Chapter Text
Dally was walking through the empty lot near the Curtis house on his way to use their couch one night after getting kicked out by his pop when he saw a dark shape huddled underneath a couple of stray newspapers on the old worn down cushions of the lot's resident broke down car. Dally got closer and noticed the kids' scruffy black hair and trademark jean jacket. Johnny Cade, the dark little puppy of their little group that consisted of the two of them and four (five of you counted the baby Curtis that was only 9 and a half) other boys from their neighborhood they hung around with. Dallas didn’t know much about Johnny except that he didn't have a good home life, so it was fairly common to see him sleeping out here in the lot. Everytime Mrs. Curtis found out about him sleeping out there in the cold, she would send one of the older boys to check on him and make sure he slept at their house that night, so Dallas was really just getting ahead of the game.
“Hey, Johnny man, watchu doin’ out here?” Dally asked, nudging the younger boy in the side to wake him up.
Johnny sat bolt upright, staring at him with wide eyes before his eyes adjusted a little and recognized Dallas. “Oh, hey Dal, I was just, uh, smoking out here and I musta dropped off I guess…”
That was a lie if Dallas ever heard one, and he’d had plenty of practice with those: telling and spotting 'em. Dallas looked Johnny up and down, and seeing how worn the guy looked he decided to let him keep some of his pride. “Well, it’s no use staying out here the rest of the night. C'mon, I’m already on my way to the Curtis couch, I’ll share with ya tonight.”
Dallas reached a hand down to pull Johnny up and watched as the kid stared at it for a second before accepting and pulling himself up onto his feet. Dally had seen plenty of injuries in his few years, but when they walked back into the streetlights, he almost flinched from the welts he could see peeking out onto Johnny's hands from his arms and the giant bruise on his forehead that the kid had obviously been trying to hide with his bangs.
Johnny must’ve caught his reaction because he pulled the sleeves of his jean jacket down and quickly mumbled something about tripping into a light pole earlier or some dumb excuse that Dally knew wasn’t true. He knew because he had once been Johnny, bearing the weight of a hard life at too young of an age, learning to fear pity of others more than the actual hurt because at least that made you look tough. He still was Johnny, both of them wielding silence and guarded expressions like shields that might cover up the bruises and pain. Dally saw too much of himself in Johnny, but that was why Dally knew not to try prying anything out of him, because having to make yourself vulnerable made it even worse.
So they didn’t talk on the way to the safe haven known as the Curtis house, or when the got there and curled up on opposite sides of the couch, and he stayed as quiet as possible once Johnny had fallen asleep so he could shift the blanket they shared off himself onto Johnny. But something Dallas knew without having to talk to Johnny or get him to open up was that this kid was quickly becoming one of the things Dally wanted, no, needed to protect. He knew that Johnny hadn’t yet been beaten figuratively and/or literally to the point of unfeelingness. Johnny could still have happiness. Johnny could still make something of himself. Johnny wouldn’t have to spend his entire life as a hood with a hefty criminal record, and Dally was going to be the one to make sure of that.