A/N: Hello. This is just my attempt at a slightly happier ending to this classic story. Maybe happy is not the word I'm looking for. A more hopeful ending, maybe?

He had meant to stay throughout the entire funeral service. He really did. He had even taken a few shots of whiskey that morning in order to try to make things pleasantly numb and fuzzy. He had silently prayed to God to help him hold it together throughout the whole ordeal, despite not being much of a praying man. But, to his dismay, Curley could feel the unwelcome sting of unshed tears prickling his eyes and a painful lump developing in his throat. It took him back to another makeshift funeral held in the very same barn 15 years ago, when they had buried his mother. It had been the worst day of his life.

He'd been just a kid then, so no one really held it against him when he'd lost his composure a few times and had let out more than a few tears. But this current storm threatening to erupt from within him felt like more than just a few tears...it felt like a volcano. And as a man, it was totally unacceptable to him. He tried desperately to draw off of his main source of power in order to quell these feelings: anger. It has always worked before. Curley had plenty to be angry about...his broken hand, his murdered wife...but now with the death of his wife seemingly avenged by the death of Lennie, the white hot anger that he had felt when they had discovered his wife's body a few days ago had long since dissipated. Sitting in that barn with everyone and seeing her casket up there in the front of the room seemed to really throw a wet blanket on whatever smoldering embers of anger he had left. All he had felt was a deep, bone aching sadness and it scared him. He hadn't felt this weak and out of control since Lennie had crushed his hand last week. He'd realized, with horror, that this was another fight he was going to lose in front of everybody...again. Curley could not let that happen.

In the middle of the priests' sermon, Curley rose out of his seat. Shoulders back, head up and long, deliberate strides betrayed his rapidly disintegrating resolve. He could awkwardly, painfully feel everyone's eyes on him as he made his way out of the barn. Stepping out into the bright, searing hot sunshine made his eyes burn...or maybe it was the steady stream of tears that had already began to fall. Furiously, Curley wiped at his eyes with his good hand and swore under his breath. A rising sense of panic began to consume him. The bright blue sky smiling carelessly down at him did nothing to calm his fears. To make matters worse, Curley could hear movement from within the barn and people quietly muttering to each other in confusion, wondering how in the world a husband could walk out on his own wife's funeral. Vision blurred, Curley allowed his focus to slip past the bunkhouse, his house and onto the golden field of barley that stretched out before him. The row of trees that stood on the far end of the field seemed to call to him, their thick, emerald green foliage representing a kind of concealment or safety. The driving need to get away from everyone seemed to propel him forward and, before he knew it, Curley was walking as fast as he could toward them. Halfway through the barley field, that brisk walking turned into a full blown run. He grimaced, his injured hand shooting sharp pain up his arm with each step. He clasped his good arm underneath his sling for added support. Through it all, he never took his eyes off of those trees.

All of Curley's strength seemed to leave his body as soon as he reached his destination. Curley stumbled past a tree, then another one before his eyes completely blurred with tears and his throat closed up, effectively cutting off his breathing and, thus, his stamina. He leaned heavily against a tree trunk as dizziness crashed over him and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. His knees gave out as his face crumpled, sending him sliding down the tree trunk in a pathetic heap. Curley leaned his head on his knees and his good hand snarled painfully in his hair as his shoulders shook with sobs. Curley could not remember the last time he lost control over his emotions like this. It was extremely embarrassing. His head throbbed and he felt like throwing up. Vaguely, he wondered when this pain would ever subside. He didn't know if he could take feeling this way for a minute longer.

"Curley?" A soft voice broke into his thoughts. Curley felt as if he had been plummeted into ice water. Slowly, he turned toward the voice and saw the green, concerned eyes of an almost stranger. George.

Of all the people on this damned ranch... Curley thought bitterly. He sniffled and took in a shaky, calming breath. He stared straight ahead in an attempt to center himself, not daring to glance back at George until he was good and ready.

"What?" Curley ground out stiffly.

"You ought to be gettin' back to the barn." George prodded gently.

With George's last remark, all of Curley's false bravado crumbled as a sense of panic washed over him.

"I...I can't go back there. They're gonna put her in the ground right next to..." Curley choked on the rest of the sentence. His eyes squeezed shut as he whimpered, unable to finish the rest of his statement. Tears spilled over his cheeks.

George stared at the trembling and scared boy before him and could hardly believe this was the bully of the ranch that everyone was wary of as recently as last week. A week ago, George despised the arrogant young man...but watching him having a meltdown right there in front of him, he didn't know what to think or how to react.

"I hate funerals." Curley said shakily, trying to collect himself.

"Who doesn't?" Came George's matter of fact reply.

Curley huffed out a humorless laugh at this. The two men sat in awkward silence. Curley tried to steady his emotions while George surveyed their peaceful surroundings, racking his brain about what to say next. When George heard his name being said, he snapped his attention back to Curley in shock...he couldn't remember Curley ever calling him by his name before.

"George, why are you being so nice to me?"

The question was posed with an aura of suspicion, but the tone was also surprisingly timid. George thought carefully about what to say, not wanting to push Curley too far in either direction. He shook his head and then shrugged.

"I guess it's 'cause I know how it feels. To lose someone, I mean."

"Oh..." Just the honest simplicity of the statement was enough to trigger a fresh wave of tears. He bit his lip and bowed his head, feeling like the scum of the earth. He knew he was partly responsible for the death of his wife. She couldn't stand to be in the same house as him and was always trying to avoid him and his moodiness. Had he been more pleasant to be around, maybe she wouldn't have looked for companionship with almost everyone else on the ranch, including the man who killed her. Remembering that lumbering strange man, it occurred to Curley that, despite what took place between Lennie and his wife, Lennie was now dead. It was over. That man appeared to be George's only friend and he was now gone. Only, unlike his wife, Lennie didn't get a funeral service or even a proper burial. He had no idea what they ended up doing to his body. Curley knew that he was not the only one suffering a painful loss in recent days and he couldn't believe that the very person whom had suffered that loss was now trying to comfort him about his situation. Curley reflected on how he made Lennie and George's lives at the ranch a living hell. George was a better man than Curley could ever be and Curley knew he did nothing to deserve the compassion and understanding that George was showing him now.

"I wasn't very nice to her..." Curley choked out, giving a voice to his thoughts.

"No, you weren't." George nodded to the affirmative. "But maybe someday you can get married again-"

"No, no..." Curley shook his head sadly. "I'm not gonna get hitched again. I ain't fit to be no woman's husband."

George looked down at the ground, not knowing what to say.

"By the way, I'm sorry about your..." Curley paused here, gesturing with his good hand as he searched for the correct term to use. When George and Lennie first came to work at the ranch, Curley had remembered viciously implying that the two were in a homosexual relationship because they were two men who traveled together. George had defiantly claimed that it was indeed 'that way'. But then later on that night, Curley recalled his father saying that the two men were cousins and that George was taking care of Lennie due to an accident that had mentally impaired him when they were kids. Curley didn't know what relationship Lennie had to George, but even if it was 'that way' he wanted to be respectful. It was the least he could do. George smiled slightly, sensing Curley's hesitation.

"Brother. I considered him to be a brother to me."

"Your brother..." Curley echoed, blinking back tears. "I'm sorry about your brother."

"Thanks." George nodded.

The two men lapsed into a comfortable silence. Curley knew he still had a funeral and burial service to attend to and an empty bed to deal with later on that night, but he finally had begun to feel a little better and a little bit stronger about what lay ahead. It was as if the dark cloud of dread had slowly been lifted off of him.

"I wonder what the guys will think when I go back there after runnin' off like this?" Curley wondered out loud to himself.

"They'll think you are a man who just lost his wife. Don't sweat it." George replied easily.

"Yeah, I guess." Curley turned to look at him when a bright color caught his eye. He felt his gaze being pulled to a bright, yellow bouquet of sunflowers clutched tightly in one of George's hands. He looked up at him curiously.

"These are for Lennie." George indicated the flowers in his hand. "I'm goin' down to the river after the funeral."

"Oh..." Curley smirked slightly, feeling a little bit mischievous all of the sudden. "And here I thought you brought 'em for me."

George snorted out a surprised laugh.

"Ready to go back?"

"Hold on a sec, let me get this thing off. It's drivin' me crazy..." Curley clumsily took the black worker's glove off of his good hand with his teeth and tossed it aside. George was on his feet first and offered assistance to a grateful Curley, pulling him up onto his feet as well. George noticed a silver wedding band on his ring finger. It piqued George's interest and reminded him of something he'd been curious about since he and Lennie had first arrived on the ranch.

"Hey, Curley...what was that glove for?"

"I figured it would keep the dirt off my ring during the day. You know how ranches and farms can be."

George was stunned. He thought back to what Candy had told him that first day and realized that men were just as prone to gossip and rumors as women were.

"I'm goin' into town with Slim and some of the other guys for a drink later on tonight. Why don't you come along? I have kind of a funny story that someone told me about that glove. I think you'll get a kick out of it."

THE END