Ties That Bind

It had happened fast. They had ambushed the six mobsters in their hotel room, taken them all out with well-placed shots like it was nothing. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. By now it had become second nature, almost routine. It was easy.

Maybe too easy.

The brothers take opposite sides of the room and begin their ritual, making their way to one man at a time, crossing his arms over his chest, placing pennies over his eyes.

Murphy moves on to the next man, reaching down to take hold of his arms when movement behind him catches his eye. He glances over his shoulder and sees one of the thought-to-be-dead men sluggishly clawing his hand across the blood-stained carpet, reaching for his gun that rest a couple of feet away next to his body.

And he is facing Connor.

Murphy steals a second's glance at his brother. He has his back to the man, leaning over one of the bodies. He is completely unaware.

Murphy crosses the space in a couple of strides, placing himself in front of his brother and the man just as his hand wraps around his gun and he raises it. Murphy raises his own weapon and fires.

It's not fast enough.

Two silenced shots sound out in union.

Connor turns around in time to see his brother jerk back and to the side.

"Murph!"

He stumbles, then hunches over and Connor is at his side, a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Connor ducks his head, trying to see into Murphy's face, unsure of what just happened, but dreadfully sure enough.

Connor casts a glance back to the downed man and affirms he is now definitely dead. A sluggishly leaking hole in the center of his forehead is testament to that. He immediately looks back to his brother.

Murphy's eyes squeeze closed and pop back open as he sucks in a breath, an arm curled around his middle. Connor can already see the dark crimson flowing from underneath it.

"No. No, no, no, no-" Connor mutters as Murphy's legs begin to buckle and his pistol falls from his grip.

Connor wraps an arm around his back, slowing his decent and sinking down with him. He lowers Murphy to the floor, laying him on his back and dropping to his knees.

Connor pries Murphy's arm off his torso and pushes his coat open. His favorite faded black t-shirt is quickly becoming saturated and Connor throws his palms over top of the small bubbling hole in his brother's sternum and presses down hard. As soon as the warm thick liquid coats his hands and makes his fingers slide together, he feels sick. It's his brother's life running through his fingers.

"No," he mutters again. It's unbelieving, desperate. "Murph" he pleads looking to his twin's face.

Murphy's blue eyes are bright with pain and a silent apology. Bright red begins to spill from the corner of his mouth and he winces, body jerking slightly.

"Not you," Connor begs in a whisper. "I can't lose you."

Watching their friends die was hard. Watching their father die was harder still. But watching Murphy die was impossible.

A strangled gasp escapes and more blood flows from Murphy's mouth. He looks into his brother's welling eyes. He can't force any words from his blood filled throat, but they've never needed words anyway.

Connor shakes his head slightly and places a bloodied hand on the side of his brother's face, the other still trying to staunch the flow.

"You stay here. You fuckin' stay with me!" Connor orders as Murphy's eyes begin to dim.

"We go together or we don't fucking go!" Connor practically shouts, desperate, as tears trail down his face.

Murphy reaches up weakly and places a slick hand on top of Connor's. His eyes begin to slide shut.

"No," Connor mutters again, as if saying it will change what's happening. "Murph!"

Connor sits vigil at his brother's bedside, unmoving, his hand resting over top of Murphy's heart, feeling it thump under his hand and feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest with each breath. It reassures him, calms him. It's a rhythm he knows as well as his own if not better. It's the heartbeat he shares with his brother.

As soon as Murphy's eyes slid closed and his breathing slowed and shallowed, almost ceasing, Connor sprang into action, unwilling to let his other half go. He had hauled him up, hastily but gently, over his shoulder and carried him out to the car.

He had kept a hand on his twin at all times, unable to severe the connection. Murphy's wrist was gripped so firmly in his hand that when he had finally arrived at the charity hospital the nurses had to pry him off as they took his brother away.

He had just stood there, unable to move, staring down the corridor that Murphy had disappeared down, covered in his brother's blood.

It seemed like forever ago instead of nine days. Nine unbearable days of Connor watching, waiting, praying.

Rosary in his hand, he takes Murphy's right hand in his own and clasps his other hand around it. He places knuckles to his forehead and silently mouths prayers and desperate pleas. He doesn't know what else to do.

Connor's head is down, his left hand wrapped around his twin's right, when he whispers, "Come back, Murph. Don't leave me."

The lax hand in his tightens, fingers curling around his and he looks up, hope flaring in his chest. Murphy's head is turned, looking at him with half-open and weary eyes.

Those slits of blue are an answer to Connor's prayers.

A small relieved smile graces his lips and he leans over, placing his free hand on the side of Murphy's face, and presses his lips gently to his brother's forehead.

He lingers a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and lets a small sigh escape as he leans back, not removing his eyes from his brother's.

"I heard ya," Murphy whispers, voice a little hoarse from disuse. "Heard your voice in the dark and I followed it."

"Aye. Ya did." Connor chokes, small smile still present and tears pooling in his eyes as his thumb strokes Murphy's cheek.

Murphy can see the warmth, love, and relief in Connor's eyes. And he can see the fear that had previously resided there behind them.

"Wouldn't leave ya," he says as sleep begins to pull at him and he begins to lose the battle to keep his eyes open.

"I know," Connor affirms warmly, his fear abating. He watches Murphy's struggle to stay awake.

"Just rest," he says softly, "We're all right."

"We." Not "you." Because one wouldn't be all right without the other. Because they're two halves of the same whole. Because they're twins but not just; they're brothers.

Murphy lets his eyes fall closed, entwining his fingers in his brother's. Connor rubs his fingers along Murphy's hairline and gives silent thanks.