setting: episodes 13 "Arrow In The Doorpost" and 15 "This Sorrowful Life"

Damnation

Chapter 52 - Motel

Daryl and Milton went back to the cars after their talk to wait for an outcome. It was taking Rick and the Governor way longer than they would have thought, and Andrea had come out of the barn by now and was waiting just like them. Daryl didn't like the waiting at all. It made him nervous because he still feared an attack, but it also made him nervous because he didn't want to leave Merle and Connor alone for too long. He figured that they would be using the opportunity to fight now that he wasn't there, and although he trusted the two to not kill each other he was still having a strange feeling in his gut. And he especially couldn't fight that anymore now that he had heard all the things about the infection and immunity. He seriously wanted to share the new information with his friend as soon as possible.

"It's a good thing they're sitting down. Especially after what happened" Milton said when he noticed how restless Daryl was. "They're gonna work it out. Nobody wants another battle."

Daryl snorted when he remembered how things had went down back at Woodbury and the prison.

"Wouldn't exactly call it a battle" he growled.

More like a slaughter and mindfuck.

"I would call it a battle and I did. I...recorded it" Milton said and showed the others his notepad, making Daryl grit his teeth.

He still didn't want anyone to know about Connor.

"Somebody's gotta keep record of what we've gone through. It'll be part of our history."

Herschel got up and looked at the man as well.

"That makes sense" he said and Daryl snorted once more.

He thought that it was absolutely retarded and pointless.
Who was going to read about it anyway? At least 97 % of the population had to be dead. Or maybe even more.

"I've...got dozens of interviews- and with my latest test results I could..." Milton said and approached Herschel, but right then Daryl stepped forward to stop him.

"Hey, there ain't no test results alright, four-eyes?" he growled, but before he even got the chance to really shut the man up they all heard the sudden loud growling of walkers that were heading for their location.

Everyone grabbed their weapons. Daryl his crossbow, the guy from Woodbury (who's name was apparently Martinez) his baseball bat and Andrea her small pocket knife, and together they headed for the maybe five to ten walkers that were staggering in their direction. Some of the walkers were wavering about between the massive silos of the farm, and after taking aim for a couple of seconds and feeling how Martinez was close behind him Daryl decided to withdraw again. There was no way he was gonna be busy killing walkers with the enemy right behind him. He didn't know how the guy was going to react, and he didn't exactly want his head to be bashed in just because he wasn't paying any attention. So Daryl lowered his crossbow and looked at the man, waving about with his arm to signalize that he was going to let him go first.

"After you" he said and glared at the Woodburian who stared back at him in surprise.

"No way. You first" he muttered and pointed at the walkers with his baseball bat.

Both men gave in to an intense stare-down, which only got interrupted by Andrea, who made her way towards the walkers with an annoyed eyeroll.
She shoved the undead against the silo and stabbed his eye out, making the other two men watch her in surprise.

"Pussy" Martinez said then, which made Daryl look at him.

There was the inner urge inside of him that made him clench his fist and made him feel like he needed to punch the Woodburian, but Martinez was already on his way to kill the next walker. He twirled his baseball bat around and it was obvious that he was showing off. He smashed the brains of a female walker and splattered blood all over another silo, making him turn around and grin at Daryl like he was extremely pleased with himself. The hunter had to admit that it was a good kill, but it didn't really impress him. He was used to this sort of bullshit, he and Connor had made the whole killing walkers thing a secret competition after all.

Part of the younger Dixon wished that the Irishman was here with him right now, because it sure as hell would've been even more fun to fuck Martinez up and show Woodbury who the kings of walker kills were, but he was all alone now so it was on him to defend their honor. He shrugged and started running so he could get closer to the next bunch of walkers to take better aim at them. As soon as he had shoot one right in the eye he lowered his crossbow once more to watch what Martinez was doing, and for a moment he secretly counted 256, making him 8 walker kills better than Connor. Fucker had managed to make up with all the walkers he had killed back at the prison yard and inside the woods when he had gotten lost, although the hunter suspected that the dumbass was lying to him anyway. And maybe he was lying as well and made up some numbers, but 256 it was, so fuck him.

Martinez was on his way to kill another two walkers, so Daryl thought it was his turn to act. He took aim and hit another one before Martinez got the chance to hit her with his baseball bat, and since the hunter thought that he needed to do something cooler than that he grabbed his knife and took aim. Once again Martinez was about to kill the walker that had been standing behind the one he had just killed, but Daryl wouldn't give him the chance to end the walker's life. He took aim with his knife and threw it, hitting the undead right in the face and killing him. Maybe Daryl had stolen that move from the Connor after he had seen him do this sort of thing to his brother a couple of days ago, but the move did what it was supposed to do: kill a walker, make him show off, and also making it very clear for Martinez that there was no way he was gonna let him do any sort of bullshit. The other man turned around and looked at him with wide eyes, obviously a bit shocked because the knife that had almost hit him instead of the walker. Daryl just looked back at him with a slight and evil smirk, and in his mind he counted: 258. Suck it, leprechaun.

Daryl then knelt down to search the corpses for anything useful, only to click his tongue when he felt a familiar package.

"Look what he's got" he said and shoved Martinez the cigarettes. This time he didn't regret that he had locked Connor in their cell back at the prison.

He got up and counted them with a smile. There were eight inside, and there was no way he was going to let the leprechaun have them. He knew that the blonde still had some from their discovery back inside the kitchen, and truth was that he was a bit mad at the Irishman for not really sharing them with him. Bastard had been the one to make him addicted to that shit as well, so he was going to keep them to himself.

Ha. Take that, he thought and put one in his mouth. He then turned around to look at Martinez, who was still standing there and just watched him. Daryl contemplated things for a bit but then came to the conclusion that this asshole deserved one as well, considering that he had been the one who had killed the walker in the first place. So he offered the man one but Martinez refused.

"Nah, I prefer menthols" he muttered and Daryl snorted.

He and Connor had found menthols once and they absolutely dreaded them.

"Douchebag" he muttered and lit his own, enjoying the feeling of smoke in his lungs and mouth. He kept eyeing Martinez though, because he had to admit that he was kind of curious now. It didn't look like the guy was going to just kill him or attack him any second, and since they still had to wait for an official word he thought that they might as well talk. It had been too long since he had last come across someone who was at least a bit decent, and truth was that he still missed people and simple conversations.

"You army or something?" he asked and Martinez looked at him. He shook his head and looked down at his baseball bat.

"Nah, I just- just hate these things."

Daryl pressed his lips together and nodded quietly.

"Yeah" he muttered and was pretty sure that practically everyone hated those stinking bastards.

Because they meant nothing but trouble, because they were disgusting, because they just kept killing killing killing and that annoyed the crap out of him.

"After what they did...to my wife, kids" Martinez went on and looked away.

Daryl took a drag on his cigarette and sighed. Of course it had to lead to this, it always led to deaths and people getting eaten.

"Sucks" he muttered and looked down as well.

"Thanks" the man opposite him said and it was quiet for a while. They listened to the chirping of the crickets and the creaking of the metal silos.

"You're Merle's brother, aren't you?" Martinez asked after a while and Daryl looked up with a frown.

"Yeah, so?"

The other chuckled and shook his head.

"Nothing. Got the same dumb look on your face. How's that bastard doin?"

Daryl shrugged and blew out some smoke.

"Just fine."

Martinez nodded with a smirk on his face.

"Tough son of a bitch."

Daryl nodded and smirked as well.

"Nobody can kill Merle but Merle."

Silence. Nothing but the blowing of wind and the chirping of animals.

"Is it true 'bout your friend?"

Daryl tensed and avoided Martinez' gaze.
He took another drag on his cigarette instead and moved around a bit.

"Is what true?" he asked and pretended that he didn't know what the other was talking about.

"That your buddy's immune. The one with the tattoos?"

Daryl just snorted and shook his head.

"Bullshit."

Martinez snorted as well and folded his arms.

"Let me give you some advice, hick" he said and the hunter looked at him.

"They ain't gonna work anything out in there. Sure they'll do their little dance, and tomorrow, next day, they'll give the word" the man said and looked at Daryl with an intense look in his eyes. It was obvious that he didn't like telling the truth, but it also looked like he was going to follow the Governor's orders no matter what.

"I heard Miltie talk about your friend. We ain't gonna be double checking who we're shooting at when we get the signal" Martinez went on and Daryl just kept staring at him.

"So if your friend's really immune...better make sure he ain't in the line of fire. Just between you'n me."

Daryl kept staring at him for a little while longer and then swallowed when he felt a lump in his throat.

"Tomorrow?" he asked after a while and Martinez nodded and swallowed as well.

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

They had been walking down the road for more than one hour when they finally reached a location with cars. They needed a car because the farm was still a long way away from their prison, and all the other vehicles they had found had been pieces of thrash with flat tires, no fuel or broken engines. Connor and Merle ducked down behind some bushes and eyed their surroundings for a moment. They had found an abandoned motel with a whole bunch of cars waiting for them by the parking lot. Trouble was that there were walkers staggering around the location, which would make it really hard to get one of the cars and make it work.

Neither the Irishman nor Daryl's brother had said a single word ever since their fight over Daryl, but this situation actually required them to talk and work together. Connor eyed the walkers a little while longer and grabbed his Beretta. He really hated that he couldn't use both of his hands, because he'd rather have a gun AND a knife right now, but his broken thumb and wrist made it impossible. It was a disadvantage, but his advantages pretty much canceled it out.

The Irishman was also a bit surprised because all the whispering and talking wasn't too bad today. Considering how many walkers were here and how close he was to them it was kind of astonishing, really. There were only a couple of whispers and they weren't even loud, so the blonde suspected that maybe, maybe he was getting a bit better. His shoulder told him otherwise because it was still throbbing and aching and pulsating like hell, but he'd rather have a serious infection and inflammation than this whole hallucination crap. Connor nudged Merle's arm and pointed at the walkers with his gun.

"'m gonna go and kill all these fucks. Ye wait here fer me ta finish it. After that ye can show off yer scumbag skills and hot-wire one of them cars."

Merle snorted and turned his head to look at Connor with an angry frown.

"Look like I need a babysitter t'you? Besides, you think I'm gonna let yah do that just so I get my ass kicked cos yah bit the dust? No no, blondie. You stay back, let the real man do all the work" the older Dixon grunted and got up, and that so fast that it was impossible for Connor to grab his shirt to hold him back.

"Merle!" the Irishman yelled without really thinking, making it just worse for them. His yell drew the attention of all the walkers to them, making them turn around with exhausted and loud groans and moans. Daryl's brother ran right at them, using the knife on his stump to slaughter them whenever they got too close. The older Dixon wouldn't stop insulting the walkers and laughing at them, and after killing about five of them he turned around with triumphant laughter and grinned at Connor.

"See? This is how yah do it, mick!" he yelled and the blonde MacManus widened his eyes when he saw that there was another walker right behind Merle.

He got to his feet and pulled his gun, aiming it at the undead in one swift motion. Before the older Dixon even got the chance to turn around and kill the undead himself the blonde had already pulled the trigger, blowing out the undead woman's brain with a disgusting splat. Merle turned around to watch her fall, and once again he wouldn't stop hollering and laughing.

"Look at her! And I thought blondes ain't got no brains in their melons!" he yelled and then resumed the killing.

"Just the one, that all yah can do, paddy?" he went on and Connor finally stepped out from behind the bushes, grabbing his knife with an angry growl.

"You wish!" he yelled and started killing all the surrounding walkers. He worked strategically, making his way towards the motel as he kept slicing and cutting. Merle wouldn't slow down either, and pretty soon it became a competition between the two of them. The older Dixon wouldn't stop counting every single kill that he did, enraging Connor even more, making him attack faster and far more brutal than necessary. The whispering got louder with every fast beat of his heart, and soon he found himself too overwhelmed by all the kills, all the walkers that were dropping dead in front of him. The screaming and shouting got louder with every single death, although there were only about three walkers left to kill. Merle obviously enjoyed the competition and did not seem to notice the fact that the Irishman was weakening. He just kept pushing and pushing.

"Seriously, that all yah got? No wonder your little bro bit the dust!" he yelled as he killed another walker, and that remark was enough to make panting Connor explode.

"Fuck you!" the Irishman yelled as loud as he could and lunged out to kill the last but one walker with a brutal stab to his head.

But he had reached too far back, and just when his arm was flying through the air he could feel a sharp pain in his shoulder, like a muscle or something else just snapped. He still managed to kill the walker since there was no stopping the strike, but as soon as the knife was buried inside the head Connor let go with an awkward gasp and fell to his knees, grabbing his shoulder in shock. He could almost instantly feel a warm and damp spot form underneath his hand. He heard Merle grunting right behind him and a second later the last walker fell to the ground.

Nothing but the panting of the two men could be heard as Connor was feeling his shoulder and tried to make out what was wrong. Although it wasn't too much he could still feel, smell and see that blood that was slowly staining the bandage on his shoulder just like the collar of his shirt, and then he finally understood what had caused the sudden pain. He could actually feel it now. He had managed to split his stitches. Oh great. Well fucking done. He cursed and hissed as he tried to get back up in a hurry. He didn't want Merle to see or notice, but it was already too late.

"What's the matter blondie? Didcha wet your pants cos all them walkers attacking us? I told yah yah ain't..." the redneck stopped talking when he noticed the bloodstain on the Irishman's bandage that was slowly getting bigger. Connor got up and sorted his clothes with a grunt, and after that he placed his broken hand on his shoulder to shield it from Merle's sight.

"Instead of talkin bullshit yer might as well start workin on a fuckin car. Noise's gonna draw more walkers in. We need ta move" the blonde muttered and walked past the older Dixon, but Merle would not let him go just like that without making some sort of remark on the issue.

"Hey, when yah came talkin t'me about your plan ain't no word I heard you saying 'bout how screwed yah pansy are. I thought they stitched yah up for good, I thought you're ready t'go and kill that son of a bitch good and proper" Merle said and followed Connor, who was heading for one of the doors in a hurry. He needed to find a mirror, and maybe he could find some car keys while Merle was busy hot-wiring a car. If only he would actually start working on that.

"I am, alright?" the blonde spat and kept walking, trying to lose the older Dixon.

"Now get a fuckin car ta work. I'm fine, it's just a fuckin scratch and we need ta keep moving!"

"Yeah, and next thing I know, yah pansy gonna be passing out on me and get killed because of a scratch and people gonna say it's all my fault. Hey, that's it for yah mick" Merle went on and grabbed Connor by his arm, making the Irishman snap again. He shrugged the redneck's hand off with an annoyed growl.

"Don't ye fuckin touch me!" he yelled and then pointed a finger at the older Dixon.

"You 'n me made a fuckin deal and yer gonna keep to that shit, do ye understand me. Yer brother's out there with this psychopath, and the longer we're wastin time on this bullshit the more likely it's gonna be that that Governor freak's gonna do some serious shit t'our people. Now leave me alone and get us a fuckin car, ye piece of shit."

Merle gritted his teeth and glared at Connor, eyes wandering to his bloody bandage every couple of seconds. He then put his arms in the air and shrugged.

"Fine, no need t'get your panties in a bunch, paddy" he growled and turned around to head for the cars, giving Connor the opportunity to finally, finally take a deep breath and wince in pain. He could feel it now, the spots where his stitches had split and ripped his flesh, like the wound hadn't been painful enough before that. He massaged his aching shoulder and then headed for one of the doors.

He grabbed his knife and moved closer to the wooden surface to listen up and make out if there was a walker inside the motel room. He couldn't hear a thing, so he decided to grab the door handle. The door wasn't locked, which was a good thing. He still didn't really fear an attack but figured it would probably be a good thing to be careful now that he was already screwed enough anyway. He put a hand on the door and then pushed it open slowly and carefully. The room smelled horrible, like rotten food and other disgusting things had been boiling inside that room because of the hot Georgian summer heat. But it didn't smell like a corpse was lying in there or walking around, which was another good sign.

Connor let go of the door and kicked it open with his foot, knife still up in the air and ready to stab should an unexpected guest attack him despite his precautions. But the Irishman wasn't prepared for the blow to the back of his head that happened right then, coming from a person who was standing right behind him rather than in front of him. Connor let out a surprised and painfilled grunt and stumbled inside the motel room, landing face down on the dirty carpet. He felt an unpleasant throbbing on the back of his head as the world started to spin, and before he passed out completely he could feel how he was being turned on his back and grabbed by his wrists. He could make out the blurry face of Merle Dixon, who was dragging him further inside the motel room, away from the cars, and towards the bed.

"What the.." he mumbled but couldn't fight him or form a full sentence because he was half unconscious already.

"Sorry blondie, but ain't no way 'm takin a liability with me" the older Dixon grunted as he grabbed Connor by his waist and lifted him up to throw him on the bed.
Once he had made sure the blonde was lying there and still listening to him he grabbed him by his chin and looked him in his half-closed eyes.

" Yah gonna go back t'them. Get them ready for what's next. Yah ain't gonna come after me. And yah gonna make sure Daryl ain't gonna come lookin for me either."

He then let go of Connor and looked at him just for a couple of seconds longer.

"That's something I gotta do on my own" he said then and punched the Irishman hard in his face, making him black out before he got the chance to protest.