this is part of the otherside, where some greasers are socs and vice versa. if you haven't read previous installments, check my profile here or on ao3 under greasers. this is going to be a nine part fic, likely with longer chapters than usual, separated in three seasons, with three to four chapters each. i love comments, please enjoy!
and as a note! jay mountain here is going to be very different than what we know in canon. hence the title.
It's three-thirty am in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
In one household, Cherry Valance is in bed, asleep, having dreams about her day that's better than it actually was. Instead of Dallas Winston burying his nose in Super Soc Ponyboy Curtis' neck, he's got his arm wrapped around her. The movie is playing without sound behind them, but he's the one kissing her, the one telling her that she'll get to go home with the St. Christopher on her neck.
In her dreams, she isn't worrying about cleaning up before her mama wakes up, hoping that no speck of dust will set her off when Cherry isn't suspecting it. She isn't worrying about her dad sending them a check every month from his job and whether or not it will be enough or thinking about that maybe, just maybe he's forgotten they exist. She isn't even thinking about Marcia and if she's a good enough greaser girl for the rest of them, if she's tough enough to be around them, if she's a good alpha girl or not. In her dreams, she's perfect, the envy of Socs and Greasers alike and Dallas grins at her the way he's grinned at Sylvia.
They get to be who she thought they were, since the age of ten and in her dreams she smiles.
In her dreams, she is so, so much more.
On a crutchfield, police aim their flashlights at the reason they were called out this evening. On the ground, in a puddle of blood that has finally slowed in the cold September air, is Johnny Cade. His hands no longer bear the class rings he'd gotten or the family heirlooms he used to wear despite the fact that his father had hardly wanted to turn them over to him. His gold cross is gone from his neck too, the money in his well pressed, blood-splattered slacks are gone, and his Madras shirt is soaked with blood all the way down from his chin to his stomach.
In death his eyes are open, frozen in terror, shock.
He's sixteen. He was sixteen, and he was supposed to have been immortal. And now he wasn't.
Sergeant Brian Bramley looks at the body of the dead boy before him, knowing that he's going to have to make phone calls, his stomach roiling at the body there. None of those phone calls will be good, and the idea of having to face Johnathan Cade, Sr., is bad enough in and of itself. The next few days will be at this beck and call to solve this.
If he's lucky, it'll be a few days, and he'll catch a lucky break for the killers. It'll be some greaser kid who got out of hand, and he can hand him over and wipe his hands clean of it all. Of that, he's sure.
He can hear his underling turn away and he knows, as he shines his light onto the fountain, surrounded by unnatural puddles and evidence of a fight, that this night is going to be long and is getting longer. Every scent in the air seems frozen there, every single moment pointing to a long road ahead.
On a train, heading out from Tulsa, Ponyboy Curtis slumbers on Dallas' lap as the train rattles it's way through the night. The smell of hay, coal, and the outside whips through Dallas' nostrils as they pull along through the dark night.
Dallas doesn't sleep. He can't afford to.
There's a precise time and marker for the time they need to get off. Even though he wants to shut his eyes, even though he feels some of the adrenaline seeping out of him, he has to keep awake. It's been years since he hopped this route in the opposite direction and if they fuck this up, there won't be any time again to sleep unless he wants to do it in a jail cell.
And he wouldn't be in that jail cell for very long.
So Dallas keeps awake, aware of the gun he has tucked in his waistband, his head tapping against the rail car as it goes on, his other hand drifting downwards to run through Ponyboy's hair. Some of the cold air keeps him awake, pushes back some of the drowsiness he's feeling.
None of this can be left by chance. Not if he wanted to avoid the electric chair, not if he was going to get out of Oklahoma alive with Ponyboy.
The thought is still new, still scary in a way. Ponyboy is already deep asleep in Dallas' jacket that's probably a million sizes too big for him (not hard with how small and skinny he was), and Dallas still isn't sure what to think of the fact that this little omega Soc was beside him. That he had chosen to come with him, all the way out here for God knew how long.
He had chosen Dallas over and over again — over the corpse of his dead, shitty friend and Dallas doesn't know how to deal with that entirely. The evening night outside shifts a little as he thinks about it, about those kisses, about the way they had felt electric every time, almost enough to lose his head.
Being on your own since ten years old means that trusting other people normally isn't something you did often, and never blindingly. Knowing how it could all turn on you, knowing it could end horribly — everything in the world left to someone else's kindness or luck.
Apparently, he'd decided to bet on Ponyboy Curtis, this kid dozing in his lap, head on top of his jacket. That Ponyboy, somehow, was going to see him and this through.
A whole murder rap.
It's a crazy thing to do, and if Ponyboy hadn't been so deafeningly clear before, Dallas would be slipping away in the night, on his own. As it was though, he relaxes some more, some of the sharp wind making his eyes tear up as they pass through the night. It's up to him to get them to Jay Mountain, at the very least. That church he'd seen was hopefully still there. If that could just go right, the rest of this could too, maybe.
Maybe.
Dallas reaches behind him, grips the gun tightly as reassurance, of it's steady weight. Then he lets go, wipes at his eyes and ignores the way his heart beats a little fast at the idea of consequences, of how all of this could still unfold. Jay Mountain was the only thing he needed to think of now, and he needed to watch the landscape for the right time to jump.
The time winds on. The landscape is dotted with trees and hills, and wipes at his eyes, trying to keep himself together. He's seventeen, he knows better than to panic. Time keeps on crawling, the train barreling on the track at faster speeds. Ponyboy snores in his lap, fingers clutching tighter to the jacket, his hair move in the wind. The sky is starting to shift from the deepest blue-black with dotted starts into something a little brighter. The landmark he was looking for was —
There.
Dallas shakes Ponyboy's shoulder as hard and sharply as he can. "Kid! C'mon, we need to get up and go." His hand hooks around Ponyboy's elbow, shaking him as hard as he can.
"Dal? Wha —" Ponyboy wipes at his face, the air whipping his hair around. "What'are we–"
"We need to jump. Now," half dragging him, Dallas manages to get him to the edge of the train car, grabbing their things as best he can. "Unless you wanna walk ten miles. Now, come on!"
They're stumbling together for a moment, the air whipping around them at high speeds. Dallas' grip on Ponyboy's elbow is as tight as he can make it, their bags weighing heavily. Beneath them, Dallas can see that they're going to hit a grassy landscape — one that's starting to rapidly disappear.
Ponyboy, if he's afraid, doesn't voice it. They just leap together, hovering in the air for a moment, two figures against the brightening landscape. Then they hit the ground together, with pronounced oofs! and grunts, rolling around until they're both lying in the moss. It's not as painful as it could've been, Dallas gulping up air, feeling only a little bit of pain beneath him as he looks up at the sky, watching only for a moment. There are no planes criss crossing the sky, the sun isn't nearly up; just a bit of orange and pink against the sky.
"You okay?" The ground is firm beneath his hands as he sits up better, trying to get his bearings. Ponyboy gives a nod, his eyes firmly fixed on the sky. There are twigs and leaves stuck in his hair, some dirt on his cheek. Good thing he's not wearing that expensive shirt from earlier that night.
Dallas stands up, offers his hand. Ponyboy blinks at him in bewilderment for a moment, then grasps it, getting to his feet. He looks around them, at the familiar landscape that was full of grass, not as much dust as usual. Good, good. This place was pretty close to Texas, and the green was an excellent indicator that they were on the right track.
"You're a runner, ain't you?" Mutely, Ponyboy nods. He looks tired, hardly able to understand what's going on. "Then you'll be okay. We got a ways to walk." Dallas takes the heavier bag, and waves for Ponyboy to follow him.
And so they walk. They walk beneath a sky that slowly lights up with the sun, the early morning dawn cool. The coolness is fine with Dallas, makes it easier to walk as they go. As best he can, he tries to remember how he'd taken this journey last time, looking for the familiar rocks, trees, and old debris.
The urge to fill the air with talk isn't very strong; only the survival instincts that are so inflamed in him keep them going. New scents introduce themselves: ones of dirt, of the countryside, that were fresher than the city, cleaner in a way. For all he does not care about the way the sky changes, he keeps his eyes out for the little remnants that indicated where they were going.
The more they walk, the more Jay Mountain in and of itself comes into view. He doesn't know what it's like compared to other mountains, only that it's big enough that climbing it himself when he'd been here last time hadn't been an option. The mountain has jagged peaks that get closer and closer into view along with the more immediate feature of it: the pine trees.
Or, at least Dallas thinks that they're pines.
Every so often, he turns his head to make sure that Ponyboy is keeping up with him. The height difference between them means Ponyboy's usually behind. That's what Dallas thinks at first, as they finally come upon the trail he's been looking for. The path is old, half grown over, and it's the best sign they've got as the sun finally begins peeking through the sky.
"We got maybe five more miles," Dallas wipes at his face, running his eyes critically over Ponyboy, looking for any sign that they should sit down and stop. "Think you can make it? It's got a water pump and there's a creek not too far."
That sleepy look is finally gone from Ponyboy's face and he nods. "Yeah, I can make it. Don't worry about me, Dally."
"You're a Soc, and I know you ain't exactly been running laps lately," he shrugs, moving on the trail ahead. "C'mon."
The rest of the way, there's only the sound of them moving through the woods mingling with the sounds of busy birds ahead, the sound of the creek coming in and out of their ears whenever the trail would take a longer twist than necessary, and then — in the faintest way that Dallas suspected only he could hear — was the sound of a truck passing. It's rare, only a time or two and each time, he's very sure that they're nowhere near being seen.
When the trail gets deeper into the forest, though, he's grateful. That was always the point where they really were farther away from civilization with the trees much closer together, concealing what was waiting for them.
Dallas takes Ponyboy's hand as they make their way up the last steep hill before their destination. He's slightly pink, panting, sweaty — scenting like an omega, in a way that makes Dallas' nostrils flare when he gets close. The scent of blood is entirely gone now, buried beneath the forest and train and still Ponyboy's natural, alluring scent remains.
"How much farther away?"
The question hasn't been asked yet. Dallas feels a bit of surprise realizing it, and cants his head up the hill. "Just over this hill. It ain't what you're expecting, I promise."
"What am I expecting?" Ponyboy grips his hand tighter, doing surprisingly well as they move up the craggly rocks in the hill. He wipes at his face, his hair curly, still unstyled in a way that makes him look good in Dallas' opinion. "You never said much about it."
"It just isn't," overhead a few jay birds start to tweet, right on cue almost. Dallas and Ponyboy move until they're at the top of the hill, and Dallas grins when he sees the church. It's right where he left it years ago: a white washed, decrepit looking church with a red door with equally peeling paint. Like most churches, there are triangular points for each roof it has, a total of three. From where they were standing, it didn't look much with the crumbling steps, the overgrown lawn, and the general disposition of it all.
Not to Dallas. He knew better.
Beside him, Ponyboy looks at it in fascination as the morning light hits the trees. It makes his eyes a bright hazel — amber mixing with green in a way that makes Dallas want to look a little longer. The drive in had been dark, surrounded by a bunch of kids like themselves. Here, as he looks at the church with clear interest, there's something a bit different to Ponyboy that isn't just exhaustion and a new landscape to take in.
What that is entirely, Dallas knows they can fixate on later.
It takes time to get down the steep hill with everything they're carrying, and when they manage it, he can tell that they're both in need of some rest. He walks with Ponyboy to the overgrown lawn remains, pointing towards the back, "There's an old outhouse and water pump back there. Don't use the outhouse — think it's mostly filled in anyway. That pump is good though, gets the water nice and cold."
"How're we gonna get inside? Don't suppose you got a key or nothing?" Ponyboy wipes at his face, craning his head to look at the church. It's a decently sized place, even if it's not anything in comparison to the mansion that Ponyboy had been living in on the other side of town.
"Go around the back. They've got that nailed shut," he moves towards the back, and Ponyboy keeps up as best he can in that heavy shirt and jeans. As suspected, it's still covered up in vines and moss in places. Dallas searches until he sees the slope of the basement cellar door. Just as he left it, there was a huge patch of moss that had started growing over the old, unlocked door. It takes works to get the moss away and to open the doors.
An earthy, slightly dank scent hits his nose and he coughs. "Jesus. C'mon. This goes into the church. Just makes sure to close it behind you, and make it look like it's got growth on it." Dallas puts down a tentative foot on the steps. Miraculously, they're still holding.
A grin spreads on his face, and he waves Ponyboy inside.
They descend together into the basement, Dallas keeping Ponyboy's hand in his as they move through the dark. The basement is vast, still filled with various debris, stacked shelves, and some shafts of light seeping through due to the rotting floor above. Dallas moves until they find the steps he needs, into the depths of the church.
With no effort, he ascends, opening the door to what he had to guess were the back offices of the church. As he left it, it was still mostly dusty, with cob webs there and there. An ancient looking red and gold patterned couch is there, and despite the need to look around further, Dallas' first thought is verbalized by an exhausted sounding Ponyboy: "Jesus, a place to sleep!"
Dallas knows he should look around again, check everything. Except, god he's tired. The night catches up with him in that statement, and he finds himself dropping their things onto the hardwood, dusty floors. "C'mon, then!"
If Ponyboy protests, Dallas doesn't remember. He just knows they both stagger onto that awful couch for one of the best sleeps he's had in his life.