Care
Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders
Author's Note: I know I've already written a story from Dally's point of view right before he died, but hopefully this is different enough so that it can be enjoyed anyways. Please note that this story was NOT intended as slash. I suppose it can be read that way if you want to, but I prefer to think that Johnny was like a little brother to Dally.
Dally's Point of View:
I drove down the street like a maniac, trying to put as much distance as I could between myself and that hospital. I saw pictures in my head more than the actual road in front of me. Part of my mind told me that no matter where I was, Johnny would still be dead, but I told the logical part to shut up, handing myself over to misery and grief. The bruises I had from the rumble were nothing compared to the emotional pain I felt, but I knew I deserved it. I knew that it was my fault that I felt that way. I'd done what was just guaranteed to just get me hurt. I'd cared about the kid.
If you want to avoid pain, then you should never let yourself care about someone else. What they think, how they feel. None of it matters. It makes you twice as vulnerable. When they're hurt, you are too, so I felt like I was dying right along with Johnny. I guess that was my punishment for letting it matter to me.
I thought, years ago, that I didn't have to worry about caring anymore. It wasn't like I had friends back in New York, and I cared about my parents as little as they cared about me. Sure I liked the guys in the gang well enough, but Johnny was the only one who meant much to me. He was the only one who really saw anything in me besides my reputation as a hardened Greaser.
Johnny's parents treated him like mine did to me before I ran away, although I'd rather die than admit that to anyone. His feelings as a teenager seemed close to the way mine were before the first time I got arrested, before I'd learned to toughen up. I guess Johnny was like a little brother to me because he reminded me of my former self.
Johnny idolized me, and I knew that. I don't mean it in a smug or self-centered way, but that really made me feel good. To have someone look at you like they think you know everything is one of the best feelings, and it wasn't one I was used to before I met him. Of course, I didn't know as much as Johnny thought I did. If I had, I wouldn't have gotten myself locked up when I was ten. It wouldn't have taken broken ribs and threats of being killed while I was in jail for me to learn to act tough. Johnny didn't know that though, and I was glad. If he knew what I used to be like he'd think of me as a coward, not as someone to look up to.
'It doesn't matter what he thinks of you. He's dead. Johnny's dead,' I reminded myself harshly. Why should I care what anyone thought now? If people thought of me as a coward, it'd serve me right. I was a coward, I couldn't deal with the fact that he'd died. I didn't know how I'd cope with it, what I'd do next.
I felt the moisture begin to form in my eyes, and once the tears started to fall I didn't even try to stop them. I hadn't cried in seven years. I hadn't felt this weak since then. I was back to being what I was when I was a little kid. Weak. A coward. Well, at least then, I knew what I was running from, what I wanted to avoid. Now, I didn't know what it was I was so scared of. Living without Johnny, I guess. Living. I cared so much for him that he'd made me scared of living. I hated him, hated him for ruining me, for making me care.
"Is this what you wanted, Johnny?" I half screamed, half sobbed. I looked like an idiot, driving down deserted roads, nearly blinded by my tears. I was an idiot. It was his fault, all his fault. "You wanted me to end up like this? You wanted to destroy me?" Perhaps I was already destroyed, already ruined, and he was just making me show it. I didn't care. It was because of him that I felt like I was being pulled apart, like my mind couldn't handle this. "Why'd you do this, Johnny? Why'd you have to die?"
Well, he wasn't the only one who could do that. He thought he could just leave me and let me unravel? I'd show him.
I parked the car and slowly pulled the unloaded heater out of my pocket. I smiled, but my smile was cold and cruel, the opposite of the stupid emotion that caused me all this pain and misery. If I had bullets I could do what I wanted myself, but even the unloaded gun could help me with the assistance of the police.
"I don't have to deal with it now, Johnny," I said, now whispering. I stopped crying, but I left my face wet, the tears a reminder of what I was doing. I wasn't going to cry again. I wasn't going to have to feel anything anymore. I didn't have to care. He couldn't make me hurt any more. Who's the fool now, Johnny?
Author's Note: Well, that's it! What did you think? Please review, I'd really love to hear your opinion!