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The two brothers mumble and grumble over this -- First over the order that he not sleep, Last over the talk of looking (too) closely at death and its meanings. But fortunately for the good doctor's patience, after that they will settle down considerably, even going so far as to leave him and Somnium to their own devices. They murmur quietly to each other, keeping each other awake handily enough, only speaking up should there be something that they do require: drinks of water or tea to keep them awake, something for Last to eat, a visit from Somnium to keep First going.

Come morning they are doing as well as can be expected, and the light of dawn will prove that while First has a daunting goose-egg and has lost a goodly amount of blood, he is not badly concussed. When allowed to sleep they will do so peacefully, still tangled around each other with a careless ease.

It is not until early in the evening when Marco will hear from them again -- they will wait until he has left for some reason, or until he is sleeping or otherwise occupied. When he either wakes, looks up, or returns, he will find Last seated with his back against the headboard of the bed, twists of already-ruined blanket worn around his shoulders. His eyes are closed and his hands balled into tight fists, possibly becaues First is seated to one side of him, glancing occasionally into a small mirror resting on his brother's shoulder as he pulls the a knife slowly across his brother's brow.

The blood wells up bright and red, causing Last suck in careful gulps of air at the stinging pain. As if this gruesome scene were not bad enough, First's leg is already clumsily bandaged in the same spot his brother sustained an injury -- fresh blood seeps through that, too.

" .. almost done," First is muttering to his sibling, sweat beading on his brow with the effort it takes to keep his hand steady.

First sits back with an abrupt thump at the sound of Marco's shout, leaving the cut on his brother's head a fraction shorter than the cut on his own forehead. He wipes the small knife on his pant leg, his clothing already ruined, and he at least is able to give Somnium a crooked smile to try and reassure him. "Ain't barmy, doc. We don't take no pleasure in it, but we gotta match."

Last has already clasped a bit of the ruined blanket to his forehead, to staunch the bleeding, and despite the pain he must feel there is a flicker of amusement across his now pale face. "It's business, doc. You patch this up just the same as last night and we won't do nothin' more." Clearly, the two think nothing of injuring each other so that they match .. and the idea that someone might find this horrifying is nothing more than vaguely amusing to them.

It wouldn't do to have a flimsy disguise, after all. They couldn't just both wear bandages on their heads and legs if they hadn't the actual hurt to match .. every fold of their coats must be the same, every curl of hair, every scar ..

"Don't you worry, doc. We don't plan on no more." First gives a deep chuckle; even with his additional injury he sounds much better today, and at least if they have given themselves identical cuts, they have not had to trek through the streets to reach his apartment -- these cuts will be much cleaner, and Last's head wound will not be accompanied by a possible concussion.

"Damn right," mutters Last, with a snort. "Had enough hurtin' for the next few years or so." He continues to hold the blanket to his forehead, eyes bright; as he watches Marco there is an upward twitch at one corner of his mouth. "Don't let it bother you none, doc."

First picks up the thread of the conversation, tilting his head almost coyly. "Yeah, we ain't usually so serious. Most times we'd just as soon spend a night flirting with serving wenches and telling jokes across the bar." Having said this, the two young men move carefully around each other, as if unconsciously aware of where the other is -- and take up the same positions they'd sat in last night, only reversed. This time it's Last's head in First's lap, with First's leg stuck out along the side, so that both injuries can be more easily tended to.

There are those who would say that the Freds deserve every bit of Marco's anger and scorn, for they are both young and the consequences that worry the doctor would never occur to either of them. At their age, consequences are something that happens to other people, just like the Freds themselves often happen to those who least expect it.

"Weren't expecting anything of the sort," First assures him breezily, holding his brother's head steady so that Marco can take a closer look at the cut he's put on Last's forehead.

"Not like most folk'd be smart enough to tell," offers Last himself complacently, stretching out comfortably across the bed. "They see a scar, they don't compare whether the old stitch-marks are the same, only that it's in about the same place."

First, meanwhile, is smiling at Somium as he approaches: if allowed he will check once more to make sure his hand is clean of blood and then offer his fingertips to the buck to see if he can give him another little scratch.

Now at least Last falls silent, gripping the edge of the bed and gritting his teeth at the pain: what breaths he takes are hissed carefully through his teeth, but he manages at least to keep himself still under Marco's hands. It is First who will answer the doctor, even as he happily reaches to pet Somnium, pleased to be given this honor by the Guardian. "People ain't fair," he tells Marco matter-of-factly. "Don't matter who's guilty or not, what matters is who's got gold and who don't, or who was born in the right place with the right parents." There's no overt bitterness in his voice, but there is something almost sad about the way that he speaks so plainly, his tone even and unsurprised. As if that's simply the way it is and the way it will always be, as if he could not even comprehend of a life that was not that way. The idea of wrongness hardly enters into it, because that's the only way it can be.

"He's a handsome lad," First offers thoughtfully. "I like 'im."

Last, without the breath to form a coherent reply, just snorts.

Last, head tipped back in his brother's lap and eyes closed, does not stir himself to contribute to the conversation. He is breathing slowly, recovering from having his head stitched, likely reeling with the pain so much that he had no time to focus on their words. But what is said to one may as well have been said to the other, and when it is First's turn to have his leg stitched, Marco will have a chance to repeat his moral lesson.

Unfortunately, some of it seems to have gone over First's head. He regards Marco a touch uncertainly, with less of the bold bravado than he has worn before -- he would dismiss the doctor out of hand, if he had not spent the past day exhausted and in pain. "Life ain't fair," he repeats, though not certain whether he is agreeing with or disagreeing with Marco. "S'why me family has to go around them as think they're our betters. Ain't our fault our family hasta go around them as think they're better. We'd'a been merchants, but they hung our brother, sayin' he were a pirate, and ain't nobody do normal trade with us now."

Apprenticeship? This gets a snort from them both, as their matched sets of eyes watch him work. At the moment they do not seem particularly traumatized by the circumstances of their own past -- after all, as they'd said, that was simply the way it was. He seems more upset than they are, unless one counts the faint unease his moral lessons have left First with. Whether Marco realizes it or not his words have fallen on fertile ground, and will be bothering First for some time to come.

"Naw," says Last. "We're too old for apprentices, really."

"Don't hold with none've that listening to others, anyway," First puts in, with a grin twisting up one side of his mouth. "Anyway, we have a le-git-a-mate business, we do. It ain't all fun in dark alleys for us, no sir!"

There's no telling where they learned the word 'legitimate,' but it's plain that they have only a passing acquaintance with its definition, despite First's clear pleasure in being able to abuse such an elegant word. It's hard to picture either of these fellows at a lawful trade of any kind -- and in truth the tavern they own and run is largely above-board, save for the sale of information that passes back and forth sometimes across the bar.