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Tim Shepard had never much liked Darry Curtis.
He’d been a year ahead of him in school until he dropped out, but even back in ninth grade it was clear Darry Curtis was going places and he himself would forever be stuck in Tulsa, spinning his wheels trying to survive instead of ever getting anywhere. Darry was gonna get out of the hood and do something with his life. He’d probably end up in the west side with a nice house and a nice wife, pretending like he hadn’t grown up with nothing. While Darry Curtis had been winning football games, Tim had been dragging his ma out of dive bars and desperately trying to keep his baby siblings fed. When Darry had been put on the dean’s list, Tim had been put in the reformatory for his second stint in two years. Even back then he’d known Darry Curtis and him came from two different worlds for all they both came from the east side.
But the east side has a funny way of catching up to everyone, no matter how untouchable they seem. Tim should’ve known Darry’s luck wouldn’t last. The only way anyone ever got out of the east side was in a cop car or a body bag.
Which is, of course, how the Curtis parents got out. Go figure.
As much as he hadn’t ever liked him, Darry’s abrupt fall from grace was a hard pill for all of them to swallow. The closest thing greasers ever had to a golden boy was suddenly battling for custody of his wild younger brothers, working full time while looking for a second job. For all he wasn’t much for east side pride, for all he didn’t much like him, Tim couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the guy. It was hard growing up with nothing. It was harder still having something to lose.
Maybe it’s because he feels a bit bad for him that Tim doesn’t turn and walk in the opposite direction when he spots Darry in the supermarket, staring down at a medicine and a frozen chicken with a look Tim knows all too well.
He’s always been good at math, but even he’s never figured out how to buy four dollars worth of food when he only has three in his pocket.
Right now, his own basket isn’t too shabby. Drug running pays well enough that he’s got rice, beans and corn, as well as some chorizo sausage because Curly goes clean crazy for the stuff and he’s trying to keep the kid in a good mood. Lord knows Angel’s been wilder than usual recently, and he cannot deal with the headache that is the two of them on their worst behaviour. He just can’t.
Even still- it isn’t like he’s got the money to spare for charity and he wouldn’t help Darry out even if he could. No one ever helped him out when he couldn’t afford groceries, and the twins had been a lot younger back then than Darry’s kid brothers are now.
“Who’s sick?” Tim asks. The guy is as annoyingly handsome as he’s always been, but tired and worn down is still tired and worn down even on a model’s features; and even his chiseled jawline can’t hide his trembling lip.
Darry presses his lips together, sizing him up with those eyes of his, the kind of eyes described in the romance novels Angela used to steal from the dime store, all soulful, deep and wild, like a storm. Like the ocean Tim has never seen and never will.
“Soda,” Darry admits eventually, “he’s had a fever for three days and it’s only gettin’ worse.”
“Tough,” Tim checks the label on the medicine. They’re pretty strong for over the counter meds- expensive strong, “wan’t me to get you something prescription level? Should cost the same for about half the pills but I guarantee you they’ll work.”
For a second it looks like Curtis might be considering it. Then his expression shutters and he shakes his head.
“No thanks.”
“What? Too good for that, Curtis?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” he shouldn’t have come over here. “You aren’t better than me, you know.”
“Jesus,” Darry sighs and runs a hand over his face. Tim watches the muscles in his arm flex and hates himself for it. “In what world could I possibly think that, huh Tim? Last I checked we’re from the same shitty neighbourhood, standing in the same shitty supermarket, and right now I'm trying to decide between buying food for both my brothers or medicine for one. I’m not better than anyone.”
Huh. He’d always thought of Darry as pretentious, but maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe he’d only wanted him to be.
“You were before though. Hell, even the socs wanted to be you.”
Darry rolled his eyes. “No they didn’t.”
If he’s being deliberately obtuse he’s putting on a good show of it, but Tim can’t see how he doesn’t realize how every person who’d met him in high school either wanted to be him or be with him.
“Whatever. I guess it don’t matter much anymore.”
A pain so intense it burns wells up in those bottomless eyes of his. “Guess not.”
“So what are you gonna choose,” he nods to the items in Darry’s hand, “chicken or pills?”
Apparently it was the wrong question to ask, as the misery is only etched deeper onto his face.
“I don’t know,” Darry admits, and it's pretty clear he’s talking about a lot more than chicken, “I don’t know what to do.”
Tim eyes him coolly for a second.
“You could split.”
Darry’s face darkens immediately.
“I’m not saying you should ,” Tim continued before he could let loose what would no doubt be a very tiresome, self righteous tirade, “but you could. You sure as hell wouldn’t be the first man around here to do it.”
“I would never,” Darry’s jaw set, “ never .”
“Hell Curtis, they aren’t even your kids.”
“Angela and Curly ain’t yours either, but you haven’t left them.”
Tim felt his jaw tighten, the unholy rage invoked at those few accusatory words contained in the slight gesture, and just barely managed not to slug him right then and there.
”That’s different.”
“How?” Darry demanded, “how on god’s green earth is it any different?”
“Because they’re mine ,” Tim snarled, “You get that? Mine. Always have been,’cause our Ma ain’t never been like yours was. Your brothers were just that until a month ago Darry. The twins have only ever been my kids.”
“Whatever,” Darry scoffed, “thanks for nothing Shepard. Tellin’ me to split…as if I'd ever do that!”
“Well what did you want me to say, huh?”
“I thought you might have some advice ,” Darry’s anger was gone almost as abruptly as it appeared, a pitiful sort of desperate look taking over his face, reminding Tim of the way Curly had looked the day Pa had left for good, “I’m drowning here Tim.”
Tim regarded him coldly for a minute. Darry Curtis had always been too good for the east side, and so the east side had made sure it wasn’t good for him. The bags under his eyes, the way his nails were bitten to the quick, the meagre shopping basket and his slightly slimmer shoulders all pointed to a rough few months- and Tim hated the way it felt a little like looking into a mirror. Take away his gang, his guns and his anger, and he and Darry might be just about the same. Or at least the same type of beaten.
“You want some advice? Fine. Here’s my advice: figure it out.”
“What?”
“That’s all you can do, Curtis. Either you run or you figure it out and you already said you won’t run. Ain’t like there’s a rule book on how to raise kids, and it ain’t like you’ll find any sort of help around here. So figure it out or die trying, but stop looking for grace in places you know you ain’t gonna find any. You wanna fight the courts? Fine, you did it, you got your stupid fuckin’ brothers. You wanna play daddy? Do it, but don’t make it anyone else's problem. Savvy?”
“Yeah,” Darry’s shoulders tightened, “yeah fine. I savvy.”
“Good,” He plucked the chicken from the man’s hand, inspecting it coolly, “If you’re choosin’ between medicine for one kid or food for two- always choose the food.”
He tossed the chicken back into the basket and a farewell over his shoulder, savoring one last look at those seaglass eyes and hating the way it felt like he almost needed to.
“See you around Curtis.”
Darry didn’t bother saying goodbye. That was fine- Tim didn’t expect him to.
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Darry finished his shopping, still fuming. He’d always liked Tim Shepard, for all he was about as rough a hood as the east side turned out, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Telling him to split, to leave his brothers, after he’d just won custody…hell, Darry couldn’t believe he’d ever expected better of him.
Figure it out , Tim had said, like that wasn’t what Darry was already trying and failing to do. Hell, he’d just won guardianship and already he was proving he couldn’t handle it.
Food or medicine, food or medicine, decisions decisions decisions. Decisions he wasn’t prepared to make, to even have to consider. They could get through the week maybe - if Two didn’t stay for dinner and Steve didn’t end up on the couch- on rice and vegetables alone, but Soda would worry and Pony would pick at his food, losing weight he couldn’t afford to lose. The kid had always been small but his appetite had died with their parents. Chicken was about the only thing he could get him to eat consistently. But buying the chicken would mean having to forgo the fever meds…and if Soda’s fever got much worse he’d have to bring him to the hospital which meant more bills he couldn’t afford to pay, and a sick kid brother to nurse even longer.
Figuring he couldn’t put it off any longer he lined up to pay, putting the pasta, rice, soup, ginger ale, and frozen peas on first. The cashier, a girl around Soda’s age, ran the items through, and his stomach tightened a bit each time the total jumped higher.
He had to choose, he couldn’t put it off any longer. With a last pained glance at the fever meds- Soda would just have to tough it out a bit longer- he set the chicken on the counter.
“There’s a hole in the packaging here,” the cashier girl said, flipping it over and showing him a small slash in the plastic, “did you know?”
“What?” His mother had drilled into him from a young age that you always double checked to make sure your food- meat especially- wasn’t somehow open before you bought it, “No that can’t be…”
“I can give you it for half price,” she offered, “or I can go get ya a new one.”
“H-half price?”
Shepard, Darry suddenly realized with a stroke of brilliant clarity. He’d taken the chicken out of the basket, and he never went anywhere without a blade on him.
“Sure,” the girl said, “that works then. That everything?”
He checked the total. $2.70. Just low enough he could afford the medicine.
“Actually, I’ll take this too.”
She scanned the bottle- the precious, precious bottle- through and he passed over the money.
“Thank you.”
She waved him off in that perfunctory customer service way, already turning to the next person in line.
Figure it out , Shepard had said, ain’t like you’ll find any sort of help around here.
Always choose the food. How many times had that trick worked for Tim? How many times had he been desperate enough to use it?
Darry had always liked Tim Shepard, for all he was the roughest sort of hood Tulsa turned out.