Chapter Text
Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1967
“Ponyboy…”
Ponyboy barely heard Johnny. He looked so weak, lying in that hospital bed. It was such a stark contrast of the Johnny that had been so alive and healthy only a few days ago. Pony leaned forward a bit to hear his best friend better.
“Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold…” Johnny closed his eyes, his head rolling to the side as he sunk into the pillow. Johnny was dead.
Newark, New Jersey, 1967
“It’s a boy!”
Lucille LaRusso practically collapsed in the hospital bed as her husband held her hand.
“Congrats, sweetie,” he whispered, rubbing the back of her hand with his calloused thumb. Lucille’s head sunk into the pillow, her eyelids sliding shut. Her chest was heaving from the painstaking labor, but the outcome was worth it, she decided, as she saw the nurse swaddling her crying son. Her son.
The nurse placed the baby into Lucille’s arms as he continued wailing. The sound hurt her ears, but it was a sign the baby was alive and well.
“What should we name him, sweetie?” she asked, patting the newborn’s tiny head.
“Daniel,” her husband responded, and Lucille looked up at him.
“Daniel?”
“Yeah. It means ‘God is my judge.’ Only the Lord will decide Daniel’s future.”
“That’s a good name. Our little Daniel…”
Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1967
Dallas Winston didn’t know what to do.
He couldn’t live without Johnny. That bastard had so much to live for, so much more than Dally did. It wasn’t fair that Johnny died. He was only sixteen. He was still a kid. All he knew was pain and suffering. Johnny didn’t deserve that. Johnny deserved so much more than the hand the Lord had given him.
Dallas stood at the foot of Johnny’s bed, staring at the lifeless body as a tear slipped from his eye. Dammit, Johnny…
“Dally?”
Dallas’s head snapped up at the sound of Ponyboy’s voice.
“Fuck off, Ponyboy!” Ponyboy flinched at Dally’s volume. And his tone. God, Dallas was a wreck. Pony felt like vomiting. He only knew three emotions of Dallas Winston: angry, pissed, and murderous. He didn’t know his friend had it in him to be sad. Ponyboy grabbed the older boy’s hand.
“C’mon, Dal, let’s go home…” Ponyboy’s voice was shakin’ like a leaf in the wind, yet it was soothing. Soothing like balm being rubbed in an open, bleeding wound.
Dallas took a deep, shaky breath and swiveled around, thrusting his fist into the wall. He drew his hand back and slammed it into the wall again. He bowed his head solemnly, tears dripping onto the floor.
“Dammit, Johnny…”
“Dal, please… Don’t go, Dal,” Pony uttered, his eyes red and shiny as Dallas tried to pull his hand away. Ponyboy knew better than to let go of his hand; Dally was dangerously reckless when emotional. Pony couldn’t let his friend spiral.
“Let me go!”
“I ain’t gonna let you die, Dally!” Pony cried, gripping Dallas’s hand tighter as he continuously tried to tug it away. “Dally, stop!” Do you think Johnny would’ve wanted you to hurt me-”
Dallas’s fist collided with Ponyboy’s nose, interrupting his speech and sending his head flying back. Ponyboy kept his grip on Dallas’s hand as he looked back at him. And boy, was he a wreck. Dally’s face was red and blotchy, all bruised up from the rumble. Crystal clear path of tears were streaming down his face through the patches of caked on dirt, and his lips was all cracked and bleeding.
Ponyboy would be lyin’ if he said he didn’t look bad either. Besides all the injuries from the rumble, he was paler than the non-existent snow in Tulsa. And of course, Pony’s nose was bleedin’ like a faucet with its nobs turned up all the way. Boy, Dally could sure pack a damn good punch, ‘cause his nose hurt like a bitch.
“You can’t tell me what to do!”
“C’mon, Dal! Please!”
“No!”
Pony’s patience was gone. He was tired of Dallas acting like a toddler. He reached his hand back and struck Dally across his face with a Slap!
“Quit actin’ like a child, Dal! It ain’t gonna bring Johnny back! Johnny is dead! He’s dead, and he ain’t comin’ back!”
“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
“No!”
“Johnny ain’t dead, so shut your trap, kid!”
Does Johnny,” Pony gestured wildly at Johnny’s limp, pale body behind him, “look alive? No, because he’s dead!”
“You don't know what you're talking about, kid! Just ‘cause your parents are dead don't mean you know if Johnnycakes is dead!” Dallas screamed, his voice quivering as it steadily creeped higher with each word.
Ponyboy stared at him, aghast. Dally knew better than to bring up his parents. Everyone in the gang knew better.
Dallas remained silent, his jaw shut as he stared at his friend.
“What did you say to me?” Pony whispered, his voice the only thing calm in the room, besides Johnny's corpse. The constant, low beep of the flatline filled the room as the two greasers stared at each other.
Dally eventually ran his free hand through his hair, sighing and closing his eyes, as if he were trying to block everything out.
Ponyboy didn't like that one bit. Dallas wasn't apologizing, and instead he was trying to ignore everything; as if Johnny wasn't dead and he hadn't just physically and emotionally hurt Pony.
There was an unspoken rule in the gang: no one hurt Ponyboy and Johnny, since Ponyboy was the baby of the gang and Johnny got beat on enough at his own home. No one broke that rule, except when the gang would horse around, but even then everyone would go soft on him. Johnny never participated in those fights; he had witnessed and been in enough to not want to be in the radius of one, especially after the Socs jumped him. Dally was usually the one who made sure this role was never broken, yet he was the one who just reminded Ponyboy of his dead parents and punched him, which reminded him that his nose was bleeding like a motherfucker. Gee, thanks, Dal. But now was not the time to be angry, he realized, as Dallas tried to free his hand once again. It was clear to Pony that Dallas was starting to get drained from the events of the day, and it showed in how he looked absolutely drained and wasn't tugging his hand as hard.
Ponyboy let go of Dallas’s hand, and before he could react, Pony pulled him into a hug. No one in the gang, especially Dally, was big on being hugged, yet he practically melted into Pony, his tears staining the boy’s shirt as his pitiful sobs echoed through the room.
“C’mon, Dal, let’s go home…” Ponyboy reiterated, combing his fingers through Dally’s hair, who nodded mutely, exhaling tiredly through his nose as he untangled himself from Pony’s embrace.
////////////////////
“Ouch!”
“Quit squirmin’!”
I would if you ain’t so harsh!”
“And whose fault is that, huh?”
“Not mine.”
Darry rolled his eyes as Soda squirmed in front of him, whining as he cleaned his brother’s wounds from the rumble.
Darry glanced around the room, soaking in the relaxing scene before him. Mickey was blasting on the television, occupying Two-Bit as he sat on the couch next to Steve, nursing a bottle of his favorite beer. Must be celebratory. Steve had a leg draped across Two-Bit’s lap, rambling to no one in particular as he ate the rest of leftover cake from that morning’s breakfast. Darry, Steve, and Two-Bit had gotten their wounds cleaned and dressed, and Soda’s was getting his done. Darry had wanted his brother to get his wounds tended to first (after himself, since he was the gang’s personal nurse, and a nurse couldn’t help others's wounds without cleaning his own), but the boy kept yelling that “Dar needs more practice so he don’t ruin my beautiful back”.
“Where's Pone and Dal?” Two-Bit whined from the couch, trying to shove Steve's leg off his lap to no avail.
“Off visiting Johnny, you drunk,” Steve huffed, setting his now empty plate on the coffee table.
Despite the lightness in his tone, Darry felt himself stiffen. Johnny was in the hospital, and it was all his fault–
His train of thought was cut off as he heard the front door open.
“Don't slam the screen door!” Darry shouted, only to receive a Slam! in response. He sighed and everyone chuckled, except for the new arrival.
Darry disinfected another of Soda's wounds, wondering why everyone was suddenly so quiet. No jokes were being thrown around, only silence.
Silence was a rare thing in the Curtis household; even less so after a rumble. Usually, everyone would be joking and shouting. Ponyboy and Johnny would be chain-smoking on the porch as Dallas would try to avoid getting his wounds cleaned, to only have Darry tackle him. Two-Bit would usually be cheering Dallas on as Soda and Steve talked about work at the DX.
The atmosphere was always warm and comforting, but now it was cold and anxious.
Darry looked up, only to see a dazed Ponyboy and a quietly crying Dallas, tears streaming down both of their faces.
Darry had never seen Dallas cry.
Something was wrong.
Something was really wrong.
Soda, ever the empath, spoke first. “What’s wrong?” he asked hesitantly, tensing up as if they were about to hear the worst news possible.
And boy, Darry sure hoped he was wrong.
Ponyboy took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Dallas remained quiet, the silence stretching through the living room. No one spoke. No one breathed. No one dared to make a noise, for that was too risky. The only noise was Mickey, which somehow managed to seem more quiet. The clock ticked on the wall, counting down the seconds until someone would inevitably break the silence.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Johnny’s dead,” Ponyboy whispered, like he was trying to not believe his own words.
Silence.
Then-
Voices flooded through the room, melting together into a plea for Ponyboy, poor, innocent Ponyboy, to be playing a sick joke on them.
But Ponyboy didn't say anything, he just kept his head hung as the barrage of shouts and cries engulfed the once calmness of the room.
“Calm down!” Darry bellowed, rising to his feet as silence fell over the room.
“Pony, is it true? Is Johnny… Is Johnny actually… gone?" he asked, receiving a sharp intake of breath from Soda.
“He's gone, Dar… He's gone…” Ponyboy lowered his face into his hands and let out a sob.
Darry stood there, lost, as his kid brother stood up and hugged his other kid brother.
Johnny was dead