Too Bad to Die [The Outsiders fanfiction]

10. Loss

It had to be written. 

It was January, and Dally was convincing himself that coats were overrated. He was fine with his shirt and his crappy jacket. It didn't matter that his fingers were freezing off. He was damn well going to stay outside because he was tough, and anyone who saw him would know it.

But then a dark shape was sprinting towards him. Closer, it was Johnny. Even closer, tears were sliding down his face, pushed by the vicious wind blowing through the lot.

Dally was suddenly alert, like an animal pricking its ears at sound of prey. Except Johnny wasn't prey to Dally; he was a thing to be protected. He didn't think long on his impulse as he caught Johnny's shaking shoulders, the younger boy practically skidding to a stop in front of him.

"Dally," Johnny said, trying to catch his misted breath, "Dally, it's- it's Ponyboy's parents, they-"

And then his grief took hold of him and Johnny threw his arms around Dally's torso, burying his face in Dally's neck and letting out shuddery sobs.

Dally was frozen for a second. Johnny. Was. Hugging. Him. Anyone else, he would have flung them on the ground and stabbed them for good measure. But. It. Was. Johnny. And... something had happened to Mr. and Mrs. Curtis, two adults who Dally had not hated, two adults who nobody had hated, two adults who were the closest damn things Johnny would ever get to parents.

Dally hugged Johnny back and knew every level on which it was wrong. Then he let Johnny hold on to his arm as they walked slowly back to the Curtis house. Johnny was shaking and it spread through his fingers into Dally.

Everything was quiet, but not in the way it is when it snows. This was different quiet, a cavern of silence that dug a pit in Dally's stomach and filled it up with dread.

The door of the house was open like a mouth with shock. Neither Dally nor Johnny closed it when they stepped through, letting frost form on the doormat they didn't wipe their feet on.

Two-Bit was there, on the couch, head in hands.

He looked up when they came in, cold and distraught, Johnny's fingers clenched around Dally's wrist so tight it was like handcuffs.

"So you heard." Two-Bit said. His voice was drained of the mirth that had employed it. He wiped away one silent tear.

Dally was reluctant to talk. "Johnny came an' got me, but I don't know-"

Two-Bit looked down at his feet. "It was a car wreck." He said miserably. "The roads were icy and they-" he blanched. "Well, you know the rest."

"Oh." Dally said. Then he sat down, Johnny still clinging to his wrist like he was a lifeline. When Dally looked at him, Johnny's eyes were wide and stricken, his long eyelashes beaded with tears.

In the silence they could hear crying from the back of the house. Sobs. Soda crying was such an unfamiliar sound that at first Dally couldn't place them, but Steve's voice reached his ears too. "It's gonna be okay," a gentler Steve than Dally had ever known said. "You're okay, buddy, you're fine." Even through walls, Dally could tell Steve didn't believe himself.

Darry, pale, his eyes vacant, entered. He said nothing about the wide open door or the fact they'd tracked filth into the house. He wasn't crying. Still, his grief was apparent.

"Johnny," he said, "Pony wants to talk to you."

Johnny looked startled. He didn't stand at first. Darry's empty eyes wandered to Johnny's fingers, viselike around Dally's arm. Johnny's grip slowly loosened until he stretched out his fingers. Then he walked silently into the hall.