"Where is he?"

"Bathroom."

"What… Why's he in there? I thought you wouldn't force him to eat any more…"

"I didn't."

"Then what…"

"What is he puking up? Just the water he had, I imagine…"

"But… If he can't keep down water either…"

"I know. Christ, Rick, don't you think I know?!"

Connor slumped onto the disheveled bed, burying his hands in his hair, pulling hard. After a few seconds of exquisite pain he realized that he was mirroring Murphy's stress reaction and dropped his hands, staring at his feet instead. He could feel Murphy's discomfort like it was him kneeling on that bathroom floor. The agonizing cramps, his stomach twisting into painful knots. His throat burning from the bile, hurting anew with each convulsive retch.

"What happened? What's changed?"

Rick's voice was laced with worry and enough accusation for Connor to feel defensive. He was on the verge of answering back scathingly but then realized there was no point. And more importantly, they needed to pull together, now more than ever. So Connor just shook his head and sighed.

"I don't know. He was asleep, as usual, and then…"

That was just it, nothing had been different. Connor was sure Murphy had been deeply asleep, oblivious to everything in his exhaustion. Connor had sat vigil in his usual spot, the overstuffed armchair that gave him a good vantage point to see the entire room. He'd almost been on the verge of nodding off himself when a sudden movement from the bed had shaken him out of his relaxed state. Murphy had been sitting bolt upright, already halfway free of the tangled sheets. Then he'd doubled up with a groan, and Connor could feel the pain down the line, radiating from Murphy's stomach in a crippling wave.

Somehow Murphy had managed to get out of bed and had staggered toward the bathroom, Connor at his heels. As he dropped to his knees by the toilet, almost crumpling in on himself from lack of strength and overwhelmed with pain, Connor had made to crouch down by his side, but Murphy had shaken his head. Connor had felt his brother shut down much of their connection then, with difficulty, but determined.

Leave me be.

Connor had known that Murphy had meant it. He could not tolerate him just then. So Connor had left him to it reluctantly and had closed the bathroom door almost all the way. Rick had arrived fifteen minutes later, summoned, presumably, by the same misery Connor was picking up. And here they were.

Connor glanced at Rick, who was now pacing the room. Back and forth, turn, back and forth again. It was beginning to grate on his nerves. He was about to say so when Rick spoke, head cocked as if listening to something only he could hear in his head.

"He's not actually doing it to himself, is he? Not… physically? Finger down the throat and all that?"

Connor shook his head. "No. Something in him does it, he can't stop it. But I don't understand what it is, nor does he…"

Rick started pacing again. "Maybe we can put him on an IV…"

Connor didn't even hesitate, he was grasping at straws. "Worth a try, I suppose. Hell, at this point anything is… Do you have any IV bags? And someone who actually knows how to set one up?"

"Maybe. We definitely have some bags. Let me…"

At that moment there came a thump from the bathroom, accompanied by agonizing static, delivered straight to Connor's mind. Judging by Rick's expression he was getting the same signal. Rick was first at the bathroom door, not as deeply interwoven with Murphy as Connor was, and hence less severely affected by the sensation that made Connor's head feel like it was going to split in two. He was on his feet a moment later, blinking away sudden flashes of light, and followed Rick into the bathroom.

Murphy was lying prone, as expected, his body rigid, heels drumming on the tiles. The convulsions were severe enough to actually lift his diminished form off the floor every few seconds as his back arched, then relaxed somewhat, then arched again. Rick was on his knees by Murphy's side in a flash while Connor remained rooted to the spot in the doorframe, paralyzed by the sight in front of him, the pain radiating down the line and the helplessness he felt. For a moment Connor was sure he'd start vomiting himself from the whole misery of it all.

"Don't hold him too tight, Rick," Connor heard someone say before realizing he had spoken those words himself. Rick nodded, clearly trying to decide where to hold on to Murphy at all without causing any more damage. As Connor watched pink foam started forming at his twin's mouth and a strange, strangled sound emanated with every breath. Connor took two long strides to Murphy's side and knelt down opposite Rick.

"Carol said to watch out he doesn't choke. He's bit his lip, or his tongue, I don't know…" Connor heard his own voice without feeling anything. "Help me turn him on his side, he's not getting enough air."

It was all like in a dream. Connor and Rick turned Murphy onto his side carefully. He was totally rigid now, head pulled back at a painful angle. As they held on gently, a sudden, sharp pain was added to the agony Connor could feel radiating from his brother's body. At the same time both men heard a faint but distinct snapping sound. Rick looked at Connor, horror written all over his face.

"Was that…?"

"The bone here just snapped, aye." Connor glanced at Murphy's left upper arm. "The seizure is so strong…" His voice trailed off. Why is he not yet dead? was what his mind added of its own accord.

Connor later wondered about his curious detachment during those agonizing minutes. His mind was clear, except for the weird signal he could only describe as static coming from Murphy, and that didn't seem to affect his thinking. It did however switch off all of Connor's emotions, and any physical reactions to the second-hand pain, too. He could feel the pain, the stress radiating through Murphy's body, even, it seemed, the strain of his twin's heart as it struggled to deliver oxygen to his depleted muscles. But pain didn't register as pain, or even discomfort. It simply all… just was. There to be endured, and all they could do was wait patiently for this, too, to pass.

And pass it did, albeit slowly. As it did, and Murphy slowly came back round, Connor's detachment wavered, then disappeared. Pain was suddenly pain again, and seemed to double as the agony his brother found himself in upon regaining his sense of self emanated down the line. Connor groaned at the knife-like stabs from Murphy's broken humerus as he tried to sit up. He was nearly incapacitated by the furious sensations assaulting his system, and was again almost certain that he would throw up as the nausea in Murphy surged.

"No, Murphy, stay still. Connor!" Rick's voice was like a whiplash. "Don't zone out on me now, I need your help. Keep him still just a minute longer, until he's fully back with us. He can still hurt himself, flailing around in this state."

Rick's voice was a good anchor, and Connor concentrated on it as Rick started talking to Murphy quietly. His brother remained confused and unfocused for a long time. He kept trying to sit up, but was so uncoordinated and weak Connor knew Rick had good reason to want to keep Murphy lying still for now, even though they were all deeply uncomfortable. Connor kept a gentle grip on Murphy's broken arm, trying to keep it still to minimize the pain.

Finally a shift, then a familiar seeking sensation in Connor's mind told him that Murphy was back with them. He looked down at his brother and Murphy met his gaze, bone tired, full of pain and infinitely sad. But awake, and no longer confused. He was holding very still now.

"Hey, brother."

A flutter-light touch on his mind, like a greeting, as welcome to Connor as a full-blown hug just now.

"You know where you are?"

A glance around the room, then a slow half-nod.

"You had another fit. You're on the floor, in the bathroom. You…" Connor hesitated, shuddering at the enormity of the statement. "Your arm, it broke. That's what's hurting so much right now."

Murphy's eyes betrayed his fear. The fact that a seizure could have enough power to break bones seemed to frighten him. Connor started gently stroking Murphy's face, feeling tears welling up in his own eyes, seeing them reflected in Murphy's.

"'s ok, brother. It's over now. Do you think you can bear getting back to your bed?"

Another hesitant nod. Connor glanced at Rick, who had watched the exchange silently and whose face held an odd expression.

"Let's get him up. Real gentle, ok?"

Between them Murphy's much diminished weight was like nothing. They easily got him off the floor and back to the bedroom, with only a brief pause, halfway, when the blasted familiar nausea spiked again and Murphy clung to Connor hard with the hand of his uninjured arm. Connor quickly looked down.

"Going to be sick?"

After a moment's silent contemplation Murphy shook his head.

Nothing left to come up.

The sick feeling slowly subsided and all that was left was weariness. Connor felt ready to lie down himself once they had Murphy horizontal again. Rick took the spot on the bed next to his brother, pulling up the blankets, making sure the broken arm was comfortable until they could see to it properly.

Murphy curled up under the blankets gratefully, while Connor sank into what he considered his chair. He didn't mind relinquishing some of the responsibility for Murphy to Rick, and only briefly wondered when he had last been this trusting of anyone else, let alone a virtual stranger. He couldn't remember, and it suddenly seemed unimportant.

Connor watched Rick smooth away some stray strands of hair from Murphy's forehead where they were starting to cling. The fever seemed to be rising again. Connor mused idly what it was about his brother that made other people so gentle and careful with him, so protective. Murphy was a grown man, after all. Connor had no answer to the question, but he knew that it worked on him, too. That gesture he'd just seen from Rick he himself had performed hundreds of times or more. Still gazing down at Murphy Rick finally spoke.

"We'll have to do something, Murph, and now. You need fluids, or you won't even make it through the night. Not after that…" He gestured towards the bathroom. "And if you can't keep anything down, we have to try something else. I want to try putting you on an intravenous drip. I can go and get Carol now. She can probably do it, or find out how it's done."

Murphy's eyes flicked to Connor who returned his gaze steadily. "No choice, brother. We need more time, and this might just buy it for us."

His brother's eyes slid away from him, towards the darkened window. Connor knew just how afraid Murphy was. What would that destructive urge in him do if they tried this? Connor had wondered the same thing. But Murphy was no fool, he could feel in himself that they were out of options. He looked back at Rick, held the other man's gaze for a long moment, then nodded.

"Good!" Rick sounded relieved, mostly, Connor thought, because there was finally something for him to organize. He felt a great deal closer to Rick after their experiences of the last hour. Their minds were surprisingly similar. He watched Rick lean down and kiss Murphy's temple in a self-conscious gesture, then get up.

"Won't be a moment," he said to Connor and disappeared through the door.

Connor glanced at the bed. Murphy was regarding him with feverish, sleepy eyes. Connor got up and climbed onto the bed, stretching out next to his brother, leaned against the headboard and pulled Murphy carefully into his arms. Murphy came with a shaky sigh and sank into his chest. Connor could feel the fever heat building again, and he had a feeling that this was just the beginning. He had seen it in Murphy's eyes, a knowledge, a suspicion, a question.

Was this really worth it? Shouldn't they just let Murphy go in peace?