1 We're Back Chapter 9
A/N: I changed Dally's parentage from my other story, and from well, um, anything I guess (same names as my other one though – I like them). I don't know what it was exactly in the book. I'm just trying to figure out why he's so bitter.
P.S. It's a short chapter. And it's weird I think.
~
"Guess what guess what guess what guess-"
"WHAAAT?" Soda yelped, grabbing Two-Bit's shoulders in an effort to calm him down.
Two-Bit grinned dementedly, and, cupping his hands around Soda's ear, he began to whisper.
"Guess what guess what guess what guess what!"
Darry groaned watching to two boys race into the living room. Soda wasn't so good at calming people down. He put away his paper with an exaggerated sigh. "And then there were two," he said sadly.
Two-Bit and Sodapop exchanged looks and burst into excited laughter.
"More than you know!" Two-Bit squealed breathlessly.
Ponyboy grinned at them both, his novel resting on his lap, forgotten. He watched Soda's beaming face, knowing exactly how he felt. He'd felt that way when he'd first seen the "revival" article in the paper a few days ago.
"What," Darry was saying (rather tiredly), "do you mean by 'more than you know?'"
Two-Bit couldn't stand any longer. He'd been desperate to tell someone the whole ride home (they'd drugged him again to get him out of the "revival" hospital, despite his numerous and volumous protests).
"It's Johnny!" he fairly shrieked. "He's alive!"
The colour drained from Darry's face. "You're joking," he said in a whisper.
Two-Bit shook his head. "Nope! Saw him myself. I think he blinked at me," he added proudly.
"Isn't this great?" Soda grinned, white teeth flashing.
Ponyboy said nothing. He just stared open-mouthed, at the three others in his living room, stunned beyond belief. He felt the keen urge to both laugh and burst into wild tears. Ponyboy shook his head, trying to clear it. Cry? Crying was something you did when you were sad. And he wasn't sad, why would he be sad hearing that Johnny was alive? In truth, he wasn't sure exactly how he felt. But he knew he sure as hell wasn't sad.
Darry frowned. "When did you see Johnny, Two-Bit? He couldn't be out already."
"I was, uh, hanging around the hospital. I went to see Dallas," Two-Bit lied.
"How is he, by the way?" Soda flopped down beside Darry on the couch, excited eyes fixed on the joking greaser.
"Johnny? I dunno, I was only there a minute-"
"No, Dally. How is Dally," Darry interrupted.
Two-Bit squirmed. It wasn't that he was a bad liar (he was a great one, as a matter of fact) but he really wanted to tell the truth for a change. This time, what actually happened was a million times cooler than his lie was going to be.
"They wouldn't let me in to see him," Two-Bit said glumly, wishing he could tell Darry he was a scientist. "He was tired or something."
"Sure, from those reporters," Ponyboy said knowingly (albeit quietly – he was still feeling a little faint).
At these words Soda burst into laughter. He and Ponyboy had stayed up all night watching Dally's bedridden form speak in monotone one-syllable answers on the TV. Clearly, the tow-headed boy wasn't meant for the camera.
"Hey leave him alone, he probably wasn't expecting those reporters," Darry said sternly, trying to cover his smile with his paper.
Soda shrugged. "It's his fault for being alive."
~
"I love life," Eleanor murmured as she gazed out into the warm evening. The sun had just set, the birds were still chirping, and a few twinkling stars were beginning to come into view. She sighed softly, enjoying basking in the warm late spring air.
The door to her room opened, and a man with dark hair and glasses, wearing a business suit, entered without knocking. Eleanor pushed away a twinge of irritation. What if she had been changing or something?
"Hello," the man said abruptly. "Are you Dallas Winston?"
"Uh, yeah," she said, feeling weird. Eleanor wasn't much of a liar. "Sort of."
"'Sort of' will do," the man replied with a slight smirk. Eleanor couldn't help feeling that she was being made fun of.
"My name is Mr. Brown. I'm here to do an investigation on your home life," he stated.
Eleanor immediately sat up straighter. She was especially curious about the "home life" of her new host body.
"Social Services has found your current guardians. We'll need you to confirm the information."
"I don't remember anything," Eleanor lied. She'd never known anything; how could she remember it?
The man shrugged. "Well, they check out in our records. Their names are Bill and Marella Winston. We questioned why they weren't involved in your revival, and they said they had no idea that you had even died."
Eleanor's jaw dropped. She quickly closed it, not wanting to appear more oblivious than she had to.
"When we questioned them on this matter, they said that it was largely due to the fact that you were rarely at home." Mr. Brown gave her a stern look over the rim of his glasses. "They said you often ran away."
"But why wouldn't they have known I died?" Eleanor blurted out. "I mean, wouldn't the police call them or something?"
The man suddenly looked weary. "They've had some economical difficulties. They didn't have enough finances to pay their telephone bills. The phone lines were cut. Consequently-"
"They had no phone?!" Eleanor was aghast.
Mr. Brown nodded. "Exactly."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Exactly!" For a minute, the two shared a moment of exasperation. Then Mr. Brown cleared his throat and went all sterny again.
"But, this difficulty with staying at home. Was there any particular reason for your inability to live with your guardians? Why did you persist in running away?"
"Can you blame me? These people have NO PHONE." Eleanor was incensed.
"Mr. Winston, we're going to give you and your guardians a hearing in court. Clearly there must have been some problems with living with your parents-"
'They weren't my parents,' Eleanor thought furiously. This was a mistake. Somewhere, in the back of her borrowed brain lurked some very Dallas Winston-like instincts. They would not be defeated.
"They weren't my parents!" Her voice reverberated through the hospital room, echoing (unwillingly) what she had just thought a few minutes ago. Mr. Brown looked quite rightly put out.
"They weren't? Why didn't you say so?" He opened a briefcase, which Eleanor hadn't noticed, and rifled through a large stack of official-looking papers. Near the beginning of the stack his face changed to a look of understanding.
"Ah," he said in a very thoughtful manner. He gave Eleanor a smile, which was obviously meant to reassure her. It failed.
"What, what now?" she demanded, crossing her arms and leaning back against the bed.
"Don't pout," the man commanded, following the rules of eternal parentage. He had two sons of his own, and he'd be damned if he let this stubborn, thin whip of a juvenile delinquent get away with that type of behaviour.
Eleanor sat up straight, but an angry glare remained on her face. "I don't know why I said that," she said sullenly. "I don't even know who my parents are."
Mr. Brown patted her leg through the hospital blankets looking both sympathetic and very smug. "Well, don't worry about it. Something must have triggered a memory. It turns out you were right. They aren't your biological parents."
Eleanor stared at him, confused, trying to understand what the man was saying.
Mr. Brown pulled the paper he'd been looking at from his stack and handed it over to her. "You probably don't remember the details, according to the dates you were very young, about 5 years old. The records are very clear about this. Mr. Winston, you were adopted."
A/N: I changed Dally's parentage from my other story, and from well, um, anything I guess (same names as my other one though – I like them). I don't know what it was exactly in the book. I'm just trying to figure out why he's so bitter.
P.S. It's a short chapter. And it's weird I think.
~
"Guess what guess what guess what guess-"
"WHAAAT?" Soda yelped, grabbing Two-Bit's shoulders in an effort to calm him down.
Two-Bit grinned dementedly, and, cupping his hands around Soda's ear, he began to whisper.
"Guess what guess what guess what guess what!"
Darry groaned watching to two boys race into the living room. Soda wasn't so good at calming people down. He put away his paper with an exaggerated sigh. "And then there were two," he said sadly.
Two-Bit and Sodapop exchanged looks and burst into excited laughter.
"More than you know!" Two-Bit squealed breathlessly.
Ponyboy grinned at them both, his novel resting on his lap, forgotten. He watched Soda's beaming face, knowing exactly how he felt. He'd felt that way when he'd first seen the "revival" article in the paper a few days ago.
"What," Darry was saying (rather tiredly), "do you mean by 'more than you know?'"
Two-Bit couldn't stand any longer. He'd been desperate to tell someone the whole ride home (they'd drugged him again to get him out of the "revival" hospital, despite his numerous and volumous protests).
"It's Johnny!" he fairly shrieked. "He's alive!"
The colour drained from Darry's face. "You're joking," he said in a whisper.
Two-Bit shook his head. "Nope! Saw him myself. I think he blinked at me," he added proudly.
"Isn't this great?" Soda grinned, white teeth flashing.
Ponyboy said nothing. He just stared open-mouthed, at the three others in his living room, stunned beyond belief. He felt the keen urge to both laugh and burst into wild tears. Ponyboy shook his head, trying to clear it. Cry? Crying was something you did when you were sad. And he wasn't sad, why would he be sad hearing that Johnny was alive? In truth, he wasn't sure exactly how he felt. But he knew he sure as hell wasn't sad.
Darry frowned. "When did you see Johnny, Two-Bit? He couldn't be out already."
"I was, uh, hanging around the hospital. I went to see Dallas," Two-Bit lied.
"How is he, by the way?" Soda flopped down beside Darry on the couch, excited eyes fixed on the joking greaser.
"Johnny? I dunno, I was only there a minute-"
"No, Dally. How is Dally," Darry interrupted.
Two-Bit squirmed. It wasn't that he was a bad liar (he was a great one, as a matter of fact) but he really wanted to tell the truth for a change. This time, what actually happened was a million times cooler than his lie was going to be.
"They wouldn't let me in to see him," Two-Bit said glumly, wishing he could tell Darry he was a scientist. "He was tired or something."
"Sure, from those reporters," Ponyboy said knowingly (albeit quietly – he was still feeling a little faint).
At these words Soda burst into laughter. He and Ponyboy had stayed up all night watching Dally's bedridden form speak in monotone one-syllable answers on the TV. Clearly, the tow-headed boy wasn't meant for the camera.
"Hey leave him alone, he probably wasn't expecting those reporters," Darry said sternly, trying to cover his smile with his paper.
Soda shrugged. "It's his fault for being alive."
~
"I love life," Eleanor murmured as she gazed out into the warm evening. The sun had just set, the birds were still chirping, and a few twinkling stars were beginning to come into view. She sighed softly, enjoying basking in the warm late spring air.
The door to her room opened, and a man with dark hair and glasses, wearing a business suit, entered without knocking. Eleanor pushed away a twinge of irritation. What if she had been changing or something?
"Hello," the man said abruptly. "Are you Dallas Winston?"
"Uh, yeah," she said, feeling weird. Eleanor wasn't much of a liar. "Sort of."
"'Sort of' will do," the man replied with a slight smirk. Eleanor couldn't help feeling that she was being made fun of.
"My name is Mr. Brown. I'm here to do an investigation on your home life," he stated.
Eleanor immediately sat up straighter. She was especially curious about the "home life" of her new host body.
"Social Services has found your current guardians. We'll need you to confirm the information."
"I don't remember anything," Eleanor lied. She'd never known anything; how could she remember it?
The man shrugged. "Well, they check out in our records. Their names are Bill and Marella Winston. We questioned why they weren't involved in your revival, and they said they had no idea that you had even died."
Eleanor's jaw dropped. She quickly closed it, not wanting to appear more oblivious than she had to.
"When we questioned them on this matter, they said that it was largely due to the fact that you were rarely at home." Mr. Brown gave her a stern look over the rim of his glasses. "They said you often ran away."
"But why wouldn't they have known I died?" Eleanor blurted out. "I mean, wouldn't the police call them or something?"
The man suddenly looked weary. "They've had some economical difficulties. They didn't have enough finances to pay their telephone bills. The phone lines were cut. Consequently-"
"They had no phone?!" Eleanor was aghast.
Mr. Brown nodded. "Exactly."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Exactly!" For a minute, the two shared a moment of exasperation. Then Mr. Brown cleared his throat and went all sterny again.
"But, this difficulty with staying at home. Was there any particular reason for your inability to live with your guardians? Why did you persist in running away?"
"Can you blame me? These people have NO PHONE." Eleanor was incensed.
"Mr. Winston, we're going to give you and your guardians a hearing in court. Clearly there must have been some problems with living with your parents-"
'They weren't my parents,' Eleanor thought furiously. This was a mistake. Somewhere, in the back of her borrowed brain lurked some very Dallas Winston-like instincts. They would not be defeated.
"They weren't my parents!" Her voice reverberated through the hospital room, echoing (unwillingly) what she had just thought a few minutes ago. Mr. Brown looked quite rightly put out.
"They weren't? Why didn't you say so?" He opened a briefcase, which Eleanor hadn't noticed, and rifled through a large stack of official-looking papers. Near the beginning of the stack his face changed to a look of understanding.
"Ah," he said in a very thoughtful manner. He gave Eleanor a smile, which was obviously meant to reassure her. It failed.
"What, what now?" she demanded, crossing her arms and leaning back against the bed.
"Don't pout," the man commanded, following the rules of eternal parentage. He had two sons of his own, and he'd be damned if he let this stubborn, thin whip of a juvenile delinquent get away with that type of behaviour.
Eleanor sat up straight, but an angry glare remained on her face. "I don't know why I said that," she said sullenly. "I don't even know who my parents are."
Mr. Brown patted her leg through the hospital blankets looking both sympathetic and very smug. "Well, don't worry about it. Something must have triggered a memory. It turns out you were right. They aren't your biological parents."
Eleanor stared at him, confused, trying to understand what the man was saying.
Mr. Brown pulled the paper he'd been looking at from his stack and handed it over to her. "You probably don't remember the details, according to the dates you were very young, about 5 years old. The records are very clear about this. Mr. Winston, you were adopted."