"DARYL!"

Carl woke up in a cold sweat. He looked around frantically before realizing that it was only a nightmare. A terrible, vivid nightmare. It was dark, the middle of the night. The whole house was quiet. Carl's breathing was still labored and, even though he was now awake, he could feel his heart beat accelerating. His sweating continued, and he couldn't catch his breath. He looked for his bedside table. Opening the drawer, he fumbled for the lighter and pack of Morley cigarettes he took off the dead walker. After he finally got a cigarette in-between his lips, he lit it up and inhaled deeply. In an instant, he felt his stress melt away. It was as if the memories and nightmares left his body in the form of the smoke being expelled from his lungs and out his mouth.

Remembering the one rule his sister gave him, Carl opened a window to let the smoke out. He continued to smoke, of course. He had already started it, and he wasn't going to waste such a rare commodity. He pulled a chair up to the window and rested his elbows on the window sill. As he took another drag on the cigarette, he enjoyed the stillness of the world around him. He couldn't remember the last night he didn't have to ignore groans and moans. He didn't remember the last time he didn't have to sleep with a knife in his hand. There was nothing he had to be worried about. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. In a way, Carl missed it. Seeing Judy and Duane again, walking around the town he helped build… It made him nostalgic.

But he knew he couldn't come back. There wasn't any place for him there, not anymore. He wasn't a leader like his father. He didn't have patience for training soldiers, farming, or overseeing construction zones. He stopped feeling at home in Alexandria a while ago. Before his father died, even. And after everything with Enid and Lydia, he figured it was time to move on. So, when he felt that there wasn't a need for him in the communities any longer, he left. And oddly enough, he didn't regret it. Not until tonight, any ways.

He was at the end of his cigarette, now, and it did the trick. He was feeling drowsy, again. Maybe he could sleep a bit more before sunrise. He put his cigarette away, but he left the window open to air out the room, even though it was freezing this time of night. His head hit the pillow, but he still couldn't fall sleep immediately. He lay there, half awake, with nothing left to do to help him sleep. Counting sheep never helped him, not even when he was young, and he didn't feel like drinking a warm glass of milk.

He decided to take advantage of this insomnia to contemplate how he'll leave in the morning. He figured that Judy and Duane had some official business to take care of soon after breakfast, so he'd probably leave then. He'd say goodbye, of course, but he wouldn't stick around too long after that. This place wasn't his home. Of course, Judy and Duane and probably someone else he knew before he left would try to talk him into staying, just like last time. But he knew he wouldn't stay. He'd made up his mind.

Eventually, Carl was finally able to get back to sleep. His dreams, however, were not pleasant. Though, they never were. His dreams were often a mixture of actual events and made-up scenarios. That night, he'd thought he saw his adopted uncle Daryl fall off a truck bed and into a sea of walkers. There was a time when he had fallen off a truck bed, but it wasn't a dangerous encounter. He'd just fallen onto an old dirty road close by the Kingdom. It didn't make the dream any less terrifying, and it certainly wasn't fun the second time around. This time, the dream lasted longer. He saw Daryl getting torn apart, screaming as his flesh was being pulled off his bones, his blood staining the street. He knew it was a dream, but he was still horrified, and he couldn't look away.

He woke up a few more times that night, and each time he fell asleep, he'd relive that dream. But what happened the following morning could have easily passed for one of his nightmares.