AN: I was listening to Once Upon A Time In New York City by Huey Lewis for the Disney movie Oliver and Company... It made me think of Dallas Winston. Using a Disney song to describe a tough hood is a bit of a stretch, I know, but this story idea just sort of popped into my mind. And we aren't given much about his back story other than he spent three years on the wild side of New York, was jailed at the age of ten, and his father didn't care much for him. Just a warning, Dallas might be a kid in this, but he's also Dallas Winston so there's cursing! This is the first time I'm writing anything for Dallas... (I'm reposting this!)
The beauty of New York City is no one cares. It doesn't matter who you were before and where you came from. All that matters is the moment your feet hit the pavement. It's rough, it's cold, it's mean. But it's a good place to get lost. It's a good place to disappear. To start over. New place. New name. Pretty clever, too, for a kid. Winston, like the cigarettes he lifted from the local store when he first came into town, and Dallas, the place he was going to go someday.
It was crazy to dream and stupid. He knew that. Dreams didn't amount to much for kids like him. Kids who came from nowhere. Kids who no one gave a shit about. Yeah, he knew dreaming could get you killed. Life was no god damn fairytale. There were no damn fairy god mothers who magically appeared and granted a wish. There was no fucking star that could make every wish come true. There was no such thing as a happy ending. Life was crap and then you die.
Disney was full of jack shit, filling kids heads with fucked up stories and false hope. He scowled at the thought as he made his way down Broadway. The real world didn't work that way, and part of him felt sorry for the suckers who bought that crap. He knew the score, all too well. Still, he had his dream of Dallas, Texas. And he supposed that was pretty damn magical. Many days that was the only thing that could keep him going.
Dallas, Texas. He heard once that they had these wild horses there. Man, what he would give to see wild horses. They must've been something. Imagine it, he could hear his father say, No one can tame them. Beautiful. Tough. Free. Wild. Reckless. There was just something about them. They were creatures that demanded respect. His father used to tell stories about Dallas, Texas when he was feeling nostalgic. They were the only memories he had of his old man that was worth remembering.
Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts aside. His old man didn't give a hang about him, so he didn't give a hang about his old man. The world didn't give a hang about him and he didn't give a hang about the world. Real simple. It was a lesson he learned early on. Care about something enough and it'll be the end of you. Care about something and you're weak.
That's why dreaming was dangerous. Whose the sucker now, a voice in the back of his head taunted. That's the way it was with all those fucking superheroes. They fall for some stupid broad and they're at the complete whim of those bad-ass motherfuckers who hold it over their head. Personally, he liked the villains. He could relate to them more. They knew the score. They knew how to play the game. And they weren't held back by giving a shit. They were free from everything, like the wild horses.
He stretched out in some alleyway, beside some boxes and back against the chilling bricks. It was getting dark and the lights of the city were like stars. The rain started to fall, soaking him and painting the street to looks like a thousand diamonds shimmering. Unfortunately, it also brought chills. Aw fuck, he thought. He glanced around quickly to see if anyone was around. He had an image to maintain. When he was sure no one could see him, he hugged his legs to his chest and rested his head on his knees.
The problem with New York was no one cared. That was the problem with the world. No one ever cared. He shivered. "I'm Dallas Fucking Winston!" He whispered to himself, watching his breath swirl and disappear like a ghost. He knew the streets like the back of his hand. He knew how to survive. He was as mean and cold and violent as the Big Apple. Be like that and you wear the crown. The closest thing to a smile crossed his mouth, sad and small. He stared at the lights and closed his eyes. He knew it was stupid and pointless and it was risking a lot, but he couldn't help it.
Dallas, Texas. He'd get himself a horse, a whole bunch. He'd keep them wild, though. No one should be broken, especially such magnificent creatures as them. But he'd ride them, and it would be the closest thing to flying. It'd be great. Maybe, it was okay to dream, if just for a moment. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to care a little, if only for a second, when no one else was around.
A police siren wailed, getting closer. His eyes snapped open and he pressed himself further against the bricks, hiding beneath the shadows. He held his breath until they passed. You could never trust a cop. They were nothing but trouble. One day, though, he'd get out. One day he'd go to Dallas, Texas. New York was just a stop along the way.