Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton created and owns Outsiders. This is just pure fun on my part.
"No, Johnny, don't die. Don't die." Dally pleaded to the boy in the hospital bed, knowing it was already too late. But Johnny couldn't die. Not Johnny. Johnny Cade was the only thing Dally cared for. He was almost Dally's kid brother.
Dallas Winston stared at the body of his friend. Looking at the still form, something snapped inside of him. Winston whirled out of his chair and smashed both his fists against the wall. He beat his fists and kicked the wall, letting all his rage loose. He couldn't be here. This couldn't be happening. It was too much. Dally ran out the door. He didn't know where he was going; he only knew he had to get out.
Dallas drove for a long time, never pausing, never letting himself have time to think or feel. He only knew that he somehow ended up in a store, his gun pulled out and a man handing him a bag of money. Dal took the money and ran.
He jumped into his car and sped off, spurred on by the thought of the police catching him. Dimly he thought about calling Darry and the gang to come help him, but something in Winston rebelled against that. This was his mess, not theirs.
From far away, sirens could be heard. Dally jerked the steering wheel hard, turning the car on the road that led to the train tracks. The sound of sirens grew louder. Dallas had a lead; he could get to the train station first.
But evidently the police knew where he was going. Either that or they were lucky enough to have a police car patrolling right next to the station. It came roaring toward Dally's car, sirens blaring. The police car swerved hard right and stopped, blocking the road from Dally.
Dal veered the car off the road and sped through the grass. One of the policemen in the car opened his door, aimed his gun, and fired. He was going for a flat tire to stop Dally from getting away, but unfortunately he missed.
Dallas heard the gunshot, and suddenly he remembered his own gun. He could end it right here, right now. Dallas turned sideways in his seat, still keeping one hand on the wheel, and raised his gun in the air.
The policeman and his partner aimed their own guns at him, and the crackle of their guns pierced the night. Bullets whizzed by Dally's ears. One hit the windshield, busting half of the glass into shrapnel. Then Dallas felt something graze his side. The pain momentarily stunned him and he lost control of the vehicle. The car spun out of control, until finally coming to a stop.
The police officers jumped back in their car, zooming to where Dally's car had stopped. Dal became aware of them, and adrenaline started pumping through him. Without even thinking he gunned the motor and pressed down on the pedal. His car shot off. The train was moving now. He sped away from the station heading farther down the tracks. He slammed on the brakes, jerked the door open, and leaped out. He had seen it: a box car not entirely closed.
Dal ran as fast as his legs could go, reaching the box car. Thankfully, the train was just heading out and wasn't going too fast. Yet. Already as he reached for the handle of the door, he could feel the wheels churning even faster.
He gave the door a hard shove and it moved a couple of inches. Dal shoved again, and again it moved a couple of inches. He took a deep breath and with all his muscles working he pushed against the door. It slid open almost a full quarter of the way.
He looked over his shoulder. The police car had gained after Dallas had stopped the car. Now one of the officers had jumped out and was chasing him. He was only a couple of box cars away.
The train was moving even faster now. Dal sprinted as fast and as hard as he could trying to stay even with the box car. He grabbed the handle with one hand and the side of the train with the other. He took a deep breath, jumped, and pulled himself in. The force of the pull slammed him into the floor, irritating his already injured side.
Dallas leaned his head out and saw the police officer losing the battle with the train. The train was getting up to full speed now. The officer in the car appeared to be radioing for help as it picked up his partner. Dallas shut the door, and walked to the other side of the train.
Well, he had done it. He had robbed a store, and now he had escaped custody. Where would he go now? The fuzz would be swarming the next stop. There was no way he would be able to escape them. Why hadn't they killed him when they had the chance?
Dal leaned back against the wall. He was hurting and he was so tired. His side was bleeding from where the bullet had grazed him. He just wanted to get out. To forget everything that happened. But how could he forget? How could he forget his best friend lying still and lifeless in a cold, unfeeling hospital?
He slowly slid down to the floor. Cold, unfeeling. That had been him. That had been Dallas until Johnny had come into his life. Johnny had made Dally care again. Before, in New York, he had seen people get killed, but he had never cared. But whenever he had seen Johnny being beat up, the anger would rise inside of him until it almost overwhelmed him. And he knew why, now. Johnny was his friend. His best friend.
Blinking, Dal rubbed his temples. His head had been slammed into the wheel when the car had careened out of control. It hurt something fierce. The burns on his arm were aching, too. The burns he had gotten dragging Johnny out of the fire...
Stupid Johnny! If he had left well enough alone, and not gone off trying to save those kids, he would still be alive. Stupid, stupid Johnny.
"Johnny," Dally choked out. "Johnny," he mumbled again. His head was getting fuzzier, and a few minutes later he had drifted off to sleep.
He awoke with a start. His instincts told him to leave before the fuzz had a chance to search the train for him. Making his way over to the door, he pulled it open. The ground was rushing by in a blur.
"This is suicide," Dallas muttered to himself. At that moment he thought of Johnny in the hospital, and with eyes closed he whispered, "Good." Not pausing for another second, Dallas jumped out of the speeding train.
He hit the ground and rolled, pain jarring him all the way. Finally he stopped and lay still, panting. Gingerly Dally started to get to his feet, but doubled over as his ribs throbbed in agony. Well, it wasn't exactly suicide; he was still alive.
Maybe he should just wait here for the end. But there was no way Dallas Winston was going to die on the ground, whimpering like a little kid. He was tuff. Dallas forced himself to get up. If he was going to die, he was going to die on his own terms.
Dallas walked and walked. When Dallas Winston got stubborn and set his mind to something, it was getting done no matter what. And it looked like this one was getting done. He had reached a town. He had been walking towards it for what seemed hours, and now that he was here he didn't have a clue what to do. All he knew was that he was in pain.
He looked around, which was hard in itself considering everything he saw was surrounded by a haze of fog and that it was pitch black outside. Blackness and fog. Great.
Wait! There was light over there! Where there was light, there was bound to be something useful. Maybe food. He hadn't eaten in so long. Dallas staggered to the shop with the lights. He opened the door, and a little chime sounded. He tried to look around, to find something, anything, to relieve the pain he was in, but the room started swaying. Everything went dark as the floor rushed up to meet him.
Dally was starting to come to, but he kept his eyes closed. His mind was hazy from sleep, but he knew something was wrong. He wasn't at the Curtis's. He wasn't at Buck's. Slowly memory started drifting in, confusing and a little hazy. But one thing stuck out more than all of the others.
"Johnny!" Dallas sat bolt upright, eyes wide open. His brain barely acknowledged the fact that two other people were in the room with him, and both had jumped three feet in the air at his yell. His mind was still in the hospital room reliving his worst nightmare.
The woman regained her composure first. "Well, it looks like you're awake. I'll go get Brian." And with that she left. The other person stayed. She was a little girl, no more than six or seven. She just stared at Dally with big, round eyes.
The woman's words had brought Dally back to the present. He gazed around the room, noting he was in a small bedroom. To his right, was a night table with a lamp resting on it.
Dallas finished his observations of the room then turned his eyes on the little girl. She was still staring at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. Dal was just about to tell her off for staring at him, but the door opened and the woman stepped in with a man behind her.
"Good morning. And how are you feeling today?" The man asked with a smile.
Dallas had tensed up after the adults had entered the room, and now he bit out harshly, "Who are you? And what am I doing here?"
The man wasn't fazed for one second by Dally's harsh manner. He replied, "I'm Brian Matthews. This is my wife Lisa. And this little girl is my daughter Carly." Brian put his hand affectionately on Carly's shoulder.
"As to what you are doing here, you showed up at my wife's store and collapsed in the doorway. She brought you to our house since the hospital is a long way away. I'm a doctor so I just fixed you up here."
"Well, now that you've fixed me up, I'll be leaving." Dallas swung his legs over the bed and rose. He took two steps towards the door before he collapsed in pain. Brian rushed to his side.
"You are in no condition to walk out of this house, young man," Brian reprimanded. He gently pulled Dally to his feet and set him on the bed. "You'll need to stay here for a couple of weeks. You have some broken ribs, a concussion, and that arm needs more time to heal."
Dal barely heard him. He slowly pulled his legs up on the bed, pain washing over him. He just wanted to get out of this place. But the pain wouldn't let him take even three steps. I guess I'm stuck here, Dally thought in annoyance.
He looked up as a glass of water was put in front of his face. Lisa was standing over him holding up 2 pills. "It'll help with the pain."
Dal had to laugh. "No way. You really think aspirin can help me with the pain I'm feeling?"
"It's not aspirin. It's a more powerful type of pain reliever; I can't remember the fancy name for it. But if you're afraid to take a couple of pills, I can easily get Brian to give you a shot. Which arm do you want it in?" Dal rolled his eyes showing he didn't care, but he took the glass of water and gulped down the pills. Lisa smirked.
Brian laughed. "By the way, kid, we've told you who we are. Who're you?"
Dallas paused. Maybe they had heard something about him. They could turn him in. He had robbed a store. Who knows how many years he could get for that? But then, with Johnny gone, who cares?
"I'm Dallas Winston."
"Okay, Dallas, I need your parents' phone number so I can call them and let them know you're okay."
He drew a sharp breath and stiffened. "No."
"No, what?"
"No, I won't tell you their number."
Brian looked taken aback by Dallas's statement. He searched for words then asked, "Why won't you?"
"I don't want to."
The man was clearly surprised by Dallas's replies. He tried again. "Could you tell me their address?"
"No," Dal said sharply. He was sick of this talk about his parents. It's not like they would care anyway.
"Why not?"
"I said no, all right! You got a problem with that you can just boot me right out the door. Now leave me alone!" He was yelling now, which was unusual. He used to have more control.
"All right, all right. We'll let you get some rest, you're probably not thinking straight because of the concussion." Brian put his hands up in surrender, then he and Lisa left the room. Brian called to his daughter on the way out, "Come on Carly."
Carly didn't move a muscle. She just stared at Dallas, fascinated. Dal tried to ignore her by closing his eyes and resting his head against the headboard. But after a couple of minutes, Dally couldn't stand it anymore.
"What?" he snapped at the girl. The girl blinked looking startled. Then she started giggling. Dal rolled his eyes. "What's your problem?"
"Your name is so funny." Carly giggled again. "Why would someone be named after a city?"
Dallas rolled his eyes and sighed. "Just get out of here, kid." When Carly didn't go he pointed to the door and yelled, "Move!" Carly jumped, and ran out the room crying for her mother.
Well, no one had recognized his name. At least not yet. Even if they did call the cops on him, Dallas still had Two-Bit's switchblade. Dal slipped his hand in his back pocket and pulled the blade out. He knew how to use a switchblade.
Two-Bit. How long would it be until he saw Two-Bit or any of the gang again? The guy said at least a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks with a stranger, his wife, and to top it all off, a stupid little kid.
"I hate kids," Dal muttered out loud. But maybe he'd survive. Maybe he'd survive long enough to get well and go back home. But if he didn't, and the cops did come, he knew how to use a switchblade.
And he would use it.
On himself.