GAH don't kill me. This is my very first Boondock Saints fic and I rather like it. So, yeah. Enjoy.
It was Murphy who went down first.
It always was going to be Murphy who went down first- he was the more reckless of the twins, the more hot-headed. They both knew they would go down young, they both knew they'd go down in a fight. But neither of them were expecting this.
Il Duce wasn't there. If he had been, he would have stopped everything.
Connor had no idea his brother had gone down, not even when he heard the double thud behind him. He just kept shooting, kept gunning them down because that's what he did.
When he heard the strangled yell behind him- "CONNOR!"- and realized his brother wasn't standing there, he whipped around. His eyes fell to the floor and, soon after, his knees fell as well.
"Ye bloody bastard." he snarled, leaning over his twin. "Get up, ye piece of lazy ass. Wha're you doin' on the floor for?"
Murphy grimaced and pulled his jacket aside. Connor's heart fell faster than a stone, because there's just too much blood.
"No, no, no, ye fucker, ye're not 'urt. 's jus' a scratch. Get up, Murph. Get the fuck up!" Connor's voice rose to a panicked yell as he gripped his brother by the shoulder.
"Shut up." Murphy grumbled, trying to speak around the blood in his mouth.
"Yer not goin' ta die on me now, are ye?" Connor asked. "We aren't done yet, we ha'n't killed them all, now come on!" He felt the tears spill from his eyes and squeezed them shut, trying to hold them back, trying to stay strong. "Yer s'pposed to have my bloody fuckin' back, Murph, you can't just leave me!"
"Ye're s'pposed to have mine." Murphy shot back immediately. Connor's mouth dropped open and Murphy reached one hand for his rosary, the other finding both of Connor's and squeezing gently. "S'okay, Connor, s'okay. We're on a mission from God; I'll be fine." His voice got weaker and he brought the rosary to his lips, slowly and deliberately.
"I won't be." Murphy didn't say anything else, just sighed and gave his twin's hand a reassuring squeeze before going slack.
"No. No no no no no. Murphy. Murphy!" Connor let out a little sob and clutched his brother to him. "Ye bastard. Wake up. Wake th' fuck up!"
It was then he knew. He knew which one came out first because he felt the overwhelming desire to slay the men who had killed his brother. He knew he was the older twin but there was no one to gloat to.
He stared at Murphy's face, eyes closed, hint of a smile playing at his brother's unmoving lips. It was strange- he almost looked at peace. Neither MacManus brother had ever felt at peace.
Connor stood. He knew what to do.
He moved through the place, herding the women and children out, gunning down any man that stood in his way. He showed no mercy to those men waiting in the shadows.
He shot them all.
When he returned to the room where his twin's body lay, he knelt, staring down at Murphy MacManus. Gently, he pressed his lips to his brother's forehead, and stood again.
"And shepherds we shall be," he began, speaking the prayer slowly, "for thee my Lord for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. We shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be."
He had three bullets left. Aiming at a spot directly over Murphy's left shoulder, he continued "In nomine Patris," he fired, moving the gun to a point over Murphy's right shoulder, "et Filii," he fired again. Falling to his knees, he pressed the gun to his temple.
Oddly enough, he felt at peace.
"Et Spiritus Sancti."
Connor pulled the trigger.
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