Daryl burst free from the tangled mass of fur and gulped for fresh air. He was grateful just to stay and breathe for several moments before he stopped to look around his surroundings, leading to the slow realization that he'd only ever been thrashing around with the tangle of sleeping bags and wool blankets he'd made up his bed from. He heaved them off to his side and wiped a palm down his clammy face, waiting for the ragged gasps of his breathing to slow.

Could that have been a dream? Everything had been so vivid, and precise. An exact telling of actual events from his own life. Was it even possible to have a dream like that? He didn't know. He shook his head and turned his eyes up to the ceiling. Maybe it was time to start allowing for the possibility that he may actually be losing his mind. He wouldn't be the first, and if that was really what was happening here, then... His disjoined train of thought was interrupted by the strong and rhythmic chiming of…bells?

Yes, that was the very distinct jingling of bells coming from not just outside, but above the guard tower. He flinched at the sound of scraping boots on the roof top and something that sounded like… hoof beats? Then a loud thump and the sound of footsteps.

He wiped at the cold sweat beading on his brow. This was ridiculous. There were still very real threats out there. Walkers, the Governor… threats they probably hadn't even met yet. He steeled himself, took up his crossbow, and leveled it with slow deliberation at his door.

"Merry Christmas!" a voice boomed directly behind him.

Daryl spun around wildly and loosed an arrow at the first thing he saw.

The first thing he saw was Dale.

Dale's iconic eyebrows furrowed in consternation as the arrow passed through him and bounced harmlessly off the security glass on the other side of the guard tower.

"I take it you're not impressed?" Dale asked. Aside from his perpetually-frazzled expression he looked just like every shopping mall Santa Claus Daryl had ever seen in his great red suit trimmed in white fur.

Daryl didn't answer, he just stared incredulous.

"I think it's great!" Dale announced.

"…mhmm" Daryl finally ground out, not so much a commentary on the ghost's appearance, or its garb, as on his own outlook on life in general at this particular moment.

Dale brushed aside Daryl's complaints airily with a wave of his hand.

"Son, I think it's time you and I went for a little walk."

"Figured if anyone around here had their fill of moonlight strolls it'd be you." Daryl deadpanned.

"You know, Daryl. You can't just let one bad experience make you gunshy for the rest of your life."

Daryl's eyes narrowed in disbelief, "You died."

"Everyone dies." Dale replied dismissively, "I lived."

"…what?"

"Come on, I'll show you." Dale replied. He plucked the red hat off the top of his head and held it out to Daryl emphatically.

Daryl sighed and snatched the flamboyant scrap of velour from Dale.

"Well…put it on." Dale goaded.

"I'm gettin' it, hold your damn horses." Daryl snapped as he struggled to find the opening and resignedly pulled it on.

"Well, surviving hasn't done a thing for your disposition, has it?"

Daryl barely registered the jab, too overwhelmed with processing the fact that the moment the festive hat had touched his head the room began to glow brighter and brighter until everything around him was a harsh white void. He squinted, closed his eyes against the brightness, raised his forearm to try and block it. Nothing seemed to help until he pressed the heels of his hands so hard against his eyelids that he saw stars.

"It's over, you can look now." Dale advised him, nudging him with a light elbow.

Daryl blinked, waiting for his eyes to re-focus. They weren't in the guard tower anymore. They'd been transported into the small prison library, which even he had to admit was looking festive with homemade candles flickering their warm yellow light over red and green paper cut outs of poinsettias and holly leaves.

"Nice. We're 20 yards away from where we were and now I'm blind. How 'bout next time we take the stairs?"

The room was abuzz, filled to capacity with small families, couples, and friends. The air crackled with excitement – Daryl couldn't help but wonder for what. These people did all realize Santa wouldn't be coming this year, or ever, right?

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof

As I drew in my head, and was turning around

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound

Daryl turned towards the sound of Hershel's voice and found him seated comfortably at the head of the room in a sturdy upholstered chair with the book propped up in his lap. Behind him, propped up against the wall Maggie sat cuddled up against Glen in a nest of blankets and pillows. Her head was nestled into the crook of his arm, their arms entwined. She was maybe half-listening to the story. Eventually her gaze would wander up Glen's arm to his face, where she was continually delighted to find him looking back at her. They'd exchange bashful smiles. Then Maggie would tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and look over to her father again, and Glen would drop his head back against the wall and stare off into the distance – exhausted, but happy - until he felt Maggie's gaze come creeping back up his arm and they'd repeat the sentimental ritual.

Daryl glanced from the lovebirds over the Dale, who was quite possibly just as in love with Hershel's tired old Christmas story, and snorted derisively.

"What?" Dale asked, defensively.

"Good old Saint Nick, right? If he brings ya something, you're good. If he doesn't, ya ain't. Hell of a thing to tell kids growing up with nothing."

"Santa Claus isn't a perfect metaphor," Dale allowed, "but at its core, the legend of Saint Nicholas is about a man who inherited a fortune, and decided to give away every bit of it to help his fellow man. He knew things won't ever make you happy, only people can. That's why what we celebrate. People, not things."

Dary's grunt was non-committal.

"You know, why don't you just hang around a while, Daryl. Get a feel for the room. Get comfortable. This is your home."

Daryl wondered if he was intentionally parroting Carol's words back at him to get his goat, or if it was just coincidence. There was no way to ask without giving himself up, so he crossed his arms and started a winding path through the waist high shelves.

There were some make-do craft tables set up for the children, and a handful of them were hard at work on mostly Christmas themed art. Bulgy, misshapen Santa Clauses, and reindeer, lopsided Christmas trees, and…

Daryl's eyes narrowed, then widened with surprise.

"Hey, that's me!" he called across the rows to Dale, "This one drew me!"

Dale strolled casually to Daryl's side. He peered at the page that Daryl was admiring, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

"You sure?" He asked.

"What are ya, blind?" Daryl snapped.

"That's my hog." He explained, pointing to the black construct to the right of the man in the picture, recognizable if boxy, right down to the SS insignia on the gas tank.

"And that's the pile of walkers I done in."

There was a veritable mountain of walkers next to Daryl, dwarfing the man. Each head protruding from the pile had a comically oversized arrow, more to scale with a javelin, jutting out of it.

"Oh yeah… I see it now." Dale said, evasively, looking Daryl up and down.

"Looks like you've built up quite a reputation for yourself here." Dale observed.

"Just doin' what anyone would." He said, distractedly. He'd found Carl, relegated to the kids tables. He'd backed all the way up against a wall, and slumped over his hunting knife and whetstone. He glared around the room with open contempt. Then spat on the stone and dragged the knife along it listlessly.

"Where's Rick?" Daryl asked.

Dale shrugged.

"Let's go find out." He gestured for Daryl to lead the way out of library.

Carol and Rick looked small, standing there alone in the shadowed expanse of the prison's kitchen. The space was packed tight with sleek, stainless steel appliances that were useless without electricity or gas to power them; but after they'd cleaned out the spoiled food and scrubbed down the surfaces the massive commercial grade sinks, generous work surfaces, and storage space alone had made it key to more than tripling the prison's population in a day.

The sinks were full of dishes, but the work was progressing fast with the two of them working in tandem. Carol worked briskly, fishing dishes out of the murky water below the bubbles and scrubbing them clean - all the while chatting away enthusiastically. Rick's was a much more languid pace, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he rinsed the lather off the plates and toweled them dry. The personal storm he'd weathered was all spelled out in smallest details. There was an added frailty to his already long, lean frame. His skin had taken on a sallow cast under has ragged beard, and bruise colored hollows had formed beneath his eyes. Tonight though, the grim mask of Rick's face was relaxed while he listened to Carol's story. His old easy smile had found its way back. All the way up to his eyes.

"...they know whoever gets to hold the baby Jesus is the star of the whole production, so a fight breaks out. Of course the teacher is frantic by now, and she decides the main thing is just to just to keep the thing moving. Just keep pushin' 'em out there! So out come the three wise men, and the one on front is so frightened by all of the fighting, he freezes and just pees everywhere! The audience is starting to snicker because everyone can see this big dark stain spreading across the front of his little linen robe, and the next wise man is looking out into the crowd trying to figure out what everyone is laughing at, so he crashes crashes right into the first one, and both of them slip in the puddle and go crashing right into Mary, Joseph, the manger… everything! Baby Jesus is airborne…"

Rick shook his head at the absurdity, laughter bubbling up. Daryl couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the man laugh.

"When he hit the ground, his head snapped off. And everyone watched speechless as the decapitated baby Jesus's head slowly rolled over the stage and down all four of the steps."

Rick shook his head, glancing over at her with admiration, "Sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than any of my Christmas pageants." He admitted.

"Mhmm." Carol agreed, airily plucking a discarded bite of pumpkin pie off a plate and with her fingers and pushing it into her mouth. She flashed Rick that playful little smirk Daryl had previously thought was reserved for him. His stomach flip flopped a little with a feeling he was too stubborn to name jealousy.

"It's perfectly good pie." She justified facetiously around the mouthful, sweeping the last of the plates into the murky water and resting her back against the edge of the sink to give them a moment to soak.

"Nobody's judgin' here." Rick assured her in that genteel drawl that no one could even pretend to feel victimized by.

"The real magic of Christmas happens in the kitchen-" She began.

Rick's face scrunched up in clear disparity, and she trailed off looking at him with surprise, "Really? You don't think so?"

"Well… I know I've eaten some holiday creations that were less than inspired." Rick ventured.

Carol arched an eyebrow at him.

"Well…" he started, reluctantly, "I guess it was three years ago now? Lori was at home sick just before the holidays, and she told me she'd caught the last half of some cooking show where they were making a blue velvet cake? She didn't catch the whole segment, but she thought she'd gotten the gist of it…"

"Oh no…" Carol foreshadowed.

"Yeah…" Rick confirmed, "But god help me, I loved her. I loved her, and she had my ass out there fighting the crowds on Christmas Even at not one, not two, but three stores to get enough blue food coloring for that damn cake."

Carol was already covering her mouth with her hand surreptitiously.

"And that cake went down in history as the worst thing she ever baked. My dad wouldn't stop calling it The Smurf Brick. And I felt so bad, I ended up eating three quarters of the damn thing myself to make her feel better because nobody with a sense of self-preservation would go anywhere near it."

Rick paused and looked hesitant for a moment and leaned in closer before divulging, "I don't know if you've ever eaten three bottles of blue food coloring… I don't want to get too graphic, but I can tell you, it stays with you."

He looked at her intently to really drive home his meaning, and all of Carol's attempts to maintain her composure unraveled. She fell to pieces, doubled over her side of the sink, helpless with laughter. And it was contagious. Rick's face split into a contented grin as he watched her struggle to compose herself.

"Rick, that's horrible. Poor Lori!" She gasped between giggles.

"Poor me!" Rick corrected, playing wounded. Carol took a deep calming breath and lighted a hand on his shoulder in mock sympathy.

"And after all that-" Rick began

"You got sick." Carol finished for him.

"Yes I-" Rick's face scrunched up, bemused, "how did you know? Yes, I got sick."

"It's the only reward I can think of that's cruel enough for such a selfless act."

He huffed gently, and the two of them eased back into companionable silence.

"This is amazing." She reflected, "Can you believe what we've done here? That we've come this far?"

"Today was a good day. This is what it's all been for." Rick agreed, flipping his dish towel over his shoulder and folding his arms contentedly to rest with her a moment.

"We never could have made it this far without you."

Rick shook his head, still reluctant to take due credit for coaxing them through a long season of nomadic traveling to find their way to this place where they could lay down roots and cobble together something like a life.

"This is what we can do when we come together. All of us."

She looked pensive for a moment, "Do you think we can get Carl out of his head long enough to-" she broke off her question and looked up as Judith's wailing echoed towards them from down the hall. The two of them turned in to the sound and Carol flashed Rick a sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry." Beth apologized, looking overwhelmed as she let herself into the kitchen.

"I just can't get her to calm down, I've tried everything I know. She won't sleep and she still can't keep anything down. I can't think what else to do..."

"It's okay, Beth. I can take her." Rick assured her as he carefully accepted the baby and folded her in to his chest. Carol watched on silently, brows knit with concern as Judith continued to wail pitifully, even in Rick's arms.

"I can get my dad…" Beth offered.

Rick shook his head, "He saw her a few hours ago. Already done everything he could. I appreciate all of your help."

She nodded uncertainly, bouncing worried glances from Carol to Rick and back again before leaving the kitchen. Carol rested a reassuring hand on Rick's arm.

"We can push a bottle of electrolyte solution, try to keep her hydrated. I'll get it ready."

Rick nodded silently, clutching the little girl close as he lightly bounced her.

"What's going on?" Daryl asked Dale.

"She's getting sick." Dale replied somberly.

"Well, why ain't they said anything?" Daryl pressed.

"They're only just finding out." Dale mused, looking sadly over the two quietly fussing over the little girl, trying to get her to drink. The evening's levity wrung out of Rick's face again, and he stared beyond Judith into the wall looking eternally exhausted.

"This is how it starts."

"How what starts?" Daryl demanded. Dale didn't answer.

Daryl looked at Judith, screaming inconsolably, then back to Dale, "Well she's gonna be alright..?"

In his head he'd been confident in his statement, but now just found himself looking desperately to Dale for confirmation.

Dale still wasn't answering. His face was drawn, sick with whatever knowledge he was withholding. Daryl glowered at him impatiently, until Dale lowered his head.

"She's so little, isn't she? It's hard to lose a child that young. It's senseless. We're not equipped to deal with that. Babies are a blessing. They represent life, and hope, a future. Those are the things that keep us going, and we need that- that beacon. When that's extinguished, it gets harder and harder to see just what there is to keep going for."

"Asskicker isn't gonna die." Daryl barked over him.

"Well, it isn't even as benign as just that, is it? Death… isn't the end anymore. And what Rick will have to do then…"

"Don't." Daryl growled.

"He'll do it. That's just the kind of man he is, but I don't think he'll ever be okay. Not ever. Not after that."

"That's why you're gonna tell me what she needs. Food, medicine. I'll find it. I'll do what it takes. Try me!"

You'll try." Dale agreed solemnly.

Daryl sighed with frustration, "Shut up! Tell me what to get!"

No response.

Daryl lunged for Dale's lapels, nearly pitching forward from the momentum when he found no purchase there, "I'm talkin' to you!"

"I didn't peg you for a desperate son of a bitch."

Daryl gaped at Dale in disbelief.

"Why would you show me this, and not give me the chance to change it? She's just a baby!"

"A baby's just another mouth to feed. You're better off fending for yourself."

"Oh yeah? What about 'Let's just do what's right' you self-righteous bastard, huh? Tell you somethin', you got no business goin' around wearing that face, 'cause that man? You ain't a thing like him."

Dale studied Daryl solemnly, then reached up and reluctantly pulled the skewed hat off Daryl's head. Daryl was ready this time. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow as the brightness swallowed them up.

They stood a long time in silence. It was contemptuous from Daryl's side. From Dale's side, respectful. He cleared his throat softly before he finally dared to break it.

"You remember this place?"

"That night. This is where we found you."

"That's right, it is. You found something else here, too. You found yourself."

Daryl looked at Dale, guarded.

"Before this moment, you were done. You wanted to walk away rather than risk one more thing for these people. But then this happened, and everybody had to face it. They were all clamoring for Rick to do something, but not you. Not you, Daryl Dixon. You were the only one that could see Rick caving in under the weight of it. You saw true nobility. For the first time in your life, there was a good man you could look to. The kind of man willing to suffer and sacrifice to save us. And you chose to step up and share his burden, because you knew deep down, you're like that too.

Daryl didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just chewed his lip and stared at the ground. Was still starting at it, when the ground beneath them because to shake violently.

"Look out!" Daryl stumbled backwards as four arms jutted out of the ground, dragging two bodies behind them.

Dale rode out the tremors serenely as the docile corpses swayed listlessly on either side of him.

"They're with you?" Daryl asked, staring at the two

"They're with everyone." Dale replied cryptically.

Daryl squinted at the dirt caked figures beside Dale. Walkers never looked like anybody until they did. Once you let that happen it was easy to get turned around completely, looking for traces of people you'd known in savage monsters. This had never been a difficult concept for Daryl. His life had left him uniquely prepared for letting things go before he was ready. To the point where it had simply become easier to stop holding things close. He might not have even noticed, but for the little brass chain around her neck, with the wire swallow's nest charm dangling from it.

It was startling to have a detail of your childhood you'd given up for lost re-emerge so innocuously around the throat of a dead woman in a fever dream. Like maybe you'd been wrong about everything else as well too, and you were being paraded around some big cosmic joke.

And when he moved nose to nose with the man and studied the bones in his sinking face he was certain that if he lifted the tattered shirt he'd find a tattoo of a voluptuous black haired pin-up model with red rose between her teeth and a gun in her hand. Though maybe that joke was on him too. It didn't look like his old man's skin had held up to well.

"This is Apathy" Dale gestured to the twisted form of his dead father, "And Regret" he finished, trailing his arm to Daryl's mother's corpse.

Daryl flinched as he felt Dale's hands wrap around one of his and press the familiar hilt of a knife into it beseechingly.

"And that man, you aren't a thing like him, Daryl. You never will be, and you're not on trial for his sins. It's time to finish this."

Daryl clutched the knife and drove it harder than he'd intended between the eyes of his long dead father. Rather than dropping like a regular walker, the form began to disintegrate. He had turned the blade on his mother, but lowered it when he realized with horror that she had already begun to change. As his father's bones slivered and fragmented to be swept off on the breeze, she was rejuvenated. Her skin was transformed from stiff leather to glowing pink, and her eyes shone the same blue as his.

"My good boy..." She exhaled, and crumpled to the ground spent. And it was so much worse seeing her restored. So much more painful remembering the love he'd had for her and knowing she'd loved him to back as long as she'd lived, in spite of all of her shortcomings. His hand went slack, and the knife slipped into grass, forgotten. His face crumpled. He began to whimper unconsciously.

Dale stepped forward then, eyes wet with tears as well as he gathered Daryl up into his arms.

"What if I can't do it?" He hissed into Dale's shoulder, wretched with fear.

"What if I'm not good enough?"

"Shhh…" Dale consoled Daryl calmly while he wept. Held him steady, unperturbed while the seconds pooled into minutes. Maybe hours. His hand smoothed a calming track over the tattered wings on his Daryl's back, and Daryl noticed when it began dwindle, bit by bit, until it coalesced with an unseasonably warm rush of wind and disappeared altogether.

He knew Dale was gone then, but he still felt okay.

Stronger than before, and peaceful.

Ready to face the last of the revelations this night had in store for him.

Somewhere to the north, there came a scraping sound, followed by a light clang.