New chapter! Quite dark this time. Certain things need to happen to make their relationship change and I think that this is the very thing that makes Daryl change his mind and attitude towards Connor.

setting: episode 5 "Chubacabra"

Salvation

Chapter 8 - Of Sinners And Saviors

He knew that the bleeding wouldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried to slow it down by pressing his shaking hands to the deep wound.

Connor took a deep fragile breath, trying to get his shaking under control so he could at least keep his hands steady. The tiny still rational part of him knew that the wound was too severe, that there was just too much blood, that surgery was needed to save Murphy's life. That truth and fact was soul disrupting and cruel, but it was just the way it was and he knew it. Without hospitals, without doctors, without immediate help arriving within the next two minutes, there was nothing they could do.

Murphy -his brother, his twin, the love of his life - was going to bleed to death in his arms.

"Okay..it's alright. It's gonna be okay brother...I'm here" he whispered helplessly and but then ended up sobbing once, harshly.

He moved his hand up to smooth his twin brother's messy hair. The sight was absolutely breaking him. For 37 years and 33 days, Murphy had been a fact in his life. Even back then when those Russians had first threatened to kill him over a barfight, he'd never truly believed that he could ever lose him. After all, he'd always been there to protect him. Always been there to set things right. They were twins after all. They were meant to be together. Anything else just didn't make any sense.

But here he was, really scared and really helpless for the first time in his life, simply because he'd been too late, too slow. Just one minute of not paying attention, and Murphy was here, lying in his arms, bleeding to death. Connor's breathing sped up more and more just like his brother's for he too was slowly starting to hyperventilate. Because this was happening. Right now. His twin was dying. And he was just sitting here on the ground, cradling his bleeding brother helplessly, unable to do anything to stop it. Time was running out. Tick tick ticking away. Five minutes until his twin brother was dead…four minutes until he would be all alone, for the first time in his 37 years of living. Three minutes until….

His mind continuously tried to slip. It was obvious that the shock was trying to kick in hard. Trying to protect him from the worst, trying to force him to believe that this was just another one of his nightmares of losing him, that Murphy just couldn't die because it was against the laws of physics and god combined. His slipping mind told him that this wasn't real. Kept telling him that he should just take a deep breath and close his eyes for five minutes, give his mind a break to come up with a plan he always had up his sleeve.

But he didn't have a plan.

And neither did he have five fucking minutes.

His twin brother was dying dying dying right now.

Murphy suddenly grasped the hand Connor was pressing to his injured neck and looked at him, forcing him out of his thinking world just like he always did whenever he noticed that he seemed to get lost in there. Murphy tried to talk to him, but he couldn't speak. All he could do was gag and try to spit out the blood that was suffocating him, looking like a desperate fish out of water. He fought for air and Connor hastily and shakily tried to adjust his position to help him breathe, getting rid of the blood once more. He then leaned down to press his lips to Murphy's so he could start pumping air into his lungs to keep him alive and with him, starting to breathe for them both. But even with all that it suddenly looked like the younger MacManus was suffocating over his desperate attempt to speak to him anyway.

"Come on, no no no, ye can't do that t'me, stay with me. Don' say anything, just stay with me" Connor desperately said and pumped some more air into Murphy's lungs, cradling him even closer, pressing his drenched hands even more to the wound. But then he absolutely lost it all over again, crying his soul out, suddenly, harshly.

"Fuck, Murph. Ye can't do this ta me..I fuckin love ye more than anything in this fucked up world…Don't leave me. Just don't…"

The older MacManus looked up at the ceiling. He tried to reason with god. Pleading and trying to make him understand.

I love my brother. You can't take him away. Take me instead. Take me.

He stroked Murphy's cheek helplessly and eventually looked back down again when no answer would come. He honestly didn't know what to do. He had done all he could. Trying to stop the bleeding. Trying to keep his twin warm. Trying to keep him awake. Trying to breathe for the both of them. Trying to find medical supplies although there were none. He did not dare to leave this room to check the other rooms and levels because he knew that Murphy was bleeding out quickly. He simply didn't have that much time and feared that he could lose him while he was outside. They had barely made it up here alive, and the walkers were still banging on the door downstairs, eager to get in and finish what they had started. He couldn't think of anything else to do.

Why the fuck wasn't there anyone here to help Murphy? What was he supposed to do? Why was god doing this to his brother? Why wasn't he listening to their prayers anymore? Why was there so much blood? Was this really fucking it? The end of the world? Was Murphy really going to die now? Had everything they'd done been wrong in the end? Was this their punishment? Why Murphy? Why not fucking him? Why him?

"Love... ye too" Murphy suddenly managed to answer but started shaking harshly.

Connor could feel how his brother's body temperature was dropping more and more, what the blood loss was doing to him. He nodded eagerly but ended up sobbing even more.

"I know."

He pulled his brother closer to his chest to hug him, holding him as he looked back up, somewhat hoping that there was someone there by now. Someone to help them. Someone to tell him what to do. Someone to slap him just so he would wake up from this nightmare. But no one was there. Not even god. And way sooner than later by the feel of it, Murphy would be gone as well. There was no solution. And definitely no real answer. The only thing he could see were their guns on the ground where he had dropped them.

Connor slowly stilled and just looked at the weapons on the ground, not even blinking.

For a moment that might have lasted a little too long, Connor blankly stared at the guns. Felt each shake of his twin's dying body against his own, felt his cooling figure, the stickiness of the flowing blood between them that made everything smell of copper and death. The muzzle of the Beretta was pointing right at him, just like it had always pointed at their victims. It almost looked like a humble suggestion.

Maybe god had given him an answer after all, because now, everything made sense.
The answer was suddenly clear as day. There was only one solution.
He could feel his twin rapidly dying in his arms, and he finally knew what to do.

"You and me both, Murph" he said determinedly, and all panicked emotion and fear seemed to suddenly leave his body.

Now, there only was acceptance, almost peace.

If Murphy really had to die, if there was really nothing he could do, then he was going to die as well.

They had come into the world together. Leaving it together was the only reasonable thing.
Anything else didn't make any sense. Wasn't natural. Was so so wrong.

He stopped pressing Murphy to his body and instead adjusted their position so he could look him in the eye, make him understand that he wasn't going to let Murphy be on his own, that they were in this together, just like any other time. Despite the fatal wound and blood loss, it didn't take Murphy very long to understand. He widened his eyes in horror when he did.

"No..no" he gargled, shaking his head but another blood coughing fit interrupted him. Connor once again tried to lift his head up so he could breathe more easily, shushing him shakily as he wiped the blood away. He tried to have a calming effect on his sibling now that he had made the decision, tried to let him know that everything was going to be okay, that this time, he was going to follow where Murphy led and not the other way round, but Murphy wasn't having any of that. For a moment, it seemed like he tried to gather all the strength he had left to put an end to this.

"No" he said again and shook his head once more, growing frantic as he started to thrash about against Connor, who frowned.

"What?"

"Ye can't.. do that..promise" Murphy pleaded with a panicked sob and even tried to move towards the guns to get them the hell away from his brother.

Connor glared at his twin in disbelief and shook his head just as stubbornly, holding on to Murphy to keep him from moving.

"What are ye talkin about. Af course I can. Yer not fuckin goin anywhere without me..."

"Suicide's a sin Connor!" Murphy yelled with all the strength he could gather and stared at Connor with wide, panicked and bloodshot eyes. Connor tried to calm him down and shushed him once more, tried to trivialize it, but Murphy wouldn't stop trashing about in pure horror, only to start weeping, too.

"No. Promise... Fucking promise me ye…won't kill... yerself. Don't…"

Connor shook his head once more, slowly losing it all over again.

"No, ye can't make me promise that..."

Murphy was coughing up even more blood and it sounded like it was really suffocating him now.

His eyes suddenly rolled back and he started convulsing. Connor tried to hold him steady in panic.

"Murph, ye can't leave me alone! Murphy!" he yelled and grabbed his brother by his shoulders, trying to keep him steady.
"I can't do this on me fuckin own! Please, don't! DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE" he yelled right in his face, absolutely panicked and beside himself.

Much to his relief, Murphy seemed to hear his pleads. Because just for a moment longer, he actually looked Connor in the eye.

"..promise...y.." he gagged and there was more blood coming, leaving his mouth in a steady, thin line now. He kept looking at Connor with his desperate, almost insane eyes, pleading and pleading and pleading. In fact, the trying to keep his eyes open and gazed turned towards Connor seemed to be more important to him than trying to fight for his breath.

And that was it.

Connor knew that Murphy absolutely meant the request, knew that this was his brother's dying wish. Of fucking course it was. He wouldn't request anything different. Just like he desperately wanted Murphy to live, so did his brother want him to do the same. Only that in his case, it actually was possible. Because although Murphy was dying and bleeding out, physically, he was the one who was perfectly fine.

Murphy was shaking and twitching more and more as his breathing became ragged and stifled, but his eyes stayed open, kept pleading. Connor swallowed hard and tried to focus, desperate not to lose the battle to his emotions right now. He wanted nothing more than just throw an absolute tantrum, argue with Murphy until he was blue in the face just so he got the reassurance that this was an okay thing to do, that he was allowed to follow.

But then he remembered his job.

He was his brother's keeper. Arguing on Murphy's limited time and making this all about his feelings was wrong. This was Murphy's dearest and most important wish in what was left of his life. And it was his job to make whatever he wanted possible to give him peace, to make him feel safe. So in the end, after a short moment of really fighting through it, Connor eventually looked his twin right back in his eye and nodded, soundless tears running down his left cheek.

"I promise."

He grasped his twins hand and squeezed it as hard as he could, bloody and shaking fingers intertwining as he tried to keep Murphy here. But way sooner than expected and as if Murphy had only waited for that promise and that shared nod, the blackhaired MacManus twin convulsed three times more, eyes still opened, then all tension suddenly left his body. When his head slowly slipped to the side and the hand slowly lost its grip, the entire world seemed to fall silent all around Connor for just a moment.

Then he started screaming his lungs out.

Connor's eyes snapped open as he breathed in harshly.

Just like in his dream he immediatly wanted to scream the world together, but it all had been so vivid, so real that the panic and horror actually paralyzed him, made it impossible for him to let out a single sound. For a few seconds, he just breathed in and out harshly and quickly moved his hands up to look at them in horror, to check if all that blood was still on him.

His hands were clean. Not a drop of blood on them anymore. All there was left was their violent shaking and the frantic pounding of his heart in his chest, pressing against the ribcage. It really felt like he was suffocating, like someone was grabbing his throat and starting to strangle him as more and more images from the dream started to flood his thoughts again, tried to kill him just like his brother.

The suffocation, the frantic heartbeat, the pain in his chest, it all soon became unbearable and he immediately lost the fight once more. Connor abruptly slapped his hands to his mouth, pressing his nose shut with his thumb and trigger finger to keep the noises inside. But the sob, the harsh and hot tears still came almost instantly. They seemed to flood him, drown him.

Why the fuck wouldn't it just stop? Why had it happened in the first place? Why was he still dreaming about it whenever he tried to sleep?

Murphy was dead.

That was a fact that he didn't ever want to be reminded of. And yet was he seeing and hearing the same things over and over again. Every single night. Blood. More blood. Blood on his hands, on his clothes, blood everywhere. His brother's blood. Murphy's blood. Soaking his clothes, his skin. His soul. Connor eventually covered his eyes with his other hand and pressed his palms to his face as hard as he possibly could, trying to suffocate any tear, any outburst, any sound. He tried to be as quiet as he possibly could because he didn't want to wake the man next to him up.

The man next to him.
That was probably the main reason for the intensified recurring dream now.

Daryl.

The man who had Murphy's face, who looked exactly like his dead twin brother.

Connor kept both his hands pressed to his mouth, nose and eyes to muffle the crying fit, but in the end, he still ended up letting go and turned his head to look at Daryl. The pain in his chest, his heart, his mind, only tripled. It still took him by surprise and actually horrified him how much Daryl really looked like Murphy. The general haircut, the face, even the mole. It really looked like Murphy was lying next to him, keeping him company, sleeping, like nothing had happened.

He wanted nothing more than just wrap an arm around his waist and feel him breathe, move live.

But of course, it was impossible. Because this was Daryl, not Murphy, and Daryl hated him. Hated to be touched.

My name ain't Murphy, alright?! It's Daryl, you understand? Daryl. Dixon.
Murphy or whatever the fuck it is, he's dead, okay? Now get over it.
He's dead.

Get over it. As if.

He knew that there was no way Daryl would ever let him keep pretending that he was Murphy. At first, he'd really thought that it could work, that it could do him good, that it could help him, save him. But now, on this fourth day with the man and after what he'd heard him say yesterday, he knew that the exact opposite was going on. He felt worse and worse each day. Pretending that Daryl was Murphy made it worse. Made it excruciatingly painful.

Even if he were to really believe it and convince himself. It wouldn't change a thing, because that day in Boston had still happened no matter what. Daryl made the not believing part easy for him anyway. He didn't want him around. Not as a brother. Not as a friend, not as a stranger, certainly not as Murphy substitute, not even as Daryl himself. He didn't want him to be here at all.

I don't give a shit.
Fuck off and leave me the hell be.
Almost got killed because of you.

No matter how crazy Connor was because of everything that had happened to him, his brain was still working. He still knew what was good for him and what was bad, knew what was right and wrong. He knew that it was wrong to keep trying. He knew it was bad for him to stay with this group, to be close to Daryl, just seeing his face every day. He knew it was better for everyone involved if he just left. So he could start over, start being a person of his own, not a twin anymore.

But where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to do?

He had tried it. For Murphy's sake. He had promised after all. He had kept on living for him, for the both of them. He had managed for almost two months. A whole bunch of weeks on his own. For the first time in his life. He had travelled all the way down here, trying to keep 'hope' alive, following signals, looking for people, staying alive. He had really tried. Although he had been more dead than alive.

Going back to this again? Travelling, running, living day by day, all alone?

He knew that it wouldn't work.

All his life he had been part of something. Yes, he'd been the strong one, the one people looked up to for guidance and planning, the big brother. He'd stepped up as 'man of the house' with their father leaving, giving Murphy someone to look up to, giving their mother someone to rely on and be proud of. He had been part of a tight knit group of friends and supporters, loved his family to death. And that was exactly the point. He had only ever existed for others, with others. Most importantly: he had already come into this world with someone together.

He wasn't made to be on his own.

He didn't really do individuality. Not in a true sense. He'd never had any hobbies or interests of his own to occupy and distract himself, other than perhaps the movies. But it certainly wasn't like a Clint Eastwood marathon was going to fucking get him over his twin's death. The only sense of individuality, the only sort of distinction he'd ever had from Murphy had been when he'd perhaps worn an orange shirt instead of Murphy's black one. Or having a slightly different tattoo on an other side than Murphy. Or having light brown/blonde hair instead of Murphy's black hair. But even then it had still always been the same basic idea and the same part of something, and they had always shared everything.

Which was exactly the cause for his utter lack of coping mechanisms now. He wasn't a single person, a single entity. He had no job anymore. He had no drive. He had no purpose. He had nothing to look forward to, nothing to do, nothing to expect, nothing to protect, no one to talk to, no one to feel anything for, nothing to live for anymore.

Connor turned his head and stared at the ceiling numbly.

There he had it. The answer.

He didn't want to live anymore.
He was supposed to be part of something. He was supposed to be together with Murphy.
He was supposed to be dead with Murphy because they shared everything.

Suicide is a sin, Connor.

Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own.

The blood. Murphy's blood. On his hands. On his clothes. Everywhere.

Yah really want me t'freakin kill yah?
Fuck off and leave me the hell be.

The Irishman swallowed hard and looked at Daryl once more.

He knew that he was too hurt, that Murphy's death had broken him beyond repair. Shattered not just his mind, but also his soul and pretty much his body, too, although he had done that one all to himself. Society and their entire world had completely collapsed as well. None of that was going to get any better either. Everything was fucked and everything was dead. If Murphy had still been there, he wouldn't have cared about the fact that the world had ended. He would've kept going and going. Kept fighting and fighting. But now that there was no Murphy, there simply was no point in any of that.

Now smarten up and at least be a decent cover and help the group or fuck off!
Yah really want me t'freakin kill yah?

You and me both, Murph.

Connor opened his sleeping bag and slowly got up, completely calm and collected once again. It almost immediately felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, now that he was coming to terms with it. For the longest while, he just stared out of the tent, through the opened flap and watched the sun rise, trying to make peace with god, asking for his understanding. He took it all in, the lack of noise and movement, the complete abandonment of it all as he rubbed the surfaces of the two rosaries he wore.

Then he made that final decision and put his boots on.

"You and me both, Murph" he said quietly and then got up. He wouldn't bother looking at Daryl, he just went straight ahead and got ready for his search, knowing that the other man was in fact no longer Murphy but just that pissed off moody and sleeping redneck who looked familiar.

When Daryl woke up he was alone inside their tent.

He growled a little and slowly turned on his side, looking up, searching the tent for the usually annoying intruder.

Connor was nowhere in sight.

He almost immediately found it a bit strange. For the past couple of days, he'd always faced that stupid grin and heard that stupid talk almost right from the off, right in the morning. This had been the first night they had slept really freaking close to each other, occupied the same space. Connor had been within reach and it would have been easier than ever for him to seek his near and annoy him with his dead brother pretending if he wanted to. And yet, he had done absolutely nothing.

He should've noticed the guy leaving, Daryl thought.

It would have been almost normal by now to wake up facing that creepy stare with Connor's watching and pretending that he was a dead guy.
But the Irishman hadn't bothered and this wasn't normal at all.

Maybe the talk from yesterday had done the deed.

Maybe the Irish weirdo had finally woken up from his crazed state and faced reality, faced the fact that there was no way they could be or would be friends. Maybe he disliked him just as much as the group disliked him now. Maybe that was the reason why he had left the tent.

Or maybe…..

Shit. What if the guy had left altogether?
He'd kind of told him to pretty much every day.

At first, he'd pretty much meant it. But now, slowly and carefully, he actually hadn't minded his company too much. After all, none of the group ever bothered to really talk to him or even be close to him after all the shit Merle had done and he had done because of Merle being around.

There went another chance of ever getting a single fucking friend.

He couldn't help it. He was freaked out by the whole thing. He didn't want to feel guilty. He didn't like the prospect of having sent a suicidal freakshow back out into this fucked up world where he just knew the guy was going to get himself killed. No matter how annoying he was, he certainly didn't deserve to die over this.

Daryl grumpily got changed and left the tent with a frown, deciding to at least quickly search the camping site for the Irishman and make sure that they didn't lose another member of their group out in the woods. He found Shane, Rick, T-Dog, Andrea and one of Herschel's people by Rick's car. They were all looking at the map again and seemed pretty oblivious to the fact that Connor wasn't there. It was certainly more and more confusing and worrying now.

There weren't many places the leprechaun could be and him being around the group to help with the search had been pretty much Daryl's only idea of where the other man could be. But yet again, he was nowhere in sight. At first, he just tried to ignore it. The map reminded him of Sophia after all, who certainly needed their help after four days of being lost. She was the most important subject of their search right now. He once again forced himself not to care about the latest addition to their group and instead started listening to what Rick had to say about the search for Sophia.

"All right, everyone's getting new search grids today" the former sheriff announced and pointed at the map.

"If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl and Connor found, she might have gone further east than we've been so far."

The hunter nodded and took a look at the map just to make sure, but there he was again, the stupid leprechaun, being mentioned right from the off.

"I'd like to help" Jimmy, one of Herschel's people said and stepped forward in the meantime. The whole group turned around to eye him.

"I know the area pretty well and stuff."

Rick looked at him and frowned. "Herschel's okay with this?"

Jimmy shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah. He said I should ask you."

Daryl raised an eyebrow and scoffed. He could tell that the kid was lying, and just thinking about such a mama's boy helping them out there in the woods made him scoff even louder. Rick didn't seem to notice the obvious lie, since he simply turned to look at his map again, thanking Jimmy.

"Nothing about what Daryl found screams Sophia to me. Anyone could've been holed up in that farmhouse" Shane muttered from somewhere behind the car. Everyone looked at him, especially Daryl, who narrowed his eyes at the former cop.

"Anybody includes her, right?" Andrea said in the meantime.

It was so very obvious that Shane didn't seem to be very interested in searching for Sophia any longer. Daryl thought about the farmhouse, everything he had seen, the cupboard, the flower. But then it all made him think about the Irishman again, because the area around the farmhouse had been the setting for their 'real' talk, the one that might be the reason for Connor being gone now. For a short moment, Daryl raised his head a little to let his gaze wander, scanning Hershel's property. But the Irishman was nowhere in sight. Shaking his head a little, Daryl angrily scratched his nose with a frown and then looked at Rick, trying to distract himself.

"Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger than yay-high" he explained and showed them what height he was talking about. "It's a good lead" Andrea agreed with a nod. Rick nodded as well and looked at the hunter.

"Maybe we'll pick up her trail again."

Daryl scoffed and just pointed at the map to explain his further plans.

"No maybe about it. I'm gonna head up to this ridge right here, take a bird's eye view of the whole grid. If she's up there, or anywhere near the creek, I'll spot her" he explained.

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…

He let the others talk and discuss their search for a moment until he finally decided to give up and be straight about it.

"Alright. I'm gonna go and get started on the search, you seen that Irish guy? Still got my knife, dumbass" he lied just to have an excuse around the others why he was interested in teaming up and looking for him.

"He left about ten minutes ago" Dale answered and Daryl turned around to look at him. For a moment, he couldn't hide his surprise and slight panic over this information. He wondered if this was it, the moment where they told him that the leprechaun had really run off after their talk yesterday and feared that he could be blamed for it.

"Where'd he go?" he asked cautiously, but the others didn't look angry or worried.

"The stables. Said he wanted to borrow a horse, get back to the farmhouse to start searching for Sophia early" Rick went on, and this just made Daryl suspicious now.

He frowned and looked in the general direction of what he thought to recognize as the stables.

"He told me he thinks Sophia's dead."

"Well maybe he changed his mind. He said he wants to do us a favor after everything we've done for him so far " Andrea suggested and Daryl looked at her. Something told him this was off and very likely not true. The leprechaun had most certainly used it as an excuse to slip away without the others noticing. He didn't want the freak to go. Certainly not because of what he'd said yesterday. He'd only told him all this crap to get him to back away from him, not the entire group. What if the guy really fucking died out there now? That'd be on him. Shit.

"You look worried, I thought you wanted to get rid of him anyway?" Dale asked with a little nervous chuckle, but Daryl just ignored him.

Great. They probably had to look for two people now. Just because he couldn't get his shit together. Shit shit shit.

"Guy's been clingier than a gum on boots for the past three days, it ain't right…" he muttered more to himself, seriously wondering and slightly freaking out by now. "The stables you say?" he asked Rick who nodded. Daryl frowned again and grabbed his crossbow. "Right. Was gonna borrow a horse anyway" he just muttered and then got walking to head for the stables, already dreading that he could find them abandoned with all the horses still in there.

The moment he reached the stables all his assumptions seemed to come true. He found all stalls occupied by horses, not a single one was gone which told him that Connor's explanation to the group had been a lie. He walked up and down the hallway just to make sure, but all the horses were definitely there. Part of him wanted to give up already. He seriously wondered why the fuck he even cared. So maybe the Irish weirdo had left. It was all he had wanted to happen anyway, wasn't it? He'd been way too annoyed by him, his talk, his accent, his constant calling him Murphy, his general pathetic behavior and looks.

Maybe it was a good thing that the guy had left for good, Daryl thought grumpily and let out a little scoff as he turned on his heels. He was just about to leave the stables when he suddenly heard a thud next door, coming from the tack room. Daryl immediately grabbed his crossbow, expecting it to be a walker, and slowly approached the door. Part of him wondered if this was just the leprechaun or one of Hershel's people after all, so after a few seconds of slowly approaching the door, he eventually decided to talk.

"Hello?" he called out but didn't get an answer.

The closer he got to the door though, the clearer the noises got. Almost creepy gagging and gargling noises definitely came from inside, sounding like a walker.

Daryl slowly reached out for the door and eventually pushed it open, ready to shoot the undead. What he found instead actually shocked him to the very core and made him drop his crossbow almost instantly.

The moment the door swung open he was greeted by the terrible sight of a hanging figure right in the middle of the room, a sight that was accompanied by the horrifying noises of strangled fighting for air under the awful creaking of a tight rope.

A rope that was strapped around a beam and Connor's neck.

A wooden stool was lying on the ground underneath him, toppled over from the jump, having caused the thudding noise which had attracted Daryl to this room in the first place. It looked like it had only just happened because the Irishman was still struggling and kicking violently, only making the strangled noises that escaped his mouth sound even more horrifying. For a short, terrifying moment their horrified and wide-eyed gazes met, taking the both of them by absolute surprise. The jump had only just happened, but the fight was already leaving the Irishman as his eyes rolled back and he began to quickly lose his consciousness under the heavy strangulation.

"No you stupid prick!" Daryl yelled and finally managed to react. He darted forward and immediately grabbed the Irishman's hip, trying to lift him up to stop the rope from strangling him. "HELP!" he screamed, looking back towards the door. But there was no one there. He immediately and clumsily tried to get hold of the chair that lay at his feet, but it was impossible for him to get it upright.

He quickly realized that he had to let go off Connor again so he could get his knife and cut the rope. Carefully letting go, Daryl caused the Irishman to suddenly come to for just a moment. He once again started fighting for air like a mad man in the most horrible manner. Daryl frantically managed to put the stool upright again to try and help him.

"Come on, hold on! I gotcha!" he shouted in panic as he started to cut the rope, looking at Connor in absolute horror. When the rope finally snapped, Connor just fell down with a grunt, no longer moving or doing anything. Daryl immediatly jumped off the stool and knelt down next to the Irishman to free his neck from the rope. He freaked out even more when he saw that the blonde wasn't responsive to any of it at all. His eyes were closed and he lay there what looked like lifeless.

"Don't you dare you stupid ass!" Daryl yelled and hit him hard across his face, but it didn't change anything, Connor wouldn't wake up. The hunter looked up with wide eyes again and kept patting the other's cheek. When no help would come he quickly moved down to press his ear to his chest to check for a heartbeat. He really wasn't sure if he should do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation or not, but he knew that the Irishman needed to breathe, needed to stay alive, couldn't just die because of the things he had said.

He didn't need to breathe air into the Irishman's lungs more than three times because then Connor suddenly started coughing and breathed in sharply. He still sounded horrible as he tried to catch his breath, but at least there was no more rope in the way. He also tried to grasp his aching throat and neck, feeling it in panic as grimmaced in pain, but Daryl wouldn't let him touch the strangulation marks. The hunter just stared at him in horror until the Irishman's chest rose and fell more regularly. Connor was still coughing heavily but the color in his face was slowly going back to normal. There was a burning red line all around his neck and it was swelling already.

"Are you. fuckin. crazy?!" Daryl shouted at him and hit his chest with every word once everything started to slow down a bit.

Connor winced in pain and tried to answer with what looked like 'Murphy' yet again, but nothing would come out.

"You stupid prick, yah could be dead ! You could've hung in here for hours!" Daryl kept yelling in shock.

Connor tried to answer again but no coherent sound came out. Daryl grabbed him by his arms then and lifted him up. "We need to get some help" he said and clumsily threw him over his shoulder. He was surprised how heavy the Irishman really was, considering that he looked half-starved and dead. But it didn't truly matter right now. What mattered was getting Connor out of here and back to the others because he seriously needed someone to check on him, check on his neck, his spine, his stupid crazed fucking brain.

He honestly didn't know why he was so fucking scared and what exactly it was that he feared. He only knew one thing for sure: he wasn't going to let this man die.

Connor was lucky. Hershel and his daughters, the people who had taken care of him, thought so at least. He wasn't severely injured. He couldn't really move his head, swallow or speak much, but he remained conscious and could breathe somewhat normally on his own. Daryl had come just in time to prevent the worst from happening, like cutting off the blood- and airflow towards the brain for too long to cause severe damage. There was a bright red line all around Connor's neck where the rope had burnt and bruised him. Hershel advised him not talk because all the spraining was serious no matter what, even though Connor could talk if he put some effort into it.

For a very long while, he just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling lifelessly. Many members of the group, especially the women and Carl, had stayed with him for the past hour, talked to him, tried to cheer him up, asked him if he wanted to talk about it or what they could do to make him feel a bit better. He was pretty much fed up with the talk and pity, just wanted to be left alone and think about everything he'd been through, everything he had seen and thought when he'd really been hanging from that beam, but he decided not to send them away out of courtesy. He really appreciated that they genuinely cared about him already, but it wouldn't make much of a difference to him either way. And he certainly was still glad as soon as he was left alone, left to his own post suicide-attempt-thoughts.

He still couldn't believe that he had really pulled it through.

He'd really been hanging from a freaking rope in there. He'd almost been there with Murphy, ready to make that unknown journey, but many things had played some unexpected twists and tricks on him. His body for starters, although he had expected it to happen. Even if he wanted to die, that survival instinct had kicked in violently. He had fought for his life and regretted the decision the moment he had jumped, no matter how confusing that was now.

Because in the end, he still wanted to die. He still wanted to be with Murphy.

And Murphy, once again, was entirely the point.

He had not forgotten that Murphy was dead and that Daryl wasn't him. But in this very moment, it hadn't mattered. The first and only face he had seen during his attempt to take his life had been Murphy's. During this near death experience, he'd believed it to be Murphy, thought it to be Murphy to cut the rope and save his life in order to remind him of that cruel promise he'd asked of him.

Out of all the people who could've found him, it had to have been this face. If he were in a better state, he would've taken the hint, seen it as a sign from god and Murphy to let him know that his prayers had been heard and that he was supposed to live. But the truth was that he certainly wasn't in a better state now. It was probably even worse. He was still very depressed and he still very much wanted to die because Murphy was still dead no matter what. It didn't matter if he killed himself or lived today. Murphy would always be dead. He didn't want any signs.

The truth was also that he didn't really know what he wanted. Whether he wanted to do it again or whether he wanted to live now. He had no idea. This was some Hamlet sort of shit now. Only way less poetic and meaningful.

You're thinking too fucking loud.

Murphy had always told him that whenever he'd sensed that he was getting lost in a mind-spiral just like this one. Connor shook his head gently and decided to just let it go for now. He winced when the pain in his neck flared right up again because of the shake. Connor swallowed miserably and closed his eyes, he hoped that maybe this way, everything would just fucking stop after all.

When everyone left to resume the search it was actually Daryl who decided to stay for a bit. For a while he just stood in front of the door to the room Connor was in, wondering if it really was a good idea.

He was fairly certain that he was to blame for this whole mess up.

It was true that he wasn't the main cause, that one was pretty much clear. The guy had been suicidal ever since they had found him in the church. Suicidal, craving death because of his dead twin brother. That death was the big reason behind for Connor to do it and he knew it, but he still couldn't deny the fact that he'd been the final straw.

For one because he had Murphy's face. Kept remind him of that death every day. But most of all he was to blame because of all the things he had said yesterday, all the things he had done so far. He had tempted Connor to pull it through. He had pushed and pushed him, hoping to get rid of him. Little had he known or ever suspected that Connor could really pull it through like that.

He felt guilty.
He felt really ashamed of himself.
Although he wouldn't and couldn't change his face to look less Murphy, he could've changed his attitude and behavior around an obviously suicidal guy but he hadn't, and that was on him now, those were the consequences.

He was also pretty sure that if Connor ever told the group what he'd done to him and yelled at him so far or if he ever told them himself, he was going to get thrown out over this. So what was it worth? Going in there, 'apologizing' when he knew he couldn't in any appropriate way, that was all pointless and too late now anyway. It didn't matter and it wasn't going to change shit. He let out a frustrated scoff and turned around, ready to leave the farmhouse, but in the end, he stilled once again.

No matter what, he owed this guy an apology.
He needed to let him know that he hadn't meant everything he'd said this way.
He didn't want any of it to happen again. He didn't want to be such an abusive fuck like his father, his family, the environment he'd grown up in that he hated so much.

After a very long while, Daryl eventually and finally opened the door to enter the room.

He wasn't exactly surprised to see the shape Connor was in. He lay in bed and looked absolutely horrible, eyes closed, on his back, an awkward makeshift medical collar wrapped around his neck to support it after the abuse he'd inflicted upon himself with the rope. Daryl assumed he was asleep and he gladly took it as excuse to leave, but then Connor decided to open his eyes.

"'s alright..come in." he croaked and turned his head to look at him. His voice sounded hoarse and broke multiple times, only adding up to the general misery. Daryl chewed on his lip and entered the room as requested after a moment. Once he had closed the door behind himself he just stood right in front of it for a while, unsure what to say. Connor looked at him for a while, eyes red and bloodshot from his previous ordeal, making him look twice as upset. Then he looked away and stared out of the window

"Should've let me hang" Connor whisper-croaked after a while.

Daryl chewed on his lower lip a little harder, really unsure what to say. Attempted suicide was an incredibly sensitive topic and he knew that he was not made for that kind of talk.

"Suicide's a sin" was all he came up with, trying the religious approach that seemed to matter so much to the guy. Connor turned his head abruptly to look at him, only to wince at the pain in his neck and throat. But he still kept looking at him and it slowly dawned on Daryl.

Religious that they were, he assumed that Connor's brother would've said the same.

"Going ta hell anyway" Connor mumbled, trying to swallow thickly as he looked away again.

"I thought yah a saint?"

Connor scoffed. When he didn't answer Daryl came closer.

"Why?"

Connor just stared at the ceiling, obviously avoiding having to look at Daryl. He wouldn't speak for a while and Daryl just looked at him, wondering, waiting for an answer. Connor eventually turned his head to look at the man next to him again.

"Look I'm sorry I kept callin ye Murph, okay? It's just..You look so very fuckin much like him... I could pretend. It felt nice..didn't hurt as fuckin much. It kept me fram doing this. Fer a while at least" he said and grabbed his neck.

"When you people found me in that church I was already waiting fer walkers ta kill me. It's none of yer people's fault. I wanted ta die fer a long time. When ye said all that shit yesterday it just finally made fuckin sense."

Daryl sighed and wiped his face because now he had the definite proof. His words, his behavior had been the cause. This really was his fault.

"I didn't mean ta annoy you. Or cause any trouble" the Irishman went on, but Daryl had enough.

"What I said ain't no reason t' kill yahself, man. I didn't mean…." he murmured and took a deep breath, trailing off because his words seemed so meaningless and pointless compared to the weight of Connor's words. They both kept quiet for a while and gave in to their thoughts until Connor looked at Daryl again.

"Why did you come to te stable anyway?"

"Because people told me yah were there and I knew something was up. Yah worse than a freakin magnet, clingy and annoying as fuck, so yah running off on yah own?"

"So you were worried bout me?" Connor asked and looked at him in surprise.

"I wanted t' make sure you're gone" Daryl answered with an annoyed growl. Realizing his mistake too late, Connor already grew serious again before the hunter could correct himself.

"Shoulda let me hang then" the Irishman answered and Daryl rolled his eyes.

"So what, you want me to kill yah now so yah shut up about that suicidal shit?"

Connor kept looking at him and eventually nodded.

"Aye. I do. Go right fuckin ahead."

Daryl just stared at him, a bit dumfounded, a bit shocked, and most certainly worried and scared. He shifted a little, letting the sight of Connor's bloodshot eyes and bruised neck sink in once more, until he was fed up with it.

"Just great. Now the group has t'fear finding yah hanging somewhere every time we don't see you stupid prick? That's stupid. We got kids and people who like yah already."

Connor didn't answer for a while and Daryl sighed, sounding incredibly tired of it.

"Don't kill yourself, man."

"Try ta stop me."

"Yeah I will. Cos you sure ain't gonna fucking die as long as I'm around."

Connor seemed really surprised by this statement and just looked at him questioningly. Daryl was equally surprised by his own words, but even more so by his own thoughts and intentions. Because it was well true. He didn't want this guy to die or leave anymore. Not because of an accident, not because of suicide. He could feel that the thought of Connor killing himself was already scaring and upsetting him. And he honestly didn't even know why.

He came to his senses a bit when Connor started to smile a bit, making it very obvious that this was a deep and honest moment between them, actually the first nice and most of all friendly moment between them, something Daryl didn't want. He forced himself to stick to his principles. Even though he didn't want Connor to die or leave this group, he certainly didn't want his annoying ass to be anywhere near him or his tent either. There was no place for being nice or friendly here. Because Connor was already getting the wrong impression now.

No.
He had a brother of his own.
He didn't do friends.
That was not going to happen.

"If I ever want yah dead, I'll do it myself" he quickly added and Connor only smirked a little more.

"Understood."

"Whatever" Daryl muttered awkwardly and angrily and decided to leave before it got any worse. He'd almost reached the door when Connor suddenly called out, voice breaking once again.

"Daryl?"

Daryl stopped in his tracks, hand resting on the door handle. He was very surprised to actually hear Connor say his real name for the first time instead of dumbly calling him Murphy all the time. He turned his head to see what was up with that.

"Thank you. Fer bein there."

Daryl knew he could take it two ways. He also knew how Connor meant it right now. Thank you for being in that room at the right moment to cut that rope. At least he secretly wished for that meaning. But because he was still afraid of the possible attachment, the possible development and what Merle could think or say if he ever were to come back again, he forced himself to read the other meaning into it.

Thank you for existing. Thank you for your face. Thank you for giving me something to pretend that you're not you but my dead brother.

He just gave the Irishman an almost invisible nod and then left the room without another word.