CATCHING FIREFLIES
By RainbowsnStars

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is just a short, little one shot about Greg's little brother Jacob. The story starts out with Greg reflecting on the birth of Little Jacob and continues through memorable moments the two shared. So as the story progresses, Greg's POV will mature and so will the writing.

Also, the bit about the Styrofoam lunch trays is actually something Eric Szmanda did when he was a child.

SPOILERS: None

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything affiliated with CSI or CBS

ARCHIVING: Yes to Krazy, but everyone else, please ask.

SUMMARY: We pulled the lights off fireflies and colored pictures of sheep in church. We jinxed each other for sodas and bought ice cream when the truck came around. He wanted to change the world and instead he change me.

RATING: PG, for violence against fireflies

- - - - - -

When I was three, my little brother Jacob was born a month premature. He was tiny, skin transparent so you could see his veins and arteries

They locked him up in a clear box and shoved tubes down his throat to help him breath, because his lungs weren't fully developed. It helped, because two months later, Jacob left the hospital with my parents at a healthy weight of eight pounds, two ounces

The blue and white balloons lasted a week before my sister Caroline convinced me to take them in the garage and sit on them so they would pop. My mom found out and sent me to my dad for five slaps on the bottom.

I never asked my parents why Little Jacob couldn't rough house with my friends and me when he got older. It was just an unspoken rule that if Jacob got hurt, he could die.

At night, we would get out glass jelly jars and sneak into the field behind our house. Jacob and I would catch jarfuls of lightning bugs and watch the lights flicker on and off.

I taught Jacob how to get the lights off the bugs and onto our fingers. You have to kill the bugs when the light is shining. We would stick them on our fingers, drop our jars, and go chase after Caroline until the lights faded.

Every Sunday, our family would dress up and go to church. Caroline would sit with my parents and listen to Pastor Benjamin preach about the boring stuff. Little Jacob and I would hang out in Sunday school and color pictures of sheep and a man with a big cane like Papa Olaf.

Caroline would sometimes tell me that when I turned ten, I would be too old to color with Jacob, and that I would have to sit and listen to Pastor Benjamin talk about how we could be better Christians in our lives outside of church.

When Jacob was five and I was eight, he lost his first tooth and had to go to the emergency room. His mouth bled for so long that he went through six napkins. Mom and dad said that he would be okay, that Jacob had a disease called "hemofilliup" which meant that when Jacob cut himself or got a bruise, it was much more serious than if the same thing happened to Caroline and I.

My family came to watch me play soccer in the fall and baseball in the spring. Jacob would be on the sidelines cheering my name. Sometimes, my dad had to stop Jacob from running onto the field after I kicked the ball into the goal. Jacob would scream like he was dying, when really I knew that he was excited.

Sometimes, to tease him, I called him Little Jacob, since he was the youngest one in the family and would always be, physically, the smallest because of his premature birth.

Jacob was my best friend. We rode bikes and bought ice cream when the truck came around. Out back of our house, we would build forts in the fields and tried convincing Papa Olaf and Dad to build us a tree house.

"There are no trees!" Papa Olaf would explain, laughing at us.

"So plant one!" Jacob and I would reply together. Then we would see who could count to ten and say 'STOP' first - - that meant the other person owed them a soda. I always won.

When school started and I had to go to middle school while Little Jacob was still in elementary, we missed each other. We couldn't hang out with each other at lunch anymore, or sit by each other. It made me sad to think that Jacob would have to swing without me or eat lunch with people he didn't really like.

Once, I came home from school and Jacob was being yelled at by mom. I guess some kid made fun of me right in front of Jacob, so he punched the kid in the eye. Part of me was thrilled that my little brother stuck up for me, but I had to set a good example and tell Little Jacob it wasn't okay to punch people.

"Two wrongs don't make a right," I would say seriously, and plant my fists on my waist like my dad did when he got angry. I spoke in a low, growling voice, trying to keep a straight face. But Jacob would laugh at me and I couldn't help myself.

Three days after I began seventh grade - - Jacob was in fourth - - my mom came and picked me up at school. Her eyes were all puffy and red. She told me Little Jacob was in the hospital.

Jacob's P.E. class was playing soccer when someone shoved him to the gym floor. Within an hour and a half, Jacob's elbow was swollen beyond recognition. He was taken Providence Memorial Hospital so the doctors could do something.

When I found out that Jacob was staying at the hospital overnight, and that I wouldn't hear any news for a few hours, my mom sent me back to school. I couldn't pay attention and told the nurse I felt sick. She had heard what happened to Little Jacob and said for me to call my mom and tell her that I should go home.

In the end, Jacob was okay and just had to be more careful from now on. The doctors prescribed him medication to clot his blood, and it worked really well. He wouldn't bleed for an hour from a paper cut anymore, and he could play soccer again.

After years of watching me, I finally got to watch my brother play baseball and soccer. He was a natural athlete and was the best at whatever sport he played. Now, from the sidelines, I would cheer for him and scream his name when he scored a goal.

My sister left for college between my seventh and eighth grade year. We all cried like there were no tomorrow. She was going to Stanford, her dream college, which was across the country from where we lived. Little Jacob came and slept in my room that night.

Little Jacob had aspirations of changing the world. He wasn't sure how yet, and wasn't smart enough yet, but he knew he would. Maybe he would discover the cure for cancer or become the best President this country has seen since JFK.

I always joked with him and told him he was too small to be important but that never stopped him. He had a good soul and an immeasurable imagination. I knew he would make the world a better place before he died.

My brother didn't live long enough to celebrate his tenth birthday. On the way home from a soccer game with my dad, a big truck ran a red light and slammed into my brother's side of the car. Even with his medication, the doctors couldn't slow the bleeding.

Little Jacob didn't even make it to double digits.

Caroline came back for the funeral and all of a sudden she had grown up. She had become a real woman and was really mature. But I slept in her room the night of the burial, crying about the death of my best friend. She said she understood, but I don't think she really did.

I mourned over the death of my brother during my eighth grade year so badly that I was failing all my classes. In class I would cause problems and started fights in gym when we played soccer or baseball. I would refuse to play and my P.E. teacher would send me to the principal to talk about my behavior.

The principal would cut me some slack and understood why I wouldn't want to play. She had me run errands for her instead.

The only reason I shaped up for high school is because those grades counted toward college. I didn't really care at first what happened to me after I finished - - if I even did that - - so why should anyone else?

One night though, my dad came in to talk to me before I went to bed and talked to me about my attitude on life at the moment. He knew it was because of Little Jacob's death.

"But if Jacob were here," he explained, squeezing my shoulder. "If he were here, do you really think he would want you to be like this, all because of him? Jacob would want you to do well in life, and not slack off like you are. He would want you to change the world instead of him making it a better place."

That little talk set me straight. I excelled in school and received a full academic ride to Stanford, just like my sister did. It also helped to have someone, who graduated from the very same college at the top of her class, as one of my recommendations.

I got in trouble once during high school for protesting the Styrofoam lunch trays that the entire student body had to use. My parents just laughed at me. And for the first time since Little Jacob's death, everyone seemed genuinely happy.

Because, for the longest time after the accident, it was like a dark cloud had settled over our family and the sun didn't shine. No one was happy and I didn't think it was possibly for us to laugh again.

I haven't played soccer or baseball though since Little Jacob died - - part of it was to honor him, and the other part is the fact that I can't imagine playing without his obnoxious yells from the sidelines. I tried playing a season of soccer, but I couldn't. I quit three weeks into the season.

- - -

Nick gave me a sample the other day and I found blood-clot medication in the victim's system. I mentioned Little Jacob and how he had "hemofilliup" and Nick laughed. I didn't realize what was so funny until he mocked me.

For as long as I could remember, I always referred to Jacob's disease as "hemofilliup" because neither of us could pronounce it when we were younger. It was always a joke as I got older and reminded me of Little Jacob.

Nick asked who Little Jacob was, and I told him that he was the best brother anyone could have. Not understanding why I had never mentioned him before, I explained to Nick that Little Jacob died when he was nine.

Pronouncing it right this time, I told Nick that Jacob was born with hemophilia and later died from rapidly bleeding out from a car accident.

Nick apologized and I told him not to. I took a picture out of a drawer of my personal items and showed him my Little Jacob.

We were younger, and it was from one of our trips to Disneyland. I think I was eight and he was five. Our arms were slung over each other's shoulders and we were grinning like idiots. Little Jacob's hair was a toe-head blonde and had bright blue eyes. His skin was naturally a light golden color and his face was scattered with freckles.

I laugh when I remembered the picture was taken right before a bee stung me and my right cheek was swollen for a few days. Little Jacob laughed at me, but I knew he wasn't serious.

Nick said he looked a lot like me.

I correct him and say he looks a lot like me.

- - -

Caroline called me the other day and told me the final details for the annual family reunion next month.

I asked how her Little Jacob was doing and she said he was fine. Her husband, a wealthy businessman, was taking him to Chuckie Cheese on Saturday to celebrate Little Jacob turning seven. She tells me that Little Jacob got the present I sent him and has been playing with his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures 24/7.

I ask Grissom if I can go to the reunion, and as always, he says yes.

He knows about Little Jacob.

Before I leave to go back to the lab, I ask him about fireflies and how to keep them alive for a long time.

Because I still catch fireflies for Jacob.