A/N: My first Boondock Saints Fic. I have to say, this is without a doubt my favorite movie of all time. There will probably be graphic abuse in later chapters, so be forewarned. Please review and thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!:D

To be honest, my brother doesn't know me that well.

I know, what a horrible thing to say, huh? But it's the sad fuckin' truth of the matter. My own brother -my twin- doesn't know me from Adam.

Oh, he knows that I prefer Jack Daniels to Jim Bean. He knows I hate fuckin' Oprah. He knows I perfer chicken to burger, burger to pork, and pork to sausage.

But these are the kinds of things you pick up when you live with someone. Hell, you could figure it out about any room mate -someone you'd never fuckin' met before- in about a month flat.

See, my brother and I were separated after our ma died, which was shortly after our da dissappeared. Social Services swooped in to 'rescue' us, and separated us.

We were nine years old. I wouldn't see Connor again until I was seventeen.

It doesn't seem like that long, lookin' back at it. But as a kid, eight years seemed like a fuckin' eternity. Especially when I spent those eight years living in hell.

We got an apartment together shortly after we turned eighteen. It was tough the first few months. Connor wasn't exactly a neat freak, but compared to me, he was obsessive about it. I would leave pizza boxes lying out for weeks. Not because I was lazy; because I just didn't see them. He never could understand how I could walk over somethin' and not notice it. I drank constantly; that first year or so, I was never entirely sober. I'd drink just enough to get me into that happy fog like state, before headin' to work. Then I'd come home, and get completely fuckin' wasted. Connor drank, but nothing like I did.

All in all, I was surprised he put up with me.

It was our third month living together before I found out why he was bein' so patient with me.

"Murph! Murph, man, wake up! Fuck!"

Murphy McManus shot straight up, knocking heads with his twin, before kicking out violently, pushing them both off the bed.

"The fuck are ya doin'?" Murph demanded angrily, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face as he glared at his brother over the bed.

"Tryin' ta fuckin' wake ya, ya dumb fuck! Ya been yellin' loud enough to raise the fuckin' dead!" Connor yelled back, holding one hand to his forehead.

Connor watched as the fight instantly left his brother's eyes, as Murph's face closed off.

"Oh. Sorry. Just a, uh, a bad dream, ya know?" He said with a shrug, sitting back on the bed.

"Ya know, might help a bit if ya didn't sleep in every piece of fuckin' clothin' ya have," Connor said, trying to get a smile out of Murph. He was shocked when his twin chucked a pillow at his head.

"Fuck off!"

Connor stared, hurt and confused as he tried to figure out what he'd done wrong. "Murph, I just wanna 'elp. I didn't mean anythin', ya know that."

"I don't need your bloody 'elp. An' I don't need you're fuckin' pity, either," Murphy spat angrily.

Connor's eyes flashed. "Apparently, ya do be needin' my 'elp. Ya been gettin' these 'bad dreams' that make ya scream like a banshee ever since we first moved in. An' we ain't sleepin' or leavin' the goddamned apartment til ya tell me what they're about."

Murphy stood up angrily. "Ye really want ta know, do ya, Connor? Connor, with the sainted middle class family in the suburbs? Connor, whose lovin' foster parents he goes to see twice a fuckin' month? Jesus fuckin' Christ! While ya were off havin' fuckin' family fuckin' picnics, I was gettin' the fuck beat outta me or worse every fuckin' day. Every fuckin' day for eight fuckin' years, Connor!"

Connor drew back, face full of shock and surprise. "What the fuck are ya talkin' about?"