Disclaimer: If I owned this it wouldn't be considered "fan" fiction, now would it?
Author's Note: I'm bored, and this sort of popped into my head. Feedback is loved...over and over again.
Handcuffed to a Toilet
Conner could swear he heard the gun fire, even though it didn't. He had cuffed himself to a toilet to keep from getting shot in the back of his head. Checkov gripped the hair on the back of Conner's head and leaned close to leave a message. "You know why I fucking come here? I come here to kill you." Conner's breath was slowly getting more and more panicked and desperate. "Now I don't think I fucking kill you. I kill your brother. Shoot him in the head." Conner felt his entire body fall through the floor. He looked at Murphy who was on his knees with a gun to his head. Checkov's companion with the bandages on his head kept Murphy still.
Suddenly Checkov let go of Conner's hair and started to leave. Conner snapped out of his horrified daze. "Murphy!" he shouted as they dragged his brother out of the apartment. "Murph!" He yanked and pulled at the handcuffs even though the metal dug into his skin painfully. "Murphy if you die I'll fucking kill you!"
"Conner!" Murphy tried to get away, of course. He protested, but still couldn't do much against guns. "It was just a fucking bar fight," he shouted, "You guys fucking pussies!" He walked with dignity, though. Then, he gave Conner what could've been that last glance they ever shared.
The door slammed shut and Conner was frantic. He screamed at the top of his lungs as he tore the handcuffs and slammed his shoulder into that stupid toilet. Why couldn't anyone hear him? At some point he might have been crying, but it was lost in the midst of his yelling and straining at his restraints. He did this in a long span for about three minutes, and after that he was short of breath. He couldn't breathe for a second so he panicked again.
He stopped for just a moment when he came to a realization. Murphy was going to die. 'If I don't get out of this, Murphy is going to die.' A second passed that lasted for a hundred years. Conner was almost lost. He was sure he was crying now.
"Fuck it!" he shouted to know one. "My brother is not going to die while I'm handcuffed to a fucking toilet!" He reached as far as he could to the water pipe behind the toilet. He grabbed the rusted metal and pulled it so hard that the rust shredded his palm up. It came loose and Conner finally managed to pull the entire toilet up. Damn thing weighed a ton.
Murphy kept his composure in the worst of situations. Well, this was the worst, and there he was: calm, cool, collected. He almost seemed like he wasn't about to be shot in some random back alley surrounded by old crap that people could still use, but threw away just to make space. Thinking back on it, every one of them wished they hadn't thrown whatever it was away.
Bandage-head pushed Murphy to his knees next to a dumpster. Checkov leveled his gun with the bridge of Murphy's nose, and a thought crossed Murphy's mind. He thought of how embarrassing it was going to be when the police found him shot in the head in his boxers and a bathrobe. Funny how the mind works, isn't it? It suddenly occurred to him that he really didn't want to die, but it seemed a bit too late for that now.
The slow moments passed like hours. Murphy felt like he'd had the death sentence for a week already, but he wouldn't have cried about that. His knees were scrapped up and his head hurt from the remains of a hangover, but he wouldn't have cried about that. He thought about Conner. He would have cried then. They had promised each other that they would always stay together.
"I hope your conscience is clear, Irishman," Checkov said with a loud grin. He laughed scornfully and Murphy glared at him. He could cry for Conner, but he wouldn't give his killer that much satisfaction.
Just then, when he had resigned himself to death, he saw something out of the ordinary on the top of the fire escape. It looked like a toilet with legs at first. Murphy felt a triumphant relief when he realized it was Conner. Then he became very scared. 'He's going to jump,' he thought. 'Shit! SHIT!'
As that god damned toilet fell out of Conner's hands, Murphy ducked his head under his arm. Murphy was just able to get a glimpse of Conner flying off the fire escape before he scrambled out of the way of Checkov getting hit by a toilet.
When Murphy looked up again, Conner had landed on bandage-head's back. When bandage-head moved, Murphy picked up the tank cover from the toilet and slammed it over the Russian's head until he stopped moving. 'Shit,' Murphy thought. He dropped the tank cover and went to see if Conner was still alive.
"Don't you dare be dead," he muttered as he turned his brother onto his back. "Don't you dare be dead or I'll fucking kill you, you bastard." Conner had a pulse. He was still alive.
Murphy grabbed an old gift bag out of the trash and, out of some kleptomania-like impulse, he grabbed everything the Russians had with them. He put that in the bag, slung Conner over his shoulder with some difficulty and then took off for the hospital.
He thought about the two dead Russians back in the alley and how close it had come to being two dead Irishmen.