Helloooooo.
This is part four of my Walking Saints series called 'Arrows And Bullets'.
Much in contrast to the previous fics Salvation and Damnation this fic is all my material. Most of it.
There are some surprises, it's based on the previous fics but I think you can still read it without having read the others.

Reminder: this one is going to be shippy! As in -more than friends- shippy. So please don't read if you don't like that kind of pairing.
But it won't be too shippy heavy. It's still gonna contain a plot, I'm just gonna resolve some tension ;) It's all slow build and pretty mild.
I am a Connaryl shipper, which is why I wanted to write this fic, but I also understand that the friendship aspect is what made my fics good.
Which is why, although the fic is shippier than the previous ones, it's still based on a friendship dynamic that my readers liked so much.
Every chapter that contains shippy scenes is marked with an (s) so you can skip those parts if you want.

Have fun, leave me your thoughts and please ignore some mistakes and typos. I'm still German, and English is still not my first language.

Resurrection

Chapter One - Interstate

332 Days ago...

July 28th, 2007 - in a city that is miles away...

The stranger opened his eyes with a croaky groan. This was the third time in a row that he was waking up, and although he really doubted that he was going to make it this time he still tried to get back up. He wasn't really functioning anymore because his body - especially his head- was burning with pain, but after waking up so many times already he was actually getting used to it. The stranger groaned under the sheer weight of his own body as he tried to lift himself up, and he nearly slipped in the pool of blood underneath him.

Oh great, so he had lost a lot of blood. The very thing that got these filthy dead fucks all excited. The man managed to get up after a couple of tries but it felt like his head could explode, and when he felt it he noticed the damage. It was a sheer miracle that he could even walk! He stumbled around, face caked with crusts of dried blood and eyes watering because of the sharp pain. His clothes were practically soaked from the amount of blood he had lost, but there was something inside of him that kept him going, like a rusty engine that was being operated by an external force. Something he couldn't see or couldn't remember, he only knew that it was there, that he needed to find out what it was, that he needed to find it. Whatever it was. And whatever the fuck was going on.

The stranger tried to keep himself together as he staggered around the filthy room. He couldn't even remember how he had ended up here, the last thing he remembered was a sharp pain in his upper body and his head. Some bastard must've jumped him from behind while he had been fighting these undead fucks. Oh he couldn't wait to find that sneaky bastard. He automatically reached for his weapons and cursed. Of course. Nobody jumped anyone for nothing these days. Whoever had attacked him and injured him like that had taken everything useful with them. He didn't have anything in here. It was just him. In an empty, dirty room.

The stranger staggered in the direction of what he believed had used to be a kitchen, but couldn't really find much apart from a couple of old and filthy rags. He knew that he couldn't keep it around his wounds forever, but he needed something to stop the red fluid from oozing out of his head and running down his face, which made it even harder for him to see. The man wrapped two of the rags around his head and hissed. It felt like it had been cracked wide open. He supposed that someone had used the back of their gun to knock him out and strip him clean. Or maybe even a dull machete, judging by the other aching wound on his back and shoulder.

As soon as he was done with the bandaging process the stranger needed a moment to gather himself, because he was close to fainting again.

No. Not now. You stop that shit you pussy. You get back on your feet and you get your ass outta here he told himself and squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them again he could see how his blood was dripping down on the thing that had used to be a kitchen counter.

Hospital. You need to get to a fucking hospital, he told himself and shook his head. No, that's pointless. There are no hospitals. They're all overrun.
The stranger groaned because of the pain in his head and pulled his dirty hair. He needed to focus focus focus or else he wasn't going to make it. He turned around to have a look outside the window, careful not to attract any walkers to his location. He knew they were outside, he was in a fucking city. Cities were crowded with these undead creatures. He'd had to learn that the hard way. He swallowed hard as he felt a sudden pain in his chest, one that wasn't coming from his wounds. He had lost someone to them. He knew that now. Not just one. Many people actually. He only remembered bits and pieces, but he knew that there had been a woman and a kid. He remembered screams and pain and how he had been screaming and yelling for them to stop, but he had lost the fight. The worst part was that he couldn't really remember who they had been, but judging by the incredible loss that he felt he was pretty sure that this had been his kid and his wife. It had to be.

Which would also explain why he felt so much hatred for these undead pricks who had taken so much from him. He still didn't know what was driving him now. He knew he still needed to find something. This had been the very reason why he had traveled here. Whatever it was, he needed to find it. Or them. Yes, them felt good, actually. He needed to get out of here and find them. Find the great solution to everything, those that could save him. He remembered getting here in a car. Maybe that was the thing he was searching now. But when he had a look outside and searched the streets he didn't recognize any of the crashed vehicles as his own. He only saw the harbour. The bridge. The undead. Just the undead and him. And his grumbling stomach told him that they weren't the only ones hungry here. It took the stranger another couple of minutes to gather himself, but after staggering around and leaning against walls for a little while longer he finally staggered in the direction of the door that led out of this godforsaken and bloody room. He just needed to get out of here, and he needed to find them to save himself from certain death.

332 Days later

June 24th, 2008 - Interstate 20, Lake Oconee

Connor was leaning against the passenger door of the old 1970 Ford pickup truck they had stolen back in Woodbury. He took another drag on his (second) cigarette and looked up at the sky with a slight smile on his face. It was a beautiful day really, and it was so freaking hot and sunny that even with his thin shirt and trousers he was actually sweating his ass off. He considered getting rid of his shirt but figured that this wasn't a good idea because a) it didn't take much to give him a sunburn and b) he was wearing sunglasses already and he didn't want to seem too tourist-y. Not with all the broken down cars, shoes, clothes and bodies all around him. But still. They were far too used to this new look of everything, the decay and rotting of bodies and things that he didn't even mind. He didn't even see it anymore in fact. What he did see though, was the beautiful lake they could see from both sides of the bridge. Well he thought that it was beautiful at least. He even kind of wanted to jump in there if he was honest, simply because the sweat kept running down his body and drenched his clothes more and more.

"Mind helping me yah fuckin ass?" he heard an angry growl and was snapped out of his secret little holiday on the lake.

Oh.
Daryl.
Interstate.
Broken down truck.
Dead people walking around.
The end of the world.
Right.

The Irishman cleared his throat and threw his cigarette away, but the smile on his face wouldn't go away.
Because Daryl being his usual grumpy self right now he actually enjoyed their time together. On a lake.

Sunshine sunshine sunshine.

"Well it was yer idea ta take this piece of crap. I told yah it ain't gonna do shit til Augusta" Connor muttered as he walked to the front of the car, where Daryl was still trying to do something about their smoking engine.

"It ain't no piece of crap. Had one just like that, and it was doin just fine. You don't know nothing" Daryl growled and hissed when he burned his finger on the hot engine.

"Ow, fuck! This is all your fault you stupid moron" he complained and then shoved Connor while shaking his hand in pain.

His friend giggled as soon as he was shoved away, because what kind of friend would he be if he weren't mischievous?

"No, it ain't my fault. Cos all 'm seeing is a fuckin hillbilly trying ta sugarcoat te fact that his hillbilly car is a piece'a crap. Just look at all those cars around us" the older of the two friends said and pointed at the huge traffic jam on the other side of the interstate.

"Great modern cars. With aircons and shit. You know there's something like air conditioning? You know, those thingies that make yer hot redneck air all cool?
We could use one of those."

Connor grinned when Daryl gave him one of his extra- pissed looks again.

"Like you know shit 'bout cars. What kinda ride did you have in leprechaun-land then? You take a couple of cows and ran on potato juice and whiskey?"

Connor hit his shoulder with a snort and tried to take a closer look at the engine as well.

"Don't be ridiculous. We had some real horsepower."

There was a pause as Daryl folded his arms with a frown and waited for his friend to carry on. Connor tried moving a couple of hoses and burned his fingers as well, and truth was that he didn't have a clue about that stuff at all. He looked at his dirty hands and then pressed them to Daryl's chest to clean them on his sweaty and dirty shirt.

"Real classic ride that was" he said as Daryl fought his hands with an annoyed growl and looked down on himself where Connor had smudged his shirt with oil and dirt.

When he looked up again he was just about to complain, but the grin on Connor's face kept him from doing that because he knew that this was the part where his friend would say one of his stupid punchlines.

"1994 Cheezo. Brown. Irish. Draught horse" he said and started laughing, because he obviously thought that Daryl had thought that he had been talking about a car.

Yeah. Right. Because he was that stupid.

He had known right away. He knew about Cheezo or whatever the fuck that stupid horse was called. Because Connor still wouldn't shut up about his past, Ireland, and every last detail he had ever seen, heard, owned or wanted. He let his friend think that he was the most hilarious clown on this planet though, although he really wasn't. Daryl just shook his head and got back to the fucked up engine.

"Ferget it, that thing is fucked. 'm gonna go and look fer a decent car" Connor announced and hit his back, and even now he wouldn't stop laughing.

Idiot, Daryl thought but couldn't fight a tiny smile either, because deep down underneath all the fucked up things he was feeling right now he actually acknowledge the fact that his friend was like that now. He hated to think about the past more than anything now, and there were certain things about their post-apocalypse past that he chose to forget completely, but he had to think about one part he didn't want to forget. Never ever. And that was the part when he had first met that stupid Irish clown, the first couple of days and how that had been, how he had looked, what he had said and how he had acted.

He remembered the beard and filthy hair, how Connor had been all skin and bones, how he had been hanging from a beam with a rope around his neck and how empty and quiet his voice had sounded, and even now he had to think about his almost dead and hunted eyes. He remembered that very first day when that guy had been kneeling in that church, all depressed, suicidal and broken. The hunter wiped some sweat off his forehead and turned his head to look at his friend as he was now. Connor was walking away from their car and heading for the other side of the interstate to take a look at the cars. And he was still laughing and talking to himself, that idiot.

The long hair and long beard was long since gone, one could see that he actually had an ass in his trousers and that his legs weren't just bones but actual legs. Connor was far from skinny now, he had gained quite some muscles even, when they had been using the tiny gym back at Woodbury. Now they were almost at the same level when it came to arm muscles, so no more skinniness, no more eating and sleeping disorders because of his fucked up mental state after Murphy's death. There was no more crying or whining about, the guy was just one spirited strong bundle of Irish temper and energy.

Well at least someone's doin fine, Daryl thought and his face fell, when he remembered that he was the one who was far from fine now. He rubbed his nose and turned around again to get back to the car engine, because he wanted to distract himself from the memory that tried to make itself known, despite all his tries to kill it, to bury it deep in his mind like it didn't exist.

There had been many reasons why he had agreed to go to Augusta with Connor. One: He hated their new life in Woodbury. He hated town life, he hated the boredom that it brought after running from undead for almost a year. He remembered what Connor had told him a couple of days ago:

Blood and killing's just like nicotine in that regard. It's nasty, it kills ye, it's dangerous and ugly, but you can't stop.

Which was reason number two: he needed adventure. he needed the kick. He needed the running and killing. Because he was addicted to that stuff now. Then there was reason number three: he had gone with Connor because he had missed their time on their own like the months they had spent back at the fire station. Before the Governor he'd had a reason to stay at the prison, to be with the group, but now that main reason was gone. He missed Carol, little asskicker and Rick, but right now they weren't doing him any good. They were making everything worse in fact. Just like this godforsaken Woodbury town. Which was his main reason why he was standing on this very road to Augusta now: He needed the distance. He needed the space. He didn't want to be reminded of anything, he needed a new canvas, a new Polaroid, a new movie to forget all the past shit he had seen.

He automatically moved one hand up to his chest, to the one thing that he couldn't get rid of, the one thing that would be a constant reminder of what had happened. The wound was healing but still hurt, and part of Daryl wasn't even sure if it really were physical pain or just a psychosomatic kind of pain he endured because of the loss he had experienced. Whatever it was, he didn't want to care. Just like the many times before he forced himself not to touch the wound, to pretend that it didn't exist just like all that shit had never happened.

"Fuck me! Look at that!" he heard Connor yell which snapped him out of it.

Daryl turned around to see what was going on, if his friend had encountered walkers. Not that it mattered to them anyway, since the undead still wouldn't attack them. The hunter rolled his eyes when he finally saw what had made Connor curse like that. His friend was standing a bit further away from him, just down the road, where a black car was parked on the grass between the two lanes.

"No way" Daryl growled as he let go of their car engine and slammed the hood shut.

Connor pressed his palms together as if he was praying.

"Please Ma, please. Let me have it. Just fer one day."

Daryl started walking so he could get a better look at the car his friend had chosen. A grim looking black 1968 Ford Mustang hardtop coupe was looking back at him with its round headlights and extra off-road lights that were adjusted to the radiator grille, framing the famous horse emblem.

"No way" the hunter repeated, although he had to admit that the thing looked kind of badass. If you liked that kind of thing. Which he didn't. Nope. Not at all.

Connor rolled his eyes and opened the driver's door, actually being glad that there was no corpse in there that had been rotting and boiling in the hot Georgian sun for the past couple of months. The interior was still freaking hot, but he didn't care. He liked the thing. End of discussion.

"No, we don't need shit like that. What are yah, some sorta diva? First yer complaining about shit like how we don't have aircon and how loud the fucking truck is, and the next thing I know is that you wanna drive around in a...thing like that? You got any idea how much fuel that shit needs? You got any idea how noisy that is? Might as well steal a fucking fire truck and use the siren t'let every last walker and thug know we're here."

Connor snorted and searched the inside of the car for anything useful.

"Yeah, says Mr fucking nazi motorbike and pickup truck" he muttered and tried to hotwire the car because he couldn't find any keys. Hotwiring. Another thing the apocalypse had really taught him. Back in the old days they'd had friends like Rocco to do that sort of shit. Time's changed. From a mafioso killing saint to a grenade throwing car thief. Ha. He wanted to laugh out loud, but he actually didn't even give a shit any longer.

"Screw you" Daryl muttered because he hated the mention of said bike, that was still back in Woodbury. He had decided not to take it on purpose. And that not just because there was no way Connor was going to sit behind him during the entire ride to Augusta. The hunter still sighed in defeat and turned around to get to their old smoking truck so he could get their things. He knew Connor all too well by now, that his friend was so freakishly stubborn sometimes that it was absolutely ridiculous. He knew his friend wanted this car and that he wanted to play boss for a while, and he was too exhausted, upset and fried from the sun to care. He was searching the old pickup for their stuff when he heard the loud roaring of a V8 engine. A second later he heard Connor cheer, which made him roll his eyes yet again.

Great. This was going to be a long ride.

After moving stuff and arguing a little bit more just for the fun of it both men finally managed to get the car off the green strip and back on the road, and it went without saying that Connor was the one to drive the car. "Don't crash that thing again" the hunter said and chuckled, still aiming for the car crash Connor'd had the year before. The Irishman just snorted and turned the engine back on. " Who lost control and hit a fuckin tree with three people still inside, dumbass" the Irishman countered and the topic was done.

Daryl had to agree that it was a bit more comfortable compared to the filthy worn out seats in the old Ford pickup, but he still tried to act like he didn't care. Be his old grumpy self, although it was quite hard to do so since Connor's cheery behavior was contagious. It had been too long since they both had the opportunity to be happy about something, whether it had been a movie, a shower, something nice to eat, electricity or now a car. But he didn't want to be so obvious about the fact that he actually enjoyed the car trip with his friend, because no matter how much he was trying to forget Merle's death, he didn't exactly want to pay him any disrespect.

Being happy and relaxed these days was simply wrong Too many people had been slaughtered and died, because they both had lost so much and been hurt so badly, because there were dead people walking all around them and shit got worse and worse. So why should he be happy? Connor played around with the accelerator for a bit, speed down the bridge and then stopped abruptly to test the car, and it was more than obvious that he enjoyed himself very much. Daryl let him do that for a bit, but then he was getting sick of the abrupt movements.

"How 'bout yah get going, dumbass. Ain't got another year to get to this goddamn city" he complained but immediately regretted his extremely bitchy behavior today. He blamed it on the hot temperatures and son. Connor chuckled quietly and adjusted the rearview mirror.

"Alright, Ma. Alright" he answered and then turned on the radio.

There were a couple of tunes from a guitar and Daryl immediately switched the thing off. This was another new thing they had going now. Connor liked to listen to music when they were driving around. Daryl thought that it was pointless and distracting them from more important things like watching out for stray walkers.

"Fuck you" Connor retorted and turned the radio back on.

The turning on and off went on for about five tries each until Daryl finally let his friend win. He tried to stay grumpy on the outside, but inside he was chuckling to himself because now he had infected Connor with his grumpiness and the Irishman stopped acting like a 12 year old on drugs. They finally drove on, and the tape kept playing. They were driving past another huge traffic jam where an 18-wheeler had turned over and ripped the left side of the interstate open when Connor started humming along to the song.

When I die and they lay me to rest
Gonna go to the place that's the best
When I lay me down to die
Goin' up to the spirit in the sky
Goin' up to the spirit in the sky
That's where I'm gonna go when I die

He slowed down when he noticed a small herd of walkers behind the truck. He whistled along to the tune and moved the car over to the walkers.

"When I die and they lay me to rest. Gonna go to the place that's the best" he sang in unison with the singer and ran two walkers over, who hit the hood of the car right when the line ended with "the best". The walkers let out an abrupt groan and flew all the way across their car, until they fell back down on the road right behind them.

"Prepare yourself you know it's a must. Gotta have a friend in Jesus. So you know that when you die..." Connor kept singing and hit reverse so he could hit the same walkers again. The car shook violently as they ran over the bodies and smashed their heads to a disgusting black track of blood and skull pieces on the asphalt.

"He's gonna recommend you to the spirit in the sky" Connor finished the line with an ubercheery tune and then put in first gear again so they could drive away. Although Daryl didn't want to he still had to chuckle because he thought it was funny. He hated the walkers just as much as Connor, who was now stroking the dashboard with a chuckle.

"Just look at this cute little monster right here. I knew that was gonna eat those dead fucks when I saw that evil front. That's a walker killer that is" he announced and accelerated again, because he had run over enough walkers. They were now speeding down the interstate with both their windows down. And as Daryl stared out of the window and watched the lake and trees pass by he couldn't help but feel free for pretty much the first time in his life. There was nothing left, no authority, no speed limit, no rules, the walkers were no threat to them anymore and they were capable of killing everyone who got in their way. Now there was just them, the car, the interstate, some shitty music and the wind. New memories. Good memories he could use to cancel out the old ones. Except that there was still a hole in his chest (apart from the obvious bullet hole), a hole that even all that happy shit couldn't fill, no matter how hard he tried.

"Never been a sinner I never sinned, I got a friend in Jesus " Connor roared next to him and hit his chest.

Daryl had to roll his eyes because of that Jesus line, but his friend wouldn't let him speak because he spoke up first.

"Come on, you gotta sing the chick's part" he said and kept hitting Daryl's chest, which made the hunter snort.

"I ain't the one with no balls in his pants" he retorted which made Connor grin.

"Oh, now she's interested in my balls. Interesting" he answered and laughed. Just like any time he said shit like that Daryl just grumbled and turned his head, having no clue what he was supposed to say to that. But Connor didn't seem to mind the lack of an answer, because he started singing again.

"So you know that when I die , he's gonna set me up with, the spirit in the sky, Oh set me up with the spirit in the sky. That's where I'm gonna go when I die. When I die and they lay me to rest. I'm gonna go to the place that's the best"

"Except you're not" Daryl grunted when they drove past a lonely walker that was staggering down the interstate, not going anywhere, just walking, staggering around with no soul, destination, no sky to look forward to, no nothing.