The luncheonette that they pull into is on the corner of one of the main streets in Tulsa, the sign showing an ice cream cone, with the word Cosmo's emblazoned in pink. Ponyboy keeps up with Dallas as they walk inside — he's been here only a handful of times, given it was brand new.
Johnny's out of his wheelchair, sitting in the booth on his own, opposite Eugene. He seems steady enough beside him, his suit jacket off and the few buttons on his shirt unbuttoned. Two-Bit is already in his normal shirt, whistling to get their attention.
"Golly, you sure got into some jeans quick," Two-Bit sounds like himself with that tease, his eyebrows both cocking one after the other. "I didn't know Dally was bringing you cute clothes. I'd have gotten Johnny something nicer."
"It ain't cute," Ponyboy grumbles, glad that Two-Bit isn't brazen enough to comment on the obvious way his mark is on his neck at the moment — a darkening ring from where Dallas had bit into it the moment he'd gotten Ponyboy out of his shirt from court. He and Dallas take opposite sides of the booth, grabbing for a menu.
Despite feeling as if the entire world had changed that morning, everything still felt oddly normal in this moment as they all order when the waitress comes over: double cheese burgers for almost everyone, just customized with ingredients they all wanted in one way or another. The suits they're all half in or out of are the only indications that the world has shifted, and Ponyboy doesn't mind it as they eat.
Other people trickle in slowly, Eugene leaning back as their drinks are delivered. "I'm going to try and make sure we convene here or another food establishment after every session unless otherwise; I have enough money to spare, and I know this isn't an easy thing to go through, particularly at your ages. This is going to be the simplest day in court you'll have for at least a month — I can guarantee the road ahead won't be easy." Eugene keeps his tone plain as he speaks. Ponyboy exchanges a furtive glance with Johnny. "They will say things to rattle you, to make you upset, to confuse you. It'll be a battle on every front and you're going to need this time."
Ponyboy doesn't know how he gets himself to answer, "Thanks, sir. We - We appreciate it. We do."
The expression on Eugene's face is serious as always, just with a little more warmth. "You're welcome. Like I said as well, no trouble for anyone. The smallest thing and it could be all of your futures." He sighs. "This case was extraordinarily fast; any other case would have meandered for months through the system, not brought up almost a month or two later, in front of a judge. This is unusual, and punishing. You're going to have to pretend as if nothing you hear or see bothers you, and you're going to have to get skin thick as an elephant for a little while." He does smile then, even if it's a smile that's a little sharp. "But I have a feeling you're up for a fight."
Dallas' leg kicks against Ponyboy's. Ponyboy doesn't say plainly what he's thinking: What do you know?
Instead, he just reaches over and grasps Dallas' hand beneath the table and allows Two-Bit to switch the conversation over.
For all that Eugene said, it doesn't feel as easy to grasp when Ponyboy is standing outside of the school walls, looking up at the classrooms that await him. For once in his life, he wishes that Dallas would come inside with him, be a normal guy, be some comfort.
"I'm heading out to Buck's so I can run some shit, make some money just in case," Dallas' teeth are biting at the fake driver's license he has, eyes dark. "I'll be back late tonight, don't wait up for me. If your suit ain't clean and pressed, I'll do it before you wake up."
We sound like we're playing house, is stuck in the back of Ponyboy's throat. If that's a good thing or bad thing or something else he doesn't know. He just wishes that he could actually have fun with that and not have clammy, sweating hands clasping his books as he nods. Or have his cheeks and eyes heat up on the edge of a cry or something like a big baby. The twinge in his bond doesn't help at all, muttering out, "Darry wouldn't let me anyway. You promise you'll be there when I wake up?" Ponyboy inches closer to the car door, able to hear Johnny's crutches on the ground as he and Two-Bit get their things. His eyes flick up to Dallas' neck, the mating mark a dark crescent, and he wants to shove his teeth into Dallas' neck, wants to drive his teeth into that pale flesh over and over again until he can scent cum.
Not have to almost stop himself from reaching out, from climbing in the car and doing something Eugene and Darry would be pissed at him for. Dallas looks over his neck too, and he nods. "I'll be there. Promise." His eyes focus on Ponyboy's own, fingers grasping onto the ID card harder, teeth flashing. "Now go on, kid. Before we both get in trouble."
He twists the ID in his mouth. Ponyboy surges forward anyway, kissing him as sweetly as he can, inhaling his scent as he does so — and rubbing his hand on Dallas' neck, to scent him as well as he could.
Even in brief, the kiss seems to settle him, that tough against Dallas' warm neck seems to be a tether to the rest of the world. It's solid, something he can rely on and Ponyboy has to pull away just in time for Dallas to surge forward, trying to follow, teeth flashing. His eyes are near to slits, mouth pulled into a partial growl, and Ponyboy pulls right out of his reach enough that Dallas is grasping at air. His heart is going a mile a minute in his ear, his body feeling just a little electric beneath his finger tips, head halfway into buzzy happiness with the nearness, with the taste.
Dallas' eyes flash, his hair a mess and falling half in his eyes. Ponyboy pants, tasting the Kool Dallas had been smoking earlier, turns, and then follows Johnny and Two-Bit up the ramp and into the school. "See you, Dallas!"
The engine revs, the car peels out. He's going to pay for that later, and that's easier to concentrate on for a moment despite the way Two-Bit whistles. "You and Dallas acting real bond-drunk at the moment."
Johnny and Ponyboy both say, "What's that?" At the same time.
"Ain't you two listen in biology?" Two-Bit asks, opening the door. "You don't know nothing about bonds, huh?"
Two-Bit keeps talking, either ignoring or totally ignorant of the people in the hallway during the lunch crush who are looking at them, who are whispering at the sight of them. It seems as if the hallways is divided up with greasers on one side and Socs on the other, all of them either moving or pausing to look at them, to stare and speculate. Even the kids who normally didn't take part in the divide between them stop to look at them, a hush falling over everyone, the doors slamming closed with a deafening bam.
Johnny goes stiff beside him too, his hand gripping the crutches tightly, half shrinking besides Ponyboy. Greasers look at them, Socs look at them, even some of the teachers look at them, with their faces curious, wanting more information. They all want to know something, they all want to hear what they have to say, they all want something out of Ponyboy that he knows he can't do.
It doesn't last more than a minute, given the bell and the afternoon classes. It feels like an hour though, people's eyes are curious, picking at them — and then the world keeps going, and Ponyboy is following Two-Bit to the main office. The main secretary has that curious, bird like curiosity on her face as she gives them slips, asking them how much they'd need. Once they give her the information, she tears off the first, and tells them to just get to their classes.
Ponyboy is the one who's left alone, forced to go to his Honors English class by himself. There's no time to talk to Johnny or Two-Bit, his palms shaking as he makes his way to the classroom. Dallas' jacket feels as comforting on him as it had when he'd been sleeping on the train next to Johnny, heavy and necessary on his shoulders.
The class, of all days, is packed as apparently no one wanted to play hooky on a day like today. All fifteen eyes swivel to him as he walks inside, able to about taste the curiosity coloring their scents. Even his teacher can't hide it, standing up from the desk, hand half outstretched.
Ponyboy keeps his head up, squaring his shoulders. The slip is handed to his teacher, his shoes squeaking on his floor as he walks away, all the way to the very back of the classroom at his desk.
There's a drawing on there already, a crude one of his face with two X's for eyes and the words DEAD GREASER MEAT written around it.
It's insulting to him, only that it's lazy. Ponyboy drops his books on it, and keeps his eyes on the board the entire period. He doesn't act as if he's being watched, he doesn't act as if his classmates whispering around him bothers him. He pretends that he's Dallas, on the eve of a rumble, coiled up tight. There's no way that he's going to be threatened by them, not in class for something he likes.
He may be an omega, he may be a greaser. He still had his pride, and he still had his courage.
This was a cold bluff. No sweat.
It's easier to do in a classroom, knowing you were smarter than the other Socs, able to sink into the story they were reading today, and having a pop quiz on. In defiance, Ponyboy makes sure to finish first, dodging a stuck out leg to put his paper up at the desk first.
His teacher flashes him a warm look, flipping over the quiz. One scan of it, and his red pen is out, giving a 100 on the top of the page and circling it. "You're dismissed, Mr. Curtis."
Ponyboy hops over the leg waiting for him this time, smearing out the words DEAD and MEAT with a grin. His bag comes with him easy, the classroom easily left behind in a few quick strides. The next class was study hall, which meant the library. The library if he went.
Truth be told, the itch to have a cigarette tickles at the back of his throat. No one would care if he spent the last ten minutes outside smoking with the other greasers. Moving quicker, Ponyboy goes down the hallways, trying to get to the gym — and immediately stopping when he catches the sight of Cherry at the other end. She had her books with her, talking to one of the other cheerleaders, her voice quiet.
All it takes is a glance, a whiff of her scent. Ponyboy doesn't pass her, just turns on his heel.
(He pretends he hadn't heard the words, "I hated being near him again, Sarah. He killed Bob.")
The cafeteria is empty, with no one watching when Ponyboy sits down there instead. He puts his books down, leaning against the wall and looking at the emblems around him. The cafeteria was also used as a meeting hall, with the mascot emblazoned on it, along with the school colors. He pulls the pack of Kools that Dallas left inside of his jacket, tapping one out, and putting it between his lips.
This was the first day. Ponyboy could do this. Johnny could, too. They had to.
He inhales the cigarette, thinking of the country. How the dew had been, how the grass had been in that moment when they'd jumped out of the train together, and he'd been half awake on the grass, hearing Johnny groan. Ponyboy wishes he could go back there, go back to the countryside with the dew. Only this time, why not have Dallas there?
Why not have Dallas with them, in the church together, away from all of this? He shuts his eyes, thinking about what it would be like if he and Dallas had the church to themselves, away from everything, away from all of this. What it would have been like to sleep there with him, to stay up there with him and Johnny and...
And a part of him knows that it couldn't have happened. As sweet as it is, Ponyboy knows that Dallas hates that country, knows that if he had stayed up there in that church with Johnny, he'd have never understood what he could have with Dallas, would never have been initiated, would never have even this taste of what's good now.
Even if the thought is there, too, that maybe the church wouldn't have burned down. That Johnny wouldn't be in crutches or a wheelchair.
He weighs it against everything else, against this trial and doesn't know what's the right thing to think or feel.
Things at home aren't normal either. Darry is tense as he makes dinner, careful with it as he puts helpings on Ponyboy's plate — all those damn cooked vegetables weren't what they normally had and Darry damn well knew it.
The comment Ponyboy wants to say doesn't come out, though. They'd made a promise to stick together, to be a pack. No fights.
Even if he wants to scrape some on Soda's plate as soon as Darry goes back to get the porkchops. Soda might not notice; he's too fidgety himself to even put any food coloring in his food or make a gross combination out of the mashed potatoes in veggies. He's tapping the table nervously, voice quiet, "You have an okay day at school, Pony?"
Soda shouldn't be like this, all tense and too nervous to eat food weirdly. Darry shouldn't be making extra vegetables for them to eat like this, as if something bad might happen if he doesn't feed Ponyboy the way he ought to. The television should be on some kind of western, and they should be talking or laughing or arguing with each other.
Ponyboy nods his head mechanically. "It was okay."
The smile Soda gives is at least big, and he mouths, Put the veggies on Darry's plate.
Lookout? Ponyboy mouths back, grasping his plate, and doing just that until he's got half of what he had. He turns that side of the plate towards him, scooping up some of it to shove in his mouth.
Darry isn't the least bit suspicious that his pile of food is higher. Ponyboy and Soda don't dare look at each other the whole time or they'd laugh.
That night, it's weird to be getting into bed by 8.15 PM. They should be up a little bit later, all of them and instead all the lights are off, the door is shut. No greaser has barreled in through their door, no one has called all of a sudden, no one came over to play cards or split beers.
Ponyboy can see a flicker of the bonfire at the window he peers out of, and he sighs with want. "You don't have to get to bed this early," he sighs as he pulls on his pajama pants, "You can go to the bonfire, Soda. I wouldn't be mad." He turns his head, able to see the line of Soda in bed already, back to him.
"Wouldn't be fair to you, would it?" It was very like Soda, to always be thinking of him, and for his voice to already be a little thick with sleepiness. "Be a real bad brother, leaving you here."
"Even though Ivy's out there?"
There's a rustle in the bed. "...What d'you mean?"
Ponyboy turns his head around, to look at Soda's face, clearly trying to hide a grin. He shrugs, voice low, "I wouldn't mind. I like her."
A smile flits on Soda's face. "You're a good kid. Turn off the light, come to bed. You can't stay up for Dallas."
Ponyboy does so, shutting off the light, and wondering how long it'd take for him to get to sleep, wondering when Dallas would get in and hoping he'd be there in the morning when he woke up.