set years after it is not enough to be dumbstruck, wherein ponyboy has survived longer than expected.

the party goes on, uninterrupted as he gets up from his place at the table. kelly smiles at the head of the table, the birthday hat on lopsided, the grin on her face more reminiscent of soda than sandy, red hair half pulled back. if dallas didn't know better — and he did — anyone could think that kelly was soda and sandy's kid. not that it matters anymore; she's sixteen now, a healthy, good kid and the party is as nice enough as it can be. he drops a kiss on johnny's head, but finds his eyes wandering to the same spot that they've been for the past few minutes, past kelly, past the cramped little kitchen, to the backyard, where ponyboy is sitting, back to the rest of them, head tilted up towards the sky. it'll be sunset soon enough, he knows that and this still seems to be ponyboy's favorite time of day after all these years.

it's not as if he isn't curious about the fact that ponyboy is here — it's the simple fact that no one goes after him. he gets that in a sense of course given the circumstances. it's just still odd to him that no one goes after him, that no one will.

so he does it, excusing himself from the hubbub of the table. he passes by sandy, soda, and goes into the kitchen they have. goes past the cake that's still chilling, ready to be cut by steve, and opens the door to the backporch. he clatters down the steps, shutting the door behind him. he remembers after all these years that ponyboy can't take shocks anymore, nothing sudden.

by the time he comes to sit beside him, he's sure that ponyboy is bracing a bit, his shoulders tense. sitting this close to him for the first time in years is different — he associated old books, car oil with ponyboy then. now, he smells earthier, the vague scent of flowers almost overpowering everything else. "hey, dally." his voice comes out in that halfway hoarse way that it always does now. darry has told him in hushed tones that ponyboy hasn't done a lot of talking in a long time which dallas finds interesting when the kid never talked all that much in the first place. "you trying to skip out on singin'?"

dallas snorts, bringing the beer he's brought to his mouth. "i ain't singin' no matter how cute that kid is." ponyboy chuckles, and dallas spares him a glance.

at thirty-two years old, ponyboy looks mostly normal from where he is: his hair is still long, but not styled anymore. it looks a little more red than brown at times, his stubble with a bit of grey along his jaw. he looks a little more like soda at times, even if he was never as tall as his brothers. he looks like anyone else in his family, except for the flowers that dallas notices are blooming in his hair. they're a soft pink, unfurling faster and faster, and ponyboy clearly doesn't notice them as he glances at dallas. "soda sure makes cute kids, though, don't he?"

dallas snorts. "you think he'd be sick of them by now, too." ponyboy laughs again, the pink flowers now emerging around his forehead, like a crown. "at least me and johnny don't have to worry about that."

"yeah, you two are doing good for yourselves," ponyboy's voice is a little quieter, eyes now utterly focused on dallas. dallas doesn't back down, keeping his gaze on ponyboy. it's been so long since he's seen him fully, been able to see the differences his brothers had only whispered about. this close, he can see the parts of pony's skin that are tinged green, the veins that aren't red or blue anymore. "darry almost made it sound like you're an upstanding citizen."

for that, he gets shoved. ponyboy seems to take it okay, which compels dallas to get to the heart of it. "i'm an upright citizen as much as you are," dallas watches more of the pink flowers bloom around the grass where ponyboy's hand is touching it, the flowers reaching up towards ponyboy, "i'm just shocked to see you around here after all this time. you don't come to weddings, births, nothing. but you'll come here for some kid's birthday party?"

"kelly's sixteen. it's an important birthday," and the lie sounds so smooth from ponyboy.

"bullshit," dallas calls it out immediately, snapping the words out. "you know you couldn't give a fuck about her turning sixteen. and i know you were around before this party — or did you think two-bit wouldn't tell me?"

the accusation is pointed, more pointed than it might should be: yet it's crystal clear in what he means to say. there have been so many years between them, since ponyboy had started coughing up petals so violently that they thought he wouldn't live to see sixteen. but he had, hadn't he? and then twenty, then twenty five. he was thirty two now, alive but not the same as before: not with petals winding their way down his front, not with skin tinged green like this.

he was here, he was alive, and dallas winston knows better than to think that this is just a visit for a sixteenth birthday, knows ponyboy better than that. even with all the intervening years between them, even with the aching silence, he knows.

ponyboy's fingers dig into the dirt beneath him, mouth twisting. the pink flowers in his hair twist up, and flowers that dallas actually has a name for spring up: daffodils, the petals brightly yellow against ponyboy's hair as the pink ones fall between them, tumbling aimlessly into the grass. "it ain't his business." his defenses go up on automatic, but the more the daffodils spring up, the more dallas can see that he's swallowing thickly, body curling up on himself just like he had at fourteen years old. "and it ain't mine to tell—"

"yes it is," dallas pushes back, voice rising, "you ran off for years and thought you could just — come back just once without a word? kid, i thought you were dead—"

"i wasn't," ponyboy snaps at him, "i was fine—"

"was?" instantly he latches onto the word, reaching out to grasp ponyboy's shirt. there's no going back now, dallas ignoring anything else except ponyboy's widening eyes, the way his fingers dig deeper into the earth, that smell of petals and earth rising thickly. his hair sheds more flowers in brilliant colors, scents that dallas ignores. "you — did they say it is fatal now?"

truth be told, hadn't they all been waiting for this? waiting for the day that so many years of being able to skirt death, that the hanahaki would truly, forever take ponyboy away from them. the idea that all those years had been spent without being in any real touch, without seeing him, only for ponyboy to come back to them now to really make it true…

it hurts. it hurts dallas in a way he didn't quite comprehend, fingers tightening their grip on ponyboy's shirt.

ponyboy's fingers wraps around dallas' wrist, green shoots starting to rise up, wrap around his fingers. he doesn't shove dallas back, doesn't do anything he should. he digs his fingers in, and dallas can see him tremble. his voice is low, "kelly — kelly had it, okay? soda called me and i came to help her." he digs his fingers in deeper, the green shoots thickening, dallas' grip loosening on his shirt. "it's gone now." he's wheezing, fighting a cough in his throat as he says the words and dallas glimpses blue petals on his tongue.

but that's not it. dallas knows it's not. ponyboy knows, too.

there's always been an elephant in the room: that there was someone among them who had set off the hanahaki years ago. that was the reason that as soon as he could leave, go to expensive doctors, ponyboy had left. that whoever it was, ponyboy had been doing any and everything he could to get away from them. it wasn't just grief from his parents extending the disease, that it had to be someone alive, someone who ponyboy couldn't confess to, ponyboy couldn't have.

the idea blooms: that he came to say who it was.

dallas' grip tightens again, he goes to ask, "who—"

"dally?" johnny's voice washes over them, and for the first time dallas sees it clearly how ponyboy tenses, spasms right in his grip. how he goes from utterly concentrated on dallas to the way he loosens his grip and begins to cough, wet and awful.

he let's go in time to see ponyboy cough up earth and yellow and blue flowers. dallas shifts back as ponyboy coughs, hacks it up, voice steady, "it's okay, johnny! just get some water, let him breathe."

johnny hesitates at the doorway, not the same kid he used to be. but he goes anyway, leaving dallas to rub at ponyboy's back, to see how much of the backyard is now covered in a tumultuous riot of flowers, how the very grass itself is bending towards him. dallas looks at them, looks at ponyboy coughing, panting.

none of this had happened when he was fourteen. none of it had ever been this bad. dallas should back away — he doesn't. he says, "who is it?"

ponyboy spits out petals, earth, and he shakes his head. it's not good enough. dallas reaches down, clutches his chin to make ponyboy look him in the eyes. maybe they never had a perfect relationship with each other as children, maybe they could never reconcile that as adults, he knew that. he also knew that ponyboy was his family, even if it wasn't by blood. ponyboy was the kid he'd given his jacket to without another thought when he came to him crying, the kid he had pulled out of a fire and thrown himself on, had hit him so hard to put out the fire that ponyboy had collapsed.

he has cared about him for so long, and dallas can't abide by this anymore. can't stand the idea of another gap of years where ponyboy only showed up again when something dire happened, where he'd show up again and he wouldn't even be wearing a human skin anymore, just pure flowers and earth. he keeps his voice low, pleading in that way he had begged johnny back on jay mountain, "you don't have to tell them, but just — tell me, tell somebody."

ponyboy looks at him with eyes that are wide, glossy with something that resembles tears. he looks like he's grinding down, trying to keep it all down again. except now, it's as if his body can't take the strain anymore. his jaw is forced open, vines slipping up past his teeth, blue roses forcing their way out of his throat, from his mouth. the fragrance is choking, and dallas finds himself frozen unable to anything except listen to ponyboy choke out, "you. it's— it's you."

the flowers should stop, recede like they do in movies. they don't as ponyboy wheezes, coughs out more blue roses, dallas letting go as he does it. he's rooted to the spot as ponyboy's arms reach around himself, eyes screwing shut, choking out more flowers. it's you. of everyone, he hadn't seen it, not once had he ever thought of himself being the cause and…

and now it's staring him in the face. ponyboy avoiding johnny, ponyboy avoiding him. how it'd started after he and johnny had gotten together, how it had worsened—

"pony—"

"don't," ponyboy wheezes, and dallas' eyes are drawn to the fact that there are dozens of flowers sprouting around him now, emanating from ponyboy himself. that the windows in the house are high, that they are probably not seeing any of this because of how loud it is in there, how quiet it is out here, surrounded by flowers. "i never wanted to say, i know— i know you love him and not me. i know i can't change that, dal. but i can't— i can't stop wanting you."

the urge to reach out, to do something, anything is stopped by the fact that with this spilling out, with ponyboy finally saying it, he can't. he was the source of this all, he was the reason, and touching ponyoby wasn't going to be good. he understands now, what had happened when he'd touched ponyboy before, and it makes him feel sick with it all. he's frozen as he watches more and more flowers bloom: around ponyboy's hands, in his hair, stretching out from his mouth, and with increasing horror, all around him. there's nothing but flowers surrounding them both, and as ponyboy retches up more earth, dallas finds that for the first time in his life, nothing he can say or do can truly fix this.

when johnny cries out ponyboy's name, he finds himself snapping out anyway, "johnny, get soda! now!"

he shouldn't do this — he can see ponyboy's cheeks are flushed, that he's crying in all of this. dallas knows that he can't definitively fix this, that whatever move he does, hell, it won't do much at all.

didn't feel that way, to an extent in buck's when ponyboy had come to him, shivering? he couldn't do much about a dead body except help johnny and ponyboy run. he could only do so much to keep the law off of their backs. that same seed of protection is still there.

he can't cure the hanahaki, he knows. dallas still grips ponyboy by the shoulders, tries to get him up, force his hands away from the ground where the grass is coming up to intertwine around him, as if it were trying to drag him in into the earth. ponyboy's face is worse, almost completely buried beneath the flowers. there's nothing rational in what he's doing: only the thought that it was all going to swallow ponyboy up whole, that ponyboy wasn't going to survive if he didn't it.

"pony—" dallas grasps the vines, the roots, pulls. ponyboy makes a choked, pained noise — the smell of blood getting thicker than before. dallas pulls again, harder, and he smells blood and earth when he does it. it seems to work: the flowers come up from ponyboy's throat, detach from his face.

he throws it to the ground, able to see roots drenched in blood, staining the petals of flowers still springing up around him. ponyboy coughs wetly, gasps out dallas' name around teeth stained with blood and mud. more flowers start to bloom in his throat, quick and the petals dark.

once again, dallas reaches down into ponyboy's mouth, fingernails scraping against the flat of his tongue. human mouths aren't supposed to be able to handle full grown hands and distantly, dallas knows that it is wrong that he can fit most of his hand inside of his mouth, that he's able to do this. he grasps on the flowers, wrenches them out as ponyboy tremors beneath him, shakes. he can hear soda, kelly coming towards them, and dallas throws the flowers out again, his fingers coming up in that mix of blood and blood and petals.

"dallas—"

"soda, come on!" dallas snaps at him as ponyboy chokes, gasps again. the flowers are coming up weaker now. "come here!" soda is beside him, and dallas points. soda's face is determined, and dallas draws back when soda reaches over, grasping the roots.

he pulls. ponyboy chokes, and dallas is moving inside, to call 911.

there's nothing else he can do.

thanks so much for reading! this originated as one of many attempts to follow up it is not enough to be dumbstruck, and after some nudgings, decided to go ahead and post this. i love comments, kudos, and all. this may or may not have a follow up, depending on how i feel about this.