"Pony! Ponyboy — ow!"

Run. He has to get up and run he has to—

"Pony!" Hands grasp his upper arms and then Ponyboy's eyes fly open, he gasps and thrashes, feeling hands gasping him tighter, the entire air filled with the tang of fear. He whimpers, gasps, and then the grip on him shifts. He feels arms wrap around him, and he can't help but cry into the warm, solid chest against him, fall into the sweet, familiar scent of the person beside him. The sobs that come out of him are harsh, worn out, and he bawls.

A light falls into the room. Soda's voice falls on him, "It's okay — I got him, Darry."

Ponyboy holds on tighter to Soda. His hand cascades through his hair for what seems like an hour until Ponyboy can finally feel himself calming down, mind going blank. Until the only thing he remembers is the sharp taste of chlorine in his mouth, down his throat.

"Pony?" Soda says softly. "Honey, you okay?"

"N-No," Ponyboy chokes out. He takes a few more breaths, "D-Don't go, Soda. Please."

"I ain't going nowhere, honey. I promise," Soda's voice stays gentle, and Ponyboy holds him as close as he can.

It's not a good start.

Breakfast is silent as a graveyard and when they pile into the truck, it isn't any better. The wound on Ponyboy's hand has scabbed over and he picks at it idly as Darry drives them to the lawyer's office.

He knows that Darry is scared of his nightmares. That he doesn't remember. Soda, too, is pale and quiet as they make their way through the town. It feels ominous and heavy for them as they make their way through, the entire weight of the past few months on their shoulders.

He thinks he can still taste chlorine in his mouth when Darry parks the truck. Clearing his throat feels difficult as he gets out of the truck, the cold penetrating him sharply.

Soda rubs his palms on his jeans as another car pulls in beside them. Mrs. Mathews opens the door and waves to them. Her hair is pulled up, and she comes around to open the door for Johnny. Ponyboy grins a bit at the sight of him, his hair half askew, using crutches to walk.

"Good to see you, Darry," she nods to Darry who gives a terse nod back.

Everyone is quiet as they make their way inside the building. Mrs. Mathews reaches up to adjust Darry's tie in the elevator and when they disembark, she clutches her purse so tight her knuckles look white.

Eugene opens the door for them all and it's a bit cramped to have them all in. He has more books around than before, notes everywhere but looks put together as he shakes hands with Mrs. Mathews. "It's nice to finally meet you, Kathleen. I was told you're in the process of being Johnny's legal guardian given his parents absence."

"It's been a long time coming," she says, and Ponyboy feels so much warmth for her. "I'll be here every step of the way."

"Good, I'm very glad to hear that," Eugene takes a seat and sweeps a look over them all. "This is mostly informative today. The hearing date is set for three weeks from today at nine am sharp. Between then and now, I'll be speaking to those involved in this case and once that's done, finishing up my preparations for this case. In that time it is imperative that you all stay out of trouble. The court will be looking for any reason to come down hard on you — do not give them that ammunition." He looks at Ponyboy in particular with this. Ponyboy's ears grow red, and he flexes his hand, feeling the scab. "I can't stand playing into the hands of people who will use anything to hurt you. I will also be calling in just in case I need a few details cleared up as well."

Ponyboy nods even if he doesn't quite feel like he grasps it all. What else was he looking for? There were only so many things he could learn about court from Perry Mason and he itches thinking about it.

"Details?" Mrs. Mathews asks, hands clutching her purse tighter, leaning forward. "What kind of details?"

"Confirming people's accounts, clarifying intent and seeing if they'll take the stand," Eugene takes out his glasses, the thick black frames glinting in the overhead light. "Some people will need to be heard, some won't. I'll have to speak to the prosecutor on this, come to an agreement depending on the responses and their case. I'll admit that it will be interesting given a dead boy can't speak," Ponyboy sees Johnny go pale, hears Soda squeak, feels himself freeze at the casual mention. "It makes this a little harder in some ways and easier in others. From what I've heard so far, though, you have a fighting chance."

He looks at Ponyboy then, gaze intent. "And I take it you haven't forgotten what I've said about fighting, have you?"

Ponyboy shakes his head."No, sir. I haven't."

Eugene glances at Johnny who nods his head too.

"Good," he says and the first feeling of relief touches Ponyboy.

Mrs. Mathews looks troubled — her hands are still clutching her purse tightly, face still drawn — as Eugene continues, "I have a list of people I'll be speaking to. I won't be sharing that but I do need to speak with you, Kathleen and Johnny, now. Everyone else... you're free to go. I'll see you in a few weeks."

Ponyboy glances at a still pallid Johnny and nods. Johnny nods back, still looking vaguely sick. Darry opens the door, Eugene standing up to shake his hand. Soda shakes his hand too, and when Ponyboy gets to the door, Eugene shakes his too.

However, Eugene holds on a moment longer, looking at the cut on Ponyboy's hand, and eyes going to his neck. Belatedly, Ponyboy remembers he still has hickeys there. "Out of trouble." Eugene raises his eyebrows."You know what that includes?"

Ears burning, Ponyboy nods.

"He said that?"

Dallas looks a bit better than before as be bites into the burger. His hair is half pushed back, in a sleeveless black shirt and his jean jacket over his shoulder. He reaches over for the ketchup as he continues, "Sounds like he knows what to say."

"Yeah," Ponyboy dips his fries in the ketchup he has, swirling it in there absently. Rightfully he should be nervous about all the greasers glancing over at them, should feel self conscious about the fact that everyone saw Dallas pick him up for lunch, that they were in the diner together for lunch at the biggest greaser hang out. It was making things official.

Instead his mind can't get away from the meeting with Eugene. With the stacks of law books, the scribbling on the notepads, the thought that people were going to file in and out of the office soon. That he'd be talking to people like Randy and Cherry and Marcia and—

There's a sharp rap on the table and Ponyboy is jolted out of his thoughts. Dallas looks annoyed at the other end of the table, "Kid, where's your brain?"

"Sorry," Ponyboy mutters, shoving the fry into his mouth. Even now that they were together, it still felt awkward to tell Dallas about his thoughts, spiraling so far, the nervousness in his stomach.

He wants to think about the way Dallas' eyebrows work together in annoyance. About what they were going to do this week, about the bonfires, about homework or the book in his pocket.

Instead, as they finish their food, he thinks if the lawyer will have to talk to Dallas. If Dallas might have to go talk to a judge about helping them and...

This time, Dallas catches his attention by reaching over and getting his fingers in his hair, tugging at it. Ponyboy doesn't realize he's done it until the yank, and he's forced to look at Dallas' expression, at the annoyance there, at the irritation. "Kid, you're about to make your shirt an art project." Ponyboy blinks, looks down and sees his fry is just about swimming in ketchup, inches from his shirt. He drops it reflexively, but Dallas doesn't keep his hand out of his hair. He just keeps looking at him from across the table, expression dark. "You sure you wanna go back to school?"

"No," the word comes out without thinking. "Can't just skip. Darry'll kill me."

For a moment, Dallas sneers, as if he wants to defy Darry, But evidently, the lawyer's words might work enough for him to drop his hand. Ponyboy misses the feeling, the warmth as Dallas rubs at his cheek and chin ruefully. It looks good on him, tough and Ponyboy knows he could be doing something else at that moment than fretting about Darry or school.

Dallas catches his eye, and raises an eyebrow almost as if he read Ponyboy's mind.

He couldn't have, though. He can't know that Ponyboy is thinking about his mouth on his cheek, think of kissing his neck again.

He thinks that right up until Dallas throws down the money, cocks his head towards the car. Ponyboy decides to leave his anxious, unhappy thoughts in the ketchup soaked fries for just a few moments.

It was better, easier, for a few moments to just climb into Dallas' lap in the car. To feel Dallas' hand in his hair as he leans up to kiss him, fingers grasping his shirt tightly. He wants the warmth between them, the feeling of Dallas' mouth on his neck, his hands on his sides. Dallas' scent is a comfort on him, almost as much as the feeling of Dallas' hands are. His fingers against Ponyboy's neck — hand larger, fingers, thicker — makes him almost melt into his lap.

It's over much too quick, given he has to go back to class. He hungers for more, wants more, needs more. He can't articulate what exactly that is, really. Dallas' hands were all over his sides and back, mouth all over his neck and it's not enough. The obvious answer isn't exactly what he needs right now, and yet.

When he gets back to class he can't help but put his hand on his neck and think about it. Think about Dallas' sharp fangs sinking further into his skin. Not being teased with just them skimming his skin, thinking of what they would feel like, truly driving into his neck.

He has to shift in his seat, think of something else when he feels himself slick a little. The way his ears burn red makes him uncomfortable, hoping no one scents him.

At the end of the day, Dallas isn't there with everyone else waiting to go home. That's fine enough, as he hops into the car with Two-Bit, Steve, and Johnny. Everyone's a little quiet as they make their way home; Ponyboy sneaks a curious glance at Steve, though, wondering if he and Soda were anywhere close to making up.

Johnny sees his gaze, and they both share a knowing glance about it.

It wasn't something either of them were going to ask about, and as Two-Bit fills up the car with questions and comments, there's a silent agreement that if they talk about it, it won't be here. Not now.

That night, he goes to bed, feeling a little better than he had in the morning.

This time, there aren't any dreams to remember, which is a relief.