Slashed Tires Chapter 26
A/N: Warning: this story is so dramatic and sappy that you may puke. I hope y'all don't. This chapter isn't that long. But the next one will probably be the last chapter.
"Get your goddamned asses out here!" Dallas shouted for the millionth time. The fir roared in response. He backed away from the church, swearing angrily. Sweat ran down his body in little rivers, coating him in the slick liquid. Dallas pushed his matter hair off his forehead, his eyes straining against the glare of the flames. His heart thudded in his ears, drowning out everything but the crackle of fire and the faint yells from inside the church. He inched forward, flinching from the heat. The smell of burning wood and smoke filled his mouth and nose, his eyes stung, clouding his vision. Dallas brushed the ashes from his eyes, steadily creeping toward the flaming house of God. A shadow appeared through the broken window, bulky and staggering. It moved forward, and before Dallas could yell a thing, a small shadow detached itself from the first. It came into view, shrieking pink flesh streaked with black. Dally's heart skipped a beat. But it was only a child, wailing,
moaning, coughing, younger than the others, and not moving an inch.
"Get outta the way!" Dallas hollered waving his hands through the clouds of gray smoke. The child only screamed louder, immobile, hunkered down against the unbearable heat, his tiny eyes squeezed closed and leaking tears. Cussing under his breath, Dallas pushed on toward the boy. He hefted the terrified child into his arms, dragging him away from the flames. The child clutched at him with a sticky ten-fingered grip, his brown eyes now wide and scared. Panting slightly, Dallas dumped the boy into the waiting arms of his mother.
"My baby! Oh bless you!" she cried, her sobbing child pressed against her chest. But Dallas had already turned back, yelling, cursing, stamping his foot in sheer frustration.
The shadow returned and Dally crossed his fingers hoping that there were no more children to be saved. The silhouette flung itself through the window, dragging through the ragged hole. Dallas hurried forward to greet it, blinking the sweat from his eyes. Ponyboy appeared, his hair and skin shades darker than usual, his clothing plastered against his body. He staggered forward, his eyes meeting Dally's. Behind him the fire blazed still higher, and the church steeple shuddered. The boy glowed bright as the church, red wings sprouting from the blackened jacket he wore. Dally stared in horror, trying to make his shaking limbs move, to do something, anything to put him out. Pony's eyes stared back at him, demon-like, glazed over and red as the fire on his back from smoke. The fire bellowed and then slowly, with a moan of defeat, the steeple slumped inward, with the blazing boy in front steadily moving forward, crumpling under the pressing heat of the fire like a scene from
apocalypse. A scream erupted from the wreckage, a scream Dallas could feel in his bones. Then, suddenly he made his move, swinging his arm with more force than intended, his limb connecting heavily with Ponyboy's back. A burst of energy sent him leaping over the boy as he fell, his voice screaming itself hoarse, looking for Johnny, calling for Johnny, as he barreled through the flaming debris into a red inferno. Later, he wouldn't remember the jets of water from the too late firemen, delaying the insistent fire for those few precious seconds. He wouldn't remember the wail of the ambulances as they pulled up. He wouldn't remember any of the other men, wearing yellow slickers and masked helmets, rushing forward to his aide, flinching more from the fire than he did. He wouldn't remember anyone screaming at him that he was on fire, they're hands beating at his arm desperately. He wouldn't recall the praise from the townspeople, their faces sparkling in wonder as they gazed at
him, and Johnny and Ponyboy, the children staring at them like they were gods. All he would remember was a brilliant scarlet and Johnny's pale face, unconscious, his broken body limp and lifeless in his grasp, a sense of despair rising in him until he sank, mercifully, into bleak darkness.
~
They jolted his stretcher. He was already almost awake, but it annoyed him so much he could have screamed, had he the voice to. They carried him up the slate gray steps, and into the building, which smelled like puke and some sort of chemical. He was awake now, but groggy and pissed off because there was something wrong with his ears.
"He's stable and-"
"Awake! He'll be-"
"Unconscious. Might not make-"
"The jacket saved him. Lucky-"
"Burn. He'll have a scar but-"
"No identification."
"Shut up." Dallas had found his voice at last. But once the initial satisfaction of saying the words had worn off he found himself in more of a fix, as the voices bubbled over, excited that he'd spoken. Closing his eyes, Dallas tried to imagine he was somewhere else, anywhere other than he was at the moment. The stretcher bumped again making his stomach churn and his eyes flew open, the florescent glare of the hospital lights making him jump in surprise. His ride bumped again. This time, pain gripped his arm, and he fought dizzily against the urge to groan.
"Lemme off," he growled, then paused as a wave of nausea over took him. "I can walk."
"No you can't," came the first coherent answer he'd heard since he'd woke up. And it only made him more frustrated. "You've inhaled too much smoke."
"Bull," Dally snapped. "Ain't you never heard a cigarettes? Same shit and I can walk just fine."
A small, bespectacled, balding head peered down at him. Dallas struggled to get up, only to be shoved back down by a gnarled hand. He winced; his arm hurt more than ever.
"You're drugged." A gnarled finger was waved in his face. "You're weak. You can't walk."
"Go to hell," Dallas snapped, and got another finger wag. He resisted the first urge to bite it as hard as he could and settled back against the sheets, trying to get used to not seeing anything but the occasional gnarled appendage.
He was wheeled down halls, white enameled halls, with white enameled ceilings, and brilliant yellow lights that reflected off the glassy surfaces. Five minutes later his stomach had calmed enough for him to turn his head to the side, relieving his sore eyes. He passed by people waiting, twitching, their eyes tired, paper vending machine coffee cups wilting in their hands. And then, sitting by himself was a boy, bruised and battered, with hair that was way to yellow.
"Hey Ponyboy," he said. Ponyboy looked up. For a split second Soda's face gazed out from beneath the hideous hairstyle, and then Ponyboy's smile lit his face.
"Hey Dally." He sounded even more tired then Dallas felt.
"You ever do a stupid thing like that again and I'll beat the tar outta you, ya hear?"
Ponyboy grinned weakly. "I hear ya Dallas."
He hardly had time to throw in a few swear words before they'd wheeled him away again. Dallas squirmed under the sheet. His arm itched like hell, but they kept slapping him away when he tried to touch it. It was bandaged and lying across his chest, blood soaking through the white material. He figured it couldn't be that bad, or there would have been more blood. He was only really worried about Johnny.
They wheeled him into a room (`Emergency room,' he smiled, recognizing it from past ouches) then left him there. The minute they left he reached for his arm, dragging his fingers across the tingling flesh. It burned, shooting pain through his arm, and he let out a yell, just as another doctor walked in. The man smiled wryly at Dallas.
"You see now why you weren't supposed to touch it," the doctor said, as Dally grimaced, his teeth clenched.
"It itches," he said sullenly, wincing slightly as the man took his arm. He slowly unwound the bandage, his gaze focused intensely on Dallas's arm. The blond studied the man, trying to keep his mind off his arm. The doctor was wearing glasses, big, wire-framed ones, but they seemed to work on him. He had lines all over his face, in every direction, and his salt and pepper hair gave confirmation of his age.
"Why are doctors all so old?" Dally asked out loud. The doctor looked up, startled.
"I'm hoping that it's the drugs that's making you talk like that or I'm willing to bet your daddy's whipped you some." Every thing this doctor said was tinged with a dry sarcasm that irritated Dallas almost as much as his arm did.
"Of course I been whipped. I'm a greaser. Lots of us get whipped." Again, that startled rabbit look appeared on the doctor's graying face.
"Well you shouldn't be."
"Wow, you sure are smart. Bet it's cause you're a doctor huh," Dally said sarcastically. The man gave him a look and reached over him to grab something off a metal tray. Dallas studied the sensitive flesh of his arm. It was pink, with not as much blood as he'd thought, seeing as it hurt so much. He looked closer still, seeing the little blue lines running across his skin.
"What are those?" he asked.
"Veins. Arteries," the doctor replied without looking up. Dallas was about to ask what that meant when he felt a stinging in his good shoulder. He looked over to see a syringe buried in his arm.
"Hey," he protested. "What are you doing?"
"Shutting you up," the doctor muttered. "Sleep well, kid."
Dally groaned out loud, one last act of rebellion, before he spiraled into darkness once again.
~
"Come on!" Soda squealed. "Faster Darry." Darry gritted his teeth and pressed his foot slowly but surely down on the gas pedal. The old Ford roared under him, leaping forward past other car speeding down the highway. It was late afternoon, almost night, and the brothers were speeding down toward the city's hospital.
"Come on...come on...Darry let me drive!"
"Not a chance," Darry snapped. But he sped the car up a little.
Soda sighed, leaning back against the car chair. He was still in his work clothes. When the phone call about Ponyboy had come, he and Darry had dropped what they were doing, racing each other to the car. They had been driving for half an hour already. Soda kept wondering what was happening with his little brother. Worries flooded his brain combined with a strong sense of relief that he'd finally be seeing his brother again. Questions ran through his mind, the same questions he'd been asking himself all week. Shaking his head, he tried to turn his mind to other things, knowing that he'd have his answers soon enough.
Darry could feel the tick in his eye, the jump of his clenched jaw. He could feel the way his muscles strained. He was tense. Ponyboy was on his mind now, and, unlike Sodapop, he was not able to put his brother from his mind. He swore softly, all the feelings he'd managed to suppress flowing back to him in an instant. One thought had occurred to him on the highway, one he hadn't thought of before: what if Ponyboy refused to see him? Darry shuddered. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't see Ponyboy today. He swallowed, hoping against hope that Ponyboy would forgive him.
`I love you, and I always will love you.' Soda made a face, remembering the words he'd written only a few hours before. He'd taken Steve's idea, and written Sandy a long and sappy letter. He'd mailed it sometime before, but now he was beginning to regret it. It sounded so...pathetic. Soda sighed, slumping in his seat. At least he'd tried. He glanced up at his brother. Darry was swearing softly under his breath. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, and his muscles bulged with tension. Soda smiled.
"Don't worry Darry. He'll forgive you."
Darry jumped. He glanced at his younger brother and gave him a timid smile. Sodapop had read his mind again.
"I hope he does," Darry said softly.
A/N: Warning: this story is so dramatic and sappy that you may puke. I hope y'all don't. This chapter isn't that long. But the next one will probably be the last chapter.
"Get your goddamned asses out here!" Dallas shouted for the millionth time. The fir roared in response. He backed away from the church, swearing angrily. Sweat ran down his body in little rivers, coating him in the slick liquid. Dallas pushed his matter hair off his forehead, his eyes straining against the glare of the flames. His heart thudded in his ears, drowning out everything but the crackle of fire and the faint yells from inside the church. He inched forward, flinching from the heat. The smell of burning wood and smoke filled his mouth and nose, his eyes stung, clouding his vision. Dallas brushed the ashes from his eyes, steadily creeping toward the flaming house of God. A shadow appeared through the broken window, bulky and staggering. It moved forward, and before Dallas could yell a thing, a small shadow detached itself from the first. It came into view, shrieking pink flesh streaked with black. Dally's heart skipped a beat. But it was only a child, wailing,
moaning, coughing, younger than the others, and not moving an inch.
"Get outta the way!" Dallas hollered waving his hands through the clouds of gray smoke. The child only screamed louder, immobile, hunkered down against the unbearable heat, his tiny eyes squeezed closed and leaking tears. Cussing under his breath, Dallas pushed on toward the boy. He hefted the terrified child into his arms, dragging him away from the flames. The child clutched at him with a sticky ten-fingered grip, his brown eyes now wide and scared. Panting slightly, Dallas dumped the boy into the waiting arms of his mother.
"My baby! Oh bless you!" she cried, her sobbing child pressed against her chest. But Dallas had already turned back, yelling, cursing, stamping his foot in sheer frustration.
The shadow returned and Dally crossed his fingers hoping that there were no more children to be saved. The silhouette flung itself through the window, dragging through the ragged hole. Dallas hurried forward to greet it, blinking the sweat from his eyes. Ponyboy appeared, his hair and skin shades darker than usual, his clothing plastered against his body. He staggered forward, his eyes meeting Dally's. Behind him the fire blazed still higher, and the church steeple shuddered. The boy glowed bright as the church, red wings sprouting from the blackened jacket he wore. Dally stared in horror, trying to make his shaking limbs move, to do something, anything to put him out. Pony's eyes stared back at him, demon-like, glazed over and red as the fire on his back from smoke. The fire bellowed and then slowly, with a moan of defeat, the steeple slumped inward, with the blazing boy in front steadily moving forward, crumpling under the pressing heat of the fire like a scene from
apocalypse. A scream erupted from the wreckage, a scream Dallas could feel in his bones. Then, suddenly he made his move, swinging his arm with more force than intended, his limb connecting heavily with Ponyboy's back. A burst of energy sent him leaping over the boy as he fell, his voice screaming itself hoarse, looking for Johnny, calling for Johnny, as he barreled through the flaming debris into a red inferno. Later, he wouldn't remember the jets of water from the too late firemen, delaying the insistent fire for those few precious seconds. He wouldn't remember the wail of the ambulances as they pulled up. He wouldn't remember any of the other men, wearing yellow slickers and masked helmets, rushing forward to his aide, flinching more from the fire than he did. He wouldn't remember anyone screaming at him that he was on fire, they're hands beating at his arm desperately. He wouldn't recall the praise from the townspeople, their faces sparkling in wonder as they gazed at
him, and Johnny and Ponyboy, the children staring at them like they were gods. All he would remember was a brilliant scarlet and Johnny's pale face, unconscious, his broken body limp and lifeless in his grasp, a sense of despair rising in him until he sank, mercifully, into bleak darkness.
~
They jolted his stretcher. He was already almost awake, but it annoyed him so much he could have screamed, had he the voice to. They carried him up the slate gray steps, and into the building, which smelled like puke and some sort of chemical. He was awake now, but groggy and pissed off because there was something wrong with his ears.
"He's stable and-"
"Awake! He'll be-"
"Unconscious. Might not make-"
"The jacket saved him. Lucky-"
"Burn. He'll have a scar but-"
"No identification."
"Shut up." Dallas had found his voice at last. But once the initial satisfaction of saying the words had worn off he found himself in more of a fix, as the voices bubbled over, excited that he'd spoken. Closing his eyes, Dallas tried to imagine he was somewhere else, anywhere other than he was at the moment. The stretcher bumped again making his stomach churn and his eyes flew open, the florescent glare of the hospital lights making him jump in surprise. His ride bumped again. This time, pain gripped his arm, and he fought dizzily against the urge to groan.
"Lemme off," he growled, then paused as a wave of nausea over took him. "I can walk."
"No you can't," came the first coherent answer he'd heard since he'd woke up. And it only made him more frustrated. "You've inhaled too much smoke."
"Bull," Dally snapped. "Ain't you never heard a cigarettes? Same shit and I can walk just fine."
A small, bespectacled, balding head peered down at him. Dallas struggled to get up, only to be shoved back down by a gnarled hand. He winced; his arm hurt more than ever.
"You're drugged." A gnarled finger was waved in his face. "You're weak. You can't walk."
"Go to hell," Dallas snapped, and got another finger wag. He resisted the first urge to bite it as hard as he could and settled back against the sheets, trying to get used to not seeing anything but the occasional gnarled appendage.
He was wheeled down halls, white enameled halls, with white enameled ceilings, and brilliant yellow lights that reflected off the glassy surfaces. Five minutes later his stomach had calmed enough for him to turn his head to the side, relieving his sore eyes. He passed by people waiting, twitching, their eyes tired, paper vending machine coffee cups wilting in their hands. And then, sitting by himself was a boy, bruised and battered, with hair that was way to yellow.
"Hey Ponyboy," he said. Ponyboy looked up. For a split second Soda's face gazed out from beneath the hideous hairstyle, and then Ponyboy's smile lit his face.
"Hey Dally." He sounded even more tired then Dallas felt.
"You ever do a stupid thing like that again and I'll beat the tar outta you, ya hear?"
Ponyboy grinned weakly. "I hear ya Dallas."
He hardly had time to throw in a few swear words before they'd wheeled him away again. Dallas squirmed under the sheet. His arm itched like hell, but they kept slapping him away when he tried to touch it. It was bandaged and lying across his chest, blood soaking through the white material. He figured it couldn't be that bad, or there would have been more blood. He was only really worried about Johnny.
They wheeled him into a room (`Emergency room,' he smiled, recognizing it from past ouches) then left him there. The minute they left he reached for his arm, dragging his fingers across the tingling flesh. It burned, shooting pain through his arm, and he let out a yell, just as another doctor walked in. The man smiled wryly at Dallas.
"You see now why you weren't supposed to touch it," the doctor said, as Dally grimaced, his teeth clenched.
"It itches," he said sullenly, wincing slightly as the man took his arm. He slowly unwound the bandage, his gaze focused intensely on Dallas's arm. The blond studied the man, trying to keep his mind off his arm. The doctor was wearing glasses, big, wire-framed ones, but they seemed to work on him. He had lines all over his face, in every direction, and his salt and pepper hair gave confirmation of his age.
"Why are doctors all so old?" Dally asked out loud. The doctor looked up, startled.
"I'm hoping that it's the drugs that's making you talk like that or I'm willing to bet your daddy's whipped you some." Every thing this doctor said was tinged with a dry sarcasm that irritated Dallas almost as much as his arm did.
"Of course I been whipped. I'm a greaser. Lots of us get whipped." Again, that startled rabbit look appeared on the doctor's graying face.
"Well you shouldn't be."
"Wow, you sure are smart. Bet it's cause you're a doctor huh," Dally said sarcastically. The man gave him a look and reached over him to grab something off a metal tray. Dallas studied the sensitive flesh of his arm. It was pink, with not as much blood as he'd thought, seeing as it hurt so much. He looked closer still, seeing the little blue lines running across his skin.
"What are those?" he asked.
"Veins. Arteries," the doctor replied without looking up. Dallas was about to ask what that meant when he felt a stinging in his good shoulder. He looked over to see a syringe buried in his arm.
"Hey," he protested. "What are you doing?"
"Shutting you up," the doctor muttered. "Sleep well, kid."
Dally groaned out loud, one last act of rebellion, before he spiraled into darkness once again.
~
"Come on!" Soda squealed. "Faster Darry." Darry gritted his teeth and pressed his foot slowly but surely down on the gas pedal. The old Ford roared under him, leaping forward past other car speeding down the highway. It was late afternoon, almost night, and the brothers were speeding down toward the city's hospital.
"Come on...come on...Darry let me drive!"
"Not a chance," Darry snapped. But he sped the car up a little.
Soda sighed, leaning back against the car chair. He was still in his work clothes. When the phone call about Ponyboy had come, he and Darry had dropped what they were doing, racing each other to the car. They had been driving for half an hour already. Soda kept wondering what was happening with his little brother. Worries flooded his brain combined with a strong sense of relief that he'd finally be seeing his brother again. Questions ran through his mind, the same questions he'd been asking himself all week. Shaking his head, he tried to turn his mind to other things, knowing that he'd have his answers soon enough.
Darry could feel the tick in his eye, the jump of his clenched jaw. He could feel the way his muscles strained. He was tense. Ponyboy was on his mind now, and, unlike Sodapop, he was not able to put his brother from his mind. He swore softly, all the feelings he'd managed to suppress flowing back to him in an instant. One thought had occurred to him on the highway, one he hadn't thought of before: what if Ponyboy refused to see him? Darry shuddered. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't see Ponyboy today. He swallowed, hoping against hope that Ponyboy would forgive him.
`I love you, and I always will love you.' Soda made a face, remembering the words he'd written only a few hours before. He'd taken Steve's idea, and written Sandy a long and sappy letter. He'd mailed it sometime before, but now he was beginning to regret it. It sounded so...pathetic. Soda sighed, slumping in his seat. At least he'd tried. He glanced up at his brother. Darry was swearing softly under his breath. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, and his muscles bulged with tension. Soda smiled.
"Don't worry Darry. He'll forgive you."
Darry jumped. He glanced at his younger brother and gave him a timid smile. Sodapop had read his mind again.
"I hope he does," Darry said softly.