He could tell he was in a vehicle. He could feel the hum of the engine vibrating through his body and the motion was making him nauseous. Beyond that he had no clue where he was or what was going on. He lifted his head and squinted up at the figure driving.

"Mr. Curtis? That you?"

"No, Dal it's me ... It's Darry."

"Where we goin' man? I don't feel good. I want your mom. Tell your mom I don't feel good, she'll know what to do." Dally's voice was weak and shaky.

He was obviously delirious from the fever, but still, the mention of Mr. and Mrs. Curtis caught Darry and the other boys off guard. Of course Dally was thinking of them. They had always been a life preserver for the gang whenever anyone was struggling with anything. They had been a shelter from the storm of life so many times it made perfect sense to have Dallas asking for them now. But it hurt nonetheless.

They were making their way to Tulsa General in Darry's old truck. Two-Bit and Steve had hopped into the truck bed. Darry and Ponyboy rode up front while Soda and Johnny held Dally in the backseat. He was laying down across their laps fading in and out of consciousness as Soda stroked his hair ... and by the looks of things he was deteriorating quickly.

The sharp, burning pain in his stomach was unbelievable and Dally couldn't seem to stop his body from shaking violently. During a fleeting, lucid moment he tried to piece together what was happening. Was he sick or was he hurt? Why couldn't he remember? He concluded that he must have been shot or stabbed during a rumble ... that was it. What else could possibly hurt this bad? A tortured cry involuntarily escaped from the back of his throat.

"How much longer Dar? I think he's gettin' worse!" Soda's voice had taken on a strange, frantic tone.

"Almost there Little Buddy." Darry turned to look over his right shoulder into the back seat. "Hey Dal, you hang in there you hear me? We're almost there."

"Almost where?" Dally slurred.

His question was answered as Darry's truck pulled into the emergency bay at the hospital.

In a flash Darry was out of the truck, pulling Dally out of the backseat and up into his arms.

"Someone grab a wheelchair!"

Steve found one by the hospital door and wheeled it back toward the truck. As soon as Darry set him down in it Dally became combative and belligerent.

"What the hell man?! I'm f#%king fine! I don't need a hospital ..."

Dally swung his arms pitifully and struggled to get out of the wheelchair, but he was no match for Darry. Too weak to fight he eventually surrendered and hung his head in defeat. He would never admit it, but at that moment Dallas felt more confused and vulnerable than he had ever felt before. He was used to being in control - this was unbearable.

Darry crouched down in front of his friend and gently took his chin into his hand. He tipped Dally's face up to look at him.

"Do you trust me Dal?"

Without hesitation Dally nodded. He didn't trust easily that was for sure, but even in his addled, feverish state Dallas was confident about one thing ... if there was anyone in the world he trusted to do the right thing, it was Superman Curtis.

"Alright, then you need to let me take care of you. And right now that means going in there for some help." Darry pointed back towards the sliding doors behind him. "I promise I won't leave you Dal ... I'm here and I've got you, ok?"

Dallas thought for a minute, then nodded wearily as a tear slipped down his cheek. He brushed it away gruffly, looked up at the stunned group of boys who'd witnessed the exchange, and scowled ... "Let's get this over with."

And with that they made their way through the emergency room doors.

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