Chapter Text
Your name is Dallas Winston and you are currently being wrestled into a room by a man four times bigger, stronger, and tougher than you.
You're angry, then again, when haven't you been? You've always been a problem and everyone knew it, everyone knew you.
…
Your name is Dallas Winston and the closet thing you've ever had to a brother just died.
He didn't even ask for you to come closer.
…
Your name is Dallas Winston and you're getting ready to die.
You messily robbed a store then called your friends to meet you at that dreaded empty lot. The unloaded heater in your pocket feels cold against your fingertips.
…
Your Name is Dallas Winston and nothing is going to plan.
Why can't life just go your way for once?
They found you too early, you try to pull away and keep running so the fuzz can fucking get you already but good ol’ Superman has other plans.
He grapples you and hauls you away practically kicking and screaming.
…Scratch that, you are kicking and screaming, or maybe yelling, or maybe you're silent and numb.
You can't tell.
…
Your name is Dallas Winston and once again you're stuck in the room.
Usually, the Curtis household would be a calming sight, chocolate cake, smoke, and shitty cologne wafted through the house at all times.
Currently though, you're not allowed to leave, but you don't belong here.
You belong in the ground with your only friend.
Maybe you always belonged in the ground.
You need a smoke.
…
An hour passes and for some ungodly reason you're still Dallas Winston, you think about praying to get out but you don't pray to any higher power because there is no higher power.
Just you and this room.
You consider that maybe, nothing happened and you're just sick so Darry and Soda are taking care of you.
That quickly fades away because no, your arm is still fucked up. It hurts a lot.
There's a low whistle and ends with a high note, judging by the little knock after, it's Soda.
After a moment of silence, he walks in.
“Hey Dally… Need anythin'?” He asks, far too softly to be talking to you of all people. He sets a plate of eggs and waffles and hash browns on the little bedside table.
“A pack.” You reply, you hate how your accent clings to your words, it feels wrong.
He looks at you for a moment and frowns, you're starting to hate how he looks at you. Despite this, he takes a pack of Kools from his back pocket and places five cigarettes on the desk, not even the one pack.
Are they trying to kill you?
He sets down a lighter as well then leaves, you're surprised he didn't lock the door.
You just ignore it grab a cig, lightning the end and placing it between your cracked, scarred lips.
You inhale, let the smoke fill your lungs, let it fester, then breathe it out.
For some reason, you cough.
Why are you coughing?
You're a fucking man.
You begin to scratch at the small cuts on your arm from the hospital, Two-bit got his knife back, Darry gave it to him for you. The scabs start bleeding again, you tell yourself that it doesn't hurt because you've been through far worse.
It's a lie and everyone knows it.
You are a lie and everyone knows it.
Time passes, maybe minutes, maybe hours.
You can’t bring yourself to care.
…
You decide to go to the bathroom, walking out on far too shaky legs, the floorboards creak beneath you as usual, at least that hasn't changed.
You get to the bathroom and close the door behind you for once.
You study yourself in the mirror for a minute.
Your normally bright eyes are dull, you silently joke to yourself that maybe you need to invest in brown contacts, ignoring how sunken your eyes look.
Your hair is a bit matted, you need to brush it, but you're tired. You settle for just pushing out of your face.
You're real scarred up, on your face, your arms, they put you into what has to be a shirt of Two-Bit's judging by the Mickey Mouse graphic on the front. The scars make you look pretty cool.
(That's a lie, they make you look horrific.)
(You try to convince yourself you like it that way.)
After a who knows how long amount time of staring at yourself, someone walks in.
It's Ponyboy who was asked to come closer instead of you.
It's Ponyboy who ran into the burning church.
It's Ponyboy who beared witness to the type of shit you did as a kid.
It's Ponyboy-Michael-FUCKING-Curtis who got you pegged in the newspaper as a hero.
It's Ponyboy.
He walks closer and just stands silently next to you, glancing at your figure in the mirror. You ignore him and just continue to study yourself, leaning forward and pulling at your cheek a bit.
It's quiet, kid always kept his mouth shut good.
(You wish he didn't, he looks about as tired as you.)
(He looks even smaller than usual, has he been eating?)
What feels like hours pass of just you and Pony staring at your reflection before you frown and walk out.
You go to leave, getting about four feet away from the front door before-
“Darry said you have to stay.” Pony's voice states from behind you, it's a bit strained, his soft drawl pulls gently on the edges of his words.
“Darry ain't here.” You reply, you just wanna go.
“He said you gotta babysit me.”
You scowl, Pony hates being babysat, much less by you, what's up with him?
“Darry said, ok? I don't wanna get in trouble.” He replies with a roll of his grey green eyes that have the same shimmer as Darrell's, just much bigger and pathetic and unthreatening.
“Fine then Pony! Let's go to the fuckin… Fuckin’ movies or some shit, sound good?”
He shakes his head.
“I'm sick.”
“Well I don't care.”
“Darry said we're stayin’ home, ok? C'mon, let's go watch cartoons…” First time talking to the kid since that night and you're in an argument with him.
You scowl, you oughta’ smack the kid for acting like this, trying to tell you what to do…
But you remember last time the kid got slapped.
“Glory! Dally, c'mon, I'll make you some food or something, can we just go?” His attempts at convincing you are a bit pathetic.
“I haven't been out here in who-”
“Two days…”
“In two days, we're leavin’ Pony, now get your shoes on or I'll go without y-”
He grabs your arm, he grabs Dally fucking Winston's arm, you wince at his surprisingly tight grip on your burn scars, he makes a weak attempt at pulling you to the couch.
Why's everyone treating you wrong today?
You want to leave, you really want to fucking leave, but you're tired.
So after a moment of consideration….
You just go with Pony.