A/N: I'm a horrible, horrible person who left again for like * counts on fingers * twenty-three (by the time I post maybe twenty-four) days. That's the worst ever. And contrary to popular belief, I did not fall off the face of the internet, nor meet some wonderful man like Lloyd Dobbler and run off with him. Or Sirius Black for that matter. J.K. Rowling is evil. In truth, I had to deal with my bat mitzvah up until the fourteenth, and after that I was struck with a severe case of writer's block (which is almost as evil as J.K. Rowling) and was unable to write. So anyway, here's my attempt at something.

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"Hey there Kloppman, ya evah gonna tell us 'bout dis Shout person? Or ya gonna make us wondah?" I said the next night as the lodging house owner, Spark, and I ate dinner together downstairs.

"I could tell you right now," Kloppman started, "but then I couldn't lord it ovah you whenevah I wanted to.

I grinned at the old man, digging into the potato in front of me as if it was heaven. "But ya really wanna tell us, dontcha? Ya jus' achin' ta let me an' Spark know da story of Shout," I said, obviously begging the older man.

At this point an even more amused smile crossed his face. "I do wanna tell Spark. In fact, she already knows," he said, and it was obvious he thought this the biggest joke of the night.

"Spark?" I questioned my fiancee, whose smile made it evident that old Kloppman could still be held never to tell a lie to his lodgers.

"Race?" she questioned, levely but evidently trying not to laugh.

Throwing my hands into the air, I stood up. "Why can I not know who Shout is? It's not like there's some important story, is there?"

"Oh, but there is," Kloppman said. He paused for a moment, as if trying to choose the correct words to tell me, before simply giving up. "Ya see, Shout's ya bruddah."

~*~*~*~

"Shout! Man, dat boy caused some good times," Mush stated as I paused for a breath. The breath was meant to build drama, but Mush just didn't seem to understand. Then again, I don't think he ever really understood. That wasn't his job. Come to think of it, what was his job? I'll be damned if I know. Of course, if I really do know, I'm going to be damned. And that's not good. Whoa, completely different tangent. Forgive me.

A smirk crept up on Spot's face. "He threw some pretty wild parties those couple of yeahs he was around."

"Now, c'mon boys, dis is Race's story aftah all," Sprite interjected. "Continue, my deah friend," she said, laughing.

"As I was sayin'," I answered, with a mock glare at the boy who had interrupted me in the first place, and another at the person who spoke after him. Then, of course, I proceeded with the story.

~*~*~*~

"He's me what?" I yelled, more confused than angry. "How come ya nevah told me I had a bruddah. An' he couldn't've been moah den five yeahs oldah den meself!"

"You'll find his appearance deceiving. He's must be thirty by now, hardly twenty-three!" Kloppman answered me.

"An' when did he leave heah?" I asked Kloppman.

The older man looked as if he was thinking back to quite a few years ago, and considered his words quite a while before answering my question. "He left here when he was fifteen. Oh! That'd make him thirty-two this year. He only stayed with you the first year after he brought you here, but he'd been workin' a while back. Found out ya mother'd given birth recently an' went back home ta try an' get ya in here where he thought you'd be safe." With another moment's consideration, he spoke again. "What a coincidence he was talkin' to you though. It's not as if he'd recognize ya after seventeen years."

At that moment, the door swung open, and the topic of discussion himself appeared behind my seat. My brother, not the topic of discussion. My brother. Now that sounded weird. But why had no one told me I had a brother? "Well, Kloppman, I think you'd realize dat if I'd been watchin' foah me bruddah heah da past seventeen yeahs I'd recognize 'im very well indeed. Really, ya did take care of 'im, I owe ya."

"An' we all know you had no hand in my upbringin', Shout. An' what's ya real name anyhow?" I asked. I didn't know why I felt angry with him. He was family after all. But something in me just really didn't want to trust him.

"Name's Andrew. An' I would've had ta do wit' ya upbringin', but I was tryin' ta get ya a bettah life den da one I was livin' at da time. I wanted ta make money an' come an' find ya, an' da time is nearin' dat I can take ya wit' me. Didn' expect da children an' wife," Shout explained. Well, I should say Andrew explained. He was family, it was only right to refer to him by his proper name. Not that I had enough family to compare this to. Well, Spark and the kids, but they weren't blood family. Well, the kids were but, ahh.. I'm confusing myself again, aren't I? Really need to stop with these tangents.

"If ya say so," I said, still hostile towards my brother. I guess it was 'cause I couldn't exactly consider someone I'd only just met my brother. And he'd been fifteen when he left! We were fourteen years apart. Meaning my parents must have been a lot older when I was born. And I'd always thought they were young. Not only had Andrew's appearance shaken my internal family tree, but shattered my invisionments of my parents as well. If you ask me, I had a right to be angry. If not at him as a person than definitely at the concept of him.

The concept alone of having a brother shattered everything I'd ever imagined about my homelife. The stories I told the boys I remembered couldn't have happened, I never had a mother growing up. I simply created tales until I believed them to comfort myself considering my lack of childhood. My entire life had been a lie.

A/N: Yes, it is also unforgivably short as well as late. I swear that with all distraction out of the way I'll have VERY frequent updates till I ship off to camp from July 6 until July 19 and again the weekend after that to go to NEW YORK CITY. But yeah, other than that, my summer is basically full of writing.

SHOUTOUTS (been missing the satisfaction of talking to you guys!!):

Sweets: Babe, not expecting a review from you for a while, but I'm definitely sending this baby up to you at camp with my letter. Wasn't sure I'd have it finish in time, but I do!! Love that feeling.

Sureshot: Yeah, you definitely close in on Max Casella better than me. Let's see, thirteen and thirty-six. That'd be, twenty-three years. Damn! Well, you never know. Just look at.. ummm.. * searches frantically for a good example * Well, someday people will use Max and I as the example of twenty-three year age differences. Yep, it'll be special.

Drama-Queen: I know you're muttering to yourself about me falling off the face of the internet again, because I am a horrible person. I'm trying to get better! If I leave off again for twenty-four days you have officially permission to email me a digital ass whooping of some kind. Don't you forget that.

Soaker: Sorry I'm a little late with my update. Heh. Doesn't work quite as well, does it? But yeah, there's a reason for Shout.. I promise.. I just don't rightly know what it is yet. Hehe. I wish I had $5 too. Actually I do, it's in my back pocket.. but I wish random strangers that turned out to be my brother that looked twenty-three when they were really thirty-two would hand me five dollar bills. Hehe.

Whoa, those were long SOs. As I said before, I missed y'all!! Won't go that long ever again, I promise.