A/N: It is 6:10 in the morning and this idea popped up. Stendan eh, keeping you up with fic ideas since summer 2010.

I'm not sure the letter works… I tried to lighten the situation up a bit, but I feel it has gone wrong. And of course, characterisation is way out.

Voices are distant. Cells are locked and unlocked. Doors are slammed shut. Footsteps pass by like yo-yo's.

Hell…jail.

I jump off from the rock hard bunk bed and sit at the small table that's placed in the corner of the cell. I scratch over the beard that is now set on my face and scroll up and down at the letter that's stares back at me.

A fucking letter; me writing stuff down I'd never dream of saying. It's surprisingly comforting. Makes me feel less…alone, I feel like a fruit loop in this place. Caged up more or less 24/7, it makes you think. Someone back home told me 'thinking is dangerous, Bren. Don't do it.' And he was right, so god damn right.

Stephen.

I read through it slowly, over and over again until I feel my eyes close and sleep takes over.

Stephen.

You'll probably throw this letter away once it gets posted, but I hadta write to you; just write something really to anyone. It keeps my mind off the people that surround me and where I am. Criminals' eh, just like me. So why do I fear for my life in this place, Stephen? I'm hoping you have the answers 'cause I certainly don't.

My hard act, my Brendan Brady mask is falling slowly each day. But I won't give up; I know I can't give up. I'm a fucking vulnerable mess in here, I have no real closure. I, erm, I don't have you here to have a bitchy go at me. Never thought I'd say this, but I could do with one now. Your tantrums to somehow make me laugh, cos they do, not sure you've noticed, but yer a funny fellah at times. Interesting.

The food is shite, too. I need your speciality down me, your homemade spaghetti Bolognese would go down a treat. I've not eaten…surprising? Yeah, it surprised me too when I scrapped and pushed the cold mash and sausage around my tray and chucked it in the bin. I turned down sausage Stephen, when have I ever done that? Never. I should have given yer more credit, all those times I said your food was crap and how I'd suffer food poisoning if I ate anymore were lies young man.

I've got a beard, Stephen. A literal one that grows on your face, I know you are too young to experience one of these, but it's a shame you aren't here to see it. Only three weeks and I have more hair on my face than you have your whole body.

How's the kids? Amy? Well I hope. I'm sure Amy's told you to stay well away, and that this is for the best. Me inside and you free to move on, Jesus, I've even said it myself. But a letter back would be nice? Just summat I can read throw when I'm at my lowest. You're my only sanity.

Cheryl's ignored my calls and letters, is she okay? I know she's convinced I'm to blame for Rae… but I'm not. You believe me, right? And Lindsay does she? I swear down my kiddies life I didn't murder her.

I've gotta go, lights are going off in 5 and Terry is back (convicted rapist, I'm sure you'll agree that it's all fun and games in this cell).

Hope to hear from you soon, lad.

Double B. x