Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.
Summary: Oneshot. The death of one brother tears two brothers apart.
A/N: So this is just a oneshot that I wanted to try out. It's pretty simple (as the summary was, hah). It's just the blame that Bobby and Jerry place on each other for Jack's death. Bobby's thoughts are much longer than Jerry's because of the Jack and Bobby relationship. Plus, I'd think that Jerry was thinking the same things as Bobby in some ways. There's much angst, and I've never wrote a oneshot like this before, so reviews/feedback would be awesome. Tell me what you guys think.
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Bobby shot a glare across the room, from his seat at the dining room table. From the corner of his eye he watched as Angel shivered from the dead cold air flowing through the Mercer house, passing the pieces of sharp glass sticking out of the wooden panels on their broken windows in their broken home. But he didn't feel a thing. He couldn't feel the cold air that was chapping his lips. He couldn't feel the constant squeeze on his heart. He couldn't even feel the holding back of his tears anymore. He was empty. Because the light of the family was shot down in a gruesome show of bullets and brutality.
And it was all his fault. It was his entire fault. He sits there, the glass sticking to the bottom of his shoes, as he holds his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He's looking as if he cares and is upset about this, but it's an act. It's a fucking act. He did this, and he doesn't give a shit on what his actions did to our family.
Bobby's thoughts rambled on and on, his glare and stare not once slipping away from Jerry. His urge to jump up and beat the shit out of him was only stopped because he was filling so numb. He couldn't feel. He couldn't care. He could only blame. Because his little brother was gone. The light of the family was gone. The last brother who deserved to die was taken away from them forever, unable to affect the world and do the great things he was meant to do. He was pulled away at the mere age of nineteen.
To Bobby, it wasn't only the death of his beloved mother, the only person who could deal with him, teaching him the value of being a good person, and now so called family. It wasn't the death of the brother he tried to protect and keep safe from the world Bobby found himself constantly caught up in. It was the hope that slipped away. It was the faith that somewhere, some time something would go right for him. But now the hope in that happening all slipped away, as Jack's limp head sunk back into the snow because Bobby let his fingers drifted away from the back of Jack's head to hold it up. It slipped away just like the blood that slipped down Jack's face.
And it was all his fault.
Jerry's jaw clenched, feeling his fingers pressed tightly against his head. He couldn't look up. He couldn't, because if he did, he was going to ram Bobby up against the wall. He was going to punch Bobby with he eyes closed, picturing Jack get taken away from them, his body covered in the blood that now was soaked into the snow outside of their house. It was his fault that Jack was gone. It was all his fault.
Why does he have to be insistent on doing something? If he didn't go want revenge so damn much, he wouldn't have lost the only thing he had left. The only hope our family had left. The glue. The light. The little brother. The fairy. Our fairy. The only one with a real future was snatched away.
Shaking his head, as the constant thoughts of his youngest brother gave him a headache. Jerry slowly looked up to see Bobby's steady glare upon him. Eyes wide at first, in surprise, Jerry soon glared back, the two in more than a staring contest, but one of blame and anger. Both of them thinking the same thoughts, and convincing themselves that it was the other.
It was all his fault.