Author's Note: I finally finished this chapter. Phew...and then the computer had some problems. I wasn't very happy, but it's up now! Yeah!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders. I DON'T OWN IT!

Chapter Three

Rumble Trouble

Dally leaped into the air and kicked. No one was around except for two boys. New York City was awfully quiet for New York, but Dally didn't notice that. He was waiting for one of the two boys to speak.

"You're getting good, kid," Mark said. Dally grinned, but the grin had turned bitter. It was no longer a smile…but then again, a smile had never graced itself upon Dally's lips. It was a smirk or an attempted smile. Never an actual smile. He looked at Mark, remembering meeting him.

Dally had been walking home from a restaurant in which he had just eaten a burger and fries. He'd stolen the twenty from his father; the only way he'd eat was to steal money or food. He had walked on and then suddenly, a group of kids had jumped him. They were armed with switchblades. He could picture the switchblades pointed at him, threatening him. Most kids Dally knew would have crumpled and began to cry. Dallas was used to the knives and things. Every now and then his father would hit him across the face with a lamp or anything he could get his hands on. It would shatter a few kids, but not Dallas. Dally could take it. He was going to fight with his fists when a kid with dark hair had burst into the scene with a bunch of other kids.

"What's he done to you?" Mark had demanded of him.

"He's got money," the other kid said, he was clearly the leader of the gang.

"Get lost, or we'll send you six feet under," Mark snarled, flicking open his switchblade. Dally had moved then, sinking his fist into the kid's back and the fight went on. Dally found that he could blow off steam. All the memories of the beatings he'd ever taken came out in frustrated waves and he pounded the tar out of the soc.

Since then they'd taught him how to fight, steal, get a fake ID and survive. He was becoming a good rumbler with anything he could get his hands on. They had given him a switchblade of his own, a black handle with red streaks. The blade was five inches long and very sharp. Dallas had accepted it without hesitation. He carried it in his back pocket. They had also given him a lighter and a book of matches. Soon he was smoking cigarettes, mainly Kools, still, it made him laugh to see his last name on a brand of cigarettes.

Ever since he'd joined the gang, he'd been in fights, but never an organized fight with a council yet. He'd seen people die on the streets and sometimes watch them die. It used to bother him, but it didn't any more.

"Come your tenth birthday, we'll take you to a rumble and a war council," James (the leader of the gang) told him. James had coppery hair and wore only sleeveless sweatshirts. He drank beer for fun. He smiled, showing off his missing teeth. He'd lost them in a rumble and often bragged about it. Dally felt grateful to be accepted by him. Most of the others had begun to realize just what a tough young man he was going to be. He felt the acceptance and realized what he was missing from his father who ignored him for all except a few occasions.

James handed him a beer and Dally took a swig. He felt the liquor slide across his tongue. It was a bitter taste and he wasn't that fond of it. Mark had assured him that he would grow to like it. Mark was right about most things, so Dally assumed that he was right about that.

---

Dally grinned wildly, this was his fifth gang fight. James approached him and asked, "You want to start the rumble, Dal?"

Dally smirked. He had proved himself to be a good rumbler and that meant he was needed. He nodded and took his place in the middle of the gang. A rumble ain't a rumble without me, Dally thought and stepped up. Another boy twice Dally's size walked next to him and Dally announced to the gang that was his opposition (who had filed into a neat line) "I'll take anyone who dares to take me on."

The tall boy smirked and punched Dally in the nose. Dally fumbled backwards, issued a few swear words and jumped for the guy's throat. The two boys soon were slugging it out. Dally punched the kid's nose and he was put into a headlock. Dally choked on blood, saliva, and the lack of air. Suddenly he heard in the distance a faint siren. Lights flashed and it took a moment for it to register in his mind.

Someone had called the fuzz.

Everyone ran off, but Dally struggled to suck in air, catch his breath and run at the same time. The boy had also kicked him in the leg and he had twisted it while struggling to get out of the headlock. He couldn't run…

---

"Stay here until we get a hold of your folks!" the cop snarled at Dally.

Dally looked at the hand-cuffs clamped around his wrist. They smarted something awful, but they hadn't taken them off for him. Dally didn't smile, didn't cry, just leaned back against the seat. He had learned the hard way to keep his mouth shut. He kicked his feet back and forth while he waited.

"Your father won't pay the bail," the cop told Dally. "But since you're a minor, we'll only give you three days. Ok? You probably got hauled into this by accident. Ok?"

"Yeah, whatever," Dally watched them take his things.

"You can have these back once your sentence is up." He was told and they escorted him to his cell. Pervs called out to him and others laughed. Dally's face didn't change, he merely strolled along as if he had all the time in the world.

Dally sat down on the filthy bed and felt tears well up in his eyes. But true to his training by Mark and James, Dally didn't let his tears fall.

Dally stared at the small window far above him, moon light shining through. He felt something touch his arm and he jerked around. There was nothing there. He pulled the covers over his head and for the first time in his life, Dally uttered a prayer.

---

Dally's three days in jail had crawled slowly by, but it had now ended. He figured he would walk out and then around midnight, get back into his house and face his father. He was in for a beating that was for sure.

To his surprise, his father was there to pick him up.

"Get your ass in the car," Mr. Winston snarled at him.

Dally climbed in, and not once during their trip did he speak or sleep. Once he fell asleep he knew that his father would beat him.

His father slowed the car to a stop and said, "Get out!"

Dally opened his door and stepped out. His father rolled down the window and yelled, "Run, son of a bitch, run or I'll run you over!"

Dally heard the car start and he took off running. The car chased him down the street and down alleys. Dally stumbled once but continued running.

He collapsed in an old lot. He saw a set of car seats and a fire pit. Dally pulled out his box of matches and lit the fire. He pulled off his leather jacket and spread it over himself as he lay on the car seats.

He watched the fire burn slowly and tears burned at his eyes. For the second to the last time, Dally let the tears fall from his eyes, not stopping once to wipe them from his face.

He made a list in his mind of what he needed to do:

1. Stop crying.

2. Toughen up

3. Learn to live in this stupid town

4. Get along without an adult (as if he couldn't do that already)

5. Deal with what he could and meet people who could support him when he couldn't deal.

6. Don't care

Dally closed his eyes and attempted to sleep. He couldn't fall asleep and opened his eyes, watching the fire burn slowly away. Dally made no attempt to cry out to God, it felt like the Lord had abandoned him. He looked at his St. Christopher necklace and nearly hurled it into the fire. But it was the only thing else he had and it was the only gift he'd ever received. He placed it back around his neck and watched the fire smolder until he was too tired to leave his eyes open.