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Darry sits and reads the paper at the table. It’s the end of his first day off in weeks and boy, did he need it. When he was younger, he found it so odd that his father spent his days off reading the paper and smoking a pack of cigarettes-- seemed very boring, to be perfectly honest. Now, he can hardly remember a time when the idea of just being able to sit with his own thoughts and focus on everyone else’s shitty lives instead of his own didn’t sound mighty fine. Unlike his father, though, he didn’t believe in taking a day off when you need it. He didn’t believe in taking breaks, so he felt a little odd just sitting there, like he should be up and around. Then again, Darry doesn’t believe in much, if he’s being completely honest with you.
His parents used to take him to church. When he was real little, let’s say four or so, before Soda and Pony were born, his mother would dress him in his Sunday best, fixing up his tie while his father would start the car and warm it up on those cold winter mornings. And she’d kiss his forehead when he’d say she looked beautiful in her blue dress-- it was her favorite dress, and even at such a young age, Darry knew that she only really went to church to wear her pretty blue dress. He knew this because once her stomach started growing bigger with his little brother, they didn’t really go to church anymore. Now that pretty dress was long gone, buried with her in her cheap grave, next to his father. He supposes his faith in anything up above or down below died with both of them. Not for Pony though. Soda never really went all in for religion; church bored him to death. And it’s not really like he needed it, he was more than content with what he had, for the most part. But Ponyboy always liked those sorts of things-- the things that make you think, the things that were pretty and delicate, colorful and meaningful things. Darry knows Pony always beats himself up for not being like his parents, in looks or values or otherwise, but to Darry, that simply wasn't true. Sure, Darry and Soda shared more striking features with their parents, and he'd even go as far to say that sometimes when he speaks, his mother's voice comes out of his mouth, but Pony shared their mother's belief in beauty, in love and in life. He shared their father's originality and genuine-winning smile.
Ponyboy didn’t really care for church anymore. Not since Windrixville. You’d think Ponyboy was trained in pyrotechnics the way he wouldn’t even smoke a cigarette in a ten-mile radius of any church. It’s little things like that that worry Darry nowadays-- it’s that look in his fifteen-year-old brother’s eyes that he’s only ever seen in the war veterans he works with. That thousand yard stare. Like he’s seen things he can’t ever get out from under his eyelids no matter how hard he tries. It worried Darry to no end, but the age of fifteen hit Pony like a freight train, and he didn’t want Darry’s worry.
The phone rings violently, and Darry grips the paper in his hand with irritation. Can’t he have one day where he doesn’t have to answer to nobody? The day is almost over too-- can’t he just get through the one day? He’d probably be more anxious to answer if Soda wasn’t for sure at the DX station (he came home for his lunch break) and Pony wasn’t for sure at track afterschool, as it was the first week of his sophomore year and he knew Pony wouldn’t miss it for the world. Not after last year.
He throws down the paper, rips the phone off the hook, and curtly greets, “Curtis house.”
“Darry?”
“You’re supposed to be at track, Pony,” Darry replies, annoyed.
“Darry,” his brother repeats, and this is when Darry realizes how terrified Ponyboy sounds.
Immediately, Darry feels all the blood drain out of his face. A million things run through his head, but somehow his instincts take over and he grips the phone tightly. “What’s wrong?”
“I messed up.” There’s a shaky breath on the other end of the line. “I messed up real bad.” He hears dry sobs and some jumbled breaths, as if Pony couldn’t even think fast enough to speak. He’s a pretty quiet kid, he doesn’t ever really stutter or find himself at loss for words. That alone would put up red flags in Darry’s mind.
“Where are you?” he asks calmly, despite the fact he felt like a bomb was going off in his chest.
“Behind that convenience store a few streets over. You know, the new one,” Pony replies with a quivering voice. “Darry, it’s real bad.”
“I’ll be there--”
“I think he’s dead. I really think he's dead.”
The bomb in his heart explodes.
“What?” Darry exclaims, his grip on the telephone growing so tight he’s worried he might shatter the plastic. “Pony, who’s dead?”
“He was coming at me, Darry, and I don’t know--”
“Kiddo, you have to calm down. Who's dead?”
There’s a heavy pause. “I don't know. I don’t know, I don’t know.” Pony trails off with a shuddering exhale and another sniffle.
This does nothing to help the situation at hand. “Are you hurt?”
“Busted my lip. I think I’m okay,” he replies, his voice more calm but still shaken. “Darry, he had a gun.”
“Ponyboy! Next time, lead with that!” Darry roars, his eyes so wide he wonders if they’re falling out of his head. The headlights of their Ford light the living room momentarily, and Darry swallows hard. “Your brother just pulled in. Don’t move, you hear me?”
“Darry, I’m real sorry,” Ponyboy says. And Ponyboy doesn’t like to admit when he’s sorry.
Darry can’t help but soften. “Whatever it is, Pony, we’ll figure it out.”
“Darry, the truck’s acting up, nearly killed me on the way back. It’s smoking-- woah!” Poor Soda doesn’t even have a second to greet his brother before Darry shoves him back through the door.
“Pony’s in some sort of mess,” Darry explains hurriedly, pulling Soda along back into the truck.
“Ain’t he always?”
“No, Soda, I mean it,” Darry insists, cutting his joke short.
Immediately, Soda sobers. “I thought he was at track?”
“I thought so, too,” Darry replies miserably. “What’s wrong with the truck?”
“Started smoking on the way back. Steve’ll look at it tomorrow. But it was barely trudging along.”
Darry groans. “Well, come on, he ain’t that far. We’ll walk it, I guess. Man, I can’t get one day off, can I?”
Soda smiles his wild grin. “Not with that brother of ours.”
~
When they approach the back of the street, it’s deathly quiet in the twilight. Ponyboy stands, stoic, near the phonebooth, shivering in his track shorts even though it’s really only about fifty-degrees. He’s got one of Darry’s old sweatshirts hanging loosely off his frame-- he’s a lot smaller than Darry. The first thing they see is a crumpled form laying on the ground, face down. Darry feels himself grow more and more pale, but he hoped for, honestly, the sake of both his younger brothers that his fear was hidden well enough.
God, Pony looks young. Standing there, in the early September dusk, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He might as well be five-years-old to Darry. Soda takes off to check him out, while Darry takes on the responsibility of checking out what could be the dead body.
“C’mere, lemme look at you,” he hears Soda say as he pulls Pony in by the shoulders. Soda gives him a once-over, a grimace passing across his face. “He beat you somethin’ awful, Ponyboy. What did he hit you with? A pipe or something?”
Pony shakes his head, not moving away from Soda. “The butt of the gun.”
“The gun!?” Soda cries, looking wide-eyed at Darry.
Darry can't react to that, as he slowly reaches down to the form, noticing the blood that coats the back of his head.
“Me and some of the track guys went to get Cokes after the meet,” Pony mumbles, like he's in a faraway dream. “I don't know-- that guy was high out of his mind on something-- the other guys split--” he looks like he's about to stumble, so Soda catches him by the shoulder and rubs his head. “I thought he was gonna kill me.”
“It's alright, Pony--”
“I killed him. I really killed him, didn't I?” Pony exclaims, his voice rising. “He's really dead.”
Soda shushes him gently. “Calm down, kiddo. We don't know--”
“He had me on the ground. He kept whacking me with the gun-- we wrestled for it-- I clocked him in the head real good-- but then I heard the gunshot, Soda. I heard it.” Ponyboy breaks into a sob, but catches it in the air and sucks it back in.
Darry reaches down and presses two fingers to the guy's neck. A pulse. Darry feels all the color return to his face and breathes a hefty sigh of relief. The guy seems to make some groan when he feels the touch, and Darry finds that to be a good enough outcome to the whole ordeal that he doesn't even bother turning him face-up.
“Is he--?”
“He's alive. Bleeding like a stuck pig, but he's alive,” Darry assures. “I don't even think he's been shot at all. There's no exit wound or nothing.” He looks back up to his little brother, and while he looks pretty tensed up, there is a hopeful look on his very pale face. “He ain't dead, kid.”
Ponyboy looks like he could collapse with relief. He gives a wiry half-grin. “Glory, did he fight. I don't even think he knew what planet he was on.” His words are comical, but it sounds so robotic, so spaced out, that he might as well be reciting poetry. This worries Darry slightly, but he puts it on the back-burner and chalks it up to fear. He jogs over to the phone booth and quickly spins some bullshit to a 911 operator before hanging up.
“C'mon, let's get out of here before they show,” Darry says calmly, overwhelmed but relieved to know they wouldn't have to defend themselves in court. Again. He puts a hand on Ponyboy's shoulder and takes in his injuries. Soda was right; that guy beat him something awful. There's a swelling bruise on his temple and his nose was bleeding, not to mention the way his lip was nearly split down the middle. Superficial, sure, but Darry knew they probably hurt like hell. “We'll patch you up at home, little buddy.”
“I’m real sorry,” Ponyboy says miserably. “It being your day off and all.”
“Don't worry about me, kid,” Darry tells him, giving him a gentle shove forward with his palm against the back of his head. They manage to walk a few blocks, and Ponyboy goes silent. Darry doesn’t blame him-- the whole ordeal makes him feel like he aged ten years. All he wants to do is take a long shower, get some sleep, and wake up from whatever nightmare this has turned into. As they finally approach their house, he looks down to see how Ponyboy grips tightly onto his coat with one hand, while the other clutches the sleeve. “You good, Pony?”
Pony looks to him, the corner of his mouth twitching. His eyes are hazy. “Yeah,” he mumbles. Darry knows that answer would have to do for now. “I guess I just… don't like it when people die, y'know?”
“Nobody should, Pony,” Darry agrees, opening their gate and letting his brothers walk forward. “But you didn't kill nobody.”
Ponyboy shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but failing. “Still…” he trails off.
Soda's watching him from the porch, concern written all over his features. “You sure you're alright, Pony?”
“Fine, Soda, I swear.” He waves it off quickly and tries to give a reassuring smile. It comes out weak and fake.
“Pony,” Soda states, his voice very sharp, taking a step down. “Pony, what’s that?”
He points a shaking finger towards Ponyboy’s side. Darry walks up behind Ponyboy and takes a moment to process what he’s staring at. He looks again, his breath catching in his throat.
There are many things about this moment that shock him, but the thing that will bother him the most is how long it took all three of them to notice.
Ponyboy follows their gaze down to his side with a furrowed brow, pulls back Darry's jacket, and notices the bloody hole in his shirt and underneath where he knows the bullet must be lodged.
So he really had heard a gunshot.
“Ponyboy,” Darry says softly, unsure of how to approach. His throat feels tight, like the devil was squeezing with both hands.
“The bullet,” Ponyboy whispers, staring at his open wound like it's the Eighth World Wonder.
“Ponyboy,” Darry repeats, because he doesn't know how to say anything else. His hands hover around his brother as he tries to think of the right move. He looks up to Soda, who has turned ghost white and frozen in time. When the real world comes through to Soda, it hits him like a freight train.
“He shot me,” Pony tells them simply. To Darry’s horror, Ponyboy chuckles a little bit. “Glory, I didn't even notice.”
“You're alright,” Darry says, finally finding something else to say and it just so happens to be a complete lie. Ponyboy finally seems to understand what's going on, and as he turns and locks eyes with Darry, he can see the wheels spinning in Pony's head and the pain hits him full force.
“Darry--”
Darry watches as he sways on his feet, then begins to collapse. He falls against Darry’s side, and the next thing he knows, Darry's holding on to him, his arms around Pony’s back, supporting him while his legs go out from under him.
“Pony!” Darry cries, holding him close to his chest. “No-- no, hey, hang on. You're alright.”
“Sorry,” Pony mutters into Darry's chest. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry.”
“Hey, it's okay, buddy," Soda tells him softly, kneeling down towards his brothers. "Just breathe, Pony. That's all."
“Darry,” Pony says faintly, and that sets him off crying. Not quite hysterical, but certainly emotional. Pony's crying harder than Darry's ever seen him cry before, and even with the cuts and bruises, his cheeks are soaked with tears. He can barely speak. “Darry, I'm sorry, I'm... sorry..." He blinks rapidly, taking in a breath. “It didn't hurt. It didn't. Not 'till now.”
Darry presses his free hand into the wound, trying to stop as much blood as he can. It's too much. It's just all too much. He's never felt so helpless in his life, never seen such an expression of absolute terror on Soda's face and never seen so much blood seep out of one person. Darry closes his eyes and tries to keep his own tears in check as he wraps his arms tighter around his brother's body. His heart hurts so badly. He wishes more than anything that he could tell Ponyboy that everything would be alright, that he didn't need to apologize, that he didn't do anything wrong. But he can't seem to find the words.
"Soda, start the car," he finally says, trying to keep his voice even.
"It ain't gonna drive, Darry," Soda replies in a terrified voice. "I barely made it home. I don't think it'll even start."
"Then get someone over here!" Darry snaps, harsh. Soda doesn't really seem phased by it. Darry makes a mental note to apologize later.
"I'll call the guys," Soda says softly, though his tone still holds a hint of panic. He squeezes Ponyboy's shoulder and runs into the house to dial the phone.
Darry lets out a shaky breath, looking back down at his little brother.
“I tried to be careful," Ponyboy whispers through his tears, pressing his hands into his wound. "I really did, Darry, I swear."
"I know you did, baby," Darry replies, pushing his hair back from his face. The reddish-brown of his hair had returned to him by now, but the ends still held some of the blonde dye. A shitty reminder of a shitty time. “I ain’t mad at you, I swear it.”
Ponyboy lets go and grips Darry’s wrist. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”
“I know, kid, I know.”
“I thought I could handle it,” he continues. “I tried-- I swear I--”
“Shh, Pony,” Darry murmurs, running his thumb over the top of his hand. "You just gotta hang on a little longer, baby."
He doesn't have any words to ease the ache, or the fear. There's nothing left but a heavy, suffocating feeling inside him that doesn't want to let go.
“We made it home," Ponyboy says quietly, his tears slowing.
Darry smiles a little. "Yeah, buddy, we did."
"Good." When he smiles back, there is blood coating his teeth. His eyes begin to roll back into his head, and Darry's heart nearly stops beating.
"Hey! No, no, none of that," he commands, giving his little brother a light smack on the face. Pony blinks and opens his eyes a few times.
He looks up to Darry and frowns. His eyes look so scared. "Don't let me go."
Darry's always been good with words, but when it comes to dealing with those kinds of emotions, he's lost. He wants to make things better. He just can't think of anything to say.
Soda comes running out of the house like a bat out of hell. "Two-Bit is on the way with his car. Steve'll be here any second."
Darry nods, swallowing hard. "Alright." He glances to Pony again, who's leaning heavily against Darry's shoulder.
Soda comes around to Darry's side, speaking to Ponyboy in low, soothing tones. "Look, we got ya. We'll take care of ya, kiddo. We're right here."
As Soda talks to him, Pony begins nodding slowly. His eyelids flutter, and then suddenly they are slipping shut once more, and Darry thinks he may lose consciousness.
"Pony?" Soda asks, sounding panicked. "Hey, come on, talk to me."
Ponyboy's breathing gets heavier every second, and Darry is starting to feel like he might faint himself. He grabs onto Pony's shoulder in a vice grip, squeezing tight and hoping he won't slip away. "Pony, I'm not letting you go."
Ponyboy starts shaking and coughing, and Soda's frantic as he tries to comfort Pony, trying desperately to help. Darry's never seen Soda so scared; he never knew how to deal with this sort of thing.
A loud honking sound pierces Darry’s ears, but he doesn't bother looking up. He's too concerned with keeping Ponyboy alive.
"Come on, Pony, stay awake for me," Darry begs as he picks him up into his arms. "Stay with me."
Ponyboy coughs weakly. "It don't hurt anymore."
"Come on, stay with us, honey," Darry pleads, placing a kiss onto his forehead. He pulls his brother against him. "We've gotcha, we're here. Just stay with us, we're getting you fixed up. We're getting you to a hospital, okay? You'll be fine."
Steve slides across the hood of Two-Bit's car and swiftly opens the car door. He doesn't say a word-- neither does Two-Bit, which is off-putting to say the least. They pile in the backseat, Darry holding his little brother tightly. Pony's skin is pale-- pale as snow, almost deathly so.
The car jerks forward.
Darry tries to find something to believe in, to hold onto in this moment, but all that gets conjured up in his head is graves.
~
Darry sits in the plastic hospital chair. Soda sits on the floor, his head in Darry’s lap. For some so-called tough Greasers, Darry feels an awful lot like a little kid right now, keeping his little brother close while his other little brother lies still in a hospital bed.
He's hooked up to all kinds of stuff-- machines and IVs and things that Darry cannot comprehend. The doctors patched up his busted lip and the swelling in his face had gone down, but in Darry's opinion, he still looked like a corpse.
If only there was some kind of magic spell that could bring his little brother back to them. Anything. A cure. A miracle. But no, all there is is waiting. And it's killing him inside.
"I hate hospitals," he grumbles.
"Preaching to the choir," Soda mumbles. "I feel like I see him in a hospital bed every other month."
The doctors and nurses were kind enough-- trying to keep Darry from ripping the wallpaper off and trying to keep Soda from collapsing into sobs. Darry forgets sometimes that Soda is pretty young, too. Sometimes it seems like he's the same age as him, and sometimes it seems like he's ten years younger.
He'd lost a lot of blood. That was the main thing the doctor kept saying. He lost a lot of blood, he'd need surgery, that there were really no guarantees. That the shock might have kept him alive, but he was still losing the blood all that time they hadn't noticed he had been shot.
Now, it's a waiting game.
"He looks real little," Soda says in a low voice. "All pale like that."
Darry nods. "He's just a kid."
He wishes his parents were here. He wishes their presence would somehow give the three of them some kind of courage to endure this horrible situation. He wishes he had a little bit of their strength and resolve to carry out this mission that he failed.
Then again, he thinks, bad shit happens to good people all the time. Maybe Pony would have ended up in a hospital bed on their watch anyway. Darry takes his free hand and pushes the hair out Pony's face again. There was going to be a day where Pony would be Darry's kid longer than he was his parent's kid. The thought is both a comfort and a stomach-turner.
"Am not a kid," Ponyboy speaks, his voice barely a whisper. Soda sits up straight, and Darry feels his lungs begin to breathe correctly for the first time in hours.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Darry greets with a smile, gently stroking his hair.
Ponyboy cracks his eyes open slightly before closing them immediately and groaning. "Christ, what happened?"
"You got shot, little buddy," Soda says, like it's the funniest thing in the world. He sits on the edge of the bed. "Do you remember anything?"
His little brother shakes his head, wincing a little at the movement. "I remember that creep clocking the hell out of me… then everything went black." Pony looks at the IV needle still sticking out of the back of his hand with a scowl. "I really got shot?"
"You sure did," Darry tells him.
"Oh…"
"But hey," Soda interjects, smiling reassuringly, "you made it out alive!"
"Not before scaring us half to death," Darry says. "You really don't remember anything? We made it all the way back home before we realized you were bleeding."
"Nothing, I swear it," Pony says firmly.
He looks exhausted. Even though he’s trying to act as strong as possible through it, he's just tired and worn out. It hurts to see him looking so helpless, and Darry wants nothing more than to pull him into his chest and protect him forever from any harm. Again, real tough of him, huh?
"I'm grabbing a coffee," Soda says, even though Darry knows Soda doesn't drink coffee in the slightest. "You want one?"
"Sure," Darry says, smiling lightly. He doesn’t really.
Soda gives Ponyboy one more squeeze of the shoulder before disappearing down the hallway. Darry looks down to Ponyboy, who sinks into the pillow a little bit.
“Sorry I scared you,” he says, eyes closed.
“I’m getting used to it,” Darry jokes. “How are you feeling?”
“Lousy,” Pony answers honestly. “I’m gonna miss track again.”
“You just got shot, and all you can focus on is track?” Darry asks, leaning back in the chair.
“Can’t help it,” Pony replies. He opens his eyes again, letting them adjust to the light for a moment before landing on Darry. “You look worse than me.”
“Yeah, right,” Darry responds half-heartedly. “I’m gonna need another day off just to cope.”
“Thanks for coming to get me.” He closes his eyes again and sinks into the pillow. “And I really am sorry for scaring you.”
“It’s alright,” Darry says, stroking his hair. “I knew you’d be alright.”
Pony’s nearly asleep again. “How?”
“‘Cuz, little brother,” he tells him. “I believe in you.”