Alright, I know I need another story like I need a hole in the head, but this is something I have had in my head for a long time. Buck is one character I have always liked because there's so little on him that you can do pretty well anything with him that you want. And he's a cowboy! How can you not love him?

Anyways, special thanks go out to Alsonny who went over this for me and made it make sense! Yes, she so got stuck with that, haha.

Disclaimer: Well, the usual. S.E. Hinton owns the Outsiders. The title for this story was a Hank Williams song title, so I am just borrowing that, too. The rest is my imagination :).

On with the show!

Prologue

When you run a bar, you have to expect for certain level of give and take. For example, if you give an inch, everyone takes a mile, and no one seemed to take more than Pete Granger. It wasn't that things went missing, it was that a lot of the work he was supposed to do usually fell on my shoulders. That wasn't right when you were the boss of the place, but lucky for Pete's hide, he was essential to running the bar and I wasn't about to get rid of him.

Still, no thanks to him I was on my hands and knees with a bucket of dirty water and an old rag, scrubbing at something he'd spilled earlier. Damn Pete. It seemed to me that if it involved a little elbow grease, he was physically unable to do it.

I leaned back on my haunches, looking to make sure the mess was gone. It was late in the season, but knowing the Merrill luck the way I did, ants were always a possibility. Damn Pete. How many times had I told him just that? If we got ants, it was on his head this time around. Damn moron could deal with it himself.

Satisfied that it was clean, I pushed myself to my feet, hearing my knees crack as I straightened out. It was nearing three AM, and the place had cleared out not too long ago. Not that it had been hoppin' or anything; not with that big rumble going on tonight. There was a class fight over some dead kid – Rob Skelton or something like that. Saw his face in the paper, and I thought it was a damn shame he had to go. He'd been in here a once, and let me tell you, he was my kind of guy—paid for everything in cash as he drank it. That was a sight more than I could offer for my regulars. They seemed to think a tab was some infinite thing you never had to worry over. Starting tomorrow, I was gonna start calling them in. Not only did I need the money, the kicks would be worth it.

Wiping off my hands, I made my way out of the back room and into the main barroom, taking in the mess to be had. There were bottles and mugs on every table, spills underneath a good few of them, and cards scattered. The pool tables were in disarray, and there were at least five ashtrays that needed emptying. Yep, just another night at Buck's. Pete and Greg would clean house tomorrow; if they still wanted jobs, that is. I put up with a lot from Pete, and sometimes Greg, but a messy establishment was not one of them.

"Well, that's as good as it's gonna stay." I sighed, moving to turn off the lights so I could get some sleep.

But it seemed like my night wasn't quite over yet, because just then someone hammered on the door. I grumbled and rubbed at my eyes.

"We're closed," I hollered.

The knocking got louder and more persistent. I wondered how long they'd keep at it, but I had the feeling I wasn't going to get a wink until I opened the damn door and told whoever it was to scram.

But when I opened it, I was surprised. Mainly, when people came knocking this late, it was because they were drunk enough not to know that closed meant closed. Or they thought they lived here, which was always an interesting conversation.

But never before had Sylvia come rapping on my door like this. I didn't like what that could mean. Her brown hair was a mess, her makeup was tracked down her face by the tears she'd shed, and she looked like someone had crushed her world. Lordy, she was a sight. I wondered if someone had jumped her. Or maybe she and Dallas were done for good this time. Either way, I let her in. And with that, any sleep I had been planning on was getting went right out the window.

"Syl, what the hell happened to you?" I demanded, locking the door behind her.

Sylvia just shook her head, running a hand through her disarrayed hair. I felt like growling, I was too grumpy to be playing the guessing game.

"Syl? Goddamnit, girl," I cursed. I was not in the mood for this.

"Dal got into trouble," she finally rasped.

"He's always in trouble," I sighed, and she glared at me like I had said something really offensive.

"Not like this time, Buck. This time, it got him dead."

I blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Everyone knew that if someone was gunning for Dallas Winston's hide, he'd be here in a shot. That was usually a problem, since everyone knew how to find him, and it sure made a hell of a mess for me. But I hadn't seen a hide nor hair of him, or anyone looking for him, so he was fine. Syl was just being a drama queen. She was the one who probably wanted him dead in the first place.

"Don't you get it, you know-nothing hick? He's dead!" Her hand twisted in her hair, and she gave me a glare. "Dallas is DEAD."

I blinked, really listening to her. No, she had to be wrong. If that kid had died, half of Tulsa would have been in flames, and the other half would have been taken out in the blast with him. Nothing was going to take that kid down without a fight.

"He's dead!" she snapped at me, her hands beating at my chest. "He's dead! He's...he's..."

She broke off with a sob, and suddenly I had my arms full of crying girl. Syl was like my kid sister, so I wrapped my arms around her shoulders awkwardly and let her cry. All the while, I was trying to get my head around the fact Dallas Winston was gone.

One thing was for sure—Tulsa was never going to be the same again.

Yeah, my Buck? Tad on the grumpy side :).

Any comments are welcome and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!

Tens