Archive of Our Own ^beta

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he hates this. he hates to see all of them swarm ponyboy – who’s bruised up, one eye is going to be a shiner something fierce, his lip is split, and his hair is askew – to get his attention. dallas still wants to beat sal’s face in, even though he knows ponyboy won fair and square for the initiation. he wants to pull ponyboy closer, kiss him, devour him on the spot as much as he can, make sure everyone knows he’s fucking spoken for.

except for the tiny problem being that he isn’t.

they’ve all known since dallas was about eleven that he and ponyboy were always together. that he wanted ponyboy in a way he didn’t have words for, that ponyboy had returned it in that small, oblivious way of his until it wasn’t so oblivious and now… now they’re fifteen, and ponyboy is being offered beers and chicken and he’s saying no but he’s not anywhere near dallas and it burns him up.

the bonfire gets bigger and tim is grabbing at ponyboy’s hand – ponyboy yanks his hand away, and dallas moves closer and then ponyboy is beside him, looking up at him with a grin and a spark of defiance on his face and curiosity too.

“we gotta talk, dally,” he says.

dallas nods. “yeah. we do.”

he throws a glare towards tim, towards the dark swarm of other greasers, and then follows ponyboy to the edge of the bonfire.

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sal looks like he’s ready to squash ponyboy as he steps up. his blond hair lifts a bit in the wind and ponyboy is already feeling the tiredness settle into him as he glares at sal. he’s the last person he has to fight to be initiated and the last thing ponyboy wants to do is lose to sal.

he knows his pack is watching. he knows that when this is over, he’ll either be accepted or not. he can feel everyone’s eyes on him, and most of all he can see dal, hanging back. he looks like he could wrap his hands around sal’s throat as is, that he could snap his neck of out fury.

but this is ponyboy’s moment. it’s for him as sal lunges forward. ponyboy grapples with him. trying to shove the bigger boy back. it’s not much use – there’s a cry when sal gets him flat on his back, almost knocking the wind out of him. his hands are right on ponyboy’s wrists, and ponyboy squirms, tries to kick out, get him off of him. the grin on his face is wide, sharp, and sal hisses out, “go on! submit like a good little omega!” he laughs, but it stops when ponyboy spits.

it lands right on sal’s face and for a moment the other packs quiet down at it.

sal doesn’t even get a chance to retaliate, not when ponyboy gets a hand free to punch him on the side of his face. adrenaline is roaring in his ears as he bucks sal off, pins him. he doesn’t know what to do except throw another punch, sal crying out with the split lip he receives, and then his nose.

then ed is there, and sal is gasping, tapping out. ponyboy pants, flushed and ed is helping him stand up. he staggers to his feet, and ed says, “ponyboy’s won!”

ponyboy looks over the assembled packs, and he knows he’s accepted.

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ponyboy turns his head into the cold of the pillow as dallas grazes his shoulder with his teeth. the apartment is still pretty new, still a little cold, but dallas is grateful that ponyboy is here, that he could even make it it.

it’s going on three months since the curtises died. ponyboy barely graduated high school, and as the days drip by, as ponyboy seems to sink further into himself, dallas worries. he can’t help it; he’s never seen ponyboy like this before, unable to do much for days and weeks on end, barely able to leave the house, in tears.

some of that is because dallas never loved his parents, was never loved by them. if they sent word that they had died, he might not blink. but ponyboy adored his; and dallas had too. the curtises had cared and loved for him more than any adult ever had. it hurts for him, too, to go past the house and not have mrs. curtis there, smoking a cigarette and speaking to him for hours. it hurt to not see mr. curtis grinning, talking to ed trenton and spotting dallas and saying hi.

it hurts him like that, so of course it hurts ponyboy more.

tim shepard keeps asking when he’ll just let ponyboy go, let ponyboy figure things out on his own. and dallas is content with the answer being: never.

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The college acceptance letters burn and burn. Ponyboy stares into the flames, the tears down his cheeks warm, his vision blurry. Dallas comes to sit beside him, not dissuading him, not trying to push for more. He just throws some wood into the fire silently as Ponyboy throws in another.

There is no question about what he has to do now. He has a little brother to take care of, and Darry was going to come back, had to. There was no way that only one of them could raise Soda.

Ponyboy looks at the one from Oklahoma, the one he'd wanted to accept. The one that he had envisioned a life for himself with Dallas, the one where he'd wanted to get an apartment in, two weeks ago. His hands shake as he tosses it into the flame, and when he chokes on his own tears, Dallas wraps an arm around his shoulders.

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“Let’s move in together.”

Ponyboy seems not to hear Dallas, distracted by the sudden fact of a baby landing in his lap, that their lives were about to change. Dallas repeats himself, “Ponyboy. You can just move in with me. Darry has legal custody of Soda, you’re not obligated to live in the house with them and it ain’t like we don’t know who’s the Pops.”

Ponyboy sniffs, wipes at his face, voice shaking, “I - Are you sure? Dallas, it’s gonna be -”

“Our kid,” Dallas asserts, coming to crouch between Ponyboy’s legs, his eyes focused only on Ponyboy’s face, the softness there, the open shock. “Before all this, we were gonna move in together anyway. Why not now? It won’t take me long to get another apartment big enough for all three of us. We can even get an extra room for Soda to come and crash in whenever you feel like it.”

He waits, waits for it to really sink in and Ponyboy sobs and pulls Dallas to him.