Another week passes, and it feels like they've been cooped up in the hospital forever.

Murphy moans and sometimes tosses books across the room out of boredom, and all Connor can do is roll his eyes and clean up after his brother. Sometimes Ma calls, and they both huddle up to the phone, but most of the time it's just them. Not that Connor minds, but he suspects that Murphy would love to see a different face, just for a change in routine.

The nurses taught Murphy how to transfer himself in and out of the wheelchair, and even though it's painstakingly long, his brother can't stop doing it. Connor has to resort to parking the chair on the opposite end of the room, where Murphy can't reach it, to stop his brother from working himself so hard.

Connor sleeps more at night, now that Murphy is able to, but there's always the occasional nightmare, from either of them.

It starts with gasps of breath and tears, Murphy always sits there with tears streaming, but it always ends with silence. They curl into each other on those nights, in the hospital bed that's always lit by dim flashes of machines. Connor will stay awake for hours, on bad nights, and just feel his brother shaking against him.

There's nothing that he can do, really. Murphy dreams of speeding cars, and impacts. Connor dreams of screaming out his brother's name, and hearing no answer. Murphy dreams of never walking again, and Connor dreams of his brother fading from his side.

So they just huddle up to each other, and let the other reassure.

It's routine, and it's comfortable, and some nights they sleep the whole way through. Other nights, they don't sleep at all, but it's not like they have a busy schedule in the day. Murphy has gotten out of the habit of dozing through most days though, since his medication has been cut back.

Connor's ribs are almost healed. He no longer gets the sharp shooting pains in his chest when he sits up too fast, and Murphy doesn't have to nag at him to take any pain medication. His brother does, however, have to groan and moan at him to get the doctor to look him over, Murphy nudging Connor with his wheelchair all the way to the exam room.

If the doctor is surprised to see a sulking Connor and a battered looking Murphy in a wheelchair barge into the room for a simple outpatient appointment, he doesn't show it.

Murphy laughs and makes crude jokes in German when Connor is forced to answer stupid questions and take countless deep breaths, and he retorts sharply in French. By the time the exam is done, and Connor is given a clear bill of health so far as his ribs are concerned, the doctor is looking well and truly overwhelmed.

They saunter out with smirks and smiles, and make their way back to the room slowly. Murphy wants to make a stop in the cafeteria though, so they do, and Connor watches silently as his brother slurps down a tea and stuffs his face with biscuits.

"Ye eatin' enough there?"

His brother makes a face, and stuffs another chocolate digestive biscuit into his mouth for emphasis, "Shut up ye, I get ta eat whatever th' fuck I want—the rest of th' food is horrible!" Connor nods his agreement, and takes a sip of his coffee.

"I'm not disagreein' with ye on tha' one."

They fall into silence then, which is punctuated by the sounds of Murphy shovelling the food into his mouth, and Connor tapping a tune with his fingers on his cast.

.

Ma calls that evening, but only Connor talks to her, as Murphy is taking a shower. The process is a long and arduous one, that involves huge plastic bags to be wrapped around both his legs, and a transfer into a shower chair, and a lot of other crap that Connor hasn't been told about.

He talks to her quietly, twisting the cord around in his fingers, and wonders when they'll get to go home. Then Connor wonders when things will truly be back to normal, and his mood sobers slightly, at the realisation that it will take a long time.

Murphy returns to the room after an hour or so, hair damp and face smiling. Connor makes a face at him, leaning back in the swivel chair, and throws a piece of popcorn at his brother.

"So, Ma says hi," He speaks carefully, eyes looking down at the book once Murphy is back into bed. His brother makes a grunt of acknowledgement, and Connor decides to continue, "She also was sayin' how some of th' lads were thinkin' of comin' up ta see us, on the weekend. What do ye think of tha'?"

His brother doesn't reply for a few long seconds, just stares down at his skinny legs, and Connor knows exactly how this is going to go.

"No."

"Why not?"

Murphy scowls, "Ye know why not, Conn. Cause I'm fuckin' weak an' broken an' I don't want anyone we know ta be seein' me like this. Have some cop on, would ye?"

"No, ye have some cop on. C'mon, Murph, ye can't hide away from everyone. Yer gonna go home eventually, an' I can't exactly lock the doors an' pretend yer not home. It… It might be nice ta see some of the lads, y'know, considerin' its been weeks."

Connor doesn't say it in as many words, but he hopes that by implying that he'd like to see their friends, that Murphy would give in. It would be good for his twin, to have some normality and proper social interaction that wasn't with nurses.

But Murphy just shakes his head, and scratches at a scab on his arm, effectively ending the conversation.

Frustration builds up in him, so sudden and unexpected that Connor can't stop it in time, "Damn it, Murph, I'm tryin' ta help ye! But ye jus' want ta shove everyone away an'—why can't ye jus' let me in? Yer so stubborn, an' determined ta do everything by yerself, but right now ye jus' can't!"

In that moment, all the past few weeks' worth of worry and anxiety came flooding out, and Connor found himself standing and yelling down at his brother. Murphy, who could give it out as good as he got it, was sitting as tall as he could, shouting back.

"Ye jus' have ta be right about everything, dontcha Connor! Why don't ye jus' go home now, if ye want ta see yer friends so fuckin' bad! Why don't ye jus' leave me!"

They're interrupted by a nurse barging in and breaking up the fight before it could progress any further, but she wasn't able to stop Murphy from throwing a water bottle across the room at him, and Connor flinging a book back at him.

Connor storms out then, after the nurse plants herself in between both of them, and makes sure to slam the door behind him. The second he leaves the room, he regrets it, but there's no way that he was going to give into his brother so quickly.

It had been a horribly tough few weeks for them both, and this was normal for them, Connor tells himself. They just needed to let off some steam, have an hour or so of distance, and then things would be okay. It wasn't like they'd never fought before, hell at home Ma nearly killed them on a daily basis for bickering. Space, he repeated in his head, they just needed a bit of space. So he heads off to the cafeteria, a place that he'd already spent far too much time in to be honest, and doesn't look back.

.

Murphy curses loudly as he fisted his hands in the sheets, and lets out a groan of anger.

Stupid Connor, thinking that he couldn't do anything for himself. He would show him. Trying to steady his hands that are shaking with anger, Murphy pulls on a jumper quickly, and moves himself slowly to the edge of the bed.

The wheelchair is luckily just within reach, but he still has to stretch just a bit, and Murphy frowns in concentration as he transfers himself carefully to the chair. It's a delicate process, which involves him fiddling with the height of the bed until he can get it so it's not too hard to slide his hips over to the wheelchair. From there, he has to lift his legs across to the foot holds, one which is extended all the way out for his braced leg at zero degrees. His other leg is easier, as the cast is only from his knee to his toes, but it still takes longer than he wants.

A pull of pressure at his arm reminds him that he's forgotten to attach the IV bag to the IV stand on the wheelchair, something that Connor or a nurse usually does. Murphy simply scoffs, and rolls up his sleeve impatiently, sliding the needle out of his skin with a slight gasp.

He hangs around long enough to snag a beanie for his damp hair, and to grab a small blanket to spread across his extended leg. He's only allowed to wear baggy shorts, and his leg is still mottled and ugly with bruises, so Murphy covers it up briskly, and then wheels towards the door.

There's no immediate sign of nurses in the corridor, so he takes his chances and makes a dash to the elevator, which is thankfully empty too.

The whole process has taken around twenty minutes, and all Murphy can do is pray that Connor doesn't decide to make his way back up to the room via the lift. Neither of them can stand to be fighting for more than a half hour, he knows this after years of experience, but Murphy just needs to prove something to both himself and his brother.

So he quietly wheels himself out of the hospital entrance, and tries to pretend that he's not as freaked out as he actually is.

The street is busy, something that Murphy hasn't experienced in weeks, and definitely not in a wheelchair. But the people mostly divide in their big groups to let him wheel hastily through, and his arms are only starting to burn with exertion just a little.

Murphy spots a corner shop just a few streets away from the hospital, and sets his sights on that, attempting to make a direct path across to it. It's only when he manages to manoeuvre himself through the door, a hard task with one leg extended straight out, that Murphy realises just how much trouble he's going to get into for this little stunt.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

There's no point in turning around just yet though, not when he's come so far, so Murphy shrugs slightly and wheels himself up to the counter. It's high up, the rows of sweets and chocolate separating him from the cashier and making him seem tiny from his sitting position.

"Uh, a packet of chewing gum, an' some coke thanks?" He says, almost nervously, but stares up defiantly as the cashier peers down at him.

By some kind of miracle, there's change in the pockets of the jumper, which belongs to Connor now that Murphy thinks about it. He stretches his hand up as far as it'll go, and only scowls a little bit as the man has to lean over the counter quite a bit to reach it.

He knows what he looks like, with fading road rash on the side of his face, and the way that his whole face seems to have gotten skinnier, as a result of all the trauma and extended hospital stay. But if the man notices that anything is amiss, which is clearly is—Murphy's quite sure that it looks like he's escaped the hospital, which he has—he doesn't say anything.

The man hands him the gum and soft drink, and Murphy mutters at him to keep the change, not even sure if he's given the guy enough to cover what he's bought. He hears no shout of protest as he starts to wheel away though, so he assumes that it was the correct amount, or that he does in fact look pathetic enough to warrant a discount.

A sense of freedom ripples through him then, as he tucks himself into a corner of the street where he can watch everyone milling around and not be trampled at the same time. Murphy drinks the coke quickly, feeling the sugar rush hit him, and grinning. Connor hadn't been letting him have any soft drinks, for the simple fact that they didn't have enough money and that for a few weeks the medication he had been on wouldn't have gone well with the drink.

Murphy drains the bottle, dunking it into a rubbish bin a foot away from him with a smile. He shivers slightly, as he unwrapped the chewing gum and popped a piece in his mouth, and is glad that he remembered to get a hat for his damp hair.

People give him strange looks, probably confused as to what a sick looking teenager in a wheelchair is doing eating gum on the side of the street, but Murphy is content.

This is all he wanted, the chance to feel independent, and to get away from everything for a while.

Once he's finished two sticks of gum, Murphy decides that he should probably get back, before his brother has a heart attack. So, already starting to brace himself for the inevitable blow up and chewing out that he's about to receive, Murphy forces his exhausted arms to grip the wheels and begins to push himself back down the street to the hospital.

.

Connor feels like he's about to pass out.

The tightness in his chest just keeps building, more and more. He's been shouting at the nurses and security staff and everyone else whose milling around for the past ten minutes, in between pacing around and trying not to hyperventilate.

"How could you just lose him? He's—he's!"

Eventually, he just pushes past all the people standing in his way, drawing in a struggling breath, and slams his hand onto the elevator button. He's going to find his brother, and goddamnit if no one else is able to, because Murph is his brother and he's going to find him.

Just as the doors open, and Connor starts to storm into the lift, he sees Murphy just sitting in the wheelchair, looking cold and guilty. He freezes.

Before Connor can let out a shout, Murphy reaches forward, looking equally as surprised, and yanks him into the lift. The doors close and then suddenly it's just them in the elevator. Murphy is wearing a dark beanie, which hides his scruffy hair, and Connor's hoodie, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Sorry."

Within seconds, Connor is pulling Murphy close to him, pressing his face into his brother's shoulder, and trying to remember how to breathe again, "Yer an idiot, you stupid—don't do that again, please—ye can't jus' leave an'— I'm sorry—don't leave—Murph—"

"I won't, I won't—It was stupid, don't be mad, Connor—I'm sorry."

They collapse into silence then, with Murphy quietly reassuring him. The brothers stayed in the elevator for a few more minutes, calming down, and apologising without words. When the lift arrives on their floor, Connor warns his brother to be ready—to face the music—and Murphy lets out a groan.

The door open, and suddenly they're faced with at least a dozen people staring at them with displeased expressions. Murphy leans over to him, and offers him a small packet of some kind.

"Gum?"

.

In the end, Murphy doesn't get given out to too much.

There are lectures and sighs of disappointment, and promises that it won't happen again, but this is a song that they've heard many times before. Murphy nods and tries to look ashamed of his actions, but at the end of the day, he only cares about Connor's opinion.

Connor chuckles quietly and looks disapproving in all the right places, but he doesn't mind now that Murphy is back. He knows his brother just needed space and a bit of rebellion, and he probably should have seen it coming sooner.

Murphy is practically conked out in the bed, exhausted by his little journey, and almost falling asleep as his arms are splayed at his sides lazily.

Just as the disgruntled staff are filing out of their room, seeming drained from the weeks of trying to contain two MacManus', the doctor pauses and looks back at them.

"I have a good feeling that we'll be seeing the back of you two boys soon enough."

.

I hope this chapter is okay! This story has gotten some new readers recently, so a big 'hello!' to you guys, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy the rest of it :) I would love to hear your thoughts on this one, while I get started on the next chapter over the next few days…

Review..?

Thanks for reading,

ArmedWithMyComputer xx