Note: I don't own Four Brothers, Carry You Home by James Blunt, or Follow by Richie Havens

Song For Your Heart

Let the river rock you like a cradle

Climb to the treetops, child, if you're able

Jack's hands shook as he eased the door open. He carefully reached far back into the dark recesses of the closet, grabbing the backpack he'd buried under a bunch of boxes and clothing.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor with the bag in his lap, he eased the zipper open, glancing nervously at his bedroom door, convinced it would swing open at any moment, one of his brothers or Evelyn standing on the other side. Normally, he didn't worry so much, but Bobby was downstairs and there was no telling when he'd storm in and demand Jack stop being all moody and antisocial.

Jack had a small pile of stuff on the floor next to him - a few things he'd gathered over the last couple of days. There was some loose change from the couch, a pack of matches, a couple of cigarettes he found in Bobby's jacket - that was a surprise since Bobby was always ragging on him for smoking, claiming that it was bad for you, especially if you're only twelve - a pair of old socks, a t-shirt, and his toothbrush.

He picked up the toothbrush and ran his thumb over the bristles. He was going to have to come up with a good excuse as to why he needed a new one. He hated asking for things, but a toothbrush was the last essential thing on his list and he'd stalled long enough before finally grabbing it for his stash.

He didn't dare get the bag out more than once or twice a week, any more than that was tempting fate. He had to force himself not to drag it out nightly and check over everything, reassuring himself that nothing had been taken during the day. The bag was heavy, the collection much better than any he'd managed to put together at any of his previous homes. Of course, he hadn't lasted as long at those homes as he had at the Mercers'. It was closing in on a year and he still had trouble believing it.

It was only a matter of time, though, it always was. The thought of going back to the group home made his chest tighten and his stomach lurch. That place was almost worse than a shitty foster home. The kids ganging up on him, taunting and hitting him. He fought back, but all that ever did was land him in trouble and the bastards in charge were sometimes worse than the kids.

And most of the foster homes were a joke. There were one or two stops with people who had genuinely cared, but they weren't permanent, just a place to stay for a while until something else opened up. He remembered a few heartless bastards who only wanted to make an easy buck at the expense of some poor kid. They put on a show for the social workers, smiling and throwing their arm around his shoulders, pretending to be pillars of society. After a week or two, the novelty of the new kid would wear off and they'd just forgot about him, occasionally sparing him a bit of food to eat and a lumpy couch to sleep on. However, it was that last home and that sick fuck that pushed him past the breaking point.

Evelyn was his last chance - that's what his social worker had told him. If he couldn't work things out here then he'd be permanently placed in the group home until he turned eighteen. He'd suffocate if he had to go back there. There was nothing there for him, nobody that would look out for him - not that anyone gave two-shits about him to begin with.

He was tired of being told he was worthless and a fucking screw-up.

Evelyn had been patient so far. Trusting and kind. But it had to be an act. The other shoe would drop and she'd realize he was a bad kid and not worth her time. Sure, she'd adopted him, but that wouldn't stop her from throwing him out, wouldn't stop her from realizing her mistake.

He wasn't going to go back - not to a foster home, not to the group home - never again. Running away was his only option.

"Jackie, dinner," Evelyn called up the stairs and he hastily shoved the stuff into his bag, zipping it closed. He was in the process of returning it to its hiding place when Evelyn called again.

"Coming," he answered, his voice cracking on the word, betraying his nervousness. He quickly shoved some clothes on top of the bag, not nearly as thorough as he normally was with concealing it. He'd fix that after dinner.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Pick-up basketball game. After dinner. No whining," Bobby stated simply between bites of meatloaf.

Angel sighed dramatically as he picked up his glass of milk. "I've got a date with -"

"I don't care. No chicks allowed." Bobby cut him off before he could finish his excuse.

"I wasn't askin' to bring her along. I was -"

"Good, 'cause she ain't invited." Bobby looked at Jerry and raised an eyebrow, challenging him to chicken out.

Jerry shrugged. "I'm free."

"So that just leaves you, half pint. You in?"

Elbow up on the table, chin resting on his hand, Jack wasn't paying attention. He was aimlessly pushing his peas around on his plate with his fork , occasionally taking a break to eat some mashed potatoes. He hadn't touched the meatloaf and Evelyn had noticed. Jack wasn't a huge eater, but he'd gotten over his lack of an appetite months ago.

She reached over and stilled his hand, the fork scratching the plate.

"Huh," he said, looking up for the first time since sitting down for dinner.

"Basketball. After dinner. You in?" Bobby was looking directly at him and Jack tried not to squirm in his seat.

"Um … I got homework," he mumbled as he started to drag the fork through the peas again.

"Bullshit, it's Saturday," Bobby countered and Jerry sighed.

"Bobby, if the kid doesn't want to play -" Jerry started.

"Ain't like he's any good, anyway," Angel stated bluntly.

"Hey!" Jack protested, the peas suddenly forgotten.

"Well," Bobby began with a grin, "he's good at getting in the way of the other team. He can trip them up as we steal the ball."

Angel squinted up into the light above the table as though deep in thought, rubbing his chin as he nodded slowly. "You've got a point there, Bobby. Kid could prove useful."

Jack dropped his fork and fell back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm plenty useful," he grumbled.

"Prove it," Bobby countered, leaning forward. "Basketball. After dinner. You in or you out?"

Jack forced himself to meet Bobby's gaze without flinching. "In."

Bobby's smug grin made Jack wonder if he'd made the wrong decision.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Bobby Mercer, only you would manage to come home from a basketball game with split knuckles and a black eye." Evelyn was standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching as her four sons filed into the house well after sundown.

Bobby grinned wickedly at his mother as he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Ah, Ma, you should see the other guy."

"I'll just let my imagination fill in the blanks, if you don't mind. Wash up in the kitchen. I'll get to you shortly. I need to talk to Jack for a minute."

Jack was stepping into the house just as she said that and he froze, his hand on the door knob, one foot still outside on the porch. He looked like he was contemplating taking a step backwards, escaping into the night. Evelyn reached out and lightly grabbed his elbow, guiding him the rest of the way into the house before he could make a break for it.

"Upstairs, son," she said softly, her expression unreadable.

Jack's legs felt heavy as he trudged up the stairs, Evelyn following behind him. He stopped suddenly when he saw his bedroom door was open. He'd closed it when he left that night, he was sure of it.

"Keep going," Evelyn said from behind him and he forced himself to step forward, his feet suddenly weighed down like bricks were tied to his shoe laces. Big bricks. Big bricks with cement slabs attached to them.

He supposed he should have been shocked to see the bag on the bed, but he wasn't. That didn't stop his heart from pounding wildly in his chest, though. Or his hands from shaking. Or his breathing from getting all funny. He felt tears prick behind his eyes and he was terrified he was going to break down and bawl like a baby.

Evelyn came up behind him and squeezed past him into the room. She walked over to the bed and sat down next to the backpack. He noticed a laundry basket on the floor at her feet and he realized she must have been putting his clothes away in the closet while they were out playing basketball. He silently cursed himself for being so careless.

He held his breath, waiting for it - waiting for her to finally tell him to get out, to get out of her house and never come back. He'd screwed up big time.

"Jack," she said as she looked over at him. He was surprised at how steady her voice sounded. At how normal she sounded. She patted the space on the bed next to her and he stared at it, unable to make himself take a step forward. She looked at him for a second more and then smiled.

"Jackie, after I adopted Angel I figured that was it. I was done. Three boys. Can you imagine? Three headstrong, stubborn boys. I had my hands full." She had a wistful look on her face and he felt the pressure in his chest ease slightly. "I still had my job. Still found homes for kids who needed someone to love them, someone to take care of them. I still had a purpose."

She unzipped the bag, but didn't open it. "I figured my life was as full as it could be. I had my boys and I had my work. That is until you came along, Jack. I don't think I ever saw such sad eyes on a child before. I think I knew the minute I saw you that you were a part of this family. A part that I didn't realize had been missing. It was like that with Angel and Jerry too, but especially with Bobby." She smiled again. "Of course at the time, Bobby was telling me to go to hell and was spitting mad at the world."

Jack couldn't help but share in her smile. It was all too easy to picture Bobby as a kid, telling the sweetest woman in the whole world to piss off.

Jack found himself drawn into the room, and he sat carefully on the edge of the bed, still waiting for the part where she didn't want him anymore. Sure, what she was saying sounded great, all warm and fuzzy, but there had to be a 'but' in there somewhere. He was just wondering how hard it would be to grab the backpack and make a run for it before the social worker showed up to take him away.

"Jack, I know you've had a tough life. I know you've been scared."

He looked down at his hands in his lap, weaving his fingers together, twiddling his thumbs. Evelyn reached over and placed a hand on his arm and he forced himself to remain still, to not flinch away from her touch.

"You're safe here."

He nodded, not looking up, his eyes burning.

She reached into the bag and pulled something out of it, something Jack couldn't see. She held out her hand and opened it, his toothbrush lying across her palm.

"There's no reason to steal your own toothbrush anymore, Jack," she stated simply. The tears he'd been holding back rushed forward and his shoulders shook as he leaned into her, needing that contact for once in his life instead of shying away from it.

She put her arm around his shoulders and held onto him until the tears subsided. He finally looked up, wiping the tears from his face. He gave her a tentative smile, sucking in a trembling breath as he tried to look tough. Mercers didn't cry, that was something he was almost certain of.

"Now," Evelyn said as she hefted the bag onto her lap, "you've been busy, haven't you? I think we need to find you a hobby, Jack. Something to do with your hands other than stealing my guest soap and bath towels."

Jack gave a surprised laughed and ran his fingers through his ragged hair. "Yeah, I guess a hobby would be good."

Evelyn was quiet for a minute before she spoke again, a twinkle in her eye. "I think I have just the thing. Wait here, I'll be right back."

He hadn't moved by the time she came back into the room. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't the guitar she was holding.

She handed it to him and he gingerly cradled it across his lap, his fingers lightly grazing the polished wood surface.

"It belonged to my husband," she explained and Jack looked up at her and saw the sadness in her eyes. Bobby had told him that Evelyn had been married a long time ago but that her husband died in Vietnam. She never talked about it, though, and to be honest, he'd kind of forgotten about it.

"I know a couple of songs," she said as she sat on the bed next to him. "Would you like me to teach you one?"

He tentatively ran his fingers over the strings and smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."