A few days on, and the swelling around Murphy's nose has started to come down considerably. The streaks of yellowish bruising stand out on his pale face, along with the healing cut on his chin. He moans about the state of his face in the mirror, ghosting his fingertips over the painful scab, but Connor simply ignores him.
Taking no chances, he hides the crutches upstairs for two days after the 'accident,' that Murphy swears was caused only by the stone in the middle of the road. Murphy takes his enforced rest badly, slamming his wheelchair purposely into what seems like every surface in the house, and bumping into Connor 'accidently' more than once.
When his brother's complaining reaches an absolute new record, Connor finally sets the crutches free from their imprisonment, and tries not to roll his eyes at the gigantic grin on Murphy's face, knowing how much it means to him.
Murphy goes back to singing loudly in the shower, throwing burnt popcorn at Connor in the middle of bad movies, and being as irritating as ever.
The next time they need milk, a week after the first milk fiasco, they go together. Connor carries the bag, biting his lip as he watches Murphy fake-stumble over stones on purpose to mess with him, and his heart nearly skips a beat when Murphy attempts an awkward loping run.
"What th' fuck are ye doin'?" He yells, while Murphy pauses in his pathetic attempt at a run.
His brother has to know what kind of stress he's putting Connor under, has to see the way he can barely breathe, but he just raises his eyebrows, "What're ye yammerin' on about now, my dear brother?" Murphy leans lazily on the crutches with a smile, his legs supporting more of his body weight, "Sure I'm jus' havin' a bit of a frolic, ye know yerself…"
He runs a hand through his scruffy hair, having a wait a moment before responding for fear of throwing a punch, "Don't fuckin' do tha', Murph. Don't ignore all th' doctors an' decide yer fixed all of a sudden—don't throw all yer hard work away jus' cause ye think tha' ye can suddenly run!"
Murphy's face screws up, and Connor can feel the outburst that's about to happen.
"I know I can't, fer feck's sake, I know! Honestly, I'm not an eegit! This is some shitty second best substitute for th' fact tha' I can hardly walk on me own two feet—so if I want ta fuckin' limp along a bit faster, then I'm goin' ta!"
"Fine!"
"Good!"
It takes a considerable amount of effort for Connor not to reach over and yank the back of Murphy's jumper when he starts doing that weird looking fast hobble, lifting his feet higher off the ground so he can swing them faster. He bites the inside of his cheek hard, tightening his hold on the bag, and forces himself to walk at a normal pace.
His brother gets tired of his 'frolicking' after only a few minutes, and ends up waiting for Connor, looking only a bit sheepish. Connor ignores him, marching straight past Murphy, who is scratching at his cheek with a scowl on his face.
"Connor. Connor—don't be angry. C'mon, I'm—I'm gettin' better."
He nods carefully, glancing up to see the shop far away in the distance, "I know. Ye are, Murph, yer so nearly fully better. I jus'—I can't stop worryin'." Connor takes a deep breath, wondering if it'll be easier to just say everything in a big rush, "I nearly have a heart attack every time ye do somethin' new, an'—when ye stumble I stop breathin'. It's stupid, I know, but… I jus' can't lose you again. I can't, I jus' can't, an' yer getting' better, but my head is in bits with anxiety, all th' fuckin' time… I—I didn't even want ta let ye near a road fer weeks, cause—cause of what happened months ago. An' when ye came home last week, covered in blood—I thought tha' I was goin' ta pass out… I—Murph, please don't let me lose you again."
Murphy doesn't respond for a moment, but then lets his crutches fall to the ground. He stands there, arms out slightly for balance, and grinned at Connor. He doesn't try to take any steps, or to do anything other than prove that he's able to stand on his own two feet.
"Look at me, Connor, look. I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm right here, an' its goin' ta take a lot more than a fuckin' stupid driver ta get rid of me. I'm not goin' ta break, not again. An' I know that yer goin' ta worry, an' that's normal—cause I worry about ye too. But ye have ta see tha' I'm okay. I'm not askin' ye not ta worry, jus' ta recognise tha' I'm here an' I'm standing by myself."
He surges forward then, out of his own accord, and pulled Murphy into a hug.
They stand there for a moment, pressed together, until Murphy swags and sags more into Connor. Then he reaches down to grab the crutches, keeping one hand on his brother's chest to steady him, and they separate, the darker haired twin grinning like an idiot at Connor.
"Thanks, Murph."
Murphy doesn't respond for a few minutes, instead turning and heading back down the road, away from the shop, while Connor frowns after him, "I want ta go back ta where th' accident happened. I want ta see th' road. Besides – we don't need milk that bad."
Connor stares after his brother, who is making his way down the road with a purpose to his hobble. Part of him wants to back away, and refuse to, not ever wanting to go back to that boreen, but words dance on the edge of his tongue, and he finds himself calling after the solitary figure.
"Fan, Murphy—mar, ta me ag dul in aice leat. Fanacht liom." Wait, Murphy—because I'm coming with you. Wait for me.
.
He can feel Connor trudging along beside him, can feel the tension rolling off his brother in waves.
But Murphy keeps limping along, his hands growing sweaty on the forearm crutches, but his own heart feeling like its beating strongly in his chest. He feels ready, and motivated. The accident seems like it was years ago, rather than just a few months, but its constantly at the corner of his mind, like something in his peripheral vision.
Maybe if he can just go there, and see the ground that he'd skidded along, that had broken him, then maybe things will get better. He doesn't really know how that would make sense, or if it'll just make things worse, but he's not turning around now.
Connor places a hand on his shoulder as they near the spot, and lets his hand move up and down effortlessly with the movement of Murphy's crutching.
It's almost as if Connor needs the support more than he thinks Murphy does.
Then when they reach the bend in the road, the one that they'd argued beside before everything had fallen apart in their hands, both brothers stop. The road is completely silent, so much so that Murphy can hear the wind as it rustles the leaves on the bushes.
His senses almost seem to be heightened, as they stand there, in the middle of the tiny road, and just look. One of the hedgerows on the side looks like it had been… crushed recently, but had grown back weirdly, and it's as if Murphy is back there on that day.
He sees the car speeding towards his brother, Connor just standing there with his mouth hanging open, and then his feet are moving. He plows into Connor harder than he had expected, and a split second later the car smashes into his body, lifting him up and sending him crashing onto the windshield. For a millisecond, Murphy stares into the eyes of the horrified driver, before his body is sent tumbling over the roof of the vehicle, and off again. Then it's almost like he's flying because there's nothing but air beneath him—but the ground rises up to meet him with a sickening crack, and he can't stop himself as his limp body skids across the gravel before rolling to a halt.
Murphy watches through closing eyes at the car swerves into a bush at the side of the road, one of the bushes that he'd been picking berries off, and then as it speeds away. His head lolls to the side, to see Connor lying motionless on the side of the road, while he's flung in a heap in the middle of it. Later, he registers the sound of his brother screaming his name louder than ever before, but all there is is darkness and pain, and nothing that he can break free from. He wonders if this is what dying feels like.
The next thing that he's aware of is this excruciating agony in his body, the kind that makes him want to cry out for hours, but his body is sluggish and un-cooperating despite his anguish. All he really knows is that Connor is there, whispering in his ear and holding his hand the whole time.
"—on! Come on, Murph, snap out of it! Murphy, talk ta me, what th' fuck's wrong with ye? Tell me what's wrong, Murph, oh God, fuck—Murphy, look at me!"
He blinks slowly, realising that he's leaning heavily on Connor, and staring at that same crushed section of bush. Tears are glinting in his twin's eyes, and in his own, and he takes a deep breath, licking his dried lips, "I'm still here, Connor, jus' thinking… remembering."
His brother seems to sag against him, and then its Murphy holding both of them up, "Jesus, ye idiot. Don't do that again. I didn't sign up fer this shit."
"Sorry."
"'s okay. I jus' freaked again. But yer fine…?" Murphy nods wearily, and that seems to assure Connor again, "Right. Okay. Guess it was a pretty shite trip down memory lane then? Judging by th' look on yer face tha' says yer about ta lose it."
Murphy shakes his head gently, partly in an attempt to clear his vision. "Wasn't all bad—ye were there at th' end. Ye were holdin' my hand, when I was all doped up on drugs. Ye kept me… there."
Connor holds his gaze, and then presses his head down against Murphy's shoulder, "I didn't want ye ta leave me. Ye can't leave me like tha' again, ye jus' can't. I didn't know what I was supposed ta do, cause ye were jus' lyin' there. An' ye didn't move fer ages… Don't leave me."
"I won't."
.
When they begin the walk home, their eyes dry and some invisible weight lifted off their shoulder, Connor keeps his hand on his brother's shoulder.
Murphy is quiet, clearly exhausted, but he'd thanked Connor for taking him to the accident scene, after all those months. So they walk in silence, and if Connor is supporting his brother more than normal, then neither of them mention it.
Just as they're two minutes away from their house, a vaguely familiar face from school comes around the corner.
It's a girl in their class, one that they've barely talked to twice, but her face falls when she sees them. Murphy tenses suddenly, and then Connor realises that his brother wore shorts that day, so his scars are clearly on display, and the girl is staring at them with a horrified expression on her face.
"Mary!" He forces out brightly, if only to snap her out of her daze, "What's th' craic?"
Her eyes are wide as she tries to smile at them, "Connor… Murphy… how are you? Everyone's been so worried, even though th' lads said that ye were doin' better—I just, we all think that yer so brave. Murphy, ye especially, jus' oh my god. Yer like a soldier."
Both brothers just stare at her, completely lost for words.
Murphy speaks up first, before Connor can gather together something to say, "Ah… cheers, Mary. Yer lookin' well yerself," His speech is awkward and unsure, not knowing how to react to the extreme pity, "We have ta head now, late fer our Ma. We have ta… pick up milk on th' way home."
"But the shop's the other way!" She says, smiling gently at him as if he's forgotten where the shop's located. Then her eyes shift back down to his skinny legs, and the thick scar tissue, before a look of understanding comes over her, "Do you want me ta get th' milk—sure it's not a bother, I'm headed there anyway. Anything I can do to help!"
Connor's throat unblocks, and he quickly steps in, "What Murph meant is tha' Ma's pickin' up the milk, an' that we need ta get back. It was great ta see ye, Mary, but we have ta get on now."
"Oh, but—"
"One more thing, Mary," Murphy pauses, and bites his lip fer a second, "I'm not a fuckin' 'soldier', or brave or any of tha' shite. I'm just a guy who got hit by a car, right? An' I'm still th' guy who'll beat ye inta next week on th' GAA pitch. So ye can tell everyone in school ta stop feelin' sorry fer me now, cause I won't be havin' any of tha' when I get back."
Connor waves brightly to the stunned girl as they walk briskly past her despite their tiredness, "Nice seein' ye, Mary!"
.
They collapse onto the couch when they finally reach home, breathing heavily.
"When did goin' out ta get some milk become so fuckin' complicated?" Murphy moans, burying his face in a cushion, while Connor grunts in agreement with his face squashed against the back of the sofa. Somehow well over an hour had passed since they'd left the house.
"An' we didn't even get any!"
.
Hope this was okay. Only one chapter left now, I think!
Feedback is always welcome :) And I hope you guys don't think too harshly of poor Mary—sometimes people don't know how to react in those kinds of situations, and everything just goes horribly wrong. She meant well, at least.
Thanks for reading,
ArmedWithMyComputer xx