Disclaimer: See previous chapter.

Author's Note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. You guys make a girl feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Just like whiskey. Anyway, here's the wrap up. It's a raw post, so forgive any grammatical errors and the such. I'll fix them as I find them.

That Gas Thing
Chapter 2

Jerry was rather confused when he showed up at his house later that morning for a quick greeting and the request for his sister-in-law's phone number. Camille had been upstairs with Daniela and Amelia, which meant he was saved from her questioning. Not that Jerry was any better.

"What do you want with an nineteen-year-old's number?"

He shoveled a forkful scrambled eggs into his mouth before answering. "I need to ask her a question."

Jerry shook his head as he got up and scrapped the remains of his breakfast into the sink, "I don't know what your planning, but you drag Nicky into it I'm gonna kill you. After Camille gets done with you first. She's protective of her sister."

He almost laughed. Nicky was no angel, and he was damn sure she was raising hell over in Boston where there were no parents or older siblings to keep her in line. The last thing Jerry had to worry about was him corrupting her. She did a well enough job on her own.

"Look," he sighed and shoved his empty plate away from him, "I'm not dragging her into anything. It's just a fucking question."

"Don't yank me around Bobby, I know you," he said as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, "And watch your mouth. I've told you about talking like that around my girls."

"You have a two year old and a baby that's six months. Nothing I say is gonna sink in until they are at least five. Besides, they're not even down here."

Jerry glowered at him before turning to rinse his plate off in the sink. He didn't speak again until he was finished. By that time Bobby had polished off the glass of milk he poured earlier before letting go a loud belch.

"Pig," his brother muttered under his breath.

He shrugged. "You've been with that woman of yours too long. You not longer have that bachelor charm."

"Why do you need to talk to Nicky?" He deadpanned.

"I told you-"

"What's your question then?" He pressed, cutting him off.

Bobby blinked once, raking his brain for a convincing answer, "I need a recipe."

Jerry raised his brows, "A recipe?"

So it wasn't the soundest of replies, but it was the quickest he could come up with. And when he really thought about it, it wasn't so much a lie as it was bending the truth.

"Yeah. It was something she made for Cracker Jack back when she was in school with him. He's going through a rough spot, and considering he liked it so much I figured I'd try it to cheer him up some."

Jerry mulled over his answer for a few seconds, "But you don't cook, Bobby."

His smile was all teeth. "That's what makes it a surprise, Jerry."

He eyed him wearily before giving him a defeated sigh, "I know you're up to something," he said as he walked over to the phone and picked up a notepad sitting next to it, "Just don't pull her into your madness." He tossed the pad onto the table.

"Thanks Jer," Bobby nodded as he glanced over the numbers written on the paper and found the one that read NICKY(cell) in Jerry's scrawl.

"Whatever. I've got to get to work. Let Camille know when you leave. And don't forget to lock the door behind you."

He barely acknowledged him with a wave goodbye while fishing a pen out of his pocket and scribbling the number on the palm of his hand. He had enough presents of mind to load up and start the dishwasher before he headed out, only to find the number smudged when he was done. Deciding it was safer to write it down on paper, he stuffed the torn off sheet in his jeans and headed for the stairs.

Camille was in the kid's room, feeding Amelia a bottle while Daniela entertained herself with an assortment of toys on the carpeted floor. Poster child for Fisher Price, he thought as she banged away on a plastic child piano with flashing lights.

"Hey, Cammie, I'm heading out."

She wrinkled her nose at the nickname, but smiled none-the-less. "Alright. I'll see you on Sunday for dinner. You are going to be there, right?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm hanging around? I just got here, damn it! And I'm not that unreliable."

"Language," she reminded as Amelia started to fuss at the raise in voice.

"Sorry," he mumbled, avoiding the disapproving look she was giving him, which was all he ever seemed to get from her, "I'll let myself out."

He kept the radio off as he drove away, stopping once at the gas station to buy and fill up two 5-gallon Blitz gas cans. The house was quiet when he made his way inside. With his stomach full and his head traveling to a million different places, he settled on the couch and tried to numb everything down with daytime talk shows.

He didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he woke up with a jerk and a snort, a hand coming up to wipe at the corner of his damp mouth. The sound on the TV was considerable louder then he remembered it being and he reached to his side for the remote only to find it missing. Blinking, he sat up, noting the morning sun was no longer pouring through the windows. His rest had been dreamless, and he eyed his watch to find it the time approaching four.

"Damn," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes before going into a stretch. It was only then that he noticed Jack sitting in the love seat to his right, idly flipping through the channels, completely ignoring him. His hair was damp, and Bobby caught the faint sent of Dial soap coming from his direction as he lowered his arms and shifted in his seat.

Despite the obvious shower, Jack still looked as if he'd been on a week long bing. The skin around his eyes was sunken and dark, making his normal pallor more pronounced then usual. As he flicked through channels, he noted his knuckles were pink and raw. Bobby frowned. Sometimes he regretted teaching the kid how to stand up for himself. Jack would never go looking for a fight, if anything he went out of his way to avoid confrontation. But if forced into one he'd be sure to finish it. Whatever he'd gotten into during his absents had come to that point.

Knowing the self destructive routine by now, he frowned at him, "How long have you been up, Jack?"

He took his time answering, settling on cartoons and tossing the remote down. "I don't know, what day is it?"

"Friday."

He shrugged, eyes still on the television. "Almost three days."

Bobby snorted. "You're a fucking idiot."

"So I've been told." The reply was unfazed and not in the least bit concerned.

Bobby sighed, leaning his head back and resting his arms on the back of the couch, falling into the silence that proceeded comfortable. The TV was still at an eardrum splitting level as he closed his eyes and mentally ran over the 'avoid family disaster check list' plan in his head, only then really remembering the date.

Focusing back on his brother, he licked his lips. "Happy birthday, Jackie."

He didn't respond immediately. Standing, he pulled a tin of shredded tobacco out of his back pocket before shuffling towards the hall, head lowered to the floor. Bobby barely heard the quiet 'Thanks' over the blaring show as the front door opened and shut a second later. He shook his head and got up from the couch with a sigh, heading towards the kitchen to fix a sandwich which he ate while hauling his things up to Angel's room and pulling out a fresh change of clothes.

He had just hopped into the shower when he heard noise from downstairs. Rinsing soap off his face, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and listened as footsteps headed up the stairs.

"Jack, you fairy, you could have left some hot water!"

"I take it he came back, huh?"

The voice was not the one he was expecting. Turning, he saw Evelyn leaning against the door frame.

"Jesus, Ma!" He hurried to yank the shower curtain close all the way. She chucked as she moved into the tiny room and plunked down on the lowered toilet seat.

"You didn't chase him off again, did you Bobby?"

He sighed and reached for a washcloth to lather up with soap, wondering why everyone kept assuming he was the one responsible for all things that went wrong in their clan.

"No. I woke up from a nap and he was there. Left not soon after."

"Hmm," she sighed. "He'll be back. For dinner maybe. I'm making his favorite."

Bobby wanted to tell her not to hold her breath but he kept it to himself. He already had both his bothers irritated with him. He didn't want to add her to the list.

"When you're done in here do you mind running to the store for me? I need some spinach and cottage cheese."

"Sure thing, Ma."

She left, closing the door behind her as he shut off the water and grabbed a towel to dry off. He needed to shave, but he shrugged the idea away as he went to Angel's room and pulled on his jeans from earlier and a clean sweater. He then realized he'd forgotten to pack extra socks.

"Ain't that a bitch," he mumbled while sniffing the pair he'd been wearing since Jersey. It wasn't pleasant. He tossed them into his bag with a disgusted frown before stealing some from Angel's dresser. He pulled them on along with his sneakers before reaching into his pocket for his wallet to check his funds. Gas really was getting too expensive. Especially when someone was planning on using it for a little B&E with a side of arson. It was then he remembered the slip of paper with Nicky's number on it. Checking the clock, he figured it was as good a time as any to call. If he waited any longer he may not get her. It was the start of the weekend, after all, and there was no telling what kind of madness she was planning on getting into.

It rang five times and just when he was about to replace the phone back on the cradle she picked up. He could barely hear the greeting over the chorus of voices in the background. All of them female. All of them loud.

He frowned. "Nicky?"

"Yeah," the voice on the other end responded, "Who is this?"

"It's Bobby."

There was a pause as she talked to someone else, almost shouting to be heard over the commotion. "Wha'jah say?"

"Bob-"

"Wait! Let me find some place quieter."

He waited as the sounds coming through the phone changed from loud girls to various types of music. Most of it featuring piano. There was a guy yelling now, but Bobby couldn't make sense of the words. He couldn't make sense of any of it really, and he was relieved when he heard a door shut and then silence.

"What the hell was all that," he asked, scratching at the bridge of his nose.

"It's called the start of spring semester. Now who the hell is this? And make it quick. I've got a pass de deux class in five."

"A what?"

"Pass. De. Deux," she said is slowly, as if she was speaking to an invalid. "Pairs class. Where a male and female dancer duet together."

"Yeah, whatever. I didn't call to get a lesson in gay or whatever language you tutu princesses speak in."

She sighed on the other end. "Hello Bobby. I've so missed these one sided, homophobic conversations of ours."

"And I've missed your sweet little ass." He grinned, "You remember those pajama shorts you wore last summer? I've been missing those the most."

"Listen, I don't have time for this. So cut out the harassment and get to the point before I hang up."

"Fine. I need some help with Jackie."

There was silence on the other line for a moment and he feared she actually did hang up, but finally he heard her sigh again.

"It must be bad, huh? For you to call me."

"Yeah, it's pretty bad."

"I don't know what to tell you, Bobby. It's not like he and I are that close. The most I ever did was score him some dro and a porno or two. Hell, I haven't even talked to him since fall."

"I'm not asking for suggestions." He flopped down on the twin-sized bed behind him, faintly wondering how a person Angel's size could fit in it comfortable when he barely could. "You remember that fourth of July when he ran off and you found him at that party over at Squirrel's place."

"Oh yeah, the Redneck Revival thing." She laughed, "Man, there were so many crazy things going on that night. I remember Demarc Jacobs poured a handle of Vodka in the jacuzzi in the backyard. He kept convincing all these girls to get in and they couldn't figure out why they were so drunk afterwards. Then Pete... you know Pete, right? God, he's got to be your age. Anyway-"

"Nicky!" He cut her off. The girl had an attention span of a gold fish at times. "I don't need to know all the details of the party. I was there at one point. I saw all the stupid shit you kids where doing. What I need is for you to focus."

When she didn't respond, he went on.

"What where you two burning when I found you?"

"Oh!" He could almost hear the smile on her face. "The napalm?"

He rolled his eyes, "It wasn't napalm, Nic."

"I know that Bobby. But it burned for almost twenty minutes. That stuff is as close as you're gonna get to the real thing without the Feds breathing down your neck for some ill conceived terrorist act that they made up."

A pause.

"What the hell does this have to do with making Jack better?"

"Just tell me what the shit was."

"Some guy at school told us about it. Art geek, ya know? Figured it out when he tried to tag a board made out of foam with some spray paint. It started to melt, so he started to experiment with it. The stuff he had at the party was foam core, the kind you use for insulation, and gasoline."

He tilted his head, not convinced it was that easy. "That's all it was? Are your sure?"

"Yeah. I saw him mix it. Took a minute for the foam to melt, but once it did you could spread it on anything and watch it get all ash like."

She sucked in a breath, "Just what the hell are you planning, Bobby Mercer? Cause if the cops start questioning me I'm not gonna put my ass on the line for you. They can trace cell phone calls now, so don't go screwing things up for me!"

He could picture the look on her face. Angry, lips pulled down in what should have been a glower, but looked more like a pout then anything.

"Relax. I was just wondering. So don't go getting your tights in a bunch."

"Screw you."

He smirked, realizing all the directions those two words could turn their talk as he fell back onto the pillows.

"So," he drew the word out, "Tell me Nicky... what exactly do they have you wearing to that Pa Da Do class you're supposed to be in right now?"

She stuttered for a moment, her mouth fumbling with the words she wanted to say.

"Ass." She managed to huff finally, "Do me a favor Bobby."

"Anything for you, sweetheart."

"Lose this number," she growled before hanging up.

And he did, tossing the wrinkled up paper into the trash while laughing to himself. After a moment of consideration, he ripped the photo of Lil' Kim he'd be staring at off the wall and tossed it too. Because, honestly, Angel should have better taste then that.

A few minutes later he was heading to the store to buy the items that Evelyn needed for her veggie lasagna.

Not that it mattered. Jack never showed up.

They ate at the table in a concerned silence while the Italian cream cake, made from scratch, was left sitting in the kitchen untouched with its eighteen unlit candles. His mother said they'd save it for tomorrow.

That night, after falling asleep while watching Letterman, he dreamed of his brother. They were in Jack's room and there was a Bic lighter in his hand, the flame flickering as he tilted it so that the silver top was heated. His eyes were hollow as he watched with a fascination that always sent a chill down his spine. Bobby, always the pyromaniac, ironically wanted to tell him to stop. Wanted to tell him not to press the scalding metal to his flesh because there was nothing harmless about the superficial burns it left behind. Even if his fuck-tarded friends viewed the smiley face pattern that marred his skin afterwards as a stamp of approval.

The squirmy, sickly feeling twisting his gut was all the proof he needed to know that something was going to go horrible wrong. He opened his mouth, but all words stuck somewhere between his lungs and his throat. So when Jack let the flame die, Bobby rushed forward to still his arms. As with any dream - no, as with any nightmare - his legs were too slow, turning into molasses. Jack, sitting on his bed with a blank face, seemed to shrink back with every step he took. He didn't stop trying though, even as the lighter touched the pale skin between his wrist and the inside of his elbow, the area around it turning gray then black.

Like paper, he thought when he saw the smoldering, red oval that was left in the center of the burn once Jack pulled the lighter away. Bobby could only gape in horror, feet running nowhere, as the ring of heat started to spread. The smell hit him just as his brother's AC/DC shirt caught, sharp and sickly sweet of all things.

Jack looked up at him as the flames started licking at the ends of his disheveled hair, his left arm now nothing but a charred mess of muscle and bone, and smiled.

Bobby awoke with a jerk on the couch for the second time in under twelve hours, this time sweaty and sick. He barely made it to the kitchen sink before his body rebelled against him. He let the water and garbage disposal run long enough to clear the mess he made before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth free of the acidic taste.

Even though it was a pussy thing to do he slept in Jack's room after that. His face buried in a pillow that smelled of flavored tobacco and hair gel and all the things that made his brother himself, not that burning shell of a thing that he'd just seen. He pulled the unmade bed sheets over his shoulders, shaking off all ill effects, and fell into a dreamless sleep. Evelyn didn't say anything about it when she woke him up hours later for breakfast. He just groaned and rolled over, a part of him disappointed that Jack hadn't showed up at some point to demand why he was there in there first place. The prideful side of him glad he hadn't seen one of his few moments of weakness.

He spent the rest of the day going through the motions, trying to shake off the stupid nightmare while at the same time trying to avoid any serious talk with his mother. He managed to get away from her knowing looks when he left to gather supplies from a chain hardware store, paying with cash out of habit so he wouldn't leave a paper trail. On his way back he swung west, catching the glow of the fading sunset as he stopped by his target.

Lips pulled thin, he sat there long enough to sketch things out.

People often accused him of not being patient. He never argued with them because he knew different. He could be when the time called for it... if he felt it was important enough. So he sat there as the streets grew dark and his fingers started to stiffen up in the cold air of the car. When the few street lights that weren't burned out cut on he turned the engine over and drove to a place where he could work unnoticed. It didn't take him long to cut up the foam boards and dump the shreds into coffee cans half full of gasoline. When he got the results he wanted, he popped the plastic lids back on them and stuck them in a milk crate in his trunk. Afterwards he found a car similar enough to his own to his own and stole the plates.

Back at the house, he heated up leftovers and parked himself on the couch again. He heard when Jack came creeping in but didn't bother to confront him. That would come later, once all his planning had reached it's final stage. Right now they both needed to a few hours of sleep.

Twilight hit and he went out again and tied up all loose ends. When he was satisfied, he swung by Earl's Bar and drowned a few brews. It was out the way, but the owner, Big Bill (who was neither big nor actually named Bill), owed him a favor and would serve as an alibi if the cops starting sniffing around.

The homestead was quiet when he returned. Not bothering to remove his coat or shoes, he bounded up the stairs on the balls of his feet and entered Jack's room after yanking a few of Evelyn's hair pins to pick the lock with.

The poor sap didn't even see it coming. Grabbing him by the hair on the back of his head had been too easy, and despite the disadvantage of height, Bobby was able to drag his jean and t-shirt clad brother out of the bed with ease. The noise Jack's legs made when he manhandled him down the stairs was enough to wake up their mother. At the sudden intrusion of the hallway light they both looked up, cutting off any whispered curses, and stared at her with equally guilty faces.

"Go back to bed, Ma. I'm takin' care of things."

"Bobby-" she started but he shook his head, tightening his hold on Jack as he tried to slip away.

"Just trust me, alright? Everything will be fine when you wake up."

She sighed, glancing at her youngest who was turning red from his struggles and saying every foul word known to man.

"Don't you hurt him Robert Mercer." Stern and final with all sorts of unspoken threats handing at the end.

He smiled at her, "Wouldn't dream of it."

They ended up in the kitchen, Jack planted in his chair after Bobby shot him a glare that dared him to move. He still looked like the ghost of his formal self and Bobby damned everything he could think of for causing his little brother to be so broken up. But what it all came down to was his good for nothing, pedophile of a father. Yanking a glass off the drying rack and pulling a pint sized bottle from his back pocket, he poured a liberal amount with a frown.

"Here." He said as he slid the drink towards Jack.

"What's this?"

"Gin. Double shot. Neat."

Jack gave the glass and it's clear liquid a dubious glance before raising a brow. "Why are you being nice all of a sudden?"

"Would you rather have me deck you?"

He shook his head, giving the glass another look before pinching his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Then shut the fuck up and drink that while I get you a chaser, you pussy."

He had to give the kid credit. On his best days Bobby wouldn't have been able to take a drink like that with a straight face. Because the stuff was nasty. Even worse, it was only the cheep kind in a plastic bottle that he'd been able to afford. But Jack soldiered it without even a gag. Only the corner of his mouth tilting down once he swallowed it all in two gulps gave his ballsy facade away. It was that act alone that made Bobby put the orange juice back in the cooler and before he got them both a beer. Halfway through them he ended the heavy silence by clearing his throat,

"We got a job to do, Jackie. So finish that up and put some warm clothes on."

For once since he returned home, Jack did what he was told without protest.

They were both silent as they sat in the car, Bobby mouthing along to Marvin Gaye as Jack dozed against the passenger door. It was amazing the trust he had in him. If he knew where they were headed, he'd probably break through the window just to get away. Older brother's reassurances or not.

He parked a few blocks before their destination, handing Jack the liquor as he followed him to the trunk.

"Bobby?" He chocked on the mouthful he'd just taken when he saw the gas cans, "What th-"

"Shut up and hold this." Bobby handed him a Blitz, telling himself to leave the fully loaded Taurus where it lay even though his fingers were itching to hold it. They wouldn't need guns on this run. Instead he reached for the other can and a grocery bag before shutting the trunk and leading them on the way.

It took Jack a few minutes to recognize where they were. Bobby had to thank the cheep alcohol for that. Once he was in sight of the house Jack tried to book it. Bobby managed to catch him by the hood of his jacket, swinging him around and down, pressing him firmly onto the frozen sidewalk with a knee. He cringed when the plastic bag fell to the ground with a crunch.

"Don't even try it, Jack. You're gonna face this like a fucking man."

"Get off me!" He reached back and tried to pry at his leg.

"Not until you stop behaving like a little fagot!" He pressed down harder, using his weight to his advantage. "This shit has been going on too long, and everyone is sick of it."

"Fuck... You!" He bucked up, trying to displace him with no real results.

"We can do this this easy way, which is you picking up that gas can you dropped and walking the rest of the way to end this fucked up destructive behavior you seem so fond of." He paused, licking his chapped lips, "Or I can beat the shit out of you, drag your skinny ass there anyway, do what needs to be done, then tell Ma it's a good idea to send your ass off to that clinic she's been thinking about sending you to."

The last part was a total bluff. And Bobby almost felt bad for lying when he saw the look of fear and then resignation on Jack's face. He stopped fighting and let out a loud sigh as he clinched his eyes shut.

"Alright." He said with a huff, "Just get off me so we can get this over with."

He let him up without a sound, picking up the grocery bag and it's ruined contents with a frown.

"Let's go."

Bobby ignored Jack's stiff walk as they made their way to the house that had been the start of all his troubles. He also ignored the way he froze in the threshold of the back door after they'd broken in. Or how his hands shook when he poured gasoline around the top floor. But just like a Mercer, he had the guts to stick it out to the very end, not vocalizing his troubles even after Bobby lit a match and tossed it down in the kitchen.

He led him over to the left side of the yard where the shadows grew deeper. Jack barely paid him any mind as he told him not to move and he shuffled through the deep snow to the front yard, pulling his lighter out of his jacket pocket and touching the flame to trails of homemade 'napalm' he'd poured earlier.

Bobby, more prone to snark then sap, didn't have some elaborate, heartfelt speech for Jack as the roof caught and the sound of heated glass shattering filled the air. Instead he grabbed the grocery bag and pulled out the Italian cream cake that was a little mushed up from the fall.

"Here." He nudged Jack with his elbow, who's blue eyes were trained on the burning house, reflecting the flames dancing and jumping before him. "Happy birthday... Again."

Jack looked down at the cake holder before prying the top off and scooping out a handful, messing up the carefully pipped lettering of his name, and taking a bite.

Smirking, Bobby copied him and shoved the baked good into his mouth. Jack's lips mimicked his own as he took another swig of gin. They stayed long enough for sirens to sound in the distance before beating it back to the car. Jack lit a smoke just as he slammed the door shut but he didn't bother to reprimand him. The kid deserved it, after all.

--

Evelyn winked at Bobby across the table while they were eating Sunday dinner as Jack rattled on about some new song he was working on, more animated then anyone had seen him in weeks. It was enough to make even Amelia and Daniela happy, their smiles large as they picked at the corn still uneaten on both their plates. There was no promise for desert if they ate all there veggies because there was no desert that night for anyone.

Just like the broken table from years ago, Evelyn never said anything about the missing birthday cake.

But she did throw him a knowing glare as they watched the evening news about a house fire later on that night. The news chopper, flying high above the inferno was able to catch the still blazing words etched into the hard snow. Bobby couldn't hold his laugh as Camille read the word CHESTER out loud.

Jack turned to look at him then, raising a brow. Bobby leaning in closer to him and said in a hushed voice,

"See that, Jackie? That's the end of this whole mess."

They shared surprisingly identical smiles as they turned back to the RCA screen, more content to hear about the tabby cat that managed to call an ambulance for it's owner that was suffering from a heart attack.

FIN

A/N: Chester is a common term we use here in the South for a child molester. There's a whole rhyme to go with it, which is funny and not at the same time.

This chapter came out a lot longer and not as strong as I wanted it to. I have no beta at the moment, so let me know about any mistakes that need to be corrected. More importantly, let me know what you think. Feedback nurtures the mind.