When Dallas walked in the beer bottle narrowly missed his skull, instead shattering on the wall where his face might have been a few minutes later.
"Hi, Dad," he greeted humorlessly.
The figure of the man was etched in a silhouette against the moonlight, frighteningly similar eyes locked firmly on Dallas's. They were glassy, but still retained the family - or, perhaps, character - resemblance of father and son. Hard. Icy. Blank.
Then he laughed, a low, mocking sound.
"Hey, boy." Dallas couldn't see it, but he could hear it; the smacking of a booze-warmed tongue on dry, cracked lips. "Y'get any 'profits' lately?"
Dallas rolled his eyes, figuring himself safe to do so in the darkness, but emptied his pockets none the less; lunch money Johnny had given him out of compassion, noticing Dally never seemed to have any of his own without stealing it. Dallas had pocketed it. And, yeah; a couple of loose dollars from that "profitable business" of theirs.
"Stripper money," his father uncouthly referred to the loose bills, blinking lazily as he counted through the piles of ones. "Don't hold back on me, boy."
"I ain't," Dallas hissed, though he was lying; he figured it wasn't a sin to keep a dime or three. He'd been the one to earn it. "This is all I got."
His dad pouted a bit in a way that suggested he was drunk, but not nearly so much as usual. Which was a relief to Dally. "Dallas, you ain't pretty no more." Then, meanly, "I guess even old guys can't stand when youse'all get hairy. You should prolly start shaving more often."
Dallas didn't need to think who he meant by "youse'all". He grit his teeth.
"Yeah?" he hissed. "Well maybe I don't feel like getting gussied up for some old, lecherous-"
Wrong thing to say.
Dallas swore, clutching his smarting jaw as he fell back against the wall. He heard the crunch of the bottle his father has thrown earlier, something wet trickling through his fingers. He hoped it was booze, but his father always made sure to suck a bottle dry. Suddenly there was weight on his head, the smell of alcohol in his face. He gasped as a hand yanked at his hair, pulling it up to force him to look into the sullied face of his very last family member.
"Now you listen here," his father growled. "Autumn ain't exactly New York. What competition could you possibly have? Who're all the old homos who'd go after you so often bangin' now?" He tugged again, Dally just barely stifling a cry. "Get out there and do your damn job."
-
"What happened to your hand?"
Dally shrugged, trying to behave nonchalant. Johnny swung his schoolbag back and forth, wobbling every so often as he scaled the curb just separating the streets and his neighbors' flower buds. One wrong step, he'd be on the receiving end of glares from wheelchair-ridden old ladies for weeks. Or at least until Alzheimer's kicked in.
"Y'know. Opening a Coke. Dropped it. Cut my hand on it when I tried to clean it up." Damn. That sounded pathetic even to him.
Johnny scrunched up his nose. "You got the old-style Coke bottles? Like the ones made of glass? Blech. I prefer Pepsi."
They walked in silence a few moments longer, Johnny kicking up leaves. They fell, unharmed, to the pavement, where Dally would step on it and jump at the sudden sound of crackling beneath his boots. Brought back too many unpleasant memories. He mentally shook his head, attempting to rid all connections to the night before.
"So..." Johnny said slowly. Dally looked at him apprehensively. There was a suspicious note in his voice.
Whatever shyness the boy had melted away suddenly, perhaps at the realization he was far too quiet to gain any audibility.
"You goin' trick-or-treatin'?"
Dally looked at him, startled. Trick...?
"It's Halloween?"
Johnny laughed. "Yeah, like tomorrow. You mean, you didn't notice?"
He waved his hand across the scene laid out before them, and Dally found he was right; decorations in orange and black littered the numerous front lawns, already aging jack-o-lanterns grinning and moaning wickedly at by-passers. The street lamps were lined with Christmas-mimicking lights in autumnal, festive colors, blinking in tune to one another. The sheer thrill and fuss of it all didn't faze Dally in the least - he'd lived here most of his life, after all. Halloween, being the only holiday in the fall worth celebrating, had become an annual thing for the sake of the town's name. Now that he thought about it, Dally knew why he hadn't noticed the flashiness; he was used to it.
"Well?"
Dally looked taken aback, having not realized until now Johnny was talking to him. "Yeah?"
The boy bit his lip. And he had worded it so carefully, too! Ah, well. Time to take the plunge.
"Want to go trick-or-treating with me?"
The reaction was just as he expected. Dallas burst into hysteric laughter. Johnny's ears went red.
"You - still - you - want - me?" Dallas cackled, covering his eyes with his hand, the other clutching his side. Johnny frowned.
"Aw, c'mon, Dallas! I look young enough to still be going."
Dally steeled himself, laughter fading just as quickly as it came. With a nervous chuckle, he remembered how Johnny seemed embarrassed of his young appearance - it bothered him. So for Johnny to draw attention to it, even for a second...
"Oh, no!" Dallas put his hands up defensively, shaking his head vigorously. "Oh, hell no! Don't you look at me like that! My-"
"I know, I know. Your idea of fun is bangin' broads and little boys. Oh, don't give me that look, it's you who told me that anyway, at least eight times."
Dallas gave a disgruntled sigh, crossing his arms defiantly.
"But Dally!" Johnny leapt off the ledge in front of the older boy, grabbing his sleeve. "Puh-lee-ee-ease? Free candy!"
Dallas continued to refuse. "No. I wouldn't be caught dead-"
"You know, Dally," Johnny said quietly, "I just moved here. I don't have any other friends to go with." He turned away with a dramatic sigh. "I suppose I could go alone. By myself. Or I could ask Pony, but he'll prolly laugh in my face, too..."
He wasn't sure why, but Dally felt a pang of guilt just then. "Okay," he grumbled. "That last one was just unfair."
Johnny shrugged, but still didn't look at him.
"C'mon, Johnny! You don't gotta be like that!"
Still no answer; the younger boy had even begun to walk away, though albeit a little slow. Dally grit his teeth. "And what if I told you I would go?"
Johnny whipped around, not bothering to hide his excitement. "You'd make me the happiest boy in the world!"
Dally scowled, feeling a flush come on. Oh, lord. Just lord.
-
Johnny's mother was a real pretty woman, with the same friendly facial features and jet hair that had darkened impossibly rather than graying with old age. According to Johnny it'd been blonde once; Dallas didn't particularly believe that, but he did notice that despite her similarities to her son, her eyes were completely the wrong color: china blue. Johnny must've gotten his eyes - his dark eyes, his laughing, sympathetic eyes - from his daddy, who was noticeably absent.
The Cades' place was smallish, but a perfect size for a family of two like them, possibly three if you counted the occasional guest. It was a pretty little Victorian, with a white picket fence, red shutters and thriving window boxes filled with well-kept flowers. It was just like every girl's dream house in the movies. It made Dallas want to gag kittens.
Dally looked Johnny up and down, his eyebrows raised in interest.
"And what, my good boy, are you supposed to be?"
Johnny's hair had been slicked back early sixties-style, but the rest of him wasn't that dressed up. White T-shirt. Sunglasses. Boots. The only other sign of being dressed up was the tight-rolled jeans.
Dally sighed. "C'mere."
The younger boy looked on in surprise as Dally began to remove his brown leather jacket. His felt his ears warm a bit as his shirt rode up his well-toned stomach, exposing the smooth lines of tasteful muscles for only a split second. But it was one of the most important seconds of Johnny Cade's life.
Dally raised an eyebrow in amusement at his bewildered expression but said nothing about it, motioning him forward. He slipped the jacket over Johnny's shoulders. Dally then stepped back to inspect him.
"Well?"
Dally smirked. "John Travolta's got nothing on you, kid."
Johnny smirked back, but his face fell a bit when he took the time to inspect Dally.
"Hey," he said suddenly, "What are you?"
Dally shrugged. "A bum."
"But those are the same clothes you wear everyday."
"Exactly."
They both cracked a grin at the dark humor. Johnny looked at him a few more seconds before a light seemed to flicker on behind his big, dark eyes.
"Stay here!" he said, patting his hands flamboyantly in mid-air before sprinting to one of the back rooms. Dally considered running out to save himself the humiliation yet to come, but humorously.
Less than a full minute later Johnny came back, a blatant grin on his face as he hid something behind his back. Dally narrowed his eyes at him. Was he crazy, or did he just see bright yellow? Johnny tried to look innocent - but because of what?
Finally deciding the suspense was killing him, Dally stepped forward, swatting behind Johnny's back to take whatever he had brought out. The smaller boy didn't protest, instead focusing on screwing up his face into an aloof expression. He failed, of course, especially once he caught the stunned look on Dally's face as he caught the mystery object.
It was a hat. A furry, yellow pimp hat. Dally stared at it, shocked.
"Johnny, I hate to ask - and I mean really, I hate to ask - but why do you even own something like this?"
He grinned. "Crazy hat day! We used to have crazy hat day at this school I went to back in New Jersey."
Dallas turned the offensive headwear over in his hands. "If you think I'm wearing-"
"B-but Da-a-all-eeee..." Johnny stuck out his lower lip in a very fake but comical pout. Dally glared at him, but a smirk was wedging its way onto his pursed lips.
"How many other weird fetishes you got aside from screwing with me?" He weighed the huge hat in his hands, trying to decide if a lifetime of mockery was really worth Johnny's happiness.
One look at the boy answered his question.
"'Aight. I'll at least try it on..."
Right then Mrs. Cade entered with a wide grin on her lovely face. "You boys about ready? It's getting dark!"
Dally nearly melted into the floor from shame.
-
As it was every year, the weather on All Hallows Eve was bereft of any and all rain clouds. What Dallas had initially thought would be a long, painful and dragged out experience turned out to be shorter than he would have liked. He and Johnny chased a couple of slutty girls who made fun of their costumes (Johnny said this was okay, because those girls didn't respect themselves enough to deserve any from others) and people surprisingly didn't call the cops on Dallas when he showed up on their doorsteps with a malevolent grin on his face. Whether it be the shock and comedy of it all ("it all" meaning his hat) or maybe they thought he had taken Johnny hostage, said hostage remarked on never having gotten as much candy in his old neighborhood. He guessed it was the larger size. Dallas thought it was his criminal record.
Dally bit down into a candy apple, wincing slightly at the loud crunch as he got it in at an odd angle. But god damn, he was hungry. He could tough it. Johnny nursed something red that mildly resembled a lollipop. Dally swallowed and looked away.
To his surprise, he was forced to look back when a weight pressed into his side and he found Johnny snuggled up to him.
"Thanks so much for tonight." Johnny looked at his candy bag, settled between his legs. "And I'm real sorry about the hat."
Dally shrugged, having gotten over it quite a while ago. "Hey, kid, no sweat." He flicked the brim with a coy smirk. "I might have to steal this from you. Looks real good on me."
"It does," Johnny laughed, and the topic was dropped.
Dally eyed him warily. "Izzere something else you wanted to talk about? You look real fidgety tonight."
"Mmm mmm," Johnny mumbled, which could have meant a number of things. He licked the end of his lollipop in a way that made Dallas shiver.
"Hey - you cold?"
"Y-yeah," the eighteen-year-old murmured. "But don't think you're off the hook yet, kid. I know that look - you got something on your mind."
"Well, if you insist..." He looked at Dally eagerly.
"Dally, you get along with your old man?"
He blinked. "Fucking hell no." Which was worse than plain hell no.
Johnny looked like a deer in the headlights. "Well, um, okay, but you ever think that's better than not havin' one at all?"
"I'm not following," Dallas said dryly.
"You know! There are people out there who don't got dads, who..."
Johnny hadn't trailed off - he'd stopped, and rather abruptly at that. It took Dally a second or two to realize he was staring over at the old lot's entrance. Dally looked, too, and immediately regretted it.
One figure was tall and stocky, with dark hair and the appearance of a Saint Bernard puppy - he walked like one, too, loping around the way he did, but it was the smaller of the two that pissed Dallas off - an average-height, slender boy Johnny's age and size except with a better build. But this kid was no naiveté. His greenish-gray eyes considered Dallas with a mixture of annoyance and authority - he was the better man. They both knew it.
"Hey, Bryon!" Johnny greeted the one Dallas only mildly recognized. "Whatcha doing here, Pony?"
The reddish-brunette shrugged, holding up a demonic-looking mask that until then had been hanging uselessly at his side. Bryon did the same.
"Oh, you know. Egging people and cars. Scaring the shit out of little kids. That kind of thing."
"And taking their kind 'donations'," Bryon added innocently, but with a smug grin showing them a pillowcase of pillaged candy.
Pony's face remained calm and indifferent to Dallas's attempts to melt his mind - and sat right beside Johnny to the right. Bryon hesitated before sidling down beside Dallas.
"Nice hat!" he snickered. Dallas grumbled something incoherent before shoving it on Johnny's head. The boy didn't move, remaining still and seemingly mulling something over. He had probably been trying to say something important, too. Dally reminded himself to grill him later.
"So, Bryon," Johnny began, trying to make conversation, "where's your girlfriend?"
Bryon sighed dramatically. "Busy," he answered curtly. "Apparently her siblings just had to trick-or-treating on the other side of town, and she had to be the one to take them..."
He wasn't being spiteful. Not towards her, at least. He was just telling the truth and feeling down about it. Pony flicked a hard mint at his head affectionately. Bryon leaned over and smacked him across the skull for it but ate the damn thing anyway.
Dally stared into the darkness, his mind beginning to wander. He noticed Bryon hadn't minded when Johnny addressed "Mike" as Pony, so he must be one of the few people who knew. He bit forcefully into a chocolate bar, scattering his thoughts. He'd never been the sort for people-watching.
"What're you doing out here anyway, Pony? Thought you said you weren't going out tonight."
So he had asked Pony out, after all. The addressed glanced warily across Dallas to the fourth party.
"My good buddy Bryon here came blubbering to me about his girl being off and him not having anything to do and being real lonely, so I brought him out here to cheer him up." He rolled his eyes. "Cathy's got a lot of siblings, so the idea of getting revenge on these kids got him giggling like a schoolgirl."
"Yup!" Bryon said, unscathed. "So here he is."
They hung together a while longer, Pony not taking as much of Johnny's attention as Dallas thought he would. They were both kind of quiet. Bryon did most of the talking, and either Dally or Pony would throw in a word or four now-and-again to reward his efforts at a pleasant conversation: shut the hell up.
Finally the two departed, Bryon in high spirits despite the frosty conduct and Pony looking as if everything bored him - as per usual. Dally figured it was teen angst, and minus from the hand-me-downs and good will wardrobe, he guessed Pony looked a bit like he did back then. He felt old thinking about it, and he and Johnny walked home together in comfortable silence.
They stopped outside Johnny's house by the white picket fence, and Dally wondered mildly what he was doing here - he didn't belong, with these people, on this side of Autumn. But he still didn't want to leave. Home was the last place he wanted to be.
So he gave Johnny his bag of candy - yes, keep it, no I don't want the damn hat - and still never moved a leg muscle. Johnny stood close to him, as if he wanted something but was afraid to ask for it. He stood close; unnaturally close. Dally decided to indulge him, brushing strands of hair that had come un-gelled away and kissing his forehead softly. He felt the boy heat up in pleasant shock, and though his hands were occupied by a ridiculous hat and two full pillowcases of candy, Dally had a feeling he wouldn't push him away even if they weren't.
When he finished Johnny looked at him adoringly, thanked him for the wonderful night, and nearly tripped over his gate while turning away.
"Come back anytime, Dally!" he called out before dashing inside. The older watched, mildly amused, before turning away and walking down the street. Alone.
-
A flurry of glass and shouting, lights illuminating the streets as neighbors awoke to find what all the ruckus was about. Cussing, a cry, but no one called the cops, only threatened. If you were to ask witnesses, they'd have only caught a few words:
worthless shit...
skipped out...work...
can't...do anything right?!
The cold air woke Dally up, and he found himself sprinting down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. It was as if he was on autopilot, diving over fences and rounding alleys until he came into the nice part of town, the part where the street lamps weren't all broken and the bars weren't all lined up beside dirty Laundromats.
He finally came to a halt outside Johnny's place, his face cut up and bleeding and a dry pain in his throat. Not from crying, not about to or past; he had been in a dead sprint all this way.
Mrs. Cade found him on the porch step, huddled in a ball, his face in his hands. She let him in without a moment's thought or hesitation.
"There, there, dear," she said in her sweet voice, trying to calm him. "We've all been down that road, haven't we?"
And that was how the dream house became a house for three.
Stripper money is slang for loose dollar bills, usually ones. Dallas is NOT a stripper.
Now that that's cleared up, I originally planned to submit this before/on Halloween. But, oh, you know. It is pretty damn long. I think I have carpal tunnel...