Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Boondock Saints, nor its sequel. I wouldn't mind owning the MacManus brothers though.

A/N: Long time no see! It hasn't honestly been that long since I put a story up here, but it sure feels like I've been gone for ages since college started. Which I am not feeling; I'm stuck as a dorm student, and though I have a laptop, there's something about sitting at an actual computer that gets my creativity going, so I really miss my house for this reason. Anyway, I've been busy working with some new ideas and trying to complete the final chapter of another story for about a month now, but I knew I wouldn't have it finished by Halloween, and since I really like posting on holidays, the first chapter of a new Boondock Saints story will have to do! I've had this written since the end of July/beginning of August, and the idea came to me out of no where one night, so I sat down and wrote a quick draft that consisted of most of the lines in this final version.

This series will be made up of short one-shots that, as the title implies, revolve around specific moments in the MacManus brothers' life, from birth to possibly death. The updates will most likely be sporadic, but I will complete it, and I'm hoping for at least twenty chapters all together!

StarKatt427

When they are newborns, tiny and fresh and blue tinted, they are frightened, only just ripped from their solitary world of warmth and safety, a quiet place of flowing blood and muted sounds, all they've known since thought first became possible. It is replaced by a shocking cold, their lungs bursting open to breathe in alien air, the comforting darkness of their existence dissolved by flashes and blotches of bright light that hurt their new eyes.

The first born rages, screams his anguish and heartbreak as he's taken away from the heated life and brought into a world of sudden chaos, rubbed roughly by foreign objects that make his chilled skin burn and tingle, every sensation magnified. He wails for the safety that he's been robbed of, for the voice that's often spoken to him, husky and deep and oh so comforting, but more than anything, for the one he's left behind, the one he was stolen from; his has been a constant presence, a warmth that the older brother cannot understand being without now, but he cries for him all the same, unable to comprehend the loss he feels but knowing it's there.

When his brother is born exactly two minutes, twelve seconds later, and the first born hears him snort on air, exhale a terrified wail, his own crying intensifies, knowing his companion is so close yet not near enough.

The younger of the two, an ounce smaller than his brother, enters the world gasping, then crying, terrified and unsure and utterly lost, and there's nothing else for him to do but howl for help. He had felt his brother slip away from his clutching hands, had felt the void left behind, the space he had occupied for the many months they grew together, and now that he is in this strange world, surrounded by harsh voices and loud machines beeping and things touching him that shouldn't be, the second born screams for him.

When he hears him crying back, calling to him, it only makes his wailing rise in ferocity.

It's only when they are cleaned of bodily fluids and placed side-by-side, their bare skin exposed to the cool air but warming to a natural rosy pink, that the screaming comes to an end. The younger one hiccups, unsure how to breathe in correctly yet, while his brother lets out a whine as their skin comes in contact, deliciously familiar. Though their arms lack motor control, their flailing hands snatch at one another, and only after they have their fingers entwined do they quiet, bodies pressed snugly together and no longer afraid.

Seeing isn't required, just feeling, sensing, because it is all these boys have ever known, and for the first time in this new, terrifying world, they feel utterly safe.