Chapter Text
Two-Bit will be the first to admit that the Curtis house is his favorite place to be. He wasn't like Johnny or Steve, who hated being at home and treated the Curtis house like a God-given place of solace. Two-Bit liked his home, 'cause he loved his Mom and sister. But the gang was his family just as much as they were, and the chance to see his brothers every single day was too good to pass up on.
On a Friday night, Two-Bit found himself sat across from Dallas Winston with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. Ironically, neither Darry nor Sodapop were home, and yet, the two of them were kicked back at their dining table, eating their food like they've got nowhere else to be. It's relatively quiet; Dally had smacked the remote of out his hand when he tried to turn on the television with a grumble that his head 'hurt like a motherfucker.' Two had only rolled his eyes and tossed him the bottle of aspirin, watching as Dally swallowed a couple before another bite of his sandwich.
Two-Bit jumps from his thoughts by a repetitive tapping. He glances up from his plate at Dally, ready to holler with his mouth full to stop tapping his damn foot or his class ring- whichever one is responsible for the noise- but Dally's eyes are focused on the front of the house.
"Who the hell is knockin' on the damn door?" Dally mutters, his mouth still half-full of food. The other bits that he misses go falling out of his lips, tumbling off his chin and down onto the plate below him. He doesn't bother cleaning it up, either, just keeps smacking his lips together like the Curtis house is fit for barn animals.
Two-Bit rolls his eyes, tossing his unused napkin across the table. "Jesus, Dal, close your damn mouth, will ya'?" As Dally rolls his eyes, Two stands from the table sharply, smacking his leg against the edge as he does. He curses beneath his breath, leaving his chair with a limp. "Christ. If that's Steve or Johnny, I'm gonna' skin 'em for making me get up," he grumbles.
By the time he reaches the door, the pain in his leg has dulled enough for Two to stop dramatically hobbling on it. He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand and takes a deep breath as he grabs the doorknob. Dally's question, though mistimed with his chews, is a valid one. None of the greasers that know Darry and Sodapop would ever knock on the door before entering; Two-Bit immediately fears the worst: that a social worker is here to take Soda away only months before he turns eighteen, or a cop is here to tell them that there's been another accident. If he and Dally are here eating their food and dirtying their dining table, the least Two can do is be professional to whatever bringer of bad news is on the other side. Two-Bit rolls back his shoulders and opens the door.
It feels like getting punched in the chest with the speed at which all the air escapes his lungs. Two-Bit lets out a choked gasp as his hand flies to his mouth. It's not a cop, or a social worker, or a soc on the other side. It may have been four years, but sixteen-year-old Ponyboy Curtis looks remarkably similar to twelve-year-old Ponyboy Curtis, save for the exhaustion in his face. His skin is littered with thick scars; even though Two-Bit can only see his face and neck, he can easily count on both hands. There's a thick chunk of grey hair at the forefront of his head, curling across his forehead. His cheeks are hollowed and his eyes are sunken, but it's him.
"Ponyboy," Two-Bit breathes. He trips over his own feet as he stumbles forward, throwing his arms around Pony's shoulders. He's just as tall at Two-Bit is now. Beneath his sweatshirt, his frame feels like an awful mix of built muscles and bony thinness. Still, Two-Bit chuckles as his eyes water. "Holy shit, kid. You're alive? You're actually alive. Holy shit."
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ponyboy curls in, returning the embrace with even more strength than Two-Bit had started with. He buries his face into his neck and mutters, "Two," with a voice so wet that it makes the tears fall from Two-Bit's eyes. He squeezes the boy tighter. "Two, I- I can't-"
"The hell is goin' on over there?!" Dally shouts from inside. Two-Bit can imagine exactly what he's doing: stomping over from the table with a napkin over his mouth, angrier at the interruption than he had been when Steve accidentally socked him last week while wrestling around. He makes it all the way to the doorway when he stops, choking on whatever food was left in his mouth. "Holy shit," he echoes.
He feels Ponyboy lift his head from Two's shoulder, pulling away from his friend. "Dally," Pony mutters through a sob.
Two-Bit has never once seen Dallas Winston get teary-eyed. He got close a few times, like the first time Sylvia had broken it off with him or that sappy romance movie the drive-in was playing a few months ago. When Two turns around, though, he's face-to-face with a Dally whose jaw is beginning to tremble as his eyes water. He shoves past Two-Bit so hard that the latter slams into the door. Dally wraps Ponyboy up in a hug so intense Pony grimaces for a moment.
Then, he brings his hands up with a smile, hugging Dally just as tightly as he had Two-Bit. "Jeez, big guy. Miss me much?" he taunts.
Dally pulls back and shoves Ponyboy's shoulder hard. "No shit. Where the fuck have you been, kid?" he practically shouts. Amidst the shock, Two-Bit hadn't even thought of asking, but now that it's been said, it's all he cares to hear. Two-Bit was already at the Curtis house four years ago when the cops came to the door; he and Steve were in the middle of fixing the birthday banners for Darry's eighteenth when they explained that Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were dead, and a twelve-year-old Ponyboy was nowhere to be found.
The cops had the nerve to claim he "ran away," which was the biggest load of bullshit any of the gang had ever heard. Ponyboy hadn't taken his family for granted for a single moment after getting adopted. His mother- Sally, Two-Bit remembers- had been killed by her husband when Ponyboy was seven years old, and he was sent to his mother's cousin as a result: Mrs. Curtis. Since that day, Darry and Sodapop had been calling him their 'baby' and 'kid brother' without fault.
It was exhausting, the way Darry had to fight the cops just for the chance that they would keep looking. As the years passed, Two became certain that Darry and Sodapop would have preferred knowing he was dead over sitting up every night, staring at a closed door and wondering when it would open.
Ponyboy flinches, just slightly, at the question. The excitement in his face dies down as he glances to the floor. He looks past Dally's shoulder into the house, then gestures forward with his head. "My brothers home?" he asks, glancing back at the empty driveway.
Two-Bit shakes his head, grabbing Ponyboy by the arm to lead him inside. "Nah. Both of 'em are working till late tonight. Darry does roofin', and Soda works at the DX afterschool with Steve," he explains, walking back to the dining table. He points to a chair, a wordless order for Pony to sit. "They like to work late on Fridays."
Dally snorts. "Only 'cause they can't pull broads like I can," he chuckles. He shuts the front door, eyes trailing Ponyboy. The kid's head is on a swivel as though he doesn't recognize his own house. His left hand grips the strap of his backpack as though it'll fly away from him, while the right is clung tight around a golden ballpoint pen. "Sit down, kid. You hungry?" he asks, trailing towards the kitchen. It almost makes Two laugh; he can't remember the last time Dallas has offered to make anyone anything. "There's enough in here for a sandwich, if ya' want it."
Ponyboy's head nods so fast Two-Bit thinks it might come off. "Please," he says, collapsing into a chair. "I haven't eaten in..." His voice trails off as his gaze falls down to the table.
Two-Bit's eyebrows furrow. He glances over to Dally, who does the same; both of them deflect their worried glances back at the kid, then each other. Two nods towards the fridge, causing Dally to roll back into action, pulling deli meats and cheese onto the counter. Two-Bit grabs a glass and fills it from the tap, cold as he can get it, and sets it in front of the kid. "How long?"
He shrugs. "Two days, maybe," he mutters. Ponyboy admits it like it's not a big deal, like it's reasonable that he's been running on an empty stomach for some 48 hours. Two-Bit's gut churns. Ponyboy places his pen on the table, rolling it back and forth across the top with his index finger. "I ran out of money on Wednesday. Chi- er, I thought it would be enough to get back here, but train tickets cost more these days than they did the last time I rode one," he explains.
Dally hums from the kitchen, smashing two pieces of bread onto a plate. "Where'd you catch the train from?" he asks. If Dally didn't have a rap sheet longer than the Constitution, Two-Bit would have told him right then and there to join the police, simply for his interrogation skills. How he manages to ask all the correct questions when Two's mind hasn't even caught up to Ponyboy's presence is beyond him.
Pony shrugs. "New York," he mutters around the glass.
"No shit?" Dally asks, turning back towards the table. "You know I used to live there, right?" Ponyboy nods as Dally turns away, grabbing a butter knife from the drawer. "You like mayo, kid? Your brothers are pansies who don't like mustard, but no one wants a dry sandwich, huh?"
"I'll take mayo, Dal. Thank you," he answers. His eyes cast up to Two-Bit with a level of curiosity he hadn't had at the front door. It makes him smile. Two pulls out his chair. He glances down at his own sandwich, but with the way his body is buzzing with adrenaline, he can't even think about eating it. "How had everything been? You said Steve's still 'round- what about Johnny? How have Soda and Dar been holding up?" he rambles.
Two-Bit holds his hands up in surrender. "Easy, kid, glory. One question at a time, alright?" he asks. Ponyboy nods eagerly, smiling in excitement. The joy in his face makes him look just as young as he is, which forces Two-Bit to match his grin. "Things are alright; good as they can be for us greasers, yeah? The soc's ain't been much of a problem since our rumble in the winter. Johnny's still 'round, too. He's probably at the lot right now, if the way he's been sleeping here says anything 'bout how his parents have been lately," Two explains. Pony's face falters at the discussion, but Two-Bit continues. "Your brothers... they're doing alright. They'll be much better once they see you. It was one thing to grieve their mom and dad, but not knowing if you were alive or not..."
Ponyboy frowns, then, worrying his lip between his teeth. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "It's not... you might not believe me, but it wasn't my fault." Ponyboy glances up as Dally walks back into the room, sliding his plate across the table. He walks around the Pony's side and slides into the seat beside him. "I tried to come back earlier, but every time I did, they stopped me, and I..."
"They?" Dally asks, sitting up straighter. He smacks an elbow onto the table. "Who are they? I gotta' kick some ass? Someone been keeping you somewhere all these years?"
"No!" Pony shouts, holding his hands out. He shakes his head back and forth rapidly. "No, Dally, and please don't say that, 'cause you don't even know who you're upsetting when you do," he mutters. Dally's face twists up in confusion, but Ponyboy doesn't bother explaining himself further. He takes a bite from his sandwich so big that Two's nearly convinced it's been longer than two days since the kid's eaten. "I- I’m not even sure what I can say, but- but I want my brothers here, first."
Two-Bit nods. "Okay," he agrees, placing his hand on the table. He glances over at his older friend. "Okay. What time is it, Dal?"
Dally pulls up his sleeve. "Quarter 'til six," he reads from his watch. He yanks his jacket sleeve down over his wrist. "What time the guys gettin' off work?" he asks in return.
"Eight, I think, and it'll take both of 'em ten minutes each to get back here, if Steve's drivin' Sodapop and Darry's drivin' himself," he explains. Two-Bit taps the table, glancing at Ponyboy. "You said you've been on the train, Pony. You need a shower?" he asks. Ponyboy nods eagerly, even with his mouth full to the brim. Two-Bit chuckles. "Alright. Finish your sandwich, then, and you can shower. I doubt any of your old clothes 'll fit you anymore, and you're... probably not fitting in Soda's, but we can dig out some of Darry's, alright? Dally can swing by and grab Johnny, and you can rest up until they get back. How does that sound?"
"Good," Ponyboy grumbles through his food. His food taps rapidly beneath the table, nerves counteracting his answer.
Dally and Two-Bit manage to fill the silence with consuming the rest of their respective sandwiches. When Ponyboy finishing, Two-Bit pushes his plate to the side and walks him to Darry's room, where they rummage around for a spare shirt and pair of jeans. Then, he throws Pony a towel and leaves him in the bathroom. When he gets back to the kitchen, Dally has scraped all the plate clean and rinsed them in the sink. Two walks into the kitchen and sighs, placing both hands square on the counter. He looks up at Dally and, simultaneously, they both mutter, "What the fuck?"
Ponyboy nods off after his shower, curled up like a kitten in Sodapop's bed, wrapped in Darry's sweatshirt, like it's the closest he's been to them in years. Two-Bit has the bite his tongue as he reminds himself that it is. He looks so young in that moment; the heavy weight he had been carrying at the door has melted from his face and Two can't see how tall he's gotten from this angle.
Dally comes back with a cold Johnny Cade in tow, and Two-Bit rips the old throw blanket off the couch and tosses it to the kid. He's been looking around town for a job lately, since he's not going to college and he's turning 18 sooner than he'd like to. For some reason, Johnny thinks that means he can't crash on the Curtis couch anymore, no matter what Darry and Sodapop say to convince him otherwise. Dally shoves the kid down onto the couch while grumbling about how he needs to 'stop being such an idiot.'
The next time the door opens, Darry steps inside. His eyes are half-drooping down his face and he's halfway through a yawn as he stumbles through the doorway. His hands and pants alike are covered in dirt, while his boots sport a new tear that hadn't been there this morning. Two-Bit practically jumps up from the couch; his sudden movements scare Darry out of his slumber. He blinks, staring at Two like a street cat. "Hell are you doing?" he asks.
Two-Bit smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, man. Just- do you think you can hang around the living room 'till Pepsi gets back?"
Darry blinks at him again, glancing at Dally and Johnny, then back to Two-Bit. "What's goin' on?" he asks, confused. He turns around and walks to the window, glancing out into the driveway. "Why do I gotta' wait for Soda? Is he okay?"
"He's fine, Superman. This ain't 'bout him," Dally mumbles. He yanks a chair out from the dining table and drags it to sit beside the cough, where he plops himself down with his legs crossed. "Just go clean the muck off yourself, would ya'? We can't talk with you dirtyin' up the sofa," he insists, waving his hand towards the bathroom.
Two-Bit steps out, placing his hand on Darry's shoulder. "Everything's fine, man," he cuts in before Darry can get upset by Dally's casual annoyance. "Dal's right, okay? Just go wash up and come back out here, and by the time Soda gets home, we'll explain. Promise."
Darry gives him a curt nod in response, one that says, "I'm not happy about this, but I trust you, so I'll do it." Two pats his shoulder and watches him disappear down the hallway. He sits beside Johnny on the couch, the three of them facing the door like intimidating parents waiting for their kid who snuck out and broke curfew to return. It only takes two more minutes for the door to swing open again, revealing Sodapop and Steve. Steve pauses at the door, eyes narrowing at the situation in front of him. Sodapop steps around him and, like it has ever since the accident, his mind starts unraveling, running laps around itself as he searches for an explanation.
"What's going on?" Sodapop asks, his eyes casting back and forth across the room. "Why are you guys sitting like that? Like- like you got news?" His breaths start to grow quicker as he looks around the room. "Where is Darry? Is he- Is he- oh, God, did he-"
Two-Bit is on his feet and in front of Soda in seconds, setting his hands square on his shoulders. "Darry is fine, man. He's in the bathroom. You saw his truck in the driveway, didn't you?" he asks. Sodapop blinks before nodding. Steve reaches out, setting a comforting hand on his shoulder, which finally allows for some tension to escape Soda's shoulders. Two smiles. "We- Dally and I just got something to talk to y'all about; it's okay, I promise. Just sit down, okay?"
"Okay," Soda mutters, allowing Steve to guide him towards the couch. "But- but if either of you say you're leavin' town, I'll gut you here in the living room, you hear me?"
Dally snorts at the threat. "Yeah," he mutters, gently nudging his elbow into Johnny's side. "I'd like to see him try."
Darry comes back a moment later. Even if neither of them will admit it, both him and Sodapop look relieved just at the sight of each other. It's like they trust the gang to tell them the truth, but the need proof to be reassured. Two-Bit doesn't mind; after all they went through with their parents' deaths and Ponyboy's disappearance, it doesn't bother him that they need each other to feel truly okay.
Steve forces Sodapop to sit on the couch, despite Darry's insistence on standing. He's scared that Soda's incoming hyperventilation will send him crashing to the floor. Johnny even scooches off the couch, sitting on the ground beside Dally's feet, just to make sure there's enough room for them beside Two-Bit. When they're finally all settled, silence washes over the room, and Darry's eyes turn to him. "Wanna tell us what the hell is goin' on now?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "You've scared the shit out of us for long enough."
Two-Bit nods. Despite Darry's claims of fear, a smile tugs at his lips. "Something... happened today," he starts, which fails to quell the fear in his friends eyes. "Something good, that is! But, uh- we had to wait 'til you guys got home from work, and it only happened two hours ago, so we haven't been keeping it from you for long, and we just had to make sure you were both ready, and-"
"Can it, man," Dally mutters, smacking his arm. Dally grins, picking his chin up in the air and angling it towards the hall. "Come here, kid!" he shouts.
Darry's eyebrows curl up. "Kid?" he asks quietly. His finger points towards Johnny. "That one's right here. Who the hell do you got in my house, Dallas?" Dally doesn't answer, though, just rolls his eyes and listens to the footsteps growing louder. Two-Bit looks at Darry and watches as his face melts from confusion and anger into shock and surprise, then grief and happiness, all in a few moments. "Ponyboy," he gasps, his arms falling limp at his side.
The kid's face is twisted up as tears rolls down his cheeks. "Darry," he cries, running across the room. He collides into Darry's chest as he sobs. Darry's arms curl around him as he squeezes his eyes shut. They're nearly the same height and stature now, with Pony's muscles genuinely starting to rival Darry's despite his age, but in his older brother's arms, he nearly looks twelve again.
Two's smile is broken by the loud cry from Sodapop as he flings himself off the couch and into his brothers, pulling them as close as he can. "Pony," he cries, a bright smile catching his tears as they pour down his face. "Oh, honey. You're alive. I knew you were alive. I just knew it."
"What the hell?" Steve mutters, staring at Two-Bit. He blinks. "Where the hell did you find him?" he whispers as harshly as he can, but keeps his voice low as to not distract the reunion before him.
Dally grins. "He found us. Showed up at the door few hours ago. Ain't that something?" he asks. His eyes look down to Johnny, where his grin fades. He reaches out to his friend. "What's wrong, Johnnycakes?"
Johnny's eyes are trained on the group of brothers crying in a heap on the floor. Darry presses his lips to Ponyboy's head, then to Sodapop's, and ducks back down between them. "He looks so... hurt," Johnny mumbles, frowning. "Where was he?"
Two-Bit bites his lip. Of course, Johnny would be the first person to notice his pain, because it's all Johnny Cade knows about life. Two-Bit watches as Dally squeezes his arm in silent support. "Not sure, kid. That's something Pony has been waitin' to tell us," he explains. Johnny laments with a nod and looks away.
Sodapop pulls his head back, smoothing his hands across Ponyboy's face. "I knew I'd see you again, honey. I'm so happy you're here," he smiles.
Ponyboy smiles back, nodding in agreement. Darry's eyes rake over his face, taking in the heavy bags under his eyes and the thick scar on his face, patched with another on his neck, and a few little, lighter nicks trickled around his skin. His excited demeanor falters as he brushes Soda's hand out of the way. He traces his fingertips over the marks, even as Ponyboy cringes and tries to pull back. "Where'd you get these, buddy?" he asks, voice cautious. "These from the accident?"
His eyes widen, but Pony shakes his head. "No," he says, gently pulling Darry's hands from his face. "No, they ain't. I wasn't- I wasn't hurt too bad by that. I don't care that I got that I got hurt. I didn't hurt me," he insists.
"What?" Sodapop whispers, leaning forward. His eyes glance up at the family photo on the wall, the last one taken before their family fell apart. His lip trembles at the sight of his parents before he looks back down. "Honey, it was a train. I'd be way more scared if didn't hurt you than if it did."
Ponyboy shakes his head. "No, Soda, it ain't hurt me," he repeats, his voice somehow firmer and wobblier all in one. "It didn't hurt me. But- but I saw them die," Ponyboy gasps, wringing his eyes shut. "It was my fault. You can throw me out, and- and never talk to me again. It's my fault they're dead, and I couldn't get them back, I- I tried. I tried to get them back."
Darry's heart breaks with every minute. I tried to get them back, he said. He pictures a twelve-year-old Ponyboy with shaking hands hovering over the crushed bodies of his aunt and uncle, sobbing as he presses into blood-soaked clothing and begs for their lives. Ponyboy was there when his mother was killed. How many people must he watch die in his short life? He reaches forward, tugging Ponyboy's face to his shoulder. "Don't say that, baby. It's not your fault. It's not your fault," Darry mutters. His hold on the nape of Pony's neck is strong and- hopefully- comforting. "We won't ever throw you out, you hear me? You're never getting away from us, not again."
"Okay," Ponyboy relents, pressing his face into the crook of Darry's neck. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, Pone," Sodapop insists, rubbing his hand up and down Pony's arm. His face is wet and shiny, but he smiles brighter than he has in months, and Darry thinks he'd sell his soul to live in this moment forever, where everyone is happy and excited and it feels like no harm could possibly come to them.
But something gnaws at his gut as he stares at his brother. There are these imaginary cracks in his skin that, if Darry's angled just the right way, allow him to see that Ponyboy is nothing more than a shell of the little kid he used to be. He wants to ask questions, calls of where have you been and what happened to you and why couldn't we find you, I looked everywhere, I begged and pleaded and-
"Ponyboy," Dally says from his chair, interrupting his jumble of thoughts. He leans forward, elbows laid upon his thighs and his hands clasped between his legs. He runs his tongue over his teeth as if he's looking for the right words to say. "Before, when it was just Two and I, you said someone was stopping you from coming back, and I need you to tell us what that means, or I'm gonna' lose my shit," Dally rambles.
Darry feels his blood turn cold. His head snaps to his baby brother, who seems to shrink down to the little kid he was when he first showed up to this house: a social worker had brought him to the door with a hand on his shoulder and an amicable smile on her face. Ponyboy had a black eye, a split lip, and red lines in the pattern of a hand circling around his throat. Mom had tried hard to explain to him and Sodapop that Ponyboy's stepdad was mean, but Soda- twelve years old and perpetually more emotional than a fourteen-year-old Darry- hadn't been able to work through it without sobbing.
"Pony, baby," Darry mutters, brushing the boy's hair back. He wants to cry just looking at the grey streak running through it. Darry himself was twenty-two years old, and yet, he's only found a single grey hair on his head throughout his entire life. His brother- his baby- wears an entire column of it, just another scar across the expanse of his skin. Darry's lip wobbles. "Was someone keeping you somewhere? Did someone take you? Please," Darry says as Ponyboy angles his face away, "Please be honest, honey. We won't be mad, okay? Not at you."
Ponyboy shakes his head. "No," he admits. Even though Ponyboy's always been a good liar, he has his tells, and Darry fails to see any of them here. "No, I wasn't. But- but if I tell you what happened- I can’t,” he sobs, still shaking his head back and forth. “I can’t. I can’t kill y’all like I did- like I did-“
”Glory, stop saying that, Pony!” Soda shouts, tears streaming down his face. He can’t help but to shove Ponyboy’s shoulder out of frustration. “You ain’t kill anybody!”
Darry wants to agree more than he’s ever wanted anything, but he sees it in Ponyboy’s posture. He walks like he’s carrying burdens Darry can’t even fathom, like he’s got anchors tied to his wrists and blood soaking his hands. He wants to grab Pony’s face and scream What happened to you?! What did they do to you, baby?!
Ponyboy takes this deep, rattling breath, and shakes his head like it's the only thing he remembers how to do. "I just- I can't tell you. It's not my choice. It's not what I want. But..." Pony looks up, his eyes switching back and forth between Darry and Sodapop. He wears this trembling smile that matches the unsteadiness in his eyes. "I need you guys to trust me. That- that I'm okay, and safe, and it's over."
"How?" Soda cries, baring his teeth like an overwhelmed, frustrated dog. "What's over? What are you talking about?" He pulls his hands away from Ponyboy and presses them to his hairline, tugging at the strands between his fingers. "Look at yourself, honey. You're- your face is covered in scars. You look like you've been to war. Your hair is grey! How can-" Sodapop shakes his head. As he hands it towards his legs, Steve reaches out and grounds him with a hand on his shoulder. "How can you expect us to not want answers?"
Ponyboy huffs. He slips away from Darry's grasp and rises to his feet. He starts to pace the room, pulling at his sweatshirt until the hood is over his head and his hands are shoved into the pockets. "You can want answers, that's fine. I expect ya' to. But- but I can't give them to you. And that- that's for your own safety, I swear it."
Darry's mouth is dry. No words come to the forefront of his mind as he watches Pony walk aimlessly around the room in a way that feels as though he's looking for an escape. Sodapop is still crying, though his hiccups are quiet and the violent sobs have ceased. Behind him, Steve scoffs, smacking the floor with the flat of his hand. "Fine, kid, don't tell us shit. That's fine," he grumbles as he stands. He steps around Soda and walks towards Ponyboy with an accusing finger thrusted out. "But what are you gonna' say to the fuzz when they ask where you've been for the past three years? Huh?" he spits. Steve steps forward in Ponyboy's path, blocking him from moving away any further. "They ain't gonna' take "I can't tell you" as an answer."
He bites down hard on the inside of his mouth, cursing Steve for somehow gaining a brain within the past fifteen minutes. He hadn't even begun to think about the fuzz and their investigation that went cold years ago. How will he get Ponyboy back into school? How will he explain his absence without the hospital wanting to poke and prod at his obvious injuries. How can he convince their social worker than he can handle a kid that's been off the radar for four years?
Hands falling to his hips, Ponyboy has the nerve to shrug and cast his eyes to the baseboards. "Someone will take care of it," he mumbles.
It's the last straw Darry needs to break out of his shock. The vague, inexplainable answers have become too much, he decidse. He joins Pony and Steve on their feet. "Who?" he hollers, his anger uncontrollable. "What the hell do you mean? Who? Who are you talking 'bout?"
Ponyboy rolls his eyes like he's been waiting for Darry to explode this entire time, and his suspicions have finally been vindicated. He shrugs again, turning his attention to his older brother. "It's fine, Dar. I'm just callin' in some favors, 'kay?" he says, his hands pressing in the air like he can physically pull the tension out of the air. "The fuzz 'll be off our backs, I'll go back to school, and the social workers won't ever separate us. I'm make sure of it."
Two-Bit shakes his head, wringing his hands together. "You're not making any sense, kid. Favors? You join the fuckin' mafia or something?"
"No! Gods," he mumbles, looking away from Two-Bit. Ponyboy pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose with his left hand. His sleeve slips down just far enough for Darry to see the bit of dark shadow peeking out from beneath.
His breath catches in his throat as he marches across the room. Darry takes a hold of Ponyboy's wrist firmly, even as the boy shouts in surprise and tries to pull it away. He steadies him with one hand and yanks the sleeve up with his other. Across Ponyboy's forearm is a collection of scars, far more than what Darry had been able to see around his face and neck. There's no simple explanation from how he could've gotten them; even living the worst lifestyle out of all of them, Dally only had two real deep scars on his whole two arms combined. Bile tugs at the base of Darry's throat as Sodapop gasps and covers his mouth with his hand. Darry's head snaps up to Ponyboy's face, who is frowning in disappointment. "You wanna' say that again? What else would give a 16-year-old kid scars like this!"
"It's not- it wasn't-" Ponyboy stumbles, trying to find the correct words. He huffs and tugs his forearm away with a strength Darry hadn't realized he had, tugging his sleeve down and shoving his hand back into his pocket. "I'm not in the mafia. I'm not in a gang. I'm not committing crimes. I wasn't kidnapped. Nothing bad-" he pauses, shaking his head, like Nothing bad happened is far from a declaration he can willingly make. "I'm fine, okay? I'm home. Nothing followed me here. I came back with the promise that if I do, I can live a normal life for a few years."
"...what happens after a few years?" someone asks timidly. Everyone looks over to Johnny, who has been deathly quiet the entire time. He sits on the floor with his head bowed, but he's glancing up at Ponyboy through the cover of his eyelashes. "You gonna' disappear 'gain?"
"That ain't my decision to make," Ponyboy grumbles. He huffs and runs a hand through his hair- his right hand, this time, as though Darry will explode again if he spots his scars again. "I've said what I can. I'm sorry it's not what you guys want to hear, but... but I'm home. I came all this way. And if- if this is a deal breaker, if you can't keep me around without having all the answers, I can- I can walk back to the train station."
Darry squeezes his eyes closed. "No, darlin'," he says, pressing his lips together. When he opens his eyes, his vision is notably blurrier, and the figure of Ponyboy before him has become harder to spot. He rubs his eyes with a sigh. "You ain't leavin'. Why don't you- you look exhausted, buddy. Why don't you go lay in Soda's bed, okay? He'll come after he's had something to eat."
Ponyboy's eyes dance across the living room, taking in the disappointment and confusion from all his friends. It must be too much because he secedes all too easily. Without a single argument, Ponyboy nods, turns around, and disappears down the hallway. The living room is frozen until the door clicks closed, and Sodapop springs up from the floor, throwing himself into Darry's chest. "Darry. Darry, I don't-" he swallows, pressing his face harder into his shoulder. "What do we do?"
Darry's arms are flat at his side. He glances at all the faces surrounding him. Steve stands angry and frustrated, picking up a pillow from the sofa just to chuck across the room. Two-Bit's eyebrows are furrowed and he's biting his lip so hard Darry's scared it'll start bleeding any moment now. Johnny is silent, his fingers picking at the fraying string at the broken hem of his jeans. Dally is grumbling under his breath, his one hand rubbing at his mouth while the other flicks at an unlit cigarette. Sodapop stays pressed to his chest, tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.
I don't know, Darry thinks, but he doesn't dare say it. He can't imagine the chaos it would cause if he told his gang that he, Darrel Curtis Jr., the man who holds them all together, doesn't know what to do.