Ressurection
Chapter 16 - Truth
"I...don't want to rush you, but...we need a decision. Today. We want to perform surgery tomorrow morning."
These words snapped Connor out of his state. He was tired and moody because he'd hardly caught some sort of sleep after what happened last night, and maybe he still couldn't stop thinking about it. He eyed the professor head to toe, saw all the papers on the man's table and despite everything he still had to crack a smile, although it wasn't really a happy one.
"I think you and I both know that it's nat really my decision. And that no matter what I say, yer still gonna do it" Connor said and wouldn't stop looking at the man.
There was a little pause, then he shifted and went on.
"Yer gonna do it no matter what - cut me open. Look at my brain. Poke it and cut stuff out of it just so ye can understand what the fuck is going on with these things out there. " he said and pointed at the window.
"And what's going on with me. With or without my consent."
The professor looked at the Irishman and swallowed nervously.
"I..we, actually. We still want you to feel comfortable with it. And I want to make you understand how important this is. How..how important and unique you are and what this will do for all the people out there, the people that are still out there. Women, children and men who are scared of something that we might be able to fight once and for all."
Connor snorted and then looked out of the window. It got more and more obvious that he was upset and hurt, and today was one of these days where he just felt lonely and wouldn't hide it.
"Might" he repeated. And the professor nodded.
"Yes. Might. But we stand a chance. And that's all we've got these days. A maybe-cure is better than no cure at all."
Connor leaned back and folded his hands over his belly with a gentle sigh.
"Aye."
Another long pause. The Irishman bit his upper lip and watched the sun outside.
"Y'know..." he started and then looked down at his bandaged hand with the Veritas tattoo.
"Before all of that shit happened...I lived in Boston. Had a normal life, a job, church, a shitty apartment.." he took a deep breath and swallowed.
"Twin brother..."
He said and there was another long pause.
"Then I had my first big event, my personal fuckin outbreak of evil. Invading our home and trying ta kill us. Just like these undead things out there. Only difference was that they used guns insteada teeth and nails. Me and my brother, we fought those first three evil bastards in our lives. Made it our calling after that."
He sighed and rubbed his temple because it pounded from Daryl's punch yesterday night.
"And we hunted them down and we killed 'em and they hunted us down and tried ta kill us, so really. Kill or be killed. 't wasn't that much different compared t'all the shit that's happening these days."
Another pause. Connor started stroking his tattoo. He felt both proud and bitter.
" I always knew that there's too many of 'em out there. Too much evil, too much fucked up shit. Murder. Robberies. 't was my brother and me against the whole world. Fuckin huge world of evil. Pretty much indestructible. And we both always knew that we'd just make a dent. That this fucked up world would always stay dirty, dangerous and lethal. We both knew that we'd never make it a real happier place, a safe place fer everyone. There'd never be a perfect 'good' world."
The professor just sat there and listened, obviously not sure how he was supposed to handle the information that Connor had been a serial killer before the apocalypse.
"I also knew how dangerous it was. I knew there was always this elephant in te room. High probability of getting shot, or stabbed, or captured, tortured and murdered one way or the other and all that."
Another long pause. The Irishman searched his pockets but got frustrated when he didn't find any cigarettes. So all he could do was keep talking.
"And I didn't care. 't was worth the risk. Because at the same time I knew that maybe I could save a couple of kids. Save a couple of girls from rapists or get them off te streets, save a bunch of women from abusive husbands or save a couple of highschool boys from an overdose. I knew that if I could just save one person's life, or five, or ten, or maybe even hundreds, as long as I could save some of them, then it would be worth it. Certainly worth our lives. Cos at least I could die knowing that I -did- something. That I -cared-. Much in contrast to the 'if it's not about me it's not my problem' kinda bullshit society we were living in."
The professor nodded slowly, and finally seemed to get what the Irishman was aiming at.
Connor remained silent for a while to gather his thoughts and make up his mind.
He cleared his throat and looked out of the window again.
"Maybe that's just like that now. Maybe I just...gotta not care about my own life fer the sake of many others" he muttered, although it felt so stupid, so ridiculous that people thought he was the person to save mankind or some crap like that.
And what made it even more ridiculous was the fact that he had the Jesus tattoo on his back, the man he admired and loved the most next to his brother. Jesus, who had died in order to free all men from their sins. There was no way he was anything like his idol, he kept telling himself. He wasn't a martyr, he was selfish about it, because even after all these months and couple of weeks of happiness there was always a part of him that just wanted to die, to stop running, to stop suffering, to stop feeling like he was only half there because his other half was dead.
Although he didn't really -want- to die or feel suicidal, if he had to die like in this situation right here, then he wouldn't do it to save mankind. That was just a nice coincidence. If he decided to do it then it wasn't out of the goodness of his heart or because he believed in mankind. That kind of hope and naivety had died months ago in Boston. No, if he had to die and decided to do it, then it was because he wanted to be with Murphy again, because this was his chance without it being suicide.
He cleared his throat and kept looking at the professor.
"What'd ye say? How high are the chances of me surviving this surgery, and what exactly could go wrong?"
Smith sighed and leaned back as well.
"You have to understand that even before society got destroyed brainstem surgery was one of the most difficult surgeons. The brainstem is very hard to reach. There are many things that we could accidentally hurt and destroy. There are bones, arteries, and veins in the way. The stem connects your brain with the spinal cord and regulates basic vital life functions like Breathing. Your heartbeat. Your conciousness, Arousal..."
Connor snorted at this.
"Aye, well. No need ta worry there I suppose. Not like I need that these days anyway" he muttered, and Smith kept going.
"It regulates your blood pressure, your digestion of food. And the spinal cord, as you know, is a precious instrument, that connects your body with your brain. That makes you walk, operate your feet, your hands, your fingers. We hurt any of that or if the infection already affects those parts and the surgery could and will be life-threatening. Important brain functions could cease to exist. You could lose your hearing or sight, your ability to walk or move. And there's a high chance that it could result in your death. Even without an accident - we don't have the best equipment to do this. Back in the old days we had 3D equipment and technology to help us. Now we're back to the basic concept. So it is very risky."
Smith put his glasses down on the table and rubbed his eyes for a while.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Connor" he said and then looked at the Irishman.
"We're going to try our best, give it our best shot to get our samples and data without hurting you permanently but...there is a high chance that you are not going to survive this. And if you do, then you could die from an infection post surgery because we don't have the right antibiotics to treat the after effects of such an immense surgical intervention. And even if you survive. There's little to no chance that you are going to walk away with just a scar on the back of your head."
Connor looked at the man and swallowed, quite taken aback by all the 'ifs' and 'maybes' and all the horrible things that could go wrong.
"But...ye could do something with it. Won't be fer nothing in the end."
Smith nodded.
"No matter what we get. It will be something we can work with. That could help us."
The blonde Irishman chuckled.
"There ye go again. With all yer 'might's and 'could's. How about a 'will' fer once. How about ye tell me something of certainty fer once, doctor Quinn"
Smith just looked at him, suddenly looking very determined.
"I love my son. And I want to save him from getting eaten alive and turned into one of those things. I want him to have a childhood without monsters, like the one I had. I want him to go out there without having to be afraid of walking corpses. I want to keep him safe and protect him. No matter what. I will do anything to assure that. And I'm sure that there's someone in your life that you want to save and protect like that, too."
Connor looked back at the man, eyes suddenly looking very sad.
"I needed that sort of miracle cure 338 days ago. Cos the person I really wanted to save and protect like that is already dead."
Smith looked at the Irishman in a strange way then, but Connor figured that this was only because the guy couldn't imagine what it felt like to lose someone like that.
The man had a biggest fear, but much in contrast to Connor he'd never had to face it. Yet.
The blonde chewed on his lip for a bit longer, and then let out a final gentle sigh.
"Alright, doc. You win" he said and looked out of the window again.
"I'm gonna do it. Ye got my permission to screw with my brain" he muttered and then grabbed his rosary.
When he looked at the professor again he tried to act all cheery.
"But hey, maybe te whole thing really is a miracle through and through. Maybe I really walk out of there without a single scratch because I'm so special. Already survived two near death experiences. Might as well do another one" he said and forced himself to grin at the man, to look like he was super optimistic.
You've got the visualize the end result. You've got to force it into reality. Believe. You've got to fuckin believe.
That's what he'd told Murphy once after all.
Smith eyed him at this remark and raised an eyebrow.
"Are...you sure?"
Connor nodded because he didn't want to think about it anymore.
Because he was scared shitless.
"Aye. Aye. 'm dying t'get this shit outta me" he answered and then chuckled at his own joke.
"Dying. Ha" he repeated and then took a deep breath.
He felt a bit awkward because Smith wouldn't really say something, it even looked like the guy pitied him.
Connor calmed down from his sudden adrenaline rush and then blew out some air.
"Just..give me a couple 'a hours?"
"To tell your friend? He seems to care about your wellbeing. Very much."
The Irishman snorted miserably.
"He doesn't give two shits 'bout me or how 'well' I am or feel" he said and looked away, replaying the rejection from yesterday night, over and over again.
I'm going to kill you if you do that again.
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.
He swallowed and then shook his head.
"No. I wanna pray, actually" he said calmly and then nodded.
"Set a couple 'a things right between me 'n god before...well. Can't be too careful."
Smith nodded and then looked at his papers.
"Of course. If that's what you want. As soon as you're done with that I need you to come back to my office so we can discuss tomorrow. And I...well. Before you go I need to take some more blood samples for further tests. We need a lot of that, actually."
The Irishman nodded.
He knew that they needed the blood and he wanted to help, but truth was that he wanted to be alone now.
But he still nodded and gave in.
"Aye. Take what ye need t'make the whole thing work."
Daryl was pacing around the facility. The corridors, the offices and the cafeteria, every single room he was allowed to enter, with guards constantly on his heels to keep him from doing something stupid, to keep him from getting to Connor. He'd woken up all alone in their room. The office had been empty. He'd been all alone on the cold hard floor, regretting everything he'd said and done the night before.
Connor had been gone all morning and noon, and he still wasn't there. Once again his obsession with his friend was getting worse and worse. He hated to be separated from the Irishman, wanted to know if he was okay, because he knew what had happened pretty much every time they had been separated. He wanted to apologize. He didn't want to talk about the kiss or whatever it had been though. He just wanted to act like nothing had happened between them. The hunter wanted his friend back, like on the balcony. Share cigarettes and booze. Watch stupid movies and laugh. Fight walkers and bash their heads in, kill thugs and fucked up people.
He just wanted him back.
It was way past noon when he finally saw Connor, and the sight made him furious. His friend was very pale and sweaty, like he was sick. He looked weak and a little bit fucked up, but he was still walking upright, clutching to his rosary with both hands as he entered their room and closed the door shut behind him. Daryl looked around with a worried frown but couldn't really see anyone who had followed Connor, and certainly not Smith, so he walked over to the door to enter the room as well. He wanted to know what was going on, what was wrong, and maybe he wanted to apologize.
When he finally opened the door he could see Connor on the couch, all sprawled out and face hidden in the crook of his arm that was bandaged.
Which would explain why his friend was white as a sheet. It looked like those fucking vampires had taken some of his blood yet again. Daryl entered the room and closed the door shut behind him. Connor wouldn't move an inch, despite the fact that he knew his friend was there. The younger of the two just stood by the door for a while, examining his friend, trying to make out what was wrong with him. In the end he decided that talking was his best option.
"What'd those fuckers do this time?" he asked and walked away from the door, trying not to sound worried or freaked.
He didn't really know how he was supposed to talk to Connor after what had happened last night, but he still needed to know. Wanted to know.
"What's it look like" came the quiet answer from Connor, who still wouldn't move.
He was just lying there, on his back, eyes shielded, bandaged hand on his rising and falling chest.
Daryl just stood there and watched him, chewing on his lip, feeling awkward and yet concerned.
"Looks like they pumped too much juice outta you" he observed and Connor chuckled without smiling. He even looked a bit miserable.
"No shit, Mr redneck Sherlock" the blonde answered and Daryl chewed on the inner side of his cheek, feeling both angry and frustrated.
He waited a bit, hoping that Connor would spill the beans and tell him what was wrong, but of course.
The Irishman treated him with his best punishment: complete and utter silence.
"Yah can't just let 'em do that shit. Don't care if they need your blood or whatever. Just like atcha" the hunter said, but there was more silence.
"Ain't right" he went on and kept his eyes fixed on the bandage of Connor's arm, and the pale visible part of his face.
Still no answer. Daryl could already feel it ache because it was so frustrating when his friend was like that, the exact opposite of how he liked him.
"They got your blood now. Maybe we should leave. Remember what Bob said? They let you in but they ain't letting you out? Maybe that's the first sign, here, man. Just, damn, did they pump everything outta yah? You're white as a fuckin sheet" he said and clenched his fists, suddenly feeling extremely angry because Smith had broken his promise, his rule not to touch a hair on the Irishman's head or hurt him during their stay.
Connor suddenly moved his arm so he could look at him, blue eyes tiny and yet piercing and cold. He let out a hollow chuckle and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh right. Ye wanna leave. Now that there's someone else fuckin me up insteada you."
Daryl frowned.
"I ain't..."
"Newsflash, asshole. My body. My say. 'm staying, the shit was necessary, I'm doin it and it's fine. It's fuckin ridiculous how ye act all concerned and protective of me and the next thing I know is I get another fuckin fist in my face."
"I don't..." the hunter began with clenched fists but trailed off, because he didn't even know what he was supposed to say. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue, the I'm sorry, yet again, but nothing would come out. He just stood there and stared at Connor, fists clenched, frustration and confusion building up. His friend suddenly shifted and lay on his side.
"'m fuckin tired" he said, back turned on Daryl.
The hunter swallowed hard, understanding what it meant.
"Yah want me t'leave yah alone?" he asked bitterly.
He didn't want to leave, but at the same time he really did, just so he could talk to someone, talk some sense into them, or punish them for going to far with his friend.
"Aye" came the answer, which made him even more angry and pissed.
He hated everything right now. He started walking and headed for the door, and when he just about to pull the door handle and standing right next to Connor's couch his friend suddenly spoke up again.
"Wait" he suddenly said and the hunter did as he was told, hand resting on the door knob, eyes fixed on Connor's back.
"I gotta tell ye something, actually" he said but still wouldn't turn around.
Daryl let go of the door knob and just waited. Connor rubbed his eye with an exhausted sigh and then turned on his back so he could look at his friend. The two men looked right at each other, both too tired and fed up with everything to mask how they felt. The Irishman looked tired and upset, Daryl looked also tired, but at the same time he was pissed and looked defeated. They just looked each other right in the eye for a while, not really fearing the intimacy of it all. The being mad at each other stopped from one second to the next because of that look, and after swallowing hard the Irishman finally spoke.
"They're gonna perform surgery on me tomorrow" he began and Daryl raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"What?"
Connor nodded and then stared at the ceiling with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Aye. I agreed t'do it. They gave me time t'think about it. And I decided ta say yes."
There was a long pause after that, as Daryl tried to make anything out of the information and Connor tried to come up with a way how he was supposed to tell his friend.
"Something wrong with you?" the hunter managed to force out, because he could hardly contain his emotional reaction to the words 'Connor' and 'surgery' being in the same sentence.
The Irishman smirked a bit and shook his head.
"Nah. That's exactly te point" Connor answered and swallowed yet again.
It took him another moment to speak it out and he used the time to sit up and rub his face. W
hen he looked up again he was facing his friend, who looked both angry and a little bit scared.
"They don't just need my blood ta help people, Daryl. The blood might help after a bite, and it might hide people from walkers like it did with ye, but that's not the solution t'our problem: Dead people comin back ta life and walkin around. But they think they could find something ta stop that as well. All they gotta do is open this thing up and get t'it" he said and pointed at his own head.
Daryl just looked at him, angry frown on his face, completely frozen on the spot.
"So?"
The Irishman snorted and shook his head. He got up and walked over to the window, to look at all the potential escape routes he'd come up with.
"Maybe yer right about the gettin outta here part" he murmured and Daryl finally shifted a bit, seemingly relieved.
"Okay" he answered, and when there was some more silence he kept talking.
"Let's get to it then. 'm gettin sick of the smell of this place anyw..."
"I mean that you should probably leave" Connor interrupted his friend, who froze yet again and looked extremely confused.
"What? Don't be stupid. I ain't gonna leave yah t'these freaks."
"Yes, yer gonna do just that."
Daryl gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.
"Listen...I ain't got time for this crap talk and I don't exactly think it's fuckin necessary t'act like some crazy bitch cos of last night.."
"It got nothing t'do with last night, dumbass" Connor said and turned away with an eyeroll, obviously hating to be reminded of it.
"Yeah of course. You can't handle rejection and talk and do shit about feelings, and because it ain't workin with me yah think you gotta..."
"Just shut up! It's not about that" Connor interrupted his friend and turned around with a furious look on his face.
And here he had it, the opportunity to fuck his friend over, to tell him lies that last night was the reason he wanted them to part, but he just couldn't bring himself to lie, because he knew that Daryl wouldn't believe it, because he knew that his friend deserved to hear the truth because friendship was about honesty, not secrets.
"It's about te fact that they're gonna cut me open t'get to the brain stem, where the virus is located, and there's a pretty high fuckin probabilty that it's either gonna kill me, or fuck me over and make me a cripple" he finally said, and he was actually surprised how good it felt to speak it out, to lift that weight off of him.
"Either way, I don't want ye here anymore. I want ye ta get back t'our people. The job is done after all. Yer saved my ass, ye helped me and got those people their magic fuckin cure, so no one fuckin needs yer ass here anymore. It's not about you, here. And they're gonna kick ye out anyway. Or worse. Maybe ye should just leave on yer own while ye still can" he said and avoided eye contact yet again. He kept looking out of the window instead.
For a moment Daryl just stood there, frozen, unable to move, eyes widened in shock, unable to say anything, feeling an incredible weight on his chest.
This couldn't be true.
"You helped me a lot, and I thank ye fer that, but now I think it's my turn ta help someone. And the way he explained it, I think we really could get something here. Just like Milton always said. I wanna help people. And the whole bite and immunity shite's gotta be worth something. That's what we came here for, that's what we get" Connor said.
"You agreed" Daryl managed to interrupt him, but even now it felt like he couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in on them, like they were standing at the edge on top of a skyscraper.
"Aye, I did" Connor said and then grabbed a cigarette from the table.
He lit it and took a long drag on it, trying to look all relaxed and okay with it, although he really wasn't.
"You're not really gonna do that" Daryl breathed, slowly being able to respond properly, feeling the anger and panic grow inside of him.
"Yes. I am" Connor said and turned around again to look out of the window.
"'s not even my decision. It's god's will, that is. Murphy once told me that I still got a purpose here. That it was our job t'clean the world from all the filth and the evil. I think it's my final job. God needs me ta do it. Just like he sent his son on Earth ta purify it and teach them his word. Someone's always gotta pay te price fer the greater good, I guess."
"This is complete and utter bullshit" Daryl suddenly spat and kicked the table so hard that he broke the rear panel.
Connor turned around in surprise to look at his friend, who already came closer to him.
"Yah ain't gonna do it. I won't let yah"
"Fuck you, it's my decision, not yers" Connor countered and shoved his friend away to keep him at a distance.
"You ain't gonna let 'em open yah up, even if it's just to check what the fuck is wrong with your stupid brain to think that some bullshit like this is worth it!" Daryl started yelling, and Connor yelled back.
"This isn't about me, or you, or us, it's about those people out there. And I got everything I need t'fuckin help them if I just fuckin let 'em!"
"Who are yah supposed t'help, huh? Everyone's dead, dumbass! The world went to shit! It's too late, we're fucked, everyone's fucked, there's nothin t'save, just look out there! There's dead bodies everywhere!" Daryl yelled, desperate to keep his friend from doing this, to change his mind. He was so incredibly furious that Connor was so stupid to believe this. His whole religious fanaticism was making him just as brain dead as all the walkers!
The Irishman suddenly shoved him hard and pointed at the door instead.
"Y'know what I see? There's fuckin kids out there. Ethan, Emma. Tom. And now just think about Woodbury. All the kids there. Carl. Judith. The world is far from fuckin dead, Daryl. There's still hope. It's our job t'protect their little asses, t'keep this world going no matter how fucked it is. And with one of the two most dangerous threats gone someone could get this world going again. Maybe just a town, or a city, or a state, I don't fuckin care. They cured other diseases before and there was always something or someone who made it possible. I've always tried t'help others and save people's lives. And 'm sorry if ye don't care about other people, but that won't change a fuckin thing cos I do."
"I care about you, alright?" Daryl spat and Connor pressed his lips together, just staring back at him. The hunter ended up having the same reaction like every single time when he couldn't believe something was happening because it was so ridiculous. He started walking up and down the office and looked at Connor every now and then. He suddenly let out a frustrated snort.
"Yeah, you're right. I don't give a rat's ass about anyone anymore. My brother was a tough son of a bitch, but even he died. So how high are the chances for those little rugmunchers to survive shit? Carl, Judith. Just think 'bout what happened t'Sophia. People who are pretty much dead already anyway don't need no cure. So here yah got your answer: the world is fucked. Even Dale got that before he died, and he was all about optimism and your righteousness bullshit. And we don't care 'bout others anymore, because they either die, or they get yah killed. You only care about your own, just like they do. You're gonna die for absolutely nothing, and that's just stupid. You really think that when you die, they're gonna find a cure and give it to everyone? Bullshit!"
The two men were yelling so loudly that they feared soldiers could enter and interrupt their fight, but even that wouldn't keep them from yelling at each other, because they were both so furious, so desperate to cling to something that mattered to them.
"Oh, fuckin great! Everything is fucked, the world is dead, everyone dies, bohoo. Then why'd ye cause all the fuckin drama about the possibility of me kicking the bucket as well?"
"Because I fuckin need you!" Daryl yelled as loud as he could and then there was silence. Connor looked rather surprised by the answer, hated how his friend would play this card right now. But he was too tired, of everything, of their constant fighting and back and forth, the endless terror and the endless struggling of surviving and dealing with the fact that there was no hope. He knew that his friend could be right about the cure, that he couldn't do shit if he was dead and those people right here decided to use a possible cure as privilege without him wanting that, but that just made him bitter.
Because he knew that in the end it would always be like that. He was immune to the disease, and it was still absolutely worthless. Daryl made it worthless. The world was fucked. Too destroyed, there were too many enemies out there, and he was lonely, he was nothing without Murphy, because even with the cure he still couldn't bring his brother back. Because even if they managed to cure everyone and restore the old order - nowhere would be a good enough place without his twin brother. He gritted his teeth because he hated his friend for that, how he kept playing his fucked up games with him, toying with him, fucking him up, and getting all possessive of him as soon as others tried to do it.
"Do you?" he asked and stared back at Daryl, not really buying it.
He took a deep breath and then turned around again before his friend got to answer.
"Doesn't matter. Cos all these people out there need me a lot more than you right now."
Daryl just stood there, still incredibly tense, angry, and desperate. It felt like a stab to his heart, because he understood what it really meant: others are more important than you. And here he had it yet again: the absolute proof that it had never really been about him, that Connor would always be selfish and fixated on what his brother would have wanted. He swallowed hard and clenched his fists.
"That ain't true" the hunter said, but Connor wouldn't say anything to that, so he kept going.
"I got no one else" he went on, and the Irishman turned around to look at him for a while. He looked hurt by these words, like he honestly regretted his decision, but then he suddenly smirked.
"Remember what ye told me back on the farm? That ye don't need anyone and that ye work best on yer own, and that I'm the one that needs you ta survive and not the other way round? I think you and I both know that it's always been that way. Ye were just fine before we met. I wasn't."
"That was before.." Daryl said but couldn't finish the sentence. He just clenched his fists and pressed his lips together because he just couldn't say it.
Connor snorted and looked away again.
" Yeah, well. Just like I said. Doesn't matter what's goin on. Nothin in this world is more important than this fuckin cure. That's what everybody's been looking fer and it would be stupid t'be selfish about it. I wasn't fuckin raised liked that" he murmured and the hunter had enough. He thought that it was incredibly cruel of his friend to really say that, to suggest that he was less important, that after everything he had done for him and after everything they had been through he would always be second best. Second choice. Second. Second. Second.
But even with that knowledge he still couldn't let Connor go, still needed him, because after losing Merle and feeling that much pain because of it, he certainly didn't want to feel that ever again. And just for a moment his brain replayed that night when the Irishman had been bit for the first time, what it had felt like to lose him. It had nearly ripped his heart out and crushed him, although they hadn't even been that close back then. He knew that really losing Connor this time would practically destroy him and make him a shadow of what he could've been. So there was only one solution left. The only thing he knew that would keep Connor here, even if it wasn't him, even if it was going to crush him and tear him to shreds. He'd rather lose Connor to someone else and know that he was still alive than have some of these bastards potentially kill him.
"He's still alive" he said and Connor turned around with a curious frown on his face.
"Who is?"
Daryl didn't answer for a very long while. He swallowed hard and looked at his friend, and part of him just wanted to knock him out, throw him over his shoulder and drag him out of this place that wanted to kill him. But he knew that it was too late, that he needed to pull his through, and so he did.
"Murphy" he said and the Irishman paled. He stared at Daryl with intense eyes, fists tight, jaw clenching.
"Listen. I know that ye don't want me t'do this. But yer not dragging him int'this. I'm not stupid, and it's pretty fuckin rude of ye t.." Connor said with a croaky and yet angry voice, but the hunter wouldn't let him finish.
"I ain't lying!" he spat because he was fed up with everything, because he was so desperate and wanted his friend to believe him.
He knew it sounded ridiculous, he knew it was bad timing and that it sounded like a cheap attempt to stop Connor, but it was true and he wanted his friend to get that.
"Are you really this stupid? Can't you connect all the dots? Bob told us. Immune kid who got bit. Your age. From up north. Then people here start talkin to me like they already know me. Smith fuckin told me, alright? He was right here, in this building, and I think I kinda understand now why he ran the fuck away. I bet they wanted to do the same shit to him as well, but it looks like your bro is a whole lot smarter than you and saw right through this bullshit. Smith told me that your brother thought they wanted to kill him, and so he ran. And we should do the same if we're..."
He didn't expect the sudden outburst from his friend, and startled when he was suddenly grabbed by his shirt and shoved against the next closest wall.
"You're the one talking bullshit! He is dead!" Connor roared and pressed him against the wall.
"You weren't fuckin there, you didn't see all the fuckin blood, you didn't hold his cold fuckin hand and blew his brains out with a gun. I was standing right in front of him. I pointed the gun right at his head, I hit him with a bullet and watched him fall. There's no fuckin way he survived that and don't you DARE lie to me about my brother and drag him into this bullshit!" he spat and then let go of Daryl, eyes filled with nothing but disgust and hatred, although the hunter wasn't really sure who he was hating right now: himself or him.
"It took me a damn long time t'come to terms with this shit. He is dead. So don't fuck this up fer me now" Connor said and then rubbed his mouth with his arm, trying to calm down, but his heart was still pounding in his chest.
He couldn't believe that Daryl could be so cruel and lie to him like that. He'd thought that his friend knew how much it still hurt to talk about Murphy, his death, how much he really blamed himself for everything he had done, and this just added up to everything even more. He wanted to make Murphy proud, he wanted to help people, he wanted to save others from experiencing the same shit he'd gone through the day his beloved twin had been bit. He had told Daryl before: he wanted to die a hero. He didn't want to be torn to shreds one day, or watch Daryl die, or anyone else. He wanted it to end, to be good, he wanted to go out with a bang.
And he was so angry with his friend right now that he couldn't stand his face, his fucking terrible lying face, and he needed to get out of here.
"He's never been here, I'm doing it, and that's my final say. Like it or not" he said and turned around to head for the door.
Daryl watched him leave, and for a moment he wanted to react to it the same way like he'd always done: stand there. Say nothing. Let Connor do whatever the fuck he wanted because he was so angry. He wanted to brood and be mad at his friend just so they could apologize and laugh and have a couple of beers later, but then it hit him: their time was really running out. Connor was going to get himself killed because he wanted to, and this was the second time in their relationship that he needed to cut a rope, to keep his friend from doing this because he didn't know what he was supposed to do without a friend and brother.
"No, wait, I swear t'you. I ain't lying, man. Your brother's still alive and we can go look for him if you just use your stupid brain for once and stop and think" he said and followed his friend, trying to grab the back of his shirt, but Connor moved out of his reach and kept walking.
"And I said I ain't buying it!" the Irishman spat, grabbed the door handle to open the door and leave.
Daryl stopped walking when the door was slammed shut right in front of his face. Then the anger took over, the frustration, the hatred.
He dug his fingernails in his palms and gritted his teeth but wouldn't go after his friend, wouldn't say anything.
He just stood there, unable to do anything at all.