Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two-bit didn't know exactly what he was doing as he was walking through Tulsa at who-knows-how late at night. He was on his way home from Buck's, the party had fizzled out, (read: the fuzz had shown up and Two-bit fled the scene) he was also tired as hell. He might've been drunk, Pony had once said something about how you could never tell whether he was sober or not. The gang thought that was just acting, and most of the time it was. But right now? Two-bit had absolutely no clue. Hell, he could've been on meth or some shit and wouldn't have known. He was up on two feet and walking in a semi-straight line, so that was something.

One thing's for sure, he was definitely sober when he saw the dark figure huddled in the lot. A kid, no older than sixteen, curled up into a ball, throwing loose sticks and leaves into a small fire on the concrete. With black hair that covered half his face and eyes that looked too young and too old at the same time.

Johnny.

Coming back to his senses, Two-bit found his feet carrying him towards his friend.

"Johnny," He called, but there was no response. "Johnny!" Still silent. Johnny was staring off into space, like he was stuck in his head, the way Pony got sometimes.

Coming to a stop in front of the kid, Two knelt down and gently shook the boy's shoulder. This seemed to awaken Johnny from his trance, he jumped, his head snapping up to look at Two-bit.

"Easy, Johnnycakes." Two-bit backed away from the younger, putting his hands up as he did so. He knew it made Johnny feel better to be able to see people's hands, to make sure they wouldn't hurt him. And this worked, as he was visibly more relaxed when his eyes met Two's for a second time.

"Two? What're 'ya doin' here?" Johnny drawled, accent thick with exhaustion, or maybe something else.

"I should be asking 'ya the same thing. Why are 'ya here, kid? It's the middle of the night for chrissakes!" Johnny didn't answer, just stared down at the grass and fiddled with his blade. "I was headin’ over to the Curtis place, c’mon, yer coming with me.”

“I don’t wanna bother them.” Johnny’s voice was quiet, almost… guilty. That made something inside Two-bit’s chest swell up. His heart, maybe.

“Fine, we’ll go to my place then, Ma an’ Susie are out tonight anyways.”

“I’m okay out here-“ Johnny tried to argue. But Two-bit was having none of it.

“Johnny. Cade.” He cut him off sharply. “Yer comin’ with me and gettin’ out of the cold. Even if I have to drag yer sorry ass to my house myself.” It was at this point in time that he realized it was, in fact, the middle of October. Luckily for him he was tipsy and therefore couldn’t feel the icy chill of the wind, Johnny however, did not seem to be so fortunate. So with that, Two-bit pulled Johnny up to his feet, slung an arm around his shoulder, and sauntered off to his house.

The walk from the lot to Two-bit’s house wasn’t long, but by the time they had reached the pitiful excuse for a front porch. It was clear the cold was getting to Johnny. The poor kid was shaking like a leaf, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

“‘Ya wanna shower?” Two asked once they got inside. “Might help ‘ya thaw out a bit.” Johnny nodded and after (barely) catching the bundle of clean clothes that Two had thrown him that would probably be huge on the kid. Johnny turned and scampered off into the bathroom. While Johnny was doing that, Two-bit got to work setting out a pillow and a pile of blankets for him on the couch. Once he was done, he plopped himself into the armchair with the TV remote, turning on Mickey. Only the most sophisticated of the television catalog, of course.

Johnny exited the bathroom a few minutes later, his hair damp and ungreased. He practically collapsed onto the couch. The two sat in silence for a while, until Two-bit heard something that sounded like a sniffle. He looked over at Johnny, the kid was stretched out on the couch, arms wrapped around his chest yet again. He was staring off into space again, absentmindedly sniffling every few minutes. Gingerly, Two got to his feet, crossing the living room to rest a hand on the younger's forehead.

"Christ kid, yer burnin' up." He muttered, pulling his hand back when Johnny flinched. "Are 'ya trying to fry an egg on your forehead?"

The black-haired boy somehow turned even darker than his already fever-flushed face. "I'm fine, Two. I-" He was broken off mid-sentence by a hacking cough, "’M okay."

Yeah, and I'm not an alcoholic. Two-bit thought, but he had already left the room to get a thermometer and medicine. When he came back, Johnny's eyes were half-closed, and he had curled up into a ball. When the thermometer beeped, Two pulled the machine out and grimaced at the number. 101.2, shit.

“Yer burnin’ up kid, here, drink this.” He poured out a capful of the cold medicine, handing it to Johnny. He took the cap and downed it like a shot, grimacing afterward before sinking down into the cushions. Two-bit returned the thermometer and medicine to the bathroom, before walking back into the living room and plopping down onto the armchair. Two put his head and closed his eyes, sleep following him not long after.

Two-bit didn’t know how long he’d been asleep for when he was woken up by the sound of whimpering. He sat up, Johnny was shaking, seemingly trapped in a nightmare. Two shot out of the chair, going to kneel in front of the couch.

“Johnny?” He gently shook the younger boys shoulder. “C’mon man ‘ya gotta wake up.” The fever seemed to have gotten worse, as a thin layer of sweat was now covering Johnnys forehead.

The younger sat up after a while. Gasping for breath.

“Easy Johnnycakes, you’re okay.” Two-bit tried to soothe, pushing the sweat-soaked strands of hair back. “Did ‘ya have a nightmare?”

Johnny didn’t say anything, just stared at the floor and nodded.

“Do you remember what it was about?”

“Gettin’ jumped, my old man. I dunno.” He shrugged, eyes still downcast. “‘M fine, you can go back to bed.”

Two-bit raised an eyebrow, “What about you?”

“I’ll stay awake.” Johnny stated, trying to sit up, though Two-bit stopped him by resting a hand on his chest.

“Like hell ‘ya are,” he pulled himself up to sit on the couch. “C’mere kid,” he managed to coax Johnny into resting his head in Two’s lap, the older carding a hand through his hair and bundling him in blankets.

“D’n’t wanna sleep.” Johnny slurred, “Keep havin’ nightmares.” The kid’s eyes were fluttering, clearly fighting to stay awake.

“I’ll stay here with ‘ya, I ain’t goin’ anywhere’s.” Two-bit reassured.

“Pr’m’se?” Johnny asked, eyes falling shut.

“I promise, kid.”

And that was a promise Two-bit would keep, even long after that night had passed.

Chapter Text

Steve felt like shit. His nose was stuffy, he had a cough that wouldn’t go away no matter how much water he drank, and a dull throb was coursing through his head. He’d felt like that for three days at this point, and had been doing a rather good job at ignoring it. Which is why he was currently positioned underneath some old Chevy at the DX. Soda was manning the counter, and would probably come to check on him once the place was empty.

“Hey Steve, are ‘ya done yet?” Soda called out to him, entering the garage.

“Almost,” He grunted, pulling himself from underneath the vehicle. “This thing’s been a real bitch to work on.”

“‘Ya want me to take over? Some fresh air would probably do ‘ya some good. You look like you just crawled out of a swimming pool.” Soda teased, he wasn’t wrong either, Steve was soaked in sweat, despite it being the middle of September. He ignored the fact that it was most likely a byproduct of the cold he’d acquired, their shift ended in three hours, he could handle it.

“Sure.” He responded, but upon standing up to go back inside, he discovered another new symptom. He couldn’t stand. Almost immediately, his vision started to swim, his legs shaking. Black dots were encroaching in the corners of his vision when he felt himself fall. Instead of hitting the ground, he landed in Soda’s arms.

“Steve? You okay?” Soda began to panic, his hand found Steve’s forehead, and he pulled back with a hiss. “Shit, you’re burning up. Why the hell did ‘ya come to work today?”

“It’s j’st a cold, ‘m fine.” Steve slurred, vision still hazy.

“I think you’ve got more than a cold buddy, we’re goin’ home. Right now.” Soda slung an arm around him, helping him into his car. The pet name indicating Steve probably looked as bad as he felt.

“‘M tired.” Steve whined once they’d got in the car. His head resting on Soda’s shoulder.

“I know, ‘ya gotta stay awake though, ‘kay?” Soda still had an arm wrapped around him, gently rubbing Steve’s shoulder in an attempt to keep him conscious. “This isn’t one of those carbon monoxide things is it? Fuck.” Soda sounded even more distressed than before, and Steve was too tired to tell him the car hadn’t even been on.

Steve was barely conscious by the time the car pulled up to the Curtis house. Soda had to practically drag him up the steps and into the house. Setting him down on the couch and helping him into a clean shirt and sweatpants. Steve was too out of it to feel embarrassed, just grateful to have somewhere to rest.

“Steve?” Someone was calling his name and shaking his shoulder. Steve pulled his eyes opened, huh, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. Soda was standing above him, a cup of purple liquid in it. “I need you to take this so your brain doesn’t melt in your sleep. Do ‘ya think you can do that for me?”

Steve nodded, pushing himself up on shaky arms. Muttering something about how he wasn’t a pussy, and swallowing the medicine like a shot, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. Soda left the room as he collapsed back onto the couch. His eyelids were too heavy to hold open anymore, he was asleep not long after. The last thing he remembered being someone throwing a blanket over him.

*****

Steve awoke to the realization that he was no longer lying in the Curtises living room. Panic surged through him before he was able to recognize that he was in Soda’s old room. Someone having likely brought him there while he was asleep. He vaguely remembered Darry carrying him up the stairs, that must mean he was home. How long had he been out for? He wanted to leave, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. The Curtis brothers had enough on their plates already, they shouldn’t be fussing over him. He had a simple cold, that was all. Yeah. That was it, this definitely wasn’t because feeling like this brought back all the memories of him. He was fine, he could handle this.

Shakily, he got to his feet. He wasn’t exactly stable, but he was standing upright. He managed to get across the room, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. There he found himself face-to-face with Sodapop. Who’d seemingly gone upstairs to check on Steve.

“What’re you doing?”

“…Leaving.”

“No.”

And just like that, Steve’s knees buckled. Soda rushed over to him, but he stopped him.

“I’m fine, I can handle it.” He’d said it like it was his nature. In a way, it was. The mantra had been going through his head for his whole life. Or at least since when it started.

Soda looked at him, eyebrows knit together in concern. “Steve, what? What can you handle? Getting sick?”

Steve tried to nod, to suck it up, to shove the feelings back down in his heart. But he opened his mouth instead. “I’m tryin’ but I can’t, I hate this I hate- it makes me feel like he’s back, I-“ Steve tried to hold the tears back, but failed miserably, and collapsed into sobs anyways.

Soda pulled Steve into his arms, rubbing circles on his back as the other continued to sob. “That’s not something you have to handle, Stevie. You’re allowed to slow down, to let yourself rest. That’s the way people work. ‘Ya can’t stand tall all the time, ‘ya gotta sit for a second and recover.” The way Soda was talking, calm and controlled. Gave Steve the impression he’d probably had the same talk with Darry before.

Steve could hear Soda’s voice, but wasn’t registering many of his words. Every sob further clogged up his throat, doing nothing but increasing his panic and therefore the volume of his sobs.

“I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it-” Steve was now hyperventilating, shaking in his best friend’s arms.

“Shhh Stevie. ‘Ya gotta breathe, alright? Follow what I’m doin’.” Soda began exaggerating his breathing, encouraging Steve to match it. He did eventually, his sobs slowing and breathing returning to normal. They stayed like that for a few extra minutes, before Soda helped him back into bed. Curling up under the blankets, Steve looked back at Soda, eyes half-open and glazed over. As if asking a silent question.“Stay?”

Soda seemed to get the message, leaving the room briefly to change into shorts and a T-shirt, before crawling into the bed next to him. He threw an arm around him, bringing Steve to bury his face in the other’s chest. His hand gently running through Steve’s hair.

“Go to sleep Steve, I’ll be here.” Soda muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“And if I don’t?” Steve smirked, having just enough energy left to make a snide remark.

“If you so much as step out of this bed, I’ll skin ‘ya. How ‘bout that?”

“Fair enough.” Steve mumbled, eyes falling shut. They fell asleep like that, Soda enjoying the company of his best friend, and Steve feeling better than he had in days.