So today I found this Norman quote on tumblr and thought it would be perfect for my fic, the Connor-Daryl relationship and so on:

❝He isn't phony. If he's your friend, if he cares about you. He really cares about you. He would do anything for you. That's a beautiful thing I think.❞

One of my fav chaps somehow. Maybe too much small talk but it's my fic so screw it. Oh and Daryl just has to start smoking.
It's Norman freaking Reedus after all. Lol. So who could make him smoke...huh maybe a certain saint...:D.

setting: episode 6 "Secrets"

Salvation

Chapter 11 - Contemplation

"Mornin ladies" Connor greeted the group that had gathered around the map and placed himself between Glenn and Lori. He was happy to be outside again. He loved the farm because it reminded him of his old home country. And part of him was just glad to be away from Daryl for a bit. They had spent the entire morning fighting and arguing, simply because Connor had refused to leave injured Daryl alone. Their fights had escalated quickly until Herschel had decided to kick Connor out. The Irishman had been mad at first, but now that he thought about it: maybe he really needed some fresh air now. So he had come to the conclusion that it was best to help the group with their search for missing Sophia, now that they were having a new lead. Connor took a closer look at the map Rick was pointing at, and for a while the whole group just eyed him. Lori moved next to him and looked at his neck.

"Wow your neck looks horrible. Are you sure you should be walking around again?" she asked with a worried look on her face.

The Irishman looked up and beamed at her, simply to make the whole group understand that he was feeling just fine.

"And you look as beautiful as ever Lori, and yup. Need ta walk again. Truth be told, 'm going crazy in there."

Shane snorted.

"With Daryl? I bet."

"As much as I love m'replacement brother, he can be quite bitchy and pretty much a pain in the ass."

Everyone laughed.

"Alright Connor, you stay here and watch over the camp" Rick said and the blonde MacManus looked at him in surprise.

"What? No way! I wanna join te search, help ye with the girl!"

"No. You're still injured. We can't risk you losing your consciousness in the woods with walkers around."

"I'm not going ta lose my fuckin consciousness for Christ's fuckin sakes! I'm not a stupid girl. How many times do I have ta tell ye. I can take care of myself!"

Shane snorted.

"Yeah, we've seen that."

"Oh fuck you! That was something different!"

Shane approached Connor and grabbed him from behind. He grabbed his shoulders and neck and Connor winced in pain when he tried to turn his head abruptly. For a couple of minutes the two men were wrestling and fighting each other, but the Irishman wouldn't stand a chance. He gasped when Shane let go of him. Connor fell to his knees and started coughing and gasping for air. For a moment he sounded like he was suffocating all over again. Lori and Glenn knelt down to take a look at him and helped him up.

"You're calling this taking care of yourself? Right now your neck' s a bundle of strained and crushed muscles and flesh,
your windpipe's almost crushed and your spine is sprained. One little blow to it right now and you're knocked out."

"Why te fuck would you care?" Connor spat and massaged his aching throat.

"Because you're part of this group now and because you're one of the finest armed men we have. With you we can protect our group even better, at least when yah finally start smartenin up and behave yourself and act your age! Unbelievable, you could run from the police this long without getting caught? Now make yourself useful and watch over the camp. It's your fault after all that you can't join the search. You should've had the guts to kill yourself properly at least."

"Shane!" Lori shouted and everyone stared at Shane in surprise and disgust.

"What? Someone needs to say it. The way he wanted to die, with a rope around his neck, hasn't it crossed your mind? Some walker could've walked by. Bit him.
Infected him. He could've turned into a walker, he could've hurt us all. Even when he tries to kill himself he's still a stupid unthinking danger to this group. He's got two loaded Berettas in his leg holsters and chooses a rope?"

Connor had finally managed to get up and glared at Shane.

"I would've taken te guns if this fuckin peasant hadn't taken them the day before" he spat and walked away, hearing people starting arguments with Shane.

Connor was sitting behind the farmhouse for a while and stared into nothingness. It was a beautiful morning. Quiet. Almost peaceful. He grabbed one of his Berettas and stared at the gun. How many people it had killed. It had made him and his brother famous. It had always been there for over 10 years. It had been through everything he and Murphy had been through. He checked the magazine. Loaded. Bullets that were just waiting for some brains to be buried in. The Irishman noticed his tattoo again and placed his index finger on it, stroking the letters absently. Veritas.

Well, what's te truth? The truth is... I miss ye Murphy.
Every second af my miserable life. The truth is that I wanna be with you again. Shane was right. Should've taken the guns.

Daryl left the house slowly and awkwardly. His stitches and wounds were aching with every move he made, but he needed fresh air and space. And maybe he needed to check on Connor. After saving him from killing himself Daryl didn't like leaving Connor alone for more than an hour. For the past two days the Irishman hadn't left his side anyway, so Daryl didn't have much to worry about, but now that he was up and walking again, whereas Daryl still couldn't really move...it made the hunter feel paranoid. The Merle driven part of him hated him for his pathetic caring and wanted him to forget about Connor, mind his own business. But the truth was that he didn't have much else right now anyway. And he wouldn't have anybody else once he'd found Sophia, and he wouldfind her. He knew that once Carol had her daughter back, he could no longer care about Carol or talk to her. She would have her own flesh and blood to care about and there was no way he was teaming up with them. No way he was becoming a replacement for Sophia's father. He didn't do families. He and Connor were the only two who didn't really fit the group and maybe that was why he felt the need to team up with him.

He found the camp empty and assumed that everyone had decided to continue searching. Then he saw Dale on top of the RV.
The sight of the car made him feel a bit uneasy and his left temple was beginning to ache again. Andrea, that stupid bitch, he thought and rubbed the stitches.
He approached the RV.

"Have yah seen Connor?" he asked and felt stupid. All he ever asked the others was where to find Connor. Dale turned around in surprise and looked at Daryl.

"What are you doing here,boy? You should stay in bed!"

"Don't pull yah stupid grandfather thing on me. It ain't working. Now, where the hell's Connor?"

Dale looked at Daryl for a moment and sighed.

"He walked some place behind the farmhouse."

"To look for Sophia on his own?"

"No, he wasn't allowed to join. Shane went pretty rough on him, that stupid man."

"What did that asshole do?"

"Oh another one of his power demonstrations."

Daryl remembered Shane's tight grip around his neck and shuddered angrily.

Yeah, he knew the tricks of this stupid testosterone junkie.

He turned around to search for Connor.

"You should go back to bed. Another fight won't do you any good."

"Shut your stupid cakehole."

He walked past the farmhouse and searched the fields but had no luck finding Connor anywhere. When he turned his head to check the back of the farmhouse, he found Connor sitting there with his gun in his hands. Daryl felt uneasy about the whole thing, because the Irishman looked all miserable again. He cursed himself for caring so much once more. The hunter decided to join the Irishman, and when he got closer he heard how Connor was talking to himself. It made him snort and frown.

Freak.

"Remember the games we used ta play Murph? Runnin across te fields in our village. We would pretend ta be the heroes of the fairytales and stories Ma used ta read fer us. Most of the time I played the baddie and chased yer across the fields til one day ye fell and broke yer hand.'T was all my fault. I felt so fuckin sorry fer hurtin yah, so I broke my hand on purpose so we could match."

He looked at his hand.

"Ma yelled at us fer being so alike all te time. Everything we had or did,we had or did it tagether. Most of the time I just pulled ye down with me. When I started ta smoke when we were fourteen, and you grabbed one and started as well. You were coughing six ways fram Sunday. Then you smoked even more than me. Fuckin chimney you were. And when I wanted ta move to the states, you came with me although ye hated big cities and the American way of living. And when those stupid Russians attacked us and almost shot ye in the head 't was my fault as well, just cos I set dat stupid Russian's ass on fire. I dragged ye down with me. Got ye hurt, all the time. And in the end..'t was my fault you got bit cos I was busy shouting at ye.."

He sighed and let his head drop. Daryl froze and looked at the Irishman in surprise. He was still irritated because Connor was talking to himself.
It even looked like he was talking to somebody nonexistent.

He's lost it now.

But no matter how weird and worrying it was, Daryl was glad to hear more about the weirdo's brother and what had happened to him.

"It's all my fuckin fault, man. From the second we were born this shit was destined ta happen."

Connor stared at the gun for a while and put it away again.

"I know. I fuckin promised I wouldn't kill meself. But still. What am I sapposed ta do Murph. All this time we hunted down evil men and put a bullet ta their heads. But even then we made sure they were shown mercy and redemption. I earned my place in hell a long time ago. From the moment I first planted bullets inta people's brains." He sighed and shook his head. "But I know yer in the fields of the lord now. Cos you were a true saint, Murph. An angel Ma used ta call ye when we were little."

He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

"All I want is ta be with you again but I fuckin can't. I put a bullet to me own head and I condemn my body to the fires of hell forever. And yer not there. And everyday I pray fer salvation, fer some fucking walker ta get me or someone ta shoot me...I'm just tired Murph. So fuckin tired. Half of me' s missing. Tell me what ta do, brother. Or god. Or both of ye. Please. Just fuckin tell me."

Daryl approached him then because he had heard enough and it was getting pathetic. When Connor heard the rustling of grass he grabbed his gun and pointed it at Daryl who froze and raised an eyebrow. Connor's eyes were a bit teary and he sniffed. Then he wiped his nose and put the gun away.

"Mornin sunshine, did grandpa allow ye ta go out and play again?" he said and grinned at him, but Daryl knew that he was faking it.

"Shut up."

He sat down next to Connor and both men stared across the fields for a while.

"I heard about Shane" Daryl said after a while and Connor laughed.

"Stupid fucker just took advantage..just wait til I'm all healthy again. Gonna kick his testosterone hyped ass big time. I've dealt with cupboards twice his seize."

Daryl couldn't help but smirk.

"I'd like t'see that."

"Oh ye will, Murph, ye will."

Daryl looked at Connor who closed his eyes for a moment.

Then just stared into nothingness again.

"Sorry. I meant Daryl."

"It's ok. I'm gettin used t'yer weirdo spasms."

Both men chuckled and then Connor looked at Daryl.

"How ye feeling? Does it still hurt?"

"Nah, just a scratch. I ain't a whiny bitch" Daryl said although the wound really burned and hurt like hell.

Connor snorted.

"Right."
"How are yah feeling?" Daryl asked carefully and Connor smirked.

"Fuckin brilliant. It's just a scratch. I ain't a whiny bitch either" he said and imitated Daryl's accent. Daryl kicked Connor who moaned.

The Irishman punched his thigh in return with a giggle.

"I saw yah with the gun."

"Just cleaning it."

"Yah like talking t'yahself?"

Connor sighed.

"Did ye hear everything?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Fuck."

Connor let his head drop and then looked back up after a while.

"Ferget about it. It's nothing."

"Yah looked like yah were talking to thin air. And then yah looked like yah were gonna shoot yerself."

"Did not."

"So yah just felt like playin with yer gun behind the farmhouse where no one could see yah and hear yah."

"I wouldn't have pulled the fuckin trigger. I didn't pull te fuckin trigger."

"Too scared?" Daryl asked and looked at the man next to him. Connor snorted.

"I ain't scared af bullets or dying."

"But you're afraid of hell."

"Nah" Connor murmured and looked away.

"You said" Daryl answered and did the same.

Connor hesitated for a moment then.

"I'm scared of not seein m' brother again" he finally admitted.

"Why wouldn't yah?"

"I thought you heard everything, ye deaf or what?"

"So yah think it's all yer fault."

"Pretty much" Connor said and grabbed a smoke.

He lit it and exhaled with a relieved sigh. He offered Daryl one but he shook his head.

"You should have one. Makes ye less bitchy and more relaxed."

"Fuck you."

"See."

After a while and Connor enjoying his cigarette Daryl went on.

"Why are yah talking to yahself?"

"I ain't" Connor answered and snorted.

"Yah were."

"Nah. I was talkin ta Murph. And god."

"Except that he's dead and god doesn't exist."

"What te fuck do you know."

They didn't speak for a while.

Daryl just snorted and looked away.

"Fuckin weirdo."

"Who te fuck am I sapposed ta tell, huh? None of you people knew him or know me. Or care about anyone except fer themselves and their families.
And none of you believes anyway. I spent weeks all on me own. All I had to talk to was myself and the air. I don't need ta talk to anyone."

Daryl snorted. He was surprised how much alike their thoughts were in that regard.

"I would've told Murph if he were still with me. Would've told you if I could. But you hate me, so all I've got's this shit."

"I don't hate yah" Daryl murmured and looked at the Irishman.

"Of course ye do. You keep tellin me. I don't need yer fuckin fake pity. This ain't charity" Connor said and rubbed his eye tiredly.

"Really. I don't hate yah." Daryl said quietly and looked down.

He hated to be so honest. Connor turned his head as good as his neck would allow it and just looked at Daryl.

"Yer just a pain in the ass" Daryl went on and Connor smirked. He laughed gently.

"Right back at ye."

For a while they just sat there and kept each other company. Suddenly Daryl grabbed Connor's jacket and searched for his cigarette pack.
Connor eyed him when he grabbed a smoke and searched his pocket for a lighter. When he lit the smoke Connor smiled.

"You smoke then?"

"Nope" Daryl said and coughed, but after a moment he gathered himself and Connor grinned. Daryl's hair looked darker today and now that he wasn't so blonde and had a smoke in his mouth he looked a lot more like Murphy. The hunter blew out a big cloud of smoke. "You don't have ta do that, ye know" the Irishman said and smirked.

"Shut the fuck up." Daryl growled and looked at the cigarette.

And Connor grinned even more. He knew that Daryl hated to admit when he was doing something nice for people. He always tried to act extra tough. Connor hit his shoulder and beamed his idiotic grin at him and despite all his typical reactions to that stupid grin, Daryl couldn't help but feel relieved. He liked that Connor more than the Connor he had just seen a couple of minutes ago. The crazy Connor who was talking to thin air, the Connor with a rope around his neck or the Connor lying unmoving on the floor. Not to speak of the Connor crying every night in silence. Somehow Daryl knew that this Connor right in front of him was his true self right now. The Connor from the past.