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“Wake up, baby.”
Ponyboy groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could manage. The light from the windows was too much for his already pounding head, which felt like it was filled with cotton and lined with lead. He felt Darry’s hands shaking him gently again. He didn’t want to disappoint him, so he tried to crack open his eyes, but it just led to pain behind his eyes so intense that he cried out and shoved his face into his pillow.
“What’s wrong?” his brother asked immediately, worry lacing his tone.
“S’ too bright,” he whined, pressing his face into the pillow harder to see if it would stop his headache. He heard quiet shuffling from Darry’s spot beside him followed by the rustling of curtains on a windowsill.
“Try now,” he said quietly. Pony did as he was told. It still sucked, but the light was at least bearable now.
“That better, little buddy?” he asked him. Ponyboy nodded, ignoring the tightness in his shoulders and neck. Even through the dark and his squinting, he could see Darry’s shoulders slump down in relief.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” he slurred as his brother helped him into a sitting position, eyes soft but alert.
“Gotta make sure you don’t have a concussion. That was a mighty big fall you took.”
Right. He hadn’t been feeling great for a few days, but he’d managed to ignore it, and then when he couldn’t do that anymore, hide it. It’d been working out real well for him, too, until this morning, when Darry finally picked up on it. He’d insisted on driving him to and from school, saying he was in no condition to walk; and Pony, who absolutely was in no condition to walk, didn’t have the energy to argue. He was mostly upright during the school day, except for one time standing up just before lunch (he was fine after he got some food in him, though). The problem came when Darry was driving him home and he fell right out of the passenger’s seat of the truck on the way to the front door.
“My head ain’t bleedin, is it?”
Darry shook his head, still observing every visible inch of Ponyboy.
“S’ probably fine, then. My Pa said that you have to actually hit your head to be concussed.”
Pony didn’t even notice his brother freeze at the mention of his father. He’d never talked about his parents. Not once. Not even the night Darry had opened up about his and Soda’s Ma and Pa. He felt his brother’s calloused hand stroking his hair and leaned into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut again. His head was lowered slowly back onto the pillow as Darry took his temperature again. He hoped it wasn’t too high, but the silence didn’t tell him anything.
“S’ it bad?” he mumbled, “M’ I sick?”
“Go back to sleep, Ponyboy,” Darry said softly.
“Why do you call me that?”
“Ponyboy?”
“No. Baby.”
“Do you not want me to?”
“No, I like it. Js’ curious.”
He smiled at that. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up again, I promise.”
“Will you tell me when I wake up?”
“Sure, baby. I’ll tell you when you wake up.” He knew Ponyboy wouldn’t remember this conversation in a few hours. Maybe he’d tell him anyway, some other time. For now, he hummed an old song like a lullaby and did his best to make him comfortable, watching as fever-induced tension slowly made its way out of Pony’s surely aching muscles.
Darry kept running his fingers through his kid brother’s hair long after he fell asleep.
-
Darry and Soda were easy to get to know, easy to get along with, but their friends sometimes made Ponyboy nervous. It wasn’t their fault, per se- it was just a lot to get used to, losing two people and then gaining six. Everyone told him it was okay to take it slow, but there was a guilt that lied in that. These people only wanted to help him. It wasn’t fair for him to clam up and forget his voice every time one of them asked him a simple question.
It got easier over time, but Pony still felt pretty guarded around the gang when he didn’t have one of his brothers by his side. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them; just, without an intermediary, he didn’t really know what to do, how to act. He’d usually hang out around the DX after school, even if Soda wasn’t there, because Steve let him read in the break room and the place had pretty good AC. It was a good place to get his schoolwork done, too, which was what he was currently doing- well, more like what he was currently trying to do.
“Hey there, Little Horse.”
Pony’s eyes flicked up, but he already knew it was Steve just from his tone of voice.
“Hi, Steve,” he mumbled, looking back down at his homework. Steve could tell just by looking at him that it wasn’t a good day- maybe he’d seen something that reminded him of his parents, or maybe he’d seen nothing at all, because sometimes that was worse.
“What’s that?” he asked, hoping to get a little more information before the kid shut down completely.
“Jus’ math shit.” Ponyboy slid the paper across the table. “I can do it, usually, but . . . not right now.”
Steve nodded; he knew the feeling well. Wordlessly, he grabbed a Pepsi from the work fridge and popped it open, placing it next to Pony’s right hand.
“Take a break, then,” he said, “I could use a helper today.”
Pony looked at him, then at the paper, then at him again. It was an easy choice. Before he even knew it, an hour had flown by and he was laughing, passing tools to Steve and learning Spanish curses like they’d been doing this together all his life.
“The fun part about speakin’ another language is that you can say random things, and as long as you sound angry enough they’ll leave you alone.”
Pony took another swig of his third Pepsi. “Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t get too cocky with it,” Steve warned, “Once I had to yank Two-Bit out of a fight ‘cause he didn’t realize my family ain’t the only Mexicans in Tulsa an’ started hollerin’ about drink orders at someone who actually knew what he was sayin’.”
He nearly spit out his drink.
“No way.”
“Yes way. I was there. That’s why when I cuss people out, I always do it in English.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Ponyboy as Steve closed the hood of the most recent car they’d been working on. Well, work was a strong word for what he was doing, but the mechanic next to him definitely knew his stuff.
“Boom,” he said, clapping imaginary dust off his hands, “Oil’s changed. Now, how ‘bout them math problems we were workin’ on, Little Horse?”
Maybe Pony would have been upset at the mention of his homework a little while ago, but something about the way he and Steve had been talking made him feel a lot better about the whole thing. He thought he was ready to give it another shot.
“I’ve probably stalled long enough,” he replied, smiling, “Don’ wanna fall behind an’ hafta stop bein’ your assistant.”
Steve swatted him lightly with a dirty rag. “Atta boy.”
He scampered off, quietly giggling to himself.
Before long, Pony noticed a pattern with Steve and his name. Little Horse became a thing between them, and once he even heard himself referred to as El Caballito during a Spanish conversation he’d eavesdropped on while reading in the break room. There was something particularly warm about knowing he was more than just his name across the language barrier that he didn’t quite know how to explain. Regardless, it was there, like a little candle in his stomach that he curled around protectively every night.
-
Pony couldn’t help keeping track of the days. He wished he didn’t, but it wasn’t up to him- everything from that moment was sealed inside for him to relive over and over, probably forever. It wasn’t unusual for bad days like this one to happen, he supposed, but they always bothered him more than he thought they should. After all, Ponyboy had so much to be grateful for. He had a family that loved and understood him in a way he sometimes wished they didn’t. He had a roof over his head and a warm meal every night. But that meant he still had things to fear losing.
Sometimes, he just couldn’t force himself to eat no matter how much he wanted to. It always felt awful; he was hungry on top of the guilt that came with shunning Darry’s hard work. Darry made good food, and that wasn’t cheap or quick. He really wished he could sit and enjoy dinner, but the smells were too much and he sprinted for his room. He tried to ignore the heavy silence that didn’t leave with him.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Pony felt the mattress dip beside him, but he didn’t look up.
“Five months,” he said plainly. He didn’t know if he could get more words out than that.
“Is that how long it’s been?” Sodapop asked him. It wasn’t about how long he’d been staying with the Curtises- that had only been two and a half months, he knew. Ponyboy was pretty sure Soda kept the date they met somewhere deep in his mind where it could never be forgotten or ignored. He certainly did that. He couldn't stop himself from remembering scary days, it seemed.
“S’ a long time to not have parents,” he muttered glumly, staring at his feet.
Soda sighed. “You ain’t a’woofin’.”
Sometimes, Pony forgot that he and Darry had lost their parents too, a realization that left him wracked with guilt every time it made itself apparent. He supposed that came with the territory of never meeting them, though; he’d never really know how their parents’ deaths changed them, just like they wouldn’t know how his parents’ deaths changed him. It was a strange feeling. He loved his brothers like they’d known each other all their lives, but really they’d been a family for less than three months.
“I miss ‘em a lot,” he admitted. Why was that so hard for him to say out loud? It seemed like it was only natural for him to miss his parents.
Maybe acknowledging that he missed them just made it more real.
“I miss mine, too,” Sodapop said softly, putting an arm around his shoulders, “I miss ‘em every single day.”
“Sometimes you an’ Darry remind me of them,” Ponyboy blurted out, “It makes me sad. I don’t wanna be sad when I look at you two. You don’t deserve that.”
“It don’t matter who deserves what, it’s how you feel. Losin’ people hurts ya in ways no one understands.” Soda rubbed his arm. Pony leaned into him, resting his head over his heart and listening carefully.
“I get scared sometimes that I’m gonna lose you too,” Ponyboy whispered, “You can’t guarantee that I won’t someday.”
“You’re right.” Soda’s chest vibrated as he spoke. “But I can tell you that you ain’t losin’ me today. Probably not tomorrow, either.”
Pony laughed despite himself.
“You always know just the right thing to say, Soda.”
“What can I tell ya? It ain’t my first rodeo.”
“I don’t think that’s a good thing.”
“It’s what I got and I’ll make the most of it. We saved a plate for ya in the fridge in case you get hungry later.”
“I’m sorry,” Ponyboy said, “I don’t mean to waste good food.”
“It ain’t a waste, honey,” Sodapop told him, “Not if it’s you.”
His mama used to call him honey.
He found he didn't mind it when Soda did, too.
-
For how much Two-Bit talked, it was strange how little Pony knew about him. He was aware of the smart mouth, the fierce loyalty, the alcohol and the long black switchblade, sure- but anyone could pick up on those things at nearly a glance. But there had to be more to him than just that! He never talked about his dad. He understood all his schoolwork but failed tests anyway. He seemed especially close with Darry. He didn’t seem to have a job, but always had a few coins to spoil the gang with shakes or fries.
Many of these things, Ponyboy decided, were probably none of his business. While it felt unfair that everyone in the gang knew his damage from the get-go, that didn’t entitle him to demand the knowledge of theirs.
The most one-on-one interaction Pony got with Two was when he was walking him and Johnny home, and Johnny decided to split and hang with Dally or go to the lot. That left a small window of time for them to chat- or, really, for Two-Bit to talk and for Ponyboy to listen. He didn’t miss how occasionally he left a purposeful gap in the conversation for Pony to fill if he wanted. He’d never taken the opportunity before, but even so it became a consistent act of thoughtfulness that he did appreciate. Around people he didn’t know well, he just didn’t want to speak unless spoken to.
“Really, I don’t know how you can stand that teacher,” Two was basically saying at the air, “She’s such a hag. Always got on my ass for the littlest of things. I even tried paying attention and doin’ schoolwork an’ she still didn’t like me!”
Pause.
“Then again, I did punch her son once. Maybe that’s why.”
. . . pause.
“Anyway, how’d the test go? I know you were up late studyin’ for it last night, if those eyebags are any indication.”
Ponyboy would never cease to be amazed by how observant the people in the Curtis gang were. If it hadn’t been real sweet, it would've probably been real unsettling.
“It went fine,” he said, shrugging, “I don’ think I needed to stress about it as much as I did. It was easier than she said it would be.”
Two scoffed good-naturedly, a grin on his face.
“Maybe yer just real smart, Ponykid. Ever think a’ that?”
He flushed a little.
“Sometimes I do. Mostly I just think about books an’ cigarettes. Speaking of which-”
Pony looked up at him.
“-you got a light?”
Two-Bit pulled a lighter out of nowhere and flicked it open, but when he saw the name printed on the box of cigarettes he snapped it shut and held it out of Ponyboy’s reach.
“Really?” he said, a familiar, mischievous glint in his eye, “Those are what you choose to smoke?”
“You’re always bummin’ one offa me! How do you not know this is what I smoke?” Pony sputtered.
“I shoulda known you had poor taste somewhere.” Two shook his head and tutted dramatically. Ponyboy leapt for the lighter, actually managing to graze it with his fingers. His adversary stumbled for a second, and he took the opportunity to snag the lighter and get a flame to touch to the end of his cigarette. Two-Bit let out a startled laugh, then snatched the thing back.
“I gotta get you trained on the five-finger discount,” he said.
It wasn’t until far later in the day that Pony registered that he’d been called by a new nickname. He smiled in the middle of brushing his teeth as the realization hit him.
“What’re you smilin’ at?” Soda asked him, raising an eyebrow. Ponyboy just shook his head and kept grinning.
“Did you know that Two-Bit apparently hates all the cigs he takes from me now?” he asked. His brother snorted so hard he spit toothpaste all over the mirror.
-
All the nicknames were nice, Pony thought. It made him feel like he belonged with everyone. Like he really was their family. That didn’t mean he was expecting anything from Johnny. He called everyone by what everyone else called them, and they were all fine with that. Nicknames didn’t really seem like his thing, anyway. He showed his affection in other ways. Usually, it was just when the two of them were alone, and Ponyboy assumed it was the same way with him and the rest of the members of the gang. Johnny’s love was subtle. You had to look for it to know it was there, but it was there.
It had never been this obvious before, though.
They were just enjoying each other’s company in the lot. The weather had gotten cool enough to where they could sit on the pavement without scalding themselves, but Pony could still wear shorts if he wanted. As they arrived, he sat down and unzipped his backpack, shoving through it in pursuit of his target. His stomach dropped for a second when he didn’t feel it in its usual place, but he let out a breath of relief as he realized it had just slipped further down than normal.
“What’s got you so tense?” Johnny asked lightly. His posture looked relaxed, but he was clearly eyeing Ponyboy and his struggle.
“I was just lookin for somethin’- don’ worry, I found it!” Pony said, holding his book up triumphantly. Johnny looked at him flatly.
“You always have books, why’s this one any different?”
“This one’s been on hold for three weeks at the library! I had to wait so long to get it, and if I wanna be able to reread I have to finish it by Thursday.”
Johnny blinked. “Reread?” he echoed.
“Reread!” Ponyboy confirmed, “I think the second pass at a book is the best one. You see all the details that you thought didn’t matter in a brand new light. It’s neat.”
“Alright, Bookworm,” he huffed. Pony snorted.
“You say that like you don’t love to listen to me read,” he quipped over the warm sensation in his chest. He couldn’t believe an insult was making him feel this way.
No, that was a lie. He could believe it, but only because the insult came from Johnny Cade.
-
He found out about Dally’s name for him on accident. He was finishing up his second read of the library book he’d gotten. He needed to return it tomorrow so he didn’t get any late fees, but he was on the last chapter, so he wasn’t expecting it to be a problem.
The phone rang. Ponyboy jumped.
No one had ever gone over the rules of the phone with him. He didn’t really have enough friends for it to matter. He stood, frozen, as it rang a second time. What if it was something important? Darry would probably want him to pick up. But what if it was something he wasn’t supposed to hear? What if it was his social worker coming to take him away? Dammit, why did he have to be alone in the house right now? This was not an answer he wanted to pick incorrectly.
Okay, fuck it, he thought as the phone rang a third time, This is stupid. I’ll just pick it up.
Dally started talking at him before he even had a chance to say hello.
“Hey, when was Cowboy born? You said summer, right? July?”
Pony was too astounded to respond at first.
“Anyone there? Hello?”
“ . . . I’m sorry?” he asked.
The line went so quiet he almost thought it was dead, but he didn’t hear a dial tone, so he kept the speaker pressed up to his ear.
“Ignore that,” Dally said, quickly hanging up. Ponyboy slowly placed the phone back into the receiver, puzzled.
It wasn’t until he and his brothers sat down for supper that he got some answers.
“Dally called,” he said tentatively. No adverse reaction from Soda or Darry. It was probably fine that he used the phone, then.
“What’d he say?” Darry asked.
“He was askin’ ‘bout a Cowboy? I dunno. It was strange.”
Soda suddenly ran his hands down his face and groaned. “He’s still on that?”
“I didn’t know you were born in July,” Pony told him. Darry paused.
“He wasn’t.”
“Which one of us was born in July, then? He was askin’ about it.”
“None of us were born in July, Pony.”
“Not even Steve or Two-Bit?”
“No,” Darry told him, “Steve was born in April. Two’s June.”
“Then who was Dally talking about-”
Ponyboy cut himself off as two pieces clicked together in his brain.
“ . . . oh.”
Sodapop started to laugh so hard tears were streaking down his face.
“Oh, he’s never living this down. Please don’t let him live this down, honey,” he wheezed. Why was this so funny to him? Soda found humor in a lot of dumb things, but it was usually pretty obvious what would set him off the way he was now.
“I don’t get it,” Pony said, “All y’all call me by other names, too. What’s so different about Dally?”
“Dal doesn’t get spooked like that very often,” Darry supplied helpfully in between bites of his dinner, “So some of us are always lookin’ to remember it when he does.”
“Why’s he wanna know my birthday, though? It ain’t until next year.”
Sodapop, regaining some composure, shrugged.
“He’s funny like that,” he said, chest still shuddering from the effort of containing his laughter.
-
Ponyboy liked his name, and he wasn't ashamed to say that to anyone. Sure, it was a bit strange, but it was his, and he thought it was pretty tuff. It was also nice, getting to sort of match with Sodapop. It made them feel a little more like brothers.
That being said, Ponyboy didn’t necessarily mind being called something else. Not if it was something like Little Horse or Ponykid. Those were basically just extensions of his name anyway. He didn’t mind if it was Cowboy or Bookworm, even though he thought those two were a little odd. And he certainly didn’t mind being called honey or baby as he was wrapped in the protective warmth of his big brothers.