WHO: Conor and Rory
WHEN: Saturday Morning
WHERE: Home
WHAT: Hangover time
RATING: TBD



The mug of coffee he held was steaming as Conor ascended the large staircase that was the focal point of the O'Meara family home. The other hand balanced a tray with toast and alka seltzer, or rather a glass of water and the little magic pills which would always do their job as far as Conor was concerned no matter the medical advances, some things already did their job. He didn't like that he was carrying these items up the stairs. Not to the room of his sixteen year old brother. Conor knew he had done his fair share of miscreant youth behavior but this was different.

Not entirely unexpected but not good either.

Conor knew he wasn't making things any easier on Rory, not with Patrick's death. Who the fuck knew how he would have dealt with it when he was sixteen. He wished Rory didn't have to know but he did and no amount of wishing otherwise would change that. That said, Conor didn't know how he was supposed to be handling this situation. Was there a correct way? Well there was probably a better way then what he had been doing which was complete and total crap if Rory's actions said anything about it. So maybe he was going to try? To stop being a dick of an older brother, to stop being some authoritative figure and to just... be understanding. He was capable of it. In theory.

After taking a sip, Conor set his cup of coffee next to the mug he had for Rory and gave his brother's door a short rap of his knuckles before turning the handle.