Chapter Text
The thermometer beeped at last.
Ponyboy quickly yanked it from his mouth, glanced at the number, and passed it to Darry with a small, hopeful smile.
“Looks like you’re good to go, kiddo,” Darry said as he stared at the device in his hand.
Ponyboy’s eyes lit up. “So I can go to school?”
Darry hesitated. “You gonna take it easy?”
Ponyboy nodded a little too fast to be convincing.
Darry set the thermometer down on the table and leaned back in his chair.
“Come on, Darry,” Ponyboy whined, “I’ve already missed three days. I don’t want to get more behind.”
Soda sat down behind Darry, pressing a fresh mug of coffee into his hands. Darry took a slow sip.
“Alright,” he said finally, “as long as you think you’ll be okay.”
Ponyboy beamed as he stood up from the table, making his way down the hallway to get ready.
Darry turned to Soda. “You think he’ll be okay?”
Soda swallowed another gulp of coffee and cleared his throat. “He’ll be okay.” He paused. “If he’s not, you’ll get a call about it and you can make sure he knows you were right during the car ride home,” Soda taunted with a grin.
Darry pushed him gently.
Ponyboy appeared again, dressed for school, backpack over his shoulders, notebook in hand. “Hey, Darry?” he asked.
Darry and Soda both looked up to meet his eyes.
“What’s the difference between quadratic and linear equations?”
Darry paused, then smiled. “Quadratics curve. Linear equations make straight lines. You can tell they’re going to curve if you see x-squared.”
Ponyboy scribbled something down on the page in front of him.
“Does that make sense?”
Soda shook his head; Darry kicked him under the table.
“Yeah, I was overthinking it,” Ponyboy said, “thanks.”
“No problem, buddy.”
Ponyboy ducked out the front door. “See you later,” he called as it closed behind him.
Darry stood up from the table, downing his last sip of coffee and setting his mug down. He turned to Soda. “You got work soon?”
“Yep, you?”
“On my way out in a minute. You want me to drop you off?”
Soda set his mug down. “Nah, I’ll walk. Save you those five minutes.”
Darry pulled his work boots on. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you tonight.”
Soda watched forms the table as the door clicked closed behind Darry.
And then he was alone.
By the time Soda’s shift ended and he’d made his way back to the driveway, he knew something was wrong.
The faint ache in his temples and rawness in his throat didn’t leave much room for argument. He shrugged off his jacket and tried to ignore the sensation crawling under his skin that made his shirt sting against his arms, focusing instead on a sight that made him forget his own discomfort.
Ponyboy was stretched out on the couch, hand curled under his cheek, lips slightly parted, eyes gently closed. His math textbook sat open and abandoned on the coffee table.
Soda couldn’t help but smile, even as another chill ran down his spine.
He tried to ignore it. Focus on Pony. Not think about himself.
He padded into the kitchen and filled the kettle, glancing back at Ponyboy as he waited for it to warm. As the whistle sounded, he fumbled to snatch the kettle off the burner before he woke Ponyboy up.
Pony stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.
Soda poured two mugs of peppermint tea, adding a dash of honey to them and returning to the living room. He set one on the coffee table and took the other with him to the armchair.
He curled his fingers around the mug. It helped. Not enough.
He couldn’t just sit there. Sitting still meant noticing things—the ache in his shoulders, the way his head felt like it was full of cotton.
Surely, a bit of movement would help. If nothing else, it would distract him from the growing stiffness in his limbs.
He looked around for something to do. He couldn’t vacuum while Ponyboy was asleep. The last thing he was going to do was go outside. He slowly unfolded himself from the chair and made his way to the dryer—folding the laundry would have to do for now.
And as it turned out, folding the towels that had just finished a spin in the dryer wasn’t that bad after all. In a flurry of movement that he desperately hoped would combat the impending and inevitable crash, Sodapop managed to fold the laundry—all of it—put the sheets back on his and Ponyboy’s bed, clean the kitchen counters, organize the pantry, and get in the shower.
The only problem was that now he couldn’t will himself to get out of the shower. As the water rolled off his shoulders, he finally felt warm for the first time all day. He knew as soon as he turned it off, the relief wouldn’t last. He also knew that if he stayed there much longer, Darry was going to find him unconscious on the floor of the shower when he got home in a few hours and he’d never live it down.
Reluctantly, Soda turned the water off.
As he threw his towel around his shoulders, he caught a glimpse of the mirror—not good. There was only so much he could do to keep Darry from noticing the flush on his cheeks and how lifeless the eyes staring back at him looked.
His shaky hands opened the medicine cabinet. Three aspirin in one cupped hand, a pool of tap water in the other, just an hour until Darry got home—he threw the pills back, desperately hoping they would kick in fast.
He settled for bundling up in sweatpants, an old hoodie, and two pairs of socks before returning to the living room.
Ponyboy had awoken. He looked up from the notebook he’d been scribbling in. “You’re home already?”
Soda smiled and nodded. “I got off at three. How was school?”
“Long.” Ponyboy took a sip of tea and yawned.
“You tired?”
“Yeah.”
Soda sank onto the couch beside him. “Wanna rest for a bit?”
Ponyboy shifted closer, resting against his side. “Do I ever,” he sighed, closing his eyes.
Soda pulled Ponyboy a little closer and threw his legs onto the couch so he could properly lay down. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was probably the most comfortable he’d felt all day. Ponyboy’s weight against his chest eased the tension in his body for the first time all day.
“Mmm,” Ponyboy mumbled, half-asleep as he snuggled closer. “You’re warm.”
Soda tensed. Could Ponyboy see right through him? “What—what do you mean?”
“You always are. Warm… soft…” his voice trailed off as his breaths evened out.
Soda took a shaky breath of relief.
He wasn’t sure what finally did him in. Maybe it was Ponyboy, maybe it was the long day catching up to him, maybe it was the fact that he didn’t feel like he was going to be able to stand again.
Whatever it was, Soda didn’t even try to hold his eyes open any longer. Ponyboy was asleep, the house was clean, Darry wasn’t home yet—no one needed him, not right now.
He allowed the world to slip away as sleep took hold.
When Darry opened the front door, alarm bells began blaring in his mind immediately.
His kid brothers lay asleep on the couch, Ponyboy’s head resting on Soda’s chest, mouth slightly agape as his chest rose and fell. Soda’s arms fell gently on Ponyboy’s back. Half-empty mugs sat abandoned on the coffee table.
They would have been adorable had they not been a little too pale for Darry’s liking.
He toed off his boots and threw his coat over the hooks before creeping over to the couch and crouching beside them.
The back of his hand against Ponyboy’s forehead was enough to alleviate much of his earlier concerns. His fever hadn’t returned.
Darry shrugged; he was probably just exhausted from a full day of school and Soda was keeping him company. No big deal.
Soda stirred before Darry could further examine his middle brother.
“Good morning,” Darry whispered as Soda groaned and stretched.
“’S it morning already?” he asked groggily, words hanging too thick in his throat.
Darry laughed softly. “No, little buddy. It’s about 5:30 in the afternoon.”
“Oh,” he muttered.
Darry put a hand against his shoulder. He hadn’t been expecting his brother to flinch at the contact. He let his hand fall back to his side.
“You okay?” he asked. “you sound… stuffy.”
Soda’s eyes widened, then quickly narrowed as mock-offense spread across his face. “I’m fine,” he said, “it’s ‘cause I just woke up.”
Darry nodded slowly like he didn’t quite believe that. “You’re not usually one for a midday nap.”
Soda readjusted the blanket that covered Ponyboy. “Just making sure Pony’s okay,” he whispered.
Darry stood up and started walking to the kitchen. As soon as his back was turned, Soda stifled the cough caught in his throat against his shoulder.
He pushed himself into a seated position, trying his best not to disrupt Ponyboy and desperately hoping the agony in his legs would go away once he moved around a bit.
Despite his body’s protests, he dragged himself to the kitchen, following Darry.
“I ran into Two-Bit at the store,” Darry said, opening the cupboard. “Told him Pony’s fever broke and he told me he’d be over for dinner tonight.”
Soda plastered his best attempt at a smile onto his face. Darry couldn’t know that he didn’t want the gang to come over tonight. “He bringing everyone else too?”
“I told him he better find Johnny. Make sure he eats something.” Darry put a pot of water on the stove. “Wouldn’t be shocked if he brings Dallas too.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Soda nodded along, too tired to properly contribute.
He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Selfishly, he didn’t want them to come over tonight. They were going to be too loud. Too happy.
What kind of monster was he? He’d rather have the house be quiet so he could wallow in self-pity on the couch than have Johnny Cade get fed today? He didn’t want Dally here and kept out of trouble for the night because he and Two-Bit were inevitably going to get into a fight during poker and he didn’t have the patience to listen to them bicker?
What was wrong with him?
“Is Steve coming?” Darry asked.
Soda snapped out of his trance at the mention of Steve’s name.
“He uh… he has work.”
Darry raised an eyebrow.
“Til eight,” Soda told him, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.
“He could come by after—the couch’ll be open, since I imagine you’ll go back to your room tonight.”
“Yeah,” Soda agreed hesitantly. “yeah, probably.”
Darry heard the front door fly open before he could respond. Excited whoops and cheers followed. By the time he and Soda wandered out of the kitchen, Ponyboy was sitting upright rubbing sleep from his eyes and their friends were making themselves at home.
“Track star, Ponyboy Curtis!” Two-Bit’s voice filled the living room. Soda straightened his shoulders and tried to conceal a grimace.
“We missed you, pal,” Two-Bit ruffled his hair.
“Missed you guys too,” Ponyboy said sleepily.
Dally and Johnny hovered by the doorway. “We brought bread,” Johnny offered, holding up a grocery bag.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Darry told him.
“You know, first dinner in a few days,” Dally said, “figured we’d help make it a good one.”
Soda sat down in the armchair—in the deepest corner of the room, away from the action.
Two-Bit followed Darry back to the kitchen, yapping all the while. Johnny started laying plates out on the table and Ponyboy eventually got up and followed him. Soda hid in the corner.
Dally sat down on the armrest. “You look like hell,” he whispered.
Soda didn’t look at him. “I didn’t sleep well this week.”
Dally opened his mouth to respond, but Darry clapped his hands loudly from the doorway, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Soup’s on,” he said, taking a seat.
Soda’s head snapped toward Darry. “Soup?”
“No,” Darry said, shaking his head. “Metaphorically.”
Soda’s eyes didn’t meet his as he made his way to the table.
The gang followed suit, filtering into chairs around the table as the meal began.
Darry smiled as he watched Ponyboy: his appetite returned—he was finally able to eat a full meal again.
“Could I have the potatoes?” he asked.
Two-Bit eagerly slid them across the table. “You got it, kid,” he said, “you know, it’s great that you’re feeling better. I was really starting to miss coming around these parts for dinner.”
Ponyboy scooped a generous serving of potatoes onto his plate.
Johnny nudged his knee under the table. “Told you you’d bounce back,” he whispered.
“You gonna eat that or just keep cutting it into smaller pieces?” Dally asked, glancing at Soda.
“I’m eating it,” Soda said, with more bite than he intended, as he pushed another forkful of chicken into his potatoes.
Darry’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut.
Two-Bit offered no such grace. “Gee, princess, you wake up on the wrong side of the—“
“Finish that sentence,” Soda warned him.
Two-Bit’s fork clattered on the table as he threw his hands up in mock-surrender. Yet he finished, undeterred. “—of the couch?”
Darry drew a deep breath. “So you come back into my house and threaten to start World War III?” he half-joked. “Come on, Mathews. Have some class.”
Dally leaned back in his chair, resting a knee on the edge of the table. “Relax, Superman,” he said.
Darry shot him a look that told him to knock it off.
“It’s just dinner. We haven’t even done anything wrong yet.”
Soda reached for his glass, avoiding Darry’s watchful eye. He drained what was left of it, then quickly scanned the table, looking around for the pitcher.
Ponyboy passed it to him without a word.
“So I was thinking,” Two-Bit said, changing the subject. “Tomorrow night, they’ve got that new Disney movie playing at the drive-in. We should go.”
“You wanna watch the movie or are you just hoping we’ll see Marcia again?” Ponyboy asked, grinning.
Two-Bit pressed his hand to his chest, wounded. “I don’t chase girls.”
Dally scoffed. “Yeah, you trip over ‘em.”
Johnny laughed softly beside him.
The meal continued exactly how Darry knew it would: Two-Bit regaled the group with a lively and highly animated retelling of the day’s adventures while Johnny laughed politely at all the appropriate times, Ponyboy listened intently, Dally heckled him for sport, and Soda looked as lost as he usually did when Steve had to work at dinnertime.
By the time Two-Bit declared the meal over, Ponyboy had already neatly stacked the plates in the middle of the table and Soda had taken one for the team and polished off every last drop of water left in the pitcher through small sips to distract anyone from the fact that his plate remained largely untouched.
Ponyboy stood up from the table, leaning forward to pick up the plates.
“Pony,” Darry began to say.
“I got it,” Ponyboy replied confidently.
Darry hesitated, but dropped it. “Don’t overdo it, okay?”
“I won’t,” Ponyboy promised as he disappeared into the kitchen.
Darry followed behind him and began filling the sink with water.
Soda lingered at the table a little longer, his head falling against the cool wooden surface. Dally didn’t say anything as he reached over and placed a hand on his neck, rubbing deep circles with his fingers.
Two-Bit eventually stood up. “You coming?” he asked, motioning to the kitchen.
Soda lifted his head and squinted at the bright lights. “Yeah.”
His chair scraped too loudly on the floor. His head felt like it was floating but it was too heavy to hold up all at the same time. His joints cried out in pain with every step.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
Ponyboy was okay. Dinner was over. The gang was practically on their way out the door. And there were only a few more hours left in the day for him to ruin by begging Darry for help.
Soda trudged into the kitchen and stood behind Darry. He leaned into him, resting his head against his brother's shoulder.
Darry froze, startled. “What’s gotten into you, Sodapop?” he whispered.
"I think I’m sick,” Soda sniffled, voice muffled against fabric.
Darry sighed as he felt the heat radiating from him. Tone softening in an instant, he placed a hand on Soda’s cheek, then down his neck. “Yeah, No kidding,” he muttered.
Soda whimpered. “Dar, your hands are cold.”
“I’m sorry.”
Darry turned the water off, dried his hands, and dabbed away the water he’d just gotten on Soda’s face. “Come on, little brother,” he said softly, “let’s get you to bed.”
He placed his hand firmly on Soda’s shoulders to guide him out of the room.
“Johnny, Dally,” he called over his shoulder. "You two finish the dishes."
"What?" Dally barked. "We ain't your maids—"
"You wanna eat here again?"
Dallas silently rolled up his sleeves and carried the potato dish into the kitchen with him.
Darry held on tightly to Soda’s shoulders as they made their way to the bedroom, worried he might collapse otherwise. Darry didn’t bother to flip the light switch when they entered, just turned on the soft yellow glow of the lamp.
“Sit,” Darry murmured as he eased Soda onto the edge of the bed.
Soda obeyed, and wasted no time throwing the blanket over his legs.
Darry plucked the thermometer from the nightstand. “Under your tongue,” he ordered.
No objection. Soda’s eyes crossed as he watch the red line climb.
Darry grabbed the bottle of aspirin off the table and started to loosen the cap.
Soda’s eyes widened. “Darry?”
“Yeah?”
“…I can’t take those.”
Darry looked at him, confused. “Why? You gonna be sick?”
Soda didn’t say anything.
Darry sat down beside him, one hand rubbing circles on his back. “Soda,“ he began, “honey, Pony’s had this for days and he never once felt like he was going to choke the pills back up. They’re one of the only things that helped.”
“Dar, I can’t,” he whispered, “I took three an hour ago.”
“What was that?”
He hesitated. “I already took some.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet Darry’s eyes.
Darry set the bottle down and took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Soda felt the shame rising in his chest. “I just—well...” He couldn’t explain it, not in a way that Darry would understand. Not when the only thing he wanted was to close his eyes and sleep until next week to escape the way he felt right now. Not while he was being cooked from the inside out and could hardly compose a complete sentence.
He just shrugged. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m pretty worried now, kiddo.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to worry until now.” Soda smiled lopsidedly. “Saved you a whole day of worrying. And Johnny got dinner, and Dally didn’t get arrested, and Two-Bit really enjoyed the potatoes, and Pony…” he trailed off.
Darry took the thermometer from him and scowled at the number. “Are you delirious or spouting off nonsense for fun?”
“It’s not nonsense, Dar,” Soda told him through the fog in his head. “It’s just that… it’s not about me.”
“What?” Darry looked at him.
“You know, interrupting dinner when they’re all so happy to be here. Taking attention from Pony— it’s…selfish.”
Darry’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to say to beat back his brother’s guilty conscience. “Did you think it was selfish when Pony stayed home for a few days while you waited on him hand and foot?”
“…no,” Soda tilted his head.
Darry smiled and put a hand on his back. “Then why would you be selfish now?”
Soda didn’t respond right away. He nodded slowly like he was taking it all in, then said, “yeah, but it feels different.”
Darry shook his head, chuckling just a little. He’d try to get through to him tomorrow. “What am I going to do with you?”
“give me another blanket?” Soda suggested.
“You still cold?”
Soda didn’t respond.
“A warm shower might help,” Darry offered, “might ease some of those aches too.”
“Already tried it.”
“No luck?”
“It was real good until I had to get out.”
“What about a hot water bottle?”
Soda’s face twisted. “You gonna send me to the nursing home too?”
“You’re awfully sassy for someone with a fever of a hundred-and-two,” Darry said, pushing him back against the pillows. “It’ll be warm.”
Soda didn’t push against it any harder.
“And I’ll send Pony to bed in a few hours—he’ll be like a little human space heater.”
Soda laughed and turned to cough into his fist. Darry pulled the blankets a little higher.
“You really should—“ Darry stopped when his eyes met Soda’s—twisting with worry as he awaited Darry’s next suggestion.
“Never mind. Get some rest, little buddy,” he said quietly.
Soda nodded, eyes already fluttering closed.
Darry stood up and turned the lamp off. He pulled the curtains shut, double-checking that the window was closed. Of course it was. And finally, he closed the door and headed back toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was clean by the time he saw it again.
Dally and Johnny had finished the dishes and fled, taking Two-Bit with them. The chairs had been pushed in; the leftovers, wrapped in foil and tucked away; the counters, wiped clean.
Ponyboy sat on the couch, book in his hand, eyes fighting to stay open.
Darry sat down next to him. “How are you doing, Pony?”
“I’m okay, Darry,” he said, closing his book in his lap.
“The kitchen looks great.”
Ponyboy smiled. “Soda cleaned half the house right before he crashed. Only thing he didn’t do was run the vacuum.”
“And you finished up the kitchen just a minute ago, huh?”
Ponyboy nodded and stretched to conceal a yawn.
“You tired?”
“It was a long day. I think I’m gonna go to bed.”
Darry tried not to look as surprised as he felt. The words had been taken from him before he even had a chance to suggest such a thing.
“That’s a great idea,” Darry agreed.
Ponyboy stood up. “Yeah. And someone’s gotta make sure Soda stays there.”
Darry couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere, bud.”
“Night,” Ponyboy waved as he disappeared down the hallway.
Darry sighed and leaned back against the couch. He turned on the TV out of habit.
And then he was alone.