He made sure to close the door quietly, so he wouldn't wake up his dad, who was either passed out from too many beers or had fallen asleep on the couch. The black-and-white TV was flashing a football game that had happened earlier and was the reason Dally had been pummeled. Dally loved playing football, but watching it bored the hell out of him. Changing the channel was why his dad's beer bottle had broken on his cheek and cut the skin.

Just grab a few things, Dally whispered to himself as he walked down the sidewalk to his house, and then get out and go to the Curtis's. Even though he had promised he wouldn't do anything but his self-instructed instructions, Dally couldn't help but see red in the edges of his vision as he looked at his dad. Sometimes he wanted to kill the bastard, although it could mean worse consequences for him for just a few minutes satisfaction.

Dally started down the hallway when he wondered why he was really back home. He didn't have anything to grab, now that he thought about it. The only thing he owned that he needed was already on him - the brown leather jacket - and it wasn't even his. All that was in his room was a small spring mattress that was probably dragged in from a dumpster and rag that served as a sheet. The young greaser sighed, annoyed that he believed he had anything better to care about than a mattress, and turned around to go down the hall.

"You're back already?" a slurred voice said from behind him. Dally took his hand off the doorknob to face his dad, who was sitting up, a bottle of amber liquid in his hand. Dally didn't respond. "I told you not to come back."

"And I should'a listened," Dally spat bitterly as he turned back to the door. Brown glass shattered on the wall beside him, the contents spraying all over Dally's face and jacket. "Don't you turn your back on me!" his dad yelled. Dallas twisted around like a snake, coiling, preparing to lunge. All he could see was red and his dad in the center of it, like a target waiting to be hit. That's exactly how Dally saw him then. A target, and Dally was determined not to miss.

It could have been an hour that passed before the red disappeared from Dally's vision, but to him it seemed to be over as fast as a lightning bolt tearing across the sky. Too much energy flashing too quickly.

The sight that greeted him when Dally could see properly wasn't anything his expected. His dad was curled at his feet, whimpering and moaning incomprehensible words through thick blood dripping from his nose. Gashes colored his face red with blood, and the broken bottle that was gripped in Dally's hand dripped with red liquid instead of amber. Sirens pierced the air, and Dally didn't realize what they were for until two men dressed in blue and holding pistols burst through the door and grabbed his arms.

Once he was taken outside, Dally didn't know if he was shaking from adrenalin, cold, fear, or excitement. He'd never been arrested, but he knew immediately as he was shoved into the back seat of the white and black car with his hands cuffed together with chains that it was something he'd become familiar with. The feeling of being in the back seat of the car he'd been taught to avoid felt natural. He felt more comfortable than he had with the Curtis Brothers or Johnny Cade, Steve Randle, or any of the other kids that hung around together.

He felt that, for the first time ever, he was home.