Resurrection

Chapter 22 - Pain

48 days ago...
May 10th 2008, 4:04am, Savannah, Georgia

He could hear the rhythmic wailing, moaning and gentle crying non-stop, and that didn't exactly help him sleep. Murphy started tossing and turning, facing the tiles and trying to catch some sleep, but it was useless. Not only did the constant nightmares torture him, Joyce's permanent pain made it even worse. The woman did have her good days, that was true. He'd been stuck down here for about four days now, and that had been enough time to witness the many different stages. There were nights and days where Joyce looked and acted like she was perfectly fine. Then there were days and nights like this one, when the pain didn't just keep her awake, she pretty much kept everyone awake. It didn't take long and Brie was with the woman, trying to comfort her and make it better somehow, but everyone pretty much knew that that wasn't going to change anything.

Murphy turned around once more, letting out a harsh and frustrated sigh as he put his folded hands underneath his cheek and tried to sleep on.

More whining. Gentle sobs and Brie's quiet and hushed calming words.

Murphy slowly turned on his back, so he could turn his head in the direction of the two women by the body refrigerator. For a while he just watched them, feeling incredibly tired, annoyed but also….sorry. He stared at the cold ceiling of the morgue, not only wanting the noises to stop because he wanted to sleep, but also because he didn't want the old woman to be in pain. He knew exactly what to do, because he had been thinking about it for days now. He needed to get out of here, get the stuff they needed and bring it here. This way he would make life down here a whole lot better, and they would -finally- trust him. He lifted his head up so he could look to his feet, where the door to the old elevator was. It would lead him straight up there, on top of their morgue, where the overrun hospital was with all the walkers, all the bandages, all the…pills.

Another gentle wailing sound was enough to send him over the edge.

"Alright, fuck it" he murmured after a while and got up from his mattress.

When he started walking Brie raised her head and looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked as the Irishman grabbed his jacket and much to her shock: the knife they had taken from him just a couple of days ago.

"Vernon! Vernon!" Brie instantly yelled and got back on her feet in horror, fearing that the younger MacManus wanted to kill them.

"Shut it! I wanna help ye!" he said and then grabbed one of their flashlights before Vernon or the other men got a chance to get up and grab him.
The younger MacManus ran for the elevator and ripped the doors open, causing Brie to scream even more.

"No! Don't open that! He's gonna kill us all!" she roared and tried to run after Murphy, but the younger MacManus twin was faster than the old and sickly.
He entered the pitch black elevator shaft and had a quick look around, only to run for the emergency ladder and start to climb up them.

"Wait! Hold him back!" Brie roared and he could hear the others.

"David! You don't have to do this, please! This is suicide!" Vernon called after him, up the shaft the younger MacManus eagerly climbed, but then Clive suddenly hushed the both of them. "There's walkers up there!" he reminded them and then there was more muttered talking, and a couple of minutes later Murphy heard the sudden creaking of the elevator doors. When he looked back down he was quite shocked at first, because he was high above the ground, and also because the others had closed the doors yet again, leaving him all alone in the dark elevator shaft.

"Nice way ta fuckin thank me!" he yelled back down and then froze when he heard the shuffling of feet above him. The groaning and smell told him enough about all the walkers who were probably waiting for him up this ladder, and that certainly added to the creepy atmosphere of the whole complex. He couldn't believe that he'd been sleeping right next to this creepy thing for the past couple of days.

He held on to the ladder with one hand and then used his other hand to cross himself with closed eyes, praying for god to protect him and not letting him fall or anything like that. This hadn't really been his plan, to get locked up in this creepy elevator shaft, but he knew it in his guts that he had never really been one to come up with good plans. The younger MacManus really wanted to do this though, to help Joyce, do some good and finally get some peace down there.

Four days he had spent watching the group, how they worked, interacted, what they talked about and what they did, and he was convinced that they weren't bad people. Not like those soldiers back in Boston, and certainly not like those people in Augusta. He had been very careful not to tell them about his immunity, careful not to show them all of his scars, and so far it had worked. Not one single incident, they were protected down here, the sewers were a perfect maze to keep attackers away, Augusta would never find him, and he had food and shelter. He wanted this to work out, wanted to stay, so he kept going, fingers clutching around the bars of the ladder as he kept pulling himself up.

It didn't take too long until he reached the first open elevator door that led inside the hospital, and he wasn't too surprised to see the countless walkers up here. The younger MacManus waited until one particularly ugly walker lady shuffled past the door, so he could climb inside the hospital with an awkward huff. He could see them all staggering around the corridors, some of them in hospital gowns, others wearing doctor's suits or normal clothes. The place was absolutely crowded with walkers, and despite the fact that Murphy was immune it still sent a shiver down his spine and scared him. He didn't want to picture what the place had been like during the early days of the outbreak, with doctors trying to help bitten patients, only to get bitten in return and making the whole thing even worse.

He carefully walked among the walkers, down the corridors, looking inside several rooms to check out if he could find any pills or other medicine. There was a part in him that remembered that this looked exactly like in one of the many movies he had watched with his brother, his stupid stupid brother who had annoyed him with this stuff all the time. It made him frown and maybe a bit angry. Of course his poor abused brain would remember useless shit like watching horror movies late at night, but then forget all about the important details like the rest of his family. His mother's and father's names, whether he'd had a family of his own, what the little girl's name had been, if she had been his daughter and so on.

Murphy shook his head with an angry frown, cursing himself for getting lost in thoughts yet again. He did that a lot, all the time, wondering who he had been and what had happened before all this, and sometimes he did this when it was really inconvenient. Like right now, when he was surrounded by undead people. The younger MacManus half-jogged half-tiptoed his way through the overrun hospital, checking out rooms, receptions, always on the lookout for any unwanted guests like those Crawford guys or walkers who got too interested in him.

It was then when he noticed a room further left, where he could see countless shelves through a large window. Shelves that were filled with a load of little packages of pills and other medicine. And the best part about it all was that the room wasn't locked, the door wide open, inviting him in to take whatever he needed.

Murphy looked up at the ceiling, left hand automatically grasping for something on his chest that wasn't even there. He thanked god for always looking after him and wouldn't fight the smile that broke through as he crossed himself yet again. The dark-haired MacManus then jogged over to the room, grabbing one of the countless plastic bags from the trash on the floor so he could use it to put the pills in there.

Half the shelves were empty from the early days of the outbreak, when everyone had needed medicine or just stolen it for the sake of having it. But even with all of those packages gone there was still enough there for the Irishman to take, and after looking for antibiotics and painkillers he just put everything in the bag that he could possibly find. Maybe the walkers really were useful now, because they had kept other people from looting the place before him.

The situation was scary and dangerous but it still made him smile because he knew that he could handle himself just fine, without his brother, without Simmons or anyone else. It also made him smile because he knew that it was going to help an old lady. He hurried and threw everything inside the bag so he could get out of here, because even with all his luck and belief he was still getting creeped out by the constant groaning, the shuffling of feet, the smell and the darkness. When he turned around he let out a surprised gasp, because one of the walkers was suddenly right inside the room with him, an doctor that had once been just about his age, with one arm missing, and a terrible hole in his belly. The walking corpse was moving around slowly and almost lazily, blocking the exit and occasionally staring at Murphy, head cocked and tired moans escaping his mouth every once in a while.

It had been almost a year since he had been bit, but the sight of the undead so close to him still sent a shiver down his spine and paralyzed the younger MacManus twin. He stood there opposite the walker, staring at him with wide eyes and clenching his fists as he tried to stay in control, but his hands still started shaking. He tried to make himself feel better by talking and maybe joking, to hide the fact that he was absolutely terrified by the undead's presence.

"Hey there, Doc. Ye know a thing or two about cancer patients? What should I get?" he asked the walker and tried to smile, only to flinch when the undead suddenly looked right at him and then shuffled in his direction with a low growl. Murphy backed off and ran right into a shelf behind him, back connecting with the plastic and sending a couple of packages flying down to the ground because of the impact. He had forgotten all about the fact that the undead were still attracted to noise and speech.

"No" he gasped and turned his head to the side as the undead kept coming closer and closer, until he was standing right in front of him and started sniffing on him, his face, and then finally his neck. Murphy was really shaking by now, eyes squeezed shut because of the fear and terror. It wasn't like he was a scared little bunny, he could usually keep it under control, stay calm and even kill many of the walkers. But it was the closeness like this that really terrified him, because it reminded him of that terrible day in Boston, the day that had changed everything for him.

The walker, right behind him. Teeth piercing his skin and pulling, yanking and tearing at his flesh. The terrified scream that escaped his mouth right then and there, the struggle, the panic, the incredible pain in his shoulder as he tried to pull the undead away from his shoulder. And then there he was, Connor, just down the street. Staring at him with wide eyes as the undead kept pulling and biting and sending waves of blood running down his neck and shoulder. The staring right at each other, the look on his brother's face and then his screams.

NO! MURPH!

And here he was, with another undead right in front of him, just standing there and sniffing on him like a dog inspecting a dirty sock.
Murphy could hardly stand because he was trembling so hard, squeezing his eyes even more shut and fighting tears.

"No!" he shouted once again and then shoved the walker away. He knew that he should probably kill the former doctor because he was one of the couple of undead who were getting too interested in him despite his 'invisibility', but right now he couldn't do anything. He needed to run, away from the threat, away from the terrible memories. So he grabbed his bag and clenched his hand to a tight fist as he started running, back to the elevator, back to his new group, and away from his painful past.

"Pain killers. Antibiotics, bandages, vitamins and whole lotta other stuff I got no idea what it's sapposed ta be good for" Murphy announced and threw the plastic bag right at Vernon's feet. The old man was standing there in front of him, pistol pointed at the Irishman's chest, with Brie standing right next to him. About a second later Clive and Boyd came to join them by the elevator door, where the Savannah group was standing and keeping the younger MacManus from getting back inside their morgue.

20 Minutes. That's how long it had taken the younger MacManus to get the stuff they needed from the hospital. For a moment everyone just looked at him, then Vernon finally crouched down to get the bag and have a look inside. Murphy used the time to walk past the group, closing the elevator door behind him and then heading for his mattress in the corner.

Truth be told: it had been easier than he had thought. He was still out of breath and his heart was pounding in his chest, but there had been no real complications apart from the one 'incident'. He had been scared, that was true, because it was a creepy dark hospital in the middle of the night that was filled with walkers, the monsters that had caused him so much pain about a year ago. But now he was out of there, he had the medicine that Joyce needed, he had done it and he sure as hell had proven himself big time.

The past was done. Locked up with those things up there. And he was back down here, with the people he wanted to make his new family. He could see the surprise in their eyes as they took a closer look at all the medicine he had gathered for them. So selflessly, without getting harmed, coming back here and not bearing a grudge after they had treated him almost like a dog for the past couple of days.

Murphy sat back down on his mattress, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down as he got rid of his jacket and knife. He had also 'borrowed' a couple of old newspapers and magazines from one of the waiting rooms, simply so he could entertain himself and distract his mind. He leaned against the wall, grabbed one of the magazines and almost hid behind the cover, so he didn't have to face the rest of the group any longer and keep them to their medical supplies and opinions.

It only took them a couple of minutes and then Brie walked over to him, just standing in front of him for a while to watch him read his magazine.
Murphy would look up every now and then, giving her a stubborn frown until she finally started talking.

"How did you do that?" she asked, now no longer looking hostile, now she looked grateful and maybe even stunned.

"Going up there, getting the stuff we need without a scratch, a bite or anything like that? How did you..." she examined as she looked at his clothes, his hair and his face. Everything was clean and neat, just like before he had left them. Murphy slowly put the magazine down, biting the inner side of his cheek as he turned his head and watched how the other men gave wailing Joyce some of the pills he had gotten for them. After about a minute Vernon turned his head because he could feel that he was being watched. The old man just looked as stunned and puzzled, but after a moment of looking right at each other he smiled at Murphy with a gentle nod while mouthing a grateful 'thank you'.

Murphy nodded and smiled back. It was an innocent honest smile that made him look so much younger again, and he turned his head to share it with Brie.
He wanted her to know that he considered this their chance to start over, that maybe she should stop treating him like he was their enemy.

"God's watching over me" he said and then automatically stroke his right lower arm, the one with the tattoo.

It just had to be like that. All the dangerous situations he had survived. A bite, a headshot, Boston and Augusta, now this hospital and god knows what other things were going to happen to him sooner or later. He could feel every single tattoo on his body, every religious sign, and he knew that it was true. He had god on his side. It was his mission to help the good and fight the evil. And he certainly didn't need his stupid brother with him as long as he had these people, as long as he had god with him.

After months of struggling with his injuries, the many 'why?' questions, after losing everyone and everything, his family, his friends, his home, his past and himself he finally felt good again. Doing nice selfless things for people in need made him feel good. He just knew it in his guts that from this day on everything was going to get better again. So he kept smiling at Brie, almost sheepishly, until she finally returned a tiny smile and walked back to her group.

48 days later
June 28th 2008, 01:02am, Augusta, Georgia

Daryl stared at the ceiling, head resting on his arms, listening to the rain outside. Connor was still tossing and turning right next to him, fighting the pillow, the blanket, whatever he got hold of to fight the obvious fact that he was far too nervous and excited to sleep. The hunter couldn't sleep either, not only because of moving Connor right next to him, but also because he worried just as much about the next day. He knew that they weren't too far from Connor's brother, and despite the fact that he obviously hated the guy he was actually quite curious himself.

One year of hearing Connor talk about the kid. Over and over again. And now he was going to meet him, after hearing everything. Every last detail of his life, what he had looked like, what he hated or liked, it felt like he knew -everything- about this Murphy kid by now, although they had never seen each other in person before. He was curious if they really looked like each other, if the kid was going to be like Connor because they were twins, and most importantly: how -Murphy- was going to handle the situation with him being in the picture now, him being a part of Connor's life.

Part of him couldn't wait to fight that little bastard over this. Maybe punch him a couple of times, and express his hatred.
To show him who was better for the Irishman. Because the little shit was the reason why Connor had nearly managed to get himself killed multiple times.

Another movement right next to him, and the rustling of the sheets.

Daryl turned his head abruptly and stared at the man next to him. Connor was lying there, back turned on him, the leg with the twisted ankle resting on top of the blanket rather than underneath it. He could see how the Irishman was slowly rocking his foot back and forth, back and forth, stroking the surface nervously and making the bed shake which each of his movements. The first thought that crossed Daryl's mind was how ridiculous Connor looked in his jeans. They didn't really fit his skinny ass, and it was just weird seeing them on someone else. When the Irishman moved his arms yet again and fought his pillow his friend finally had enough. He turned on his side and moved closer to the blonde, so he could catch the moving arm midair, hold it in place and squeeze hard.

"Will yah fuckin stop movin now?" he growled and Connor turned his head to look right at him with an angry frown.

"Fuck ye. I can't fuckin sleep" the Irishman answered and tried to fight the hunter, but his friend wouldn't let go.

"Me neither if yah keep tossing and turning like that. Jesus" Daryl answered and then relaxed a bit, but he wouldn't let go of Connor just yet.

Both men then stared at the ceiling for a while, lost in thoughts, breathing even and almost in sync.

"Listen" Connor suddenly said and Daryl turned his head to look at him.

"I know yer not really fond of all this. Te Murphy thing and everything. You've made it pretty clear that ye cannot stand me brother. For whatever reason."

The hunter turned his head away when he heard this and this time it was Connor who looked at him.

"Ye don't have ta do all this if it just annoys the crap outta you. If ye wanna go back t'Woodbury you can do that. Get yer sleep, food, without having to run from soldiers and crap like that. Ye don't have ta stick around and pretend that yer okay with te whole thing."

Daryl snorted and shook his head bitterly.

"So what, now that yah almost got yah brother back you throw me away like a used rubber?"

Connor frowned angrily.

"Fuck you! It ain't like that" he snapped, and maybe a bit too loud.

There was silence for a long while as Connor let out a gentle sigh and then rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was more than tired, but his pounding heart kept him awake.

"I just meant….I get it. If I were in a situation like you, I'd act the same way. No fuck that, I was in a situation like that, and I acted the same way. I get that yer jealous of me cos I got my brother back. And…I'm really sorry that you lost yers. Honestly" the Irishman said and looked his friend in the eye. Daryl just looked back at him, lips a harsh line and brows furrowed. "But see it from my point of view. I mean, Jesus. You can't fuckin put me in a bed and watch over me like a watch dog, and then expect that I'm just gonna sleep like a log when my brother's like three hours away from me" the Irishman explained, and Daryl just stared at him.

"So what. Yah want me t'get back to Woodbury and let yah walk around like a headless chicken? Yah wanna walk through this door over there, right now, just cos you can't wait one more fuckin night and leave with me? Fine. Maybe I can finally get some fucking sleep then. Have fun getting your ass shot to shit by some soldiers or thugs" he grumbled and turned his back on his friend.

He was grumpy and he was hurt, and the lack of sleep only made it worse. Now it really sounded like Connor was trying to get rid of him, just because the freaking world revolved around fucking Murphy now, because that stupid idiot wouldn't let him sleep. Because -he-, the one who had managed to get Connor out of this whole mess, wasn't important, because it wasn't important what -he- needed. It was all about Connor's brother now, and if it kept going like that then he didn't need this shit anyway.

He hated how his friend could be so ignorant from one second to the next, how he thought so many wrong things. Connor thought he was jealous of -him-. As fucking if. Maybe part of him was, that was true. He was jealous that his friend had his 'dead' brother back whereas Merle was really dead. But he'd had his brother back before all this, he'd spent many years on his own without Merle, and it had been about a month since his brother's death. He was still very upset, still mourned his death, but he wasn't jealous of Connor. He was jealous of Murphy. He didn't want to freaking share, why wouldn't the stupid Irishman get that?

"Why'd ye gotta be such a grumpy fuckin asshole all the time?!" Connor suddenly snapped and hit Daryl's side hard, which made the hunter gasp and groan in pain. He flinched because the touch sent a wave of hot sharp pain through his entire body. The Irishman had hit him right on his broken rip, and the younger of the two friends instantly shielded his side with a hand to protect it from further hits. It was exactly like back in the old days, when his father had hit his bruises and broken bones on purpose, over and over again, because he knew how much it hurt. He tried to roll away a bit to hide the fact that he was grimacing with pain, but Connor had already seen it.

"Fuck, did I hurt you?" he asked in surprised and instantly moved closer to his friend, but Daryl tried to stay out of his reach.

"Fuck off" he muttered and rubbed his aching side, hoping to stop the pain with the touch.

But Connor wouldn't back off. He stayed that close, eyes piercing his friend's back and waiting for an explanation.
The pain was still stinging in his rips but slowly subsiding, and Daryl just stared at the wall opposite him and then finally spoke after a good three minutes of waiting.

"That one guard guy broke my damn rip, 's all" he muttered and kept rubbing his side.

"What?! When? Why the fuck didn't ye tell me?" Connor protested and moved even closer to get his hands on his friend, despite Daryl's tries to fight him off.
He eventually stilled and let his friend fuzz over him, while he just stared at the opposite wall.

"When they sent me to this freaking hospital. I didn't wanna go with em and get the shit that was gonna kill yah, so that asshole forced me to do it by breaking my goddamn bones."

Connor moved his friend's shirt up, much to the latter's discomfort.
Daryl shifted awkwardly and tried to get away, to hide the large bruises and his old and countless scars.
There was a long pause after that, as Connor just stared at his friend's torso with wide eyes.

"Why didn't ye tell me?" he repeated breathy, which made Daryl snort and shift yet again.

"'s not like you'd care. It's all Murphy Murphy Murphy and yah whiny feelings 'bout that brat. Ever since we got outta that shithole."

Connor just stared at his friend, trying to look him in the eye but then fixing his gaze on Daryl's bruised torso.

And he finally got it.

Fuck.

He'd been so selfish. So full of himself, his family, his past, present and future without giving a damn shit about his best friend and what he was doing for him. Daryl had always been there. Looking after him, saving him, protecting him like, well, just like he'd said it. Like a guard dog. Just today the guy had jumped into a river, dragged him out of there, getting him to breathe, then he had practically half carried him to this house, taken care of his ankle, listened to all his endless talk about Murphy. Especially during all the talking he had seen that expression on his friend's face. Every single time, the typical look on his face and then the turning his head and staring down. Yes, Daryl was grumpy and jealous. But he wasn't jealous of him, he was jealous ofMurphy. This wasn't about Merle, maybe just a part of it, but the rest of it was about him. And he had kept the fact that his brother was alive from him just so they wouldn't get him back.

"Jesus" he muttered and then put his hand on the large bruise, carefully and gently so he wouldn't hurt his friend even more. Daryl still flinched and tried to move out of his reach, just like any other time somebody was trying to touch him without his actual permission. But Connor kept going, looking at the bruises and then caressing them a couple of times with his palm and thumb. He knew that he couldn't do much about a broken rip, but he wanted to acknowledge what his friend had done for him.

"Fuck off" the hunter said yet again, but his voice lacked the strength because he was simply too tired.
Connor finally lay back down, all his own problems and thoughts momentarily forgotten while he kept stroking his friend's bruised side.

He hated how he had treated Daryl just minutes ago, because he wasn't like that. Back in his old life, prior the apocalypse, he'd never had many friends. Drinking buddies down at the pub? Yes. But other than that he'd never really needed many friends, because Murphy had been his soul mate. They'd had Rocco in their life, their only real and tight friend back in Boston apart from good old Doc, and he'd hardly ever treated them the way he was treating Daryl sometimes. He wanted to be a good friend even with Murphy in the picture, and since he knew the hunter's many problems and complexes he knew that he certainly needed to work on that.

So he tried to lie back down, ignoring his pounding heart, the anticipation, and just lay right next to Daryl, moving closer and closer until his chest and tights connected with Daryl's back and legs. He wrapped his arm around his friend's waist below the bruise so he wouldn't hurt him even more and just held him. Daryl kept struggling and kicking a bit, just like back on the farm, but Connor wouldn't let go or give in. He wanted his friend to understand that he didn't have to be jealous, that he was right here, that he was just as important as his own brother.

"It's not just about Murph" he said quietly, into the back of Daryl's neck, but there was a part of him that wasn't too sure about that. It certainly was going to get very complicated, because he had never been in a situation like this before, because he wasn't sure if he could handle two tight relationships at once, and no matter how much he hated to admit it: Murphy always came first. Daryl just snorted and shifted, still trying to fight his friend off because this was more than awkward.

"Yeah, sure" he growled, low self-esteem showing yet again, like he was sensing his friend's train of thoughts.

Connor clung even more to him, trying to hold on and make it alright.

"Really" he muttered and Daryl stilled, turning his head an looking at him, questioningly, looking for a confirmation that the words were true.
Connor looked back at him for a while, eyes flicking between his friend's eyes and mouth.

"I just…" he muttered and there was a long pause after that. They kept looking at each other until the Irishman suddenly dropped his head down yet again, crashing their lips together and holding on to his friend as if his life depended on it. He wanted him to understand that he was freaking important to him, that he wasn't worthless or unimportant after everything they had been through, and after hitting Connor's back multiple times and struggling really hard for a while Daryl suddenly clung to him just as much, and that just frustrated Connor even more. Because it didn't feel right, because he had to admit that this wasn't what he really meant or wanted right now anyway. He could feel and actually knew how much his friend needed him after losing Merle, and that just made him even angrier. He let out a muffled and frustrated groan and then turned his head to look away, breaking the kiss and leaving Daryl out of breath, angry and completely confused.

"Fuck, it's just..." the blonde said and bit his lower lip, trying to keep himself from longing for his brother because there were some many things wrong with that in this very moment, and that was exactly the point. He couldn't do this shit right now. Not when he wanted his twin brother with him, and his twin brother made it worse. Because Daryl looked like him, and he wasn't supposed to freaking kiss someone with that face like that. It certainly wasn't like he wanted his brother in any way like he wanted his best friend sometimes. That would be a sin, that was absolutely disgusting and made him want to vomit. And it were thoughts like this that kept him from doing anything with Daryl now.

So many opportunities, so many chances to make stuff right between them, but he just couldn't do it, say it, act like it. His entire body, every single cell screamed for Murphy right now, wanted to be reunited with him, and he just couldn't lie to himself. Couldn't lie to Daryl and say that he wanted anything or anyone else in this moment.

"'s just…real fuckin complicated right now" he admitted and stared at the ceiling.

If it weren't for Murphy then those couple of days could have been the perfect opportunity to move forward in their relationship. To get better, to make each other better, to make everything less violent, less painful and more mature. But he was too torn, too messed up, and he just knew that he couldn't possibly fix himself, his brother, his relationship with his brother, his friend with his difficult childhood, and the progression of their relationship in one go. He had to choose and divide his energy, and there certainly wasn't enough for everything and everyone at once. And no matter how much he hated it, Murphy -was- more important than Daryl right now. At least for today. And tomorrow. And the first couple of days after they had found him.

Daryl would have to wait. He needed to get his head around this later. Because despite Murphy, despite all the other shit there was the other main problem to it all, that added to the confusion and made it even more ridiculous. He wasn't fucking gay. Didn't want to be anything like it, and he knew that Daryl thought just the same about it. It was a sin, they had both been raised like that, to dread it and think of it as something wrong, and yet the shit had still happened somehow. He didn't know how he was supposed to wrap his head around that fucked up stuff either, and he didn't want to do it right now, so he just postponed everything. Thinking about it. Doing it. Talking about it. He and Daryl were just good friends right now. End of discussion. And although he didn't really speak it out his friend still seemed to catch up on it, how reluctant and quiet Connor was all of a sudden. Not saying anything said enough sometimes, so the hunter just turned his head again, shifting until he was in a comfortable position, back turned on the Irishman and closing his eyes, pretending that nothing had happened anyway because it was too awkward, too new, and so not him.

"Yeah" he just said, and the topic was done for him.

Connor sighed and rubbed his forehead, feeling awkward because of the direction the conversation had taken. For a while he just lay there, trying to come up with anything else to say to save the situation, but he knew that everything had been said. "Let's sleep" he just said, trying to finish the topic with this. He thought about wrapping an arm around the hunter's waist anyway, but since he knew that Daryl hated physical contact no matter what he left it be. He just lay there, on his back, staring at the ceiling and keeping some space between them, so the whole friendship vibe was back on. They wouldn't speak about it, wouldn't name it or do anything else, but they both understood it, set up boundaries yet again and tried to sleep.

the next morning

The sun was tickling on his skin, slowly heating it and burning it because of the sheer temperatures of the early summer in Georgia.
Connor slowly opened his eyes, confused because he didn't know what had awoken him from his deep sleep.

It had taken him quite some time to fall asleep yesterday night, but exhaustion had eventually won. All the running around, swimming, hiding and the emotional turmoil had given him the rest, and he had actually appreciated the deep sleep. But now here he was, in broad sunlight, lying in the bed of a bunch of people who were long since dead, and he didn't know what the fuck had ripped him out of that sweet state of being. About a second later he got the answer, because he could feel a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing and moving him.

"Leprechaun" he heard Daryl say and finally understood what was off - he was all alone in this bed, and he wasn't the first to wake up, despite the importance of this day.

"Come on, get up" the hunter behind him said and the Irishman finally shifted, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"What time is it?" he asked, out of habit, despite the obvious lack of clocks and time in this new world.

"Don't know. I found us a car though" the younger of the two friends said and Connor was wide awake, staring at him, excitement showing in his eyes as his heart rate sped up. He could see that his friend was fully clothed and obviously looked like he had been awake for quite some time now.

"Really?" he asked and Daryl nodded as he turned around to grab their stuff.

"Yeah. Hurry. Something's off down there. And I sure as hell ain't gonna stick around long enough to find out where the fuck all these lamebrains went" the hunter stated and then headed for the door. Connor slowly sat up with a soft groan, hair sticking in every direction as he rubbed his eyes once more and yawned yet again. He turned his head to look outside the window, only to discover that his friend was right about the neighbourhood. It was completely abandoned, no sight of walkers or any threats. It sure was weird, and it even seemed dangerous to him, but despite all this he still couldn't fight the sudden smile that broke through.

Another day.

They had a car, and they were ready to leave this godforsaken city, which meant only one thing: They were going to Savannah.

He was going to see Murphy again.

And he wouldn't sleep until he found his brother out there, somewhere, and they were getting closer and closer. He was going to get Murphy back. Maybe even… He smiled even more and then chuckled gently, jumping out of bed and hurrying after Daryl, running down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning.

Maybe even today.