2Author's Note: Guess what guys! Eris has her computer back :DDDDD And yes you little lovely people, that means updates all around! And I realized I have much more pressing thing to attend to, but I couldn't help it. St. Patrick's Day is important to our twins, and I feel like they deserve another fun little fic!
Disclaimer: I don't own the BDS :D and rated for typical MacManus behavior.
Homesick
It's happened every year, without fail, for the last seven years that the MacManus brothers have lived in Southie. Every year, it's the same old story. And, because Connor has discovered this trend, he knows exactly how to prevent it.
And Murph dares challenge that he's the older brother? Tis a fuckin' load of bullshit.
St. Patrick's Day is the one day every year, that Murphy gets homesick. And Connor completely understood it, how could he not? Growing up, his family would get up, go to mass, and then the entire fuckin' clan would show up down at Uncle Sibel's bar, MacManus and and Kane (Their lovely mother's side) alike. And as the boys grew up, the parties got more and more entertaining. They'd started knickin' beers with their cousins at fourteen, and graduated to raiding the stock room by eighteen.
Their nineteenth St. Paddy's Day, their last one back in Ireland, they boy's had grabbed their cousins, and a bottle of Irish, and hauled ass out of the pub, and out to the docks. It was always easier to steal the liquor, when all the eyes were inside. Besides, t'was usually cold as shit, and none of the 'adult figures' would be willin' to search them out by then.
It was the same thing as ever year. Connor'd take his seat on the far left, to avoid him knockin' hands with the others. They'd made that mistake one year, and they'd had to watch as their bottle sunk to the bottom of the harbor. Then next to him sat Paddy, who was usually drunk off his arse by this time, seein' as everyone he'd run into insisted on buyin' Ol' St. Paddy's namesake a shot. After Pat sat Murph, who was tryin' his luck at lighting four smokes in one go. Finishing off their little crew, sat Aiden. He was the mastermind, the one to blame for every stupid thing the four of them had ever done. It was all him, but no one would buy it. He'd been blessed with the Kane eyes, wide and green and never sparkling with anything other but kindness.
Connor fuckin' knew better. His cousin was th' fuckin' devil. Even if only Murph and Paddy could attest to it.
"Well, then." Aidan smiled drunkenly. "Are ye gonna start us off Conn, or are ye just gonna make eyes a' th' damn bottle."
"Calm th' fuck down boyo. Ye can start drinkin' once we get th' fuckin' toasts done. Tis tradition." Connor answered his cousin, who rolled his eyes.
"Jesus Christ boy-"
"Lord's name." Connor and Murphy simultaneously and instantaneously followed up their cousin's words. Aiden gifted them another eye roll, but crossed himself the same.
"Alright Conn, let's start this up. While Murph's still pretty aye?" Pat smiled and Muprhy brought his hand up to his cousin's head.
"Awh fuck ye!"
"Gotta do somethin' about tha' French ass mole boyo." Aiden joined in the teasing.
"Alright, ye two lay the fuck off my brother, or I ain't startin' shit." Connor threatened, and the Kanes were instantly silenced. Connor cleared his throat and popped the top to the bottle. He took a swig and passed it on. "Prayin' fer the big four. Honest work ta occupy ye."
Pat accepted the bottle, and took his own drink. "A hearty appetite to sustain ye,"
Murph followed suit, knocking back enough to warm him up. "A good woman ta love ye."
"An' a wink from God above." Aiden finished before he took his own drink. He passed it back to Murphy. "Better hope God's listenin'. I need a damn job."
"Aye." Paddy agreed. "Ain't many places handing out opportunity lately."
"An' if they are, th' pay ain't enough ta put th' food where it needs ta be." Paddy sighed as he accepted the bottle.
"Money rough?" Connor asked, catching Murph's eyes. This was the first they'd heard of it.
"Aye. A bit. But we'll be alright, once me an' Aid are workin' again."
"Wha's yer Ol' Man doin'?" Murphy asked. Aid snorted.
"Harassin' all the tavern girls and cleanin' up the pubs. He's too old now ta bring in th' money. And we still gotta put Fiona through school."
"Aye." Pat nodded. "Girl's too smart ta be a barmaid. She's gotta get ta some kinda school."
"What about ye two? Any money trouble a' the McManus household?"
"When isn't there?" Murphy snorted, and eyed his brother. Yeah, I think it's time. Connor nodded.
"So, Me an' Murph decided to do something about it."
"Did ye find a job?"
"An' if ye did, are dey hirin'?"
"Aye. Dey're hirin'," Murphy started. "Th' commute's kinda a bitch though."
"How far?" Aid asked, concern showing in his eyes. Now, Connor swallowed. He and Murph had grown up with Pat and Aid, the two were older by a year, but they'd always been there. No matter what the situation. Both younger boys didn't seem to want to answer. "Oi! How far!?"
Murphy finally moved, and he pointed out to sea. "'Bout three thousand miles'd be my guess."
"Jesus! America!? Yer goin' ta America!?" Aid asked, mouth dropped in shock. Connor nodded.
"Aye, we gotta."
"Ye really don't."
"We don't have a Da ta take care of our Ma." Murphy reminded the two. "So we've got to do it. It was workin' out so far, but me an' Conn. We ain't bringin' in enough here."
"A job'll open up soon."
"We got jobs boyo. We need better ones."
"Aye. Tis th' least we could do for our mother." Connor sighed as the bottle was passed down to him. Aiden looked like he'd wanted to protest, but Pat spoke up before he could.
"Well a'course it is! If th' two of ye little bastards finally started pullin' yer weight, th' rest of us wouldn't have to deal with yer Ma goin' on an' on 'bout how the two of ye sucked her dry." Connor and Murphy laughed, but they knew neither cousin was takin' this well. They were close, and they were family, and they were all they had ever known.
They drank in silence for a little while longer, before Aid broke it again. "So, Annabelle's really gonna letch'a do this?"
Murphy snorted. "Ma don't know."
"Aye. She'd just tell us not ta go. An' then we'd all fuckin' starve. Then th' one a' us tha' dies last feels like a right asshat." Connor argued. "We got enough savin's ta get the tickets. We'll find work, then we'll start sending Ma the money."
"Aye." Murphy nodded.
Pat and Aid looked at each other, before looking at the MacManus boys. "Ye'll be alright boyos." Pat spoke, drunken smile on his face. The twins grinned back.
"A'fuckin' course we are."
"Aye. Besides, wha' kinda trouble could a couple a' good ol' Catholic boys get inta?"
Aye, St. Paddy's day in Boston wasn't like it was at home. Although, more often than not, Connor and Murphy would find themselves sitting on the roof of their shitty apartment building, passing a bottle between the two of them, and wishing blessings on Pat and Aiden. It was enough to satisfy, but still, every year, Murph would get homesick, and Connor needed to figure out a way to get him out of it, and preferably soon. After all, St. Paddy's is Murph's favorite holiday.
"Murph, ye 'bout ready ta go?"
"Would've been ready a good twenty fuckin' minutes ago, but nah, ye had ta fuckin' take all the hot water!"
"Gotta get up earlier." Was Connor's only response. "Nah hurry! We gotta show Rocco exactly what the fuck St. Paddy's day mean ta th' Irish."
"Aye, aye. I heard ye." Murphy finally walked towards the door, pulling his jacket on over his shoulders. "Heard from Ma?"
"Nah. Ye know tis a bit busy fer her, she'll call tomarra'." Connor replied, running his hand through his short hair. He popped his knuckles, and saw the dried blood that filled the cracks in his hands, giving them the impression of almost being red. "Jesus Murph' a fuckin' meat packin' plant. Ye think we'll be able to handle this?"
"Aye we're twenty fuckin' one." Murphy smiled. "We can' take th' whole fuckin' world. Ye know dat."
"Aye, I suppose you're right. Ye still wanna go out tonight?"
"…Aye I think so." Murphy nodded. "Ye sure we ain't missed a call or anythin'?"
"Nothin' so far boyo." Connor frowned. "Why?"
"Been a while since we heard from Pat and Aidan is all." Murphy mumbled before looking out th' window.
"Aye, ye know how busy they've been. Workin' at th' pub, tryin' to get Fi through school."
"She ain't even ol' enough fer school yet."
Coming up behind his twin, Connor brought his hand up to the back of his neck and squeezed. "Aye, we'll hear from them soon enough, ye know dat."
"Aye, I know."
At the ripe hour of four in the morning, Connor found himself arguing with his key, and the lock. Neither object seemed to want to interact with the other, which wasn't boding well for his annoyed brother, and the completely smashed Italian who came back with them, claiming he'd forgotten where he lived himself. Finally, the lock accepted the key, and the three of them piled into the small apartment, one on top of the other.
"Awh fuck me." Connor groaned as the two people on top of him tried to realized that they were, actually, on top of him. "Off ye dumb ass fuckers."
With some work, the two managed to finagle their way off of the eldest MacManus brother, and Rocco promptly fell onto the floor. His snores assured the brothers that he wasn't dead, but there was no fucking way he'd be moving. Connor sighed and sat back on his ass, rubbing the back of his head.
He was completely fuckered.
Glancing up, he saw Murphy chomping down on his nails, eyes a thousand miles away.
More like three thousand.
"Murph." His brother looked over to him, and Connor crawled over to their small kitchen, where he pulled out a bottle of their old whiskey. Murphy shot him a small smile, and stood up, pulling his brother up with him. With the fear of death looming over them, they made their way to the roof of their building, enjoying the view of the Boston skyline.
The lights made Connor smile, his eyes only being able to see the money they were sending home to their Ma, and their family, something powerful, and a way to save their mother from the disaster that happened to most widows back home.
Murphy though, he only saw what wasn't. It wasn't a cold dock, it wasn't inky black water, and it wasn't him and the Kane twins. Murphy could usually keep his homesickness in check, but on St. Paddy's day, every fucking St. Paddy's day, all he wanted was to be home.
Connor reached out and squeezed Murphy's neck. "We'll get home someday, I promise."
"I just…fuck I jus' wanna be home, Conn. I wanna be home so fuckin' bad."
"Aye, I know. Me too, my dear brother, me too." Connor pulled the top of the whiskey, and held it up. "Prayin' fer da big four. Honest work ta occupy ye."
"A hearty appetite to sustain ye." Murphy continued, his voice cracking.
"A good woman ta love ye."
"An' a wink from God above." Murphy's voice wobbled now, and he snagged the whiskey from his brother, and took more than a healthy swallow, coughing after he forced it down, and passed it back to his brother.
Connor matched his drink, and he pretended he couldn't see his brother's shoulders shake. He only passed him the bottle again, and while Murphy downed more, he threw his arm over his brother, and stared over at the skyline again. Connor took a deep breath, and belated, as off key as he could, off the roof of their building.
Talking all the day with true friends, who try to make you stay
Telling jokes and news, singing songs to pass the night away
Watched the Galway salmon run like silver dancing darting in the sun
Living on your western shore saw summer sunsets, asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic sea and sang a song for Ireland
Murphy looked up and laughed, shaking his head. They both pretended that the tears that trailed down his face weren't there, and he smacked his brother over the head and rolled his eyes.
"Ye don't even fuckin' like tha' song."
"Well, ye, me, Aid and Paddy, we all always sang something." Connor argued. "So what'll it be? We're fuckin' doing it right this year."
Murphy chewed on his nails for a second, and looked at Connor.
Of all the money that e'er I had
I spent it in good company
And all the harm I've ever done
Alas it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To mem'ry now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be to you all
Connor looked over at his brother, heart breaking as Murphy had pulled the song of farewell out from the bottom of his heart.
"We'll get back Murphy." Connor promised again, but his brother only bit his lip, and ran his hand through his hair.
"Jus' sing the fuckin' song Conn."
So, off key, on top of a shitty building in Southern Boston, tears leaking out of their eyes, drunker than they'd been in a long while, the MacManus twins sang to the family they missed, the land they lost, and the sense of home that had protected them underneath it's wings since they had been born.
So fill to me the parting glass
And drink a health whate'er befalls
And gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be to you all
Of all the comrades that e'er I had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had
They'd wish me one more day to stay
But since it fell unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be to you all
Fill to me the parting glass
And drink a health whate'er befalls
And gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be to you all
La La
But since it fell unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be to you all
So fill to me the parting glass
And drink a health whate'er befalls
And gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be to you all
Good night and joy be to you all.
As always, Happy St. Patrick's Day readers! Hope it was brilliant!
