Another chapter! Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm going to be going away for a bit on Thursday, so I may get up another chapter up before then. We'll see. Anyways, I hope you all like this.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders.

Turn of Events

Chapter 4: I'mma Very Bad Man

Only an hour or two had passed when Dally Winston woke confused. It was dark and he'd forgotten where he was. He felt the bed beneath him and was relieved; he hadn't spent the night the gutter, but rather downtown. He heard the light breathing of someone lying beside him, deep in sleep. It was another good sign. It meant he got lucky.

It was pitch-dark in the room, and Dally couldn't see the broad's face. He hoped she was pretty. One night, after he and Silvia had hit a rough patch, he'd gotten smashed and slept with a fat girl. That was a mistake. He sure hoped this bitch wasn't a mistake. Carefully, he reached an arm out to touch her, but not wake her up. He didn't want to deal with a woman's squawking mouth at this time of night.

His cautious prodding of the figure's side revealed that she was skinny and warm. Not bad, so she was definitely thin. He threaded his fingers through her hair. It was kind of long and…was that hair grease? So she was a Greaser girl. Okay, some greasy girls were real fun. He waited with bated breath to see if she stirred, but she seemed passed out cold. Dally smirked wryly. So he'd liquored her up before he'd had her, huh?

Gently, he slid his hand beneath her arm, wondering what her tits were like. Hell, if she was passed out, what was the harm in copping a feel? Besides, she was already in his bed. He wormed his way under the dead weight of the broad's arm and laid his hand on her bosom. Dally cocked his head in confusion. Where were her tits? The blonde boy's heart thudded hard. It was a feeling reminiscent of the first time he'd seen a man get shanked back in New York. But this time, nobody was getting stabbed. This time, he had his hand on another man's chest.

As if he'd touched a hot stove, Dally withdrew his hand, burned. He scrambled backwards, tumbling off the bed, taking all the sheets with him. What the hell was going on here? It had to be some kind of nightmare. He stumbled across the dark room, tripping over something tangled and wet in the middle of the floor, and fell down hard again. He picked himself up and flicked on the light.

"Johnny?" His voice was a combination of surprise and disgust as his eyes focused on his sleeping friend. He was sleeping on his side, arms crossed over his chest, his underwear barely pulled up to one hip "Oh Johnny, what the hell did I do to you…"

He killed the lights and padded back across the room to the bed. This was all too messed up, he thought. What the hell happened? Images and memories started making and breaking connections in his head. Finally, things started swimming into place.

So he played blind-man's bluff with Buck's cousin and later he dumped the fool on the Expressway and jacked his truck. He drove alongside the abandoned lot for some reason. Why? Dally rubbed his head. All this thinking hurt. Why did he go to the lot? …Because Johnny was there. Next, Johnny dove through the window, had glass in his hair…and then what happened? Something definitely happened. Oh yeah, he'd had his pal's dick in his mouth. That was it!

Dally had done some horrible things in his life. He'd lied, cheated, slashed tires, hit a guy upside the face with a pool cue, hospitalized guys in gang fights, jumped kids and harassed women. But he never felt guilty about any of those things. But today, as he lay on his back, staring at the darkened ceiling, eyes out of focus, Dallas Winston felt his very first pang of guilt.

"I have done some horrible things…" He muttered out loud.

Or maybe that feeling wasn't guilt. Maybe it was just nausea.

"I think I'mma be sick…"

But he made no effort to move or to puke. He merely lay there, horrified, quietly talking to himself in the shadowy room.

"I am a very bad man…"

Johnny was a very heavy sleeper, but he still stirred amid all the tripping and mutterings. Dally froze as the smaller boy made small sounds in his sleep, rolling over so he was facing him. He heard him take in a shaky breath and draw his knees to his chest, shivering. The poor kid was cold and he was groping aimlessly in his sleep for the blankets Dally had thrown to the floor.

"Aw, shoot, punk. You want this?" Dally yanked the blanket off the floor and cast it unceremoniously over his friend. But the boy kept shivering.

"Whaddya want, you needy bastard?" He slid off the bed and crept over to the window, shutting it tight. "There you go kid, no more cold air. So no more shivering and no more making this anymore fucking awkward than it already is."

He lay down again, and the words were barely out of his mouth when Johnny threw a warm, skinny arm over his chest. The blonde rolled his eyes upward, tensing. "I said less awkward, dipshit." What the hell was he supposed to do now? He was never big on cuddling. He never cuddled any of the girls he slept with; not the nursing student, not the fat girl, not even his Silvia. So what was he supposed to do with this boy—favorite boy notwithstanding—touching his chest?

And the little punk made matters worse by scooting as close as he could to Dally's body. He threw a leg on top of his, and rested his grungy, dark head on his chest. One long-fingered hand wrapped around his arm, holding him tightly.

"…Don't go…" Came Johnny's voice, groggy and barely coherent. He babbled something else in his sleep and nuzzled his forehead right against Dally's neck.

"C'mon Johnnycakes, you're killing me over here."

He responded to the sound of Dally's voice by pressing himself even closer, the hand on his bicep flexing and releasing rhythmically.

"Shoot, Johnny." Dally narrowed his eyes, shocked at himself for what he was about to do. "You tell anybody about this and I'll skin ya, ya hear?"

Gently, he snaked his arm under the boy's neck. He took a deep breath, as if psyching himself up for something, his hand hovering over Johnny's shoulder. Then, very slowly, he lowered his little finger, touching the dark boy's skin. Nothing bad happened. So he lowered his ring finger, middle, pointer and thumb, all very cautiously, until he had his entire hand on the sleeping boy's shoulder. Dally slowly relaxed. There, this wasn't so bad. He could feel Johnny smile into his chest the moment he put his arm around him. It was funny how he could make him nuzzle closer or raise goose bumps on his arm by simply touching him.

Dally considered this a public service. Johnny was usually so goddamned jumpy, so maybe sleeping while someone watched his back, or held him—he detested the word—would settle him down. But he still couldn't remember why or how he'd got into this situation.

Maybe if he just thought harder. What was he doing between the blind-man's bluff game and driving to the lot? He was at the Curtis' house! Dally was thrilled with himself for remembering. And before the Curtis'? He racked his brains trying to remember, but then all of the sudden, it hit him. He'd finished those left over six-packs with Two-Bit, smoked that joint he and Steve nicked from that Soc's ashtray…oh, and tried those pills Buck had given him.

A grin spread over his face as he settled back into bed with Johnny snuggled to his chest. He felt alleviated. He'd only done such horrible things because he'd combined alcohol, weed and pills. Didn't Darry always say cocktails of narcotics with a joint on the side are the worst kinds of cocktails? He stroked his friend's dark hair a few times before drifting off happily. What a relief. That was only the alcohol, weed and pills talking.

Thanks for reading! If you have any constructive criticism, or just plain old comments, please let me know. I'm really trying my best here!