It was late, and the three men were still sitting around the messy table. The air was filled with smoke, and beyond the tiny dining room, the rest of the apartment dissolved into darkness.

Rocco slumped a little further in his chair, snoring into the table. Connor rubbed out a cigarette on one of the empty beer cans, sighing and looking around. Then he caught sight of Rocco's gun.

He looked over at Murphy, who was lounging back in his chair, swigging his beer. Connor leaned forward and grabbed the gun. "Whaddya think o' that, Murph?" he asked, tossing it to him.

Murphy caught it, setting his beer on the table so he could look over the gun. "Fuckin six-shooter…" he muttered. He looked up to his brother slowly. "They had to've known." He handed Rocco's gun back to his brother.

"Aye, I think so, too," Connor admitted, stealing his brother's beer as he looked over the gun himself. "Should we tell 'im?"

"You tell 'im." Murphy snatched his beer back, finishing it.

Connor tossed the gun back onto the table. "Why should I fuckin tell 'im?"

"You brought it up." Murphy reached out and kicked his brother's chair.

"Some friend you are," Connor sent back, smacking the back of Murphy's head.

"Fuck you!" Murphy snapped, kicking harder, knocking both the chair and his brother to the floor.

Rocco jerked up in his seat, staring around with startled, bleary eyes. "Wha?! What?"

Murphy stood up. "Ah, nothing, Rocco," he said, leaning over to help his brother up.

"Ye fell asleep, Roc," Connor told him.

Rocco blinked at them, then ran a hand over his face. "Fuck. Sorry, guys. It's been a long fuckin day."

"Too fuckin right, it has," Murphy agreed.

Rocco looked over to the freshly-cleaned wall, which was still stained with cat guts, and snickered.

"Bloody cat," Connor said then.

Murphy snorted. "Bad joke."

"Fuck you."

They walked around either side of the table, patting Rocco on the shoulder and messing with his hair. "Get some sleep, Roc," Connor ordered.

"You guys goin home?" he asked, standing, rubbing at his tired eyes.

"Nah, we figured we'd crash on your couch," Murphy told him.

Rocco waved his hand at them with a yawn, meandering through the mess and out of the room.

The brothers watched him go. "Aye, I'll tell him," Connor said at last. "Tomorrow."

"Good."

There was a heavy silence, and Connor and Murphy turned to look at one another. Their staring contest lasted milliseconds, before they were both tearing across the room, tripping over one another in a race to the couch.