(no subject)
Title: Over my shoulder
Fandom: Four Brothers
Rating: PG-13
Charater(s)/Pairing: Bobby Mercer/Jack Mercer
Summary: Character death, major!! movie spoiler
Warnings: Countless nights and a guitar.
Word Count: ~1180
“I'm gonna be a star someday,” Jack exclaims one summer night as they lay on the roof of the front porch, with only the stars above them and noone to hear them - awfully cliché, Bobby thinks, but can't help but like it nonetheless. Luckily, at that time of night in that kind of town, everyone's too busy not being seen themselves to notice anyone else.“Yeah, sure, and I'm gonna be president,” he replies, crossing his arms behind his head and glancing at Jack, who's staring up at the starry sky, his eyes full of hope. Bobby looks away again. “And how are you going to do it?” “With my guitar,” Jack says enthusiastically, only half answering Bobby's question. “I mean, if I really want to, I can, right, Bobby?” With that, Jack tilts his head and looks at Bobby expectantly, before lowering his gaze, rolling onto his side and resting his head on Bobby's chest, who wraps his arms around him and whispers: “Right, Jackie, right.”
***
It had been weeks, months even, since the “incident”, and, on the surface, Evelyn’s house was nearly better than it had been before. The three remaining brothers had worked hard to restore the full front of the old, memory-laden building, and one could see nothing of the shooting that had taken place there only the past winter - even though they were still in plain sight for the brothers, who had lost too much that day.
However, it was spring now, and they had moved on as good as possible: With Sweet out of the way, Jeremiah’s plans were finally working out and business was going well, while Angel and ‘la vida loca’ (whose name Bobby still hadn’t bothered to learn) even considered moving into Evelyn’s old house together. Bobby hadn’t thought their relationship would ever turn out to be that serious, and he wasn’t too keen on them occupying the home of his childhood and memories, but, of course, no matter what, he wished his brother all the best, though he still wouldn’t bet on them ‘making it’ - Angel a faithful lover? Yeah, right. And Bobby was a fucking saint.
No matter what the oldest Mercer thought, their love was in ‘full bloom’, as la vida loca had put it, and their plans to move in were set in motion already - which meant the Latina’s stuff neatly packed into brown packing cases occupying the restored living room, and packages of Angel’s belongings arriving one after the other at their house.
Which, on a different note, meant that the brothers had to move out some of the old stuff, and that was the most heartbreaking thing about it. Neither brother would have admitted it, but roaming through their mother’s belongings, sorting out what they could store somewhere else and what they’d have to lose brought back memories, and when no one was watching, each of the brothers had shed a tear or two.
On Bobby having lost his mother was just as hard as on the other brothers, but having lost his youngest brother hit him harder than everyone else. Whereas Jeremiah and Angel had found refugee and comfort in their loved ones, the oldest brother was left alone, alone without the young blond who had been his refugee after their mother’s death.
But now? Now Jack was gone as well. Killed by the same man that had taken their mother already. Killed in the bloody revenge Bobby had led. All the time he had thought he would be the first one of the Mercers to die, not only because he was the oldest one, but also because he sought out trouble like none of the others, maybe even to a point where people might have thought he was keen on getting his brains blown out. And maybe that really had been the case - though that was something Bobby really wasn’t too eager to analyze.
But nevertheless, when no one had expected it, it had hit the youngest one. They had taken Jack. To Bobby, they might just as well have burrowed a bullet in his own chest, because that was certainly how it still felt. He didn’t understand why Jack - at first, he’d been desperate because he had lost his brother, friend and lover, then angry, because Jack had got himself mindlessly killed like that, but pretty soon desperate again when the realization that it had been Bobby’s fault in the first place had settled in. Ever since, he’d been more than miserable.
Those were some of the thoughts racing through Bobby's head as he slowly made his way up the stairs, his feet feeling like they'd been filled with more lead than the building, but after an eternity he reached the door to Jack's old room. Slowly he raised his hand to run it over two bullet holes that had actually made it as far as this door, then he took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Most of Jack's room was still untouched, only the bullet marks spoke of what happened that fateful day, because Bobby hadn't dared to enter his brother's room until now and as if due to an unspoken promise, neither of the other two brothers had. Trying hard to choke back the tears dwelling up in his eyes, Bobby closed the door behind him and leaned against it, taking a look around, his vision blurred.
All the memories that suddenly surfaced, words, promises, whispers he'd thought he had long forgotten, and even though he tried hard to deny it, plans of the future the two of them had made in the darkest of nights, not even once thinking those would happen anytime but dreaming nonetheless. It was all gone.
Bobby closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, standing still for a couple of seconds, minutes, hours maybe, he didn't know, before he opened his eyes again, wiped the tears away that he hadn't managed to hold back and unsteadily walked over to Jack's former bed. The guitar was still lying on the floor next to the bed, untouched since the night of their mother's funeral. Painfully slowly, Bobby picked it up and sat down on the bed.
That guitar. Bobby had often joked how Jack loved that guitar more than himself, but each and every time Jack had just smiled and plucked the strings of the guitar some more, before smirking and leaning up to peck Bobby on the cheek, each of those kisses as innocent and clumsy as Jack was, no matter how much he'd tried to disguise it. Naturally, Bobby had made that joke quite a lot of times. The thought that he couldn't do that ever again was nearly too much, leaving him trying to ineffectively stifle his grief once more.
It was too much, Bobby couldn't stay here another second. Shakily he got up and walked over to the door, the guitar still clutched tightly in one hand; he'd decided to keep that. “You're still my star, Jackie,” he whispered into the empty room, then turned around and left.
Fandom: Four Brothers
Rating: PG-13
Charater(s)/Pairing: Bobby Mercer/Jack Mercer
Summary: Character death, major!! movie spoiler
Warnings: Countless nights and a guitar.
Word Count: ~1180
“I'm gonna be a star someday,” Jack exclaims one summer night as they lay on the roof of the front porch, with only the stars above them and noone to hear them - awfully cliché, Bobby thinks, but can't help but like it nonetheless. Luckily, at that time of night in that kind of town, everyone's too busy not being seen themselves to notice anyone else.“Yeah, sure, and I'm gonna be president,” he replies, crossing his arms behind his head and glancing at Jack, who's staring up at the starry sky, his eyes full of hope. Bobby looks away again. “And how are you going to do it?” “With my guitar,” Jack says enthusiastically, only half answering Bobby's question. “I mean, if I really want to, I can, right, Bobby?” With that, Jack tilts his head and looks at Bobby expectantly, before lowering his gaze, rolling onto his side and resting his head on Bobby's chest, who wraps his arms around him and whispers: “Right, Jackie, right.”
***
It had been weeks, months even, since the “incident”, and, on the surface, Evelyn’s house was nearly better than it had been before. The three remaining brothers had worked hard to restore the full front of the old, memory-laden building, and one could see nothing of the shooting that had taken place there only the past winter - even though they were still in plain sight for the brothers, who had lost too much that day.
However, it was spring now, and they had moved on as good as possible: With Sweet out of the way, Jeremiah’s plans were finally working out and business was going well, while Angel and ‘la vida loca’ (whose name Bobby still hadn’t bothered to learn) even considered moving into Evelyn’s old house together. Bobby hadn’t thought their relationship would ever turn out to be that serious, and he wasn’t too keen on them occupying the home of his childhood and memories, but, of course, no matter what, he wished his brother all the best, though he still wouldn’t bet on them ‘making it’ - Angel a faithful lover? Yeah, right. And Bobby was a fucking saint.
No matter what the oldest Mercer thought, their love was in ‘full bloom’, as la vida loca had put it, and their plans to move in were set in motion already - which meant the Latina’s stuff neatly packed into brown packing cases occupying the restored living room, and packages of Angel’s belongings arriving one after the other at their house.
Which, on a different note, meant that the brothers had to move out some of the old stuff, and that was the most heartbreaking thing about it. Neither brother would have admitted it, but roaming through their mother’s belongings, sorting out what they could store somewhere else and what they’d have to lose brought back memories, and when no one was watching, each of the brothers had shed a tear or two.
On Bobby having lost his mother was just as hard as on the other brothers, but having lost his youngest brother hit him harder than everyone else. Whereas Jeremiah and Angel had found refugee and comfort in their loved ones, the oldest brother was left alone, alone without the young blond who had been his refugee after their mother’s death.
But now? Now Jack was gone as well. Killed by the same man that had taken their mother already. Killed in the bloody revenge Bobby had led. All the time he had thought he would be the first one of the Mercers to die, not only because he was the oldest one, but also because he sought out trouble like none of the others, maybe even to a point where people might have thought he was keen on getting his brains blown out. And maybe that really had been the case - though that was something Bobby really wasn’t too eager to analyze.
But nevertheless, when no one had expected it, it had hit the youngest one. They had taken Jack. To Bobby, they might just as well have burrowed a bullet in his own chest, because that was certainly how it still felt. He didn’t understand why Jack - at first, he’d been desperate because he had lost his brother, friend and lover, then angry, because Jack had got himself mindlessly killed like that, but pretty soon desperate again when the realization that it had been Bobby’s fault in the first place had settled in. Ever since, he’d been more than miserable.
Those were some of the thoughts racing through Bobby's head as he slowly made his way up the stairs, his feet feeling like they'd been filled with more lead than the building, but after an eternity he reached the door to Jack's old room. Slowly he raised his hand to run it over two bullet holes that had actually made it as far as this door, then he took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Most of Jack's room was still untouched, only the bullet marks spoke of what happened that fateful day, because Bobby hadn't dared to enter his brother's room until now and as if due to an unspoken promise, neither of the other two brothers had. Trying hard to choke back the tears dwelling up in his eyes, Bobby closed the door behind him and leaned against it, taking a look around, his vision blurred.
All the memories that suddenly surfaced, words, promises, whispers he'd thought he had long forgotten, and even though he tried hard to deny it, plans of the future the two of them had made in the darkest of nights, not even once thinking those would happen anytime but dreaming nonetheless. It was all gone.
Bobby closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, standing still for a couple of seconds, minutes, hours maybe, he didn't know, before he opened his eyes again, wiped the tears away that he hadn't managed to hold back and unsteadily walked over to Jack's former bed. The guitar was still lying on the floor next to the bed, untouched since the night of their mother's funeral. Painfully slowly, Bobby picked it up and sat down on the bed.
That guitar. Bobby had often joked how Jack loved that guitar more than himself, but each and every time Jack had just smiled and plucked the strings of the guitar some more, before smirking and leaning up to peck Bobby on the cheek, each of those kisses as innocent and clumsy as Jack was, no matter how much he'd tried to disguise it. Naturally, Bobby had made that joke quite a lot of times. The thought that he couldn't do that ever again was nearly too much, leaving him trying to ineffectively stifle his grief once more.
It was too much, Bobby couldn't stay here another second. Shakily he got up and walked over to the door, the guitar still clutched tightly in one hand; he'd decided to keep that. “You're still my star, Jackie,” he whispered into the empty room, then turned around and left.