Chapter Text
I sat in the suffocating dark of my jail cell, the kind of dark that felt thick enough to press against your lungs. I tried to keep still, tried to act like I didn't care, like none of this got to me—but the truth was, my hands itched with the need to grab something, anything, and snap it in half. Maybe a chair. Maybe a guard. Maybe this whole damn place.
Instead, I stayed planted on the filthy concrete floor, my back against the wall, slowly knocking my head against it.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The cold seeped through my skull like it was trying to freeze something inside me solid. The wall felt dead—like it had been here longer than anyone, longer than the bars, longer than the men who built it. A lifeless barrier. One I barely deserved to be behind.
All I did was shoplift from some lousy Jankos and break a window. That was it.
Hell, I even wore a mask.
Like that counted for something.
My head thudded back one more time before I let myself slump forward, elbows on my knees. I exhaled slowly, letting my body loosen inch by inch, muscles unwinding like they hadn't in years.
When was the last time I actually relaxed?
Not just sat still—but let go?
Couldn't remember.
Didn't matter.
Because the second I started to drift, the moment my eyes finally slid shut, something jabbed into my side.
Hard.
I snapped awake, heart kicking into overdrive, vision swimming as one of the guards—some fuzz with a baton—stood over me like I was something he scraped off his boot.
I blinked, dragged a sleeve across my face, smearing away the sweat that had gathered there. My skin felt sticky, overheated despite the cold.
"What d'you want, man?" I muttered, voice rough from disuse. "Just tryin' to get a little shut-eye."
Because seriously—couldn't a guy get some sleep in here?
Thirty days.
I'd been in here thirty days.
Sixty more to go.
Not that I was good at much, but counting?
Yeah.
I had that down.
The guard didn't answer. Instead, a bigger one stepped in—broad shoulders, pale skin, grip like a vise—and seized my arm. His fingers dug in deep enough to bruise.
"Very touchy, huh?" he said, almost amused.
Before I could yank away, another guy came up behind me, cold metal snapping around my wrists.
Handcuffs.
Tight.
I bit back a comment—something sarcastic, something that would've made me feel better for half a second and cost me later. I'd already earned my ninety days. Didn't need to make it worse.
I tried.
I couldn't help it.
"Silver doesn't look that good on me officer." I batted my eyes, but he scowled harder.
"So what's happening, Officer..." I leaned slightly, just enough to catch his name tag. "...Miller. John Miller."
He straightened like hearing his name out loud made him bigger somehow. His voice dropped low when he spoke.
"Sylvia Laaksa bailed you out. Says she's got something to tell you."
He paused, eyes flicking down to my jacket.
"Mr... Winston. Dallas Winston."
He looked me over like he was trying to figure me out—or write me off. Didn't matter which.
Behind me, the other guard finally unlocked the cuffs, giving me a shove toward the door.
"Move."
I rolled my shoulders, rubbing at my wrists as I stepped forward, pushing through the heavy door and out into the blinding light.
The outside air hit different—sharp, real. Not recycled. Not stale.
And there she was.
Sylvia.
Standing there like she hadn't just dragged me out of a cell, like this was some casual meetup instead of a jailbreak with attitude.
The second I saw her, a grin spread across my face—wide, easy, dangerous. I ran my tongue over my teeth out of habit, a crooked little smirk settling in.
"Sylvie, Sylvie, Sylvie," I called, stepping closer, voice dripping with charm I didn't bother hiding. "Long time no see. Thought I'd never see you again, baby."
I reached for her, arms opening like I was about to pull her into me—
—but she threw her hand up, stopping me cold.
"No."
Not soft.
Not unsure.
Sharp.
Her eyes burned, and before I could even react, she was yelling.
"No! Take your damn ring and the goddamn Christopher Medal!"
Her voice cracked just a little before she forced it steady again.
"You're a piece of shit boyfriend—and I found someone better than you!"
Something small and metallic flew at me.
I caught it on instinct.
The Saint Christopher medal.
Johnny's medal.
My fingers tightened around it immediately, the weight of it heavier than it should've been.
He gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday—even knowing I hated birthdays, hated church, hated anything that smelled like being told what to do. But he insisted. Said it was for protection. Said I needed it.
The ring hit the ground with a dull clink.
I bent, scooped it up without thinking.
That one mattered too—different reason, different time.
New York.
Before everything.
By the time I straightened, Sylvia was already turning, already walking away like she hadn't just ripped something open and left it bleeding.
I watched her go, jaw tight, fingers curling around both pieces of metal.
"FUCK YOU!" I shouted after her, voice echoing louder than I expected.
She didn't turn around.
Didn't slow down.
Didn't care.
Besides, if she was 'to good' for me, than no ones good enough for that heartless broad.
That goddamn slut.
I stood there a second longer, staring at the back of her head until she disappeared. Then I dragged a hand through my tangled hair, exhaling hard through my nose.
Didn't chase her.
Wasn't going to.
If she thought she was too good for me, then fine. Let her think it. Let her run.
I turned the other direction, shoulders tense, boots hitting pavement with purpose—
—and then I heard it.
A voice.
Faint.
Far off.
But sharp enough to cut through everything else.
Screaming.
Ponyboy.
I froze for half a second, heart dropping straight into my gut.
I'd know that kid's voice anywhere. Didn't matter how far, didn't matter how long—it stuck. Like the hum of city streets back in New York. Like something you couldn't forget even if you tried.
My head snapped toward the sound.
Then I ran.
Fast.
Faster than I'd moved in weeks.
Stuck in that Juvie, the jail cell.
The wind hit my face, my hair whipping into my eyes, but I didn't slow down. If anything, it sharpened everything—the noise, the direction, the urgency clawing up my spine.
His cries were getting quieter.
More muffled.
And that only made me push harder.
I skidded to a stop just in time to see it—three, maybe four Socs circling Ponyboy like vultures, their polished shoes scuffing the dirt as they took turns shoving him, hitting him, laughing like it was some kind of game.
No good, rich punks.
Ponyboy was barely on his feet. His golden hair—usually neat, something he actually cared about—was a mess, falling into his face as he tried to block the blows. He swung back once, sloppy and desperate, but it barely connected before one of them slammed him down again.
Something in my chest snapped.
I was already breathing hard from the run, but now it felt like I couldn't get enough air at all.
My vision tunneled, locked in on them—on him—
—and suddenly it wasn't just Ponyboy on the ground.
It was Johnny.
Johnny, pale and still, lying in that hospital bed.
Johnny, barely able to speak.
Johnny, telling me to stay gold like it meant something, like it was possible.
The memory hit so hard it almost knocked me off balance.
For a split second, I couldn't move.
Then one of the Socs laughed—sharp, cruel—and kicked Ponyboy in the side.
That did it.
"HEY!" I roared, my voice cutting through the night like a gunshot.
They all turned.
Wrong move.
I was on them before they could even think about it.
I grabbed the closest one by the collar and yanked him back, slamming him off balance. He stumbled, swearing, but I didn't give him time to recover. My fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling.
Another one lunged at me, but I ducked low, driving my shoulder into his ribs and shoving him back.
Everything blurred after that—just movement, instinct, anger pouring out of me faster than I could control it.
"You like picking on kids, huh?" I spat, shoving one of them hard enough that he nearly tripped over Ponyboy.
One of them swung at me, catching me across the cheek. My head snapped to the side, but I barely felt it.
If anything, it made me grin—wild, sharp.
"Big mistake," I muttered.
I hit him back twice as hard.
They weren't expecting a fight—not really.
Not one like this.
Not someone who didn't care about playing fair.
Within seconds, they started backing off, exchanging looks, their confidence cracking.
"Let's go, man," one of them muttered, grabbing his friend's arm.
"Yeah," another said, breathing heavier now. "Not worth it."
Cowards.
They took off, disappearing into the dark as fast as they could, leaving nothing but the echo of their footsteps behind.
I stood there for a second, chest heaving, fists still clenched like I was ready for more.
Then I looked down.
Ponyboy was curled slightly on the ground, trying to push himself up, his breathing uneven.
I took off after the Socs' car without thinking, my boots pounding hard against the pavement as Darry and Sodapop dropped to Ponyboy's side behind me.
The engine roared, tires spitting gravel as they peeled away—but I wasn't done.
"Yeah, run!" I shouted, breath burning in my chest.
My eyes scanned the ground, landing on the biggest branch I could find—thick, jagged, heavy.
I snatched it up and hurled it with everything I had left in me.
It spun through the air and slammed against the back of their car with a loud crack.
Not enough to stop them, but enough to let them know they didn't get away clean.
"Bastards," I muttered, slowing to a stop as the car disappeared into the distance.
The anger didn't leave—it just sat there, simmering under my skin as I turned back.
My chest was still heaving as I jogged over, the scene coming back into focus.
Darry was crouched over Ponyboy, one hand steady on his shoulder, the other brushing his hair back like he was checking for blood. Soda hovered close, eyes wide, jaw tight, like he didn't know whether to help or panic.
But my eyes didn't stay there long.
They landed on Johnny.
Curled in on himself a few feet away, like he was trying to disappear into the ground.
Something twisted in my gut.
I moved fast, dropping down in front of him, my hands hovering for a second before I finally grabbed his shoulders—not rough, not this time. Just enough to ground him.
"You okay, kid?" I pushed out, still catching my breath, my voice coming sharper than I meant it to.
Johnny flinched at first, his eyes wide—too wide—like he was still seeing it happen. Like he wasn't all the way here yet.
Then he focused on me.
On my face.
He took a shaky breath, then another, his chest rising and falling too fast before it finally started to slow.
"Yeah... yeah..." he managed, voice thin, uneven. "I'm fine."
I didn't believe him for a second.
"Yeah?" I said, quieter now, searching his face. "You don't look fine, Johnny."
He swallowed, glancing past me toward where Ponyboy sat with Darry and Soda. His hands were trembling, just barely—but I noticed.
Course I did.
The rest of the gang followed behind me.
Two-bit Mathews and Steve Randle.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair before letting it fall back to his shoulder, squeezing once.
"You're alright," I said, more to steady him than anything. "They're gone. Ain't nobody touchin' you now."
For a moment, he didn't say anything.
Then, almost like he couldn't stop himself, he leaned forward just a little—just enough that his forehead nearly hit my shoulder before he caught himself.
That was all it took.
Johnny didn't lean on people.
Not unless something was real wrong.
My jaw tightened, and I shifted closer without making a big deal out of it, blocking him from everything else—Darry's worried glances, Soda's pacing, Ponyboy trying to act tougher than he felt.
"Hey," I muttered, softer now. "Breathe, alright? Just breathe."
He nodded, even if it was small.
Behind us, I could hear Soda talking—fast, nervous—while Darry kept his voice low, steady, trying to keep Pony grounded.
We were all here.
All of us.
But it didn't feel like a win.
Not really.
I glanced down at Johnny again, then over at Ponyboy, something heavy settling in my chest.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
I caught up with the Curtis brothers just as the tension started to loosen, like the whole fight had been shoved aside for a minute so everyone could breathe again.
"You should consentrate on girls and cards," Sodapop chuckled all tuff like, "works for me."
He shot Darry a look, raising an eyebrow before jabbing him lightly in the gut with his elbow.
Darry didn't laugh—not really.
He just shot Soda a sharp glare, like he always did when Soda got like that.
But it didn't last.
It never did.
I could see it creeping in at the edges—a reluctant grin tugging at his mouth, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.
Sodapop had that effect on people.
Like he could smooth things over just by existing.
Didn't work on me.
I leaned back against the side of their car, half-listening as Darry went off on one of his little crashouts, his voice low and irritated. I tuned most of it out, my attention drifting until he kicked a loose rock across the pavement, sending it skittering into the dark.
I brought the cigarette to my lips, inhaling slow, letting the smoke settle heavy in my lungs before blowing it out into the night air. It curled upward, lazy and gray, disappearing into nothing.
It was nice.
Having something to take the edge off—even if it was just for a minute.
I dropped the cigarette and crushed it under my boot, grinding it into the dirt before pushing off the car and heading toward Ponyboy.
Before I could stop myself, it slipped out.
"How's the kid?"
Ponyboy looked down first, like he didn't want anyone to see his face.
"I'm fine," he said.
Then he glanced up at me, eyes still a little shaken.
"Whad'ya doing out the cooler Dal'?"
Before I could even open my mouth, Steve cut in, loud as ever.
"YEAH? Well what are you doing lonesome on the streets?!"
"I was just walking home from the movies..." Ponyboy said, his voice quieter now, weighed down with something that looked a lot like guilt.
I clenched my jaw slightly.
If I hadn't been locked up for the past two months, I would've taken him. Would've sat through some dumb movie I didn't care about just to make sure he got home alright. Would've hated every second of it.
But at least he would've been safe.
Johnny and Two-Bit came around then, their footsteps quick but lighter than before.
I reached out, shaking Two-Bit—Keith's—hand, giving it a firm grip.
I filled him in, quick and rough.
Sylvia.
The cops.
Getting hauled out early.
All of it.
"Dammit man. How about we down a pack of bud sometime? I have a coupon buy one get one free!" Two-Bit joked.
I let out a short laugh—more for him than anything—and nodded, already lighting another cigarette.
Ponyboy looked straight at me then, studying me a little too closely.
"Dally, how ya' doing?"
I reached over, shaking Steve's hand as I answered, "I'm doing alright."
"I thought you were in for about 90 days, Dal!"
I tipped my head back slightly, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the air above us.
"Yeah," I said, keeping it easy. Casual. "I got out early, man. Good Behavior. You know?"
"Ahhh..."
The silence stretched just a little too long after that.
So I broke it.
I turned my head toward Johnny, smoke still slipping from my lips.
"So Johnny, man. How you doing, bro?"
"Things would go a lot better if the soc's stayed on the other side of town..." Johnny mumbled out, barely above a whisper.
Steve and Sodapop jumped in right away, throwing out reassurances, talking big about how they'd deal with the Socs sooner or later.
I didn't say anything to that.
I just turned fully toward Johnny, pulling out a cigarette and holding it out to him.
"are those the same guys that got you?"
He took it, fingers hesitating just slightly before answering, "Nah, there were other guys."
Something in me went tight.
Real tight.
"Now that I'm out I'm going to make it my business to get the guys who did that to your face," I growled, the words coming out low and rough before I could smooth them over.
I dragged in another breath of smoke, forcing myself to calm down, letting it out slow.
Two-Bit cut in with some joke about being Ponyboy's "personal bodyguard," and it pulled a couple half-smiles out of the group.
Steve looked over at me then.
"How about you and Sylvia come to the game with us tomorrow night?"
For a second, my mind went completely blank.
Sylvia.
Goddammit.
"I want to go!" Ponyboy jumped in quick.
Sodapop gave him that apologetic look he always did.
"Sorry kid, we're taking Evie and Sandy."
Steve wiped at his still-bloody nose, muttering, "which means no kids allowed."
"Big deal..." Ponyboy said, his voice dropping, disappointment written all over him.
"Na, na, no, no... I'm gonna go hunt some action." I smirked at Steve, earning an eye roll. "Little kids allowed."
Johnny perked up immediately—like a light switching on.
"Man! We'll go with you! Won't we, Pony?"
"I don't know Dal'..." Pony trailed off, shifting his weight. "I can't get in trouble with the cops. Darry said the court will split us up for sure if I do."
That hit something I didn't like thinking about.
Mr. and Mrs. Curtis.
Gone.
They used to keep things together. Keep all of us from going too far off the rails.
Things got a lot harder after they died.
For everyone.
I shook the thought off, taking another drag before looking back at Pony.
"Who said anything about police trouble, man? I'm just trying to see a movie like the good old days. Right, Johnny?"
Johnny nodded fast, backing me up.
Pony hesitated.
"Come on man, come on!" Johnny pushed.
Ponyboy finally cracked a small smile, giving in.
"Alright... alright."
Two-Bit wandered over, already half in his own world.
"I was planning on chugging down a couple six-packs of bud, but if I don't get to drunk I'll come and join you all."
I gave Pony a light punch on the arm, smirking.
"Trust me, if the fuzz comes it's for me."
I walked with Sodapop toward the fence, the night air cooling off just a bit as things finally settled.
"Seeya tomorrow, man," I said, shaking his hand before turning back.
Pony and Johnny were over by Two-Bit's car, trying to get it started—arguing with it like that'd help.
I took one last drag, then climbed up and over the wire fence, landing on the other side with ease.
Johnny looked me over as I leaned against it.
"I see you got your Christopher back, Dal!."
I let out a short, humorless breath.
Yeah.
That.
I slammed the fence shut behind me, the metal rattling sharp in the quiet.
"Yeah, that little broad was two-timing me again when I was in jail man."
I took another drag, pushing off the fence.
"It's cool."
It wasn't.
"See you guys later."
I didn't wait for a response.
Didn't care to.
I turned and headed off toward the car park—the only place I had that didn't cost me anything.
I finished the cigarette, flicking it aside near a rundown playground.
Kids were laughing somewhere nearby.
Loud.
Carefree.
I made a face.
"God... kids."
I shot a glare in their direction, watching them run around like the world wasn't already trying to chew them up.
For a second, I thought about it—starting something, just to feel something different.
But nah.
Next time they threw me in, they wouldn't let me back out so easy.
I kept walking.
The car park came into view, dark and half-falling apart like it had given up years ago.
Perfect.
I slipped inside, heading for the stairwell where I usually crashed.
It smelled like dust, old concrete, and something faintly rotten.
But it was quiet.
And it was free.
That was good enough for me.