Dreams aren't necessarily in chronological order.
Daryl lay on his back staring at the ceiling. He could hear the rain pounding furiously off the roof, a storm raging outside. It was a pleasant break from the harsh sunlight and blistering heat, but the racket was stopping him from sleeping. He would have thought that the prison would have been more insulated from the sound, but ever since the walkers had first started roaming, the quietest of whispers were amplified. On the plus side the ground would be softer in the morning and Hershel had mentioned turning over a patch of grass to plant some of the seeds that Maggie and Glenn had picked up for him on their last run. Before he knew it, Daryl managed to slip into a fitful sleep.
He was standing in a room, it was full of dead people, he could feel himself panicking and tried to make himself grab his crossbow but he couldn't control his movements, it was although he was watching something that had already happened. A man with long-ish brown hair and a scruffy beard was jumping around like a mad man. His name tag said Jaffar
"Fuckin'...What the fuckin'. Fuck. Who the fuck fucked this fucking... How did you two fucking fucks..." The man, Jaffar, paused, looking crazed before doing an odd little hop as he yelled out a final, "Fuck!"
The other man with shorter light brown hair chuckled. "Well, that certainly illustrates the diversity of the word." Daryl felt himself laugh, even though he thought the comment was amusing he tried to stop, but he couldn't fight the laughter, it was as if he was a different person.
The scene changed and Daryl found himself in a room full of guns and various other weapons. He was with the man with short light brown hair again, this time Jaffar was nowhere to be seen. Daryl was holding a large gun in his hands and fiddling around with it.
"Do you know what we need, man? Some rope." The guy said.
Daryl couldn't prevent the words coming out his mouth. "Absolutely. What are ya, insane?" What surprised him most was that he had the same Irish accent as the light brown haired guy.
"No, I ain't. Charlie Bronson's always got rope."
"What?" Daryl asked.
"Yeah. He's got a lot of rope strapped around him in the movies, and they always end up using it." The person said.
"You've lost it, haven't ya?" Daryl asked him.
"No, I'm serious." The man said, seriously.
"Me too. That's stupid. Name one thing you gonna need a rope for." He said while packing various items into a bag.
"You don't fuckin' know what you're gonna need it for. They just always need it." The guy said.
"What's this 'they' shit? This isn't a movie." Daryl told the guy as he dumped his bag and moved to a large gun that he knew they'd never fit in the bag.
"Oh, right." The guy said and turned to take a large knife out of Daryl's bag. "Is that right, Rambo?"
Daryl aimed the gun at the guy before straightening up and snorting."All right. Get your stupid fuckin' rope."
"I'll get my stupid rope. I'll get it." The guy moved to take a rope off of the wall by the door. This is a rope right here."
Daryl sat bolt upright. The dream had confused him and unnerved him. Why had he been collecting guns with an unknown man, and why the hell had he been in a room full of dead people. He rubbed his eyes furiously and lay back down against the hard floor. It didn't matter how much he though about it, none of it was making any sense. The bearded one, Jaffar had been American, but Daryl had never met him before, he was pretty sure he would have remembered a man who cursed that much. Then there was the light brown haired guy whose name hadn't been mentioned. The Irish one. Daryl frowned, he'd been Irish in his dream too, maybe it wasn't him...But then, who could it have been?
He shrugged the blanket off of himself and stood up, the pale light that filtered into the prison told him that it was early morning, chances were the others would already be awake, Lil' Ass Kicker was loud when she wanted to be, and so far Daryl had proved to be the only one who would wake at the slightest noise, unless it was the hungry cries of a baby. He would snore through that as though he was the only one in the whole prison. The first morning that the kid had woken everyone, they'd all panicked that Daryl had been bitten when he didn't wake up. They'd been quite embarrassed to find Daryl flat out sleeping and snoring and even drooling, not that Daryl would admit that or let them mention it. It was the first time that Daryl almost carried through on his threat to put an arrow into each of their sorry asses.
As he'd suspected, everyone was sitting in the cafeteria eating breakfast. His nose scrunched up at the sight of the porridge, the prison had been well stocked up on that and they'd been living on it for a while, everyone was sick of it now, but they knew better than to say anything, after all, it was better to have disgusting food than to have no food at all.
"You alright, Daryl?" Glenn asked.
"Why wouldn' I be?" He asked, eyes narrowed.
"You were talking about some weird shit in your sleep earlier."
Daryl mentally swore, but didn't let his face show that he'd understood. "Mmm." He said, noncommittally.
"You were going on about Jaffar and a stupid fuckin' rope." Glenn mimicked, he even did a bad Irish accent.
"It was fucked up, I have no idea what was goin' on." Daryl said. Normally he wouldn't say anything at all, but part of him was curious to know if anything similar had ever happened to them. Maybe one of them would know what was going on in his head.
"You spoke with a real Irish accent." Hershel said. "It was as though you were born with it."
"But I wasn't." Daryl frowned. "My brother is Merle."
"You've always said that, but you've never mentioned your parents. Who were they?" Rick asked.
"They were...fuck," Daryl cursed, throwing his porridge across the room. "I can't remember."
"You can't remember?" Hershel frowned.
"Did I stutter?" Daryl asked coldly.
"Reminds me of the time Nilly threw Maggie and she lost all her memories." Beth said. "They started coming back to her after a week."
"That sound like a load of bull-"
"It's entirely possible." Hershel cut Daryl off with a calculating look.
I do not own The Boondock Saints or The Walking Dead.