Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s Saturday morning, and Soda and Pony are still fast asleep. That’s not strange, at least not for Pony who sleeps in whenever he gets the chance to, so Darry is choosing not to worry about it. 

Darry has the day off, another thing he is choosing not to worry about, and he thinks it may be because his boss and coworkers are conspiring against him. Not in a bad way necessarily. Just in the way they all think he needs to take a break, that it’s not a good thing that someone as young as him is working as much as he does. 

Sometimes he wishes they’d all be a little more understanding about why he’s working so much; to pay the mortgage, to keep the lights on, to buy the groceries, to make sure social services doesn’t take his family away. But you don’t always get what you want, something God seems intent on proving to Darry, so that’s all fine. 

It’s been six months since the social worker told Darry the state wasn’t gonna take Soda and Pony away, and he still wakes up with dread filling his stomach most mornings. Sometimes he has to check if they’re still in their bed, not sleeping in some run-down apartment in the next town over with a family that only took them in for a paycheck. 

He’ll crack the door open, only a little bit so that it won’t creak, and watch them breathe for a second. Pony is a blanket hog, and Soda runs hot, so they always end up with the blanket completely wrapped around Pony and Soda spread out without one. 

Soda and Pony always look so small when they’re asleep. By now, Darry’s used to looking to Pony and having his breath taken away with how little he looks. For the last fifteen years, he’s lived by one fact; Pony’s a baby, and he probably always will be, at least to him. But Soda has started to look older and older over the years, especially this last one, and sometimes he forgets how young he is. 

Darry runs his fingers over the newspaper. He’s just glad that they finally stopped running articles about Bob, and Johnny, and Dally, and Pony. Especially Pony. The first month or so after everything, after the gang lost two of their best friends in one night, it seemed like the reporters would never stop running articles about gang violence in Tulsa, a way to remind them all of what they lost. 

Of who they lost. 

Pony and him are getting along better. Ever since Soda broke down, the first time he’d seen him cry, really cry, since the funeral, they’ve been trying harder. It’s been nice. To not feel like he’s at war in the house, that he’s doing everything wrong and messing up both his little brothers forever. 

God, he still can’t believe he let Sodapop drop out. Mom and Dad never woulda let that happen. He’s just glad that Pony finished on a good note this year, despite everything, and still seems- 

Darry wouldn’t say innocent. That’s not the right word. Despite their best efforts, Pony has grown up with grease, and dirt, and blood, and even if he’s not as hardened as some of the other boys, he’s a little more tough then the ones who were handed little silver spoons. 

Pony doesn’t seem angry. Not like Dally was. He doesn’t seem like he hates the world, that he would burn it, and himself, to the ground if he lost someone. Darry thinks that might be because Pony has already lost so many; what’s one more?

It’s getting later in the morning. If the boys don’t wake up soon, they’ll wake up hungry and that’s good for no one. Darry stands, ready to rile them out of bed when he hears the sound of Soda’s voice. Soda, even when he’s being quiet, makes the whole world go silent when he speaks. 

Pony laughs quietly; they’re both up. Good. The day can start. 

Darry starts to walk from the kitchen into the living room, and has to catch himself on the edge of the doorway when he almost falls on his face. His foot had gotten caught. He looks behind him to see what tripped him, and the dark strap is still caught on his socked foot. Pony’s backpack, a blue square on the bottom from where Mom had patched it up after it split open. 

Darry takes a deep breath, the way he’s been practicing before he talks to Pony when either of them are upset, and calls up the stairs. “Ponyboy, I have been beggin’ you to put your bag away when you’re done with it.” 

“Sorry Darry,” he yells back. “I’ll move it when I get down.” 

That would’ve been a screaming match eight months ago. Things are better. Thank God. 

The bag was unzipped so a few things had fallen out when it had tripped Darry; two black pens, a bound green notebook with some doodles on the front, a large blue eraser. Darry sighs as he squats down to shove the stuff back in the bag, but he stops for a moment before putting the notebook back in. It seems almost entirely filled, most of the pages filled with Pony’s strangely neat handwriting. Darry flips through it for a second, almost on impulse, before he spots his name. 

I bet Darry’s sorry he ever hit me.

“Darry,” Soda calls out. He’s at the top of the stairs, shirt unbuttoned over his bare chest. His hair is still messy, the way it always looks in the morning. “Darry, Pony thinks Spiderman is lame.” 

“That’s not even what I said, though,” Pony says. Darry hurries to return the notebook, and then goes to stand by where they are. 

“Why are y’all even talking about Spiderman?” he says, voice sounding distant even to himself. 

Pony and Soda’s voices overlap. “Because he’s awesome.” “All I said was Superman was better, that’s all I said.” 

They’re still bickering but Darry struggles to focus in on what they’re saying, their words speeding by him as they twist and overlap. His breath feels caught in his chest, his fingers tingling the way they do when he has to roof a house in the winter. Pony looks at him, in a way that makes Darry feel like he might have been asked a question, and then cocks his head to the side. 

“You okay?” Pony sounds worried, and his face twists a little when Darry takes a second to respond. 

“Darry?” Soda questions. 

Darry sucks a breath in, the exhale feeling like it’s rattling his bones. “Yeah, sorry, just tired. Didn’t sleep well.” 

Pony and Soda both hum in acknowledgement, and then mutter quiet apologies that Darry shrugs off. Pony walks past him into the kitchen, seeking out chocolate milk the way he does most mornings, and Darry turns to Soda. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question, and Soda nods his head a little.  

Pony’s always had nightmares, ever since he was real little, but nothing like what they saw in the weeks following their parents’ funeral. He’d wake up screaming, raw and guttural, and it would take many long minutes for him to remember where he was, who was with him. It only took one real bad one, where it took over hour to get Pony to stop sobbing and look at them, for him and Soda to decide someone needed to move into Pony’s room. Darry had originally decided he was gonna but Soda had fought him on it, since Soda was only working one job to Darry’s two, and eventually won. It was for the best; Soda has always been better at calming Pony anyway. 

Pony had seemed better for a little while, before everything, but the screaming had started up again after the trial. The screaming doesn’t happen much anymore but Darry knows Pony will still wake up breathless sometimes, scaring Soda awake when he jolts up. 

Darry nods back at Soda, and they head into the kitchen. But Darry is still thinking about the notebook. 

I bet Darry’s sorry he ever hit me.

He didn’t know Pony was still thinking about that. Well, that’s not right. He had wondered if Pony was still upset with him for that night, for driving him away, for hurting him. Soda had reassured him for weeks afterward, and Pony had basically completely ignored him when he tried to bring it up, but he has always felt- 

Bad for what happened. Guilty. He still remembers the feeling of his hand landing against his kid brother’s face, the sound Pony’s head had made when it knocked against the door. Sometimes he’ll think about it randomly, when he’s scrubbing the dishes or driving to work, and he wants to vomit all over himself. 

And then sometimes he’ll think about Johnny. The way he would flinch away from everyone, even their dad, who was the most gentle guy on planet Earth. The days he came to their house, to sleep on their couch or get some ice for his face. The look on his face the times his mama would ignore him for days on end. 

He’s imagined Pony like that, defeated and hurt, big black bruises covering his face, baby fat still sitting on his cheeks, and wanted to crash his car into the Cade’s house. Other times, he wants to run his car off the road and sink into some mud somewhere, never to be seen again. 

I bet Darry’s sorry he ever hit me.

“Lordy, what is with this Neuman obsession?” he hears Soda ask. He shakes his head a little, trying to tune back into the conversation, and looks at Pony just in time to see the blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“It’s nothin’, I just like him,” Pony says defensively. 

“Right,” Soda says, smirk clear in his voice. “Sure.” 

Darry nudges his foot into Soda’s calf hard, a quiet admonishment, and Soda’s grin softens. One night they’d talked a little bit about Pony, and his obsession with Neuman and Elvis, and the soft way he’s always spoken about Johnny, and the journal entry Soda had found talking about two boys living in the country together. They’d agreed to not bring it up, not just to Pony, but to anyone else either. Darry knows what his dad used to say about assuming, but he feels pretty confident about this one. 

“Yeah, we can go down to the movie house today,” Soda says, and Pony brightens. He loves movies, and Darry doesn’t really get it, but then again you could fill a book with things he doesn’t really get about Ponyboy. 

“I’m excited to see this one again,” Pony states, fork dragging through the thick icing of the chocolate cake Soda had cut for them. “I’m glad they’re re-showing it.” 

Darry doesn’t really understand why they’re spending money to see a movie that Pony has apparently already seen, and opens his mouth to say so, but stops himself before words come out. He shovels a bite of cake into his mouth instead, something Pony had pulled out for them to munch on while Soda reheated the scrambled eggs Darry had made before everyone got up. Pony and Darry are similar in a lot of ways, something Soda’s been telling him for years and Darry has only recently agreed with, but something that he’ll never truly get is the way Pony’s into- 

Not soft stuff. He called it that once a few years ago, when Darry was seventeen and a little shit, and had watched the way his kid brother’s face had crumbled at the dinner table. He hadn’t said it to be mean, had simply stated it as fact, but that look of shame was enough to make him not say something like that again. 

But Pony is into a lot of stuff that Darry doesn’t really get the appeal of; movies, long books, the color of the sky, drawing. And that’s fine with him, nothing wrong about it, but sometimes it makes it hard to really get where Pony’s coming from. But he’s trying to be a little more understanding, and it seems to be working out well for the both of ‘em. 

I bet Darry’s sorry he ever hit me. 

“You gonna come, Darry?” Pony says. “I know it’s your first full day off in a while so it’s okay if you don’t wanna.” 

Darry looks at Pony, who’s looking down at his plate almost nervously, and feels his heart squeeze in his chest. 

“Yeah, I’ll go.” 

Soda and Pony both smile at him, and he decides to not think about the notebook anymore.

It’s one in the morning, Darry’s got work at six, and he can’t stop thinking about the notebook. 

They’d had a good day. They’d gone to the movie, some weird comedy, and Darry didn’t love it, and Soda kept getting up to walk a lap around the room, but Pony had smiled the whole time. They’d gone home to see that Steve and Two-Bit were there, and they’d played a slightly uneven game of football until they were all sweaty and tired. Darry had cooked dinner and they’d all chatted until it was time to go to bed. 

After Johnny and Dally died, Darry had been worried the remaining members of the gang would stop coming around, that they’d all fall apart. And it was rough, for a little while, but Steve is still Soda’s best buddy, and Two-Bit is still the funniest guy he knows, and they’re all still here. 

I bet Darry’s sorry he ever hit me. 

The thing is, Darry thought him and Pony were doing better. That they’d worked it out, and while they still fight, they understood each other a little better. But maybe he was wrong, and Pony is- 

Scared of him. Or real angry. Maybe he hates him, the way Darry was scared he did the first few months after their parents died. 

Fuck. 

Darry tries real, real hard to never go into Pony and Soda’s stuff. He checks Pony’s homework for him but he doesn’t ever go digging in his bag, and he does their laundry but almost never snoops through what he finds in their pockets. He loves his little brothers, but he’s also been trying really hard to respect them, and he knows he would hate it if they were being nosy with his shit. 

But he really wants to go read Pony’s notebook right now. To find out how recently he was thinking about that night, and if he’s still thinking about it, and what he thinks about it. 

Darry shouldn’t read Pony’s shit. He really shouldn’t. 

He gets out of bed. He treads lightly past Soda and Pony’s room, where he can their soft snoring, and tries to walk as silently as he can down the stairs. It’s always been hard for him to get around quietly in their house; it’s old, so it creaks, and he’s a pretty big guy so his footsteps are heavy. He gets down to the bottom of the stairs, and goes into the kitchen where Pony’s backpack is hung on the back of the chair. He unzips it as quietly as he can and pulls out the notebook, horses and names doodled on the front. 

He should put it back. He should put it right where he found it and go back to bed, and try to forget about all of this. 

Darry goes upstairs, notebook in hand. He peeks into his little brother’s bedroom through their open door, and they’re both still dreaming away, plaid comforter wrapped around Pony so that only a tuft of hair poked out. Soda’s limbs are long enough that he barely fits on the bed when he fully stretches out, and a fond feeling grows within Darry’s chest. 

He walks slowly back to his room and clambers into bed, turning on the side lamp as he does. He traces the black ink on the cover for a second, trying to work up the courage to flip open the front page. 

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind; Paul Newman and a ride home. 

Pony’s handwriting is neat and looping in a way that Darry and Soda, and their dad’s, has never looked. As he traces the curves of the letters, it almost reminds him of Mom’s. Darry takes a deep breath and continues to read. 

Soda tries to understand, at least, which is more than Darry does. 

Darry’s always rough with me without meaning to be. 

Darry isn’t ever sorry for anything he does. 

You just don’t cry in front of Darry. 

Darry never had the time to do anything anymore. 

Darry thought I was just another mouth to feed and somebody to holler at. 

I bet Darry wishes he could stick me in a home somewhere, and he’d do it too, if Soda would let him. 

Darry love me? Darry doesn’t love anyone or anything, except maybe Soda. I didn’t hardly think of him as being human. 

It was plain to me that Darry didn’t want me around. And I wouldn’t stay if he did. He wasn’t ever going to hit me again. 

Darry doesn’t get halfway through before he throws up in his mouth.

Chapter Text

Lately, Darry’s been thinking a lot about being in high school. He hates admitting it, admitting that he may be the kind of person who peaked in life when he was sixteen, but he loved it. Playing football, skiing, having a shit ton of friends. Hanging out with Paul. 

But mostly, he’s been thinking about how Pony and Soda used to hang out in his room when he was getting ready for school, or a date, or a game. They’d sit on his floor, Soda sitting with his legs stretched out and Pony on his knees, and chat with him until he was out the door. 

Sometimes it annoyed him, the way they’d kinda cling to him, but most of the time it was fun getting to hang out since he was so busy most of the time. 

He misses that now. The way Pony would beg to use some of his cologne, or ask about high school, or sit in his room to read since Darry’s bed was the biggest. 

“Darry,” Soda calls out from the living room. “Come sit with us, Pony will do the dishes in the morning.” 

“Pardon?” Pony questions, voice offended. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are saying ‘pardon’ and shit?,” Steve says. “Jesus Christ, I’m gonna burn your fucking books if you don’t stop tha-,” 

His sentence is interrupted by a high scream, a sound Steve only makes when one of them shoves their fingers into the back of his knee or the side of his neck. Loud laughter echoes through the house, and the sound of what is probably a wrestling match between Pony and Steve follows quickly behind. 

“In a minute,” Darry calls back. He scrubs harder at the bowl in his hand, the sink water so hot that it hurts. Pony is still laughing, a sound Darry hadn’t even realized he missed, and it’s making the ache in his chest worse than it already was. 

It’s been three days since Darry read Pony’s book and he knows he’s acting weird. He’s quiet at work, more than usual, and even quieter at home, which is unusual. But he can’t help it. 

“Hey,” Soda says, his voice much closer than it was before. Darry turns around, forced smile plastered, but can immediately tell that Soda has not come for small talk. 

“Hey,” Darry responds, trying to keep his tone light. Soda cocks an eyebrow. 

“You good?” Soda questions. 

“Yeah,” Darry says. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” Soda says, word drawn out slowly. “It’s okay if you’re not. And I would want you to tell me that instead of like, lying to me or avoiding me.” 

“And I would,” Darry lies. “Promise.” 

Soda stares at him, eyes squinted, and then smiles. “Okay. Come sit with us then.” 

“Just let me finish this.” 

“Darry,” Soda says, voice tired. “Please come hang out. I’ve missed you the last couple of days. I’ve barely seen you.” 

Darry takes a deep breath in. “Okay. Okay. Yeah.” 

“Are you sure you’re good?” 

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” 

When Darry walks into the room, Pony smiles at him and he feels like he’s going to throw up again. 

Darry thought I was just another mouth to feed and somebody to holler at. 

“Darry, can I go to the drive-in with Two-Bit tomorrow?” Pony says, legs tucked so that he’s sitting on his feet. He hasn’t cut his hair since him and Johnny had chopped it all off, so the yellow-tinted blonde is still sitting on the ends. His hair is freshly washed, and the summer sun has brought out the freckles on his cheeks, and he just looks so- 

Small. He’s growing up so fast but he’s still so little. And Darry can’t imagine anyone looking at him, at his kid brother, and wanting to hurt him.  

He wasn’t ever going to hit me again. 

“Darryl,” Soda says, voice cutting through the air. 

“You good, Superman?” Two-Bit says, fingers drumming on the back of the couch. He looks concerned, and so do Darry’s brothers, so he needs to say something. 

He needs to say something. He needs to respond. 

“Darry?” Pony says, hand reaching out towards him. 

“Yeah, you can go,” Darry says. “Have fun.” 

“Okay,” Pony says, voice hesitant. His hand lowers back into his lap. “You sure? I don’t gotta.” 

“No, go. You’re good.” 

“Okay. I’ll be home before curfew. Swear it.” 

He wasn’t ever going to hit me again. 

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Darry says. He feels out of the breath, the way he does after a full afternoon at the gym, and he needs to get away right now. Soda is staring, and Two-Bit’s eyebrow is raised, and Steve is squinting, and Pony is frowning, and Darry needs to leave. 

“Gonna go out.” Darry moves to grab his car keys out of the bowl they have sitting in the living room. “See y’all later.” 

“What?” Pony questions, and Steve is calling after him, and Soda is saying something too but Darry can’t hear it because he’s already out the door.  

Darry is at Buck’s place. He isn’t entirely sure how he got here, can barely remember the drive or walking in, but there’s a beer in his hand. He hasn’t been to Buck’s in years, since he was eighteen probably, but he feels- 

Fuck, he doesn’t know what he feels. Not ready to go back home. To see his brothers, and their friends, and to keep thinking about how Pony thinks he hates him. That he’s an unfeeling and unloving piece of shit who only wants to hurt him. 

Darry wants his dad. He’s grown used to this feeling over the last year. He misses his dad whenever a football game plays, or when he has a real bad shift at work. He misses his advice, and his laugh, and the smell of his aftershave. 

Dad would know what to do, how to fix this. Honestly, Dad wouldn’t have let it get this bad in the first place. 

He was gentle, and kind, and funny in all the ways Darry knows he isn’t. Dad had never, ever hit them. Darry puts his head in his hands, fingers curled tight in his short hair. 

He thinks of Soda, who dropped out of school to help him keep the house and support Pony. Who is the kindest and most understanding person he knows. Who watches cartoons when he’s sad. Soda, who thinks he’s stupid, and how Darry didn’t reassure him that he’s not. 

He thinks of Pony, who has been through so much in this last year, and how he hasn’t done enough to make it better for him. Pony, who draws sunsets and recently got really into Jane Austen, and who thinks Darry hates him. 

He thinks of Johnny, who was quiet and gentle, who listened to Darry’s kid brother like everything he said was important. Johnny, who died slowly and without his parents, who spent his life in a house with parents that treated him like shit until he believed that was all he was ever gonna get. 

Maybe he’s fucking them up more then he thought. He can’t let Pony and Soda feel like this, like Tulsa and death and a failure of a brother, is all they’re ever gotta get. They deserve better. He knows that. He just doesn’t know how to fix this. 

“Curtis,” he hears someone say. “Curtis, is that you?” 

He looks up, fingers curled so tightly that they had started to cramp, and sees Tim Shepard walking towards him. 

“Hey,” Darry croaks. “How you doin’?” He doesn’t think any of them, the gang he means, have seen Shepard since the rumble. Definitely hadn’t talked to him. He knows Pony’s been hanging out with Curly recently, and he isn’t Darry’s first choice for a friend but there hasn’t been any major trouble so far. 

Tim snorts, the sound ugly and loud. “Fine. You look like shit.” 

Darry cracks a small smile, cracked lips pulling as he does. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He takes another deep sip of his beer, draining the bottle. 

Tim tilts his head to one side and it makes him look like a lost dog. Darry has a brief thought that he’d probably get a good kick to the stomach if he ever voiced that. Tim slides into a chair on the other side of the table, his legs long and lanky. 

“Don’t think I said you could sit,” Darry comments, tone light. 

“Don’t think I need your permission.” Tim smirks and readjusts his leather jacket, and for a moment Darry is reminded of Dally. 

They sit for a moment, Darry drumming his fingers against his upper arms, while loud country music plays from behind the bar. He remembers the times him and Paul would come in here during high school, chug a few beers and swing each other around in the back rooms. It’s been so long since he’s been out dancing, and even longer since he’s done it with a boy. 

Darry never thought he’d say this but sometimes he misses being seventeen. 

Darry never had the time to do anything anymore. 

Darry feels his face tighten. A nauseated feeling starts to build up in his gut, the way it has been constantly the past few days, and he tries to swallow it down. Tim is looking at him, eyes examining, and then he places his beer down. 

“Okay. Money, girl, or family?” 

“What?” 

Tim sighs, the sound exasperated. “Are you having money, girl, or family problems?” 

Darry cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t think that’s your business, Shepard.” 

“It’s my business if you’re gonna sit here and be so mopey that I can spot it from across the room,” Tim says. “I noticed, Buck noticed, literally everyone in here.” 

“I’ll go. My bad.” Darry stands to leave, embarrassment heating his face. 

“Okay, that’s not what I’m sayin’. Sit down.” Darry looks at Tim’s face for a second. He’s struck for a moment by how similar Tim and Curly look; dark skin, curly black hair, weirdly long eyelashes. He wonders if him and Soda and Pony look similar enough that it’s strange to people. He wonders if he’s distant enough from them now that he doesn’t even look like their brother anymore. 

Darry sits. “Family. I guess.” 

Tim nods. “Okay. Brothers?” 

“I mean,” Darry snorts. “They’re kind of the only family I got right now. So yeah.” 

Tim cracks a small smile. “Y’all fighting? I know you and the little one were having issues for a little bit.” 

Darry knows that Tim knows Ponyboy’s name but chooses not to bring that up. He hesitates, and then nods. Then Darry stops again and shakes his head. 

“I guess that we’re not fighting right now. But he-,” Darry takes a deep breath in, the words tasting like bile. “Fuck, he hates me still.” 

There’s a moment of silence and then a barking laugh. Tim laughs again, and Darry has to resist the urge to punch him. 

“Curtis,” Tim says, smile stretched across his face. “That kid doesn’t hate you.” 

“You don’t kno-,” 

“I kind of do.” Tim takes a sip of his beer. “Anyone who has ever talked to that kid knows he worships the group you walk on. Jesus, when he was like eleven or twelve, he never shut the fuck up about you. Dally complained about it all the time.” 

Darry sits a moment, heart hammering. “You know I hit him, right?” 

Tim pauses. “Yeah?” 

Darry nods. “The night him and Johnny killed that Soc. He ran away ‘cause I made him leave.” 

Tim sits for a moment, tapping his finger against his lip. “I mean, he’s your brother. Y’all are gonna fight sometimes.” 

Darry shakes his head. “Not like that. Not like that. God, I smacked the shit out of him. And he hit the door, and then he left, and then he was gone.” 

“Curtis,” Tim tries to interrupt. 

“And I thought we were doing better. We haven’t like, yelled at each other in ages. But I found this shit he wrote about me and he thinks I hate him. He thinks I want to send him away, and that I like- wanted to hurt him.” 

“Okay,” Tim says slowly. “Do you?” 

Darry looks up sharply. “What?” 

“Do you hate him? Or want to hurt him?” 

“Of course I fucking don’t. Jesus.” 

Tim shrugs. “Okay. Then I don’t know why you’re freaking out.” 

Darry blinks a few times, the way he knows makes him look stupid ‘cause Paul told him so every time he did it. “He thinks I hate him.” 

“But you don’t,” Tim says, tone similar to one Darry would use with a small child. “So whatever.” 

“It’s not whatever,” Darry says, voice too loud. People are starting to look over. “I can’t- let my kid brother think that I want to ship him off to a boys home. Or that I don’t love him. That’s not- that’s not what I want for him.” 

Tim stares at him for a few moments, eyes considering. “Ponyboy,” he starts slowly, “is kind of a pussy.” 

Darry raises a hand, ready to knock the shit out of him, when Tim holds up both hands in surrender. 

“Hey, no, that’s not- I just mean that he’s like- More sensitive and shit. And from what Curly has said, he tends to take shit pretty personally. So he probably knows that you don’t like, hate him. He might have just felt that you, like, changed. And that was hard for both of y’all.” 

Darry swallows. “I just don’t want to like- fuck him up. I don’t want him to feel like I hate him and that he like- deserves that. I don’t want him to think that I hit him because I- wanted to.” He sighs. “I don’t know.” 

Tim sits for a moment and then scratches the back of his head. “You know that my parents are gone most of the time, right?” 

Darry nods, suddenly feeling very out of place. 

“Okay,” Tim says. “Well, I’ve been in charge of Curly and Angela for like- Fuck, I guess since I was about eleven.” 

“Jesus,” Darry groans. “Shit, I’m sorry.” 

Tim shakes his head, curls flying back and forth. “Nah, that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t want that from you. I’m just saying that I kinda get it.” Tim takes a deep breath, and then another long drink of his beer. 

“They’re both little shits. They’re so fucking annoying.” Tim smiles, and an almost gentle look comes on his face. Darry’s never seen him look like that before, and for a second, he thinks Tim looks quite handsome. “But they’re like- my kids. They’re mine. And I’d fucking kill someone if something really bad ever happened to them.” Tim stares at Darry for a moment. 

“Curly and I fight a ton. Like, a shit ton. And the nastiest shit I’ve ever said, I’ve said it to him. And we don’t talk about our feelings, and I don’t say sorry to him.” 

“Okay,” Darry says slowly. 

“But-,” Tim interrupts. “One time, I said something to him and it was real nasty. Not gonna say it right now honestly. But he didn’t talk to me for like, six days, even after I got him a milkshake from the diner and shit. And I found him sneaking out, which like- isn’t weird for him. But he was holdin’ a big bag.” 

Darry hums in acknowledgment. 

“And I realized he was trying to, like, leave. And that I had really fucked up this time. And so I sucked it up and I said sorry. And we talked a little bit, more than we had in a long time, I think. And I felt less like a piece of shit and he felt less like I was trying to ruin his life. And it’s been better with us since then.” 

Darry looks at Tim for a second. “That’s really good advice actually.” 

Tim looks offended. “What the fuck do you mean by ‘actually?’ I know shit.” 

Darry smiles. “I just mean- thank you.” 

Tim smiles back. “Yeah, whatever, Curtis.” He stands up and loops a few fingers through his belt loop. “Don’t be making this a habit.” 

He starts to walk away before stopping and looking over his shoulder. “Go talk to your brother. Jesus.” 

Darry sits for a few moments longer before grabbing his car keys. Time to go home and face the music. 

Chapter Text

When Darry pulls into the driveway, the house is silent and still. It’s still fairly early, so this is pretty weird, especially since it’s summer. He takes a deep breath in, fingers twitching to put the car into reverse and go back out, but instead he gets out of the car. 

He walks into the house, the door unlocked the way it always is. Soda is sitting on the couch, the television playing some Flintstones reruns. Darry stands for a moment while Soda looks at him, face blank. 

“Hey Pepsi.” 

Soda smiles a little bit but it looks pained. He quickly drops it. “Darryl. What the fuck?” 

“Look, I’m sorry-,” 

“I don’t need you to be sorry, Darry,” Soda hisses as he sits up straight. “I just need you to tell me what’s going on.” 

“I jus-,” 

“No,” Soda interrupts. “No, cause you’ve been weird and quiet for days, so I asked you if something was wrong, and you told me no, and you promised me you weren’t lying. And then you act like you saw a fucking ghost and storm out of the house. You can’t do that, Darry. You scared the shit out of me.” 

“Sodapop,” Darry says, voice quiet in order to match Soda’s hushed tone. “I’m real sorry, okay? You’re right. I shouldn't have done that.” 

Soda nods a little, almost to himself, and blinks the tears that had gathered out of his eyes. “Will you please just tell me what’s happening? I can’t do this shit again. I don’t want a repeat of-,” 

Soda stops himself, and glances up a little at the ceiling. They don’t really talk about that week Pony was gone, not unless Pony brings it up first. They all had a hard time dealing with everything that had happened, but they know how badly it can make their kid brother spiral if it’s talked about in too much detail. 

“Soda,” Darry whispers. “Little buddy, I promise it’s not gonna be that, okay? I just- I found out something that made me kinda upset. But I’m gonna fix it. You just gotta trust me for a little bit.” 

Soda stares at him for a moment, eyes hesitant, before giving a small nod. “You gonna tell me what happened?” 

“Maybe later. But it’s kind of personal, and I don’t just mean for me.” 

Soda points up at the ceiling, eyebrow cocked, and Darry nods. Soda scrunches up his face and opens his mouth to speak, but Darry beats him to it. 

“We’re not gonna fight. Well, I don’t think so. I’m not mad.” 

Soda smiles a little, eyes tired, and Darry is struck with how hard this year has been on Sodapop. He knows him and Pony both rely on him a lot of the time, and now that Sandy’s gone, all he really has is Steve. Darry takes Soda’s hand and squeezes it a little. 

“Just give me a few minutes, okay?” 

“Okay,” Soda nods. “He should be awake.” 

Darry smiles at him and starts to walk up the stairs. He looks back at Soda, who is now flipping through the channels absent-mindedly. 

“Love you.” 

“Love you, Darryl,” Soda responds, an almost-laugh in his voice. “Good luck.” 

When Darry gets to Pony and Soda’s room, the door is open and a light is on. Pony is reading, the thick book balanced on his leg, but he looks up once he realizes someone is in the doorway. 

“Hey,” Darry says. “Can I come in?” 

Pony nods, dog-earing the page he was on. “Yeah.” 

Darry steps into the room, which is pretty clean considering two teenage boys live in here, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. A stack of library books rests on the floor, most of whom he’s seen Pony reading around the house or in the diner the past few days, and can’t help but smile a little. 

His brother is such a dweeb, even if he’d never say it to to his face. 

“I’m sorry for leaving like that earlier. I know that it was weird.” 

“I mean like, yeah, a little. Are you like, pissed at me or something?” 

Darry takes a deep inhale in. “No, baby. I’m just- No, I’m not mad at you.” 

Pony stares at him blankly. “Are you dying?” 

“What?” Darry sputters. “Jesus, Ponyboy. No.” 

“Am I dying?” 

“How could you be dying, and I would know and you wouldn’t?” 

Pony shrugs, a small smile pulling on his lips. “You never know. Weirder things have happened.” 

Darry laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess.” They sit for a moment, Pony playing with the loose threads on his pillowcase. 

“Pony,” Darry starts. Pony’s eyes widen. 

“Oh my God, Sodapop is dying.” 

“Ponyboy, I swear to God.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” 

“Ponyboy,” Darry says. “I have, like, kind of a confession. I guess.” Pony nods and licks his lips nervously. “A few days ago, your notebook fell out of your bag. And I read it.” 

Pony blinks a few times. “Okay?” he says, confusion clear in his voice. “I wouldn’t call my math homework something you can really read but whatever.” 

“No, honey, like your theme. From English.” 

“Oh,” Pony says slowly. “ Oh. Oh crap.” 

Darry nods. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. Major invasion of your privacy, I won’t do something like that again.” 

“I mean, how much did you read?” Pony pulls his knees to his chest, the way he always does when he’s nervous. He looks young like this, with a big sleep tee shirt and even bigger eyes. 

“Longer than I shoulda. I got to the part when-,” Darry stops, chest humming with a hurt feeling. It’s hard to talk when he’s feeling like this, when all he wants to do is go to his room and curl up in his bed. “When you talked about when I hit you.” 

“Darry,” Pony says hurriedly. “I don’t like- I don’t even really think about that. I just wrote about it for my story cause it felt like, important for like-,” 

“I will never do that again. I promise. I shouldn’t have-,” 

“Darry, I know,” Pony interrupts, voice strained. “God, I know. I stopped being mad once I got home. I mean it when I say that I literally never think about it. I don’t think you’re, like, violent or itching to do it again, or whatever.” 

Darry opens his mouth to talk but Pony keeps going. “I know it, and Soda does too. And Johnny told me the same thing literally like less than ten minutes after it happened.” 

“I just,” Darry wiggles his jaw. “I don’t want you to be scared of me.” 

“Jesus Christ, I am not scared of you.” Pony puts his head in his hands. “Darry, you weren’t meant to read that stuff. Like ever. I’m not scared or even like, really upset. Not at you, at least.” 

“You were, though. Upset with me.” 

Pony pauses. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“And you did use to think that stuff. About me not wanting you around. That was something you believed.” 

“Well, not-,” 

“Pony, I don’t hate you. I never wanted to ship you off, that was never even a thought to me.” Darry can feel tears pricking at his eyes, and clenches his jaw as a way to fight them off. “Fuck, I’m so sorry that I made you think that.” 

“No, I know that.” 

Darry looks over at Pony, disbelief in his eyes. Pony is shaking his head, hair flying from how quickly he’s doing that. 

“Pone, you don’t have to lie-,” 

“I’m not lying,” Pony says defensively. “I don’t think that. Not anymore. I was just- I felt really guilty. Over how much you gave up to be here. And you were working a lot and I kept messing up and then you would get upset, and it was just like- It’s been hard 'cause you’re my big brother. And then it felt like you weren’t and it was weird.” 

“Do you,” Darry starts slowly. “Do you still feel like that?” 

Pony goes to shake his head, and then seems to stop. “I mean, it’s still weird sometimes. Mostly that Mom and Dad are gone, and you had to take over. And I still feel like- I don’t know, like guilty, I guess.” 

“You don’t need to feel guilty, Pony. It ain’t your fault.” 

Pony shrugs. “I mean, I just- You just work a lot. And I know you have to and I am like- grateful, for how much you’re doing. I know it sucks. I just still- miss you sometimes. How we used to hang out.” 

Darry swallows hard in order to try and clear the lump that’s formed in his throat. It doesn’t work. “I miss that too, baby.” 

Pony takes a deep and shaky breath in. “I’m sorry about the stuff I said about you. In the theme.” His voice is tearful and small. 

“You don’t need to be sorry, Pone. You didn’t do anything wrong by writing it.” 

“I don’t see you like that, though. I just did when I was like, being stupid. And I was just being mean, and I’m really sorry.”

Darry smiles at him a little. “You’re okay. I get it. I really do. I just need you to know that-,” Darry hesitates. “I love you, buddy. Never been a question. Even when I was real mad, I did.” 

Pony smiles back as he wipes a few tears away from his face. “I know. But thanks.” 

They sit for a few more moments before Pony speaks. “Besides the, like, emotional distress I caused you, did you like the story?” 

Darry laughs, louder than he means to. “Yeah, it was real good.” 

Pony perks up. “You think?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Darry says, not trying to keep the fondness out of his voice. “You’re something real special, Pony.” 

“If you ever wanna read more of it,” Pony says hesitantly. “I can pick out a few parts.” 

Darry smiles. “I’d like that.” 

“Are y’all done? I wanna go to bed,” Soda calls up. 

“It’s not even midnight yet, Soda,” Pony calls back. “Loser.” 

Soda comes running up the stairs, footsteps heavy and pounding, before appearing in the doorway. “Get ready, Ponyboy.” 

“Wait, no-“ Pony gets out, before being tackled off of the bed. 

Soda pins Pony quickly. Pony reaches a single hand up towards Darry. “Help me.” 

Darry hums, and Soda looks over at him. They smile at each other, and Darry wiggles his fingers at Pony the way he always does before tickling him. 

“Oh absolutely not. It’s way too late for that,” Pony says, while trying to wiggle his way out of Sodapop’s hold. Darry reaches towards him. “Uncle, uncle, Soda, uncle.” 

Soda lets go of him and throws his arms up to cheer. Pony sits up and shoves him lightly, and then grins brightly over at Darry. 

“I know I said I was tired,” Soda says. “But that was actually a lie, I was just bored.” Darry snorts. 

“Do we have cake?” Pony says. “I want cake.” 

“I think Steve ate the last bit,” Soda responds. Pony mutters something under his breath, and Darry doesn’t catch it but Soda seems to considering the look he gives him. 

“I’ll go make some more,” Darry says as he stands up. 

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Pony drawls. “But you are the best at it.” 

Soda punches Pony in the ribs lightly. “You just don’t appreciate my genius.” 

Darry and Pony make matching humming noises, and Soda squeaks in offense. “I don’t start my day until a little later tomorrow,” Darry says. “We can go to the diner for breakfast tomorrow, if y’all want.” 

Soda stands up. “Really?” 

“Yeah, why not?” Darry smiles. 

He looks over at Pony, who is staring at them both from his place on the floor. His face is screwed up a little bit, the way it does when he’s being thoughtful, and Darry knows to let him be until he’s ready to speak. 

Pony opens his mouth and then closes it. “I love you guys.” 

“I love you too, Ponyboy,” Soda says, a confused laugh in his voice. “Jesus, what’s with y’all tonight?” 

Pony turns to Darry and smiles. “I love you, Darry.” 

“I know, kid.” Darry feels lighter. “I love you too.”