Chapter Text
Darrel Curtis’s world ends three times.
The first time is when his parent’s Ford stalls on the train tracks. He identifies the bodies and holds his brothers through the funeral and pleads to an unsmiling, impatient judge to let the boys stay with him.
The second time is when Johnny Cade dies in a hospital room. Darry is there when it happens and a horrible, selfish, detestable part of him wishes that he isn’t. At least he doesn’t see the east-bound Cherokee subfreighter slam into Dallas Winston. By the time he makes it to the train tracks, Ponyboy’s clutching a shirt to his chest – a shirt that belongs to a boy who no longer exists.
The third time Darry’s world ends, he doesn’t even know it.
It’s September, 1968. Johnny and Dallas have been in the ground for a little over a year, and no one quite knows just how to feel about it. Two-Bit suggests they have a party to mark the occasion and there’s not a real reason to say no. Darry thinks Johnny, at least, would have liked to see everyone get together. Dally probably wouldn’t have given a shit.
So when the world ends for the third time – for the last time – Darry’s frosting a cake.
It’s his mom’s chocolate cake recipe, of course, the one everyone loves. The entire gang claims that Darry is the only one who knows how to make it right. Soda’s is too sweet, Pony’s deflates with one poke, and Two-Bit is banned from baking in general after he somehow managed to set egg yolks on fire. But a party isn’t a party without cake, and so that’s become Darry’s task for the afternoon.
“We’ve got everything else covered, Superman,” Two-Bit had reassured with a smile. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
But Darry’s pretty little head hasn’t felt right all day. There’s a nagging feeling in his gut that says something is wrong, something is going to happen, something is shifting in a way that’s irreparable.
He’s nothing if not a paranoid son of a bitch, though, a fact Soda’s lovingly reminded him of countless times. The sun is still shining, and his brothers and remaining friends surround him, so what can really be so wrong? He’s baking a damn cake, for chrissake. Maybe he ought to relax.
It’s been a day-long affair. The gang is in the living room playing a game of Texas Hold 'em (both Dally and Johnny’s favorite card game) while the TV blares reruns of Bonanza or Gunsmoke, or whatever random western happens to be on. Johnny always loved westerns.
Ponyboy accuses Steve of cheating, while Steve retaliates by saying how bad a bluffer Pony is. Darry pokes his head around the corner, seeing Ace try to nonchalantly wrap her arms around Soda’s neck to get a peek at his card. Soda, who knows every cheat in the book, looks ready to stuff the card in his own mouth if that’s what it takes to keep it away from Ace’s prying eyes. Two-Bit ends up winning the round — again. Nothing out of the ordinary; everything exactly as it should be.
So why won’t the sick feeling in Darry’s chest settle? Why does the hair on the back of his neck stand up like it’s ready to take off running?
The gang groans when the local news cuts into their TV program again. It’s happened a couple of times in the past few hours. Not too unusual, but certainly annoying. It’s about some violence around Tulsa, which, if anyone asked Darry, was the most unsurprising “news” the anchors could report on. Flip on the news any day, and you’ll see another fly-by case of a stabbing, shooting, assault, robbery, you name it.
Darry hates thinking about that so flippantly. Is this how people thought of Ponyboy and Johnny when they appeared on the news last year? Just another couple of JDs getting themselves wound up in a murder rap. Violent, no-good teenagers. Or two people caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. However people had thought of them, they surely hadn’t spared a second thought on something so outside of their lives. A second thought on two of the most important people in Darry’s world.
And here he is, doing the same. Because that’s just how things have to be where they live. Darry doesn’t have the time to worry about anything that doesn’t apply to him or his family.
But he can’t help but actually listen in this time, because three broadcast interruptions in the same day is unusual. Let alone three in the last hour.
“Reports of unexplained violence continue to come in from across the immediate Tulsa region and beyond,” the anchor is reading from the papers in front of him. His brow is creased in what Darry thinks looks like concern, but it’s probably just static from the ancient television. Geez, when did his imagination start to rival Pony’s? “Residents are encouraged to stay indoors until an official statement is made.”
Well, no skin off Darry’s back. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere today. And the boys know they can always crash on the happily-abused couch anytime. Most of them were likely planning on spending the night anyway. It’s a relief; Darry knows the company will help keep Pony and Soda’s minds planted firmly in the present instead of wandering back to a year ago.
Still, something about the unease in the reporter’s voice sticks with Darry as he drags chocolate frosting across the cake. He’s never heard anyone on the news sound anxious like that, not even a few years ago when President Kennedy was shot. That had been a day full of solemnity, even anger, but not nerves. But the man on television almost sounded scared, and now Darry fights not to feel the same.
Instead, he redirects all of his energy into the cake. Spread the frosting evenly, don’t let it pile up all in one spot—
He startles when someone loops their arms around his shoulders, and he looks over to see Two-Bit, eyebrow cocked, grinning ear to ear.
“Woah!” Two exclaims. “Gotcha there, huh? Someone’s a little jumpy today.”
Inwardly, Darry curses himself. He sees how the gang looks to him when the goings get rough. How when Pony or Soda feels nervous, they cast their eyes toward Darry to see how he’s handling it. If he takes everything in stride, so can they, even if he’s feeling anything but sure.
Darry’s spent a little too long in his head, because Two-Bit’s ever-present grin slips just a fraction when Darry doesn’t answer right away and glances toward the living room.
Two gives him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Aw, the news ain’t scarin’ ya, izzit, Superman? Don’t worry, ain’t no kryptonite comin’ for ya.”
“I know,” Darry sighs, forcing himself to let air into his lungs through his nose. “Just…don’t somethin’ feel off?”
Two-Bit eyes the canister of icing. “Uh, yeah. You bought Duncan Hines ’stead of Betty Crocker.”
Darry lightly whups the side of his head. “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t,” Two-Bit chuckles, rubbing his hair where he’d been whacked. “But hey, there ain’t nothin’ to worry about. Gang’s all here, your brothers are in the other room. And I’m keepin’ an extra close eye on the kid today for ya. He’s fine. We’re all fine. Savvy?”
It should be fine. Darry knows it should be fine. But he’s adopted the crease in the news anchor’s forehead for himself, and the pit in his stomach is slowly turning into a chasm.
Still. What else can he say that doesn’t sound batshit? “Savvy.”
Two-Bit slaps him on the shoulder and then promptly drags his finger along the top of the newly frosted cake, rushing out of the room before Darry can grab him. “Hey!”
But Two ignores his indignant shout. Darry gives a dramatic sigh, knowing it will be a losing battle to pull him back to fix it. So he does it himself, muttering about his mess of a house and how he has to do everything around here. He nearly smirks. If he keeps up whining like this, he could become a regular Ponyboy.
As he finishes fixing the cake, he looks out the window. It’s a warm day. Usually on days like these, he can see into the neighbors’ yards, where they’re out enjoying the weather in some way or another. Kids running around, people out for a smoke or a beer, or tending their meager gardens. But it’s empty out there. The sight does nothing to ease his growing fear.
No, not fear. Nerves. It’s just nerves.
He heard from Mrs. Mathews that some of the people on the block have been sick recently. She delivered a couple of casseroles to some of the families with young kids who really couldn’t afford the time or days off work to have fevers. Darry just hopes everyone is inside resting. That’s for the best anyhow—he doesn’t need any of his gang catching whatever bug is going around.
“Darry?”
A quiet voice reaches his ears from the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, and Darry spins around to see Pony leaning against the wall. He’s trying to appear casual, Darry can tell, but the way his fingers twist in the hem of his shirt gives him away.
“You seen the news?” Ponyboy asks around a swallow. Damn it. Of course his know-it-all kid would have picked up on something strange. He’s oblivious to everything except the things Darry doesn’t want him to know about.
“Yeah, bud, I have,” he replies with a nod, swiping the knife across the cake again just to give his hands something to do.
“What d’ya think?”
“I think,” Darry dips his finger in the frosting canister and dabs a bit on Pony’s nose, “you oughtta turn that damn TV off to stop puttin’ ideas in y’all’s heads.”
Frowning, Pony smears the icing off his face and tries to get Darry back, but Darry holds the container of frosting above his head. He’s going to enjoy this luxury while it lasts—Ponyboy has been growing like a weed this past year. He’s nearly as tall as Soda now, and Darry has no doubt he’ll continue to grow, given that Darry himself hadn’t stopped until he hit eighteen.
“I mean it, Darry. Can’t ya just check or somethin’?”
Shit, this kid really does think Darry’s Superman or something if he’s asking him to “check” on all of Tulsa. But if it will put Pony’s mind at ease (and if he’s being honest, it might put Darry more at ease as well), he’ll go out and take a quick look around.
He squeezes Ponyboy’s arm. “Sure, kiddo. I’ll take a loop ’round the block. I’m trustin’ you to guard this cake, okay?”
Pony must really be worried, because he doesn’t even quip back. He only nods. He’s chewing on his thumbnail when Darry leaves the kitchen.
He takes a last glance into the living room, where Steve’s got Soda in a headlock while Two-Bit and Ace are fighting over the cigarette winnings from Texas Hold ‘Em.
He wonders if this is how Mom and Dad felt before going out to get that icing. Looking back on their family one last time, ignoring the pits in their stomachs telling them that everything was about to change.
Darry wants to chide himself for the irrationality of it all. Darry is usually nothing but rational. There is nothing to be frightened of or worried about. He’s walked this street thousands of times.
But something inside Darry tells him not to entirely let this anxiety go. Soda’s called it Darry’s “big brother sense” before. He’s felt this same mounting anxiety on numerous occasions. That night Mom and Dad didn’t come home. The night Pony ran away. The night Johnny and Dally died. And now this. Feelings like this are not meant to be ignored. They are meant to be heeded. They are meant to protect.
So Darry heeds it and grabs a blade on his way out. It makes him feel a little stupid, being this paranoid, but he’d rather be stupid than dead, if there really is any candor to what those people on the news are saying.
At first, everything is quiet when he steps out onto the porch. The wind rustles the chime Pony’d hung there last month, filling the air with a light tinkling sound that eases Darry’s heart ever so slightly. This is North Louis Avenue. This is his neighborhood. This is his home. The same as it’s always been.
Until a scream pierces the silence of the street.
It’s not a cry for help. It’s a wail of agony.
Darry rushes down the porch stairs before he can tell himself to stay put.
When Darry was younger, he used to think about how he would respond in a moment of crisis. How many seconds does one get to think before deciding? It wasn’t until he heard Pony in his first nightmare after their parents died that he knew how wrong he was—you don’t get seconds to decide and think through anything. Your body just moves.
It’s the same now. Someone’s in danger, and nothing else matters. His very soul knows this.
Darry’s ready to intervene, ready to help some poor kid getting jumped because that’s what he’s come to expect on this side of town. His hands form fists at his sides automatically and a warning shout is just about to pass through his lips when he actually gets a good look at what’s in front of him.
This is no mugging. No jumping. Darry doesn’t have any words for what he sees.
Two bodies, one on top of the other. The one on the ground being torn to – torn to pieces. The larger body is ripping flesh from bone with their fingers and tearing into skin like it’s paper. It grabs an arm and pulls until it comes off completely with a sound Darry’s never heard before but knows he’ll hear in every single one of his dreams for the rest of his life. The victim’s wailing turns to sobs, then to nothing at all as their blood runs rivers onto the pavement. They’re still, and the body on top dives teeth-first into the remains. Darry stands and watches it all, barely breathing.
Then he runs. Faster than he’s ever run before.
Darry races his way back up the porch and slams the front door behind him, fumbling with the lock as though his hands are the ones slick with blood instead of the thing outside. That’s not a person, is it? It can’t be a person. No person does what Darry’s just seen. So what the hell was it? What the hell just happened?
“Dar?” Soda’s voice doesn’t even reach his older brother’s ears, and Darry flinches when there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, calm down! It’s just me.”
He looks up to see Soda behind him with a concerned stare, the rest of the gang gathered in the living room with similar expressions on their faces.
Seeing them locks his brain into focus. They are not safe. None of them are safe. “Lock the back door,” he barks. “Block the windows, the—the doors, everything, now!”
No one moves. Soda’s eyes are wide, and he looks at Darry like he’s grown a second head. “Dar, what—”
“I said now!”
They must understand the urgency—the panic—in his voice, because they’re suddenly moving. Soda rushes to the back door while Two-Bit and Steve clear the table and turn it on its side to shove it in front of the window. Darry enlists Ace to help him push the couch against the door as Ponyboy shuts all the blinds across the house. It’s not by any means the most secure, but it’s a start. And now Darry knows they don’t have any time to waste.
“Darry, what did you see?” Pony finally asks.
A piercing shriek splits the air before Darry can answer. Close. Definitely on their street. Everyone instinctively stiffens. It doesn’t sound human.
“What was that?” Two-Bit says, his voice unusually low.
Darry ignores both questions in favor of slowly making his way to the window.
“Stay back,” he hisses to the others, holding a hand out behind him in case anyone decides to follow.
He tugs one of the blind slats down with a shaking hand, just an inch. What he sees is worse than any of those fake-ass monsters from one of the flicks at the drive-in Pony likes to try and drag him to.
There are two… things outside. Humanoid. Trembling. Not in fear, but as if they have no control over themselves, or there is too much energy in their bodies, bursting to get out. Out in the street, turning their heads, like they’re waiting for something. No. Hunting. They’re lanky and hunched, cold and discolored. Their hands are gnarled and shaking, each fingertip worn down past the bone. Their eyes are wide—unnaturally so, as if they have no capacity to blink. Their pallor makes them look half-drowned, as does the fluid dripping from their hanging, off-kilter maws, their—
Their clothes.
They’re wearing clothes.
That’s the sweater Mrs. Evans from next door always wears, even when it’s blazing hot outside. It’s got ridiculous flowers on it that make her look like a walking garden. Now it hangs off of the shoulder of a monster.
The other…thing has Mr. Evans’ wife beater and leather boots. Darry’d know those boots anywhere. The old man used to hire him to shine them for a nickel when he was a kid.
Mr. and Mrs. Evans got a casserole from Two-Bit’s mother this week. They’d been sick. A fever.
So had the kids across the street. The elderly woman two houses down. The young couple who moved in last month. And who knows who else? All just in his neighborhood.
Darry’s hand jerks away from the blinds, sending the slat back into place with a snap. He looks back at his family, all five of them waiting silently, eyes blown wide with a terror he’s never seen on them. He briefly wonders what’s more frightening—having seen what they’re facing, like he has, or knowing nothing at all, like they do right now.
It’s not only cruel to leave them in the dark—it’s dangerous. They need to know, but he has to handle this carefully. Even he doesn’t know what exactly he’s just seen. And he doesn’t feel safe to talk while those things are so near. So he holds a finger to his lips.
Thankfully, everyone nods. Even Ponyboy, whose face is white as a sheet. Darry silently reminds himself to always trust his baby brother’s instincts.
He leads them to Soda and Pony’s bedroom. The windows are drawn and face away from the street, making it at least a few degrees safer than the living room. They all pile into the small room and Darry shuts and locks the door behind them.
“What the fuck, Darry!” Steve immediately whispers. There’s none of his usual fire in the swear.
Darry pushes them to have their backs to the bedroom door, placing himself between them and the window.
“Darry?” Pony asks in a soft, shaking voice. He’s already holding Soda’s hand.
“What’s goin’ on out there, Muscles?” It’s Two-Bit, shockingly, who keeps his words calm and his tone bordering on serious. The other greaser has never been known for reigning in the others, but that’s exactly what he’s doing now. Darry is beyond grateful, but there’s no time to show it.
Instead, he takes a few steadying breaths before he answers. “Before you think I’ve lost my damn mind, I know what I saw.”
“We know.” Two replies instantly, before anyone else can argue the contrary.
“The anchors were right,” Darry begins. “There are dangerous, violent things out there, and they ain’t people.”
“Then what are they?” Ace interrupts.
“Sounded like cougars,” Ponyboy puts in quietly, though it sounds like he sure doesn’t believe himself.
“No, they’re not…not animals,” Darry shakes his head, running a trembling hand through his hair. Visions of the things flash in front of his eyes. Stumbling bodies, ruined corpses, Mrs. Evans’ sweater…
“They’re our neighbors,” he finally chokes out. “Least, they used to be.”
The severity of the situation fully crashes into Darry when no one even scoffs.
“What do you mean?” Soda asks, holding tighter to Ponyboy’s hand.
“I—I don’t know,” Darry says. “I don’t know how. But they…they ain’t them anymore. They’re something else now. I saw – I saw two of them –”
Glory, he wants to throw up just thinking about it. “They’d been sick, everyone’s been sick, and now they’re—It’s them, I swear it’s—It used to be them.”
“Who?” Steve asks, gripping the doorframe. “What are you talking about?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Evans. From next door,” Darry can barely pull the words from his throat. But he has to. “They were the ones outside just now. But they weren’t…normal. They looked like they’d drowned and come back to life, or somethin’. Their fingers were ground down to the bone, they were shakin’...and earlier, I saw another one of those things…”
He pauses again, holding back a sob. Two-Bit puts a hand on his shoulder. “Let it out, buddy. Just tell us.”
Darry presses a fist to his mouth. “Oh, God,” he says, strangled. “I saw one tearin’ a person apart.”
A gasp travels around the room. Ponyboy whimpers in a way that makes Darry want to scream. Somehow, his baby had known it before anyone else.
“We’re stayin’ here.” Darry pulls himself together enough to order. Two-Bit and Steve’s heads snap toward him even as Soda, Pony, and Ace nod in agreement. “All of us.”
“Wait –” Two starts, but Darry cuts him off sharply.
“We ain’t got any idea what’s really goin’ on out there. We’re all here, and I ain’t takin’ any chances. Do you want to go see what I saw for yourself?”
“That ain’t what I fuckin’ want and you know it,” Two-Bit snaps, anger springing from obvious fear. “My family’s out there. Marcia’s out there.”
Right. Marcia. The Mathewses.
Suddenly Darry feels like the biggest asshole on the planet. There he goes again, unable to see anything other than what’s right in front of him. Two-Bit has a family, too. He’s got a mother and a little sister. Hell, he’s got a girlfriend now.
No. She’s more than just a girlfriend to Two-Bit. Two-Bit’s had girlfriends before. This ain’t that. Marcia is different. The way he is around her. The person he wants to be for her. They bring out the best in each other, Darry has seen it. They match each other’s sense of humor. They keep each other in check. They’re partners, in every sense of the word. And the way Two has talked about her to Darry—it ain’t like he’s flippantly talked about girls before. Marcia ain’t some fling to Two. He talks about her like she’s the one.
“I swear, Darry, I’m gonna marry that girl,” Two-Bit had said just last week, as sober as anything and grinning like a fool in love. Six months together and already he’s hearing wedding bells. Two-Bit is no longer the boy from last year with three blondes at a time hanging off of each arm. Marcia is more than just another girlfriend. Of course he wants to find her.
But Darry’s mind hasn’t changed, and he doesn’t want to know what that says about him. If it makes him selfish, fine. He’ll be the most selfish bastard on Earth if that’s what it takes to keep the only five people he has left in the world safe.
“This is my house, Keith. I say who comes and goes.” Damn, maybe he really is a bastard.
Two-Bit couldn’t have looked more hurt and appalled if Darry had slapped him in the face. “Darry, you can’t seriously –”
“Look, I get it. I do. But we ain’t got a clue how many ‘a those things are out there, Two. We don’t know what they can do. I’m not gonna have you puttin’ yourself and all of us at risk because you miss your girlfriend.”
Two-Bit’s face falls even further in shock. Darry’s almost does, too – he’s never spoken to his best friend like this. He doesn’t even really know where the words come from. All he knows is that he means them. He can’t lose anyone else. None of them can.
“You son of a bitch,” Steve snarls from his place next to Darry. “I guess you don’t care about Evie either, do you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, but that’s what you fuckin’ meant, didn’t you.” Steve reaches for the doorknob. “Fuck this, I’m gettin’ outta here.”
Panic crosses Soda’s face, and he grabs Steve’s arm. “Steve, wait.”
“I’m not just leavin’ her behind because the dictator over here says so!” Steve yanks himself out of Soda’s grip as his best friend looks even more afraid. He pushes Darry, who’s moving to stop him, to the side and pulls the door open, heading back out into the living room. All Darry can do is shut the bedroom door again from the inside and shove Two-Bit away when he tries to follow, moving to press his back against the door so no one else can get out.
“Everyone stay put!” he shouts at the same time Soda cries, “Steve! Come back!”
“Steve Randle, don’t you dare open that—”
“I’ll do whatever I damn well please!” But instead of the door, they hear Steve pushing aside the blinds with a soft clatter. They hold their breaths for a few moments until they hear him scream. “Holy fucking shit!”
“Shut up!” Darry cries just as one of the monsters adds its voice to the cacophony. The sudden explosion of noise makes Ponyboy cover his ears with a whine, and Soda’s immediately back at his side while Ace attempts to keep Two-Bit from breaking down the door.
Steve starts pounding on the other side of the door. “Let me in, man! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Soda, grab Two-Bit!” Darry says, knowing Ace won’t be able to keep him back alone. Two-Bit spits a string of curses when Ace and Soda keep hold of him around the waist as Darry opens the door for Steve, grabbing him to bring him inside as quickly as possible. “Happy?” Darry bites as Steve tumbles onto the bed.
He regrets saying it the moment he looks at Steve’s face. He’s shaking, shell-shocked as a soldier fresh out of ‘Nam. For once, the guy looks scared speechless.
“Oh, glory,” he finally whispers. “It’s true.”
“Listen to me,” Darry says, desperate to regain control of the situation even as another monster screams. But, by some stroke of luck, it sounds farther away. “Your girls are smart.” He looks at Two-Bit and Steve. “Both of them. They’ll be doin’ the same: stayin’ put right where they are in the safest spot they can find.”
“Can’t we at least call them?” Two-Bit begs, and Darry has never heard him so desperate. How can he possibly deny him anything else? Darry pictures himself in Two’s shoes, if he were over at the Mathews's house when this happened, knowing his brothers were home alone, not safe, scared out of their minds—
And himself being barred by his own best friend from getting to them.
Glory, he really does hate himself sometimes.
But what else can he do? His gut is telling him that right now, anyone going outside—alone, especially—means certain death. And if he’s learned nothing else today, it’s to trust his gut.
He is not sending his best friend to his execution.
“A phone call,” Darry agrees, low. “Once we’re sure those things aren’t next to the house anymore.”
“Okay,” Two-Bit breathes in relief. “Thank you.”
Darry hates that, too. He should not be thanked for that. For giving his closest friend the decency of calling his loved ones. It should never have been his to give in the first place.
Steve doesn’t respond, but he nods from where he’s still curled himself up on the bed. Darry does the other boy a favor and ignores the way he sees him shaking.
They wait in the bedroom for roughly another hour. Soda sits between Steve and Ponyboy, a hand on Steve’s arm while he holds Pony close to his side. Ace talks softly with Two-Bit, and if Darry hears him sniffing, he doesn’t say a word about it.
Darry listens for the sounds of monsters as if listening for the time span in between rumbles of thunder to guess when a storm will end. It’s all he can do, and it’s not nearly enough. But when half an hour has gone by without any shrieks or moans from outside, he decides they’re as safe as they’re going to get.
Two-Bit practically runs to the single phone in the house, only to be met with a long drone that reverberates loudly throughout the room when he picks up the receiver. It’s the last sound any of them want to hear, and Darry watches Two-Bit’s entire body deflate.
“No,” he mumbles, fruitlessly dialing and redialling Marcia’s number even as the drone continues. “No, come on, no!”
Steve tries Evie’s number. He’s met with the same cold, unfeeling whine.
Darry looks around the room with sinking dread, knowing their makeshift barricading of the house is not nearly enough. They should be boarding the windows, or at least have something more secure. If only he could safely get to the shed. He has everything he needs there. But that span of yard has never been farther away. He knows that, for now, what they have inside will have to do.
He kicks the legs off of one of the end tables, instructing Soda to jam the windows with them. That won’t do anything against something breaking through the glass, though but he’ll at least be able to hear that.
But they won’t hear that. They won’t hear anything, because nothing is getting into their house. Not if Darry has anything to do with it. Tragedy has had its fill of the Curtises.
Instructing the gang to keep their voices low when they’re near the windows, Darry tells everyone how to stack the furniture and where until he is satisfied that they’ve done all they can to secure the house. After that, he announces they need to take a weapons inventory.
It’s not as much as he might’ve hoped for. They have enough blades for each of them to carry, a bat, and random tools he found under the sink, like a piece of pipe and a hammer, but nothing ranged.
It’s times like these that he desperately wishes for Dally and his prowess. He would have a heater, no doubt.
But this is all they have, so they’re going to have to work with it.
“What now?” Soda asks.
“Hallway,” Darry decides. “Like a tornado drill at school, remember? Away from windows.” He wishes not for the first time that they had a storm cellar. A small bunker like that seems like a luxury compared to this house in the open.
Wordlessly, the six of them sit along the wall in the hallway, Steve, Soda, and Pony on one side, Darry, Ace, and Two-Bit on the other.
Ponyboy doesn’t look good. His breathing is shallow, and he’s shaking like a wildflower in a windstorm. He’s got his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them like it’s the only way he’s holding himself together.
The kid’s made leaps and bounds back to his old self since Windrixville, but the events of the past year have left him riddled with an anxiety he just can’t seem to move past. Ponyboy’s always been sensitive, but lately he’s reminded Darry more and more of Johnny Cade. Quiet, withdrawn, jumping at his own shadow.
The anniversary of Johnny and Dally’s deaths have just made Pony’s new nervous tendencies increase tenfold. He walks around the house like it’s made of glass and one wrong move will send it shattering around him. Darry wonders if his little brother is afraid of the past repeating itself despite all the progress they’ve made.
But this isn’t the past. This is the terrifying present, and Ponyboy has every right to be scared.
Darry reaches out across the divide of the hallway to put a hand on his brother’s knee. He squeezes in what he hopes is reassurance, and Ponyboy looks up at him with an expression Darry can only describe as trepidation.
I’m here, Darry mouths, because it’s the only comfort he can come up with that isn’t a lie. It isn’t okay. Nothing is all right. No one’s gonna be fine. But Darry is here for Ponyboy, and that, no matter what, is always certain and true.
From any outside perspective, there is no physical response from Ponyboy. But Darry has known the kid since he was born. And for the past year, he’s watched ever more closely. He knows Pony better than he ever has before. He has the science of his brother down to a T, at least, as much as he can. Soda’s still the only one with an A+ in that subject. But Darry reads the shift in Ponyboy’s eyes. There’s trust there. He trusts Darry. And Darry has never held anything with such importance as he will this.
Soda’s also doing his part in keeping Ponyboy calm. He’s nestled their little brother as close to his side as he can and is mumbling things into his ear that Darry can’t hear but is sure are little more than sweet nothings. But as well as he knows Ponyboy, Darry considers himself the expert in Sodapop Curtis. And he sees the pallor sheen of his skin, the way his fingers shake where they grip Pony’s shoulder, and knows his other kid brother is barely keeping himself from breaking down. It’s likely only Ponyboy and Steve’s presence on either side that’s holding him up.
Darry nudges Soda’s sneaker with his work boot. An “I’m here” for him, too.
The rest of the gang wears various shades of fear, and Darry does his best to keep his own face stoic and unreadable stone. They deserve him at his best, which can only be accomplished if feeling takes a backseat to fact. But damn. It’s harder than ever to keep up the appearance of strength when an unearthly scream drifts through the air every time Darry thinks they might be in the clear. But he’ll let the others flinch while he sits unmoving through it all.
Light is fading slowly from the sky by the time anyone speaks.
“Damn it, Dar,” Two-Bit mumbles, his head in his hands. “I don’t think I can do this.”
That statement makes Darry sick to his stomach. As much as he wants—no, needs—to keep Steve and Two-Bit here, he can’t feasibly. They aren’t children that he can hold in his arms and keep secure. These are grown men with their own girls and families, people who can fight and make their own decisions, no matter how foolish.
Darry knows desperation would make him do foolish things, too.
“You can,” Darry says anyway, stupidly. “You are.”
Two-Bit shakes his head. “I ain’t. I feel like my heart’s gonna crawl outta my own damn throat. You don’t understand.”
“You don’t,” Steve agrees, looking right at Darry. His voice holds less bite from earlier, and it doesn’t look like he’s a moment away from dashing out the door anymore, but the harshness is still there. The grief. “Man, your whole family is right here. You can’t understand. Don’t tell me if it were you that you wouldn’t be bustin’ down the door if you knew Soda and Ponyboy were in danger and you had no idea if they were okay.”
“And if it were you in my shoes?” Darry counters as evenly as he can manage. “You have everyone in one place? Safe? It’s not just my brothers to me, it’s all of you. You’re telling me you wouldn’t do everything in your power to keep it that way?”
No one has a response. The house is uncomfortably quiet for another minute.
“Look,” Darry says. “It’s not a ‘no’ forever, okay? We’ll find a way to do this safely. I promise.”
Two-Bit looks up at him with a frighteningly empty gaze. “And if you made us wait and it’s too late?”
Darry doesn’t have a response for that either.