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Rùn	By : Aja Category: 1 through F > Boondock Saints Views: 2160 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Boondock Saints, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rùn
- 1
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: R (Violence, language)
Warnings: (Tw)incest, m/m kissage, incredibly jumbled up timeline, chock full of angsty goodness, character death (implied).
Disclaimer: C&M belong to Troy Duffy, not me. I'm just playing with them in a non-threatening manner.
Summary: Connor makes a mistake, Murphy's a coward. ANGST.

Rùn
Irish Gaelic, meaning 'secret.'

["One Thing" by Runrig]
Share all your secrets, or hide them away
It's not going to change a thing

It seems entirely too sudden; the gunshot, Murphy dropping. He'd been running moments ago and now... He just drops, like a kite in a breezeless sky. Connor comes to a skidding halt beside Murphy's slumped form. Panic shoots adrenaline through him. Murphy? Murph? Fuck, will y'move? Connor begs, still hoarse from crying. He drops to his knees with a jarring thud, rolls Murphy carefully onto his back. The deep groan's definitely a good sign; the blood soaking through Murphy's sweater isn't. Oh, God. I'm goin' to hell. I'm sorry, Murph, I am.

Connor slams his gun back into its holster and hauls Murphy off the ground to the tune of another loud groan. Ssh, Murph. I'll get y'out of here. You'll be alright, I promise.

Connor, Murphy whispers. I'm sorry.

Connor holds on tight as Murphy sags against him. It's alright. You're alright. Just listen to me, okay? Hear me. Connor wants to explain, needs to tell Murphy why he did what he did. But his brother's slipping away already. The fingers curled around Connor's wrist are icy. Blood stains the pavement behind them.

It's slow going, but Connor's determined to get Murphy home, to take proper care of him.

...

What the fuck are you on about, Connor? Murphy asks, edging without thought towards the door.

Don't you know? Connor thinks Murphy should fucking know by now. What is he, stupid? Murph, don't go.

Murphy stops, three paces from leaving, hand already reaching for the doorknob. What do you expect me to do, Conn? You can't just tell me somethin' like that and... Murphy looks at his feet, his head shaking almost imperceptibly. You just can't do that.

What am I supposed to do? Say nothing? Connor didn't mean to raise his voice, curses himself when Murphy frowns, stares at him. He can usually read Murphy so well, but tonight... There's nothing there. No answer, either way, to the question that hangs in the air between them, unspoken. Connor doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this.

Don't go. Softly, asking with eyes for Murphy to stay. We can talk about this.

There's nothin' to talk about. I'm go... I... Murphy smacks his palm against the doorframe, frustrated. Fuck, Connor. Why now? Why tonight?

Connor opens his mouth to answer, but Murphy shakes his head, interrupts.

Fuck you, I'm goin' for a drink. I need, I need a fuckin' drink. The door slams, and all Connor can do is stare at it. The wood, the residual fury in the air, the empty space where Murphy was.

He is not, by nature, a man who cries. But his eyes fill, and they sting, and he does nothing to stop the tears from spilling over. Don't go.

...

He clipped me a good one... Murphy pants, desperately drawing in air, claws at the sheets as Connor slices his sweater off him. Tell me if I'm gonna die, Conn... I'm sorry I left you, I'm sorry I... The words are cut off by a sharp intake of breath.

Ssh. Don't apologize, just ssh and let me handle this. Connor is whispering, his throat too raw from crying. It feels wrong to touch Murphy at all, but he needs to, has to. He wants to say it was a shot in the dark, that he thought he saw... Well, something else. Someone else. But he can't find the words or the voice. Jesus, there's too much blood. I was wrong, Murphy, I was so wrong.

No. Murphy's chest gives a little hitch, he cries out in pain when Connor's hand finally presses over the wound. You weren't, you should have told me, had the right to tell me, I should've listened, I-

You're bleeding, Murphy, just shut the fuck up for a minute and let me fix you! Connor is fierce, angry, more angry with himself than he's ever been about anything. He reaches blindly for a leg of the chair that's nearest to him, drags it across the concrete floor; the scrape of it sets his teeth on edge, but the kit is on it and he needs the kit. I'll fix you, he says.

...

Connor smiles at the scene that meets him when he returns from the store. He doesn't wake Murphy right away, decides to take a few minutes just to enjoy the sight; the peaceful expression on his brother's face, the fingers curled around an empty mug, the hair that's fallen forward into closed eyes. He sits down carefully beside Murphy and just looks. The tiny scar just above his lip, the cut on his ear, the bruise that's fading from his cheek. Murphy, he murmurs, reaching to stroke the yellowish mark. Perfection in imperfection.

Murphy stirs at the touch, curls against Connor without opening his eyes. Took y'so long? Faint words, muffled in Connor's shirt. Was startin' t'think you'd got yourself lost.

Me? Never. Connor strokes Murphy's hair back, leans down to kiss his forehead. He considers telling Murphy in this moment. Imagines it might be perfect, because he seems so at peace that now might just blend into then, seamlessly. He could say it all, bare his soul. Face the fear. Maybe, nothing would change. Murphy might lift his head, kiss Connor's mouth, and say, Really? Then don't let go of me, Connor. Just don't let go of me. He might. Or he might say nothing at all. Now blending into then, Murphy remaining curled, comfortable, and it wouldn't be any different. It wouldn't be different, because they've always loved each other.

...

Murphy stops dead in his tracks. Connor.

Will y'listen?

Have you been cryin'?

That doesn't matter. Please, listen.

Not out here. Murphy takes hold of Connor's arm and pulls him further into the shadows. An' anyway, no. You listen to me. I'm not ready for this, this... Whatever it is. I'm not, and I'm sorry but I don't think I'll ever be. Conn, I love you, but... Murphy bites his lip, looking away. But I'm your brother.

D'you think I didn't tell myself that often enough? I've had myself in fuckin' chains for you, and I find the... Find the strength and it might as well be, I'd never shaken them off, never said a word. Don't fuckin' spout that shite at me, because I know every single one of the reasons why it's wrong, alright? I know. Connor presses the heel of his hand into his left eye, swallows the lump in his throat. I thought maybe you felt the same. I thought you were less of a coward than you actually are.

Murphy's eyes come alive, he slams his fist into Connor's shoulder. Fuck you! I'm no fuckin' coward!

Connor just glares at him, leans back against the wall. No? Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven't, not once in your life, thought about it, about me, about bein' with me. Tell me you've never looked at me and thought I could be more than a brother to you. More than this... More...

Murphy is breathing hard, Connor can feel the hot blasts against his lips. He closes his eyes, holds his own breath to better taste Murphy's.

Why are you doin' this to me, Conn? Why?

I love you more than anythin' on God's great Earth. I need you. Connor licks his lower lip, feels like he's falling apart. I want you.

...

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