Disclaimer: didn't happen...never will...I don't own anyone or anything...i just love the movie.
Germanitas
A Brother's Love
Murphy lay awake…it had been 3 hours since they'd fled Boston again, this time seeking refuge in a grimy motel near the state line of New York. He listened to the soft pattering of rain against the filth covered windows. He liked listening to the rain for some reason. It reminded him of a lullaby, soft and secure. He turned over in bed, shielding his eyes from the light that shone in through the thin curtains. Connor mumbled something, drawing Murphy's attention. He looked at his brother, fast asleep. Murphy wondered what Connor was dreaming about, he hadn't talked much since their hasty escape from the apartment. Murphy watched the slow rise and fall of Connor's chest it soothed him some. He loved Connor, everything he had. Both of them knew who was older, they always had. It was only by a few minutes, but it made a difference. Murphy never understood why people called them names for being so close. They were twins, brothers, but above all, they were friends. They hated being apart for more than a minute, they'd always been like that. Murphy sighed quietly as he readied himself for another sleepless night. Connor's hand hung over the side of his bed, exposing the still fading scar on the underside of his wrist. A pang of guilt of guilt ran through Murphy. Connor had bled for him. Sure, Connor had fought for Murphy before, but that time was different. It was a deeper love. Connor had done it for him…always for him. Murphy shut his eyes, praying for sleep to overtake him, let him escape from reality. It was no use. He lifted himself from the bed, stretching as he looked for a smoke. He opened the ripped and tattered box…one left.
Figures thought Murphy as he lit it. He knew Connor wouldn't mind, or at least, he wouldn't show it. Murphy inhaled slowly, looking around the empty room. The walls were once white, he guessed, but years of dirt and smoke had tinted them brown. A picture of flowers hung on the wall above the TV, in a vain attempt to brighten up the room. There were 2 twin beds, with a small nightstand in between that was hardly big enough to hold a lamp and a clock, which now read12.32. Murphy took a few more drags, and then shorting it, he left the rest for Connor. Murphy toyed with a scar on his stomach, from a bullet that landed him almost two weeks in the hospital. A constant reminder of how deep his love for his twin went. He'd taken the bullet for Connor; he'd almost died for Connor. He remembered bursting into another hotshot drug dealer's house, guns drawn. The adrenaline hit him and he gave every person in there hell. They were almost done, when Murphy noticed a gun taking aim at Connor out of the corner of his eye. There was no hesitation. He yelled, flying at his brother. He remembered the burning pain in his stomach as he hit the ground. He faintly heard voices as he was taken by darkness, only to wake up in the hospital some odd days later. Connor had been there every second, patiently waiting for Murphy to wake. He never wanted to see that look in Connor's eyes again. He turned on the TV, knowing he wouldn't wake Connor. A hurricane couldn't wake him. He flipped through the small selection of channels, eventually settling for watching cheap infomercials about ladders and ugly clothes. He didn't know why, but he wanted to lay with Connor. He wanted to know that Connor was close at hand if he got too scared. Because whether he wanted to admit it or not, Murphy needed Connor. He knew that no matter what they said or how many times one of them stormed out the door, it was only a matter of time before they came back. They had had thousands of fights to prove it. Murphy liked the way Connor felt next to him, like they were one person. Kind of like day and night, it wouldn't feel right without both. Murphy liked the fact that Connor was always there if things got too hard. Connor was his all…Connor was his everything. Murphy gave in and climbed into bed with Connor, like he used to do when they were little. He listened to the sound of Connor's breathing, steady and strong. Murphy shut his eyes, blocking out the sounds of car horns and police sirens. He pretended they were home in Ireland. They weren't adults yet, but still kids. Murphy had to stop himself from reaching for Connor's hand. He reminded himself that he was 28 now, and though he hated thinking of it, he knew Connor wouldn't be around forever. Murphy imagined leading a normal life, a perfect life. Growing up with Connor, eventually getting married and living next door to each other as their kids played. He dreamed of getting old together, dying on the same day because one couldn't live without the other. Murphy wanted that, but he also wanted justice. He wanted to make the world safer. Rocco's final words came echoing through his head. Don't Ever Stop. And in his heart, he knew they wouldn't. Not until every murderer, rapist or drug dealer was dead…or at least until they were. Murphy stared at the slowly spinning ceiling fan, wondering why the hell it was on in November.
"In Nomine Patris…" Connor whispered. Murphy found his own hand wrapping around his rosary. He hadn't been to church in weeks. He always loved going to church. It calmed him to be there. He liked sitting in the old pews, his head bent slightly, his lips moving soundlessly as he prayed and confessed. Connor liked church too, but not like Murphy. Sunday mornings he was up before anyone. Mass didn't start until 8, but Murphy could be found getting ready at 6:30 sharp. It always annoyed Connor, who loved to sleep in. Murphy had lost count of the times he'd been smacked in the head with a pillow, which was often followed by Connor mumbling something about how "fucking weird" his sibling was. Murphy looked at his brother. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was slightly open. He liked watching Connor sleep. He always slept so peacefully, unlike Murphy who fitfully tossed and turned. Connor looked perfect, almost angelic when he slept. They were almost completely different for being twins. Connor was the dreamer. He seemed to be oblivious to the world. He liked to daydream. He was the ladies' man as well. He'd dated so many girls Murphy was sure it had spilled into the hundreds. Murphy on the other hand was the quiet one. He was the observant one. He liked analyzing people, watching their moves and figuring them out. Murphy was the realistic ones. They balanced each out. They completed each other. Murphy didn't know what he would do if Connor wasn't around. Murphy gently pressed his lips to Connor's forehead. He rolled out of the bed and over to his. Collapsing as days of being awake hit him hard. He let the blackness enfold him once more, and carry himhome to Ireland.