"Hey, you sassy fuck, come here!" grumbled Daryl, eyebrows knitted together in displeasure as he fumbled with the ropes.
"What are ye fussing about now, eh?" lifting his head from skinning a squirrel and ceasing the light banter with his twin, Connor wiped his hands on his jeans and made his way over to the scowling redneck.
"I told ya to fucking peg down the ropes! Stupid wic, can't do a simple task without me having to pick up your slack..." honestly, Daryl has had just enough of the two Irish clowns.
It's been three weeks since they've stumbled into his camp, catching a wounded Daryl off-guard in his sleep. Let's just say that waking up to a pair of gun muzzles pointed at your head wan't on the list of "fun ways to make friends during the apocalypse". He was fucking lucky that the brothers were an "ask questions first and shoot later" type.
"Oh, quit yer yammering. What's a couple of ropes gonna do, eat ye in yer sleep?"
"I'm gonna be laughing in your face when ya'll be drenched to the bone once yer tent flies off during the storm."
Connor had the balls to huff and roll his eyes at their companion, then he hollered, completely ignoring Daryl's statement.
"Murph, ye finished with dinner yet?!"
Daryl cringed at the sheer volume of his voice, silently cussing the idiot and chancing a quick glance at his look-alike.
It was still weird as fuck.
After he woke up to the gruff barking above him, telling him to get up and hold his hands behind his head, Daryl thought he'd been hallucinating from all the blood loss. When his attackers starred a similarly perplexed expression on their faces, Daryl decided that he wasn't in La-La land after all, and the joke of his copy standing right in front of him was actually real.
"Aye, just a couple more minutes" replied the dark-haired man crouched beside the fire pit.
Daryl couldn't decide what got under his skin more — the fact that his doppelgänger was so quick to pick up on skinning and hunting skills, or that he was so dedicated on keeping them from tearing at each other's throats. Daryl sure as hell didn't ask for the brothers' company or their pity.
When the Saints got over their initial shock at seeing Murphy's almost exact duplicate, they swiftly decided that the badly wounded man couldn't be left alone. They weren't heartless bastards like those Russians, or the Governor freak Daryl told them about weeks later after their first encounter. So the MacManuses took it upon themselves to patch up the hunter as best as they could, unknowingly putting the said man into their debt. Dixon had a certain sense of honour which prohibited him from up and leaving the two freaks once he was fully mobile.
That's why he was so furious and agitated around the two, especially around Connor. The damn leprechaun didn't know when to shut his stupid trap.
Tying off the knot, Daryl straightened up and made his way towards the fire, taking a cautious sniff before daring to look into the boiling pan.
"Wha's tha'?" he gestured towards what, he assumed, was to be their dinner.
"Just some brew from the last can of beans I found and some squirrel meat thrown in fer the taste."
Daryl gave a kurt nod. He wasn't picky when it came to food; as long as it sustained his body and kept him up and moving, he wasn't gonna complain.
They settled into a comfortable silence while Daryl kept himself busy by sharpening his hunting knife, and Connor simply glared into the fire.
Finally, the Irishman couldn't keep quiet anymore as Murphy handed him his bowl.
"So, did ye have a lass back in yer group?"
Daryl choked on his food, coughing to hastily cover up his surprise.
A girl? No, of course he didn't have a girl. Not since... Well.
"None of your business" he growled, preferring to focus on stuffing the hot beans into his mouth, almost burning his palate in the process.
"Why the hell not?" Connor looked almost outraged by the hunter's response. "I'm trying to strike a casual conversation, so get that stick out of yer ass, God! Murph, tell him!"
The darker twin shrugged, avoiding his brother's eyes.
"Murph?!"
"Sorry brother, just don't think 's right."
"The hell Murph, ye defending him?" the blonde man pulled his lips into a tight line, feeling betrayed.
"Aye, damn right I am!" the sudden clutter of the plastic bowl made Daryl glance up in both shock and amusement.
"I am damn sick and tired of ye pestering the guy, picking fights and then running ta cry on my shoulder like a goddamned brat who didn't get his two thousand dollar present fer Christmas!" Murphy was red in the face, screaming at his frozen brother and restlessly clenching and unclenching his fists.
Damn, Daryl knew they were crazy, but this? No way was he getting in-between this family drama.
"Uh, thanks fer the dinner" he was just trying to get up when Murphy turned his burning glare on him and barked "Sit!". The redneck tensed, not liking to be bossed around, but deciding to let it slip. Just this once.
"Ye both need ta get yer heads outta yer asses if we plan ta stick together any longer! This is some fucked up shite I am not willing ta put up with! Fuck!" Murphy angrily kicked the overturned bowl with his ruined dinner. "Sick of ye both" he angrily mumbled and stormed off towards one of the tents, disappearing inside and leaving the two grown men staring after him speechless.
Connor was the first to break the awkward silence.
"Ey, listen brother... Didn't mean ta pry, alright? I guess I kinda over-pushed the boundaries" he chewed on his lower lip, still staring after the other MacManus, voice airy and seemingly unfocused.
" 'S alright" ground out the redneck.
He felt extremely uncomfortable in this situation, but he also kinda felt sorry for the kid. He was alright, not nosey like his blond brother, and actually proved useful. So Connor wasn't a leecher and tried pulling his own weight, but his exuberant personality overlaid all of that, deeming him insufferable in Dixon's eyes.
The hunter simply couldn't stand that loud mouthed, careless, stupid fu-
"What do ye say?"
"Huh?" Connor's question snapped Daryl out of his annoyed musings.
The MacManus rolled his eyes.
"I said, how about we declare a truce? Just, you know, for the moment. For Murph's sake" Dixon was finally able to grasp the question. He could see how much Connor resented his own idea, but in the short amount of time he got to know the brothers, he could tell that one was willing to give up much, if not anything, for the other. He could respect that.
The sting that came with the memories of Merle was quickly pushed aside.
"Sure. But if ya screw up, I ain't keeping my end of the deal."
"Fair enough" grinned the Irishman.
And thus their timeout began.