A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I promise there was a reason for Darry doing what he did. I'm glad y'all enjoyed the kiss and that chapter, I know a lot of you had been waiting for it since the first or second chapter. It's my favorite chapter that y'all have read.

WARNING: So this chapter contain abuse. I won't say heavy abuse, it's actually like three or four paragraphs, but it's the most graphic abuse scene in the story thus far.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Outsiders, I'm just borrowing the characters for fun and games.

The brunette unlocked the front door and pushed her way into the house. It had taken her much longer to get home than usual. Instead of ten ,fifteen minutes, at max, it took her damn near a half an hour. She'd stopped in a parking lot, and just sat there with her head on the steering wheel for the longest, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. When she realized that she wasn't going to come to that conclusion sitting there, she pulled out and on to the road.

The living room was quiet and dark. The television was off, the lights were off, and immediately she got a bad feeling. She walked into the room slowly, trying to avoid the places she knew had squeaky floorboards. She ran her hand along the wall, feeling for the light switch. When she found it, she flicked it on, but there was no light in the room. She then flicked the light off and took several steps back, placing her foot on a squeaky floorboard.

"Jackie," her father's voice called to her from the darkness.

"Yeah?"

He didn't say anything. In the darkness, she was utterly defenseless. However, so was he. He couldn't find her. At least she hoped that he was. Her false sense of security was shattered, when she felt a pair of hands around her throat. Her body was being pushed back against the wall. His hands were ice cold as he pressed his hands against her throat. The light from outside filtered into the living room, allowing her to see the look in his eyes. She tried to escape his grip, but it was unyielding.

"You forget something?"

Her lungs began to burn as they fought to get the oxygen she so desperately needed. When she didn't answer, his hands gripped tighter on her throat. The brunette dug her nails into her father's hands. The action startled him into dropping his hold on her. She collapsed to the ground. "Yes," she gagged, as she tried to talk and inhale the air around her at the same time.

He then pressed his foot to her chest. All of the air she'd worked so hard to regain, gone in an instant. She coughed, as he reached down and grabbed her arm pulling her to a standing position. A yelp escaped her lips, and he cover her mouth with his hand.

Darry looked at the phone, and then at the clock. She still hadn't called. He then looked back at the phone and to the close again. The man stood up and picked the phone up off the receiver, dialed half of her number, and then hung up. She'd call when she wanted to call. He then trudged back to the recliner and collapsed in the chair. At first he had decided that she wasn't calling because she was still trying to sort out the kiss, and her feelings. He understood that. That kiss had brought something back for him, and he knew that it had brought something back for her. However, after the first half an hour, forty minutes, he started to be a little concerned. So he busied himself with cleaning and washing dishes. Then an hour had passed. He'd grabbed his keys and put them down several times, as well as picked the phone up and dialed pieces of her number several times.

Finally, he dialed her whole number. When the call didn't go through, he called again making sure that he had dialed the right number. After it didn't go through again, he grabbed his key off the table and walked towards the truck.

Something wasn't right.

He hit her, and he hit her again and again. The brunette couldn't stop him. Her lungs still burned. Her arms stung and smarted. Her chest hurt. Her legs ached. The most that she could do was lift her hands to cover her face. Which only work for a moment or so, because he just kept hitting her.

He had never hit her like this. He had always spent maybe a few minutes slapping at her skin, but no more than that. Sometimes he would take a break and then come back, but that was rare. Tonight, he just kept going. He would stop for a few moments, and then it would continue. He was saying something about him not being able to watch something on the television , some game or something, and that his beer was warm and tasted like piss. However, from the smell of his breath, she couldn't tell that the beer being warm has stopped him from drinking it along with whiskey. In the dark, she couldn't tell how long this was going on. She just knew that it was. It was still happening and she couldn't do anything about it.

He pulled her arms from over her face, and the back of his hand collided with the tender flesh on her cheek. The brunette yelped at the contact. The skin there smarting and stinging.

Darrel pulled his truck to a stop in the driveway just as a piercing cry greeted his ears. He didn't even bother to pull the keys out of the ignition before he jumped out of the car. He made his way up to the front door within seconds. He could hear crying from the other side of the door. Angry, Darry pushed his shoulder against the door. The street light from outside flooded the living room with light, and unveiled a sight that he was sure that he would never be able to erase.

That man, her father, stood over her with his hand open and ready to hit her. From the looks of her pale ivory skin, he had been batting at her for some time. However, the worst part of the scene was seeing Jacquelyn. Her skin was red, all of her exposed skin was the bright color, and he was sure that some of her covered skin was red as well. Her arms had spots of purple under the red markings. Her dark hair was disheveled. Her back pressed against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest, and her arms over her face. A sight that he would never be able to get rid of.

The Curtis man stepped into the house and shoved the man away from her. Her father stumbled and fell. It took anything in Darrel Curtis not to kill that man on the spot. However, as he knelt down to Jacquelyn, he felt the urge to just wrap his hands around that man's throat. He reached out to touch her gently. "Jacquelyn."

It had stopped.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, but was vaguely away of a commotion and a new amount of light in the room. However, her body was very unconcerned with all of that at the moment. Her lungs were burning from her trying to breathe so heavily. Her blood was rushing. Pain radiated through her whole body. There was not an inch of her that wasn't stinging. Her face was wet with her own tears. Her chest hurt from the constant sobbing.

But at least it had stopped.

Well at least she thought it had. Her heart rate increased again, and a new wave of panic and tears started. However, the touch wasn't like the ones before. This one was softer, as if it were trying not to hurt her.

"Jacquelyn."

Her heart stopped, as she lowered her arms from her face. As often as she'd heard her name said that way, she knew exactly who it was.

Darry.

The realization that it was him, brought a whole new wave of tears. This was the last way that she had wanted him to see her. She'd been trying to hide this from him for a month. She'd been desperately trying, and now he knew. He was going to pity her now. That was the last thing that she wanted. She didn't want anyone's pity. She didn't need it. She could handle herself. Of course, then she had to ask herself if she could handle herself how did she end up in this situation. Despite, all of that internal conflict with him being here, she was gladder that he was there than worried about him looking at her differently.

Jacquelyn leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her abdominal area aching when she did. Her small frame shook against his larger one as he tried to calm her down. He shushed her as he pulled her off the ground as gently as he could. However, she still winced in pain when he did. She leaned against him, as he cradled her in his arms.

There was a long moment where Darry's blue-green eyes hardened as he looked at her father. His heart beat sped up, at least she thought that it did. She wasn't quite sure if it was her heart beat she was feeling or his. After the moment was over, Darry left the house and went to his car.

Once there, he placed her in the cab from the passenger's side careful not to shake her or anything of the like. He then stormed around the front of the truck and hopped into the cab. Without speaking, he started the truck, put it in reverse, and pulled out of the driveway within a matter of milliseconds. His foot pressed to the pedal as the tuck sped down the road. His hands gripped the steering so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He looked down at her, "You gotta stay awake." When she didn't respond, he swerved off into a parking lot and pulled the car to a stop. "Jacquelyn."

"Hmm?"

"You still with me?" he questioned.

"Mmm-hmm," she replied.

"What's your name?" he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot and back on the road.

"Jacquelyn Kelly Ross," she mumbled.

"When is your birthday?" he asked as he turned on to his street.

"January 15th."

Darry pulled the car to a stop and was out of the vehicle again without taking the keys out of the ignition. He opened the front door, after stumbling up to it, and looked in the living room first, to see if the sofa was empty, and then in the kitchen, finding Sodapop and Steve sitting at the table playing poker. It was Steve how noticed Darry first.

"Everything okay, Superman?"

"No," Darry replied, his voice tight, as he started around the kitchen grabbing a bag to put ice in and then going down the hall to get some aspirin. "Put ice in this," he told Soda before he left the kitchen.

Soda did as told. "What's wrong?"

Darry started running water on to a clean dishrag and then turned to Soda. He took the bag of ice from Soda and handed him the wet rag. "Hold this. Steve hold the door open." The older man started out the house and to the truck. He opened the passenger side door and reached over to her. "Hey, Jacquelyn." She mumbled something back to him. "Hey, grab on." She lifted on of her arms and he ducked under it before grabbing her and lifting her out of the car.

"Is that Jacquelyn?" Steve asked as Darry approached the doorway. "Shit, that is Jacquelyn."

Soda poked his head out of the kitchen as Darry placed her on the sofa. "Christ, what happened to her?" Darry shooed the two of them away, as he placed the ice on her cheek. "Dare?"

Now that she was finally in good lighting, he could see the damage that was done. No matter where he looked on her face, the skin was red. The marks all overlapped, and he really couldn't tell how may times he had hit her there. However, the marks didn't look like they were going to bruise or anything, with the exception of her right cheek. Her right cheek was swollen. When he lifted the ice, he saw that there was a clean cut across her cheek, and a small amount of blood dripped from it. The skin on her neck was flaming red, the finger marks a vicious purple color under the red. When Darrel reached out to brush his fingers against her skin, she flinched away from his touch. The skin on her arms also held the crimson color. Darry sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. Everything in him told him to go and kick her old man's ass. Everything in him wanted to go and kill this sorry excuse for a man. Everything but the fact that Jacquelyn would hate it he did that. No matter how much a person had wronged her, she rarely wronged them. It wasn't in her nature to hurt others.

"Will you the first aid kit from the bathroom?" Darry asked to either one of the boys. Soda was the first to move towards the bathroom. When he returned, he placed the handle in his older brother's hand. Darry flipped the lid open and pulled out the alcohol and butterfly bandages. "You guys can get out of here. She's not gonna do anything extraordinary while ya'll are gone." Steve and Soda lingered for a moment longer, not quite ready to leave. "She's fine. I promise you." Steve and Soda said their goodnights, and Steve demanded that he be called if anything changed. Soda said that if Darry didn't, or wouldn't, call, he'd call him. With that Steve slowly edged out of the door, hoping that if he moved slowly enough then Darry would tell him what had happened to Jacquelyn, and to his car, while Soda trudged to the back of the house, but not before giving Darry the wet rag. He poured the rubbing alcohol on a swab and moved the bag of ice from her cheek again. "It's gonna sting a bit," he told her softly, he wasn't even really sure that she was awake at this point, before he placed the swab on her face. Her small hand fisted on the fabric of the sofa as he did. Darry hated that he had to hurt her more than she already was. When he removed the swab from her face, he patted the area dry and then placed a few butterfly bandages along the cut on her cheek.

"Dare?" she muttered softly. He flicked his eyes over to her briefly. "Don't."

He needed no further clarification on her order. Don't go to her house. Don't hurt her old man. That's what she was telling him. Because she'd asked him not to, he wouldn't, but that wouldn't stop him from thinking about it. The man stood and walked down the hall, and pushed his bedroom door open. He appeared back in the living room, as she was sitting up.

"Does it look awful?" she questioned. Darry looked over at her, her eye starting to show signs of swelling. He looked down at the bottle of aspirin. He twisted the top off the bottle and placed two in her hand. He moved towards the kitchen in order to get her a glass of water, but she'd popped them into her mouth and swallowed them before he could do so. "So?"

Darry arched his eyebrow and looked over her head. The more he looked at her the angry he got. The more he looked at the red marks on her face, the more he stomach twisted into knots. "It looks like your old man hit you, Jacquelyn." The brunette rolled her light eyes and exhaled. Her lungs still stinging. "And you didn't tell me. You didn't fucking tell me that your old man was hitting. Not just hitting you, beating you." The brunette flinched at his words. "Why the fuck would you not tell anyone? Why in Christ's name would you choose to endure that?"

"I didn't want you to know," she told him quietly.

"Why? I could have helped you. This," he gestured to her battered form, "could have been avoided." When she didn't say anything, he realized that yelling and lecturing her, probably wasn't the best idea. He ran his hand over his face and made his way towards her. He placed his arm under his shoulder and the other behind her knees. Without saying anything, he picked her up and made his way down the hall to his bedroom. He placed her on the bed and exhaled. "Did you hit your head?" He moved to his drawer and pulled an old t-shirt out. He placed it on the bed beside her.

"No," she said quietly as she pulled at a loose string on the bed.

"Are you sure?" he questioned as he leaned on the doorframe.

"No."

Darry sighed for the umpteenth time that night, before stepping out of the bedroom. "I'll be on the couch if you need me," he told her as he started to close the door.

"Dare?"

"Yes, Jacquelyn?" His answer held a little aggravation, not so much at her, but at the situation as a whole.

"Stay?" she questioned so softly, that he wasn't end really sure she'd even said anything.

"Change first," he told her. "I'll run your stuff through the wash" He closed the door behind him. He felt much older than his twenty years. He leaned against the door as he waited. He could not for the life of him understand why she would not tell him. He had told her that he was there for her. Darry pulled himself from his thoughts. The more he thought about it the more it made less sense to him. "Ready?" he questioned after a few minutes.

"Ready."

He pushed the door open and walked in. She was tucked under the blankets on his bed, her brown hair fanning out over the pillow. He grabbed her clothes and his sleepwear before leaving the room again. When he returned, he was wear a pair of flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He pulled the blanket back and climbed into the bed next to her.

"It started when we moved back to Wisconsin," the brunette told him after a moment of them laying here. She balled the sheet in her hands as she spoke. Her hazel eyes trained to the ceiling. "I'm not really certain how it started. I just remember that it was around the time that my mother started stay out with her old friends and coming home really late. I guess I was just always in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"How long has he been a drunk?" Darry questioned as he tucked one arm behind his head.

Jacquelyn snorted in an unladylike manner, "For as long as you've known me. Years, Dare." She rolled over on her side to face him, wincing as she did. She found his hand under the blankets and her fingers laced between his. His fingers slipped between hers. "It's never been that bad. I forgot to pay the electricity bill," she told him.

Darry gently pulled her toward him. Her chest flesh with his side. Her warmth flooded through his body, and his to hers. He unlaced their fingers and brought his arm behind her head. The brunette allowed her head to rest on his chest, his heart beat flooded her ears.

"Dare?" she started slowly. He hummed acknowledging her question the sound vibrating in his chest. Her train of thought slipped as she spotted the photo on his nightstand, the corners of her lips turned up. "You still have that picture?" she questioned.

He looked over in the direction that her hazel eyes were turned. He felt his cheeks warm as he realized that the picture of them on the white stallion was still on his bedside table. "Yeah," he replied. Absentmindedly, he brushed her dark hair from her face careful not to press on her skin to hard.

"I'm sorry," she told him, her small hands fisting against the fabric of his t-shirt.

"For?"

"I didn't tell you, and you kept asking," she admitted. "I wanted to tell you, but you have so much on your plate, that I didn't want you to worry about me."

His chuckle vibrated in his chest. "I worried about you anyway."

They lay like that for a long while. His fingers tangled in her dark hair, combing through her thick locks. Her slim fingers had taken to tracing outlines of letters and shapes on his chest. Not that she knew, but his skin burned with her every stroke. Soon enough, her breathing had slowed. He looked down at her, his hand resting against his chest. Despite the marks on her skin, she looked completely relaxed. The redness on her face was starting to fade. The swelling around her eye and her cheek had lessened significantly since he'd gotten her there. He reached over, and turned off the lamp on his bedside table. He then closed his eyes allowing her soft breathing to lull him to sleep.