Dalbit drabble??? Okay sure..... takes place around after windricksville. Dallas is in the hospital. Two-bit believes that he almost died. He's worried,l and glad to see him unscathed. But angry? Maybe he's angry
Ponyboy is upstairs with Johnny. He asked me ta get some book from the cornerstore but before I do that I go to Dally's room. He barely looked at me earlier when I gave him my blade. The nurse is busy talkin' to someone's mom or grandmother and I sneak in. He's sitting there, when I come in. His back to the door. Hunched over like a dog with it's hackles raised.
He hears me come in and turns in an instant. Raising my switchblade in front of him. "Cool it Dal. It's just me" the tough look on his face drops like it always seems ta do when he realizes he ain't in any immediate danger. I move slowly and sit down on the bed next to him. It's softer than I'd expected it ta be.
"Where's the kid?" Theres still some uneasyness in his voice as he puts the blade down on the table next to the bed.
"He's up there with Johnnycakes." I motion absentmindedly at the ceiling.
"So why're ya down here?" Theres a meanness in Dally's voice that I haven't heard directed at myself in a long while. I flinch at it, not meaning to.
“I just wanted to check on you. Ya almost died Dal” I don’t add what I’m thinking. That I like him more than I’ve liked any of the greaser girls or socs I’ve picked on or picked up at the drive in. It’s always been Dallas.
“Man, I’m alright. Johnnys in worse condition” he’s deflecting. He does this. When his feelings come up. Someone else always has it worse than he does. 
“This ain’t about Johnny. I read in the paper that you were a savior.”
“Yeah and so what?” The gruffness is back in his voice. I don’t know why. He’s performing but there is no audience. I can see through it all.
“You got hurt. You could’ve died but you saved those kids.”
“I didn’t save ‘em. Ponyboy and Johnny Cade did”
But he’s still a hero. From what I’ve heard the flames licked the sky and hell rained down inside. Yet he stayed and helped.
“You still stayed there. Even though…” he knows what I’m reffering to. I won’t say it. He’d mentioned it once when he was blackout drunk. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember what else happened that night.
Dally’s eyes go wide and he stares at me for a long while before he looks away, fidgeting with the sheets on the bed.
“Darrel would’a had me killed.” Excuses.
“Can’t ya just admit you care about Johnny, Ponyboy too. We all know it.”
Dally shakes his head fervently.
“When ya get like me…” the same thing. Growing up in New York, Chicago, wherever had changed him. He was tough beyond caring. at least that’s what Dallas Winston told himself.
“I don’t. I can’t. Everyone I care about gets taken away. I almost… I almost lost Johnny. Damn idiots” he shakes his head.
It dawns on me. This is why. This is why he’s been like this. He remembers the kiss. I remember the way he looked at me the next morning. Like he was restraining himself.
“I’m not a faggot Keith.”
That shocks me. I didn’t think Dally cared about stuff like that. The whole gang knows about Steve and Soda, how could they not? The two aren’t exactly good at hiding it. And Dally and me at least know about Darrel’s situation with his old soc friend Paul.
“You kissed me…” I mutter. It was true. He’d been smoking in some filthy corner at Buck Merrill’s place, it was late, most of the usual patrons had left. both of us had a few drinks in our system.
When I approached him the stench of kools hung in the stale air between us. The corner was secluded. He pulled me closer by my leather jacket.
Dal hadn’t said anything. Just stubbed his ciggarette out on the wall and kissed me.
“I- I didn’t mean to… I was drunk, so were you.”
“It didn’t… it didn’t mean anything?”
“Of course not,” Dally turns away, glancing at the blade, my switchblade, “Sylvia.”
“Sylvia. Right. Yeah, ‘m sorry Dal”
He purses his lips into a thin line. It’s quiet. A nurse comes through the door to tell me visiting time is over. But I was just leaving anyway.
I see Dallas again at the rumble. His fiery eyes. His flying fists.
And I see him once more that night. Under the streetlight. I swear he says something as he crawls across the asphalt but I don’t hear it. He doesn’t have any words for me. For anyone.
