I stood up slowly, glancing at the empty room around me. I rubbed the back of my neck, which felt oddly stiff. As I brought my hand back, I noticed it was covered in blood. I frowned, not remembering getting into a fight or anything. Suddenly, the room shifted, and I was back at home, well what was supposed to be a home. The odd thing was, my bedroom was made, spotless actually. I lifted myself from the foot of the bed, and turned around. The sheets and blankets were stained with blood, and it began dripping from the corners of the walls. What the fuck was going on?

"Hey!" I yelled, but was only greeted by my voice echoing. I crouched in front of the bed, examining the stains. Suddenly, I was shoved hard from behind, and landed roughly on the ground. I stood up quickly, and turned around. My father was staring right back at me, smelling of liquor and cigars. I popped my knuckles and stared at him, hard. He smirked and shook his head.

I narrowed my eyes, and began to reach for my blade when I noticed someone standing beside him. It was a boy with dark brown greased hair, and blue eyes. His shirt was white, but on his side, he was bleeding. Badly. There was a knife wedged between his ribs. The boy made eye contact with me and I immediately knew who it was. Dean.

I couldn't read the expression on his face, but after a moment of silence he said in a rough strangled voice, "Why'd you do it Dally?"

I stared at him, and for once I didn't know what to say. I tried to open my mouth, but no sound came out. Before I could do anything, my dad shoved me onto the bed, and grabbed my wrists.

Dean hovered over him, shaking his head slowly, "this is what you get," he drawled. "I died 'cause of you. Now you leave?" He pulled the knife from his side, and a drop of blood dripped onto my face. "Big mistake," he whispered.

I tried desperately to get free, kicking and violently jerking, but it was no use. Dean had a shadow of a smile on his lips and he sent the knife plunging.

"Dally? Hey, wake up man."

I bolted up right, nearly knocking heads with whoever was hovering over me. I roughly grabbed them by the collar, and socked them hard in the jaw.

"Shit!"

I froze, realizing that whoever I just punched wasn't my father or Dean. It was just a dream. I let out a deep breath, and pushed my sweaty hair out of my eyes.

There was some shuffling around in the dark, before a lamp light flickered on. Steve was standing there, rubbing his jaw.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, it's me," he breathed.

I collapsed back onto the couch, trying to get my breaths to return back to a normal pace. I noticed Johnny was asleep on the recliner and there was a mattress in the middle of the floor.
"What's goin' on?"

"You and Johnnycake fell asleep around 10 last night when we started another movie after Mr and Mrs. Curtis went to bed," he explained. "So a little later, Two Bit and I decided to head home. Once I got there, my old man and I got into a big argument and I left to crash here," it was obvious he was trying to give as little detail as possible about their so called fight. Steve continued to massage below his cheek and then continued, "so I set up the mattress here, and a couple hours later I wake up to you thrashing around."

"Huh," I said. On the inside, I was still pretty shaken up, I couldn't even remember the last time I had ever had a nightmare.

"You had a bad dream or something?"

I shrugged, and adjusted to a more comfortable position on the coach. "What about you? Got daddy issues?"

Steve's eyes hardened and he stared straight at me, his fists tightened.

I smirked slightly and crossed my arms. "You mind your own damn business, and I'll mind mine."

He let out a frustrated huff of air, "look all I was tryna do was help. Why are you being such a dick?"

Something inside me snapped, and I stood up quickly, locking eyes with Steve. I took a step closer to him, and grabbed his t-shirt, pulling him forward, "listen and listen good," I growled. "I never asked for your fuckin' help, I ain't a charity case. Now unless you want that other side of your face bruised too, I suggest you don't tangle with me."

He narrowed his eyes, but slowly raised his hands up in surrender. I let go, shoving him back.

Steve straightened out his shirt, and sat back onto the mattress as I made my way back to the couch.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke up, "I don't know how things were in New York, but they're different here. Like I said before, it doesn't hurt havin' pals in this part of town," he turned the other way and added sleepily, "I didn't mean to rile you up."

I snorted. Pussy.

Steve's breathing soon changed into soft snores, and I was left starting at the ceiling. What was really bugging me, was the dream. Talking about Dean to Johnny made me realize I missed the kid. It felt like a slap in the face seein' him like that. The blood pouring from his side, dead emotionless eyes, and his strangled voice. What had he said? It was my fault.

I reached over, and turned off the lamp, trying my best to let the thoughts escape my mind. It doesn't matter. He's gone, he'll never be back. It doesn't matter.

But for some reason I couldn't convince myself, because it did. Maybe I was the pussy.