First bit of Murphy background story. What happened the day he got bit.

timeline: episode 4 - "Cherokee Rose"

Salvation

Chapter 5 - Remembrance

He was awoken by the shaking of the RV the next morning, not really sure when he'd fallen asleep, or how long he'd been asleep for. Connor blinked a couple of times and shifted a bit, only slowly turning to the side. The bright sunlight hit him square in the face, only making him blink harder. He really felt like shit. Even more so than how he'd felt yesterday. He still had the worst headache in his life from the dehydration and hunger, but he was almost used to it by now.

The Irishman let out a little grunt and then slowly sat up, rubbing his left eye with the heel of his tattooed hand. After a moment, realization suddenly hit him and he quickly turned his head left and right, frantically searching for his brother, until he fixed his eyes on what was going on outside.

The RV was driving down a gravel path that lead to a farmhouse and barn in the distance. They were currently riding along a curve, which allowed Connor to see who was having the lead of their little convoy. There was an ugly green compact SUV with Andrea behind the wheel, but that one wasn't important. Daryl was driving right in front of her, riding his motorcycle. That mattered. For a short moment, Connor actually didn't know how to breathe when he saw it.

There where huge angel wings on his back.

Well, they weren't really wings. They were made of a white dirty fabric, sewn onto an equally dirty leather vest. Probably a biker gang tag or something. Just a vest. But still.

Wings.

There was no way in hell that this wasn't a sign. Religion. God. Saints. Angels. Wings.

One of the guys they'd killed in Ireland had called them angels once. Vengeful angels, sent by god to punish him.

The wings were the definite proof.

This man was Murphy.

He was a saint, too.

Connor smiled a little, trying to balance the bumpy ride out as he kept his eyes fixed on the wings for as long as he could until they exited the curve and approached the farmhouse instead. It was then when the Irishman finally turned his head and looked at Carol, who was sitting across from him and on the other side of the RV kitchen table. She was staring out of the window, too, but not in Daryl's direction. She was still searching the surrounding area and woods for her daughter with desperate and sad eyes.

"G'd morning" he tried to greet her politely and neutrally. She startled once, sniffing and then quickly wiping her cheek.

"Morning" she just muttered but it didn't exactly sound proper or interested.

"How long was I out fer?" Connor simply asked in order to not have to ask about any disappearances and other sad occurrences that surrounded them everywhere now.

"Quite a while" she answered with a tiny smile and looked down. "You went to sleep as soon as you and Daryl returned without…." Swallowing hard, she quickly looked outside the window again. "We went looking for Sophia in the early morning hours. It's almost noon now and Dale thought it would be best to regroup at the farm the woman talked about yesterday."

Connor looked outside again and nodded softly, his lips forming a thin and pale line.

At least 10 hours of sleep. Wow. Without the fuckin nightmare. Knocked out cold.

He honestly didn't even remember the last time he hadn't had those awful constant flashbacks and that one particular dream that kept torturing him every night. He didn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than maybe three hours a night either. Even now he felt a suppressed deep panic growing in his stomach just thinking about his usual nights.

He eventually looked up ahead and, after leaning a bit to the right, he could eventually see Dale driving the RV, following the ugly SUV in front of them as they got closer and closer to the beautiful two story white farmhouse. He couldn't see Murphy right now because of the green vehicle in front of them, but knowing that he and the angel wings were there, was enough for him to feel a bit better, a bit more relaxed. He truly was a sign. He truly was Murphy, and he truly was the reason why the nightmares had stopped. Because he was there. Around him. Close to him. Breathing.

When they reached the farm and stopped their small convoy the Irishman almost immediately got up so he could take a better look at the farmhouse. Letting Carol get out first, he eventually followed her down the steps, exited the RV and then just let the sight of it all sink it.

It smelled of hay, slightly burned grass and farm animals all around him. The sun was burning hot high up in the sky, in fact, he could even smell the heat. The buzzing of insects all over the fields was all too familiar, and for a moment Connor actually closed his puffy eyes, breathed in deeply, and then let the air flood out through his nostrils. Although less green and a lot less cold and rainy, this place immediately reminded him of home, of Ireland, his old farmlife there.

Maybe everything was slowly getting better again after all. Just maybe.

"How is he?" Dale suddenly asked close to Connor and snapped him out of it.

The Irishman opened his eyes and now focused on the people surrounding him instead. Rick, Lori, T-Dog, Shane and Glenn had exited the farmhouse along with a few other people he didn't recognize but who he figured were the owners of the farm. A young man, a young blonde haired woman, a slightly older woman with short brown hair, and an old man and a third woman who maybe were their parents came walking down the porch and observed them curiously, looking slightly worried at the same time.

Connor looked at them for a moment until he eventually fixed his eyes on his brother's lookalike again, who'd just gotten off his bike and stood a bit further away from everyone. The Irishman slowly and inconspicuously tried to get closer to him.

Lori and Rick started smiling at Dale in the meantime.

"He'll pull through. Thanks to Herschel and his people and.." Lori said and Rick interrupted her.

"And Shane. We'd have lost Carl if not for him."

They all looked at Shane and seemed equally surprised by his appearance. He suddenly looked very different. He wore farmer's clothes that didn't fit. His hair was cut extremely short, to a point where it almost looked like he was bald. Connor raised an eyebrow when he saw the policeman. Somewhere deep inside of him, his old self had just tried to make fun of the guy's look in his thoughts, thinking about clichés like inbreed rednecks and dumb farmers which he knew were not true but that were funny nevertheless. But he wouldn't smirk and stopped himself in the midst of this train of thoughts because then he suddenly remembered his own shabby appearance. Shakily grabbing an outgrown and greasy strand of ash blonde hair, he observed the state of his own growth with a harder frown. He knew that he could definitely use a haircut himself. He let go of the strand and quickly wiped his hands on his already incredibly dirty jeans. He then focused on the group again only to see how Rick and Dale and Carol and Lori hugged each other tightly, obviously relieved over the great news.

Connor smiled a tiny bit and decided to close the final distance between himself and Daryl.

"Y'know what, I'd fancy a hug as well, Murph. 'm real glad yer in one piece, too" he said, straining his luck as he tried to hug his brother's lookalike to keep the pretend game up, but Daryl just scoffed and moved out of his way angrily.

"Go and hug a tree then, freak" he growled and walked away.

Connor just stood and stared after him, lips pressed together once more as he harshly put his hands on his hips and then looked down, trying to keep it together.

He's real, he's real, he's real. It's him it's him it's him he repeated in his head over and over again like a mantra. He's just mad at ye because of what ye did back in Boston and because ye left him behind.

"How did it happen?" Dale asked Rick somewhere behind him and Connor gladly took the conversation as welcome distraction.

"Hunting accident. That's all. Just a stupid accident."

He looked at everyone and smirked.

"I'm glad you're all back. Let's gather our things and put up a new camp. After that we have to bury a member of Hershel's family. Otis. He didn't make it."

Another burial. Another death and disappearance. How fucking great.

Most of their group got moving to start parking their cars and setting up their camp.

"I'm gonna go back inside, look after your boy and leave you to it" the farmer called Hershel announced and moved his family along to do as he'd said. After a short moment of cluelessly standing in the way, Connor decided on following the man instead. He quickly moved up the stairs to catch up to him and Rick.

"I see you're doing better today" Rick immediately greeted him with a slightly confused frown. Hershel slowed down a bit as well to curiously eye the man who'd just stepped foot on his porch without asking.

"Aye, I am, thanks fer taking me in" Connor quickly said and immediately fixed his eyes on Hershel instead. "But I actually came here because I wanted ta ask you, sir, fer a small favor" the Irishman said and the old man seemed rather surprised. Rick suddenly placed a hand on Connor's arm and smiled.

"Herschel, this is Connor. We only just found him in a church not too far from here yesterday."

The old farmer eyed the Irishman with a frown and it made Connor feel uncomfortable.

"Aye, that's me. Beautiful houses of worship ye got here, sir. Thanks fer letting us stay here" he said and offered the man a hand to shake it out of habit. Hershel reluctantly took the hand and didn't exactly seem too fond of any of this, especially of how dirty and unkempt the man opposite him was. Connor took note of this once more and scratched the back of his head a bit awkwardly.

"I was just wondering if there's any chance I could use yer bathroom? I saw ye let Shane cut his hair and as you can see, I desperately need a little shave and a haircut as well. It's just been a couple rough months fer me. 'm sorry if it's too much to ask, I just need a mirror and a pair of scissors. If it's not trouble"

Herschel eyed him a little while longer, looking more and more displeased. He seemed to ease up just a tiny bit more when his eyes came to a halt on the Irishman's rosaries around his neck. He eventually turned around and muttered, much to Connor's and even Rick's surprise, a slightly grumpy "Follow me" as he stepped inside his house to let the blonde in.

Connor stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was the first time he really saw his true reflection in literal months. Whenever he'd passed a window or mirror the many times before, he'd purposely ignored the image, looked right past it. He'd only been used to the look of his own ice cold blue eyes from all the staring in a rearview mirror during his drive down here, and that had been way enough already.

The eyes were the same.
That hurt like hell.

Not just because they were familiar, but mostly because he knew that he was staring into the eyes of a traitor. The eyes Murphy had looked into when he'd done the unspeakable to him.

And here he was.

Staring at himself. His full reflection.

It was kind of ridiculous to see how much his hair and beard had grown in just 2 ½ months. Well maybe it had been more. Prison and the escape from there, that's when it had started already. The no time for taking care of their haircuts. The constant rush and running from danger. Theoretically, he'd had plenty of time to take care of himself after Boston. There had been many many lonely and monotonous days of basically doing nothing, or doing little of the same things every day. Like driving around in the car. Staring holes in the air. Walking around aimlessly. That sort of thing.

But there had been no reason for him to do anything about his appearance. In a way, he'd wanted himself to suffer physically as well. Not in a way of hurting himself. That was against his promise and against his religion. But letting everything go downhill had been some sort of justifiable physical suffering as well. Or maybe that had just been part of his subconscious plot to become another one of all these walking dead people.

Now there actually was a need for him to take care of himself again. He needed to get those people's trust so he could stay with them, stay with Murphy. He needed to become his old self again. Charming fucking charming and oh so 'trustworthy' Connor MacManus. The guy with a following et all.

Connor took the razor he'd been given, looked at it with his tiny, puffy eyes, fixed them on the sharp metal blades for a second too long until he finally placed the razor on his left cheek and started shaving. Inch by inch the stubbles were slowly disappearing under the steady motion of his hand. Looking up a bit, Connor started to slide the razor down his throat to get rid of the long stubble there, momentarily halting the motion just above his Adam's apple.

It was so ridiculously fucking easy to end a life. After all, he'd taken so many already. Just a little more pressure, just a single slice, and there would be a shitton of blood.

Each day we will spill their blood 'til it rains down from the skies. Do not kill, do not rape, to not steal.

Suicide's a sin Connor.
Don't kill yourself. Promise.

The older MacManus twin swallowed hard, making his Adam's apple bop dangerously close to the blade. Then he went back to shaving his beard, maybe it bit faster than usual just to get the blade away from his throat. Now that he was moving to the sides of his throat, something else started to come back to the surface instead.

Dark blue ink.

A halo.

A holy figure.

The tattoo on the left side of his neck. One of the two tattoos he dreaded the most now because they were a constant reminder of that other person who'd had the exact same ones. The beard was disappearing, his hairy cover was slowly gone. For months now, he'd somewhat successfully managed to hide behind all that hair, pretend to be someone else. The beard had done a fine job covering the tattoo up. The dirty bandage had done the rest with the cross on his arm. Connor MacManus, the man with those tattoos, had disappeared along with his brother. Now, there was nothing there to conceal that past anymore, nothing there to keep him hidden.

For a moment, he once again trailed off and thought about the whole cutting business. Not because he wanted to hurt or kill himself. That wasn't on the table. But he actually thought about getting rid of the tattoo. Cutting it away. Thought about erasing that trace in an other way if he couldn't keep the beard. Staring at himself for a good minute, he eventually decided against it.

No.
He needed that reminder.
He needed that past, that memory.
Their first tattoo together.
They both'd had it, and now he was the only one left with it.
He needed to carry it for them both.

Connor finished shaving quickly and then almost manically got rid of the longer strands of hair, desperately trying to get his old look back, cutting his hair shorter. He'd once been so proud of his appearance, keeping it clean and steady. A bit of the old and cool movie legends, a bit of the old high school stuff, just enough to look 'cooler' than Murphy while still keeping his mother proud.

It was a good thing to see that old look come back so quickly after it had taken so many months to disappear. Washing his face with water from the sink, he soon was able to watch the dirt rush away along with the last remnants of hair of this temporary new self. He had hated all the looks the group had given him for the past 24 hours, had hated to see all that fear and mistrust in their eyes. Now that he thought about it, even he hadn't been able to trust or like this other, dirtier self.

Now that the beard, the long strands and all the dirt were gone, he had to realize something else and totally unexpected as well. He looked very malnourished and unhealthy. He was in a worse shape than he'd thought. Murphy'd always said that he kind of had cheekbones like a girl or something. Now he could actually see them. Sticking out, only covered by sickly ashen skin. Now he really looked bony and way too skinny.

Jesus Christ. No wonder Murphy called him a whacko.

The Irishman turned around to search for the pair of fresh clothes he had placed on the chair next to the shower. They were just as ugly as the ones Shane was wearing. He was grateful for the gesture, though, so Connor decided to at least wear something the girls had offered him. Keeping his dirty jeans on, he changed out of his dusty and holey shirt that smelled way too awkward to put on the simple plaid farmer's shirt.

One more layer, shed. Revealing his true shape.

He almost didn't want to look at himself now, in this final shape with new clean clothes and the final haircut. And yet, he did.

The old, softly spiky haircut was back. His normal face was there, with just traces of thin stubble.
And yet, he wasn't there.

The eyes of a dead man were still greeting him with a cold and seemingly indifferent stare.

They all gathered around a pile of stones that they were piling up underneath a tree not too far away from the farmhouse. Connor didn't even know what was going on, who was being buried or what exactly had happened to the man, but he joined them nevertheless. He figured that he needed to do anything he could do to repay his debt both to the group that had taken him in and the family who was living here on this farm.

He didn't like to attend a funeral because it meant that yet another death had happened in such a short time. But in a way, he liked that there was someone reading from the bible at least, passages he knew by heart because he'd repeated them so many times in his head. It was a good thing to know that Hershel and his entire family were religious just like him. In a way, that was comforting, too. Kept him on the good side of things because it was a simple but effective reminder of his promise, his upbringing, his philosophy on life and death. Connor had his now clean shaven chin pressed to his chest as he prayed along Hershel with his eyes closed, and once they were done he looked up while crossing himself, looked straight towards his brother's lookalike.

Daryl stood there, among the group but far opposite him and just eyed him with a frown. He kept his arms folded in front of his chest and wouldn't pray with them. He didn't seem to be interested in any religious aspect at all, but the Irishman kept telling himself all about the angel wings and the sign in his head to stop his mind from drifting into dangerous real territory. The fact that Daryl was suddenly clean and not covered in grime and dirt was a great help there. Just like all the others the hunter had used the opportunity of being on this farm to clean himself up a bit. Now and more than ever, he looked exactly like Murphy, making the pretend, the transition, the illusion complete. Connor really flew over the edge with the clean look of the other man, already fragile mind slipping beyond repair, actually making him believe his illusions once and for all.

He gave the man, Murphy, a little content smile and then turned his head to the side to listen on, to concentrate on what Hershel had to say about this man called Otis.

Daryl was actually really surprised to see the guy like that, so suddenly, so different. No matter what the Irishman'd done, it was definitely a big improvement compared to what he had looked like when they had found him, had looked like just an hour ago. The man opposite him didn't look like some pathetic homeless guy anymore, although the borrowed plaid shirt still looked ridiculous on his skinny, starved figure. Now that the Irish weirdo wasn't staring at him, Daryl allowed himself to scan the guy head to toe, actually allowed himself study the way Connor looked like without the apocalyptic end of the world feel connected to it.

The ugly beard was gone. That was the biggest improvement. Because it made the man look so much younger. He definitely was his age. Early/mid thirties. With the stubble, dirt and bandage out of the way, Daryl was surprised to actually spot more tattoos on him as well. A weird thing on his neck that he couldn't quite make out from the distance, and a large Celtic cross on his left forearm which had been hidden by the bandage the guy'd had for whatever reason. The beard had been reduced to a more natural and well-kempt thin line of stubble along his boney jaw. The messy hair was kept a lot shorter again, the shortest along his neck and ears until he'd let it gradually be longer all the way up to the top so it could stick up in every direction.

Yep. Definitely the typical high school pretty boy scumbag bully type. Used to getting laid a lot, full of himself, all that crap.

And yet, the eyes told an entirely different story. Although the looks suggested it, the guy wasn't smug, still didn't seem to give a damn about himself at all. His eyes looked as dead as the tree stump behind him. Connor seemed to sense that he was being watched, because he suddenly raised his head and looked right back at him. After a second of unfiltered staring, the blonde immediately put his act up again. The creepy one with the smiling at him and pretending that they knew each other, were friends even.

Back to whacko world.

Daryl scoffed, folded his arms and looked away with a slight headshake, pretending to listen to the old man's talk.

"Blessed be God, father our lord Jesus Christ. Praise be to him for the gift of our brother Otis. For his span of years, for his abundance of character. Otis, who gave his life to save a child's, now more than ever, our most precious asset. We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace. He died as he lived. In grace" Hershel spoke, and the smile on Connor's face immediately disappeared. He paled instead and swallowed hard, because he knew they were reaching dangerous territory now.

't wasn't graceful. It was a fuckin nightmare he thought and shook his head angrily.
No, he wouldn't think about it. Nothing had happened. Murphy was standing right in front of him.

"Shane, will you speak for Otis?" Herschel asked and Shane looked up in surprise. Everybody, including Connor and Daryl, looked at the Sheriff Deputy curiously. Shane looked back at them for a moment and seemed unsure. Although Connor hadn't been with the group for too long yet, even he could already sense that something was different about the man, that something was off.

"I'm not good at it. I'm sorry" Shane answered and looked down.

The blonde woman, who Connor had learned wasn't the girls' mother but Otis' wife, had a hard time battling tears but still spoke up, looking at the deputy desperately.

"You were the last one with him. You shared his final moments. Please. I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning" she pleaded and immediately started crying again. Connor closed his eyes for a moment fought hard to keep it together.

Why the fuck did everything have to do with death and disappearances in this group? He'd driven hundreds of miles to get away from that shit for Christ's sakes.

Counting backwards from ten to one in five different languages, Connor battled the flashbacks he could already feel coming with violent force.

"Okay" Shane whispered and looked down again, sealing the unfortunate deal for Connor, too.

"We were about done. Almost out of ammo. We were down to pistols by then."

The Irishman snapped his eyes open, looked up and stared at Shane in horror. He wasn't even able to tell anymore if this was real, if this was his mind playing tricks on him, or if this was god punishing him for his deeds by reminding him of it again, forcefully. Shane was talking about Boston.

Shane was talking about Murphy.

There were thousands of them, roaming the streets of Boston.

They were trying to make their way out of the city, but they knew it was pretty much impossible, that it was chaos, that this was the true end of the world.

"Come on, run faster ye bastard, they're fuckin everywhere!" Connor shouted and waited for his brother to get back, cursing himself for not having kept his eyes on his sibling for a moment. How the fuck had Murphy managed to get this far away from him, from the harbor entrance? Why the fuck had he walked down that street, entered the city again?

Murphy was running and zigzagging his way through the crowds of undead that were slowly coming closer with deafening and creepy monotonous moans. Murphy finally drew his two pistols to start shooting, knowing that he no longer had to bother thinking about the noise they were going to make in a dead city. The dead were already here. Running faster, Murphy shot two walkers behind him as he tried to close the distance between himself and his brother.

"Don't waste our fuckin ammo! We haven't got much left! And we're only half way outta te city!" Connor yelled and started running towards his brother so he could get him and help him, killing walkers with his machete on his way.

"Go back! Get te fuckin car! I got yer back Con. We're almost fucking there! Just go!" Murphy roared and really got into the fight, dropping more and more walkers.

Connor came to an abrupt halt and watched his brother in horror, incredibly worried. He wanted to stay close to him and protect him from the threat, but knew that Murphy was right. If he went back there now as well, there was a chance they could get surrounded, that they would get nowhere. He was closest to the car and really needed to get it so they could get the hell away from the pier, out of Boston, find someplace safe. Maybe he could use it to draw them towards him instead, run a few of them over and then drive towards Murphy to get to him faster.

Turning on his heels, Connor started sprinting back towards the pier, the car there, head spinning with thoughts, the dread, the panic.

Why was this happening to them? How could this happen so quickly? How could everything spin out of control so crazy fast?

Just a moment ago, this place had been deserted. And now this was happening. More and more of the undead were coming, crawling out of the buildings, coming around the corners, closing in on them. They were behind the barricades and fences as well, proving to Connor what he'd already pretty much suspected anyway. Black Falcon was overrun just like the rest of this city. The rumours of boats leaving town had probably made it a whole lot worse around here. People just like them had come here before, only to be bitten, only to get turned, only adding up to the numbers. The refugee camp was overrun.

This was probably the most dangerous place in all of Boston.

And they were right here.

Fighting his way past three undead as he tried to get to their car, Connor cursed when his weapon got stuck in one of the walkers' heads. Losing grip of the machete, the older MacManus twin finally drew his guns to start shooting as well. Making even more noise. Drawing even more of them in. It made him incredibly angry. He was kind of used to their plans not going the way they wanted them to go. But this was so off. This was so wrong. This was incredibly fucking dangerous and insane .

"'t was yer fuckin idea ta come here!" Connor yelled angrily, aiming it back at Murphy. He kicked the walker who still got the machete stuck in her head.

Damn right this had been Murphy's stupid plan this time, to go to this part of the city after all. They should've gone in the other direction. They should've made their way over to the Charles River. They should've taken this stupid car and gotten the hell out of Boston instead of going further and further into the city center.

We should've known. I should've known. After everything we went through t'get here, I should've known.

The older MacManus was just about to yell at his brother again when he suddenly heard Murphy's agonized scream echo through the streets somewhere behind him.

"I was limping. It was bad. Ankle all swollen up" Shane was saying in the here and now, but Connor couldn't snap out of it.

He was carrying Murphy up the stairs of the empty building just around the corner. Connor heard the walkers knocking on the steel doors downstairs but they wouldn't get in, couldn't get in, because it was locked and there was a cupboard in front of it. The older twin was crying and shouting at the world like a complete madman as he carried his younger half up the stairs. Crashing through another door, he shot another walker who'd been lingering just behind it, slammed the door shut with his leg, and then ran inside the abandoned apartment so he could lie Murphy down somewhere.

Out of all places, he had picked a shitty fucking artist's loft with little to no furniture other than a filthy sink, basic tiny kitchen and a folding chair. There were some old and moldy cardboard boxes and newspapers scattered all over the ground but that was it. Incredibly panicked, Connor did multiple spins with bloody Murphy still in his arms as he desperately searched for medical equipment, knowing very fucking well that his time was running out rapidly.

Murphy suddenly gargled in his arms, which left Connor no other choice but to immediately kneel down so he could lie his brother on the cold ground, praying to god that a more stable position would help.

"No, no no fuckin way, don't ye die on me Murph!" he screamed in his face, helplessly, as he frantically tried to get rid of the ripped fabric all around Murphy's bloody shoulder. Ripping his brother's shirt apart with surprising force as he hoped to be able to use it as makeshift bandage, Connor was shocked when saw the extent of Murphy's wound. Flesh was missing not just from his shoulder, but from his neck, too. That was the reason for the heavy bleeding, and the sight of it nearly made Connor pass out. The wound was deep. The flesh, veins and muscles were twisted from the bite and torn skin. The blood was seeping, it was everywhere, quickly soaking not just Murphy's clothes, but his hands and his very own shirt and jeans as well.

"'We've got to save the boy.' see, that's what he said. He gave me his backpack. He shoved me ahead. 'Run' he said. He said 'I'll take the rear. I'll cover you.'" Shane said and Connor just stared.

"Go back! Get te fuckin car! I got yer back Con. We're almost fucking there! Just go!"

That's what Murphy had said when they'd tried to get past all the walkers. Right before a walker had bit him.

"And when I looked back..." Shane went on and got more confident.

Connor heard Murphy's agonized sudden scream and turned around in horror. A walker was right behind his brother, biting his neck and chewing on his flesh. The undead really clung to Murphy, biting down more and more, which made the younger MacManus scream louder and louder. Murphy tried to fight the undead off but couldn't. Flailing helplessly with his arms swinging and punching at thin air, the black-haired twin quickly realized that this was something he couldn't get out of, that this was something that was going to kill him if he didn't get help right now. More walkers were already closing in on him, ready to claw at his flesh, disembowel him, eat him alive. Murphy screamed louder and widened his eyes in horror and panic, until the scream transformed into a deafening and desperate "CONNOR!" that seemed to echo through all of Boston.

Murphy managed to turn both himself and the walker around so he could face his brother with wide and panicked eyes. The walker bit down harder and Murphy squeezed his eyes shut in pure agony, accompanied by yet another incredibly bone chilling scream, really struggling and bucking and fighting like a crazed animal now.

Never in his life had Connor ever heard his twin make that noise. It was utterly utterly horrifying for him, and just for a second, the utter shock kept him locked in place, made him unable to move or react as he watched the scenario unfold with wide eyes. When he could finally react, an equally loud and agonized "NO! MURPH!" escaped the older MacManus' lips.

Connor really screamed at the top of his lungs as he fell into a mad sprint, desperate to get to his siblings aid. "NO!" he screamed once more, even louder as he mindlessly started shooting his way through the crowd of undead so he could get to Murphy in time, could shoot the walker and stop him from tearing Murphy's shoulder apart right in front of him. Everything seemed to happen within the blink of an eye. ZAP. There he was, right next to Murphy, shooting the undead creature in the head, ripping him away from his brother with surprising force, dropping him to the ground like a wet piece of cloth.

ZAP. Here he was. Standing right in front of Murphy, who stood there opposite him, just looked at him with these wide, mad eyes. Utter shock was written all over their faces. They both were utterly terrified. In the meantime, the undead creature fell down to the ground, a piece of flesh from Murphy's shoulder still in his mouth. For a few seconds, Murphy stood perfectly still and kept his shaking hand pressed to his neck, with blood seeping through his fingers. Then, a single and shocked gasp escaped his mouth - and his legs gave in.

Almost dropping to the ground, Connor barely managed to catch him, for he was locked in a deeply shocked state as well.

"NO! OH MY FUCKING GOD! NO!" Connor pressed out as he caught his younger sibling. Pressing his shaky hand to Murphy's neck, he couldn't process anything other than the mad groans all around him and the sticky wetness that started to paint his shaking hand red between them. Both their clothes were drenched within seconds as Connor desperately tried to throw his twin over his shoulder so he could carry him. With the groans and moans and stench of rotting flesh closing in on them, Connor was snapped out of it enough to understand that he really needed to take Murphy away, get the both of them some place safe because he knew they'd be dead in less than ten seconds otherwise. He could hear how the walkers were closing in on them, and his mind went completely blank.

"You motherfuckers! You fuckin bastards I'm gonna fuckin kill you!" Connor screamed at the top of his lungs as he started running and shooting their way out of this.

He barely remembered his outburst now, only remembered how he kept screaming and killing until they reached that steel door around the corner. He remembered all the blood and running as fast as he could although he'd been barely able to see anything, considering all the mad and desperate tears that had started flowing.

Connor swallowed hard and tried to fight the tears now, too.

Remembering hurt so much.

Sniffing once, he quickly looked away from the grave and to the side until he fixed his eyes on Daryl again.

He's right in front of ye, stupid. Nothing fuckin happened. Yer nat going ta cry like a pussy now. There's no fuckin reason fer it.

Connor swallowed once more and stilled, managing to keep it in. It felt so fucking good to see his brother right there, although he was pretty confused now.

Maybe the outbreak had just hit him too hard. Maybe his mind was a lot more fragile than he'd ever thought. Maybe he really was crazy and didn't know what was real and what was fake anymore. He'd had nightmares about losing Murphy all his life. That was just natural, given their incredibly co-dependent relationship. He'd even been through this sort of thing before, the first couple of weeks after those Russians had nearly killed them both. Back then, he'd dreamed about seeing that bald Russian shoot Murphy right in his head just before his eyes - because he'd been too late to jump off the building. For the first bunch of nights, that dream had been so real that just for a moment, he'd thought that maybe it was real and that he was going crazy and that Murphy wasn't really there in the bed next to him, that he had really died and that he was losing his mind over it.

But he'd made it through those first couple of days, and Murphy had really been there after all.

Maybe that was just like that. Maybe he just truly couldn't remember how him and Murphy had gotten out of that undead mob, out of Boston. Maybe he just couldn't remember how he'd lost Murphy and why he was back here now.

Because he was here now. Right in front of him. Staring at him with an angry frown.

"If not for Otis, I'd never made it out alive. And that goes for Carl too. It was Otis."

Connor kept looking at Daryl and nodded slightly.

If nat fer you, I'd never made it out of that church alive.
If nat fer you, I'd have made a terrible mistake.

When Daryl saw how the Irishman was staring at him he narrowed his eyes even more and started growling. He stopped folding his arms and turned on his heels instead to walk away, fed up with all of this.

"He saved us both. If any death ever had meaning it was his" Shane said and ended his speech by putting a stone on Otis' grave.

They were setting up their camp and tents. Connor tried to help Daryl with his first but the hunter just kept shouting at him and took the sticks away from him whenever he tried. The Irishman eventually let it be with a sigh. "What fuckin ever, you do yer shit then" he said because he was getting fed up with Daryl's behavior. It really made it hard for him to keep the illusion up, to really continue believing that he was Murphy. Because Murphy had never been such a fucking grumpy asshole.

Maybe they needed a break. Maybe Murphy needed some time to adjust to the fact that they were back together. So after another moment of staring and watching the hunter, Connor eventually turned around to help Carol and Andrea with their tent instead.

Once they were done setting up their camp it soon became pretty obvious that they didn't have a spare tent for Connor. The Grimes family had theirs, Shane and T-Dog another, Andrea and Carol shared a tent and Glenn and Dale were sleeping in the RV. Daryl was the only one no one had ever wanted to share a tent with. He'd also been the only one who'd insisted on sleeping in his own tent all by himself, now that his brother Merle was gone. So the group came up with the solution.

"Connor's gonna stay with Daryl" Rick said and Daryl looked up in disbelief.

"What? No freakin way! Ain't gonna let this nutjob anywhere near me" he protested almost immediately. Connor looked back at him with a tiny smirk that was half pleased, half annoyed. The hunter approached them, reminding them of a vicious circling dog once again. Lori looked at him with a little frown and shook her head.

"We can't have him sleep outside" she noted and Daryl scoffed.

"Why the hell would I care, he can sleep in the RV on the floor then, plenty of room in there."

"We can't have three people in the RV when you've got a big tent for yourself" Glenn muttered and the hunter got even angrier.

"You can keep yah mouth shut, Chink, nobody asked yah. There's no way he's gonna get his stupid ass in my tent."

Connor was still kind of busy helping Carol and Andrea. He watched the whole discussion curiously from afar, how Rick, Glenn, Lori and Dale were talking to his brother's doppelganger by Rick's car.

"It's not like you have to be with him all day, it's just so he has a place to sleep. Nobody forces you to like each other, but that's the way it is. If you want to be part of this group you have to stick to Rick's rules. There's no place for selfishness here. Grow up" Lori said and stared him down in what almost looked like disgust. Daryl raised an eyebrow at her and only scoffed once more.

"Listen, Olive Oil. I ain't gonna let no bitchy princess decide over me! Who the hell are yah anyway, thinkin yah can look down on me just cos you've got your husband and kid and your first class tent, huh? I'm done with this bullshit. I'm the one who puts food on your table. Got it? So you keep yah trap shut."

"That's enough" Rick spat and eyed Daryl.

"It's you and him in this tent. No discussion."

Both men looked at each other for a while until Daryl kicked the dirt and walked away yet again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fight his respect for Rick. Because he had been the only one to go back for Merle in Atlanta. Rick had been the only one who had stood up for his brother and tried his best to save him when everybody else'd just given up. Rick was a man of honor and the leader of this group and Daryl knew it. "T'hell with yah people" he murmured angrily and walked away to move his stuff.

That was when Connor decided to join them, to have say in this as well.

"Look, it's alright. I can sleep outside if he doesn't want ta share his tent. He has every right ta be pissed at me, I get it. It's not like you guys owe me anything. Ye've done enough fer me already. I'll just sleep by the fire."

Rick put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

"No, we can't have you sleep outside on nothing but dirt when we've got tents and blankets and even beds. You stay with him. Don't worry. Daryl might seem like a handful at first but he's alright once you get used to him. It's just for the night. He'll get used to it, too."

Connor smirked.

"Aye, ye don' have ta tell me."

For a couple of minutes, Connor had just watched Daryl again. How he moved his stuff about in his tent, walked back and forth between his motorbike and bag on the ground. Just like before, the hunter tried his hardest to ignore him, pretended that he wasn't there. And for the longest time, they kept that act up. Then it was Connor who spoke up first yet again.

"Look, I promise I won't be in yer way, okay. Won't snore, won't take yer sleepin bag. You get yer sleep, I get mine and everything's fine, aye Murph? It's just fer the night" he tried and got moving so he could get to the tent as well.

Daryl scoffed angrily and sorted his stuff a little more aggressively.

"No matter what yah do, you just need t'breathe and yah already annoy the crap outta me, freakshow" he muttered, but then eventually glared at Connor.

"I didn't ask for this shit. The moment y'do anything stupid, you're dead before yah know it."

Connor looked back at him and considered how he should react. The sane part of him told him that he should be wary. That maybe the guy was right, that this wasn't going to work. But then the insane part kicked in and he just ended up scoffing.

"Yeah yeah, I gettit. Yer mad. I deserve it. If it happens, yer very welcome ta pull it through. I wouldn't exactly blame ye. Now move yer ass so I can put me stuff in there" he said and simply got moving to get inside the tent with a little smirk on his face. "You and yer fuckin temper all the time, seriously, Murph. Chill the fuck out" he just muttered and started getting some stuff out of his duffle bag to make himself at home. Daryl just stared at him in disbelief, frozen in the spot for a moment.

How could this stupid idiot just ignore his threats so easily?
How could he keep coming and smiling and laughing after everything he was doing to make him leave?

The Irishman was smiling and started talking about random things as he sorted his belongings into the tent. Especially the whole smiling business and once again pretending that they knew each other made the hunter angry all over again. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want to hear Connor's stupid stories, he didn't want to have to endure all the attention the Irishman was giving him, he didn't want to have anything to do with this stupid Irish clown who couldn't keep his mouth shut.

He didn't want them to be friends.
He didn't have any friends, and he certainly didn't plan on having any in the near future, knowing that this would never work out.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Daryl got back to ignoring the guy instead. But he already knew that sooner or later, that Irish nutjob was going to make him go crazy as well.

This whole thing was going to be a nightmare.