Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Maybe sneaking out wasn't the best idea.

Johnny loves drag racing more than anything. He wanted to go so bad, but he knew Darry would never go for it.

He was venting to Pony when the boy suggested they just sneak out. Apparently, he's been sneaking out with Curly since Soda stopped sharing a bed with him.

He's regretting listening to those two now.

“What the hell are you kids doin' here!?” A sudden voice shouts. Curly, Pony, and Johnny all jump. Johnny whips right around—he knows that voice.

Dallas and Tim stand over them, gazing down disapprovingly. Curly audibly curses.

“You are so much fucking trouble, Curls!” Tim yells as he grabs his brother. “It's dangerous around here!”

“Aw, c'mon man! You're out here!” Curly whines.

“I'm grown! You ain't!”

Pony and Johnny sweat, knowing Darry is going to react the same way. They're in deep this time.

Tim drags Curly away without a word uttered. Dallas watches them, a notable tension in his jaw. Maybe they fought again? Who knows at this point?

“Dal, please don't call Darry,” Pony pleads. The blonde rubs the bridge of his nose in a poor attempt to soothe is headache.

“I ain't. He barely gets sleep as is. But we're callin' him first thing in the mornin',” Dallas says. He walks off to the nearest phone, stuffing a quarter into the machine and punching in a number. 

Pony shuffles in place, feeling a bit guilty now. He knows his brother works hard. He never means to put more on his plate. 

“Hey, Buck..” Dallas says. On the other end, Pony can hear the bartender's gruff voice, but he can't make out any words. Dally quietly explains the situation, shooting the boys some annoyed looks throughout the call.

Finally, he ends off with, “Alright, I'll see you in a bit.” Then, he hangs up.

Johnny looks like a proper kicked puppy. “I'm sorry, Dal..”
Dallas sighs like he always does when he realizes he can't be mad at Johnny.

“I ain't mad, alright?” He says. “You kids shouldn't be out here with the fuzz lurkin' around.”

“We weren't trynna get into trouble, swear,” Pony says.

“I know, kid, but you could've gotten into some deep shit. You need to use your head sometimes.” There's some bitterness at the phrase being repeated again. This time, Pony thinks it might be warranted.

The three of them sit on the side of the road until the old T-bird pulls up. Dallas doesn't waste time, climbing right into the passenger side. Then, he looks pointedly at the boys. Pony and Johnny scramble into the backseat.

“Thanks for pickin' us up, Buck..” Johnny says softly. The man nods, focusing on the road.

“You kids all okay?” He asks simply.

Pony hums, and Johnny gives a little nod. Dally stays quiet.

“Dallas.” The way Buck says it reminds Pony of how Darry says his name when he's in trouble.

“I'm fine, man,” Dally spits out, not looking away from the window.
“Good.”

A moment later, Buck smacks Dallas upside the head and starts shouting.

“What the hell were you thinkin', huh!? I told you the coats would be out here tonight, and you still went out! What if something happened to you?!”

Johnny and Pony both flinch back at the sudden outburst. Pony watches with weird fascination at Dallas Winston getting a talking to. Even better? He takes it! Buck scolds him and he takes it!

“You ain't grown! You're six-fuckin'-teen! You need to use your fuckin' head sometimes!” Buck shouts.

“Alright! I fuckin' get it, man! Can you just leave it!?” Dallas snaps. He sounds like an angsty teenager. Maybe that's just what he is.

Instead of blowing up at him, Buck softens at his tone. The car is silent for only a minute, but it feels like an eternity.

“...You fight with Tim again?” Buck asks softly. Pony had no idea the war vet could be soft.

“It don't matter.”

“It does,” He argues. “You need to stop lettin' that boy get to you, he's no good. All he does is hurt you.”

“Stop talkin' to me like I'm a battered spouse! Me and Tim ain't together, and we ain't never gonna be!” Dallas yells, but his voice cracks.

Johnny's eyes widen at the confession in that sentence. “Dally..Tim's a real deadbeat. You don't deserve what he's doin' to ya.”

“He ain't doin' nothin' to me!” Dallas's accent is thicker, like he's still in New York. Does that always happen when he's upset? Pony can't help but wonder.

“Can you both just fuckin' drop it!?”

“Alright!” Buck yells over him. “Enough. You all need to sleep. We'll head over to the Curtis's in the mornin'.” 

The bartender pulls up to his house. Dallas is the first one out, slamming his way down the hall to his room. Buck just shakes his head with a sigh.

He leads the other boys to another vacant room.

“Y'all can sleep here. We'll have breakfast in the mornin', and then we'll head out.” 

They murmur their 'thank you's and stumble to bed. Pony is so tired, he barely gets his jeans off before he's passed out.

The next morning, Johnny shakes him awake and tells him to shower. It takes him five whole minutes to figure out how to turn the water on. The heat feels so good on his skin, and he stays in there longer than he should.

French toast is already on the table when they stumble down, and so is Dallas.

He looks a little worse for wear. His eyes are a bit red-rimmed, and Buck is treading around him like he's made of glass.

“Mornin' Dal..” Johnny says, but he only gets a grunt in response.

He's already loading up a plate. Pony moves to do the same.

“I called Junior. He's expectin' y'all home after breakfast,” Buck says.

Pony stifles a groan. They're in deep this time. Johnny must be thinking the same thing with how he starts to shake.

“Darry ain't gon' do nothin'. Most he'll do is tan your hides,” Dallas says. Pony guesses he's trying to sound reassuring. No one likes to get spanked, especially not by Superman.

“They deserve it for bein' out like that. They're damn lucky they ain't mine, or I would've already whooped 'em.”

Dallas's face turns a faint pink color, and he avoids eye contact with all of them. He squirms in his seat. Both of the other boys notice this, easily putting two and two together.

Pony, because he never learned to shut his mouth, speaks loudly, “You got spanked!?”

Now, the hood's face goes completely red. He snarls at Pony.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Holy shit, you totally did!” Pony exclaims in disbelief. 

“Pony—” Johnny tries to interrupt.

Ponyboy giggles almost manically. “The great Dallas Winston got his hide tanned! The tuffest hood in Tulsa!”

Dallas somehow gets redder, stuttering around any protests he has. Buck suddenly slams his hands against the table.

“That's enough! I don't know why the hell you're laughing, Superman ain't gonna go easy on you! If anything, you should be jealous. I guarantee I go easier on Dallas than Junior will go on either of you.”

The color fades from Pony's face as he remembers his own impending punishment. Dallas goes back to scowling at his plate. Meanwhile, Johnny is torn between his two friends and his own upcoming spanking.

“Now, finish eating, we gotta go soon.”

Waiting for a punishment from Darrel Junior is like waiting to be hung. Everyone knows your doom is coming, and something almost somber falls on the house.

“Thank you again, Buck. I'm sorry you had to deal with these idiots,” Darry says.

“No problem. I know what it's like,” He replies with a pointed look. Dallas, who is already settled on the sofa, rolls his eyes.

Two-Bit chuckles next to him, and Steve and Soda give each other a look. Pony scowls at Steve. Johnny just sighs quietly.

Pony always ends up digging his hole deeper. He takes his punishment kicking and screaming. Johnny prefers to get his over with as quickly as possible.

“I can't even imagine having to handle Dallas Winston,” Darry says with a chuckle.

“Mind your own damn business, Darrel!”

Buck kind of sighs, but doesn't say anything. Johnny assumes he doesn't want to take Dallas in hand again so soon. Especially not with Pony and Two-Bit's idiot selves around.

Buck gives Darry one more firm handshake before heading to the door. He stops to tell Dallas to behave. The teen rolls his eyes and kicks his feet up, but doesn't back-talk.

Darry finally turns to them once Buck has left. He jerks his head, and Johnny and Pony follow him to the guillotine.

Later that night, with a still stinging bottom, Johnny meets Dallas in the kitchen.

“Hey..” The blonde says quietly.

Johnny hums in response.

“How's your ass?” He asks with almost a smile.

Johnny smiles back. “How's yours?”

That gets Dallas blushing again. He ducks his head and allows his blonde hair to curtain around his face.

“Does Buck spank you a lot?”

Dallas groans quietly. “No. It's only when...when I'm doing some really dumb shit or when he thinks I'm not respecting myself or whatever.”

“So you get it a lot for Tim, then?” Johnny asks almost bitterly.

He gets a glare for the comment. “Ain't non'ya business what happens with Tim.”

“You deserve better than that—”

“I don't wanna hear it, okay?” Dallas says, a bit too loudly. “I don't wanna hear shit about Tim right now.”

Johnny goes quiet, nodding slowly.

“...You know he only does it 'cause he cares,” He says carefully.

Dallas chews his lip and shakes his head before responding, “Yeah, man. I know. They just wanna take care of us..”

“It's a lot to get used to..” Johnny admits.

“I know,” Dallas agrees easily.

Neither of them have had anyone that beats them for a good reason before. It's weird, but a good type of weird.

Johnny finishes off his water before heading back to bed. He sleeps good that night, despite his still aching bottom.

Chapter Text

The first time it happens doesn’t involve a huge explosion.

There's no loud argument, or fist fight. No property damage or disrespect.

The first time Buck Merrill spanks Dallas Winston, it's quiet.

The boy had just gotten into it again with that prick Tim Shepard. Buck had just had enough.

"That boy doesn't respect you. And, by going back to him, you're tellin' 'im you don't respect yerself."

"Ya see, my ma had this trick. Whenever she felt we weren’t respectin' ourselves, or weren’t living up to our potential, she would.."

The first time Buck Merrill spanks Dallas Winston, he guides the boy over his lap with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

The boy has been beaten before. Not spanked. Not disciplined. Beaten until he was bleeding. That's not what Buck wants to do.

How he went from a bitter, lonely bartender to a less bitter and less lonely father figure, he will never understand.

Dallas would be better off at the Curtises, where they love openly and gently. Buck isn't built for that kind of love. This is all he knows.

He swats Dallas over his jeans, at first. The teen jolts, immediately squirming. He's pink up to his ears, ready to start snarling.

Buck scruffs him by his neck—something his own pops would do to him when he was getting too rowdy.

For some reason, Dallas reacts to it the same way he did—by going limp.

Swats slowly turn into proper smacks. Dallas jumps at each one, his shoulders up to his ears and his eyes trained to the ground.

He looks back up quickly when Buck tugs at his jeans. For a second, Buck thinks he's going to say something, but he doesn't.

He quickly puts his head back down when the smacks start again.

Without the protection of his jeans, Dallas huffs at every spank. Buck can see his pale skin turning pink from under his briefs.

He starts to hit harder, actually jostling the skinny boy slightly. Dallas grits his teeth and tries to breathe.

When he starts to spank the boy's sit lines, he starts making noise. He gets a whine and some squirming.

The point is to break down walls and force emotions. So, Buck starts to spank harder.

Dallas squirms harder, and the bartender has to hold his torso to keep him in place. He gets more grunts and whines as it continues.

It's when he gets his first whimper that Buck decides to wrap it up.

The next smacks are hard. Hard enough to turn dark pink skin red. Hard enough to pull a yelp from Dallas, along with even more whimpers. He keeps going until he knows for sure that Dallas is crying.

Finally, it ends. Buck allows the teen to catch his breath over his knee. He hears little sniffles and other pitiful noises.

When he helps Dallas up, he helps him kick away his jeans. He knows first-hand how denim feels on a freshly spanked bottom.

He's only slightly surprised to find Dallas's tear-stained face. But, he's definitely surprised when the boy collapses into his arms.

Buck completely panics.

He stares at the sobbing teen for way too long, before awkwardly wrapping his arms around him.

Buck isn't a father. He's not good with kids, he doesn't know how to handle them. In fact, he has half a mind to leave Dallas to cry it out.

Why he doesn't is beyond him. Instead, he holds Dallas until he calms down and the tears stop.

He eases Dallas down onto his bad, making sure to lay him on his stomach. He disappears downstairs, coming back with some ointment for the soreness.

It's not as awkward as he thought it would be. Dallas sniffles through it, but doesn’t say anything.

Buck throws the blankets over him, actually tucking him in like a little kid. He leaves Dallas with another gentle touch to the back of his neck, and a "get some rest, kid."

They don't talk about it in the morning. Dallas sits gingerly at the table. Buck presents him with a plate of waffles.

The first time Buck Merrill spanks Dallas Winston, the teen lets him.

That's not to say he does every time. Sometimes, there is a big fight, broken glass, even punches thrown. Sometimes, Dallas bites and scratches his way through a punishment.

It always ends the same, though. With tears and broken pieces that need to be put together. With a boy who just needs to feel like somebody cares.

The first time it happens, Dallas has had his heart broken yet again by Tim Shepard.

The guy calls him over for sex one minute and then turns around and treats him like trash the next! What the hell is that!?

Honestly, he didn’t even know Buck paid enough attention to know about him and Tim. The idea scares him, knowing how homosexuals are treated in the southern states.

Buck doesn’t seem mad at that, though. In fact, he seems mad on Dallas’s behalf. Like seeing Tim use him is some great injustice. (Like he cares how Dallas feels and wants him to believe he’s deserving of love or something.)

When the bartender starts preaching about self-respect, Dallas tunes him out.

Dally isn’t going to let himself be lied to. He’s a no-good, worthless hood. He was born hood, and he’ll die one. Guys like him don’t—can’t—worry about self-respect. They don’t deserve it.

He jumps when Buck cups the back of his neck. Then, he relaxes. Faintly, he has memories of an older gang member doing the same—acting as a mentor and protector. It’s a safe touch.

He blinks and he’s..laying across Buck’s lap?

Dallas doesn’t know where this is going.

It’s not like he’s never been spanked. No one has ever cared enough to discipline him.

Da would beat him bloody a lot, but that was just whenever he was mad or drunk or bored—or all three. It was never below his back.

Let it be known, Da was a precise man. The thin, uniform scars all up his back prove it.

He’s had the shit kicked out of him by juvie and prison guards before. For “disrespect,” they said. Really, it was just for existing.

He’s never, honest to god, been punished justifiably.

The first hit doesn’t hurt, but it definitely surprises him. Dallas jolts, his heart hammering in his chest.

He’s a smart guy. He figures out what’s going on very quickly.

Then, Buck hits him again, and again.

It’s not like it really hurts (Buck wouldn’t do that). Dallas feels himself growing more embarrassed at each one.

He’s not some little kid! He’s not Pony or Johnny or Soda! Hell, he definitely ain’t Curly!

He has half a mind to protest. To lash out and demand Buck quit treating him like a damn kid, because he ain’t one! He hasn’t been a kid since his mama died, and he ain’t about to go back now!

To-To let this happen? To just allow himself to be humiliated and-and degraded in such a way? Fuck that noise!

He opens his mouth, only to snap it closed when Buck starts tugging at his jeans. He looks back quickly, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. (He was always too damn weak to say anything.)

The embarrassment is overwhelming. 

Dallas is a briefs guy, alright? He’s not scared to admit it. But..here? Right now? He can’t help but squirm because of his preferences.

Then, he finds himself squirming because his bottom is being lit on fire.

Buck has heavy hands. Dallas can feel his skin turning hues of pink and red. He start’s making noises against his will under the onslaught.

He whines and grunts, gritting his teeth to try and keep quiet. He feels himself tear up as he whimpers.

This is demeaning! It’s mortifying! He’s too damn old to be treated like this, so why..?

Why does it feel like Buck cares more than anyone else ever has? Why does it feel like safety, being over his knee? Why..why..

Dallas is crying softly by now. Not about the pain—although, the stinging is becoming less tolerable by the second—but about how goddamn loved he feels right now.

Is this what’s it’s like to have someone give a damn about you? To have a da who actually cares some and a mama who sticks around?

It’s too much.

If this is what love is..he thinks he might die from it.

Buck starts hitting much harder than before. Dallas whimpers again and again. He desperately squirms and wiggles, trying to escape the pain. Buck holds him firmly in place.

One part of him wants to kick and cry.
The other part is hanging onto his pride by a string.

He barely notices when the spanking finally ends. He’s too busy sniffling and drowning in embarrassment.

God, what would the gang think of him..?

Buck eventually helps him stand. He doesn’t pull his pants back up, but Dallas can’t find it in him to care. His knees shake and buckle under him as he collapses into the bartender.

Dallas sobs into the older man’s chest, gripping onto the fabric childishly.

He’s never felt so vulnerable in his entire life.

He feels like Buck is holding his beating heart in his hand, and he’s just begging.

Please be gentle. Please hold me carefully, I’m fragile. And God please don’t crush me, my heart can’t take it.

When he finally calms down enough, Dallas feels raw and hollowed out. There’s something..almost freeing about it, though.

He’s basically limp, allowing Buck to maneuver him gently onto his bed. Then, Buck disappears, and something in Dallas’s chest breaks.

But, he comes back.

Dallas tries not to whimper as Buck rubs something onto his sore skin. He thinks he does a good job of staying still.

He’s almost brought to tears again when Buck tucks him in. No one has ever done that for him in his entire life. He feels every bit a little kid.

He’s already falling asleep as Buck cups his neck and tells him to get some rest.

Buck makes him breakfast the next morning. Dally hides a wince as he sits down.

It feels like everything and nothing has changed between them at the same time.

The first time it happens, Dallas feels like no one cares about him.

The first time it happens, Buck proves him wrong.

Chapter Text

Buck sighs as he dries the last of the dishes, turning towards Dallas.

"What is it, boy?"

Dallas stops. He's been vibrating all throughout breakfast. Clearly, there's something on his mind.

Buck has gotten a lot more patient with his shenanigans, but he had to break up three fights last night.

He stares Dallas down, the boy breaks after a bit of pressure.

"CanIgotothepartytonight—"

"Woah! Slow it down, cowboy! I can't hear ya like that."

"There's a party happening at the Davis house," He says like it's a question.

"And you wanna go?" Buck asks. The boy nods, looking at him hopfully.

God, when did Dallas start asking him to do stuff?

"Who all gon' be there?"

"The Curtis brothers and their strays, Sullivan's gang, the Brumly Boys—"

"Shepard's gang?" Buck asks with a raised eyebrow.

Dallas has the decency to duck his head, but he can't hide the flush creeping up his cheeks.

They've had that "conversation" about Tim multiple times. It usually ends with Dallas crying and Buck having to soothe the boy's sore bottom.

Unfortunately, Dallas is head over the heels for the bastard and can't stop making the same mistakes.

At first, Dallas would react to Buck's questioning defensively. Thankfully, they're well past the secrecy and fear now.

That was an actual coversation.

"You don't care that I'm..that Tim..I-I don't dig girls that much?"

"..I was in the army, boy. We all had our..side hustles.

Buck chuckles every time he remembers how wide the boy's eyes had gotten.

Nowadays, there's no pretenses between them. Dallas is free to be open. Buck never says anything about it.

He sighs heavily. Dallas looks up again, his eyes silently pleading.

If anyone suggests that Buck is weak for those puppy eyes, they're getting decked.

"Fine."

Dallas yells out, "Yes!" And pumps his fist. 

The celebration is so childish and so endearing, and so out of character.

Dallas has a bad habit of acting like he's twice his age. As if he's too tuff to be a kid or something.

Buck can't help but smile at the display.

That's out of character, too.

When did he start smiling? Especially at a kid?

If his war buddies could see him now..

"Ey! Listen up! I want you home by one! If you get out earlier, meet me at the bar. If you see any fuzz, get the hell outta there. Don't mix your liquors and don't get in any fights," Buck lectures.

He vaguely thinks he sounds like his own pops.

Dallas nods along, humming while he quickly gets on his shoes. "Yeah, mhm, sure, totally. Can I go now?"

With a sigh, Buck nods. "Be safe!" He calls.

Dallas is basically out of the door before he finishes, and he calls back, "I will! Thanks Dad!"

The door slams shut behind him.

Buck just stands there staring at it. His jaw is on the floor and he feels like he just left his own body.

When he comes down from the shock, he slumps back on the counter. Honestly, that's the only thing keeping him upright.

What the fuck—did he just—oh god.

This kid is going to kill him.

Dallas is already home when Buck gets in.

The boy is in his pajamas and curled up on the couch. He's watching some cowboy movie.

Dallas is completely obsessed with westerns. Although, Buck thinks it just has to do with how often the guys are shirtless in them.

When the boy looks over, Buck can see he's absolutely plastered. His pale face is flushed and his eyes are unfocused.

"Buck! Hi!" He says with a grin.

Buck fails at hiding a smile. "Hey, cowboy."

"I'm watching cowboys. Wanna watch with me?"

"Sure, kid. Lemme change first." There was yet another fight at the bar tonight and he's half sure there's blood on his shirt.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Buck finds himself on the couch with the blonde.

He isn't that surprised when the kid scooches over and leans on him. Dallas has always been pretty tactile—not to mention, he's completely blasted.

Buck wraps an arm around him and listens to him babble about the movie.

It's really domestic.

Buck has memories of similar movie nights with his own ma and pops—may they rest in piece.

Maybe, in another life, he got married and settled down. Maybe, he had a kid like Dallas.

Speaking of, the kid isn't talking anymore. In fact, he's nodding off, struggling to stay awake.

Buck sighs and shakes his head. He shuts off the TV, before picking up the half-asleep boy. He's almost shocked when he doesn't get a single complaint.

Dallas continues to struggle against sleep as Buck carries him to his room.

Buck frowns at the mess in the place. He seriously needs to get on laundry.

He tries to put the kid down gently, and even tucks him in.

Jesus Christ, he's getting soft.

When he goes to leave, Dallas grabs at his arm, holding tightly.

"Don't go.."

This kid knows exactly how to pull at his heart strings.

Buck sighs and sits down on his bed, resigning himself to stay until he falls asleep.

He watches Dallas relax, knowing he isn't leaving. He mutters something and Buck leans in to hear it.

"Wish..wish you were my da instead.." Dallas mumbles as he dozes off.

Buck is overcome with that same feeling from this morning.

It's..warm? But also terrifying.

Dallas is a kid. He's so damn fragile and he's trusting Buck. Trusting him not to break him, not to be like everyone else that's hurt him.

It's honestly the scariest thing Buck has ever been confronted with, because he never did settle down.

He's never had a girl last more than a year. He's never even thought about having kids.

It's fear. It's always been about fear.

As much respect as he has for his pops, he was still as angry and drunk as the next guy. When it was good, it was great, but it got bad sometimes.

Buck has always been terrified of becoming that angry.

Vaguely, he wonders if Junior was this terrified when he got custody of his siblings.

Realizing that people so young are putting their complete trust in you to keep them safe. To guide them. To..to love them.

Gazing down at the sleeping blonde, Buck has never been so scared in his life.

Chapter Text

Flu season always takes Tulsa by storm.

Some even claim it's worse than tornado season. It runs through the entire town before disappearing into the wind until next year.

Buck knew Dally was going to catch it.

The boy spends all his time at the Curtis house or the Shepards (Buck curses that stupid bastard once again). They all have young boys that don't know how to take care of themselves.

Not to mention, his immune system is shot. If he spends any time around a sick person, he's down for the count.

Which is why Buck gets stuck caring for him every goddamn year.

"I told you to stay in bed, boy!"

" 'M not sick, Buck.."

"Dallas Winston, do not make me carry you back to bed!"

He gets a huff and a childish stamp of his foot.

A sick Dallas is worse than Ponyboy on a normal day.

Buck turns from the soup he's making to narrow his eyes at the teen.

Dally's face is completely pink, his eyes have dark bags, and he's swaying where he stands. 

Buck moves the pot off the stove before walking over. He picks Dallas up like a toddler, ignoring his whining as he carries him back to his room.

Despite his bratting, Dally still grips his shirt and curls into him. Kid's always been a huge cuddlebug. He just can't hide it when he's drunk or sick.

He settles Dallas back in bed, even handing him the stuffed bear from the closet that he doesn't think Buck knows about. (A gift from Steve)

"Stay here," He commands.

Buck tries to get a bowl of soup and Dally's medicine quickly. The boy will not stay for long and Buck doesn't want him breaking any bones.

"Alright, Dally, here's your—" A sniffle cuts him off.

Dallas is facing the wall and clutching his bear. His shoulders are shaking distinctly.

"Dallas? What's wrong, cowboy?" Buck asks as softly as he can.

The boy turns over, so Buck can see his teary-eyed expression.

"Y-Yo-You left.."

"Just for a minute. To get your food and medicine."

"You left!" Dallas repeats, louder this time. A sob forces out of his sore throat.

Buck can't help but sigh a bit. You never really never know what's going to make Dally emotional.

"I'm sorry, okay? I won't leave again," he says gruffly.

For some reason, his rough voice seems to soothe Dallas.

"P-Promise?" The blonde asks childishly.

Buck melts under those puppy eyes. "I promise, cowboy."

The tears stop as soon as they started. Dally smushes his face against his bear.

"You said food?"

"Yup, but medicine first."

Dally's only saving grace when he's sick is that he takes his medicine without complaint. There's no whining about it being "icky" or him not wanting it.

Buck assumes it's because the kid used to eat eat worse just to stay alive.

Buck isn't one to feed Dallas, either. Only if he thinks the boy is going to make a mess.

Today, as soon as Dally swallows his first spoonfull, he gags.

Buck's reflexes are lightning. He gets the bowl out of the way and the bucket in it's place.

Flu season means this bucket is Dally's best damn friend. The boy's worst symptom is always his nausea.

The bartender rubs his back while he gets it all out.

His heart breaks when the crying starts up again.

" 'M so gross," The blonde mumbles pitifully.

Buck sighs as he gets the bucket out of the way. He helps Dallas lay down again as well.

"Yer just sick, kid. It'll pass."

"Hate this..." Dallas curls up in a ball, clutching at his bear again.

Something about being sick triggers the boy to hell. There's a story there that Buck has yet to learn.

Buck sighs. "I know, cowboy. I'm sorry."

He puts the soup aside, not wanting to force the boy to eat. Instead, he grabs Dal's water bottle and helps him drink some.

The boy is only looking more green by the second, and Buck hates to leave him, but he wants to get the bucket out of there.

It takes five entire minutes of promises to come right back before he can leave.

Dallas is still curled up when he gets back. His face is scrunched up in pain and his knees are pulled completely to his chest.

"Hey, cowboy. Right back, just like I said."

He gets a muffled whine in response. Dallas tries to push his face further into his pillow.

"Hurts.."

Buck sits next to him, rubbing his back. "I know, kid. Just try to sleep."

"Can't.."

"Why not? I'm sure you're tired."

"Da's gon' get me.."

Buck furrows his eyebrows. Winston Sr is supposedly in New York, still shooting up and being a deadbeat.

"What are you talkin' about, kid?"

"Can't figh' when 'm sick.."

"Dallas, I don't know what you mean," Buck says, his voice getting rougher with worry.

Dally just whines, his face scrunching again. Buck moves his hand from his back to his abdomen.

The boy hums lowly as Buck rubs his stomach. Thankfully, it seems to ease his pain some.

It isn't long before Dallas is fighting sleep. Buck just continues to comfort him, which seems to be enough to lull him to sleep.

Throughout the night, Buck checks on Dallas.

The boy throws up twice more. Both times, Buck has to calm him down from whatever panic he's worked himself into.

Fever induced nightmares are also frequent, but Dallas calms down easily with Buck around.

At about 3am his fever starts to go down.

You can tell he's getting better when the sweet boy disappears and his smartass self resurfaces.

When Dallas mouths off the next morning about Buck being a "worse mother hen than Darry," he knows he's gonna be fine.

They don't talk about Dallas's father, but it itches in the back of Buck's head.

Dallas Winston is a never ending padora's box, and Buck isn't sure he wants to open this one.

Chapter Text

Buck has to double take when Dally gets in the house that day.

He glances, then drops the knife he was using to make dinner to stare are him. (God, he sounds like house wife. He should just get a frilly apron like Junior has at this point.)

Dally's entire face is lit up pink, and he has a dopey grin on his face. There's a pep in his step that Buck can only associate with one thing.

No matter how much Tim lies, cheats, or steals from him, Dally can't get over him. As soon as he's remotely nice, the blonde falls all over again.

Buck sighs, resigning himself to teach Dallas another lesson on self-respect.

The boy slides into his chair at the table, and leans forward on his elbows.

Before Buck can even gripe about elbows on the table, Dally cuts him off.

"Guess what happened today?" He asks excitedly.

No, Buck does not fight a smile at seeing the boy so giddy.

"What?"

"I met someone.." Dally almost shrinks in on himself as he says it. He's still scared that Buck might change his mind about gays and kill him where he stands.

That makes Buck stop. "Not Tim Shepard?"

Dallas rolls his eyes. "I ain't seen Tim in weeks. He can fuck himself."

Buck drops everything again, sitting down across from Dallas with more speed than he thought he possessed. Dally flinches back and looks at him like he's crazy.

Buck leans forward. "Tell me everything."

"O-kay..? Weirdo," Dally mumbles. Then, he launches into the story. "I met him 'round the DX. Apparently, he's new 'round 'ere. Came from up north."

Buck has to bite his lip to hide his enjoyment of Dally catching his thick southern accent.

"What? Like you did?" Buck asks.

Dallas looks almost dreamy. "Mhmm. From Chicago. Apparently, it ain't so different from New York in the guns and gangs sense."

"And you know this guy is..." Buck trails off.

Dallas lights up again, grinning. "Said my eyes were beautiful. Took me on a ride in his truck, and..." He somehow blushes brighter and chews his lip

"Don't tell me.." Buck says, sounding murderous.

"Aw nah! Cmon, Buck! Don't be weird! Was just some kissin' is all!" Dallas whines.

Buck sags in relief. "I just don' want you givin' it away to everyone ya meet!

"I ain't yer daughter, Buck."

"You live in my house rent free. I think I get a say on who you bring home."

Dallas pouts—and god, if it ain't frustratingly endearing to see him act like the child he is.

"He's nice, Buck, swear. 'Sides, he only loses if he says anything. He ain't got no one down here. I got Darrel and the gang and you if anything happens."

Buck has to fully stop himself from gaping.

Oh god, he's really part of the boy's support system, ain't he? He's up there with Junior and Two-Bit and Randle. He's on par with Johnny!

The horror...

"I ain't trynna get a murder rap because you ain't bein' careful," Buck argues.

"You almost murdered Tim twenty times. Get over yourself," Dallas says with a roll of his eyes.

"That's different!"

"Get back to dinner old man."

"Yer tellin' me 'bout this boy after!"

Dallas just rolls his eyes and goes to take a shower.

Later, in his pajamas and sitting on the couch, Dally gushes.

"He-He's got these eyes and these rough, scarred hands. And his hair! Oh, god, his hair. The way he looks at me is like—he sees me. He's seein' me," Dallas rants with hearts in his eyes.

His entire pale face has flooded pink. He can't seem to keep the smile off of his face.

Buck finds himself grinning along, but for a different reason.

Finally! He's finally rid of Tim Shepard! Oh hallelujah thank the lord!

"You oughta bring this boy around sometime," He says.

"As if! You'll just be embarrassing!"

"I wanna meet who yer datin'!"

Dallas turns red. "We ain't datin'!"

Buck laughs, continuing to tease the boy, "He's yer boyfriend, ain't he?"

"Ugh! Leave me alone, old man!" Dallas yells.

Buck only laughs louder.

About three months later, Dallas and another boy show up at his doorstep around dinnertime.

Dally doesn't explain. He just says the boy's name and leads him to the kitchen. Buck gets it, anyway.

When they curl up on the couch to watch movies like every night, Dallas presses up against his unspoken boyfriend.

He kisses him, without fear or hesitation, and Buck finally feels like he did something right with his life.

Chapter Text

Buck wouldn’t say he found Dallas Winston. He more-so acquired him.

Read: Picked him up like a wet kitten, brought him home, and never bothered to kick him out.

He had just rolled into town. For some reason, his bar was one of the first places Dally decided to check out. 

The kid was fourteen—although he claimed to be nineteen at the time. When he said that, Buck laughed in his face, ignoring the scowl he got in response.

His hair was shorter, back then. It only reached his mid-neck at the time.

He was dirty, as he hadn’t showered in days. Not only that, but he was sickly thin. Buck knows now that most of his meals at the time were from dumpster dives.

But the kicker? The thing that kept Buck from kicking the kid to the curb?

His eyes were haunted.

Fourteen years old, and he had the eyes of a soldier back from war. The kind of look that means you looked death in the eye, maybe even shook her hand.

For some reason, he just couldn’t let the kid go.

So, he took Dallas back to his place.

He fed the kid, and tried to ignore how he guarded his food. As if it would be taken away at any moment.

He also ignored how his chest ached when he led him to the guest room.

“I don't need a bed. 'M fine sleepin' on the couch or the floor.“

God, that hurt Buck a little bit.

Obviously, that wasn't enough. He just wasn’t done tugging at his heartstrings.

As Buck was trying to get to sleep, the kid crawled into bed with him.

Buck tried to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing, but Dallas just scowled.

“Just get it over with,” He said while shrugging off the thin blue sweater he wore. “I..consent, or whatever.”

The bartender promptly freaked the hell out.

He grabbed the kid by his arm and dragged him all the way to the guest room.

“Don’t you come up in my room again! I ain’t no creep!”

It was not gentle. It was not the softness the situation probably needed. Yet, Dallas still looked at him in awe over the action.

They didn’t talk about it again.

He made breakfast the next morning. The boy’s hunger seemed to override any fear he had. No one can resist Ma’s world famous—

“French toast.”

Dallas squints at the plate, then at Buck. “You ain’t French?”

Buck squints back at the boy. “Don’t tell me you ain’t never had French toast,” He said, almost in horror.

Dallas had just given him a blank stare. Buck was in anguish over the kid’s lack of breakfast knowledge. It took a little nudging, but the kid seemed to love it when he finally took a bite.

Dallas eyed Buck warily over breakfast, yet scarfed down seconds and thirds.

The kid disappeared for a while after that.

There were rumors about a blonde from New York wreaking havoc. People said he slashed tires, terrorized innocents, and all around caused trouble.

He ran with the Shepard gang, mostly, but he wasn’t tied to anyone.

Buck didn’t see him again for months. That’s when he and Tim showed up at his bar again.

Dallas’s hair was a bit longer, now brushing his shoulders. He seemed cleaner, yet still skinny. He was still distrusting of the world.

Interestingly, his blue sweater was replaced with a worn leather one. Buck could’ve sworn the jacket belonged to Tim—a belief that was confirmed only months later.

Now, Buck doesn’t know why he did what he did next.

Something about the kid was still sticking with him. The way he was so vulnerable, yet so hardened. Like a mutt that had been kicked too many times, and now promised to bite the next person who raised a hand to him.

“I’m lookin’ for jockey’s for the horse races. You got the build for it, ya lookin’ for work?”

Dallas had given him a smirk, showing off his sharp canines.

He won the first race he was in. And he won almost every single one after.

It was through the races that he met Sodapop and the rest of the Curtis gang. Honestly? He didn’t expect Dallas to fit with them as well as he did. Buck resigned himself to keep being surprised by the kid.

Eventually, the cut Dallas got from the races wasn’t good enough. So, he came to Buck for more work.

Honestly? He’s proud that Dallas was looking for honest work, instead of just dealing drugs with Tim. Kid can be responsible when his “tuff hood” persona isn’t getting in the way.

That doesn’t mean Buck was gonna go easy on him, though. He worked for his pops since he was twelve—pulled him out of school for it, too. So, he designated the kid to cleaning duty.

You couldn’t imagine the shock he felt when Dallas tied up his hair and got to work.

Over time, Dallas slowly earned a place in Buck’s life. He was eventually trusted enough to manage their stock. Then, he could handle the money.

Buck’s bar suddenly had a co-manager.

It was a late night of counting earnings when Dallas mentioned he was couch-surfing.

“Darrel’s gettin’ sick of seein’ me on his couch,“ He joked. “And, glory, Tim can be temperamental as all hell.”

Buck grunted, then said, “Well, you know I got a guest room.”

Dallas had given him that same awe-struck look. They drove home together that night, and had breakfast in the morning.

Thus began the routine they’ve grown used to.

We all know where the rest of this story goes. At least, most would be able to see it. Buck himself was blind-sided by it all.

Buck walks into Dally’s bedroom, only to realize—this is Dally’s goddamn bedroom. The kid had taken over and moved in the his guest room right under his nose!

Dally’s clothes were stuffed into the closet and dresser. His books were stacked onto the shelves (shelves that Buck built so the kid would stop piling them in the corner). Drawings and pictures from Pony and the rest of the Curtis outfit were pinned to the walls. His shit was just everywhere!

In fact, he had taken over his whole house!

Dally’s shoes were by the front door (including the four pairs Buck bought him), and his cowboy VHS tapes were stacked on the TV. Buck had bought another toothbrush and special shampoo for his too-white hair. He even filled the fridge and cabinets with snacks he knew the boy liked.

It’s safe to say, Buck was having a bit of a crisis.

It doesn't help when Dally bursts from the kitchen—family-sized bag of Ruffles in hand—and hops over the back of the couch to sprawl out. A fluffy blue blanket is pulled over his shoulders (when did Buck buy that blanket??). Finally, he presses play on ‘The Gunfighter’ and rips open the bag of chips.

Buck just stands there, questioning how the hell he got here.

Dallas looks back, blinking innocently.

With a heavy sigh, Buck walks over and sits at the end of the couch.

Dally has no qualms about spreading his legs over his lap. Buck finds he doesn’t mind all that much.

Chapter Text

Sam has never met a guy like Dallas Winston before.

Scratch that, he’s actually met multiple people similar to him. The slimy, hood type is abundant in the Southside. Those types of people will lie, cheat, and steal to get their way. They’re selfish, and don’t care who they hurt.

All that being said, they usually aren’t so pretty.

Everything about Dallas is paler than paper. Meanwhile, his eyes are so bright, you feel like they’re looking right through you.

It’s a distinct contrast to Sam’s dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair.

Dallas has long, flowing hair that falls over his face beautifully. His lips—oh god his lips—are pink and full. His grins are sharp, but Sam sees how they soften around the guys he hangs with.

The way he carries himself, with so much swagger, draws Sam in. His accent isn’t Chicago, but it’s definitely northern. He wants to know where he’s from. God, he wants to know everything about him.

Sam feels a bit defeated, because there’s no way the guy likes men.

Dallas is a womanizer, probably brings a new girl home every night. Sam doesn’t want to risk his life just to shoot his shot.

But then, he’s caught staring. Those blues eyes meet his, and Sam is convinced his heart stops.

Then, those blues eyes rake over his form. They linger on his exposed biceps and his chest peeking from his v-neck. When Dallas meets his eyes again, he licks those pink lips.

When he heads for the back door, Sam follows. His heart is thundering in his chest as he practically chases after him.

Next thing he knows, they’re both in Sam’s truck.

It’s not too steamy, especially when they could get caught. Although, that does add another spark in his gut.

Dallas doesn’t kiss with any swagger. In fact, he bows under Sam’s control, taking the woman’s role easily. He submits—which is not something Sam expected.

Sam kisses those pink lips until they’re spit-slicked and swollen. Until Dallas is mewling into his mouth.

When he pulls away, Dallas chases him. His pale face is entirely pink, and damn if it’s not the cutest thing Sam has ever seen. This tuff hood, reduced to a blushing mess.

“Your eyes are so damn beautiful,“ Sam can’t help but say.

It only makes Dallas blush more. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d think the blonde was pouting.

“Shut up.” Dallas reaches for his shirt, but is stopped.

“I don’t usually do this before the first date.”

Sam kind of expects Dallas to insist. Maybe pout some more, or even storm off angrily.

Instead, he says, “Take me out on a date, then.”

Honestly? Sam hasn’t had the opportunity to actually date a man before. Everything has been secret flings in underground bars. But, despite the fear, something about Dallas makes him want this. 

Consequences be damned, he’s going to date Dallas Winston right off his feet.

Buck isn’t sure what to make of Dally’s new boyfriend.

He seems..nice? Normal? Not a fuckin’ prick who likes to make Dallas cry?

It’s weird as hell. Seeing someone treat Dallas gently, and be affectionate with him in such an authentic way. Buck may as well be hallucinating.

Even using the word “boyfriend” sounds weird. It’s taboo, definitely, but also brand new in the context of Dallas.

Tim and Dally didn’t date. They slept together, fought like hell, and repeated the cycle.
There was Sylvia, but she treated him like straight trash, too.

Buck doesn’t want to think about what other “relationships” Dally has had.

His only consolation is that, he isn’t the only one struggling.

Unfortunately, it’s Dallas that doesn’t seem to know how to act. As if it ain’t normal if someone isn’t treating him like he ain’t worth nothing.

Dallas is constantly starting petty fights with Sam. He provokes him, then shuts down if he doesn’t get the reaction he wants. He blows up on him over stupid shit, but cries whenever Sam pulls away.

It’s the most frustrating and heartbreaking thing Buck has ever been forced to watch.

A boy who wants nothing more than to be loved, yet doesn’t know how to accept it.

He’s even worse off than he was with Tim, for god’s sake! At least with Tim they all knew what to expect.

“You gotta stop pushin’ him away if you want him to stick around,” Buck says, not for the first time.

Dallas just curls up tighter on the couch, under his blue blanket. His most recent fight has left him drained. Honestly, he’s worried this might’ve been their breaking point.

“I’m just not cut out for love, Buck…ain’t built for it.”

“Now don’t you start talkin’ like that. You like Sam a lot, and you deserve to have somebody like that.”

Dallas shakes his head. “He’s too good..why’s he so good?” 

Tears are quickly welling in his eyes again. He just can’t fathom why Sam is so nice to him.

“Because he cares, boy! Can’t you see that? He actually cares!”

“Well, what happens when he leaves!? What happens when he sees how-how /ruined/ I am, and he doesn’t want me anymore!?”

Buck sighs, trying not to be frustrated with the kid. He just wishes he could shake him until he understood.

Stop pushing the good things away! Let them in!

“Dallas, I can’t tell you all that’ll happen in the future. But, I can tell ya, love is somethin’ ya gotta enjoy while you have it.”

“Now, even an old man like me can see how much that boy cares about you. You just gotta let him in, enjoy it, and feel better for takin’ the chance.”

Dallas falls silent. He picks at the loose threads of his blanket, mulling over what Buck (and the entire Curtis gang) are saying.

With a grunt, Buck stands to get started on dinner.

He can only hope that boy makes the right choices.

Sam's relationship with Dallas has been..rocky.

Their latest fight was big, loud, and ugly. Dallas said so many things meant to hurt, to scar.

Sam doesn't know if they can come back from it.

Hell, he doesn't know if he can continue like this. Maybe Dallas just doesn't care like Sam cares.

Maybe they should just..see other—

"Sam?"

He jumps about a foot in the air. Dallas is too light on his feet for his own good.

"Dallas..hey?"

The blonde shuffles, chewing his lip. Sam just looks at him.

"I'm..sorry," He finally says.

Sam sighs. "I know that. I know you are, but—god, Dally, you can't keep doing this to me. You can't treat me like this."

He tries to keep his voice steady. Dallas only reacts negatively if you raise your voice.

"I know. I promise, I know, and I'm try-trying," Dally's voice cracks. "Y'know, I just..I-I don't know what I'm doing.."

"Dallas—"

“I’m broken in so many ways and I—…Sammy, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do this,” Dallas admits, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Sam is completely taken aback by the tears. Dallas isn't a crier. At least, not to his knowledge.

His go-to emotion is anger. He's a spitfire through and through.

To see him breaking down like this? God, it hurts his heart.

Sam lifts a hand to cup his face and wipe his tears.

“Just let me in, Dallas. Quit pushing me away,” He pleads. “Please, stop pushing me away.”

Dally hiccups on a sob, leaning closer to him. Sam wraps his arms around the blonde. He squeezes tightly, and lets him cry into his shirt.

He comforts Dallas until he calms down some.

"I'm tryin', Sam.."

"That's good, Dal. I just need you to try."

Sam leans down to kiss him. Dally presses up against him, having to lean up to meet his lips.

The sparks are back in his gut as he drinks up the feeling of those lips on his.

Fuck, this guy is gonna be the death of him.

Sam smiles slighty. Well, fuck it. What a way to die.

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Dallas hates in this world, it’s shopping.

Buck insists that they go all the time. Something about him being a ‘growing boy’ and needing ‘clothes that fit’. It all sounds stupid to him.

Dallas has survived with a whole lot less than he has now.

Despite this, he still lets Buck drag him around the shopping center. The bartender occasionally stops to hold clothes up to him, either putting them back or throwing them into the cart.

“So damn skinny. You need more protein.”

Dally rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

He doesn’t care what people think of his body. Even when some asshole makes a comment about him being a skeleton, or a drug addict. Dallas is fine.

Besides, he’s never seen without his leather jacket, anyway.

God, that leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He’s been painfully aware of Tim’s name, written in thick sharpie on the tag.

It was years ago now that he gave him his sweater. It was probably the kindest thing anyone had done for Dally up to that point in his life.

When he and Tim were still..screwing around, this sweater was the hope Dallas would cling to. Tim had to care about him, he had his jacket, after all. When they fought, the jacket soaked his tears.

Dallas doesn’t even know why he still wears it.

With Sam now in the picture, it feels weird. He’s been debating if it counts as cheating or not—it feels wrong either way.

Tim never cared about him. It’s like he’s still holding onto the memories or something. (Soda’s therapist bullshit is rubbing off on him.)

Dallas fidgets with the sleeves.

It’s an old jacket, anyway. There are tears and holds, not to mention all the cigarette burns. While it still fits, it’s not as loose as Dallas would like.

He looks up, to see Buck distracted with more pairs of jeans.

Slowly, he creeps away.

The sheer amount of jackets they sell in Tulsa is insane. Everyone owns at least one nice jacket.

It’s easy to find the exact same one, but Dallas decides to change it up. Black leather, slightly oversized so it’ll last longer. The inside is a soft fabric that he can’t help but adore.

He pulls it off the hanger before he can overthink it. This will be the first time he actually picks something at the store.

Progress or whatever.

He drops it into the cart without a word. Buck looks up at him, then at the jacket, then back at him.

Then, he nods firmly. “Black is a good color on you.”

“Whatever,” Dallas mumbles.

“I expect the other one to be in the trash by the end of the night.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man.”

Buck narrows his eyes at him. That’s a threat within itself. Thankfully, he seems to see the anxiety vibrating under his skin.

“Don’t be a brat,” is all he says.

Dallas stays quiet, continuing to follow him the rest of the day.

Despite his defiance, Dallas does toss his old jacket when he gets home. Slipping on the new one, he feels a bit like he’s finally won against Tim.

When he sees Sam later that week, he compliments him.

“You look really good in black.”

Dallas can’t help his blush. “Th-Thanks.”

“Looks way better than the old one,” Sam jokes.

“Yeah,” Dallas agrees, “I think it does, too.”