Disclaimer: The Outsiders is not mine... If it were, I'd teach Dally some manners, and then he'd be my sweetie! lol.
A/N: I've often wondered, "What in the heck did Dally do to get arrested at age 10?" Here's my answer.
Breaking Point
"Where have you been, son?"
Ten-year-old Dallas Winston shrugged in response to his father's question.
"What do you mean you don't know?" the man asked, in that sugar sweet tone that said he was doing all he could not to blow up. It made Dallas want to puke.
"I been... around..." the young boy said, another shrug showing his father how little he cared about what the man thought of him.
Now his father was angry. "Dallas, you are ten years old! You're too young to be going out on your own and walking out on the streets!"
Dallas shoved his fists into his coat pockets and slouched like he'd seen alot of the hoods in his neighborhood do. "I don't care," he said, with yet another cocky shrug of his shoulders. "'Sides, I wouldn't be out on the street if you watched me better."
"I'm sick of your disrespect!" the man yelled at the boy.
"Fine!" Dallas yelled back, eyes blazing. "You won't have to deal with it no more!" With that, the boy made a run for the door.
"Dallas!" the man yelled, running after him. "Dallas!"
Dallas's father slammed his fist into the wall as the door slammed behind his son. Dallas was gone.
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Dallas ran down the sidewalk, tears streaming down his elvish face. "Da--it!" he swore, furiously wiping the tears away with the sleeve of his jacket. He kicked over a trash can angrily.
A man across the street yelled, "Hey, kid! What's your problem?"
The boy looked up, his face now dry. He was suddenly glad that he was big for his age, and could pass for much older than he was. "What's it to ya?" he yelled back.
"Hey, that's my trash, kid! I just got it out for the garbage man!"
Dallas whipped out a switchblade quickly. "You think I care?"
The man turned pale. "Uh..." he stammered.
"That's what I thought!" Dallas replied, before disappearing into the alley.
"Winston," called a familiar voice from the shadows. "That you?"
"Yeah," Dallas replied, recognizing the voice of his 14-year-old friend, Ace. "It's me."
"You been cryin'?" Ace asked, when he appeared from the shadows.
"No, I ain't been cryin'!" the younger boy snapped. "Now gimme a cancer stick."
Ace knew better than to tease Dallas. The younger boy had proven himself too many times in a fight.
"What's goin' on anyhow?" Dallas asked. "I'm bored. The old man's been buggin' me."
Ace shrugged. "We was figurin' on hittin' that liquor store down the street.. We all need some cash... and besides... I could use a drink."
Dallas grinned, a dangerous grin that looked out of place on someone so young. "Sounds good to me."
-----
The boys walked down the street to the liquor store, bothering people along the way. Dallas pulled a switchblade on a boy who was much younger than he was, and all of the boys yelled dirty things at a hooker, who yelled back, "Shut up, will ya! You're too young!"
Dallas spoke first when they slipped into the alley across the street from the liquor store. "Lemme do it, Ace."
Ace shrugged. He didn't doubt Dallas's abilities. "Go ahead."
Dallas walked across the street, acting like he was just a curious kid.
The man behind the counter looked up. "What're you doin' in here, kid?"
Dallas glared at the man, then walked toward him silently, his eyes glittering dangerously. "Gimme the money in the register," he said, pulling out the switch again.
The man's eyes filled with fear, then shame that he'd been bested by a kid. But Dallas was a big kid. He gathered up the money in the register and handed it to Dallas, who shoved it into the pocket of his jacket.
The boy jumped when he heard a voice behind him. "Hold it right there, kid!"
Dallas whirled to find himself staring straight down the barrel of a gun. A plainclothes cop. "Da--!" Dallas said, dropping the blade.
And at the age of 10, Dallas Winston first felt the shiver that came with the closing of ice cold metal around his wrists. He was in deep trouble, and he knew it. And the worst thing was, he wasn't even sure he cared.
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A/N: That's not my favorite thing I've written... I hope you like it, though...