Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.
A/N: Deds to somebluedecember for beta-reading.
The bunk is hard, but you attempt to get comfortable. The alcohol has completely worn off now, and you vaguely wonder about what Jimmy and Sam must be thinking as they wait for you to show up with the liquor.
"Goin' take me on? Yeah, yeah, I'mma big man. No you ain't." The drunk in the corner freezes, and then starts swinging at the empty air. He's been talking to himself for the past hour, reliving the bar fight from which he was picked up. At first, you thought it was somewhat entertaining, but now - since it's nearing four in the morning - you just wish he would shut up so that you can get some sleep before you are released in a few hours.
"Ahhh!" He grabs the bars of the cell and attempts to shake them. "You can't beat me!"
"Shut the hell up!" You chuck a pillow at the man, completely frustrated with his antics. It seems that whenever you are dragged into the cooler there is always a crazy guy waiting for you.
The hobo stops for a minute, and looks at you as if he has just realized that you were in the cell with him. "Jack?" he asks.
"No." You give him a look. "Now shut up." Hopefully he'll take your advice and sit down like a normal person. But of course, like always, things don't go your way.
"Jack," the man repeats, this time with anger. He starts to stumble to you, his arms stretched out and for a split second you almost want to laugh because he looks like a man from one of those zombie movies that you saw at the drive-in.
"Jack!" He roars this time, as he attempts to take a swing at you.
But he's drunk and you're sober. He is an insane old man and you are a young, aggressive teenager. His head is filled with rambling thoughts and you've never thought so clearly.
You dodge the first and the second swing, and while he tries to regain his composure, you take your chance and sock him one right in the nose. He brings his hands up to his face, and you aim another punch at his stomach. He cries out, but you don't stop.
"Hey! Stop!" He holds up his hands, but all you are thinking is that he has been shouting to himself for the past two hours and he was the one who took the first swing. You slug him across the head, and he falls to the ground and curls up in a fetal position.
You take advantage of his vulnerability and kick at his ribs, feeling a sense of satisfaction each time he wails as your boots connect with his ribs.
You don't even realize that the cops have entered the cell until they are shoving you against the wall. Despite being restrained, you smirk as some other cops bend down to help the man who is now sputtering, spitting blood as he mumbles to himself frantically.
"God, Shepard. Can't you go one night without causing trouble?" The cop shakes his head in disgust.
"He was annoying me, man," you try to explain. But no one listens and you are dragged out of the cell and into the basement, where you are given your own eight by eight room in solitary confinement.
"Shit," you mutter, earning yourself a slap on the head by the cop pushing you towards to door.
"Don't curse."
You come to a door, and the burly policeman unlocks it. The door opens, and you see a small room, furnished only with a bed in the corner. The cop behind you starts to propel you forward, but you stand still, refusing to walk forward.
"C'mon, Shepard. Go in." The cop tries to urge you in again, but you still don't move.
"What, Shepard? Scared of solitary confinement?" The cop laughs, and then gives you a harsh shove, forcing you into the room. The cuffs are quickly removed and before you can turn around to escape, the door slams shut and the small window slot is closed, leaving you alone in the small room.
You turn around, taking deep, steady breaths to calm your nerves. But it doesn't help, and the walls start to close in, and you feel trapped. Your hands start to feel clammy, and your heart starts racing. You back up, flinching when you connect with the back wall.
Closing your eyes, you imagine that you aren't stuck inside a small room, that you are at the drag races on an open field. A sharp pain then erupts from your hand and you look down, opening your fist that you didn't even realize you had clenched. Blood is starting to seep from the wound, which has turned into a gaping gash in your hand. Early signs of infection have started to arise, and you feel light headed. The world starts to blur, and before you understand what is happening, you feel your eyes roll into the back of your head, feel the ground shift beneath your feet and the room goes black.
OOOOO
You don't know how long you've been stuck in the room when the door opens, and the burly policeman comes in with a pair of cuffs held in his hand.
"C'mon, Shepard. You've got a date with the judge," he says, beckoning you with his fingers when you don't get up.
"The judge? Why?"
He gives you a look. "You're being charged. I don't know with what, but you've got to come with us to see how long you're going to be put away."
You stare at the cop, not moving. Your body is so tired, and a slight fever numbs your brain. The policeman sighs, then comes over to you and grabs your forearm. After you've been restrained, you are guided outside the door and down the hallway.
"What did you do to your hand, Shepard?" the cop asks as you walk down the hallway.
"Scratched it," you mumble.
He laughs. "Looks like more than a scratch to me."
You don't have anything to say in response, so you keep quiet.
The gray interior of the jailhouse turns to brown walls and a marble floor as you enter the courthouse. You are led to a giant set of mahogany doors, and they open as if you are the leader of a royal procession.
The few people sitting in the seats turn to look at you as you enter, but the judge continues on with the arraignment of the person in front of him.
Briefly scanning the crowd, you freeze for a moment when you see Tim sitting near the back, his arms crossed across his chest, frowning as if he has better things to do than find out how long his younger brother is going to be put away for. You lock eyes with him for a few seconds before the policeman urges you forward.
The sound of a gavel startles you out of your thoughts and then you realize that you are at the stand.
"People versus Charles Jonah Shepard," the stern lawyer announces as he takes your file - which you notice is larger than most of the files sitting on the desk - and hands it to the judge.
"Charges?" the judge asks, not bothering to look up.
"Breaking and entering, attempted robbery, underage intoxication, possession of a weapon and assault," the lawyer reads off with a look of disgust on his face.
You can't help but give a small smile at the list of crimes that you committed in one night. The judge notices and frowns. "You find this funny, young man?" he asks. Hell, yeah, fucker. I think this is hilarious.
"No, sir," you answer calmly.
"How do you plead?"
"Guilty," you answer.
The judge pours over your records, moving through the thick file, flipping through pages of writings detailing past criminal offenses that you have committed.
"Based on your record, and the incident involving the homeless man while you were in jail, as well as the fact that you find this whole charade amusing, I'm convinced that you are a menace to society and do not belong on the streets." His words are heavy and filled with hate as he glares as you from his perch behind the desk. "I'm sentencing you to six months in the reformatory, beginning immediately."
The gavel slams down again, and the sound echoes throughout the hall. Damn it, you think. Six fuckin' months. The policeman pulls on your arm to take you a room where you will wait for a bus to haul your ass to the reformatory. But before you're pulled through the doors exiting the courtroom you look around in hopes of seeing Tim one last time before you're led out of the room. You wonder if he is proud, worried or angry about your sentence.
But it doesn't matter, because all you can see is his curly black hair as he leaves out the mahogany doors, not even sparing you a glance.
