Chapter Text
Ponyboy watched as when Tim saw Dally enter his house, he yanked him forward and started to speak, “C’mon Dally, look at yourself, you’re practically skin and bones!” Dally looked surprised as Tim yelled at him.
He turned to the door as if he was about to bolt, but then Tim pulled him closer to him, and he… hugged Dally tight. Ponyboy would admit he was surprised when Dally didn’t push him away. And if this couldn’t get any weirder, Dally started to hug him back. And then Tim was talking again, “I haven’t seen you around in three weeks! And suddenly I find out from Curly that the youngest Curtis is dead, and you’re out doing god knows what!” And it just kept getting weirder as Dally tilted his head onto Tim Shepard’s neck and started to cry. Was Dallas Winston crying into Tim Shepard’s neck? What the fuck is going on?! I’m so confused! Dallas Winston, the hood, crying on Tim Shepard, the other hood’s neck? Over my death! Ponyboy stared at them in pure confusion.
He watched as Tim dragged Dally over to the couch and onto his lap. And Ponyboy just continued to watch as the hood proceeded to crumble onto Tim.
And then Ponyboy had a realization. I’m truly dead. Gone, forever. Never again will he get home after track practice to see Darry sitting in the old, worn armchair. Never again will he curl up in bed with Soda. Never again will he, Dally, and Johnny go to the drive-in together. Never again will he and Steve argue over him tagging alone with Soda and Steve when they are hanging out. Never again will he and Johnny sit there smoking together on the porch. Never again will he sit with Two-bit arguing over watching Mickey Mouse or a Paul Newman movie for the 50th time.
I will never get to sit with any of the gang arguing over pointless things ever again. Because Bob Sheldon killed me.
And suddenly he was back at that night, the night he died. He had been walking back after track practice. Normally, Steve would pick him up on Wednesday, but Steve had to pick up another shift at the DX, and no one else could get him, so Ponyboy was walking home today. And if he got distracted playing with a stray cat, then that was no one’s business except his. So he was around two hours late to getting home, and that meant Darry was going to be pissed, but Ponyboy would cross that bridge when he got there.
And then he heard the familiar revving off a blue Mustang, and he started to pick up the pace, and suddenly he was being jumped by what seemed to be six Soc’s. One of them was slugging him, and then suddenly a familiar boy picked up his cigarette box and started to talk. “Aww, poor little greaser. Are you gonna go cry to your mama? Oh wait, you can’t! Because she’s dead, greaser trash!” He and his gaggle started to laugh, and then Bob was dumping his cigarettes over his head, and then Bob pulled out an opened switchblade, and then Bob was talking again. “We didn’t get to finish your haircut last time, greaser, so how about we do it now!”
And then full-body panic shot through Ponyboy. He didn’t want to die! And then he was kicking and screaming and yelling against the Soc’s holding him down. He didn’t see who did it, but he knew. He didn’t know how, for all he knew, the blade could have traded hands, but he saw Bob’s face when they ran away. And in their rush to shut him up, he felt the blade slide itself straight into his lung. And then they ran.
What happened next, he already knew. He felt something wet slide down his face, and as he turned down to his cheeks, he saw pearly tears sliding down his face. But after they slid off his face, they faded away into nothing, and as he looked down at the rest of him, he realized his tears weren’t the only things fading away. And as he looked at Dally being comforted by Tim, he realized he wasn’t needed here anymore. And then he smiled. Because he knew what that meant, and as his body faded away into nothing, he wasn’t scared. As when he looked up, he saw his mother reaching down for him.