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“Pony.”
Soda shook his shoulder.
“Ponyboy.”
Soda shook harder.
“Ponyboy, wake up—”
Pony finally jolted up, gasping for air. Sodapop shot back—sometimes, his little brother could be unpredictable after a nightmare, and he didn’t much feel like getting hit tonight. He’d calm down in a few seconds, and then Soda could swoop on in and do his thing.
But it took almost a full minute for Ponyboy’s eyes to lose their glazed look, longer than any other night Soda had been awake for. That was his first sign that something was really, really wrong—that, and the way his chest was still heaving with the effort of taking in air.
“Ponyboy, honey . . .” Soda said tentatively, his voice breaking the silence like a sharp creak of wood. His brother just shook his head, bringing his knees to his chest and burying his shaking hands in his hair. His nails, thankfully, were just short enough not to dig into his scalp. After one too many of these night terrors ended in blood clotted up in his hair, Pony just decided to keep his nails trimmed almost to the bed at all times. Soda was glad he did it; he also hated that he needed to.
“Johnny,” Pony wheezed. “Where’s . . .”
He looked up as if he were snapping out of a trance. His eyes ran over Soda’s half-open mouth, whose words of comfort had stopped in their tracks, then at the clock, which read an early hour.
“Pony . . .”
“Don’t,” he replied sharply. “I . . . I already know.”
Soda pursed his lips and remained unmoving. For someone who knew so much about Ponyboy, it really was a shock to him how little he felt prepared for a situation like this. It reminded him of his brother’s days spent wailing in delirium just after the rumble, just after Johnny and Dally had . . .
“Honey, you’re trembling,” he said softly, moving slowly and clearly toward Pony; he flinched anyway. Sodapop buried his hurt at the motion deep in his heart and continued to inch forward. If Ponyboy wanted him to stop, he knew he’d stop him. Instead, he eyed Soda warily but allowed him to continue.
It took longer than Soda would’ve liked, but eventually he had Pony wrapped in a tight hug—however, his brother didn’t seem to like that one bit. He let out a whine, pushing away at Soda’s arms, and he had no choice but to comply or risk making things worse.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Sodapop said. “I won’t touch you anymore.” To back up his point, he held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. Ponyboy couldn’t see it, though—he was already receding into the clutches of his mind again.
“Here.” Sodapop reached for the glass he always kept on their nightstand. “Do you want some—”
Ponyboy’s eyes widened like dinner plates. Before Soda knew it, he’d smacked the glass out of his hand, leaving it to shatter on the floor.
“No water!” he begged. “Please, no water, no more—”
“Okay, okay! No water, I hear you loud and clear!” Soda yelped, flicking his gaze to the bedroom door and back again. Surely Darry had heard all that breaking glass, right? He could really use some backup. Pony was near hyperventilating now, and he was getting worried his brother was going to pass out or lose lucidity again. He couldn’t do this on his own. It was getting too intense for him to handle.
“Is everyone okay?”
Soda let out a silent sigh of relief. Darry was here. Darry would fix this. He could fix anything.
“We’re having some nightmare troubles,” he said. Darry’s grip on the doorway tightened for a moment before he strode into the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him like he usually would.
“Oh, baby . . .” Darry looked at Ponyboy with a softness Sodapop wished he could bear witness to more often. “Do you remember it?”
Hesitantly, Pony spoke. “Just flashes. There was water, and I couldn’t breathe—” he cut himself off with a cough that sent Soda sprinting to the trash can they kept across the room. He shoved it under his brother’s chin just barely in the nick of time.
“There you go. Let it out,” he murmured, rubbing Ponyboy’s back as he coughed and heaved into it. “Jus’ let it out. We got you. Your brothers’ got you.”
“I’m sorry,” Pony cried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”
“Don’t be sorry, baby,” Darry replied, cutting him off. “Whatever it is you’re thinkin’ about, it ain’t your fault, I promise.”
Ponyboy pushed the trash can away from him, hands shaking even harder than before. “I think I’m done,” he moaned weakly. Soda wasn’t fully convinced, but he set it down out of Pony’s line of sight anyway. It was close enough that he could lean over and grab it in just a second if he really needed to.
“Do you think you can try going back to sleep, honey? Or is it one of the ones where you need to stay up and read a book?” Sodapop asked him.
“I think I can go back to sleep,” Pony said. “I wanna try, at least.”
Soda looked at Darry, who seemed to get the message.
“Let’s move to my room,” he suggested. Pony got up wordlessly. Soda was glad he’d thrown the glass to the foot of the bed, because now they didn’t have to worry about stepping on all that broken glass until the morning came. Well, until later in the morning came.
Once everyone was inside, Darry shut the door softly. Ponyboy climbed right into the middle of the bed, leaving an open space for his brothers on each side of him. Soda let out a quiet huff, smiling bitterly at the sight. Moments like these reminded him of how young they all really were.
“Go ahead and get some sleep, baby,” Darry murmured, brushing Pony’s ungreased bangs out of his eyes. “We’ll be right here to protect you.”
And their baby trusted them, so he did.