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Johnny hadn’t left his house in damn near a month.
And hell, Dally knew that wasn’t uncommon—the kid spent weeks alone in that fucking bed of his, just starin’ at the ceiling, thinking about god knows what.
His parents didn’t give one shit. Naw, Dally bet they didn’t even know the kid was there, not unless they needed a punching bag.
But Dally couldn’t help but feel like maybe this time was different. There wasn’t any damn reason for it, other than the look in the boy’s eye the last time Dally saw him.
That dead look.
“Hey, Dally, have you seen Johnny at all? He hasn’t been t’ the lot in a hell of a while.” Ponyboy asked that morning, eyes tired and his head down.
He’d been like that since his old folks went off and died.
Dally heard he’d been havin’ night terrors—that fuckin’ Pepsi-Cola had to sleep with him just ta’ soothe them.
So he decided not to comment on it.
“He’s probably fine, Pony. Don’t worry your little head ‘bout it.” Dally grinned, ruffling Ponyboy’s brown curls.
“My head ain’t little, Dal. And like hell he’s fine. You saw him, didn’t you?” Pony snapped, and Dally’s hand stilled.
…yeah. Dally saw him.
Saw that damn look in his eye.
The way he kept on talkin’ as if it were his last day on earth. But Johnny always talked like that—it was one hell of a bad habit, but it wasn’t new.
But Dally had seen that look before. In the eyes of old friends in the cooler, who had lost fuckin’ everything. In the eyes of folks on the street, dirty and wailing.
In his own.
And that wasn’t normal.
Johnny didn’t look like that. The boy had a fire in him, despite his timidity. He was a fighter. A hero.
He wouldn’t give up.
“Yeah, Pony. I saw him. But you know him, don’tcha? He’ll come back eventually. He’ll be fine.” Dally smiled, and it felt like melted plastic against his skin.
And hell, Ponyboy couldn’t have believed him, cause he didn’t fuckin’ believe himself.
“Sure, Dal. Whatever you say.” Ponyboy had his eyes glued to the ground.
Dally swallowed.
“We can check on ‘im today. Aight? We’ll check on him.” He cleared his throat when it came out hoarse.
“...okay, Dal. Okay.”
//
Johnny’s house was a shithole.
And that was being generous.
See, none of the greasers were particularly rich—but they had somethin’, at least. And it wasn’t even like the Cades were broke or some shit, they just didn’t care. Naw, Mr. Cade was too busy gettin’ drunk to care, and Mrs. Cade was too busy gettin’ high.
Fuckin’ assholes.
So Dally and Pony walked up to the shithole of a house and opened the door.
No one was home.
“It ain’t ever this quiet, is it?” Pony asked softly, his hand smoothing his shirt absently, his eyes wide.
“...naw. But, hey, he’s gotta be here somewhere. I’ll check on him, aight? Stay here.”
Ponyboy nodded, his eyes still absent, and Dally made his way to Johnny’s door when the stench hit him—
Fuck.
He yanked the door open, and fuck, he couldn’t breathe, could he? Oxygen didn’t seem to exist in the mess of Johnny Cade’s room, and Dally was sure he would see the small boy in his bed, like always, with dead eyes starin’ up at—
Oh.
Oh, shit. Pony couldn’t fuckin’ see this.
Oh, shit. Dally couldn’t see this.
What the fuck? Oh fuck.
God, the smell—
“Dally, is everythin—”
“It’s fine! All good, Pony. I- don’t come in, aight?”
Dally couldn’t fuckin—
His lungs—
He shoved himself out of Johnny’s room, blinking hard, and closed the door.
Pony stared.
“Uh. You aight, Dally?” His eyebrows were furrowed. “You ain’t lookin’ too hot…”
“Fine. Yeah. I’m good.”
Johnny ain’t.
Johnny ain’t anything other than—
“We should go, Ponyboy. Let’s go.”
“But Johnny—”
“We’re fucking going, aight? Now.” Dally snapped, slamming Johnny’s door closed, and yet the air still seemed so thin, and he couldn’t fuckin—
“Dally, is—is Johnny okay?” Pony stammered, his eyes wide, and—
“He’s fucking dead! Okay, Pony? Got that into your goddamn head? Johnny’s fucking dead. He’s—Johnny’s—” His voice crumped into itself—like a fuckin’ pathetic piece of paper, and Dally got to see in real time as Pony’s skin went pale.
If Dally’s voice was like crumpled paper, then Pony’s face looked paper-white.
What a fuckin’ pair they made.
“No. Wait, no. Dally. What? No.” The words came out like rapid fire, punching Dally in the gut. “Hell naw, Dal! Hell naw! You can’t be serious—you can’t—maybe he’s—”
“He ain’t sleeping, Pony. He’s…he’s…”
Oh god.
“Go to Darry. Go…go tell ‘im. Darry’s home. Go home t’ your brothers. I’ll drive ya.” Dally muttered, cause at least Pony had…
He had…
“Dally. Dally, please—” Ponyboy’s face crumpled, and lord, he was just a kid. Pony was just a kid.
Hell, Johnny was just a…
“Don’t fucking cry. We’re going, okay? Don’t. Not now.” Dally made his way to his car, and Ponyboy followed suit.
The car was silent.
Dally turned on the engine.
Silence.
He drove out of the driveway.
Silence.
His breath caught in his chest.
Silence.
Dally heard Ponyboy sniffle, but said nothing.
Nothing would help.
Nothing would fucking help this.
So Dally didn’t say shit.
Not when the sniffles turned into sobs.
Dally wasn’t that type of guy.
//
“Hey, Pony. And Dal. How was Joh—sweet Jesus! What happened, Ponyboy?” Sodapop was sitting on the couch with Steve fuckin’ Randle when Dally walked in with a bawling Ponyboy.
“S- soda- soda, he’s gone.” Pony’s head was in his hands as he sobbed, and Sodapop burst off the couch, a hand on the boy’s back, rubbing circles into it.
“Hey, baby, it’s okay.” He whispered, and it only seemed to make Pony cry harder.
“It’s not okay! How could it be okay—how could it ever—” His voice was warbled.
God.
God, save ‘im.
Dally wasn’t fuckin’ religious, but he’d pray up to whatever deity there was or wasn’t to save him from havin’ to go through this.
Cause Ponyboy was wrecked. Fuckin’ heartbroken.
And Dally was—
Well, he was—
“Pony…what happened?” Soda finally spoke, his voice careful.
“Johnny offed ‘imself.” Dally answered for him, and suddenly three pairs of eyes were on him.
“He did fucking what, Winston?” Steve wasn’t that close to Johnny, naw, but they were all at least knit.
“He’s gone.” His voice was fuckin’...wrong.
Too monotone.
But hell, he wasn’t feeling much of shit.
Cause if he did—
If he did—
“No way. No way. Johnny wouldn’—” Soda cut himself off.
Johnny would. They all fuckin’ knew that. Knew he was always thinkin’ about the day he would end it all. They just never thought that day would fucking come.
“...oh, Johnny.” Soda mumbled, his face crumbled, and Steve came with a hand on Soda’s shoulder.
They had always been close.
And so Dally watched as Soda and Ponyboy cried for their recently deceased friend, and how Steve looked at Soda as if he had died himself.
And Dally…he…
He had…
He…
He had t’ tell the rest of the gang.
Which was just Two-Bit and Darry, really, but…
But…
Dally turned around and headed to his car.
He sat down.
Turned on the engine.
And screamed.
//
Dally found Two-Bit at the dock, staring at the ocean with an absent sort of expression. Dally’s heart skipped a beat. Then Two-Bit turned around, clocking Dally in two seconds flat.
“Oh, hey, Dally. You seen the rest of the gang? They haven’t gone out in a hot second.” Two-Bit had a cigarette in his hand, looking at Dally with a raised eyebrow and a shit-eating grin.
“You ain’t lookin’ too hot, Winston. Girl trouble again? I’m tellin’ ya, dating ‘em is way too much work.” He grinned, and Dally rolled his eyes.
“I’m fuckin’ fine, Two-Bit. Hand me a blunt.” He held out his hand, and Two-Bit shrugged, before handing one over. Their fingers touched for a moment, and Two-Bit glanced at him. Dally lit the blunt before taking a long drag.
Shit, he needed this.
“Dally…you sure you’re good? I mean, you’re usually on my fuckin’ case ‘bout that girl of yours. Which one is it again? Gabriella? Annie?” Two-Bit was lookin’ at Dally with those eyes of his that were way too fuckin’ smart for how shit his grades were.
“Johnny’s dead.” He said plainly—there wasn’t any other fuckin’ way to say it, was there?
“He—what? Come again?” Two-Bit, for once in his life, stammered, his eyebrows shot up.
“He’s dead, Matthews. Offed himself who knows how long ago.”
And that was it, wasn’t it? They didn’t even know the day he died. He was alone. In the damn house he had always hated.
In that fucking house.
“Shit, man. Are you—are you good? I mean, Johnny was like your brother, I don’t—”
“I’m fine. Said that already, didn’t I?”
Dally couldn’t think about—
He couldn’t.
And god, his lungs weren’t workin’, were they?
Cause Johnny was his—was his soul—
God, he was so fuckin’ pure, so good, and—
And—
And Dally couldn’t fuckin—
Couldn’t breathe—
He couldn’t fuckin—
Couldn’t live—
“Dally! Shoot, man, breathe. Please. Fuck, I—”
Two-Bit was outta his depth, and Dally was too busy fightin’ for his life to make fun of him for it.
“Dally, just- just—”
His hand was placed on a chest.
Badump.
Badump.
“Just feel…feel my breaths, man, I don’t…”
Badump.
Badump.
“Is this shit workin’? Please tell me it’s fuckin’ workin’, Dally, Johnny always has—”
He paused.
His heart skipped a beat.
“Always used to…”
Badump.
Dally took a breath.
Badump.
Another.
“Kid was good at takin’ care of others.” He finally croaked out. “Fuckin’ empath.”
His eyes stayed deceitfully dry, but Two-Bit still hugged him as if he was fuckin’ bawling.
And Dally…
He…
…god.
//
“Dally.”
Dally’s eyes drifted from the stain in Buck Merrill's ceiling, and hell—he should get that hole fixed—and to the man himself beside him, polishing a glass.
“Mm.”
He couldn’t quite get his voice to work.
“You’ve been on that damn couch for days, kid. Get off. Do somethin’. Hang out with that kid you’re always with—what’s his name, John?”
“Kid’s dead.” He muttered, and Merrill paused.
“Shit.” He looked away. “I got drinks if you need ‘em, kid. I…”
“Aight, Merrill.” Dally cut him off before he could hear any of that sympathetic bullshit that drove him insane. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Winston.”
//
Dally stood on the deck.
He couldn’t swim, could he?
He had never fuckin’ tried. Never really thought about it.
He’s glad he never learned.
He took a swig of the liquor Merrill offered him—it burned hot in his throat, stung his stomach.
“Dally.” A voice came up behind him. “Thought I’d find you here.”
“Superman. Hey.”
Darry came beside him, looking down at the dark lake, the night sky with all its stars reflecting off of it.
“It’s been rough, yeah?” He said, with his eyes which seemed constantly weary these days, the space between his eyebrows finally smooth.
Dally didn’t respond.
“Pony’s been stuck in bed again. Barely fuckin’ eats.”
And what the hell is Dally supposed to say?
About the fact that he couldn’t help Johnny?
Fucking Johnny—the one person Dally had ever…
He had ever…
Fuck!
“Shit sounds like it sucks.”
“It does, yeah. But—shit, I’m gettin’ at this all wrong—you know you have us, right, Dally?”
His heart stopped.
“We…the gang’s…here for ya. I’m here for ya. We all cared about Johnny, you know? And—”
“Oh, fuck off, Darry. Not everybody needs help! I don’t need fuckin’ help! I don’t now, and I never fucking have!”
“Shoot, Dally, don’t even try that shit when you just looked one breath away from flinging yourself into the goddamn lake! We don’t need another fucking suicide, Winston!”
And—
Dally wouldn’t fucking…he…
“I…fuck, Dal, I didn’t…” Darry froze, and Dally realized his breathing had gotten heavy.
“I wouldn’t off myself. I wouldn’t.”
But the idea of it sounded so—
Maybe he had thought about it, but fucking everyone had, hadn’t they? It wasn’t fucking—
“Dally…no…” Darry looked at him with wide eyes, and, shit—
Dally had said that out loud.
“That ain’t normal, kid, it’s not—”
“I’m not a fucking kid!” Dally bellowed, and he fucking wasn’t!
“You’re seventeen, Dally! You’re a kid! You’re barely older than Johnny is–was.”
And—
“I haven’t been a kid in very fucking long, Darry. So shut your fucking mouth.”
Before Darry could say anything that would piss him off even more, Dally turned around and off the porch, taking another swig of his drink.
And then walked all the way to Buck Merrill’s place.
Shit, maybe he could finish this entire bottle in one fuckin’ go.
See where that left him.
//
He drank.
He drank and drank and drank.
And still, nothing.
He smoked more than he should’ve—got into more fights than strictly necessary—
And still—
He stood on that dock.
And stared at the crashing waves.
Dally never liked the ocean. Even when he was a kid, he was fuckin’ irrationally scared of it.
It was pathetic.
But maybe this was why. Maybe he knew…
…but he walked away every time.
Never gave in to the urge.
But one day he just—
//
“Dally! Shit, Dally, oh god, you breathin’? Givin’ me a shitton of deja vu, man—”
His clothes were wet.
His head was fuzzy.
His eyes were closed.
And…
…Two-Bit?
“Hey, man, hi…god, you’ve got me actin’ like some sorta life-guard, huh?” Two-Bit laughed, but it was too high—too shrill. “That better have been an accident. You’re drunk, yeah? You always fuckin’ are these days. Right?”
His voice wobbled.
“Right? I mean, shit, Dally, we can’t fuckin–we lost Johnny, we can’t—” His voice cracked.
Dally opened his eyes.
He had never seen Two-Bit cry. Never thought he was capable of it.
“We can’t lose you too, Dally. Fuck.”
“Why does it matter.” Dally finally spoke, and god, it hurt.
“I- wh- huh?”
“Why can’t you lose me. Why does it matter.”
“Man…you—you matter way fuckin’ more than you think. You ain’t some—some stranger, Dal. And hell, if no one else cares—which they do—then know I do. Shit, Dal, if you died, I…”
Two-Bit trailed off, and Dally took a breath.
“...I’m not worth it, man.”
“Oh, fuck off with that, Dal. Yes you are. You’re more than goddamn worth it. We care. I care. Pony cares. Soda cares. Darry cares. We care. And if you’d let us in, we’d fuckin’ show you.”
“I…”
Two-Bit grabbed him, and hugged him tight.
And Dally couldn’t help it.
He sobbed.
Fuck, he sobbed like his life depended on it, and it wracked through his body in waves.
Two-Bit held on tighter.
Dally didn't push him away.
And shit—that was the thing, wasn’t it?
Dally pushed everybody away.
But Two-Bit had always been different.
Dally figured that was why it hurt so goddamned much.
“You don't gotta do this alone, Dal,” Two-Bit whispered.
Dally shut his eyes.
For once, he believed him.
//
Dally woke up in warm clothes, a warm bed, and smelled of—
“Two-Bit?”
And the boy himself appeared—his hair ungreased and ungroomed in a way Dally had seen many times before.
His eyes were tired.
Dally’s were probably the same.
“Mornin’, Dal.” He replied, with a cup of coffee in hand.
Two-Bit fuckin’ hated coffee, so…
“Here. Don’t worry, it’s as black as your goddamn soul.” Two-Bit handed him the mug, and stared at him while he drank it.
He bit his lip, and looked away for a second, before sighing.
“My ma’s home. She wanted t’see ya. Told her you were…ah…recoverin’, but she didn’t give a damn, so…she’s in the livin’ room, if you wanted t’...”
“Your ma’s one helluva broad, Two-Bit. Hell, I’ll see her. Just let me finish my damn coffee.”
Two-Bit nodded, and he looked like he was fuckin’ vibrating in his own skin, constantly glancing at Dally, all embarrased, like they weren’t fuckin’ knit.
“The fuck’s up with you?”
Two-Bit startled.
“I just—you’re—I mean, last night you stopped…breathin’. You weren’t…I just wanted to fuckin’...I…”
Oh.
“I’m breathing, Two-Bit—”
“I know!” Two-Bit snapped, exasperated. “I just…it’s fuckin’ idiotic. Just—”
Dally sighed, and nudged Two-Bit to come over.
Once Two-Bit complied, Dally grabbed his hand, and imitating Two-Bit, placed it on his chest.
Finally, Two-Bit’s nerves seemed to calm themselves down.
“You feel that?” Dally raised a single eyebrow, and Two-Bit swallowed before nodding, his fingers trembling. “Still kickin’.”
“Yeah…yeah.” Two-Bit wet his lips, as if he were convincing himself.
“So quit actin’ like I’m a goddamn ghost.”
“Can’t, Dal.”
“The hell you mean you can’t?”
“Cause I almost didn’t get t’ feel that. This.” Two-Bit tapped on his chest with a dark look in his eye.
That shut Dally right up.
He cleared his throat, and looked up at Two-Bit with a small smile.
“...you get real fuckin’ sentimental when you’re scared, Matthews.”
“Oh, shut the hell up, Winston.”
“There’s the asshole I know.”
Dally grinned, and Two-Bit finally cracked a smile.
“Now, let me meet ya Mam. She's gotta be one hell of a lady t’ have raised you.”
“Aight, Dal.”
//
Mrs. Matthew was exactly the way Dally would’ve imagined—which was just fuckin’ great, really.
“Dallas, darlin’, you hungry?”
“Oh, no.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy. You’re skinny as is.”
“What?”
“You said you were recoverin’, no?”
Dally looked over at Two-Bit, who shrugged helplessly, stifling a grin.
“...I ain’t sick, ma’am.”
“Didn’t say you were, kid.” She put a plate of food in front of him—and fuck, it looked good. “Eat it anyway.”
“What about Two-Bit?”
“Oh, Keith? You’re right. Keith, come here and eat, sweetheart.”
Two-Bit sat down beside Dally, and Dally’s heart did a weirdass flutter when their hands brushed together as Two-Bit served his dinner plate.
“Thanks for the food, Ma.”
“If you’re really thankful, bring Dallas here to breakfast every morning. The lord knows he needs it.”
Dally nearly choked on his food, and Two-Bit went a bright red.
“Every mornin’?” He spluttered, and Mrs. Matthew nodded.
“Every single one. You can sleep over if it’s easier.”
“Ma, he can’t—”
“Keith.”
Two-Bit’s mouth snapped shut.
Dally glanced at him, and Mrs. Matthew made her way to the kitchen.
“...she always that scary?”
“Worse.”
“I heard that, boys!”
“See?”
Dally snorted.
//
Fuckin’ hell. It was too early for this shit. He was standing in front of the Matthew home at seven in the morning cause of, what, an invitation to breakfast?
He stood there for a solid ten minutes before knocking on the door.
“Wh- the hell are you doin’ here, Dally?” Two-Bit spluttered, his eyes still half-asleep.
“Your ma said breakfast, remember?”
“I mean—yeah, I fuckin’ remember—but you actually came?”
Two-Bit blinked, as if the possibility was fuckin’ mind-boggling.
“Don’t make it weird, Two-Bit.”
“I ain’t makin’ nothin’ weird!”
“You’re making it weird.”
“You showed up at my door at seven in the goddamn mornin’—how’s that for makin’ shit weird?”
“Well. Your Ma makes good pancakes.”
“How the hell would you know? You haven’t tried ‘em.”
“It’s called a guess, Two-Bit. And I’ll try ‘em today.”
“I- wh- fine. Come in.”
Dally stepped into the house—which was warm.
Inviting.
Cozy.
And Dally wasn’t used to the warm. No, he had gotten used to cold floors. Cold rooms. Cold nights staring at the sea.
Not this warmth.
“Mornin’, Dallas. Nice to see you’ve joined us, dear.” Mrs. Matthew greeted with a smile, cooking in the kitchen.
“Mornin’, ma’am.”
“Oh, call me Ma, Dallas.”
“I—okay. Yeah.”
Two-Bit stared at him with a certain somethin’ in his damned eyes.
“What you lookin’ at?”
“Nothin, Dal.”
“You’re staring.”
“...guess I just didn’ think you’d come back.”
Dally shrugged.
“She makes good pancakes.”
“And yet you’ve never tasted them, huh?”
“Don’t gotta taste ‘em to know.”
“Sure, Winston. Sure.”
Two-Bit smiled.
And Dally smiled back.
For the first time in goddamn weeks, it felt…natural.
//
For a while, Dally forgot.
Not about Johnny.
Hell, he’d never fuckin’ forget Johnny.
But for a few minutes, he wasn't thinking about the kid’s empty bed. Or that goddamn house. Or the way Ponyboy had looked at him that morning—with wide, unbelieving eyes.
He was just sitting at a kitchen table.
Eating pancakes.
Listening to Two-Bit bitch about how his Ma was embarrassing him.
And breathing.
Shit, just breathing.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
Shoot, it was everything.
Two-Bit nudged his foot beneath the table.
“You comin’ back tomorrow?”
Dally glanced at him, and raised an eyebrow.
“What, you already sick of me?”
“Never said that, did I?” Two-Bit looked at him curiously.
“Then yeah.”
Two-Bit smiled.
Dally looked down at his plate.
Johnny was gone.
Fuck, he was gone.
And that would hurt every second Dally stayed on this damn Earth.
But Dally was still here.
And for now, that had to be enough.