There were some things Dallas Winston knew. Things like what kind of a switchblade made slashing tires easiest, the names of all the gangs in New York, how to shoot a gun with deadly accuracy. He also knew that things were rough all over, but that greasers had it the roughest. What he didn't know was why he got so angry the night that Johnny was jumped.
When he had found the rest of the gang surrounding Johnny on the ground in that lot, his blood felt like it was boiling. It felt like there were demons in his mind and heart urging him to do something, anything, to get payback for what happened to Johnny. Looking back, he had no idea why that rush of consuming fury had come over him like that, but all he knew was that it had, and that he had to do something about it. So he left the gang a few hours later at the Curtis house, with Johnny sleeping in Soda and Pony's bed. He had borrowed Two Bit's car, and it was obvious from Two Bit's readiness handing them over that he knew where Dally was going. Dally pulled away from the house as silent and deadly as a snake. He cruised the streets of the East Side slowly, his eyes constantly scanning the side roads and parking lots for a blue Mustang with Socs in it. Seeing nothing in his side of town, he crossed over the train tracks into the West side. The houses got larger, the driveways longer, the cars nice, and his anger even stronger. He kept going down the nicely paved streets, Two Bit's beat up car earning wary and derisive looks from the occasional passerby still on the streets.
His jaw was set, his eyes cold and murderous. He turned left onto West Eighth Boulevard, and at the end of the street, he saw an empty blue Mustang sitting in a driveway. He pulled up in front of the house and cut the engine. Dally slid out from behind the wheel of Two Bit's car and walked over to the Mustang. Dally placed his hand on the hood, the warm engine beneath a dead giveaway that the car had been driven recently. He looked into the car, spying a bloody sweater still lying in the driver's seat. He knew without a doubt that this was the car that those god damned Socs had been driving.
He slid a hand into his back pocket, making sure that his switchblade was still there. It was. He walked to Two Bit's car and grabbed the pistol that he had borrowed from Shepard on the way over. Dally closed his eyes for a minute, and the unbidden image of Johnny lying in the lot covered in blood and crying. It was the crying that really got to him, because he had never seen Johnny cry, not even when he had been hit in the head with a brick by his father. Dally's jaw clenched in a mixture of pain and fury, and then took a better grip on the pistol. He walked up to the front door of the house with the Mustang, taking a minute to light a cigarette and slide it into his mouth before ringing the bell. He slouched his shoulders, and was confident in the fact that he looked like a dangerous hoodlum that shouldn't be messed with.
A young man wearing a Madras shirt opened the door and looked warily at Dally. Dally smirked. Shouldn't they have a god damned maid? He thought. His eyes narrowed. He lifted his arm into the circle of light shed by the porch light, allowing the orange glow to glint off his pistol. The Soc opened his mouth, perhaps to call for help, but Dally moved faster. He pulled the Soc into a headlock and then onto the doorstep then immediately shoved the pistol into the Soc's open mouth, letting the barrel of the gun touch the roof of the guy's mouth. He released the safety, but didn't place his hand on the trigger. Yet.
The Soc gave a pathetic whimper, and Dally knew without seeing his face that his eyes were moving frantically, looking for a way out. "If you ever come near any of my friends again, so help me god, the last thing you are ever gonna see is this pistol," Dally hissed menacingly. "And the last thing you are ever gonna know is that you should not have messed with me or my boys," he continued, his voice ice cold and steely. "Understand me?"
The Soc nodded frantically, and Dally could feel the cold drip of his tears against the arm that was keeping the Soc in a headlock. He shoved the kid away from him forcefully, and the Soc stumbled back into the open doorway of his mansion. He allowed just enough time for the murderous look in his eyes to sink into the boy, then turned and shuffled back to Two Bit's car. He slid back behind the wheel and gunned the engine, and with a roar it came to life. He spun the wheel tightly to the left, leaving skid marks in front of the kid's house. He roared out of the neighborhood, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction in the fact that if this kid ever messed with his gang again, the police would be adding murder to Dally's rap sheet.
He slowed down as he crossed back over into the East side with a feeling of comfort in his surroundings. He pulled up to a twenty four hour convenience store, picking up two packages of Kools and a couple magazines for Johnny to read once he woke up. Dally paid and left, then continued on his way to the Curtis' house. When he walked into the house, he stopped first into the kitchen for a beer and then continued into the living room. There, he saw all of the boys- Steve, Soda, Darry, Two Bit, and Pony all sprawled on chairs, couches or even each other, surrounding the couch where Johnny was lying. He was covered with cuts and bruises but the blood had been washed away and it looked like he was wearing some of Pony's beat up track clothes.
Johnny looked physically better, but he was shivering and there was still a look of remaining terror on his face, as if it would never go away. And Dally knew there was a fair chance it never would. He had seen enough to know that something like this didn't just go away overnight. But he also knew that he would do whatever it took to make sure that Johnny never got hurt like this again.