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Lovetoread75 - Aw, thank you so much! I'm glad you've been enjoying the story so far and that you like being able to listen in on Dally's thoughts. :D Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, too!

Day 6

Dally's blood still boiled from the events of the previous night. He tried not think about Tim's weasel face or the way he had disrespected Jack's father. Why did he even care? With an irritated groan, he ran his fingers through his hair - well, he assumed he touched the silvery blond locks, but he wasn't completely sure. His sense of touch was gone. Not that that was a new occurrence. It just scared him a little each time he remembered. Cause maybe that moment when he'd been standing with Johnny six days ago, was the last time he'd ever feel his own hair.

"Listen, Johnnycake, it's real simple," Dally said, leaning up against the rough brick wall of the abandoned building. Even through his jacket, he could feel jagged pieces that stabbed him. His fingers stuffed themselves into his pocket, fished out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. The metal seemed warm, once he really thought about its weight in his hand. He couldn't recall the last time he'd left it at home. "You just gotta get outta there. It ain't good for ya."

His friend shrugged and turned to face the open lot fully. The space wasn't too big, fenced in as it was on three sides by decrepit houses. A sparse grass covered the expanse, looking prickly to the touch. He almost wished he had had the chance to bend down and press his fingers into the dried brown blades. But he'd stayed standing and tried once more to reason with his dark-haired, puppy of a friend.

"C'mon," he urged as he lit his cigarette. The warmth of the new flame from his lighter washed over his face for a brief second, but was quickly replaced by a biting rush of wind. "It'll be you and me again. What're ya scared of? Ain't nobody gon touch ya when I'm here."

He wanted to say more, to promise that what he'd said was true. But the words logded themselves in his throat and died. Maybe he could have physically felt that sensation, something building within him only to collapse back upon itself. Although, he doubted that was even possible. So he focused on what he could feel - a strange chill that raised goosebumps on his arms, the hot smoke from his latest drag on the cigarette that sat in his mouth until he blew it into the air. And the beating of his heart, unusually fast as it pounded into the flesh of his chest like it was trying to escape.

Strange. He hadn't been aware that waiting for an answer could play with his nerves. But maybe it was just Johnny...

"I dunno, Dal..." Johnny mumbled. "My parents need me. They'd miss me too much if I left without sayin' nothin'. You know that, don't ya?"

"Guess so," he agreed, even though all he wanted to do was knock some sense into that kid. Someone had to tell him the truth, that his folks wouldn't notice if he disappeared. Not until his old man needed something to kick around, anyway. He felt his lip curl up in disgust, but he couldn't say a word against Mr. Cade. That would break the kid's heart.

"So, how 'bout we go back to my place?" Johnny said, pushing himself off of the cold brick wall and walking out of the lot. He paused at the edge of the dead grass, waited for Dally to follow. "I can make dinner or whatever."

"Yeah, alright..." he said as he swept a hand through his hair. The strands were dry, free of grease. And they felt soft against his calloused fingers and warm and full of life. With a sigh, he dropped his arm back to his side, crushed out the cigarette that suddenly tasted stale. Then he strode after his friend as dread filled his stomach. Dinner at the Cade house... He was certain he would feel that ache in the morning.

But he hadn't felt a thing. He never woke up or even had the chance to fall asleep. All because he had died that night. What had the car felt like when it struck him? His mind - if his spiritual body possessed such a thing - strained for the details. Yet nothing came to him. Frustrated, he groaned again, stretching himself out on the most likely uncomfortable floor of his host's bedroom.

"You miss your friend."

Dallas bolted into a sitting position, eyes wild and mind filled with a single thought. Protect himself. It was a basic instinct, one he had already failed to carry out. A failure this time would mean... Nothing. It meant nothing. You couldn't kill something that was already dead, no matter how hard you tried. So he forced himself to relax. He leaned back on his hands, grinned at the vaguely familiar man that had appeared beside him.

"Dunno what yer talkin' 'bout," he said as the man sat down. The guy seemed pretty young, now that Dally could really see him. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, probably younger if he was a good judge of age. And Dallas Winston had yet to have been proved wrong by anyone. "Can't ya tell I'm real happy here? I don't miss nobody..."

"Of course not," the Scheduler said dryly. "My mistake."

"Now, what the hell d'ya want?" he demanded, glaring at the spiritual guide. Then his gaze shifted to the bed where Jack had just been sleeping. But his host was awake and currently in the process of getting dressed. "I gotta follow this soc to church or some shit."

The Scheduler rolled his eyes. "Well, forgive me for trying to help you out. Geez, they told me you were going to be a handful, but I didn't think you'd be this bad."

He sat up straight at that. Who'd been bad mouthing him? But his mind forced him away from that topic. It didn't matter right now and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to find out, anyway. Instead, he turned to fully face the Scheduler. This had to be good, receiving much needed help. It had to be. When he replied, he hoped to keep the desperation out of his voice, but he wasn't completely sure that begging a stranger to help him could sound anything other than desperate.

"That's more like it," the man said with a smirk then launched into his piece of advice. "I told you to take care of your host for a reason. His body is the only thing that will allow you to regain your life. However, just because you're using Jack Marshall's body doesn't mean you have to be Jack Marshall."

Then he just disappeared.

Dally remained sitting on the floor, utterly mystified. What had the Scheduler been trying to say? Of course he had to pretend to be Jack. If he acted like himself, then his host's friends and family would become suspicious. And that would be the quickest way to ruin his chance of living again. As it was, his personality clashed terribly with the one he was supposed to imitate and he was pretty damn sick of having to pretend. But he knew he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. His only option was to deal with it until he got his own body back.

xxxxxx

The more he thought about the Scheduler's advice throughout the day, the more he began to understand, or he thought he understood. It wasn't about pretending to be Jack Marshall all the time, only some of the time. And if the social divide was getting in the way of him accomplishing his goal, who the hell said he couldn't do anything about it? His host was a fucking soc, after all. Socs can do whatever they want - they have money!

So maybe, the thing that separated east-siders from west-siders could be a tool to help Dally transcend the divide. He found himself grinning uncontrollably as he pieced his plan together. It almost seemed like he was eager to possess Jack's body. But he knew that was not the case. He would never be excited to be excited to become a soc. Not ever. All he looked forward to was being a greaser again.

When the time came, he took over his host almost effortlessly. Each night, the experience became less strange. He still felt that unsettling rush of pleasure, of course, but he managed to ignore it. Well, it was impossible to be completely unaware, so he just tried not to think about the feeling too much.

He glanced in the mirror, saw Jack's face, and nodded his satisfaction. The weirdness was over for the night, thankfully. Without another moment given to hesitation, he stuffed Jack's wallet into his back pocket then went on his way, striding briskly.

Before too long, he arrived at a store on neutral territory. For the most part, the shop serviced greasers, but socs were free to buy from here too. And it was run by average people, the go-between for the two warring classes. Sure, not everybody liked them - that went for both sides - and life got hard for them as well. Sometimes, it was like the 'normal' people were the outcasts. Dally had never minded them himself, but he ran with greasers who called them 'soc-wannabes' or worse.

But he was more than thankful for them now, as he paid for his items and stepped into the fitting room to get changed. He took off Jack's nice jeans and threw on the pair he had just bought. Bending down slightly, he ripped holes in the knees then made plans to roll around in some dirt. After that, he replaced his host's sweater with a tight-fitting black t-shirt and did the same with his shoes, switching from soc style to ones that suited a greaser. He admired his host's new look in the mirror, but knew something was missing. With a sigh, he dumped half a tube of hair grease into his palms then ran his hands through his dark locks.

The look was absolutely perfect, but that didn't mean he was at all happy about what he'd had to do. His only consolation was that it was Jack's hair he was ruining, not his own. And he supposed that was good enough for him.

He shoved Jack's clothes into the back seat of his car then drove back into soc territory. Feeling a tiny bit of nervousness, he parked it on the side of a road near the border and hopped out. Tested the door to be sure it was locked - once then twice. Satisfied, he took a deep breath and crossed over to the greaser side.

xxxxxx

"Who're you?"

Dally cringed as he closed the door behind him. Sure, he'd been hoping that someone was awake at the Curtis residence, but he hadn't wanted to be caught sneaking in. The living room light came on and he noticed that it was only Pony standing there in his pajamas.

"The name's Jack," he replied with ease. "Got kicked outta my dad's place and somebody told me I could crash here for a bit." He forced himself to glance around as if he was unfamiliar with the place. Finally, he set his gaze on the kitchen, which was faintly illuminated by the lamplight from the living room. "You got any food over there? Haven't eaten in a while... Not properly, anyway."

"Uh, sure, I guess," the youngest Curtis said, walking to the refrigerator. He pawed through its contents for a little bit then pulled out a small bowl of something Dally couldn't see. "Hard boiled eggs. Want 'em?"

"Course," Dally took the bowl from the boy, ate one before he allowed himself to say anything else. He sat down at the table and gestured for Pony to do the same. "I wanna ask you something." Ponyboy raised an eyebrow, but didn't object. So he took it as a cue to continue. "Is it true? What I been hearin' 'bout Dallas Winston, I mean. Is he really dead?"

The boy's shoulders tensed up noticeably. "Who told ya that?"

"A couple people, mainly from Shepard's gang. Some Tigers, too, but I know by now not to trust a word they say." He smiled disarmingly and he was relieved when he saw Pony relax slightly. So he let the silence continue, long enough for him to finish off another egg. Then he tried again. "But you didn't answer. Is it true?"

"Nah, Dal's tougher than that," the kid said, taking an egg for himself. "He ain't gonna just lay down and die. Give him some time. I bet he'll be out on the streets pretty soon."

Dally fought back the urge to smile at his answer. What he'd described certainly was true to the blond hood's nature and it was almost nice to hear somebody talk about him like that. However, his good mood - and the possibility of securing his first tear - was ruined by Ponyboy's response to his next question.

"The two of you are friends, yeah? I bet you're worryin' night and day for 'im."

"Not really... We ain't that close..."

"Oh..."

Dally coughed awkwardly, but didn't try to change Pony's mind. That was it, the end of the line. He made up some bullshit excuse for suddenly needing to leave then exited the house hastily. Damn... His mind replayed that final exchange again and again. If Ponyboy Curtis didn't care for him one way or the other, who else would? Fucking hell... He was doomed.