He's not dead. He's not dead.
His chest burned as he drove as far from the hospital as he could. Dally's head was flooded with so many thoughts that he didn't want to understand. He could hardly breath anymore. Every bone in his body hurt. His limbs ached and his eyes burned. He felt dizzy and his head was a mess. His heart was pounding so fast and hard that it hurt. His entire body was pulsing. He felt like he was going to throw up any second, but he kept driving.
He's not dead.
He'd left Ponyboy there. Who cared anyways? The kid could find some other ride home. He had plenty of people to depend on. Darry, Soda, Two-bit, and hell, maybe even Steve. He would find someone, anyone but Dally. Dallas wanted to be alone. It wouldn't matter to Ponyboy.
Maybe it would matter. For a moment, he contemplated going back. He considered slamming the brakes and turning around to get him and drive him home. He didn't, of course. He didn't want to. He couldn't. It wasn't because it would look bad. Hell, he didn't give a single fuck about his reputation. He just knew that he didn't want to go back to the hospital and what he knew was there.
Johnny is not dead.
He pulled into the next parking lot he could. A gas station. His legs trembled as he stepped out of the car. One other car was parked there. He walked past it, slamming his fist into the side and denting it. He stopped at the entrance to attempt to breath before going inside.
God, damn it.
Dallas Winston longed to die. He didn't really know why, but he couldn't stand breathing and being alive any longer. He wanted to die and, whatever it took, he would. He dug his nails into his palms as hard as he could and walked towards the magazines. He wanted to die. He wanted to die right there.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!
He gazed blankly at the magazines. A man on the front cover wore a jean jacket. It looked familiar and he loathed it. Dally knew the cashier was staring at him suspiciously. He even had the nerve to say something to Dally about having to pay for the magazines or something. He didn't want a damn magazine. He knew what he wanted.
He's not dead, damn it.
He walked to the counter, pulling out his gun. It wasn't even loaded, but the man would never know. "Gimme the money.." He growled through his clenched teeth. He didn't sound like himself. He didn't want the magazines. He didn't want the money.
He's dead.
Johnny's dead.
Dallas just wanted Johnny back. Johnny Cade. He wanted his Johnnycakes back. He knew he couldn't bring him back; he understood. That's what really pissed him off. He would never hear his soft spoken voice again or be able to touch his long, black hair. He could remember in the hospital when Johnny muttered something to Pony and died right there. He saw his eyes close, his dark, sweet eyes. Dallas remembered pushing his hair back for the last time. Maybe if he had gotten into the church sooner, it wouldn't have been the last time.
It's my fault Johnny's dead.
"Give me the damn money," Dallas snarled. He repeated it over and over again, each time feeling even more anguish. His voice cracked and the man just stared at him. He couldn't take it. His eyes were flooding with tears that threatened to spill over. The man looked very unsettled and bewildered. For a moment, there was a look of pity in his old eyes. Holding the gun to the man's head, Dally let the tears fall. "The money.." Slowly, the cashier grabbed a bundle of money and handed it to him. As Dally left, he heard the man pick up the phone and begin dialing.
Johnny..
The tears continued to fall down his cheeks, but Dally ignored them. He had forgotten what it was like to cry, having not done it in so long. Dallas never cried; he hated how it felt.
Christ, Johnny,
I miss you.
The police would be on their way soon. He knew that. He knew that he would let the police shoot him dead. He wanted the others to know and be there. He turned a corner and stopped at a payphone. He grabbed a few quarters he thankfully had in his pocket and realized how badly his hands were shuddering. They never shook that bad.
Why didn't I want you to get tough?
"Darry?" Attempting to keep his voice calm, he hoped the oldest Curtis would pick up. "It's Dally.." He was breathing heavier than he had thought.
"No, 's Steve," Steve replied. His voice sounded kinda funny; it was probably from the rumble. "Dal, y'need somethin'?"
"Give the phone to Darry," Dallas ordered. He looked around him quickly.
"Dallas, are you alright?" After a quick moment, Darry spoke. Dallas knew Darry didn't always like him, but he was always there to help. He would definitely take the guys to the empty lot. The empty lot where Johnny would sleep when his old man beat him or where the two of them would hang out together. Never again would they smoke and joke around there. Never.
"Johnny's dead," His voice was soft and quiet. He wondered if Ponyboy got home safe. He wondered if the kid was mad at him for abandoning him at the hospital. He wondered if Ponyboy had the nerve to tell his brothers and the rest of the gang that poor Johnny was dead. "He's dead."
"We know." Darry sounded calm and almost soothing. "Now, are you alright? Pony said you-"
"Robbed a gas station," He interrupted quickly. He didn't have much time. "Meet me in the lot, alright?"
Darry was silent for a moment. "Sure thing, Dallas," Dally knew he would be there. "Be safe, okay?" He sounded so worried.
"Yeah, yeah," Dally muttered before hanging up.
I loved you, Johnny, alright? I cared about you.
Rushing to the empty lot, he threw the money to the ground. He didn't need it. He didn't want it. He didn't want anything more than he wanted to be dead. His legs were exhausted. He felt as if his entire body was about to give out and crumple to the pavement. Straining his lungs and his heart and his legs, Dally continued to run, faster than he ever remembered running. He wiped his eyes, unable to see through his tears anymore. They kept coming, though. It wouldn't matter. He saw a group of five standing on the other side of the lot. The police sirens grew louder and Dallas pulled out his gun again. The others were yelling at him, telling him to stop.
Johnny, I'm sorry.
Dallas would not stop. He wanted to be dead and he would get what he wanted. He heard the cops shout to him and then felt the bullets enter him. His chest, his stomach, his shoulder. They all burned relief into his skin. Falling to the ground, Dally gripped his bleeding chest. There was a faint buzzing in his ears and his vision was growing blurry. Everyone was yelling, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.
When Johnny had died, Dally knew he wanted to go with him. His sweet, little Johnny, taken so early in life. He didn't deserve it one bit. Dally didn't even get to say goodbye.
Staring up at the bright street light above him, Dallas felt completely numb. The world around him began to grow black, but it wasn't bad. The buzzing and yelling faded to nothing but silence. Dally was dead when he left the hospital.