Geez, something serious was screwed up with this document. Sorry about that! Enjoy! :)

The sun was peaking over the horizon, cleansing the earth of shadows and bathing the dewy grass in golden light. The sky was blooming with colour: blues, pinks, reds and oranges. A nightly chill still hung on the air. It was a brilliant sight, and Daryl Dixon was awake to see it.

He hadn't slept a wink. Every time he drifted off, new horrors blossomed in his dreams: Carol dying in childbirth like Lori had; Merle's fist swinging towards his face; a stillborn child lifeless in his arms; Carol's eyelids lifting to reveal milky irises as her once-stiff body reanimated. Eventually he gave up trying to find rest, and instead took comfort in watching the birth of a new dawn.

Daryl wasn't sure if he regretted what he and Carol had done only hours earlier. It had happened so fast, it seemed like it was just another dream. But it was real. His hands were still shaking. His heart was still pounding. His hair was still tousled and ruffled from Carol's hands clutching at it. The top two buttons on his vest were unfastened, exposing the scars on his chest. God, he hoped she hadn't noticed them. He remembered tensing up when she ran her hands across his torso, terrified she would inquire about them. Then he'd have to explain. Then he'd have to relive the terror.

It was late—at least two in the morning. When Daryl peered out his window, there was no pallid moon, no glittering stars, just an empty black sky looming over them like a void.

Two bright orbs cut their way through the fog that was engulfing their street. The orbs drew closer and closer until Daryl could make out that they were not orbs at all. Instead they were headlights connected to a car.

Adingy old station wagon rolled into their driveway. Daryl's breath caught in his throat. He gasped. His door burst open in an instant.

"The hell are you doin'? Get in bed!"

Daryl needed no further coaxing, and it wasn't just because he obeyed his big brother's every command. It was because daddy was home, and Daryl was afraid of daddy.

The little boy, scarcely eight years young, leapt under his covers. His squirmed down into his blankets until the top of his head barely rested on the pillow. He breathed heavily. He forced his eyelids shut, trying to compel himself to sleep. He squeezed his teddy bear close. That raggedy old critter was the closest thing he had to his mama.

She had only died two years earlier, but he felt like he barely remembered her. Maybe what precious few memories of her he had had been buried along with her body. No—her ashes. Mama didn't have a body no more.

Merle left Daryl's room promptly, making sure his little brother was locked up and safe. He heard the car door open and slam shut. He ran to the kitchen, grabbing the sandwich and beer from the refrigerator. He placed them on the table and waited, jumpy and tense.

He heard daddy's keys jingling as he struggled to unlock the front door. After several minutes of unsuccessful labor, the hulking, intoxicated man became filled with rage and smashed his bulky body into the wood. The door shuddered on his hinges. Finally, it gave in. Merle squeezed his hands into fists. His knuckles went white.

Wyatt Dixon stumbled into the house, eyes glazed and reeking of booze. He stared Merle down as he wobbled over to the table, squishing his body into the chair and began stuffing monstrous bites of sandwich into his mouth, staring blankly at the wall. Merle's foot was thumping against the floor uncontrollably. He swallowed hard as he watched his father guzzle down the beer.

"What're you lookin' at?" Wyatt growled, his voice muffled with food. Merle's cut his gaze from his father immediately, focusing on the reflections in black screen of the television.

When the plate was cleared and the bottle drained, Wyatt scooted out. The chair legs ground shrilly against the wooden floor. Merle flinched. Wyatt grumbled in frustration. He stood, leaning on the table to regain his balance, and turned to take his leave. It was then that Merle noticed a tiny blue car precisely where Wyatt's foot was about to land. Before he could react, his father had already slipped and was flat on his face, roaring, incensed.

Merle extended his hand to help his father up, but Wyatt was too drunk and too furious. He slapped his oldest son's hand away, swearing, rising to his feet.

"That stupid brat…" he sputtered, whirling around, trying to remember where Daryl's door was. He spotted it, heading straight for it, taking huge, stomping paces. Merle panicked.

"Daddy, don't!" he pleaded, but his father wouldn't hear it. Merle's begging was silenced with a fist to his teeth. He buckled, holding his mouth. His tongue had split under his tooth. He was spitting out blood. Wyatt began to beat down his little brother's door.

The door fractured open. Daryl screamed as his father burst in like a raging bull. His hands fumbled for his belt buckle. He unfastened it, sliding the black strip of leather out of the loops in his jeans, holding it in his hands like a cruel whip. Merle lunged to protect his brother. The strip of leather connected with his eye. It stung. It throbbed. Merle was powerless. He cradled his head, clasping his hands over his ears. It wasn't enough, though. His mere hands weren't enough to drown out the sound of Daryl's anguished yelps as his father beat him once, twice, three times, four times, and countless times more.

When he was done, little Daryl was heaving sobs. Wyatt brushed past Merle in the hallway as if nothing had ever happened. Merle tried to comfort his hysterical baby brother, tried to clean the wounds, but every time that warm, damp rag came in contact with one of the lashes it stung wildly. It was the first time daddy had ever beat Daryl that hard. It wasn't the last.

"You okay?"

The harsh whisper came out of nowhere. Daryl turned his head sharply towards the source, startled. Glenn stared up at him, blatantly confused. His shotgun rested on his shoulder. He still insisted on wearing that stupid hat.

"Yeah. I'm jus' fine."

Glenn seemed taken aback by the given answer, like something awful had happened that he wasn't filled in on but expected to know anyway. He squinted up at Daryl, determined to get to the root of the man's sudden angst.

"Have you even slept? You look like hell."

Daryl rolled his eyes, overtired and irritated.

"Why don' you mind your own damn business?"

"Sorry for caring." Glenn retorted sarcastically, holding his hands up in defense. Daryl snorted.

"Like you care 'bout me." he muttered, but was grateful Glenn didn't hear.

"Hey, kid, why're you up so early anyhow?"

Glenn shrugged. "Dunno. Woke up a half an hour ago, couldn't get back to sleep. Thought I'd go take watch."

"You takin' Maggie?" Daryl asked, simply curious.

Glenn shook his head. "Nah."

.:|:.

"Carol?"

Daryl's voice was quiet; nervous. The woman in question turned to smile at him. Today she was unusually serene and hushed but her lips were curved in a way that suggested she was also satisfied and feeling especially confident. He noticed two tiny, silver butterflies dangling from her earlobes. They caught the light in a particularly beautiful way.

"You like them?" she asked, reaching up to stroke the petite wings. He nodded dazedly. She grinned. "Rick gave 'em to me. They were Lori's favorite pair…"

Carol's voice trailed off. Daryl swallowed hard, crossing his arms and scanning the area for anyone else. He wanted to make sure there wasn't a chance in the world he could be overheard. When it seemed clear, he reminded himself that it was now or never. He took a deep breath.

"I was jus' wonderin' if you could be…y'know…pregnant."

He said the last word very quietly. At first Carol froze, but then she chuckled, shaking her head and going back to scrubbing oatmeal out of a bowl.

"No, Daryl. There's no way; none at all." She smiled, reaching up and bopping the tip of his nose with her soapy finger playfully. She pressed the sponge harder into the bowl as memories replayed in her mind.

It was utter chaos: voices piling on top of each other, hands grabbing, more needles biting into her flesh, a baby wailing—her baby.

"Sophia?" she managed to squeak out. She raised an arm limply. A doctor pushed it back down. She had no strength to resist. Someone was telling her to calm down. What the hell did they even mean by that? She was far too sedated to panic.

"This much blood is incredibly abnormal," said a deep voice. Its owner wasn't speaking to her; it was speaking to its assistants. "Her uterus is ruptured. If we don't take it out, she'll die."

Her heart sunk, and as much as she wanted to fight—wanted to stay awake—she was fading fast. The last thing she saw was a large silver scalpel glinting in the light as it was passed from one doctor to another.

When she awoke hours later, a nurse was adjusting her I.V. She was a pretty young girl with a brown ponytail and sharp cheekbones. Her nametag was blurry, but her smile was warm and tender.

"Good morning, Mrs. Peletier." The nurse greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Sophia…my baby…is she alive?" Carol asked, ignoring the question. Her breath was weak and shaky. She was drowsy but terrified. She needed to know her baby was safe.

"Your daughter's fine." The nurse reassured. "Congratulations."

The nurse didn't tell her then, but the doctors had to surgically remove Carol's uterus that day in order to salvage her life. Carol was devastated. She had hoped from the moment her pregnancy test turned out positive that one day she would be able to have another. She had always prayed to one day be a mother to two girls. After countless miscarriages, she finally had her daughter that she'd always dreamt of. She should have felt grateful. But she'd forfeited her ability to bear any more children in the process, and she couldn't help but feel betrayed.

"Okay. I was jus' thinkin', 'cause, y'know…Lori an' all…"

The pained look on Carol's face made him pause. He scratched his shoulder uncomfortably. It didn't even itch.

"Tha's alright, Daryl. I understand." She told him in a borderline whisper, her face brightening just a shade. He gave an uneasy smile as she went back to her work, humming softly. He trudged back to Cell Block C. She watched him as he left. He hid it well, and maybe he could fool everyone else, but he couldn't deceive her: something was haunting him. And truth be told, lately her past had been haunting her too. She knew she wouldn't lure it out of him easily, but if she persisted, she was confident they could lay their troubles to rest once and for all, together.