Winstons |The Outsiders|

17. You & Me

"Come on Hannah, stay with me. Please."

Never in her fifteen years of life had Hannah ever heard her brother say please, and mean it.

Now she was dead.

Nothing hurt anymore as she laid there, consumed by blankness. She couldn't hear, or see, or feel.

This is it?

This isn't what I wanted.

"Listen man, I'm the only family she fucking has! You have to let me in there-"

Dallas was loud, there was no doubt about that. But Hannah was dead, and dead people didn't hear the living.

I swear to fucking God Dallas, if you're dead, I'm gonna kill you.

The ringing in her ears had vanished. As she laid there the ringing was replaced by a soft thumping sound. A tingling sensation started at the ends of her limbs, slowly fading until she could feel soft fabric beneath her calloused fingers.

There aren't supposed to be blankets in heaven, or hell, or wherever the fuck I am.

The thumping sound filled her chest, the numbness in her legs and arms replaced by a subtle ache. As the seconds ticked by, she slowly recognized an incessant beeping. 

Okay, mystery solved. My eternal punishment for being an awful person is to lie here and listen to that fucking beeping for the rest of my after-life.

"For the last time, I am the only family she has! Our parents aren't even in the fucking state! You could at least tell me if she's gonna live."

Dead people don't have heartbeats.

She had no idea where the thought came from, but it made sense. It would explain the thumping in her chest, it would explain the ache in her legs, fabric under her fingers, and her brother's voice.

Tony, you dumb bitch, I'm still kicking.

Her throat burned as she opened her mouth, feeling the air fill her lungs.

"D...Dal.."

Ow, shit that hurts.

She gritted her teeth and took another breath.

"Dally?"

Silence until, "see? She's even asking for me."

There was some shuffling, a curtain was pushed aside. Dallas entered his sister's hospital room, ignoring the nurse telling him otherwise. The scene didn't look right. Hannah looked far too small as she laid on the hospital cot, her skin far too pale. The bandaid on her forehead stuck out like a sore thumb as Dallas came closer, Hannah moved her head from side to side.

Her hands turned into fists before they opened again weakly. A metal chair scraped against the tile as Dallas sat next to her bed. He kept his hands folded in his lap, the callouses on his knuckles had been bleeding for the last few hours. It was a nervous habit, to pick at his hands, or any scabs or scars he could find. Dallas stared down at them, he couldn't remember if the blood was his own, or his sister's.

It had been nearly four hours since he sat in the back of Darry's truck, holding Johnny's ratty jean jacket to Hannah's stomach. Her blood stained his shirt and hands, but he couldn't be bothered to care. The rest of the gang dispersed, all having work or school in the morning.

Her hands rested limply at her sides, her eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to open her eyes.

"Hey kid," Dallas said quietly. His hand easily covered his sister's, he ran his thumb over her scarred knuckles.