Archive of Our Own

Ponyboy doesn’t know why he did it. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. Ponyboy knows exactly why he did it. Mr. Syme asked him to. And, more importantly, he wanted to see if he could do it. 

In September, Mr. Syme asked him to come chat during lunch. This wasn’t unusual. Ever since Ponyboy turned in his theme freshman year, a little over one hundred pages detailing the worst week of his life, Mr. Syme has been the main person he lets read his writing. The theme got full points, which allowed him to pass that first year, thank God, and his teacher wrote a very nice letter encouraging his ‘extraordinary talent’ (Ponyboy still thinks that’s pushing it a little bit) and asking to read more of his stuff. 

So over the years, even when Ponyboy was out of Mr. Syme’s English class and into the upper level ones, whenever he writes something, he hands it over to Mr. Syme. And the teacher leaves notes, both constructive and praising, in dark blue pen and then they chat about the piece again and again until they’re both happy with the finished product. 

Soda and Darry, and Johnny probably, would all read his stuff if he asked them to. But he doesn’t really want them to, for reasons he can’t entirely put his finger on. He understood that feeling when he finished the theme; he wanted it to be honest, so he wrote how he felt, but it was really mean to Darry and he knew that. Well, he knew that now, at least. And he doesn’t want Johnny to relive that week, remember the blood on his hands and the day he lost the ability to get around without his chair. 

Soda would probably be fine. Soda has always been his best buddy, even when Ponyboy was at his most bratty. 

And he doesn’t want to give them his stuff about their parents, or his daydreams about living in the country with a boy, or his shitty poetry about falling in love with the world when he sees the sun rise. And that makes sense, cause they’d laugh, even if it wouldn’t be in a mean way. Or it would make them sad, which would be worse. 

But even when he’s writing other stuff, short stories about children going fishing with their parents or friends trading horror stories by a fire, he doesn’t show them. He tried for a while to convince himself it’s because they just wouldn’t get it but now he thinks it might just be because he’s embarrassed. 

Anyways, in September, a few days after Ponyboy handed over one of his longer pieces, fifty something pages exploring the sacrifices you make for family, a story that ends with three siblings reconciling, Mr. Syme asked him to chat. And Ponyboy had sat, expecting to be handed back an annotated copy, one with so many notes about his run-on sentences. 

And instead, he got handed a pamphlet. A few, actually. 

“What are these?” he had said. 

“Mr. Curtis,” Mr. Syme’s voice was light and casual sounding. “I was wondering if you have been doing any thinking about applying to colleges.” 

“No.” Ponyboy didn’t have to think about it. “We don’t have the money.” 

“There’s scholarships you could apply for.” 

Ponyboy snorted, the sound coming out almost against his will. “I wouldn’t get a scholarship.” 

Mr. Syme titled his head slightly, confusion painting his facial features. “Why not? You have a high GPA and you’ve taken almost entirely honors the whole time you’ve been here. You’re the best runner on the track team, don’t tell anyone I said that. You’re an excellent writer. If you submitted some of your pieces, I think some schools would absolutely want you.” 

Ponyboy sat for a second, chest thrumming with something he couldn’t quite name. He opened his mouth and closed it, mouth flapping a few times. He looked down at the pamphlets on his lap and let his thumb drag over the lettering. 

“I just- I don’t know if I could do it.” 

He avoided Mr. Syme’s eyes but could feel that he was looking at him. A flush has started to work its way up his chest and into his face, and he knew his ears have probably turned bright red. Two-Bit and Dally love to make fun of him when that happens and it always just makes the blush get worse. 

“What do you mean, Pony?” Mr. Syme never calls him by his first name, some leftover professional boundary from his time in school, and for some reason, that is what makes tears start to form. Ponyboy tried to blink them away without letting Mr. Syme see but judging by the softness on the teacher’s face, he doesn’t think that it quite worked. 

“I just- my brothers. They need me. And I don’t want to leave them. And if I just-” Fuck, his voice is cracking. This is so embarrassing. It’s times like these that he wishes Bob had finished the job. “And if I leave them, and I fail, then it’s like I did it for no reason.” 

“Have you talked to Darryl about it?” Mr. Syme always calls Darry and Soda, and Two-Bit for that matter, by their God-given first names and it usually makes Pony giggle but right then, the mention of his big brother made his chest hurt worse. 

“I haven’t even, like, really thought about. I guess it just never seemed like an option.” 

“Were you mad at Darryl for applying to college?” 

“I mean, no, but that was like- Before everything.” His parents. Darry dropping out of school to take care of him and Soda. Bob trying to drown Ponyboy, and Johnny saving him. Johnny getting so hurt after following Ponyboy into the church. Dally’s breakdown. 

And everyone is doing better, at least they are compared to three years ago. Johnny has mostly gotten used to the chair and he’s out of his parents house, moved in with Dally after his father threatened to throw him down the stairs. Darry and Pony get along so much better, and Soda has a new girl, and Darry’s got one too, and Pony’s nightmares barely happen anymore. 

Steve graduated, and so did Two-Bit finally, and Johnny was graduating with him this year. Ponyboy was gonna get a job, maybe in the library or at the movie house. He was gonna contribute to the house in a way that was truly substantial and make all of his brother’s sacrifices worth it. And things would stay the same, the way they’re supposed to, and he wouldn’t fight with his brothers or stress them out about money, and everything would be fine. 

“You don’t have to go. Even if you get in, there’s no obligation to leave.” Mr. Syme’s voice was kind, kinder then Pony deserved considering he’s acting like a bawl-baby in his classroom. “But I think it would be worth it to apply.” 

Pony stared down at the University of Oklahoma pamphlet that was sitting in his lap. Behind it was a University of Iowa pamphlet, and he held it up to Mr. Syme. The look of confusion must have been clear on his face because the teacher let out a small laugh. 

“They have the best creative writing program in the country.” Mr. Syme smiled brightly at him. 

“And you think I could get in?” 

“I do.” 

So Ponyboy had applied to a few schools, about three in Oklahoma and to the University of Iowa on a whim, and applied for a few scholarships and grants with the help of Mr. Syme. Filling out the financial aid application without Darry or Soda figuring out what he was doing was weirdly difficult but he figured it out okay. 

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t told anyone. The only people who know about him applying is Mr. Syme, obviously, and his track coach, who he asked for a recommendation letter from to go along with the one he got from the English teacher. But he’s keeping it a secret from everyone; his brothers, the gang, even Curly, who he has been getting increasingly close with the past few years. 

Ponyboy has been trying to convince himself that it’s because the applications weren’t serious, and that he didn’t want them to be disappointed if he didn’t get in, or if he didn’t get enough financial aid. 

But he knows, deep down, that he doesn’t want Darry and Soda, or Johnny and Curly, to be mad at him. He doesn’t want them to think that he’s leaving, or that he doesn’t think Tulsa, and the East side, and the house he grew up in, is good enough to stay for. 

So by November, he chose to forget about it all, the applications and the scholarships, and focus on graduating. 

Still, he should have kept a closer eye on the mail. 

“Pone, you’ve gotta’ letter,” Darry calls out as he walks into the house. It’s March and still pretty cold outside so the gang is all over at the house, playing poker by the couch. Darry is always home the latest even though he’s been able to work less the past year after getting a raise at his roofing job. 

“Okay,” Ponyboy says back, too focused on the cards in his hand to think about anything else. Soda is sat next to him and keeps trying to peek over his shoulder, because he’s a big, fat cheater, and they’ve already gotten into three wrestling matches over it in the past two hours. The second time, they’d landed on Steve, who is sitting on the floor below them, and he’d yelped so loudly that Johnny almost spilled his Pepsi on Dally from laughing. 

“Ponyboy,” Darry called out, voice a little more hesitant then before. “Come here.” 

Ponyboy felt a twinge at the base of his spine, anxiety starting to rise. Darry and him have gotten along better these past few years; Ponyboy helps out around the house more, and tries to be more patient about Darry’s rules, and be more understanding about how much he’s given up for him. And Darry is obviously trying a lot more with him; he hasn’t yelled in over a year and has been trying to talk about his feelings a lot more, even when they’re not fighting. 

But sometimes, when Darry looks real angry or he’s yelling at the TV during football season, Ponyboy remembers the night he got hit. And he knows he was being bratty, and ungrateful, and just overall a really shitty teenager but- 

Darry is his big brother. He was Ponyboy’s hero for many years, still is his hero in some ways, is the person who showed him how to change a tire and how to shave, that it was possible to leave Tulsa. But that night, Ponyboy was scared of him. And sometimes, only sometimes, and only real deep down, he wonders if he’ll do it again, if Ponyboy pushes him too far again. 

Ponyboy walks into the kitchen, a chorus of accusatory ‘ooos’ following him, and Darry is standing by the kitchen table, a crisp, white envelope in his hand. Darry holds it up and- 

Shit. Oh shit. 

“I-,” Darry starts. He takes a deep breath and seems to be trying to figure out what to say. Ponyboy feels the familiar feeling of guilt start to build within his chest. “I didn’t know. That you were applying places.” 

“That’s cause I didn’t tell you.” Darry’s jaw tightened. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant, I just. I’m not gonna go. My teacher just wanted me-”

“What?” Darry’s voice was sharp and tight, the way Ponyboy hadn’t heard from him since he caught Pony sneaking out to see Curly after a real bad nightmare a few months ago. “Why aren’t you going?” 

“Cause I don’t wanna go,” Ponyboy said. 

Darry took a deep breath in through his nose, the way he does when Ponyboy or Soda, or one of the gang, or their really annoying Uncle Gary, is getting on his nerves. 

“Ponyboy,” he said slowly. “Why do you not wanna go?” 

If Ponyboy felt a little calmer and his heart wasn’t jackrabbiting in his chest, he might be impressed with how much Darry has been using the calming techniques his current girlfriend, Lisa, had taught him. But right now, he feels one misstep away from hyperventilating in front of his brother so that feeling is out of his reach currently. 

“I don’t wanna leave.” 

Darry looks at him, and then back down at the letter, and then up again. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Okay.” 

They stand quietly for a moment, the only sound behind the gang bantering loudly in the next room. 

“If you don’t want to go, why did you apply?” 

A few years ago, Darry probably would have said this question a little meaner, and Ponyboy would have gotten defensive, and this would have turned into a screaming match. But right now, all Ponyboy hears is Darry, his brother who loves him even in the moments where he doesn’t understand him, sounding really confused. 

“I mean. It’s not that I don’t want to go. I just don’t want to leave. I don’t wanna leave you. And Soda, and Johnny, and the guys. ” 

They stand there for a second, Darry silent with his fists clenched and Ponyboy scratching some dirt out from under his fingernails. 

“I’m sorry,” Darry says, voice quiet and unsure. “If I made you feel like you had to keep this from me.” 

“You didn’t,” Ponyboy says sharply. “I just don’t- I just don’t wanna seem like I’m not grateful for everything. That you did. That you’re doing. For me, and for Soda, and the gang. And, like, for me.” 

Darry opens his mouth to speak but Ponyboy shakes his head slightly, trying to muster up the strength to keep talking. Ponyboy takes a deep breath, trying to not let emotion overwhelm his voice so much that he struggles to speak, the way that it sometimes does. “I just know that I was kind of a nightmare for a while. And I made it really hard on you, and I still do sometimes, and I just don’t want it to seem like I’m running off the first chance I get.” 

Ponyboy looks in Darry’s eyes, possibly for the first time since this conversation started, and he is shaking his head slightly.

“Pony, baby,” Darry starts. He stops and takes a breath. “Okay. I don’t wanna lie and say it wasn’t hard, or that there weren’t moments that I wished I had gotten to go to school. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve this. Because you do. And I want you to go. Not because I want you to leave but because you should get to do what you want to do.” 

“Would you be mad at me? If I went?” The question feels almost ripped out of him as he asks it, and Ponyboy digs his nails into his palms as he looks at Darry. 

“Pony, of course I wouldn’t be. And neither would Soda.” 

“I mean,” Ponyboy starts. “I mean, I don’t even know if I got in. I probably didn’t.” 

Darry stares for a second, green eyes wide and unblinking. “Pony, I’m sure you did.” 

“Well, I do-,” 

Darry holds the letter out to him, the University of Oklahoma logo a brilliant red. “Do you wanna open it?” Ponyboy stares helplessly at him, can feel his mouth flapping open the way it did that day in Mr. Smye’s classroom. 

“Darry,” Ponyboy says, voice sounding meek and scared even to himself. “What if I didn’t get in?” 

Darry smiles at him, lips chapped from the sun. “Then we’ll deal with that together.” 

“And what if-” Ponyboy stutters. “What if I did?” 

Darry’s smile widens slightly and, for a split second, Ponyboy sees his dad. Then that feeling fades and all Ponyboy sees is his big brother. “Then we’ll deal with that too.” 

Ponyboy reaches out to take the letter from Darry, his hand shaking in front of him, and the feeling of anxiety strengthens when he feels the envelope under his fingers, the creamy paper crisp and strong under his fingers. It might be one of the nicest things he’s ever felt and the feeling that he’s not good enough for this, for college or a degree, for leaving Tulsa and his family behind, intensifies. 

Darry comes to stand behind him, body tall and strong, and places a calloused hand on the center of his back. “It’s gonna be okay, honey. No matter what.” 

Ponyboy unpeels the envelope and slides the letter out, black font neatly typed on the pages. 

Congratulations Ponyboy Curtis. 

“Oh my God.” 

Darry lets out a loud whoop and Ponyboy can distantly hear Two-Bit and Soda calling out to them, a question in their voices, but he cannot hear understand the words they are saying.  

“Oh my God.” 

Darry’s arms wrap tightly around his legs, and he can feel himself being heaved onto Darry’s shoulder as he spins him around and around. They hadn’t done this kind of thing in years, since Ponyboy was a real little kid. Laughter, loud and shocked, is ripped out of him, and Soda and Steve come running into the room. 

The letter falls out of Ponyboy’s hand and Soda picks it up. He stares for a few seconds, handsome features twisted up the way he always does when he’s reading, and a big smile starts to stretch across his face. 

“Holy shit,” Steve says from where he’s standing over Soda’s shoulder. “Congrats, kid.” 

Darry places Ponyboy down and Soda leaps at him, arms wrapping tightly around his center. Two-Bit peaks his head in, rusty hair grown so long it had started to curl at the ends, and raises an eyebrow in confusion. There’s too many people in the kitchen for Johnny to wheel himself in, and Dally wouldn’t leave without him, but they can all still hear Dally’s voice calling loudly from the living room. 

“What the actual fuck is going on?”  

“Wanna tell ‘em?” Darry asks. Ponyboy feels himself flush. 

“I got into the University of Oklahoma,” he says shyly, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. Cheers erupt throughout the house, and Two-Bit grabs Ponyboy’s hands in order to start jumping in circles around the kitchen. Steve and Soda scooch into the corner so that Johnny’s chair can fit in the doorway and Dally’s long fingers are draped across his shoulders. 

“Pony, that’s awesome,” Johnny says, smile bright, and alive, and beautiful. He’s doing so much better these days, now that he lives with Dally, and Ponyboy feels his heart squeeze in his chest looking at him. 

Steve is holding the letter now, flipping through the pages. He lets out a low whistle and Soda cocks his head at him. 

“Jesus, Ponyboy, I knew you were a nerd but I didn’t know you were a full-ride kind of nerd.” 

“What?” Ponyboy asks. He grabs the letter out of Steve’s hand and starts to scan it a little more closely. Darry and Soda crowd over him, Soda’s chin resting lightly on his shoulder, and read it with him. 

“Ponyboy, holy shit.” Soda squeezes him again, and a sense of relief washes over Ponyboy. 

“Did you apply anywhere else?” Johnny asks. Dally is holding his hands now, fingers playing with the friendship bracelet Ponyboy had made them once he got out of the hospital. Johnny beams up at him for a second, and Dally grins back, smile sweet in a way they only ever see with Johnny. 

“A few places. Nowhere else major.” 

Darry ruffles his hair, and Soda hugs him tightly, and Two-Bit spins him around the kitchen, and for a moment everything is perfect. They order pizza, a treat they rarely indulge in, because Dally offers to pay using the money he got from an extra bootlegging trip. They play more card games, and they all play a round of bullshit, even though Steve hates it, because it’s Ponyboy’s favorite game. Ponyboy goes to sleep with a smile. 

And then he dreams of the fire. 

Ponyboy wakes up, a silent scream on his lips, and just barely stops himself from yelping. Soda moved out of his room over a year ago, something Ponyboy had to beg for, and it’s nice to have the privacy and to have gotten rid of the feeling that he’s being selfish and silly, but it’s hard not to miss him on nights like these. 

He steps out of bed, trying to keep his footsteps light, and starts his trek down the stairs. He doesn’t like to leave his room at night, even when he’s not ready to go back to sleep, because if Darry or Soda wake up and see he’s not there, they will almost certainly freak out. But it’s too hot in his room, and it feels like the fire is nipping at his heels, and like he can still hear Dally screaming Johnny’s name, so he needs to go. 

He steps out onto the porch, a pack of cigarettes and the lighter he stole from Curly, who he is fairly sure stole it from Tim, tucked in his hands, and lights one carefully. He had to dramatically decrease the amount of weed he smoked after all the damage his lungs took, but he still indulges sometimes. 

He smokes two before he hears the door opening behind him, and he can tell from the heavy smack the wood makes that it’s Darry. 

“Hey.” Darry’s voice is rough from sleep and his pajama pants hang low on his hips. He’s shirtless, even though it’s March, and Ponyboy feels strangely emotional about how much his brother has changed, how different he looks from the seven year old in the pictures on the walls, from the twelve year old that carried him home from the bus stop after six year old Ponyboy sprained his ankle, from the twenty year old who checked Ponyboy’s math homework because Mom and Dad couldn’t do it anymore. 

“Hey.” 

Darry raises an eyebrow, a habit the whole gang had all picked up from Two-Bit. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ponyboy says hurriedly. “Yeah, no, I’m good.” 

They stand for a second, Darry knowing Ponyboy is lying, and Ponyboy knowing Darry knows, and an embarrassed feeling burns in his chest. 

“No, I’m not, I guess.” 

Darry comes to stand next next to him, leans his torso against the front of the porch, and holds a hand out. Ponyboy places a cigarette into Darry’s palm and gets a small smile in return. When he was a kid, he always felt like a million bucks when he could get Darry to look at him like that. 

“What’s going on, Pone?”

“Do you ever-,” Ponyboy starts. And then he stops, fingers tightening on the railing. Darry hums slightly, a quiet encouragement, and Ponyboy starts again. “Do you ever think about the week I was gone?” 

Darry stands still for a moment, silent and unmoving, and Ponyboy takes another deep drag of his cigarette. Darry nods slightly as his fingers drum against his forearms. 

“Yeah, honey, I do.” 

“I’m sorry,” Pony says. He can hear his voice starting to tighten, and he takes a deep breath, the kind Soda would always guide him through when he really starts to panic. “That I left.” 

“Ponyboy,” Darry says, voice deep. “I’m not- I’m not mad at you. God, I mean, I should be apologizing. I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have hit you.” 

“No,” Ponyboy blurts out. “That’s not what I was trying to say.”

“I didn’t think yo-,”

“I just-,” he takes another deep breath. His cigarette is burning down faster then he can smoke it but he can’t quite find it in himself to care. “God, I was so awful. To you, and to Johnny, and even to Soda sometimes. And I don’t blame you for getting mad but I just. I mean, I ruined Johnny’s life-,” 

“Baby,” Darry breathes out. “Johnny is fine.”

“No, he’s n-,”

“No, hey.” Darry’s hand grips Ponyboy’s, and even though they’re almost the same height now, his palm still dwarfs his. “I’m not saying that it’s not a little harder for him now. He can’t move the way he used to, and I’m sure that’s real difficult for him. But Johnny doesn’t blame you for that. And Dally doesn’t, and I don’t.” 

Ponyboy can feel the tears starting to drip down his cheeks and he tries to subtly wipe them away with the sleeves of his tee shirt, the large faded one that used to belong to Two-Bit. 

“I was such a nightmare, and I know I made it real hard for you, Darry. And I want you to know that I’m real sorry.” 

Darry lets out a small laugh, the sound quiet and pained, and Ponyboy looks over at him. “Ponyboy. You were fourteen. You’re supposed to be a nightmare at that age. God knows I was. Soda too.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, honey.” Darry’s thumb drifts lightly over Ponyboy’s knuckles, and he usually finds this kind of movement annoying and overstimulating, but right now it feels good. “Don’t you remember how Mom and Dad and I used to get into massive screaming matches? About everything. God, I would've given you a run for your money.” 

“What’s going on?” Soda’s voice is caught off by a wide yawn. He’s wearing Steve’s sweatshirt, one of the many he’s stolen over the years, and sometimes Ponyboy wonders if Soda might break up with his girl soon. 

“Pepsi,” Darry calls over his shoulder, not letting go of Ponyboy’s hand. “Do you remember the time you and Steve got caught trying to get high off of nail polish fumes, and Mom almost made you sleep on the porch?” 

“Oh my Lord, why are you bringing that up?” Soda grumbles. 

Ponyboy sees Darry gesture towards him slightly with a nod of his head, and when Soda looks over at his tear stained cheeks, his eyes soften. Normally this would be embarrassing, and he’d move away from Darry and go back inside, but the sun hasn’t even risen yet and this feels alright. 

“God, she was so mad,” Soda says. “Steve almost pissed himself, I think.” 

Ponyboy giggles a little and Soda comes to stand next to his other side. Ponyboy places his head on Soda’s shoulder, and feels fingers start to drag through his hair. 

“I really am proud of you, Pony,” Soda whispers. “You’re gonna have such a good time at school.” 

Anxiety starts to twist in his chest again. The cigarette has fully burned out now and he snubs it in the makeshift ash tray Dally had made out of a Pepsi can. “It would really be okay? If I went?” 

He can feel Soda jolt a little bit in surprise and he tries to resist the urge to bury his face in the sweatshirt. It smells like Steve still, husky cologne and gasoline. Darry squeezes his hand slightly. 

“Ponyboy, of course it is,” Soda says. Ponyboy glances over at Darry and realizes that he is looking straight at him, eyes bright and knowing. 

“I felt the same way, you know?” Darry says. He ashes the cigarette off the side of the porch. “God, when I got into school, I was so happy. And then I felt like shit.” 

“Really?” Ponyboy asks quietly. 

“Really?” Soda asks loudly. 

“Really.” Darry smiles. “I felt like I was leaving you guys, and Mom and Dad, and like I wasn’t like- helping enough.” He sighs a little bit. He looks straight at Ponyboy again. “And I talked to Mom about it a little bit, after my celebration dinner, and she told me that it wasn’t my job to stay here. That I didn’t need to feel bad for picking myself.” 

Soda hums quietly in agreement, fingers digging little circles into Ponyboy’s scalp. 

“Can I-,” Ponyboy starts. “Do you ever like- wish you picked yourself? Instead of raising me?” 

Darry drops his cigarette into the Pepsi-can ash tray. “God, Pony, of course not. I never thought that.” He looks at Ponyboy, and then Soda, for a second. He reaches his other hand out to grip Ponyboy’s other hand and swings them both from side to side for a second. 

“Pony,” he says slowly. “What happened- with Bob, and Wendrixville, and with Johnny and Dally. I don’t-,” Darry takes a deep breath, letting go of one of Ponyboy’s hands to pinch the bridge of his own nose. “I have never thought that was your fault.” 

Soda’s arms drift down to wrap around Ponyboy’s middle, grip tight and secure. “I don’t either,” Soda says quietly. 

“I just,” Ponyboy says. “I was a brat, and I know that, and if I hadn’t left the house, none of it ever would have happened. And I ruined so much stuff, and it’s better now, but now I’m leaving and it feels like. I’m abandoning the people who I like, fucked over. I guess.” 

They’re quiet for a second, and when Ponyboy looks up, Darry’s mouth is gaping open slightly. Soda’s arms unwrap from around his torso and if Ponyboy was a slightly weaker person, he would have grabbed them before they could fully leave. 

“Okay,” Soda says, voice startled. “Okay, that’s- Okay. Pony, I didn’t know you were feelin’ like that.” Ponyboy shrugs slightly. 

“Ponyboy,” Darry says, his voice strict and hard in the way he used to sound before he laid down the law. “I’m gonna say somethin’. And I want you to really hear me this time. I shouldn’t have hit you. It doesn’t matter if you were being a brat, or if you were doing like, crack, or something. I shouldn’t have done it, and it was wrong. And I regret it. Everyday.” 

“Darry,” Ponyboy starts, voice tearful in a way he hates hearing. Darry shakes his head slightly, a silent no, and Ponyboy shuts his mouth. 

“I’m sorry. And I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t run after you that way I shoulda’.” 

“Darry,” Soda says. “Come on, this isn’t on you, either. It’s not on anyone except for those guys who attacked Pony and Johnny.” 

“I’m your brother,” Darry snaps, voice strong and tight. “I’m your big brother. And you guys are my responsibility.” He looks over at Ponyboy, jaw tight, and gives him a soft smile. 

“Honey,” Darry says. “You don’t owe me anything. Not for that week, or for the time before or after it. I don’t regret this. I would do it all again.” 

Darry looks up over at Soda, who now stands equal with Ponyboy, and smiles slightly at him too. “You neither, Pepsi.” 

Ponyboy can practically hear Soda’s eyes roll. “Yeah, Dar, I know. Jesus, I thought I was the bawl-baby in this family.” 

Ponyboy elbows Soda hard in the side, and he hears him let out a yelp of surprise. He feels Soda’s body pounce on him, tackling him to the ground, and Ponyboy can’t help the giggles that are escaping him as they roll on the ground, hitting each other with loose fists. He can hear Darry laughing lightly. 

They wrestle on the ground for a while, until they tire themselves out, and collapse on the ground, the rough wood of the porch digging into their backs. Darry sits next to them, groaning a little as he does, and Ponyboy has to swallow down a comment making fun of his brother’s old man bones. 

They lay there for a second, the street light blinking far off in the darkness, and breathe in the night air. 

“I love you guys,” Soda said. “Y’all know that, right?” 

“Of course, Pepsi.”

 “I love you, Soda.” 

They sat for another second more before Ponyboy spoke again. “I love you, Darry.” 

“Love you too, honey.” 

“You guys are gonna help me move in, right?” 

Soda and Darry both snort, a sound their father used to make when he was trying real hard not to bust out laughing. 

“Jesus, Pony, you’re not gonna be able to get rid of us.” Soda grins, his smile handsome and blinding. “The whole gang will probably come.”

“You think?” 

“I know it!” Soda sits up suddenly. “I bet we can make Darry and Dally loft your bed and build your furniture, and Steve and Two-Bit can do all the physical labor and shit so you, me, and Johnny can just sit pretty and unpack.” 

“Okay,” Darry starts, laughter clear in his voice. “What furniture am I building? The dorm comes with stuff.” 

“Okay, see, and I didn’t know that because you didn’t let me and Pony come to your move in,” Soda teases. Darry squawks in mock offense, the sound loud and ridiculous, and he reaches out to poke Soda in the ribs. They hit lightly at each other for a second and Ponyboy just grins at them from his place on the ground. Soda stops for a second and looks down at him, and brushes the hair out of his face. 

“What are you majoring in? In all the excitement of finding out you both applied and got into school, I forgot to ask.” 

Ponyboy shrugs. “I don’t know. Mr. Syme wants me to do an English, creative writing thing.”

“You wanna do that?” Darry asks. 

“Maybe,” Ponyboy says. “I like writing a lot. And I’m pretty good at it.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Soda teases. “Even though you never let me read your shit.” He pokes Ponyboy lightly in the center of his forehead, and the feeling of affection in his chest grows stronger. 

“If you wanted to read it,” Pony says hesitantly. “I could show you some stuff.” 

“Yeah?” Darry questions. 

“Yeah, if y’all want to.” 

“Whatever you feel okay sharing, Pony,” Soda says. He leans against the wall of the house for a second and takes a breath in. “Jesus, can we go inside please? It’s freezing out here.” 

“Soda, I know you’re not gonna say that when you are the only one here who is in long sleeves.” 

“No, see, and Darry, that proves I’m right.” 

They stand from the floor of the porch and start to head inside the house, all three of them bickering as they make their way in. The sun has just started to rise, so the world is bathed in peachy oranges, and flowery pinks, and bright yellows. They were outside for long enough that, instead of going back to bed, Darry puts on the bacon and Soda gets out the chocolate cake. Ponyboy moves to get out the stuff to make chocolate milk but stops at smiles at both of them. 

“You good?” Darry asks, smile pulling at his lips. 

“I’m great.” And for the first time in a while, he meant it.