—probably by a sleeve since he'd declare he was too old to hold hands with anybody—right along with them as they headed for the church.

It wasn't about the way it sounded. It was about the way it felt. And tonight was a night of hope and love and brotherhood. Tonight was a night that dreams come true. It was a night for miracles. Those songs reminded them of everything that the night meant.

Daryl stepped into the church and stood shivering and shaking off the cold for a moment. His whole body quaked and he purposefully avoided the mirrors on the walls to avoid any chance of catching a glance of his probably ragged and rough appearance staring back at him. He looked around, but there were no phones in the entry area. Of course there weren't. They would be tucked away in some office somewhere while the outside appearance of the church did its best to remind visitors that, though it was a business, that wasn't the main view to take of such a location.

Daryl stepped into the main part of the church. The back of not even a dozen heads were visible to him. Up at the front, three adults stood with seven little kids and they sang. They sang the rough and wobbly notes to the songs that Daryl had heard while they were walking up.

Kids that were still living in the magic fairy land of a Christmas Eve when miracles could happen. Kids who still believed that this was a night when everyone loved everyone else. This was a night when we were all brothers—and all equals.

Kids that didn't know how much Daryl feared the reception he'd receive should one of the church goers look back and see him standing there—or how much judgment he feared he'd see on the face of the person he finally selected to ask for use of a phone.

The children were innocent. They didn't know of all these things. In their minds, it was all as it should be. It was Christmas Eve. It didn't matter at all how they sang the songs that they sang. They felt them. They meant them.

Several people in the congregation seemed to catch wind of Daryl's presence. They glanced back at him, stared even for a moment, and then turned back to look toward the front. They ignored the appearance of this soggy, dirty, unknown Christmas guest and returned their attention to the children singing songs about things that they'd long stopped believing in—at least really believing in.

And Daryl stood because he felt, in their quick stares, a little disdain that he was dirtying their carpet. He felt that it would be worse were he to go so far as to sit and cover one of their pews in filth.

One of the women got up, as the songs changed and there was some shuffling up front as the children rearranged themselves with the help of the adults. The woman walked to the front, stopped to say something to one of the singing girls, and then slipped through a side door to the belly of the church. That's where Daryl needed to be. That's where the phones were. That's what he needed and he could get out of here. He could stop ruining the sanctimony of their special night in their special place with his dirty presence.

Daryl walked as quietly as he could to the side of the church, stuck close to the wall, and walked down the side aisle to get to the door that the woman had slipped out of. He followed her, though she was far ahead of him, and looked for an office—he hoped it would be open. One call to Merle and he could go outside. He could wait somewhere until Merle drove the probably three hours to pick him up. He didn't care about the cold. Not now. It was nicer to feel cold and alone than cold and surrounded by people he figured would deny him their heat if they were given the chance.

While looking for an office, Daryl stopped paying attention to his surroundings. As a result, he was surprised when he looked up and realized he was face to face with the woman who had slipped out. He let out a noise of surprise and she echoed it. Then she laughed nervously. It was his surprise that had surprised her.

She offered him a wad of paper towels.

"You're soaked to the bone," she said.

Daryl took the paper towels and stared at them. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with them. Being handed paper towels made him think of cleaning the floor, but he wasn't certain that's what she wanted him to do, even if he wouldn't be surprised if it were.

"I'm sorry—I couldn't find a towel," the woman said apologetically.

Daryl realized they were for him. He mopped at his face and muttered a quiet thanks for her kindness—the greatest he'd been shown all night.

"I'm Carol," the woman offered. "And you're not from around here."

Daryl hummed.

"Daryl. Don't even know where here is to be honest," Daryl said. "Truck broke down on the highway. Everything's shut up tight. Just—looking for a phone."

"You walked all the way from the highway?" The woman asked.

Daryl hummed.

"So—there's a phone here?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled.

"There's a phone," she said. "But lines have been down for a couple of hours. With as quickly as they do things around here? And with the snow? I'd say they'll be down until at least tomorrow. Maybe later."

Daryl muttered a curse before he caught himself. He felt his cheeks grow warm and he mentally apologized to his mother. Though she had no problems with cursing in general—even if such words didn't belong in the mouths of sweet little boys—she'd have skinned him alive for daring to mutter a single one inside a church.

As soon as he'd mentally apologized to his mother, he apologized to Carol and she forgave him on the spot for his transgression.

"Did you wreck?" She asked. "Are you—hurt?"

Daryl hummed and shook his head.

"Trucker," he said. She stared at him. It didn't explain a thing to her and it was clear on her face. Daryl chuckled to himself. "I can drive in anything," he said. "My truck—she weren't in good condition. She couldn't handle the snow, even if I could."

Carol hummed like she understood. Whether or not she did, Daryl didn't know.

"Nothing to be done," Daryl said. "If they ain't no phones, they ain't none."

"I have a cell phone," Carol said. She shook her head. "Towers are still up. The reception wasn't the best earlier but—it's something."

Daryl stared at her a moment, wished he knew what to do with the soggy paper towels, and then he dared to speak again.

"You sure you don't mind?" He asked.

Carol shook her head.

"There's nothing to mind," she said. "But—I don't have it with me. It's in my purse? In the pew. Why don't you—come and sit? Warm up? My daughter's got the last solo of the night. I've got to get back in there for that. She'd be—heartbroken—if I didn't hear her. And I'm sure she'd appreciate the extra audience member? You can sit with me. Then—you can use the phone?"

Daryl felt a little uncomfortable. He didn't know this woman and she was being kinder to him than he ever expected. But he needed the phone. And he wouldn't be entirely opposed to the company and the chance to warm up before he was cast back out into the cold to wait on Merle—who could hopefully navigate the weather and make it to him.

Finally, he nodded and thanked Carol.

"I'd appreciate it," he said. "And—I'll make it up to you."

Carol laughed quietly.

"It's already been made up," she said. "I hate sitting alone. And when Sophia sings—I sit alone. Consider it—a gift exchange."

Daryl laughed ironically to himself, but he followed her, soggy paper towels in hand, back the way that he'd come through the maze of church halls and back out into the sanctuary to sit and listen to the children sing the songs that they still believed.

Though the slightly tingling warmth that he felt, at the moment, Daryl wasn't entirely sure he could only attribute to the central heating of the quiet little church.

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AN: So there will be at least a chapter more, maybe two, depending on how it goes while I'm typing the rest out. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!