NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly.

Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale

Pairing: Twincest (Connor/Murphy)

Movie Verse: First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation

Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Connor and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.

Sub note: There is a deleted movie scene where the twins receive a call from their mother. That scene will be referenced in this chapter.

-Just a reminder that this story takes place during the Boondock Saints movie, if you have not seen the movie and are reading this it may not make sense to you.

-Some scenes from the movie will be retold from Connor's perspective.

Chapter Four

I could pretend like nothing is wrong...

...if you teach me how to lie to an angel.

Connor's St. Paddy's day had started out good, he hadn't dreamed the night before so he'd actually gotten a fair amount of sleep and morning mass had been inspiring and pleasant, if nothing else. The weather was decent too, not warm but not cold and the day at work had been going well.

Especially since Murphy had been in an even better mood than the night before and even the slab of meat to the face that he thwacked Connor with unexpectedly –to all of their colleagues amusement- had been alright, because Murphy was horsing around with him again, laughing and joking. And so Connor assumed that whatever ice had built up between them had finally melted when he'd reminded Murphy that he loved him and had hugged him for just a minute.

Such a simple gesture that said I love you, need you, I'm sorry and forgive me all at once and Murphy had understood more from it than Connor had even realized he intended at the time.

So yes, it was all going swimmingly, right up until the point where that manly bitch had kicked him in the nuts.

Fuck, that had hurt, took the fucking wind right out of his sails.

And while Connor would never lay a hand on a woman –not that he could have in that painful moment no matter how badly he would have liked to-, he was appreciative that Murphy had punched her lights out.

Presently they were walking home in the early afternoon.

They had been fired…well, Murphy and the big manly bitch had and so by default, Connor had quit because where Murph went, he went. Murphy patted his shoulder and pushed him forward a bit as they walked crossed the bridge,

"Come on, walk et' off, Conn." He said sounding like he was trying to tease but his tone was too upset and Connor had seen it in his face just how angry Murphy had been when it happened, so he knew his twin wasn't happy about that woman assaulting him.

Connor didn't bother to respond and the rest of the walk back to the loft was painful and quiet, with Murphy either just beside him or a step behind him the entire time, a hand on his shoulder or between his shoulder blades every so often and while it didn't soothe the pain in his balls, it was a comfort.

When they reached home and were undressing, Connor found the warmth from the sun shining into their loft all day to be a bit much, it was too stuffy and it made him feel worse, especially with the throbbing pain between his legs and the lingering anger of being given a nut shot for no fucking reason. He was sitting very still in his unfastened jeans after having taken his shirt and boots off when Murphy spoke up,

"You should ice et', Connor…" he suggested earnestly.

Connor had been very briefly distracted by Murphy standing up and dropping his jeans after he'd kicked off his unlaced boots,

"Aye, I should, shouldn't I?" he said absently, tiredly and then grimaced as he stood up.

The idea of putting ice on his genitals was horrible but the pain was worse and Connor didn't want to walk around with swollen balls when they went out to McGinty's later, because that would hurt too.

Connor took his jeans off and tossed it onto his bed as he contemplated putting the ice pack over his boxer shorts but he didn't see that as being the best way to directly ice himself, plus It would get his shorts wet, so with a glance at Murphy…

….his twin was stark naked after taking his boxers off and was heading toward the showers…

…Connor looked away and shut his eyes as he took his shorts off and tossed them onto his bed as well, grimacing from emotional pain and the ache in his scrotum. He was bitterly grateful for the pain though, if only because it hurt too much for his arousal to manifest physically right then. After he took a moment to compose himself, Connor opened his eyes –keeping them specifically averted from Murphy- and he walked stiffly over to the fridge. He rummaged through the various junk they kept atop the fridge until he found what he could use to put a makeshift ice pack together, then he pulled the fridge open and filled the cloth and plastic he'd found with ice cubes, a frown on his face the entire time.

As a last thought he grabbed himself a can of beer, then shut the fridge and moved to sit on the tattered couch. Connor opened the beer, adjusted his hold on the items and took a deep breath to prepare himself as much as he could before he pressed the ice pack to his bare genitals. He hissed loudly when he did, leaning his head back on the couch as the cold bit through the two layers of cloth and plastic cover right to his skin. He stupidly glanced over at Murphy from that angle when he heard the click of a lighter and he got another eye full of Murphy's naked body as his twin lit up a cigarette while preparing to step into the shower.

Only Murphy smoked in the shower…

Connor took a deep breath and a deep gulp from the beer and then just kept his eyes averted, even more relieved that he had ice on his dick since there would be no erections happening in that state even if the pain wasn't enough to keep it at bay.

But he was already starting to feel irritable seconds later, because it was hard not to look at Murphy while he stood naked, smoking, gorgeous…so Connor was really relieved when the phone rang.

That was, until he answered it.

Connor supposed that in retrospect, it was funny. Sort of.

Their mother's twisted idea of wishing them a happy birthday slash St. Paddy's day was to prank them with a drunken suicide call, a rather convincing one too because the woman drank so much she could pretend to be drunk in her sleep.

Even hours later, Connor still shook his head just thinking about how convincingly she'd slurred and talked about shooting herself with their Da's gun. When he looked back on it though, it had served as a decent distraction from Murphy for him for a moment, especially since at the time, Murphy had vetoed the shower and put a towel around himself just when he had heard their mother's declaration of suicide restated through Connor's panicked voice;

'No, Ma, what are yeh' doin' with Da's gun?'

'What the hell are yeh' doin'?'

'Pull the trigger? Have yeh' lost et' woman!?'

'Now get a hold of yerself…listen te' Connor now, I'm talking some sense!'

'Now listen te' me, me an' Murph are right here!'

'No, Ma, Ma! Jesus Christ!'

It was no surprise that Murphy had been thrown into a panic listening to the one side of the conversation, hell, Connor had been hearing it first hand and he'd been freaking out and eventually they'd both been yelling at the phone for her to stop and listen and shouting 'no's' and curses of panic…

And when he'd been sure their mother had shot herself because a gun most definitely had gone off, Connor had lost all thought for their nudity as he'd dropped both the phone and the ice pack when he stood up in shock and fright.

And after they'd scrambled to the floor amidst scattered ice cubes for the phone and yelled down into the receiver for their mother to answer them, oh how she'd fucking laughed at them…before proceeding to have a conversation as if nothing had happened.

Which wasn't fair on Connor, because while on her side it'd been a practical joke, on their side it'd been him and Murphy lying naked on the floor, or at least he'd been completely naked, with their heads and shoulders pressed together and their ears to the phone between them, their skin touching. And of course, Murphy had felt comfortable enough to be so close to him when naked that he'd rested his elbow on Connor's back as he held the phone.

Connor had managed by sheer force of will, not to let the closeness get to him, he'd forced himself to focus on speaking and listening to their mother on the phone.

And in the end she had indirectly helped him when Murphy had asked her- as they did every year- which one of them had been born first, Connor had hoped their mother would finally tell them which of them came out first.

Initially all her response to the question accomplished was to make Connor feel self-conscious of his nudity next to Murphy all over again, by saying that the brother with the bigger cock came out first. But ultimately, hearing their mother talk about their cocks had been enough to put him off any sexual feelings at the time.

Honestly, their mother was a real piece of work. The entire situation had actually pissed Connor off and then Murphy had made it worse, he'd made the self-conscious feeling rear its head again, when after Connor had stood up, Murphy had remained laid out on the floor in his towel while sizing Connor up as if to say 'I have the bigger cock'.

Connor had promptly decided that he had had enough for one afternoon of nudity and being alone with his smirking sibling who had very nearly made him blush with that look.

Jesus Christ, Connor needed to catch a break, which he hoped to do at McGinty's that night.

So the day had taken that second dip courtesy of their insane, evil mother's prank and then it had gotten good again. They'd cleaned up when the water heated up, dressed as they usually did, never completely identical but all of their clothes were similar enough, and then the twins had headed to the bar.

The crowd was familiar that night, all friends and even if not all of them were Irish, it was St. Paddy's day for all who wanted to celebrate with them and the atmosphere was great. Murphy's mood was still good too, despite their bad morning at work and so Connor let himself go as well, deciding to enjoy himself there at the bar, where he wasn't alone with Murphy so his feelings couldn't run amuck, where they could just be like they were used to.

Brothers and friends.

God, how Connor missed it being that way when they were alone as well and he wondered if it would ever be the same again. He doubted it though, not unless he could get his mind right.

It was hard though, and it was only getting harder to clear his mind of those thoughts while it was becoming far easier to allow them in in the first place. For instance, as the night drew on at the bar Connor couldn't help noticing Murphy's demeanor and how attractive he was under the white light of the bar.

Wearing a slightly baggy sweater jersey, the same as Connor's except for the color, Murphy's black and Connor's brown, Connor noticed that it was just a bit wide around the neck line, exposing more skin there as well as Murphy's rosary beads and his tattoo…the ink contrasting his pale skin nicely. Connor also noticed how the heat in the bar sweated Murphy's skin and his hair, giving his skin a subtle shine and his hair a slick appearance. Connor watched many cigarettes touch those lips and those same lips dispel many perfect circular smoke rings. He watched Murphy greet friends of theirs with smiles and the more he drank the more he smiled. He watched Murphy do shots with Rocco and just once he'd watched stray drops of whiskey dribble down his twin's chin temptingly before Murphy had noticed and laughed while wiping it away with the back of his long sleeve.

Connor also endured a cheeky smile and a chin up from Murphy at some point when there'd been too many people between them at the bar. He watched women watch his brother with interest and attraction while he swallowed jealousy and ignored the looks he got from a few as well. Connor endured the few seconds when he and Murphy were talking about something side by side at the bar and Murphy had grabbed his shoulder roughly, holding on as he patted Connor's chest a few times with his other hand while he talked. Murphy had then laughed openly and unrestrained at something else that Rocco said to Doc as he leaned his weight on Connor, who laughed along and did his best to ignore any inappropriate feelings he had at the sight and sound of Murphy so care free and happy.

But even with all of those feelings Connor was dealing with, the night had been going so well, really.

When it got to be really late, the crowd eventually wound down to only a few choice patrons, including himself, Murphy and Rocco, sitting in a row at the bar and talking about various things as they had a few last drinks and smoked a few last cigarettes in the already warm and smoggy bar. Connor didn't know if Murphy noticed that he'd done his best all evening to keep people between them, especially after Rocco had showed up, but if he had, he didn't show it.

Rocco was strategically settled between the twins right then, by Connor's doing and he was feeling generally good about the way St. Paddy's had been celebrated, he knew Murphy had enjoyed himself and that meant a lot, especially since he had no idea how things would be between them tomorrow or next week…or even a year from then.

Well, there went the good feelings…

And as if on par with his slowly plummeting mood, Doc informed them that the bar was going to close down. It was really shitty news, but to Connor's surprise, when he glanced over at Murphy, his twin didn't seem too sad about it. Murphy had always been the one who got emotionally attached to shit, so he'd have expected more of a reaction, but Murphy just looked sorry for Doc…and really tired…and really tipsy.

Then again, they were all pretty buzzed, and everything would be more real and far worse in the morning.

But fuck the morning, shit went bad in ten seconds flat when the Russians walked in.

Of all the bad judgment calls made when under the influence of alcohol, deciding to try reasoning with Russian Mafioso's was just not logical…and of course, beating the shit out of them when next they became hostile and then tying 'Ivan' the fucking asshole to the bar top and setting his ass on fire, literally…was probably over kill.

Fun…yes, definitely, but overkill…still, it had been really fun…

Murphy was still laughing about it as they staggered into the loft hours later, after Ivan had been untied and thrown out of the bar and after waiting for Doc to lock up safely and the rest of the guys had all left. Connor hadn't found it funny so much as deserved, also, beating the shit out of the Russians and torturing Ivan had been a hardcore stress reliever for him too, a lot of his tension had been shed during that fight. Connor felt a little lighter.

Murphy didn't appear to have any tension period, he had been relaxed at the bar and he still seemed it as he pulled his coat off and turned around to face Connor with a sway in his step and a stupid smile on his gorgeous face…and he was so adorable when he was tipsy, always sillier than usual and always smiling. He pulled his rosary up over his head and tossed it to Connor, who caught it just as he shut the door,

"That fuckin' Russian nearly ruined a perfectly good St. Paddy's, but weh' saved et'." Murphy commented with a hand gesture, his long sleeve hanging over his fingers as he pointed to the floor before rubbing the fingers of the same hand over his face and nose and then turning around again to rummage through his coat for his smokes.

But he'd dropped his coat on his bed, so he fell over when he bent down and ended up half lying, half sitting on the bed as he searched for his cigarettes and lighter.

Connor just watched, amused, transfixed, adoring…enamored, with his own brother and not sober enough to care too much about right and wrong feelings just then. As Murphy lit up, Connor hung up their rosaries and locked the door with a lazy smile on his face and as he went about removing his own coat he glanced over to watch Murphy place a smoke between his smiling lips as he lay down on his back and stretched out.

Connor continued to smile to himself, deciding to fill the silence,

"Yeh' think it was a good St. Paddy's Murph, did yeh' ferget we lost our jobs today?" he reminded as he watched Murphy take a long drag from the cigarette, relaxing with his legs off the bed and bent up, shirt riding up so his stomach was partially visible and one arm laying above his head while the other rested on his chest holding his smoke.

A memorable sight, it made Connor feel crazy with all kinds of wrong and too good feelings.

"Aye, an' we thought Ma shot herself an' yeh' got kicked in the nuts…" Murphy added with a look in Connor's general direction that was far from sympathetic, "…but et' was fuckin' good anyway, Conn, don't yeh' feel good?"

Connor thought about it as he approached their mattresses, stopping to stand near Murphy's legs for a few seconds before he shrugged,

"Aye, I do…" and it was true, he felt pretty good, their heads would hurt like a bitch in the morning but it wasn't like they had to go to work.

"Yes!" Murphy said loudly, raising his cigarette into the air before bringing it back down and looking at it a bit too closely. When he blew at the collected ash so it flitted into the air, Connor snorted softly at his near drunk twin and then he turned to walk a step away and sit on his own bed.

But Murphy had other ideas and when he grabbed the back of Connor's jeans waist and wrapped one arm around his thigh to bring him down, Connor was too tipsy to fight for balance and he landed face first on his own unmade bed with a heavy flump. He rolled himself over relatively fast with a curse on the tip of his tongue, but Murphy was up just as quickly, kneeling over Connor with a victorious smirk as he looked down at him.

When Connor didn't make a move to wrestle, Murphy sat back on Connor's stomach and spoke animatedly,

"Those fuckin' Russian fuckers thought they were gonna' run Doc out of his bar, Conn and we fuckin' stopped them!" he continued to speak loudly while all Connor could do was try to breathe and not react in an inappropriate physical way to his twin's closeness.

Connor was laid out more than halfway on the bed with Murphy sitting on him, his twin's expression lazy and amused, smoke drifting around as he moved his hand,

"Did yeh' see how Ivan squirmed when yeh' set his arse on fire? That fat fuck…" he paused to take a drag from the smoke while still smiling, "…I think I wasted two good bottles of Doc's wine though, when I hit that one guy…" Murphy imitated –sloppily- the action Connor assumed was him breaking bottles on someone's head.

Murphy had always been like this, since they were young boys getting into scraps, afterward he'd be bright eyed and giddy and he'd want to talk about it, he loved it, it was as if he came alive in a different way when he was in a fight or in any kind of danger.

Connor managed a tight laugh, hoping his twin was drunk enough that he wouldn't notice how nervous Connor was beneath him, never before had being tackled or wrestling with Murphy made him uncomfortable, but with his latest feelings, it all felt like he was crossing boundaries.

"Murph, could yeh' get off me d'yeh' think, yer' fuckin heavy an' yer' drunk." He said as pleasantly as he could.

Murphy contemplated their situation with a puff on his smoke and a raised eyebrow and then he smiled lopsidedly and nodded,

"Aye, I think I am drunk…" he snickered, tipping forward, making Connor tense just before Murphy balanced himself on his free hand and then he rolled off to the side and flopped onto his back beside Connor, also lying partially on and off the mattresses, "…t'was that last pint o' beer that did et'." Murphy informed, one eye narrowed, smirking and waggling his cigarette at the ceiling as he spoke and his accent always sounded much thicker when he was drunk.

"Oh really, was et' not the five shots of whiskey yeh' had before that, then?" Connor joked as he pushed himself to sit up, not wanting to lay there next to Murphy, who was so pliant and smiling, smelling like the wine that was in his hair and on his clothes and he was always very touchy when he'd imbibed too much liquor, Connor was wary.

Murphy made a face of agreement and Connor moved to get up after quickly and lightly shoving Murphy's swaying bent up knee that drifted nearest to him,

"I'm goin' te' sleep, Murph, so best yeh' be getting back into yer' own bed te' do the same." He said as he stood and started to undress, not looking at Murphy, even when his twin sighed quietly.

Minutes later when he was lying in bed with his back to Murphy he heard his twin mumble, 'Night, Connor.'

He didn't respond, choosing to pretend to be asleep…even if Murphy probably knew he wasn't.

And Connor doubted he would manage any sleep, since he'd be wondering all night what the new morning would bring for their relationship as brothers, with the depth of his sin weighing heavily on his conscience.

It had been a white hot panicked blur.

Connor sat up in bed that new morning, having pulled his ratty robe on cause the weather had turned cooler as morning crawled in. He knew it was probably before six AM, he'd barely slept at all and he could feel it in his head and bones just how tired he was.

He felt sticky from sweating alcohol and from his restless sleep, his eyes were sandy, his body was sore and his life had less direction than before without even a day job to go to, all he had anymore was Murphy and he was doing a great job of fucking that up. Connor was still putting himself together where he sat when Murphy sat up quickly, rubbing at his morning sleepy eyes, hands habitually running over his face before he glanced around their loft looking as groggy and as head sore as Connor felt.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, as they usually did after waking up, Connor always felt it was their way of syncing up their minds and feelings before heading out for the day, it was just the way things had always been between them.

And it never failed, because after a beat they both reached for their boots at the foot of the mattresses and they pulled them on. Connor knew they both knew it was best to get up and head out to look for work…but only later would it occur to him that the action of pulling their boots on first was odd, and yet, instinctually it had been the first thing they mutually did, as if they'd known something…without actually knowing it…

He only half laced his boots before Connor gave up to rest his head on his arms, on his knees. Murphy reached for his own old, discolored robe after half tying his boots and he was pulling it on…when the first shock came.

Their door was broken in with a jarring slam and crack, the entire flimsy piece of wood went flying right off the hinges to land noisily on the ground from the force of a six-foot-something Russian's kick.

Connor got his feet underneath him first and turned around but barely had time to register what was happening in his tired state when the shouting, hulking, vaguely familiar Russians from the bar fight the night before walked up to them. Connor subconsciously stepped in front of Murphy, frowning in hung over confusion, but before he could say anything he was hit in the head with the butt of a gun.

His head instantly spun and ached, his vision blurred and the Russian's shouting only made it worse.

Connor was aware of being shoved roughly, stumbling and then he landed heavily on his knees and he heard the Russian yell at him to cuff himself. He didn't immediately do it, for one thing he didn't have cuffs and for another more important thing, where was Murphy?

When handcuffs were locked onto the wrist of his left hand Connor's focus returned and he realized with a rush of breath just what the fuck was happening, he also realized there was a gun to the back of his head and he was being told to cuff himself to the back of the toilet.

The Russian, Ivan, kept yelling for him to cuff himself so Connor did, because when he glanced to the side he spotted Murphy being held up at gun point as well with a pissed off, worried look on his face and Connor didn't want to get his brother shot just because he wouldn't listen.

Ivan reached down and checked that the cuffs were fastened and then he grabbed the back of Connor's robe and shoved him close to the toilet bowl as he spoke in his broken English, and Connor listened, because Murphy was right there with a gun to his head, watching him, their breathing both slightly increased.

"You know why I fucking come here?" Ivan asked and Connor pulled on the handcuffs discreetly, sober as was physically possible right then, "I come here to keel you, but now," Ivan went on, shoving Connor again, "I don't think I fucking keel you," his words instantly got Connor's adrenalin pumping because he knew where that sentence was going, "I keel, your brother, I shoot him in the head." He finished with his hot, stinking breath on the back of Connor's neck.

His words were like a hot poker in Connor's chest, white hot panic.

And then Ivan moved away and Connor swore loudly, his mind racing as he yanked on the cuffs and watched over his shoulder as fat Ivan waddled over to Murphy.

"MURPH!" Connor shouted raspily and desperate, panic and more panic flooding his system and his eyes were wide and his breathing rapid now.

God, help him, he couldn't let them kill Murphy, he couldn't lose his brother.

"CONNOR!" He heard Murphy shout as the Russians yanked him up and pulled him away and Connor's panic was starting to bleed into his ears and mind as he watched them drag his brother away and Murphy was saying something but he didn't hear it, all he could do was see right then.

He could see them shoving Murphy toward the door between their hulking forms and when Murphy turned his head around to look at Connor…what Connor saw in his twin's blue, blue eyes made all sense and caution leave his body to be replaced by pure adrenalin. Murphy looked resigned to be taken to his execution -Is breá liom tú, deartháir… (I love you, brother) And penitent as if it were his fault they were in that situation -Logh dom… (Forgive me)

And that look in Murphy's gorgeous blue eyes flashed through Connor's mind as being identical to those last moments in the dream/nightmare he'd had so many weeks ago where Murphy had died right in front of him and all of his focus had been in his eyes as he had tried to stay with Connor for as long as he could.

Connor didn't even hear himself scream Murphy's name.

The noise in his mind and blood rushing in his ears from the joint adrenalin and panic he and Murphy were sharing was cacophonous, he just lost it.

He only knew one thing.

Murphy was not going to die, he would not let it happen.

He absently prayed in his mind for God to give him the strength to save his brother as he screamed and struggled violently to dislodge the toilet, his wrists were bleeding as he fought to get his hands free…so he could get to Murphy. Connor had to save his one and only and most important, his beloved, his brother, and as their rosaries swayed on the wall across the loft…

...Connor found the strength.

Connor came to with light slapping to his cheek and he immediately registered sharp pains shooting through his right leg, his back and into his head and he grimaced deeply, squeezing his eyes shut.

"…-onner, wake up, Connor?" it was Murphy's voice and the slapping hand was now holding his face, two hands were holding his face, cold fingers pressing into the point where his pulse could be felt and then they were feeling over his jaw and collar bone, "Connor, can yeh' hear me?" he sounded breathless and worried and very quiet.

Connor forced himself to open his eyes even though it hurt to, the side of his head and face throbbed and felt cold and wet,
"Mur…Murph?" he heard himself rasp out.

"Jesus Christ…" Murphy breathed out, "…thank you Lord," Connor felt his head carefully cradled in Murphy's hands, "Connor, Conn, look at me." He instructed in a gentle voice.

Connor's vision took a few seconds to focus but when it did he found himself in what looked like an alley, he was propped up against a wall, wearing nothing but his boxers and the robe he'd put on that morning, as was Murphy, from when they'd just woken up…right before…

Oh shit.

"Murph, are yeh' okay?" Connor lurched forward as everything flooded back in memory, his hands reaching out to feel over anywhere he could reach on his twin.

Murphy grabbed his shoulder and held the back of his head as he knelt over Connor's legs on the cold hard concrete and he gently pressed Connor back to rest against wall,

"Calm down, I'm fine yeh' crazy bastard…" it was said with so much fondness Connor had to smile, "…yer' lucky you aren't fuckin' dead." That was said with a hint of fear and Connor blinked his sibling's pale, sweaty face into proper focus.

Connor felt relief wash over him and he smiled at the sight, Murphy was fine, aside from a small cut above his right eye that he had from the bar fight the previous night, he was just fine, more than fine…

He was alive.

Connor grimaced after a moment of staring at Murphy when the pain in his body made itself known again,

"We haf'te' get yeh' to the hospital Connor, I couldn't carry yeh', et's too far. I needed yeh' awake so I can call a cab." Murphy explained quietly, even though they were in an empty, unfamiliar alley.

"Where are we?" Connor asked as he raised a hand to try and rub his head, only to find the other hand came with it, along with a sharp sting where his wrists were bleeding from the still attached handcuffs.

Oh right. That happened.

"We're a few blocks from home, had te' get us away in case the police showed up." Murphy answered with a raise of his right eyebrow, as if it were obvious. Connor nodded then, thinking over just how far the nearest public hospital was, at least a couple of miles away, probably more so Murphy would not have been able to carry him, especially not in the state they appeared.

Still, Connor had to wonder,

"Murph, we don't have money fer' a cab, let alone the hospital…" he grimaced again as pain moved through his leg. It didn't feel like it was a break or anything though, so he was sure it was just a sprain or superficial injury.

"Aye, we do…" Murphy said and –still kneeling as if it didn't hurt- he leaned over to the green paper bag that had been just beside Connor and he reached inside, glancing around before pulling out a thick roll of cash with a smirk on his lips.

Connor frowned in amazement before he raised a hand and tried to take it but Murphy pulled it away and dropped it back in the bag,

"Don't get blood on et', we have te' use et'." He said logically and Connor looked at his blood stained hands- due to his bleeding wrists- while nodding in agreement, "I'm gonna' call a cab across the street, I'll be back in a minute, alright?" Murphy asked, still looking slightly worried.

Connor just nodded again, trusting Murphy to get him to the hospital, and he leaned back against the wall to rest his sore body after Murphy disappeared around the corner at the end of the alley.

Going from the alley to the hospital and finally to the police station left Connor exhausted, he was glad he'd at least gotten to eat something during their questioning by Smecker, because he'd been seriously fucking hungry. Murphy hadn't eaten though and while it had concerned Connor, he wasn't in the habit of nagging his twin with stupid motherly shit like that. If Murphy was hungry, he'd find something to eat.

True enough, after they'd sorted out their story with the police and had been given the okay to spend the night at the station, Murphy had taken some of the money they'd kept on them and he'd raided the station's vending machine. They dined on various potato and corn chips with Pepsi's that night, where they were set up in a holding cell furthest in the back of the police station and it was surprisingly quiet, also the unevenly plastered walls and cracks in the ceiling sort of reminded Connor of their loft.

He pointed it out to Murphy and that earned him a snort and snicker that turned into a laugh. Connor soaked it up.

Feeling as generally shitty as he did with a head wound and a pulled leg muscle, he was feeding straight off Murphy's energy and he knew it was affecting his twin, Murphy looked tired, he looked unsettled, much like Connor felt.

But they were together and alive, and so Murphy gave his strength unbidden, in any form Connor needed, even if it was just comfortable, exhausted silence between them.

That night when the police station holding cells were in darkness and the place was as silent as a grave all the way in the back, Connor lay awake in the strangely comfortable cell bed more than a meter away from Murphy, because the cell beds were bolted to the floor and couldn't be moved.

He let his mind drift back to that morning, to his adrenalin driven feat of strength, to his mind blurring fear and anger and to the look on Murphy's face that had revealed that his twin was prepared to die without a fight if it meant Connor would live. But even if the Russians hadn't doubled back up to shoot him, Connor would have been dead…he would have killed himself, just as he had in his dream.

He sighed quietly and rolled his head to the side to look at Murphy, his twin's eyes were closed and his breathing was even but Connor didn't know if he was actually asleep, although he looked it and he felt relaxed. Murphy was probably really exhausted after the day they'd had, so much so that the noise in Connor's head wouldn't even keep him awake, Connor was glad.

His eyes slowly trailed over Murphy, his twin was asleep on his back, both of them almost always did or ended up that way in their sleep. Murphy was shirtless, his rosary lay on his chest, the beads of the chain dipping and rising with the contours of his torso right down to the cross which rested on Murphy's lightly muscled abdomen. He had his boots and jeans on, as did Connor and above their heads were their rolled up coats.

Rocco had brought their coats and other essentials to the precinct earlier.

Connor's gaze lingered and roamed over his twin, Murphy was seemingly asleep and they'd nearly died that morning, so he allowed himself this sin, the sin of coveting his own brother, in soul and mind and flesh…

That morning…Connor remembered praying, screaming in his mind for God to give him the strength to save his brother and he'd been granted the strength, he'd ripped the toilet from its piping and placement in the solid concrete,

'Despite my abominable sins toward Murphy in my thoughts…God granted me strength,' he averted his gaze back to the ceiling, 'he hasn't forsaken me my chance to repent.' Connor raised a hand and brought it to rub at one of his bandaged wrists and he alternated after a moment before he held his cross in the palm of his hand, maybe this was his chance to ask God personally for forgiveness.

He fingered his cross as he listened to Murphy's even breathing and thought of how he'd wanted some time alone with Murphy in all the hustle after that morning, to ask if he was really alright, to talk about what had happened, every fine detail, but in the end they hadn't talked about it.

He felt like they needed to though, because Connor had come so close to losing Murphy it had jarred something within him, driven him to a point beyond his control.

As he lay awake he also thought of the dream that had set him on the path of sinful thought, the one in which Murphy had been dying and how the pain of the impending loss and the desperation had driven him to…to kiss Murphy.

In that dream moment it was as if it had been something Connor had felt he'd be losing if he never took it, as if it was a deep desire he'd only acted on because in a moment they'd have both been dead and in that moment heaven and hell were inconsequential, it had just been blood and pain and death and Murphy and that kiss, that step into thoughts about incest and desire.

Connor frowned to himself, thinking of the desperation that had filled him that morning as the Russians had dragged Murphy from the loft. It hadn't been the same personal –almost intimate- scenario as the dream, he hadn't been holding his brother's dying body with blood squelching from a wound through his fingers and Murphy's labored breathing shallowly felt against his face.

So there had not been time to consider it, a kiss…a moment of taboo, sinful incest.

But the feeling, the desperation, the fear, the need…the knowledge that if Murphy died, he would follow, that had been real and it had been identical to the dream and it scared him all the more because he realized just how possible it was for Murphy, or even himself, to die in any way, at any time…

So…should he take that chance…?

'No…no, fuck…' he told himself as he squeezed the cross in his hand so tightly it hurt.

He couldn't cross that line, he couldn't tell himself it was right or okay…but he wanted to.

Damn it.

Connor swallowed thickly and told himself something that would solidify his resolve,

'Murphy would never forgive me.' And that was enough to make him stop clutching the cross and to relax enough to try and rest.

Connor fell asleep having completely forgotten to ask God for forgiveness.

Waking up with a feeling so fulfilling, surreal and overwhelming singing through his veins had scared Connor for a few seconds before it became clear and words and thoughts and understanding came together in his mind. He'd turned to Murphy in that moment after he'd sat up in the cell bunk and he'd seen his twin in the same state, blue eyes clear and sure. The words that had reverberated in their minds were simple and direct.

Destroy all that which is evil.

So that which is good may flourish.

The message…the command, had been blatant and divine and both he and Murphy had heard and felt it, they'd felt Him, if only for a few seconds in waking, he'd been a presence neither could deny.