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Connor sits down in the chair he had occupied for hours the previous day, and rubs at his eyes in slight confusion.
His head felt like it was made out of cotton, and he feels horribly disoriented and completely overwhelmed. The bone aching tiredness that had been plaguing him constantly seems to have died down though, and he thanks God for that. At least he could focus properly without feeling like he was about to pass out.
The cast on his wrist was heavy and rock solid as he thumps it against the arm of the chair, brow furrowed in concentration. No one had told Connor that Murphy had been due for another surgery that morning, and it hadn't looked like Murphy had been prepared either. He grits his teeth in frustration when he realises that they had probably told Ma before she left, and that none of the nursing staff had thought to even mention it to the two brothers.
It was typical of their luck.
Still, there was nothing that he could do about it now, Connor rationalises, and gets up slowly. He knows that it'll probably be hours until he gets Murphy back, until he can see his brother again, so he decides to be as productive as possible. Connor stands for a moment, just letting everything sink in properly, and then heads off shakily in the direction of the corridor, and the nurses' station.
When he reaches the desk, he licks his lips carefully for a second, and then puts on a charming smile, "Hi there, 'm Connor MacManus… My brother Murphy is in room 342, an'—someone told me on the first day tha' there's a facility fer family members ta have a shower or somethin'? Would ye be able ta tell me more about tha'?"
"Of course, Mr MacManus," The nurse replies without looking up, and then breaks into a smile when she sees his grinning face, "I'll have to get you a cover for that cast though, if you're planning to get in the shower," Connor nods at her, and she stands up to rummage in a cupboard full of various medical knick-knacks, before finally coming up with what looks like a plastic bag, "Here we are…"
A few minutes later, Connor is standing in a cramped bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His shirt and jeans are crumpled and worn, and the small part of him that realises he should still care about his appearance is long gone. Instead, he only sees pain and the empty space beside him that Murphy would normally occupy. Connor bites down on his bottom lip, and shrugs out of his t-shirt, eyes scrunching up because of the pain that shoots through his ribs.
But he's alone, and he has things under control, and that's what he just keeps repeating to himself.
He can pull it together.
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A half hour later, Connor is back in Murphy's room, and feeling much more human.
There's a piping hot cup of coffee beside him, and while his head is still spinning from the shower, he feels like he's able to manage some food. Connor spends a few more minutes staring at the sandwich he'd purchased from the cafeteria, and wonders if the sick feeling in his stomach is from nerves or actual nausea.
He eats a few bites of the sandwich anyway, and tries not to look at the empty bed.
When Connor had come back to Murphy's room after cleaning himself up and getting some actual food, he'd been taken aback to see that the bed had been brought back, and remade with new sheets and starchy pillows. He doesn't like it though. It makes it feel like Murphy had never been there, like his brother had never tossed and cried and slept in the bed, now that it looked new.
So he doesn't look in that direction, not at all, and stares out into the hallway.
He feels so refreshed from the previous night's sleep. Connor can keep his eyes open for longer than a few minutes now, and they don't feel like they're burning from that gritty, exhausted feeling. Even the small cot he curled up on last night had felt as comfortable as his own bed, back at home.
But there was something bothering him about the way Murphy had said, "I was fine, Connor. Everythin' wasfine," when he'd asked him about the previous night, just before his brother had been wheeled away faster than he could process. It didn't make sense that the one night he'd slept well, Murphy had also.
Connor was all for believing in the 'twin mojo,' but even that seemed to be too good to be true.
Murphy's chart is sitting at the end of his bed, probably forgotten by a nurse or something, and Connor glances around for a few seconds before leaning forward and snagging the sheaf of papers. He almost doesn't want to look through it, to almost have to relieve all his brother's pain, but he steels himself and flips it open anyway. Connor doesn't understand most of it anyway, just random words at first, but he scans through each page carefully.
It's when he reaches the last page, the one that documents the previous night, that his suspicions are confirmed.
All Connor can do is shake his head and sigh heavily as he reads down through all the recorded times that Murphy had cried out in the middle of the night, or had woken up crying because of the pain or nightmares. All the times that a nurse had come running in to be at his side, instead of Connor.
"Ah, Murph, ye stupid… why didn't ye jus' wake me?" He mutters to himself, already knowing the answer.
His refreshed state suddenly feels wrong and Connor feels ashamed. Though he wanted to blame himself for everything, he just knew that Murphy was behind the whole thing. It was the kind of stupid, self-sacrificing thing that his brother would do, suffer alone just to make sure that Connor got a good night's sleep.
Well, he was going to be sure that that never happened again.
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After another hours or so has gone by, Connor has been reduced to tipping his chair back skilfully, and staring at the ceiling for long periods of time, until the chair falls back down to the ground. And then he just starts all over again.
There's still no sign of Murphy, no updates, no nothing.
Connor guesses that it's because he's a minor, and not a parent or something. All the times that he'd gone anxiously over to the nurses' desk, for information or reassurance, anything, he'd been rebuffed and sent politely away.
"Hey, kid, you okay?" The voice that comes from over near the door snaps him out of his trance, and the four legs of the chair slam onto the ground with a bang. Connor runs a hand through his damp hair, and blinks several times, turning to stare at the unknown person.
"Murphy?" The word is out of his mouth before he can think, and from first glance it's clear that the stranger isn't a doctor or nurse, with his tatty clothes and small cart piled up with what looks like… books?
The man shakes his head, confused, and gestures down at the books in front of him, "I was just wondering if you wanted to borrow a book? It's a part of the hospital's volunteer system, where people donate books to the hospital, and patients and family members can avail of the gesture. You look pretty bored, kid."
Connor lets out a careful laugh, and drags himself out of the chair to the other man, "I'm Connor, thanks." He looks down at the dozens of worn books and raises his eyes, "An' ye jus' do this fer free? Give out books, an' stuff?" His eyes are already moving over the worn titles, searching out for something that Murphy might like to read.
"Well, we accept donations whenever possible, but yes, it's for free. You can return the books down to the stand in the main lobby when you're finished with them. Would you like to borrow anything?"
He nods, and notices the tin full of copper coins lodged in between two hardbacks. As he's making his choice, Connor digs a few notes out of his pocket, and stuffs them into the donation tin, long fingers skimming the spines of the books in concentration.
The volunteer guy thanks him profusely, and Connor smiles gratefully at him before easing out a few comics for Murphy, and what looks like a travel book for himself. "Thank you," He says sincerely, and the man gives him one last grin before moving on, pushing the squeaky, rattling cart down the corridor, whistling quietly to himself.
Connor retreats back into Murphy's room, and finds himself smiling down at the books in his hands.
His brother always liked comics when he was younger, the classic superhero ones, they both did, so Connor tossed the three old comics onto the bed, and looked down at the book he'd grabbed at random for himself. It was a travel book, one for American cities, and he flipped through it, interested.
What he saw in the pages intrigued him though, the huge buildings like nothing he had ever seen, and the sheer amount of people mind boggling. Coming from a small town in the middle of nowhere, Connor knew there were big cities in other countries, yeah. He'd learnt the languages of a few countries so far, along with his brother, but they'd never talked about actually going anywhere before. Ma had brought him and Murphy up to Dublin once though, when they were younger, and it had been overwhelming.
But to have this thick book full of pictures and information was the best thing that had happened to him all day.
Connor goes back to the beginning of the book, and begins to read it properly, soaking up all the facts and information, and pouring over the shiny pictures.
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Murphy is brought back to his room in a blur of lights and people talking over him.
He can't feel anything but the warm fuzziness of the painkillers, and all his energy seems to have been sapped as he forces his eyes open blearily for a second. He doesn't know what's going on, but he hopes that Connor will be there soon, because he already misses him, and his eyes have slipped closed again.
Next thing that Murphy knows, he's getting lifted into a different bed by several strangers, and there's still hands touching him everywhere and fiddling with IV lines and such. He can't help the quiet whine that makes its way out of him.
Then all he can hear is his brother's voice, and Connor's hand is cool on his face.
"Yer okay, Murph, jus' calm down, okay? Yer back now, and ye can jus' take it easy, okay?" Connor's face comes into focus after a few moments, and he smiles sadly down at Murphy, "See, I'm here, an' I'm not goin' anywhere. Yer good."
When all the other people in the room leave, Murphy forces himself to try and wake up again, but all he can manage is a few weak minutes of opening his eyes, "C-Connor?"
Connor settles himself in the chair beside his bed, and nods, "Aye, I'm here, Murph. Ye jus' try an' go back ta sleep now, an' look, I'll read ye this book I got. It's about America, Murph, an' the cities, an' I'll show ye th' pictures later, okay? But here, ye jus' listen fer now."
He falls asleep to the quiet voice of his brother describing some of the best tourist sites in Boston, Connor's casted hand resting firmly on his chest.
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I hope you all liked this chapter. The book donation thing is something that's actually real, in one of the hospitals near me :) Plus, I felt like Connor could use something nice. Would love to hear what you guys thought of this, if you have a spare minute. I'll try and have the next chapter up in a few days, so keep an eye out!
Review…?
Thanks for reading,
ArmedWithMyComputer xx