couple of notes:

- the first couple of paragraphs refer to a chapter in my first fic Salvation, it's the same date
- Simmons story is based on a scene in the first Boondock movie
- I know that radio waves don't really travel that far without working technology, call it creative freedom, I have to get him to Georgia somehow so hush hush ;D
- I stole the light bulb joke from the Meatpacking Plant deleted scene from Boondock I

Resurrection

Chapter 8 - Destination

285 days ago...
September 14th, 2007, 8:32am - Windsor Dam, Quabbin Park, Massachusetts

He was standing in the middle of the chamber, staring at nothing in particular, motionless, with a blank look on his face. He could feel the rope in his hands, the raw and scratchy surface scraping along the inner side of his clenched fist. He didn't really want to do this, and he had to admit that he was scared. But if this was the only way he could be with him again, then maybe it was worth it. He let out a gentle sigh and then headed for the chair with the saddle. He didn't even really know how he was supposed to do this, but he'd seen it in a couple of movies and figured that this could be so complicated.

He just had to snap his neck after all. Or wait until he died from the lack of air. Once again he could feel the hard lump in his throat and swallowed hard as he placed the chair right underneath the beam, and when he stared up at the wooden thing he felt a new wave of regret and fear rush over him. He honestly didn't want to do this, and there was a part inside of him that was screaming and begging for him to stop, but there was no way he was going to give it up now.

He was just so fucking depressed.

The constant pain in his chest, all the crying every night, the guilt, the loss. He just couldn't take it anymore, and he wanted everything to end. Now that he could see his face every single day it was a constant reminder of what he'd done, judging him, screaming at him and stabbing him right in the heart. He stepped on the chair and threw the rope at the beam and tied the two ends together so that the rope was hanging down. This was part two and he really didn't have a clue about how he was supposed to tie a slope, he just wrapped the rope around his neck a couple of times and fastened it with a couple of knots behind his head.

He shifted on the chair and stared down to his feed, which he aligned to the edge of the chair. He took a deep breath, probably his last one, and the raised his head to stare at the ceiling, the sky. This was going to hurt and he knew it, but he was actually rather surprised how calm he was all of a sudden. He knew that it was going to be over in less than a minute, and now that he thought about it, he'd been waiting for this shit to happen for the past two months. His life had been nothing but horrible ever since the incident, and he was actually relieved that he probably didn't have to feel anything anymore very soon. I just stood there for a while and tried gather some strength for the terrible thing he was about to do. He hoped that his brother and god could forgive his weakness.

'm sorry, he thought and let his last breath escape his mouth, then he squeezed his eyes shut, lifted his left shaky foot forward...and jumped.

A violent gasp tried to escape his mouth but got caught in his throat because the rope was so tight around his neck. He wanted to scream because of the sudden intense pain in his neck but couldn't do that either. All he could do was start kicking with his legs like a madman, but no matter what he did, he couldn't reach the ground. The kicking just made it worse, because he started swaying with the rope. He was in shock and absolutely horrified, because he'd not pictured it to be like that at all. It was painful, violent and terrifying, and he instantly regretted the jump.

He was so desperate to get back on the chair or on the ground but couldn't, couldn't reach it. The struggling was bad, but the noises that escaped his mouth were far worse, because he couldn't recognize his own voice. He sounded like an animal, fighting for breath, coughing and croaking more with every second that he was hanging from the beam.

Fuck, he'd just wanted to be with his brother again, but certainly not like that. Hot tears were running down his cheeks as he grabbed the rope with both his hands and tried to stop it from strangling him, but he knew that he couldn't fight it. He was such a fucking idiot, and now he had to die because of that. After about 40 seconds of kicking, coughing and struggling he could feel how the burst of adrenaline subsided, and was starting to see white spots. Cold sweat was running down his forehead and it felt like the rope was going to separate his skull from his spine, like the rest of his body was just going to fall to the group because of the pressure to his throat and neck. His ears were ringing, and when he was already giving in to the darkness that kept calling him he suddenly heard the voice.

"No you stupid prick!"

Despite the terror and pain he still had to smile.

Finally.
He was going to see him again.

He could feel how someone grabbed him by his waist but it didn't matter. The rope kept strangling him, and he just knew that this was it.
For a second it felt like gravity lost its meaning as everything started spinning. It felt like he was falling, then everything went black.

Murphy startled awake and let out a surprised gasp. He blinked a couple of times and tried to gather his thoughts, but it felt like the pressure to his neck and throat was still there. He swallowed hard and rubbed his Adam's apple with a shaky breath, and he was rather surprised when he felt the hot watery line that kept running down his cheeks.

It took him a moment until he realized that he was actually crying.

"Fuck.." he whispered and wiped his cheek with an awkward gasp.

Now, this had been some weird fucking dream. He sat up and moved his hand through his messy raven-black hair. The weirdest thing about it had to be the fact that he'd seen his own face right at the end of it, like he'd tried to safe himself from the rope. He just shook his head with an angry growl. The dream had been weird for many reasons, not just because of the seeing himself. He couldn't believe he'd been dreaming about fucking suicide.

After everything he'd been through back in Boston there was one thing he was absolutely positive about: He wanted to live, he wanted to survive no matter what.
And he certainly wouldn't try to fucking hang himself because of a brother who'd betrayed him, shot him in the head and left him to die.

Murphy got up with a gentle sigh and rubbed the side of his nose as he made his way over to the small water bowel he kept on the table in his small room. He had a look out of the window and noticed the beautiful sunrise that got reflected in the water of the reservoir. It was strange to wake up after such a horrible nightmare, only to face something so beautiful.

There was a tiny part in his abused brain that remembered that he'd loved sunsets and sunrises back then, before the dead had started walking, before the headshot, before all this mess. There was something special and meaningful about them, but he couldn't remember what that had been. As soon as he was done washing his face he automatically placed his flat hand on his chest, the one with the Aequitas tattoo.

Once again that subconscious motion made him frown, because he didn't know what was up with that. Whenever he did that it felt like something was missing there, something important. He stared at his reflection in the mirror while doing that. He tensed once again when he saw the ugly scar on his forehead, the dent, the marks from the stitches and surgery. He still couldn't believe that he'd survived that shit. It was damn ugly and horrible and he still couldn't really even see it clearly because of his constant blurred vision on his right eye, but he was still alive and that was all that mattered.

He was having good days and bad days, and this was a bad day, because he had a pretty horrible headache and the nervous twitching and shaking of his hands was bad as well. No matter how glad he was, no matter how lucky he had been, there were many things about the injury that still made life pretty horrible for him. Just yesterday he'd had another epileptic seizure in the middle of a conversation, and he hated how everyone was looking at him like he was a poor victim. He was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't victim.

Murphy shook his head and stopped looking at his reflection, because it made him feel sick. He headed for his spot in front of the window instead. When he saw the chair there he tensed once again, because he remembered the nightmare, and just seeing the object made him feel like an invisible rope strapped itself around his neck. He scratched his throat and shook his head once more. It was a damn shame that all of those headshrinkers were dead now. He was actually curious what that dream had been about, because he was still a bit scared and shocked to be honest. It had been so real...Maybe he needed to go on another trip to this bookstore in Belchertown and check out the section with the esotericism stuff, see if he could find a dream interpretation book.

Well, if he could still read more than a couple of easy sentences.

Thinking about books made Murphy sad and embarrassed again. He'd never told anyone about the fact that he couldn't really read books anymore. It wasn't like the gunshot had made him illiterate. It was just that when he read more than maybe a paragraph the words started slipping, the letters got all fucked up and he just couldn't really process them anymore. Ever since he and Simmons had ended up here he spent a lot of time practicing both writing and reading, but it was rather hard to do this on his own with no help. But he was too proud to ask anyone for help, and he didn't want them to laugh or pity him any more than they already did.

He swallowed, grabbed the chair and dragged it closer to the window, so he could sit down in front of it. He watched the sun rise for a bit, and although it made him feel happy and calm he couldn't smile and wouldn't smile, he just sat there with a blank look on his face.

Moments like this made him feel lonely. He knew that he wasn't alone, the other four members of his group were probably downstairs and waiting for him, but their company wouldn't really change anything about the constant dull pain in his chest. A pain that wasn't really physical or caused by any injury, it was just...there. It seemed to get worse with every month that passed. It felt like something had been ripped out of his chest, like there was something missing. Sometimes he even felt empty.

He figured that it had to be a remnant of his past, that his poor abused brain certainly missed his brother, although it was a bit fucked up. He didn't really remember much about his brother, Connor. Everything he'd left of him was the ugly scar and all his 'disabilities' he had because of that bullet. Whenever he thought about his brother he felt two painful things at once. Betrayal, hurt, anger and hatred because of all his problems that were there because of Connor, but at the same time he felt heartache, loss, separation and the desperate longing to be reunited with him. He honestly wanted to remember and see him one more time, to look him right in his eyes and ask him the one question that kept bugging him ever since he had woken up in that filthy apartment.

Why, Connor? I thought you loved me. Why didn't you understand me? Why did you shoot me? Why did you leave me there?

He rubbed his scared forehead and gritted his teeth. Whenever he thought about that struggle, all the begging and desperate attempts to stop Connor he felt so much anger, and he'd do anything to punch Connor in his face just to feel better. He wanted to scream at him, get into a fight and tell him exactly how he felt because of his fuck up, but he knew that this was just a terrible attempt of his own psyche to cover up the obvious real problem, to protect himself from something far worse.

He knew he didn't hate Connor, he knew that all his violent thoughts about him were just a lie.

The truth was that he really, really missed his brother, that the pain of separation and the uncertainty was far worse than the pain that was caused by the bullet. He liked to think that he was so angry that he couldn't breathe, but he actually could hardly breathe sometimes because he missed him so so much. Sometimes he even felt like crying because of that, although he would not cry. He was a survivor, and all his previous weaknesses had made him what he was now. Crying was a weakness so he wouldn't do it any more. But even that wouldn't stop him from feeling upset and empty.

He wondered where Connor was right now. If he was still alive, if he was still thinking about him. But he knew the truth. It was very unlikely.

Connor was probably dead. Either killed by walkers or the military and thugs. Or maybe he had died in the fire.
Boston was pretty much destroyed by now. By the undead. By the explosions, and what'd been left had been consumed by flames.

Maybe it's for the best, Murphy kept telling himself, kept lying to himself just to keep himself from getting even more upset. Connor dying wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him. What was far far worse was the fact that Connor could still be alive, and even if he did want him back and even if he did want to reunite with him it would be absolutely impossible.

Boston had been large. Massachusetts was even bigger. Then there was America, a whole continent, countless walkers, rivers, lakes, villages, towns, cities, fields, woods, deserts and mountains were separating them here. There was no more communication, no internet, no mobile phones, no texts, no letters, no television, radio or newspapers. It was impossible to ever get in touch with each other ever again. If Connor was still alive he'd never find him in a million years. It was like finding a needle in a haystack that was the size of downtown Boston.

The younger MacManus tried to no longer think about it. He looked down at his lap and then closed his eyes while pressing his hands together so he could start praying. He did that every morning right after he got up. He knew that it was pointless to do that because god had certainly left them with all that mess that was happening these days, but for some reason he still couldn't stop. He supposed it was just a habit, although he knew that he was silently praying for his group, himself...and Connor. Always Connor. No matter how hurt and mad he was at him.

103 days ago...
March 14th, 2008, 9:17am - Windsor Dam, Quabbin Park, Massachusetts

He joined the others for breakfast just like he always did. He watched Samantha feed two year old Suzie in the high chair and heard Mike and Simmons' talk about something, but he wasn't really interested in it. He ate Sam's self-made bread with the old stale Nutella they'd found back at the store in Belchertown and hid a tiny bit of the bread in his pockets. He did that every morning, so he could feed the duck family down at the reservoir later.

He had a look around the dirty kitchen. Him and Simmons had really hit the checkpot here. They had left Boston about a half a year ago and travelled to several parts of Massachusetts for a bit, and it had been Simmons' idea to get here to crash for the winter. They had arrived here early September last year, and they had spent the entire winter inside this very house. They were at the far south of Quabbin reservoir, hauled up in the former visitor center. There was nothing but forest and water around them. The next closest town, Belchertown, had been one of the cities that had been evacuated prior a major outbreak up here, so there weren't too many looters and walkers close to them. Since people had been forced to leave from one second to the next most of the stores and gas stations still had supplies, which they had dragged over here before others got them and before the snow had made it impossible to pass any street.

Murphy and Major Simmons had met the small family here. Mike, Samantha and their little daughter Suzie had been one of the very few residents of Belchertown who had managed to flee their city before the evacuation, and they were nice people, really. Samantha was younger than Murphy, just 26, but for some reason she still felt like a mother to all of them, probably because she was the only woman in their group. Mike was a young but loving husband whose main priority was his family, and after his attempt to hit Simmons with a plank and the Major overpowering him like it was nothing the father actually really appreciated him and Murphy now. He and Simmons had become some pretty good friends over the winter, just like the younger MacManus twin.

Simmons had told him more than once that he was the main priority, that they were going to get him to some lab as soon as they'd made sure that there was some place to go, and the army man was still convinced that Murphy was the solution. The dark-haired MacManus brother didn't really believe in it himself but he appreciated the fact that Simmons was so protective of him, that he covered his ass no matter what. Not just the reservoir but also Simmons himself was a goldmine, because he was an expert at combat and survival.

He was the one who called all the shots, who told him and Mike what to do, built and get, and they had made this place their fortress by now. They had survived the winter just because of Simmons after all. They had fish in the reservoir, a fireplace and Samantha's cooking skills, and everybody had a certain task to do. The truth was that part of Murphy didn't even want to find a lab at all. He liked it here and didn't want to leave after the mess in Boston, and he was quite surprised that Simmons was still such a believer and so disciplined. After losing his entire base, getting betrayed by his own men and watching how the civilians he was supposed to protect got eaten alive it was pretty impressive to watch how the man wouldn't lose his mind. He wasn't even a cynic, much in contrast to Murphy, who had lost a bit of his cheery Irish spirit because of everything.

The Irishman ate up and ruffled Suzie's fluffy brown hair on his way out. The rest of his group didn't ask questions anymore, they knew about his every day routine by now. He wouldn't talk during their mornings, he would just eat, enjoy their company a bit and then go outside to have a smoke and visit the duck family.

He still couldn't really run for long but always tried to do a little jog over to Windsor dam so he could keep fit in case they needed to run from walkers or thugs again. He did his little jog and had to stop soon because of his terrible smoker lungs, and he was glad that Simmons wasn't with him because he would kick his ass otherwise. This was another daily routine of theirs: Simmons was really keen on teaching him loads of military stuff in case he ever lost him and needed to make his way to some lab himself. He still couldn't really hold and shoot a gun because of his shaky hands, but he'd become pretty good at the next closest thing: working with knives.

He'd always liked knives anyway so he was pretty excited to learn all these throw and stab techniques. He'd learned how to make fire, find food and protect himself in man-to-man combat, even when his attacker had a weapon on him. No matter how much he really appreciated all the lessons he still hated to admit that Simmons was a pretty strict teacher. Despite their good father-son like relationship he was rather unforgiving and pretty demanding, and Murphy's constant fits of anger weren't really helping during their efforts to make him a good and trained soldier-like survivalist.

But Simmons wasn't here now, so he could stop running and he could cough his ass off, so he actually did that. He tried to stop it as soon as he reached the duck family by the dam, and just like any other time they made him smile. He knew it was stupid to share food with animals that didn't even need it whereas his group actually did, but he still shared some of his bread every morning.

"Hey fellas" he greeted the duck mother with her little ones and stopped walking so he wouldn't scare them away. He grabbed the bread crumbs from his pockets and made them smaller so he could throw them at the animals. He liked them a lot. They were silent, they wouldn't eat each other, they were just there, peaceful, indifferent to the end of the world. They were used to fighting for their lives every day, and Murphy liked to think that they actually had it better now that mankind pretty much ceased to exist. There was no one there to destroy their homes, no one to put up large dams and houses, no one who could cut down their trees or pollute their water.

After feeding the ducks the younger MacManus searched his other pocket for the cigarette pack he kept hiding from Simmons, so he could have his daily morning smoke. His old friend hated it when he smoked because it was bad for his health, but Murphy didn't care. The withdrawal symptoms were too bad. He had to keep going no matter what. If people really wanted this cure because of his immunity, then they would have to deal with that shit. He doubted that he was ever going to die from lung cancer, because he was pretty sure he was going to die a whole lot sooner. There were walkers, looters and the constant lack of water and food, so a couple of cigarettes each day couldn't do much harm anyway.

He smoked and watched the ducks for a while, then someone started speaking right next to him.

"My daughter loved to do that when she was little."

Murphy startled violently and turned his head to look at the man next to him. Simmons had managed to sneak up on him without him noticing it, and now the Major was just standing there, watching the ducks with a slight smile on his face.

"Jesus, ye scared te shit outta me" Murphy muttered and threw his cigarette in the water, but Simmons didn't seem to care.

It even looked like he was too lost in thoughts to notice.

"Her name was Jal. When she was four we took her to the fens and she would throw these big chunks of bread at ducks" he said and then chuckled.

Murphy just looked at him, and for some reason he didn't like the mention of the fens, like there was a bad memory connected to that, although he couldn't remember it.

"We tried to make her understand that she's supposed to throw little crumbs at them, but she just threw the whole thing in there."

Simmons chuckled and there was silence for a while, until Murphy decided that it was his turn to say something.

"Did ye lose her to those things as well?" he asked quietly and Simmons shook his head with a smile.

"No. Years before that. She was sixteen. I wasn't there, I was stationed in Europe at the time."

Murphy scratched his chin and nodded.

"Oh. Sucks" he muttered and felt bad for Simmons, who kept talking.

"One day she went to this store to get her magazine. I told her not to go there because the owner was connected to the mob. But since I wasn't there to be mad at her, she just went because it was two blocks from her school. There were three men who wanted to get their money from the owner at the time. He didn't have it and they started yelling at him. She honestly didn't know who they were and tried to step between them to protect the shop owner. The thing escalated pretty quickly and..."

Simmons fell quite for a while and Murphy bit his lower lip.

"I'm sorry, Keith" he said and looked at his friend, who just kept smiling at the ducks.

"The shop owner and my daughter both got shot. Right in the head. She was killed outright."

Murphy automatically rubbed his own head and sighed.

"Fuck...that's..that's not fair" he muttered and Simmons nodded.

"Four months. That's how long I stayed in Europe and buried my head in my work. I did a lot of things wrong back then. I didn't even go to my baby girl's funeral because I couldn't..."

He took a deep breath and Murphy was actually surprised to see the soldier get emotional for the first time.

" She was a good kid. Good student. Honest, stood up for what she believed in. She had her heart in the right spot and I was so proud of her. It took me four months to get back to Boston. I made the decision that I needed to get there just to find those men and make them pay for taking her from me."

Murphy just looked at him and got curious.

"Did ye get them?"

Simmons chuckled and shook his head.

"Of course not. I got back home only to discover that the three men involved were already dead."

Murphy shook his head.

"That's stupid. Shoulda been..."

"That's not all" Simmons interrupted him and Murphy looked at him again.

"I learned that they had been killed in a shootout at the Copley Plaza. Two men had entered their room through the ceiling and shot them up like fish in a tank. The shooter who killed my daughter had been shot right in the head. Dead on the spot."

Murphy raised an eyebrow and snorted.

"Fer real?"

Simmons nodded and then looked at the younger MacManus twin, a strange expression on his face. Murphy chuckled and nodded.

"Good. Now tha's what I call justice served right."

"I didn't just save you from Private Gilbert because of your special blood. I did it because I owe you the death of my daughter's murderer" Simmons said and Murphy stared at him.

"What?"

Simmons nodded and wouldn't stop looking at him.

"I recognized your face right away when my men found you. You and your brother were all over the news before the outbreak. For months we've been seeing your pictures because of your capture, trial, imprisonment and escape. They connected their murder to your crimes. Although I wouldn't call them crimes. My men were worried about you when we accepted you as part of our base in Boston. They didn't like having one of the famous Boston Saints in our midst, but I didn't care. I saw you as a sign of hope. Not just because of your immunity and the fact that you survived that shot. I think that Jal sent you to let me know that god will set this whole thing right. Just like you set her murder right back then."

Murphy snorted and turned his head. Just like any other time he heard about his past he felt so bitter. He wanted to hear about it but didn't at the same time, because he couldn't remember it, because it sounded like a stranger had done all these things, not him.

"I don't know what yer talking about. 'm not a saint" he muttered and Simmons just looked at him for a while.

"There's a reason why I followed you out here" he said and chose to ignore Murphy's last statement.

"Aye?" the Irishman muttered but wouldn't look at Simmons.

"Mike heard a broadcast earlier this morning. It came from a radio station in Georgia."

Murphy frowned and looked at him.

"Like, real people talking?"

Simmons nodded.

"They were talking about a possible success with a vaccine. It sounded like they were trying to contact France. Or Europe. No matter what it was, they said they were in Augusta. That there's a running facility that requests international assistance."

Murphy raised an eyebrow.

"International? Like there's anything left out there" he muttered and shook his head.

"Well, last time we heard from the UN it sounded like Europe and especially France was doing better than us at the time. But that was before we lost the signal."

Murphy sighed and started walking while putting a hand on Simmons' shoulder to animate him to start walking with him.

"Well, so ye want us ta get on a boat so we can travel over there? Last time I tried t'get to the harbor it didn' really work out" he asked sarcastically, and Simmons shook his head.

"No, but I already told Michael and Samantha that I'm going to take you to Augusta, Georgia."

Murphy looked at his friend, and once again he couldn't help but feel discomfort. He didn't want to leave this place, but it seemed to be important to Simmons, and he still wanted to find a cure as well. No matter how ridiculous and useless it was. And he'd kind of figured that they would have to leave sooner or later, because his friend wouldn't stop talking about it. So he took a deep breath and the released it through his nose with a sigh.

"Alright. Guess we're going ta Augusta then."

103 days later,
Interstate 20, 10:58am - 10 miles West of Augusta City Center

"I still can't believe I fell fer that shit" Connor growled as he stared at the road in front of them.

Daryl was sitting right next to him in the passenger seat, and he was actually surprised that Connor brought the topic up after more than an hour. They hadn't really talked much ever since the incident with the girls, because the Irishman had been too pissed and the hunter had been way too confused. He still couldn't stop thinking about his fit of rage because of the touching thing, but he was feeling a bit better about the whole thing, now that the weirdo feelings were no longer there. Now it were just him and Connor in a car, focused on Augusta and nothing else. Except that his friend decided to bring it up again. He gritted his teeth and stared out of the window to his right.

"Don't surprise me. You're as dumb as a potato sometimes" he muttered and Connor snorted.

"Eh, don't be talking about potatoes all the time just cos 'm Irish"

Daryl snorted, realizing his unintended pun just now.

"Gotta give it to those chicks though. That was pretty smart shit, tha was" the blonde said and then hit Daryl's chest, which startled the hunter.

"I thought yer a hunter, why don't ye come up with shit like that, huh?"

The younger of the two friends frowned.

"Cos we don't rob other people blind?"

Connor pouted and then nodded.

"Aye, guess yer right there" he muttered and then grinned at his friend.

"But should we ever get ta do shit like that, then yer totally playing the screaming girl part."

Daryl snorted and looked out of the window with a slight smirk on his face.

"I ain't the one who got overwhelmed by a fuckin girl" he said and got the exact reaction he wanted: denial from his friend.

"Bullshit! She tricked me that fuckin..she..she used her boobs as an advantage, that's what she did!"

Daryl huffed.

"Bullshit. That trap was more than obvious. I never would've fallen for that crap."

Connor snorted.

"Aye, cos yer ain't interested in a pair of boobs when they're right in fronta ye. Just look at the shit ye did with Carol all te time..."

Daryl fell quiet then and gave his friend an angry glare. Connor noticed it and looked back at him for a moment, and when he realized that that remark made Daryl really angry he decided to let it go. He was still pretty confused because his friend was acting so strange these days, so he tried to lighten the mood a little. He shifted in his seat and looked back at the street, only to crack a smile.

"But looks like she was pretty interested in a pair of boobs. Didn't that one chick say 'girlfriend'?"

Daryl shrugged and stared out the window so he didn't have to face the Irishman any longer. He hated how cocky Connor was now, although he got his behaviour. It was like Connor was trying anything to act all manly now, just to hide the fact that he'd been outsmarted by a woman.

"Yeah, so?"

Connor chuckled.

"Tell me, how many lesbians does it take ta screw in a lightbulb?"

Daryl frowned and could no longer ignore his friend, because now that was just stupid. He turned his head and looked at the Irishman, face clearly saying "Really?" without actually speaking it out. Connor looked back at him and tried to stay serious, and although he hadn't even finished the joke yet he still started chuckling and then laughing.

"Come on, how many?"

Daryl just frowned at him and shook his head with a sigh.

"Aren't yah supposed t'talk shit about that? Do yer Catholic thing? Tell them how 'unholy' that stuff is and how they're gonna end up in hell for screwin each other?"

Connor sighed and looked straight ahead again.

"Yer no fuckin fun, man" he growled and shrugged in answer to his friend's question.

"Besides. Don't exactly stick ta everything te bible says in case ye didn't notice. Being addicted ta shit like alcohol and nicotine ain't exactly that Catholic either. And I've slept with women without marrying them cos I don't do that sorta shit. And let's not ferget ta mention how the bible ferbids murder. Oops."

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

"So yah actually saying you're super religious but decide not t'stick your nose in other people's business? Like yah ain't gonna tell 'em they're gonna end up in hell for this and that?"

Connor scratched his chin and shrugged.

"All 'm sayin is, it might be wrong, but it's their choice, their life, and as long as they don't harm anyone like kids 'n shit then they can do whatever te fuck they want. I don't care. It's their business, not mine. Me 'n Murph didn't tattoo Veritas and Aequitas on us fer nothing. . Says what we believe in. Aequitas has more than one meaning, ye know? Means justice, equality, fairness. Equality, as in everyone's equal and it don't matter who ye are and what ye want as long as it doesn't do harm. I kill people who hurt others and who are evil sonsa bitches, not people who break every tiny rule that's mentioned in te bible. Would make me kind of a hypocrite."

Daryl just looked at his friend. He couldn't believe that Connor could actually talk some sense when they were talking about his religious side.

"I did kill molestors and rapists though, and she totally tried ta fuckin molest and rape me, so this woulda been a reason t'blow her head off if she hadn't been a fuckin woman" the Irishman went on and shook his head with an angry frown.

Daryl snorted.

"She didn't try t'fuckin rape you."

"'f course she did! Look at me!" Connor exclaimed and shrugged with a grin.

"Can't blame her though."

Daryl shook his head and looked at the road as well.

"Yeah, dream on, leprechaun."

Connor chuckled.

"Come on, don't think I didn't get why ye shot her hand."

Daryl's face turned to stone then and he automatically tensed.

"It's cos she had a gun, smartass" he defended himself and looked away.

Connor laughed.

"Aye, keep telling yerself that. Yer just jealous cos she was all over me 'n not you."

"Shut up" Daryl growled and Connor just laughed more.

"Why'd you gotta be such a fuckin dick all the time?" the hunter went on and Connor grinned at him.

"Geez, yah were less annoying when you were some emo freak" the younger of the two added and looked at away.

The Irishman stopped laughing then and sighed.

"I wasn't fuckin emo."

"Yeah, whatever."

Connor shook his head and grabbed the steering wheel a bit tighter. There went his good mood. So maybe Daryl thought he was annoying, but right now the hunter was far more annoying with his fucking mood shifts these days.

"So maybe I'm a dick, but yer a fuckin buzzkill with that stick up yer arse" he said, laughter and grin gone from one second to the next.

"Ain't got no stick up my ass" Daryl growled, although he kind of had to admit that he did.

Connor shook his head and looked out of his window to his left, now obviously cranky again. He still hated it when people wouldn't acknowledge or appreciate his humor.

"Since ye don't wanna talk about yer brother I figured I might cheer ye up a little instead, but noo...Mrs Dixon's gotta act all grumpy fuckin diva because I tried ta make a fuckin joke."

"Don't need your stupid jokes. They ain't even funny" Daryl retorted and Connor snorted.

"Fine, fuck you, then."

"Fuck you" the hunter countered and Connor wouldn't answer anymore.

Daryl shook his head with an angry growl.

"And it takes two lesbians to screw in a light bulb, and you're not fuckin invited" he snapped and turned his head as well.

Both men stared out of their respective side windows, until Connor snorted. Then he chuckled gently, only to start laughing.
Although Daryl tried really hard he still couldn't fight the smile that broke through, then he started grinning, and then he started laughing as well.

"That answer's completely retarded" Connor laughed and then looked at his friend to laugh with him.

"You're not fuckin invited?" he repeated and Daryl laughed even more. He nodded.

"Yeah, cos they're busy laughin at yer goddamn stupidity in there."

"Fuck you! Asshole" Connor answered and hit his friend's chest.

Both men laughed a bit more until they noticed the street sign that got closer and closer.
There they could read it, spelled out in white letters on a dirty green sign: AUGUSTA

Daryl nudged his friend and pointed at it.

"Looks like we're there."