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Chapter Text

Little Blue River Station, Nebraska Territory – 1861

The prairie opened wide in front of him, stretching golden under the low June sun. Pony crouched low over Whisper’s back, the wind clawing at his shirt, his cap barely hanging on. His face was raw with sun and dust, but his eyes burned with something brighter.

“There it is,” he breathed. His voice was hoarse from days on the trail, but he whooped anyway—loud and high, like a hawk wheeling through the clouds. “Yah! Let’s go, girl!”

Whisper responded with a surge of speed, her hooves thundering over the dry earth. She wasn’t the youngest in the stable anymore, and her legs had taken a beating from long miles, but she still had one more sprint in her. Pony felt it in the ripple of her muscles, the shift of her weight. It wasn’t just speed—it was trust.

He stood slightly in the stirrups as the silhouette of the station rose out of the horizon. The chimney. The battered post with the rusted bell. The huddle of shadows that meant shelter, food, his gang, and his brothers.

His chest swelled.

Two nights of hard riding, two spare shirts soaked through, and a close call at a swollen river crossing. His fingers were blistered from reins and saddle leather, and his thighs ached so bad he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk once he dismounted. But none of that mattered now.

He was home.

His grin stretched across his dust-caked face. “You see it, Whisper?” he murmured, leaning close to her ear. “Almost there, girl. Almost there.”

She whinnied softly in response. Pony reached down with one hand and thumped her neck, grateful for her as always. She was steady and sound and smarter than most of the other riders gave her credit for. But she had always been Ponyboy’s favorite. They didn’t have to love her like he did. He didn’t mind having her all to himself that way.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to get attached to the horses. He’d never tell the guys that he’d named even one. They were overworked and died too often. They weren’t here to last. They were here to run.

It made Pony sick, but he could stand it as long as Whisper was still around. He’d love on her ‘til the day she died.

They crested the last hill, and the home station came into full view. Smoke curled up from the chimney. A figure, probably Soda, stepped out onto the porch, shielding his eyes from the sun to look Pony’s way.

Pony let out another whoop, louder this time. Whisper tossed her head but didn’t slow, hooves pounding over the packed earth as they descended the hill together, breathless and flying.

Home. Almost home.

And Ponyboy, sore, starved, sunburned, and smiling like a fool, rode straight for it, like he’d been chasing it forever.

Darry would be at the desk as station keeper, probably pacing, watching the clock like it owed him something. He ran the place like it was the military and the riders were his boys in blue. Nothing left to chance. Nothing without a ledger. Pony understood why: The higher-ups would be on his ass otherwise. They ran a tight operation. The mail had to be fast.

Soda would be near the stables as stock tender, talking low and sweet to the new horses just arrived in the night, brushing them down like he was coaxing stars into their hides. He knew each one personally, cared to their needs.

Steve was their farrier. Lately he’d been elbow-deep in a new bridle rig, cursing under his breath and polishing until he could see his face in the bit. If a shoe came loose on the trail, Pony trusted no one else to fix it.

Two-Bit, as their cook, was probably already rattling pans in the kitchen, humming some ridiculous tune and pretending his flapjacks didn’t taste like fence post. He called it “keeping morale up,” which no one argued, mostly because he kept the coffee strong.

Dally didn’t have chores like the others, and he liked it that way. He didn’t feed horses or fix saddles or keep a kitchen fire going. What he did do was ride as their trail scout—fast, far, and often when something had gone wrong. If a rider didn’t make it in on time, if a trail looked off, or if word came of trouble down the line, Dally was the one in the saddle before anyone else could blink. He had an uncanny sense for where to look and how hard to push a horse without breaking it. The gang trusted him with their lives, because if you were hurt or missing, Dally would be the one to find you. He was always half-ready to go—boots on, rifle slung, eyes sharp.

There were four riders who frequented their home station. Ponyboy and Tex were the westbound riders, heading toward the rougher, more rugged terrain through the Rockies and toward desert.

The eastbound riders had gentler terrain and shorter runs, but that meant they were expected to make up time. Johnny and Rusty James filled that role.

For that reason, Pony didn’t know Tex very well compared to the other riders. They were never meant to overlap at the home station unless there was a very unexpected delay or bad weather. But he knew the guys loved him. He was great with the horses and a fun kid. He was the kind of guy who didn’t like change and expected the world to remain just as it was.

The dust from Whisper’s hooves hadn’t even settled when Pony swung one aching leg over her back and half-fell out of the saddle. His knees buckled the second his boots hit the ground. He caught himself on the fence post and wheezed out a laugh between gasps.

“Pony!”

Sodapop came barreling down the steps, all lanky limbs and wild relief. Pony barely had time to stand upright before Soda crashed into him, pulling him in tight and nearly lifting him off the ground.

“Thunderation, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Soda said, laughing into his shoulder. “You look like the inside of a burnt bean can, kid!”

Pony clung to him anyway, too tired to even joke back yet. His muscles trembled with the aftershock of motion finally ending. His chest was hollow with exhaustion and achy with joy.

“Missed you too,” he mumbled into Soda’s shoulder.

It had only been a couple of days, but each stretch felt like an eternity with how hard he was worked.

The other home stations and relay stations weren’t home like this was. Being back with his family at the end of a long shift was always a welcome reprieve.

Darry stepped out, the logbook in his hands. He marked something off with an approving nod. “Right on time.”

“As always,” Pony said, slinging the mail bag off and handing it to Darry.

“Darn right!” Soda slapped his back. “They don’t call it the Pony Express for nothin’.” He winked.

Darry rolled his eyes and slapped Ponyboy on the shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. “Good to see you, kiddo. You look a little worse for wear, huh?”

“No kiddin’.” Pony rolled his shoulders, aching. Sodapop would have to give him a good massage tonight. He was best at getting the pains out. “Has Two-Bit made somethin’ edible?”

“Time will tell,” Soda said through a laugh. “But it’ll be ready soon. Come in, rest!”

He trudged inside, letting Soda take the horse, and greeted Two-Bit in the kitchen. “Woah. Smells good in here.”

Two barked a laugh. “Don’t sound so surprised! Hey, someone’s waitin’ for you.” He jerked his head toward the dining table. Pony looked over.

And then, he saw an unexpected smiling face.

“Johnny!” Pony crashed into him, hugging him tight. They laughed.

It had been a week since he’d last seen his best friend. He didn’t even get to see the eastbound riders all the time. Their stops at the home station didn’t overlap much. When they did, it was usually only two of the riders at a time. Never all four of them. So it was often a surprise which riders Pony would see, if any. Darry kept track of the schedules. And Pony didn’t bother with anything but his own. That was enough to recall, and anyway, shifts changed around so much anyway.

After Pony washed up, it was time for supper. The long table creaked under the weight of tin bowls and dented spoons, stew steaming in the middle beside a crooked stack of cornbread. Ponyboy slid into his usual spot, between Soda and Johnny, the ache in his shoulders easing as the smell hit him—salt pork, onions, beans. Not fancy, but it tasted like being alive.

Two-Bit plopped into the seat across from him, already shoveling stew like the pot might vanish. “Wow, Pony, you cleaned up nice,” he said with a wink, mouth half-full. “Shame they don’t bring any girls out here. Wouldn’t even be able to tell you were the same person as the dusty mess that rode in earlier.”

“You didn’t even lose your hat,” Steve muttered, reaching for the ladle. “Damn miracle with the wind we’ve had.”

Pony grinned a little, but he was tired—that deep kind of tired that settles in his bones. He leaned into Soda’s shoulder for a second before grabbing his spoon. Soda ruffled his hair gently without a word and passed him a slice of cornbread.

Darry sat at the end of the table, one elbow on the wood, half-listening to Steve and Dally bicker about saddle soap. He wasn’t eating much, just watching—not in a cold way, but in that careful, quiet way of his. The kind that said I’m glad you’re here without needing to speak it aloud.

Johnny nudged Pony with his knee under the table. “You rode through that creek bed Tex always complains about, didn’t you? Was it bad after that rain we got the other day?” he asked softly, keeping his voice under the din.

“Yeah,” Pony mumbled around a bite of bread. “Washed out bad. Thought the horse would throw me.”

Johnny nodded. “Glad you’re all right.”

The room buzzed with the small comforts of shared space. A fly buzzed near the lantern. Dally scratched at the back of his neck and asked Two-Bit to pass the salt, which somehow turned into an argument about who was hoarding it.

It was loud and clumsy, and it was home. It was perfect.

For the first time in days, Ponyboy let himself settle. His work was done, at least until tomorrow. The trail was behind him. His people were here, alive and rowdy, and talking over each other like always. He reached for the stewpot with steady hands, heart quiet and full.

Shortly after that, it was time for bed.

“Aw, yeah,” Soda said, climbing up into his bunk. “Pony’s home. That means it’s Bible night.”

Each rider, along with their payment, had been given a beautiful, thick, leather-bound Bible. It was Pony’s prized possession. It had become tradition that every night he was at the Little Blue River Station, he’d read something aloud for the group before bed.

“Whatcha gonna read us, Pone?” Johnny asked.

“1 Samuel. Jonathan and David.”

“Ooh, I like that one!” Sodapop said.

Dally rolled his eyes. “You like every one.”

“Well, yeah, ‘cus Pony reads them. Pony could read a newspaper ad and make it sound interestin’.”

Dally shrugged, like he couldn’t argue. He claimed he wasn’t religious, but he never missed a Pony reading.

Outside, the wind whispered through the dry grass. The room smelled of horses, smoke, and sweat—familiar things. Comforting, in a strange way.

The guys curled on their bunks, lying low and staring into the light in the fireplace as Pony began to read.

Ponyboy sat cross-legged near the fire, a blanket around his shoulders and his Bible resting in his lap. He rubbed one socked heel absently against the other as he turned the pages, glancing across the firelight to Johnny.

Johnny sat on the edge of his bunk, chin tucked against his knees. He’d stuck close to Pony ever since he rode in. He always did that after they’d been apart a few days.

Pony looked down at the page and started reading.

“And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul…”

He didn’t read it loudly. Just enough to fill the space between the fire’s pops and the wind’s sigh.

“Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his garments, even to his sword, and to his bow, and to his girdle.”

Pony could feel Johnny’s eyes on him. He didn’t look up, but the weight of it, soft and steady, made his throat feel tight. He read slower, more carefully, like the words deserved more air around them.

He’d read this story before. Plenty of times. But tonight it sounded different. Sat different. Maybe ‘cause it’d been almost a week since he’d seen Johnny. Maybe ‘cause every time he rode out, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d return to the quiet presence of Johnny Cade. Like Jonathan, Pony knew he’d give absolutely anything for Johnny. He loved him like his own life.

He read on, chapter by chapter, until reaching the point where David had to run for his life.

“And Jonathan said unto David, ‘Go in peace, forasmuch as we have sworn both of us in the name of the Lord, saying, The Lord be between me and thee… forever.’”

He paused, the silence settling like dust. He could feel the weight of the story—two boys caught in something bigger than themselves, loyalty tested by kings and war.

When he closed the book, Soda let out a slow breath. “You think God really watches out for folks like that?”

Darry, arms crossed, shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the way people have to be to make it through. To get their friends through.”

Johnny spoke quietly. “I think He does. Maybe not always in the big thunder or the fightin’, but in the small stuff. The promises between friends. That friendship saved David’s life, remember? So he could go on to become a great king.”

Dally snorted from the doorway. “Sounds like a fairy tale.”

“I don’t know,” Pony said, running his fingers along the leather edges of the Bible. “I think it’s true.” He remembered being a little boy, his father quoting them Scripture from memory because they didn’t have a Bible themselves. It had always felt like such a reverent thing.

Soda yawned, big and loud. “Well, I think I’m ready for sleep.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Pony said, groaning as he stood to get to his bed.

Ponyboy lay curled beneath a patchwork quilt, sore and still a little dazed, but warm and safe. The bunks creaked around him as the others settled in. These were familiar sounds that wrapped around his heart like another blanket.

Two-Bit muttered something funny, voice slurred with sleep, and Soda chuckled from the bunk above Pony’s. His laughter had always been Pony’s favorite sound. It was tired tonight, soft and breathless, but genuine. Darry shushed them half-heartedly from the far corner—not because he meant it, but because he always did that, like he felt like he was supposed to or something.

Johnny’s breathing was slow and steady just across the room. Steve coughed once, then pulled his blanket up and turned over. Even Dally, flat on his back with his arms folded behind his head, didn’t say anything sharp for once. The silence between them was easy.

A coyote howled somewhere far off. No one stirred.

Pony blinked up at the bunk above him, lashes heavy. He could still hear the quiet rustle of blankets, the gentle snore from one bed over, the murmured prayers Soda always whispered when he thought no one was listening. Boots rested at the foot of every bed. Saddlebags slumped in the corner. Everyone was home who was meant to be. He sent up a quiet prayer for Tex and Rusty James, who were either on a run or at another home station.

This had been his life for the past year and a month. Shortly after his parents passed in a stagecoach accident, the Pony Express started up. Still reeling from grief, and only thirteen, Pony still made the cut to be a rider. He weighed under 125 pounds, was reliable, and rode fast. His brothers and all their friends were the perfect candidates for workers where the nearby home station would be built. Ever since then, this had been their lives.

It was rarely easy. He still missed Mama and Papa awfully. He loved his brothers, but they were no substitutes for parents. But he knew he had more than many people. He still had a family. He had a job. He had a gang and a best friend. And as difficult and exhausting as the work was, he got to spend his days riding.

He let his eyes close, his last thought soft and simple—they’re here, I’m here, we’re all right—and the sound of the gang breathing around him was all he needed to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

The sky was all a golden haze when Ponyboy swung up into the saddle. Whisper pawed once at the dirt, anxious to be off, but she held still. She was always good for him that way. He was glad Soda had considered her rested enough to do this leg of the run. Pony thought Soda had an inkling of what the mare meant to him.

The morning felt quiet, though the station was busy as ever. Rusty James had just stumbled in from his ride, slumping off his mount, handing Darry the mail, and dragging his tired legs toward the bunkhouse. Johnny had gone out earlier, before the stars were done fading. Now it was Pony’s turn—westbound.

His satchel was full of fresh mail, cinch already checked and double-checked by Darry. His coat was warm, food packed, and water flask full. There was nothing left to do but leave.

But he had a couple more minutes to linger.

Soda stood by the stirrup, rubbing Whisper’s neck, murmuring something to her under his breath—nothing for Pony to hear, just the soft language he used with horses. When he looked up, his smile was light, but his eyes weren’t. “You be back before we miss you,” he said.

Pony huffed. “You miss me before I leave.”

“Yeah, well.” Soda shrugged, but he stepped in and hugged him tight, hand warm on the back of his neck. “Ride safe, honey.”

Pony didn’t answer. He just leaned into it for a second, eyes falling shut. The hug broke too soon, as always.

Darry stepped forward. He looked at Ponyboy with that unreadable face he wore like armor. Pony met his eyes, trying to find something steady there—and he did. But he also found the same thing that was always buried under it.

Fear.

It was quiet and hard, like a knot pulled tight and hidden. But Pony knew it was there. Knew that every time he rode out, it came back. Just like it did the first time he left the station only a month after the stagecoach wreck.

Pony gave a little nod. “I’ll be back by evenin’ tomorrow.”

Darry’s jaw clenched, and he gave the faintest tilt of his head. His arms were folded too tightly. “I know. Stay safe, little colt.”

Pony nodded then clicked his tongue, and Whisper took off, quick and steady. The kind of pace that ate up the miles like fire in dry grass. He turned and looked back once behind him. The station shrank, but the look in Darry’s eyes didn’t.

It came with him, always. Right beside the wind, and the road, and the steady thrum of hooves.

The rhythm settled in quickly. The reins were light in his hands, the cool morning air tugging at his collar. Somewhere out there, Johnny was riding eastbound. Somewhere behind him, his brothers had gone back to their chores.

But the road ahead was his alone.

The prairie rolled out in gold and gray around him. Pony kept his eyes forward, but his thoughts drifted back.

He didn’t know why he kept thinking of Darry’s face. Maybe it was just how still it’d been. How hard his brother worked to keep that fear locked in. Darry never told him not to go—of course, he wouldn’t. They needed Pony’s job. He earned twice the money they did. But Pony could feel every word Darry never said pressing into his back like another saddle strap.

He hated it.

Hated how much of himself Darry buried just so Pony could ride out with a clear head. Hated how they never talked about the wreck anymore, like silence would make the fear fade. Hated that his brothers had to worry about him this much.

“I’ll be back evenin’ tomorrow,” he’d said.

But what he really meant was: Please don’t worry. And what Darry meant when he said "I know" was: But I will anyway.

The wind picked up again, tugging harder at his jacket. He adjusted the satchel and ducked his chin lower, heart quiet, mind not.

He wasn’t even halfway to the relay yet, and already, home felt a thousand miles behind him.

A few more miles down the trail, Whisper’s ears pricked forward.

Pony heard it a second later: a low, dry buzz like a twig caught in the wind. But the breeze had died. He eased back on the reins.

The rattle was close. Real close.

Whisper danced to the side, nearly stepping on her own hooves. Pony leaned into her neck to stay on, heart jackhammering.

Then he saw it—coiled in the shadow of a rock, all rust and dust-colored, mouth partway open like it was smirking at him. The snake didn’t lunge, just warned him, that tail twitching with menace.

He swallowed hard. “It’s all right, girl,” he murmured. Whisper tossed her head like she didn’t believe him.

Pony nudged her into a wide arc, giving the snake a berth. Under his breath, he quoted, “‘Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance.’” They moved slowly and carefully. One wrong move and the mare might bolt, or worse—land on the snake.

But the snake stayed put. The rattle faded.

Whisper picked up speed again, but her muscles were tight and jittery beneath him for miles. So were his. “You did good, girl,” he whispered.

The relay station came into view just as the sun began to burn off the last of the morning.

It wasn’t much—just a squat sod building with a rough-fenced paddock, a split-log hitching post, and smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Only two men worked here: the station keeper and the stable hand. One of the horses whinnied when they crested the hill. Whisper answered with a low, tired snort.

Pony let himself exhale.

The station keeper stepped out to meet him. Grizzled, narrow-eyed, with a patched coat and gloves stained dark from oil and years. Pony didn’t know his name. Riders passed through too fast to collect them all. But the man tipped his hat just the same.

“You’re late,” he grunted, though not unkindly.

“By a few minutes, maybe,” Pony said, swinging down. “Nearly ran into a rattler.” His legs trembled a little when his boots hit the dirt, but he steadied fast. “Not too bad. It didn’t bite or nothin’. Spooked the horse, that’s all.”

The man nodded. “She hold steady?”

“Like always. She’s a gem.”

“Well then.” The man turned and hollered toward the paddock. “Get his remount!”

The stable hand, a kid maybe a year or two older than Pony, with straw-colored hair and a freckled face, ducked into view, leading a lean bay gelding already saddled and ready. The bay tossed his head as they approached, nostrils flaring.

Pony passed the pouch over to the station keeper, who checked the straps briefly before giving it a firm nod.

“You got a minute,” the man said, watching Pony prepare to switch horses. “Drink if you want. Piss if you need. Ride either way.”

Pony nodded and took the offered canteen, tossing back a few swallows of water. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and moved to mount the bay. His legs still remembered Whisper’s rhythm, and this one jolted him differently.

He didn’t like it like he liked her. But he didn’t complain.

As he gathered the reins again, the man offered something like approval: “Not every boy rides through round the rattlers and keeps his seat. You’ve got guts, kid.”

It was more than guts, though he didn’t say so. He had God, a family to get home to, and a horse to keep safe. Pony nodded once. “Thanks.”

He turned the horse toward the western trail. A beat passed, and then he was off again, hooves thundering over hard-packed earth. Dust rose behind him. The station faded fast.

Another leg down. And home still far off as he put mile after mile between him and them.

But the rhythm came back, steady as breath. And Pony let himself lean into it, praying the next stretch stayed quiet.

Chapter Text

Darry watched the dust trail vanish into the morning coolness, the last golden glint of Pony’s stirrup winking just before he dipped out of sight.

Darry stood still for another long moment. His coffee had gone cold in his hand. The sun climbed steadily, flattening the shadows into hard-edged shapes across the dirt. Behind him, the station had already come alive: the clatter of hooves in the stables, the tin-on-tin rhythm of Two-Bit hunting for pans, and Steve cussing something fierce at a thrown shoe.

The world moved on. Darry didn’t.

“Don’t go standing there like a ghost,” Soda said behind him, voice soft but teasing. “He’ll be fine.”

Darry didn’t turn. “I know.”

“He’s been riding that line for nearly a year now.”

“I know.”

“You said yourself it looks like a clear trail today. Weather’s holding. No sign of trouble.”

“I know,” Darry said again, then finally looked down into his cup. “I just hate that part. Watching him go.” He couldn’t help but remember watching Mama and Papa go the same way.

It was supposed to have been a routine journey, just a short trip into a nearby settlement to visit friends. But the stagecoach was running late and pushed through the route, despite the warning signs of a coming storm.

Somewhere along a narrow stretch cut into the edge of a gulch, heavy rain turned the path to mud, and the lead horse spooked. The driver lost control on the slick descent, and the coach skidded, veered too close to the edge, and toppled down the incline.

By the time a passing rider found the wreckage the next day, it was too late. The parents, along with one other passenger and the driver, were all dead. Only the guard riding shotgun had survived. He had been thrown from the top in the chaos and left with a broken arm and a haunted look.

Soda’s gaze softened, like he understood without Darry having to say anything. He reached over, took the cup out of his hand, and said, “I’ll heat this up for you. Go check on the delivery log before Steve breaks something important.”

The main room of the home station was already humming. The telegraph crackled now and then from its spot on the far wall. Steve stomped through, arms black with grease, grumbling about worn buckles and stubborn nails. Two-Bit, barefoot for some reason, was hunched by the fire, squinting into a skillet like it might sprout legs and run off.

Darry ran his hand along the worn surface of the mail counter. Everything was where it should be—and still, unease pressed against his ribs like a finger tracing along bone.

He looked up at his mother’s cross stitch hoop on the wall. Take therefore no thought for the morrow, it read.

Darry didn’t want to scoff at Scripture, but how could he not worry about tomorrow? Mama didn’t understand the role he was in. God would let Darry’s worry slide for this, right? Those words on the wall were for the people who worried about the little things. The things that didn’t matter like this. Weren’t they?

“Mail log’s up to date,” Steve said gruffly, wiping his hands on a rag. “Rusty James is in the bunkhouse snoring like a busted bellows, and Tex’ll be back in by nightfall. You really gonna hover over that ledger again? You know it’s all correct.”

“Did that mare Pony rode out on throw a shoe last week or not?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, but we switched her out before Pony’s run. She had the new one fit just fine. You know that.”

Darry nodded. He did know. That wasn’t the point.

By noon, Dally was back from scouting the eastbound trail. He didn’t dismount right away, only leaned forward in the saddle and lit a rolled corn husk cigarette, long and slow like he had nothing in the world to hurry for.

“Trail’s clear,” he said eventually, kicking dirt off his boots. “Weather looks fine, too. No sign of flash flood risk. Coyotes are further north this week. Quiet all around.”

Dally was reliable. His scouting was precise. But they didn’t always ease Darry’s nerves for his four riders. Some dangers still slipped through the cracks.

Darry spent the next hour brushing down the backup mounts even though it wasn’t his job. Soda caught him at it and didn’t say a word, just joined in and let the silence stretch between them like saddle leather pulled taut.

One of the younger colts nosed Darry’s arm, warm breath puffing against his sleeve. Darry blinked, pulled himself out of the fog.

“I’ll bet he’s at the Sand Hill station now” Soda said eventually. “Right on time.”

Darry nodded.

He wondered if the other station keepers worried as he did. Of course he fretted about his brother, especially after what his family had been through. Who wouldn’t?

But he worried for Johnny, who flinched every time Darry moved too fast, forgetting the kid had come from a rough home.

He worried for Tex, as Darry wondered if this Express would even last the year. From what he was hearing, it wasn’t as profitable as expected. Tex was no good with change. That kid lived in the here and now. If he thought he could ride for the Express forever, no matter if he dropped dead from the exhaustion, he would.

He worried for Rusty James, who was too reckless for his own good. The higher ups liked how quick he was. He was the fastest of any of their riders. But it was because he took the risks, pushed the horses too hard, and sometimes rode himself into trouble because he liked to pick fights.

And he worried for Ponyboy, who was far too young to be orphaned when he was, who loved the horses a bit too much, who lost himself in his thoughts when he needed to be paying attention to the trail. He had this sinking feeling that told him that one of these days, Ponyboy would test fate one time too many.

Darry hadn’t always been like this. He hadn’t always had such heavy responsibility. He didn’t regret it either. But he couldn’t help but remember the days out riding with his friends for fun, going to school, eventually bookkeeping, then coming home to a hot meal cooked by his mother.

He ached for that life a lot.

But he loved his gang. He loved this station. He wouldn’t give up what he had for the world. And with Pony’s job, they were collectively making more than his entire family probably had been only 14 months ago.

But even so, as he stared out west again that evening—long after the horses were fed, the gear repaired, and the station quieted down—he swore he could still see the dust cloud where Pony had vanished, and something about it just wouldn’t settle right in his gut.

“God, keep him safe,” he whispered. He’d already repeated such a prayer throughout the day, but once more couldn’t hurt.

Chapter Text

There were seventeen horses at the station right now, each sleek, lean, and twitchy with energy. No names, officially, but Sodapop had names for every last one. Little things he kept to himself. It made the work easier. Made the horses feel like more than tools.

Because they weren’t to him. He didn’t care what the regional managers thought. These horses were living, breathing beings. They were each unique and special. He loved them all.

He called the gray with the chipped ear Thistle. The rangy sorrel that could outrun a forest fire? Matchstick. He named that mare Pony loved so much Sage.

He kept her stall neatest of all, just for Pony.

Darry rang the bell just after dawn. The start of the work day. Like clockwork. Always. It didn’t matter if they were tired or bruised or bone-weary from yesterday’s windstorm or last night’s coyote scare. You ran a station like you ran a body: everything working together, no part slack.

Breakfast came early. Two-Bit had the skillet going already, whining about the eggs sticking and someone using up the coffee too fast. Sodapop was certain Darry was the culprit. Sodapop himself could hardly stand the stuff. Steve was patching a worn saddle in the tack shed, fingers stained black with grease and dye. Dally had vanished before light, out scouting the northern ridge and watching for trouble on the trail—always armed, always muttering about bandits or natives, even if they hadn’t seen any in months.

Johnny was due back that afternoon. Rusty James wouldn’t show for a few days with an upcoming double shift. Tex had taken off at sunrise after getting in last night.

And Pony was still out. Somewhere west. Riding hard, sleeping rough, scribbling in that little notebook he thought nobody noticed. Soda didn’t know if it was prayers or poetry or stories. One of these days, he’d find a way to ask.

The day passed in rhythm.

He mucked stalls, soothed a nervous bay after one of the other horses was messing with it, helped Steve fit a new shoe on a mare who kicked like hell. When riders came in, they didn’t linger. Relay work was fast—mail switched, horse changed, rider gone in two minutes or less. Time was everything.

Though they always had the same four riders sleeping at their station, a dozen others probably came through on relays. Sodapop didn’t know them hardly at all. There was no way to when you only say them two minutes at a time.

Darry kept count with a chalkboard. He kept time with a pocket watch. He kept the station running tight as a drum.

As evening crept close, so did the rumblings of thunder from the westbound route.

Ponyboy always came back windblown and grinning, aching from the saddle but proud. You could hear his whoop in the distance as approached.

Soda listened for that call, due back any minute.

The wind had been rough that afternoon. The clouds weren’t moving fast, but they were thick—gathering in grays and greens across a yellow sky. The smell of rain drifted in like a warning.

Sodapop hadn’t sat still for an hour. He kept bouncing between the stable and the porch, rubbing his hands together, trying not to glance at the clock every two minutes.

“He’s late,” he muttered, pacing again. “He ain’t ever late by more than ten minutes. It’s been a half hour.”

Steve leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “It’s the weather. You think the trail’s dry as bone? He’s probably just slowed up a little.”

“He ain’t ever late like that,” Soda said again, softer this time. “Even in bad weather.”

Inside the station house, Darry was pretending to read inventory records. The ledger was open in front of him, but his eyes hadn’t moved in ten minutes. Two-Bit had set dinner aside twenty minutes ago. No one felt much like eating.

Another gust of wind rolled through and rattled the shutters. Somewhere out there, thunder rumbled low.

Then came the sound of boots on the floorboards, sharp and certain.

Dally.

He’d already pulled on his coat and strapped on his knife. His rifle hung from his shoulder. He looked ready to go before anyone had even asked. “He’s thirty minutes late,” Dally said flatly. “And the storm’s almost here.”

Darry stood, the chair scraping loud across the floor. “Go,” he said.

Dally headed for the door.

“Dally—” Soda’s voice cracked. He wanted to say more but couldn’t.

Dally paused, one hand on the doorframe. “Ready me a horse. I’ll find him.”

Soda rushed to do so, sending Dally off into the dust and wind within minutes. Silence fell hard behind him.

Sodapop sat down slowly on the bench by the door, face pale, chest rising fast. He pressed both hands into his hair and let out a shaking breath.

Two-Bit mumbled, “He’s fine. You’ll see. Pony’s just waitin’ out the weather somewhere.”

But nobody answered. Because none of them believed it.

Johnny quietly left the room and returned a minute later with his leather Bible in hand. “It won’t be a Pony read, that’s for sure,” he said with a sheepish smile. “We’ll wait until tonight for that. But this may help.” He cracked it open, flipping it toward the middle. “‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.”

Johnny looked back up, his eyes glistening. “See? God knows exactly where Ponyboy is. He’ll keep him safe.”

Sodapop prayed that Johnny was right.

Chapter Text

The sky was heavy with an approaching storm, that strange, sour-yellow shade that meant trouble was coming fast. Ponyboy could feel it in his bones, humming in the metal of the stirrups, vibrating low in his teeth. He leaned low over the horse’s neck, eyes squinting against the wind.

Weather like this used to thrill him. Now, if just reminded him of that awful night he’d lost Mama and Papa.

“Come on, girl,” he muttered, back with Whisper for the final leg of the trip. “We’re close.”

They were maybe eight or nine miles out from the home station. Close enough he could almost feel the warmth of the bunkhouse fire, see Johnny grinning with that soft, tired look he got whenever Pony came back safe. Close enough he could imagine Soda waiting near the fence with a blanket and a joke. Darry would check the mail bag before checking Pony, but that was just Darry being Darry. He’d still ruffle his hair when no one was looking.

The wind changed—sharp and electric. Then thunder cracked like the earth was being ripped in two, and the mare screamed beneath him.

Before he could soothe her, the world exploded.

A white bolt split the sky, jagged and monstrous. It hit a rock somewhere to the left, then arced up again, striking something else.

The horse screamed again and stumbled.

“Easy!” Pony cried. “It’s okay, just—just run!”

But it wasn’t okay. Everything dropped.

Whisper crumpled mid-gallop with a strangled noise, her legs folding and body twisting. Ponyboy did what he was trained to do: kicked his feet from the stirrups and shoved off, aiming to leap clear before she hit the ground.

But something went wrong.

His right foot caught. The leather was slick with rain, and in the frantic motion, it jammed just enough to pull him sideways with her. He tried to twist free, but he didn’t get the angle. Didn’t have time.

Whisper fell to the right—and Pony went with her.

He hit hard. One second he was flying. The next, he was wedged in the earth, buried under half a thousand pounds of dead horse. The wind tore from his lungs as the weight of her body slammed down across him.

His left leg bent wrong in the fall—pinned beneath Whisper’s flank and the ground, twisted outward at the hip, foot skewed at a sickening angle. His hip socket screamed, an unnatural stretch that had him biting down on a yell.

His right leg was curled under, caught between the saddle and belly. But it was the left that felt debilitating.

His torso had taken part of the blow too, smashed onto his right side, cheek in the dirt, ribs aching. His left arm was stuck underneath her, too, pressed to his side. He couldn’t roll. Couldn’t shift. Couldn’t even breathe without pain sparking through his legs. His lungs weren’t expanding enough.

And he couldn’t see her face. All he could sense was the stink of something burnt.

He was trapped. And his favorite horse in the world was still.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”

He turned his head, slow and shuddering. The mail satchel was there. Soaked through, but there. Whisper wasn’t moving. Oh, God, please, no, was she really dead?

The wind kicked up again, and something cracked in the trees. Rain started, picking up in heaviness until it sluiced down his face and into his mouth. The air felt prickly with a charge. By gum! Had Whisper been hit by lightning?

He thought of Johnny. Of how scared he’d be.

He thought of Darry’s voice, rough and low: Stay safe.

He thought of Soda’s easy laughter before a ride, sending Pony well wishes.

Pony craned his neck, seeing that they’d skidded down and off the trail, just beyond the brush and probably out of sight. By jing, this was bad.

The rain kept coming.

It filled his ears, pressed heavy against his chest, slicked down his face until he could hardly tell where skin ended and mud began. The mare’s body was still warm but growing heavier by the minute. His leg throbbed beneath her with a pain so deep it felt unreal, like it belonged to somebody else.

Ponyboy clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t let go. If he passed out now, no one would find him. They’d fallen off the trail. He’d just be swallowed up by the ground. Another name passed from rider to rider. The boy who never came home.

He blinked, slow. The edges of the world were going soft. His ribs ached with each shallow breath.

“Stay awake,” he muttered. “Stay… stay awake, Ponyboy.”

His right hand scraped through the mud until his fingers hit the saddlebag strap. Not close enough to pull it to him or get a drink.

He imagined Johnny waiting at the station, fingers twitching, boots scuffed from pacing the floor. Soda watching the horizon, arms folded and mouth trembling. Darry sitting stiff at the table, pretending not to worry, but listening for hoofbeats.

“They’ll come,” Pony whispered, his voice weak. “They’ll come for me.”

Another crack of thunder rolled across the prairie like cannon fire, reminding him of the country just split by war, the battles tearing up the land and men out east.

And then, in the resounding quiet, that’s when he heard it.

Rustling. Low and sharp. Not wind or water. Pony froze.

A shape moved just beyond the edge of his vision. It was dark and hunched. Had four legs. His throat closed. Coyote. Wolf. Something worse?

He couldn’t run or fight. All he could do was lay there, half-covered by the body of his horse, water and mud pooling beneath him, pistol strapped uselessly under him, and hope he wasn’t too broken to bite.

He looked up at the sky and said, “Jesus, don’t let me die like this.”

Then he closed his eyes, but not to sleep. Just to remember Soda’s laugh. Johnny’s quiet hum. The way Darry said his name like it was both a warning and a prayer.

He opened his eyes, the animal a little bit closer. It was clear to see now that it was a wolf. Did that mean there were others close by? Did wolves always travel in packs? Fear coursed through him.

“Git!” he shouted as loud as he could muster with his lungs being squashed as they were. So, not very loud. “Go on, get outta here! We ain’t yer supper!”

The wolf didn’t run. It continued to watch.

“‘Have not I commanded thee?’” Ponyboy started in a shaking voice. “‘Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.’” The wolf stayed where it was. Pony blew out a breath. Fine. As long as it didn’t get closer or call its friends.

The rain had slowed considerably, the thunder rolling quieter as it moved east. And yet, rainwater still fell from the sky, collecting around Ponyboy in a muddy puddle. That wasn’t good. He couldn’t move, and if it got deep enough…

No. He didn’t want to think about that.

A gust of wind stirred the grass. The wolf’s ears twitched; its nose lifted. It padded a few paces forward.

Pony clenched his jaw and tried to keep his eyes open. Sleep was clawing at him again. That weightless float. But if he slept now and that thing came any closer…

A growl, soft and guttural, rolled out low from the wolf’s chest.

Pony whimpered without meaning to. He hated the sound of his own fear. Whisper’s lifeless body was heavy on top of him, but the weight of the wolf’s stare, the knowing, hungry stillness, was somehow even worse.

And still, the wolf waited.

Pony didn’t know how long had passed as he faded in and out of consciousness, breathing shallowly. It was dark, the sun slipped below the horizon, clouds still covering the sky as it rained. It must be late, then, given that they were just past the summer solstice. He had been due in the evening. Very late, by this point. His gang had to have realized he wasn’t coming back. They had to be coming for him. At the very least, Dally would be out now looking for him.

Whisper’s body hadn’t moved, not an inch. Her weight had settled hard over his left leg and hip, keeping him from twisting or sitting up. The ground beneath him had grown colder with every minute, soaking through the fabric of his clothes, up his spine, until even the shallowest breath trembled.

The pain had gone strange. It pulsed in a quiet, dull wave, edged with something sharp only when he shifted. But it was the silence that started to gnaw at him.

Then he heard it again. A soft crack in the underbrush. He turned his head just slightly. It was still there, only just visible in the darkness.

The wolf stood about fifteen yards away. It wasn’t snarling. It was simply watching him in that eerie, patient way wild things do when they’re trying to decide what something broken is worth.

Pony closed his eyes for a moment in complete exhaustion. His lashes were wet. He couldn’t feel his toes. He couldn’t feel much at all. His body felt tingly.

The wolf didn’t come closer at first. It would retreat now and then, slinking back into the brush, gone long enough that Pony thought maybe it had left.

But each time he stirred again, it was there. Closer. Sitting now, front paws neat and still, head tilted ever so slightly like it couldn’t figure him out.

“‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me,’” Ponyboy whispered, letting the verse soothe him. “‘What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.’”

As he felt himself fading again, he used his last moments awake for a desperate prayer. Lead Dally to me. Let me see my family again. Please, don’t let me die here. Not like this. I haven’t even seen my fifteenth birthday. I ain’t ready.

Chapter Text

Sodapop was struggling with the tack. His fingers wouldn’t stay steady. The leather slipped and twisted in his grip, soaked through with rain and shaking just as bad as he was.

“You sure you wanna go alone?” he asked, voice cracking. “Dally, you—”

“I’m faster alone,” Dallas cut in. His tone wasn’t cruel, but it was steely. “You stay here in case he shows.”

Soda nodded, blinking fast. He yanked the girth tight and handed Dally the reins. The horse was a lean, hot-tempered roan—mean if you didn’t know her, fast if you did. Dally swung up without a word.

Soda gripped the stirrup one last time, like he didn’t want to let go. “If you find him…”

“I’ll find him.”

And then Dally was gone, cutting into the rain like a blade.

The storm wasn’t heavy, not yet. Just a misting drizzle that sank into Dally’s collar and chilled him all the way down. The wind carried the scent of wet sage and distant thunder. The dirt road had turned to mud under his horse’s hooves, squelching with every stride.

He called Pony’s name again and again, never hearing anything in response.

Every bend of the trail that didn’t reveal a figure in a slicker or a flash of a horse’s flank twisted something tighter in Dally’s chest. Every empty stretch of road made the silence louder.

He scouted every switchback, every narrow deer path off the main line, finding nothing. A whole hour passed like that, then another. His voice was going hoarse. His knuckles were white on the reins.

“Pony!” he shouted again, louder this time, the sound cracking in the damp air.

He sank in the saddle a little, jaw clenched. He wanted to cuss, to scream, to hit something. That horse of Pony’s hadn’t just thrown him—it would’ve come back. Something worse had happened. Something was wrong.

He reined in and dropped his head. Rain rolled off his hat brim in slow drips. The roan pawed at the ground, restless.

It was almost a fifteen-mile stretch between Little Blue River and the next relay station, Spring Ranch. That was a lot of ground to cover scouting. Especially if he couldn’t go far off trail unless he saw or heard something. If Ponyboy wasn’t on the trail somewhere, Dally didn’t know what he’d do or how long this could take. This could be bad.

The rain remained steady. Dally pulled his collar tighter, urging the mare forward along the slick trail. She was strong and steady-footed, but even she stumbled every now and then over the rocks slicked with mud.

He shouted again. “Ponyboy!”

His voice came out hoarse. It had cracked an hour ago. He’d lost count of how many times he’d called.

The weight of the fifteen-mile stretch hung heavy in his gut—he’d covered more than half of it, he was sure—but there’d been no sign of the little rider. Just endless wet trail and wind and scattered trees. No broken branches. No hoofprints off the trail. Not a single damn trace.

The worries kept clawing at him.

What if Pony’d been thrown? What if he was facedown in the river? What if he was dead? What if Dally had to tell his brothers?

Dally spat, frustrated, and yanked the horse to a stop. “Damn it,” he hissed, tipping his hat back to rub at his eyes. They were stinging. It could’ve been the rain. Could’ve been something else.

He sat there, breathing hard, listening, hearing nothing but wind and rain.

“Ponyboy!”

He started to move on—then froze. What was that? A faint sound? A cry, maybe? He turned his head, held his breath. There. There is was again.

“Pony?” His voice cracked again. “Ponyboy?”

A soft cry answered. There. Off the trail. Down the embankment, past a thicket of brush.

He dismounted fast, letting the mare’s reins fall loose as he plunged forward, boots sliding in mud.

And there—half-buried under a motionless horse, curled, filthy, mouth half covered in mud, and deathly pale—was Pony.

Dally cursed. “Pony. Blazes, Ponyboy. Consarn it, kid, how did you even…”

“Dally,” Pony whispered, his lashes fluttering. He coughed, and it sounded shallow and painful. “The wolf.”

“Wolf? No, kid, you’re—” The words finally processed. “Tarnation, you mean…” Dally straightened, swinging his lantern and looking for the beast. In all likelihood, if there had been a wolf stalking him, at Dally’s noise, it would’ve run. An animal like that wouldn’t take its chances attacking a healthy, dangerous man with a strong horse. Still. “Hey!” he yelled into the darkness. “Stay away from him, you bitch!”

“Dal,” Pony rasped, and Dally almost laughed when he realized it was a reprimand.

“What, it’s a dog, it’s accurate language.” Dally crouched down. “Great guns, kid, you really got yourself wedged, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.”

Pony didn’t respond. His eyes were fluttering like he couldn’t decide whether to wake up or give in to the dark again, and that scared Dally worse than anything.

“Come on, Pony,” Dally barked, digging his boots in and trying to wedge his shoulder under the horse’s belly. “Don’t you check out on me, y’hear?”

He heaved, pushing with his legs and upper body. The horse didn’t budge. It was just a dead, heavy slab of meat. Dally gritted his teeth and tried again, arms straining, knees sinking deep into the sludge.

Still nothing.

His breath came short. The cold was getting in now, down his collar, up his sleeves, but it wasn’t that. It was the thought creeping in around the edges—What if I’ve gotten here too late?

“No, no—come on!” he yelled, this time throwing his full weight into it, muscles screaming, but all he got was a sharp pain in his back and a deepening sense of dread. “Dammit!”

He fell to his knees again, chest heaving, fists clenching in the mud.

Pony let out the smallest groan.

“Yeah, I’m here, Ponyboy,” Dally said quickly, voice breaking like the distant thunder. He leaned in close, pressing a hand to Pony’s wet forehead, brushing back soaked hair. “I’m here. But I need you to stay with me, alright? Just stay awake. What happened?”

"She was... struck? Lightnin'," Pony mumbled, his voice wavering.

Lightning? Really? If it was the truth, it sounded horrifying. Dally’s arms trembled from the effort, his boots slipping in the mud as he threw himself into one last hopeless push. Nothing. Just a sickening squelch of soaked earth and the still, crushing weight of death.

“No,” he breathed, voice ragged, rainwater dripping from his lashes. “No, no, no!”

Pony groaned again, barely audible.

“I know, kid, I know,” Dally rasped, sinking down beside him, gripping his shoulder tight. “I’m here. I got you.”

But the truth twisted in his gut like a knife: He couldn’t lift her. Not alone. Not with just his hands and brute will. Not in this weather. Not with the trail going soft under him and night coming fast.

And there was no one else.

Dally closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the dead horse’s slick hide, rain slicking down his back. He stayed like that for a second before he whispered, “Dammit all to hell.”

Then he looked down at Ponyboy, pale and shivering under the beast’s weight, the edge of pain carved deep into his face, even half-conscious.

“I’ll be back,” Dally said, voice low but fierce, like a vow. “I swear it, Ponyboy. I swear it.”

“No,” Pony begged. Dally wasn’t certain if there were tears slipping down the kid’s face or if it was just the rain. “Dal—Dally, don’t—don’t leave me.”

He wanted to do anything but. But he had no choice. He pulled his coat tight around the boy’s exposed arm, trying to shield as much of him as he could.

Shoot, he needed something to calm this kid down and keep him conscious. What were those Bible verses he was always quoting? Dally wasn’t good with this kind of thing. Switch him, what was that one about fear?

God, I don’t believe in nothin’ like You, but if you’re out there, give me somethin’.

“Um, fear not thou, right, Pony?” He shook him by the shoulder a bit. “Fear not thou.”

Pony snickered a bit. “‘Fear thou not,’” he corrected in that persnickety little tone of his. “‘For I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’”

Dally snickered, relieved to hear he had enough energy to tease. “Thee, thou, whatever. Who even talks all old like that anymore?” He let out a breath. “But, good. Think about that. I’ll be back in a split. You hang on for me, colt. I’ll be back with everyone. Your brothers. Johnny. We’re gonna get you out. Just a little longer.” He pressed his own pistol into Pony’s hands. “That wolf ain’t comin’ back, but if she does, at least you got this.”

"Wait," Pony croaked. "The mail."

Dally looked over at the damp bag. Damn the mail, he wanted to say, but then he thought about it. This was Pony's job. His family's livelihood. Management wasn't exactly forgiving, even in accidents. No matter what, the mail had to get delivered. "Fine." He slung the bag over his shoulder to take back with him.

Dally pressed his knuckles to Pony’s cheek. It was still warm but cooling. He stood and turned, every bone in his body screaming at him not to go. But he ran, mud flying behind him, lungs burning, dashing back up to the trail and his horse.

“Yah!” he cried, driving his heels into her side and shooting off like a bullet.

Chapter Text

The stable doors slammed open with a crack like a shot. Rain came in sideways, wind howling through the gap. Johnny cried out. Soda jerked up from where he’d been pacing, straw stuck to his damp boots. Steve dropped the bridle he was coiling. Darry stood from his seat so fast the chair behind him crashed to the floor. Two-Bit’s jaw was set tightly as he looked at Dally with anxious expectation.

Dally stumbled in, dripping wet, leading the exhausted horse in behind him, breath tearing in and out of his chest. His already white face was ash-pale under the rain and grit, eyes wide and wild. Sodapop had never seen him like this.

“I found him.”

The words struck like a slap.

Soda was on him in a second. “Where? Where is he? Is he okay?!”

“He’s alive,” Dally gasped. “But he’s trapped. Horse went down—dead. He thinks she was struck by lightning. Landed right on him. He’s pinned under it and I—I couldn’t get him out.”

Steve swore loudly, already sprinting to saddle the horses. Darry grabbed Dally by the shoulders.

“Where?” His voice was low, deadly calm, but his hands were shaking. “How far?”

“Eight, maybe nine miles west. Right before the creek bend. He’s off the trail, maybe twenty paces in. I almost missed him. He barely answered. He’s cold and out of it. Might be a wolf nearby, too.”

Soda let out a strangled sound and had to brace against the wall. His brother. His brother! “We gotta go, Darry. Now. Now.”

“We will,” Darry said, already turning to shout orders. “Steve, get four of the strongest horses. A fifth, light one for Johnny. Hitch two for hauling. Get ropes. Blankets. Two-Bit—make something hot for us when we’re back. Boil water for a bath. And be ready for a rider, ’cus I know we got one relay comin’ through tonight.”

“I’ll go back with you,” Dally said hoarsely, grabbing the saddle Steve passed him.

“No,” Darry snapped. “You’re soaked to the bone and shaking. You’ll slow us down. You need to rest.”

“I’m going back,” Dally snarled, already climbing into the tack. “I left him. I ain’t leaving him again.”

There was no time to argue.

Johnny gripped Dally’s arm. “Lightning? What do you mean, lightning?”

“Don’t know,” he said gruffly. “S’what Pony thinks.”

Soda led out the hauling team with trembling hands, whispering to the horses like he always did when he was scared. “You’re gonna be real good, all right?” he said. “We’re gonna go save Pony.”

He looked toward his big brother, hoping to find a shred of reassurance there, but Darry’s jaw was set so tight, Soda feared he’d crack it. His eyes were haunted, like his worst nightmare had just come true.

He made eye contact with Sodapop, who couldn’t hold it in anymore. His composure cracked, and he let out a fearful sob, racing into Darry’s chest. “It’s Mama and Papa again,” he cried.

Darry held him tightly and fiercely, as if he could keep one thing safe. “No. No, it can’t be. I won’t let it. He’s still alive.”

They didn’t know that, though.

Steve threw supplies into saddlebags.

Johnny breathed hard, his eyes blown wide with fear. He kept mumbling, “My help cometh from the Lord, my help cometh from the Lord, my help cometh from the Lord…”

Two-Bit’s mouth trembled. “Bring him back,” he begged.

Within five minutes, the gang rode out into the storm, hooves thundering, mud flying, fear a weight on every back.

The rain didn’t let up.

It soaked through coats and shirts and boots, turning the ground to slick mud that sucked at hooves and slowed the hauling team.

Darry rode in front, mouth drawn tight, reins clutched in white-knuckled fists. Dally was just behind, guiding them to the spot.

When they reached the bend in the trail, Dally pulled up. “Here,” he said, pointing to the brush just off the path. “He’s through there. You’ll have to dismount.”

They scrambled off the horses, leaving Steve to manage the team. Darry and Soda followed Dally down the bank, crashing through the wet undergrowth.

“There!” Dally hissed.

A crumpled shape lay just ahead—half-buried in mud and tangled in the dead weight of a horse.

Ponyboy.

Darry staggered forward, “Pony?”

There was no response.

Soda dropped to his knees, slipping in the mud, hands flying to Pony’s face, scraping as much as the mud away from his head as he could. Lord, help them, it looked like the kid had nearly been drowning in it. “Pony—Hey, hey, sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Soda. Come on—”

A weak groan sounded, barely audible. Pony’s head shifted, lashes fluttering. His forehead rested against the horse’s flank, and he let out a soft sob, mumbling something incoherent.

“He’s alive,” Soda sobbed, folding over his little brother. “Oh, thank God, Darry—he’s alive.”

Darry sank beside them, running a hand over Pony’s muddy, too-cold forehead. “Oh, baby boy,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I knew it, I knew something was wrong. I’m so sorry. We’re gonna get you out, kiddo. Just hang on.”

Johnny knelt at their other side, holding Pony’s hand. “We’re here now,” he said softly. “We’ll get you free, Pony, I promise.”

Dally knelt at the horse’s flank, gaze worried. “She’s real stiff now. Dead too long. We won’t get her off without rigging it.”

Steve arrived, dragging ropes and tack. “Got the team hitched. We’ll try pulling her back—slow and steady.”

Darry nodded. “Do it.”

They moved fast. Steve and Dally worked the ropes, looped them around Whisper’s front half. The team strained, hooves digging into the mud. The horse’s body shifted—but Pony let out a choked scream.

“Wait—stop!” Soda cried, horror rushing through him. “You’re tearing him—she’s pinning him wrong!”

They eased off.

“Pony, Pony, what is it?” Soda asked. “What hurts, love?”

“My left leg,” Pony gasped. “It’s twisted.”

Darry wiped a hand down his face. “We need to lift her straight up, not drag.”

“Need more leverage, then,” Steve muttered. “Maybe a tree branch?”

Soda stayed beside Pony, cradling holding his head and whispering whatever comforts he could find. “You’re okay now, baby, you’re okay. You’re not alone.”

“M’gonna sink, gonna sink,” Pony moaned. “So heavy.”

“No you ain’t,” Sodapop insisted, trying to brush his face clean. “We won’t let you. We ain’t goin’ anywhere, little one.”

The rain had softened the trail into a pit of muck, and the air smelled of wet leather, iron, and horse.

They worked slower this time. “If she’s collapsed over his left leg,” Darry mused, “if we lift her too fast, could twist his hip worse.”

“Gotta dig under,” Steve said. “Ease the pressure first.”

Dally was already on it, shoving his sleeves up, scooping thick, cold mud with his bare hands. “We make a trench under the chest. Get enough clearance, then we lift.”

Darry joined him without a word. The two of them dug like hell, mud caking their skin, sinking into their boots and gloves. Steve ran to get the smaller shovels they’d brought for clearing hooves.

Soda hadn’t left Pony’s side. He was soaked through, legs tucked beneath him, holding Pony’s head gently in his lap. His hand never stopped moving—rubbing Pony’s arm, smoothing back his matted hair, trying to warm skin that was far too cold.

“You’re doing good, baby,” Soda whispered, his voice trembling. “You just hang on. Just a little longer, okay? They’re digging you out. You’ll be home before you know it.”

Pony’s lips parted. His breath hitched, shallow and pained.

“Can’t feel my leg…” he murmured.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Soda said quickly, “but that might be a good thing, okay? It could help us get you out easier. Cause you less pain.”

Johnny hardly made a sound. He just watched Pony intently, like he was terrified his best friend would disappear if he so much as blinked.

Soda looked over at him, his heart softening for his friend. “He’ll be all right, Appleseed. Don’t you worry your little head.”

Behind them, Darry barked, “Steve, lower that rope—go under her front shoulder.”

“I’m tryin’, but the angle’s still wrong.”

“Then we change the damn angle.” Darry slammed the spade into the mud again.

Dally leaned over. “We rig the pull up from that pine. Use it like a pulley. Might give us cleaner lift.”

“Go,” Darry said.

Dally ran.

Soda cradled Pony tighter. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “I’m so proud of you. You hear me, Ponyboy Curtis? I’m proud of you.”

Pony’s breathing remained shallow. “M’scared. C—Can you pray?”

Soda wanted to, but the words clogged in his throat. He didn’t know what to possibly say.

Thankfully, Johnny started to speak, gripping Pony’s hand and bowing his head. “Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.”

“Amen,” Ponyboy whispered, his lips barely moving.

Minutes passed like hours. The trench deepened. Dally looped the rope high over an overhead branch, testing it. Steve tightened the team into place again, adjusting the slack with shaking hands.

The storm had tapered to a drizzle, but the trees still wept. Mud squelched underfoot as Darry yanked the last knot tight around the pine branch, his jaw clenched.

“That limb’s thick enough,” he muttered, like he was convincing himself. “It’ll hold.”

“It better,” Dally snapped, his voice hoarse. “We ain’t got time for ‘almost.’ He ain’t lookin’ too sharp.”

Soda didn’t look up. He had one arm wrapped protectively around Pony’s chest, the other resting gently on his soaked locks of hair. Pony’s eyes fluttered between half-lidded and wide with fear, his face pale and feverish, breath short and shallow.

“It hurts bad,” Pony whispered, teeth chattering. “My leg’s—Soda, it’s—”

“Shhh, I know.” Soda pressed a kiss to his forehead, voice thick. “I know, honey. We’re getting you out. Just hold fast, all right? You’re doing so good.”

Johnny knelt on Pony’s other side, still holding his hand. “We’re right here,” he said quietly. “Soda and I are gonna pull you out.”

Pony managed the tiniest nod.

“All set!” Steve called.

Darry raised his hand. “Easy lift. Just enough clearance. If this works—Soda, Johnny—you pull him clear.”

They both nodded.

“All right. One. Two. Three!”

The horses strained against the rope, hooves digging into the muck. The pine branch groaned above—wood creaking under pressure—until the mare’s limp weight began to shift, lifting just barely off Pony.

“Now, Johnny—go!” Soda barked, already curling his hands beneath Pony’s arms.

But then—

CRACK.

The pine branch split with a vicious snap, the rope whipping loose.

Soda screamed.

The horse’s body collapsed back down with a sickening thud—crushing Pony’s body into the mud again. Pony cried out, the sound sharp and animalistic, echoing into the trees.

“No—no no no no!” Soda choked, throwing himself over him. He had never felt such fear and pain in his life. “It’s okay—it’s okay, I’ve got you—Johnny!”

“I’m here—I’m here,” Johnny said quickly, catching Pony’s face in his hands. “It’s all right, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay!”

Pony was sobbing now. If Soda had to guess, it sounded more fearful than pained. Ponyboy’s voice shook. “It—it came back down—I thought—I thought I was done—”

“I know,” Soda whispered, brushing tears from his brother’s cheeks. His heart hurt so badly. “I know, my baby, I know. You’re gonna be all right. I swear it.”

Darry was frozen, staring at the snapped pine branch, horror spreading across his face.

“We have to dig more,” Dally rasped, voice rough. “No more rope. We’ll have to move her with pure leverage.”

“I’ll get something to use a lever,” Steve said, already sprinting toward the gear.

“Dig around the leg, too,” Darry said, his voice low and cracked. “We can’t… we can’t do that to him again.”

Johnny huddled close against Pony’s side, cradling his cold hand.

Ponyboy sobbed shallowly. “Stuck. M’stuck. Gon’ die.”

“You’re not stuck forever,” Johnny said. “You ain’t gonna die. I promise you, Pony. We’re gonna get you home.”

Soda pressed his forehead to Pony’s temple, shielding him with his body. “You hear that?” he whispered. “You’re going home, honey. We’ll get you out, and we’re takin’ you home, darlin’.”

Steve came around, hauling a thick rail stripped from the corral fence. "We can use this. Lever her up."

Dally was already pulling another, longer beam off the packhorse. “We’ll need a fulcrum.”

"Rock there," Darry said, pointing with his boot. “And we brace her front. Under the shoulder. We don’t want her rolling further onto his chest.”

Working fast, they wedged the shorter beam just beneath the mare’s shoulder and rolled a thick stone underneath to serve as the fulcrum. Dally and Steve adjusted the angle while Darry slammed the rail down with the heel of his boot to wedge it tighter.

Dally took the long bar, gripping it near the end. “Steve, push with me.”

Steve joined him, hands beside Dally’s. They nodded once.

“Okay, Pony. We’re pulling you out now,” Sodapop said. “I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

Johnny braced, gripping tighter. Pony let out a soft, panicked breath, too weak to brace for what was coming. And then—

“On three,” Darry barked. “One. Two. Three!”

They heaved downward. The beam groaned, wood straining under the weight. Slowly, the mare’s body shifted, rising just enough for her weight to tilt away from Ponyboy’s side.

“Now!” Darry cried.

Soda and Johnny pulled.

Pony screamed.

His body dragged through the mud, every inch seeming to be a new agony as his left leg shifted. His voice cracked, then broke entirely, and he went limp halfway out, head falling back into Soda’s chest.

“Ponyboy!” Soda shouted.

Johnny cupped his face, studying for signs of life. “He passed out. He’s unconscious, that’s all!”

Darry scrambled over as Dally shoved the dead weight of the horse aside for good.

“He’s out—he’s out—” Soda kept saying, holding his brother tight against him, his voice high and panicked. “He’s out, he’s out, Darry, oh, God, help us—”

“Let me see—let me see him.” Darry was already pushing Pony’s hair back, checking his breathing. “Johnnycake’s right. He’s alive. Just out cold. Steve, grab the extra blanket.”

Soda didn’t loosen his grip. “He screamed, Darry. He screamed. I couldn’t stop it—I couldn’t keep it from hurting him—”

“You got him out,” Darry said fiercely, squeezing his shoulder. “You saved him. Thank you, Soda.”

Johnny stroked Ponyboy’s hand with muddy fingers. “He held on for so long,” he whispered. “He didn’t give up.”

“Yeah,” Dally muttered behind them, wiping rain from his face. “But we gotta get him back now. He ain’t safe like this.”

Darry nodded, hands already slipping under Pony's back. “He rides with me.”

Soda grabbed his arm. “No, he doesn’t.”

Darry’s head snapped up, eyes wild and pained. “Why not?”

Soda hated to keep Pony from him, but this was the cold, hard truth. “You weigh over two hundred pounds, Darry. Pony barely clears one-fifteen. That’s too much weight for any of these horses. They ain’t bred for that. But me and him together—we’re lighter, we’ll move faster, and I can easily keep hold of him.”

Darry looked like he might argue, but he didn’t. Just let out a rough breath and nodded, one hand brushing damp hair off Pony’s bruised forehead. “Be careful with him. Hold him tight.”

“I’d never let go,” Soda promised. “You know that.”

The rain kept its steady drizzle on the trip back. Soda had Ponyboy cradled against his chest in the saddle, one arm wrapped tight around his brother’s ribs, the other gripping the reins with. Pony’s head lolled against his shoulder.

“You’re all right,” Soda murmured into his muddy hair. “I got you, Pony. I got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

The others rode in silence, flanking them. Darry was just ahead, tense as a drawn bow. Steve rode behind, jaw clenched, glancing back every few seconds like he expected something worse to come after them. Johnny was beside him, soaked to the bone and looking over constantly at Ponyboy.

Then, it happened. Pony twitched once, breathed out hard, and then went still.

Soda shifted his hold. “Hey,” he said. “Pony?”

There was no response.

Soda’s heart thudded. “Pony?” He leaned back, adjusted the blanket, pressed a hand against his brother’s chest. No rise.

“Pony?!” His voice cracked. He pressed again. Still nothing. No breath on his neck. No warmth. “PONYBOY?!” It came out as a scream, raw and terrified.

The horses jerked as he reined in hard. Darry wheeled his mount around instantly. “What?!”

“He’s not—he’s not breathing!” Soda was sobbing now, panicked, shaking his little brother. “He’s not breathing—he’s not—”

Darry was off his horse before it even stopped moving. He reached them in two strides, reaching up and tearing Pony from Soda’s grasp. He felt for Pony’s throat as he held the boy’s whole weight with his other arm.

The seconds dragged. Soda sobbed in the silence. Everyone else held his breath.

“He’s got a pulse.”

Soda choked. “But—he’s—he’s not—”

“He’s breathing. Shallow. Look—there. His chest moved.”

Soda stared down at him, shaking. “I—I thought he died. Right there. Against me.”

“I know,” Darry said, his voice betraying a slight tremble. “I know. But he didn’t. He’s hanging on. You are, too.”

Soda wiped at his eyes furiously with the back of his sleeve, even though it did no good in the rain. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Darry said firmly. “You did the right thing. If he’s in danger, I need to know.” He hefted Pony back up in front of Sodapop.

Johnny rode up beside them, pale and wide-eyed. “He okay?”

“He will be,” Darry said. “We keep moving. No stopping now.”

Soda held Pony even closer against him. “I got you,” he whispered. “You scared the hell out of me, kid.”

They kept riding. And Ponyboy kept breathing.

Chapter Text

July 1855

The sun poured through the kitchen window in a lazy spill, warming the scuffed wood floor as Mrs. Curtis flipped the flapjacks one-handed and scolded Soda with the other.

“Stop stealing the batter, Sodapop Curtis, or I’ll make you eat raw flour for breakfast. You know I’ve told you to stop doing that. ‘Honour thy father and mother,’ young man!”

Soda grinned, already halfway out the back door with the mixing spoon in his mouth. He knew he could get away with a lot with that charming little smile of his, though he never pushed his luck too far.

Ponyboy was crouched at the table, brow furrowed over an old primer. He was only nine, small and sharp-eyed, his feet swinging off the chair.

“You’re gonna ruin your eyes, baby,” their mother said as she slid a plate in front of him. “Read that one closer to the window.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, but didn’t stop reading.

Their father ducked through the doorway, windblown and covered in the dust of the yard. “We’re takin’ the horses to pick up lumber this afternoon,” he said, clapping Darry on the shoulder. “You and me, big man. Soda, you’ll stay here and help your mama.”

Darry straightened a little under the praise, only sixteen but already taller than their father. “Yes, sir.”

Soda pouted from the porch. “Why do I always get stuck helpin’ with laundry?”

“Because you make it fun,” Mrs. Curtis said, kissing the top of his head as she passed. “And because you’re the only one who doesn’t gripe about it. Well, usually.”

There was a knock at the screen door—Two-Bit, waving a crushed bouquet of wildflowers and grinning like he’d stolen the whole field. “These’re for you, Mrs. Curtis,” he announced. “I’d give ’em to your husband, but he ain’t half as pretty.”

“That’s ‘cause I ain’t wearin’ lipstick,” Mr. Curtis said dryly, drawing a laugh from the whole kitchen.

Johnny came in quieter, almost invisible until Mrs. Curtis reached for a second plate and nudged it toward him without a word. He sat next to Pony, looking over his shoulder and softly asking what he was reading.

Dally was last, sauntering in uninvited, swiping a biscuit and tossing it between his hands like a baseball. “Smells like heaven in here.”

Mrs. Curtis only pointed at the sink. “You wash before you touch anything else, Dallas Winston, or I’ll take that biscuit and feed it to the barn cat.”

Dally did as he was told, grumbling good-naturedly.

It was a Saturday. Nobody had school. Nobody had work until after lunch. There were errands to run, lumber to be hauled, clotheslines to string, and probably a fight or two to break up before sundown. But for now, there was coffee in tin mugs, and sunlight on the floor, and the low rumble of Mr. Curtis’s voice humming through the room like a guitar string.

Darry watched everyone to see his brothers laughing, his parents teasing each other across the stove, and the gang filling in the gaps like they belonged there, because they did.

March 1860

Everything had gone quiet since the accident. Ponyboy sat on the porch, looking out at the sunrise.

Inside, the fire popped and hissed, but no one was talking. Two-Bit sat near the hearth, whittling a crooked spoon with a dull penknife. Soda was in the barn again, brushing down the horses. Said he liked the quiet out there better.

Darry stood at the back doorway, his arms folded, hat low over his brow. His eyes didn’t leave Ponyboy. He looked older these days—shoulders broader, voice a little lower, worry etched deep along his jaw. He was only thirteen, but he carried a lot for his age.

“You been out here long?” Darry asked.

Pony didn’t answer.

Darry stepped down onto the frost-bitten grass, boots crunching softly. He stopped beside him, close enough that their arms brushed when he sat on the edge of the porch.

“I can go chop kindling if you want,” Pony mumbled.

“That ain’t why I’m out here.”

They sat a long moment in the early light, listening to the distant sound of rusted hinges as Soda opened and shut the barn doors.

“They said the stage rolled down a ravine,” Pony said, voice brittle. “You think it was quick?”

Darry’s jaw tightened. He looked out at the fence posts, at the trail disappearing into bare cottonwoods.

“I reckon so.”

Pony looked down at his hands, raw from hauling water and scrubbing floors.

“Why’d it have to be them?”

Darry didn’t have an answer. He reached out and placed his palm against the back of Pony’s neck, warm and steady.

“Don’t feel right,” Pony whispered. “You tellin’ me when to bed down, tellin’ me to clean up, not them.”

Darry let out a breath. “Don’t feel right to me neither.”

A moment passed. The wind stirred dry leaves near the barn, and they both turned toward it. Soda stepped out into the yard, carrying a lantern, the light gold against the gray. He spotted them and smiled, but it didn’t reach all the way to his eyes.

“Come inside,” he called. “I’ll ask Two to make breakfast.”

Pony hesitated. Darry gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“I ain’t Papa,” he said softly. “I’m just tryin’ to hold this house upright. But I swear to you, Pony, whatever comes next, we’ll do it together.”

Pony nodded, swallowing thickly. He stood, boots scuffing the dusty boards. Darry rose too, placing a hand lightly between Pony’s shoulders as they walked in.

Inside, it wasn’t full of laughter or song like it used to be. But the fire still burned. The table was still set. The brothers still sat down beside each other, and as Two cooked, the rest of the gang filtered in, pretending they didn’t notice the missing voices.

It wasn’t the same. But it was still his family.

April 1860

The newspaper ads were run all over the country.

“WANTED: Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over eighteen. Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred. Apply at Russell, Majors & Waddell.”

He tore it from the paper and stared at it all day.

Because if that didn’t sound like Ponyboy…

Risk death daily. They didn’t really mean that, did they? Sure, they thought so. Trails were rough. There were dangers like snakes and raiders and natives and the like. But expert riders knew how to stay safe in the saddle and stirrups. This looked like good money. Not only that, it looked like a career his brother would thrive in.

And they were really tight on money. Darry didn’t have two bits to his name. He had a part time bookkeeping job and work at the logging camp on Saturdays. It wasn’t close to enough. He didn’t know how his family would survive another week, much less another year. And this Express sounded like it could provide them all with jobs. And they could stay together.

Because giving his brothers up to an orphanage was the last thing he’d do. If they had to work harder and sell the horses so they could leave the homestead for awhile, Darry didn’t like it, but so be it. Anything to keep them together, in his life.

He wouldn’t survive otherwise.

By the time he got home, the sun had sunk low behind the cottonwoods and Pony was out back mending a fence rail, hands streaked with pitch. Soda was inside, chopping onions for stew.

Darry laid the paper flat on the kitchen table.

“Look at this.”

Soda came over, wiping his hands on his shirt. Pony poked his head in a second later, dirt smudged across his jaw.

“Pony Express?” Soda read aloud, brow raised. “What, they really callin’ it that?”

Pony grabbed the paper, reading with quick eyes. “They’re hiring riders?”

“They’re doin’ something big,” Darry said, tapping the page. “Fast mail route from Missouri to California. Need a lot of riders. Could be decent money.”

Soda laughed. “Risk death daily, huh? Sounds like they don’t know what ‘expert riding’ means.”

Darry glanced at Pony. The kid had gone quiet, his fingers still pinching the paper like it might blow away. His eyes sparkled, something wild and wistful in them.

“You’re thinkin’ about it,” Soda said.

Pony nodded, slow. “Could I do it?”

“You’re the right size,” Darry said. “Says they want light and fast. You’re what—five foot five and a hundred pounds?”

“Hundred and ten,” Pony mumbled, straightening. “Almost.”

“You ride well enough,” Soda said. “Real well, actually.”

“I ain’t sayin’ it’s safe,” Darry cut in. “It ain’t. And I wouldn’t even bring it up if we weren’t gettin’ stretched so thin. We need the money. Bad.”

“We all go?” Soda asked.

Darry shook his head. “They’ll only take riders. But they need folks at the home stations too. Stable hands, farriers, cooks. I figure… we can offer our hands all around. Keep each other close.”

“You mean the whole gang?” Soda’s eyes lit up. Darry nodded

Pony stepped closer, hope glowing in his gaze. “You’d really let me ride? And doin’ this means I wouldn’t go to school no more. But—But it’d be okay, I read real good ’n everythin’!”

Darry hesitated. His eyes softened, jaw working like he was chewing the inside of his cheek. Then he nodded once.

“If you’re sure. And if they’ll have you.”

“I’m sure,” Pony said, and something in Darry brightened. He hadn’t seen either of his brothers this excited about anything since their parents died.

Soda grinned, slinging an arm around Pony’s shoulders. “Well, hell, we’re about to be Pony Express men.”

Darry cracked a smile. It was small, but it stayed. For the first time since the funeral, he felt like he could breathe without it hurting.

The whole gang rode to town in the morning. Dust kicked up behind the wagon Darry borrowed, and Soda whistled some off-key tune while Pony sat perched on the edge of the seat, boots swinging.

Dally had his boots propped on the backboard. “Reckon I’ll last longer than any of you sorry bastards.”

“You’ll be a problem, not a protector,” Two-Bit said, grinning. “Station master’s gonna ship you back in a box.”

“I got skills,” Dally shot back. “They’ll see.”

Johnny was quiet, sitting between Steve and Darry in the wagon bed. His eyes flicked from the paper in Darry’s hands to the wide open sky.

“They really mean it when they say risk death?” he asked softly.

“Sure, but you know how to ride good,” Steve said, patting his knee. “Job would be much more dangerous for someone who couldn’t, I reckon’.”

Pony leaned forward, squinting toward the building coming into view. “That’s the place, ain’t it? Russell, Majors, and Waddell?”

“Sure is,” Darry said. He folded the ad and tucked it in his coat. “Let’s go make ourselves known.”

The hiring office smelled like tobacco, saddle soap, and the sweat of a dozen too-eager boys waiting their turn. Some had come alone. Some in pairs. A few looked like they were barely off the bottle.

The Curtis gang stuck together near the door.

The recruiter, a squinting man with a bristly mustache, eyed them up and down. “Y’all here to work or cause trouble?”

“Both,” Dally muttered.

Darry shot him a look and stepped forward. “We’re here for the Express. Got riders and workers both.”

The man tilted his head. “How old?”

Darry nodded at each one. “I’m twenty. Have good bookkeeping and stablekeeping experience. My brother Soda’s sixteen—best work with horses you’ll ever see. Steve here’s seventeen and good with tack and iron. Ferrier work. Keith here, eighteen, cooks. Johnny can ride. He’s sixteen, ain’t got no folks no more.” None that mattered, anyway. “And Dallas, here, well—wherever you need the most loyal guy you need. He’s seventeen, too.”

“Gracious,” the man muttered. “You brought a whole crew.”

“Thought it best we stick together,” Darry said.

The recruiter turned his gaze to Pony. “And what about you?”

“I’m a rider,” Pony said proudly. “Nearly 14.”

That got a grunt of approval. “Name and weight?”

“Ponyboy Curtis, 110.” Then, a bit more quietly, “Orphan.”

“Hell of a name.”

A voice from the far end of the office laughed. “Ain’t no way that’s real.”

The boys turned as a lanky kid with a crooked grin approached, his hat tipped back on a mess of dark hair. “You say Ponyboy?”

“I did.”

“Name’s Tex,” the boy said, holding out a hand. “Just got hired as a rider. Hope we’ll be seeing each other.”

Pony took his hand. Tex had a strong grip and calloused fingers. He looked about sixteen, lean and sun-browned, with eyes like he’d seen more of the world than he let on.

“Tex?” Dallas said. “What, your folks too lazy to give you a real name?”

Tex grinned. “It’s Texas, actually. Least my folks gave me the whole state instead of some dumb little city.”

The gang howled with laughter as Dallas scowled.

Then another boy slid in behind Tex—a wirier one, with sharp eyes and a twitchy energy. He looked barely older than Pony but already had a fresh scar down the side of his jaw.

“This is Rusty James,” Tex said. “Don’t let him talk your ear off.”

Rusty James just raised his eyebrows and gave a lazy two-finger salute. “Howdy. Man, I sure hope they hire you all for the station crew. It’s been forever since I’ve had a good group of guys.”

Darry almost scoffed. This kid talked as if he’d been around for decades, remembering the good old days.

The recruiter barked, “Curtis, Ponyboy. You’re up.”

Pony stepped forward, suddenly at attention.

“You know how to ride?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ever broke a horse?”

“No, sir. But I’ve helped gentled a few.”

“You believe in God?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man nodded. “You’ll get a Bible and a revolver. Ain’t no promises either’ll save you.” He asked Johnny the same questions, receiving the affirmatives.

He stamped the paper. “Welcome to the Pony Express. All of you.”

Pony turned, beaming. Everyone clapped each other on the back, talking in a whirlwind.

Pony and Johnny glanced at Tex and Rusty James. They were talking low, both eyeing them in that curious, measuring way. But there was respect there already.

“As for payment,” the man told Darry, “it’ll be $100 a month for the riders, $50 for you as a station keeper, if you’d like that position. We need someone good with bookkeeping, timekeeping, and management. And $20 for the rest of the station workers. You’ll be together at a home station, keeping house, living there full-time, and seeing relay riders through, making sure the mail gets where it needs to go, and fast.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Station keeper! His heart soared. But at the same time, it unnerved him that his littlest brother would be making double that Darry was, becoming the main support for his family.

Darry hadn’t been watching over his brothers long, but this past month, he’d been their provider. That was his role. He was twenty years old. The head of the house now. It made him uncomfortable that that was suddenly unable to wholly be his role anymore. It felt too close to failure. Would his parents let Ponyboy do this? Was he being a terrible guardian to let this happen?

But his brothers both looked so excited. And all of them would get to work with their friends. And they needed the money badly. He didn’t have another good option right now.

Darry had no idea what he’d just gotten himself and his family into, but he prayed he’d made the right decision.

Chapter Text

They burst through the door of the home station, boots thudding against worn floorboards slick with mud and rain. Pony hung limp in Darry’s arms as he crossed the threshold.

“You found him!” Two-Bit choked out. “Oh, thank God!”

“Two-Bit, get water heating,” Darry shouted. “We’ll holler when we need it.”

Two-Bit sprang into motion, tossing wood into the stove with a clatter.

“Soda. With me.” Darry didn’t look to see if his brother followed. He just turned toward the bunkhouse, pulling the door open hard enough it slammed back against the wall. He could hear the others right behind, voices calling after them, but he spun and blocked the door before they could come through.

“We’ll take it from here.” The words came out too sharply. He felt awful as soon as he said it. Knew it was selfish, too, but he didn’t care. Not now. Not after what they’d just been through. Not after thinking this storm would take his brother, too. “Give us a minute. We’ll holler soon once we’ve stripped him and wrapped him up dry. Get him conscious and talking again. One of you, ride into town. Find a doctor. I don’t care that it’s the middle of the night. Find someone.”

Johnny’s lower lip trembled, but looking around at the group, it seemed he knew he was the only one left for the job. Dally looked exhausted, and Steve would have to get the horses clean and riled down. “I will, Darry.”

“Good boy.” Darry nodded his thanks, turning inside with Pony in his arms, kicking the door shut behind him.

Soda had already started the fire, coaxing it up from the embers.

Darry laid Pony down on the nearest cot. His little brother hadn’t made a sound since the being pulled out from under thant horse. Not a whimper, not a word. His skin was white as tallow, soaked clean through.

“Get those blankets,” Darry ordered hoarsely, already pulling at Pony’s shirt. The fabric clung to his skin like wet paper, buttons slipping under his stiff fingers.

The shirt peeled back, and that’s when he saw it. Darry froze, gasping.

Soda leaned in over his brother’s side and whispered, “What—?”

It was like tree branches.

Spidery red lines, reaching out from just under Pony’s ribs and crawling up toward his chest and shoulder. These were burned into him, etched in bright angry crimson, each thin tendril branching outward like it had grown there from inside.

Soda drew back like he’d been slapped. “What the hell—what is that?!”

“I—I don’t know,” Darry said. But his voice was flat. Hollow. Something like recognition nagged at him.

He reached out with one hand and brushed the side of Pony’s torso with his fingertips, just above the worst of it. The skin was hot there, hotter than the rest of him, even through the cold.

“It looks like…” Darry started. And then he didn’t finish. “Land sakes.”

Soda stared. “Looks like what?”

But Darry wasn’t answering anymore. He just kept staring at that scar, at the horrible, beautiful, impossible shape of it.
“I saw something like this once,” Darry said finally. His voice didn’t sound like his own. “At a logging camp. You know, I went on Saturdays with Papa sometimes. This guy got hit by lightning. Had this same pattern. Looked like it got drawn on him.”

Soda turned sharply. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” Darry swallowed hard. “Well, remember what Dally said? Pony thought his horse was struck by lightning. But looks like Pony got hit, too.”

Soda took in a sharp breath. “No.” He backed up a step, shaking his head hard. “No, no, no. That’s not—he fell, he hit his head, hurt his leg, but not that. He didn’t get struck—”

But Darry stopped listening. He was at Pony’s feet now, gently tugging at the ruined boot on his left leg. He got it halfway off when the charred leather cracked and peeled back.

The sock underneath was half-burned through. And just above the ankle was a round, angry burn. Ugly. Blistered. Like something had bored straight through him.

Soda’s breath caught. Darry just sat there, staring.

And then Darry was sitting back on his heels, hand clamped over his mouth like he might be sick. He’d seen injuries before. Broken bones, bloody knuckles, the kinds of things you stitch and clean and curse over. He could fix those. He could help. But this? This wasn’t a fall. This wasn’t a wound you fought against. It was nature: wild, thoughtless, and final.

His brother had been struck by lightning.

What did that do to a person? Did Ponyboy even know what had happened to him? Surely, he would have told Dally if he’d known.

“We didn’t even know,” Soda whispered. “I’d been holding him—hurt like that—and we didn’t even know.”

“We could’ve lost him.” Darry’s voice cracked. He imagined his parents’ broken bodies at the bottom of the ridge. He closed his eyes and saw his little brother trapped under a horse, half-drowned in the mud. “We almost did.”

Soda collapsed to his knees and held Pony’s hand to his chest. Angry, scared tears ran fast down his cheeks.

Darry finished removing Pony’s wet clothes and swaddled him in blankets, propping him close to the fire, letting him rest back against his chest.

He let out a bitter breath. “All those lectures. All those talks about safety. And I never said a damn word about lightning.”

Soda sniffed and wiped his face. “How were you supposed to guess that?” His voice was hoarse and brittle. “It’s not like there’s a chapter in the rider manual about what to do when God throws a bolt at you.”

Darry let out a huff of breath. It wasn’t quite a laugh. More like something trying to claw its way up out of his chest.

“He could’ve died,” Soda said. “I mean—we knew he could’ve died, ridin’ out there. Every run. But he was alone when it happened, Darry. He could’ve died out there with no one even knowin’ where. Just… just part of the mud. Buried under that damn horse and never comin’ back.”

Darry’s jaw clenched. He rubbed a hand over his face hard, as if he could scrub the fear out through his skin. He cradled Pony in his arms, making sure he was still breathing.

Soda rested his head against Pony’s arm. “Oh, Ponybaby, please, wake up.” He choked on a cry. “What if he don’t wake up? What if the lightnin’ scrambled his brain?”

“Soda, you talked to him after that happened,” Darry reminded gently, trying to let that fact soothe him as well. “He seem brain-fried to you?”

Soda sniffled and shook his head. “N—No. Just scared. And in pain.” He looked down at Pony’s leg. “Think his leg and hip are all right?”

“His knee looks a little swollen, but not too much,” Darry observed. “Hopefully, the leg and hip were just twisted at a weird angle and kept in that position when he fell. Doctor should be able to tell us if there’s any real damage, though.”

Then Pony moved. It was just a twitch, one hand tightening, a small grunt low in his throat.

“Pony?” Soda whispered, perking up and scooting in close. “Hey. You with us?”

Pony stirred again, eyes fluttering under swollen lids. His mouth opened like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out—just a ragged breath, shaky and shallow. His whole body shivered once, hard.

“Easy,” Darry said quickly, holding him close. “You’re okay. We’re at home. You’re safe.”

But Pony's brows drew together, confused, like he couldn’t quite believe them. His eyes opened halfway. They were glassy and unfocused, but they locked on Soda’s face like it was the only thing in the world.

“‘S’okay,” Soda murmured, brushing a wet lock of hair off his brother’s forehead. “We got you, Pone. You’re all right. You’re all right.”

Pony swallowed hard. “My mare?” His voice was barely more than a breath. But the word punched straight into Darry’s chest.

Soda hesitated, swallowing. “Didn’t make it,” he said softly. “But you did. You hear me? You made it.”

Pony’s lips parted like he was trying to speak again, but then his whole face crumpled in deep grief. He tried to move, a sudden panic in his eyes.

“No—no, hey,” Soda said quickly, pressing a hand gently to his shoulder. “You’re hurt, but you’re gonna be okay.”

Pony’s breathing picked up, shallow and sharp. “Burns,” he rasped. “I feel—like fire—”

“We know,” Darry said, and his voice cracked. “We know. We saw.”

Pony blinked, trying to look down at himself. “What—What happened?”

“Lightning,” Soda said, eyes wet now. “You got struck, baby. But it didn’t take you. You’re still here.”

“I—” Pony stammered, shock spreading across his face. “Huh?”

Darry removed the blankets from Pony’s chest so he could see. Ponyboy gave a weak outcry. “No… I didn’t… I didn’t even know.” His lower lip trembled, and tears began to slip down his cheeks. Darry’s hand moved down to Pony’s bruised thigh, but Pony jerked shouting, “No! Don’t touch it!”

“What’s wrong?” Darry asked, his voice tight with fear. “How does it hurt?”

Ponyboy took in a shuddering gasp. “My hip. My knee. I—I can’t hardly move ‘em. Don’t want to, neither. Hurts so bad.”

“Johnny’s gettin’ a doctor, Pone,” Soda said softly. “He’s gonna look you over, fix you right up.”

Ponyboy doubled over, a coughing fit beginning. Darry rubbed his back, exchanging a frightened glance with Soda. The external injuries were worrying him enough. But what if he got awfully sick after this? All those hours in the mud and rain were the recipe for pneumonia.

After the coughing, he was crying again, and the worst part was, Darry didn’t know exactly why. “What is it, baby? What hurts?”

“My horse!” Pony sobbed. “She’s dead.”

Darry stilled. His horse? What did he mean? The riders didn’t have regular mounts. Darry recognized the horse he’d been riding today. He typically rode her out and back from the Little Blue River station. But he’d had no idea he was this attached.

But Soda didn’t seem surprised. He curled closer to Pony, his face falling. “I know. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Darry let his brothers have the moment, letting the understanding pass between them when he felt like he couldn’t understand at all. Horses died on the Express all the time. They were worked to death. The riders’ passion had to be the mail, not the horses. Pony knew better than to get attached.

But sometimes, you just couldn’t help that, Darry assumed. He rocked his brother gently back and forth.

After another hour of calming Pony and trying to keep him awake at the same time, Darry heard the pounding of footsteps. The bunkhouse door flew open, and Johnny barreled inside. “Doctor’s here. Just tying up his mount.”

Darry exhaled. “Good. Get the others in here first. There’s something you all should know.”

Chapter Text

Johnny felt his heart stop when Darry said, “There’s something you should know.” What had happened to Ponyboy? What was wrong with him? Something had to be wrong with him if he was saying that.

Johnny ran to call the others back in. Dally had been sleeping in front of the kitchen stove to give the brothers privacy in the bunkhouse, but he shot to his feet the moment Johnny told him and Steve and Two-Bit what Darry said. Together, the three of them rushed back to the bunkhouse.

They’d dressed Pony in undergarments, but otherwise, most of his exposed skin was wrapped in blankets. But he was awake, and that relieved Johnny more than anything.

He knelt in front of his best friend, peering at him intently. “Pony? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Pony whispered. He looked up at Darry, like he wanted him to say it.

Darry nodded, looking at them all with severity in his gaze. “Lightning didn’t just hit the horse,” he said.

“What?” Johnny asked, not understanding why that was important. Until Darry removed the blankets from Pony’s shoulders and chest.

Johnny gasped. Dally and Steve cursed. Two-Bit cried out in shock. It looked like ferns had grown across Pony’s skin in red rivulets. It was terrifying. It was beautiful. Johnny had never seen anything like it.

“They’re lightning wounds,” Darry explained. “And I won’t move his leg, but he’s got a nasty exit wound on his heel, too. Lightning went through the horse and right through him, too.”

“You’re not serious,” Steve said, his eyes wide.

“What else do you think this is?” Soda said.

“Kid, why didn’t you tell me?” Dally asked.

Ponyboy shook his head, looking jarred. “I didn’t know.” Tears flooded his eyes. “Am I gonna be okay? What does getting hit by lightning do?”

“Doctor’s here!” Two-Bit said.

Darry lifted Ponyboy and set him back on one of the cots, draping the blankets back over him. Pony cried out in pain when his leg was jostled, for which his oldest brother profusely apologized.

The doctor walked in, looking tired but present. “My name is Dr. Helm. Came as quickly as I could.” He looked toward the bed. “Is this Ponyboy here?”

Pony nodded.

The doctor smiled, pulling up a chair. “Quite the original name you got there.”

Ponyboy’s shoulders relaxed. “My pa was an original person.” He gestured to his middle brother. “This is my brother, Sodapop.”

Dr. Helm gave a gentle laugh. “Now, I’ve heard you had quite the night. Can you let me know what happened and any urgent injuries?”

“My—My horse fell on me during a ride,” Pony stammered. “Was trapped for a few hours in the rain. Couldn’t breathe well. She—She was on my chest, and my leg twisted. That was the worst part. Still feels awful.”

“Let’s take a look, then.”

“Wait,” Darry said. “There’s something else you should see first.” He pulled the blankets away to reveal the burns. Dr. Helm’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“They’re lightning wounds,” Darry said nervously.

The doctor nodded, not unkindly. “Yes. I’ve seen it once before, though never this close. We call it a lightning tree. It’s not as bad as it looks—most of this is on the surface. It will hurt, but the skin will heal.”

Soda’s voice was tight. “And inside?”

“Inside’s where we have to be watchful,” the doctor said gently. “Lightning can dampen the senses, confuse the mind, make a man weak in ways you can’t see at first. But—” He looked at Pony, whose eyes had begun to droop. “—you’re breathing steady.” He felt Pony’s wrist. “And your pulse is strong. Those are fine signs.”

Pony’s gaze flicked to Johnny, then to Darry and Soda, before slipping shut again.

The doctor lowered his voice. “Keep him warm, keep him still. If his speech turns strange or his strength completely fails him, send for me right away. But with care, I expect he’ll come through.”

Darry nodded, his jaw unclenching just a little. Soda didn’t speak, but his grip around his brother eased into something less desperate, more protective.

“Now, for the leg…” He lifted the blanket, observing. “Well, no wonder you’re in pain. Your hip’s out of socket. And… Yes. Looks like your knee’s dislocated as well. You’ve got some bruising on the thigh, but that’s nothing to worry about.”

Pony’s lip trembled. “Will I ever be able to ride again?”

The doctor smiled kindly. “Absolutely. I’ll pop these back in place, and they’ll be sore, but you should stop limping after a few weeks. The lightning strike may have caused some damage yet to be seen, but for now, I don’t see anything serious. And by what I’m already hearing from your chest, you might get mighty sick these next weeks, but you’re young and strong. You should recover just fine.”

“Pop them back?” Pony asked warily. Johnny’s gut twisted for him.

“It’ll hurt, but it’ll be over quick,” Helm promised. “I’ll do the hip first, then the knee.”

Ponyboy locked eyes with Johnny, fear filling his eyes. “Johns,” he said, his voice a plea.

Johnny rushed toward him, squeezing next to Soda so he could curl against Ponyboy’s side. “You’ll do great. I’m right here. You can squeeze me as tight as you need.”

Helm took hold of the leg. Pony took a sharp intake of breath. Then, there was a swift, sickening pop, and Pony let out a strangled cry, gripping Johnny’s hand and pressing his head against Soda’s chest.

“There,” Helm said. “Well done, Ponyboy. The knee next.”

“No,” Pony said, frightened tears rolling down his cheeks. “No, no, no, no, don’t, it’s fine, it’s okay, you don’t have to. Don’t touch it, please, don’t touch it!”

Soda stroked his hair. “He has to, little one. But it’ll be over in a moment. We’re right here, we won’t let you go, love.”

Pony wept, curling himself into Johnny’s arms. His face was pale and slick with sweat, eyes fluttering half-shut as he leaned heavily against Johnny. Johnny held him tight, one hand on his shoulder, the other against his head, murmuring softly to try and calm him down. “Pony. Listen, Pony. ‘And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.’ Peace, Pone. It’s gonna be okay.’”

Pony’s aching sobs tapered some, fading into quieter, gasping cries.

Darry rested his hand on Pony’s right thigh. “You’ve done so good already, little buddy,” he said, voice thick. “You’re almost through.”

“Don’t let go,” Pony whispered, clutching at Johnny’s shirt.

“I won’t,” Johnny said.

The doctor gave a warning. “On three.”

Pony whimpered, eyes huge.

“One—two—” Before he could get to three, the doctor moved.

A wet pop sounded, sharp and awful. Pony screamed—raw and ragged—thrashing once before curling in on himself, sobbing. Johnny held tight, murmuring anything and everything, his own face twisted in pain to see it.

Darry’s hand moved to Pony’s head, stroking his damp hair back. “It’s done. It’s over. You’re okay, kid. It’s back in.”

Soda leaned in too, his voice shaking. “You’re okay, Ponyboy. You’re gonna be okay.”

Dally, Steve, and Two-Bit watched in sickened horror.

Pony didn’t answer, just shook, clutching Johnny like he was the only solid thing left in the world. Johnny’s heart ached. He would do anything, anything to make Ponyboy well, to take the pain himself.

The doctor leaned back and let out a breath. “That’s it. No more resets.”

Johnny kissed Pony’s temple, like he’d seen his brothers do before. “You’re safe now.”

“Can I sleep now?” Pony asked, his voice cracking. “I’m so tired.”

Helm nodded. “It’s safe to do so. You may experience fatigue over the next days or weeks. And…” He pressed a stethoscope to Pony’s chest and listened. “You may be developing at least a cold, if not something more serious, so keep an eye on that. If you experience anything extremely unusual in the next few days, such as heightened pain, send for me again.”

“Could the lightning strike still kill him?” Soda asked, his voice high and tight.

The doctor shook his head. “No. If it would have killed him, it would have done it shortly after the strike itself with cardiac arrest or respiratory failure. Neither of those things clearly occurred, so he will be just fine in that regard.”

It felt like the entire room relaxed in relief.

After the doctor left, Darry told the room, “Well, I think we all could use some rest now.”

Johnny moved to go to his own bunk, but Ponyboy latched onto his sleeve. “Stay,” he pleaded.

Johnny looked at those stormy gray-green eyes and melted. Of course, he would stay. He would do anything for this kid. His heart was still writhing in fear. He’d almost lost him.

“Johnny, I’m sorry,” Darry said with a sympathetic glance, “but you’re up at five for your ride tomorrow. I know that’s only a few hours away, but it can’t be helped. And Dally? I need you out at six on a relief ride for Pony. I’ll only ask you to do this one. I’ll telegraph management tomorrow and hire a temp rider for the rest until he’s back in commission.”

Johnny groaned, tucking himself close next to Pony on the small cot. Three hours wouldn’t be nearly enough sleep for the long ride he’d have tomorrow. But Darry was right. It couldn’t be helped. Johnny didn’t want to lose his job.

But he would do it all again for Ponyboy. It had been worth it. Pony was alive and breathing. That was all that mattered to him.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Darry sent the message up the telegraph line himself, short and to the point: “Ponyboy Curtis injured. Out of commission until further notice. Details to follow.” He didn’t bother softening it. Managers didn’t need frills, just facts.

He sent out Johnny and Dallas eastward and westward, respectively. There would be relay riders throughout the day, then Tex would arrive to stay the night in the late afternoon. If nothing else, Pony would be excited about that. He and Tex almost never crossed paths. Though he knew the kids didn’t know each other well, it was clear that they admired each other. He thought they would become fast friends if they were ever given the chance.

Once the riders were out, Darry was back to check on Ponyboy. Soda was with him already. Pony had a bit of a temperature, but it was nothing too extreme. It was what Darry had expected after last night. He was coughing, in the throes of a cold, but Darry knew how much worse it could’ve been. He trusted that Pony could make a full recovery within the month, as long as pneumonia didn’t develop.

Midday, Mr. Keats, a man from the division office, showed up at the home station door. Darry greeted him and thanked him for coming. He knew he had to get someone from management over here, but there was still uneasiness in his stomach about it. What if they took Pony’s job for good? What would that do to their family? To Ponyboy?

Darry sat Mr. Keats down, and Two-Bit offered them coffee. Darry and Keats sat at the table with steaming mugs.

“So,” Keats said, “tell me what happened. Is he here? Is he all right?”

Darry nodded. “I believe he’ll make a full recovery. But he didn’t show up on time last night, so I sent Dallas out to look for him. Dallas found him fallen off the trail, trapped under his dead mount. Ponyboy told him he thought the horse had been struck by lightning. She toppled onto him when he tried to jump free, and his left hip and knee were dislocated.

“Dally couldn’t get the horse off him himself, so he got us. We found Pony half-drowned in the mud and barely conscious. The mare was partway on his chest, too. He was having trouble breathing. It took us some time to figure out a way to get him out without hurting him further, but we eventually used a fence post as a lever to lift the horse and pull him out.

“I was scared of hypothermia at that point. He had spent hours in the rain and the cold. But when we got him back and stripped him of his clothes, we saw that he had been struck by lightning, too, by the wounds across him.”

“Good heavens,” Keats swore. “You—You’re sure? One of our riders has never been struck by lightning.”

“We’re sure. We got the doctor to confirm it. He set Pony’s hip and knee back in place, too.”

Keats cursed again. “Poor boy.” He sighed. “Now, Darrel, I need you to listen. If this had happened to any other rider, I’d let them go. We can’t afford to be waiting around for recoveries. But he’s one of our best riders. Always through the relay stations in less than two minutes. Always on time, and if he isn’t, he’s had a good reason. He’s punctual, responsible, and best of all, he’s fast. That’s everything we could ask for in a rider. So while I’ll hire a temp rider, I will hold Ponyboy’s spot, as long as he’ll recover within a month. I will have to dock his pay to a fifth, meanwhile, same as your station workers are making.”

Though Darry’s gut churned with frustration, this was better than he could’ve hoped for. Thank God that Ponyboy was the kind of person he was. Darry knew management liked him, but he didn’t realize it was this much.

“Thank you, sir,” Darry said. “When can I expect the new rider?”

“I’ll get someone to you as soon as tomorrow. Quickly enough so you can teach him the ropes, then send him out the next morning.”

That sounded like a tall order for anyone new. But Darry trusted Keat’s judgement. And the last thing he was going to do was argue. “I thank you again, sir. I’ll have Pony back on his feet and ready to ride as quickly as is possible and healthy.”

Keats nodded, giving a slight smile. “I expect there’s no better caretaker for him than you, Darrel.” He stood and tipped his hat. “I’m relieved things aren’t worse.”

“You and me both, sir.”

Darry went back to check on Pony again. Soda had gone to work with the horses, and Pony had been left alone to rest. He still looked a little flushed with sickness, but his eyelids fluttered when Darry entered the bunkhouse. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Darry said softly in apology.

“You didn’t,” Pony said. He frowned, studying Darry more closely. “What’s wrong?”

Darry inwardly cursed himself. How was he so transparent? Oh, well, there wasn’t much use keeping this from Pony. He would find out sooner than later. “Mr. Keats from the office came today. I had to telegraph someone about you.”

Worry creased Pony’s face. “What did he say?”

Darry sat on the edge of the cot, forcing himself to smile. “Kid, you’ve made a real impression on him. Management likes you a lot, Ponyboy. They say you’re the best rider they got.”

Pony looked down. Darry couldn’t tell if he was red from the compliment or the slight fever. “They just sayin’ that.”

“No, they ain’t.” Darry tucked the quilt neatly around Ponyboy. “Because he said if you were anyone else, he’d have let you go on the spot after an accident like this.”

Pony’s head snapped up, fear flashing in his eyes. “What?”

“Sure as shootin’. But they’re savin’ your spot. Bringin’ in a temp relief rider meanwhile. He’ll come in tomorrow, whoever he is. But… Well, they’re dockin’ your pay, meanwhile.”

Pony’s apparent worry only deepened. “How much?”

“They’re payin’ a fifth.”

“Twenty dollars!”

Darry dragged a hand down his face. “We’re lucky they’re payin’ at all, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Pony buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Darry said sternly, putting a hand on his arm. “We’ll pull through. I’ll take care of us. It’s gonna be fine. All I care about right now is that you’re alive and recovering. That’s all I care about, Pony, you understand me?”

Miserably, Pony nodded, letting his hands lower from his face. “You won’t—” He sniffled. “You won’t let the new boy replace me, will you?”

“No. Not ever. You’ll get your job back. Right now, though, I just need you to focus on getting well again.” He ran his hand through Pony’s hair. “Let me worry about the rest, baby.”

“Why did this happen to me?”

Darry let out a sigh. He took Pony’s hand, rubbing circles on the back with his thumb like Sodapop tended to do. “I don’t know. Maybe…” He let out the soft semblance of a chuckle. “Maybe God knew you needed a little break. I mean, you’ve worked a year without hardly ever stopping. I have no idea the exhaustion you must feel every day. This could be good for you. Also, you’ll get to see Tex and Rusty James and Johnny a lot more. Heck, you’ll see everyone a lot more. We’ll be so glad to have you around full-time for a little while.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” Pony asked. “Bore myself to death?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” Darry brought the glass of water on the bedstand to Pony’s lips, forcing him to take a sip. “You got your Bible. Hey, looks like we can have Bible night every night for now, if you’re up to it. Also, your recovery will take some time, too. We’ll need to make sure you’re good with walkin’ around and that this cold runs its course. Then, you can help Soda and Steve with the horses and relays, if you’d like. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind the extra hands.” He touched his knuckles to Pony’s head. “You’re still feelin’ pretty warm, buddy. Maybe some extra sleep will do you good.”

Pony nodded half-heartedly. He looked down at his chest, where the lightning burns poked just beyond his sleep shirt. “Do ya think these will stay?”

“The scars? I dunno.” Darry flashed a smile. “I sure as heck hope so, though. Those are the toughest lookin’ scars I’ve seen in my life. Anyone else would think so, too.”

Pony’s fever-leaden eyes brightened. “You think?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He leaned in and jokingly lowered his voice. “You know, I bet Dally is absolutely beside himself that it didn’t happen to him. He’d kill to have scars like that. Poutin’ all the way down the trail, I reckon.”

Darry felt like he had won the world when Ponyboy snickered. “Yeah. Sure, he is.”

That afternoon, Tex rode in, right on schedule. He swung off his horse, barely stumbling as he handed Darry the mailbag, although he had to be terribly sore from his long ride. “Hot as hell today!” Tex complained, wiping sweat from his brow. The sun blazed overhead. “Hardly even a cloud.”

“That’s what hats are for,” Darry said, ruffling Tex’s hair. The kid complained and wriggled his way out.

Tex shrugged in that nonchalant way of his. “Gonna rest ‘til supper, if that’s good with you, Dar.”

“Hold on,” Darry stopped him. Tex turned confused. “Don’t be surprised when you see Pony in the bunkhouse. And keep it down.”

Tex blinked, surprised. “Pony? What happened, he sick?” No wonder he was so surprised: their paths hardly ever crossed, and they weren’t supposed to for a long while yet.

“Sort of.” Darry gave him the rundown, watching Tex’s eyes grow wider with every line. When he got to the part about Pony being full-on struck by lightning, Tex’s jaw was on the ground.

“Glory be! My Pa always told me and my brother not to play in the rain like that ‘cus our fate would be burnt to a crisp by a bolt, but we thought he was just worrying too much. Didn’t know that really happened like that.”

“I don’t think it usually does,” Darry said. “Even the doctor had only seen it once before.”

Tex whistled. “Well, he’s one hell of a hardy kid. I’m not even surprised he’s alive after all that.”

Darry shook his head. “You would be if you’d seen him under that horse yesterday.”

Tex thought about it, then nodded. “Reckon so. I dunno what I’d do if I saw my brother go through somethin’ like that.” He shook his head, like he was shaking the image away. “You and Soda must be strong for that.”

Darry swallowed hard. “We had to be. Well, head on in, he’ll be glad to see you.”

Darry made some markings on the ledger and put the mail aside for Steve to take care of the next relay, then went to the stables.

He asked Steve to take care of the relay, leaving Darry and Soda alone as Soda brushed one of the horses.

Soda looked over his shoulder at him. “Everythin’ all right? The kid okay?”

“Yeah, he’s okay. After his fever passes, I’d like to get him on his feet again, just to see what kind of pain he’s dealin’ with and how far he needs for recovery.”

Soda nodded in agreement. His brow furrowed as he studied Darry closer. “You okay?”

Darry shrugged. “Dunno. Are you?”

Soda thought, then he shook his head slightly. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about last night, honestly. I really thought…”

“Right,” Darry said, sitting on a hay bale. He rolled a piece of straw between his fingers. “I can’t get over it either.”

Soda took a seat on the dusty wood floor, setting down the brush. “Dar, we’re not supposed to get over something like this. We just went through… what would have been the worst thing that could ever happen to us. You don’t get over that.”

Darry blew out a sharp breath. “Did we do the wrong thing? Did I do the wrong thing, bringing us here? I mean, lightning isn’t even the biggest danger to the riders; there are so many other things that go wrong, all the time. And I know Pony’s capable, I know, but… but I worry that Mama and Papa would hate me for this.”

Soda’s eyes went wide. “No! No, they wouldn’t.”

Darry didn’t believe him. “They would never have let him do something like this.”

“Like what? A job that brings in money to support the whole family? A job that lights him up like nothing else in his life ever has? He knows the risks. We all know the risks. Accidents happen, but that’s why they’re called accidents. He’s being as safe as he can.”

“And if he dies because I let him do this?” Darry asked, nearly yelling.

Sodapop’s eyes darkened. “He could die doin’ anythin’, Darry. He could die visitin’ friends the next town over.”

Darry’s stomach turned. Mama and Papa. “Then why shouldn’t I do everything I can to keep that from happenin’ again?”

“Because that’s no way to live!” cried Soda. “If you truly think this is the best thing for our family, to take him out of this job, then fine, I won’t agree, but I’ll respect your decision. But, Dar, he loves this job. He’s good at it, too. Probably one of the best. It’s risky work, but he knows how to make it, day in and day out. He’s smart. Don’t take this away from him. We can’t stop when things get scary or difficult. We need to enjoy our lives, and we can’t do that if we take every precaution in life. No one does that. That’s stupid. All we can do is pray for his safety. That’s what we can do.”

Darry swallowed hard, closing his eyes and seeing his little brother half buried in the muck underneath a sopping horse’s corpse. “Do you think God really kept him safe yesterday?”

“YES!” Soda yelled, his eyes blazing. “What about him being alive right now doesn’t scream ‘safe’ to you?”

“I know, I know,” Darry said. “But ain’t he read Psalms before where—where God controls the very lightning? If he dictates where each bolt goes, how could he allow one to hit our brother?”

Soda’s eyes welled with tears. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice lower. “But some things I think we ain’t meant to know. Or maybe we’ll learn later. Maybe that boy just needed to slow down for a month ‘cus God knew he was workin’ himself to literal death, Darry, I don’t know. What I do know is that he is alive, and I will thank God every day for the rest of my life for that.”

Darry bowed his head, nodding, knowing that he would, too.

Chapter Text

The fire popped in the grate, throwing long shadows against the bunkhouse walls. Pony sat on top of a quilt at the foot of his bed, the heavy Bible open across his lap. His voice was steady but soft, like he was testing how much strength he had in it again. His hip and knee ached, but it was nothing like the pain of yesterday. He had to stop and cough every once in a while, and he shivered from the fever, but it was low, all things considered, and he begged the gang to let him do this tonight. He needed a sense of normalcy in his life again.

Tex sat near the fire, one knee drawn up, picking at the stitching on his shirt. Dally lounged in the corner, whittling. Two-Bit’s head rested against the wall, eyes half-shut but listening. Soda was stretched out on the floor near Pony, looking up at him. Darry watched from his bunk.

Pony read, “‘But when the fourteenth night was come, as we were driven up and down in Adria, about midnight the shipmen deemed that they drew near to some country; and sounded, and found it twenty fathoms: and when they had gone a little further, they sounded again, and found it fifteen fathoms.’”

The words rolled over the room, slow and measured. Pony kept his gaze on the page, his voice catching faintly when he reached, “‘Then fearing lest we should have fallen upon rocks, they cast four anchors out of the stern, and wished for the day. And as the shipmen were about to flee out of the ship, when they had let down the boat into the sea, under colour as though they would have cast anchors out of the foreship, Paul said to the centurion and to the soldiers, ‘Except these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved.’’”

Outside, a branch scraped along the wall, and Pony’s eyes flicked up for half a heartbeat before he continued. The rhythm of the story pulled them all in—sailors throwing cargo overboard, waves breaking, the ship splitting apart, yet every soul reaching shore alive.

When he finished, he shut the Bible carefully and smoothed the cover like it was a living thing. In a way, it was. For a long moment, no one spoke. The fire popped.

Tex was the first to break the silence. “Fourteen days,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t hardly stand two nights in bad weather without losin’ my mind.”

“Four anchors and a prayer,” Soda said with a crooked grin, though it didn’t quite hide the flicker of worry in his eyes.

“Faith,” Pony said quietly, looking into the fire. “Paul told ’em they’d all make it, and they did. Ship’s gone, sure, but they all lived.”

Tex’s voice was softer now. “Storm don’t care how good a rider you are, or how hard you can hang on. You and your fellas make it through… sometimes you just gotta thank God you did.”

Pony glanced at him—a brief, understanding look—and then back to the fire. “Right,” he said. “Sometimes that’s all there is to it.” Tex’s words held a weight to them. Pony wondered if there was something more underneath them. He studied Tex, who was staring at the wall, as if a memory was playing behind his eyes. Suddenly, Tex looked his way again and studied him strangely.

“Hey, Pone, wanna try out that leg of yours?” he asked. “I’ll take you to the front porch and back, huh?”

“He’s sick,” Darry said gruffly. “Leave him be.”

“That’s okay, Darry,” Pony said, accepting Tex’s outstretched arm. “I’d like to. Just for a few minutes. We’ll be right back.” He grunted in pain as he put is weight on both legs, swaying a little as he tried to catch his balance. Luckily, Tex was there to loop an arm around his waist and hold him steady.

“That’s it! Not bad at all,” Tex said with a smile.

Pony made a few embarrassing sounds in pain as he took the steps outside, but he did it, so he assumed he should be proud of that. Tex led them to the wicker chairs outside the front of the home station.

“That story was a fine choice,” Tex said as they took their seats. “That storm at sea—it hit me square.”

Pony glanced over. “Why’s that?”

Tex’s gaze stayed fixed on the dark yard ahead. “When me an’ my brother Mason were just kids, maybe nine and twelve, a calf got swept down the river after a week of storms. We thought we could get it back.” His voice thinned. “Didn’t make it halfway before Mason’s horse lost the bank. One second he was there, next he was gone under the water.”

He paused, jaw tight. “I went in after him. Current spun me ‘round so bad I didn’t know which way was up. Kept grabbin’ at him and losin’ him again. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Finally, the water slammed us into a mess of driftwood, and we clung there till some men spotted us from the bank. If they hadn’t… well. We’d just be bones on the riverbed now.”

Pony swallowed hard, picturing Tex’s face pale against the muddy water—and in the same thought, seeing himself pinned under a horse, the world flickering white in a flash of lightning, the smell of burnt air in his nose.

“You were just a kid,” he said quietly.

“Sure.” Tex’s mouth twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We still are, you know. I ain’t scared of storms for me. But for someone else—someone I care about—” He shook his head. “That’s worse. Nothin’ you can do but hang on and pray God’s got ‘em.”

“I guess He did that day,” Pony said, voice low.

Tex looked over at him then, and his expression softened. “And I guess He did last night, too.”

Pony did smile then. “You’re an okay fella, Texas. A shame we’re both westbound. I think we’d get along real well.”

Tex nodded. “Well, maybe some day when…”

“When what?”

Tex gritted his teeth, like he didn’t want to say it. “Well, when this Express business is over. I’ve heard Darry talkin’ about it. That it might happen soon. But I don’t like to think about it. I’ll need a job after that, and I dunno if I wanna go fight in some war. Maybe. I dunno. I needta get money to Mace somehow. But I’d just hate to leave Nebraska, y’know? This is my home. I always want it to be.”

Pony shrugged. “I want to say I get it. But I’ve always wondered what else is out there. Like, if there’s really gold out west. Or if the cities out east are as big as they say. There’s so much to see, but I doubt I’ll ever get out of Nebraska in my lifetime.”

“You’d really want to?” Tex asked, baffled. “What about your family?”

“Maybe they could come, too.”

Tex hummed. “Maybe.” He grinned at Pony and slapped his shoulder. “Well, you didn’t seem to have much trouble walkin’ out here, huh?”

Pony snorted, beginning to feel tired again. “You kiddin’? I sounded like a kicked puppy.”

“Kicked puppy today, slightly sick cat tomorrow, and so on, right?”

Pony rolled his eyes and shivered. “You dolt. You try gettin’ struck by lightnin’ and havin’ your horse fall on top of ya, huh?”

Tex laughed. “Okay, okay, kid, I get it. Let’s get you back inside.”

Chapter Text

“You’re thinkin’ about that horse again, aren’t you?”

Pony looked at Sodapop in shock. “How did you know?”

It was mid-morning the next day. Pony still wasn’t feeling well, so he remained in his cot while most of the guys worked. The new rider would be coming in midday, and Rusty James would be arriving shortly after. Pony had spent most of the morning bleary-eyed and listening to Soda tell nonsense stories whatever he deemed fit to ramble about. But right now, all he could think about was Whisper and the overwhelming ache in his heart from how much he missed her and how guilty he felt.

Soda shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know you.”

Pony looked away, his hands shifting in his lap. “Can I tell you somethin’? I know it’s bad, and I won’t do it again, but I just need to tell someone. But you can’t tell anyone else.”

Soda peered at him worriedly. “Sure, hon. What is it?”

Pony looked back up, ready for the gentle reprimand. “I named her.”

“The mare?” Soda’s gaze shifted in sympathy.

Ponyboy nodded in absolute misery. “I named her Whisper. I know I shouldn’t have named a horse, but I couldn’t help myself. I rode her on my most important trips in an out. She was good for me. She loved me, I know she did. None of the others were ever like her. So, I loved her, too.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I know I was stupid. I know, so I don’t need to hear it.”

“What makes you think I would scold you for this?” Soda asked. “Me of all people?”

“Nothin’,” Pony said softly, his voice choked up. “I didn’t really think you would.”

“I have somethin’ to tell you, too,” Soda said, nudging him. “Because guess what? I’m a hundred times worse than you.”

Pony’s eyebrows drew together. “Huh?”

“I haven’t named just one horse,” Soda said. “I’ve named them all. All sixteen that ever stay at our home station. All of them, all the ones that came before, and all the ones that will come after. I’ve given every one a name. I just can’t help myself, either.”

Pony’s eyes glittered with hope and understanding. “You—You do?”

Soda nodded, smiling. “So, yeah, it hurts like hell when one dies, but it’s always worth it to me. There’s probably no one else in the world there to love those horses, so I have to. They’re treated as things to be used, things to wear down to death. So, I know they won’t last long. But I gotta give them the best lives I can while they do.”

“What did you name my mare?”

“Sage. But I like Whisper better. It’s sweet and soft, just like you.”

Pony blushed. “Soda!”

“I ain’t takin’ it back. It’s true.” Soda’s expression saddened again. “But, kiddo, I’m so sorry. It ain’t supposed to be easy losin’ somethin’ you love. But that doesn’t mean you should stop doin’ it entirely. I think that’s even worse.”

Ponyboy sniffled. “I don’t want to ever feel like this again.”

Sodapop held him, rubbing his shoulder. “I know.”

“It’s all my fault,” Pony sobbed. “I knew I shouldn’t ride her in that storm. I knew. But I did anyway, and I put both of our lives at risk, and I killed her because of it. I killed her.”

“No, no, no, no, no, baby, you did not kill her. You made a decision, sure, but you thought it was the best decision. That’s all you could have done. She just died. God had control over everything here. He’s working for your good, Pony, He is. No matter what.”

Tears rolled down Pony’s cheeks. “But I made the decision, Soda. I put her in danger. She’s gone because of me. I—I can never change that. I wish—“

“Hey, now,” Soda said. “None of that ‘I wish’ stuff. We can’t change anything. The past is the past. I know you regret it now, but it ain’t gonna hurt like this eventually. It’s just gonna hurt a lot now, and I’m so sorry that I can’t take that pain away from you.” His eyes glistened with tears. “But God planned all this out before you even stepped out into that storm. He has been sovereign over everything, even the results of your decisions. Nothing has happened without His say-so. Nothing at all. He’s planned out every step of your life, Ponyboy. And He planned out every step of Whisper’s. Nothing that happened was a surprise to Him. Remember like Mama used to say? It’s all part of his big puzzle. We only see the pieces, but He sees the picture, even if it don’t make sense to us now.”

“I don’t understand why this had to happen,” Pony said, chest hitching on a few more sobs. “Why would He let me love her so much in the first place if this was going to happen? Why would He let me make a mistake like this? I prayed before I went, I was sure I was doing the best thing. It ain’t fair. I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either, baby,” Sodapop said softly, running his hand through Pony’s hair. “But I love you. I understand that much. And God loves you infinitely more than I do, though I can’t even imagine how that’s possible.” Soda gave him a kind smile, his brown eyes shining with warmth. “So He knows best. He’s workin’ out all things for the good of you, Pony. Remember how Pa would always quote that verse? If that’s true, then it don’t matter if you made the best decision or the worst one. God knew what you were going to do, and He’s going to use it exactly for the purpose He wants. I think, if there were any other condition better for you other than what you’re livin’ right now, He would have you there. But you’re right here, and that means somethin’.”

“It don’t feel like it right now.” Right now, Pony felt like he could cry forever, and though he knew he wasn’t thinking straight—his mind clouded with grief—he almost wished he’d died under that horse, too, so he wouldn’t have to feel this way.

“I know. But give it a few weeks. Maybe even a few months. But I promise you, this pain ain’t gonna last forever.”

Pony looked at him more closely, trying to figure out if this was an okay thing to ask or not. “Is that how you felt when Sandy left ya?”

Soda blinked, pain in his eyes like he’d been struck. But he recovered quickly, his gaze softening. “Sure. A lot like that. And when Ma and Pa died, too. I thought of all the different decisions I could have made. I thought about how I’d never recover from the grief. I thought I’d feel alone forever.” He gave a wavering smile. “But look at me now. I have you. I have Darry. I have Steve and Two and Johnny and Dally and Tex and Rusty James. I am the furthest thing from alone. I’m not grieving like I was before. Sure, I still dunno why all that horrible stuff had to happen, but it feels good to know that I wasn’t in control over any of it, no matter what decisions I made.”

Pony swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “Are you sure I’ll get better?”

“You made it through losin’ our parents, didn’t you? You’ll sure as shootin’ make it through this. Without a doubt.”

Pony nodded uncertainly. “Johnny comes back tonight, right?”

“Abso-darn-lutely, he does.”

Soda leaned in and kissed Pony’s forehead. “All that guilt you’re feelin’ right now, all that hurt, they’re lies. I know they feel like the truth right now, but they ain’t. You made the best decision you knew how. Nothin’ that happened after is your fault. God’s gonna make all this good, baby.” He held Ponyboy close, letting him cry out his leftover tears. “You’re my heart, little one. Always remember that. You can always come to me, whenever you need. We can talk about anything. We can talk about this a hundred times if you want. I’m always here for you. You’re never a bother to me.”

“Thank you.” And in that cot, Pony knew, despite the guilt heavy on his heart, despite the what ifs swirling in his mind like a twister, despite the way his chest tingled and burned, despite the way his leg ached, despite the way he missed holding Whisper around the neck, although things didn’t feel okay now, they would someday soon.

He had to hold onto that.

Chapter Text

Darry had been checking the tack room for the third time that day when the sound of hooves came pounding up the trail from the east. They were hard and fast, and Darry knew none of the relays were due yet. He stepped out into the yard, wiping his hands on his trousers, scanning the tree line.

The horse burst through first, lathered white at the neck, sides heaving. The rider was a wiry kid with an absolute mess of curls sticking out from under his hat, barely holding to the saddle. He yanked the reins sharp at the gate, and the horse skidded to a stop, showering dust.

The boy slid off in a hurry, landing with a stumble. "Where’s the boss?" he asked before even catching his breath.

Darry frowned. "You the temp rider?"
The kid grinned like he'd just been handed a dare and couldn't wait to take it. Darry immediately didn’t trust him. “Oh, yesiree. Name’s Curly Shepherd.”

Shepherd. Shepherd. That name sounded familiar. He was pretty sure he knew of a rowdy family in town with that name. “Well, sure hope you can ride horses better than you can herd sheep.”

The boy scowled. “I bet you’re fun at socials.”

The hair on Darry’s arms prickled. “Come on. Let’s get you acquainted.” This boy felt like trouble incarnate, but he’d just have to get over it. He’d probably think the same of Dally if he didn’t know him well.

"Management go over the rules with you?" Darry asked.

Curly shrugged. "Ride fast, don’t lose the pouch, don’t die. Sounds simple enough."

That last statement irked Darry in a way he couldn’t put words to. Ponyboy had done everything right and almost died anyway. This kid acted like sidestepping death was a breeze.

Before Darry could answer, Pony limped out from the bunkhouse, leaning heavy on the crutch they'd rigged up for him. He was pale, still looking like he hadn't shaken the last of his fever.

Curly’s eyes lit up. "Well, if it ain’t Ponyboy Curtis! Didn’t know you worked here."

Pony smiled wide, to Darry’s shock. "Curly Shepherd. I didn’t know you could read enough to sign a rider’s contract."

Two-Bit, who’d been leaning against the fence listening, let out a bark of laughter. "Easy now, Pony. We ain’t even got him a bunk yet."

“I can’t believe it,” Pony said, and Darry was getting more confused by the second. “It’s been years.”

“You know this kid?” Darry asked.

“Sure do. We went to school together. We used to play—” His words stuck in his throat, and he cast a wary glance at Darry. “Marbles.”

Curly laughed loud and hard. “Marbles! More like matches.” He grabbed Pony’s left hand turning it over and holding his own hand beside it, wiggling his pointer finger. “See? Matching scars. We’d see who could last the longest.”

“Ponyboy!” Darry shouted in angered shock.

Pony cast an annoyed glance at Curly. “Now look what you’ve done,” he hissed. “That’s my older brother, you dolt. You want him to tan my hide?”

“For a game we played five years ago?” Curly looked over at Darry, but the look on Darry’s face must have been convincingly terrifying, because the boy immediately threw his arms up. “Sorry, sorry! Anyway, got a bunk for me?”

Darry sighed. "You can bunk in the back corner. And you’ll be takin’ the westbound route first thing in the morning. And try not to rile my riders and workers before you even know the place."

Curly smirked like that was the funniest thing he’d heard all week. He could already tell, this was going to be a long few weeks.

Rusty James rode in that afternoon.

Darry heard hoofbeats long before he saw the rider—a steady, ground-eating lope that said the man was both in a hurry and in control. Sure enough, Rusty James came in through the dust cloud, hat pulled low, the roan gelding blowing hard. Rusty James swung down in one motion, already loosening the saddle cinch.

“Afternoon,” Darry called from the porch, arms crossed.

Rusty nodded, still catching his breath. “How’s Pony?” he asked before he’d even unsaddled proper.

Darry raised a brow. “How’d you know about that?”

“Heard somethin’ on the way in,” Rusty James said, like it was obvious. “Tex flagged me down near Cold Springs, said your kid near got himself killed in that last storm.”

Darry’s jaw tightened. “Wasn’t far off the mark.” He told him straight, no sugar-coating, how Pony had been thrown and trapped, hip and knee popped clean out, lightning striking close enough to burn the skin on his chest and out through the heel. How he was still a little sick but recovering.

Rusty James stayed still, eyes narrowing under the brim. “Darn fool weather,” he muttered, voice low but sharp. He looked past Darry toward the bunkhouse. “He gonna make it?”

“He’ll mend,” Darry said. “But he’s out of commission a good while. Management’s keepin’ him on, thank God, but cuttin’ most of his pay meanwhile. We brought in a temp rider an hour ago. Kid named Curly Shepherd.” Darry lowered his voice. “And I’m warnin’ ya now, he seems like a real handful. Even more than you,” he added with a smirk.

Rusty James nodded. “S’long as he can ride and get the mail goin’ fast, that’s all that matters. Well, I’ll see if I can find Pony, let him know I’m glad he’s still on this side of the dirt. And, man, do I wanna see those lightning burns!” He turned to walk inside, then stopped, looking back eagerly. “Oh! Almost forgot. Any letters from Mustang Boy?”

Darry grinned, always amused by Rusty James’s brother’s nickname. It was hardly even a nickname at this point—the kid wouldn’t even tell them his big brother’s given name.

“Some personal letters came in yesterday. Saw one for you.”

“Great!” Rusty James bolted inside. Darry couldn’t fathom how he still had the energy to do so after the long rides he’d just finished.

That evening, the boys were all getting ready for bed as Darry came in with Johnny, who just finished his ride.

Pony’s eyes widened from his bed, his face lighting up. “Johnny!”

His best friend’s expression crumpled in relief. “Pone.” He ran over, his legs trembling with exhaustion. He carefully threw his arms around Pony. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“A bit. But I’m gettin’ over it.”

Johnny noticed the crutch. “You’re walkin’?” he asked hopefully.

Pony nodded. “The crutch is just for the first couple days. I’ll limp afterward for awhile, but I won’t need it then.”

“And your burns?”

Pony grinned. “Gonna make some bully scars, that’s for certain.”

Johnny hung his head, almost buckling against Pony’s shoulder. “I’m so glad. I worried about you all night and day straight. Thought I was gonna be sick.”

“I’m okay,” Pony reassured him softly, putting his hand against the back of Johnny’s head.

Darry watched them from his bunk, nearly ill with how much he loved them and how glad he was that Pony had someone like Johnny in his life.

Johnny climbed up next to Pony in the cot, looking over his shoulder as Pony cracked open his leather Bible to pick something out to read.

Curly cast an uncertain glance toward the leather book, looking confused as everyone lied down to listen. He stood from his cot. “What’s goin’ on?”

Soda looked his way. “Bible night. Pony reads us somethin’ each night he’s home, then we can talk a little. You ain’t stayin’ to listen?”

Curly shook his head flippantly. “Nah, I don’t really believe in that stuff.”

Dally stepped forward, and it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. He fixed Curly with stair that would have made a small child wet himself. “It’s. Bible. Night.”

Curly went stiff, looking at the taller boy with wide eyes. Wordlessly, he nodded and sat down on a cot.

Darry looked at Dally, surprised. He knew that deep down, Dally didn’t believe any of it, either. But he must respect Ponyboy an awful lot to react like this.

“Y’don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Pony said quietly before beginning. “Dally ain’t gonna do anythin’ to ya. I don’t mind whatever you wanna do. You should feel at home on your first night.”

Curly blinked, like he wasn’t used to being treated with such softness or kindness. “Um. No, it’s fine. I don’t mind listenin’, just don’t expect me to be makin’ any thoughts about it or nothin’.”

Pony smiled gently, looking back at the book and turning a few more pages.

He began a story of a king who had a vision, and no wise man in the land could tell him what it meant.

“‘And the decree went forth that the wise men should be slain; and they sought Daniel and his fellows to be slain. Then Daniel answered with counsel and wisdom to Arioch the captain of the king's guard, which was gone forth to slay the wise men of Babylon: He answered and said to Arioch the king's captain, ‘Why is the decree so hasty from the king?’ Then Arioch made the thing known to Daniel.

“‘Then Daniel went in, and desired of the king that he would give him time, and that he would shew the king the interpretation.

“‘Then Daniel went to his house, and made the thing known to Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, his companions: That they would desire mercies of the God of heaven concerning this secret; that Daniel and his fellows should not perish with the rest of the wise men of Babylon.’”

Darry watched his kid brother’s fingers tighten slightly on the page. There was a thin line between his brows—not fear exactly, but something deeper. He’d just stared death in the face in that storm, and now here he was, talking about four boys not much older than him doing the same.

“‘Then was the secret revealed unto Daniel in a night vision. Then Daniel blessed the God of heaven.

“‘Daniel answered and said, ‘Blessed be the name of God for ever and ever: for wisdom and might are his: And he changeth the times and the seasons: he removeth kings, and setteth up kings: he giveth wisdom unto the wise, and knowledge to them that know understanding: He revealeth the deep and secret things: he knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with him.

“‘‘I thank thee, and praise thee, O thou God of my fathers, who hast given me wisdom and might, and hast made known unto me now what we desired of thee: for thou hast now made known unto us the king’s matter.’’”

Darry leaned forward on his arms. He’d been through storms in his own life—a different kind, but storms all the same. And sometimes you prayed like those boys in Babylon, not knowing if the answer would come before the axe fell. But looking at Pony now, alive and reading by lamplight, Darry figured maybe sometimes it did.

Pony shut the Bible and set it on his lap. “I get how that feels. Cornered against a wall with nothin’ to do but pray. I imagine they must have been awfully frightened.”

Rusty James scratched his chin. “Everyone is always scared some. Ain’t no shame in it. But I liked how that Daniel kid went to his friends to pray.”

Soda nodded, smiling. “Right? All four of them did, but God only talked to one of them. Ain’t that interestin’?”

Pony nodded. “But they were all open to hearin’ Him. It was up to God who exactly he chose to use. But I think there was somethin’ powerful in that they all stuck together to pray a prayer like that.”

Johnny looked down at the leatherbound book. ”I sure bet they were frightened. I feel like I’ve been there before. But havin’ brothers beside you who pray anyway? That’s somethin’.”

Curly snorted. “Or maybe it’s just luck.”

That got a couple of glances. Pony tilted his head. “You don’t think they were saved ’cause they prayed?”

“I think,” Curly said, leaning forward, “sometimes you get lucky. Sometimes, somebody happens to be there at the right time.” His voice shifted—less cocky, almost quiet. “Once, when I was little, I was messin’ around on the roof of the old feed store. The wood gave way and I fell. Thought I was gonna land on my head. My brother caught me. Just—” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. I didn’t pray. I didn’t even think. He was just… there.”

Nobody spoke for a second. Pony leaned back against his pillow. “Sounds to me like that’s your Arioch moment.”

Curly frowned. “My what?”

“The guard in the story. The Hebrew boys—Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah—were going to be killed with the rest, but somebody stepped in before it happened. Your Tim was that guy. God was still in control, no matter whose human hand was involved.”

Curly shrugged. “Guess maybe the whole point is you don’t always get to pick who saves you. Or why. Might not have to do with ‘God’ or anythin’. I believe things just happen.”

Pony smiled faintly, tucking the Bible back into its place. “And maybe you don’t have to know why. We don’t always get to know.” He brushed his fingers over the Bible cover. “I think a big point was that the friends were together. They didn’t scatter or go to bed worrying without doing anything. They opened their hearts up together.” He leaned his head against Johnny’s. “I’d hate to imagine going through somethin’ like that alone.”

“But wouldn’t God have listened if it was just one of them prayin’?” Soda asked genuinely.

“Well, sure,” Johnny gave his input. “But there’s soemethin’… unifyin’ in doin’ it together, I guess.”

Darry looked at his boys around the room, safe and together, knowing there was deep truth in that. He sent up a quick prayer for Tex, hoping he was nice and warm in a cot at the next home station over.

There was something reverent in brotherhood. Despite all the other doubts in his life, this was a surety.

And for the first night in a while, he felt like he could sleep soundly.

Chapter Text

The horizon was just starting to bleed orange when Pony found Johnny outside, leaning back on his elbows in the damp grass. His horse was tied a little ways off, already saddled for the day’s ride. Pony sat down beside him, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. His hip and knee still ached, but the morning was too clear to waste. He was managing, even without the crutch.

He’d woken up and found Johnny’s bed empty, even though he knew it was too early for him to be out on his ride.

For a while, they didn’t talk—just watched the sun try to burn through the last strips of night. The air smelled like wet earth and woodsmoke.

Johnny finally said, “Ain’t sure I like sunrises much anymore. Makes me think too much about what you almost didn’t wake up for.”

Pony glanced at him. “Well, that’s morbid.”

Johnny shrugged. “Guess so.” He kicked at the ground with the heel of his boot. “When we found you, you weren’t breathing right. Face was white as bedsheets under all that mud. You were gone more than you were here. Don’t figure I’ll ever forget it.”

Pony nodded. He didn’t figure he ever would either. “I’m sorry I scared everybody.”

“You did more than scare us.” Johnny finally looked at Pony, serious and morose in that way Johnny could be when you least expected it. “You’ll be more careful when you start ridin’ again, right? We’d notice real fast if you weren’t here. You matter so much to us, Pone. I think this station would fall apart if you weren’t here.”

Pony felt a lump in his throat. “I will be careful. But I can’t promise that nothin’ will ever happen to me, just like you can’t. I worry about you when you’re out, too, you know.”

Johnny swallowed hard. “I really thought you were gonna die. Even when we were bringin’ you back. You were half froze. Soda screamed once, thought your heart had stopped. I’ve never seen Darry move so fast. It was awful.”

That picture ran through Ponyboy’s mind. He didn’t even want to think of his brothers in that state. “I—I didn’t know.”

The corner of Johnny’s mouth pulled. “Yeah, they probably wouldn’t tell ya that. Didn’t wanna worry you more than you were already, I bet.” He studied Pony in that intuitive, careful way of his. “I feel like I’ll blink, and you could be gone again.”

“I’ll still be here when you get back,” Pony promised.

Johnny looked back out at the sky. “Y’know, this is good work. High pay. Exhilaratin’, even if it does wear ya to the bone. But it might end soon. And I’ll miss it all to pieces, especially livin’ with you guys and makin’ a good wage. But I won’t miss worryin’ about you like I do now.”

Pony peered at him curiously. “You really worry about me that much? You see the dangers for yourself every day. You see how most of it’s avoidable if you’re wary.”

Johnny shrugged. “Sure. Maybe it’s just the inconsistency of it all, though. I mean, while you’re recoverin’, I’ll probably see ya about every other day. But otherwise, it could be even up to a week sometimes before I get to see you. I wait for it all week, and then our couple of hours together are over in a blink.” He looked back at Pony, his gaze sad. “The most exhaustin’ part of this job is bein’ away from you nearly all the time.”

Pony felt his heart seize, listening to Johnny talk like this. “I feel the same,” he whispered. “But you know, when all this has to come to an end, you’ll still have a place with us. Whether we all get to work together again or not, we’ll go back to the homestead, and you’ll live with us. Darry wouldn’t bat an eye. You can’t be goin’ to your old home. I won’t let ya. Dally won’t, either. An’ I don’t wanna hear that you’ll be ‘puttin’ us out’ or nothin’. You won’t be. You’re as much my brother as Sodapop and Darry are. I mean that.”

Johnny, seemingly unable to speak, blinked rapidly a few times and gave a small nod. “All right,” he whispered. He looked back at the rising sun, which was painting the sky like watercolors. “Can I tell you somethin’ that probably sounds stupid?”

“Sure, but it won’t.”

Johnny sighed, staring at the sky with longing. “Sometimes, I wonder if this part of my life is like the sunrise. Bright, golden, fleeting. It’s gonna be over so soon. We’ll never be like what we are now again. I’m scared I’m livin’ the best part of my life, and it won’t ever be this good again.”

Pony hummed, the thought making his soul ache. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“What?”

“What if the best part of your life is yet to come? Or what if all your life gets to be good? Why couldn’t it be? Sure, maybe you were dealt a bad hand at the start, but that doesn’t decide where you end up. Or where you are now. Only God does that.”

Johnny gave a small, tight smile, as if it felt like too much to hope for.

The sun was higher then, turning the grass gold. Johnny’s horse snorted, shifting impatiently as Soda now tended to it.

“You'd better go,” Ponyboy said, even though he didn’t want him to.

Johnny stood, brushing off his trousers. “I’ll be back tomorrow evenin’. Don’t go makin’ Darry lose any more years off his life while I’m gone, hear?”

Pony managed a smile. “I’ll try.”

Johnny pulled him to his feet and held him tight. “Stay well,” he murmured. Then he was off, slinging the mailbag over his shoulder and racing off down the eastbound trail, into the sunrise.

Pony’s head ached as he watched his closest friend go. “‘The Lord bless thee, and keep thee,’ Johnny,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

The wind outside rattled the shutters, and Sodapop could hear the gang laughing somewhere out in the yard—someone must’ve said something stupid, ‘cause it set Two-Bit off in that loud bark of his. Inside, though, it was warmer, quieter. Just Soda and Darry at the table, peeling apples for Ma’s old pie recipe.

Two-Bit was usually responsible for the cooking and baking, but when he’d tried this pie, it didn’t taste quite right to the brothers. It only worked perfectly when made by Curtis hands, they decided, so whenever the gang wanted apple pie, they took the task upon themselves.

Pony was leaning against the doorframe, watching Soda and Darry. He’d been restless all day, drifting in and out of whatever they were doing like he couldn’t decide where to land.

“You’re awful slow at that,” Soda told Darry, holding up his neat little pile of curled peels. “I’m halfway done, and you’re still wrestlin’ your second apple.”

Darry shot Soda a look. “I’d be faster if I wasn’t trying to keep you from cutting your thumb off.”

Pony grinned faintly at that. “Soda’s good with his hands.”

“Yeah, good at making a mess,” Darry muttered, but Soda saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

The stove popped in the corner, a sharp little crack that made Pony glance over. Something about his face struck Soda—he looked far away all of a sudden, like he was trying to see something in the other room. Soda wondered what he was looking at. His expression twisted like he was trying to make a funny face. He swayed a bit.

“You okay, kid?” Soda asked, his knife halting mid-peel.

Pony’s descent to the floor almost looked like slow-motion. It seemed so gradual that, at first, Soda thought he was just playing around. It wasn’t until Pony was on the floor, his head rolling back and bumping against the boards, that Soda realized something was very wrong.

Pony’s body convulsed, jerky tremors spiking through his small frame. His eyes were rolled back, and his mouth was foaming.

Soda was frozen to his seat in shock and fear, mouth open, unable to comprehend what was happening. Unable to move.

“He’s having a seizure,” Darry said sharply, jumping out of his chair. To anyone else, his tone might’ve sounded livid, but Soda heard the terror in his voice.

“What?” Soda’s voice pitched high. He scrambled behind Darry, dropping to Ponyboy’s side with him.

Darry was shaking, but he turned Pony on his side as his whole little body jerked and shuddered, Soda assumed to keep his airway clear.

Soda braced his hands under Pony’s head, desperate to stop any further injury. Had he hit it hard? He wasn’t certain. His heart pounded erratically in his ears. All he could do was say again and again, “It’s all right, Pony, it’s all right. We’re here, we’re here, we’re here.” He looked up, praying the others were close enough to hear. “Dally! Dallas, get in here!”

It wasn’t even a few seconds by the time his footsteps came pounding over the threshold. “What is—Land sakes!”

“Ride for the doctor!” Soda shouted. “Now!”

“The hell’s wrong with him?”

Darry looked back. “He’s seizing. Go, Dal!”

Pony made a choking sound, and Soda panicked. “He can’t breathe—”

“He’s breathing,” Darry said, but there was strain in his voice.

The seconds stretched like hours. Pony’s face was pale as milk, a sheen of sweat breaking along his hairline. After several agonizing minutes of terror like Soda had never experienced, the spasms slowed, turned to weak shudders. Pony’s breathing came hard and fast, his eyes still half-lidded, blinking fast, and rolled back.

Then he went limp—dead weight in Soda’s hands. His eyes slipped shut. His chest stilled.

“Pony?” Soda’s voice was barely a whisper now. He brushed the wet hair off his brother’s forehead, his throat tight. “Please, honey, wake up.”

Darry pulled the boy up into his arms, cradling him like a small child, cupping the back of his head. He looked at Ponyboy with absolute helplessness. “Oh, baby…”

“Mercy,” Soda whispered, but the word came out strangled. He reached for Pony’s hand, slack in his palm. “Lord, have mercy, no—”

Darry’s face was all hollowed out, eyes wide and shining, his entire body trembling. He had Pony pulled up against him, head tucked under his chin, rocking slowly. “Breathe, kid,” Darry choked out. “Come on, breathe for me.” His voice was breaking in ways Soda had never heard before.

“He ain’t—” His throat closed up. He couldn’t finish it. His hands kept smoothing back Pony’s hair, the sweat on his brow cool now instead of hot. “Dear Lord, don’t You take him. Not him.”

In the doorway, he heard Steve and Two-Bit’s panicked, hushed voices. It felt like it would be a lifetime until Dally returned with the doctor.

“Come on, Ponyboy,” Soda murmured, leaning in so close his cheek brushed Pony’s temple. “You’re all right, you hear? Just a bit winded, is all. You’re gonna open them eyes and smart off at me, same as always.” His own eyes stung hard. “Please.“

Pony’s chest hitched—just once—then another shallow breath dragged in. Darry’s head dropped forward like someone had cut the rope holding him upright.

“Thank God,” he whispered, holding tighter. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Soda shuddered. “Heavens above,” he said, voice breaking. He put a hand on Pony’s chest, feeling each small rise, each stubborn heartbeat. Afraid that if he let go for even a moment, it’d stop.

Pony’s eyelids fluttered, and he gave a small groan, low and confused. His gaze was glassy at first, unfocused, as if he didn’t quite know where he was.

“Easy, little colt,” Darry murmured, low and rough. “You gave us quite a fright.”

Pony’s lips moved—no sound came out the first time, then, hoarse, he asked, “What… happened?”

“You fell,” Soda said quickly, though he knew that wasn’t the half of it. “You was shakin’—” He stopped, throat tight. His hands wouldn’t quit trembling. “Thought we was losin’ you.”

Pony’s brow knit faintly, as if trying to piece together the moments before. “I don’t…remember.”

“That’s all right,” Darry said, though his jaw was tight and his eyes kept sweeping Pony’s face like he was memorizing each blink. “Just rest. Doc’s comin’.”

Pony licked his lips, still pale. “M’sorry…”

Soda’s breath hitched. “Don’t you dare say that. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He glanced up at the window, willing Dally to come tearing back with the doctor. Twenty minutes felt like it might as well be twenty years. He looked back down at Pony, brushing a thumb over a dirt smudge on his cheek. “Just stay with us. Keep talkin’. Nothin’ else matters.”

Pony looked between his brothers, confusion still written across his face. He looked so young. “Somethin’ bad happened.”

“You had a seizure, dear heart,” Soda said softly, rubbing his thumb against the back of Pony’s hand. “Doctor’s gonna tell us why. All’s gonna be well, you’ll see.”

Pony’s hand came up to fist in Darry’s shirt, and Soda watched his older brother’s chest hitch. “Yes,” he said, laying a hand over Ponyboy’s. “I’m right here, sweet boy. Ain’t lettin’ you go.”

Finally, Dally’s footsteps came pounding back, and he had Dr. Helm in tow. They pushed past Steve and Two-Bit, and the doctor knelt next to the Curtis brothers, where they were still slumped on the floor.

“Good, he’s awake.” The doctor nodded to the loveseat. “Lie him down, I’ll take a look. Can you boys tell me what happened?”

“He was actin’ a little funny right before it happened,” Soda explained. “His eyes got all far away. Then he fell. He bumped his head, I don’t know how hard.”

“He was seizing,” Darry said, casting an anxious glance toward Pony. “I ain’t never seen one before, but I know that’s what it was.”

“How long did it last?” Helm asked.

“Three—four minutes, maybe?” Darry said. He looked toward Soda, who nodded his assent.

“What was it like?”

“Foaming at the mouth,” Darry said. “I got him on his side. He was jerkin’ real bad the whole time. His eyes were rolled back and all fluttery. He was makin’ these awful gaspin’ and chokin’ sounds, and then—” His voice clogged up.

Helm looked over. “Then?”

“He wasn’t breathin’,” Soda said. Pony’s eyes widened.

“For how long?” Helm asked.

“Um…. maybe half a minute,” Soda said, trying to recall. Darry grumbled his agreement.

Helm nodded, and Soda filled with relief at the relaxed expression on his face. “That happens to some after large seizures like these. So long as the seizure wasn’t too long, they should regain their breath within a few seconds to a minute. I don’t believe that’s somethin’ to worry about.”

“Dr. Helm,” Darry said, stepping forward. “Nothin’ like this has ever happened to him before. Is this because of somethin’ that happened to him a few days ago, maybe the—”

“Lightning strike?” Helm nodded. “Because that’s what I’m thinking. Seizures happen when there’s something going on in the brain. An electrical shock that large could definitely have left its mark. We just didn’t see it until now.”

“Am I gonna be like this always?” Ponyboy asked in a strained voice, his eyes panicked. “Am I gonna lose my job?”

Helm’s gaze softened as he turned back to him. “We’re going to learn a lot within the next few weeks. Whether this was an isolated incident or if it will happen often. Or, if it will happen often at first but taper off as the weeks go by until you’re eventually seizure-free. There’s really no way to tell at this point.”

“Is there nothing you can do for him?” Darry asked, dismayed.

Helm shook his head. “I apologize. But there’s really nothing I can do for something like this. It sounded like you did the right thing. Make sure his airways are clear and he doesn’t cause further harm to his head or body with the thrashing. Otherwise, you wait for it to pass.”

“To pass?” Soda asked. “Aren’t things like this dangerous?”

“They can be. Aside from the risk of harming himself when they happen, if a seizure lasts longer than five minutes, it could lead to lasting damage, or even death.” Soda gasped, but Helm held up his hands. “This is unlikely, however. Let me talk about what you need to do should this happen again.

“I must be clear—by the time I could arrive if called, it would be twenty, perhaps twenty-five minutes. That is far too long to do anything during a seizure.”

Darry and Soda exchanged a tense glance.

“You are his first and only line of care when it begins,” the doctor continued. “Keep him on his side, clear his mouth and airway, and remove anything he might strike. Keep him warm and safe from injury. Watch him closely—time the seizure. If it lasts more than five minutes, it is serious, but until then, your calm and vigilance are everything.”

Soda swallowed hard. “And after it ends?”

“Maintain warmth and comfort,” the doctor said. “Let him rest. Provide water or light nourishment when he is ready. Observe him for lingering weakness or confusion. This is the best care available; nothing more can be done until he recovers naturally.”

He gave a small nod, eyes meeting theirs. “Your hands and eyes are his medicine. The speed of a physician cannot surpass your attention in these moments. Trust in your care, remain calm, and he will be safer than under any doctor’s hand, however skilled.”

“And if it is longer than five minutes?” Darry asked. “What do we do then?”

“Keep him safe, keep him breathing, stay with him, and pray. To be honest, there’s nothing more I could do for him than that, either, so there’s never going to be a point in sending for me unless he causes serious injury to himself.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, taking that heavy truth in. Then, Darry said, “Speaking of that, could you check his head?”

Helm nodded, going over to Pony. “Ponyboy,” he said gently, “can you hear me?”

Pony blinked, trying to focus, and gave a small nod.

“Good,” the doctor murmured. “Tell me your name.”

“Ponyboy… Curtis,” he whispered.

“Very good.” He held Pony’s wrist, checking the pulse, then let go and watched the rise and fall of the chest. “Breathing steady, pulse strong. Good. Can you lift your arm for me?” Pony obeyed, slow but sure. “And the other?” Both arms responded. “Very well. Legs?” Pony flexed each, showing he could move them freely.

“Eyes for me,” the doctor said. He lifted the oil lamp nearby and looked at Pony’s pupils. They contracted and dilated as expected. “Speech is clear, eyes are fine.” He set the lamp back down. “Tell me your brothers’ names.”

“Sodapop and Darry.”

“Do you remember what you were doing earlier today?”

Pony paused for only a moment. “Was with Johnny.”

Soda nodded in confirmation.

“You’ve had a frightful event, but your wits and strength are sound,” Helm told Pony. “No lingering injuries from the seizure itself.” He looked back at the rest of the gang. “Keep him warm, safe, and rested. Monitor him closely, especially for another episode. Doesn’t look like he has a head injury. His memory and speech seem fine. But if he does complain of headaches or dizziness, keep him in bed, in the dark, and resting for a while to help him recover.”

He gave a reassuring glance to Darry and Soda. “These observations are all the tests we can perform. Your vigilance is what will keep him safe until he recovers fully.”

They thanked him, and he made his leave.

It wasn’t until then that Pony’s tears fell.

Sodapop and Darry rushed to his side. “What’s wrong, honey?” Soda asked, his hands on Pony’s arm.

“What if—” Pony sniffled and let out a sob. “What if this never stops? What if I’m just… like this now? I’ll never ride again.”

“No,” Darry said. “No, no, no, no, we don’t know that yet. Don’t be thinkin’ like that. That ain’t gonna happen. And if it does, we’ll get you through it, I swear to you, Ponyboy.”

That didn’t seem to console Pony. The tears just fell faster. Soda rested his hands on his shoulder, jerking his head so that the others would also come over to lay their hands on him. Even Steve did so, though he acted reluctant about it.

“You’ll get well, Pony,” Sodapop said. He bowed his head in prayer. “Heavenly Father, heal him. Heal Your boy. Keep the seizures from him. Make his brain better. And if it not be Your will, let us always be there to help him. Bring us through this, just as You have every matter before. Amen.”

“Amen,” the group echoed. Even Dally.

Chapter Text

Pony sat at the table with a mug of coffee—more milk than coffee, thanks to Darry—and a plate of biscuits that Soda kept pushing closer, as if proximity would magically make him eat more.

“You feelin’ dizzy?” Soda asked for the fourth time since breakfast started.

“No,” Pony said flatly.

“Head hurt?” Darry chimed in, grabbing a plate of eggs from Two-Bit.

“No,” Pony said again.

“You sure?” Soda leaned in, peering at him like he could spot a seizure coming.

Pony slammed his fork down. “Would you all quit starin’ at me like I’m fixin’ to keel over? I’m fine.”

Everyone froze. Soda’s mouth opened, but Darry spoke first, his voice calm but tight. “You scared the livin’ daylights outta us yesterday, Pony. Forgive us if we ain’t ready to pretend it didn’t happen or it ain’t gonna happen again.”

“I’m not sayin’ it didn’t happen or it ain’t gonna,” Pony shot back. “I’m sayin’ I don’t need you watchin’ me breathe all day.” He shoved back from the table. “I’m goin’ outside.” He stumbled, and everyone lurched forward to grab him.

He regained his balance, glaring. “It’s the leg. You hear? The leg’s achy, that’s all. My fever’s broken, the cold ain’t too bad, and I ain’t gonna collapse and seize, all right?” Pony muttered, “Hell’s bells…” under his breath.

Darry’s head shot up. “What was that?”

“Nothin’,” Pony said quickly, ducking his head and thumbing through the nearest book he could grab.

“It didn’t sound like nothin’.”

“It’s just a saying.”

“It’s just swearing,” Darry corrected, voice sharp.

Pony groaned. “If I’m already being treated like an invalid, might as well talk like a grown man.”

Darry set his jaw. “You talk like that again, and I’ll treat you like a little boy instead.”

Ponyboy rolled his eyes. “I’m goin’ outside.”

“Not alone you’re not,” Darry said automatically.

Pony let out a groan. “See? This is what I mean. What’re you gonna do, follow me around forever? Sit on the edge of my bed while I sleep?”

Soda gave a sheepish shrug. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

That earned him a glare sharp enough to cut. Pony headed for the door, muttering, “I’d rather take my chances with lightning.”

“Don’t even joke about things like that!” Darry’s fist came down on the table, knocking over Steve’s coffee. Steve groaned and muttered something about ‘this family’.

Pony slammed the door behind him.

“Confound that blasted kid!” Darry yelled.

“Darry!” Soda snapped, angry and hurt. “Hush your mouth! He’s just a boy. He’s hurtin’.”

“Yes, well, he’s hurtin’ this family, actin’ like he does. Like how dare we care about him? I’ll show him, ignore him for a week and see how he likes it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No, I sure as hell wouldn’t, Soda!”

Soda’s mouth trembled. The other guys looked uncomfortable, but Darry was past caring. They could leave if they wanted. Darry had family matters he needed to fix.

“You ever think,” Soda started, “that maybe you’re half the problem, Darrel? That maybe you’re the one runnin’ the family into the ground?”

Darry’s fists trembled. “How dare you? I coulda let you boys go to the orphanage, you know that. It’s because of me that we’re still together, because I loved you that damn much.”

Sodapop’s eyes blazed. “Well, it don’t always feel like love.”

Darry threw up his hands. “Are you serious? Are you ever-lovin’ serious right now? You were just on Pony’s ass now, too, don’t act like you weren’t. High ‘n mighty Sodapop, literal angel fell to earth—”

“Hold your damn tongue!” Steve snapped as Soda’s eyes welled. “You don’t have a right to talk to him like that!”

“I have—”

“HEY!” Dallas snapped. Every head turned his way. It was like he had sucked all the air out of the room. He looked livid, trembling with rage, a contrast to his usual cool demeanor. “Everyone shut the hell up for sixty damn seconds! I ain’t jokin’, time it, Darrel. Talkin’ like this is only gon’ lead to somethin’ you can’t take back, I guarantee it. Sixty. Damn. Seconds. And I will cut your whole consarned tongues out if you speak a moment before.”

No one dared speak for his allotted time. Darry even found himself counting down in his head. His breathing slowed, as did his shaking. His head felt a little clearer.

A whole two minutes might have gone by before Soda softly said, “You ain’t runnin’ this family into the ground, Darry. I didn’t mean that.”

Darry sighed, dragging a hand over his face as guilt filled him fast. “Didn’t mean nothin’ I said, neither. You’re a wonderful, kind person, Sodapop. I should never have mocked that.”

“But you were right. I was hoverin’ just as much. We both aggravated him.”

Darry plopped back into his seat, burying his head in his hands. “He just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand that it’s all for his good.”

He felt Soda’s hand in between his shoulder blades. “I know. But… maybe there’s a way we can make it less… overbearing? I don’t know.”

Steve scoffed. “I think you’re bein’ as ‘overbearing’ as you need to be. The kid dropped yesterday. It’s like he’s forgettin’ it could happen again, at any point.”

“But surely we can’t do that all the time,” said Two-Bit. “It’s stressin’ the poor fella out.”

“I’m stressed out!” Darry exclaimed, but he quickly reeled himself back in. “I don’t know what else to do. Helm said to keep our eyes on him. He doesn’t have anythin’ else but us. Say he seizes again, and none of us are there, and he harms himself? Or he stops breathin’ altogether? I can’t take that risk.”

“But then how soon do we stop watchin’ him so closely?” Soda asked. “You know Pony. He’d just wanna die if he didn't have any time to himself ever. He likes that kinda thing.”

“Maybe…” Darry blew out a heavy breath. “Maybe I just need to talk to him.”

Soda’s eyebrows drew together. “You sure? I can do it.”

Darry shook his head. “Thanks, little buddy, but I think I need to. I’ll give him a few more minutes, though.”

He found Ponyboy sitting on one of the fence posts, looking at the sky. Darry swung up to sit beside him. Pony didn’t look at him, but he didn’t move away either.

“You ever hear about the time I fell in the creek when we were little?”

Pony looked over, surprise writen across his face. He shook his head.

“Well, I was chasing the dog, trying to be faster than him. Didn’t see the slick rocks, slipped, and landed right in the water. Knocked my face clean on the rocks. Lost my front baby teeth. Bled everywhere. Ma and Pa—they went half mad, thinking I’d broken every bone in my body. Had me in bed for a week, fussin’ and scoldin’ at the same time. I hated it.” Darry’s voice softened. “Thought they were overbearin’, but I guess they were just scared.”

Pony shifted, absorbing the story. “I… don’t remember that,” he said softly.

Darry gave a short laugh. “Course not. You were just a baby. But I wanted you to know that. Even when we act all overbearing, it’s ’cause we love you. Just like Ma and Pa did with me… even if I didn’t know it then. But that’s the thing, kid. Even when we can’t stop being scared of losing you, it don’t mean we don’t trust you. We just… we don’t know how else to do it.”

“I get that,” Pony said, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I do. But you have to realize… for the past year, I’ve spent most of my days independent. I’m out alone all day. And I love you guys, I really do, but I just can’t take being watched over all day like an infant. I can’t stand it, you all lookin’ at me like I’m about to break.”

“It won’t be like this all the time,” Darry promised. “You know today—this week, even—is going to be different. You know we have to keep an eye on you, just until we understand what’s goin’ on with that little head of yours. Do you understand that?”

Pony nodded, his eyes glistening. “I”m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Pones. I’m sorry it has to be like this. I really am.”

Pony leaned against him, and Darry took that as an invitation to throw his arm around him.

“We’re all gonna take care of each other, you hear? But… even these next few days, you let me and your brother know when you nead a little extra space about it.”

Pony gave a small smile. “Thanks, Darry.”

Darry rubbed his shoulder. “Anytime, kid.”

Chapter Text

Johnny had been in the saddle so long his whole body buzzed with the dull ache of a day’s ride. Sweat clung to his jacket, his cheeks raw from the wind. All he could think about was finding a chair and maybe a blanket, shutting his eyes for five minutes before someone asked him to do anything else.

He handed the mailbag to Darry, and Soda took away the horse. Johnny started to make for the house when Darry caught him by the shoulder. “Johnny.”

Johnny turned. Darry’s face wasn’t its usual calm, steady mask—it was tight, tired, the kind of look that made Johnny’s stomach knot before he even knew why.

“There’s somethin’ you oughta know,” Darry said. His tone was too careful.

“What?” Johnny’s voice came out sharper than he meant.

Darry rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s about Ponyboy.”

The knot in Johnny’s gut pulled tight. “What happened?”

“Yesterday… he had a seizure. Outta nowhere. Lasted about four minutes. Doctor said it’s from the lightnin’.” Darry’s voice cracked just barely, but it was enough to turn the words into a punch straight to Johnny’s chest. “We, uh—” He cut himself off, swallowed hard. “We didn’t know if he was gonna die or nothin’. We don’t know if the seizures are gonna be frequent or taperin’ off or never again. We just don’t know right now.”

For a second, Johnny just stared. His legs went cold, like the blood had drained out of him. He couldn’t picture it—didn’t want to—but his mind betrayed him anyway, conjuring an image of Pony’s body jerking, eyes rolled back.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until Darry called his name again. Johnny brushed past him without answering, boots heavy on the floorboards as he headed for the main room.

“Pony!” He rushed forward to the boy on the loveseat, he and Two-Bit playing Snap with a deck of cards.

Ponyboy looked up and smiled. “Johnny!” He let out a surprised grunt as Johnny barreled into him, throwing his arms around him. “I—I’m all right, Johns. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Johnny held him tighter, afraid to let go. “Darry told me what happened. A seizure, Pony. A seizure.”

“I’m all right,” Pony repeated, his voice softening as his arms lifted to hold Johnny in return. “Really. It happened yesterday. I’ve been fine since.”

“But it could happen again, right?”

“Right. But we don’t know.” Pony looked at him more closely. “Johnny, you look unwell.”

“Yes, I look unwell!” Johnny burst out, pulling at his hair. “You’re sick, and I can’t stay, I have to go on rides, I can’t be here with you!”

“Then just stay today,” Pony said, watching him with worry. “Rest before you have to go. Just stay.”

So Johnny did, practically clinging to Ponyboy’s side all day.

That evening, Soda tipped his head toward the back and said, “Come on. Both of you.”

There was something in his voice that made Pony fall quiet. Johnny shot him a quick, confused look but followed without a word.

Soda led them a ways out through the weeds. “I know that horse was real special to you, Pone. And if you don’t want Johnny here, then that’s okay, but I thought he would appreciate somethin’ nice like this. And we can just… be here. For you. And for the mare. Just the three of us.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Soda?” Pony asked.

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “What horse?”

Soda looked toward Pony, like he was giving him the chance to explain.

Pony’s expression grew somber. “My mare. Rode her in and out of the home station often. Called her Whisper. She was real good to me. Loved her a lot. But she was the horse that the lightnin’ got.” His voice choked up, and tears filled his eyes. He looked away, wiping at his face.

“Oh, Pony,” Johnny whispered. “I’m sorry.” Johnny had never gotten attached to the horses. He would never let himself. He felt like he’d lost a lot in life. He didn’t need anything stacked on top of that. The horses were simply animals he worked with. But for this horse in particular, that clearly had not been the case for Ponyboy, and that near broke Johnny’s heart.

“Anyway,” Soda said. “I have somethin’ to show you.”

He brought them to a clearing he must’ve been working on earlier in the day. The grass there was pressed flat, and in the middle sat a smooth, flat rock, just big enough to catch the last bit of sun. Scratched into it, uneven but deliberate, was the name Wisper. Johnny smiled a bit at the misspelling. It was all so genuine. Beside it, a small handful of wildflowers lay in a loose bundle, their stems bound with twine.

Pony’s breath caught. “Soda…”

“She deserved somethin’,” Soda said, keeping his eyes on the rock. “Not just to be gone like she was never here. I thought we could… y’know… have a ‘say goodbye night.’”

Johnny’s shoulders softened. “It’s nice, Soda. Real nice.”

Soda lowered himself to the grass, crossing his legs, and nodded for them to join him. “I didn’t know what you’d wanna say, so… I’ll start. Whisper was—” He paused, chewing his lip. “She was tuff. She had her own way of lookin’ out for you. I always kept her stall cleanest of all for you. I know she loved you right back. I’m glad she stuck around as long as she did.”

The breeze rattled the weeds around them.

Pony crouched down, brushing a fingertip over the carved letters. “You kept me safe,” he whispered. “You kept us out of danger, even when you were scared. You were so fast, and so playful, and so pretty. I loved your little nicker and that sweet little prance you’d do when we saw each other again. I’m gonna miss you forever, my sweet girl.”

Johnny knelt beside him, one hand on Pony’s back.

Soda reached over, untying the twine around the flowers. “Let’s give her these.” He handed a stem to each of them. One by one, they laid the flowers beside the stone.

Nobody rushed. They stayed there, heads bowed, letting the quiet do most of the talking. The sun slid lower, dipping the rock in shadow, but they didn’t move until the sky had gone from gold to deep purple.

Finally, Soda looped an arm around both of them and pulled them close. “Well, whatdya say we head back?”

Pony sniffled and brushed the silent tears from his face. “Yes. Sounds good.”

Soda grabbed his head and pressed a big kiss to the side of it with a loud “Mwah!”

Pony made an annoyed noise between a grumble and a laugh, wriggling out of Soda’s grasp. Soda beamed, like his mission was accomplished.

“I—um, hold on,” Johnny said. “Stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

Before waiting for them to say anything, Johnny dashed back toward the home station, returning minutes later with his leather rider's Bible in hand. He flipped to something in the front half, the Curtis brothers looking at him confusedly.

Johnny smiled. “Trust me. It feels relevant.” He started reading from 1 Kings. “‘And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, What doest thou here, Elijah?’” Johnny closed the book, listening to the quiet breeze.

“Why that one, Appleseed?” Soda asked softly, as if basking in the reverence of the moment.

“The still, small voice. Made me think of your horse’s name, Pone. The way God speaks in the quietest ways, only when it’s real quiet you can hear. Maybe God’s still, small voice came through to you in that horse He made. I bet that’s why she made you so happy. God made her just for you.”

Pony’s lip wobbled, and he nodded. Then he threw his arm around Johnny. And together, the three of them watched the sun sink under the horizon.

Chapter Text

The station house was quieter than usual the next morning. The long room smelled of smoke and leather, breakfast dishes still stacked by the hearth. Darry sat at the rough-hewn table, checking the ledger with steady hands. Soda leaned against the doorframe, teasing Two-Bit as he tried to whittle a piece of wood into something that was oddly duck-shaped. Steve was in the stables, and Dally was out scouting. All of the riders were out. Pony leaned close to inspect Two-Bit’s work, making stupid jokes along with Sodapop.

Darry was focused again on his work when there sounded a gasp.

He whipped his head around to see Pony’s knees buckle. Soda lunged forward and cried out, catching him under the arms just as his little brother went limp.

“Dar!” Soda’s voice broke sharply with panic.

Darry was out of his chair in an instant. “Easy, I’ve got him.” His hands reached to steady Pony, but before he could ease him down, Pony’s whole body stiffened, jerking violently. His head snapped back, eyes rolling white.

Two-Bit’s knife clattered to the floor. “Oh, please, not again.”

“Ponyboy!” Soda’s voice cracked, already trembling. He lowered his brother to the wooden floor, but the seizing was so fierce that Darry had to pin Pony’s shoulders to keep him from striking the table leg.

“Don’t bite your tongue, Pony, please, please,” Soda begged, sobbing already, tears dripping onto his brother’s shirt. His hands shook so badly that he could barely brush the hair from Pony’s clammy forehead.

Two-Bit backed against the wall, wide-eyed, crossing himself and muttering half-prayers under his breath. His usual jokes were gone; his face was pale.

“Two-Bit, start timing it,” Darry instructed, and Two-Bit looked up at the wall clock.

One minute passed into two. The seizure rattled on. Pony’s small frame thudded against the floor, his muscles locking, unlocking, locking again. His brothers’ breaths came in panicked gasps, keeping time with his convulsions.

Darry pressed a hand to Pony’s chest. His heart was racing. Too fast. He couldn’t think straight.

“God, please,” Darry whispered hoarsely, pressing his forehead against his brother’s shoulder. “Make it stop.”

Two-Bit’s usual grin was gone, replaced with tears streaking down his cheeks. “We—we gotta get a doctor—”

“There ain’t no doctor out here!” Darry snapped, terror twisting his voice. “It’s just us—it’s just us—and Helm said there’s nothing he can do!”

Soda rocked back and forth, holding onto Pony’s arm. “Stay with us, baby. Stay with us.”

Two minutes turned to three, then four. By then, all of them were crying. Pony’s body was still convulsing, each spasm shaking through him like a storm. His skin was damp with sweat.

“It’s getting too long,” Darry whispered, barely audible. His hands hovered, not knowing what else to do. “God, it’s too long. Two-Bit?”

“Four minutes and counting.”

Soda’s sobs broke free. “Don’t let him die, Darry! Please, don’t let him die!” He pressed his forehead to Pony’s arm, murmuring nonsense like he had when Pony was little: “It’s okay, it’s okay, I gotcha, kiddo, I gotcha.”

Two-Bit had folded his hands together tight, knuckles white. “Our Father, who art in heaven…” he muttered in a trembling voice, praying aloud probably because he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Pony’s fit hadn’t eased. His chest heaved, spit and foam glistening at the corner of his mouth. The sound of his gasping breaths filled the room, ragged and terrifying.

The longest minute of their lives. Pony’s body thrashed less violently, but the convulsions still wracked him. Time was a cruel stretch, every second pounding against their ears.

Darry pressed his palm to Pony’s chest again, feeling his frantic heartbeat, terrified of when it might stop. He wept openly, whispering broken prayers.

“Five minutes,” Two-Bit croaked, his voice breaking. “It’s been five minutes. This ain’t right, it ain’t right.”

“God Almighty,” Darry whispered hoarsely, trying to keep control but breaking, his own voice lifting into prayer. “Lord, don’t take him—don’t take my baby brother—please—” He looked at Soda, helpless, as Pony’s body convulsed harder, his lips tinged blue.

“It’s too long—it’s too long, Darry!” Soda cried out, pressing his cheek to Pony’s, as if he could anchor him back. “Make it stop, God, please make it stop—don’t do this—” His sobs turned into broken gasps.

Pony’s arms jerked, heels drumming against the old floorboards, breath catching in awful, choking bursts. Soda knelt over him, rocking desperately, while Darry leaned over both of them, praying out loud now, voice raw and breaking.

“Father, I can’t—don’t—you can’t take him from us. Not Ponyboy. Take me, take anything—just not him!”

Two-Bit knelt finally, grabbing Darry’s arm, whispering, “He’ll come back, he has to, he has to—” but his tears betrayed his own terror.

At last, after what felt like forever, but what Two-Bit confirmed to be six minutes. Pony’s jerks slowed. His body went slack, chest rising in shuddering gasps. He lay drenched in sweat, lips still pale, eyes closed but fluttering

Soda’s tears soaked his shirt as he pressed frantic kisses to Pony’s damp hair. “Pony? Baby? Please, please, open your eyes, little one.”

And then, at last, Pony stirred. A faint groan slipped past his lips. His eyes opened, unfocused but alive.

The sound tore through Darry like a salvation. He sagged down beside them, burying his face in his hands as sobs shook his shoulders. Two-Bit gave a strangled laugh through his own crying, whispering, “Thank the Lord, thank the Lord…”

Soda kept cradling Pony, whispering broken thank-yous, rocking him like a child.

Pony blinked at them in confusion, weak and trembling. “Did it… happen again?”

Soda pressed his forehead to his little brother’s, voice shaking but firm. “Yes, Pony. You just… you just gave us the worst scare of our lives. But you’re still here. You’re still here.”

And all three of them wept openly, clinging to each other there on the creaking station floor, while the old house stood steady around them like a sanctuary.

After that, Two-Bit sat them all down with hot coffee to calm down and process.

“That was two days,” Darry said. “Is that a short or long span of time?”

“I don’t know,” Sodapop said. “Three times might show us a pattern, in that regard.”

“Three times?” Pony asked, his voice tight. He winced, as if his head was hurting him awfully. “I don’t want it to happen again.”

Darry gripped his shoulder. “Of course, you don’t. Neither do we. And maybe it won’t happen again. Maybe. But if it has to, it could give us a better idea of what we’re workin’ with.”

Pony lowered his head into his arms at the table. “Johnny’s gonna lose his ever-lovin’ mind.”

“So, what do we do now?” Two-Bit asked in a tight voice. “Just wait for it to happen again?”

“What else can we do?” Soda asked softly.

Nobody had an answer.

Chapter Text

Soda and Darry walked Pony to the bunkhouse early that night.

The fire was burning low, casting flickering shadows across the bunkhouse. Pony sat at the head of his bed, shoulders hunched, staring ahead at the wall. His hands were trembling, and every now and then, he rubbed them together as if he could somehow chase away the worry that clung to him.

“What if I can’t ride again?” he asked softly, voice tight. “Ever? How am I supposed to…” His words faltered. “…how am I supposed to keep things going? Help like I could before?”

Darry and Soda had been watching him from across the room, eyes heavy with concern. Darry stepped closer first, his usual composure softened. “Pony,” he said, voice low, “you’re not done. You’re not broken. You may ride again yet. It’s just too early to tell.”

Pony shook his head. “I saw the lightning. I was trapped under Whisper. I could’ve—” His voice caught. “…I could’ve been gone, Darry. What if that had been it?”

Soda slid onto the bed beside him, letting Pony lean against him. “You’re here. You made it. And that’s what matters. We’ll get through this. We always do.”

“But what if I can’t do it again?” Pony whispered, eyes downcast. “What if they just keep Curly on? What if I can’t support you two anymore?”

Darry sat down opposite them, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Is that what this is about? Ponyboy, listen to me. I know you may be our main supporter now, but it don’t have to be like that forever. If anything, it probably won’t. And then your brother and I are ready to step up. We—I want to step up after this, Pone. And even if that’s not what you want to hear, hear this: I know they’ve been working on that transcontinental telegraph line for four or five years now. I know that feels like a long time and that nothing will ever actually happen. But it’s happening, and it’s almost complete, and I have a feeling that when that happens, I dunno, maybe a few months from now, this will all be over. These jobs, the Express, all of it.”

Soda and Pony looked at him, startled. He had been saying stuff like the Express ending for a while now, but he supposed they’d just ignored the idea because he’d never spelled out why.

“You’re sure?” Soda asked.

Darry nodded. “Fairly sure.”

Darry might’ve laughed if the kids hadn’t looked so mystified and crestfallen. “Boys, listen. It’s gonna be just fine.”

“How can it be fine?” Soda asked. “What will we do? I love working here.”

“Working here? Or with the guys?”

Soda was silent.

“Right. That’s what I thought. The location doesn’t matter. We can go back to the homestead. Purchase a whole bunch of horses for breeding and breaking. We can have a whole farm. Sell the horses. Raise other animals or crops. It sure won’t be easy work, but it’ll be good work. And it can be just us and the guys again, because I sure as hell won't be lettin’ Johnny or Steve go back to the homes they came from. We can give Dally a home. Two-Bit can even join, if he’d prefer. Or he can go to his family again. Tex and Rusty James can go home to their big brothers, but they’ll be welcome to work with us, too, if they wish. What I’m sayin’ is, life could be even better than it is now. Sure, maybe we won’t be makin’ quite the money that we used to, but we won’t be workin’ our horses and boys to death. Everyone will have good work and rest. Consistent schedules. You’ll love it. I promise.”

“Do you mean it?” Soda asked, his eyes bright. “Steve can stay?”

“And Johnny?” Pony piped up.

“Absolutely.”

Pony swallowed hard, his chin wobbling. “I’m still worried,” he admitted, voice trembling. “I don’t want to be useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Darry said firmly, voice breaking just a little. “You’ll be the furthest thing from it. You’re ours. That’s all that matters. And I’ll ensure you ride again. Even if it’s just with Soda or on your own to break a horse. I will ensure you ride again, Ponyboy. For now, you let us worry about the work. You just worry about getting better.”

“And if the—the seizures are just a part of me now?”

“Then we learn how to live with them so they inhibit your life as little as possible.”

Darry let the silence hang until Soda spoke again. “What do you think it’d be like? Going home. It felt so… empty before.”

“That’s because it was three of us trying to fill the space of five,” Darry said softly, feeling fiercely again the loss of his parents. “But it was fresh back them. And this time, we’ll have several more people to fill that gap. It ain’t gonna be like it was those months. Not at all. It’ll be just like here, but better.” Darry knew that for a fact. As much as he enjoyed his work and he knew the boys did, too, there were no rests. There were no days off. The mail ran constantly, constantly, constantly. Life on the homestead wouldn’t be like that. It would give them the space to actually breathe again.

Soda looked at Pony, smiling. “And we can have Bible night every night! Wouldn’t that be somethin’? A real Bible in our very own home. You can take it back with us!”

That made Pony smile a little. “Are you guys just cracking this up into something better than it’ll actually be to make me feel better?”

“No,” Darry said with certainty, without even having to think. “It will be a better life for us. Maybe we can even get to know other people outside of the gang again. Like neighbors, or at church, or—”

“Or girls!” Soda was grinning ear to ear.

Darry laughed, reaching out to muss up his hair. “Yes, little buddy. Or girls.”

“Oh, this is sounding great already.”

Pony whacked Soda’s shoulder, and Soda yelped, rubbing it and pretending to be hurt. He grabbed a pillow and whacked Ponyboy across the chest with it, and Pony’s eyes lit with mischief.

Suddenly, all three of them were involved in a tousling match, albeit a bit gentler than usual for Pony’s sake. They were laughing like they were boys again, no cares in the world but wondering what chores they’d receive and what Mama would make for breakfast.

When it was all over, they somehow all lay across the cramped cot, breathing hard. Pony leaned against Soda. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” he whispered.

“You’ll never have to find out,” Soda said, voice firm but gentle. Darry nodded, placing a hand over Pony’s.

“That’s right,” Darry said. “We’re in this together. Always.”

Chapter Text

The next day was a stormy one. Around lunch time, Sodapop came back inside from caring for the horses and sending off the next rider. Thunder rumbled, and Pony jumped. Soda’s heart tightened in pity.

“Do you think Johnny’s okay?” Pony asked, swishing his spoon around the soup in his bowl. Johnny had gone out again that morning, the storm coming from the west close behind him.

“Sure, kid,” Two-Bit said, chowing down. “Johns knows his way around, ridden through plenty of storms.”

“So had I,” Pony whispered. The very room felt like it had gone quieter.

“He’ll be all right,” Soda said, breaking the silence. He wasn’t worried. But Pony looked petrified, and understandably so. Sodapop couldn’t imagine being hit by lightning. A danger that hadn’t crossed any of their minds before. Of course, he would worry now.

Pony nodded halfheartedly, but he kept casting glances toward the window.

It was a chilly day for July. They kept the fire going even beyond the meal, warming the main house. Two-Bit got to cleaning up, begrudgingly assisted by Dally, Steve went back to working on the bridle he was repairing. There was another hour until the next rider would be through on a relay, so Darry could relax a bit. Soda also craved the warmth of the inside, so he indulged himself for a bit.

Ponyboy was warming himself by the fire when he made a small, puzzled noise. Then he tensed and slumped.

Directly into the fire. The flames snapped and hissed, catching the clothes.

Soda screamed, lunging forward, but Darry was quicker. His big brother grabbed Pony under the arms, dragging him out of the flames. The smell hit Soda before the sight did—burning skin—and it nearly made him retch.

Darry didn’t hesitate, not for a heartbeat, even when his own hands pressed into the fire to haul Pony clear. He shouted, teeth clenched against the pain, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t even look at his own burns. All he saw was Pony.

Soda was right there the second Pony’s twitching body was clear of the hearth, smothering the smoking patches of his shirt with the quilt ripped off the chair. His hands shook so badly that he nearly dropped it. Pony’s skin was red, blistering, raw. So were Darry’s hands.

“Darry—your hands—” Soda’s voice broke, but Darry just shook his head, crouched low over Pony’s chest like he could shield him from everything in the world. His palms were already swelling, raw and scorched, but he didn’t even glance at them. He only had eyes for Ponyboy.

“Get water!” Darry barked, and Two rushed over with a bucket and some rags. Soda watched, heart hammering, stomach twisting, wishing he could tear his own skin off and give it to both his brothers.

The seizure only lasted a minute or so that time. Soda pulled off Pony’s shirt so it wouldn’t stick to the burned skin. Then he helped the others with dunking rags into the cool water and laying it across Pony’s burned bits of skin once he was finally still.

Then, Soda took Darry’s hands and plunged them right into the bucket. Darry tried to pull away, reach back for Ponyboy, but Soda gripped hard, looking at him with severity. “Stay still. You’re hurt. Two will tend to Pony.”

Darry’s chest was heaving, his eyes bright with fear. Soda rested his forehead against his and sighed. “It’s okay, he’s okay, we’re okay. You got him.”

Soda let go of Darry’s hands after a minute, and the moment after, Darry grabbed for his unconscious brother. He cradled Ponyboy like he was newborn again, not their wiry little brother but a bundle to be protected at all costs.

Soda was thrown back to his earliest memory, almost exactly fifteen years before.

1846:

“Why she screamin’ like that?” Sodapop, nearly three years old, sat next to Darry on the hearth as his older brother held him close.

“She’s havin’ the baby, Soda,” Darry, six and a half, explained, but his voice was tight with worry, too.

“Is it scary? To have a baby?”

Darry tilted his head. “I think it’s more that it hurts. I ‘member when you were born. It was just like this. Worse, actually. It took her longer to have you than to have me.” He looked at Soda and gave a small, teasing grin. “You were a stubborn little thing, I guess. Still are.”

“Is the new baby stubborn?”

Darry shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t think she’s been in labor that long yet. It’s only been a few hours, really. Maybe it’s almost time.”

Sodapop lit up, bouncing on his knees. “Is it a boy? I want a boy baby.”

“Me, too, little buddy. But we don’t know yet. Nobody knows. Could be a sister.”

Soda pouted. Darry laughed. “You’ll be a great big brother, either way. The baby will love you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really!” Darry ruffled his hair. “Who wouldn’t love you?”

Mama screamed again, and the boys stiffened. Soda burrowed closer into Darry’s side. “Is Mama gonna be okay?”

“Yes, baby. She’s gonna be just fine.”

In another hour, they heard the cry of their new baby. Darry held Soda back, although he looked just as anxious to go in, too. But they waited until Papa came out to bring them in.

He gently opened the door and ushered them over, a tired but elated smile on his face. “You have a brother.”

Soda and Darry looked at each other in excitement, rushing inside the room.

Papa and the midwife sat at the bedside, and Mama held a tiny bundle in her arms. Bloody towels were folded on the bed corner, and Mama’s face was slick, but she looked at that baby like she had never seen anything more beautiful.

She looked up at her boys. “Want to meet your brother?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

Darry scrambled on top of the bed, and Papa lifted Soda up. Soda leaned close, and he saw the baby for the first time. He had red hair! And he was so tiny! Soda didn’t know a baby could be that tiny.

“What’s his name?” Darry asked.

“We haven’t decided yet.” Mama smiled. “We wanted to meet him first.”

Mama gave him to Darry first, who sat close to her and held the baby gingerly, supporting his head with his arm.

The baby’s eyes were closed, and he made quiet little squeaky noises, like a kitten. Suddenly, tears were running down his big brother’s face. Darry usually didn’t cry. He frowned a lot, and sometimes he shouted, but this time… his shoulders shook, and his lips quivered.

“Why’s Darry crying?” Soda asked, his small voice barely more than a whisper.

Mama and Papa looked at each other, their own eyes glistening as they looked back at their eldest. “It’s okay, Sodapop,” Papa said, his voice tight. “That’s just what love feels like sometimes.”

Soda blinked. He thought he loved Darry a lot, too, but this was different. He watched as Darry reached out slowly, as if afraid to touch something so small and perfect. When Darry’s fingers brushed the baby’s cheek, Soda felt something warm in his chest.

Though the baby was bundled, he kicked his little legs so hard that they broke free of the blanket. Darry’s arms curled around him more just to keep him in place. Darry smiled. “Look at those kicks. He’s like a little pony boy.”

The name stuck.

Present:

Darry’s hands were shaking, and Soda could see the burns already angry and blistering along his palms and fingers. But Darry didn’t even flinch, not once. His eyes were fixed only on Pony, hard and wet at the same time, aching with that same, crushing love he’d felt back at six years old.

Soda reached, fumbling, trying to brush ash and soot from Pony’s face, but his hands were clumsy, trembling. “He’s gonna be alright,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure who he was tryin’ to convince—Darry, Pony, or himself.

The fire in the hearth was smoldering low now, only embers after Darry had torn Pony free, but the stink of smoke hung heavy. Soda’s throat burned with it. He swallowed hard and looked at Darry’s ruined hands again. “Your hands—Darry, we gotta—”

Darry shook his head fiercely, holding Pony tighter, his voice hoarse. “Don’t matter. He’s safe.”

And in that moment, Soda believed him. Darry would burn himself to ash before he’d let Pony be touched.

“Dal, get the doctor,” Darry demanded. “I—I don’t know how to treat burns like this.”

After Dally rushed out, the room was quiet except for their breathing. Every inhale felt heavy, every exhale ragged. Soda swallowed back a sob, wishing the doctor were here already, wishing they could undo what had just happened.

Two-Bit suddenly let out a sharp, humorless laugh, like there was something he couldn’t believe.

Soda looked over. “What is it?”

“I swear,” Two-Bit said, looking at Ponyboy strangely, “he read us a story like this before. From that big ol’ Bible of his. I… hang on.” He went to the side table, where Johnny kept his. It took him several minutes before he said, “Found it!”

Soda looked at Darry and Pony. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll help you get him to the couch. We have nothing better to do than rest and listen and wait.”

Pony groaned as he was lifted. “Shh, shh,” Soda calmed him. “It’s okay, honey.”

He groaned again, sharper and pained. “Wha—Soda, it—ungghhh.”

“You got burned, baby,” Darry explained softly, wincing as they set Pony down. He looked at his own hands. “Doctor’s comin’ soon. He’ll fix you right up. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

“My head,” Pony moaned.

“You seized, Pony,” said Soda. “That’s why your head hurts.”

“Burns,” he hissed. “Burns.”

“I know,” Darry said, his voice hoarse with empathy, he kissed Pony’s forehead, his eyes scanning his brother’s body for the worst of it. “It’ll heal, though, I’m sure. I’ve seen a lot worse, Pone. But I know it hurts now. I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?”

“Kid, you fell into the fire!” Two-Bit exclaimed, his eyes wide.

Pony’s eyes opened to match. “What?” He tried to sit up, but he winced. Soda helped prop him up. “Oh, no, no, no.”

Soda kissed his temple, stroking back his hair. “It’s okay, Darry got you out right away.”

Pony, though hazy, seemed to know what that meant right away. His gaze snapped to Darry’s hands. “Glory, no.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Darry insisted in a frenzy. “It doesn’t matter. Doctor’s comin’ soon. It’s not that bad, Pony, it’s really not that bad. I—I—Let’s just not think about it until the doctor comes, all right?”

Pony swallowed. He didn’t answer. His eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

“Ponyboy,” Two called. Successfully distracted, Pony looked over. “All this happened, and I ain’t tryin’ to take away from it or anythin’, but don’t it remind you of somethin’?”

Pony was quiet for almost a full minute before it came to him. His mouth fell open. “You’re right. You remembered that?”

Two chuckled. “My memory ain’t that bad, kid. Sure, maybe you read it a year ago, but here it is: ‘And when they were come to the multitude, there came to him a certain man, kneeling down to him, and saying, ‘Lord, have mercy on my son: for he is lunatick, and sore vexed: for ofttimes he falleth into the fire, and oft into the water. And I brought him to thy disciples, and they could not cure him.’

“‘Then Jesus answered and said, ‘O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? how long shall I suffer you? bring him hither to me.’

“‘And Jesus rebuked the devil; and he departed out of him: and the child was cured from that very hour.

“‘Then came the disciples to Jesus apart, and said, ‘Why could not we cast him out?’

“‘And Jesus said unto them, ‘Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you. Howbeit this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.’”

They were silent for a long moment after that. Then, Two said, “So, was I right, or was I right? Sounds an awful lot like what Pony has.”

“Yes,” Soda said softly. “The man talked about the water, too. I—I didn’t even think about that.” He tried to remember the last time Pony had read the story. What had they talked about that night? Surely not the boy’s condition. Probably faith. This story sounded like it was about faith.

What were they supposed to think of something like this now?

“But the story isn’t really about the epilepsy, is it?”

Everyone looked at Pony. “What do you mean?” Darry asked.

Bleary-eyed, Pony took some time to find his words. “Well… When Jesus healed people. It wasn’t about their illnesses or injuries. It was about his power. What healing looks like beyond the physical hurt. I mean… yes, of course he wanted… them to be physically healed. But it also showed his divinity. And here, the disciples were trying to act outside of his power. Tried to use it… without the faith. So he told the disciples to bring the boy to him. I think that’s what we’re supposed to do… bring our work to him. Because it won’t ever be fruitful outside of him.”

Soda looked at his little brother in wonder. If he hadn’t heard Mama give birth to him himself, he would hardly believe he’d come from the same family. How could a near-fifteen-year-old who’d been through so much in the past weeks still be so peaceful and wise and… just so Ponyboy?

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re still sick,” Darry said softly.

“No,” Pony whispered. “But it’s somethin’.”

Somethin’. Well, Sodapop felt like he had absolutely nothing to grasp onto at this point. All of them sure needed something.

Chapter Text

The doctor treated and wrapped Pony’s and Darry’s burns, saying everything would heal in one to three weeks. They had been lucky. Pony insisted it wasn’t luck, only God.

Pony had been very sluggish after the seizure, and Darry had been in substantial pain, too, so he waited to have a conversation about it until the next day. That was how Pony and Darry wound up on the porch together the next morning,

“That was the third time, Pony,” Darry said. “Did you feel the same leading up to each one?”

Pony thought, his brow creasing. “Yes, actually.”

Darry blew out a breath. “That’s good. That’s really good, actually. What’s it like?”

“My head gets sort of fuzzy, hurts some. Everythin’ feels really confusin’. Like I’m not sure what I was thinkin’ or where I am.”

“Okay. Next time that happens, you make sure you get to sittin’ or layin’ down immediately, do you hear? And you call out for one of us. Even if it’s a false alarm. The first thing you do is say somethin’ if you can.”

“Yes, Darry.”

“Good.”

Pony’s gaze dipped to Darry’s hands. Darry folded them between his legs, trying to keep them out of sight.

“I don’t want you worryin’ about that, baby,” Darry said.

“I can’t help it,” Pony murmured, his shoulders hunched. “You got really hurt.”

“Not really hurt,” Darry amended. “Doc said it would heal. For both of us.”

“It could’ve been so much worse.”

Darry nodded. “Right. For me or you. But I don’t want you feelin’ guilty. It was my choice. And believe me when I tell you I would’ve pulled you out if I knew I’d lose my very hands for it. There is nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you.” Pony still looked hesitant, so Darry added. “You can thank me by not standin’ or sittin’ directly next to the fire, how about that? Or gettin’ away the moment you feel somethin’ wrong?”

Pony’s eyes cleared a bit as he smiled and nodded. “Yes. I can do that.” He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Darry’s waist. “I love you,” he whispered.

Darry’s eyes stung with tears. He held Ponyboy tightly in return. “I love you, too, kid. So much. You don’t even know.”

When Pony pulled away, Darry added, “You could also help me by writin’ in the ledgers for me for the next week or so, how about that?”

Pony nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course.” His gaze changed, like he had another thought. “Did you really mean it about goin’ back to the homestead and all that horse stuff?”

“Well, sure.”

“What would I do? Would you—Would you let me work with the horses?”

“I reckon so. What, you’d like to break ‘em, I assume?”

Pony nodded emphatically. “You wouldn’t mind? What if the seizures don’t go away?”

That had crossed Darry’s mind. He was haunted with images of his brother slipping from a horse’s back and breaking his neck. But he also knew there was such a thing as ‘too careful’. His free spirit of a little brother needed Darry to loosen the leash somewhat.

“If they stay as frequent as they are now, I would have Soda monitorin’ you. But given the pattern so far, I hope we’ll be lookin’ at a frequency of ‘em that’s not every few days. If you ain’t havin’ these for a few weeks or months, or if we can predict when they might be more likely, I—I think I’d be okay with you ridin’ just a little, only to help break the horses. No long rides. Just short bouts. And you’ll always let one of us know when you are. And hopefully, if you feel one comin’ on, you can do somethin’ about it now. But even if you couldn’t ride again, there are a lot of other things that go into breakin’ a horse, not just ridin’ ‘em.”

Pony seemed oddly satisfied with this answer, a pleasant smile on his face. “I can’t wait. What will you and Soda do?”

“Well, I’ll do sales, I assume, with all my history of bookkeepin’ work. I would have Soda as the primary breeder. He’s good with the horse care, would know what to do with foaling, making breeding decisions, monitorin’ all that comes along with that. He has a touch with them, you know? Knows what each one needs, when one’s feelin’ off, how to care for them well.”

Pony nodded. “I think he’ll love that. And you really meant it about the others joinin’?”

“Absolutely. If they’d like. I’ll ask them what they’d like to manage, though. Crops, chickens, pigs, ducks, anythin’ that the land is suited for, really. But if they’d like to work and live on the homestead, I was completely serious about lettin’ them.”

Pony paused for a moment. “Do you like workin’ here, Darry?”

Darry considered that. “I like the punctuality of it. I like workin’ with you boys. But I don’t like seein’ you and the other riders worked to death. I don’t like worryin’ over you like that. I don’t like how expendable they treat the animals. I don’t like that no one, especially you riders, is granted any kind of break. I… I don’t like that the mail is more important than the people. That just shouldn’t be so. But as long as I’m here, I gotta act like that’s true. It’s frightenin’.”

Pony nodded in understanding. “So…” He swallowed hard. “If it’s gonna take all that to let you let me ride a horse to break it,” Pony’s voice started to wobble, “I guess you ain’t ever gonna let me be an Express rider again.”

Darry’s heart broke. “I…” He could hardly get the words out. “No, angel, I don’t think so.”

Pony nodded, looking at the ground. Darry still caught the shine of tears in his eyes. “Is there any way you would let me?”

There was only one way Darry could think of, and even then, it was a gamble. “If you don’t seize at all from now until your month is up—that’s two and a half weeks, I’ll let you ride.” It sounded impossible.

“We can pray for it tonight,” Pony decided softly. “Will you pray, too?“

“Of course, baby.” He prayed for his brothers every night. “I just… you know it probably won’t…”

“I know. But that don’t mean we shouldn’t pray anyway.”

Darry nodded. His dear brother. What a wisdom beyond his years. It would serve him well in life. He would be a blessing to many people.

“I’m sorry, Darry.”

“About what?”

“I loved ridin’ just for the sake of it—” Pony’s breath hitched on a sob, “—but it brought home so much money, too. Now? They won’t even pay me to be another station hand. They don’t need one. I’m so sorry I can’t provide for y’all anymore. Now we’ll be makin’ less than half of what we did.”

“Oh, darlin’, don’t be worryin’ about that.” Of all the things he’d expected to find on his brother’s face. He hadn’t considered before this conversation that it would be deep-set guilt. “Listen to me. Yes, things might be tighter in the next few months. And thank you so much for takin’ care of me and your brother like you have been over this past year. But now, it’s my turn. Let me do it for you, Ponyboy. It will be my delight and blessin’ to take care of you like that again.”

It relieved him, actually. In a way he knew it probably shouldn’t. Yes, $70 compared to $200 was scary, but it would be comfortable for him knowing that he was making the most for them again.

But then he looked at the shame and despair on Pony’s face. Perhaps he had loved that role just as much as Darry desired it. Maybe age didn’t have anything to do with it at all. Darry felt the guilt immediately for the gladness that came with stepping into the provider role again.

Comfortable didn’t matter. Darry would choose to be uncomfortable for the rest of his life if it would make Ponyboy happy again.

But there was nothing he could do right now. Nothing to make this better. He could only love him.

“This is only a setback,” Darry said. “I promise you, we’re gonna look back at this years down the line and see how far we came from it. This isn’t the end for you, Pony. This is only the beginning. You got so much life ahead.” He said it like he could speak the very fact into being. And even though there was still an inkling of worry in the back of his mind, he was starting to believe it. His brother was strong. And God was stronger. Ponyboy would pull through.

Pony nodded. He reached out and squeezed Darry’s shoulder, and together, they watched the sunrise.

Chapter Text

“Darry.” Johnny swung off his horse, sore and stumbling, but all he could pay attention to was the way Darry’s hands were wrapped as he handed him the mochilla with the mail and slipped out his timecard. “Glory be, what happened to your hands?”

Darry’s frown grew deeper. “You’d better come inside,” he said as Soda took the horse. Johnny’s heart pounded with fear as they stepped through the threshold. Why was he talking all low like that? Where was Pony? “Ponyboy, mark Johnny’s arrival and time off on the ledger, then mark his timecard,” Darry called out. “It’s 2:05 p.m. And we got a relay comin’ in in twenty minutes. Steve! Tell Soda to get the next two horses ready. One for the relay and one for Curly. I want Curly out in five minutes flat, if that, you hear?”

“Yes, sir!” Steve said, saluting.

“You mess your hands up that badly?” Johnny asked Darry. It was a problem if Darry couldn’t even write. Had he been cut? No, it was both of his hands. Sprains, maybe, if he’d fallen? No, that would be the wrists, but even Darry’s fingers were bandaged…

They rounded the corner. “Oh, Ponyboy!” Johnny stared at his best friend in horror. Was that a burn from his neck to his jawline? Blistering and red. Oh, no, no, no. “What happened? Is that a burn? Lord, bless you, what happened to you?”

“He seized and fell into the fire,” Darry explained as Johnny rushed to Pony, his hands hovering around Pony’s face, completely unsure of what he could do.

“The fire,” Johnny repeated in terror. “The fire? Oh, God, help us. Where else? Where else are you hurt.”

“Some on my arm and torso,” Pony said, “but it’s okay, really. Darry pulled me out. Both of us will be completely healed within a few weeks, the doctor said.”

Johnny’s head whipped back to Darry’s hands. Burned. He had been burned. “Good heavens, Darry. Thank you.”

Darry shook his head, his gaze softening. “I would have done it for any of you.”

“He’s too humble,” Two-Bit remarked, poking his head in from the kitchen. “He did it without a second thought.”

Darry looked over. “Maybe I did it because I knew if your hands were ruined, Keith, we’d all be eatin’ trash for the next month.”

Two rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. That’s why.”

“Was—Was the seizure bad?” At this point, Johnny could only imagine what those looked like. He feared the day he’d see Pony have one, if they kept up.

“It was my shortest one yet,” Ponyboy said. “Only two minutes. That could mean they’re getting better.”

“Only time will tell,” Darry said. “But I hope so, too.”

“I pray for you every time I think of you,” Johnny assured Ponyboy softly, sitting next to him. “And that’s an awful lot. I don’t got anythin’ else to do on rides but think.”

Pony bumped his shoulder against his and smiled. “Thanks. I sure need it.”

That evening, Johnny curled up on his bunk as he listened to the papery flutter of Ponyboy turning Bible pages.

“Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to the king, O Nebuchadnezzar… our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.”

His voice was soft but strong enough to fill the room. Johnny leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching his friend’s reddish hair fall into his eyes as he read. The firelight made him look older and younger all at once.

“But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods…” His voice shook a little, but he didn’t falter. “Then Nebuchadnezzar was full of fury… and commanded that they should heat the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to be heated…”

Soda winced. Johnny’s chest tightened too. After all that had happened—the lightning, the fits, the fire — the story hit too close to home.

Pony pressed on, his voice picking up as though the words themselves were carrying him. “And he commanded the most mighty men that were in his army to bind Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and to cast them into the burning fiery furnace. Then these men were bound in their coats, their hosen, and their hats, and their other garments, and were cast into the midst of the burning fiery furnace.

“Therefore because the king's commandment was urgent, and the furnace exceeding hot, the flames of the fire slew those men that took up Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. And these three men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, fell down bound into the midst of the burning fiery furnace.

“Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonished, and rose up in haste, and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did not we cast three men bound into the midst of the fire? They answered and said unto the king, True, O king. He answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God.

“Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the mouth of the burning fiery furnace, and spake, and said, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, ye servants of the most high God, come forth, and come hither. Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego came forth of the midst of the fire.

“And the princes, governors, and captains, and the king's counsellors, being gathered together, saw these men, upon whose bodies the fire had no power, nor was a hair of their head singed, neither were their coats changed, nor the smell of fire had passed on them.

“Then Nebuchadnezzar spake, and said, Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who hath sent his angel, and delivered his servants that trusted in him, and have changed the king's word, and yielded their bodies, that they might not serve nor worship any god, except their own God.”

For a long while, no one spoke. The fire popped. Wind rattled the door.

It was Two-Bit who finally broke the silence. “Ain’t that somethin’. Walkin’ right in the fire, and comin’ out with nothin’ singed.”

“Who do you reckon that fourth guy was?” Sodapop asked, lying on his stomach and kicking his legs.

“It seems like it’s the Angel of the Lord,” Pony said. “Jesus. God was literally with them.”

“Remind you of anything, little colt?” Darry asked softly.

Pony’s throat bobbed. “Feels like me,” he whispered. “Feels like us. Like no matter what happens… fire, storms, lightnin’… we ain’t alone in it. We just gotta keep standin’ for what’s right and true. Trustin’ in God’s will, whatever that may be. Because they knew they might not be saved. They knew, but they were prepared to worship God only anyway.”

“That’s some trust,” Johnny whispered. He didn’t think he had faith like that. He wished he could be the kind of person to trust that Pony was safest in God’s hands. But it was days like the ones they’d just experienced that rocked him. How could any of this be best for Pony? How could it be working for his good? What if things got worse? God felt far away from Johnny today, even though he knew God’s Spirit lived inside of him. Didn’t God understand how important Pony was? How important he was to Johnny? God had made Ponyboy, after all! He knew Pony inside and out. He knew how the gang would tear apart without him.

If they lost Pony, who would carry on with nights like these? Who would remind them that there was still light and hope and love in the world, even when the nights got dark? Who would be the gentle sunlight in their lives?

Tex broke the tension, snorting, though it didn’t sound mean. “Guess that makes Darry Nebuchadnezzar. Always bossin’ us, always heatin’ things up.”

The room chuckled, and Darry rolled his eyes, pegging Tex with a pillow.

Two-Bit leaned back on his bench and frowned. “Hey, wait a minute. Ain’t those the same fellas we read about last week?”

Johnny nodded right away. “Yeah. Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. But it don’t use those names here. Why’s that?”

Steve squinted. “That don’t sit right with me. Why the Good Book usin’ the pagan names? Feels like callin’ a man what his enemy called him.”

Pony’s brows knit tight, and he turned the Bible back toward him. “It says back at the start of Daniel that the king gave ’em them names. Their Hebrew names had meaning that reflected attributes of God, but their Babylonian names were meant to honor Babylonian gods. Maybe usin’ the names here is to show how they lived right in the middle of Babylon, under that rule, but they still didn’t give in.”

Soda nodded, thoughtful. “So the king can change what folks call you, but he can’t change who you are. They were still God’s boys, no matter what name was on their backs.”

“Names matter,” Darry said low. “But it’s what a man stands for that counts most. Doesn’t matter what the Babylonians called ’em—what matters is they didn’t bow.”

“Still,” Pony murmured, “I like their real names better. Feels like who they really were. I can’t imagine being kidnapped and renamed like that.”

Dally snickered. “You kiddin’? You woulda done what those boys did. The good, upright things. You’re better than us, Pony.”

Pony shook his head. “No. Not better,” he said. “But you’re right about one thing: I got God with me, just like those boys did. That’s what draws you to what’s right. Hearing other names probably hurt, but they knew they were still God’s kids on the inside. God still knew their names. Still called them by those names. Loved them by those names.”

For a long moment, the fire popped and hissed in the hearth. Pony pressed his lips tight, staring at the flames. Johnny noticed the way’s Pony’s hands trembled. Johnny caught the shine of the burn on Pony’s neck. He thought maybe Pony needed that story more than anyone tonight—a reminder that God had been there in the fire, literally and figuratively.

Johnny closed his eyes, trying to trust that, too.

He woke to a scream.

At first, he thought it was his mother. For all his life, his parents fought. Sometimes, the fights turned violent. On each other. On Johnny.

But no. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he remembered he was in the home station. He looked down from his bunk, tense, dimly seeing Pony thrashing in his cot, his brothers stumbling to his side, calling his name.

Ponyboy had nightmares like this every once in a while. Not too often. Darry had told him it was much more frequent after their parents had died. But after a particularly long day in his head, Pony would wake the whole bunkhouse with his screams.

It was terrifying, but it was sadly routine. Not an often routine, but a routine nonetheless.

Johnny once asked Pony if he’d ever had a nightmare sleeping at one of the other homes stations. He feared the answer would be ‘yes’, knowing how humiliated that would make his best friend. But to his surprise, the answer was no. Pony didn’t know why. Maybe his body just knew where it was safest to even have a nightmare in the first place.

He still found them embarrassing after the matter, Johnny knew, but none of them blamed him for the noise or the fear of waking up in the night after something like that. Heck, if Johnny had been through all that Ponyboy had been through recently, he’d expect more nightmares than just this.

“It’s okay, honey, shh, shh, it’s okay,” Soda soothed, trying to wake him up. “We’re right here. You’re safe.”

Pony’s eyes flew open, and he fell forward into Darry’s arms, looking dazed. Darry held him tight, rubbing circles on his back.

They tried to coax the details out of him, but all Johnny could make out was something about a thunderstorm and lightning and trees catching fire.

Had Pony found himself in the middle of all that again, not just in his waking hours, but in his dreams, too? How awful.

In the morning, before Johnny’s ride out, he sat in silence with Pony outside, watching the sky turn beautiful colors. They’d always been able to do that: just sit in silence together. No words were needed. Pony was a great person to be quiet with.

A whippoorwill call pierced the air. The bird flew down into the clearing from the forest edge, beginning to forage.

The sound immediately made Johnny stiffen.

“What’s wrong?” Pony asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just an old story my mother told me when I was little. It stuck with me.”

“What is it?”

“An Omaha tradition. Her people said if you hear the whippoorwill's invitation, you’re advised to decline it. If you answer and it keeps calling, you’ll live a long life. If it goes silent, you’re going to die.”

Pony thought for a moment. “Do you believe it?”

Johnny took a minute to answer. “I don’t know. I don’t think so? But I wouldn’t answer, not even now. Don’t want to play with things I don’t know. Even if it’s just a ol’ bird.” He sighed. “Still makes a guy think, though, hearin’ one.”

Pony frowned. “You ain’t doomed, Johnny, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. I sure hope I ain’t, either.”

“But then why does all this stuff keep happenin’?” The nightmares, the lightning, the fits, the fire. It seemed like death itself was following Ponyboy like a shadow.

Pony shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. But.. I don’t think it’s for me to know. Not yet, anyway. I’m just… tryin’ to be glad I’m even still here, instead of dwellin’ on all the other stuff.”

Johnny offered him a meager smile. “That’s a wise thing to think, Ponyboy.”

“I’ll probably never ride again,” Pony said softly, staring out at the sky. “If I don’t seize now until when my month’s up, Darry says that’s the only way he would allow me to.”

“That’s…” Johnny didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say. “I’m sorry, Pony.”

Pony gave a half-hearted smile. “Me, too. But then he and I got to talkin’ again about when all this is over. About havin’ our own homestead again. About havin’ you there, too.”

Johnny’s heart leapt with hope. They had talked about this before, but hearing it again made it feel real. Like it might actually happen. “He serious?”

“Of course, Johnny. And you can have whatever job you want. Think about it.”

Johnny grinned. “Sure. I will.”

He thought of his parents back at home. He thought about never going back. He would not be missed. He didn’t even get a goodbye when he left. But maybe that hadn’t been his only chance at a family. Maybe there was more to life than the folks you’d been given.

With Ponyboy at his side, it was getting easier and easier to believe that.

Chapter Text

“Ey, boys, I think we got a fight on our hands,” Steve crowed from the porch.

Sodapop stuck his head out the door, his eyes gleaming. “Ooh, I gotta see this.” He rushed to Steve’s side, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Wish we had peanuts,” Dally groaned, leaning against the doorpost as Curly and Rusty James squared up on the lawn, jabbing playful insults at one another, fight-hungry fire in their eyes.

All at once, the wrestling began. Rusty James tackled Curly around the waist, and Curly threw a punch as they both tumbled to the ground.

“I’m puttin’ a dime on RJ,” Dally said. “Any takers?”

The fourteen-year-olds hollered, throwing more hits and scrambling in the dirt as they each tried to pin the other.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Darry stormed down the porch and right into the dusty brawl. In one fluid motion, he hauled up both of the tiny boys, one to each arm, fuming. “What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?”

“C’mon, Darry, we were just havin’ a little brawl—” Rusy James started, but he was quickly cut off.

“A little brawl. You were wailing on each other. If you weren’t workin’ here, I wouldn’t give a damn. But if either of you got hurt and it impacted your rides, you’d be fired on the spot. And if I lose another rider in one month, how do you think it could reflect on me? Your recklessness could put more than just your job at stake. For any of us, boys who could replace us are a dime a dozen. Higher-ups don’t care about you. They don’t care about me. They care about fast-movin’ mail. That’s all. If I catch you fightin’ again, I’ll tan your hides so bad you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

The boys turned beet-red. “We’re fourteen,” Curly stammered. “We ain’t little kids.”

“Then don’t act like little kids. You ain’t too little to get a whuppin’, I assure you.”

Darry stormed inside, and Soda and Two watched him, twittering like gossipy girls. “Someone’s in troooubleee,” Steve crowed. Dally smirked, looking thoroughly entertained.

Curly and Rusty James had been at each other’s throats recently. Half of it seemed like play, the other half made everyone else almost wonder if there was something to it. But at the end of the day, Steve decided it was just their natures. Two kids who’d been itching to finally have someone to scrap it out with, whether they actually disagreed on things or not.

It seemed to be putting Darry at his wits’ end, however.

“I swear,” Darry mumbled once inside, Steve and the other older boys following. “They think they can get away with things like they’re schoolboys, but this is a real, honest-to-God job. If they don’t straighten up, I’ll grab them by the spines and straighten them out myself.”

Two-Bit snickered. “Dang, Darry. So, this is what it takes the big guy to finally snap.”

“I ain’t snappin’,” Darry, ironically, snapped. “They just need to grow up. I swear, Rusy James was fine when he was actin’ on his lonesome. And Ponyboy would have never done crap like this. That’s why he was so good at his job.”

“Darry,” Steve said. “Pony may not have been half as bad, but I assure you, he’s done at least one or two things behind your back you’d rag on him for, too. They’re kids. They’re just kids.”

Darry whirled on him. “They’re kids who are makin’ $100 a month for their families. I don’t care if they’re fourteen or forty. One mess up, and they’re gone.” Darry snapped his fingers. “It ain’t like you or Two or Soda or someone playin’ around a bit. You have that luxury on $20 a month. My riders don’t. So they need to man up or else.”

“Why do you care so much, Darry?” Soda asked. “It’s their money. Their families. They can choose whether to take risks or be responsible or not.”

“It could reflect poorly on me and this station, at the end of the day,” Darry said. “But you’re right. It’s really about them, when all’s said and done. But do they have a parent or anyone around to instruct them when they start to stray? Do you see a father around to keep either of those boys in line? Even when they go home, I know for a fact that neither one has someone like that who cares enough to keep an eye on them. If I don’t teach them now, there is no one else who will. And I fear to find out what scrappy boys like that will become with no one to correct them on the little things. Because then what will become of them when the big things blow in? Nothin’ good, I assure you.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. Then, Dally let out a low chuckle. “Well, I’ll be. You don’t hate that Shepard kid, after all.”

“I never hated him,” Darry said gruffly. “He’s just a bad influence on Pony, is all. He’s still no good, I stand by that.”

Soda smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m with you on that one, bub. But Dal’s right. I think you’ve gone soft for ‘im.”

“I ain’t gone soft!”

“Sure.” Soda pecked him on the cheek, and Steve laughed as Darry only became more frazzled, grumbling as he walked away, saying something about the ledger. He sighed, looking back toward the door. “Well, we should probably patch those two up. And glo-ry, Darry must’ve hurt his hands doin’ that. I oughta tell him to be more careful.”

“A fight?” Ponyboy came in through the back door. “You’re kiddin’ me! I missed a fight?”

Soda laughed. “Aw, you didn’t miss nothin’. Darry broke it up before it got too good, don’t you worry.”

It felt good to laugh after the weeks they’d had. And the laughter only got better seeing those puffy lips their resident brawlers come in sporting.

Chapter Text

It was Ponyboy’s birthday in only a few days, and he had been seizure-free for five. Pony had clearly been itching to move around all week, despite his healing burns. When Johnny was home, they’d walk the land, picking berries and fishing. But when Johnny wasn’t around, Johnny heard how restless Pony was getting.

At one point, Darry had found him on top of a horse in one of the stalls, hollering at him to get down.

Otherwise, he spent his time marking the ledgers for Darry, reading, lounging around, writing, or helping Soda take care of the horses.

Pony had shared a few poems he’d written over the past week with Johnny, who was impressed with how good they were. Pony felt deeply, and the words he wrote expressed that ache in a way Johnny had never felt before.

Behind Pony’s back, the gang had been trying to come up with ways to celebrate his birthday. Ponyboy hadn’t been around on the day the year before, far out on a ride, so they wanted to make this one twice as special to make up for it, especially with all the misery he’d been through lately.

Johnny was thrilled that he’d be home the afternoon and evening of Pony’s birthday, present for the celebration.

The morning before, Johnny spent the early morning with Pony before his ride, as had been their routine the past couple of weeks.

They were walking a short way from the home station, the sky coloring with dawn, when Pony suddenly stopped. He had an odd look on his face, like he’d thought of something suddenly.

“Are you all right?” Johnny asked.

“Johnny, I think I need to sit down,” Ponyboy said. Then, his eyes rolled back, and his knees buckled.

“No!” Johnny caught him as he fell, lowering him to the ground as his body began to seize. “Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no.” What was he supposed to do? Was it supposed to look like this? He wasn’t dying, was he? This was how it normally happened, right? How was he supposed to know!

Ponyboy’s mouth foamed, and he hardly looked like himself. Frightened, Johnny rolled him on his side, afraid he’d choke. Was he supposed to be timing this? The boys had talked about times before. But Johnny hadn’t been counting. He didn’t think he’d be able to if he tried.

In petrifying fear, he watched his best friend convulse. He was so young. Not even reached his fifteenth birthday.

Johnny had been through a lot in his seventeen years. But he’d never seen anything like this. To someone he loved, no less. It wasn’t fair. Pony didn’t deserve this.

Because this was it. What Darry had said? This seizure marked the end. Pony wasn’t getting his job back. He wouldn’t ride again. That part of his life was over.

Tears sprang to Johnny’s eyes as he watched Pony’s small body jerk. Johnny rarely cried. He’d been through too much to spare tears for hardly anything.

But Pony. Pony was different.

Pony occupied a different part of Johnny’s brain. A part that paid attention to the sunrises and thought about the wonder of the world God had put them in and lived with vigor and joy and peace.

Everything else, Johnny could live through. He couldn’t live through knowing Pony wasn’t okay.

He wanted to run and get the Curtises, but he knew it would be worse to leave.

Instead, he held Pony on his side, vaguely trying to count the minutes and seconds, and prayed.

“Pull him through, Father,” he pleaded, the tears slipping down his face, feeling Pony’s body shudder under his hands. “Make it end soon, please, please. We need him so much, God.”

Johnny thought about three horrific minutes had gone by by the time Pony went still again. Johnny wiped the sweat from his friend’s forehead and the foam dripping down his chin. “Oh, Pone…” he whispered.

After another minute of anxious waiting, Ponyboy’s eyelids fluttered open, and he groaned. Relief surged through Johnny’s chest. “Johnny?” He closed his eyes again. “Head’s killin’ me.”

“I’ll bet.”

Pony’s pained and dazed expression shifted. His eyes opened again, and he struggled to sit up. Johnny helped him.

“I—” he stammered, looking at Johnny for confirmation. “No. No, please tell me it wasn’t…”

Johnny shook his head.

Ponyboy’s expression crumbled. He buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook. Devastated, Johnny pulled him close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s over.” Pony hiccuped.

“I know.”

“I prayed so hard.”

Johnny nodded against his shoulder. Tears slipped down his own face. All he could do was hold Pony tighter. “I know.”

“Johnny!”

Johnny looked up to see Soda running their way, waving and grinning. But that expression turned to confusion, then dread when he saw them on the ground. “Whatcha doin’ down there for?” he asked, his voice tight. “Your ride’s in five. Glory, are you crying?”

Johnny wiped his face, and Pony sat back. “It happened again, Soda,” Johnny murmured.

He didn’t even have to say what. Soda’s face fell. “Oh, no.” He dropped to his knees and pulled Pony against him, tears springing to his own eyes. “Are you all right, little colt?” Then he reprimanded himself in a whisper. “No. You’re not. I know. I mean, did you hurt yourself?”

With a soft sob, Pony shook his head.

Sodapop tucked him closer, rocking him gently. After a minute, Soda looked back at Johnny, melancholy in his eyes. “I’m sorry. You really do need to go.”

Johnny nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He knelt down, putting a hand on Pony’s back. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” he said in a shaking voice. He gave him a trembling smile. “Just think. This is the last time I see you fourteen.”

But it didn’t feel like a thing to celebrate anymore.

Pony didn’t say anything. Johnny sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Pone. I’ll be praying for you.”

That was a guarantee. He didn’t know how he’d be able to think about anything but Ponyboy now for the next day and a half.

Chapter Text

With a careful hand, Two-Bit frosted the cake, making it sparkly with sugar as it caught the sunlight. He didn’t think he’d ever made something so beautiful before. Almost all of what he made was for practicality, not presentation.

But today was a special day.

Birthdays were always fun at the home station. But they were never as over the top as this. But if Ponyboy deserved anything after the weeks he’d had, it was over the top.

Energy had been low yesterday. Pony had had another seizure, spelling his end as an Express rider. His end as an Express worker, period.

Pony had cried all yesterday morning. Two-Bit had taken care of the legers while Darry stayed with Pony, desperate to calm him. But there was nothing any of them could do. They had all seen it coming, even Pony. But that didn’t make the pain any less harsh for him.

That poor kid…

Despite the misery of yesterday, Two-Bit knew that today was going to be a good day. He couldn’t wait to stuff his face with this cake, play blind man’s bluff, and see the look on Ponyboy’s face when Darry and Soda told him what his gift was. It was such a good one. That kid’s face deserved to light up. Two-Bit was so excited.

Just as Two was finishing up, Darry and Ponyboy walked in. “Two,” Darry said, his eyes widening with shock at the double-stacked cake with glassy frosting that decorated the table. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Two-Bit gave his signature beam. “Oh, ye of little faith.” He reached out and ruffled Pony’s hair, who griped and hollered because he’d probably just brushed it nice. “Anything for the Horsechild.”

Ponyboy stuck his tongue out at him. Two-Bit returned the gesture.

Pony looked better today. Maybe it was just the birthday glow, or maybe he was coming to terms with this new life of his.

Johnny and Tex returned from their rides that afternoon to stay for the night. So, the festivities began. The boys played game after game, had a big meal, every food item Ponyboy’s choosing, and ate the cake after a rowdy rendition of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”

Following that, it was time for gifts. Two-Bit said his gift was all the effort he had poured into that cake, an answer of which Ponyboy responded with a gracious laugh. Johnny presented a nifty fern fossil he had found along the way on one of his rides, which Pony was fascinated with. Dally gave him a couple of new fishing lures. Steve gave him a copy of “The Count of Monte Cristo,” which, apart from the Bible, was the biggest book Two-Bit had ever seen. And Tex bought him a beautiful cowboy jacket, which must have cost a pretty penny, but it must’ve been doable on a rider’s salary. Two-Bit just had no idea where Tex had found the time to go out and purchase it.

And then, it was time for the last gift.

“Our gift is more of an ‘I owe you,’” Darry explained. “You know that homestead ranch we’ve been talking about? Most of the land and animals will be for work, of course. But…” He exchanged a glance with Soda, who could hardly keep the grin off his face. Pony looked like he was about to burst with anticipation. “We’re gonna get you a pet. A foal. Somethin’ for you to raise and love and take care of all its life. Or, if you don’t want a pony or horse or anythin’, it could be a cat, a dog, whatever you’d like.”

Ponyboy’s eyes were wide. “What?” he breathed. He looked like he could hardly process. Then, a dazzling smile lit his face. “You mean it? You serious?”

“Yes!” Soda exclaimed, looking just as excited as his little brother. “You’ve worked so hard these past years and been through so much these past weeks, you deserve somethin’ special. Absolutely anythin’ you want, honey. You’ll go pick it out yourself. Somethin’ just for you: yours and yours alone.”

Ponyboy laughed, loud and bright, dashing into his brothers’ arms like a little kid. “Thank you!”

“Oh, oh!” Two cried. “You should get one and name it Boypony!”

At least three people punched him in the shoulder.

They built a fire outside that night as the Curtis brothers and the rest of the gang shared stories of Pony growing up. The whole spectrum: embarrassing ones, firsts, happiest days, anything they felt like.

Two-Bit grinned wide. “Remember that time you tried to help wash the clothes, Pony? You got to scrubbin’ so hard with that lye soap, the shirt near wore clean through. Your ma was fit to burst when she saw holes in your pa’s good Sunday shirt.”

Pony groaned. “I was tryin’ to help.”

Soda ruffled his hair. “You were always tryin’ to help. Like that winter you insisted on bringin’ in firewood. Couldn’t hardly carry an armful, but you’d stagger across the yard, droppin’ half of it, proud as could be.”

Steve snorted from his seat. “Or the time he got stuck in the fence.”

“What?” Pony blinked.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said with relish. “You were chasin’ one of the hens and tried to squeeze through the slats. Got your shoulders wedged tight. Took me and Soda both to drag you out.”

Johnny smiled faintly, eyes soft. “I liked when you’d sit out on the porch with that slate and chalk, drawin’ pictures of the clouds. You’d tell me which ones looked like horses or wagons, even if they didn’t. You made me see ’em anyhow.”

“Oh!” Soda exclaimed. “Remember those nights you used to sleep with the kittens in the hay loft? You’d try to purr like them, too.”

“I remember when he trained the hens to follow him around the yard,” Dally said. “You’d go marchin’ around with three cluckin’ chickens on your heels.”

Two-Bit slapped his knee. “And when we were fishin’? Kid fell right into the creek—boots, britches, and all. We had to haul you out before you froze stiff. Never let go of your pole, though. Clung to that like it was life or death.”

Darry’s laughter rumbled low, but then he grew quiet, gaze on the fire. “You were littler’n all that… when Ma first taught you to sing hymns at night. You’d sit on her lap, belt out ‘Rock of Ages’ loud as thunder. Didn’t matter if you got half the words wrong. You’d sing like the Lord Himself was listenin’.”

Pony flushed hot, ducking his head. “I sound ridiculous.”

“No,” Soda said, gentle. He leaned in, voice soft. “You sound like ours.” He pecked a kiss to Pony’s temple, making the kid squawk in indignation again.

As they listened to the fire crackle and pop and looked up into the clear sky of stars, Two wondered if this was how Pony felt and saw things all the time: vibrant and peaceful.

What a beautiful way to live.

Chapter Text

The next day, Ponyboy declared he was going fishing at the river for the day, on his own.

Soda nearly lost his mind, terrified with the idea that Pony would seize, fall in, and drown. Pony quelled his anxieties, assuring him that he would stay away from the waters’ edge. Plus, with each seizure, he grew more and more acquainted with the warning signs.

Darry let him go easier than Pony thought, even being the one to convince Soda in the end.

“But—But,” Soda stammered, “you need him here for the ledger! Your hands—”

“Have healed enough,” Darry finished. “Honestly. Come on, he’ll have a nice day out, and we’ll have a good bass dinner.”

So Pony went, relishing his first day completely alone in weeks. He basked in the August sun, removing his shoes to feel the light and pebbles against his feet, trying to ignore the lightning burn scar right above his ankle. He listened to the babble of the river and the twitter of robins. He fastened the new lures to the hook, cast off, and stuck his pole firmly in the bank. He lay on his back and looked up at the sky.

He let himself get lost in the sounds, in the sky above, in the etherealness of being alone. He’d missed it. He’d craved it.

It wasn’t the exhilarating type of alone that riding had been. It was different. Less exhausting. Better? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t ready to consider that yet.

He might never ride again. Not like he had. He might never get the chance to ride a horse like it was a race, watching the miles pass by and by. He wouldn’t get that successful feeling of being the best of the best. Because he wasn’t an Express rider anymore. He was just Ponyboy.

It didn’t matter if what Darry said was true. Even if the Pony Express ended soon, the job had been stripped from Pony of no volition of his. Not only that, he now had several medical concerns to deal with. A beloved horse to grieve. A way of life to grieve. He was alive, but the cost of that had been high.

“Why did you take this from me?” Pony whispered in prayer. “It was so good. I was so good at it. I was supporting my family. I was exhausted, but I loved it. It felt like all I had after you took Mama and Papa. I mean… I know I had everyone else. But I was hardly home. When I was out, it was just me, you, and the ride. Didn’t you want that for me? Why would you take it?”

Tears slipped down his face. “I don’t understand. You know how much I loved it. Was I pushing myself too hard? Was there something even worse coming for me down the road? Did my family need me right now? Did I need them? I don’t get it. I wish you would just tell me why.” He let the emotions out for several minutes more, then heaved a deep sigh, giving his heart over to faith, knowing there was nothing else he could do. Maybe he would never know the reason. But he trusted—he had to trust—that God still knew best. “Not my will, Father, but thine be done.”

Pony cleared his thoughts, and he felt an overwhelming peace wash over him. A line from a psalm came to mind: Be still, and know that I am God.

“All right, then,” Pony whispered.

He caught a handful of large bass that day, plenty to feed the gang for the night. Overall, it was a refreshing, sorely needed day. His very soul felt rejuvenated.

That evening, he sat with his brothers on the porch to watch the sunset, satisfied after their fish fry.

Sodapop looked over. “Are you all right, Pone? Really.”

Ponyboy looked out at the coloring sky. “I’ve been better,” he said truthfully. There would have been a time when he would’ve brushed off all his brothers’ concerns, no matter how he’d been feeling. But he’d been worn down so much recently, it wasn’t worth the energy. Besides, he saw more clearly now that lies like that would do more harm than good, and he didn’t want to lie to anyone, much less his brothers. He knew it was wrong. But sometimes, it felt like the easier thing. Now, he realized it wasn’t worth it. “But today was nice. I still… don’t get it, you know? I don’t get why all this happened. Why I can’t ride anymore. Why I can’t work the way I used to. Or why my body is the way it is now. There’s nothin’ that feels good about that. But… I’m comin’ to terms with it, I think.”

Darry placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’re proud of you.”

Soda leaned against his other shoulder. “So much.”

They were silent for a few minutes, Pony just being content to be with them. Finally, he said. “You know, I think I want a dog.”

“A dog? Really?” Darry asked. “Not a horse?”

Pony shook his head. “We’ll have plenty around, I’m sure. Remember the yellow cur dog we had when we were little? Maybe not exactly like that, but a dog would be really nice.”

Darry smiled. “A dog it is, then.”

Chapter Text

Months passed. Curly was hired permanently in Ponyboy’s place. He tried not to be bitter about it, but it took him a good few weeks to have a better attitude about things. The seizures didn’t let up. They happened once or twice per week. They rarely lasted longer than four minutes, though they usually came to about three. He’d learned to manage the warning signs well, though, and there had been no injuries as bad as the ones from the fire.

Speaking of, those burns had healed just as the doctor had said they would, as had Darry’s. As for the lightning scars, though they were faint, they remained. And once Pony came to terms with his new life, boy, did he think they looked tough.

Summer shifted into fall. Curly and Rusty James continued their regular scuffles, but always out of Darry’s watchful stare. Everyone else continued as usual. Bible night was every night. Pony was settling into a routine, even though the Express wasn’t technically hiring him anymore. There was always a place to help out.

And then, one day, in late October, Darry got a wire with the news.

“Boys,” he announced. “The telegraph line is complete. Higher-ups have just ceased operations of the Pony Express. We’ll get through our relays today, but after that… that’s it. It’s over.”

Stunned, everyone else looked at him. They’d known it was coming, but that didn’t make the moment itself any less jarring.

“Good heavens,” Soda murmured. “That’s it? Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Darry didn’t look too sad about it. But there was still an almost wistfulness in his eyes, as if he knew he would miss it.

Pony would miss it, too, even if he hadn’t been riding for some time. It spelled the end of the ten of them working together, living together, existing together. Maybe their time ahead would look similar, but it wouldn’t look just like this. Pony found tears gathering in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.

No one seemed like they quite knew what to do. Johnny and Curly were out on rides, but the rest of the gang was around, although the other two had prepared to set out for a ride.

Darry sat down. “Well. I’ve discussed this with many of you, but I think we have a full talk about what’s next, now. Pony, Johnny, Sodapop, and I will be going back home. We’re going to start our own homestead there. Primarily horse breeding, but we’ll probably have some other animal raising or crop raising as well, depending on who all joins. I leave the rest up to you. I would happily employ any of you. You’ve worked hard for me and the Express. And we’ve greatly enjoyed livin’ with you all as well. And you don’t have to make your decisions today. I know this all feels… quite sudden. But it’s happened. It’s how it is.”

“I’m joining,” Dallas said immediately. “Whatever I can do, you have me.”

Darry nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Me, too,” Steve said. “You really mean it, about us livin’ there, too?”

“Absolutely.”

Two-Bit shifted his feet. “You know… this has all been amazing. But I really think I’m needed at home.”

Darry nodded. Pony knew they had expected this. “We wondered.”

“But,” Two looked back up, eagerness sparking in his eyes, “I’d love to come and work with you all. Maybe it ain’t cookin’ this time, or maybe it is. Whatever you need.”

Darry’s smile brightened. Pony knew this was a relief to his big brother. “All right, then.”

“Could Mace and I join, too?” Tex asked. “I mean, not to live there, but we both could use good work. And I think he’d get along right well with you all. ‘Specially you, Darry. You remind me of him.“

Darry nodded, looking pleased. “We’d love to have you both. I’m sure we could use two more ranch hands.”

Tex’s smile was wide and sunny. “Thanks, Dar! Trust me, you and Mason are just gonna be two peas in a pod.”

“Rusty James,” Darry said. “Would you and the Mustang Boy like to join us, too? You’re both more than welcome.”

Rusty James smiled and shook his head. “Thanks. But the Mustang Boy has a plan for us already. We’re goin’ out West. He knows of a ranch out there. We’re gonna be cowboys.” The fourteen-year-old’s eyes gleamed, and his grin was blazing happy. Pony was glad for him, though he’d miss the guy, along with the spunk and spirit he brought.

Darry reached out and ruffled the kid’s hair. “We’ll miss you a lot, little buddy. It was a pleasure workin’ with you.”

“Aw, we’ll be back to visit someday!” Rusty James chirped. “It’d be a sin to deprive ya of such wonderful people, huh?”

Darry snickered. “Scram, kid. You’re too much.”

Johnny rode in that night, his hair in a wild tangle from his ride. He swung off the horse, letting Soda take it in for what was probably the last time. “I heard the news,” Johnny told Darry, handing him—for the first time ever—an empty mailbag. For one of the last times, Pony marked off the ledger for Darry. “Every station is talking about it. I dropped the last of my mail off a few stations ago, and they didn’t give me any more. I’ve never ridden with an empty bag,” he said in a sort of awe. “It’s over. It’s really over, huh?”

Darry nodded, pulling him into a fierce hug. “You’ve done so well for me, kid. For the whole Express. You’re as good as they come, Johnnycakes.”

Curly was the last one to arrive, his ride in marking the last home station visit or relay the boys would ever have. Pony talked to him about the homestead plans, inviting him to join the work if he wanted. It had taken Darry a lot of convincing to even agree to that, but he had eventually.

However, Curly shook his head. “I’m goin’ home. Findin’ work with my brother. Even just working for these few months has let me save enough to get all three of us out of that house and somewhere better. I don’t know where we’ll go yet. Maybe Kansas.”

“Are you sure?” Ponyboy asked. So much was changing. He didn’t want Curly to leave.

Curly nodded. “Mm-hm. It’s been real fun, though, that’s for sure. Don’t worry, I’ll stay the night, then head out in the morning.”

Pony looped an arm around his shoulders. “Take care, Curls.”

“You too, Horsey.”

That night was the first night ever in their year and a half of working for the Pony Express that everyone in the gang was in the bunkhouse for Bible night.

And it would be the last time, too.

Pony flipped open the Bible, asking God to show him what to read tonight. He kept flipping and flipping until he came to the very end. And he knew what he needed to read.

“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea. And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.”

He closed the Book, and a weighted silence sat in the room as all of the boys listened, taking it in.

“‘No more sea’,” Steve finally said. “What do you think that means?”

Pony tilted his head. “I think it’s symbolic. Full-circle. At the very beginning of the Bible, ‘The Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.’ The chaos. The disorder. The danger. There won’t be any of that anymore.” He would never seize again. No one would ever die. He’d never lose another person he loved. It really would be all he’d ever wanted.

“You know,” Soda said. “It’s funny that that’s the end of the Bible. Because it don’t really feel like an ending. More like a beginning.”

“Well, sure,” Johnny responded. “That’s why it’s called a new heaven and a new earth. It will be a beginning. Just like it was meant to be.”

“You think we’ll have jobs? You think we could all do somethin’ like this again someday?” Two-Bit asked. “Like, maybe God can recreate this for us, except perfect, this time.” He buried his face in his hands and groaned. “Guys, this is so sad! This was the best year and a half of my life.”

Darry chuckled. “You don’t know that.” But his tone was fond. “You’ve got a lot of life to live yet.”

Dally clicked his tongue. “You really want to be floaty people up in the sky forever?”

Ponyboy laughed. “It’s not like that. Actually, I think the new earth will be this one right here. Just made perfect. Wouldn’t that be nice? We could live here, or we could go anywhere. And it will be exciting, and right, and perfect. Can you imagine? Nothing goin’ wrong ever again. Every day bright and full of God.”

Sodapop lit up. “And Mama and Papa will be there, too!”

Tex smiled. “My Ma, too.”

Curly gave a little shrug, toying with his quilt. “Believe what you want, I still don’t think it’s real. That’s not for me.”

Dally smirked without heat, his voice low and certain. “Me neither. And I ain’t losing sleep over it.”

The words sat heavy for a beat. Pony’s chest ached because he wanted that promise for all of them, but he couldn’t force it on anyone. He glanced at Darry, who gave him the smallest shake of his head, like don’t push.

Dally leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes were tired but steady. “Look, I don’t buy into heaven. I know that bothers you, but it’s how I’m gonna stay. But… I buy into this. Us. Right now. Sitting here, together. That’s enough for me. I don’t want anythin’ more than that.”

Ponyboy nodded. It did sadden him that Dally or Curly didn’t know this peace. That they might never. But Pony would never love them less for it. If anything, they probably needed the extra length of love. Dally would have that on the homestead. Ponyboy couldn’t wait to share that life with everyone. All Pony could do was speak the truth and love them. The rest wasn’t on his shoulders.

Pony nodded. “Well, I’m to read something that makes me feel like maybe all the hurt don’t get the last word.”

Dally looked over at him, not unkind. “Then you picked right, kid. Even if I don’t buy it for me, I can’t say it ain’t good hearing it.”

Curly rubbed at his sleeve, muttering, “Ain’t much hope where I stand. But I like knowing you got some.”

Ponyboy smiled, though something in his heart pulled. He would miss Curly. Rusty James, too.

As if Rusty James read his mind, he said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, “This was real good, Pone. Every night like this. I hate to leave it.”

Pony swallowed the lump in his throat. “Well,” he tapped his rider’s Bible, “you got one of these to go with you and your brother. Maybe someone else can keep up the tradition.”

Rusty James shook his head. “Nah, I read half as slow as you.”

Pony gave him an encouraging smile. “Trust me, God don’t care about that.”

“Guys?” Tex said softly, out of the blue. He also looked much more melancholy than his usual sunny self.

“You okay, Tex?” Darry asked.

Tex shrugged, but he looked dejected. “You know I rode into town this evening to visit Mace and tell him about the news. I told him about your plans. But he says he’s going to enlist in the war.”

“Oh, Texas.” Darry frowned, his brow tightening in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Tex shrugged again, sighing deeply. “I had a guess he might. He’s… he’s always seemed like the kind of person that would want to go somewhere someday. But I really don’t. I want to stay.”

“Then stay with us, Tex. Would you like that?”

Tex looked up, almost startled. “You’d want me to, also?”

“‘Course, buddy. You’re one of the gang.”

Tex’s bright smile returned, relief spreading across his face. “Thanks.”

Ponyboy looked around at the faces he knew better than his own, and he let the warmth of it settle deep. Whether they believed in a new heaven and a new earth or only in this firelit room, it didn’t change the truth he felt in his bones:

This was the last night. The last time they’d all be together like this. And somehow, that made it holy.

Chapter Text

Ponyboy stepped into their house for the first time in a year and a half, the memories rushing back to him. It was just as they’d left it. Smelled a bit mustier, but that was nothing a few weeks of living in it wouldn’t fix.

Like a little kid, Soda ran right for their bedroom, quickly emerging with his arms full of memories—old clothes, toys, decor, and nicknacks. His mouth was going a mile a minute. “Remember this?” he kept repeating, as excited as a small child on his birthday.

Darry took charge immediately, designating who’d stay where. Out of the three bedrooms, he said he’d convert one into an office, one would be for the Curtis brothers, and the third would be for Johnny, Dallas, Steve, and Tex. They’d need to purchase a few more bunks to accommodate everyone, but it would be a fine setup.

The next days went by in a whirlwind.

It was thanks to Pony, Johnny, and Tex’s saved funds as riders that the homestead was able to get off the ground so quickly.

Darry took care of all the purchasing. Horses, chickens, seeds, draft animals, crop supplies, tack, and the like.

Their first months would be focused on any extra construction necessary. An addition to the barn and stables. A coop. Fences and corrals. They had the extra hands for it, given that the ground was too frozen for crops. Their operations through the winter would be solely animal domestication.

As November turned to December, one Saturday morning, Darry shook Pony awake with a smile on his face.

“What is it?” Ponyboy groaned.

“Puppy day,” Darry said. “I’ve been keeping in touch with a neighbor, and their litter is weaned and ready.”

Pony nearly shot out of bed. “Really? Today?”

“Yes, if you’re ready.”

Pony had been ready all month. He’d pestered Darry week after week, but his brother kept saying that dogs didn’t just appear out of thin air. Apparently he’d had a litter in mind that whole time.

He recognized them as collies. When he was little, he knew some neighbors who kept them as farm animals. These little guys didn’t look more than two months old. They were small, fluffy, and brown and white, and there were five of them tumbling over each other, sleeping, or exploring the room.

“What do you think?” Darry asked softly. “I’ll find another litter if you’d like.”

Ponyboy shook his head, crouching down to sit. One puppy lifted its head and bounded over, nearly stumbling over its own paws. Its tail wagged so fast, and it jumped into Pony’s lap, hopping and burrowing close.

It had Pony’s heart immediately.

He lifted the pup, finding it to be a girl. She licked his nose, and he laughed. He cradled her to his chest. “Oh, you are just the sweetest, are you? Do you want to be mine? Do you want to come home with me?”

The puppy breathed against him, small and soft and warm. Ponyboy looked up at Darry, who watched with a gentle smile. “I want this one.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Ponyboy bundled the little thing up in his coat on the wagon ride back. Darry looked over and smirked. “You’re gonna coddle that thing, aren’t you?”

Pony nodded. “Spoiled ‘til kingdom come.”

Darry grinned. “Well. As long as you’re happy.”

And he was. He really, really was.

The boys rushed to the door when Pony and Darry arrived home, eager to see the latest addition to the family.

Ponyboy held out the dog, then he set her on the floor where she was free to roam and meet the others if she wished.

Sodapop just about melted on the floor. He crouched out low, holding out his hand, and the puppy tentatively licked it. Soda’s entire face lit up.

Everyone took their turns meeting the puppy, even Dally, who was obviously trying to hide how much of a softie this little thing was going to turn him into.

Finally, Johnny asked, “Have you named her?”

Ponyboy nodded. “Goldie. Just fits her right, I don’t know.”

Sodapop scooped her up and hugged her close. “Welcome to the family, Goldie-girl!”

A couple more months passed. Dally hunted for them. Two-Bit kept up cooking. Johnny cared for the chickens and ducks, and he would be tending a garden as soon as spring thaw rolled around. Until the ground was ready for crops, Tex had taken to just managing the draft animals and ensuring there was enough hay until they could produce their own. Pony helped break and gentle the horses with Soda. Or he and Soda helped tame a wild mustang that Dally would tend to find every once in a while. Steve took charge as the farrier. Soda tended to the horses themselves—especially the two pregnant mares who would give birth in the spring. Darry took to managing the money in all aspects. And all of them helped with construction projects when they arose.

Pony had been managing the seizures well enough, though there were still some days he didn’t manage to catch the signs, and he’d barely avoided injury several times thanks to being in the open on soft ground or in the room with someone else. He knew it still scared his brothers and friends something awful, especially the times the episodes stretched just too long. But God had pulled Pony through each time, and Pony believed that would continue.

Goldie was an absolute joy in his life. She was a handful to train, but Ponyboy loved her to pieces, and it was clear that she reciprocated his affection. She stayed by his side almost all day long, he had to ensure none of the horses stepped on her, she was still so tiny and learning the world around her!

In mid-January, Pony was reading the Bible aloud in the living room one evening. Goldie, usually sprawled in the corner chewing a bit of rope, got up and came right to his side, pacing circles around him. She whined, nudged at his hand, then pressed her warm body against his leg.

“Goldie, quit,” Pony muttered, trying to keep his place in the Bible he was reading aloud. Her insistent pawing made him lose the verse.

“Maybe she needs out,” Steve suggested, but when Soda opened the door, Goldie didn’t budge. She planted herself tighter against Pony, whining louder, eyes fixed on his face like she knew something he didn’t.

Pony frowned, reaching to pat her head. “You’re acting awful funny, girl.”

A heartbeat later, the world tilted. Goldie barked. The book slid from his hand, his vision dimming.

Pony came to, his head aching something fierce. He was gathered up into Soda’s arms, and Pony sagged weakly against his shoulder, his breath coming fast. Darry crouched beside him, worry etched deep. “Easy, kid. Just breathe. You’re okay.”

Goldie pressed close, licking his hand, tail wagging like she was desperate to reassure him. He scratched her head, giving her a small smile. “It’s okay, girl. I’m all right.”

Darry blew out a breath, his frown growing deeper. “You didn’t catch that one early. Good thing you were sitting and Steve was near enough to catch you.”

“Do you really have no idea sometimes, Pone?” Soda asked in a tight voice. “It feels like every three or four, they just catch you off guard. That’s too often. That scares me.”

Pony shook his head, trying to remember how he’d felt before this one. But he couldn’t think much against the pounding in his head.

“Your dog,” Dallas said. “She was stirrin’ up a ruckus.”

Soda looked over at him, his eyes widening. “You don’t think… she couldn’t know, could she? That’s impossible.”

“Probably,” Two-Bit said. “She’s a puppy. She just wants attention. S’not like she got all weird before any of your other seizures.”

So they brushed it aside. Sure enough, the dog didn’t do anything out of the ordinary before the seizure later that week. Still, there was something about it that nagged at the back of Ponyboy’s mind.

What if?

Chapter Text

Sodapop wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist, hay dust clinging in the creases of his skin. Pony was already halfway to the ladder, his arm looped through the twine of a hay bale. They’d been hauling bales up to the loft all morning, and the job was almost finished.

Goldie had been tagging along, as she always did with Ponyboy. The pup, all gangly legs and big ears, suddenly let out a sharp bark and darted in front of Pony, blocking his way. Pony laughed, tried to step around her, but she barked again—higher, louder—and grabbed at his pant leg with her teeth.

“Goldie, knock it off,” Soda called, setting down his pitchfork. The collie pup was usually so easy-tempered.

Pony frowned, shifting the hay against his chest. “She’s bein’ a pest. I’ll get her outta the way—” He tugged at his pants, but Goldie pulled back with all her little body could manage. Pony stumbled, nearly dropping the hay.

“Hey, hey, don’t fight her—” Soda started toward them.

Then Pony froze. The bale slipped from his arm. His face went slack, his eyes hazy. Soda’s heart lurched into his throat. “Pony—”

Goldie yanked again, dragging Pony away from the base of the ladder just as his knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, but he was on the packed earth, not tumbling backward off the rungs. Soda was on him in an instant, rolling him gently onto his side, hands shaking as the seizure took hold.

Soda eased him onto his side, heart pounding so hard he thought it might choke him. He brushed the straw away from Pony’s face, murmuring, “I got you, kiddo. I’m right here. Just breathe through it. C’mon, Pony, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

The seizure tore through him, wave after wave, muscles tightening and jerking so hard. His fingernails dug into the dirt, back arching in a way that made Soda want to cry out, but he swallowed it down and kept his voice steady. “It’s all right, little buddy. Let it pass. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Goldie whined and pawed at the ground beside them, pacing tight circles, her ears pinned flat. She let out a sharp bark, like she was demanding it stop, then pressed her nose against Pony’s hand, trembling.

It went on and on. Seconds stretched into minutes. Pony’s face flushed red, then pale. A string of spit caught on his lip. Soda wiped it away with his sleeve, whispering, “Almost there. Almost there, Ponyboy. That’s three minutes, now. Just hold on.”

Finally, the tremors began to ease, from wild jerks to small, weak twitches, then stillness except for his ragged breaths. Soda let out a shaky sigh, brushing back the damp hair plastered to Pony’s forehead.

“Good boy,” he whispered like Pony was a little kid again, rocking him slightly. “You did it. You’re through. You’re okay. I gotcha. I always gotcha.”

Pony’s eyes fluttered, dazed, unfocused. Soda pressed his forehead against his brother’s temple for a moment. It never got easier. Soda must have seen Pony through at least fifty seizures now, but each one still scared him half to death. It had become routine. It hadn’t become easy.

Pony groaned softly, lids fluttering as he tried to focus. Soda’s hand was already at his cheek, thumb brushing lightly.

“There you are,” Soda whispered, smiling through the tightness in his chest. “Took a little trip on me, huh?”

Pony blinked, still dazed. “What… happened?”

“You had a seizure, kiddo,” Soda said gently, keeping his voice low and steady, like if he spoke too loud it might scare him back into another episode. “But you’re through it. You’re safe. I was right here.” He swallowed, glancing back at the ladder just a few feet away. His stomach twisted hard. “Thank God you weren’t on that thing.” That ladder was ten feet up. If Goldie hadn’t done something, Pony would’ve toppled and injured himself or—or worse.

Goldie. Soda looked at the puppy in awe.

Goldie pressed her warm body against Pony’s side, whining until he reached a shaky hand down to pat her. Soda rubbed his brother’s arm.

“You know somethin’ funny?” Soda said slowly, glancing between Pony and the collie pup. “She pulled you back from it. Before it even hit. Like she knew.”

Pony frowned faintly, still fogged, but his gaze dropped to Goldie, who licked at his fingers and gave a short, anxious bark.

“Uh huh,” Soda murmured, half to himself, stroking Pony’s hair back from his damp forehead. “She knew somethin’ was comin’… and she kept you from that ladder.”

Soda pressed a kiss to his brother’s temple, then ruffled Goldie’s fur with his free hand.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice breaking with relief. “Real good girl.”

Darry poked his head out of the office when the boys came in, Soda half-supporting Ponyboy. He helped Pony to the couch and threw a blanket over him. Goldie curled up on Pony’s lap like she wasn’t about to move for anything in the world.

Darry’s brows drew tight immediately. “Another seizure?” His voice had that hard edge it only got when he was scared.

Soda glanced up, chewing his lip. “Yes. Hit him hard.” He smoothed the blanket against Pony’s chest. “But he’s alright now.”

Darry crouched beside the couch, hand settling at Pony’s arm. “Did you get hurt?”

“He didn’t,” Soda said quickly, shaking his head. “And that’s the thing, Darry. He could’ve. He would’ve. He was goin’ up to the loft. He would’ve fallen right off. But—” He looked down at Goldie. “She pulled him back before it hit. Like… she smelled it or somethin’. Like she knew.”

Darry frowned, skeptical, his hand still resting heavy over Pony’s arm. “Soda, dogs don’t—”

“I’m tellin’ you,” Soda cut in, desperate. “She did. I was right there. Before he even gave any signs that he was going to seize, she just—she grabbed at him, barked, tried to drag him away from the ladder. Seconds later, he went down.” His voice shook, taking a hand through his hair. “If she hadn’t… I don’t even want to think about that.”

Goldie gave a small whuff, lifting her head as if to back Soda’s claim.

Darry exhaled, long and heavy, eyes flicking from the puppy to his brothers. He wanted to argue, Soda could see it, but then he looked at Pony—pale, shaky, safe on the couch instead of broken in the barn—and his shoulders dropped.

“Alright,” Darry said quietly, almost grudging but not unkind. “Maybe she knew. Maybe she did.” He reached out and rubbed the pup’s head, just once. “Good girl.” He frowned at Pony. “I don’t want you goin’ up to the loft no more. Not without someone immediately behind you. Do you understand me?”

Pony looked a little frustrated, but he nodded.

“This dog’s gonna keep you safe,” Soda murmured, conviction burning in his voice. “I know she is.”

Chapter Text

Greetings from California!

The Mustang Boy and I are real, full-fledged, bang-up cowboys! We’re working at our uncle’s ranch in Sacramento. I’m learning all sorts of things from both of them. It’s beautiful out here, and there are all these other ranch hands, too! I wish you could meet my best friend, Steve. He’s kind of timid and strange, and I think he’d rather be some kind of schoolmarm instead of here, but I like him all right. He kinda reminds me of you, Ponyboy! By the way, hope you’re well.

I wish you all could come out and see us sometime, but I’m sure you have your own jobs and place to worry about.

Please write back! Maybe you could send us a drawing, Pony? I don’t think the Mustang Boy believes that you’re actually as good at it as I’ve told him. Come on, help me prove him wrong??

Oh! I’ve been sparking the new girl in town. She’s a real peach, fine as a filly. Her name’s Patty. Maybe you can meet her someday!

All right, I can’t think of anything else to write about. Miss you guys!

Don’t be a stranger,
Rusty James

February 9, 1862
Camp near Nashville, Tennessee

Dear Tex,
It has been four months since I left home, and in that time I feel as though I’ve aged four years. Army life is not at all what I imagined when I first shouldered my musket. We march through mud that swallows a man’s boots, sleep on the frozen ground with nothing but a thin blanket, and eat bread so hard you’d think it was baked in the last century. Still, we get by, one day at a time.

I have seen enough now to know this war is no game. Men fall sick faster than they fall to bullets, and every week we bury more. I won’t lie, Tex—it is a hard thing to keep one’s courage steady when you hear the coughing all through the tents at night. Yet I remind myself why I am here, and that steadies me again.

I think of you often, Tex. Do you still ride out in the mornings? I picture you bringing in wood or helping the boys with the draft animals, and I wish I could step into that life for even a single day. Maybe someday. Home feels like another world entirely, one I mean to see again when this is done.

We expect to move soon, perhaps into Kentucky proper. There are whispers of a fight ahead, though nothing is certain. If battle comes, I pray I will do my duty well and stand alongside my comrades as a man should. And if I fall, I want you to know now that I thought of you with every breath.

But I hope—and believe—I will come home. Keep the hearth warm for me, and take care of your boys. Write when you can. A word from home is better than gold in these parts. Stay strong, Texas.

Your brother,
Mason

Pony,
It’s official, all right. The Sheperds are in Kansas. No more ol’ territorys for us, we upgraded to a full state!

Glad we did. Tim and Angela are much more themselves away from our folks, if you could even call them “folks.” They’re happier. I thought they just weren’t happy people. I sur wasn’t. But I guess you just need to get away from it all sometimes.

Figurd I best write so you know we ain’t forgot ya. Kansas is wide an windy, feels like it cud blow the skin rite off a man. Tim’s been swingin a hammer, buildin barns an such fer the settlers. He comes home sore as a mule but says it pays alright. Angie got on at a store writin in them big ledgers. She’s smart with numbers, always was.

Me, I been drivin teams, haulin flour an coal an whatnot cross the trails. Long days, lotsa mud, oxen smellin worse than Tim. But it keeps us fed. Nights is cold, colder’n I thought they’d be movin’ south like this. Don’t feel like home, but don’t feel like folks got their eyes on us neither, wich I reckon is better.

Still think on the Express sometimes. Miss the ridin, an the boys. Ain’t the same out here, feels emptier. But Tim says we needed a fresh start an I know he’s rite.

Tell Soda howdy, an the others too. You be careful, Pony. Don go workin yerself too hard, ya hear?

Yer friend,
Curly

Chapter Text

Two-Bit held the puppy out at arm’s length, studying her as she panted and wagged her tail. “Are you a magic dog? Is that it?”

“Knock it off, Two-Bit,” Pony said. “Put her down.”

“Aww, she don’t mind, do you, Goldie-baby?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Two-Bit shot him a look. “Show some respect! Babies need to be loved on, Steve, everyone knows that. Do you want her to be deprived?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call the lack of your coddling ‘deprivation.’”

Two wrinkled his nose. “Well, then, good thing I’m not asking you, Steven.”

Steve scoffed again. “I’m going to find Soda. Have fun with your mushy lovefest.”

Two-Bit nuzzled his nose against the dog’s. “He doesn’t understand,” he said in a mock-baby voice. “I wuv you! Yes, I dooooo.” He finally set her down, and she scampered back to Ponyboy. Two-Bit pouted. “Picking favorites is mean, Goldie.”

Pony scooped her up and cradled her close, shooting a triumphant smile Two-Bit’s way. “Boo-hoo.”

“Darry, your brother’s being a little snot!” Two-Bit hollered. “Do I have permission to clobber him?”

“Absolutely not!”

Two-Bit crossed his arms in a playful huff. “Ugh, no one ever lets me have fun around here.”

Pony smiled sarcastically. “Right, because Darry would let you beat up his lunatic brother.”

Two barked a laugh. “Hey, you said it, not me.” He reached down and ruffled Ponyboy’s hair. “Kidding. You’re perfectly Pony. No lunies here.” He looked at the dog. “Really, though. You think there’s somethin’ to what Soda’s claimin’? I mean… it’s a dog. They work on farms and are cute and like to hang around people. But that’s it, right?”

“I don’t know,” Pony said, stroking Goldie’s head. “The first time, I brushed it off. The second was a lot more uncanny. And there were seizures in between those that she didn’t catch. But if it happens again, I think it really could be something. And if it’s real, maybe she won’t catch them all the time at first because she’s still just a baby.”

“So you really think it’s possible?”

Ponyboy shrugged. He desperately wanted it to be possible. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

It was strange, like they were all on pins and needles waiting for his next seizure. He could tell the gang felt guilty about it, but Pony was also curious as to how his dog would react.

Five days went by, and Pony was sick of everyone staring at him like he was fixing to keel over any moment. Soda constantly eased him away from the horses, Darry reprimanded him every time he stepped anywhere near a fire, despite it being the dead of winter and him being freezing, and the others were constantly hovering, asking him if he needed anything. Honestly, it was as if he was seizing constantly instead of twice a week.

He tried to understand. Really, he did. His seizures were a normal part of life now. But they did happen within a pretty consistent three or four days. He was on edge now that it was five, too. That did happen from time to time, even six or seven or eight days every once in a while, but now that the dog question was in the equation, it seemed like everyone could hardly stand to wait for what would happen.

The next night, the gang was getting ready for dinner. Two-Bit was dishing out potatoes, Pony finished setting the table, Dally brought in the water he’d drawn, and Steve, Tex, Johnny, and Darry were pulling out chairs, chatting amiably as they all took in the smells of roasted vegetables and fish. Goldie paced around the table, clearly anxious for a personal piece of fish.

Suddenly, she gave a sharp yip, jumping up on Pony’s leg and gently taking his hand in her teeth, pulling.

It felt like the entire room froze as everyone went quiet and looked at Pony.

Pony winced, feeling the familiar fog in the back of his head, his body stiffening. His brothers looked back at him in panic. “Pony, sit down—” Soda started, but that was the last thing Pony heard before the world went dark.

“Glo-ry, kid,” Two-Bit whistled when Pony came to in Darry’s arms on the kitchen floor. “Almost went right into the potatoes.”

Darry shot him a look. Two-Bit held his hands up.

“How ya feelin’, hon?” Soda asked softly, brushing back Pony’s hair from his forehead.

“Kinda… sick,” Pony responded, trying to clear the fog in his brain. But his head ached, and Darry was warm, so he closed his eyes and just focused on his brother’s beating heart against his ear. “Nothin’ new.”

“The dog knew,” Darry said in awe. “I—I can’t believe it.”

Pony’s eyes fluttered open. “Did she… really?”

Soda nodded, smiling. He scratched the puppy’s head. “Sure did. Looks like God gave you a miracle pup.” He dropped the dog onto Pony’s chest so he could cradle her. Pony just looked at his precious Goldie in wonder and thankfulness.

That evening, after dinner, everyone sat around for a discussion.

“First things first,” Darry started. “When you hear that dog bark, you drop everything and go find Pony. I understand that means there’s gonna be lots of false alarms at first, she is just a puppy, after all, but that’s where step two comes in: She needs to be trained. Trained to bark only to alert when Pony’s about to seize. Trained to pull him somewhere safe where he can sit or lie down. Trained to stay with him until it’s over and clear the area so he’s safe. Trained to call someone else over if Pony seizes alone but there are people around.”

“That… sounds like a lot,” Soda said.

Darry nodded. “I’m sure it will take time and lots of trial and error. But dogs are smart. Remember our last dog? He caught on well to training. Besides, Goldie is already tending to do the things we want her to do. She’s well on the right track. We just need to guide her along a little.”

Goldie was sleeping in Pony’s arms. At Pony’s side, Johnny stroked the puppy softly between the ears. One day soon, Ponyboy knew she’d get too big to hold her like this. He decided to cherish it while he could. “You really think she can do all that?”

Darry nodded. “You’ve seen how smart she is. I have no doubt. We’ll all help you, too. It won’t be all on you. But I expect she’ll respond best to you.”

Pony nodded, looking down at his cuddly companion. God had blessed him beyond belief with her.

Chapter Text

Pony went out in the early morning, before the sun rose. It was frigid, it being late February. But the last snow had mostly melted, and if he bundled up, it would be as good a morning as any for a ride. Soda was still stretched across his bed, mouth half open, catching up on a rare morning to sleep late. Darry, as well, was still asleep in his own bed. Pony knew he had some time yet before anyone was up. Goldie had her head on her paws by the door, her brown eyes following Pony’s every move like she knew what he was planning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Pony whispered, tugging on his boots. “We’re not doin’ anything bad.”

Goldie gave a soft whine but stood when he did, tail sweeping the floor in slow, cautious arcs. He pulled on a hat, coat, scarf, and mittens. Pony slipped out the door, careful to pull it shut without a squeak. His pulse quickened as he crossed the yard toward the stable, boots crunching softly in the leftover frost.

One of the horses—Victory—lifted her head the moment he slid the door open. The mare’s ears pricked forward, and she nickered low in her throat, as if greeting him as if she knew this was their secret. Pony’s heart thundered.

“Just for a little while,” he murmured, stroking her velvety nose. “Darry doesn’t have to know.”

He worked fast, his hands clumsy with nerves as he saddled her. Victory shifted once but stood calm enough, letting him cinch the girth tight. Goldie circled his legs, restless, her nails clicking softly against the wooden floor.

This was safe. He could push the boundaries Darry had set. He’d carry Goldie with him. She would alert him if anything was wrong.

And then—freedom.

The moment Victory’s hooves hit open ground, Pony felt a rush of air and weightlessness, his body moving with hers like he was made for it. Goldie bounded alongside, ears flying, keeping pace. The wind tugged at Pony, carried the sting of cold into his eyes, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t felt like this in months—no chains, no warnings, no Darry’s voice barking Be careful, don’t push yourself, you’ll get hurt.

“See?” he shouted over the pounding hooves, his grin wide and reckless. “We’re fine! We’re better than fine!”

Goldie gave an excited bark, almost answering him, tucking close against his body.

For an hour he rode—through the pasture, over a low ridge, down a frosted trail. His chest ached, but not the bad kind. This was the ache of lungs stretched wide, of life filling him up to the brim. He thought of Darry, always keeping him tethered, and of Soda’s worried eyes watching him.

“They don’t get it,” he said under his breath, leaning low over Victory’s mane. “I’m not weak. I can handle it. Goldie’s here. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

By the time he returned, the sun was rising, and his face was oddly warm with exertion. He unsaddled Victory fast, rubbed her down, and slipped back to the house before Soda or Darry stirred. Goldie padded in after him, curling at the foot of his bed.

Soda rolled over as Pony crept into the room, eyes half-shut. “Where you been?” he mumbled sleepily.

Pony froze. His shirt was still damp, his boots caked in dirt. But he forced a shrug, crawling into his own bed. “Nowhere. Just outside to see the sunrise.”

Soda yawned and let it go, drifting back to sleep. Pony lay stiff under the blanket, heart pounding harder than it had on the ride.

He’d lied. For the first time, he’d lied straight to Soda’s face.

But then he thought of the rush of air, the pounding hooves, the freedom. And instead of guilt, a smile tugged at his lips.

It had been worth it.

Days later, he was itching to ride again. He’d had a taste of freedom. Only a taste. He craved more. And he hadn’t been caught last time. He could easily do it again. No one would have to know.

He crept out of bed early again. As he saddled up Victory, he thought Darry would skin him alive if he found out, and Soda… well, Soda would just look at him with that hurt, disappointed face that was worse than any whipping. But Pony couldn’t stand the four walls of the cabin anymore, or Darry’s rules fencing him in like barbed wire. They just didn’t get it. They never would get it. If they were him, they would do the same.

He rode for a good hour, keeping an eye on the lightening sky. He still had some time, right?

Victory tossed her head as if she felt his restlessness. Pony leaned forward, patting her neck. “Just a little farther. Ain’t no one around. We’ll be back before they know.”

Goldie loped alongside this time, tongue lolling, her golden coat flashing in the light. Every so often, she looked up at him, as if asking a question he didn’t want to answer. No, they weren’t going home yet. Just a bit more.

He urged Victory close to a half-melted creek for a drink. The mare picked her way down the bank, hooves squelching in the soft earth. Pony grinned—this was living. Not stuck on the porch with a book while the others worked, not treated like a breakable glass lamp. Just him and the open world, and no one telling him no.

He bent low to let Victory drink, watching the ripples fan out. Then Goldie yapped.

The physical warnings came late—too late. A tightening in his chest, the heavy float in his head. Pony’s fingers clenched at the saddle horn as the world tilted sideways. Victory jolted, sensing the shift in his body, and Goldie barked loud and sharp, circling tight around the horse’s legs.

“No—no, not now,” Pony gasped, but the words slurred. His arms gave out. He slid sideways, barely catching the stirrup with his boot before crashing into the mud.

When he came back, he lay limp and shaking on the bank, the world tilting around him. His throat burned from swallowed creek water, his limbs heavy as lead. Goldie whined low, pressing against his chest, her breath hot against his jaw.

Pony turned his head just enough to see the long streaks carved in the mud—the marks of his own body being dragged back from the edge. His shirt collar was torn, teeth marks visible in the damp fabric.

The realization hit like a punch: Goldie had saved him. Not just barked a warning, not just kept him company—she had hauled him out, kept his head above water when he couldn’t.

His breath broke into a sob. He reached weakly for her, fingers tangling in her wet fur. “Good girl,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Good girl, Goldie.” She had saved his life. If she hadn’t been there, he would’ve drowned in the shallow creek.

What had he been thinking, staying so near the water? How could he have been so stupid? And how was he going to hide this mess?

Goldie only pressed closer, eyes solemn and unblinking, as if to say she’d do it again.

By the time Pony staggered back to the cabin, his shirt was half-dry but caked in mud, and his knees ached with every step. He’d put Victory back in her stall, hoping no one would notice, but Goldie’s nervous pacing gave him away the moment he stepped inside.

Soda was at the table, sorting nails into an old coffee tin. He looked up and froze.

“Pony?” His voice sharpened. “What happened to you?”

Pony’s throat locked up. He’d rehearsed half a dozen excuses on the walk back, but under Soda’s stare, every one of them dried up. He mumbled, “Just slipped down by the creek. Nothin’.”

Soda pushed back from the table fast. He crossed the room in three strides, catching Pony by the arms. His hands squeezed just a little too hard, testing for breaks. “Slipped? Pony, you’re soaked through and shakin’. You’ll catch your death. C’mon, let’s get these wet clothes off.”

“I said I’m fine!” Pony snapped, trying to pull away. His voice cracked, his body betraying the lie with another tremor.

Before Soda could press, Darry came into the room. His form filled the doorframe. His eyes landed on Pony—and went hard.

“What in the hell did you do?”

Pony’s heart sank. He couldn’t face Darry like this, mud-streaked and trembling, like a kid caught playing where he didn’t belong. “I just… wanted some air.”

Soda’s nose twitched. “You smell like horse.”

Pony’s heart sank. “I was just visitin’ them.”

Soda’s gaze dipped. Something flickered in his eyes. “With horse hair on the blue jeans I washed yesterday?”

Pony’s lies were just digging him further. He knew the Bible said not to lie. He knew. But he was terrified of the alternative.

Darry’s tone became low and dangerous. “Ponyboy. Answer your brother.”

Ponyboy swallowed hard. “I took Victory out for a little ride. That’s all.”

Darry’s jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked in his cheek. “Behind my back? After everything we talked about?”

Soda’s head whipped between them. “Wait—you rode?”

“I told you not to ride!” Darry exploded. “I told you a dozen times, and you went anyway.” He slammed his fist on the table. “What in hell were you thinkin’?”

Dally and Two poked their heads into the room at the commotion, quickly retreating when they saw who was fighting.

Pony’s jaw tightened. “I was thinkin’ I ain’t made of glass. I wanted to ride. I can still do things, Darry! I ain’t a babe.”

“You call riskin’ your life doin’ things?” Darry shot back, his voice thundering.

“I had Goldie with me!” Pony’s chest heaved, tears pricking his eyes from the force of yelling. “She knows, she can tell! She—she kept me safe!”

Soda’s face went pale. “Pony,” he said slowly, “what do you mean, ‘kept you safe’?”

Pony froze. His mouth opened, but no words came. His hands shook at his sides.

Darry stepped forward, looming. “Ponyboy. Answer him.”

The dam broke. “I—I fell,” Pony blurted, the words tumbling out fast. “I fell off by the creek, all right? I—” His voice cracked. “I had a seizure. Goldie—she pulled me back. I nearly went under.”

The silence that followed was worse than any yelling. Soda’s hand flew to his mouth. Darry went white, his chest rising hard like he couldn’t breathe.

Then the explosion came. “Hells bells, Ponyboy!” Darry roared, his face twisted in something between fury and terror. “You could’ve drowned out there! You—you think I’m bein’ hard on you for the fun of it? You think I like layin' down rules? You almost died! Do you understand what that means? If it weren’t for that dog, you’d be dead right now. Dead! And you didn’t think—what, that I’d notice? That I wouldn’t care?”

Pony’s eyes stung hot. “I just wanted to feel normal!” he screamed back. “I wanted to do somethin’ without you watchin’ me every second, like I’m some—some broken thing! I ain’t gonna shatter, Darry. I can live my own damn life!”

In the corner of his gaze, Pony saw Soda, looking so torn and stricken. He looked absolutely miserable.

“That wasn’t livin’!” Darry’s voice cracked, sharp with terror. “That was me nearly losin’ you. Again!”

“I’m not weak! I’m not sick! I’m not—” Pony’s voice broke, tears starting to form. “I just… I just wanted to be free! To do something without you breathing down my neck every second!”

“You think I like breathing down your neck?!” Darry yelled, voice raw. “Do you think I like telling you ‘no’ every time? You have no idea how scared I am every damn day! If you didn’t have me around to tell you ‘no’, I don’t even want to think of where you’d be now!”

Pony’s hands trembled, fists tightening so hard his nails dug into his palms. “I don’t care! I just wanted—just once—to feel normal!”

“You think normal is worth nearly dying for?!” Darry yelled, stepping closer, shaking. “Do you think I can live through losing you? Do you think I can?”

That was it. Something in Pony shattered. The fear, the pressure, the yelling—it all collapsed inside him, and the dam broke. He sank to his knees, shaking, and the tears poured freely down his face.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you! I just wanted—” Pony’s voice broke into sobs, the words drowning in grief.

Darry froze for a heartbeat, chest heaving, then the mask of anger slipped away. He sank beside Pony, trembling, arms wrapping tight around him. His own tears streaked down, mingling with Pony’s, his voice breaking into the quietest, rawest confession:

“I’m scared, Pony… I’m scared out of my mind every day, every time you seize. It never stops. And if it’s exhausting for me to feel this way, I can’t even imagine what I feel. I just… I can’t—I can’t lose you, too. I can’t. Do you understand?”

Pony buried his face in Darry’s shoulder, gasping between sobs. “I know… I know.” He felt Soda rubbing his back.

“I think,” Sodapop said softly, “we need to modify our ground rules. Just a bit.”

Ponyboy and Darry nodded.

Chapter Text

As Sodapop set to washing the mud off of Pony’s face, Darry started setting down the new rules.

“Look,” Darry said, voice calmer but still firm, “I know you’re responsible, and Goldie’s a good dog—but she can’t stop everything. You nearly drowned, Pony. Nearly. That can’t happen again. Ever.”

Pony nodded, face tight. “I know…”

“How many times you done this?”

“Twice.”

Darry swallowed down the shout that rose up. That wouldn’t help anything. And honestly, twice was better than he had expected. “So here’s the rule,” he continued. “You do not ride alone. Especially not near creeks, not near steep banks, not anywhere dangerous. You take Goldie, and either Soda or I come with you, or someone else who can handle you if something goes wrong. No excuses. You break that rule, and it’s a month without riding. Understand?”

“Yes,” Pony whispered, swallowing hard.

“Good,” Darry said, placing a hand on Pony’s shoulder. “I want you to have freedom, Pony, but I want you alive more. Goldie’s there to help, but she can’t save you from everything. Not even I can. But we can put rules in place to keep you as safe as we can without totally restricting you. Understand.”

Goldie leaned into Pony, and Pony reached down to scratch behind her ears. “I understand, Darry. I’m sorry.”

“I know. But you owe your brother an apology, too. You didn’t just go behind my back and try to lie to me. You hurt him, too.”

Sheepishly, Pony turned his gaze to Sodapop, his head lowered a bit. “I’m sorry, Soda. I ain’t ever gonna lie to you again. Please forgive me.”

Soda nodded, pulling him in for a hug. “Of course, Pone. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Darry exhaled slowly. “Good. Now we can work on getting you back in the saddle safely. Together.”

Pony’s gaze brightened.

“Not today,” Darry corrected. “But later. You and I will go for a ride, all right?”

The barest smile twitched on his little brother’s face. “All right. Yes.”

Darry stayed true to his word. He took Ponyboy out a few days later. Steve even worked up a side saddle pouch for Goldie, even though she’d likely outgrow it soon.

The morning was crisp. The kind of March day at the end of winter that filled one’s lungs with cold air and the promise of spring coming soon. Victory pawed the ground impatiently, and the stallion Darry was on—Negrito—gave a snort, tossing his head. Darry readied the reins, smiling at Ponyboy. “You ready?”

“Yes,” Pony said, nearly bouncing in the saddle, he looked so excited. Darry wondered if even on his secret runs out, he hadn’t pushed to the limit, full-gallop as he wanted. He hoped he felt safer with Darry there.

They rode out of the yard together, their horses moving in sync, the morning stretching wide and golden around them. Pony let out his signature whoop he used to let out when coming in from a ride. Darry rose his voice to match, hollering, his breath a wisp in the cold morning air.

As they rode side by side, for the first time in nearly two years, Pony truly felt like just his brother again. Not a child or a charge to be looked after. Just his brother. For a time, they could be equals, and Darry didn’t realize how much he had missed that. How much he looked forward to life being that way all the time for them again.

Once they reached a wide open prairie, Pony urged Victory into a full gallop, leaning far forward, and Darry tried to speed Negrito up to match his pace. Yet, he always lagged a little behind. Darry watched his brother, wondering just how much faster the boy had flown down the trails during his time with the Express. It must have been so exhilarating.

They rode for hours, switching trails, crossing shallow streams, letting the horses trot freely where it was safe.

At midday, they stopped on a hill overlooking the valley, the horses grazing and Goldie sitting watchful. Pony slid down, brushing Victory’s mane, and Darry joined him.

“You know,” Darry said, “I like this. Not worrying just… riding with you. Like we used to, before all the… adult stuff.”

Pony smiled. “Right. Like brothers. Not guardian and kid. Just us.”

Darry chuckled softly. So Ponyboy felt the very same way. “Exactly. Just us.”

Pony smirked slyly. “I forgot you knew how to be fun.”

Darry cuffed him playfully on the back of the head. “Hey. I’m fun.”

They chowed down on sandwiches Two-Bit packed for them, and then Ponyboy said, “So… it’s tomorrow.”

Darry nodded. The anniversary. Ponyboy hadn’t even been at the home station for the last one. It must have been awful for him, to be alone for that day. At least this year, they’d all have each other. “Right. And the first time you’ll be with us for it.”

Pony lay his head on Darry’s shoulder. “I never told you, but I couldn’t focus at all that day. I nearly fell off my horse three times. Every ridge, every corner, every second, I just thought about them. I felt so sick.”

That image scared Darry. But he hadn’t been much better that day. “I know. I hope… maybe it won’t be as hard this year.”

“How was Soda last year?”

Darry shook his head, almost getting choked up at the very thought. “He wasn’t good. Kid was beside himself all day. But I think he would’ve been better if you were there, too. And I really think we might get through it easier this year. Maybe we can make it more of a celebration this time.” He winced. That sounded disrespectful. Was it?

But Pony nodded. “Why not? We make mom’s johnnycakes, pull out dad’s ol’ guitar and give it a spin. Tell stories. It might even be fun. I think Mama and Papa would like that a whole lot better than us tryin’ to choke our tears back all day long, don’t ya think?”

Darry threw his arm around Pony and squeezed his shoulder. “I do.”

“It’s strange,” Pony said. “I miss them. I’d do anythin’ to have them back. But think of how different our lives would be if it hadn’t all happened. We wouldn’t be livin’ with the guys like we do now. We wouldn’t have Tex. We might never have met Rusty James. We might not have the work we do now. We wouldn’t have had the money to get off the ground. And yet… well, other things, too. I would’ve never ridden the Express. Never been struck by lightning. Wouldn’t have my seizures. Wouldn’t have Goldie, neither. So many good and not so great things. Makes me think there really were reasons behind everything that happened, even if we can only speculate as to what they are.” He tilted his head up, letting the sunlight wash over his face. “But I can’t wait to ask God one day. I know his reasons are even better than I know. I know he’s gonna make a whole lot more good out of the bad.”

Darry’s throat got choked up. He nodded, holding the kid closer. How’d a fifteen-year-old ever get so wise as this? How’d Darry ever get so lucky to have this boy as his brother? “Right, kiddo. I know so, too.”

Chapter Text

March third was a heavy day in the Curtis household. But while last year, Sodapop had been an absolute wreck for it, upon waking up, he just knew this time would be better.

Before getting out of bed, he closed his eyes, dwelling on the thought of his parents. On how much he still loved them. On how much he still felt loved by them. He smiled, even as he felt the threat of tears in his throat. He thanked God for his family, both living and deceased.

He was the first of his brothers awake, so he crept over to Ponyboy’s bed and ticked him awake. Pony shrieked, laughing and thrashing to get Soda off. “Hey!” His dog barked, leaping up on the bed, as if she didn’t want to be left out of the fun.

Darry groaned, stretching. “You’re too loud.”

Soda grinned, hopping over to Darry’s bed and leaping on top of him, making his brother shout in protest. “Wakey wakey eggs and bakey, Darryyyyy.”

Darry buried his face in his hands. “Shut your trap!”

“M’good.” He pressed a big kiss on top of Darry’s hands.

“Ugh, gross!”

Sodapop laughed. “C’mon, we pestered Two-Bit to get here early today and make Mama’s johnnycakes.”

They all had a big breakfast, laughing together, just enjoying each other’s company.

Two-Bit mimed taking Johnny’s plate of cakes away, gasping something about “Cannabalism!” to which Johnny rolled his eyes and made some smart comment back.

Sodapop remembered the morning of March third two years ago sharply. Mama kissing his head. Setting breakfast on the table. Pony with his nose buried in a book. Darry hauling in wood with Papa. Papa humming some old tune he liked. Johnny and Dally stopping in for something to eat. It had been a peaceful morning. Now, he pictured it like a send-off of sorts. The last memories of his beloved parents, warm and calm and his.

The rest of the day passed in an easy manner, like the gang was holding those memories in respect. Every once in a while, someone would share something about Ma and Pa, and it felt gentle and natural.

That afternoon, Pony came inside with one of the barn cats, cooing about how much she looked like Mama’s favorite barn cat from a few years ago.

Soda held his arms out. “Pone, get that thing away!” Pony knew how allergic Soda was to them.

Pony nuzzled the little guy on his shoulder, then, with an evil smile, he plopped the cat right onto Soda’s.

Soda shrieked, sneezing three times in a row.

“Ponyboy!” Darry hollered.

Pony giggled and snatched the cat back, cradling it close. “Sorry,” he said, absolutely no remorse in his voice.

“If you didn’t have that cat in your arms,” Soda threatened, although it was hard to sound threatening while sniffling, “I would tackle you to the ground and whap around that big brain o’ yours, maybe that would teach ya some sense.”

“Daaaarry, Soda’s threatening me!”

“And you deserve it! Shut your mouth, stop actin’ like a baby, and put the kitty back where it belongs. Outside!”

Pony rolled his eyes and did as he was told.

That night, everyone gathered around the hearth in the living room as they shared memories.

“I remember how Pa would swing me up on his shoulders,” Soda reminisced. “Or how he’d chase us around the yard, growling like a bear and pretending to eat us when he caught us. And Ma just had the best laugh, didn’t she? Especially when me or Pony would try to get away with something with the famous Curtis Pout.”

“I remember Pa teaching me how to ride,” Pony said, a soft smile on his face. “I was so scared to be so high up. But he held onto my legs and promised I wouldn’t fall. And Ma would read us stories to sleep, remember that? Always something from the Bible, then some fairy tale or somethin’ she’d heard before or made up on the spot.”

“I remember when Pa would let me ride up front with him in the wagon,” Darry said. “He’d talk to me like an adult, and I just… felt so important with him. And Ma. I’d go outside without my gloves, and I’d come back in and she’d scold me, rubbing my hands between hers until I was warm again.”

“I remember the day I met your ma,” Johnny said. “I was maybe five or six, and got kicked out, so I went to sleep in your warm hayloft. Meant to get out before sunrise, but I overslept. Your ma found me up there and invited me in to eat.” He looked at Dally and grinned. “Did somethin’ similar with you, if I remember right. Plucked you off the street like you were a stray cat.”

Dally rolled his eyes and chuckled, but he didn’t argue.

“I remember she mended my mittens when they kept wearin’ through,” Steve said.

“The food I make wouldn’t be half as good without her recipes,” said Two-Bit.

Soda looked over at Tex, who had an odd sort of melancholy in his eyes that was never present. “You all right, Texas?”

Tex nodded, his head resting on his arms as he lay on the floor. “Mm-hm. I just… your parents sound real nice. I wish… I just wish I had known my Ma. Or that I even knew where my Pa was. It feels real bad sayin’ this, knowin’ your folks are gone an’ all. But you're lucky to have memories. My parents aren’t half as good as yours must’ve been, but still. Wish I had more to remember.” It looked like tears were starting to prick his eyes, so he looked down. His voice came out rough. “I really wish Mason were here.” He chuckled wetly. “Sorry, what a downer, right? I shouldnta said nothin’.”

“You’re allowed to feel like that,” Sodapop said. “You’re right. I—I bet others in here feel like you do. You’re right, we had wonderful parents. I don’t take that for granted anymore.”

“Your brother will come home, Tex,” Darry assured him. “He will.”

Tex nodded. “I sure hope so.” He gave a wavering smile. “Well, I think you all carry on their memories pretty well. You oughta make your ma’s apple pie again when they’re in season. I’ve been dreaming about that thing for months.”

The gang laughed.

After that, Ponyboy picked their parents’ favorite passages from the Bible.

“‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early. The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved: he uttered his voice, the earth melted. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah. Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he hath made in the earth. He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire. Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah.’”

Soda curled up with a pillow, smiling, lying half in Darry’s lap. “That was Ma’s favorite. She even had it all memorized.”

“It’s a good thing to remember,” Johnny said softly, reclining against Pony.

“Mama was strict,” Pony said, “but peaceful at the same time, you know? I think it’s because she always had this in her heart. Now,” he looked up, “can anyone guess Papa’s favorite before I read it?”

Soda’s hand shot in the air. “Joseph and his brothers! Remember, every time he read it, he’d assign one of the brothers to us. Remember how we fought over being Joseph?”

Darry and Pony laughed, remembering.

Pony flipped to Genesis. Joseph’s story was quite long. So he skipped to the end. Leaving Soda to remember all that happened before. Joseph’s brothers growing jealous of how he had his father’s love, selling Joseph into slavery. The guilt of the oldest brother, Reuben, for not protecting him. Joseph thriving in every awful situation he wound up in, because he worked for the Lord. Joseph rising up to second in command over all Egypt. And finally, meeting his brothers again during a famine, them not recognizing him. And he put them to the test, seeing if their hearts had changed.

“‘And he commanded the steward of his house, saying, ‘Fill the men's sacks with food, as much as they can carry, and put every man's money in his sack's mouth. And put my cup, the silver cup, in the sack's mouth of the youngest, and his corn money.’ And he did according to the word that Joseph had spoken. As soon as the morning was light, the men were sent away, they and their asses.’”

Two-Bit snickered. Pony shot him a look, though it looked like he wanted to laugh, too.

“‘And when they were gone out of the city, and not yet far off, Joseph said unto his steward, ‘Up, follow after the men; and when thou dost overtake them, say unto them, Wherefore have ye rewarded evil for good? Is not this it in which my lord drinketh, and whereby indeed he divineth? ye have done evil in so doing…With whomsoever of thy servants it be found, both let him die, and we also will be my lord's bondmen.’”

He went on to read about how the noble Joseph’s goblet was found in his baby brother Benjamin’s sack, much to the horror of the rest of his brothers.

Soda could feel the panic of the chapter. He wondered how the brothers must’ve felt, knowing that Benjamin, their second chance, practically, given the evils they had done to Joseph long before, was about to be taken from them forever, even though he was innocent. The fear they must’ve felt, knowing that their father would die from the grief.

“‘And Joseph said unto them, What deed is this that ye have done? wot ye not that such a man as I can certainly divine?’

“‘And Judah said, What shall we say unto my lord? what shall we speak? or how shall we clear ourselves? God hath found out the iniquity of thy servants: behold, we are my lord's servants, both we, and he also with whom the cup is found.’

“‘And he said, God forbid that I should do so: but the man in whose hand the cup is found, he shall be my servant; and as for you, get you up in peace unto your father.’

“‘Then Judah came near unto him, and said, Oh my lord, let thy servant, I pray thee, speak a word in my lord's ears, and let not thine anger burn against thy servant: for thou art even as Pharaoh.’

“‘My lord asked his servants, saying, Have ye a father, or a brother? And we said unto my lord, We have a father, an old man, and a child of his old age, a little one; and his brother is dead, and he alone is left of his mother, and his father loveth him. And thou saidst unto thy servants, Bring him down unto me, that I may set mine eyes upon him. And we said unto my lord, The lad cannot leave his father: for if he should leave his father, his father would die. And thou saidst unto thy servants, Except your youngest brother come down with you, ye shall see my face no more. And it came to pass when we came up unto thy servant my father, we told him the words of my lord. And our father said, Go again, and buy us a little food.

“‘And we said, We cannot go down: if our youngest brother be with us, then will we go down: for we may not see the man's face, except our youngest brother be with us. And thy servant my father said unto us, Ye know that my wife bare me two sons: And the one went out from me, and I said, Surely he is torn in pieces; and I saw him not since…Now therefore when I come to thy servant my father, and the lad be not with us; seeing that his life is bound up in the lad's life; It shall come to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with us, that he will die: and thy servants shall bring down the gray hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow to the grave…Now therefore, I pray thee, let thy servant abide instead of the lad a bondman to my lord; and let the lad go up with his brethren. For how shall I go up to my father, and the lad be not with me? lest peradventure I see the evil that shall come on my father.’”

Ponyboy smiled a little, the best part approaching. “‘Then Joseph could not refrain himself before all them that stood by him; and he cried, Cause every man to go out from me. And there stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto his brethren. And he wept aloud: and the Egyptians and the house of Pharaoh heard. And Joseph said unto his brethren, I am Joseph; doth my father yet live? And his brethren could not answer him; for they were troubled at his presence. And Joseph said unto his brethren, Come near to me, I pray you. And they came near. And he said, I am Joseph your brother, whom ye sold into Egypt. Now therefore be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither: for God did send me before you to preserve life. For these two years hath the famine been in the land: and yet there are five years, in the which there shall neither be earing nor harvest.

“‘And God sent me before you to preserve you a posterity in the earth, and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God: and he hath made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and a ruler throughout all the land of Egypt. Haste ye, and go up to my father, and say unto him, Thus saith thy son Joseph, God hath made me lord of all Egypt: come down unto me, tarry not: And thou shalt dwell in the land of Goshen, and thou shalt be near unto me, thou, and thy children, and thy children's children, and thy flocks, and thy herds, and all that thou hast: And there will I nourish thee; for yet there are five years of famine; lest thou, and thy household, and all that thou hast, come to poverty. And, behold, your eyes see, and the eyes of my brother Benjamin, that it is my mouth that speaketh unto you. And ye shall tell my father of all my glory in Egypt, and of all that ye have seen; and ye shall haste and bring down my father hither.

“‘And he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck, and wept; and Benjamin wept upon his neck.’”

Pony closed the Bible. “You know there’s more,” he said, “but I think that’s a good place to stop.”

Soda felt like his breath was taken away. Ponyboy read that passage with all the fervor of the forgiving Joseph. Sodapop couldn’t imagine reconciliation like this. He understood why it had been Papa’s favorite. A story like this showed that God could always mend relationships, and Sodapop knew relationships were the most important thing in life. Relationships with God. Relationships with family. With brothers.

Dally shook his head. “I woulda left those brothers to rot.”

“I… I wonder if I could’ve been that strong,” Pony said. “If it were me.”

“Honestly, though,” said Dally. “Say Soda or Darry here sold ya for a couple of coins. Or did the same to Johnny, or any of the boys. Left ya for dead.”

Soda felt beyond sick at the thought.

“I sure wouldn’t forgive that. Whether it was me or someone else,” Dally said. “It’s unnatural.”

“It is,” Darry said quietly. “But I wonder if that’s that point. Don’t the Bible call us to forgive because we’ve been forgiven? Sure, it’s unnatural. I don’t think Jesus came to keep things ‘natural.’”

“Tell me really,” Dally said back. “You’d forgive like this? Don’t even put yourself in that Joseph guy’s shoes. I’m talkin’ if someone did this to one of your brothers. Who could forgive that?”

Darry didn’t answer. His jaw was tight.

“God could,” Pony said. “Sure, I don’t think I could forgive absolutely anything, even though I know God wants us to. When Peter asked how many times to forgive, Jesus told him not seven times, but seventy times seven. And… well… they were still a family. God didn’t intend to have the brothers split forever. I wonder… I wonder if that’s all Joseph ever dreamed of. Something he thought God would never do.”

Soda smiled. “I bet that’s why Pa loved the story so much. Remember how he was with us? We fought all the time, but he never let us go to bed without making up. He knew how important it was. And now look at us. Maybe that helped make us the people we are today.” The family they were today.

Dally gave a brief nod, like he couldn’t argue with that.

Sodapop met gazes with Darry and Ponyboy. Pony smiled. “I think you’re right. It really did.”

Chapter Text

In June, a shopping list in his pocket as he walked beside a horse and wagon for some errands, Goldie trotted beside Ponyboy, happy as could be.

It had been an eventful week. Sodapop delivered one of the mare’s foals with Ponyboy’s help last week. It was a colt they were calling the Star Runner. The brothers were starting a tradition reminiscent of their Express days. They’d both come up with a name, then they’d propose them a few days later, deciding on the best one. They knew most of these horses wouldn’t keep the names for life, given that they were all meant to be sold someday, but it was fun to give them names and love them for the time being. Soda had suggested Buck, given how the little thing kicked and reared. On the same line, Pony thought Star Runner would be a daring fit for the wild thing of a foal. And so, Star Runner it was.

The other mare was set to give birth any day now, too. Pony was looking forward to meeting that little one and trying to figure out another good name.

As the year had gone by, Pony was being trusted with more responsibilities, especially as he had Goldie taking care of him. That was a load taken off the gang’s shoulders. He went out for leisure rides with his brothers or Johnny, which was also a freedom he was so glad to have back.

Goldie was a smart little thing. She was still far from fully grown, but she was getting there. It had taken a lot of time to train her, but it had all paid off so far. Goldie was now alerting just like Pony needed her to before seizures. They’d fallen into a steady rhythm with each other.

Given that extra length of safety, Pony could now do things like this: going to town to run errands. He loved his work with the horses on the homestead, but it was fun to get to do something like this every once in a while. He liked to pop in and say hi to Dr. Helm when he could, as well.

Pony was about halfway back to the homestead when Goldie gave a sharp yip, leaping up on his leg and grabbing his hand. Pony halted the horse, listening to Goldie’s warning immediately. He took a few steps off the road, out of the horse’s way, lying down and letting Goldie stand between him and the horse and wagon.

He woke up sore, stiff, and aching. He wiped foam from the side of his mouth. Goldie’s head was resting on his chest, and she licked his chin and wagged her tail when she saw that he was awake.

Pony gave her a tiny smile. “Good girl. That’s exactly right. Good dog.” He waited several more minutes before attempting to stand. He didn’t think he could manage walking all the way back now, so when he felt ready, he pulled himself up into the wagon bed and did his best to direct the horse back from there, which wasn’t too hard, since their work horses took this route all the time.

Steve greeted him upon return, his brow creasing as he saw him in the wagon bed. “Huh? You get tired or something? It’s two miles, kid.”

“Just a small mishap,” Pony assured him as Goldie ran up to greet Steve, who scratched her between the ears, just as she liked.

“Mishap,” Steve echoed, unimpressed. “That what you’re calling seizures now?”

Pony shrugged. “I’m fine, aren’t I? Goldie knows what she’s doing.”

Steve nodded. “And we’re all glad for it.” He studied Pony, his frown deepening. “You’re really all right? Didn’t fall or nothin’?”

“No, siree.”

“All right, then. Still, go inside and tell Two to get you some water. And take it easy, huh? If Soda needs help with the horses at all today, I’ll take care of it.”

Pony used to argue these things all the time, but he knew at this point that there was no use. It didn’t matter how old he got or how many seizures he had. They would always be looking out for him. He saluted. “I hear you. You may be my luggage boy then, thank you very much.” He shot Steve a smile as annoying as he could muster.

Steve rolled his eyes, but he went to the wagon anyway, a smirk forming on his face. “Right, right. You just get inside, you.”

Since spring had rolled around, everyone had settled into their work routines. Tex used the draft animals for farming, Dally helping him as he needed. Johnny cared for the birds and did egg deliveries. Soda, Pony, and Steve were busy with the horse care, as was Darry with sales and management.

As Pony, Steve, and Darry ate lunch together, Soda popped his head inside, breathing hard and beaming. “It’s time! Misty’s havin’ her foal.”

Ponyboy’s heart leapt. “I want to help!”

Steve shot him a look. “Kid, I said I—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Pony pushed himself to his feet. “Besides, it’s not like I’ll be doin’ much. We’ll only interfere if she needs.”

Steve nodded. “Well, I guess so.”

So, Pony and Soda watched a new life come into the world. With the other mare, Soda had had to give her a lot of assistance when the foal got stuck, but this birth went so smoothly, they simply got to watch, no interference needed.

The baby was a little gray thing. A filly. The boys laughed gently and spurred her on as she took her first wobbly steps on spindly names.

A few days later, they found her gorging herself on dandelions, and so, Soda’s name for her stuck: Dandelion. Pony didn’t even try to come up with a better one, he liked it so much.

Tex got an exciting letter in the mail from Mason that said when he’d enlist again in the winter, he’d be sent home for thirty days on furlough. That was still a long time off, but Tex was over the moon about it.

They still got letters from Rusty James and Curly every once in a while. Their families remained well.

One early morning, Johnny asked Pony if he’d like to ride out to the ridge to watch the sunrise, to which Pony happily obliged.

They watched the sky turn from silver to purple to gold, and neither of them spoke for quite some time, just listening to the crickets chirp and the birds sing.

Finally, Johnny said. “Too bad it can’t stay like this all the time. All silver and gold and the like.”

Ponyboy thought about it. “I don’t think we’d appreciate it quite as much, then. You and I certainly wouldn’t make any big occasion out of going to see a sunrise or sunset, that’s for sure.”

“Hm. Guess we wouldn’t.”

They headed back soon after, racing, quick as they might’ve been in their Express days. Ponyboy stood slightly in the stirrups as the silhouette of the homestead came back into view.

It had been the longest year of his life. Full of scars and seizing and grief lost horses and parted ways and hope and new beginnings. But none of that mattered now.

He was home.