Title: Here
Author: Maranwe
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just playing in the sandbox.
Summary: Connor needs Murphy to take care of himself.
A/N: I wanted to give ya'll a real fic, but I don't think I succeeded. They're seven-ish, here, in case you're wondering. And there's something about Boondock Saints that resists plot. But I tried.

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Connor pushed out of Mrs. Callaghan's class after school with an excited grin, only to stop short upon encountering an empty corridor. He had expected to find Murphy lounging against the wall by the door, to get a raised eyebrow and a gentle nudge in lieu of the actual question.

Instead, he blinked, nonplussed, hitched his bag further up his shoulder, and strode down the corridor. It was empty except for him, and his boots echoed loudly off the dirty tile. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shoved open the front door with his shoulder.

There were more students out here – even a group of them playing footie – but a quick glance proved that Murphy wasn't one of them.

Connor frowned. The hell? In four years of schooling, Murphy had never wandered off without Connor, not even during that brief period when they'd been in different classes when it would have been easier. Whenever Murphy had gotten out first, Connor had always found him either slouched against the wall outside his classroom, or slouched against the fence just outside the front doors.

Irritation sparked fast and hot – only barely covering the nauseating twang of worry that jittered through his gut. Unless his fool brother was being a fool, there was something wrong. Dear God, don't let something be wrong.

He'd thrash his brother good when he found him.

First, of course, he had to find him. Debating quickly, Connor slipped off the walk and tromped through the grass around the side of the building. The boys sometimes slipped away to smoke in a thicket a little ways off the field. They might have invited Murphy along or something, and if they had, Murphy would have gone.

Once he was close enough, he heard voices – taunts and laughter, the usual – and sped up, eager to see if Murphy was there so he could share his news. There were thuds, then, and a thump as something hit the ground. Then jeers and laughter.

He heard Murphy grunt – the idiot went and got into a fight – and practically ran the remaining distance.

His brother's name died on his lips as he took in the circle of older boys, the single, huddled form in the middle. Shock froze him, tingled from his head to his toes, cold as ice. Then anger flushed through him, fire-hot, and Connor burst into motion.

"Get off him!" he said. "Get the fuck off my brother!" He threw his full weight against the nearest brute, knocking him into the boy next to him.

The group looked up, and back up a little. Connor's fists clenched. Aiden looked him up and down, gaze cool, then he jerked his head. "C'mon, boys. The little squirt's learned 'is lesson."

They laughed, cruel and dark, and only Murphy's miserable, huddled form at his feet kept him from flying at them, fists leading the way. They'd get their day, but his brother came first.

He watched until they were gone, then dropped to his knees at Murphy's side and touched his brother's shoulder. Murphy reacted like he'd punched him, exploding away and flinging Connor's hand away. "Get off!" Murphy said. "The fuck did ya do that for?"

"What?"

"I didn' need your help. I was fine."

Connor rocked back on his heels. "The hell you were! They were beatin' ya to a pulp." His eyes traced Murphy's face, noting the split lip, the red on his right cheek, swelling up to his eye, the cut that oozed blood from his hairline. And they'd been kicking him when Connor showed up. How many bruises couldn't he see?

"I don't need ya to always be rescuing me, Conn!" Murphy pushed himself to his feet, fists punching anger even as he winced. "I can take care of meself."

"The hell you can!"

Murphy was on him before he knew what was happening, his fist colliding with his face and driving him back to the ground. Murphy straddled him, striking out with his fists. Wide-eyed, Connor blocked him as best he could and twisted, kicking out, trying to unseat him.

He succeeded, and followed his brother over, reversing their positions. He caught Murphy's wrists and pinned them beside his head. "What the hell's gotten inta you?"

Murphy glared, silent, lips pressed thin. His eye was starting to swell shut.

"You gonna hit me again if I let ya go?"

Murphy's lips nearly disappeared, then he cut his head sharply to one side. Deciding it was good enough, Connor pushed up with his hands and scrambled back. He watched from several feet away as Murphy sat up and climbed to his feet.

They didn't talk the whole way home. Connor made sure to stay a step behind, just in case.

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After they got home, Murphy avoided him. If Connor followed him into a room, Murphy found a reason to leave it. Connor quickly found he didn't want to be in the same room with Murphy, either, and left his brother to help Ma in the kitchen.

Instead, he gathered the laundry and took out the trash. And when Ma finally sent them away to do homework, Connor retreated to their bedroom, leaving the living room to Murphy.

Ma hadn't said anything about the bruises or blood on Murphy's face when they got home, just gave him a long look then sent him to the bathroom to clean up. Connor had avoided her eyes, tense as a guitar string while he waited for her to demand what had happened. She hadn't, though, and the omission unnerved him.

H dreaded dinner, certain then that the subject would come up and they wouldn't be able to avoid it. He wasn't certain he wanted to, but he didn't think he could talk about it. Seeing it – Murphy curled up and helpless, silent as the older boys kicked and mocked him – had been bad enough. He didn't think he could relate it. He was sure Murphy didn't want him to.

No matter how mad he was at his twin or how little he understood what his brother was thinking, he still knew he had to have his back. They were twins.

He hadn't made any progress on his homework by the time Ma called them down for dinner.

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Tension hummed beneath the measured chewing at the dinner table of the MacManus household. Most of that chewing was done by Ma and Murphy, but Connor managed as many bites as he could. He didn't dare look up from his plate.

Murphy didn't, either, his bites too methodical to allow attention for anything but his plate.

Connor supposed getting the shit kicked out of you worked up an appetite.

His lips twisted bitterly at the uncharitable thought, and he barely stopped himself from tossing down his fork. He forced himself to take two big bites in compensation for his lapse, and had to chew the second extra slow to keep from throwing up.

"So, boys," Ma said suddenly, "how was your day?"

"Fine, Ma," Murphy answered, barely pausing. Connor echoed, "fine," and drew a circle in his potatoes.

"Anything interestin' happen, then?"

"Mrs. Callaghan had Connor stay back after class," Murphy volunteered.

Connor glared at him, but his brother never looked up. The lousy snake! For all he knew, Connor had gotten in trouble.

"That so?" Ma said.

Connor swallowed hard. "Aye."

"What'd she want, then?"

His glance slanted to his brother. He'd wanted to tell Murphy first – had thought for sure he'd be able to. Then he'd had to go and be a jerk – a double jerk, really, starting the fight that kept them from talking, then offering him up as sacrifice to Ma. Payback, then. "She wants me ta represent our class in the school Spelling Bee," he said.

The relentless click of spoon on dish faltered, but though Connor watched, Murphy didn't look up. He tucked his chin closer to his chest and resumed eating, faster.

"Is that right?"

"It tis, aye."

"Well," Ma said. "Well, all right, then. And you, Murphy? Did anything happen with you?"

"No," Murphy said. "Nothing."

Connor didn't dare look up, and Ma didn't ask again.

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Laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, Connor's fingers moved over invisible rosary beads. His bit his lip as his thoughts circled back to "I should try to talk to him again" and immediately stumbled on "but what if he gets mad at me," again, after.

Then I guess he gets mad at me. His fingers clenched the bedspread, physically holding onto that resolve as he turned his head to look at Murphy's bed, five feet distant. "Murph?" he said. "You awake?"

A long silence followed, during which Connor feared all his agonizing had been in vain. Then he heard, "Aye."

"Are you still mad at me?" Connor cringed and held his breath – that wasn't what he'd meant to ask! But the answer mattered.

"I can take care of myself, ya know."

He did, but – "It didn't look like you were taking care of much of anything."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Indignation stiffened his body. "So tell me."

For a minute, Connor didn't think he would. The silence stretched long again. And when he finally spoke, Murphy's voice was soft. "They said they'd let me in."

Connor waited for more, before realizing that was it. Confusion muddied his thoughts. There was no question about who "they" was, but. . . . "In where?"

"In."

Into their gang. The realization struck Connor hard, like a sucker-punch to the gut. "And all you had to do was let them beat the shit out of you?"

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

Connor rolled up on his elbow, but the room was too dark to make out more than a darker lump of shadow where his brother should be. He glared anyway, guessing. "What I don't understand is why you wanna be part of that piss-pot gang in the first place."

The bedclothes rustled. "I jus' do, all right."

"No."

The silence grew thick and deep, and Connor knew he had his answer. Whether or not Murphy had been mad at him when their conversation started, he was made at him now. It frustrated him.

"Ma don't allow no fightin' at school."

"I wasn't fightin'."

And he hadn't been. He'd been down and out and curled helpless in a ball, trying not to cry out and whimpering instead. What if one of them boys had kicked too hard and given Murphy more than bruises?

He could've died. The same chill that had frozen him in place on the field froze his heart.

His lips felt numb. "Hey, Murph?"

"What?"

"Promise me you'll always take care of yerself."

"What?" He saw movement and knew Murphy had propped himself on his elbow.

Connor swallowed hard. "Promise me you'll always take care of yerself. No matter what."

"Why?"

Connor felt himself shaking. "I need ya to."

"Why?"

"Murphy, please."

The bed creaked. Murphy had sat up properly. "All right."

"Promise."

"I promise."

"And you won't just let anyone beat up on you ever again? You'll take care o' yerself?"

"Aye."

Connor nodded, even though he knew Murphy couldn't see him, knew the motion was jerky because his muscles weren't responding right. His breath hitched out of nowhere. Then Murpy's arms were around him.

He'd missed when his brother got out of bed, but he wrapped his arms around his back just the same and pressed his head into the crook of Murphy's neck. He shuddered and clenched his eyes against hot tears, and through the misery wondered where this emotion had come from.

Murphy's arms pulled him closer. "I'm here, Conn. Yer Murphy's here. I'm all right. I promise."

He nodded against his brother's shoulder and tried to stop crying.

"I'm here. I promise."