Disclaimer: I own nothing, only Wade. Everything else belongs to Susie. :) The lyrics are from "Bad Moon Rising" by CCR, and I don't own them, either. Thanks goes out to RileysMomma and Melverne for telling me what they thought of this before I posted.

A/N: I know, I know, I said this wouldn't get updated until December-ish because of NaNoWriMo, but I needed a little bit of a break from my NaNo story, and so I wrote out this chapter and decided to post it to give you guys a little treat before the holidays. ;)

Don't go 'round tonight

It's bound to take your life

There's a bad moon on the rise

The steps creaked under my weight as I ascended the stairs at Buck's place. My whiskey was finished, and I was tired and intent on laying down for a good rest. The ache in my knee had eased, and in its place, a nice drowsiness settled. I hoped that the bed would be at least half-way decent, but if it was it would just be a bonus; the real treat was being out of the rain.

Unfortunately, it seemed that someone else was attempting to descend the stairs at the same time, and I collided with the boy near the top.

"Watch it, drifter!" he snapped at me, his blue eyes flashing with irritation under white blond bangs as he pushed me out of his way.

I said nothing to him; I had no wish to engage in another fight if it wasn't worth it. My knee – and my whole body in general – was feeling better, and I did not wish to aggravate it.

The gangly youth loped down the stairs heavily, pushing another patron out of the way when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Geez, Winston …" the patron whined before shaking it off and heading into the pool room. I shook my head and continued up the last few steps and down the hall. I stopped in front of a door for a moment to confirm it was the correct one before I put key to lock and opened the door.

The room was fairly sparse, but it was a lot better than I had originally hoped. A decent bed sat up against the far wall, and a chest of drawers sat to the left, across from the bed. A small mirror hung above it, though I wasn't quite sure what I would use it for. There was no door for a bathroom or anything of the sort, so I figured that there was probably a commune bathroom somewhere.

Stepping inside, I let my bag drop to the floor as I closed the door. I took in a deep breath as I took off my jacket and my shirt and flung them in the general direction of the chest of drawers. I was normally a neat, organized person, but tonight I was too weary to give a shit. I stretched my arms out, feeling the nice strain on my muscles before letting them drop to my side. Kicking my bag nearer to the bed, I sat down on the edge to remove my shoes, flexing my feet after I did so to relieve the cramps I got after walking for a while. The cramps never went away, but they were considerably more tolerable compared to when I first ran away.

I could still remember that night … I barely made it out of the city and I was almost crying in agony as my feet were screaming for relief. I was so young, then, so unprepared for what I was doing. But then again, there isn't really much you can do to prepare for running away. It's something that you just do.

Standing up, I stretched one more time before I bent over to retrieve a towel from my bag. I intended on cleaning up a bit before retiring. Rifling tiredly through my things, I found what I was looking for, and then stood up, intent on finding the bathroom.

As luck would have it, it was all the way on the other end of the hallway. At least I probably won't be woken up by drunk and hung over people heaving and throwing up until they pass out. It was small, containing just the necessities; a sink and small surrounding countertop, toilet, and bathtub, complete with a neutral-colored shower curtain. I guess the frilly ones weren't on sale, I mused to myself as I set the towel down on the countertop. I had no intention of taking a shower tonight – I would save that effort for in the morning – but I wanted to get cleaned up at least a little bit.

Running the water until it was nice and warm, I dunked my arms under it before reaching for the soap sitting next to the faucet. The amount of dirt on my arms was very apparent as the suds turned a dull brown as I scrubbed.

Rinsing off my arms, I splashed the water on my face and followed suit. Even though I couldn't see the suds this time, I knew they were probably about the same dull brown. I splashed my face again, trying to get off all the suds and soap residue before I turned off the water and dried my face and arms with the towel.

I was always somewhat surprised when I looked in a mirror, mostly because the face that looked back at me looked so much older than what I was. But then again, I felt older. Just the almost constant creak and ache in my joints that accompanied so many years on the road pushed my age up a notch or two.

I scratched my beard again, now damp from washing. I would probably trim it tomorrow, to make myself a little more presentable as I searched out a temporary job, but I would never shave it. If I shaved, I would look like a fresh-faced kid again, and you can't have that when you're out on the road.

Grabbing my towel, I walked back down to my room. I had locked it while I was gone – just in case. Most of the patrons here looked ok, but you didn't get as far as I did taking chances.

I closed the door behind me, but per my bedtime routine didn't lock it just yet as I hung the towel from a hook in the far wall. I had learned the hard way a long time ago to not put a damp towel back in your bag. It had taken weeks for that smell to evacuate, and I had to get a few new items of clothing because that musty smell just wouldn't come out of them.

Just because I was pretty much homeless didn't mean I had to smell like it.

Cracking my neck, I tiredly reached for the fastening on my pants, letting them fall to the floor before I stretched and simply stepped out of them. It was pretty nice and warm in the room, so I saw no need to sleep in anything but boxers. I kicked my pants in the direction of my shirt, intent on lying down and passing out for the night, so you can imagine my surprise when the door suddenly opened as I was reaching to lock it.

My eyes widened, and I was taken aback to see a girl standing there, probably no more than a few years younger than I. Her curly blond hair came to just below her shoulders, and the sides were pulled back and away from her face. She would've been gorgeous, I mused, if she hadn't poured five pounds of makeup on her face. Instead of making her look older, it made her look younger, like a child playing dress up with her mother's clothes and cosmetics.

We stared at each other for a split-second, each of us wide-eyed in surprise. She quickly glanced at the number painted on the door, and said, "Sorry, I got the wrong room." She smirked amusedly before she continued, "Whenever Dally and Buck have a fight, Buck kicks him out for a while. Whenever they settle down, Buck gives him another damn room, but it's always a different one." She started to turn, but paused and looked back. "Sorry."

"No problem," I waved her on.

Suddenly a booming voice could be heard throughout the hallway. "Sylvia, I thought I told you to wait in the room while I got us some beers!"

The girl – Sylvia, apparently – rolled her eyes and shouted back, "I got the wrong room, Dallas! If you and Buck didn't fight so much, I wouldn't get so goddamn confused!"

The blond-haired boy from before appeared in the doorway, and his eyes turned to ice when he saw me. He leveled a look at Sylvia and simply said, "What the fuck, Syl."

Sylvia gave an exasperated sigh. "I told you, I forgot what damn room you got this time. Now come on, let's go."

She started walking back down the hallway, but Dallas stayed a second longer. His eyes locked with mine, and while he didn't say anything, I got the drift that he wanted me to stay the fuck away.

That would be no problem. I didn't like loose cannons, and I planned on staying as far away from Dallas Winston as I could.