Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns Dallas Winston. I'm just borrowing him. I also don't own the lyrics to "Because The Night" by Bruce Springsteen.

A/N: This two-shot is a missing scene from Holding Back The Years, when Tim is drunk in the cemetery. This two-shot will answer the question of what it was Tim saw and what happened. If you haven't read Holding, this short story will make no sense to you.

For those that did read Holding and like that the cemetery scene is vague so you can decide for yourself what happened, you might not want to read this, because it will answer the question, and it may not be the answer you want. So if you don't want to ruin your image of it, don't read.

For those that do go on to read this and don't quite get it, I'll explain at the end of Chapter 2 in another author's note.

Finally, this ficlet contains lots of coarse language and sexual situations. I also need to give credit to Artemis Rex who wrote a couple paragraphs in chapter 1.

Through The Door

Your love is here and now
The vicious circle turns and burns without
Though I cannot live forgive me now
The time has come to take this moment and
They can’t hurt you now

Dallas looked down at the figure slumped into the grass beside his tombstone.

Tim fucking Shepard, passed out on a grave. Man, what he wouldn’t give to tell the entire fucking world about this.

How he got into this entire fucking world was another story. Dally looked behind him at the door, hovering just above the grass behind a huge oak tree. Shepard hadn’t been able to see it, but it was right there. He could even see it was still open a crack, the light from the god-forsaken world he’d left behind filtering in a little.

He looked around. Only he could walk through a fucking magical door and end up in a cemetery. Jesus Christ.

Dallas picked up the nearly empty bottle of bourbon that Tim had in his hand. He took the last swig of it, then threw the bottle between some trees.

Something caught his eye, shining in the grass near Shepard’s passed out form.

Dallas knelt and picked up the car keys. He tossed them in the air and caught them, all the while looking reflectively at Tim. Dally bent over and searched Tim’s pockets, coming out with a small roll of cash and two packs of cigarettes. He found the custom Zippo lighter in his pocket, but didn’t take it. Knowing Shepard’s attachment to that fucking thing, he’d probably chase him into a dozen different worlds to get it back.

Tim didn’t move at all as Dallas grabbed his things - Shepard sure wasn't going anywhere tonight. He wouldn't mind if Dallas took his car for a spin around the block. Shepard had a sweet ride back in the day, and Dallas wondered what clunker he was tooling around in now as he strode down the hill to the gate and the parking lot.

He didn't feel a minute's regret over leaving Shepard stranded in a graveyard. The son of a bitch couldn't hold his liquor.

Dally stopped when he entered the parking lot, smiling broadly. How in the hell Shepard had held onto this car while he'd been in prison was a damn fucking mystery, but however it happened, Dallas was glad. He opened the door to the Charger, climbed into the driver's seat and started it up. It felt like forever since he'd been behind the wheel of a car.

He screeched out of the parking lot, bombing onto the road. Might as well head for the Ribbon.

"If it's still there," he muttered, remembering all the things Shepard had said about 1975 being all fucked up.

He was relieved when he turned onto Peoria and saw the strip malls and restaurants. Granted, he didn't recognize a lot of the names, and the cars sure looked fucked up. Everything was big and boxy now, but a few cars from his day were still on the road, but none of them in as good condition as Tim’s ride. He pulled to a stop at a red light and looked over at the lane next to him.

It looked like an Oldsmobile, but it was a fucking boat of a car. The driver had long hair and a long moustache and looked like one of those hippies that had started hanging around before he'd ... well, before he'd died. Dally gunned the engine, grinning evilly at the other driver. The man looked over, then gunned his engine.

The Charger was purring like a kitten and this pansy was going to see what it could do in a second. Dally watched the light on the cross street turn yellow and gunned the engine again. The second it flicked to red, he shifted into first and took off like he was running from his own grave.

The tires screamed as they kissed the pavement and the acrid stench of burnt rubber hung in the air. The Oldsmobile lurched forward as well; hippie boy must have a couple horses under the hood, but he was hauling a lot more ass than the Charger.

Dallas stomped on the gas, and the Charger howled, springing forward like an angry beast. His shoulders tight with tension, he watched the Oldsmobile build up speed, slowly yet surely, in the rearview mirror.

"C'mon, baby," he murmured to the car, more sweetly than he'd ever spoken to a woman. "C'mon and give it to me. Give it all to me."

He shifted, caroling just a little more speed from the engine and watching the needle work its way up past sixty. He grinned wondering what the cops would do if they tried arresting him. He wondered if they'd torn up his old mug shot and finger print card when he'd bit it. Wouldn't some of those old harness bulls be surprised if he came strolling in? Maybe he'd be lucky, and a few would drop of heart attacks.

Dallas glanced up in the rearview and saw the Oldsmobile falling back. He zipped around another car and grinned. It looked like hippie boy just didn't have the balls.

His mood buoyed, he continued cruising down the Ribbon, checking out all the changes. He was surprised to see Jay’s was gone, a Sandy’s burgers in its place. His apprehension grew when he saw the place where the Dingo used to be. He slowed Shepard’s car and looked at the empty lot, weeds growing in the dirt. He wondered what had happened to it.

He took the car into the old neighbourhood, unsure of where he was going. The car almost seemed to have a mind of its own, and soon he was turning right onto East Independence, then left onto North Quincy. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, right before the dip in the street. He drummed his hands nervously on the steering wheel as he remembered running up this very road, police cars screaming behind him. He had crossed into the park, then he’d seen he was surrounded.

Sikone had yelled at him to put the gun down. He’d seen O’Lafferty grinning like he’d just won the fucking lottery; cops everywhere.

He had pointed the gun.

He flinched for a second as he remembered the impact of the bullets and hearing the gang yelling at the police. It hadn’t hurt at first. There were a few seconds of intense pain, then nothingness.

“Fuck,” Dally said. “I got a fuckin’ mint Charger, and I’m sittin’ on the side of the road playing ‘This Is Your Life.’ Fuck that.”

He threw the car into gear and made a U-turn in the street, the tires screeching. He didn’t drive down North St. Louis Avenue, he didn’t drive down East Haskell where Johnny had lived. He took North Utica to East Archer and headed to the one place he knew would still be there.

XXXX

Dallas pulled the Charger into the lot at Buck’s, marvelling it looked exactly like it had in 1966. He could even hear the God awful honky tonk shit pouring out of the jukeboxes inside.

He cut the engine, then sat in the car for a minute, thinking about what he was about to do. He wondered who he’d see sitting around Buck’s. What would he do if Two-Bit was there? Or Buck? What would they do? Fuck it. He wanted a drink – Shepard had been hogging that fucking bourbon like a man dying in the desert of thirst. His buzz from the little he’d had was wearing off.

He got out of the car and shut the door, tucking the car keys in his jeans. He looked at what he was wearing – he didn’t stand out too much, not around this joint.

He walked up the few stairs to the door, took a breath and pushed it open.

XXXX

Sylvia was tired. It was almost the end of a double shift, since she’d had to pull Ruby’s shift too. Buck had marched in a few days back, told Sylvia, Irene and Barbara they were going to have to cover all of Ruby’s shifts for the next little while. Sylvia had been livid; she calmed a little when she’d seen Ruby late one afternoon, her face a bruised mess. The rumours were running rampant around the bar about how she and Shepard had been jumped and beaten.

Everyone knew Roth was behind it. It was just so damn thoughtful of Buck to keep her and the others working and around Ray so precious Ruby could avoid Roth. After all the complaining Buck had grudgingly hired a new waitress, then this afternoon he’d come and told her she was working a double, he’d fired the new girl.

Barbara and Irene had come in to help out, and it was finally starting to slow down. All she wanted to do was get home and get into a nice, warm bed.

She was putting away some clean glasses when she happened to glance over at the door.

She felt her stomach flip over and goosebumps rise on her arms. A shiver worked its way up her spine as she looked at the figure who had just walked in the door.

Dallas Winston.

She began to shake, her breath catching in her throat. This was not possible. She was hallucinating. Maybe the drinks she’d had earlier were a lot more potent than she’d thought.

The figure began to move around the bar, looking amongst the crowd like he was searching for a familiar face. She could barely control the shakes that were spasming her body. She swallowed a lump in her throat as he moved towards the bar.

He turned to the left and saw her.

She dropped the glasses she was holding, the glass shattering at her feet, then she backed up against the wall. He looked exactly like Dallas. He grinned at her, shark-like, and moved towards her. He was only a few feet from her when she realized she was crying.

“I thought a tough broad like you never cried,” he said, his voice taunting, but not mean.

She put a hand over her mouth. This could not be real.

He reached for her arm, and her eyes widened when saw the ring on his finger. It was the class ring he’d stolen from some Soc at school once upon a time; the same ring he’d given her at least a dozen times over the years, only to snatch it back when he was in one of his moods.

His hand closed around her arm, and she began to cry even harder. His skin was warm. He was real.

He let her go suddenly, stepped past her and reached down for a bottle. Buck hadn’t finished putting the shelves back up after they’d been destroyed by Tim and Steve during the fight with Ray’s men.

She watched him take out two shot glasses and pour over an inch of bourbon into one. He handed it to her wordlessly. He poured another for himself, looked at her, winked, then downed it in one shot.

“Go on,” he said. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

He was enjoying this! Sylvia tossed back the shot of bourbon, feeling it burn her throat and make her eyes water. She held the glass out again and Dallas filled it, only not as full this time.

She drank that one down too, feeling her stomach rebel a little.

“Where’s all the old crowd?” he asked, looking out into the bar.

Sylvia looked, too. She realized no one was looking at them; no one was staring at Dallas like they were seeing a ghost. Maybe she was the only one who could see him.

That theory was dashed when he passed by her, walking out from behind the bar to grab an ashtray. A girl bumped into him, giggling her “Sorry!” and touching his arm before she walked on. She had definitely seen him. It was then Sylvia realized that no one in this bar had known Dallas when he was alive; they didn’t know who he was.

Sylvia took a few steps forward on weak legs, standing at the cash register, right near the entrance to get behind the bar. Dallas turned around and approached her again. She reached out and grabbed Dallas’s arm. She slowly reached up and touched his face, pulling him towards her.

“Are you real?” she asked, feeling like she was on the edge of insanity. “Are you really real?”

“As real as I’m gonna get,” he said, looking down at her with the grin she knew all too well. She felt her breathing speed up as she felt his skin. She ran her fingers over his features and through his hair. He was Dallas Winston.

She was caught between wanting to hit him, wanting to ask him what he was doing here and how in God’s name he got here, where he’d been, and when he was going, but all she could do was stand there with her hands on his face and tremble like a frightened child.

“Ain’t like I can explain it,” he said, leaning down and talking into her ear. “I died, now I’m here. Dunno for how long. You got any rooms upstairs?”

He stood back, and she nodded. She turned around and grabbed the keys off the hook near the register.

Dally grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him. She could smell the scent of hay and something which was entirely Dallas, something which made her feel seventeen again. She felt the heat from his body and felt her legs go weak, but not from fear this time.

She looked up at him, a smile on her lips. He yanked her towards the stairs, and she hurried up them, not caring if this was some kind of dream, hallucination or weird heavenly visitation. Whatever it was, he was in front of her, and he was real.

She unlocked the bedroom door, and they entered. He slammed it shut behind them.

XXXX

Dallas was breathing heavily as Sylvia stood across from him. She looked scared, which wasn’t something he was used to seeing in her face. But she also was starting to look more like herself – that hungry look he was so used to was in her eyes. He moved towards her, and she was in his arms before he had a chance to go any further.

He grabbed her hair, not the brassy blonde he remembered, but a brown shade he never would’ve thought she’d go for. It had made her look so different when he first saw her, but the more he looked at her, the more she looked like the old Sylvia.

He felt her lips rake his own, and he spun her around, slamming her back into the door. She moaned, her head tilted back as she broke the kiss. He kissed down the side of her neck, pressing her harder into the door.

Her hands were on his back, clawing at his shirt. She pulled it over his head in one swift motion, pushing against him.

“Still like it rough, dontcha?” he asked with a low laugh. He used his knee to move her legs apart, and she shoved him, hard.

“You are such a jerk!” she hissed. “Do you know what it was like, hearin’ you were dead?! Do you know?”

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her towards him. He heard her yelp in pain and spun them both around, pushing her bottom up against the low dresser against one wall.

“Blame the fuckin’ cops,” he murmured, undoing the buttons on her blouse one by one.

She tried to push his hands away half-heartedly, and he smiled, slipping a hand beneath her blouse and cupping her breast.

She tried to bring a knee up between his legs, but he blocked her, and she slid up on to the low dresser. He pulled her towards him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Yeah, play like you don’t want it,” he said into her ear. “Just like old times, huh?”

She tried to shove him again, and he laughed, then pulled her blouse off her shoulders. She shook it off to free her arms, then tried to push him again.

“Jesus,” he said, looking at the skimpy bra. He sure liked 1975 so far.

“I don’t need you,” she hissed in his ear. “Let me outta here, I don’t need you anymore! I gotta steady guy, I don’t need you.”

“Like hell you don’t,” he said, his voice low in her ear. “Like hell you don’t want me moving inside you. We always had it good, Syl. You know we did.”

“I got it good somewhere else now,” she said, wiggling to get free of his arms. The more she moved, the tighter he held her.

“Yeah?” he said. “Good for you. Now shut the fuck up.”

He kissed her roughly, holding her legs around his waist. He suddenly let her go, backing away from her with a smile. She slid off the dresser, looking at him angrily.

She could kick the shit out of him in those spiky high heels she was wearing, but she hadn’t and she wasn’t. Dally knew he had her.

Good thing for her, too.

He hooked his finger in the belt loops of her jeans and yanked her towards him. He ran his hands over her ass, pulling her in closer. She shoved him in the chest again, and he grabbed her upper arms, holding her tightly.

“I didn’t come here for shit like this,” he said forcefully. “It’s been a fucking long time, and I ain’t leavin’ until I get what I came for.”

“Well, you ain’t getting shit,” she said.

He moved his hand to grab her hair again, and she managed to slap him in the face.

He tasted blood, cursing.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, letting her go and wiping the blood from his lip. He looked over at her, and her eyes were distrustful and mean.

“You don’t have any idea what you did,” she said.

Fuck, she was gonna bawl on all night like this if he let her. All he wanted to do was fuck her brains out, and here she was getting sentimental on him.

Time to change tactics.

“That was a long time ago,” he said, looking at her seductively. “Why the fuck do you think I’m here right now, huh? Where I am … fuck, Syl, I can’t explain it, but I came back from wherever the fuck I went after I died to come see you. And what do I get? A fuckin’ slap in the face.”

He saw her forehead crease, and he stepped towards her.

“We was real good together, huh?” he said, reaching out and hooking a finger into her belt loop again. She closed her eyes, and he used his other hand to tilt her chin up towards him.

She opened her eyes slowly and stared at him.

He kissed her hard, his lips firm on hers. She kissed him back slowly, then he grabbed her hair in a way she’d always gone crazy for before. He heard the low moan she made in the back of her throat and knew he’d won.

She began kissing him back more passionately, raking her nails down his back and arms. He grabbed her forcefully and pushed her onto the bed.

He climbed on top of her and quickly undid the button on her jeans, feeling almost frantic. Fuck, it had been too long. Why the hell did he leave this place when things like this happened in his life?

He felt Sylvia’s fingers deftly undoing his own jeans, and pushing them down over his hips. He wriggled out of them and his underwear, then quickly unhooked Sylvia’s bra.

Fuck, she still looked good. She had to be closer to thirty than twenty, but she looked as good as she had back then and a far sight better than anything he’d seen since. He yanked her jeans off, spent only a second marvelling at how skimpy chicks’ underpants had gotten, then yanked those off, too.

He pressed her down into the sagging mattress – he knew those likely hadn’t changed in almost ten years – and felt Sylvia sink her teeth lightly into his neck, sucking on his skin. She nipped her way down his chest, sinking her teeth in above his heart. He gasped at the sharp pain, then looked down at the teeth marks she’d left.

He could see the bruises forming on her arms already. He lowered his lips to her breast, then bit her hard enough to leave a mark. If he was going to leave here marked up, so was she.

She slid a hand down his back pulling him close to her. He was inside her a moment later. She was arching her back, matching his every move, and as she cried out his name, he wondered again why he’d ever left this.

XXXX

Sylvia lay in the bed with Dally, the wind rustling the curtains by the open window. She didn’t feel a day over seventeen, and lying next to Dallas in an upstairs room at Buck’s, she would’ve sworn it was the summer of 1966, not 1975.

Dally had lit a cigarette and was finishing it with slow deliberateness. He had offered her one, but she had her own and had lit it off Dally’s, feeling almost homey lying naked in the bed with him.

“How’d you get here anyway?” she asked, unsure if she even wanted to know the answers to all the questions she had. Maybe it was better she didn’t know.

“Shepard’s car,” he said.

“Tim Shepard?” she asked.

“No, some other fuckin’ Shepard that drives a ’66 Charger,” he said. “Of course Tim Shepard.”

“You saw him?”

Dally’s eyes flicked over to her, then back to his cigarette.

“Yeah. Passed out drunk right near where I came through. He’s probably still lyin’ there. Never could hold his booze.”

“I didn’t think he was a drinker,” she said, choosing to ignore the fact he hadn’t really answered her question about where he came from. Maybe she didn’t need to know.

“He ain’t,” Dally said restlessly. “He was hacked off cuz he knocked up Ruby.”

“What?” Sylvia asked. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope,” he said.

Sylvia lay back against the pillow. Shit. Now Ruby was going to get away with doing even less than she already did. She’d milk being pregnant for all it was worth.

“I can’t see Shepard with a kid,” she said. “Is he gonna stick around?”

“Yeah, once upon a time I couldn’t see you with brown hair,” he retorted. “How the fuck should I know what he’s gonna do anyway?”

“Do you like it?” she asked, propping herself up on one elbow after she stubbed her cigarette out. “My hair, I mean.” She watched Dally look over at her.

“S’alright.”

She ran her hands over the bite mark she’d left on Dally’s chest.

“Where’d you come from?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “Dunno. Woke up there after I got shot. I been over there awhile, sometimes I could see things goin’ on here when I went to sleep over there. Only nobody could see me. This time I found a door.”

All this sounded like crazy talk, but then, she was looking at an almost eighteen-year-old boy – one that had died nine years ago. If he was crazy, so was she.

“Will you be here in the morning?” she asked. “Are you staying?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Go to sleep, Syl. You talk too much.”

She turned away from him, hugging the covers up across her chest, trying not to think of Joe. She tried not to think of Dallas Winston, dead coming on nine years, but it was hard not to with him breathing evenly beside her.

Sleep was long in coming.