Fanfiction hates me, so none of my stories are going to the beginning of the feed D: So, depending on the reviews and how much depression I can take from this story, I might cut it short and do one of those lame, "Well, what do you think happened" endings. I don't know. Ok, whoever answers this Outsider trivia question first gets a prize: What did the sign above the entrance to Buck's say?

I don't own the Outsiders

Dallas POV

The heavy footfalls made me wince. What now? Couldn't I even shower in peace?

Four men bounded into the bathroom, reckless and sadistic leers painted on their faces. I discreetly turned off the water, and wrapped a towel tightly around my waist.

I was small and quiet. Had the men not been looking for me, I would have been able to sneak out behind them, but as it was, luck was not on my side.

The biggest of them had jet black hair, cut choppily, short in some places, long in others, but it looked purposeful. It wasn't greased. None of their hair was greased. In my short time here I had learned the difference between good and bad: greased= good; not greased= bad.

Tim had taught me that.

As the men closed ranks around me, I screamed for Tim, but remembered too late that he was in the hospital wing. I had wasted my one scream.

The man with the choppily cut hair, moved towards me. "Dallas Winston." He said, and I could tell by the spite in his voice that we knew each other.

"Yeah?" My voice was squeaky; I had never been good at sounding tough.

"I believe that you owe me."

"What?"

"Last time you were in here, you stole my drugs. Didn't even use them. You told on me like a little girl and got me stuck in here for the next seven years. Ring a bell?"

I shook my head, backing further against the wall, hoping I could slip through the weakest man on the end.

"Well, I figured you stole something of mine, so I'd steal something of yours."

"I don't have anything!"

"Spoken like a true whore." I didn't recognize the word, but the other men laughed cruelly and I flushed with anger. "Kneel."

The man said unexpectedly. I looked at him incredulously. Kneel? He wouldn't fight me while I was standing? coward. "I said kneel!"

I shrugged and knelt down, trying not to display my fear. I looked at him, and he began to approach me. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the blow,but he just stood there, smiling cruelly down on me.

"Well?"

"Well what?" The men howled with laughter. I hoped that someone would hear them and help me.

An image flashed through my head. An image of a small dark boy, one that reminded me of a kicked puppy, with bruises up and down his body, lying in Soda pop's arms. I shuddered, although I couldn't quite put a name to the boy. I didn't want to end up like him.

"You honestly don't remember how to do this? Here, I'll get you started." The man moved his hand, and I thought he was about to hit me. I flinched, but he only brought the hand to the zipper of his pants.

Was he going to take a shower? This didn't make any sense. I thought that they were going to beat me up.

He pulled down his pants and I looked away in embarrassment. I would never get used to prison bathrooms.

A hand forced my head forward, and I felt something touch my mouth. I opened my eyes in confusion, and found out what it was.

I screamed, but suddenly there was something in my mouth, cutting off my screams. The man forced my head to move, and I tried to get away.

One of the mans friends kicked me, hard. I cried out, and another blow landed on me. "Move, kid!" I tried to get away again, but this time I felt a sharper pain. a knife, digging into my side. How they got that knife past the prison guards, I had no idea, but at that moment, I didn't care.

I screamed louder, but my voice was muffled. I felt wetness inside my mouth that was no my own saliva, and seconds later, I tasted something sour and disgusting.

"Swallow!" Someone shouted. I tried to disobey, but the knife ripped open my skin again, and I obeyed.

I sat back, gasping, as the man zippered his pants. tears formed in my eyes, and I let them fall, letting out choking sobs. The man's grin looked like a cats.

"Man, if that'll make you cry, I'd hate to see you after this bit." Four men approached me, and I scuttled backwards, my injuries protesting.

The men inevitably caught me, and one of them pulled down my baggy prison pants. They unceremoniously tossed me to the side, both my pants and boxers torn off.

A different man with sleek, naturally greasy, hair down to his shoulder, undid his pants. The laugher around me reminded me of hyenas.

I was distracted from my terror by a terrible, foreign pain in my back region. I howled as loudly as I possibly could, and I heard pounding footsteps from far away.

The man began to move in and out and I went into a haze of pain and sounds. By the time the cat man, the long haired man, and the rest left me bleeding on the ground, I was knocked out.

Tim POV

The nurses patched me up, and then a smiling guard made to escort me to my room. I recognized him as the one that Dally was friends with.

He didn't try to talk to me, and I was grateful; I didn't want to get more time for beating up a guard. I froze when I heard something. The guard (What was his name? Robert? No...Rudyard?) kept on walking for about a meter, then stopped as well.

We exchanged glances. "C'mon Shepard. Better go see what that's about. If you cause any trouble, you can't come." I bit back my insult; I didn't appreciate being spoken to like a kid, but I did want to come.

We started at a brisk walk to where we had heard the blood curdling shriek. Every couple of minutes, a muffled scream of agony would sound, and my heart would stop for a second.

It sounded like whoever it was was in trouble. We practically jogged to the sounds, which had mysteriously stopped.

We came to the bathroom. The first thing I noticed was the five Socs who had tried to beat up Dally. I only caught a glimpse of them before the slipped out of the other door. Rudyard ran after them shouting, but I was too stunned to care about the terrible bestial (for want of a better word) men.

On the floor in the corner, unconscious and small, was Dallas Winston.

A memory surfaced, long suppressed by the horrors it contained. Dallas Winston, in the same situation with a grim smile on his face. I had been angry and worried. As I said, Dally was like a brother to me, but Dallas had just laughed cooly and told me not to worry.

Dally had been 13 then.

I rushed over to Dally and pulled on his clothes gingerly. He winced subconsciously, and I muttered "sorry" my voice cracking. He would never know how sorry I was.

Sorry that I hadn't been there. Sorry that this had happened. Sorry that his precious, golden innocence was gone.

I brushed the hair out of his eyes, and I felt every symptom of tears, but I couldn't cry. For Dally.

Blood was splattered everywhere. Dally's blood. Those sick bastards had made a little kid bleed. And I would be my remaining sanity they weren't sorry.

I cradled Dally in my arms, and he let out a whimper. I sobbed dryly, and took a shuddering breath to keep myself calm.

Rudyard stomped back. He looked livid with anger, but his gaze softened and saddened when it landed on Dally.

"Poor Dallas." I nodded numbly in agreement, and walked towards the hospital wing with Dally in my arms and Rudyard trailing behind, crying for the little boy who would never be quite so innocent again.