And here's a new chapter! Sorry it's taken me so long to update. It's been a busy week/weekend. I had a postpro job and a radio shift to do, and then I got the lovely message that the very Sean Patrick Flanery got a copy of my Salvation fanfiction. Don't worry, I didn't break the "you don't send actors fanfiction" rule. I just wanted him to sign it so I could get the signed copy back, and guess what, he freaked out. My friend said that he wants a copy of it (but I'm not going to give him one because of said fanfiction rule), and he recorded a video with it, but I didn't get to see it yet because she needs to upload it when she gets back.
But omg. Sean Flanery aka Connor MacManus knows about this freaking crossover! I'm so fucking ecstatic! I can't wait to see the video/pictures.

About this chapter: yes, I know, Daryl is too grumpy, but I tried to explain their constant fighting, and I promise that it will get better. Remember what I said about tension? That is the unresolved tension, and it won't take long until it gets resolved now. It just takes one little incident, and Daryl will snap. I promise. Regarding Murphy: don't worry. They're going to learn about him very soon, it all gets sorted out, be patient, it will be worth it, he's still there, he's gonna turn up, everything will fall into place. ;) I know what I'm doing this time.

Okay, here it is, a very Connaryl heavy chapter. Nothing too shippy, but we're getting there. Sooner. Or later. You know Daryl. Hard to crack.

Resurrection

Chapter 11 - Past

It got dark by the time Daryl finally returned. Connor had been sitting on the window sill the whole time, lost in thoughts, chain smoking although he knew that he should rather save his last couple of cigarettes for later. When his friend opened the door the Irishman just looked at him for a moment, only to turn his head again so he could watch the dead city.

Daryl just stood there in the door frame, chewing on his lip and unsure what to do. He felt sorry for his behaviour earlier, but they both knew that neither really was the type to admit anything and apologize. He stood there for a while and watched Connor brood, then he closed the door shut behind him and walked over to his friend.

"See anything?" he asked, a peace offering, and Connor turned his head once more.

The Irishman looked at his friend, maybe judging him a bit, and Daryl winced when he saw the developing bruise on the blonde's jaw.
Connor cleared his throat and then pointed at something.

"Saw a couple 'a lights over there about an hour ago. Pretty sure they're still searching fer us."

Daryl looked in the direction Connor was pointing, but couldn't really see anything apart from dark houses and a few shambling undead in the streets.

"And then there's tha house over there, see?" Connor asked and pointed further East.

Daryl got closer to him so he could see what was going on, since the house was pretty far away.

"They got their lights on like, the whole time since it got dark. And it looks like it's pretty close t'the river. So I think it's gotta be that new hospital thing of theirs. Our next destination."

The hunter nodded when he saw what his friend was talking about.

"Good point" he said and then used their closeness to get a better look at his friend's abused and stubble covered jaw.

Connor seemed to notice it, because he couldn't hold back a remark on that.

"Looks inviting enough fer another punch?"

Daryl snorted.

"Since when do yah bear such a fuckin grudge?"

The Irishman just stared back at his friend. He wouldn't say anything, he just took a drag on his cigarette and stared out of the window again.
Daryl chewed on his lower lip and wouldn't stop looking at Connor, until he let out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't..I didn't mean t'do that. It just happens, alright?"

Connor snorted and rubbed his nose.

"Aye. Just like I happen t'ferget that everyone needs a fuckin invitation t'get closer than five feet t'you."

He looked down on Daryl and then raised an eyebrow.

"Watch out, yer close t'me. Shit might go wrong.."

"Fuck you" the hunter growled then looked down as well.

"Don't need no invitation. Just a fuckin warning might be nice. Yah just freaked me out, alright."

Connor kept looking at his friend, who avoided eye contact. He was pissed at Daryl, that was true. It wasn't like he was a sissy about fighting, and it wasn't like he didn't like a good old fight with friends, but he hated it when it caught him off guard, when it caused him to have visible bruises like some abused chick who got beat up by her husband or crap like that. Especially when he had attempted something entirely different just moments before. But then there was the other part to it, the fact that he knew why Daryl kept doing that. It was just an awkward issue, and he tried really hard not to take it personal. But it was impossible to do that because he was a stranger to that kind of past and the fear of touch. He sighed and shook his head.

"Listen, I understand that shit hit te fan in yer life before all that chaos. But ye can't expect me ta be understanding and more sensitive about all that if ye don't tell me shit about it."

Daryl snorted and turned away. Once again he could feel the panic rise, the disgust, the denial and hatred.

"Ain't nothing t'talk about. Son of a bitch got what he deserved."

His father, he meant, and clenched his fists when he realized that he had spilled that bit of information. Connor rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes because he was tired. Not just because of the running and nearly getting killed, but also because he was actually tired of everything right now.

"Just fuckin tell me, man. Fer real. Ye want me t'keep my distance? Fine. At least tell me why. I ain't gonna laugh at ye or shit like that. I've come across a whole bunch of sickos like that. Ain't nothing I haven't seen yet. Besides, what's so fuckin wrong about spilling that bit of information and burying it once and fer all? Think it'll make him rise outta his grave? And don't give me the 'it's done anyway' crap, because it obviously ain't fuckin done fer you. Cos yer repeating the same shit with me, and 'm getting sick and tired of that."

Daryl just stood there with his clenched fists and stared at the ground. He knew that Connor was right about everything, that this was far from done, but he did feel weak and embarrassed by it. Ashamed, because he felt guilty and didn't want his friend or anyone to know that he had been weak once.

"He beat me, he got bit, I shot 'im in the head and got my revenge. So yeah, it is done" he said, although he knew that the shooting was a lie.

His uncle had done it. Not him. He hadn't been able to do it back then. But he didn't want his friend to know that.
Connor frowned and looked at his friend.

"How come ye were even there when he got bit?If he was such an abusive asshole? Why stay with 'im?"

Daryl tensed, and although he knew that his friend was looking at him he just kept staring in the other direction, back turned on the Irishman.
He hated that that asshole was so smart.

"We were on a huntin trip up in the mountains. With my uncle Jess."

Connor snorted, which made Daryl look at him.

"Y'know. Ye keep playing the tough fucking redneck on me all te time. The oh so tough Daryl Dixon who doesn't talk about his past cos talking is fer whiny people. But ye didn't have the fuckin balls t'get away from this asshole, or your brother, even when you were like what? 34?"

"Hey don't go all smartass on me!" Daryl snapped and got closer to his friend, fists clenched and ready to punch because of that remark.
Their faces were only inches apart and he was like a pitbull in that regard, but Connor didn't look intimidated at all. He was used to that after all.

Daryl knew that it was all true though. He had been weak, which was exactly the point why he was desperately trying to be aggressive and had to destroy everything that was considered weak. A tight relationship with a friend, closeness, touch, and maybe even fucking more. He wanted it to be gone. Connor just sat there on the window sill and looked at him, all smug and thinking he was winning the whole thing. Which pissed Daryl off even more. He started pacing around like a nervous dog and wouldn't stop giving his friend angry glares.

"I was 33, and I didn't have no one else but them. So don't be all smug about that shit and hide behind your "I had a twin bro and a nice family" attitude. Merle was locked up, I had no fuckin job, no money, no chick or stupid mission from god" he spat and realized how pathetic he sounded. Connor kept quiet and just listened." All I had was that bastard. And family's family. You don't turn on your own blood" he snapped and when Connor still wouldn't say anything he just kept going.

"Besides, that shit was long since done by then. He tired t'put a fucking hand on me and I would beat the old fuck to a bloody pulp" he added, although that wasn't true either. He had thrown a couple of punches, but in the end he'd always lost. Because that sick bastard had been strong and a whole lot heavier than him.

He startled when Connor suddenly got up and approached him. The Irishman grabbed his shirt by its collar and yanked it down, and he was too paralyzed to fight him off right away. They both cold see the dark and purplish x-scar on his right collar.

"And how many years before that shit stopped huh? Y'don't think I get that that shit's right here's the reason ye flinch every time I get close t'you? Or Carol? Or anyone else?"

"Get off me" Daryl all but managed to whisper, because he was too furious and shocked to start yelling at his friend.
And for the first time he actually feared that he could really hurt the Irishman because of that.

"No I won't. How many fuckin years, huh? Tell me! When did that shit start? When was the thing with the dog? When you was 7? So when did he get started on that shit? When you was 6?5? 3? And how long before ye had the balls t'fight back? til ye were 16?14? What'd he do? Huh? Go all Daddy on you and fuck you up with hunting knife or a fuckin belt?"

"It ain't none of your fuckin business " the hunter snarled, eyes narrowed at his friend and shining nothing but hatred at him.

"What'd he fuckin do t'you? Come int'yer room at night and do shit t'you?"

"Shut up!" Daryl spat and tried to shove his friend away, but Connor kept invading his personal space and wouldn't back off. It soon became pretty clear that the Irishman had been playing him all along, that he was much stronger than the hunter and could easily win a fight if only he wanted to.

"Did he fuckin touch you?" Connor yelled at him and Daryl was fed up with the whole thing. He didn't hold back anymore and tried to throw a punch at the Irishman.

"I said shut up!" the hunter roared and groaned when Connor dodged his blow and shoved him against the wall, fingers buried in the hunter's creased and dirty shirt.

"Or what? Ye gonna beat me t'a bloody pulp to make up fer the fact that ye couldn't do it with Daddy?"

"I'm gonna kill yah!" Daryl roared and buried his knee in the Irishman's stomach.

He started throwing punches but for some reason still lost, because Connor tripped him up and made him fall to the ground. The Irishman grabbed is friend by his shirt and turned him around, only to sit down on him to keep going. He was even more surprised when Daryl suddenly started yelling to show defeat.

"He did, alright?!" he spat and Connor froze.

"He fuckin did" the hunter repeated, black hair partly clued to his forehead while the rest of it stood up at a weird angle.

His face was red because he was so furious, full of hatred and yet shame and defeat.
His eyes weren't only red from the anger and the fight, they also burned with the memory.

"Now get off me or I swear 'm gonna stab your guts where it hurts" he said and looked at the Irishman with crazy wide eyes, like a trapped dog that was baring its teeth.

"You fuckin done yellin in there you two shitheads? Yah wanna invite the whole goddamn city over while you're at it? Morons!" they heard the voice of an old man roar from the other side of the door. Then there was loud banging and another string of insults. Daryl had lockedthe door on his way in here just to make sure the old man couldn't jump them. The hunter craned his neck so he could see the door, and Connor looked up as well.

"Sorry, Bob!" the blonde answered and Daryl used his friend's inattentiveness to shove him off of him.

Connor gasped in surprised but managed to get a hold of himself, and after some struggling he managed to sit up, just like Daryl, who was trying to sort his clothes in a hurry and still looked rather emotional and angry. The Irishman sorted his clothes as well and then looked at his friend, remorse suddenly rushing over him.

"I...I didn't mean t'push ye like that" he muttered, although this was a lie.

He had done the whole thing on purpose, the insulting, the fight, just to get more out of his friend. Because he knew that Daryl would never talk about it on his own.
He knew that it was a dickish move but he had always been cruel in that regard. Because he knew how to get to the truth.

"Yeah, well fuck you" Daryl answered, voice still thick with emotion. He buttoned his shirt up and avoided eye contact.

Connor moved his hand through his messy blonde hair and sighed.

"I just wanna help you, man. Like you did back then. Cos that's what friends do" he said, which made his friend snort.

"No, you just want me t'let yah near me because after all this time yah still think I'm just some fuckin substitute for your brother. That ain't helpin, you're just selfish 'bout it."

"It ain't got nothing ta do with Murphy. Honestly. Not anymore. It's got t'do with the fact that yer the only fuckin person I've left and that yer the one who keeps me from being a miserable, lonely asshole" Connor countered and wouldn't stop staring at his friend in disbelief.

Maybe it had been like that back at the farm, but that had changed. He really cared about Daryl now, really saw Daryl and Daryl only. He had said goodbye to Murphy, and although it still hurt very much he was letting go. But the only logical next step for him was to cling to the next person. Because he was clingy and obsessed, because he had been a twin all his life and still didn't know how to be a person of his own.

Daryl turned his head and looked at the Irishman, surprised to hear him say something so honest and true. There was a part of him that still doubted it though, that told him that Connor was just using him like everybody else. And he wasn't too surprised that that part of his brain talked to him in Merle's voice. Even now he could see him sit between them, laughing at Connor and mocking him.

Yah know that goldieface's just lying to you, baby brother. He don't need yah. He don't wanna hear about your pathetic little life. He just wants t'be close to yah, hold his brother, see his brother grin at him, not you. And look at him. He'll do anything t'get that. He fucks with you, and he even killed me t'have his little bro lookalike all t'himself. You don't need him either, Darylena. Now that I'm gone you don't need no one. They're all gonna die anyway. Don't turn your back on your big bro Merle. Don't betray me with the traitor who got me killed.

He gritted his teeth and nodded in his mind, because Merle just had to be right.

"I'm here to get your ass to this hospital so we can find a cure. Not t'talk about your whiny feelings. Whatever yah think is goin on between us. Ain't true. I'm stuck with you cos I saved your life, because you saved mine, and because yah immune t'this shit. And because you're a decent fighter. Nothin more."

It was like he could almost hear the crashing of something that sounded like porcelain in his friend's head. Of course, that wasn't real and just a shitty metaphor, but he thought of that when he saw the look on his friends face. He would be lying if he said that it didn't hurt to see Connor like that, because it did. But there was no way he would get any closer to the Irishman than he already was, because he didn't want to feel what he'd felt when Merle had died. Getting close and actually loving people just meant that it would hurt even more when you lost them.

And there was an other part to that as well. Seeing the lights had made him realize that. The hospital and cure could mean that he could lose Connor.
He'd heard Bob talk about it after all.

Why'd you think that kid ran away from them? You go in there, they ain't lettin you out. It's like prison, but with needles, scalpels and nerds and shit.

He didn't want to be weak, especially not after everything he'd just admitted. His past, his father. Connor had been right about it. He had been weak back then, unable to escape what brought him down. But he wasn't like that anymore. He knew what was right for him

And it didn't matter that he wanted to take everything back, close the distance between them, maybe even hug that Irish weirdo because he mattered so much and didn't even fucking know it. He wanted to go back, to the prison, the fire station, when everything had been easier between them, when they'd done all sorts of pathetic shit like hugging, taking care of each other and even sleeping in the same bed.

Except that Merle had destroyed all that. With his return and most importantly: his death. It wasn't like Daryl was back to his old life and attitude. He knew exactly what he was doing and that it was wrong, but the truth was that he was just bitter. He was having a hard time because he'd lost his hope. Merle had been an asshole. Connor was right about that. But as long as Merle had been alive, back at Woodbury or with him at the prison, everything had been okay for him. It had kept him from having to adjust to this new world, because before Merle's death nothing much had changed for him. He'd always been running, always been fighting and hunting. But there had always been hope. Family.

But now that he had lost all that, he was scared of relationships. More than ever. This new world sucked and he hated it, and there was no way he was allowing it to take even more from him. Although that meant that he had to keep something from himself.

Connor pressed his lips together, obviously hurt and instantly sober after all the emotional mess and admitting shit.

"Right" he just said and got up, while Daryl kept his eyes locked on his friend.

Silently praying that Connor should see right through him, read his mind, see that he was lying, just so he didn't have to speak it out. But Connor didn't do anything like that at all. He looked defeated and went back to the window sill, cigarette in his mouth, lost in thoughts. Daryl just sat there on the ground for a little while longer as he watched his friend, wondering about only one thing. How much more would it take to break Connor? His spirit?

He didn't know why he kept doing that. Why it got worse and worse the stronger their connection got. Or maybe he was lying there again. He knew why he was like that: he'd been raised like that. If something is yours, if you're in a deep relationship with someone, if it's brotherhood, family or friendship, if they're yours, then you've got to break them. Destroy them and mark them with bruises and words, just to let the whole world know and make them see that they're yours. That they belong to you, and that all the pieces that make them them belong to you. You've got to slice them up, take them, keep them to yourself just so no one else can have that.

Fucked up, that was, and he knew it. He just didn't know how to change that. And he wished that Connor could understand that Dixon family code.

"We should sleep. Gonna be a tough day tomorrow" Daryl said and got up to head for the bed.

"Yeah" Connor answered from the window, voice lacking strength or emotion. He didn't sound like anything, his voice just sounded empty.

Daryl had been asleep for a couple of hours, so he didn't take notice of Connor when he finally climbed into bed as well. When the hunter finally woke up in the middle of the night he was actually surprised to see that his friend was with him, although the blonde had his back turned on him and there was a whole lot of space between them. Connor was lying right by the edge of the bed, far away, fully clothed and fast asleep.

Daryl watched his friend's back rise and fall with every breath the Irishman took, and once again the guilt and pain kept stabbing the insides of his guts.

He just wanted to take it all back.

He hated to be like that. Grumpy, pissed off, lonely and broken. He wanted to change, he wanted to be like the Irishman, hell, maybe he even wanted to be this Murphy guy. He was really impressed with his friend. How much he could take, how he wouldn't just say fuck you, turn his back on him and leave. Because Connor could do that now. He had taught him to track and hunt, the guy had done a whole lot of training back at Woodbury. He was strong, he was smart, he could hunt and kill. He could survive without him now, and Daryl knew that.

The only thing that kept Connor here was the fact that he had Murphy's face, but now that he really seemed to get over his twin's death he wasn't too sure if that would keep the Irishman here if he kept being such a dick to him. He kept pushing and pushing Connor away, but at the same time this was his greatest fear. What if the Irishman really did it one day? Leave him, listen to him to fuck off? He was walking on pretty thin ice here, and that scared the crap out of him.

"Connor?" he called out and automatically tensed, because he didn't want to screw this up again.

There were so many fucking things going through his head, all the things he wanted to tell his friend.

I'm so fucking sorry. I don't wanna hurt you anymore. You fucking matter to me. So much, you don't even know. I don't even deserve to have some bastard like you in my life. You're the first person to care about me, you're the first person to actually ask me about my life. I want you to be close to me. I want you to hold me and all that sissy crap. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I fucking need you.

But for some reason, all that ever left his mouth, was nothing but the exact opposite.

Fuck off, I don't want you here, I hate you, I'm going to kill you, a punch to your guts, a fist in your face, a knife to your throat, two hands around your neck and ready to strangle you to death.

He wanted to mentally slap himself.

Connor wouldn't answer so he called out again, but it looked like the Irishman was knocked out cold. Exhausted from the running and fighting, hungry, and burned out from the incredible heat. Daryl started chewing on his lower lip, and now that he thought about it, maybe it was a good thing that Connor wouldn't wake up. He struggled for a whole while. Chewing on his finger nails, tossing and turning, until he had enough and just did it. He moved closer to his friend, closing the distance, actually shaky because he was scared shitless by his own behaviour. He prayed to god that Connor wouldn't wake up now, because this was something he needed to do without his friend actually knowing about it. That would make him a hypocrite after that shitty speech after all.

He froze when Connor shifted once, panic rushing over him. But then the blonde mumbled something and twitched, like he was still fast asleep and dreaming about something. After just lying there all motionless and staring Daryl started moving again, and this time he managed to get close enough. He was careful, and after all the fighting and punching, actually freakishly tender, scared to wake his friend up or break anything when he was asleep and vulnerable like that.

But he still closed the distance between them until his chest connected with Connor's back, dug his arm under his friend's and then wrapped it around his waist. He only moved every couple of minutes, still too afraid to wake the Irishman up, but when it got clear that the blonde wouldn't do that he moved his hand up his belly and then to his chest, so he could dig his fingers in Connor's shirt and maybe he pulled a bit, because he was getting desperate.

He was actually surprised how much he needed that, the closeness when their everyday life was all about pushing and distance, but just for a moment he wanted dragging and closeness. He could feel the rosary in his hand and dug his fingers even more into the fabric of Connor's worn out dark grey shirt. The hunter moved even closer and buried his face in his friend's shoulder.

"'m sorry" he mumbled into Connor's back and froze yet again when the Irishman suddenly moved, into the embrace, and when Daryl looked up in horror he could see that Connor's eyes were still closed, but he was actually smiling. It startled him even more when his friend suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers.

He already wanted to say something and part of him couldn't believe that they were actually doing that crap. Although it was awkward as hell and -so- not him Daryl had to acknowledge the fact that he was actually making Connor smile for once. Because smiling meant happiness, not pain, and that was a good thing to cause. The best thing to cause if he was honest. His mouth was already open, ready to say something, when Connor suddenly moved yet again, grabbed his hand even tighter and spoke first.

"Murph" he said and smiled even more without opening his eyes, and Daryl turned into stone, the tiny smile gone, eyes empty and emotionless.

Connor wasn't smiling because of him, because of the touch. He was smiling because he thought that he was his brother.

Daryl let go of his friend and then moved away, back to his old position, because there it was again: the ghost in the room.
Right between them, all curled up around Connor like a fucking snake, looking just like him and giving him a devilish, mocking grin.

He's mine. He always will be. I won't ever be gone Murphy said to him in his mind, and Daryl just clenched his fists.

How awful it was that the little prick was already dead. If only he was still alive. Just so he could kill him again for getting between him and Connor. The hunter pressed his lips together and tried really hard not to feel hurt, but he couldn't fight it. He turned his back on the Irishman and grabbed his pillow, buried his fingers in there, ready to rip it apart.

He just wants t'be close to yah, hold his brother, see his brother grin at him, not you. He don't need you.

Merle kept repeating in his head. Over and over again. Daryl cursed and then threw the pillow away.