Connor MacManus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shepherdsveritas) wrote2012-02-08 02:07 am
shepherdsveritas) wrote2012-02-08 02:07 am
Entry tags:
The sleep of angels.
After the events of the last week and a half, it was no surprise that the twins’ dreams brought them to a far more familiar setting. Connor smiled a little sadly as he settled into his usual seat at the bar. McGintys hadn’t changed one bit- and probably never would if Doc had anything to say about it. As painful as his last memories of the place were, it was still comforting to be in one of the places they’d called home.
Murphy slid onto a stool, the waking pain in his leg completely gone, and picked up a coaster, fidgeting with the edges as he looked around for their favorite Tourrette’s-ridden bartender. It was odd for him not to be around - Doc was as much a fixture of his bar as the bottles of Bushmill’s lined up neatly on the shelves. Then again, the last time they’d dreamt of the bar, he hadn’t been bartending, either - but that was another story. “... Doc?”
“Not just yet.” Noah smiled softly at his sons as he rounded the corner, setting one of those bottles of Bushmill’s down in front of them. He reached out and gently touched their faces, looking at each of them in turn.
“Da...” Connor’s voice was barely a whisper as he stared at their father. He shouldn’t be as surprised as he was to see him, but that didn’t stop the lump from suddenly forming in his throat.
Murphy closed his eyes and leaned into his father’s hand. Even if it was still a dream, and he was well aware of the fact - just one more moment with their father was more than he could have asked for. He had questions - loads of them - but none of them was so important that it couldn’t wait for just one moment of comfort from a man he missed dearly.
Noah let his hands rest on his son’s faces for one more moment before pulling away. He looked down as he slowly unscrewed the cap on the whiskey bottle, “You boys seem a bit lost.” The look in his eyes as he turned his gaze on them showed that he wasn’t referring to their little walk around town.
“H-how can we not be?” Murphy stammered, gesturing toward the open door of the bar. Somehow, outside, the path up to the castle from the town fountain loomed. “We’re in a place where -- where just wishin’ for somethin’ makes it so! People say they’re from years in th’ future, or diff’rent planets, or --”
“Demons...” Connor finished, shaking his head with a frown. “What th’fuck’re we s’posed to do? I jus’... I don’t know what t’believe.”
“Yes. You do.” Noah smiled patiently as he poured them each a drink. He set the bottle down before continuing. “You’ve got each other. You’ve got your faith and everythin’ you’ve learned. What more do you need?”
Murphy glanced at Connor before picking up his shot and knocking it back. Even in a dream - maybe more so - the good Irish whiskey burned the back of his throat and sent warmth trickling down through him. As the burn faded, he kindled a thought, let it grow. “So … you’re sayin’ it doesn’t matter if this is a nuthouse, or heaven, or hell, or … honestly some fuckin’ magic castle God knows where.”
“As long’s we keep our heads an’ watch out for each other we’ll be arrite.” Connor looked at Murphy as he finished the thought. He downed his own shot, letting the alcohol settle his thoughts. It made sense. Of course it did, this was Da for Christ’s sake. He always seemed to be the soothing voice of reason in even the most trying times.
Noah said nothing. He just smiled, giving the boys an encouraging nod as he sipped his own drink.
“Like we always do, yeah.” Reaching out for the bottle, Murph poured himself another shot, then glanced toward the door again. “Build it back up again, jus’ like Roc said.”
“Like Roc,” a voice echoed, as the door to the back room swung open. “Like Roc. Sheeeeeiiiit. Fine. Don’t give me no feckin’ respect.” Detective Greenly swaggered over behind the bar and helped himself to a pint glass and the taps. “Nice. I see how it feckin’ is. Listen to you two, all carryin’ on about what’s real, what ain’t, whether yer dead or not, boooooo hooo.” He flapped his hands at them and tossed his head from side to side, mockingly. “Have ya seen the place? Ya wish for a feckin’ five-course dinnah and there it is! What’s yer problem?!”
Connor couldn’t help but grin as he listened to Greenly’s rant, “Aye, but there are demons and who the fuck knows what else, there, Green Beans. You’ll forgive us if we’re not jumpin’ fer joy, here.”
Greenly looked over at Noah, grimacing. “What kinda kids you raisin’ here? I thought they didn’t give a shit who stood in their way - if it was a Goddamn demon or Adolf Hitler. Bad guys equaled dead bad guys, am I right?”
“Well yeah but -- this guy, he showed up right outta fuckin’ nowhere, like that --” Murphy snapped his fingers. “How’re we s’posed to fight against somethin’ that can dodge bullets like the --” Ugh, he couldn’t believe he was about to validate his brother’s Stupid Movie Thing. “-- like the Matrix?”
Noah raised an eyebrow, smirking at the three. He shook his head slightly, “There’s always a way. But you’re not going t’find it if you don’t look.”
Connor lightly smacked his brother’s arm. See? That shit comes in handy, doesn’t it? He shoots him a cocky smirk before turning back to the pair behind the bar, “Aye but where do we start, Da? It’s not like we can jus’ walk up to him and ask him if he’d stand still so we could try puttin’ a coupla bullets through his head.” He paused, “Not t’mention all his talk ‘bout havin’ a soul.”
“A soul?” Greenly made a face. “Then how the fuck is he a demon? I dunno, sounds like somebody’s got their lines crossed. Maybe it’s just some guy who’s done some bad shit an’ feels bad about it.”
Murphy wadded up a cocktail napkin and threw it at the detective with a dismissive snort. “Seriously, though, we need t’ know a lot more ‘bout all’ve this if we’re even gonna start makin’ a dent on things inside that place.”
“So? I’m lookin’ at the two guys who convinced me to help ‘em put a hit on a feckin’ mob boss on the fortieth floor of the Pru, fer fuck’s sake. You tellin’ me yer gonna let one more buildin’ get yer boxers wedged in yer crack?”
“It ain’t th’building, Green Beans.” Connor shook his head with a smirk, pointing at the man, “It’s th’demons inside.” He laughed, pouring himself another shot. He downed it and looked at his brother, “But I get what yer sayin’. We can’t sit ‘round bitchin fer however long we’re s’posed t’be there.”
Noah nodded, lighting a cigar he pulled out of his pocket. He took a few thoughtful puffs before smiling and reaching out to pour them all another drink, “It sounds like you boys’ve got your work cut out for you. Just don’t forget why and I think you’ll be just fine.” He raised his glass in a silent toast, waiting for the others to do the same.
Murphy raised his shot, clinking it against his brother’s, then his father’s glass and Greenly’s pint. “Slainte mhaith.”
Murphy slid onto a stool, the waking pain in his leg completely gone, and picked up a coaster, fidgeting with the edges as he looked around for their favorite Tourrette’s-ridden bartender. It was odd for him not to be around - Doc was as much a fixture of his bar as the bottles of Bushmill’s lined up neatly on the shelves. Then again, the last time they’d dreamt of the bar, he hadn’t been bartending, either - but that was another story. “... Doc?”
“Not just yet.” Noah smiled softly at his sons as he rounded the corner, setting one of those bottles of Bushmill’s down in front of them. He reached out and gently touched their faces, looking at each of them in turn.
“Da...” Connor’s voice was barely a whisper as he stared at their father. He shouldn’t be as surprised as he was to see him, but that didn’t stop the lump from suddenly forming in his throat.
Murphy closed his eyes and leaned into his father’s hand. Even if it was still a dream, and he was well aware of the fact - just one more moment with their father was more than he could have asked for. He had questions - loads of them - but none of them was so important that it couldn’t wait for just one moment of comfort from a man he missed dearly.
Noah let his hands rest on his son’s faces for one more moment before pulling away. He looked down as he slowly unscrewed the cap on the whiskey bottle, “You boys seem a bit lost.” The look in his eyes as he turned his gaze on them showed that he wasn’t referring to their little walk around town.
“H-how can we not be?” Murphy stammered, gesturing toward the open door of the bar. Somehow, outside, the path up to the castle from the town fountain loomed. “We’re in a place where -- where just wishin’ for somethin’ makes it so! People say they’re from years in th’ future, or diff’rent planets, or --”
“Demons...” Connor finished, shaking his head with a frown. “What th’fuck’re we s’posed to do? I jus’... I don’t know what t’believe.”
“Yes. You do.” Noah smiled patiently as he poured them each a drink. He set the bottle down before continuing. “You’ve got each other. You’ve got your faith and everythin’ you’ve learned. What more do you need?”
Murphy glanced at Connor before picking up his shot and knocking it back. Even in a dream - maybe more so - the good Irish whiskey burned the back of his throat and sent warmth trickling down through him. As the burn faded, he kindled a thought, let it grow. “So … you’re sayin’ it doesn’t matter if this is a nuthouse, or heaven, or hell, or … honestly some fuckin’ magic castle God knows where.”
“As long’s we keep our heads an’ watch out for each other we’ll be arrite.” Connor looked at Murphy as he finished the thought. He downed his own shot, letting the alcohol settle his thoughts. It made sense. Of course it did, this was Da for Christ’s sake. He always seemed to be the soothing voice of reason in even the most trying times.
Noah said nothing. He just smiled, giving the boys an encouraging nod as he sipped his own drink.
“Like we always do, yeah.” Reaching out for the bottle, Murph poured himself another shot, then glanced toward the door again. “Build it back up again, jus’ like Roc said.”
“Like Roc,” a voice echoed, as the door to the back room swung open. “Like Roc. Sheeeeeiiiit. Fine. Don’t give me no feckin’ respect.” Detective Greenly swaggered over behind the bar and helped himself to a pint glass and the taps. “Nice. I see how it feckin’ is. Listen to you two, all carryin’ on about what’s real, what ain’t, whether yer dead or not, boooooo hooo.” He flapped his hands at them and tossed his head from side to side, mockingly. “Have ya seen the place? Ya wish for a feckin’ five-course dinnah and there it is! What’s yer problem?!”
Connor couldn’t help but grin as he listened to Greenly’s rant, “Aye, but there are demons and who the fuck knows what else, there, Green Beans. You’ll forgive us if we’re not jumpin’ fer joy, here.”
Greenly looked over at Noah, grimacing. “What kinda kids you raisin’ here? I thought they didn’t give a shit who stood in their way - if it was a Goddamn demon or Adolf Hitler. Bad guys equaled dead bad guys, am I right?”
“Well yeah but -- this guy, he showed up right outta fuckin’ nowhere, like that --” Murphy snapped his fingers. “How’re we s’posed to fight against somethin’ that can dodge bullets like the --” Ugh, he couldn’t believe he was about to validate his brother’s Stupid Movie Thing. “-- like the Matrix?”
Noah raised an eyebrow, smirking at the three. He shook his head slightly, “There’s always a way. But you’re not going t’find it if you don’t look.”
Connor lightly smacked his brother’s arm. See? That shit comes in handy, doesn’t it? He shoots him a cocky smirk before turning back to the pair behind the bar, “Aye but where do we start, Da? It’s not like we can jus’ walk up to him and ask him if he’d stand still so we could try puttin’ a coupla bullets through his head.” He paused, “Not t’mention all his talk ‘bout havin’ a soul.”
“A soul?” Greenly made a face. “Then how the fuck is he a demon? I dunno, sounds like somebody’s got their lines crossed. Maybe it’s just some guy who’s done some bad shit an’ feels bad about it.”
Murphy wadded up a cocktail napkin and threw it at the detective with a dismissive snort. “Seriously, though, we need t’ know a lot more ‘bout all’ve this if we’re even gonna start makin’ a dent on things inside that place.”
“So? I’m lookin’ at the two guys who convinced me to help ‘em put a hit on a feckin’ mob boss on the fortieth floor of the Pru, fer fuck’s sake. You tellin’ me yer gonna let one more buildin’ get yer boxers wedged in yer crack?”
“It ain’t th’building, Green Beans.” Connor shook his head with a smirk, pointing at the man, “It’s th’demons inside.” He laughed, pouring himself another shot. He downed it and looked at his brother, “But I get what yer sayin’. We can’t sit ‘round bitchin fer however long we’re s’posed t’be there.”
Noah nodded, lighting a cigar he pulled out of his pocket. He took a few thoughtful puffs before smiling and reaching out to pour them all another drink, “It sounds like you boys’ve got your work cut out for you. Just don’t forget why and I think you’ll be just fine.” He raised his glass in a silent toast, waiting for the others to do the same.
Murphy raised his shot, clinking it against his brother’s, then his father’s glass and Greenly’s pint. “Slainte mhaith.”