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The day they ran off and a murder with their names attached to it announced in the newspaper was the day everything went down. The day the cops came by made it even worse. Nobody slept, not for the week they were gone, it felt like everyone stopped living, stopped breathing, just stuck to a quiet life.
Sodapop and Darry got hit the hardest.
They were Ponyboy’s brother, and now their kid brother was gone, on the run with his best friend after they killed a Soc out of self defense. Johnny and Ponyboy, gone too quick for anyone to process. The day after the death when the newspaper had the news spread and the cops were interviewing was the day Soda felt himself collapse a little. That night, he held onto his kid brother’s pillow and let himself cry.
He felt tired the next day. Steve kept asking him if he was alright, and he responded to the question with a grin and a thumbs up, distracting himself with cars.
When Sodapop got home, that was when it all became a slight mess. More than it already was, anyways. It was night, and he just wanted to relax. But no, instead Darry was arguing with Dallas by the kitchen table.
“...you know something, Dally! Where is my goddamn brother!?” Darry's voice was loud.
Sodapop froze up as the front door closed behind him, then remembered what was happening and moved to sit down on the couch and stare at the television even if it wasn't on. Dallas huffed a laugh. He could be a dick sometimes, but they all knew Johnny and Ponyboy would scamper off to him when it was a bad situation. Of course, naturally, the latter was holding a grudge against Darry since he had slapped him. “Man, I ain't know shit. The fuzz already interrogated me! Told them they went to Texas, man, Texas.”
Darry quietly digested those words. “So you know where they are!”
“No.” Dallas looked around and caught Sodapop's eye. “Pretty Curtis brother is back.”
“Leave me out of it,” Sodapop muttered, curling up and putting his chin on his knees. He felt a little like Ponyboy when doing that.
“Don't talk to him, Dally. Please, where's Ponyboy and Johnny?” Darry asked once more, softening his tone.
“Up the hill and down in Hell.”
The annoyed, near hacked off tone was back. “That ain't funny!”
Sodapop heard the New York and southern accents bounce off the walls as they kept arguing. He replaced his chin with his forehead as he closed his eyes, feeling tears well up again. Only two days ago had Ponyboy asked to go to the movies. Only three days ago had Ponyboy been jumped and left with a scratch and a bruise on his face. He lifted his head after a few minutes when the argument started to cool out. He looked at Darry, then got up, going into his and his kid brothers' shared room. He grabbed a sheet of paper and went back out into the living room, grabbing a random book off the bookshelf. He used it as a backing as he wrote, suffering with spelling a little.
He hoped it was legible.
“They're fine, Superman. Don't get stuck in your head,” Dallas said coolly after a lot of minutes. Darry shook his head and disappeared into the kitchen, muttering under his breath.
Sodapop watched silently, then quickly signed the letter. He had a feeling that Dallas knew where they were. “Dally, when you see them,” he started, folding up the letter and handing it over, “give it to Pony, please.”
Dallas took the folded piece of paper between two fingers, briefly unfolding it to look at what was written. He nodded and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He always wore the jacket. “Sounds good.”
“Thanks,” Sodapop muttered. He didn't know if he was exactly the most trustworthy nor reliable for this.
Dallas narrowed his eyes. “Don't be gettin' emotional, you'll have them back eventually,” he deadpanned coldly. “They're fine, man, trust me. Relax, too, you'll get yourself hurtin', too tense.”
Sodapop nodded but didn't relax as he turned around and headed back to the shared bedroom to get ready for sleep. Soon, Darry was hollering for Dallas to leave. It took a little while, then Darry walked in.
“Pepsi-Cola,” his voice filled the dark room.
Sodapop didn't look away from the ceiling. “What's up?” He asked, eyes tracing the patterns that were fabricated.
Darry thought of what to say, then landed on one option out of many. “Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning.”
“G'night, Dar.”
“Night, Soda.”
Sodapop didn't cry that night, though stayed awake for most of it, maybe only managing an hour of sleep. He only woke up because of a nightmare. He didn't really get nightmares.
“Buddy, are you sure you're alright?” Steve asked on the fourth day of their absence. He was wiping oil off of his wrist. The whole gang was starting to worry. Two-Bit even suggested he could go to Texas to search for them when he heard about that lie. Dallas remained out of the conversations. Darry looked like he was going through too much and slept by the telephone the previous night, praying good news would come through the line. Except it didn't, and it never would.
Sodapop nodded, tapping his foot as he looked anywhere but his friend. He hadn't seen Sandy in a while. “Yep!” He said, putting on a happy tone, followed by a forced smile. Girls kept coming by the DX to ogle at him. He didn't really pay them much attention, his mind was mainly elsewhere.
Steve gave him a doubtful look. “Your brother's missin', I'd be panickin' if I was you,” he gently reminded. The reminder wasn't needed.
“Gee, I know. But you ain't me, so you don't gotta worry!” Sodapop responded, still cheery. “Plus, it ain't just my brother. It's Johnny, too. I mean, they're smart, Pony's got book smarts, Johnny's got street and life smarts. They'll be good if they put their brains together.”
Steve's doubtful look changed a little into more of a sympathetic one, then back into his resting face. “If that helps you sleep at night. C'mon, buddy, help me with a car.” He patted his friend on the shoulder and they walked towards a slightly beat up car.
If that helps you sleep at night. That hurt a little. Sodapop's thoughts ran around for the rest of the shift and he felt his throat tighten a few times when he wanted to cry. Steve stuck by him and talked about a weird topic to get him distracted when he noticed the tears, earning wet laughs sometimes. He could be a tough greaser most of the time, but a good friend the rest of the time.
“Anything today, Darry?” Sodapop called out as soon as he got home, heading towards the kitchen immediately to get chocolate milk, sliding out of his shoes at one point too.
Darry sighed. “No, nothing,” he called back. He was sitting in the arm chair he favored, sometimes would gesture for any of the gang who came over to get out of it if they sat there.
Sodapop paused as he held the small bottle of liquid. He stared at the ingredients for moment. “Do you think Pony hates us?” He asked as he closed the fridge and headed back into the living room, standing off to the side of the couch like a little kid telling their parents he needed something for a school project.
“Please don't say that, Soda. I've thought about it too much,” Darry admitted quietly, grabbing a newspaper from the table beside his chair. The same newspaper from day one, when they disappeared. “I feel awful. Shouldn't have hit him, then this wouldn't have happened.”
Sodapop looked down at the chocolate milk in his hands before opening the bottle. “Don't blame yourself, Darry, we didn't know he'd run off,” he pleaded, moving to lean against the arm of the couch.
“He's a kid, we could've seen it.” Darry stared at the article describing Ponyboy and Johnny. “Sometimes I wonder how mom and dad raised all of us.”
Sodapop smiled. “Pers–uh– per– shoot– perseverance. Did I say that right? 'Cause it don't sound right,” he said, raising the small bottle to his lips and taking a sip.
“Sounds right to me,” Darry muttered, putting down the newspaper after reading for a little too long. “I don't know, we don't have our version of a dictionary here,” he added grimly.
Sodapop stared at his older brother with something unreadable.
Then he noticed the watery eyes. Darry didn't cry. He had too many responsibilities, he didn't have time for it. At least, that's what some people said.
“They're alright, you've gotta trust what I say. Dally knows, he knows they're alright. They're safe, savvy?” Sodapop asked gently.
Darry shook his head. “Wish it was that easy, kid.”
Silence filled the living room. The house creaked once as Sodapop walked over to Darry. There was a shared look, then a meeting in the halfway point of them hugging and whispered reassurances.
Neither of them slept much that night, but it was pretty usual at this point.
“Dally's off to see y'all's brothers!” Two-Bit hollered as the front door slammed a little too aggressively when he walked in, Steve following behind him. He found out that the Texas lie wasn't true. It was the fifth day, or was it the sixth? It was morning, though, that's the only thing that was good. Sodapop lost count at this point. He was curled up on the couch again, staring at the television. At least he had his DX uniform on. A rumble had been negotiated at some point, revenge for Bobs' death or whatever.
“Thanks, Keith,” Darry called back tiredly, focusing on making breakfast. “Don't slam the door, ‘s loud.”
Two-Bit went to chatter on and on about whatever needed to be chattered on and on about. Darry's responses were short, aside from a stern reminder to not mess with the eggs or crack one on his head.
Steve went over to the middle Curtis brother and sat down beside him. “You okay? You look awful.”
Sodapop laughed. A wet laugh. Like he was going to cry. “'Bout as okay as a person who's lost his kid brother a week ago. I'm doin' fine, Stevie,” he whispered.
“Sure don't look fine, you look tired,” Steve commented, poking the area under his eyes. “Say, where's Sandy? I ain't seen her around.”
Sodapop sighed. “Haven't seen her either,” he mumbled, pulling his head away.
“Hope she's alright,” Steve said when Darry hollered at Two-Bit to not hide the spatula. “What's he doin', Superman?!”
"Bein' a public terror!" Darry hollered.
Two-Bit loudly gasped, drawing it out like his whole bloodline, future kids, future grand-kids, and everything past that had been insulted so violently, or like he had been stabbed. "Terror!? Terror!? No, you've got it wrong! Real wrong, Darrel!" He exclaimed as he went to get a beer from the fridge.
"Hey, that rhymes!" Sodapop hollered, putting on a grin. "Real-wrong-Darrel, new nickname."
Darry sighed like a single mother with too much on her plate as everyone laughed loudly. Two-Bit laughed the loudest. He was sort of similar to Dallas' wheezy hyena laugh, though just more guinea pig instead of a fancy dog who befriends lions. Somewhere in some media that happened. For once, everything else happening seemed to vanish, just for a moment of happiness.
It wouldn't stay like that forever, maybe not ever happen again.
It was the seventh day when Darry and Sodapop were sitting in the living room, eating some quickly made dinner as they watched a black and white film on the television. The latter pointed out a female actor with his mouth full, calling her pretty, though it was quickly shot down. He was sitting on the floor whilst Darry sat in his chair. The lack of sleep and the build up of stress was starting to catch up to both of them. They didn't even share many words, too tired to speak. Neither of them had heard anything from Dallas, no words on if Ponyboy nor Johnny were okay, no words on if they were alive. Nobody knew what happened. Sodapop found out Sandy went to Florida, and sent her a letter. He hoped to get a reply.
The telephone rang. Darry put down his plate and gestured for his brother to turn down the volume as he got up and went over, picking up the phone. Sodapop quickly turned down the volume, listening closely, hoping to catch something.
“Hello? Yes, this is Darrel. Yes, that's my brother,” Darry said tiredly. He kept a hand on his hip as he leaned against the wall. He quickly straightened up after hearing something. “Okay. What happened?” A pause of silence. He glanced to his brother briefly with a solemn expression the more he heard. “Mhm. Okay. Thank you. We'll be right over. Thank you, yes, bye.” He put the phone back with a click.
“What? What's going on? Is it Ponyboy and Johnny? Are they okay? Is Dally with them? Is Dally okay? What happened? Who was that? Are they hurt? Did something bad happen? Are they dead? Oh, don't answer that, actually,” Sodapop quickly asked, voice rapid fire.
Darry gestured for him to get up, which was quickly done. They headed outside and got into the truck. “They're in the hospital,” he answered shortly.
“What?! What happened? Darry, are they alive?” No response. “Darry, answer my questions, what happened? Is Ponyboy alright? Is Johnny? Are they hurt? Please, give me an answer!”
“They chose a church as a hiding spot. It burst up into flames and kids were in it, so they went in to save them.”
Sodapop stared at Darry with wide, terrified eyes after he said that before nodding as the car pulled out of the driveway. He wanted to continue prying, but was too scared too.
The second they got up to the floor where Ponyboy and Johnny and Dallas were, the Curtis brothers reunited in a tight hug. Sodapop commented on his hair and laughed over it. It wasn't the familiar auburn anymore, instead a yellow-ish blonde, cut short. Darry was crying when Ponyboy hugged him.
Darry was crying.
It hurt to see.
Sodapop messed with the news reporters when they came to interview his kid brother and joked with a police officer alongside it. Ponyboy just stared at the strangers with this... weird blank stare as he mumbled answers, hugging his knees like they were his only support. Sodapop leaned on Darry after he got bored and tried to fall asleep.
“What would you do right now if you could do anything you wanted?” Was one of the final questions.
Ponyboy looked up at the person who asked with tiredness. “Take a bath.” His voice shook, and everyone thought it was funny.
It wasn't. It didn't seem like it.
The couple of days after that were a little garbled and messy.
Way.
Too.
Messy.
Sodapop had felt Ponyboy sobbing his heart and eyes out at one point post-nightmare, though didn't do anything. It was silent sobs, though they ran through him like a train.
Then, it all went worse after the rumble, when the greasers won. Everyone but Dallas and Ponyboy went back to the Curtis house. The duo went to the hospital. Sodapop talked to a slightly delirious Steve with a tired voice. He was pretty delirious himself.
A few hours later was when everything collapsed, like dominoes falling off a table because they were positioned in the wrong way.
“Johnny's dead.”
The phone call following the news was worse. Sodapop watched Ponyboy waddle around in a slightly lost and confused state, hugging himself, denying to sit down. He looked feverish. He looked awful. He looked sick. He looked like he was about to cry.
Dallas was gone within the next few minutes. Shot by police. Steve almost collapsed against Sodapop, but he caught him and whispered there was nothing more they could do. Sodapop felt Ponyboy try to grab his leg as he collapsed himself, which was later discovered due to the pre-existing illnesses and the injuries he gained during the rumble.
That's when a hellish period started. Worse than the couple of days.
Ponyboy was severely sick and delirious and mildly concussed, twisting the narrative and denying everything that happened. Sodapop and Darry watched their kid brother slightly lose it, the former constantly having a worried expression. It was like it was permanent. The latter brought his chair into the shared bedroom just to make sure nothing bad happened.
Nightmares got a little frequent. It didn't seem normal anymore. Doctors came by and simply stated Ponyboy's mental state was all out of wack, and he would just stare at them with the blank stare, the same one he had when Johnny was dead. Sodapop tried to not be a bawl baby over it, but he could see the emotions and they hurt.
It started to all blur together a little, the court dates, the trials, the custody... everything was fine in the end. Except, Ponyboy recovered and remained silent and stared at the television for a long time. Sodapop crouched down beside him once and a weight gently pressed against him. There wasn't any crying, just a gentle ask for comfort or a gentle reminder that he was still there and living.
“...you're livin' in a vacuum and you've gotta get out of it,” Darry stated one night at dinner. Johnny and Dallas were still dead. It wasn't just a bad dream.
Sodapop silently pushed the food around on the plate whilst his brothers argued. He cooked and it came out normal. Normal, as in no food colouring. He'd gotten something back from Sandy, and it was his own letter, unopened, never read. It had been bothering him the whole day. He loved her. Well, he thought he did. He probably did. He was tired of hearing his brothers arguing a lot, though. He was always brought into it somehow. As if the universe somehow knew Sodapop's exhaustion and wanted to make it worse, Ponyboy brought the middle brother into it. He snapped to tell them to leave him out of it, then ran out. The other two eventually caught up and they talked it out, promising to stop fighting, eventually running back home and laughing.
It was peaceful for a little while.
“Whatcha writin', honey?” Sodapop asked when he saw his kid brother sitting in the living room, scribbling in his notebook. The front door closed behind him. The DX wasn't as busy that day. “Is it the theme? Y'know, I feel like doin’ anything else other than a paper would've been easier.” The youngest Curtis brother missed far too much school when he was sick and ended up having to push his D in English up to a C just to pass by a theme paper. He'd randomly gotten the idea and started writing about everything that had happened. Not much really went back to normal after everything, there was still two empty spots in every place when the gang went somewhere. The arguments had stopped, though small fights did break out occasionally.
Ponyboy quietly nodded. “Yeah, the theme. Just... tryin' to remember…” his voice broke and he didn't continue on, instead zoned out for a moment. His hair was still a weird blonde, though a bit of his original colour was starting to show at his roots. Two-Bit had joked they didn't need two blondes in the gang.
Sodapop tilted his head when he noticed. He mimicked a radio sound, sitting down beside him. “Earth to Ponyboy,” he joked, shoulder bumping him.
"What? Oh. Right, sorry," Ponyboy went back to writing. “Just trying to remember what Johnny was like.”
“A kicked puppy you could find in any crowd,” Sodapop suggested, peering over to look at the notebook.
“That... that ain’t nice.” A hesitant pause. “I, uh, made plans to hang out with Curly later, is it alright if I go?”
“When have we ever said no?”
“...last week.”
“'Cause you were kind of goin' koo-koo, honey. Not koo-koo like after Johnny and Dally–”
Ponyboy quickly covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, no, no, no, no,” he repeated over and over again like it was a prayer. “Please shut up. Don't say it.”
Sodapop quickly stopped talking when he saw this, putting a hand between his kid brother's shoulder blades, running his thumb over the red collar of his shirt. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.
Ponyboy exhaled slowly, opening his eyes and dropping his hands. There was a tough looking scar on his arm now from a piece of the church falling on him. His arm was littered with a few other scars, though they oddly looked more… new. Oddly recent, like they had appeared maybe two weeks ago. Johnny's neck was littered with burn scars. It wasn't a fun sight to see. “I can't handle that right now, Soda, 'm sorry,” he muttered. Even after a few months of them being gone, it still stung. However long it really had been was kind of messy.
“Don't apologize. D'ya want me to let you write?”
A moment of hesitation. “Can you stay here? Just... for memory support,” Ponyboy asked quietly.
Sodapop nodded. “'Course. Where are you at right now?” He asked, peering over.
“Talking about Johnnycakes and Dally. I just talked about you and Steve.” His voice broke when he said Johnny's name.
“Tuff.”
“Sure.”
They fell into a silence as the pencil writing quickly continued. The words floated onto the page rather quickly, handwriting remaining semi-neat. Sodapop looked to read a sentence and found one he managed to make out.
…because Soda attracted girls like honey drawn flies.
“Honey drawn flies?”
“Shuddup.”
“No– what does that mean? Like, are the flies thirsty and they like honey? I ain't been attracting many girls, honestly.”
Ponyboy turned away, smiling a little. Sodapop waited for an answer and scoffed when he didn't get one. His brother gave him a weird look. He shrugged and gave up, getting up to get a drink directly from the chocolate milk carton.
“Hey, Soda, can I call Dally ugly?!” Ponyboy called out suddenly. “I don't think he was ever handsome to anyone but himself!”
Sodapop almost choked. “Dally!? Glory, are you tryin' to get this house haunted!? We don't need a ghost Dally flickering our lights! Go through Darry tonight, he pays for the house, so he determines the haunting.” Ponyboy broke out into barely contained laughter, though tried to cut himself off after a while. He hadn't been really showing his emotions much since Johnny and Dallas died, so even the short laughter was a fantastic win.
As if on cue, the faulty light in the kitchen flickered and they both yelped, then dissolved into more laughter.
They were still trying to make up the time lost over the week that Ponyboy disappeared, and they were doing pretty well.
Pretty well for brothers who lost one for a little too long.
“How does this sound!? Dally was anything but handsome!”
“You have a death wish, Ponyboy Curtis!”
Pretty well for three brothers, when one of them wants to piss off the dead.