end of days

The world had gone to Hell. That much was obvious. Once they had recovered from their injuries, for their own safety they were transferred to another maximum security jail in Georgia. Soon after though, that's when everything went to shit. The virus, whatever it was, got in somehow; the prisoners and guards alike were either killed by infected, or murdered each other in the panic and the riots. It was literally kill or be killed, and it was only out of a need to find each other and stay alive for them that they had to take more lives.

At first, the brothers had feared the worse for one another – they'd been separated into different cell blocks, which made finding each other difficult when everything was falling apart. Murphy had considered staying put, giving Connor the chance to find him easily – but then again, he never had been the patient one. Eventually they were reunited, reassurances of the others wellbeing left until they were back in a cell, safe for the time being. Having stolen a set of keys from a guard as well as his weapons, the boys were soon locking themselves behind bars.

Though it wasn't just sickness that plagued this arc in their lives. They watched as inmates shoot each other, or as guards went for their charges throats as though they hadn't eaten for weeks. It wasn't long before they were forced to defend themselves against other prisoners, living or otherwise, using guns lifted from the bodies of dead guards. It soon became normal for the brothers to huddle out of sight just behind the beds as infected inmates pressed waxy, bleeding faces to the iron bars. Once they'd moved on, both men let themselves breathe a little easier. Staying put was a tenuous option at best, but it soon became that much more strained when hunger started to really set in. Perhaps in other circumstances, one would insist on doing a food run while the other stayed safe. But that wasn't how the twins worked, and that wasn't how the world could afford to work anymore. They barely got back to their cell block in one piece, but the small amount of supplies they'd swiped meant it had been worth it, this time.

They were quiet for a while, before Murphy finally spoke up. "How long d'ya think we'll last?"

"So long as we're careful, we're gonna be fine." Came Connors simple reply. It wasn't what Murphy wanted to hear, but it was what he expected.

"Should try gettin' out, you know…Try our luck on the road"

"Aye. Let's do that – I've always wanted to get me throat ripped out by a pissed off zombie. Sounds like a fuckin' holiday."

"Fuck you. I mean it. All we're gonna do in here is slowly rot away, an' then what? Come back a few hours later lookin' like the fuckin' 'Evil Dead'?"

"D'ya hear yourself, Murph'? In here, we've got food, we've got shelter. This is a good deal we've got here."

"Oh aye – until food runs out, or other surviving inmates find their way to this block, or one of us gets sick-"

"Tha's not gonna happen. Jus' shut up and eat. I'll think of somethin', a'right? But we're not leavin' here unless we've got no other choice, an' I mean it – no choice. You hear me?" The twins matched each other's glares, but Murphy soon backed down for the time being. They both made valid arguments, but Murphy knew he wasn't prepared to risk their lives any more than they were already. They talked about it more, but each time they ended up butting horns – after a while even Connor was considering the option of leaving the jail and not looking back; but the security it offered as well as the generous food supply meant he stayed his ground on the issue. Murphy was freaked out, wanted to up and run, but they both knew one would never leave without the other.

It wasn't until a few days later when something drew them out of sleep. Sounds from outside – quiet, but unmistakable, and definitely not being made by zombies. Sharing a glance they were soon out of their beds and approaching the nearest window that looked out to the courtyard. It didn't show the entire area, and as Murphy pushed in front of his twin to see which inmates were trying to leave, at first he was disappointed.

"Nothin' there – you see anythin'?"

"Move your fuckin' arse and maybe I'll tell you."

"Fuck you – there. There, I see 'em"

"Who is it? Can you tell?"

"Gimme a fuckin' minute -They're not prisoners"

"What?"

"Look – y'see?" Pressing his fingertip to the glass, Connor scanned the yard – all he could see at first were infected, but then he saw what his brother was talking about. A trio of people – two men and a woman by the looks of it – were hacking their way through the less fortunate inmates. As the minutes ticked by, more survivors weren't followed. A kid, an old guy, a few men, some more women – all armed, as far as they could tell, and doing a good job of looking after themselves. Moving away from the window, the boys just thought for a moment, Murphy wiping the back of his hand over his forehead.

"You reckon they'll get in?"

"Not sure – they're handlin' themselves right now, but you saw how packed the lower floors were."

"Should we help 'em?" That was the question neither of them wanted to ask or answer. Normally, they would have without hesitation – but this wasn't a normal situation. They had one hand gun each, the rounds provided were their only remaining ammunition. And by the looks of it, this new group were far better off weapons wise.

"Did you see guns..?"

"Couldn't tell."

"A'right…we'll stay here, for now-"

"And if they get here? Then what? We welcome them with open arms?"

"…We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

....

a confrontation.

"I think you're full of shit, is what I'm sayin'"

"Fuck you-" When Crossbow took a sudden step closer, Connor instinctively stepped into its line of fire, firmly urging Murphy to back up as he attempted to salvage the situation before it went to Hell.

"Look, we don't want trouble here, a'right? We know you got a group with you, we know you've got a kid. We'll move to another block, you won't ever see us." Glancing at the windows, Rick finally turned back, rubbing a hand over his eyes and down his face as he looked at Connor fully, mentally weighing what to do...how much of a threat they were...were they worth the bullets it'd take to put them down. Eventually, he spoke again, eyes hard and voice severe.

"You're not staying here."

"Aye, we know – just, let us out, and we'll make our own way to another block. Look, you're hungry, right? Your group is? If you wanted we can show you where the kitchen is, the infirmary too-"

"You can tell us where to find it, we'll make our own way there." Rick interrupted. "You can leave the block, but you're going to have to relocate to the other side of the prison. You're not staying near here."

....

their two cents. This time, it was T Dog.

"Alright – I see what you're saying, I get it. But we put them in with the walkers, or kick them out onto the road, we might as well shoot them ourselves. I mean we've probably got more blood on our hands than they do"

"What's your point?"

"My point, is that none of us are innocent anymore. Alright, they made bad choices to get thrown in here, but they're still people. You said they're not hostile, right?" When Rick didn't answer right away, T Dog prompted him to with a motion of his hand.

"…Yeah, I did. They've got guns, both of them, but limited ammunition. They said they're brothers; one's got a temper, but the other's more level headed. They told us, once we help them, they'll stay out of our way…"

"And you believe them?" Came an additional voice. This time, everyone turned towards Hershel, who had made himself comfortable on one of the bottom bunks in an open cell. His question said one thing, but his tone was asking something else; do you trust your gut enough to give them the benefit of the doubt? Rick seemed to understand this, and after a good minute of tense silence, he gave a slow nod.

"…Yes, I do."

...

Had it not been for Daryl watching them like a Doberman, the twins would have been pinned to the bars of their cell, eavesdropping on the group's discussion. They tried listening in on what was being said, but soon their own hissed arguments drowned out any hope of hearing the opinions of the other strangers. Giving Daryl a sweeping glance, Murphy dropped heavily onto the lower bunk, yanking Connor, and his tone, down with him.

"This isn't good, Connor"

"You're preachin' to the fucking choir. Shut up will you? I wanna listen-"

"Don't fuckin' tell me to shut up! This is fucked up, we're gonna let a group of fucking strangers decide what happens to us – I didn't sign up for this shit!"

This time, it was Connor who rounded on his brother, snapping at him at little louder than intended.

"And you think I did, Murph'? I don't fuckin' like this anymore than you, but it's better than gettin' a bullet between the fuckin' eyes."

"Oh fuck you – you don't know that"

"Yeah, actually, I fuckin' do. Worst case scenario, we get moved to another block, and we do all this again. I don't give a shit. We'll still have access to food, I'll make sure of that. But what you're not getting' through your thick fuckin' skull is that I'm trying to keep us both alive. And havin' you yappin' my fuckin' ear off ain't helpin' any"

That shut Murphy up for the time being. He just exhaled in frustration, looking away from his brother to his hands, whose nails were gradually getting shredded. It was a bad habit he'd had since they were small, and a rarity in that it wasn't a habit they shared. Connor hated it when Murphy bit his nails or picked at them, and would normally swat his hands away from his mouth. But this time he just let him, slowly raking his own nails through his own hair as his head gradually slumped forward. He hoped he was right about Rick. Of course, if the reason the brothers were in here came up, he knew that'd be it for them. But they'd deal with that when it became an issue. Until then, he tried focussing on what was being said below them, which wasn't as easy as they'd first anticipated. The outsiders were keeping their voices down, most likely to avoid being overheard.

As poorly timed as ever, it was just when Rick began making his way back up to their cell that Murphy nudged his twin, rousing him from his thoughts.

"Hey, Conn'-"

"Here's what's going to happen." Both brothers turned their heads simultaneously as the group's leader reappeared in front of the cell bars, his right hand in it's now natural place at his gun. Both men stood up, now in their own places at each other's side.

"Two members of my group will go with you, help you take down any walkers, and move any bodies. After that, you'll-" He gestured at Connor, "-come with us, show us how to get to the infirmary and where to find the food and other supplies."

Immediately, Connor felt Murphy's hackles go up, but before he could mouth of he settled the deal.

"That's fair. And so we're clear, we're still entitled to the supplies?"

"You get a third of whatever's left in there."

"You've got to give us more."

"You get a third, that's all. There's two of you, ten of us. Not negotiable."

The brothers looked at each other – Murphy's eyes were filled with suppressed argument. He wanted Connor to put up more of a fight. This was their prison, by right. But Connor knew that, while he could argue with Rick, the likelihood of the argument going in their favour was slim, and he had both their lives to think about. It'd been that way, ever since they could remember. They watched each other's backs, defended each other. But Connor always felt responsible for Murphy, like it was his fault if he got hurt. And even now, with them both teetering on the edge of forty, nothing had changed. With a nod, the deal was done. However, when Rick next opened his mouth, Murphy couldn't hold himself back. The older man had stepped a little way away from the bars, and placed his hands loosely on his hips.

"Right. Now you're going to hand over your weapons."

"What?"

"Oh fuck that"

"Murph'-"

"No, no – you fuckers come in here, you lock us up, you take away our food, and now you want us to hand over the only things we have against the fuckin' undead assholes out there? No fuckin' way." Rick just narrowed his eyes, almost daring Murphy to continue.

Let it be known he was never one to disappoint.

"Me an' my brother, we've been fuckin' nice, fuckin' civil – and all you've done is treat us like fuckin' animals. Alright, so we were in this shithole before you, big fuckin' deal. We're all equal now, and I'm willing to bet my fuckin' ball sack that you've taken a good few more lives than we have-"

He didn't need Connor shooting him an icy glance to quickly, and subtly, rectify his statement.

"Killin' those things, one after the other…it changes you, makes you fuckin' paranoid. Like you're not who you used to be, right? We've paid our dues, done our time here. You're not the law, 'Rick', and neither is your fuckin' bulldog here." He gestured crudely at Daryl, who was at the bars in a second, crossbow raised, though Rick hurriedly stopped him from doing anything stupid. In turn, Connor tried to calm his brother down, but all that accomplished was Murphy shrugging him away, and stepping closer to the bars until he could wrap his fingers around them.

"We've agreed to your bullshit deal. But don't expect us to roll over and follow your orders."

"Either you hand over your guns until tomorrow and we unlock this door, or you keep them and you stay in there until Daryl feels like letting you out. It's up to you, 'Murph'"

Tugging his brother away from the bars, Connor gave him a knowing look, at which Murphy let his lip curl into a snarl.

Within a few minutes, both guns were emptied and in Rick's possession, and the twins' cell was unlocked.

...

"Why?!"

Leaning into another step, Rick's tone dropped to a harsh mutter.

"Because we know nothing about you both, and by the looks of it you work better together. You could be violent psychopaths for all I know, and I'm not putting my people in harm's way anymore than I have to. You're staying here. End of discussion."

Whether he liked it or not, it made sense to Connor, but to Murphy it was all just twisted bullshit. After a very tense stare down, Connor finally broke the tension by giving his brother a quick hug, mumbling a few words of comfort into his shoulder;

"Try not to get a bolt between the eyes, a'right?"

Pulling away, he didn't give Murphy the chance to say anything back as he followed Rick down the steps. Daryl took up his place on the top stair, constantly narrowed eyes focused on the remaining prisoner. Giving him the dirtiest look he could, Murphy turned his attention to where Rick was nearly walking out of sight, and whistled down obnoxiously loudly, grabbing his attention long enough to say;

"He comes back alive, or you get to see for yourself what we did to get put in here."