One Blood

If someone had asked Connor where he would be six months ago his answer most likely would have been “right where I am now.” There was no indication six months ago for him nor his brother that things were going to change right then if not ever. The two of had fallen into an acceptable pattern of how they were living their day to day lives. A long day at work was followed by a night of sitting with the rest of the locals at the bar. It was not exactly a glamorous life, nor was it Connor had pictured when he and Murphy came to America when they were twenty-two, but neither of them complained and he could not make himself think that it was a bad way of living.

Now things were very different. The two of them were not sitting in their apartment sipping on a Guinness and arguing about whose pack of cigarettes that was; they were both lying on their stomachs, looking at each other, various wounds covering their bodies. Connor was facing Murphy and the two of them were looking at each without saying a word. From where he was, he could see that a deep cut on his brother’s forehead was not healing well and would most likely scar over. The circles underneath his eyes were so dark from lack of sleep and punches that he was not sure if there were circles at all. There were tears in his black shirt and his dark hair was soaked with dry blood. Connor could only guess that his own battered and slightly broken body looked the same.

Looking down, lying completely still next to Murphy’s body was his hand. They were less than a foot apart and it would not take that much effort to move his own hand and take his brothers. Looking into his dark eyes he knew that he was not broken, not by a long shot, but he also knew that Murphy’s will to live was starting to falter. After three weeks of torture that they had received by the Russian mob it was not entirely surprising. Connor needed to make sure that his twin was still with him. They were half of one person and if Murphy died then he would die as well. They were one flesh, one life, one blood.

Ever since they were kids it was fairly obvious to anyone who met them that there was something different about the MacManus twins. By the age of five their mother, God bless her soul, had given up trying to make the boys be friends with other children. Play dates would always go the same direction; the brothers would go off together and ignore the third child. The other children would laugh at them and tell Connor that he did not have any friends. Staring at them, he would point to Murphy without a word. The other children would laugh and say that Murphy was his brother and not his friend. The two of them would look at each other and then back at the other children, confused as to why someone could not be their brother and their friend. The joke got old when neither of them seemed hurt by the notion that they were outsiders.

By the time they were ten they had other acquaintances, but no real friends. People seemed to be moving on from teasing them about always being together and had just accepted the fact. That did not mean that the two of them got along perfectly all the time. In fact, because they were together almost all the time, they would fight like brothers and like best friends would. Wrestling, chasing each other around the house, fights that ended in nothing more than bruises were not uncommon and their mother seemed to be used to entire thing by the time they turned fifteen.

The wrestling and play fights had not stopped, but now they would deal with their anger toward each other in a different way. It was when the MacManus twins turned fifteen that they started smoking. Not wanting to get kicked out of school, they would go on smoke breaks off campus at lunch and after school. Connor noticed that Murphy seemed to enjoy it more than he did, but he would smoke with his brother whenever he asked him to. It was when they were sixteen that the town realized how different the MacManus twins truly were. They were on one of their smoke breaks between the end of school and going home when the three boys approached them.

“Get up faggots.” The boy demanded. Connor was not sure who this boy was, but he was older than and twice as large as himself and Murphy put together. He flicked his butt to the ground.

“What can we do for you, boys?” He asked, ignoring the “faggot” comment. The two of them were more than over the constant accusations.

“I said get up. You two got us all fucked over on the curve because you keep scoring so high.” The boy said, clenching his fists.

“Aye?” Murphy asked, blowing out some smoke, “So what can we do for you boys?” The boy had Murphy’s shirt in his hand and yanked him clear off his feet before his twin could even react. Connor was on his own feet, ready to defend his brother when the two other boys grabbed his arms and held him in place. Murphy spit his cigarette out, but did not flinch at all.

“You two are alike in every way, right? Do the same things, dress the same, that’s so cute.” The boy spit out before picking up Murphy’s still burning cigarette off the ground, “Maybe we should give one a scar that the other doesn’t have, eh?” Inside, Connor felt something cold settle into his stomach.

“You don’t touch him.” He warned, his voice low and dangerous, but the boy just laughed as he slammed his brother into the wall, pinning him there with one hand and turning his wrist up with the other. Murphy did not fight, but his eyes were dark as well, threatening, dangerous.

“You have no idea what are you doing.” He said, but the boy continued to laugh like their threats were empty. The two of them looked at each other and all it took was a slight flinch from his brother as he was being burned for Connor to snap. It did not take long for the brothers to overcome their opponents and even less time to knock them all to the ground. With broken noses and severe black eyes the entire town learned very quickly that one did not threaten one of the MacManus twins without having to deal with the fury of the other twin. Murphy still had a small mark on his wrist from that day and it was a constant reminder to Connor that he would never let his brother down again.

After receiving their calling and executing Yakavetta the boys had been traveling with their father for the past two months or so. Time itself seemed to be slowing down with every day that they would spend in hiding. It was harder now that they no longer had a contact to the world of the crime, but their father continued to assure them that everything was going to be fine, that finding evil men was not nearly as hard as they seemed to think. Despite it all their father remained so secure, as if there was nothing in the world that could hurt him, and the over confidence seemed to make Connor nervous. The things they were doing were far too risky to be taken lightly yet he seemed to make nothing of it.

“I don’t trust him.” Murphy said one night. They were speaking in hushed German, one of the languages they quickly found that their father did not know. Connor looked up from cleaning his gun at his brother. He already knew his twin did not trust their father, he had known for weeks, but this was the first time he had voiced it.

“He’s had plenty of chances to kill us; don’t you think he would have now if he was going to?” Connor asked, but he knew it was not entirely true. Whenever he could, he would stay awake for days at a time to watch the back of his brother until he finally succumbed to exhaustion. Murphy gave him a look.

“Like I wouldn’t notice when you’re asleep and when you’re faking it; who do you think watches your back when you finally pass out?” His twin asked. Smiling slightly, he shook his head at his brother.

“I guess I should have known better.” He sighed slightly and set his gun aside, watching Murphy carefully. “So you don’t trust him.” He made it a statement and not a question.

“And neither do you, not entirely.” The other man replied before running a hand through his hair and sighing heavily, “He knows the family prayer, but it would not be that hard for a cell mate or someone nearby to possibly hear him saying that. We don’t even know if it is a family prayer for sure.” Murphy had good points and he was not entire convinced that their father was so sure what they were doing was a true calling from God. The entire night that it all happened felt like a blur, like he was not entirely sure it happened. All he knew was there was this feeling deep inside, like he knew that this is what he needed to do.

His twins was watching his carefully, as if waiting, when the door to the small motel room opened and their father walked calmly in. Neither of them said as word as they watched him with their eyes. Peeking through the curtains, he spoke without looking at either of them. “The Russian mob has us completely surrounded.” The two of them were on their feet in an instant, Murphy rushing over and looking peeking out the window as well while Connor dug through a bag, looking for more ammo.

“How the fuck did they find us?” He heard his brother asked.

“It wasn’t that hard.” Their father replied and Connor suddenly heard the sickening sound of a skull getting hit, very hard as his blood ran cold. A gun cocked into place and he stood up slowly to see Il Duce standing over the unconscious form of his brother, a gun pointed at his head. “Reach for your gun and I will shoot him.”

“How long have you been working for the Russian, Da?” The younger man asked, tossing his gun to the feet of his father and raising his hands in surrender.

“Long enough. When we took care of Yakavetta problem for them, they approached me and offered enough money for me to take the job of taking care of their biggest problem; the saints.” Their father explained, reaching for the gun without taking his eyes off of Connor, “I was forsaken by God many years ago boy, He would not choose me to do his work now. I am a sinner, a fallen spirit, and I need to make my own way in this world.”

“So why follow us around like this? What was the fucking point?” Connor was talking to his father, but his eyes were on Murphy. He was so still on the ground, a deep wound on the back of his head, blood seeping into his dark hair.

“This Russians wanted your weakness. They want revenge, personalized revenge. Now pick up your brother and walk outside, they’re waiting for you.” Il Duce did not need to tell him twice, he needed to feel his brothers heartbeat, to know that he was okay. Kneeling down, he gently pulled Murphy onto his back. His brother was very much alive, but no doubt unconscious for a long time. Opening the door, he saw that one thing was not a lie. There, in the parking lot, stood a dozen large men, all pointing guns at them.

“So what is our weakness, Da?” Connor asked as he walked out into the open, their father at his back.

“Each other.” He replied evenly.

“Yes, that is not entirely surprising.” A large Russian man said, his accent so thick even Connor was having problems translating what he was saying in his head. “As soon as the world found out that the saints were not only brothers, but twins, any man could realize that their weakness would be each other.”

“Hurt one of them and the other will lose his entire grip on reality.” Their father stated, moving from behind them and standing next to the large Russian man.

“I wonder what would happen if one died...” Another Russian suggested and he knew that they were pointing guns at Murphy’s head.

“You kill him and I die too.”Connor stated firmly, his eyes going dark, “And it sounds like you want someone alive.” Eyebrows went up, but the large Russian man only nodded slightly. He knew he was confirming what they all thought, but if it saved Murphy’s life he would do anything. The head Russian nodded and few of the men moved around, pointing guns at their heads and pushing them toward a large white van. As he walked, he heard a single gunshot and the sound of someone falling to the ground, no doubt dead. The large Russian man walked past them and got into a different car.

He didn’t look back.

Tossed in a room with no windows and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, Connor could only guess that this place would be their new place of habitation. They blind folded him in the van, but he would not let his brother go despite all of their yelling. His jar throbbed slightly from the few punches they threw, but it was all worth it to keep his twin close. Carefully, he eased the two of them to the floor and lay Murphy’s head down in his lap. Outside the door, he could hear men talking in thick Russian about how excited they were to each have their time with them. Select words about torture were heard and he could only sigh, looking down at his brother and running his fingers through his hair.

“Guess I didn’t get the chance to protect you again, eh little brother?” Connor asked and as if he knew he was being called the younger one, Murphy groaned slightly and opened his eyes, blinking heavily.

“Fuck off, I’m not your little brother.” He mumbled and despite what was waiting for them outside he had to laugh a little.

“Are you okay?” He asked without taking his hands out Murphy’s hair as his brother pressed a hand to his forehead.

“Feels like I spent the night at the bar minus the burning need to throw up my insides.” He replied, opening his eyes so he could look up at his brother, “The last thing I remember is that bastard hitting me over the head. Judging from your fat lip I’m guessing we didn’t win.”

“Aye, that we didn’t.” Meeting the eyes of his twins, he watched as his expression went very serious.

“We’re captured.” He made it a statement.

“Aye.” Connor replied.

“Il Duce is dead.” It was if he was never knocked out in the first place, as if he was there the entire time, and he knew his twin knew all of this simply by looking at him, reading his eyes and expressions.

“Aye.”

“And there are a whole fucking bunch of Russians that aren’t too happy about our little get together at the Coply Plaza six months ago are waiting to make us pay for it.”

“Aye.”

“Fuck.”

“Aye.” The two of them went silent for a moment, Connor running his fingers through his brother’s head, trying to ignore the blood that he knew was on his fingers and the wound that was no doubt causing the one person he cared about more than anything so much pain. “Murph...they are going to use us against each other, they are going to try and break us and I am--”

“Don’t worry, I won’t break.” Murphy finished his thought without the slightest bit of effort. “Same goes for you little brother.”

“Fuck off, I won’t punch an injured man.”

It was the break in the case that Paul Smecker and the rest of the South Boston police department had been dreading. Just outside of town at a run down motel, a body was found that seemed to match the description of the man known as Il Duce. He was speeding now, with Detective Dolly in the passenger seat and Detectives Greenly and Duffy in the backseat. If it really was Il Duce then that meant all of the rumors that he had been hearing over the past few weeks were true, that the Russian mob was gunning for the saints.

Pulling up to the motel, he could see the press were already trying to swarm the scene. The four of them pushed their way through the people, being pressed to answer to the rumors that they helped the saints all of those weeks ago. None of them said a word as they moved underneath the yellow tape and made their way toward the body that was lying face down on the pavement. Looking down, Smecker felt his blood run cold as he pulled on his latex gloves.

“So have the saints finally turned on each other?” A highway patrolman, he could only the guess the one that called it in, asked from nearby. None of the detectives said a word, they were waiting for him, he knew they were waiting for him. Despite how little they knew, he respected the three of them for the risks they were willing to take to help two Irish brothers destroy all that is evil in this world.

“It’s him.” Smecker finally announced before turning to the three detectives, “Find the room they stayed in. When you find it you don’t let anyone in, do you understand me? No one.” They nodded before fanning out. He knelt down and looked at the wound where the famous assassin Il Duce had been killed. A shot directly in his back, a wound given by a coward, and he had not been moved so that meant that the boys had not tended to their father. If they had killed him, they would have folded his arms and put pennies in his eyes at the very least. There was something different about the Duke though. Tilting his head to the side, he could see that he was unarmed with only a cell phone. Reaching carefully into his pocket, he pulled the phone out and examined the numbers. His eyes widened as he stared at the last call number. The number was out of the country and the country code was Russia. “That can’t be right...”

“Agent Smecker, I found the room.” Detective Dolly called, gesturing to an open door. Nodding, he got to his feet and walked over.

“Does it look disturbed?” He asked and Dolly shook his head and Duffy and Greenly joined them.

“No, the door was locked from the inside, I had to use a key.” The detective replied as the FBI agent walked into the room. The first thing that caught his eye was the small pool of blood next to the window. Narrowing his eyes, he walked a little further in and found two black duffle bags, both filled with guns, ammo, and everything else the vigilant twins were known for carrying. That sick feeling sunk a little deeper into his stomach as he turned and looked at the three detectives.

“Where are they?” Duffy asked, his voice a little low.

“They were betrayed. Now the Russian mob is getting their revenge.” Smecker replied, trying to keep his voice even.

“Then we need to find them.” Greenly stated. It was always like the rookie cop to state the obvious, but this time he was right, “We need to try and help them like you did.” There was a long silence before the FBI agent nodded.

“At the very least, we need to find their bodies. We owe them that much.”

For weeks, the two of them endured tortures that left them broken and bloodied, lying on the cold ground of their cage with nothing but each other. That was why they were lying close now, bodies close to the point where they could not take anymore. Their resolves remained, they would not break, but that did not stop Connor from worrying that his brother was to the point where he wanted to die. The movement in Murphy’s eyes as he looked down at their hands and entwined their fingers and they held each other a little tighter. “Still with me little brother?” He asked.

“If they hadn’t broken my ribs I’d kick your ass for saying that.” Murphy replied, his voice sounded a little raspy, but it held his same sense of humor. It was a relief to hear that, if he had something different Connor would have worried that he was losing his brother, his other half, “Have we been forsaken?” His voice lost it’s humor and now he was looking into the dark, serious eyes of a man who’s faith was shaken.

“Let’s move or we’ll get stiff.” The other twin replied, struggling to push himself to his feet, but his brother did not move. His hand fell to the side, empty now, as he watched him move. “Come on Murph, can you move?”

“Not really, it hurts to breath.” Murphy replied as he tried to push himself to his hands and knees. Connor knew that a good amount of his ribs were broken and that his collarbone was most likely fractured, the slightest movement on his right arm was probably extremely painful. Kneeling down, he helped his brother move to his feet. The two of them shuffled across the room before easing down against a wall, both grunting in pain as they readjusted how they were sitting. He removed his hands from his twins waist as he felt Murphy relax slightly, his head against the wall, eyes closed. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What do you want me to say? It’s not like I know either. I’d like to think not” Connor touched the rosary around his neck, “but things aren’t exactly looking up.”

“Do you think anyone is coming?” He asked, obvious dropping the previous question. Looking over his brother, he could see Murphy’s fingers move like they would turn a cigarette while his other hand lay on the ground between them.

“Smecker was probably called to...Il Duce’s body. He probably knows we didn’t shoot him and that we’re not with friends, but besides that, probably not.” There was no use lying to his twin, giving him false hope because he knew Murphy could see right through the lie. Bodies and minds exhausted, he saw his brother sigh slightly before moving his head to Connor’s shoulder, resting it there. Reaching up, he puts his fingers in his brothers hair and kissed his forehead gently. “We’re going to be okay, Murph.” He whispered and it was not a lie. Feeling his brother, his twin, his best friend, his other half this close and still alive, still with him, still whole, after all they had been through gave him confidence enough. Resting a cheek against Murphy’s hair, he took his hand again, holding it tightly. For all he knew, he would never open his eyes again, he would open them and see a gun his face before it all ended.

And if his last moments on God’s Earth was next to the only person that mattered then Connor knew he could die without regret.

It had been weeks since the body of Il Duce was found and the MacManus brothers seemed to drop off the face of the planet. The world and the press seemed to think they were dead, but Smecker could not make himself think that. There was no doubt in his mind that the brothers were not running around free, but he knew the Russian mob well enough to know that they would flaunt the bodies if they had killed the saints. Left them out in the open, battered and broken, for all of the world to see, as a warning for anyone who crossed them. No bodies were found and that meant one thing to him; Connor and Murphy MacManus were still alive.

He was chain smoking cigarettes as he waiting for his last and final contact to call him. This was the last shot he had at finding out where the brothers could be hiding. If this one failed as countless others had he could only count the days before they were found on a church step with pennies in their own eyes. He did not want to condemn those young men to death and by not finding them, helping them, he would be doing just that.

“Any word?” Smecker looked up and saw Greenly handing him a cup of coffee. It had become something of a joke that he did it without needing to be asked now. Other cops said he was whipped, but Dolly told him it was simply respect.

“Nothing.” Smecker replied evenly, putting out his last cigarette in the ash tray and sighing.

“Fuck, are you sure we can’t do anything? I hate fucking sitting around like this.” The Detective replied, sounding frustrated.

“Sitting around is all we can do until we get a lead or a body.” Dolly said, joining them and lighting up his own cigarette, “right?” The FBI agent nodded as his eyes fell on his phone again. Even if it was a ring to let him know that two bodies had been found it would have been better than this feeling of not knowing at all. When it finally did ring, both Greenly and Dolly stopped moving as he his hand picked up the phone.

“Hello?” Smecker held his breath as he waited for a response.

“Word is that they are keeping two people alive in a warehouse in downtown. No one knows who they are, but the rumors are they are very popular for trying out new torture techniques. Hard as rocks and refusing to break.” The voice on the other line spit out the address quickly before cutting dead. Setting the phone down, he looked at the detectives. They looked like they were about to fidget themselves to death.

“Let’s go boys, we have a lead.”

Finding a small group of cops in South Boston willing to risk their lives to save the MacManus brothers was surprisingly easy. While the public opinion of the saints was mixed, the police department could not help but love the two of them for everything that they stood for. Going as cops without cops weapons or cars was fairly easy and pulling up to the address they could see a group of men pulling away. They eyed them carefully before continuing on. Tossing his cigarette out the window, Smecker looked at the warehouse that stood before them. No matter how they looked at it there were two people in there being tortured by the Russian mob.

“So how are we going to do this?” Greenly asked looking anxious. All around him were people looking like they were ready to go in there and put a bullet in every man.

“We wait, we need to know about how many are in there. For the next four hours we’ll take shifts watching to see how many men go in and out. We don’t want to bust in there and find that there’s thirty men waiting for us.” He explained, looking at the door, just as anxious as the rest of them to go in there.

And for the next four hours they all took turns watching the warehouse, seeing how many people would walk in and out and how often. Drumming his fingers on the dashboard, Smecker made the educated guess that there were six men in there at a time and they would change shifts every hour and forty-five minutes on the dot. Right after they changed seemed be to the most logical time to go in and take the place. When the time was decided, he watched as the anxious became the nervous. There was a good chance they would take a life or two with this, but the FBI agent could only tell himself over and over again that it was to save two people in there, even if they were not the MacManus brothers.

Something woke Connor with a start. Blinking a few times, he listened carefully to see if it was what he was thinking. The low, but distinct pop came from behind the door and his eyes widened slightly. He knew that noise, someone was firing a gun right outside their door, there was some sort of fight, and they were completely defenseless. Shaking Murphy slightly and moving his hand out of his brothers, he tried to wake him up. “Murph, Murphy wake up.”

“Unless someone is coming to beat the shit out of us again I don’t want to move.” His brother replied without opening his eyes.

“I hear gunshots.” The other twin said in a flat voice. That got his brother’s attention and he move his cheek from Connor’s shoulder.

“Do you think someone is coming?” Murphy asked.

“Or the Italian’s are pissed off enough that the inevitable mob war is finally starting.” He was watching the door carefully, but he saw his brothers shoulders slump slightly.

“Well fuck, let’s just cover all of our bases in one foul swoop.” His twin said sighing heavily and resting his head against the wall.

“Next we’ll have the Columbian’s gunning for our heads for killing their pushers.” Connor replied, smiling a bit to himself.

“In the end they’ll all get their fill of spilling our blood and--”

“–we can go back to be simple little Irish boys who smoke and drink too much while living in a shit hole apartment.” The two of them looked at each other, smiles on each of their faces, amused by the idea that after everything they had been through it might have just been the beginning. The sound of someone trying to open the door made them look away from each other and at the door, the smiles gone, waiting to see who was causing all the commotion.

The door opened and both of them stared in complete disbelief at the face of Paul Smecker, who looked extremely relieved before turning around and calling out, “I found them.” In a moment, the three detectives joined him and they all looked so happy. Moments later a few of the police officers from the department were also there, saying things like “if there was anyone who could live through that it would be you two” and “we all knew you were still alive” and “you’ve looked better.”

“Agent Smecker, what the fuck are you doing here?” Connor managed to asked, still in shock.

“I thought you boys deserved a proper funeral if nothing else.” He replied before kneeling in front of them both them, “I’d ask if you two are okay, but I think that is fairly self explanatory.” The brothers looked at each other before looking back at this man, this almost stranger, who for the second time in less than a year, risked his life to help them.

“We’re alive.” Connor asked before pushing himself to his feet before pulling his brother up as well. They both stood up straight, without leaning on each other, but he could tell his brother was having trouble standing up straight. They both creased their eyebrows and looked in the door.

“You might want to get everyone in here.” Murphy suggested, but Smecker looked a little confused.

“Why?” Detective Dolly asked.

“We’re not alone.” They both answered at the same time before the sound of gunfire started again. Listening carefully, Connor counted four guns, four men, two standing on each side of the hallway. They were surrounded. Glancing at his brother, he nodded as well as they spoke to each other without words as the officers rushed into the room, shutting the door and tending to those who were injured.

“Let us use your guns.” He asked before all of the men turned and looked at them, their eyebrows creasing.

“You can barely fucking stand let alone go out there and come back alive. Let us handle this.” Detective Greenly announced, but they both shook their heads.

“Our hands are already stained with blood--” Murphy started.

“–why should you have to bear that burden when we already do?” Connor finished. No one said a word, they merely handed them two guns each. Placing their ears to the door, they listened, as they often did when they first arrived, and could hear them speaking Russian across the hall.

“About halfway down the hall both ways.” Murphy said softly, speaking in Latin.

“If we fight back to back one bullet could kill us both. We’ll need to stand side by side each facing a different direction.” The other brother replied, keeping their voices hushed and in Latin. Clenching the guns in their hands, they looked at each other and did something they often did even as children; simply stare at each other, using only their eyes to speak volumes of words. Nodding slightly, they kicked the door and opened fire.

The feeling of a bullet barely scratching his shoulder was not as painful as Connor remembered it. They were firing on men that were more than ready for them and as he tried to be as precise as possible he kept glancing at Murphy. In his mind, he kept seeing his brother taking a bullet in the head, the heart, the back, and falling to the ground. And he could see his own world coming to a halt, his own heart stopping, as he too died with his other half. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw none of those things, but he did see his twin get hit in the rib cage as the last of the men fell to the ground. Murphy dropped his guns and clutched his side, dropping down to one knee. Connor was at his brother’s side in a moment, a hand on his back.

“I’m fine, it passed right through, missed anything vital, I’m sure of it.” His twin replied without even waiting for the “are you okay” question to leave his brothers lips. Looking up, he saw all of the officers watching them with wide eyes, as if in awe of them. Smecker walked up to them and looked them over, looking concerned.

“You need medical attention.” He said in a soft voice, but both of them twins shook their heads as Connor helped his twin to his feet. Murphy moved an inch away from his brother and stood on his own, a hand on his wound, looking very unsteady on his feet.

“Can’t risk it, we’ll be fine.” He said. There was a moment of silence as the two of them looked at Smecker and the rest of the Boston police department. The brothers looked at each other before bowing their heads slightly.

“Thank you.” They said at the same time. They all waved them off, said it was nothing, that they were happy to help, and everything else. They looked at each other one more time before they started to walk out of the warehouse and into sunlight. Breathing deep, they both closed their eyes for only a moment and took in the feeling of a breeze, of sound, of the sun, before looking at the cops one last time.

“Where are you going to go?” Smecker asked. Without turning around, Connor looked at his brother.

“Someone where safe, for now.” He replied before they continued down the alleyway without looking back. As soon as they turned the corner, Murphy nearly collapsed on the pavement. “You fucking idiot, had to be macho Murph, didn’t you?”

“The last thing those cops needed to see was their saints breaking down.” He replied as Connor held him up. He winced and removed his hand from the wound on his ribs, hand covered in blood. “Fuck me.”

“Let’s get to the bar, Doc has that back room we can hide out in.” He pulled his twins arm over his shoulder and helped him walk down the street. They walked in silence, but Connor could not help but notice that his twin was getting paler and paler. Looking over his shoulder he could see tiny droplets of his brothers blood on the ground. The walk was starting to wear him out as well and by the time he knocked on the door to McGinty's. There was a small apartment above it where Doc lived so it took the older man some time to shuffle downstairs and open the door. His eyes widened when he saw them. “Don’t ask questions Doc, please, we need a place to stay for a little while.”

“Yes, c-c-come in.” He stepped aside and let them in, “You b-b-boys can have the b-b-back room. Fuck! Ass! Do you need anything?”

“Bandages and things like that, as soon as possible, if you can.” Connor managed to say. He was completely out of breath and Murphy almost had his full weight on him now. Doc nodded and rushed out of the bar, locking the door. Pushing the door to the back room over, he managed to move his brother to the double mattress bed that was in the corner. Using all of his remaining he had practically throw his brother onto the bed. The motion took him down as well so Connor was on his hands and knees, looking over Murphy.

“That really fucking hurt, thanks for being so gentle.” His twin mutter, his eyes closed, words slightly slurred.

“I practically carried your ass your ass here and that’s how you think me? So much for you being my little brother.” Connor replied, smiling a bit to himself as he pressed his coat to the wound on his side. The smile faded as soon as Murphy did not react to the little brother comment. “Murph?” He shook him a few times, but he did not react. A sick feeling settled into his stomach as he shook his twin a little harder. “Murph, Murphy open your eyes, this isn’t fucking funny.” Taking Murphy’s head into his hands, cradling it, he leaned in close. “Open your eyes, open your eyes please, come on.” Pressing his forehead to the other man’s forehead, he closed his eyes and silently prayed, hoped, wished, anything for those eyes to open. “Please, Murphy, I need you to open your eyes. I need you.” And they finally did, he was looking into the eyes of his other half, he was alive. Releasing his head, Connor left his forehead fall on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try.” Was all he could say back. The two of them stayed like that for a moment, listening to each others heartbeats before Connor pushed himself away from his injuried brother. Getting up on his elbows, Murphy watched him carefully with his eyes. “You’re hurt too.”

“Just a scratch, you’re a lot worse.” He replied evenly before looking at his twin, “I’ll be fine once Doc gets back with some bandages.”

“Did you mean what you said just now? That you need me?” He asked. Connor ran a through his hair and rolled his eyes.

“What are you fucking stupid? Of course I do.” He paused before sitting down on the edge of the mattresses. “We’re not like normal people, even normal twins, Murph. We’re different, we always have been. We’re...”

“We’re one person.” Murphy finished. Leaning forward, Connor rested his forehead against his brothers and nodded slightly.

“Right, we’re one person. So that means you can’t go anywhere.”

“Same goes for you.” The two of them stayed like that for a long time, foreheads pressed together, close like that, before Connor found himself debating about doing something he had been thinking about for years. It happened on and off when they were both very drunk, but it was always dismissed as an A.R.I or an Alcohol Related Incident. This would be very different, something that would define them as brothers, and he could not make himself do it. “If what I think your thinking about is right then just do it and stop worrying.” Shaking his head slightly, he smiled at his brothers intuition.

“You never fail to read my mind.” And with those words they kissed. It was a soft, gentle kiss, their lips barely touching before they pulled away and looked at each other, the silence thick. Struggling to come up with something to say, an explanation as to why that felt as good as it did, that it should not have, that he wanted to do it again, when there was a knock on the door that forced them to move away from each other.

“I b-b-brought some b-b-bandages. Fuck! Ass! And a nun from the hospital that w-w-won’t ask questions.” The twins looked at each other.

“Do you think we can trust anyone?” Connor asked, keeping his voiced hushed and deciding on French being the language he would use. Murphy shrugged and the motion looked painful.

“I really think I need stitches Connor and you probably do too. We don’t have a choice.” He replied.

“Aye, come in.” Connor replied and the door opened, revealing as young nun and Doc as they walked inside. The nun smiled before setting down a small medical kit.

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised that I’m treating you two. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She said softly before she began to treat their wounds. She winced a few times when Doc would swear, but she stitched the two of them up without saying much. When she finished tending to Murphy’s wound she gave him a stern look. “You need to stay fairly still for at least two weeks while those stitches close. They should fall out on their own and even then you need to rest, both of you do.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done.” Connor said, nodding slightly and the nun only smiled slightly before turning and leaving the room. Their presence was making her nervous, but Doc merely smiled and left them to rest, closing and locking the door behind him. “You going to live little brother?”

“I swear, I am going to jump off this fucking bed and kick your ass if you call me “little” one more time.” Murphy warned before sighing heavily, “I don’t want to sit around for weeks, I’ve been doing that already. It gets old.”

“This is a little different; we’re not getting tortured this time.” He said before sitting down on the ground next to the bed and leaning against the wall. Neither of them seemed eager to talk about the kiss and he was not going to be the one to push it.

“What the fuck are you doing on the floor?” His twin asked, looking over at him.

“What does it look like I’m fucking doing? I’ll sleep down here, you’re more injured than I am.” Connor replied.

“Like hell you will, I’ll make room, like when we were kids.” Murphy moved over and truth be told he did not need to be asked twice. Still a little shaken about what had happened earlier with the blood loss, crawling into bed and sleeping so close he could feel his heartbeat, that was okay. And his brother did not protest when he pulled them close, an arm around his chest. They slept together like that, heartbeats moving as one.

That was how things were for the next few weeks or so. The MacManus brothers spent their time recovering from both external and internal wounds from their time captive. Nightmares were not uncommon and both men found that they would wake up at the same time from the same dreams. Murphy’s wounds healed much slower and he was especially angry when Connor was able to go out and buy them cigarettes and new clothes. As he was walking down the streets, a hat and sunglasses on plus trying to cover his accent, he saw a headline in the paper that caught his eye. Saints Return To Heaven? was the headline with “As Boston crime rate soars people wonder where the infamous saints have gone.” Paying for the paper, he was reading it when he walked into the bar.

“About fucking time, what took so long?” Murphy asked. He was sitting at the bar, helping Doc polish a few glasses.

“Found this.” Connor replied, tossing the paper on the table before setting down a pack of smokes in front of his brother. His eyebrows creased more as he read the article.

“People are losing hope.” His twin announced, tapping some of the ash from his cigarette into an ash tray.

“Aye, we gave them hope, apparently.” The other brother replied, sitting down at the bar and looking over one of the glasses.

“Of c-c-course you did.” Doc announced. The two of them looked up at the bar tender. Ever since they had started staying with him, he had more or less not mentioned what they chose to do with their lives. This was the first time he had even mentioned it. “You g-g-gave them hope for a world where good flourishes. Fuck! Ass! Of c-c-course they’re going to s-s-sad if they think you’ve s-s-stopped.” Neither of them knew what to say, they merely stared at Doc before looking down at the paper. Vaguely, Connor thought he heard the older man say something about needing to upstairs and vanishing from sight. Sitting there, a million thoughts went through his head as he looked at the headline.

“We can’t take away these people’s hope.” Murphy stated, putting out his cigarette and sighing heavily, “We need to show those people we’re still on their side, we’re still fighting for them.”

“We need to deliver some evil men.” He said, looking his twin, “Some men that we know for sure are willing to do anything to get information from people. Do you think God allows Saints to get revenge?”

“I don’t know.” The other brother asked. All Connor could do was shrug, They sat for a moment before Murphy stood up and pulled his brother off of the chair and into the room. Slamming the door shut, he pushed him against the door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demanded. Placing hands on the walls, corner him there, he watched the intense look in his twins eyes.

“You’re having the same nightmares I am, right?” Murphy demanded. He looked angry and his breathing was labored.

“Give or take, the one about the Russian’s where--”

“–one of us dies, where you die.” He finished before removing his hands from the wall and walking away, running his fingers through his hair. He looked so tense.

“Murph, I’m not--”

“Don’t fucking say that.” Murphy interrupted, “Don’t even fucking start. Both of us having the exact same dream? It can’t be a twin thing, if it was, you’d dream I was the one getting shot, right? We’d dream our worst fears, unless you somehow lost all of your fucking faith and are afraid of dying.” Shaking his head slightly, he clenched both fists at his side.

“Murph, you said so yourself, we can’t take away those people’s hope.” Connor pointed out, moving away from the door and reaching out to touch his brothers shoulder. He turned around and they took each other’s shirts into their fists. Connor watched as it looked like his twin was about to punch him. Instead, Murphy pulled him in and gave him a rough kiss. For weeks they had danced around each other, holding each other close at night, light kisses when the door was closed, but this was different. He could feel the absolute desperation behind it and it left him speechless when he pulled away.

“You said we’re one person, we’re two halves of a whole. You can’t die because in the dream I don’t, I’m alive, I watch you die, and I can’t do that. So we can’t go, we just can’t. And we’re not, that’s fucking final.” His twin stated, staying close.

“We have to go, no one else can do this but us. We know where they are, we can do this, and no one is going to die.” Connor reassured before leaning in and kissing his brother again and again, “We’re going to be fine.” Murphy stared at him for a moment before nodding slightly and they rested their foreheads against each other. “They’re only dreams, Murph, only dreams.”

Using the little money they still had hidden throughout town, the MacManus twins soon had weapons, freshly polished pennies, rope, and were more than ready to deliver the men that had hurt them for so long. After weeks of listening between beatings, they knew that the boss came around once a week at the same time. It was there and then that they waited.

“Do you really think we can do this still?” Murphy asked as they watched the building silently.

“Aye, Ma always said we were naturals. You don’t lose natural talent.” Connor replied. There was a sick feeling in his stomach and he wanted to look away from that place. It was the source of the nightmares, the reason why he kept seeing it over and over in head, the look in his brother’s eyes when he fell to the ground, a bullet piercing his heart. Scaling the top of the building, it seemed so easy to kick one of the skylights open and shoot the one Russian that was sitting in the room. The silencers dulled the sound of the gunshot, the only evidence was that flash of light from the gun powder. Glancing around a corner, he saw two more Russian’s making their way down the hall. Signaling, the two of them waiting for the men to pass by the open door before taking them out with single shots.

“Looks like we haven’t lost our touch in our absence.” Murphy commented as he finished with the body and stood up, smiling to himself a bit.

“Aye, we’re still good.” He replied, looking around, “Now we need to find that Russian boss.” They both look around. There was no sign of the boss anywhere and no indication as to where he could be. Refilling their clips, they started down the hallway, eyes watching every corner and possibility for where someone could be hiding. The sick feeling settled into his stomach as they continued down the hallway. The doorway in front of them began to open and it was as if the entire world started to slow down. He saw the Russian boss with two guns, pointed at them he saw himself raise his own gun, he saw Murphy do the same, and he saw all four fire. As soon as they did, he looked at his brother, his twin, and their eyes met. Neither of them needed to say it, they both knew, they loved each other, more than just brothers. They loved each other more than anything and it was that love that made them both smile when the bullets pierced their chests. And as they fell to the ground, blood pooling around their dying bodies, they took each other’s hands, and held tight.

The bodies of the MacManus twins and the Russian boss were found one day later. Smecker was the first to see them after it was confirmed and he went alone. And all he could do was look down at them unable to feel sadness. They lay together, hands clenched, small smiles on their faces, lying in one pool of blood.