Hey everyone :) Thanks so much for the reviews from the last chapter – they were much appreciated! I hope you enjoy this one.
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He paces.
Connor marches across the waiting room and back, over and over again, until the aching in his ribs reaches an all new high. Then he paces some more.
Ma sits in one of the plastic chairs, with the rest of the occupants, and watches him. Connor refuses to look at her, refuses to acknowledge the pitying looks that strangers keep giving him, and he absolutely refuses to think about the fact that Murphy is somewhere in the hospital, unconscious and being cut open.
When the silence gets to be too much, Connor looks over at Ma, his good hand clenched into a fist, "I havta get outta here," He mutters, and then turns on his heel and marches out.
The corridors are mostly empty, because the surgical floor is apparently quiet on a Wednesday morning at eleven. Connor stamps his feet into the lino floor, and chews at the inside of his cheek. He doesn't know how to handle this overwhelming pressure, this pounding inside his head that says that he needs to see Murphy, and he needs to see him now.
Connor walks all over the hospital, until he reaches the ER, and then his legs can't hold him up any more.
He slumps down in a chair, in a row of them, and wraps both his arms around his torso. Someone is crying in the distance, and there's a splatter of blood three feet away from him. A doctor walks past him, and all Connor can do is bury his head in his hands.
A gasp of pain escapes from his lips when he attempts to bend over, to try and curl in as small as possible. Connor quickly abandons that idea, and presses his head into the wall behind him, squeezing his eyes shut as pain spikes through his ribs. Sleeping on that thin cot the night before had clearly done nothing good for his cracked ribs.
Someone places a hand carefully on his shoulder, and he nearly falls off the chair in his attempt to get away from the stranger, "Hey, calm down, kid… Connor, isn't it?"
He opens his eyes to see a doctor looking down at him with concern, one that looks vaguely familiar. Then he's able to place the man's face, and he scowls slightly. It's the doctor from before, when Murphy was in the trauma room, and some doctor was trying to examine Connor. He'd brushed the man away at the time, but now Connor is exhausted and weak, and he doesn't think that he can resist the man, "G'way."
"Connor, let me take a look at you. C'mon, let's get you in here," He lets himself be led into an exam room, features impassive, and his whole body throbbing in agony, "Okay, Connor, can I take a look at your ribs? The ones you hurt. Connor?"
He can feel himself shutting down, can feel his emotions slipping away as he pulls up his t-shirt with one hand. This feels like the hospital before they would tell him about Murphy, this feels like uncertainty and the inability to function properly without his brother. This feels like Hell.
The doctor carefully prods the bruises that litter his chest, and Connor can't even bring himself to flinch away. Then the man lifts up his casted arm, and examines that, while Connor stares at the wall, and wonders how much longer Murphy will be in surgery for. "Connor, have you had any pain medication since right after the accident?"
Connor shakes his head, because even though he could tell the man about all the times Murphy had pain killers during the night, the exact times, he can't remember being given anything. "'m fine. Murphy is the one who's hurt."
"You sustained substantial injuries in the accident too, Connor. You're in pain too. I'm going to give you something to take the edge off for the moment, but I'd like to talk to your parents about this, if that's okay? You shouldn't be straining yourself, you should be at home resting, at least for a few days."
He shakes his head, but accepts the two pills that he's handed, "Ma's too worried about Murph. She don't need ta be worrying about me too. 's fine. I'm grand." Connor stands up shakily, looking at the clock, "I'd better get back. Murphy should be outta surgery by now."
"Connor—"
He ignores him though, and makes his way slowly out of the room. His runners scuff against the ground, and he forces himself to take deep breaths, despite how much it makes his ribs ache. Connor needs to get himself under control again, he needs to get himself together.
Slapping himself slightly on his cheeks before he enters the room, Connor scrubs at his sore eyes, and sits down in a chair, away from everyone else in the waiting room. Ma looks over at him, but knows not to approach him, and simply goes back to flipping through a worn magazine. She looks exhausted, but Connor has no energy to worry about anyone else but Murphy.
He closes his eyes, and just focuses on breathing. The painkillers are kicking in, and he actually feels okay.
For now, at least.
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Murphy opens his eyes to people looming over him, and an unbearable pain in his legs.
"Agh!" He moans, and tries to move his head away from all the faces leaning over him, "Connor!"
He can see a nurse hurrying over with a syringe filled with something, and prays to God that it's some sort of painkiller. A hand cups his chin, and gently turns his gaze until he's staring into the eyes of a doctor, "Murphy, you need to calm down for us, can you do that? The surgery went well, you're just in Recovery now, but you have to calm down before we can transfer you back to your room, okay? I need you to take deep breaths, and calm youself."
Murphy wrenches his head away from the man's soft grip, because he doesn't like anyone touching his face, not even Connor on the best of days, and lifts a hand up to protect his face weakly, "Connor," He mewls again, and tries to look down at his legs, because fuck, they hurt.
They stand back slightly, probably because of the look of suffocation that he probably has on his face, and Murphy pushes himself up with his hands.
It's a stupid move, but he manages to get himself into a sitting position, hands braced on either side of him. His head spins with the sudden change in altitude, but Murphy ignores it, grasping hold of one of the bedrails for extra support.
His left leg, the one that they were supposed to surgically repair, is encased in a cast, one from his knee to his toe. It's bulky, and Murphy can see himself getting sick of it within seconds. Then he glances over at his right leg, and his jaw drops in horror.
There's some sort of brace fixed onto his leg, one with straps and rods, which looks practically bullet-proof. It goes from halfway up his thigh to his ankle, and there's no way that Murphy is going to be able to bend his leg with the brace on. He can see some glances of skin between the straps, and its either black and blue with bruises, or scraped almost raw.
Murphy bites his lip, and fights to keep some of his composure.
He flinches when a nurse begins to walk toward him, and starts to shake his head quickly, "No, no, no, I—I need Connor—Connor, I need Connor." He throws up a hand to beg them to stop coming towards him, and tastes blood from where he's digging into his lip, "I need Connor, I need my brother, please—can you just—"
A nurse exchanges a glance with the doctor, who is studying him carefully, and then trots quickly out of the room. Murphy focuses on taking deep breaths, though it's not doing much for his panicking, and just stares at his mangled legs.
If he can just wait until Connor gets there, it'll be okay, all he needs is Connor, Connor will know what to say. Connor will make things better again.
To their credit, none of the hospital staff move another inch, until his brother comes tearing into the Recovery room, probably sensing that Murphy was only just holding it together. The doctor just stands there, looking at Murphy looking at his legs, with the three nurses who have pity and sympathy written all over their faces. Murphy doesn't need their pity, he just needs his brother.
Connor barges his way through the small crowd, and is hanging onto Murphy's hand before he can even summon up the energy to lift his head.
"Connor?" He says quietly, because his brother is just standing there, shaking, not saying a word.
He clears his throat, and presses his blonde head into Murphy's shoulder, "Yer okay, Murph, yer okay. We're gonna fix this, I swear. Jus' gonna take a bit 'a time, but it'll be sorted. I promise, I promise, I promise. Na bí tu ag eisteach le aon duine eile, bíonn tu ag eisteacht le mise. A cloiseann tu cad a duirt me? Beidh gach rud ceart go leor." You don't be listening to anyone else, you listen to me. You hear what I said? Everything will be okay.
Murphy turns his head so that his face is pressed into Connor's hair, and he mutters, "Is amadáin é tusa, Connor. Níl aon rud ceart go leor." You're an idiot, Connor. Nothing is okay.
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Connor listens as Murphy breaths slowly, and then glances back at the doctor.
His brother is pressed against him, clutching tightly at his sleeve, and Connor is the only thing holding Murphy upright. And he's certain that Murphy will panic if Connor lets go.
Luckily, the other man seems to realise that, and slips carefully in beside the brothers. He eases down the guardrail, and nods for Connor to climb gently onto the bed. Connor does so, carefully situating himself so that he's curled up at the head of the bed, nowhere near the injured limbs, Murphy still supported against him.
Then the nurses begin to slowly manoeuvre the bed through the halls, Murphy pressing himself against Connor with all the strength that he has left. Connor holds onto him carefully, and is thankful for the fact that someone managed to throw a blanket over his brother's legs before they started moving.
Murphy didn't need to be looking down at his casted and braced legs every time he opened his eyes, didn't need to be reminded of just how broken he was. Connor didn't need to be reminded of that.
But he knew why his twin had freaked out because of it.
Murphy was the one who had always like control. He was the physical one, the brother who didn't care what they were doing, as long as there was a plan, even if it was a terrible one. Murphy just needed to know a rough outline, and then he'd be off, tearing across fields or climbing to the top of the whiskey cabinet in their uncle's pub.
But now there didn't seem to be any sort of a plan, everything falling apart, and Connor was forced to watch Murphy as he floundered, unsure and terrified. This was Murphy at his most fearful, when he got clingy and closed off, and defensive of everyone except Connor.
His arms tightened slightly around his dozing brother, and Connor scowled at anyone who glanced at them.
He was going to go find someone, and sort out a plan, as soon as Murphy was able to let him go. Connor was going to go and fix this, in as many ways as he could. He was going to go, and find something to make this disaster better.
Connor was going to fucking make a plan.
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I hope this chapter was okay. Again, being a native Irish speaker I translated the Gaeilge quickly, but it may be missing a fada or something, so sorry if that is the case. I'd love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter, and I'll have the next one up as soon as I can.
Review…?
Thanks for reading,
ArmedWithMyComputer xx