A/n: Took this down for some revising. Alright, I'm attempting a sister fic. I'm not too sure if I'm going to continue since I only did it to get an idea out of my mind. If I do continue this story, it will totally be open to more opinions than "The Aftermath" is. I really just had to get this out of my system, so don't take it too seriously. I never had this immense desire to write a sister-fic, but I wanted to try and so far it's not coming out as a great story. Well, anyway, you tell me what you think. Hehe.
Oh and this story features Viola from "The Aftermath" as Dally's sister! Whoa! It's from her POV and stuff ...
Please don't comment on the title. I chose it in lack of a better one.
Enjoy ...
Eight Years Later
Chapter One
(Viola's POV)
I was at the station. Everyone had already left. I was relatively alone.
It was dark and gloomy. Among dark and gloomy, it was quiet— a terrible quiet that signified that something bad would happen. I couldn't stop the feeling of dread and regret from spreading through my being.
"Look what we have here," a sinister voice breathed into my ear as a hand was clasped over my mouth tightly. I was roughly pulled against a hard chest and began to panic.
I flailed my arms and legs around. I was terrified! I heard a grunt of annoyance and pain as my foot met my assaulter's groin and the hand loosened on my mouth.
"Fuck," a more familiar voice grunted in a raspy tone. "Did you have to do that?"
Finally, I was let go and in confusion, I asked: "Dal?" I spun towards him and there he was. Unruly hair, icy eyes, and doubled over in pain— Dallas Winston, my brother.
Dallas wasn't one to be brought down easily, not even in a rumble. Of course, in a rumble cheap shots like giving someone a blow right where it hurts aren't used in fear of being called many vulgar and degrading names.
'Aw shit! Aw shit! Aw shit!' my thoughts echoed in my ears.
My eyes got watery, I've always been a bit over emotional I'll admit, and I began to hastily apologize. "Sorry Dal! Really!"
He shot his blue eyes upward, glaring daggers at me; the Winston-family glare. Sadly, I hadn't inherited that trait. My eyes were green and soft, only getting hard when I was extremely angry. Even then, my eyes didn't hold the fierce intensity for the Winston-glare.
Dally would have killed anyone else who did that to him, no one did that to Dallas! Except me that is. I was his baby sister though, or at least, that's how he thought of me. I wasn't much younger. Dallas had recently turned eighteen and come February, I'd be seventeen. Still, Dal couldn't hit me, that or he just held himself back really well. If he had hit me for all of the shit I'd done to him, I'd be long gone by now. But I'd lived a good sixteen years so far and it was all because Dal was one tough hood— no one messed with me in the fear of having him to deal with. Dal was a mean old guy with a big soft spot when it came to family (as hard as it is to believe).
He stood, his glare still in place, but I ignored it and launched myself at him in a rib-crushing hug, leaving my luggage forgotten. I was surprised when he tensed and pushed on my shoulders. I guess Mom was right; Dallas sure was different. He didn't even hug back …
"Wow Vi," he began, "you sure look different."
I nodded and responded in a feeble voice, "So do you." I was in complete awe of how tall he'd gotten. When he'd left New York with our dad, he was ten and my height. We were both the shortest kids around. I'd only grown a bit, but Dal was much taller than me now.
"You dyed your hair."
That I had. It used to be blonde, lighter than his. One day, I just decided to dye it though."
"Yeah. Even got the eyebrows." He chuckled as I pulled my side bang to the side so he could see the one hidden as well as the other.
Gosh, this was a little awkward.
"So how'd you know it was me if I look so different?"
"Easy, I just looked for the shortest person still here."
He knew I had height issues! Jerk! "I'm still growing!"
Dallas ignored me, as he usually did when I started screaming at him. It was his way of ending a fight. Dallas always won fights because he knows how to just ignore people, er, most of the time.
He queried, "So you like Tulsa so far?"
I looked around the train station distastefully. "Oh yeah," I began sardonically. "The whole one place I've been to is so lovely." Lovely my ass. It smelled of rodents and some unknown odor.
I grabbed my luggage as a message that I wanted to leave that eerie place as soon as possible. He rolled his eyes, put an arm around my shoulder, and started to lead me out.
As we plodded along the cobble street, his took a suitcase from my hands. Leave it to Dal not to have a car with him.
"So where's the place you and dad are staying?" When he didn't answer, I got nervous. "You do have a place to stay, right?" Had my brother and father been homeless bums probably selling off their bodies from a few bucks just to get food? I blanched at the thought.
Finally, I got an answer; "Dad kicked me out a few years ago. He don't give a hoot 'bout me."
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
"You mean we have nowhere to live?" I screamed at him. About an hour together and he'd already gotten me angry twice.
He threw my suitcase at me, which I barely managed to catch, and made his way to one home's porch and made a motion for me to follow. He wasn't breaking and entering was he?
"You mean we have nowhere to live?" I screamed at him. About an hour together and he'd already gotten me angry twice. Sure, I felt bad that Dad kicked him out, but he told Mom he did have a real nice place to stay! With Dad too!
He shrugged and replied, "I got a place that's enough like home."
Home? What kind of home? In that trashy neighborhood? I saw people getting into fights and I saw people pulling out blades on each other. The streets were in desperate need of cleaning since litter was scattered everywhere. What type of a place was this for Dallas to grow up? What type of a place was it for anyone to grow up?
"Is it an alley?" A laugh erupted from him and I'd fakely joined in, a moment later stopping and yelling: "I hate you!" Of course I didn't mean a word of that. I love Dal— he is my brother after all.
He threw my suitcase at me, which I barely managed to catch, and made his way to one home's porch and made a motion for me to follow. He wasn't breaking and entering was he?
Dallas opened the door to the house and entered with me following closely behind. Glory it was one small house, well, smaller than the one I was used to in New York. My old place wasn't much bigger, but it felt kind of strange to be in such a new place.
I still couldn't believe the idiot invited me to come to Oklahoma when he didn't even have a place to stay. We'd kept in touch in letters and the occasional phones calls, though letters were lest costly so we were always writing to each other. Dal didn't have the best grammar, spelling, or penmanship though, so I often found myself having trouble deciphering what he'd written. One day, I'd gotten a letter saying he wanted me to come down from New York; he said something about it just being like old times. He also said Dad really wanted to see me. Liar.
"Darry, Pony, Soda!" He called out, receiving no answer. I don't know who or what he was calling for, but I'd begun to think that my brother was on the verge of insanity. Soda? Pony? "Guess everyone's asleep," He declared before plopping down on the couch. "You gonna come sit down or am I gonna 'ave the whole couch to myself?"
"Fuck you," I replied waspishly. I was angry that he lied about living with dad and I was angry that I'd come down to … nothing. Nothing except Dallas. Wasn't that enough? In that moment, no, it wasn't; but looking back, just being able to see him after eight years was enough. Sure, Dallas is bad-tempered and boorish and tough, but he had a good side. I'm sure if I told anyone that, they'd laugh at me. Dal had quite the reputation, even in New York. Either way, happy with seeing him or not, in that moment I was pissed.
I looked to my brother who was sprawling out on the couch nonchalantly as he flipped through the channels on television. There weren't too many. I scanned the room for a clock and finally, my eyes landed on one. Three o'clock in the morning. How late had Dal been to pick me up?
I sighed heavily.
"So, are we breaking and entering now?" I asked. I wasn't so angry anymore, nor did I let my brother's reputation make me think any less of him. It was a serious question.
"Nah," he responded, waving me off. "Pals of mine live here."
I quirked a brow. "So you're a homeless moocher?" I was glad he at least had a place to stay. I was also happy that I didn't have to sleep on the floor of some alley. I'd really thought it would come down to that when I heard he had no place to stay. I guess that's not Dally's fault though; it was dad's. Plain and simple.
He rolled his eyes, obviously a bit aggravated by my comment, and commanded, "Quiet kid. Get some sleep."
"I'm not a," I began to shout again. Instead of finishing, however, I just sighed. I couldn't help but let the small smile that had been tugging at my lips in that moment completely take over my face. Too much yelling for one day. Too much yelling at Dallas.
'Same old Dally…'
I titled my head to the side to show him to make some room. He did. I sat myself next to him and leaned my head on his shoulder. That's how we always fell asleep when we'd lived together up in New York— on the couch, watching television, leaning against each other. Dallas grunted and I nudged him in the gut, making him get my point. He was hesitant, not that I was surprised, but slipping his arm over my shoulders. Mom always used to say that we acted like more of a couple than brother and sister, soon after threatening to skin us if we ever went further than brother's and sister's should. Silly Mom.
Dally's breathing became shallow, low, en even. Moments later I heard small snores erupting from his chest.
"Night Dal," I yawned and fell into a blissful asleep.
A/n: There's chapter one ... again. No, there will be no sick DalxVi pairing.
I hate it when people require reviews for another update, but I really did not plan on continuing this fic, so I want to get at least two reviews per chapter for an update. That's not a lot at all. They can be from the same people for all I care- I just need some motivation to actually want to continue. If you've read the Aftermath, I don't even ask for reviews half the time unless it's on aspects of the story. I never say "Hey review please." It's not a bad thing if you do ask for reviews, I'm just making a point that I normally don't ask for reviews. I know it was cheesy and stupid and horrible. Hehe, I'll admit it. If someone would beta this, that'd be nice. If anyone wants to help me and make this a collab, I'd love that since I have no clue where to go from here. The book's events will happen eventually, so ... yeah ...
