if we were in rome, we'd be someone else [the outsiders; dallas/johnny; teen]

[sodomhipped]

Title: if we were in rome, we'd be someone else [or read on ao3]

Fandom: The Outsiders (musical, book, movie)

Pairing: Johnny/Dallas, mentioned Buck/Dallas, mentioned Dallas/Sylvia

Rating: Teen

Warning: None

Tags: pre-canon, conversations, implied/referenced domestic violence, hugs, hurt/comfort

Author’s Note: The title is adapted from a half-remembered line in Shannon Pufahl’s amazing On Swift Horses.

Summary:

“I got a better idea,” Dallas says. “Let’s get out of here, huh?”

“Where d’ya wanna go?”

“I dunno. Anywhere,” Dallas answers. He hasn’t thought that far, but the idea grips him now. Johnny’s parents don’t give a hang about him, and nothing is holding Dallas to Tulsa—not Sylvia, and not Buck either. “Pick a city. Any city.”

『 Or, after Dallas finds Johnny beat up again, he suggests they leave town together. 』

---

Not an hour ago, Dallas complained to Buck that the swamp cooler wasn’t doing shit, but the sweltering summer air hits Dallas like a blast from the oven, making him a liar. He thinks about going back inside, but he feels restless and he’s had enough of Buck’s company for the day.

He rolls up the sleeves on his t-shirt—borrowed from Buck’s drawer—until his shoulders are bare. The cotton sticks to him, sweat already slipping down his sides and back.

Buck wouldn’t give him the keys to the T-bird, so he has to walk. But that’s okay, he doesn’t have a destination in mind yet.

Sylvia is mad at him for something or another, which means he’ll get an earful if he goes to her place. It’s a long walk anyway. The same is true for Shepard.

Which means his best bet is one of the boys.

It’s Wednesday afternoon, so the Curtis brothers won’t be up for much. Darry and Soda will be working and Pony is always under lock and key on weekdays. Steve isn’t any fun without Soda to lighten him up. Two Bit might be around, but it’s always hard to say.

By the process of elimination, he sets his path towards Johnny Cade’s house.

When he arrives, Johnny’s sitting out on the front curb. Dallas knows why; he could hear his folks yelling from nearly a block away.

“Hey, Johnny,” he greets.

Johnny doesn’t look up at him. His skinny arms are wrapped tight around his knees, face buried in the barricade of his elbows. Dallas sits next to him, letting his boots stretch into the street.

“Don’t even got a ‘hello’ for me?” Dallas asks, mostly kidding.

Johnny peaks out with one eye. Dallas only gets a glimpse before Johnny looks away again, but he can tell why Johnny’s avoiding looking at him. Dallas scoots over, leaning in to get a good look at Johnny’s face. Johnny keeps angling away from him, but it’s not like the kid can hide his busted lip and newly-forming shiner.

“Cut it out,” Johnny mutters, pushing Dallas away. It’s almost too quiet to hear, but Dallas is proud of Johnny for not letting himself be cowed.

"That’s the spirit,” he says. “Your old man again?”

“Yeah.”

“Whatta bastard.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says again, but without much bite to it.

Johnny’s not the only kid on the East Side saddled with shitty parents—Dallas can attest to that—but Johnny attracts assholes like flies to honey or whatever the saying is.

A year or so ago, they were out on the town when this sleazy guy put the moves on Johnny. Johnny didn’t seem to know that the hand on his back was more than friendly, but Dallas knew it for what it was meant to be immediately. He shoved his way between them, letting the guy catch an elbow to the stomach hard enough that he doubled over. He added a solid hit to the guy’s jaw for good measure. ‘Watch your hands or lose ‘em,’ he warned in his deepest voice, dragging Johnny away. After, Johnny followed him without question, his dark eyes confused until Dallas could see the realization sink in. And so Dallas knew that this was a threat that Johnny hadn’t accounted for ever before, and he had a front-row seat watching a new fear take up residence in the kid’s brain.

He hates that Johnny has so much to be afraid of. If it were anyone else, he’d tell them to wise up, get tough, and punch back at the world when it comes at you. It doesn’t matter if it’s some random asshole or your own old man.

If Johnny were tougher, this kind of stuff wouldn’t happen. But if Johnny were tougher, he wouldn’t be Johnny. And Dallas doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You ain’t goin’ back, right, Johnny?”

“Nah, not tonight,” Johnny slowly shakes his head. “I’ll stay in the lot.”

Dallas hates it. He hates that Johnny admits defeat so easily. He hates that Johnny sleeps in the open lot so often. He hates Johnny’s father. And he hates that there’s nothing he can do about any of it.

“I got a better idea,” Dallas says. “Let’s get out of here, huh?”

“Where d’ya wanna go?”

“I dunno. Anywhere,” Dallas answers. He hasn’t thought that far, but the idea grips him now. Johnny’s parents don’t give a hang about him, and nothing is holding Dallas to Tulsa—not Sylvia, and not Buck either. “Pick a city. Any city.”

“Hold up a second. You mean you wanna leave town?”

“Why not? What’s keeping us here?”

He can see the idea light Johnny up from the inside, curling the corner of his busted mouth into a smile at the thought. “Yeah? All the way to—where? New York? California?”

“Sure,” Dallas says, grinning. He can already see them hitting the open road together—he knows where he can get a cheap beater, or they can jump a train.

But Johnny winces as his lip pulls, oozing a drop of blood that slides down his chin, and his expression crumbles.

“Nah, we can’t,” Johnny wipes at the blood with the back of his hand, and for some reason, he looks scared now. “We would need a lot of money for that.”

“I did pretty good for myself at the last rodeo—I have enough.”

Johnny bites his lip. It must hurt, but he sinks his teeth in it hard enough to start bleeding again. He still looks nervous, but he’s thinking it over. Eventually, he shakes his head again. “Nah, man. You’re not leaving Tulsa because of me.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Dally,” Johnny starts. He seems uncertain of how to say what he wants. “Why are you bringin’ this up?”

The answer is so obvious that saying it seems superfluous. Dallas eyes Johnny’s lip, then his eye. “What do you mean?”

Johnny scrambles to his feet, unsteady. His expression is tight, almost angry.

“What?” Dallas asks. He’s having trouble keeping up with Johnny’s moods—and Johnny’s already walking away from him. It takes him nearly to the corner to catch up. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’,” Johnny says. He tries to walk past Dallas, the sullen set of his jaw showing he doesn’t mean to say anything further.

Dallas grabs him by the elbow. He wants to make Johnny stop and look at him, but he pulls too hard, knocking Johnny off balance so he falls right into Dallas’ chest. Rather than right himself, he collapses completely, leans in further, and wraps his arms around Dallas’ waist.

“Dally, I hate it here,” Johnny says. It is so muffled by Dallas’ shirt that he can barely understand the words. “I want to go with you—but I can’t.”

It doesn’t make any sense to Dallas. He wants to yell that they can, but Johnny is tucked close—and he feels so small, so slight—that he forces the words to stay caged behind his clenched teeth. He squeezes Johnny with both arms, forcing him even closer. Dallas was already burning under the relentless heat, but Johnny is even hotter against him.

“I don’t get it, Johnny. I don’t get it.”

“Don’t ask me to do it,” Johnny says. He sounds like he’s holding onto the bare edge of composure. The clutch of his fists is desperate on Dallas’ sides. “Because I want to.”

Dallas wants so badly to do something—help in some way—but he’s coming up blank. All he knows is that Johnny seems more miserable now than he did when Dallas first showed up. And if he says the wrong thing again, Johnny will break apart even more. So all he can do is bury his face in Johnny’s neck, breathing in the smell of grease and sweat. His mouth presses against the exposed skin between Johnny’s shirt and where the line of hair starts at his nape. Johnny doesn’t seem to notice, he just sucks in rattling breaths, shaking in Dallas’ arms.

Dallas has to swallow twice before he can force any words out. He says, “Alright, I won’t. I’m not saying another word, okay? Everything’s cool, we’re cool.”

“Okay,” Johnny says, sounding shaky.

Johnny clings to Dallas for another minute. When he lets go, he’s got himself under control.

“You good?” Dallas asks.

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “I’m good.”

He looks steady now. Unless Dallas had seen Johnny’s mood come on so fast and go just as quickly, he wouldn’t have known it happened. He guesses that’s a kind of toughness.

“C’mon,” Dallas says, voice coming out hoarse. He tugs Johnny by the sleeve. “You can stay with me tonight.”

“Nah, I’m good, man,” Johnny says, and slips out of his grip. He hesitates a beat. “You stay with that guy a lot these days, Dally.”

“Who? Merril?” Dallas asks. “I guess. It beats my old man’s place.”

Johnny gives him a long look. He has one hand cupped over his neck. It takes a second for Dallas to realize he’s holding the spot Dallas’ mouth touched earlier.

“Whatever, stay if you want, but I’m gonna go,” he says, more harshly than he meant to sound.

But Johnny doesn’t mind at all. He says, “Thanks, Dally.”

“I dunno what for. I didn’t do anything.” Then Dallas adds, “You really okay, Johnnycake?”

Johnny cracks a smile. “Yeah. I’m good out here. It’s going to be a nice night.”

Dallas takes stock of the oppressively sticky summer air, and he has no idea what Johnny’s talking about.

“I guess,” he agrees half-heartedly.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Johnny says. “Walk with me to the lot?”

If he’s heading back to Buck’s, the lot is in the opposite direction. The evening has gotten quiet, too. No cicadas screaming, no cars coming and going. He can’t even hear Johnny’s parents screaming at each other anymore.

“Sure,” he says, falling into step with Johnny anyway. “It’s on my way.”