AN: This is just a oneshot. It's somewhat inspired by several requests that I got, for a while, on Tumblr. I was never able to figure out how to answer them, but this just sort of happened. This is ZA, but not entirely canon, of course. Please expect some deviation from the show's happenings.

I own nothing from The Walking Dead. All I own are my own plotlines/characters/etc.

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

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There were times in Daryl's life when he'd felt like his whole mind had gone blurred—like it somehow shattered and shut him out of reality and his own experience. There was too much everything, and the world folded in on itself.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of his childhood home, watching it burn to the ground and take his mother with it—the reality had blurred. The sounds of screams—some were his own—and sirens had faded into a cacophony that sounded like it was underwater. No one sound had been distinguishable from any other. The smell of smoke and burning—burning everything—had burned Daryl's nose. His eyes had blurred. He hadn't realized, for a long time, that he'd experienced the burning of his life, in that moment, as he'd known it.

The phone call that said that Rooster Dixon was dead—the sound had blurred. The reality had blurred. The phone had been heavy in his hand and his ears hadn't been able to digest the words so that his mouth could share them with Merle. Merle had taken the phone from Daryl's hand—a lightness had been left where the weight had been. They should have hugged each other and wept over the request that they come to identify their old man's corpse—a formality, more than anything—and, instead, they'd both toasted the bastard's passing with a shot before leaving. Life had changed. They were forever free from Rooster Dixon—a cause for celebration—but a heaviness had settled into Daryl's chest, too. Any dream he'd ever had of somehow having some reconciliation—of Rooster Dixon becoming an entirely different person—was gone the moment that the proverbial candle had been snubbed out.

Reality had blurred the first time he'd seen one of those things ambling toward Merle as he stepped out on the porch to figure out what the hell was wrong with their neighbor, Phil, from down the road that sometimes walked around out of his fucking skull on meth. The moment that Daryl had realized, really realized, somewhere down in his gut that Phil was a corpse, the whole damn world had tipped on its axis. The smell of death—of purification—and the sounds of Merle's frightened cusswords…the final gunshot and Merle's declaration that they had to get the hell out of there…had all blurred and run together. In that moment, Daryl's life had changed in ways he couldn't have possibly imagined.

A rooftop in Atlanta had spun, for Daryl, like a burning horse on a sadistic merry-go-round while he'd stared at his brother's severed hand and still-somewhat-fresh blood trail, and had slowly tried to digest the thought that he was out there, in all this, bleeding to death…a fate Merle didn't deserve even on his worst days. Daryl's eyes had blurred, and he'd realized that he was alone in the world. The person on whom he'd always depended, even when Merle hadn't been very dependable, was gone. He would never see his brother again.

There had been a moment when time had stood still, and yet a clock had still ticked down the moments to their deaths—all their deaths—and the sounds of their protests, the axe against the metal doors, and Jenner's promises had blurred with the sound of Daryl's drumming heart and blood rushing past his ears. The sounds had closed in on him, as the room had closed in on them all, and they'd faced the possibility they might not survive—until Carol had handed over the grenade.

The moment when Daryl had held Carol on the ground, her screams blurring with the sounds of his pounding heart, Daryl's heart had cracked a little and his reality had blurred with hers in an unexpected way. His throat had burned. His eyes had burned. He'd told himself it was the sun, or the heat, or the gun smoke—he'd told himself it was everything but the breaking of his heart for her broken heart. His life had cracked and a few pieces had crumbled away, because he hadn't been able to put her baby girl in her arms, and her life would never be the same.

When they told him she was gone, the whole world had spun and stopped suddenly. There had been condolences, maybe. Perhaps there had been tears shed by others. Daryl had forgotten it all for a moment. He'd forgotten everything. For a moment, his mind and his conception of the world was entirely black. She was gone—just like that. His vision had blurred as he'd accepted that he'd never see her again, like so many he'd never seen again.

The happiest confusion of his life had come the moment that he'd found her—alive. His heart had pounded until he couldn't hear over it. He'd been practically deafened by the blood in his ears, the sound of his breath as he tried to move as quickly as he could and as carefully, too, because if she was hurt—he couldn't lose her. He couldn't lose her once he held her again. He couldn't…and he'd hovered too close and Hershel had pushed him back while he'd nursed her. For a long while, all Daryl had heard was the din of the voices in his head—if he could have this thing, his life would change. He would change his own life.

The moment he'd promised her forever and, without hesitation, she'd promised him the same, his brain had found it impossible to focus on any individual sound or happening. She was beautiful. Her voice was like music. His heart was like a drum. The words were a distant, garbled mess of promises that he couldn't understand. He couldn't understand them, but oh how he meant them—he meant everything said and unsaid. And the whole world blurred into a sweet fiction when he tasted that kiss of promise that they both meant forever in the fullest way that forever could ever be said. Daryl's life was going to be better than he could ever imagine.

When Daryl had held that plastic stick in his shaky fingers, his eyes had blurred until he couldn't see the lines that she'd told him were there. He'd closed them. He hadn't needed to see—only to feel. And the whole world had spun with the both of them as they digested a reality that was bigger than any one that they had dared to dream of between them. Their lives would bring into creation another life—and the change was one that thrilled them both.

The moment that Carol had said she was sure it was time, Daryl's world had begun to spin. In a dizzying haze, he'd rushed her toward the infirmary in the small town they called home now—the prison long lost to them, but safe-harbor found here among strangers—and the sounds of Carol's protests of discomfort blended with Daryl's own calling out for the doctor that would bring their little one into the world. The whole thing had been a blur—a happy, wonderful blur. Their baby was coming—and fast. Carol was stripped down, offered a blanket for comfort and privacy, and Daryl held her hand. He could barely keep straight all of his emotions at the moment, especially as they blended with everything that Carol was experiencing and sharing as she labored and, at a dizzying speed, worked to deliver their child—but Carol didn't scold him for sometimes stumbling over his words. She understood. They could speak to each other, somehow, beyond even the confusion. Their lives were changing, right before their eyes, as a new life began.

In the tight little room with barely enough room for them, and the doctor, and one nurse, Daryl held Carol's hand as she brought their child into the world. Reality blurred as he saw the head, and the shoulders, and heard the directions given to Carol. He felt her squeezing his hand like she might break his fingers off. He heard her protests and cries—normal in the situation, he was sure—and he tried not to fight the chaos that practically suffocated him as there was too much moving about for towels, and blankets, and tools, and—there were too many questions that all blurred together about his expectations for the moment, and what Carol could do, and what might happen.

And, suddenly, the world had tipped. It tipped sharply, and unexpectedly, and much in a manner that felt like it might tip Daryl right off the side of it entirely. The baby was born—he was sure that someone said what it was, but he hadn't heard. He hadn't heard because just as soon as the nurse had put it on Carol's chest, she had screamed. No—Carol hadn't screamed. The nurse had screamed. No—she'd called out to the doctor. And Daryl had felt confusion and suffocation that came without explanation. At a primal level, his body understood something that his brain didn't yet understand. Someone pulled him—someone strong—away from Carol. Someone pulled him away from the room that was slowly filling with bodies that pushed him out. He fought the someone, and the someone dragged him outside and there were words that were muffled and masticated. Daryl finally understood there wasn't room for him—there wasn't room for him in the whole world. There wasn't room for air in his lungs.

His arms were suddenly full with a warm little blanketed bundle that was dirty, and forgotten, when there weren't enough hands and enough space to care for all the lives that were busy coming in and out of the world. A baby girl. Someone said he held, in his arms, a baby girl. She'd come from somewhere—he couldn't recall who had put her there.

Daryl held her, his heart feeling like it was shutting down. His knees were weak. He felt the bite of the porch as he dropped to them, somehow careful to protect the bundle in his arms. She cried, still, despite his care. Of course she did—her reality was turned upside down. She didn't know how to understand it, and Daryl couldn't help her. He couldn't explain to her what he couldn't understand himself. His cries blurred with hers and, for what seemed like an eternity, all other sounds blurred together with his grief as his life—at least the part of it that he'd love the most—ended.

Daryl's eyes had been blurry, and his heart had been shattered—broken pieces of it, he was sure were all around the porch—when someone reached for the bundle. In the confusion, she'd stopped crying before he had. He fought against the person, and heard them say that she needed to be cleaned. She needed to be cared for.

He heard them say something else.

The sound of hope—hope he hardly dared to entertain—broke through the confusion of the moment.

Her mother wanted to see her. She needed to hold her. She needed to feed her.

And Daryl somehow found his feet, his scraped and bleeding knees biting him with pain, drawing him further out of his stupor, and reminding him that he was still alive—and so was she. With no more coordination than one of the Walkers, he made it back inside the little building. It was so crowded—there was a doctor and two nurses, along with Daryl and the woman who took the baby—and it was overwhelming. Still, Daryl pushed through the overwhelm because the thing that overwhelmed him most, overwhelmed him with joy.

The smile she gave him was weak, but it was a smile.

"Hey," she offered, as nonchalantly as she possibly could. All at once, he could have yelled at her and kissed her, all at the same time, but he opted for the latter. He rushed toward her, but he slowed enough to kiss her gently.

"She OK? You OK? She OK? You OK?" The questions that he asked all blurred together. Asking them made him feel better. Touching her made him feel grounded.

She was fine. She needed to rest for a while. They needed to watch her, but she should be fine—it should all be fine, now. The explanation of what had happened was too much to take in, and it didn't matter. She was fine, and Daryl's eyes blurred as he held her face, and kissed her, and made her promise, beyond all logic, he knew, never to ever leave him—not ever again, and not for any reason. His life, he promised her, wasn't worth anything to him without her, and he would have hated to have nothing but a shell of himself left to offer the baby girl.

The moment that the nurse brought the baby girl to Carol, promising that she was well, and Daryl saw her hug their daughter close, his world had spun again. This time, he held onto her and their baby girl for stability and security. He kissed Carol's face and tasted the salt of her tears as she cried over how beautiful and perfect the baby was. His vision blurred and, as he nuzzled against her, their tears blended together. He delicately wiped her tears away and watched her feed the baby when she was ready.

There were times in Daryl's life when he'd felt like his whole mind had gone blurred—like it somehow shut him out of reality entirely. There was too much and, at those times, the world folded in on itself and a bubble seemed to form around him, shutting him out from everything that was just too much. At this moment, the bubble shut out everything that was unnecessary. For a perfect moment, there was nobody and nothing in the world beyond his family. There was only stillness, happiness, gratefulness for what were surely divine blessings, and more love than Daryl could have ever imagined. His family was perfect, and complete, and whole, and his life was, at that moment, the greatest life that any man had ever lived.

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A.N. Some people really wanted me to do a fake-out death or something. I really had no idea what that was or how I might do one. I'm not sure if that's really what this is, but I hope that you enjoyed this little stream of consciousness mess for what it's worth. LOL

Thank you for reading. Please don't forget to let me know what you think!