"𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕕"

  Walking out of that hospital room was like walking out of a nightmare, only this one was haunting him more by the second. His dark eyes were clouded with pain and something much more darker. A couple of hospital staff tried to address him, but the sharp ringing in his ears made him not listen. Then Dallas noticed a scalpel on a nearby tray. 

  The cold metal felt good in his fist as he moved to a part of the building where no one was around. All that went through his mind was Johnny being dead. Gone. No longer full of that life that Dallas himself lived off of.

  When he went into a dark room at the far side of the hospital, he leaned against the wall and raised the scalpel to his neck, Breathing heavily. The stinging tears in his eyes made everything blurry, not letting him see the sharp object in front of him. 

  "Are you okay?" A small, weak voice came from the bed in front of Dallas. He stopped, seeing a small child with tubes attached to him and a small amount of hair on his head. He didn't even notice the kid was there in the first place. 

  His throat tightened. He should be asking himself that question. He dropped the scalpel, letting it clatter to the floor, his voice hoarse "no...no I'm not okay. And I never will be, kid."

  The little boy looks down "yeah..me too. I have cancer. My doctor said it won't be too long 'til I stop living. Do you get to live longer?" The boy's words hit Dallas like a physical blow. Cancer. Dying. Living. Dallas stares at the child. Dark eyes meeting innocent - something Dallas hasn't seen in anyone else but Johnny. That kid has more of a reason to end things than him.

  "How...how old are you, kid?" Dally said, not knowing what he was about to do for a second. The young boy replied "I'm five." Five? Only five years of living. The boy was dying without wanting to. Dallas felt a twisted sense of shame. He didn't care for kids. He hated kids. Why did he feel so terrible about himself? "Five.." Dallas finally said "and fighting harder than I ever did." He looks at the IV next to the boy, seeing he's only living off of medicine. "I wish I was like you" The boy said.

  Like him? A hood? A low life delenquent that people spit on? Dallas shook his head "you don't wanna be like me kid. Look at me." The little kid looks at his tall dark figure, blood stains and a black eye from the rumble. The boy finally said "your living though..." He said in his weak little voice." Dallas look up again. He was living...just without Johnny. But Ponyboy, the whole gang, they all needed him. Dallas shook his head, tear fighting to fall again. He looks at the scalpel on the floor - something that would have been stuck inside his throat. Especially in front of that child. That child who was stronger than him in so many ways.

"What's your name, kid?.." Dallas asks.

"I'm Davie...what's your name mister?" He leans against the wall "Dallas..." 

"Do you have any friends?" The kid asks in his sick voice. Dally just sighs heavily "sure kid...just lost a real friend though." He shook his head, realizing he was talking to a kid about this..but he didn't want to walk away. Davie just looks down again "well..I can be your friend until I go... You look cool." Dallas was a bit caught off guard from this pure soul. He was so ashamed out of nowhere, a tear streaming down his face but quickly wipes it. 

"Thanks, kid" he sighs deeply, a shudder in his breath. He looks out the door then back at the boy "I'll see you around." He got off the wall and stuck out his hand. Davie smiles slightly, showing the few teeth he had, and shook Dally's hand. His hand was so tiny and weak compared to Dallas's. It was something so pure Dally hadn't felt at all...but strangely, he liked it. He steps back from the cot and deliberately kicks the scalpel away from the room. As he walks out, he looks back once more at that little boy...that little boy that had saved his life while losing his own. He turns, and kept walking. 

  A nurse spot him walking down the hall "Sir, are you alright?" Dallas looks stops for a second "... I think so." And that was the truth. He could go on with his life with people stepping over him like he was trash, but he was still living. Not stuck in some dim room with tubes in his skin. Him living was what Johnny would have wanted, what the whole gang would have wanted.