It was raining.
It was cold.
He was freezing.
But he didn't care.
His name is Dallas Winston and he's currently walking, soaked to the bone, with no shirt or shoes and socks. He hardly noticed the cold. Blood was washing away with the rain as he shook slightly. He struggled to keep walking.
He didn't want the gang to see him like this, he didn't want the people at Buck's to see him like this, he didn't want to go home. That left only one option that he hated of he didn't want to sleep in the empty lot.
He changed directions, the man's house was only a block, maybe two, away.
He was going to Tim's.
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Tim Shepard was lying awake, listening to the pouring rain outside his bedroom window. It was around midnight and he couldn't sleep. His parents had stopped their fighting for the night and went to bed along with his brother and sister. He was the only person awake in the hauntingly silent house.
'BANG'
Tim jolted up in bed, looking around quickly. What had made the noise, he didn't know.
'BANG'
Tim scrambled to his feet, yanking a shirt on over his bare chest as he stumbled out his bedroom and down the stairs. Who the hell was knocking at this hour?! They were going to wake the whole damn house! He wrenched the front door open, fully intending to give whoever the hell it was a world of pain, when he stopped. He stared in utter shock at the sight of a drenched, shirtless, and a shoeless Dallas Winston.
The younger male seemed to be in a trance, staring off into space but not seeing. He didn't look too good either, as cuts and bruises warped his once untouched flesh.
"Dally?" That simple name that slipped passed Tim's lips was all it took for Dally to crumble.
The tears that he had been forcing back by sheer will came forth like a tsunami, spilling over and trailing down Dally's red cheeks and mixing with rainwater.
"Tim..." He choked out the word past cracked, dry, and bruised lips right before he collapsed into the arms of a shocked Tim Shepard. It shocked and horrified said man as he held the sobbinh, broken mass of THE Dallas Winston. Words failed Tim as he looked down at Dally's shaking body. Tim felt sudden, uncontrollable anger towards whoever made Dally cry. He would pulverize them, he would demolish them, he would rip the very life from their bones for whatever they did that turned Dally into this...this THING.
Tim rubbed his friends's back in an attempt at comfort as he basically carried Dally up to his bedroom, all the while the younger greaser didn't cease in his sobs. It broke Tim's heart. Dally had just about collapsed onto Tim's bed, curling into the smallest ball possible. For the first time ever, Tim realized just how small and fragile Dally looked. It was terrifying.
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Dally eventually cried himself to sleep on Tim's bed, still not having uttered a word to Tim. The older greaser was helpless as he sat staring at his closest friend's sleeping and, clearly, exhausted form. Tim silently got up and moved Dally so he was lying more comfortably on the bed. As he moved Dally's legs, his pant leg slid up some, exposing his pale ankle with the red rope burn around it.
Wait...
Rope burn?
Tim slowly, almost fearfully, pushed Dally's pant leg up and, low and behold, a painful looking rope burn encircled his ankle. Tim checked Dally's other ankle after moving to his other leg. He cursed. Tim let his friend's ankles go and moved up Dally's body, gently moving him so he could see his bare, and still soaked, upper body. His heart dropped. Bruises and cuts and rope burns littered his once flawless skin. Anger welled in his chest. It grew and grew and grew until it felt like his entire being was engulfed in the volatile emotion. Never before had Tim felt this uncontrollable surge of emotion and, the scary thing is, he didn't even know who it was directed at. All he knew was that he was going to kill whoever did this. They didn't just beat on Dally, they tied him up to do it/ Must have fucked with his head too by the way he reacted.
Tim realized with a start that Dally was shivering violently in his sleep. He cursed. He knew his heat was off and at least one window in the house was broken. Of course it was cold and Dally was soaked to the bone with just a pair of tattered pants on. He must be freezing. Tim rushed to cover Dally with all the blankets and/or sheets in his room, even ran to get a few spares from the hall closet. He covered Dally from the neck down and sat on the edge of the bed, just staring at the angelic face still stained with tear tracks. Tim silently got up and grabbed his family's, surprisingly large, first-aid kit/ Angela was the one who stocked it for when her idiotic brothers got into fights.
He set it on his bed and began pulling out everything he thought he's need to patch Dally up and set them on his nightstand. He saw Angela do this for him and Curly all the time, how hard could it be?
He uncovered one limb at a time to work on. Just touching Dally, he could feel how dangerously low his body temperature was. Tim got to work.
He cleaned, disinfected, and wrapped all of Dally's wounds that he could see above the belt line. He grabbed this odd-smelling salve that Angela used on them when their knuckles had horrible abrasions from punching things, or people. He gently massaged the salve into the rope burns on Dally's wrists and upper body. He moved down to Dally's feet, rubbing the soothing salve into the rope burns around Dally's ankles.
"Dally," he whispered. "What the hell happened to you...?"
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When Dally awoke the next morning he realized that he was surprisingly warm and toasty and that he could smell the most delicious food to filter up through the air to invade his nostrils. His mouth just about watered. Dally sat up and winced at the pain he felt all over, most of all in his backside. A quick look down at his bandaged arms and torso had him reeling as flashback's of last night came at him full force.
Dally suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe, as if all the air had left his lungs and refused to let more in. He started struggling, trying to get any amount of air into his heaving body. His chest constricted and he fell back against the unknown but oh so familiar bed. He started clawing at his throat with his bandaged hands as memories came one after another.
He felt like he was drowning.
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Tim didn't know why he felt the urge to take care of Dally in his vulnerable state, but he did. He quietly opened the door to his bedroom, a plate piled high with breakfast foods and a glass of orange juice both balanced on a tray on one arm so he could open the door. He expected Dally to still be sleeping but instead he was greeted to the sight of Dally having a panic attack.
A curse slipped past Tim's lips as he hurriedly set the tray on the nightstand and dragged a thrashing Dally into his strong arms, rocking him back and forth. Dally struggled and pushed at Tim but was slowly able to calm down, the older greaser was calming him down just by being there. Dally took in a final shuddering breathe and looked at Tim with tear streaked cheeks and red eyes.
"You're okay Dallas."
Tim doesn't lie.