Shared Everything

Author’s Note: This is what happens when I try to write. I go through old pictures, and get inspired to write something else. That being this. Inspired by this art. [original link]

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Murphy was hurt worse than Connor. Or at least that was how it felt to Connor. The lighter-haired twin had taken a bullet in the arm, which was nothing, he thought. Sure it hurt, but it was easy to pull out, easy to wrap, and easy to move around afterwards. It was easy to convince himself it didn’t hurt.

He felt pain when he looked at his brother though. Murphy had taken a bullet in his torso. It had been lodged into his side, and the wound was robbing him of desperately needed blood. Connor knew what he would say. He would say he was fine, quit worrying about him, quit acting like a pussy and pull out the fucking bullet.

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Against Reality

Author’s Note: Connor - Wolf Lover / Murphy - descendant of the Sea Warrior
This would not have been written if it weren’t for crossbowsandwalkers for giving me a bit of inspiration. Boondock Saints fanfic, no slash, because I don’t write that.

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It was a particularly warm winter day. It was still cold enough to require jackets and scarves, but only if insisted by a worrisome mother, but not cold enough to drive restless children inside. Two young boys no older than fifteen chased after each other in an empty field. With no trees to shield them, the wind whipped against the boys, blowing their scarves behind them like torn capes.

The darker-haired boy reached out for the other, his fingers barely grazing the tassels of his scarf.

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A Brother’s Trust

Author’s Note: A Boondock Saints fanfic. It’s based off of this picture, and how I interpreted it. (I had the original post, but I lost it. Please, someone link it to me if you can find it. I’ll keep searching.)

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Connor’s hands shook as he dialed the phone. Blood smeared from his fingers across the keypad making the numbers barely visible. He brought the receiver to his ear and waited.

One ring – one which lasted for too long.

Two rings – and still no one answered.

Three rings – and then almost a fourth – when the familiar voice answered on the other end.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I need you to make the call,” Connor said.

“Connor,” the voice paused. “Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“Are you sure? You know I’m only good for one call.”

“Yes dammit! Just make the fucking call!”

The Irishman pressed his arm against his mouth. Screaming was not safe, but it got through to the other end.

“Alright,” the other voice said. “You know where to meet me. Can you get there?”

“Aye, I can,” Connor replied much quieter that time, and he shut off the phone.

Connor’s hands where still shaking and still covered in blood – whose exactly he was unsure of. He tried to wipe it on his pants and then fell to his knees. With a trembling hand he crossed himself and whispered a quick prayer.

From there, Connor had little time to waste. “Murphy,” he said as he knelt beside his brother. “I’m going to get us some help, alright?” He patted his brother’s hair. “Okay Murph? You’re going to be okay.” Connor hoisted Murphy over his shoulders then and hurried away from the blood soaked and bullet ridden scene.

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Can anyone else just imagine Connor and Murphy going into the store and buying two of everything… two pea coats, two bathrobes, two pairs of work boots, two pairs of jeans, two sets of boxers — Connor takes the blue set, Murphy takes the gray set — because there are just some things that they will not share.