Disclaimer: Four Brothers belongs to Paramount. I claim no ownership.

Author's Note: This little idea popped into my head a few days ago while listening to Coldplay. There are a lot of scenes in the movie that allude to past adventures, but the one that always stood out to me was when Jack asked Bobby if they were "gonna do that gas thing." Between that line and the song, the gears got to turning and this is the result.

Dedications: Good music, good character development, and the talent that made all the magic happen. Without you, there would be no words.

That Gas Thing

"He said 'I'm gonna buy this place and burn it down. I'm gonna put it six feet underground.' "

- Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head

Bobby never expected a huge homecoming whenever he made his way back to Detroit. He didn't expect things to have been put on pause either. The Mercer household went on with or without his help, and if he was honest with himself, it went a lot smother when he wasn't around to stir things up.

He had missed the holidays. Couldn't clean up the mess he made of things in Jersey fast enough to make it. He could hear the disappointment in his mother's voice when he called Christmas Eve to let her know that he just couldn't get away. She didn't ask the reason why. After almost thirty years of his behavior she knew it was better for everyone if she didn't. There was a sadness that he could detect under the disappointment. He didn't catch it until she told him Angel wasn't able to get out of service and Jerry had decided to spend the day with Camile's family. Her younger sister was in town and she hadn't seen the girls in almost a year.

"I guess it's just me and Jack this year then," she had said after an almost inaudible sigh. "Promise you'll be in for his birthday. He could stand to look at something else besides my old face."

He had felt like the royal fuck up everyone always said he was after hanging up. Christmas come and went, New Years too. Now it was two weeks into January and he still felt like a house trained dog that had pissed on the living room rug. He couldn't get her tone out of his head, nor that quiet exhale of breathe. Evelyn never had to flat out say what she thought of him. She never even had to raise her voice. But he had still envisioned her standing in front of him, her lips pulled thin by a frown and her blue eyes speaking all the things she needn't say aloud.

That image had haunted him until the moment he pulled up to the pastel painted house, the wheels of his car crunching in the dirty snow. The porch light was off. He wasn't surprised. They were expecting him that afternoon, but a few caffeine pills and a lead foot had sped him through the last leg of his drive. It was almost three in the morning and he was home.

His rarely used key turned easily in the lock and he eased the front door open as quietly as he could. The familiar smells and slight chill hit him like a train as he locked the door behind him and stood on the mat. The remains of dinner's aroma hung in the air, probably something fried. Maybe chicken. His stomach gave an angry growl as he pulled off his coat and began to unlace his boots. It had been awhile since he ate the last of the peanut butter sandwiches he'd made for the road trip. He ran a hand across the back of his neck as he bent over to place his shoes next to the many pairs of bladed skates by the door.

As always, nothing much had changed as far as appearances went in the Mercer home. The light over the stove in the kitchen was on, as it had been for as long as he could remember. It casted a yellow glow into the front hall, giving him enough to see by. Upstairs was dark but there was a flickering coming from the living room. He figured it was Jack, forever the night owl, strumming on his acoustic and using the cable infomercials as company.

He strode into the room, a predictable and annoying greeting about his little brother's sexuality on lips when he stopped in his tracks. The sight that he'd been expecting wasn't there. Instead of his younger brother's mess of blond hair and surprised eyes, he found his mother sitting in the middle of the couch, her head tilted to the side and eyes closed in sleep. There was an afghan resting in her lap and she was in her night clothes and robe.

"What the fuck?" he muttered as he made his way towards her, a little more obvious of the creaks his footsteps make on the aging hardwood floor.

He hadn't expected things to be the same when he got back. But this, this was enough to let him know that things weren't quite as well off as he figured them to be. He frowned, noting that the elegant streak of gray hair she had the last time he was home had spread almost to her temples.

"Hey, Ma. Wake up," he said, reaching out a hand to shake her lightly. She stirred, her eyes easing open and blinking a few times.

"Jackie?"

"No, Ma, it's Bobby."

He watched as she processed this and sat up straighter. A smile graced her lips and one of her hands reached over to grab his own that was still resting on her shoulder.

"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow," he said smartly, "What are you doing down here? You should be in bed."

The smile changed from one of surprise and delight to one of resignation. "Jack isn't home yet. I was waiting up for him."

"Isn't it a school night?" He was pretty sure the day was Thursday. Technically Friday if one considered the time. Either way, Jack should have been home ages ago, and his mother shouldn't have been worrying over him in the middle on the night. Especially on the well abused couch.

"He went out after dinner. I just wanted to make sure he got home OK," she yawned, her eyes sliding close again, "I'm glad you're here, Bobby. You plan on sticking around?"

Always the same questions with her. He sighed, slipping one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders.

"You know me, Ma. I'm thinking about it."

She chucked a little as he lifted her up and headed out the room for the stairs. It was a game with them by now. They both realized a long time ago that it was a waste of energy to argue over his visits. When he was there, he was there, and that's all that mattered.

The trek to her room was silent, and it wasn't until he was pulling the covers over her that she brought herself back into consciousness.

"Go easy on him, Bobby. He's had a rough few weeks."

"To hell with easy. That idiot needs a knock up side the head"

She sighed, her eyes dark in the scarce light. "Trust me. If you push him too much now he'll lock up again."

He couldn't go against that. He remembered well the first year or so after Jack had been adopted. It wasn't something he wished to repeat. The cold shoulder. The silence. And the nightmares... Those had been the worse.

"Fine, but I'm not gonna act like it didn't happen."

She eyed him wearily before yawning again. "There's some chops, rice, and green beans in the fridge. Make yourself a plate and we'll talk in the morning. You can take Angel's room when you go to bed."

He knew better to tell her that he wasn't planning on sleeping and opted for "goodnight" and a kiss to her forehead. She patted him on the cheek and rolled over, pulling the cover over her face to block the streetlight coming through the window.

Easing out of the room, he closed the door behind him and went down the stairs. The air was chilly and he rubbed at his arms as he made his way into the kitchen to check the thermostat. Evelyn had knocked the heat back to save money. He pushed it up to 75. Since he was up he might as well be comfortable. He'd leave money when he left, whenever that was.

It didn't take him long to pull the tupperware out, shovel food onto a paper plate, and stick it in the microwave for two minutes on high. He actions were automatic, and every once in a while he'd glance at the clock and frown as the seconds ticked by. He ate quickly and tossed his trash before putting the leftovers back. Only thirty minutes had passed since he first walked through the front door and his little, and often troubled, brother had yet to make an appearance.

Bobby was no saint and he wouldn't be fool enough to attempt to argue with someone when they said he was not the best father figure. But the one thing he wouldn't stand for was someone speaking ill of the love he had for his family. Most people who knew him understood the extent he was willing to go to for them. If you didn't protect your family then you were useless. Blood relation or not, he knew that better then anyone else.

The problem was you sometimes had to protect the family from one of it's own.

Lord knows he and his brothers had raised hell in their day, and for old times sake, sometimes still would. But Jack could put them all to shame. He was subtle with his offensives. While he, Jerry, and Angel were out stealing, drinking, and screwing around, Jack would be upstairs running a razor across him arms while Kurt Corban wailed in the background. He was the tragic one in their little clan. The rest of them adopted a "fuck the world" attitude when it came to hurting, but Jack would internalize and take his pain out on himself.

Bobby remembered distinctively when Evelyn got her first gray hair, exactly thirty-two days after a fourteen year old Jack Kelly became Jack Mercer. He had caught his mother frowning at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pulling the offending hair out by the root and throwing him a sad smile.

"That boy, he might just be the death of me," she said before pulling out her makeup bag.

He hadn't taken her seriously at that moment, but once hockey season was over and he came home to experience Jack's destructive nature first hand, he was truly sorry he didn't. It was a long, hard battle to get the kid to realize he was safe and didn't have to hurt himself whenever things went wrong. Most of all, it had taken every ounce of patience to get Jack to trust. Not just himself, but Evelyn and the rest of the family.

Unfortunately, like every person with an addiction, a relapse was only a hair's breath away.

Jack had a lot of demons. Some were self made, but most of them had been inflicted onto him. Evelyn had told him about the messed up things that had happened to him in the past, more of a warning then a confession. Bobby was loud, bold, and opinionated. He was the alpha male, and poor Jack had too many bad experiences with men like him that were sick enough to take advantage of an abused, introverted child.

As he made his way into the living room and sat down to flip through the TV channels, he had to remind himself of that fact. He was angry. No... more along the likes of livid. But confronting his brother that way wouldn't get him anywhere. Jack would clam up, put up as much of a defense as he could, and retreat. An easy and predictable tactic, but one that would take days to undo. Bobby could only imagine the reason behind Jack's behavior this time. It was always unpredictable. Judging from the fact that his mom was waiting up for him was enough to know it was serious. She never did that with the rest of her boys, secure in the knowledge that they would get themselves out of trouble. If they didn't, she'd know when the phone started ringing.

He was in the middle of a free credit report commercial when he heard the back door open. Sitting up he reached for the remote and cut the television off, bringing the room to darkness and leaving the house silent. Suddenly alert, he listened as footsteps scuffled around the kitchen floor. A cabinet opened, something was pulled out and sat on a flat surface. Then the magnetic edges of the fridge door where pulled apart and he could hear liquid being poured.

Bobby slid off the couch and made his way to the other room, scrapping his shin on the coffee table edge and gritting his teeth to stop a curse. His timing was perfect despite that. Jack was shoving a bottle of orange juice back into the door when he moved in behind him, crossed his arms and waited.

It didn't take long. His brother was midway in raising the glass to his mouth when he finally turned and saw him standing there. He started, spilling the orange liquid down the front of his leather jacket and onto the floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" He took a step back, bumping into the counter, "You damn near gave me a heart attack!"

"That's too bad. You'll be wishing for a heart attack by the time I'm done with you."

Jack didn't seem to be concerned. Instead he sat the glass of juice down on the counter and reached for some paper towels.

"What do you want, Bobby," he asked as he cleaned up his jacket.

"I want to know why the fuck Ma was camped out on the couch waiting for your sorry ass in the middle of the night."

Jack didn't answer. Instead he bent over and used the wad of paper in his hand to soak up the liquid on the tiled floor. When he finally did straighten himself he walked over to toss the mess in the garbage, leaving his back exposed as he lifted up the lid.

It was a stupid move to make. He'd taught him better. Maybe he had been away too long this time. The Jack he knew wouldn't have let his defenses down in a fight with him. He managed to get his head in a firm lock before his brother rose and turned back around. The was a second of stiffness in the younger boys body before his hands came up to pry the arms from around his nick. But Bobby wasn't going to relent, even with his fingers dug painfully into his forearms.

"You gonna tell me what your behavior is all about or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?"

"Fuck you." The words were strangled but still forceful in their effect as Jack started to struggle against his hold. Bobby had a hard time of keeping his grip and avoiding the kicks that were aimed at him. The kid had sprouted up since his last visit, overlooking him by a few inches now. Despite his general appearance Jack could hold his own when necessary. His lankly arms and legs fooled many people, but they were more muscle then skin and bones and Bobby had been on the receiving end of the appendages on many occasions.

When Jack first came to them, Evelyn had explained that he was like a stray dog. Timid and scary, but when cornered the feral part of him would take over. She had stressed how important it was to take things slow. Slow wasn't in Bobby's vocabulary. That was more in tune with Jerry, who had taken the time to cuddle their new addition while he and Angel where out reeking havoc.

Bobby had taken the time to show him how to embrace the wild side of his personality. It was one of the few things he was good at. The animalistic drive to protect what was valuable. While everyone else walked on eggshells he would intentionally provoke him. A shove into a corner as his passed by. Flushing the toilet when he was showering. Stealing food off his plate at the dinner table.

Evelyn didn't like it.

"You're bullying him. He had enough of that in foster care. I told him he wassafe here, Bobby. Now your making it appear as if I'm going back on my word. If you plan on keeping this up, you can just go back to wherever the hell you were and leave us alone."

Her words had hurt. But he didn't relent. The kid wasn't going to get anywhere if they kept babying him. He knew that behind that meek, submissive act he'd mastered was a boy that was willing to take on the world if it meant he got the respect he deserved. He would see a flash of it in his eyes, whenever he messed with him, before he'd avert his gaze and try to become invisible again.

The Jack that he'd been looking for, the real Jack finally surfaced three months after his adoption. Bobby had taken the remote from him and called him a fairy for the first time. By the end of it all, he was sporting a bleeding lip and Jack's eye was starting to swell. Things finally clicked in his head, though, as he was hauled to his feet and was showed the proper way to use his fists. Angel volunteered to put the books and nicknacks back on their proper shelves while they went out to by a new coffee table. During the ride he let Jack control the radio and that's when he got his first smile.

Of course, it didn't fix him, but it opened the door to their relationship. Bobby played teacher and Jack was the apt pupil. And Evelyn never asked about the new table or his black eye.

He was almost legal now, and apparently had packed on a few pounds to go with the height. Jack went slack in his arms and Bobby stumbled a little with the dead weight.

"You ready to talk now?"

He didn't get an answer, so his just sighed and pulled a chair out from the table with his foot before slinging his brother's body into it. He sat down across from him, and after a brief staring contest Jack crossed his arms and looked away.

"What are you doing, Jackie?"

"I was getting some juice before you tried to pull my head off."

"Don't jerk me around. You know what I'm talking about," He shifted in his chair, leaning in more, "You promised you'd stop doing this to us, Jack. Now you come waltzing in here smelling like a drunk on a three day bender. I don't know what else you've been in to, but I swear to God if that rattle in your pocket isn't a pack of Tic-Tacs I'm gonna tear you a new one."

He still wasn't looking at him, "Leave it a lone, Bobby."

"That's what you always say. But you already know I'm not," he frowned, "So what's your excuse this time, huh? Get a bad grade? Couldn't get it up for some girl? Or is this just some fucked up way to get back at me for not being around?"

That seemed to get his attention. He turned to look at him, jaw clenching, "Not everything that goes on in this house is about you, Bobby."

"Sure as hell doesn't seem that way! For the past year every time I come home and you've some mess for me to clean up."

"I'm thirsty."

"Here, you candy ass," he reached behind and grabbed the orange juice. "Drink up."

Jack took the glass from him and sat it on the table. Bobby watched as he fingered to engraving of Micky Mouse with one hand and ran the other tiredly across the back of his neck.

"You can't keeping playing this damaged rebel routine, Jack," his voice was softer now, "Bad shit happened to you and you have every right to be pissed off about it. But destroying yourself isn't going to make it go away."

He was still concentrating on the glass. Bobby cracked his knuckles and went on, "If you want to fuck your life up, that's fine. Just don't drag the family into your twisted way of getting attention."

Jack picked the glass up, but instead of tilting it towards his lips, he threw it at him. It grazed his temple, splashing juice over his air and face and crashing into shards somewhere behind him. He hissed when some got into his eyes, the citrus burning. Jack's chair scrapped across the tiled floor as he stood up quickly.

"I'm not doing anything for attention," he growled at him and Bobby opened blurry eyes to see his angry face and clenched fists, "I'm fucking tired of feeling. You're never going to understand that. Making me angry isn't going to do anything because it hasn't changed anything!"

He ran his hands through his hair, swaying a little on his feet. "You don't know what it's like to burn. You don't know what it's like to feel it inside of you eating away at everything, and not matter how much you talk about it it still hurts. Every time things seem to get better, it gets shoved in my face. So either I can hate the world and myself, or I can become numb."

"Sit down Jack," he said as he whipped at his eyes one last time. "Sit down and talk so that I can understand."

"No! I'm done with talking. I'm done with therapy and prescriptions and people holding my god damn hand. They don't help. You don't help. So just fucking leave it alone!"

Bobby watched silently as he stormed out of the kitchen and out the back door, slamming it behind him with enough force to rattle the dishes in the drying rack. With a frustrated growl he stood up and went for the paper towels, only to step on the remains to the glass that had shattered against the counter.

"Shit!" He sat back down heavily, pulling his left foot into his lap to see the shard that had gone through sock into his skin, "Fucking temperamental brat. He wants to be numb, then I'll make him numb. Break his back in six places. Won't feel much after that." He yanked the glass out of his foot with a wince and pulled his sock off to inspect the cut.

"I told you to just leave it be."

Startled, he looked up to see Evelyn standing in the doorway.

"You should be in bed," he said, no longer in the mood to see anyone's face. Even if it was his mother's.

"So should you," she countered as she walked over. He just rolled his eyes and pressed his sock against his bleeding foot.

"Here," she sighed as she pulled up a chair and placed a first aid kit that she'd been holding on the table, "I'll take care of that."

He watched as she worked, his mind miles away as he mulled over the past fifteen minutes. Jack was right. He didn't understand. And never would unless he took the time to explain why he did the things he did. His problem was that he never grasped the concept that people actually cared.

A sharp sting in his already throbbing foot brought him back to the present as he jerked away from her hands.

"Stop that," she ordered as she pressed a cotton ball soaked iodine back to the cut, "I swear, you can be such a baby."

"Yeah yeah," he ran a hand over his face, which was still wet from the orange juice, "He's slipping again, Ma. I don't know how to fix it."

She pulled out a band-aid, eyed it, then went for a bigger one. "You can't fix it, Bobby. Only he can fix it. All any of us can do is ease the process. Your usual tactics aren't going to work now."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"I wish I could answer that," she sighed again, "I'm still trying to figure out my part in all this. But it's hard, because he's closing himself off."

"What happened? There had to have been a trigger. Last time I was here he was healthy. We didn't fight. He was trying out for soccer. Hell, we even talked about girls. I go away for a few months and come back to find this, this... monster wearing his clothes."

She patted him on the knee before standing, "Why don't I clean up this mess and you make some coffee. I don't suspect we'll be getting anymore sleep anyway. I'll tell you what's happened once all that's settled."

He nodded and hobbled over to the stove to put the kettle on the burner while she busied herself with a rag and the broom. He almost told her to leave the broken glass for Jack to take care of, but kept it to himself. More then likely he wouldn't show up until sometime in the afternoon. When the water boiled he fixed two glasses and brought them to the table. She had already pulled out the sugar and milk.

She didn't speak again until they both has settled down. She took a sip of her drink, no sugar with just a dash of milk and waited for him to finish puring sugar into his own. He never really did like the taste of black coffee. He always figured if he was going to drink something that bad, it might as well be alcoholic. When he finally sat his spoon down, she gave him a slight smile and wrapped her fingers around her mug.

"I probably should have told you this before the holidays. But I don't want to trouble you. I'm sure you had enough to worry about in Jersey."

That was an understatement, he thought as he unconsciously fingered the scar running across his forearm.

"I got a phone call from Rachael, Jack's old case worker, about a week before Christmas. She wanted to inform me that Steven Kelly was up for probation, and the strongest defense they had to keep the bastard in prison was to get Jack to testify against him again."

He was taking another sip from his mug when she said that and managed to swallow the burning coffee too fast. He coughed, grimacing as his eyes teared up for the second time within an hour.

"So you see now why I asked you not to push him?"

He sat back in his chair to took a deep breath, "I screwed up, didn't I."

"Well, you never did listen to me when I tried to teach you about patience. Shoot now, ask questions later doesn't work all the time. Maybe you should have been the one to go into the military."

"This isn't funny, Ma."

"I'm not making jokes," she deadpanned, "You're too hot headed and it gets you into trouble. That attitude isn't going to help Jack any. You need a battle plan."

She was right. He didn't like it, but she was. He nodded, his mind buzzing as he planned.

"Jackie said something was burning in him," he muttered, more to himself then to her. He didn't catch her frown as he ran his fingers through his too long hair.

"Don't do anything stupid," she warned.

He smirked, "I won't." It was the truth. He wouldn't do anything stupid. Illegal on all sorts of levels, yes, but defiantly not stupid.

"What are you thinking Bobby?"

His smirk grew into a smile, "I'm thinking of fighting fire with fire."