Look After Your Brother Ch 7

[ladyjanelly]

They went to the shelter Father Mike recommended, but the place was crowded. Full of kids with no twin, nobody to watch over them. The look they shared said it all: Save the space for those who need it more. Without a word they turned and went back outside.

It wasn’t like they were without resources. They had friends. They knew people.

Neighbors invited them to dinner. Mrs. O'Donnel let them sleep on her couch for a few nights. They did what they could to repay the kindness they were shown. They weren’t too proud to unclog sinks, clean toilets or change nappies.

They took what was offered, but they weren’t the sort of boys to go looking for charity. The union was on strike, and nobody in this neighborhood could afford to spare much for them. If they didn’t get an offer, they wouldn’t ask. If there was no food they'd spend a little of their dwindling cash on buying it for themselves. When there was no bed or couch or spot on the floor, they slept in the warmest spot they could find.

Which is how they ended up sleeping in the recessed doorway of a narrow little brownstone. Connor was burning with fever, and had been for days. With winter's chill upon the city, there was no room in the shelters at all. Murphy had sold Da's gun for enough money to rent a hotel room for a few days, but it was gone now. Connor wouldn’t let him sell anything else.

A light snow fell, and Connor closed his eyes. Seeing it would just make him feel the cold all the more. He tried to sleep, and failing that, he tried to just drift. Murph's bare hand, so cold it hurt the skin of his forehead, shocked him back to awareness.

"Fuck, wha?"

"Jaysus, Conn, you're burnin' up."

Connor couldn’t argue so he just closed his eyes again, leaning his head back against the brick. It was well after midnight, judging by the lack of traffic on the road. Whoever lives here must be already home, he thought, determined to wake early, before they were noticed in the morning.

A light slap drew his attention back to his twin. "Murph...Wha' th' fuck?" He knew he was whining but couldn’t stop himself.

"I said I'm taking you to hospital. You're fucken sick, Connor. You need a doctor."

Connor tried to stop shaking for long enough to deny it. "Just a cold, Murph. I'll be fine. I'll be fine by mornin'."

Murph wasn’t having any of it though, and began the struggle of getting Connor's dead weight up off of the ground. Connor was almost to his feet when an angry voice stole Murphy's attention from him.

"Oi! What the f-f-fuck are you doin' on my p-p-p step?"

Murph let go and Connor slid back down to the step. All he could see was Murphy's back as his brother shielded him.

"We're sorry, sir," Murphy's apology, who could not accept that? "We meant no harm, we were just getting' warm for a bit. We were goin' anyways..."

"What's wr-wr-wrong with him?" The man asked, voice gruff but a shade less angry. "Are the two of you boys d-doing d-drugs on my doorstep?"

With willpower and both hands on the wall to support him, Connor made it to his feet. Murph's arm around his waist kept him there. "He's sick," Murphy protested, worry thick in his voice. Connor couldn’t find the strength to raise his head. Someone else did it for him, a rough-skinned hand tipping his face towards the light. The streetlamp was too bright for him to keep his eyes open.

"Oh feck, he's burnin' up." A slight pause. "Don’t I kn-kn-know you boys from church? Where's your Ma?"

"Gone to be with God." Connor's heart ached for the pain in his brother's voice.

"Ah then, you'd better be comin' inside, b-b-before you catch your death."

Stumbling and struggling, Murphy helped his brother through the door.

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Connor fought, but he didn’t have the strength to overpower his brother. "Murph! Mother of God, it's fucken freezing. Are ya tryin' ta kill me?" Murphy just pressed him down into the calf-deep tub of water.

"The fever's got to come down, Conn. It's not that cold, I swear to ya." It wasn’t the words, but the look of fear in those blue-grey eyes that convinced him. With a whimper, Connor allowed himself to be lowered into the tepid bath.

"I'll get you for this one day, Murphy MacManus." The threat had no more heat to it than the water.

"Oh, I’m sure ya will."

Graceful fingers touched his face, spreading a thin layer of cool liquid over his skin. He leaned into the touch, trying not to shiver as Murph's other hand dribbled scoops of water over him. It felt nice; better than anything had in a long time. He knew he shouldn’t feel safe. They didn’t know this "Doc." They shouldn’t be in a stranger's house. He felt safe anyways. For the first time in months he wasn’t afraid. Tears scorched his eyes as they slipped free to run down his cheeks.

"Conn? Shhh, why're you cryin'?" Murph's hands ran over his cheeks, wiping the tears away. All of the pain, the fear, the sorrow, of the time since Ma took sick broke free in his chest, and he had no way to let it out except with his tears.

His brother held him and he cried until the last of his strength was gone, until Murph's shirt was soaked with tears and bathwater.

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Doc offered them a spare bed for one and a couch for the other, but Connor couldn't bear to have Murphy apart from him, so they shared the bed. The room was funny, like a boy's room from a sitcom, all sports posters and model airplanes. They had never imagined such a room could exist in the real world.

Connor's fever broke in the night. He woke up weak but better.

"I told ya I'd be better by mornin', Murph. Didja think I was lyin' to ya then?" He teased over the pancakes Doc made for them.

He got a good kick under the table for his troubles. "Just because a lie came true doesn’t mean it was never a lie."

When Connor was well enough to go to church again, lying to his brother was one of the things he added to his confession.