A/N: I don't even know what this chapter is — it's just some background of Dally's history and some people that he knew in New York. I know it's a little different than the rest of the story, but let me know what you guys think of it?
Disclaimer: Ughh, why do I always forget to do this and remember at the last second? Anyway: I do not own The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton does.
Dally POV
I rubbed my eyes, groaned, and streched as I pulled myself out of the Curtis couch, again, for the second night in a row. For some reason, I just felt sick. Like I was going to throw up or something. But I got a glass of water and tried to shake off the feeling. I really need to get out of here, I thought, Mrs. Curtis probably doesn't like the fact that I'm setting a bad example to her boys but is too nice to kick me out. As I got up, grabbed my brown leather jacket that used to belong to a friend in New York, a feeling of almost — homesickness began to wash over me.
I rolled my eyes at the though of homesickness, and began to wonder. What kind of world is it where a thirteen year old, more Christ's sake, who's on the run from the cops, misses an alleyway, a goddam alleyway on the wild side of New York City that he considers more home than his parents' house? Isn't there something really wrong with that picture? I snapped out of those thoughts, only to plunge right into a series of other ones. Ones that I really did not want to think about, but that came to my brain and refused to be pushed out.
I thought about the history of that jacket, how my friend, a kid five years older than I was, boy named Bill, had lifted it from a department store when I was just shy of nine years old, still living in my parents' house and getting beat up. He was the unofficial leader of the gang then, that gang, the one back ho- no, the one back in New York. I'm turning soft, I thought, since when does the Dallas Winston have any feelings at all? Anyway, he'd lifted it and I'd always admired it. The brown leather was soft, slightly worn, but tough and cool all at the same time.
Bill had no family, save for his kid brother, who was about my age. No friends, no nothing, except for the gang. He was always there for the gang; we were always there for him. Because he didn't have anything or anyone else. None of us did. And he was hard, cold, and mean, and his brother was the only person in the world that he cared about. And I began to remember. To remember all of the things that I wanted most to forget.
One day, a group of guys from a rival gang jumped Bill's kid brother. They did it to get back at Bill. And those guys — they hated Bill because he made them all look stupid time and time again in rumbles, and insulted them like there was no tomorrow.
Nonetheless, they'd been practically beating him to death to get back at Bill; there's a reason I was skeptical about walking the streets alone the first day or two in Tulsa. And then Bill shows up, and tries to start fighting. And another group of rival gang members showed up, and Bill and his kid brother were completely outnumbered. I'd had a premonition that something was wrong, and I'd dragged the whole gang to the alleyway that we practically lived in half the time. And we were just in time to see some blasted — some goddamn punk shoot Bill's brother. Right in the head. And we knew that there was no saving him.
And we all jumped into action. We knocked them all out — some of them may've even been killed for all I know. Next thing we knew we heard sirens and knew that the fuzz were after us. I followed Bill, to try and prevent him from doing something crazy. And suddenly something that he'd always told me rang through my head like a ceaseless gong or something. It kept echoing, bouncing off the walls of my brain, it felt. "Get tough and you don't get hurt. Get smart and look out for yourself an' ain't nothing that can touch you." So I followed him. He ran into a bookstore, and ran in circles for a few seconds, like a madman. Bill then broke the most important rule of robbing any store, anyhow, anywhere. He took his unloaded gun and pointed it at the salesclerk. He then ripped the pages out of half a dozen books, threw them at the guy, and ran.
He knew the cops were after him. He knew they'd get him sooner or later. And I didn't see why he was trying, but never got a chance to ask him why. He ran, and I followed him. The two of us darted into the alley that we knew better than the backs of our hands, and he grabbed me by the shoulders. He shook me slightly, and said: "Dally, you're a good kid, and you don't deserve to be here. Get the hell out of here. Seriously. I'm not kidding." He breathed deeply, and so did I. Bill swallowed hard, as if he was in great pain, and I didn't realize until later that he was, and then quoted somebody. Himself. "Dally, I just— just remember this. You get tough, you don't get hurt. You get smart, ya look after yourself, nothing's gonna touch you. But Dally, don't be like me. Don't have a breaking point. Because then you end up like me. Broken." He let out a laugh, different from any other I'd ever heard. It was a bitter laugh. Like he had just given up on life, and what I didn't realize then was that he had.
He darted out of the alley, and into the street, where the cops were hot on his trail. He handed me his jacket, saying, "Take it. It's all I could give you, Dally, hell, it's all I have." I kept running, but realized suddenly that Bill was six feet behind me, yelling, "Keep going, Dally, I stop here. I've had just about enough of life, and I figure I'll end it willingly. Just one thing, Dally, don't let anything touch you."I stopped short, and his hand jumped to his belt. Somehow, I knew what he was going to do.
"Bill," I yelled, "Just remember this. Bill, I know that nobody's ever told you this before, but me, me and the gang, we love you, and we care about you. But it's your choice and I know you've made up your mind. Just- we'll miss you, Bill. And I promise you, I'll get out of here one day." He looked in my general direction and yelled, just as he raised the gun and was shot down by the police, "I hope so, and Dally-" And I could have sworn, just before the first bullet hit 'im, that he whispered, "I love you, too."
And it was then that I realized why I was feeling sick. It was March 14. The day that Bill and his brother left us. The fateful day that the future of our gang changed forever. The day that I made up my mind that I would proudly wear his jacket for always, and that I would lead our gang and keep us together. Because after losing Bill and his kid brother, we would need it the most.
A/N: I'd like to thank FrankElza, for sticking with me and giving me so much support with this story and all of my other ones, I really appreciate it. Stay Gold, Everyone!