#poc johnny cade you will always be famous to ME

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

i'm absolutely in love with the tim doing johnny's locs concept, immediate follow

AOUGH!! You actually have perfect timin cause I JUST finished this fic!! I hope ya like it!!! (as a lil treat for bein real sweet!!)

Whatta ya want, Cade?" Tim stands in the doorway, leanin' against the frame 'n blockin' his way in. Not that it's personal. Just a habit you pick up from livin' in a rough part a town long enough. "You only ever show up when you want somethin'."

Johnny tucks back a stray loc absently into his hood, shivers, 'n wraps his jacket tighter around his shoulders. "Runs in the neighborhood."

"Real funny, kid." Johnny rolls his eyes, has no problem lettin' Tim know he don't approve of Tim callin' him a kid when he's only a year 'n change older.

"Who the hell is it, Tim?" Curly's voice hollers from somewhere deep in the house 'n Tim scowls.

"Come see for your fuckin' self if you're so nosy." He half turns to shout back, swings the door open a lil' more.

"Ya gonna let me in or do I gotta beg at you're door all night." Tim's scowl deepens but he backs up to let Johnny in.

"Why do I even bother." Johnny toes his shoes off at the door, peers back into the apartment where Curly 'n Angela are sprawled over the couch 'n each other watchin' some show rerun, distractedly kickin' 'n shovin' every now 'n then. "Curly, get your ass up 'n actually fix dinner."

"In a goddamn minute! Oh, hey Johnny." Tim narrows his eyes, picks up a shoe 'n chucks it hard into the livin' room. His aim is surprisin'ly good 'n Curly lets out a sharp yelp in response as it connects with the back of his head, twistin' to throw it back. He misses 'n it hits the wall with a resoundin' thump.

"Asshole." Tim mutters 'n Curly flips him off before Anglea kicks him in the ribs for squirmin' so much 'n his attention is rapidly redirected.

"I almost forgot how fun y'all are." Johnny cracks a grin, neatly lines his boots up on habit at the door. Tim shoots him a look, rolls his eyes again, 'n jerks his head towards the kitchen. Johnny follows him as Tim starts bangin' around pots 'n pans as loud as possible.

"You just here to crash, Cade?" He bangs down a pot aggressively on the stovetop, lookin' over his shoulder to make sure Curly's gettin' the message.

"Naw, but I bet you're gonna wish I was." Tim stops slammin' shit around 'n glarin' at his kid brother to side-eye Johnny.

"You in some kinda trouble, Cade?"

"Always. But not tonight." He snorts a laugh, relaxes mildly, rips open a cabinet 'n starts shufflin' around dry pasta.

"So spit it out then." Johnny shifts, rocks back 'n forth on the balls of his feet.

"I was, uh, wonderin' if you could help me with my hair?" Tim abruptly drops the boxes he's holdin' 'n spins on his heel.

"Your hair? Jesucristo. Do you know what time it is? You know how long that shit takes?" Tim cocks an eyebrow, crosses his arms. They both instinctually glance at the glowin' clock over the oven.

Johnny puts his hands up placatingly. "Sorry, man. Look, don't worry about it. I can come back some other time."

Tim lets out a huff, rubs a hand over his face. "Entre tu y Curly, vas a ser mi muerte." He mutters, mostly to himself, 'n Curly spins around at the sound of his name, already glarin'.

"¿Qué fuck he hecho?" He scowls, one hand on Angela's head to hold her at arm's length as she thrashes around, intent on hittin' him again.

"Well, to start with, be born." Tim rolls his eyes, shakes his head, 'n looks back to Johnny. "Well, mi dios, sometime today, Cade."

"You ain't gonna like it." He reaches up 'n pushes his hood back, locs fallin' loosely back into his face. He shakes them out once, looks everywhere but Tim's face.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. Johnny. When the fuck was the last time your shit was done?" He hesitates a moment 'n Tim points a finger at him warningly. "'N if you say last time I did it I'm gonna shave you fuckin' bald."

"Uh, well now I don't wanna say it."

"Cade."

"I thought I could just leave 'em for a bit!" Johnny rubs a hand over the back of his neck, pointedly ignores Tim's baffled stare.

"On who's advice? I bet it was fuckin' Dallas. Estúpido blanco de mierda." 'N no one brought him up but now Tim's got himself on a tear so Johnny ain't gonna interrupt. "His white ass glows in the fuckin' dark. Don't know shit about shit. Motherfucker has white people hair 'n don't even know how to take care a that."

"He slash your tires again?" Tim cuts himself off, eyes Johnny.

"What gave it away."

"Just a lucky guess." Tim groans, massages at his temples, huffs out a sigh 'n comes to some kinda conclusion.

"Ay, you two." Curly 'n Angela have settled back in, barely glancin' back at Tim. "Turn that western bullshit off 'n find a rerun of the FBI. It's gonna be a long night."

They both immediately whip around to protest 'n Tim silences them with another well-placed throw that manages to clip both his younger siblings.

"Goddamn Tim, you should have gone fuckin' pro with that goddamn arm." Angela scowls but shoves Curly off of her 'n moves to change the channel.

Tim ignores her, turns back to Johnny, standin' therewith one eyebrow cocked. "Now what the hell are you lookin' at?"

"Nothin', nothin'. Just... cop shows?"

"Aw, don't you fuckin' start with me. I already hear it enough from fuckin' that one," he jabs a finger out at Curly, "'n Dal. Now hush your mouth 'n move your ass."

Tim cuts back into the living room 'n Johnny follows, hangin' back until Tim has manhandled, wrestled, 'n brawled both Curly 'n Anglea onto one side of the couch, glarin', poutin', 'n plannin' murder. Johnny eases himself down onto the floor in front where Tim can reach the top of his head.

"Alright." Tim doesn't waste any time. Gets straight to untwistin', slender, practiced hands that can just as easily pick a lock or hotwire a car. "You know your part in this."

Johnny furrows his brow in thought, moves to start untwistin' the locs fallin' over his forehead. "Hmm. Oh, I know. Didya hear Sylvie two-timed Dal again?" He can't see him but he can practically feel Tim roll his eyes.

"What's new about that?"

"So I guess it ain't true then." He shrugs a shoulder absently, doesn't elaborate until both Curly 'n Anglea are leanin' forward in his peripheral 'n he's got an audience. "Nothin' really, I guess. Just that's she's sayin' she was two timin' with you."

"What the hell." Anglea shoves Curly backward so she can better see Johnny's face. "That true?"

"Which part?"

"Well I certianly ain't taken up with Sylvie, knucklehead." He finishes a lock, reaches over to knock his sister on the back of the head, then pauses thoughtfully. "Though, I guess that does explain the slashin' the tires shit, yeah?"

"What else you heard, Johnny?" Curly ducks under Anglea's arm, leans so far forward he nearly slips straight off the couch 'n busts his mouth.

"Mi Dios, Curly I ain't takin' you to the fuckin' hospital tonight. Míralo." He shifts to grab a clip left scattered across the coffee table from some other forgotten hair day. "But do go on, Cade."

"Well, the other day I heard down at the drive-in..." They lapse down into the easy back 'n forth of hair night. Gossip traded idly back 'n forth 'n only one-fourth of it believed. What was new with who, who was hired, who was fired, whose prices went up, the newest tidbit from the south river gangs that only ever made it into Tusla by way of a friend of a friend of a friend.

Two hours in Curly 'n Angela start to bitch about dinner (though neither make a move to fix nothin') 'n Tim relents (if only to shut them up) 'n sends 'em down to the Dairy Queen on the corner.

It's four long hours, seven ('n a half) reruns of The FBI, two milkshakes, 'n one real migraine, by the time they're done untwistin' all Johnny's locs.

"Well, whatcha thinkin', Cade?" Tim kicks at his back so he can stretch 'n Johnny moves outta the way. His shakes his head 'n grins, pullin' here, shapin' there.

Curly's asleep, head thrown back on Angie's shoulder, limbs tangled together in sleep, the one time they ain't fightin'. Tim half smiles, snatches a blanket off the back of the couch 'n throws it over his kid siblin's shoulders.

"Damn, I owe ya big time, huh Tim?" Johnny instinctually lowers his voice like the Shepard's couldn't sleep through a shootout.

"Ya don't want it back in braids or nothin'?" He shakes his head again, natural hair shakin' out in a loose afro around his head.

"Naw, not for a bit. I gotta give ya a break, huh?" Tim chuckles, twists his arms above his head so both his shoulders pop.

"Just come back over if ya need help takin' care of it, bien?"

"I will man. Do I, uh, owe ya somethin', man?" Tim yawns, reaches down to absently push a curl outta Curly's face, pauses to think.

"Yeah, actually, I can thinka somethin'." He grabs Johnny's jacket from where it's slumped on the carpet. "Don't take that estúpido chico blanco, Dallas' advice for shit. 'N if you're feelin' extra generous, Cade? Try to convince 'em I didn't have nothin' to do with Sylvie before he puts a pipe bomb in the mailbox."