A/N: Having set the scene last time for Tim to take over the gang, I'm taking it back to a few younger moments before moving on. Please let me know if it works, I welcome all feedback. :)


I can't make Curly stop bawling and this is a problem.

I'm seven to his four and I can see better than him there's no logic in the threat, 'Shut up or I'll give ya something to really cry about.' But just because there's no logic don't mean there's no threat.

If I can't make him shut up, Ma'll come back in here and she won't care which of us catches it. So, him bawling becomes my problem. I tell him he can play with my car. I only have one left with all four wheels now, since the last time this happened and Curly annoyed Pete.

She says to call him Uncle Pete, but I know he ain't our uncle.

Curly'll do it, 'cause he don't know no better. Angel'll call any man she sees 'Unca', she thinks that's just what you call 'em.

I know better.

Gramma told me that I only got one uncle round here. Got two in a place she never wants to see me end up, pleaseGodandalltheangels. Got another two gone to be with baby Jesus. None of 'em called Pete.

My NoGoodDaddy's in the first place. Same as my livin' uncles. So I think I might like to go there one day, to the slamming place. I ain't allowed to slam the doors at home, nor at Gramma's. Maybe that's why they went there. Maybe they like to slam doors too.

Only, I can't tell Ma or Gramma that I wanna see my NoGoodDaddy because I already get in trouble just for looking like him. I don't know how to wipe that damn look off my face. I tried once, with a wash cloth, but my face looked the same to me.

Ma gets mad about my NoGoodDaddy 'cause he left her with Angel for a surprise, when he went to the slamming place and she already had her freaking hands full enough.

I get that Angel's just a girl an' all, but I would think she would like her more than Curly, because Curly's way more trouble.

Angel don't bawl like Curly. She's littler, but she already knows that quiet and smiling is what works.

I don't do smiling, but I can do quiet.

I just gotta get Curly to shut up right now, so I give him the car to hold. I'll have to be quick if Pete (who ain't our uncle) gets mad enough to come in here. Last time Curly got on his last nerve, Pete smashed the little red truck and belted both of us. I can take the licking but I really liked that truck. Maybe I can hide the car, if I hear him coming.

Curly says he's hungry. I wish he didn't say that, because I was doing real good at ignoring the fact that lunch didn't happen again. It's Angel's day to be with Gramma, so she got lunch, I know that.

I tell Curly that I can't do nothing while he's bawling, but maybe if he's quiet I can do something. He shuts up some, snot bubbling in and out his nose as he tries to slow his breathing down. I tell him to sit tight, not to move from our bed, not one damn inch.

There's no sense in both of us catching it.

I listen by the door before I turn the handle. If they went for a nap, I can be quick and quiet and back again. One of their naps with noises would be the best thing, 'cause then they don't hear me, not ever.

It's quiet but I take a chance and turn the handle real slow. My heart starts thumping harder, Curly whimpers and I shoot him a warning look. Then I peek out. I don't see them.

The chair is the hardest thing to do quiet, but I can't reach the cabinet without it. I would like peanut butter and jelly, and I can make a sandwich, I know how, but the jars are in the ice box an' the ice box is old and makes a lot of noise when it's opened and anyway, cookies are the quickest thing to shut Curly up with. I climb up on the chair and then the counter-top, and I reach up for the box of cookies, but when I close the cabinet, Pete (who ain't our uncle) is in the kitchen looking at me.

I freeze with the box in my hand.

He scratches his bare stomach, above the waistband of his undershorts. It's kind of cold in mine and Curly's room, too cold to get undressed for a nap, but Pete mostly does, I've noticed. It must be warmer in Ma's room.

He don't say nothing. He reaches into the ice box for a beer. I don't know why it's funny that he can buy his own beer now, because he was already a big man, but it was his birthday last week and Ma laughed about that. Until he said she was getting too old for him because a quarter sentry is too old. A quarter is money and a sentry is a soldier so I don't understand what that's got to do with Ma.

I climb down, slow and careful. I don't want him to hit me while I'm up high, I don't wanna fall.

He's looking for the beer key, to open the can. I see it. It's by the dishtowel. I reach out and pick it up, hold it out to him, stretching my hand as far as possible so I don't have to go too close.

He watches me as he takes it, opens the can and drinks, still looking at me. Then his eyes flick to the box I'm trying to hide behind my back.

I tell him that I'm hungry. And I think, don't mention Curly, keep his mind off Curly. I start to edge backwards out the kitchen. He lets me get as far as the door before he moves.

The yank on my arm and the strength of his grip take my breath away, but I don't let go the box. I won't let go the box. Not when he shakes me, not when he tells me that I'm a mouthy little shit and he don't want to see me again this side of tomorrow. Not when he slaps me so hard my teeth snap together.

He picks up another beer and goes back to Ma's bedroom.

I think the baddest word I know, about him, I think he is fuck. And I go back and take the jar of peanut butter and a spoon and I carry them, plus the cookies, back to Curly.

I won't cry. I don't do that.