Note: I don't own Four Brothers or When It Don't Come Easy by Patty Griffin

Chapter Four

You're out there walking down a highway and all the signs got blown away

Sometimes you wonder if you're walking in the wrong direction

"Hi, Bobby." The nurse at the desk smiled at him and he grinned back, resisting the urge to start flirting. She'd been giving him the eye ever since Jack had been transferred to her floor a couple weeks ago and he had to admit that she was hot as hell, but he didn't need any more complications in his life right now. "He's in his room, all packed up and ready to go," she answered before he even had the chance to ask.

She grabbed a clipboard and motioned for him to take a step closer. "There are just a couple of things you need to sign and the doctor left some instructions for Jack to follow - exercises and stuff like that. Plus, there are a bunch of prescriptions you need to get filled."

"It's too soon, isn't it?" Bobby said, voicing the worry he'd been carrying around with him all day.

She shrugged. "He'll be fine. He can heal at home just as easily as he can heal in rehab. Plus, he gets to sleep in his own bed. He's been pretty restless in here." She smiled as she tried to reassure him.

"I'm just worried, ya know. He's been real quiet," Bobby admitted as he blindly signed the forms. His other hand was in the pocket of his jacket, his fingers toying with the guitar pick he had buried in there. It had been there since last week, after he'd finally remembered to bring Jack his guitar. He'd given Jack the little piece of plastic, pleased with himself for thinking to bring it. Jack had only given him a tired grin and told him he never used one anyway. Well, he should at least get credit for trying.

"Well, you're his brother, so you'd know best, but he strikes me as a quiet kind of guy."

Bobby nodded. Yeah, but lately … he thought, but didn't say out loud. The hard plastic dug into his thumb as he forced a smile.

XxXxXxXxXx

He made his way down the familiar hallway, dodging some lady in a wheelchair and nearly knocking over a guy who was struggling with a walker. The old man flipped him off, but Bobby ignored him. Wasn't his fault the guy was so damn slow.

The door to Jack's room was open and he stopped just short of crossing the threshold, finding it a bit hard to believe that this day had actually arrived. He still had dreams at night where he didn't reach Jack in time and he died in his arms. Those dreams scared the hell out of him.

Jack was sitting on the bed, unaware that his brother was there. His head was down, his hands in his lap, and he was actually twiddling his thumbs. It was a nervous habit he'd had as long as Bobby could remember.

His bags were piled on the floor along with his guitar case, a set of crutches and a cane. The crutches hurt his shoulder but he was still really unsteady on the cane. Bobby's own knees ached every time he thought about all the hardware that was now in Jack's leg and all the painful surgeries it had taken to get to where he had a fifty-fifty chance of walking again.

Well, he was walking again, if that's what you'd call the halting, lurching gait that Jack now moved in. The therapist was optimistic - predicting Jack would just have a limp by this time next year. At this point, Bobby was just happy to have his little brother alive and well; he didn't care if he ever walked again.

Of course, Jack being Jack, he was more worried about his shoulder. Turns out, Jack's shoulder was just about as screwed up as his leg - the nerves and muscles damaged, screwing up his whole right arm. When it came to fucking up - his baby brother rarely did anything halfway.

There was a chance Jack might not be able to play guitar again, at least not was well as he used to. It didn't escape Bobby's notice that the guitar stayed untouched in the corner of Jack's hospital room after that first day he tried to play it..

Bobby cleared his throat and took a step into the room. "Cracker Jack," he said and he was rewarded with an annoyed sigh as Jack looked up and pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes.

"Ready to go home?" Bobby asked and Jack grinned, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Yeah, ready to go home."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Jack drinks jack, Jack drinks jack," Jack chanted as he raised the shot glass to his lips. Just as he was about to take a sip, Bobby reached out and snatched the glass away, spilling the amber liquid all over the table and his brother.

"Damn it," Jack growled, shaking the whiskey off his shirt.

"Sorry, sweetheart - Jack does not drink jack. Jack's on painkillers and antibiotics. Jack drinks milk or juice."

"Fuck you, Bobby."

"Sperm was not an option," Bobby said without missing a beat. Both Angel and Jerry broke out in laughter and Jack glared at them.

"Traitors," he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like a pouting five-year-old.

"Bobby's got a point," Jerry said, taking a sip of his beer.

"I don't care if Bobby's got a point. I haven't had a drink in forever and we're supposed to be celebrating my coming home."

"And you'll celebrate with a coke - quit your whining," Bobby said, waving down the waitress.

The place was nearly empty. A couple of regulars were in their usual seats at the bar and a young couple was arguing quietly in the corner. To say there wasn't much action on a bitterly cold Wednesday night in their part of Detroit was an understatement. There were Applebees with more raucous crowds. The fact that the place wasn't crowded suited Jack just fine. He was still jumpy around strangers, a fact he wasn't about to share with his brothers.

"One drink isn't going to kill me," Jack said quietly and was rewarded with a cold look from Bobby.

"Jack, do not go there," Angel warned under his breath and Jack just shrugged, smearing the spilled whisky on the battered table in random circles.

"I could still haul your ass back to that hospital, you know." Bobby leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table. "Your therapist said you should stay for at least another week."

"We couldn't afford another week and you know it." Jack shifted restlessly in his chair, wincing as the movement pulled at the torn muscles in his shoulder. "I can exercise and go to outpatient therapy just as easily as I can do it at Henry Ford, stuck in some shitty room with a guy who talks non-stop about his mom and insists on watching Lifetime all day."

The waitress returned with his soda and he stared at it, willing it to turn into a shot of whiskey, or at least a glass of beer. Anything but soda. He finally gave up and took a sip.

He was tired of people telling him what to do. He thought it would be different once he left the hospital, but he didn't even have to check his watch to know that it had only taken Bobby approximately three hours to start bossing him around again. Shit, it shocked the hell out of him when Bobby agreed to his suggestion of getting out of the house and grabbing a couple of drinks.

It wasn't like Jack had planned on going out in the first place - on the drive home from the hospital all he could think about was sleeping in his own bed for the next forty-eight hours or so. Evelyn's house was always a home to him - safe and warm. Even before she adopted him, back when he was just a foster kid making another stop in a string of hopeless placements, he'd always felt protected under her roof. Evelyn was his mom long before those papers were signed.

But as Bobby pulled up to the curb and Jack looked out the window at that familiar house, an icy fear swept over him and he knew something had changed.

His brothers were working on repairing the damage - Bobby had explained that it was slow going with the three of them doing all the work and Sofi hanging around, nagging them at every turn. The worst of it was gone, the front of the house was almost back to normal; but Jack swore he could still see the bullet holes. Hell, he could still hear the gunshots echoing in the back of his mind.

Several feet of snow had fallen while he'd been in the hospital, more than enough to cover up the spot he had been lying in after getting shot. More than enough to cover up the blood, but he swore the snow was still stained red in the exact spot he'd almost died in.

Maybe he was going crazy? Maybe he should talk to that psychiatrist at the hospital, like his doctor suggested. But he hated shrinks; all that talking about his feelings and dredging up the past never led to anything but more pain.

At least the inside of the house didn't freak him out as much as the outside. Of course, it wasn't as though he'd almost bled to death in the family room.

"I'm thinking of asking Sofi to marry me." Angel's steady voice broke into Jack's dark thoughts.

"What?" Jack sputtered as Jerry sighed, shaking his head, and Bobby's face turned a dark shade of red as his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. If it was possible, steam would have been pouring from his ears, like a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Suddenly, Jack had and image of Bobby as a pissed-off Elmer Fudd and he couldn't help laughing.

Bobby looked at him sharply. "What the hell is so funny?"

Before Jack had to think of an answer, Bobby turned his attention back to Angel. "What the fuck planet are you living on? Marry La Vida Loca? Are you on drugs? You know it would break Ma's heart to know you were back on drugs again."

Angel leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto its back legs and he shrugged. "Ain't drugs, Bobby. It's love, you should try it sometime."

Jack, who had been trying to hold in his laughter, completely lost it, triggering Jerry, who quickly dissolved into a fit of laughter as well. Jack's still healing lung rebelled against the abuse, but he ignored it, it felt too good to actually have something to laugh about for a change.

Jerry was the first to gather his composure. "Angel, are you serious about this?"

"Of course I'm serious."

"Sofi?" Jerry was still shaking his head, whether in disbelief or disappointment, Jack couldn't tell.

"Why is this so hard to believe?" Angel was obviously getting angry.

"She's crazy."

"Loud."

"Tiring." All three brothers spoke simultaneously.

"Really loud," Jack added, almost as an afterthought.

Angel looked slowly from brother to brother, his face blank, giving away nothing.

"Y'all are just jealous."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Shit, does this mean we gotta carry him into the house?" That was Bobby.

"Just wake him up, man. I need to get to bed," Angel answered and Jack slowly opened his eyes. He was in the backseat of Bobby's new car, an '82 puke brown behemoth that was somehow even more of an eyesore than the one he wrecked during a particularly hazardous car chase in the snow.

His leg was stretched out in front of him, stiff and swollen, and he wasn't looking forward to trying to move it just then. But judging from the looks on his brothers' faces, he wasn't going to be allowed to sleep in the car.

"I got it," he said roughly. "It's going to take a minute."

Several minutes later, Jack was sprawled out on the couch, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Angel, is that you?" Sofi's voice traveled down the stairs.

"You got it from here?" Angel asked, obviously impatient to get upstairs to his future fiancé.

Bobby nodded and Angel bolted before Sofi could start shrieking about how he was taking too long.

Jack stared after him, his brow furrowing. "You don't think he's going to ask her tonight? Do you?"

"He better fucking not." Bobby was gathering up the clutter that was strewn all over the family room.

Cards and balloons were scattered about and a haphazard "Welcome Home, Uncle Jack" sign was hanging above the fireplace. His nieces had made it for him, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at the crooked lettering and the little dog Daniela had drawn in the corner.

He leaned his head back into the cushion behind him and let out a tired sigh. His knee and shoulder were throbbing and the other bullet wounds that marred his legs were starting to ache, too. He'd overdone it, but he needed to be exhausted if he was going to sleep in that house without having nightmares.

Bobby stopped what he was doing and gave him a look that Jack would have called concerned if he didn't know him better. "Just give me a sec. I'll grab your medicine and then help you haul your ass up the stairs."

Jack looked at the stairs and groaned. "I'm halfway tempted to just stay on the couch tonight."

"Trust me, sweetheart, I'm halfway tempted to just leave you there."

Just then, the phone rang and Bobby bit off a curse. "Who the fuck calls at this hour?" He made his way into the kitchen and picked up the extension that was hanging on the wall next to the refrigerator.

A minute or two later, Bobby was back, carrying a glass of water and a handful of pills. He handed it all over to Jack, who quickly swallowed the pills, hoping the painkillers would kick in soon.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he sat the glass on the end table, Jack looked up at his brother. "Who was on the phone?"

"No one, just a hang-up."

"Wrong number?"

"How the hell would I know? They better not call back, if they know what's good for them," Bobby said as he eyed the stairs and then looked back at his brother. "Okay, how do we do this?"

"Seriously, Bobby, I'll just sleep on the couch."

Bobby stepped toward his baby brother and held out his hand, obviously impatient. Reluctantly, Jack reached out and let him help him to his feet. Leaning heavily on Bobby's arm, Jack painfully made his way toward the stairs.

"Hey, Bobby," he said with a tired grin.

"Yeah?"

"It's good to be home."

Bobby stopped and looked at him, shaking his head, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he tried not to laugh.

"Shit, Jackie, don't go getting all sappy on me. This ain't no fucking Hallmark commercial."

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A/N - Sorry this took so long to write. Inspiration can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Thanks again for all the reviews. And if anyone is interested, my friends and I started a Garrett Hedlund message board. We also discuss fan fiction and writing and research tips. The link is in my profile.