"What the hell happened to you?" Ponyboy can hardly get an arm around Dallas to help him up into Buck's, repeating what he'd said earlier. Dallas looks almost as bad as he looked after the rumble, hissing as they go into the bar. Buck looks at them go, and Ponyboy wonders what he knows as he gets Dallas up the steps.
"Had to do a job for Buck," Dallas says, wobbling as he and Ponyboy take the steps slowly — that annoys him, that Buck lied. "That and had to go visit Sal, show him he can't just run his mouth like that." He gives Ponyboy a ferocious grin through the pain as they get up the steps and into the room. Slowly, Ponyboy eases him onto the bed, letting him sink into it as best he can. Dallas hisses painfully, and Ponyboy frets for a moment, not sure what to do.
Dallas just looks bad: his face roughed up, his shirt looks stained from grass and blood, his jeans are torn. Something about it aggravates Ponyboy's instincts, as he gets him on the bed. It's not as if he hasn't seen Dallas beat up before; it's practically a once a month thing.
Still... Ponyboy feels a little helpless, a little unsure as Dallas swallows, rubs at his side. He'd wanted to come here to talk, wanted to try and find a way to understand what was happening and now... now there was this.
"Kid?" Dallas squints up at him, through his swollen up eye and pallid skin. "Kid, you okay?"
Dallas is worried and that's what makes Ponyboy come into himself, nodding. "I'm fine. You got any ice anywhere? Uhm, bandaids?" He kicks himself, usually used to being the one cared for and not the one doing the caring of someone else — particularly someone who cared about him differently than anyone else. It makes him feel useless, a little young, and still. Ponyboy has to do something.
"Can ask Buck for it," Dallas squints again. "Listen, I got it—"
"You could barely get up the steps," Ponyboy shakes his head, finally moving to the door. "Just lay down, I'll get it from Buck." He doesn't mean to sound snappy, just going through the door and down the steps, not looking back.
What a time to get goddamn cold feet. Buck isn't there, so Ponyboy takes a chance, peeking behind the bar. He's not surprised to find a baseball bat or a shotgun there, from the stories he's heard. There are tons of liquor there, and remembering other times, he grabs a bottle of whisky. From there he grabs one of the pitchers, fills it with ice. There's a few towels out that are freshly pressed and cleaned — which was funny given Ponyboy knew that people used to gossip about how Buck kept the place.
Once he gets them all, he moves up the steps, to see Dallas shoving his jeans off. He looks even worse just down to his underwear: his side has a huge dark bruise on it, his right leg looks like a mottled mix of angry reds, and Ponyboy can see as he shifts in bed to roll over, his back is bruised up too. For sure, some of that wasn't from the past day.
He didn't bring enough ice for this. "Jesus Dally. You look like you went a couple of rounds with someone." Ponyboy dumps everything on the bed, barely catching the whisky bottle when it tries to roll down. "I ain't — I only got some towels and ice."
"Just put it on my back," Dallas grunts out, reaching behind him. "That's freshest, hurts the most." Ponyboy watches as the light glints off of the skull ring and Dallas' chain. "Just use the ice and a towel, like a compress." Ponyboy puts the whisky on the dresser, putting the towel on Dallas' back, dumping the ice in there. "I went, gave Sal a little visit is all. My old man hits harder than him."
Annoyance flares up in Ponyboy's gut, along with admiration. "I thought Ed settled that." He moves the ice with his fingers, hearing Dallas hiss with the cold. "You went defending my honor or something?" He wrinkles his nose, not liking the thought — that with the initiation and everything else, Dallas had tried to step in. He had proved he hadn't needed to be defended, and more than that, it almost proved Sal's point, didn't it? He was an omega who needed his alpha pack member to go behind his back and fight for him.
"No, I did it because Sal's a fucking asshole who thinks every omega should be bowing to him," the words are snapped out, "and I wasn't gonna let him think he could just pull that shit." Dallas huffs more, and Ponyboy isn't sure for a moment if he's annoyed or not, if he'll let himself smile a little. "He's just pissed Soda beat his ass, and he couldn't take it out on you."
Ponyboy stands up, grunting out. "So it's not cause of everything last night?" He feels a little cautious, small as he walks to Dallas' bathroom, deliberately not looking at him in the eye as he hunts around for his aspirin. "With us?"
Behind him, Dallas shifts on the bed. Ponyboy finds the aspirin, heart pounding a little as he pulls it out. He feels a little queasy, nervous as he walks back in, unscrewing the top. Dallas is up on his elbows, his hair in his face, squinting at Ponyboy, hand open. Ponyboy tips it, shaking out at least six aspirins, waiting.
Instead of answering, Dallas, tips about four of the aspirins back into the bottle, before dry swallowing two. Once they're down, he keeps his dark eye fixed on Ponyboy. "You asking me if I'd have done it even if I wouldn't have kissed you? Or are you asking about everything from last night?"
"Both," Ponyboy says. He swallows, ears burning pink. "You ain't even... It's like—"
"Kid, I'd eat you up right now if I could," Dallas interrupts, and the way he says it, voice scraping the bottom of his register, a half growl, "But I'm beat to hell and back." His hand reaches over, tugs at Ponyboy's hand, pulling him back to the bed. "You mind just staying here for a bit? Let me get my wind back and we can talk?"
A grin works its way on his face. "Yeah, Dal. Sure." He glances at the bed. "Can I...?"
"Yeah," Dallas scoots over a little. "I'll probably fall asleep in a bit. Soon as I'm back though, we'll talk." Ponyboy sits in the bed, grateful they're both scrawny.
He doesn't feel sleepy himself, but in no time, Dallas' eyes shut and he's asleep in the bed, the ice starting to melt in the cool air. Ponyboy shifts, pulling the book out from his pocket as Dallas slips into sleep. It's a dime store novel — one of those not that great cowboy reads but had enough in it to make the time pass.
Once or twice he finds himself dozing off, woken up only by the crackle of ice on Dallas' back as it melts. Barely, Ponyboy keeps it from spilling when Dallas rolls over, hastily grabbing the ice and towel. He wrings it out in the sink, climbs back in bed and he's just finishing the book when Dallas rolls over, groaning back to wakefulness.
Wordlessly, Ponyboy goes to grab more ice from the back. He wraps the ice in one of the towels, offering it to a now yawning, but awake Dallas. Not for the first or last time, Ponyboy is entranced by the way he looks as he presses the compress to his swollen eye. Once again, he's not sure how or when he started to think Dallas is good looking except that he is as he relaxes, back on the wall, legs outstretched over his bed. Something about him — from his dark, thick brows to his dark eyes (even one bruised purple) to the pale-pink of his body just simply fits now, something that Ponyboy longed to touch more than he had ever known before.
"You gonna keep gawking or are you gonna do something about it?" His voice interrupts, teasingly.
"You'd probably be worse off if I tried," Ponyboy admits, sitting back down on the bed, not sure of how to begin, of what to say or do besides watch Dallas and deflect. "You feeling better?"
"Yeah," Dallas massages the ice on his eye, "Good thinking with the towel." He looks at Ponyboy, turning his head, looking him up and down. "Answer your question," he yawns again, rubbing at his face, "I'd have done that shit to Sal anyway. Just made it better I was thinking of you, too, I guess."
"Thinking of me, how?" Ponyboy finds himself looking warmly at Dallas, even his words are still tinged with anxiousness, apprehension. "I just... I ain't exactly. You said this wasn't like Sylvia. I ain't sure what that means." He isn't sure what else to say, thinking of who he's seen dating before: Evie and Steve who always seemed together yet distant at the same time; Soda who had loved Sandy so intensely and utterly devoted to her but who was gone now and Soda wasn't talking to Steve, the only other person who might fill the space she left; Darry who had dated before yet Ponyboy couldn't remember anything significant about anyone except a time or two he'd thought Paul scented like him; his parents who had always loved each other more than anyone, mated and married even though most greasers thought mating was enough. Dozens of movies and books fill his head, and yet none of them are helping him much here, looking at Dallas.
Dallas isn't exactly like someone in a book or a movie. He looks at Ponyboy in a way that can't be assigned to film or words. Everything about him is so much more — and it pulls at something in Ponyboy too. He wants to live up to that need, he wants to be that for Dallas and yet...
He knows when he slips into the bed, getting closer to Dallas, he doesn't even want to think about mating yet. He doesn't want to marry either — socs cared about that sort of thing and he's too young for both.
That's the problem, though in a way. He doesn't know what he wants either, even as he fumbles his words. "I mean I —," Ponyboy swallows, ears burning, "I just don't wanna be some kind of... like how Two-Bit's got his blondes."
They both know what that means. Dallas nods in understanding, probably thinking of how Two-BIt just got with one, left her quick and easy. His look is warm, mouth hooking up as if he wants to say something more. It looks so at home on his face, and suddenly... Ponyboy doesn't exactly want to just talk anymore, even as the words form on Dallas' tongue. Even though a part of him that sounds annoyingly like Darry thinks he should let him speak, he'd rather just lean in and take the kiss he's been wanting from Dallas for over a day now, swallowing up whatever words Dallas means to say.
And it's good, to kiss him. It's better than the shower fantasy, it's better than the one on the train tracks. He notices how Dallas kisses with more tongue now that he's not drunk, notices how his hand doesn't go to Ponyboy's waist but to his hair, sinking his fingers in. He likes the way it feels, to try and emulate what Dallas does, to dig his fingers into Dallas' side, accidentally hitting the bruise — he thinks to apologize but Dallas just nips him right on his lip. It doesn't make Ponyboy pull back, which surprises him more than anything.
It does the opposite — he can feel that flush in his body starting again, that familiar feeling from the shower, and it's what makes him pull away, panting. Dallas looks halfway out of it, grinning lopsidedly, pulling Ponyboy back by his shirt. "Where you going, blondie?"
Ponyboy huffs, feeling flushed, pleased, and he shakes his head, "Dal —"
Dallas pulls him back. "You want an answer?" Ponyboy nods, heart pounding in his chest. Dallas' legs lift up and he puts the ice compress down, hand waving. "Turn around then." Ponyboy's heart goes even faster he thinks, as he turns around.
There's a quiet clink, the sound of movement and then it comes into his vision: the St. Christopher necklace. He watches as the medallion dangles in front of him and then settles on his neck, the metal feeling cool against his already too warm skin. He can feel the tips of Dallas' fingers on his neck and shoulder as he fastens it on Ponyboy's neck.
They both know what it means to have it on his neck. The one thing that Sylvia never took as seriously as she should, the one thing that everyone could look at him and know the answer to the question of who Dallas cared about, of who Ponyboy cared about.
There's no need for any further discussion about it when Ponyboy feels it settle against his chest. All he wants to do is drag Dallas in for more, and when he turns his head, the lopsided, pleased look on Dallas' face agrees.
