Archive of Our Own

1.

The Curtis house was quiet at night.

Not in a bad way. It was just different. Too different. There was no arguing behind the walls, no sharp sounds of skin-hitting-skin. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of crickets chirping by the window.

Ponyboy was lying stiff on the unfamiliar bed, blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. He stared at the ceiling, counting the glow-in-the-dark stars that someone had stuck up there a long time ago. The colors were pretty faded due to time, but Pony could vaguely make them out: one blue, one yellow, and one green. One was slowly peeling off, threatening to fall on top of Soda next to him. 

The sheets smelled like a mix of laundry detergent and something else – probably Soda’s cologne. It smelled good, even though Pony couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. He hated that he liked it. He hadn’t meant to like anything yet.

“You cold, Pony?” A voice from beside him broke him out of his thoughts. Soda, of course.

“‘M alright,” Pony whispered. He was scared of what Darry might do if he was the reason he woke up. He wouldn’t take any chances. 

“Golly, I’m freezin’!” Soda exclaimed, kicking the covers off of him and standing up. “Lemme run and grab another blanket. Y’need anything?”

A family. To not be scared all the time. A break from his own mind, he thought.

Instead of saying any of that though, he just shook his head. 

Soda skipped out of the room like it wasn’t midnight. Pony worried for a second that he would wake Darry up, but he figured Darry wouldn’t do anything to Soda. The guy was too charismatic to have anything bad happen to him. Pony heard his loud footsteps coming back down the hallway. 

“I’m back!” Soda said in a sing-song voice, tossing a quilt over Pony.

“We used to fight over this thing when we were little,” Soda whispered, crawling back under the covers. “Darry always tried to steal it, even though it was my birthday gift. I used to wake up with him wrapped in it like a burrito.” He smiled, but it was more like a wistful memory than a joke.

They were quiet a long time after that. Just breathing, the two of them. It should’ve been weird. It kind of was. But it also wasn’t. Soda’s presence made the room feel less like a stranger’s space and more welcoming. Kind of like a sleepover.

Pony didn’t know how to share a bed with someone else. Not like this. Not without pretending he was asleep so they’d leave. In his other placements, he normally just got put on the floor if there wasn’t enough room space. But Soda wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head.

Pony risked a glance at his face.

He looked calm. Open. Not watching. Not waiting. Just there.

The door creaked open. It was Darry.

“You two alright?” he poked his head in. 

“Just peachy, D,” Soda answered with a grin.

“Couldn’t tell with all the prancin’ and dancin’ in the hallway,” Darry grumbled. Pony stiffened. 

It was instinct. Darry’s voice didn’t even sound mad, not really, but his gut twisted anyway, like he was already in trouble. Like he had to make himself smaller before something worse happened.

Soda must’ve felt it, because his hand slid under the blanket and gave Pony’s wrist a light squeeze. Just for a second. 

Darry lingered in the doorway a little longer than Pony liked. “Alright,” he said finally, quieter this time. “Get some sleep, okay? G’night Pony.”

“Night,” Pony croaked. 

The door clicked shut, and the hallway light disappeared with it.

They were in the dark again.

Soda shifted so he was lying on his side, facing Pony. “Sorry ‘bout him. He’s a real good guy, just sounds like a grizzly bear when he talks.”

Pony blinked.

“I think it’s ‘cause he drinks his coffee black. Real psycho behavior.”

That made Pony huff through his nose. Almost a laugh.

Soda smiled at the sound. “There it is.”

A pause.

“You’re safe here, y’know,” Soda said, always one to bite the bullet and say the truth. He didn’t say it like it was some big announcement – just like it was true. “You don’t gotta jump every time someone walks in the room.”

Pony swallowed hard. “I don’t.”

“Okay,” Soda said. He didn’t sound like he believed him. But he also didn’t sound mad about it.

They laid still again for a while. Pony’s eyes drifted up toward the stars on the ceiling. He kept waiting for the green one to fall.

Soda broke the silence first. “You wanna know somethin’ dumb?”

Pony didn’t answer, but Soda told him anyway. “When we were little and we couldn’t sleep, Darry used to let me sleep in his bed. I’d get all tangled up in the sheets, and he’d grumble about it, but he never told me no. Even when he was tired. Even when he had school the next day. I think I wore him down over the years.”

Pony couldn’t picture it. Darry without any walls up. Darry with soft edges. That was an entirely different Darry, not one Pony had met yet in his first week of living with the two brothers. 

“He always made me feel safe. Even when I wasn’t,” Soda said. 

That part, Pony couldn’t really understand either. How could a person make anyone feel safe?

His fingers curled in the blanket.

Soda watched him for a second, then turned onto his back again. “Anyway,” he said, voice a little sleepier now, “you can always wake me up if you can’t sleep. Or if you need to talk. Or if you just want someone around.”

Pony smiled a little. It was weak, but it was real.

And then, just as Soda was about to drift off, he murmured it. He probably wasn’t even thinking when he said it, but the words struck Pony’s chest like a bullet.

“Love you, kid.”

Pony didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The words hung there in the dark like smoke.

Pony tried to force the words up, tried to make his lips form them, but they stayed stuck. 

The moment passed.

His mouth wouldn’t work. His chest hurt with the effort of not saying anything at all.

Instead, after a long pause, he whispered, “Thanks.”

It was quiet. Pathetic. 

But Soda squeezed his arm again, gently, just once. Like he understood. Like he knew what Pony meant to say.

And that was worse somehow. Or maybe better. Pony couldn’t tell. It was all going too fast.

He blinked hard, staring at the ceiling until the green star finally gave up and floated softly down between them.

2. 

It started with a headache.

Not the kind you get from not drinking enough water or sitting in the sun too long. This one was sharp and mean, throbbing behind his eyes like a persistent wave. By third period, Pony’s stomach had joined the conversation, twisting every time he stood up too fast. He didn’t say anything, of course. People didn’t care when you were sick. They cared when you were weak.

By lunch, he couldn’t eat more than a bite of his turkey sandwich. The noise in the cafeteria felt too loud, the lights too bright. But he kept his mouth shut and tried to look normal. That was the key – if you looked normal, people didn’t ask questions.

But in English class, the room tilted sideways. He blinked, and the board doubled. When he tried to write, the pen slipped right out of his fingers.

“Ponyboy?” Mrs. Thompson crouched next to him, voice gentle but worried. “You okay?”

He opened his mouth. No sound came out.

He blinked, and all of a sudden he was lying down on a cot in the nurse’s office. She handed him a cold washcloth for his forehead and told him to drink some water, then picked up the phone.

“There’s some sorta bug goin’ ‘round, but you’ll be okay, baby. I’m callin’ your – your guardian,” She said in a thick Southern drawl. 

“No –” Pony tried to sit up, panicked. The movement made his head swim. “Don’t call ‘im. He’s at work. He’ll be mad.”

He’d been living with Darry and Soda for a month so far, so he knew the score. He knew the bills were a major point of contention, and that Darry couldn’t afford to take a half-day, especially not now that he had an extra mouth to feed. 

The nurse frowned. “You need to go home, sugar. He’ll understand.”

She obviously didn’t know Darrel Curtis; the guy didn’t understand anything other than pure fact and hard work. Darry could be coughing up a lung and still show up to roof a house if it meant keeping the lights on and bills paid.

“Please don’t,” Pony whined. 

“Aw, honey,” The nurse pressed the back of her hand to Pony’s forehead. “I already called him.”

Pony didn’t say anything. Just stared at the wall while his stomach churned. 

Darry showed up twenty minutes later, the front office buzzing with whispers about ‘that Curtis boy’. He walked in like a thundercloud – shirt covered in dirt from roofing all morning, jaw clenched, expression unreadable. His hair was windblown like he’d driven too fast. Pony’s stomach sank further. He looked down at his shoes, suddenly sure that Darry was furious.

“Let’s go, Pony. Can you walk?” he asked as he walked in, looking Pony over.

Pony nodded mutely, wincing at the pain that shot through his head. 

Darry’s eyes softened a little. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.” He put an arm around Pony and helped him walk, slowly, to the car. They were a sight for sore eyes in the hallway — pale, stumbling kid and dirt-streaked brother — but Darry didn’t seem to care, so Pony tried not to either.

The ride home was quiet. Darry didn’t turn on the radio. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other gripping his knee, like he needed something to hold onto. Pony pressed his forehead against the cool window glass and breathed slowly, hoping he wouldn’t throw up in Darry’s truck. That would really do it.

Halfway home, Darry finally spoke. His voice was rough around the edges, but not angry.

“You shoulda told somebody sooner if you were feelin’ sick.”

Pony swallowed. “Didn’t wanna bother nobody.”

Darry huffed a breath, barely a sound. “Ain’t a bother. You ain’t a stray dog, y’know.”

That made Pony flinch a little. He hadn’t thought of himself in that way exactly, but it still hit close to home. Darry could always see right through him somehow.

They didn’t talk the rest of the way. Pony counted mailboxes, power lines. Tried to keep his stomach from flipping. He closed his eyes and leaned against the window, praying that a hole would appear in the passenger seat of the truck and swallow him whole. It didn’t work, though – before he knew it, they were pulling into the driveway.

Darry helped him to the couch and propped him up on one of the pillows that had probably been through hell and back. He disappeared for a minute and then came back with Soda’s quilt and a wet rag for his forehead. 

“Just relax. I’ll get you some aspirin and water.”

Pony didn’t argue, just closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow.

Darry came back with two pills and a glass of water, crouched next to the couch as Pony sat up slow. Pony’s hands trembled just a little as he reached for the glass.

“Careful,” Darry muttered, steadying his wrist.

Once Pony had taken the medicine, Darry sat on the edge of the coffee table, watching him.

“Think you caught that bug goin’ around,” he said. “Soda said half the kids at the DX have it. Should pass in a day or two.”

Pony nodded. He felt like he was underwater.

“Poor kid. You look like hell,” Darry put the back of his hand against Pony’s cheek. Pony leaned into the cool touch. 

They stayed like that for a bit before Darry stood again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna make some soup. That sound good?”

Pony nodded again.

“And I’ll call Soda. Let him know what’s goin’ on.”

“Don’t,” Pony croaked quickly. “He’ll worry.”

Darry looked at him for a beat, then nodded. “Alright. You got me today.”

Pony blinked at him. That sentence landed in his chest in a strange way – heavier than it should have been. Like a promise he wasn’t expecting.

Later, after a bowl of soup and a few hours of drifting in and out of sleep, Pony stirred again. 

Darry was still in the room, reading the paper with his feet propped on the table. He had changed out of his work clothes – now in an old T-shirt and sweats – and there was a cup of coffee cooling on the side table.

“You still feelin’ lousy?” he asked without looking up.

Pony nodded, then stopped, because it made his head hurt. “A little.”

“Scared me today,” Darry said plainly. “When the school called, I thought something worse’d happened.”

Pony swallowed hard. “Didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Darry folded the paper, not unkindly. “Just don’t hide it next time. You don’t gotta act tough with me, savvy?”

That was when the words almost slipped out – I love you.

He wanted to say it. He really did. But his throat closed up around them, the same way it always did.

Instead he said, “Thanks for comin’ to get me. I know – I know it ain’t easy. Sorry”

Darry just shrugged. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Told Bill my kid was sick and he let me off with no fuss.”

Pony blinked at him.

And maybe Darry hadn’t meant to say that – my kid . Maybe he had. Either way, it settled over Pony like a warm blanket.

He didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t have to. They’d both already said it.

3.

The sky was clear that Saturday morning. It was just warm enough for Pony to sweat under his jersey, but not enough to slow him down or tire him out. His nerves buzzed under his skin as he stretched, surrounded by the usual noise of the track meet – shouts, whistles, sneakers against the ground, the occasional thud of a javelin hitting dirt. It was his first real meet since moving in with Darry and Soda, and he wanted – no, needed – to do well. He needed to win . 

He scanned the bleachers once before the race. Darry was easy to spot, tall and broad-shouldered in his black shirt, arms crossed as he leaned against the rail. Soda was next to him, practically bouncing in his seat, grinning and waving when he caught Pony’s eye. Pony gave a small, quick wave back, then turned to face the starting blocks. He could feel Darry watching him. It was sharp, focused attention, like he was willing Pony to succeed by sheer force.

Pony crouched low, fingers splayed against the track, spikes digging into rubber.

“On your marks!”

The world narrowed as Pony’s eyes squinted.

“Set!”

He held his breath.

The gun cracked through the air.

Pony took off.

In that instant, everything faded away. The nerves, the pressure, hell, even the Curtises. There was just his body, gliding across the track, passing runners left and right. The wind pushed against him. His legs ached. His arms pumped. The finish line moved closer, closer, even closer until –

Until he crossed it. First.

His foot hit the line and he stumbled into a jog, chest heaving, legs trembling with leftover adrenaline. Someone clapped him on the back. A man shouted his time. But none of it really sank in until he heard Soda yell.

“Ponyboy, you freakin’ legend!”

Pony could hardly register his legs moving as he jogged towards the bleachers, where Soda and Darry were standing. 

Soda practically tackled him; Pony barely had time to brace himself before Soda reached over and pulled him into a headlock, ruffling his sweaty hair.

“You were flyin’! I was screamin’ so loud I think I bruised my vocal cords!”

Pony laughed breathlessly, pushing at Soda’s arm. “Get off me, you nutjob.”

Darry was there a moment later, not yelling like Soda, but his grin was wide, proud. He clapped Pony on the back hard enough to make him stumble again. Darry could sometimes be rough without meaning to be, but Pony didn’t mind too much. 

“Nice work, kid. You really smoked ‘em.”

“Thanks,” Pony huffed, still catching his breath.

“You okay?” Darry asked, eyes scanning his face. “Not dizzy? You didn’t push too hard?”

“I’m good,” Pony said. “Real good.”

“Alright,” Darry said, voice warm. “You ran smart. That was a hell of a finish.”

That part stuck with Pony. Darry didn’t just say he was fast. He said he was smart. He’d used his head, for once. That mattered more than he expected.

They had to wait a while for the rest of his teammates to finish, and for the awards ceremony. Pony got a little gold medal that Soda made a big show of polishing on his shirt. When it was finally over, the three of them walked back to the truck. Pony was sore and sweaty and tired down to his bones, but something about the walk – Soda babbling about the race like he hadn’t been the one running, Darry chiming in with his own commentary – felt fulfilling. Like the good kind of tired, the kind that meant something.

“You ever think about doin’ this in college?” Darry asked as they pulled out of the school lot. “You’re good enough, if you keep at it.”

Pony blinked. “I guess I never thought that far ahead.”

“You should,” Darry said. “You’ve got talent. And drive. That’s a rare combo.”

Pony didn’t know what to say. He glanced down at the medal around his neck. It wasn’t much – just plastic and cheap ribbon – but suddenly, it felt heavier.

When they got home, Soda made grilled cheese and tomato soup, declaring it a “champion’s meal.” They ate on the couch, legs tangled, the coffee table a mess of plates and soda cans. Pony couldn’t stop smiling, even if he tried.

Later, with Soda dozing off against his shoulder and Darry flipping through channels, Pony reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the medal again. He turned it over in his hand, thumb brushing the first place lettering.

“I used to win stuff like this,” he said, mostly to himself. “Back before. I was seven or eight, probably.” Pony didn’t usually like talking about his past around his brothers, but something about track always made him feel nostalgic.

Darry looked at him, remote still in hand. “Well, you won today.”

“Yeah, but this one’s different,” Pony said while shaking his head. 

“How’s that?” Darry asked gently.

Pony hesitated. The words rose in his throat, hot and stinging.

“This time – this time, I had someone to come watch. Someone to celebrate with.”

Soda stirred and blinked blearily at him, a sleepy smile on his face. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ponykid.”

Pony looked at the two of them – Soda sleepy and warm against his side, Darry still watching him with that steady, open look that was rare but real – and he felt something catch in his chest. That aching, buzzing feeling again. That overwhelming too-much-ness that always seemed to show up in moments like this.

He wanted to say it. Wanted to let it out. I love you. Both of you. So much it scares me.

But his throat closed up. Like always.

Instead, he set the medal on the coffee table, right in front of them.

“I won that for you guys, y’know,” he said. “Not for the team. Just you.”

Darry didn’t say anything right away, but Soda sat up a little straighter and looked at him like he’d just given them real gold.

“Well,” Darry said after a beat, voice low, “we’re proud of you. Real proud.”

“Yeah,” Soda agreed, slinging an arm around Pony’s shoulders. “More than proud. We’re, like, bursting.”

Pony ducked his head, smiling into Soda’s shoulder.

They didn’t say anything else after that. The TV played some sitcom in the background, but no one was really watching. Soda fell asleep again eventually, snoring softly into Pony’s hoodie. Darry turned the volume down and stretched his legs out with a quiet sigh.

Pony leaned back against the couch and let his eyes close. The medal glinted faintly in the soft light from the lamp beside him.

He still couldn’t say it. But they knew. He hoped they knew.

4.

​​The house was dark when he woke up.

The kind of dark that felt heavy, like it had weight to it.

Pony sat up slowly, chest heaving, heart still caught in the tail end of a nightmare. The edges of it were already slipping away – some mix of slamming and shouting, running and not being fast enough. He couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, only the way it had made him feel: helpless, and small, and cold all over.

He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to catch his breath. It was just a dream, but it hadn’t felt like one.

His sheets were twisted around his legs, sweat cooling fast against his skin. The room felt too quiet. Too still. Like something was waiting in the shadows.

He swallowed hard.

This wasn’t the first nightmare he'd had since he’d moved in with Darry and Soda — he'd had plenty in the four months he'd been there — but it was the first that made him feel like he needed to get up. Like staying in bed would let the dream crawl up and choke him from the inside.

He looked at Soda, peacefully sleeping next to him. He remembered the words he had said on that very first week, about how Pony was welcome to wake him up whenever he needed to. But Pony couldn’t bring himself to disrupt the blissful look on Soda’s face. And deep down, Soda wasn’t what Pony needed right now, as much as he didn’t want to say it. He needed Darry. It was weird – Soda always made Pony feel better when he needed it, but tonight he needed something different. 

He stopped outside Darry’s door.

It was closed.

Pony didn’t knock. Just turned the handle slowly and pushed it open – after living with the Curtises for a few months, he was now used to the open door policy. 

The room smelled like faint aftershave. Darry was curled on his side, breathing deep, mouth slightly open. He looked younger when he slept. Less like the guy who carried the whole world on his shoulders.

Pony hesitated in the doorway. Then, without thinking too much about it, he crossed the room and stood beside the bed.

“D?” he whispered.

No answer.

Pony crouched down next to him. His fingers tugged at the hem of Darry’s blanket, like a kid again. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop.

“Dar,” he said again, a little louder.

This time Darry stirred. His brow creased, then his eyes cracked open, hazy with sleep.

“Pony?” His voice was hoarse. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

Pony looked away. “Had a nightmare.” He felt like a little five-year-old again, waking up his mama because he had a scary dream. 

Darry blinked, sat up slowly. “Yeah? You wanna talk about it?”

Pony shook his head.

Darry ran a hand through his own hair, then reached out and rested it lightly on the back of Pony’s neck. “C’mere baby.” Darry was always softer when he was tired.

Pony didn’t argue. He let himself be pulled in, knees hitting the mattress first, then his whole body folding into Darry’s side. Darry leaned back against the headboard and let Pony press his face into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pony could hear his heartbeat. Slow and solid. Nothing like the pounding in his own ears.

They sat like that for a while.

No words. Just breathing. 

“You’re alright,” Darry murmured eventually. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

Pony closed his eyes. “Don’t feel gone.”

“Yeah, I know.” Darry's hand rubbed up and down his back steadily. “Dreams don’t gotta make sense to feel real.”

Pony didn’t say anything. He just breathed in the scent of laundry soap and home.

After a while, Darry shifted a little. “You want me to go sit with you in your room? Or I can call Soda?”

Pony shook his head quickly. “Can I just stay here?”

Darry pulled him impossibly closer. “‘Course you can, honey.”

So Pony stayed. Stretched out on top of the blanket, tucked up against Darry’s side like he used to do to his mama. Like when the world felt big and he felt breakable.

He was too old for this. He knew that. But Darry hadn’t made him feel weird about it. Just let him stay.

In the dark, Pony’s fingers curled into the blanket.

He thought again about the nightmare. About doors slamming, people leaving and shouting, and no one coming back.

He thought about the way Darry’s arms were wrapped around him like a shield. About the way Soda always acted like Pony winning a track meet was the highlight of his month.

And then the feeling came again – the huge, aching swell in his chest, like his ribs weren’t big enough to hold it. He wanted to say it. He wanted to say those three damn words . But his mouth stayed closed. His throat locked around the words.

Darry shifted again beside him, settling in.

“You’re safe, baby,” he said, voice already slipping back toward sleep. “We got you. You ain’t gotta worry no more.”

Pony nodded, even though Darry couldn’t see it – at least he could feel it.

Then, softly, he said, “Thanks for lettin’ me stay.”

“You never gotta ask for that,” Darry said. “You hear me? You’re ours.” He yawned.

Ours.

The word hit Pony in the chest like a soft hammer. Not in a bad way. Just in a way that made everything ache.

He didn’t say it.

But he wanted to. He would one day, he told himself. He had to. Soda and Darry deserved to know.

5.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

Just a run after dinner. Just something to shake the restless feeling out of his bones. Pony had left the house without telling anyone where he was going, figuring he’d be back before it got dark. He hadn’t thought it would turn into anything.

But the sun had gone down fast – way faster than he expected – and the path he'd taken wound longer than it should have. Somewhere along the way, he’d gotten turned around in the trees behind the neighborhood, and the shortcut he thought he’d found had turned into a mess of mud, branches, and a barbed-wire fence he hadn’t seen until too late.

All-in-all, it had turned into a pretty shitty walk. By the time he made it back to the road, his shirt was soaked with sweat and creek water, his legs were all scratched up, and he could feel his ankle starting to swell from the bad step he took back near the creek. 

The walk back home felt like a death march. His stomach churned with dread that had nothing to do with the run.

He knew Darry. And he knew what time it was.

The porch light was on when he rounded the corner onto their street. The second his foot hit the front step, the door flew open so hard Pony was worried it had been yanked off its hinges.

“Ponyboy.” 

Darry’s voice hit him like a slap. He stood in the doorway, shoulders squared, fury and fear apparent on his face.  

Inside, Soda was pacing the living room in long, frantic strides, phone in hand, like he hadn’t stopped moving in an hour. He turned as soon as he heard Darry shout and dropped the phone on the couch, wide eyes locking on Pony.

Pony held up both hands. “I’m okay –”

“You think that’s the point?” Darry stepped out onto the porch. “Do you know what time it is? Do you have any idea what you just put us through?”

“I just went for a run,” Pony mumbled, flinching at the volume in Darry’s voice. “I didn’t mean to be gone this long.”

“No note. Not even a heads-up to Soda, and you know damn well you always tell one of us when you go out!” Darry’s voice cracked a little on that last part. “We thought – we didn’t know if you were hurt. If you got jumped. If you’d run off –”

“I didn’t run off!” Pony said, louder than he meant to. They had to know he would never even think about running off, not after all they’d done for him. 

The silence after that was thick.

Soda moved first.

He stepped out the door, brushed past Darry, and pulled Pony into a hug so hard it knocked the breath out of him. “Damn it,” he whispered, voice hoarse and wobbly. “We didn’t know where you were. You can’t do that to me, kid.”

Pony froze for a second, heart jumping in his chest. Then his arms came up slowly, wrapping around Soda’s back. His throat burned. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You did anyway,” Soda said, quieter.

When Soda pulled back, Pony finally got a good look at him – at his red-rimmed eyes, a crease between his brows that hadn’t been there two hours ago. He looked rattled.

So did Darry, now that Pony thought about it. He still hadn’t moved from the porch. Just stood there, arms crossed tight over his chest, like he was holding himself together through brute force.

“Come here,” he said after a beat, but it wasn’t really a command. It was more like he needed to see for himself.

Pony stepped up slowly, ankle twinging as he went. He stopped in front of Darry, who reached out without hesitation and turned Pony’s arm over in his hands, checking the scrapes, the mud, the little nicks on his fingers.

“You hurt anywhere else?” Darry asked, softer now.

“My ankle’s a little messed up,” Pony admitted. “Tripped on a rock.”

Darry let out a long, shaky breath. “You’re lucky that’s all.”

“I know,” Pony said. He did. He knew.

Another pause stretched between them. And then Darry surprised him – he reached out, pulled Pony into his arms, and held him as if he hadn’t in a long time. Like he didn’t care that Pony was filthy and dripping mud on the porch. Like none of that mattered.

Pony froze again, heart thudding like crazy.

Darry hugged him tighter. “Don’t do that to me again,” he murmured. “Don’t you scare me like that.”

Pony didn’t trust his voice. He just nodded against Darry’s chest.

Soda came and wrapped an arm around both of them, and for a minute they all just stood there – pressed close under the porch light, breathing each other in like they had to make sure they were all still real.

Eventually, Darry pulled back and cupped Pony’s face in both hands.

“You’re ours, alright?” he said. “You don’t just vanish. Not now. Not ever.”

That word again. Ours.

Pony's stomach flipped. His throat got tight. It felt like something was going to break inside him.

He wanted to say it. God, he wanted to say it.

I love you.

He almost did.

But instead, the words caught like always. All he could get out was, “Thanks for waitin'.”

Darry smiled a little, tired and crooked. “We always will.”

+1.

The living room was loud with laughter when Ponyboy came down the hall.

Not the fake kind, like the strained, polite kind he used to hear when social workers would swing by at his old placements. This was the real kind. Messy and honest and free.

Pony had just finished studying for his big math exam. He was exhausted – formulas and theorems were floating around his head, all blending in with one another. He needed the comfort of his brothers to ease the mess in his brain.

Soda was on the floor, legs sprawled out like a starfish, and Darry was half-sprawled on the couch, laughing so hard he nearly dropped the bowl of popcorn in his lap. The TV was playing something dumb – some old cartoon with cheesy music and crazy sound effects – but they weren’t really watching it. They were watching each other, throwing popcorn and trading jokes, leaning into the kind of easy joy that only came from knowing you were safe.

Pony stopped just inside the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

He didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, quiet, letting the moment fill him up.

The golden lamplight painted everything soft. Soda’s head was tilted back in a full-body laugh, his face flushed, hair a mess. Darry looked so relaxed it was almost startling. He had ditched his work shirt for an old T-shirt with a faded logo, and his head was tipped back against the couch cushions, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

They looked happy. They looked like home.

And something in Pony’s chest shifted.

It wasn’t sharp, like panic or fear. It was warm and slow and full. Like something opening up inside him that he hadn’t fully realized was closed. His heart ached, but not in a bad way. It was more like it was just too full to stay quiet.

He stepped into the room, almost without realizing.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Soda twisted around right away. “There’s the kid! You missed Darry almost chokin’ on a pretzel.”

“It was not a pretzel,” Darry muttered, trying to sound indignant, but his grin gave him away.

“Whatever it was, you looked like a cartoon character dying,” Soda said, still grinning. “All flailin’ arms and panicked wheezing. Real graceful.”

Pony gave a little laugh and sat on the edge of the couch, close enough that Darry didn’t hesitate to reach over and ruffle his hair.

“Want some popcorn?” Darry asked, tilting the bowl toward him.

He nodded, grabbing a few pieces, but he could barely taste them as he popped them into his mouth.

The TV kept playing. The dumb movie rolled on. Soda kept making wisecracks at what was happening on the screen. But Pony wasn’t really paying attention.

He was watching them instead.

The way Darry’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way Soda kept glancing up to check that Pony was laughing too. The weight of Darry’s hand resting on his shoulder, like it belonged there.

Something in his throat started to ache.

And before he could stop himself, before he could think twice or talk himself out of it like all the times before, he just said it.

“I love you guys,” he whispered.

His words were quiet – practically silent. But to Pony’s surprise, they filled the room.

Soda sat up a little straighter, blinking and turning his body to face Pony. “What?”

Pony looked between them, eyes completely soft and trusting as he made eye contact.. “I said I love you.”

Darry’s face softened like someone had reached in and unknotted something behind his eyes.

“Oh, baby,” he said, voice thick. “We love you too.”

“We love you so much,” Soda added, scrambling to pull him into a hug. “He finally said it! Toldja he’d say it someday.”

Pony let himself be tugged into Soda’s arms. He felt Darry join them on the floor, and suddenly both of them were holding him like they’d never let go.

“I wanted to say it before,” Pony mumbled, voice muffled by Soda’s shoulder. “So many times. I dunno why, it just wouldn’t come out.”

“You ain’t gotta explain it,” Darry said gently, running his hand over the back of Pony’s head. “Not to us. We get it.”

“We knew,” Soda said, eyes bright and filled with tears. “We always knew. You were just waitin’ ‘til it was the right time.”

Pony let out a little laugh, watery at the edges. “Guess this was it.”

“Damn right it was,” Soda said, hugging him even tighter.

They stayed like that for a long time – tangled on the floor, movie forgotten, room warm and quiet around them.

Pony felt it settle in him, that truth. That safety.

And when he said it again, he didn’t hesitate.

“I love you guys,” he whispered.

And this time, his throat didn’t ache.