the rain keeps falling for days on end, as if the sky was holding it all in, and now it was simply wringing it out, day after day.
the power comes back the next morning, before he even wakes up. almost everything in the refrigerator is still good. ponyboy lets dallas make him breakfast; neither of them know of any number to call to check on two-bit at work, and the road looks like muddy slush when they peer out the door. two-bit calls around noon, voice strained on the line. he and the rest of the crew he worked with were stuck — and it seemed as if things might not clear for another day.
ponyboy doesn't tell him how he doesn't mind that, in it's own way. he does tell two-bit that they're both fine. it factors in that the marshal service and tulsa would know about the weather. that they wouldn't be looking for any report from him until it all blew over.
it gives him more time.
he doesn't take it for granted, when given to him. after the call, he finds himself venturing out into the rain briefly, to the car. he retrieves a few books from the car, and hurries back in before the rain can get him too badly. or, at least, he tries. his shoes are caked with mud, his shirt is drenched and the look dallas gives him isn't really all that pleased.
"all that for books?" the annoyance is directed at the shoes; ponyboy pulls them off with a roll of his eyes. even with that question, dallas grasps the bag, pulling the books out one by one, squinting at the spines.
"ol' two don't seem big on tv, do he?" the shoe goes on the only ratty rug the place has, ponyboy gesturing around him. "gotta do something besides eat and fuck."
a smirk crosses dallas' face. "we don't."
and that's true. they don't have to. ponyboy knows that himself, liking the way dallas looks illuminated in the light, the way his eyes roam over ponyboy's body, shirt sticking to him from the rain. it's still nice, though, to pretend otherwise. that they could, actually, lie down for a bit, read a book. they could watch television, be a little more normal, sensible for a few hours.
yet, ponyboy hadn't really wished that, had he? he's the one who had wanted for rain and had it in spades now, the one who didn't want to go into the future, the one who wanted to just exist in this house, this moment for awhile longer.
he returns dallas' smirk.
just because he returns it, though, doesn't mean that he simply lets dallas have his way. he's finding out that there's a dance to this, a ritual. all he has to do is give it a little time, do some of the things that normal people might do — in this case, ponyboy pushes the books to him. "pick one."
dallas looks at him, then down at the books. ponyboy knows that he could simply just ignore it, reach over, pull ponyboy closer to him. instead, dallas plays along as thunder rumbles in the distance, pulls out a battered copy of the last unicorn. it's one of the few books that genuinely belongs to ponyboy, and it stirs something in him, that dallas would pick that.
the rest of him knows dallas probably picked it for the cover, the weaving tapestry of animals, the obvious title.
"you read it before?" he sheds his wet shirt, aware of dallas' eyes on him, not really looking for a real answer.
which makes him all the surprised when dallas responds with a gruff, "tried." he looks up, eyebrows raised up, "couldn't finish."
that has ponyboy curious; it's not necessarily new to him anymore, that prisoners of all kinds took to what little they had inside. the idea that dallas, of all people, would have been one of them hasn't been on his mind, ever and to hear it catches him pleasantly off guard, momentarily able to ignore dallas' eyes on him, on the fading bruises on him. "why? it's good."
it takes dallas a moment, face scrunching up. ponyboy can hear the rain hitting the roof in a hard, fast pace. "guard found it. took away the privilege," he rubs at his cheek, brows scrunching up more. "fight, maybe."
it's so little, and so much at the same time. "ain't surprised you picked a fight."
the grin that dallas gives him is sharper, meaner. ponyboy reaches over to get the book before he can fall into it, before he can truly pretend like the little dance they're having around each other, around the inevitable isn't happening.
the candles are already on standby, ponyboy settling on the couch instead of going upstairs. dallas lays on the opposite side, deliberately slotting his legs with ponyboy's, giving out a huff of a laugh when he digs his ankle into ponyboy's side. ponyboy gives a half hearted glare, "you wanna hear it or d'you wanna be bored?"
dallas leans back into the couch, flicks his fingers to ponyboy. the lightning flashes in the background, and ponyboy opens the book and begins to read. he's read the book at least five times before — alone, or between assignments in bars or the car or in courthouses. never, here, with dallas' eyes on him as he reads line by line, as the rain fades into the background, only interrupted by lightning and thunder every so often.
he almost forgets dallas is there, until his foot nudges his side or he interrupts to ask ponyboy to go back a sentence or two. there's a genuine interest in him when ponyboy looks up from the page: his eyes are focused on ponyboy's face, his mouth, never the cover.
by the time ponyboy is on the twentieth page, he's almost forgotten the dance between them, engrossed by the words and the way dallas is entranced.
he's about to turn the page when this time, dallas doesn't nudge his side. ponyboy can feel his foot move — he looks over the book, sees dallas shifting his knees up. he pauses, wondering what dallas is doing: if he's actually gotten bored, if he's just shifting.
the answer comes in dallas shifting, knee going back, the rest of him going forward. ponyboy hardly has time to earmark the page, dallas' scent washing over him as he leans over him, dips his head and kisses ponyboy in a way that doesn't even attempt to be anything except demanding.
lightning flashes. rain pours.
he remembers to put the book on the floor, at least. after that, ponyboy doesn't care about anything except undoing dallas' jeans, and the need to have dallas knot him, then and there. he doesn't get it immediately, he never does. he's had to learn that in the past few days, dallas isn't like the few other alphas he'd slept with, never thinking all that much about actually fucking ponyboy, or his knot. no, dallas is his own type, more concerned about the slick he finds between ponyboy's legs, more concerned about flipping ponyboy onto his stomach, despite whatever whine or protest he gives, and doing anything and everything he could to get as much slick as he wanted.
he doesn't know how long they spend on that couch, his face buried into it, dallas' hands gripping him tightly, mouth warm on his hole, so much slick flowing out of him that it feels unreal with every swipe of dallas' tongue. he doesn't know how or when dallas finally decides to stop toying with him long enough to actually mount him and fuck him.
he doesn't know. he doesn't care. not when it all, inevitably ends with dallas' teeth sinking into his neck right as his knot does. not when he's had enough orgasms to know that he'll be too tired to do anything except whine when dallas cums, not even able to move enough to make the knot give that painful tug at his rim he likes.
nothing really matters except them, together, in this house, with the rain falling. nothing matters except felling dallas' cock pulse him, the scent of slick and cum mixing. nothing outside of the house, outside of dallas' grip on him, matters.
he knows that those things should matter. that they used to. as the afternoon turns to night, after another call from two-bit confirming he'd be back in the morning, ponyboy pushes the outside world further back. what matters more is the way dallas pulls him against his chest, and lets ponyboy continue to read to him, fangs brushing up against the shell of his ear. the feeling of their legs brushing up against each other, the couch beneath them, is more important. the water dallas gets up to give him, the way he nuzzles at ponyboy's throat when he drinks, matters more. there's a care, an understanding in this that ponyboy has never had before, that he knows, he won't ever have again.
and he grips it as tight as he can.
they're almost halfway through the book when the lights give out again. the wind is almost howling then, the sound of branches and leaves in the wind waving, the rain lashing against the door. ponyboy's grateful he's not stuck on dalla's knot as rain spatters down, huffing out, "i'll get the stove."
"candles?" dallas nudges at his side, briefly illuminated by the lightning outside, the scars on his face deeper than before.
ponyboy points towards the window, getting up to the kitchen. he turns on the stove, the gas sparking into a flame easily. it doesn't take long for dallas to come with the candles, moving back in that slow way again as he lights them. the largest one, ponyboy takes, moving his finger before the wax can burn his fingers.
reading the book isn't exactly in the cards now, they both know that — dallas' eyes flicking to the candle, cocking an eyebrow at ponyboy. there's an urge there, tod o what they'd been doing earlier — and the rest of ponyboy, though, doesn't want that. not yet.
not that it prevents him from leading dallas up stairs, up to what wasn't ponyboy's room anymore — it was their room. it wasn't time for their bodies to do the talking again. not yet.
the candle lights dallas' cigarette just fine, his expression settling into something expectant. ponyboy finds that when he opens his mouth to talk, it's easier than he'd thought it'd be to say, "what are you going to do, dally?"
he expects everything to ground to a halt. for this strange sense of reality to finally cease, for everything to suddenly, finally come to a screeching, horrible stop. ponyboy knows that the words are heavy, that he hasn't wanted to look it in the eye and now he is. now he's looking at it, looking at dallas, he's said it and things will change, at once.
for a moment, it hangs in the air. his heart pounds. he can only watch as dallas processes what he's said, the cigarette burning like an ember in the darkness, the candle not strong enough to illuminate dallas' face entirely, throwing him almost entirely in dark relief. when he manages to talk again, his voice is a rough growl, a lot like it was the first time they'd spoke again. "don't you know?"
"no," it's stalling. "it's why i'm asking you."
the cigarette glows. ponyboy thinks that he can smell chlorine in the air. "ain't i leaving with you?"
the words drop one right after the other ain't i leaving with you? thunder rumbles in the distance, and ponyboy lets the words run around in circles. ain't i leaving with you? rain keeps falling, the words keep circling, and dallas doesn't stop looking at him from across the room.
in one way or another, it was true: he had been told to come here, to come get dallas, to take him back to bob and ponyboy had refused to take him in handcuffs the moment he caught dallas' scent, the moment he'd seen him look down at him. he refused to think about it, of dragging dallas away and now…
"you asking to?" it's hard to scoop out his voice, to say it.
the end of dallas' cigarette burns like an ember. his hand moves slowly up, pulls the cigarette from his mouth, and smoke issues from his mouth, tilting his head forward a little bit, the lightning from outside showing a sharp line of his face, the dark brown of his eyes and ponyboy understands what dallas says without him having to say it.
it's all been coming down to this, to ponyboy and dallas in this room, the rain coming down, lightning dancing in the sky, the thunder rolling through. to him reaching to grasp dallas' hand, feeling the scars that are no longer tender, to pulling him closer, until his forehead is against dallas' own, to knowing that going home wasn't happening anymore.
at fourteen, he swore he'd run away with johnny. at thirty two, he doesn't have to say it outloud in front of dallas, that when the storm is over, when the roads clear, they're going to run towards the horizon, together.
dallas' mouth tastes like smoke when ponyboy kisses him, and he breathes it right on in.
plans do not materialize out of thin air. they never have. as the rainy day slides into a third one, there are only little things that indicate the way things are going to go: the marshal's star stays face down on the dresser; he doesn't bother to check in with the motel where he's staying, even when the power briefly comes back on; he begins to think about where they could go from here, and how long it would take; money begins to itch at him, even though he knows that with the salary he has, with the money in the bank, quietly emptying them out wouldn't be a problem — and everything after, it didn't matter so much. dallas always knew how to get money, and with what ponyboy knows, it wouldn't be all too difficult on his end.
it's all ethereal, slowly solidifying as the hours wear on, as the storm begins to clear out. ponyboy wakes up with dallas, weaving in and out of reality and dreams, of when he had laid in the empty bed at buck's, crying until his chest hurt blending into the reality of pushing dallas onto the edge of the bathtub to shave off some of the beard he's developing in the little bit of sunlight they get that blends into the memory of soda pulling him out of the bathroom, taking him to his room and putting a shirt on him, soda's face going stiff when the door slammed open and darry had come in, the sound echoing through the house, the same sound the door makes when two-bit finally comes back to the house.
it startles ponyboy out of the half sleep he's in, slotted against dallas' side. the last thing he remembers of the night before was his fingers on the page, voice slurring as he read another chapter, of molly grue and the unicorn, the feeling of dallas' breathing slowing, and the thought that he just needed to shut his eyes. he feels sleep heavy as he feels dallas sit up, a low growl reverberating in the back of his throat.
"quit it, would ya?" ponyboy grouses as he hears two-bit come up the steps. dallas sends him a glare as two-bit comes to the very edge of the door. he looks a little worse for wear, in need of a shave for sure, and the way his gaze focuses on them, ponyboy knows without saying that he understands what's happened here, in part.
he doesn't shirk back from the sharp look two-bit gives the both of them, unafraid now of whatever condemnation, whatever drawbacks that two-bit will posit. he doesn't care. not anymore, even if dallas' shoulders are hostile in the way they're hunched up, even if their scents are so mingled now that he's sure two-bit gets the point without needing the view of them tangled up like this in the bed together. "you okay, two-bit?"
two-bit seems to heave a sigh, "yeah, kid. took me a bit to get back." he ignores the way dallas seems intent on him, keeping himself focused on ponyboy. "i take you two worked out fine."
"real fine," dallas bites out the words in a way that's so hostile, ponyboy has to wrap a hand around his wrist in warning.
two-bit, if he notices it, doesn't change his expression. "alright. i'll wash up — take it y'all can get breakfast done, can't you?"
"want anything in particular?" ponyboy tightens his grip on dallas' hand.
"just something greasy," two-bit shrugs, takes a step back. "and beer, if y'all ain't drank it all." he flicks his eyes at the ashtray ponyboy had dug out the car, looks as if he wants to say something more, thinks better of it and then goes to his room, the door slamming behind him as he goes. ponyboy only let's go of dallas' wrists when he hears a second, distant slam of what was two-bit going to the bathroom to clean himself up.
the look dallas gives him is dark, burning. ponyboy doesn't return it, just running his thumb up his wrist, keeping his voice steady. "you wanna cook or not?"
his movements are slow as usual now, when dallas pulls his wrist from ponyboy's grip. "not," he says, "he ain't gotta make you cook."
"we're in his house," ponyboy pushes the covers off of them, giving a half groan as he stands up, some pain radiating up from his hips, bruises evident still. "least we can do is make breakfast, dally. ain't going anywhere else, anyway." he walks around, taking the jeans he has, pulling them on one leg at a time. "sides, i know you need some food on that frame of yours."
once he's got the jeans on, dallas at least shifts off the bed, coming behind ponyboy. his grip in ponyboy's hair is strong, and the way he kisses him is almost too sharp. almost. ponyboy wraps his arm around dallas' waist, and he gives as good as he gets until he feels dallas start to calm down, can feel that annoyed piece of his scent calm down.
when they part, ponyboy sighs against his neck. "c'mon. jeans on, okay?"
there's a roll of eyes, but sure enough when ponyboy is rinsing his teeth in the bathroom, dallas saunters in, wearing a pair of jeans and ponyboy's shirt. it rides up when he moves, and it's not a bad view.
ponyboy gets downstairs to the kitchen, a little surprised when he finds two-bit down there already, a beer in hand, frowning at the open fridge. "letting the cold out, ain't you?" he remarks, ducking in to grab the eggs with one hand and the butter with another. "you mind grits again?"
"it ain't fucking bar food," two-bit says, moving so ponyboy can get around him. he reaches in himself to grab the pack of sausage and bacon, putting both on the counter. "now — i ain't one to beat around the bush anymore then i ought to so i'll just come on out and say it: tell me i ain't crazy, thinking you're about to do what you're about to do." ponyboy puts the skillet on, turning on the gas, the burner clicking for a moment before it springs into flame.
only then does he look at two-bit full in the face, at the way his face is drawn, at the naked worry on his face, the resignation. he doesn't have to say what two-bit already knows.
he's not expecting two-bit's face to crumple the way it does, for him to open his mouth, for him to look desperate. ponyboy turns away, tosses the bacon into the skillet, and turns the flame down lower, unwilling to look at him.
"ponyboy — kid, please," two-bit rushes to his side, hand gripping his forearm. "why would you do all that for dally? i mean he ain't," he struggles for words, and ponyboy finally looks at him, at the upset on his face. "you are a marshal. i know i wasn't there, but you worked for it. you can't — you really can't be running away."
ponyboy doesn't want ot have this conversation, hating how he can pick out bits of darry in the way two-bit speaks, how he can hear the reason on the very edge of it all. he feels like he's fourteen again, small and on the verge of tears with johnny, in the darkness for a moment — only no. he's thirty two years old, it's 1983 not 1965 and two-bit isn't darry. he isn't.
"yeah, two," his voice is tired, yet resolute. "we're running away."
two-bit grips him tighter for a moment, nails digging into his skin. "why? what does dallas have that's worth throwing away everything for?"
that makes ponyboy annoyed, pulling his arm from two-bit's grip, going to the table, nails drumming against it. "you ask yourself that when you ran after him?" it's sharp, mean maybe, but two-bit never got his share of ire from ponyboy, as much as he deserved it. even as he says it though, he knows it's not fair to two-bit.
"more than once," two-bit's not lost his edge though, firing back. "i was a dumb kid, though. you been a marshal for how long, though? this ain't your first rodeo, i know it ain't. you can't just leave it all for dally, ponyboy. you can't."
"why not?" anger starts to rise in his chest, hands going clammy, the faint scent of chlorine tugging at him. "you got to run away, dally did. you both got to do what you wanted, leave us there to pick up the pieces. you weren't the ones who had to live with it all, you got to get out and the one time — the one fucking time i get to make the choice, you want to take it away from me?" he hadn't wanted to do it, to say it, but once he starts, he can't keep it down. "he ain't perfect, i get it—"
"he can barely think straight—"
"— but i'm not leaving him," ponyboy pushes forward, trying to ignore the sting in his eyes. "i told him like i'm telling you: just because the both of you up and left when we needed you doesn't mean i'm willing to do it. he needs me, i need him. i ain't leaving him, and i ain't turning him into goddamn bob sheldon, either. you ain't have to like it two, but it's happening. you don't get to have a say in it." by the time it's over, he's trembling with anger, with resolve.
two-bit looks like he's on the utter edge for a moment, as the skillet sizzles with the bacon, the only thing filling the air. "you really mean it, huh. you really think dally is better than that badge, the life, the pack you got?"
a bitter, sad laugh leaves ponyboy's mouth. "two, if i had more than him, don't you think i'd be dragging him to it? that i wouldn't have asked both of you?" the feeling of tears starts to cloud his vision and stubbornly, he blinks, trying to push them back. "please i — just let us have this, two-bit. i ain't ask for shit else."
the resignation on two-bit's face is visceral, and for the first time, his age shows on his face. every line seems to make itself known all at once, all of the regret he must feel shows on his face, and his palm goes up to rub at his eye. "dammit, ponyboy." his voice is quiet, awful.
ponyboy wipes at his own face, turns away to get the eggs. he cracks them with shaking fingers, and he hears two-bit open another beer can. he can hear him chug it down, and ponyboy has to fumble to get the fork out of the drawer to flip the bacon over.
the burner shuts off, and two-bit tugs at his arm. "c'mon. sit."
"two-bit—"
"sit," two-bit says it firmly, and ponyboy allows him to pull him to the table. he can ear the wind outside; there's no more rain in the air, only the wind blowing breezily through. he watches as two-bit takes another swig of the beer, his wizened, work weary hands rubbing at his cheek. "i — i know what we did, okay? we shouldn't have left you there, to deal with all that shit alone. i still… it ain't like i forgot about any of you, okay?" his eyes flick over to ponyboy, shame on his face. "i just knew i couldn't live like that, pony. having to walk past that park, seeing bob's smile in the paper like that? i had to go."
it's not like talking to dallas, in short bites, with little ability to recall. there isn't the same understanding between them, but there is still some. ponyboy still remembers, rawly, what it was like in those days, the tension, the upset. as much as he wants to simply be angry with two-bit, the fact that he couldn't let go of the pack they used to be still lingers, colors everything. he wipes at his face, as quiet as two-bit is. "we couldn't either. we weren't the same — ain't ever been."
"molly tells me, some," the admittance is a bit of a shock, "you and darry… there really ain't no fixing that?" ponyboy shakes his head, and two-bit seems to slump more. "shit. she told me all that shit you did to get through, the suppressants, the training. i just… it's dally. you don't know what you're signing up for, you don't get what you're throwing away."
"then tell me," ponyboy bites out, leaning over. "tell me what the hell is so bad if you're so worried."
two-bit keeps rubbing at his face. "he ain't well, you not blind. he barely talks, he doesn't seem to be here, half the time. you think being his little omega run away wife gonna fix him, just like that?"
"no," ponyboy pushes back against it, leaning forward. "i know he needs help—"
"and you're willing to give everything — absolutely everything up to do that now? not to wait for him to get better?" the pleading note in two-bit's voice hurts with the sincerity there. "dal's a hood, he'll die a hood, ponyboy. you can't be willing to give up absolutely everything you worked for, everything you've had for him now." two-bit's hand is splayed on the table, eyes bright, hair looking more copper than anything beneath the light. "i know you're a smart kid, you always have been. and you're sensitive, too, i get it. i just — you can't do this, ponyboy. you can't give it all up, here and now for dally. you don't think he'd ever give up all that for you, do you?"
would he? it's a fair question. ponyboy can't imagine it, rightfully. can't imagine dallas, straight laced and on the right path. the rest of him knows that he wouldn't want dallas like that, tamed and unlike himself. he knows that even though what two-bit says makes sense, even though two-bit had a point, it doesn't matter, at this moment. that there have been men he's handed over who might've deserved what they had in store, that there have been people who deserved, worse, even. maybe dallas did deserve, at some point, every horrible thing that had happened to him. maybe at some point, dallas had brought this onto himself.
at this point in time, at this moment, though?
ponyboy shuts his eyes. thinks of johnny's body splayed, blood seeping out of him. thinks of bob's glittering rings in his office, grin on his face, dallas muzzled and cuffed. thinks of how badly he felt, in dallas' bed at buck's, heaving out sob after sob in loss. he thinks of dallas' voice, gruff, the way he bites out word after word. thinks of the scars on his face.
"who's he got left, 'sides me and you? who have i got?" ponyboy swallows thickly, absolutely tired. "darry ain't never happy when i'm there. soda's got two mates and a kid with him. all i got was this badge, this job. i want it, i do but dallas... i don't care how long it takes for me to help him, i know i can't magically make it all go away. i know — i know what he's like, and i don't care. i made a promise not to leave him here, and i'm not breaking it." the details can follow, would follow. they always would. "let me do this, two-bit. let us just… just go."
two-bit looks like it's paining him. he seems like there are more things he wants to say, that he thinks ponyboy is making the wrong choice, that he'll regret it.
but ponyboy holds his gaze. he doesn't back down, and two-bit shakes his head. wordlessly, he gets up, and for the first time in decades, his hand comes down to brush against ponyboy's neck, scenting him the way they used to do as a pack. memories waft up: of summer days where ponyboy was eager to be scented by the whole pack, when everything seemed normal, when no one was dead or so far away that they seemed dead. they'd always had a little hierarchy, and always, two-bit scented him after dallas — and right before johnny.
it feels like a homecoming and a parting all at once.
"i can't stop you or him," two bit's voice wavers, "just don't run off quick, okay? let me help."
ponyboy gives him a watery smile, reaches up, and brushes his fingers against two bit's neck. it's clear two bit isn't expecting it, and ponyboy strokes more firmly, scenting two bit back. like they used to be, like the pack they were, still.
he drops his hand, says, "c'mon, lemme finish breakfast. shouldn't be bawling like babies so early in the morning." he stands up, wipes at his eyes and turns the stove back on. two bit, he doesn't see so much as feel as he moves around, the way he finishes off another beer. ponyboy cooks the bacon, eggs, grits, and sausage by himself, one by one.
by the time he's done, it's all on plates, and dallas hasn't come down just yet.
"let him stew a bit," two bit says, taking his plate. "just leave it in the fridge, he can feed himself."
ponyboy looks towards the hallway, but agrees.
when they finish eating, he scrubs at his face, tries to think as two bit starts to get the dishes. "hey, two? i'm — i gotta go get some stuff from the motel. i'll be back in a bit, okay? if dallas asks, just tell him for me." he waits for two bit to nod, and then he goes outside, to his car.
there's some mud built up, and the car whines and moans before he's able to get the car out and going. it's the first time he's been outside of the house in days, and the drive feels longer than it did before, mind turning over what was happening now. that he was really getting ready to go on the run. that now he would have to start really sitting down, thinking about the long term of it.
it wasn't going to be like the way he was at fourteen, face still stinging from darry's hand on his face, into the sharp cold, sobbing to johnny. it was going to have be organized; he could sit down with two bit, with dallas both to make a plan. to make it seem as if he'd disappeared, to make sure the marshals weren't going to come after them.
that is going to be the hardest part, evading a force he'd been with, a force he knew had the resources, the man power. his leg hops a little as he parks the car, thinking about it. for now, at least, he has to make sure that the motel wouldn't be suspicious, to make sure to get some of this things, to start getting it all together.
he smiles at the receptionist; she seems harried, tired. when he gets to his room, he can see that some of the others have flooded. his is perfectly fine, despite the damp smell. carefully, he gathers his clothes, the papers he has in his room. they all go carefully into a pile, and the hardest task he has to complete is right before him: the telephone.
he takes a breath. the marshal's office is easiest to check into — the voice on the other end being unfamiliar helps as he assures them that he's still working, that he's still tracking a lead. he knows that they'll contact bob, yet as he hangs up the phone, he has to call bob.
he doesn't want to. more than ever, he can scent the alcohol bob had poured on him, can smell the chlorine, the blood in the water from that night as he dials, the receiver pressed against his ear. it rings once, twice, and then bob's oily voice fills the air, "thank you for—"
"mr. sheldon," ponyboy eases into his professional voice, "this is u. s. marshal curtis. just following up with you on dallas winston." he can hear the chair creak in the back, and it takes everything in him to control himself as he continues, "i'm still chasing a lead, just ran into some bad weather down here. the marshal service, or me, will contact you directly with more information soon as we can."
bob makes a noise of frustration. "you can't give me—"
"no," ponyboy bites out, as if he were talking to dallas himself, as if dallas was right there beside him. "i cannot. we'll contact you within the next seventy-two hours. you have a good one." he hangs up as quick as he can, as if burned.
the way his heart is pounding in his head isn't good. he knows that from here on out, things aren't going to simple, aren't going to be easy. and it won't be like the pieces he had to pick up after johnny died, after dallas fled. it would be worse, and the part of him that had driven him so hard into the marshals, that had done everything possible to smother his own dynamic, to fight harder than anyone else, to think quicker, twists uncomfortably in his gut.
his hand goes up to touch his cheek, right where darry had hit him that night. he thinks of how big johnny's eyes had looked when he had told him they were running away, remembers that he hadn't completely meant it then in the way he does now, as he shoves what he needs into his bag, gets his clothes and gets to his car as quick as he can.
it's only when he comes back to make sure his gun is secure that another thought pops into his head. it could be risky to reach out…
and yet ponyboy picks up the phone anyway, and dials out the numbers briskly. it wouldn't be the first time he'd have placed this call at an odd hour, and knowing the other man, he would probably pick it up on the first ring.
as predicted, he does, deep voice rumbling on the phone, "good afternoon, this is dr. andrew polaski. could i ask who's calling?"
"afternoon, andrew," ponyboy smiles into the receiver, happy to have been right. "it's —"
"marshal curtis," andrew's deep voice spills out over the line. "i think you're a little overdue for a check in, don't you think? or are you having some issues being off suppressants?"
ponyboy can see andrew's features: the big glasses he wore, the brown hair, the intense look on his face, the way he probably was staring curiously at the phone. "i think i'm fine, actually. never been better to be off of them," he doesn't have to fake the good will he feels — and with andrew, it wasn't ever good to fake it. not with someone as intelligent as him. "i do have something else that needs some attention. got an alpha who needs some assistance — more than i can give."
"that so?" andrew's voice hits that curious timbre that ponyboy always expects now, whenever he had something strange to offer, whether it was himself or someone else. "and there wasn't anyone else?"
"no one i could trust," he puts emphasis on the word, the way he used to when dealing with curly as a kid, to make sure nothing could be misunderstood. "you still in boston at the moment?"
"i am," there's the sound of papers shuffling on the other end. "would you like to come see me soon, about this potential patient?" if andrew suspects anything, it doesn't show on the line. but he's always had a cool head under pressure, and ponyboy can only be grateful for that.
ponyboy shifts the phone. "yes, within the next week or so. i'll have something a little more concrete tomorrow, if you don't mind." he glances at the clock. "how does two pm work for you?"
"i'll clear my schedule," andrew says, and frankly, ponyboy thinks he really means it. "i hope you're doing fine, ponyboy. it's always nice to check in on you." ponyboy can hear more papers shuffling. "you have a good one."
"talk to you tomorrow, andrew," he shifts, puts the receiver down, and breathes.
things were going to be okay.
dallas' breakfast sits untouched in the fridge by the time ponyboy is done unloading his things from the car, with the afternoon wearing onto evening. he'd made another trip to the grocery store, buying more food for them all, including a pack of beer for two bit along with a scant few other supplies that he thought they might need in the future.
he puts the food away, and considers going up to get dallas from the bedroom, coaxing him down to eat. the rest of him knows that dallas is grown — and he could come down on his own when he wanted, for food.
and really, it didn't much matter. at the end of the night, ponyboy would be going back up to their room anyway, into the nest, with dallas.
to that end, as the day yawns on, he doesn't feel like having another round of pizza or anything else delivered. two bit saunters in from the backyard as ponyboy considers what to do, eyeing the food he'd bought and the pile of papers he'd stacked to one side. there were still plans to be made — to work around the marshals, to get out clean, to let andrew check in on dallas, maybe even assist with fleeing.
it was going to be hard to lay down the tracks needed, to make it look a certain way.
"i've seen that face before," two bit comes around to the fridge, opening it to squint at the food. "what're you thinking of, hotshot?"
"how annoying you are," ponyboy mutters, turning over the copy of my sweet audrina he'd gotten from the hotel. two bit gives a snicker, and ponyboy snickers with him. "what look you talking about?"
"when you get that look — like you're staring through something, not at it," two bit elaborates, settling for what seemed to be some ice in a glass, taking it beneath the sink to run water into it. "always used to be like that as a kid, just staring off, not hearing anything we said." there's some clear surprise in his voice that ponyboy had responded to him, even. "used to do it all the time." ponyboy feels his ears turn a little pink in embarrassment as two bit turns around. "so, what you thinking about?"
ponyboy shrugs, not sure of how much to voice, and then relenting. "trying to think of a plan, is all." he goes to the sink, retrieves the skillet from that morning, flicks on the faucet. two bit moves over, ponyboy getting the soap and dish towel. "still don't like doing a lick of dishes, huh?"
"not when i got me a sweet omega who'll do all the cooking and cleaning, no," two bit chirps, grin getting wider when ponyboy splashes water at his direction. "you really didn't think—" he bites his lip for a moment, and then shrugs. "what do you even think'll happen? you and him run across the border, be happy in mexico together? you know he don't even like hot weather?"
"oh, and you do?" ponyboy snickers. "you were the first one to complain when summer came in, not dally." he cleans the skillet with ease, grabbing a spare dishtowel to dry it off. "sides if he hated it so much, he wouldn't be down here, now would he?" he puts the skillet on the stove, leaning over. "i know you're trying to talk me out of it, but my mind's made up, two. it ain't changing."
a tired sigh leaves two-bit. "yeah, kid i know. i know. i just thought you'd be different than the rest of us hoods, you know?" he gives a sad smile that ponyboy feels, the little pang. "i guess — hell, i guess i just better get used to it. you running off with that grumpy bastard." he cracks a grin that feels a lot more like a real joke, a real measure of acceptance. "oh, you're gonna be in for a real surprise soon enough."
"aw, lay off," ponyboy smiles back for the first time, genuinely feeling the warmth. "how long you intend on staying in gainesville, anyway? might be better to try and get out after this, anyway."
two bit snorts, and ponyboy hears the footsteps creak not too far away. dallas must be awake, and he goes to turn on the stove. the burner clicks as two bit talks, "you know how cheap it is to live here? my landlady would lose her mind if i took away the little bit of rent i give her." he puts on a craven little voice as another creak comes through, high and nasally, as he imitates her, hands going up and crooked, in a complete caricature.
ponyboy laughs, eyes half on dallas when he finally rounds the corner. his expression is a little dark when it lands on two bit, eyes flicking towards ponyboy. ponyboy waves to him, but dallas seems to want to lean on the door, not stepping in any further.
"should listen to her," two bit goes on as the flames finally snap out, ponyboy moving around to the fridge to get the food. "she'd lose her damn mind if she knew i had an omega in here. worse than my own damn mother — she'd take one look at you and ask why we ain't mated up yet." ponyboy snorts himself, going to grab the steaks he'd bought. "about shit herself when i told her how old i was, without any pups to show for it."
"yeah," ponyboy drawls out, "you're real good material for pups."
two bit's eyebrows to that little one two dance he used to do as a teenager, glancing over at dallas, who still hasn't moved yet. "oh, you hear that dal? i ain't good material for making pups! not good enough for some tight little omega—"
ponyboy puts the steaks on a plate, rolling his eyes — then yelping when two bit comes over to open the counter beside him, elbowing him the whole time. "two—"
"spices ain't there, not the good ones," two bit continues, opening up the cabinet, pulling down some spices that look pretty neglected as of late, barely opened. "kind of omega are you? you were just gonna season those things with salt and pepper?"
"ain't been bad before—" ponyboy protests, two bit turning around to grin at dallas.
"you really thinking of runnin' off with someone who can't cook?" two bit's tone is still teasing, and ponyboy huffs. "can't even season a steak right?" dallas' expression remains impassive despite the fact that ponyboy is leveling a half glare at two bit. "y'all are gonna be eating a lot of take out in your future, unless you choose someone a little less pretty." he nudges ponyboy, and ponyboy can't help but shake his head.
he knows what two bit is trying to do. to get them to think about, to ease into it himself, get comfortable. he doesn't quite blame him for the attempt, for trying to ease it all. "i ain't your type, i get it! and you can somehow string a meal together with a prayer from god."
two bit throws himself into a chair at the table, and dallas' gaze shifts to the back of his head. ponyboy goes back to seasoning the steak as two bit continues, "oh yeah, my type ain't ever changed." there's a scrape of feet against the tile, and ponyboy looks over his shoulder, wanting to see where dallas is going, to see if maybe he'll want to go outside, or retreat back upstairs. instead, he's treated to the view of dallas over the stove, looking down at the skillet.
you trying to cook too? ponyboy almost says the words.
except the words don't get to come out of his throat. for the first time outside of their bed, dallas becomes fluid, a riot of motion. ponyboy is rooted to the spot as dallas' fingers wrap around the handle of the skillet, jerk it off of the stove. ponyboy cannot comprehend the events as they happen: dallas raising his arm, two bit's confused expression at ponyboy, the way he begins to turn and the awful, hard sound of the skillet connecting to two bit's face.
the way that darry hit him all those years ago, the sharp sound of skin on skin has always been in his mind. it's overlayed at times when he's seen two people fight, when he's seen couples argue and one hit the other. it's never left his mind and in this moment, when the skillet connects, he hears it almost as sharp as thunder. somehow, he can hear it in the sizzling of the pan against two bit's flesh, in the obvious crack of something being broken.
he's had situations where he's moved so much faster, where he could have seen this a mile off, where he could've taken the hit or talked him down. but dallas winston is still a force, still someone that ponyboy trusts, even loves.
and it hurts all the worse, the sound of the skillet hitting two bit, seeing two bit absorb the hit and fall to the floor, smelling the blood that rents the air from the utter force of it. it isn't like when dallas used to lay out buck merril or the man at the candy counter when he was a kid. it is worse.
the skillet hits the floor, and that's when ponyboy comes back into himself, realizes the full horror of what has just happened. he doesn't know what to do or say first — to yell at dallas, to run to two bit's prone form on the floor, to calm dallas down. not until dallas lunges forward does he find himself moving, not wanting any more violence, crossing the kitchen as quick as he can to get between two bit and dallas, forcing his body between them.
he thinks he says dallas' name, hands in front of him, shoving dallas back from two bit's bleeding, gasping form. the smell of seared flesh threatens to overtake him, and it takes everything in him to shove dallas back. "stop it!" dallas snarls at him, truly snarls at him in a way he's never seen before, the scars on his face standing out beneath the kitchen light as he bends, trying to push pony away from two bit's prone form.
two bit gives a wet gasp on the floor, dallas lunges again, teeth snapping, trying to force ponyboy away. before he can think, ponyboy throws his arm up the way he was trained to, and neither he nor dallas are prepared for his teeth to sink into the soft flesh of his wrist with such harsh, abrupt force that sends an electric current of pain up his arm, neither are prepared for the scent of blood in the air or the gasp that comes from ponyboy, the welling of tears, the pain.
"stop it," the words choke themselves out of him in a way that he would have never wavered for anyone else, would have never asked so desperately, so full of hurt. and for a long, horrible moment, ponyboy thinks that maybe, just maybe, dallas will let go. that the hand dallas raises to his throat might truly harm him with intent, his fingers grasping around his throat for one brief moment.
dallas snarls, one more time. and then his teeth lift away from ponyboy's skin, his hand loses it's grip on his throat, and ponyboy pushes him back. dallas hits the back of the refrigerator, teeth bared, blood smeared on his mouth. ponyboy can feel something hot and wet slipping down his face, can feel the blood on his own wrist flowing, can scent two bit's own blood in the air, can hear him gasping and moaning on the floor.
this isn't the way this should have gone. this isn't the way it should have ended.
he doesn't know what to do to fix this, to fix dallas, and the feeling grows worse, the more he tries to grasp the situation on his own.
dallas pants against the refrigerator. two bit gasps for air.
and ponyboy? ponyboy doesn't know who to tend to first, or if he can.
💥 thank you so much for reading! i love comments/pms, esp for you guys sticking with me for this fic. this chapter certainly was a lot, and we've got one more to conclude the fic. i'm hoping to finish this by the end of the month but this is the shortest of all previous chapters and i don't know how long they'll be. as always, ty to aishitaeru for the read over and hearthouses for the support.
