(no subject)
It was fucking over.
He’d known it the moment he felt his shoulder give way, the ball joint dragging out of the socket with a sickening tear. There’d been a moment of shock, trailing in seconds before that soul-crushing pain, where he just couldn’t fucking believe the bastard had the balls to do it.
But Brendan Conlon was a stubborn fuck. They all were. It was in their blood. That tainted Conlon blood with all it’s bile and booze and fucking sickness. The desert hadn’t burned it out of him. Washington hadn’t washed it clean. And pretty little Tess hadn’t fucked the stubbornness out of his brother, so obviously there wasn’t a lick of hope for either of ‘em.
But fourteen years, all that time, and he’d underestimated what a pain in the ass his brother could be. Tommy’d taken down guys twice his size without batting a goddamn eyelash, but he knew, after that first mistake, that he’d have to kill the bastard if he wanted to win. While the death of Brendan and Paddy Conlon had been heavy players in Tommy’s dreams over the last decade and a half, the truth was, he stepped into that ring more terrified than he’d been since he and Ma got into her shitty little car and drove away from their life in the Pitt.
But these were thoughts that he would have later.
Now, the world tilted precariously on its axis, the cheer from the crowd a distant roar, and for one horrible moment, leaning against the cage, Tommy was sure he was gonna puke.
“We don’t have to do this, Tommy! What are you doing?” Brendan shouted from across the ring and Tommy snorted, stumbling in a clumsy circle until the shape of his brother swam into focus.
“Fuck you,” Tommy muttered, beckoning him closer, “Come on.”
Come on. Get it over with. Let it fucking be over. ‘Cause Pop was still a pathetic old drunk and Tommy had a pack of military police ready to cart him away the second the match was over and it was looking more and more likely that Pilar and the kids wouldn’t see a cent of that prize money. It was looking more certain that things were still royally fucked, but he’d be damned if he was going to throw in the towel just ‘cause Brendan told him to.
He could feel the collective intake of breath from the audience, feel the tension in them, their confusion, and he had it in him to feel embarrassed. They’d brought their shit, their skeletons, out into the ring for the whole goddamn world to see. Turned a five-million dollar cage fight into a playground tussle. He had it in him to feel embarrassed, later. He’d deal with that shit later. Tomorrow or the next day or fucking never.
Now, ruined arm tucked in against his side, he charged forward, and it was over. Over, but Brendan was going to have to fucking kill him before he’d quit, and he charged, feet thumping heavily across the octagon...
… then the ground under him melted and he was sinking, foot catching on a piece of driftwood and he crumpled, landing with a heavy thud on his knees.
“Fuck,” he grunted, spitting blood and panting, sweating in the burning sun beating down on him. Fuck. Fuck...
The world in front of him swam and he tipped forward, catching himself with his good arm, and with a heave of his wide shoulders, he let out an anguished grunt of pain. His eyes were burning, sweat and blood and tears and all he could think was -- Sand. His fingers were sinking into sand, pale and white and fine under the calloused pads of his fingers. Christ, his fucking prick of a brother had knocked something loose in his brain, and wouldn’t that just be the fucking icing on the cake.
With a hiss, he fumbled the mouth guard off of his teeth, tossing it clumsily onto the sand, and with the sun burning down onto his shoulders, he took one breath, another, then finally lost the meager contents of his stomach, acid and bile splattered across all that perfect, white sand.
[[Before tagging in, please see this post. You're welcome to tag him upon his arrival, or after he's been patched up and is smoking on the steps of the Rec Center. Open to all, but be aware that he is disoriented and unintentionally dangerous. ST/LT always welcome.]]
He’d known it the moment he felt his shoulder give way, the ball joint dragging out of the socket with a sickening tear. There’d been a moment of shock, trailing in seconds before that soul-crushing pain, where he just couldn’t fucking believe the bastard had the balls to do it.
But Brendan Conlon was a stubborn fuck. They all were. It was in their blood. That tainted Conlon blood with all it’s bile and booze and fucking sickness. The desert hadn’t burned it out of him. Washington hadn’t washed it clean. And pretty little Tess hadn’t fucked the stubbornness out of his brother, so obviously there wasn’t a lick of hope for either of ‘em.
But fourteen years, all that time, and he’d underestimated what a pain in the ass his brother could be. Tommy’d taken down guys twice his size without batting a goddamn eyelash, but he knew, after that first mistake, that he’d have to kill the bastard if he wanted to win. While the death of Brendan and Paddy Conlon had been heavy players in Tommy’s dreams over the last decade and a half, the truth was, he stepped into that ring more terrified than he’d been since he and Ma got into her shitty little car and drove away from their life in the Pitt.
But these were thoughts that he would have later.
Now, the world tilted precariously on its axis, the cheer from the crowd a distant roar, and for one horrible moment, leaning against the cage, Tommy was sure he was gonna puke.
“We don’t have to do this, Tommy! What are you doing?” Brendan shouted from across the ring and Tommy snorted, stumbling in a clumsy circle until the shape of his brother swam into focus.
“Fuck you,” Tommy muttered, beckoning him closer, “Come on.”
Come on. Get it over with. Let it fucking be over. ‘Cause Pop was still a pathetic old drunk and Tommy had a pack of military police ready to cart him away the second the match was over and it was looking more and more likely that Pilar and the kids wouldn’t see a cent of that prize money. It was looking more certain that things were still royally fucked, but he’d be damned if he was going to throw in the towel just ‘cause Brendan told him to.
He could feel the collective intake of breath from the audience, feel the tension in them, their confusion, and he had it in him to feel embarrassed. They’d brought their shit, their skeletons, out into the ring for the whole goddamn world to see. Turned a five-million dollar cage fight into a playground tussle. He had it in him to feel embarrassed, later. He’d deal with that shit later. Tomorrow or the next day or fucking never.
Now, ruined arm tucked in against his side, he charged forward, and it was over. Over, but Brendan was going to have to fucking kill him before he’d quit, and he charged, feet thumping heavily across the octagon...
… then the ground under him melted and he was sinking, foot catching on a piece of driftwood and he crumpled, landing with a heavy thud on his knees.
“Fuck,” he grunted, spitting blood and panting, sweating in the burning sun beating down on him. Fuck. Fuck...
The world in front of him swam and he tipped forward, catching himself with his good arm, and with a heave of his wide shoulders, he let out an anguished grunt of pain. His eyes were burning, sweat and blood and tears and all he could think was -- Sand. His fingers were sinking into sand, pale and white and fine under the calloused pads of his fingers. Christ, his fucking prick of a brother had knocked something loose in his brain, and wouldn’t that just be the fucking icing on the cake.
With a hiss, he fumbled the mouth guard off of his teeth, tossing it clumsily onto the sand, and with the sun burning down onto his shoulders, he took one breath, another, then finally lost the meager contents of his stomach, acid and bile splattered across all that perfect, white sand.
[[Before tagging in, please see this post. You're welcome to tag him upon his arrival, or after he's been patched up and is smoking on the steps of the Rec Center. Open to all, but be aware that he is disoriented and unintentionally dangerous. ST/LT always welcome.]]