Rated T for the MacManus's filthy mouths.
[This road never felt so lonely]
Murphy tried not to think about the pain that was like a hot rod in his side. He tried to ignore that small, but damn important detail and focus on getting himself back home. Home where he would be safe. Home where Connor waited.
Fuck. Murphy winced. Connor was going to kill him. As far as Connor knew, Murphy had gone out to get a pack of cigarettes and a case of beer for the two of them. But it wasn't like he had asked to be stabbed in the side with that fucking knife.
"Hey, man." Murphy said, pushing his way to the front of the checkout line at the gas station. "Stop hassling her an' pay fer your shit." The man turned to glare at Murphy, while the woman behind the register shot him a grateful look.
"Stay outta my business, mick." The man growled. Murphy rolled his eyes, thankful at least that the idiot in front of him hadn't used the more derogatory terms for "Irish."
"Look, man. I've been waitin' in line for five fuckin' minutes an' all I can see is you givin' this young lady a hard time." Murphy ignored the glares that he was now receiving from the man's buddies. "She doesn' wan' ta go out wit' you. Leave her alone. In fact, why don' you jus' go, man?"
Murphy paused, leaning against the brick wall of the building next to him. He peered down at his side, peeling his left hand away from the wound in his side. Murphy grimaced at the sight of the blood that stained his dark shirt and hand.
He pushed off from the wall and trudged slowly towards his building, thankfully only a more few feet away.
The fist slammed into Murphy's head, knocking him to the side and causing him to drop the case of beer that he had been holding.
Murphy regained his balance, quickly bringing up his fists; ready to defend himself.
His eyes landed on the men from the gas station, who had been hiding in the shadows of the alley. They didn't say anything to him, only glared for a few seconds before they sprang on him.
Murphy, true to his Irish heritage, fought back like the Devil himself, but he was outnumbered. Within in minutes the men had Murphy pinned to the side of the wall. The first man; the one that Murphy had basically kicked out of the gas station, strode forward. A knife glinted in his hand and he grinned wickedly at Murphy.
"Not so cocky now, eh?"
Sweat beaded Murphy's forehead as he slumped in the rickety elevator. Almost there. He was almost there.
Murphy struggled in the men's grips, but to no avail. The first man plunged his knife into Murphy's side.
Murphy's lips thinned and he hissed at the sharp pain, but no other sound escaped his lips.
The man stepped back, impressed despite himself.
"You're a tough son of a bitch." He allowed. "Tell you what; I'm not going to kill you. If you're really has tough as you seem, you'll make it to the nearest hospital."
One of the other men frowned. "He's seen our faces. He'll turn us in to the cops."
The first man looked at Murphy, silently asking him if he would do that.
Murphy spit at him and snapped. "You'd better kill me."
The man's eyes widened at Murphy's words.
"But I'm goin' ta warn you now." Murphy continued. "My brother will no' rest till your blood stains the walls an' you're buried six feet under." He glared at the first man, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light.
"He's psycho." Another man muttered after a moment. "Just kill him."
The first man weighed the knife that was still in his hand and seemed to be considering the action. It was at that moment that Murphy chose to act. He wrenched his arms out from the other two men's grips and snapped his fist forward, hitting the first man in the nose.
There was a satisfying crunch as the man's nose broke under Murphy's fist. He howled in pain, and the knife clattered to the ground as his hands went up to his bleeding nose.
Murphy didn't take the time to enjoy his victory. He took off running down the street, leaving the men far behind him.
It wasn't until he wasn't far from his home did he feel the burn of the knife wound in his side.
Murphy leaned heavily against the door to their apartment. He weakly lifted his hand to the doorknob and twisted it. The door swung open and he limped into the dimly lit apartment.
Connor looked up from where he was sprawled on his mattress.
"Hey, Murph. I was wonderin' where you got to…" He trailed off, as his eyes landed on Murphy's bloody side.
He sprang to his feet and ran to Murphy's side.
"Wha' th' hell happened?" He demanded, guiding Murphy to his mattress.
Murphy slumped onto his back, with a sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment, but Connor grabbed his shoulder and shook it.
"Stay awake, dammit."
"Leave me 'lone." Murphy mumbled trying in vain to push away Connor's probing hand.
"Not a chance." Connor shot back, examining Murphy's wound. "Doesn' look too bad. I can stich it up myself."
Murphy huffed out a laugh. "Doesn' look too bad? Feels like I was stabbed with a huge motherfuckin' knife…asshole."
"Stop actin' like a pussy." Connor said, getting up from Murphy's side to get the needle and thread and first aid kit that they had for occasions like this.
Murphy kept his eyes closed as Connor worked. He didn't make any noises of complaint, merely laying on his back waiting for it to be over.
In less than ten minutes, Connor was finished and Murphy, face pale from blood loss, settled deeper into the lumpy mattress.
"Hey!" Connor said, dumping the bloody needle and first aid kit to the side of his bed. "That's my bed. You can' fall asleep in it."
"Too late." Murphy murmured, his eyes drooping.
Connor grumbled, but a second later Murphy felt a cool hand brush his hair back from his forehead and a blanket pulled across his body.
"Codladh go maith, mo dheartháir. Beidh sé a bheith níos fearr sa morn." Sleep well, my brother. It'll be better in the morn.
The words were soft, but Murphy still could hear them and instantly he knew that no matter what happened, he had his brother and everything would be just fine.
A/N: I wrote this like two years ago, but never thought about posting it. Anyway, here it is now.