New chapter! Sorry that the latest chapters have been a bit weird and a bit OOC. Hope it's not too bad. And don't worry! There will be a reunion soon!

setting: episode 10 " Home"

Damnation

Chapter 36 - Identity

"Look at that! Papá! Papá!"

He couldn't see them, but he could hear them. Not walkers, but people. Real people. Well, they had to be real at least. Or was he hallucinating in Spanish now? Connor frowned and eyed his surroundings, but there was no one in sight. He could still hear people talking. Two men at least, and they were very close. The Irishman cursed and got back up to get off the pier. He didn't like being out in the open like that, especially when he was half naked and didn't have a real freaking gun. Connor grabbed all his clothes which were still soaking wet and ran back to the hut to get some cover. He got dressed again, ignoring the fact that his shirt was sticking to his skin and it was almost im-freaking-possible to get back inside his jeans like that. He tried to remember all the faces he had seen in Woodbury. Could some of those people have been Spanish? Most definitively. Fuck, were they really after him and the others now? What kind of sickos were those people?

"Fuck fuck fuck" he muttered and put a couple of shells inside the shotgun he had taken from the hut. If those bastards really were from Woodbury, then he knew he didn't stand a chance against them like that. He had trouble reloading the weapon since he could hardly use his left hand, and it wasn't like the thing was good for something like this anyway. He couldn't shoot targets that were far away, and fast and effective reloading was a no go. Oh how he wanted to punch somebody for taking his guns, Murphy's freaking guns, from him.

"Papá! Look! There's a house! Maybe we can find..."

Connor couldn't understand the rest because he heard a bang of which sounded like a trunk lid. A second later there was the loud crying of a baby. The Irishman hesitated for a second. A child? Families with babies couldn't be bad people, could they? He couldn't recall seeing any children inside Woodbury. But then again, they had attacked the town during the night, when there had just been soldiers and guards outside. Those were the people they had to be afraid of, weren't they? His mind was racing. He had seen how fucked up those people had been. Maybe they were using the baby as bait? Like come out, come out, we need your help, only to start shooting as soon as someone approached their car?

"Arnaldo! Wait! Wait!" another men yelled, his voice echoing all the way through the woods and across the lake.

Jesus, if they keep yelling like that there's gonna be walkers all over us, Connor thought with an angry frown and tried to concentrate. He knew that there was a street close by, and the voices seemed to come from that direction. He identified the voices of two men and a baby, but he didn't have a clue how many more there were. They could have surrounded him by now and he wouldn't even really know. Fuck, how much he hated his paranoia right now. The Irishman heard how the footsteps were coming closer and closer, heading right for the hut. Connor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then he finally decided to step out of the dark shadow behind the building. He raised the shotgun to point it at whoever was coming at him, ready to shoot the second he didn't like what he saw.

"Stop and freeze right fucking now!" he yelled and startled the two Spanish men.

One of them, the man with the beige jacket and a gray shirt, looked like he was just about Connor's age, maybe even a bit older. The other man, who was wearing a zipped hoodie and a white shirt, turned out to be a teenaged boy, 16 years old, give or take. The Irishman couldn't see anyone else, and the older of the two seemed to be the only one with a gun. The two Spanish men seemed rather shocked and surprised, and Connor couldn't really remember their faces. He was sure that he had never seen them before and judging by the looks on their faces they had never seen him before either, but he still remained suspicious and skeptical.

"Now Put. The. Gun. Down. On the ground, where I can see it" the blonde demanded in Spanish and the older of the two looked at the man with wide eyes.

He could see that the man was both terrified and angry.

"Please Sir, we just.."

"I said put the gun down!" Connor repeated, Paranoia now fully rushing over him.

It was strange for him to be speaking Spanish after what felt like years. He was even a bit surprised that he could actually still speak it. He and Murphy had complained about all the learning and revising languages for years, but their mother had insisted on it. Even back then they had never really taken it seriously. They'd had their fun with it, enjoyed speaking different languages as their personal secret twin code or using it to baffle others, but they had never -really- used it. This was actually the very first time where he really considered it useful, and he thanked his mother with all his heart now.

"We just need help! Our..." the younger suddenly started talking and the older man, which seemed to be his father, turned his head to look at him.

"Stop talking, son! Let me talk to the man!" he interrupted him and looked at Connor again.

He had both his hands in the air, never daring to put one of them on the revolver which was still stuck in its holster.
The crying of the baby started again and the younger turned his head.

"But papa! We need to get it.."

"I said.."

"Is that your child?" Connor interrupted the both of them and the older nodded.

"Yes, Sir. Yes. Just...just let us go. We saw your hut and assumed that..."

"This isn't my house" the blonde interrupted him again and just stared at the two men for a little while longer.

They didn't seem dangerous to him. Quite the opposite. They were weak, maybe they really were just a family that was passing by. The shotgun was getting heavy because his right hand was the only one really holding it, and he felt awkward but kept going. Real fighters like the ones he had encountered in Woodbury would have taken advantage of this weakness by now, slapped it out of his hand or shot him in the head, but those two men didn't look like they'd come up with a plan like that yet. They actually looked scared. The Irishman bit his lower lip with a frown but kept his shotgun up in the air just for a little bit longer.

"Who's looking after your baby?"

"M..my wife, Fernanda, she's...she's in the car. In..in the car. Right back there, on the road?"

Connor raised his head to see where the man was pointing at. He could see a hint of red through the leaves of the trees, something which really looked like a car. A station wagon maybe. The crying wouldn't stop.

"What do you need help for?" he went on and looked at them again.

The younger of the two got excited then.

"Yes! We need help! The car, it got stuck and.."

"Arnaldo!"

"But we just need a couple of planks! And there's some right over there!" the younger said and pointed at something behind the Irishman.

Both Connor and the father turned their heads to look at the small pile of wooden planks and branches, then the Irishman finally put the shotgun down.

"Alright. Let's take a look at your car first" he muttered and animated the two men to go first, making sure that he could still keep an eye on them.

They'd been walking through the woods for hours now, and Daryl didn't even know where they were going. They had stopped because Merle needed a pee break.
The hunter tried to use the time to find something to eat, but couldn't really find a damn thing.

"There ain't nothing out here but mosquitoes and ants" he growled and leaned against a tree.

"Patience, little brother. Sooner or later a squirrel's bound to scurry across your path" his brother answered, which made the younger Dixon snort.

Here they were again, just like they had left off. Merle might be his big brother, but once again Daryl was the one who had to do all the heavy lifting. Feeding them. Keeping them out of trouble. Finding shelter. Once again he was just Merle's bitch. Just hours of being together, and he was utterly utterly sick of his big brother.

"Even so, that ain't much food" he muttered and kept looking around.

Truth be told, he really regretted his decision to leave with Merle now. He was hungry, he was tired, and he even had to admit that he was actually upset. He replayed that last conversation with Rick in his head over and over again and came to the conclusion that the former policeman had been right. He'd been overreacting. A lot. Once again his emotions had caused this sort of mess. He'd gone with Merle because he had missed this bastard a lot during the past year. He'd gone with Merle because he needed a brother, a family. He'd gone with Merle because Connor had disappeared. And now that he thought about it, he couldn't help but agree with Rick. Look, I know how much Connor meant to you, that this really is about him, that he's not going to be inside the prison when we get back. You saw the laboratory, he got out, he's out there somewhere and...

The hunter sighed and put a hand in his trouser pocket to fumble with the beads of Connor's rosary. Exactly. He had left and went back inside the woods because there was still that slight possibility, that tiny bit of hope that he might find that stupid leprechaun again. Maybe dead, maybe as walker, but he'd still wanted to find him. Because after everything they had been through during that endless and exhausting last year it really just couldn't end like this. That asshole wasn't allowed to just stumble into his life to turn in upside down for a couple of months only to disappear just as abruptly. Just like Sophia he now needed to search the woods for Connor. But it had been hours now. Hours of just walking around, putting more and more distance between them and the prison and Woodbury, hours of finding absolutely nothing. No food. No shelter. No Connor. He knew what it meant. He knew how this sort of story had ended before.

"More than nothing" Merle answered and snapped Daryl out of his brooding.

For a second he couldn't remember what they had been talking about in the first place, but then it came back to him with a loud growl.
His empty stomach reminded him.

"We'd have better luck going through one of them houses we passed back on the turnoff" he said, because now he came to the realization that they just had to head back.

And what do you want me to tell Connor when he comes back to the prison?

Should he manage to get his stupid ass back to you, tell him that I don't need him no longer. That I got Merle now. That he should stay with you people.

"Is that what your new friends taught you? Hmm? How to loot for booty?" Merle answered, but Daryl ignored him.

Because now he couldn't stop thinking about it. What if Rick was right? What if that dumbass had managed to get back?
He had never really considered that possibility, he had never gone back to the prison to see for himself.

Yeah, well. Connor ain't coming back.

He had told himself that over and over again, just to make his stupid decision feel right. He had assumed that, but the truth was that he seriously didn't have a clue. And sooner or later the not knowing was going to drive him crazy. Even after just a couple of hours he was already blaming himself for not going back and actually looking for Connor. After everything that bastard had done for him, after all the endless hours he had been with him instead of Merle he just owed the guy. Because if it weren't for Connor then he could have been dead by now. Jesus. He had made a mistake. He needed to get back to the prison. He needed to make this work. He had never wanted to choose. He refused to choose. He didn't want just the Irish weirdo or just his uber-annoying brother. He wanted them both.

"We've been out here for hours. Why don't we find a stream, try to look for some fish?" he suggested, hoping to get his brother back and closer to the prison without him realizing it. But of course, Merle wasn't that stupid. He was his brother after all, so he saw right through the attempt.

"I think you're just trying to lead me back to the road, man. Get me over to that prison. Back to your boyfriend Rick. Or the other one."

Daryl frowned. His brother was finally done peeing and knelt down on the ground to have a look at the situation himself.

"Other one?"

"Yeah, the one yah had to go back for? That whatshisname, Corey? The one yah called leprechaun? Who's that?"

Daryl just stared at a tree opposite him.

Name's Connor, you ignorant fuck, he thought and almost had to snort, because the just for a second he had to imagine the Irishman saying that out loud.
Oh what he'd give to see that for real. Connor meeting Merle. That would be one hell of a show. But then he remembered that it would never happen,
because Connor was gone and he was with Merle now.

"No one. Don't matter now, does it?" he growled, but Merle wouldn't let go.

"You hanging out with micks now? You really wanna go back to a group that's full of democrats, niggers? Thought I raised you better than that, baby brother."

"They got shelter. Food. A pot to piss in. Might not be a bad idea" Daryl countered and tried to ignore the fact that Merle had noticed that he was upset because of Connor's absence. The older Dixon just snorted.

"For you maybe. Ain't gonna be no damn party for me" he said and got back up.

Daryl shifted and aimed his crossbow at nothing in particular. He knew that Merle was right, but that didn't mean that this couldn't change. Back when the whole thing had started and they had joined the group he had been just like Merle. Antisocial, vulgar, aggressive, an ass. But that group had changed him for the better, made him better. So maybe there was a chance that the same thing could happen to Merle, right? It just had to work.

"Everyone will get used to each other" he said and got more confident.

He liked the idea of going back more and more. They didn't stand a chance out here on their own, why wouldn't Merle get that?
Why was his brother still so incredibly retarded and stupid?

"They're all dead. Makes no difference" Merle said and Daryl froze, because this hit his weak spot. Painfully.

This was the one question he could never stop asking himself now. What if the Governor got them all and killed them?
His brother had to have a point. He had spent so many months with this sicko. Just like he had told Rick. Merle knew the Governor better than anyone else.

"How can you be so sure?"

The older Dixon was still standing right behind him, and Daryl didn't want to look at him.
He didn't want Merle to see how insecure he really was, how upset, how weak and unsure. But he still wanted an answer, and he got one.

"Right about now he's probably hosting a housewarming party where he's gonna bury what's left of your pals."

Daryl didn't want it to be true, but he knew that it probably was. He had seen what Woodbury was capable of. Hosting death fights, torturing people, raping women, shooting people and keeping walkers as pets. The Governor and his people were crazy and obviously out for revenge. And then he remembered how this sick sick bastard had shoved that monster at his friend, remembered the bite, Connor's screams, remembered all the blood on the ground and bit his lip hard. He knew the answer, no matter how much he tried to stay positive.

His group was either dead or about to die. And Connor wasn't out here. Connor had to be dead. He just had to think about how he couldn't even be sure if the Irishman had made it out of Woodbury in the first place. He could have been caught. No wonder, considering how injured he had been. For all he knew he could be back inside that room now. Either dead or used as a test subject. And everything had happened just because of him. His own selfishness. His stupid desire to be reunited with his brother again. Well, he had him now. But he already hated Merle again. And he was far from happy now. He had to admit that even with his brother he felt more miserable and unhappier than ever.

Well, Connor wasn't like Merle. And he sure was a better brother to you than Merle ever was.

He wrapped the beads of Connor's rosary around his fingers and pulled hard, and for a second he considered breaking it and throwing it away. But he did nothing. He just stood there and bit his lower lip hard, trying not to tear up because of the pain he suddenly felt. Oh freaking perfect. That asshole had turned him into a fucking wuss now. Maybe it was about time he finally got rid of him and the stupid influence he had on him.

"Let's look for some fish. Come on" Merle said and nudged his brother.

Daryl sighed and finally followed him, trying to forget his previous plans on getting back to the prison, trying to forget the people that had once matter to him.
Merle was his brother. Merle was his family. Merle was blood. Merle was all that mattered now.

"Alright now, slow and steady! Don't let them spin!" Connor shouted and pressed his back against the back of the car.

They'd spent quite some time trying to get the car out of the mud, but without any luck. Connor didn't even know why he was trying so hard, but for some reason that car just really fucking mattered. He just had to do something good right now, he just had to help this family after everything he had done today. He still couldn't stop thinking about the man in the hut or his crazy attack in the woods. He didn't want to be like that, not at all. He wanted to be his old self, wanted to get it back. Connor MacManus, the saint, fighting evil bastards, doing hard shit. The reasonable guy with the plans, the one with the brain. He just had to get that bit of himself back, even if that meant that the evil bastard he had to fight right now was freaking mud.

And how evil mud really could be. Because it was sticky and dirty as hell, and because it just wouldn't let go of the freaking car. Why the fuck was this thing so keen on being stuck in the mud like that? They had been pushing and pushing for several minutes until the Irishman came to the conclusion that the two Spanish men had been right. They needed wood. Something to put in front of the wheels to get some more grip. The family had insisted on building that sort of temporary lane themselves, but Connor wouldn't have any of that. Pretty soon he was bossing the father and son around, because even after all these months of being without Murphy and living during the freaking apocalypse he'd never really lost this very character trait, the one his twin had always complained about. Connor MacManus, the bossy one. The one who knew shit and got shit done. They had managed to get his construction to work and now the two older men were pushing and pushing, whereas the younger man was sitting behind the wheel. He accidentally let the wheels spin, causing the mud to fly everywhere.

"I said slow and steady!" Connor yelled and the car stopped.

So much for clean jeans.

Both the Irishman and the father let go, and for a second the blonde just had to let his frustration out.

"Jesus fucking Christ, how did ye people survive this shit fer so long?! Completely fucking retarded that is" he complained in English and the father eyed him with a frown.

Connor just waved it off and pressed his back against the car again.

"Doesn't matter. I'll get you out of here. Don't worry."

The man just looked at him for a bit longer, then he positioned himself again.

"Okay. Here we go again! Accelerate, boy!"

He let out a relieved sigh when the son actually did as he was told this time.
He started the car and started driving as slowly as possible, and when the rear wheels finally slid on top of the planks Connor cheered loudly.

"Yes! That's it! Keep going! Keep going!"

The car sped up without spilling mud all over them this time, and after steering around for a bit the son managed to get the vehicle back on the road. Connor wiped his forehead with his healthy arm and couldn't fight the grin that broke through. He didn't even know the family and knew that he'd probably freaked them out with the shotgun, but he was still happy and proud of himself because he had done something good for once, because one of his ideas had actually worked. He massaged his aching wrist and looked at the married couple with a smirk on his face as they kept thanking him over and over again. He smiled even more when he saw that the baby in the woman's arms had stopped crying.

"You're welcome. Better look after that little one over there" he said and gave the father and son a nod and turned around to make his way back to the hut.

Truth be told, he really needed to rest after all the stress. His whole body ached and he was still a bit dizzy and feverish.
Connor startled and stopped walking when the woman suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder, the one with the bite wound.

"Wait, Sir. Please. Is there anything we can do for you? Thank you for helping my husband. Thank you so much."

The Irishman snorted and waved it off.

"Don't mention it. See it as compensation for the shotgun thing" he muttered and turned around once more.

He stopped walking when he saw all the walkers that were making their way towards them from all sides, the noise they had made for the past couple of minutes had attracted them after all. "Shit." he muttered and raised a hand to wave the family off.

"You're welcome. But I've really got to go. There's dead people all around us. You better leave, too. Good luck. And watch after the kid!" he said and picked the shotgun up, only to let out a pained grunt. His shoulder still burned like hell, and the dizziness was getting worse. He could hear how the family kept muttering behind him instead of getting in their car to leave, and that just pissed him off. Soon the first walker stumbled out of the woods and in their direction, but they just kept arguing over something. Connor made his way towards the walker and grabbed the kitchen knife to kill it, but he was having quite some trouble with carrying the shotgun AND the knife at once with just one working hand. Oh Christ. This was going to be fun. He still managed to stab the undead, more or less, and kicked him to the ground, only to realize that his cardio was pretty much at zero.

"I said go!" he yelled when the family still wouldn't move and watched him, although there were walkers coming from everywhere now.

"Papá, come on!" the younger man yelled and the older looked at his wife and baby, then he suddenly turned his head and looked at Connor.

"Come with us" he offered and the Irishman stabbed the next walker.

"What?"

"Come with us, it's not safe here!" the older man said as his son and wife made their way back inside the car.

"I know that, that's why you need to leave! I'm perfectly fine, Mister! Now go!"

"Look around you!" the man answered and Connor did.

He could see that there were more and more walkers emerging from the woods, and although he still didn't know if they attacked him or not, he knew that it really was dangerous here now. He didn't have a car, didn't have a real gun, didn't have a group, no bag, no nothing. If there was one thing he really needed now, then it was a lift. Strangers or not. Connor looked around just for a second longer, hoping to find a way out just so he could handle things himself, but there was no such thing. He needed help, he needed people, no matter how much he hated the idea right now, no matter how dangerous they could be. Or how dangerous he could be to them. But Connor still grabbed his weapons and made run for it, if only just for the fact that he didn't know what else to do with himself right now. He found a spot in the backseat next to the son and the father slid behind the wheel, then they drove off at full speed. Away from the walkers, away from the mess, away from the crime Connor had committed just a couple of hours ago. The father eyed the Irishman in the rear view mirror.

"What's your name then?"

The Irishman looked back at him and just thought about it for a while.

Here he was now, with some new people. Walkers in the rear view mirror. A roof above his head, food in the trunk, a family with a baby around him. No blood, no guts, no murder, no bites, no torture, no fights. Just the pleasant anonymity, the freshness after so many months of problems and running and chaos. This could be his new start. No one knew him. No one saw him as the clingy Irishman, no one knew about the fact that he had lost his brother and perhaps his mind. No one treated him like a freak or someone special because of this godless immunity curse. So he just looked at the man, considered his options, and finally made the decision. The Atlanta group had lost one of their members. Daryl had his brother back, so the fact that his best friend was lost didn't really matter anymore, did it? This was it.

For days now he had been talking about leaving, had been thinking about it and even tried it once. But this was his chance now. Connor MacManus, the man who had lost his twin brother, the man who had sinned for the past couple of months ever since the apocalypse had started, who had tried to commit suicide, who had killed an innocent man in a hut, was gone. Lost the woods after Woodbury had made a walker bite him. Everything was gone. He was gone. His photo, his things were back at the prison. His guns, the ones that had made him and his brother famous, the Saints guns were gone. In Woodbury. One at the farm, the other in Daryl's bag. There was nothing left of him now. Connor MacManus was dead.

"Jacob. Jacob McGinty."

His grandfather's name, and the name of the bar in which he had spent the happiest days of his life.
He looked at his broken hand for a moment, where the only thing that could judge him because of that lie was partly covered by the bandage.
But he could still see it, still read it. Veritas, it told him, judged him.