"How're ye feelin', Murph?"

His brother is trying to sound nonchalant, and cool, but Murphy still shots him a weak glare, "I think ye can fuckin' guess." The hustle and bustle of people outside in the corridor was making him antsy, and he'd been unnecessary short with Connor all morning.

Connor makes a face, "Aye, but it'll be fine. Yer comin' home! Ma said she has everythin' worked out, an' yer pretty mobile in tha' wheelchair, an' it'll be fine. C'mon, Murph, let me see a smile!"

As much as he wants to, Murphy just can't bring himself to. He fidgets in anticipation, twisting his fingers around in the soft material of his jumper. The hospital, as much as he hated it, was safe and familiar, and he didn't know how to be… broken outside of it.

He doesn't say any of this to Connor though, just starts chewing his bottom lip, shrugging.

Before his brother can say anything, and Murphy can practically see the words getting ready to spill out of his mouth, a nurse bursts into the room, "Are we all ready to go now, boys?" She practically screams positivity and brightness, but Murphy can only manage a grimace back at her.

Connor steps back slightly, laden down with overflowing bags and random shoes, to let the nurse skip across the room to take the handles of the wheelchair.

Murphy winces slightly, hating to have anyone pushing him like some kind of invalid, but doesn't say anything. His eyes are fixated to the ground, determined not to look at his brother, for fear of losing it all together. There's a small cough, as Connor narrows his eyes and sounds like he very much wants to say something.

But all that comes out is, "Ma's waitin' with th' car."

The trip down to the car park is both surreal and terrifying. Murphy can feel every muscle in his body tensing, as his leg throbs with the beat of his heart. He's waited so long for this moment, but now everything feels like it's happening so fast.

Too fast.

Ma has tears brimming in her eyes, as she moves away from the car to pull him into an awkward embrace, and all Murphy can do is grin tightly at her. He transfers into the backseat of the car, silently watching as Connor folds up his wheelchair carefully, while he drags his bottom along the backseat to get his outstretched leg to fit in the car.

The car moves off quickly, and Murphy bites down harder on his lip while they bump over small potholes and swerve around the corners.

He picks at the plaster on his hand, that's covering the holes where the IVs went in, and touches his fingers gently to the side of his face, where the road rash has almost completely faded. Connor is watching him intensely in one of the mirrors from the front passenger seat, but neither brother said anything. And that was okay.

It takes two and a half hours to get home, with all the traffic and the back roads they have to take so Ma doesn't have to pay the toll.

Murphy can feel himself getting more and more exhausted, can feel his eyes beginning to slip shut. But he's determined to stare out the window for as long as possible, and he tells himself that it's because he's missed the familiar roads and sights.

But really he's bracing himself. Murphy watches every car that comes close to them, praying as hard as he can that it doesn't come even closer. His fingers tighten on the straps of his leg brace, as he stares into every vehicle that overtakes them on the small country roads, and he can feel his breath shallowing and his heart pounding against his ribs. This sort of fear takes him over, though he keeps it on the inside, always the inside, and there's no rationality to it.

All he remembers is impact.

There's a squeal of tires, and Connor, and then impact.

Then he woke up and everything had changed around him. So Murphy just stares out the window, and prays for something else, anything but impact and pain. Ma and Connor try to keep up a conversation for the first hour or so, but it trails off eventually, and Murphy doesn't even care.

All he can do is pray.

.

Connor frowns and fusses when they finally reach their house. Ma seems to have done the best thing that she can, to head into the house first, with all their possessions, and just leave them to it.

His brother's face is carefully guarded as he drags himself into the wheelchair, and doesn't waver when he grips the wheels and takes the first roll across rocky ground and muddy puddles. This surface is a far cry from the smooth lino floor of the hospital, and Connor wishes that he can do something to help as Murphy's face crumples just a bit.

But Connor knows that Murphy wouldn't appreciate his tongue-tied sympathies and offers of help.

When they awkwardly enter the house, it's clear that their Ma has tried her very best to make things better. And it's more than Connor had ever been expecting.

He and Murphy's room is upstairs, something that Murphy obviously can't manage anymore. So Ma had gotten rid of the couch, to accommodate their twin beds, sitting right smack in the corner of the room. He wonders how many of the lads had to help with that. Someone has also dragged down one of their dressers, to put clothes and stuff in, Connor guesses, and every bit of clutter that normally is found on the ground has been tidied away into a new set of storage boxes now in the corner.

There's a sheet hung up across the room, though it's pulled back at the moment, and it's clearly some kind of attempt to allow them their privacy. A banner is hung up over the cooker, which says in bright letters Welcome Home, Connor and Murphy!

Cards litter the kitchen table, as well a box of Cadbury's chocolates.

No one says anything as Murphy wheels himself carefully over to his bed, the one with the word MURPH carved clumsily into the headboard, and stiffly transfers himself onto the bed. He takes a moment to arrange his legs on the bedspread, until both are outstretched in front of him, and then looks up through his scruffy dark hair.

"Thanks, Ma. And Connor."

There are hugs then, and some tears from Ma, who just seems so overjoyed to have them both back in the house. They all eat dinner on the beds that evening, Ma even splurging to get them chips from the local chipper, which they eat sitting on beds in the middle of the sitting room.

Murphy crashes early that evening, finally sinking down into the softness of his own pillow, and Connor shakes his head at him, tears in his eyes.

Then it's just him and Ma awake, sitting in almost darkness. She holds out her arms, and he falls into them, resting his head on her shoulder. Connor doesn't realise it for a few moments, but he's shaking, and it feels like he's not going to be able to stop.

He sits there, arms locked around his mother, trembling for a few minutes. When it feels like he can let go without the sensation of drowning, he draws in a shuddering breath, and pulls away.

"I'm so glad ta hav' ye home—my boys."

.

The next day is the most surreal thing that either of them have ever experienced.

Connor wakes up in his own bed, with Murphy stirring beside him, and sits up with a yawn in the middle of the sitting room. Light is shining in through the window, and he pads across the floor to pull back the sheet that separates them and the kitchen.

His brother pulls himself into a sitting position in his bed, and looks disoriented. "'s fuckin' weird," He finally says, and shoots a glance towards the wheelchair that's sitting just out of reach, looking resentful.

Without saying anything, Connor kicks at one of the wheels to scoot it closer to Murphy, and then wanders towards the kitchen cabinets, "I know. I haven't slept downstairs since tha' time last year when I got pissed an' couldn't make it up the stairs…. I think ye slept outside under th' plants that night, aye?"

Murphy lets out a laugh, and casts a nostalgic look out the window, "I did yeah. Tha' was when Ma went up ta Dublin fer th' weekend, an' we thought we could handle a night out. I don't think I've ever had tha' bad of a hangover."

"At least Ma never found out."

By the time he turns around, two pieces of thickly buttered soda bread in his hands, Murphy has wheeled himself up to the kitchen table, one leg sticking out awkwardly in the brace. "Amen ta that." Murphy says with a grin, and snatches a piece of bread off Connor.

They eat in silence, munching loudly and just staring around the room. "What happens now?"

Connor waits until he's swallowed before answering, "I dunno. Ye hav' ta go back fer a check-up in a few days, an' I'm getting' this cast off then, but until that… I guess we just chill here. Do ye hav' anythin' ye want ta do?"

"What if people come over?"

"If ye don't want tha', then I'll deal with it. But… Murph, yer friends are probably worried. It won't be tha' bad, I don't think. I mean, yer th' same person an' it's not like yer not gonna get better. But ye can decider fer yerself what yer want ta do."

Murphy shrugs, hands clenching and unclenching around the rims of the wheels.

Eventually, he wheels himself away, to take a piss. Connor watches him go though, sees the tension rippling through his brother's shoulders, and winces slightly. He gets himself another piece of bread, and tries to convince himself that things really are getting better.

.

Their house fills up in the afternoon.

Aunts and uncles, and cousins that all live counties away, seem to all flood into the room at the same time, and they're both caught unaware.

Murphy has to reach up for dozens of hugs, and has to constantly reassure everyone that he's on the mend. He says such a variation of 'I'm grand,' that he almost starts to believe himself. Connor's on the other side of the room, doing much of the same, but they occasionally lock eyes.

The pure amount of love and worry in the house is palpable, and it makes Murphy feel like he doesn't deserve any of it. So he directs the conversations awkwardly away from himself, and finds himself chatting to his Ma's brother from Donegal about his crops.

When the drink has gone, and the last of the scones has been eaten, it gets dark. Relatives bustle out of the house, hugging and kissing, and promising to get back to visit soon.

It feels like they've been hit by a tornado, when the last of them has left. Connor slumps on one of the chairs, exhausted, and Ma heads towards the kitchen area to find out with relief that most of the washing up has already been done.

Murphy lets his eyes slip closed for a second, only one or two moments, and he's asleep before he knows it.

.

Connor frowns, looking at his brother.

He's fallen asleep in his wheelchair; an arm splayed out on the arm rests with the other covering his eyes, and appears terribly uncomfortable. But Connor doesn't want to wake him, because Murphy looks completely drained and like he needs to sleep for days.

Ma doesn't even notice as Connor takes the handles of the wheelchair, and pushes his brother carefully over to the beds. He pulls the sheet over to divide the room, as an afterthought.

Murphy doesn't wake when he lifts one of his arms up, to test if he's actually asleep. Connor hesitates, completely unsure of how to do anything, and then puts the brakes on the chair. His brother is gaunt and thin, after everything, and it's almost too easy for Connor to lift him gently under the arms, and lie his upper body on the bed.

Then he takes Murphy's casted leg, the one that's able to bend as the cast only starts from his knee down, and eases it onto the bed as well. Murphy's breath hitches in his throat slightly, but he doesn't wake, so Connor takes it as a sign to keep going. The braced leg is harder, and he is so careful with it, hands shaking as he tried to keep the leg as steady as possible.

When Connor has gotten all of Murphy onto the bed, he shoves the wheelchair away, to get closer to his brother. He slides the pillow under Murphy's head, and covers him with the duvet as slowly as possible.

The sleeping twin is a bit lopsided in the bed, and still in his clothes, but Connor decides that its good enough.

He calls out to say goodnight to Ma quickly, and then falls into bed himself, not bothering to change. He rolls on his side, to see Murphy's chest rising and falling steadily, and then drifts off.

.

She looks in on them after a few minutes, when she's about to head upstairs.

Murphy is outstretched on his back; head flopped on its side towards Connor. His brother is curled on his side, fast asleep, with one arm hanging out of bed. Her boys are safe, and healing, and home. It only takes a moment to straighten Murphy's duvet, and tuck Connor's arm back into the bed.

When she looks back at them once more, Connor has begun to snore, and Murphy mumbles something in his sleep, and it's just so normal that she thinks she's about to burst with love.

.

Sorry for the wait guys, this chapter has been so hard to write. I hope I got it out okay though :)

My fingers are crossed that you all enjoyed this, and I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. I'd love to hear some of your comments if you have time! Thanks for all the support, from reviews to alerts and favourites, it means so much to me.

Review…?

Thanks for reading,

ArmedWithMyComputer xx