Well, I figured it's been a long time since I've posted anything and I wanted to get something written. This was pretty hastily done, so please forgive any mistakes. Other than that, I think it turned out nicely.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This Life

Would you like to be let in on a little secret? It's something I've discovered over the past couple months and I imagine it could be useful to know. Ok, here it is, you know you're at rock bottom when you have to decide between paying the electricity bill or the water. I really don't think we can make both. The electricity is longer overdue, so I guess it wins. I wish I knew how Mom and Dad were able to do it. Hell, I wish I knew how I'm going to do this. This isn't what I wanted. I was supposed to be starting college in the fall. By the way things are going, it looks like I may be starting another job. This really wasn't how my life was supposed to turn out.

"Fuck man," I heard a familiar rough voice and a pounding on the front door. I guess I'd have to come back to the bills. I opened the door and saw none other than Tim Sheperd standing on my front porch supporting a bleeding Dallas Winston. Now Dally's a pretty fair skinned guy to begin with, but right then he looked like death warmed over.

"Bout fucking time," Tim growled as he pushed past me and deposited Dally roughly on the couch. "Bastard was bleedin' all over my goddamned shirt."

"Hey man, I told you I could walk fine."

"Yeah, right before you about passed out in the gutter." Tim retorted. As if noticing me for the first time, he added, "Them Brumly boys sure don't know how to fight fair. One of em' got him with glass from a broken window." It came as no surprise to me that Tim and Dally were out fighting, or that a Brumly used broken glass; they used whatever they could get their hands on. A couple years back, one of them got Soda right across the jaw with a busted pipe. I had made sure the bastard got what was coming to him.

I hear movement in the hallway and turned around to see Ponyboy standing there looking pale enough to rival Dally. Don't get me wrong, he's a tough kid, holds his own in a rumble just fine, but he's never been too good with handling blood. Soda's the same way. I do a pretty good job handling it, as long as it isn't Soda's or Pony's. My little brother's eyes were so round and saucer-like, I considered sending him back to his room, but a glance at Dally said we'd need all the help we could get. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were feverish. He's hard to bandage on a good day, and now with a fever, it'd be near impossible. Turning my attention back to Pony, I ordered him to grab a couple towels and that brown bottle from the bathroom. I never could remember what that stuff was called, all I knew was it cleaned cuts and stung like hell.

Tim had been talking to Dally in a low voice, but when I came back in the room, he glanced around. "Where's middle Curtis?" Soda thrived off action and if he'd have been home, he would've shown up by now.

"He's out with his girl Sandy." I'm probably wrong, but it seems like after Mom and Dad died, Soda has been spending more and more time with Sandy. I know he's hurting real bad still, but he'll never let on that anything is wrong. Instead he puts on a big happy-go-lucky act. I made a mental note to ask Pony about it before a weak groan brought my thoughts back to the Dally.

He was looking pretty bad, his white-blonde hair was sticking to his forehead in sweaty tendrils and the gash on his abdomen was still bleeding. I debated whether or not he needed real medical assistance. It was certainly better than my botched handiwork. I had taken a Health class Senior year, one of my blow-off classes, but I really don't think that qualified me for any serious work. Ponyboy came back with the towels and the bottle so I guess the decision was made for me. Carefully placing a towel under Dal's midsection in an attempt to protect the couch from a sure staining, I gently pulled his shirt up. The blood was making it stick to his skin and he grasped the side of the couch cushion with a white-knuckled grip. Eventually I had to give up and just ripped his shirt open.

"That was my favorite shirt." He gasped out.

"Well now it can be your favorite rag." I really didn't have time for this, it was stained anyway.

"You owe me a new shirt." He persisted stubbornly. He can be real thickheaded when he's running a fever.

"You're gonna have a pretty bad scar." Pony broke in looking at the gash.

"Shoot kid, scars are just tattoos with better stories." Tim laughed, gazing at the cut with admiration.

"Pony, hand me the bottle." I instructed. Unscrewing the cap, I caught Dallas' eye. For a moment, I swear I saw something akin to fear.

"Just do it man." He grunted. I poured the bubbling liquid on the cut while Tim and Pony did their best to restrain him. "Fuck!" He ground out as he thrashed around on the couch. I narrowly missed getting hit in the face when his fist broke free and came dangerously close to my face. Pony managed to grab it.

"Just breathe." He instructed, squeezing Dally's hand.

"Just let go of my hand." He growled, but gripped it nonetheless when I poured the liquid on the cut again.

"Come on Winston, take it like a man." Tim taunted. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dally managed to flip him the bird.

It took a while and he sure didn't make it easy, but I was able to stop the bleeding and bandage the gash. While hunting for a couple aspirins, I heard Sodapop come in while Dally recounted the details of the fight.

"There must'a been, what ten of 'em?" He looked at Tim who nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, ten and they all had managed to get their hands on something. Even then, they were no match for us. We knocked them on their asses in no time." I rolled my eyes at the story. I could tell from the bruises on Tim and Dallas' faces that it had been a pretty fair match and I doubted there were ten of them. Glancing in, I could tell from the looks on their faces that Soda and Pony didn't believe it either.

Tim and Dally continued the story with their excitement bubbling until they reached the part where Dally was cut. "The guy came out of nowhere and," he imitated a cutting noise, "right across the stomach." He finished, showing Soda the bandage.

"Pretty tuff." He grinned, and turning to Ponyboy, "Chicks love a good scar story."

I had to shake my head. I know for a fact Sodapop only has a few scars, one from tearing a ligament in his knee at a rodeo, but none of them from fights.

"Are you staying here?" I asked walking in and handing Dally a couple aspirins.

"Nah man, we were heading out to Buck's before those Brumly boys showed up." Dally sat up slowly while talking and winced as he pulled on his jacket. "Thanks for patching me up." He smirked as he and Tim left.

I plopped down on the couch after they left and listened to Soda and Pony banter for a little bit. Looking around our house, I noticed a crack along the far wall, the hole in the basement door where Soda put his foot through last week, and the stack of bill on the kitchen table I still had to get to, but for the first time since Mom and Dad died, I noticed other things. Like how much Soda looked like Mom in our family portrait when he smiled, or how Pony's laugh sounded just like Dad's. Sure this wasn't the life I wanted. Nobody wants to give up their life to pay bills, but by paying those bills, I get to keep my brothers. I get to keep our family, no matter how little or broken, together. And that's all I really wanted.

Thanks for reading.