setting: episode 4 "Cherokee Rose"
Salvation
Chapter 7 - The Painful Truth
He was actually glad to wake up to the burning hot sun hitting his face. The heat was almost unbearable even this early in the day, but he utterly appreciated it, considering how cold the night had been out here without much cover and without a tent or campfire. Shifting a little, Daryl grumpily realized that his clothes were damp from his sleeping outside. The sun had already started drying him up a bit, but it certainly wasn't enough to make him feel comfortable. He definitely needed a change of clothes after having worn them for like two or three days in a row, no matter how much he hated the prospect of having to enter his tent where he would ultimately have to face the Irishman again.
Right. The guy who had wept his eyes out last night.
For a short moment, he wondered how the blonde was doing and if he should mention it, but then he quickly decided against it, shaking his head angrily.
No. He didn't give a fuck about the weirdo. He couldn't care less.
Daryl slowly got up on his feet and walked around the tent, determined to throw the other man out. If the guy wasn't awake yet he damn sure was going to make him get up and get the hell out of his tent.
The flap and zipper of the tent were still open, so all he needed to do was kneel down a bit and crawl inside. He was ready to get this thing going – but the sight inside caught him by surprise.
Connor was already awake. He was sitting pretty much in the middle of the tent, bare back turned towards the entry as he got changed as well. For a short moment, Daryl froze in the spot and just stared at the other man's back with wide eyes and a mumbled "What the fuck" that he couldn't contain. Connor turned around a bit and looked towards the exit curiously, only to crack an instant smirk.
"Morning sunshine. Time ta rise and shine" he greeted him and Daryl growled.
"Screw ya" he muttered immediately and continued to eye Connor's back uneasily.
A huge tattoo of Jesus Christ was staring right back at him. Only the upper torso, nailed to the cross, with closed eyes, a troubled look on his face, wearing the crown of thorns. If it weren't for the whole obvious religious fanaticism, Daryl would almost consider it a piece of art. He'd seen many tattoos in the past, gang tattoos, prisoner tattoos, other gangster/random shit. He too had a couple of tattoos as well, but he'd never really seen such a large one on anybody.
As if to complete the whole religious nutjob vibe, Daryl only just now noticed that Connor was also wearing two rosaries around his neck. During the past two days they had been hidden underneath his shirt, but now with his torso exposed, the religious items were clearly visible.
Geez. The guy really took the saint thing literal.
"So what, yah didn't just escape some loony bin, you're also some kind of hardcore bible banging freak?" he asked and pointed at Connors back.
The Irishman put his shirt back on and just smirked at Daryl.
"What's it look like ta ye?"
Daryl scoffed.
"And yah really believe in this shit. Even now."
"Yes I do" Connor just said flatly and then fully turned around to give Daryl a strange look.
"Why'd ye think I was in that church."
Daryl just kept looking at him for a moment, until he let out a dismissive snort.
"Yeah because if there was a god up there he'd let all this shit here happen. You know, all those stupid people, sitting there prayin to some boss in the sky all day, they all got what they deserved. In the end it's no stupid religious freaks but realistic people who survived. If it weren't for us you'd have croaked it, weirdo."
There was a moment when a pained expression crossed Connor's face and Daryl noticed that it had been the moment he'd talked about religious people dying. Connor looked angry for a moment. Then the expression on his face went blank and he ended up smirking from one second to the next.
"You've always been that pessimist Murph. I keep telling ye, you just gotta believe" he said and put his boots back on. Daryl quickly got changed in the meantime as well.
"Besides, yer right. Most people got what they deserved, but not because they got eaten during prayers, but because this is final judgment. We've read about it so many times. This is where everything evil shall be punished and the earth will be purified so that in the end only those who are worthy shall live on. Most of them anyway. Looks like god just decided ta join us with the whole cleaning up te filth."
Daryl just stared at the man opposite him for a while. He wasn't the praying type and he didn't believe in god. He didn't even know how this clown could still believe in anything after everything that had happened. He just shook his head dismissively and got up, silently adding yet another thing he didn't like about the Irish weirdo to his rapidly growing list. He simply left the tent to get some space between them, but Connor, of course, followed him instantly.
Because it annoyed the hunter once more he decided to add a little more fuel to the flames, using the information he'd gathered for the past two days to really hurt the other man and get him to stay away from him this way.
"So yah basically sayin your stupid brother deserved t'bite the dust? I bet. Must've been just the same pain in the ass as you are."
Daryl actually startled when a fist hit his left cheek only seconds later. Stumbling to the side, he tried to regain his balance and felt his jaw for any damage, but nothing much seemed to have happened. Holding his cheek, he turned his head to the side to give the man who'd just punched him a death glare. Before Connor could yell anything at him, Daryl immediately flung himself at him and punched right back, with all the force he could gather, tackling them into a proper fight. Soon the two men slammed their feet, fists and knees into each other, because Daryl's statement had hit home and cut deeply.
"Don't ye dare talk about my brother like that you piece of shit!" Connor yelled and punched and kicked surprisingly hard. Daryl was even more surprised to see how the Irishman dodged and countered his attacks, like an expert fighter. Managing to think about it for just a second, Daryl came to the conclusion that he actually wasn't really surprised, considering the fact that the other man was Irish and had very obviously been in his fair share of bar fights, judging by the couple of scars he'd seen on him.
Daryl got really angry quickly, because each punch hurt and seemed to come faster and harder. It frustrated him and made him punch back twice as hard, which quickly turned the whole ordeal into a loud and nasty fight that he hadn't exactly expected or intended.
"Yeah don't yah talk to me at all, you bible banging psycho!" he yelled right back, because that was all there was to it in the end. He just wanted to be left alone.
It didn't even take half a minute until T-Dog and Shame came running to try and separate them. Both men had trouble accomplishing their task because even now Daryl and Connor were still kicking and punching at thin air, eager to get back to the other.
"I'll punch yer fucking face again!" Connor spat.
"Yeah come here, freak!" Daryl roared and kept fighting Shane's grip.
"Whoa, calm down Daryl!" Shane said as he tried to stop him from breaking out.
It took them a bit, but both Shane and T-Dog eventually managed to pull the two men away from each other until there was enough space between them. Connor struggled more and eventually managed to fight T-Dog off since he was still weakened from his cut. The Irishman glared at Daryl once more but then quickly turned around, moving his fingers through his hair and taking a few deep breaths to calm down again. Rick, Lori and the others already came running for them to see what was going on. Rick even stepped between them and looked at both of them with a half worried, half angry look on his face, until he fixed his eyes on Shane.
"What happened?" he asked his friend, who had some trouble keeping Daryl in place. The hunter managed to get free and then quickly stomped away from the scene, but not without giving the Irishman a furious look first.
"Looks like our newbie's a bit of a troublemaker" Shane retorted and the rest of the group slowly stopped watching Daryl leave and fixed their eyes on Connor instead.
"What? Oh come on, I don't mean no fuckin trouble, t' was him who started it! He talked shit about my brother!" the Irishman immediately defended himself and gritted his teeth angrily.
Rick approached him.
"Look, if you want to stay with us, you better tell us right now what it is exactly that went on between you and Daryl before all this. All that fighting and arguing and shouting needs to stop."
Connor just kept looking at leaving Daryl, unable to say anything, but Rick kept pressing.
"Hey! Do you wanna stay or not?"
Another pause, until Connor eventually started chewing on his lips and looked at the rest of the group. Pretty much all of them were giving him half curious, half pissed off looks.
"I do. 'f course I do, man" he muttered and then looked back at Rick. "I'm sorry, I'm not gonna hurt anyone, alright? Yer good people, I'm sorry" he retorted and raised both his hands a little in a soothing gesture.
Rick let out a little sigh and looked to the side, chewing on his lips as well. After a moment of consideration, he went on.
"You stay, you stick to our rules. No fighting, no yelling. Now talk. You seem reasonable enough. What's up with all the fighting? Is it Daryl? We all know that he can be quite a handful, but you two need to figure this out. Whatever happened in the past…."
"He looks exactly like my brother" Connor finally blurted out and kept looking at Rick sternly.
"Ye saw the picture. I did not know him until two days ago. The man ye saw in my picture, he's my twin brother, and his name's Murphy" he explained and fought really hard to keep it together and stay somewhat rational about this, which he managed.
"He got bit and I… I'm not leaving. Where he goes, I go. I need this" Connor went on and pointed at Daryl, who was still walking away from the group. They all looked at him and after a moment of thinking everything through, most of their looks grew softer and somewhat understanding. Rick and Shane looked at each other a little longer since the latter didn't seem too pleased with the whole thing. He even scoffed a little.
"What, Daryl? Sorry to burst the bubble buddy, but I don't think Daryl likes you very much. In fact, Daryl doesn't like anybody or anything. He's a complete dick and you should just get over it if you wanna stay."
Rick looked down and cleared his throat a little.
"Shane…"
"Somebody has to say it, right? You've seen them just a minute ago. This whole thing ain't gonna fly with Daryl. If you wanna stay with us and make this work, you gotta deal with the brother thing cos this here ain't healthy, and it sure ain't doing anyone no good. We need people fit and in good shape to protect our group, no beat-up rednecks. What if they break each other's bones or their shouting attracts walkers? Cos then that's gonna be it for the whole group."
"It's not gonna happen again. I swear" Connor answered and gave Shane a furious and challenging look, only to turn his gaze upon Rick again. "Just let me handle it my way and pull me weight around here ta make up fer the trouble. Ye need ta teach people how ta use guns? Sign me up. Ye need help around te farm, I grew up on horseback. Ye need extra man power ta find that little girl – I'm all up for it."
He and Rick looked at each other for a long time, until the sheriff gave in.
Daryl turned around when heard branches cracking behind him. He pointed his deadly crossbow at the thing that was following him in a matter of seconds. The thing turned out to be blonde and Irish. He let out an annoyed sigh and turned around again, rolling his eyes so hard he feared they wouldn't go back to normal.
"Yah really want me t'freakin kill yah?" he growled, shaking his head a little. Day three. Same old game already. Always with the stupid following. In the end he relaxed though, because he was pretty fed up with the whole fighting business right now. He still felt a bit strange about the fight that had happened earlier because he honestly hadn't aimed for it to escalate this much. Up until now, his mind had been far too preoccupied with the wondering whether the group liked him even less now, saw him even more as the stereotypical angry redneck trash that he didn't want to be.
"Seriously. Just fuck off already" he added, to at least try to avoid yet another fight.
Connor caught up to him anyway and once again gave him that stupid fucking smile.
Seriously, why the fuck was this guy so fucking friendly to him? 10 minutes ago he'd treated him like a punching bag. Just yesterday night he'd nearly broken his fucking nose. And here the idiot was. Still smiling at him. Trying to be his friend like a stupid dog.
"Come on Murph, t'was just another fight ye lost. Get over et" Connor teased and followed Daryl through the woods.
"Prick" the hunter growled and walked on, deciding to leave it be like that.
"Lookin fer that girl again?" Connor asked after a while and Daryl let out another annoyed sigh, but wouldn't say anything. He still hated that this guy couldn't keep his stupid Irish mouth shut and he hated how he kept following him everywhere.
"Speaking of which…. Sorry 'bout what I said about her yesterday. Yer right. She probably isn't dead. People are looking fer her, so we're gonna find her some way or the other."
No answer.
Connor absently chewed on his lower lip and kept following with a tiny smile on his face, inspecting their surroundings curiously. After a moment of silence, he started talking again.
"I was actually thinking that we two should stick t'the creek insteada searching t'woods. Rick said that's where he lost her, so maybe that's what she stuck to after all, no matter what he told her. Just think about it. All this round here looks the same ta a kid. A creek dat's actually going somewhere sure might seem like the better and pretty much only point of orientation she could've stuck to. So if we do the same, maybe…."
"There ain't no 'we' goin on, how many times do I have t'fuckin tell yah" Daryl said angrily and walked around a tree. "You dumbass leprechaun sure don't know jackshit 'bout trackin, so you better shut the fuck up and go back t'camp or even better, back t'potato island."
"I think ye and I got a pretty clear picture by now about how I'm not gonna do jackshit. I gonna help ye find that girl of yers no matter what ye fuckin throw at me."
Daryl finally turned around and looked at Connor, more annoyed than ever.
"Seriously. Fuck. Off! I told yah yesterday and I'm tellin yah one more time now before I lose my shit. It's not like yah care about that girl, she ain't mine, she ain't nobody's business but Carol's, so yah might as well just leave me the fuck be!"
Connor just stopped walking and remained patient and calm anyway.
"Yer right, I don't really give a shit about any of this anymore, but I fuckin care about ye and I sure as shit can't have you wandering around in the woods alone."
"Why the fuck would you care about me? I don't need a stupid babysitter!" Daryl yelled, already going back to shoving the Irishman once, and that hard.
"Af course ye do" Connor immediately said under a huff that got pressed out of him with the shove.
"No, I don't, you don't know shit about me, so you better fuckin stop it now and fuck off or…"
"Course I know shit about ye, I'M YER FUCKIN TWIN BROTHER!" Connor yelled right back, suddenly losing it. He snapped from one second to the next, a furious and once again slightly mad look crossing his features, like something was cracking. Something almost audibly did crack when Daryl hit him hard in his face once again, but this time he did it not to hurt the other and shove him away, but to get him to wake up.
"YOU AIN'T MY BROTHER!" he yelled right in his face and finally and completely lost his patience.
"My name ain't Murphy, alright?! It's Daryl, you understand? Daryl. Dixon. Yeah, I got a brother, he's called Merle. Merle Dixon. The guy you call your brother, Murphy or whatever the fuck it is, he's dead, okay? Now get over it. You're annoying the crap outta me with yah weirdo shit. I ain't Irish, I'm American, I was born and raised in Georgia. . I've never been close to fuckin Boston. Look, I got no religious whacko tattoos either.." He showed him his hands, neck and arms. "Sure don't believe in jackshit and I ain't. called. Murphy. Now smarten up and at least be a decent cover and help the group or fuck off! I'm done with yah shit."
Connor just stared at Daryl's hand with a blank look on his face. For a while he didn't move at all, and Daryl really wasn't sure if he was going to get an answer or reaction. The Irishman just seemed to zone out of it completely, eyes fixed on the arms and hands where the obviously missing tattoos would have been, until he finally said something.
"I know he's gone. Do you seriously fucking think I wouldn't know who my own twin brother is or isn't? Trust me, I know better than anyone" he said and looked Daryl in the eye, looked at him honestly without playing any sort of act. Daryl was actually really surprised and scared half shitless by the look he was now being given because he'd seen eyes like that a lot of times lately, only that they had always belonged to the walking dead ones. Not a living a breathing guy. But here he was, 100 per cent in his true unfiltered form, no more games and pretending.
"He's gone. But you look like him. You look exactly fucking like him. So, figure it out" Connor said honestly and Daryl backed off just a little. He was still glaring at the man but growing a bit unsure. On top of that he was really confused. He didn't understand any of this. Why the fuck he had to have a dead guy's face, how the fuck this was even supposed to be possible, why this had to happen to him, happen to him now when he'd basically just lost his own brother like a week ago. He wouldn't even believe it if anybody else told him about it.
But he had seen the picture.
Connor was telling the truth.
He did look exactly like this Murphy guy and there was no denying it or blaming it on insanity.
Pressing his lips together and gritting his teeth, Daryl eventually leaned back in a bit so he could snarl in the Irishman's face.
"I don't give a shit" he growled, stared the Irishman down a moment longer, and then turned on his heels to keep going, keep looking for Sophia, get the hell away from this.
"Please" Connor actually called out and managed to make him stop. Daryl turned around a bit to glare at him again, impatiently waiting for him to go on.
"I've never begged anyone in me fuckin life, but I'm begging ye now" Connor pleaded." Just let me keep pretending yer Murphy. Please" he said and Daryl just stared at him.
He knew exactly what this was about, why that guy wanted to keep this stupid game up. Kneeling in a church, not eating, kneeling in front of him with a crossbow aimed at his head and letting him punch him bloody. Him calling him Murphy, him asking him to play along, it was the only thing that kept the guy somewhat sane enough for this world so he could still function. So he could keep the whole fake smiling and fake helping up. He seemed to have nothing else left.
Daryl had no idea about the relationship these two Irish weirdos had had. But judging from all the twin talk and the way the guy acted now, he'd been very close with this Murphy guy. So much that it was wrecking him now.
He could understand the whole thing. Much more than he dared to admit. But he also knew something else. This never happened to him. He wasn't right for this sort of thing. He'd never been in something like this before. He didn't know how to handle it. He didn't want to handle it or have anything to do with it at all. He had problems of his own. Probably wayyy bigger problems than this Connor guy, considering all the shit he'd gone through in his own life. And it wasn't like he was running around telling everybody about it, or asking anybody for help like the fucking secretly weeping sissy guy this Irish asshole was. His problems, right now, only consisted of finding Merle, and finding Sophia.
That was it.
He didn't even fucking know the guy. And it wasn't like it was gonna do jackshit anyway. The man was a lost cause. He was already logged into crazytown. He wasn't part of their group either.
So fuck it.
It wasn't up to him.
"Nah" he growled and shook his head in a dismissive manner. "I ain't some sorta charity. Just fuck off and leave me be."
He turned around because he could no longer bear seeing the Irishman like that. Because the moment he said that, it almost felt like he could hear his world and mind shattering. He was actually surprised not to hear a single word or sound from the other man. In fact, there wasn't even a reaction at all. Instead, Connor silently got back to following him through the woods anyway, and maybe that made Daryl ease up a bit. After all, it didn't seem like his words had much impact. Thank fucking god.
The weirdo went back to his usual denying and pretending anyway. Probably.
He hoped.
They were deep in the woods by the time they found an abandoned farmhouse on a clearing. Connor hadn't said a single word ever since their discussion, he hadn't even looked at Daryl anymore. The hunter really wasn't sure if he felt annoyed and angered by this, or if this was worry slowly bubbling up inside of him.
He honestly couldn't tell what impact his speech had on the Irish guy, but just like before he forced himself not to care. The only outcome that mattered to him in a positive way was the fact that the blonde finally seemed to shut up, wouldn't be so fucking weird anymore. Daryl let his gaze wander to check the clearing and surrounding area of the farmhouse for any walkers. Once it looked clear he grabbed his crossbow to get ready to enter the abandoned structure, walking ahead with Connor following soon after.
When they reached the door the hunter was left no other choice but to talk to the Irishman.
"You take the upper level. I check downstairs. Don't fuck it up" he ordered and then simply kicked the front door open with his crossbow drawn. Quickly checking the left and right of the abandoned hallway, he took note that it was clear once again.
Connor simply walked past him to head for the stairs, but that was when the hunter noticed that even now, the Irishman hadn't drawn a weapon.
"Oi" the hunter called out, but the Irishman kept going, once again not even looking at him.
"Hey, I'm fuckin talking to you, Paddy MickIrish" Daryl whisper-shouted and moved forward to grab the blonde by his arm, only to immediately let go of him once Connor finally looked at him.
"You got a weapon?" he asked after a moment of them just looking at each other with uncomfortable expressions on their faces.
"Don't fuckin need one" the blonde just growled and tried to head upstairs anyway, but Daryl wouldn't let him.
"Wait the fuck up" he demanded and quickly lowered his crossbow to search his belt for his knife.
"Take this. You find one of 'em up there, you stab 'em. Don't go whack on 'em again like you did with the Christmas ornament two days ago" he muttered and handed the Irishman his knife. Connor looked down and took it slowly, only to look up again, really look Daryl in the eye, let the sight of the familiar face sink in once more.
The hunter just looked back for a moment as well, taking note of the fact that this was actually the first nice thing he was doing for the other after all the fighting and insulting him. But despite that Connor still looked pretty shaken and horrible from their latest discussion in the woods, was obviously upset because of his face that now very obviously didn't belong to his brother anymore, so maybe the knife wasn't really enough anyway. The hunter scoffed and quickly moved away again.
"Just move your ass upstairs and look for the girl" he growled and grabbed his crossbow again to start searching the ground level. The floorboards were creaking under his feet just like the stairs Connor was using. The whole farmhouse itself seemed to be pretty old. The sound of settling wood and structure was all around them. Daryl was pretty sure that he could hear some mice or rats, but other than that there seemed to be nothing. If any walkers were here, he was pretty sure he was going to hear them half a mile away on those floorboards.
He searched room for room, taking note of all the things that had been left behind, but other than that, there seemed to be nothing around, which actually frustrated him even more. It was obvious that Sophia hadn't been here. The only remnants of half eaten food he found in a trash bin were too old and far too rotten for possibly having been eaten by the little girl.
Daryl took note of the noise and slow creaking of floorboards coming from upstairs, but he was sure that if the leprechaun had found anyone or anything, he would've called out for him by now. Daryl checked the last couple of rooms and a cupboard, where he found a suspicious blanket and pillow squeezed into a corner. Frowning a little, he turned his head to let his gaze wander.
The back door was wide open.
Maybe Sophia had slept in here after all? Maybe she'd run out as soon as she'd heard them kick the door in?
He grabbed his crossbow and made his way outside through the backdoor, eager to check the surrounding area once more. Feeling more confident that there were no walkers around, he finally shouted her name a couple of times once he was outside. She wouldn't answer or come running. Of course she wouldn't. Daryl was slowly reaching that breaking point again, because now he wondered if the Irishman had been right all along.
Maybe they needed to stick to the creek. Maybe she had never been even close to anything in these woods here. He was just about to call it a day and give up when he suddenly noticed an unimposing small pair of white flowers not too far away from the back door. Daryl scoffed once in disbelief and then slowly walked up to it, lowering his crossbow now that it was obvious that there was no threat around.
Once he reached the flowers he knelt down right in front of them, just staring at the soft white petals for a while.
Well he'll be damned.
Cherokee roses.
Daryl reached out a bit with a tender hand, touching the flower as he remembered the old stories he had heard about them during his childhood. One of the old Indians from their hometown had once told him and a few other kids about the legend of the trail of tears.
Cherokee mothers. Grieving and crying. Losing their little ones along the way due to exposure. Disease. Starvation. Elders, saying prayers for the lost ones, asking for signs.
Cherokee roses grew were tears over lost loved ones fell.
This had to be a sign.
He had told Connor so many times by now that he wasn't religious, that he didn't believe in god or whatever. But at the end of the day, he believed that there was more than just coincidence. He believed that there was more than just chaos, and that some things and how they came together had reason and purpose behind them, were there deliberately. After all, for some weird reason, he seemed to be part of something like that now, too.
And the rose right here, it had to be there for a reason, too.
Daryl reached out and took one of the fragile flowers so he could take it with him, bring it back to Carol as a sign of hope. He put it in the quiver for his arrows just so the others and especially Connor wouldn't see, and Connor seemed to be exactly the point.
He could hear footsteps behind him, knowing exactly that the Irish weirdo had found nothing upstairs and was back to following him again. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Daryl stuffed the flower into the quiver that was attached to his crossbow so he could get up and get going.
"Let me guess, yah didn't find jackshit. Don't even get started on your stupid creek idea now" Daryl said in the meantime, although he knew that the creek thing was actually not a bad idea to hit up now that they had found the farmhouse empty.
He was just about done with his crossbow and ready to get up when he noticed his mistake.
Connor wasn't approaching him here. The rhythm of the steps didn't fit, and the smell certainly wasn't right either. A sudden croaky snarl gave it away and Daryl widened his eyes.
"Shi…" he said and tried to twirl around with his crossbow, but he had to find out that he had wasted too much time and that the walker was too close to him already. Daryl had just managed to half get up and turn around when the undead was already on him, eager to bite him anywhere he could as he got into attack mode and wrestled Daryl back into the ground, right on top of the other Cherokee rose, crushing it underneath him.
He had wasted too much time looking at a stupid flower. Had probably attracted the walker with his shouting for Sophia earlier, and he had let his guard down too much for too long, thinking the walker to be the Irishman he was way too used to already. Daryl grunted under the sudden weight und struggled hard, unable to use his crossbow because the undead was holding on to it as he tried to get past it in order to bite the hunter. The weapon was actually the only thing keeping the undead away from him, trapped right between them as they fought and struggled.
Daryl quickly looked to the side in panic to look for something else instead, only to grow even more worried when he saw another walker quickly approaching him from the corner of the abandoned farmhouse.
Shit shit shit.
He needed to come up with a plan quickly.
He thought about calling out for the Irishman, but there was just no way. There was no way in hell that he was going to admit that maybe the guy was useful, that he needed him here and wanted him to be around. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his previous statement about him needing a 'babysitter' had been right all along.
The hunter managed to grab hold of a stone that lay on the grass not too far from him and immediately tried to use it as a weapon. He fought hard and managed to punch the undead in the side of his face once, groaning at the disgusting feel of rotten flesh peeling off and running down his fist just like the undead drool and blood that almost hit him in the face. He managed to turn his head away and then tried to clobber and struggle once more, at least somewhat pleased with the fact that the skull of the undead was already weakened from the rotting and previous attacks on the head, too.
And yet, it was quickly becoming harder and harder to get the snapping and clacking teeth away from his face because with all the rotten blood and slime from the undead's face, everything became slippery. Daryl yelped once when he suddenly lost grip of the walker and squeezed his eyes shut in panic over a possible incoming bite, but it never happened.
Instead, the walker was suddenly thrown off of him and wrestled into the ground right next to him. Daryl opened his eyes in surprise, breathing hard, and looked to the side in panic, only catching a glimpse of how Connor was suddenly there, rolling around in the grass with the walker from the harsh impact until they came to a halt not too far away from the hunter. Now it was Connor who was pressed into the ground by the undead he'd just yanked away from him, but before Daryl could call out a horrified "NO!", the Irishman successfully managed to stab the undead hard in his temple with the knife he'd been given earlier, doing it only moments before the walker managed to bite him in his throat.
Daryl got on his knees and grabbed his crossbow to fire an arrow at the second walker that was almost with them, hitting him in the head as well and knocking him to the ground with it. The hunter quickly got back up on his feet, crossbow still drawn as he turned left and right to check for any other surprises, but those two walkers seemed to have been it. There was nothing there other than both his and Connor's loud and heavy breathing.
"Fuck, are ye alright, Murph? Did he fuckin bite ye?" Connor eventually managed to press out, the name Murphy slipping once again and completely out of habit, although this hadn't been the only reason. He'd run like hell the moment he'd seen the scene develop from the upstairs window, desperate to stop the past from repeating itself with yet another deadly bite. Even now he looked incredibly panicked and upset about it because the whole thing had obviously strung a dangerous cord inside him.
Daryl lowered his crossbow and just glared at Connor. He was well aware of the fact that the Irishman had probably just saved his life. He was well aware that he wasn't useless and seemed to know his way around the whole killing and fighting walkers just fine. Connor had made it clear: he wanted to help, he wanted to be his friend, and he wanted to keep his ass safe. His personal reasons for it didn't really matter right now, because he was still trying and doing it despite all the shitty things he had already done to him in return.
And that was literally the point. Daryl had no fucking idea why this guy was still doing it.
He didn't want him to put his own ass on the line for him when they didn't even know each other.
He had no idea how to handle that sort of sudden positive although slightly creepy attention. The only way he knew how to deal with it was by fighting it and pushing it away, denying it just so he could go back to his own status quo. The lone wolf status quo that he was so used to.
Despite everything, Connor still tried to approach him to check for any bites. But just like before, Daryl angrily moved out of his way with a defensive "Fuck off" and simply got going without a thanks, without any sort of acknowledgement.
Another day passed and they still hadn't found Sophia. The group gathered around the map again once everyone'd returned from their search, so they could discuss tomorrow. At first, Daryl was still a bit grumpy because he had failed to find a trace, still a bit annoyed and confused because of the whole farmhouse and Connor thing.
But then Carol showed up.
Put everything in perspective. If he really thought about it, he figured that she was actually the only one around this table who deserved to feel upset and angry, deserved to complain. After all, she had lost her family. She looked so incredibly sad, and that certainly felt like a hard slap to Daryl's face, like a wakeup call telling him how childish he was acting over his own tiny problems.
The only thing he had a right to be pissed off about was the fact that he had failed this woman the fourth day in a row. He had wasted too much time during the search making that much of a buzz over the latest addition to their group. Remembering the rose he still had, he slowly grew more confident and determined to change things in order to turn the search into a successful one for her.
Truth be told, he still didn't really know why he suddenly cared so much about her, about this kid, and slowly, about the rest of the people around him.
He hated to admit to the most likely reason, but he still couldn't deny it. Maybe Merle's disappearance was the biggest reason for it all. His own weird behavior, the fact that his true self was slowly coming out. If he really thought about it, then it wasn't exactly hard to admit and understand that he'd always cared a little too much. His family, and most of all Merle, had been the only ones successful enough to suppress it most of the time, turn him into them, basically. None of the people around him would ever be able to do the same to him, give him shit for caring about people. The biggest question still was if he even wanted them to do it anyway.
Maybe he just missed Merle. Maybe that was all there was to it, his behavior around Connor included.
He looked at all the familiar faces circling the map and then just had to stop looking around when he faced Connor, who stood a bit further away from the others and just stared down at the map. It was kind of obvious that he wasn't really looking at the map. In fact, he was looking at absolutely nothing. He was staring holes in the air with an unreadable expression on his face. His stare looked empty and pretty much dead.
The hunter sighed and was still a bit surprised when he felt the same emotions he had just felt when he had looked at Carol. He felt sympathy for the other man, no matter how hard he fought it. He even liked him, no matter how much he hated it. He cared about him and pitied him, and that was the biggest problem. He hated himself for these emotions. Because he wanted to hate Connor.
He knew that the hate didn't exactly justify his behavior though.
He was painfully aware of how rough he had been with the guy today. Giving him the wakeup call, snapping him out of his delusions and ripping the gaping wound that had resulted from his brother's death wide open. He'd pretty much poured salt into it today with all of his talk, simply because he didn't fucking know how to deal with people wanting to be his friend.
Now that he thought about it, he couldn't help but regret his behavior a bit, because he knew that he was the main reason for the Irishman's lack of words and smiling now. Connor hadn't said or done anything against him so far, quite the opposite, he had saved his fucking life today.
Daryl let out a soundless, long and frustrated sigh.
Still.
He was just better off on his own, always had been, at he thought so. He didn't need any friends, never had any either, and that was basically the main reason why he didn't want this to work now, didn't know how this was supposed to work. He knew the truth, no matter how stupid it was and no matter how much it sounded like he just wanted to make it easy for himself. The simple truth was that no matter how much he looked like this guy's dead brother - he was unable to help Connor the way he needed to be helped.
He was going through the proper grieving and depression and emotion shit, stuff he didn't have a clue about.
Daryl didn't do emotions. He didn't do talking about anything. So before he could make it any worse, he just knew that it was better to shove the other man away all together, push him towards the others instead.
If Connor really wanted to stay, the others could deal with it a whole lot better than him. And judging from what he'd seen, the Irishman was pretty easygoing and had no trouble talking to people and making new friends. He was going to manage without him anyway, so he wasn't his fucking problem. He was a grownarse man after all.
No matter what, he still felt bad about it.
Maybe he just needed to get his mind off things, do something nice instead. As soon as the talk was done and as soon as Carol disappeared inside the RV again, he was going to follow her and give her the rose. Lift her spirits a bit by telling her about the legend.
Connor completely stopped following him, stopped talking to him. In fact, he disappeared off somewhere altogether for the rest of the day.
Daryl was surprised how he felt almost panicked over this, and he couldn't quite pinpoint the reason behind it. Was he panicked just because he didn't want it to be his fault, didn't want to be blamed for it later? Or was it because he was way too used to the other's presence already and felt strange without him being around and annoying the crap out of him?
Both was probably the case, although the latter weighed in on it a little more than the other. If he was honest, he was already starting to feel a bit lonely without the guy following him all the time. It was well true that other than Merle, he'd never had many friends, so this was definitely something new. He was human after all, and no matter how many times he denied it, he wanted company just like anybody else.
At the same time, he also felt relieved by Connor's absence as well. Because it felt good to just be Daryl and not be called Murphy all the time, and it certainly was nice not to be called brother all the time when he was missing his own. In fact, it was great to have the evening come to a quiet end without the constant Irish babbling.
No matter what, Connor's sudden absence still felt incredibly weird.
How come he was always so torn with the Irishman around? His head told him to hate him, his heart to appreciate and like him. Now that Connor kept his mouth shut, he was driving him insane nevertheless. It was scary how much the guy had wormed himself into his head already, made him act and look almost as crazy as him.
Maybe he should leave altogether.
That was the first thought that immediately came to Daryl's mind, but his body reacted in a surprisingly different way. His stomach clenched, letting him know that this was an unpleasant thought. Daryl gritted his teeth and cursed himself under his breath. He knew that he'd just wanted Connor not to leave.
As if he'd heard him think about him, Connor suddenly turned up from somewhere behind the farmhouse and simply entered the tent, his fucking tent, to seemingly crash for the night.
Daryl couldn't fight the fact that he was fucking relieved to see that the Irishman was still there, hadn't left because of him after all. It was good to see that he obviously wasn't going to leave, no matter what he'd said and no matter how annoying it was.
Daryl just sat there by the campfire a little longer, staring at the tent, knowing that the latest addition to their group was in there.
Their situation was so fucked already.
The prospect of having a friend certainly was a good thing, and he knew that this guy was probably the only opportunity he'd ever have to finally become friends with someone. That was pretty much the only reason why he wanted him to stay. He knew it was selfish and stupid, but Connor was equally selfish and stupid, considering how he only stuck around because he had his dead brother's face.
Maybe if they were allowed to stay on this farm long enough and as soon as they had found Sophia, he could find a way to manage, deal with this thing. In fact, maybe it just needed time.
Or maybe he just needed another couple of days of sheer annoyance to get rid of the Irish weirdo once and for all anyway.
After a very long while of struggling with his thoughts, Daryl eventually had the guts to enter his tent as well.
Connor was already lying in there with his back turned towards the entrance. Daryl couldn't tell if he was pretending to have fallen asleep so quickly or if he really was asleep. For a moment he just knelt there by the entrance, chewing on his lower lip angrily as he considered what to do. Whether he should grab his shit again and sleep outside in the cold or if this was the night he could finally be in here as well, now that the Irish weirdo had stopped talking to him after the harsh reality check. In the end, Daryl simply entered the tent and didn't say anything although he did feel like apologizing. He covered himself with his sleeping bag and turned his back on the Irishman as well instead. After a moment, he raised his head for a final time and he just stared at Connor's back, thinking about saying something after all, but then closed his eyes and shook his head stubbornly, lying back down.
No, he had made his point and he wouldn't change that.
He wasn't this guy's brother. Never would be.
And that was exactly the point.
Daryl woke up in the middle of the night. Something had ripped him out of his comfortable dreamless sleep yet again. He heard stifled, quiet sobs and sharp breaths and felt the body next to him shake.
It was the second night in a row the Irishman was crying.
At first and just like yesterday, Daryl wanted to feel disgusted by it because men weren't supposed to cry. It was pathetic and weak after all, but no matter how hard he fought for his feelings to be that way, he just ended up feeling sorry for Connor. Daryl felt a lump in his throat, knowing that this time, the crying might be his fault.
He'd woken up facing Connor, so when he fully opened his eyes he could see the Irishman just fine, how he was lying on his back right next to him, his right arm covering his eyes. He could see the tears running down his cheek and his chest rising and falling abruptly with each stifled and miserable sob. The Irishman moved a bit then and let his arm drop to stare at the ceiling of the tent, letting out a frustrated growl as he fought to get it back together again, tried to just stop.
Daryl had never seen a man cry like that, fighting for control, and he felt sorrier for Connor than ever. Hearing it like yesterday night was one thing, but seeing it was something else entirely. Because now this was real, this was happening.
Those tears were partially the consequences of his own actions.
Connor turned his head slightly after a while and for one moment they were staring right at each other. He looked surprised, like a rabbit caught in headlines, and wiped his cheeks quickly. Then he cleared his throat and turned around.
Daryl just looked at his back for a while.
He wanted to say something. He wanted Connor to say something. He wanted him to know that he wasn't this cold redneck asshole he always pretended to be in order to protect himself. In the end he just wanted Connor not to cry every night, so they could both catch some sleep and just so he didn't have to feel guilty any more.
Because he did feel guilty. A lot. For speaking out the truth Connor had loathed and feared. For waking him up to this fucked up world. But mainly for reminding him of his loss every day. Just because he looked so much like his dead twin brother.
Twins, Connor had said today. He hadn't known about that one before. He knew what it was like to have a brother, so he could only guess how much deeper a bond between twin brothers could be. No matter how much of an asshole Merle had been, Daryl had still loved his brother as well after all.
Brothers, that was a bond, made of flesh and blood. Judging by his stories and behavior, Connor and Murphy's relationship had been the exact opposite of his and Merle's. So he could understand why the man was grieving so much and he felt sorry for him. No matter how much he annoyed the crap out of him and how many times the hunter wanted to shoot him dead, the more he learned about the Irish clown and what was going on inside his head, the more he liked him.
He seemed to have been the kind of brother he'd always wanted Merle to be, and maybe-
Just finishing that thought made Daryl stop, made him angry.
He wasn't supposed to think that way.
He had a brother of his own. He wasn't the whiny bitch here. Merle would punch the living shit out of him if he ever saw him just think about it that way. He wasn't going to let the Irish weirdo turn him into one either. He didn't need any of this shit. It was about time Merle came back. Not this guy.
"Yah done?" he asked and Connor startled.
He wiped his face in a hurry once more.
"What?" the Irishman asked but didn't turn around, obviously trying to hide his tears.
"Are ya done moping, I can't fuckin sleep because of yah retard" Daryl just said angrily and turned on his side as well.
"I ain't fuckin moping" Connor said but his voice gave it away.
Daryl just moved a bit further away from the middle and wouldn't say anything, hoping that this whole thing would stop this way. For a while it was actually quiet and Daryl was already starting to relax and fall asleep again. But then the quiet sobbing continued.