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Ponyboy was sure he'd never felt worse in his life.
He'd started feeling off the night before. He felt hot, too hot even for the August heat. He was exhausted even though he'd gone to sleep early the night before and had slept straight through to the morning. He woke up shivering although he had buried himself under two blankets, his skin shiny and damp with sweat and his head aching. He'd pushed his way out of Soda's grip during the night when the vice grip around his stomach had gotten too uncomfortable.
The most pressing matter was his stomach. It had started hurting the night before, a dull pain that he didn't notice if he didn't think about it too much. He'd chalked it up to indigestion and promised himself to take his time eating his meals in the future instead of gulping it down like it was his last. He'd taken an antacid and gone to bed, hoping it would be better in the morning.
As it turned out, it wasn't. If anything, it was worse. The pain in his stomach had increased tenfold during the night and was now a consistent, throbbing pain. Even worse, his gut was rolling angrily like he'd just dropped on a rollercoaster.
Great, he thought bitterly to himself. This was just his luck to get sick.
He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower before Sodapop could beat him to it and use up all the hot water like usual. He stood there a while, letting the warm water run over him. It eased the ache in his stomach a bit. He let out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes.
There was a knock at the door. “Come on, Pony, you swimming in there?” Sodapop's teasing voice filtered through the door. “Save some water for the fish!”
Ponyboy blinked; he hadn't realized he'd been in there so long. He turned off the water, dried himself off, and walked out of the bathroom once he'd gotten changed into his clothes and freshened up a bit, hoping he didn't look as sick as he felt.
Sodapop was standing at the door, grinning at him. “What were you doing in there? Testing your snorkel?”
Ponyboy just shook his head in response, walking into the kitchen. Luckily, Soda hadn't seemed to notice anything was wrong with him.
As soon as he entered the kitchen, the scent of eggs and bacon permeated his nose. He sank into a chair at the kitchen table, fighting back the wave of nausea that crashed over him. He knew he had to eat something or Darry would notice, and he didn't want that. Darry and Sodapop both had enough on their plates. They didn't need to be worrying about his silly stomachache, too.
Darry was standing at the stove, serving the food onto plates. He walked over to the table, setting a plate in front of Ponyboy.
“Here you go, kiddo. Soda in the shower?”
Ponyboy nodded, trying to work up the appetite to eat as he pushed his food around on his plate with his fork. Just looking at it turned the ache in his stomach to full-blown churning. He forced himself to take a few bites, fighting back the nausea that crashed over him. He didn't want Darry to notice that anything was up with him. He'd insist on staying home with him, and they didn't have the money for Darry to miss work.
Darry studied him for a second, watching him push the eggs around on his plate. “You okay, Pony?” His little brother was pale and sweaty, and his eyes were hollow like he hadn't gotten much sleep. It didn't seem like he had much appetite either, which was unusual since all three of them usually ate like it was going out of style.
The tips of Pony's ears flooded with heat as he stared down at his plate, trying to eat more despite the growing tidal wave in his stomach.
“I'm fine. Just tired,” He mumbled, hoping that Darry would believe him.
Darry frowned but didn't push the issue. Ponyboy was stubborn; trying to make him admit to anything would only make matters worse.
“Okay. Go ahead and eat a little more and brush your teeth. You'll be late for school.” He frowned towards the direction of the bathroom, hearing the steady stream of water from the shower.
“Christ Almighty, what is he doing in there?” He stood up from the table, no doubt going to scold his brother about using so much water, his baby brother's appearance and lack of appetite thankfully quickly forgotten.
Ponyboy took this as his cue to leave. He cleared his plate and put it away in the sink, going to grab his backpack so he could leave for school. He was already late, so he figured he could catch the bus to school and get there before the first bell.
He was heading towards the door to leave when he ran into Sodapop, who had just gotten out of the bathroom and was dressed in his DX uniform, his hair still slightly damp from his shower. He grinned at his little brother.
“Hey, Pony!”
“Hi,” Ponyboy answered quietly. Standing here was making the world spin around him like he was on a merry-go-round from hell. If he had to stand there much longer, he'd puke for sure. Suddenly, the bus ride sounded almost pleasant in comparison.
He should have known Sodapop would notice something was up with him. He watched as Ponyboy dragged the toothbrush over his teeth tiredly without his usual coordination, like holding up the toothbrush was a Herculean task for him all of a sudden.
“You okay, honey?” He asked carefully, watching as Ponyboy spit his toothpaste into the sink and walked out of the bathroom towards their bedroom to get his backpack. “You're looking kind of pale.”
Ponyboy sort of huffed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I'm fine, Soda. Gonna be late for the bus.” He headed out the door and towards the bus stop without so much as a goodbye. He couldn't find it in himself to care about how rude he was being; his stomach and head hurt too much for him to care.
The bus ride to school was hell. All the jostling and bumps made him so nauseated and made his stomach hurt so fiercely he was sure he'd throw up right then and there if he didn't get off soon. Luckily, his school was one of the first stops, and he got off as quickly as possible, heading inside to his homeroom.
If he thought the bus ride was bad, school was a million times worse, if that was possible. The ride over had made the churning in his stomach much worse. He was so nauseated it was all he could do to keep from blowing chunks right then and there as he tried to pay attention to what was happening in his classes. Suddenly, he wished he'd told his brothers how he was feeling so he could have stayed home. At least then, he would have been able to spend the day in bed sleeping instead of trying to make it through a day of classes.
He made it through the first two periods without issue. His teachers were scribbling notes on the board for them to copy with their backs turned as they lectured, so they weren't paying any attention to what he was doing. He was able to lay his head down on his desk and close his eyes for a few minutes. The cool desk felt great against his boiling skin.
Unfortunately for him, his third period was gym class, and he happened to have the meanest teacher of them all. He was the football coach, a giant, hulking man, and he didn't care whether you had a broken leg or a hundred-and-three-degree fever, you were still going to run laps.
Ponyboy tried to keep up, he really did, but with each lap, he found it harder and harder to stay upright without losing his breakfast all over the gym floor. Just standing up was made hard enough by the pain in his roiling stomach. His head was pounding like a drum and he was so dizzy he had to focus on a point ahead of him to keep himself from falling over.
Of course, the coach noticed he was lagging behind the other students.
“Curtis, pick up the pace!” He barked.
Ponyboy tried to do as he was told.
“Come on, faster! Is that all you've got?”
He managed to run about half a lap more before he staggered back over to the coach, panting. His ears were ringing as he swayed on his feet, tasting bile.
“Coach, I…”
The coach didn't look at him. He just scribbled something on his clipboard.
“What is it, Curtis?” He asked, disinterested.
Suddenly, his throat was bone dry and his stomach gave a violent jolt. Before he could stop himself, Ponyboy bent over and heaved, finally bringing up the breakfast he'd worked so hard to keep in all over the gym floor. His throat burned with acid, unable to control the spasms in his abdomen from happening as he continued to gag and retch.
“Jesus Christ, kid!” The coach exclaimed, disgust written all over his face as he jumped back to keep from getting it on his shoes.
Finally, his stomach let up, and Ponyboy straightened up, wiping his mouth with his hand. His cheeks burned as he felt his classmates’ eyes on him, watching him.
The coach sighed. “Alright, Curtis, that's one way to get out of class. Go ahead and go to the nurse's office.”
Ponyboy shook his head. He didn't want to have to walk out of there in front of all of his classmates, who were already staring at him enough as it was.
“I'm fine,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing.
“It wasn't a choice, Curtis. Go on.”
He had no choice but to go to the office, his face still burning as he stumbled through the hallway and into the front office. The secretary took one look at him and sent him into the nurse’s office.
It looked like a doctor's office, which did nothing to make him feel better. He'd never been a fan of doctor's offices.
The nurse was an older woman with kind eyes. She gasped when she saw Ponyboy, directing him to the cot in the middle of the room.
“Goodness, sweetheart! You look like you're having a rough day.”
He couldn't argue with that, so he nodded, sitting on the cot and letting her put the thermometer under his tongue to take his temperature.
He gagged for a second and was afraid he'd throw up again, but luckily, the thermometer stayed in. When the mercury settled, she took it out, studying it under the light.
“You're certainly coming down with something, you've got a fever of 101. Want to tell me what's going on with you? What's bothering you?”
“My stomach n’ my head hurt. I threw up in gym class,” He murmured, laying down on the cot and putting his hand over his eyes. The light was making his head hurt worse.
The nurse made a sympathetic noise, wetting a paper towel and laying it across his forehead. He was cold, and it made him shiver, but it felt so good, he didn't care.
“Alright, sweetheart, I'll call your mom and tell her to pick you up. What's her phone number?”
It was a simple question; it shouldn't have caused such a lump in his throat.
“She's dead,” He said simply, not knowing any better way to put it.
The nurse blanched. “Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. What about your dad? Do you know his number?”
“He's dead too,” He said, wishing this woman would pick up on what he was telling her and stop asking him so many questions. It was only making him feel worse.
She persisted. “You're a minor, I can't let you go home by yourself. Is there anyone else I can call? Who do you live with?”
“My brother, Darry,” he said, “But he's working, so don't call him.”
Then he promptly threw up into the wastebasket.
He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep. Suddenly, a rough hand was on his forehead, feeling for a fever. He opened his eyes; Darry was standing in front of him, looking at him with concern. He was still in his work clothes; he must have come right from work. The thought sent a stab of guilt through his gut.
“Darry?” His voice was weak, hoarse from the strain of throwing up. His whole abdomen ached, not just his stomach, and his throat burned.
Darry gave him a sympathetic smile. “Hey, kiddo. Heard you're not feeling too good. Think you can walk out to the truck?”
Ponyboy's cheeks burned at the thought of what would happen if he couldn't. Would Darry carry him out? That would be a surefire way to catch hell from the Socs for the rest of the school year.
“Yeah.”
Darry reached out his hand to his brother, helping him to sit up and get down from the cot. He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.
“Glory, Ponyboy, you carrying around rocks?”
Ponyboy smiled a little despite himself. It was funny seeing his giant older brother carrying his backpack. It looked tiny on him, like it was a doll’s.
The nurse gave Darry some instructions he couldn't follow because of the way his head was spinning.
“Hope you feel better soon, Ponyboy,” She said with a soft smile.
Darry thanked her, and they walked out to the truck, Darry keeping a firm hand on his brother's back to make sure he didn't fall over. As dizzy and sick as he was, that was definitely in the realm of possibilities. As he got into the truck and buckled himself in, he felt like a little kid again. He leaned against the window, closing his eyes as he rested his head against the cool glass.
He could feel Darry's eyes on him. “Doing okay?” The nurse had given them an emesis bag to take with them in case he was sick again on the way home. Ponyboy was clutching onto it like it was a lifeline, praying to every god he knew that he wouldn't have to use it. As if he hasn't been humiliated enough already that day.
He just nodded, although there was a thought that he couldn't get out of his head.
“Darry?”
Darry paused. “Yeah?”
“I'm sorry you had to come get me.”
Darry shook his head. “Why are you sorry? You can't help being sick.”
He didn't sound upset, but Ponyboy still wasn't convinced. “I just know you can't afford to miss work.” He knew money was tight in their house despite the three jobs between his brothers.
His older brother smiled. Ponyboy could be awfully grown up for a fourteen-year-old sometimes.
“You let me worry about that, kiddo. We'll make it work.” He patted his shoulder firmly before putting his hand back on the wheel. “We're almost home.”
They were pulling up to the house a few minutes later. It had only taken about five minutes to get home, but it had felt like hours to Ponyboy.
Darry put the truck in park and stepped out, walking around to the passenger side so he could open Ponyboy's door and help him climb down onto the ground.
“You okay to walk a bit?”
Ponyboy nodded, wearily following Darry inside as he tried to keep up with him. Darry's long legs allowed him to take much longer strides, not to mention the fact that he wasn't sick and burning up with fever. He could have cried with relief when he finally got into bed and laid down. The cool pillow felt great against his cheek.
Darry handed him some aspirin and a glass of water, placing a damp washcloth over his forehead like the nurse had done. “Here. Take small sips so it doesn't upset your stomach.”
Ponyboy nodded, swallowing the aspirin with a few small sips of the water before he handed it back to Darry.
“Do you need anything else right now?”
Ponyboy shook his head, pressing his hand over his mouth as he yawned. The world was growing fuzzy at the edges as his eyelids struggled to keep from closing.
“Alright, get some rest. Holler if you need anything.”
Ponyboy nodded, watching as Darry left the room before he let his eyes fall shut again. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep before he was jolted awake by his stomach screaming at him. He needed to get to the bathroom right now.
He jumped out of bed with surprising strength and bolted down the hallway, crashing to his knees on the cold bathroom tile as he lifted the toilet lid with shaking hands.
He heard Darry moving around in the other room. “Ponyboy?”
He couldn't hear what was said after that. His ears were ringing loudly as he coughed and heaved into the toilet, his abdomen and throat screaming in protest. He didn't think his stomach could hurt worse, but somehow it did. It didn't seem fair.
He was suddenly aware of a hand on his back, rubbing it in small circles as his muscles tensed and he heaved again. Another hand was on his shoulder, holding him upright so he didn't fall forward and hit his head on the toilet bowl.
A couple of minutes later, the squeezing in his stomach finally let up, and he sat back against the wall, breathing heavily.
Darry was behind him, still holding him upright and rubbing his back. He was more heavy-handed than Soda would have been, but it was still nice.
“You think you're done for now?” He asked.
Ponyboy nodded, closing his eyes as his face burned with embarrassment. He hated to be seen this way, especially by Darry. It was humiliating.
Darry flushed the toilet and pressed a little paper cup of mouthwash into his hand. “Here, rinse your mouth out.”
Ponyboy swished the mouthwash around in his mouth, spitting into the trashcan Darry was holding in front of him to get rid of the taste of bile on his tongue.
Darry's cool hand was on his forehead again. “You were asleep awhile. Maybe I ought to check your temperature again.”
Ponyboy just groaned quietly. His head was pounding and his stomach was churning. All he wanted was to go back to sleep.
“Darry, I don't feel good.” He grimaced at the sound of his voice. He sounded like a little kid.
Darry's voice was sympathetic as he gently wiped the vomit from Ponyboy's face. “I know you don't, kiddo. Let's get you back to bed.”
He half carried him back to the bedroom and into bed, and Ponyboy let him slide the cold tip of the thermometer under his tongue to check his temperature, closing his eyes.
Darry whistled a bit when he took it out to read the number. “Still over 100. You're sick.”
Ponyboy thought this was pretty obvious, but he decided to let it go. He was exhausted; his fever and all the vomiting he'd done were taking a real toll on him.
“ ‘M sorry, Darry,” He croaked.
Darry shook his head. “I told you, you don't need to apologize. I'm your guardian. It's my job to take care of you,” He said simply as he laid a damp washcloth over his forehead again. “I called Soda at work. He's going to pick up some stuff on the way home. He should be home soon. Now don't you start up with that apologizing business again. He wants to help take care of you too.”
Ponyboy just nodded, wondering how Darry had known exactly what it was he'd been thinking.
“Now if you don't want me to fuss at you, go to sleep, will ya? Holler if you need anything.”
Ponyboy smiled and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep again.
He woke up again to a hand on his forehead. It was smooth, not rough like Darry's had been, and smelled faintly of motor oil. He opened his eyes to see Sodapop standing by the bed, still in his DX uniform.
“Soda?”
Sodapop smiled softly. “Hey, Pony. How ya feelin’?”
Ponyboy thought for a minute, taking inventory of his symptoms. His abdomen and head still ached, but not as much. His stomach, however, was a different story. It was still churning violently even though he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and even that had only been a few bites.
“Gross,” he admitted.
Sodapop gave a hum of sympathy. “Sorry you're so sick, honey. I got you some medicine. Think you're up for eating a bit so you can take it?”
Ponyboy grimaced as the smell of something cooking in the kitchen permeated his nostrils, making his stomach churn all over again.
“I dunno.”
“Darry's making you some broth and I got the ginger ale you like. Try some of that, hmm?”
Ponyboy sighed but nodded. Soda beamed.
Darry came back in a minute later with a tray. On it was a steaming bowl of broth and a few slices of toast, along with a cold glass of ginger ale and a bottle of Pepto Bismol. The instant the scent of the food hit Ponyboy's nostrils, his stomach gave a jolt in protest. He exhaled slowly until he thought he was no longer in danger of throwing up again.
“I…I don't know if I can,” he said slowly.
Darry frowned. “You're going to feel a lot worse if you don't eat anything.”
Ponyboy bit his lip, turning away. He didn't want to disappoint Darry, but he was pretty sure eating would only make his stomach hurt worse.
Soda clasped his hand on his shoulder, smiling gently at him. “Come on, just have a few bites and then you can have some medicine. Please, Pony?”
Ponyboy sighed, giving in and picking up the spoon. He managed to eat about half of the broth and toast and take a few slow sips of ginger ale. It wasn't much, but it still made his stomach churn. He dropped the spoon back into the bowl.
“I tried, Darry,” he said pointedly, hoping he wouldn't be too upset with him for not finishing it all. His stomach felt tight and bloated even though he hadn't eaten very much at all.
“I know you did,” Darry acknowledged him with a small, encouraging smile. “You did fine.”
He grabbed the bottle of Pepto Bismol and opened it, pouring out a dose, and Ponyboy's face screwed up with disgust. It looked disgusting and smelled even worse, like artificial bubblegum. It was so bright pink that it looked radioactive.
“Darry, I can't drink that,” he said, trying to push it away as nausea bubbled up in his throat.
Darry sighed. “Come on, kiddo. I know it's gross, but it's supposed to help you feel better.”
Sodapop patted his shoulder gently. “Come on, baby. Please? Will you do it for me?”
Ponyboy reluctantly gave in. He pressed the cup to his lips and tilted his head back, a look beyond disgust on his face. It was even worse than he'd thought. He barely managed to get it down without bringing it right back up again.
Darry handed him a glass of water to get the taste out of his mouth, which he accepted gratefully, laying back down and closing his eyes.
Darry left to let him get some rest, and Soda stayed with him, his arm wrapped loosely around Pony's shoulders as he lay in the bed with him. All he wanted was to go back to sleep and forget that he was sick, but of course, his body wouldn't let him. His stomach hurt even worse than before after taking the medicine and was rolling in a way that was far from pleasant. The water had gotten most of the taste of the medicine out of his mouth, but the faintest trace of it was still on his tongue, which made him want to throw up all over again.
“Soda,” He groaned quietly, his arms wrapped around his abdomen as he curled up into a ball on the bed, waves of pain and nausea crashing over him. Pepto Bismol was the worst idea. He was never taking it again if he could help it.
“What's wrong, Pony?” Soda sounded alarmed.
“Hurts.”
“What hurts?” Soda asked, “Your stomach?”
Ponyboy nodded, and Soda sighed in sympathy, pulling him closer.
“I'm sorry, baby.” He placed his hand on Pony's stomach, gently rubbing it in circles to ease some of his discomfort like his mom used to do when he had a stomach ache. He winced a bit at the heat still radiating off of his brother.
“Is that helpin’?”
Ponyboy nodded again, and Soda felt his brother relax into him as he continued to do his best to ease the pain.
“Hey, Darry?” He called.
Darry appeared in the doorway a moment later, taking in the scene on the bed.
“What's wrong?”
“Pony’s stomach is hurting real bad,” Soda explained. “Can you get the heating pad?” They kept one in the house. Darry used it every once in a while when his muscles were sore from carrying bundles of roofing at work all day.
Darry nodded, returning a few moments later with it. Soda plugged it in and waited for it to warm up before he lifted Pony's shirt, gently pressing it to his abdomen. Almost instantly, Ponyboy relaxed and sighed in relief as the warmth eased the pain in his stomach.
Sodapop tucked Pony's head under his chin, holding him close. “Does that feel any better?”
Pony gave a tired nod in response, yawning as his eyes started to droop closed again.
Soda's hand was in his hair, stroking it gently.
“Get some rest.” He kept stroking his hair until Ponyboy's eyes closed and his breathing evened out into a slow, steady rhythm. He was asleep and looked more comfortable than he had in hours.
Unfortunately, it didn't last.
Pony was woken in the middle of the night by his stomach churning violently. His throat was bone dry. At some point, Soda had unplugged the heating pad and taken it off while he was sleeping; it was no longer providing comforting heat. The room was spinning around him, and he wondered how long he could take that feeling.
Suddenly, Soda's arm felt like an iron bar around his stomach. He tried to pry it loose, but Soda just shifted in his sleep, holding him tighter.
“Soda,” Pony said desperately, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle out of his grip. “Soda, please-”
He gagged, pressing his hand to his mouth. There was no time.
Soda jolted awake, his eyes immediately focusing on his brother. His eyes widened as he immediately sensed what was coming and grabbed the trash can, shoving it under Pony's mouth just in time.
Pony coughed harshly into the bin, his abdomen having a mind of its own as it gave a heave and he retched, vomit spilling out into the bin. He was helpless to stop it, trying to catch his breath as he brought up bile and the food he'd eaten earlier that day, along with remnants of the nasty Pepto Bismol.
Soda cursed quietly, one hand holding the bin under him and the other rubbing Pony's back as he murmured words he hoped were comforting. There wasn't much else he could do.
Darry entered the room, having heard the commotion.
“What's going-” he started before his eyes settled on the scene in the bed.
He immediately sprang into action, going to get the thermometer and medicine along with a few wet washcloths. He returned with them a minute later, standing by the bed. Pony had finally stopped throwing up and was leaning against Soda and breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Soda was still rubbing his back, talking to him softly.
Darry took a washcloth and wiped the vomit from Pony's face, before laying another cool washcloth on his brother's burning forehead. Pony sighed a bit at the cool cloth; it must have felt good with his fever.
Darry grabbed the thermometer, holding it out to Ponyboy. “Can I take your temperature?”
Pony gave a tired nod, opening his mouth and letting Darry slide the thermometer under his tongue, his eyes still closed. A moment later, Darry took it out, holding it up to the light. It had gone up again.
“You're runnin' a fever.”
Ponyboy just gave a quiet sigh in response. Darry shook a few aspirin into his palm, holding them out to his brother.
“Think you can swallow these?”
Ponyboy frowned, his stomach gurgling angrily at the thought. He wasn't sure he could keep the pills down without bringing them right back up again, and he really didn't want to throw up again.
“Come on, little buddy,” Darry said gently, “If your fever keeps goin’ up, I'm going to have to take you to the hospital.” He really didn't want to have to do that. The work he'd missed was already going to make paying the bills that week tight, but he wasn't going to tell Pony that. His brother was more important.
Pony scowled, reluctantly taking the pills from Darry. He placed them on his tongue, swallowing them quickly with a sip of water. At least it wasn't that Pepto Bismol stuff again. He wasn't going to take that again; it had only made him feel worse.
Soda smiled. “Good job, baby.”
“What can we do to make you more comfortable, Pony?” Darry asked, “I know you're not feeling good.”
Pony blinked, a bit taken aback by the question. He bit his lip, not meeting his brother's eyes.
“Um…could you stay? Just until I fall asleep?” As soon as he said it, his cheeks burned. He was fourteen years old, and here he was, asking for his brothers to stay with him like he was some little kid.
Darry was a bit taken aback for a second; it wasn't like his brother to ask for something like that. Usually, Pony went to the ends of the earth trying to maintain that he was tough like his brothers.
Finally, he nodded, taking a seat by his youngest brother on the edge of the bed. He grabbed Pony's hand, holding it.
“Sure, I'll stay with you for a while.”
Pony blinked up at him through his long lashes. He looked so young lying there in the bed, even younger than fourteen.
“Thanks, Darry,” he murmured drowsily.
“Sure, kiddo,” Darry responded easily. “I'll stay as long as you need me to.”
Soda stayed in the bed with him, rubbing his stomach gently. The warmth of his hand eased the bubbling in Pony's stomach, and he began to relax.
A little while later, Pony's eyes closed and his breathing evened out as he fell asleep again, still gripping Darry's hand in his. He had to be exhausted; he'd been up half the night sick. Darry knew Soda had to be, too, since he'd been up with him for longer than he had. He felt his own eyes starting to grow heavy as he yawned. Soda yawned, too, still providing comforting warmth to his brother.
Darry smiled. “Get some rest, Pepsi Cola.”
Soda grinned. “You too, Superman.”
They ended up falling asleep that way, the three of them squished together in the bed. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was what Pony needed at that moment to have both of his brothers with him.
When they woke up the next morning, Pony's fever had gone down and his temperature was close to normal. His stomach had settled quite a bit and didn't hurt so much anymore. What was better, he didn't feel like throwing up anymore. He was even able to eat a bit more than just broth and toast and work his way up to bland foods like rice and bananas, which he was able to keep down, thankfully.
By the next day, his temperature was back to normal, and his stomach was almost entirely back to normal too. He could have gone back to school, but Darry made him stay home for one more day just to make sure he was completely ready to return to school. Whatever stomach bug he'd come down with seemed to be gone, and they were all able to return to their normal lives.
Darry didn't catch whatever it was Pony had, but Sodapop wasn't so lucky, and he spent a few days in bed himself after he'd thrown up at work and had to go home early. He couldn't say it was a pleasant experience, but his brothers took care of him in the same way he had Pony, and he was able to return to work after a few days.
The next weekend, after the stomach bug had disappeared entirely from their house, Ponyboy decided to go see a movie. Normally, he wouldn't have invited his brothers; Soda was too antsy to sit through a movie and Darry wasn't interested in watching other people's lives; he had too much to worry about in his own.
But finally, to Pony's surprise, they both said yes, and they ended up enjoying the movie. Afterward, they went back home and made dinner, joking around with each other. Pony laughed so hard that night that his sides hurt.
It was the best night they'd had in ages, and after the events they'd been through not just in the past week but in the past year, it was what they needed.
They may not have had a big house with new appliances, or fancy cars and designer clothes.
But they had each other, and that was enough.