Disclaimer: The Outsiders is the property of S. E. Hinton. No copyright infringement is intended. The title taken is from an old song by the same title, originally written by Ada Blenkhorn.

MC4A Challenges: FPC; BAON; NC; SoC; FF; Star; Fence; ER; Rum; Cluster; VV; MT; O3; SHoE; CM; Measure; Swap; Share; DP
Individual Challenges: Tissue Warning (Y); No Proof (N); Times Go On (N); New Fandom Smell (N); Location, Location, Location (N); Themes & Things A—Abandonment (N); Themes & Things B—Innocence (N); Themes & Things C—Mirror (N); Themes & Things F—Light (N); Booger Breath (N); Rian-Russo Inversion (N); Short Jog (N); Pop Some Tags (Leather Jacket; N)
Representations: Dallas Winston; Barbara Mathews; Mathews Family; The Gang; Older Siblings; Lecturing; Stubbornness & Rebellion; Responsibility & Abandonment; Underage Promiscuity; Honky-Tonk Music
Bonus Challenges: Second Verse (Ladylike—Promiscuous/Rebellious/Foul-Mouthed; Not a Lamp; Persistence Still; Found Family; Nontraditional; Mother Hen; Unwanted Advice; Lyre Liar; Muck & Slime; Under the Bridge; Esbat); Chorus (Odd Feathers; Fizzy Lemonade; Mouth of Babes; A Long Dog; Larger Than Life; Abandoned Ship; Head of Perseus; In the Trench; Sitting Hummingbird; Hot Stuff)
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: O3 (Orator; Oust); CM (Notch)
List (Prompt): Outer Wear (Leather Jacket)
Winter Bingo Space Address: D4 (Red)
Word Count: 2788

A/N: The character of Barbara Mathews is not entirely an OC. The book does mention Two-Bit having a "kid sister" but gives no further details about her, so her name, age, personality, etc., are all my own creation. Two-Bit's having a sister is, however, canon.

Warning: As with my other story from Dally's POV, the content of this fic is much heavier and less family-friendly than what I usually write, including many references to sexual content and some censored profanity. The world of The Outsiders is a rough one, and Dally's side of it more so than any of the others'. However, the themes of love, family, and morality that run through my other work are still present here, and should come through even more clearly in the planned second chapter. In the meantime… well, Jesus sat with sinners, too. Sometimes to make a change for the better you have to start by seeing the worst.

Buck Merril's place is rough. That's all anyone ever calls it, his "place"; it's too big and rambling for a house and too close and cramped for a bar. It ain't anything so much as a seedy motel, with a revolving door of no-goods who share the dubious honor of being Buck's friends. There's more back bedrooms and little out-of-the-way corners than you can shake a stick at, which makes it ideal for a place to lay over if you're boozed up or beat up or in hot water or just strapped for cash. Or if you wanna get laid. Buck don't know nor care about half of what goes on under his roof; probably he couldn't tell you who was sleeping there on a given night.

I'm one of the regulars. I ain't crazy about Buck—you can take your pick of reasons, his taste in music's as good a place to start as any—but I know how to handle him all right, and I can run down the list of reasons for needing a place to stay inside of a week. I'll come down and join the scene every now and then, too; not all of Buck's pals are Hank Williams-loving wannabe cowboys. And there's always some cute chicks hanging around.

One of them—I forget her name—had me by the arm and we were hunting for a vacant spot when I saw something that made my blood boil. We'd already tried my two favorite bedrooms and found them occupied, so by that point I was just trying doors. The broad was giggling and tugging at my jacket like she was going to start undressing me right there in the hallway, and I was just about hard enough to let her. I pulled open a closet door, and a couple inside screamed and backed away from the light, so I slammed the door shut before I had time to register what I'd seen. Then my brain caught up to my eyes.

"Barbara Mathews!" I shook off my startled broad and threw the door wide open. The couple screamed and recoiled again, but mercilessly I reached in and grabbed the girl by the arm, dragging her out into the dimly lit hallway. She fought me for a minute, hollering with fury, but then I got hold of her other arm and she had nowhere to go.

She glared up at me defiantly, standing there in nothing but her bra and unzipped jeans. She must have been a D-cup at least, and her boobs were pressing against the backs of my thumbs as I gripped her arms, but I'd never been less turned on in my life. A litany of curses were crowding the tip of my tongue, and I was holding them back more on principle than necessity. You'd never know by looking that the little broad in front of me, with her boobs and hips and hard, bitter gray eyes outlined in smudged black makeup, was a fourteen-year-old kid. Two-Bit's kid sister Barbie, as a matter of fact.

"Leave me alone, Dally," she spat at me.

"Fat chance." Not loosening my grip, I turned my attention to the loser who'd been with her, still cowering in the closet. I knew him by sight; his name was Larry Floyd, from one of the smaller downtown outfits, the bottom of the pack, a real pantywaist. He was looking up at me like he thought I was gonna kill him, and if I hadn't needed both hands to hang onto Barbie, he might've been right. "Give me her shirt and get out of my sight," I snarled at him.

Larry flung a little piece of black cloth my way and took off down the hallway, glancing back in case I decided to change my mind. He just better hope I didn't catch him later.

"C'mon, Dally, let's go," my broad whined, catching onto my arm again. I'd almost forgotten she existed. "Who is this anyway?"

"My buddy's kid sister," I answered, not looking at her. "Who is going home. Now."

"Who's gonna make me?" Barbie snapped, tossing her disheveled hair, auburn like Two-Bit's, back out of her eyes. "Looks to me like you're a little busy at the moment, Dal."

"Yeah, c'mon, Dal." The chick tugged on my arm.

"Scram, will ya?" I shook her off again and turned to glare with her. I hate pushy broads. I'd have to remember not to try with this one again, assuming I could even keep her face in my head once she was outta my sight. "I gotta deal with this."

She let out an angry huff and stalked off down the hallway.

Barbie scoffed. "You sure, Dally? Hate to ruin your evenin'."

"Shut up and put your clothes on," I growled, letting go with one hand so I could snatch up the little scrap of cloth that was supposed to be her shirt. She pulled it on over one arm and then waited for me to switch my grip so she could do the other one. I glared at her, daring her to complain, but she only glared back. She might as well not have bothered anyway; I could still see the same amount of skin spilling out over the collar, and her nipples poked through the thin cotton.

I shucked off my leather jacket and shoved it at her. "Put that on over the top. You think I wanna see all that?"

"You been seein' it," she answered tartly.

"Yeah, and I don't wanna see it any more. Put it on or I'll put it on for you."

Still glaring, she put the jacket on. It just about swallowed her, which was a whole lot better than the alternative.

I frog-marched her down the stairs, not trusting her not to take off running the second she thought she saw a chance. She could never have outrun me, but I didn't credit her with the sense not to try it; her and her brother neither one ever been long on common sense.

Fortunately Buck was still out in the open and semi-coherent.

"Gimme your keys, man!" I yelled at him over the hubbub of the pool room and the grating honky-tonk music.

"What?" he drawled.

"Your keys! I gotta take this kid home before she gets into any more trouble."

Buck eyed Barbie. "She don't look blitzed to me," he said, trying to make his eyes focus on her.

"You never shoulda let her in here in the first place, man! She's just a kid!" I hollered back. "You ever see her hangin' around again, you turn her straight out, ya hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear ya," said Buck, though I knew I couldn't trust him to do it. Like as not he wouldn't be able to pick Barbie out of a lineup tomorrow if his life depended on it, and not only because right now he was probably seeing double. Buck just plain don't care.

He tossed me the keys, and I hustled Barbie outside to his rust red T-bird.

As the door closed behind us, I drank in a breath of cool, Hank Williams-free air. It was chilly enough that I wouldn't have minded having my jacket back, but then, at least I had a shirt on. Barbie probably needed it more than I did. I put her in on the passenger side first, though she didn't look likely to run anymore. She was settling into one of her classic sulks, and I probably could've got her home without another word to or out of her if I'd wanted to. And part of me did, part of me really did. I ain't exactly the big brotherly type, and I ain't much for giving lectures neither; I know as well as anybody I got no room to talk. I can sure tear somebody a new one, though, and if Darry lecturing Ponyboy is anything to go by, it's almost the same thing. And anyways I had to say something.

"So, you little sh—brat," I said as I started up the engine. I was still trying to watch myself and not cuss at her, since she was a kid and a girl, if not such an innocent one. I wasn't sure how I was gonna handle this without it, though. Darry never cusses Pony when he yells at him, but then Darry don't cuss much, period. "What am I supposed to tell your mom and your brother, huh? How do you think they're gonna feel when they find out what you been up to?"

"I don't care," she said flatly, staring out the window. There wasn't much to see; there was no moon tonight, and most of the streetlamps were out in this part of town. "You can tell 'em whatever you want. Or don't tell 'em anything. They're neither one at home. Mom's workin', and Two-Bit's out who knows where. But it don't matter to me either way."

I pulled out a cigarette and lit up, stealing a glance at her by the light of the match. In the dim silhouette that was all I could make out of her, she still didn't look fourteen. Now she looked like a tousle-haired little kid, hunched up inside a jacket that was way too big for her. She'd lost her defiant posture, maybe trusting the darkness to cover for her; now she just looked miserable.

"You know," I said quietly, "you bein' the angry, bitter one, you'd think you'd be the better liar, but you ain't half as good as Two-Bit is."

Her head whipped around. "Why do you care so much?" she demanded. "Why do you care so f—ing much? You ain't my brother! Why can't you just be glad I ain't your responsibility and f— off?"

We passed under a rare working streetlamp, and in its wan yellow light I got a good look at her. The childlike illusion had vanished, and again I was looking at the greasy broad I'd seen back at Buck's, coarse and jaded and old before her time. And even though—maybe because—I knew her and me was pot and kettle, I despised her for it.

"Well it sure ain't because I'm so f—ing fond of you!" I shot back. "If it weren't for feelin' responsible for your bratty a—, I could be back there gettin' laid 'stead of here listenin' to you whine!"

"Then why ain't you? I never asked for your help. Why can't you just mind your own business and let me live my life? You can't tell me you weren't doin' all that and worse when you was my age, younger even!"

"What I done ain't none of your business! You got a responsibility to your family—"

"What, like my dad did? Like he had a responsibility not to run off and leave us in the lurch?"

"You wanna be like your old man? Is that what you want? You got a family that cares about you, Barbie. You know what I'd give for that?"

"What family? I got two crazies livin' in a fantasy world where everything's okay just for the sayin' so. They wouldn't know real life if it came up and bashed 'em over the head! It's all but done that to my mom, and she still thinks the world's all sunshine and daisies; don't matter what I do, it won't pop her little bubble. I could go shoot myself and she'd just keep prancin' right along. Two-Bit, too, for that matter."

I turned and stared at her. Another street lamp passed overhead, and by its glow I saw black trails of mascara running down her cheeks.

"You don't really believe that," I said softly.

"Why not? It's the truth. Like it or lump it."

That's Two-Bit's phrase. His motto of sorts. It's how he gets through life, how he manages to put up with all the crap he's been through and still keep a smile on his face. It ain't because he's delusional, it's because he looks real life straight in the eye and then says "like it or lump it" and just moves on. Or follows it up with some wisecrack or goofy stunt, more like. It's how he copes. But it don't mean he don't get it, and it don't mean he don't care.

Only thing was, I didn't know how to explain that to Barbie. Or how to make her believe me even if I could.

I sat there in silence for a minute, puffing my cancer stick and racking my brains for something to say. I wasn't the right person to be having this conversation with her. By rights it ought to have been Two-Bit himself, but he wouldn't have been able to explain it any more than I could. Sodapop would be able to do it; he understands about people and feelings and stuff like that. Not me. I see a feeling coming, I run the other way. It's the only way I've survived this long.

I could hear Barbie sniffling quietly, and I knew I had to say something. I opened my mouth, not sure what was about to come out, but all of a sudden she swore violently, and I slammed on the brakes, startled.

"What?" I looked around, figuring I'd been about to hit a dog or something. I couldn't see a thing.

"Nothin'," she mumbled. She was hunkered down in the seat, my jacket collar up around her ears like a turtle shell.

I looked out the window again and realized we were on her street. Then I saw what she'd been swearing about. Two-Bit's car was parked out front of the Mathewses' house, and the lights were on in the front room. He was home after all.

I looked at her again, then back at the waiting lights. Finally, I let out a quiet curse and threw the car in park. "Gimme my jacket."

"What?"

"My jacket. He'll know somethin's up if you walk in wearin' that."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Listen, ya wanna get in trouble? No? Then give me my f—ing jacket."

She slipped out of it and handed it over, still not understanding. "What good's that gonna do?"

I sighed. "That the kinda thing you normally wear?"

She looked down at her skimpy little shirt. "Yeah."

I shook my head at her. "Fine. You smell like booze and cigarettes, but I guess that ain't too unusual either. You gotta somethin' to tie back your hair so it don't look like you've had some loser pawin' through it?"

She dug a rubber band out of her pocket and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. I couldn't see much of her in the dark, but I figured she probably looked all right. Then I remembered the mascara tear tracks. I reached into the backseat and grabbed a paper napkin out of an old fast food bag.

"Here, spit on that and try to clean up your face a little. Use the rearview mirror; I'll try and hold up a match so you got a little light."

She took it hesitantly. "What're you doin' this for, Dally?"

"Just shut up and do what I tell ya," I snapped. I couldn't for the life of me have told her what I was doing it for.

I lit the match, and she cleaned herself up as best she could. Her makeup was still a mess, but it might pass if she went straight to her room like she usually did, and if Two-Bit was a little soused like he usually was Friday nights. I told her to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way, so he wouldn't hear the T-bird stop outside and come out to investigate.

She went to open the passenger door, but I stopped her. "Hey, if I ever see you around Buck's again, the deal's off, you hear me? I'm coverin' for you this time, but I ain't doin' it again. If even one person tells me they saw you hangin' around there again, I'm goin' straight to Two-Bit and your mom. You understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," she said. "Thanks, Dally."

"Yeah, you're welcome. Long as you know this is the last time."

She climbed out and slammed the door. I kept an eye on her all the way up to the house, then threw the car in gear and peeled out down the street. "Kids, man," I muttered to myself as I turned the car around and headed for Buck's. "I hate 'em. More trouble'n they're worth."

More than I could help with much anyways.

Poor kid.