Kadge Rose-Feather

2015

Seriously! Someone Tell Me What The Fuck Is Going On!

When Murphy woke up, he felt like his skull was being torn open by a jack-hammer.

"Bloody hell…" He murmured, digging his palms into his eyes to try and alleviate the feeling, but to no avail.

"Ahh, baby brother is awake!" A deep southern voice crowed above him, causing Murphy to freak out and fall backwards off of… whatever it was he was lying on, causing the back of his head to explode in a fresh wave of pain. He rubbed his eyes and recognized it as a couch, looking much older and tattier than anything in his and Connor's apartment.

Exactly how much had he had to drink last night?

The rough-looking bald-headed man towering above him offered him a hand up.

"Woah there, Darylena, you better be careful with that head."

The confused Irishman let himself be helped, but watched the bald man with wary eyes.

"Here, let me have a look." The redneck muttered, man-handling Murphy so that he could look at the back of his head. The Irishman was in too much pain to really protest, half convinced what was going on might just be an alcohol-induced illusion. Those things could happen, right?

"Aw, shit, Darylena, you done broke the goddamned stitches!" He cursed, then threw his fist down on the arm of the couch in frustration. "What the fuck were you doin' out there by yourself anyway?! You know you ain't good at anything without your ol' brother Merle around by now, dontcha?"

He stood up, moving away and grabbing something from the countertop.

Murphy's vision was swimming, his head beating in a continual rhythm that drowned out almost all of his thoughts except for god, it hurts and where's Connor?

The redneck sat back down, muttering to himself before gently moving Murphy till he was lying down on his stomach on the couch.

Panic fluttered through the Irishman's mind at being caught in such a vulnerable position, but it was like he was watching it from a distance. He felt it, and then it had gone.

Murphy was pretty sure the man had referred to himself as "Merle" in third person earlier, and his tired mind found that amusing. He snorted.

"Merle…" He slurred. What a strange name for a man. He briefly wondered how he'd met him, and why the man was bothering with taking care of him now, or why he kept calling him by someone else's name. Though surely that was just because Murphy must have lied to him.

"Yeah, I know, baby brother. This one's gonna hurt a lil but you gotcha 'self into this mess so you better just toughen up an' take it like a man, a'right?"

Murphy laughed again, but stopped abruptly as Merle started removing the stitches from the back of his head.

"You betta be real still-like now, Darylena."

Once his brother had calmed down some, he lit another cigarette, flicking through the phonebook at the counter.

"Where'd ye say ye were from again?"

"Georgia." Murph replied sullenly, giving his twin the evil-eye.

Connor flicked through until he found the right page, and his eyes widened.

"Hm, well, t'ats curious, ay? There most certainly is a Daryl Dixon living in Georgia." And you most certainly aren't him, Connor wanted to comment but refrained from doing so in fear of setting his twin off again.

"Tell me somet'in I don't know, like how t'e hell I ended up here." Murphy muttered next to him, making Connor frown.

17 hours later and they were a mere two hours from where Murphy said he "lived".

Connor didn't know if humouring him was a clever thing to be doing, and he really thought his brother could benefit from seeing a professional, but he figured if this didn't work that would be there next stop. Besides, he didn't want Murph to get locked up if there was another way out of this that they could try first.

"Feels good ta be out of that stinkin' city. Back in good ol' Georgia." His twin muttered besides him – about the only thing he'd said all trip. Connor hadn't been talking much because he didn't want to be reminded about just how messed up Murphy was right now, so he tried to just focus on driving.

But you love Boston, is what he wanted to say, but he held his tongue.

"So… What're ye going to do when we get t'ere?" Connor asked quietly, but sparing a glance at the man next to him- his feet on the dashboard, eyes out the window.

"Don't know whatcha mean." He grumbled, making Connor frown.

"I mean what's yer plan? What're ye expectin' ta happen?"

"Noth'in. It'll just be the same as always." Daryl said resolutely, ending the discussion. But truthfully, he had a bad feeling in his gut and no idea what was going to happen. All he knew was that he was going to ditch the crazy Irishman at the first chance he got.

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