Darry looks between Dallas and Ponyboy with a look of resigned annoyance. The thing about having only one truck and Buck being unwilling to lend out his car one more time to Dallas was that they all couldn't fit in it. Ponyboy couldn't squeeze into the cab nicely with his brothers and Dallas, which left one solution.
"Just thrown down a blanket so you two don't get dirty, and don't do nothing that's gonna get you charged for public indecency," Darry gestures to the truck bed, and Ponyboy cracks a grin. Wisely, he doesn't mention that after last night, he thinks he's alright for now.
Dallas is clearly thinking the same thing given the smirk on his face, and Ponyboy elbows him before going into the back of the house. He grabs one of the older comforters, hearing Darry start the truck up. The engine growls, and Soda yells out, "Grab some pillows, too!"
"Okay!" Ponyboy pulls out two pillows, and then gets Dallas' brown jacket, the pockets stuffed with the cash the other packs had given him the night before. He throws it on, walks outside with everything in hand.
It doesn't take long for the truck bed, which was already decently clean, to have the blankets down, then the pillows. Dallas hauls him up, and once they're settled, he knocks on the window. Darry glances up at them through the rearview mirror, expression stern, then the truck takes off.
The road isn't too bad and Ponyboy leans against Dallas, wishing he'd brought a book. The sky is clear, the sun already out and Dallas shifts, pulling Ponyboy closer. "You okay, kid?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he looks at the passing trees, houses, all of Tulsa, reaching his hand into his jacket, looking for cigarettes. "You ain't cold or anything?" As they move past, his mind drifts for a moment, a memory swimming up.
"Ain't my first rodeo riding in the back of a truck like this," Dallas unrolls his sleeve, the pack of Kools there. "You sure you're okay?" He offers the pack to Ponyboy as Darry slows to a stop at a light. "You got that look on your face, where you ain't at home."
"How can I not be here?" Taking a cigarette, Ponyboy sticks it in his mouth, watching Dallas do the same. His hair's been freshly washed, as has the rest of him. That haircut he's been needing for weeks a now is looking more evident that ever, his hair starting to curl as he makes a come here motion with his finger. Obligingly, Ponyboy leans over, catching Dallas' scent, the wildness in it that he's come to associate with comfort. Dallas grasps the chain, drawing Ponyboy closer to him, their noses almost touching.
Heat envelops Ponyboy's ears and neck at the closeness, at how casually Dallas does it as if he always has this. His heart unexpectedly catches in his throat as Dallas strikes a match on the medallion, the heat close to their skin.
Have his eyes always looked this brown? Ponyboy thinks to himself as he moves the match to their two cigarettes that are touching, inches of distance between them. They've always been a dark brown to him, and with the matchlight, they seem more intense than ever.
Carefully, Dallas lights up both of their cigarettes, the truck starting up again, gliding forward as Ponyboy takes his first inhale.
If he had a pencil and paper, he'd draw what it had looked like, to see Dallas' eyebrows come together, to see the way he had looked when he'd lit their cigarettes, the way his mouth – suddenly so pink – had scrunched up in a half snarl on his face, and the way he looks at Ponyboy now, half critical, half curious. "C'mon, kid. What's going on in your head?"
Reminded, Ponyboy leans back with his cigarette, taking another steady inhale knowing he'd never keep the image in his head of what he'd just seen if he started. Still...
God. Weeks ago and he'd never trust himself to say this to Dallas Winston. A flash of what he'd said on Jay Mountain, about how he didn't think he could tell anyone what he'd felt, comes back to him.
Only now it occurs to Ponyboy that he'd never mentioned Dallas at all.
Now? Now he looks at Dallas' curious face sadly, knowing he wouldn't make fun of him or tease him. "I was just thinking that the last time I was sitting in a truck like this, it was when Mama and Daddy were still alive. We had been coming back from a hunting trip — Mama had come cause she had bet Daddy she'd shoot more quail than him. She didn't, I did." Ponyboy sniffs, remembering her smile, of how golden she'd been. "I hate hunting, but Mama and Daddy, we were okay. There hadn't been any room in the front, just like this. So Daddy suggested we all go in the back, and him and Mama in the front." Ponyboy closes his eyes, remembering how his father had nudged his mother, the way she had bit her lip. It was so obvious now, that he'd suggested it for time to themselves, maybe get to necking when they weren't paying attention.
Dallas doesn't move from his spot in the truck bed so Ponyboy continues. "So, we all climbed in the back. It was such a sunny day, and we caught so much game. Darry was all excited cause he'd just finished his college classes early to come hunt with us over Thanksgiving. He was telling us how – how much fun he'd been having." There's a tremble to his voice as he continues. "Soda was talking about how much he'd been looking forward to getting Sandy something for Christmas and I was the one who suggested he get her a pretty headband. She wore that headband —"
"All the time. I remember," Dallas taps his hair. "It had that flower pattern on it."
"Yeah," Ponyboy takes another drag from his cigarette, hands trembling. Unexpectedly, Dallas reaches over for his free hand, grasping it. The gesture is so simple, so unlike the Dallas he thought he knew. Tears surge in his eyes, and Ponyboy sniffs. "It was such a good trip. I remember Momma asked you to come, but you got put in the cooler."
Dallas shrugs, rubbing a thumb on Ponyboy's fingers. "I remember. Thought about that a lot; never wanted to do much huntin', I ain't that good with a gun. But your Mama was sure disappointed about it. Would've gone if I'd known 'cause your Mama was the real thing."
Ponyboy leans against him, and Dallas wraps an arm around his shoulders. "I miss her. I miss her so much, Dally."
"I'm sorry, kid," Dallas squeezes him tighter. "I miss her, too." He's never expressed that before, never said it directly and it lends all the more weight to what he says.
They don't talk for the rest of the ride.
When Darry parks the truck, Dallas is the first to leap out, Ponyboy coming with him. It's a little colder, Dallas adjusting his jean jacket as he waits for Soda to walk around. "Where are we meeting them?"
Ponyboy looks around, slightly taken aback. It's the Southland Shopping Center, one of the newest places in Tulsa. It had been opened that spring, and it was surely going to be pricy to shop here. Something that Darry clearly would know and his stomach does a funny flop knowing that they'll have to pay a lot for it.
His hands get clammy again. "Clarke's Good Clothes," Darry answers, beckoning them to the store at the end. The name Clarke's is emblazoned, letter by letter, on poles on top of the store, black on bright yellow. He squints up at the sign as Ponyboy feels dread sweep through him. "C'mon, I wanna get done before noon."
It feels better to stick close to Dallas as they walk towards it. If the cost has occured to Dallas, he doesn't say anything or do anything differently, just walking in his long lope towards it, Soda sticking closer to Darry. The last time Ponyboy had gotten brand new clothes, he'd been with his Pops. They'd been at a thrift store, looking to get something for the winter, Ponyboy pleased when he'd found a flannel shirt that he could grow into.
That flannel shirt was now too small for him, yet he remembers how his Pops had beamed at him when he'd stuck his arms through the sleeves.
Right now, Darry opens the door, and they all file in one at a time. Like most department stores, Ponyboy has to adjust to the scent of perfumes and the way the air circulates differently. Behind him, Dallas is swearing a blue streak, his eyes watering in response to it all.
"You okay, Dal?" Darry asks as the steps in last, looking around.
"Fucking hate these lights and scents," Dallas' eyes look red and Ponyboy throws him a supportive look. The lights are indeed bright, like they are in high school hallways, those fluorescents that turn everything brighter than what they needed to be. The department store is overflowing with things: clothes on racks with percentages for sales, mannequins every few feet modeling the clothes in a stilted manner that's almost creepy, mirrors in sections, salesgirls behind counters.
Ponyboy turns his head, trying to look away from the amount before him, hoping to see Kathleen. There are only a few people inside, most of them older people who clearly aren't used to see a group of teenagers coming in who clearly were a lot poorer than they were. "You know where they're supposed to be?"
Soda looks at the tags on a rather expensive looking skirt in front of him, his eyebrows raised. "Jesus, I couldn't buy this if I saved up for —"
"The men's section," Firmly, Darry pushes Soda away from the skirt. Ponyboy follows them, still close to Dallas who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than there as he wipes at his nose. It's easier to focus on his reddening face than to think about how much this was costing Darry. If Bob hadn't been there, if he'd gone straight home...
They make their way through the main floor, until they finally turn towards the back where the sign for Mens flashes. Ponyboy looks around, and catches the faint scent Johnny has now, towards the back. Dallas must scent him too, turning with him, heading towards what Ponyboy could see were the fitting rooms.
"Oh, boys! Over here!" Kathleen is the one who spots them first, waving towards them. She's got her coat on, her hair half pinned back.
What makes Ponyboy freeze in his tracks for a second is the wheelchair beside her where he can see clothes draped on the back. It's got bright blue bars on it, with light gray handles and a thin looking navy blue back and seat that can barely be seen beneath the clothes folded on there. The wheels are spoked, and there are foot pedals in the front that look shinier than what Ponyboy expects.
There's no way its new; no one in their neighborhood could afford that, Kathleen most of all. He swallows thickly and Kathleen smiles softly at him. "We got a donation. Don't worry about it; Two-Bit's inside helping Johnny try on suits. I already have some suits here," she reaches over, pulling some clothes from the back of the chair, handing them over to Ponyboy. "You and Johnny are about the same size,and I already picked the clearance rack clean. We'll try there first and then keep going."
His hands shake as he reaches out to take the bundle of clothing from her. Dallas looks like he wants to say something and instead nudges Ponyboy towards the fitting rooms and Ponyboy hurries into the room before Darry and Soda can catch up and say anything.
The shirts are easiest to put on, with the buttons small between his fingers, all of them white or off white or a pale blue. It's the slacks and the actual suit jacket that make Ponyboy feel awful when he walks out of the fitting room. His reflection doesn't seem to be himself: it's some other boy staring at him in the mirror with huge eyes, long hair that was colored wrong, in a suit that he knew his family couldn't afford and had to wear anyway.
He stares at his reflection, trying to piece himself together, trying to see it as himself, as he reaches up to adjust his tie.
"Don't look right to me neither," Johnny says, and Ponyboy looks in the mirror where Johnny's in the wheelchair, rolling it towards him. He's in his normal clothes now, his legs half bent in the chair, in his jean jacket. It's buttoned up at the wrists, probably to cover his burn scars. "Every time I put one, on just felt like nothing was fittin' the way it was supposed to."
Before all this, he and Johnny didn't always have to talk. Some conversations could be done in silence between the two of them.
Right now, as they stare at their reflections, it feels like one of those moments again. The way that neither of them look like who they were weeks ago: Ponyboy's hair only longer because of his first heat, Johnny's hair still mostly shorn short, the burn scars they're both covering, the way that Johnny needs help to get around anywhere, the sheer fact that they were here at all.
Ponyboy knows he doesn't have to say I know. It's right there, reflected in their terrified faces of what the future is going to bring next. He raises his hand to his face, voice quiet, "We look like them, too. That ain't helping."
Having a vivid imagination at this moment is the worst thing: it isn't hard for Ponyboy to envision himself in the courtroom, wearing Bob Sheldon's bloodstained Madras shirt, to think of himself with those rings, in front of a judge with the clothes he's wearing.
Beside him, Johnny pulls his eyes away from their reflections, breaking Ponyboy's train of thought. "We got to. They ain't gonna listen to us if we don't." His pulse picks up, right near the neck burn he has, one of the few not easily concealed. "Eugene told us that."
The words It's unfair wants to bubble up. They don't, though, plain on their faces. Ponyboy pushes the sleeves up on his arms, looking at the pink of his raised burn scars. "Bet they don't have to worry about their parent's paychecks going towards a suit." He balls his hand up in a fist, looking at Johnny now, now the mirror. "You holding up okay, Johnnycake?"
Plainly, the way Johnny gives a scared laugh says no. "Keep hoping I wake up and I'm still in the lot with you." He reaches up, bites at his nail. All of them look real bitten down now. "I at least got this. Makes everything a lot easier." A beat passes between them and he looks back up at Ponyboy. "Probably should go see your brothers and Mrs. Mathews. So we can get outta here."
If Johnny wants to say more, it never comes out. He just retreats, the sound of the wheelchair filling the silence.
Ponyboy thinks about Bob's body again, crumpled beneath the streetlight, and follows him out.
In the end, Darry unloads three suits with him when they get back to the house. Ponyboy can't stand to look at them as he takes them inside, feeling almost glued down to the back of the truck beside Dallas. All of the suits were marked down and still, when Darry had gone up to pay for them, he seemed a little unsteady.
Ponyboy wants to stay in the truck, pressed up against Dallas for awhile longer. Wants to curl into him and grasp his side and not have to get up. He also doesn't want to be in there at all, remembering the last time he'd been in it, the last time that he and his parents had done anything fun together.
It's when Dallas moves an arm from around him that he finally finds himself stumbling out after him, distantly hearing Darry say something, his feet just moving on automatic out of the slightly chilly outside and inside of his house.
He doesn't know what he's doing, really, except going to his room, because his room is there, because he doesn't have anywhere else to go. Because his bed is safe, his bed is going to be just warm enough and —
"And your bed shouldn't have you wearing shoes in it," the rough gravel of Dallas' voice cuts through and Ponyboy realizes with a startling realization he's been talking. For how long, though, Dallas won't tell as he shuts the door behind him. He walks over, nudging Ponyboy onto the bed. "C'mon, I'll do it."
"You don't have to," Ponyboy sits down anyway, the words a half mumble.
If he hears, Dallas doesn't say anything about that, unlacing Ponyboy's shoes, and tugging them off along with his socks. "Darry's going grocery shopping, I already gave him some money. Just get some rest."
"You don't have to do this," Ponyboy repeats himself, voice quavering. "I'm not — I'm fine."
"You're my mate," The second shoe is tugged off, his socks come off soon after. "I'm not about to just leave you here. So go on, make a nest kid, and go to sleep." The way Dallas says it is more bite than softness in it and somehow, that edge makes Ponyboy's eyes burn with tears he knows he shouldn't shed.
"You gonna stay with me?" His voice does quiver this time.
"You want me to?" Dallas looks up, still on his knees, eyes dark, mouth in a half twist. "You do, I am."
"Please?" Ponyboy reaches out for him, and it feels so, so good when he presses a kiss to Dallas' mouth.
Dallas is his mate, he knows that. He's safe, he trusts him and before he knows it, he's dragging Dallas into bed with him. Not to fuck him, not for that. Just to kiss him, just to feel Dallas' bigger arms wrap around him, for the comfort of it.
"Bite my mark, Dally?" Is the last thing he says.
Dallas doesn't need to say yes. He has his hand in Ponyboy's hair in no time, and the way his teeth sink into Ponyboy's neck, into his mark, is exactly what he needs.
"Honey?" A hand shakes his shoulder. "Wake up, now. It's time to eat."
Ponyboy turns his head into the warmth of Dallas' shoulder. "Nn. Later, Soda." He inhales Dallas' feral, earthy scent. "Too early."
Soda huffs, and nudges some more. "Come eat. It's gonna get cold. Mrs. Mathews even made mac n cheese for you."
Beneath him, Dallas grunts moves upwards. "Kid, c'mon. I'm hungry."
The cotton webs of sleep are thick in his head. He knows he's dreamed about something; what it was, it's not sticking in the face of the pleasant feeling emanating from his mating mark. Before, he hadn't felt like himself when he'd come through that door. Right now, as Dallas grasps him up, tries to get him awake, he feels almost like he had in the heat hotel with Dallas — comfortable, half ready to crawl right inside of Dallas if he could, to sleep, to be safe.
He yawns, rubbing at his eyes. "You don't wanna stay a few more minutes?"
"So Darry can kick my head in?" Dallas cocks an eyebrow at him, as if he's any better with the grin on his face or the way that his mating mark is dark as anything on his neck. They'd both had their fair share, even though nothing else physically happened. "C'mon, I'm starving."
Yawning again, Ponyboy shuffles after him, grateful they'd only taken their shirts off. He tugs his back on, opening the door. That wakes him up, the smell of actual, real food. He ventures down the hallway and finds the house surprisingly full: Ed is putting down a steak on Darry's plate as Kathleen puts down a bowl of fluffy, buttery mashed potatoes. There's enough food plied on the table that Ponyboy's surprised it it's groaning and moaning from the weight of it: green beans and neckbones, collard greens, a basket of fried chicken, the mac n cheese that Soda had mentioned, smothered porkchops, and even cornbread to his delight.
Instead of asking how they could all afford it, Ponyboy just goes to the kitchen to get a plate. The pack is scattered around everywhere — Steve in the kitchen getting a beer and nodding at him, Molly laughing with Two-Bit in a corner holding her own plate, Soda sitting in front of the television with Johnny beside him the both of them laughing at something on screen.
He comes back with a plate for himself and Dallas, handing the bigger one to Dallas. Dallas nudges him forward first, coming behind Darry still topping off his plate with food.
"Thanks, Ed," Ponyboy smiles at the older man, reaching for some of the fried chicken.
"It's no problem," Ed smiles back. "Just no beer, you understand?"
"I'll give you a sip," Dallas counters, scooping up a copious amount of green beans on his plate. "Ain't gonna be his first time." He nods to Kathleen. "Thanks, Mrs. Mathews."
It takes awhile before their plates are loaded up heavily, full. Ponyboy takes a seat on the couch next to Soda, Darry in his loveseat. All around him, he can see the pack eating together, talking, all of them determined to be here.
Dallas sits next to him last, and Ponyboy hooks his ankle in Dallas' own. He bites into the food, and as everyone talks, as they all eat together, he has to remind himself that this might be the beginning of the end. They all know it, and still they'd all come for him and Johnny.
He eats quietly, and hopes that it won't be. That it can't be. Not when they're all finally where they need to be with each other. Not when he can feel a sense of love, unity here that he hadn't dreamt of months ago.
