Work Text:
it starts in the winter. ponyboy is sick.
here’s the deal with ponyboy curtis. he was born two months early which landed him a weak immune system. the flu by itself could knock him out for nearly a week.
(it was a miracle he even survived. babies born that early and in his income situation tend to not live.)
it did not get better after windrixville. not only did ponyboy now struggle with asthma and similar breathing problems, he was incredibly prone to panic and anxiety attacks.
so, yay! ponyboy lost four important people in his life in one year—his mother and father in a train wreck (his fault), johnny cade because of the fire (his fault), and dallas winston to the police (his fault, because johnny’s death was his fault).
but, of course, there was one other death. bob sheldon. robert sheldon. bob. sheldon.
sheldon. what a stupid name.
well, regardless. ponyboy is sick and delirious and he wants his big brothers very badly. but unfortunately, they’re at work, and ponyboy is alone with a baby-sitting two-bit.
he cracks his eyes open, breathing raggedly. his throat hurts and he feels hot and cold at the same time. his hair sticks to his forehead due to sweat, but he’s shaking like he was just dropped into a freezing cold lake.
ponyboy shivers at the idea of water.
some voices manage to get through to him, though he can’t make them out properly. that’s weird. only two-bit would be talking, but there’s multiple voices. maybe it’s a show two-bit is watching.
“…looking after him,” one says.
“please?” another pleads the first. “look at him..! what if he gets worse? and two-bit doesn’t notice?”
“does he get like this often?” a third asked. the first two quickly say, without hesitation and in unison, “shut up.”
they’re very loud. ponyboy whimpers and shuts his eyes again.
when he wakes up the next time, it’s silent. he feels his brothers’ presence in the room.
“hey, ponybaby,” soda says in a soft, teasing voice, “you feelin’ better? darry made soup.”
soup? ponyboy thinks, puzzled. darry hates soup. why would darry make soup?
“‘cause you’re sick, kid,” darry says gruffly, though his voice is tender.
oh. ponyboy didn’t know he said that out loud.
“you want the soup, pony?”
“yeah.”
darry leaves the room. ponyboy thinks he almost passes out again before his oldest brother returns.
carefully and slowly, darry and soda help him finish the soup. it warms his throat, and makes him feel full. he cuddles up against darry’s chest, and falls asleep again.
“did they make up?”
ponyboy’s eyes open. his brothers are asleep. those people from earlier are talking again.
“yeah, i guess so.”
“his oldest brother looks familiar.”
“shut up,” the two voices say in unison again. pony mumbles something incoherent before passing out.
a week later, ponyboy is back on his feet. darry does not let him play in the snow, unfortunately. ponyboy always did love snow.
“can i at least go on a walk with curly?” pony asks hopefully, using his special puppy dog eyes.
“curly?” soda cries from the couch. “no way! darry, say no. i don’t want our baby brother hanging out with curly shepard.”
darry bites his lip. “i dunno, pony…”
“please!” he groaned, shaking his brother with a pout. “curly’s cool. you guys just glare at him with every chance you get!”
“‘cause it’s curly shepard!” soda yells.
darry sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, then nods. this winter is particularly harsh, with roofs iced over, which means darry’s work is practically canceled until it lets up.
“fine.”
“darrel, you traitor!”
“but be careful,” darry warns, ignoring sodapop’s outraged cries, “bring a blade. i know it’s winter, but that doesn’t stop socs.”
“i’ll be careful,” ponyboy promises. “besides, all the water is frozen over.”
it’s supposed to be a joke, but the way his oldest brother’s face crumples with wariness and sadness and anxiety has him feeling bad, too.
“seriously, darry. i’ll be careful. i’ve got a blade on me.”
“okay.”
ponyboy grins and runs off. he falls onto the ice immediately and hurts his ankle.
later that night, ponyboy is at his desk. sodapop had already fallen asleep, snoring softly. one arm was draped over his chest, a leg bent.
ponyboy glances at him, then smiles. he gets to his feet, exiting the room to go to the kitchen.
he grabs a glass absentmindedly, turning on the kitchen sink faucet to pour himself some water.
however, when he turns around, he freezes, then drops the glass.
there stands a dead johnny cade. dead. dead, dead. double dead. triple dead? he’s still dead.
johnny cade is dead.
ponyboy is quiet for many seconds, then lets out a sharp scream.
within moments, darry is there, followed by a sleep riddled soda.
“pony? hey, pony,” darry says, kneeling down carefully to avoid the broken glass. he pats ponyboy’s cheek.
ponyboy jolts, stumbling back into soda’s arms.
“ponyboy, what’s wrong?” darry asked gently, grabbing his arms so softly to not scare him. ponyboy can’t speak. his eyes snap back, and johnny is gone. his breathing is worsening.
he feels pale and dizzy and scared. he wants soda and darry. a whine slips out of his throat. darry is picking him up in an instant, soda helping.
they sit on the couch. ponyboy is shaking like a baby deer, eyes wide and full of panic.
he saw johnny. but johnny is dead. johnny has been dead for a year. so have his parents and dally and bob. they’re dead. they’re dead and gone and buried and dead—he already said dead. fuck!
oh, fuck. fuck this life. ponyboy wishes he were dead. maybe he just needs some aspirin.
the next morning, ponyboy does not leave his room. sodapop worries, though he can’t do much. darry brings him breakfast. pancakes and eggs, burnt on the edges. they all sit together on the bed, eating.
it makes ponyboy slightly better. but his mind keeps drifting back to what he saw.
johnny cade. dead johnny cade. dead johnny cade who has been dead for a year and will always be dead. ponyboy is starting to realize the word dead does not sound real anymore.
“what happened last night?” soda asks suddenly. ponyboy jolts and looks up at his brothers, and he feels small. “i dunno. i’m sorry for scaring you guys. i just thought i saw someone i didn’t know.”
“jeez,” darry breathes. “well, at least you’re not hurt, ponyboy.”
he smiles. “yeah. i’m okay, guys, i promise. i’ll be careful. i guess i was just really tired.”
“you oughta try and fix your sleep schedule,” soda says. “school’s startin’ back up soon.”
“yeah, yeah i know.”
it happens again later that day.
he’s at his desk, trying to write, when a hand suddenly plants itself next to him. at first, he thinks it’s one of his brothers.
he looks up.
he finds dally, staring at the paper, like he doesn’t know ponyboy can see him. he leans down slightly, curious.
ponyboy drops his pencil and nearly falls out of his chair. that alerts dally, who finally goes to look at him. when they make eye contact, dally looks more alarmed than ponyboy is.
“dally?” he whispers, shaking. before he can reach out, dallas is gone, and ponyboy is alone again.
he lays down after that. he doesn’t sleep.
they don’t show up for a few days, so maybe ponyboy was still dealing with sickness in his system.
yeah, that’s it. ponyboy was just missing dally and johnny so bad that he started hallucinating. easy explanation, no further thinking needed.
now, he walks down the sidewalk, old converse crunching in the snow. he’s headed to the store for some extra ingredients—the gang wanted cake, and they needed flour.
now, he walks. alone. there are a few people out—it’s midday, after all. he hears snow crunching behind him, and he instinctively looks over his shoulder.
nothing.
he grimaced.
maybe a stalker? better than a ghost. well, okay. maybe not.
he keeps walking, finally getting to the store. ponyboy grabs a bag of flour, pulling out the money darry had given him.
the cashier takes it and sends him off, which means ponyboy is back on his way home. he hums quietly, the flour tucked away in his—dally’s—jacket.
his hand fiddles with the st. christopher on his neck. it hangs low on him. distantly, he wonders if dally would ever want it back. it was his prized necklace, after all. he only let johnny hold it.
he remembers recovering from being sick after everything. darry had handed him the necklace, carefully putting in his palm like it was sacred.
“they told me dally left it in the hospital room,” darry had murmured. “he said they should give it to you.”
for some reason, ponyboy couldn’t believe that. pony didn’t think dally liked him that much. they only ever hung out because johnny wanted to go with dally.
“he didn’t say anything else?” pony had questioned, broken and sad. darry shook his head, and that ended that conversation.
now he wore it everywhere. ponyboy’s family wasn’t too religious. his parents had believed, but what him and his brothers believed was up to them.
ponyboy doesn’t exactly believe in god, but he does think there’s an afterlife and someone who looks over it.
good enough for him. doesn’t mean ghosts are real. he hopes.
winter was finally coming to an end as spring rolled in. ponyboy sat at his desk once again, tapping his pencil on the wood. school started up again tomorrow.
he hummed quietly. he was in a bit of a writing slump. what was he even supposed to do?
he sat back, staring at the cracked ceiling of his room. after a moment, he began to make shapes or animals with the cracks.
he sighed, then looked back to his paper.
hands grabbed his shoulders.
“yeah?” ponyboy mumbled, picking up his pencil again.
“need a bath, greaser?”
ponyboy froze, his breath catching. his eyes widened fearfully. he didn’t move. he couldn’t. oh, god.
“i’m kidding.”
then, bob sheldon was crouching beside him. blood was seeping from his torso at an alarming rate.
ponyboy didn’t look at him.
“man, the other two weren’t kidding. you get spooked easily,” bob sneered. ponyboy remembered what cherry said. that bob was a good kid.
it still did not feel that way.
“get outta here,” another voice spoke. ponyboy squeezed his eyes shut. he did not want to see dally again. he didn’t. he didn’t.
“can’t i talk to him too?”
“no. i don’t trust you. now scram.”
when pony opened his eyes again, they were both gone. he felt like he needed to throw up, so off to the bathroom he went.
ponyboy has been living on fear now. he was being followed by ghosts. ghosts of the people he killed.
every little noise had him jumping, turning around fearfully, flinching. why was he being followed by ghosts? oh, god.
his thoughts spiral. soda had an arm slung over him as he slept. ponyboy shook slightly, scared. there were ghosts.
why could he see them? why him? their deaths were his fault. maybe if he had drowned in that fountain or died in the fire or got shot instead, they’d be alive. because it was his fault.
he let out a small sob, covering his mouth. even though soda was a heavy sleeper, ponyboy’s crying was one of the few things that got him waking up in less than a minute.
no one wants to see ghosts.
he managed to wrangle out of sodapop’s hold, walking quietly to the living room. he sat down shakily on the couch, hugging his knees.
“ponyboy?”
he looked up in fear. johnny stood a few feet away, looking the same way he did when he died.
johnny walked over, but ponyboy immediately spoke, “don’t touch me.”
never did he think he’d say those words to johnny. but he couldn’t do it now. he can’t handle seeing the ghosts of the people he killed.
ponyboy wanted some aspirin. or a cigarette. or both at the same time. that sounded good.
“okay,” johnny replied, sitting down next to ponyboy. “i won’t.”
they sit in silence.