A/N: hey guys, w o w has it been a long time since i've written ANYTHING, let alone some good ol' outsiders fanfiction. i feel like this is total garbage because i haven't tried my hand at actual fo' reals fanfiction that isn't crack in FOREVER but... i'm doing what i can.

i've been re-reading the outsiders with fresh eyes, and i've got a different take on it than i did when i was thirteen, i guess. i don't know what i'm trying to achieve with this story. i may scrap it. i don't know yet.

suggestions, critiques, anything are absolutely welcome, just don't be too harsh on me now. ;P p.s. i'll (probably) never have another A/N that's this long, i swear.

disclaimer: props to susie hinton for making these guys up, i don't own anything, you know the drill.

Two years ago.

She loves you, yeah, yeah yeah! She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah! She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!

The record player hissed and spit, and the Beatles sang out loudly. Cherry Valance was murmuring quietly into the telephone in her bedroom, hoping desperately that the music was masking her words from any curious listeners in the house. Namely, parents.

"Why can't I just tell you over the phone?" She spat, running thin, pale fingers through her hair. This was all so frustrating. Everything was happening at once, and although it had only been a few days, it was taking a toll on her body. She was sick. Bob was dead. She hadn't even loved him, but he was still dead.

"I don't got a lot of time, baby," the voice on the other line said huskily. Cherry shivered, glad he couldn't see her.

"Don't call me that."

"I'll call you whatever I want. Look, just come to the address I gave you tomorrow night. Buck'll probably answer the door. Just ask him for me, tell him it's important or somethin'."

She sighed. "Okay."

"And get yourself real dolled up, okay? I don't wanna see you comin' 'round here dressed up like little miss priss. 'Cause there's no way Buck's gonna let you in if you look like that, and it's liable to get your pretty little ass beat 'round these parts. We ain't the ritzy types." There was the sound of a door slamming on his end of the line, and someone swearing loudly. "Aw hell, I gotta get off. Just come over here at say... 9:30 or 10. It oughta not be too rough then. I don't wanna scare you or nothin'."

The trouble was, he already had.

The following night, Cherry Valance's parents were going out to dinner. "I'm going to a little get-together at Marcia's," she'd told them. "I might spend the night. I don't know yet."

All they told her was to stay safe and have fun, then they disappeared. She wasn't so sure about either of those things.

And how did one get "dolled up" properly to blend in with the East Side crowd, anyway? She knew what their girls were like; everyone did. The crass little things with foul mouths, short skirts, too much eye make-up, and bad dye jobs. But that wasn't her. She couldn't achieve that look if she wanted to.

Still, her name was getting almost as big as the names Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade. Poor Cherry Valance, she was more or less the victim here. Poor Cherry Valance, the love of her life was murdered brutally by two dumb hoods.

They didn't know the half of it.

But people knew her. They probably even knew what she looked like on the East Side, if they hadn't before. She went to school with most of them anyway.

So she did her best to make herself become someone different; to look like she belonged. Cherry didn't recognize the bright red lips and dark raccoon eyes in the mirror. She tied back her hair and glanced at her outfit. It wasn't at all "greaser" attire, but it didn't reek of the West Side, either. It would have to do.

It was cold outside and she was hugging herself, trying to keep warm in a thin sweater. Buck Merrill gave her the once-over when he opened the door. "Who the hell are you?"

She sighed, trying not to act nervous. All she had to do was keep it cool. She was supposed to be good at this, right? "I need to see Dallas Winston. It's important."

"You his girl or something?"

"Yeah," Cherry murmured without missing a beat. "Yeah, I'm his girl."

"I'll go get him."

In about a minute, Dallas appeared at the door, grinning like a big cat out in the wild. He looked a mess, and had since Ponyboy and Johnny had run off. "Buck comes inta the bedroom, and he says, 'Dally, your girl's outside'. And I say, 'Buck, you're fuckin' crazy, I ain't got a girl. You know Sylvia was steppin' out on me, so I called it quits'. You my girl now, princess?"

"No. I'm not your girl. I just figured it would make the story more believable." She rolled her eyes.

Dallas let out a low whistle. "Damn, you do look real good, though."

"Are we gonna talk about this stuff, or not?" she snapped. "I didn't get all dressed up like this for you to gawk at me."

Cherry followed him into the roadhouse of sorts, into one of the bedrooms upstairs.

"Sit down."

"I'm not gonna sit down," she said sharply. "I'm gonna make this as quick as possible, so I can go home and wipe this crap off my face."

"I said, sit down," Dallas hissed dangerously.

"No! Do you wanna hear what I have to say, or not?" She stood against the wall, as far away from him as she could. If she got too close, she would be absolutely intoxicated, and then where would they be? "I gotta talk to you about this stuff. They're planning something really nasty, regardless of Ponyboy and Johnny's return."

"I'm supposed to go get 'em in the next couple days. Talk 'em into turning theirselves in. It was self defense. Johnnycake oughta get off easy."

"He'll get off easy with the judge, maybe. But Bob's friends wanna rumble. They wanna tear poor little Johnny up for stabbing Bob. They say they'll play by your rules, though."

"I'll kill 'em if they try to lay a finger on Johnny. I'll fuckin' kill 'em." Dallas was getting closer to her, now, leaning beside her against the wall. He was too close. This was going to be too much.

"Fighting isn't going to solve anything, you know. For you or for them." Cherry could smell him; this smell that was distinctly Dallas Winston. He smelled like cigarettes and something that was very male. Their shoulders were touching. "It won't change anything. You'll still be you, we'll still be us, and Bob will still be dead." The word dead tasted bad in her mouth.

"Do you miss him?" he asked. It was obvious that he didn't care whether or not she missed her boyfriend. He was Dallas Winston; he didn't care about anybody.

"I don't know," Cherry murmured.

"Good." He pressed himself flush against her, in one quick, startling, exhilarating gesture. His mouth hovered above hers and she could feel his hot breath on her face. "Keep it that way."

She tried to frown, scowl, do something. "Dallas... don't..."

"Are you gonna stop me?" he challenged.

She sucked in a deep breath. Keep it cool. Just keep it cool. "It's not very nice to take advantage of a girl who's emotionally unwell. They say Bob dying could scar me for life."

And wasn't that a crock of shit.

"Well, ain't a very nice kinda guy. I figured you knew that."He slid a hand under her skirt. Cherry let out a gasp. "Emotionally unwell, huh?"

"L-lay off me, Dallas." She needed to leave. She needed to get out of there right now, and she needed to be anywhere that wasn't Buck Merrill's. Cherry, she didn't belong here. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't give in. She needed to be at home, in bed, mourning the death of Bob Sheldon. Sweet, wonderful Bob Sheldon, her handsome boyfriend whose life was cut too short by friends of the man whose room she was standing in.

His only response was, "sshh," and he nipped roughly at her earlobe. "Sshh," and he he slid two fingers into her lace panties. "You a virgin, princess?"

She needed him.