Resurrection

Chapter 27 - Aftermath

Murphy was walking around the surrounding area for a while, not really sure what he was supposed to do. He was still angry, still hurt, still pissed at Connor but at the same time just upset. There was a part of him that was practically urging him to run away again, back to Savannah, back to Vernon and his group. It could be so easy. Both Connor and his stupid redneck friend weren't outside, there was no one to keep him from leaving. He could just turn his back on them, walk away, and not think about the whole drama ever again.

But the other part, the one that was way larger, kept bugging him, telling him that this was wrong. He couldn't leave the two of them here, sleeping, without any sort of protection. And then there was the more obvious reason why he couldn't just do that. Connor was his brother. Months of being with different groups, different people, had taught him how much he wanted to make it through this shit with his family. Not strangers. And Connor was his only family left.

The younger MacManus kept walking circles all around the campfire, slowly heading back now, because his mind was all set. He was still way too confused, but the anger turned more and more into sheer sorrow. He remembered the look on Connor's face earlier, when they had talked about that day. He'd honestly looked like he was so sorry, that he was utterly upset because of everything that had happened to him. And his brother had been really shocked to hear the ugly truth about his memory loss.

Murphy really wanted to remember Connor. Trust him and believe everything he had told him, because this would make it so much easier for them. There would be no need to feel heartbroken, no need to be scared or upset. He -wanted- to believe Connor that he hadn't been selfish that day, that he hadn't done it on purpose. Murphy seriously didn't want to feel betrayed anymore, but this was hard when he couldn't actually remember the truth.

Maybe they just needed to work this out.

The younger MacManus scratched his forehead, gently feeling the scar there, rubbing it and pulling a face.
It still hurt, but at least he felt a -tiny- bit better about it.

He made his way back to the campfire and sat down, clearing his throat and then warming his hands there. He would look up every now and then, staring at the tent where Connor and the other guy slept. It made him frown a bit, actually. It was weird knowing that his brother was in there with a guy he didn't know himself, a guy he hated in fact. He couldn't remember much but his guts told him that he'd never experienced anything like that, like he'd always known every single of Connor's friends. Maybe he was jealous, but that just made him even more angry.

No.
Why would he be jealous anyway.

He was supposed to be angry with Connor, keep blaming him and everything, although the truth was different. Now that he had his brother back, and now that the memory loss was plaguing him he wanted to be in there instead of this Daryl guy. He was supposed to be with his brother, and he really longed for that connection now. Months of thinking about him, wondering where he was. And now Connor was right there, but with some other asshole. He wanted to get to know him, get close to him again, but he supposed that he'd fucked it up.

The crack of a branch made Murphy turn around. The Irishman just sat there for a moment, eyes scanning the surrounding woods with a frown. He couldn't see or hear anything, but that didn't mean that it made him any less paranoid. He didn't really get to keep watching, because right then he heard the zipper of the tent. The younger MacManus turned his head, really hoping that Connor would come out there and keep 'bugging' him, although he really didn't mind it anymore.

His face fell when he saw that it was actually Daryl who was almost storming out of the tent, face flushed, looking incredibly angry and excited. Before Murphy could even say something the redneck already disappeared behind the tent, leaving it open. Murphy waited a bit longer, hoping that maybe Connor would come out as well and explain what the hell was going on, but it soon became very clear that his brother wasn't going to show up.

The younger twin chewed on his lower lip and looked around the camp for a while, contemplating what he should do. He really wanted to be with Connor, with someone in general, but he didn't just want to give up is act from one second to the next. He'd been with them for less than 24 hours now, and one big talk about the whole incident wasn't supposed to mean that everything was okay again. Which it still wasn't, it was just….Murphy sighed and shook his head as he moved his right hand through his ravenblack hair.

No.

Too soon.

Another crack of a branch made him turn around once again, but just like before he couldn't see anything.

Connor stared at the ceiling of the tent, still a bit out of breath, chest heaving, heart pounding. He had quite some trouble wrapping his head around whatever the fuck had happened just a minute ago. One second everything had been too intense, too hot, too tight, too close, one second of not being able to breathe or do anything, and the next everything was over. He raised his head a bit and tried to look out of the tent, but the flap was hanging down and denying him the view. He couldn't see Daryl, but he'd heard him walk past the tent and disappear somewhere behind it.

He'd told him that he needed to take a piss.

Right.

As fucking if.

The Irishman looked at the ceiling again and swallowed hard, trying to calm down and cool off. Saying that he felt awkward would be the understatement of the century. Simply because there were so many things to feel awkward about. One was the obvious - that Daryl had left from one second to the next, leaving him here in this state. Clothes, hair, body and mind a complete mess, with a trillion questions in his head but no real answer to any of those. The other reason why he felt awkward was also obvious - the sheer act itself was pretty unbelievable, in a not so positive way.

Connor rubbed his face and tried not to think about it, not to name it, but no matter what he did, it always popped up in his head. Daryl and he were very good friends. After everything they had been through, it was something that went without saying. But both he and the hunter had somehow managed to spiral down some very weird path. First the kissing shit, and now… The Irishman swallowed yet again and tried to shake it off.

Nope.

He wasn't going to name it. It had been a fight.

Nothing more.

He grabbed his rosary and closed his eyes, ready to pray, ask god for forgiveness, for absolution. He wasn't like this. It was a serious sin. He knew that his parents would probably kill him for this crap. He'd been raised like this after all. And it still applied. Everything. He really wasn't into guys or any of this bullshit. Just thinking about it made him want to throw up. And until now, he'd always blamed his and Daryl's closeness on Murphy's absence. It was true, he really liked Daryl as a friend, but even he had to admit that everything had -always- been about Murphy. That he'd lost him, wanted to hold him, wanted him back.

But now Murphy was back, and everything was still the same. The closeness with Daryl was getting stronger and stronger.
Instead of just subsiding. It was a freaking curse.

"Fergive me father, for I have sinned" he started to mumble, grabbing the rosary tighter, repeating his prayers over and over again until he was just too tired to keep going, too tired to keep thinking about it. For days he had been fighting this, the tiredness, but now he finally gave in to it because it was the only solution. Fall asleep just so he could stop thinking about it. Daryl wouldn't return anymore, maybe he just needed as much space, and maybe it was a good thing. Connor finally let go of his rosary, turning on his side and then slowly drifting off to sleep, pretending that nothing had happened anyway.

More than fifteen minutes must've had passed, but Daryl was still nowhere in sight. Murphy frowned and looked around the camp, trying to make out the hunter somewhere, but he was nowhere to be seen. The younger MacManus twin wanted to cheer at first, happy because the guy he hated the most right now was gone, but something about it felt weird, so he didn't really get the chance to celebrate. He looked back at the tent, where Connor was, and wondered what had happened between the two to make Daryl storm away like that.

It wasn't like he knew enough about them. Which was kind of weird, now that he thought about it.
He hated his memory loss, hated that he couldn't remember shit about his own brother.
Connor felt like a stranger to him now, but despite all the hate and pain he still wanted to get to know him.

Murphy nibbled on one of the squirrels for a while (now that no one was watching and because he -was- hungry as hell) and considered what he should do. Daryl just wouldn't come back and the flap of the tent was blowing in the wind, inviting him to step closer, to walk over to Connor. He really wanted to stay stubborn. Be on his own and punish his brother. But there was a part of his brain, buried deep inside and dead until now, that kept calling him. Longing for a connection, for the missing puzzle piece. Whispering to him, and calling calling calling.

Murphy let out a gentle sigh and threw the remains of the squirrel into the fire, only to start walking, heading for the tent. He got more and more determined with each step, but at the same time his head pounded more and more. He knew that the pain wasn't -really- there. It had to be some weird kind of reaction triggered by the trauma, but just for a moment he did not care. He kept walking until he could kneel in front of the tent, ready to crawl inside but hesitant yet again. He chewed on his lower lip and stared at the fabric for a while, really wanting to leave but at the same time enter.

He couldn't really hear anything coming from inside, so he had no idea if Connor was asleep. He then remembered how Daryl had just left like that, looking angry and aggressive, and this was reason enough for him to worry. What if the guy had done something to his brother? He didn't want to care but did anyway, so he finally moved the flap away and then entered the tent.

Connor was just lying there, on his side, eyes closed and chest slowly rising and falling. People tended to look peaceful when they slept, but his brother was far from that. His brows were furrowed and he looked incredibly exhausted, and this made Murphy feel sorry. Truth was, he had no real idea what was going on inside his brother's head, what he had been through during the past year to make him look like that, but he knew that he was certainly adding up to that whole business.

Murphy sat down for a moment, by the door and just watched his brother sleep, really wanting to say or do anything but not really knowing what that was supposed to be.
Even now he still felt the heartache, the pain and the fear deep in his bones. Simply because Connor had pulled the trigger a year ago.

I thought you'd fuckin know me, Murph. We spent all our lives together.
36 years, and not once did I ever do anything t'hurt ye. I've done everything ta keep ye safe until that day.

He honestly couldn't remember any of it. He really wanted to, make everything alright between them. He'd always been impatient, which was why he actually considered waking Connor up just so they could talk about it right away. He had so many questions, so much to say, and he just knew that it was going to be hard to do that with the freaking redneck between them all the time. He reached out, ready to grab his brother's shoulder and shake him awake, only to hesitate and then move his hand further down.

Murphy grabbed the poncho (really, how ugly was that thing? Only freaking rednecks could wear shit like this) Daryl had given his brother and then pulled it up, to cover Connor's hips, belly and shoulders. His brother would stir a bit but didn't wake up, and this put a tiny smile on Murphy's face. He rested his hand on his sibling's arm for a while and stroke it with his thumb, and no matter how hard he tried to deny it - it felt good. Like medicine. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together, clicking right in and sticking together.

The hug they'd shared just a couple of hours ago had been different. The touch had scared him a bit, simply because Connor had attacked him far too abruptly, invaded his personal space without giving him a chance to control it. But he was in control now, he was the one doing what he wanted and initiating the contact, which was definitely a good thing.

He turned his head to look outside, listening up so he could check if Daryl was there yet. He frowned yet again when he couldn't hear a single thing, but decided that this was his chance to do this. The stupid redneck wasn't there to disturb their family moment, Connor wasn't awake to ask too much of him, so he gently shifted until he was sitting right next to his brother, so he could lie down next to him, until they were face to face. Murphy tugged both his hands underneath his cheek and just looked at his brother, studying each tiny detail of his sleepy face.

Ever since Simmons had told him about him he had tried to remember that man, the person who had haunted him in his sleep. His face had been a blurry vision the whole time, distorted by his poor abused brain cells, the healthy part of his mind trying to simply imagine the missing information, the missing pieces. His day- and night-dream Connor had looked a bit different because of that, but it was undeniable. This was his brother in front of him, without a question. Every detail seemed familiar, some more, some less. He certainly remembered the scar above Connor's left eye, remembered the shape of his mouth and the tattoo on his neck. Some things were different, his other half looked more haggard than him and had a whole lot more bruises, but everything else felt familiar.

The younger MacManus'd never really had the opportunity to really look at his sibling until now, so he certainly paid extra attention to it . He eventually reached out again so he could place his hand on Connor's arm once more, stroking it and enjoying the heat. At the same time it made his heart ache, and maybe he teared up a bit, simply because he'd been longing for that for so long now. Whenever he'd seen Mike, Samantha and Suzie back at Quabbin Park. After he had lost Simmons. Whenever he had seen the kids back in Augusta, or whenever he had seen Vernon and his group look after each other in Savannah. He'd always been longing for that, a deep connection.

Family.

He'd been longing for this kind of love. And now he had it. He wasn't alone in this fucked up world. Shot in the head or not.
He'd go through all that shit again, he'd rather get shot in the head and have Connor than be perfectly fine but without him.

After battling with his thoughts for a bit Murphy finally moved closer, shifting and tugging around until there was no space between them and he could bury his face in Connor's chest. He inhaled deeply and was actually surprised how he felt, that he wasn't scared or tense. He instantly relaxed, like this was the place where he belonged and shifted even closer, still wanting to connect. He then exhaled and closed his eyes, just enjoying the kind of embrace and getting used to it again.

He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt like he was home, like none of the shit outside mattered right now, like nothing had happened in the first place. Connor suddenly shifted and startled Murphy a bit, but the older of the two just moved and put an arm around his other half's waist. Murphy looked up in surprise only to see that his sibling still wasn't awake. It was like something had told him to react to the sudden touch, to respond and protect, even in his sleep.

Or maybe he thought that he was Daryl?

Murphy frowned and shook his head angrily. No, that would be weird and wrong. Connor certainly -wouldn't- hold the guy like that. That was just….no. Without a question. Connor was holding -him-. Murphy relaxed again and closed his eyes, ready to sleep together with his brother. He was slowly dozing off when some noise startled him yet again. Murphy stirred and looked up, rubbing his eyes and staring at the flap of the tent. For a moment there was nothing, but then he could hear it again. The shuffling of leaves, the creaking of branches. Murphy frowned and slowly sat up, careful to free himself from his brother's embrace without actually waking him up. It took him a while, but Murphy eventually managed to get up, peeking out of the tent but without any luck.

There was nothing out there, no walkers, no strangers, and most importantly: still no Daryl. The younger MacManus frowned even more and rubbed his running nose, only to look back inside the tent, back at sleeping Connor. Murphy chewed on his upper lip and did a little pouting face, only to come to the conclusion that he needed to do this.

"Fuck" he muttered and then got up, ready to leave the tent, ready to check out the noises and see where the hell the freaking redneck was.

a couple of minutes earlier….

Daryl was stomping away from the tent, eager to get away from the campsite. Just like Connor he was still out of breath, heart pounding just as fast, face a bit flushed, and still painfully aroused. And this was exactly the reason why he needed to get away, because it was too embarrassing, too fucked up, too complicated to stay with Connor and his stupid brother right now.

Yeah, so maybe it had been a very long while. And yeah, maybe it had felt good and had needed to happen, but this still didn't excuse shit. He walked around in circles, trying to cool off and make sense out of his actions. How pathetic it really was. This wasn't supposed to happen. And even if it was, it wasn't supposed to happen with Connor. With Carol? Yes, maybe. She was a woman. He trusted her. This was the only way to make that shit 'right', but now it was too late, because it had already happened.

With freaking Connor.

Out of all people left in this godforsaken world.

He turned around and looked back at the camp, where he could see the fire. He clenched his fists because the sheer sight of it made him more than angry. He turned around and started walking yet again, to get further away from the tent, the fire. It was probably the kid's fault. He tried to keep telling himself. It had been a tough day with Murphy's return and everything. He just didn't want to lose his only real friend simply because of that guy. And maybe he had overreacted. Clung to Connor more than he should because he was too afraid of losing him as well after losing Merle.

The arousal was slowly subsiding, simply because all the terror and embarrassment was buzz kill enough for him. There was no way he was going to do anything physical about it, because this would be way off. Jerking off after nearly freaking fucking your best friend? Nope. Absolutely not. It was almost like he could hear Merle roaring with laughter because he was so pathetic about it, just like back in his teenage years.

Trust me baby bro, yah ain't ever getting any pussy, not when yah got one of your own. Pathetic. Man up. Grow a pair'a balls and freakin use 'em Darylena.
That's what they're there for.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head with an angry grunt. No. He was going to wait until he cooled down, take a piss and then do the night watch shift. Walk around. Try to find some walkers, kill them, and not think about anything. That shit was done. He wasn't a pussy. The only reason why he was like this right now wasn't because of Connor. Nope. He'd been thinking about Carol. Or any other freaking woman he'd ever seen. Maybe even Merle's porn shit. Yes. This was acceptable. He'd been in a fight with his friend, and then his mind had drifted to that, triggered by the physical contact. If there was some woman around then he would've used them. (Although he knew perfectly well that he wouldn't have done it there either. Carol, Connor, it didn't matter. He was a pussy about it.) End of discussion.

After walking around for what felt like eternity he'd finally cooled off enough so he could take a piss. He walked over to the nearest tree and tried to think about random shit, more pleasant thoughts like what it had felt like to punch Murphy in the face. Or when he had killed the governor as revenge for his brother's death. Or when he had found Carol, back at the prison, when he'd already thought she was dead.

Daryl slowly relaxed because both the sexual pressure but also the pressure on his bladder found some sort of relief. He'd been out here for about ten to fifteen minutes now, enough time to gain some distance. He was just about to let it go and head back when he could hear the cracking of branches around him, like someone or something was stepping on them. Daryl looked up and then around, eagerly and quickly tugging away his manhood and then grabbing his knife instead. He wanted to curse because he didn't have his crossbow with him. He'd been too lost in thoughts to really pay attention to anything, safety, his surroundings, his weapons, so all he had left was his knife.

For second there was nothing but silence. The occassional rustling of leaves because of the wind, but other than that: nothing. Daryl sighed but still held on to his knife, just in case, and then started walking again, backwards, so he could keep looking around. Seconds walking like this, and then he ran right into something. The hunter grabbed his knife and turned around at what felt like the speed of light, ready to kill whatever had been lurking behind him.

The thing behind him turned out to be human, male, and Irish.

"Fuck! Watch where yah fuckin going!" Murphy exclaimed and stumbled backwards, staring at Daryl with angry eyes. The hunter relaxed a bit but wouldn't put the knife away, huffing and then shaking his head. He looked past the Irishman, trying to see if Connor was with him, but this wasn't the case. Which made him frown even more. It was still way too weird for him to hear someone else talk with an accent like that, a speech pattern that had once belonged to his friend and his friend only.

Daryl walked past Murphy, bumping into him on purpose and then having another look around because the rustling around them wouldn't stop.
But it was too dark out here, he couldn't see anything, just hear.

"Where's your bro, kid?" the hunter asked and earned another angry glare from Murphy for that.

"Stop fuckin callin me kid. How old are ye anyway, 60?" the Irishman growled as an answer and then felt his shoulder with a huff, because Daryl had been quite rough with him.

"Don't go all smartass on me and answer the fuckin question" Daryl countered and glared at Murphy a moment, only to startle once more when he heard another loud cracking noise. The younger MacManus turned his head as well, curious and also worried because the noise was coming through nonstop now.

"Back at te camp. Inside the tent where ye left him" he answered, for which he earned yet another glare.

Daryl didn't get the chance to say anything to that, or ask what the hell Murphy was doing here anyway, because right then they could hear it. More rustling, more creaking, all around them, emerging from the woods, and then the most problematic noise about it all - groaning and moaning. Both men turned their heads, looking for the source and then they could finally see them- slowly exiting the surrounding woods, staggering towards them like drunken sleepwalkers.

"Shit" Daryl hissed and wanted to start running, back to the camp to get Connor and get the hell away from here, but he was even more shocked to see that the majority of the herd was coming right -from- there. And he wasn't immune to their shit anymore. The hunter widened his eyes in horror and grabbed his knife tighter, cursing himself once again for forgetting his crossbow inside the tent.

"Go get your bro and get the hell away from here. Go back to the highway, wait for me there" he said in a hurry and wouldn't look at Murphy, concentrating way too much on the surrounding masses of walkers around them. It was exactly like back on the other interstate and on Hershel's farm. One herd, united in an undead force, ready to tear everything apart. He held his knife up and then started running, looking for a way out, looking for a possibility to protect himself from hungry, murderous rotting fingers, ready to tear at his flesh.

Not Connor's, not Murphy's, but his. Of freaking course. Undead assholes had to turn up right now, right when…he hissed and cursed yet again, stabbing a couple of heads and shoving the undead away who were already slowly closing in on him. He turned his head for a moment to check if there were any walkers right behind him, only to see that Murphy was still standing there, watching the whole scenario unfold with wide eyes.

"Go!" Daryl roared, knowing that although the walkers were slow he still didn't have much time to get away.

Murphy just stood there, watching all the walkers exit the woods, shambling, stumbling and staggering around like a plague. Even after all these months they still terrified him, made his shoulder ache and his heart pound. He knew that they wouldn't attack him but still feared a possible bite, but this wasn't even the most fucked up thing about the whole incident. Just earlier today he had seen the guy manoeuver through a herd just like this without the undead paying much attention to him, but now it obviously looked like they -wanted- to eat him. And judging by the fact that Daryl was suddenly running away things had obviously changed.

He turned his head in panic, to look back at the tent where his brother still slept, but could see the countless walkers over there. He knew that they didn't attack him as well. Connor had told him by the campfire a couple of hours ago. He wouldn't tell him why, but they both seemed to be immune, they were related after all. He couldn't hear his sibling scream, couldn't hear him fight or see the tent shake, so the walkers probably wouldn't hurt him right now, whereas Daryl…. The younger MacManus turned around to look how the hunter was doing. Daryl was already slaying his way through the undead who were still reaching out for him. Getting more and more aggressive by the minute. The guy obviously really needed help right now.

Murphy swallowed hard, mind racing, heart pounding.

So many options right now, so many tasks. He knew that he should still go back to Connor, check on him, make sure he was alright although he probably was.
He could leave Daryl to the walkers, probably watch him getting eaten alive and enjoy his new freedom, enjoy that he had his sibling all to himself. Except that this was inhumane and evil. And he wasn't like that at all.

Daryl was Connor's friend.

Murphy gritted his teeth and then started running, away from the tent and towards running and fighting Daryl.

"Lead 'em away from the camp! We'll make a detour, lead 'em away and get back here! We can outrun 'em!" he shouted and grabbed his own knife to help Daryl and kill a couple of walkers. But the noise only made it worse. More and more were swarming the tiny clearance, smelling eatable flesh. Daryl turned his head once again to look at Murphy, who was now running towards him, ignoring his orders completely.

"Are yah stupid! I said go!" he roared and stabbed a particularly ugly walker in the eye. He then shoved him away and started running once again.

"Go back! Yah can't just leave Connor alone back there!" he spat and tried to get away, not only from the walkers but also from Murphy. There was no way he was going to be responsible for the kid during a mess like this, but Murphy seemed to have other plans. He was pretty eager to kill some of the walkers himself, particularly the ones behind Daryl to keep them off his back.

"Then he's gotta get his fuckin arse outta there and help us! CONNOR!" Murphy roared as loud as he could, but drifting further away from the tent, just like Daryl. It didn't take long and he could hear his brother, yelling almost drowned out by the never ending moaning and growling all around them.

"MURPH!"

Just like the many times before he was back in Boston, by the car, on the street, facing the harbour as he prepared their stuff to get it out of the trunk. He was busy trying to come up with a plan on how the fuck they were supposed to get to the other side of the channel, but just like the many times before he didn't get to finish the thought, finish this part of the dream.

A scream.

He turned around in horror only to see them, countless shuffling corpses, staggering outside the surrounding buildings, exiting the skyscrapers and abandoned cars.
Countless walkers, with his brother, right in the middle.

"OH SHIT!" he could hear him scream, then there were gunshots.

More and more groaning, an aggressive humming that seemed to fill every street of Boston, closing in on them, surrounding them.
And just like the countless times before he started running, towards his brother, to get him out of there, away from there.

"Murph!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, sprinting and firing bullets at the undead.

He needed to get his brother away from there.

Minutes of fighting and making his way through the undead, but it took only one word to let him know that he was too late once again.

"CONNOR!"

When he turned his head in horror he could see him standing there. Murphy - standing right in the middle of the crowd.
A walker- right behind him, tearing at his neck, ripping at the skin and making it bleed.

"NO!"

A gunshot, a body that was thrown back and landed hard on the ground.

Connor sat up abruptly, screaming in horror and panting hard. He searched the tent with wide eyes, only to find it empty. He could see the campfire outside, saw the shadow of two figures there. The Irishman let out a loud terrified sigh and buried his face in his hands. It had been a while since he'd last dreamed about that. He gently massaged his temples and tried to calm down, but for some reason he could still hear them. The walkers, the incredible deadly force that had once injured his twin so much and nearly killed him.

It was probably because Murphy was back. That's what he tried to tell himself. Calm himself down. Maybe his brain was still in shock. Processing everything only just now. It was a lot to work his head around after all. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, but for some reason the weird groaning still wouldn't go away. He didn't get to wonder about that, because right then he heard it yet again, only that this time it was real.

"CONNOR!" Murphy was screaming, somewhere behind him, behind the tent, not exactly close to the campsite.
It was then when he also noticed that there were far more than two silhouettes walking around the campfire, staggering around, stinking and growling.

Oh shit.

"MURPH!" he answered and grabbed his weapons, stumbling out of the tent to see what was going on.

For a second he couldn't really breath, because the sight practically equalled getting a fist in his face. Countless walkers, staggering around their camp, some of them already catching fire because they had stepped into it. Countless moving corpses, but his twin or best friend were nowhere in sight.

"MURPH!" he shouted yet again, trying to see through the chaos, but there were too many walkers.