The flight had been a long one, and had gone as well as anyone could hope. It hadn't crashed, it hadn't been delayed, and Murphy had slept through most of it, eventually settling against his brother's shoulder. And when he woke up towards the end of the flight, he had little choice but to stay there thanks to Connor leaning against him in return. Must have made for a real cute picture, but the truth was they were both nervous. This was their first time moving away from home, their first time leaving their mother and finding their own place. Why they'd decided on Boston, neither could say for sure – it'd just felt right.

Neither needed to say how they were feeling; it was plain enough for the other to see. So for the remaining hour they'd been happy enough to doze against one another, Connor moving only to cover Murphy with his jacket, and slide open the window shutter as they'd begun their descent into Boston.

The cold wasn't anything they weren't used to, and as they dropped their bags by the door and flicked on the light, they saw that the apartment was pretty much what they had both expected. Empty, freezing, stripped down to the bare necessities. Not what many people would call a desirable place to move to. But it was theirs.

On their first night, they'd gotten pizza in and stayed up as long as they could, talking over the trip and what they should do next. It was such a surreal feeling, but as they gauged each other's feelings on it, nerves slowly gave way to excitement.

By the weekend, they'd gotten new mattresses – cheap things, but preferable to the floor – and there were hooks by the door for their rosaries. There wouldn't be any grand decorating plans here, no big TV or plush sofas, no real space to do much with. There'd be very little in the way of creature comforts, but it was theirs. Back then they'd only needed to worry about getting jobs, getting some money behind them, living the American dream if it even existed. They hadn't needed to worry about each other as much as they did now. It made them wonder if they'd live to see the day when they could go back to life like that.

The supply run had gone south and they'd lost both Aiden and Noah in the process, but there hadn't been time to mourn them until they'd returned to Alexandria. Neither were as badly hurt as they could have been, but that didn't mean they'd come away completely unscathed. The tattoo of the cross the Connor's left arm had earned a painful laceration, and he'd hit his head hard enough to stun him; remembering how it'd happened was more effort than he was willing to spare. He just knew it'd been Murphy who pulled him to his feet and gotten him to the van, and it was Murphy now who was cleaning and bandaging his arm for him.

The next on the list was just above Connor's right eye. While it wasn't nearly as bad as it looked, it bled a lot, and unluckily for him it'd needed a stitch or two. Seated on the edge of the bath, he didn't talk as Murphy worked on cleaning the blood from his face. He didn't tease him about how gentle he was being or how he needed to work on his bedside manner. Only glanced up every now and then when he had the chance. When Murphy was in this sort of mood, Connor knew not to push him. He'd asked how he was to test the water, and Murphy hadn't snapped at or ignored him. Just answered quietly, seriously. He'd even apologised when he'd felt Connor tense as he'd put the first stitch in. Whether or not Murphy would tell him what was on his mind, Connor didn't know – he could only hope he would.

Connor still had the scars around his wrists. They were faded now, ancient compared to the ones he'd earned in the last year, but still there. They'd caught Murphy's eye when they'd been driving back; he'd been helping Connor wrap it and apply pressure when he'd noticed them, and while he'd pushed the memory right to the back of his mind until this urgency had passed, he couldn't keep it there indefinitely.

He'd always known they were there, and yet when he'd seen them this time it was like it was the first time. They'd taken him straight back to when he'd been put on his knees in that alleyway. It was a weird time for the memory to be triggered. It was a big event in their lives, sure – but there was no reason for it to come back so vividly now.

As the day wore on and turned to night, he'd stayed out on the porch swing, letting his mind wander even further back. It felt like it'd been a lifetime ago that the two of them had packed up and left Ireland behind. Christ, they hadn't known what the fuck they were doing, had barely any cash to their name, but they'd been young and wanted to start their next chapter and make it work somehow. And they were making it work now – the only difference was they weren't all that young anymore, and calling this house 'home' still felt foreign. Their old neighbourhood had become home quickly, their neighbours quickly became just that and no longer strangers. But the people here? Murphy hadn't quite been able to trust them, not completely. And what had happened back at the warehouse had told him why.

They didn't know what they were doing. They were scared and unprepared and skittish – Nicholas had proved that earlier on, and it had gotten two people killed. It'd put Tara in critical condition and gotten Connor hurt. Maybe it would fall to them to teach them, maybe that was why God had sent them here. To give them a break but also give them a new purpose.

He had no fucking idea.

It wasn't quite real, even after the week or so they'd been there for. The clean, running water and fresh clothes weren't something either of them would pass up in a hurry, but Murphy couldn't shrug the feeling that it could only get worse from here. It was a feeling he almost wished he could ignore – after so much had been thrown their way, he wanted this to work one way or another. He needed it to work.

If Murphy was anything, he was a creature of habit. Sitting out on the porch when he couldn't sleep or needed to think had become his latest one, and as always, Connor had learned how to read him. If he was out there, it meant he was safe to be approached should Connor want to. If Murphy was ever truly pissed about anything, he was a master of storming off, not letting himself be found until he'd cooled off. But when he stayed close, it was one of his ways of telling his brother he wanted to talk, but didn't know how to put his thoughts into words. They both had plenty of bad habits, and Murphy's tendency to bottle things up was one of his worst. Maybe he told God everything that was on his mind, and if he did that was a good thing, at least he was telling someone. Connor just hoped that it brought him the reassurance he needed.

When he'd stepped out with two coffees in hand, he could see why Murphy liked being out here so much. It was getting colder, but that often meant that the sky was brilliantly clear, the stars offering anyone willing to stop and look up a moment of peace. He'd wager that was partially why Murphy liked it, cold bite in the air be damned.

Connor was the first to smile as he'd sat down next to his brother, handing him one of the mugs before taking a sip from his own. With a muttered 'thanks', Murphy did the same.

The next half hour passed by quietly. The brothers nursed their coffees and said nothing, the silence between them as familiar and comforting as each other's presence. Murphy knew he didn't have to talk if he didn't want to, but after a little while when Connor finally did speak, he didn't ignore him.

"You thinkin' about earlier?"

Murphy didn't turn around right away. Just nodded, his thumbnail finding its way between his teeth.

"…Aye. Doesn't matter."

Connor let his reply hang in the air a moment as he took another mouthful of coffee, choosing to ignore the last part of his brother's answer. "Thinkin' about Noah?"

There was a long pause then. "Nicholas let it happen. Tried to drive off and leave the rest of us…he's a liability."

Murphy's tone was quiet and distracted, lacking the sharpness that usually accompanied his criticisms of others. This wasn't the only thing on his mind, but it was the most convenient thing to talk about. Maybe Connor wouldn't notice.

But Connor always noticed.

"…What else?"

Only now did Murphy turn to his brother, eyes instantly drawn to the cut above his eye and the bruising that had blossomed around it. With a nod at it, Murphy brought his mug up again.

"How's it feelin'?"

"Could ask you the same thing." Connor replied with a small, concerned smile. "I'm fine. What about you? You've been quiet since we got back, I know it's not just the shit back at the warehouse that's got you like this. Just wanna make sure you're not disappearin' up here again."

Reaching out, he pushed two fingers against Murphy's temple. It was a brief touch, but Murphy could still feel how his skin was warm from where he'd been holding his coffee, and while Murphy would have usually ducked away from his hand or swatted it away, this time he didn't move. They were both closer to forty than twenty now, but in the half light of the porch light, he looked younger. When Connor looked serious and worried, he looked his age if not older; with Murphy it went the other way. He looked almost vulnerable. A rare sight indeed, and not one Connor liked.

"I'm fine…just tryin' to work shit out."

"What sorta shit?"

"…Why we're here, mostly." He turned his mug between his palms. "Wonderin' if we're meant to be doin' more than we are for these people, if that's why we're here at all. Wonderin' if this'll go down like the Prison, Woodbury, Terminus – just up in fuckin' flames."

"You know there's no way to know any of that."

"Yeah…" Murphy shrugged then, his lips curling into a humourless smile as his brows came together. "It's all the same fuckin' pattern. We let our guard down when we think we're nice and safe, and it all goes to shit. We keep losin' people, we just keep movin'…"

"What do you mean by 'doin' more', Murph?"

"You've seen 'em, how they act. They've got no fuckin' clue…" He shrugged again, "I'm just wonderin' if we're here to teach 'em, you know? Maybe that's what we're meant to do, maybe it's the best thing. I just keep thinkin'…if this place gets attacked or raided, or if the walls come down, it's gonna be the prison all over again. There's a lot of 'em here, that's a lot of people that're gonna die and a lot of people that'll weigh on us. Back at the prison…"

"…You said yourself-"

"I know what I said, and I don't take it back. But we left people at the prison, people that couldn't defend themselves. That's on us."

Connor hadn't forgotten the prison or the Governor and he doubted he ever would. But he hadn't realised how much it had weighed on his brother. He knew that they'd do the exact same thing again when push came to shove; it would always be each other before anyone else. But he could understand what Murphy was saying. Perhaps this was their second chance, their chance to help save lives.

After another swig of coffee, Connor quirked a brow at Murphy.

"We can always pitch it to Rick tomorrow, see what he makes of it."

With a nod, Murphy averted his eyes, looking down at his hands, at the remains of his drink. Connor gently pressed him for more, wanting to know if there was anything else on his mind. It was clear as day that there was, but Murphy still shook his head. He didn't tell him how much losing Noah reminded him of how fragile what they had was. How easily it could all get torn away, and how deeply that thought had burrowed into his mind and wouldn't stop writhing. How he'd now be watching out for his brother even more carefully the next time they left the community, and how he had to stop himself reacting when his thoughts forced him to picture Connor getting ripped apart.

Connor didn't ask again.

X

As it turned out, Murphy's request wasn't high on Rick's priority list. They didn't know much about what was going on with the members of the community, only that they were your run of the mill neighbour types. So when they'd turned a corner later in the day and saw Rick brawling with one of the guys that lived nearby – Peter? Pete? – They were both more than a little curious. The two of them looked as though they'd been fighting a while, Rick's knuckles bloody and his breathing ragged. And when he drew his gun, they saw how the residents flinched back.

"The fuck d'you think happened?" Connor muttered as he leaned towards Murphy.

"Maybe Rick told him he didn't like the apple pie."