Chapter Text
The cold morning air burned against Ponyboy’s cheek and bit at his exposed arms. He hadn’t even thought of grabbing a jacket before he ran out. Not that he had wanted to stay a second longer.
Pony tried his best to pull his mind away from his fight with his oldest brother, telling himself it wasn’t that special. The two were at each other’s throats constantly, so why was this fight any different?
But Darry had never hit him before. And his face was making it painfully obvious that this time was different.
Pony swallowed down the sob threatening to burst from his mouth and furiously wiped at his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. Crying wasn’t tuff.
The neighborhood stretched out in front of him, familiar houses blurring through the sting in his eyes. His feet slapped the pavement in uneven, shuddering steps. Pony wasn’t even sure where he was going. It just had to be away. Away from Darry, away from that moment, away from the look on Soda’s face.
Should’ve kept my mouth shut. Should’ve just taken it. Should’ve been better.
The thoughts kept looping, like they were strangling him from the inside.
He was always making things harder. Always.
His feet only slowed when his lungs started to ache, like something sharp was lodged beneath his ribs. Ponyboy wiped at his eyes one last time before he actually started thinking about what the hell he was supposed to do.
He couldn’t go and bother Johnny back in the lot; the poor kid already had enough to worry about. He’d probably wind up crashing under a tree near the park, if he didn’t wind up freezing to death.
Except Pony didn’t even make it a few feet before the street was lit up by the headlights of a blue mustang as it barreled down the street.
Ponyboy flinched, his mind flashing back to the previous day, the cold press of a blade against his throat, and quickened his step. Not eager to have a repeat of earlier.
The car’s engine grew louder, nearly drowning out the drunk whooping coming from socs inside. Pony made sure to keep his head down, trying not to draw too much attention to himself, hoping they’d just drive right past.
Of course, his luck wouldn’t allow it.
“Hey, grease!” One of them shouted, the car skidding to a stop too close for comfort. “Watch’a doin’ out ‘here all on ya lonesome?”
“Gettin’ home.” Pony lied, glancing around for anything he could use as a weapon. There was Jack. Not even a rock.
“Aw, come on.” The driver cackled, slowly rolling to keep up with Pony’s pace.
“Get lost.”
The car swerved up onto the sidewalk, blocking his path. Pony turned and bolted as the doors started to swing open.
Maybe he could make it home. Pony sure as hell was faster than these guys, and a lot steadier on his feet. He also knew the neighborhood. It was greaser territory.
Except his lungs were burning. God, he shouldn’t have smoked a whole pack earlier.
“Get ‘im!” A hand seized the back of Pony’s shirt, forcing him to the ground.
Pony kicked out, thrashing as hard as he could. His foot connected briefly with flesh, and in retaliation, a fist slammed into his jaw. His teeth clashed together, rattling his skull.
A hand came close to his face, and his teeth instinctively bit down. Someone cursed before he was punched again.
The taste of copper flooded Ponyboy’s mouth. He desperately tried to yank his arm free, only to have it pinned down by someone’s shoe.
“Look at ‘im. Stupid lookin’.” Hot beer breath washed over his face as one of the socs leaned in.
“You’re stupid lookin’.” Pony spat back.
He barely registered the flash of silver before his forehead was sliced.
Pony yelled out, hoping there was a fellow greaser out. But with how late it was, it wasn’t likely.
“Shut up.” One of them hissed, clearly afraid to bring his hand anywhere close to his mouth.
“Help!” Pony shouted, trying one more time to free himself.
“Jesus-” The driver raised his fist to hit him again before the wheels of another car came screaming down the road.
There was lots of swearing, followed by the sound of fists connecting with flesh.
Then the socs were running, climbing back into their mustang, and speeding off.
Ponyboy rolled onto his side, trying to shake the dizziness.
He flinched as a set of rough hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him to his feet. Pony squinted, trying to blink through the blood dripping off his brow.
“What the hell are you doin’ here, kid?” Tim basically growled, roughly dusting him off. Pony relaxed slightly at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Walkin’.” He muttered, wiping at the cut, wincing as it stung.
“All by yer’self?” The man sighed, eyes flickering over Pony’s face, which he figured didn’t look too great. It sure as hell didn’t feel too great.
“Scared em’ off good.” Ponyboy hadn’t even seen the younger Shepard brother until then. “Guess they ain’t have the balls for Greaser territory after all.”
Tim gave his little brother a quick once-over to make sure he wasn’t hurt before turning back to Ponyboy. “You ain’t answer my question, kiddo. Why are you out ‘ere all by yer’self?”
“I was just out walkin’.” Pony muttered, jerking his shoulder free.
Tim and Curly gave him a strange look but didn’t press any further. “A’ight, we’ll give ya a ride back to yer place.”
“No!” His heart clenched, eyes tingling again.
“The hell’s wrong wit’ you, Pony?” Curly frowned, slinging his arm around his friend’s shoulder.
“I-I mean- I can’t go back. At least not tonight.” He looked down at his hands, which were shaking a humiliating amount.
Tim straightened up, shoving his hands into his jeans. “You got another place to stay t’night?”
Ponyboy shrugged. “Was gonna’ crash in the park.”
“The park?” The oldest Shepard scowled. “In this weather?”
He shrugged. “Ain’t like I got alotta options.”
Curly’s arm tightened around Pony’s shoulders to keep him from pulling away again. “Yeah, ya do.” He lightly pulled Ponyboy over to their beat-up, rusty truck. “C’mon, Pone. You ain’t sleepin’ in a damn bush.”
Pony shook his head, digging his heels in. He didn’t want to be a problem. Always bothering people. The last thing he wanted was to drag the Shepards into whatever mess he’d made tonight.
“Look- thanks an’ all,” Pony mumbled, wiping at his brow again. “But you don’t gotta-”
Tim cut him off with a flick of his hand. “We ain’t askin’ if we gotta.” He snapped. Not angry, something else that Pony couldn’t read. “We’re tellin’ ya you ain’t sleepin’ outside like some sorta stray dog.”
Pony huffed, not quite a laugh. Stray sounded about right.
He started chewing at the inside of his cheek, the copper taste welling up in his mouth again. He wasn’t sure what to say, if he could even manage to get it around the lump forming in his throat.
Curly gently turned Pony’s face so he could see it. “You hurt real bad?” He asked softly. Pony couldn’t figure out why he cared.
“S’ fine.” He shrugged.
Curly’s eyes flicked up to the cut above his eyebrow. “Yeah, you look real fine.”
Before he could open his mouth to say something in response, Tim clamped a hand on the back of Pony’s neck, leading him to their truck.
“Get in.” He said gruffly before walking around to the other side and hopping into the driver’s seat.
Ponyboy was too tired to argue, not with someone as tough as Tim. Curly climbed in after him, leaving Pony squished between the two brothers.
“Curls, check the box for tissues or somethin’.” Tim said gruffly, turning the truck on and turning them around on the street.
Curly did as told, pulling out a handful of brown fast-food napkins. “Here, for that nasty one.”
Pony accepted them gratefully, gingerly dabbing at the gash on his forehead. It burned, but at least it wasn’t dripping into his eye no more.
“We’ll take ya home. Angela’ll patch you up. She’s good at that sorta stuff.” Tim said, talking like this was the most normal thing in the world. “And you can crash at our place for the night. Or however long ya need.” He added, watching the way Pony sank into the seat.
The rest of the ride was done in silence. Pony only looked up when Tim killed the engine and climbed out.
Curly helped Pony onto the cracked driveway and led him up to the front door, which Tim had left open. The warmth hit Pony like a punch to the gut, making his teeth chatter.
Angela came over to them, eyebrows pinched together in worry. “Oh my god. Poor thing.” She grabbed Pony’s arm, sat him down on the worn leather sofa, and disappeared into a closet down the hall.
Curly came over and sat next to him, not touching him like before. Just watching. “Yer safe here, Pony. We ain’t goin’ do nothin’ to ya.”
Pony didn’t know what to say in response, so he just nodded weakly and waited for Angela to come back with a plastic bag full of first aid supplies.
She cleaned him up and put a bandaid over the worst of the scraps and cut, the whole time muttering about stupid socs.
When she was done, Tim stepped forward, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Ya can crash in Curly’s room tonight.” Curly nodded.
“Where are you gonna sleep then?” He asked meekly, eyes feeling heavy even at the mention of sleep.
“My bed.” Curly answered simply.
Pony nodded again, trying to keep his head from lolling.
Tim smirked. “Alright, kiddos. Off to bed.”
Angela and Curly groaned but didn’t fight it, slinking off to their bedrooms. Pony followed awkwardly behind, resisting the urge to just sleep on the couch.
Curly’s room was smaller than his and Sodapop’s, and it was ten times messier. Clothes littered the floor, and beer cans were sitting on the dresser.
“Here. I think this’ll fit you.” He tossed a sweater and a pair of shorts at Pony’s face, who barely managed to catch them.
Curly turned away and peeled off his own shirt, throwing it onto the pile on the floor. Pony’s ears started to burn, and he quickly turned around and began to change himself.
When he was done, Curly was already in bed, fiddling with something on his nightstand.
Pony climbed into the other side of the bed and lay down, wincing as the pillow pressed into his cut. Curly took a deep breath and turned the flickering lamp off.
“You feelin’ alright, Baby Curtis?” He asked softly, adjusting the blanket.
“Yeah. M’ alright.” He muttered, letting his eyes close.
“You will be.”