So, this was an indulgence that I hope you enjoy. I'm trying to explore a relationship I introduced in Winning and I'm somewhat expanding on here. Enjoy!

You hate this courthouse. You hate the dress shirt, ones y'all wore to church before your daddy died. Hate the crappy public defender, who you know won't do any good. You hate the judge, and the bailiffs standing attentive beside him. You hate that your leg is bouncing, and you can't get it to stop. You hate that Angela's here, having to watch another sentencing hearing. Most of all, you hate that its your little brother sitting at the defence table.

You watched when they hauled him in. Watched the whole thing go down, helpless. Intervening wasn't going to do shit, and you might've ended up sitting beside him.

You're happy though, proud he did as he was told for once. Grateful that—instead of being a little jackass—he put his hands behind his back obediently. There was no smarting off or resisting arrest despite the slurs the cops threw his way. You're relieved that he did everything right. That way, they didn't have an excuse to put a bullet in his brain.

He stands up, and you catch a glimpse of his hands. They're shaking, and still cuffed. You hate that. He might've done something incredibly stupid, but he's not dangerous. He's a fourteen year old kid, and you sometimes have to remind yourself of that fact.

Six months. Maybe three, but that depends on how he behaves. You curse under your breath, you know your brother is probably going to end up staying the length of his sentence. Angela's crying, and your nails are digging so far into your palms your sure your hand's bleeding.

Just like that it's over, and the bailiffs are roughly grabbing your brother ready to escort him out. His hands are still shaking and he looks scared. You know he is scared, despite the tough look he gave you when he walked in here. This is the first time he's ever been sentenced time, and you know you're not too popular inside.

He's walking past you, still not managing to look as cool and calm as he wants. He might've gotten his expression under control, but his hands are still shaking something fierce. You bet that everyone can hear the cuffs rattling.

"Curls, you're going to be fine. I promise, Ok? You're going to be fine." You blurt it out before you even realize it, even thought you're supposed to be tough. But you want his hands to stop shaking, and you want him to not be so scared. You get to be the older brother instead of the gang leader.

You remember getting jailed for the first time. Your daddy had just died and so the judge was lenient, you got fourteen days in the reformatory. You wish the judge would've been lenient here, but he doesn't know the welt marks your brother's sporting. They're not from a fight, you have your step daddy to thank for those.

You think it's going to be a long six months.

You forgot how cold this room looks. The white brick walls closing in on you, the lonely metal table in the middle. The one thing you're happy about and the one thing that you can't stand is, at the end of this visit, you get to leave.

The door opens, and he walks in.

You want to hit somebody.

The left side of his face is purple and his lip is split. You can tell there's something wrong with his ribs by the way he's walking, and you know you have some threats to make. But all that goes at the window once you see him smile. "Tim."

It's been a week, they've finally let you visit. Though you won't admit this to anyone, you've missed him. You used to hate that you shared a room, but now it just seems lonely. Six months is going to be weird. "Hey Curls."

You notice the cuffs on his wrists and turn to the guard. "C'mon man, take them off. He's a kid, he's not dangerous."

The guard doesn't move and you can't help but scowl. You know violence won't get you were you want, so you try a different approach. "C'mon man, I just want to hug my kid brother."

And that seems to strike a chord with the guard because he's taking off the cuffs. Curly's looking at you like you've grown two heads, you sounded vulnerable there and it's not normal. But that's forgotten because he's hugging you, and you're hugging back. Careful of his ribs.

It's the first time you've hugged your brother since the day of the scentencing.

Darrel Curtis is sitting on his porch when you drive by. Y'all haven't spoken in a while, not recently at least. You remember giving him some advice about raising kids after his folks died, but that was it. For some reason you stop your car and walk over to him. "Hey, vato."

Darry looks up from his beer bottle, "Tim? Hey."

You walk over and sit down on the front step next to him. It's almost a blast from the past, the two of you sitting on this step together. Except y'all aren't six years old anymore and your father's aren't out selling dope. You pat him on the back. "I heard about Pony and Johnny. Estas bien?"

You doubt he's heard Spanish in a while, his daddy stoped speaking it after yours got killed. Y'all spoke it together for a while, using it intermittently with English, just like now.

"No, I ain't ok." He says, taking another swig from his bottle before handing it to you. "I heard about Curly. Que hizo el?"

You're surprised he's still able to speak it fairly well. You take a sip from the bottle. "Got caught robbing a liquor store. Six months in the cooler."

Darry just sighs, "hermanos pequeños."

"Hermanos pequeños." You echo.

Little Brothers.

I've been wanting to write a Tim Shepard fic for so long, and I decided to indulge myself. I apologize for my Spanish I used a translator as I don't speak the language myself. Also, I know in the book it's mentioned that it's not Curly's fisrt time in the reformatory, but I wanted to change that.

Estas bien: You alright

Que hizo el: What'd he do

Hermanos pequeños: Little brothers.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!