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Darry has this issue where when he feels too much all at once, he has outbursts and they usually aren’t good. They aren’t new to him, he’s gotten them loads of times before especially during his high school years.
In his opinion, the outbursts themselves aren’t the problem, but rather the aftermath. Because– Well, the thing is he can never remember them. Or, more accurately, during said outbursts, Darry tends to react in a negative manner except it’s not Darry reacting. He’s not sure how, but right before he explodes it’s as if he exits his body, and instead, he gets to watch as some poser version of him does something Darry knows will bear terrible consequences.
His most recent out-of-body experience is the reason he’s sat on the ground in a corner at Buck Merrill’s and nursing his fourth old-fashioned. He’ll regret it in the morning, he knows, but the funny thing is he doesn’t even like the damn drink. He’s always hated the taste of whiskey, he preferred the fruity drinks his mama used to make for her book clubs. The unfunny thing is he doesn’t think it matters much what he likes anymore.
A groggy voice calls his name from somewhere above him. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes to see who’s speaking instead he groans in response and buries his face in his hands.
Originally, he thought having a couple of drinks would quiet his mind, but clearly, he was wrong. In fact, he might even argue it made his brain louder and rampant.
“Darrel!” The voice sounds louder. And mad.
Darry winces and a whine slips out as he opens his eyes. “What?” His eyes are terribly shaky and out of focus, but after a moment he thinks the person towering over him is Dallas Winston. He's the absolute last person he wants to see after an outburst. More times than not, Dally has been the reason he blows up, somehow the guy just knows how to press all of Darry’s buttons.
Darry takes a sip of his drink, grimacing as it goes down his throat. He hates the way it burns, but the sensation does at least provide a nice distraction. Something else for him to focus on instead of thoughts.
Darry goes for a second larger sip when Dally sweeps down. “Give me that shit, man. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
And man is that a question. Darry has so much wrong with him that he’s fairly sure he could answer in both the chronological order in which they first appeared, as well as in alphabetical order. But he’s pretty sure since Dally’s talking in that rough voice of his that his questions are rhetorical, so instead Darry settles with a shrug.
“Come on man, it’s nearly four in the morning, Buck’s tryin’ to go to bed,” Darry winces. There he goes again forcing his problems onto others just because he can’t handle himself. God, he’s truly pathetic.
He closes his eyes with a sigh. It’s just as well, if it’s four in the morning then he needs to head home anyways and start getting ready for work. Distantly, he knows Dallas is still complaining, then it comes to the forefront when Darry clumsily tries to stand up only to slip completely onto the floor. If he didn't have work he’d totally just stay there.
“Fat chance, moron. Get up, man, you got a perfectly good bed at home, don’t ya?”
Darry freezes, his eyes shooting open. Can Dally… hear him? Hello? He thinks looking at Dally unblinkingly.
Dallas frowns at him, “Fuck are you lookin’ at me like that for?”
I know you can hear me, Dallas Winston.
“Right,” Aha, busted! Soda and Two-bit will have a field day when they learn Dally is a mind reader. Oh, wait. Maybe not Soda since he’s still not talking to Darry…
Something in his face must have changed because Dally gets a weird look on his face and sighs before putting Darry’s arm around him. “C’mon, superman, let's get you home before your brother blows a gasket.”
He doesn't really think Dally needs to worry about Sodapop blowing a gasket. At the moment, he doesn’t think Soda would be too worried if he didn’t come home at all tonight. But, he will be mad if Darry skips work and the bills aren’t paid forcing them to lose the house and him to really lose Ponyboy. Darry furrows his brows and does his best to stay level-headed enough to stand up without getting dizzy - the last thing he wants to do right now is throw up all over Dally. They take slow steps to the front door pausing only for Buck to throw Dally his keys.
Dally’s sitting in the driver’s seat watching Darry fumble to put his seatbelt on when he speaks. “You Curtis’ really hate yourselves, huh?” It’s phrased like a question, one that Darry would love to answer if he was paying any real attention, instead, he manages to finally do his seatbelt and lets out a soft “Aha!”
“Wait, what’d you say?”
“ I said you look like an idiot and you smell like one too,” Dally says with a roll of his as he finally starts the car and drives off the lot.
Darry has half a mind protest because he’s done many dumb things in his life, but he has never dressed like an idiot. He leaves that to the rest of the gang, thank you very much. He opens his mouth to say just that, but a yawn forces its way out of him and he closes his eyes and lays his head on the window.
When he opens them again, they're parked outside his house and Dally’s poking him. “If you don’t get up, man I’m gon’ grab the hose.”
Darry glares at him for a moment, just long enough for Dally to lose that stupid smirk and quit poking him. Undoing his seatbelt Darry gets out of the car. He’s breathing real heavy though so he has to stop and lean against the car before he can go too far. He feels like shit, and the worst part is he can hardly remember why.
Distantly, he can hear Dally muttering under his breath as he comes around to help Darry, “If you're gonna be sick wait til you get inside, man.” Like he’s trying to be sick, jackass.
Darry blinks and suddenly he’s sitting in his bed with a glass of water next to him and a bucket at his feet. Wasn’t Dally helping him? Where’d he go?
“What are you, dumb or somethin’? I’m right here.”
Darry’s eyes widen, “You are a mind reader!”
He winces at his volume. Too loud Darrel, Jesus. Evidently, Dally thinks so too. “Would you shut up! You're going to wake, Soda.”
Oh, yeah. Soda. Darry nods solemnly and repeats in a whisper, “You’re a mind reader.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Curtis?”
“Just now you read my mind. I was wondering where you went and then you answered.”
Dally’s silent for a while before he lets a sigh and stands up from the bed. “God, you’re loaded, man. There’s no way you’ll remember this tomorrow,” he mutters. “Just- Get under the covers, go to sleep, and call me- and I’ll see you in the morning, savvy?”
Sleep sounds like an amazing idea, actually. Darry can’t think of the last time he slept peacefully. He finds himself nodding and doing what Dallas instructed. As much as they too argue, Dally’s a real good friend to him, way better than Paul ever was.
He’s burying his face in his pillow when he hears Dally’s voice from further away, probably from the door. “...Good night, superman.”