Chapter Text
Ponyboy had never been in such pain in his life.
Not even when Mom and Dad died. Not even when he could hardly breathe after that fire. It was the culmination of everything. Johnny was gone. Dead.
No. He couldn’t be. Pony was stuck in a nightmare. Just a bad dream. He’d wake up, and Soda would hold him and reassure him everything was gonna be okay. Because Johnny couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be.
But Pony had just watched his chest rise and fall with his last breath. “Stay gold, Ponyboy,” he’d whispered. What had he meant? Stay gold? Pony wracked his brain, but it hurt too much to think.
That was what else was plaguing him. He felt awful. He had always been prone to getting sick, but this felt different from normal. His head ached like it never had before. Breathing felt strenuous. His whole body throbbed, and he didn’t think it was just from the rumble.
He wandered the streets for what must’ve been hours, unaware of where he was or where he was going. Home. Home, he was trying to get home, right? He needed to tell the others. They had to know. Johnny was dead and Dally was gonna blow.
The streetlights made his head hurt even more. He squinted against the light, dropping his gaze to the cracked pavement.
The sound of tires against gravel met his ears, along with more light. Pony whimpered, his head pounding more at the brightness. He just wanted to be home.
Some cars had honked at him already or drivers had cussed him out, but this man rolled down the window and asked, “Need a ride, kid?”
“Huh? Oh,” Pony said, realizing he really did. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Pony climbed in the passenger seat. The man looked at him strangely. He was probably noticing how roughed up Ponyboy had gotten from that rumble. He looked about in his mid-twenties, just a little older than Darry, maybe. He had light hair and a fit build, and his clothes weren’t Soc-y or anything, but he certainly wasn’t dressed in grimy denim like most greasers.
“Are you all right, kid?” the man asked as he started driving. “You look like you’ve been in a fight.”
Golly, even the sound of his voice was making Pony’s head hurt more. He just needed some quiet. “I have been. A rumble. I’m okay.” He thought about Johnny again. Johnny couldn’t be dead. He was just across town somewhere. He was okay.
“Hate to tell you this, kiddo, but you’re bleedin’ all over my car seats.”
Pony looked down, startled. “I am?” He didn’t see blood beneath him, so he reached behind his head, which had been itching, his hand coming back with blood. Oh. “Gosh, mister, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. This wreck’s been through worse. What’s your address? I’m not about to dump a hurt kid on the streets this time of night.”
Pony thought, but for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with the number. That was weird. “St. Louis Avenue,” he could remember. “I’ll know which is mine when we get there.”
They drove in silence for a while. Streetlights and buildings passed in a hazy blur. But while things looked a little familiar at first, Pony was coming to realize that they had missed several turns that would’ve taken them in the direction of his house, even though he hadn’t quite recognized where they were at first.
“My house isn’t this way.” Pony wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. His mind was clouded by a fierce headache, and he was shaking with chills, but he understood this much, he thought. The guy had taken a wrong turn. Several, in fact.
“I know.”
Confusion rippled through Pony, then dread. But maybe—He just meant there was a shortcut maybe. He knew another way. Yeah, that had to be it. Pony groaned, pressing his fingers against his temples. He really needed to get home. He had to tell the others. Johnny—
“You can turn around,” Pony drawled, pressing his head against the window.
The man was quiet for a moment, then he said, with a weird humor in his voice, “You know you ain’t goin’ home, right, kid?”
Pony’s stomach dropped. “Huh?”
“Damn, how stupid are you?”
Ponyboy’s eyes filled with panicked tears. “Mister, please. Please, just take me home.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
Ponyboy had the better sense to keep his mouth shut, even as he trembled and his head pounded like someone was knocking a hammer around inside of it.
“What’s your name!” the man roared, slamming his fist against the wheel.
Pony jumped. He could hardly think, but he had the mind enough about him to know he absolutely did not want his name in that man’s mouth. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. “M—Michael,” he stammered, his voice straining with pain and fear. It wasn’t a lie, because he knew he didn’t even have the wits enough to do that right then. But it was far enough from the truth. It wasn’t his name in the way his name felt like his own. It was not sewn to his soul like Ponyboy was. And that felt important, though through his haze, he had no idea why. Even if he did give his real name, he didn’t think this guy would believe it. He didn’t want to be yelled at again. Glory, his head hurt. It was agony. He wanted to go home.
What had he done? Why did he get into that car? He fiddled with the door handle, but it was stuck. Or locked. Had he been in his right mind, he would absolutely have been able to figure it out, but right then, it felt impossible. So beyond him.
“Please, mister,” Pony made out in dread. His heart was pounding so hard, he could feel it painfully in his chest. “I ain’t gonna tell no one. Jus’ take me home. Please. My—My brothers. They’ll be worried. They’ll be lookin’ when I don’ come home.”
“Mm-hm. Bet they will.”
Was he about to be murdered? Had the gang just lost him and Johnny in one fell swoop? Tears streamed down Pony’s face, and as strong as he wanted to be, he couldn’t stop them. He wanted to be in bed. He wanted aspirin. He wanted his brothers. He wanted Johnny. Johnny!
“Are you gonna kill me?” Ponyboy stammered.
The man didn’t answer.
“Oh, God,” Pony cried. He breathed hard. “Leave me where they’ll find me. My brothers. Please. Please. Don’t kill me and dump me in a river. Please. They have to know, they have to know.”
“Kid, I ain’t killin’ ya and dumpin’ ya in a river.”
“You’re—You’re not?”
The man looked at him sideways. “Nah.” His lips curled. “You’re much too pretty to be wasted like that.”
“Huh?”
The man laughed. Pony’s blood curdled. “Fuck, you really are out of it, kid. Just how hard in the head did you get kicked, huh? You just rest now, Michael. I’ll take good care of ya, if you just behave.”
Ponyboy sobbed, his head pressed against the window. “Please. Please.” He was not answered.
Pony didn’t think much time had passed when they pulled into a secluded driveway, but he honestly wasn’t sure. The engine turned off, and the man opened the driver’s door. His footsteps circled the car before opening the passenger door. “Get out.”
Pony tried. He really did. But his body wasn’t listening to his head.
“GET OUT OF THE CAR!”
A sob pulled from Pony’s throat before he could stop it, and somehow, on shaking legs, Pony climbed out. But he knew if he set foot in that house, he was never leaving it again. He was going to die in there. Or worse. So much worse, he was coming to understand. He shook and shook and shook.
“Come on.”
Lip trembling, Ponyboy followed. Shit. Why now? Why did this happen to him? If he’d just been well, he was sure he could outrun this guy. He could get away. But it was taking everything he had in him just to walk right then. His eyelids drooped. Suddenly, he was falling, and the world went dark.