Hey! ready for a trivia question? It's super hard. I dare you guys to not look it up! I can't check anything, but It would be cool if you could do it without the internet or the book:)

How many attachments were on the train that Pony and Johnny took to Windrixville?

Haha! good luck then!

I do not own the Outsiders

Dally POV

I woke up with a feeling of softer sheets around my body than I had grown accustomed to over the past few days. The musty smell that hung thick in the air around the prison was absent, replaced by a soft perfume.

For a moment I felt content, then I tried to squirm around, and let out a gasp of pain.

Pain was practically a foreign emotion to me. I was sure (from the stories that Tim told) that I had felt pain; and a lot of it, but this was the most pain I could remember being in.

I tried to move again, and this time I let out a whimper. A hand touched mine, struggling to bring me to full consciousness, but I fought the instinct to open my eyes.

"Dally. Dally honey." I recognized that voice, and the pet name used. But that voice and that name didn't belong in the cold walls of a prison.

It did however, have the desired effect of making me open my eyes. Darry sat in a folding chair next to my bed. He looked out of place against the white and teal walls of what I assumed was the hospital wing.

"Darry." I croaked out. I tried for a smile, but a bruise made it's presence known, and I felt tears form in my eyes.

"Darry, what happened? I don't get it! Why did they do that! I didn't like it!" My voice sounded young, far younger than a 17 year olds. I felt far younger than a 17 year old.

"I know sweetie. I-I don't know w-why anyone would want to hurt you."

"It isn't fair!" I cried passionately.

"I know. I'm so, so sorry." Darry sounded like he was holding back tears. "Dally, y-you know that I love you. We all do. I hope you know that."

"It didn't make a difference. Nobody loved those Socs, but I'm the one who got hurt. I wonder if it works both ways." I mused aloud, not even aware at the moment that Darry was in the room. His hand tightened in a vise-like grip around mine. I winced, and he seemed to force himself to loosen his grip.

I didn't see why this freaked Darry out so much. O was just thinking, if the Socs didn't love anyone or be loved by anyone, if I were that way, I wouldn't get hurt. Just like the Socs.

"No." His voice was one that I had come to associate with tears; Husky and soft, with a certain fragile quality. "Dally, don't ever think that. What if Tim didn't love you? Or Rudyard? Where would you be now?"

"What if I hadn't love Johnnycakes? Or if I hadn't loved your parents? Wouldn't I be better off? They would be too, that's for sure. Johnny wouldn't be dead. He would have gotten a fair trial, and gotten imprisonment, but I was too selfish to let him become me. Your parents wouldn't have gone to pick me up from jail that night..."

My voice trailed off. I wasn't supposed to tell Darry that I knew that...

(flash back)

"Pony?" We lay on our backs in the lot, gazing at all of the stars that Pony found as fascinating as though they were his favorite book.

"Hmm, Dal?" I think he was dozing off, but I didn't feel too bad for waking him; he had told me to wake him before it got to late anyway.

"Why were your parents in a car the night they died?" He paused for so long, I assumed he had fallen asleep again.

"They were-uh- going to pick you up. They liked you. Thought you had a chance. You were in jail, and you always called them when you needed to be picked up. You always paid back the bail, no sweat. But the roads were icy...They never made it to pick you up."

Darry growled, and his grip on my hand tightened again. "Don't you ever think that Dally. Please. What happened wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything. To Johnny or to my parents. It was that happiest day of the gangs lives when we found out that you were alive."

For some reason, when my laugh sounded, I detected sarcasm. "And the saddest. You found out Johnny had died in the same twenty-four hours."

Darry leaned his forehead down onto our clasped hands. After a minute, he began to shake, and I immediately felt guilty. I was hurting those I loved most- again.

I hesitantly put a hand on his shaking shoulder, marveling at the pain it conveyed. "Darry? Darry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you of him."

Darry looked up, tears streaming down his face. "It's ok Dally."

I still was thinking about how much love hurts people, but I held my tongue, for Darry's sake. "Darry, what did they do to me? Why did they...Why didn't they just beat me up? It made me feel bad. I feel...not just sad but sort of...unclean?"

Darry looked saddened by what I said. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. I tried not to shudder. Suddenly voices were ringing in my head "Hey greaser, need a kiss to make it all better?" I could practically feel the lips against mine, taste the disgusting mixture of bad dental hygiene and smuggled drugs.

I think Darry saw though. He gave me a sympathetic look, and squeezed my hand. "You are the least dirty person I know Dal. Don't ever think that."

"I wish they'd just beat me up. I didn't like what they did, but they did. They enjoyed it more than beating me up. I don't get it."

Darry looked uncomfortable, but he didn't explain why they enjoyed it. He fiddled with a glass of water on my bedside table. "You get to leave. They're pressing charges on the guys that..that did what they did. Even if we don't win, you are free to go. Once you're better of course."

I smiled as Tim entered the door. There were tears in his eyes, and his unruly hair was even more of a rats nest than usual. His eyes were rimmed with red from crying, and black from sleepless nights. He looked thinner and older; even the shadows cast from the florescent light gave him a gaunt, depressed look.

"Hey Tim!" I was glad to see the guy. Darry patted my head, and looked like he wanted to hug me, but he restrained himself, remembering my wince at the perfectly friendly kiss.

I reached out my arms to him, and he folded into me, shaking slightly, from rage of sorrow. Maybe both. "It's ok Darry. You'll be ok." He laughed slightly, the sound muffled by my shoulder and his tears.

"I'm not worried about me Dal." He let go of me, and smiled bravely. I tried to mimic his expression, but I was feeling too depressed to really convince him.

Tim sat down in Darry's vacated seat. He looked awkward, and avoided my gaze. "What's up Tim?" I employed a voice I might use when approaching an injured animal (or a drunk Steve.)

"N-nothing. So, you get to leave?" I nodded. "You excited?" I shrugged noncommittally.

"Darry's acting weird. I don't want to have to deal with that. But I'm happy enough. The funny thing is, I felt almost safe in here. I had you to protect me, and no one could hurt me when I was inside me cell, and I started having these dreams..."

Tim jerked his head up and stared intently at me. "What sort of dreams?"

"I don't really know. There's this one where this cute little boy is being hurt by his father. I heard the screaming, and I ran towards it. His father and Mother were yelling at him. I felt different in my dream. Older, and somehow I knew stuff, but I don't understand what I knew. So I put my body in front of the little boy, and the man hit me. Then I started to hit him. The man ran away along with the woman, and I took the little boy outside. I wasn't hard around him, like I felt inside. I needed to protect him. Ever night I would ask, "What's your name?" He would open his mouth, and then the dream would end, before he told me."

Tim stared at me, then looked down again and shuddered. "Dally, those aren't dreams."

"What?"

"Those are memories."