Hello again! I just wanted to thank all the people who reviewed and answer some questions-
TreesAreSnazzy: Thanks for the positive feedback. I'm glad you like Dallas. :3 To answer your question- I just imagined that Mrs. Curtis and Dallas's mother were friends, so the boys knew Dallas when they were little because of that friendship. And thanks for the tip about the Pov's: I meant to lable them when I switched from Darry's to Soda's, but it kinda slipped my mind. In this chapter they're labled. Thanks! :)
Two-Bit's Girl14: I dont know why he's six, I just kinda felt like writing him as six. :)
deviousprincess: Yes, Tim called Darry Superman. I just thought I would throw that in there.
Iamafanoftwomanythingstoname: I love your username and thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you like it.
And Danielle Curtis: Thank you and I'll try! :)
Thank you all and enjoy this chapter!
Bob Sheldon and his mother were walking home from the grocery store on the greaser's side of town, past Bob's old friend Soda's house. As they passed the small, friendly looking house, a small boy came stumbling out, walking drunkenly down the stairs. He couldn't have been more than five or six years old, with hair so blonde it was almost white, and the biggest, bluest eyes Bob had ever seen. His cheeks were flushed, and he had a large wound on his stomach, stitched up but still bleeding. He's staggering around, bumping into fences and cars and light posts.
"Poor thing..." Bobs mother, Claire, murmurs. "Do you know who it is dear? I remember you used to hang around with the Curtis boys." Claire says thoughtfully, staring with concern at the small child who is trying to have a conversation with a mailbox.
"Actually ma, I think I do..." Bob trails off, thinking hard. He hasn't hung around Sodapop for almost two years, but he remembers all of Soda's gang. None of the gang liked him much, but Soda got along with him just fine. When they got into junior high school and high school, Bob realized that Soda's family was one of the poorest in town, and that Soda was a greaser. He hasn't hung out with Soda since, but he remembers all the gang members, or as Soda called them, his 'mothers long lost sons.' The boy can't be Ponyboy or Daryl, Soda's brothers, because they are way too old. It's definitely not that Cade kid, who Bob never really noticed. It's not Two-Bit or Steve- they are in Bob's class at school and Bob hates their guts. Bob remembers that all the boys would always have to watch a little four year old, which they all loved but Bob secretly hated. Whenever he went over Soda's house, Soda would always be followed by the kid. He'd play stupid little games and not pay any attention to Bob. The few times he went to the movies with the Curtis' and their gang, Two-Bit would always bring the kid along, telling little jokes and tickling him.
It's not that the kid was annoying or a brat: he was the sweetest little thing ever. Bob was just always annoyed because Soda's world revolved around the kid. What was his name? Danny, David, Dylan...
"DALLAS!" Bob shouts, remembering. "That's Soda's little friend Dallas!" he exclaims to his mother, who is starting to walk over to the kid.
"Hey honey, are you lost?" she says gently, kneeling down to the kid's eye level. Big, scared, feverish blue eyes stare back at her, rapidly filling up with tears.
"Do you know where Darry is? I can't find Darry! Darry pro-" he breaks off, hacking and coughing onto his arm. He sounds so sick that Bob's lungs hurt. "
I gotta find Darry! Tim, Darry, Soda..." Dallas is panting, his chest heaving up and down as he fights to breathe.
"Okay sweetie, calm down, I'll find Darry for you." Claire reassures the small child, laying a hand on his arm. Dallas jerks away, his eyes going from confused to terrified. "Don't touch me! Darry, Darry..." he cries, stumbling away down the sidewalk. Bob stares after him, confused on what just happened.
"I think he's looking for Darry, Sodapop Curtis' older brother." Bob explains to his mother.
"I think that kid is really sick," Claire says, concerned. "I'm going to see if anyone is home at the Curtis' house." She gets up, smoothes her skirt out, and walks up to the Curtis' door, knocking on it. Bob hears a loud shout of "FUCK!" inside, and a disheveled Soda answers the door.
"Mrs. Sheldon?" he asks, confused. Bob sees Tim Shepard, one of the most well-known hoods in his neighborhood, behind Soda.
"Sodapop, are you looking for Dallas?" Claire says hesitantly, glancing in the way Dallas went.
"Yes! Lord, have you seen the kid? He's delirious, and has a 103.5 fever! Darry thinks he has pneumonia!" Soda frets, thrusting fingers through his hair.
"Oh! Sodapop, he went that way, looking for Darry!" Claire whispers.
"Fuck." Tim growls behind Soda, shoving his way though the doorway. Soda's face is white. Tim jogs over to a real shitty car parked in front of the Curtis' driveway. Bob watches in interest as Tim ducks under the steering wheel, cursing loudly the entire way. Bob hears the sound of metal grating against metal, and the car starts. Tim gets in the drivers seat and revs the engine.
"Get in the car Sodapop." he hisses, fists clenching the steering wheel. Soda runs over and throws himself in and Tim races away, burning rubber away from the curb. Claire stares openmouthed after the two boys.
"Did he just...Did he just hot-wire the car?" Bob nods. "
Yeah ma. You have to watch out for Tim Shepard."
"I hope they find that poor boy." his mother says, concerned.
(Darry's Pov)
"What?" you roar at a tearful Sodapop and a guilty looking Tim.
"One hour! All I asked was one hour! Do you even know where he is now?" you yell, stomping over to your truck and getting in. Soda climbs into the front seat and Tim hops into the bed.
"Sodapop Patrick Curtis, I asked you to watch him! Why didn't you listen to me?" you snap, hitting the steering wheel.
Soda stares at you, miserably, and whispers, "I fell asleep Dar. Tim fell asleep, and when we woke up he was gone! We ran into Mrs. Sheldon, and she said that she had seen Dally, wandering down the streets looking for you!"
It's your turn to guilt trip.
"I never should have left him, he's sick, he needs me..." you mutter to yourself, cursing yourself on the inside.
"If you were Dallas, where would you go?" Tim shouts from the truck bed.
Soda thinks for a minute, then responds, "My house..." he trails off, looking at you in horror. Dally's father is at his house. The father who sometimes beats Dally so bad, the child is unconscious for days. If Dally comes home, all sick and delirious, and his father is in a bad mood... You shudder, afraid to even imagine it, and stomp on the gas, racing the truck through the quiet streets.
You slam to a stop in front of Dallas' dilapidated house, Tim already hoping out and walking up to the collapsing porch. You and Soda quickly follow him, and as you stand on the porch steps you can hear a mans voice, harsh with anger, and a child's small cries. "He's in there." Soda whimpers, looking like he's about to start bawling.
"Well, we're getting him the fuck out, aren't we?" Tim says violently, knocking on the door. Dally's father answers, and you can't see any resemblance between father and son. Dally's father has close cropped brown hair, he's big and muscular, and he has flinty grey eyes. Dal's eyes can be guarded and scared, but there is an undeniable sweetness in them. Hell, Dallas is a sweet kid! He doesn't deserve the hell he has to go through at home. Mr. Winston's eyes are cold, hard, and just plain cruel. Tim doesn't even say anything to the man; he just punches him right in the face, knocking the big man out.
"Split up and look for him." you tell Soda and Tim as you venture into the house. It's disgusting how bad the house is. There are broken bottles everywhere, garbage, moldy food, and torn clothing. There's a fist-shaped hole in the wall, and you swear that there's a Dally-shaped hole on the kitchen wall.
"Dallas?" you call, staring around the room.
"DARRY!" the bloodcurdling scream scares you, but then you realize who is screaming for you. Your Dallas, your baby, is screaming in terror for you, screaming because he is afraid to be in a house with his own FATHER.
"Dallas, where are you? Say something again!" you call.
"D-d-d-a-arrr-y-y!" Dally cries breaking off with a pitiful choked sob at the end that almost breaks your heart. His cries lead you down a short hallway to a room with the door padlocked.
"Dally, are you in here?" you shout, banging on the door. He answers with a high wail of "In here!" You run your hands through your hair, debating how you're going to get Dallas out of the room.
"Little buddy, I'm gonna break the door down, okay? Get away from the door." You say through the door.
"O-kka-" he breaks off coughing and you can literally hear him rasp for air behind a closed and locked door. You brace yourself, and then run through the door, splitting it in half. You almost fall with the impact of the door, and stumble around, trying to catch your balance as you stare violently around the room, trying to find Dally.
"Darrrry..." he moans, and you feel something tug on your pants leg. You wheel around, and honestly, you almost throw up. Dallas is sprawled on the floor, and you don't know how someone can get beat up that bad and live. One of his fragile arms is clearly broken: you can see the splintered white bone stabbing out of Dally's pale skin. His left eyes is swelled completely shut, jaw swollen and black and blue. There's blood everywhere, Dally's lying in a pool of it.
"Oh Dallas, oh god," you don't know how you're going to carry him. You're afraid that if you pick him up, you're going to hurt him. Oh-so-carefully, you slide your arms under him, wincing as he whimpers. "
Sweetie, I'm sorry! We need to get you to the hospital, then you'll feel better!" you coo, almost dying on the inside because of how beat up your almost little brother is. You cradle him against your broad chest, trying to keep him as secure as possible and not to bounce him around. He has his face buried in your shirt, and you can see that the whole back of his skull is bleeding and torn up.
"Soda, Tim!" you shout, walking into the kitchen.
"I found him, let's go! Tim, start the car." as you walk out onto the porch, you meet up with Soda. Dallas' head rolls limply down your arm as Sodapop turns around to croon to Dallas, but stops, a sick expression on his face. He runs over to the side of the porch and leans over, retching. You feel bad for your brother, but you need to get Dallas to the hospital as fast as possible.
"C'mon Soda, get in the car," you call behind you, walking carefully down the steps to where Tim was waiting with the car. You open the back door, hopping in and pulling Dallas in with you. Soda nearly wrenches the door off its hinges as he throws himself into the car next to Tim. Tim slams down on the gas, and you're speeding through the darkened and quiet streets. You have Dally's head cradled in your arms, fingers combing through his silky hair. There's so much blood- it's everywhere: matting in Dally's hair, covering the seat, soaking into Dally's and your jeans. Dallas doesn't even have the strength to cough now- he just let's his chest heave up and down, the air sounding like its ripping his throat as he breathes. He tries to move his head to look at you, but stops abruptly, pupils dilating in pain. His eyes roll back into his head, and he goes completely limp in your arms.
"Tim, drive faster!" you growl violently, your heart speeding as you think about how every heartbeat could be Dally's last, how the child could be dying in your arms. Tim slams to a stop in front of the hospital, already leaping out of the car in one bound. You quickly follow him, trying not to jostle Dallas any more than necessary. Tim holds the door open for you and you nearly sprint to the nurse's desk, panting out your story to the nurse sitting there. Without hesitation, you say that Dally is your brother; it will give you parental consent to give him medication and shit.
"Please Miss, my brother needs help! Quick!" you gasp out, watching as her eyes widen in horror as she stares at Dally. She pulls a switch on the wall and a team of doctors rolling a stretcher come running down one of the hallways.
"Put him here," one of the doctors says to you, gesturing that you lay Dallas down on the stretcher. You hesitate: if Dally wakes up and doesn't see you, only these strangers, he's gonna flip. But you give in and lay the kid down on the stretcher. He looks so helpless, so hurt, so small, lying there, surrounded by all that white. The doctors take off again, and you, Soda, and Tim have to run to keep up with them. They turn sharply into the OR, and wheel the stretcher into an operating room. You try to follow them, but a nurse bars your way.
"I'm sorry sir, but you can't come in here," she says, closing the door in your face.
"But..." you protest, shaking your head and walking over to Soda and Tim, who are sitting in a row of chairs across the hall from Dal's room. You start pacing in front of them.
"Any second now, he's going to wake up and freak out... He doesn't know where he is... Why can't I go in there with him?" You mutter under your breath, raking your hands through your hair in frustration. You were right. The minute you go to sit down, an earsplitting scream of "DARRY!" comes from Dally's room. The doctor pokes his head out.
"Are any of you named Darry?" he asks hopefully.
"He wants Darry and he wants a soda." Soda giggles nervously at the doctor calling his name a drink.
"I'm Darry," you say, "This is my brother, Sodapop, and a family friend, Tim." The doc eyes Soda weirdly, but turns his attention back to you.
"Can you come here please? We need you to calm your brother down so he can go under for surgery." You hop up right away, following the doctor into the operating room. Dally's worse than you expected. He's got his knees curled up to his chest, arm wrapped tightly around them, rocking back and forth mumbling to himself. His pretty blue eyes are wild and disoriented, like the eyes of a crazy man. You reach for him, sitting down next to him on the hospital bed.
"Oh Dally, kiddo, it's okay. I got you. Relax little buddy!" you murmur to him as you take his hand in your hands, rubbing it. "Little man, can you calm down for me? These nice people are going to make you feel better, but you have to relax." Dally sighs and relaxes his body, laying his head down on the pillow and allowing the nurse to finally stick the IV in his arm. You watch his eyes slowly droop from the drugs.
"Stay with me Daddy..." you hear him whisper faintly as his eyes close. You gently lay his hand on the bed, rushing to get out on the room because you're starting to cry. You sit down outside beside Tim. Soda is no where to be seen.
"Why'r ya cryin', superman?" Tim asks you, lighting up a smoke. You hang you head in your hands.
"He called me Daddy, Tim. Daddy," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut tight so that you won't feel the hot tears dripping down your cheeks.
"So?" Tim drawls, chewing on his nails.
"Tim, did you ever wonder that you were going to be a parent at nineteen? That your parents were going to die and leave you to take care of a whole gang of teenage boys? Ponyboy and Soda are old enough now where I don't have to worry about them as much, but this little guy," you gesture towards Dal's room, "needs me still. Who does he have to depend on, besides the gang and you and maybe Curly and Angel? I'm not supposed to be a father, Tim. I was supposed to go to college, supposed to live my life like a normal teenager. Except for the fact that I have a fifteen-year old, a thirteen year old, and a six year old to take care of." you confess to Tim, telling him all the worries that have been worrying you. At this moment, Soda walks back into the room, face pale and sweaty. "Sodapop?" you cry, jumping up to face your brother. His eyes are bloodshot and watery, and he stumbles to you with a sob catching in his throat. You wrap your little brother in your arms, rubbing his back.
"Pepsi, what's wrong?" you ask him gently, pulling him with you to sit down. He buries his face in your shoulder, so unlike his usual happy and carefree self.
"It's all my fault!" he wails into your shirt, shuddering. You're serious now- you don't want your kid brother blaming him for something that is completely out of his control. But you decide to humor him, and ask,
"You didn't get Dally sick, and you sure as hell didn't beat him half to death. So how is this your fault?" Soda pulls his face off of your shoulder, his big, laughing brown eyes now miserable and upset.
"I shoulda stopped him from going! I fell asleep and didn't watch him, and now he might die, and it's all my fault!" You take Soda by the shoulders roughly.
"Listen to me Sodapop. Nothing is your fault. Now calm down because I don't want you blaming yourself for something outside of your control. Take a deep breath, and relax." You order your brother, yanking his butt down to sit with you.
"Okay," Soda says quietly, sitting down and laying his head on your shoulder. All you can do now is wait.
(Two-Bit's Pov)
Darry looks awful. I mean, we all are tired and sick-looking, but Darry looks like he's aged twenty years in a brought in last night, and I bet Darry hasn't slept at all. He hasn't left the hospital since Dally was brought in, along with Soda. He has bags under his eyes, and his face looks pale and haggard. We haven't been allowed in Dal's room 'cuz he's still in surgery, and Darry is close to breaking. It got real close with Dal early this morning, too. Doc thought he was gonna die, butDallasis a tough lil booger. He just got by, and he should be coming out of surgery soon. "Darry, is he almost out?" Soda asks Darry for about the millionth time. I start tapping my leg against the chair nervously, anxious for any word on Dally.
"Two-Bit, stop, please." Darry says tiredly, rubbing his face with his hand.
"'Kay, superman," I say the same time the extremely tired doctor opens the door to Dally's room with a grin on his face.
"Boys, he's out of the red!" he whoops. Steve lets out a loud howl, jumping up and down with Sodapop.
"Can we see him, Doc?" Darry asks anxiously, a hand already on the doorknob.
"Sure, but he's gonna be out of it for a while. His fever is still pretty high, and he's a little delirious." Darry nods and all of my gang files into the small hospital room, followed by the doctor. I'm kinda nervous about what I'm gonna see. Dally is lying in the narrow hospital bed, whimpering and twitching slightly. I can't control the gag reflex I get when I see his face. He looks like he went through a meat grinder.
"Okay Darry, your brother has a compound break on his left arm in two places, and his left shoulder is dislocated. He has a broken rib, he lost two teeth, and his nose was broken. Any questions?" my mouth is hanging open. The poor kid! Ponyboy whimpers slightly, turning away so he doesn't have to seeDallas.
"Doc, isn't he sick?" Darry says sickly, staring with horror at Dally.
"Yeah. He has pneumonia, but we have it under control now." the doctor answers plainly, wiping his face with his coughing in his sleep, trying to pull the tube out of his nose. The sight of him there, hooked up to all those machines, barely breathing, breaks my heart.
I hear Ponyboy sniffling, and I turn around to see Soda wrap a comforting arm around his little brother. Me and the rest of the ggang dont know what to do- we just kinda stand there awkwardly, twisting our hands together, nervously shifting from foot to foot.
Finally Darry shakes his head and walks over to the hospital bed, pulling up a chair and sitting next to Dally.
"I'm gonna stay here," he says, rubbing a hand over his tired face. "Y'all go home and get some sleep.
