Connor waits with Ma at the kitchen table for his brother, explaining what had happened in hushed tones.

Murphy had pushed them back away once they'd returned home, and retreated to their 'bedroom' and had pulled back the curtain that separated the space from the kitchen. It was dark by the time they returned from the hospital, and Murphy hadn't spoken a word to either of them since.

"Ye comin' out fer dinner, luv?" Ma calls out, and Connor keeps his gaze glued to the table as she looks expectantly at the sheet blocking off half the room.

He doesn't answer for a few minutes, but when he does, Murphy's voice is hoarse with what Connor knows have been tears, "I'll be out in a minute…" Then he clears his throat quietly, and adds, "Don't let Connor eat my dinner."

When his brother finally does wheel himself out, Connor just pushes a plate full of food towards him, and stares intently at the newspaper lying on the table in front of him. Murphy keeps his head down, eyes rimmed with red, and Ma busies herself with the washing up.

It takes her over two hours to realise that he got his cast off. "Connor! Ye got yer cast off today, oh sorry, luv, it completely slipped my mind!" His mother beams at him, and he sheepishly holds up his skinny wrist, while she bombards him with questions. It's enough to drag out a smile from Murphy though, and he realises that he doesn't even mind if it'll take some attention off his brother.

Murphy only talks so him properly that night, when the lights are turned out and Connor is pretending to be asleep. Murphy knows that he's awake though, so most of the time he doesn't know why he bothers.

"Today was shite," Connor hears his brother sigh heavily, and keeps himself curled into a ball, not looking over, "When they took m' cast off—I dunno, it jus'—I didn't know how ta deal. An' I didn't mean ta shut ye out, I didn't, Connor, but I didn't know how ta deal with it…. Please don't be mad."

At this, he pushes himself into a sitting position, and wraps the blanket around his shoulders to keep the night chill away, "I'm not mad, Murph. I jus' want ye ta be okay."

"Aye, I want tha' too. An' I want ye ta be okay too."

"We'll be okay together, yeah? An' I'll come with ye next time we got back ta tha' doctor, promise. It'll work out in th' end, Murph. I promise."

That night, they end up pushing their beds together, though Connor does all the work while Murphy just watches with dark eyes. When they'd been kids, they had used to sleep in the same bed, before Ma had insisted that they at least try to sleep in different ones.

It felt comforting in a sense that couldn't be described, the way Murphy turns his head slightly, and the weight of Connor's arm as he drapes it across his brother's chest. And they just sleep, without dreams or nightmares, just feeling the other there.

.

Days passed quickly then, and Murphy can feel himself starting to smile more.

He works at his exercises with a determination that sometimes scares his brother, but it's worth all the pain and weariness when he finally starts to see some progress. His braced leg is starting to bend more and more, now that the bones have mostly healed, and the stiffness that had terrified him the first day is slowly reducing. His other leg, is the one that he has strengthening exercises for, and the day that he managed to lift it on his own was the day that Connor let out a whoop of excitement and ran around the kitchen throwing bits of popcorn in the air.

Connor still nags at him to meet up with some of their friends, or to go out to the village just for an hour, but Murphy just shakes his head and puts a trembling hand on his legs to steady himself.

One day though, when his brother starts up at him to leave the house and go further than the garden, a new response comes out of his mouth. Instead of just no, he shakes his head, and says, "Not yet, Connor. I'm not ready yet."

It's better than an outright refusal, and it stills something in Connor, making his brother bite his lip carefully, and then just nod.

Murphy turns away again, and continues to work on his exercises again for the third time that day. His muscles are screaming at him in exhaustion, but he can see the fields outside if he glances out the window, and he needs to be able to run through them, rolling around in the grass, laughing. His fist clenches, and Connor frowns, but neither says anything as Murphy begins the exercise regime.

.

After a week of being at home, his brother reaches his limit.

Connor cries out as he sees Murphy topple to the ground when he tries to do a transfer, and curses himself for not seeing his brother's weakness earlier. "I'm fine, I jus—" Murphy attempts to argue, already pushing himself up on shaking elbows, but he just shakes his head.

Murphy is skinnier than he's ever been when Connor lifts him up gently, and he lets out a whine of pain. Connor's only response is to make a beeline for the bed, and start lowering him onto it, despite the protests, "Stop bein' a pain, an' jus' rest fer a bit, Murph. Yer exhausted."

"I need to do the exercises though—I jus' need ta do them real quick, an' then—"

Connor throws his hands up in the air, "No! You've already done them four times today, Murphy, I've counted, and you have no energy left! For God's sake, you'll end up back in the hospital again— ye think I can't see the black circles under yer eyes, or the way ye only pick at yer dinner! All ye do anymore is those fuckin' exercises, an' it's wearin' ye down ta nothing— have some sense—"

"Shut yer mouth, Connor! Ye don't know what it's like ta be stuck in this fuckin' house!"

"I do though—who the fuck do ye think has been here with ye every day!" Connor screams back at his brother, feeling the rush of energy that always flooded through him when they were arguing begin to flare up. He makes a wild gesture with his injured hand, and whacks it off the table by mistake, a howl of pain escaping his lips.

Murphy flinches at this, tries to reach for the wheelchair, but Connor kicks it out of his brother's arm span. "Connor—"

"No, fuck ye! Stop pushing yerself too hard or we'll both end up back in that fucking hospital! We're both gonna end up back there, an' I can't take tha'—I can't cause I watched ye almost die in there, right! I was there fer days when ye could barely speak an' when ye were in th' ambulance, an' when everythin' was fallin' apart on that road! I was there, Murph!"

There's only shocked silence in the room, and the sound their ragged breathing makes. Murphy chews on his bottom lip until it bleeds.

He grabs his coat, wrenching open the door with a gasp, "Don't fuckin' do those exercises while I'm gone or—or—jus' don't."

Connor's stormed out of the house before he really knows what has happened, and the cold air hits him hard. The road leading towards the village is full of bumps and small pebbles, nothing that Murphy would have been able to handle, and he runs down it as fast as he can, something that Murphy wouldn't be able to do for months.

The blackberries are gone from the bushes, when he reaches the spot where the accident took place, and he stands in the middle of the road with his arms shaking by his sides. Connor closes his eyes for a split second, and he can see his reflection in the shining car, can hear Murphy screaming his name, can feel the stones digging into the small of his back.

He lets out a yell of anger, and lashes out at the bushes lining the country road, feeling twigs tear into his skin.

There's no one around, and Connor is grateful for this fact, screaming like a crazed man while punching the bushes. He howls for the injustice of the accident, at the driver who'd just left them, at the wheelchair that confines his brother to their small cottage.

Connor cries for the tension that's sent him running out here, cries for the brother that's keeping them both cooped up in the home, and cries because Murphy is just so broken.

When he's done, there's blood streaming down from tiny cuts on his fingers, his chest is heaving, and all his screams have attracted the attention of several cows who've wandered over to the edge of their field. He glares at them through the tears in his eyes, and scrubs the moisture away with the back of his bloody hand.

"When are we ever going to be better?"

.

His brother is still lying quietly on the bed when he gets back.

Connor grunts at him, wiping the blood off in smears on his jeans, not raising his eyes to meet Murphy's gaze. He knows that neither of them are going to apologise this time, because this was just a blip in a whole series of disasters, and they both know what the other is feeling.

"So—I was thinkin' maybe we could meet up with some of th' lads soon? Ye know, from school? If ye want ta." Murphy pushes himself up into a sitting position carefully, tracing out a pattern on his leg, and trying to pretend that it isn't a huge deal.

"Ye want ta?"

Murphy shrugs, and nods after a moment, "Yeah, I do. It's about time I stopped hidin' us both in this house… I see ye went at it with the bush out there, now did ye?"

"Shut it. So ye really want th' lads over here? Ma's been sayin' tha' they're desperate ta see ye—us. Ach… an bhfuil tú cinnte?" But… are you sure?

"Sea. Ba mhaith liom é seo. Yes. I want this. I was thinking tha'…. Maybe we could meet 'em in th' village."

He can't help his lack of response at that, his mouth physically dropping open with the bombshell of it all. Connor snapped his head up to stare at Murphy, who licks his cracked lips, and smirks. The move is so undeniably Murph that for a second, Connor can't breathe.

"I'll give them a call."

.

The next day, Murphy finds himself wheeling out the front door, Connor practically bouncing out in front of him.

He grips the wheels tightly, staring at the long stretch of rocky road ahead, already feeling his heart starting to sink. But Connor is grinning and his eyes are bright in the sun that's shining despite the cold wind. "What're ye waiting fer, let's get a move on."

It takes five minutes before he gives up on trying to get himself up the hill, and lets Connor take over. His brother grabs the wheelchair handles carefully, and they both start moving at a much more acceptable pace. He groans and tells Connor to put yer back inta it, and jesus when did ye become so weak, and he thinks that maybe his twin might be buying it.

But it doesn't even matter because they're getting closer to the village nearest to their house, and Murphy has to lick his lips in order to try and prepare himself.

Connor lets go then, so Murphy can take over properly, and moves to walk beside him, fingers brushing his shoulder gently. His brother clears his throat with a cough, and says, "Th' lads said they'll meet up in th' café. Get some lunch or somethin'."

He nods, and focuses on navigating down the cobbled street, "Right."

The closer that they get to the café, the faster his heart starts beating, and Murphy just hopes that he can keep it together long enough for Connor to catch up with their friends properly. He stares down at the ground, at his legs that are sitting nicely on both the footrests, bent at the knees and looking not so broken. He'd worn his jeans for the first time in months, with the brace strapped on over them and unlocked as much as he could manage.

He looks… almost like himself.

They're just at the meeting place, when Connor lets out a bark of laughter, making Murphy glance up in surprise to see all their friends at the window of the café, faces pressed up against the window, and looking like they were about to burst with anticipation.

It only makes him feel sick to his stomach, but his brother is waving back enthusiastically, so he reluctantly raises a hand in greeting.

When they make it to the door, Connor opens it wide, with the intention of letting Murphy go in before him, but he shakes his head quickly, letting Connor enter first, hating the way his brother has to linger to keep the door open enough for him.

It looks like the whole place is filled to the brim with school friends and GAA mates of theirs, and they pull Connor into the crowd with yells of affection, mingled with friendly insults. Murphy's hands tighten on the wheels, and he tries to brace himself.

But the rest of the lads are surprisingly careful, and they shake his hands with such excitement that he almost remembers that maybe he had missed his friends. Then he's wheeling himself up to the table, and they clearly ordered before he and Connor had got there because there's dozens of plates, and a waitress that he recognises is handing him a drink with a huge smile on her face.

Grinning seems to be infectious, because everyone just looks so elated and relieved. Murphy is overwhelmed, but he's pretty sure that it's a good thing seeing as it means that he doesn't have time to analyse everything, and figure out what's happening.

Instead, all he knows is that there's laughter and people keep fighting for his attention.

Connor is on the other side of the room, but he keeps meeting Murphy's eyes, in the middle of all the chaos. He smirks back at him, not even feeling the ache in his legs, and listens as one of his friends relays the second half of the GAA season for him, as they'd missed all the matches.

He lets out a laugh at something a few minutes later, throwing his head back so that he can gasp for air and feel the tightness of his ribs.

It feels right.

.

He snaps his head up when he hears the laugh split through the door, louder than anyone else's in the room.

Connor knows that laugh, and he's missed it for weeks. His brother is shaking his head in amusement, while someone claps him on the shoulder and more people crowd around him. Murphy looks happy and comfortable, as opposed to the stiff, nervous Murphy he'd been on the way here.

A voice distracts him then, and he turns to look at one of the lads, Mick, who was sitting next to him, "It really hasn't been the same without ye, Connor. 's great ta have ye both back. Murphy looks… good."

"He does yeah, Mick. Ye wouldn't believe how much of a fuckin' improvement it is. Ye'd have ta have seen it."

"That so?"

He gulps down some coke, and lets out a hoarse laugh, "Trust me, Murph's flyin' at th' moment."

"We heard it was pretty bad, yeah." Mick shrugs, bumping his shoulder against Connor's, "But sure you're both back now, an' I'm hogging ye at the moment. I'll head over an' talk to Murphy fer a bit. Take care." His friend slips out of the corner, and makes his way over to Murphy, reaching down to shake his hand enthusiastically when he gets there.

Connor grins, and gets put into a playful headlock by another guy.

They scrimmage around for a few minutes; most of the other lads joining in, but when he glances up, Connor can still see his brother surrounded by people, taking bets on the mock fight. He's grinning and drumming his fingers on the table in a fast, upbeat rhythm, and it feels like normal.

When they all sit around the tables that have been pushed together, Connor snags a chair beside his brother, and steals his drink just to watch Murphy's face screw up in complaint.

It feels familiar, being sprawled around the table with their friends, and it's more than Connor had let himself hope for. His twin's spark is back, sharp wit rolling out of him like he hadn't missed a beat in seconds, let alone months.

Murphy doesn't look broken anymore. And neither does Connor, when he looks at his reflection.

.

So... Huge wait, I know guys. All I can say is that I've been really stretched thin these days, but I'm almost back to normal :) Also, a few people messaged me and asked me not to abandon this story – I haven't! I will never abandon this, so don't worry because it may have taken me awhile, but I'm back on track now.

Thanks so much for the feedback and reviews from the last chapter – I hope you guys enjoyed this one as well.

Review…?

Thanks for reading,

ArmedWithMyComputer xx