The beer Two-Bit has is cold, and it helps Ponyboy get a grip in the moment, fingers clinging to the brown glass. The silence in the kitchen is deafening in it's own way as Ponyboy tries to root around for a way to describe the past few hours.

It would be easier if he could even remember it. He couldn't though, beyond flashes of blinding lights, that coil of anger and frustration and what he didn't dare want to think was lust. All of it wrapped around Sylivia and the grocery store.

What was worrisome too, as he grimaced at how Two-Bit was pressing a cold beer against the bruises on his face, was that Dallas wasn't here to explain either. No matter how much he tried to reach out to him, no matter how much he tried to pull Dally back, there wasn't anything but wisps. There was a panic building in him that Dallas wasn't reachable, that the gap of time was there and his leg was starting to bounce from the tension, the frustration of it all.

And Two-Bit, with probably the worst bruise Ponyboy had ever seen on his face, was growing. He didn't remember doing it, and it was clear that he'd hit him. Even if the way the bruise was forming seemed…

It seemed too big. Too much force behind him.

Ponyboy took another swig of beer, and tried to think up a lie. He was getting so sick of having to lie, having to work around what was happening to him (and he didn't even have a real grasp of what was even happening to him) and now…

"Y'know kid," Two-Bit ruminates, "Easier ways to see me than this, you know." The smile he makes is more of a grimace. So is Pony's in response. "All you had to do was pick up the phone."

"Sorry," it doesn't really cut it in the moment, feels sour in Ponyboy's mouth. His mind seems to cast a wide net, bringing up more memories he wanted to forget. Of Two-Bit kicking around, bruised up face, eyes wet but no tears flowing down. Talking about the switchblade. His fingers flex on the glass, and he swallows. "I just — I got into a fight. Think they hit me harder than I thought."

It's such a bad lie. It's so flimsy, so stupid and his stomach turns. Ponyboy so desperately doesn't want to resort to a lie here and now. He wants to be honest, wants to let Two-Bit in. But there's so much of him that doesn't find himself able to. From sounding completely insane to…

To a small part of him that doesn't want to share. Doesn't want them to know that Dallas is back, that Dallas is here with him. He doesn't know what to do with it, knowing that a part of him is selfish enough to want to keep Dallas from them, even if he knew it would make things better, even if he had the assurances that he wouldn't be perceived as insane.

Two-Bit's eyes narrow on him, and Ponyboy feels like shrinking into himself, yet hikes his shoulders up higher. He knows he looks like the hell he feels, he knows that everything today has gone wrong, it has gone so, so wrong. That Two-Bit has every right, every reason to not accept the lie, that there's no way in hell that Two-Bit should believe him.

"Tell you what," Two-Bit sets down his beer with a firm, serious look that seems to be on his face too often now, "You go to a clinic with me, get checked out, and I won't say nothin' to your brothers, you dig?"

Ponyboy relaxes as much as he can. That's a fair trade. "Okay. I can do that."

He hopes that this will be the last of it, even as he keeps desperately trying to call Dallas back to him.