Hey you guys! Sorry it's taken me so superlong to update this time. Writer's block kinda hit me, then I had a shitload to do with university stuff, then I got into a new fandom, blablabla. But I'm still gonna keep going with this fic! Although I had to kick myself in the ass this time. :D I hope it's not too bad. I had some trouble getting back into the fic after two weeks of not writing. Anyhoo, here's a new chap.

We're getting very close to the mid season finale stuff! Be prepared for loads of craycray.

Absolution

Chapter 25 - Burn

It seemed like the whole thing was very eager to keep repeating itself. The harsh and loud sounds of growling and banging on doors had lured them outside, and no matter how much Hershel really tried to make Connor stay in bed, the Irishman refused to let the old man handle the situation on his own.

The Irishman was still coughing a lot, the fever gave him a blurry vision and he had a hard time walking straight because he felt pretty weak, but he kept going. He knew what those sounds meant. More people had died and turned and now that they were walkers, they were trying to get out, ready to stumble down the corridors, eager to find living prey, their next victims. Connor knew that if he let Hershel deal with all this by himself, the whole scenario from earlier this morning was going to repeat itself. They couldn't risk the freshly turned to get out and start killing all over again, they had lost way too many people in less than 24 hours after all.

It was almost hopeless, and Connor found himself looking outside the windows more than once, because he was getting more and more worried. Not just because of the whole Murphy being out there with the psycho killer issue, but also because now that Dr Stevens was gone, Milton couldn't come in here and now that Hershel was the only medic left, it was actually getting kind of hairy.

They needed the medicine. Each time Connor saw another turned person or had to force a coughing person to keep still, he became aware of that more and more. And the burning pain in his chest, throat and sinuses, as well as each deep and aching coughing fits just made it even more obvious.

He and Hershel spent hours roaming the building, going down the stairs and back up again, constantly checking on patients, pumping air into someone's lungs, getting rid of bloody sheets and rags. It wasn't exactly helping that Connor couldn't breathe that good either, but there was no way in hell that he'd ever admit that he was actually weak and vulnerable himself right now.

He knew that Hershel trusted him and believed him, and he knew that it was going to become clear and evident that neither Murphy nor even him had killed Karen and David. But he still wanted to show everyone that they were good people, that this was about their town, that they were all part of one team, which was why he was so eager to help now.

Four more people suffocated on their own blood and died during the course of those couple of hours, and it was mostly Connor who put them down, sometimes simply getting it done and over with with a simple stab, sometimes struggling a little more when heavy coughing fits took hold of him. But he tried hard to keep them in and hide them, because he knew that it would only make Hershel's nagging worse. The old man just kept trying to get him back to bed, but how the hell could he possibly lie low when all of this was happening? He couldn't give in. couldn't stop fighting and being strong, because then he was showing defeat, and he knew where that path led.

But the truth was actually quite simple. He should lie down and rest because was weak and even worse, scared. For many reasons. Scared, because it was taking Murphy and Daryl so long and because he didn't know what was going on with Terry, scared, because he could see the progression of the disease he carried.

People were dying and choking on their own blood. People were dying and put down like sick dogs. He didn't know if it was just psychosomatic or the real deal, but he himself felt like breathing was getting harder and harder. He didn't feel as bad as some of the others, and maybe he could blame it on his immunity, he didn't know, but it was still starting to freak him out as well. Connor couldn't help but wonder. How long was it going to take before he ended up choking on his own blood? How long was it going to take before the fever was burning him up as well?

He'd been there before. He knew how bad it really was, how scary and plain terrifying. He didn't want to live through a repetition of that night ever again. His biggest mistake during that night after the farm had been that he had allowed himself to lie down. Only because of his giving up the fight had he almost not been able to get up again, resulting in Daryl almost shooting him in the head.

Daryl. That was another story.

Connor let out an exhausted sigh for a moment and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. Hershel used the time to give the deceased a final blessing, to bid him farewell with a few passages from the bible. Maybe it was a good thing that it was taking Daryl and Murphy longer to get here. Connor especially didn't want to put his friend through all that again. He knew that Daryl wasn't good at taking something like that. They could fight all they want, they could beat each other bloody and yell at each other and insult each other until they were blue in the face, but Connor just knew that Daryl cared very fucking much about him.

This was another reason why he just kept going right now, why he was so eager to keep moving and help Hershel. He didn't want Daryl to see how he truly felt. Like shit. Maybe not as bad as right after his first bite, but still. It certainly was no picnic.

For just a moment he allowed himself to keep his eyes closed, to wince when he swallowed and it hurt, he allowed himself to cough into his fist and wipe the sweat of his feverish forehead. He allowed himself to zone out a bit and listened to his rapid heartbeat, the rhythmic pounding in his ears, allowed himself to feel the burning pain in his throat, lungs, head and nose. The Irishman knew that if he really allowed himself to give in now, he was going to collapse. Maybe black out and truly cough like there was no tomorrow. For a second he even played around with that thought, spinning it around in his head.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder he immediately snapped his eyes open again and found himself looking at Hershel, who had a worried look on his face.

"You should rest" the old man said, almost in a fatherly manner, and nodded at the can with elderberry tea again.

Connor sniffed and wiped his nose quickly, clearing his throat and then shaking his head.

"We should go, get rid of te bodies and burn them. We can't stay in here with more 'n more bodies pilin up and rotting away in these beds. We gotta at least try ta keep te place somewhat sterile. People don' wanna see the outcome of tha fuckin disaster. We should protect the sick" he said and tried to head for the door, but Hershel grabbed him by his arm to stop him.

"You can't go out there. You're sick, you're exhausted. If you don't rest and give your body a break you're just going to make it worse."

Connor shrugged Hershel off with an angry huff and looked at him.

"So what are ye gonna do? Half the town is in here, the other half is either keeping watch or out there looking fer supplies and medicine. We can't send the few remaining healthy ones in here and back out there with infected corpses without risking more infections, and we can hardly send you out there ta drag all the bodies around when ye only got one fuckin leg. 'm sorry, Hershel, I'm only being realistic. I know I should rest but fuck it, 'm pretty much the only sick one left standing and someone's gotta have te balls ta get a hold of the situation. Being around infected's not gonna do much ta me anymore. Let's face it, we're both fuckin handicapped but we gotta make te best outta it, now shut it and help me, old man" the Irishman said angrily and ended up coughing after talking that much, but he just ignored his own sickness and went right ahead.

Connor approached the dead man on the bed and, after crossing himself, wrapped the blankets and sheets around his corpse to get him ready for transport.
It was then when two more hands suddenly grabbed the sheets as well, making the Irishman look up.

"We need to get a car. We can't burn the corpses in our backyards. We should drive them outside town. Go tell Glenn and Sasha to look after the sick ones in the mean time. You're not going out there on your own."

"'s fuckin perfect!" Murphy shouted and kicked the dashboard hard with an angry growl.

Their car wasn't working anymore. Their collision with the herd earlier today had clogged the engine up with all sorts of disgusting things, hair, skin, even pieces of bones from all the countless corpses they had mowed down during the attempt to get the hell away. What made it even worse was the fact that it happened to be the same car that had broken down earlier as well, when Connor and Daryl had been on their way to burn corpses and when that other group of murdering psychos had shot at them.

Daryl now cursed himself for not listening to his friend when Connor had suggested that they should've just taken another car from the parking lot at the golf club then, cursed himself for insisting that they should take this piece of crap back with them because it was so 'reliable'.

He had opened the front lid to see what was worth saving, but his knowledge of car mechanics told him that this whole thing was a lost case.

Again.

What is it with us and broken down cars 'n flat tires all te time., Connor had said earlier today.

How fucking true.

Daryl tried to get rid of some of the hair and skin but the engine was burning hot and even smoking a bit, not to mention the awful smell of burned, rotten skin.
The hunter looked up the moment he heard the slam of a car door.

"Te fuck's takin ye so long?" Murphy snarled angrily, having lost his patience once again. The younger MacManus walked up to Daryl and the front of the car to see what was going on. Daryl looked at him for a moment but then concentrated on the car engine again, trying to rub it clean with his red rag. But it was useless. The hunter kicked the front of the car a bit and then stepped back.

"Piece of shit ain't workin no more" he growled and slammed the front lid shut, putting his hands on his hips with an angry frown. Murphy looked at the lid of the car and back at Daryl multiple times, until he approached the hunter and shoved him.

"Then fuckin get it workin again!" he demanded, angry, in a hurry and most importantly, being a pain in Daryl's ass once again.

The hunter shoved the Irishman back with an angry growl.

"It would still work if you dumbass hadn't thrown yahself right at these walkers! If you'd just kept your ass inside the car we wouldn't have gotten surrounded in the first place you dumb fuck!"

"Fuck ye, what else was I gonna do, let 'em eat Wendy? At least I was doin something insteada just staring at these dead fucks and not doin anything at all, and if anyone wrecked this car then it's gotta be you asshole cos you drove it and didn' even fuckin see the herd in te first place!" Murphy snapped back and they were close to fighting yet again.

It wasn't even like they hated each other. But they were both stressed, the wrecked car annoyed the crap out of the both of them because they really wanted to get back to Connor, to get him his medicine, to be with him, to help their whole town and tell them about Terry.

"Guys… guys…GUYS!" Wendy finally stepped in, walking right between them and placing a hand on each chest, only to look at Daryl and Murphy.

"If you keep yelling like that we're just going to lure another bunch of walkers over here, and I'm not exactly in the mood for any more of that fighting and yelling crap today! Stop acting like children!" she said and gave them an angrily glare, which got even more serious as soon as she pointed her finger at the both of them.

"Let's just grab our gear, start walking, and find ourselves a new car! My best friend is back there, and she needs medicine just as much as your brother, and your friend or whatever. Now let's go" she said and even buried her finger in Daryl's chest to shove him back and start walking.

Both men were momentarily silenced because of the sheer surprise and shock and no matter how hard they tried, it wasn't like they could fight the woman because frankly, they were quite scared of her, hell, women in general. Daryl frowned a little because he was confused by the "friend or whatever" statement, immediately freaked out and wondering how much Wendy knew about him and Connor. Murphy just threw his hands in the air with an annoyed growl and walked back to his side of the car so he could do as he was told, whether he wanted to or not.

In the end he supposed that Wendy was right. Just standing here and fighting all day wasn't going to help anyone back in Woodbury, certainly not Connor. They needed to move and find a new car then, since the fucking redneck was obviously too stupid to fix the car. Funny that, he'd seen the fucker work on his stupid bike more than once back in Woodbury, all showing off and trying to look cool with his stupid biker vest and roaring engine. And as soon as their car broke down he couldn't do shit? The fuck? Murphy even allowed himself to kick the car angrily and then cursed under his breath.

This entire fucking day was a piece of shit. This was another reason why he wanted to get going so badly. Not just because of Connor, but also because he was fed up with everything. Today had been nothing but a nightmare. With the whole outbreak, the burning of bodies, Connor getting sick, Terry trying to kill him, and now the car breaking down.

And to make it only worse….when he looked up he could see that the sun was setting already. He was sure that they wouldn't get back home before nightfall, maybe even not before tomorrow morning. Murphy packed his things together and gripped the bag a bit tighter than necessary, because now he was actually worried sick.

He'd seen Patrick and the others. The blood, he'd heard the coughs and he'd heard Dr Stevens talk about it.
There had been dead people, and there was a reason why they'd gone out here looking for medicine after all.

What if Connor was dead by the time they came back home?

Everything had gone to shit pretty fast. So what if he was suffocating on his blood right now?
Fuck fuck fuck.

He packed everything up even faster and startled when something was thrown at his feet.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed angrily and turned around, only to see that Daryl had thrown a fuel can and hose at him but was already walking around their car to get to the trunk.

"Stop whining and make yourself useful. Pump the gas outta the fuel tank" the hunter murmured and didn't give Murphy any chance to say something to that. The younger MacManus wanted to complain, wanted to snap and fight some more because he was so fucking fed up with everything right now, but in the end he gave in without a sound and headed for the back of the car. He supposed Daryl was right, they needed the fuel for the car they were going to go look for, and although he still didn't want to do anything to please the annoying face stealer who fucked his own brother, he gave in.

This was the second time in less than 24 hours. The second time he had to go back out here, drag bodies around, only that this time, it was even worse than earlier this morning. They weren't digging holes, that was probably a good thing because it was less demanding and neither he or Hershel would have been able to do it anyway, but at the same time, it was still harder.

His shirt was drenched with sweat by now and kept gluing itself to his back, his belly, even his ass. No matter how many times Connor tried to wipe the sweat off his face using his already drenched shirt or sweaty forearms, it wasn't helping any.

There were many reasons why he'd come out here. The first one didn't exactly have the desired effect. Now that the sun was slowly setting it was getting a bit cooler, and he certainly appreciated the fresh air out here, but it wasn't as cooling and good as he'd hoped for it to be.

Reason number two why he was out here was also the official reason: getting rid of the bodies. It was exhausting as hell, it was sobering and upsetting, but it needed to be done. The bodies were already smelling not just from their previous sickness and death but also because of the heat, and the whole thing was reason enough to get it over and done with. They were a pile of infectious, biological and possibly hazardous waste.

The Irishman was once again reminded of the early days of the outbreak, how fucked up that had been. The piles of bodies back at Fenway Park in Boston, on Mass Pike or all around the Boston Harbor area. The sheer amount of corpses and them not being able to keep up with the burning process had made the whole thing get out of hand in the first place. He didn't need to know much shit about medicine, didn't need to be a medic to get that. They just couldn't give everyone a proper burial.

But it was exactly that what made Connor a bit upset, it went against his beliefs, everything he wished for. As he stacked up the bodies and put them on a pile just off the road on a small clearing inside the nearby woods he couldn't help but wonder if people were going to do the same to him, should this stupid disease get him.

Of course it wasn't going to get him, he thought with an angry frown. He was a tough fucker, he'd survived two bites, getting shot multiple times, he'd survived a jump of a five story building, and so on and so forth. Most of all: he was fucking Irish. But still, maybe he couldn't help but wonder.

He didn't want to end up on a pile like this. Buried underneath disease ridden, rotten corpses. Burned like witches on a stake, burned like Karen and David earlier today. He knew that neither Daryl nor Murphy would ever let that happen to him, but still, what if it happened?

No, not after everything.

Although he was completely exhausted by now and could hardly stand Connor forced himself to keep piling the bodies up, to not let Hershel, and old man with an amputated leg, do most of the work. Because fuck it, he just had a damn cold! He forced himself not to cough once more although it was incredibly hard and his throat was burning like he'd drunk liquid burning hot lava. He needed to be strong, because there was a reason number three why he was out here.

Get some fresh air. Burn the bodies and help Hershel.
And maybe be out here to go look for Murphy and Daryl for a bit.

Because it was taking them too long now. He knew it. Fort Valley was an hour drive from here. Maybe two. Add another one or two hours of looting time and they should've been back here at least two hours ago. Terry had made it obvious that he wanted to use this mission to do something to Murphy.

Connor was beyond freaked out and wanted nothing more than just follow them, find them and kill the fucker, but at the same time he knew that it was stupid. He trusted Murphy, knew that he could watch his ass just fine and he also knew that Daryl was going to look after his brother just as much as he looked after him.

But now it was just getting scary.

What if Terry had killed them both? His best friend and his brother?

He wanted to be out here and see them return. He wanted to check if only Terry was in the car when he returned, and he wanted to murder him even before the guy managed to step foot in their town, should that be the case.

But they were nowhere in sight.

Connor would look up from his work from time to time, not just to look for his brother and friend, but also because he needed to catch breath more and more, because his eyes were stinging with hot sweat and from the fever. He almost lost grip of the fuel can when they poured the liquid on the corpses, but as soon as Hershel tried to help him he just shrugged the old man off with an angry frown and carried on with his task.

As soon as the corpses were drenched he searched his pockets for his pack of cigarettes in which he also kept his lighter and matches and then lit one on fire, to throw it on the pile and set their former friends and members of their sick town in flames. The heat was almost killing him by now. It felt like the fever was only getting worse because of the heat from the fire, but for some reason Connor couldn't stop staring at the flames, imagining many faces in there. His own. Murphy's and Daryl's, should Terry do the same to them as he had done to Karen and David.

There was no way in hell he was going to let that happen.
He wasn't going to die. Murphy or Daryl weren't going to die.
No. Not anymore.
Not anymore people.

Connor clenched his fists and felt a sudden incredible wave of anger, because his sickness annoyed him and pain made him angry by default, because he was furious with Terry and anyone else in their town who believed that his brother had done anything wrong.

It was then when everything went black, from one second to the next.

Connor fell to the ground with a muffled grunt, his vision blurring for a moment, confused as hell. There was a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his head and no longer just in his throat and aching lungs, and for a second he didn't know what was going on.

Was this the sickness claiming him back, just like that? Not allowing him to force himself to be strong and get over it? The Irishman winced in pain and couldn't help but cough violently, which only made his sudden headache worse. But right now he was momentarily and almost paralyzed from the sudden shock and pain, which made it impossible to fight anything, be it the sickness or whatever was out there.

It took him a moment to recover from his coughing fit and open his eyes again, and Connor let out a pained grunt as he reached for the back of his head, only to feel the bruise that was already forming there. A moment later he was suddenly kicked and thrown on his back. It was then when he suddenly felt even more pressure to his already tense chest and found himself gasping for breath as a foot pressed him down and kept him on the ground, dangerously close to the burning corpses.

When his heated vision was finally clear enough to make him see again he found himself facing the muzzle of a cold gun, which was pointed right at his head. There was some laughing there, that was the first thing he really noticed as he slowly gained consciousness again. It took him a while to truly process everything but then it slowly dawned on him. It wasn't the sickness or fever which had knocked him out cold like that. The pounding in the back of his head told him a different story, the metal object in front of his eyes made it clear. This fucker had knocked him out with a hard blow of the grip of his gun, right to the back of his head.

"You know, we almost thought we'd lost you after your little visit earlier this morn. But good god, here you are, making smoke signals and practically sending us a 'come and get me' invitation" his attacker greeted him, which was followed by the chuckling of multiple people.

Connor groaned in pain and ended up coughing again, because the pressure to his chest made it impossible to fight it now. But he still tried to fight and automatically reached for his gun to shoot his attacker, but his attempt was interrupted with yet another painful kick, then another man stepped right on the Irishman's left hand which had only just recovered from broken bones he had inflicted himself when he had tried to escape Woodbury a couple of months ago.

Connor yelped in pain and ripped his eyes wide open in surprise, only to end up coughing and then forcing himself to shut up. The other man kicked his gun away and then stepped on his hand again, pressing his foot down onto the Irishman's hand and keeping it locked there. The sudden harsh pain in his wrist had pulled Connor right out of his dizzy post-knock-out and feverish craze, leaving him wide awake and staring at his attackers.

And this was when he could see it. The army trucks. The guns, not only pointed at his head but also at Hershel, who had been forced on his knees and just knelt there with his hands in the air, shotgun pressed to the back of his head as he looked at Connor with wide, worried eyes.

It was the pose he recognized right away. The guns, the people. The cars.

The guy with the broken nose who was grinning down at him.

The farm. The ambush. The group he and Daryl had watched. The guys who had tried to get them out of their car. One of those guys was facing him right now.
The same gun, his nose broken from when Daryl had slammed the car door right into his face.

He couldn't see the other guy, the one who had pressed a knife to his throat, but those were unmistakably the people from the farm, who had executed the old farmer and those two teenagers, the people who had previously forced them unto their knees and pressed their guns to their heads just like they were doing it to Hershel now.

"Ohhh, what is it, you can't breathe, hm? Wait, let me help you…" the man said and only stepped on Connor's chest even more, almost shifting his entire weight onto his ribcage to a point where the Irishman feared it was going to break or forcing his already abused and infected lungs to explode. But he forced himself to keep silent, to not show any weakness and let them see that he was in pain, and he thanked god that he was actually rather good at this.

The man suddenly leaned further down and didn't give Connor a chance to reply, because then he already kept talking.

"You know, Aaron couldn't breathe anymore either when you two fucks were done with him" the man snarled in Connor's face and then nodded to the left, the man who was already stepping on the older MacManus' hand.

"Listen…"Connor grunted and finally tried to get a hold of the situation but was silenced when the grip of the rifle suddenly hit his head hard once again, making his ears ring and making him see stars for a moment as the hot and white flash of pain rushed through his already aching head and body.

For about a minute Connor actually really couldn't breathe because the blow had caused his nose to bleed, because it was running down his face and because of the pressure to his chest and the coughing fits made it almost impossible to keep his airways free, but after what felt like eternity of struggling and Hershel speaking up to get them to stop the pressure was finally lifted off Connor's chest and he started coughing violently, spitting blood, even slightly rolling to the side, doubling up a bit to a point where he almost gagged.

What just made it even worse was the fact that all these people around them were laughing, with one woman, the one they had already seen freak out earlier today, who was laughing especially hard and loudly.

"Take them back to camp. We heard him and another guy talk about a town of theirs. Derek's gonna love me."

The moment the weight was lifted off his chest and Connor could finally stop coughing again the Irishman immediately reached for his attacker's jeans to grip it tight and stop him from leaving. "Let the old man go, he's got nothing ta fuckin do with it" he grunted and simultaneously tried to get up, lunge out and protect Hershel, but his system was too weak from the flu, and another coughing fit almost knocked him out anyway.

The gunman actually just looked down at Connor, who was a bloody coughing mess by now but still fought way to hard to get back up again, despite the fact that he was completely surrounded. His attacker even took the time to look at Hershel, who looked just as helpless but somewhat strong and who had his eyes fixed on struggling Connor with a worried look on his face, always aware of the guns pressed to the back of his head.

For a moment it actually looked like they were considering it as they watched Connor and how he tried to get up under heavy coughing fits with his bloody mouth and nose. Seconds passed and then they all just started laughing again, and the moment Connor tried to raise his hands in a soothing gesture to get them to talk to him and buy himself and Hershel some time, he was already knocked out cold by yet another painful and hard blow to his head, only that this time, it really left him unconscious before he even hit the ground.

They entered the gas station in the pitch dark, Daryl always careful and slow, Murphy just annoyed beyond any reasonable proportions. He just wanted to get it over and done with, find the stuff they needed for the car they had found outside, get back to Woodbury, bring Connor and everyone else their medicine, fill them in on Terry and that's it.

He didn't give a rat's ass about walkers and once again actually tempted them to come and get them, which was why he whistled once again and almost made Daryl jump. The hunter didn't get the chance to yell at the Irishman because then some walkers came shuffling towards them, bang on the dot, drawn in by Murphy's previous whistle.

Daryl tried to raise his crossbow to point it at their heads but Murphy suddenly started running right at the undead, knife in his hands, launching himself right at them and stabbing them in their heads.

"Emo kid!" Daryl automatically snarled once again and came running after the older man, since it had already become some sort of bad habit. He hated how Murphy just kept doing that, launching himself at every possible danger with fists flying, and it slowly but carefully made the hunter understand his friend a bit more, why Connor was always freaking out over his stupid twin brother and tried to keep him from everything.

But Murphy didn't seem to care about anything, he went right ahead, hacking and shoving and kicking his way through the couple of walkers that were trying to get to Daryl, until the last one was downed with a surprise arrow from the hunter, who had finally managed to shoot one at their attackers during this little chaos, and maybe he didn't even care if he hit the stupid Irishman right now.

"I told you to keep your fuckin trap shut!" Daryl said angrily and approached the Irishman to try and shove him and knock some sense into him somehow, but Murphy wasn't having any of that.

"And I told ye I don' need a fuckin babysitter! I coulda just gone in here and get yer shit, 'm getting sick of everyone treating me like a fuckin baby, I can watch my ass just fine, just like I coulda fuckin handled this Terry prick!" Murphy spat and then turned around to get his knife back, pulling it out of the rotten eye socket of one of the walkers with a sickening smacking sound.

Daryl watched the Irishman fiddle about for a moment, as he finally understood what Murphy's sudden anger issues were about. Up until now, he hadn't quite been able to understand why the fuck this stupid idiot was angry with him after he had just saved his sorry ass from this psychopath, but now he was surprised to find out that it was exactly about that.

Daryl snorted and shook his head. About a year ago this would've been the moment where he'd just throw himself at the man and got into a fight with him yet again, triggered by Murphy's neverending trying to put up a fight, nervous bundle of energy that he was. But a lot had changed during the past year and Daryl now found himself far more relaxed about the whole thing, almost to a point where he even dared to call it understanding. It was kind of funny. His entire family life had been far from normal and ordinary. His entire relationship with Merle had been far from ordinary and normal.

And yet, it was still the same. He was a little brother, too, after all. He swallowed hard and looked away for a moment. He had been, he thought bitterly, but that didn't change anything right now. He knew what this was about, knew what Murphy was aiming at, was always aiming at, had done it for the past couple of days. He hated to be looked after like a little kid, like he wasn't a grown ass man, he had wanted to kill Terry.

He didn't even want to know how bad it must've been with Connor before all this. The guy could be pretty goddamn annoying. But it wasn't like Murphy couldn't be equally annoying. It was almost crazy how easy it was to get the younger Irishman to lose his shit all the time. He was a million times more emotional than Connor, and even more aggressive than him sometimes, which was actually kind of impressive.

Daryl decided to leave the younger MacManus be because he could already kind of read the man as well, knew when he needed to cool off and be on his own.

Not like he cared, he tried to keep telling himself. He was only looking after the annoying fuck because of Connor after all, was doing it for Connor. Who was equally annoying, he thought, and actually had to frown a bit as he searched the shelves for the parts they needed to get the car going again.

He was incredibly angry with Connor right now as well, hated him for not being here with him, for making him have to search this stupid gas station with a bubbling volcano of emotions instead. If Connor was here right now that everything would be quieter, more chill and relaxed, there would be jokes, maybe even some stupid, girl-like fucking flirting instead of this mess.

He missed his friend already and wanted to get going just as much as Murphy, who was almost speeding around the isles and packing various shit together with an angry look on his face. Daryl was busy checking out the car battery he had found when he suddenly noticed the lack of rummaging sounds, and when he looked up he saw Murphy standing there between two shelves, staring at the ground.

For a moment the hunter concentrated on his battery again and acted like he didn't care, but then he eventually stilled as well and bit his lip, looking at Murphy who had his back turned on him. The hunter let out a little angry growl and then grabbed the battery, giving in and heading for the Irishman with a frown on his face.

He could see what Murphy was staring at as soon as he got closer. There was an empty bottle of antifreeze lying on the ground, with plastic cups and a large dried puddle of blood and puke. When he turned his head a little to check on the walkers they had killed he also noticed the stains on the guy and woman's shirt, indicating that they had been the ones to cause this mess, obviously having killed themselves in here.

Daryl just looked at the spot for a while and occasionally fixed his eyes on Murphy, who was just staring back at the spot with a strange look on his face, like he was lost in thoughts. The hunter just remained in his position for a while, car battery dangling in his hand, muscles tense under dirty and sweaty suntanned skin. He was still chewing on his lower lip, unsure what to do or what to say until he decided to raise the barrier again, on purpose, because he was only going to allow Connor to get this close to him as he was now, no one else.

"Come on" he just said, but it wasn't mean or angry, it was almost gentle even. He turned around and tried to head for the door when Murphy suddenly spoke up.

"He's such a fuckin idiot" he said quietly, and then moved the antifreeze away with an angry kick. "And 'm a fuckin idiot" he added, which made Daryl turn around and look at Murphy. For some reason he just knew that this was about Connor, because of the suicide topic and Murphy calling him an idiot because of that. Daryl smirked a little and snorted.

"You're twin bros, aren'tcha."

"Always getting his fuckin ass in trouble and hurt because 'a me, 'n all I did was say that much shit, and now he's..fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Murphy snapped and suddenly kicked the shelf hard, which almost made it topple over.

It just suddenly really hit Murphy. The whole thing, because now that everything had kind of calmed down after the burning craze with Terry he was actually allowed to let everything sink in. Connor had it. This strange, new flu that had turned their entire apartment block into a bloody mess I less than 15 minutes, a disease that had killed a kid that had been fine the night before.

He was angry for so many reasons. Angry because Terry had betrayed him and tried to kill him, angry, because this wasn't the first time someone had tried to murder him although he hadn't even done anything to them, angry, because he'd been just as close to Patrick yesterday evening, but he was completely fine.

And he was angry with himself because Daryl was right, if he had stayed inside the car and given Daryl the opportunity to get the hell out of the surrounding herd of walkers then maybe they wouldn't have needed to run so many walkers over, then maybe their car wouldn't have given in and they would be back home already.

And he was angry because he knew that only because of all this mess did Connor have to wait for his medicine, because of him, because it had taken them almost the entire night to get to this gasstation and find a car. He was furious because Connor was probably suffering right now, maybe suffocating on his own blood and coughing his lungs out, Connor, this stupid idiot, who had once tried to take his own life because of him just like these people in here had done it, Connor, who was probably sick because of him now, because he was always so fucking eager to protect him and who kept pushing his own fucking limits for him.

Connor, his fucking brother, who he had only just gotten back and didn't even know anymore, who he wanted to get to know again and who he loved so fucking much already. But all he had ever done for the past week was be a fucking stubborn idiot to him, always snapping at him and making his life hard.

What if this was fucking it, now? What if they were too late? What if Connor was dead because they had failed to get him the medicine I time? He was fucking tired of everything. People wanting to kill him, people getting or almost getting themselves killed trying to protect him, he was fucking tired of the possibility that maybe he could lose his brother and be alone all over again.

Murphy could see how Daryl was just standing there, car battery in his hand, staring at him with that surprised look on his face. It looked like the hunter was struggling to find the right words or say anything at all, and the Irishman hated that the guy was there in the first place. He had never been good at keeping his emotions inside and most of the time he didn't care about people seeing it or getting to feel his outbursts, but right now, he actually didn't want anyone to see it, certainly not Daryl.

And he damn as fuck didn't want to hear him say anything. The younger MacManus gritted his teeth a bit and breathed in sharply and angrily, fighting hard to keep the rest in. What he did instead, was take the plastic bag he had taken to collect food and other useful stuff and then simply started walking, past Daryl, heading for the door to get back to the car, where Wendy was already waiting for them.