Look After Your Brother ch 9
Chapter 9
It was late, and they were walking home from another shite job. Cleaning the stadium after the game only paid minimum wage, but they got to keep whatever they found, and sometimes that was worth it. Murph had come across a good watch that just needed a new strap. He planned to give it to Doc.
Connor expected it to be a goodbye-gift. He was growing restless, and he could sense sometimes that Murphy was too.
"I think I'm going to hell, Conn." The confession came out of half an hour's silent walking. It took Connor about half a second to come up with a guess as to why his brother would say such a thing.
"Thinking about Sharon Stone gettin' ya hard there, Murph?" They hadn’t seen the movie, but the leg-crossing scene was all the talk at work.
He expected a slap for being a smartass. He just didn’t expect it to be so hard. "Fucken hell, Murph!"
"I'm fucken serious, Connor!" Murph turned down the next street, away from home, nursing the fingers he had hit his brother's head with. "You broke my fucken hand!"
Connor followed him, recognizing the need to just walk for walking's sake. He'd rather spend the night on his feet than let Murphy wander off upset and alone.
"C'mon, Murph. It's no big thing. It happens to all fellas."
Murphy mumbled something and kept walking.
"Wha's that?" Connor asked, hurrying to catch up.
Murphy turned on Connor and smacked both hands hard into his chest, hard enough to rock him back a few steps. So much for the claim that his hand was broken.
"I said not me, Connor! Do y' hear me now?" Pain and regret flickered over Murphy's face before he turned away again. He stopped walking.
"What're ya sayin', Murph?" Connor was trying his best, but his brother was making no sense.
"I'm sayin'...I don’t get that way over girls. There's somethin' wrong with me, Connor. I don’t think I'm ever gonna have a wife. I don’t think... I don’t think it's going to be that way for me. Women, I mean." Murph's voice was soft now, small and lost.
Connor made a hmph of amusement. "Of course it's not."
He should have known better.
"Connor..." Murphy's voice was full of hurt and warning. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"No, I'm serious, Murph." He kept his hands up to protect his face from possible retribution. "I know. I've always known. Hell, Ma even knew."
Murphy's hands relaxed. "I'm not strong enough to be a priest, Conn."
Connor frowned. Was this what Ma meant when she said they had God and each other? A life in the priesthood? It didn’t fit the vague images he had of their future together.
"Who says ya have to be a priest if ya don’t marry? Fuck 'em. Do what'cha want, Murph."
"I think... I want to date men, Connor. I...fuck, I'm goin' ta hell."
The statement and the distress in Murph's voice took the wind out of Connor's chest. He was sure this wasn’t what Ma meant. She wouldn’t've taken it well, that he was sure of. Murphy wasn’t supposed to date men. He was supposed to stay, with Connor. Nothing should come between them except maybe God.
"Are ya hatin' me then, Conn?" It hurt to hear Murphy's voice like that, so sad, so vulnerable. It hurt to see the defensive slump of his shoulders, as if he expected the world to fall in on him.
"No, Murph," he whispered back. "I'd never hate ya. Swear to God, I just want ya happy."
An ache was building in his chest. He swallowed to try to relax it but it didn’t help. Breathing wasn’t coming so easy. He just wished Murph would be quiet for a bit, let him get his head together, but it looked like his twin had more to get out.
"You worked when you didn’t like it, and you killed that man for me. The teacher Conn, you remember him?" Sarcasm clung to his brother's voice like tar. "And now I'm a fucken poof. How the fuck can you not hate me?"
Connor sighed and stepped closer. "You're not talking sense, Murph." He reached out, fingers resting light on the small of his twin's back.
"I'm going to hell, Conn. I'm going to hell and I fucken deserve it." He tried to step away but Connor caught him.
"Shush, Murph. I'll not hear ya sayin' such things. It's not true. Not true a bit." So many things needed to be said, but talk of damnation was not one of them. Murphy made a half-hearted attempt at squirming away, but Connor drew him up against his chest, holding him like he had when they were younger.
They stood like that for a long time. Connor wouldn’t let Murphy speak again until they were both calmer.
"You can't tell me you liked it when we were workin', Murph. I remember that. I remember you from then. You weren’t happy." He kept his voice soft and even. He kept his brother close against him, showing him with touch what his words might not convey: that he was loved still, and accepted.
"And you sure as hell can't tell me you liked what that bastard Harris did." Connor breathed in the scent of Murphy's hair, drawing his own measure of comfort from it.
"But I'm a faggot..." Murph whispered again.
"That's nothin' to do with nothin', Murph. It doesn’t make what those men did to you any less wrong than what they did to me. It doesn’t mean Harris didn’t deserve every bit o' what he got."
Murphy released his breath in a long shuddering sigh.
"Let's go home," Connor murmured against his neck.
Murph shook his head. "Stay out with me tonight. Please, Conn?"
He might not understand, but he could deny Murphy nothing. They walked in silence for hours, close enough that their shoulders brushed with every step.
They ended up sleeping in some ritzy neighborhood, between a hedge and a wall. They woke up in the morning with a dog sniffing at them. They left the bushes and almost scared some poor lady walking the poodle half to death.
The busses were running by then, and when they made their way home, they thanked Doc for letting them stay for so long, and announced that they would be looking for a place of their own soon.
Doc helped them get set up in a new place to live. It was tiny, a single room with a closet-sized bathroom and a half-scale kitchenette, but they could afford it on their own. It came with one bed, and they brought the spare from Doc's house. They had only a little more to move than when they had left the rooms they had shared with their Ma. It all fit in the back of the pickup with the mattress and there was still room for them to ride along.
"D-d-don’t be strangers now, boys," Doc told them as he said goodbye at their new threshold. "If you ever need anything, you boys c-c-call. And always r-r-remember Fuck! Remember that I love you boys." He wrapped them into a shaky hug, and they hugged him back.
Their eyes met in an uncertain glance over the fine white hair. They had known love. They knew their Ma loved them. They knew they loved each other. They had never heard the words before.
"You too, Doc," Murphy finally supplied.
Doc sniffed and wiped at his nose. "Good luck, b-b-boys," he said as he turned and left before he could embarrass himself.