Thank you all fr reading and reviewing! Unfortunately I can't carry on this story for much longer, therefore next chapter will be the last! If you have any other idea's for chapters or 'Carl is...' then please please please PM me or leave a review! I will be forever grateful.


"Carol, Carol calm down we didn't eat them!" Daryl heard Rick's voice and Carol's blubbering. "No! Carol! I promise you, the thing about Carl is-"

Daryl rounded the corner, out of breath not from running, but for trying to come up with an excuse.

"Carol I was jokin' with ya!" Daryl laughed...nervously. Rick glared at him, opening his mouth to talk. "I'll clean her up," Daryl interjected. Grabbing Carol's arm and dragging her away.

"I thought y'all knew I was jokin'" He said, rubbing circles on her back as she stopped sobbing.

She stopped, glaring at him.

"How could you joke about that!" She demanded.

"I thought I'd lighten the fuckin' situation Carol!" Daryl lied through his teeth.

"You've got a dead little boy hangin' around!" Carol flapped her hands around making no particular gestures. "You told me you ate our friends!" She screeched. "What's up with that Daryl! It's just not right! It's not even funny!" Carol's eyes welled up, "What about Carl?"

"Urgh," Daryl fought for yet another lie, "Rick, yanno, likes to talk to him,"

Carol's mouth dropped.

"You know, that's why he went looking for Lori...he wants to...keep them," Rick was going to murder him.

"Jesus Daryl," She breathed, covering her mouth as her eyes widened. Slowly she shook her head, "I mean, I know he's going through some things, but that body-that body's going to...you know," She wrinkled her nose as she made a subtle hint towards decomposition.

"We can't bury him!" Daryl shouted, alert.

"Why not...?" Carol furrowed her brows as she questioned Daryl.

"We-we don't have any shovels." Yes. Another lie down.

"Why not?"

"I broke them."

"How Daryl? How did you break the shovels?"

"I was playing with them?" Daryl questioned himself as the horrendously thin lies trailed out of his mouth.

"What the hell were you playing?" Carol asked, confused with the image of Daryl Dixon playing with an shovel.

"I was playing...shovel." Shovel? What the fuck was shovel?!

"What's shovel...?"

Game over.

"Dammit woman! I don't have to answer all your fuckin' questions!" Daryl growled, flushed with a lying shade of red. Quickly he stormed out of the hall and into the main room of the prison already concocting his next plan.

...

The scream pierced the silence of the night, awaking Daryl from his restless slumber. Within a minute he was poised with his hunting knife drawn, looking around for the walkers that must have been crawling through the prison by now.

Instead he saw Carol, white as a sheet, gripping on the bars of his cell. She rested her head against them and began to cry hysterically. Quickly Daryl was at the cell, unlocking his door with sweaty palms and swinging it wide open. He caught Carol with one arm as she fell through into his cell, he collapsed the floor with her and rolled her around so he could cradle her with both arms. Determined to spot something, he leaned foreward, looking around the foyer, but no one was there.

"Hey, hey," He cooed softly to her as he absently stroked her hair.

He watched as the other ran into the foyer, weapons drawn, quickly Daryl waved them away showing them with a flick of his wrist that it was just a false alarm. Groggily they shook their heads and retreated back to their rooms.

Daryl Dixon could deal with a nightmare.

She sniffled into his shirt, holding his white wife beater in a vice like grip.

He used a coarse hand to cup the side of her face and lift it to look at him, her blue eyes wet with tears, the colour drained from her face.

"What's 'matter," He asked, as soft as a Dixon could, "What happened?"

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

"I saw, I saw," She collapsed into tears again, throwing her head into him, with a sigh he lifted it again.

"What did you see woman?" He whispered to her.

"Carl," She breathed, frozen with fear. "In his old cell, curled up a blanket, shaking."

Daryl opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him.

"Please don't think I'm crazy, I couldn't stand you thinkin' I'm crazy," She shook her head, "It was a ghost. His face was blank white and his lips were blue." She stared into space, recalling the event. "He was dead, cold and dead, and staring at me." She began to cry again.

Daryl cradled her, rocking her and stroking her hair as she sobbed herself to sleep. Daryl thought about her description. Carl being blue and pale and shaking, looking dead and cold.

Oh shit Daryl had left him in the meat locker.

Rick was going to kill him.

Carl was going to kill him.

Oh shit. Carol was going to kill him.