Nicholas: I couldn't help writing a songfic on this awesome song. I didn't steal the song's plot (because that isn't creative, and I didn't want to kill the twins--sithy would murder me again), but I did use the theme.

Disclaimer: Boondock Saints is Duffy's "How to Save a Life" is property of The Fray. DON'T OWN IT!!

Rating: T...language...implied and slight abuse.

Step one, you say "We need to talk"
He walks, you say "Sit down, it's just a talk."
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through

"Staring down at you, it's hard to believe that just yesterday we were beating the hell out of each other. Heh…They say that it isn't my fault, that you're lying there all quiet and still, but I never really trusted doctors. So…I hope you can hear me say that I'm sorry. I just…didn't know what to do and…

Sometimes I fuck up, and you know that. You do too…Remember how you used to tell me that for every mistake one of us made the other made one five minutes later? Well, I made my mistake, what will yours be? Please don't say it's that you stop breathing or you follow that damn light that people always talking about seeing in near death experiences…because you know that would be a mistake, right? I need you here. Don't you fucking think of leaving me."

Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came

That girl had been asking where she was and who had saved her for the last week. The nurse constantly reminded Murphy that she wasn't in the clear yet and there was a chance she might not wake up the next day, but…he felt obligated to talk to her while she could. Because Connor couldn't. So he sweet talked the nurse in his brother's room to let him visit a girl in the children's center—a girl he didn't even know the name of. The lady eventually found some way to smuggle him in, both claiming that he was her uncle.

"Hi there," he said upon entering.

She clearer her throat and looked up. "Uh, hi. Who are you?"

"M'name's Murphy. I heard about all the questions ya been askin' an' I think I can answer some o' them."

For a moment she paused, her half-lidded eyes considering him. Momma had always told her to stay away from men with tattoos, but his face was kind enough to sooth her young heart. "I'm Sadie," she muttered with a smile.

"That's a very pretty name." Murphy got a chair and pulled closer to her bedside so that they could hold a proper conversation. "My…my brother's the one who got ya here," he began awkwardly, "He saved yer life."

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness and
I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

He had told her everything she wanted to know, as much as he could without lying. The last thing he wanted to do was lie to her, she did deserve better. Once they'd been done talking about Connor (someone that she said she wished she knew), she asked him what his tattoos were for. He told her about God and when she asked, he agreed that she'd see him one day. Sadie died the next day.

The nurse—now that he was back in his brother's room—patted his back and told him that it wasn't his fault. Sadie had been teetering on the edge, and it was surprising she'd been able to talk to him at all. Of course, Murphy didn't feel guilty about it, in fact he was glad that she didn't have to have all of those IV's and tubes and shit poking into her anymore. The thing was…she'd wanted to meet Connor, and now she didn't get to.

"I'm back," Murphy told his comatose twin on his way in. "I swear the visitor food they sell here is unhealthy so that you have to pay for treatment."

He'd come to the point where he stopped expecting a reaction. Laughing at his own stupidity, he sat down and took Connor's hand (as he always did by this point). Murphy had become used to the sounds of the heart monitor and the clicking of the IV thing, so that couldn't be the poor excuse for the fact that he looked like he hadn't slept in the whole week and a half he'd been here with his brother. The truth was that every time he looked away or closed his eyes he saw the wires and the tubing that helped him breathe and the IV that fed him lying on an empty bed. He preferred seeing the scars and bruises that were the reason his twin was here in the first place. It let him know, just by seeing him, that there was that chance that Connor would wake up and it would all be better.

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence

It was the most heart-stopping thing when Murphy saw his brother's eyes flicker open. At first he didn't think it happened, but then Connor squeezed his hand and coughed—most likely because the tube in his nose was anything but comfortable. The dark-haired man was almost giddy with joy—he just about fell out of his seat. "Oh fuck! Yer awake. Jesus, Connor ya have no idea how happy I am."

The blond looked at him, a foreign sort of cloud in his eye. "Who? Who's Connor?"

Everything stopped right then. The world stopped turning, the mind stopped working, the heart stopped beating—Murphy couldn't fucking breathe. "What d'ya mean?" he croaked out, "That's ye."

"Really?" Connor's voice was quiet and slightly bewildered. "I don't…think…Who're ye?"

No way. No fucking way was he being serious, Murphy wouldn't believe it. "I'm yer brother." What was going on with the is? He'd waited three weeks for his brother to regain consciousness and he had not expected that Connor wouldn't even recognize him. "That en't funny…"

"What en't funny?" The end of the statement dried out to a haggard cough, and that was followed by more. Murphy immediately called the nurse, as he should have done originally, but as he looked at Connor once more, he wasn't sure that he was seeing the person that had gone into the coma.

Lay down a list of what is wrong
Things you told him all along
Pray to God he hears you
And Pray to God he hears you

They had him sitting up in bed by that afternoon, but as far as his mentality went...They called it post-traumatic amnesia. When he had been away from Murphy, saving Sadie and most likely getting the crap knocked out of him by the guys who'd kidnapped her, something must have happened to him to make him want to block it out. As he was being beaten (mostly about the head and chest) and when he finally fell unconscious, his mind was probably too overwhelmed, so he threw away those memories, and accidentally everything else as well.

So Murphy was at a loss of what to say as he sat at his brother's bedside once more, wringing his hands for a different reason this time. Their eyes were locked timidly, Connor wondering what the hell was going on and Murphy wondering o jesus, what do I do?

"So…Connor, right?"

"Aye, that's yer name." Murphy smiled awkwardly.

"An' yer Murphy…my brother?" Connor got a nod. "M'sorry…I thought ya looked familiar, but…"

Nodding once more, Murphy waved it off—the opposite of how he was really feeling at the moment. "S'okay, I understand now…at least I think I do. They say it's probably temporary, but that it's up ta ye ta try an' remember."

"But if I wanted ta ferget, maybe I just shouldn't…I mean…ah, fuck, what will I remember?"

"I…honestly, I can't tell ya."

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness and
I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Murphy will never be quite sure what they had been fighting about or if there was even a reason for the argument, but he did know that it ended with Connor throwing a tantrum so bad that the doctor actually had to sedate him and strap him down to his bed. No one blamed Murphy except himself and when he came back in, the sour expression he got from the man on the bed made it worse. Surprising himself, Murphy had the first words and they happened to be: "Ya don' believe me, do ya?"

"How the fuck'm I s'posed ta believ ya when I can barely remember me own name?"

"I don't know, Connor, I just wish ya had a little faith." That was the wrong thing to say because directly after it Connor thrashed against the straps, almost as if he thought he could get loose. "Now stop that, er I'll get the doctor."

"Fuck ya!" he snapped harshly. "What d'ya expect me ta have faith in, you?"

"No, God."

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive on until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you followed

It took Connor about an hour to get comfortable walking without leaning against the wall. Once he'd gotten out of the hospital, Murphy saw an immediate change in his attitude. He smiled as he saw the sun and retained that expression even as Murphy helped him into their car. For a long while, he didn't look away from the window (watching as he said good bye to that hospital). "Ya never liked hospitals," Murphy commented, pushing in the cigarette lighter.

Then Connor looked at him, considering the statement. Eventually he shrugged. "Yeah, well I still don't." He laughed and tapped his door handle, almost like a nervous tick. "If yer me brother, then where's the rest o' my family?"

Clearing his throat, Murphy debated how he should explain that. "Well, Ma lives in Ireland with the majority o' our relatives…an' Da took off again, so I don' really know where he is."

"Again?"

"It's a long story."

"S'not like I don' have the fuckin' time."

He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

"Here," Murphy began gruffly. He was getting sick and tired of being doubted. "You don't believe me, just look at this." He reached over and flicked down the passenger side blinder and opened the mirror. Then he pushed Connor's head to the side and let his fingers run over the tattoo of the Virgin that lay on the left side of both their necks.

The blond looked at it like he'd never seen it before. "What the hell?" He reached up to touch it himself and noticed something odd about his hand as well. On his left index finger was another inked decoration. The word 'veritas,' which he recognized as Latin, though he couldn't for the life of him tell you why. And there was one more surprise on his forearm. "How the fuck did I not notice that?"

Looking to his brother, he saw a similar image of a Latin word on the index finger and a very intricate, very beautiful Celtic cross on the forearm. Without looking, he knew that Murphy would have a Virgin Mary on his neck right where Connor had it.

"Is that convincing enough?"

"So you stalk me, doesn't mean you're my brother."

"Oh fuckin'-A, Connor. Take off your right shoe." At that Murphy didn't get a response. He pulled over beside some vacant lot and looked Connor in the eyes. "There's a scar on your foot, it's shaped like the letter "C" and you got it when I accidentally knocked a rock onto it. Go ahead and look, it's there."

Skeptically, Connor pulled his foot up and undid the laces of his boot. Once that came off and then the sock, sure enough there was a pale discoloration on the top of Connor's foot vaguely resembling a "C". "It happened when you were ten," Murphy stated.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness and
I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Connor automatically went to his bed when they got home. He wasn't quite sure why, but it just felt right. He noticed the smirk Murphy tried to hide, but for some reason, instead of making him mad it made him feel like he knew what he was doing. For the first time since he was released from the hospital he felt that Murphy was the right person to be with.

As he sat there, Connor started to get fidgety, and he wasn't sure why, but Murphy seemed to be. He gave him a cigarette and lit it for him and that was relaxing enough. "Ya haven't smoked fer three weeks," Murphy stated simply. "Ya wanna drink too?"

Connor knew he meant beer—couldn't explain why he knew, but he did. "Sure."

"Shit," Murphy muttered, looking in the mini-fridge they had. "There's one left." At first he wasn't going to ask, it didn't makes sense to, but then he realized that Connor might…well, he just thought it would be a good idea given the circumstances to ask: "Ya mind sharin'?"

"Share? That's kinda…"

"We do it all the time," Murphy explained carefully.

"But I…I don't remember that. An' I don' really like the idea o' mixin' spit."

Rolling his eyes, the dark-haired brother took the beer by the neck of the bottle. "O don't be ridiculous, ya know we're brothers by now. I mean we're fuckin' twins, damn it."

"That may be so, but I don' like it. I'd appreciate it if ya'd respect my boundaries."

Connor had never said anything like that before, never asked Murphy to do that because they didn't need to. They trusted each other enough that there didn't need to be limitations like that. "What the fuck? Yer not makin' sense."

"How am I not?" Connor's temper started to rise again.

"Boundaries? Since when d'ya care? Jesus, I didn't spend three weeks an' some odd days in a stuffy hospital room waitin' fer yer eyes ta fuckin' open again so that ya wouldn't be my fuckin' brother."

"Maybe ya shouldn't wasted yer fuckin' time, then."

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness and
I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

It was that simple, just up and leaving. Connor didn't feel he had any reason to stay. Sure that man made him feel safer and shit, and he really was the only hint Connor got to whatever memories he had locked up in his mind at the moment, but who said he wanted to remember? Why would he want to remember something that he had so desperately wanted to forget in the first place? God never makes things like these easy. It was getting dark by the time Connor had managed a circle and was now 

heading back the way he came. He didn't realize it at first, but that didn't mean he'd change his course. He wasn't so mad at Murphy as he was mad the things that he seemed to know.

Something grabbed his hand, and then his other wrist before he tried to turn around and see who it was. He didn't get a chance. "Hey there, remember us?" was hissed into Connor's ear as a pair of arms—strong, fat arms—wrapped around his chest and lifted him off of his feet.

Connor knew immediately that he didn't remember whoever had grabbed him, but his instincts did kick in to struggle for the sake of his life. The fat man behind him dragged him back—and the overall mass of him didn't leave Connor much wiggle room at all. "Get off!" he shouted, trying to kick at whatever was behind him.

The fact that there were two men surfaced about the time another hand cupped over his mouth and long fingers dug into his cheek. "Hush now, this won't take long," a skinnier man snickered. He had a face that stuck out to Connor (and tortured the poor Irishman's brain for the lack of explanation behind the recognition.

Before her knew it, they'd pulled him into a vacant lot behind some fence so that he couldn't see the street—or anything else of consequence, really. "Who are ya?" he demanded, fiercely, still writhing against that fat bastard holding him.

"You don't remember us, do you?" But the thing was that Connor did. He just didn't know from where. "Put him down."

The skinny guy was in control here, that much was obvious when that big guy tossed Connor down on his chest and held him on the ground with one large hand pressing down on his back. Giant, sausage-like digits knotted into his hair and lifted his head back as far as humanly possible. Connor tried as hard as he could to push himself up, but weight plus strength equals What the fuck is this guy MADE of? Suddenly, a picture appeared in front of his face. A little girl with brown hair and dark eyes was crying at the camera because of what was being done to her just outside of the shot.

"This refresh your memory?"

It did. "Sadie," Connor stated, at first on impulse, but then he could think of why. A little girl had been kidnapped and he…

"Fuckin' right, cocksucker." Skinny Man had a gun. This he pointed perpendicular to Connor's jaw. "John and I almost got caught because of your bullshit."

John Valerio was the fat ass on Connor's back. His partner (or rather, boss) was Mitch Redman. An image flashed through Connor's mind.

How to save a life

Connor had shot and missed only because he hadn't expected to be charged and knocked to the ground without warning. He had looked up and saw the poor girl lying the mattress, beaten and abused more than any adult should be put through.

At the present, John held Connor up on his knees while Mitch made a repeat of that night—they'd hit him, knocked him down and then pulled him back up to do it again until Connor could really feel it anymore. It was getting to that point quickly. The blond man on his knees struggled wildly against the iron grip on his arm and managed to lean out of the way of a few attacks. "John," Mitch snapped, "stop letting him move."

"Let'im the fuck go." All three looked up and saw Murphy standing just at the edge of the gate. The way the street lamp sort of silhouetted him made the shadows of his grimace look almost demonic.

John twisted Connor's arm viciously, making the poor man shout in pain. Seeing his twin gave Connor most hopeful feeling he could ever remember having (and given what he could presently remember, that was saying something). But then that gun dug like icy metal into his cheek and he closed his eyes, trying to escape the situation.

"You must be the brother, right?" Mitch said, not fazed at all by the sudden appearance of another person. "On your knees or I blow his brains out." Straight-forward fuck isn't he?

So it passed that Murphy glanced down at his twin, met Connor's half-open eyes. "Murph…" the blond muttered, using the nickname for the first time since he got out of the hospital. His face was twisted with the pain that was also apparent in his voice.

Murphy fell to his knees, his hands raised in surrender and a sour expression staring down the two criminals.

How to save a life

Their biggest mistake was letting Connor hug his brother with that gun still against the back of his head as some twisted sort of "last moment" in life. John was just a stupid fat ass, but Mitch should have known better than to not check for weapons. Connor felt the holster under Murphy's coat and he reached for the handgun as slyly as he could manage.

"Well, what do you know, John? Brotherly love at its finest. I ought to take a picture." Those were Mitch Redman's last words.

Connor lifted his head from his twin's shoulder and raised the gun. "Smile, ya sick fuck," he muttered before firing. The silencer swallowed most of the noise, but the bullet still sliced into Mitch's jaw, shutting him up for good. Before John—that big oaf—had time to cock the pistol, Connor had turned and fired again, this time hitting that massive stomach. He gave it one last shot, just in case the first didn't manage to go through all of that fat.

"Murphy, are ya'lright?" He dropped the gun immediately and turned back to his twin, checking him up and down protectively.

"Aye, I'm fine," Murphy stated slightly indignant at being babied. He caught the other's hands as they searched his face and chest for anything life-threatening. "Connor, I'm fine, calm down."

The blond looked up, his eyes determined (though one of them was going to be black in the morning). "Fuck calmin' down. That's the last fuckin' time I'm gonna let someone try an' kill ya."

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness and
I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

"She died, didn't she?"

"Hmm?" Murphy dipped the rag in the water again to rinse the blood off of it. Minor cuts and bruises he didn't need a doctor to help with. "Who?" He dabbed at his brother's bruised lips, a bit of relief in his stomach that the memories were starting to come back.

"That girl…Sadie."

"Oh…yeah, she died in the hospital."

How to save a life

That night Connor was wide awake in bed, smoking a cigarette at thinking about stuff—now that he had something to think about. The word Saints meant so much more to him now. It was plural for a reason, he had decided, and it would stay plural. Whether he had the state of mind to know it or not, he wouldn't leave his brother. He made himself that promise and knew that it wouldn't be broken because Murphy would never leave him. Blowing smoke up to the cracking ceiling of their rundown, yet homey apartment, he looked to his right and saw Murphy with his mouth open, a light snore coming from his nose.

"Thanks," he muttered, turning onto his side and putting the cigarette out on the floor beside him. "Fer teachin' me how ta save a life."

"Any time, now go to sleep."

How to save a life…