"You asked me to come here to talk about Murphy, haven't you?"

"How do you know?"

"And who told you about my brother? We've never met you before."

Morgan looked at him with his calm eyes, and some of Connor's nervous tension just seemed to drain away. He took a deep breath. Their situation was impossible enough, but Rick's latest, and strangest, idea, and the hope it had kindled in Connor despite himself, just about made it all fucking unbearable. But this stranger, who Rick, guided by his dead lover's ghost, said could help had an inexplicably calming effect that Connor couldn't argue with.

"Murphy talks to me, Connor. He just reached out and connected. I don't know how, this has never happened to me before. But he said Rick would soon send for me, and that he would ask for my help. Help to save your brother."

"Do you think you can?"

Connor had had so many questions, but somehow none of them seemed important any longer, except this one. Morgan looked thoughtful.

"I don't know. I'm not sure I understand exactly what I am asked to do, not yet. But Connor, Murphy doesn't think I can help. He is sure that nothing can save him now."

This didn't surprise Connor in the least.

_._

It was past noon. Rick had spent all morning speaking to people, preparing Morgan's excursion, explaining what they knew, or suspected. Morgan had quickly assented to their plan. Despite Murphy's bleak assessment of the situation he seemed to agree with Connor and Rick that they had to at least try and find the man who had tortured Murphy. Who was, by the looks of it, still torturing him now.

Connor half thought this was an insane idea, to send out someone who didn't even know them to try and help. It should be him, Connor, or Rick out there looking. But Rick had insisted that Morgan had certain skills that would make it possible for him to track the madman, and quickly. It had to be quick now, they both knew. Murphy had a few days left, at best.

"Daryl was sure Morgan can save Murphy."

Connor hadn't had the heart to point out that Daryl had never met him or his brother because he had been dead for months. Instead he'd let Rick get on with the preparations on his own. He feared that if he stayed with Rick any longer he'd either start screaming or laughing hysterically, and he didn't know which would be worse.

He climbed the stairs slowly. They had not gone back to sleep after Rick's revelation, and he felt the effects of another almost sleepless night. Everything seemed to require double the effort today. The worry about Murphy, and the despair that threatened to overwhelm them both, was sapping his energy. Connor half wished he could stop eating himself and just lie down with his brother to wait for the end.

Connor had left Rick to talk to Morgan in their kitchen when he'd felt a slight shift in his mind that meant Murphy was waking up. There'd been a ripple of fear, and he'd sent out a soothing caress before starting up the stairs.

Hang tight, I'm coming.

He was dreading how he'd find Murphy. Would the drip still connected to his arm bring on another crisis, fueled by that strange, self-destructive urge?

Connor opened the bedroom door and peered inside. Murphy was lying motionless, not looking round at the sound. He didn't stir as Connor walked in and sat on the bed. Connor placed a hand against the side of Murphy's neck. He sighed at the heat radiating off his brother again. That damn fever!

"Hey, brother. You ok?"

Murphy still wouldn't move but Connor could feel a trembling shiver through him.

"This bothering you, huh?"

Connor fingered the IV tube connected to Murphy's arm. Murphy nodded slightly. Connor felt a tug, a yaw opening in his mind. Suddenly, a nightmarish vision of a huge, faceless man, shouting and raging, yet entirely silent. Fear, overpowering. Pain, sharp and constant and worse than anything he could ever have imagined. His mind, body, on fire. Burning, breaking, torn apart.

Connor couldn't move for several seconds. Finally, with an almighty effort he managed to pull away, just as Murphy came to life. He turned over, trying to reach across Connor, face beaded with sweat, all color drained away. It took Connor a split second to understand what Murphy was trying to do, and by that time it was too late.

Doubled over, Murphy retched and gagged. Bile splattered the sheets, tingeing the white fabric pink, spreading and soaking into the mattress. Connor could only stare in horror for a moment at his brother vomiting blood. Then he unfroze and unnecessarily groped for the basin on the floor. There was nothing left inside Murphy now, but he was still heaving.

Take it out.

Connor knew what Murphy meant, but he still hesitated. "You need it, brother. And I don't know how…"

Do it. Now. Or I will…

Murphy, struggling to control his battered body, stop the gagging, lifted his arm. Connor realized with a fresh wave of horror that Murphy had already scratched the skin all around the needle to shreds. There was fresh blood on his shirt, the sheets, everywhere. Connor groped blindly for Neosporin and band aids on the bedside table, then pulled the needle out without really thinking. Murphy was shaking so hard now Connor didn't manage to affix a band aid to the puncture mark for a good minute. There was more blood all over them both and the soiled sheets before he was done.

Shaking hard himself now, Connor sat back. Murphy was finally calming down. Breath still ragged and shaky he turned away from the sick on the side of the bed and curled up on himself, facing away. Connor crawled round to the clean side, too, and tried to pull Murphy into his arms, but Murphy resisted.

Not now, Conn.

Connor felt the nausea still surging through his brother, the pain, slicing like a knife through his battered insides. He knew Murphy was trying hard not to be sick again. He was afraid that next time it would really be blood that came up, and that it would not stop until Murphy's body shut down for good.

Connor leaned against the headboard, looking down at Murphy but not touching. "That… vision. Was that him? The one Morgan is going to look for?"

He could feel the answer in his head and shuddered. That apparition had been the most awful thing Connor had seen in his life, and he'd really seen a lot. They both had. If that was what was in Murphy's mind constantly, frightening him, causing him pain, no wonder Murphy couldn't fight it. His brother caught that last thought and looked up.

You have no idea.

That hurt. Connor looked into blue eyes, dark like moonlit lakes, fever-ravaged and sparkling with despair. He realized it was the truth, he did have no idea. He could feel tears prickling behind his own eyelids.

Oh Conn…

Murphy's gaze changed. Suddenly full of love his eyes looked softer, less dark for a moment. With an effort he struggled up, nuzzling close to Connor who pulled him into his arms. Murphy sighed, letting himself relax, seeking closeness now. Connor held him, clung on. He hated how diminished his brother's body felt, how Murphy's ribs dug into his side, his fever-burning skin seemed to parch them both. And yet, holding him, feeling his heart still beating, his breath against his neck, had to mean there was still hope.

And yet… As Connor held Murphy is seemed that with every second, every shallow inhalation, Murphy was getting weaker. Their mental link seemed feeble now, as if Murphy no longer had the strength to keep them properly connected. Connor buried his head in Murphy's sweat-soaked hair and closed his eyes. They were almost out of time.

All around them the world was quiet, within, white noise.