Hey guys. Thanks to reedusfan, and AgentDelaware for reviewing the last chapter :) I really appreciate it! And I hope that the rest of you guys haven't lost interest already…
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Connor stumbles away from the wall, and his knees get weaker as he stares down at Murphy.
"Oh God," He manages to get out, and his hand latches onto the railings on the side of the gurney, "Oh fuck, Murph."
His brother is lying still. His face is pale, and his eyes closed. There's road rash on the left side of his face, coming dangerously close to his eye, and it looks so painful that Connor wants to cry for his brother. He knows that it's from when Murphy skidded across the road, after being hit by the car. Murphy is wrapped up in blankets, so Connor can't see the rest of his body, but he can see the straps that close across Murphy's chest and legs, to keep him from falling off. His brother is in a neck brace, like Connor was, and he can feel his own neck aching, as he stares as Murphy's head forced into an uncomfortable position.
There are portable machines and fluid bags being wheeled along with him, and Connor doesn't think that he's ever seen that many wires or tubes coming out of someone before. He looks down briefly, seeing the bloody skin on his own arm where he pulled out his own IV, and closes his eyes briefly, knowing that Murphy is a thousand times worse off than him.
But the worse thing is the breathing tube.
It snakes out from his brother's mouth, plastic and ugly, and the sight of it makes Connor want to throw up. The tube is taped in place, and Murphy's lips are slack around it, and even the rising of his chest seems forced now.
The moment when Connor takes everything in only lasts about a second, and then the paramedics are wheeling Murphy past, and getting him secured in the back of the ambulance. He waits, just watching as they hook Murphy up to even more machines, and wraps his good arm around his ribs.
"You coming, kid?"
Connor's head snaps up when he hears the paramedic calling to him, and he nods his head furiously. There's no way he's not coming. "Uh, yeah. I'm coming." He clambers into the back of the ambulance, ignoring the hand that's stretched out to him, because he can do it himself, thank you very fuckin' much.
Then he curls up as small as he can on the small bench in the back, and holds his breath as he hears the loud bang as the doors shut. Connor stares at his brother, who is paler than Connor has ever seen him, and forces himself to breathe in and out regularly.
Ma is going to drive down to Cork when she's finished all the paperwork, and meet Connor there. He had been insistent that he wasn't going to leave Murph by himself though, even if his brother was drugged up and unconscious.
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The ambulance starts driving then, and Connor hugs his cast to his chest, and focuses on being completely still. It's easy for him. Murphy is the energetic one, the twin that always had to be moving around or running or kicking something. Connor is the one who prefers to observe and make plans and boss Murphy around, because he can. So he just sits still, and tries to pretend that it doesn't hurt as much as it does to see Murphy lying still and unmoving.
"The intubation is just a precaution," Connor flinches when one of the paramedics puts a hand on his shoulder, and sits down next to him. She nods towards Murphy, and gives Connor a small smile, "His breathing is quite good, considering, but we don't want any surprises, do we?"
Connor shakes his head, and digs his fingernails into his palm, as he fists his good hand.
All he wants to do is curl up next to his brother, and close his eyes, and then for everything to be okay. But things are clearly not okay, so Connor just sits still, and counts the minutes. He ignores the throbbing of his wrist, and the sharp pain he gets in his chest when he breathes.
"You can hold his hand, if you want." The other paramedic says, possibly because he sees how close to breaking down Connor is.
He holds his breath, as the man gets Murphy's limp hand, and places it on top of his chest. Connor reaches out, and hesitantly holds his brother's hand, being careful of the tubes that are coming out of the back of it. He closes his eyes, and can feel the scar that Murphy has in the palm of his hand.
Murphy had gotten cut there when they'd been little. Some asshole had left a broken bottle that had been smashed to bits in the playground, and typical Murph had had to trip just there, and slam his hand down on the bottle. He had been screaming bloody murder, and Connor had been screaming too, and there had been blood—lots of it. But then Ma had rushed his brother to the hospital for stitches, and Connor had calmed him down, and it had ended up with both Connor and Murphy sitting on the examination table, while the doctor had stitched up Murphy's palm.
Ah, Macho Murph, Connor had teased, watching as his brother had smiled through watery eyes and hiccupped due to the pain medication. Then they'd gone home, and Ma had even put a movie on the TV and let them watch it past bedtime. She had sat on the couch with them, a rare occurrence, but by the end of the movie, she had been snoring. That had been the evening when Murph had dared Connor to try a sip of Ma's whisky, which had left him spluttering for what felt like an hour.
So Connor holds his brother's lifeless hand, thinking about that evening when they were eight, and watches Murphy's face.
After an hour or so, the paramedic says something quietly to the driver, and then turns to Connor, "We're nearly there, okay, kid?" He nods, and runs his thumb gently over the back of Murphy's hand, "Do you, um, do you have anyone waiting for you at Cork General?"
"Nah. Our Ma is gonna come down when she's done tha' paperwork or somethin'. I got Murph though. An' 'm gonna be there fer him."
The paramedic exchanged pitiful glances, and then nodded at him, "Okay, Connor. What's going to happen when we get to this hospital though is that they're going to want to do some more tests on your brother. Just the standard x-rays, CT, and maybe an MRI. And then the doctors will want to do their own assessment on him, and then they'll talk to your Ma about a plan of action, and course of treatment."
Connor nods, and doesn't take his eyes off Murphy, "When's he gonna wake up though? I… 's not like Murph ta stay this still fer this long, an'— I jus' wanna talk ta him."
"I don't know, Connor. It depends on what treatment the consultants at Cork General want to go through with. But, when Murphy does wake up, he's probably going to be in a lot of pain. So they'll be trying to manage his pain with some pretty heavy drugs, and I want you to be prepared for that. He's got a long road to go before he's right as rain again… Connor? Are you listening to me?"
"Aye," He bows his head, and runs his tongue over his cracked lips, "I hear ye."
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When they pull into the hospital's ambulance bay, Connor scoots back, and tries to makes himself as small as possible.
Murphy's face is still motionless as the ambulance comes to a halt, and then the doors are opening, and they're rolling him out, and taking him away. Connor doesn't move for a moment, waiting until he's sure that he won't be in the way, and then he limps out of the ambulance, holding onto his ribs tightly.
He knows that he should probably wait until someone tells him what to do, but they're taking Murphy away, and Connor suddenly doesn't think that he can be without Murphy just yet. So he doesn't say anything, and slips through the double doors after the gurney.
No one notices him for a few minutes, and all he can hear are doctors demanding tests, calling out vital signs, and talking loudly to each about his brother. Connor doesn't like any of it, hates the way they're talking about his twin like he's some broken toy, but he can still see Murph, and that's all that he cares about.
They take the tube out then.
It's the longest fuckin' thing that Connor has ever seen, and it makes him want to throw up. He stands stiffly in the doorway of the trauma room, and just watches, eyes narrowed in concentration and worry.
But then Murphy is coughing, and making this mewling sound that Connor has never heard before, and his legs are moving out of their own accord. He crosses the room in a matter of seconds, pushing confused doctors aside, until he's grabbing at the rails of the gurney, and leaning down.
His brother's eyes are fluttering open, and he's still making that pathetic noise, and Connor doesn't know what to do. So he gingerly reaches a hand down, and pets Murphy's hair carefully, and says random words in Irish for him, because its Murphy's favourite language, "Tá tu go maith, Murph, bíonn gach rud ceart go leor, sea, sea. Tá grá agam duit, análaigh leat, mo deartháir." You are good, Murph, everything is okay, yes, yes. I love you, keep breathing, my brother.
Murphy's eyes open for a split second, and he's staring at Connor with a whole range of emotions in his eyes. Pain. Fear. Confusion. Worry. Trust.
Then someone puts a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn't even look around before he shakes it off roughly, but it's too late, and Murphy's eyes are closed again, "Murph? Murph, c'mon, wake th' fuck up again. Stop, Murph, it's not fuckin' fair, c'mon, wake up. I don't—Murphy, ye have ta open yer eyes, an' stop actin' th' maggot like this. It's not fair, Murph, ye didn't do anythin' ta deserve this!"
"Who is this kid?" He hears someone yell, but he doesn't spare them a glance, leaning down to speak in his brother's ear.
Someone hazards a guess, that cuts Connor to the bone, "Is he the brother?"
Yes, he is the brother, and Murphy is his brother, and when did everything get so complicated that he can't even talk to Murphy anymore. The red cuts of the road rash on his cheek contrast against the white sheets and Murphy's pale face, and everything is so wrong. But he is the brother, and doesn't that mean that he's supposed to make everything okay?
"'m sorry, Murph. 'm sorry about th' blackberries, an' all th' shit tha' went down on tha' road… 's my fault, an' I—"
He's pulled back from the bed then, by one of the nurses that means well, and Connor tries to resist, but he's too weak, and somehow tears have started to wet his cheeks. Connor is ushered into a chair, and he swallows hard as the group of doctors block his view of Murphy.
There's a light shining in his eyes, and Connor blinks his tears away to see a doctor kneeling in front of him with a little torch thing. He bats the light away, and presses his cast into his body unconsciously. The man is talking, and trying to look in his eyes, and prod the cut on his forehead as well, "Connor, I need you to follow this light for me now, this is important."
So they'd finally figured out who the fuck he was, "Get th' fuck away from me. I don't need any of this shit, I jus' need ye ta fix my brother." The man frowns, and doesn't move, so Connor hauls himself up from the chair, and moves back so he's leaning against the wall, "Seriously, 'm fine. Go do yer job fuckin' elsewhere."
He's finally left alone, though every few minutes someone glances over towards him. Connor ignores them though, and watches carefully as Murphy is poked and prodded, and hooked up to more monitors. His brother has shown no more signs of consciousness, and the thought sends a shoot of pain through his chest.
They take him away then.
"We're just going to the x-ray department, love, we'll bring him back soon," A friendly looking nurse informs him, giving Connor this pitying look that he despises, but he shakes his head, and tries to follow them. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but you have to stay here. Look, there's the waiting room over there. Someone will come and get you when we get Murphy settled in a room, or when we have more news, okay? No, no, this way, Connor, I'm sorry."
She steers him towards the waiting room, and when he looks down the hallway, Murphy's gurney is already out of sight. He stops resisting her after that.
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Connor manages to sit in the waiting room for all of eight minutes.
Then he just can't take it anymore, and the grey walls of the room feel like they are suffocating him. A few of the other occupants give him a worried look as he stands up suddenly, rubbing his cast with the fingers on his good hand, and then walks out of the room.
He makes it as far as the corridor, and then sinks down to the ground, his head in his hands. Connor sits on the cold, lino ground, his knees pulled up to his chest, and leans his head back against the wall.
This place is completely unfamiliar to him, and the only places that he knows is the room he's slumped outside of. Murphy's room. Connor doubts that they'll bring his brother back to the trauma room, but he has nowhere else to go, except that waiting room, and he's already vowed to himself that he's not going to step foot in that room ever again.
Connor has no money, no idea where anything is, and no way of contacting Ma.
All he has is Murphy, so he waits for him.
He sits there, silently, being as still as he can. He sits there, watching the passing people give him sad and confused looks, and stares at the opposite wall. He sits there, not even feeling the pain in his chest or arm anymore, and remembers the image of Murphy opening his eyes.
Connor sits there, and feels like he's falling apart.
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So, I hope that chapter was okay. I translated the Irish that Connor speaks to Murphy in this myself, and I don't think that there's any mistakes, but let me know if you spot some. Would love to hear some feedback from you guys, as it's the fuel that keeps me writing! I'll try and have the next chapter up in the next few days.
Review..?
Thanks for reading,
ArmedWithMyComputer xx