So, I've always wanted to write a sisterfic— hopefully a realistic sisterfic. This is more a collection of oneshots than anything with a coherent plot, and I'll probably jump around a bit chronologically.

December 2nd, 1961

Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, New York City

Her brother barrels through the door while she's dozing in the broken armchair, her bare feet dangling over the edge, but Claudia jolts upright the second she notices him. "You were supposed to be back by eleven."

He shoots a glance at the clock on the wall (obscured by a thin layer of grime, like everything else in their apartment.) "It's not even ten yet, genius."

"Eleven on Friday. It's Saturday."

"Congratulations, you've learned your days of the week." Dallas throws his jacket onto the floor; it's a nice jacket, nicer than any of them should be able to afford. "Where's Norm? He even here?"

"Asleep." She's lying, wants to say drunk, but he doesn't call her out on it. This isn't the kind of question he needs an answer to.

"Good. Last thing I need is him on my ass right now." Crusted blood surrounds his nose, and he has dark circles around his eyes, the same blue as hers. He looks exhausted, despite all his swaggering. "I brought you back some fence," he says with a sly smirk, dropping a bracelet into her lap; it's probably not real silver, but it's the most expensive item she's ever held in her hands. "You like it?"

"I'm still mad at you," she huffs, throwing it aside.

"Quit bein' such a kid." He flicks her hard on the ear, and when she yelps, flicks her again. "I almost got arrested for your birthday present. Wouldn't mind a thank you."

"Would've been a nicer present if you'd been home," she mutters, but not too quietly for him to hear.

"And what'd Norm get you, huh?"

Nothing, which is what their father gets her every year, unless she counts the beer he let her have— she'd taken one sip and promptly retched, her throat burning with acid, while he laughed and said she should've known booze wasn't for nice girls. "Shit, I'm sorry," he says when he sees her face, a phrase that almost never exits his mouth. "Hey, I remembered." He scratches the back of his head. "Eleven's a neat birthday. That was when I first went to the slammer— nah, ten. Same difference."

"Not helping." She squishes herself further into the armchair.

"At least try it on. Jesus Christ, I had to pull a fire alarm in the store to get it out."

Reluctantly, she slips the bracelet onto her wrist, admiring the way it gleams in the dim light. "Dad prob'ly won't let me keep it." Not after what he did with the jewelry their mother brought from Tulsa, anyway.

"So shove it under your mattress or something," he says, pulling a carton of milk out of the fridge and drinking straight from it— she wrinkles her nose. "Problem solved. If he tries to sell it, I'll beat his head in."

"If you really wanna give me a good present," she says before she can help herself, staring at his swollen face, "stop beating people's heads in."

"But then how would we have more in the fridge than this lovely clotted milk? Or this... fuck, what even was... okay, this ain't food, don't touch this." He shuts the door with a disgusted shudder. "Quit saying stupid shit. You wanna be out on the street? 'Cause that's what'd happen, and you know it."

She does know it. She's known it since the first time Norm left them alone to score a hit, as long as she can remember. "No," she says quietly, taking a piece of loose skin on her lip between her teeth. "But I can't sleep when you're gone."

"You're just a kid," he says, his tone softening a fraction; he walks back over to where she's slumped and slings an arm around her shoulders. "'Course you're stupid. That's why I gotta look after you. Nothing hurts me, so don't worry."

"... Well, you're just a teenager," she pouts. "Who's gonna look after you?"

He only rolls his eyes in response, then pulls her up. "Go to bed already, now that I'm here. You want me to read you a story, too?"

She sticks out her tongue and starts heading towards her room. "Thanks," she says quietly from the hallway, holding up her wrist. "Even if you almost got arrested. Thanks."

"Better late than never," is all he says, but he's trying not to smile.