Work Text:
Dally Winston was a no-good juvenile fucking delinquent. Always had been, always will be.
He hadn’t gone to school in years, or at least not regularly, but now that he was staying at the Curtis place, he thought he’d give it a go again. Just for the hell of it.
He made it about a week.
But he was a no-good juvenile fucking delinquent, and every teacher at that school remembered it.
So when he got paddled at school for some stupid graffiti that he didn’t even do, he wasn’t real surprised.
Course he got blamed, even if that paint looked expensive as shit. It definitely came from some Soc. Not that that mattered to the principal, or to the teacher who said she thought she’d seen someone like Dally out there at the time.
Dally laughed at them when they told him to bend over the desk, and stayed quiet the whole time, like it didn’t hurt at all. Because it didn’t. And he wasn’t some crybaby. And then he laughed at them again when he stood back up.
Cussed ‘em all out, too, and told them they could go straight to hell. Told them he weren’t ever gonna come back to their shithole anyway.
He’d tried, cause Darry and Johnny had been so happy when he’d mentioned it, and—hell, he couldn’t think about Darry or Johnny right now.
Anyway, once the paddling was done, Dally went out and got drunk off his ass, fought two of Shepherd’s crew just because he could and because they were stupid enough to get close to him, and then he passed out in the lot behind Shepherd’s place.
He woke up at two am to a party still raging, and to Tim nudging him with his toe. “Hey Curtis,” Tim was yelling, unreasonably loudly. “Your kid brother’s passed out back here.”
Dally staggered to his feet and punched Tim in the jaw.
Or he would have, if Darry hadn’t caught him from behind, wrapped big arms around him, his hands catching Dally’s wrists and pining them as easily as if Dally was some little fuckin kid.
“Fuck off,” Dally slurred at him.
“I don’t think so, little buddy,” Darry’s voice was low and stern in his ear.
Dally was fucking dangerous. He’d knifed a kid before he turned fourteen. He’d survived beatings and reform school and he’d survived his damn father.
So why the hell was he so relieved that Darry had him—so relieved he wanted to fuckin cry? Must be the liquor. Must be still too drunk.
That must be it.
“That’s it, kiddo,” Darry said when Dally stopped fighting and sagged against him. “Come on. I’m takin’ you home.”
Dally didn’t remember too much about the rest, just vague flashes—the creak of the truck door, the bumps of the uneven road, the sound of Darry’s voice mixed with Soda’s, and then the slam of the porch door.
And Dally was home.
The hangover wasn’t that bad when he woke the next day. Well, it wasn’t good.
But Dally had had worse. And he woke indoors instead of a lot somewhere or in a cell. He was in a bed, even—Darry’s.
Ah, hell.
He was gonna catch it today. He groaned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on his jeans before padding out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.
“If I had taps,” Soda greeted him with a smirk. “I’d play ‘em for you.”
“Yea,” Steve said, snorting a little. “Rest in pieces, Dally and Dally’s ass.”
Dally lunged at him, and Darry stepped in the middle. He was holding the spatula he was using to cook breakfast with, and that sight—plus that grim look on his face—made Dally skid to a halt, glaring at Darry and then at Steve and Soda.
And then at Ponyboy, too, who was just wandering in now, still dressed in his pajamas.
“Steve, Soda, lay off,” Darry said firmly, but his gaze hadn’t left Dally’s.
Dally cussed, but under his breath. It was already gonna be bad enough.
Two-Bit entered, jostling Dally’s shoulder with his own.
Dally felt his fingers twitch towards the switchblade he always kept in his pocket, a growl on his lips as he did. He stilled his hand a second later, but it was too late.
He’d gone for a fuckin knife, wanted to pull it in this kitchen. Nobody here deserved that.
Glory, but Dally was a mess.
He turned abruptly to head for the back door. He had to get out. Before he exploded like a damn grenade and left shards in everybody in this family.
“Right then.” Darry turned and handed the spatula to Soda. “Thought we’d try to make it through breakfast—”
“So you’d get to sit down for one more meal,” Soda interjected with a grin.
Darry spun Soda around and popped him a few times, hard. “Knock it off,” he said, and then his gaze fell on Dally again. “You. Garage. Now.”
Dally stared back at him. “Think I’m gonna head out, actually,” he said roughly.
The rest, they weren’t like him. Were greasers, sure. Hood rats, sure. Scrappy kids on the wrong side of the tracks, ready to throw hands when they had to.
But Dally? He was a walking fuckin disaster.
Darry pointed in the direction of the garage. “Now,” he repeated. “Unless you want me to wear you out right here in front of our whole family.”
Our whole family.
Ah, hell.
Darry couldn’t hit him with shit like that, not when Dally was already close to fallin apart. “Fuck you,” Dally said, but he stalked outside, slamming the door behind him.
Darry didn’t make him wait. He entered the garage, and when Dally saw what was in his hand, he protested immediately.
“Fuck you,” he said. “Not that. You ain’t even gonna bother to use the strap on me? You’re wasting your time.”
Darry hauled a stool from the workbench at the back of the garage and sat down on it, tapping the hairbrush against his hand. “You wanna suck on a bar of soap first?” he asked. “Or you wanna get this over with?”
Dally stared at him. “You ain’t serious.”
“Try me.”
Dally opened his mouth and shut it again. Twice. “I ain’t goin’ over your knee again,” he said. “I’m not a little kid.”
He wasn’t. He hadn’t been a kid for a long, long time. He’d never been much of a good one, anyway. Like his old man used to tell him, some kids were just born with a little too much of the devil in ‘em. Dally sure as hell had that.
Darry patted the hairbrush against his thigh. “Jeans down, kiddo,” he said.
He should look mad.
Usually when Darry was taking them to task he at least looked stern. He wasn’t exactly the most patient person—not that he’d ever whupped any of them while he was truly mad.
But the calm on Darry’s face was disconcerting, and Dally considered again how far he’d make it if he just tried to run.
“You’re gonna be over my knee for a good long time already, little buddy,” Darry said, as if he could read the thought straight out of Dally’s head. “Don’t make it worse for yourself.”
Dally let out a frustrated growl, but he stepped forward and shoved his jeans out of the way.
Darry pulled him the rest of the way over his knee—Dally could never have done that part, bending over his lap like he was willing to be here or some shit—and then brought the hairbrush down with a loud thwack.
Then he set to work toasting Dally’s behind like he’d been warming up that shoulder of his for years just for this. He brought the hairbrush down over and over again, covering Dally’s whole ass and the top of his thighs. Dally fought off the urge to squirm—or worse, let out a yelp.
“Give up already,” Dally said sharply, though he lurched forward on Darry’s lap at a particularly sharp smack.
“No,” Darry said, and Dally was rewarded for his words with several hard, fast swats to the top of his thighs. “I ain’t givin up, kid, and you ain’t either. Now how about you tell me what this is about?”
Dally gave into the sharp, stinging pain and kicked his legs once, letting out a stream of curses.
“Okay,” Darry said. “Have it your way.” He hooked his thumb in the waistband of Dally’s briefs and shoved them out of the way, and then resumed walloping him with the hairbrush.
“Let me up,” Dally snarled, twisting on Darry’s lap.
Darry wrapped an arm around his waist, securing him in place, and kept right on spanking.
“I’ll stand still,” Dally promised, digging his toes into the hard garage floor to get some purchase. “If you whup me over that stupid fuckin sawhorse, I swear I’ll stand still.”
Darry paused, just for a second, and then he brought the hairbrush down on Dally’s backside with a thud that made Dally’s feet come off the ground. The only reason he didn’t fall straight over Darry’s lap was because Darry’s arm was holding him so securely. “That ain’t what you need right now,” Darry said, resuming his pattern of hard swats all across Dally’s backside.
He spanked in silence for several more minutes, until Dally thought his ass had to be on fire by now.
“You ready to talk about why we’re here?” Darry asked him finally.
Fuck’s sake.
“Just whup me and get it over with,” Dally snapped. “Why does it have to be twenty fucking questions every time?”
To his shock, the spanking stopped for just a second. Darry set a hand on Dally’s back, heavy and comforting.
“Kiddo,” he said. “Tell me what happened yesterday.”
Somehow Darry’s voice made it all so much worse.
Dally could take a belting. He could. He could take any kind of punishment, and get back up, and laugh and walk away. He was Dallas fuckin Winston. But when Darry was talkin to him all gentle and shit, like he cared—
“Stop.” Dally heard his voice, but it didn’t sound like one that belonged to him. “Just stop talking and whup me.”
Darry reached his hand up and ruffled Dally’s hair. “I know you been tryin school again,” he said softly. “Somethin happen?”
A tear streaked down Dally’s cheek. “We ain’t here because of school,” he said roughly.
Darry tapped the brush against Dally’s backside again. “Yea, alright,” he said, and smacked the brush down again.
Dally let out an undignified shout. Well, actually, it was more of a yelp, and that was worse. He followed it up with a string of curses as Darry started spanking again right where he’d left off.
“You wanna tell me why you got drunk as shit and tried to stay out all night?” Darry asked, bringing the hairbrush down over and over again. “This’ll go a lot faster if you start being honest with me, kid.”
“Fuck,” Dally said eloquently.
He was rewarded with several searing smacks to the same spot on his backside.
“Okay, okay, alright,” Dally said. “I was—I quit school again.”
Darry kept right on spanking. “Alright,” he said. “How come?”
“Because I’m a—” He couldn’t stop the sob in his throat. “Because I’m a fucked up—piece-of-shit—juvenile—fucking—delinquent—”
Darry spanked him again, but he kept his other hand on Dally’s back, and gave it a little rub. “No you ain’t,” he said softly, bringing the hairbrush down in several firm smacks. “You ain’t any of those things. You’re just my kid brother, and right now you need your butt whupped, but that’s it. After that, we’re good.”
The sob ripped out of Dally’s chest then. He couldn’t stop it. It hurt more than anything ever had in his life, and then he was just sobbing over Darry’s lap like some dumb kid, and telling Darry about everything that had happened at school and how he was just—he was just so tired.
Darry finished up the spanking with a few hard swats to the top of Dally’s thighs, and then he was pulling up Dally’s shorts. “Can I help you get up, kiddo?” he asked, rubbing Dally’s back with one hand.
“No,” Dally sobbed. He didn’t want to go back inside. He didn’t want to move at all.
Darry pulled him gently up and then settled him right on his lap, like Dally was a little kid like Pony. He hugged Dally tight against his chest and ran his fingers through Dally’s hair, and Dally didn’t even think about reaching for his switchblade once.
He just held onto Darry, his own arms clinging real tight. “I’m sorry,” he said against Darry’s shirt. “I’m really sorry.”
“I know, baby,” Darry said soothingly. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”
That made Dally cry harder, so hard his shoulders were shaking. “Why wouldn’t you whup me?” he asked, a long time later.
Darry leaned over and picked the brush up again off the bench. “You didn’t think I walloped your hard enough with this?” he asked teasingly.
Dally recoiled from the brush. “It worked just fine,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Darry.
Darry laughed and set the brush down with a thunk, and then pressed a hard kiss to the side of Dally’s head. “You needed to be right here with me, little buddy,” he said. “And you don’t gotta go back to school if you don’t want to, kid. I can help you with your GED like I helped Soda, alright?”
Dally nodded his head. “Really?” he asked softly. “But—Soda’s your real brother.”
Darry’s arms tightened around him. “Any part of today convince you that I don’t think of you that way?” he asked.
Dally paused, then shook his head no.
“Good,” Darry said. “Come on, kid. Why don’t you come inside and get some more sleep? I’ll save some breakfast for you when you wake up from your nap.” He set Dally on his feet and stood, squeezing Dally’s shoulder with one big hand.
Dally leaned against his hand, just for a second. “If any of them says anything—” he started.
Darry looked at him. “Every single one of ‘em has been over my knee at some point, and you know it,” he said. “It ain’t anything to be embarrassed about.”
“They still better not say anything,” Dally muttered.
Darry set his hand on Dally’s shoulder as they walked. “They won’t,” he said. “’Sides, I still got your hairbrush on me.”
Dally wrinkled his nose at the word your, but he followed Darry inside, avoiding Soda’s look, and didn’t fuss when Darry led him down the hall to his room.
He let Darry tuck the covers around him, too. Just this once.
Darry ruffled his hair one more time. “Get some more rest, kiddo,” he said. “I ain’t goin anywhere.”