Set the night after Daryl and Merle return to the prison in Season 3. There will likely be a second chapter at least, when the mood strikes.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to The Walking Dead. Be sad for me.


Even in sleep Carol knew when the dream was starting. She stood in the sun in the prison yard, the sharp mechanical smells of engine grease and gasoline overriding the warmer scent of dust and grass and sweat. There was a moment – a quiet moment of peace. She stood with her family in her home, and in that moment, she was happy. The happiness is what told her something was terribly wrong.

She shifted and moaned, but couldn't wake herself up. Her stomach was heavy with dread. She tried to run, tried to stop it from happening again, but there was no way out. The sun shone down on them all, warm and beautiful, when she heard the first shout. She couldn't move. At Carl's cry, her family burst into action – screaming, running, shooting. Walkers fell, but far more did not. They flooded into the courtyard, far more than there had really been, but the dream was always worse.

She screamed at them to stay together – not to split up or get separated. But even as she screamed, she did as she had always done. Following T-Dog, she gave him cover on his sprint to close the inner gate, shooting walker after walker far beyond the number that should have been been there. And the more she shot, the more that came.

Behind her, she could hear the shouts of her family swallowed up by the moaning and snarling of the creatures. Ahead of her, T-Dog swam through an ocean of dead things to reach the gate. She tried to warn him, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the monsters around them. As he latched the gate, it happened, as it always did. A walker made its way too close and tore a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. She screamed and screamed, but she could never save him. Anger and grief swamped her as she watched it happen once again.

They ran. Ducking inside the nearest doorway, they disappeared into the dark. She cried out in fear. Here in the darkness the dream changed. She didn't recognize the tombs. The corridors went on forever, going this way and that with doors and stairs in all directions. She tried to get T-Dog to stop, but he dragged her on, his grip a vice on her wrist. Deeper and deeper into the darkness they went. She grew dizzy with the turns, spinning in the black. Walkers moaned behind every door and around every corner and the blaring of alarms echoed through the halls.

She fought him harder as they grew closer to the place where it happened. She begged him to stop, to let her go, to let her end it before it got worse – before they reached that place. She didn't know the tombs, but somehow, she always knew when they got close. But all he ever said was that it was God's plan. God's plan.

Kicking and screaming with tears on her face, she struggled to free herself. If she couldn't stop him from going, maybe she wouldn't have to watch this time. But it was too late. They had reached the place where it happened. The walkers appeared in the corridor in front of them, but instead of just a couple, it was a dozen. A hundred. More. She held his arm, tried to pull him back, but he ran toward them, shouting at her to go! But she couldn't move – either to help or to escape. T-Dog crashed into the herd, pushing them all into the wall, still screaming for her to run. All she could do was watch – again – as the monsters ripped into his flesh, tearing hunks of meat from his bones. Blood spurted and flowed, and T-Dog screamed in agony as he was torn to pieces in front of her. But all the while, his eyes were on her, wide and bulging, pleading with her for something he could never say. It was God's plan.

The walkers swarmed over his body like maggots. Some of them spilled over the other side toward her, noticing her for the first time. Arms reaching, they came at her, but she could only stand and stare at T-Dog's mutilated body. They came closer, and she was afraid, knowing they would tear her apart and devour her, too. Bony fingers clawed at her, leaving bloody furrows in her skin. She gagged at the putrid breath in her face as the monsters snarled and snapped at her, biting away chunks of her body, a little bit at a time. She screamed from the fear and pain, but knew she couldn't save herself any more than she could save T. She was dying. The last thing she always saw was the face of her friend, his eyes filmy and yellow, as he lunged at her, ripping out her throat.

With a strangled gasp, she tore herself from sleep at last. Her face was wet with tears, and she shuddered as she tried to force down the sobs that were trying to break free. She could still feel their teeth, smell their rotten breath, and feel the terror as if the monsters were real – more than real, in that way nightmares have of clinging to you after waking. So she curled up into her pillow, shaking and gasping as she struggled to move past the fear.

When she'd been trapped in solitary for over a day, injured and exhausted with no food or water, she'd drifted in and out of consciousness more and more as time went on. Each time she would drift off, she was running again through the tombs, watching T-Dog die over and over. Two days ago, Daryl had found her and brought her back. She'd slept some through that first day back as she recovered, then more through the night. The nightmare followed her, and each time she would wake in a terror, not sure where she was or what was real. Each time she woke, she was alone and more afraid than the time before.

She covered her ears against the snarls and screams still echoing in her head and closed her eyes tightly, trying to force back the visions of blood and death. Tears still escaped, and she felt them burning hot trails sideways down her face.

Her eyes flew open and she scrambled back toward the wall when a noise startled her. There was just enough light filtering in from the high windows of the cell block to see a shadowed form in her doorway. Though her rational mind knew she was in no danger, the residual fear from the nightmare made her panic.

"You okay? What's wrong?" Daryl's low, rough voice cut through the blind terror, giving her a lifeline to cling to.

She tried to speak, but couldn't choke the words out past the lump in her throat. All that came out was a strangled sob.

"The fuck – you hurt?" He stepped into the cell and hurried to her, kneeling at the side of her bunk.

Her heart rate began to drop. No longer alone, she was able to wrestle the panic down. She shook her head to let him know she wasn't hurt, but still couldn't force words to come.

"Nightmare?"

She nodded, and though the fear was subsiding, the tears erupted again, flowing hot and silent down her cheeks.

"You want me to stay?"

She nodded again. She sat back against the wall and hugged her knees to her chest in an attempt to stop the shaking. Daryl sat on the edge of the bunk and hitched himself back to lean against the wall next to her. It was so dark, she couldn't see his face, but his posture was tense, as though he were uncomfortable – she didn't know if it was from her crying or from sitting together on her bunk. Sniffling, she tried to force the tears to stop. Even if he hated it, she was glad he was here. He'd come back. He'd left with his brother, but he came back. The hurt she'd suffered at finding out he'd left didn't matter anymore, because he came back.

"Gonna tell me what you was dreamin' about?"

She shrugged, knowing he would feel the movement even if he couldn't see her.

He didn't push her, and she appreciated that. She wiped her wet cheeks on her shoulders. "Been dreaming the same thing ever since..." She stopped. He waited patiently for her to continue.

"I keep dreaming of the tombs and T-Dog. He pulls me down there and won't let me save him. I know what's coming, but he won't stop." She took a steadying breath as more tears threatened. "I see him get torn apart by the walkers. Over and over, I see it, and I can't stop it. I watch him die, and then they come for me, too. That's when I wake up. It's always the same, every time."

Daryl was quiet for a moment, perhaps waiting to see if she would tell him more. Finally he said, "What happened to T shouldn't happen to nobody. 'M sorry you had to see it. Sorry it's givin' you nightmares."

She nodded and hugged her knees tighter.

He fidgeted a bit on the bunk next to her. "He was bit before you went in – he knew he was gonna die one way or the other. He chose to make his death matter, and that's more than most of us will likely get. What he did? He did it to help keep you alive, and I'll be forever fuckin' grateful for that. Way I see it, that makes him a goddamn hero."

Carol's breath caught in her throat. The lump was back, blocking the way.

They were silent side by side for a while, and when he finally spoke, his voice was even rougher than usual. "For me, it was Dale."

She looked over to him in the dim light. His head was lowered, clearly angled away.

"Don't happen as often anymore, but for a while it was almost every night. Puttin' him down...it had to be done, and I chose to do it, but that don't mean it don't follow me." His breathing increased as he talked.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Carol rested her cheek on her knees and watched as he nodded, acknowledging her. They fell quiet again. How had she not known he had nightmares? After the farm fell, they'd been on the road together for months, living practically on top of one another with no privacy whatsoever. Yet she'd never heard or seen anything to make her think he was having trouble sleeping. Maybe she just assumed someone as strong as he seemed to be wouldn't be vulnerable to something as simple as a nightmare. She was a little surprised that he would admit to it in front of her. It warmed her that he had.

But he was clearly uncomfortable. He'd tensed up so much she could feel it. She was almost ready to tell him he didn't need to stay if he didn't want to when he finally spoke again.

"I thought..." he began. Taking a breath, he tried again. "I thought you died. When we found T, we found your gun and your scarf, and we all thought – I thought...you died."

He shifted on the mattress next to her. "That's what I dream now. Not Dale. I dream that I find you in the tombs, but you ain't you anymore, and I have to..." He swallowed hard. "That's how come I heard you tonight. I was already awake."

Reaching over, she brushed her fingers against his. He flinched away from her touch, and her heart ached in her chest.

"It's all right. You found me – I'm okay."

He hesitated, but then brought his hand back to hers, allowing their fingers to touch for just a moment. Scooting out to sit at the edge of the bunk again, he turned toward her. "When you have bad dreams, it's okay to come find me. Wake me up – I'll sit with you."

She smiled, though she knew he probably couldn't see it. "Okay. You, too. Wake me up if you want company."

"'Kay." He stood to leave.

"Would you—" She stopped, not sure she could bring herself to ask.

"What?"

"Um...would you stay until I go back to sleep? Or you could sleep in the top bunk..?" The thought of being alone in her cell again filled her with dread. She added in a whisper, "I don't want you to go."

Silence stretched for what felt like forever. Then he sat back down on the edge of her bed. "Sleep. I'll stay."

"Thank you." She slithered back under her blanket, curling up on her side. Even though he was still and silent, the whole cell felt warmer, more comfortable with him there. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off.

It was the first uninterrupted, restful sleep she had since T-Dog died. Even before she opened her eyes, she could tell it was approaching dawn – grey morning light was filtering in through the grimy prison windows. She started to stretch out the stiffness from sleeping so many hours without moving, but her foot bumped something, and she realized Daryl was still there with her. He'd slept the night sitting at the end of her bunk, slouched against the wall. He'd woken when she nudged him and now blinked sleepily around the cell. When he looked over to her, he gave the tiniest quirk of one side of his mouth.

"You get some sleep?" he asked.

She nodded, bunching her blanket under her chin and feeling awkwardly shy for some reason she couldn't explain. "You survive okay over there? That can't have been comfortable."

He rolled his shoulders as he sat up. "'M fine."

"I'm sorry – I shouldn't have asked you to stay. I didn't mean for you to be miserable all night."

"Said I'm fine." His sharp eyes pierced her in the morning light. "Don't be feelin' guilty about it – don't want you sufferin' alone next time you have bad dreams cuz you feel bad I slept sittin' up. I meant it when I said I'd sit with you."

She nodded mutely.

He stood, joints popping and cracking as he went, finishing with an impressive crackle when he tipped his neck side to side. "Gotta go check on Merle – make sure he ain't burned the place down overnight."

She smiled softly and nodded again. He turned on his heel and left the cell.

While she was happy for Daryl for finding Merle again, she was worried as well. She remembered perfectly well how disruptive Merle had been at the quarry and how awful an influence he was on his brother. She hoped Daryl had come far enough to know he could be his own person now – that he didn't have to be defined in terms of Merle anymore. Hopefully he could see that other people loved and needed him now, too.

Sighing, she pushed back the blanket, and crawled out of bed to find her boots. The Governor was coming. They had to decide what to do about that. She'd made it through the night, and though she wouldn't have to worry about bad dreams until night fell again, they still had a nightmare to face.