Archive of Our Own

The night clung to the small house like a heavy, wool blanket, damp and cool from the late autumn rain that had just ceased. Inside, the quiet was thick and sleepy, a fragile thing only broken by the soft, steady rhythm of three sets of breaths.

Pone lay wedged between her two brothers, a human sandwich made of old T-shirts and the faint, familiar scent of soap and hair grease. Her little body was a warm, pliable mass in the dark, her round cheeks pressed into the crook of Darry’s arm, her pudgy knees tucked behind Soda’s.

The old couch creaked faintly with every shift, a tired complaint in the darkness.

Suddenly, a sound. A small, hiccupping sob that snagged in the air, barely louder than a whisper. It was followed by another, and then a third—wet, shuddering little gasps that came from deep in Pone’s chest, each one a tiny pinprick of distress in the otherwise peaceful night.

Darry’s arm, which had been loosely draped over her, went rigid. His eyes, already accustomed to the gloom, snapped open. He could feel the fine tremors running through her small frame, a frantic quivering that belied the quiet sobs.

Soda was already moving, his hand reaching for her face, thumb finding the slick wetness on her cheek. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong.

They had lived this night before, countless times.

“Pone?” Darry’s voice was a low, rumbly murmur, thick with sleep but laced with an instant, protective urgency. “Hey, honey.”

She didn’t answer, just burrowed deeper into the side of the couch, her shoulders hunching inward. A thin, reedy whine escaped her lips, a sound of pure, helpless fear.

In an instant, they were awake and alert. Soda pushed himself up, scooping Pone’s shoulders and upper back into his arms. Darry did the same from the other side, their movements synchronized and seamless.

They lifted her gently, pulling her into their laps so she was cradled between them like a fragile, precious thing. Her small, plump legs dangled over the side of the couch, a soft weight against Darry’s thigh. The collar of her oversized sweater, which pooled comfortably at her middle, smelled of her faint, sweet scent—something like old paper and clean skin.

“Shh, shh,” Soda whispered, his voice a balm. His sleeve was rough and worn from a long day at the gas station, but he used it to wipe the tracks of tears from her flushed cheeks. “It’s okay, little Pone, you’re here. We got you.”

Darry’s hand found the back of her head, his calloused fingers sinking into the thick, fine hair that always seemed to gather in a fluffy halo around her face. He held her close, pressing her head against his chest so she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear. The rhythmic pulse was a comfort, a drumbeat of safety in the face of whatever shadowy specter had chased her through her dreams.

She was still sobbing, the hiccups now more frequent, a series of tiny, rattling shakes that went right through Darry. He hated the sound.

It was wrong.

Pone, their baby sister, was meant to laugh, not cry. Especially not that kind of quiet, gut-wrenching cry.

“Hey now, baby girl, what’d you see?” Darry’s voice was softer now, coaxing. He gently kissed the top of her hair, the smell of her shampoo faint but clean. “Was it one of those weird ones again? With the red lights?”

She nodded, a small, jerky motion against his ribs. “He… he took the… the sunset,” she sniffled, her voice muffled and thick with tears. “He broke it.”

Soda made a soft, soothing noise, his arm tightening around her. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch your sunset, Pone. That’s yours. It’s right there in the sky, just waitin’ for you.” He tilted her chin up slightly so he could look into her eyes, which were wide and filled with a watery sadness. “Ain’t no bad guy gonna get it.”

The simple, sure-footed conviction in his voice seemed to calm her a little. The trembling subsided, though she still gave a watery shudder every few moments.

Darry’s fingers massaged her scalp in slow, deliberate circles, a gesture he had been doing since she was a baby. It had always been his way of grounding her, of telling her that he was there, he was solid, and he wasn’t going anywhere. He could feel the slight heat radiating from her plump body, a comforting, pouched warmth that settled in the space between them. Her presence felt like a small, soft sun in the darkness, a comforting weight that he instinctively needed to protect.

“Just a dream, honey,” he said, his voice a low, steady current in the small space. “Just a dream, and it’s over. You’re right here. With us. We ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Soda’s hand ran a slow, rhythmic path down her back. The fabric of her sweater was soft under his fingers, bunching up slightly at the small of her back before smoothing out. He could feel the familiar curve of her spine, the soft cushion of her chubby frame, a testament to her health and his and Darry’s care.

He knew what people said about her—that she was too soft, too round, that she should be more like the other girls, all sharp angles and restless energy.

But to them, it was just… her.

It was Pone.

It was the way her cheeks squished when she smiled, the way her little belly was a warm, soft pillow when she curled up to watch TV. It was just a part of who she was, and to them, it was perfect.

Pone let out a long, shuddering sigh, the last of her tears finally giving way to exhaustion. Her head grew heavy against Darry’s chest, and her breathing began to even out. The fear that had been so tangible just moments before began to dissipate, replaced by the deep, comfortable weight of her brothers’ arms. She was a little lump of warmth and sleepiness, a small, soft bundle surrounded by the two people who would move heaven and earth to keep her safe.

Darry’s eyes, which had been fixed on the wall in a silent vigil, finally softened. He looked down at the top of her head, at the way the light from the streetlamp outside cast a faint, silver glow on her hair. He tightened his hold just a little, a silent promise.

“Ain’t no nightmare touching you while we’re here,” Soda murmured, his voice now a low, contented hum. He pulled Pone in closer, tucking her against his side, his face buried in the soft folds of her shirt. He smelled of rain and cigarette smoke from a long day, but she didn’t care. It was the smell of home.

They stayed like that for a long time, the three of them a single, breathing entity in the quiet house. The faint click of the grandfather clock in the hall was the only sound for a while, a gentle metronome counting the moments of their shared peace. Pone’s small snores were a comfort now, the soft puffing sounds proof that she was finally safe and sound.

Darry slowly lowered his head, resting his cheek against the top of hers. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the gentle puff of her breath. He could hear Soda’s even breathing beside him, feel the solid, reassuring weight of his brother.

He wasn’t a hero, he was just Darry. And Soda was just Soda. And they had a small, round little sister who they loved more than anything. And tonight, just like every other night, that was more than enough to keep the monsters away.