Thanks to everyone who read and to Scififan33 for reviewing. As far as I know none of the one-off episode characters like Barry or Frank ever returned later in the series, which is understandable from a production perspective, but from a continuity perspective it would be nice to have gotten glimpses now and again. Especially since there were episodes where we saw prisons/courtrooms/etc.
Dad turned off the highway onto one of the county roads that would eventually lead them home, and all that Barry could think was that it was big out here. Big and bright and it almost didn't feel real. Not after the past year.
His cellmate had been one of those guys who'd spent most of his time staring up at the sky and on occasion quoting bad poetry, but Barry had never seen the point. It didn't matter if everything on the outside was 'wild and free' or whatever other cliched crap Austin had liked to spout, they hadn't been, and Barry hadn't seen much point in dwelling on it. Better for him to keep his head down and just focus on surviving.
But now he was here. Out. Austin wasn't and wouldn't be for another six or eight years, but while the guy had been unobjectionable as a cellmate, or at least there were way worse options that Barry could have gotten stuck with, Barry had never considered him anything like a friend. He was probably ten or fifteen years older than Barry to start with, and on top of that he'd just been...Barry didn't even know what. Broken, maybe.
He forced his mind back out of his cell and onto the road ahead. With all of the space around them it felt like it should be nosier too, but compared to what he'd had to get used to—hundreds of men living what passed for lives in beyond tight quarters—the quiet was almost as pressing as the brightness.
Of course, some of that might be because Dad had run out of things to say fifteen minutes ago, and now the only sounds were the hum of the engine and the tires against the pavement. Now that they were off the highway there weren't even that many other cars around.
And it wasn't like Barry had a lot of conversation starters ready to go. Coming out of Processing he'd been put on a work shift in the dining hall and then a couple weeks later abruptly reassigned to the loading docks for the remainder of his sentence—which, yeah, he was a lot more useful moving heavy boxes than mopping floors—but it wasn't like that gave him anything riveting to discuss. Especially since he'd been damn careful not to notice anything except where he was taking the boxes while he was doing it. He hadn't needed anyone's warning to know that he didn't want to get caught up in so much as an accusation of smuggling, never mind getting involved with the real thing.
Three months in he'd been granted eligibility for the prison education program so he'd gone ahead and finished his high school graduation requirements too and then started on a couple correspondence classes through the community college, but that wasn't...it didn't exactly make for great conversation either. Especially since Dad already knew all about it.
"I thought we'd stop and pick up dinner on the way home," Dad said after a good ten minutes of Barry trying desperately to think of something to say. "I'm afraid I'm still not much of a cook."
Of course he wasn't. Why would he be? Mom was the cook in the family. A lump rose again in Barry's throat as one hand went to the pendant around his neck. He was more grateful than he could say to be going home again, but without Mom...
"Is there something in particular that you'd like?" Dad asked.
"N-no," he said quickly, dropping his hand back into his lap and willing his voice not to crack. "I mean, I'm good with whatever."
"Are you sure? I—" He broke off with a quick shake of his head. "We could get burgers?"
"Yeah, burgers sound good," Barry agreed. He'd been telling the truth about being fine with whatever since anything would be better than the dining hall, but Dad was clearly looking for some kind of response, and that was an easy one.
It was still early enough that they were able to get their food ordered and delivered to the car without too much of a wait and reached home in time to satisfy whoever was monitoring Barry's ankle bracelet, and it wasn't until they were seated at a table missing one very obvious place setting and a few bites into the meal that Barry finally found a topic of conversation. One that he should have thought of before, but so much of his mind was still back at the prison...
"Have you heard anything about Jason and TB?" He wouldn't find out until he talked to his parole officer tomorrow if he was allowed to contact them, and he suspected that the answer would be 'no,' at least for a while, but it hadn't just been Austin he hadn't connected with inside. It had been a year since he'd had someone he'd willingly call friend and he could only hope that his all-but-brothers were doing better than he was.
Instead of responding immediately Dad's jaw tightened and he lowered his burger, and Barry tensed.
"Dad? Is something wrong?" He knew that he hadn't seen either of the twins after Processing, but they were just as tough as he was.
"Neither of them is being released," Dad said, looking over at him seriously. "Not for a while."
"What? Why not? We all agreed to the same thing."
"They got into fights."
"But..." Barry had gotten into a couple fights too, although only the one bad one and it hadn't been guards who'd ended it, and he was out. "Both of them?" he asked, hearing his voice crack despite himself.
"Ten months ago Jason put three men in the hospital, one of whom will probably be crippled for the rest of his life," Dad said quietly. "It was ruled self-defense, but given the violence in his response they automatically extended his sentence and won't even put him in front of the review board for another six months. Depending on his behavior until then, that incident alone could cost him another two years." He shook his head. "Unfortunately there have been a couple other incidents since and his lawyer thinks that he'll be doing well to be out before his twenty-first birthday."
"And TB?" Jason Barry could kind of see, as much as he hated to think about it. Jase had always been the ringleader of their little trio, the first to come up with a new stunt to try or a smart remark when someone had something to say about it, but he'd also had the fastest temper and the quickest fists of the three of them. And a quick temper wasn't a good thing to have in that place. TB was the polar opposite of his twin, though, probably because he was the one who'd usually had to diffuse his brother, and while he'd never been afraid of a fight, he was even less likely than Barry to pick one.
Dad closed his eyes.
"Dad?" he pressed.
Dad looked up again, his expression grave. "He killed a man."
"What?"
"It was similar to Jason's case he in that he wasn't the instigator, but by the time the guards separated them the man had a dozen broken bones, including three separate skull fractures. He died in the hospital without regaining consciousness."
"How long?" Barry asked.
"Six to eight years."
"But TB isn't...he wouldn't..."
Dad shook his head again. "Theoretically he could go in front of the parole board in four years if everything goes perfectly, but his lawyer doesn't think that his odds are very good, especially given his original sentence."
Barry swallowed hard, the few bites of burger he'd managed to eat threatening to make a reappearance despite the fact that it was the first real food he'd had in a year and he hadn't exactly managed much at breakfast or lunch today. "I'm—I'm tired. Can I go lie down?"
"Of course." Dad nodded, apparently not inclined to eat any more either as he stood and collected both plates. "But don't forget to set your alarm. Your appointment with your parole officer is at nine." He hesitated. "I took tomorrow and Wednesday off so I can go with you if you want. I mean, I can't go in, but I can be there."
Barry echoed his nod. Considering that it had been a year since he'd been behind the wheel, it would be safer if Dad drove anyway. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Goodnight."
Barry escaped up the stairs to his bedroom, but found himself standing frozen in the doorway when he reached it. The room itself seemed almost impossibly large after the four-by-eight cell he'd been sharing for the last twelve months, but somehow it was still weirdly small, too. Like it belonged to some kid who hadn't gotten around to growing up. And the artifacts everywhere, the statues and hangings and everything else representing the history that he'd been so proud of, were just mocking him.
He was going to be sick.
