Disclaimer: The most amazing S. E. Hinton owns The Outsiders - which establishes the fact that I do not.

A/N: Deds to somebluedecember for all of her help! Please review, you guys, it would be fantastic!

You've been waiting for so long to be let go. The guard has come by three times with your meals, which means that it is sometime in the evening and that you have been held for twenty-four hours. It's been twenty-four hours, but you still hold hope that Tim will come for you soon.

You start pacing around in your room, unable to stand still.

The door opens, and you stare at the back wall. "What do you want?" you ask. "It hasn't been that long since you brought me dinner. Is Tim here?"

"No," a familiar voice says.

You turn around, and you realize that the voice belongs to Harvey. He looks older than when you last saw him, his eyes are more tired and his face is sad.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, confused.

"Curly." Harvey's voice is heavy. "The officers called me this morning. They told me about your situation."

"There is no situation!" you yell. "Tim's coming!"

"No, he's not," Harvey says roughly. "Tim is not coming. He would have done something - called the police station, come to the precinct, caused a ruckus - but he hasn't done anything, Curly. Stop living in your brother's shadow."

You stop pacing and sit down on the bed, cradling your face in your hands. You are completely torn. Before, you had complete faith in Tim. In the reformatory, you stood up for him, took pride in the name, Shepard. But when you got out, you increasingly felt like he was using you, like you didn't have his respect. Then, last night at the races, he specifically told you to keep the money. Now he hasn't come to get you.

"Why?" you ask, to no one in particular.

The bed creaks as Harvey sits next to you, placing his hand on your shoulder. "He might be your older brother, Curly, but he has his own priorities. Are you going to take his fall because he told you to? Or are you gonna become your own person?"

You are silent. Harvey stands up.

"I'll be back in the morning, Curly. For your answer."

You don't say anything; you just stare at the wall in front of you as Harvey leaves, shutting the door behind him.

OOOOO

You've been thinking about your problem the whole night. You don't know what to choose. Are you going to turn in Tim or take a sentence? You don't know which would be worse - Tim's anger or the thought of going back to juvie for God knows how long.

You hate to admit it to yourself, but the thought of going back to the reformatory - where Billy died and you were locked up all alone – scares you.

Then you think of Tim. If you took the rap you would suddenly obtain all of the glory that you have always wanted. Respected by all, the seat at the right hand of your brother would finally be yours.

The other option would be to turn your brother in … you will be run out of the city for sure. Tim would disown you without a thought and you would be all by yourself. Just like solitary only without the walls. You will be alone as a free man.

It tears you up inside.

Your stomach turns and your hands feel clammy. Without knowing you wrap your arms around yourself in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

"Okay. Okay," you mutter to yourself. You squeeze your eyes real tight like the answer is written on the inside of your eyelids. A knot grows in your throat and for the first time in forever tears begin to fall.

You feel pathetic, but you can't help it. Several days of being on edge and a tough choice has finally made you crack. Sniffing, you wipe your eyes with your arm hoping to stop the tears, but, if anything, you just cry harder. A sob escapes your throat and you wince at the sound of weakness. You don't know what to choose and you wish you had someone to tell you what to do.

It's the longest night of your life.

OOOOO

There is a knock on the door. You look up as Harvey walks in with a set of handcuffs in his hands. You eye them warily.

"Well, Curly. Are you gonna walk outta here a free man?" Harvey asks.

Standing up, you take a deep breath. You have made your decision and you walk towards your fate.

OOOOO

"Charles Jonah Shepard."

The courtroom seems so much bigger than last time, you think as you stare around in wonder.

"You are being charged with one count of fraud for more than two hundred dollars, one count of possession of an illegal firearm. How do you plead?"

You swallow a lump in your throat. "Guilty."

The judge deliberates for a few minutes, shifting through your files. He glances up at you every so often with a look of disgust. Finally, after what feels like forever, he closes the file, takes off his glasses and places them on the desk. He interlaces his fingers and lets his chin rest on them. He stares at you for a few seconds before taking a deep breath.

"Mr. Shepard. Do you have any idea what you have done?"

To be honest, you don't. It was Tim who thought up the whole idea, but you keep that to yourself.

"I sentenced you not even eight months ago to a six month imprisonment in the juvenile rehabilitation center." His voice carries waves of anger directed at you. You can hear how he thinks that you are a disgrace to humanity, a failure to society, and a waste of space that doesn't even deserve his attention.

"Looking at your records from your rehabilitation." He sneers the last word. "You were in constant fights, punished in solitary confinement and failed to pass any educational examinations that were given during your stay."

Exams? You don't remember taking any exams. They must have been given during your time in solitary. But the judge is on a rant and you keep quiet.

"You were guilty of stupid, teenage rebellion crimes back then. Not even two months after you have been released - only God knows why you were let back out on the streets - you are involved with fraud and the possession of the firearm." He points his finger at you, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. "You are a danger to this society, Mr. Shepard. And I am not going to be easy on you this time."

C'mon, you think. Just hand over the year in juvie and get over it.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr. Shepard? Anything at all?"

You can think of a million things. You want to tell the judge how you couldn't stand by as your roommate was beaten to death, how you still really don't know how to read. You want to tell him that you have a sister who cares about you and a friend who believes that you can be something. You want to tell him how your brother is the most important person to you in this world, and that's why you're in trouble again so soon.

But you just slowly shake your head.

"Fine." The judge raises his gavel. "Charles Jonah Shepard. I hereby sentence you to fifteen months in the state penitentiary. If it won't happen in the reformatory, maybe you will learn your lesson in the big house." He brings his gavel down. The sound echoes throughout the courtroom and your heart freezes.

"St ... state?" you stutter.

The policeman begins tugging your arm but, you ignore him and keep staring at the judge, who has moved on to the next file.

"State?" The world is blurry like a dream. You hear the murmur of the crowd but you can't see any people. "State?" you say again.

"C'mon, kid." You start to walk, but it's robotic. Your mind buzzes and you feel like your going to throw up.

"Wait, I'm sixteen! They can't send me to no pen," you plead to the officer who ignores you.

You are led to the cells beneath the courtroom to wait for the bus that will take you to Oklahoma City. After locking you in your cell, the officer grasps the bars and looks at you. "Kid, you really didn't think you were gonna get a hard sentence, did ya?" The cop smirks. "You weren't even out for two months and you got into bigger trouble than before. You know why we send kids to the reformatory?"

To keep them safe from the psycho people in the pen? You shake your head.

"Because there kids can be rehabilitated." He says the last word slowly like you are an idiot. "That means that they can get better. The judge has given up on you, so you're gettin' sent upstate. Hope that two hundred dollars was worth it." The officer leaves and the sound of his keys jingling grows faint.

Bile rises up your throat and you rush to the toilet in the corner of the room.

OOOOO

For one, it's a lot bigger than juvie.

Four stories tall, Oklahoma State Penitentiary creates a massive shadow that engulfs you as you step off the bus. Restrained by cuffs and shackles, dressed in an orange jumpsuit three sizes too large and your hair cleanly shaven, you feel like a kid even more than before.

"C'mon, Shepard." The cop lightly hits your back with his nightstick.

You take one small step, then another. The cop hits you again – this time with more force – and you start to walk faster toward the slowest fifteen months of your life. There is a man standing at the top of the steps, waiting for you. He is wearing a pair of aviator glasses that hides his eyes, but you can feel them searching all over you. Even in your extra-large jumpsuit you feel naked as the day you were born.

"Charles Shepard."

"Curly." You wince. It was an involuntary reaction - giving your nickname - but the officer is immediately pissed. He steps down to your level and grabs your chin roughly. You can see his eyes now. Through the dark glasses you see blue eyes colder than Dallas Winston's.

"What did you say? Are you playing smart with me, junior?"

N … No, sir," you stutter. His face is so close to yours you can feel his thick mustache touching your nose. You feel no reassurance from this man like you did from Harvey. You feel like you can't relate to this man. You feel deathly afraid of him.

He slaps your head. "Let me get one thing straight, Charles." He spits out your name. "You are lower than dirt. You are lower than shit. You are a piece of white trash so worthless that your momma is probably celebratin' at home that she don't have to put up with you no more."

Someone once said that words can't ever hurt you, but your stomach tumbles violently at the verbal abuse. For a second time in twenty-four hours you want to cry, you want to throw up, you want to lie down and just wish that everything would cut short.

"Now you're stuck with me." He smiles and his hot breath makes bile rise up your throat.

He pulls back and looks at the guys standing behind you. "Bring him in, fellas. Let's see if he's got what it takes to live in the big house."