This chapter felt like a bit of fun nonsense to write but eventually, I felt like I was able to weave it into something that feels satisfying to read.

I don't own these characters are TWD.

This chapter was inspired by three different songs.

"Snow Angel" by Sugar and the High Lows: I felt like this song (also the title of the chapter) the vibes of Daryl's dreams about Carol. A soft and sweet bop that feels very dreamy.

"The First Cut is the Deepest" by Yusuf/Cat Stevens

And...

"Hard Headed Woman" by Yusuf/Cat Stevens

The Spotify playlist has been updated to reflect the addition of these songs along with a few others that may or may not be in my rotation as I work on this story.

Snow Angel

Carol stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes as a record- The Very Best of Cat Stevens- played softly from the living room. On a whim, she'd decided to fill the dead silence of the house (minus Daryl's coughing and wheezing) with a little bit of music. A welcome distraction. And so, she found herself washing dishes and running a cloth over each dish to the rhythm of each song as the needle moved along. She swayed gently back and forth as First Cut is the Deepest began to play, eventually humming and singing along with the verse.

I still want you by my side

Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried

'Cus I'm sure gonna give you a try

She frowned at the lyrics as if hearing them for the first time but continued singing them as the meaning deepened for her.

And if you want I'll try to love again

But baby I'll try to love again but I know

The first cut-

A violent bout of coughing startled her out of her reverie with the song. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, she was instantly relieved to see that he remained undisturbed. She paused, waiting for him to stir or open his eyes. When he didn't, she sighed and wiped at an itch on her forehead with the back of her wet hand. He had been in and out of consciousness for the last three days, and it worried her to no end. The only thing giving her some semblance of hope was the reduction in his fever.

She thought back to those hours after she had arrived home three days ago. Daryl had been angry and belligerent. Even going so far as to demand a shower, which, had he been able to bathe himself, she'd have allowed it. But he could barely stand on his own. So after some extreme language shared between them as she tried to carry him to the bathroom, she'd settled him back on the couch and wiped him down with some warm water and a cloth. She couldn't tell if it was an intense blush she saw creeping onto his cheeks or a flushed face from the fever. Still, they didn't discuss the intimate gesture after she'd gone so far as to help him remove his underwear. "I'm sorry," she'd said as he writhed in agony under the touch of the west rag in her hands. "I know you don't like anyone seeing them," she'd said sadly as she skimmed his back with the warm water and suds.

He'd merely groaned, eyes half closed, "Just you- Seen it all 'fore," he'd said with chattering teeth. He was correct. There was never privacy on the road, but after Hershel's farm, she was hyper-aware of his desire to bathe quick and alone. Never asking anyone to keep watch for him. She had always ensured he got his wish, making excuses to the rest of their family when opportunities to clean up came and went.

Once bathed and newly dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, she'd given him a dose of the new cough syrup and settled him back into the couch. As she covered him with a blanket, he'd given her a dopey smile and promptly fell asleep. The look on his face assured her that his anger over her absence was already forgiven and most likely forgotten.

She turned back to the dishes and began the task of drying, still humming the song. Her lips quirked, thinking of their future. To come so close to losing him in this way had only increased her desire to tell him that she loved him. Easier said than done when he was so emotionally withdrawn most of the time. The day he'd started to feel ill, she had seen something there, in his eyes as the movie had played. A silent promise? Whatever it was, he hadn't told her. They'd flirted, they glanced, and he'd held her hand affectionately. But still, no declaration. She was sure she'd given her own if he hadn't fallen ill that night. She was ready. Until then, the only way she felt she could prove her care for him was to make sure he lived to hear her confess her feelings. She would make him comfortable and take the necessary risks to keep him alive. So, while he'd been in and out, she'd gone against his wishes, cleared out the rest of the dead, and made one more trip to their first cottage to collect the rest of her supplies.

The song ended, and she grimaced as Lady D'Arbanville began to play. She shook her head no as Cat began to sing morosely about a dead woman he'd never forget. Carol threw down her towel and crossed into the living room, lifting the needle. 'Definitely not a no-skips album,' she thought. Glancing over the back of the record cover, she slid the needle two songs over to play Wild World. Daryl huffed behind her, and she turned her head to look at him. He wasn't awake, but he had repositioned his body to face the back of the couch, causing the blanket to slide, now lying in a heap on the floor.

She hummed and crossed the room to check his temperature, first leaning over to grab the throw and place it back over his shivering body. Her hand trailed up his back and neck and grazed along his cheek soothingly before she rested the back of it against his forehead. She'd have to double-check with the thermometer, but he seemed to be cooling.

They'd gotten lucky with the weather in the last three days. When the snow stopped, a warm front seemed to move in. The accumulated snow and ice had begun to melt, providing her with the perfect weather to finish some much-needed chores around the acreage. She peered into the kitchen, reading the clock off the radio on the counter. It was 2 p.m. She still had a few hours to finish her work on the perimeter alarm system before she needed to give him another dose of cough syrup.

Time seemed to pass Daryl by, feverish hours since she returned, and he found himself drifting in and out of some of the wildest dreams he'd ever experienced in his life. Carol starred in many of them and sometimes he had trouble discerning what was reality and what was his imagination. A few reminded him of the "glimmers" Carol described. They were so pleasant you didn't want them to end. They usually happened right as he was on the cusp of falling into a deep sleep or being startled awake by his cough. Each memory of each dream was something precious he stored away in his mind, hoping to revisit them with each trip in and out of consciousness. One dream that rolled around in the back of his mind was the first such dream the morning he thought he might die.

He could see her clear as day, giving him a wry smile as she poked him in the chest, teasing about the 'Kid.' He scrunched up his face. 'What does that mean?' he questioned himself. The warmth that spread through his chest at the memory was uncanny. 'Were they-' he paused, his heart palpating at the thought. He'd never wished for anything of the sort. A partner-family-kids? That was all far off dreaming he didn't have time entertain before. But seeing her now, after even the hint of it in a dream, stirred a wanting within him. He reasoned that even if it were an impossible task, he still only wanted a future with her. No matter how the shape that future took.

"You okay over there?" She asked, flipping absentmindedly through an old celebrity gossip magazine from the recliner beside him.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't going a little stir-crazy. But his body felt feeble like he'd somehow aged thirty years in three days. Carol had been the best nurse, even setting up a bed on the floor next to the couch so he wouldn't have to move or take the stairs until he felt better. "Think so," he spoke, voice terribly hoarse. His chest crackled on an inhale, and he began to cough, mucus and sputum finally expelling from his lungs. She handed him a rag to spit. "Thanks," he rasped out.

"Of course," he watched her flip another page. She looked just like she had in that first cozy dream, a green blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hair aglow in the warm light throughout the house. She was the most beautiful creature he remembered seeing. He noticed a soft smile on her lips as she mused over some picture or article.

"Die hard," he sputtered.

"What?" she looked up at him curiously.

"Never got to watch it the other night," he croaked.

"Oh- well-" she flopped the magazine down, slid to the floor, and began rummaging through the cabinet. Daryl stared, his eyes zeroing in on one very specific thing as she bent over in front of the TV. She stalled, looked over her shoulder, and gave him a flirtatious smirk, "I know what you're doing."

He half-laughed, half-coughed in reply, an ornery smile gracing his lips, "Caught me."

She turned back to the cabinet, searching for the tape. "If I had a nickel for every time I knew you were staring but weren't gonna do anything about it, I'd be a rich woman," she said, a matter of fact.

"Pfft!"

"Right back at you," she sassed him.

"I seen you lookin' too."

"Pfft!" he heard her scoffing. His smile grew as he turned his head toward the ceiling, dozing lightly. He fluttered his eyes open and closed to the sound of her inserting the VHS and turning on the TV. The sound of soft music, a trill male voice, and the strumming of a guitar suddenly flooded his senses.

I'm lookin' for a hard-headed woman

One that will take me, for myself

A familiar old song and voice emanating from somewhere else in the room. Then, a hand- soft against his cheek- turning his head toward something familiar, "Hey." His eyes, heavy and tired, fluttered open, the warm glow entirely gone. His eyes drifted around the room and landed on her, looking down at him with mirth in her eyes. He flinched back in confusion, and her brows knit together with worry. "Just checking on you. Feels like your fever is still hanging in there."

And if I find my hard-headed woman

I won't need nobody else

He blew out a frustrated breath. "How long have I been asleep?" he cleared his throat and licked his lips. His mouth was dry as cotton.

"A few days in and out," she hummed. Here, drink a little if you can. " She held the cool rim of a glass to his lips, her hand cradling the back of Daryl's head, helping him take a sip. The liquid dribbled down the side of his face, and her thumb softly swiped it away as he coughed through another drink.

And if I find my hard-headed woman

I know the rest of my life will be blessed yes, yes, yes

He closed his eyes and sighed at the relief his mouth and throat felt. 'Was this song some kind of sign?' he wondered. He opened his eyes and stared. He could've sworn he was only out for a few hours; Daryl grimaced at the thought that he'd missed days.

She set the glass of water off to the side somewhere near his head and turned to lower the volume on the record as she spoke, "Sorry, your head still hurting? Let me get you something." Her fingers fluttered over his brow in a soothing gesture. He closed his eyes and rolled to his back again with an audible groan. A hacking cough rose from his chest. She remained kneeling in front of him until it subsided. "Always better out than in. Spit it out," she held a rag in her hand as he followed her orders and relinquished the phlegm that had collected in his mouth from coughing.

"Fuckin' gross," he grimaced.

"Lots of sleepless nights, stomach aches, dirty diapers- I can assure you this is nothing," she folded the rag and threw it into a bucket nearby. 'That's new,' he glanced in its direction. "Just in case. Gonna go grab your cough syrup," she said casually while walking from the room, "Sophia used to cough so hard she'd throw up sometimes," he heard the clear beep of the kettle in the kitchen and her footsteps as she returned to him. "Sorry I woke you-needed to make sure you got another dose," she held up the bottle and a spoon. His hands gripped the blanket's edges, and he shook his head no as he pulled it higher. "Something bothering you?"

He scoffed at her, "Feel like shit, s'embarrasin'."

She sat in the small space next to him on the edge of the couch, resting her elbows on her knees, and stared at him silently. She was every bit as stunning as in his dreams. Tired maybe from the worry, but still absolutely beautiful to him in the blue light of the afternoon or whatever time it was, he had no idea anymore.

"Feels like it's been a week," he rasped.

She opened the bottle and poured the liquid onto a spoon, eyeing it carefully to avoid spilling. She placed the cold metal to his lips, and he allowed her to push the spoon through to his tongue. "Close to. The fever is lingering, but it's better now. Probably why you're finally awake."

He swallowed, "Thanks to you," he spoke hoarsely.

"Felt like I should've done more," she gave him an apologetic look.

"Probably did too much. Just can't remember. Not sure if this is even real right now."

That made her chuckle, "Crazy dreams huh?'

"Some," he looked away from her.

"Might be the expired cough syrup." Carol laughed and leaned into him, bracing her elbow and forearm on the back of the couch, "Hope they're at least good ones," she shrugged.

"They're-" he swallowed thickly and then coughed, struggling to sit up. She stood, bracing her hands under his armpits to guide him to a seated position in the corner of the couch. "Thanks," he murmured.

"Of course."

"Well, I ain't dead; you can stop lookin' at me so sad," he grumbled.

"Just waiting to hear about your dreams," her eyes sparkled.

He shrugged, pulling the blanket up farther on his chest. He looked down and noticed the new pants. "Ya got me new sweats?"

She nodded and pushed off from the couch, "Found 'em," she said elusively.

He narrowed his eyes at her, "Ya went back out," he spoke as a statement of fact.

"S'not like I can lie to you." She said, walking to the record playing and lifting the needle to stop the next song. "I like Cat Stevens but his greatest hits sometimes leave a little to be desired," she mumbled, kneeling down to thumb through the vinyl collection. "Really only like a few of his songs," she said, trying to remain aloof.

"Ain't mad atcha." He struggled to clear his throat as she kept her back to him. "Know you had to," he paused. "Thank you." He watched her still as her hands touched a record and slid the vinyl from its sleeve.

"You like Simon & Garfunkel?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder. He shook his head no. "Hmmm," she slid the record back into its sleeve and tapped her chin as she thumbed through more of the collection. "No bridge over troubled water for you then."

"Could try watchin' something while I'm still awake here," he suggested.

She twisted sideways from her knees and came to a seated position on the floor. Her right and left legs folded into crisscross applesauce. "Suppose we could. Although that might not be long since I just gave you another dose—" she frowned. Sorry, I didn't even think."

"S'okay. Dream's ain't too bad," He sat up the rest of the way slowly, swinging his feet over the edge of the couch to touch the floor. "You ever think they mean anything?"

"What?" she looked at him confused.

"The dreams. You have 'em too sometimes," Daryl brought his fist up to cover a small cough.

She scoffed and stood, "Not from dosing on cough syrup."

He rolled his eyes. "Where ya going now?"

She sighed as he watched her walk to the kitchen. "Making some tea," she called to him. There was a beat of silence, and he heard her open a cupboard door before she spoke again, her voice laced with irritation. "Don't worry; I hadn't planned on going out until you passed out again."

"Know I cain't talk shit back cuz I'm hoarse!" he tried to yell, but it only came out full of air.

She peered around the kitchen door and winked. "I've actually gotten a lot of things done," he spied a fire in her eyes before she stepped back to making tea in the kettle. He listened to the telltale beep of the electric vessel and eyed her as she walked back to sit next to him. "It's good to finally have you awake again," she said.

"What'd you do?"

She rolled her eyes at him then and pulled her feet up next to her on the couch. "Hmm... what did I do? Huh... it was so much I can't remember," she said with a coy smile.

He grumbled, "You're just pullin' one over on me."

He watched as her eyes sparkled. She lifted her hands and began to count everything on her fingers, "Well, I went back over to the cottage, transferred all of those supplies back to here with the truck-"

"In the middle of a herd?" he asked, eyes widened with panic.

"Herd cleared off two days ago, and I took care of the rest," she said, listing it off on another of her digits.

His heart sped up, "Just don't like you takin' risks."

She scoffed, "Haven't we already had this conversation?"

"Fine- what else?" he coughed with a sigh and held his hand over his chest.

"Been working on the perimeter for the last two days. Was gonna go back out and finish up the alarm system around the fences once you went back to sleep," Carol admitted. He shivered at the cold in the room, and the thought of her doing all of this while he was incapacitated made him feel pathetic but equally grateful for her determination. She was a survivor and faced with his request to give up, she'd continued and saved his life.

"Here, you're cold." She reached for a blanket folded on the back of the couch and leaned over him to place it around his shoulders. His gaze drifted over her face as her hands covered him with the gentlest of caresses, "There, better?" she asked with a slight smile.

He nodded, giving her a tender look in return, "Ain't answered my earlier question."

"Hmm?" she hummed, standing, putting space between them, and returning to the recliner. She pulled her feet up, condensing her body into the soft chair, her eyes gazing softly upon him.

His body shook and he sat back, clutching the new blanket around him. "You think them dreams mean anything?"

She shrugged, staring off into the distance, somewhere in the room but nowhere in particular, "I used to think dreams were messages, images of what could be if we made different choices. Sometimes, though, it feels like I'm watching through the cracks into another timeline. A timeline where the only thing that's dead and gone is Ed, and Sophia is happy... and you're there."

He stared at her with some degree of intensity then, his throat bobbing up and down nervously at her admission. "I'm there?"

She nodded, "Even when it's a nightmare."

"Must mean something," he smirked, "-havin' me in the nightmares too."

"They don't always have to mean anything deep," she laughed softly. Daryl could hear the embarrassment in her voice. "Sorry. I promise I'm not crazy."

"Don't always gotta be sorry," he croaked. "Don't think yer crazy either. Been having 'em too makes me think of things, the way they could be if-" he paused, searching for the right way to say it to her, "Got me hoping for things for the first time in a long time and-"

"You've been pretty sick," she cut him off, fidgeting with her hands. I'm sure it's nothing—just normal with the fever you've had," she shrugged, brushing off his answer. You rest some more. I'm gonna go find you a new shirt and some pants. I haven't changed you since yesterday," she said standing from the chair, the sudden movement leaving it rocking back and forth.

She'd gotten sidetracked by a sound from outside the window in the small lower-level bedroom as she was looking through a drawer. Curious, she'd lifted the curtain, her eyes wide in shock at seeing the beautiful stag standing tall, bending its neck up majestically as it looked out across the yard. The moon had risen in the late afternoon, a gentle waning ghost of silver and white against the blue of the sky. A new moon was coming. The stag startled and ran.

"Daryl!" Sophia bounded through the snow, breathing heavily. The girl stopped abruptly, and Carol's chest seized at the clear image of her.

Daryl's eyes lit up in surprise, his face flushed from the cold and hard labor, "Should go inside and help your mama."

"She said I could help you with the dear," she smiled brightly at him.

"Kinda gross," he grumbled, carrying the animal over his shoulder toward the shed.

"The way I see it, you don't have a boy to teach, but you got me, so I wanna learn," she continued to follow him.

He looked up, then, seeing Carol through the window. She gave him a soft smile. A cough alerted her to someone behind her. She flinched at the sound, caught Daryl's reflection in the window, and turned. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, watching her curiously.

When she didn't immediately return, he found it in himself to clutch the blanket tightly around his body. He hobbled down the hallway to stand in a single open doorway. He found her there, standing at the window, a green plaid shirt shoved under her arm as she stared outside with a soft smile on her face. She turned, startled at the sound of his coughing, her face full of concern.

"What are you doing up?"

He was panting heavily, putting all of his weight against the doorframe. "Got worried," he said, sliding downward.

She was at his side quickly, shouldering his full weight. They swayed together as she tried to keep her footing, guiding him back to the hallway.

"I gotta piss," he mumbled, "Sorry."

"S'fine. We can make a detour," Carol grunted softly, turning him toward the restroom. She pushed the bathroom door open and placed him on the toilet seat. "Think you can take it from here?"

He blushed and nodded, "Think I got it."

"Call for me when you're done," he watched her retreat quickly from him, closing the door for his privacy. He slouched and tiredly ran a hand through his hair as his chest filled with another cough. All the talk dreams had him thinking of his next steps. First, he had to get well, and then he'd tell her everything.

Later that night, after securing the last bit of the alarm system around the fence, she was surprised to see him sitting up fully awake in the living room, still wrapped in a blanket but looking less feverish. She smiled softly at him and put her pack on the kitchen table. "Ya okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

"Mm-hmm," she mumbled as she entered the laundry room to remove her coat and boots. She dropped her pack to the floor and fumbled around inside it. She felt a heavy silence settle between them. She pulled a pair of wool socks from her bag and walked to him in the living room. "I forgot these were in my pack from the other day," she blushed and held them out to him.

He reached out weakly for the socks and gave her a tired smile. "Thanks," he croaked.

Next, she checked the levels on the thermostat, bumping the heat up a few degrees before making her way into the kitchen to fix him a bowl of soup. "You hungry?" she asked as she approached the stove.

"Sure," he grunted as he pulled on the new socks. He panted a little at the task before scooting back onto the couch.

"Do you need a book to read?" she called while pulling a jar of canned tomato soup from the pantry.

"Naw." he sighed, "Socks feel good." She smiled sheepishly to herself and grabbed him a glass of water and two pills. She carried them into the living room and perched on the edge of the couch.

"Here." she handed him two pills with a cup of water and watched as he drank greedily. "Thought maybe these, instead of the cough syrup, keep the dreams from getting too crazy."

"How was it out there?" he asked. "You finish?"

She shrugged, "Seems so. No walkers-warmed up a bit, snow melting off in places. Think we might be getting a break from the cold. Once you feel up to it, I can show you what I rigged up." He nodded and laid back down. She leaned down over him and stroked the locks of hair away from his forehead. "You want me to move you to the bedroom down the hall? Bed might be more comfortable."

He shook his head and closed his eyes, "Naw, here's good. Here's where I can keep my eye on ya ass," he smirked, grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. He started humming a tune.

"What are you doing?" she smirked.

"Hummin' your song," he coughed, a dopey, teasing smile forming on his face. "One from earlier."

"What?"

"Hard Headed Woman," he teased, causing her to full belly laugh for the first time in days. Her cheeks flushed as she felt the warmth of his friendship spread outward from her chest to the tips of her toes. His eyes finally sparkling anew with the tinges of returning health. She breathed a sigh of relief and kissed his forehead before heading back to the kitchen to finish heating his soup.

"Silly, silly man," she mumbled.

"Heard that!"