Resurrection

Chapter 29 - Trigger

"Check the tent, see if they left any food or medicine" one of the three men by their camp suggested. Connor was reluctantly approaching them, because the man behind him still forced him to walk with his gun, which he pressed to his back. The Irishman looked around their camp with an angry frown, trying to make out Murphy or Daryl somewhere between the surrounding trees or bushes, but neither his sibling nor his friend where in sight.

And he was being forced to be in the middle of a group of strangers that could be dangerous. He honestly didn't trust anyone anymore. Not after everything he'd been through. Which was why he was relatively certain he was going to end up with a bullet in his back or between his eyes if he didn't come up with a plan. Fast.

"Hey, Dan! Look what I found!" the man behind him yelled and startled Connor a bit. He even shoved the older MacManus further towards the group of three men, who were now examining him head to toe with surprised looks on their faces. When Connor and his attacker were close enough they stopped walking, and the Irishman felt terribly surrounded, like a trapped animal. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, trying hard to fight his fear and anger.

He knew that he stood no chance in a fight. One of the guys had a shotgun, one what looked like a rifle, another a machete and the man behind him a handgun. He would get torn to pieces, crippled and cut in halves before he even got the chance to raise a fist. He needed to get out of here somehow. Without fighting. Using just his wits.

Connor carefully looked at each member of the group, examining their faces, their clothes, their gestures and facial expressions. They didn't look too fucked up or evil. They weren't grinning and enjoying the sick situation in which they were outnumbering him. They just seemed surprised, maybe a bit confused by his sheer presence. The men wore dirty clothes and had dirty faces, but who wasn't dirty these days? Their guns and equipment told Connor that they were probably hunters. Like Daryl. Tough rednecks. Grown up country, living the life in the Georgian woods.

And they were younger than him. Probably in their early to late 20s. The guy behind him looked pretty naïve, boyish even. Only one of them looked somewhat older, about Connor's age. He reacted to the other man's words which suggested that he was 'Dan',and possibly the group's leader. So Connor fixed his gaze on him and waited for him to talk.

"Well, what do we have here?" Dan asked and examined Connor a little closer as well.

He then scratched his chin and pointed behind himself, at the tent.

"This yours?"

Connor's eyes flicked to the tent, considering his options. He knew it would be stupid to lie. He surely was the only living person around this area. Well, if you didn't count Daryl or Murphy. He knew that they weren't going to buy it if he told them no. The camp was too new, the fire still burning and smoking away. It -had- to be his camp. And if he told them, was honest about it, then maybe he would get a good head start to resolve the whole mess a little more civilized. He swallowed hard and then nodded, using the motion to glance around yet again, searching the surrounding area for the other two members of his group, keeping an eye on the man behind him who was still threatening him with a gun.

"Aye" he just said, because he figured that little information was better than both no information or too much information.

Dan smirked and chuckled gently.

"I see. Irish?" he noticed and Connor nodded once again, still waiting for information on what they wanted.

The leader of the group of strangers walked a bit to the left, looking at the tent once more and then fixing his eyes on Connor's backpack.

"You all on your own?"

Connor tried to stay cool, but once again he felt like he was close to losing it.
Daryl and Murphy were gone for hours now, lost somewhere in the woods, scared off by the countless undead, so he figured that he really was alone.

"Aye, listen. Let's just be civilized about it, alright? This is yer territory. I get it. I'll just…pack my things and get going. I was just passing through.
Making my way further west. I think we both know the numbers here, and I ain't looking fer any trouble, alright fellas?"

He really wanted to just walk away, but knew that it would only make things worse. He had his way with words, had managed to get himself and Murphy out of many precarious situations before, so it just had to work out now. Only that this wasn't the old world anymore. Back in the old days laws had put people in place, kept them from doing really fucked up shit in broad daylight. But this was the apocalypse. People killed people a lot these days. Just for the fun of it.

Fuck. Of course shit like this had to happen the moment he lost Daryl and Murphy.

Dan snorted and moved his rifle, and for a moment Connor thought that he was about to get shot. He was really close to flinching but forced himself not to do that, because this would be a sign of weakness. He just watched the man with clenched fists and relaxed a tiny bit when he saw how the guy put the rifle on his shoulders to carry its weight there.

"Yeah, I suppose" the leader said and there was a small pause that he used to smirk at Connor.
He then shrugged and raised his arm in a nonchalant manner.

"But that doesn't change anything 'bout the fact that you're in our territory" he said and then pointed at a small hill to their right.

"You came pretty close to our farm. Probably scared all the animals away with your fire and presence. There goes our meal for the family. And that's on you, Irish" he said and kept walking, until he was almost standing right next to Connor. He still wouldn't stop staring at the older MacManus' back, like he was really interested in Daryl's crossbow and the backpack. Connor tried to stay calm, but was already pretty close to lashing out. He didn't like the vibe of the whole situation, that he was completely outnumbered with two guys standing pretty much behind him.

"Sorry, I had no idea. Just like I said. I'll just be going then and leave ye to yer hunt and family."

He then slowly reached down, resting his hand on his hip and revealing the knife he kept there, which his attacker had failed to take from him.

"We don't have ta make this complicated, do we?"

It was a careful and slow threat, but he did it nevertheless. The group of men looked surprised. Then some of them laughed, obviously amused by it because they all knew he wasn't really a threat to them, all on his own, with just a knife while they had guns. But Connor didn't care. Even if he had to die in a couple of minutes, there was no way he was going down without a fight, and he sure as hell would take some of those assholes with him. But Dan just chuckled and then walked back until he was standing right in front of Connor again.

"You're too cute" he said and then shook his head.

He examined Connor once more and then bit his lower lip, as if contemplating something for a while.
He then nodded and nudged one of the guys next to him.

"You're right. We don't have to make this complicated, buddy. You pay for your mistake and everything's cool, I guess."

"You got a cool crossbow" one of the younger guys said.

He'd been eyeing the weapon the whole time anyway, and it was more than obvious that he wanted it.
He also seemed to have picked up on something that Connor was only getting just now.

"Hand over all your weapons. Food. Medicine. Whatever's in that bag of yours and we're cool with you trespassing" Dan then said.

The other man who hadn't said anything so far nodded and then pointed at the Irishman's feet.

"And those shoes" he said, which made the other men look at him.

The man shrugged.

"What? I need new ones, we ain't going into town and I ain't gonna wear any of the geek's rotten boots."

Connor just stared at the men for a moment, the words hitting him like a brick wall. And he'd thought that getting killed during a situation like this could be the worst possible thing that could happen, but now it looked like there were things far worse. Did he seriously have to decide what he'd rather have? His life or his dignity? He just kept glaring at the men, eyes piercing them as he tried really hard not to lose it. His finger nails were buried deep inside the flesh of his palms by now, and his teeth hurt from all the pressing them together.

"Ye want me ta drop my fuckin panties fer ye as well while we're at it? Sorry, but there's no fuckin way 'm gonna let ye take my shit, asshole" he snarled because he couldn't believe they would even -suggest- something as fucked up as this. All men looked at him in surprise once again, maybe even acknowledging his courage a bit. Dan snorted and grabbed his rifle from his shoulders.

"Fine, if you wanna make this complicated, be our guest" he said and then made his weapon sharp.

"Might as well shoot you and take your shit this way, if you want it like that. Just don't say we didn't warn you" he said, and lifted his gun a bit, as if to aim it at Connor's chest. The Irishman reacted instantly and reached for his knife, but the man behind him grabbed his arm and kept him from doing just that. But Dan wouldn't shoot either. He glared at Connor with an intense, murderous stare for a moment, only to lower his rifle and burst out laughing.

"The look on your dang face" he said and cackled, nudging the man to his right, still laughing.

"Go on, grab his shit and kick his sorry ass back to the highway."

"Fuck off!" Connor roared and started kicking when he felt how the guy behind him grabbed his backpack and crossbow and ripped it off him. The other guys were coming as well, ready to tackle him to the ground and steal even more of his stuff, but about a second later everything changed drastically. There was a loud gunshot going off somewhere behind him, startling and nearly making his heart stop because he thought that -he- had been shot. He even lost his balance all of the sudden, getting pulled down by the man behind him.

But the shooting wouldn't stop. The other three men were looking around with wide eyes, grabbing their guns and trying to make out the enemy that had attacked them with the element of surprise, but they didn't get the chance to face their attacker. Because then there were three more shots, each hitting the men and sending them flying to the ground. Connor was lying there with them on the ground, with a hand still grabbing his upper arm tight. He was breathing heavily and then fought the arm off, eager to sit up and feel his back. Everything had happened so fast that he seriously didn't even know if he was injured or not. There was blood on the back of his shirt, but there was no hole in it, and his back didn't hurt. So he figured that the guy behind him had been shot, leading him to the only conclusion…

"CONNOR!" he heard a voice that was unmistakably his twin brother's.

The older MacManus turned around as fast as he could to see where the voice had come from, only to grin like an idiot.
Murphy and Daryl were there, exiting the woods just now and getting back to the camp.

"Murph!" Connor cheered, beyond relieved because not only his attackers were dead, but also because he had his beloved twin brother back. And his best friend, of course. He was even more surprised when Murphy suddenly came running right at him, tackling him into a hug and nearly sending the both of them flying to the ground. But he managed to absorb the impact, kept them from falling with an awkward huff that pressed all the air out of his lungs.

"Fuck, I thought they was gonna fuckin kill yah!" Murphy roared and hugged him so tight that Connor could barely breathe. The older of the twins was quite surprised, actually. No. Really surprised. Never in a million years would he have expected such a welcome from Murphy, when only a couple of hours ago they had been fighting pretty bad over the shot, when his younger sibling had spent hours upon hours blaming him for nearly killing him. But here Murphy was, his brother, clutching to him and hugging him just like back in the old days, maybe even more extreme.

"Please don't ever get yerself fuckin killed over anything" Murphy even said, a bit quieter this time.
Which made Connor frown. It was weird hearing the kid say something like that, and he honestly didn't have a clue where all of this was coming from.

"'f course, Murph. We've survived shit that's way worse, didn't we then" he muttered and then stroke his twin's back a bit, frowning even more and then raising his head to look at Daryl. What was the most surprising thing about the whole incident was the fact that it was the hunter who still held the gun in his hand, making it obvious that he had been the one to kill everyone that had tried to rob him. Saving his life and keeping him safe. Once again.

Daryl had made his way over to them by now, crouching down to get his crossbow back. He wouldn't say anything and kept chewing on his lower lip, the usual habit he had when he was trying to hide something like in this case, jealousy. Their gazes eventually met as Connor was still hugging Murphy, but the older of the two just fixed his eyes on Daryl and then nodded.

Thank you, the nod said, and Daryl seemed to get it because he nodded back and then looked down. Just then Murphy let go of Connor because he seemed to feel the sudden urge to kick the bodies of his brother's attackers, cursing all the way through and insulting them, asking them who was so fucked up to rob a man that was all on his own.

Connor used the time his twin was busy with the men to walk over to his friend, who was examining his crossbow with a frown to see if it was damaged. As the older of the two brothers was still walking he would look at Murphy once more, still confused by his previous reaction but also amused by his current one, because despite all their problems and his injuries, he really still seemed to be the old Murphy. Connor smiled a little and then finally concentrated on Daryl.

"Fuck, that was close. You alright?" he asked, which made Daryl look up. Once again the hunter looked slightly pissed, obviously trying to isolate himself once again. He just nodded. Connor only just realized that this was actually the first time the two of them were talking to each other after what had happened last night in the tent, but there was no way he was bringing that up now. But even with that slightly embarrassing topic in the way he didn't really care. He kept walking until he was right in front of Daryl, leaving him no choice to back away when he wrapped his arms around him as well to greet him equally.

Daryl seemed rather surprised by the sudden attack because he automatically flinched a bit, tensed and then tried to get away, but just like any other time Connor wouldn't let him. He clung to the hunter and even buried his face in his shoulder for a bit, relieved that he had his friend back as well, despite all the walkers yesterday. And maybe he really enjoyed their closeness by now.

"Thanks fer looking after him" he muttered and patted Daryl's back, because he was honestly beyond relieved that Murphy was still in one piece.
He was certain that Daryl had played a big part there, despite the fact that he knew that his brother could look after himself.

"Te fuck happened?" he asked because he was still confused by everything that had happened during their little camping session.

"Kid's been a pain in the ass 's what happened" Daryl just growled as an answer and then successfully managed to free himself, obviously confused by the attention he got despite Murphy being there. Connor chuckled and smirked. "I know. But I wouldn't have it any other way" he answered and then examined Daryl head to toe, making sure that the hunter was alright as well. He then turned his head to check on Murphy, too, because there it was, coming back to life at full force. His protectiveness. His desperate need to make sure his brother was alright, now maybe more than ever.

And he wasn't disappointed by his instincts, because right then he could see it. One of the bastards was still moving, somewhere behind Murphy, out of his line of sight, because his sibling was busy searching the dead men for anything useful like ammo and maybe even cigarettes. And once again it wasn't happening in slow motion like in the countless movies he had watched, no, this one was happening now, fast and almost out of control. The guy with the shotgun was still alive. Raising it, aiming it right at Murphy's back. Connor widened his eyes in pure shock, let go of Daryl and then started running.

"MURPH! WATCH OUT!" he yelled as loud as he could, sprinting to get there in time. Murphy instantly reacted and sprung to the left without even knowing what was going on, instincts kicking in and saving him from getting shot. The shell hit the ground not too far from Murphy, creating a large hole in the ground and revealing the sheer force that could've ripped the younger MacManus' back apart just like that. As Connor kept running Murphy still tried to get away, then a second shot went off but missing him yet again. Seconds later an arrow suddenly flew right by the older twin, nearly hitting him but getting stuck in the injured attacker's lower back instead.

The man yelped loudly and dropped his shotgun as he tried to reach for the thing that had injured him for a second time, but he didn't get to pull it out because right then Connor was already on him. The Irishman fell to his knees and then straddled the man, grabbing his shotgun to pull it out of his grip. Connor then turned the injured around, who was half weeping because of the sheer agony he was in, but the Irishman blacked out completely.

From one second to the next he was filled with that sheer sick and animalistic rage, the hatred he felt for this man after seeing him nearly shoot his brother. Connor was beyond horrified, beyond traumatized by seeing something like this, seeing his past nearly repeat himself. There was no way he was going to lose Murphy a second time, no way he was gonna let the man live who had tried to kill his twin brother.

He grabbed the shotgun and then used its grip to clobber the man, forcing the blunt piece of the gun down over and over again, harder and harder, because his mind and reasoning was out of order for a moment, because the sheer fury and wrath controlled his entire body once again. And for some reason he just couldn't stop, wanted to beat the man harder and harder, each sickening crunching sound and splatter of blood and bone fragments encouraging him more and more. The man's crying had stopped after the second brutal blow, his nose cracked and fragmented after the third, and soon his whole face turned into nothing but an unrecognizable mass of goo, the blood making a disgusting smacking sound with each impact of the gun grip.

It was a bloody mess, it was beyond sickening and brutal and Connor was aware of that, he just didn't know why he couldn't stop. Maybe it was the sick fear of losing his brother to a gunshot, he tried to explain to himself. Or maybe it was his own sick self-hatred, like he was only channeling all of his frustration and self-blame just now. A man had tried to -shoot- his brother, just like he had shot him, for which he still hated himself more than anything. Since he obviously couldn't punch himself like that and wouldn't do it because it was a sin he had to let it out sooner or later, and now it was later, but at least he could finally do it.

So he wouldn't stop, channeling everything and kept going. He was also aware that Murphy was watching him with wide eyes, unable to do anything, say anything or look away. The man's face soon was completely gone, and Connor knew that sooner or later he would hit the ground if he kept clobbering like that. Then there was that part of his brain that reminded him that this was the second time he was bashing someone's brains in and killing them just because they had -dared- to try to kill Murphy. It was then when he felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him and making him stop. He flinched and fought the hand off, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Daryl who was trying to get him away, and that his friend was actually talking to him. He was quite surprised by everything, falling back on his ass and dropping the gun as he tried to catch breath, snap out of it and think.

"The guy's dead, man" Daryl said calmly, talking about the obvious.

Connor could finally really see the mess he had made. His hands were bloody, his jeans were soaked in blood, and he could feel that there were droplets in his face as well. He just stared at the bloody, mutilated corpse, saw the clothes and shoes and knew that the guy had been one of the younger of the group. Just like the others. Around his early/mid twenties.

He had practically killed a kid. In the most brutal way. He knew that these guys probably never had killed anyone, judging by their reactions earlier. They could've shot him and robbed him, but had decided not to do it. A lesser sin. They had said that they were from a farm. A family. Probably the strongest, the ones to bring food back home. But they had murdered them all, murdered them because of him, and he had made one of those murders as bloody as possible.

But what was the worst part about it all: He didn't care.

He didn't feel guilty. Or bad about it.

He didn't feel anything at all.

Connor raised his head and looked at Murphy, wiping his face and just eyed his twin head to toe.

He didn't care because Murphy was alright. Murphy was safe, protected. With not a hair touched on his head. Much in contrast to his last fuck up in Boston. The difference between that incident and this one right here was that he had acted, had protected his sibling from -any- harm, and this was all that mattered. He wouldn't listen to Daryl's talk and just got up, sniffing and calmly wiping his face as he used his other hand - the broken one with the tattoo- to get his gun. He looked at the other three remaining bodies, the one he hadn't take care of yet, the ones who had just been shot and would come back as walkers sooner or later.

Walkers. The ones that had bitten Murphy back in Boston. Which meant they were also a threat to his sibling. Which meant that they needed to die.
He undid the safety of his gun and walked over to the first corpse, slowly, so he could take his time and say it out loud.

"And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord for thee" he said and pointed his gun at the first head with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Power hath descended forth from thy hand"

BAM.

The first bullet, traveling through an already dead brain and staining the ground with blood and brain matter. Connor lowered the gun and then walked over to the next corpse just like before, in a completely calm and relaxed manner. He was aware that both Daryl and Murphy were watching him, maybe a bit shocked by his sudden reaction, maybe speechless, he didn't know and he didn't care. He was doing god's work. He was only protecting his family, the most important bond of them all.

"That our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. We shall flow a river forth to thee"

BAM.

"And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

BAM.

One last bullet, destroying a dead brain, drenching the ground with blood even more. And Connor looked at what he had done, the blood bath he had initiated, but he didn't feel sorry, didn't think it wrong. There was never going to be a Boston - part two. No walker was ever going to bite Murphy again, no one was ever going to shoot Murphy ever again, no one was ever going to even touch him. He put the gun away and then grabbed his backpack, ignoring the tent, the still burning fire or his brother and friend, he walked right past everything and headed for the forest, to get back to the highway.

"Let's go back home" was all he said, his voice lacking any sort of emotion.

There was no anger, no cheeriness, no doubt or sadness. He was dangerously calm.

Despite the fucked up situation they seemed to be lucky. It looked like the men that had tried to rob their camp had come by car, a red pick-up truck that seemed to be a bit loud but was running just fine. Connor, Murphy and Daryl were relieved to see that it was a four seater, which would spare them from having to sit right next to each other in a row for the next one or two hours of driving back to Woodbury.

It wasn't like any of them would express their gratitude, though. After the incident back at the camp no one would really speak or say anything, apart from a couple of organizational things. Just like yesterday no one really got to pick. Connor was the one driving, Daryl was the one sitting shotgun, and Murphy was supposed to sit in the backseat. No one really knew how long the silence lasted, despite the fact that each man really wanted to say something, needed to get something off his chest. But they were all too proud, all a little too confused by the recent events, all a little too awkward because each topic was beyond complicated and uncomfortable.

For a while each of them just did their individual thing. Daryl basically used the time to stare out of the window, watch the houses, abandoned cars and occasional shuffling corpses pass by, and he would use any given opportunity to look at Connor, wondering what the change in his friend meant, how he was supposed to take it, what he was supposed to do with it.

Murphy, who was sitting right in the middle between the two backseats, would use the time to continuously chew on thumbnail because he was nervous and trying to process everything just as hard. And not only the bloody incident was giving him a headache, he was also trying really hard to come up with any possible thing to do or say to make all his bad talk from yesterday any better. After Daryl had told him about Connor's suicide attempt with a rope (a fuckin rope, seriously? Always with the fucking rope, even then) there was that constant fear inside of him, that fear of making it worse for his brother and losing him because of that. He knew that Connor wasn't a sissy, he had seen him in action less than an hour ago, but that didn't change anything about the fact that he -knew- and feared it. And his brother's strange reaction to the shotgun accident wasn't exactly helping.

Connor, on the other hand, wouldn't say or do anything, which was the main reason why the other two men freaked out. The Irishman was just driving, staring at the road, window open as he allowed himself to smoke. To calm himself down, to ride on the post-murder bliss, almost like a post-sex cigarette. He knew it was twisted but for some reason he still didn't care, and that freaked even him out. He had used to be all about morality. Killing evil men to make good flourish. Never ever any innocent. Even up until that moment he never would've pulled the trigger or tried to kill all those people unless any of those had tried to physically harm him.

But nearly killing Murphy had been evil enough. Even if they had shot first. From now on everything was justified as long as Murphy was safe.
God certainly owed him that one. After that fucked up year he certainly deserved to keep his twin safe at all costs.

Even if god made him choose between Murphy and a little freaking girl. Like back in Boston. Murphy always came first. And he knew he couldn't kill himself instead to prevent himself from doing something wrong. Because killing himself would mean hurting Murphy. And he wasn't going to do that. His life had a purpose now. A meaning. A goal, a job. Murphy. Until the day he died. Even if that meant that he would end up in hell. He'd already been there. One year. Eternity in hell would be worth it. Each new second, each minute, each hour, each day, each week, month or year he could be with his sibling. That was going to be worth it.

He'd condemned the world anyway, had he? He'd run from Augusta, prevented a cure. He'd even chosen to fuck over all of humanity just to get Murphy back.

Connor took a long drag on his cigarette and then turned his head a bit, first using the rearview mirror to look at Murphy, who was staring back at him with a frown as he kept chewing on his thumb. Despite the whole chewing thing the frown made Murphy look older, a bit like grumpier Daryl. Which made Connor look at his friend, who was just sitting next to him and seemed to be watching him as well.

Yeah. The whole world was fucked. He was more than fucked. So maybe the whole thing with Daryl wasn't going to be so complicated at all.

In it for a penny, in it for a pound.

Daryl frowned a bit, not really understanding what the stare was supposed to mean, but Connor just gave him a tiny smirk and then turned his head to take another drag on the cigarette. This was his own private joke, his own private little dare and promise.

Then it was Murphy who finally broke the silence.

"So…where tha fuck are we going?" he asked, actual interest showing in his voice. The younger MacManus seriously didn't know how he was supposed to picture it. Woodbury. Connor had said it was a town, but that didn't exactly make Murphy feel any more comfortable. Towns usually meant fucked up, dangerous people. Whenever he'd set foot in a town or a city it had ended up all bloody, with people getting murdered, overrun or robbed. Not to talk about the countless walkers. So really, he didn't get why Connor would want to take him there.

"Woodbury. 's a town. South of Atlanta" Daryl muttered, voice lacking interest or sincerity.
Once again it was obvious that Murphy annoyed him, but at least he wasn't trying to put up a fight.

However, Connor seemed far more optimistic and interested in telling Murphy about their town.

"Yer gonna like it, Murph. They even got a dvd player and a fuckin pool table. All we gotta get now 's a couple 'a beers and it'll be almost like back at Doc's. Could even throw a belated birthday party fer us, like back in the old times. Minus the pizza."

Murphy just listened. He couldn't remember 'Doc'. Nor could he remember their actual birthday and traditions. But he refrained from telling Connor about it.
Maybe later. In private. When they all had calmed down from the forest incident.

"I fuckin miss pizza" Connor muttered and sighed, reminding Daryl once more and making the hunter look at his friend. He thought it was pretty fucked up, how Connor be like this, talk about random shit like pizza when he had just murdered a bunch of people in cold blood less than an hour ago. But here he was, talking about movies, booze and food, like this was all that mattered about their town. Daryl kept glaring at Connor, but would talk to Murphy then.

"We got walls, cars, electricity and running hot water. 24 hour patrols, heavy armoury, regular supply runs and even a school for the kids. Not to mention that we got a great, experienced group with a good cop as leader. Don't worry" he said and then turned his head to look at Murphy.

"You'll be safe there, kid."

Murphy snorted.

"Don't need fuckin walls ta protect me" he protested, for which he earned a worried glance from Connor.
Murphy sighed and then looked out of the window, avoiding that gaze or Daryl in general.

"I'm better off with a beer."

"That's the spirit, brother!" Connor cheered, looking in the rearview mirror once more to make eye contact with Murphy. The whole situation felt a bit forced, a bit out of place and really inappropriate after the kill in the forest and after their past in Boston, but despite everything, despite the fact that this was the apocalypse and so many things had gone wrong, hurt and were beyond repairable Murphy still had to smile when they looked at each other.

It was an honest smile, an amused smile and maybe even an excited smile because now he really wanted to see this Woodbury place, which seemed to be even better than any of the other hideouts he'd ever been in during the past year. They wouldn't stop looking at each other to a point where Murphy almost feared they could crash, but his sibling looked so happy that even his eyes with the wrinkles around them were smiling, so he really didn't have no other choice but respond to that.

And the smile turned into a reluctant and shy grin, but it was still an honest one.

After almost one year of being miserable, Murphy MacManus really grinned for the first time.

extra note: Okay, that chapter was a bit tough, but I reaaaaaaaaaaally wanted to take Connor there. We've always seen the hints of 'psychopath' shit going on with him in BDS I and II, in the comic as well. He was always a little more twisted than Murphy, and I really wanted to take his protectiveness to the extreme with this chapter. I've already hinted this in my first fic, I've even put in an entire dialogue about this topic in the very first fic of this series, when the outbreak happened. I wrote shit like this:

"I thought they were gonna take ye away from me again. And whenever that happens I just see red, man. Last time I ripped a toilet outta the ground and jumped off a building. Didn't even care about my own life there, I was alright with dying if only I knew fer sure that I'd save you. This time I was alright with sacrificing a kid just so I could save you."

He looked at his brother again.

"And that's scaring the shit outta me, Murph. This world, it's fucking with us."

"Would you have done te same fuckin thing if the walkers hadn't bit her yet?"

"What? Murph, I.."

"Answer me!" Murphy yelled and Connor looked at him for a while.

"Aye."
And I've always wanted to play around with this, which is what I'm gonna do now. Don't worry, he's still gonna be all cheery and he's still gonna pull pranks on people and joke around, but I like him a bit darker, because out of the three of them, I think he has the greatest potential to become really dangerous, almost psychopath-like. Next to Daryl. Because really, that's how I've always seen this series. As a character study of Connor, his behaviour, what he'd do in a situation like this and what it'd turn him into. Okay, I shut up now :D