And Secretly Never Forgiving Himself - Tumblr Posts

Day 14 of @ailesswhumptober

Seizures/concussion "see if you can follow my finger with your eyes."

Take this offering. It isn’t very good. Apologies

~~~~~~~~~

Oscar couldn't remember how the fight started. It was always something stupid when they got into it like this, and then Oscar would say that out loud and Morris would get angry at him all over again, shoving him and telling him that talking about ma weren't stupid, or that he should have just as much access to their earnings as Oscar did.

Oscar would reiterate that both these things were fucking dumb and then the cycle would start all over again.

He shoved Morris, and it was hard on purpose. But he didn't expect his head to crack against the brick wall the way that it did. Oscar was aware of his own strength, but bad at controlling it.

The noise didn't echo, a sharp crack and then silence. And then Morris's body falling in on itself, eyes rolling to the back of his head before they closed and his body slumped into a pile on the street.

"Shit. Shit, Mo?"

Oscar was down next to him in an instant, knees scraping against the broken glass on the cobblestone. His own fault, he took this back alley short cut home and had more than once drunkenly stumbled, in his stupor dropping the last bottle of beer he had on him. Other times it was less accidental, his knuckles white on the neck of the bottle before he chucked it violently, full force at the wall, flames curling in his chest that erupted when it smashed.

Morris was lying in the same shards now.

Oscar grabbed his face, held it.

"Fuck, Mo, can you hear me?"

He slapped his cheek a couple times, nothing particularly hard, but just enough to try and get him to open his eyes. He needed Morris to respond to him. to at least move.

He wouldn’t let himself panic. Oscar was older, rational.

There was a mild comfort in the fact there was no blood, but Oscar knew that that didn't always mean much. He’d had more than one terrible head injury that didn't bleed. Something that caused days worth of headaches after being dealt bad blows to the head, usually courtesy of Da or Snyder back in the day, but more recently strangers when he'd picked a bad target for a fight.

But then to Oscar’s relief, his eyes flickered slightly and slowly, slowly he opens them.

"Christ Morris." He breathed, another noise amongst the drunk shouts and jeers of the drunk men walking home from bars and pubs. The sound it all, New York City after midnight. "You have me scared there for a second, kid."

Morris's eyes were opened now, but it was like he was looking through him instead of at him, pupils blown wide. So Oscar readjusted his grip on Morris's cheek, his jaw. Tilting his head up slightly, and raising his free hand above his face.

Oscar had had his fair share of concussions over the years too.

"Hey mo, look here alright? See if you can follow my finger with your eyes."

But it was like Morris's wasn't seeing, even with his eyes open.

Panic thrummed through Oscar's veins, "Mo c'mon stop fuckin' around-"

Morris's body went utterly tense, and Oscar froze, heart pounding as his brother, Christ as his brother seized up, and then started to convulse. Oscar had no idea what the fuck he was meant to do, his heart was in his throat, rib cage empty and tight with a lack of air. His hands were still in Morris's cheeks trying and failing to hold him still. He could feel glass embedding itself in his knees.

"Fuck, mo. you're scaring me."

And he was. For the first time Oscar wondered if ma was right somewhere amongst her crazy rambles. Wondered if this was some kind of exorcism.

So Oscar prayed, lowly and quietly under his breath, in harsh panicked whispers as his brother’s body convulsed under him, eyes rolling and moving under his eyelids, drool dripping in a steady stream down the side of his cheek and onto Oscar's trousers. He tried his best to hold him, to move Morris's head so it was resting on his knee instead of the dirty, glass strewn cobble. There was already splinters if it in his hair.

He didn't care, leant down and spoke in his brothers hair as his body tensed again, spasming.

Oscar was sure he killed him, with that shive; that crack of his skull against brick. Christ. or broke him to something that couldn't be fixed. Something worse than a concussion.

All he could do was mutter a Hail Mary, and press his knees down harder into the broken glass beneath him.