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Darry never really stopped. That was just how it went around the Curtis place. He got up before dawn most days, long before Ponyboy and Soda even stirred, moving through the house like a quiet storm – packing lunches, sorting bills, cleaning up after them, then heading out to the job site. After working all day hauling planks or pounding nails, he’d come home, change his shirt, and go straight to cooking dinner or fixing whatever was busted in the house that week. Sometimes Ponyboy thought Darry was made of something different than the rest of them, like concrete or steel, rather than flesh and blood.
That was how it had been since their parents died. Darry never paused. Couldn’t pause. Somebody had to keep things from falling apart.
Ponyboy tried not to resent it, even when Darry got short with them, even when his lectures felt sharp as a slap. It wasn’t easy, being big brother and mom and dad all at once. Pony knew that, deep down. Still, it was hard sometimes, seeing Darry carry so much weight on his shoulders and refuse to set it down, not even for a second.
He had resented it, for a long time. The rules, the curfews, the constant worry written all over Darry’s face – it used to feel like a prison. Like Darry didn’t trust him to breathe without permission. But after everything that happened with Johnny and Dally, everything they’d lost, Pony understood better now. Darry had already lost so much. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing anything else, especially not Pony or Soda. That was why he kept holding on so tight, even when it hurt.
The more Pony watched him, the more he started to notice cracks in the armor. Little things that maybe a stranger wouldn’t pick up, but Pony could. Darry was the first person he saw when he first opened his eyes. He knew what normal looked like. Darry never used to sit down for breakfast, usually electing to eat on his feet, pacing and planning out the day. But a week ago, Pony found him at the table, head resting on one hand, staring into his coffee like he’d forgotten what it was. His eyes were dull, rimmed with red.
Then there was the way he’d stand by the sink after dinner, washing dishes with slow, mechanical movements, shoulders sagging. It was subtle, but to Pony it might as well have been flashing neon: something was wrong.
He told himself maybe Darry was just worn out. Winter coming on, shorter days, bills piling up – all of that could drag a person down. But when Pony tried to ask, Darry only looked at him like he’d grown two heads.
“I’m fine,” he’d snap. Or, “Don’t you worry about me, kid.”
That was the end of it. Darry didn’t want their sympathy, didn’t want their help. But Pony couldn’t stop seeing it. Couldn’t stop hearing it, either.
Which brought him to now.
Ponyboy first noticed it in little things – the way Darry cleared his throat too often, like he had something stuck that wouldn’t come loose, or how he’d pause halfway up the stairs, pressing a hand to his ribs like it ached. Darry was a tank, always had been. Nothing ever slowed him down, not a busted ankle or a pulled muscle or a couple hours of lost sleep. But lately, he just looked off .
It was easy to miss if you weren’t looking. Darry still made breakfast every morning, still hollered at him to hurry up so he wouldn’t be late for school, still worked long days at the roofing company. But his voice was a touch rougher, rasping around the edges, and he’d stopped laughing at Soda’s stupid jokes after dinner.
At first, Pony tried to write it off. Everybody got a cough once in a while. Everybody got tired, even Superman. But then one night, Darry doubled over at the sink, hacking so hard Pony could hear it all the way from the hall. He walked in to find Darry braced on the counter, one arm trembling, eyes squeezed shut like the coughing hurt down to his bones.
“You okay, D?” Pony asked, keeping his voice light, trying not to sound scared.
Darry straightened with a grunt, wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Fine.”
Pony frowned. “You sure? I mean, you sound –”
“I’m fine,” Darry cut in, sharper this time, already turning away.
That was the end of it. Darry wouldn’t let them fuss, wouldn’t let them help, wouldn’t even admit there was something wrong. But Pony couldn’t stop noticing.
In the mornings, Darry’s skin looked pale under the kitchen lamp, shadows heavy under his eyes. When he thought no one was looking, he’d rub a hand over his forehead like he was trying to force away a headache. And every night, Pony listened to a symphony of coughs tearing through the walls, counting the ragged, wet hacks until they finally fell quiet.
He tried to help without letting Darry see. Pony made hot tea before school, leaving it on the counter with a spoonful of honey, hoping Darry would drink it. Most days he didn’t, too busy rushing out the door. Pony started sneaking an extra blanket onto Darry’s bed, but Darry shoved it off with a grouchy complaint about how the house was hot enough already.
Soda noticed, too. One evening, he caught Ponyboy refilling the medicine cabinet with cough syrup he’d asked Two-Bit to grab.
“He won’t take it,” Soda said quietly, shaking his head.
Pony bit the inside of his cheek. “I know.”
Soda looked toward the hall where Darry was arguing with someone over the phone about a roofing job. “We’ll keep tryin’, kid. He’s gotta crash sometime. Just hope it ain’t too hard.”
Pony swallowed. That was what scared him – Darry didn’t know how to slow down. If he finally fell, he’d fall hard.
It only took a few more days.
Pony got home from school late after study hall, balancing a beat-up algebra book against his hip, and stepped into a weird kind of silence. No radio humming, no pots clattering. Just a stillness that made every creak of the floor seem twice as loud.
He found Darry in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, one hand planted so hard on the tile it looked like he was holding himself up. His other hand clutched at his chest, and sweat was plastered down the side of his face and soaking into the collar of his work shirt. Pony froze in the doorway.
“Dar?” he called softly.
No answer.
“Darry,” he tried again, sharper.
Darry’s eyes were open, but unfocused, fixed somewhere past Ponyboy’s shoulder. It was like he couldn’t see him at all.
“Darry!” Pony stepped forward, heart hammering, because suddenly Darry looked so wrong – too big for the small, shaky breaths he was taking in, too strong to be this pale and weak.
“I think…” Darry rasped, voice slurred, “…need to lie down.”
Then the cough came, worse than ever, ripping through him in brutal waves. Darry pitched forward, dropping to one knee as if he couldn’t hold his own weight.
Pony was there in an instant, grabbing his arm, trying to keep him upright.
“Soda!” he shouted, panic surging through his body.
A second later, Soda skidded in from the back rooms. His eyes went huge at the sight of Darry hunched on the kitchen floor.
“Oh shit,” Soda breathed, dropping to Darry’s other side.
Together they hauled Darry up, Pony under one arm and Soda under the other. Darry barely seemed aware of them, coughing until tears streamed down his face.
“It’s okay,” Soda murmured, though he sounded about as steady as a paper bag in the wind. “We got you, big brother. You’re okay.”
Ponyboy didn’t believe it for a second.
They dragged Darry down the hall, easing him onto his bed. His breathing was ragged, hot skin shining with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead. Pony pressed the back of his hand to Darry’s cheek like Darry had done for him thousands of times and flinched at the heat pulsing off him.
“Pony,” Soda said, voice breaking, “go get the thermometer. And the medicine. All of it.”
Ponyboy nodded, already moving. His hands shook so bad the cabinet rattled when he opened it.
He found the thermometer, a bottle of aspirin, and an old jar of cough syrup that was sticky around the edges, like nobody had used it in ages. Ponyboy’s fingers fumbled over the labels, trying to read the faded print through the haze of panic pounding in his head. The medicine felt too small, too flimsy, like trying to fight a wildfire with a cup of water.
When he got back to the bedroom, Soda had stripped Darry’s work shirt off and was trying to prop him up with pillows. Darry looked half-conscious, eyes glassy and unfocused, breath dragging in heavy and wet. His whole chest shuddered with each inhale.
Pony crouched at the bedside, swallowing hard. “I – I got it,” he stammered, setting the supplies on the nightstand.
Soda nodded, trying to hide the fear in his face. “Okay, we gotta check his temp first.”
Soda slid the thermometer under Darry’s tongue. Darry didn’t even fight it, which scared Pony worse than anything – Darry always fussed about being babied. Now he just laid there, too weak to argue.
They waited. Every second passing by felt like a hammer beating on Pony’s skull. When Soda pulled the thermometer out, he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Hundred and four,” Soda whispered, voice tight.
Pony felt a rush of cold slide down his spine. That was too high – way too high.
“We gotta cool him down,” Pony said, frantic. “Cold cloths, water, Soda, what do we do–”
“I dunno, Pony,” Soda said, already moving to the bathroom. “Just stay with him.”
Ponyboy stayed. He wiped Darry’s forehead with the hem of a damp towel, trying to ignore how Darry’s skin burned under his fingers. The fever made him look different – younger somehow, like the brother he used to be before all the weight fell on his shoulders.
Darry stirred, mumbling something that made no sense. His lips cracked, dry and chapped.
“Pony?” he croaked, eyes fluttering halfway open.
“Yeah, Dar. I’m here,” Pony said softly, forcing himself to sound calm.
Darry blinked at him, confused, pupils blown wide. “Ma?”
Pony felt his throat close up. “No, Darry, it’s me – it’s Ponyboy.”
But Darry wasn’t listening. His head turned restlessly on the pillow, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes.
“Ma, I’m tryin’,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m tryin’, I swear… I’m just so tired…”
Pony reached for his hand, gripping it tightly even though it felt wrong to see Darry so… fragile.
“I know,” Pony whispered, voice shaking. “I know, Dar. It’s okay.”
Darry’s eyelids fluttered, then sank shut, leaving him breathing shallow and rough. Pony watched the rise and fall of his brother’s chest, every hitch in his breath making Pony flinch. It didn’t seem right – Darry was supposed to be steady, unbreakable, the one who never ran out of breath. Seeing him like this felt like the house had cracked in half.
Soda came back with a bowl of cold water and a stack of washcloths. His hands were shaking, too. “Is he asleep?” he asked, eyeing Darry warily.
“Yeah,” Pony answered, voice thin. “But he keeps… sayin’ stuff. He thought I was Mom.”
Soda’s jaw tightened. “Fever dreams.”
He dipped a cloth in the cold water, wrung it out, and laid it across Darry’s forehead. Darry twitched under the touch, mumbling something they couldn’t make out, then fell quiet again.
Pony felt a raw panic clawing at his ribs. “What if it gets worse?” he blurted, barely able to breathe. “What if he don’t wake up?”
“Don’t say that,” Soda snapped, sharper than he meant to. His hands hovered over Darry’s shoulders, helpless, then dropped to his sides. “Just… don’t think like that. Okay?”
Pony swallowed hard, but the dread wouldn’t go away.
Soda leaned closer to Darry, checking his breathing, then gently turned Pony by the shoulders so he was facing away from the bed.
“Look at me, Pony,” Soda said firmly, voice softer now. “You don’t gotta watch every second. Let me do this part.”
Pony tried to argue, but Soda gave him a steady look – the kind that usually only came from Darry. It was protective, fierce, desperate to shield him from how bad things had gotten.
“I wanna help,” Pony protested, voice cracking.
“I know, honey,” Soda murmured, giving his arm a squeeze. “But you’re helpin’ just being here, alright? Take a second. Breathe.”
Pony nodded, even though everything inside him felt twisted up. He stepped back a little, watching Soda switch out the washcloths and check Darry’s pulse. Darry’s face looked pale except for two bright patches of fever-flushed red on his cheeks. His breathing still rattled, each inhale catching on something deep in his chest.
They worked in tense silence, trading off cold cloths, wiping sweat from Darry’s forehead and trying to coax a little water past his lips. Darry barely reacted, half-conscious and lost somewhere Pony couldn’t reach.
Outside, the wind rattled against the window glass, a lonely sound that made the house feel smaller somehow.
Every so often, Darry would shiver violently, enough to shake the mattress, and Soda would steady him, murmuring gentle nonsense words like he was calming a scared animal. Ponyboy hovered at the foot of the bed, hands twisting in the hem of his old t-shirt, trying to swallow back the thick knot in his throat.
It was impossible not to be afraid.
This was Darry – their anchor, their rock, the one who took everything on his shoulders. If he could break like this, what did that mean for the rest of them?
Soda seemed to hear Pony’s thoughts without him saying a word. He glanced up, catching Pony’s eye with a look that was warm and steady.
“We’ll get him through it,” Soda said, fierce and quiet. “We have to.”
Pony nodded, though it felt shaky and thin. “Yeah.”
“He’s gonna be alright,” Soda said again, like he needed to hear it himself.
Pony moved closer, reaching to brush Darry’s damp hair back from his forehead. The fever made Darry look different – younger somehow, fragile in a way Pony had never seen.
“You gotta be okay,” Pony whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “Please, Darry.”
Darry didn’t move, didn’t answer, just kept breathing in shallow, broken gasps.
Ponyboy tried to believe Soda’s words, tried to hold on to the idea that they could fix this, that Darry wouldn’t slip away from him the way everyone else had. But deep down, fear gnawed at him like a wolf at the door, and no amount of cold cloths could wash it away.
The next hour crawled by in aching slow motion. Pony and Soda kept switching out the washcloths, doing anything they could think of to cool Darry down. Every so often, Darry would wake up halfway, mumble something they couldn’t understand, then sink right back under.
It scared Pony how fast everything had changed. Just a couple days ago Darry was griping about the water bill and telling Pony to clean up his track spikes before leaving them on the stairs. Now he could barely open his eyes.
Soda tried to stay upbeat, tossing out soft reassurances, but his voice wobbled every time Darry shivered. Pony could see it – the way Soda’s hands shook, how his eyes kept darting to Darry’s chest to make sure he was still breathing.
The fever wasn’t going down. It kept climbing, burning out of control. Pony could feel the heat coming off Darry even with the cold cloths. He tried to get him to swallow a little aspirin, but Darry barely managed to choke it down, coughing and almost choking.
It was then Darry’s muttering started to change, turning from mumbled nonsense into words that made sense, if only half-formed. Ponyboy leaned in closer, holding Darry’s wrist, trying to hear.
“Paul,” Darry rasped, voice rough and raw, “Paul, c’mere…”
Pony felt confusion bite through him. Paul? Like Paul Holden? Why would Darry be thinking about him ?
Soda glanced up sharply. “What’d he say?”
“Paul,” Pony repeated, voice low, “like from the rumble, y’know?”
Soda’s brow furrowed, but there was no time to figure it out. Darry went on talking, his voice breaking like glass.
“I didn’t mean what I said…” Darry whispered, voice ragged. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, soaking into the pillow. “You know I didn’t…”
His breathing hitched on a sob, like something deep inside him was breaking loose. Pony reached for his hand, gripping it hard, but Darry didn’t seem to feel it at all.
“Please,” Darry choked out, words slurring with fever, “I didn’t mean it, Paul.”
He shook his head weakly, eyes squeezed shut, tears still slipping down his temples.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, Paul. I didn’t mean it – didn’t mean to –”
Pony felt like the floor dropped out from under him. Darry’s voice sounded so raw, like he’d been carrying those words for a long time, afraid to let them out.
“Darry,” Pony broke in, voice cracking, “it’s okay – it’s me, Darry, it’s Pony. You’re at home.”
But Darry kept talking like he hadn’t heard.
“Just too much… all of it…” he rasped, each word shivering out of him.
Ponyboy felt tears sting his own eyes, the kind you couldn’t hold back no matter how hard you tried.
But Darry was somewhere else, lost in fever and nightmares. He was crying now, real tears soaking into the pillow.
Soda bit down hard on his lower lip, like he couldn’t stand to see Darry cry. He turned away, pressing a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking.
Pony felt something break inside his chest. Darry had never let them see him cry, never once. Seeing him like this – terrified, guilt pouring out of him – felt like seeing a titan brought to its knees. It just didn’t make sense.
Darry went quiet again for a moment, chest heaving, trying to suck in air. Then he jolted, eyes fluttering halfway open, glazed and unseeing.
“Ma?” he croaked, so softly Pony almost didn’t catch it.
Ponyboy’s breath stuttered in his throat. “No, Darry, it’s me,” he tried again, brushing Darry’s hair back. “It’s Pony. Soda’s here too. You’re okay, you’re home.”
But Darry kept staring past him, pupils blown wide, fever bright.
“Ma,” he pleaded, voice hoarse, “I’m so sorry – tried to keep ‘em safe – I tried, mama – don’t think I’m enough –”
Pony felt tears burn in his own eyes. Darry’s voice sounded so small , like a kid, not the rock-solid brother who could hold the whole world on his shoulders.
“I tried,” Darry wept, chest hitching, “I’m tryin’, Ma, I tried, but I can’t –”
Soda came closer again, putting a hand on Pony’s back to steady him. “It’s the fever,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “He don’t know what he’s sayin’.”
But Pony wasn’t so sure. It sounded too honest, too raw, like a truth Darry had kept buried for too long.
Darry fell silent again, exhausted by the effort of speaking, but his breathing stayed labored and wet, every inhale a struggle.
Pony felt panic claw up his throat. “What if it gets worse?” he asked Soda again, voice shaking so bad he could barely form the words. “What if he can’t breathe?”
Soda forced a deep breath, trying to be the strong one even though his eyes were shining with tears. “Then we take him to the hospital,” he said, voice hoarse. “If he don’t come around… Pony, we’ll carry him to a doctor ourselves. But we gotta try here first. We can do this.”
Pony nodded, though the knot in his stomach wouldn’t loosen.
They worked together through the next hour, keeping Darry cool, trying to coax him to sip water whenever he came around. His confusion only seemed to get worse, fading in and out of memory, talking about their mother, then about Paul, then about the roofing crew like he was still on the job. Every phrase he spoke cracked something deeper open in Pony, showing just how scared and out of it Darry really was.
By the time midnight rolled around, the fever hadn’t broken, and Pony felt the night stretch out ahead of them like a tunnel with no light at the end.
Soda draped a fresh cloth across Darry’s chest, then collapsed on the floor beside the bed, running a hand through his hair. “I hate this,” he whispered, voice almost breaking. “I can’t see him like this.”
Pony lowered himself next to Soda, their shoulders bumping. “Me neither,” he admitted.
They sat there together, silent, listening to Darry’s ragged breathing and the distant whistle of the winter wind rattling the window.
Ponyboy laid his head against Soda’s arm, closing his eyes. Darry’s words – I’m not enough – echoed through his head, and Pony didn’t know how to chase them away.
The minutes stretched on, long and cruel. The wind rattled the glass again, colder now, carrying a bite that seeped through the walls. Pony shivered, but he didn’t dare move away from Soda’s side.
Darry moaned suddenly, twisting under the covers. His forehead was shining with sweat, mouth working like he was trying to speak. Soda and Pony shot up at the same time, leaning over him.
“Darry?” Soda tried, voice gentle. “You hear me, big brother?”
Darry’s eyelids cracked open, glassy and unfocused. He looked straight through them, eyes darting back and forth.
“Ma…?” he whispered, voice small, shaking.
Pony felt something in his chest tear right in two. “No, Darry – it’s me, it’s Pony. I’m here.”
But Darry wasn’t there anymore, lost somewhere deeper.
“I tried,” he gasped, eyes welling up again, “I tried to be enough… tried to take care of ‘em, tried to keep us together –”
His breathing caught on a sob, hands twisting in the blankets. Pony reached for one, trying to calm him, but Darry’s grip was frantic, cold and hot at the same time.
“Don’t… don’t be mad at me,” he choked out, staring at nothing. “Didn’t want to mess up – ‘m not enough, they hate me…”
Pony’s throat closed up. “Darry, we don’t hate you,” he said, voice cracking on every word. “We love you. You’re doin’ fine, you’re doin’ more than fine.”
Darry shook his head, tears sliding down his cheeks. “I can’t do it all, Ma… I can’t… I tried…”
Soda reached over, gently brushing the sweat-soaked hair off Darry’s forehead. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, Dar. You ain’t gotta do everythin’. You can rest now, alright?”
But Darry kept rambling, words slipping out like a confession:
“Paul, I’m sorry, I just… I couldn’t… too much, everything…”
Pony swallowed hard. Darry’s voice was so raw, so honest, that for a second he almost felt like an intruder hearing it.
Soda tried to settle Darry back down, holding one broad shoulder steady. “You’re okay,” he repeated, voice breaking. “We got you. Just breathe, baby. Just breathe.”
Darry was beyond hearing. His eyes fluttered shut again, and he went limp, breathing ragged but still moving in and out, each pull of air a fight.
Pony let out a shaky sigh, sinking back down next to Soda. The house felt too quiet in the space between Darry’s gasps, like the walls themselves were listening.
For a long while they sat there, just keeping watch. Soda laid a hand on Pony’s shoulder, squeezing it like he needed to remind himself they were still there, still together.
Pony leaned into him. “He can’t break,” he said finally, voice hollow. “He just can’t.”
Soda didn’t answer right away, staring at Darry with a look Pony had never seen before – a kind of raw, terrified love.
“He’s human, Pony,” Soda said at last, so soft it was nearly lost under the wind. “I keep forgettin’ that. And he’s ours.”
That made Pony’s eyes sting. He pressed his face against Soda’s sleeve, trying to breathe past the knot in his throat.
Soda shifted a little, his voice steady again. “Listen, you get some rest, okay? I’ll watch him for a while.”
Pony looked at him in disbelief. “I can’t sleep. Not with him like this.”
Soda half-smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just close your eyes for a minute. I’ll wake you if he needs us.”
Pony hesitated, then nodded. His body was exhausted, shaking with adrenaline and fear. Carefully, he tucked himself closer to Soda, letting his brother’s warmth anchor him.
He listened to Darry’s breathing, each wheezing rise and fall, praying it would keep going. Praying it wouldn’t stop.
The wind rattled the window one more time, cold enough to bite through the thin walls.
“Please get better,” Pony whispered, so quiet only the walls could hear him.
Darry stirred a little, eyes fluttering without opening, a broken sigh falling out of him like a child’s cry.
Pony squeezed his hand, refusing to let go, even as sleep tugged at him. If Darry had to fight through this, then Pony would be there to fight right alongside him – all night if he had to, all the next day, for as long as it took.
He laid his head back down against Soda’s shoulder, closing his eyes, and waited for the sun to come up.
The world blurred in and out when Pony finally jerked awake, unsure how long he’d been out. His eyes stung, every muscle aching from where he’d curled up against Soda. The first thing he noticed was that Darry was moving – twitching, restless, sweat pouring down his face.
Soda was already there, leaning close, whispering something soft and steady. His hand was braced on Darry’s shoulder, trying to keep him grounded.
“It’s okay,” Soda kept repeating, voice so soft it made Pony’s chest ache. “It’s okay, baby. You’re home. You’re safe.”
But Darry wasn’t hearing him. His head rolled side to side, jaw clenched like he was fighting someone off.
“Don’t go,” he rasped, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Paul, please don’t… don’t leave, I didn’t mean it, I swear –”
Pony froze, heart lurching, hearing that name again, tangled up in all that pain.
“Shh,” Soda murmured, brushing the damp hair off Darry’s forehead. “Ain’t nobody goin’ anywhere, big brother. You hear me? We’re right here.”
Darry sucked in a ragged breath, shoulders shaking. “I didn’t mean it… I was scared… didn’t want you to think…”
His voice broke, twisting into a sob so raw that Pony’s eyes burned.
Soda’s own mouth trembled, but he didn’t let it show. He reached for Darry’s hand, folding it between both of his, gentle and firm. “It don’t matter,” Soda whispered. “Whatever it was, it don’t matter. You’re our brother, Darry. Nothin’ could change that.”
Darry’s breathing stuttered, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. “I messed everythin’ up,” he choked out. “Messed you boys up, broke everythin’ – I can’t –”
“Darry, listen to me.” Soda’s voice was stronger now, fierce and loving all at once. “You didn’t break us. You’re holdin’ us together. You’re the reason we got any kind of home left. That’s the truth.”
Darry’s head lolled against the pillow, eyes glazed, still half-lost in fever dreams. “So tired,” he mumbled, voice small. “I can’t do it no more, Soda… I can’t…”
“You don’t gotta do it alone,” Soda told him, voice cracking. “That’s what I’m here for. What Pony’s here for. We got you. We always got you.”
Pony swallowed, throat so tight it hurt. Watching Soda comfort Darry like that – quiet, patient, strong – made Pony want to cry and throw his arms around both of them at once.
Darry shivered, a broken sob slipping out of him, and Soda didn’t hesitate. He bent down, wrapping his arms around Darry’s shoulders and pulling him close, like he was hugging all the shaking out of him.
“You’re enough, Darry,” Soda whispered against his hair. “You always been enough. Don’t you forget that.”
Pony edged closer, adding his own hand to Darry’s arm, feeling the tremors under too-hot skin.
Together, the three of them made a tiny circle of warmth against the fever and the fear, even as Darry’s breathing stayed rough and shallow.
He quieted a little after that, going limp in Soda’s hold, but the tears still slipped from his closed eyes.
Pony looked at Soda, whose face was pale with worry but still solid, still strong.
Pony nodded, though the knot in his chest didn’t quite loosen. The night had stretched them raw, and seeing Darry so breakable was something Pony wasn’t sure he’d ever forget.
Darry’s breathing had settled, slower now, though each rise and fall of his chest still sounded heavy. His forehead was damp but cooler than before, and that small detail made Pony let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Should try to rest,” Soda said, glancing over at the battered alarm clock on the nightstand. “We’ll need it if he wakes up again.”
Pony shifted closer to the bed, refusing to let go of Darry’s hand. “I’ll rest here,” he insisted. “I don’t wanna leave him.”
Soda cracked a tired smile. “Yeah. Me neither.”
For a while, they just sat there in the pale gray half-light, listening to Darry breathe. Outside, the wind had finally died down, leaving the house creaking softly in the calm. Pony closed his eyes, not sleeping, but letting himself drift in the steady rhythm of Darry’s heartbeat, the way Soda’s shoulder pressed reassuringly against his.
They’d come so close to losing everything too many times before – to losing each other. Pony wasn’t going to let it happen again. Not while he still had breath left.
The morning light was thin and cold, filtering through the curtains in streaks of pale gold. Pony blinked awake, his neck stiff and his back aching from where he’d slept half-sitting, half-leaning on the edge of Darry’s bed.
He could hear steady breathing – and it wasn’t ragged anymore. Slowly, carefully, Pony turned his head and found Darry awake, his eyes open and clear, though still dull with exhaustion.
“Hey,” Pony whispered, voice scratchy.
Darry tried to manage a smile, though it barely reached his eyes. “Hey, kiddo,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and low.
Soda stirred awake at the foot of the bed, blinking hard. He caught sight of Darry and let out a relieved laugh that sounded half like a sob. “Look who’s finally up,” he teased, voice wobbly.
Darry’s gaze moved from one to the other, and something changed in his face – a flicker of fear, of guilt, of something so raw it made Pony’s heart hurt.
“You two okay?” Darry asked, the words nearly breaking apart. “You been holdin’ on alright?”
Pony’s throat closed up. “We’re fine,” he managed. “It’s you we were worried about.”
Darry shook his head weakly, tears brimming. “I’m ‘sposed to take care of you. That’s my job. Not… not like this –”
“Darry,” Soda broke in, moving closer to grip his shoulder, “we’re okay. We’re okay ‘cause you are, you hear?”
Darry’s lip trembled, like he couldn’t quite believe it. His eyes searched their faces, desperate and soft. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I –”
Pony couldn’t help it – tears slipped out before he could stop them, warm on his chilled cheeks. He scrubbed at them with his sleeve, but more just kept coming.
Darry saw, and his face fell apart. He reached up, trembling, to cup Pony’s cheek and wipe his tears with his thumbs. “Oh, baby,” he croaked, “don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’m okay now. I’m sorry,” he said again, voice thin as paper. “I shoulda been stronger. Shoulda –”
“No,” Pony blurted, shaking his head, grabbing Darry’s wrist. “Don’t say that, Darry. You are strong. Stronger than anybody I know.”
Soda nodded, fierce and loving all at once. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for. You hear me? Nothin’ .”
Darry let out a shuddering breath, eyes glassy. “But I’m ‘sposed to look after you. I’m ‘sposed to make sure you don’t ever have to –”
“That’s what family does, D,” Soda interrupted gently. “We look after each other. You been holdin’ us up since the day Mom and Dad died. Let us hold you up, just this once, huh?”
Darry closed his eyes, tears slipping free, and Pony felt something settle deep in his chest, a warm, aching relief.
“We’re okay,” Pony repeated, voice steadier now. “You’re okay. That’s what matters.”
For a minute, all three of them just sat in the quiet, breathing together, soaking in the morning calm. It felt fragile, like a soap bubble, but it was real.
Darry sniffed, trying to collect himself. “What a mess,” he muttered with a hoarse, watery laugh.
Pony actually smiled at that, even through his tears. “Yeah, well. You’re allowed to be a mess sometimes.”
“Once in a lifetime,” Soda teased, giving Darry’s shoulder a careful squeeze.
Darry huffed a laugh, though it turned into a cough, and Pony reached instantly for the water glass on the nightstand. He helped Darry hold it steady while he took a sip, and Darry squeezed his hand in thanks.
“I’m alright,” Darry said finally, voice quiet but certain. “I promise.”
“You better be,” Pony said, managing a grin through the leftover tears. “We still need you bossin’ us around.”
Darry let out a weak chuckle, eyes shining, and settled back against the pillows, his hand still wrapped around Pony’s like he couldn’t stand to let go.
They sat in the morning quiet, sunlight slanting across Darry’s face where he lay propped up on too many pillows. Pony stood close to the edge of the bed, looking down at him, while Soda leaned in from the other side, arms crossed tight against his chest.
Pony couldn’t stop thinking about what Darry had said the night before – not enough – like he’d been carrying it around for years.
“Darry,” Pony said, voice soft, “about what you said last night…”
Darry’s eyes darted away, shame pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t remember much,” he tried, but the lie was too thin to hold.
Soda stepped closer, voice gentle. “It wasn’t just fever talk, was it?”
Darry let out a shaky sigh, looking up at them like he couldn’t bear it. “No,” he finally admitted. “I didn’t mean to say it, but... sometimes it feels like I’m failin’ you both.”
Pony shook his head hard. “You aren’t. Darry, you aren’t .”
Darry’s throat worked, tears slipping down toward the pillow. “‘M tryin so hard. I’m tryin’ to be everythin’ you need. Some days it feels like… it ain’t enough.”
Soda’s eyes glistened. “It’s enough, Darry,” he said, firm and loving all at once. “You always been enough.”
Pony leaned forward, bracing his hands on the mattress. “You’re the reason we’re still together. You keep us going.”
Darry let out a ragged breath, voice breaking. “I don’t ever want you to think I ain’t tryin’.”
Soda reached down, putting a hand on Darry’s shoulder. “We know you’re tryin’,” he said. “We know you never stop.”
Pony nodded, blinking away tears. “You don’t have to be perfect. We don’t want perfect. We just want you .”
Darry’s mouth trembled, a helpless, shaky laugh slipping out. “Good,” he rasped, “’cause I sure ain’t perfect.”
Pony smiled, then leaned down carefully and wrapped one arm around Darry’s chest, hugging him from the side. Soda followed, bending over and sliding a warm hand to Darry’s other shoulder, anchoring him between them.
The hug was awkward, a little cramped with Darry still lying down, but it was real – steady and warm. Darry closed his eyes, letting the tears slip freely this time, held safe by the only people who’d ever really seen him.
Pony whispered, voice cracking, “We love you, Darry.”
Soda added, voice thick, “Always.”
Darry tried to laugh through the tears, pulling a shaky arm around Pony’s back, the closest he could get to hugging them back.
“Love you too,” he murmured, hoarse and honest, “more than anythin’.”
They stayed that way, heads bent close, the morning light spreading over them, making the room feel just a little bit lighter.