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Over the fourteen-year course of his life, Ponyboy had never drunk any form of alcohol that Darry was aware of. Sure, when most of the gang had come over and were playing stupid poker games strawn out on the coffee table, they’d all be drinking and Ponyboy would try and sneak some. Darry assumed that the behavior his kid brother was exhibiting as he tried to sneak a sip or two was to appear tuff.
Being tuff meant a lot to the Greasers. It was something that differentiated them from the other gangs; from the Socs. Socials—more commonly known as Socs—were highly praised prissy brats that had cooler and shiner cars and hair that wasn’t slicked back with grease. They wore khaki or sometimes even white pants with lightly colored shirts, usually tucked in. They sound nice alright, but that is what they want people to think. Socs don’t want anyone to know they carry around switches and like to pick on younger grease boys like Johnny Cade and Ponyboy Curtis.
Most of the Greasers smoked. Ponyboy did. Darry was fine with that, as long as he didn’t get too carried away with it. Of course, Ponyboy seemed to like smoking a little too much in Darry’s opinion, which he no doubtedly scolded the younger for many times. It was different when it came to drinking. Johnny had never drunk, maybe for his own solitary reasons but, noticing this, Darry predicted it was probably better for Pony to have a better life than he did, so he restricted to no drinking. Not yet, at least.
When Ponyboy tried to slink past Darry and down alcohol, he obviously watched and dismissed the action with a small swat of his hand and a pointed glare. It was usually dropped after.
So as far as the older knew, Pony hadn’t drunk a day in his life.
Until tonight.
Darry sat on the sofa, skimming the newspaper he’d already read once this morning whilst enjoying his coffee. His other kid brother, Sodapop, was arm-wrestling with Steve, groaning as he tried with all his might to win. Dally and Johnny sat on the couch, too, Dally telling some story about how he socked a Soc in the mouth the other day, making the kid’s two front teeth knock straight out.
“Aw, man, Dal! Woah…” He heard Johnny murmur in small, soft awe underneath his breath, watching Dallas with wide pupils.
Johnny was the only one to call Dallas ‘Dal’ . Every other Greaser, including Ponyboy, who hung out with the fiend, called him Dally. They wouldn’t have dared to utter the nickname with fear, just like the story Dally had dived into, they’d be punched in the jaw without a moment’s hesitation.
Ponyboy had come home after school, finished his homework, and stayed in his room. When Darry had gone to retrieve the latter for supper—spaghetti, Pony’s favorite—the kid wasn't to be found. Darry knew where he’d gone off to as Pony had scrounged up and taken with him five dollars, the fee for entry at the outdoor theatre closest to them. He’d always had a fixation for movies and poetry, the kid.
Now, Darry sat, awaiting the boy’s arrival. He’d taken his seat on the couch right after supper, but it had been quite some time since then—two hours to be exact—and he was starting to get worried. Ponyboy tended to stay out just at sunset, so he could watch it from the yard as he made his way home, but the sun had set around thirty-six minutes ago.
How could he be so exact, you might ask?
Keith—commonly referred to as Two-Bit—Mathews.
Two sat right in front of the television, licking his fingers to rid it of the reminisce of chocolate cake, so close Darry was surprised to see his corneas hadn't burnt already. Every minute, he’d move his eyes from the Mickey Mouse cartoon he was watching and shout, “Add another minute! Thirty-six from sundown, Superman!”
“You ain’t helping, Two,” Sodapop looked over, eyelids dropped in a glare. In the second or so Soda had looked away, he’d lost the arm-wrestling match to Steve, who practically howled in triumph. Soda glowered at the other, giving him the bird, “Can it, Randle!”
Darry shifted, his clutching grip on the newspaper tightened, making it crinkle and come closer to being ripped apart. Where the hell is that kid? What was Ponyboy up to this late at night? Does he just get a knack for pissing Darry the fuck off? His brows furrowed downwards at the last thought, feeling anger boil up in his chest.
Maybe he was getting too mad. He has anger issues, there’s no way not to be pissed in this situation.
But, Ponyboy. His small, bright kid brother out there in some alley? They’d only just recently found him tied up by some Socs with a jump rope. They’d gotten a real kick out of that one, leaving the poor kid there until Soda had found him later that night when they went searching. What if he had gotten into some trouble again? What if it was the Socs? A small grease kid all by his lonesome would be a perfect target, especially when that grease kid had a big brother with anger issues, half their size. It’d be the perfect recipe for disaster that could cause a rumble.
Soda was demanding a rematch when the doorknob clicked. Darry shot up, disregarding—or, well, tossing—the paper to the sofa, which coincidentally startled Johnny a little. He could feel Dally’s scathing glare to his back as he stared at the door, hands clenched in tight fists, short nails digging into the skin of his palm. Even Soda had shut up, peering past Steve to get a good vantage point of the door.
Despite the doorknob’s click being slow and at least trying to be subtle, the door was slammed open, hitting against the wall and in came a hazardous looking teenager, face flushed and usually slick hair messy.
“Ponyboy Micheal Curtis!” Darry shouted, gritting his teeth angrily.
“Oh shit, man,”
Darry turned to the sound of the voice, arching a brow in pure fury. “What, Dallas? What?”
“He’s drunk, Darry. Damn wasted, look at the sight of ‘em!” Dally grinned, nudging Johnny’s shoulder, who tried to laugh at the gesture, but instead held a shocked and concerned look towards Pony. “Kids first taste of alcohol! Mighty hangover, huh?”
“What?” Sodapop gaped, standing up now and gazing over at his kid brother.
“What?” The word was slurred under his breath, but Ponyboy spoke, seeming a slight bit woozy. “Drunk—…? Me? N oooo ,”
“Ponyboy Curtis, you have got to be fucking kidding me, you damn little shit,” Darry cursed, grabbing the latter by his shoulders and shaking him with every word spat. “How’d you get drunk? Who gave you beer?”
He could smell it. Oh god, he could smell it. His Ponyboy reeked of beer and cigarettes. His own kid brother. How could he have let this happen? He should’ve gone looking for him.
“Asked,” Pony whispered, drowsily shrugging as he slumped down onto the couch next to Johnny.
“Asked? Where? Don’t they still I.D.? How—How’d he? How could I let—… You,” Darry gritted, hands clenching as he lowered his face and put it in his hands, rubbing his eyes and fighting the urge to cry. He was one of the toughest Greasers.
Like he mentioned earlier, being tuff means a lot.
“Ain’t gonna get anything out of ‘em, right now,” Steve murmured, “Kid might not even remember any of this, looks like he’s about to be out like a light.”
Ponyboy grunted, shuffling closer to Johnny as he wearily held up his middle finger and hissed, “Don’t. I.. ain’t a kid…”
Darry ran his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it the fuck out. “Hell yeah, you are. What, you think you’re some hotshot now that you’re drunk like us, huh? You think that’s good for you, huh? Sad fucking story, Ponyboy. It ain’t. I have tried so hard to help you. To make you different and you go out and get high off your rocker in one night! One. Night!”
With every word he stepped closer until he was looming over his tired brother, who squirmed as Darry’s finger hit pointedly at his chest.
“I tried to show you, Pony. I tried so hard and for what? This! I can’t believe you little—“ Tears stung at his eyes as Soda rushed to his side, pulling him backwards with as much effort as he could.
“Dar! Darry, please. We’re all tired, alright? Let’s go to bed, then, okay? C’mon.” He whispered in a hushed tone, like soothing a bull seeing red.
“No!” Darry whipped around, jabbing at Sodapop now. “That ain’t fair! He don’t get to just get drunk and have you all defend him. He don’t get to grow up like we did, alright? He ain’t gonna end up like me. He don’t deserve that, Soda! None of—“
“ Darrel !” Sodapop shouted, teeth gritted harshly together, pushing his brother back. “C’mon! If you’d just listen to me for once in your goddamn life—“
He tugged Darry backwards and moved towards the oldest brothers’ bedroom. Dally, who had Johnny practically clinging to his side, eyes wide and fearful with every shout in the house, and Ponyboy slung over his shoulder, emitting soft snores, jumped up from the couch and immediately ditched the living room. Two-Bit completely up and left, not wanting to hear any more of this.
Once shut in the bedroom together, Soda looked into his older brother’s eyes, looking—for the first time in a long time—small and timid. His greasy hair was in his face, eyes wide and struck with shock. “Dar,” He whispered softly, unsure of what to even say.
“How could he even do something like that, Soda? How could he?”
“It’s okay, alright? We’ll figure this all out when he’s up. You should probably get some rest, anyway.”
“Soda—…” Darry murmured, running his hands through his hair and panting. “He just wants to be tuff. He don’t understand. I tried so hard to tell that kid—“
“I know, I know,” Sodapop came closer, hesitantly wrapping his arms around his brother and shutting his eyes, briefly taking in the smell of his brother’s cologne as he hummed, “It’ll be all good, okay? We’ll figure it all out, mhm…”
Darry nodded, knowing damn well he was crying. He could feel the cloth fabric of his younger brother’s shirt soaking up the tears from his wet cheeks as he stepped away, rubbing his eyes with one hand.
“I’m gonna go get some ibuprofen and some water for when Pone’s up, alright? You tell me if you need anything, huh?”
Darry nodded, and with the small click of the door shutting, Sodapop was gone. Darry was now alone in his room, the only light emitting from the hallway, peeking through the bottom of his closed door. Even that went away as Soda’s footsteps departed, shutting the light off on his way to no doubtedly put bottled water and two pills on the bedside table of the room he and Ponyboy shared. His eyebrows furrowed and creased, Darry could feel a headache coming on and presumed it was from both the crying and the screaming. Sleep would probably help, he presumed, Soda wanted him to sleep, anyway.
Slipping his collared shirt over his head and kicking his pants off, Darry slipped into his bed, the mattress sinking underneath his weight. He curled up with his covers and a pillow, lids feeling ten times heavier than they were just a moment ago.
Finally, he let sleep envelope him, peaceful slumber easing his aching head and instead bringing him a small, blurry dream.
It was in the hospital.
Sodapop, much younger now, stood at his side, holding his hand and looking rather confused. They stood right beside a hospital bed, peeking over their mother’s shoulder to see…
Ponyboy.
A small and flushed baby face, swaddled in a yellow baby blanket, scooped into their mother’s gentle and caring arms. The baby was making small noises of acknowledgement, but had his eyes closed, eyelashes so very tiny and light.
“I thought we were getting a brother.” Soda mused, pointing at the warm shape in her arms.
“We did, that’s our brother,” A much younger Darry chimed, voice soft and adoring as he peered at his new baby brother.
“He looks like a girl,” Soda shrugged, sticking his tongue out as he added, “I’m glad we didn’t have a girl, they have cooties.”
“No, they don’t!” Darry argued in a loud whisper, “Mama don’t have cooties and she’s a girl. I want a baby sister next, mama.”
His mother, her voice clearly weary, laughed and raised a hand slowly to ruffle her oldest son’s hair. He leaned into the touch as he hand moved to his cup his cheek, thumb rubbing against his soft skin. “Darrel, honey, would you like to hold Ponyboy?”
Ponyboy.
Darry had thought the name was so cool when his mother had said it first. Sodapop’s name was already so fascinating, and now they had a smaller brother named Ponyboy? How come he didn’t get a cool name? Perhaps his mother named him, he’d have to ask later.
He forgot to ask. He never really had the chance.
“I-I can? Hold him?” Darry queried, voice full of awe as he fondly watched baby Pony’s little nimble fingers wiggle in his sleep.
“Of course, hon,” His mother’s voice was full of exhaustion, but she still managed to keep it light and soft for her sons.
He had held him so calmly, but inside he was freaking out with both joy and panic, mind running to only one thing. This was another responsibility. He promised to take just as good of care of Pony as he did with Soda.
Light peered through the paper shades of Darry’s window, spilling into the once dark room, brightening everything it touched. He groaned as the light hit him, lashes fluttering as he rubbed his eyes and sat up. Sodapop was right, the rest did ease the ache in his head. Just with the single thoughts, memories of last night flooded him and he remembered his top priority of today.
Ponyboy .
Darry grunted, slipping on a random shirt and some pants as he slumped off of the bed. Opening his door just as quickly, he made a beeline for Soda’s and Pony’s room.
That was, until he noticed something that made him feel a little better. He stopped, almost tripping over his own feet—which resulted in a small intake of air, making him pray he wasn’t that loud. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he ruined the moment he was witnessing before him. In the living room, Two-Bit, Dallas and Johnny must’ve left once things escalated last night because only Sodapop and Steve were left. Soda was asleep beneath Steve, drooling at the corner of his mouth, one arm hanging off the couch. Steve, atop Soda and also asleep, had his head laid on the other’s chest, snoring. They had their shoes on, Darry noticed, surprised to find that he wasn’t that mad about the possibility of dirt on the couch.
Smiling as his heart didn’t feel as heavy anymore, Darry passed by the two, quieter now. Pony’s door was shut, so Darry made sure he opened it as silently as possible, stepping onto the old carpet. Ponyboy was in bed, but there were no sounds of snoring, like usual. The water was at the very least opened and sipped, the two pills gone from his bedside. The shades were shut, but even so, it seemed lighter in here.
“Pone?” Darry asked, standing at the foot of the bed, leaning down to look at his kid brother. “You alright, honey?”
There was a gleam as Ponyboy’s eyes moved up to meet him. He groaned, body shifting in bed as he attempted to sit up against the bed frame. “Head hurts, Dar.”
“That’s hangovers for ya, Pony.” Darry moved to sit at the edge of the bed, patting Ponyboy’s legs—hidden under the covers—gently, as he spoke in a pointed tone. “You’re still telling me how you got a hold of beer, alright?”
Pony pouted, toying as he bit the inside of his cheek and debated what to do. Leaning his head back just after retrieving the water from his bedside table, he took a long drink and croaked, “I asked for it.”
The door behind them creaked, footsteps approaching as Sodapop leaned against the foot of the bed, right next to Darry. Between a weary yawn, “You said that last night, baby.”
“I did?” Ponyboy quiered, fidgeting with his hands and releasing a sigh. “I went to the movie, see? And I was on my way back when I passed a gas station. There was this guy, I guess.”
“You guess?”
Pony groaned, rolling his eyes with much strained effort. Typical teen. “There was this guy. A Soc. He looked around Darry’s age and I asked him to see if he could get me any beer—“
“A Soc?” Sodapop asked, a disbelieving grin on his face. “You, a grease kid, asked a Soc for beer? Oh, geez, Pony.”
“You’re kiddin. There ain’t no way you just asked for a beer like that. You know how many of them been jumpin you, kid? You’ve gotta be outta your mind, Ponyboy Curtis.” Darry hissed, disappointment filling his tone. “Out of your mind.”
“I—…” Ponyboy’s jaw shut with a click as he lost his words for a pause. “I wasn’t thinkin.”
“Damn right, you weren’t—“
A hand fell on his shoulder gently. Soda, he knew. Taking a deep breath, Darry rubbed his eyes and motioned for Pony to continue.
“Well, um, I asked him. He went in and got me some. That’s about all I can remember, Dar. Honest.” Ponyboy gulped, still fidgeting with his hands. “My head hurts. I don’t wanna get drunk again.”
“You won’t get drunk again, kid.” Darry corrected, sighing, as he reached over and gently ruffled Pony’s hair.
“Sounds good to me,” Ponyboy answered, voice worn out as he laid back and nestled into the warm covers.