The Outsiders Imagines

Dally • Opening Up

"I was ten..." He broods, looking at the chest of drawers opposite the bed in which the both of you sat, your head on his lap and his arm rubbing your hips while he talked.

He could never look you in the eye, telling you this story.

"When you ran away?"

"Yeah...tired of the old man always beating on me, I needed out; mighta died or something."

You could hear his accent get heavy and each word strain in his throat. Dallas hadn't had to tap into his most traumatic memories like this for anyone, but he wanted to tell you. He said that you deserved to know.

"It was hard man...I was a little bitch too, got my ass kicked at home, got it kicked out on the streets too, no one cares about some kid gone rouge you know? I guess I was an easy target." He rambles, as if the memories of his deprived childhood were flashing through his mind as he spoke. "I wasn't dumb though, I knew it wasn't going to be comfortable but I hardly had a choice...I got jumped, kicked around, everything - then I found some guys, they was a little older than I was, like sixteen or seventeen or sommin' ... you know they helped me out a lot."

He goes on, staring right at the wall, nodding.

"Yeah... good ole guys..."

It hurt you a lot to think about. Dallas as a kid, homeless and hopeless at the age of ten.

Ten.

You thought about the fear and desperation of his situation. Nobody helped him, except those 'guys.'

"Did they ever wonder where you went? Your parents?" You asked quietly, looking up at him, but his eyes were fixed on the wall, narrowing in thought.

"No, they didn't care."

He still didn't look at you, and there was a lump in his throat. You felt his fingers comb through your hair, a sigh leaving his plump, cold lips.

"And then there was jail...it really didn't take long for me to get dumped down there, its like thats the solution you know? Get the kids off the streets, they just stick em in jail instead."

Every syllable he spat was drenched in bitterness but he wasn't going to let himself get worked up.

"A-as if it did shit, was in reform school, got a couple felonies, got let out and I did it all over again anyway."

He was talking faster now and the grit in his words got more vicious.

"Reform school..." He chuckles bitterly, a dirty, cold smirk curling at his lips as he shook his head. "That was some shit."

He went on a tangent, rubbing your arm because he wasn't ok. You sat patient and intently listening, imagining that ten year old Dallas, caught up in the system because no one had ever given him a chance. Jail might have just been the only place he could 'belong.'

No wonder he was so angry.

"Thats where they'd stick the kids like me you know? The ones that ain't got nothing going for them, and since you can't kill em until they turn into murderers, put their asses in jail, and let me tell you something babe... I cried." He hisses. As if it pained him to admit to ever experiencing a human phenomenom.  You put your hand on his arm that rested on the pillow, rubbing gently with your thumb.

You wanted to tell him not to talk like that, that he could have something going for him if he wanted to, that it was ok to cry and be human.

But none of that would change or comfort him.

He just needed someone to listen.

"I cried, like a little bitch." His lip was quivering and his brows stitched in a focused glare, swallowing hard. Staring, at the wall.

"That shit changed me, I stopped being a kid when I was ten...my parents never came out to try and find me but I didn't need them." He starts talking quicker. "I didn't need them." It was like he had to repeat himself to reassure himself.

Of course he needed them, he may have never embraced childhood but Dallas Winston was still a kid. He needed care and affection and he never got it.

"I sold drugs when I was twelve, all the way up until I was sixteen and got arrested again - you know what they told me when I got out? They told me to get a job...as if anyone in their right mind would employ a bum like me with a half an education and fifty felonies." He says calmly but he was still bitter. Bitter that he never had the chance to be a better person.

"You know babe, I'll probably die in jail." He chuckles sourly.

He played with your hair a bit, twirling it around his fingers. He didn't smile, just breathing steady and gentle. You knew Dallas wasn't always just some wild hoodlum with no purpose. First he was a scared little boy, forced to become runaway because it was the only way he'd stay alive then he was criminal.

Then he was trapped and then he was a hopeless case.

He'd never admit it but he wished he had a chance.

"You still got time Dally..." You say after some moment of quiet. "You can move out again, start someplace new." You suggest.

He just sighed and shook his head.

"I told you, you can't fix me."

That was true. It needed to come from him.

"Out on these streets, round here I get respect you know? I never got that shit anywhere else, I was always somebodies bitch."

"You don't have to beat people to get them to respect you." You say calmly "You don't gotta steal and lie..."

He did that thing with his eye, closing one and curling the top of his lip, tilting his head back to the side a little. "What do you know, huh?"

"I've known love, somebody's cared about me at one point or another...the guys care about you, and so do I...you won't change but if you wanted to, we'd all have your back."

Dally would probably never change, maybe when he realized it was too late. No matter where he ended up though, at least now he had someone to give him a chance.

"Someone will give you a chance. I did, didn't I?" You murmur.

He half smiles, breaking gaze with the wall and looking down at you, finally.

"Guess you did."

"You deserved it."