Dallas Winston in a Christmas Carol

Our story begins in the city of Tulsa, Oklahoma in the mid 1960's in the Curtis's living room. In the 1960's, there was a rivalry between two classes. The poorer people were known as Greasers; the rich were Socs. Well, that's what Greasers called them. Socs was short for "Socials." They were the ones who drove nice cars, like mustangs.

But just because Greasers were poor didn't mean they weren't nice or smart. In fact, one fourteen year old boy named Ponyboy Curtis was real smart and real nice. His brother, Sodapop, just had to grin and everyone would smile right back. He dropped out of school to help support his family. Plus, he hated school. But he mostly did itto help out. Darrel Curtis, who went by Darry, gave up his dreams of going to college just to take care of his two younger brothers when their parents died.

There was also Keith "Two-Bit" Matthews who could make anyone laugh, whether they were a Socs or a Greaser. Johnny Cade, who the gang nicknamed Johnnycakes, was beaten senseless by his father every day and ignored by his mother. He'd often spend the night in the empty lot across the street from the Curtis's house. He was scared of nearly everything. But Ponyboy and him helped each other out. They understood one another. Johnny was a friend to everyone in their gang.

Steve Randle was Sodapop's best buddy. His dad kicked him out of the house at least once a week. Then he'd give Steve five bucks and they'd forget about it until he was kicked out again. Still, he often slipped his paycheck from his job at the DX into Darry or Soda's wallet. He called it paying rent but he knew for a fact that the couch in the Curtis's living room was always open for him.

Now, back to the living room. Steve, Sodapop, and Two-Bit were playing a game of poker. Sodapop was working on getting the hidden ace out of his shoe. Steve was kicking his leg whenever he saw him reach down. Two-Bit was taking small sips of his beer. Johnny and Ponyboy were sitting on the carpet next to the small Christmas tree. The tree had small ornaments on it from the Curtis's basement. Their mother had an entire box full. Ponyboy was pointing out his favorites. Johnnycakes was pointing out his.

The gang was missing one person. Can you guess who that was? That's right. The main character of this story. The legendary Dallas Winston.

Dallas Winston slammed his beer down on the counter. A fat man with a cowboy hat on came over by the bar.

"Give me another," Dally ordered. The cowboy, Buck, complied. He refilled his glass. Dallas gulped it down. Drops of the brown liquid slid down his sweaty neck.

"Another."

Then another.

Another.

And another.

Finally he was there. That one place where you're aware of what you're doing but to drunk to really stop it. All you wanted to do was have fun and forget. That's where Dallas was now.

He started hanging around with a brunette. She was a real looker. She allowed Dal to run his hands up and down her body. He was feeling good.

That is, until some drunk man next to him starting singing the famous "Jingle Bells." Yeah, that put a downer on Dally's mood real quick. One thing everyone, and I mean everyone, knew about Dallas Winston was that he hated Christmas.

I know what you may be thinking. How can anyone hate Christmas? Well, Dally just did. There wasn't really any reason. Or was there?

No one could really tell you. Dally didn't let anyone get to close to him. He always told people they better wise up; if they wised up they wouldn't get hurt. That was the way Dallas lived life. At least, that's how he did. Who knows how he used to be? Who knows how he'd be in the future?

Dally muttered a "goodbye" to the girl he was dancing with and left the bar. He walked up the stairs into his room. Buck allowed him to rent a place. He was one of Buck's best riders at the rodeo. Dally won them fair and square. That was probably the only thing he didn't cheat at.

Walking into his room, he stripped off his shirt. Then his jeans, leaving him in his undershorts. He threw them on the floor next to his dresser. It was early. Well, not early. It was a bit past midnight. But it was early by Dallas Winston standards.

Dally happened to glance in the mirror on his way to his bed. He didn't make it to bed because, there, in the mirror was a face. And not just any face. No. It was Tim Shepard's.

Dallas figured he had had just a bit too much to drink or maybe Buck slipped something in his beer. It wouldn't be the first time Buck had done that to him. Because, well c'mon, this was Tim Shepard he was seeing.

Tim Shepard, the guy that was killed a few years before. He was shot down by the cops after he held up a gas station. Dallas thought it was a stupid way to die. Still, he went to the funeral. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, they were friends.

The figure moved and Dallas could see the rest of the body. Except for his hands. They were held behind his back. Dally didn't know why.

"Tim?" He asked. He knew it wasn't really. It couldn't be. But whatever Buck slipped into his drink was allowing him to see him again. He wasn't going to let that opportunity go to waste. It must have been something in his drink. Ghosts weren't real.

"Hey, Dal." Dallas didn't like to admit it, but he jumped. It was Tim's voice. His real voice.

"What're you doing here?" Dally asked.

"Came to change you." Dallas was confused. Tim had begun to move around the room. His arms still stayed to his sides and his hands were behind him.

"What?"

Tim sighed.

"You need to change. When I was alive I was stupid. I didn't care about anyone. I didn't give a shit. Now I regret it. You will too if you don't change." Dallas wanted to laugh. This couldn't be Tim. Tim didn't regret anything. He just lived.

Instead Dally said, "I'm gonna kill Buck."

Tim laughed. "Same old Dallas Winston." Then his face grew serious. "I'm not kidding. You need to change, man. My life's screwed up now. Yours can be different."

"How's your life screwed? You're dead, Tim. Dead."

Tim turned around so Dallas could see. No wonder Tim's hands were behind his back. They were in handcuffs. Dallas easily recognized them. He, too, had worn the silver restraints. He could break out of them, too.

As if Tim knew what Dally was thinking he chuckled darkly. "No, Dal. These kind of cuffs can't be broken out of. If you have them you're stuck with them. Forever. And believe me, that's a long time."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Tim sat down on Dallas's bed. Dally refused to sit.

"After I died I woke up again. I was wearing these handcuffs. They don't go away, Dal. I swear they don't. I've tried everything. I didn't live my life. I didn't care. I didn't give…and I regret it every single day that I walk around. If you don't change your ways then you'll be just like me. You won't be able to stay in one place. You'll be stuck in these handcuffs. You need to change."

Dally just shook his head.

"Beer must be getting to me," he mumbled to himself.

Tim was up right in his face. "Dallas Winston, listen to me. Three spirits, and yes spirits, they're real, will visit you. They'll show you what life's really like; how you're meant to live."

Dallas just stared at Tim. Until he realized that he was gone.

"Goodbye, Dal," a voice whispered.

Dally just laid down in bed, right where his friend just was. He closed his eyes because it didn't seem so early anymore. But before falling asleep he asked a question out loud.

"What the hell did Buck put in that beer?"

So...it's a Christmas fic! In case you didn't realize, this will be a rewrite of the classic A Christmas Carol (which I do not own.) with the characters of The Outsiders (which I also do not own.) So anyway, enjoy and please review!