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Johnny’s limp form on the sidewalk was the first thing Dally saw before the buzzing in his head got too loud for him to hear, and he had to take a step back and clutch his head so he didn’t vomit on the curb.
He saw Sodapop drop by Johnny’s side, saw him grab his frail hand and flip him over gently, but Dally didn’t dare look at Johnny. Couldn’t bring himself to see the damage, see if Johnny was even still fucking alive. Couldn’t hear over the constant flowing buzz in his ears. He let out a string of curses.
Ponyboy looked exactly how Dally felt, which was not something Dally ever thought he’d say. He had a hand covering his mouth, his face pale and his eyes blown entirely too wide. He looked one scare away from fainting on the spot. His eyes were glued on the boy lying on the ground.
Distantly, Dallas could tell that someone was speaking, or that everyone was screaming, he couldn’t tell. His head felt like it had been filled with cotton and when he tried to move his body wouldn’t comply. He felt like one of those broads in movies, when they’re frozen in shock and the murderer was getting closer to her but she just wasn’t running. He always thought that they were stupid. He understood them now.
Slowly, scarily, his eyes skipped downwards to glance at Johnny who, holy shit, he looks bad. His face was a mess of blood, a long cut ripping from his temple down to his cheek. And Dally’s seen worse, he’s seen people killed in the streets back in New York, but this was different. It was Johnny, the only kid in Tulsa who Dally really fucking cared about, the only damned kid who didn’t deserve to take a beating like this. Fucking Johnny, kid could never catch a break, could he?
Dally blinked hard and tried to drive away the fog clouding up his mind. How could he just stand there when Johnny looked like he belonged in a horror film, his face all cut up like it was? He forced his legs to move, knelt by Johnny’s side across from Soda. He brushed away Johnny’s hair delicately, afraid that if he was too rough he’d hurt him further. Johnny didn’t deserve to get hurt, not more than he already was.
“Johnny?” He heard Soda say, his voice soft. His eyes were watery and he looked a second from shattering like glass, but he kept his voice calm. He patted Johnny’s hand, searching for any kind of response. Johnny remained limp. “Hey, Johnnycake.”
Dallas licked his lips and idly played with Johnny’s hair between his fingertips. Together, they helped Johnny into a sitting position, careful of any injuries that could be hidden beneath his bloodied up tshirt. Dally leaned Johnny up against his side and wrapped a protective hand around him, still feeling like he was about to puke his guts out.
“Soda?” Johnny croaked, his voice hoarse. A sick part of Dally’s mind told him that it would be because of the screaming. He felt his stomach lurch. Soda sighed, his relief clear, before he squeezed Johnny’s hand.
“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t talk. You’re gonna be okay.” Soda’s voice cracked, but he kept a brave face and tried to comfort Johnny best he could. Dally didn’t have a prominent opinion on Sodapop, but he knew he was a good guy, and he admired him for being able to man up and look after Johnny. That was something Dallas found himself struggling with.
“There was a whole bunch of ‘em.” Johnny slurred, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “A blue mustang full. I got so scared, the fuckin’—” but then he cut himself off, and tears began to roll down his cheeks, making clear tracks through the blood coating his face. He rubbed his eyes, but it didn’t stop the tears from flowing, and he eventually gave up, sobbing freely. Dally’s heart ached. He knew Johnny was strong – hell, you gotta be strong to be a greaser round here, especially one whose dad made a hobby out of beating you up – but he had never seen him cry. He’d seen him frown everyday of his life, but Johnny had never cried in front of the gang. Fuck, Dally’d seen him get curbed by some Socs, and even then he didn’t so much as tear up. Just spat wad of blood and ran off.
“It’s okay, Johnnycake,” Sodapop whispered. “they’re gone now. It’s okay.” Johnny sobbed and gasped, burrowing himself further into Dally’s side. With stinging eyes, Dallas tightened his grip.
“There—there were four of ‘em,” Johnny eventually choked out. “I was jus’ practicin’ some football, y’know, out at the lot.” Dally felt his sickness quickly turn to rage. What the fuck were four Socs doing at the lot? Out looking to jump greasers for kicks, the fucking psychos. Anger boiled in his chest and he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from swearing.
Johnny went on to explain about the Socs. One of the cunts had shown up wearing rings, which was what had cut him up so bad, and while that had made Dally ready to show up to their houses to personally get back at them, it wasn’t the worst bit.
Johnny was used to beatings; his old man would hand them out to him constantly for looking the wrong direction. And in rumbles, he held his own, but you don’t often go through one without getting a shiner. What Dally means is that he could handle getting a bit roughed up. It was the shit they were saying to him that had spooked him out so bad.
The Socs had roughed him up, yeah, but they had also been threatening him with everything their sick heads could think of. Shit that even Dally didn’t want to think about. Horrible, cruel, disgusting things that only psychopaths would think to threaten somebody with, let alone actually do. Dally’s white hot rage burned brighter. He was going to fuck these Socs up if he ever caught sight of them.
“Johnny, I promise you, I’ll never let those sick fucks near you again.” Dallas whispered to Johnny. And he meant it, too; if any of them stepped a foot too close to Johnny, Dally might just snap. He thought that if that happened—he might kill them. The idea made him shiver. Dallas had witnessed murders before, sure he had, but he’d never committed one himself. Never thought he would. Not until now.
“Dally, I— I don’t wanna go back home, man, not tonight. And the lot—” Johnny swallowed, bit his lip. “…I can’t go to the lot.”
“Crash with me, man. I don’t mind none. I ain’t gonna leave you outside, you should know I that.” Dallas replied, his thumb brushing the top of Johnny’s neck, his fingers carding gently through his greased-up hair. Johnny glanced up at him, big brown eyes still bloodshot, and quickly looked down again.
“Thanks, Dal.” He was so quiet Dally nearly missed it. Dallas felt the anger that was consuming him simmer down at his soft tone. He could deal with the Socs some other time. Right now, Johnny needed him, and if he was being honest, he needed Johnny, too. The kid was the only one who could get him to calm down when he was like this, and he needed that anchor right now. He shifted his hand outed of Johnny’s hair and wrapped his jacket around him.
“It’s no problem, Johnny.”