Author: veiledndarkness
Title: Never Alone
Rating: PG
Word Count: 913
Summary: Bobby's not alone. Not really.
Warnings: Usual disclaimer. They aren't mine, and so on.
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Jack's spirit lingered in every room, and Bobby was certain that he wasn't alone in the house. Jerry still came by all the time, far too accustomed to stopping by to visit Evelyn.
At first, Jerry had been startled by Bobby's theory that Jack was following him, a constant spirit companion. Gradually, he began to understand just why Bobby needed that thought and let it be, let Bobby take what comfort he could.
Angel had left again, his leave over. Bobby grimaced as he sorted through his mother's belongings; the sound of Sofi's hysterical tears had nearly driven him up the wall.
The idea of having her in Ma's house had been a truly horrifying thought. To have to deal with her whiny voice and the sound of Angel's headboard slamming into the wall all the time. Bobby shuddered, neatly folding another of his mother's shirts.
He'd managed to force himself into cleaning out his mother's clothes, preparing them for donation. She would have wanted that, Bobby was sure of that. The shelter downtown always needed more donations, she had told him so many times.
Bobby kept only a few of her personal items, her rosary that Jack had worn after her death, several blankets that she'd made, and whatever photos he could salvage from the various rooms. He worked in near silence, the memories of the years he'd spent in the house, his only company.
Some of Evelyn's prized records would stay with Jerry, and the rest he was planning on selling to a collector's shop. He collected as much personal trinkets as he could, and gave most of it to Jerry, unable to keep so much of her around him at any time. Her jewelry, the majority of it not worth tons of money also went to Jerry's girls, something for them in inherit.
Bobby moved from room to room, stripping anything that had held meaning to the boys. He packed Angel's things into boxes, sending them to Jerry as well, a safe place until Angel came back again. He felt a weight on his shoulders as he turned and faced Jack's room.
He rubbed his elbows, staring at the bedroom door. He pushed it open with a sigh, tired of putting off the inevitable. As with all the rooms, everything was still in place. He walked around the room, running his fingers along the posters, and various items scattered here and there.
He touched the switch on Jack's old stereo, chuckling softly when it crackled to life and began playing, the kind of music that Bobby had pretended to hate just to bug Jack when he was younger. He dragged several boxes into the room, intent on sorting everything out. Occasionally, Bobby would murmur aloud about different things that he found. Sometimes he was sure he heard faint laughter echoing somewhere above him.
Bobby took the sheets off the bed, his nose twitching at the scent that clung to them. He piled them by the door to be washed before being donated. He hummed along with the music, remembering the look on Jack's face when he had caught Bobby singing years ago. Bobby felt his cheeks burn at the memory. He'd been mortified that Jack had heard him despite Jack's protests that he had a great voice.
It took him twice as long to clean out Jack's room, he discovered. He couldn't bring himself to throw anything out, wanting to keep any trace of Jack that he could with him. His rings, belts, clothes, he couldn't part with any of it. Bobby sighed, staring at the far wall. If he concentrated hard enough late at night, he swore that he could hear the sound of Jack's guitar, slow, soothing sounds that helped him to sleep at night.
The last box packed up, his car heavily weighed down; Bobby locked the front door for the last time. The realtor was on her way to get the keys from Bobby and he used the few moments he still had to take in the details of the house.
The repairs had been made, and the house once again looked good. It had sold for a decent amount of money. Bobby had split it into four amounts, giving one quarter to Jerry, one quarter in a safety deposit box for Angel, and kept one quarter for himself. The last quarter, what should have been Jack's; Bobby donated to the children's shelter where Evelyn had found each of them. He knew it would go to good use there.
The realtor approached him. "Hello, Mr. Mercer," she said cheerfully.
"Hi," Bobby said, still staring at the house. He could see the edge of the roof ledge where he and Jack had spent hours, smoking and talking sometimes, other times content to just be near each other. He closed his eyes, his chest aching. "Here's the keys," he murmured.
She spoke to him, her voice kind and helpful. Bobby gave her the keys and walked away, getting in his car. He started the engine, still looking at the house. He sighed softly and let one hand play with Jack's rosary around his neck.
"Well sweetheart," he said quietly, sure that Jack was listening. "It's just me and you. Don't know if you'll like the new apartment. I know it's not Ma's, but I think we'll be ok. Just you an' me now."
He drove to his new apartment downtown, humming under his breath, Jack's spirit with him, filling the silence of the car.
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