setting: between episode 2 "Sick" & episode 4 "Killer Within"

Damnation

Chapter 14 - Inked

Six weeks after the farm incident...

The slow and steady pricking of the needle was annoying the crap out of him. Not just because it was painful and way too slow, but also because it made him feel uncomfortable in general. He hated to be sitting here on this chair without his shirt, and he hated how that stupid leprechaun behind him kept touching his freaking back. Daryl didn't even know why he had said yes to that stupid idea, that stupid pattern, that stupid everything. He kept squirming and complaining every once in a while, and that was driving Connor just as nuts.

"Fuckin quit yer squirming, will ye. 's gonna fuck up my masterpiece" he growled and hit his friend's shoulder, which made Daryl even more furious.

"What's there to fuck up? Bet's gonna look just as shitty as the piece of crap on your back" he growled and Connor rolled his eyes.

"Fucking blow me, man"

"Yah wish."

Silence. Another couple of pricks, ink being released in skin.

"Did yah really mean it?" the hunter asked and Connor looked up.

"Mean what? That you should blow me? Totally."

Daryl rolled his eyes and tried to hit the man behind him. The Irishman dodged the blow and chuckled.

"That it looks cool, dumbass."

The Irishman sighed and grabbed a piece of cloth to wipe some of the ink from his friend's back. Even after half an hour of sitting together and working on the tattoo Daryl would still tense his muscles every time he was being touched, like his whole body still remembered all the pain some other hands had caused him on his back years before. It made his friend's heart ache although Connor would never admit that. He hated the whole thing just as much, because he was forced to look at the terrible scars all the time. The blonde nodded and then buried the needle in his friend's back again, which caused Daryl's to swallow another hitch of breath, now that it hit one of the scars.

"Aye. Got a fucking A in artistic shit. It looks great, man. Trust me. "

"And it covers them up?" the hunter muttered and Connor nodded again. He wiped the ink off Daryl's shoulder once more and looked at the ugly scars on his friend's back, that he was slowly trying to cover up with the tattoo they had agreed on. Of course, the Irishman wasn't going to tattoo the same thing on his Daryl's back like the one he had tattooed on his brother's back. No matter how much he liked the idea of that illusion, the tattoo had belonged to Murphy, and no one else was allowed to have that. Not even Daryl. They had agreed on something that they both liked, although the Irishman had to talk his friend into it. Maybe it was a bit cheesy, but he liked it, and so did Daryl. He was running around with that thing every day anyway. So they had agreed to use the wings from his leather vest and put them on his back. And it really looked better than they had imagined, and most of all: it was doing its job. It hid the terrible scars.

"Aye" was all he said and Daryl nodded.

"Good."

There was silence for a very long while as Connor kept working on the tattoo. Daryl was used to his friend being loud and annoying, but when it came to things like this then the Irishman was freakishly quiet and concentrated. The blonde didn't say a word and the hunter actually enjoyed the silence between them for a while. It was really weird to be like this all of a sudden. Just a couple of months ago he had tried anything to get away from the man behind him. He had hated Connor, he had beaten him, he had tried to run away from him, run away from the fact that they had an amazing chemistry. And this was exactly the point. They couldn't stand each other so much that they actually liked each other again. Daryl still hated to be touched or to be near anyone, but the fact that Connor was so goddamn stubborn and that the others weren't here to see the whole thing was a pretty big improvement compared to the farm.

He was actually getting used to it and didn't even mind it that much anymore. This was some strangely new territory, a part of brotherhood that he had never really experienced with Merle, although he had wanted to. The near, the caring, those were the things that were all too natural for Connor, considering that he had not just been a brother but a twin brother. The fact that he was sharing that with him now like it was the most natural thing in the world actually helped Daryl a lot, all the awkwardness aside. Although he knew that Merle loved him as his baby brother and liked to pretend that he really cared about him his real brother had never really shown that in such a physical way like the Irishman. The existence of the scars on his back told him enough about all of Merle's 'caring'. This bastard had never really been there for him. Just like now. It felt like Connor was always just inches apart, whereas his real brother was always entire towns away from him. And maybe this was a good thing right now, because he didn't want him to see this sort of thing.

"Can I ask ye something?" he heard Connor mutter and looked up, seemingly snaped out of his train of thoughts now.

"What?"

"How'd he do it? What'd he do ta you exactly?"

Daryl knew what Connor was aiming at, since he could feel how the Irishman was now crossing the largest of the scars on his back.

"Don't know what yer talking about" he growled and heard his friend sigh.

"I mean yer scars. What did yer Da do t'fuck yer back up like tha? Looks fuckin horrible, man."

The hunter shifted with an annoyed eyeroll and tried to keep the blonde from touching the scar.

"Same thing 'm gonna do t'you if yah keep sticking your nose in other people's business."

"Fuck ye."

"Keep going and shut up."

Silence. Daryl kept wriggling and rolling his shoulders every once in a while as he tried to relax, which was rather hard to do considering his friend wouldn't stop touching his back and he absolutely hated it.

"Ye know, I never thought I'd say this, but yer actually even more fucking impatient than Murph when I did his tattoo."

Daryl didn't say anything to that, because there it was again. The ghost in the room. Daryl just needed to hear this name and his blood ran cold. Just like he hated to talk about his own past he also hated to talk about his friend's, because it was obvious that Connor still wasn't over it. The crying had started again, although the Irishman had only just "buried" his brother's remains on the farm. He had witnessed it, he had believed that Connor was getting better on the farm, and then the bite had happened. And they were back to the same old shit, only that this time the blonde tried to hide it from him just like he had hid it from the group back at Herschel's.

Now it was happening in the middle of the night and more muffled than ever, or sometimes it happened when Connor thought he was alone. And whenever he watched his friend the Irishman would be staring at the red bite wound on his arm, and he didn't even need to hear it, he knew what Connor was thinking. Why me and not him? Why did I survive this shit and he didn't? But they didn't talk about it, simply because Daryl hated it, and because they had more important things to do than all this whiny talk crap. Just because they were alone now it didn't mean he was going to let that stupid leprechaun make him a sissy who talked about his feelings. The Irishman kept talking anyway, but Daryl ignored him completely. The hunter stared out of the window instead and looked at the gray clouds. It was getting colder with every day that passed, and they were running dangerously low on food. The only good thing about the winter was that the walkers were also slower, but it wasn't like it mattered to Connor anyway. Daryl suddenly got up because he was getting sick of all his friend's talk about how he had once tattooed his brother's back once.

"We should go out and hunt before nightfall. Still got a couple of hours to do that."

Connor was still sitting on his chair, the tattoo pen in his hand and eyebrow raised.

"Te fuck, I thought we was gonna do yer fucking tattoo?"

"We got all winter, don't we? Ain't gonna starve to death just cos you can't shut up and work faster" the hunter muttered as he put his undershirt, shirt, sweater and leather jacket back on.

Connor scratched his nose and leaned his arms on the back of the chair he was still sitting on. He watched how his friend got dressed and chewed on his lower lip for a while, unsure if he should really ask or not. He came to the conclusion that he needed to ask. Because Daryl was right. Winter was coming, they had hardly any food left, and he was freaking starving.

"Speaking of which, I gotta ask ye fer a favour" the Irishman muttered as he got up to get his new leather jacket as well.

"Like what?" Daryl asked as he grabbed his crossbow and one of their smaller bags so he could put some provision, water and two flashlights in it.

"I want ye t'teach me how to hunt and track shit. Maybe with yer crossbow? It kinda sucks that yer the only one who can do that, that yer the one who's gotta hunt down food and find shit. I wanna be able t'do that, too."

The hunter just snorted and Connor frowned.

"Oh come on, don't gimme that shit. I got a bit of experience. Our uncle taught me and Murph all sorts of things about weapons and military stuff. I worked on a sheep farm, I know how animals work. I can ride a horse, I got a good aim, and I worked at a meat-packing plant. Which means I know how t'take out organs and make the meat ready t'eat. 's just the hunting and tracking I never gotta do."

The younger man just eyed his friend for a moment and the Irishman pointed at his friend's crossbow, which Daryl had thrown over his shoulder.

"Yer good at it. Very good in fact. And just in case anything ever happens t'ye, and I swear t'god that's never gonna happen,..someone's gotta be able t'do this shit, should ye ever be gone. I hardly fucking survived this shit before I met ye people and that was early on when there was enough food left over. But I ain't gonna last another year if I don't get my shit tagether and learn stuff like that."

Daryl sighed and chewed on his lower lip. After a moment of looking at each other he sighed and got back to packing their stuff.

"Okay. We can try."

Connor grinned and started packing some of his own stuff with a giggle.

"Fuck yeah, now that's my boy."

Daryl growled and pointed at him.

"But don't think yah get t'touch my crossbow. Don't even look at it."

Connor grinned even more.

"Come on, I gave ye my gun. The least ye can do is let me shoot that fucking thing. Fer once at least."

Daryl snorted and started walking again to make his way to the hallway.

"Dream on, yah leprechaun."

now...

Daryl was sitting on the chair in Connor's cell, the Irishman was standing right behind him. The hunter had insisted that they needed to do this in here, simply because he still didn't want people to see. He didn't want them to see his scars, that was true, but he also didn't want them to see how close and almost intimate he and his friend had gotten over the winter. Daryl had always felt uncomfortable when he was supposed to be sitting somewhere without his shirt on for the sake of the tattoo that was being put on his back, and now that there were other people around he dreaded it even more. It was like he could almost sense Rick or Carol coming up these stairs to talk to them, because he was sure that their help was needed anyway.

"Real fucking great idea ta do this in here. I can't see shit. Just cos yer a fucking baby about it" Connor growled and Daryl snorted.

"Who was being a baby about shit just an hour ago when you blasted that guy's head off? Or how about two days ago when you were acting like a fucking girl because of how people are acting around you?"

"Fuck you" Connor growled and pricked his friend extra hard, which made Daryl yelp. He tried to lunge out to hit his friend hard, but the Irishman kept him in place.
There was silence again, and now that everything had calmed down the two men could actually spend some time on thinking about what had happened today.
Especially Daryl couldn't stop thinking about those murders. He had never seen his friend in action like that. Not in his Saints action at least.

"'m actually surprised you didn't shoot them right from the off" he muttered and Connor snorted.

"I would've done it no matter what. I was just waiting fer the right opportunity and reason fer you people. Yer right, if it were fer me then I would've shot them right then and there. And when he cut me, shoved te walker at ye and bashed that fella's head in I was fuckin sold."

Daryl snorted as well.

"Moron."

Silence. Daryl shifted once and Connor dug his fingers in his shoulder to let him know that he was supposed to hold still if he didn't want his tattoo to get fucked up.

"How'd you people pick your victims before all that shit happened anyway?" the hunter asked to keep his friend from complaining about today.

"We went by the shape of their nose, basically" the Irishman answered and started laughing a couple of seconds later.

Daryl shook his head with an angry frown.

"Screw you."

He winced when the needle of the pen went across his spine. Connor got rid of some ink on his friend's skin and shook his head with a smirk.

"Nah. They basically fell into our laps every time. Just like this little fucker today. I like ta think that god leads our way.
He sent us te message ta kill those people after all. Steady now."

Daryl just grunted and bent his back to give Connor better access. He could hear the others moving and sorting stuff downstairs, and he was still not used to having people around all of a sudden. He wanted to be with the group again, simply because he had really appreciated their company back in Atlanta and at the farm. Especially after he had lost Merle. It was well true that he had rather enjoyed the couple of months with just Connor which had also meant less drama, but they both had also felt rather lonely without other people. They were human after all, and they were still used to their old society, where there had been loads of people running around them every day. Apart from the walkers the loneliness was their worst enemy, so he actually appreciated being back with Rick and the others. And this was exactly the reason why he didn't want Connor to screw everything up with his stupid god bullshit.

"You know that Rick would've handled it, right?"

Connor snorted.

"Aye, well it's my job ta rid the world of all te filth. Just cos it ended it don't mean I won't keep doing it."

"I just meant to warn you dumbass. Rick sets the rules now. Not you. Don't screw this up."

The Irishman raised an eyebrow and started pricking his friend harder than necessary.

"You can fuckin talk. Who was te one who almost gutted that kid back at the farm."

"Yeah, don't be stupid. That was different" the hunter growled and Connor stopped working for a second.

"Oh really? What was so fucking different about that one? People are dangerous to our group? We kill them. We protect the innocent and do all the work the others are too pussy ta do. 's what I've always done and it's what I will always do. End of fucking discussion. Now stop moving and let me do my fucking work."

Daryl pressed his lips together because he was angry but at the same time didn't want to say anything to that anymore. He supposed that his friend was right, and he was mad at him for bringing up this Randall kid and what he had tried to do with him. He tried to leave it be, simply because he knew that Connor would never listen to him, simply because he was way too stubborn and took every criticism the wrong way. He let him work and brood for a while and tried to be still, which was rather hard now that his friend was working like a butcher behind him.

"People told me that Herschel needs some crutches and they didn't find any here" the hunter muttered after a while and tried to change the topic, and when Connor wouldn't say anything he kept going.

"I told 'em we'd go looking for some tomorrow. Maybe go out on a scouting mission. We could also take a look at the outside of the prison, try to look for that one wall that's down."

"Sappose."

Just like any other night Daryl woke up when something moved behind him.
He didn't even need to turn around and open his eyes, he knew what was going on.
And just like any other night he greeted the person with the same words.

"Fuck off" he growled and shifted. And just like any other night Connor greeted him with the same words as well.

"Fuck you."

Daryl tried to move out of his reach, but he knew it was pointless. Connor would never stop coming in the middle of the night, no matter how many times he complained about it and hit his friend. The hunter opened his eyes and shook his head with an annoyed sigh.

"'m gonna move into a cell tomorrow. Just so yah ass stop annoying the crap outta me every night. Jesus, yah won't ever stop it with this faggy bullshit, will yah?"

Connor chuckled behind him.

"Well, don't think I can't fit on those bunk beds. It'll be nice 'n comfy" he said and started laughing when Daryl turned around and started hitting him. The hunter hated how this was happening every night, the same words, the same stupid fake flirtations he hated so much, the same fights, and Connor still wouldn't get it. It always felt like the Irishman enjoyed this kind of banter, as if it was his highlight of the day. Daryl, on the other hand, was really getting sick of this. They stopped fighting after a while and relaxed, now that they both were incredibly tired.

Daryl woke up for the second time in a row this night, this time because he realized that he was alone on the perch. It was rather unusual, because he remembered Connor coming to him just a couple of hours ago. He didn't want to care and sleep on, but there was a part of him that just couldn't stop worrying. The hunter sat up and looked at the cell in front of him, the cell Connor usually slept in if he wasn't busy annoying him on his perch. Daryl frowned when he saw that the cell was empty. His first instincts told him that Connor was gone. He had talked about leaving more than once, and it wasn't like the Irishman had snuck out and done something stupid before. Daryl got up and approached his friend's cell, only to see that his things and clothes were still there. He let out a relieved sigh and cursed himself for caring so much again, but that nagging part in him wouldn't go away. He scratched the back of his head and searched the rest of the cell block, but his friend was nowhere to be found. The hunter made his way out of the block and entered the entrance hall, where T-Dog was keeping watch. He looked at the man and searched the room.

"Have yah seen Connor?"

T-Dog turned around and looked at him.

"Yeah, went outside to have a smoke."

Daryl frowned even more.

"And yah let 'im?"

T-Dog shrugged.

"Ain't got no reason not to let him do whatever he wants t'do."

The hunter made his way outside and scanned the prison yard. He couldn't see Connor anywhere, so he started walking. It didn't take long and he could hear some strange coughing sounds coming from around the corner. Daryl already knew what was going on, but he was still shocked. He could see his friend standing there with his head down, another coughing fit causing him to throw up whatever was left inside him.

"Jesus, why didn't yah say anything?!"

The hunter rushed to help his friend, but as soon as he placed a hand on his back Connor already moved out of his way.

"It's nothing" he murmured and let out an exhausted groan.

"Already getting better again" he added and finally looked up. Daryl had already prepared himself to see blood, but there was nothing there.

"Just randomly felt like puking again."

The Irishman started walking and headed for the benches. Daryl tried to help him, but whenever he just got close to his friend Connor was already shoving him away.
He sat down on the bench with his head down and took a couple of shaky deep breaths.

"Jesus fuckin Christ" he murmured and wiped his mouth. Daryl just watched him with a worried look on his face.

"So what, yah gonna die again because of some stupid cut?"

Connor snorted and shook his head.

"You wish. No. No fever, no pain, no nothin. Just felt real fucking sick all of te sudden."

He moved the sleeve of his shirt up and looked at his stitches. They could see that there was still a blood poisoning, but it didn't look as dangerous as the bite had looked like almost a year ago. The worried look on Daryl's face wouldn't disappear.

"For real? Yah ain't lying t'me like the last time?"

Connor snorted.

"Last time I got bit it didn't take 4 hours and I was done. Been more like 4 hours now, don't ye think? And I can still walk 'n talk."

He coughed and cleared his throat. Daryl looked at him and frowned.

"Yer confusing the crap outta me, yah know that?"

The Irishman chuckled.

"Hell, I'm confusing the crap outta me."

They kept quiet for a while and Connor felt better with every minute he was sitting and breathing fresh air. Daryl watched some walkers outside and sighed.

"So yah really are immune. No matter how many times they bite yah. It won't kill yah."

The Irishman shrugged and leaned back.

"Well, it obviously can kill me if I lose t'much blood or they rip me or part or whatever. 's just their stuff that won't kill me" he murmured and nearly threw up again.
He could keep it in, but it took him a moment to calm down again. He started walking in circles and took a couple of deep breaths.

"Want me t'get yah anything?" Daryl asked and the other man shook his head.

"No, 's alright. Let's...let's just get back inside, sleep fer a bit. Thought we were gonna leave early tomorrow."

Daryl got up.

"Yah sure? Maybe we should..."

"I said 'm fuckin fine, Daryl" Connor growled and headed for the door.

Daryl followed him with an angry frown. He hated how his friend was still backing off when he was honestly trying to help. It was like a year ago, only that they had switched rolls. Now he found himself running after his friend whereas Connor tried to keep his distance from him. No matter how many months had passed and no matter how many things had changed, their complicated friendship was still driving him insane.