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“So, I know you were already told this, but my name’s Darry.”
Darry had short brown hair, icy blue eyes, and muscles that could kill a man with ease. He was looking at him, hoping for some kind of response, but Pony just shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to look as nervous as he felt.
“I know this is a lot, kiddo,” he said, unphased, “But I want you to know Sodapop an’ I ain’t tryin’ to replace no one. You don’t gotta see us as no one other than who we are right now.”
Ponyboy nodded stiffly, eyes fixed on the ground.
“We lost our parents too,” he continued, “We know nothin’ can fix that. Sodapop, my brother, he’s the other one that lives here. Couldn’t get time off, though, an’ we figured introducing ourselves to ya one at a time might be easier. He’ll be comin’ home a little later, probably ‘round six or so.”
That made Pony pause. He had thought it was strange that his foster family was so young, but he’d figured it was a case of an overzealous new parent or something, not . . . another orphan.
Orphan. God, what a shitty word.
He snuck a glance up at Darry then, just a quick one, but it was enough to see the bags under his eyes and the way his smile didn’t seem to match the age in his demeanor.
“You’re like me,” Ponyboy mumbled, already looking at the ground again.
“I am.”
“ . . . I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say. A warm, calloused hand landed on his shoulder, making him turn his head. Darry quickly drew his hand back like he’d done something he wasn’t supposed to do.
“Sorry!” he squeaked, “It’s a force a’ habit, I do it with my kid brother a lot when he ain’t feelin’ so hot . . . ”
Was he . . . embarrassed? At that?
Before he could stop himself, Pony smiled just a little.
“Thas’ okay,” he said, “I don’t mind it none.”
Darry smiled back at him. “How ‘bout we go in then, ‘steada waitin’ around on the front porch?”
-
The trek through the house felt dangerous in a way Ponyboy hadn’t been expecting. Darry seemed to notice, because of course he did. Why wouldn’t he notice?
“Anythin’ that reminds ya too much of somethin’, we’re happy to take it down,” he said lightly.
“That’s okay,” Pony replied, “Thank you, though.” His new guardian nodded and kept showing him around. It was strange to have someone know what he was going through, he thought. Strange, but . . . a bit nice.
The tour was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming coming from across the house. Darry sighed, but the look on his face made it apparent that he’d come to expect it.
“Where are ya?” he heard a slightly higher-pitched, less gravelly version of Darry’s voice shout.
“New bedroom!” he yelled back, then turned to Pony and said, “He’s a big ball of energy. I think you’ll like him.”
Before anyone could say anything more, a teenage boy covered in freckles and motor oil slid into the room on one sock, extending his hand.
“Name’s Sodapop Curtis. Says so on my birth certificate,” he said, grinning.
“Ponyboy,” he replied, shaking it, “Says so on mine, too.”
Soda whooped. “Hear that, Dar? Yer outnumbered two ta one!”
His smile felt infectious. Pony couldn’t help but like him. It was a relief that he had the most intimidating part out of the way now, since there were no more people to meet.
“-hey, the gang knows to hold off for a few nights, right Dar?”
“They do.”
. . . or not, and he had to do this quite a few more times. Soda nodded and turned back to him.
“You can take meeting everyone as slow as you want,” he said, “No one’s gonna be upset, even if it’s weeks.” Ponyboy nodded dumbly, already feeling some of the pressure from before returning.
“It’s not a now problem, so try not to worry about it too much if you can,” Darry added, picking up on the extra stress immediately. Seriously, was this guy superhuman or something? Pony was pretty sure he read a superhero comic where someone did exactly this once upon a time.
“Yeah. Okay,” he said distantly.
-
Dinner was strange, but he didn’t dislike it. Darry gave Soda a certain look while he was cooking that left Ponyboy more than a little confused, but he elected not to ask. It seemed like an inside thing, something he wasn’t supposed to understand. Still, he found himself holding in an amused huff as Sodapop batted his eyelashes and gave his brother the biggest, saddest puppy eyes imaginable.
“I already checked if you had any allergies,” Darry had said beforehand, “But I wanna make sure there isn’t anythin’ you really hate, too. And really, no matter what it is, it's fine. Even if it’s a little strange. Soda can’t stand cooked vegetables, so I always have to leave somethin’ raw for him.”
The thought of Sodapop munching on a raw clove of garlic suddenly burst into his mind, even though Pony was pretty sure garlic was not a vegetable. He fought not to outwardly react to it.
“Uh, I don’t think there’s much,” he’d replied, “I just get grossed out when there’s too much fat on a piece a' somethin'. Ruins the texture.”
Darry smiled and shrugged like it was no big deal.
“More for me, then.”
-
He’d become no stranger to sleeping in unfamiliar rooms and beds over the past two months. After a while, Ponyboy thought he should have gotten used to it, but maybe he was just doomed to never feel at home unless he was tucked under the covers he’d never get to see again. Sleep had become . . . well, easier, but easier didn’t hold much weight once his initial sleepless state was brought into the equation. He’d picked up some tricks by now, figured out how to get on with less rest than anyone wanted him to have; staring at the ceiling for hours on end, finding a random noise and focusing on only that, tensing and relaxing every muscle in his body one at a time. More often than not, he could get a few hours in every night. It wasn't good, but it was enough, at least for now.
Sometimes, the chips and cracks in the ceilings would warp in the darkness. That wasn’t always as scary as it sounded- sometimes it turned into his mother’s laugh or the sharp smell of smoke that continually clung to his father’s clothes. Those nights were simultaneously his favorite and his least favorite- there was a comfort that came in seeing what he’d lost, but a dread in knowing he would only lose it again come morning.
Sleep didn’t come to him any easier in this new bed, not at first. It was a fine bed, fitted with clean sheets and a worn but comfortable mattress. If Pony shifted a certain way, he could feel a spring creak underneath the new weight. The room smelled a bit like dust. It was a little chilly, but he’d been provided four somewhat thin blankets that kept him cozy when layered on top of each other. The scent of an unfamiliar detergent lingered on them, one that he didn’t smell anywhere else in the house. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.
He wasn’t sure what to make of anything, really. It wasn’t like Ponyboy had been expecting to live in some horror show, but this all felt so . . . normal. Darry and Soda didn’t gawk at him, didn’t look at him in that awful, pitying way he’d grown accustomed to being looked at by adults nowadays. The way they looked at him was new and awkward, sure, but it didn’t feel condescending- it didn’t feel like he was an intruder on their lives in any way.
Pony rolled to the side and pulled the topmost blanket up to cover his shoulders, effectively cutting off his own thoughts.
Maybe now that he had a reliable place to sleep, he’d finally be able to do so peacefully.
-
“Ponyboy!”
He shot up, gasping and clawing at his chest. It was pitch black in his room. He couldn’t read the clock next to him, though whether that was because it was too dark or because his vision was just too blurry he couldn’t tell.
“Are you hurt? Ponyboy, look at me! Are you hurt?”
That was Darry, right? He shook his head, still wheezing in his attempt to get air into his lungs.
His voice softened just a touch. “Glory, kiddo, what were you screamin’ for, then? It’s three in the mornin’!”
He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. Pony’s chest started to shudder and he realized he’d been sobbing audibly this whole time. Again, he tried to say something, anything, but nothing came out, so he gave up and shook his head again.
“Take your time. It’s okay.”
Sodapop was here too? Great, he’d woken both of them up by . . . doing . . . something. Screaming? Had he been screaming?
“I- I’m sorry,” he forced out, “It- that’s never- I don’t-”
He gasped for air again, feeling Darry’s hand lay itself gently on his back.
“That’s okay,” he said, “Just breathe for me, baby, breathe for me.”
Ponyboy tried, he really did, but it felt like nothing was getting through his windpipe- he was starting to get dizzy.
“S' not working!” he cried desperately, grabbing at his sternum. Something else touched his other shoulder. He didn’t even register it until he felt himself being pulled into Darry’s lap, head against his chest.
“C’mon, baby, you can do it,” he said, “Breathe with me.”
It became a little easier with him being able to feel the rise and fall of another person’s ribcage. He’d been breathing too fast, too shallow; he hadn’t even noticed his breathing had been irregular, just that it hadn’t been enough. Darry slowed down as Pony was able to match his rhythm, and gradually the panic cleared from his system, leaving only residual adrenaline and a boy shaking like a leaf in the arms of someone he barely knew.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Darry soothed, “You did great.”
Against his will, Ponyboy let out the most pathetic sounding whine he’d ever heard in his life. A smaller, colder pair of hands gently took his own between them.
“You’re okay,” Soda said, holding them steady, “Looks like you just had a bad dream. Just a dream, Ponyboy.”
He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to be too embarrassed. It was only night one, and he was already causing problems.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, praying he’d start crying less soon.
“No, none a’ that,” Sodapop told him, “We all got our bumps in the road to get over. We didn’t wanna do this ‘cause we thought it’d be easy for us. We wanna make it easier for you, okay?”
“ . . . okay.” He could hear Darry’s heartbeat and smell his shampoo, even from below his head. It grounded him. Pony blinked a few times and made eye contact with Soda, who smiled at him.
“There you are, honey,” he said, “Good to see you back with us.”
One of Darry’s hands moved up to mess with his hair. “Feelin’ a little better?” he asked. Ponyboy nodded into his wrinkled sweatshirt (had he just thrown that on? He didn’t remember seeing it when he was checking in on him before he went to sleep) and suppressed a yawn. Glory, he sure was tired now . . .
“Pony?” Darry asked softly, “Ponyboy?”
No response. He looked to Sodapop.
“Little guy’s out like a light,” he said.
“Looks like it,” agreed Soda, “Scoot over, big brother. I’m too tired to go all the way back to my room.” Darry huffed, but did as he was told. Somehow, Sodapop managed to maneuver himself into the bed without letting go of Pony’s hands.
-
He hadn’t been expecting them to stay.
When Ponyboy’s eyes cracked open that morning, he didn’t register the warmth as something that wasn’t his until his focus landed on the cold, freckled hands still firmly clutching his own and the person they belonged to right in front of him. Darry snored softly underneath him- they must have moved him in his sleep so he’d be laying down. His mind drifted. He’d never had those kinds of nightmares before. Sure, he’d had an overactive imagination when he was a little kid (and maybe still to this day if he was being honest with himself), but screaming bloody murder without waking up?
Pony sighed, shifting slightly. Sodapop cracked his eyes open.
“Mornin’,” he said, lifting his head to reveal a face still squished on one side, “Y’ sleep okay? After the nightmare, I mean.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I don’t know what that was,” he admitted softly. Soda shrugged, slipping off the bed and rubbing his eyes.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said with such confidence that Ponyboy had to believe it, “Now, don’t wake Darry before I finish the pancake batter. He’ll try to stop the surprise.”
“ . . . surprise?”
Soda winked and pulled a tiny bottle of food dye out of his pocket. Was he still dreaming?
“How long has that been in there?” Pony asked. Sodapop just put a finger on his lips and slowly backed out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. After a few minutes of listening to the clanking and slamming of various dishes and cabinets (seriously, was this what Soda’s idea of being quiet was?), his eyes fluttered shut again and he drifted back into a light sleep.
-
“Oh, is Soda cookin’?”
Ponyboy opened his eyes to the smell of cooking pancake batter and sat himself up. Darry smiled at him.
“Mornin’, Pony. Did I wake you?”
He shook his head. “I was up for a bit already.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth he realized how much of a lie that was, because the clock was twenty minutes past the time he’d last seen it at.
“You sure ‘bout that?”
“ . . . no,” Pony mumbled, flushing a little. Darry laughed and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Let’s see how far along Soda’s got with those pancakes,” he said.
“Oh, uh, I think they . . .” he trailed off a little, making Darry raise an eyebrow.
“What color did you see him take out?”
“I think purple? I’m not sure. I was real tired still.”
“Sounds about right.” Darry rolled his shoulders a few times. “He likes to make meals . . . well, he calls it fun, but everyone else calls it criminal.”
“Hmm.” Ponyboy nodded sagely.
“I don’t know where he keeps getting all this food dye. It’s like every time I hide it, he just gets more, then he finds the old stash an’ we gotta do it all over again.”
“Are you any good at hiding it?”
Darry shrugged. “Probably not. It stopped bein’ about that after a while, though. I was just happy he was smilin’.”
Pony wanted to say thank you for last night, but he didn’t know how. He thought about it as they made their way out of his room. He should really thank Soda, too, since he’d also helped him calm down. Glory, that whole episode sure did freak him out. Was he gonna scream like that and wake up his two benefactors every night? Ponyboy wasn’t sure if he could stand that. They looked tired enough as it was.
As they walked into the kitchen, Pony was met with the sight of one Sodapop Curtis creating the biggest stack of rainbow pancakes he had ever seen. Darry stopped in his tracks, speechless for a moment, before opening and closing his mouth a few times and then just giving up and setting the table. He grabbed two plates, closed the cupboard, then looked at the stack, blinked, and opened the cupboard back up to grab a third one, not noticing the eyes on him. He didn’t make that mistake again with cups or silverware, and by the time he got to the napkins Ponyboy was already distributing them.
“Thanks, kiddo,” Darry said, moving to sit down, “Sit wherever you want. We don’t really have places.” He nodded and awkwardly plopped down in an old, sturdy chair that didn’t even creak. It was a little impressive. All the chairs at Pony’s old house were very creaky.
“You got anythin’ today, Dar?” Soda asked from across the kitchen.
“Nah,” he said, “I took the weekend off. Gotta make sure everythin’s in order ‘round here ‘fore I go back on a roof.”
“You do roofin’?” Ponyboy asked, trying to sound casual. Darry nodded.
“During the days. I got a second gig I work sometimes if things are gettin’ tight, though. Don’t worry, I won’t let you go hungry- it’s just that sometimes we have a lot of mouths to feed.”
“The gang,” Soda added for clarity, “Especially Johnnycakes. Johnny. He’s too thin.”
“We got a plate for him already, right?” Darry asked.
“In the fridge,” Sodapop said, trying and failing to flip a green pancake. “You skipped a grade, right? You two might share a few classes.”
“We’re gonna give you another week before you start school,” Darry said, turning to him, “By then we should have all the paperwork n’ stuff in order.”
“Okay.” Soda turned off the stove. “What’s the thing Two’s Ma says before they eat? Mong?”
“Mange?” Darry corrected, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, mange. Well, do that now.”
Despite the color, Ponyboy found himself really enjoying his breakfast. Soda was a pretty good cook, even if the food wound up dyeing his tongue blue for the rest of the day.
“I thought we were gonna wait until day three for the food crimes,” Darry said, cutting up another forkful through the complaint.
“You said no surprises until day three,” Soda said, “And if this is still a surprise, then that’s on you, Superman.”
Superman? Interesting. It seemed like Pony wasn’t the only one who picked up on those keen observation skills.
“So there’s a rainbow every meal, then?” he asked.
“Nah, usually I stick to one or two colors. I just wanted to make your first breakfast here extra special,” Sodapop told him, smiling. A warm feeling flared up in Ponyboy’s chest; then the door slammed open, and Darry and Soda sighed at the exact same time.
In walked a towheaded guy, probably about Soda’s age, wearing quite possibly the tuffest leather jacket in the whole country.
“Don’t slam the door,” Darry muttered like he knew it wouldn’t do anything.
“Cool it, Muscles. I’m just workin’ delivery today anyway. In the fridge?”
“ . . . in the fridge.”
Pony watched as this new unknown strutted in like he owned the place. They made eye contact and he quickly looked at his lap.
“That the new kid?” the stranger asked. Sodapop rolled his eyes.
“No, Dally, it’s the president’s son, an’ we kidnapped him four hours ago.”
“Better get out ‘fore the fuzz show,” Darry tacked on, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.
“Y’all sound like Two-Bit.” Dally grabbed a plate out of the fridge, shoved it in a bag of unknown origin, and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving a tense silence in his wake.
“ . . . so that’s one of your friends, then?” Pony asked, unsure of what to say next.
"Yep. Dallas Winston. He does what he wants. We’re just lucky he waited ‘til nine.”
“Do you gotta make another extra plate, then? For . . . Johnny?”
“Nah. He’s bringin’ it to the lot, that’s where Johnny likes to hang out. He’ll give it to him there.”
Ponyboy nodded, turning back to his own, mostly finished breakfast.
“You don’t have to meet anyone ‘til you’re ready,” Darry reminded him. He nodded again.
There was no other way to put it- the Curtises were genuinely kind people. Feeding people that they didn’t have to feed, waking up in the middle of the night with no complaints just to help someone stuck in a dream, staying with him through the morning just to make sure he was okay. Taking him in. Making him feel . . . okay.
“Thank you,” he mumbled almost inaudibly. It didn’t matter. Darry and Soda still heard it.
“‘Course, kid. Anytime.”