Chapter Text
Ponyboy awoke as Dallas Winston nudged him with his foot. Well, it was a bit more than a nudge, but it wasn't quite a kick. It still kind of hurt though, but it wasn't anything near the worst Pony’d ever been hurt.
Ponyboy sat up groggily as Dally moved on to pat Johnny's shoulder to get him up as well.
“Oh, howdy Dally.” Pony said, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
“Howdy? Glory, I've gotta get y'all outta here. You're startin’ to talk like ‘em.” Dallas said, and Ponyboy and Johnny both couldn't help but hope it to be true. That soon they'd be out of that cabin.
“Say Dally, has word cleared up enough for us to leave the cabin? It's been so long, it's hard for me to believe that they're still searchin’ for us. Maybe we oughta go on down to southern Texas, or maybe Mexico.” Johnny inquired, praying to all that was good that Dally would say they could leave. Alas, he didn't, and Ponyboy watched as Johnny's face fell.
“You /know/ they're still lookin’ for y'all. They're still in Texas and now they're scourin’ Arizona, New Mexico, /and/ Louisiana. Neither of you are movin’ from here—from Windrixville—and you're sure not goin’ to /Mexico/.” Dally stated, and it was clear that he was being serious. Although, it wasn't often that he wasn't anymore.
Ponyboy could somewhat relate though. It wasn't very often that he didn't feel giddy. It only ever went away when Dallas arrived, and the feeling always seemed to peak late at night when Johnny's arms were encircling him and he couldn't sleep. Most of those nights—which weren't very frequent—Pony could tell that Johnny wasn't sleeping either. He never tried to talk though. It just didn't feel right to speak in those rare moments. He'd rather revel in the feeling than possibly ruin it by saying something awkward and having Johnny move away.
“Hand me a pack of smokes, will ya’ Ponyboy?” Dally commanded, leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Pony grabbed him and Johnny's pack of cigarettes and tossed it to Dally. He kind of wished he'd have brought his own, seeing as how their pack was almost gone, but he didn't dare say anything. Though, he'd have to ask Johnny to pick up another pack next time he went to the market. That, and something other than bologna.
“How's Sodapop doin’?” Ponyboy asked without thinking. He wasn't so sure he wanted to know. Well, of course he did, but if Dally ended up saying he wasn't doing so great or something, then Pony wasn't near positive that he could stay here without being suffocated by guilt.
“He misses you an awful lot. Him and Darry both.” Dally responded after taking a drag from his weed. Ponyboy didn't believe that Darry missed him in the slightest.
“Maybe you oughta go on back to Tulsa, Ponyboy.” Johnny said, although he knew Pony would say no.
“Glory, Johnny, I ain't goin’ back, and I definitely ain't goin' back without you. The gang misses you too, y’know, and if we could go back then we'd be goin’ back /together/. Together, y’hear?” Ponyboy said in hopes that Johnny would accept that response this time. Johnny didn't, of course, but he let it go because he could tell Dally was getting annoyed. Ponyboy could obviously tell too because he just sat down on the ground and patted the spot next to him so as to tell Johnny to sit beside him.
Johnny shuffled over and sat down. Dally slid the pack of cigarettes over to him, but Johnny shook his head. He wanted them to last as long as possible so he didn't have to go out as soon. Ponyboy did take one though. Johnny leaned on Pony's shoulder lightly, which earned an odd side-glance from Dallas, but he didn't care enough to mention it. He knew Johnny and Ponyboy had always been pretty touchy with each other—the whole gang did, in fact. It probably wasn't too good of an idea though. Some Soc would most likely mistake them for a couple of faggots one day and mess them up real bad. Dally wouldn't really care if they /were/ faggots. It just didn't seem like all that much of a big deal to him.
“You're still limpin’, Johnny?” Dally asked, “Does it hurt or anythin’?”
“No, it feels fine. Just a little weak is all.”
“You're still wheezin’, too.” Ponyboy added.
“Well, so are you, Pone." Johnny responded.
“Yeah, you both are. I can hear it from here.” Dally retorted, his almost-gone cigarette dropping ash onto his run-down jeans.
Johnny leaned on Pony a little farther and they were so close that Pony could feel the giddy feeling flaring up in his stomach. He felt his cheeks burn and his ears turn red. Dally must've noticed this too because he eyed them yet again. Then he spoke.
“The both of you oughta not do that around other people. 's not a good look.” That comment disappointed Pony and Johnny both, but they understood what Dally meant
Ponyboy nudged Johnny away from him and stood, swiping dust from off his pants. He was ready for Dallas to leave, though he wasn't near ballsy enough to say it aloud. He didn't know why Dally even kept coming. Well, he knew it was to update them on the gang—which Pony appreciated dearly—and he knew it was also to check up on them, and because Dally missed Johnny, but Pony didn't understand /why/. Dally hadn't done much but lay around and smoke their cigarettes. He hadn't even taken them anywhere ever since the day of the church fire.
“Y'all also oughta fix your hair again. You're startin’ to match your descriptions again.” Dally stated lazily. Ponyboy stopped cleaning the dust from his pants and got ready to argue, but Johnny beat him there. Pony guessed he was only arguing for his sake.
“It's not like we go out anyway, and we don't even have any peroxide left. Our knife is so dull it'll make us look like we cut our hair with a piece of tin!”
“Well I guess one of you ‘ll have to go out and buy everythin’ then, won't ya’?”
“But if we go out and our disguises are easy to see through, won't someone recognize us and call the fuzz?” Ponyboy chimed in, desperate to not have to bleach his hair again.
Dally glared at the both of them and grabbed the keys to Buck Merrill’s T-Bird. He grunted before standing and then left the cabin.
Pony didn't really know what that meant, but he assumed it meant that Dally had gotten mad at him and Johnny's protesting. That was, at least, until Dally came back in and checked their food supply.
“What're you doin’?” Johnny asked warily, and Dally responded like they were the stupidest people he'd ever known.
“I'm goin’ shoppin’.” Dallas walked out of the cabin again, supposedly done with whatever he'd been doing, and they listened to the car start up and drive off.
Johnny and Ponyboy looked at each other. They were well aware that, by the end of the day, their hair would be chopped up yet again.