Dallas Winston always knew he'd die young.
That had never been a question; it was a fact. Since the tender age of ten, Dallas knew his life wouldn't last long.
But he never thought he'd outlive Johnny.
It wasn't fair. Johnny didn't deserve that, he was too good for that. The world had been so cruel to him, chewed him up and spit him back out. The world had destroyed Johnny.
But that was another fact Dallas had learned from a young age; the world was never fair.
On the rough streets of New York, Dally had seen people die. He had seen the glazed over look in their eyes as the life drained from their body, and that affected him. He would never admit that to anyone, but with seeing those people die, something inside of him had died as well. His innocence.
That pure, childlike wonder and innocence had been long gone. Dally had seen too much with his young eyes, seen how cruel the world could actually be. He learned to encase his heart in steel, to surround himself with a shield of hatred. Maybe, just maybe, if he was strong enough, the world wouldn't be able to hurt him. Dally had already had enough hurt in his lifetime.
But Johnny got past that barricade. Small, quiet Johnny, who was afraid of his own shadow, seemed like the last person who'd be able to break Dally's wall. But he did.
And no matter how many times he tried to deny it, Dally did care. He cared so much for Johnny, loved him like a younger brother. It was his job to protect Johnny, but he failed.
Johnny was gone now. Dead.
Just thinking about it made Dally want to scream, to yell at the world, to run. But most of all, Dally just wanted to cry.
It was foreign to him now, crying. He hasn't done it in so long. Had his tears dried up? Dallas Winston, the man of steel, was never supposed to cry.
He wasn't allowed to feel anything.
And standing there, with the cops in front of him, he knows what he has to do.
He briefly wondered if there was a heaven. He had never been religious at all, never believed in God, but in that brief moment, he hoped for Johnny's sake heaven was real. Johnny deserved that.
He pulls the unloaded gun from his jacket, and smiles that dark, reckless grin. Even moments before his death, Dally wasn't allowed to show his true emotions. No, he still had to mask them, because he wasn't weak. Only the weak showed emotions, and in this world, the weak had no chance of surviving.
He watches as the police man puts his finger on the trigger of the gun. Just one little squeeze, and Dally's life would be over. Just the moment of a finger could take the life of someone.
Dally wouldn't die a hero, like Johnny. He wouldn't get commended in the paper, or be remembered for saving lives. Dally would die a hood, a delinquent. He would just become another statistic, nothing more.
But at least he'd go out with a bang.
The police man pulls the trigger on his gun, the bullet sailing through the air.
This one's for you, Johnny.
And with that one sound, that one crack of the gun, Dallas is finally free.
After all, if something so terrible could happen to someone as good as Johnny, what chance did Dally have in the world?