Chapter Text
Dally shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets. Slouching over, he lazily eyed the magazine rack in front of him. It was nothing really. Just posers in khaki shorts who looked like they’d play golf using their daddy’s money — you know, boring shit. They never seem to have anything good in places like these. His bored gaze flickered up to catch the narrow eyes of the shopkeeper behind the front counter. Dally quickly straightened up, widening his eyes a little to come off as innocent.
The man had been watching him like a hawk since Dally had stepped one beat-up converse into the corner store. His eyes would follow the blond boy almost unrelentingly as he made his way through the aisles. It would’ve been commendable, impressive even, if it wasn’t annoying as hell. Sure, Dally was the only one in here, but didn’t the man have things to do? Something that didn’t involve watching “customers”? The longer their little faux stare off continued, the more the shopkeeper’s bushy mustache twitched. If he kept that up, the damn thing would flap off his face and fly away. Like a bird. A really hairy bird.
Growing real tired of whatever this was, Dally flipped him off. And out of the kindness of his cold , dead heart, he made sure the man had no trouble seeing it from where he was perched. Dally hadn’t even stolen anything — yet — and the man acted like he was two seconds away from swiping something off the shelves. Well, to be frank, he was, but it wasn’t like the shopkeeper knew all that. Before the blotchy, red-faced man could chew Dally a new one, the bell above the door rang. Dally turned his head to see a middle-class girl dressed like she was going to church instead of a cheap corner store in late July. She walked with her curls bouncing and heels clicking right up to the counter. As soon as she opened her mouth, Dally slipped out of the magazine section.
She was asking the man something that Dally didn’t care enough to pay attention to as he ducked through the aisles. He quickly grabbed the switchblade he had been eyeing since he got here and slipped it into the sleeve of his jacket. Walking towards the front counter with all the confidence of someone who knows they’re gonna get away with it, Dally nicked a pack of Malboros as he passed. It was stupid. A bold move he shouldn’t have done, but neither the girl nor the shopkeeper paid him any mind. His lips curled up into a smug grin. Nestled by the door was a small wooden shelf of paperback books; some of which looked like they’ve seen far better days. Dally stared at one of the nicer looking ones for a second before tucking it under his arm and pushing the door open.
The sultry Tulsa air greeted him as he stepped outside into the bright, summer sun. Squinting against the light, Dally took the switchblade out of his sleeve. It was a sleek number, real fancy too with its engravings carved into the handle. He flicked the blade out, twirling it idly in time with the scraping of his chuck taylors against the sidewalk. Kids, who couldn’t be no older than eight, ran past him, whooping and hollering like crazy in the opposite direction. The sun, now higher in the sky, bore down mercilessly against the expanse of his back. The heat seeped into the dark leather of his jacket that didn’t fit him quite right and made his blood run red hot. It simmered just underneath his skin, making him itching to start something. Anything. His fingers twitched just thinking about the things he could get into. The rows of shops and folks ducking into buildings to avoid the heat shifted to cheap looking houses with chain link fences and hoods that slinked about in the shade.
He nodded curtly towards a couple of them — Brumly Boys and a handful of Shepard’s gang who returned the gesture— and kept moving. Mindful of the stuff he had on him, Dally hopped a certain fence belonging to a certain trio of brothers. The driveway was empty of cars, but their front door was wide open; the screen behind it exposed to the light. On the old, creaky porch swing sat the youngest Curtis brother all by his lonesome. Pony was flushed up to his ears in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that was most likely Soda’s at some point. And, as Dally noted somewhat amusedly, Pony was completely absorbed in his own little world, doodling away in a notebook. That’s what Dally didn’t like about him sometimes. He’d get so caught up in that brain of his. Shut everything out until only him remained. It annoyed Dally. It really did and then Dally is left to make sure nobody thinks of messing with Pony like he always does. Slipping the switchblade into his pocket, Dally came to a stop right in front of him. It took ten whole seconds before wide green eyes snapped up to his face in confusion.
“Jeez, D—aren’t you hot?” Pony eyed Dally’s leather jacket warily; It was so dark it contrasted Dally’s pale skin and hair. Only a complete idiot would wear it in this heat.
“Nah,” Dally shrugged, feigning nonchalance. He was . He was sweating like a goddamn dog at this point.
...He still ain’t taking this jacket off. Dally slumped onto the swing with a huff, his knees bumping against Pony’s. “‘S it just you?”
He didn’t see anyone else inside the dark interior, but he asked anyway. Pony fidgeted a little with the notebook. “I wasn’t alone for long.” He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Two was here for a little while before you showed up.”
Knowing Two-bit, he’s probably off being a drunkard somewhere. Living life , he calls it. Whatever that means. Wordlessly, Dally handed over the paperback. He tried to look tuff. He did, but admittedly it’s real hard to do that with the way Pony’s eyes lit up and how he had tried to fight the biggest grin off his face like Dally had given him the greatest thing in the world. Maybe he did.
Pony ran a hand over the smooth cover. The Catcher in the Rye , bright as a flame. They’re supposed to read it in English this year, Pony and him, assuming they get to that part of the lesson. Pony set it in his lap, his bright grin mellowing into a soft one. It wasn’t everyday you got something from Dally without having to ask for it. To get something because...he wanted to? To get something because he knew you’d like it?
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Dally crossed his arms.
“Thank you,” Pony said sincerely. “I mean it.” It was dumb to add that. They both knew he meant it. Dally waved his appreciation away cause, wow, having someone react like that to a gift you didn’t give any sort of thought is a bit embarrassing and all around horrendous for your carefully curated reputation as an asshole. More than a little embarrassed — were his ears heating up?—, Dally stared angrily off in front of him. Why’d he have to be so earnest about it?! It’s embarrassing!
“Let’s go,” Dally blurted out once his mind had settled. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision and not exactly the wisest one with how hot it was, but he made up his mind.
“Go where?” Pony glanced up from his book, brows furrowed. He was a couple pages in already. He didn’t seem all that opposed to the idea of a spontaneous adventure, but he was hesitant about it like he always was when Dally pulls shit like this when he would rather spend time at home.
“Come on,” Dally tipped his head towards the gate. “Let’s go on an adventure.”
“I don’t even got shoes on, Dal.”
“What?” Dally stood up and held a hand out. “You don’t trust me?”
“I do trust you,” Pony mumbled, taking Dally’s impatient hand.
“Then come on,” Dally pulled him to his feet. “’M gonna leave ya if you don’t hurry up.” He was kidding. Mostly. He always comes back even if he doesn't want to. Snorting, Pony turned and went inside. It was a mistake to step back into the suffocating embrace of the Tulsa summer, but Dally dug this grave and he will lie in it. “I’m leaving,” he called over his shoulder. He peeked behind him. Not a whiff of auburn hair. He hid his pang of disappointment by leaning against the fence. Five minutes. If Pony didn’t show up within five minutes, he actually was gonna leave him. It wasn’t long before Pony flew past him with a bang of the front door slamming shut. Dally stared after him, jaw slacked and his eyes wide. “...Shit!” Finally realizing what happened, Dally took off after him.
Pony, being a track star and all, was always juust out of Dally’s reach. Not that Dally would’ve been able to catch up even if he had a two minute head start. Pony’s bright, bubbly laughter carried through the hot air. He always laughed like that. Like he couldn’t be happier than he was right now. Dally probably looked so goofy sprinting after a track star with the beginning of a smile on his face. He didn’t think he cared that much.
Come nightfall the afternoon stuffiness had settled like a warm quilt over the city. Folks poked their heads out or crept outside with held breaths and hands clutching their chest. They were absolutely delighted to find out that, while still way too hot, the sun had ended its torment for the day. Lucky bastards. Dally stuck a cigarette between his lips, rummaging through his pockets for a lighter.
The wood of the fence dug uncomfortably into his thighs and he shifted so his feet were no longer on the bottom rail. Beside him, still flushed from the heat and his eyes bright, Pony tugged at his shirt collar. He looked younger in the dim light of the street lamps. Like the small, big-eyed kid Dally met when he first moved to Tusla. The one who was so scared of Dally at first until they somehow clicked. Probably because Pony wasn’t trying so hard to be something he wasn’t. Of course, this Pony was different from the one Dally knew back then. He wasn’t scared of him anymore.
“I think I’m gonna leave this town,” Pony said, his tone light.
Dally frowned, his brows knitting close together. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Pony nodded. His sneakers hit the fence in a steady rhythm. “Go somewhere peaceful.”
Dally smoothed his face into a neutral expression, hand cupped around the open flame of the lighter. “What? You gonna go off into the countryside?”
“Maybe,” Pony replied absently. “I’ll have to get a job first, of course.”
It wasn’t the first time Pony mentioned that he wanted to live in the country. He never dwells on it for long, always spoken in passing and not brought up again until weeks, even months later. Honestly, Dally shouldn’t be surprised. Pony’s not meant to be trapped here in Tulsa. He’s not some bird that you can keep locked in a cage. And yet, Dally’s chest ached something awful . It twisted up to the point it actually started to hurt. He hissed out a thin cloud of smoke before giving up and crushing the still lit cigarette under his heel. Pony will leave, go somewhere better, somewhere he could be happy , and he never even—
“That’s just wishful thinking though,” Pony twirled a loose strand of hair around his index finger. His next words were so quiet that Dally had to strain to hear them. “I don’t think I’ll ever leave.”
A sick sort of relief washed over Dally, then he frowned cause he realized how messed up it was to be relieved about that. “Well,” he began. “If anyone left this stupid, fucking town it would be you.” Pony looked surprised to hear that. Probably because it was the nicest thing Dally said to him directly. Dally wasn’t like Pony. He couldn’t say things like that in the same way Pony could have it pour from him like it was the most simple thing a person could do.
“You think so?”
“Sure,” Dally shrugged. It’s not like the rest of them had a chance. Not like how Pony did.
“You can come with me, you know. Just in case, um, that wasn’t clear.”
Dally stared at him. Is he serious? Oh , he is . “Why?”
“Why wouldn’t I want my best friend to come with me?” Pony looked up at him from under his lashes before looking away. They sat there in an awkward silence so tangible you could feel it in the air. Neither of them ever explicitly said they were friends, let alone best friends . Best friends. A step up from regular friends. (Shouldn’t that title go to Johnny who deserved it a hell of a lot more than Dally?) They never gave each other a label. Never bothered to mention it to anyone. Yet here Pony was. Stepping firmly over the line that Dally drew in the metaphorical sand years ago. Sure. If you thought long and hard about it, that's what they are. Frie— best friends. They were best friends, but to have it spoken out loud? See, now both of them are embarrassed.
“ God ,” Dally groaned. He tossed his head back, breathing deeply through his nose. The nearby street lamp sent scattered light across his face. “You weren’t fibbin’ when you said that, were you?”
“Said what?” Pony turned towards him.
Dally made an odd noise, gesturing frustratedly with his hand. “The whole best friend thing. You weren’t lyin’?”
“No!” Pony looked downright offended at the question. “I wouldn’t have even said it if it wasn’t true.” And almost as if to drive his point home, Pony lowered his head to rest against Dally’s collarbone. “I’m a lousy liar anyway.” Pony felt so much. He would feel and feel until it bursts out of him. Kind of like Dally, but not exactly. They danced the same dance, round and round. Two whirlwinds of emotions. It was overwhelming, feeling as much as they do.
Dally absently laid his head on top of Pony’s. “I know,” he said. “You’re shit at it.” Pony mumbled something about not being that bad at lying, but Dally wasn’t listening. He knew logically that they were going to have to move away from each other at some point. To sit close, but not that close. Just enough to be aware the other person was right there. Folks loved to talk in this town and they certainly did a whole lot of talking even if they knew not a damn thing about what was happening. No one was here though aside from the occasional person nowhere near them. Dally sagged, relaxing completely against Pony who was only half smug about that fact. The little shit. He’s lucky Dally wasn’t in the mood to move anytime soon. Hell, Dally could sit here with Pony forever if it meant he could keep feeling like this. Nice and warm and calm .
God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he was this at ease. He was always burning right from the inside out. It was quick and sharp and didn’t give a hoot about who it hurt. One of these days, he was going to burn up into ashes from the red, hot anger searing everything it could touch. Dally scanned their surroundings lazily. He’s seen it a thousand times before, yet his eyes still swept over everything they could see. His eyes landed on a lone bicycle resting against the bricks of some vinyl store that popped up recently. He jostled Pony a bit as he scrambled to stand up. The bike was this god awful green color that made Dally scrunch up his nose at the sight of it. It was a nice bike though, shitty color choice aside, and — the corners of his mouth twitched— the owner was nowhere in sight.
Fighting the urge to smile, Dally walked the bike over to where Pony still sat. “Dumbass left it all alone,” he declared, grinning openly now. Pony mirrored the gesture, albeit more timidly. Dally threw one long leg over it. “And now it’s ours .” It took some slightly aggressive coaxing from his end to get Pony to sidle up behind him. Pony’s hands were warm where they met Dally’s shoulders.
The bike wasn’t quite meant for the burden of having more than one person on it. It lurched off course until Dally finally got the hang of pedalling for two people. He pedalled faster and faster, spurred on by the excited shouts of Pony in his ears. The wind swept through them as they soared down the empty stretch of road lit only by street lamps. They passed parked cars and little kids roaming about far past their bedtimes. At some point, they passed the blur that was Dally’s house. It was small and devoid of warmth with paint chipping in chunks off the walls. Even when he pumped his legs to go faster, Dally couldn’t miss the dim, yellow lights glowing in the windows. It’s been weeks since he stormed out into the mild night of early June. He could still remember the sight of his old man holding himself up with their creaky door frame. Still remember the scent of alcohol, the cold, blurry eyes, the slurred hiss of ‘boy, get the hell outta my house’. That last one he always remembers at the dead of night when he laid painfully awake. He honestly doesn't remember anything else. He doesn’t need to. That one night is more than enough. And now the only living soul left there was his drunkard of an old man.
Dally stared unflinchingly ahead, suddenly feeling so, so tired. The sort of tired that’s set deep in your bones and leaves you feeling perpetually weary. He exhaled sharply through his nose. So much for being at ease. It sure was good while it lasted. Pale, slender arms cut through his thoughts, wrapping themselves securely around his neck. Startled, Dally glanced up to see Pony grinning down at him. Pony practically glowed in spite of the dim lights; his eyes brighter than Dally had ever seen them. Dally couldn’t help but watch Pony for a few seconds, something not short of admiration bleeding into his features.
There really was no one in Tulsa or anywhere who would love Dally like how Pony did. Strong and unwavering. Dally wasn’t all that sure he deserved it. It wasn’t like he did anything to garner such a response from... anyone really. Not that it seemed to matter to Pony who loved people with everything he got. It must be exhausting loving people that hard all the time.
“Dal?” Pony squeezed Dally’s shoulder to get his attention. “You’d come right?” He pulled on that same strand from earlier again, a nervous little habit he must’ve picked up at some point. “T-To the country, I mean.” What kind of question was that?
“Yeah,” Dally said, perhaps a little more aggressively than necessary. He tried again. “Yeah, I'd come.”