"Jack, don't do it!"

Jack was standing on the edge of the roof, feeling faintly dizzy as he looked down. He was only two stories up, on the overhang that jutted out from the side of the house, but the cracked pavement seemed very far away.

Angel's voice came again from the open window behind him. "Hey, I said don't do it! Get your ass back in here!"

"Not until you get my football," drawled another voice, from further away; Jack could imagine Bobby lounging against the wall inside the bedroom, keeping track of his youngest brother's progress across the roof with a watchful eye. The football lay in the gutter mere feet away from where Jack was standing, but the roof was steep and his balance was precarious at best; he was taking it slow.

"Man, shut up," said Angel with asperity. "He's gonna get himself killed."

"Then I won't have to worry about my football getting thrown onto the roof anymore, right?" Jack felt a flare of annoyance at Bobby's words; he had not purposely thrown his brother's football onto the roof, he just had really, really wide aim.

"Don't be a smart-ass. How's he supposed to get your football back if he's dead, huh?" Angel sounded like he had moved away from the window now to confront Bobby, but Jack could not be sure; the sound of his heart pounding in his ears distorted everything, and he did not want to risk losing his balance by turning around to look.

Bobby considered Angel's statement for half a second. "Good point. Hey, Jackie! If you start to fall, grab my football, will you?"

"Yeah," Jack muttered. "My head will smash like a pumpkin but brain tissue's easy enough to clean off a football with a garden hose."

"You're a riot," Bobby said, and he sounded a lot closer now. Jack guessed that he had replaced Angel at the window. "Grab the damn football and stop fucking around."

His tone of voice gave Jack pause. Had his casual remark about smashing his head open had an impact on Bobby? Was his older brother actually worried?

Oh, thought Jack, and smirked. Oh, you did not just hand me the ability to fuck with you...

It only took him half a second to decide what to do. He composed his features into an expression of abject terror and glanced back fleetingly. Then he gave a nasty wobble.

"Jack!"

Jack barely resisted the urge to laugh. There was a note of panic in Bobby's voice now. Without looking down, Jack slid his foot onto the gutter and pretended to slip, wheeling his arms exaggeratedly as though trying to keep his balance. He must have looked convincing, because he heard Angel swear and Bobby snarl, "Jack, I swear to God –"

Then something happened that was entirely unexpected.

"What the hell are you doing up there?"

Jerry's voice from down below in the yard startled Jack; his foot slid sideways off the edge of the roof, and he landed hard on his other knee. All balance lost, he reached desperately for something, anything to keep the momentum of his fall from forcing him off the edge. He heard Jerry's horrified shout, but it didn't register; his heart was in his throat and he was going over, over –

Then an arm was around his waist and he was being dragged backwards, away from the edge. His limbs seemed to have temporarily gone limp; he let himself be hauled back through the open window and once inside, he staggered forward and sat down abruptly, his back against the side of the bed. Only then did he look up and see that his rescuer had been Bobby, whose face was absolutely bloodless. Angel was standing just behind his brother, holding onto the window frame so tightly that his knuckles were white.

It was very quiet.

Then, inexplicably, Jack felt laughter bubbling up inside of him. His lips trembled as he shook with mirth until he could not contain it anymore and it spilled out, uninhibited and half-hysterical. The two of them were staring at him, completely speechless, and oh God, it was so funny, he couldn't even breathe –

"What's wrong with him?"

Absurdly, Jerry's voice from the doorway made Jack laugh harder, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders, and he tried to control himself, but in vain.

"Jack," said Bobby firmly, and his tone, that of someone trying to get a five-year-old having a tantrum to calm down, further fuelled Jack's hilarity. "Jack, get a hold of yourself –"

"I'm – I'm sorry," he said, his words punctuated by gasps of laughter. "I couldn't – your face –"

Bobby's grip tightened, and Jack's laughter started to subside. "Jack," he said, and the eldest Mercer's tone was dangerous. "Did you do that on purpose?"

Jack's eyes were wide, the merriment suddenly gone. He wasn't sure what to say; the almost-slipping had been on purpose, but the actual fall had been acutely, horrifyingly real. He opened his mouth; closed it again.

"Well," he said slowly. "I didn't mean to actually fall. I mean, if you hadn't grabbed me, my brains really would be all over the walkway, so I guess..." He trailed off.

"Bobby, my hero!" said Angel in a quiet falsetto, breaking the awkward silence that followed.

"Angel," said Bobby warningly. Jack's cheeks flared red, but he was glad for the distraction; behind the anger, there was so much concern in Bobby's eyes that it hurt.

"I'm just dyin' to have you sweep me up in your big, strong arms," continued Angel, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. "Is that a cigarette in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Ciga – you're a dead man, little brother," threatened Bobby, turning towards him. Angel grinned and took off out the door, brushing past Jerry. Bobby hurtled after him.

Jack could feel Jerry's eyes boring into the back of his head, the sudden silence broken only by Angel's muffled taunts and the occasional thump from below.

"You wanna tell me what you were doing out on that roof?" Jerry asked after a moment.

"I chucked Bobby's football up there," replied Jack, sounding bored.

"And...?" said Jerry.

"And what? I went to go and get it."

"Why – you know what, I don't even wanna know," said Jerry, and Jack craned his neck around in time to see his brother shake his head. There was the sound of pounding feet on the stairs, but they ignored it. "Y'all are grown men and I can't even leave you alone in the house for twenty minutes."

Bobby reappeared beside Jerry, red-faced and grinning. "Grown men? And you're talking about Jack?"

"Shut up," snapped Jack at the same time as Jerry said, "Where's Angel?"

Bobby flashed an infuriating grin at Jack as he said casually to Jerry, "I put him through the picture window."

"You what?"

Bobby shrugged. "Hey, man. Don't blame me. You heard what he said."

"I – yeah, but what are you, twelve?" Jerry demanded. "What's ma gonna say when she sees what you did to her window?"

"I ain't gonna tell her it was me," Bobby said, as though pointing out the obvious.

"So, what, Angel put himself through the window?"

"Get off the logic train, Jerry, and help me sweep up the glass," Bobby said impatiently. He stepped around Jerry and out of the room, strolling down the hall towards the stairs. Jerry swore and turned to follow him, then stopped, remembering Jack.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked, looking at the shock of blond hair that was all he could see of his youngest brother, who was still sitting on the floor on the other side of the bed.

"Yeah," said Jack, refraining from rolling his eyes even though Jerry couldn't see his face.

"Man, I wish you'd find someone else to hero-worship. Bobby – and God bless him, man, but he's the most monumentally stupid person I ever met."

"I do not hero worship – " began Jack, stopping when he realized that Jerry had left the room. "I do not hero worship Bobby," he finished, muttering to himself. Hauling himself to his feet, he thought that he had better at least go and make sure that Angel was alright. Glancing briefly at the still-open window, he realized the Bobby's football was still lying on the roof.

Oh well, he thought, wondering idly how long it would take Bobby to notice if he 'accidentally' threw all of his older brother's sports equipment on the roof. Shaking his head slightly, he turned and left the room.