setting: episode 4, Cherokee Rose
Salvation
Chapter 6 - Denial
Whereas Connor and Daryl were pretty much done with their tent the others were still busy making the place their new home. Rick, Shane, Andrea, Herschel, Daryl and Connor soon gathered around Rick's car to discuss their search for Sophia. Connor still didn't really know if they even wanted him to join and help them, but he just assumed that this was the case. He also just wanted something to do to keep his mind off things, and he really appreciated how the group did exactly that. They didn't ask any questions. They just let him be part of this.
"How long has this girl been lost?" Herschel asked and Connor listened up curiously because he still didn't know much about Carol's daughter and her disappearance.
"This will be day three" Rick answered and turned around when they saw Maggie, Herschel's daughter, coming to join them with a map. "County survey map. Shows terrain and elevations" she announced with a smile on her face which made Rick smile as well.
"This is perfect. We can finally get this thing organized. We'll grid the whole area, start searching in teams."
Herschel shook his head then.
"Not you. Not today. You gave three units of blood. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out."
He then looked at Connor, who raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Same with you. People told me they found you half-starved and dehydrated. Not to speak about your lack of sleep. You need to rest as well."
The Irishman scoffed and moved so he could take a closer look at the map.
"I already said 'm fine. I wanna help."
Rick looked at him.
"I think he's right. We appreciate your help but... maybe you should rest for another day. Get back on your feet if you really wanna help us."
Connor threw his hands in the air and shook his head once more.
"No offense, but I already told ye people yesterday. I wanna make it up ta you. I managed ta go on like this fer two months. Trust me, I'm fine. I'm gonna join this search whether ye like it or not."
Rick looked at Connor a little longer until he eventually smirked a bit. Daryl folded his arms and scoffed, not liking it at all. Herschel looked at Shane in the meantime.
"Your ankle...Push it now, you'll be laid up a month, no good to anybody."
Shane rubbed his head and looked down a little, kind of giving in, but he didn't look too pleased either. After a moment of silence, Daryl moved forward and let out little sigh, focusing on the map.
"Guess it's just me" he retorted and pointed at the map that was spread out on the hood of the car. "I'm gonna head back to the creek. Work my way from there."
Connor nodded.
"Good idea" he said but decided not to say that he was going to join him. He was going to do it anyway, and he certainly didn't want to start another fight now. Shane nodded as well and looked at Rick.
"I can still be useful. I'll drive up to the interstate, see if Sophia wandered back."
"Alright. Tomorrow then" Rick said to Hershel, talking about himself. We'll start doing this right."
Shane leaned back and looked at all of them.
"That means we can't have our people out there with just knives. They need gun training, we've been promising them."
Connor nodded.
"Aye, I can help ye with that later if ye want."
Shane and Rick looked at him curiously.
"You know your way round guns?"
Connor snorted and put his hands on his hips.
"I had four Berettas on me when ye found me" he reminded them and Shane scoffed and smirked a bit. "Yeah, how could we forget" he muttered and Connor nodded.
"Aye. I didn't exactly survive this long on me own with nothing but my good looks. Course I can shoot. Pretty well if I say so myself."
This made Daryl snort louder than intended. Connor looked at him for a moment with a little frown but then focused on Rick and Shane again.
"I'll need me guns back. Ye took them yesterday. I understand that yer trying ta be cautious. But he's right. We can't be out there with just knives, I need the firepower. They're very dear ta me. I'd like ta get them back. Even if it's just one."
No one could say anything else because Herschel spoke up.
"I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property. We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp."
He looked at Rick and waited for an answer, but Shane was the one who responded first.
"All due respect, you get a crowd of those things wandering here..."
"We're guests here. This is your property and we will respect that" Rick interrupted his friend and glared at him. He then turned his gaze upon Connor and placed the Irishman's guns on the hood of the car first. After that, his own revolver, a colt, followed. Shane snorted and shook his head, but he did the same after a moment, placing his weapons on the car so they could be collected. They all looked at Connor who kept his eyes glued on the Berettas.
He let out a long sigh and looked away.
"Don't lose 'em" he warned them but gave in, not taking them. He knew exactly that this was just another test to see if he could be trusted, if he wasn't crazy and about to shoot anyone. Connor let them keep his guns. At least he knew that they were stored around here, probably kept in a secure place. That was something.
"First things first. Set camp, find Sophia" Rick then went on but Shane still wouldn't quite let go.
" I hate to ask but somebody's got to. What happens if we find her and she's bit, Rick?" Shane asked and looked at his friend who bit his bottom lip.
"You do what has to be done."
This made Maggie look up in surprise.
"And her mother? What do you tell her?"
"The truth" Andrea said and Connor looked at her.
The mention of the word truth automatically made him grab his left hand so he could stroke his index finger absently. Daryl noticed it and raised an eyebrow when he saw the tattoo. Veritas. More and more tattoos just kept showing up on the guy. He was starting to get the impression that the Irishman wasn't just crazy, he seemed to be a very religious nutjob on top of that. It just seemed to get better and better with him.
Shane took the guns in the meantime and got going, interrupting another one of Connor and Daryl's angry staring contests.
"I'll gather and secure the weapons. Make sure no one's carrying guns til we're at a practice off site. I do request one rifleman on lookout. Dale's got experience."
For a while Herschel didn't say anything and just looked at Rick and Shane.
"Our people would feel safer. Less inclined to carry a gun" their leader tried to reason with the farmer.
After a moment of considering it, Hershel nodded reluctantly and Rick looked grateful.
"Thank you."
Shane and Andrea got moving.
Daryl understood that this was the perfect cue for him to leave as well. He adjusted his crossbow to get moving, too. And just like any other time, Connor followed him almost immediately.
"Just fuck off, already! You're like a damn plague!" Daryl roared when he heard the footsteps coming closer and closer. They were in the middle of the woods, back to the old game from last night. The game of following and not wanting to be followed.
"How about you go fuck yourself, Murph, cos I'm not going anywhere and ye fucking know it!" Connor responded somewhere behind him and Daryl flipped him off. Walking a bit faster, he tried to get the hell away from the crazed Irishman once more, but the blonde actually started running until he somewhat caught up to him. The next natural step for Daryl was the ignoring, but that was useless, too, because Connor started talking anyway. He was smiling at his back when he noticed the angel wings on Daryl's biker vest once again.
"Ye've always kinda been inta angel mythology and all that shit" he retorted after a while, trying to start a conversation. It took the hunter a while, but he eventually understood that the Irishman was talking about his jacket. Rotating his shoulders a bit, he caught himself subconsciously trying to get rid of the wings just so the Irishman had one reason less to talk to him.
"Screw yah. It ain't even mine."
"What are ye talking about, of course it's yers. We're the fuckin Saints, remember" Connor answered, chuckling a bit to himself as if it were funny.
Holy fucking shit.
That guy was definitely crazy. Now he already thought that he was a fucking saint. He was completely delusional. Daryl felt really uncomfortable by now. He'd been around his fair share of crazy people. Drug addicts. Drunks. Criminals. But nobody he'd met had ever reached that level of crazy before. Connor chuckled to himself and even dared to pat Daryl's back from behind as if to get him to ease up – and that was enough to send the hunter over the edge. He turned around angrily and suddenly shoved Connor hard, trying to keep the distance between them.
"Hey! I said Fuck. Off!"
For a moment, he actually nearly punched the guy when he just stumbled back, laughing. As if this was all fun to him, in his weird world of crazytown. The intimidating homeless guy look might be gone and the Irishman might look more like one of them by now, but the mad look in his eyes certainly wasn't gone. For now, Daryl refrained from starting a fight because he wasn't sure what the guy was capable of, how many more weapons or ideas he had after what had already happened last night with the walker in the trees. Daryl just shoved the Irishman once more and that hard, sending him flying on his ass, to at least keep him at a safe distance and stop him from touching him.
"Leave me alone" he snarled once more, gave him a threatening glare, and then got going again.
Connor clumsily tried to get back up and looked after him.
"Oh come on, it was a joke, Murph. A fuckin joke. But I'm serious now!" he said and went after the hunter, a stern and worried look on his face. "Ye can't just go out here on yer own. That's all I'm trying ta say. It's dangerous. Rick said so, we gotta go out in teams. God knows how many more of those fuckers are out here. Ye shouldn't be on yer own in these woods. Y'know what could happen."
"I'm better off on my own!" Daryl snapped back and kept going. Connor let out a small sigh and kept following. He wouldn't say anything anymore because he was very close to getting lost in his fragile mind again. Daryl looked back after a moment, taking note of the changed expression on the other man's face, until he let out a soft scoff.
"It's not like yah of any use anyway" he examined, talking more to himself than to the man who was following him.
They kept walking for a while until Connor decided that he was done shutting up.
"So three days, huh. Three days of looking fer a little girl. In here" he observed and had a look around the woods. "Three days and ye wanna keep doing this on yer own" he went on, slowly trying to either get Murphy to talk to him, or get him out of the unnecessary danger just so the things that had happened in Boston would never repeat themselves again.
But of course, the man in front of him wouldn't answer and kept going.
"You know, between ye and me, dear brother of mine, I kinda doubt that you're gonna find that girl. I mean even back then it was hard t'survive in the woods and cops got that 72hour rule. She's just a kid, and now with all te walkers? We, of all people, should know that kids don't last long these days. No matter how sad it is. Maybe we should start…"
Daryl suddenly turned around and pointed his crossbow right at Connor's head. The Irishman stopped walking and just looked at it, not scared at all.
"She ain't dead" Daryl said angrily, crossbow still pointed at the man's head. Connor looked at the tip of the arrow for a moment until he eventually fixed his eyes on Daryl's face again, shrugging a little.
"Okay, whatever ye say. I still think we sh…"
"There ain't no 'we' goin on here, alright? Stop pretendin' we know each other. Cos we don't. We ain't 'friends' or whatever the fuck's goin on in your stupid brain…"
"Alright, listen, I get that yer mad at me. Ye have every r…"
"Just fuck off 'n go back to camp and leave me the hell be."
"Murph, I…"
"FUCK OFF!" Daryl yelled at the other man once more and actually pulled the trigger, firing a warning shot, sending the arrow flying right past the man so it could hit a tree instead. Connor actually looked hurt and really depressed for a moment, less delusional like he seemed to understand perfectly well that he was just fooling himself, but then that expression slipped away as he looked down at the ground with a deep sigh.
"Alright. If that's what ye want. See ye back at camp, brother" he muttered and finally turned around to get going.
Brother.
Brother brother brother. Always with the fucking brother.
He wasn't this guy's brother. He wasn't his friend either. No matter how hard he tried. And most importantly: he wasn't this Murphy guy from the picture. He was Daryl. Daryl Dixon. He had a brother of his own. And as long as the stupid leprechaun freak didn't get that in that thick skull of his, there was no way he was going to let him follow him anyway.
Daryl watched Connor warily, crossbow still pointed. He kept an eye on him as the Irishman left and made his way back towards the farm. The blonde looked back at him every couple of minutes, half looking sad and depressed, half curious and mischievous, as if he was telling himself that this was just a game and that he was having him on. But the hunter stood his ground, stood in the exact same spot and watched until the Irishman was out of sight.
Only then did he get back to his search for Sophia, relieved and happy about the silence that followed.
When Connor got back to the farm, Rick was the first person he saw. The sheriff was sitting on the steps that led up to the porch of the farmhouse, still wearing his full uniform. Just like the Irishman he seemed to be lost in thoughts, probably thinking about his wounded son and the state their whole world was in now. Connor approached the man with a little tired smile, coming to the conclusion that he liked this man already, given his job and his charisma.
"Rick" he greeted him once he was close enough, shoving his hands into his pockets. The sheriff looked up in surprise and greeted him back.
"Did Daryl leave on his own?" he asked curiously and Connor scoffed a bit. He looked down and kicked at the dirt a bit, nodding.
"Yeah. Didn't want me ta come along. I think he's mad at me. Said he'll be back before dark" he informed Rick, who looked towards the neighboring woods.
"Yeah, Daryl's mad at everyone I believe. That's just the way he is" the sheriff mused, and Connor let out a little sigh after having looked in the same direction.
"Listen, I remembered that I didn't exactly apologize fer attacking ye and aiming a gun at you people yesterday back at te church. Yer good people, that was wrong of me ta do. Ye didn't have ta take me in but ye did. Even when I looked…well, like shit. So I just wanted ta say sorry about the gun, and thank you fer letting me join yer group. And thanks t'your wife fer giving me food yesterday."
"There's no need to thank anyone. We're just replicating what others did for us before, what Hershel and his family are doing for us now. We're all in this together now. This is just how we survive."
Connor chewed on his lips a bit and nodded. It was good to know that Rick, that this group truly seemed to belong to the 'good guys'. He definitely needed this right now.
"Aye. Great philosophy" he agreed and they both remained quiet for a while, until Connor's initial problem and questions crept up on him again.
"Well, is there anything I can do fer ye people? Do ye have a search grid fer me or…do ye want me t…"
"We got a base now, we have this search properly organized. Everyone's on the move already, so-"
"Right, so I'll get going as well and…"
"No. My point is that you're off the hook right now. You don't owe us anything. You should do what Hershel told you. Rest. Eat something. Get your strength back. You can even catch a couple hours of sleep if you want."
Connor looked towards the tent, felt the extreme fatigue and exhaustion from days of not sleeping and eating creep up on him, but he just ended up scoffing.
"I'm not gonna go sleep while all ye people are out there looking for your lost girl.."
"Just like I said. You don't owe us anything. Get some rest. Daryl and the others are looking for her. It's alright, they'll manage."
Connor chewed on his upper lip as he contemplated this, but came to the conclusion that he really didn't know what he wanted to do. So instead of arguing about it, he just gave the policeman a simple nod and "See yah" to leave what he made of this up to him. Connor shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and turned around to get going, to maybe just walk around for a bit, talk to someone else to get his mind off things, or to simply go looking for Murphy again after all.
He'd only just walked a couple of steps when Rick suddenly called out for him and made him turn around again.
"One more thing" the sheriff said and looked down. Connor looked at the man tiredly but at the same time curiously, patiently waiting for him to continue.
"People are wondering what's going on with you, Daryl and the picture we found on you yesterday. Do you guys know each other? Why do you call him Murphy? I've only known Daryl for a week now and I understand if that's between you and him, but…. If you could help us understand…"
For a short moment, the world around Connor seemed to slow down, froze him in the spot as the dangerous real world and hard facts crept up on him once more, made it obvious once again that his twin was gone, that this Daryl guy was in fact just Daryl and not Murphy. Just a little curiosity like that made it so easy for him to lose himself in that terrifyingly real insanity, the soul-disrupting fact that he wasn't going to be able to keep that act of pretending up much longer. But he wanted to cling to it for as long as he could. He closed his eyes for a short moment and took a deep breath, until he managed to get it together again.
"I know 'im. Aye. But…well…Some shit happened and… maybe he'd rather pretend he forgot about it insteada facing the truth..about what's happened, I don't know. I'm trying ta talk t'him t'figure this out between us" the Irishman swallowed hard and looked towards the woods for a second, until he focused on Rick again. "Listen, I know I'm being vague as shit right now, but the truth is, yer actually right. I really need some sleep and some rest ta be able t'think straight again. Is it okay if we talk about this later? I don't really wanna talk about it right now if that's okay with ye. And it's not like I'm gonna make much more sense the longer I'm awake."
Rick eyed Connor a little, curious and wondering what was going on with the picture thing, but he eventually gave in and nodded.
"Sure. Go ahead."
Connor gave the man a little smirk and nodded as well.
"Thanks. See yah"
Connor startled hard and was actually surprised to realize that he'd really been asleep until now. Squinting his eyes a little, he slowly turned on his side to check what the hell was going on. The moment he saw the intruder he immediately started smiling. Daryl was back and had just entered the tent.
"Ah Murph, good t'see yer back" he greeted the other man who wouldn't look at him or respond. Connor still kept smirking, let his head fall back into the pillow and closed his eyes again, determined to keep pretending anyway. Only seeing this face for a short moment and then simply feeling his presence was enough for him to keep the illusion up.
His twin's lookalike was shifting his stuff around in the tent without a word. Connor shifted out of his way a bit without actually opening his eyes at first, but eventually did it anyway to see what was going on. Turning on his side, he just lay there and watched the other man move his sleeping bag as far away from him as he possibly could. The smile on Connor's face wouldn't go away, although it was met by a pissed look.
"Yeah, yer better off moving yer arse a bit, brother" the Irishman tried to tease his opposite, get him to talk to him this way.
Daryl just let out an annoyed scoff and moved even further away from him.
"Yeah and yah better off not callin me that and getting outta my tent, asshole" Daryl grunted and sat down on his sleeping bag so he could get rid of his dirty boots. Instead of looking at the Irishman he concentrated on the outside world. Took note of the sun setting, everybody getting ready for bed, Carol sitting there by the campfire, staring at thin air with that sad and dead look on her face. Stilling for a moment, Daryl just looked at her quietly until he kicked his boots away with a grunt and lay down just so he didn't have to see her anymore.
Because he'd failed her. Again. The third day in a row that he hadn't been able to track that little girl down. He knew that they didn't even think he cared at all. But he did. A lot. And it didn't just piss him off to see them all, to see Carol like that. It upset him just as much because he knew what that felt like for Sophia. Being out there all alone with it looking like nobody bothered to look for her, find her. He'd been there, too.
He let out a little annoyed grunt and lay down on his sleeping bag, still moving to the furthest edge of the tent to get away from the Irishman, pretend that he wasn't even there. And it seemed to work for a while. At least until he suddenly felt how the guy crept up on him and then actually dared to touch him again, tried to wrap an arm around him. Daryl turned around abruptly and punched Connor's shoulder really hard to get him to stop holding him. Then he immediately rammed his knee in his guts to get the point across even more.
"Get yah mitts off of me you prick!" he yelled, kicking and boxing Connor, who simply started laughing and fought back once he'd caught his breath again.
"Hey, no fighten in bed, that's what Ma always said, right? So how 'bout you fuck off?"
Daryl only punched and kicked harder and got really agitated over this whole deal, because the simple unsuspected touch had freaked him out way too much for his liking. He hated how this guy was so close right now, still continued to half touch, half slap him, generally being everywhere with his hands, which just made the whole thing incredibly creepy and annoying.
"Fuck off and get outta my tent!" he roared and managed to dominate the other by half climbing on top of him, straddling him, and using the position to properly knee him in his stomach once more. For a short moment, Daryl was pretty sure that if he had his knife on him and not packed away close to his boots, he'd kill the Irishman right now.
The guy was still laughing. That made the whole situation a little less tense at least. Daryl really wasn't sure what this guy was capable of and what this whole scuffle could turn into, but truth be told, he didn't want to find out. It actually took Connor a short moment to recover from the sudden lack of air, but then he got into action as well, actually took Daryl on, still chuckling to himself but hitting and kicking back just as hard.
"Give up, ye know you don't stand a chance. I always win m'dear brother" he exclaimed, sounding amused.
Brother.
Hearing that again was what made Daryl really lose it.
"I'm not your fucking brother!" the hunter yelled punched Connor hard in the face, just once, but it was enough to make the blonde grunt in pain. Squeezing his eyes shut and quickly covering his nose and left eye with his hand, Connor tried to turn away from the assault. Daryl froze in the spot and was actually quite surprised by his own actions for a short moment, looking at the tiny bits of blood on his fist. He ended up clenching it even more but got moving again, away from the Irishman and back to his side of the tent with a growled "Touch me again and you're dead, you faggot."
"Uhh I'm so fuckin scared, man" Connor simply retorted and sat upright a bit because his nose had started bleeding. He wiped the blood away but kept looking at Daryl with a strange expression on his face. Daryl just glared back at him, warning him with the look.
"I'd call that a match this time" Connor muttered after a moment of failing to stop his nosebleed. Even with the blood and bruises that were going to form by tomorrow without a doubt, he eventually still relaxed and gave the hunter an almost pleased smirk. "Good fight, little brother."
Daryl just glared back, an almost defeated look on his face because he couldn't quite believe it. Even after a hard punch in his face and a whole lot of kicks in his guts, the guy chose to ignore what he kept telling him. Chose to ignore that he really wasn't that guy in the picture, his brother. The man had completely lost it. It was very obvious that no matter what Daryl was going to do or try, the Irishman wasn't going to stop calling him Murphy or brother, wasn't going to stop pretending that he was the guy he resembled.
Daryl just scoffed and got moving to get out of the tent, grabbing his sleeping bag to sleep outside.
"Shove it up your ass" he muttered and left because he was done with this.
He wasn't exactly surprised to wake up in the middle of the night. After all, it was really cold and really uncomfortable out here, the spot he'd chosen under the tree right behind his tent. What was surprising though was the fact that neither the cold nor the discomfort had woken him up. Instead, he took note of stifled sobs and sharp breaths somewhere near him, sounds that were hard to miss and that had woken him up without a doubt. Daryl turned on his side and looked up a bit. Some lights were still on inside the farmhouse, the RV and one of their tents. He obviously wasn't the only one awake.
The first thought that came to his mind was that it was Carol again, crying because of her daughter, or maybe even Lori, crying because of her son. But when he looked towards their tents he soon had to realize that he was way too far from them to actually hear anything from them at all. Instead, he was surprised to realize that the stifled crying and sharp abrupt breaths where coming from inside his tent.
The Irishman was the one crying here.
Inside the tent he had all to himself now that the fight between them had ended like that – with him out here, brooding away.
The first emotion that rushed over Daryl was sheer annoyance. He didn't understand how a single person could be so annoying, so pathetic, so stupid. First the crazy, then the neverending talking and pretending that they knew each other, then the touching and fighting and stealing his tent, and now the crying. Everything the guy did annoyed the crap out of him. But the more Daryl listened on, secretly curious and shifting a bit closer to the tent, the more he noticed that this wasn't really the crying of the annoying or pathetic kind at all.
This was the real deal.
The heartbroken kind.
The man wasn't crying. He was weeping, suffering, grieving.
The fact that it very obviously sounded like the Irishman was fighting it hard, tried to suffocate it and keep it under control, was enough for Daryl to quickly forget about his annoyance and anger. Instead, those feelings were replaced with softer emotions, now that he was all by himself without anybody watching or noticing. Surprise was still there. Then the pity.
Then the worry.
He thought about going back in there, maybe asking or talking to the guy, but the truth was that he had no idea what to say. He didn't know how to handle crying people. Even worse, crying men. Somehow he knew that this Connor guy wasn't the crying type because of fear or pain. After all, he'd taken a pretty serious beating earlier without even batting an eyelash, after having survived half starvation and travelling down here all by himself. He'd not even cared about getting a crossbow pointed right at his head twice.
They were kind of alike in that regard. Daryl wasn't the scared or crying type either.
He remembered the only time he'd cried during the past weeks, and that had been when... He finally turned his head slightly to look at the fabric of his tent again, looked in the general direction of where Connor was lying right now. Daryl let out a sigh and turned his head again so he could stare at the tree top instead.
The last time he'd found himself crying like that had been when he'd lost Merle.
When he'd lost his brother.
He remembered the guy from the picture, Connor being all on his own in that church and him talking about this Murphy guy being his brother all. the. time. Brother brother brother, Murphy Murphy Murphy. The name he used on him all the time. Part of him wondered what exactly had happened to the other Irishman, but the more he thought about it and the more he heard Connor crying next to him, the more he figured that he didn't really need to ask.