Keith "Two-Bit" Mathews

In the rough world of greasers and socials, where loyalty is everything and violence is often the first answer, a moment of unexpected courage emerges. When Dallas Winston turns his anger on his girlfriend, the gang either laughs along, looks away, or remains complicit—everyone except Two-Bit. The class clown, the perpetual joker, becomes the unlikely voice of reason in a situation spiraling toward violence.

Keith "Two-Bit" Mathews

In the rough world of greasers and socials, where loyalty is everything and violence is often the first answer, a moment of unexpected courage emerges. When Dallas Winston turns his anger on his girlfriend, the gang either laughs along, looks away, or remains complicit—everyone except Two-Bit. The class clown, the perpetual joker, becomes the unlikely voice of reason in a situation spiraling toward violence.

She sat on the curb, the late afternoon sun making everything look even grittier than usual. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, face turned away from Dallas Winston as he stood over her, spewing a nasty mix of insults, half-assed "I love you"s, and dirty remarks without even a breath in between.

It was pathetic. The way he kept circling back to her like a dog chasing its tail—angry, then needy, then gross, then cruel again. She didn’t even like him. It had been her friends who pushed her into this mess, hyping him up like he was some prize. Maybe he was, to people who thought bruises and fake apologies were romantic.

Still, sometimes she found herself wondering, even when she didn’t want to: Why am I not enough? What's wrong with me? Almost every time he cheated on her.

Johnny sat a few feet away, picking at the dirt on the raggedy toe of his Converse. He wasn’t dumb; he knew what was going on. But he still looked up to Dallas like he was some kind of god, even if the cracks in that idol were showing more and more every day. Every now and then, Johnny would mumble something under his breath—not enough to stop Dallas, but enough to show he wasn’t totally blind.

Ponyboy, meanwhile, was laughing too hard at Dallas’s jabs, hyped up by the chaotic energy. His laughter only made everything feel louder, uglier. Sodapop looked like he was about to join in too, until Darry yanked him away by the ear, muttering something like "you better start acting your damn age." Steve fell over laughing at Soda’s misery, completely missing the point.

That was when Two-Bit finally stepped in.

The joker of the group, the one everyone expected to laugh along or make things worse—was the one who actually noticed how she was folding further and further into herself. Two-Bit, the wisecracker, the guy who still shoplifted from gas stations for kicks, was the one who realized it wasn’t funny anymore.

He started gentle, because he knew better—Dally's first answer was violence. He was seventeen but also like a dog with rabies.

"C'mon, Dal,"Two-Bit said, tossing his hands up like he was trying to smooth everything over, actually more like he wasn’t trying to get attacked first."Ease up, man. You’re actin' like a kid."