When Daryl awoke, he was lying in the dirt beside a low burning fire. His poncho was wrapped loosely around him, but it wasn't enough to ward off the cold seeping into him from the ground below.

He scrabbled gracelessly to sit up and looked around warily. Carl was sitting nonchalantly on one of the logs, looking over him. He'd gotten his hands on a rifle somewhere. He'd positioned it carefully across his lap, and his slender fingers grasped it tighter as he took in Daryl's violent thrashing. Daryl held up a hand to still him, silent assurance that he was still himself. Carl's head dipped, and he was quick to turn his hooded gaze back to the fire.

He was sitting almost exactly where Merle had been in his dream. He had been dreaming, of course. Dead people don't come back to sit with you beside the fire and criticize the state of your love life. Well, that's a lie. Dead people come back all the time – just not Merle.

Daryl groaned. He raked his fingers though his overgrown hair and scrubbed at his face, impatient to shake off the otherworldly fog he still felt muting his senses. Then he turned to face Carl.

"The hell you doing out here?"

Carl's eyes cut back over to Daryl, indignant, "Looking out for you."

Daryl frowned pensively, "How long I been out?"

"Dunno. Found you out here, lying in the dirt. Thought you might be dead, so I stayed close, in case…"

He trailed off, reluctant to verbalize what both of them were thinking.

"I built a fire so we wouldn't freeze our asses off."

The longer Daryl listened silently the more Carl struggled with putting words together until he simply gave up, hastily adding, "I'm glad you're not."

Daryl grunted as he finished picking himself up off the ground and slapped and fine cloud of dirt off his worn-out jeans. He felt uncertain, and vulnerable. Two feelings that never sat well. And the worst part was that he still didn't have any idea why it had happened. Falling asleep out in the open like that should have been a death sentence.

"Prob'ly outta be getting' back. Your dad finds out you're missing he'll have both our hides."

He nodded at the rifle, "Leave that with me."

Carl evaluated Daryl openly. His indifference to authority had been steadily building, but as of yet Daryl has been one of the few adults Carl hadn't locked horns with. The moments built up between them and Daryl began to wonder if that wasn't about to change. But then Carl gave Daryl a terse nod, and the spell was broken. He handed the rifle to the older man, and was turning to leave when Daryl suddenly remembered.

"Hey, you seen Carol?"

"She's inside. I can get her for you."

"Nah, forget it. I'll talk to her later."

Carl lingered, "They're just in there wasting a bunch of time talking about what to do for Christmas. It's stupid, right?"

"Yeah" Daryl agreed distractedly, not even aware that he was hammering a nail in until the damage was done. Carl's face faltered, and for a fleeting moment he looked his age again. Just a kid, all tore up inside. He recovered fast, though. Faster than Daryl would have thought was possible. He followed up Daryl's decline with a shrug, and broke out in an easy sprint towards the cell blocks.

Daryl shook his head at the effortlessness of that youthful vigor. He himself was feeling every moment of his time spent sleeping on the cold ground, right down to his bones. He only lingered long enough to shovel enough dirt to extinguish the fire before lumbering off in the direction of the watchtower he had laid claim to.

He hadn't missed her. That, along with boost the shoveling had given his circulation had him feeling better already. And the more he felt like himself, the more ridiculous his dream became. Merle, back from the dead, trying to guilt him into making an honest woman of Carol.

It was all her teasing that had wound him up with all of this "Christmas Carol" bullshit, anyway. Seemed fitting seeing her again to get his mind off it. Seeing her, touching her, tasting her… a warm pressure was building in his groin at the memory of her breathy whisper in his ear. Bold promises.

He had half a mind to take her to task about setting people up for nightmares, but that would mean admitting that he'd actually had one. He'd have to figure out something else. There was a lot a body could get across once it got you pinned on a lousy prison mattress laid over concrete. Then, maybe once he'd had his say, he'd happily roll over and let her grind them both to completion so he could admire the rise and fall of her supple body in the moonlight. See if she felt like making fun of him then.

He sighed impatiently, squirming as his hard-on he'd unwittingly worked himself up to pressed painfully against his pants. He needed to derail this train of thought, or he wasn't going to be able to hold out.

"Do somethin' for your stayin' power…" his subconscious chewed at him traitorously. But even as worked up as he was, something was nagging at him. A small pressure leak sabotaging his building libido. Something about the things Merle had said to him in his dream.

He'd made out like it was so terrible, this casual arrangement he and Carol had wordlessly fallen into. It wasn't like he didn't care. He cared – a lot. Too much, he realized suddenly. That's why this whole thing smacked of punishment. He shouldn't love her. He should have been stronger and never given into those impulses in the first place. But that's how this whole mess got started. Because who couldn't love her? Who could lay with her, across from those beguiling blue eyes in that sweet, sad face and not want to gather her up, kiss away her hurts, and promise her anything?

He wouldn't, of course, because that would be a lie. Nobody could make promises like that in a world like this, not even him. No. The best he could do for her was staying strong, cold, unrelenting. Invincible.

He felt the faint vibration of footfalls on the steel grating outside his door. That would be her now, and not a damn moment too soon. He needed to get out of his head and get lost in the soft warmth of her curves. He eagerly watched the handle of the door turn and swing open.

The only thing that fell faster than the greeting on his lips was the excitement he'd been barely containing below the belt.

It wasn't Carol that stepped into the tower, but it wasn't entirely not Carol either. Innocence restored. Perfect. Everything from the Cherokee roses woven through her silken honey blonde bob to her simple white dress was bathed in a brilliant golden light from some unknowable internal source. Her china blue eyes stared up at him with understanding surpassing any 12 year olds. A shrewd intelligence, strikingly reminiscent of her mother.

I'm dreaming again. How am I dreaming again? I don't even remember going to sleep! This isn't real. Sophia is dead. Why is this happening? Is this my punishment? My punishment for not being quick enough. My punishment for letting her go.

"Don't, Daryl. Please…don't be sad?"

Daryl was silent for what felt like an eternity, unable to form words. Sophia waited patiently while he recovered enough to splutter, "What is this?"

"Merle warned you three spirits would be calling on you tonight, yes? …No?" She sighed with gentle exasperation, "That was his entire function. That man is so…never mind. It's not important. There's a lot you need to see, and very little time in which to see it. You need to come with me now."

"You're a ghost?"

"The ghost…of Christmas Past."

"You're not Sophia."

"Not strictly, no. I seemed appropriate to come as her, though."

"How come?"

Sophia's smile grew wider, "She inspired you, like I mean to. You were at your absolute best when you chose to champion her. Never better."

Daryl wondered if he'd be such a big damn hero if she knew the kind of night he'd be planning for before she'd showed up.

"You aren't ready." She said, sympathetically. It wasn't a question, "It seems awful to rush you, but the truth is there's not a lot of time left. Not for any of us."

She extended her hand.

Daryl hesitated, "I need my crossbow."

She shook her head emphatically, "You won't. Not where we're going. I promise. Come on."

He side-eyed her, unconvinced, but unsure of how to say it. For a time, however brief, finding Sophia had become his religion. It seemed somehow sacrilegious to doubt her now. He surrendered his hand. Felt her close her smaller one around it, and saw the satisfaction in her smile before everything blanked out in a flash of white and vertigo set in. He was blindly surging forward.

"Come on! Keep up!"

Inexplicably, he was running through a field left fallow, wild with untamed growth alongside a wolf who looked for all the world to be exactly the same proportions as him. It didn't appear to matter that state of confusion his mind was in. This body didn't need him. It knew running like it knew breathing. Thousands upon thousands of years of instinctual conditioning regulated it.

"I'm a wolf…" he didn't so much say as think.

"We have a lot of ground to cover" she said, as if that explained it all away.

"And anyway, it suits you."

Daryl was too overwhelmed with the sensory overload to reply. The raucous calls of mockingbirds and wood thrush hiding in the scrub cedar were all around him. And everything smelled like something. From the fallen leaves disintegrating in musty dirt beneath his paws to the aromatic patches of milkweed and wild bergamot. Even the cold had a distinct smell to his canine nose, and all of the sounds and smells were coming together to evoke the memory of a place he hadn't been in years.

"We're almost there." Sophia's voice intruded in his head.

Daryl felt sick to his stomach. They had passed a handful of familiar farmhouses now, and they had all been well-manicured and comforting to look upon. Just the kind of idealistic country contentment that Hershel's farm had been. But Daryl knew what was coming. It was just up ahead. His daddy's house. Daryl knew it would be more than dormant. Decaying into ruin. The land hadn't been worked in years. Some of the fields lay barren while unkempt thickets of weeks choked the others, leeching whatever nourishment the soil might have once had to offer.

Daryl didn't know his Daddy when he'd lived here. They'd locked him up before Daryl was old enough to remember. He'd meet him later. After they'd lost the house. He'd start to learn about why Merle stalked the house way he did wound tight with silent tension.

Daryl balked as they approached the house, but Sophia trotted confidently up the crooked, sagging porch and disappeared into the ugly weather beaten door. It took Daryl a few minutes to overcome the expectancy that when he took that solid slab of wood full in the face it would smash his nose in. Of course, it didn't. When he launched himself into it he floated through effortlessly, to find himself in the entryway leading up to the living room of his childhood home. Sophia was a girl again, half his size so he reasoned he must be himself again too.

A brittle, neglected pine tree leaned in the corner. It was done up cheaply with strings of popcorn, paper cutout ornaments, and red bows his mother had tied by hand from spools of ribbon she'd picked out of a discount bin at the department store in town.

She was passed out, dead asleep in the living room couch. An open shoebox rested on the coffee table in front of her, spilling over with mementoes and hand scrawled letters. Her hand was clamped around an empty bottle of wine which she'd drawn up to her chest in her sleep. It rose and sank precariously with each shallow breath. Daryl had been the first to creep down when the first slivers of dawn had crept through his bedroom window. Under the tree where Daryl had counted two presents before he went to bed, there were now four. Two presents for each boy, one from 'Mama and Daddy', the other from Santa.

When Merle came down, he'd ignored Daryl sitting obediently across the coffee table from their mama, waiting for her to wake up. Wordlessly, and without hesitation he'd snatched his two packages from under the tree and tore away the brightly colored paper to reveal a blue flannel shirt and a collection Zane Grey books.

"Would ya look at that. Just what I never wanted." He muttered scornfully, dumping his gifts, paper and all into a nearby chair.

"Merry Christmas, Dumbass." He called after him as he passed on his way to the front door.

Daryl watched him leave, then turned to look at his Mama again. She hadn't stirred. He wandered over to the Christmas tree and picked up the two remaining packages. He had already evaluated the one from Mama and Daddy enough to know it was clothing. Boring. The newest arrival had promise. He padded back to the coffee table and knelt next to his mother.

"Mom." He called to her, gently. Then pushed at her tentatively when she didn't answer, "Mama? Are you gonna get up for Christmas?"

"Soon baby." Her voice was slurred with sleep, "I'll be up soon. Let Mama rest just a little while."

Daryl looked from her, to the door Merle had just disappeared through, then back to her. He let out a sigh of resignation, and guiltily began peeling back the taped edges of the mysterious gift from Santa. He pushed back the edges to reveal a plastic action figure. You could tell he was a cheap one, because he didn't have a name. 'Crossbow Man', the box announced in bold red print. He was good, though. A tough looking guy with a black goatee and an eagle on the back of his black motorcycle jacket.

Daryl stared at him intently for a good long while, taking in all of the details to be considered when he worked up a backstory for the stranger they called Crossbow Man.

He laid the other box earnestly on the table in front of his mother. They could still open that one together. Then he went over to the chair and picked up the three pack of vibrantly colored hardback books Merle had dropped there and packed the whole awkward armload upstairs to his bedroom.

"No wonder you're so comfortable flying solo. You got an early start." Sophia's voice broke into his thoughts.

Adult Daryl was at a loss for anything to say. He was already somewhere else, having drifted from the dull, familiar sadness for the boy he barely remembered being. Instead he was thinking on Carl Grimes, waiting steadfast for him to wake beside the fire. Remembering the way his face had fallen for just a moment before it had hardened. He should have said something.

"Let's keep moving." Sophia offered, and Daryl was relieved to leave this place in the dust again. Despite it having been Christmas morning inside the Dixon household it was still pitch black outside. Just like before, passing through the door made them wolves, and the two of them ran briskly clear of the fields. Ran until they'd left all of civilization behind and the forest unfolded all around them. Gnarled black branches of the trees drew in menacingly around them like talons.

"Where are we going?" Daryl finally asked.

"We're almost there."

"Almost where? There ain't nothin' out here. This is the middle of nowhere." Daryl complained.

Sophia didn't answer. She just shifted them back to their human forms and pointed at the base of a nearby tree. A young Daryl sat with his back against it, clutching his knees. He'd been crying, and that detail took Daryl by surprise. He hadn't remembered it like that. Convinced himself somehow that he'd been as unaffected by being lost on his own in the woods as he'd wanted to be that the time.

But there there it was. Spelled out plain as day in the long, pink stripes where tears had cut through the heavy layer of dirt. Terror-stricken eyes looked through him, out in to the woods for somebody corporeal – anybody – to come and find him.

"What are you doing out here, Daryl?" Sophia asked carefully, "It's Christmas Eve."

"I'm lost." Daryl explained quietly.

"I know." Sophia whispered empathetically. He felt her hand seek out his and grip it tightly.

"You told this story to Andrea, but you never mentioned it was the holiday break."

"Wasn't the point."

"What was the point?" She asked.

Daryl sighed, feeling almost as exhausted as his younger self looked.

"The point was… things can turn out okay."

"You don't live like someone that believes that." She mused, trotting off ahead of him, apparently already bound for their next destination.

And just like that, Daryl didn't want to go with her. Couldn't remember why'd he'd agreed to come in the first place. His paws didn't feel light like they had before. He knew his life contained an endless supply of disappointing Christmases. He'd lived all of them once already, and didn't think much of going through it all over again. He veered sharply and split off on his own.

The cold wind was rustling through his coat, and he felt freer than ever, racing at speeds no human being had ever imagined until right now. He ran without care or destination, like you could before the undead started closing in. And he didn't slow down until he saw a flicker of bright orange on the horizon, growing closer.

His ears flicked, picking up the sounds of music and laughter in that direction. When he cautiously trotted towards it he came upon an unruly crowd of revelers, celebrating around a spectacular bonfire. It raged at least fifteen feet into the night sky, consuming everything from scrap wood to abandoned furniture and tires.

Metal covers of Christmas music blared from an elaborate sound system, more impressive and possibly more expensive than the back of the truck that hauled it. The longer he watched the drinking, and joking the more familiar faces he picked out of the crowd. Then he saw Merle, emphatically gesturing towards his mistletoe belt buckle, and he knew what was coming.

"Thought I'd lost you." He doubted it was true. He knew if he turned around he'd see Sophia, so he didn't. He ignored her and resigned himself to watch the events unfold.

There was a rippling in the crowd. The tone of the background noise was transforming. Underneath the sounds of music and laughter an edge of hostility was rising. He scanned the crowd until he saw his own back, straight and tense at the eye of the storm. He and another man were right up in each other's faces, shouting. The people around them were beginning to take interest, cheering them on. The other man was drawing energy from the cacophony, but not Daryl. Didn't need them. Didn't need anyone. His confidence never wavered.

"Why is he angry?" Sophia asked conversationally.

"He just lost a bet, and now he doesn't want to pay up."

"What was the bet?"

"He started runnin' his mouth about how his Vangard rifle is the most accurate weapon there is, so we had ourselves a little shooting competition. Winner takes the loser's piece."

The other man made to hand over the rifle. When Daryl reached out his hand to accept it, the other man quickly jerked it back and cracked Daryl in the face with the butt of the gun. The air crackled and expanded with gasps and whooping. Not approval or disapproval, exactly. Just an unaffiliated thirst for stimulation from the onlookers.

Daryl lunged forward and latched onto the gun's stock in one hand and the barrel with the other and yanked insistently.

"No, no, STOP!" a voice broke out from the crowd as a small brunette girl broke free of the crowd and pushed between the two men, unafraid as their struggle pitched her back and forth pell mell between them.

"Stop it!" she repeated, breathlessly, looking back and forth between the two of them sternly. The two men reluctantly stopped struggling, but neither released their hold on the gun. Daryl's hateful glare bored into the other man, who scoffed outwardly, but couldn't maintain eye contact. He started looking over the crowd for his supporters.

"The two of you are fixin' to get somebody killed. Is that the kind of news either of you wants to give your Mama on Christmas morning? Now put the gun down and stop acting like a couple of damn fools."

Daryl reluctantly let go of the gun and sneered, "Keep your shitty gun, faggot."

The other man smirked unrepentantly and sauntered away, clearly pleased with this outcome.

Daryl's temple flared again at the sight of it, and he moved to head him off, but the small brunette placed a light hand on his chest and it was mow her over or give up.

"Easy." She said softly, "Let it go… let me patch you up."

He followed her haltingly. Allowed her to lead through the dispersing crowd to the haphazard cluster of cars in the pasture where everyone had parked. She stopped alongside a sorry looking old beater, and he watched her disappear into the open door and pull out a pair of the blue cotton drawstring pants people wear in hospitals. She picked a handful of things from the pockets, then dropped the pants back inside the car.

"I'm interning at the hospital." She explained, suddenly self-conscious as she tore open one of the little foil packets and slid a small square of damp cotton from it.

"I- can I…?" She stammered awkwardly, gesturing towards him ineffectually. Daryl just looked at her, blankly, unsure just what she was asking.

"Here." She said, apparently having given up on communication. She stepped in and anchored his face by the jaw lightly with her left hand while she dabbed at the cut above his eyebrow with her right. First it was cold. Then it stung, terribly. Daryl flinched, breathing in a sharp hiss of surprise.

"Yeah, sorry…hurts." She murmured in a tone that while not unsympathetic, also sounded slightly matter-of-fact.

He watched her with interest as she used the edge of the quickly drying cotton to spread opaque jelly she'd squeezed from another of her little foil packet over the cut, then smoothed a band aid over the whole production.

"Good news is it doesn't look like you need stitches." She tried, looking into his eyes for the first time through a dark fringe of lashes, then quickly back down to her hands. She wadded up the leftover packaging and tossed it into a little trash bag hanging from her gear shift.

She looked bemused that Daryl still hadn't spoken.

"I'm sorry about your gun." She offered, sincerely.

"Don't matter."

"The crossbow's cooler anyway." She ventured, biting her lip.

Daryl scoffed gently, but his eyes warmed over. The tight line of his mouth gave over to a tiny smirk.

"I'm kind of a bow girl." She continued. She bent into the car one last time and he heard the latch to the trunk pop. She swung the door closed gestured for him to follow her as she moved around to the back of the car just as she was carefully pulling a compound bow from a hard plastic case.

"You shoot that?" he asked, skeptically.

She arched an eyebrow at him, "Try me."

"Daryl!" Merle's voice echoed through the trees. Daryl looked up from where he and his brunette companion had huddled together on a fallen log in a clearing. The two had walked the woods together, laughing and shooting at bright spots in the night until their arms were jelly and they'd lost half their arrows. And unlike the asshole from earlier, she actually could shoot worth a damn. It was colder here, away from the fire, but neither of them had suggested going back to the party. Now it sounded like the party was coming to them.

"I'm here!" Daryl called back.

She smiled up at him, unsure as the sound of boots stomping through wood grew louder.

"I ain't interrupting anything, am I?" Merle intoned as he emerged from the undergrowth. Another pair of men were along, behind him. Daryl had seen them before, but didn't know or care about them.

"Nah." Daryl was quick answer. He pulled away brusquely and rose to his feet.

"What's goin' on?"

"I brought somethin' for ya." Merle was strutting as he entered the clearing, arms conspicuously tucked behind his back.

He paused a beat in front of Daryl, letting the anticipation build before he revealed what he'd been hiding behind his back. He had the rifle Daryl had been fighting about earlier. There was blood on his knuckles.

"Surprise! Merry Christmas, Kid! From me to you."

Daryl's face relaxed into a smile of relief. He clasped his brother's free hand and clapped him on the back in a half-hug.

"Hell, yeah."

Their moment was interrupted by a high-strung female voice from behind him.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded, looking from Merle to Daryl and back again.

"Awww… don't you worry, little Darlin'. You worry too much!" Merle feigned diplomacy.

"It ain't like he's gonna be needing it. That boy's gonna have his hands all full up with re-learnin' his ABC's… workin' his way up to solid foods again."

Merle's smile was smug. Full of self-satisfaction of his entourage sniggered appreciatively behind him. Daryl chuckled along with them. Coming out here with her had distracted him from it, but he remembered the man's disrespect now, and how it had made him feel small and pathetic. He was glad he'd been vindicated.

"It's yours now, Daryl. Go ahead, give her a try."

"Don't you even want to know what they did to him? He's probably out there lying in a ditch somewhere, Daryl. You can't be okay with this! You just sat here for like an hour telling me how guns were for people with no imagination…"

"Nah, you don't feel bad about a damn thing, Daryl. What happened, he done that to hisself. Shoulda thought twice before he broke words with a Dixon. We take care of our own." Merle drawled, looking at his brother expectantly.

Daryl nodded resolutely, and they both understood that when he accepted the gun, he accepted all of it.

He took a step out and pointed the gun away from everyone, ready to calibrate the sights when he felt her move up behind him, grasping at him by the sleeve of his leather jacket.

"What are you doing? We need to get that guy some help." She hissed insistently.

"You need to get the fuck off of me." Daryl ground out icily. Never looking back as he felt her draw her hand back suddenly, as if she'd been bit. He just kept his target, fixated fully on a faintly fluttering leaf. One of the few clinging stubbornly to a dying oak.

"You're just like them, aren't you? Stupid redneck son of a bitch." She finished tremulously. She gathered up her bow and left, hurrying back to her truck while the men behind her hooted and laughed behind her.

"Aw, come on now! You ain't gotta go off like that." Merle called behind her, "Just give the men a minute to talk, Sugar Tits! Then you can get on the D…"

Wolf Daryl turned his head in disgust. She'd been so kind to him. He glanced wistfully at the tree line, and before he knew it he was trotting towards it.

"Where are you going?" Sophia demanded, close behind him.

"Away!" Daryl bit back.

"You can't just keep running away from everything that makes you feel!"

"Why not?" Daryl demanded, "What can I do about it now?"

"Live differently!" Sophia demanded, exasperated, "Learn from your mistakes. Stop being that guy that shuts people out because he's afraid!"

Daryl didn't answer, and he didn't stop.

"Daryl!" Sophia called again, and then she launched herself into him, sending them both sprawling into the dirt.

"No! Get off of me!"