Chapter Text
The neon light outside blurred into a red haze as Johnny Cade pushed open the door to Roy’s Diner. Inside, Jerry Lee Lewis sang through the jukebox—begging ‘ let's talk about us !’—and it made the place feel alive. The dark haired greaser slouched over to a red vinyl booth where the rest of his outfit was already crowded in, talking over each other and laughing raucously. Darry, Sodapop, and Ponyboy Curtis took up one end,Two-Bit Matthews and Steve Randle on the other. Johnny slid in beside the mechanic and smiled small at them all when they greeted him too loud to be polite. The formica table was sticky-warm, already flecked with ketchup and coffee rings. The air tasted of grilled onions, frying bacon, and cigarette smoke caught in the summer heat. It was Ponyboy’s fourteenth birthday, and for a moment Johnny could forget anything outside of that singular fact.
Darry sat squished up against the window, straight-backed like he was standing at parade rest. Superman's sleeves were rolled up and his knuckles were white around a chipped mug of black coffee. Johnny watched him grin when Pony cracked a joke, a sight so rare the whole table immediately pointed it out. Sodapop, with his dark-gold hair swooped back from his impossibly handsome face, had his arm slung proudly over his little brother’s shoulder. The baby greaser glowed under the attention, his face split open on a wide (if crooked) grin. Steve, greasy and hot from a day spent fixing cars, was flipping a nickel between restless fingers and bitching to Two-Bit about wanting to play a tune on the jukebox. Two hardly seemed to notice, already eyeing the dessert display and exaggeratedly licking his lips.
They were big and loud and a bit dumb all together, but Johnny felt at home perched on the edge of the bench, dark eyes flitting back and forth between his friends, smiling at their antics, laughing at their games. The gang didn’t make him feel small among their clatter and chatter, instead reaching out to smack his arm and shove menus in his face as they pretended not to know what kind of cake to order Ponyboy -chocolate obviously. It was the closest John would ever get to a family gathering in his miserable life and he soaked in their energy like a lizard bathing hot in the sun. From the back of the room, the jukebox switched tracks, and Jerry Lee came blasting through the speakers, piano going ape.
“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain!
Too much love drives a man insane!
You broke my will but what a thrill!
Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”
When their waitress came over she had teased auburn hair and bright red lipstick; both were barely passing snuff and Two-Bit snorted into his rapidly cooling coffee which set them all off. The woman’s nametag read ‘Marion’ and she had a notepad in one hand as she strolled up and asked, “What’ll it be, boys?”
Two-Bit answered first, completely ignoring Darry’s gruff reminder it was Ponyboy’s special day, perking near up out the booth as he said, “A slice of cherry pie for me, doll. The biggest ya got.”
Marion deadpanned, “That’ll spoil your dinner, kid.”
Darry ordered next, ready to get the whole ordeal over with as Soda and Steve started snickering, shooting kisses off at Two. “I’ll take a double cheeseburger well done, please.”
Johnny politely asked for a BLT and Steve said he only wanted fries and a cold Coke. Soda grinned winningly and told the woman to add a burger and fries to his running tab; he was in a joking mood- Marion didn’t laugh. Instead she turned dull expression to Ponyboy who snapped the menu shut with decision, gray-green eyes sparkling. His hair had gotten longer in recent months, falling in a dusty brown wave over his brow. Even though they were there celebrating his fourteenth birthday, Johnny thought his best friend still looked like a kid; a good kid, telling jokes about school and homework. Still, he looked somehow older ordering himself a giant slice of chocolate cake and letting Marion know it was his birthday. She gave a tepid congratulations and let him know the dessert could be on the house which garnered a renewed wave of noise from the group.
The likely already horribly exhausted woman jotted down their orders and moved to leave when suddenly the birthday boy seemed to jolt, remembering something, and called her back. The rest of the gang fell into side conversations and exaggerated stories, but Johnny watched in interest as their youngest member opened his menu again, scanning it quickly as Marion came to hover by his shoulder. “Oh, and uh—an order of chilli with extra sour cream and…a Coke—no, make it a cream soda please.”
“You really gonna eat all that?” Soda teased while Marion adjusted the order and scooted away, eyes already far off. The high school dropout nudged his little brother playfully. “You won’t have room for cake!”
“It’s for Dal,” the fresh fourteen year old informed, pushing the menu away again absently. The rest of them all shrugged as if this were usual, but Johnny paused peeling open a straw rapper he’d been planning to blow into Steve’s eye. He watched Pony closely, something sticking in his brain uncertainly as he slipped back into the easy banter of the group.
Dally wasn’t even present, had told them all he’d be late if he showed up at all, but Ponyboy had ordered for him regardless, seemingly off the cuff. Johnny pictured his other best friend, arms crossed over a black T-shirt, hair tangled in the sheer refusal to grease it like everyone else they knew. He’d probably stroll in with a lit weed and his usual swagger and the thought made something roll and drop deep inside Johnny. He didn’t have an interest in Dally, sincerely, but he thought the hood was tuff; gallant. Dallas Winston was the kind of guy Johnny wanted to be and so tried to emulate in everything from his scowling face to always wearing one damned jacket no matter how hot it got. That guy was tough and unknowable and aloof and a bunch of other big words Pony and John would’ve learned in their English classes.
And Ponyboy had just ordered him a bowl of chilli like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Dal said he was on his way?” Johnny tested, trying to understand. Gray-green eyes flicked to him.
“Nah,” Ponyboy said with a shrug, “Just in case.”
Nobody else seemed to notice, or maybe they chose not to. Soda was waxing poetic about Sandy as usual and the others were trying and failing to shove napkins in his mouth to shut him up. The birthday boy was laughing fit to choke, his head tossed back and his eyes squeezed shut, freckled cheeks straining over a smile and Johnny was watching him with a noxious, acrid taste starting to coat the back of his tongue. Ugly emotions he rarely had time for were trying to claw their way up his throat and he choked them back with a shudder; anger and jealousy and betrayal and loneliness.
The greaser tried to think what he would have ordered in the same position. He supposed beer if it were available and a burger because it was safe, but never in a million years with a million chances would he have ordered chilli and a cream soda. Since when did Ponyboy know Dal better than John did? That question battered his brain and set his hands to twitching as the door to the diner was shoved open again, all the greasers turning their heads expectantly. Their comedic timing was rewarded by getting to witness Dallas stroll through the door, wide mouth already stretched in a coy smirk as they all shouted various greetings, some warm, Two’s downright vulgar. Johnny simply waved which earned him a quick wink from Dally who slouched over to Pony’s side of the booth, leaning over the kid’s shoulder with an exaggerated huff.
“You fucks didn’t save me a seat?” he complained, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he patted himself down for a light. Johnny watched, gobsmacked, as he playfully slapped over Ponyboy’s head and face as if checking he had a match tucked behind his lips. “Glory, man.”
“Pull up a chair if you’re so outta shape,” Steve sniped, flicking the other teen a book of matches before he turned away.
“You should give it to Pony though,” Johnny added, blanching a bit when Dal’s eyes fell on him. He shrugged. “Guest of honor and all that.”
“Kid’s fine,” Dally muttered, kicking a chair over. The loud scrape of the legs across the floor made people in booths around them jump and got them a warning look from Marion back behind the counter. The hood dropped into the seat like all his ligaments had been snipped and started flicking the back of his St. Christopher agitatedly, trying to light up. “He wants a better seat, he can sit in my lap.”
The table all jeered at this, Soda and Darry tossing sugar packets and bits of trash at the New Yorker’s head while Dal just flipped them the bird. Their boos and hisses carried through the diner and Johnny felt his face get hot. It was a rotten thing to say, but it wasn’t totally unusual for Dallas or really any of them. Any time they got together it was a lot of dicking around and what Johnny’s old man always snidely referred to as ‘grab-assing ’, but the joke landed different for some reason. The gang pet glanced over at Ponyboy and noticed that even though the younger teen was chuckling along with the rest of them, his ears had gone pink, the thin shell of them poking out just barely from his hair.
He wasn’t embarrassed, John could tell, but something else was definitely happening there. His gray-green eyes suddenly seemed permanently turned inwards of the table, never sliding over to Dallas even when he spoke, almost as if the fourteen year old was avoiding looking at him. His legs, which had been stretched out before, one completely out of the booth and damn near tripping people, were now tucked in tight, his knees pressed together and leaned slightly away from the head of the table. Dallas had sprawled out, wide shoulders thrown back and feet planted so far apart he could have straddled the whole booth. But he was angled slightly, his side more tilted in the birthday boy’s direction, his dangling arm inches from the kid’s seat. His eyes did the exact opposite of Pony’s in that they honed in on the smaller teen with an intensity that almost made Johnny feel feverish.
Whatever conversation or jibes were being thrown back and forth were totally lost on the sixteen year old as he fidgeted and fixated on his two best friends, feeling like if he stared at them long enough he’d start to be able to physically see the slim chord of energy he felt connecting them all of a sudden. It was such a small, innocuous thing -ordering chilli and soda for a guy- but in their world, in their life, where nothing was soft or considerate it spoke volumes that apparently only Johnny could hear. He watched Dally watching Pony and wondered if the hood knew he’d forgotten to scowl. He noted the way Pony still kept an ear turned to Dallas, listening intently even if he wouldn’t look at him, and wondered if his best friend knew his ears were still think.
Johnny knew.
Eventually Marion came back, another pretty young waitress helping her to carry all of their food graciously. Two-Bit’s pie, Darry’s double, Johnny’s BLT, Steve’s fries, Soda’s burger, and Dal’s chilli were all place precariously around the table, elbow room quickly being gobbled up by their entrees. Drinks were squeezed in under plate rims and fries were handed over in baskets, exiled to laps where napkins should have sat. The last thing to make to the table was an obscenely fat slice of chocolate cake that had the Curtis’ boy’s eyes all widening hungrily, Darry having to smack Soda’s hand away as he went for a pinch of frosting. There was a candle on top and everything. Johnny was the only one who remembered to fire off a quick and quiet thanks as the waitresses traipsed away, everyone else already shouting a horrendous rendition of happy birthday as Ponyboy blushed from his neck to his hairline.
“Make a wish!” Soda shouted when the song finally ended, stunning smile blinding other patrons as he jostled his brother around a bit. Pony snickered good naturedly, shoving him off before he leant forward and blew out his candle, freckled cheeks puffed out and rosy. They all cheered again and wished the baby greaser a happy birthday. Even Steve who generally couldn’t stand having Pony around muttered his well wishes.
“Happy birthday, kid,” Dallas said around his weed, which he had refused to put out when one of the line cooks shouted from the back that smoking wasn’t allowed inside. The hood dug around in his pocket a bit before coming up with a decent sized fold of bills, tossing it onto the table beside Ponyboy’s cake. “Lunch is on me.”
“Wow, Dally!” the teen enthused, finally turning his wide eyes on the young man leaned over beside him. He snatched the pile of money up quick before any of the others could. “You sure?”
“I said it didn’t I?” the seventeen year old snapped back, huffing a breath of smoke through his nose. He rolled his eyes as if horribly bothered. “Had a good day at the rodeo.”
“Glory,” the baby greaser murmured, fingering through the crisp bills with wonder. He slapped Sodapop’s hand away when he reached to touch too.
“How come you never do sweet stuff like that for me?” Two-Bit complained, voice high and whining like a chick’s as they all giggled.
“Cause you always screw up my order,” the hood replied, knocking the edge of his chilli bowl pointedly, one brow raised. Two-Bit mirrored the expression, bigger and more ridiculous so that he looked like a confused clown. “Pay attention.”
The older teen just waved his friend away, already bitching about something or other to Darry whose shoulders had dropped a bit from the tense height they’d been at the entire time; Dally offering to cover the meal was a huge weight off his mind, Johnny guessed. The table fell back into playful banter after that, Pony and Soda digging into the cake while the rest of them poked at their real food with varying levels of interest. Johnny couldn’t help but notice the way Dally dug into his chili like it was the best thing he’d eaten in days, his spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl in record time. He sipped at his cream soda contentedly, letting out an impressively disgusting belch when he was done. They all clapped.
“Thanks for orderin’ for me, Pone,” he sighed, belly distended as he reached out a large hand to clap over the birthday boy’s shoulder. “You know what I like.”
Ponyboy’s ears were pink again and Johnny's stomach felt full after only a few bites of his BLT. He pushed lettuce and tomato around his plate warily, Steve stealing his bacon as soon as the moment was opportune. The gang pet just couldn’t stop watching the other two, the way they smiled at each other; small and sharp like they had a wicked secret. John wanted to tell them to knock it off—to stop with the glances, the quiet words—but there wasn’t anything to knock off. The sixteen year old felt jumpy and nervous and lonely and sad, but he didn’t know what for. He was so distracted with his musings that Dally had to snap in front of his face to get his attention. Pony had called his name three times.
“W-What?” John muttered, tucking his hands between his knees and squeezing subtly, feeling sick in his stomach. Pony smiled at him.
“I said this song has your name, man,” the kid repeated, gesturing into the air around their heads, the music drifting over from the jukebox. His cake was gone.
“Well, Frankie stepped down to the drugstore-
And there upon her surprise-
Johnny boy, lovin' up on Nellie Bligh!
He was her man-
But he's doin' her wrong!”
The greaser recognized the song vaguely, a deceptively poppy tune about a girl shooting her man dead after catching him cheating. Johnny had never really liked it much and wondered absently why the hell the diner was just playing Jerry Lee Lewis bops as he nodded his head along offbeat. Ponyboy and Dallas nodded along too, looking more in sync with each other than the song and Johnny all at once felt very lonely sitting there, surrounded by friends and listening to a song with his name in it.
The lights overhead buzzed. They all picked over fries and sipped sodas and traded jokes back and forth, but Johnny suddenly felt like he could have been standing on the sidewalk outside. Pressed to the glass, looking in on the good time, he could have experienced the same sensation. When they finally spilled out onto the sidewalk, neon sign now brighter than the setting sun, Dallas had his arm slung around Ponyboy’s shoulder like he owned property there. The rest of the gang fanned out into the lot, voices barking in the low light, but Johnny hung back, gnawing on his thumb nail contemplatively. His dark eyes trailed Dally, realizing he'd hardly spoken a word to the hood all evening; he’d been too preoccupied with Pony.
The bad taste was back on his tongue, but for different reasons. John felt bad for feeling bad; for being jealous and petty and possessive of his friends since it sincerely seemed like they were enjoying each other. Ponyboy had shown a sort of tender consideration for Dallas that others rarely did. Even Johnny. He’d thought of him, remembered what he’d want and been rewarded with a commodity as rare as gold; Dally’s reciprocity. The seventeen year old had covered the cost of all their meals, not just Pony, simply because the birthday boy had ordered him chilli and a cream soda. Thinking again that he wouldn’t have even known to ask for such a thing, Johnny shoved his hands deep in his denim jacket pockets and went loping after his friends.