Chapter Text
He’s dying. He knows he’s dying. He’s known since Pony and Dally came by to see him.
He couldn’t feel his legs then. Now he can’t feel anything in his lower back. The doctors hadn’t sugar coated anything. They told it to him straight. He was grateful for that. They might have lied about the spinal damage and the severity of the burns if he was a Soc. But he wasn’t a Soc. He was a Greaser through and through. He didn’t think there was a world out there where he wasn’t a grease for life.
The Gang was there. He could hear them talking to him through the haze of pain and whatever drugs the nurses had given him to make his passing easier. It was getting harder to breathe and his throat was scratchy, but he had to say goodbye.
He had to say goodbye to his brother, his best friend, his other half. Mr. Curtis had called them Peanut Butter and Jelly when they were kids because of how much they had stuck together. Even though he was Two-Bit and Soda's age, he had always gotten along better with Pony… And Dally, once he’d made it down south.
“Ponyboy…” he didn’t realize speaking would be so difficult. It took so much energy and he was doing his best to be as loud as he could, but his voice sounded like a whisper in his own ear. Pony must have heard him through, because he felt someone take his hand. He lost track of what he was saying. Everything was floaty, like the time he, Ace and Two-Bit had smoked the good shit Dally had gotten from Tim Shepherd in the Dairy Queen parking lot. He’d never told Dal he was the one that stole it from him. He should tell Dally that before he goes, but he’s tired. Staying in the moment is exhausting and he hasn’t finished talking to Pony. He’s gotta finish talking to Pony first. He’s gotta tell him. Gotta remind him to, “Stay Gold, Ponyboy… Stay Gold.”
Johnny Cade took one last breath before he died. His eyes fluttered closed. His arm went lax in Pony’s hand. Then he blinked, his eyes burning as he squinted at the sun through the janky branches of the tree in the lot.
“…ain’t there usually leaves on the tree this time of year?” He wondered with a sigh. “Of all the places for me to haunt, it had to be the lot.”
He and Steve had had a long debate about ghosts one night. Steve’s old man had kicked him out again, so he was already in the lot by the time Johnny snuck out the window and away from his parents fighting. They had both agreed that if they were to die and come back as ghosts that were able to choose where they’d haunt, they’d haunt the Gang, and if they couldn’t haunt the Gang, then they’d haunt the Curtis house. Not an aggressive haunt; well, not unless the Gang was being self-deprecating or doing something really stupid. A friendly haunt, like a guardian angel if they exist-
He had sighed. He had literally, physically sighed. He’d felt his chest moving.
“What the-“ He had said that out loud. He was breathing.
He had said that out loud and he was breathing. He was breathing and his lungs didn’t hurt from the smoke inhalation. His burns didn’t hurt. His hand flew to the burn on his neck before he realized he still had an arm. It was a scar. Still gnarly as before, but it had scarred. All of his burns were scarred and he could feel his legs. He could feel his legs!
His knees both twitched as if in response to the realization. The pain that had caused a limp after the Socs had jumped him was gone too. He sat up and stared at his feet in disbelief. He was still wearing his yellow chucks. He had sat up-
Johnny’s breath started coming quicker.
He was breathing. He was alive and blinking and thinking and-
Hyperventilating. Johnny was hyperventilating. He’d been dead. He had died. He had stopped breathing. And now he was breathing again.
He was breathing again and he couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe and his ears were ringing and his eyes were watering and he couldn’t breathe and the sun was to bright and the birds were to loud and he couldn’t breathe and he was going to die again before he could see the Gang and he was going to die again before he could see Dally and Pony and he felt like he was going to die because he couldn’t breathe…
Johnny Cade was breathing again; and he was going to die.
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It had been a boring shift without Steve. Most Fridays were boring. They were never slow, what with people traveling for the weekend, but the rest of the Gang had school. Darry was at work and Dally was off who knows where doing who knows what, so Soda had been bored for most of the day. Cole, the ex-con who worked the garage when Steve wasn’t there, wasn't much of a talker. Thankfully, Sodapop could talk enough for ten people, but even he got tired of the sound of his own voice after a while, and so he’d spent most of his shift being bored.
It was Friday damn it! He wanted to go to the rodeo, or the Drive In, or a drag race. Hell, maybe even Buck Merrill’s! He wanted to drag his older brother out of the house to have some fun. He wanted to do stupid things with his friends, his family, and not have to worry about consequences because they were just being stupid teenagers. But Darry wouldn’t let him.
They were Greasers. Their actions had consequences. He wasn’t Bob Shelden or Randy Adderson or Paul Holden. He wasn’t a Soc. He wouldn’t get away from the law with just a slap on the wrist as an officer laughed about teenage boys being teenage boys and having a bit of fun. He and Pony would end up in a boys home before Darry could even blink. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that to his brothers.
Darry had been getting more and more moody lately. He’d been letting them out of the house on their own less and less, Pony especially. Darry was probably depressed. The rest of the Gang hadn’t noticed but Sodapop and Two-Bit did. They knew him best, they’d known him the longest.
Darry was trying to hold everything together, but he was stressed. He was twenty one, tired and working himself to the bone just to pay the bills. Soda’s paycheck was barely enough to cover half the groceries. Pony arguing with Darry over every little thing at thirteen certainly didn’t help matters.
Soda didn’t blame them, even though they were stressing him out every damn day with their arguing. He couldn’t. Not after their parents…
He sighed, kicking at a bit of gravel off the road as he passed the abandoned lot. Glancing up, he half expected Johnny to be there smoking through a pack after school with Dally while waiting for Pony’s track practice to end. But Johnny wasn’t there.
There was a kid in Johnny’s usual spot under the tree though, wearing an embroidered denim jacket with the sleeves ripped off. The front of his striped shirt was covered in faded rust colored stains. Soda hoped it wasn’t blood, but the kid looked rough. There were awful burn scars along his arms, neck and probably other places Soda couldn’t see. He had an angry looking scar on his cheek as if a Soc had gone after him in a rumble while still wearing rings, and his hair was choppy as if someone had cut it with a knife. The kid looked like he’d been through hell, and he was struggling to breathe.
Usually, Soda would curse himself in the mirror in the morning for looking like his Mother, but right now, he was cursing himself for taking after his Father.
He rushed over as calmly as possible and crouched down a few feet away, “Hey. Can you hear me?”
The kid gave a very quick nod. He was shaking so much that Soda almost missed it.
“Okay. I’m going to sit here with you alright?”
He nodded again.
“I want you to try to match my breathing, okay?” Soda took a few exaggerated breaths and waited for the kid to match him before he continued. “Good. What’s five things you can see?”
“Y- You. The ground, leaves… old tiers, the car seats.”
“Four things you can feel.”
“The sun, my chest moving, the wind, my legs… I can feel my legs.”
The only reason Soda knew what to do was because he used to have panic attacks about school. His Mother would help him, talking him through it when he’d have one over homework. He’d never had one at school until after his parents died. It happened in the middle of a math test and that had been the final straw in his decision to drop out.
Ponyboy had them too, after nightmares. Sometimes his little brother would wake up screaming, other times he’d wake struggling to breathe. That was part of why Soda slept with him now. He seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to his brothers, and Soda would rather wake to his kid brother screaming than not breathing at all.
He kept the kid in the lot talking and got him to list things all the way down to the “One thing you can taste?”
“...saline. I can still taste the saline.”
Soda chose to question that comment later if he remembered it.
“Come on.” He stood and offered the kid a hand before dragging him to his feet. “Let’s getcha back home. You look like you could use somethin’ to eat.”
The kid took a breath and was about to protest but before he could Soda spoke again.
“Or drink if that’s what you’d prefer, we might still have a couple beers if Two hasn’t gotten to ‘em. Sorry I don’t have a cigarette. I don’t really smoke unless I bum one off a friend. My kid brother smokes like a chimney though, so I’m sure he wouldn’t notice if you stole one from his stash. Drives our older brother crazy. I think that’s part of why he does it.
“Oh! My name’s Soda by the way, Sodapop Curtis. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you new to Tulsa?”
He turned to look at the kid who had stopped following and was staring at him in disbelief.
⪻⪳⧚⩸⩸⩸⧛⪴⪼
He was dreaming. That was the only explanation for it. He hadn’t died. He was still in the hospital, and was dreaming about the Gang, that was it! People never looked the same as they do in real life in a dream, that was why Soda looked different.
He knew it was Soda. It was obvious it was Soda even without the name tag on his DX shirt. Soda had helped calm him the same way after he’d been jumped by Soc’s a week ago. Or was it two weeks? How long had they been in the church?
Soda kept talking as he led Johnny to the house. It looked the exact same in the dream as it did in real life. Except for the cars out front. Darrel’s car was there, but there were two that he didn’t recognize parked right behind it. The old car that was usually in the yard; the one Mr. Curtis used to teach them all basic mechanics and maintenance, the one he promised to have fixed up for Pony by the time he was eighteen; was nowhere to be seen.
The door to the house was thrown inward with a bang and Johnny could hear the Darrel that existed in the dream holler something in protest. The person who had made their way onto the porch was a teen who looked to be about Soda’s age. He was wearing an old grease stained shirt under a sleeveless denim vest and gesturing at them with a can of beer. “What took ya’ so long? Mickey’s gonna be on in thirty minutes and ya’ know how Two gets when one of us misses a new episode!”
Whatever assumptions Johnny had about this being his dream’s weird version of Two-Bit were gone before they finished forming in his mind.
“Sorry Stevie, I made a new friend.” Johnny jumped as Soda clapped him on the shoulders, steering him up the steps and onto the porch. “Darry workin’ on dinner yet?”
“Just finished.” The dream version of Darrel appeared behind Steve, drying his hands on a towel.
“Yeah, and Two-Bit’s gonna eat it all if you don’t hurry up an’ get in here!” A voice that sounded an awful lot like Ponyboy called from the living room, then yelped as someone; probably Two-Bit; launched at him.
“Oh come on guys! Really? Again?”
“Wow man…”
“Hey!” Darrel spun around and glared into the living room. “Cut it out, or neither of you are getting cake later!”
“Oh come on Dar,” the sounds of the scuffle stopped as Pony whined in protest. “It’s Friday!”
“I don’t care. Now go wash up. Soda brought a guest.” Darrel sighed, “Again.”
Pony huffed and stomped down the hall to the bathroom.
“Come on.” Soda gave Johnny a small smile and led him into the house. “No one’s gonna bite.”
Soda tried to reassure him but it fell flat as Steve failed to hide a snort behind sipping his beer. “Two-Bit might.”
“It’s true, I might.” Two-Bit was looking up at them upside down from where he’d fallen on the living room rug after tussling with Pony. “But only if ya’ touch my beer.”
Johnny blinked, then stared. Two-Bit was ginger. The Two-Bit in his dream was white and ginger. “Huh. Okay. So that’s a new one.”
“You okay man? You look like you’ve been through some tuff shit.” There was a teen in a leather jacket slouched against the wall beside the couch, trying to light a cigarette.
“Come on Dally, how many times I gotta tell ya’ to stop stealin’ my lighter?” The final teen reached up from where he was sitting on the couch and snatched the lighter out of the older teen's hand before he could click it.
“The hell Johnnycakes?”
“Stop taking my stuff, and give me back my cigarettes.”
The older teen made a show of digging through his pockets before smacking a battered box of Lucky Strikes into the younger’s waiting palm. “Of all the brands you could get. What, were they outa Marlboros?”
“Quit judgin’ me.” He shoved the box into his pocket as he stood. “And get your own box of cancer sticks.”
Johnny was starting to hate this dream.
When they were kids, the Gang had managed to scrape together enough pocket change to get tickets to the Oklahoma State Fair. They had all piled into the back seats of Mr. Curtis and Miss Mathews' cars before the sun came up and slept through the entire drive to Oklahoma City so they could ropedrop the gates when the fairgrounds opened. While most of the Gang had fallen in love with the rides and the food, Johnny’s favorite part had been the funhouse. Pony and Ace had both hated it after he’d dragged them through it twenty times, but Johnny had loved the twisty funhouse mirrors. Now though; looking at the warped reflections of the Gang, standing face to face with this dream’s versions of himself and Dally; Johnny didn’t like the funhouse anymore.
His first thought was that this dream version of himself had lighter skin than he did in real life. His second thought was that his dream self looked younger. Not innocent. Johnny Cade had never truly been innocent, but his dream self seemed less tired. Less stressed. Like he still had things worth living for.
“He hasn’t been jumped yet." Johnny thought. "The Socs haven't gotten to him yet.”
His third thought was more of a realization: Dallas was white.
Two-Bit was white and ginger, Steve was white or maybe Mexican or Italian, and Dallas Tucker Winston was as white as a sheet of paper.
“Y’all gonna come eat or not?” Ponyboy interrupted Johnny’s train of thought, sneaking up behind him. The Ponyboy in the dream looked younger too. His hair was darker, and far less poofy than it had been before he earned his grease. Except he already had grease in his hair.
“I uh-” Johnny stuttered.
“If you don’t, Two-Bit’ll eat your share.”
“It’s true, I will.” Two-Bit laughed as he jumped up from his spot on the rug. “Darry makes a mean meatloaf.”
That was another strange thing Johnny had noticed about the dream. The dream version of Two-Bit had swapped ages with real life Steve, and the dream version of Steve had done the same with real life Two-Bit.
Johnny followed his dream self and the rest of the Gang into the kitchen in a daze.
The kitchen was the same in every way except for the chairs. After Mr. and Miss Curtis had passed, their chairs had been placed against the wall beside the spare and the seating arrangements had changed. As Johnny was offered a spot at the table, he realized they were giving him Ace’s seat and he did his best to hide his surprise when Steve sat beside him instead of Two-Bit. He then tried even harder not to stare as his dream self took the chair across from him.
There was one less chair against the wall. Where the hell was Ace?
He was quickly distracted by the bowl of green beans that was passed to him, then the potatoes, and the plate of meatloaf. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed a proper meal, rare as they were for him. But after a week of peanut butter and baloney, and not being able to eat in the hospital, Johnny almost cried at the sight of a vegetable. He was so hungry. He didn’t remember being hungry in dreams before, but he began to eat.
“So, you new to the area?” Darrel asked. “I don’t think any of us have seen you around before.”
Johnny kept eating.
“Kid?”
Steve elbowed Johnny in the side, unknowingly jabbing one of his burn scars.
“Ow! What the hell man?” Steve nodded towards where Darrel was sitting at the head of the table. Everyone was staring at Johnny, waiting for a response. “Oh. Sorry, what’d you say?”
“Are you new to town?” Darrel asked.
“No. I know the area.” Johnny shook his head and stabbed a piece of potato in an attempt to avoid eye contact. “Sorta grew up around here.”
He saw Dally and his dream self exchange a look in the corner of his eye as Pony asked, “Then how come we ain’t ever seen you before?”
“Dunno.” Johnny shrugged, then impaled a green bean on his fork. “Guess I just got lucky.”
Two-Bit snorted, “Ya' don’t look like you’ve been lucky."
“Keith!” Soda snapped.
“Sorry.” Johnny felt his lips twitch, and he hid a smile as he took a sip of water. He could tell by Two-Bit’s tone of voice that he wasn’t sorry in the slightest.
There was a bit of an awkward silence, but it was interrupted when Soda froze, his fork full of meatloaf halfway to his mouth. “I never asked you your name did I?”
“Uh, no.” Johnny shook his head, “No, you didn’t.”
Shit, shit, shit! He couldn’t use his own name! The Gang didn’t recognize him in the dream because a version of him was already there. He’d have to use a fake name. He’d have to come up with something he wouldn’t hate being called all the time… Wait, what were those names they came up with that time, when they were joking about if they had been Socs?
“Sky…” Damn it! Think of something to use as a last name! He needed something to use as a last name, and he couldn’t use one of the Gang’s last names because that wou- Oh! What about the name of the dad of one of the kids they’d saved from the fire? He came to visit when Johnny was in the hospital. What was his name? Mr… “Fambrini. It- It’s Sky Fambrini. I’m- Hi.”
He shoveled a bite of meatloaf into his mouth in an attempt to shut himself up.
“It’s nice to meet you Sky,” the dream version of Johnny smiled from across the table, as if he understood Johnny’s discomfort. He probably did.
The rest of the Gang echoed dream Johnny with varying degrees of sincerity, and the conversation moved on.
By the time dinner was done, Johnny was in desperate need of a cigarette. He didn’t want to be in this dream, no, nightmare anymore. He wanted to wake up from whatever this was and see the Gang, his Gang. He didn’t want to be dead anymore. He’d known he was going to die. He thought he had made peace with it, but if this was all there was? Johnny had never believed in a stereotypical heaven, he’d never really put much thought into what happened after, but this? This was hell.
One by one the Gang stood from the table, placed their dishes in the sink and made their way into the living room. He could hear Two-Bit talking animatedly about Mickey Mouse as Soda took his plate with a smile. Darrel started preparing the leftovers and Johnny moved to follow the others, but he was stopped by a voice to his left.
“Here.” Dally passed him the box of Lucky Strikes he’d filched from the other Johnny again. “You remind me of someone. I don’t know who, but you look like you need a smoke.”
Johnny did. He really, really did and Dally could tell. Dally could always tell when he was struggling, and it seemed this other Dally - white Dally, his brain whispered unhelpfully - was the same, even if he didn’t really know who Johnny was.
“Thanks.” Johnny muttered and slipped out onto the porch.
He clamped a cigarette between his teeth and pulled the lighter from the box. It was his lighter. His other self had the same lighter. It had scuff marks in all the same places.
He lit it.
Johnny smoked two cigarettes and was about to light a third when he heard a noise on the sidewalk. He looked up.
There, standing frozen at the gate was Dally. His Dally. His older brother. The one who gave him his knife. The one who gave him and Pony a place to hide. The one who pulled him out of the ruins of a burning church. The one who looked like he was about to cry.
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Johnny was dead.
That was all he could think about.
Johnny was dead.
Johnny who he’d smoked with. Johnny who he’d go to the Drive In with. Johnny who he’d go to Pony’s track meets with. Johnny who’d give in that look every time he thought Dally had stolen something for him because he didn’t think he was worth it. He was worth it. Dally didn’t steal the things he gave to Johnny. He was the only person in the Gang Dally would regularly spend money on, outside of the occasional things he got for Pony and Ace, but they were the youngest so…
Johnny was dead. His little brother was dead.
The world wasn’t kind. That was a fact of life. The world was never kind to him and if it was, then there was something wrong with the world. The world was cruel and cold and harsh and mean. It was made of streets and alleyways and highways and railways that would swallow you whole then spit you out, only to chew you up into a thousand tiny pieces and spit you back out more broken than before. The world wasn’t kind. Not to Dallas Winston.
The only people in the world who had been kind to him were Mr. and Miss Curtis. But the world had swallowed them and spit them out in a bloody mess of broken glass, shattered bones and twisted metal. The world had taken the only kindness he had ever known, and so he had promised himself, he had promised over their graves that he would be that source of kindness for Johnny in their place.
And now Johnny was dead.
The kid that had been broken and beaten and chewed on thousands of times. The world had finally swallowed him in a ball of fire and ashes and charred, rotting wood and had left him to die in pain in a hospital room. The world was never kind and now Johnny was dead. His little brother was dead. He didn’t know how to live with that.
Dally started to run.
He didn’t know if anyone tried to follow. He didn’t care. But he couldn’t stay so he started to run. Time began to blur as the linoleum tiles turned to concrete, then asphalt, then grass, then gravel, then an alternating pattern of metal and wood beneath his feet. Dally didn’t realize he’d made it to the tracks until he heard the train coming. His legs started to shake from the force of the steam engine rattling down the track and he promised to himself then and there; he promised Mr. and Miss Curtis, he promised Johnny; that he’d keep living and be that tiny bit of kindness in the world for Pony and Ace.
He turned to leave, to make his way back to the Gang, but the cow catcher was at his feet and the headlamp was an inch from his nose and-
Dally didn’t feel the pain. He blinked and the train was gone.
The train was gone and the last rays of the sun were setting behind the horizon. It had been three fifteen in the morning. It had been three fifteen in the morning and now the sun was setting. The world was never kind, but maybe Johnny being gone was the thing that was wrong with the world, and Dally had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he started to run.
He ran all the way to the abandoned lot but Johnny wasn't there, he must have been at the Curtis house. Dally walked the rest of the way as quickly as he could, slowing his speed as he reached the far end of the block. If he had been in the right state of mind, if he hadn’t been in such a hurry; he would have noticed there was more than one car in the driveway. He came to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the gate, staring wide eyed like a deer in headlights. Johnny was standing there, smoking a cigarette in the faint glow of the porchlight. He was alive.
He was alive. He was breathing and standing. His arms were covered in burn scars, but he was alive. His little brother was alive.
Dally did his best not to cry as he pushed the gate open. It squeaked on its hinges and Johnny must have heard it because he looked up and saw him.
“Dally?” his voice was a whisper as he stumbled down the steps. The cigarette fell from his fingers onto the dirt below.
“Johnnycakes.” Dally met him half way and pulled him into a hug.
“How are you here?”
“You’re okay,” Dally ignored him. “I thought you were gone but you’re okay.”
“Dal, yer squishin’ me!”
Reluctantly, Dally let go.
As he did, the door to the house opened and a voice called out, “Sky, you okay? I thought you’d left.”
“Yeah,” Johnny answered. “I just needed a minute.”
“Oh,” it was Soda. He looked different but it was clearly Soda. Something was off though. He’d called Johnny Sky. Why was he calling Johnny Sky?
Dally made to ask, “Why-?”
“Don’t,” Johnny muttered, cutting him off with a look that clearly said they’d talk later before turning to look at Soda.
“...you two know each other?” Soda asked.
“Yeah,” Johnny nodded, “This is… Tyler.”
“Nice to meet you Tyler. There’s leftover meatloaf if you want some.” Soda smiled and went back inside.
Dally waited until he knew Soda was really gone before he grabbed Johnny by the shoulder and spun him back around and asked, “Tyler?!”
Johnny took a breath. “Okay so, before we go in, we’re all in there. Like all of us, including you and me and Pony. Except Ace doesn’t seem to exist here. And you’re white. Like very white, and Two-Bit’s ginger and I don’t know what’s going on, so just play along okay? They think my name is Sky Fambrini. And I’m pretty sure there’s a chance the other you might be onto me somehow and-”
“Hey, hey Johnnycakes, I get it.” Dally squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to calm him, taking it all in stride. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out… but Tyler?! Really? That’s the best you could come up with? Tyler?”
“Shut up.” That look was back in Johnny’s eye. Dally recognized it now. It was the same one he’d had when he wanted to turn himself in before everything went to shit. “Darrel came up with one for all of us in case we ever needed fake names. Yours was Tyler Boone.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Cos you were in the cooler. Now shut up and try not to lose your shit.” Johnny led the way inside.
The house was the same, but the Gang in the living room was not. They all looked different, except for maybe Soda who was only slightly off from how he usually looked. He was wearing plaid though. Dally didn’t think he’d ever seen Soda wear a plaid button up the entire time he’d known him. He’d probably stolen it from Darrel.
Dally had barely been there for five minutes before his horror movie counterpart began the interrogation. The rest of the Gang was too distracted by whatever cartoon was on the air that night to notice the inquisition that was happening behind them.
“So your name’s Tyler.” The other Dally asked. Johnny wasn’t kidding. Twilight Zone Dally was white as hell.
“Yeah.”
“Tyler what?” Jesus Christmas! Was this what he sounded like to the rest of the Gang? If so, Dally owed them… something. Not an apology. He hated having to apologize and went out of his way to avoid giving an apology whenever he could. But he definitely owed them for putting up with his shit.
“Boone. You gotta problem with that?”
The other Dally opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the rest of the Gang groaning as the cartoon ended. Johnny - his Johnny - was staring blankly at his shoes, probably trying to process being in whatever this place was, so he didn’t notice the weird versions of Steve and Two-Bit saying their goodbyes.
Other Johnny was passed out on the couch, and knowing himself, Dally knew the other… Dallas wouldn’t leave him there alone. Not when there were strangers in the house, Soda’s strays or not. Dally would have done and had done the same.
“You two can take Soda’s old room if you don’t mind sharing the bed.” The other Darrel stood from Mr. Curtis’ old arm chair, his back popping as he did. “I’d offer you the couch but…” Other Ponyboy was already pulling a blanket over the other Johnny.
“‘S fine.” Dally said.
Johnny stood, having tuned back in as Darrel spoke, and offered Dally a hand before pulling him up.
“First room on the left at the end of the hall.” Soda nodded towards the end of the hallway.
“Soda and I‘ve both got work in the morning, so sorry in advance if one of us accidentally wakes you up really early.” Darrel called quietly as they left the living room. “There’ll probably be plenty of coffee if you want some.”
Johnny stopped in the doorway to turn and face the eldest of the alternate Curtis brothers with a smile and said, “thank you, Darrel. For everything.”
As they shut the door to Sodapop’s old room, Dally overheard the last bits of conversation drifting down the hallway.
“Dar, did anyone use your full name earlier this evenin’?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“…then how’d he know it?”
⪻⪳⧚⩸⩸⩸⧛⪴⪼
“Not here.” Johnny waited until Dally stepped away from the door before he spoke. “Don’t ask about it here. Not when the walls have so many ears.”
Dally gave a curt nod even though it was clear that he didn’t want to wait, but Johnny wasn’t ready for that conversation. If he was right, if he had actually died and Dally was here… No. Don’t think about it now. Don’t think about it at all. Just, don’t.
Johnny didn’t remember falling asleep. He must have though, because he woke with a start as Two-Bit slammed the front door open, yelling good morning loud enough for the entire block to hear. The other Dally started cursing Two-Bit out in the living room as Johnny rolled out of bed. His Dally didn’t look like he’d slept a wink. He probably hadn’t.
By the time they followed their noses down the hall towards the smell of freshly brewed coffee and scrambled eggs, Darrel, Soda and Steve were making their way out the door. Ponyboy was plating eggs for himself and the other Johnny who was already seated at the table when the other Dally and Two-Bit joined them. Breakfast was awkward on all sides. Soda’s strays were usually gone by the time the sun came up. None of them had ever stuck around before and so none of them really knew what to say to the two strangers. They weren’t really strangers, but the Gang had no way of knowing that.
Once they were all done eating, Pony, the other Johnny and surprisingly the other Dallas, quickly cleared away everyone's dishes, using the opportunity to leave together as quickly as possible. This left both Johnny and Dally to the mercy of Two-Bit’s rambling.
“I know ya’ said you know the area,” Two-Bit piped up, ready to drag them into whatever he had planned. “But I figured I’d show ya’ ‘round town. Show you some spots you ain’t seen before.”
They both knew Two-Bit wouldn’t take no for an answer. They also knew he’d be easy to shake, so they went with him. They had barely made it onto the main street of town before Two-Bit started catcalling the first girl he saw. Johnny rolled his eyes. That definitely hadn’t changed between… worlds? Realities? Pony was always better at that sort of thing than Johnny. Dally caught his eye and jerked his head towards the nearest side street. Johnny nodded and they slipped off, leaving Two-Bit to make a fool of himself.
Everywhere they looked was almost the exact same as it had been before. It was like the entirety of Tulsa had been moved half an inch to the left. Or maybe the colors of things were just a shade to light or dark. Johnny couldn't put a finger on what it was, but something seemed off.
They didn’t have to talk to each other to know where they were going. The diner was one of the Gang’s favorite haunts. It was a safe space for all of them in some way but as they were making their way there, they heard it. The sounds of a fight. Someone cursing. Johnny glanced at Dally and a second later they were sprinting down an ally towards the noise. They were already throwing the Socs off the other Greaser when Johnny realized he had recognized the voice. He waited until the Socs had run off before he turned to look.
There, slumped on the ground against the brick wall, curls slicked to his forehead in a mix of blood and sweat, beaten and blue was Two-Bit. Their Two-Bit, overalls and all. He squinted up at them half conscious, and when he realized who they were, he began to cry.