When he walked into the room and Tim got a glance at his expression, all he could think was "What now?" His forehead, usually smoothed in a harsh scowl, was creased with worry and distress. His shoulders were hunched over in a way Tim hadn't seen before from this man who usually held himself upright proudly, displaying his strength. His eyes were clear but watery, shining with unspoken pain. Tim's own eyes relayed his concern and confusion, but he didn't have a chance to ask what was wrong.

Rob's tattoo-laden arms wrapped around Tim and he buried his face against the smaller man's shoulder. Tim only hesitated a second in bewilderment before returning the embrace. Once he had, the large body in his arms began to shake, wracked with heart-piercing sobs that were barely muffled against the leather of Tim's jacket.

Leading Rob back a few steps, Tim guided him to sit down on the worn couch in the practice space. Sitting down, the pair moved closer together and Tim began to rub his back lightly, a comforting gesture. He might have thought to ask what had happened, but he knew that for right now there was no way Rob could have spoken through the tears, and for someone like Rob that was saying quite a lot.

"What now?" The question repeated itself in Tim's mind. The past few years had seen more than their share of devastation. It's said that bad things always come in threes, but Tim could have thought of a list of threes in multitude. It had seemed it was over, that things would pick up from here, until Rob had walked into the room. One of the few people who had kept their cool throughout everything, someone Tim could count on as a pillar of strength to lean against when everything became too much. So...what had happened now, to bring this certain pillar crashing to the ground?

When Joe had gone, Brody was there for him. When Brody had left, he had everyone. It had been Matt who'd driven him silently up the coast, a drive they'd taken countless times before for enjoyment, never in bitter silence. But Matt had been content to let the silence stay, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts. It had been Benji who'd driven to his house in a torrential downpour to take the bottle of scotch from his hands and pour it down the drain. And it had been Davey's soft-spoken words of reassurance through late nights of shared insomnia that brought him back from the edge of insanity so many times. It had been Rob who'd stayed with him, seething anger at the 'fucking cunt' for turning her back on him and offering to put a hit out on her.

Was this karma for being weak, for depending upon other people instead of standing strong on his own? Was he now supposed to watch as each of his friends crumbled without knowing the words to say, or the right things to do? Were the rest of their lives destined to be filled with one unhappy occurance after another until they died off, one by one, with nothing but their eternal sadness to protest to the fact that they were ever alive at all?

Rob sat back, sniffing loudly and wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Tim released the embrace, folding his hands in his lap and waiting patiently, he wasn't sure what for.

With another sniff, Rob began to try to explain. "My mom...," he trailed off, his throat closing up with emotion, but he'd said all he needed to say anyway.

"Shit," Tim murmured.

If there had been a Rob's Book of Rules, rule number two - right underneath 'Never leave beer in the bottom of the can' - would have been 'You fuck with Mom, you die.' He had always honored and respected his mother above all else, even when he was a screwed up teenager making mistake after mistake. And understandably, too. His mother had showed support for her son in all of his endeavors, a support Tim himself had never recieved from any of his own family members.

Tim might have hugged him again, but the condolence now seemed trite and insincere. Futhermore, Rob didn't lend well to affection. The imposing skinhead wiped at his eyes with the heels of his palms, then looked imploringly at Tim.

"What do I do now?," he asked, sounding so helpless it hurt Tim's heart. "She's the only fucking family I had...what now?"

Tim opened his mouth and closed it a few times, unsure as he knew he would be of what to say. "I don't know," he finally answered honestly.

Anger flashed, hot and bright, through Rob's eyes. His hands balled into fists. "Why, Tim? Why the fuck does this have to happen now? Why to me?"

He stood up and started pacing the small room without really waiting for an answer from Tim. Tim slid back on the couch; he'd long since learned that when Rob was angry it was best to get out of the way and stay away. He couldn't really leave right now, and wouldn't anyway, but that didn't mean he wanted to be in the path of destruction.

"It's not fucking fair! She didn't fucking deserve this. There are rapists, child molestors, cracked out whores roaming the fucking streets and now my mom's gone! I'll fucking kill them, every last one of the fuckers!," the volume of Rob's voice increased through tightly clenched teeth, and he puncutated his promise by leaving a large hole in the wall with his fist. He paused then, breathing heavily. "She's fucking gone..."

His hands dropped to his sides again, and Tim stood up. He strode a few paces noiselessly to where Rob was standing, now with his back to him. He placed a hand lightly on the larger man's shoulder.

"Kill 'em all," Tim told him. "Do whatever you gotta do. I'll be right behind you."

Rob turned slowly to face Tim, and some sort of recognition shone in his eyes. The recognition that he wasn't alone, after all, and that he never would be, entirely. And in that instance, Tim realized he never would be either, despite the fact that he'd never really had a family. Again, Rob embraced him tightly and Tim returned the gesture effortlessly this time. Then he spoke, one word that said it all concisely.

"Brother."