Archive of Our Own

Darry's back ached as he closed the door to his house behind him and tossed his keys onto the counter. It was one of those days where a long day at work crawled its way into the late hours of the night, and he didn't finish his last job until long after the sky had tucked the sun in to sleep, unlike himself.

A quiet groan escaped his lips. His spine had grown stiff, his muscles tired, his head throbbed and his feet burned in his shoes. It's not like he could give himself time to rest the pain off tomorrow. In fact, he'd be getting less than his usual amount of sleep tonight from working so late, already starting tomorrow off on a bad note. And who knows how long tomorrow would keep him at his job. It would all just repeat in a cycle, the same thing everyday with no good change ever fruiting from it. Just doing enough to get by for the month until the next month comes. He wondered in the back of his mind when it would end, and already he knew with creeping despair that it never did.

Too exhausted to even think about making himself dinner, he trudged straight into the living room and threw himself on the couch, sighing from the relief it offered. He eyed the clock on the wall.

"The boys ought to be asleep by now." He thought briefly before closing his eyes again. It was a Friday night, thankfully, but it was well past 12 a.m. and while Sodapop, who was sixteen going on seventeen and out of school had some more leverage with his curfew, his youngest, Ponyboy, knew exactly what time he had to be in bed by, even on the weekends. It was all so he didn't mess up his sleeping schedule for school. And because Ponyboy had horrific nightmares after their parents died and needed Sodapop to sleep next to him each night just to sleep soundly, it was Darry's best guest, or at least hope, that both of his kids were fast asleep at this point.

His kids. They weren't really 'his' in the sense of a father with his sons, but boy, it sure often felt like it. They were the reason why he worked like a dog everyday just to keep food on the table, why he kept going at all, even if they, especially Pony, drove him crazy sometimes. He didn't mind thinking they were his, but it's something he never said out loud. No one ever talked about it out loud, though it settled in the house like a ghost haunting over them. 

Darry's body shifted and he swung his legs over the length of his couch and let his head lay on the headrest. His hands folded themselves over his chest automatically and he stared up at the ceiling, his mind both empty and racing with a million things at the same time. It was a weekend tomorrow but that hardly meant anything. Money was tight this month, the family needed every ounce of work they could get. Slacking off on weekends was just unthinkable for Darry. He had to keep this family together, relaxing and having fun just wasn't on his agenda anymore, and it hadn't been for a long time. Soda offered to work on weekends too and after much pestering Darry obliged but strictly ordered that he cut his hours in half these days. Ponyboy could beg him for a job all he wanted but as long as he was in school academics was all he was allowed to focus on. Maybe it was pride speaking, but Darry was the one who was going to keep this house together, as was entrusted to him from both his parents and the law. The boys were young for only so long, he didn't need them spending the rest of their youth working their lives away, much less even knowing how rough their financial situation was getting and adding onto the household tension.

Tomorrow was another day. Darry felt his eyes begin to flutter open and closed and he decided he was going to use what little time he had to himself to think of other, happier things.

Of course, he went right back to worrying in no time at all.

His thoughts went from breakfast tomorrow morning, to football, to hanging out with the gang, and then to more dreamlike fantasies of his family and life before his parents died, and then as it always did, his mind lingered back to the boys. His boys. Soda was under the weather today. He mentioned something about a headache and a runny nose, and Darry had asked him if we wanted to stay home, but knowing how strained they were for money, Soda put on his signature smile and starkly refused. He said he would be okay. Now that Darry was home he had the time to scrutinize his parenting. That smile looked forced, of course Soda wasn't okay. He ought to check if Soda's any worse for wear, but he can't seem to move his feet, he's just so tired. Pretty selfish, huh? He should've insisted Soda stay home. He should have stayed home himself and looked after the kid. It's what their dad would have done. Then again, when their dad was still here money was never as big of an issue as it was now.

Ponyboy...Lord, they barely even said a word to each other today. Darry's gut twisted with guilt. They had gotten into it some days before, over Pony lying about finishing his homework so he could go out with his best friend Johnny. They both said things they didn't mean and while the fight was bad, the tension and silence that lingered in the house afterward was always worse. The obvious solution was to talk about their problems together and make up, but this was also Darry and Pony we're talking about. Two boys, one barely an adult, who were trying to figure out how to live on top of already trying to unthread a giant knot of grief. Communication was an afterthought, at best. Unspoken grief came out through glares and tears and stinging words, and they made it time's job to lick the wounds until all that remained was a dull twinge. At least until the next spat.

Darry doesn't even know how Ponyboy's week has been going so far, the kid won't open up to him. He only managed to give him a 'have a good day,' today just before Pony closed the door behind him. He frowned. It wasn't enough. They were becoming strangers. Darry and Sodapop usually got to catch up with each other during car rides to work or cleaning or making dinner. Their conversations flowed easily, the two both being naturally extraverted and sociable, as well as fairly grounded in reality. It was like Ponyboy was living in an entirely different plane of reality compared to them, and Darry could never get a firm hold on the boy or understand what was going on his mind before he slipped right through his fingers again.

But even so, Darry wanted Ponyboy to be in those conversations as well. He was their brother too, after all. He wanted to talk to him again like old times, before their parents died. He wanted to know how school was going for Pony, what he was currently reading, what he was doodling in his little sketchbook over on the couch, what new movie was in theaters that he wanted to see. He wanted him to come to Darry when he was stuck on a math problem, or ask him to play a game of football, or be the first pair of arms he ran into when he was upset or scared. Like old times. He wanted that so much, but now it always came out jumbled. Every question he asked had a critique latched onto it. Little nips or pinches that Darry didn't even notice he was making until Ponyboy eventually snapped at him and they got into it again.

Darry confided in Sodapop during their car rides about how worried he was about Ponyboy, why couldn't he get through to him, what he could possibly be missing, and each time Soda answered that Pony simply felt things differently than him. He was a a gentler soul, and Darry's quips, which wouldn't have bothered him or most people pierced Pony like an arrow. He needed to be softer, if he applied too much pressure eventually the other would crumble like sand. Sodapop was so good with Pony and understood him so well, but Darry never got it. It almost made him jealous.

Darry missed just being a brother. He didn't know if he was cut out to be a father. Ponyboy and Sodapop were his kids, and that wouldn't change, but what was he to them?

Darry's eyes slowly fell closed as his thoughts lingered on his boys. They shifted to happier memories. Playing football in the lot, getting into normal, teenaged trouble, flirting with the local girls. Decorating the house for the holidays, celebrating birthdays with baking cakes and wrapping gifts. Play wrestling on the couch, being curled up in bed all together on snowy winter days, wrapped in every blanket they could find, the three holding onto each other for warmth with the youngest always in the middle, and the oldest eventually, reluctantly climbing out of bed to make the other two hot chocolate when they had fallen asleep. Patching up his younger brothers' injuries from falling or getting into a fight while they sniffled and tried to hold their tears back for as long as they could, before inevitably crumbling into their big brother's embrace. Reading his baby brother a bedtime book before he knew how to read because he liked the sound of Darry's voice as he unwound a story. The faint sounds of crying in a hospital before, at the age of only six, a tiny infant who smelled of lemons and lavender and fresh laundry and everything new and nice was put in his arms which he cradled on instinct, and an odd sense of deja vu washing over him as he vaguely remembered doing the same thing just three years before. His baby brothers.

At some point, and he can't recall when, his memories were churned into dreams as the world faded away and his conscience was lifted somewhere higher. He fell asleep there on the couch without so much as taking his shoes off.

★彡

Ponyboy was up past his curfew. He was huddled up in the kitchen and had switched back and forth between working through his old battered copy of Catcher in The Rye and interpreting his favorite scenes from the novel in his sketchbook in quick, messy scribbles of a pencil. The house was still. The window by the kitchen was pitch black, and, still a bit afraid of the dark, it unnerved Ponyboy so much he eventually drew the white lacy curtains over it. The single kitchen light, the only light still on in the house buzzed overhead. A gentle creak from the wooden floors came from somewhere in the house, showing their age. Soda was long past asleep in their bedroom but Pony knew better than to go up there and climb into bed himself. Sodapop came home utterly beat that evening and sicker than a dog. Being forced to work while the hot sun was beating down on him wasn't a great combo. He was sweating profusely, could only breathe through his mouth, and his arms hung about him limply. He couldn't even bring himself to smile, he was so weak. He kicked his shoes off, not caring what direction they went in, muttered to Ponyboy that he would be in charge of making dinner that night before heading into their bedroom and closing the door behind him, and he hadn't come back out since.

Now Pony always had the option of sleeping by himself in Soda's old bedroom when Soda was sick and at risk of infecting Ponyboy if they slept together in the same bed. However, the reason Sodapop and Ponyboy slept together at all was in hopes it would reduce Pony's torturous night terrors. He was like a shield, and if Pony slept alone it was like he was being left defenseless. No, he needed the comfort of another person by his side, and he'd rather go a few nights with no sleep then have to experience even a few minutes of those horrible nightmares he could never remember but always left him screaming in his own sweat and tears. If it got bad enough, he would even consider just getting Johnny to come and sleep next to him so he wouldn't be alone. And knowing Johnny, it would be the only time the older boy would agree to sleep under someone else's roof, his desire to protect Ponyboy outweighing his fear of being a burden.

So Ponyboy thought for sure he was a dead man when he heard the door close from the other room and Darry's groan. He would have to explain why he was up so late when he knew damn well he should be sleeping at this time, but it didn't matter anyway because Darry was for sure going to tear into him for not using his head and rip him a new one. He just wished he could talk to Darry without feeling like he had to walk on eggshells. Where every sentence he uttered didn't turn into a scathing lecture. He squinted and braced himself for impact but when it never came he raised a brow. His ears strained for sound but heard none. It was so quiet he could almost convince himself that he had just imagined Darry walking into the house.

Curiosity taking over, quietly Pony slipped out of the stool he was sitting on and began to investigate. He needn't go far. He stealthily crept into the living room and that's where he found Darry, already passed out on the couch within minutes of coming home.

Ah. Well that answered that question. The guilt of being up late washing off his back, Ponyboy turned with a yawn to head back to the kitchen and renew his practice.

Only...

He hesitated a moment, before looking back at his older brother, who lay there looking completely worn out, as if he were going to just sink right into the couch and become part of its mold.

It was cold in the house. He had no blanket. He hadn't even taken his shoes off.

Ponyboy lingered there in the doorway that connected the kitchen and the living room for only a few seconds, but the decision was already made. As silent as a cat, he tip-toed over to his sleeping brother and made his way around the couch towards his shoes. They were dirty with old mud stains on them. They had tears in them from being well-used throughout the years, but they were Darry's best pair of shoes, and he was going to use them until they were practically torn to shreds before he would even think about buying a new pair.

Slowly, fingers that were much more gentle and delicate than the shoes' owner's reached out and lightly took hold of the laces. On one of them the aglet had been ripped right off, but otherwise the shoes were tied just fine. Ponyboy began making work of untying them. The strings pulled apart smoothly and satisfyingly on the first shoe but the second one seemed to be tied into a knot that was hard to get out. His fingernails latched onto it and as he began tugging he bit his lip nervously and his eyes kept darting up to Darry's face in search of any change of expression. He was in complete favor of hiding behind the couch if the other woke up. He wasn't looking to get grounded today. But Darry proved to be a heavy sleeper tonight, without so much as a quirk of the brow.

Pony continued trying to get a steady hold on the knot, and as he worked he studied his brother's face. He hardly ever saw his brother's face so...so clean. He once theorized that people became younger when they slept, because they sure looked like they did. There were no lines on his face now, no creases on his forehead from what seemed to be a permanently fixed glare and a furrowed brow. No bags under his eyes from a fit of sleep, a night in endless tossing and turning as he worried and worried, no lines formed by a concerned or disappointed frown, typically directed towards his youngest. He looked like how he used to be, before Mom and Dad died and he changed.

Why did things have to change? Ponyboy confided in Sodapop about how different everything and everyone was now, especially Darry. Why did Darry have to be so hard on him, does he hate him now? Why couldn't things be like they used to be. And yet again, with a tired look on his face, Soda explained tactfully that Darry just had more responsibilities now than he used to, that he does care about Ponyboy, but love comes in many ways and not always the way we want it to. But Ponyboy never got it. To him Darry loved Soda and no one else. Certainly not he.

Ponyboy's nails finally managed to get a good grip on the knot and he gave it a few tugs until finally it came loose and both ties were undone. Pony admired his handiwork for just a blink before his hands brushed the sides of Darry's left shoe, looking for a firm hold.

His fingers grabbed onto the sole of the shoe and his thumbs reached over to the heel, and slowly, he slid the first shoe off. Admittedly, doing this felt a bit odd to Pony. Uncomfortable perhaps. Maybe it was the humility of serving someone at their feet, or how dirty the shoes were. Pony would have to wash his hands after this. It was a position he had never been in before. But he couldn't bring himself to feel grossed out.

Ponyboy has read the Bible cover to cover. Now whether he actually believed in its words or believed in God at all was a different conversation entirely. But he remembered the story of The Last Supper, where Jesus with only a towel and a water basin took to washing his disciples' feet. There, Jesus had said they would not understand what he was doing for them now, but later they would. And at first Ponyboy didn't understand the meaning of this act either, taking it at surface level. But there he felt he was beginning to understand.

There, in the quiet of the night, the act of taking off someone else's shoes felt holy. It was a divine, intimate gesture. It was silent praise, at the very least an acknowledgement of all the roughness these shoes endured from long, hard days at work. Work Darry did to keep this family in one place. Because...because...

The other shoe came off and Ponyboy laid them together so quietly they hardly made a thud when they touched the ground. He looked up at Darry and was relieved to see he was still asleep. The only part of him that showed signs of age, perhaps more than his actual number, was his hair. Those visible grey streaks don't go away with sleep. Ponyboy always thought that grey hair looked pretty, those silvery streams that flowed like rivers in elderly people's hair, a testimony to how much they've lived and seen, the trials they conquered and the laughs and cries they've had. The simple joys. The hard won battles. Grey hair is a badge of honor, more priceless than any medal. But it wasn't supposed to be in a twenty year old's hair.

He grabbed both shoes by the collar with two fingers and stood. He was beginning to piece something together, he felt. The grey hair, the lined face, rough hands compared to his own softer ones, the dirty shoes. Signs of back-breaking work and never ending stress, and Darry was the product. And he came home every day like it didn't matter and did it all over again the next without so much as a complaint. It came to Pony in a revelation, and he could have crumpled from the guilt of all these things he never noticed until now. The answers to all the questions he asked Soda. He was too ashamed of himself to say them out loud.

He really does never think of anyone but himself.

He looked over at the door, where Soda's shoes lay around half heartedly. He walked over and picked them up too. They were dirty like Darry's. However, he didn't lay them back down in a more proper position. He went back to the kitchen and placed them out on the counter next to the sink. He could already hear his conscience, conveniently in Darry's voice, scolding him for getting mud on the counter. But that was alright, he'd clean it up after.

He turned the sink on and grabbed the bar of soap sitting nearby. He felt the water and almost flinched at how icy cold it was.

"Do as I have done for you." He thought as he took one of Darry's shoes and placed it under the tab. He watched the cool water run over it, cleansing it, but it barely took off a surface layer of dirt on its own. The rest of the work would be up to Ponyboy. Gently at first, he started with the sole as he began to scrub off the dirt and mud and months of work and wear with the soap. No sooner was the shoe covered in soapy suds did Pony wash it all off, only to go in a second time. All the while he hoped the noise he was making there in the kitchen did not stir either member of his remaining family.

Moving from the sole, he slowly made his way up and scrubbed there too. He had gotten a good look at every part of the shoe as he scrubbed and it made him realize how he never even knew what type of shoes Darry wore. Dark brown leather work boots with a zipper on the side and strictly laced shoelaces. What else had he never noticed? Darry who came home late tonight, probably not the first time. Darry who cooked meals, who cleaned the house, who worked everyday, who payed the bills and filed the taxes, almost all by himself. Darry who had dreams and aspirations, Darry who wanted to go to college and play football, who wanted to settle down with a lady and have kids someday. There was a Darry who used to be fun and carefree and now he lived with a scowl so persistent it would make you think he was born with it carved into his face. He yelled like he never use to yell. His hair was greying at a frightening rate. Now all he talked about was bills and his little brothers. And Soda still smiled but he really wasn't all that different from Darry either.

Ponyboy couldn't think of anything to say that would dismiss what he knew was true. 

How was he ever going to pay his brothers back?

Did they become this way because of him?

He sniffed, and furiously wiped his eye using his shoulder and scrubbed harder. No, he needed to work. This was the least he could do and it was just the beginning.

And so he went on like that, scrubbing, rinsing, inspecting, scrubbing, rinsing, inspecting. He cleaned and asked no one in particular how he was going to give back to his brothers what they were giving to him. He looked up, hoping for guidance, but all he saw was the ceiling. And despite only asking the cold air of the house for help, half of him wished the air would whisper the answers back to him.

The clock on the wall of the living room had moved considerably by the time he placed soda's second shoe next to the other three and washed his own hands off. It was done.

The shoes weren't spotless. They might never be again. But they were considerably cleaner than how they looked before. Before gentle fingers held them in softer hands, before they were taken care of with a softness they had not been shown in a very long time. Cleansing them of their dirty work, releasing them of their burdens, giving them another chance to be used well. The shoes were loved and needed but never taken care of. And from now on when they got dirty again Ponyboy would was them, he finalized.

He took a dish towel and wiped them off one by one until they could have shined under the kitchen light. He grabbed one pair in each hand by the heels again and, returning to the front door, placed them down neatly in a row. Soda's shoes, which were only a little smaller than the shoes of Darry's in front of them. Pony dusted his hands off and admired his work for only a moment before he faltered.

He turned his head to look back at Darry, who still lay limply on the couch, only having turned a little in his sleep, but otherwise looking cold and not the most comfortable.

Pony frowned. He could take care of these shoes all he wanted. He could take polish and shine them, take them to a tailor and make them good as new again, but at the end of the day these were just shoes and not his brothers.

He did not hesitate now. He walked past Darry quietly, giving him just a sparing glance, and being careful to avoid familiar floorboards that creaked, snuck into the eldest's bedroom for just a minute before he came back out dragging Darry's big rainbow quilt behind him. He had it for as long as Pony could remember, but he became especially attached to it after everything that happened with their parents. He slept with it almost every night, set it aside to hand-wash himself carefully on laundry days, and even when it tore he still didn't throw it out; he taught himself to sew just to patch it up. And it was a lovely quilt, a myriad of colors with different intricate patterns and embroidery stitched into its being. It was soft to the touch and weighed Pony down as he dragged it into their living room.

He looked over Darry's sleeping frame one more time. He seemed to have curled in on himself some since Pony took off to the kitchen with his and Soda's shoes. His arms rested on his chest and his knees were curled awkwardly in an attempt to fit his large body into a couch not big enough to hold all of him.

With a grunt and a heave, Pony took the quilt and threw it over Darry. He watched it as it soundlessly floated down, over them, and for just a second the quilt and all its colors resembled the sky on a sunny evening after the rain. Or like those giant rainbow parachutes which, back in elementary school, the P.E. teacher would occasionally let the class play with, and the world would be encapsulated in color for a few magical minutes. He looked on as it draped over Darry lazily, and then went about neatly smoothing out all the loose or scrunched up corners until it just about covered him. Upon the new layer of warmth encompassing him, Pony heard Darry sigh somewhat more contentedly in his sleep and turn over a bit to face his younger brother. For once it looked like tired wasn't the only thing Darry ever knew, that it wasn't what shaped his very DNA.

Pony smiled softly again, but no sooner from this satisfaction did a sense of awkwardness follow. He supposed his job was done now. He had helped make Darry comfortable without waking him. He fidgeted with his hands, looking down, then looking around the room, trying to find something to do. Presumably the next step would be to go back to the kitchen and continue to work and murder his sleep schedule or find some way to rest alone without inducing unimaginable nightmares. And the first option would have been much more preferable if his eyelids didn't suddenly grow so heavy and he wasn't stifling a yawn as the rest of his body sagged. Perhaps seeing his big brother sleeping so peacefully urged some instinctual need in his body to imitate his kin. But where to sleep?

Darry's room was off limits, and the whole house knew that. Technically he wasn't even supposed to go in there even just to get the quilt, but err...rules were made to be broken. Sodapop was too sick to sleep with, his parents' room...no. Just...no. That left Soda's old bedroom, which he used sometimes when he needed privacy but was slowly becoming an extra storage space as it gathered dust. Oh, but that room was just so scary at night! It was unused and un-lived in compared to the rest of the rooms. There was a strong feeling of loneliness that washed over a person when they walked into the room now that it was all but deserted by its original owner and at night that feeling of isolation was only amplified. It got cold in that room at night, so cold that you could feel it through the blankets, and it was too empty and too quiet, so quiet that even the natural creak of a floorboard or tap from the wall would make Ponyboy jump during previous nights spent in there. Outside the window was a tree with many branches, so when the moonlight streamed in it made odd shadows on the wall, and with an imagination like Pony's those shadows could contort into anything his mind might make up. Oh, but worst was the family portrait that hung over the dresser. His parents looking down at him as though they were haunting the room and that was what made it so unbearable to stay in. And he'd be all alone. No, Soda's room just wouldn't do. But where?

While thinking Ponyboy's eyes absentmindedly traveled down to see his older brother again. He thought loosely of how warm it would be under Darry's big quilt, and he gazed languidly at Darry's strong arms and all the times he had been held and carried by them, even if he hadn't been for a long time now. And before he could even realize what he was thinking, the idea came to him.

"No." He immediately reprimanded himself. "Hell. No. I'm not a baby. I'm not doing that!" His cheeks burned at the very suggestion of doing something so childish. Crawling into bed (couch?) with a family member when scared or restless was something reserved for little children only, not teenagers like him. He was fourteen for heaven's sake, and he knew Darry never liked it when he cried or showed even an ounce of vulnerability around the other, if those icy blue eyes said anything.

Darry had to grow up faster than the rest of the entire gang, even faster than Dally. He didn't have time to cry or scream or throw punches when there were bills to pay and work to do and mouths to feed and laundry to fold. He didn't cry, rarely laughed, almost never hugged you, and the rest of the house had to fall in line, it seemed.

Pony knew it best that he leave yet his hand lingered on the couch, lingered close by the blanket. He thought about how much of a tongue lashing he'd get in the morning, how silly the act would be to do, how it might not even promise a good night's sleep.

And yet...

Ponyboy reasoned it couldn't hurt to at least sit down by Darry as he moved the quilt over by the end of the couch, looking for some sitting space, even if only a fragment. The couch squeaked a bit as the cushion gave way to his body, carrying his weight, allowing him to take up space that he now didn't know if he deserved to occupy. Despite being given some leeway, he was still scrunched up by the edge of the couch and sat there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. His hands were kept folded in his lap much too politely for a boy sitting in his own house. His fingers found one another and intertwined themselves, wanting something to grab onto and hold but finding nothing but each other. He looked over at Darry and watched him sleep quietly a moment but the silence of the house made it feel all too odd. He felt too much like a creep just sitting there watching someone sleep. So his eyes were drawn to next most interesting thing and that was the empty space beside Darry on the couch.

Not a lot, but just enough to fit one more smaller person, if they were willing to compensate and rest part of their own self atop their older brother.

Ponyboy looked away at first, dismissing the thought with a gentle mental slap, but before he knew it his eyes had greedily drawn back to that open space. And the more he looked the more it beckoned him in as an invitation, an opportunity that some higher power was granting him to take advantage of.

And how can you say no to such a strong temptation as rest? Beautiful, sweet rest after a long and lonely night, in the comforting arms of an older brother no less. In Darry's arms, which used to hold him so tight when he was a little boy, when he was allowed to be afraid and allowed to not face the world and allowed to cry on someone else's shoulder.

Darry was softer than he had thought.

There, after much squeeze and struggle while trying his best to stay quiet so he did not wake the other and spoil this soft moment, Ponyboy found himself molded in between the small open space left just for him and his older brother, who was warm and soft just like himself. It was certainly an awkward position, as Ponyboy had to twist and turn his body to fit into the cracks, and fold his legs in a way that would probably ache the next morning if he weren't given the chance to stretch them every so often. One arm was trapped under him and the other had no choice but to rest on Darry's chest along with his head, his hair brushing just below Darry's sharp chin.

He would have sworn up and down that Darry was made of ice and stone before but Darry's chest sunk under his chin, and the shared body heat between he and his brother, under the cozy rainbow quilt, warmed Ponyboy in a way he hadn't felt warm in a long time, not even when sleeping with Sodapop. Safe warm, like he was being shielded from everything bad. He instinctively curled into his brother more and a grin spread about his face as he was all encompassed by warmth and safety, like it was all he had ever known. Darry's breathing was slow and steady, and his heartbeat thrummed under Ponyboy's cheek, a sure sign of life and humanity, and certainly anything but stone. It was rhythmic, hypnotic, almost like a lullaby, and soothed Pony the way one might spread their hands across a blanket to soothe out any wrinkles. He jumped a bit and looked up when a pair of arms slowly slung their way across his back.

Darry had not woken up. There was no change of pace in his breaths, and no other movement to indicate signs of consciousness. And surely if he had he would have questioned the presence of Ponyboy by now. Besides, from what Pony saw, his eyes weren't open anyway. His adrenaline dying down, Pony contentedly nuzzled himself back under his brother's jaw, his nose gently brushing against his neck. Darry must have sought out Pony in his sleep, or perhaps his body reacted on its own to the new weight resting atop of it.

Something about Darry's hands on Ponyboy felt grounding to him. It was a firm hold, but not hard. Like it was saying "I've got you now, and I ain't letting you go." It kept Ponyboy here on Earth with his family, and stopped him from floating up and away into the clouds as he always seemed to do. Darry's hands were warm and strong and Pony knew he was safe under them. He couldn't be hurt when his big brother was holding him.

As corny as that sounded.

Exhausted, sleep took him almost faster than he wanted it to. He would have liked to stay awake and cherish this quiet moment all the more but it seemed his body had other plans. And really, Darry's strong, protective, safe hold was a recipe to conk the younger one out quick. It was odd though, because as the real world and the dream world began twisting and meshing into each other like soapy film, his mind got all confused. His present situation collided with happy memories. He fell asleep convinced his father was holding him instead of Darry.

"What's the difference?" His mind justified lazily. They looked enough alike and after Dad died Darry assumed the role of father so quickly the transition felt seamless. "Daddy" and "Darry" sounded so similar it was easy for one name to slip off the tongue when Ponyboy had meant the other. And now sometimes when someone around him would mention his father, Darry's picture came to his head on beat, and Ponyboy was helpless to control it.

In his sleep he dreamed of his younger self, and the strong arms holding him in his present reality guided him through them like a ship's sail. In one dream he was ten again, and had just scraped his knee real bad on the concrete. He yowled like a wild animal caught in a snare, holding his leg with ripped up skin and watching in horror as his own blood began to peek through. Tears rose up in his eyes immediately and at ten you don't have as much gumption to hold them back, and so Ponyboy sobbed freely. He heard footsteps in the distance coming closer towards him, and in turn their pace grew more rapid. A voice much older and more masculine than his soft little cries spoke.

"Oh, Little Colt..."

Ponyboy looked up, lip quivering, and blocking the cloudy sun was the face of...

He figured it must have been the light of the sun obscuring his vision because sometimes when he looked he saw the face of his dad, but other times when he blinked or turned his head the face morphed into Darry's. Albeit it was hard to tell there was a difference at all, anyone who looked at his father and Darry standing together would have assumed they were brothers, they looked so alike. But Pony could tell. At least he always thought he could until now when their faces morphed together in this dreamlike state and they became the same person. Sometimes dad, sometimes Darry, but always a father to Pony.

In another dream he had almost fallen asleep on the recliner. It was a cold night and the brisk air outside somehow sneaked inside the house, and everyone felt it. Ponyboy was still at an age so small that he practically shrunk into his winter coat when he curled himself into a ball, looking for warmth. He heard a youthful giggle from somewhere across the room- probably Sodapop's.

"Dad...look at Pony." Came his voice that was just beginning to deepen with puberty. He heard someone rustle around, the squeak of a chair being relieved from a weight, and the sound of footsteps tapping against the floor. All of a sudden warmth encompassed him as he was lifted into the air and cradled. Too tired to open his eyes, he imagined himself up in the sky with birds and planes. He felt a kiss get planted in his ever darkening brunette hair.

"Come on, baby boy. Let's get you to bed."

It was Darry's voice. Pony had been sure of it.

But why was Soda calling him Dad?

In a third dream, Ponyboy stood at the front of his new school, a giant backpack draped over his shoulders and sagging down behind him. It was his first day at what he called the 'big kid' school, the start of grade school. He had tried to be brave and excited to start a new school, but that morning he barely held back tears as he clung to his parents in the kitchen, begging them to let him stay home sick. His shoulders tensed and he grabbed onto the straps of his book bag as kids from first to fifth grade pushed and shoved around him, leaving him in the middle of a stormy sea. Green-grey eyes mirrored those of a hunted prey as they rapidly darted around the landscape before him. There were too many people, and they were too close and too loud and they bore on top of him, the boy being especially little for his age. He looked up, searching for a taller figure to come guide him home like a Shepard to his sheep, but all he saw in one area was clouds and sky. He looked over to the next area and-

Overcome with emotion and relief, Ponyboy gave a cry.

"DADDY!"

And just like that he charged through the crowd like a bull. He leapt and was caught by the arms of his brother Darry who had to take extra care not to squeeze the life out of his boy from relief of his own. Ponyboy felt relieved kisses on his head and a hand carding its fingers through his soft hair, quickly untangling any knots its found. All the while Ponyboy called for his father over and over again, each time becoming softer than the last as his father reaffirmed him of his presence, that he was here and everything would be ok now.

"Daddy..." A Ponyboy not in a dream whispered out into the real world in his sleep, his hand going to twist itself into the fabric of Darry's black t-shirt.

★彡

A hand lightly running itself through Ponyboy's brunette hair stopped mid stroke as it heard Ponyboy gently utter that word.

Darry sucked in a breath. His eyes, now wide, traced themselves down to Pony's face which was still smoothened out peacefully with sleep, and then to his hand which twisted itself into the fabric of Darry's shirt.

Daddy.

That's what his brother had said.

That's what his baby brother called Darry.

At least he thinks so. Maybe he hoped, even.

The clock read 6:30am. Darry had woken up half an hour ago. The sun was already up, streaming in through the windows on the wall and gently caressing Darry's skin. The entire house was still.

Darry had woken from an unpleasant dream. In his dream it was dark, so dark he could hardly see a thing. It was a suffocating darkness, not the kind that encompasses you and lets you rest the way the stars and the moon does. The one that chokes your throat mercilessly, poisons your mind, makes it hard to breathe or think or feel. In the distance he heard his brothers crying out for him but no matter what he called back or where he ran, he couldn't find them. He realized soon that he may never find them, and the dawning despair weighed him down like an anchor. He was failing them.

He had woken with a gasp, first seeing the ceiling of his home above him and then feeling something soft and warm against his jaw. He noted then with slight confusion that he was covered with his quilt and a weight, albeit light, was lying atop him now. Then the weight moved and he looked down and saw his little brother curled up against his stomach and chest.

"Pony..?" His voice was groggy and scratchy, not having used it in a while. Why wasn't his baby in his own bed? There was no answer from the other except for Pony burying himself further under Darry's chin, pressing his head impossibly closer into Darry, making him stiffen at the sudden affection. And Darry really had no choice but to lay there with the younger boy in his arms, still as a soldier, not daring to get up lest he wakes the boy and ruins his peace. His mind surged with questions as to why Ponyboy was up so late (because he had to have been to notice Darry) instead of sleeping in Soda's old room, and why he had chosen to sleep with Darry of all people, especially knowing the spat they had gotten into just a few days before, that still left and underlying feeling of bitterness hanging in the air.

Having nothing else to do besides lay there and ruminate on these thoughts, he instead took to observing his sleeping brother the way a mother admires her newborn after giving birth. It became apparent to him just how small Ponyboy was, here in his arms. Now he's well aware that Ponyboy is especially small for his age, only fourteen, hence why he's picked on by the socs more often than the rest of the gang (well except maybe for Johnny, who was almost as small as Ponyboy). But Darry's hand alone nearly covered half of the back of Ponyboy's head, and even with Pony laying beneath his chin, his feet still stopped short just above Darry's ankles. He didn't even take up that much space on the couch, he was so thin. And the fact that in curling himself up against Darry for warmth he was effectively making himself even smaller wasn't helping.

Darry's fingers absentmindedly tucked a loose strand of Ponyboy's dark brown hair back behind his ear. There was still some grease in it, he hadn't washed it yet, but it was fluffy and his curls were starting to spring out again from a long time of being untouched. Darry's fingers didn't stop there and they traced themselves around to the back of Pony's head and started running themselves through the soft strands of hair that felt like silk between his nails. They would start at the top near his roots and slowly sift their way down until they were free, only to reach back up to the top and start from the beginning.

Darry knew some secrets about Ponyboy that the younger would have rather had left unknown and one of them was that, as protective as Pony was about his hair, he actually liked having it stroked, like the feeling of someone running their fingers through his hair and combing out all the tangles, all the stress and fear and insecurities. Detangling everything he felt was wrong about himself and making it alright again.

Gently, so so gently, Darry maneuvered his body to shift Ponyboy up even closer to his face. The sun peaked in through the window and gleamed on the younger boy, making his hair shine like gold and illuminating his skin in a way that almost made it glow like an angel. Darry had his baby brother gathered right there in his arms and he buried part of his face into that soft hair of his and took a deep breath. One in, and one out. And it felt like a weight was steadily lifting from his shoulders. His brother was here, right here in his arms. Even after everything they've been through, how much fighting and turmoil and animosity the two shared, his brother still came back into his arms. And as Darry held on tightly to his brother, his child, almost afraid to let go, he felt himself get lifted. His spirit, conscience, and soul rose from the murky dark depths of the night into the light of the new day, and Ponyboy was the hook he held onto that guided him upwards.

Darry breathed in and smelled heaven. He smelled that ever so familiar scent of lemons, lavender, and fresh laundry, that same way Pony smelled in the hospital room that fateful day some fourteen years ago. Darry's worries slipped away, work, bills, chores, and all that he became encapsulated by was Pony. His little boy. Darry breathed out, his breath causing some loose strands of Pony's curls fly away and cascade down the boy's face, before he looked down at his head again and planted a firm kiss against Pony's head. No matter how much they fought, that was still his baby brother. Right?

So Darry later on didn't know how to feel after he heard Ponyboy utter that word, so small but at the same time so grand. What could it mean? What could it insinuate about Darry, if it was targeted at Darry at all? Was Darry happy with whatever it could or could not mean? It had put the world on pause and left him in a state of shocked silence that continued until the house's gears began turning again as morning continued.

Darry heard a door down the hallway open and a pair of feet stumbling out of it as he continued to just stared at Pony, jaw hanging slightly open. He didn't even need to ask who it was because the quiet, sickly grunts and sniffles immediately gave it away.

"Mornin' Dar." Came a groggily nasally voice behind him. Then a yawn. "Hey, where's-" Darry heard Soda's feet shuffling around as he got closer to Darry while starting to ask that question. But both his footsteps and his question ended suddenly when he got a better view of his brother- no, make that brothers apparently, and he got the answer to his unasked question.

What was it, Christmas? He never sees these two get along like this. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. It was definitely an unfamiliar sight, not exactly a new one, but not one he was used to either. The steady rise and fall of Pony's chest and the rhythmic movement of Darry's hand running itself through their brother's hair as the two lay cuddling one another on the couch. Darry turned his head upside down to peek at Soda standing before him.

"Hey." Was all he replied, that barely a whisper. He was almost afraid to talk, as this moment felt too sacred for words. He turned his attention back to Pony as Soda crept closer.

"I was wondering where he went off to when he didn't come to bed last night." Soda must have caught onto the quietness Darry desired, because his voice was then only a whisper too. Darry could tell that a smile was beginning to grow on his face as he bent down to level himself with the other two. "Looks like he found his way to you." He chuckled and reached out to take a strand of Pony's hair for himself to run his finger through, feeling its smoothness, before tucking it behind his brother's ear.

"I dunno." Darry said lowly. His voice was deep and a bit raspy, still waking up like the rest of the house. "All I remember is that I came home, flopped onto the couch and went to sleep, and when I woke up he was sleeping on top of me and my quilt was over us." He pressed his cheek against Pony's forehead and closed his eyes. Pony was warm. "He must have been up past his curfew. And he went into my room too. Kid never listens, I swear." He grumbled, but then pressed another kiss to the boy's temple.

"He's such a sweetheart." Soda countered warmly. "When he's not all grumpy, that is." He chuckled again. He reached over again to lightly ruffle the smaller boy's hair, taking care not to apply too much pressure to rouse him. "He's our baby." Darry's silence was an agreement.

Soda left for a minute into the kitchen before returning with another yawn. He leaned against the wall behind the couch and the pair of older brothers silently watched their youngest sleep on as sounds of a working coffee pot stirred from the kitchen. Birds chirped from trees by the window and the sound of a car's wheels rolling against gravel drove by in the distance. It was otherwise quiet until Soda sniffled again.

"How are you feeling?" Darry piped up.

"Hmm?" Soda replied absentmindedly at first, before raising his eyebrows as the question registered in his still sleepy brain. "Oh, I'm fine now. Better than yesterday." He said with a little too much pep in his voice. Darry sighed.

"You've never been a good liar." Darry shot down Soda's fib like a pistol. Soda tried to laugh but he was too flustered at being caught so quickly. "...I'm sorry I didn't check in on you yesterday. I should have taken care of you." There was something in Darry's voice that was lightly laced with guilt. Soda rubbed his arm awkwardly.

"Sheesh, Dar, don't worry about it, it's not your job to do that. It's not like you're my Dad or anything."

Darry straightened. There was that word again. Soda was right. He objectively was. So then why did it feel so wrong for him to say that? His grip on Ponyboy tightened ever so slightly.

Expecting a response but not getting one, Soda eyed Darry and noted his sudden tenseness.

"Something wrong?" He asked a bit sheepishly. "I, uh, didn't say something dumb again did I?"

Darry shook himself out of his little daze.

"N-no! It's just..." He trailed off. Should he tell Soda? It felt embarrassing how much this meant to Darry. He wanted to not care. He almost wished now that he hadn't heard Pony call him that name. Because it wasn't just a name.

"Yeah?" Soda urged on

Darry hesitated, before deciding to spill. "It's just that, before you came out here he um-" Darry swallowed. "He called me Dad."

Silence fell around the two, but that alone felt deafening.

"I...I don't know if he meant 'me' specifically, or if he was talking to someone else- he was dreaming. But- I don't know...it's just...it's the way he grabbed onto my shirt after he said it. I can't stop thinking about it." Darry's hand began to pet the back of Ponyboy's head, but halfway down it curled around to caress Pony's cheek, before slipping back down onto his chest. Pony still had one hand lightly holding onto that same bunch of shirt. "...Do you think it's weird, Soda?"

Soda rubbed at his nose, still leaky and irritated. It would get sore soon if he kept touching it. He shrugged. "Not for him, no." He paused, but then kept going when he realized Darry was holding on for something more out of him. "I mean...it would take some getting used to if he just started calling you Dad out of nowhere, if you were the person he was talking to in his dream, but if he wants to start calling you that I'm not gonna make a big deal out of it. He's only fourteen, y'know. He's still a kid, and every kid needs a parent. But it also matters how you feel about it too."

"...I don't really know how to feel about it. Sometimes I think about it though, and I can't ever decide if I should be happy or scared if it does happen. What would it say about me of he did?"

Soda stood there a moment, thinking. But soon, he smiled that knowing smile of his. He walked back over to the pair and crouched down to Pony's level again, eyeing the sleeping boy. There was a tiny little smile of Pony's own tracing his lips, and his face read that of peace.

"I think if he sees you as enough of a parent to be calling you 'dad' you can stop worrying so much about whether you're doing a good job or not of raising him." He stated, and then leaned over to plant his own kiss on Pony's head, before again ruffling that soft messy bunch of hair. "He loves you a lot Darry. Even though you two fight. He wouldn't have come and cuddled up with you in the first place if he didn't." He noted and pat his brother's shoulder quickly before beginning to retreat back into the kitchen for coffee.

"You ought to stay home today, kiddo." Darry called back as quietly as possible.

Sodapop grabbed for a mug from the cabinets. The coffee was mostly for Darry, he and Pony both preferred chocolate milk for the most part. Recently though Soda found out you could make coffee taste infinitely better by adding in hot chocolate and an absurd amount of cream. The end concoction had both Darry and Ponyboy raising a brow at him and Darry usually making some comment about health but to Soda it was a work of beauty. "You know money's tight now, Dar. And I know you aren't telling me so, but I can tell. We can't afford even half a day off. I'm gonna go into work and I'm gonna work a full day today."

He put a single pack of sugar into Darry's mug as per his request and that's how he knew. Darry always cut back on things he didn't see as essential when bills were weighing heavy again. Food in the fridge was scarcer now too and Darry had enforced a policy that because of gas prices, the car was now strictly for work or emergency related matters. Otherwise, you were walking everywhere or hitching a ride from someone else. Worst of all, Darry wasn't eating as much, which made Soda the most upset. He knew he was letting himself go to bed hungry now just so his brothers could have more to eat.

"Like Hell you are." Darry retorted from the distance. "In your condition, you go into work today and the day's gonna end with me driving you to the hospital." Pony shifted under his hold and Darry quieted. He heard an annoyed sigh as Soda's footsteps re-enter the room and the clink of a mug being set on the nightstand next to the couch. "Hey, Soda?"

"Yeah, Dar?"

"C'mere, look at me."

Reluctantly, Soda walked over until he was by Darry's side again. Darry looked up into his little brother's face and grabbed his arm, not roughly.

"I know I'm not Dad or even Mom, and I probably never will be for you, but you and Pony, you boys are my kids." He gave his brother's arm a squeeze. "And I'm still your guardian, and it's my job to look out for you, you hear? I'm telling you to stay home and rest today, as your guardian and older brother. Don't you worry about the bills."

Soda's eyebrows furrowed in protest, but after his eyes met Darry's sincere gaze, they slowly softened and unthreaded, and Soda gave a resigned huff.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." He tried to sound more nonchalant as he crossed his arms, but he couldn't get his frown off of his face. "You'd probably ground me if I said no anyway."

Darry smiled. "Yes, I would." He squeezed Soda's arm again and tugged on it a bit to beckon Soda down until Soda's face was right next to his.

"Thank you, baby." And he leaned forward and kissed his brother's forehead, causing the other to squawk and stumble back and the older to laugh out loud, perhaps a bit too loud. It echoed throughout the room.

"I swear, you get sappier every day." Soda grouched, a faint flush across his face from embarrassment. But he did as ordered, there was some rattling in the kitchen, supposedly Sodapop looking for medicine, but soon enough Darry heard the door to Soda and Pony's bedroom close again.

Still smiling, Darry looked back down at the sleeping bundle in his arms, but his smile slipped when he saw two lovely grey-green eyes looking back at him.

Pony hadn't uttered a word but lay there quietly, eyes wide, staring at his older brother like that of a frightened kitten. It seemed like he was waiting to be scolded, but for what, Darry didn't know. But whatever happened next, it was Darry's call. A stray curl had sprung out and lay rebelliously across the boy's cheek.

Darry pushed his smile back up into his cheeks before it could slide off his face entirely. Pony closed his eyes as he reached in to tuck that stray curl back behind his ear. He didn't open his eyes again until Darry's hand wrapped around to the back of his head and resumed petting his hair. How long had it last been since his older brother had stroked his hair? Lord knows. He only did it on rare occasions. Like when Ponyboy was upset or scared, shaking and crying in his arms, though that hardly felt allowed anymore. Or when Darry was stuck sat on the couch stressed or worried beyond belief and needed to feel the touch of another person by his side. Ponyboy just happened to be right there next to him, and next thing he knew his hands subconsciously tangled themselves in his baby brother's curls.

"Hi, Little Colt." Darry whispered with as much softness as his character could muster. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

Now Pony looked confused and he raised a brow.

"You ain't mad at me?"

This kid was going to be the death of Darry. Pony was cute. His voice was so soft and creaky from not speaking in so long. His hair was messy, his clothing disheveled, and he looked so small laying there curled up in Darry's arms. Like a baby.

"Mad at you?" Darry asked. "For what, honey?"

"For staying up past my, er, bedtime." Ponyboy flushed. He hated how much like a kid that made him sound. "And going into your room to get your quilt."

Darry thought for a moment. "Listen kiddo, I don't see someone meaning to go against the rules I put in. You couldn't sleep because Soda was sick and you were all by yourself. You saw me knocked out on the couch and wanted to help make me comfortable. Then you went to sleep too. That doesn't sound that bad too me." He shrugged. "I think I can let you off jail free this time." He winked.

Ponyboy loosened up considerably after Darry confirmed he wasn't in for a tongue lashing. He relaxed himself back onto Darry's chest, still a little groggy.

"Thought I was a dead man." He mumbled.

Darry couldn't stop a warm feeling from blooming inside his chest. "You're so cute." He chuckled and leaned down to pepper yet another kiss on his kid's forehead. Ponyboy groaned in protest like a child who was being forced to eat a plate of vegetables, which only made Darry want to hold him even tighter than before.

"I'm not a baby." He whined.

"You're my baby. My baby boy." Darry countered with another kiss to the temple, smirking, knowing it would piss Pony off.

"Nope, this is the part where I leave." Pony began to push himself up off of Darry to get up and start the day, but squeaked when Darry pulled him back down and hugged him.

"Oh, you're not getting away from me that easy." Darry laughed as his brother squirmed against him frustratedly. Glory, how long had it been since he last held his baby brother like this? Too long, that's the answer. He hadn't realized until then just how much he missed Ponyboy, his sweet baby brother who he first met at the age of only six and a half, who loved his books and his movies and art and sunsets and never lost the scent of lemons and flowers that seemed embedded into his very being. Who liked cooking for the family sometimes, even if he didn't know a lot of things to cook. Who said or did little sweet things here and there that made the hearts of the whole gang melt, without even realizing what he was doing. Who would look after you when you're tired or sick without making a big fuss about it and still want to apologize for not doing it all perfectly. Darry couldn't wash the pride and adoration out of himself even if he tried. He helped raise this. And knowing that brew a strong paternal feeling inside of him.

Darry had sat up on the couch just enough for his back to rest against the headrest, looking down at the boy now tightly cradled against his chest glaring up at him.

He leaned down and pecked his brother's nose, much to the other's quiet grumbles, before moving to his forehead and leaving a kiss there, and then his temples, his cheeks, and so on and so forth, leaving kisses all over Pony's face until the younger's frown slowly broke and was replaced first with stifled giggles, and then soon enough, full on laughter until both brothers were grinning ear to ear.

Pony curled in on himself as he laughed as though he were being tickled, making himself even smaller, his legs kicking the couch subconsciously as Darry finished off his attack with multiple kisses on top of his head, before pulling the boy's head in just close enough to rest his own chin on top of the other protectively.

"You're my baby." Darry reaffirmed. Ponyboy didn't try to argue this time, maybe he couldn't, too busy calming down from the onslaught of affection he had received just a moment ago. There wasn't really any argument to be made. That was his child, and the whole gang knew it. Hell, even the Socs had some clue. You didn't want to mess with Ponyboy unless you were willing to risk the wrath of a very angry, very protective father. Pony parted his lips just slightly and mouthed a short word that no one would hear. Darry felt the warmth under his chin shuffle themselves more comfortably in his embrace, and that familiar cling and twist of fingers in his shirt.

"Tell you what," Darry started. "How about as 'punishment' for staying up late and going into my room, I get to love my brother as much I want today, yeah?"

Pony cringed. "Oh great. I get to be treated like a little kid all day."

"You love this." Darry said, pressing his cheek against Pony's hair. "It's not treating you like a kid. It's love. Don't even try to argue with me."

Pony paused for a moment, in a minute of internal debate, before quietly relenting and melting into the hold of his older brother. Darry felt the younger one lean his head onto his shoulder and a warm, happy feeling surged through him at his victory.

"Only when it's you and Soda." He admitted quietly. "And Johnny." He mumbled, burying himself deeper into arms that wanted nothing more than to protect him forever and ever.

"Oh, then I'll call for Johnny and tell him to get over here and join in too."

Pony's eyes shot open and he snapped his face up, bewildered.

"Please DON'T." Pony blushed furiously. Darry chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair teasingly.

"Alright, alright. Well, lucky for you I still have work today. But once I get home, you're mine. Got that?" He lightly tickled Pony's stomach playfully for just a second to get just a few more squeaks and giggles out of the younger before finally he sat up and began sliding off the couch.

"Ok! Ok." Pony laughed and moved himself off of Darry, watching him get up off the couch, quilt in hand, and stretch. Suddenly, his smile slipped into a confused frown. "You're working today?" Darry looked back and shrugged apologetically. He took the coffee mug left for him on the nightstand and gave it a nice swig, downing half of it just like that.

"Sorry, kiddo. But Soda will be home, he's still feeling under the weather today."

"Soda's still sick?" Pony asked, more to himself than to Darry. He looked worriedly at the room next to the kitchen down the hall, where Soda likely lay in bed, half asleep, probably restless and switching back and forth between too hot and too cold. Sickness always sucked, if Pony knows anything about fever-induced illusions.

"It's not as bad as yesterday, but I ain't riskin' him going to work today still sick and passing out halfway through his shift. He's staying home today." Darry went back into his room to return the quilt to his bed as well as the start getting dressed for work.

Ponyboy sat on the couch, listening to the shower turn on and Darry's relieved groan at the feeling of nice hot water encapsulating him and cleansing him of the day before. He eyed the kitchen and realized no one had started breakfast yet, save for the coffee.

Pony thought again of the washed shoes that still lay forgotten by the door from last night and that thought spurred him into action. By the time Darry stepped out of the bathroom, clean and clothed, he could smell not only eggs but also the scent of cinnamon and maple syrup wafting through the air. On instinct he followed his nose and that was where he found Ponyboy finishing his first batch of pancakes and putting them stacked on a plate, all while humming the tune of some song he liked on the radio that was turned on and playing beside him. He glanced back quickly and grabbed a plate before offering it to Darry, that easy, calm smile resting on his face. Darry looked down at the plate, too distracted by his brother at first to notice there was food on it, and faltered.

The plate was stacked with pancakes and absolutely smothered in syrup and butter. Jesus, these boys and their sweet tooths. But the main reason Darry bit his lip and hesitated was how bad this was. Financially speaking. Butter and syrup costed money. They couldn't afford to be so decadent with it. Then again, it's not like Pony knew. As smart as the kid is, he isn't one to catch on to little cues and details that would give away their financial situation the way Soda did. He's a little too stuck in his head for that. And Darry wouldn't dare let that knowledge weigh down on the youngest member of the family anyway.

"Thanks, Little Colt..."

Pony was starting on the eggs now too, soon he'd probably move on to baking a fresh chocolate cake. Darry took his plate to the table and sat down with it after grabbing his leftover mug of coffee. He took one bite and felt guilt flood him faster than the sweetness of the syrup. Did he deserve to have this meal? Could he afford it? At the rate Ponyboy was pouring that syrup, whipping up those batter and eggs, they'd be fresh out in no time. He watched Ponyboy quietly as he struggled to take another bite. Ponyboy looked like what he could only describe as frantic as he cooked. He was humming, seemingly content and as energetic as a fourteen year old should be, but there also seemed to be a distant worry etched into each of his movements, like he was running out of time.

He had just finished buttering another plateful of pancakes when he walked past Darry, who was putting his half-eaten plate into the fridge for later.

Pony turned on his heel, half bewildered, half offended, his mouth open a little.

"You didn't finish!" He exclaimed. Darry rolled his eyes.

"No, I'm just saving it for when I come home tonight." Only half true. He knew what was probably going to happen was that Two-Bit or Steve was gonna waltz on it soon after he left and snarf it down in front of the television before the clock even struck twelve. "'Sides, with the amount of sugary syrup you drench those pancakes in, I'd fall into a coma before I even finished my plate."

Maybe that was a bit harsh of him to say. Pony crinkled his nose in distaste, a gleam of annoyance flashing his eyes before disappearing into his bedroom with the plate, probably to serve to Soda. Of course, Darry didn't catch it.

The eldest took the leftover pots and bowls and began washing them in the sink, as was customary in the Curtis household when the other brother makes breakfast that day. He was halfway through scrubbing a bowl full of leftover pancake batter when Ponyboy squeeze his smaller body beside him on the other half of the sink and grabbed the soap from him, much to Darry's confused frustration.

"I got it." Was all Pony said at first.

"But this is my responsibility." Darry bickered back.

"And I said I got it!" Ponyboy snapped, his voice beginning to raise, and the very tips of his ears were just beginning to flush with pink.

"What's your problem?!" Darry's voice raised with Pony's like a chorus.

"You said you have work soon, and you're gonna work all day! Just let me do this, alright?!" Pony admitted.

Darry didn't argue back. He thought for a moment, then rubbed his temple and sighed.

"Is that what this is about?" He asked, tone gone back to normal before any real anger could explode out of him. Pony didn't talk but took to scrubbing and washing away. Darry supposed that was enough of a yes anyway. "Is this," he gestured to the elaborate breakfast, "for the same reason why you put my quilt over me last night?" Darry asked, steadily softening his voice. Ponyboy again said nothing, but his cheeks were beginning to redden.

He heard Darry's footsteps come up behind him and stopped washing momentarily when a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind and he felt Darry rest his chin on top of the shorter boy's head.

"You wanna take care of me and Sodapop today, don't you?" The older sussed out. Pony stiffened under his hold, but no sooner did he drop his pan and scrub into the sink and his arms resignedly fell down to his sides. Darry hummed as he got his answer, and Pony felt the vibration of his older brother's deep voice ring throughout his head. "Listen kid, I don't know made us start fightin' but whatever it was, I'm sorry for yelling at you. You don't have to do this though, you know. S'not your job." Pony shook his head.

"I wanna." He mumbled, embarrassed. "You work too hard, Dar." He nearly whispered. "You and Soda both."

At peace again, Darry squeezed the little boy in his arms and buried his face into the brunette hair.

"And that's why you're the heart of this house." Something one of his parents once said about Pony, right before they died. He can't really remember who...probably Dad. It sounded like a very Dad thing to say. Darry emphasized his point with a kiss to the head. "You work hard too though, baby." He smiled in relief when he felt Pony finally lean into his embrace. Slowly, Pony turned to face him. He reciprocated Darry's hug and rested his head on Darry's shoulder so he could still look up at his big brother.

"Do you really have to go to work today?" He asked softly. Darry nodded reluctantly, frowning, and stroked Pony's hair.

"I do. I know, baby, I'm sorry. But tonight when I come home I get you all to myself, alright? And that means you get me too. It'll be a Darry-Pony night. ...Alright baby?" Ponyboy didn't nod, but instead burrowed himself deeper in his big brother's hold.

"Don't go dad." Ponyboy replied automatically.

The house fell silent, even with the radio still playing. Ponyboy cursed quietly, and Darry was too shocked to chide him for language.

"Darry." Ponyboy corrected himself. His whole face was pale suddenly. He hadn't meant to say that, it just...slipped out. It slipped like he had called Darry 'dad' a hundred times before, the way he's thought of it a hundred times before. "I meant Darry." He stated again, scolding his thoughts, his instincts that told him this felt right. Now he was scared, too scared too look up into the face hovering above him. He stayed still as a statue, head still rested on Darry's shoulder, finding the ground a far more interesting sight.

It was thus lost to him that Darry had the warmest smile on his face since before mom and dad died, melting every other otherwise icy feature of his face with pure love, not entirely brotherly, but also something deeper, more paternal.

"Hey," Darry's voice was as gentle and soft as he could possibly make it, not wanting to break this fragile moment and scare his baby away from him. "It's ok." He tucked a strand behind Ponyboy's ear.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry-" Ponyboy quickly spilled, not knowing how to bandage the tear he created in his typically tough facade. At least, what a fourteen year old boy thinks is tough.

"Shhh, shhh. Honey, it's ok. It's ok, baby, it's ok." Darry cooed, his other arm going to slowly rub his baby brother's back.

"I-I don't know why I....I mean...you're...you're my- and....and you're- you're not- I don't know what..." Ponyboy rambled but he couldn't seem to get the most important words to him out now.

"I love you, Ponyboy." Darry confessed simply. This urged Pony to finally look up at him, scared, humiliated, yet also a little hopeful. "I love you." The older brother reaffirmed.

"I love you too..." The younger replied, voice shaky but sure of this notion.

Both of hands moved to Ponyboy's shoulders, holding him in place, grounding him.

"You can call me dad if you want. You can call me anything. Listen, whether you wanna call me Darry, or Dad, it's ok. No matter what, I swear I'll always answer." He gave Ponyboy a reassuring smile but the boy still seemed so timid under his gaze, like he was still searching for something in Darry that maybe Darry didn't have. "Ok?"

"ok." Pony answered, barely audible.

Darry squeezed Pony's shoulder, hoping that was the right thing for him to say, gazing at him for a few more seconds before his eyes noticed the time on the clocked and he cussed inwardly. He swooped down and left one more kiss on Ponyboy's cheek before heading out of the kitchen to grab his keys.

"I gotta get to work. Listen, let's talk more about this later, you hear?" They wouldn't. They both knew that, but still Ponyboy nodded. He wasn't brave enough to respond. Darry said he could call him anything and it would be ok, but both options felt like the wrong answer for different reasons. Pony poured him and Soda a cup of chocolate milk before slipping out of the kitchen and into his bedroom rather quickly. Nothing more was said.

Darry slipped his car keys into his pocket, next to his pocket knife. He was almost ready to go, just one more thing: shoes.

It was then Darry remembered that he had fallen asleep without even taking them off, not even so much as untying them. Yet, when he woke up they were gone. Ponyboy must have taken them off last night. Finding them by the door laid neatly next to Soda's, Darry bent down to grab his pair and slip them on for another day of hard work.

Holding his shoes in his palms, it was then he noticed that both pairs were washed and clean, the dirt on them that neither brother noticed had slowly accumulated over the months but just assumed would be there forever, was gone.