"Seattle" (Boondock Saints, R, MacManus brothers)
Title: Seattle
Author: Meixia
Rating: R - to be safe
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Disclaimer: They are not mine. I'm only borrowing them.
Summary: Seattle harbors bad memories for the MacManus twins.
Note: For contrelamontre flash-forward challenge. Written in about 30 minutes.
It’s gritty in Seattle, the horizon a bleak line of gray in the mid-morning light. No sun because of the seemingly perpetual overcast sky, and his new Docs are getting wet and dirty from walking in puddles.
Connor doesn’t like Seattle much. The rain is actually cold here, sometimes freezing, and he can’t light a cigarette on the first try to save his life because of the extinguishing rain.
There’s something about the colors, though. The rusty red and rotten orange that flake off with a brush of his fingers from the kiddy slides after too much abuse from salted water, the autumn colored leaves that bring a splash of color to dismal gray.
Murphy likes Seattle. He tells Connor every day that they’ve been here that he does. “It’s quiet,” he says, matter-of-fact, “and there’s less scum for us to get rid of.”
“Rain probably does most of the cleansing,” Connor says and sits down on a swing. “It’s so depressing. Don’t see how anybody can do shady shit here - ”
“But we are.” Murphy says.
“In God’s name, doing his bidding.” Connor says as if it rectifies everything. Murphy can’t argue that. “Are you having doubts?” Connor stands and takes the three steps between them, leaning against the rusted slide.
Head tilted with narrowed eyes, Murph brushes his arm against his brother’s in a sign of reassurance. “Hey, no. ‘Course not. We do this, we do this right.” Murph takes out a cigarette, and in some act of irony, lights it on the first try, even under the drizzle of rain and slight wind.
Connor has suspicions that God is laughing at him.
He taps Murphy’s back and starts heading for the car. “Aye, well. We better get a move on, then. Evil won’t wait around.”
His brother nods, trails behind him, and kicks at the puddle Connor had dutifully avoided, darkening his jeans with dirty water. Connor turns to gripe, but the end of Murphy’s cigarette burns bright orange and flares before a column of ash flakes to the ground, silencing him.
He can’t wait to leave Seattle.
***
It will happen behind an abandoned warehouse.
There will be concrete under his fingers, grains of dirt and shards of glass underneath his nails, hard gravel that leant no purchase to his struggling grasp. There will be a moment where he doubts he will survive the shooting.
Their target, a German criminal, will come around the car shooting from his automatic and the bullets will tear into the car like a downpour of rain. They will pass just over Connor’s head.
Connor will wonder if his brother is all right.
“Murph! Murph! Where - ” a blast of bullets will drown out his shouting, and he’ll crawl before he rolls away from the car, guns firing at the German until he spots Murphy hidden behind the dumpster. Murph will cover him until they’re both packed behind it together.
“Are you okay?” Connor will flinch as bullets graze the side of the dumpster, and Murphy will nod, even though there is a bloody spot high on his jeans. “Are you sure? What the hell - ” another spray of bullets, and Connor will crane his neck to see the German steadily approaching, tossing the automatic and pulling out two more semi-automatics. “What the hell happened? You’re bleeding!”
Murphy will snort and put a new cartridge in his gun. “No kiddin’.”
“Murph!”
“Don’t talk. Shoot!”
And for the next ten minutes, Connor will hear nothing but gunfire, will smell nothing but acrid smoke and death and something like burnt flesh. He’ll watch as their bullets rip into the German time after time as he approaches, oddly reminding him of Il Duce, and he’ll remain helpless to help his brother’s wound until the gunfire has stopped.
Then finally, Murphy will deliver the ending shot, straight to the German’s head. He’ll fall to the ground and all will be silent.
Concern will fill Connor, and he will draw Murphy to his side.
“Are you - Jesus Christ, are you okay? Murph?” Murphy will slump into his brother’s shoulder, and nod before pulling Connor’s hand onto his leg with a weakened grasp.
“I’ll make it.” Murphy will smile weakly and look up at him with clear, blue eyes that will hold the promise.
“We’re leaving Seattle as soon as this - as soon as you’re taken care of.”
Grunting, Murphy will silently agree and press his brother’s hand into his blood. Connor will tie a ragged piece of cloth from his tee-shirt around the wound, and Seattle will be a distant but shaken memory each time the sound of rain pelts lonely sidewalks. The memory-sound of gunfire will not be far behind.
end.
Author: Meixia
Rating: R - to be safe
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Disclaimer: They are not mine. I'm only borrowing them.
Summary: Seattle harbors bad memories for the MacManus twins.
Note: For contrelamontre flash-forward challenge. Written in about 30 minutes.
It’s gritty in Seattle, the horizon a bleak line of gray in the mid-morning light. No sun because of the seemingly perpetual overcast sky, and his new Docs are getting wet and dirty from walking in puddles.
Connor doesn’t like Seattle much. The rain is actually cold here, sometimes freezing, and he can’t light a cigarette on the first try to save his life because of the extinguishing rain.
There’s something about the colors, though. The rusty red and rotten orange that flake off with a brush of his fingers from the kiddy slides after too much abuse from salted water, the autumn colored leaves that bring a splash of color to dismal gray.
Murphy likes Seattle. He tells Connor every day that they’ve been here that he does. “It’s quiet,” he says, matter-of-fact, “and there’s less scum for us to get rid of.”
“Rain probably does most of the cleansing,” Connor says and sits down on a swing. “It’s so depressing. Don’t see how anybody can do shady shit here - ”
“But we are.” Murphy says.
“In God’s name, doing his bidding.” Connor says as if it rectifies everything. Murphy can’t argue that. “Are you having doubts?” Connor stands and takes the three steps between them, leaning against the rusted slide.
Head tilted with narrowed eyes, Murph brushes his arm against his brother’s in a sign of reassurance. “Hey, no. ‘Course not. We do this, we do this right.” Murph takes out a cigarette, and in some act of irony, lights it on the first try, even under the drizzle of rain and slight wind.
Connor has suspicions that God is laughing at him.
He taps Murphy’s back and starts heading for the car. “Aye, well. We better get a move on, then. Evil won’t wait around.”
His brother nods, trails behind him, and kicks at the puddle Connor had dutifully avoided, darkening his jeans with dirty water. Connor turns to gripe, but the end of Murphy’s cigarette burns bright orange and flares before a column of ash flakes to the ground, silencing him.
He can’t wait to leave Seattle.
***
It will happen behind an abandoned warehouse.
There will be concrete under his fingers, grains of dirt and shards of glass underneath his nails, hard gravel that leant no purchase to his struggling grasp. There will be a moment where he doubts he will survive the shooting.
Their target, a German criminal, will come around the car shooting from his automatic and the bullets will tear into the car like a downpour of rain. They will pass just over Connor’s head.
Connor will wonder if his brother is all right.
“Murph! Murph! Where - ” a blast of bullets will drown out his shouting, and he’ll crawl before he rolls away from the car, guns firing at the German until he spots Murphy hidden behind the dumpster. Murph will cover him until they’re both packed behind it together.
“Are you okay?” Connor will flinch as bullets graze the side of the dumpster, and Murphy will nod, even though there is a bloody spot high on his jeans. “Are you sure? What the hell - ” another spray of bullets, and Connor will crane his neck to see the German steadily approaching, tossing the automatic and pulling out two more semi-automatics. “What the hell happened? You’re bleeding!”
Murphy will snort and put a new cartridge in his gun. “No kiddin’.”
“Murph!”
“Don’t talk. Shoot!”
And for the next ten minutes, Connor will hear nothing but gunfire, will smell nothing but acrid smoke and death and something like burnt flesh. He’ll watch as their bullets rip into the German time after time as he approaches, oddly reminding him of Il Duce, and he’ll remain helpless to help his brother’s wound until the gunfire has stopped.
Then finally, Murphy will deliver the ending shot, straight to the German’s head. He’ll fall to the ground and all will be silent.
Concern will fill Connor, and he will draw Murphy to his side.
“Are you - Jesus Christ, are you okay? Murph?” Murphy will slump into his brother’s shoulder, and nod before pulling Connor’s hand onto his leg with a weakened grasp.
“I’ll make it.” Murphy will smile weakly and look up at him with clear, blue eyes that will hold the promise.
“We’re leaving Seattle as soon as this - as soon as you’re taken care of.”
Grunting, Murphy will silently agree and press his brother’s hand into his blood. Connor will tie a ragged piece of cloth from his tee-shirt around the wound, and Seattle will be a distant but shaken memory each time the sound of rain pelts lonely sidewalks. The memory-sound of gunfire will not be far behind.
end.