Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders. And it's too late/early to come up with something witty.
A/N: Deds to somebluedecember for beta-reading. And if you read her stories as well, the names that are used in this chapter for some minor OCs are just coincidental. But, hey, what can I say? Great minds think alike. :P
You're starting to wonder if it was worth the fifty cents to get the car into the drive-in when you see the poster for "Funny Girl". It's a new musical that just came out, but you've never gone for those movies where everyone sings like there is something worth singing about. At the same time, though, you realize that Angel has been hoarding all of the money lately, so it's not like you are actually the one paying to get in. Every day she asks for a dollar from Ralph, sometimes she spends it, sometimes she doesn't. She'll make a good banker someday, you think.
Angela apparently also notices your disgust about the movie. "You don't wanna see this movie," she asks buts it's more of a statement than a question. You pull into a spot next to another greaser car that is occupied with couples laughing and joking like they are having the time of their lives.
You shrug. "We're here, aren't we? Besides, it's not like we can watch some other movie."
She hums in response and leans back in the seat, her arms crossed over her chest. She yawns loudly.
"Don't be fallin' asleep on me now, ya hear?" you joke, and she glances over at you a smirk on her face. After a moment she furrows her eyebrows and leans over to where you are slouched against the seat.
"Angela?"
"What happened?" she asks, her voice full of concern.
You have no idea what she is talking about. "What?"
Her dainty fingers reach up to the side of your head, pulling back your hair to trace the pink scar that traces your hairline. "When did this happen?"
You bat her hand away. "In the reformatory. No big deal."
"How did it happen, Curly?"
You glance at her and roll your eyes. You don't understand how she can think that just because kids go to the reformatory they suddenly stop fighting. "In a fight." Her eyes widen in concern so you press on. "You should've seen the other guy though." You smirk, even though you were worse off from the fight.
"So, some guy just decided to bash your head in?"
You decide not to tell her that it was actually your roommate who got his head bashed in, and it was because of that fight that you had to spend three solid weeks in solitary. You decide that it's better off if she thinks that being in the reformatory is actually safe. You say nothing, letting silence fall, only the distance sound of the characters singing happy tunes in the background.
She sits there, expecting an answer from you. When you don't reply, she huffs and sits back in the seat; her arms crossed over her chest, chewing her gum, and staring straight ahead.
The silence is too much for you and you hastily leave, claiming that you have to use the restroom.
You walk with your hands stuffed deep in the pockets of your leather jacket, the collar flipped up to protect your neck from the cold wind. You get to the back of the drive-in, where the bathrooms are located. Just as you start to head in, you stop and listen to a familiar voice coming from behind the fence.
"I tell you, I don't know what's wrong with that bitch. I swear, if I knew that she wasn't as easy as I heard, I never would have gone after her."
You feel a heat stirring up inside, when you realize that this is Vince, and he is probably talking about Angela. The hate spreads throughout your body, from your heart to your fingertips, where they curl into tight fists.
"I'm sure she'll put out sometime, man. It's Angela Shepard," another voice speaks up.
Vince talks again. "Man, if it weren't for the fact that her brother is not in jail, I'd have my way easy. But getting beat up by Tim Shepard isn't worth a lay."
It's a double insult that makes you see red. You breathe deep breaths, squint your eyes shut real tight to shut out Vince's voice, and try to calm yourself down and stop the shaking in your bones. Once you gain hold of your bearings, you hurriedly walk towards the concessions, where you'll grab some food and then convince Angela to drop the bastard.
You pick up a box of popcorn and two cokes, and pay for them. The drive-in grounds are starting to pick up in action as two girls hops out of a trunk and two guys from opposing gangs circle each other in preparation for a fight.
As you reach in sight of your car, you see Vince and his two buddies standing next to ir. Vince is leaning down, his head halfway through the window, but you can see Angela staring ahead, giving him no notice. His friends in the background grin and smirk as Vince becomes agitated. Then, without warning, he yanks open the car door, and Angela attempts to move to the other side.
He reaches in and grabs her arm. "I said I want to talk to you, Angela."
You immediately put the cokes and popcorn on the trunk of the car. "Get the hell off of my sister, Hamilton," you growl, standing up straight and staring at Vince. He stares at you, sizing you up, deciding whether or not it's worth his time to take you on.
"Get off!" Angela tries to shrug him off, but his grip won't budge. Her face shows a little bit of pain and you struggle to not lose control.
"Look." Vince makes a motion with his hand indicating that he's laying his cards out on the table. "I just want to talk with my girlfriend, savvy?"
"No savvy," you respond and walk closer. "Let go now. I heard you - you have no interest in just talking."
Angela's eyes widen. She glares at Vince and then slaps him across the face.
All it takes is the howls in laughter from his buddies and one glare from Vince to Angela for you to make your move. She shrinks as he raises his hand but before he can hit her back, you jump on top of him. You bring him down to the ground and start aiming your fists at his head.
He manages to get a couple of hits at you, but mostly it's you in power, slugging him right and left, while in the distance you see a crowd starting to form.
The shouts get louder when you are suddenly pulled back, receiving a punch to the face. It takes you a few moments to realize that his buddies have decided to join the fight and it's three on one. It takes you back to the fight in the reformatory, only instead of your roommate, it's your sister and it forces you to fight back even harder.
You take most of the hits, but for an uneven fight, you aren't doing too badly. Then you hear the smash of a bottle, a shout of "Curly!" from Angela and suddenly your head feels real light and you fall to the ground. Immediately you feel the brunt force of boots in your ribs and the taste of metallic blood sitting in your mouth. You take the beating, all the while trying to regain your bearings in order to get back into the fight.
The punches stop, and you hear other grunts in the background. You shake your head, push yourself back to your feet and stare at the sight of Vince and his two buddies walking backwards from the fight, cussing you out as they depart. You look to your right and see Ponyboy, and to your left you see Steve Randle, both breathing heavily.
"Thanks," you mutter, somewhat embarrassed by your defeat.
Ponyboy pats your shoulder. "No problem, man. You were doing good until they decided to bring weapons into the mix." He gazes after the three figures as they grow smaller and smaller in the distance. "Nobody fights fair anymore."
"Shoot." You look around and see Ponyboy's other friend, Two-Bit Mathews walking up, a beer bottle in hand. "Remember back in the day when if you wanted to fight someone, you fought one on one. You fought for pride and rep?"
"That was just year ago, Two-Bit." Ponyboy sighs.
"Yeah, times change, huh, Ponyboy?" Two-Bit cocks his eyebrow.
You shrug and nod to Ponyboy and his friends once again. "Thanks man. I owe ya."
Ponyboy shakes his head. "No you don't."
The crowd has dispersed by now, and as Ponyboy and his friends go back to their seats, you walk over to the car where Angela stands.
"Oh, Curly," she says in that voice that brings you back to the reformatory when she came to tell you that Dallas Winston was dead after being shot down by cops. You listen to the worry in her voice and wonder when she started caring.
You glance up at the screen where the characters are singing in happy voices once again.
"So, uh, what happened in the movie while I was gone?"
Her face changes from worry to amusement and she shakes her head. "I have no idea."
You grab the coke and popcorn off of the back of the car and hand it to her. "Let's go home then."
She smiles and nods. "Okay."
OOOOO
You park in the driveway next to Tim's car, and you exhale, leaning back in the seat. It's a weird feeling, avoiding going into your own home because your older brother is there, but you can't help it. You're still pissed at him for kicking you off of the job tonight, and you know that he's going to be pissed at you for making a ruckus about food earlier.
You slightly flinch when Angela's hand touched the back of your head. "You're bleeding." She frowns, pulling her reddened hand away.
"'S nothing," you mutter, and you open the door and climb out.
"What do you mean, it's nothing?" she asks as she climbs out of her own side.
"It means, I'll just clean it when we get inside and it will heal on its own. No big deal, Angel." You look at her pointedly. This has happened before, but for some reason it's like suddenly this idea of fighting is brand new to her.
You open the door and meet Tim, who is lying stretched out on the couch, watching a show on the old television set in the living room. He tilts his head back, catches your eyes and takes in your appearance.
"You get in a fight again?"
Before you can respond, Angela walks in front of you and lightly smacks Tim on the shoulder. "He was doing it for me, in case you would like to know."
At this, Tim sits up, disregarding the show. "Somebody give you trouble, Angela?" he asks.
"Yeah," she starts, crossing her arms over her chest, "but thanks to Curly, he ain't gonna no more." She has this look on her face and with her stance she has this power that manages to even make Tim lay back down on the couch. She uncrosses her arms and lets them drop by her side. "I'm going to bed now."
She goes to walk into the hallway, but stops when Tim stands up, his shadow cast onto the wall, making him seem bigger and more dangerous than he usually does. He walks over to her, gently takes her arm and peers at the growing bruises where Vince had grabbed her roughly.
After she allows him to scrutinize the marks, she yanks her arm out of his grasp and disappears into the hallway. It's just you and Tim now. He doesn't really pay attention, but as you cross the room to head to bed yourself, his voice makes you stop for a moment.
"If you took care of it, why does she have bruises on her arm?"
You choose to ignore him and continue walking, knocking on the bathroom door. The door opens, and Angela is standing at the sink, brushing her teeth. You walk in, toss your leather jacket on the floor and touch the back of your head. It doesn't feel too bad, and most of the bleeding has stopped. You grab an old, stained washcloth off of the rack, wet the end, and pat it gently along the back of your head. Angela finishes brushing her teeth, and she watches you clean the wound, before leaving without making a comment. Without her looking over your shoulder, you take a look into the mirror and take in your appearance.
There is a bruise forming on your cheekbone and left eye, your hair is greased down to your forehead and a tiny bit of blood is coming from a new split lip. You look down, noticing that there is dirt and blood caked underneath your fingernails and even though you've been in this position before, you feel unclean, like it's a stain that cannot be washed away.
You pause for a moment, staring at your dirty face in the mirror.
You think of your parents, who barely show faces out of their bedroom; your roommate, whose face was bloodied as it was smashed into the cement floor over and over; the countless people who you have encountered who don't have faces at all and Dallas Winston, who is now nothing more than a face, a memory.
Frustrated with your own thoughts, you quickly clean up and head to the room that you share with Tim in order to get some sleep.
You change out of your dirty jeans and into an old pair of gym shorts from school. You climb into bed, your body just exhausted from the entire night. It isn't long, though, when Tim comes through the door and climbs in beside you. You sleep with your backs to each other, barely touching, but you can still feel his breathing, inhales and exhales as he begins to fall asleep.
You yourself feel subconsciousness begin to pull you away when you hear Tim mumble.
"I'm proud of you, Curly."
The sentence sits in your mind, and suddenly you're wide-awake again, your head filled with thoughts that won't leave you alone. "About what?" you ask.
The pillows rustle as Tim moves his head. "You taking care of Angela tonight," he answers.
You can't help it. "Why didn't you say that before then? Why didn't you take me with you to meet Frank and Phil tonight?" You hate that you sound like a five year old who keeps asking "why" over and over again.
It's silent for a moment. When he doesn't answer you roll onto your back and nudge his shoulder. "Why not?"
He doesn't answer again, and you sigh. "Fine," you grumble, and roll back onto your side, waiting for sleep that would never come.
