A/n: This story was written in collaboration with xocrazililkelox. Neither of us own any character mentioned in this story. The Outsiders belongs to S.E. Hinton. Enjoy. Thanks to Misfit Greaser and Marauder and the Q for their help.
Tim glared at the church before cautiously walking in. He expected it to engulf him in flames or for someone to yell, "Quick, grab the holy water!" His mother had almost had a heart attack when he told her he was going to come with her to Sunday's service, and Angela had made a smart comment about him killing someone.
He hadn't stepped foot in a church since he was about ten and just stopped giving a shit; now he was sixteen. It was all because of that stupid dare. Tim swore he'd kill that tow-headed punk next time he saw him. He stopped that train of thought when he sat down on an uncomfortable wooden bench. Angela was beside him, looking like she wished she was anywhere else; he felt her pain.
"You know today is confessions, right?" Angela asked as a smirked played on her lips.
"What the he- ... heck are confessions?" Tim asked, glaring at his younger sister.
"It's where you go into a little booth with the priest and confess all your sins," Angela explained, letting out a little giggle.
"You got to be kidding," he said, leaning his head back against the wooden bench.
Just his fu- frigging luck he picked this Sunday to come to church. He was definitely going to Hell for this, or at least jail. Could a priest send someone to jail?
"I ain't fucking going in there," Tim protested.
"You can add that onto your list," Angela told him, beginning to twirl a piece of loose hair around her fingers.
"Who the hell said I had a damn list?"
Angela rolled her eyes. "Please, that priest could write a novel with all the sins your probably committed."
"Shut the fu--" His mother looked over at him and gave him a stern look. He crossed his arms over his chest, thinking of all the pain he was going to cause Dallas Winston.
He looked over at the aisle as a redheaded chick walked up the bench in front of him. She wasn't too bad looking, wearing a black dress that showed off her nice legs. The redhead turned and gave him a disgusted look. As she sat down right in front of him, she muttered, "Damn it."
He smirked. This could be fun.
Tim looked down at watch and saw that twenty long minutes had passed. He thought he was going to die of boredom soon. He wasn't shocked when he didn't see anybody he knew there -- the whole place was packed with Socs. He saw only two kids from the north side in there: Darrel Curtis's kid brother and the mute kid that followed Dallas around like a lost puppy.
Tim noticed a football player from the high school checking out Angela and sent him a glare, making the boy quickly turn away. His attention went back to the redhead in front of him. He lifted his hand, grabbed a loose lock of her hair, and tugged.
"Tim, cut it out," Angela hissed.
Tim ignored her and tugged on it a little harder.
"OW!" the red-headed girl hollered.
A couple of heads turned, forcing Tim to quickly drop his hand and them into his pockets.
When everyone's attention went back to the boring lecture, the redhead whipped around and sent Tim a glare, her lips forming a frown. Tim smirked at her and imagined what those pouty lips tasted like. He felt a sudden urge to bring the redhead to Buck's and show her a good time.
Tim almost jumped for joy when he saw everyone standing in line for one last time. The last time was to taste this cracker or something that was called the body of Christ -- how sick was that?
"What's going on?" Tim asked his mother.
"It's time for confession, honey," his mother answered, and Tim bristled when she called him honey.
He followed his mother and ran a hand through his hair when he noticed people going into a small room. What was he so nervous about? It was only some old man who put people to sleep; it wasn't like it was God himself.
Angela came out of the room, looking slightly relieved, and followed her mother back to the pews. She bent down on her knees and crossed herself.
What the hell?
Tim walked into the tiny room and sat down on the wooden chair, briefly wondering what the hell was up with all the wood. He heard someone slide a door open and looked to his right, noticing a window with little holes.
"What the hell am I supposed to say?" Tim pondered out loud. He briefly wondered if that was the wrong thing to say.
"I take it this is your first confession, my son?" Tim heard a strong voice heard on the other side of the window.
"Yeah, and why the hell are you calling me 'son'? You ain't my father," Tim grumbled. "And if you expect me to spill all my fucking guts out then you got another thing coming."
"Son, this is to cleanse you of your sins and have God forgive you," the priest explained.
"Like have a fresh start?" Tim questioned. Maybe that didn't sound so bad.
"Yes."
"All right, man, but we'll be here all day…" Tim drifted off. "Am I supposed to start somewhere or something?"
"Wherever you'd like, child."
"I ain't no fucking kid, you know. So stop talkin' to me like one," Tim said irritably. "Anyway, first off, I fucked two different girls last night, an' one of them was my buddy's girlfriend. Is that some sort of immoral sin or something?"
"Carnal relations outside of the sanctity of marriage are indeed a sin, my son. You must do four Hail Marys for disgracing the purity of the Madonna."
"Well, she was screaming, 'Oh, God,' the whole time. Don't that count for something?"
Tim grinned wickedly as he heard the priest give a small groan from the other side.
"I'm afraid not, son. You must do an Act of Contrition for that."
Tim grimaced. There was that goddamned "son" again. "Hey, man, is it true you priest guys don't fuck?"
Again, Tim smiled in satisfaction as he heard the priest groan once more. This could be fun after all.
"Like I said, my son, carnal relations outside of marriage are unholy. And words such as yours are not tolerated within the chapel. There are better words to describe intercourse."
"Whatever."
The priest ignored the last comment and went on. "Is there anything else, my son, that you would like to confess?"
Tim considered that for a moment. He was pretty clean, he thought. "Well, I lifted a few hubcaps last night with my buddy's friend, Randle. Is that like stealin', or something?"
"Stealing is indeed a sin. For that you must do a Hail Mary for each item stolen."
"Buddy, that's a whole lotta Marys. Do I even get to fuck this lady?"
Tim grinned even wider as he heard the priest bang his head against the wooden booth.
"Don't hurt yourself, man. It ain't my fault you're some pansy asexual."
Tim glanced at his wristwatch, shocked at the time. He'd been in that damn booth for half an hour and he wasn't anywhere near done.
"Hey, man, this was real fun. We'll do it again next week, but I got a date with a couple broads an' a beer." Tim slid out of the booth, somewhat surprised that the priest didn't go after him. Then again, if he was anything like the cops he'd run in with, this guy probably didn't want to.
Tim walked over to Angela, who had her arms crossed and looked irritated. "Took you long enough. Did you tell him everything?"
"He ain't even heard the half of it," he said, putting his arms around Angela and walking out. Dal was off the hook this time. He'd actually given Tim something fun to do this week.