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Johnny Cade was not his brother.
Darry reminded himself of this fact a few times a week. When Johnny came trailing into the house after Dallas with a fresh shiner, he’d drop the laundry to get him a bag of frozen peas from the icebox. When he stayed in the house past 5pm on weeknights and started looking anxiously at the clock, he’d invite the boy to stay through dinner. When the nights started getting colder, too cold to stay out in the lot, he’d always offer the couch with a no really, Johnny, it’s no problem.
We want you here. And Darry did want him, as much as he wanted any of them.
But Johnny Cade was not his brother, not his responsibility, not his to make sure he stayed out of trouble, had breakfast each morning, kept his grades in school on track to make it out of Tulsa. Johnny Cade was a friend, albeit a less assured one than his peers, but that’s all he was: a friend.
Before, when their parents were still alive and he did not have the burden of differentiating blood from water, he would ask for certain things at the grocery store that only Johnny would eat. Oranges, for one, no Curtis brother could stomach oranges– but Johnny loved oranges, any kind of citrus, and would blush when Mrs. Curtis peeled one for him as soon as he entered the kitchen. He’d remind his mother, off to do the shopping for the week: pick up a few oranges or how about some lemonade and it would all go to Johnny, no matter the ruse, and Mrs. Curtis would smile and dole out the extra nickels at the market if it made her boys happy.
Darry doesn’t buy oranges anymore. No one in the house will eat them, besides Johnny, and Johnny is not his brother. He buys another jar of peanut butter, another carton of eggs– things Pony will eat, Soda will color blue, cheap things which can provide for his family.
Darry doesn’t buy oranges, save for last week, when Johnny had been laid out on his couch black and blue, cut-up face bleeding into the cushions. After he cleaned him, and fed him aspirin, and listened to him cry out for a mother who was never going to be the one to take care of him, Darry bought enough oranges to cure a pirate ship of scurvy.
Sometimes, Darry hated when Johnny looked at him so full of wonder and thanks. He wasn’t his brother– there was nothing more he could do for him. Not really.
On Thursday evening, Ponyboy came home from school beelining for his bedroom, and slammed the door behind him, a habit he’d fallen into for the last few months. Darry remembered when he used to drop his bag at the door and grunt at his parents after a long day of practice, ignoring the family until dinner. He tried to empathize with his brother for adopting the same rituals he originated, but it was hard when he knew Pony wasn’t hiding from the world, but from Darry specifically. The older Curtis brother had yelled at Pony for letting his grade in math slip on his last test– a test Darry had offered to help him study for, a test Pony had assured him would be easy.
Darry seven months prior would have asked Pony into the yard and thrown around a football until he cooled down enough to talk about why that happened. Darry now, sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by bills, couldn’t even meet his eye as he stormed past the table.
A half-healed, half-scarred Johnny came trailing in with Two-Bit in tow– and as soon as Darry saw the flash of those red sideburns, he knew the clatter of the screen door would be quick to follow.
“What did I tell you about the door? I don’t have the time to go a’ fixing what you break, so please.” Darry cradled his head with his hand, fingers limply clutching a pencil, while his other arm gestured out towards the porch.
“Sorry, sorry, I promise next time I forget, I will remember almost as quick.” Two-Bit walked out of the house and made a big show of coming through the door and slowly pulling it shut until it tapped against the frame. “How’s that?”
“Don’t get my hopes up. It’s cruel.” Darry muttered, turning over a page. Nothing was overdue, not yet, but their utility usage had increased this month. How, Darry didn’t know, he’d been so careful about turning off lights and policing the hot showers. A couple dollars, and it would have been fine, if Darry hadn’t had to take off last week to take care of Soda, who had the flu. A couple of dollars short. When would he find the time to work a full extra shift without breaking his back?
“We ain’t got nothing going on, if you don’t want us hanging around right now.” Johnny spoke in his low voice, leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. His brown eyes glanced into Darry’s and then drifted downwards, as they always did, never staying on subject for long. Darry gripped a bill a little tighter in his hand before forcing himself to relax. Johnny had a knack for reading a room.
“No, you boys are perfectly fine. Soda’s at the DX and Pony’s in his room, either one might be more meaningful company than me.” Darry did his best not to look at Johnny, as if the papers could hide his distress.
“Well, you got two things right.” Two-Bit wandered past him, headed towards the icebox.
“Hm, and what’s that?” Darry was half paying him attention, half running through a series of out of control calculations in his head.
“We boys are both perfect, and fine.” Two-Bit snickered to himself as he opened the icebox and helped himself to the last piece of chocolate cake tucked inside of it. He grabbed two forks, never one to leave Johnny out, and sat down at the end of the table free of papers.
Johnny settled himself in a chair next to Two-Bit, shoving the older boy’s legs off his lap when he attempted to use him as a footrest. He grabbed a fork and spun it around, staring more at Darry than his first bite.
“Get off work early today?” Johnny asked, finally getting his fork into the cake, which was quickly disappearing thanks to Two-Bit’s hunger.
Darry grunted, then ran a hand across his chin and realized he hadn't shaved today. He thought of his dad, the long standing five o’clock shadow he maintained when he worked dragging hours. His dad would have…
“Finished the project down Bomont Ave, we moved quicker than expected cause the rain didn't come like we thought.” He appreciated Johnny for asking, as casually and polite as Pony used to ask about football. Not really interested in the principle of the thing, just the person doing it.
“Yeah, we were gonna head to the drive-in tomorrow, but the rain’s supposed to hit tomorrow night. Super bad storm they say.” Johnny muttered, resting his chin on his hand. He stared out the window at the far off clouds like they were doing it personally to slight him. Darry made a note to clear the magazines off the couch so Johnny could wait out the storm in the house, not the lot.
“Like a little rain would stop Dallas Winston from hunting down some action.” Two-Bit guffawed, sucking down the last bits of frosting from his fingers. Darry made another note, this time to bake a cake that night.
“Wouldn't stop Dally, but sure as hell would stop a projector,” Johnny shot back, “bet he’ll get into something at Buck’s.”
“You gonna join him?” Darry kept his voice level and uninterested, even though he wanted to shake anyone who followed Dallas over there. Johnny Cade was not his brother. He could do whatever he wanted.
“Nah, I was gonna ask…” Johnny trailed off, his eyes doing a poor job of avoiding the couch.
“And here I was gonna offer. Couch is yours any night you want it.” Darry didn't preen, but he did tuck the bills back into their envelopes with more satisfaction than was warranted.
“Thanks, Darry. Gonna have to start paying you rent if this weather keeps up.” Johnny rubbed the back of his head, a little red dusting his cheeks. Darry wanted to give him Soda’s old room. He’s not your responsibility.
“Got a feeling it's going to be cats, dogs, and the whole damn farm tomorrow!” Soda, his responsibility, came booming through the door, a folded umbrella in one hand and the handle carefully being pulled shut in the other. “You can feel the static in the air. Hey, fellas.” He kicked his shoes off and his eyes roamed over the cluttered table, finally settling on the dirty dish.
“You dirty greasers ate the last of my cake?” He thwacked Two-Bit with the dry umbrella. “And here I was, saving it for dinner!”
“I got something you can have for dinner.” Two-Bit rose, a grin playing on his face as he stared Soda down.
“Ah, yeah? And what's that?” Soda crossed his oil-streaked arms across his chest.
“A knuckle sandwich! C’mere!” Two-Bit moved to get the younger boy in a headlock, and then Johnny was dodging out of the way, and soon both greasers were on the ground wrestling, thumping against the table. Darry stood up, grabbing the plate before it could be broken and putting it in the sink.
“Alright, alright, enough! You're gonna break my kitchen– I'll make dinner. Pasta and chicken and uh,” he checked the icebox, “something green.” He figured peas would be fine, though knowing Soda, he’d try and turn the penne green as well.
Darry set to work, washing his hands in the sink while the sound of brawling fizzled out behind him into jokes and nonsense. No two members of the gang could have quite as much fun saying nothing at all as Soda and Two-Bit.
The water ran over his hands, getting hotter with every second, and Darry kept his fingers under the spray, relishing the heat and how it soothed his aching joints. What he wouldn't give to stand there and massage his hands under the sink until they couldn’t flex anymore– but he was wasting water. He turned it off, unsatisfied.
“You want any help?” Johnny leaned against the oven, hands cradling his elbows. He always looked so nervous, but Darry could see in the smooth skin of his face he wasn't afraid at all. He was comfortable in Darry’s house. The Curtis house.
“Thanks, Johnnycakes. You could see about getting some water going on the stove while I cut the chicken?” Darry nodded towards the cupboard with the pots, but Johnny was already opening it, finding the biggest one.
When the chicken was in the oven and the pasta was soon to be finished, Ponyboy finally emerged from his den of solitude. Darry bit back the first mean thing he wanted to say. He couldn't hold back the second.
“There he is, our absent soldier.” He called over his shoulder with no small amount of snark. “Finally come home?”
“Oh soldier, tell us– how fares the battlefield?” Two-Bit tacked on, not looking up from his handful of cards.
“And tell us– how are the women where you were sent?” Soda asked, coolly putting down an ace against Two-Bit’s queen.
“Oh, shove it, all of you.” Pony grumbled, pivoting on his heel to stomp back to his room.
“Wait, Pony, we were kidding. Stay, I'll deal you in.” Soda folded first, pulling out the chair next to him, and Darry watched as Pony warily sat down next to his brother, accepting the cards Soda gave him.
Darry didn't know how he did it. Pushed his buttons and smoothed them out in the next heartbeat. When he talked to Pony, he only knew how to start a timer rigged to blow– no one taught him how to defuse the bomb. And he couldn't emulate Soda, he didn't know how to bend, to be soft in the undemanding moments.
“Hey, Pony.” Johnny stopped stirring the pasta to sit by his friend. Pony seemed relaxed, his hair being absently ruffled by Soda’s right hand, Johnny next to him, chatting with him as if no one else in the room existed. Darry ached to be a symptom of these good moments, instead of the virus driving Pony to lock himself in his bedroom.
“How was school?” He worked up the courage to ask. Pony didn't look his way, presumably still upset from their conversation yesterday.
“It was fine.” He hummed, picking at the edge of a card.
“Did you get started on that project in biology?” Darry couldn't help but ask.
“I'll get to it.” Pony hummed again, sinking lower. Johnny knocked his shoulder with his own.
“Well, see that you do.” He said gruffly, turning back towards the stove.
Pony mumbled something he couldn't hear, and he wanted to whirl around and ask him what he said, to ask that he treat Darry with a little respect and a little grace. But he kept stirring the pot. Counted to ten. Waited for the timer to go off.
“Something smells good,” a voice called from the porch, and in came Steve Randle, letting the door slam behind him.
“What happened to your eye?” Pony blurted out. All heads swiveled to the newcomer.
Sure enough, Steve was sporting a fresh shiner, the purple taking its time blooming across his cheek.
“Walked into a friggin’ door, what do you think,” he snapped, “don’t be stupid.” Steve’s look soured even worse than how he usually wore his face. Soda got to work diffusing the tension.
“Looks pretty tough, Steve. I'd get you a bag of peas but we’re about to eat ‘em. How about a bag of, uhhhh…” he trailed off, and Darry went digging into the icebox to find a frozen steak.
“Ugly meat for your ugly mug.” Two-Bit shook his head with a laugh as Steve caught the steak Darry threw him. Steve cuffed him, but the hit looked weak.
“I only hang with you guys cause the big one cooks.” Steve grumbled, sliding into the chair at the end of the table, between Soda and Two-Bit.
“Who said you can have any of what I’m cooking?” Darry raised his eyebrows.
“Says that bleeding heart of yours. I like my pasta a little chewy, thank you.” Steve snarled, not because he meant to be mean, but because when he smiled his teeth always tried to leave his mouth. Soda socked him once on the shoulder.
“That's for Darry, cause he ain't got the hands free to do it himself right now,” he nodded towards his older brother. Darry snorted.
“Thanks lil’ buddy, but you and Pony still gotta do the dishes.” The timer finally went off, and he pulled the chicken from the oven while Soda mock gasped.
“I can help,” Johnny offered, raising a hand like he was volunteering to write on the board in a classroom. “I don’t mind.”
“No, that ain’t the rules– the brother who cooks is not the brother who cleans.” Pony sighed, throwing his cards down on the table. Darry stiffened.
Johnny wasn’t his brother. Sure, he was everyone’s little brother. He stayed at Dally’s as much as he crashed at the Curtis’ household, hell, even Two-Bit rolled out the futon at his house to save Johnny from the streets. But he wasn’t Darry’s. He tried to remember that. He struggled to remember why that boundary was important.
Darry was thrown from his thoughts when he strained the pasta to find it a surprising shade of red. He threw a confused look at the table. Soda hadn’t been anywhere near the food, and he’d been watching the kitchen the whole time.
“What’s wrong, Dar– oh, it turned out nice!” Soda had wandered over to grab plates, but set them down to observe his handiwork.
“How did you…?” Darry glanced around, looking for a bottle of food dye.
“You weren’t the only cook in the kitchen. And luckily, one is easy to bribe,” Soda snickered, and Darry whipped around to see Johnny breaking out into a laugh of his own. It was nice to see him laugh again, after the days he spent mute and small. The socs didn’t beat the humor out of him.
“Johnny Cade, I trusted you.” Darry shook his head, fighting to keep the smile off his face. Be the adult. Be the brother, but not everyone’s brother.
“First mistake,” Two-Bit proclaimed, moseying towards the chicken, “he ratted out my cards to Dally last week– lost me two bucks!”
“How is Dally doing?” Johnny asked, mostly to himself. His face was colored rosey from his prank’s triumph. Two-Bit clapped him gently on the back as he passed him by.
“The Tulsa cooler ain’t nothing compared to what he’s seen in New York. I betcha he’s running the place as it is.”
“And you would know, wouldn’t you, slick.” Soda winked, filling up his plate.
“Ah man, at least I get locked up for actually tough things– you got slammed for doing backflips.” Two-Bit retorted, stealing Soda’s seat next to Ponyboy.
Darry looked over his kid brother, who made no move to get food for himself. Just like that, he was bringing him over the plate in his own hands.
“Be mad at me, not what I cook. You gotta eat something.” He murmured as he set it down. Ponyboy crossed his arms.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You got another one of your headaches?”
Pony shook his head, but Darry knew his brother, and he looked pale, and he wasn’t meeting his eyes, which could mean he was embarrassed being talked to like a kid in front of the guys… or the lights were hurting his head.
“If I get you an aspirin, will you try to get something down?” He didn’t like how much Pony relied on pain medication, but he didn’t like how much he didn’t eat, either. He tried to balance these truths, as best he could.
“Maybe.” Pony mumbled, and Darry was back with a glass of water and two pills for him to swallow before Steve had even picked up his plate.
The gang survived dinner without any food being thrown (Darry had almost bashed their skulls together when he found the kitchen covered in marinara last month) and while punchable comments were exchanged, they kept the fists to themselves. Darry didn’t say much– the day was catching up to him, and he still had to find a way to make sure they could pay the utility bill this month.
It was a Thursday, so Steve left first because he promised his boss at the DX to take a look at some soc’s car before school in the morning. Two-Bit left on his heels, despite his clear desire to try and win a few rounds of poker, because his mom was scheduled for the night shift and someone had to be home with Suzie. He hadn’t finished his beer, so he tucked it into his front pocket. Darry rolled his eyes as he hopped down the steps, watching the beer slosh onto the porch and over his friend’s jeans.
Soda and Pony dutifully did the dishes for a few minutes, before Darry sent Pony to lie down before he fell down, and then Soda wrapped up quickly, probably so he could talk to Pony about whatever was bothering him this time.
Darry knew it wasn’t fair to think like that, and put it all on Pony to be a normal kid when nothing about their life was normal, not since their parents had passed. And he knew it was irrational to be jealous of Soda– he was a wonderful brother, so loving, and he met both Pony and Darry wherever they were. But he was mad. He was mad Pony couldn’t see how much he was giving up to make sure he got to sleep in the same bed he’d always slept in. That it was always going to be on him to be the adult. The older brother. Forever.
Darry scratched at his face and remembered the stubble he’d forgotten to take care of. He left Johnny, who was dozing in the recliner, and marched over to the bathroom. He flicked on the lights, which used to be simple, and now carried with it a pricetag. Running the sink was numbers. Holding the razor to his face, he saw where the blade was about to rust– he’d need a new pack of blades soon. A few more cents to the mountains of debt.
Shaving didn’t make him feel any better, because he had to look in the mirror and see his father’s eyes staring back at him. His father wore those eyes better, more knowingly, they were eyes that had seen the worst the world had to offer and didn’t flinch. He felt like an imposter, stealing his father’s eyes. What did he know? Nothing, except to wake up every morning and get to work. There was a brightness he was missing. He was sure it belonged to his mother, and maybe it had left with her.
Darry risked a glance at the clock. 9pm. He’d have to be up at 4am to get to his new worksite in time to get full hours for the day. And he still had to finish the laundry, the budget, the grocery list– there were miles to go before he could let himself rest.
The cake. He told himself he would bake the cake, especially because Ponyboy hardly touched his plate, and if he wanted his brother to eat breakfast it would have to be chocolate.
Securing his razor behind the mirror, he hustled into the kitchen to get the oven started, only to find someone standing there with the big mixing bowl in hand.
“Oh, hey Darry. Sorry I got into the stuff without asking, but I was thinking it was the least I could do– I ate the last bite. ‘Sides, I made this with Pony and Soda once and I thought I remembered– texture ain’t quite right, though…” Johnny Cade was dappled in flour, but the counters were spotless, as if he had been cleaning as he went. Sneaking a glance at the bowl, the batter was watery, but the right color of rich brown. Johnny was trying to bake his mother’s cake.
“You didn’t have to, I was going to get to it,” Darry started just to say something that wasn’t a sob, “might just need to add some more flour, looks like it’s more on you than in the bowl.”
Johnny looked down at his clothes and groaned.
“I knew I spilled, but I didn’t know I messed up that bad. What am I gonna wear to school tomorrow…?” Johnny set the bowl down, grumbling, but still went into the bag of flour to scoop out another half cup. Darry didn’t know what to feel.
“I haven’t done the laundry yet, I can throw your shirt right in– and you can borrow one of Pony’s shirts, you’re about the same size.” Johnny was making his mother’s cake in his family’s kitchen for his brothers, and he was their friend, and he wasn’t their brother, and it wasn’t fair.
If his parents were still here, Johnny would be safe. He never would have been jumped. They would have taken them away from the Cades by now, turned him into a Curtis. He would wear smiles, not bruises. Darry knew it. He would be in college, and he would come home to Soda, and Pony, who didn’t know how to dislike him, and Johnny Curtis, who ate all the oranges in their kitchen.
Darry’s eyes went from the bills to the batter being mixed in Johnny’s hands. Wanting never got him anywhere he could afford. Life didn’t care about fairness.
“I can take this over, why don’t you go steal a shirt so we can get a jump on the washing.” Darry swiped the bowl from Johnny, whisking it together double time. The oven was already preheated. One less thing to worry about.
Johnny smiled, rubbing at one of the scabs on his face. Darry had half a mind to knock his hand away, as he did when Pony started biting his nails. He gripped the bowl a little tighter. Setting the boundary.
“Thanks, Darry.” Johnny said, heading towards Pony’s room.
“Sure thing, kid.”
Johnny Cade was not his brother. Not his responsibility. But, Darry denied as if his life depended on it, he was. He really was.