First, don't hate me for this. It came about because my cousin has discovered The Walking Dead, and she loves it. I'm not a zombie person, myself, but she tells me all about it. We both love Boondock Saints, and we were discussing how the two might clash and this is what happened. By the time I finished it, we were both crying. (Btw, I don't own Walking Dead or Boondock Saints... obviously) Also, "Aonarach" means Protector.

Aonarach

Murphy: "There are varying degrees of evil. We urge you lesser forms of filth not to push the bounds and cross over into true corruption, into our domain."

Connor: "For if you do, one day you will look behind you, and you will see we three. And on that day, you will reap it!"

Murphy:"And we will send you to whatever god you wish."

"Swear on it!"

"No!"

"Swear!"

"Fuck you!" Murphy MacManus shouted. "I ain't fuckin' promising somethin' that won't ever happen in the first place!"

"Jaysus, Murph! Ya don't know that! Have ya been outside lately? Have ya seen th' news? This shit gets worse everyday!"

"It ain't gonna happen, Connor! Not ta us. I got yer back, an' ye got mine, yeah?"

Connor MacManus sighed. "Ya know I do. But Murph, if somethin' does... If I do... Jus' promise me ye'll take care of it, a'right? Don't let me live like that."

"A'right, Conn. I promise. Only if ya can promise to do th' same fer me."

Blue eyes locked with blue, a deep ocean stretching across two souls. "I promise."

~*Saints*~

Seven weeks. Seven weeks passed before that promise came back to bite him in the ass. What ordinarily would have been just a scratch was now life threatening. Connor didn't tell Murphy. The fucker cut his own fucking arm off just above the elbow while his brother was sleeping. Murphy awoke to the sound of Connor's strangled cries. He thought the sight of his brother on his knees, cradling what was left of his arm, would haunt him forever. That is, until they realized Connor's method hadn't exactly been effective.

He tried to stay away from Murphy, but the darker haired twin wouldn't hear of it. Maybe it wouldn't take. Maybe he'd be alright. Maybe...

But all those maybes didn't mean shit when he was staring into the eyes he'd seen every damn day since they were born. But they didn't recognize him. They didn't recognize his own brother. Connor was gone, leaving this... this thing in his place. Murphy knew what he had to do, of course, to protect himself and, more importantly, honor Connor's last wish.

Raising his gun, he aimed right between those once laughing blue eyes.

"An' shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee," Murphy choked, salty tears streaming down his cheeks, but his hand remained remarkably steady. "Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patri, et Filii, Spiritus Sancti."

The walker, as they had come to call them, who had once been his brother was dangerously close now. "I'm sorry, Conn," he sobbed, squeezing the trigger and sending two bullets through the walker's head.

Murphy stared at the limp body on the ground, heart hammering in his chest. He crouched down, dropping his last two copper pennies over Connor's eyes, murmuring a prayer for his brother's soul, though he had no doubt he was in Heaven.

A sob escaped his throat, and the world tilted when he stood upright. He was alone. For the first time in his life he was utterly and completely alone. Stumbling a few feet away from his brother's body, he fell to his knees and vomited what little food he had in his stomach. Tears mixed with sweat and ran down the nape of his neck as he began to shake uncontrollably. "Connor!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Connor!"

He screamed until his throat was raw and gave out on him. Likely he would have sat there in the same clearing with his brother until the end of the world claimed him, but his rational side, which sounded an awful lot like Connor, won out. He couldn't give up. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't dishonor Connor's memory like that. They were fighters, and Connor had fought till the very end. So then, would Murphy.

Standing on surprisingly stable legs, he walked past what was left of his brother, not stopping for one last glance. This wouldn't be how he remembered Connor. But from here on out, that's what he always must be. A memory. They were twins, after all, and one MacManus did not exist without the other. Dropping his gun near his brother's corpse, Murphy MacManus ceased to be Murphy MacManus. He could never go back to that life. That name was no longer his. That past was banished to the farthest corner of his mind. Murphy MaManus died with his brother. Forevermore he would be...

Daryl Dixon.