Last little birthday thing, and I swear I'll never forgive myself for doing this... If you don't like unhappy endings, skip this. If you stick around, PLEASE tell me what you think. Thanks!

Bullets.

First the muffled shots from two sets of handguns equipped with suppressors, then the uninhibited crack of return fire. Connor and Murphy had the element of surprise, striking as the dealers were unloading their latest shipment, but it didn't take long for the thugs to start shooting back.

Connor aimed and fired with unfailing precision, every round sending another evil motherfucker to his Maker, and at the other end of the warehouse Murphy's volley was just as deadly. If Connor didn't know exactly where his twin was hiding, he would never have known where the shots were coming from, the black of their coats and masks blending seamlessly with the shadows. All the gang could do was fire blindly into the darkness as they fell one by one to the hands of divine retribution, and Connor felt the same rush now as he did on their first mission years ago. They were infallible, untouchable.

They were doing the Lord's work.

A round whizzed past him, rather close for comfort, and he returned the shot with greater accuracy. Only three guys left now, and the fuckers never even came close to hitting him. One of them fired off towards Murphy's end of the building but fell to a shot from that direction even as he watched, and he finished off the last two before they even had a chance to aim.

The silence following a job always reminded him of church, a sense of stillness in which he could feel the hand of God reaching out to touch him. He felt it again as he stepped from his hiding place and pulled off his mask, glancing around at the dead, holstering his weapons, drawing a handful of pennies from his pocket. Prayers were already on his lips, the peace that came with them settling on him like a mantle, when he looked up for Murphy.

His twin still hadn't appeared.

Concern crept up to bite at the edges of his serenity as he crossed the warehouse toward his brother. "Murph?" he called. "Are ye all right?" There was no answer, and he stepped faster as his heart began to race. "Stop fuckin around!" he said, voice rising. "Answer me, ye fuckwad!"

There was nothing peaceful about the silence that met him and he took the last yards at a run, fear and dread pushing him even faster. He reached Murphy's hiding place sprinting, nearly slipping as his boots hit something slick pooled on the warehouse floor. He recovered his balance, then his eyes fell on his brother.

Murphy was on the ground, half curled and half sprawled in a puddle of blood.

Fuck!

Connor flung himself to his knees beside his twin, yanking off his gloves and reaching out to remove Murphy's mask. He didn't react, his face ashen as winter with blood loss and a chill creeping to his skin. His hands were raised to his neck, and when Connor carefully moved them aside he saw the bullet wound, blood gushing before his eyes with no sign of slowing and carrying Murphy's life along with it.

"Fuck," Connor swore, applying pressure and shocked at how warm the blood was when Murphy's skin was so icy. "Fuck...fuck! Murph, talk ta me! Open yer fuckin eyes, eejit!" He raised his free hand and tapped Murphy's cheek insistently, his voice louder and louder in his panic. "Ye're gonna be fine, just fuckin look at me, damn ye! Murph! Murphy!" There was so much fucking blood, there was no fucking way anyone could survive losing that much...but he fucking had to! He had to, goddamn it! "God, please, Murph..." Was he screaming out loud or praying to Heaven, holding onto his twin like death itself would think twice if he held tight enough? And did it fucking matter anymore? Because Murph...God, Murphy...Murphy wasn't fucking moving, answering, anything...

"No...no...fuck..." Connor clutched at his hair with bloodstained hands, rocking back and forth as shock and horror fought for the upper hand. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Murphy, but looking was killing him sure as that bullet killed his brother. There was a scream of grief and anguish somewhere and it took a moment to realize it was his. God, no, Murph, Murph, God fucking damn it, Murphy, no...

Without room to think or will to care, he drew one of his guns from its holster. God would have to forgive him. This was their mission, his and Murph's, and it wasn't to him to continue it alone. If Murphy wasn't walking from this warehouse, then neither would Connor.

They came into the world together, and by Christ and the devil they would fucking leave it that way.

He checked the clip and drew back the hammer when he heard it faintly. "No...let me..." He glanced down at Murphy; eyes open but unfocused, struggling for words but delivering them with purpose. His hand moved weakly toward his gun and Connor nodded. "Together, then." He sat next to Murphy and set the gun in his hand and a faint spark came back to Murphy's eyes, fleeting though it must be. If they hurried, they'd have just enough time...

Connor put two pennies in Murphy's other hand and kept two for himself, wrapping his arms around Murphy and holding him to his side. The blood from the bullet had slowed, and Murph felt so heavy just leaning...Connor felt the sting of tears...he should have protected him...he blinked them back and held on tighter. "Ready?" he asked.

"Aye," Murphy replied, more sigh than speech.

Connor took a deep breath and guided the barrel of Murphy's gun to his temple, making sure his twin's grip was steady before raising his gun to Murphy. Christ, he was scared, but dying with Murph wasn't so bad... He locked eyes with him...I love you, brother...his voice was the steadier but he could still hear Murphy follow along.

"And shepherds we shall be, 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. In nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancti."

Still hate myself, but what did you think? Wanna tell me?