The boys were among the last to arrive, not that anyone took much notice. Around them and around the fire lighting the area, the air was nervous and tense – a feeling that simmered under a hope that this would all be resolved nice and neatly.
Pulling up the zipper on his jacket, Connor took in the scene around them as Murphy settled against the wall behind them. From the half-shadowed spot they'd chosen, he was able to read the room, as it were; the fraught, anxious faces, punctuated with uncertainty or even anger. What had happened between Rick and Pete, he didn't know – and to be honest, he really didn't care to – but it must have been more than just some minor falling out. Both men had come out of the fray black and blue. Perhaps that'd work in their favour, then. If, say, Rick had been protecting or defending someone, a case, could be made for that; especially with people like this, sheltered as they appeared to be. Perhaps they'd all go to their beds tonight having witnessed a slap on the wrist, a stern 'don't do it again'.
Perhaps he was just trying to be optimistic, but he couldn't help it. After the conversation he and Murphy had had earlier, he badly wanted to believe that this could work. Jokes about the white-picket-fence nature of the place aside, it was an opportunity for them all to catch a fucking break. To really rest, recover. Heal, or try to. He wasn't naïve enough to think that this could fix everything or bring about a sense of normalcy as they'd once known it. He just wanted it to be somewhere they wouldn't need to sleep with one eye open. Christ only knew a few days or weeks without anxiety chewing away at his grey matter would be several shades of welcome, and even then, that he'd happily wait for if it meant Murph was able to settle.
They'd both changed in more ways than one, they'd had to in order to survive, but Murphy had gradually become so much more pensive and serious, withdrawing further inwards, and Connor didn't like to think of the day when it became too difficult for him to pull him out of that. His brother could be a moody bastard, as prone to sulking as a child as he was to picking fights or arguing back as a first instinct – usually with the former following the latter. The last few weeks alone had pushed both these traits to extremes, and knowing there was very little he could realistically do to help him troubled Connor greatly.
Irrational as it was, it felt as though this would be a failing on his part, should they be asked to leave. Watching another family enter the space and find somewhere to sit amidst the quietened greetings and exchanges, the voice he heard more clearly than anyone else's was their own mother's.
'Keep your brother out of trouble, and you as well while you're at it!'
'Take care of each other when you get to Boston, don't you forget it.'
'Look after your brother, Connor.'
"Ma, come on," he'd said, smiling but sincere, "The fuck else am I gonna do?"
"Hey."
He was jogged out of this thought spiral when Murphy's knuckles rapped against his arm. "You alright?"
Connor was quick with a nod, and Murphy wasn't given time to press him for the truth as Deanna addressed the group. He'd been wondering if they were just going to sit around all night and wait for the man of the hour, but it looked as though things were going to proceed whether or not Rick was there. As the flames of the fire sparked and crackled, one by one, the residents of Alexandria took their chance to share their thoughts on what had happened and, in the case of some, their opinions on whether or not letting in such a large group had been for the best. As one woman said her piece, with a slight turn of his head Murphy looked his brother's way, to see what he made of everything so far.
Connor didn't look as though he'd heard a word that'd been said so far, although Murphy knew that likely wasn't the case.
When Tobin stood up from his place across the fire and started to speak, he saw how Connor seemed to straighten up just a little more as the older man's word processed for them all.
"I just wanna keep my family safe, you know? Whatever that means anymore."
Connor glanced away from the group, turning Murphy's way. No words were exchanged between them, nor was the time to anyway. Before Murphy could lean closer to mutter something to his brother, Tobin was interrupted, and all heads were turning to the open gate.
In the low, warm light of the fire, the blood that spattered Rick's face and clothing looked black. And as he dumped the corpse he was carrying over his shoulder onto the floor, the original point of the meeting seemed to fall to the wayside as a wave of confusion and fear rippled through the group. Those closest to him backed away or got to their feet, and while Murphy had straightened up away from the and looked to his brother as a first instinct, Connor's eyes were fixed on the space behind Rick. It was a walker he'd brought in, and so the immediate thought was, even if the thing had been killed and there was no sense of immediate danger, that there may have been more not far behind.
And then an explanation was presented, in a tone of exasperation; the gate had been left unguarded and unlocked.
Looking from one frightened Alexandrian to the next, Rick spoke clearly, letting Spencer hurry out of sight to rectify things before he carried on.
"It got in on its own, I didn't bring it in. They always do and they always will – the dead and the living, because we're in here. And the ones out there?" With a solitary motion to the walls, only a few eyes left him to glance in the same direction as he continued. "They'll hunt us. They'll find us, they'll try to use us. And they'll try to kill us."
"Where's he goin' with this…" Connor spoke so softly, Murphy almost didn't hear him.
"You know where he's goin'." Murphy replied, voice just as low as Connor's. "We ain't leavin'."
Connor said nothing in reply, not at first. He listened to Rick for a few seconds more, before he went to start walking away, though the hand at his arm stopped him easily.
"Hey- what is it?"
"He found one walker in here, what d'you wanna bet there's more wanderin' around right now?"
They caught Rick's eye, but that wasn't enough to stop either party. The group's leader wasn't concerned with what they did or where they were going, his concern was getting his point across. That these people needed to be taught a few things about how the world operated now, how they had to change or inevitably join the ranks of the dead. He told them he would teach them, that their group would help them – only then did Murphy slow down, stopping and looking back his way with his own words echoing in his head.
'I'm just wonderin' if we're meant to be doin' more than we are for these people, if that's why we're here at all.'
He felt Connor's hand on his chest urging him out of his thoughts before he saw the reason why; as he backed up, Murphy faced forward, and saw Pete staggering closer to the fire's light. Whilst not coated in ink-black blood, he was holding something in one hand, and wearing a look of sheer loathing. When he came closer to the group, although his trajectory was directed at Rick and Rick only, others nearby still backed away a step or so until Reg approached him to try and placate him, keep anything from escalating. From how he was walking and the tinge in his voice, it was clear he'd been drinking – wasn't thinking straight. Only question was how easy would it be to make him calm down.
"Seriously," he said, inclining his head towards Connor to be better heard above the growing number of voices, "what the fuck happened between 'em do you thi-"
Reg was on the ground before Murphy's sentence could be finished, the blood already saturating his shirt and skin black as ink. He heard Connor swear between the cries of shock and horror, and watched as Pete was wrestled to the ground and held there, face in the dirt and eyes wild. He just kept repeating the same thing over and over; "This is him-! This is him!", as if that or anything could make any difference to what he'd just done.
As Reg fell limp in his wife's arms, Murphy watched as she looked up at Rick. He heard what she said, but that look told him all he needed to know about what would happen next.
It was hours later before the boys finally got to head back to the house. The town had been searched for any other walkers that may have found their way inside the walls, and the couple that had had been dispatched quickly. When they were satisfied things were safe, everyone was urged home; most were shaken from the deaths at the fireside. Others went headed to bed that night relieved about how the coming days would likely go. They wouldn't be asked to leave, not now. That was the feeling amongst the group of newcomers. As the brothers got washed up, their conversation was sporadic, distracted, mostly one-sided. From where he was waiting for Connor to finish up, Murphy was seconds away from breaking the skin around his thumbnail before Connor pulled his focus. "You got that look on your face again."
He caught Connor's eye in the bathroom mirror, but Murphy only shrugged at first, only leaning up from the doorway when Connor had finished up at the sink. When he didn't say anything, Connor sighed, and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
"You thinkin' about what happened back there?"
Murphy shrugged again. Connor exhaled, and gave him a knowing look – one mixed with concern and impatience.
"Are we gonna do this every time you've got somethin' on your mind..?"
"Fuck you, I'm just thinkin'."
He spoke quietly, but the lighter tone to his voice was more of a relief to Connor that he'd admit aloud, but he still gave Murphy's shoulder a squeeze as they headed through to their room.
"Come on, Murph…Don't tell me this is the day I don't get to know what that means anymore."
Perching on the edge of the bed while Connor pulled off his shirt, Murphy shrugged for a third time, reaching down to start unlacing his boots.
"S'just…what Rick said back there. About us helpin' 'em change, adapt and all that…I think that's somethin' we should do. Whatever that means, I think that's why we're here."
"Aye…like you were sayin' the other night." Connor said with a nod, "…So, you're feelin' better about stayin' here then..? Don't think I've forgotten everythin' you said earlier."
That stilled Murphy's hands for a moment, but only that long. "…I'm not sayin' that I suddenly think this place is forever, 'cause I don't. Shit's gonna go wrong one way or another. But that thing you said, about us bein' all screwed up about it, about feelin' safe…that makes sense. I'm sayin' I'm willin' to give it some time s'all. And that maybe us havin' some kinda purpose while we're here…that'd be good. I think we need that."
"I think you need that," Connor corrected with a quirk of a smile, kicking his own boots off as he collapsed back onto his own bed, "I need to not see another fuckin' walker for a fuckin' decade...a good night's sleep, decent cup of coffee….a fuckin' fag, Jesus…"
Dawn was about an hour away, and everything save for the guards on the wall, and the twins' bench swing was still and quiet.
Murphy had woken in cold sweat, heart racing as tears pricked at his eyes and blood, hot and slick, coated his hands and tongue and clothes. Pushing himself upright, he roughly rubbed at his face, catching his breath as quietly as he could in the comfort of the dark, the feeling and taste of iron and red disappearing by the second as he became more aware of himself. Down next to him, he could hear Connor's breathing, deep and heavy and very much real. Good, he hadn't woken him. That was something at least. Now far too alert to try and sleep again, Murphy had found his torch and, as quietly and carefully as he could, had gotten up to leave the room.
At the door, he paused for a second or so, and stepped back into the room, just long enough to carefully take his rosary from where it hung over the corner of the desk chair.
Out on the porch, it was cold and crisp against his bare feet and arms, but it wasn't anything he had the energy to try and rectify. It was nice in a way. Refreshing on tired eyes and for abused lungs, and by the time Murphy had taken a seat and bowed his head against clasped hands, he barely noticed it anymore. Soon, he gave up on rocking the bench back and forth, letting the wooden cross hanging at the end of his rosary swing freely until he was calm. Only then did that too slow to stillness.
It felt like it'd been months since he'd last prayed. Really prayed, prayed like this. It was habitual, one of the only rituals from their life before that survived the outbreak, but now, Murphy gave it everything. It wasn't until he heard Connor come outside, pausing at the door behind him that his train of thought gently derailed, his eyes opening to a dawn-painted sky, and to his brother settling next to him.
Neither of them said a word. Connor just put a hand to the back of Murphy's neck, lingering there long enough for him to notice how much warmer Connor was – or rather, how cold he really was.
But Connor didn't say anything. He just rubbed a hand once down across Murphy's shoulder blades, before he pulled away completely, and settled into a similar position as him.
Until relief for the guards on night shift arrived and the early risers began to stir, all that moved in Alexandria were a pair of swinging crosses, and a bench gently rocking.
