*I don't own The Outsiders.

Warning: Cursing, violence. This is, after all, Dallas Winston.

I was trying to use some '60 term, I put a couple definitions of the ones that aren't completely obvious. I also used some modern gang concepts having to do with Dal in NY. You may find Dal slightly out of character, but this is how I imagined him.

(Dallas' POV)

Nothing better than a good fight, I thought in grim amusement as this middle class bastard's fist connected with my cheek bone. I may hate him 'cause he tries to be a Soc, but I'll admit, this guy could pack one hell of a punch…which only made me fight ten times harder.

I could hear Tim Sheppard and his gang of idiots cheering me on. I couldn't hold back the memories that assaulted my concentration, stealing my attention away from the dick in front of me: fighting on the streets of New York, the crowds, adrenaline, and raw power.

There was hardly a fight that I got into that didn't have some sort of audience anymore. I liked having people rooting for me, it just added to the whole atmosphere.

The arranged fights in the City were the best. Everyone would wait for the call, the call that told you where to meet and at what time-the messages would always be sent out on Friday morning, the third one of the month. Bets would be placed throughout the day on whoever you thought would win. It was an easy way to make money, all you had to do was watch a few fights and you can pick up on who's going to beat who.

The gang leaders liked to enter their best men, because not only did they make money off it, but the gang gained respect that way.

Money and respect make the world go round.

I grunted slightly as I got hit in the back with the toe of this shitface's boot. That was going to leave a bruise, I cussed him out good, but half the fire in my voice was directed at myself for getting distracted. Those fucking memories show up at the worst times, I swear to fucking Jesus.

"You're getting too old for this, don't you think, Dallas?" The guy taunted. I don't know how this fucker got so cocky, we've been at it more than once and I always win. I never lost a fight and I sure as hell won't start with this cunt.

I laughed, pleased when I saw the fear in his eyes due to my bitter chuckle. I didn't bother saying anything, what did I need to say to this ape face? I could tell he was already scared shitless, probably because last time I fought him he spent the next day in the hospital. That must be why he didn't pull a blade this time.

I cracked him a good one in the face, and then belted him, causing him to double up. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, I smirked, "What's next?" I asked rhetorically, kicking him in the ribs to make sure he didn't get up. I hope that knocked him down a few rungs.

Tim and his buddies were howling, "Nice one, Dal, I was thinking you might not get out so clean this time," he slapped my already sore shoulder, but I made sure not to wince.

"After all these years, so little faith," I sighed. Did he really think I'd let that little punk ruin my rep?

Fights around here are nothing compared to New York, of course it ain't since you don't fight to your death in these parts. I sure ain't getting the same adrenaline rush knowing that nobody is looking to kill me when we brawl. Call me crazy, but a fight is so much better when you got your life on the line. I could walk out my door in Brooklyn, and I knew there was a chance I might not make it back that night-there's the rough side of NY for you.

I keep reconsidering my decision to come down here to Tulsa; I still don't know whether or not I want to go back. I wouldn't mind going back, there'd be a few problems I'd have to deal with but I could handle it.

As much as I miss it sometimes, in the back of my mind, I know I wouldn't change things. You get pretty relaxed when you know no one is looking for your blood, and the lack of paranoia ain't all bad. Not to mention, I got one thing around here that I didn't have up north: people I trust, meaning the gang. I won't admit it to someone else, but I do trust them guys, they're far from harmless, but if they're your buddy…

"I heard that them Brumley Boys are calling for a bopping 'cause they seem one of us selling on their turf," Al, one of Tim's guys, came up to us. I lit a Kool and watched Tim get pissed over the situation.

"I make damn sure that nobody crosses the boundaries, so I don't know what the fuck Brumley is talking about, but if he wants a rumble then he'll get one," he turned to me, "Think y'all will help us out?" Tim was referring not only to me, but Two-Bit, Steve, and the Curtis brothers.

"Doubt Darry will want to join in due to it being over drugs. And, Brumley Boys never do a fair one," I added. Darry wouldn't let Pony come along, that's for sure. Then that would mean Johnny's at a disadvantage since they usually join up, unless he went along with Curly. The fight would still be unfair; Brumley will definitely be calling in favors if he wants to go against Sheppard.

Tim looked unhappy with this news, "Probably won't want the precious baby Curtis in there either," he made a sound of disgust.

I felt slightly annoyed with Tim's comment; Pony was lucky-he had someone to keep him out of this shit, that kid didn't belong around people like Sheppard, or even me for that matter.

"Darrell won't want him getting busted by the fuzz, or around knives or chains, so you can count him out. Maybe Johnny too," I grumbled, strategizing in my head. I took a puff of my cigarette, I really didn't want Johnny in a rumble against Brumley, they're crazy fuckers.

"I got some people who owe me anyway, I'll give them a heads up to be ready if they call anything," Tim shrugged, not really worried. His turned his hard gaze to me, "You'll be there," it was a statement, not a question, but I nodded anyway.

"I'm heading out."

"Going to find yourself a skirt, maybe cop a feel, Dal?" Tim smirked at me.

"Yeah, where's Angel?" I shot back, knowing it would fire Tim right up, me talking about his little sister like that.

He glared, "Get out of here, you hood," Tim snarled. I waited the appropriate amount of time to show that I was leaving on my own terms.

I grabbed a beer as I made my way through Buck's. Immediately I felt someone hook themselves on my arm, I could tell it was a chick right away, the hands too small to be a guy. I glanced down and sneered, for fuck's sake, you make out once or twice with a girl and she stalks you. "Get away from me."

"Don't be like that, Dally," she whispered in my ear, trying to be sexy.

I grabbed her hands and un-wrapped them from my bicep, "Get the hell away from me." Thankfully she did, I didn't want to have to shove her around or anything, but I would've if she didn't leave me alone. I was loaded when I met her, and if I hadn't been, I wouldn't have ever gone near that skag.

I headed upstairs and unlocked the third door on the left. I placed the beer on the dresser and pulled my shirt off. Damn, he got my back good. I cussed and flopped down on the bed, taking a swing of my drink.

I laughed dryly to myself; here I was, sitting in a shitty room that I considered home for the moment, drinking beer, nursing an aching back, and a few cuts. "Happy fucking eighteenth birthday, Dallas," I toasted too myself and chugged the rest of it. All alone on my birthday, maybe I should follow Tim's advise and find me some ass. "You made it longer than anyone else guessed you would."

I moved and realized that scoring would be less than satisfying at the moment. I rubbed my eyes and nearly jumped off the bed when the door flew open, "Who the fuck?" I growled out, dangerously. Can't I be left alone for five minutes?

I glared at Two-Bit who just smiled back, guess I forgot to lock the door again.

"What are you doing in here by yourself?" Two-Bit asked, incredulously.

"What do you care?" I snapped back.

Two-Bit smiled and handed me some sort of drink. I don't know what the hell is in it, but whatever it is, I'm sure it's good. Two-Bit is a heavy drinker and knows how to mix the right stuff together so it taste good and you get one hell of a buzz, I downed the drink and crumpled the cup in my hand.

Two-Bit laughed, "Gonna get blitzed?"

"I reckon so."

"You get in a fight?" Two-Bit observed. I nodded. "Why the hell would you do that? It's your birthday, why would you want to be all banged to H-E-double hockey sticks?" He looked at me as if I were crazy.

I got to admit, I was shocked that he knew it was my birthday. I mean, this was Two-Bit, how the hell did he remember? I don't even know if I ever told him when my birthday is.

"Well, come on. There's a cake, which nobody's allowed to touch, waiting for you at the Curtis House. Ponyboy and Johnny were rambling on this week about your birthday, God knows I got problems remembering my own," he laughed, loudly. "We got some presents waiting for you there too, can't have a birthday without presents."

That's why I ain't ever going back to New York.

Skag is a '60's term for an ugly girl.

Blitzed, means to get a buzz, drunk.

I'm sure the rest of the terms I used, you could figure out. I looked at some different websites for slang terms from 1960's.

Excuse typos please.

Hope you enjoyed, please review!!!