A/N: It should become fairly obvious who the narrating brother is. Enjoy!
"Jack, you're so selfish!"
Maybe his first words to his younger brother. Probably not. But it was sort of comforting to think so. After all, life was easier in black and white. Jack, of the four of them, had seen the world in defined blocks of right and wrong. But he'd also taken their licks and backed down instead of standing up for his views.
He didn't regret ribbing on his little bro. Well, maybe a little. Like that one time, the first time that he remembered, when Jack had used up the last bit of toothpaste and he'd yelled, "Jack, you're so selfish!" Sure, the kid had squirted enough toothpaste for a week on his toothbrush. But the kid was also paranoid, always grabbing things and holding them in his pockets or up his sleeves. He'd even tried to steal his own toothbrush.
He should have understood. Life was hard for Jack. It had been hard for them all. But Jack held onto things longer. Jack had been through the system as long as any of them, and he was the youngest. Jack knew things didn't always change for the better just because you lived at a different address. Sometimes they even got worse. So Jack just kind of clung to his reality, the present, what he had to do to survive.
Evelyn hadn't punished him for yelling at Jack. She had understood that he wasn't really angry about the toothpaste. He was angry about Bobby. He chuckled to think of it now—him, angry because Jack had accidentally stolen one of the most valuable things he owned. The kid hadn't even tried. He'd even latched on to his own heart—it's not too difficult when you're the proud owner of some wild hair, big blue eyes, and a pouty lip. But Bobby was the one he had taken, heart and soul. And for that he had blown up about toothpaste. Because he hadn't seen how Jack could come into their house and take everything in sight, including his brother. Jack is a thief, he told Ma. Jack takes things. But Evelyn had quietly asked what Jack had taken of his. And he couldn't answer. After all, Bobby didn't actually have a price tag on him. He was there for the taking. It was just that Jack took so much. And he didn't even try.
Like now, Jack had taken again. He had stolen—no, had accepted their hearts. Heck, they'd only offered him their love and undying devotion because they knew that the little fairy couldn't let go of anything willingly. If anyone would keep their hearts intact, it would be Jack. And yet here Jack was, failed in that simple operation. He couldn't keep his own heart intact, that's why it was bleeding all over the place.
He had seen blood before. He was a Marine. He'd seen things. But he'd never actually seen someone else holding his heart and bleeding to death. It was like watching your own self die without being able to do anything to stop it. Simple operations wouldn't work here. No tourniquets, no First-Aid. Sure, if the paramedics came in time maybe Jackie could die in some comfort.
There, the cold brutality was settling in and making him stand-offish. It was easier to deal with things that way—they kind of rolled off him. But Bobby was crying, sobbing, next to him and he knew Bobby could feel those bullets in Jack's heart just like he could—as if he had holes shot in his chest too.
He began to feel the old anger, the old helpless frustration, mount up in his chest. Just like when Jack had taken that toothpaste. "Jack, you're so selfish!" Sure he was, just leaving them here, while he held their hearts. If he hadn't run outside the four of them might have died as whole men, all with hearts intact. Heartless criminals? The phrase had new meaning now. They may have been criminals before but they were never heartless. Until now. And then for the rest of their lives that's what they would be, heartless criminals, alive and well. All because selfish Jack had to run outside, stealing all the toothpaste, and leave them to howl, "Jack, you're so selfish!"
He couldn't say it now. Even if that's what he felt, he couldn't say it. It wasn't the same. He wasn't angry at Jack, really. Just like he hadn't been angry at Jack for stealing the toothpaste. He had been angry at Jack for stealing Bobby. And now he was angry at Jack for stealing him.
"That's not a fair trade-off, son," he could almost hear his Ma say, scolding him.
"But, Ma," he wanted to protest, "I didn't know. Nobody knew, Jack was the safest person in the world to give your heart to, and then he just goes out and we're all massacred the minute he gets shot. He should have thought of us, he's just so self—"
Selfish? Was Jack selfish? Had Jack even tried to take Bobby? Had he even tried to take him? No, the kid had just accepted what they offered him. It wasn't as though he even had a choice, they would have loved him anyway, he was their brother. Their youngest brother. The youngest, most helpless, most innocent of them all. And they had heaped so much on him, and had clawed at each other for their place in his heart.
He looked at Bobby, crying over Jack, and then at Jerry, leaning against the telephone pole that Jack had clung to like a lifeline. Reality came crashing down.
"Angel, you're so selfish!"