Mid season finale, so this is also the part where I want to say a big mid-fic thank you!

Thank you for reading the first couple of 32 chapters and sticking with me. I know the fic's got some flaws and that it's boring and too cannon-y sometimes, but heyho.
Thank you for all the suggestions and advice and most of all reviews! 100+ reviews so far. That is really awesome. I love you, I love reviews!

setting: episode 8 "Made To Suffer"

Damnation

Chapter 31 - Broken

five weeks after the farm incident...

"Can I ask yah something?" he heard Daryl murmur and opened his eyes.

It was in the middle of the night and he had been asleep, but his friend had woken him up. Connor yawned and turned on his back.
He blinked a few times and stared at the ceiling of the office they were hiding in, then he rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms and legs.
They were sleeping on the old fold-out bed to preserve some sort of heat, and now that they were used to sleeping next to each other anyway they didn't even mind it.

"Aye. Sure. What is it?" Connor murmured and turned his head to look at the man next to him.

Daryl was lying there on his back, resting his head on his folded arms. The hunter was staring at the ceiling as well and seemed lost in thoughts.

"What'd it feel like?"

Connor frowned.

"What?"

Daryl turned his head and grabbed his friend's left arm, which was lying between them. He took it and lifted it up so they could both look at it.

"This, dumbass. What was it like?"

The Irishman looked at the healing red bite marks on his arm.

"Ye mean getting bit?"

His friend let go of his arm and sighed.

"I mean the whole package. Getting bit and turning, except for the not getting turned. Shoot."

The Irishman frowned even more.

"Why d'ye ask?"

Daryl frowned as well and got angry.

"Does there have to be a reason? Just..start talking!"

But of course there was a reason. It had been a close call today in the shower room. The walker could've bit him just like that, and now he was curious what it actually felt like. Connor turned his head and stared at the ceiling again.

"Alright, calm down bitchy" he muttered and sighed.

He grabbed his left arm after a moment, gently messaging the scars. It still hurt every once in a while, but the wound was healing. He didn't feel ill anymore, and he still couldn't believe that he had actually recovered. But still, he just needed to think about it and everything was back, like it had just happened the day before.

"Now that I think about it, te bite itself was pretty much a picnic compared ta the rest. Felt like when ye pinch yer finger somewhere real hard.
Besides, fucker didn't exactly rip flesh out. But then?"

He snorted gently and swallowed.

"At first yer shocked as hell. The bite hurts, but the shock won't let ye feel anything. Then ye feel real dizzy and sick. Yer lucky if you can stay on yer feet.
But then the real shit starts. Like.."

He shook his head.

"Ye can feel it spreading. It's like someone's pumping thick oil in yer veins, only that it is hot, boiling. Imagine that shit flowing all the way up ta yer head. You feel hot, but it's so freaking hot that yer freezing, yer heart is racing and pumping like hell, speeding the whole shit up even more. And when ye think it couldn't get any worse the pain starts. Ye get cramps, real bad stomach cramps like when there's stones and glass in yer guts and that stuff squeezes everything else out. And yer brain hurts, ye can't think straight, and you just want ta rip yer own head off. And when it just can't get any worse then even yer heart can't take it anymore. You can feel it beat faster and slow down, ye can't breathe and then..."

The Irishman closed his eyes and smiled tiredly. He was glad that he didn't have to experience any of it anymore.

"Then it feels like someone hit the back of yer neck with an axe and all the wires between yer brain and body get cut in halves."

Daryl just looked at his friend in surprise, but Connor wouldn't look at him.
For a moment it looked like the Irishman was terrified all over again, but then he shifted and finally turned his head.

"So yeah. Somebody gets bit ye shouldn't hesitate ta put them outta their misery when they ask ye, too.
Hell, should that shit ever happen ta me again, give me a bullet any day. 't was literally the most painful experience in me life."

Daryl frowned.

"But yah were asking me not to do it."

Connor nodded.

"Aye. That was after the pain and dying part, when I couldn't feel a thing anymore anyway. I just meant that I'm not sure if I could make it through that shit twice."

The hunter snorted and looked at the ceiling again.

"Well, looks like yah don't have to."

Connor snorted as well.

"Why, cos I'm immune or some sorta shit like that?"

"Maybe, and cos I sure ain't gonna let you do shit on yer own again after that epic fail. Seriously, just like I said. No one's dying as long as I'm around, dumbass" he muttered and turned his back on Connor because he didn't want to look at him while saying something as embarrassing as this.

He still hated that he cared so much about the Irishman and that he was so weak in that regard, but he just felt the need to say it. Because it was the truth. After losing Merle and after everything that had happened on the farm this was his new fear and weakness, that he could really lose the Irishman in a blink of an eye. They were kind of used to losing people by now, with Sophia dying, Dale dying, Shane dying and Andrea disappearing, but with Connor it was just too personal, too important. Especially now that he had spent a couple of weeks with the guy alone. He still had some trouble accepting Connor in his life, but at the same time there was no way he would ever let him turn him into a weeping angry mess again. After losing Sophia and Merle like that it was still his new purpose in life, apart from surviving, to keep the Irishman here, practically force him to stay with him and keep him alive. He heard Connor chuckle and shift behind him, and a couple of seconds later he could feel how his friend wrapped an arm around his waist.

"I ain't going nowhere and I don't plan on dying any time soon, ye grumpy asshole" he muttered and Daryl shifted awkwardly.

"Fuck off" he growled and tried to fight Connor's grip.

The Irishman was getting stronger each day, to a point where he couldn't just fight him off anymore. Although the infection and near death experience had done some damage it had also done him some good, almost brain washed him. Connor wasn't so depressed anymore like back when they had found him over two months ago, and apart from getting better physically he also seemed to get better emotionally each day, which did his strength good in general. So Daryl lost the fight once more, but not without throwing a fair amount of punches and insults first. He eventually gave up and surrendered, giving the Irishman the opportunity to full on enjoy his whole big-brother-pretending-to-hold-his-dead-little-bro ther ishness.

"Night, Murph" Daryl heard Connor mutter behind him.

He grunted another "Fuck you" but then relaxed. The hunter was still pissed because of the awkwardness of it all and he looked down on himself where he could see his friend's arm. It was the Irishman's uninjured arm, but he still couldn't stop thinking about what he had just heard. He remembered the look on Connor's face when he had first told him about the bite, how miserable the guy had been, and most of all how much worse it had got in just a couple of hours. He really didn't want to experience it himself after his friend's description, and he also knew that Connor was right. No one should suffer through any of that. And certainly not twice.

"Ain't gonna happen again" he murmured and the Irishman grumbled tiredly.

"Ain't gonna let it happen again."

"Get a walker."

When Daryl heard those words something in him just snapped. He started kicking and yelling like a mad man, just seeing red. The guard with the long hair had disappeared soon after that command, to get whatever undead monster they had in the cages the woman had been talking about. The hunter wouldn't stop fighting and screaming, which was why the bald guard let go of Connor and approached him instead. Daryl couldn't understand how something like this could happen to him twice in just a matter of a few days. Once again he was strapped to a chair, and once again he was forced to watch how some sick fucks did something to people that mattered to him.

He couldn't breathe for a second when the guard punched his guts hard, but then the so called Governor spoke up and he was left alone. Daryl was so furious and mad that he couldn't even really understand what the others were talking about, he just stared at his friend's back in front of him and kept fighting, hearing the command over and over again in his head. Get a walker. One of those undead monsters was about to burst through that door. He didn't even fear for his own life. It didn't matter. All he could think about was that one conversation he and his friend once had, that terrible night he still hated to think about.

Why had he told them that Connor was immune? To save him from a bullet. To save his life. And now this?

He had been given a choice. They were going to kill his best friend in front of his eyes, and they had made him pick how. Not directly, but now that he thought about it, he just knew that this was it. Guess you don't mind us finishing him off right here and now? Get a walker. He'd had three options. Number one: get rid of the ties, free Connor, make run for it. But he wasn't strong enough. Number two: watch how they shot the Irishman in the head. Connor would be dead, but it would have been a painless death. And he had failed because he couldn't let go. And finally: number three: tell some sick bastards that his best friend's blood was unique which would either result in the Irishman's painful and slow death because of a walker or them killing him during some sick tests. And this was the one he had picked, he had made possible.

He had tried to find his big brother and failed to do so. He had tried to find Sophia and failed to bring her home. He had tried to save his best friend's life and actually caused a painful death because of that? No. There was no way he was gonna let that happen. Because he had promised. So he fought and fought, not only the zip ties but also time, but no matter how hard he fought and how loud he screamed and shouted, it was useless. The Governor and his people were still talking, maybe even sometimes to him, but he didn't care. It was then when the Irishman tried to turn his head and look at him.

"Daryl!" he yelled and tried to turn around even more, but no matter what he did, it was impossible for them to actually look at each other.

"Get a fuckin hold af yerself!" the Irishman spat but his friend wouldn't stop fighting.

"Don't you dare! I'll fucking kill you! One by one!" he roared and looked at the other men who were talking in a corner.

Connor yelled his name once more and Daryl finally shut up.

"Relax, brother. Alright? Everything's gonna be fine!" the Irishman muttered, and when Daryl was just about to say something in return the door opened with a loud bang, revealing a bloody, stinking and growling walking corpse. The undead was fighting air with his bloody fingers, snapping at everyone in the room. The guard with the long hair was guiding the walker with a stick, a rope was strapped around his neck to keep him at a distance from his leader. For a moment both Connor and Daryl just watched the creature, and when the guard made it move towards the Irishman his friend started yelling all over again.

"No! Leave him alone, you fucker!"

Connor finally seemed to lose it, too.

"Just fuck off! I already told ye! He was lying! I ain't immune!" he spat and the Governor and the others came closer, avoiding the snapping walker as good as possible.

"Sad way to die then, isn't it? What a shame, really" the Governor said and turned his head to look at the long-haired guard.

He nodded and put his hands on his hips.

"Do it."

"No!" Daryl yelled and fought so hard that he knocked his chair over and fell to the ground.

He landed on his side but could still see the others. Connor was sitting there, hands clutched to tight fists behind his back, the Governor, his two guards, the strange professor-like man and the walker opposite him. As soon as the Governor had ordered the guard to go ahead the long-haired man used the stick to shove the walker further towards Connor, who tried to turn away from it.

"Fuck off!" he yelled and turned his head away, but the guard shoved the undead even more.

The walker growled and snarled, but once he got closer to the Irishman he started sniffing and tilted his head.

"I said do it!" the Governor repeated and his guard shoved the walker once more, but the undead didn't seem like it wanted to attack the blonde.

He was inches away from his face and throat and wouldn't stop sniffing on the blood that was already there. It wasn't the first time Daryl saw something like this, but it still freaked him out. Because one of the things that loved to rip people apart and ate them was so close to his friend with its rotten teeth and..Daryl fought the ties again and started kicking.

"Stop it! I lied! 't was all me! I came in here on my own! I killed your people! Now fuck off and get Merle! We can sort this shit out!" he spat, but the others ignored him.

They were way to fascinated by what was happening, how the walker was reacting to the Irishman. Connor still craned his neck as good as he could and tried to keep a certain distance between himself and the undead, because the smell was unbearable. He coughed and tried his hardest not to start throwing up right here and now, and at the same time he tried his hardest not to provoke the undead in any way. Because he had been attacked before and he really wasn't sure what made them snap and what not.

"Get off!" he growled and stared at the men opposite him, who seemed either surprised, shocked or fascinated.

The Governor shifted and looked at the professor-like man next to him.

"Why doesn't it attack him? Got any explanation for this, Milton?"

The other man put a finger on his glasses to move them further up his nose.

"I've got no idea but this is extraordinary. There must be something about his blood that irritates the infected.
Just look at him, how he tilts his head., how fascinating.."

"And what's that got to do with the bite on his forearm?" the Governor interrupted him and the man shrugged once more.

"Maybe he got infected and survived and now they register him as their own, I don't know. But if I could use him as test subject for my research then maybe I could.."

The other man stepped forward and grabbed the stick from the guard to guide the walker himself.

"Stop it or I swear yer gonna lose another eye, yah cripple!" Daryl spat and managed to crawl a couple of inches, the chair still strapped to his legs, arms and back.

Connor's chest was heaving now that the walker was still so close to him and seemed to get more aggressive with every minute that passed. Truth be told, for the first time he actually was scared during torture, because he knew what kind of pain the undead could bring. He didn't want to end up like this, didn't want to die, despite the fact that he had stormed in here with the intention to die to save Daryl. He didn't even know what he had been thinking when he had turned his back on Rick on the others. Maybe he had imagined it as some kind of heroism. Connor MacManus to the rescue. The guy who saved Daryl Dixon from a town full of crazies. Connor MacManus, who had stormed in here, bullets flying and killing as many evil bastards as possible and before he went down with a bang. And now this.

"Listen.. I can tell ye everything yah need ta know about this. Let's...let's just take it easy, aye? No need ta..."

The Governor shoved and kicked the walker hard and without any warning. Connor was mid sentence when the undead suddenly lunged out and stumbled right into him with a loud snarl, sinking his teeth in the Irishman's shoulder. The sentence finished with an agonized scream and the kicking of feet, desperately trying to fight the attacker off. Daryl's screams mixed with the ones of his friend as he was forced to watch how the undead sunk his teeth in the blonde's shoulder.

"NO! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" he screamed and fought so hard that he finally managed to free his legs.

The bald guy approached him then to hold him steady, and before the walker got the chance to rip some flesh out of Connor's shoulder the Governor was already on him, grabbing the undead to get him off the man. The Irishman was still screaming and yelping in sheer agony, but the Governor ignored all the screams that filled the room. He handed the walker over to one of his guards because he had other plans for the undead, and once he had made sure that they were gone he looked at Connor again. He took a closer look at the damage, the ripped shirt and all the blood, because the wound was bleeding heavily. The Irishman was getting tired and was in shock, but he still managed to croak a weak string of insults, which were matching Daryl's. The Governor placed a finger on the wound which made the blonde yelp again, then he turned around with blood on the tip of his finger. He took a look at it and seemed lost in thoughts for a moment. When he looked at Milton again he seemed both pleased but at the same time completely calm and emotionless, despite all the chaos around him.

"Take him to the lab, see what the infection does. Take your samples, do your test. I think this bite will do."

He turned around to look at his prisoners. Connor was still coughing and wailing in pain, and Daryl was still yelling and fighting the other guard.

"No! I'll fucking kill you!" he kept repeating over and over again, but soon the anger in his voice was replaced with terror and desperation.

"Shut up...don't make it worse..'s alright, brother. I...got it covered. Can't die..remember" his friend croaked but he was quickly losing his conciousness because of the injury and shock. The Governor approached the injured again and grabbed his face to take a closer look at him.

"Take the other one outside. The arena. We'll keep this one" he said and made the Irishman look him in the eye.

"Looks like you're the miracle we need."

Connor blinked a few times and gasped because of the sheer pain in his shoulder.

"Fuck you" he muttered and blinked once more.

He could hear Daryl raging behind him as the two guards freed his friend from the chair and forced him to get up.
He believed to hear how the hunter yelled his name a couple of times, then everything went black.

He could hear the cheers and muttering of a crowd. The two guards were holding him tight by his arms, and no matter how hard he fought and kicked, they wouldn't let go. Daryl couldn't see. He probably would have called it the worst part, but right now it didn't feel like that at all. He was glad that the bag was covering his face, because this way no one could see. For the first time in a very long time he was actually crying. Because he was terrified. Because he couldn't see. Because all he had left were his thoughts and the sounds, and it were the thoughts that were the worst.

Daryl couldn't get the image out of his head. The walker, lunging out. Connor, strapped to that damned chair. Back in the old days when the Irishman had first told him how he had lost his twin he had never been able to understand it. What it felt like to have to watch something like this. What it felt like to be there, so close, and yet not being able to stop it. But now he understood why it had haunted his friend like that, tortured him in his sleep. Because now he had experienced it himself, what if felt like to watch how a loved one got bit.

The cheers got louder with every step they shoved him further ahead and it terrified the hunter even more. He tried to think about anything that could calm him down a bit. Cherokee Roses. Carol. Little Ass-Kicker. A hunt. The fact that he was Daryl Dixon. That he wasn't supposed to cry and be scared. There had to be something to keep him strong, to keep him from panicking. He tried to think of Connor's jokes and stories, he even imagined all the beautiful Irish landscapes his friend had told him about. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to hunt there. He thought of the feeling of smoke filling his lungs, and quiet nights outside. Hell, right now he even wanted that stupid arm and leg wrapped around him, the warm breeze of breath on the back of his neck that always both annoyed and embarrassed the crap out of him every night because the stupid leprechaun didn't know what the hell personal space was during sleeping.

Relax, brother. Alright? Everything's gonna be fine.

The sound of Connor's voice in his head made it even worse. Because he knew he had failed. The images of roses and children and woods and tents and the faces of the people in his group and this stupid blonde guy with tattoos quickly got replaced with the images of blood and agony. He could still hear his screams, see the blood, the injury, the walker. He remembered that godless night when he had watched his friend die, all the pain and loss that had been going on there, remembered the images that had burned themselves in his head when Connor had told him about what a bite felt like.

No one should suffer through any of that. And certainly not twice. Ain't gonna let it happen again.

There had been a reason why he had been so hostile towards the blonde at first, back when they had found him in that church and taken him with them. He had never wanted to care, never wanted to let anyone in. Because he knew what it meant. Sooner or later you were going to lose them. He had seen it over and over again. And the more you loved them and cared about them the more it hurt. And if there was one thing in life that he hated more than anything then it was pain. Because pain meant you were weak. Because people made you weak. Because Connor had made him weak, because weakness resulted in failure. And he had failed. Oh how he had failed. His plan had failed, gone so terribly terribly wrong.

He had never wanted to choose, and he knew that he never would have been able to choose. He had come here to see his brother, maybe get him back, but in the end he would have returned to Connor. And now this. Someone else had made the decision for him, and that was the worst part. It didn't make it any better, any easier. His plan had gone wrong and now his best friend was hurt because of that, maybe even dying, but he was certain about one thing: the blonde was in pure agony right now. And that was his fault. He had run off thinking Connor wouldn't go after him. He had told them about the bite, the immunity. Never had he wanted anything like this. He had just been a little brother trying to see his big brother one more time. And here he was. Separated from his friend, his weapon, his sight, his dignity. Daryl Dixon, was a terrified, shaking, crying, mourning mess.

When he thought it couldn't get any worse he could hear how the muttering was getting really loud now, and after walking a couple of more steps he was shoved away.

"This is one of the terrorists" he heard the Governor say and wanted to be furious.

This was the man who had tortured his friend, used him as test object. This was the man who had put a bag on his head and humiliated him. He wanted to snap at him and kick him, throw punches and insults around like the way he was used to, but right now he couldn't. Because all the cheering and muttering was scaring the shit out of him, because he could feel the presence of a large crowd around him. Living people, the worst monsters of them all. So he staggered around like a wounded terrified dog, but then the Governor grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Merle's own brother!" he announced and grabbed the bag on the hunter's head.

Daryl had thought that it couldn't possibly get any worse, but when he could finally see what was going on he couldn't breathe for a second. For over a year he had been thinking about that man, looking for him, feeling guilty and ashamed because of him. Because of this man he had also cried and shouted at the world on a rooftop in Atlanta, and here he was. Right in front of him. Utter surprise and disbelief written all over his face. A strange device was wrapped around his right arm, and the man eyed the shouting and cheering crowd all around them. Daryl looked at his big brother in pure shock, swallowing hard and trying to hide the fact that he was crying and terrified.

So many emotions rushed through him.

Relief, because he finally, finally, had his big brother back.
Fear, because after so many years he was still terrified of the man, his constant insults, his punches, his obsessive behavior.
Disbelief, because after so many months of searching he couldn't possibly be just standing there right in front of him.
Guilt, because he was still glad to see him, and he hated the fact that it felt like he was glad Connor had been replaced with Merle, that the Irishman was suffering just so he could have his real big brother back. Feeling glad that Merle was there made him feel like he was stabbing the Irishman's back at the same time.
And last but not least: sheer panic, because he had no idea how to get out of this alive.

The crowd around him was aggressive, there were even more guards with pistols and weapons all around them, and the Governor looked more terrifying than ever because of the bandage and floodlights. Daryl wanted to be strong, wanted to be that aggressive cussing asshole he always was when Connor was around, but right now he couldn't. He didn't have a plan. The man with the plans was gone, his hands were tied, there were people all around him, so he did the only thing he could do. He stayed weak and looked at Merle, begging his big brother with his eyes. Do something. Please, brother. Get me out of this. Help me.

But Merle seemed just as petrified. The Governor turned around to look at all the people and stretched his arms out.

"What should we do with them, huh?"

The crowd went wild.

"Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!" they yelled, a few shouting insults, a few shouting instructions, but they all seemed to agree.

Woodbury wanted the Dixon brothers dead.