The street is utterly silent when Dallas turns the corner. Buck had been insistent enough to press that he needed his car, which left Dallas walking down to the house at the dead of night. He's walked longer and harder, even though he's not in his preferred jacket for this kind of weather, leaving some of the cold to nip at him.
The good thing is that this jean jacket had an extra inside pocket, which was where his money went, fresh from bootlegging. Buck had tested him on the car; he hadn't tested him on how much he'd earned tonight. Hauling ass to another county took more work than what that country bumpkin knew, and double going on back roads while avoiding the cops, and Dallas wasn't in any mood to get cheated by someone almost ten years older than him. That money was his, earned fair and square.
The bonfire is down to embers when Dallas glances across the way, at the hill. Darry had been pretty firm; they weren't going to the bonfire unless it was a Friday. He still tries to see if there's anyone from the pack there from where he was, and still can't catch a strong whiff of anyone's scent. He sighs, picking up his steps as he goes.
The Cades place has the lights on and where he can't catch the bonfire scent, the ever present stench of alcohol seems worse than ever there. Dallas walks faster past them, passing the Randles soon enough, turning the corner, and then cutting through a few lawns to get to the Curtises backyard.
Like everyone else, their house is dark aside from the porch lights that glow gently in the night from the back. Dallas pulls out the key he has, unlocking the back door and slipping inside. The kitchen light is off, Dallas knowing the house so well that he doesn't need to turn it on as he takes his boots off, walking through the kitchen and to the hallway.
Carefully, he opens the door to Soda and Ponyboy's room to see the both of them curled up together, sleeping softly. Months ago, Dallas would've said that the prettiest omega in Tulsa was Soda even if Soda wasn't someone he'd ever want given how like Darrel he was, and the sickly sweet tinge to his scent. Ponyboy has that title now, with how cute he looks, snoring on the pillow, with Dallas' jacket folded behind his head, his nose buried in the brown material. The moonlight makes his hair shine — taking him back to when he'd stepped into the church on Jay Mountain, seeing Ponyboy asleep on the pew after worrying about him for a week. It had been a shock then, and now Ponyboy's dark roots were starting to finally show again.
He's careful to strip down to just his jeans, tugging up the blanket and slipping inside of the bed as best he can. It's a miracle he can only fit because he's rail skinny, tucking himself in, wrapping an arm around Ponyboy's shoulder.
Neither Soda or Ponyboy wake up; Ponyboy continues to softly snore, Soda just completely dead to the world. Their scents relax Dallas, his hand coming up to run across Ponyboy's still bruised neck, a familiar ache setting into his teeth. If Sodapop weren't there, he'd be pulling him closer for that one bite between them, reaffirming the bond again. Instead, he has to try and content himself like this, stroking his hand on his skin, breathing in his scent, and having to consider what they'd be doing in just a scant few hours.
Suits again. Waiting again, having to think about how long this would all take, would play out. That judge could rule anything for them, and even with Cherry Valance's promise, Dallas didn't put stock into her. Why would he, given what he'd seen from Socs, from adults? When he'd talked to them in the car, about the offer up in Jay Mountain, Dallas had been trying to keep up a good front for them. They didn't have Darry, or Soda or anyone else with any kind of experience like this. They only had him.
And they were pack then, friends. Johnny, always jumpy and scared with that scar on him, Ponyboy only fourteen for a few weeks, both of them small and terrified. They'd never been to jail, never been hoods the way Dallas had been and while Johnny was still his friend, Ponyboy was something Dallas never thought he'd have: a mate. Something stronger than a husband or wife, something that he knew that his parents would hate, if he ever stepped back in New York.
Ponyboy doesn't know that. He doesn't want Ponyboy to know it, the weight of this decision.
Not now, maybe not ever. It matters to Dallas, and he knows that if this all goes wrong, if that judge comes down on Ponyboy, he'd do anything and everything to keep him. Ponyboy meant more to him than anyone had ever had, ever could.
He wants to believe that the judge will do right, that Johnny and Ponyboy would get out of this.
He's just never had that kind of faith in anything. Nothing ever had worked out that way for him before.
Dallas pulls Ponyboy closer, his nose pressing in his hair, wishing he'd been the one to kill Bob Sheldon instead.
The courtroom is silent, and Ponyboy doesn't know how he was able to stumble awake that morning to get there. He'd woken up with his teeth in Dallas' mating mark, his scent thick and heady and Soda having to pull him away with a firm if slightly embarrassed look on his face. Dallas had stared at him, face red, mouth pulled in an upset snarl that had shot straight to Ponyboy's groin in need.
Climbing back into the bed, to rut against each other hadn't been an option. Neither had been trying to work himself into a quick orgasm before they had to go. The shower had been punishingly hot, his breakfast quickly devoured, and now here he was in the courtroom, unsure if Dallas had followed them in the car or not.
He's just awake enough to take in his surroundings, the seriousness of the event as the judge shuffles her papers in the courtroom, speaking clearly, "Please remember the previous rules of the court. The prosecution may call upon it's first witness."
"We call David Ducan to the stand," Shaw stands up, saying it in a booming voice. He turns and gestures to the boy beside Randy, the one that Ponyboy remembers vividly. He'd been one of the Soc's who had been there with Bob and his throat goes dry watching him stand up in a red suit that clearly was expensive and new. It's tailored sharply, his boots clicking as he makes his way up the stand, placing his hand on the Bible.
You could use a bath, greaser. And a good working over. And we've got all night to do it. Give the dirty omega a bath, David.
Bob's voice sluices over him as David takes the stand, his hands beneath the box, eyes straight ahead. That night replays in Ponyboy's head for a moment, the way Bob had said it, the desperate run from them, and his heart bangs in his chest.
He doesn't know how he's able to stay where he is as David speaks. "That night, we were just going to see a movie with our girlfriends. Me, Bob, Randy, Cherry, Marcia and Cindy. We were supposed to see a movie, because school had started, and none of us had a break yet." The edge in his voice from that night wasn't there as he spoke now. Everything about him screamed the kind of Soc who made the papers for being a good kid, the future.
The courtroom begins to feel as if Ponyboy is on another planet, an alien witnessing humans in front of him as David keeps going, each word striking Ponyboy harshly with how uppercrust, apple pie it is: We just wanted a nice date. No one had any problem until they showed up. We were having a good time. There was a knife. They threatened us.
Time runs slowly in the courtroom. The breakfast he had weighs like lead in his stomach, and Ponyboy fears for a moment he might throw up. The feeling is hard to fight against, as David begins to look upset, pointing at Ponyboy and Johnny in succession. The taste of chlorine surges in his throat and almost floods his nose, and he has to grasp the table in front of him to try and keep himself steady.
"Describe the encounter that led to the death of Mr. Sheldon," the lawyer says, his voice soft, imploring. "Who instigated the encounter?"
"They did. The g – defendants," David looks at Johnny and Ponyboy as he says it, his eyes flinty in his face. "They started it by messing with our girls earlier in the night. They're the ones who started the fight at the movies, then the car, and when we got to the park, it was the same." He looks at them, unblinkingly. "They called us white trash, sir. We took it very personally."
You called us that first, Ponyboy wants to scream and he knows Johnny does, too. They don't have to exchange words; he can feel Johnny tense up beside him, can feel the anger at the way David is talking right now.
The judge isn't making any expression that either of them can read. She's just listening impassively, as the words keep flowing from David. "Things did get out of hand. I do agree with that. We got to arguing, and then the small one — he's the one who took out a knife. No one else had a weapon."
"When you said it got out of hand, David, what do you mean?" Shaw probes him, careful as he does it. "You seem to say that you were acting in self defense, and I want to clarify."
David hesitates for the first time, squirming in his seat. "We – chased each other at the fountain, wrestled. I remember at one point one of them was on the ground, we pushed the other in the fountain, to try and make him stop." David seems to get more confident. "Then — I, we had been drinking a little bit, I guess. And we got shoving at each other. That's when that one, the small one stabbed Bob. He came at him with the knife. I saw it, I just didn't realize what it was until Bob made this – this funny noise."
David's voice trembles, and Ponyboy hates how in this moment, he believes him. This moment where David goes pale on the stand. "He just — he made a noise like the air – like he couldn't breathe. I saw that kid just keep jabbing it. Bob f-fell to the ground. I didn't know what to do except to run after that. I'm – I'm sorry I did. I should've stayed, but Bob —"
Shaw nods. "It's okay, son. You can have a moment to collect yourself."
Silence blankets the room. David goes red in the face, shoulder slumping. He looks his age, like a high school kid who was close to graduating, not an adult. In his face, Ponyboy sees someone he probably had passed in the hallways numerous times, someone who he could've in another life, been friends with if things were different too.
It's not all he sees, though. He also sees a boy who had helped Bob shove him into the water, remembers his laughing face turned into a twisted, murky mirror in the water, leering. He can taste chlorine in the back of his throat, and Ponyboy is relieved when Shaw finally says, "No further questions, your honor."
David wipes at his face. Ponyboy looks at Johnny for the first time, now fully awake, entirely unsure of himself again. Of the way David had described it, Johnny stabbing Bob over and over again. It was something they'd never talked about, even on Jay Mountain except that once, when they had been alone that first day.
I killed a kid last night. He couldn't of been over seventeen or eighteen, and I killed him. How'd you like to live with that?
His voice echoes in his mind as he looks at his face. Their eyes meet: Johnny's eyes dark, that kicked puppy look gone, a hood with short hair in a suit and crutches. A kid who'd killed someone, who shouldn't have been forced to kill someone in his life.
A kid who had also heard someone lie about it, too.
Eugene stands up, and Ponyboy breaks his gaze to look at him buttoning up his suit. He strides up to the front of the court, his voice soothing, "I understand you've just given testimony to what was undoubtedly a hard experience to live through. It's a hard memory, and I sympathize. Having said that, I do have a few questions, Mr. Ducan, for you to answer. The first one is this: You say that things got out of hand. When you say that, what, exactly, do you mean?"
David blinks at him, frowning. "I don't understand?"
Eugene nods. "I'll rephrase: when you say that things got out of hand, this sounds as if you have had skirmishes with each other before. It implies that what happened that night was out of the norm for those encounters. Could you elaborate on, if you had previous fights, why they happened, and what you considered to be normal?"
"I... well," David blinks, and Ponyboy wonders how he'll answer. "You wouldn't get it." Eugene doesn't budge so David continues. "They're what we call greasers, sir. From the other side of town. We don't always get along, cause they're..." David clearly tries to figure out what to say. "They're just not like us. They don't dress like us, or look like us."
The hum that comes from Eugene seems damning in and of itself. "I see, I see. So you would fight over things?"
"Like girls, or where they were in places they weren't supposed to be, yeah," there's an annoyed murmur that Ponyboy thinks is Two-Bit behind him. "But we never have weapons or anything. Never."
"And did you have any encounters with the defendants today, before that night? Did some previous animosity carry over?"
David's eyes flit over to Johnny and Ponyboy. "No, sir."
Ponyboy thinks he's lying. The way Johnny shifts in his seat, he knows he is. Eugene doesn't press, David continuing. "We would yell at each other, shove each other. Throw a punch or two. Not like what happened that night."
The judge looks at her watch and Eugene keeps up the pace. "So were these fights always instigated by one side? Every time? Or was it something that both groups could start?"
Hesitantly, David says, "Yes sir. It... it could."
"But not that night? You're confident that they started it, despite the drinking you stated was going on?" Eugene's voice is smooth as butter as he says it, almost pleasant. "You can state that with absolute certainty?"
Johnny, beside him, cottons onto what he's doing before Ponyboy does. They both sit up a little straighter as David frowns. "We weren't drinking that much. I know we weren't!"
"You stated previously that it got out of hand. You also stated there was drinking that night. Do you remember how much you drank before your encounter? Do you remember exactly how much compared to your normal drinking, Mr. Ducan?" Eugene presses further, his voice still steady, but his tone growing sharper.
David squirms in his seat. "I... I know I had whiskey. At least... and a few beers." He glances at his parents, and he sinks into his seat. "I don't know after that. But it was – I think it was more than usual."
"You're not sure of how much you drank, and that was before your encounter with my defendants, on a night that you claim got out of hand," Eugene nods, rolling over the facts. He sounds less like a lawyer and more like one of Ponyboy's teachers when he'd gotten a math problem wrong and they had walk him through what he'd done wrong, one by one until he'd understood where he messed up.
Ponyboy feels a little bit of hope re-enter him. "Given that you were in that state, do you think that you can confidently state that the events you described were accurate? Can you really recount how the encounter went if you had beers, and a whiskey that night? Do you recall what the original disagreement was, Mr. Ducan?"
"It was because their friend," David spits out the word and Ponyboy can feel his hackles rise up, "hit on Bob's girlfriend. They're greasers, she's our girl."
Eugene doesn't seem upset at all. "But after that? At the car? At the park? Was it the same argument or something different? Can you confidently recount that for the court?"
When David's gaze looks over them, and back to Eugene, Ponyboy holds his breath.
"No, sir," David says, bitterness seeping into his words. "I can't."
Eugene turns to the judge. "No further questions, your honor."