AN: Hi all! Due to several people being confused about the POV switch, i went back and fixed everything. I can't believe that slipped my mind when i was editing everything. Hope this is easier to understand!
Love,
Alex

You're awakened by harsh coughing coming from the living room. You hop out of your bed, rubbing your bleary eyes as you walk down the long hallway. You can barely make out a small figure on the couch. As you flip on the hall light, you catch a glimpse of towheaded locks as the figure doubles over in another fit of those hacking coughs.

"Dally?" you whisper quietly, hurriedly crossing the room to sit next to the small kid. He has his head buried in his jacket, coughs wracking his thin frame. Hesitantly you place a hand on his knee, moving closer to him. Ever since Dally got back from New York, no one could touch him, except for Soda. Dallas had gotten scared in New York, scared real bad. Dallas pulls his head out of his jacket, and you gasp at the kids face. He has a huge purple shiner over his right eye, and his cheek is busted open all down the side. Your throat swells up with pity for the kid you love like a brother.

"Hey Darry..." Dally says softly, curling his knees up to his chest. Cautiously, you reach out a hand and tilt his face towards you so you can get a better look at his busted cheek. Shockingly, he doesn't pull away; he just stares at you with those huge, heartbreakingly innocent baby blues.

"What happened to ya Dal?" you ask him, letting go of his face.

"My dad. Beat me up 'cuz he said my coughing was keeping him awake." Dally says softly, his lower lip quivering slightly.

"Come on kid, let's go get you cleaned up," you murmur, standing up and waiting for Dallas to stand up. The minute he does, he doubles over, coughs wracking through his slim torso. You anxiously walk into the bathroom, Dallas following you. He sits down on the toilet as you rummage through the cabinet looking for a washcloth and some bandages. As you walk over to the toilet and kneel next to him, he whimpers.

"It's okay Dal, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt ya, shhh..." you soothe the six-year old. You wet the washcloth and press it very gently to Dally's swollen cheek. He flinches, wrapping his arms tightly around his thin body. You take a good look at Dallas, trying to see him as a stranger might see him. He looks so innocent, helpless, and scared that it almost breaks your heart. How could there be people out there that would hurt your baby? You take in everything, from the wisps and tufts of flyaway blonde hair to the big, trusting blue eyes to the busted face. His face is so innocent and young-looking that he could pass for four instead of six. You want to take Dally in your arms like you used to, hug him and comfort him and tell him he's safe and that every things alright.

He's trembling slightly, one arm clamped tightly over his stomach. You think that his dad did some worse damage, and that Dally is hiding it because he wants to be the tough-as-nails little kid you grew up with.

"Dally, take off your jacket and shirt. Lemme see." Dallas's already huge blue eyes grow even wider, his pale face going white. He almost falls backward off the toilet as he frantically backs away from you, pressing his back up against the wall.

"No D-darry! Please don't make me do that!" he whispers, obviously terrified. One pale hand slips underneath his old jacket, covering his stomach. He pulls his hand back out from under his jacket, and it's smeared with blood. Dallas lets out a shaky sigh and slides down the wall, his eyes closed.

"Dallas? Dally?" you frantically ask, starting to get up. You think he's passed out. His eyes slowly open. You want to yell at him to come over to you, but that won't work with Dallas. You soften your tone as much as possible.

"Dal, please come over here. I need to see your cut. Please!" He slowly inches his way back over to you, shrugging off his worn leather jacket to reveal a tattered white t-shirt soaked him blood. You remind yourself to give the kid some new clothes. He sits back down on the toilet, starting to pull his t-shirt over his head. You can see his hands visibly shaking.

"Dal, it's me, Darry. I'm not gonna hurt you. It's okay." he pulls the shirt off, and you are in shock. He's so frickin' skinny! Every rib sticks out of his pale chest; you can see every bone on his chest clearly through his white skin. His stomach and lower chest are smeared with blood from the six-inch gash on his stomach.

"Oh Dally!" you sigh, wetting the washcloth again. "Darry, it hurts!" you can barely hear his pain-filled whisper. 'That's my Dal.' You think. 'My tough little man.'

"I know kid, I'm gonna try to clean it. If it hurts I'm sorry." you start to mop blood off of his stomach. You move down to his cut and start gently wiping blood away. Your hand is directly over the cut when Dallas starts with another fit of coughing. It startled you, his body bending in half so quickly. Your hand gets shoved inside his cut. Dallas makes a little choking noise and clutches his stomach. "

Holy shit, Dally, are you okay? Oh my god, Dallas!" He watches with eyes the size of his head as you pull your hand out of his stomach. He leans over and throws up all over the bathroom floor. You sigh, and then holler "Soda! Get your ass in here!"

You hear voices coming down the hallway, and your very sleepy brother and friend come in.

"Dar, whatta ya want? S'like, 3 in the morning!" Soda complains, scratching his head. Two-bit laughs at Soda's complaining tone, but sober up when he sees Dallas.

"Dally, you okay buddy?" Soda hops over the puke on the floor to wrap Dallas in his arms. Dally takes one look at you, and bursts into tears.

"S-s-s-s-sod-d-a! I didn't mean to Soda! I'm sorry!" he wails, head buried in Soda's flannel shirt. Soda strokes his hair, rubbing his back and whispering soothingly to him. "Dally, of course you didn't mean too. Its fine! Honey, I'm not mad atcha!" you tell Dally, grabbing a towel and wiping up the puke on the floor. Two-bit steps around you and kneels next to the toilet, staring at Dally with immense concern in his eyes. You find the suture and thread in the medicine cabinet, along with a handful of bandages. You cross the room to sit down next to Two-bit. Dallas is still sobbing, his chest heaving up and down every time he takes a breath.

"He won't let me touch him," Two-bit says agonizingly, giving you a very sad and somber expression in his usually lively gray eyes.

"I tried to rub his back and he freaked out." Two-Bit's eyes look a lot more watery than they should be. The whole gang loves Dally, and it was really hard for them to see the change in Dally when he got back from New York.

Bless your brother's heart; he's trying his best to calm Dally down. He's got both arms wrapped around Dally's violently shaking body, his cheek pressed on Dally's head as the kid sobs into his shirt.

"Shhh sweetie, shhh. It's okay Dally, shhh." Soda croons, stroking Dally's hair.

"Dallas? Little man, can you look at me?" you ask him softly, pulling out the suture and threading it. Dallas pulls his face put of Soda's shirt, his eyes red. You smile at him.

"Dal, I need to sew up your cut. It might hurt, but I need to do it. Okay, little buddy?" Dally nods slightly, fresh tears dribbling down his flushed cheeks. Painfully, he turns over on his side, exposing the cut. He hides his face in Soda's shirt again as you start to stitch up his cut, which is still bleeding heavily all over Soda's jeans. Little by little, you close up the huge gap with a line of small, neat stitches. Dallas doesn't say a word throughout the whole thing; he just keeps up a steady stream of shivering. You finish and wrap a long bandage around Dal's skinny stomach. When you're done, Dal tries to sit up, but falls back down, his bony chest heaving as those god-damn coughs heave through his body. You carefully pick him up, leaning his head on your shoulder as you start to walk back to the living room.

When you first picked him up he struggled, making small keening noises in the back of his throat and calling for Soda. When he realizes it's you, he calms down, wrapping a skinny arm tightly around your neck. He turns his face facedown onto your shoulder, coughing into your shirt. You head into the living room and sit down on the couch, keeping Dallas with you. Dally untangles himself from your arms and clambers over you, curling up next to your side. He nestles his head on to your chest, curling his knees up to his chest and sleepily placing his thumb in his mouth. You smile slightly, wrapping your arm snugly around him. Soda flops down in the armchair across from you, and Two-bit comes into the room with the thick woolen blanket from your bed. He sits down next to you on the couch and wraps the warm blanket around Dally, who's still shivering.

"Darry, what happened to him?" he asks, tenderly brushing Dally's untamable blonde locks out of his face.

"Well, I think that he's sick. Have you heard those coughs? I found him in here, coughing his head off. His dad beat him up because he was coughing too much. That's what that stab wound was from. I was cleaning it, and he had a coughing fit. My hand kinda got shoved into the cut." Two-bit sucks in a sharp gasp, his grey eyes flashing up to meet your blue ones.

"Yeah, it was bad. Then he puked, and I called for you guys." you finish, pulling Dally up so that he's more comfortable.

"I've never seen him cry like that. Actually, I don't think I've ever seen him cry..." Soda wonders aloud, crossing his legs on the coffee table.

"Yeah, I've never seen him cry like that either. Usually he's my tough-as-nails-screw-the-world little man." you reply affectionately.

"Soda, feet." you snap, glaring at your brother. Soda laughs at your expression and takes his feet off he coffee table.

"Sorry superman! Just thinking." Soda gives you one of his signature grins, and you can't help returning the smile.

(Soda's POV)

I yawn and stretch out my cramped limbs, all tight from having spent the night in the armchair.

"Soda!" Ponyboy crows, right in my face, his hair already greased.

"I made breakfast, now you and Darry have to clean up!" I playfully shove him away with a grunt, standing up and stretching out my arms.

"Hey man," my best buddy Steve says, sitting on the counter playing with a pop bottle. "Hey Steve." I yawn, walking over to him and stealing his cup of coffee. Steve slaps my hand and jerks his head in the couches direction.

"What's up with the cuddlefest over there?" he says mockingly, a sneer on his face. I look over to the couch, where Darry and Dallas are sleeping. Darry is stretched out on the couch on his side, his arms wrapped protectively around Dally. Dally is curled into a little ball, his back pressed up to Darry's stomach. I think it's kinda sweet actually, but strange because Dallas usually never let's anyone but me hug him. The only times he goes to sleep with Darry is when he's had nightmares or if his dad beat him up. He usually is inconsolable after a beating, and Darry and I spend almost the entire night trying to comfort him. Like last night. It's my turn to slap Steve.

"Shut your trap. Dally had a really rough night last night. His old man beat the shit out of him yesterday. He has a knife stab this freakin' long man!" I stretch my fingers out about three or four inches on my side. I see Steve's eyes widen slightly, but before I could explain the rest of the story, Dallas starts up with that awful coughing, wheezing and heaving as he fights to breathe.

"Dar thinks he's sick." I tell Steve, who is staring at me weirdly.

"So, Darry was cleaning that cut I told you about before, and Dally started coughing. Darry's hand kinda got shoved into the cut. Dally puked, and then Darry got me and Two-bit." I finish explaining, but Steve isn't looking at me any more. he's staring at Dally with a sick expression on his face.

"Jesus Soda, the kid looks like hell!" he whispers, horrified. The blanket fell off of Dally while he was sleeping, and the result isn't pretty. Half of his face is immensely swollen, with a deep cut down his cheek and a shiner over his right eye. I didn't notice what Dally's chest looked like last night, but I sure do notice like a skeleton. You could count every single rib through his pale skin, his hip bones stuck out above his jeans, his cheeks looked sunken into his head. To top it all off, he had a long, bloody bandage wrapped around his stomach, covering up the nasty wound he'd gotten from his old man. Blood had seeped through the bandage, staining the blanket and parts of our couch red.

"Oh shit..." I mutter, running my hands through my hair as I walk over to the couch and kneel next to Dallas. "Dally...Dallas! Time to wake up!" I croon, gently shaking his shoulder. Long blonde eyelashes flutter, opening up to reveal those beautiful blue eyes that Dallas has, though now they look dull and feverish.

"Hey sweetie! Good morning!" I whisper softly to him, brushing his hair off his forehead. Dally draws his body tight up against Darry, shivering. I help him sit up.

"You cold?" I ask, staring with concern at him. He nods slightly, a little sleep-drunk still. I wrap some of the blanket around his thin shoulders.

"Dal, we gotta clean your cut now." I tell him, kneeling down to look him in the eyes. "No..." I can barely hear him whisper as his eyes close again and he snuggles back up to Darry. I sigh, not wanting to wake him up again. Instead, I shake Darry awake.

"Dar! Darry, we got a problem!" I say loudly, shaking his broad shoulder. He awakes with a loud snort, shaking his head. Automatically, his arms tighten around Dallas, making sure Dally is okay.

"What Soda? What's wrong?" he says sleepily, blinking.

"Uh, check out the couch and the blanket, Superman." Darry sits up, carefully laying Dally down, and looks around he couch.

"Where the hell did all this blood come from?" he asks incredulously, staring around wildly.

"Dallas." is my short answer. Darry pulls the blanket off of Dallas and goes pale. "Damn..." he runs his hands through his hair.

"He JUST went back to sleep," I warn Darry.

"Soda, he's so sick. Just by lying next to him, I can feel how hot he is. He kept me up all night coughing..." Darry frets, stroking Dally's hair with a maternal type of concern. Darry gets up off the couch, stretching Dallas out on the couch and unwrapping the blood soaked bandage on Dal's stomach.

"Is he okay?" Steve calls from across the room, walking over. Ponyboy enters the room, Johnny in tow.

"Hey Pepsi!" he laughs, coming over beside me. He gasps when he sees Dally, turning to me with a sick expression.

"Soda, what happened to him?" Dallas' cut really doesn't look good. The skin around his cut is red and inflamed, stretched tight around the wound. It hasn't stopped bleeding, not even now. Darry has finished taking out all of the old stitches, and he's carefully sewing the cut back up, with a line of small, neat stitches. Dally starts to stir, his eyes opening slowly.

"Soda.." he whispers, reaching out to clutch onto my Jean leg.

"What, honey?" I say gently, kneeling down next to him.

"Can you stay with me? Please?" he whimpers, his blue eyes filling up with tears.

"Shhh, Dal, of course I'll stay with you! Don't cry, don't cry Dal!" I shush him, sitting down on the couch and pulling his feverish head into my lap. He visibly relaxes, his eyes closing again. Darry wraps a clean bandage around Dallas again.

"Pepsi, I need you to get the thermometer. I want to check his temperature." Darry asks me tiredly, patting my leg to get me off the couch. I get up, but Dally freaks out. He literally turns himself over, throwing his legs over the side of the couch and shakily getting up. I can't believe he has enough strength to do that! He takes a few steps, then collapses face down onto the floor. Darry jumps up, kneeling beside Dallas and pulling him up. Dally's eyes are closed, his breathing fast and shallow.

"Jesus Christ, what did he want from you Soda?" Darry growls, easily picking Dally up and sitting back down on the couch. All of a sudden, Dally wakes up again.

"Darry! Darry, will you stay with me?" he begs Darry, with such helplessness and terror that it hurts my heart to see that. His twig thin fingers clamp around the collar of Darry's shirt, his blonde hair a completely wild mess, his big blue eyes pleading and disoriented.

Darry really loves Dally, he thinks of Dal as his youngest brother. Dal is Darry's baby, even though he'd never admit. It's hard for Darry to see Dally the way he is now.

"I will Dal, you gotta calm down. I'm not gonna leave you. I'll stay right here, I won't leave." Darry promises Dallas, gently unclamping Dally's hands from his collar and smoothing his thin fingers out.

"C'mon kid, you need to go to sleep. That's it, you just rest now. I got ya." Dar whispers as Dally slowly wiggles next to my brother and lays his head on Darry's stomach, using it as a pillow. I see feather-duster eyelashes blink, then slide closed. Darry wraps an arm around Dally, pressing him up against his body.

"Soda, can you get the comforter off my bed? And while you're getting that get the thermometer?" Darry asks me, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. I walk into his room, stripping the heavy blanket off his bed. I've never, ever seen Dally this sick. He almost doesn't know who we are. Going into the bathroom, I have to rummage through the cabinet to find the thermometer, and when I start to walk out of the bathroom my foot skids on something and I fall flat on my ass. As I get up, I notice what I fell in is a puddle of blood. The puddle trails out the door and into the living room. It must be from Dally from last night.

"Ugh," I grunt, heaving the heavy blanket up on my shoulder and staggering into the living room.

"Here," I tell Darry, dumping the blanket on the couch and handing him the thermometer. Two-Bit is sprawled in the armchair, and Steve is sitting on the floor next to him.

"Hey Pepsi! How's the kid?" Steve asks cheerily, grinning at me. As if to answer him, Dally starts to cough again, and it sounds like he's heaving up a lung. Steve's smile falters.

"I guess not good, huh?" Two-Bit murmurs, shifting in the chair. Darry swears from behind me, and I turn around to see Darry, holding Dally's head up with the thermometer in his mouth.

"How high Dar?" I ask worriedly, almost afraid to hear the answer. "

103.5." Darry sighs, tenderly laying Dally's head back onto his chest. "If it gets any higher I'm going to take him to the hospital." Steve stares at Darry funny.

"Why not take him now? He's sick enough, ain't he?" he asks, getting up to stand next to me.

"He is," Darry agrees, "but you know Dal. He's delirious and doesn't know what's going on. If we took him to the hospital like this, he'd freak out. He doesn't like people to touch him when he's not sick, but since he's sick and didn't recognize Soda before, he would flip out." Darry explains, waving me over.

"Soda, I need you to stay with him until I get home. I need to work today, but I think I'll be able to get off the rest of the week to take care of him." I nod, taking his spot as he gets up off the couch. Darry walks into his room to get changed, and I wrap the blanket tighter around Dally. Two-Bit and Steve start wrestling, punching playfully at each other. "Guys, chill ou-" I am in the middle of saying as Two-Bit falls against the couch, knocking the whole couch against the wall. The jostle was enough to wake Dallas up, who stares at me with bleary blue eyes.

"Darry?" he ask softly, blinking a couple of times.

"You're not Darry." he says flatly, realization kicking in. "Where's Darry? Darry?" his voice rises from a whisper to a shriek as he struggles to get away from me.

"Dal, Dal, it's me, Soda! It's okay!" I try to soothe him, but he just keeps trying to wiggle out of the blanket. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream of "DARRY!" and Darry comes running in, with a heavy flannel shirt and jeans on. "

What? Soda, what happened?" he sits down next to me, unwrapping the blanket from Dally as Dally frantically climbs over to Darry and buries his face in Darry's shirt. He's sobbing, loud, harsh sobs that rattle in his chest.

"Easy buddy, I got ya. Oh Dally, what's wrong?" he coos, stroking Dally's heaving back. Dal pulls his face up and throws his thin arms around Darry's neck, still bawling. "Shhh..." Dar whispers, his arms cradling Dally against his chest.

"Y-y-you-u p-p-p-prom-mise-d-d-d!" Dally wails, hiding his face in Darry's neck.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry! I swear, I won't leave you. I'd never leave you, its okay..." Darry whispers, gently detaching Dally's hands from around his neck and pulling the sobbing kid onto his lap. Dally is so small, he looks emaciated next to Darry's bulk. Darry rubs his back, murmuring in his ear. I can hear Dally's little whimpers.

"Darry, I didn't know where you were! Please, don't leave me again!" Dally says frantically, his small voice high and scared.

"Dal, I won't. Relax, I'm right here. I'm not gonna leave." Dar reassures Dal. Dally lets out a shuddery sigh, nestling up against Darry. He forces his bleary eyes to stay open. I can see the rings under his eyes from being so exhausted.

Two-Bit and Steve hurry out the door, Steve mouthing to me, "Gonna find Pony and Johnny."

I walk over to the kid and say, "Dal, you gotta go to sleep! Ya need to rest!" Dally just gives me a look, one of his icy death glares. The effect is kinda lost as he breaks off coughing in the middle of it. He looks up at Darry, holding his stomach.

"Darry, I don't feel good..." he trails off with a little moan.

"I know bud, you'll feel better soon. You just need some sleep." Darry comforts him, stroking his hair.

"No Darry, I really don't feel good.." he says, with more force. For the second time today, Dallas miraculously launches himself off of the couch, staggering into the kitchen with a hand clamped over his mouth. Darry and I exchange a surprised look, which quickly turns into one of horror as we hear retching in the kitchen. I skid into the kitchen, just in time for Dally to finish.

"Sooooda!" he cries. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't reach the bathroom! I'm ssssssoooorrry!" Darry kneels down next to Dally, snatching a dishtowel off of the counter and wiping Dal's face with it.

"Dally, it's fine! Don't worry, shhhhhh..." he wraps an arm around Dally's thin shoulders and leading him back into the living room. He gets him settled on the couch again, bundled up in three blankets.

"Darry? Darry?" Dally asks the air, staring straight at Darry, but I get the feeling that he's not entirely looking at him.

"What baby? I'm right here," Darry says gently, softly shaking Dally's shoulders to get him to focus on him.

"Darry, go to work today. Soda can stay with me.." Dally says bravely, but I can see his lip quivering and see his big blue eyes start to water.

"You sure? I can stay with ya Dal, it's no problem." Darry tells Dal, worried about his reaction.

"Go!"Dallas snaps, a tear dripping down his cheek. "Okay little man..." Darry trails off, grabbing his toolbox, kissing Dal's forehead, and walking out the door.

I hear his truck start up, Dally wobbly gets up, shaking off the blankets, and weaving drunkenly out the door. I follow him, unsure of what he's doing. He gets down the steps okay, running shakily up to Darry and latching onto his shirt.

"I didn't mean it! Don't go Darry, don't go! Please! Stay with me! PLEASE!" he cries, wrapping both of his skinny arms tightly around Darry's big arm.

"Don't go Darry!" he howls, trying feebly to tug Darry back towards the house. Darry hugs Dally with his free arm, drawing him protectively against his chest. He sits down in the driveway, his arms encircling Dally's thin form.

He rocks Dal back and forth, murmuring "It's ok, shhh... I'll stay, don't you worry. I won't leave ya Dal, of course I'll stay!" I scamper down the steps, kneeling next to Darry, who's got Dally latched onto his shirt, tears running down his small face.

"What the FUCK?" a new voice enters the air and I turn to see Tim Shepard standing in the driveway with a confused expression on his hard face.

"S'that Winston? What's wrong with the little shit now? That kids tougher than Curly, and Curly's thirteen." Tim says matter-of-factly, sitting down next to Darry and lighting up a smoke. Sometimes I forget that Tim's the same age as me: fifteen- he acts so much older. "Hey Blondie, what's up, ya lil snot?" Tim says somewhat kindly to Dally. In Tim's world, what he said to Dally would be considered affectionate. Tim cares a lot for the kid, and he's pretty attached to him.

"Tim..." Dally coughs, raising his tear streaked face to glance at Tim. He hides his face again against Darry's shirt, whimpering to himself.

"Dal," Darry croons, putting a finger under Dally's quivering chin and pulling it up so Dally's looking at Darry. "It's okay! I'm going to stay with you, we're going to go inside, and you can sleep, and relax," I can see Dal's eyes start to droop close: the poor kid is exhausted and has hardly gotten any sleep the whole morning. Darry stands up, easily carrying Dally up the steps and into the house. Tim and I follow him.

"Again, may I ask, what the FUCK?" Tim demands me, flopping down into the armchair. Darry sits down on the couch, stretching Dallas out with his feverish head in Darry's lap. I cover him with Darry's comforter, then sit on the kitchen chair in the corner of the room.

"Ahem?" Tim growls impatiently, glaring at me.

"Tim, go into Sodas room and bring the garbage can out here please." Darry says tiredly, feeling Dally's forehead. Grumbling to himself, Tim gets up, slouching into my room. I hear a couple of crashes, then Tim comes back, handing the old garbage can to Darry. "Explain." he hisses dangerously, violent dark-blue eyes narrowing into slits. You don't screw around with Tim Shepard, you just don't. He may be one of the toughest JD's around, but if one of his friends are in trouble, he'll drop everything to help them. I think he genuinely likes Dallas, and he does care about him, even though he pretends otherwise.

"Okay," Darry sighs, stroking Dally's hair. "Last night, I found him sitting in the living room, beat up, coughing his head off. He's sick, and his father beat the shit out of him last night." Darry sums up, running his fingers through Dal's cornsilk hair, which is matted in some places with blood. Tim growls, lighting up another cigarette and taking a drag.

"I don't know what that mother-fucker of a father did to him last night, but Curly and Ang could hear him screaming from all the way down the block." he snarls, flicking his lighter on and from the couch, turning over and holding his stomach.

"Oh shit, it's starting again..." Darry trails off, grabbing the bucket and keeping it close to Dally's mouth. Dally leans over, his frail body convulsing as he heaves into the bucket. Tim turns a little pale, seeing and hearing Dal vomit his guts up. He just flops over when he's done, hanging over the couch like a limp piece of laundry. Darry sets the bucket down, tenderly wrapping an arm around Dal's chest and pulling him back into a laying position.

"Tim..." Dally groans, turning his flushed face to face Tim.

"What Blondie?" Tim says, in such a gentle voice I almost can't believe it's Tim. "Water!" Dal whispers, his big, bleary eyes pleading with Tim, even though I know he doesn't need to plead, he's already got Tim wrapped around his little fingers.

"What am I, the fucking maid?" Tim grumbles as he gets up to get a glass of water. "Darry, my stomach hurts."Dallas says bluntly, wiggling weakly in the cocoon of blankets Darry has him trapped in.

"Like you're gonna puke bud? Or does your cut hurt?" Darry asks the kid anxiously, unwrapping all the blankets from Dally's trembling frame.

"Cut..." Dally whispers, his thin hands scratching at the bandage on his stomach.

"Get it off, get it off, get it off!" he shrieks, leaving ugly gouges in his pale skin as he tries to rip away the bandage with his nails.

"Okay Dally, shhh, I'll get the bandage off, look, it's off! You're fine!" Darry removed the bandage, revealing the cut, which is swollen, inflamed, and red as hell.

"Tim!" Darry hollers. "Get the Aspirin out of the middle cabinet over the sink!" I can hear occasional cussing coming out of the kitchen as Tim slams cabinet doors.

"Here's his fuckin' water, here's the fuckin' Aspirin, now can I stop playing fuckin' nurse and sit down because I'm fucking tired?" Tim snarls, sitting down in the armchair and staring at Dally. Darry pours two Aspirin into his hand and pries open Dally's tightly clamped mouth to pop the pills in. He brings the glass of water up to Dallas' lips, coaxing him to swallow.

"C'mon honey, ya gotta swallow! It's the only way you'll get better!" Dallas takes a couple of small sips, then pushes the water away with a soft cry. "Tim!" he moans, shaking violently underneath all the blankets.

"Tim?" he tries again, his voice a slightly higher pitch. "What?" is Tim's angry reply. "Tim?" Dal's voice is shuddery, like he's trying not to bawl or something.

"Yeah?" Tim says a little softer, feeling guilty that he snapped at the kid like that. Can... Can you stay Tim? Don't go, please stay with me..." he murmurs, picking absentmindedly at his stitches.

"Uh, sure Dallas. I'll stay.." Tim replies hesitantly, like he's condemning himself to the electric chair by talking.

"Sit with me," Dal pleads, his voice all high an' helpless-like. I can tell that it's killing Darry to watch a delirious Dally beg our asshole friend for comfort. Darry's baby ain't me or Ponyboy, it's Dallas. Darry loves that kid, he really does.

"For Christ's sake Tim Shepard, sit with the damn kid! That's what he's asking ya to do!" Darry snaps at Tim. Tim looks surprised as hell, but he slowly gets up, slinking his lanky frame over to the couch. Tim reminds me of a cat, a feral alley cat who will attack anything and everyone. Curly reminds me of a stupid, loud dog. He ain't that smart, and he's always getting in trouble for something. Curly's got a good heart, though. Tim does a lot of shit, but he's smart enough not to get caught. Tim sits awkwardly down on the couch, folding his long legs under him.

With tremendous effort, Dal pulls himself into a sitting position, swaying back and forth. He crawls over to Tim, laying his blonde head on Tim's shoulder with a sigh. He draws his skinny body tight up against Tim's side, cuddling with the hood. Tim doesn't know what to do. He just sits there, bewildered as Dally wiggles underneath his arm and rests his head on Tim's chest.

"Um, could you kindly Fu-" Tim starts to say, but is cut off as Darry slaps the back of his head.

"Ow! What the hell superman?" Tim snaps, turning his angry blue glare on Darry.

"For once in your life, can you not be an ass? Can't you see how exhausted he is? All he wants is for you to hug him. Don't be a jerk Tim." Darry growls, getting up and taking the bowl of puke outside. Tim mutters to himself, but wraps an arm around Dally. When Darry comes back in, Tim's eyes are closed, and his head is on top of Dally's, both of them sleeping peacefully. I smile, wishing that I had a camera to take this picture. Tough delinquent with innocent six-year old. Darry grabs his jacket from the armchair. "Sodapop Curtis, I'm going to get more Aspirin, more bandages, and some antibiotics for Dally's cut. I will be gone about an hour. Can you and Tim watch Dally for an hour?" Darry asks, already halfway out of the doorway. "Yeah..." I call. I close my eyes sleepily. Twenty minutes of sleep can't hurt...