this is a sequel to "a land of milk, honey, and blood", "nothing i say will mean anything", and "tricking yourself nice." it handles omegaverse themes and a flip of the gang's social dynamics.

there's nothing like a sunday morning where dallas gets to wake up with ponyboy. it's been years since tulsa, since they settled in with dorothy-rae, and eventually the farm became theirs. and there's nothing as good as being able to grip ponyboy's hips and ease him down onto his cock.

some alphas liked to brag about being bored of their mates, their husbands or wives. about the sex getting dull or having fun stringing on multiples out of fun. dallas has never been one of those; he's entranced, every part of him loving the tight wetness of ponyboy as he sinks onto his cock, as he gets deeper into him, able to see ponyboy's expression shift from that of anticipation to satisfaction, to feel the way he clenches around his cock.

he doesn't know how a good mate could tire of the feeling, could get bored of it.

he's not like them. his fingers grasp onto ponyboy's hips tighter, finds those familiar grooves on his slim body that he's loved for years and he grins up at him as the smell of slick gets thicker, as he feels some of it pools on his thighs.

pony looks flushed, blissful as he rocks forward, moaning low in his throat as he moves. his hair curls down to his nose, and dallas groans when ponyboy clenches up more. "go on," he growls out, not shifting ponyboy, not guiding him.

it's all he needs to say for ponyboy to lean over, splay his hand on his chest and rock his hips on his own. his teeth sink into his bottom lip, his body fully on display for dallas as he moves. dallas drinks in the sight of him: the scars from the bull from years ago on his arms, the scuffs and mottled scars from abrasive chickens or when he cut himself while working, the slimness of his hips as he rocks, the way the st. christopher shines on his neck, the chain on his bruised up neck looking at home as ever, and those big brown eyes, framed with the long eyelashes, staring down at him. he's like most omegas, with little body hair and his cock is erect, some pre pooling on dallas' stomach as he moves more and more, as that tight wet heat feels better and better around dallas' cock.

watching, feeling ponyboy ride him is never boring. not with the way his thighs flex, with the way ponyboy says his name, the way his eyes are glued to him, with the feeling of arousal building and building, until dallas can't just let him ride the way he does. his fingers grip him harder and he shifts his hips up, meeting ponyboy both of them moving in rhythm.

pony keens, his voice breaking and that when dallas forces him still, forcing ponyboy to take his cock, forcing him over the edge. the feeling of his body tensing, feeling his hole clench him as tight as he can pushes dallas over the edge all on it's own, pleasure spiraling out.

this is his favorite part, growling as he pushes ponyboy down onto his swelling knot. seeing ponyboy's facial expression shift from mid orgasm pleasure to a moment of confusion, momentary resistance and then when the knot breaches him fully, when it bottoms out? ponyboy looking helpless, body made to accept it. feeling the gush of slick around his cock, feeling ponyboy's hole all but milking his cock and knot for his cum makes it all the better, for ponyboy's expression of ecstasy more important than the orgasm dallas is having. that's what makes dallas give into the pleasure, into riding out the orgasmic high all on its own, vision going black.

when it's over, when he comes back to himself, he winces, cock still sensitive, knot firmly locked into ponyboy. ponyboy is curled in top, still rocking a bit with the aftershocks.

dallas grunts, rolls them over into the bed. really, nest — made of blankets and clothes and towels and pillows — and he runs his hand up ponyboy's side, kissing ponyboy on his mouth, his cheek, his neck. ponyboy whines, rocks and dallas murmurs, "s'okay, pone."

his eyes are a bit glazed, hazy from the euphoria and dallas licks at his cheek. pony's scent is always stronger, better after a fuck. the cum on his belly is secondary to some of the slick still on his thighs and dallas half wishes he could ease pony off his knot and onto his knees so he can eat him out.

instead, he nips at pony's ear, voice rough, "greedy slut couldn't even wait for breakfast, could you?" he rocks back to deliberately tug his knot at pony's sensitive rim and pony whines beneath him. "just had to have my knot first, didn't you?"

pony's still not verbal, which is fine. dallas likes it when pony reaches around, digging his nails into his back, likes the fucked out expression on his face, the little growl that comes from his throat.

sometimes it's hard to remember ponyboy when he first saw him, newly fourteen in an expensive shirt, soft and innocent if cute. he's not quite the same as pony at thirty-one, a farmer with slightly roughed hands who bites his sharp little teeth into dallas' mating mark hard enough for dallas to scent blood. it encourages dallas to draw enough to make pony whine, for his knot to get halfway out of that tightness of pony's hole. the pressure makes dallas pant, instinctively wanting to fuck back in, to get snug.

instead, he grins and pulls until barely enough of his knot is in pony, until pony is scratching so hard it sends bolts of pain through dallas' back and then he thrusts forward to make ponyboy cry out in pain, in need.

when he was younger, it took time to sort things out. that sometimes he fucked too hard, didn't work pony up enough, mixing with the fact that pony loved pain in sex, that it was something he adored.

older, wiser, he knows pony loves this, loves being fucked by the knot dallas has. the torture and bliss of the knot being given and taken away from him. and dallas loves how he reacts, the scratches, the rough kisses, the curses even if he'd prefer to be buried in pony. pony's slicker than ever, easing it just enough that they can fuck like this, pony's rim forced to its limits as dallas growls in pony's mouth, leaving bruises on pony's hips as he fucks him.

he doesn't ease up until pony's so tight he winces — and then ponyboy is moaning his name, there's a fresh flow of slick and cum and then dallas thrusts forward so hard the headboard hits the wall as he cums a second time.

this time his vision blacks out, his knot inflates a bit more and when he comes to, it's minutes later and ponyboy is out like a light beneath him.

dallas doesn't bother to do anything except sink his teeth into pony's own mating mark.

he wakes up to feeling of ponyboy still tied to him, his fingers running through dallas' hair. his scent is comforting, familiar, mingling with the scent and a bit of the outdoors. distantly, dallas can hear some of the animals and the field hands as they work. it's almost noon, probably and they're usually gone by then. they'd been able to get hands soon after dorothy-rae passed and they were able to get more money coming to the farm, and sundays was usually the day they worked the mornings.

he keeps his eyes closed, murmuring out, "guess we both skipped breakfast."

"can always have brunch," ponyboy hums, and dallas reaches out, gripping his hip to shift closer. pony feels so warm, his scent is so intoxicating that dallas feels centered, calm in the nest with him. "some bacon maybe, biscuits with that butter you like so much."

"better than honey," dallas finally opens his eyes, able to see ponyboy beside him. his face isn't flushed anymore, his mating mark a deep red from where dallas bit him. dallas is tucked beside him, able to see the slope of his nose, the brown of his eye until he shifts a bit more to look at him better. there are bruises all over him from before, a fact that dallas always likes. he runs his thumb on pony's hip, humming low in his throat. "think you'd take brunch naked, though?"

"sure, if i wanna get burns on me while we cook," ponyboy grins back. "otherwise, i think you owe me a hot bath and a movie. feel like you might owe me a little money, too."

"saying you're a whore now?" dallas snickers and ponyboy shoves at his shoulder. dallas nips at ponyboy's cheek. "you feel all used, fucking my knot like that?"

not that ponyboy has to speak; his body speaks for him, with the fresh slick dallas can scent. his cock pulses weakly, a sign that the knot's going to deflate soon enough, overtaxed from before. ponyboy wraps his arms around dallas, and when he kisses dallas, it's gentler, sweeter. dallas returns it in kind, running his hand on ponyboy's bruised up hips.

sure enough, his knot deflates, and pony whines as it slips out of him. dallas can feel his arm drop, but he's faster. he nips at the tip of ponyboy's tongue, shifts downward in the bed. ponyboy knows whats coming and he rolls over onto his stomach in anticipation.

for his part, dallas goes up on his arms, and looks down at ponyboy, at what he likes to see: the imprint of his hand from ponyboy's ass the night before faded to a pink, the mix of cum and slick pooling from ponyboy's hole, staining the sheets. he grins, parting ponyboy's ass to get a better view of it, at the way it trails down, some of it staining ponyboy's balls, and he leans down first to lick that up. ponyboy gives a hiss — it's always so funny to dallas that for an omega with an impressively sized cock, ponyboy almost never cares about it being touched. he licks upward before ponyboy can bitch about it, loving the taste of cum and slick as he goes.

it's almost tangy but not quite as he licks at it, tongue needing more and more until he's actually at pony's hole. there's very little resistance to his tongue as he plunges in, and he groans with the taste. there's a sound of muted pain, mixed mostly with pleasure from pony. there's no way his rim isn't feeling a bit sore, which only makes dallas more eager to lick and lick at ponyboy.

this, too, is something dallas doesn't get either, how alphas could just take slick for granted, how they just use it to ease themselves into a willing omega. tasting it was more fun than just using it as a lubricant, and ponyboy has always given so much more slick than other omegas ever have. he hardly thinks much of old fucks he had before he and ponyboy got together, except that it was wasted time compared to this.

the flat of his tongue licks at ponyboy's ass, dips back into his rim and the gush of slick tells him more than anything else that ponyboy's orgasmed again. his two fingers push into ponyboy's rim easily, and dallas rocks forward, mind starting to go hazy blank with how much he enjoys it.

he knows he could stay here for as long as possible doing this. he starts to lose count of the times ponyboy's cum, ignoring his own erection as he does it. it's not until ponyboy starts to really cry out, on the edge of tears that dallas knows they're getting to the finish line.

dallas changes gears then, mouth and hand moving from ponyboy, ponyboy groaning out, "no — dal —!" he pushes pony's arm from his hole, moving up the bed to force ponyboy onto his back. his face is flushed, eyes bright. the light makes his eyes seem browner than before, expression desperate, right on the edge. that's what dallas wants as he looks at ponyboy's dick, grasping it with his slick covered hand.

on instinct, pony's thighs try and come together, and dallas pushes them apart. pony's made more of a mess on the sheets, and dallas smirks, "don't wanna play with this, and you got all that cum?" he grasps pony's cock more firmly, his right hand coming between pony's thighs to press at his hole, at the slick mess there. "you know what i want."

"dal—!" ponyboy groans as dallas' finger breaches him again, working with his hand on pony's cock. it's rare for him to do it, to pay attention. it's just the best avenue to what he really wants, though, what pony's on the edge of. he teases him with his strokes, thumb on the slit of his cockhead, two fingers back inside of pony's hole.

he merely lets pony clench around his fingers, won't give him much friction. his cock gets more attention, dallas' voice low but clear, "c'mon pony. give it to me."

and that's what it takes to push ponyboy over the edge, not just to an orgasm but to tears. that's the dam dallas wants to see break, the tears on his cheeks coming down fully as he cums around dallas' fingers and onto his hand again. that release is almost better than the gush of slick, than the feel of warm cum on his hand, and dallas doesn't stop until ponyboy is gasping for breath.

his fingers withdraw from pony's hole, then. he doesn't care about the slick, or the cum as much as he cares about pulling ponyboy close, licking at the wet, salty tears down his face. it's a mess, smearing some of it on ponyboy's face as he laps at his tears, even able to taste a bit of it.

dallas wouldn't want it another way. neither would ponyboy, he knows. pony cries until he's spent, until dallas has licked at the tears and cum and slick, and they're both panting in bed, exhausted.

when ponyboy sniffs, swallows, the now afternoon light turning the tips of his hair a burnished gold, that's when dallas says, "think we can bathe now."

ponyboy gives a wet laugh. "think we can."

the house has changed in the intervening years — they had to make it a little bit bigger, replace some things, get rid of things. one of the few things that had remained was the clawfoot bathtub. it was still perfectly sized for the both of them, despite the rest of the bathroom being widened out a little and as usual, when dallas sinks in, he gives a sigh of relief at the heat.

ponyboy looks good from where he's sitting: the imprint of dallas' hand on both of his hips, the fading mark of his hand on his ass, the various scratches and bite marks on him mingling with the others from the years from the normal pecking scars to the ones on his thighs from the white bull. the mirror they installed gives dallas a peek of himself too: the messy brown hair, the scar on his cheek from the bull, the bite marks and scatches from ponyboy.

"c'mon, it's fine," dallas calls out.

"yeah, i'm comin'," ponyboy spits into the sink from the toothpaste and all, and walks over languidly. his face is still splotchy from the morning, and he throws the towel into the bathtub before he slips in with a sigh. he eases in, the steam going up, legs brushing against dallas' in the tub. "you always run it just hot enough."

"i know you," dallas shrugs, "everything been okay since i been gone?"

"same as always," ponyboy takes the towel, washes his face off as he talks, "got a couple new calves, no losses. some hotshot trying to sell me some bullshit equipment came around last week, and he got pissed i wouldn't give him the time of day. kept telling me i'd regret it, that his company was the best, all the usual salesman bullshit." dallas reaches over, grasps for the pack of kools he has as ponyboy talks. "it was easy enough to send his ass back. everything fine with you?"

"i'm home, ain't i?" dallas raises his eyebrows as he lights his cigarette and ponyboy scowls in response. they don't talk much about the things he does on the side, when he leaves the farm for a bit. it makes the both of them nervous; it wasn't as if they were exactly living under normal circumstances after all these years. the only person who said the name ponyboy was dallas himself. everyone else knew him as michael, addressed him as such, and though of them as dorothy-rae's relatives, not a hood and a soccy kid on the run. "no one got caught doin' nothing, went normal. don't think they'll need me for another few months."

a bit of tension leaves ponyboy at that and he throws the towel to dallas. "good. hate it when you're gone so long, you know. love you too much to be losing that much time."

dallas nudges a toe in ponyboy's side at the mention of love and pony squirms. "you're always a mess when i leave, you mean. barely got in last night and you wanted it rough as hell." he teases, yet they both know the tension, the need. it's why dallas had made ponyboy cry so hard, get him to release the tension, let him have the relief. "i brought some stuff from town last night, figured you ain't have much so ain't any need to leave for the next couple of days."

"thanks," ponyboy smiles, grasping the soap. "means we get to have a nice sunday to ourselves."

"already had a nice breakfast," dallas leers, blowing cigarette smoke as he says it.

"you got breakfast and brunch in bed," ponyboy rebuffs, smirking. "ain't leave nothing for me." they both laugh at that.

they both bathe quickly enough after that, dallas cleaning the tub briskly. he smirks as he sees ponyboy toweling his hair off, loving the way the imprint of his hands look on his hips. they get dressed easily, and as dallas goes to the kitchen, ponyboy goes outside to meet with the hands. it's a little after one, and he checks over things.

sometimes if he was gone too long, ponyboy tended to drift, let things go. he was spacy like that, and dallas had some foresight the night before. he rechecks everything: the sugar, the flour, the spices, the cabinets. everything's well stocked, in order including the tin cans he kept on top of the slightly new fridge. it was extra money — well into over three thousand, in case of emergencies. they'd had a few close calls over the years, but nothing too bad.

he leaves it alone, and gets to figuring out lunch.

ponyboy, through the window, speaks to one of the hands, joshua. he's a young black kid, about seventeen years old, was a cousin or something of dorothy-rae's deceased wife. he listens while ponyboy talks, hair done in neat cornrows, hands in the pockets of his overalls, bits of hay along his arms, nodding every now and then. he's fairly new, had run away from home and needed a job — ponyboy had gladly given it to him. he lived in town on his own, and when ponyboy gives him the money for the day, he grins.

dallas puts the beef patties onto the skillet, seasons them, and they're cooking nicely when ponyboy comes back in. "—back safe, okay? see you!" the door shuts and ponyboy walks back in with an annoyed expression. "that fucking salesman came back this morning!"

"what?" dallas turns to him, frowning. "what for?"

"tried to convince the hands that we needed equipment, kept asking questions," ponyboy seethes as he opens the fridge, pulling out the buns and condiments. "joshua told me he had to threaten him to go — i fucking swear, where do they get the nerve to pull this shit? we said we ain't want it."

something about it is making the hairs on the back of dallas' neck stand up. "questions? what kind of questions?"

"how long we been on the farm, about our stock, what qualifications we had," ponyboy almost slams down the mayonnaise onto the table. "joshua was getting real nervous, he was prying so much. you know not all the hands we got are angels, you know? i've heard of people ratting out hands to make it harder."

"yeah, i know," dallas thinks of the things they've heard over the years, of how he and pony never asked many questions, just needed things to get done. and it wasn't a secret either that they paid in cash, and for a farm hand, the pay was good. it itches at his instincts, though. "what's the name of the company?"

"holden international, i think?" ponyboy pulls out the buns, frowning. "he had a card, but i just threw it away. you want pickles and tomatoes?"

"yeah, lettuce too," dallas flips the patties. something about the name nags at him as he seasons them. "that name sound familiar to you?"

"they've gone to a couple of other places," ponyboy grasps the tomatoes and gets the jar of pickles. "they tend to have big, flashy shit. we don't need it, our operation is fine." the sound of the knife on the chopping board is unmistakable in the kitchen, even as the smell of the beef fills it. "i hate tactics like this, trying to slip in with the hands. and joshua…" ponyboy makes a noise of frustration.

the nagging feeling tugs at dallas, and he looks at the patties, then out the window. and the sight that greets him is one of heifers — one of the descendants of dorothy-rae's white bull — moving about, pacing. she looks like she's gonna calve any minute now and he hopes she does it before sundown. even if the wolves weren't as plentiful as they used to be, any time a calving happened near or at night, they were outside, there to protect them.

he finishes cooking, and puts the burgers on the buns. ponyboy still looks disgruntled, angry, but relaxes a bit as they eat. dallas can hear the gears of his brain turning from across the table even if ponyboy doesn't say much, brows furrowed. he's thinking of something, some way to make sure that the salesman didn't come again or to protect their hands.

dallas, though, can't stop picking at why this salesman. why now, why did holden sound so familiar. it annoys him that he can't figure it out, dragging his burger through the bit of condiments that drip out. instead, he voices, "think the heifer might calve tonight." he doesn't say which, seeing as ponyboy knows and they've never quite been good with names. "dunno for how long."

"tonight?" he looks up, trying to peer over dallas' shoulder, at the window. "isn't that a bit early?"

shaking his head, dallas reaches over, picks up the glass of water he has and drinks from it. he sets it down, wiping at his face. "no, i think it'll be right on time." he's always had an eerie time, always seeming to know better than ponyboy about the bulls, running on instinct. "she's doing what she did last time, pacing around. might get pissy with the goats, too."

"hope she'll do it sooner than later, i don't wanna be out all night looking for wolves," ponyboy gets up, goes to get a slice of chocolate cake. he comes back with it, dallas content to finish off his water. "i think she'll be having twins, at how big she is."

he can't help but snort. "twins are pretty normal for them. be more surprised if she had triplets." the look ponyboy gives him is torn between utter fascination and a bit of distress that makes dallas chortle.

all along, he wishes he could find that stupid business card. just to satisfy himself.

they fall into their normal routine, mixed with a bit of one they have whenever it's time for calving. ponyboy makes sure the shotgun they have is loaded, ready at the door along with his boots (that dallas always has to remind him of). dallas gets fresh blankets, and goes to the barn to make sure everything is ready in case they have to guide the heifer in for the night.

the bull's line was always a funny one. none of them ever seemed to like him much, always lowing at him if not outright aggressive. even the heifers could hardly stand him unless it was time to calve — then they tended to like his pets, to be more receptive to him. for as much as he groused as teen, he had always liked how most of the time, the bull's descendants were white or at least a nice, light brown. the heifer is as white as her ancestor, and when dallas gets a bit close to her, she allows him to pet her.

her tongue flicks out, nuzzling against his hand. he grins at her, a sure sign she's supposed to calve that night. "you probably gonna kick me next time, rather ponyboy be here, huh?" she flicks her ears, and dallas gets to the barn. he lies down blankets there, too, and makes sure any other emergency supplies they might need are there.

once he's done, he and ponyboy do the afternoon chores early, feeding the chickens, milking the cows, accounting for every animal they've got, making sure the hands did what they were supposed to. by the time it winds to two-thirty, they're both back in the house, working around each other to wash their hands, switch into some slightly fresher clothes and both settle onto the couch in the living room.

the television they have is still a bit out of date compared to others and it works fine for a lazy sunday. it's on low, dallas on the couch, ponyboy nestled against him. there's a program on about kids in the area that goes into a cheesy television movie oriented around a poor alpha boy who falls in love with a rich omega girl. it makes dallas snort as the movie plays on it's soap ways, the omega girl's eyes big on the television, her voice quivering as she speaks to her father about how the alpha made her feel.

ponyboy is riveted, even if dallas can't see his face. he can see the outline of their bodies on the screen, his arm around pony's waist, the view of his fingers tracing ponyboy's flat stomach. a commercial plays, and ponyboy sighs out, "i bet that's not a big hit in tulsa."

"you kidding?" dallas nips at ponyboy's ear tip. "it's probably doing gangbusters. ol' two bit is probably busting a gut over it." it's been years since he's mentioned him — the best friend he'd last seen drunk, waving good bye. he can hardly recall his features, shoulder shifting. "they might like a version more where that alpha corners her in an alley, shows off a blade."

there's a moment of silence, and ponyboy reaches over, grasps his hand, intertwines their fingers and squeezes. dallas squeezes back, ponyboy's voice quiet, "sometimes…. just sometimes wish i could write to them. let them know i ain't dead." his thumb runs along dallas' own. "tell 'em i'm happy, that i love you."

that's an impulse that dallas will never get completely, even if it's been decades. there have been times where ponyboy's broken, cried after a reminder of his brothers: someone with soda's smile, someone who had that sharp tone of darry's or his build. times where ponyboy has woken from a nightmare and dallas knows it's about how he had killed the cade kid, ponyboy momentarily tensing up, afraid before the rest of him remembered everything else. even if they've become less, faded over time, he can't forget ponyboy telling him that he couldn't make them stop.

he can't make the nightmares stop, can't stop feeling for his brothers, his parents.

it wasn't as if dallas wasn't human, either. he still remembered two bit, molly. he still could recall how much they'd been his friends, how much he cared for them. but for his family? texas and odessa hadn't ever cared about him, and he had been on his own since he was ten years old. he had long ago let go of any idea that they had cared about him.

the person who did, who always would, was right here with him, bruised up, warm, turning towards him with big, brown eyes that always made dallas want to look. those same eyes that drew dallas in the movie house years ago, had dallas confident that he could have him.

and he does.

he leans over, and kisses ponyboy. ponyboy kisses back, soft, needing. dallas doesn't say that writing a letter won't do anything. ponyboy doesn't have to fight him on it. they've had this conversation so many times, so many ways over the years and they both know that it's better to say here, stay hidden rather than go chasing after ghosts. there used to be a bit of fear in dallas that he might one day wake up, ponyboy tired of living with him, tired of being on the run.

that fear is quiet now, distant. the reality of things, of ponyboy's mouth against his, of his hands on his, their fingers intertwined, speaks more than any fear that's come to him in the dark.

ponyboy nuzzles against him, sighs and says, "you wanna finish the movie?"

"think i know how it ends," dallas bumps his nose against ponyboy's, and ponyboy shuts off the television. they lie like that for awhile, scents mingling, bodies cleaving to each other. dallas' mind drifts to things down the line — he may have the next month off but in a few weeks time, he'd have to go back out again. pick up the drugs, run them to the point, get paid. keep it tucked away, try to make sure he wasn't gone long, keep his head down, not get caught. he was good at that now, not getting caught whether it was petty little shit or the big things like the drug running.

then it was the seasons they'd have to tend to, eventually. what they were going to do during summer and fall, and if the yield would be okay. which animals to sell, which to keep, which to breed. the bulls and heifers were always good, and if the heifer they had now had some nice calves, they'd probably be good for awhile.

he's halfway dozing when ponyboy shifts. he lets go — ponyboy shuffles out to the restroom and dallas shuts his eyes. he breathes easy, until he feels ponyboy's hand on his shoulder shaking him awake, eyes intent, "dal, think she's starting to calve."

he glances at the clock — it's almost five. "told you." ponyboy rolls his eyes and they both do the routine of getting everything. dallas can see the heifer in the corner of her pen, away from everyone else. the sun isn't going to set for some time, and he allows ponyboy to go first, with the shotgun to the pen. he's got cigarettes with him and the heifer won't be too annoyed to have him there — his tanktop and jeans scent like ponyboy. dallas goes to the barn to check on things, one more time, and then goes back to the house.

some heifers are quick births, within an hour or three. if he had to guess, though, if she's having twins it'll take longer. maybe four or six hours. so he gets a small bag together of a few books, crackers, a thermos of coffee, another thermos of water, some creamer for ponyboy and sugar in a small bag, some other snacks, a pack of cigarette, a lighter, some flashlights and then he's making his way out to ponyboy.

ponyboy's got his blue shirt halfway unbuttoned, the white tank beneath it cleaving to him nicely, jeans rolled up to his knees with an old pair of steady boots on. he's sitting against the barn, one knee up, his hair curling around his neck. it's not too hot anymore, and he accepts the bag with a smile. "which book did you pick this time?"

"what you had by the bed," dallas is deliberately evasive, settling next to ponyboy. his eyes look at the horizon — at the road that lead to town, at the edge of the forests they were close to, the green and sandy gold that dotted the place they lived. he was a city kid, had no intention of ever living a life like this, and here he was a thirty-five, having lived most of his life on this farm with ponyboy. he'd have never settled for a mate as a teenager, he thought, would have never wanted a quiet life like this even if some of it was still spent running drugs.

and yet, he loves it when ponyboy opens his bag and withdraws the hardy boys book, when he beckons him over to read it. he lights a cigarette, keeping a watchful eye on the heifer as she ambles to the ground, the process starting. the scents, the sounds of it are sharp — he wrinkles his nose long before ponyboy does, able to catch her scent faster than ponyboy as it changes.

ponyboy reads, his voice honeyed and even, only pausing for water. dallas looks at the horizon every so often, and when an hour passes, it's him who has to get up, go to the bathroom. he doesn't bother going out to the house, just going around the barn. all he has to do is take a piss, and it's when he's pulling his jeans up that he sees something rather unfamiliar: two cars headed towards them, one a white tractor that belongs to franklin, one of the farmhands they had — and a black, sleek car.

an expensive one, a lincoln at that.

it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in reflex. quickly, he washes his hands at the back pump, coming around to see ponyboy squinting as the car kicks up dust on the way towards them, a few miles off that are swiftly closing.

"your salesman drive a lincoln?" dallas ambles his way around, annoyed.

"no," ponyboy frowns, standing up, squinting as well. he looks tense, and they both stand there as the cars get to the front of the property, at the fence a good ways off. there's a honk of a horn, and ponyboy waves. franklin gets out — he's in his mid-twenties, and he vaults over the fence. he'e opens the gate, gets in his car, and then both cars drive up onto the property and dallas can scent that there are more people in the cars and something…

something is wrong.

ponyboy has to sense it too, and he turns to dallas and says, "get the heifer, i don't care how far along she's is. get to the barn."

dallas nods, and ponyboy grips the shotgun tighter. dallas moves as quick as he can, knowing that he'll be out of sight when he does it. the heifer isn't pleased to see him, lowing, in distress. he holds up his hands, getting a rope around her as he hears footsteps. he swears as he tugs at her, forces her up to her feet.

it can't be easy; he can see her sway, fluids seeping out of her and dallas pushes, guides her into the barn as quick as he can. ponyboy shuts the door behind them both, and dallas' heart is going a mile in his chest out of nervousness. everything is going wrong at the moment, and dallas breathes heavily against the door. the heifer teeters, and he helps her down. once she's down, he rubs at her head, and her tongue licks at his hand.

that's when he hears ponyboy greet out, "i think y'all oughta stop there. this ain't your property, and i ain't sure who you brought, franklin."

"mike—"

"michael," ponyboy corrects him. dallas climbs the rafters of the barn, knowing it's not smart to do. that he should keep his head down, and yet he gets right up, able to see and here below. those aren't people from the town; it's two alpha men — one blonde with a slathered on cologne, one bald with a bad sunburn that makes him look lobster like — and an alpha woman with red hair and pale skin. they're obviously feds; they're both in suits, in straight posture, not like franklin who's in overalls. "no one calls me mike, except my mate, you know that." ponyboy looks at the alpha man with blonde hair, who's cufflinks glitter in the afternoon fading light. "and you, mr. goodwin, i said you weren't allowed back here. i ain't taking' what you're selling."

as if in solidarity, the heifer gives a moan, low and clearly in pain.

"i got a heifer calving, and she needs tending to, so i'd appreciate it if all of you left in the next three minutes," ponyboy's voice stays calm, but intimidating.

only dallas knows that he's nervous, that he doesn't want to have to raise the shotgun.

"now, mr. wesson," the salesman in bright cufflinks steps forward, "i just want to — to clear something up with you. it might be a misunderstanding, is your mate around?"

"no," ponyboy says forcefully, "he ain't. you can ask me what you want to ask." the heifer moans again, and dallas glances down at her. she looks like there's a head and hoof pushing out. it's a minor miracle they hadn't seen him before. "and you better ask it quick."

the alpha woman steps forward. "you see, mr. wesson, we looked into the deed on this place and you and your mate. you don't seem to be listed anywhere in the world except here. and your mate has an interesting first name." she steps further forward and ponyboy lifts the shotgun up. she doesn't flinch, yet she doesn't move back either. "i believe his name is dallas, is that right?" her voice is soft, but the scent she's giving off is dangerous.

ponyboy wisely doesn't answer.

"we have a warrant out, mr. wesson, on a dallas winston. it's been out for about eighteen years for kidnapping, murder, and other charges," her voice is loud and clear as the heifer lows again. dallas' palms sweat. "he took an omega — maybe around your age or a bit younger — and he disappeared from tulsa, oklahoma. my name is mary, and i'm with the u. s. marshal's service and i think that your mate might be that man. and he'd be very, very dangerous."

the salesman looks between them and it's clearly him who did this. he recognized ponyboy somehow and he told. hatred wells up for him and dallas longs to get his hand around his throat, wring his neck, watch hs eyes bug out as the life ebbed out of him. he wants to will ponyboy to make them leave, give them enough time to just run, grab the money, try and break to the border or elsewhere.

whatever soccy little kid ponyboy used to be isn't there as he shakes his head — he's full dallas' mate now, hardened and unwilling to give ground. "i'm sorry miss, but my dallas isn't him. he ain't never showed up with anyone but me to dorothy-rae's and he ain't a danger to anyone. more importantly, he ain't here. and since he ain't here: your three minutes are up. you need to leave."

"mr. wesson, i don't think you're understanding my colleague," the bald man steps forward, "you do not legally exist. you are not a citizen, and the warrant we have is for this entire property. we can search any part of this property we like, and we are here to execute this warrant to the fullest extent of the law."

mary raises her hand and dallas can feel every instinct go haywire, can feel his hackles rise in response. "we don't have to do this. you're ponyboy curtis, aren't you?" her voice gentles, sweetens. "dallas — he can't hurt you, he can't manipulate you anymore. i know that it's been years, i know that you must've lived in fear—"

"i don't know what you're talking about or who—"

"—we're here to help you out of this. we're here to take him in. he killed your best friend, didn't he?" dallas can see her get closer and the bald man beings to move around the barn, and dallas stays where he is, not sure of what move to make, not yet. he could get down, but marshals weren't like cops. they knew more, did more, and between those two and franklin, the risk was high. if he had time, with a good weapon he could maybe do it. the barn's big, but there isn't much to grab and more than th at, there's no real escape plan with ponyboy by himself, and two cars out of reach. he curses, should've brought the other shotgun, too.

instead, he's stuck, trying to think himself, listening to the heifer below as the law circles around his mate. his mate who's got a shotgun, who looks like he's going to mount it up any moment and get killed. and dallas, he's thought about this. he's thought about this scenario more than once, about what would happen if they were found out, what would happen if they had to run again, escape.

and he didn't plan for this. he didn't plan for ponyboy stuck like this, them potentially surrounded like this — surely, it wasn't just them who'd come. surely the marshals planned for more. he didn't think of this, and it's warring in his mind with the fact that he can't let ponyboy do this alone, that he'd fail him as mate if he couldn't get out of this, and that if he got caught, he'd get the chair. there's no doubt about it; he killed johnny cade, had never lost sleep in remorse over it.

the heifer lows again, and ponyboy lifts up the shotgun. "i need you to leave. now. i don't know who you're talking about—"

"your brother sodapop told us that you were a nice kid," and dallas knows instantly what this play is. he can see ponyboy waver for a second, can see that mary's won with a single mention. "he told us that you were someone who would listen to reason, and might be a fighter, blend in." mary's voice is almost hypnotic. "just put the gun down, ponyboy. put it down, come with us. all your family wants is for you to come home to them. we won't charge you with anything, you're a victim here."

ponyboy grips the shotgun tighter and dallas' heart hammers. "…nothing?"

mary nods, and the other marshal comes back to where he was, having found nothing around the barn, but clearly unable, unwilling to step inside with the heifer bellowing like that and ponyboy with the shotgun. "nothing. just show us where he is."

dallas can't see his face, he can't see what pony's decision is. he can see ponyboy lower the shotgun, can see his hands tremble. "he's — he's in the house." all at once, dallas knows what to do, the instant the words come out. ponyboy is buying him time, the only time he's got.

and he hates it. he hates that he has to look at abandoning ponyboy, that this is his signal to run, lit out of here as fast as he can. the marshals turn to the house, the salesman with him. and that's when he climbs down from the rafters. he's moves around the cow, able to glimpse a calf half out of her, and when he gets to the barn door, he peers out the slit. he can see ponyboy still standing there, watching the marshals, the salesman, franklin head towards the house. he can scent ponyboy, he's so close, wants to reach out, touch him.

quietly, he waits until they're at the house, and then he slowly unlatches the door. ponyboy is still standing there, still not following — and dallas thinks. that he can make a play, turn himself in and make them believe he had pony hostage, that ponyboy will get back.

and yet….

he knows he can't. just like at buck's, he knows he can't leave ponyboy alone. he can't just let ponyboy do this alone. that night at buck's, with johnny's blood still smeared on ponyboy's tear stained cheeks, with blood on his own hands, dallas knows that's not it.

they swore to go together. they swore they'd stay together, they were mates.

so he pushes the barn door open. he grasps the bag, and then he grabs ponyboy by the back of his shirt. ponyboy startles only for a moment, brown eyes wide with unshed tears, face pale. they don't have to speak, they don't need to speak. ponyboy grips the shotgun, stumbles, and then they're both running like a shot.

it's impulsive, reckless, and dallas knows he can't go without ponyboy. not when franklin yells out, not when the heifer gives a cry, he just runs with ponyboy towards the truck. the marshals are yelling, but they're a bit too slow, too far away. ponyboy reaches the truck and the first bullet whizzes past them. dallas ducks down, ponyboy turns the key in the engine, and then dallas is in on the driver's side, pony at the passenger.

the car whines, ponyboy swears. dallas gets the truck going. ponyboy fires and dallas can see the wheel of the expensive lincoln's popping. there's yelling, another shot fired, the sound of a tire punctured, and then dallas has the truck turned, and then they're flying down the road at breakneck speed.

his heart his hammering, yelling out, "we'll get to town, you go hide with joshua—"

"no," ponyboy insists as the truck bumps down the road, the engine whining as they go. dallas looks down, swears. in that moment he hates franklin even more: the damn truck was always having problems and now's no exception. the gas is low, the engine is getting hot and that means they don't have much time. ponyboy can see it too, tears starting to cascade down his face, shaking his head. "dallas — don't you dare say to me we should split up."

the engine gets hotter, and smoke starts to issue from the front. there's no time to argue, dallas swearing. they're only a few miles down the road. "see if he's got money in the glove compartment!" ponyboy fumbles, and the glove compartment opens with a squeal. there's a few bucks in there, and he grasps it right as dallas parks the car on the side of the road. it's still at least five miles to town, and he and ponyboy scramble out and into the green forest on the sides of the road.

dallas keeps a firm grip on ponyboy's hand, running into the bramble, the thick woods. the car sputters, and the smell of fire rents the air.

they don't stop running until dallas finds a small clearing. it's only then he lets go, ponyboy's hand covered in sweat, same as his own. dallas wants to rage, yell, but he needs to think. he needs to gather things, and all he has at that moment is the bag with the thermos and books, a mate who was close to tears, a fistful of money and the fact that the sun was going to set soon. the thousands of dollars were in the house, the town was far off and…

and they only had time. they only had a bit of time left, and as he looks at ponyboy, at his desperate face, his scent haywire with panic, all he can think is that it's inevitable. that the feds were going to show up, that they only had so much time, and who could blame him or ponyboy for reaching out to each other? who could blame dallas for kissing his mate, hungry and desperate and upset?

he's never kissed him so desperately before, never has held ponyboy like this as ponyboy gasps out, "i'm sorry, i'm sorry. i should've — i should've known. fuck, i'm sorry." and he knows that ponyboy doesn't need to say it. it's not his fault, it's not dallas'.

it's no wonder that they stay there, grasping onto each other desperately, heaving out, for a long, long time.

there's only one thought in both of their heads now, when ponyboy pulls back. he voices it, desperate, "what do we do now?"

dallas wishes he knew.