"What are you in a hurry for?" Buck smiles at him with those buck teeth of his that Dallas wishes he could just punch out at any moment. He's never liked Buck Merrill; he's a slimy piece of shit who could hardly run anything. The only reason he was doing a damn thing at all in Tulsa with money was because the place wasn't all that busy, and because it was easy to make a name for yourself with so few people.
Right now, he knows he needs to control himself. Ignore the blood beneath his nails and just sneer like normal. "I'm cashing out. I got something I need to do, and I need the damn money. Now." He bares his teeth. "And if you knew what was good for you, Merrill, you'd shut the fuck up and get it for me sooner rather than later if you wanna keep those toothpicks you call teeth in your head right."
The smile on Buck's face melts right off; he's a puny little beta, worse than Johnny Cade 'cause at least Johnny Cade had been a teenager and not an adult afraid of a seventeen year old. "Now? Dallas, I'm in —"
Without hesitating, Dallas reaches over, grabs onto Buck's shirt and snarls out the word, "Now."
The music behind them reaches a crescendo. Buck's scent turns into a cower, and he mumbles out, "Okay, okay. I'll cash you out."
Dallas shoves him back.
The clock keeps going.
The face in the mirror isn't the same as the one that had left the house that evening. It's still pale, still in need of a good meal or two, but it isn't the same boy, even though he knows better as he finishes scrubbing at his skin, leaving it pink in his wake.
There's no more blood, there's no more bits of stickiness from his drink, none of that. It's just his bare, freshly cleaned and showered self staring back in clothes that were a million sizes too big on him, and his brown hair half hanging in his face. Ponyboy doesn't know what to make of himself as he looks at the mirror, at the way he's changed so much since the day began.
The longer he looks, the more he has to think about everything else, and Dallas had growled out, We don't have a lot of time.
He puts the towel down, reaches down to roll the pants up a bit more, and grabs the brown jacket that Dallas had left for him. The jacket goes around his shoulders again, over the blue flannel that Dallas had given him that belonged to the beta owner, and Ponyboy tips his nose, to inhale the alpha scent there, to get the comfort provided there, that bit of Dallas he'd gotten so attached to in such a short amount of time.
Dallas' scent is better than that of blood, of alcohol, of pool water being sucked up his nose until he saw red. It was better than to think about the feeling of Johnny's blood hitting his face or the feeling of panic washing over him, again and again and again.
He wishes things weren't this way, that he wasn't in this place hearing shitty music while Dallas was getting money so they could run. He wishes that Johnny had never seen him, that he had walked with Dallas with the girls.
Ponyboy inhales, over and over again, trying to chase away the memory of the blood, of Johnny's burning eyes. His hands start to shake, fingers clenching the jacket tighter, the thoughts of What is Darry gonna think? What's Soda gonna say? What about Johnny's parents –
"Kid!" The door slams open and Ponyboy jumps, turns his face up to hear Dallas walking in. He's moving briskly, footsteps causing a loud bang that overpower the noise from below. "C'mon, we gotta go. I got the money, all the supplies." He yanks open a drawer roughly, the hinges screeching. Ponyboy shuts the lights off in the bathroom, moving out to look at Dallas. His hair is half falling in front of his eyes, his hand gripping a leather backpack that has some age to it, shoving in clothes, a pistol that flashes in the light, a roll of money following. Dallas only lifts his head to glance at Ponyboy for a moment. "You're gonna need to wear shoes and button up. It's gonna be cold where we're going."
"Where are we going?" He looks around for the shoes Dallas had stolen for him, finding them over in the corner. They're also too big, yet they're a pair of tennis shoes without blood on them. "You never said."
"It's a hide out, at a place called Windrixville, and not far from there, Jay Mountain. We got about forty-five minutes," he buckles the bag shut, Ponyboy buttoning up the shirt and jacket. "So we need to get a move on, before the cops start cottoning on."
Even though he doesn't really feel like it, even though he's feeling as if everything is starting to just move too quickly, Ponyboy says, "I'm ready. I got everything."
Dallas gives the room a furtive glance, then places his hand on Ponyboy's shoulder. "Don't look anywhere 'cept straight ahead, and move when I move you." His hand feels heavy as he guides Ponyboy out of the room, his boots still banging on the wooden steps as they move.
The music is still going — loud, awful caterwauling that grinds on Ponyboy's frayed nerves as is. There are people everywhere here, most of them dressed like some kind of cowboy or farm hand, if they're dressed at all. The walls are a bright red from the shifting lights, Ponyboy glancing into the side rooms where one woman has her head thrown back, her shirt half off, one breast in the air as another woman slides down her thighs, the scent of sex thick. In another room he can see a man with his pants halfway down, thrusting into his partner who Ponyboy can't see.
Against his will, his ears grow hot at the sight of it all. Still, his feet keep on moving, Dallas steering him towards the back where the scents of sweat, alcohol, and alpha pheromones cede to that of the outside air mixing with gasoline. The back door, he pushes open without needing to be nudged, and then the cold night air hits his senses all at once, making his skin break out in gooseflesh at the abrupt change.
It must've been three minutes, maybe being inside there yet the moment cold air hits him, he relaxes again. The walls back there had felt constricting and the night sky is much, much more welcome to him.
Then his eyes drop forward to where Dallas is steering him in the gravel laden parking lot. Johnny's car is parked there, haphazardly. The doors are locked, shut and as they get closer, Ponyboy wonders why he forgot that it was there, why he forgot getting out of it.
It comes back to him as they walk closer to it: of Dallas driving the car with blood soaked hands, the glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror, the paralyzation that had taken over his body, unable to move until Dallas had yanked him out of the passenger seat.
Dallas is saying something, saying words that mean things, that are directions. All Ponyboy can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as Dallas overtakes him, opens the door. All he can taste in the back of his throat, all he can smell in his nostrils, all he can see is blood. It's everywhere in the car: splatters on the windows, bloodied handprints on the wheel, on the seats where they sat, invading almost every sense he has, his heart hammering.
All at once it really lands inside of him: Johnny Cade is dead. He is dead, he'd never wake up, and Dallas had killed him, and his blood was in his car, his car —
"No," the word crawls out of his throat, hands shaking. "No, Dallas, no."
Ponyboy's voice breaks over Dallas like a harsh wave in the darkness of the night. He turns his head around to look at him, at the frozen way he's standing, with his eyes wide in his face, roving around in his head like a terrified animal over the car.
His scent is drenched in fear, and Dallas knows this is it. This is where the kid gets off — finally come to his fucking senses about all of this, about what this situation really was about. He should've known that he would've done this eventually: Ponyboy was still young, still a Soc, not used to any of this.
Reality had to set in some time, had to be shattered and Dallas pulls away from the car. A hot streak of disappointment pulls in him, that stupid part of him that almost thought this would work, that the little Soccy kid could run away with a greaser. Even if it was a greaser who he was attracted to, who he wanted.
He steels himself against his disappointment. "It's okay, kid. I'll just drop you off somewhere, and —"
Ponyboy's eyes — mostly white now from the way they're almost rolling in his head in terror — come back to focus on Dallas, and he shakes his head. "No, no. I — it's the car. There's blood everywhere, I can't — I can't go in there. I can't, J-Johnny's dead." His teeth chatter in his head, shaking his head so hard that Dallas wants to reach over and make him stop him from how violent it is. "I don't wanna — I can't get in the car. I can't, I can't." His eyes shine, right on the edges of crying, mouth trembling as he looks at Dallas.
Life is full of disappointments, most of them bitter. Dallas steels himself for this one to hurt more, trying to keep his voice even. "Then kid, I'll leave —"
"Can't we go another way?" Ponyboy cuts him off instead, clenching and unclenching his hand instead. "I don't wanna leave you, I just — I can't be in that car, Dallas. I can't."
I don't wanna leave you. I don't wanna leave you.
Dallas breathes in, breathes out. He doesn't have to be disappointed this time, and he thinks as quick as he can. "Okay, kid. Shit — do you know where the train yard is? The big one?" A nod. "Okay. You can get there on foot, if you take a shortcut, around the back if you're fast. I'm gonna get rid of this car, and you're gonna meet me there in forty minutes. Forty. You got it?"
They can do this. They have to do this.
He reaches over, strokes Ponyboy's cheek. Ponyboy looks up at him, swallows — skin still pale, yet eyes aren't roving like they were, scent not drenched in terror. It's Dallas this time who decides to close the distance between them, who kisses Ponyboy deeper than before.
Ponyboy inhales, grips Dallas' cheek — a peal of laughter from Buck's washes over them, and that's all they need to pull apart.
"Forty minutes," Dallas says.
Ponyboy nods, turns. "I'll keep off the main roads! I promise!"
Dallas watches him dart into the night. He slides into the car, pulls the keys out and sticks them in the ignition. The car turns on as easy as it had before, and Dallas doesn't mind the acrid scent of blood that drenches the car, soaks into his skin, his senses.
Where Ponyboy was overwhelmed, Dallas simply accepts it. What he had done was done, couldn't be reversed. No matter what happened now, no matter what was going on, he'd see this through, with Ponyboy.
All they needed now was a bit of luck.
thanks so much for reading! i love comments + kudos and third chapter will be the last!