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The house was quiet. An almost eery, unsettling quiet where you could hear the well-loved structure creak with every little gust of wind from outside. Then again, it was an ungodly hour of the night, almost one in the morning. But that wasn’t making Darry any less restless than he’s been for the past, what, month at this point? It’s all gone to shit, if it hasn’t already been since their parent’s death almost a year ago already. And there wasn’t much to do about it but grip his coffee mug and sit at the kitchen table, staring into space thinking about what he could do to make it better. If there even was anything to make better.
What’s done is done, anyway right? Dally and Johnny are dead, and they’ve been dead for a while already. There’s nothing to do about it now except try to move on. Except, that’s what Darry tells himself, and what he wishes to tell Ponyboy. But, if he was being honest, Darry was worried it would send his youngest brother into some sort of breakdown if he even mentioned their names. Ever since he became lucid enough to head back to school, Pony acts like some sort of robot, stuck in some never-ending programmed cycle of sleeping, eating, breathing, then repeating. When he wakes up, he hardly spares a word to his brothers, and Darry knows it eats at Soda every second. Then, when Darry gets home at the end of the day, Pony is just sitting in front of the tv, staring at the screen but not actually watching. Occasionally, his homework will sit out in front of him, done yet incorrect for the most part, but Darry tries not to bug him about it too much. After all, he hasn’t gotten any notes or phone calls home from his teachers, so he doesn’t think too deeply about it. There’s a time and a place for getting on Ponyboy about his homework again, and now was not it. Darry knows that much, at least.
What he doesn’t know is how to get through to Pony. He’s tried to get Sodapop to intervene, to try and talk to him before they go to sleep. But Pony has been turning in so early these days, sometimes earlier than eight-thirty. Soda, who has never been one to go to bed before nine, even as a kid, is never able to talk to his brother anymore because he’s knocked out before Soda can even change into his pajamas. And talking to him in the morning is a lost cause too, because they have to basically drag him out of bed every morning just to get him to school at an appropriate hour and they feel too bad to wake him up on weekend mornings before they have to go to work.
Darry would try to get him a therapist if he could, but between their tight budget and the fact that Pony would probably blow a fuse if the idea was even remotely brought up, that’s not really an option. They’re still trying to recover from Pony’s previous hospital stay, and Darry would really enjoy to afford groceries for his family.
Sighing with frustration, Darry slams his mug down and runs his hands through his hair, resting against the table in defeat. What is he going to do with this kid?
Darry doesn’t even realize said kid walked into the kitchen until he’s mumbling a hello. He raises his head to see Ponyboy retrieve a glass from the cupboard and stand in front of the sink.
"Hey, P.B. You okay? What are you doing?” Darry asks, trying not to let the surprise be too evident in his voice. He rests his hands onto the kitchen table and slides his mug out of the way a bit.
"Uhm, just getting water…" Pony says, looking at Darry weirdly. He was already filling the glass with water, was it not obvious?
"Right," Darry smiles awkwardly, looking down at his hands. He picks at his finger nails as he scolds himself for being so meek around his younger brother who he’s known for his whole fourteen-year existence. He wants to try to get through to the kid, not treat him like a stranger! Darry watched as he gulped his water down, apparently as thirsty as someone stranded in the desert, wondering desperately how to talk to him. Maybe he could catch him in the morning, he goes into work late anyway, or-
Wait.
He’s right there, now, you idiot.
By the time Darry comes to this realization, Pony’s already halfway down the hall. He jumps out of his chair, and practically whisper yells to get Pony’s attention. He seriously does not want to wake up Soda, God knows he needs the sleep just as much as anyone else in this household.
"Pone, wait, I gotta talk to you about something for a second." Darry says, peaking out of the doorway to the kitchen, and he can imagine Pony’s eyes roll even in the darkened hallway. He pivots back around on the ball of his foot and lets out a huff before walking back down the hall, and Darry had half the mind to get onto him about the attitude, but he knew that would only do more harm than good.
"What?" Pony asks, leaning back against the wall facing Darry who was leaning against the kitchen table, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Darry almost sent him back to bed, knowing full well this wasn’t the most ideal time to talk about something so heavy. But it’s about time to just rip off the bandaid.
"Pony, I wanna know how to help you." Darry began, crossing his arms over his chest. He tried to make his voice sound as soft as possible, so that Pony wouldn’t get defensive, but he wasn’t sure it was working with the way his brother’s expression fell.
"Darry, if this is about my grades, I’m-" Ponyboy began, crossing his arms just as Darry did and pushed himself off the wall.
"It’s not," Darry cut him off. "Look, Pone, I know you’ve been grieving, we all are, but-"
"My God, Darrel," Pony uttered exasperatedly, making to stomp out of the kitchen, but Darry grabbed his arm before he could get anywhere.
"But," Darry continued, "You’re acting like a zombie and I want to help you. We want to help you. But we can’t help you if you don’t talk to us."
"I’m fine, Dar’. I’m handling it." Ponyboy spat, trying to rip his arm back from Darry, but he didn’t budge.
"Handling it? You hardly say ten words to us per day." Darry responded. He tried to disregard the way Pony’s words bit, but he couldn’t help the annoyance that seeped into his voice. “You can’t spend the rest of your life sleeping and staring at that damn TV, Ponyboy!"
Pony narrowed his eyes. "Would you rather me run wild and get arrested by the cops every night? I never know what you want from me anymore, Darry. Just let me go to bed." He tried to pull his arm away again but Darry wouldn’t let him. "I’m being serious, Darry, stop it!"
"What I want from you is to stop living in a vacuum, Ponyboy! They’re gone, and we can’t do anything about it." Darry responded, voice low and vexed. Pony stared at him for a second, eyes wide and filled with hurt.
"You better shut up, Darrel," Pony spat, voice raising. "Let go!" He demanded, resorting to slapping Darry’s arm, trying to push him away. Tears sprang into his eyes, and whether it was from frustration or grief, Ponyboy couldn’t tell. He just wanted to go back to bed and sleep his sorrows away.
Darry’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth formed into a frown, and he tried to ignore the new found pain in his arm. Pony was struggling in his grip like an animal in a trap, but he knew that if he let him go, he’d probably never get to hold him again. So instead, he drew Ponyboy in closer, trying to ignore the way he was tugging and hitting him.
"Stop, Darry!" Pony shouted, although it was somewhat muffled by Darry’s chest as he held Pony against him. He tried desperately to push himself away, this was all too much; suffocating and overwhelming. Pony tried to hit his chest, he probably even tried to step on his feet once or twice, but he didn’t have any shoes on and his feet were smaller than Darry’s so it probably didn’t do much. Either way, Darry wouldn’t succumb to the blows.
"Pone, calm down, please," Darry said, his voice forlorn as Pony’s attacks persisted. Ponyboy let out a guttural sound in response that only broke Darry’s heart more, but the hits seemed to slow down the tiniest bit.
"That’s it, kiddo, relax," Darry soothed, and Pony finally gave in to his embrace. He didn’t exactly wrap his arms around Darry but he dropped his arms as much as he could and dropped his head onto his chest. "It’s okay, you’re okay," Darry tried to comfort him, and ran his hands up and down Pony’s back. He rested his chin on the top of Pony’s head and felt as his body shuddered with the effort of holding in his emotion.
You don’t have to be afraid to cry in front of me, Darry wanted to say, but instead he just settled to continue whispering sweet nothings and rubbing his back.
But it soon seemed to be too much to hold in anyway, and Ponyboy broke out into sobs. Terrible, raw cries echoed through the house and it was a wonder Sodapop hasn’t woken up by now.
"I’m sorry," Pony muttered through his cries and Darry only held him closer.
"It’s okay, honey." Darry simply responded, listening as Pony settled down little by little. After another two or three minutes, his sobs reduced to sniffles and leaking tears every now and then. Ponyboy lifted his head from where it was buried in his brother’s shoulder, his face red and grief-stricken.
"I’m sorry," Pony repeated, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. He tried to look down, too ashamed to look Darry in the eyes, but he caught his chin to make eye contact.
"You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Pony, you hear me? Nothing.” Darry said firmly, and Pony nodded, looking away. "Let’s just go to bed now, okay? It’s getting late."
Ponyboy only nodded again, and Darry wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him to his own bedroom. It looked like Pony was about to fall asleep standing up, and Darry wouldn’t blame him. He really didn’t want to be without his brother tonight and Ponyboy didn’t argue when they passed right by his shared bedroom with Soda.
Ponyboy practically collapsed onto the bed and attached himself to Darry like a koala when they were both under the covers.
"Dar’, am I going crazy?" Pony asked in the quiet of the bedroom after a second.
"What?" Darry asked incredulously. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because you’re right. I’m a zombie, I don’t know what’s wrong with me." Ponyboy told him, voice quivering.
"Pone… you’ve been through more in this past year than anyone should go through in their entire life. You aren’t crazy. You’re just mourning in your own way."
Darry could hear Pony let out a shaky breath and nod against his shoulder.
"Thanks, Darry," Pony said softly.
Darry squeezed his shoulder in response, finally settling into the pillow to crash for the night. Until he was once again interrupted by the bedroom door opening.
"Guys?" A voice mumbled, and Darry recognized it as Sodapop. He picked his head up from the pillow to see him standing in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep. Pony did the same beside him.
"What’s going on?" Soda asked, walking over to the side of the bed. Neither of them asked questions when he made room for himself on the other side of Ponyboy and got under the covers.
"Nothing, Pepsi. Get some sleep, you two." Darry mumbled, burrowing his head into the pillow.
"You okay, Pone?" Darry heard Soda ask.
"Yeah, So’. I’m good."
Finally.