Chapter Text
Ponyboy stopped breathing one month after Johnny and Dallas died.
Darry had thought he was getting better. Pony had been awfully sick after the rumble, even in the hospital for a few days, but he came home, rested for another week, then was okay once the hearing. The concussion had healed by then.
Of course, there was still the grief. They were all grieving. But Darry hadn’t realized there was something wrong with Pony beyond that.
Shortly after the hearing, almost three weeks after the night of the rumble, Darry heard Ponyboy coughing.
“You okay, little buddy?” he’d asked.
Pony had brushed it off like it was nothing, claiming he was fine. It was just a little cough, nothing to worry about.
Darry noticed the wheeze days later, but Pony brushed it off again. It was just a cough, just a little cold. One pack too many cigarettes. Darry told him to be careful and left it at that.
He hadn’t known it was anything more. He should’ve known.
His youngest brother was looking off that night, which Darry had noticed marked the exact month since their friends had died. He didn’t mention it to his brothers. He didn’t want to upset them any more than they had been. They probably knew anyway.
Throughout dinner, Ponyboy coughed into his arm, his breath coming back in slight wheezes. His hand briefly moved to his chest at one point, but he ate his dinner and drank a full glass of water. At one point, he almost coughed into Soda’s food, for which Soda made a disgusted face at him, holding his plate far away.
Darry and Soda both had asked Pony if he was okay during dinner, though. Both times, Pony said he was. Looking back, Darry wondered if even Pony didn’t realize the extent of his condition.
A half hour after dinner, Darry went to his room to remake the bed with the sheets he’d just washed. For the rest of his life, he would never forget what happened next.
“Shit!” Soda shrieked. “Darry! Darry, come quick!”
Darry’s body moved on its own, his heart in his throat, footsteps pounding against the floorboards as he ran back into the living room. He’d never heard Soda scream like that. A scream so scared, it hadn’t even sounded like his. “What is it?” Darry shouted.
Ponyboy was on the floor. His hands clutched at his chest, hardly a wheeze passing through his blue lips. His terrified eyes flitted to Darry. Slumped on the ground with Pony, Soda held him up by the shoulders, repeating his name over and over, tears pouring down his cheeks. “Breathe, Pone. Breathe for me, honey.”
Soda looked up at his older brother with a horror-stricken gaze. “He’s not breathing, Dar! Help, help him, please.”
Darry sank to his knees, taking Pony’s face in his hands. “Ponyboy. Ponyboy, I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me, baby?”
But Ponyboy’s eyes dimmed, then closed. He didn’t even make one of those awful, wheezing breaths anymore. He really wasn’t breathing at all. He slumped in Sodapop’s arms, and Soda sobbed. “No! Pony, no, no, no, open your eyes! Pony, please!”
“I’m calling help!” Darry shouted, running to the kitchen. As he ran, as he dialed, as he waited, the only thought in his head was Ponyboy, Ponyboy, Ponyboy, no, no, no, please, not him, not him, I can’t lose him, too.
His hands shook as he called 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher said.
“My name is Darrel Curtis. My brother Ponyboy just stopped breathing.” He gave her the address. “We need help fast. Please.”
“Darry! Darry!”
Darrel’s heart leaped into his throat at Soda’s screams. “Please, I have to go help him,” he said into the phone, his gaze blurring with panicked tears. “Are you coming? Please, come quickly.”
“Yes, Mr. Curtis, I’ve dispatched an ambulance. They’ll get to you in a few minutes. Do you know how to perform CPR?”
“I—Yes. Yes. I have to go. Please, hurry.” Darry hung up the phone and dashed back into the living room, kneeling beside his brothers. “What happened?”
Sodapop clutched Ponyboy in his arms. “His heart ain’t beating,” Soda blubbered. “Does that mean he’s dead? That can’t mean he’s dead, right?”
“Fuck!” Darry cried, leaning over his youngest brother. His face was the wrong color. The terror had melted from his slackened face. His little, precious face that hadn’t quite lost all its baby fat. This boy of his who had so much growing to do still, so much potential in the world, so much love yet to receive from his older brothers.
Darry took Pony from Soda’s arms, laying him on the floor. He positioned his hands on Ponyboy’s chest, hoping he wouldn’t damage things much further.
But how could it get any worse? came the terrible thought. He’s already dead.
No.
That spurred him into action. One pump. Another. He was not losing his brother today. Not any day.
Beside him, Soda sobbed and sobbed. Darry was trying his best to tune the awful sound out. He had to focus. He had to bring his baby back.
He heard the door squeak open and clatter shut. “Hey, we—Good Lord Almighty!” a voice yelped.
Darry pushed and pushed, consistently, over and over. Tears ran down his face as he realized the paramedics hadn’t just arrived. It was only Two-Bit and Steve. “C’mon—Pony—C’mon!” Darry grunted.
Two-Bit and Steve were shouting, Soda was crying, and Ponyboy wasn’t making a sound. Was Darry doing this right? He’d never had to do this before. His father had taught him a long time ago, just in case.
Dad, help me, he pleaded. Don’t take him. Don’t take him yet. You taught me this. Help me, help me, help me.
The sound of sirens reached his ears, and within the minute, the front door banged open again. This time, half a dozen paramedics poured in, and one took over CPR for him. Darry scooted back, automatically taking Soda into his arms, staring while someone else pumped Ponyboy's chest, over and over and over.
Something must have happened, because they were suddenly talking, though Darry didn’t process anything they were saying, and after another minute, they were moving him and heading out of the house.
“Where are you taking him?” Darry asked, breathing hard.
“The closest hospital,” one of the paramedics answered. “If you can drive, you can follow us.”
“Is his heart beating?” he asked desperately.
“We got it for a second there. It’s weak. But it’s there. We’re getting him to the hospital quickly, though.”
As Ponyboy was carried into the ambulance, the gang piled into Darry’s truck, their faces ashen.
The entire way to the hospital, Darry felt like he would stop breathing, too. Two-Bit kept his eyes ahead on the road in the passenger seat. In the corner of his eye, Darry saw him wiping away tears. In the back seat, Steve held Soda as he cried like the world had ended.
Darry supposed it had.
His baby died. His Ponyboy. Their Ponyboy.
The best of them.
What if they went home without him? What if they had to bury him like Mom and Dad? Soda would never be the same. Darry wouldn’t either. He remembered the absolute misery they had gone through only a month before. He’d hardly slept. He jumped up every time the phone rang, desperate for news of his little brother.
Ponyboy wasn’t dead then. Of course, the horrid thought of maybe had passed Darry and Sodapop’s minds, but they’d had hope that he was alive and hiding. Soda had assured Darry that was the case, sure that Dallas was hiding something, knowing where Pony and Johnny were.
But he was dead now. Along with Johnny and Dally. The gang couldn’t mourn a third. They just couldn’t.
And Darry couldn’t mourn his own brother. Grieving his parents had been hard enough, but Ponyboy was his now. His responsibility. His charge. His entire world. Both Ponyboy and Sodapop were.
He couldn’t lose half of his world. Half of his heart. Half of his soul. He couldn’t, he couldn’t. He gripped the steering wheel harder.
But, wait. Pony’s heart had beat again, right? Did that mean it would keep going? Or would he flatline again in the ambulance? The hospital? Had the paramedic told him Pony’s heart kept beating, or that it just had for a moment? He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember? He was supposed to remember.
Two-Bit’s hand landed on Darry’s shoulder. “One minute at a time, Superman,” he murmured, squeezing. “We’ll get there. They’ll know what to do. They’ll save him.”
Darry knew Two wasn’t lying, but even Two-Bit couldn’t know if that was the truth, either. How long had Pony’s heart stopped beating for? Four minutes? Five? He hadn’t been keeping track. How long could someone’s heart stop before there was no chance of it beating again?
When they got to the hospital, Darry begged the receptionist for news on Ponyboy. But since he’d been taken in so recently, there was no news. He and the others were left to sit in the waiting room and do just that. Wait.
Sodapop cried for a full hour. Darry didn’t even know people could cry that long. Even when Mom and Dad died, Soda and Pony had cried on and off, and Ponyboy still woke from nightmares in tears, but they never lasted as long as this. Praying his brother’s tears would stop soon, Darry cradled Sodapop like a baby until he fell asleep.
It helped, thinking only about Soda. It was something for Darry to do. Something for him to fix. Darry was a fixer. If he could help Soda sleep, dry his tears, give him some amount of comfort, that was what he needed to do. Darry couldn’t stand the inability to do anything.
He couldn’t stand that there was nothing he could fix for Ponyboy.
So he fixed his attention on Sodapop again. He softly hummed a lullaby their mother had loved, rocking Soda gently.
One of his very earliest memories was the day Soda was born. He’d been so nervous holding him for the first time, especially when Soda cried. Darry remembered panicking, his eyes tearing up, too, until his mother took the baby back.
He could still see that little baby in Sodapop’s face. He was grown now, sure, but maybe it was the way he was cradled in Darry’s arms. Darry hadn’t held him like this since Soda was a toddler. Even then, he hadn’t fit well into Darry’s arms—Darry, who had only been six. It’d been much easier to hold and take care of Ponyboy when he was born, since Darry had been a good deal older then.
He looked into Soda’s tear-streaked face. His puffy, closed eyes.
For the past ten months, the time since their parents died, Pony had always been the hardest of his brothers to handle. Soda could look after himself, fight back well, and was street smart. Ponyboy talked back, came home after curfew, and found himself on the wrong side of the socs.
But that difference almost made him forget his equal responsibility for Soda. This boy who’d only just turned seventeen. Still a child. Still Darry’s.
He would still, always be Darry’s, even if Ponyboy left them tonight.
Darry felt his lower lip wobble.
But what if Pony did live? The court hearing declaring him still in Darrel’s custody had only been the week before, but their social worker would find out about this, too. What if the doctor had been wrong? What if Darry could have prevented this? The state would take Pony away.
“Hey, Darry?” Steve said softly. Darry looked up. “I’ll watch him for a sec. Two-Bit wants to talk to you.”
Numbly, Darry gingerly passed Soda off to Steve, stood, and followed Two-Bit around the corner.
When they were out of earshot of the others, Two asked. “How ya feelin’, Darry?”
In Soda’s absence, Darry finally broke. He had to be strong when his brothers were around. It honestly wasn’t his choice. He just dammed up around them. But here, when it was just him and Two-Bit, he let himself weep.
“He was dead, Two. He was dead in my arms. His little heart stopped. He wasn’t breathin’ no more.” He buried his face in his hands and hiccuped. “He’s gone, Two. I couldn’t save him. I was supposed to—supposed to save him, but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ponyboy.”
Two-Bit’s hands fastened around his shoulders. “We don’t know that, Darry. They could still bring him back. If he was gone-gone, they would tell us. They haven’t told us anything yet. You did everything right. You did all you could. It’s up to them now.”
Darry shook his head and sobbed. He didn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed. He was spent, grieving, and feeling like he wanted to die, too.
No you don’t, sounded the last coherent thought in his mind. You have Soda. You have to take care of Soda.
Darry swallowed his cries and wiped his face with his sleeve, trying to compose himself. A few more tears fell anyway. He clapped Two-Bit on the shoulder in return. “Yeah,” he choked out hoarsely. “Okay.”
They went back to sit with the others and waited for another awful thirty minutes before a middle-aged man walked down the hall and called out, “Family of Ponyboy Curtis?”
Darry shot to his feet and staggered forward. Two-Bit and Steve were close behind. “My name’s Darrel Curtis. I’m his older brother and his legal guardian.” His throat felt like it might close. “Please, tell me he’s alive.”
When the doctor gave a small smile, Darry felt like he might collapse or cry with relief. Miraculously, he stayed standing and kept his eyes dry.
“His heart stopped another time in the ambulance, but the paramedics were able to get him back. We’re giving him some extra oxygen, but I expect he’ll be able to breathe fine on his own by tomorrow.”
Steve sighed in relief, and Two-Bit hugged Darrel around the shoulders quickly.
“I don’t understand,” Darry said. “He was wheezing so bad, and then he just stopped breathing. His breathing wasn’t too good this past week anyway, but it wasn’t like that. Nothing like that’s ever happened to him before.”
“Well, he came in last month after being in a fire. He wasn’t physically injured, but we hadn’t realized how much smoke he’d breathed in. This was likely a result of that.”
“Will he get better?”
“If you’re asking about him coming home soon, yes,” the doctor said. “He should recover, get back to school soon, and go about his daily life. But the smoke inhalation may have long-term effects. He’s definitely developed asthma, and yesterday was an extreme attack. That might never go away. He might have shortness of breath problems for the rest of his life.”
“He’s a runner.” Darry didn’t know why he said that, but it felt important right then. “He runs on the track team. Can he still do that?”
“I’d advise against it,” the doctor said. “At least until we figure out the extent of his lung health. Does he smoke often?”
Darry nodded. “I’ll make him stop. I’ll do anything.”
The doctor agreed. “That would be best. It’s just not safe with the state his lungs are in. And like I said, I’d advise against too much physical exertion, especially in these first weeks home. And he’ll be given an inhaler to help him through the small attacks that are sure to come. But in more extreme cases like last night, should they happen again, that’s a hospital call. But I’m sure you know that.”
“Was there anything I could’ve done?”
“To prevent this?” the doctor asked. “No. Maybe things could’ve turned out differently if you’d caught the symptoms of his asthma, but since it’s so newly developed, I wouldn’t have expected you to. Even if you had noticed that and took him in to us, Ponyboy might still have had that life-threatening attack at home, even if we’d given him asthma treatments before. I’m saying all this because I need you to know it’s not your fault, Darrel. You did everything right. But sometimes, even then, things still go wrong.”
He offered Darrel one more smile. “He’ll be alright. You and your brother are allowed to visit him now, too. Your friends, too. Room 424. Just keep quiet, okay?”
“Thank you,” Darry said, relief coursing through his chest. He took the doctor’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Thank you for saving his life. Thank you.”
The three of them went back to sit, slumping in relief. Steve hid his face, his shoulders shaking. Sodapop was still asleep on the bench.
Darry bent down, laying his hand on Soda’s back and gently calling his name until he stirred. He should’ve woken Soda right when the doctor came, but he didn’t think about it, so anxious to hear the news that it was the only thing that mattered.
“Hey, Pepsi-cola,” he murmured, stroking his brother’s hair. Please don’t cry, Soda, he thought desperately. I don’t think I can take it again if you do.
“Huh? Dar?” Soda rubbed his eyes and sat up. Even sitting down, he swayed a bit.
Darrel secured him around the shoulders. “Careful there, little buddy. Why don’t we get some fluids in you? Bet you’re dehydrated somethin’ awful.”
“What?” The events of earlier seemed to crash into Soda like a truck. His eyes flooded with dismay, then panic, then agony. “Ponyboy!” Sobs immediately began to rise in his throat, and he made an awful gasping noise. “Darry—Darry, please, tell me—tell me he didn’t—he isn’t—” Soda broke off into the worst keening sound Darry had ever heard. He pulled Soda into his chest, desperate to make it stop.
“He’s alive, Soda. They brought him back.”
Soda wept into Darry’s chest. “Oh,” he gasped. “Oh. Oh, Pony.”
“He’s gonna live,” Darry told him. “His lungs were hurt from that fire, but we didn’t know. He’ll come home with us soon, though. He’s got asthma now, but we’re gonna help him.”
“I need to see him!” Soda gripped Darry’s shirt, looking at him with glistening, frantic eyes.
“Yeah, we can go see him, little buddy.” He helped Soda up. “You two coming?” Darry asked the others.
“You both go first,” Two-Bit said, waving them along and smiling through his tears. “We’ll catch up with you soon.”
Darry and Soda ran to the hospital room.
Ponyboy was lying on a white bed, his face regained of color. There was an oxygen mask over his face, but he was, without a doubt, alive. His breath fogged the mask, the most relieving sight Darry had ever seen. He and Soda rushed to either side of the bed.
Soda started to bawl again, despite Darry trying to shush him. Soda clasped Ponyboy’s hand, and the kid’s eyelids fluttered open. “Huh? So—Soda?” His voice sounded awful. Like he’d smoked four packs in a single day. But he was speaking, and that was all Darry cared about.
“You were dead, Pony!” Soda cried, cupping Ponyboy’s face in his hand, careful not to jostle his mask. “You were dead!”
“I’m here, Soda,” Pony said, his voice raspy. He coughed a few times, drawing in wheezy breaths that made Darry’s heart sink. “Quit your wailin’.”
On Pony’s other side, Darry reached out to play with his bleached hair. It was growing out, the roots beginning to show his natural russet hair color again. Ponyboy relaxed into his touch. “We thought we’d lost you, little colt,” Darry said softly. “We’re so glad you’re here with us.”
He and Soda embraced Ponyboy, and they all just held each other for a few minutes.
“What happened?” Pony finally asked.
“Your lungs got pretty messed up from that fire,” Darry explained. “Buddy, you should’ve told us you were hurting.”
“I didn’t know,” said Ponyboy. “I thought it would go away.”
Darry squeezed the back of Pony’s neck and pulled back from the hug. “I don’t know if it will, baby.”
Pony’s eyes lit with confusion and fear. “What?”
“You’ve got asthma, honey,” Soda said, hiccuping. “Your lungs might not be as good as they used to. But you’re gonna be fine. We’ll make sure you’re fine.”
“Oh,” Ponyboy whispered, looking down at his lap.
“Two-Bit and Steve are here, too,” Darry said. “They’re worried sick over you. Do you want to see them?”
“Yeah, guess they can come in,” Pony mumbled. “I charge a fee, though.”
Darry and Soda laughed tearfully. Darry ruffled his hair. “Heck, even dying didn’t take away your sassy mouth.”
“I ain’t sassy.”
Soda chuckled, gathering Pony into his arms. “Come here, you little sass monster.”
“Can we come in?” Steve’s voice sounded from the door.
Pony looked over at them and managed a smile under his transparent mask. “Heya.”
Steve and Two-Bit rushed in, talking over each other.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ponyboy managed, coughing again a few times. Darry stiffened for each one, waiting for the sound of Pony drawing a breath again. He did.
The nurses soon came into the room, deeming Pony ready to have the mask off, but telling him and his brothers to call for them if he had trouble breathing again.
“When can we take him home?” Darry asked.
“We’d like to keep him overnight and through the morning,” one said. “But then you’ll be free to come back and bring him home.”
“Can we stay a little longer?” Darry asked.
The nurse nodded. “Given the circumstances, yes. I’m sure you all have been worried sick. But he’s in good hands.”
Two-Bit and Steve said they would wait in the lobby for whenever Darry and Soda were ready to go back home. Pony and Soda fell asleep quickly, Soda’s upper half draped over the hospital bed on Pony’s lap. Darry watched both of his brothers sleep.
He liked how peaceful they looked—how after even a hard day, every worry was gone from their faces.
Darry never told them, but he checked on them every night since Mom and Dad had died. Just cracked the door open, made sure they were asleep, then headed to bed himself.
Darry carefully sat on Pony’s other side, resting his chin on top of the boy’s head. He reached out to lay his hand on Sodapop’s hair. Neither of them stirred. They’d always been heavy sleepers.
But he could hear the wheeze that rattled in Ponyboy’s chest as he slept.
“Oh, Ponykid,” Darry sighed. “I’ll never let anything hurt you again. I promise.” He gently rubbed Soda’s ungreased hair. “You, too, Pepsi-cola. I’ll always protect you. Both of you. No matter what.”