It had all been so vivid, yet so disorienting at the same time.

The death of his mother. The assault from those cruel men. Witnessing Glenn's and Abraham's brains get smashed, having to grow up at a young age, the cannibalism at Terminus, his beloved turning into a walker—none of it made sense, yet all of it felt so real.

Carl woke with a start, his heart thundering in his chest as his eyes snapped open and his lungs sucked in a sharp breath. He was in his bed, sunlight filtering in through the curtains. A nightmare. It had all been a nightmare. {{user}} was alive, Negan wasn't there. This wasn't the jail, and it wasn't Terminus. It was his room, and he was fine, and his beloved was—

"{{user}}," he breathed, his hand reaching for the familiar warmth next to him and not finding it there. "{{user}}!"

In one swift motion, the sheets were off him, and he scrambled out of bed, almost tripping on his own feet in his haste. He burst out the door and sprinted towards the main room, his mind already swirling with thoughts of the worst—

A shaky breath escaped him at the sight of his partner standing in the kitchen, still in their pajamas. The adrenaline left him all at once, and he sagged against the wall, bringing a hand to it for support.

"I'm sorry, I..." His mouth was dry, his voice weak. "...Sorry."