Dally had wandered into the old abandoned church as though he'd owned the place.

The dust settling on his jeans and the floorboards creaking a welcome to him as he stood in the bare skeleton of a chair, springs pooled at his feet, looking like a king standing by his throne, surveying his subjects.

Johnny gazed admiringly, thinking that Dally truly had it all. Dally was truly tough being the only greaser he'd known to have to run from New York on a murder rap. He had looks, he had arrogance, he had belief, always wearing his St Christopher and he was a friend, taking care of him and Ponyboy too.

Johnny fidgeted upon his church pew as he remembered the night they'd left, the night he'd killed the Soc. They had run to Buck Merril's place, remembering that Dally had mentioned a party happening that night.

Dally had come to the door topless and Johnny didn't know where to look, he'd seen him topless a few times before but this was different, Dally backlit by the room appeared to Johnny as a sort of Adonis. An Adonis in battered jeans, his lean body resting against the door frame as his mouth curled around a cigarette and his black eyes shining in the porch light.

Later on, Johnny could only watch in surreal disbelief as Ponyboy and Dally sat topless on the bed, springs squeaking as Dally handed Ponyboy a soft worn oversize flannel shirt that he said was one of Buck's, it was all hazy like a scene from a dream. He felt almost delirious but he didn't know if that was shock or because he was scared, scared of what was going to happen to him or scared of how he felt, looking at their bodies.

As Ponyboy's voice muffled as he pulled the shirt over his head, Dally caught Johnny's eyes and winked conspiringly. Johnny gulped and gripped the coldness of the gun much tighter until his hand went numb.

In the church Johnny saw the way Dally was naturally easy with Ponyboy, teasing him about his hair and the small but promising wink he'd given Ponyboy. Johnny wanted that. He wanted to be looked at by Dallas Winston.