Mercy II

[ladyjanelly]

Warning: Depressing as all fuck. No, seriously. Death and hurt and shit like that. Rated R. BDS. Experimental.  unbeta-ed.  Profanity (in the warnings.  Does that even work?)

Feel free to pick it the hell apart.

God-damned thing turned into a multi-parter on me.

 

Mercy, Part II

The wind is cool. The sun is warm, shining down upon him. It makes a broad red glow behind his eyelids, but is not so bright that he wants to turn his head from it.

The ground is soft beneath his back, and he has a sense of green and growing things.

In the distance he can hear the song of a lark.

Something is tickling across his lips. The teasing is forcing him to wake, forcing him to become aware of himself and the world.

He's not breathing, and that realization hits him like a shot and he coughs and struggles for air. A hand presses him back against the softness of the grass, and Connor's face shadows his own.

"Easy now, Murphy." His brother's voice is so calm that it is impossible to be afraid. He breathes and stares up at Connor.

He can't remember when his brother's face was so relaxed and peaceful. He knows it happened, just not the "when" of it. The line of worry that lingers between his brows is gone. There is no tension in the shape of his lips or the set of his shoulders.

The white of Connor's t-shirt almost glows in the sunlight and he knows he can't remember Connor in a white t-shirt.

He blinks. He shouldn’t. The world twists around him, inside of him and everything becomes dark. He's holding Connor instead of the other way around and his brother is dying in his arms. A pitiful candle lights the ugly cell. He watches each struggling breath, and it hurts more to see Connor's pain than to live his own broken bones and festering wounds.

"Murph..." The word is a rasp, forced through a throat torn raw with screaming. There is more blood than air and he can see Connor fight against the threatening cough.

Murphy leans close, feels his own tears hot on his feverish cheeks, sees them fall, glitter, splash down on bruised skin. "I'm here," he whispers, because he's not sure that Connor can see him.

"I'm afraid..." The cost of those words is high, and Connor's face twists in agony.

"Shhh," Murph whispers back. "I'll be comin' right behind. Ya won't be alone for long. I swear to Christ."

He touches the least-hurt part of Connor's cheek that he can find. He uses the back of his hand. His fingers are too broken for such a task.

Connor nods, the slightest movement of his head, but Murphy knows he understands.

It doesn’t take much pressure. A little more than the weight of Murphy's arm and his brother's chest cannot refill with breath.

There is no struggle. Murphy can feel the moment when his brother's soul is gathered into the arms of God and he's left alone with only a corpse for comfort.

He knows it won't be long before the fever or hunger or the brutality of their captors sends him back to Connor. He is depending upon it.

TBC

Comments

[ladyjanelly.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the ideas, but I have the parts of this already planned out. Maybe next fic, or if you'd like, I could help you write yours. I"d be happy to beta-read it for you and offer suggestions before you put it out for public consumption.

[(Anonymous)]

You are the chosen one. So you'll be writing it. You are my favorite. If you don't write it, I'd be very sad :(