Work Text:
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say nothing.” But Darry is already trying to reign in his laughter, shoulders shaking with the effort. Soda kicks at the one rough step on their porch.
“We really need to get that sanded down. It’s a tripping hazard.” Is all Sodapop grumbles, making his way through the front door.
Darry follows right behind him, catching the screen door extra gently, trying to be quiet due to the late hour, and under the assumption that their kid sister is fast asleep.
“I think you’re the tripping hazard, little buddy.” Darry mumbles teasingly. Sodapop, never one to actually hold a grudge, just grins at Darry.
He’s happy that his older brother was in a good mood, it’s rare enough for Darry to actually get out without worrying about bills and work hours. Soda was honestly surprised that Darry went through with going out to Buck’s with him.
Darry had already been pretty nervous with that murderer on the loose, and he almost folded when Pony flashed her sad green eyes at him when he was laying down the law earlier—Soda could see how much Darry worried about her, not wanting to leave her home alone.
But Soda also knew nothing was gonna happen in the comforts of their family home while him and Darry decided to have fun tonight for the first time in forever. Besides, they started to lock their doors since teenage girls started showing up dead.
Bone weary, Soda drags his feet down the hall towards his room, hearing Darry shuffle behind me. Turning, he notes that Darry has stopped outside of Pony’s closed door. He reaches for the door knob before Soda cuts in.
“Let her sleep, Dar.” He yawns, not even bothering to cover it up. Darry shoots him an unimpressed look.
“I just want to check on her.” He admits softly, “Make sure she isn’t having any nightmares.” It’s moments like these that Soda wishes Pony could see—how much Darry cares, even though he would never outright admit it to anyone. How his anger covered up that worry half the time.
Soda just shrugs, already moving into his own room, and flopping onto his unmade bed, too tired to even take off his shoes and flannel.
There’s a beat of silence, utter stillness in the house, and then Darry’s voice.
“Soda?” It wavers through the hall, but he sounds off.
And suddenly, Sodapop’s earlier tiredness is nowhere to be found, his heart is already racing as he makes his way to Pony’s room—as if his body knows before him. Everything seems to be in order, her desk cleanly organized in the corner, a stack of books on her nightstand (some for her english class and others for pleasure).
But her bed is neatly made, no trace of her anywhere.
Darry is already moving through the rest of their tiny house, urgently calling out Pony’s name. Soda remains frozen for a second, heart in his throat.
Where is his baby sister?
He prays it's like that night a couple of months ago. Pony had fallen asleep in the lot after hanging out with her friends, and didn’t come home until two in the morning. Soda had never seen Darry so sick with worry, and the fight that erupted when Pony did come home was monstrous.
But Soda had stepped between the two, mitigating everything and ordering everyone to go to bed—that they would sort it out in the morning. But that night, he had also been scared—terrified. He had thought something terrible had happened to Pony, that she was hurt and needed his help.
The relief he had felt when she came trooping through the front door like a kicked puppy was like no other, but he had also shared his anger and disappointment with her—how could she have scared them like that?
Again, that distant anger comes back to him now. Because that’s what this is, Pony disobeying Darry and going out behind their backs.
Because Soda can’t…won’t think of anything more awful than that.
She was scared before you left for Buck’s, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of Soda’s mind, she didn’t want you guys to leave, but didn’t want to spoil the fun. Soda had seen it on his kid sister’s face, as he talked to her on the couch before he and Darry left for the night.
The way her green eyes had flitted around the room anxiously. He could tell that she didn’t want them to leave, but probably didn’t want to be labeled as a baby for begging them to stay.
Feeling faintly sick, Soda stumbles into the living room, where Darry is currently talking hurriedly into the phone.
“Yeah…ok. Thanks, Tim. Means a lot, man.” Darry almost sounds breathless as he rests the phone in its cradle, snatching the truck keys off of the hook on the wall. “I called the gang, no one has seen her. Tim said he’ll keep an eye out, even will tell some other gangs too.” He wearily explains, looking so haggard and defeated, that Soda wonders if Darry also knows something ain’t right.
Knows that their baby sister might not be out and defiantly breaking curfew for some juvenile reason such as hanging with friends.
“That’s good.” Soda makes his voice work, “We’ll find her soon enough, Dar.” He tries to sound reassuring, however he just feels a mounting dread that he can’t shake. Darry just gives him a sad smile.
“I’m gonna drive around, see if I can find her. Stay here just in case she comes home, alright?” There’s a part of Soda that wants to protest, but ultimately he just nods his head. Besides, Pony was bound to be home soon enough—the thought is savage and authoritative.
His sister was gonna come home if he had a say about it.
Dark trees loom over him.
They’re tall and foreboding, and Soda knows that there are no trees like this in Tulsa. Red moss clings to the forest floor, even spreading like some unnamed disease over various tree trunks.
His mind is foggy and slow as he cautiously makes his way through the woods, stepping over roots.
“Pony?” He calls, because she’s the first person in his mind. He had been thinking about her for some reason.
There’s a scuttling noise coming from a spiky looking bush, and wariness washes over Soda—however he continues to step towards the noise. “Pony?” He says again, the only name he seems to know.
Where was his sister? The thought cuts through him, aching and seeking all at once.
The sound is growing louder in volume, until a brown dot darts out, causing Soda to stumble—almost falling on his backside. Once the slamming of his heart against his chest has ceased, he's able to make out the little fawn with various white dots decorating its back.
The baby deer’s wide black eyes stare at him, halted in the gaze, and white in its fur is overtaken by the red of the injuries it’s sporting. “You alright, little deer?” Soda asks softly, reaching out a tentative hand, hoping the poor thing won’t bolt.
But too late, it springs behind a tree, remaining hidden.
Soda calls for the injured baby animal again, starting to make his way towards its hiding place, as it starts to make low keening noises—signaling how much pain it must be in.
Over the push of the wind through the trees, those animalistic whimpers gradually turn into something more human….almost sounding like weeping?
And then, a head peeks around the tree, where the baby deer had once hidden behind, then a cut-up hand wraps around the trunk, leaving bloody prints over the bark.
He recognizes the green eyes gazing at him—-they seem to almost glow in the dark. “Pony,” he sighs, relief short-lived when he makes out how injured she appears. “Come here.” He beckons, holding out his arm, but she refuses to leave her hiding place, eerily staring at him.
He had been looking for her…but why?
Something was wrong.
He clicks his tongue at her, as if she were a real life horse just like her namesake. It used to be a tactic he’d use when she was still little, and he had been responsible for cajoling her along. When that doesn’t work, and the stilted silence stretches between them, he crouches down a little, as if talking to a spooked animal. “What’re you doing, honey?”
That brings out a response from her. Pony’s head pushes a little further out. “Hiding.” She whispers. That makes Soda frown.
“Hiding from who?” He wonders, and she doesn’t respond.
Soda’s heart gallops wildly in his chest—his sister wasn’t making any sense! And why wasn’t she talking to him?
Her long hair looks scraggly, caked with mud and streaks of red.
What had happened to her?
“What’re you doing, honey?” He asks again.
“Running.” She answers, although she remains scarily still, hand remaining curved around tree bark.
Soda tries again, “What’re you doing, honey?”
“Crying.” Pony’s voice is muffled, as if an invisible hand gripped her throat.
Half of her face retreats back behind the tree, the one barrier between the siblings. Soda wonders what the rest of his sister looks like if she were to fully step out from behind the looming tree. He almost doesn’t want to know.
He wants to grab at her, hold her tight to his chest so she can’t get away, to keep her here. Where he can see her and make sure she’s safe.
Because she doesn’t look safe. She looks scared. Soda wishes to ask her why she’s crying, or running, or hiding, but his mouth is clearly not connected to his brain, because that same demented question tumbles between his lips.
“What’re you doing, honey?”
“Dying.”
All noise ceases, creating a tight pocket of unearthly silence.
A stick cracks somewhere on the forest floor, betraying the presence of someone stalking the dark. Before Soda can even move, his sister—with wide eyes, and the most terrified expression he has ever seen on her face—has abandoned her post behind the tree, and is sprinting in the opposite direction, already lost in the night.
The wailing keen of an injured fawn cuts through the humid forest air like a siren, and Soda is screaming.
“Soda! Sodapop!” Someone is yelling, and Soda feels his leg connect with an appendage. “Fuck!” The same person groans, and a different pair of hands are trying to contain his fighting limbs.
“No! Stop…stop. Wha–? Darry?” Sodapop slowly comes to his senses, taking stock of the damage. He’s still in the living room, half out of the couch, and his big brother is standing over him, containing Soda’s flailing limbs.
Steve is on the ground, clutching his groin.
“You had a nightmare, little buddy.” Darry calmly explains, continuing to hold his hands, “Must have been something awful because you were shouting. Do you remember it?”
“No.” Soda croaks, feeling disoriented and panicked, his heart is racing too fast. He feels out of breath. He’s never felt that terrified before.
Was this how it was like for Pony? With her night terrors?
His face drops. “Pony?” He asks, looking around as if she would magically pop up from behind the bookshelf. All the air gets sucked out of the room, and Darry quickly turns away, fighting with his emotions.
Looking out the window, Soda realizes that it's morning. Did he sleep throughout the entire night? Why didn’t Darry wake him up when he got back?
His brother turns back to him, jaw tightly clenched.
“No one could find her. We called the cops this morning.” His brother sounds like he’s been gargling shards of glass.
That makes Soda freeze.
Within their household, they always wanted to avoid the police. Yeah, it could be because they’re greasers and the fuzz don’t look too kindly on them. But also because it could be a direct threat to Darry’s custody over him and Pony.
Even during that one night where their baby sister had stayed out until two in the morning, they didn’t call the cops.
Which means that something is really wrong.
“What…what did they say?” Soda’s throat worked in an effort to not burst into tears. Darry tiredly rubs a hand over his face.
“They’re not taking any chances…with that guy still not caught.”
He means that serial killer who’s going after girls just like Pony, Soda nauseatingly thinks, eyes clenching shut. A wall comes down over him.
No, he’s not gonna think about that now. He’ll never think about it.
Darry continues, “I’m actually about to drive down to the station.”
“I’ll come with you.” Soda’s quick to volunteer, needing to do something other than stay in the house. Darry’s shoulders sag with relief, as if he was gonna have to face another horror alone.
Steve comes around, seemingly recovered from his injury, placing a reassuring hand on Soda’s shoulder.
“You’re gonna find her.” He says, voice sure. “The kid probably fell asleep at her friend’s house or something, you’ll see.”
Darry feels like he’s been wandering through a nightmare, barely alive.
He didn’t sleep at all, scouring the night for any trace of Pony. When she had failed to be in her room, the first thing he had felt was anger. Because the one rule he gave her was to stay home.
To stay home and be good.
Because he couldn’t afford it if another thing happened to their family. He’s barely keeping them afloat as it is, between bills, groceries, and making sure Pony and Soda were okay (that meant that they were healthy, getting enough sleep, eating three meals a day, all the things that could get them yanked out of his custody if not met).
And he had been slightly drunk and tired, and his sister was missing. But unlike a similar night a couple of months ago, this time she had failed to sheepishly come back home with her tail between her legs.
And Darry feels sick, sick, sick.
Because if she didn’t come home, that means she’s hurt somewhere, it means something bad has happened to her.
And that’s precisely what this tow-headed cop is explaining to him in a pitying voice. Officer Aaron led the Curtis brothers through the station, where they’re currently seated across from the guy at his desk.
“Listen,” the cop explains, looking incredibly out of his depth, “unfortunately your sister matches this guy's victims. Greaser….er, I mean girls from low income households, and between the ages of thirteen and nineteen. Meaning time is of the essence.” Officer Aaron clunkily explains, waving his hands around as he talks. Darry glares at this cop’s badge. Steve has his arm around a shaking Soda, openly sneering at the guy. “What we need from you, Darrel,” He continues, moving around some papers on his desk, “is something of Pony’s. Preferably an article of clothing, and a picture that we can use.”
Darry sits up a bit more in his seat, the investigation suddenly feeling a bit too real. He shakily extracts his wallet, taking out the recent school photo of Pony.
He purposely looks away from it as he slides it over to Officer Aaron. “I didn’t bring a piece of her clothing. On the phone the guy didn’t tell me….”
“That’s alright. Just bring it over here as soon as you can.” The officer gives them all a look, a look that says: you unlucky bastards, you’re the losers out of life. “Alright, you boys be on your way. We’ll notify you if there’s any updates.” He suddenly leans forward, giving off a conspiratorial grin. “I wouldn’t be too worried. More than half of the time a teen is missing, they’re a runaway.”
Darry isn’t too surprised that when they make it back home, the rest of the gang is already there. Taking residence on the couch and armchairs in the living room.
They all look towards them at the sound of the screen door smacking shut, and Two-Bit is already clutching his arm, was Darry falling?
No, his legs are merely giving out, and he heavily sits on the recliner.
“What did the cops say?” Two-Bit asks, tight face looking at him then Soda. Darry doesn’t know what to say.
His wallet feels emptier without that pocket-sized photo of his sister, and he wants to scream and smash something at the thought of rifling through her clothes, trying to find something to give to the police.
Because she’s missing, no one knows where she is. And her scent might be the only thing that can lead those dogs to her…
“They’re looking for her. Got a picture and everythin’.” Steve supplies, given the silence coming from the two Curtis boys. Two-Bit nods his head, although he remains frowning. He isn’t cracking any jokes now.
“That’s good. They—they have to find her…they will find her.” He sounds so sure, even with his voice cracking.
Johnny is quiet, except for the hitching of his chest. He’s hiding away his dark eyes, and Darry has an inkling that he’s trying to hide how freaked out he’s feeling. And Dallas…he looks angry as ever, but there’s a darkness to him, one born from desperation.
Darry had called Steve first, last night. He had picked up on the third ring, and sounded pissed off and sleepy.
But when Darry started hurriedly asking about Pony, he had quickly sobered up, voice betraying how concerned he was.
He then showed up first thing this morning. Despite how much Pony got on Steve’s nerves, he still showed up at the first rays of sunlight, hellbent on finding any trace of the baby Curtis.
“I have to…um.” Darry starts dumbly, standing up, “I need to go get some clothes.” He’s disappearing down the hall, hearing the questions from the gang and the soft murmur of Steve explaining. Softly shutting the bedroom door, he exhales against the frame, feeling like he can breathe again.
Pony’s room looks the same as ever, everything neat and tidy just how she liked it. Striding towards her dresser, he picks out a cotton yellow shirt that she wears a lot. Back when their parents were alive, their mom used to take Pony on shopping dates.
Hitting not only thrift stores but even sometimes the outlet malls further out, so that Pony could buy the occasional nice dress or skirt. That creamy yellow shirt with daisies on it was something that Pony cherished, probably because it was so different from Soda’s hand-me-downs.
He carefully folds it into a paper bag, idly moving his hands over her folded shirts within the drawer, when a piece of blue velvet catches his eye. What looks to be a notebook is stuffed underneath her clothes, and Darry frees it, sitting down on her bed as he turns the little book between his hands.
Was it a diary of some sort?
Darry felt kinda guilty rifling through it, but maybe Pony wrote down something that will let him know where to find her. Any little clue could be helpful.
He hurriedly opens to the first page, expecting to find paragraphs of Pony’s neat scrawl. Instead, there are short lines of text with little boxes in them. Some have checks in them, others don’t. It seems that his sister keeps a to-do list. Everything appeared standard.
Have Darry check homework
Make dinner
Clean room
Get started on poster
Those were just a couple of examples from the notebook, and flicking through the rest of the pages, it all looked ordinary enough.
However, flipping towards the middle, there was something that gave him pause.
Written and underlined was: Tell Darry that you’re sorry.
Looking at the date, Darry can’t remember for the life of him what had happened that day, but he knows it must’ve been one of their endless fights. That thought made him ashamed.
Did he really argue with his little sister that much?
And now he can’t even remember what the contents of the fight had even been about. All of their little arguments and blowout yelling matches seem pretty unimportant now.
Looking down at Pony’s contained check lists, all about chores and getting good grades, or even things in an effort to be a better sister—-it hits Darry like a truck how much of a good kid his sister was…is.
How could he ever have doubted that?
Sure, she sometimes had a hard time listening to him, but what kid ever willingly obeyed every rule their parent set out?
“Darry?” Soda’s voice comes from the doorway, and he jumps, having not heard him. Shuffling sounds fill the room and then his brother is sitting shoulder to shoulder with him. Sodapop looks down at the notebook, perplexed. “You got a piece of clothing?”
“Yeah.” He motions towards the brown paper bag.
“Hey—don’t cry, it’s okay Dar.” Soda says softly rubbing his back, and Darry brings a surprised hand to his cheek to find tears stains. He didn’t even know he was crying. He wonders how pathetic he must look for Soda to be comforting him.
“I…I have to apologize. When we get Pony back, I need to say sorry to her.” Darry starts without preamble, face creasing with agony. Soda nods, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, okay. You’ll apologize. And she’ll accept the apology, y’know Pony could never hold a grudge.” His little brother reassures.
“I was so awful to her, Soda.” Darry grieves, “I never gave her a chance. And she felt like…,” he looks up at the ceiling—where drawings of stars are taped on—in an effort to reign in his tears. He whooshes out a breath, “And now she’s gone.”
“The fuzz will find her.” Soda says, ever-confident. “They…they have to.” His brown eyes take on a lamentful note, betraying the utter despair and anguish that will take over if the cops fail. If this all was for nothing.
And Darry feels that anguish already pulling him in, because he knows it's all too great of a coincidence. His sister going missing during the same time that crazy murderer is still prowling around Tulsa?
He can hardly stand it.
Pony was his baby. She depended on him, ever since their parents had died.
And he needed to take care of her, because if he didn’t then she would have no one, and that thought killed him.
Now, she’s unaccounted for—missing and possibly…no, don’t think of it, he berates himself. But his brain refuses to shut up.
Is she crying for him, wherever she is? Is she hungry? Scared?
Oh God, Darry doesn’t think he’ll be able to survive this.
And looking over at Soda, he looks to also be hanging on by a thread. Darry wraps an arm around his brother, bringing him in for a tight hug. As if Soda has been waiting for an arm to lean on, he brings his head to Darry’s chest, sobs suddenly coming out.
Soon enough Sodapop’s sobs peter out, now his body is just heavy with exhaustion. Knuckles rap against the wooden door, and Johnny is sheepishly standing there.
“We made some lunch. Y’all should come eat.”
“Well I’ll die of shock if Two-Bit lifted a finger.” Darry can’t help but joke, needing to dispel some tension. It makes Soda laugh, which was the goal.
“Well, I made lunch. Two-Bit kept on trying to add beer to everything, and Steve and Dally are too proud to wear an apron.” Johnny’s smirk widens at Soda’s loud guffaw, and Darry’s smile.
They follow Johnny into the kitchen, where the gang is situated, setting the table, all solemn. Macaroni and cheese is served in a large bowl, along with Johnny’s quiet voice that explained it was the only thing he knew how to make.
Lunch was hard to swallow, Darry had no appetite—and Soda looked a bit green around mouthfuls of macaroni.
“Did you hear anything from Tim?” Dally’s gruff voice cuts through the scrape of forks.
Darry shakes his head. “He told me he’d let me know if anything changes, though.” Dally looked a bit put out at that, and Darry understood.
Tim Shepherd was a good guy to have on your side, and if he hasn’t heard anything from his side of town, amongst his endless connections, then things were looking bleak.
It’s as if Pony has been swallowed up by an endless hole or something, here one moment then gone the next—never to be seen again.
“I’ll ask some guys from the River Kings, cover more ground.” Dally says, looking agitated. Darry knew that Dally wasn’t used to feeling powerless…and working cooperatively with the fuzz.
“Thanks, Dal.” And he really means it.
“And I can take that bag of clothing to the station.” Steve inputs, scraping the bottom of his bowl. For some reason, that has Darry choking up again. He really didn’t wanna visit the fuzz twice in one day.
“That’ll make my life easier.” He groans, nodding his thanks in Steve’s direction, who just waves it off. Sitting back, he looks towards Two-Bit, who has started to gather finished dishes to wash them in the sink. “You don’t gotta do that, Two…,” Darry trails off, feeling lousy. He was supposed to have everything together, he still had another kid to take care of, he was supposed to hold it all together.
He couldn’t fall apart now.
Two-Bit pushes him off, “I got this, Dar.”
“Yeah, but…” the need to do this all by himself, carrying the burden because he’s so good at it, arises within him. He looks at his gang, immense gratitude leaking through. “Thank you for doing all this. Really.”
“Of course, man.” Steve interjects, looking a bit offended. “We’re a gang. And we’re just as worried about Pony as you are. We want her to be okay.” The others give affirmative grunts, nodding along.
And down the road when the police sit the brothers down to tell them that they’re halting the search parties and missing posters, that they think their baby sister is dead—buried in a nameless grave somewhere, when Darry has to organize a funeral for an empty casket, and when Soda quite literally wants to stop living—eager to join his baby sister on the other side, the gang is still there, helping to carry the burden.
But for now, Darry just nods his head. His throat tightens with some unnamed emotion, as he finishes his mac n’ cheese.