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Dallas only has one foot through the door when all his hopes of a few hours sleep goes to hell.
”Dally! I didn’t know you were out of the cooler yet.” Sodapop’s sitting by the kitchen table in the Curtis’ residence. His expression is torn between pleasant surprise and worry and Dallas immediately regrets coming over. To be fair, he didn’t think anyone’d be home at this hour. Soda’s shift at DX should have started already and Darry should be at work since long. This is just his luck.
“Got out early. Good behavior, you know?” he says swiftly. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “How come you’re home?”
“Darry had to start early and Two-Bit promised to give me a ride.” Soda’s look darkens considerably. Dallas chuckles, happy he won’t be in Two-Bit’s shoes when Darry gets a hold of him later.
“Let me guess, that piece-of-shit car of his wouldn’t start?”
“Yeah. Steve is covering for me, but I have to start walking if I wanna make it there before my shift ends.” Soda sighs, pulling a weary hand through his hair. Nodding, Dallas fishes out a pack of smokes from his pocket. He finds a match, lights a smoke, and takes a drag - all in one, perfected motion. Exhaling the smoke dulls his faint headache.
“I got my ride back from the fuzz when I was released,” he says casually. “I can give you a lift.”
“You sure?” Dallas sure isn’t, but Sodapop’s face lights up and there is no way he can resist that hopeful smile. It must be his nerves. He really doesn’t want Sodapop walking that far on his own, either. Soda can hold his own in a fight, no sweat, but if he’s jumped outside greaser territory, it’s doubtful anyone would help him out if he were to find himself outnumbered.
“Yeah, I was gonna go for a ride anyway.”
In reality, he was going over to the Curtis’ household to pass out on their couch, knowing well that he could get a few hours of sleep before Ponyboy and Johnny got home from school. His stomach rumbles in disagreement to the new plan. Throwing a final, hopeful glance at the couch, Dallas heads out with Sodapop high on his heels. They cross the yard in a hurry. Dallas throws the filter of his cigarette through the open car window and as he turns the keys in the ignition, he finds himself smiling. He wouldn’t want to admit it to neither himself nor the guys, but every time he’s locked away he misses them like hell.
“Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Dallas asks while going past another car, honking violently.
“Shoot, Dal. Slow down or you’ll be back in jail before you’ve got time to meet the others,” Soda complains, though he looks unbothered by the reckless driving. Dallas complies and eases on the gas pedal. He casts a wondering glance at Soda, who is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. It’s so out of character that Dallas blows after only a few minutes.
“Would you stop that? You’re stressing me out, man.”
“Sorry.”
“So, did anything happen or not? Are the Socs staying in their territory?” Soda is quiet and Dallas doesn’t pressure him about it until they pull up at DX. If Sodapop thinks he’ll be able to keep something from Dallas, he’s sure as shit mistaken. Dallas nails him to his seat with a single stare and as expected, he relents. He sinks back in his seat, looking like he wants to disappear.
“They got Johnny about a week ago.” Dallas feels his heart drop. Mother of Christ.
“Who?” he asks, even though he already knows. “The Socs?”
“Yeah.” Soda looks serious and hurt. He’s clenching his jaw, as if trying to hold back emotion and Dallas feels his own pulse rising. “They got him real good, Dally. He ain’t the same ol’ Johnny anymore.”
Dallas pounds a fist against the steering wheel and Soda jumps. Where were the rest of you, he wants to ask, but bites his tongue. “What happened?!”
“There were four of them. There was nothing Johnny could do. One of ‘em didn’t bother taking his rings off and…”
The rest of the sentence gets drowned out by the white noise ringing in Dallas’ ears. His headache is pounding and his blood boiling.
“Get out.”
Soda tries to argue, but Dallas doesn’t listen. He leans over and opens the door on Soda’s side of the car.
“I said; Get out!”
Soda obeys and barely has time to slam the door shut before Dallas is stepping on the gas, turning back onto the road with screeching tires. He drives up and down the streets, his thoughts keeping up with the speed of his car. He tries to make sense of what Soda said. Dallas had never been any good at curbing his rage, but he realizes that he can’t see Johnny when he’s this riled up, so he manages to calm his blood down to a passive aggressive simmer. He parks outside the high school and exits his car. Leaning back against the hood of it, he lights up another smoke. If today continues in this manner he’ll need another pack.
Johnny Cade walks out of school with his head held down. He’s skipping his last class because he doesn’t need any more strange looks today, thank you. He’s had enough. His head is aching, as it has been for the last week and after a day in school it gets harder to hide the shaking. A deep cut on his cheek and his somewhat fading black eye are attracting a lot of attention. The kind of attention he really doesn’t like. He doesn’t notice Dallas waiting for him until he hollers.
“Hey, Johnnycake!” He whips around and looks up at the sound of Dallas’ voice. There’s no one he’d rather meet right now, but as far as Johnny knows, Dal should be stuck in the cooler for at least another week. A robbery charge had landed him a new personal record in jail time. But it was indeed Dallas Winston who was hollering at him. Johnny smiles, immediately hurrying over to him. Dallas is leaning against his car, smoking as usual. He is wearing the same clothes he wore when Johnny last saw him – the day he got arrested. A black t-shirt under a dark blue, jeans jacket and a pair of worn-out jeans with the cuffs rolled up. It is almost like he was never gone. As soon as Johnny sees his hard expression, he remembers that he looks like a battlefield.
“Did you get out early, Dal?” he asks as if nothing has happened, trying to keep his head down and control the shaking. He doesn’t want Dally to worry. He only just got out, Johnny presumes, and he should enjoy that instead of worrying about a beating just like any other. On the other hand Johnny knows that to Dal, this ain’t a beating like any other. Dally drops his cigarette and stomps out the glowing ember with the heel of his boot.
“Sodapop told me what happened, there ain't no use trying to hide it,” he says. His voice has that familiar grim tone to it, but Johnny still hesitates and for a moment the silence is deafening.
“Look at me, kid.” It sounds more like a plea than an order, no matter how well Dallas tries to cover it. Johnny looks up and meets Dally’s eyes. Dal’s expression falters at the sight of Johnny’s injuries and Johnny hopes to God he’ll never cause that look on Dallas’ face ever again. Johnny squirms at the undivided attention and is relieved when Dallas finally looks away and his expression hardens again.
“They got you good, huh?” Dally says, offering him a smoke from his pack. Johnny puts it between his lips and hums in agreement. He guesses they did. A match lights with a crackle and Dallas steps closer, leaning in to light both their smokes at the same time. He lingers for a few seconds, before stepping back. They stand next to each other in silence for a while, watching the smoke dissolve in the air. It’s not true that Dallas looks like he never went away, Johnny realizes. He looks strained and tired, like something’s been wearing him out for a long time. It makes Johnny want to ask about jail, but he knows he won’t get any answers. He guesses the notable changes in Dallas speaks for themselves. There is a dangerous kind of rage blazing in Dallas’ eyes and that’s enough to put Johnny’s nerves at ease. Rage means he still feels something. It means he’ll be okay.
“You want a burger, man? I’m starving,” Dallas says, opening the door of his car. Johnny jumps a little, surprised to get snapped out of his thoughts. Noticing his hesitation, Dallas adds: “It’s all on me, kid.”
Johnny throws a glance at the school behind him and scoffs lightly before settling in passenger seat of Dallas’ car.
They have wolfed down a burger each and the only thing left of their meal is some fries scattered on the tabletop when Dallas brings it up again. Johnny is saying something, but Dallas finds himself too distracted by the cuts and bruises to listen. Something’s off. Not only the injuries, but also with Johnny’s behavior. It slowly dawns on him what Sodapop meant about Johnny not being the same anymore. It’s getting under Dallas’ skin – the way he jumps and flinches, keeps looking over his shoulder. Johnny has never been reckless, but he hasn’t been careful either. He shouldn’t feel the need to look over his shoulder all the time. Not at his age. Realization hits Dallas like lightning from a clear sky. He leans over the table and grips Johnny’s chin, turning his face to the side so he can take a look at his eye. Johnny gasps in surprise, or pain, Dallas isn’t sure and he doesn’t care.
“What happened?” he demands, inspecting the bruises. “This is too recent. Soda told me you got jumped a week ago, this is not a week old.”
Johnny twists out of Dallas’ grip and his greasy, jet-black bangs fall over his eyes.
“You better not lie to me, man. I’m not in the mood.” Dallas waits impatiently while Johnny rearranges the stray fries.
“It’s from the day before yesterday. I went home for the night and my old man was awake…”
He trails off. He doesn’t want to talk about it, he never does and Dallas can respect that. He still stares at him in disbelief.
“Jesus Christ! Why the fuck do you keep going back there, man?!”
“I had nowhere else to go,” Johnny starts, but Dallas interrupts him.
“You didn’t..? Are you…?” Dallas closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to keep his voice down. He’s not angry at Johnny, he reminds himself and tries to count to ten. He makes it to four. “Sometimes I just don’t get you! What about the Curtis’?”
“I didn’t want to bother them. I’ve spent a lot of nights at their house since… Since those Socs got me and it’s too cold to sleep in the lot.”
“You could have come to me, man.” Dallas almost yells. He hates not understanding. He hates stuff he can’t control and he hates this fucking disaster of a situation.
“You were in jail!” Johnny yells back and buries his face in his hands. Dallas is so taken aback, he falls silent. Johnny never raises his voice at anyone and more importantly, no one raises their voice at Dallas Winston. He tries counting to ten again. Besides, he hasn’t thought about like that. For him going away means at most a few months of paranoia, hunger, sleep-deprivation and occasional fighting, but it hasn’t crossed his mind how it affects the people on the outside. Steve or Soda comes to visit him if he goes away for long and it always seems like life outside goes on per usual without him there. What per usual really means for Johnny, Dallas hasn’t pondered much upon. Brooding isn’t a good way to keep busy in jail. You have to be on your toes. Dallas takes a fry and flicks it over the edge of the table. He may not have been here when all of this went down, but he’s here now and he’ll be damned if he can’t make this okay. If he can’t make Johnny okay.
”That’s a nasty cut,” he says in a desperate try to move on to a safer subject. Johnny takes a sip of his milkshake to avoid answering.
“You know,” Dallas continues. “Now when I’m out, I’m gonna make it my business to find the Socs who did that to you.” He points at the cut for emphasis. Johnny lightly shakes his head, suddenly sounding tired.
“You don’t need to do nothing, Dal.”
“Don’t be stupid, kid! I’ll get ‘em. We need revenge for what they did to you. I’m aching to bust a few of that guy’s fingers.” Dallas grins at the thought of it. He can already hear the snap of bone. “They’ll have to cut those rings. Maybe that’ll teach him to take them off.”
Dallas watches in silence as Johnny finishes his milkshake. On their way to the diner, he noticed how Johnny was trembling, but now it seems to have died down to a slight tremor in his hands. Dallas hides a smile by scratching his chin.
“Have you got a blade on you?” he asks. Johnny doesn’t look surprised, so it seems he’s been thinking the same thing - no one is going to scare him like this again.
“Not yet.”
Dallas reaches for his own blade, sitting in the inside pocket of his jeans jacket. He pulls it out and slides it across the table to Johnny. Johnny picks it up and weighs it in his hand, before sliding it into his back pocket.
“Thanks,” he says, eyes wide but bright. “Are you sure you won’t need it?”
Dallas shrugs. Johnny looks at the clock sitting on the wall by the counter.
“Ponyboy’s English class just finished,” he states.
“Let’s pick him up so he won’t have to walk on his own.” Dallas slides out of the booth and drops a few dollars on the table.
The whole gang gathers at the Curtis’ house that night, celebrating Dallas getting out of jail. Usually, it is not that big of a deal, but this time he has been away longer than usual – hence the celebration. After a few games of cards and a nice dinner, made by Darry, Dallas escapes out on the porch. The gang is loud and the atmosphere is good, but Dallas’ headache is worsening again. The wind embraces him, making him wish he had brought his jacket. The sky is dark and the cool air suggests that the fading summer is giving way for fall. More difficult times are coming up. Dallas doesn’t get time to ponder too much about what’s to come as the door screeches familiarly and someone exits the house to join him. He isn’t surprised when Johnny sits down next to him on the wooden floor.
“You alright, Dally?” he asks sincerely. Dallas turns to look at him. His hands are still shaking, but the look in those brown eyes are a bit less haunted.
“Just tired,” Dallas says, offering a lopsided smile.
“Guess it’s difficult to get a good night’s sleep in the cooler, huh?”
“Something like that.” Dallas knows that Johnny wonders about it – how it is. It’s a childish curiosity and it reminds Dallas that Johnny’s still a kid. He has managed to hang on to a thread more innocence than the rest of the gang, not counting Ponyboy. Nothing has managed to make Johnny mean yet, and that’s… that’s important. Johnny and Ponyboy are the only ones who have avoided the local jailhouse all together, the rest of them have been there a few times each. No one is there as frequently or for as long as Dallas though and to be honest, he’d like it to stay that way. He has no problem with his bad reputation and he lives life the way he wants to. He looks over at Johnny again, hoping he’ll never have to see the inside of a jail. It’d ruin him. Dallas has always known that and therefore he has kept him as far away from the fuzz as possible. He never expected anything on the outside to be able to break Johnny, but he knows he’s very close to being proven wrong. Dallas Winston doesn’t like being wrong.
“What’s with the shaking, man? You alright? You cold?”
Suddenly self-aware, Johnny quickly shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans jacket.
“It’s uh… I just can’t control it. But I’m alright.” Dallas gives Johnny a long look.
“Quit looking at me like that, man. I’m fine.”
“Sure.” Dallas looks out over the yard instead. Darry’s old pickup is standing on the driveway and his own car is parked across the road. He oughta beat it. If he wants to get a room at Buck’s, then he better move. He stands up and dusts off his jeans.
“You’re gonna split?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna try to get a room at Buck’s. I’ll find you tomorrow. When are you done with school?” He steps off the porch and turns around to find Johnny grinning at him.
“What?”
“It’s Saturday tomorrow, Dal.”
Dallas shakes his head. “Whatever.”
“Bye, Dally!”
He starts crossing the yard, but turns around again. “Hey, Johnny. If the Curtis’ couch is taken tonight, you come to me, okay?”
Johnny looks hesitant. “I’ll be okay in the lot.”
Dallas sighs. “For Chrissake, man. It’s too cold. I’ll be at Buck’s, there’s room for you.”
“Okay.” Johnny is looking down at his shoes, burying the tips of them in the dirt.
“You gotta promise me, man.”
Johnny looks up at him, his bangs have fallen into his eyes again. He nods earnestly. “I promise.”
“See you tomorrow, kid.”
Later that night the word is out and traveling fast – Dallas Winston is hunting for the Soc who beat up a greaser without taking his rings off.
It’s late Sunday night and Dallas and Johnny are on their way to get a late night milkshake when the word on the streets catches up with them. Going a good ten miles over the speed limit, they are quickly putting the north side of town in the rearview. The Rolling Stones are playing at a merciless volume and Johnny can’t help but jam along. He notices a blue Mustang coming from the right and turning onto the road behind them. A glance at Dallas confirms his suspicion as his eyes are glued to the rearview mirror as well. Johnny can tell he’s gritting his teeth. The Mustang drives up alongside them and it only takes a second for Johnny to recognize the driver – he’ll remember that face for the rest of his life. They stay side by side for a few moments, taking up the entirety of the road, before the Mustang cuts in right in front of Dallas, forcing him to step on the brake.
“Jesus Christ!”
Johnny jumps at Dallas’ frustrated cry. The Mustang keeps hitting the brakes and Dallas pulls up by the side of the road, cursing vehemently. The Mustang stops a bit ahead of them. A thousand different thoughts race through Johnny’s mind but it’s not until Dallas puts his hand on the door handle that he manages to transform them into words. He catches Dallas by the arm and Dallas quickly turns to look at him in surprise.
“It’s them.” Johnny realizes he should elaborate a bit, but it feels as if his throat locks. Three boys exit the Mustang and Johnny gets sucked back to night he got jumped: the dim light surrounding him, the wet grass beneath him, kicks in his stomach and fists decorated with golden rings drawing blood. At the sight of the Socs’ wide grins and the driver’s still ring-clad hands, Johnny’s fight or flight instinct kicks in properly. He thinks of the blade sitting in his back pocket. Dallas sinks back into his seat with a smile, which makes his handsome features look cruel. He turns of the engine and the radio with such composure that Johnny realizes Dallas has been waiting for this.
“Fucking finally…” Dallas says darkly. The driver and Dally catches the other’s eye and the atmosphere in the car shifts. Johnny sees how the seething anger Dallas has been saving up for the last couple of days finally ignites. Dallas pulls off the heavy, silver ring he always wears on his right, middle finger and slides it into his pocket.
“Just stay here,” he says, as if it was that simple. Johnny shakes his head.
“There’s three of them, Dal.” He really ought to help out. How he’s going to will himself out of the car is a minor detail. Dallas looks at him and puts a hand on his arm.
“Jesus Christ, you’re shaking.” It’s a fact, but Johnny wants to argue anyway. “You’re sitting this one out. Is that clear?” Dallas’ voice is as firm as it always is when he’s made up his mind about something and Johnny knows better than to fight him on it, so he nods. It still doesn’t feel right, though. Dallas shouldn’t have to go out there, facing three Socs on his own because Johnny’s too scared to move. He shouldn’t be scared. He should be angry. Like Dal. Dallas opens the car door and right before he gets out, he glances at Johnny again.
“There’s no shame sitting one out, you know.” He slams the car door shut and Johnny watches as he slowly walks around the car, toward the Socs. There is no hesitation or submission in his steps. The sight reminds Johnny of a thunderstorm. Dallas Winston’s rage is a force of nature. Being around him when he gets riled up before a fight is like standing in the middle of an open field when the wind picks up before a storm. It’s like the force building up before the rain hits and first clap of thunder rolls through the sky. Johnny has always been told that the safest place to be during a thunderstorm is in a car, so he intends to take Dallas’ advice and stay put.
Dallas is not a patient soul and it takes every ounce of restraint he can muster up, not to throw himself at the Socs. He’s ready for this, but he has to play it cool. He’s been looking for this grinning idiot for days and if he hadn’t shown up tonight, then he would have had to go find Tim Shepard to let off some steam. The street they have parked on is secluded and there is no one in sight to call the fuzz. The cool night air helps Dallas to keep his head clear. The only hitch in this scenario is Johnny being present. It is clear these guys scare him to death – but if anything, it makes Dallas even more eager to get this done. The guy who drove the Mustang is the only guy wearing rings and even an idiot could point him out as the leader of these brats. It’ll be a bitch for the guy to clean bloodstains off the white jacket he’s wearing. It serves him right. Dallas stands in front of his car with a relaxed posture, but his body is tense. His pulse is quickening and he can already hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
“Dallas Winston?” the driver asks with a confident grin. Dallas can’t wait to redecorate those lines of perfect teeth. When he doesn’t answer, the Soc speaks up again.
“I’m Bob Sheldon. I heard you were looking for me.”
“That’s right.” Just shut the fuck up and let’s do this. “So, why don’t you get those two losers back in the car so we can get this over with?”
He gestures vaguely at the boys standing at the Soc’s sides to make his point. The Soc – Bob, Dallas reminds himself – looks worriedly at his two friends, trying to evaluate the situation.
“Or are you that scared of me?”
Something wolf-like flashes in Bob’s eyes, letting Dallas knows his strategy is working.
“Get in the car,” Bob says with finality and when the lanky guy on his right argues, he snaps. “Now, Randy!”
Dallas smiles to himself. Two car doors slam shut in unison and Bob starts pulling one of his rings off.
“Keep the rings on,” Dallas says calmly and Bob obeys, looking satisfied.
“Is this about that kid in the passenger seat?” He points at Johnny and Dallas forces himself not to look over his shoulder. Now is not the time for distractions.
“You shouldn’t have jumped him.” Dallas quickens his steps, knowing the situation is getting close to its breaking point. Bob chuckles.
“The day we beat him up… It was the best day of my life, pal.”
Dallas pulls his arm back and brings his fist down right on Bob’s mouth, painting his teeth red. Bob staggers backwards, but quickly finds his balance. A fist buries itself under Dallas’ ribcage once, twice. He rolls under a hook. While Bob is still out of balance because of the miss, Dallas lands a blow to the side of his head. Bob lurches, then charges at Dallas and this time he’s prepared. Dallas tries to slip, but is too slow to avoid it entirely. Bob’s fist connects with his jaw and chin, the rings dig into his skin. Pain explodes through Dallas’ neck and mouth and he can taste blood. The blow forces Bob to take a step closer and Dallas grabs his shoulders, kneeing him in the stomach. Bob jabs. Dallas manages to catch it and divert the hit to his shoulder. It barely hurts through the daze of adrenaline. They keep their footwork going, slowly circling. For a second, Dallas takes his eyes off his opponent and he finds a pair of brown eyes struck with worry staring back at him. Next thing he knows, there’s a fist in his view. It’s too late to block or roll. Dallas braces himself – tucks his chin to his chest, puts his tongue against the roof of his mouth and lifts his shoulders. The cross is hard, but it lands right where he wants it too – at the corner of his head. It hurts like hell and a half. Everything goes blurry and Dallas falls over, groaning in pain. Warm blood is flowing steadily down the side of his face. He thinks again about the look in Johnny’s eyes and forces himself to focus. This is to make Johnny feel safe. Not to have him watch Dallas get his ass kicked. This is not the kind of fighting that got Dallas through months in jail. Bob closes in and Dallas kicks as hard as he can over the back of Bob’s knees, effectively bringing him down. It buys Dallas enough time to get back up. Bob looks tired and his confidence has visibly faltered. He tries a desperate right jab. It’s messy and Dallas intercepts. He blocks the jab and grabs the back of Bob’s head. After securing his grip with his other hand, he brings his knee to Bob’s face. Bob falls onto all fours. Dallas pulls Bob’s head back and looms over him, leaving him on his knees. Blood is streaming from Bob’s nose, but it doesn’t seem to be broken. He looks fairly disorientated. Dallas grabs Bob’s right hand – the one with two rings on it. Dallas holds it up with one hand and grips Bob’s middle finger with the other. Now, Bob looks up at him with painful clarity. Dallas doesn’t look away as he pulls the finger back and the bone breaks. It makes a sickening, cracking sound. Bob screams and Dallas knows he has to be quick now, or he’ll have two more Socs to beat. Without hesitation, he grips Bob’s pinkie and repeats the motion. The crack is heard again, followed by another scream.
“Look at me!” Dallas yells, but Bob’s eyes are clenched shut in pain. Dallas drops Bob’s hand and grasps his hair instead, yanking his head up. Bob’s eyes flutter open and the fear in them dulls the pain in Dallas’ body. He turns Bob’s head in Johnny’s direction.
“Say you’re sorry.”
Dallas looks at Johnny too and he notices Johnny isn’t look at the Soc – he’s looking right back at Dallas. He looks relieved.
“I’m sorry,” Bob stutters, blood staining his lips. Two car doors open. Dallas smiles and pulls Bob’s head back again to be able to look him straight in the eyes. He speaks slowly and quietly, making sure Bob is listening.
“If you so much as look at Johnny Cade again, I will kill you.”
Bob has tears in his eyes and Dallas delivers the most satisfying right hook of his life. His blood is pumping and a voice in the back of his head tells him to keep going, keep punching. Dallas hits one more time for good measure. Bob falls face first to the ground and Dallas finally backs away. This is not about killing a Soc, he reminds himself, this is about keeping Johnny safe. He keeps his guard up and doesn’t abandon his fighting stance as the two other Socs approach. They don’t even look at Dallas, they drag Bob into the backseat of the Mustang and swirl off with screeching tires.
Sometimes the only way to know a storm has raged is because of how violently it contrasts the calm that follows. Johnny is by Dallas’ side as soon as the Socs have dragged Bob into the car. The street is eerily quiet, the only thing audible is the ragged breathing of the two of them. Johnny knows exactly how Dallas is feeling. It feels as if the core of his body is vibrating with leftover power, but the adrenaline is fading quickly to make room for pain. Johnny has been in more fights than he can count and every win feels the same. Dallas can barely stand and falls heavily onto Johnny for support. He has blood in his hair and all over his head, coming from a cut made by Bob’s rings.
“Jesus, Dal. For a second I thought you were gonna lose,” Johnny says quietly, putting Dallas’ arm across his shoulders to be able to hold him up.
“I never lose,” Dallas smiles, showing off blood-stained teeth. Johnny feels sick, but he knows they need to book it in case the Socs call the fuzz. Slowly, they make their way over to the car and Dallas collapses into the passenger seat without protest, much to Johnny’s relief. Johnny sits behind the wheel and turns the ignition. The engine responds with a satisfying roar.
“Let’s get out of here. Where to?” Dallas doesn’t answer. He has closed his eyes and is groaning incoherently.
“To Darry?” Johnny tries and Dallas’ eyes fly open.
“No, no. He’ll kill me,” he rasps out. “I have a room at Buck’s.”
Johnny shakes his head in disagreement, but steps on the gas. Buck is on their asses as soon as they step inside the door.
“What the hell happened to Winston?!”
The place is unusually rowdy for a Sunday night. When Johnny catches his eyes, Buck is rushing over from the bar. Buck is at least a head taller than Johnny and real mean looking. Johnny doesn’t like hanging around here much, he always feels like Buck hates his guts.
“What happened?” Buck asks and there is an accusation in there somewhere.
“Got into a fight with a Soc,” Johnny explains hastily. “Where’s his room?”
Buck looks skeptical, but after taking a good look at Dallas, he nods shortly in the direction of the staircase.
“Up the stairs, first room on the right,” he says. “I’ll be up in a second with some painkillers.”
Johnny climbs the stairs with difficulty, but Dallas seems to sober up a bit. Johnny carefully drops him on the bed in his room.
“How’re you feeling, Dal?”
“I’ve had worse, kid.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Johnny sighs, pulling his hands through his hair. This is his fault. Dallas looks up at him.
”I mean it. I just need some sleep.”
Buck barges in without warning, not even looking at Johnny as he walks up to Dallas.
“Take these,” he instructs, dropping three pills in Dallas’ hand. Dallas swallows them without hesitation or wondering what they are. Johnny guesses they’ve done this before.
“Drink.” Buck hands Dally a glass containing a dark brown beverage Johnny is pretty sure you’re not supposed to mix with drugs, but he doesn’t say anything. Dallas knocks it back and grimaces at the taste.
“When you said you were going to look for trouble tonight, I thought you were going to pick up a broad,” Buck complains. He pokes at the cut on Dallas’ head and Dallas pushes his hands away.
“Get off,” he protests and falls back on the bed - out of Buck’s reach.
“The Soc got you good.”
“I made him pay for it, not that it’s any of your business.”
Buck moves over to Johnny, looming over him with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “How come you made it out without a scratch?”
Dallas sits up on the bed, speaking in a menacingly low voice; “If you know what’s good for you, you leave him alone, Buck. It’s none of your business. Now get your sorry ass out of here before I sock you a good one!”
Buck backs away and turns to the door. “Sure, but you better not die in your sleep, Winston. You cause me enough trouble as it is.”
Dallas lies back down. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
Buck throws one last glare at Johnny before slamming the door shut, making both Johnny and Dallas flinch. The closed door leaves the room laying in shadows, making it impossible for Johnny to see Dal’s face. Buck’s footsteps fades away quickly.
“Fucking idiot,” Dallas mutters, sounding half-asleep already.
“It was none of your business,” Johnny says quietly, before he can stop himself. Luckily, Dallas doesn’t hear him. He lies unmoving on the bed and his breathing has evened out. Whatever Buck gave him, it sure worked. Johnny sits down on the floor, leaning his back against Dallas’ wardrobe. He tries not to think too hard about what just happened, but to no avail.
When Dallas wakes up the room is still dark. It feels like he just blinked, but he knows he might as well have slept for an hour or two. The house is quieter now. His head is hurting a bit less, courtesy of Buck’s illegal storage of prescription meds. He turns over and finds Johnny sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. He’s still wearing his jacket and his whole body is shaking. Dallas wishes he knew what time it is.
“How’re you doing, kid?” Dallas voice is heavy with sleep, so he must have done more than blinked.
“It wasn’t your business. You shouldn’t have picked a fight,” Johnny says hastily, almost tripping over the words. Dallas begins to doubt he has actually woken up and that this isn’t some kind of dream. Johnny looks up at him with anger and fear shining in his eyes. This sure ain’t a dream. Dallas slowly sits up.
“What did you say, kid?”
Johnny, to Dallas’ surprise, doesn’t back down at Dallas’ grim tone.
“You shouldn’t have done it! It wasn’t any of your business. It was mine.”
The unexpected turn of events makes Dallas fall back on his first and only defense: anger. He jabs a finger in Johnny’s direction. “I did this for you.”
“I sure as hell didn’t ask you to,” Johnny bites back. Dallas’ eyebrows fall into a frown. What the hell is going on? He shakes his head, but stops violently when he feels nausea building. Maybe not moving is a good idea.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, desperate with frustration. He doesn’t understand why they are even having this conversation. “You are my business. You know that, Johnny Cade.”
Johnny visibly falters and Dallas wonders what he said wrong. He thought Johnny knew.
“What if they call the fuzz?” Johnny asks quietly.
Dallas has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “Tough luck! Shoot, kid, I’m trying to keep you safe out here…”
“And what if they send you straight back to the cooler? What good is that gonna do me?” At first, Dallas is too distracted by how badly Johnny’s shaking to answer. What if the kid breaks? He wants to reach out, but doesn’t know how. You’re getting soft, Winston.
“You need those Socs off your back…” he tries, but Johnny cuts in.
“I need you to have my back!” he cries out. He looks pleadingly at Dallas, like there’s something he hasn’t understood yet. Dallas doesn’t like it. It makes him feel… uncertain. It makes him want to pack a bag and get on the first freight out of Tulsa.
“I got my ass beat for you! I risk going to jail for you! What more do you want from me?” Tears starts rolling down Johnny’s cheeks, but he doesn’t make a sound. Dallas briefly wonders how long it took him harness that skill. He thinks about how many nights Johnny must have spent silently crying, not wanting to let his problems weigh other people down. He thinks of the nights he himself has spent biting back tears or breaking bones instead of admitting that he’s feeling something else than anger. Why do we have to be like this? The key to winning a fight, Dallas has learned through trial and error, is control. It’s all about monitoring yourself and never forgetting what you’re fighting about. Weighing cost against reward is a good way to know when to step away, and knowing when to step away has kept Dallas alive. It’s also easy to apply to other situations. It’s a system Dallas feels comfortable with, but in this situation both the cost and the reward are unclear. He can’t estimate any of them, because it’s not up to him. This isn’t about him getting a few bones broken, or risking going to jail, this is about breaking. This is about surviving. This is about caring about someone other than himself and it’s new. It’s scary. Tears of frustration mixed with something else are welling up in his own eyes now. Fuck this. Fuck everything.
“Don’t you get it, Dal?” Johnny’s voice is fragile and he sounds no older than the sixteen years he is. “I need you out here.”
For the first time in Dallas’ life, the anger melts away. It’s replaced by, or rather the lack of it reveals, despair and… something else. Something foreign. Something that is itching in Dallas’ chest and causes a sense of urgency. Something that makes him want to get up and run. Dallas hasn’t let it himself feel fear since he was ten, but when looking at the crying sixteen-year-old sitting on his floor he gets scared. Every fiber in his body tells him to run. Instead, he carefully gets off the bed and slides down next to Johnny, slinging an arm around his shoulders. The kid is breaking at the seams and god damn it, someone has to keep him together. Dallas wants to keep him together.
“I’m here,” he says carefully. He doesn’t know how to do this. He can’t make promises he knows he won’t be able to keep. It’s important not to do that, that’s one thing Dallas knows for sure. Dallas can promise he’ll be here, but he won’t be. Next time someone comes to him looking for a fight – he ain’t backing down. Next time he feels like punching a Soc – he will. Dallas is his own man and he acts first, thinks later. It’s who he is. Restlessness has lived in his bones since he was a kid and he has tried to make it settle down, but nothing has worked. Not for him. He has never thought about anyone else having a shot at putting it to rest.
“I’ll try to be here,” he promises. Johnny breaks into a sob. “You’ll be okay, Johnnycake… We’ll be okay.”
Johnny leans on Dallas, but desperately tries to dry his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to bawl at ya’.”
Dallas says nothing, just pulls Johnny closer to his chest.
The next morning Dallas wakes up late. The curtains moves in the wind coming from the slightly opened window. It makes rays of sunshine dancing across the walls, meaning it must be at least mid-day. Dallas’ head is hurting badly, but compared to last night, it’s bearable. After another round of Buck’s miracle medicine, he’ll be back on his feet. He opens his eyes and is at first confused by the presence of someone else in his bed, but then he remembers. It took him awhile to coax Johnny out of his jean jacket and into the bed, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer and Johnny had relented. What did it matter if they shared? Dallas lays still for a while, trying to put the pieces of last night together. The memories were confused by pain and motional havoc, but after a while, he figures he has a pretty good grip on the situation. It’s a strange one though. It’s new. Last night he really wanted to run, but when he looks down at the sleeping figure next to him, he’s happy he didn’t. When Johnny wakes up, Dallas goes for a shower – it’s a bitch to get the blood out of his blonde hair – and when he comes back Johnny’s gone. Before Dallas has time to worry, he’s back with food and a bunch of pills from Buck.
“He said he doesn’t know if he’s happy or disappointed that you survived the night,” Johnny says. Dallas grins.
They don’t meet the gang until the next day. Dallas doesn’t feel like going out at all, but Johnny put forth the winning argument that if they don’t show up at the Curtis’ house today, the gang will start looking for them. The last day and a half with Johnny in his room has been a change of pace. It’s been calm. Dallas doesn’t know if he likes it yet – but at least he hasn’t bailed. His head is still aching, but he bums a few more pills from Buck when he’s out picking up some liquor for the bar. Dallas and Johnny walk side by side to the Curtis’ house, sharing a smoke in the sunlight. Ponyboy and Steve are sitting on the porch and runs up to meet them. Ponyboy reaches them first.
“Johnny! We’ve been kinda worried about you. Where have you been?” he is smiling widely at Johnny.
“No one worrying about me, kid?” Dallas teases him, knowing well that they worry more than they should about him. They’ve known each other for years now and they still haven’t learned that he can take care of himself. Ponyboy looks up at him and his smile fades.
“Jesus, Dally. What happened to you?”
“I hope the other guy looks worse,” Steve adds as he catches up to them. Dallas grins at his best friend, firmly shaking his hand.
“He got what he had coming, man” he says. Ponyboy shakes his head in disapproval, but Steve looks delighted.
“What happened?”
“I got even with one of the Socs who jumped Johnny,” Dallas says, glancing at Johnny who is reaching for the lit smoke Ponyboy’s holding. “We were on our way to get a milkshake…”
Dallas retells the story with efficiency and Steve proudly pats his arm when he gets to the part where he broke Bob’s fingers. He leaves out the part about making Bob apologies. It’s no one else’s business than his own and Johnny’s. It feels too personal. Johnny finishes Ponyboy’s smoke. By the end of the story, Darry and Two-Bit has joined them in the yard. Two-Bit looks entertained – as always – and Darry looks like he’s about break Dallas’ neck.
“You should have told us you were looking for them,” he says, trying not to sound like his fuming. “We could have helped you, Dallas.”
“I can look after myself,” Dallas protests, glaring at Darry with really meaning to. Someone has to be the responsible one and after the Curtis brothers’ parents died, Darry stepped up to fill their shoes. They were big shoes. He doesn’t blame him for worrying.
“Well, at least your knuckles are cracked and ready for Friday,” Steve cuts in, trying to avoid the discussion. Dallas looks at him.
“What’s on Friday?”
“We’re having it out with the Socs on Friday,” Steve tells them, looking excited. “You’ll show, right? We need all the guys we can get.”
“Only us?” Dallas asks, lighting up another smoke.
“Us and Tim Shepard’s gang,” Darry says calmly. “They have agreed to fight fair. No weapons.” Darry looks uncomfortable with the situation, but Dallas knows he’ll show. Darry used to love fighting, but it seems to have lost its glory now. Dallas gives Johnny a questioning look and he answers without missing a beat.
“Count me in,” he says, meeting Dal’s eyes. Dallas nods. For a second, the rest of the guys are stunned with silence. They don’t expect him to be up for it. Dallas’ doesn’t blame them, he knows Johnny can handle it. Steve is about to say something, probably try to talk Johnny out of it, but Dallas beats him to it.
“I’ll be there,” he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.