A/N: This is one of the many Four Brothers fics I have spinning around in my head and in notebooks. I managed to get my hands on a computer and type this much of this one up. Will update asap. If you're upset about the lack of Jack in this first chapter, calm down, stop scratching your Spares tattoo in anticipation, and just wait a tick. Our favorite Mercer is just around the corner, or, the chapter.

Note: I regrettably do not own Four Brothers or any of the Mercers.

Read..Review..Enjoy..

Chapter One: Home

It was nearly midnight and Bobby Mercer was walking home. Actually, it was more like irately stomping home with as much anger in his step as he could muster with a limp. And he wasn't going home, not really. Without his mother and baby brother, and with the recent facelift courtesy of Sweet's gangbangers, the building no longer felt like home to the eldest remaining Mercer. He had tried to make it home again, and at least succeeded in restoring it to a livable house with the help of his brothers. He truly did make an effort. He even swore to his mother from beyond the grave that he would. Yet shuffling through the biting March wind, in the middle of the night, after the day that he had just experienced, seemed as though the preverbal nail in the in the "give up already" sign. The nail didn't land in a coffin. Although he had seriously contemplated his own existence and often yearned to taste a metallic bullet over that of the unforgiving grief, he simply could not leave his remaining family behind. They needed him now more than ever. At least, that is what he told himself to get through the particularly difficult days. This day had been one of those. By the time his mother's house was in sight, he was ready to pack his bags and get away from it all. He could still be there for his brothers without physically being there to be emotionally slammed with constant reminders of everything he was desperately trying to move past.

Angel and Bobby took turns sleeping in their mother's room, Jack's bed, the couch, or at the dining room table, wherever their wandering, middle-of-the-night-grief led them. This last night, Bobby had spent the majority of it tossing and turning on the couch after stumbling in sometime after two o'clock in the morning that he couldn't remember when if interrogated. His hangover officially began with the shrill ringing of the house telephone at eight-o-six. A very ornery and very masculine woman's voice had promptly informed them that their power was to be shut off due to unpaid electric bills. Bobby hung up on the voice and cursed his, now, youngest brother.

They had tried to come up with some sort of a system after everything calmed down. It mostly consisted of Jeremiah and Camille setting up a budget and a plan of action for them. One of the bullet points on their finely tuned list was that Angel was responsible for the electric bill. They each had their responsibilities and bills, but this particular one had been placed in Angel's guilty lap.

Bobby sighed and groggily slid his feet across the floor as they seemed to not desire to obey his commands this morning. Sifting through a heap on the kitchen table that was deemed as their "important papers" filing system, even though Jeremiah had shown them how to use their mother's file cabinet and folders, Bobby found what he was reluctantly searching for. The normal Bobby Mercer foamed at the mouth for control and leadership. But the normal Bobby Mercer had hardly shown his face for three months. Angel was the first one up and therefore retrieved the mail, throwing any bills or letters for Bobby next to the snoozing man's head, wherever he had passed out the night before. Bobby still was trying, so he did manage to remain responsible and take care of his duties and fair share. He never thought to check up on his little brother to make sure he was doing the same. The Bobby Mercer that has existed in this shell of a human being for three months woke up, worked, took care of what needed to be taken care of around the house or town, zoned out to a hockey game and then either fell asleep by the sweet lullaby of whatever alcohol they had in the house or motivated himself to at least fall into that intoxicated bliss at a local bar. Angel was asleep by the time Bobby started in and hid the effects the following day quite well. He cracked jokes that came to him absentmindedly and put on as good of a show as he could to fool his family.

Either Angel was incredibly irresponsible, stupid, or too not fully dealing with the recent events that shook the Mercers. Whichever one was the cause of the soon-to-be-shut-off-power, Angel would still get a verbal whooping. The fake Bobby was pretty good at laying those out too without awakening the broken and emotionally crippled Bobby that hid inside.

It turned out that Angel was spending just as much money on self-medication that Bobby was, plus buying Sofi food, clothes and presents as she had nearly taken up permanent resident status at the Mercer house. They wouldn't be able to collect enough to quell the power company with a minimum payment at least for a few days and with some assistance from Jeremiah. This meant that two were thrust back into medieval times in their home. Sofi and Camille brought by some candles and Jerry gave up a cooler so that they didn't lose all of their perishables, which mostly consisted of frozen pizzas and left over Chinese.

By the time had spent his own lacking energy chewing Angel out and then had been submitted to a lecture from Jeremiah, which quickly spiraled into a heated argument, Bobby had forgotten about his hangover and was ready to go start the process of creating one all over again. He chose Johnny's over an unheated house, even though it was nothing compared to how bitterly cold it had gotten after the shooting. He had arrived at the bar several hours before his normal drowning his sorrows away began, but Johnny made no comment. He also said nothing when he neglected to charge the eldest Mercer for any of his drinks that night. Johnny always had a way of knowing when something was going on. With his ears around the city and the eagerly flapping jaws that he served, he most likely already knew about the unpaid bill; Just like the week before when Bobby came in early and he knew it was because he had lost another job. Bobby didn't pay for drinks that night either.

Not desiring to take advantage of the hospitality and secretly loathing the way it felt like pity, Bobby abandoned his barstool early. Bobby Mercer always hated pity, but now it only reminded him of the reason behind it. Usually the alcohol succeeded at pushing those things from his mind. But tonight they only magnified them. He pictured Evelyn and Jack more clearly then he had since they both had died and couldn't stand it.

He was about halfway home when his once pride and joy began to sputter. It groaned until finally coming to a rolling and dismal stop in the middle of the road. The hunk of metal had all but been totaled during the brothers' little car chase adventure in the snow. Once the house had been finished being fixed, Bobby had turned his attention to his old car that he had been stowing in the junk yard of an old friend and "business colleague". It was just something else to distract him. Apparently, the car was even beyond Bobby's mechanical touch. It was the fourth time in the last two weeks it had rolled over and died and Bobby finally decided that he would let it rest in peace. With a grunt, Bobby punched the steering wheel and flung the door open, vaguely aware of the few cars that were passing and honking irritably. He paid them no attention when in earlier years he would have purposefully flashed them a certain finger or done something to provoke an altercation. Instead, Bobby desperately attempted to contain himself as he stood almost statue-like. He felt himself boiling on the inside, everything bubbling up, eagerly waiting to erupt. Emotions scratched and memories clawed their way to the surface with intense force. He couldn't hold it all back. Not this time. With an animalistic yell, Bobby spun around, slamming the door shut. His foot landed harshly against the metal and then the hubcap. The pain didn't even register right away. He had no inclination as to how long he remained there, shouting to the night sky and beating up his once prized possession.

It wasn't until he had resigned himself to walking home in silent tears that the stinging began. It started dull, but with each step, grew angrier until even stoic Bobby had to shift a portion of his weight off of the throbbing limb. Bobby felt a suddenly strange sensation sweep over him. He cautiously glanced around, slowly reaching for the gun that rested in his waistband. He had to admit that he wasn't a big fan of weapons after what happened to his brother and mother, but this still was Detroit. Rolling his shoulders back, he shrugged off the feeling and continued walking.

He wasn't far from home when the feeling overwhelmed him again. Before he could even react, a car screeched around the corner, jumping the curb. Bobby barely got his hands on his gun before the racing vehicle collided with his body. He felt himself crunch, or was it the metal? He couldn't tell. All he knew in that moment was pain. He suddenly felt glass shattering underneath him and then his body tumbled back down across the hood of the car and landed harshly on the unforgiving pavement. He could faintly hear a car door open and slam shut. He groaned and attempted to reach for his gun. With his other hand, he pushed himself shakily off the ground. His vision was clouded, along with his mind. The last thing Bobby knew was the snap of a bullet being released and darkness overtaking him, his limp arm reaching out for home.