her way ✰ (dallas winston x reader)

chapter 41 - i need answers

~your p.o.v~

I was sprinting in the direction of greaser territory, my heart beating quickly. He was probably okay, right?

This is our routine, anyway. I go after him and tell him off for being out so late and getting drunk. It'd be just like normal, we'd be rude to each other like siblings usually are.

Right?

I desperately tried to convince myself that nothing was wrong, but I knew my brother. Something was off.

Why would he have apologized so sincerely like that? He doesn't just do that, something's definitely up.

I forced myself to run faster. I had now finally made it to greaser territory and I felt tears pricking my eyes.

Why?

I made it to the fountain and leaned against it for a moment, catching my breath. There was no sign of Bob so far.

I looked into the water and felt my heart stop and blood run cold.

The water was clouded with red.

The water was clouded with blood.

I slowly made my way around the fountain, scared of what I would find.

Turns out a I had a good fucking reason to be scared.

There laid Bob, blood seeping through his button up, sprawled out across the ground, no one near by to save him.

There laid Bob, my brother.

There laid Bob, not moving or breathing.

There laid Bob.

Dead.

"Bob?" My hands began shaking. I ran to him, collapsing on my knees next to him.

I pulled him up and put his head in my lap. His blood stained my pants but I could care less.

"Bob, wake up." I begged, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. Sobs racked my body.

"Bob, I'm not playing games!" I yelled. I knew the truth. I knew this wasn't a game. But I wouldn't fucking accept it, I couldn't.

I wanted so badly to scream, but the knot in my throat prevented it.

"God fucking damnit, Bob. Why couldn't you have stayed home? Why'd you have to go out and get yourself k-k-" I couldn't finish my sentence.

I slammed my fists into the ground next to me, the pain bringing me back to reality. I continued slamming my fists into the ground as hard as I could, as if me punching hard enough and hurting enough would bring my brother back.

"Fucking bastard." A choked sob passed my lips as I allowed myself to cave around my brother, holding him close and my shirt becoming covered in his blood.

His blood.

His fucking blood.

I felt like I was going insane. Who could do this? Who took my brother from me?

I needed to call someone. I needed to figure out who did this, I needed to fucking kill them. I needed them to be sorry they ever did this.

I brought my hands up to my face, the scream finally tearing through my body. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I was drowning. I'm fucking drowning.

And I don't mean the feeling of drowning Ponyboy must've felt that night in the fountain.

I'm fucking drowning in the feeling of insanity, of desperately needing my brother alive. I was drowning because my brother deserved to be at home asleep in his warm bed, his family in the same house. Not bleeding out on the cold concrete all by himself.

He deserved to be safe in his home. Not dead in greaser territory.

I needed to know what happened.

Randy. Randy would know.

I knew there was a pay phone nearby and I had Randy's number memorized. He was one of my old childhood friends after all since he was constantly around Bob and me.

I checked my pockets only to find no quarters. I almost gave up hope, but got an idea.

I checked Bob's pockets and found his wallet. I frantically opened it and looked through it. Thankfully, I found quarters.

I grabbed them and made a run for it. I needed to call Randy and get more information, I needed to know the truth.

After running about a mile, I had made it to a payphone. I was beyond exhausted, but I refused to rest.

I struggled putting the quarters in the slot due to how shaky my hands were, but managed to do it nonetheless.

The phone rang and rang, and eventually a familiar voice rang out.

"H-hello?" Sure enough, it was Randy. He sounded like a wreck on the phone.

"Randy, t-thank God you picked up. Listen, y-you were out with Bob, right?" My voice wavered.

"Y-yeah. He's de-dea-"

"I know, Randy. I know." A sob passed my lips and I gripped the phone tightly, squeezing my eyes shut.

"You were with him, right?"

"Yeah."

"Who did this to him? Who k-killed him?" I begged over the phone. I needed information, and I needed it quick.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"I don't know their names, but I've seen you with them around town. Some greaser boys. There was two of them and one of them pulled a b-blade on him."

My breath hitched.

"I gotta go." I slammed the phone down and punched the side of the payphone angrily.

I began running in the direction of the only place that would give me more answers.

The Curtis house.