For a moment, Ponyboy wonders if he's stepped backwards in time and not forward when he crosses the threshold of the house with Dallas. It's just like the night weeks ago, where Soda is half asleep on the couch, and Darry is in the loveseat, his head half bowed, a newspaper in hand, looking up with a look of worry and then deep, deep anger on his face.

The only difference is what he's wearing: instead of the flannel, it's the same black shirt from the rumble, only there are no wounds on his face or hands as he stands up to glare at them both. Only instead of Soda greeting him softly, he's staring at them both eyes the size of saucers, no doubt able to scent the change in them both, the dark ring on both of their necks of a telltale mating mark.

The angry wave off of Darry is palpable, even though Dallas automatically shifts in front of Ponyboy, keeping him from the direct fount of emotion Darry is clearly feeling. "You have got to be fucking kidding me," his voice is thunderous, incredulous with anger as he looks at them both, "You're about to go to a court case that is gonna decide our entire lives and not only do you run off for days for a heat, but you got mated? To a fourteen year old?"

"I wanted to," Ponyboy speaks up first, not liking how reedy and cracked his voice sounds, "I asked him, Darry."

It's so strange to know that Darry doesn't have exactly all the power over him at this moment. That the moment he had asked Dallas to mate him, things had shifted. He didn't have to follow him as Pack Alpha first anymore, Dallas superseded that position now. The thought is distant, almost unreal as Darry bristles in front of him, his face going red just like it had those nights ago. "And he should've known to tell a little kid no —"

"He ain't a little kid," Dallas snaps back, his voice edging on an angry growl now, the hairs on his neck standing up. Ponyboy feels like everything is a movie playing out in front of him with how aggressive Dallas' scent gets, with how angry he is at that moment and he doesn't want to stop him. He won't stop him as Dallas shields him further, obscuring Darry's furious face. "He made that choice, he wanted me as a mate! I ain't no fucking perv—"

Darry snarls out, "You're damn near eighteen years old, and all you do is get him into trouble! You're the reason those Socs went after him, the reason he came back half burned, the goddamn reason why he might get thrown into a boy's home or worse!" His voice climbs so much higher and louder than what his father ever had. "You sat up here and targeted him, pulled him into a heat with less than a week to get to court and you mated him! You're an irresponsible piece of sh—"

"Don't talk about him that way!" Ponyboy snaps now, moving past Dallas, glaring at Darry, unable to take it anymore. "He ain't trick me, he ain't do nothing, Darry! Why can't you get that? I was having a heat, did you want me to just die of a heatfever? Have him ignore me? Darry, I love him, I wanted it. If I'm old enough to be initiated, I'm old enough to have a mate!"

Quietly, he thinks he hears Sodapop say, "Stop it."

He's quickly drowned out by Darry's cold, furious voice. "Old enough to get thrown into jail, old enough to get shipped to another state, old enough to maybe get the chair!" Darry looks bigger than he should, and when his hand moves upward, Ponyboy thinks of that night, thinks of the sting of his face when Darry hit him, and he goes stiff even though Darry's just continuing to tick off his fingers, "Old enough to know you shouldn't be running around having a heat with him, old enough to be doing better! You're supposed to be smart, and you're letting him ruin everything you got—"

Soda tries to speak up again; it's useless because Dallas has had enough, grasping Darry by his shirt, shoving him back against the wall, half lifting him up with a snarl. Those sharp fangs that Ponyboy likes in his neck so much are flashing, his scent is spiking with aggression, and Ponyboy can't tell him to stop as he slams Darry against the wall again. "You wanna blame all this shit on me? Not the fucking Socs, not the Cades?"

His voice is getting louder, and Soda says louder, desperate again, "Stop it!"

Darry isn't listening. He's grasping Dallas by the wrist, and Dallas is getting closer to him, and one of them is going to hit the other, and it's Darry who does it, it's Darry who's hand lifts just the way it had that night, and Ponyboy feels sick, frozen as he chokes out, "Don't—"

The hit lands on Dallas' face with a resounding crack of skin meeting skin.

Dallas Winston is the toughest hood in Tulsa, and he's never, ever let someone hit him and get away with it.

For a moment, a hush falls over everyone. Ponyboy thinks the only sound he can hear is his own heartbeat, his own blood roaring in his ears, and the only scent he detects is Dallas' own, the way it shifts, the rising pheromones, the anger in him physically evident and growing moment by moment.

Unlike that night before, where Darry had yelled out a useless apology, there is none here. There's only Darry's anger spilling over, only Darry baring his teeth right as blood trickles down Dallas' lip. Those fangs Ponyboy loves so much — sharp, bone white — are shown in something that could be mistaken for a smile, but it isn't, not with how wide it is, not with how threatening it is. Not when Dallas lunges at Darry in response, Soda skittering away frantically to the other side of the room as they begin to fight.

It's not like fights that are coordinated like a dance on television shows, where every moment is fluid, easy to follow. It's harder to keep track of them as they grapple and tear at each other — Darry shoving Dallas against the wall so hard the plaster cracks, Dallas retaliating by kicking at Darry's knee so hard that he forgets where he is and smashes into the desk that topples to the floor, Ponyboy unable to tell who stomps on the beautiful lily shaped lamp that his mother loved, and crushes it into a thousand glittering green pieces.

He only snaps out of it when Soda is the one who flings himself to them, to try and break them up — there's already one hole in the wall, glass all over the floor. Soda shouldn't be doing that, Soda needed help, and Ponyboy is stumbling forward, trying to get a grip on a furious Dallas, the scent of blood renting the air. There's no coordination like there is in movies, nothing linear, only Ponyboy wrapping his arms around Dallas' torso, crying out, "Dal, stop it!" He can feel Dallas trying to pull away, can see Darry's bloodied, angry face, and still, Ponyboy tries to get him off.

On the other side of the room, Soda is finally able to move between them both, shoving Dallas back into Ponyboy, using his own body to get in front of a still enraged, teeth baring Darry. He looks enormous at this moment, all muscle and rage and Ponyboy tries not to think about what it was like to take a hit from him.

Soda is braver than him, his arms out, moving when Darry moves. If he's saying something too, Ponyboy can't make out the words. Not when Darry almost gets around him, and Dallas lunges out of Ponyboy's grip entirely, his feet crushing the green glass beneath him. He tries to get Dallas back — Soda boxes Darry back, forcing against the piano half shoved into the hallway. There's fury he's never heard in his voice, "Darry, stop it!"

"Quit protecting him!" Darry looks pissed, his hair a mess, almost looking as bad as he had at the rumble as Ponyboy grasps Dallas' shirt, trying to get a firmer hold on him. "It's all his fault!"

"Asshole!" Dallas snarls out.

"No it ain't!" Soda shouts back, louder than what he's ever done in his life. Ponyboy's grip on Dallas feels tentative, Dallas breathing hard, eyes flashing. "It ain't his fault, Darry, you can't blame him for everything!"

"Soda, move!" This time, Darry shoves Soda hard. Hard enough that Soda looks shocked at the force, with how hard it is. He's bigger than Ponyboy and instead of being struck so hard he hits the floor hard enough to be stunned, he crashes into the glass center table. The only reason he doesn't go through it is because of Dallas, who grips Soda before he can hit it, awkwardly getting Soda steady on his feet.

Darry stares. Dallas sneers out, "Real good alpha brother of you, huh, hitting your little omega brother! Real fucking protective, huh?"

Everything could get worse from here. Ponyboy knows that as he and Soda look at each other, Soda's eyes big, Ponyboy starting to shake. Saying what happened, why they had been out that night, that this wasn't—

"Soda—" Darry's voice is strangled, upset.

Soda gives Dallas a look that Ponyboy can't understand, his face shocked, ashen. "This ain't anywhere near a family or a pack anymore. I can't— You guys—"

Before anyone can move or say anything else, Soda is moving across the room, and then he's out of the door. It slams shut behind him as he runs off into the early morning, Darry still rooted to the spot, surrounded by the pieces of the lamp, his chest heaving, face red.

Looking at him like this is painful, is upsetting. Ponyboy can't look at him and not think of being hit by him, of being scared to come home. As much as Darry was good for him, as much of a point he had...

Dallas grasps Ponyboy's hand, biting out, "C'mon, Pone."

It's too fast for Ponyboy to protest, to beg, to say anything as he follows Dallas — they're on the porch, then the lawn, then in the car, the engine roaring to life — then they're flying down the road and it's only then that Ponyboy realizes that he's crying.

Because Soda was right. This wasn't a family or a pack anymore. They were fractured as badly as any ring of Socs.