Awkward.
It's awkward to think that my little brother could do things I have done. It's awkward to think that he may not have that little bit of innocence some day. It's awkward to think he's my brother, and although I've told him to act tough and be like me, it'd be a nightmare for him to do so. It's awkward to think he's now a spitting image of me in every way. It's what I've never wanted.
Okay, so this is a story I just randomly wrote because well, I was bored and I got this idea. This is meant to stay a one shot, but maybe I might just write random events in their life on this same fic thing. So yeah, pleaaaseee comment and do any of you remember the two chapters I wrote for Power of Words about SE Hinton writing and creating the boys and her controlling them? It got removed lol but if you want me to change the name and stuff, PM me.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders. All rights to Mrs. Hinton ;)
December 6th, 1962
With a small bottle of whiskey in one hand and a crowbar in the other, you stumble forward to the liquor store, one thing flooding your alcohol induced mind. You can't get enough of the beverage. You need more. It's a cold night, and you stop a shiver from taking over your body by taking another gulp. Warmth surrounds your body for a few more moments, and a smirk plasters itself on your face.
You are nothing more than another JD, a hood. You know everyone knows and respects you since you turned thirteen, the same age your little brother is now. He's not like you. You are anything but innocent. Sixteen years on the streets and you see things, but not the right things. You know you're not a virgin, and anything but sober. You haven't been since you were thirteen.
Curly still has that hint of innocence in him. You wish you still had that. You would have never chosen this life if it was up to you but you embrace it. Curly has never done anything past make out with a girl, and he's never gotten in anything worse than a fist fight. Of course not. Curly fucking Shepherd has you.
He's never been threatened at gun point. He's never had a one night stand. He's never gotten stabbed. He's never stabbed a person. He's never gone to the reformatory. He's never seen his own mother being beaten half to death. He's never had to kill the man who did it.
Curly is still his innocent self.
After getting the liquor store's door open, you take a few bottles of Jack and shove them down your jacket. You quickly run over to your best friend's car and he drives away like a mad man, taking a bottle from your hand and taking a sip.
It's a long and crazy ride home, and you feel on the verge to passing out from all the alcohol. You want to think Curly and Angela are sleeping, but you know that may not be the case. Curly hasn't been acting the same for a while. He's always at parties you never bother to ask where at. Last time you asked, it was a birthday party, so it's not like your worried. You're Tim Shepherd. You never worry.
When Freeman, your best friend pulls into the driveway, you get out. The living room lights are still on and you are almost 100% sure Curly is up. Angela is only eleven and she is never up past ten. It doesn't come as a surprise to see him there, but what does is that he's not alone.
Curly is shirtless, sprawled on the couch with a cigarette in his mouth. A girl that looks his age is sitting on his lap, or what would be his lap if he were sitting, also smoking. It's not strange to you that he's smoking, because once in a while he smokes but it doesn't smell like a normal cigarette.
It hits you.
Curly was smoking weed. Your eyes wander to the blonde girl on him who's shirtless, with a bra, of course, and a beer in her hand. The air is thick and musky in beer and weed, and you know this isn't right. The blonde is gorgeous, and for a second you are proud that he scored such a sexy broad, but all of those feelings instantly disappear when they start talking. They hadn't noticed you were here.
"Curly," the blonde breaths out, after taking a drag of the smoke. She leans into Curly and smirks. "Who's home?"
Curly starts sitting up and freezes in his place, his eyes locked on yours. "Tim?" he asks, slightly surprised you were home. "What are you doing here?"
The blonde girl instantly blushes and throws on her shirt before scurrying out the door, leaving a deafening silence.
You don't know what to say once you take a good look at your younger brother. His hair is tousled and only slightly greased due to the fact that he had been lying down. He looks slightly older than he is, but so fucking much like you three years ago, and you don't like it.
Curly is supposed to be the innocent one of the two, and he wasn't supposed to act like this. His eyes still had that one tiny bit of innocence, and you prayed to god that would never change.
"Tim," Curly tried again and you shiver. It's cold out and the door is open.
"Go to bed, Curly," you say quietly. "Don't you ever try weed again," Like he'll listen to you.
May 17th, 1964
It's so awkward to see Curly now, his hair heavily greased; drinking at Buck's almost every night. It's awkward to see him pull a blade in a fight. It's just plain awkward to see him so grown up.
In the moment, you are at the Dingo with Curly and some girl at the other side of the restaurant, making out like there's no tomorrow. You don't know when it happened but ever since that day at home with the weed and the beer; he's been out of control. He still had a tiny little bit of innocence but that's just because he's never been to jail. Time passes quickly and you don't even know what happened until Sylvia tapped your shoulder.
"Is that Curly?" she asks you quietly and you nod.
You slowly walk over to the outside of the Dingo with a boy only slightly younger than you lying in his own blood. Curly has an angry look on his face when the fuzz shows up, and soon he has handcuffs around his hands. His eyes meet yours for a split second and you notice that he's no kid anymore. He just tried to kill that boy, and all for a stupid reason.
Sure, Angela was crying for him and throwing her hands up exasperatedly when they took him away, but you didn't flinch. Your eyes met his until you could no longer see the car.
May 19th, 1964
"Calvin Parker Shepherd is accused for attempted murder, use and ownership of a lethal weapon and disrespect to an officer," the judge starts, and you slightly raise an eyebrow at the crimes he had committed. "How do you plead?"
He doesn't ponder the question for a second or even flinch. "Guilty," and with that, the judge nods.
"Six months in the reformatory for boys," the judge states, before hitting the hammer thing against the table. They pulled Curly away and Angela starts to sob on your shoulder.
Curly was going to the reformatory for six months.
And those eyes, those cold eyes stared at you until you could no longer see him. You could already tell it was going to be more making sure he wasn't dead or in a fight once he got out, and he reminded you so much of yourself, so fucking much and you didn't like it.
Curly fucking Shepherd is that spitting image of you that you never wanted him to be. He can't be anything like you. Why do people have to grow up?
Shit, what are you thinking? You don't care if he grows up. He's just your brother.
But those fucking eyes. Damn, he's everything you never wanted him to be.
Fuck.
A/N Please read and review!