Chapter Text
Despite promises of an early fall, warmth seems to cling to every little corner of the house, as the last of the day’s light vanishes behind the horizon. The radio resting upon the table interchanges between old Bob Dylan hits and a muted static, as Ponyboy sits next to it over a sheet of lined paper.
Jim’s last letter had been a short one, and while there isn’t exactly much point in sending a reply when school starts again so soon, he’s bored enough to at least start it. With Soda and Steve both working the afternoon shift today, and Two-Bit missing in action, it’s just Pony, Darry, and one rusty old electric fan, left to battle through the obtrusive heat.
His older brother in question is perched in his recliner over the sports section of his newspaper, dressed in only a singlet and a pair of worn jeans. Darry would rather die a slow death than anyone finding out that he cannot, under no circumstances, cope with the summer weather any better than anyone else. For all he talks about not needing those fancy central systems that all the westside houses have, Pony would put $10 on the fact that if the money was there, then the Curtis residence would be the coldest in all of Tulsa.
“Feels like the sixth circle of Hell in here,” Darry grumbles, standing up and stretching, before moving to the kitchen for a glass of water. “What’re you up to?”
Pony huffs, putting aside his pen and placing his head in his arms. “It’s too hot. I’m going to melt.”
His brother laughs, ruffling his hair as he walks past. “Remember when you used to go out and run in this? Soda and I would be so worried you’d collapse before you’d make it two steps down the road.”
Rolling his eyes, Pony slips out of his seat and makes a point of positioning himself directly in front of the fan, trying to get as much as the artificial breeze as he can. Darry takes one more sip from his glass, before placing it back on the bench and moving to stand next to him. Gently, he pushes Pony slightly so that they’re sharing the air.
“Heard you’re planning to go to that bar tonight.”
“Yeah, so are the others. Should be fun. Steve and Two are meeting me here and Soda’ll join a bit later.” Pony leans into Darry’s side slightly, still finding comfort despite the heat. “Curly says they don’t care if you’re legal as long as you’re East Side.”
“I wouldn’t trust Curly with anything like that. He probably pointed his switch and got his way.” The older boy bites his lip, a habit that he inherited from their father. “Just be careful, alright?”
Oh yes, here it is. While the two of them managed to reconcile their differences a long time ago, Pony is still convinced that Darry sees him as fourteen and in need of protection from the way of their world. Even now, a year into college, there will be moments where he will catch his big brother once again trying to play the role of parent, even though both him and Soda are by law able to handle themselves. There’s no State breathing down their necks, no meetings, and the worst that will happen if Pony gets into trouble will be an incredibly embarrassing phone-call home.
Some habits are hard to kill, he supposes.
“Darry,” he begins patiently, “Do you think I spend my weekends at university studying?”
Now that pulls a grin from his big brother. “Not if that phone-call last semester is anything to go off.”
It’s a Friday night in mid-April and the Curtis household is completely silent, save for the rhythmic tick of the clock. Soda and Darry have long since said their good-nights and retreated to their respective bedrooms, the day’s work weighing heavily on their shoulders. It’s tranquil, even, and it’s rare that the quiet remains as uninterrupted as it is right now.
The shrillness of the telephone slices through the night like a knife. It rings once, then again, and again. No one ever calls at this hour unless it’s an emergency, and Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time that Steve or Two-Bit have been stuck somewhere and in need of rescuing. Darry is the first to emerge, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he moves as quickly as he can to pick up before it rings out.
“Curtis residence,” he tries to sound as alert as he can, in case it’s the authorities on the other end. Again, would not be the first time.
“Darry!!!!” His youngest brother shouts down the line, voice so penetrating that Darry has to pull the phone away from his ear. “You picked up!”
“Pony? You okay? It’s -,” he glances over to check the time as worry floods his chest, “two in the morning. What’s going on?”
“I just missed you!” Even through the landline, Darry can tell that Ponyboy’s words are slurred. “And I’m going back to my dorm and I saw a phone-box so I thought, ‘I should call’, because I miss you so much, and -”
‘Christ.’ Darry runs a hand down in face, caught between annoyance at being woken up for this, and absolute hysteria. “Did you have a fun night?”
By this time, Soda has also left the comfort of bed and is standing next to him with a blanket loosely around his shoulders. “Is that Pony?”
“Yes! I had ALL of the fun!!” Comes the voice from down the phone. “Did you know that if you drink lime-juice right after a tequila shot, it makes the taste go away? That’s called a chaser! But then we ran out of lime, so I just had the tequila…”
Well, it’s safe to say that Soda is no longer standing, since he’s completely doubled over with laughter on the floor.
“Is that Soda? Darry, can I speak to Soda? I love speaking to you too, but I want to speak to EVERYONE. Are Steve and Two-Bit there? I want to tell them that-”
“Here he is,” Darry cuts the younger boy off, gesturing for his middle brother to take over phone duty.
Soda takes a shuddering breath to compose himself. “Hey honey,” he grins, “how’s college going?”
For the next half hour, they both sit by the landline and listen to Pony go on about his night, and his classes, and the really pretty girl in Introduction to History that was at the party tonight. It’s nostalgic, almost, the three of them sitting down to talk like this, even though their youngest is 150 miles away and God knows how many drinks down.
Darry didn’t know how much he’d missed this til now.
Pony’s ears burn red, “D’you really need to bring that up? Soda still finds a way to mention it once a week.”
The older boy shrugs, fondness stretched across his face. “Drunk calls are free game, kiddo. You should know this if you’re such an expert.”
Making a firm point of elbowing Darry in the ribs, Ponyboy laughs. “I am an expert.” Then, he pauses. “You should come tonight. It’s not often that we all go out together.”
Such is the way of life, when you spend half the year away from home. Every single one of his dorm-mates talks about how exciting it is to get away from their hometown. Even the very thought of them having to go back is enough to make them want to pick up inter-semester units just so they can avoid it.
Pony will never understand that feeling though, and can’t help but feel an outsider for it. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t miss being here with his brothers, nor is there anything in this world he wouldn’t give up just to have his parents waiting for him on the front porch. Perhaps, many years ago, he had thought that leaving would absolve him of all the harrowed memories that Tulsa had cursed him with. How wrong he was. They have followed him all the way to Cleveland County, and they will likely continue to do so until the day he dies.
The only difference now is that he doesn’t have his big brothers there to make it better. While university has taught him a fair bit about independence, even at nineteen, sometimes all he wants is to sit on the sofa and read while Darry prepares dinner in the kitchen. Soda had told him right before he left that you never age out of family, and while the meaning hadn’t stuck in those initial honeymoon months of freedom, well, he understands it now. Which is probably why he’s here begging Darry to come to a bar a few blocks down.
Darry seems to contemplate it for a moment, before shaking his head in apology. “I better not. There’s enough I want to get done around here tomorrow without adding a late night and a hangover to the mix. I doubt you’re going to be much help!”
Pony shrugs, and does his best to hide the disappointment on his face. “I might be!” And then sounding slightly more pathetic, “I’ll buy your drinks if you come!”
His brother laughs. “Don’t kid yourself, little buddy. That is not what your scholarship money is for. Besides, you won’t be out of bed til midday. Just make sure you don’t get into any trouble there. If a fight starts, you leave.”
Well, it was worth a try anyhow. And just in case, as Steve and Two-Bit arrive to walk down, Pony grabs that letter-paper and writes down the address of the bar, just in case Darry has a change of heart. It’s a fool’s hope, but hope nonetheless.
***
The bar, thankfully, is only a mile and a half down the road. Even before they make it through the front door, loud choruses of The Beach Boys can be heard from the jukebox, and that’s enough for Pony to know that it’s going to be a good night. It’s almost anti-climactic how easy it is for him to get in. A quick flash of his student card, and he’s well on his way to his first drink.
Steve gives it all of five seconds before announcing, “I’m getting a beer. Two-Bit, you want?”
“Yeah, I’ll have one!” The older boy responds. “I’ll buy the next round. Pony, beer?”
Steve raises an eyebrow, not even looking at Ponyboy. “Kid’s nineteen.”
“The kid is right here,” Pony glares, “and is getting a beer. You were drinking three years before you graduated high school.”
The thing about Steve Randle is, for all that he used to carry on about Ponyboy being a nightmare to hang around with, he’ll forever be the last to treat him as a kid. It’s a genuine blessing, because while Pony appreciates that he will never age out of being babied by his older brothers, sometimes, it’d be nice to be treated as the age he is. Steve was the first to offer him driving lessons, the first to start slipping him drinks when no one was watching.
It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that he comes back with three pints and not two.
Another important fact that Pony always fails to recall until the moment is that he really doesn’t mind drinking. He remembers being thirteen and stealing a Schlitz from their garage fridge. He’d finished the whole thing in about five minutes, been sick everywhere, and never bothered with alcohol again until later into high school.
Now, he’s far from an addict, and his coach would likely murder him if he casually drank throughout the week. All of the track students, however, thrive on a “go big or go home” mentality, and that is exactly what Ponyboy Curtis has been trained to do.
There’s something obsessive about the bliss of it all; the way all things are dulled, and for one night, even if only for a few hours, Pony can exist without the weight of the world on his shoulders. Those memories of Johnny and Dally and the guilt of what he put his family through - it’s nothing more than dust drifting from the rafters.
“I’m getting a shot,” he announces, placing down his now empty pint. “Either of you joining?”
Two-Bit turns to his own half-full glass, and then looks back at him with a mildly impressed expression. “Gees, kid, they really teach you to drink down there don’t they!”
Steve rolls his eyes. “You better not get sick on me before Soda gets here.”
In return, Ponyboy offers a grin. “Calm down, I’ve had practice. I’m basically immune to it now.”
The tequila is something cheap like Jose Cuervo, and with no lime to wash it down with, tastes like it’s used to wash dishes. It does, however, do the trick almost immediately, the rush hitting as soon as he’s turned away from the bar. He slides back into his chair next to Two-Bit, placing his elbows on the table and resting his head on top of his hands.
“Get your drink, Ponykid?” The older boy laughs, reaching over to ruffle his hair.
Ponyboy grins. “You should hurry. I’m leading you two to one!”
Raising an eyebrow, Two-Bit gives him a perceptive look. “Don’t try that, kid. I’ve been drinking since I was fourteen.”
Well, that’s a call for competition if nothing more. “C’mon, it’s my buy. I could use another before Soda comes and cuts me off. You in, Steve?”
“Yeah, sure, why not.” The other boy stands up, quickly finishing the last of his beer.
Two-Bit looks indignant, and makes a move to get up as well. “Well, I can’t sit here by my lonesome!”
And that’s how the second shot of tequila comes to be.
Three glasses are laid in front of them, and Pony taps one on the bench once before tilting his head back and tossing the liquor down his throat.
“Why do you do that?” Two asks, wincing slightly as he deposits his own empty shooter, “tap it, I mean.”
Pony shrugs, and wow, he’s starting to feel it. “I dunno,” he responds, debating the ethical principle of buying a third drink, “we do it at college. For good luck, I think.”
In the corner of the room, someone inserts a coin into the jukebox, and The Beatles begin their soulful rendition of Hey Jude.
“I hate this song,” he groans, earning himself a grin from both of his friends, “They play it everywhere at college. Ruins my night.”
Whatever Two or Steve say in response to that is completely lost on him, because it’s in that moment that Sodapop Curtis walks through the door.
“Soda!” All of that track training has been building up to this very moment. Pony dodges past the crowds, throwing his arms around his big brother like he’s returned from the war, and not the DX. “I missed you! I’m teaching Steve and Two the tapping rules with shots!”
Soda catches him easily, before moving to place an arm around his shoulders. “Heya, honey,” tone tinged with amusement, “how’s your night going?”
Pony frowns, confused. “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny that I missed you! That’s sad! And now they’re playing The Beatles and I hate The Beatles!”
His brother bites his lip until it begins to turn white, and if Ponyboy were to remember this in the morning, he’d realise how very hard that Soda is trying to stop himself from dissolving into mirth. “No, sorry, it’s not funny. How many drinks have you had so far?”
“He’s had a beer and two shots of tequila,” Steve answers for him, as he and Two guide them back to their table, “we’ve been here for twenty minutes.”
Pony’s not really sure how that’s relevant, but decides to abandon his chair and squeeze onto Soda’s instead, laying his head on his shoulder.
“Thought you said you were immune, kid!” Two-Bit grins, placing a deck of cards down on the table.
“What?” It takes him a second to catch what his friend has said. “Oh, yeah, I’m immune. The most immune ever, Two!”
He waves a hand to prove his point, and almost hits one Curly Shepard in the face.
“Curly!” Pony stands up, almost knocking his poor brother out of his chair, “what’re you doing here?”
Curly grins, “same as you, Curtis! Haven’t seen you in a month, man! When do you go back to your fancy college?”
Christ, the last thing Pony wants to do right now is think about college. He’s at a bar with his friends and brother, the music has thankfully turned away from Hey Jude, and he’s reaching that blissful stage where he thinks this is the happiest he’s felt in a while.
“Two weeks,” Pony moves the conversation away from its current position as quickly as he can, “what’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, just the normal.” Curly grins. Having known the older boy since they were kids, that definitely translates to something highly illegal. “Right, I need a drink. Coming, Curtis?”
What a stupid question.
“I’ll be right back,” he turns around to the others, “gonna grab a drink with Curly.”
While the amusement still lingers on Soda’s face, it’s now tainted ever so slightly with worry.
Two-Bit clears his throat, speaking whatever his brother must’ve been thinking. “Sure that’s a good idea, kid? Maybe give it a couple of minutes. You’ve got all night.”
Who’d think Two would ever be the voice of reason?
Pony laughs, giving a completely unnecessary thumbs up. “You should see a college dorm party, Two. This is nothing.” And then to Soda, “I’m all good. I know when to stop.”
And with that, he lets Curly lead them through the crowds.
***
Somehow the heat of the day hasn’t subsided, even as the stars burn flicker against the darkness like little candles. Ponyboy fumbled in his pockets for 25 cents, absently sending a prayer of thanks to the telephone gods for placing a booth right outside the bar.
It takes a second for him to remember the number, which is strange, as it’s one that has been instilled in him since he was about three years old. The rotary dial is almost numb under his fingers, and Pony really has to concentrate on performing his task.
“Curtis residence,” comes Darry’s deep baritone.
“DarryDarryDarryDarryDarry,” Pony rushes out, trying to get the older boy’s attention, “you’ve got to come to the bar right now.”
“What, why? What happened?” His brother’s voice is urgent, almost frantic. “Is something wrong?”
Pony groans, “yes, something’s wrong! Tragically, catastrophically - that doesn’t sound like a word, Darry - wrong! Everyone is here and you’re not!”
The movement on the other end of the line halts. “... what?”
“Everyone is here and you’re not,” Pony speaks slower, “Soda and Steve and Two and even Curly. But no Darry. There’s only two weeks until college and I’m going to die without you and please come. You can’t see it but I’m on my knees begging right now!”
He’s not, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Ponyboy, how many drinks have you had?”
For some reason, Pony finds that really funny, and he tells Darry as such. “You’re the second one to ask me that. I’m fine! I’m having the best night ever! Except it’s not, because it would only be the best night ever if you were here!”
Suddenly, there’s a tap on his shoulder, and Pony jumps slightly before turning his head to see his middle brother standing there. In his excitement, he drops the phone, which Soda somehow manages to catch, clinging to the older boy desperately.
“This is so exciting! Darry, Soda’s here!”
Soda, in question, has one arm around Pony and the other on the receiver. “... no Darry, he’s actually okay, just had a few. I’ll bring him home if he needs to come back.”
Pony makes a grabbing hand at the handset, and laughing, Soda gives it back to him.
“Darry, if you come to the bar, I’ll make dinner and do dishes for the next forever.” With an air of finality, he hangs up the phone. Surely that will convince him.
Laughing, his other brother takes him by the hand and leads him back inside. “C’mon, honey. I can’t believe you’re wasting your drunk phone-call on Darry. No pretty girl up at college?”
Pony sighs, thinking of Marianne Ackland from Introduction to History. “Soda, you can’t tell anyone this, but I think I’m in love.”
There’s some part of him which is very firmly saying shutupshutupshutupshutup, but he ignores it entirely.
Soda smiles knowingly. “Oh yeah?”
Once again, he buries his head in his brother’s shoulder. “She’s so beautiful and she has the nicest smile and we kissed at a party last semester.”
Oh yeah, he’s going to regret that one in the morning. Future Ponyboy Curtis problem.
It’s a crying shame for Soda and his desire to know about his family’s love lives, because Ponyboy suddenly spots the very vacant ping-pong table.
“SodaSodaSoda, get the others! Let’s play beer-pong!”
Soda frowns. “Play what?”
Feeling like a little kid again, Pony jumps up and down, still clinging to his brother’s hand. “We play it all the time at the dorms! I’ll teach you! Go get Steve and Two!”
Laughing, Soda briefly brushes a hand through his hair. “Never thought you’d be a bossy drunk!”
While the older boy (hopefully) goes to rally their friends, Pony goes to the bar and orders them two jugs of beer, and begs the bartender for some plastic cups.
“So, Ponykid,” Two-Bit laughs as he watches Pony struggle to the ping-pong table with his purchases. “Beer pong?”
He briefly explains the rules as best he can, before demanding Steve be on his team.
“What?” Soda sounds outraged. “Betrayal!”
Pony shakes his head. “Because Steve’s good at car things, so he’s got steady hands. And I want to win.”
It’s a rough start for both pairs. Turns out fixing cars doesn’t directly translate to ping-pong prowess, and, well, Pony’s lost all coordinative ability as it is. Soda and Two aren’t faring much better.
Finally, after having to drink a shameful amount of cheap beer, he and Steve get into a rhythm, and it’s only fifteen minutes later that they’re claiming their victory. As Pony spins around to congratulate his teammate, he completely loses his balance, and crashes into some poor man standing right behind him.
Even as Pony regains his bearings, he looks up at the man to apologise, only for his night to go from good to great in the space of about two seconds.
“Darry!” Pony cries, launching himself back at his oldest brother and hugging him as tight as he can. “You’re here! I knew you’d come! I won beer pong with Steve! How did you find us?”
“You wrote me the address.” Darry, to his credit, doesn’t laugh, and instead places a calloused hand on his younger brother’s cheek. “Looks like you’re having a fun night, kid.”
The room sways in and out with the music, and he can’t really tell what the songs are anymore, but that’s of no concern. All that matters is that his oldest brother is standing in front of him, and the warm glow from the alcohol burns like fire in his heart.
Pony pulls away. “I’ve just had the best idea in the world.”
Raising an eyebrow, Darry smiles fondly. “And what’s what, kiddo?”
He pauses for dramatic effect, before stating, “we should get shots.”
Now that gets a laugh, not just from Darry, but the other three as well. “Absolutely not, little buddy.”
“But Darry,” Pony argues, putting every single bit of energy into pretending he’s more sober than he is, “we’ve never had drinks together before. Not like this. I’m about to go back to college, and I’m not going to see you until Christmas, and I swear, this will be my last one. I’m drunk, but I’m not wasted.”
Did Mom not teach the three of you to be honest? The sensible voice in his head decides to pipe up. Back down before you make yourself look like a fool. You haven’t been this blitzed in ages.
But the older boy has a look on his face, and it’s not the Ponyboy, you know better than this expression that he’s seen too many times to count. This is one of those moments where he isn’t the guardian responsible for making sure he’s fed, that he stays out of foster care, that he gets the hell out of this city and makes something of himself.
Even though Ponyboy is half shot and isn’t quite sure that this will all be remembered in the morning, at this moment, Darrel Curtis doesn’t have to play the parent. Instead, the universe permits him to be the big brother he should’ve been allowed to be.
“Alright, kid.” Darry adjusts them so his arm is tight around Pony’s shoulders. “One drink, and then you’re well and truly finished, okay?”
Soda frowns slightly, even as Steve and Two-Bit share looks of astonishment at the uncharacteristic leniency that is being shown here tonight. “You sure? He’s had -”
“One more. He’s still coherent, and he’ll keep carrying on otherwise.” Darry sounds amused, as if he’s almost enjoying this. How the times have changed.
Examining them for a moment longer, a fond smile takes its rightful place on Soda’s lips. “Alrighty. How’re you feeling, honey?”
“Hm, me?” Pony returns the grin. “I feel amazing. This is the best night ever!”
With that, he decides to drag his brother to the bar before the older boy has the chance to change his mind about that promised drink.
“Right, what’re we having?” Darry asks, leaning his forearms against the counter. “Scratch that, what’ve you had tonight so far?”
It takes Pony a second longer than it should to register the question. All of the room seems to have amalgamated to one singular drone. “Um… tequila, and then more tequila, and then lots of beer. And whiskey with Curly.”
Darry shakes his head. “Did no one ever teach you about mixing?” He asks the bartender for two tequilas, and then turns back to Pony. “Do not make me regret this, kid.”
The glasses appear before them only a second later, and Ponyboy focuses on picking it up. Christ, he’s drunk. “You have to tap it, Darry,” he reminds, as if it’s common knowledge. “For good luck.”
Darry winces as the shot goes down, and Pony makes a huge point of keeping a straight face, just to prove that he can.
“Gosh,” his brother laughs, “I’m not sure how you drink that stuff.”
Pony leans heavily on his brother's shoulder, and not for the first time tonight, wraps his arms around his neck. “Have I ever told you how much I love you, Darry?” He exclaims. “I’m sorry I was so horrible to you when we were kids. You’re the bestest ever.”
“Oh my gosh.” Darry groans, laughing as he moves them back towards their table. “You are done, Ponyboy Curtis. Finished.”
Steve says something that he doesn’t quite catch, but he grins anyway, as Soda stands up. Pony loosens one of his arms from Darry’s shoulder and drags his middle brother into a side-embrace, although, at this point, it’s also helping in the whole standing upright business.
He probably didn’t need that last drink.
“It’s so nice that we’re all together,” Pony finds himself speaking without even needing to think about the words. “I’ve missed us all being together.”
Two-Bit’s voice is fond. “We miss having you here, kid. You should come visit more often.”
He places his head back on Darry’s shoulder, before continuing. “I miss Johnny and Dally as well. Dally would’ve done the shots with me tonight and Johnny would’ve been really good at beer pong.”
And suddenly, Pony is overwhelmed with that feeling of deep, aching sadness that he’d managed to escape tonight. The reminder that they are all here, while two of their number are not, and never will be again. Despite the alcohol, he can picture them both so clearly: Johnny leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a quiet grin stretched across his face. Dally next to him, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.
I’m real sorry I got ‘em killed, he thinks. By the way Darry has stiffed and Soda’s arm is tight around him, Pony realises absently that he might’ve said that outloud.
Shaking his head, and ready to go back to whatever fun they were having before, he says, “I’m gonna go to the bar if anyone wants to come.”
Or at least that’s what he thinks he says, because being truthful, he can’t really feel his face anymore.
Darry gives an incredulous laugh. “I think it’s time we head home.”
Pony swings to face him, and probably would’ve fallen if Soda wasn’t there. “But Darry, we just got here!”
Their middle brother shakes his head. “You’ve been here for four hours. Two and Steve will be going soon anyway. How about we go back and make pancakes?”
He contemplates for a second, but Pony knows that if he doesn’t leave quietly, then he’ll be made to anyway with no pancakes. “Can I at least say goodbye?”
“Pony, you’ll see them tom-” Darry starts, before being cut off.
“Sure, honey. You can say goodbye.” It sounds like Soda laughing as he speaks, but he can’t be sure anymore.
Letting go of his brothers, and focusing all of his remaining energy on staying upright, he finds himself hugging Two-Bit without even thinking. “Two,” Pony miraculously gets out, “I’ll teach you shot tricks next time. I’m really good at ‘em.”
The older boy’s shoulders shake as he returns the embrace. “See how you feel tomorrow, kid. You might never want to drink again.”
And then, to Steve. “I know you don’t like hugs but we’re friends even if you pretend we aren’t so you get one too.”
Strangely enough, the older boy doesn’t protest, and gives a short laugh. “Good luck with the hangover, kid.”
Darry’s lips twitch, and he reaches out to take Pony’s shoulder, carefully guiding him backwards to where Soda is already waiting by the door.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” his oldest brother’s voice is gentle. “You’re alright, kiddo.”
Supporting their youngest between them, the Curtis boys step out into the moonlight, an empty road stretching towards home.