Come Down From Your Fences

Chapter 3

"Hey, Dal, they actually letting' you out of here?" Two-Bit ambled into the stark hospital room, surprised to see his friend dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Dally gave a wry smile. "They gave up tryin' to start my heart. Finally realized I don't have one."

Steve appeared in the doorway and leaned against the door jam. "I heard the judge is havin' a special hearing today just for you."

Dally's shoulders stiffened and his face grew stony. "Yeah, can't chance havin' Dallas Winston loose on the street for even one day." He grabbed his beat-up leather jacket and angrily pulled it on, wincing as he pulled his stitches. "Who knows, I might go crazy and shoot up a room full of nuns or something." He laughed, but it was a hollow, empty sound.

Steve didn't respond and Two-Bit looked at the floor, feigning an intense interest in his scuffed boots. Dally was always tough to talk to. Every encounter, even the most mundane, held an undercurrent of tension. You could never tell what would set him off and since the shooting, that unsettledness had increased tenfold.

Two-Bit was getting tired of walking on eggshells and decided to take a chance. "Maybe we could stop by Johnny's room before we leave."

Dallas hadn't been by to see Johnny and never made any mention of him. When one of the gang tried to broach the subject, Dally would either ignore them or become so agitated that he would set off the machines he was hooked up to.

At first, Dally hadn't gone because he was too sick. It had been touch and go for several days. Two bullets had hit him. The first had shattered several ribs and punctured his lung, causing it to collapse. The second bullet entered his abdomen and caused considerable damage that took forever for the surgeons to repair. The doctor told the gang that there wasn't much hope, but Dallas proved too stubborn to die.

Once he was well enough to move around, the hospital administration decided to keep him confined to his room. They were concerned about the circumstances in which he sustained his injuries and the fact that the authorities made it clear that he would be officially arrested once he was released. Everyone expected Dally to argue, but he barely acknowledged the situation.

Truthfully, he was glad the decision to visit Johnny had been taken away from him. He wasn't sure his grip on sanity would remain if he saw him.

He told everyone he didn't remember what happened the night Johnny "died", but that was a lie. Dally, the cold bastard who didn't care about anyone, had shattered into a million pieces that night. Anger, fear, despair, and hopelessness all warred within him - emotions he had always kept walled away. That wall had collapsed and Dally was flooded. He had to make it stop or he would be lost forever.

The gun was in his hand before he knew what he was doing. It was like he was watching a movie starring a guy who looked just like him, doing the unthinkable. "No, you idiot! Put the gun away!" he wanted to shout, but the guy on the screen wouldn't listen.

The first bullet scared him, the second gave him peace.

Three long weeks in a hospital bed had given him plenty of time to rebuild those walls, make them stronger, impenetrable. Every mention of Johnny, however, threatened to crumble those carefully constructed barriers. Hell, when Pony stopped by a few days ago he could barely handle it. He could feel panic start to bubble up, threatening to grip him. He needed to get out of the room, away from Ponyboy who made him remember, who made him feel.

"Ya know, Dal, it might not just be good for you to see Johnny. It could really help him out, too," Steve started to say something about people in comas being able to hear what people said to them, but a buzzing formed in Dally's ears, drowning him out.

Dally ran his fingers through his hair, silently weighing his options. He was tough, things like this didn't get to him, didn't touch him. He was a greaser; getting hurt - killed even - was a fact of life. He wouldn't let one broken, punk kid get to him. He didn't give a damn about anyone else, only himself.

"What the hell, lead the way," he said in a flat voice. Two-Bit and Steve shared a concerned glance and headed out the door.

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They watched through the window as Ponyboy read to Johnny from a thick paperback. Dally couldn't hear him through the glass and he was pretty sure Johnny couldn't hear him, either.

He was lying flat on his back, a tube down his throat and a bunch of machines surrounding his bed. He looked dead. Hell, Dally thought, he's as good as dead. This whole waitin' and watchin' him die was useless ... a cruel joke.

Dally spun around and pushed past Steve. "I'm outta here."

Two-Bit grabbed his arm. "He needs you."

"He doesn't need anyone." His words caused Steve to gasp in shock. Dally ignored his reaction and continued. "That ain't Johnny. He died three weeks ago. You all just can't accept that."

"Selfish bastard," Two-Bit ground out between clenched teeth.

Dallas yanked on his arm that Two-Bit still had a grip on, pulling the shorter man closer. He leaned down and whispered, "You would do well to remember that."

Dally stepped back, breaking Two-Bit's hold. Two figures approached and Dally turned towards them. It was a nurse, the one he had delighted in giving a hard time during his confinement. She was leading a cop down the hallway, obviously looking for him.

Looking back at Two-Bit and Steve, Dallas flipped up the collar of his jacket, narrowed his cold blue eyes and turned his lips up into a cruel smirk.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a date with a judge."