"STOP SHOOTING AT ME!"

Declan's voice cracked as he fell backwards, trying to duck behind anything that would provide even a modicum of shelter. He fumbled for the bullets, trying to shove them into the magazine as fast, his hand clumsy and stiff as he pushed it back into place. 

"I'M YOUR FEKKIN BROTHER WHY THE HELL ARE YE' SHOOTIN' AT ME?"

She'd gone mad and he was lucky he still had his gun on him if only for defense even though the last thing he really wanted to do was shoot Dee. They hadn't always been at each others throats, well not like this at least, and her sudden turn on him was all the more surprising. Sure they'd had their moments but what brother and sister hadn't? 

They'd come from a large family of thirteen kids with Dee being the eldest of the group and their little brother Danny bringing up the rear. They lived in New York on a large farm, along with their gran and gramps and their aunt and uncle. 19 people in one house, even if it was large, was always bound to create some sort of tension. Declan had gone off at the age of sixteen to find a job and had ended up involved with a man called Jack and an unrequited love for Jack's daughter that ended in bitterness and a broken hand. After McLeod had died in a bitter shootout, Declan had skipped town and headed back to his home battered, bruised, and with an almost non-functional hand. Deirdre had fixed him up and he'd stayed on the farm taking care of business and minding his own. Once vivacious and talkative, he tended to stay quiet and only his sister knew everything that had gone on during his stint in the mafia. She'd become his confidant once again as she had when they were growing up. Despite her caustic way of talking to him, he knew his sister loved him and would do anything to protect him and he'd do the same for her.  

Together they'd made the drive to Philly after a distraught phone call from a family friend regarding another childhood chum they'd known. Poor thing, the girl had been doing so well in Philly but a rival had found out where she lived and shot her in her sleep. Not yet in the church an hour when her best friend had joined her and now he was stuck cleaning up after them. He'd gone to the city of 'brotherly love' to wrap up her affairs and send her belongings back to her mother and brothers in Chicago. As he'd been packing the young girls things he'd been muttering about the life of crime and how he couldn't even shoot right anymore after Jack had crushed his hand. Not a moment later Dee had snatched up a gun and fired off a round at the ground between Declan's feet causing him to stumble backwards in an attempt to protect and defend himself. 

"Dee, what the HELL are you doing?" Declan pled as he aimed his gun towards his sister who was...laughing? It was undeniable, she had thrown her head back and was cackling with wicked glee. His face flustered and turned bright red, his expression contorted with anger at his sisters mockery of him. 

"Least you stopped complaining about your gun hand." She replied with a smirk. 

Deirdre's porcelain white face was flushed, cheeks stained with crimson from the exertion of laughing and shooting straight, making sure she never hit her idiot twin.  She shot one more time and watched Declan's gun get whipped out of his hand, a look of shock and fury on his face.  She holstered her gun in the hand carved leather garter she had asked one of her brothers to make and used both hands to push her wild, sweaty black hair off of her face.  

"You've got to stop living in the past Dec.  It's bad enough you keep making shite choices as far as your life goes, but how do you keep collecting these sorrows?"  She picked up a small crystal necklace and put it on, ignoring her brother's look of disgust.  The trinket wasn't doing Lillian any good now that she was dead and scattered to the wind.  "I told you back on the farm that if you ever left, I was coming with you, and here I am.  If you want to get killed, I can't abide that.  You already made ma suffer so much when you got wrapped up with those bootleggers who came and tried to steal a parcel of granda's land.  But Ian made it worse by getting shot in the face.  She made me promise that if you ever left home again that'd I'd look after your soul.  Well, you know where me and God stand, but you and I are another story."  

She paused to decant a cut crystal bottle of bourbon and skipped the glass and went straight to swigging from the container.  A dribble of alcohol went down her chin and she wiped it with the back of her sleeve, the dirty lace picking up another stain.  

"I saw it in your eyes. I saw it.  Death. Hate. Blood.  You didn't just come here to settle Murphy's affairs, you came to reclaim what you lost when Jack died."  She gave her brother a knowing look.  "You're not going back home are you?"  Declan sat where he'd stopped scuffling away from his insane sister and finally looked up at her, his head shaking a little from side to side.  Deirdre sighed.  

"See?  I had that feeling when we got here.  So you're stuck with me.  And I want you to know, I will do whatever it takes to protect your idiot self  Even if that means I have to do things you'd rather I not.  Like shoot at you."  She took another long pull of the bourbon and set it down with a thunk, winking at Declan.  

"Let's get the rest of this shite packed and get the hell out of here eh?" 

Declan's cheeks burned with frustration and embarrassment as he dragged the back of his hand across his face, mopping up beads of sweat that had formed on his brow and nose. His steps were slow, dragging across the dusty floor as he moved out of his hiding spot to pick up his gun which had landed close by. With a rough shove he holstered the weapon and snapped the leather strap over the handle of the gun before snapping his jacket lapels. 

"I'm trying to move forward Deirdre but I'm not sure I'm making any progress. I'm not looking for revenge for Jack, the man's dead an' gone long time now but I'd sure like to get my hands around the throats of the man that killed Ian and took Kiernan's arm. What you saw wasn't reserved for anyone but them and I'd do better bringin' hell this way than back on the farm planting corn and milking cows. Ma' has enough troubles and she has enough help with the other's, she doesn't need my trouble any more. Not after what I brought."

His voice broke, heavy with emotion and regret over his brother's death. He reached for the bottle as he approached his sister, scrabbling as she pulled it away. "Give it here ya witch." He grumbled, grabbing the bottle with a sheepish grin and taking a long pull from the bottle before handing it back to Deirdre. "Well, you know what I mean." He huffed a short laugh as he turned his head, searching for the door so that they could get out of the building. 

"I'm fine with being stuck with you so long as you don't try to kill me again. Now, lets get the hell out of here and get something to eat shall we?"

It had been months since Declan had come back to life, popping up from behind a shrub and nearly earning himself a broken nose, it had been several weeks since he'd helped clear the apartment of one of their friends and pack away the memories of a young girl who had barely taken the reins of her own empire before she was senselessly murdered.  And now, now it had been two days since Declan had died again.  This time though, this time it was for real.  Deirdre has cursed the old gods and defiled her brother's corpse, looking for any hint that the sack of flesh in a cheap suit wasn't really her brother this time.  But it was, and even as the horrified priests dragged the blaspheming woman out of the doors that has mysteriously been blown off in a storm, there seemed to be a heavy fog of foreboding flooding every corner of the church.

Now, that same feeling hung in the air of the abandoned apartment, but there was no one else there to feel it.  With so many people hitting the mattresses, most dives like this were virtually abandoned.  Deirdre lit her pipe, then flicked the smouldering cigarette into the kerosene that had been soaking into every surface and fabric in the little run down flat.   

"By the Green God's beard, these bastards are going to pay."  

She clenched her pipe a little harder between her teeth and walked to her car, the warmth of the raging fire barely touching her icy heart.