"I keep getting a busy signal when I dial," Two-Bit grouses as he hangs up the phone again. "Let's just hope we run into him today, and we can spread the word with other greasers." He turns to look at Darry, at his nervous face, at the way he chews at his lip.

Two-Bit wishes he could extend a little more pity to Darry at this moment. As is, though, it's almost lunch time and they've only got so much time to find Soda and maybe Steve. So he reaches down, claps a hand on Darry's shoulder. "I'll see you then, big guy. If you find Ed before I do, will you tell him to meet us there?"

"Yeah," Darry says half distractedly, staring back at the table. "I'll look out for Soda, too."

Two-Bit goes down the steps, boots clicking as he goes. He thinks of his father as he does it, moving down the road as quick as he can. If you couldn't find where someone was, you had to think smart about it. Places they could go, people they would see. Word could get around quick in Tulsa, if you were good with it.

It isn't hard to accost one of the younger greaser kids, telling him to pass on a message to surly old Tim Shepard, or to have him find Bear if he could. What was gonna be harder was finding someone before lunch who didn't have work or who wasn't going to just loiter around.

It's good luck, then, when Two-Bit sees one of the most reliable greasers turning a corner out. He whistles to get her attention, yelling out, "Ivy! Hey!"

Ivy must be running a little late given the time and it's clear she doesn't really like it when he runs up to her, trying to flag her down. "What is it? I have to go."

"You see Sodapop Curtis? About this tall, little willowy omega who's your type," Two-Bit chirps out, just to get on her nerves. "Been missing since early morning. Pack is itching to get ahold of him."

"No," the word is curt. Her car inches up. "Any reason why?"

"Had a real bad fight. We're trying to fix it — getting Ed involved, before the bonfire," Two-Bit steps with her as the car keeps going forward. "You mind telling him to come, if you see him?"

"Sure," Ivy says, raising an eyebrow at him. "I'll tell my pack too. Now let go, I'm late."

"Thanks!" Two-Bit lets go, and Ivy drives down the road.

It's early in the morning – too early in the morning, in fact – when Steve hears a shout. Hearing a shout at a dumb hour was normal in this neighborhood, as he picked out his clothes for school.

What wasn't normal was to hear barefeet hitting the pavement. Steve almost doesn't see him at the last second, head turned towards the kitchen window only at the right second enough to realize that it's Soda running. There's a wild urge to just go out there, go after him to see what the hell is going on with him.

The rest of him though is a Randle: stubborn, inflexible, and slow to forget slights.

So he just watches, curious as Soda runs down the street, and then turns his head towards the Curtis house when he hears a car squeal out of there.

Minutes later, when he's pulling out to drive to school, he does a pass by the house that isn't necessary. He can see that Darry's truck is still in the drive when he should be getting ready to go. There's an urge to walk up there, to go in and see what's going on.

Then he presses his foot on the gas and drives to school, determined to put it out of his mind. Whatever issue was going on, he didn't care right now. It wasn't his damn business, and as far as he was concerned, he was gonna keep it that way.

Even though it itched at the back of his head, even though it made his leg hop almost all morning during classes, he was going to ignore it. He'd gotten the message loud and clear about where he stood with Sodapop Curtis, and it sure as hell wasn't by his side like it had always been since they were kids.

Apparently, that didn't matter to Soda the way one girl did. One girl who had pushed her skirt up and let someone else pup her up, and ran to Florida. One girl who seemed to not even care enough to return his letters, one girl who had done nothing except hurt Soda.

That didn't matter to years of friendship, to Soda and Steve sticking up for each other, to Steve doing everything he could to help Soda.

Just nothing. All for one stupid girl.

Well, he had other fucking plans they weren't tuned to.

(And so fucking what that if they'd all been on the level, if things weren't so crazy right now, they'd like his plans?)

As soon as the bell rings for lunch, Steve shoves his books beneath his arms, trudges his way out of the back and goes to his car. He gives one sweep of a look for Johnny, and not finding him, he throws the car into drive, and makes his way out of the school gravel parking lot. He's got to go somewhere that actually wants him.

To someone.

"Steve!" She sees him first, with the straight teeth she's got, her red hair shining, and a brightness to her that Steve doesn't think he's seen in awhile. It's better than the rest of her, he can tell the moment he looks at her clothes. She's in one of those awful, expensive outfits Soc girls liked to wear, with the tops clinging but the bottom skirts pleated in a shade of pink that clashes with her hair.

The only part of his cousin that looks like the person she really was, who he really knew, was the black painted fingernails he sees as she wraps her arms around him. He has to bend down just a little to hug her back, her scent washing over him nicely, her hand coming to stroke his neck. Her hair's still in that short cut she'd adopted over a year ago, a fact that he doesn't like as he pets it. "Hey, Molly. Didn't wanna keep you real long; you ready to go?"

"Fuck yes," Two sentences in and she's swearing as bad as him. The mall is upscale enough that the saleswoman shoots her a glare. She must've been sitting here awhile in the department store, waiting for him with the bag she has. "My mom said I could only spend one night and then I had to be back."

He grasps her bag, shooting her a half scowl around his cigarette. "Yeah, after dressing you like the ugliest powderpuff. She pin you down and force you in it?"

"Fuck off, greaser," Molly sneers right back, her sharp omega teeth flashing. "You shower before you get here or you roll in some mud?"

He lets out a laugh as they walk out of the department store and into the main part of the indoor mall. It's too fancy for him; ordinarily he wouldn't be caught dead here. Molly's always been the exception though as they walk over to the cafe. More details spring out to him as they walk: the way her hips have changed, the way her scent has shifted, the cuts on her arms that show cause she's refusing to wear the jacket her mother gave her. They look like she's been scratching at herself like a cat. "Nah, though you look like you lost a fight to a wildcat."

"Usually happens when you have nightmares. You'd know if you looked in a mirror," Molly puts her hand in the silly church purse she's got that's pure white. "Where's your pack? They didn't know I was coming?"

"Pack my ass," he bites it out as they make it to the line at the cafeteria which is mostly older folks, no one young enough to know what a greaser or Soc is but just old enough to be annoyed as he swears, "Those assholes haven't told me a damn thing for weeks. All I know is something's going on and whatever it is, Soda ran off."

Molly looks at him in that way he really hates: the scrunched up nose, the sharpness in her eyes that reminds him all too much of her mother, even though she'd never want to hear it. "And you didn't go after him? At all?"

He scowls. "No. They don't wanna talk to me, that's fine with me."

"You mean you're mad Soda won't talk to you," she pulls out some money, counting it. "I wouldn't either, with the way you're acting."

"Me?" he almost snarls it out — then they're at the register. He falls silent as Molly orders, simmering at her. He orders his meal after her, and as soon as they're left to wait, he lays back in. "I didn't do shit, Mol, except tell the truth."

Rolling her eyes, his cousin takes a sip of her drink. "You know, I didn't come all this way to hear you complain like one of those dumb cheerleaders at school about her boyfriend. I came here to spend time in a place that wasn't a nuthouse."

Steve huffs. "You asked."

She nudges him with her elbow, the light making her freckles stick out more. "Can you talk like a normal cousin for five minutes before you turn into Dear Abby again? Please?"

Anyone else and Steve would get angry, annoyed. She's not though, and he relents. "Fine, fine. How was the ride?"

"Terrible," Molly replies, mouth turning into a half frown. "Mother spent most of it trying to remind me of ways that I shouldn't be embarrassing her while we're here. I had to recite everything I remembered about the contests going on, and then I had to hear a lecture from her about her stupid conference. So, you know, normal. Minus the part where she still calls me a slut!"

He winces at that, at the way her tone is chipper despite the way her face visibly looks tired when she speaks. "Didn't think she'd change."

"She'll change when you get a clean mouth, yeah," Molly sighs out, taking another pull of her drink. "I had to be on my best behavior coming here. She thinks I'm gonna walk back in the house pregnant again to ruin her perfect picture of life."

Just like it had before the summer she'd come to see them, his stomach drops to the floor at the word pregnant. To hear Molly, seventeen years old in a few months time, acknowledge the fact that she'd had a whole child in the months that they'd been apart – almost a whole year in and of itself.

Not that he was stupid; he'd vividly remembered when she'd been deposited at their doorstep alone, tears streaming down her face, already showing. She'd stayed the entire summer of 1964 until her mother had taken her back.

It had been weird — she was barely ninety pounds wet, and she was already so distended around her middle it looked like she'd shoved a basketball up her skirt. She had pulled close to him, had to be coaxed to come outside with the gang.

And they'd been more than decent with her, made her seem almost normal to be like that.

Then he'd come home to his father saying, Took that slut right back home to have that pup of hers. Steve had clenched his fist, had remembered what could happen to him if he hit his old man. And he'd let it go, had known that the next time, it would be Molly calling and not him. She'd have given birth by then, to a boy or a girl, and surely things would be alright.

The only call he'd gotten was one of her muted, quiet saying, They took the baby.

Then there hadn't been anything else. Nothing he could say could pry out more besides the fact she'd given birth and nothing more. Even when they were alone, without the possibility of her mother hearing, Steve could get nothing from her.

So this was just how it was not.

It was all a nothing space, a locked away secret he could never get the key to. Trying to pry anything out of her here wasn't gonna work, making a dig wasn't going to clarify, and on an afternoon like this, did he even want to?

For a moment he thinks of Sandy, how far along she might be with some asshole's kid.

He shoves the thought of her aside and bites out, "She got you those expensive pills. What's her worry for, aren't they a sure thing?"

"You know she's obsessed with the idea that I might do something worse than last time," Molly moves to get her food, Steve going with her. "Like I'll magically get knocked up by Jesus or something."

Steve snorts so hard that he almost inhales his cigarette instead of laughing. Molly grins back at him, and he's so thankful that she's here. One sane person he could count on. They eat in silence for a few moments until he breaks it with, "That race tonight, you got a change of clothes? I can't let you be seen looking like a tampon package."

"You've been close enough to a girl to know what a tampon is?"

He throws his fry at her.

"Hey, kid," Dallas speaks up, as Johnny makes his way into Jay's. "Hold on."

Johnny looks back, but it's Ponyboy he's talking to, who pauses halfway out of the car. The whole ride has been quiet, and Dallas's teeth are aching more than they should be.

Or, he thinks so.

Truth be told, Dallas doesn't know anything about how you're supposed to feel after mating; he just knows that if he doesn't get some alone time with Ponyboy after everything, he's going to get pissier than what he already feels, the need to have Ponyboy an itch that lives beneath his skin.

And he feels damn pissed. With the fact that everything had gone down so awfully that morning, with the fact that Darry had called him something that should be reserved for old guys who flipped up girl's skirts and peered through peepholes, with the fact that even if it could be true, he just wanted to have his damn mate, Darry or no Darry.

(That was without counting how he had done what any mate should — he'd taken Ponyboy to the lawyer, hadn't he? Got him to school on time, even, was here in the parking lot, taking him to lunch.)

Ponyboy gives Johnny a warm look – one that makes Dallas wanna glare given it should be for him – and stays in the car with Dallas. The sunlight is real bright, lighting up the ends of his still blonde hair that's gotten much closer to his old length. Maybe it is; Dallas vaguely can remember that heats could produce some sort of body changes, lend to a post heat glow.

It certainly feels real as Ponyboy looks at him, with those dark roots peeking out, that white blonde hair curling around his ears, the mating mark still a dark ring on his neck that Dallas knows he wants to press the flat of his tongue up against over and over until his fangs sink into his skin, and hold there until he can taste blood, until he can hear Ponyboy give that high whine that goes straight to his cock when he does it.

Not all the bruises, bite marks have faded since they came back. There hasn't been time to — something Dallas is proud of when he slides over in the car seat, sinking his fingers in that hair that both looked utterly strange on Ponyboy and that seemed to look just fine in the afternoon sunlight as he kisses Ponyboy rough and deep. There's no need to pretend like this is just a quick, hot and heavy make out he would've done with the likes of Sylvia.

This is different as Ponyboy kisses him back, his hands gripping Dallas' shirt, keeping him close as their tongues meet, as Ponyboy's scent seems to permeate everything. Dallas groans, pulling Ponyboy closer, half into his lap, loving how Ponyboy tastes even now. It's not a sugary sweetness that's repulsive, not so sharp that it's an alpha scent either and never that sort of dull nothing betas have. It's somewhere in the middle of both alpha and omega, and when Ponyboy pulls back, face flushed, Dallas wants more. He wants so much more as Ponyboy's tongue darts out to lick at his lips.

"We gotta – Someone's gonna —"

"Gonna what? Tell me what I can't do with my own mate?" Dallas moves his hand to grip Ponyboy's waist, fingers slotting there the same way they'd done in the heat motel. He purposely moves Ponyboy into his lap, looking at the way the sunlight turns Ponyboy's eyes hazel. "They want me to stop, they better fucking call th–"

Unexpectedly, it's Ponyboy who initiates this time, only he doesn't kiss Dallas. His teeth sink into Dallas' mating mark, hard and Dallas can't help how his fingers simply clench onto Ponyboy's waist in a vice like grip as every nerve in his body feels like they're hit all at once just like it had in the heat hotel.

It's not like an orgasm, it's deeper than that, touches something that's close to what he'd felt when they first mated. The feeling makes his throat grow dry, his head tips backwards, and he can't think around how good it feels, those sharp teeth driven so deeply into his neck, body alight with a feeling he hasn't been counting on. Not outside of the initial mating.

He hopes that it will always be like this, in a way: this feeling that something is being touched deep inside of him by his mate, that he will always grin, always hit that deep well of pleasure enough that when he breaks through, he feels dizzy, heady.

When his vision clears, his head still doesn't. Ponyboy is looking at him in the same way he feels, even though his mark is just fine – and Dallas grins, refusing to let that stand.

"Come here, kid."