Always (1/1)
Title: Always
Author: somehowunbroken
Word Count: 2,007
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Connor's been having bad dreams.
It was another city, another room in another no-tell motel, and Connor laid on the floor of another sleazy not-quite-sterile bathroom by another toilet, shaking as he recovered from another nightmare and its accompanying sickness. Three in the morning is nothing but trouble, he mused as he wiped his mouth with a wad of toilet paper.
The dream was never the same, but always it ended with Murphy dead. It started after they killed Papa Joe, and every night, every fucking night since then he’d woken in a cold sweat, getting out of his bed as quickly and silently as he could to make his way to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach as he tried to forget the images in his mind.
They were back in the basement where Rocco was killed, but instead of being strapped to a chair beside his brother and their friend’s body, Connor was standing over Rocco’s prone form with a gun. His hand was pointed at the hole in Rocco’s chest, blood seeping from the wound onto the dirty shirt that he wore. Murphy threw himself to the ground next to Connor, screaming, flinging curses in every language Ma had ever taught them at Connor, who simply stood, gun still pointed at Rocco’s lifeless body, listening.
Then he was kicking Murphy, turning his chair around and kicking mercilessly at his left wrist as his twin screamed and screamed but never moved. His hand and wrist degenerated into a bloody heap but still Connor kept kicking until Murphy stopped sobbing, stopped screaming.
Connor knelt and looked at Murphy’s face. Tear tracks showed clean white skin under all the blood and grime of the day, and Murphy’s eyes were dull. “Perdóneme,” Connor whispered as he put the gun to Murphy’s chest. Tears dripped from his eyes to Murphy’s cheeks, where they slipped and swirled down to collect in the hollow of his neck. “Por favor, mi hermano, perdóneme.” Please, brother, forgive me. The words slipped from Connor’s mouth, begging, pleading for forgiveness.
“Non posso,” Murphy replied. I can’t. “You’re killing me.” Connor widened his eyes and shook his head in disbelief - kill his beloved brother? Never! - but then he noticed.
Noticed the blood pooling beneath Murphy. Noticed the hole in Murphy’ shirt, nearly identical to the one he had already put in Rocco. Noticed the life gone from Murphy’s eyes.
“I can’t forgive you,” Murphy’s body said. “You killed me.”
Connor retched into the toilet bowl again as the scene replayed in his head. White hands gripped the sides of the bowl, vomit and tears both falling into the water below as Connor shuddered and cried, trying to be quiet as Murphy slept in the room beyond -
- but then Murphy was there, holding Connor’s hand, rubbing his back and whispering into his ear it’s okay, don’t worry, I’m here, I’m okay, everything’s fine. And slowly, slowly, Connor calmed, Murphy’s soothing words and the fact that he’s solid and breathing and not bleeding and there making everything okay.
“Perdóneme,” Connor whispered. “Por favor, mi hermano, perdóneme.”
Murphy held his brother, stroking sweat-soaked hair as Connor trembled in his lap, and whispered one comforting word, over and over again.
“Sempre.”
Always.
Author: somehowunbroken
Word Count: 2,007
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Connor's been having bad dreams.
It was another city, another room in another no-tell motel, and Connor laid on the floor of another sleazy not-quite-sterile bathroom by another toilet, shaking as he recovered from another nightmare and its accompanying sickness. Three in the morning is nothing but trouble, he mused as he wiped his mouth with a wad of toilet paper.
The dream was never the same, but always it ended with Murphy dead. It started after they killed Papa Joe, and every night, every fucking night since then he’d woken in a cold sweat, getting out of his bed as quickly and silently as he could to make his way to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach as he tried to forget the images in his mind.
They were back in the basement where Rocco was killed, but instead of being strapped to a chair beside his brother and their friend’s body, Connor was standing over Rocco’s prone form with a gun. His hand was pointed at the hole in Rocco’s chest, blood seeping from the wound onto the dirty shirt that he wore. Murphy threw himself to the ground next to Connor, screaming, flinging curses in every language Ma had ever taught them at Connor, who simply stood, gun still pointed at Rocco’s lifeless body, listening.
Then he was kicking Murphy, turning his chair around and kicking mercilessly at his left wrist as his twin screamed and screamed but never moved. His hand and wrist degenerated into a bloody heap but still Connor kept kicking until Murphy stopped sobbing, stopped screaming.
Connor knelt and looked at Murphy’s face. Tear tracks showed clean white skin under all the blood and grime of the day, and Murphy’s eyes were dull. “Perdóneme,” Connor whispered as he put the gun to Murphy’s chest. Tears dripped from his eyes to Murphy’s cheeks, where they slipped and swirled down to collect in the hollow of his neck. “Por favor, mi hermano, perdóneme.” Please, brother, forgive me. The words slipped from Connor’s mouth, begging, pleading for forgiveness.
“Non posso,” Murphy replied. I can’t. “You’re killing me.” Connor widened his eyes and shook his head in disbelief - kill his beloved brother? Never! - but then he noticed.
Noticed the blood pooling beneath Murphy. Noticed the hole in Murphy’ shirt, nearly identical to the one he had already put in Rocco. Noticed the life gone from Murphy’s eyes.
“I can’t forgive you,” Murphy’s body said. “You killed me.”
Connor retched into the toilet bowl again as the scene replayed in his head. White hands gripped the sides of the bowl, vomit and tears both falling into the water below as Connor shuddered and cried, trying to be quiet as Murphy slept in the room beyond -
- but then Murphy was there, holding Connor’s hand, rubbing his back and whispering into his ear it’s okay, don’t worry, I’m here, I’m okay, everything’s fine. And slowly, slowly, Connor calmed, Murphy’s soothing words and the fact that he’s solid and breathing and not bleeding and there making everything okay.
“Perdóneme,” Connor whispered. “Por favor, mi hermano, perdóneme.”
Murphy held his brother, stroking sweat-soaked hair as Connor trembled in his lap, and whispered one comforting word, over and over again.
“Sempre.”
Always.