The noise of the crutches becomes a regular thing in the house.
From the minute Murphy is awake, he begins to clatter quietly around the house, sometimes letting out a muttered curse when he has to manoeuvre around an object. Some days, Connor lays in bed, still pretending to be asleep, and just listens.
It's almost unbelievable the change that Murphy has gone through, with the small freedom of the crutches.
He can't use them all the time, but it's still enough to almost make it seem like things are better again. They go to a GAA match, one weekend, and get a lift down from one of the lads. Murphy stubbornly insists on only bringing his crutches, and hobbles over to the side lines, leaning heavily on them as his feet sink slightly into the boggy ground. A parent also watching the match lends them her fold up chair, and Murphy ends up in that for most of the game, but it's not a wheelchair, and he just looks so normal, lounging back with his legs stretched out.
Connor is surprised as well at how much easier things have gotten. His brother doesn't have moods of anger or frustration nearly as much, and they haven't bickered in days. Even the change is evident in Ma, who still gets up early and comes home late because of work, but who seems to smile a bit brighter.
Murphy's legs are still painfully thin though.
When he wears shorts, on the odd day that the weather is nice, it's clear that something isn't right. His surgery scars are fading, slowly, crisscrossed down his legs, and Connor's seen his brother tracing them carefully on more than one occasion. Most of the muscle is gone, so Connor teases gently, muttering about 'chicken legs,' until his brother stops staring at his scars and leans over to cuff him over the head.
He's putting the weight that he lost in the hospital back on, helped along by large portions of Ma's stew that Connor makes sure he eats. Neighbours still drop over unannounced, as is the way of life in the country, and leave freshly baked soda bread, or small packets of sweets for them.
.
The wheelchair begins to sit in the corner for longer and longer, as the days pass.
Murphy struggles to stay on his feet for as long as he can, but he's able to recognise his limits. He rolls his eyes and groans sometimes, when Connor kicks out a chair for him, and gives him the look – but it's getting easier to hobble around for semi-long periods.
It sends a jolt of excitement down his spine, every time he swings his legs forward and feels the ground solid under his feet. When he's alone, he gently eases his weight off the crutches, and stands for a few breathless moments unaided.
He grins until his face hurts when someone forgets to hold a door open for him for the first time, allowing him to reach forward and yank the heavy door open under his own power.
Connor recognises this yearning to be independent, and silently lets Murphy know that he respects it—sending him out to the tiny shop far down the road one morning for milk.
The trip had been a challenge, a ten minute walk down a winding road, but he'd been on the crutches for over a month, and desperate to get out properly on his own. "If yer not back within the hour, I'll feckin' murder ye, because I need m' tea, yeah?" That had been Connor's way of saying that he would come after Murphy if he took too long, a safety clause.
"Ye lazy thing, can't even drag yerself out of bed. Ye'll be makin' the breakfast when I get back then, so."
The way there was fine. Murphy took it one step at a time, keeping his eyes glued to the road for potholes and risky stones. When he reached the newsagents, he'd purposely bought the milk brand that Connor hated, grinning just a little as he dug change out of his pocket.
On the journey back to the house, the milk safely in the small backpack that he'd brought, Murphy started to feel the trip taking a toll on him. His feet dragged along the gravel, and his shoulders burned with the stress of propelling his body forward.
But he's determined to make it back, within the time limit, and maybe that's his downfall. Literally.
Panting for breath, Murphy lifts his head, looking to the horizon to see his house finally visible not too far away. He grins, takes another step without checking for anything that could trip him and hits a rock, and falters. The few seconds of teetering on one leg are enough to do it, and he crashes to the ground, hands tangled in the forearm crutches and unable to break his fall.
He lands on his face first, feeling his nose hit the ground and crunch, blood beginning to pour over his face already. His legs are forced into uncomfortable angles, pressed against the rough gravel, but nothing seems to be immediately wrong.
Murphy rolls over onto his front, shoving the crutches to the side, and knows that Connor's going to kill him.
His nose won't stop bleeding, despite the minute that he spends pressing his sleeve to it, while he gingerly checks his legs. There's a big scrape on his chin as well, that's also steadily bleeding, and it's just his luck. After another minute of just sitting numbly on the ground, Murphy drags himself over to the hedge that borders the small road, and uses a sturdy-ish looking branch to haul himself upright.
The next few steps on the crutches are the hardest, because he's starting to think that he might have twisted one of his ankles, and his whole front is already covered with blood. He winces the closer that he gets to home, knowing that his brother is going to freak.
Connor is waiting beside the open door, trying to not look conspicuous—until he sees Murphy.
There's a pause, only for a millisecond, when Murphy tries to blurt out, "I can explain," but then Connor starts sprinting.
His brother almost crashes into him at the gate, literally skidding the last few inches, his hands hovering and his face a picture of devastation. Murphy tries to smile reassuringly, but it's more of a wince, and he lets Connor half carry him inside until they reach the couch.
Then he sniffs and wipes at his bloody nose, realising that its already starting to swell, and deflates a little as Connor carefully lifts his legs up onto a chair to elevate them. It's when his brother stumbles across the room in total shock and shaking like a leaf to get the phone, that Murphy remembers how to speak.
"I—I'm okay, Connor, s'fine. I jus' slipped, an' smashed m' face a bit—Connor, put th' phone down, I know yer over-reacting now, c'mon." The other twin just shakes his head, trembling fingers dialling the first number without looking at Murphy, "It's jus' a bloody nose! An' maybe a twisted ankle! Connor, I swear ta God if ye call fer an ambulance I'll walk out that fuckin' door an'—"
Connor pauses, pressing the phone to his forehead with his eyes squeezed shut. A long second passes, "Ye sure?"
"Positive." Murphy continues more gently, almost unable to believe that his brother is actually listening to him, "Put the phone down… yeah, like tha', an'—can ye get me some ice? I think I broke my fuckin' nose on that stupid road."
Moving methodically, still in shock, Connor grabs the ice pack from the freezer and moves back to press it against Murphy's face, "It's not th' road that's the stupid one, Murph."
He cringes back at the sudden coldness, but Connor doesn't relent, sinking down to sit next to him.
Murphy watches as his brother puts one hand over his eyes, still pressing the icepack to his face, and bends his head down. He chews at his lip for a moment, before saying, "I jus' tripped, over a stupid fuckin' big rock, but my face took most of the impact… Connor? Sorry I scared ye, I didn't mean ta." His words are muffled due to the icepack, but he says them anyway, feeling the blood start to dry on his chin, "Remember when we bashed heads by mistake one time, an' we both got nosebleeds? Ma was so mad, an' she made us wash the blood off our clothes ourselves. Connor? I'm sorry—Connor, I—"
Finally, his brother lifts his head, eyes slightly red, and nods. "If ye ever fuckin' scare me like that again…"
He nods, and grins as Connor gets up to wet some tissues under the tap, so that Murphy can start wiping the blood off his face. It doesn't look too bad, when his face is clean again, Connor tells him while peering with squinted eyes at him. Murphy moves the icepack to his ankle, leaning his head back on the couch and sighing heavily.
"Oh, and Connor? Milk's in the bag… I believe ye have a breakfast ta make."
There's the sound of rummaging, and then his brother swears loudly, "Oh fuck ye, Murph, ye know I hate this brand!"
.
He makes Murphy go to the doctor anyway, despite his brother's whining and protests. Connor at least waits until an hour or so after breakfast though to give his brother a rest, keeping a watchful eye on Murphy at all times, not caring how many times he rolled his eyes at him.
The crutches were also confiscated, for at least the whole day, and that really makes Murphy moan.
Connor doesn't listen though, just rings up the GP's office, telling them that they're coming in instead of actually making an appointment. And if some kid has to wait an extra few minutes with a runny nose because of them, he can just deal with it.
The GP isn't too far of a walk, but Murphy makes faces the whole way there—at least until Connor whirls around and tells him to suck it up, or else he's going to tell Ma. That does the job.
Luckily, they don't have to wait more than an hour or so despite not having an appointment, though Connor does go up to the desk three times, and gesture sharply at Murphy's pathetic looking form. He's sitting subdued in the wheelchair; face swollen and exhausted looking, with a new icepack strapped to his ankle with some tape and string that Connor had rigged up.
By the time Murphy actually gets seen, Connor is pretty sure that every single person in the waiting room has given him a dirty look, including the two toddlers in the corner, and he's not sure if he blames them.
It turns out that his brother's nose isn't broken after all, just very badly bruised, and the scrape on his chin doesn't require more than a big plaster. The doctor spends more time examining his legs, to make sure that no more damage than a twisted ankle had been done, while Connor grips Murphy's shoulder.
Murphy sits on the exam table, his whole body tense, and his lips twitch marginally every few seconds. He also seems to be scrutinising the way in which the GP is checking his legs, as if he's doing it wrong, and Connor rubs a hand over his own forehead, tired already.
His legs get the all clear, apart from a properly strapped up ankle, and Murphy transfers himself back into his wheelchair, face steadily ignoring the doctor who offers him help, "Been doin' this long enough, thanks," He says, not unkindly but with the manner of someone who's had enough for one day.
Connor pays the bill with crumpled notes, from his savings that he'd grabbed before leaving the house, and accepts the free lollipop that he's offered as a joke.
He takes one for Murphy as well, glancing back to see his brother hunched beside the door with a scowl on his face, because Connor knows that he'll want it later. With the last few pounds of his savings from the last few months, Connor also pays for chipper and some soft drinks, for their lunch.
Murphy rewards him with a begrudging smile.
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Ma never does really find out the whole story.
She comes home to a battered Murphy, an exhausted Connor, and the crutches tucked in the cupboard for the next few days. But when Connor pulls her aside and reassures her that everything's fine, that Murphy went to the doctor's to be sure, and that he had everything under control, she doesn't question it.
Instead, she waits until her boys have gone to sleep, before locating Connor's saving stash upstairs in their room. Ma sees the lonely pennies at the bottom of the tin, knowing that there had been a lot more money there when she had left the house, and quietly slips what she thinks is the balance into the tin.
Then she heads back downstairs again, to sit at the kitchen table with small pile of bills that there always is, and listens to her boys breathing deeply in sleep.
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Hey guys, hope this one was okay for you all!
There'll probably only be one or two chapter left in this, because I need to finish it before I get back to school at the end of the month—but if you have any suggestions or brotherly moments that you want to see happen, just let me know and I'll try to fit it in :)
Would love to hear any feedback, thanks so much for all the favourites, alerts, and reviews once again!
Thanks for reading,
ArmedWithMyComputer xx