setting: episode 9 "The Suicide King"

Damnation

Chapter 33 - Cracked

The smell of fresh coffee woke him up. It wasn't like he hated coffee, he just didn't like to smell it after waking up because then it would always make him nauseous.
Especially when he had a headache like the killer one he was having now. Connor groaned and shifted, only to realize that he was lying in some sort of bed.
Where the hell was he? What had happened? For a second he seriously couldn't remember a damn thing. When he opened his eyes some sort of light was blinding him and made the pain in his head even worse, so the blonde MacManus placed a hand on his eyes and groaned once more.

"Fuck.." he muttered and startled when someone spoke up.

"Good morning, princess."

It took Connor just about a split second to sit up and look in the direction where he had heard the voice. He hissed when he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder and neck, but even that wouldn't stop him from looking at the person opposite him. He got even more confused and terrified when he recognized the room, all the trash, the battered furniture and...he turned his head to the right and ignored the incredible pain in his shoulder only to find the filthy toilet right where it had always been.

"What the..."

He turned his head to look at the other man in the room again, who turned out to be his twin brother.

"What the..what the fuck?! Murph?"

His younger half was standing there in their kitchen, leaned against the counter and with a mug of coffee and a cigarette in his hands.
The dark-haired MacManus seemed both rather confused and amused by his brother's behavior.

"Aye? Who else did ye expect?" he answered and frowned.

Both brothers looked at each other for a while and Connor got even more confused. Everything looked exactly like he remembered. Their filthy apartment, the smell, the noise outside. When he raised his head to have a look outside their long and high windows he could see that it was a sunny day, and there it was, the Boston skyline and...

"Jaysus, I knew ye were wasted yesterday, but look atcha" Murphy said and chuckled.

Connor looked at his brother again with wide eyes.

"You look like ye've seen a ghost or somethin" his younger half muttered and took another sip on his coffee.

He took a drag on his cigarette after that and headed for their fridge.

"Beer?"

Connor frowned even more and rubbed his aching shoulder and neck. He looked at his hand because he was sure that there was supposed to be blood on it, but there was nothing. The blonde felt his chest and raised an eyebrow when he saw that there was a bandage on his left forearm. He was so confused. Wasn't he supposed to be scared or something? Wasn't he under some sort of mortal threat? He knew that something dangerous was waiting for him, that something big had happened, but he seriously couldn't remember what. Murphy snapped him out of it when he nudged him with a bottle, and Connor startled so hard and grabbed his brother's wrist so fast that it made his other half just as confused.

"Connor, what the fuck. Stop that bullshit now, that ain't funny anymore."

The blonde looked at his twin and noticed a long band-aid on his neck, that went all the way down his shoulder and disappeared underneath his shirt.
He let go of his brother and Murphy retreated.

"What happened ta you, Murph?" the older of the two asked and the other snorted.

"That asshole seriously gave ye one hell offa beating yesterday, didn't he?"

Murphy sat down on one of their chairs by the table and took another drag on his cigarette.
Connor rubbed his forehead and moved his fingers through his messy hair.

"Seriously, Con. What the fuck's up with ye. Yer white as a fucking sheet."

The older snorted and shook his head.
Some very disturbing images were coming back, and he slowly remembered why he had been so freaked out when he had woken up.

"I just had the weirdest fuckin dream ever."

"Like what?" the other muttered and scratched the band-aid on his neck.

Connor shook his head once more.

"Fuckin ridiculous. Dead people walking and eating each other, then they got ye and bit you and I was all alone, nearly killed myself and then I met some dude who had yer face.
Like a fucking horror movie that was."

Murphy snorted.

" Well that part about you nearly fucking killing yerself is true" he growled and Connor frowned.

"What?"

His younger half raised an eyebrow.

"Ye seriously don't remember?"

Connor narrowed his eyes.

"Do I fucking look like it?"

"Oh fuck ye, yer the one acting like a fucking weirdo, stop bitching at me, asshole" the other man answered and threw an empty Pepsi can at his brother.

He missed Connor, who wouldn't stop staring at him, so the younger of the two started talking.

"We were down at McGinty's yesterday and had a buncha beers. Then some asshole knocked mine over. He 'n I got into a fight and I was about ta win when this fucker drew a knife and cut me. I was bleeding like a gutted pig and then you lost it and beat the guy ta a pulp. But he managed ta bite yer arm and shoved yah into tha bar and ye nearly broke yer fucking neck there. Liam and the others kicked the fucker out."

Murphy chuckled and rubbed his injured neck.

"But jesus, we were seriously fucking hammered tha time. No wonder ye can't remember a damn thing."

Connor sighed and fell back down on his bed to stare at the ceiling. He vaguely remembered the biting part because it had freaking hurt, but other than that he recalled absolutely nothing. It kind of made sense, though. The biting, the injury on Murphy's shoulder, the pain in his own, the whole dead men walking part because he had probably beaten the guy so hard that he had left the pub half dead. So why had his mind come up with some seriously fucked up shit instead?

"I'm sorry for the bite. It looks like you might not make it through this."

Connor frowned and turned his head to look at his brother.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Murphy frowned.

"Didn' fuckin say anything."

The older MacManus narrowed his eyes and watched his brother smoke. It seemed to annoy his younger half.

"What?!"

"Ye said I might not make it through this. Through what?"

The dark-haired twin frowned even more.

"Are yah fucking insane? I didn't say anything!"

Connor turned his head and stared at the ceiling with an angry frown.

Why was it so fucking hot in this room anyway?

He tried to get rid of his blanket but was surprised when he suddenly couldn't move.

"102 degrees. If it keeps rising like that we might lose him."

"What are ye fucking talking about? Stop that shit now, Murph."

" I said I didn't fuckin say anything!"

The older MacManus turned his head again to look at his brother, who didn't look annoyed but worried this time.

"Seriously, what te fuck's wrong with you, man? You stop that shit!"

Connor tried to fight the blanket once more because the heat was practically frying him in his bed, only to discover that he really couldn't move at all.

"I can't move, 's what's fucking wrong with me!"

Murphy finally seemed to get that his brother really wasn't trying to have him on this time, so the younger MacManus twin got up to see what was going on.

"Let me see yer arm" he said and approached him.

Connor kept struggling although it felt like some sort of invisible force was holding him down and forcing him to stay in this godforsaken bed.

"Stop struggling and let me see yer fucking arm!" Murphy yelled and grabbed his twins left forearm.

Connor yelped when he felt a sharp pain in the crook of his arm like someone was pricking him with a needle.

"Ow! Fucking stop that!"

"I didn't do anything, jesus, calm the fuck down!"

The Irishman saw a flicker of lights for a second and the whole scenery changed. For just a moment he was lying in some sort of dark and cluttered room, and there was someone standing there right next to his brother. A man in his late thirties/early forties and a pair of glasses, and that freaked the older MacManus out.

"Let go of me, you sick bastard!" he yelled at him and fought the invisible force once more.

He blinked a few times and the scenery changed again. He was now staring at his brother, who looked horrified and confused.

"Did yer just call me "sick bastard?" I'm just trying t'help ye! 's me! Murphy!"

Connor widened his eyes and searched their apartment in horror.

"I swear ta fucking god, there was some freak standing right next t'you just a second ago."

Murphy turned around just to make sure, but they were all alone in the room. He turned his head to look at his brother again, who was losing it more and more.

"Alright, alright. It looks like tha fucker hit yer head pretty hard yest.."

"No one fucking hit me!" Connor yelled and received a hard slap from his twin.

This was all it took to snap him out of this horrifying state. The blonde MacManus sucked in as much air as he could and opened his eyes wide. The ceiling above his head was no longer the one he remembered, it was a strange new one that he didn't know. He could feel that he was bathed in sweat and that his right shoulder was sticky with something that smelled like blood, and when he turned his head he could see the man with the glasses again. He was all too familiar with the way he felt. It was like the farm all over again. His whole body burned with nothing but pain, it was so hot that it was freezing, and he felt terribly, terribly sick.

He remembered it all now. How he had been cuffed to some chair, this freak everyone called the Governor in front of him with a walker between them, how the undead had lashed out and sunk his teeth into his neck. He remembered the sick crunching and ripping sound and the hot and wet wave of blood which had soaked his t-shirt, and he could remember all the screams. His own, but most importantly Daryl's. He tried to turn his head in the other direction to search the room for his friend, but there was no one there except for two guards and the professor weirdo. All sorts of strange things were stuffed in the room, a miniature of a town, several pictures and small machines, old furniture and a whole bunch of medical instruments. Scalpels, syringes, scissors. He felt like he was trapped in Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory.

Did he still have all his body parts and guts? He tried to wriggle his toes and move his fingers, but he could hardly feel a thing because of the incredible pain in his shoulder. He was vaguely aware of the fact that there were ties that strapped his arms and legs to the bed, and that freaked him out even more. But that wasn't even the worst part. He couldn't believe that he had been bit. Again. And he knew how much worse it was going to get in a couple of hours. He craned his neck to search for an exit and let out a soft sigh of relief when he found it.

"Oh my god, he's awake! H..hello?"

Connor turned his head to look at the man who had just talked to him.

"Oh thank god, I thought you were pretty much dead. My name's Milton. Milton Mament. I didn't catch yours when we met..."

The Irishman gritted his teeth and tried to fight his restraints but without any luck.

"Let me go" he grunted and gave the man a death glare.

The other got up with a sigh and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but that's not my decision to make. Besides, you are in no condition to leave this room and we still have a lot of research to do with you. I took care of your bite wound. It wasn't too deep, but deep enough that it needed stitches. I took a couple of blood samples from the injury itself and from the arm that got infected before."

Connor frowned angrily when he noticed the couple of phials in the man's hands that were obviously filled with blood. The Irishman widened his eyes in surprise and looked down on his arm only to see a white piece of cloth which had been stuck to the crook of his arm, and there was a red spot right in the middle of it.

"You didn't get my fucking permission ta do this! Now lemme go or I swear, 'm gonna fuckin kill..."

Connor couldn't keep yelling because of terrible wave of sickness rushed over him. He hated that an infection with the virus would always end with this, the incredibly disgusting throwing up of blood and anything that was left inside of him. Milton hurried back to offer the Irishman a trashcan so he wouldn't ruin the floor. For a second Connor was actually grateful because he was quite disgusted by the whole thing himself, but when he realized that there was nothing but blood coming out his mouth anyway he got an idea. He raised his head slightly to get a look at Milton, who was watching him with both a worried and at the same time fascinated look in his face. He saw that the man was wearing rubber gloves because he was obviously scared of a possible infection, and Connor used the opportunity since Milton was so close to him now. He gathered all the remaining blood in his mouth and spit it right in the man's face, careful to hit his mouth and maybe his eyes.

He knew that he couldn't infect and kill people with his blood, Daryl had come into direct contact with him after the first bite after all and he was still alive. Probably. But Milton didn't know about this yet, and maybe the spitting attack and blood would freak him out so much that Connor would get some more time. The Irishman did get the reaction he had aimed for. The man seemed horrified and wiped his face in a hurry and complete and utter shock, and despite all the pain and the sickness Connor still felt pleased and couldn't fight a satisfied grin.

"How 'bout ye run some tests on yerself then, asshole" he muttered and took a deep breath because a new wave of pain rushed over him.

The two guards were running for them and the Irishman prepared himself for a couple of painful punches.

"Wait!" Milton shouted and stopped them.

"He's infected! Don't touch him!"

The other two men eyed Milton and then Connor, who was currently struggling to get over another nausea attack.
When they saw how unstable the injured Irishman really was they finally nodded and withdrew again, and Milton started walking as well.

"I...I've got to clean myself up" he muttered and soon started running for the door.

A second later they could hear loud screams and gunshots outside.
All three remaining men turned their heads to look at the door, then the two guards looked at each other.

"Holy shit!" said one of them and nudged the other.

He grabbed his gun and started running for the door, but the other guard called after him.

"Wait up, Tony, what 'bout him?!" he shouted and pointed at Connor.

The man named Tony looked at the Irishman and snorted.

"He ain't going nowhere. Look at him. He's all tied up!"

More shots. More screams. The other guard finally gave in and started running as well. They closed the door with a loud bang and for a second the Irishman just stared at it in surprise. He was pretty sure that the shooting was coming from his own people. Rick. Glenn. Maggie. So they had come back here as well. He was sure that they were there to rescue Daryl. Where the hell had they brought him again? Connor tried to concentrate, but he couldn't remember it. It felt like the fever was slowly eating his brain, and his mind was racing. He knew that this was his only chance to get out of this. Soon he wouldn't have the strength to free himself, and he would either die here or recover again, and he was pretty sure that they would kill him sooner or later anyway. When they didn't need him or his blood anymore. This is your only chance, he thought and looked down on himself to take a closer look at the restraints. They were made of leather, not metal, which was definitively a good sign. They had been strapped around his wrists and ankles, and Connor was relieved when he felt that they weren't too tight either.

"Alright. Alright" he muttered and took a deep breath, while trying to concentrate on a specific pattern on the ceiling.

He knew that this was going to hurt, but it wasn't like he wasn't in much pain right now anyway. Besides, this wasn't the first time someone had tied him to something, right? All he needed to do now was pull. He remembered what his uncle had taught him and Murphy, so he pressed the thumb of his left hand to his palm as good as he could. He needed to make his hand as small as possible so it could fit through the restraints, but he knew that he was probably going to break a couple of bones anyway. It was just his left hand, though, wasn't it? It wasn't his good hand, he needed the right one for shooting and fighting later, although his shoulder was pretty much done anyway. The Irishman bit his bottom lip and started yanking his left arm up hard and abruptly, hoping to loosen the ties a bit. Soon it started to hurt and he bit his lip even harder, but he couldn't hold back a pained grunt.

Why wouldn't this stupid thing just give in already? He cursed his bones for being so goddamn robust. Back when those Russians had attacked him those things hadn't given in, too. No broken bones, no broken wrists except for a few cuts, but he had torn the toilet to bits. But this bed wasn't a toilet, and these ties weren't made of porcelain but leather, and damn they were tight. His time was running out, so Connor pulled even more violently until he finally heard a reassuring and yet painful crack. A sharp and hot pain rushed through his hand and then he was free. For a second the Irishman couldn't breathe because of the pain in his fingers and he even let out a painfilled moan. He looked at his abused hand and was pretty sure that his thumb and a couple of more bones were broken, but he still needed to use it to get rid of the tie around his other wrist. Although the pain got even worse when he moved it and used it to grab the leather strap on the other side Connor still managed to free his right arm.

When he sat up he felt terribly sick and the whole room started spinning, but he knew that he didn't have time for any of that passing out crap. He leaned forward and grabbed the leather ties that cuffed his legs to the bed with his somewhat healthy right hand and got rid of those as well. Just when he had managed to free himself he could hear the creaking of the door and lay back down as quickly as he could, placing the blanket on top of himself and hoping that no one had seen anything and couldn't see the open restraints. Milton chose to enter the room and Connor pretended to be unconscious. For a few minutes nothing would happen and the Irishman tried his hardest to muffle his pained gasps. He could feel how his broken hand was aching and pulsating and sending pain through his veins with every heartbeat, and the pain in his shoulder and the infection didn't make the whole thing any more pleasant. It seemed to take Milton forever until he finally placed a hand on Connor's forehead to check his temperature, and the Irishman knew that this was his chance. His eyes snapped open and he sat up as fast as he could, using his healthy hand to grab the other man's wrist.

"Oh my.." Milton gasped but the blonde MacManus already shoved him back.

The man was thrown back against a table and knocked several medical instruments down. Connor got off the bed and nearly fell because, damn was he weak on his knees, but that wouldn't stop him from attacking the other man once more. The Irishman grabbed Milton by his shirt and threw him to the ground, then he kicked his head once and very hard. He could hear the satisfying crack of broken glasses and maybe a nose, then everything went quiet apart from the shooting and screaming outside. Connor looked up and searched the room in panic to find some sort of weapon, but there was absolutely nothing there. He didn't know where his guns were. Milton didn't carry any guns either, so all that was left for the Irishman to take were a couple of scalpels and scissors.

He was on his way to the door when he noticed the phials of his blood on the table opposite the bed. Connor went back for them and took them in his hand. They were still warm and that made the whole thing even more sick. For a second his mind was drifting as he just stared at them. He could almost feel how his brain was starting to switch itself off because of the fever, and he knew that he didn't have much time before the whole passing out thing would start again. A loud bang of a door close by startled him and snapped him out of it. The Irishman threw the phials to the ground and then stepped on them, crushing each one of them and smearing his blood all over the floor. No one deserved to have his blood without his permission. Immunity and the possibility of a cure or not. He knew that he was also crushing his group's possible hope for a cure, that he was crushing the possible end to all this madness, but he knew that these things were also considered a very valuable and powerful weapon against the undead, against everyone else now. And no one deserved to have that much power these days. Especially not this crazy town.

He looked up again when he heard how someone was cursing loudly on his way to the door, so he turned around and searched the room for another exit. His time was running out, and judging by the steps on the other side of the wall it was just a matter of seconds before these crazies would return here. He found another small door on the other side of the room and ran for it, prepared to stab any possible threat outside. But there was no one there. Despite all the pain and injuries Connor still made run for it and disappeared in the dark.

one minute later

"Daryl. We need to leave" he heard Rick say, but the hunter couldn't stop looking at the bloody mess.

"They're coming!" Maggie announced and Daryl finally turned his head to look at them.

He startled when he saw that Rick was standing right next to him, and the policeman placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Look at this place. He got out. He's gone. We need to leave. Now."

"Y'all gonna be a bunch of crybabies any longer? Yah buddy obviously left town and ain't going real far. Waste of time, so let's get the hell outta here!" Merle yelled and rewarded his younger brother with an especially angry look. Daryl turned his head once more to look at the bed. Yes, of course he knew that Connor had managed to fight his way out. It was obvious. Milton wouldn't be lying on the floor like that otherwise. But that was exactly the point that freaked him out so much.

Connor was fucking gone. Lost in this mess in a town full of crazies. It wasn't like he doubted that his friend was able to take care of himself. No, it was the fact that they had lost each other. He couldn't even remember the last time the leprechaun hadn't been with him to annoy the crap out of him. And the sheer amount of blood in the room and the fact that Connor had been bitten told him enough. Merle was right. The guy was going nowhere far with this. And how was he supposed to find this freak now? They didn't know where to look for him, although he could probably follow the blood trail. But they didn't have time anymore. They needed to leave.

"Listen. I'm sure that he got out and is now on his way back to the car or the prison. We'll just have to get back. But we need to go now" Rick tried to reason with him.

"Damn right, let's go!" Merle yelled and Daryl looked up with an angry frown.

"You shut up!" he spat and his brother raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Hoho, look atcha, Darylena. What did I miss that yah freaking out over a guy like this?"

Maggie suddenly came running for them.

"Rick, we seriously need to leave. They're all over the streets and the smoke is clearing."

Rick nodded.

"Okay" he said and went after her, leaving Daryl no choice but to obey.

Merle was on his way out as well when the younger Dixon noticed something on the nightstand on the other side of the bed and stopped walking.

"Daryl!" he heard Rick yell and saw that they were already half way out of the building.

"'m comin!" the hunter spat with an angry frown, but went for the nightstand before following them.

There it was, the one thing Connor had never dared to take off, no matter where they went.
The hunter took the rosary in his hand to look at it for a second. He could read the initials on the back of the dark wood.
CM.
He sighed and looked up to search the room once more.

"Where the fuck are yah" he muttered but wouldn't get an answer.

Of course he wouldn't. Daryl shook his head and put the rosary in his trouser pocket, then he finally ran after his group to get out of Woodbury.