Johnny's desperately grateful it's a Friday night. At least one of the boys has got to be up to something, even if it is past midnight. He can't spend the night alone. He doesn't even care if they see him like this, so long as he doesn't have to be alone. He walks back to his nook and puts his foot into the dying embers and squelches the remaining flames of the fire out, hissing in pain as he grinds the charred wood. He shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to figure where he's gonna go.
Even though the Curtis house is closest, he doesn't want to go there. Partly because of Darry, partly because of Ponyboy. Pony has always sought his advice and shared his secrets so trustingly, and if Ponyboy only knew how he behaved tonight, the depravity of what he'd been willing to do, that poor innocent kid would be devastated. He can't face him after this. And he doesn't want to see Ponyboy when he's bruised up. He doesn't want to worry him.
The person he wants most to see is Dallas. But there is shame facing him as well, and he'd soon as avoid him as he would run to him. He figures he should find Two-Bit. Two-Bit will crack jokes and cause mischief and make him laugh and forget about everything for the night. And Two-Bit's always soused on weekends, so maybe he'll share some of his liquor so Johnny can really forget. He doesn't even care if he makes himself sick. In fact, he hopes he does.
First Johnny heads to the Jay's, one of two twenty-four seven joints on the east side of town, but none of his buddies are there. He does see Curly Shepard loitering outside with another vaguely familiar kid greaser whose name he doesn't know. Curly's corkscrew black hair is slicked back and his hard blues eyes are scowling; his friend's wearing nothing but a black undershirt even though it's freezing tonight, showing off lean, cut muscles and a long, vertical scar. They look like they walked right out of a public service announcement decrying teen violence. Johnny's trying to avoid them and slip away when Curly catches his eye and nods him over.
Johnny sighs, trying to blow his bangs out of his face, but they're too heavy with grease to move. Gingerly, he makes his way over to Curly and the other boy. He's pretty messed up, and kinda light-headed. Johnny joins them and leans up against the wall of the building, slouching as if he's acting cool, but really he doesn't want anything to touch the back of his head right now. It kills.
"What happened, man? You get into a fight?" Curly asks. "You get jumped again?"
"I fell," Johnny snaps sarcastically.
Curly shrugs. "That sucks," he says without an ounce empathy. "Hey, what the hell are you wearing? I didn't realize it was Halloween. That's a good costume. Dead Soc."
Johnny looks down at himself. His jeans jacket is still unbuttoned, and Randy's preppy argyle sweater, now complete with grass and bloodstains, is in full view for every greaser to see.
"Mind your own fucking business," Johnny says. And then, "Aren't you supposed to be under house arrest?"
Curly grins. "If I get caught 'violating the conditions,' I get sent back to reform school."
"Maybe you should't violate the conditions then," Johnny shoots.
Curly shrugs again. "You gotta smoke? I'm all out." By his tone, he obviously expects Johnny to hand one over, even though they barely know each other.
Curly is between Johnny's and Pony's ages, but he's always felt older than both of them. Johnny's doesn't like him one bit. He's got a mean edge to him, and Johnny hates the idea of Ponyboy hanging around him. He's a bad influence. Then again, maybe Johnny's shouldn't be the one judge when it comes to that. Speck and plank or whatever that nice old minster preached about one time.
Johnny reaches into his pocket to grab Curly a cancer stick, and Curly's friend says, "Hey, give me one while you're at it."
Johnny only has three left. He gives away two and takes the last for himself. Then he tosses the packet onto the gravel. The three of them smoke in silence for a while.
"You looking for Dallas?" Curly asks.
"No. Why would you ask that?" Johnny says, suddenly defensive. He blows a ring of smoke up into the air, and then blows a straight line into the center of the dying circle.
"Tim complains about you. He says you're always tagging along with Dallas and that Dallas acts almost like an upright citizen when you're around. He says you're a damn wet blanket."
"I don't tag along," Johnny snaps.
Curly blows smoke into Johnny's face. "Don't shoot the messenger."
He knows it's bad for his reputation to let some fifteen-year-old hood walk all over him, but Johnny is in no condition to fight tonight, physically or mentally, so he lets it slide. "You're an asshole, Curly."
"Don't I know it." He stubs out his cigarette. "Anyway, they're out by the parking lot at the high school, doing wheelies and racing with some other boys. I think they're pretty drunk. Tim said I wasn't allowed to come. You wanna join them?"
"Sure," Johnny says. Partly because he wants to prove he's not a wet blanket, partly because he can't bear being alone right now. He pulls himself off the side of the diner.
"Shoot, you bled all over the wall," Curly says.
Johnny looks behind him. "I'm sure the wall can handle it."
Curly's friend laughs. "Man, this guy's real funny."
As they're walking past the dumpster in the alley behind Jay's, Johnny pulls off the sweater and leaves it with the trash.
#
By the time they get to the parking lot, the excitement is dying down. Two-Bit is there, kneeling down on the ground by his car and inspecting his back tire, which is flat. He has a wrench in his hand, which he's using to loosen the lug nuts. Dallas is sitting on top of Two-Bit's car, chugging back a flask.
Whosever car it was that Tim had 'borrowed' now has a smashed in bumper. There are two other cars and about seven or eight other greasers loitering around who Johnny doesn't know personally. They must be Tim's people.
"Howdy, Johnnycake! Is that you?" Dallas calls out to him, still high from the crazy racing of the night and all liquor he's consumed. Knowing Dally, it's whiskey.
"Shucks, kid, you're out of luck," Two-Bit says, glancing up only briefly from the car. "You just missed all the action."
"Curly, I told you not to come here!" Tim shouts. "Git over here so I can hit you!"
Curly laughs.
"What are you guys up to?" Johnny asks.
"I'm trying to fix this tire that Dally flattened. Dal here is being lazy and refusing to help me." Anybody else would have been annoyed, Two-Bit laughs it off. He knows Dally all too well to get upset with him.
"I'm helping," Dally says. "I'm supervising."
And then Johnny steps closer.
"Jesus Christ, not again." Dally jumps off the car and lands with a thud.
"What's the matter?" Two-Bit asks. He turns to look at them, and catches Johnny's face. He winces in sympathy. "Shoot, kid. That's pretty bad."
"What the hell are you doing wandering around? You should have gone straight to the Curtises'. Darry or Soda would've patched you right up," Dally scolds. "Stupid kid," he adds, muttering under his breath.
"I ain't that bad off."
"Have you seen your face?"
"Drop it, Dal. I came out here to have a good time. I don't need a lecture."
Dally heads over to Two-Bit at the side of the car. "Move over."
"I'm busy," Two-Bit says.
"Hand me the wrench." Two-Bit frowns at him and hands it over. Dallas snatches it out of his hand and shoves Two-Bit aside. He kneels down at the tire and vigorously lets in. It almost looks like he's attacking the car. "Go get the jack outa the trunk. And hurry up, will ya?"
"I can't believe it," Two-Bit shakes his head. "Dallas Winston is actually doing honest work."
"Yeah, well, believe it."
"What's the rush?" Two-Bit leans back against the car and takes a comb from his back pocket. He glides it through his hair casually, and even straightens out his sideburns.
"What the hell do you mean, what's the rush? As soon as I'm through with this tire, you're dropping Johnny and me off at Buck's. The idiot's got open wounds. I don't want that shit to get infected."
"Woah, Dal. Cool down. The kid just said he wanted to have a good time. Let him live a little."
Dally glares at Two-Bit. "Get me the jack."
#
The second they're alone, Dally says, "Who hurt you?" His voice doesn't leave room for evasion or argument.
"My old man." Johnny won't look him in the face.
"Doesn't look like your old man's work," Dally says. "That asshole never gets your face too screwed up. Guess he figures somebody at the school might get nosy."
And that's pretty pathetic. Johnny's dad lays in on him so often that Dally's familiar with the aftereffects.
"So, are you gonna tell me who jumped you?"
Johnny shrugs. "It don't matter. And anyway, it wasn't a jumping. I started it."
Dally raises an eyebrow. "You really need to get better at lying, kid. Nobody'd believe that one."
"No, Dal. I honestly did. I was real pissed."
Dally gives him an uncertain stare. "You're not lying," he says.
Johnny shakes his head.
"Do I know him?"
Johnny shakes his head again.
"What's his name?"
"Does it matter?" Johnny asks. "It wasn't a big deal. It was a one-on-one, fair skin fight. And I started it."
"It matters 'cause the piece of shit cracked the back of your head open. Jesus, Johnny. You might need stitches."
"I'm sure it ain't that serious," Johnny says. "And besides, he didn't mean to do that. It was an accident. He shoved me on the ground and there happened to be something sticking up. And anyway, I started it 'cause I lost control and then he lost control, and it's over now. So you need to let it go."
Dallas gives him a cold look. "He didn't mean to? It was an accident? Damn it, you're defending him! Who the hell hurt you, Johnny? Was it one of the boys?"
"It's nobody you know, so lay off." Johnny crosses his arms and backs up so he's leaning against the wall.
"Well, it's gotta be, 'cause it was obviously somebody you give a shit about enough to protect. And I can count those people on my hands."
"Come on, Dal, please. I don't want to talk about it. I said you don't know him and I ain't lying."
Dally stares at him again. "No, you're not," he agrees. Dally lets out a long, controlled breath. "So you were seeing this guy." It's not a question.
The blood drains from Johnny's face. "No." He shakes his head, fast and scared. "No."
"I'm not mad at you, Johnny. You don't need to lie to me." Dally's voice is suddenly soft.
"I'm not lying," Johnny lies, mumbling into the floor.
"Yeah, you are," Dally protests. "Shoot." He pulls his hand through his hair. "If you had just listened to me-" but he stops himself before he can continue the lecture. "What was the fight about?" his voice is controlled, like he's putting a lot of effort into not shouting at Johnny.
Johnny shrugs. "I don't know."
"Was it about sex?" Dally pushes.
Johnny's face and chest go red. "That's private."
"So it was." Dally's voice has gotten meaner and colder. He grabs Johnny's arm and shakes him. "He hurt you anywhere else?"
"Nah," Johnny answers to the floor. "Only bruised up my face."
"And by hurt you anywhere else, I mean did he rape you?" Dally glares defiantly, unabashed by the directness of his question.
Johnny's mouth gapes open. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Dally, seriously. Jesus. No. It's nothing like that."
Dally swallows in relief. He lets go of Johnny. "Thank God," he mutters under his breath. "I thought..." he calms himself. "You wanna tell me what you fought about?"
Johnny sighs. "He rejected me is all, okay? Things were going fine, he even said he loved me, but I guess he was just lying because right after that he dumped me out of the blue. So I got mad. And we fought. And that's the end. Dal, don't give me that look. It's fine. I mean, I don't even care anymore. It was stupid of me to think somebody could love me."
"No, Johnny. It ain't stupid of you to think somebody loves you. It's stupid of you to think nobody does."
And Johnny makes sense of the words, and he looks up at Dallas in surprise. "What…what do you mean?" His voice on the verge of breaking.
"What do you think I mean? You have to know how the boys feel, don't ya? You'd have to be blind not to get it."
"I mean, we're friends…"
"The whole gang loves you." Dally shouts it. "We. all. love. you. How can you not see that?" He's still shouting. "Guys don't say that type of shit because it's gay-" He stops himself.
He hadn't meant the word literally. All the boys sling it at each other as an insult to curb anybody who starts acting too sensitive. If you cry, or you show too much emotion, or you back out of a fight, or you hug somebody too long, you or your behavior gets called girly or gay. Those are the rules when you live on the east side. Or maybe when you live anywhere.
Dally gives Johnny a bittersweet smile that doesn't even spread to one half of his mouth, let alone his eyes. "You know what I mean."
He hears Pony's 'gross' and Darry's 'you know how the gays are…' "They wouldn't love me, if they knew me," Johnny asserts.
"Well, I know you. And I," Dally pauses. He stops shouting. "I love you."
Johnny stares at Dally, wide-eyed and speechless. Somehow, he finds himself shaking his head no. He just can't believe it.
"What the fuck do I have to do to make it clear to you? Decorate a notebook by writing Dallas Winston loves Johnny Cade inside a bunch of girly hearts? For crying out loud, Johnny, if that's what you need, shoot, I'll do it. Heck. You want me to get a fucking tattoo with your name on it? Will that convince you?
"Look. I ain't exactly proud of the fact you're queer, but you know what? Go looking for sex if you need to. You're sixteen. You've got a dick. I get it. And I ain't gonna bother you about it, so long as you protect yourself and keep your trap shut. But you listen to me Johnny, and you listen good. You don't need to go looking for love. You dig? The people who love you are right here."
Johnny sobs. And then the tears start flowing, uncontrolled and snotty and messy, and he can't make himself stop.
"Shit. Don't cry." Johnny cries harder. "Stop crying, right now. I mean it. I'm warning you."
Johnny feels the warm firmness of Dally's chest against his cheek.
"Why are you crying, kid?" Dally asks softly; he's holding him, cradling him.
This has probably been among the worst days of Johnny's life, from the failure he received on his English essay, to the trouble in the cafeteria, to his old man laying in on him at home, to Darry's request that he protect Ponyboy from people like him, to whatever it was that happened between him and Randy.
"I'm crying 'cause I'm happy," he says. He means it.
Johnny shifts a little in Dally's arms; he feels the course bristle of Dally's five o'clock shadow against his forehead. He can see, up close and blurry, the movement of Dally's Adam's apple as he swallows. He loves the scent of Dally, even if it's sweat and whiskey and sometimes horse shit. He doesn't know when their faces pressed together turns into a kiss. He does know he's the one who initiates it. Even the light pressure against his swollen lip feels like he's being clobbered again, but he doesn't care.
It takes Dallas three seconds to pull away. He keeps Johnny at arms length as he holds him back. "Don't," Dally says, stern, cautious. He drops his hands. They twitch at his side for a second, like he doesn't know what to do with them.
Johnny swipes his bangs out of his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be," Dally tells him shortly. "You're hurt pretty bad," he says, deliberately changing the subject. He works his hand through Johnny's greasy hair, and Johnny watches as it comes away with a bent blade of yellow grass and a red, wet layer of blood.
"It's nothing."
Dally shakes his head and makes his way to the other side of the room, where his laundry is piled haphazardly on the floor. He grabs a couple of items and then comes back and dumps them in Johnny's hands.
"What are you-" Johnny looks down at his arms, where he's now holding a bath towel, a woolen shirt, pajama pants, and briefs.
"It's all clean," Dally says, like that would even matter to him. Whatever it is, it's cleaner than what he's wearing.
"I don't need-"
"You're staying the night. So yeah, you do. I'm gonna go make up the bed for you and find you a first-aid kit while you hop in the shower."
"Dal, you shouldn't give me your bed. I can take the floor."
"Are you arguing with me, Johnny Cade?"
Johnny turns away, his face warm. With embarrassment or happiness, he doesn't know. "No, Dal. I'm not arguing with you."
"I didn't think so."
TBC