Well hello thur! Are you people still with me? I hope I didn't scare you away with my rewrite :D
Anyway, so this is the part where I'm changing the order of the tv storyline. From now on I'll be mixing episodes 3x12 and 3x13 with episode 3x15!
And once I'm done with that I'm gonna write my own finale. Just a heads up.

setting: episode 12 "Clear"

Damnation

Chapter 47 - Locked

"The wound needs to be cleaned at least once a day. And he needs to take more antibiotics" Herschel said as he took another look at Connor's shoulder. The wound was red and angry all around the stitches, and there still were a lot of darkened veins all around it. Daryl had not known that it really was this bad, because there had been no opportunity to take a look at the actual wound until now because it had always been covered up with a bandage. Not to mention how Connor had kept acting like he was alright for the past two days. The hunter looked at his friend with a worried look on his face.

"What 'bout the fever? And why'd he pass out like that? I mean we were just talkin a minute earlier and he seemed fine."

"His temperature is a little higher than usual, but it's not as high as last time. Don't worry too much, but that's still a serious infection.
He needs to rest or else he's gonna pass out more than once. When was the last time he ate something?"

Daryl bit his lower lip and shrugged.

"Hell, I don't know."

"He needs to eat. And drink. His immune system needs to be strong to fight this. You need to make sure he rests for a couple of days."

The hunter frowned.

"What, with all this? There's a war going on. We ain't got no time for that."

Rick, who had been watching the whole scene from outside the cell, folded his arms and sighed.

"There's nothing much he can do now anyway. I'm gonna head for King County tomorrow. Gather some supplies, weapons and ammo. There's going to be a war, you're right about this. We need him fit for that. I need you to look after him and your brother while I'm gone. Glenn and Maggie are gonna coordinate things in the meantime. Don't worry. We can manage without him for a couple of days."

Daryl frowned even more. When Connor had told him about Rick's plan he'd had a hard time believing this, but now it looked like it was really true.

"You want me to babysit people while you go off on your own? You sure?"

The former policeman nodded.

"Yeah. I'm gonna take Michonne. And Carl."

The hunter looked at the man opposite him for a little while longer, only to look back at his friend again. Connor was just lying there, shirtless, and ugly wide bandage right around his shoulder. Herschel and Rick did the same until the oldest of the three suddenly chuckled.

"He really is some sort of miracle, isn't he? He won't die. Maybe he's god answer to all this."

Daryl raised an eyebrow but decided not to say anything to that. He knew how religious both his friend and the Greene family were. And no matter how ridiculous he really thought it was, he kinda had to agree there. Once again he couldn't help but stare at Connor's rosary, the cross on his arm, and he also had to picture the tattoo on his friend's back. Everything was screaming religion at him, and even though he was not a believer himself he had to think about how Herschel really had a point there. Should they ever come across another scientist like Jenner, or should they manage to get that doctor nerd from Woodbury over here after they had won the war, then maybe, just maybe, Connor's blood could be their salvation, their answer to that godforsaken disease.

Connor woke up with a throbbing pain in his shoulder. He thought that he was used to the whole thing by now, but truth was that he wasn't. Not at all. The Irishman opened his eyes with an awkward grunt and found himself staring right at the bottom of the bed above him. He turned his head with a confused frown to check out where he was, and he let out a gentle sigh when he recognized the place. It was pretty dark, but he still knew that he was back inside his and Daryl's cell.

He placed both his hands on his face and rubbed his eyes with a tired yawn. He still felt like crap and dizzy as hell, but he could tell that something was different. The first thing he noticed was that he was freezing his ass off because he didn't wear a t-shirt anymore. Then he felt a new and much tighter bandage around his shoulder. He placed his hand on it with a frown. He didn't really know what the fuck was going on with him. All he remembered was all the walkers at the parking lot, how he had been running from them, with Daryl right in front of him, and all the screaming and begging in his head. And then...nothing. He let out another gentle sigh and shook his head.

"Yah awake?" he heard Daryl say from the bed above. Connor stared at the bottom and nodded after a while.

"Aye. Te fuck happened? What about the car?"

He could feel the bed moving as Daryl shifted above him.

"Gone. Rick sent Andrea back. And you dumbass passed out."

Connor snorted.

"The fuck I did" he muttered and scratched his shoulder because the bandages were itching.

There was no way he had passed out. Passing out was the shit girls did. Not tough fuckers like him. No way.

"Rick 'n I carried your ass back in here. Your wound looked pretty bad. We cleaned it and stuffed you with pills. Herschel ordered you to stay in bed and rest for a couple 'o days. Rick's gonna get guns tomorrow. Me, Maggie 'n Glenn we're gonna get things under control here."

The Irishman frowned angrily and shook his head.

"What are ye people, stupid? I ain't gonna do shit. You 'n me we're gonna work on a plan ta kill this psycho freak over at Woodbury.
Maybe even tomorrow when Rick's gone. We don't have ta strain our luck. He's against it, so we gotta do it behind his back."

"We ain't gonna do nothin" Daryl growled and stared at the ceiling above him. He had been looking forward to that discussion. Not.

"It's fer the greater good. If ye don't wanna help me, fine. Fuck it. 'm gonna do it meself. Someone's gotta do it."

Daryl hit his mattress with an angry growl.

"So that yah can pass out again and get your ass killed? No yah won't. Let Rick and the others handle this. How many times do I have t'tell yah.
We ain't on our own anymore. You just asked me a couple of hours ago. We're a team. No one-man jobs. End of discussion."

It was quiet for a while as Connor kept scratching his shoulder and Daryl kept staring at the ceiling.

"What'd Herschel say? Why'd it happen?" the blonde asked eventually.

The hunter shrugged.

"Exhaustion or something like that. Cos you dumbass don't eat and sleep and keep working yah ass off ever since we got back here.
You're infected, you're sick, and yah gotta rest or else yah gonna fuck yourself up even more."

Connor pressed his lips together and stared at the bottom of Daryl's bed for a while.

"'m just trying ta keep everyone safe" he admitted after a while.

Silence.

"And I don't wanna bury any more people after all this shit" the Irishman went on and sighed.

Daryl turned his head, as if trying to look down at his friend.

"And how'd yah wanna achieve this? By making us bury your ass instead?"

"Shut it."

The hunter folded his arms behind his head and looked up again.
He could hear Connor shifting and turning underneath him, and after a while of just listening he decided to talk again.

"I did some more thinking about your plan."

"Aye?"

"I think we should kidnap that doctor fella. The one that got yah" Daryl suggested and Connor frowned.

"What? Have ye lost it?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Think 'bout it. He could help you. And make us understand. Herschel's good enough for small injuries and all that, but he ain't got the knowledge t'do anything with your crap.
But four eyes, he might be able to do something. Maybe even find a cure or something."

The Irishman snorted.

"Ye don't seriously believe that shit."

"Why not?"

Connor folded his arms with an angry growl.

"Cos I ain't gonna let that douchebag anywhere near me again. Should he ever just fuckin put a hand on me ever again then 'm gonna put a bullet between his eyes."

Daryl got angry all over again.

"So what are yah gonna do. Keep this all to yourself, yah selfish bastard?"

"We could go ta the CDC as soon as this shit's over. Maybe there's something, I heard..."

"It blew up last year. We were there."

Connor sighed.

"Shit" he muttered gently and shook his head.

Daryl turned on his side and stared at the dirty wall.

"Whatever. I need t'sleep. And yah better do this as well. We can talk about that shit tomorrow."

Connor woke up late the next day, because last night had been the first one in a while during which he had been able to sleep through without having any nightmares. He had not dreamt about anything in fact, and when he woke up he felt a bit better compared to the day before. The Irishman didn't know why he had been able to do that, whether it had been because of the fact that he had burned his last memory of his brother yesterday or if it had just been because of the exhaustion. Apart from the obvious pain in his shoulder and hand he felt relatively fine, at least until he heard the rattling of keys. Connor sat up in a matter of seconds and nearly hit his head on the bed above him. He was staring at his friend in surprise, who was standing on the other side of their cell door. Which was locked.

"What te fuck?!"

"Yah gonna stay in here today. Bed rest. Like Herschel said."

Connor got up and grabbed the bars with his healthy hand.

"What the hell, you can't just fuckin lock me in here!"

"Watch me" Daryl said with an evil smirk and rattled the keys in front of his friend's eyes.

"You fucker!" Connor yelled and grabbed his friend by his shirt when he was just about to leave him.

He pulled Daryl closer to the door and glared at him.

"Open the fuckin door."

"Nope. Yah gonna do as we say. No running off on your own, no killing the Governor, no doing nothin in fact. Yah gonna lie low and wait for your wound t'heal."

Connor frowned angrily and wouldn't let go of Daryl, no matter how hard the hunter tried to fight his grip.

"I'm no fuckin five anymore! Ye can't force me ta do shit! I didn't escape Woodbury just ta be locked up again, now lemme out."

"Nope."

"I said let me out!"

Daryl smirked because his friend's outburst amused him.

"Why don't yah use the time and keep working on your map? Maybe draw some flowers on it. Didn'tcha say your plans are really Picasso?"

Connor narrowed his eyes at him.

"Daryl. 'm not fucking shitting ye. 'm gonna shoot yer ass if ye don't let me outta here."

Daryl sudden poked his injured shoulder which made the Irishman wince.

"This needs to be cleaned at least once a day. And there's some pills on that table. Yah better off taking 'em" he said and used the time Connor was busy nursing his shoulder to walk away from the cell.

"Hey! Hey, get back here!" Connor yelled as soon as he noticed that his friend was leaving, but Daryl kept going and headed for the stairs.

"I'm gonna keep yelling until ye get me outta here ye stupid redneck asshole!"

Daryl rattled with the keys again and shrugged.

"Can't hear yah anyway. Me and the others we're gonna secure the outside and kill a bunch of walkers."

"Fuck you!" he heard Connor yell and a second later there was the loud rattling of the bars, sounding like someone was kicking them.

He spent the first hour trying to get out, using anything he could find in their bags. Trouble was that Daryl had taken anything useful with him, so Connor really was stuck in this godforsaken cell. He couldn't believe that his stupid, stupid friend had really locked him in here just because of a silly little passing out thing. And he certainly couldn't understand how the rest of the people actually supported the hunter there. It sounded like Rick, Michonne and Carl had really left the prison to get back to the Grimes family's old hometown to get some ammo and guns, which meant that he couldn't ask Carl for help either.

He had tried to beg Beth by being the best charmer version of himself (he suspected that she had a bit of a crush on him), but even that wouldn't get him out of there, because Daryl seemed to have told everyone to keep him locked up. After kicking and shaking the bars Connor spent some time pacing up and down the cell. He was both annoyed and nervous, because he wasn't used to this whole thing anymore. It brought back bad memories about the Hoag, how much he had hated to be locked inside such a fucking small and inhumane cell, and this wasn't exactly any better. After about two hours of being locked in he came to the conclusion that Daryl really wanted to pull this through, and he knew that there was only one way to get out of here, and that was by keeping to his friend's rules.

He was not supposed to do anything.

Connor let out one final sigh to express his surrender. He lay back down on his bed and then stared at the bottom of the one above for a couple of minutes. Back in the old days he had been the quiet and calm twin, but ever since Murphy had died it felt like he had picked up on some of his mannerisms, as if he was trying to be both MacManus twins. Now he was nervous and fidgety, and he kept tossing and turning because he couldn't find a comfortable position. When he was lying on his left side then his broken hand would lie there all uncomfortable and hurt, and when he turned around he couldn't lie down at all because then he was lying right on his bitten shoulder.

It was a fucking curse, but he had to admit that apart from all this the whole lying around thing actually felt better. It was just weird because he was not used to it anymore. For the past couple of months he had been running around and fighting or working every day. Being lazy and doing nothing for a whole couple of hours felt wrong and even dangerous, and he did not like it at all. The Irishman grabbed his bag which he had put right next to his bed and searched it until he found the super old newspaper he still carried around with him. He didn't even know where he had found it, but for some reason he would keep reading it, just to keep his mind occupied and just so he could remember what the world had used to be before all this. The Irishman grabbed the pencil with the eraser at the end and then turned pages until he reached page 12, the one with the crossword puzzle.

Back in the old days, when they had been living a normal life in Boston without any undead people walking around or them having to shoot gangsters Connor had always started his day like this. A couple of beers, a cigarette, something to eat, the newspaper and some stupid crossword puzzle. Murphy had used to laugh at him because of that, called him an old granny or their secret real mother because of the way he acted sometimes. And he had complained about the piles of newspapers by their tv more than once. But the older MacManus did not care. He liked crossword puzzles, because he liked to think about stuff and because he liked to learn about new things.

The Irishman looked up once more and eyed the iron bars with an angry frown, hoping that maybe now Daryl would be standing there and let him out. But no such thing would happen. He was all on his own. Connor sighed and started erasing all the letters he had written on the newspaper more than once. He had used the eraser so many times already that all the black lines of the crossword puzzle were slowly fading, but somehow he would keep going, keep solving it every morning he got the opportunity to do that, simply to maintain some sort of normality. The blonde knew every word, every question, every letter by heart, but whenever he started solving it he pretended to have to think it through. And as he kept writing and erasing he felt a dull pain in his shoulder, still felt a bit dizzy and confused because of the whole Woodbury and passing out thing.

Maybe Daryl was right. Now that he thought about it, he was very tired and exhausted, it had just been the stress and danger and all the running that had kept him going, like he had been drinking too much coffee until now. But now that there weren't any walkers biting him or any psychos putting him in chains and threatening to kill him he was actually quite calm, and even bored.