The Outsiders oneshots- Our sins

a bittersweet ride

A brief minute between two confused hearts. Buck x Diana (OC)
                 ___________________

1985

"A... what?" Buck puzzled as I climbed into the T-Bird that was starting to prove its age with how much of the interior had to be held together by stitches and clear tape. Buck didn't know a thing besides the rodeo when we had first met, so I wasn't expecting him to know much about feelings.

"A new routine." My hand went straight for the beer cradled in between his legs and I took a few gulps. "An alternative route in life, or whatever you want to call it. My therapist said doin' stuff in a straight line can make you go crazy, so change it up."

"Sounds like a bunch of bullshit, Diana." He said simply as he snatched the beer away from me and turned it up until it was all gone before flipping the ignition and stomping on the gas. "Whatchu' need it for anyway? I ain't giving you a good life or sumthin'?" Somehow, I'd consider living in a shack with a 45 year old man who was choosing to settle down at the last minute and trying tirelessly to make ends meet a good life because it was all I knew.

"I never said that," I say in a whiny tone suited for a child while tugging at a piece of my blonde hair that was coated in AquaNet and teased until it couldn't be anymore. "And it ain't bullshit, it helps," I pursed my lips a little and crossed my arms over my chest. He looked over at me and held his gaze with me for a minute like a father would. "What?"

"That stuff helps you?" His eyes went back on the road and he scratched his dull blond stubble, something he did when he was trying his best to be sensitive. Though he was trying to be subtle, I knew exactly what he was talking about. A chill came over my body as I remembered the last viewing of my brother on a table in a cold morgue with just a sheet draped over him and his Christopher still around his neck. He didn't look like himself at all. Not the hardened blond I knew at least. My sister had tightly gripped my hand like she needed me, a five year old, for support. She decided it wasn't fit for a kindergartner to see after a few minutes and hauled me off by my arm. That was the last I saw of Dallas Winston before he returned to dust. I hit the ground running with life to run as far away from it as possible. I was only 25 and felt like I hadn't done enough running.

"Mhm." My hummed response came out weakly with a crack in it. "It's gettin' me by, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," he nodded and pressed a hand to my thigh, reaching his pinky out just up the edge of my skirt a little. "I get whatchu' mean."