Work Text:
For Dally, freedom comes in the shape of a Train.
As he passes through the doors, it is as if he left behind his identity: Inside this train, Dallas Winston has no role to play; he is not a hood, not a child, and not a beast, either. Amongst these people, he is no one.
And so, he has no one to hold him back, and no one to pull him forward.
Freedom is an art, and disappearing it's language. It is when no one knows of your existence that you become aware of it.
That's why Dally finds himself in this position now, as he has many times before: Running away is what makes him feel alive.
The thrill of escaping yourself, fueled by the comfort in the pain of loneliness. There is a point in isolation in which you stop being important in your own life.
Landscapes flash through the window as colors swirl by, drowned out by the sounds of people. Dally has no idea what they're talking about, but it doesn't matter anyway. It is all meaningless here.
He didn't bring much, didn't want to─It'd be stupid to drag his past along into his escape. However, there is a single object he'll carry with him forever: His St. Christopher, saint patron of travelers. It is not only an object of comfort, but a crude reminder of what he is, beyond any label society may give him. No matter his origin nor his destination, he is a traveler.
It's easy to tell why; someone who is constantly chased by their past cannot settle.
He avoids thinking about that. He avoids thinking about anything, really; perhaps that's why he's always picking fights and getting drunk. Action keeps reality away, almost in the same way as escaping does.
He's aware that when he steps out of this train and into a new city he'll have to face reality again. Build a new life in a new place with new people in it until nothing's new anymore and he runs away yet again.
But that's a problem for the future.
Right now, as he sits on a moving train that will take him nowhere, he can relish how close not existing he is.