Hey you people! Sorry it's taken me so long to update (again) I had a couple of exams (lots of media law stuff, blablabla :D) and a couple of radio shifts to do, but don't worry! Next week will be the last week of this semester and then it's summer break time! Wohoo! So more time to write a couple of chapters of this fic.

It's cool to see that it's still getting follows and reviews even without me doing anything!

Anyway, here's a new chapter and it's a bit longer this time!

Resurrection

Chapter 4 - Survival

316 days ago...
August 14th, 2007, 3:06 am - Hanscom Air Force Base, Boston

David kept rubbing his thighs as he made his way over to the main entrance of the airbase. This had become some sort of nervous tick ever since he had heard Zach and Jimmy talk about him and what they wanted to do. But he wasn't just nervous because of them. He was also freaked out because he hadn't slept in days, didn't have any smokes left and because of all the experiments those doctors had tried with him.

Back when he had ended up here after that ambush he had agreed to do whatever they needed him to do to find a "cure", and part of him had also done it because he didn't want to be thrown out. He had liked it here back then. Shelter, food and protection was always a good thing, right? Except that it wasn't like this at all. With every week that passed it became more and more clear that there was no help on its way, no government, no solution. Just chaos, panic and the dead. Just yesterday another group had arrived outside their walls and fences. A group of bandits, trying to get in here to get supplies and weapons.

It had turned into a bloody massacre, with the strangers being mowed down to nothing. It had caused another wave of panic amongst the survivors who where in here with them, and a whole bunch of those former civilians had tried to escape. Some had been shot to prevent people from running the barricades over and to prevent the undead from breaking in, and although things had calmed down by now David was still getting sick of all this.

He wanted to leave this godforsaken place, this godforsaken city that had once called itself Boston.

He just didn't want to fear another ambush and attempted murder after all the shit he had been through, and he was more than done with all the experimenting bullshit. Because there was still no cure, not even a clue, and the undead kept coming. Sooner or later he was going to die here if he didn't get out of here soon. Whether it was because of Zach trying to murder him, soldiers shooting him because they were going crazy, or because of the fact that the city was burning all around them.

A couple of days ago there had been a massive explosion, and Major Simmons and a couple of other soldiers supposed that one or two power plants had exploded. Or something like that. And now that there were no more firefighters, no more people to put the fires out, all the houses, cars and whatever was left of their city was burning to the ground.

So yeah. It was chaos. And he needed to go.

He walked up to the barricade that was still shaking like hell. He could hear the countless undead that were piling up on the gates, drawn in by their floodlights and the noise they were making, but they were also being driven out of the city because of the fire. David started chewing on his lower lip and stared at the gates for a bit, unsure what to do. He had come here to make it look like he was trying to take over a shift, just so he could jump the fence and get the hell away from here. The good thing was that those people couldn't just shoot him on the run because they needed him, needed his blood, so this was kind of his plan.

Except that he knew that he was shitty when it came to planning stuff out. There was a tiny bit of his abused brain that vaguely remembered that there had been someone in his life who had been taking care of stuff like that, but he couldn't remember who it had been, when it had happened or what was going on in general.

The healing headshot wound was still messing around with his brain, and that a lot. Despite the constant pain, sometimes even spasms and two epileptic seizures there were bits and pieces of his old life that he remembered from time to time. Especially from the day he had been shot. Most of his earlier memories were still lost though. He knew that there had been someone very important in his life, someone who had even defined his life, but he couldn't remember who.

He still supposed that it had been the woman he dreamed about every now and then, the bloody woman from the stadium that made him sad whenever he thought about it. He still didn't know if she had been his wife or something like that, but the stadium was the only thing he could really remember. And bits of the shooting, that stranger bastard who had turned him into such a fucked up cripple now. A cripple who still couldn't even really hold a goddamn fork and who needed hours to smoke a cigarette just because he couldn't really hold it either.

David shook his head with a growl when he heard how someone called his name. He had been staring at the shaking gate for quite a while now.
He did that a lot. Get lost in thoughts, getting confused and not really knowing where he was and how he had ended up somewhere.

"Eh Dave!" he heard the woman's voice once more and looked up.

He could see Ashley up on the temporary towers and walkways they had build so they could keep an eye on the walkers from up there.
The woman was staring down at him, rifle still in her hands and with that cocky smile on her face.

"You know the rules. No strays out here after curfew."

David tried to smirk back at her, although he didn't really feel like it.

"Figured I'd help you. Can't really sleep. Ain't even tired" he muttered although this was a lie.

He just needed to close his eyes and he was practically asleep. He just wouldn't allow himself that.

"We got it covered. Get back to your cot, McGillian" said the guard on the other side of the sidewalk, a man that David believed was that Sheppard guy from Framingham.

"Simmons told me to help you guys" David said as he tried to make his way up the ladder so he could join the two of them and get a better look at the outside world himself.

As soon as he was halfway up the ladder he notice how high the gate really was.

Damn. This was going to be one hell of a jump.

"I said get back to your cot. We got orders" he heard Sheppard say and then there was the cocking of a gun.

"Jesus, just let him help, Sheppard" Ashley said and then got rid of her rifle so she could help him up.

David was wavering a bit and had trouble keeping his balance on the small bridge between the two temporary towers.
He turned his head and then looked at Sheppard, who was still pointing his gun at him.

"What're ye gonna do? Shoot me? 'M immune and already survived a headshot, remember? I'm your dear Dr Gregory's miracle" David just said and ignored the other man.

He cleaned his hands on his thighs once more and looked down at the street, only to pale at the sight.

There were a lot of walkers down there.

He raised an eyebrow and leaned a bit forward so he could get a better view. On the bright side: should he really jump then he would land on something relatively soft. Something rotten, but at least bodies and flesh instead of the hard asphalt. Although he wasn't exactly keen on getting anywhere near those walkers ever again. But even if he did, it didn't matter.

Because just one week ago he had discovered that those undead freaks wouldn't go after him anymore. One of the survivors, a young guy, had committed suicide in one of the old bathroom stalls of the former terminal building without telling anyone. The same evening some people had discovered him, now come back to life as a walker. He had managed to infect a couple of survivors and David had been caught in the middle of that chaos, trying to get everyone out and help the other soldiers. Then he had been face to face with one of the new infected.

And nothing had happened.

Ever since that incident he was even more freaked out and this was another reason why he wanted to leave. There were freaking kids in here with them, and he didn't want to freak them out or infect them or anyone else. Whatever was inside him now, those walkers knew it and thought that he was one of them now. Immune, but infected.

So should he jump down here then he suspected that they wouldn't attack him and tear him to pieces right away.

Probably.

"There's more of them every fucking day" Ashley muttered next to him when she noticed how David kept staring at the undead, who were glaring up at them, blinded by the floodlights, hands wavering in the air and trying to get them. They could see another couple of staggering figures in the distance.

"I'm not sure how much longer those gates are gonna hold. Terrance from B gate said that theirs nearly broke yesterday. And the fire's getting damn close on the East border."

David looked up at the female soldier, who was obviously worried. He actually liked her and felt a bit sorry now. Despite all the craziness that was going on in here and despite all the crazies that were locked up inside here with them there were actually a couple of people that he really liked, a couple of people that had their hearts in the right place. Ashley was one of those, just like Major Simmons.

"Maybe we could drop something on them. Save bullets, use something else" he suggested and then raised his head to look at the faint burning skyline of Boston.

" We could use that fire to fight them. Like, get a bunch of flamethrowers. Burn them or something like that. If we shoot them and burn them, might as well burn them right away, don't exactly matter, does it?"

Sheppard snorted next to him.

"And set this place on fire as well? Yeah, good idea potato man. Like we ain't got enough flames here already. Let's host a fuckin barbeque while we're at it" he muttered and shook his head.

David frowned angrily.

"You got a problem?"

Sheppard walked up to him until they were face to face.

"Yeah, I got a problem with stupid people."

David stared back at him, brows furrowed and getting more and more angry with every second of their intense stare down.

"I wanna see how smart yer gonna be after I shoot you in your fucking head."

"Guys, just stop it" Ashley tried to reason with them and stepped between them when she sensed the high level of testosterone in the air.

"Oh yeah, do tell us one more time, asshole. So you got shot in the head. Bohoo. Because no one else ever got shot before you. Certainly not during any war that we've been in. Nah. You are such a fuckin miracle, look at you. What do you even think your pathetic little life's worth now, huh? Any more than mine or Ash's? You think you're the one to save the world? Newsflash, asshole. You ain't no saint anymore. No matter how much of that shit you tat on your body. People really think you're our chance for a cure? Like god sent you? I call bullshit."

"Fuck you!" David snapped and shoved the soldier, who stumbled backwards and stared at the other man in suprise, only to get angry as well. Within seconds he turned his rifle around and used the pistol grip to hit David right in the face. The other man groaned in pain and stumbled backwards, jaw burning with pain and his already injured brain hurting about twice as much. And this was enough to make him snap.

Just like the many times before he couldn't really control his temper and darted forward to attack the soldier once more. He grabbed the rifle and threw it away so he wouldn't get shot or hit again. The two men got engaged in a fist fight, and although Sheppard was a trained soldier David had the advantage of not wearing that much gear, and being angry like hell. He could feel how Ashley was trying to drag him away from Sheppard by putting him in a headlock, but the dark-haired man wouldn't give in. The fight went on for several minutes until they could hear how more soldiers were coming to help, and David finally stopped fighting.

"I'll kill you, you slimy little fuck! Zach was right about you!" Sheppard spat and held his bleeding nose that was broken by the looks of it.

"You were the one talking shit, asswipe!" David countered and then kept fighting Ashley.

"Put your hands behind your head!" an other soldier from downstairs screamed at them and his fellow soldiers pointed their rifles at them.
David looked down and snorted.

He couldn't believe this shit was really happening. How the fuck had he managed to get in here in the first place? Fuck the food and shelter. He'd rather spent a whole year outside hauled up in a house in burning Boston. Everything was better than this place now: this place where democracy and humanity no longer existed and where soldiers, the ones who were supposed to protect civilians, where the real fucking monsters. All hyped up on their power and lack of government and future.

He shook his head and the looked at furious Sheppard and then Ashley, who was looking back at him in sheer surprise and disbelief.
He could feel how at least five rifles were being pointed right at him, and he knew that this was his only chance to leave now.

"I'm outa here" he said and then walked backwards to get closer to the edge.

He could still hear the growling and snarling undead underneath them, but even they didn't matter.
At least those undead freaks never betrayed each other or killed one of their own.
They were equal, so even they were better than this godforsaken place.

"I said freeze and put your hands where we can see them!" one of the soldiers yelled but David had already turned around and was now staring at the undead.

"Don't!" Ashley yelled and darted forward just when he was about to jump to escape.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. They both staggered as David tried to fight her off.

"Let me go! You can't fuckin keep me here, yah bastards!" he yelled and tried to fight her off, but then Sheppard was already on him as well.

So much for his brilliant escape plan.

"Fuck off!" he yelled and shoved one of the soldiers especially hard.

Then everything happened within a blink. Not like in those movies when something dramatic was happening in slow motion. No, this was violent, full of adrenaline and happening way too fast. Just one second after that shove Ashley suddenly lost her balance and was thrown against the railing with the force of two men fighting. It caused her to struggle and then she toppled over while she was still trying to hold on to both the railing and the sleeve of David's jacket.

There was another second of yelling incoherent things and both David and Sheppard were trying to keep her from falling, but then she was already gone. She fell down the barricade and right onto the crowd of walkers with a piercing shriek. All Sheppard and David could do was watch in horror as the undead started digging their dirty rotten fingers and nails into every tiny piece of flesh they could get. Ashley still wouldn't stop screaming because neither the fall nor the attacks had killed her yet.

David was absolutely horrified and even paralyzed. He had not meant to shove her like that, and he certainly had not wanted to kill Ashley. Especially not like that. She was still struggling and fighting and shooting bullets at nothing in particular, and all her screaming just paralyzed him even more. He felt sick. This couldn't be happening. Why the fuck was everything going so fucking wrong? He was hardly aware of all the soldiers that were making their way up the ladders in a hurry to get him and check out the situation, and it wasn't until David saw Sheppard pull his gun that he finally knew how to talk or react again.

For just a second he thought that Sheppard was going to shoot him for that. For a moment it even looked like the soldier considered this. His face was nothing but an angry grimmace, showing frustration and hatred. The he turned around, took aim and shot screaming Ashley in the head to save her from this slow and agonizing death.

David knew that this was his last chance to jump and run away, but for some reason he couldn't move at all. He just stared at Ashley's bloody corpse and how she was being torn apart. A painful memory flashed before his eyes when he saw the image, like he had seen something like that happen before. He heard the screams of a little girl and saw how she was being torn apart as well.

Except for the fact that he hadn't shot her. He had been dragged away by someone while he had been screaming and fighting, trying to get back to her. He remembered the girl, because he was dreaming about her every now and then. He still didn't really know who she had been, but supposed that she had been his daughter. Because whenever he thought back and replayed those faint memories he felt so much pain, like he had been responsible for her wellbeing.
And he had failed. And he kept screaming for someone, yelling for someone to help him and stop this from happening.

CONNOR!

He kept yelling in his head, although he didn't even know anyone whose name was Connor.

And as he watched the undead eat the remains of Ashley's body he heard the man yell an other name over and over again while he kept fighting whoever was holding him back from getting to his dying daughter. And there it was again, the name. The name of the second stranger that the man named Connor kept yelling like a madman.

MURPH!

Then one of the soldiers knocked him out with his rifle and everything went black.

316 days later...

June 25th, 2008 -7:32am, Lake Oconee

Daryl shifted and mumbled something even he didn't understand. The couch was way too uncomfortable, so it was no miracle that he had woken up. It wasn't like he'd had a good night in general. He was hungover from all the drinking yesterday. He and Connor had celebrated the Irishman's birthday for a bit. With a whole lot of alcohol from the cellar they had found. It had been a miserable and yet fun evening, and he was pretty sure that they both couldn't really remember half of it. Or maybe Connor did, because his blood type wasn't type o negative, it was fucking whiskey. He groaned when he remembered the taste of whiskey and then shifted once more, but no matter what he did, it wouldn't get any better. The couch was fucking horrible. And he felt like shit because of all the alcohol that was still in his blood. He covered his eyes with his arm because the sunlight was way too bright as well.

"Jesus, you sound like a cheap hooker" Connor greeted him and Daryl finally opened his eyes to let the world know that he was awake and available now.

He stared at the ceiling for a bit and rubbed his eyes with a yawn.

"Yeah, figured a loser like you'd know what those sound like" he greeted his friend and smirked a bit.

Oh he was so incredibly funny today. That's what spending a year with a leprechaun does to you. Turn you into a fucking standup comedian.

Connor snorted.

"At least I've heard women moan before. Unlike you, Mr Virgin Mary."

"Fuck you" Daryl said and raised his middle finger in the air, unsure where to aim it because he didn't really know where Connor was and because he was way too tired to get up yet.

There was silence for a while and he could hear the rustling of paper.
Then he heard the soft sound of Connor blowing smoke.

"Besides, only saw one hooker up close during one of our early gigs. All fake tits and all that shit."

Daryl raised an eyebrow and rubbed his itching left eye.

"Didn't exactly wake up just to hear you talk about fuckin hookers" he muttered, but Connor kept talking just like always.

"You shoulda seen her. It was a fucking miracle that those didn't fuckin explode when we was just looking at them. Not like we were doing that on purpose, of course. Because fer real, that was fucking disgusting that shit" he kept talking to himself and took another drag on his cigarette, and Daryl used the time to talk, now that the Irishman couldn't go on for a second.

"You think tits are disgusting? Yeah, so you ain't just a whiny loser, you're also fucking gay. Called it."

The whole "porn" talk annoyed the crap out of him. Because M... He tensed and shook his head. The guy had been just like that. Always talking about women like they were just meat. He knew that Connor wasn't like that, but it still annoyed him. And for once he could be the one calling anyone gay just because they weren't really interested in women. Or talking about them 24/7. He finally got up so he could look at his friend, because he wanted to see his reaction to that accusation. He remembered his own fits of rage whenever his brother had called him that. And he knew that Connor also hated to be called that because he always liked to say that it went against his religion, but he was even more surprised when the Irishman just grinned at him.

"Why do ye think 'm always hanging out with you?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at his friend and then got up with a pissed grunt.

"Screw you."

"Any time, honeybunch."

"Jesus fuckin..."

"Lord's fuckin name.."

Daryl shook his head with an angry eyeroll.

"Knock it off, dumbass."

Connor just chuckled as an answer and then got back to his scribblings or newspaper or whatever the fuck he had found this time to entertain himself this morning. And he was a freaking morning person, he was. Although they never really talked about that stuff Daryl figured that Connor had been just like that during mornings before the outbreak: always getting up super early, getting showers, humming shit, making and drinking coffee and reading goddamn papers while having his morning smoke.

It was weird because it suited him but at the same time didn't suit him at all, because he didn't come from this sort of social background. Connor hadn't been some rich Wall Street guy with his coffees and newspapers before work. But for some reason that Irish weirdo still did that kind of thing every time he could. Maybe this really was a big brother thing. Because for some reason, call it look alike seventh sense or something - he believed that Connor's brother had been just like him - Daryl - the grumpy so not a morning person little brother. It wasn't like he didn't get up early as well. Just not in that kind of a good mood.

"You were dreaming and talking again" Connor said when Daryl got rid of his old dirty shirt to put on a new one.

The hunter froze for a second and stared at the opposite wall, jaw clenched and anger building up.

"So?"

There was silence for a while, and then he heard Connor sigh.

"Look, I know it's...well it's really tough ta lose yer brother from one se..."

"I'm fine" Daryl interrupted his friend and threw his shirt away a bit rougher than necessary.

"Yer obviously not man. You think I don't hear ye all the time? I just wanted t'tell ye that yer heading down a very dangerous path. I've been there. You try t'hide it and kill it, like all that anger and grief isn't there, and maybe you can take it fer a couple a weeks, a couple of months or maybe even a year, but sooner or later that shit's gonna hunt you down and destroys you if you don't come t'terms with it."

"I said 'm fine" Daryl growled once more and then turned around to look at Connor with an angry frown.

"What'd you think 'm gonna do if it 'hunts me down'? My brother's dead, boohoo. You think 'm gonna hang myself cos of that? Run away and cry? Yeah of course, cos that's gonna happen. I said 'm fucking fine."

Connor looked hurt for a second although Daryl had not meant it to be personal, but then it was already too late. Now Connor just looked pissed.

"Fuck you, man" he said and put his cigarette out on the kitchen counter so he could get up.

"Fuck me? No fuck you. I'm getting damn tired of all your touchy touchy bullshit all the time. Yeah, so maybe we are in the same boat because we both lost our brothers, but that don't mean that I take that stuff the same way you did. I can't exactly control whatever the hell I dream, but that's got nothing t'do with how I feel, alright? It's about survival. I survive. That's all that matters. Cos it's about what happens today and tomorrow, not what happened yesterday. We lost a whole bunch of people, and people die, have died and always will die. Don't matter if it's cos of some geeks or because of too many beers and burgers before all that shit. Or if it's because of people getting shot in the fucking stomach."

There was a long pause and they just stared at each other. Daryl had to swallow hard. He had not meant to explode like that again, and it certainly wasn't because of Connor trying to help him, it was because of the fact that he was hurt and that he was angry and upset because of his brother's death.

"I said I'm fine and I'm fine" he finished and the thing was done for him.

Connor stared back at his friend, frustration and anger written all across his face. He pressed his lips together for a while and considered getting into a fight just to punch some sense into Daryl, but he was too tired of all that fighting shit. Everything that had happened last year had been enough for a lifetime.

"Fine. Do whatever ye gotta do ta keep yer fucking dreamcloud floating, asshole" he growled and then headed for the french door that led outside to the lake.

"Where are you going?" Daryl protested, because he instantly regretted his behaviour.

It wasn't like he meant to push Connor away. He appreciated his friend's help in fact. And he would talk about anything with him now. His childhood, his past. Anything but that. He just wanted to be left alone and he didn't want to hear the word "brother" or even "Merle" ever again.

"I need t'cool off. It's two hundred fuckin degrees in here in case you didn't notice. And I don't wanna drive off and have a heat stroke about five minutes later on te road" his friend answered and then slammed the door shut.

Daryl just stayed there for a minute and watched his friend through the windows. Connor was heading for the lake and killed another walker on his way there. Once he had dragged the body to the others he made his way over to the landing stage and then sat down on the hot wood to get rid of his shoes.

Part of Daryl wanted to complain because of the fact that the Irishman seriously wanted to take a fucking swim in a lake when they were trying to get to Augusta, but then he figured that he needed to give the guy a break. This was the apocalypse, this whole thing was too screwed and dangerous already, so it wasn't exactly helping that he was so uptight all the time. The end of the world meant no more rules and no more schedules, and he considered this his bit of runaway and break time anyway.

Why the hurry? There was going to be enough shit to deal with as soon as they got back to Rick. So a bit of "fun" didn't do anyone any bad, did it?

Connor got rid of his jeans and shirt next and the hunter visibly winced when he saw the still healing bite wound on his neck.
It looked pretty good by now, but the whole scar and the amateur stitches made it look like he had been butchered.

Daryl felt yet another wave of regret when he saw those scars, because he knew that some of the scars that his friend had were there because of him. Because he was always so goddamn pissed and always so goddamn uptight. They were a match made in hell. Daryl was always grumpy, and it didn't take much to make Connor huffy.

Really great.

He noticed how Connor just stood there on the landing stage and stared at his bandaged hand, the broken wrist that was almost healed but still healing. It looked like he was considering what to do with it because the water wasn't exactly clean, and even now Daryl still couldn't keep his eyes off that giant tattoo on his friend's back. It looked awesome but at the same time stupid and insane, but he figured that he should stop thinking about it because he had a tattoo that was just about the same size on his back now. Angel wings. How fucking gay was that.

Except that he had to admit that they really looked cool and even better than on his vest. Connor had finished it just a couple of days ago, before they had snuck out of Woodbury. And his friend had done a damn fine job. The tattoo did what it was supposed to: cover the past, mark something new.

The hunter raised an eyebrow when Connor suddenly jumped into the water instead of getting in there all slow and steady, and when he got to the surface again the Irishman started shaking his bandaged hand and winced. Although the doors and windows were shut and he couldn't really hear it Daryl could still see and imagine the loud curse that escaped his friend's mouth right then and there, and for some reason that made the hunter chuckle.

"Stupid moron" he muttered and shook his head.

Only Connor could be such a clumsy idiot to jump into water with a broken wrist only to complain that it hurt. The hunter let out a gentle sigh and figured that he was done with all the moping and being grumpy, so he headed for the door as well and then stepped outside. A wave of heat hit him like a fist and he blew out some air.

The height of the Georgian summer. How nice. It was weird to see such a place, with summer cottages, hotels, camping sites, RVs and boats all abandoned like that. A little more than a year ago this place had been crowded with tourists, families and screaming children and sand castles and late night parties. And now this. Absolute silence. No movement except for a couple of walkers down the beaches and Connor in the water.

The Irishman noticed his friend on the landing stage after a while but chose to ignore him just a bit more, because he enjoyed the cool water and the silence. He loved things like this, getting closer to nature. Whether it was water or the green hills and woods of Ireland back on their farm. This was the one thing he had always missed back in Boston, although there had been parks and the river and the Atlantic. Georgia was really great in that regard. Minus the heat. He was part North European. And he was used to rain and cold weather. He hated the fucking heat. Which was exactly the reason why he didn't want to get out of here any time soon, although he suspected that Daryl was here to give him shit for that.

He swam around for a little while longer until his healing wrist hurt too much, and then finally made his way back to Daryl, who was now sitting on the landing stage with his bare feet in the water. He still looked a bit grumpy but Connor knew this face. It was the "I'm still pissed but I'm sorry" Daryl Dixon face. Because this was all it was about with Daryl: body language. Not words.

The Irishman swam over to his friend and played extra miserable on purpose because he had a cunning plan. He grabbed the wooden surface of the landing stage with his healthy hand and both men just looked at each other for a minute. Daryl still wouldn't say anything and neither did Connor. This was the fight: part two. See who gives in first and who cancels the fight and stops moping first.

Connor wiped his fringe away because it was plastered to his forehead. He hated it when it was like that, because it made him look like a five year old and he wasn't a five year old. He had once been a serial killer. He was a killing machine, fuck yeah. So his hair had to be all crazy and sticky-uppy. He tried to save it as good as he could and then finally broke the silence.

"Better get yer arse in here as well. Don't exactly fancy another 3 hour drive with grumpy you in the passenger seat. Cool yer dumb brain fer a bit."

His friend narrowed his eyes once again, although he didn't look as pissed anymore.

"Screw you" he muttered, his standard response to everything.

"I ain't getting in there" he added and Connor snorted.

"Aye, because then you could actually look clean fer once" the Irishman answered and pointed at Daryl's dirty, sweaty and muscular arms. It had been days since his friend had last seen any sort of water. He was like a cat in that regard. He always like to say things like he "don't need to be clean for no woods and killing geeks" and that it was " a waste of time".

Although Connor had grown up country he was very different there. He hated being dirty and filthy. Daryl called it "being a diva", Connor called it "taking care of himself" and "being self-conscious". Back in Ireland, when he and Murphy had decided to let their hair and beards grow to cover their identity and make it harder to be identified he had absolutely hated it, although he had gotten used to it after a couple of years. But now he was back to his old self. All shorter hair and just a couple of stubbles along his jaw.

"Come on, I wanna get t'Augusta today" the hunter said and got up after a moment of just being there and enjoying the cool water on his feet.

Connor almost had to smirk, but he tried to keep a straight face. Oh yes. Another one of his ideas and plans. He was fucking brilliant he was.

"Alright, give me a hand, bitchface" he muttered and tried to act grumpy and miserable, although he was actually back to his jokester mood. Problem was that he wasn't really good at acting and hiding things from friends and family. The hunter frowned and stared at his friend's outstretched hand. He was obviously suspicious.

"Come on, there's no fuckin ladder and I can't use two hands ta pull myself up" Connor growled and then waved with his bandaged hand, and Daryl finally reacted.

"You better not weigh a..."

The hunter widened his eyes in surprise when he felt the Irishman pull.

"Don't you fuckin...!" but it was already too late. With a loud splash Daryl did a full on belly flop and landed in the water.

Connor started howling with laughter and watched his friend struggle for a good couple of seconds until Daryl finally knew where up and down was and he could finally breath again. The hunter started coughing and wiped his black hair out of his eyes, face nothing but an angry grimace.

"Are you fucking mental, you ass?" he complained and sent a wave of water to his friend, who still couldn't stop laughing.

"Yer fuckin face, dying swan queen material that was, man" Connor cackled and held his belly because it hurt from all the laughing.

Daryl pulled his wet shirt to stop it from glueing itself to his chest. He was soaking wet and that pissed off. The water he had breathed in burned in his nose, and his wet hair was annoying the crap out of him as well.

"Asshole" he growled while sending another wave of water towards Connor. He then aimed a kick at his friend.

The Irishman's laughter got caught in his throat right then and there and he suddenly leaned forward, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Ow! You fuck!" he groaned and held his best bits.

Daryl had not really aimed there because he knew how much it hurt, but right now the result satisfied him more than it should. Now it was Connor who spattered him with water, but the younger of the two friends refrained from fighting back because he didn't want to seem like a five year old. The Irishman was obviously still in pain because he was making his way back to the landing stage in a crouched position, and after a moment of just watching him and trying to be pissed Daryl suddenly had to snort. And then grin. And then chuckle.

"Fuck you" Connor growled, now obviously pissed because he had lost the fight yet again.