Work Text:
Dally ain’t looking at the screen. His eyes dart around, looking at the ground, the concession stand, the pretty Soc girls seated in front of them, trying to keep himself from looking where he ain’t supposed to. He must be some kind of crazy, running away and then running right back again, because when he’d asked the gang who wanted to go to the drive-in, he’d really been asking one person. He’d known better, but Dally’s always been reckless— that’s what got him into this trouble in the first place.
So he starts doing what he does best, talking shit, stirring things up. Ponyboy’s flushing red as his hair, and Johnny looks real embarrassed. It ain’t like that’s what Dally wants, not exactly, but he likes this feeling— he’s in control again, back on familiar ground.
He likes it even better when Cherry throws the coke on him, wiping his sleeve across his face to reveal a smile as sharp as a switch. This is about to get good. There’s no room for thinking when he’s like this, no fear, nothing even close to doubt.
“Fiery, huh? Well, that's the way I like 'em." He’s about to put his arm around her when Johnny reaches out and grabs his wrist.
“Leave her alone, Dally.” Dally starts like Johnny’s touch had been a blow, staring at him in disbelief. Johnny’s gone pale, but he holds his gaze, a determined set to his jaw. He’s already let go of Dally’s arm.
“You heard me. Leave her alone." That’s what he says, but it isn’t what his eyes are saying. They’re saying what it’s actually about.
It’s about sitting on Buck’s back step with him, almost a month ago. It’s about Dally doing something he never should’ve, something that was meant to stay inside his head. They’d been on thin fucking ice, and he’d crashed them right through it with a brush of chapped lips. Just half a second, but half a second too long.
Dally was the one who’d done it, no denying it. He could say he’d been drunk, but he hadn’t been, not really. He’d jumped up and left, not turning back when Johnny called his name. Dallas, not Dally, like this was serious business, like this was something else. The next day he'd broken into the corner store, and the clink of handcuffs around his wrists had felt like relief.
Dally’s the first one to look away. He don’t want to talk about any of that, not even without words. He stalks off, hands jammed in his pockets, cursing under his breath. Hopping the fence of the drive-in, he wanders until he finds himself in an alley behind a shuttered building. Good a place as any. Sure as hell better than back there.
He sits down on a crate, lighting up his last smoke. He’s just about smoked it down to the butt when Johnny walks around the corner. He has his jacket on again, collar flipped up. It ain’t that warm anymore, not when evening comes on. They’ll probably close down the drive-in in a couple weeks.
Johnny doesn’t say nothing, just sits down on the crate beside him. Dally doesn’t know how the kid had found him. He tells himself he hadn’t wanted him to.
“What,” Dally says shortly, stubbing out his cigarette. “You come here to tell me off again?”
“No,” Johnny replies, with the twitch of a grin at the corner of his lips. “I did it well enough the first time.” Dally scoffs, but he can’t help but smile a bit too, even though he tries to bite it back.
“Sure did. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Reckon you were asking for it,” Johnny says with a shrug. “You don’t gotta go around bothering those girls just ‘cuz you’re worked up.”
“I ain’t worked up,” Dally insists, defensive.
“Then why’d you go and get yourself locked up again?”
“Shit, I wanted some cash, kid,” he huffs, trying to play it off. “Simple as that.”
“You wanted to get caught.” Johnny doesn’t say it like an accusation, just a fact.
“Now why in the hell would I want that?” Johnny doesn’t respond, because they both know it doesn’t deserve an answer. Johnny looks at him, something real calm in his face. He looks young and old at the same time, like he knows something Dally don’t, like he’s known it for a while.
“Running scared ain’t like you,” he says simply. “Never seen you back down from nothing before.” Dally stares at him. No one's ever called him a coward, and it pisses him off, even if he knows that right now it ain’t exactly a lie. But how can Johnny not get that he’d had no choice but to run? How can he blame him for it?
“Johnny, this ain’t no rumble,” he insists, incredulous. “This ain’t no scrap with the fuzz. This is— this—”
And he’s stammering, and that also ain’t like him, but he don’t got the words he needs. Doesn’t know if he ever has.
“Ain’t gotta be no thing, Dal.” Dally just snorts and shakes his head, the sound coming out too desperate.
“This is one goddamn hell of a thing.” His voice is shaking, tight and low like it is when he’s angry. But Johnny’s looking at him like he knows he ain’t really angry. Like he knows that he’s scared.
“Dally,” he says, and his eyes are soft, too soft, the kind of soft that was supposed to have been beaten out of him. “Just let it be what it is.” Dally’s looking back at him, all cornered wildcat, dangerous when frightened, but Johnny doesn’t flinch. And that’s when Dally realizes that Johnny ain’t stupid or naive. He’s not some kid who don’t know how the world works. No, he ain't stupid, just something real close to it. And maybe Dally should be the smart one, but when Johnny’s looking at him like that, he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be what Johnny is. He wants to be brave.
He reaches out, hand trembling, but Johnny’s grip is firm, his pulse certain and steady when Dally brushes a thumb over his wrist. They let go, and Johnny grabs his pack of smokes out of his jacket and holds it out to him. Dally takes one, even though it ain’t the Kools he likes best. The smoke curls up into the air while the sky goes a pale bruised pink, like the blood that never really washes out of a white t-shirt. The sun quickly disappears beneath a row of warehouses before the colour can go any deeper, but Dally supposes it’s a sunset just the same.