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If Dallas Winston learned anything during his time in New York and in jail, it was to hold his own in a fight and not let anybody walk all over you.
And if he’s learned anything so far from Tulsa, it was that these rich kids were too used to being able to walk over anybody they wanted just because they had money and numbers.
In his humble opinion, he held his own pretty good against six guys for a kid barely pushing 5’5.
All bets were off when one of them pulled a shiny new switchblade on him and he pulled a matching one.
They’d managed to cut him up decently, but they ran like pansies when he’d slashed one across the face. Probably wouldn’t even scar with daddy’s money, but it sure felt good to see the look on his face.
He stumbled down the street, a look of grim triumph on his face.
Mothers tucked their children’s faces into their skirts, and good natured folk dodged him. He picked up the pace when it looked like a store clerk was calling the cops.
The last thing he needed was the fuzz breathing down his neck.
His nose was throbbing something fierce, and his clothes were sticking to his blood-slick skin uncomfortably. Whoa, that was a lot of blood.
“Hey, kid!” A voice ahead of him called. He stiffened and his hand drifted to his blade, poised to run if need be.
A kid, though calling him one may be a stretch- he was at least 6 feet tall- jogged up to him, his brow creased in worry.
“You’re bleeding all over the sidewalk. Glory, you look like you’re about to pass out. Did some Socs jump you?”
Dallas squinted at him, slurring “Socs?”
The kid blinked.”Yeah- the rich kids? Whatever, not important. Name’s Darrel Curtis, but you can call me Darry.”
He wrapped his arm around Dallas’s shoulders, supporting his weight. “C’mon, my house isn’t far, and my mom is great at patching kids up.”
Dallas went stiff, trying to wiggle his way out of the arm.
“Hang on- who says I’m going with you? You could be an organ harvester for all I know.”
Darry started to laugh, but quickly forced himself to frown.
“Either you stay here and bleed out on the pavement, or you come with me and get stitched up. Savvy?” Dallas grit his teeth. “Shit. Fine.”
He stumbled the entire walk, black slowly creeping into his vision. His legs gave out under him, and he passed out.
He woke up sprawled out on a hard wooden table, and his first thought was “they’re going to steal my kidneys.”
A woman’s face came into view.
“Hey there honey.” She said gently, her silky southern accent soothing something in his hindbrain. “You’ve been through a bit of a rough patch, but I stitched you up. It’s a good thing Darry found you when he did.”
He sat up groggily, her hand shooting to support his back.
“Who’re you? Where’d that kid go?” He asked, his hand coming up to scratch at his stitches. She gently batted his hand away, smiling softly.
“I’m his mother. Maragret Curtis.”
He swung his legs off the side of the table and hopped down. “...thanks. I guess.”
He started to hobble off, but she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Stay for dinner? I’d be an awful host if I sent a guest away without a meal. I hear I make a mean chicken pot pie.”
He mulled her words over. It wasn’t like he had a warm meal waiting for him at home. “I guess I could stay.” He grumbled, his ears flushing dark red when she smiled warmly at him.
“Lovely. How about you find a seat in the living room? If the boys are taking up all the seats, tell them I said to move.”
He hesitated. “Boys?”
She sighed fondly. “My sons, whichever of their friends is crashing tonight, and my husband.”
He suddenly felt ill at ease, but the promise of a warm, home-cooked meal had him wandering into the next room regardless.
He prepared to defend himself. Teenage boys were like animals when they smelled new blood.
The front door was within running distance, and it was unlocked.
All the chairs were filled with rowdy kids, and there was a kid in a Mickey Mouse shirt on the floor, his eyes glued to the TV.
The boy he’d met earlier- Darry- greeted him. “You’re awake! Steve, shove over, give the kid a spot.”
A boy about his height stood from the armchair, looking Dallas over. “The hell happened to your nose?” He snarked.
The blonde snarled back “What happened to yours? It's huge.”
The boy lunged, but Dallas tackled him to the ground first, socking him in the jaw.
The other boys were laughing and whooping, but Darry pulled Dallas off of him. “Come on, break it up!”
A man who wasn't in the room a second ago was helping the other kid up.
Dallas was expecting to get tossed out the door, or have his ass handed to him by a fucking football player, but instead Darry guided him to sit on the armchair, giving his injuries a once-over.
“Take it easy, kid,” He said gently. “You're still hurt.”
The other boy was chastised too, and the other blonde in the room plopped himself down next to him on the floor, nudging him gently. “You have to admit, he's kinda funny, Steve.”
The other boy- Steve- ruffled his blonde hair aggressively. “Get lost, Soda.” Steve was grinning, though.
Dallas felt a pair of eyes on him, and he looked up to see that small boy staring at him. He had watery black eyes, looking all for the world like a puppy.
“The hell're you staring at?” He snapped, regretting it when the boy shrank back.
“Shoot, kid. Didn't mean to scare ya.” He said helplessly, unsure of what to do. The boy shrugged. “‘s fine.” He mumbled.
Dallas was at a loss. “Uh- what's your name?” He asked dumbly. The boy blinked at him, staring unnervingly, before responding softly. “....johnnycade.”
Dallas stared at him. “Your name is Johnnycake? What kinda name is that?”
The noises stopped for a moment before the other boys burst into laughter. Dallas bristles, glaring at them.
“What?” He growled, heat rising to his face.
The youngest boy spoke through giggles. “His name ain’t Johnnycakes! It's Johnny Cade!”
His ears flushed vibrantly red, and he stood to throttle the kid, child or not, but Mrs. Curtis walked into the room carrying a hot plate that smelled delicious.
She gave him a warm smile and handed it to him. “Here you are, honey. Be careful, it’s hot.”
He stared at the plate for a few moments before scarfing it down, uncaring of the way it was burning his mouth. It was the best meal he’d had in ages.
Other plates were passed around, and Dally was done by the time the last one had been served.
Mrs. Curtis looked at him with an expression he didn’t know how to feel about, but she offered him a second plate, and he graciously accepted.
He ate this one a little slower so he didn’t get sick and throw it all up again.
Mrs. Curtis took a seat next to her husband. “Could I ask what your name is, hun?”
Dallas mulled it over. She had patched him up and given him food. “Dallas.”
She smiled. “That suits you.” He preened, couldn’t help it. One of the boys snorted, tearing his eyes away from the television screen.
“Ey, don’t you know? This is Oklahoma, not Texas!” The boys started to crack up, but were silenced with a stern look from Mrs. Curtis.
She wasn’t about to let the progress she was making go down the drain.
Her husband had always said that she had a penchant for picking up strays and had passed it onto her boys. She always retorted that he was the worst stray of all.
Her eyes turned back to the skinny boy in their armchair. His once white-blonde hair was matted, and her fingers itched to hold him and run her fingers through his hair until it was untangled.
“You’re welcome to stay the night, if you’d like. The couch is always open.” She saw Steve open his mouth to protest. “Steve, you and Soda can share. Darry can share with Pony for a night.”
Dallas watched her with disbelief. Just like that? For all she knew, he could be some thief, waiting for an opportunity to rob them blind.
He had been in a gang, for fuck’s sake.
He almost wanted to snap at her, for treating him like he was some pet to be taken care of. He was tuff; he’d accomplished things nobody in this hick town could even dream of.
She smiled at him expectantly and he found himself deflating. Her smile was too kind. It made his chest hurt.
He stared at his empty plate, still warm in his lap. “...sure.”
Mrs. Curtis’s face lit up. “Lovely. I’ll get you a blanket.”
“You’ll get used to it, after a while.”
He looked at Johnny. “Stay here a lot?” It came out meaner than he meant.
The boy nodded, fidgeting with his hands. “My parents don’t like me around, ‘n Mrs. Curtis don’t like me sleeping in the lot. She’s the good sort, y’know?”
Dallas looked at the boy again. He was skinny, but not malnourished. He had healing bruises on his body, and band-aids on his fingers.
“Yeah. She seems…nice.”
A beat of silence passed before Johnny spoke again. “You ain’t from here. Not with that accent, and I ain’t never seen you before.”
Dally grinned. “Nah man, I’m from New York City. That’s where the really scary fuckers are, not those whatever you call those rich assholes.”
The little kid sitting next to Johnny perked up, his attention captured immediately. “You’re from New York?! I always see it in the movies, do they really have those big skyscrapers?”
Before he could actually answer, the kid went off about some movie he’d seen recently to poor Johnny.
The chatter in the room didn’t stop for a moment. But it felt warm.
Dally knew he couldn’t stay for long or he’d never want to leave.
His eyes grew heavy and he slumped in the soft armchair, comfortable with a full belly.
Mrs. Curtis smiled sadly at him. The boys were all very sternly told to let him sleep.
He woke up in the middle of the night, covered in a soft blanket. His body ached, but he forced himself to stand up. He walked to the front door, each step feeling heavy.
“May I check your stitches before you leave?”
He jumped, turning around to see a tired Mrs. Curtis. She laughed a little. “Sorry, Dallas. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t open anything in your sleep.”
He looked at her cautiously for a few moments, but sighed. “...If it makes you feel better.”
She did a quick once over of his injuries, careful not to touch him too much. “They all look fine. Please, come back if they open, or if you need to change the bandages. Even if you just want a good meal. The door’s always unlocked.”
Dallas hesitated, then nodded. No point in trying to argue. “Yeah, okay. Uh. Thanks, I guess.”
He walked into the cool night air, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t particularly want to go back home. But he knew he had to eventually.
He climbed through the window to his bedroom, unwilling to risk the possibility of his father being drunk, awake, and angry.
He climbed into his bed, an unwilling smile spreading across his face.
Mrs. Curtis may be the nicest adult he’s met since his ma. And that Johnny kid didn’t seem half bad either.
He fell asleep, sated for once in his life, though the sheets here were rough and the springs of his mattress on the floor pressed into his spine.
He wanted to go back.