So that one Daryl scene that lasted about 2 secs in the episodes inspired an entire chapter. :D
It was confirmed in Talking Dead that Daryl was about to gut Randall when he heard Dale's screams. So I made this little scene one great big topic in this chapter because I thought it would be nice to have Connaryl discuss this. I think it turned out rather nice. Oh and did you notice that whenever Murphy turns up someone's about to get hurt or die? That's why this chapter is called Angel of Death. He. He. He. So that's it then. End of "Judge. Jury. Executioner." Two more episodes to go and the fic's over!
setting: episode 11 "Judge, Jury, Executioner"
Salvation
Chapter 31 - Angel Of Death
Connor found Daryl inside the shed they kept Randall in. His friend had his back turned on him and was busy doing something by the table.
The Irishman leaned against the door frame and folded his arms.
"Looks like Dale gets what he wants" he said and looked at Daryl who didn't answer.
Connor sighed.
"Look, I know it's not what you want but let's just think bout it fer a minute. I know yer a good guy. I think it's god's will ta keep te fella alive."
Daryl snorted and shook his head.
"What, didn't it occur to you? I mean why would Rick's kid decide ta come just when I'm about ta finish him off?"
"Cos his bitch mother is dumb and busy fuckin everyone up instead of watching the brat" the hunter muttered and Connor snickered.
"Aye, I give ye that. But still."
The Irishman looked at Randall for a moment and frowned. Daryl had tied him up with his hands up in the air and a gag in his mouth.
"Why did ye tie the kid up like that?"
"Can I ask yah something?" Daryl asked and leaned against the table.
He still wouldn't look at his friend. Connor frowned.
"Sure, man."
"Rick or me, whose side are yah on?"
"Regarding what?"
Daryl sighed.
"If Rick an I were in an argument, who'd you side with?"
Connor frowned even more.
"Depends on who's right?"
Daryl snorted angrily.
"What if it were Murphy instead of me, who'd yah side with?"
The Irishman swallowed and looked away.
"Ye can't ask me something like that."
"Tell me."
"I'd try ta protect Murph" he said quietly.
His friend shook his head and snorted once more.
"Forget it" he said and grabbed something that was lying on the table.
Connor growled.
"Oh stop it. I love ye like a brother, man. But that's fuckin murder."
Daryl turned around then and his friend saw the bowie knife in his hands. He widened his eyes.
"What te fuck are ye doing?"
Daryl looked at Randall who started whimpering and murmuring something but they couldn't understand him because of the gag.
"Rick doesn't have the guts t'finish it...someone's gotta do it."
Connor approached Daryl slowly and kept looking at the knife.
"Put the fuckin knife away, Murph. Rick said we have t'wait fer his orders."
Daryl snorted.
"You know he ain't gonna do it. Ever."
"I fuckin know but I don' want him ta! Neither do I fuckin want you to do some shit like that! It is fuckin murder!" Connor spat but his friend ignored him.
He eyed Randall instead and approached him even more.
"Put the fuckin knife down!" the Irishman demanded and Daryl shook his head.
"It's either him or us."
Suddenly Connor pulled his gun and pointed it at his friend. Daryl turned his head and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow.
"What, so now yer gonna shoot me? Just so yah can protect this scumbag? A kid yah don' even know?"
"Just put the fuckin knife down and wait fer the group's decision."
Daryl grabbed his gun and pointed it at Connor.
"No, how bout you put yer gun down and let me finish it."
Connor snorted.
"This is getting fuckin ridiculous."
"Says the idiot who pointed the gun at me first."
"Don't you fuckin dare point mygun at me."
Daryl didn't move and neither did Connor.
They just stared at each other.
"So what's it gonna be? Are yah really gonna bite the dust for this little shit?" Daryl asked and the Irishman snorted.
"As if ye'd fuckin shoot me."
Daryl shrugged.
"Try me."
"Just put the knife and the gun down, man. Or shoot me if yer that desperate and fucked up, asshole."
The hunter snorted.
"I'm done fuckin yah up. Question is, are you?"
Connor frowned.
"What te fuck's that supposed ta mean?"
"Not the first time you're pointing yer gun at a face just like mine and pull the trigger, right?"
The Irishman gave Daryl a death glare.
For a moment the latter thought that his friend would actually pull the trigger because of that, but much to his surprise Connor lowered his gun and shook his head.
"Fuck you. Bastard. I ain't gonna lower meself to yer level."
He put his gun away and so did Daryl. Randall whimpered again when the hunter wouldn't let go of the knife and pointed it at his heart instead.
Suddenly Connor growled and darted forward. He knocked Daryl down and they both fell to the ground. They started fighting over the knife.
"You ain't fuckin killing the kid as long as I'm around! Now gimme the fuckin knife and stop being such a dick!" Connor spat and Daryl growled.
He managed to grab a wooden plank, which was lying on the floor next to them, and hit his friend's head hard. The Irishman stopped moving and collapsed on top of him. For a moment Daryl just lay there and tried to catch his breath. He was panting heavily and after a while of gathering himself he grabbed unconscious Connor by his shoulders and lifted him off himself. He turned his friend on his back and checked his breathing and pulse. He thanked god that he hadn't managed to kill the Irishman with the board. He patted Connor's cheek and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry brother. It's for yer best. I'm doing it for the group" he said and sighed.
He hated himself for hurting his friend once more.
Daryl got up with a grunt and searched for his knife. He found it on the floor and when he looked at Randall the kid started screaming and whimpering again. But no one could hear his screams because of the gag. Not even Connor could hear him now.
"Just you and me, kiddo" he said when he approached Randall and grabbed the lantern that stood on the table.
Randall screamed even louder but Daryl shook his head.
"Shut up. No one can hear yah now."
When he was just about to stab Randall in his chest he could hear Dale screaming outside. He placed the lantern back on the table and started running.
"Eh, sleepyhead."
Connor growled and shook his head when he felt how someone started shaking him.
"Eh sleeping beauty, are ye waitin fer some fuckin prince ta kiss you awake?"
The Irishman chuckled.
"What, now yer calling yerself a fuckin prince?I thought we were done role-playing Murph" he muttered and placed a hand on his twin's.
"Get up now Con. Yer fuckin done sleeping."
Connor chuckled and shook his head. He didn't want to open his eyes because he feared that he might wake up from the dream then.
"No I'm waiting fer you ta gimme a big fat whiskey and cig soaked kiss ta wake me up."
He heard how his twin chuckled as well.
"Is that really you Murph?" Connor asked after a moment.
"Aye. I ain't te redneck. I'm disappointed brother. I thought you know me."
"I fuckin know everything' bout ye brother. Every last dirty detail."
"Con, you need ta get up now."
"Am I dead? Did that fucker kill me? Is that heaven?" Connor murmured.
Murphy laughed and shook him once more.
"No, you ain't dead brother. You're gonna know when yer dead."
"Is that another one of tem dreams Murphy?"
His brother didn't answer so he opened his eyes.
"Murph?"
There was no one there. He found himself lying on the floor inside the shed. The Irishman turned his head with a groan and placed a hand on his throbbing temple. The headache was killing him. Connor tried to sit up. He looked up to see that Randall was still alive. His heart missed a beat when he heard Daryl screaming outside.
"Help! Over here! Over here!"
"MURPH!" he screamed at the top of his lungs and got up.
He gasped in pain when his injured leg gave in. He tried to run to help his friend but couldn't. He ended up half limping half running outside.
"Murph! Where the fuck are ye! Murph!" he screamed and turned his head when he heard more voices to his left.
Connor saw the group standing somewhere in the middle of the field and tried to run for them.
"No no no no no!" he shouted with every step he made.
The Irishman ignored the incredible pain in his leg and started running.
Oh Christ He's dead. Please don't let 'im be dead. Please don't let me lose another brother.
It felt like he was running forever until he finally reached the group.
"Murph!" he shouted again and looked at the group in panic until he saw Daryl standing there. Not hurt. No bites.
Just staring.
He came over to join his friend and punched his shoulder.
"Are ye insane! You scared the fuckin shit outta me!"
He checked his friend's chest and grabbed his arms to make sure that there weren't any bite marks. Daryl slapped his hands away and just kept staring down. Connor finally noticed the rest of the group. "Can we move him?" Rick asked with shaking voice. Then he heard Andrea's sobs. When the Irishman turned around to look at them he saw why they were crying and sobbing. Dale was lying there on the ground. Groaning and gasping in pain. His belly was ripped open and his guts were hanging out of the wound. Connor gasped in shock and stumbled backwards.
"Oh my fuckin...god..Christ..no.." he stammered and grabbed Daryl by his shoulder.
"He won't make the trip" Herschel said and Rick shook his head in panic.
"You have to do the operation here" he stammered and swallowed.
He turned around and looked at Glenn.
"Glenn, get back to the house" he demanded but Herschel interrupted him.
"Rick" he said and when the policeman looked up and Herschel shook his head, he got up and screamed.
"No!"
"Oh god." Andrea sobbed and everybody started crying.
Connor just stared at Dale in shock. There was so much blood. Blood and guts everywhere.
What te fuck happened? Are ye still there god? I just started believing in yer mercy again an now this?
He turned around to check on their surroundings. Somehow trying to understand what had happened. He saw a mutilated cow just a couple of meters away and right between Dale and the animal lay a walker. There was blood all over his face and hands and Connor knew. So Dale had been attacked by a walker. Ripped open like a cow.
"Christ, why didn't anybody watch his back? Why would he leave all on his own?" he asked quietly and heard Daryl murmuring something.
And it dawned on him.
The world that we knew is dead. And this new world is ugly. It's- Harsh. It's- it's survival of the fittest. And that's a world I don't wanna live in.
And I don't-I don't believe that any of you do. I can't. He couldn't be with the group after their decision.
After everything they'd said to him.
It made Connor furious. The incredibly heartbreaking irony. The moment they'd spared the kids life had also been the moment Dale had been sentenced to death. Not knowing that his words changed the group's mind. Not knowing that there was still hope. That god was watching over them. But was he? If he still was, how could he let anything like this happen?
"He's suffering" Andrea whispered and took Dale's hand.
He was still groaning and gasping and pain. He stared at them with wide eyes. Somehow begging to be killed.
"Do something!" Andrea shouted and looked at them.
Rick sighed and tried to pull himself together. Everyone was still crying or fighting tears. They were shaken to the core. Rick knelt down next to Dale and pointed the gun at the old man's head. But when they saw how his gun started shaking in his hands and how he kept breathing hard and abruptly they knew that the policeman couldn't do it. Didn't wantto do it. Didn't want to see Dale die. Connor placed his hand on his gun and was just about to take it when Daryl placed his hand on it and signaled him to stop it. Connor looked at his friend in surprise but Daryl didn't look at him. He just looked at Dale and Rick. The Irishman understood and let go of his gun. His friend approached Rick and put his hand on the policeman's revolver. Rick looked up. After a moment he backed off and Daryl grabbed his gun. Connor's gun. He aimed at Dale's forehead and everyone started crying even more.
Connor started chewing on his lower lip and fought tears as well. Not only because of Dale's sad death but also because Daryl looked so much like his dead brother with the gun in his hand. Say the prayer, Murph, he thought but knew that he wasn't going to hear it. Because Daryl didn't know their family prayer. The hunter undid the safety of the gun and for a moment it looked like Dale was nodding.
"I'm sorry brother" Daryl said and pulled the trigger.