"Christ…he cut you up pretty bad."

"Thanks Sherlock. I hadn't fuckin' noticed."

"Just sayin' – you're probably gonna have a scar right there. That'd look pretty badass"

Reaching over to prod his brother's swollen cheek bone, Connor just laughed as his hand was smacked away. Murphy just slumped down in his seat, replacing the ice pack with a wince.

"You know Ma's gonna flip out, right?"

Murphy said nothing, doing his level best to ignore his twin and failing miserably.

"…Hey, look – I'm sorry, alright?"

"You already said."

"Aye, well – I'm sayin' it again until you let me off the hook. I know I should'a been there to back you up"

"Aye, you fuckin' should've. But you weren't." Murphy snapped, before going back to examining the blood stains that climbed the stripes on his school tie like a ladder, his face threatening to remain fixed in an embarrassed scowl for the rest of his life if he didn't pull another expression soon.

They didn't speak again after that, as the door opened and their teacher returned, a mug off coffee in hand and a pile of exercise books under her arm. When she realized what was different about the boys, she gave Connor a knowing raised brow, and nodded to the back of the room where he had originally been told to sit. From then for the next hour, they sat in near-silence, the scratch of the teacher's pencil against assignments the only sound allowed, other than the ticking clock behind her head. When five o'clock finally came around and they were excused, Connor was the first out the room. For a minute, Murphy considered going after him, but with his pride just as bashed as his face, he elected to leave him, giving him a fair head start before he followed on.

The sky was dull and grey, and the air cold – same as always. The walk home was the same as always, with the same trees and the same as always shortcut home – the only thing that was different was that this time, there was only one pair of feet kicking stones down the pavement. He wasn't even that angry with Connor, just sore and humiliated at being knocked down so many pegs. He knew Connor had been held back by their English teacher after class, knew that he couldn't have helped it. It was his own stupid fault for rising to the older boys' jibes, and the more he thought about it, the worse he felt. And yet, when he let himself into the house and saw his brother's bag dumped down by the stairs, he found himself hesitating before heading up to their room.

Connor was laying on his bed, looking at nothing in particular with his headphones on, and until he looked over, it was impossible to tell if he'd heard Murphy come in, but simply hadn't reacted. For an abnormally long couple of minutes, neither of them said anything. Murphy got changed, and Connor continued to pretend to be distracted by his Walkman. It was only when he finally felt Murphy perch on the edge of his bed, unsure of whether or not he was allowed to, that Connor responded, begrudgingly moving his feet so that he could sit back properly, and pulling his headphones down around his neck. As he sat up himself, he finally gave his bruised brother a nudge with his foot, and a smirk.

"You ready t'stop sulkin' at me now..?"

Murphy eventually looked up from his hands, and nodded somewhat sheepishly.

"Good…'cause I am sorry"

"I know, I know…"

When both boys had managed a smile and the ice was completely broken, Connor turned to look at the clock.

"Still got a few hours till Ma's home…wanna go next door? Ask Siobhan if you can borrow some cover up, make yourself look all pretty again?"

"Fuck off"

"Aww, come on Murph' – you'd make a fuck-ugly girl, but y'can't be worryin' about what people think of you-"

He couldn't quite move his legs away fast enough before Murphy could hit him, but just like that, the two were back to normal. Soon enough they were back to inspecting Murphy's face, and trying to guess what parts of his face would turn black and blue first, although the most exciting part for Connor at least was when Murphy hopped off the bed and lifted his shirt, showing off the already impressive patches of red and purple. Once the initial pain had worn off, any bruises or cuts they earned themselves for a few days became badges of honour and battle scars, used to amaze any other kids that were curious enough to ask.

X

"Stop – stop the fuckin' car, just pull over!"

A wise move anyway given how much heavier the rain had become; in the short amount of time the boys had been outside as they made their escape from the house, both had become soaked to the bone, the rain water washing Murphy's hands clean of the father's blood, and his entire torso into a red waterfall, like a fresh painting with spilled water washing the colours away. But of course, by the time he'd been clambered into the passenger seat, the random slashes and the carefully constructed cuts alike had all begun to weep once again.

Connor did as instructed, the windshield becoming obscured and battered as he killed the engine, immediately going to peel away the shirt that was now sticking to his brother's skin, cursing under his breath as he realized the state he was in.

"We don't have enough shit for this, Murph'-"

"Just fuckin' use whatever's in there, I don't give a shit"

And with that, he was pushing aside bags and opening them, hurriedly rummaging through them trying to find the first supplies, and eventually filling his hands with what little amounts they'd collected. The best they had was antiseptic wipes and a bottle of antiseptic fluid, which would not be received well, and some small bandages and burn cream. But nothing in the way of sutures or gauze or pain relief, the three things they needed most. The only thing he could do was try to clean him up as best he could, grabbing a clean shirt from one of the bags and replacing the sodden scarlet shirt that Murphy had been wearing only half an hour before. Connor pulled himself back to the front of the car, pushing Murphy's hands away so he could take a closer look. He'd reclined his seat back as far as it would go, trying to make himself more comfortable and to give Connor the best angle to work at. Everything was just running red now, the car seat and Connor's hands, the two of them rapidly becoming stained with fresh blood. Most of the lacerations were painful but shallow, though one or two Connor made a mental note of. Until he could get something to cover them up, he'd have trouble getting them to stop bleeding, with every movement disturbing them and making them open once more.

The places around his neck where the beads of his rosary came to rest were now marked with tiny puncture marks, a line joining them together cut in carefully, with a crudely drawn cross etched into his flesh where the lines of beads met like someone would a tree trunk with their initials, as though the old man had been tracing the beads, tattooing them in blood instead of ink. Their father's name had been scored through, while the rest of his chest and torso was just littered with similar carvings. A thick X marked where his heart was beating under his ribs, doing its level best to deal with the shock and the pain it's host was in.

However, it was the wide V-necked incision that met in the centre of his chest and ran down his sternum, only coming to an end at his belly button that had Connor the most concerned. And evidently, that showed on his face, because when Murphy next looked up at him, he leaned his head back, letting his eyes venture anywhere that wasn't his own body.

"S'fuckin' bad, right? Really messed up and shit?"

"You're alright, Murph' – you're gonna be fine. It's nothin' we can't handle."

"Then tell me – it's gonna be a right mess"

"Be honest – when have we ever dealt with anythin' less?"

Giving his brother's shoulder a squeeze as he ripped open the first of the wipes. He had no idea what he was doing – was he meant to wait for them to stop bleeding, or was this right? Should he have just cleaned them with water? Fuck knows, but Murphy didn't need to know that.

When he leaned over to try to continue, Murphy had glanced down to see what he was doing, and clamped a hand to Connor's shoulder, teeth gritting and eyes wrenching shut against the merciless sting of his injuries as his sibling started, only making his discomfort known when Connor hit a particularly sore gash in his skin. It burned like hell, just when he thought it couldn't be any worse.

Glancing up guiltily, Connor could only carry on what he was doing, trying his best to get him through it. They could both handle pain, they'd both taken bullets in the past and had their fair share of fights and beatings, but that didn't make it any easier to see in one another.

"Come on Murph' – s'just a few scratches, stop bein' a baby"

"Go fuck yourself"

"Will do. Hey - You're doin' well, a'right? You're gonna be fine"

Murphy exhaled heavily with a half-hearted scoff, his reply hammered home as his grip on Connor's shoulder tightened, his voice strained with the effort of not letting on how much he was hurting.

"Aye, well – s'fuckin' easy for you to fuckin' say-" A sharp, fast inhale hissed through his teeth as more antiseptic was applied, his head meeting the headrest in one quick motion. "Where the fuck were you, Conn'? I was in that fuckin' chair for over a fuckin' hour-"

"I was upstairs with a gun pointed to me fuckin' head – not much I could do and you know it. Now shut up and let me finish, and don't you even try t'blame this on me"

"I'm not blamin' you-"

"Well it sure fuckin' sounds like it."

Drawing in a few deep breaths as his jaw tightened, Murphy looked away, hoping the rain could serve as an adequate distraction until Connor finished up, only this time, the quiet between them didn't last.

"Sorry"

"Thought I told you t'shut up?"

When he was met with a familiar grin, Murphy rolled his eyes, but returned the favour, though it was quickly wiped away by his brother's next question;

"The old man…Did he say anythin' to you?"

X

"You know…more often than not, you can tell if a person's done bad things. Just by looking at them, or at least, I can. Never been wrong about it, not for a long time at least…and I have a sneaking feeling you won't be any different. Now, you and this 'Noah' person – I am assuming that's his name, yes? Well, you both seem like good enough young men, at a first glance maybe. But now that I've really spent some time with you, I'm realizing you're not as God-adhering as either of us would like. You wear these beads, but I have a feeling you'll like mine just a little better. Now, it might be just a little uncomfortable at first, but I figure it's the least I could do after you spoke to me the way you did."

It was as if he didn't know Murphy could hear him, or that Murphy was even there. Just sat there idly talking as he methodically wiped away the fresh trickles of blood, and punctured another hole into the Irishman's skin. Each time, Murphy would try to move away or cringe back, not that it made the slightest bit of difference; he always ended up bleeding and struggling to get enough air to deal with what his body was being put through. He'd hoped the sweat on his face would loosen the tape across his mouth, but it held strong.

Once he was finished, he swapped out the instrument he'd been using for a small pocket knife, leaving Murphy a few precious seconds of respite. His skin burned terribly, a sensation only made worse when the tip of the blade was pushed into it once more.

The noises he was making only encouraged the older man, not that he needed it. He carried on chattering like it was nothing, holding Murphy down occasionally when he needed him to be particularly still.

"Now…I know what you're thinking. I'm not a very good person, right? But, I like to think that actually, I am. I'm raising my kids as best I can, I welcome in any travellers that need a place to stay for the night. Now, of course, desperate times call for desperate measures, but let me ask you something – if the two of you," he paused to gesture upstairs, presumably to Connor, "were on a life boat, and only one can live if they kill and eat the other, which of you would come out on top? Would you be willing to eat him to keep yourself alive?"

By this point, Murphy was beginning to lose his ability to protest anymore – when he wasn't being restrained by the man himself, he was too terrified of jogging the knife and driving it deeper into his chest. All he could do was grip the armrests in a white-knuckle attempt to get through this as quickly as he could, sweating rolling down his face and his breathing shallow and sporadic. When the man brought his face up between his fingers, still wet and hot with his own blood, Murphy found himself unable to look away from the expression on his face. A gnarled and twisted look of curiosity, and just a hint of amusement, but his voice remained even and calm as ever.

"You threatened to cut out my heart – but what would you do with it once it was twitching in your hand? Throw it away? Because that's such an interesting part of an animal to eat. And you know, I have a feeling that once I'm done here with you and we bring your friend down here, and after I've opened him up and cut out his and forced it down your throat piece by piece, you'll begin to agree with me. Hell! He's in pretty good shape, wouldn't you say? There's several meals there for you, easily"

He didn't need to say much more after that, though once the pained, muffled sounds coming from his victim became just a little too repetitive, a lightly whistled tune did a fine job of tuning the Irishman out.

X

"The old man…did he say anythin' to you?"

After a moment of feigned recollection, Murphy just shook his head with a weak frown.

"Nah…nah, nothin'."