Bulletproof

Another night at Buck's.

Another party.

Another fight.

Another guy Dallas managed to piss off. If only he noticed the outline of a gun against his t-shirt.

The bullet barely grazed his skin, Dallas limped away from the fight victorious.

Enjoy eating out of a straw, motherfucker.

Hannah, on the other hand, wasn't happy. At all. It was nearing three in the morning, and she stood at the foot of his bed while Dallas cleaned his wounds.

"All those hits you take really fucking with your head, right? What happened to being careful, to watching your enemy? He had a fucking gun Dal! What woulda happened if-"

"Nothing fucking happened! I am fine! That son of a bitch had no idea what he was doing. Even if he did shoot me, he wouldn't have done any damage."

"He did shoot you, and he did do some damage, you stupid whore."

He bit his tongue while wrapping a bandage over the scar on his right side. It was bleeding, but not too bad. It would heal in the next week or two, same the large gash on the side of his face. Hannah leaned against the bathroom door, a sour look on her face. She kept her arms crossed over her chest as she watched.

This was the fourth time this week Dallas had gotten into a fight.

The fourth time he got in a fight she didn't think he'd win.

She had been asleep when the gun went off. She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes before moving to the window. Even though the darkness she saw the gun shining in the moonlight. She saw her brother, struggling to stand as greasers she couldn't recognize run to join the fight.

"What's with you an' nagging me all the time? Acting like a..." his voice died out when Hannah plucked a pillow off his bed and swung until it collided with his face. The pillowcase turned red as it mixed with blood from his cheek, lip, and probably broken nose.

Hannah's knuckles turned white as she gripped the rusty doorknob.

"I don't want to bury my brother."