And here we are with a new chapter!

Thank you for the -many- reviews on the one before that. Great reactions to that! Made me very happy that you liked it.
So here we are. The first MacManus bros AND Daryl interaction chapter. I really hope I do not disappoint here. You know me, I don't like easy. I don't fancy an easy reunion, and truth be told, it was very hard for me to get this chapter done. We've never seen the MacManus bros in a situation like that, so really, it was hard coming up with how they would possibly handle it. So I hope I did okay. And forgive me if I wrote Murphy out of character, I really have to get back into his relationship with Connor, how to write them together, because they're different together. Gotta go and watch the movies a couple of times to get back into it, but I really wanna handle it that way. Sooner or later we'll get the old MacManus twins back, but I gotta drop a couple of bombs first and make them explode.

It's gotta get worse before it gets better, and it's certainly gonna change/and trigger the Connaryl as well.

I know that Murphy certainly could never really -hate- Connor, or -fear- him, or want to be away from him, but hey, he still got shot in the head by his own brother after all.
He certainly ain't just gonna invite him back in with open arms and hugs and kisses and flowers and shit. At least my Murphy.
But still, don't you ever doubt that he -loves- Connor no matter what.
So bear with me! We'll get there. I got it all planned out, at least parts of it, and I'm playing it towards just that. :D

Resurrection

Chapter 24 - Lost

"Murph?"

Murphy was standing there, gun still raised and pointed at the men in front of him, although the sight of them really paralyzed him. For almost a year he'd been thinking about the man in front of him. Nonstop. Never quite able to really remember his face, his voice, and yet here he was, in the flesh, standing right there, staring at him with wide eyes, guns dropped. Months of not really remembering him, and he still recognized him.

Connor.

Connor was standing right in front of him. There was no question about it. He had the same tattoos, the Virgin Mary on his neck, and there it was, a cross, identical to his own, tattooed on the man's left lower arm. And although his left hand was bandaged he could see the letters on his index finger, matching his own although it was a different word.

Veritas.

For just a second it felt like time had stopped or slowed down all around them. He was just staring at his brother, in shock, because he couldn't believe that they could possibly ever see each other again. In the same city, the same town, the same church, the same godforsaken room.

But there was no doubt about it.

Murphy didn't know how to breathe, how to speak, what to do, say or think in general. And the most important about it all: he didn't know what to feel. For months he had believed his brother to be dead. That he had died, alone, somewhere back in Boston, ripped to shreds by walking monsters or burnt alive in the ruins of their old home town. But he was there, not a ghost, not one of them, not burning, not dead, Connor was perfectly fine apart from a couple of bruises and bandages.

Murphy's heart started beating faster, demanding a reaction from the younger MacManus twin, who really didn't know how to react at all. He'd pictured so many different things. Wrapping his arms around his brother and crying like a baby because he had missed him so much and because he had been so alone without him. But then other feelings took over.

Fear. And anger.

He could see the guns to Connor's feet, maybe one of them was the same one that he had been shot with. And this was exactly the point. Connor was the man who had shot him in the head, left him to this, the not seeing clearly on his one eye, the not really being able to write or read, the fits every now and then, the trauma, the fear. His own brother was the very person who had almost killed him, stripped him off his weapons and left him to die in this room in Boston, surrounded by flesh eating monsters, without protection or help. And part of him just wanted to do the same to him now because he had felt so betrayed, so hurt, so alone.

When he turned his head a bit it only made it worse, because now he could see the other guy. The man was way dirtier than him and looked older and tougher. He was more muscular, upper arms glistening with sweat and dirt, exposed because he was wearing a dirty farmer's shirt with cut off sleeves. The man was pointing a large and complex crossbow right at his face, giving him an angry glare while slowly getting closer and closer to Connor.

The guy looked -exactly- like him. Or…almost exactly like him. His hair was longer than his and filthier, he had smaller, angrier eyes than him and his facial bone structure was a bit harsher than his own, but they still looked practically the same. Murphy couldn't believe what he saw. It made him even more angry, hurt him even more. So here Connor was, after nearly killing him and abandoning him, looking just fine apart from the couple of scratches, bruises and bandages. He looked thin but still muscular, indicating that he'd been well fed most of the time and done some sports. The bastard looked healthier than him, didn't have a freaking hole in his skull or an ugly scar on his shoulder, and he had simply found himself someone new.

And judging by the way they acted around each other they were close. Connor seemed to be doing fine without him, and he'd just replaced him with an other guy who had the same face as him. And after examining the new guy for just a couple of seconds he could already tell that the replacement had to be a better version of him. More muscular, tough guy, a true outdoor survivor. It made Murphy so angry, it overwhelmed him so much, the reunion, seeing Connor, seeing the new guy with his face, that he just wanted to kill them both, but no matter what he tried, he just couldn't do it.

Because this was still Connor.

Murphy's hands started shaking as he just stared at his twin, and he would do neither of the things he had just pictured.
After what felt like eternity Connor finally moved, slowly walking towards him, shaking just as much.

"Murph, I'm.." he said but the younger MacManus pointed his shaky gun at him.

"Don't" he said, and was actually quite surprised how emotional he sounded. He was close to crying, actually, and he could see that Connor was just as close.
They didn't get to say anything else because then the other guy suddenly reacted, stepping between them and trying to press his shaking gun down.

"Hey, relax. This is yah damn brother yah pointing this thing at in case you don't remember, kiddo" he said, obviously trying to protect Connor from possibly getting shot, but that just made Murphy even angry. "Shut up, I know who tha fuck this is. Who asked you and who the fuck are ye anyway?" he spat, pointed his gun at the guy and then glared at Connor, who was just standing behind his lookalike, staring at him with wide eyes like he still couldn't believe that this was really happening.

"Besides, 's not like he cared when he pointed his gun at me" he went on, a blow below the belt and he knew it, but he just needed to get rid of the anger, the hurt. He got the reaction he wanted, the look on Connor's face changed drastically, now he was the one extremely hurt, like he had just stabbed him in his guts and watched him bleed. "Murph, I'm so so fuckin.." he stammered, his voice breaking and full of emotion, and no matter how hard the younger MacManus twin tried to fight it, they still locked in a stare and he couldn't look away, couldn't not try to connect with the person who was undoubtedly his brother, his own flesh and blood, and who had once been his soul mate.

The stranger between them used the opportunity and disarmed him, taking the gun away from Murphy and then putting it away, but the dark-haired MacManus twin did not care, he kept staring at Connor, letting the sight of him sink in after one year of not seeing him. And how strange it really was, almost like deja-vu. For his 'new' self, his post-shot-in-the-head and memory loss plagued self, it was the first time he was seeing the man, and although he couldn't -really- remember or recall every last detail about his face it all seemed so familiar, like he'd seen it before, like he was staring at his own reflection in a fucked up way. Like he had just been a faint childhood memory, like he had only seen him many many years ago.

He definitely knew this face. Had once known it like the back of his own hand.
And yet he couldn't remember. Whatever was going on between them during that stare, it was weird, it freaked him out, like their were old phone lines trying to reconnect between them, the signal was distorted, almost gone, because the plugs didn't fit anymore, although his subconscious tried really hard to make them fit. But then the fear took ever yet again. Yes, he remembered that face. He remembered staring right into those eyes, that face, although it had been nothing but a terrible grimace because of the countless tears, but it still had been the very last face he had seen after getting bit, and just before getting shot. He remembered trying to beg him to help him, trying to reach out for him, but Connor had still shot him. And this scared him now. More than anything. Something had been broken between them. Not just his head. Or his memory. Something far deeper. So the 'trying to connect' stare changed into a judging stare. A questioning stare.

Why.

Connor was speechless yet again. He opened his mouth a couple of times, like he was trying to say something, but the guy was pretty close to bawling yet again. Just before Murphy got to ask him the question that had been bugging him every single day since the incident back in Boston loud noises suddenly startled all three of them. There were gunshots going on outside the church, then there was shouting.

"Go! Take them out! Try to surround the church! We'll get 'em this time!" someone quite close to the church suddenly yelled, which made them all look in the direction. Connor and Daryl had to turn around to see what was going on, and Murphy used the opportunity to run away. He certainly didn't want to deal with this right now. Not here, not when there were all these monsters around, not with Crawford obviously getting here. He just wanted out, momentarily controlled by nothing but emotion.

He just needed to get away from Connor. Let it sink in, stop looking at him, else he just knew that he was either going to freak out and start punching him, or he was going to cry his eyes out. Since those were already watering he knew that the latter was probably going to be the case. He certainly couldn't win the fight with watery eyes, he knew that he couldn't win it at all. If he'd learned one thing back in Boston and Augusta then it was that the best option was and would always be to run away, find cover, come up with a solution later, or maybe not even at all. He was sneaky enough on his own by now, and within seconds he disappeared, heading for a window, and slipped out. Murphy just knew that this stupid new guy and his brother certainly couldn't come after him because of all the walkers behind the church, so he took the chance.

"Fuck, it's those guys from yesterday" Connor breathed and backed off, gripping Daryl by his shirt while reaching out with his other hand to get his brother.

"We gotta go, I don't wanna…" he said but froze, because his other hand wouldn't connect with a firm chest, his brother or anything else.
He turned around and widened his eyes in absolute terror because just like that Murphy was suddenly gone.

"MURPH?" he yelled as loud as he could, ignoring the gentle punch to his shoulder that Daryl gave him for being too loud.

"Keep it down, they're right outside, dumbass!" Daryl hissed and turned around for a second, already getting annoyed as hell by how Connor was suddenly acting just because he obviously had his stupid brother back. But when he turned his head he saw it, too. The guy that had just been standing there a second ago had suddenly disappeared, while they had been busy trying to make out their attackers.

"Murph!" Connor wailed yet again, searching the surrounding benches and the altar for his found-but-lost-again brother, and slowly losing it because of his absence. "Shit" Daryl hissed and started running, towards the door, crossbow raised in case some of the attackers outside burst through it. He managed to drag a bench along, pulling it towards the door to block it. He risked another glance outside the window and could see five heavily armed guys who were driving up and down the street in front of the church and started shouting at the forming mob of walkers, and it only took seconds until their bullets shredded the doors and windows as well.

Daryl threw himself to the ground and covered his head to protect himself from the glass and bullets, and once the car had driven past the church doors he got back up and started running towards his friend, who was still searching the church in horror, screaming his brother's name. He widened his eyes even more when Connor suddenly headed for the door that led to the bell tower, to the stairs. A one way ticket.

"No, don't!" Daryl yelled and ran even faster, trying to stop his friend from trapping them even more.

Connor ripped the door to the tower open but froze, eyes frantically scanning both the church and the stairs.

"But…I gotta find him! He was standing right in fronta me, and I swear ta fucking god, I wasn' hallucinating this time. He was standing right in fuckin fronta me and now he's just gone, I gotta find him.." the Irishman said, sounding frantic, confused, panicked and close to tears. Daryl had to be honest, although he had been through quite some shit with his friend he had never seen him like that, so out of his mind, almost vulnerable, not into combat or fight for survival at all. In fact, Connor didn't even seem to register that they were under attack. That short glimpse of his brother being alive and breathing had been enough to make him a mess, a fool, and once again it was on Daryl to save him, to save them, to save the day.

He grabbed the Irishman by both his shoulders, and maybe a bit too tight on purpose, to use pain to get his friend back into the real world.

"I know, I saw 'im, too. Alright? But we gotta get our asses outta here right now, else those freaks are gonna surround us and we're both done.
Yah hear me?" he asked but Connor still tried to head for the stairs.

"Maybe the shots spooked 'im. Ye saw the fuckin look on his face when he saw me. He was scared, maybe he ran upstairs, I gotta fuckin find him, Daryl. He's me fuckin twin brother and I can't fuckin lose him again!" he roared, brother instincts kicking in so violently that he didn't know how to breathe. It was exactly like back in their apartment that one day when the Russians had attacked him. Just back then Murphy had given him that long look, he'd been scared, he'd been about to die, and it had been his job to protect his brother. He felt the adrenaline rush through his body once more, like he could rip out yet another toilet, throw it at whoever the fuck was disturbing them. He felt invincible, he didn't care, as long as he got Murphy back.

"We would've heard the freaking door!" Daryl roared and even considered knocking his momentarily crazy friend out, just so he could carry him out of this place and get the hell away. But he knew that Connor was too heavy, that they would be too slow. There was no way he was leaving without the Irish freak, but there was also no way he was going to get himself shot to shit either, just because the blonde's brain didn't seem to function right now.

There was more shooting in front of the church and the never ending growling of walkers behind it, and then he could already see the doors shake, heard the bench creak and shiver. Shit. They were going to get in. "Come on!" Daryl yelled and grabbed his friend's broken hand to induce even more pain and drag him along, but then he heard it, the voice he'd just heard seconds before, the same brogue, the same terrible accent.

"This way!" he heard Connor's brother shout from somewhere to their left, just by the windows.

a couple of minutes earlier

Murphy was running and running, away from the church, breathing getting heavier and heavier by the second. He could still hear the shouting, the shooting that was going on in front of the building as he made his way through the small crowd of walkers, fighting his way against the stream, using them as cover to get away. He would turn around every now and then, staring back at the church. He tried to keep telling himself that he was just making sure that Connor and his new 'brother' wouldn't follow him, although the opposite was the case.

He wanted to curse himself, he wanted it not to be this way, and yet he felt it. The instant longing for Connor, the need to have him flee with him, to be right behind him, to be reunited with him. And now he finally couldn't hide or stop the tears from flowing anymore, sniffing awkwardly and trying to wipe them away with the back of his hand. He felt like a girl doing that, but he didn't care. He was emotional, always had been, he just knew it. And this very moment had been far too emotional because after one year of longing for Connor, after one year of feeling hurt and trying to hate him he still couldn't fight the immense turmoil in his chest, his belly, his heart.

He couldn't hate him. Never had. Never ever would. And the fact that Connor had shot him didn't hurt. No, it hurt to lie to himself, to do this. To keep telling himself that he was a whole without him. That he was fine without him, when he really wasn't. He slowed down, bumping into a walker but ignoring the undead completely. Although he was still scared of them and didn't like to be around them none of that mattered at the moment. They were a welcome cover, for just a moment he could just disappear in a crowd, let himself go, weep and long and regret everything.

More and more shooting behind him, and then the rhythmic banging on wood, like they were trying to get inside the church. The younger MacManus slowly turned around, looking at the building, seeing the dark figure of the cross underneath the cloudy sky. It kept calling him, no matter what he tried. He knew that he just couldn't get away from any of it. This was were home was, this was where he would feel better, and everything around him was just wrong. There were walkers and Crawford people all around the church, slowly closing in, trapping his brother, the guy with his face.

He knew that this was the point in his life where he could let it happen and get everything he had longed for every now and then, when the wounds had hurt, when people kept betraying him, killing others, trying to hunt and kill him over and over again. Whenever this had happened he had tried to hate Connor, blame him, wish that the same shit would happen to him as punishment for their cruel parting. And here he was, saw all the undead stagger around, trapping his brother inside the church. Connor would probably get bitten by an undead first, before getting shot in the head by Crawford people, who were probably going to blame him for tolling the bells for weeks. He could have his 'revenge', his 'payback', but he knew that he wasn't like this.

He was Murphy. Connor's brother. Despite the problems he honestly believed that he was a good person, that he was full of grief and disappointment, but full of love and warmth still. No one deserved such a death. And it didn't matter if Connor had abandoned and shot him on purpose or not. Connor was his brother, and he, Murphy, would never ever let his own flesh and blood suffer, he would never abandon him and leave him to die.

So he wiped his cheeks and felt determination growing, previous fear and hatred completely forgotten. This was a church. This was what he stood for. This was why he had Aequitas on his finger, the cross on his arm and back. He believed in god, in family, in righteousness and love. He ran back even faster, heading for the window and then ripping it open, praying that it wasn't too late. He needed to fix it.

He had no idea how he was supposed to get his brother and the other guy through the maze of the undead without getting them bitten or killed, but he did not care. He knew that he couldn't plan for shit, but now that he had Connor back, maybe he didn't need to do it after all. He awkwardly tried to climb back inside and could already hear them fight.

"We would've heard the freaking door! Come on!" he heard Connor's redneck friend yell and saw him almost manhandling his brother, and since he knew that they didn't have any time he just jumped inside and ran towards them. "This way!" he shouted, completely out of breath and heart pounding. He put his hands on his knees and tried to catch breath for a second, the scar on his forehead pounding because of the sudden higher blood pressure.

Both Connor and his friend were staring at him with wide eyes, still clutching to each other, looking both panicked and angry.

"Murph" Connor breathed yet again and although he looked very upset he still cracked a gentle smile, like he still couldn't believe that he was really here. Another loud bang and creaking sound startled all three of them, and Murphy sprung to his feet and headed for the window. When he saw walkers right in front of it he cursed, shoving a couple of them away with an annoyed growl because to him they just felt like annoying drunks who were trying to get inside a pub after closing time.

"Hurry! There's more 'n more of those undead shits piling up over here, and's our only way out!"

He turned his head around and stared at Connor's friend, who was busy getting their stuff together in a hurry.

"Gimme me gun, I can shoot us a way out and keep 'em fram attacking ye. I got no time ta explain, they don' attack me, but…"

"Yeah, yah can save all the talk 'n bullets. I don't need yah help, kiddo" Daryl growled angrily and walked past Murphy quickly, purposely running right into him and bumping his shoulder hard into the Irishman's chest. "Ow, fuckin arsehole!" Murphy complained as he stumbled back and tried to kick Daryl for that, but then the hunter suddenly disappeared through the window. Part of the younger MacManus twin didn't want to care if the asshole got torn to shreds by walkers outside, but he was still curious, so he ran after him and looked out of the window. And there the guy was, zigzagging his way through all the walkers. Only a couple of the undead would look after him, maybe try to reach out for him, but other than that he just passed the crowd like he was part of them. Murphy raised both his eyebrows in surprise and maybe even shock. He'd thought that he had been the only one having such a "not" impact on walkers.

"What te…" he muttered to himself but didn't get to say anything else, because right then Daryl crowed yet again.

"Leprechaun! Get yah ass outta there!" he roared, and for a moment Murphy wanted to respond to that, because he thought he was being referred to as 'leprechaun' because of his accent. "'m coming!" Connor suddenly yelled right behind him, though, startling Murphy and making him turn around. The younger MacManus finally understood that 'Leprechaun' was actually the nickname the redneck had given his brother, which made him like the guy even less. He could already tell that he and the other guy were going to hate each other. A lot.

But right now he didn't get to worry about that, because the doors were still shaking on the other side of the church, but even that didn't matter. Because Connor was standing there, right in front of him, looking at him like he still wasn't too sure whether he should cry like a baby and feel depressed, or if he should laugh, and smile and be happy because of their sudden and unexpected reunion.

"Murph" Connor said yet again, like it was the best word in the world, like a prayer. And then there was both, a smile, but also tears in his eyes. He had stayed back on purpose, had asked Daryl to leave first so they could have these couple of seconds to themselves, because he really needed to do this. He gently lifted his arms up a bit, reaching out and then approaching his twin with open arms and a sad but yet happy smile, really wanting to hug him tightly. Hold him, breathe him in, enjoy the fact that he was really there.

But Murphy flinched.

Away from him, backing into the wall, just staring at him without saying anything.
Connor stopped walking and looked rather surprised, slowly lowering his arms and then swallowing hard.

"CONNOR!" Daryl shouted from somewhere outside, only getting underlined by the banging of the doors, destroying the moment even more.
Both MacManus twins understood that this situation was more important right now.

"We gotta go" Murphy just said and then looked down, turning around and then quickly heading for the window with sweaty clenched fists. Connor just watched him leave for a second, feeling both so incredibly happy seeing Murphy alive and in the flesh, but at the same time he was absolutely heartbroken because of his reaction to his attempted hug.

"Aye" he gently said, slowly dying inside all over again, but he still followed his friend, his brother.

They were walking down the abandoned streets of Savannah, still having an eye out on possible attackers or unwanted guests. There were just the undead around them, not too many but not too few either. Daryl kept his eyes fixed on the walking person in front of him, the grey shirt, the too large jeans, the black hair. The way the guy was walking, acting, doing anything.

Murphy MacManus. In the flesh. Right in front of him.

Not just a ghost. Not just a memory or an annoying word, an annoying name.

Connor had spent months pretending that he was that guy. His friend had spent one year talking about him. Every single day. Truth be told, he was a bit underwhelmed. Over the course of the past couple of months Murphy's shadow had grown bigger and bigger. Murphy had always been perfect at everything. He had been the tough serial killer partner. Connor's better half. But here he was, right in front of him. He'd pictured him a little different. Basically, just like himself minus the scars plus a terrible accent. And although they looked pretty much like each other, there still were differences.

First of all, the guy in front of him was a bit smaller. Smaller than Connor, smaller than him. He knew that Connor was three years older than him, and since he and Murphy were twins it meant that his friend's brother was also three years older than him, but he really didn't look like it. Murphy looked a whole lot -younger- than him. Connor certainly looked his age by now, but not his brother. He would've thought that the kid was in his late twenties or something. There was just something about his weird haircut which made him look like some milksop, or his slightly rounder and less bony face. He was also a whole lot paler than him.

So really. He didn't get the hype. Murphy was just some random kid, really. Nothing special.

Daryl huffed a bit to underline his train of thoughts.

Yeah, totally not special.

But he could actually see Connor in the kid. At least some tiny bits. They were walking in the same rhythm. The same paces, the same foot, at the same time without even noticing it. Even the way they walked, the strange trotting but yet walking, they both did that. And although he had not tried to look too closely he'd still seen it right away: the kid had his friend's eyes. And the same accent. Obviously. It was undeniable that Murphy was Connor's brother. He could just….feel it. One knew it without actually being told. And maybe that made him jealous. There was a sudden connection there. Like an unwanted new radio frequency that was blocking his and Connor's old one.

And that wasn't the most annoying part about it, and Daryl was actually quite surprised what -really- annoyed him.

The tattoos.

They really had the same tattoos. Or more like, this freaking Murphy kid had Connor's tattoos. The 'ugly, faggy' thing on his neck as he liked to call it (truth be told, he didn't mind it, he even thought it looked cool). The cross on his arm. The word on his finger, although everything was practically mirror inverted. And that really made him angry. Suddenly pretty much every tattoo was there two times.

Connor wasn't unique anymore. There was nothing special or unique about him anymore. He just wasn't a person of his own.
He wasn't the only Irishman anymore. He wasn't the only religious freak, he wasn't the only one not being able to speak proper English.

Speaking of Connor. Daryl finally stopped glaring at Murphy and looked at his friend, who was actually walking right next to him, not his brother. He was quite surprised by that. He'd pictured it to be different, that these two Irish freaks would start river dancing together, happily into the sunset, past the rainbow, where they would share gold nuggets and shit like that. Reality was different, though. Connor and Murphy were quiet. They wouldn't say a single word to each other in fact. The younger twin was walking in front of them, staring straight ahead. Connor was with him, although he was keeping his distance. The blonde had both his hands in his pockets and just looked down, not at his brother, and what really made Daryl grit his teeth was the fact that the Irishman looked upset.

The exact opposite of -everything- he had pictured. Connor wasn't better, wasn't laughing, wasn't happy. He was actually worse. Tending towards all the shit he'd been like -before- getting better. Like Murphy's return hadn't brought back the old Connor prior the apocalypse, the one from the photo. No, it was like Murphy's return had triggered something in his friend, made him his old, pitiable self.

"You alright?" Daryl asked quietly while keeping an eye on the younger MacManus, careful not to let him hear.
Connor startled a bit and looked up, like he'd been ripped out of a daydream.

"What? Aye. Aye.." he muttered and fixed his eyes on Murphy as well.

"He didn't take it too good?" Daryl murmured after a while and tried to make sense out of the MacManus twins, but couldn't. Even with all the stories he had heard from his friend, he still didn't know Murphy, how he ticked, what he thought or did. He only knew Connor, and he certainly knew when something was up with his friend. Connor turned his head to look at him and then gave him a smile.

"Well, I shot 'im in the head last time he saw me" the Irishman said and kept smiling, although he sounded hollow.

"But hey, nice weather" the blonde said and then looked away. Daryl turned his head yet again, fixing his eyes on Murphy's back and hating the kid even more. He didn't get how the hell this guy could act like that. So he got shot in the head. So. Fucking. What. He'd survived all this shit, and he had his brother back. He would kill to get Merle back like that. That little ungrateful shit didn't know what he had even if someone handed him the cure for mankind.

"You had no other choice" Daryl said, suddenly feeling even more protective of Connor than ever.
The fight was on after all, and right now it looked like he was the better brother, the better one for the blonde.

Take this, emo kid, he thought and gave Murphy an extra long glare.

"Aye" Connor just said, not really sounding like it helped.

There was silence for a while, and Daryl felt terribly awkward. He knew that he could use this moment, this rift between the MacManus brothers and make it his advantage. He could rile them up against each other, make Murphy leave, just so he could keep Connor all to himself. Set things to the way they used to be before Augusta, before they had discovered that the kid was still alive. This way he could be selfish, he could keep healing after Merle's death simply because he still had Connor as his new/old/better brother, everything was going to be rainbows and happy ends. Although he knew that this shit was never going to work. Because this would hurt his friend. Connor was never going to get over this, the Irishman could never really function without his twin and they both knew it.

And no matter what, there was no option where both he and Connor could get what they wanted, could be happy.

The other option was the realistic one, the morally 'correct' and honest one, but it was also the one that was going to hurt him. Help Connor. Get the two brothers back together. Make Connor happy, piece him back together. Give him Murphy. Restore his old order, his old, complete life. Which would make him less important. This was the truth. Connor didn't need him in this world. Maybe he was the cherry on top, but Murphy was still the cake. He was small compared to that one. Tiny even. Unimportant decoration. He was like the appendix in this triangle. He'd once been useful, once had a purpose, but now he was no longer needed.

But he had never been a selfish person anyway. He'd been raised liked that. To feel useless. To be useless. To be used until he was burned out. He'd never really been important to anyone. Some people had just always been important to him. And since there was no way he was ever going to be like his father, his mother, or even Merle, he chose the second option. The real, selfless option. Make Connor better. Piece him back together. This had been his job for the past couple of months after all.

"Maybe yah just gotta talk t'him" he said and swallowed, because the suggestion made him feel bitter.

He didn't want Connor to leave, didn't want to pass on the ability to talk to him, be close to him, share something with him, but he knew that this was right.
Connor snorted and looked away.

"Already tried. Back in the old days 't was like tha. Murph was pissed at me: he wouldn' talk ta me and make me suffer fer a bit. And he was the only one ta call te fight off."

Daryl looked at Murphy yet again and chewed on his lips a bit.

"But…it ain't like before no more. Yah both changed" he said and the looked at Connor for a while. He really hated that he was supposed to be like that, the mature one, the relationship instructor, when he seriously just wanted to punch his friend's brother to a bloody pulp and drag Connor back to Woodbury. But he kept playing good guy, because at the same time he also knew that he had caused his friend enough pain for a life time as well, and maybe it was his chance to make up for that now.

"Just go" he said then, grabbed Connor and then shoved him away from him and towards Murphy. Because if he really had to lose the guy then he'd rather push him away then get pushed away by an other guy. The Irishman stumbled a bit and looked rather confused at first, but Daryl simply decided not to look at him at all. He turned his back on the blonde instead and kept an eye on their rear. Connor sighed and then fixed his eyes on Murphy's back.

He was struggling if he was honest about it. He really wanted nothing more than close the distance between them, wrap his arms around his twin and never let him go, but this would include him having to look Murphy in the eye. And it was the face he feared the most, because his brother hadn't changed one tiny bit, except for two details. Number one was unmistakable. The scar on his forehead. It looked even more horrible in real life. It had looked pretty bad on the picture, but it looked beyond terrifying in broad daylight, in the flesh.

He'd only ever known Murphy with a clean face. A black eye here and there, a few cuts from bar fights every now and then, and bruised chins and scratches back in their childhood, but other than that he'd always looked perfectly fine. Like an angel, as ma had used to call it. It was still Murphy, but he was scarred now. Ever present, a constant reminder of what had happened.

What he had done.

Detail number two was the large scar on his shoulder, his neck.
Although he had practically the same one he still felt guilty, because he had failed to protect his brother from this although he had been right there.

He knew perfectly fine that everything had been an accident, that he never would've shot Murphy if he had known that he was still alive. But that didn't change anything about it. The scars were still there. Marking Murphy as a hurt soul. Forever. Just like Daryl with his scars. He could never forgive himself that. He didn't want to see it, because it broke his heart every single time, but he knew that he had to do it. And maybe this was the right kind of punishment. He had his brother back. With a terrible price.

He walked faster and faster until he was right next to his twin, keeping some space between them on purpose. It really hurt because it was so unlike them. Before all this they had always been right next to each other, perfectly synchronized, always touching, on the same wavelength. And here they were. Even if he stretched his arms he wouldn't be able to touch his twin, just like Murphy seemed to want it. The dark-haired MacManus turned his head and looked at him for a moment, obviously curious, and a tiny part of him seemed to be relieved and happy, but other than that he just looked angry and almost cold.

They just walked right next to each other for a while, slowly getting used to each other's presence yet again. Connor didn't talk right away because he didn't want to scare his twin away again, but he also didn't talk because he didn't know how he was supposed to start the conversation. Which was ridiculous, really. If he thought about it. This was his freaking brother, not some fucking chick he was taking out on their first date, where they didn't know what to talk about. But he didn't want to ruin everything.

He thought about just offering Murphy a smoke, maybe even silently just like back in the old days, but then decided that this was just cheap. It was like a stupid, pathetic peace offering. Like he was trying to buy his own brother, make it a simple apology present like, sorry bout shooting you. Here have a cig and forget about it. He also didn't just want to start talking about random shit, make it an easy conversation, because this would also feel fake and cheap, like he was trying to cover up the obvious. Nice weather, the shot didn't happen, right?

Fuck it.

Connor felt so angry all over again, he really wanted to kill somebody, or even worse, hurt himself for all the shit he had done to his own brother.
He swallowed hard and came to the conclusion that there was only one way to start a conversation with Murphy.

"I'm so fuckin sorry, Murph" he almost whispered, because there it was again, the pathetic urge to cry when he remembered the last time they had seen each other.
All the blood, the gunshot, how Murphy had been staggering towards him, alive.

"So…so fuckin sorry" he repeated. He wanted to say it three hundred times in a row without stopping, even fall to his knees and be all pathetic about it, just so he could make it right somehow, beg for forgiveness. Murphy just looked at him, and Connor was actually surprised that even he couldn't read his twin anymore. He was just..there. Maybe judging, maybe accepting the apology, maybe silently murdering him in his head. Connor looked back at him and swallowed hard, and he never would have thought that one could physically long so hard for a hug, that he could really feel it ache.

"I…I know that no matter what I say, 's no excuse fer what I did ta you" he said and his eyes lingered on the horrible scar for a moment.
Murphy seemed to feel embarrassed, because he looked down and turned his head away while rubbing and covering the scar with his right tattooed hand.

"But I just want ye ta know that I'm. So. Sorry."

Much to his discomfort there was still silence between them, so he tried to keep going, reaching out inside his head, desperate for a connection.

"I was just…"

"I don't wanna talk 'bout it, Con" Murphy murmured and still wouldn't look at him.

Connor stopped talking and felt his heart sink at first, because Murphy didn't want to hear what he had to say, didn't accept an apology, and it took a couple of seconds until the whole sentence sunk in.

Con. Murphy had called him Con.

It had been ages since he'd last heard that nickname, but it was undeniably his nickname.

Not leprechaun, not dumbass or god knows what kind of countless nicknames Daryl had for him, but this one was just Murphy's nickname for him. There was nothing degrading about it, nothing that suggested that he was annoying. It was a nice nickname. A loving one even. It was definitely a start. A tiny one, one that outsiders certainly wouldn't pick up on, but he did. He managed a tiny smile despite the complicated and upsetting topic and decided that this was enough for today, that he should just keep his twin company for a while. And most importantly: enjoy his company. Enjoy that Murphy was still breathing. Walking. Talking. Right beside him.

All the more did it surprise him when his twin kept the conversation up.

"Who's tha asshole?" the younger MacManus asked and pointed behind them, at Daryl, who was keeping his distance from them but still followed them. Connor turned his head a bit and looked at his friend for a moment. He noticed the angry look on the hunter's face again, the look that could kill and make him look like a heartless, brutal, typical redneck. He knew perfectly well that it was just an act, or maybe Daryl really was angry, but he knew that it was going to pass. Connor smiled at the hunter and confused him a bit with that. Despite the fact that Murphy was right next to him it was still an affectionate smile, and since Daryl still didn't really know how to handle that he just rolled his eyes and purposely looked in the other direction with an angry frown.

"Tha's Daryl. Daryl Dixon. He.."

There was a small pause after that, because he really didn't have a clue how to describe their fucked up and ubercomplicated relationship.
And he obviously couldn't tell Murphy the whole truth. Certainly not yet. Here it was. The elephant in the room.

"He 'n his group found me last year. 'n we became good friends" he said and then looked at the houses in front of them.

"He saved my life" he added quietly and Murphy snorted.

"Didn't take ye long then" he murmured and Connor turned his head to look at his twin in surprise.

"What?"

"Hey, emo kiddo! The other way!" Daryl suddenly roared behind them and made both siblings stop before they got to keep talking.
Murphy turned his head with an angry frown and glared at the hunter.

"What tha fuck did ye just call me?" he asked, giving the man his infamous angry stare that Connor had missed so much. His brother and Daryl were pretty alike in that regard, the temper, the need for endless fighting, but Murphy was still a bit different there. Although Daryl was stronger and far more fucked up than the younger MacManus twin it was still the latter who reacted far more aggressive at first, who couldn't control his temper -at all- and didn't even try to in the first place. Daryl just walked past Murphy, once again almost running into him on purpose. He placed himself right between the MacManus twins, back turned on Murphy, looking right at Connor.

"You think the car's still back at the gas station?" he asked, whereas Murphy tried to get back in front of him.

"Hey, 'm talkin ta ye, Johnny Russell!" the younger MacManus twin roared and tried to pick up a fight with the man who looked so much like him, simply because he was so fed up with his attitude, his face, the fact that he'd just replaced him like that with all his redneck shit. What made it even worse for him was how both Daryl AND Connor ignored him completely.

"I dunno. 's worth a shot. Besides, we're just like…two blocks away from it anyway, aren't we then" the older of the twins observed and looked around. Truth be told, if it weren't for Daryl then he would've just kept walking. For the first time he didn't really have a plan, he just wanted more time with Murphy, so he could talk to him. But Daryl seemed to be way ahead of him, he'd even thought about the car and obviously wanted to go back to Woodbury. And he hadn't even told Murphy yet…

Oh great.

"Hey!" the younger MacManus twin suddenly roared yet again and grabbed Daryl by his shoulder to pull him back, signaling that they obviously weren't done yet. Connor could already see the look on his friend's face. The hunter was literally a second away from lashing out himself, and since he knew that Daryl didn't exactly like Murphy he came to the conclusion that it was his job to act. Jesus, now he really felt like the older brother, only that he had two younger quarrelsome brothers now.

"Alright, Murph. He was just jokin. Let's just…" he said and place a hand on his twin's shoulder to pull him back, which was the first time he was actually touching him since their parting. He wanted to keep talking, already getting back into his old role as the peacemaker, but he didn't expect what happened next. "You DON'T.." Murphy suddenly yelled and jumped back, out of brother's reach, away from Daryl. He was staring at Connor with wide eyes, chest heaving and heart obviously pounding in his chest. "You don't touch me" he breathed and then turned around to keep walking, face flushed from both anger but also fear.

Once again Connor stood there, absolutely petrified and terrified by his twin's reaction. Not once in his life had he ever heard Murphy say something like that and actually mean it. His brother had used to like touch. Whether it had been a gentle tap on his back, sharing at bed with arms wrapped around each other, whether it had been the gentle caressing of a shoulder, an arm, a hand. They had been all about physical contact, all their lives, and now this.

Daryl looked at both brothers in surprise, picking up on how this was apparently wrong. He could see the look on Connor's face, how quiet he got yet again, and instinctively knew that he had to save the day yet again. He walked past his friend and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, letting it slip down his arm before letting go, to let the Irishman know that everything was going to be okay, that he got it, that he was there.

"'m gonna handle it."

But Connor just stood there and stared into nothingness while Daryl rushed after Murphy.

"Hey. Hey! Where yah going?" he shouted after him, but the younger MacManus twin kept walking.

"Back ta my fuckin group, not that it's any of yer fuckin business!" Murphy spat and walked even faster, hands buried in his pockets and shoulders pulled up like he was trying to shield his head and neck from something invisible. Daryl knew this sort of reaction, hated that he could relate to that, which made them have one thing in common. Just like him Murphy feared touch from a family member, because the very person had caused him so much pain once that he feared the return of the same pain with every other touch. Every new touch. It didn't even matter that Connor never had and never did intend to ever hurt him in any way. But the fear, the trauma, it was just there.

"Where's that? We ain't gonna let yah go alone!"

"I ain't gonna tell ye! I don't want ye here, don't ye understand ye fuckin redneck!" Murphy yelled back, and Daryl turned around for a second to see how Connor was doing. His friend still wasn't moving at all, and somehow that just send him over the edge. He was so furious with Murphy, this little fucking prick, who was such a fucking pussy about a tiny headshot. The little Irish fuck really didn't know what he had with Connor, this bastard who'd do anything for the little shit, so really. He didn't get to leave, do whatever he wanted or be with anyone else. He was going to -make- him understand that he wasn't allowed to just leave and hurt Connor like that, and it certainly didn't matter that he was his brother and actually had the privilege of humiliating the Irishman whenever he wanted. Daryl gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and then started running, after Murphy, before he got the chance to run away yet again.

"Wait!" he shouted and got just what he wanted. Murphy did turn around, now seemingly pissed off by the fact that he was being followed.

"Listen, I don't even fuckin know ye and 'm not just g.." he didn't get to keep talking because then a hard fist connected with his jaw, sending him flying backwards to the ground, knocked out cold, silent and 'obedient' at last. Daryl took a deep breath and looked down at the unconscious man to his feet, not being able to fight the relieved smile that broke through.

Damn. This felt liberating.

Months of picturing a punch like that, and now he'd finally gotten the chance to do just that.

"Little payment for nearly making your bro hang himself" he muttered and then bent over to get the unconscious heap of misery that was Murphy MacManus, almost gently picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder to carry him back to Connor. It didn't take too long, because his friend already came running.

"What te fuck did ye just do?!" Connor yelled, completely outraged by what he had just witnessed.
Daryl just walked past him, still carrying Murphy, heading for the gas station and their car.

"I said I'd handle it" he just answered, trying really hard not to smile or even giggle around Connor because he felt damn proud of himself.