Chapter Text
“Stop or the kid gets it!”
Everyone froze. Ponyboy’s heart was going to beat out of his chest. The muzzle of the pistol pressed cold and unforgiving against his head. The soc had his arm locked around his throat, holding him tight against him so he couldn’t duck away.
Dallas’ eyes were sharp, his attention waning from the soc he’d been whaling on. That one was already out for the count from the way he was hanging limp, only held up by the grip Dally had on his shirt.
Two-Bit and Steve were grappling with their own opponents, but their fights were at a standstill, the gun in the boy’s hand drawing all of their attention as they waited to see what he would do.
Around them, the world continued spinning, birds flitting between the trees, cars passing by one street over, and flies buzzing around their heads. The sun shone cheerily, impassive to the proceedings.
Ponyboy’s vision was getting fuzzy around the edges from lack of oxygen, half from the arm boring down on his throat and half because he was so scared he could hardly draw in a breath as it was. He could feel sweat drip from the other boy’s chin and run down Ponyboy’s own neck from how close they were to one another.
Then Dallas was moving, dropping the boy he’d been fighting to the ground and advancing on the one holding Ponyboy.
“I’m warning you!” the soc yelled, somehow tightening his grip even further. Dally didn’t even pause.
Click. Pony heard the hammer fall.
Nothing happened.
Dallas ripped the gun out of the boy’s hand and then whipped it around, slamming it into the soc’s head. Without being held up, Pony dropped like a sack of flour.
His eyes got hot and he couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over. His pounding heartbeat filled his ears and his stomach was in knots. He’d almost died. If that gun had been loaded it all would’ve been over. He would’ve been a headline in the paper about JDs and their carelessness with heaters.
But it didn’t happen. He tried to pull himself together. You don’t cry in front of Dallas Winston; especially if nothing even happened to you. He was fine! Barely even busted up from the fight! Why couldn’t he stop bawling?
A hand landed on the back of his neck. “You okay, kid?”
Pony scrubbed at his eyes and tried to pretend it wasn’t obvious he was crying before looking up at Dally. The older boy actually seemed mildly concerned, which was really something since he didn’t care about anything. Ponyboy couldn’t help the flare of anger in his chest as he looked at him.
“He pulled the trigger, Dal,” he hated how thick his voice was. “He warned you, and you didn’t listen, and he pulled the trigger. If- if it had-”
“I knew it wasn’t loaded,” Dally said, sounding so self-assured that Pony wanted to punch him.
“How?”
“Because it was my heater. That other guy knocked it outta my pants and it was on the ground. That piece of shit must’ve picked it up.”
Ponyboy took that in. He had half a mind to be mad Dally had a gun on him at all. Weapons always escalate fights.
Dally huffed but his tone was sincere now, “Look, if I didn’t know it wasn’t loaded I would’ve handled it differently.”
And that was the real problem Pony was having, wasn’t it? He’d thought Dallas didn’t care that he could have died, that he’d gambled with his life carelessly. But he had it under control, at least according to him. Ponyboy nodded his understanding, scrubbing his eyes again and letting Dally pull him to his feet. He must’ve seen how shaky Pony still was because he threw an arm over his shoulders, which was holding him up almost more than his quaking legs were, but it looked casual.
Steve and Two-Bit were just finishing up with their own resumed brawls, sending the socs running with some whoops of glee. The ones Dal had fought were still out of it on the ground. Pony glanced at the one who had held him and looked away quickly. Dally had done a real number on his head with the butt of the gun. He half wondered if the guy was dead. But Dally usually knew what he was doing.
“Wowee, kid, that soc had me spooked with that heater,” Two-Bit grinned at Pony, since he apparently only knew how to deal with stress through humor. “He must be a real coward to pull a stunt like that.” His grin faded a bit as he studied Pony. “You alright? You’re looking a little green.”
“If you throw up on me, kid, I’m throwing you into traffic,” Dallas joked, shaking Pony a little, which really didn’t help the matter. Pony elbowed him, although it was more of a half-hearted nudge. He didn’t want to push his luck with Dal.
“I’m not gonna throw up,” he muttered.
Steve eyed him with what could have been a bare hint of concern before casting a look at the two unconcious guys on the ground. “We’d better go,” he said, flexing his bruised knuckles.
Pony was thankful no one mentioned the way his eyes were still glazed and red. It was embarrassing enough bawling in front of one of the guys, let alone three.
He couldn’t help it though. He could still feel the ghost of the cool metal against his scalp, could still remember in perfect clarity the click of the hammer. He didn’t think he’d ever been so close to dying. But you weren’t, he thought, you weren’t even in danger. So stop being a baby. Dallas had probably been on the business end of a gun plenty of times, loaded ones at that, and he wouldn’t bat an eye.
They made it back to Steve’s car, which is where they’d been headed in the first place before they’d been held up by the four socs. Dally hadn’t been with them originally, but he must’ve come when he heard the ruckus nearby since he’d appeared pretty quickly. He didn’t show any indication of ditching them now, either. He only let go of Pony once they got to the car, beating Two-Bit to the passenger seat. Two-Bit was too easy-going to make a fuss. He just grinned and climbed in the back with Ponyboy.
Originally Ponyboy, Steve, and Two-Bit had just been stopping to buy smokes and a snack after school. They were killing time before meeting up with Soda and Johnny to watch a drag race. Pony wasn’t really in the mood to go anymore, but it was a Friday evening and one of the few times Darry would allow him to go out. Plus there was no way he was going to act chicken in front of the gang. He was trying hard to be seen as more than Soda and Darry’s tagalong kid brother, and it definitely would hurt that image if he acted like a wuss over a brawl with some socs.
Pony noticed Dallas’ eyes on him in the side mirror. What, was Dal seeing if he was going to freak out or something? He resolutely turned his stare out the window, listening to Two-Bit recount some story from school. He was fine. Nothing happened to him. He’d feel better once they got to the track and he could have a smoke. That would settle his nerves and then he could move on.
When they got to their destination, Ponyboy hopped out after the others. They spotted Soda and Johnny among the other greasers gathered for the race and within a minute they had to explain why they were sporting the bruises and cuts of a fight. Two-Bit, ever the storyteller, didn’t spare any details.
“Are you okay?” Soda asked Pony when they reached that part of the tale, eyes round.
Pony brushed him off. “I’m fine, it wasn’t even loaded,” he said, mustering confidence he didn’t feel and vocalising the mantra he’d been repeating in his head since they got in the car. Soda didn’t look convinced but he dropped it. Two-Bit continued on and Pony tuned out, dragging on the cigarette he’d lit the moment they got there and trying to get his hands to stop shaking. He caught Dally’s calculating eyes on him again but pretended not to notice.
—
When they headed home for the night, everyone else dispersed to their own houses, except Dallas. He trailed in the door after Soda and Ponyboy, flopping down on their couch without a word. Neither of them questioned it; their couch was rarely vacant, after all. As much as Tim Shepherd reminded Ponyboy of an alley cat, Dally made him think of one of those half-tamed strays. The kind where you might go weeks without seeing it before it showed back up, acting like no time had passed at all and demanding food like it owned the place. Of course, he’d never tell him that. He didn’t think Dallas would take too kindly to being compared to a housecat.
Ponyboy took his time dressing for bed. He’d been ready to head home earlier, but now the prospect of trying to fall asleep was making him nervous. At least at the races, there was plenty going on to distract him. But he also didn’t really want Sodapop to start asking him questions, so he finally shut off the light and climbed into bed. Luckily Soda was tired, just flinging an arm over him and sighing, his breathing evening out after only a moment. Ponyboy lay awake much longer, trying to ignore the click echoing in his ears.
He woke up sometime later when it was still pitch black out. His heart raced, not unlike earlier in the day.
Thankfully, he hadn’t woken Soda. All he knew is he desperately wanted a cigarette. He eased out of the bed, padding quietly out of the house and onto the porch.
He was only there for five minutes before Dallas eased out the door, for once not slamming it. He didn’t ask why Pony was out there, or if he’d had a nightmare, or what was wrong. Instead he silently bummed a cigarette and they stood, smoke curling into the night sky.
“I meant it. What I said earlier. I wouldn’t’ve moved if I thought the guy could actually shoot ya. Your brothers would’ve skinned me alive.” Dallas finally said.
Ponyboy absorbed that for a moment before asking, “What would you have done? If it was loaded, I mean.”
Dallas scratched his head, squinting down the street into the dark, “Whatever he asked, man, I don’t know. We would’ve figured it out.”
Ponyboy supposed that was fair, what else could you do in that scenario? He watched as the ash fell from his cigarette.
Dally looked at him then. “It’s okay to be scared, ya know? Hell, I was scared before I figured out it was my heater. Those things are no joke.”
Pony drew in a breath, letting his eyes close for a second. He’d been trying all evening not to be scared. To be tough and unbothered. Now Dallas Winston, of all people, was telling him he was scared.
“I really thought I was going to die,” he admitted softly.
“No way, kid. You’ve got too big of a brain in that head to have it blown out on the sidewalk by some soc,” Dally grinned.
Pony went a bit pale at the imagery but gave a small smile, “Thanks, Dal. And for earlier too.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s my fault there was a heater in the fight at all.”
“Why'd you even have it?” Usually he wouldn't be so brave in questioning Dallas, but Ponyboy figured he had some leeway tonight.
“Needed it for a job,” he explained, waving his hand in the air vaguely. “I try to keep that stuff away from you. Really back fired today though, huh?” he chuckled mirthlessly. Ponyboy thought he almost sounded regretful.
They smoked in silence for another moment until Dallas shook himself, his allergy to sentimentality seeming to kick in, dropping what remained of his cigarette to the porch.
“You better get back inside before Superman wises up and kicks my head in for letting you stand out in the cold,” Dallas said as he turned and descended the stairs, “and if you see those socs again, you tell me,” he called over his shoulder before exiting through the front gate and heading into the night without explanation.
Ponyboy watched as he disappeared down the street. “Just like a cat,” he muttered before turning to go back inside.
He would still hear that phantom sound as he tried to fall back asleep, would still feel queasy at the sight of the bruise on his neck the next morning and the memory attached to it. But it was a little easier to bear knowing Dallas Winston had his back.