Daryl was the first to 'wake up' near as he could tell. Based on how many times he remembered waking up and how many times the others eventually did.

The first time he did, he thought he was dreaming. How could he think otherwise? Nearly two years had passed since the day he kept reliving. It was just a dream. Had to be one. A terrible, horrible, reminder of all he'd lost (all he'd gained) since that one day changed everything for the group. For his family.

He knew it had to be a dream. A walk through his memories that he hadn't realized were still so sharply in focus. But still, it was a dream. And dreams, if you recognized them for what they were, could be controlled. Things didn't have to go down the way they did while he was dreaming. He could pretend he was a better man than he was then. He could stop his brother from going on the stupid trip into town. He could admit he liked the group and didn't want any of them dead.

It would hurt when he woke up. There'd be an ache in his chest he wouldn't know how to deal with, not really. But he didn't get good dreams that often. Dreams of his brother still alive, not losing his hand. Dreams of how things could have gone down if he'd just let himself be himself sooner. If he'd just trusted the others and let himself care sooner.

He recognized the day almost as soon as his eyes opened and he found himself staring at the roof of his tent. The sun was just barely coming over the horizon and he'd intended to head out on the hunt again. Maybe try and track one of those deer he spotted a game trail for a couple days back. Deer would be more welcome than squirrel. Not that anyone really complained about squirrel anymore since fresh meat was fresh meat.

But he didn't have to do that. He didn't have to relive himself heading out before the big group got together and went to the city. He didn't have to relive the long, quiet days that led up to him coming back and Rick telling him Merle was handcuffed to a roof. It was his dream. He could do what he wanted.

So when he got up, he got up smiling. His hair being short again threw him for a loop and he nearly didn't recognize his own face in the mirror, it was so free of wrinkles and worry lines. And his eyes weren't nearly as hollow as they'd become from all the loss and lack of proper eating.

He didn't realize he was laughing about until Merle shouted at him from outside, hitting the tent with one hand as he passed, "What the hell's so fucking funny?"

"Me!" Daryl heard himself yell back, still laughing. And then he was pushing out of the tent, grin on his face a mile wide and he didn't care that he was making so much noise the whole camp was starting to wake from it. It didn't matter that tears were coming now while his laugh turned more than a little hysterical.

Merle was right there. Alive. Both hands right where they should be. Staring at him like he'd gone nutter. But this was a dream, so it didn't matter. It didn't matter that half the camp was watching him now, freaked out at his own freak out. It didn't matter that they could see him bawling like a child. He didn't care because Merle was there. Merle was alive.

And Merle was worried. He was looking at him like he'd suddenly grown a second head. This sort of display, all public and over-emotional, wasn't something a Dixon did. Specially not in front of each other. Even more especially in front of people who weren't family. Only they were family. To Daryl, at least. And what the hell, it was a dream.

Daryl paced a circle for a second or three, hands going to his face to wipe the tears away. But the laughter didn't fade. It didn't stop until he'd thrown himself at his brother, arms folding around his shoulders and his head tucked in. And then the laughter was washed away by his sobs. Even knowing it was a dream, he couldn't help himself. Not on this. Not with Merle right there, alive and warm in his arms.

"Daryl?" Merle was too thrown for a loop to be able to do much more than question. His voice gone soft, scared, "Baby brother? What's wrong? Baby brother?"

Daryl's head shook in the crook of his brother's shoulder, voice choked by his sobs. The dream was already too much, too real. Merle was so very real in his arms. He wanted the torment to end, but he didn't want to wake up, either. His brother was there. He was there.

Merle held him, disorientated by it all. Practically the whole camp was watching now. Eying the two of them as Daryl broke down in his arms and the rose up to give every single nosy busybody a perfect view of their sudden emotional outpouring.

It took twenty minutes before Daryl was willing to pull away. And when he did, he couldn't stop smiling. "You're alive. You're fucking alive."

Merle shook his head, brows scrunched, "Yeah. I'm alive. That what this is about? You have a bad dream or something?"

"Something... yeah. Something sounds about right. Good lord, Merle! You're alive," He laughed and let out a loud 'whoop' as he backed up to start pacing again, eyes on his brother. "You're fucking alive and good lord! Good fucking lord!"

"Yeah. I'm alive. And so are you," his brother drawled out, slow and wary. He clearly didn't like wherever this was going. "What the hell has gotten into you, boy? You turnin' into a woman on me?"

"Fuck you!" Daryl continued to laugh. Like it was all one big joke. And it was. His own mind making a fool of him. He couldn't care less. He stuck his tongue out, nose crinkling, and pushed the absurdity further. "And what if I was? What if I did turn into a woman on you? What you gonna do about it?"

That was when Merle gave up on figuring anything out. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, dismissing Daryl's outburst before turning his attention to the rest of the camp. To all the people watching. He glowered, "What're you looking at? Mind your own damn business!"

"Shut up, Merle!" Daryl barked, slapping his brother on the shoulder and jogging off toward the RV before Merle could process what had just happened.

He stopped short at where Carol was gathering the laundry baskets and pulled her into a hug that had her gasping in shock and breathing heavily in sheer panic once he let her go. Glenn was next to be grabbed and held on for dear life. Panicked eyes searched out Shane and Dale and he mouthed 'help me' before Daryl let him go with a laugh. His hat was flipped off as he stumbled back. Daryl raised his arms and let out another loud 'whoo'.

Shane shared a bewildered shrug with Lori, who was silently asking if she needed to keep Carl back and safe. Andrea was laughing in confusion with Amy. Things were all right with the world even if Merle was staring at him like he'd done lost his mind.

And everything in his dream would have been fine if his subconscious hadn't conjured up Ed Peletier hurrying over to Carol and grabbing her arm. His angry hiss and her soft yelp of terror snapped Daryl out of his stupor of joy. Daryl didn't think, didn't hesitate. He'd run over and punched Ed in the jaw before he even realized what he was doing.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" the words rang out louder than his laughter had as he straddled Ed. The man was on the ground from that one punch, dazed. "You touch her again, you're dead! You hear me?" Daryl moved so he could get a good kick in Ed's side, "You fucking hear me you asshole?"

He hadn't done any real damage (yet) but backed off as Carol stumbled over, sobbing with worry over her bastard of a husband. It hurt to see her like that. To remember what she used to be like. The Carol he knew was stronger than the one in his dream. She wouldn't take shit or cry over some fucker that left new bruises on her almost every day. She'd come a long way in two years. They all had.

"Give them space," Shane was on him, grabbing his arm and pulling him away, "Come on, man. Back off."

Daryl snapped his head around, meeting Shane's eyes and the man let him go, hands lifting in surrender. He nodded, rubbed his head, then murmured in a voice meant to placate, "No one's mad at you for it. Most of us have wanted to do that. But you can't just do something like that. Could bring more harm to Carol and her little girl if he decides to take it out her."

"So we don't let 'im," he answered hand going to his belt, where his skinning knife sat.

"Easy!" Shane reached out in that way Rick would, one hand forward, the other hovering at his side in case he needed to go for his gun. It wasn't right to see Shane doing it.

It wasn't right. And for a second, he forgot what day he was remembering. It shouldn't have mattered. It was his dream. Rick could be there if he wanted him to, right? "Where's Rick?"

Shane's eyes widened. His jaw worked for a minute. And then he shook his head. "There's no one named Rick here, Daryl. I don't know who you're looking-"

"Yes you do!" he said back, voice raised. "Rick! Rick Grimes! Your partner! Carl's dad! Where is he? Where's Rick?!"

Daryl thought he had control of the dream right until that point. He really did. But the way Shane looked at him, the sheer state of nearly blank pain and confusion on the man's face was enough to make Daryl start questioning himself. He'd never seen Shane so hurt.

And when the man answered, there was a crack in it Daryl had only heard once before, on the farm, "Rick's dead. How do you... how do you know about him?"