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Chapter Text

Chapter 1:

Friday, September 24th, 1965, 3:24 PM

     Ever since he had left Dairy Queen, all Ponyboy heard was arguing.

     Johnny had never been one to talk back, one glance at the way he held himself and anyone could tell that. So, it was an entirely new experience to hear him  talk so firmly. And out of all the people he could’ve been talking to like that, it was Dallas Winston. Johnny's hero, his muse.

     “Dal, you ain’t listening to me!” Johnny said, desperation creeping into his voice.

     “No, kid, you ain’t listening to me!” Dallas snapped at him, waving a hand in the air. Johnny winced, and Dallas immediately backtracked.

     “Your parents ain’t care ‘bout you.” Dally’s tone was gentler, but his words were relentlessly cruel.

     You think my dad gave a hang if I was dead in a ditch— or, or, locked in jail or something, huh?!” Dallas’s hands tightend on the wheel. “To make it out in life, you gotta get over it! It ain’t how it should be, but you gotta!”

     It was the most emotional Ponyboy had ever seen Dallas. The unsteadiness of his voice, the glint in his icey eyes, it was scary. And not in the normal way that Dallas was scary, it was different. The  tuffest hood in town breaking down, it ain’t something that usually puts the mind to rest.

     “Well, what if I don’t want-“ Johnny began, but he was suddenly cut off by Dallas slamming on the break. 

     The thunderbird's tires screeched as they slid across the road, surely leaving tire marks. For a moment, it almost seemed like they were about to flip, but with the years of experience in drag races Dally had, he was able to keep all four tires on the road

     Hardly having any time to react, Ponyboy’s face slammed into the passenger seat in front of him. Pain erupted from his nose, making his eyes start to water.

   “Oh glory..” Johnny whispered, panic rising in his voice. Ponyboy picked his head from off the seat, rubbing his throbbing nose. What he saw through his teary vision sucked the air from his lungs.

     The church. Engulfed in flames. Plumes of thick, black smoke rose into the sky, reaching to the heavens like long fingers of death.

     “How’d the hell that start?” Dallas asked.

     Johnny glanced over his shoulder at Ponyboy, his eyes wide and his eyebrow's knotted up.

      Ponyboy swallowed thickly. “Me or Johnny must’a dropped a cigarette or somethin’.” He said.

     “Oh golly.” Dallas sighed, his grip on the wheel tightening. “ Of course ya’ll did.” He pushed his foot on the gas, and slowly started rolling up to the church.

     As the building grew closer, the chaos erupting around it came into view. Little kids huddled up together, screaming and crying.

     “Oh Jerry— some of the kids! Some of the kids are missing!” A thin lady with short, curly hair ran up to the only other adult around, which was a fat man with brown hair that was combed to the side.

     “Oh, I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.” The man, Jerry, said, looking around at the group of kids that were gathered around. “C’mon kids, huddle up! Don’t want to miss count you all, now.”

        “Now you listen to me!” The woman snapped back, her voice raising. “I’m sure of it! They were just-” She suddenly fell quiet, deathly quiet.

     Ponyboy strained his ears and held his breath, scared that if he even dared to breathe wrong everything could get impossibly worse.

      Then, he heard it. Barely, just barely, over the crackles of flames, and ruckus around them, he heard it. Screams. Blood curdling screams. Ones that were coming from inside the church. 

    “Oh god, I told them not to play inside that church, I told them!” The woman screamed, clutching at her chest like she was about to have a heart attack. 

     Before Ponyboy could think about what he was doing, he was swinging the car door open and his feet were landing on the grass. He started at a dead run towards the church, ignoring the curses and threats erupting from Dallas. He knew he couldn’t follow through with them, as he’d have to catch him first. 

     “Kid, wait, you can’t go in there!” Jerry called out to Ponyboy, grabbing ahold of his elbow as he ran past him.

     Ponyboy shook the man off without a word, being too caught up in his own thoughts to heed his warning.

      He and Johnny had started this. They had started this mess. They were the ones that had killed Bob, they were the ones that had been smoking inside the church. Now, some random kids were going to pay for it.

     The old steps creaked dangerously under Ponyboy, threatening to give way under his weight as he rushed up them. As he reached the old, rickety door, he found orange flames had enveloped it, eating away hungrily at the wood.

      “Watch it!” A voice shouted from behind him. Ponyboy jumped out of the way just in time, as a large rock came hurtling past him. It slammed into one of the windows, splintering the planks that boarded it up. Ponyboy swirled to look behind him, only to be met with Johnny's black eyes. He hadn’t even heard him follow along.

     With nothing more than a glance, the two ran up and started prying the wood from the window, ignoring the flames that licked at their fingers. Ponyboy was the first to haul himself into the building, the black smoke immediately causing his eyes to water. 

     The church was nearly unrecognizable. Orange, red and yellow painted the walls, flickering wildly. In any other circumstance, Ponyboy would’ve thought it was rather pretty. The colors reminded him of a sunset.

     Half of the floor had collapsed, leaving the ground slanted and uneven. Ash and debris floated down from the above, coating anything that wasn't already on fire in a fine, gray dust.

     Ponyboy glanced frantically around the room, but no matter how much he looked, he couldn’t spot one kid. 

     Johnny spoke his thoughts, having to yell to make himself heard over the crackles. “Where are the kids?!”

      Ponyboy hesitated for a second, before starting off through the church “Probably in the back!” He yelled back, stepping over a half collapsed pew. 

     “Did that guy follow?” He continued, trying his best to swat the smoke away from his nose and mouth, failing miserably.

     “Window stopped him.” Johnny answered simply.

     “Too scared?” 

     “Nawh.. too fat..!”

     Ponyboy would’ve laughed, but he knew if he did he’d inhale enough smoke to make him drop dead then and there.

     They eventually made it to the back room of the church, which Ponyboy suspected used to be a storage room because of all the empty bookshelves and crates that were scattered back there.

     Even though he couldn’t see the kids, the eardrum shattering screams told Ponyboy that they were getting close.

      “Anyone back here?!” Johnny yelled. “We’re here to get ya’ll out!” 

   Ponyboy stepped around a fallen bookcase, wiping away the tears that had pooled in his eyes. In the back corner of the room, through the thick black smoke, Ponyboy could see a small huddle. 

      Ponyboy turned to Johnny, motioning to the clutch of kids. Johnny nodded, high tailing it over to the back wall while Ponyboy found where the window was.

      Johnny picked up the first screaming ball of tears and snot, and Ponyboy worked on prying off the boards from the window. Once he was able to break through, he was surprised to find Dallas waiting for them on the other side.

      “Dally!” He yelled, and for the first time in his life, he could say he was happy to see Dallas Winston. 

     “Here Dal, take him!” Johnny shoved past Ponyboy, passing the little girl he was holding to the older boy. It was about a five foot drop to the ground, but Dallas was tall enough that he could take the kid from Johnny with relative ease.

     Johnny leaned back into the church, passing a glance at Ponyboy. For the first time since the boy got jumped, Ponyboy didn’t see that glint of fear and suspicion behind his black eyes.

     Johnny quickly turned and picked up another kid, which he then passed back to Ponyboy, who then dropped her to Dallas. 

     Before Johnny could pick up the next kid, a thunderous crash came from behind them, causing the already unstable ground underneath them to tremble. If Ponyboy had to guess, the floor at the front of the church had just finished caving in on itself.

     “Idiots! Forget them blasted kids, the church is about to come down! Get outa there!” Dallas warned, but Ponyboy could hardly hear him over his own heartbeat.

     The blonde was right, though. The roof above them was creaking worryingly loud, and the beams bended underneath its weight, threatening to snap.

     Ponyboy cursed under his breath, and ran to the corner, passing Johnny as he did. He reached for another kid, his chest heaving sporadically as his lungs desperately screamed for fresh air, but all they got was hot, muddled smoke.

    “Owch!” He yelped as a shooting pain suddenly flashed through his hand. The kid had bit him! And she wasn’t letting up neither. Ponyboy picked up the kid awkwardly, not feeling the blood that ran down the side of his hand. 

    “Take 'em, Johnny, get her!” Ponyboy yelled desperately for Johnny, but the boy was having a coughing fit. Ponyboy grunted and shoved past him  throwing the girl to Dallas, who barely caught her in time. 

     Surprisingly though, the screaming didn’t stop. Ponyboy leaned his head back into church, looking quickly around the small room, but he couldn’t see anyone. He knew there was another kid. Even through the crackling and creaking, he could hear his screams clear as day. But where the hell was he?

     “Pony— Pony, you gotta get out’a here!” Johnny coughed, but Ponyboy could hardly hear him. The roaring of the fire, the ringing in his ears, the horrific screaming, it was all too much. Maybe it was because he never used his head, or maybe it was a heat of the moment thing, but Ponyboy decided something that was unquestionably idiotic, something that could cost his life. He had to look for that kid.

    Johnny wouldn’t make it another minute in the church though, and Ponyboy knew that. There was no point in them both dying, was there?

     Ponyboy twisted his body around, planting his feet as he grabbed his best friend by the waist and heaved him up, knees buckling below him from trying to support the other boys weight. Had he just gotten weaker, or had Johnny just somehow managed to gain weight?

     “What in all mighty hell do you think you’re doin’!?” Dallas screamed at him, sounding more surprised than anything.

     Ponyboy staggered forward a few feet, nearly dropping Johnny as he did so. “Shut up and catch him!” He yelled, struggling to get Johnny in the right position so he could toss him out of the church.

        He couldn’t believe he told Dallas Winston to shut up. Not just that, Dallas had actually listened. The man shut his trap, digging his fingernails into his palm and scowling up at him.

     Ponyboy stuck Johnnys upper half out first, then, he just let go, letting the boy topple out the window. Looking back on it, that was an awful idea. He really dosent think sometimes.

      Thankfully, before Johnny could hit the ground and break his neck, Dallas had caught him, just barely.

       Now with the confirmation his best buddy was safe, Ponyboy disappeared back into the smoke without a word.

     The flames were only getting worse. The beams holding up the roof were beginning to fall, landing far too close for comfort. What would he do if the ceiling collapsed? What could he do? Would he just have to accept his fate?

     Ponyboy quickly shook the thought from his head, it was starting to make him nauseous.

     “Is anyone there?!” He yelled, cupping his hands over his mouth in an attempt to be heard over the crackling and snapping coming from above. The backroom was small, hardly larger than the size of a bathroom. The hell could this kid even be?

     It was starting to get harder and harder to breathe, and Ponyboy knew he had to get out of there, and soon.

     “I’m here to help! You just gotta-“ Ponyboy was suddenly cut off by a vicious cough, which immediately sent him into a fit. Every time he breathed in it felt like a burning hot coal got dropped into his lungs, which only made him hack more. His chest rattled with each violent hack, and tears ran down his ash covered face.

     For a moment, he was convinced he was about to flop over dead.

     “Over here!” A squeaky voice suddenly yelled out.

     Ponyboy barely had the strength to look up. A boy had crawled out from around one of the burning book shelves. Another boy was right behind him, being dragged along by his short, ashy blonde hair. God, they just couldn’t come out sooner, could they?

     With a moment’s hesitation, Ponyboy reached over and grabbed the bigger kid by the back of his shirt, not noticing the flames that immediately engulfed his hand.

     He pulled the kid up and shoved him over to the window, the other kid forced to follow along because of the strong grip on his hair. The smoke quickly engulfed the two, then they were gone. 

     Ponyboy didn’t see, or hear what happened to them. He just had to hope they got out. He wanted to follow after, but he couldn’t move. 

     He was doubled over, practically dry heaving. The church was collapsing, boards above him snapping loudly, blending into the crackles of the fire. This was going to the end of him, and he was the one who caused it.

     He couldn’t die here. A voice rang in the back of his head, though he was barely conscious enough to hear it. He couldn’t die here. He had brothers waiting for him at home, even if one of them hated his guts.

     Ponyboy forced his head up and peeled open his eyes, only to find that he couldn’t tell where he was. The thick smoke surrounded him, making it nearly impossible to see anything that wasn’t inches in front of him.

     He held back his coughs and wiped his eyes. He stumbled forward blindly, hoping that he would find his way out, and by some amazing miracle, he did.

     Streaks of light started to penetrate through the smog as he stumbled through the church. He prayed that it was light from outside, and not the light at the end of the tunnel.

     Just as he was about to find out, a sudden, thunderous snap sounded from somewhere above. Ponyboy didn’t have time to move, or even look up, as the roof started to collapse around him. The ceiling shook, planks and beams crashed to the ground. The smell of saw dust joined the acrid smell of smoke that assaulted his nose.

     He lurched forward desperately in search of refuge, but before he could find it, something connected with the side of his head. A sickening, deafening, ’CRRRRAAACK!’ echoed through his skull, through his body. His bones vibrated with the force of it. 

      He didn’t have time to react. His body crashed to the ground, the wooden planks bending under his weight, nearly snapping. Strangely enough, nothing hurt. Like he was numb, he couldn’t even tell if his limbs were there anymore.

     He was going to die here. He thought weakly. Die without ever seeing his brothers, Two-bit, or even Steve ever again. 

     He had to apologize. He realized. He had to apologize to his brothers for making them worry so much, he had to apologize to Johnny for dragging him into this whole mess. And hell, maybe he owed an apology to Cherry Valance for killing Bob.

     Nothing like a life or death situation to make you realize your regrets, huh Ponyboy? The voice in the back of his head snickered at him, mocking him even in his final moments. 

     He would never get the chance to apologize though, as the darkness that had been slowly creeping up, finally consumed him.

Chapter Text

Friday, September 24th, 1965, 3:32 PM

     Johnny couldn’t breathe. He was folded in half, aggressive coughs forcing their way out of his lungs. He could feel every blood vessel in his face throb. It felt like his blood was boiling, like he was submerged in lava. 

     “Pony—” He was able to choke out. “Pony, you gotta get out’a of here!” He said quickly, before the coughs could catch back up with him. He didn’t know why he thought of Ponyboy before himself, maybe because he knew that Ponyboy didn’t deserve this. He wasn’t the one that killed Bob, yet he was still somehow caught up in this mess. 

     Suddenly, he was snapped out of his thoughts by his feet leaving the ground, and someone’s chest pressing against his back. 

    Johnny couldn’t help but yelp, which only served to let more smoke into his lungs. He heard someone yelling, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying over his own hacking.

      He felt Ponyboy shift him around for a moment, then the boy's arms left his waist, and wind was rushing past him. 

     He pulled his legs in and braced himself, ready to hit the ground, but he didn’t. Instead, he fell right into someone’s arms. He was jostled around again, then he felt his knees hit the damp, cold grass.

      The coughing fit didn’t cease though. He continued to wheeze and sputter, desperately trying to get air into his lungs.

     A large hand awkwardly patted his back as he rasped, then a gruff voice spoke up. “Glory kid, you alright?” Dallas.

     Johnny was finally able to take a sharp breath in. Fuck, it felt good to breathe in something other than smog. It felt like getting in a pool on a hot summer’s day. 

     Dally stayed silent, which was much more than Johnny expected, to be honest. He was surprised the older boy hadn’t chewed him and spit him back out by now.

     Once his bearings returned, Johnny looked up, his blood running cold as he watched huge puffs of smoke flood from the window of the church. He struggled to breathe simply looking at it, he couldn’t even imagine still being in it.

     “Wait.” Johnny spoke, surprised by how croaky and hoarse his voice sounded. “Ponyboy— is— is he—“ He sputtered, every syllable feeling like sandpaper against his throat.

    “Still in there all right.” Dallas spat, standing up from where he was kneeled. Johnny swallowed thickly, his eyes never leaving the church. Pony had to get out of there, and quick.

     Suddenly, over the crackling flames and creaking wood, he heard heavy, uneven footsteps. He almost breathed a sigh of relief, but he didn’t get the time to, as instead of Ponyboy emerging from the church like he had expected, two more little kids did.

     “Shit!” Dallas yelled just before the boys slammed into him, knocking him onto his ass.

     “Dally!” Johnny called out, which he almost immediately regretted, as that started up another coughing fit. 

     “Get off’a me!” Dally barked as he shoved the kids off, patting the hem of his shirt that had caught ablaze.

       “Dal, Dal he’s burnin’!” Johnny called out to him through coughs, pointing at the smaller kid, whose back was engulfed in flames.

     “Shit!” Dallas yelped, slapping the boy square on his backbone.

     “Owch!” The boy screamed bloody murder, doubling over on the grass, his shoulders trembling.

     “Don’t hit ‘em so hard..!” Johnny rasped, wiping the spit from his lip. 

     “Calm down! It ain’t like he’s dead!” Dallas snapped, which made Johnny’s stomach tighten slightly.

     Before Dallas could get anything else out, the ground started to shake. Loud roaring came from the church, along with harsh crashing that echoed across the valley. The buildings roof was starting to sink down, the beams creaking loudly as they tried in vain to hold it up.

     Johnny waited with held breath for Ponyboy to come stumbling out, but he never did. Someone had to do something, anything!

     In a flash, he felt someone rush past him. He peeled his eyes from the collapsing roof, just in time to see Dallas jump and grab ahold to the window sill. “I’m comin’, Pony!” He yelled, but Johnny could barely hear him over the hissing fire and the ringing in his ears. Dally hoisted himself up, and the smoke swallowed him whole.

      Johnny felt sick. Like he was going to black out any second. The world around him spun, and the ground from under him seemed to dissipate like fog, slipping right through his fingers. 

     “Where is he goin’?” A squeaky voice forced Johnny back down to earth, and for a moment he forgot where he was, who he was. He blinked, regaining his head before he turned to the voice. One of the kids, the slightly bigger one, had sat up, his face twisted in pain and his arms trembling as they wrapped around his small torso.

     “Y’all..” Johnny started, before coughing into his fist. “Y'all need to go, there's—” He paused for a moment to catch his breath.  “Puh-people out front that’ll help.” He tried to sound as demanding as he could, but his voice betrayed him, cracking multiple times as he spoke. The kids just stared at him wide eyed for a moment. 

     “Go!” Johnny snapped, before his shoulders hunched forward and he started coughing again. He didn't see them leave, but he did hear their little, quick footsteps. 

     Slowly, the coughs turned into aggressive dry heaves. Ones that left Johnny more breathless than he already was. His back trembled, and he grasped onto his forearms, desperate to keep himself grounded long enough to see if Dally and Ponyboy made it out. 

     His stomach suddenly twisted in on itself, sending a shooting pain through his arm and legs. He leaned forward just in time as the half-digested sundae he had eaten from Dairy Queen came barreling up from his stomach, splattering onto the grass with a disgusting splat.

     His stomach quickly unknotted, and he let out a sigh. The relief he felt was short lived though, as the putrid smell of his own vomit hit his nose, causing him to promptly barf again. 

     It burned as it came up his raw throat, making tears start pooling in his eyes, wetting his eyelashes. He breathed heavily once it was over, drool dripping down his chin that he didn’t bother to wipe away. He was ready for another round of vomit, or another coughing fit, but it seemed that God had spared him. For now. 

     He blinked away his tears and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glancedup at the church, which surprisingly, hadn’t completely crashed in on itself yet. He saw the faint outline of someone at the window, but he couldn't be sure if he was just imagining it or not.

    He quickly figured out he wasn’t though, as suddenly Ponyboy came hurtling out of the window, his whole body limp. Johnny tried to scramble to his feet, but wasn’t quick enough, and Ponyboy’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Directly after was Dallas.

     He jumped from the window, stumbling forward once his feet met the ground with a muffled thump. His shirt was blazing, but before Johnny could say anything, Dally had already started patting it out, while demanding him to get up.

      “That thing’s gonna collapse any second, cmon, help me get him up!” Dallas yelled as he limped over to grab Ponyboy by his armpits. 

      Johnny didn’t know if he had the strength to, but he tried anyway. He shakily made it onto his unsteady feet, and rushed to grab Ponyboy’s knees. They carried the boy a few good yards away from the church, nearly dropping him more than once. 

     They got away just in time. The second they sat Ponyboy down, the roof to the church collapsed, sending smoke and ash miles into the sky.

     Johnny fell onto his knees with a relieved sigh, wiping his sweat streaked face. He looked down at the unconscious Ponyboy, and felt his heart sink to his stomach. He looked god awful.

     He was covered head to toe in ash, and the little hair he had left was shriveled black at the ends. Dally’s coat that he had given Pony was in ruins. Most of it was black and charred, some parts had even been burned through, all the way down to Ponyboy’s skin. The whole half of his right sleeve was gone, it almost looked like it was melted into Ponyboy’s skin. The idea alone sent a pang of nausea through Johnny.

     The thing that had caught Johnny's attention the most though, was the deep crimson that was slowly painting the side of Ponyboy's head. It soaked through his blonde hair and onto the grass below; and if Johnny looked closely, he swore he could see a dent in Ponyboy’s head. 

     “Cmon Johnny, help me with this coat.” Dallas said, unzipping the jacket from Ponyboy, revealing the charred purple shirt underneath.

     Dallas swore quietly, before looking back up at the tan teen. “Johnny!” He yelled again, but the younger boy couldn’t hear him. The ringing in his ears had turned deafening, and his breaths were quick and shallow. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Ponyboy; he couldn’t think right. Everything he thought of circled back to the other boy, how young he was, how good of a life he had back at home. How he never should’ve been here.

    Dallas was saying something to him, but he couldn’t make it out. His head was swimming, and his heart was beating so loud he wondered if Dally could hear it. Then, suddenly, Johnny's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed.

Chapter Text

Friday, September 24th, 1965, 3:38 PM

     “What in all the mighty hell do you think you’re doin’?!” Dallas hollered, watching in shock as Ponyboy struggled Johnny over to the window.

   “Shut up and catch him!” Ponyboy demanded, which made Dallas’s jaw clench. If Ponyboy wasn’t already signing his death certificate, then Dally sure would’ve.

     Dallas couldn’t snap back at Ponyboy, as suddenly, Johnny was falling. He jumped forward, barely catching the scrawny boy in time. He glared up at where Ponyboy once stood, but the teen had already plunged back into the smoke.

     Johnny was still letting out dry, awful sounding coughs, and Dallas could feel the boy’s chest rattle with each one. He took a few strides backwards from the church, before setting Johnny on his knees and crouching next to him.

     “Glory, kid. You alright?” He asked, patting Johnnys back, trying to be as comforting as a hood could be. After a few more moments of coughing, Johnny took in a sudden, ear piercing breath, which made Dallas tense up. 

     Quickly, Johnny's wheezing evened out, and he wiped the sweat off hid forehead. He squinted his eyes as he tilted his head up, gazing up at the blazing church in front of them. 

     Dally didn’t know what to say. He wanted to cuss at him, tell him how idiotic that was, ask if he  wanted to get himself killed. But for some reason, the words didn’t come out. Maybe he felt bad for him, or it had something to do with the devastated face he wore as he stared at the building, Dallas didn’t know.

     “Wait.” Johnny started, his voice hoarse and quiet. "Ponyboy— is— is he-" He struggled with each word, and Dallas quickly cut him off, not being able to take how awful his voice sounded

“Still in there all right.” Dally muttered, slowly standing up, his eyes focused on the window like Ponyboy was just going to come flying out, Superman cape and all. Of course, he didn’t. But surprisingly enough, two kids did.

     “Shit!” Dallas yelled, the boys slamming into his chest before he could react, knocking the wind out of him.

     Dallas let out a wheeze as he landed, rather ungracefully, flat on his back, but he immediately got himself together as he saw bright orange flames flicker at the hem of his shirt.

      “God, get off’a me!” He snapped at the kids, shoving them to the side and quickly patting out the flames before they could spread.

     “Dal—“ Johnny sputtered out. “Dal, he’s burnin’!” Dally looked up in a panic, being met with the wild flames that had attached themselves to the back of one of the kids' shirts. Dallas cursed, raising his hand and slugging the kid on the back, which caused him to let out an ear piercing yelp. 

 “Don’t— don’t hit him so hard..!” Johnny rasped, and Dally immediately snapped back at him. “Calm down, it ain’t like he’s dead!” The younger boy tensed up at his harsh words, but Dallas hardly noticed.

    Suddenly, the ground beneath them started to tremble.  The snaps, crackles and hisses coming from the church grew louder, and the fire grew brighter, becoming bolder as it consumed more and more of the old building.

     Then, before he could think about what he was doing, Dallas was on his feet. He rushed past Johnny and jumped to grab the window sill, ignoring the fire that licked at his fingers. 

    “I’m comin’, Pony!” He yelled, though he doubted Ponyboy could hear him. He put one foot on the church wall, and pushed himself up, hauling himself through the window. Smoke immediately consumed his senses, blocking his vision and invading his lungs.

     He held back a cough and called out. “Ponyboy!” He strained his ears, but he heard no answer.

      Suddenly, there was a loud crack above, and Dally let out a yell and stumbled back. A board from above crashed where he once stood, stirring up more ash and debris. Shit, he really needed to get out of there.

     “Ponyboy!” He repeated. He was starting to consider taking his own advice, leaving the kid and saving himself, but his thoughts were abruptly cut off as his foot suddenly got caught on something. He stumbled forward, almost falling flat on his face, but fortunately, he was able to get his footing back.

    He swirled around, waving a hand through the air to try and chase away the smoke from his vision. There was a large lump on the floor, and for a moment, he almost passed it off as a pile of rubble, that is, until he saw the steady rise and fall of someone's chest.

     Dallas didn’t waste a moment. He bent to grab the sleeve of Ponyboy’s jacket, only for his hand to recoil as a piercing pain erupted through it. He hissed loudly, but did his best to shake it off. Looking back down, he saw that orange flames had already crawled up Ponyboy's right arm, spreading across his back, leaving carnage in its wake. Dallas cussed loudly, falling to his knees to try and smack out the fire to little to no avail. 

     They didn’t have time for this, and Dallas knew it. He grabbed Ponyboy by the armpits, and threw him over his shoulder, ignoring the fire that spread from Ponyboy’s clothes to his own. He stumbled through the church blindly, being weighed down by the limp Ponyboy on his back.

    Somehow, he was able to find the exit, and without hesitating, he took Ponyboy off his shoulder, and hurled him out of the window, jumping out shortly after.

     A burning pain flashed through his body when he hit the ground, starting at his feet and rushing up to his head. He stumbled forward, his vision spinning as he took heaving gasps of fresh air.

    Once he regathered his thoughts, he spun around to face the church, his heart dropping as he saw how deep its roof had dipped, leaning heavily to one side. In black, thick rolling clouds, smoke poured out of the side of the roof that had sank. With a twist of his gut, Dallas realized they wouldn’t want to be near it when it did finally collapse.

     He pounded his shoulder, which had caught fire, hiding his wince with a hard scowl as he started limping over to Ponyboy, his legs aching from the ungraceful landing

      “That thing’s gonna collapse any second, cmon, help me get him up!” Dallas yelled to Johnny, grabbing Ponyboy by his armpits while Johnny scrambled over to hook his hands under the boy’s knees. They lifted him up, before lugging him down the small hill that the church was perched on.

     Dallas gently laid Ponyboy’s head on the ground, grimacing slightly as he watched the blood gush from it. He had seen some fucked up shit back in New York. Shootings, murders. Hell, he even saw a guy pump himself full of lead while in a hold up with the police; but god this was a lot of blood, even for him. 

    His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by bellowing crackles and roars echoing across the mountain. A dark gray cloud of smoke and ash exploded from the church as it crashed in on itself, stretching high into the atmosphere. Fortunately enough, it didn’t reach them. 

     Dallas let out a small sigh, before turning his attention back to Ponyboy, whose clothes still glowed with small flames. Dallas patted out the embers, before starting to unzip the jacket, his jacket, that Ponyboy had on.

      “Cmon Johnny, help me with this coat.” Dallas said, letting out breath as he saw the purple shirt underneath. It was burnt too.

     But Johnny didn’t answer. Dallas called out to him again, glancing up. The air was sucked out of his lungs once he saw how pale the other boy was. He looked like he had just seen a ghost. His black eyes were blown wide, his breaths coming out in quick wheezes.

     “Shit, you don’t go out on me too!” Dallas yelled, but it was too late. Johnny’s eyes fell closed, and he toppled over, hitting the ground with a light thud.

      Dallas let out a curse, and rushed over to Johnny’s side, wiping soot off his boiling face. He paused next to the boy, letting out  a sigh of relief when he saw his chest move.

     The relaxation on Dallas’s face was short lived though, replaced by a deep frown. He gently laid Johnny back onto the grass, before standing up, clenching his teeth as his ankle smarted. With the height he had jumped from the church, he didn’t doubt that he fractured it.

     Dallas turned tail, and hobbled up the hill, rounding back to the front of the church, which was a madhouse. Paramedics were scrambling around, trying to sooth the snotty, sobbing kids

    A red haired woman rushed past Dally, the big metal box she was holding clanking loudly. He grabbed onto her shoulder roughly, spinning her around, cutting her off before she could say anything.  “I got two of my friends ‘round back.”

    The woman jerked her shoulder away. “Bring ‘em over, someone’ll check ‘em out.” She said, starting to turn away. Dally huffed, scowling. He grabbed onto her again, digging his nails into her skin.

      “I can’t. One of y'all’s got to go over to ‘em.” He said harshly. The woman prickled at his tone, looking ready to scream, but before she could, another voice called out.

    “That’s one of the boys that ran into that church!” It was one of the teachers, the big man, with thick glasses and brown hair. He stood from the gurney he was resting on, much to the annoyance of the paramedic that was checking him over. “They’re heroes!”

     Dallas’s nose scrunched up slightly. Hero’s his ass, but when the woman turned back, she looked slightly less weary. Dallas looked back at her, grinning wolfishly. He uncurled his fingers from her around her arm.

     “You're gonna need more than that.” He pointed to the metal box in her hands. She hesitated, but eventually she turned her head and called for one of the other paramedics. The man she called to looked up, before helping the kid he had just finished patching up off of the gurney, and was over to them in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

     Dallas quickly showed them the way to Ponyboy and Johnny, nearly tripping over his own feet several times. When they finally reached the boys, the woman let out a quiet gasp. That couldn’t be good.

    The other paramedic jumped into action, running over and kneeling next to Ponyboy. He opened the metal box, and pulled out multiple large gauze pads, before pressing them to Ponyboy’s head wound, which was still somehow gushing blood. Honestly, Dallas was amazed that the boy hadn’t bled dry by now.

    As the man took care of Ponyboy, the woman fled back up the hill, and not too long after that, other paramedics showed up, shouting at each other and surrounding Ponyboy and Johnny like flies would to honey. 

   Dallas paced around like a wild cat, trying to get a look at what they were doing, but all he couldn’t see past all the people.

     “Have you been looked over yet?” A voice suddenly said from behind Dallas. He swirled around, nerves already too fried to work anymore scares. He was met with the the red haired lady he talked to prior. He glowered at her, and wordlessly shifted his gaze back to the flurry of paramedics around his two friends.

     “There ain’t nothin’ much else that can be done for them, not until we get to the hospital, at least.” She said, her voice filled to the brim with pity, which only irritated Dallas further.

     A few beats of silence passed, then the lady spoke up. “We got another ambulance on over for you.” Dallas let out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching as a thousand thoughts ran through his skull.

Without another word, he turned and staggered back up the hill. He just had to hope that Johnny and Ponyboy would be okay. That’s all he could do. And frankly, that pissed him off.

Chapter Text

Friday, September 24th, 1965 9:56 PM

     Soda groaned quietly as he stepped out of the shower, his feet landing on the soft towel laid out on the bathroom floor. He let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes with his palms. If he could’ve, he would’ve gone to sleep right then and there.

     It had been a long day, and honestly, a long week. His mind had been plagued with thoughts of Ponyboy, constantly worrying about his well being. Where was he? Was he safe? How bad had he been hurt? If he was anything like that Soc… Oh god. 

     He shook away the thought. He couldn’t think like that, he just plain couldn't. It’d worry him to death.

     He grabbed the towel from off the sink and began drying himself off, his mind swirling with thoughts of what he could’ve done differently. If he had stuck up for Ponyboy more, if he went after him when he ran, if he had been a better brother; would Ponyboy still be here? Curled up in their room, or studying for a big Algebra test on Monday? If Soda had just one thing differently.. Would his brother still be here?

     Once he had finally struggled on his jeans, he threw the towels into a nearby clothes hamper before twisting the door handle. The old door’s hinges creaked loudly as he opened it, announcing his exit from the bathroom to the whole house, which consisted of only Darry and him. 

     The kitchen was pitch black, save for the dull, yellow light that shined from the living room. He heard Darry on the phone with someone, but he couldn’t make out what they were talking about.

     His steps careful, Sodapop creeped into the living room. He poked head around the doorway, and looked over to the armchair where Darry sat. He was white as a ghost, the rotary phone trembling in his shaky hands. He didn’t seem to notice his younger brother, too absorbed in the phone conversation.

     “Yeah.” Darry said into the phone, nodding his head absentmindedly. “Thank you.. thanks. Goodbye.” He said quickly, before letting out a breath as he sat the phone down back onto its holder.

     “Darry..?” Soda asked, unsure of what to say. He had never seen Darry look so shook up before. “Who was that?” He pried, but Darry stayed silent. “Who were you talkin’ to?”

     Darry ran his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes closed. “It was..” He paused for a moment, his lips still parted slightly, as if the words had died on his tongue. “It was the police.” Soda felt his chest tighten. 

     “They— they found Ponyboy.. he..” Darry continued, sounding distant, like he wasn’t all there. 

     “Is he okay?” Soda interrupted, taking a step into the living room. “What’d they say?”

     Darry didn’t answer, his eyes drifting to the ground. Panic flashed through Soda’s veins, making his hands start to tremble and his breathing to quicken. “Is– is he..” He sputtered, but Darry let out a sharp breath, and Soda shut his mouth.

     “He’s alive.”  

    Soda let out a sigh of relief, and his knees unbuckled from under him, almost sending him to the floor.

     “But it ain’t soundin’ good. He’s at The William Buttons Hospital, over on the West side.” Darry continued as he got to his feet, his shoulders tensed up, making him look twice his normal size. 

     There were two hospitals that Soda knew about that were in their area. The community hospital in the east, the one that he usually found himself in whenever he got himself hurt, and the privately owned one in the west, which, much like the people, had more money to throw around.

    “West side?” He asked, tilting his head. “Whats he doing all the way over there?” 

     “Something about needin’ extra care.. I dunno.” Darry answered, picking up his boots that sat by the door, pulling them on.

    “Why’s he need that?” Soda asked quietly, grasping onto the side of the arm chair, struggling to keep himself upright. “I mean, what’s— what’s wrong with him?” His voice felt as unsteady as his legs, and he stumbled over his words.

    Darry swallowed thickly as he finished tying his boots. “I don’t know, little buddy.” He said simply, standing up, a slight grimace crossing over his face as he straightened his back. “They didn’t have that much information to give me.”

    “Well ain’t the hospital supposed to tell ‘em stuff?!” Soda burst out, rash tears welling in the corners of his eyes. 

     Darry shrugged, wordlessly grabbing the truck keys off the coffee table.

 “I don’t know. Just.. get your shoes on. We gotta get going.” Darry ordered, swinging the door open and walking out into the chilly September air.

    Soda held back a frustrated sob, and rushed to put on his worn-out converses. He hardly bothered to tie them before he rushed out the door. Darry had already sat himself in the driver’s seat of the Ford, which was rumbling with life. Soda hopped into the passenger seat, barely getting the door closed in time before Darry peeled out into the road. 

    Soda rubbed a hand over his face, leaning his head against the cold car window. He looked out into the moonless night. A thick blanket of clouds had covered the sky, it looked like it was going to rain soon.

     It took every fiber in Soda’s being to stop him from breaking down, to stop him from folding in on himself and disappearing.

    The drive to the west side hospital was a grueling one and a half hours, giving Sodapop time to think. And think and think.

    If Ponyboy was so bad off, what about Johnny? Oh god, had they even found Johnny? A million thoughts ran around and around in his head, each possibility worse than the last.

     Eventually, he couldn’t take it, and he buried his head into his hands to hide the fat tears that began to run down his cheeks, but the sobs that racked his body gave him away. He felt Darry put his large, calloused hand on his back and gently move it up and down, but it didn’t help.

    Soda sobbed most of the way to the hospital, unable to stop himself, the thoughts in his head nauseating and constant. He needed to vomit.

     He was able to pull himself together just in time. He sniffled and gave his eyes a final wipe with the back of his hand, ignoring the burning pain that came along with it. It had rubbed his eyes raw. He lifted his head, just as the hospital came into view in the distance.

     To call the building big was an understatement. It towered high into the sky, practically dwarfing all the other structures around it.

     Darry pulled into the parking lot, which, thank god, was mostly empty. He quickly was able to find a parking spot, and the second the car rolled to a stop, Soda was hoping out.

    The hospital was even bigger up close. It looked three, maybe four stories tall, much larger than the little two story one on the East side. Even with how late it was, and the empty parking lot, the building was buzzing with life. Every window lit up with bright, fluorescent lights.

    Soda let out a shaky sigh, wiping sweat from his top lip, or it might’ve been left over tears, he couldn’t tell. Silently, he followed Darry to the entrance.

     Darry swung open one of the doors that lead into the lobby, and they stepped into a long, broad hallway. A circle desk smack in the middle of it, and you had to go around it to go down the rest of the hallway. To the right and left were two glass walls, leading into identical looking rooms that were filled with red, cushioned chairs.

     “Excuse me.” Darry said to one of the receptionists once they made their way over to the desk, bringing her out of the conversation she was having. She was awfully small, and by the look on her face, Darry must’ve scared the shit out of her.

    She sat down her salad and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She cleared her throat, before asking. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?” 

     “My brother was sent here, Ponyboy Curtis?” Darry asked, skipping the pleasantries.

     “Ponyboy Curtis?” She repeated, her eyes widening subtly. The other women casted vague glances at each other, but Soda couldn’t make out what they mean, but he doubted it was anything good.

     Darry either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, as he just nodded and continued. “I’m his legal guardian, Darrel Curtis, Jr. I was just hopin’.. could we see him?.”

    “Not at the moment, he’s in surgery right now.” The woman answered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

     Soda’s shoulders tensed, and he stepped forward, mouth opening before he could stop it. “Surgery?” He asked, and the woman nodded.

     “Well, what’s wrong with him?” Soda continued. “Ain’t it bad if he has to have surgery?”

     “I’m afraid I can’t say the severity, of his injuries are—”

     “Then find us someone who can.” Darry interrupted, patience clearly waning. “Find us just— someone that can tell us something about our baby brother.” He leaned forward slightly, towering over the woman. “Please.” He added, no real emotion other than frustration and worry in the plead.

     Without missing a beat, the women answered. “The surgeon will answer all of your questions when he finishes.” Darry opened his mouth to argue, but the receptionist wasn’t done talking just yet.

     “Does Ponyboy have any health conditions we should know? Family history of seizures, strokes, anything like that?” 

     “He smokes. Been having real bad nightmares recently, too.” Darry answered plainly, shuffling back a bit, bringing a hand up to his face, rubbing his the stubble on his chin slightly.

      “That’s all?” She asked, and Soda nodded for Darry. “He’s healthy..” He muttered, voice wavering. “He’s a healthy kid.” 

     “Okay then.” She said, sympathy dripping from her voice as she took in Soda’s clear despair, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

     “Waiting rooms are right on over there.” She lifted herself out of her seat, pointing past Darry and over to one of the rooms that were filled with red chairs.

      “And also, if you don’t mind signing these.” She continued, bending down and looking through the drawers that were under the desk. She pulled out a few pieces of paper, grabbing a spare pen from out of a cup that sat on the desk, placing it on top of the papers before holding them out to Darry. He took them, catching the pen before it rolled off and dropped to the floor.

     “I can try to get an update on your brother.” She said softly, looking between the pair. “It might be a while.” She added, sitting back down.

     Soda let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders loosening slightly, yet not completely.

     “Thank you.” Darry said, and for the first time in since their parents died, he sounded sincere, properly thankful. After a thanks from Soda as-well, the pair turned away, and walked off to the waiting room.

     There was hardly anyone in the waiting area, and the few that were sat a distance away from each other, reading newspapers or sleeping. The only pair that sat together whispered to each other in low voices, faces puffy, voices hoarse, like they’d been crying. They looked marginally similar, cousins, if Soda had to take a guess

    The brothers took seats at the back corner of the room, the farthest possible point away from anyone else. Wordlessly, Darry started looking through the papers, placing his signature where needed.

     Soda sat impatiently, his leg bouncing, his hands constantly moving, patting his jeans or squeezing the arm rests, he just couldn’t stay still. 

     “I’m gonna go see if I can get ahold of any of the boys.” He said abruptly, surging up from his seat, strolling off before Darry could argue.

     After stopping briefly to ask one of the receptionists about a pay phone, Soda was off down the broad hallway, taking a sharp right once he got to the end of it. A beige pay phone sat, connected to the wall, right as he rounded the corner on the corner.

     He shuffled around in his pockets for a minute, a lump in his throat forming as he grasped at nothing but fabric. They had left in such a hurry, he hadn’t even thought about taking any money with him, and he doubted Darry had either.

     He cursed under his breath, feeling his face get hot. He didn’t want to just ask someone for spare change, it would be like throwing himself to the wolves. He had more dignity than that.

     “Do you need some change?” A voice suddenly asked from behind him, snapping the teen out of his thoughts. He turned around, opening his mouth to reply, but stopping short, the words catching on his tounge, bubbling and falling off the earth.

     The woman in front of him was a carbon copy of Sandy. Silky, straw colored hair that fell to her shoulders in spirals, sky colored eyes. Even her makeup looked similar, light blush, thick mascara, and coral lipstick; and though it had been worn off and smudged through the day, she still looked beautiful in it. 

     She wore bright cherry tights, with matching buckle up shoes, and a white, black and red striped sweater. A small, lemon handbag hung off her shoulder, giving the eyes a break from all the harsh red she had on. She was gorgeous.

     The woman waited for an answer, one of her hands already reaching into her bag. Soda blinked a few times. “Uh,” He sputtered, his mind, which was normally overflowing with comebacks, or teases, or jokes, suddenly blank.

      “Yeah. I don’t got none.” He said stupidly, his thumb nail picking at the side of his pointer finger.

     The edge of the woman’s mouth curled up slightly at Soda’s witless remark, and she pulled out a little red coin purse that was covered in white, four petaled flowers. Soda avoided her eyes, subtly rocking back and forth on his feet, heart beating so loud he was sure the woman could hear it.

     “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here.” She said as her slender fingers skimmed through her coin purse. Soda cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Ah, I don’t live around here. Just, visiting someone, is all.”

     “Oh.” She said, glancing up at him, looking him up and down. Soda felt his hands get clammy, and he resisted to urge hunched his shoulders more.

     Unexpectedly, the woman smiled. “You could’ve fooled me.” She said, holding out a small handful of dimes. Soda finally met her eyes, and felt his heart skip a beat. “Thanks.” He said quietly, gently taking the coins from her. She nodded, closing the coin purse and setting it back in her bag. 

     “Well.” She said, adjusting the bag strap as it laid on her shoulder. Soda couldn’t help but hold his breath at the small pause between them. “I wish we could’ve met in a more.. joyful environment.”

     Soda nodded. “Yeah. Would’ve been nice.” He said, voice faint.

     She smiled again, and Soda felt his pulse speed up. “It would’ve been.” She turned, giving Soda a polite wave. “I’ll see you around.” 

     “Yeah.” He said, doubting it was true, but it was a nice idea. “See you.” He watched as she walked down the hallway, listening to her heels clack on the floor. He only looked away when she disappeared out the double doors and into the parking lot.

      He took a dime from his pocket and slid it into the coin slot, bringing up the phone to his ear. He dialed in Steve’s house number, which he had memorized since 6th grade.

     The phone rang once, twice. For a moment Soda was afraid no one would answer, but thankfully the ringing finally stopped and a surly voice came from the other line. “What?” It was too deep, too gruff to be Steve’s, and from the slurred tone, the person was drunk. 

    “Mr Randle?” Soda asked, surprised that the man hadn't already drunk himself senseless by this hour.  He had never liked Steve’s dad, Carl. He was alright when Steve was younger, but by the time middle school came around, and Steve could fend for himself, the teen was kicked to the streets at least once a week. 

    “What nerves’a steel you got.” He hiccuped. “Ta be botherin’ me at this hour?” Carl grumbled, tripping over his words so much Soda could barely understand him. Soda rolled his eyes, but he was too tired to fight with Mr. Randle at the moment.

    “Is Steve there?” He asked, leaning against the wall, holding the cable that connected the phone to the box, twisting it in his hands.

     Carl huffed loudly. “No, he ain’t.” He snapped. “He ain’t gonna be back for a while. If ever!” 

     “Well, if you’re takin’ messages,” Soda started.  “I ain’t!” Carl interrupted, but Soda raised his voice and continued “Then tell Steve Ponyboy's back.” 

     The line went silent for a moment. “What?” Carl asked, voice suddenly clear, lacking the normal slur it always seemed to have.

     Soda ignored him. “The William Buttons Hospital, tell Steve to meet me and Darry here, we’re waitin’ for news on Ponyboy.” And before Carl could answer, Soda slammed the phone back onto its holder, sighing. 

     He doubted Two-bit would be home, and even if he was, he definitely wouldn’t be sober. Nonetheless, Soda quickly put another dime into the pay phone, and dialed in Two-bits number.

     Surprisingly, it wasn’t too long before someone picked up. “Hello?” The voice was heavy, like the weight of the world had been dropped on it, but had a distinct southern drawl, more so than Two-bit, or his sister. 

      Soda wasn't surprised that Miss Matthew’s, Manny, had answered. She was usually up late into the night, often taking the closing shift at the bar she worked for.

     “Hey.” Soda said back, shifting on his feet slightly. 

     “Sodapop? Darlin’, What’s got you calling this time’a night?”  Manny asked, her voice tired and gravelly, like she hadn't drank water in a week.

     “I was just, uh, wondering if Two-Bit was there?”

     “No, not now.. is there somethin’ you need to tell him?” Manny questioned, and Soda heard her shifting around on the other side. 

     Soda swallowed thickly, thinking of his next words carefully, which was something he hardly found himself doing. He didn’t want to worry her. God knows she had already worried herself sick when she heard that Ponyboy and Johnny had gone missing. Two-bit had been inside all day trying to comfort her. 

     Manny was a nice woman. She had been close to the Curtis’s parents. She brought the brothers about 20 casseroles in the eight months since they died. Manny had always been close with the brothers too. Always setting up playdates with them and Two-bit when they were younger.

      Manny called his name, snapping Soda out of his thoughts. “Uh, well” He started, glancing at the ceiling, as if it would give him the answers. No matter how much he turned the words, he couldn't think of a way to tell Manny without freaking her out. “Well, it ain’t nothin’ to worry about.” He reassured, trying to lighten his voice slightly. 

     “If it’s something about that fight tomorrow, I can pass on a message, really. I know better than to tattle.” Manny pushed on, but Soda insisted. “Nah, it’s okay. I can find Two tomorrow. Thanks, though.”

     “You sure, Honey?

    “Yeah, Miss Matthews, really. You ain’t gotta worry about it.” He assured, forcing his voice into a lighter tone.

     “Okay then..” Manny said hesitantly. “Have a good night, hope everything is alright.”

      “It is, don’t worry. And, yeah you too.” Soda said quickly, letting Manny hang up first, before he sat the phone back on its holder. He briefly thought of trying to reach Dally, but he decided it wasn’t worth it. Buck was having another one of his parties tonight anyway. Even if Dallas was there, there wasn’t a way in hell he would answer.

      The silence that followed the phone call was deafening. The only sound Soda would hear was the blood rushing in his ears, and the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights above him. He stared at the phone for a while, mulling over the thoughts in his head. There wasn’t much to think about, he knew. There wasn’t anything to hope for, except that Ponyboy wasn’t too bad off.

      He let out a breath, squeezing his eyes closed and pushing down the nausea just enough so that he could walk back to the waiting room.

      By Darry’s empty hands, Soda guessed he had already finished the paperwork and had turned it in. He was still stiff, his blue-gray eyes distant. His hands sat interlocked in his lap. Silently, Soda came to sit next to him, his mind caught in a haze.

     A sudden sob hit Soda’s ears, and he was surprised to find that it had come from him. Hot tears were falling down his face, dampening his cheeks. He hiccuped, wiping his eyes and hunching over, placing his head onto his knees in an attempt to hide his weeping.

      He felt his face heat up as his quiet sobs filled the air, each one of them taunting and scornful. Greasers weren’t meant to cry.

    Water droplets wet his jeans, and his bottom lip quivered with each sharp inhale. He was distantly aware of Darry trying to comfort him, but he didn’t bother to try and make out what he was saying.

     “I-I-I just don’t” Soda breathed, voice quaking with emotion. “Why it was— how this—” His throat suddenly swelled up, and he let a scornful noise as his lungs clawed for air.

      Darry hushed him gently. “It’s fine, baby. He’s gonna be fine.” His voice was airy, gentle, and reminded Soda far too much of their father; but there was a distinct underlining of fear to his brothers tone, so Soda couldn’t find any comfort in his words. 

    It felt like an eternity before the tears finally dried up. The corners of Soda’s eyes stung, like he had been burned, and his breaths came out in uncontrollable huffs. He wiped the snot and drool off of his mouth and onto his jeans, too tired to be ashamed anymore than he already was.

    He  sat up, glancing up at the clock of the waiting room. 12:33 AM. They had been there about an hour. He sighed, and just leaned his head back, avoiding Darrys eyes, though he was sure they were burrowing  into him.

     He let out a breath, the exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up to him. Seems like he used the last bit of his energy in that fit. He let his aching eyelids close, but before he could get even a moment of peace, a voice called out.

“Curtis family?”

Chapter Text

Saturday, September 25th,

1965 12:33 AM

     “Curtis family?” A voice called out, nearly making Darry jump out of his skin. 

      Beside him, Soda’s head shot up, eyes shooting open, still red and puffy. Darry turned towards the voice, hope bubbling in his chest, just for it to crumble down when he saw who was calling for them. A fat man,  with a thick mustache and slicked back black hair stood at the entrance of the waiting room, wearing a dark blue uniform, black pants, and a police badge.

   Darry steadied his shaky legs, and stiffly stood up, trying to ignore the eyes that were drilling into him. He hoofed it over, Soda following quickly behind him.

    The police officer held out his calloused hand, and Darry took it, shaking it firmly. 

     “Mr Curtis-” The man started, but Darry interrupted him.

     “Darrel. It’s just Darrel.”

    “Okay, Darrel. You can call me Officer Scott, why don’t we come on outside and talk?” He said, nodding to the lobby.

      Darry was happy to comply. He couldn’t stand the feeling of eyes on him for much longer.

     They filed out of the waiting room, but it didn’t do much to relieve the eyes on them, considering the wall that separated the waiting room from the lobby was glass. 

    Scott leaned on the clear wall, and took a notepad from his back pocket, and a pen off the pocket of his shirt. He licked his finger, and flipped to the first page of the notepad. “I was wondering if I could ask some questions about the events leading up to Bob Sheldon’s death, if that's okay with you?” Darry just nodded.

      With that, Officer Scott immediately started firing questions at him. What was Ponyboy like? How did he act at home? Had he ever encountered Bob before? If so, what was their relationship? 

    Eventually, Scott reached the dreaded question that Darry knew was coming

      “So, what was Ponyboy doing the day of Bob’s death?”

    Darry swallowed thickly, guilt seizing his chest. He let out a shaky breath as he recounted the day that it all started; it felt like it was months ago, but really, it was just last week. 

    Darry had been worried sick, sitting in that arm chair clear into the night, waiting for his knucklehead of a brother to make it home. Ponyboy had gotten jumped just the day prior, what if it had happened again? Or what if he had peeved off the wrong person that day, and he had been beat senseless? Thinking back on it, the thoughts were preposterous. Though Pony didn’t use his head, he wasn’t a complete moron. 

    When Ponyboy had finally made it home, telling some story of how he had ‘just fallen asleep in the lot’, Darry just exploded. The months and months of frustration and guilt that had built up since his parents died just overflowed. He had yelled at Soda, he had hit Ponyboy. God, just what was he thinking? 

    “It was last Sunday. Ponyboy got home real late..” Darry started, picking his words carefully as he heard Officer Scott scribble in his notepad.

     “Do you remember an exact time?” 

    “About two in the mornin’. I was angry, about him being out past curfew, we got into it and.. he just..” He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I hit him.”

     “What do you mean?” Scott asked. Darry somehow built the courage to glance up at the officer. His face was blank, but Darry could see.. something behind his eyes. Disgust, disappointment, surprise. He couldn’t tell. “How did you hit him? Slap him, punch him, push him?”

      “I backhanded him.” Darry slid past the question, quickly continuing before they could linger on it too long. “And he ran off. I-I didn’t go after him. I don’t know where he went after, or how Bob ended up dead.” 

    “He was a good kid, though.” Soda interjected, talking for the first time in half about an hour, an ungodly amount of time for someone like Soda.. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly, he couldn’t cut no one he..” Soda cut himself off when desperation started creeping into his voice.

    “I can believe that.” Scott said, looking up from his notepad. “I mean, your brother, he’s a hero.” 

    Darry furrowed his eyebrows slightly, staring at the officer. 

     “He saved kids from a church fire over in Windrixville.” Officer Scott clarified, seeing the look on Darrys face. “Risked his own life for ‘em.”

    A small noise came from Soda’s throat, but Darry didn’t look at him, afraid that if he moved his head, he’d pass out. It felt like he was swimming.

     “I’m sure there’ll be a paragraph in the paper about it tomorrow. Apparently reporters were swarming all over a hospital on the other side of town, tryin’ to interview the other two boys that were also in that fire.” Officer Scott continued, sounding a bit exasperated as he mentioned the reporters. 

     “Two?” Soda asked, shuffling to stand next to Darry. “Who were the two boys?”

    “Sorry to say I can’t tell y’all that. Confidential. I don’t make the rules, Son.” Officer Scott said with a blank face, and a shrug.

     “Will there be reporters that are going to talk to us?” Darry asked, stiffening a bit. They had enough to worry about.

     “No. No one but me and the doctors will be talking with you tonight. With Ponyboy's condition, we thought it’d be best to limit as much information about him, and his whereabouts, as possible.”

     “His ‘condition?’ What's his condition?” Soda asked, and immediately, Darry knew Officer Scott said something he shouldn't have. The man's eyes widened slightly, and he shifted his gaze away from them.

      “I’m sure a doctor will be out to talk to y’all soon. I ain’t verified to tell all that.” Scott said, flipping his notepad closed, and stuffing into his back pocket, quickly changing the subject. “You’ll probably see more of me eventually, but for now, that's about all the questions I got. Both of y’all have a nice night now. Ponyboy’ll be in my prayers tonight.”

    “Thanks.” Darry said dryly.

    Officer Scott nodded, and pushed himself off the wall, walking past Soda and Darry to the exit. Soda sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Darry just sighed, slinging his arm around his brother. “He’s gonna be okay, Pepsi.” He said, squeezing him tightly. 

    “I sure hope.” Soda muttered, leaning into Darry slightly. Darry patted his shoulder, before letting go, turning around to head back into the waiting room. 

Saturday, September 25th,

1965 1:49 AM

    Darry was starting to think that the receptionist lied about getting an update for them. It had been about two and a half hours now, and there was still nothing. No matter how much he, or Soda pried, they couldn’t get anything out of the receptionists. 

    Disheartened, Darry returned to the waiting room after another failed attempt to get an update. Him and Soda were the only ones there now, everyone else had left, too tired to camp out the whole night at the hospital. Darry couldn’t blame them, really. He wanted nothing more than to crash into his own bed, but at this point, he was far too tired to drive all the way back to the East side.

   At the sound of Darry’s footsteps, Soda’s eyes peeled open, and he lifted his head up from where he had laid it on the back of this seat. He rubbed his eyes, and straightened himself, a hopeful look on his face.

    Darry shook his head, taking a seat next to his brother. “Naughta.”

    He felt Soda deflate, and the teen’s head lolled onto his shoulder. Darry sighed and brought a hand up to run his thick fingers through Soda’s golden hair, ruffling it slightly. Soda didn’t make a fuss, he just closed his eyes, and tried to go back to sleep. Which Darry was grateful for. He deserved the rest.

      Darry leaned his head against Soda’s, and also closed his eyes. For a moment, everything went still, and it really did seem like Darry would finally get some shut eye, but just before he nodded off, the sound of footsteps caught his attention. 

     He forced his eyelids open, expecting it to be another receptionist or nurse offering them a drink, or bite to eat, but instead he was met with a man with dark hair, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, standing at the doorway. 

       A receptionist was standing beside him.  “Accidently might’a lied to you a lil bit.” She said, smiling half heartedly. “Dr. Wilson has some news for you.”

    Darry’s eyes widened, and he straightened his posture, jostling the half-asleep Soda awake. Dr. Wilson smiled gently at him, which honestly, made Darry sick. He didn’t want his pity.

      Soda rubbed his drooping eyes and uncurled from the chair, realization setting in on his face. “Ponyboy.. how’s..” He started. 

    “He’s still in surgery.” Dr. Wilson interrupted, walking over and sitting down in a chair across from the brothers. “But, from the looks of it, he's going to make it.” 

    Darry let out a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding, and since the first time since Ponyboy ran away, his shoulders relaxed.

     “Is the surgery goin’ okay?” Soda asked. “How bad’s he hurt? Is it gonna be a while till he’s out?” He continued, his words slowly speeding up, but Darry quietly hushed him. 

     “Well, okay.” Dr. Wilson took a deep breath in. “Ponyboy suffered a severe blow to the head, and it left him with internal bleeding. The blood is pooling up in his skull, and is putting pressure on his brain. That’s what we’re working on relieving right now.”  

     It felt like Darry had been dunked in icy cold water. “Ya’ll are.. y'all are doin’ brain surgery?” He asked slowly, his voice not sounding like his own. It felt like he was a million miles away, on some distant planet, with water clogging his ears.

     Dr. Wilson nodded. "The blood is pooling in the dura mater of Ponyboy’s head, the space in between the skull and the brain. We’re helping drain it by cutting out a piece of the skull, and using suction to get the blood out, relieving the pressure.”

     Darry couldn’t bear to imagine that, so he didn’t. He quickly hopped to the next question. "Is it going good?"

    "Well, there have been some bumps along the road. The blow to Ponyboy's head broke his skull, and there was so much force behind it, that the broken bone fragments were pushed inward, putting even more pressure on his brain, and making it difficult for us to perform the surgery."

     "His skull got broke?" Soda whispered to himself, his leg starting to bounce.

     Ignoring the shaking of Soda’s chair, Darry leaned forward and asked.  "How are y'all gonna fix that?”

     "To fix that, we'll need to do a cranioplasty, where we lift the bone fragments back into place, and secure them with plates and screws, then let the bone heal on its own.”

     "Okay." Darry said, nodding his head absentmindedly. "Alright." He repeated, taking a deep breath in. He felt one of Soda's shaking hands grab his own.

     “He was burned though?” Soda chimed in, after what seemed like forever of being deafeningly quiet. “We-We told he was burned? In a, In a fire?” He tightly squeezed Darry's hand, and Darry squeezed back.

     “He has burns, yes, I was about to get into that.” Dr. Wilson said. “The worst of the damage sustained from the fire was all up his right arm. Then across his shoulder, and over half of his chest.” The bouncing of Soda’s leg got stronger, and Darry squeezed his hand even harder, attempting to silently reassure him.

     “What took a majority of the blow was his fingers. Now, we tried to save them, but by the time we got him into surgery, they were already blackened and dead.”

     “What’re you sayin’?” Soda asked defensively,  voice trembling, giving away his fear. 

     Dr. Wilson hesitated for a second before saying. “We’ve had to amputate most of Ponyboy’s fingers on his right hand.”

     That threw Soda over the edge. He forgot the years of hardening his face around strangers, and he broke down. Darry slung an arm around him, and Soda leaned into his rigid body, hiding his tears with his hands. Thank god everyone else had left by that point.

     Darry himself felt close to cracking, but he refused to let himself. Not in front of Dr. Wilson. Not while both of his brothers needed him so badly.

     “We saved as much as we could, but it’s going to be a long, lengthy recovery, and he might not ever regain full control of that hand again.” Dr. Wilson continued, glancing at Soda with pity filled eyes, but Darry didn’t notice; his own eyes were glazed over, and focused on the floor again.

     Dr. Wilson paused for a moment, giving the brothers a moment to take it all in, or he just didn’t know what to say, Darry didn’t know, but it felt like an eternity before he spoke again.

     “That’s about all the information I have for you tonight. The head surgeon will go into deeper detail later on, and update you on anything else that might happen.”

     Anything else that might happen. There could be more? 

     “Okay.” Darry said vacantly.

     There could be more. 

     Dr. Wilson nodded, slowly standing up. He hesitated for a moment, before asking. “You boys have anyone you can call? Parents, family, friends?” 

     Darry swallowed thickly, blinking a few times, forcing his eyes to focus on the doctor, before clearing his throat. “No.” He said, his voice sounding small. “We called them already.” He added in, vaguely remembering when Soda left to try and call the gang. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

     “Alright then. Don’t stay here for too long, okay? Go home, make whatever calls you need to. Ponyboy won’t be out for another few hours anyway. And staying in a stuffy place like this isn’t good for you.” Dr Wilson said.

     Darry just nodded, not really registering what the man said.

     Dr. Wilson wished them a nice night, before turning around and walking out, leaving the brothers with their thoughts.

    Darry didn’t know what to do. He didn’t trust himself to drive. God, he was just so exhausted. Exhausted from worrying. Exhausted from working. Just plain exhausted. He didn’t know how much longer he could stay that way.

     A few hours, he decided. Just a few more hours. He’d get Soda and him home, collapse into bed, and sleep. That’s all he needed. Sleep.

     He patted Soda on the back, before unwrapping his arm from around him. Soda sniffled loudly, rubbing his nose and sitting up. A look of pure defeat was edged into his handsome features, and his eyes were downcast and bloodshot.

    “Wanna head home, little buddy?” Darry asked gently, hunching down slightly to meet Soda’s eyes. 

    Soda hesitated for a moment, and Darry couldn’t tell if he was thinking, or building up the strength to say what he needed.

    “What— what about..” Soda was interrupted by an involuntarily gasp, and his shoulders shook. “T-T-The boys?”  

    “Oh, Soda.” Darry mumbled. “They’ve probably both drunk so much they’re passed out by this time. I know least Two-bit has.” Darry’s hand returned to his brother's back, rubbing up and down gently. 

    “Say..” He continued slowly. “Were you even able to reach ‘em?” 

     Soda wiped the eyes with the palms of his head, his chest sporadically going up and down. “N—No. Didn't bother with Dallas, and T—Two-bit’s mom answered, and Steve’s dad.”

    “Well, we can reach them tomorrow, yeah?” Darry reassured, and Soda hesitantly nodded. Darry patted Soda’s back once again, before heaving himself out of the chair.  

    He raised his hands over his head and leant backwards until he heard his spine crack. Soda, though, stayed sitting down. He wiped the tears that still lingered in his eyes, and tried to calm his breathing.

     Darry looked down at him and sighed. “C’mon, Soda.” He said, holding out his hand, in which Soda hesitantly took. He shakily stood up, before abruptly collapsing into Darry, his head buried into his chest, sobbing.

     Darry stayed silent, just simply wrapping his arms around his younger brother. He just had to get them home. He reminded himself. Just get home. 

    The noise of a door being swung open snapped Darry out of his thoughts. Glancing out the windows that looked out into the lobby, he found two terrified, but familiar looking faces. 

    Steve was the first to see them, and he booked it to the doorway of the waiting room, bursting through it. At the clamoring, Soda lifted his head, letting out a shaky sob when he saw his best friend.

    “Soda-” Steve started, taking a few steps into the waiting room, but he was cut off by Soda running and catching him in a vicious hug.

     Two-bit stepped around them, eyebrows crinkled up. He smelled heavily of alcohol, but when he spoke, it was the soberest he had sounded in months. “Darry?” He looked towards the bigger man. “What happened?”

    Darry just shook his head, slightly relieved that the boys had shown up when they did. “A lot.” He responded.

    Two-bits eyes softened slightly, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, glancing towards Soda and Steve again.

    Steve, with Soda still grappled to him, had sat down in some seats by the door, talking softly to the other boy, rubbing his back slowly. 

    Numbly, Darry went and sat next to them. He felt Two-bit settle beside him, but didn’t say anything.

    For a while, the four boys sat in silence, the only sound being Soda’s slowly fading sobs. 

    “God.” Two-bit eventually broke the silence, scanning the room. “Can’t believe they have Pony in a place like this.” 

    “It’s so they can take better care of him.” Darry responded simply. “Got more money to throw around. Better doctors.”

      “Of course.” Steve huffed out bitterly, rolling his eyes.

    “How—How’d y’all find us?” Soda sniffled out, finally releasing Steve and sitting up, wiping the tears off his face. 

     “Well.” Steve leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “My old man and me got into it, and I got kicked to the curb, yeah? I was havin’ a smoke on my porch before headin’ to ya’lls place, and hadn’t been out there but.. fiveish minutes? When out’a the blue, my dad came runnin’ out’a the house like a chicken with its head cut off! Once I finally deciphered what he was sayin’, about Ponyboy and all, I ran off to find Two-bit.” He started, jerking his head over to the other boy, who smiled innocently. “Who I found stumblin’ down the street, drunk out’a his mind, alone.” Two-bit’s grin just widened, and he shrugged. “I’m damn surprised he didn’t get mugged. But anywho. Once I told him what happened, sobered right up, surprisingly enough. My house was close enough, and I didn’t feel like addin’ another grand theft auto to my record, so we took the truck and hightailed it over.

     “Yeah, hightailed alright. After we took ‘bout five detours.” Two-bit snickered, and Steve scowled at him.

     “Two-bit hardly held the map straight, and the West side got so many streets and shit, it's hard to get through.” He shot back, before his eyes turned back to Soda, who was staring at the ground, silent. “What all happened? Ponyboy okay?” 

    “He’s alive, if that’s what you’re askin’.” Darry said, his voice suddenly sour. “Okay? He's the farthest thing from.”

      A noise came from Soda’s throat, and he sniffled. “Ponyboy got burned.” He said, his voice strained and shaking. “G-Got into a fire or somethin’… Police hardly told us anythin’… Happened over at Windrixville..” 

     “Windrixville?” Two-bit asked. “Hell, that’s halfway to Texas!”

    “What’s it with Johnny? Any news on him?” Steve asked. 

     Darry shook his head. “We didn’t really bother askin’. Pretty sure he’s at the East hospital. There’s probably gonna be something ‘bout it in the paper tomorrow.

    Soda suddenly hiccuped, and buried his head into hands again, making Two-bit and Steve throw a glance at each other, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Darry.

     “How ‘bout we take y’all home?” Steve asked. “Take the Ford and come back for my old man’s truck tomorrow?” Darry glanced at him, but the other man’s eyes were focused on Soda.

     “Yeah, we can get home, sleep, lord knows y’all need it, then we check the paper, and visit Pony in the mornin?” Two-bit added with a grin.

    “He ain’t driving.” Darry said as he glanced over at Two-bit, reaching into his pocket and pulled out the keys before throwing them to Steve. 

     “Wasn’t plannin’ on lettin’ him, don’t get your feathers all ruffled.” Steve said as the keys whizzed by his hand. Smoothly, he hopped up from his seat, picking them up and spinning back around.

     Two-bit patted Darry on the shoulder before hoisting himself out of his seat, followed by a sniffling Soda.

     Darry sighed and stood up as well, trailing behind the three boys as they all exited the waiting room. He wasn’t too sure what was going to come next, but whatever happened, he hoped it involved some sleep.

Chapter Text

Saturday, September 25th, 1965  7:21 AM

     All Soda could smell was smoke. 

     Soda awoke with a start, sweat beading on his hairline, and his heart hammering out of his chest. Shakily, he brought a hand up to wipe his upper lip. It was a dream, he thought to himself. It was a dream. 

    He couldn’t remember much from it, just a vague suffocating feeling, and a crushing amount of dread. He shook his head, clearing the last bits of sleep that still clung to his mind. 

      He hopped out of bed, surprised to find that someone had pulled his shoes and jeans off for him when he collapsed into bed last night.

     He shuffled out of his room, taking one last glance behind him, stomach turning when he saw his and Pony’s bed empty. He almost wanted to convince himself that Ponyboy just got up before him, but he knew there’d be no point. 

     Soda sighed, before heading into the kitchen to check on breakfast status, but by the smell alone he could already tell Darry was up.

     “Hey, Soda.” His brother greeted, throwing a look over his shoulder, blue eyes dull and tired. 

     “Hey, Dar.” Soda said back, rubbing his eyes as he leaned against the doorway leading into the kitchen. 

     Darry scoffed, a small smile forming on his lips. “Glory, little brother, you looked like you haven’t slept in months.” He said, transferring an egg from the skillet to a plate. 

     Soda laughed dryly. “You don’t look too much better yourself.” He responded, stepping into the kitchen and pulling out a plate from the cabinets, before fetching the chocolate cake from the ice box. Only one slice was left— he needed to make more, soon.

     “Don’t want eggs?” Darry asked as he grabbed a fork from the silverware drawer, offering it to Soda.

     Soda shook his head, gratefully accepting the utensil as he walked to sit down in the dining room. 

     For the first time, well, ever, the Curtis house was silent. Not even the hum of the radio, or cartoons playing in the background, just the sizzling of eggs, and the scraping of a fork on a platter.

     “Where’d the guys run off to?” He asked Darry, who came to join him at the table, carrying a plate. Lying next to his oldest brother’s bacon egg and tomato sandwich was another egg, cooked over-hard. It was how Ponyboy liked his eggs, but Soda didn’t comment. 

     Darry shrugged, toast crunching under his large fingers as he picked up his sandwich. “Two-bits still passed out in the living room, don’t where Steve got off too. He was gone when I woke up.” He took another bite. 

    Soda just hummed, pushing around the last bite of cake on the platter. Silence again.

     Darry swallowed, before saying, “I decided to call off work today.” 

    “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” Soda said, cracking a small smile, before taking the final bite of his food.

     “I got the dishes today.” Darry said.

     Soda looked up, cocking an eyebrow. “You sure?” He asked, and Darry just nodded, taking another bite.

    “Go ahead and call in.” 

    Soda decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and quickly left the table, going to the phone that hung on the wall by the doorway leading into the living room. 

     By the time he was done getting berated by his boss for calling off so late, he heard early morning cartoons blasting in from the living room. It was a bit comforting, a sense of normalcy.

    He was tempted to join, but decided to get some pants on first, make himself look ‘presentable’, according to civilized standards. 

     After a quick, and unsuccessful, look around his and Ponyboy’s room, he stuck his head into the dining room and called out “Hey, Dar! Have you seen my wheat colored jeans?!”

     “I ironed! They’re in my closet” His brother responded from the bathroom, voice muffled by the walls separating them.

     Soda shouted back his thanks, rushing off to fetch his jeans from Darry's closet. He also decided to nab one of Darry's shirts, considering most, if not all, of his own clothes were filthy. 

     After quickly changing, he joined Two-bit in the living room, but hadn’t been sitting down for about five minutes before the front door opened. 

     Soda took a swig from the coke he nicked from the fridge, glancing at the door, before quickly choking down the liquid. “Steve.” He greeted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning.

     Steve nodded back, looking almost solemn as he leaned against the wall next to the door, crossing his arms.

    Two-bit looked over from where he was sat on the floor, cocking an eyebrow. He sat down his beer bottle onto the floor, leaning back. “Whatchu got there?” He asked, pointing to a folded paper that was stuck under Steve’s armpit.

     The teen seemed to hesitate, before he set his jaw and pulled out the paper, unfolding it. “Newspaper. Got stuff about that fire in it.”

     Soda’s face dropped, eyes widening. His Coke was quickly forgotten about as he stood to take the paper from Steve. He scanned the front page, and at the top of section two, in big bold letters, read “Juvenile Delinquents Turned Heroes.”

     “Turned heroes?” Soda said aloud, disbelieving. 

     “What’s it say?” Two-bit said, hastily heaving himself off the ground and making his way to stand next to Soda.

     The whole front page was about them— Johnny and Dallas, how they saved those kids in that fire. Soda couldn’t help but think, who in gods green Earth would be stupid enough to run into a fire? 

     They talked about the murder as well, though it was all things Soda had seen in last weeks paper— Bobs friends vouched for Johnny, saying that Bob was drunk and looking for a fight, that he was going to drown Ponyboy in the fountain in the park. Soda couldn’t bare to reread anymore of that, so he skipped right to the bottom, where there was a brief paragraph talking about a third boy, unknown to the presses, who had disappeared after the fire. “He was the one that charged in first.” One of the teachers had claimed, “A hero that boy is, through and through.”

     “What’re y’all huddled around for?” Darry asked as he entered the living room, pulling a navy blue T-shirt over his head, snapping Soda out of his rapidly spinning thoughts.

     “Newsaper. It’s about that fire.” Two-bit said, snatching the paper out of Soda’s hands and passing it to Darry, who hesitatingly took it.

     Soda stared at the ground, fidgeting with his fingers. He felt numb, dizzy and nauseous all at once. He let out a breath and wiped his forehead. He needed a smoke.

     Without a word, he walked onto the front porch, letting the screen door slam shut behind him. He picked up an extra pack of Camels they that were sitting on the deck table, flipping open the top and taking one out. He grabbed the box of matches next to them, and lit up the cigarette.

      Soda took a long drag, filling up his lungs with tobacco until they filled like they’d burst. 

     He opened his mouth to let out the puff, watching as the smoke curled into the air before disappearing. It didn’t help the twisting, clawing feeling of worry in his stomach.

     He sighed,  going to lean on the old, rickety railing encasing their front porch. He heard someone else step out of the house, but didn’t bother to look behind him as he took drag after drag. He heard as they took out and lit up their own cigarette, before coming to join him on the railing. 

     Soda breathed out his last huff of smoke, flicking the bud into the wild grass of their front yard.

     “Really gotcha nerves running? You blew through that thing in a minute.” Steve said, before taking a drag of his own cigarette. Soda just blew out a low breath, head hanging low as he ran a finger across the rusted metal of their porch railing.

     “Yeah. I guess.” He muttered, pushing himself up and going to fetch another cigarette from the pack on the table.

     Darry suddenly poked his head out of the house. “Get your shoes on, Soda. We’re headin’ over to the hospital.” 

    “Alright, alright.” The younger boy said, sticking the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, picking up a match and striking it on the side of the box. “Lemme just finish this.”

     “We’re headin’ over to the community hospital first, go check out what's going on with Johnny and Dallas.” Darry said, ducking back inside the house, screen door slamming shut behind him.

     “Then go see Pony?” Steve asked doubtfully, smoke pouring out of his lips as he spoke. “You think we’d have time to do all that, then make it back here in time for the rumble?”

     “Sure.” Darry called back impassively from the kitchen. “We got plenty of time.”

     After greasing his hair and getting on his good pair of shoes, Soda, along with the other greasers all piled into Darrel. Sr’s old Ford truck.

     The East Tulsa Community Hospital wasn’t nearly as far away as the William Buttons Hospital, and definitely wasn’t nearly as fancy, either. It was a small, three story building that, as the name entails, sat on the far East edge of Tulsa, near where the Shepherd's territory was. It hardly had the equipment to treat broken legs on its best days. 

     Darry pulled into the parking lot, swiftly finding a parking spot. He shifted the gears and pulled the keys from the ignition, causing the truck’s engine to sputter to a halt.

     After a quick smoke break between all of them, expect Darry, they made their way to the lobby

     The glass doors slid open, and the smell of chemicals filled Soda’s nose. 

     Two women sat at the reception desk, and an empty chair sat between them. They both seemed caught up in their own world, one with blonde, straight hair, knee deep in paperwork, the other with curly hair, her nose stuck in a book.

     Darry approached the desk, clearing his throat to get the attention of the curly haired woman. “Excuse me?” He asked, causing her head to shoot up from her book.

     “Yes sir?” She asked, her voice high pitched, a slight bit of annoyance in her tone.

     “We were wondering where Johnny Cade and Dallas Winston’s rooms was? We’re a couple of friends of theirs.” 

      The woman muttered something under her breath as she slapped her book down and scooted her chair back, bending down to slide out one of the bottom drawers.  After a few moments her head popped back up, an almost uneasy expression edged on her face. “You go up the elevator to the second floor, and then there should be a sign pointing to the burn unit, follow it down that hallway. Dallas should be in 209B, but I’m afraid Johnny isn’t open to being visited at the moment.”

     “What?” Steve asked, his normally soft voice booming in the otherwise silent, empty waiting room. He nudged Soda out of the way to step up to the desk. “Why?”

     The woman looked like he just asked if a bear shat in the woods. “He’s…” She started, before being interrupted.

     “For killin’ that kid? Listen, that wan’t nothing but self defense!”

     “I’m going to need you to step back— all I know is that he’s under criminal investigation, that’s all I can say.” She scooted chair back slightly glancing uneasily away from the greaser.

      “Steve—” Soda started, placing a hand on his best friend's shoulder.

     “Drop it, Randle.” Darry said from beside him, glowering down at the man. Steve glared up at Darry, and for a moment, Soda thought Steve would be dumb enough to swing. Fortunately, nothing came of the stare down, and Steve pushed himself away from the desk, and Soda— hand still on his shoulder— led him towards the elevator.

     Darry nodded and said this thanks to the woman, before following them on their way to the elevator. He pressed the up button, before standing back, watching as the number at the top slowly dropped lower.

     They made their way to the second floor, and followed the receptions interactions to get to the burn unit. They followed the sign right, which led them to a hallway. The wallpapers were old and torn. They were yellow, and small, faded flowers scattered them. 

     After turning a corner, the group was met with another hallway. Hardwood doors lined either wall, large gaps between them. Plates stating the room number were hammered to the front of each of them. The hallway continued for what seemed like forever, and bent off at the end, leading down another hall.

     They walked about halfway down the hallway before Two-bit stopped, examining one of the plates on the door. “What was them room numbers again?”

     Darry stepped up beside him, examining the plate, but before he had the time to say something, the door was swinging open, and he was met face to face with a wide-eyed nurse.

     “Just get outa here! You’re makin’ my stomach sick.” Dally called from inside the room.

     The nurse looked to the ground, muttered an apology, and ducked past him, quickly disappearing down the hall.

      Darry blinked as he watched the woman retreat, while Two-bit snickered and nudged Soda with his elbow. “Look at the ass on her.” He said, a dirty grin plastered on his face. 

     Soda rolled his eyes, shuffling away from the redhead to follow behind Darry as he entered the hospital room.

     Dallas was lying on his bed in his underwear, hospital gown gone off to who knows where. He perked up as he saw them enter the room, propping himself up on his elbows. “Man, am I glad to see y’all! These people won’t let me smoke— I want out!”

     Soda couldn’t help but smile at that as he made himself comfortable in the chair beside the greaser's bed, while Darry stayed at the footboard, leaning against the wall, while Two-bit and Steve lingered by the door.

     “Shepard came by to see me a while ago.” Dallas stated.

     Soda cocked his head at that. “Really?”

     Dallas nodded. “Sure.”

     “What’d he want?”

     “Saw my picture in the paper, said he couldn’t believe he didn’t see ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ written underneath it. Mostly came into rub it in about the rumble, though.” He leaned his head back, grin falling off his face. “Man, I hate I’m missin’ that.”

     Just last week Tim had cracked three of Dally’s ribs. Dally hadn’t gotten his revenge yet, but Soda was sure he would. But even when he did, they would still be buddies. Soda couldn’t say he understood it, but he didn’t exactly question it, either.

     “So.” Dallas drawled out. He glanced out the window by his bed, sounding real casual. “How’s the kids?”

     Soda swallowed, and glanced at Darry, whose eyes, similar to Dallas’s, were trained on the window. 

     “They..” Soda started slowly, not knowing exactly where to start.

     Dallas clenched his jaw, something akin to worry sparking behind his eyes. “Johnny?” He asked, almost softly.

     “They wouldn’t let us see him.” Darry said, to which Dallas whirled his head around to look him in the eye. Darry held his gaze. “Cause he’s under investigation for stabbing that Soc in the park. No visitors.” 

     Dallas huffed, grinding his teeth together. He crossed his arms and leaned back, the bed creaking under him, the sound deafening in the small, silent room. 

     “And Ponyboy?”

     Darry hesitated, before slowly shaking his head. “Not doing good. He’s in a hospital down in the West.”

     “What’s he doing down there?”

     “He’s real bad off, Dal.” Darry said slowly. “He needed the extra care down there.”

     Dallas held eye contact, but remained silent, his fingers digging into his arms so hard it left indents.

     “Speaking on Pony..” Soda spoke up. “We was wondering, what did happen at that church?”

      “What, didn’t the papers tell you about all that?” Dallas asked. 

    Soda shook his head. “Nah.. not really. Mostly had stuff about you and Johnny. Didn’t really mention Pony at all.”

     Dallas stared at him, something stirring in his eyes. He sighed, and looked forward again, staring at the wall. “There ain’t much to say. There were kids caught in the church and Pony was dumb enough to run in.” He huffed, closed his eyes, leaning his head back. “Man, thought for sure he was dead when I pulled him outa there.”

     The room fell silent, the only sounds being the footsteps in the hallway and cars passing the street outside.

     Soda opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly Dallas was propping himself up, his movements jerky and rushed.

     “Two-bit.” He started. “You still got that black handled switch?” He held out his hand expectantly. 

     Two-bits grey eyes widened, but without hesitation he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the 6-inch switchblade, which gleamed in the fluorescent hospital lights. He placed it into Dallas’s palms, and the blonde's fingers wrapped around it, snatching it.

     Dallas leaned back and flicked up the blade, before bringing up his arm and wriggling it under the hospital band around his wrist, knife up. With one fluid motion, he sliced up.

     The lights buzzed above as Dallas stared at the band that fell in his lap. He slowly closed the blade, before turning on his side and shoving it under his pillow. “I’ll see y’all at the rumble.” He said simply, voice low, hard. 

     “See ya, Dal.” Soda said simply, heaving himself up from the chair he was sat in. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

     Dallas let out something similar to a snort at that, but his face stayed blank.

    After all saying their goodbyes, they all shuffled out of the room. 

     They walked silently down the hall, none of them sure what to say. The elevator music was blearing, it hurt Soda’s ears.

     Once they made it to the truck, before Soda hopped in, he asked. “Anyone got a smoke?”

     Steve looked at him funny, eyebrows furrowed, eyes worried. Two-bit looked like he wanted to say something, but surprisingly, stayed silent. 

     “Alright, man.” Steve said, pulling a pack out of his pocket. 

     Darry popped open the tailgate, and they all sat on the edge of the trucks bed, pulling out their respective boxes of cigarettes, with Soda bumming from Steve, and, shockingly, Darry from Two-bit.

      “You got an extra?” Darry asked as he settled next to Two-bit on his truck. Two-bit’s hand froze where it was coming up to his mouth, cigarette in his fingers. He stared at Darry for a moment, before handing over the stick. 

     “Never thought I’d see the day.” Two-bit said, tone something between teasing and concern, as he pulled out another from the pack for himself.

     “Oh, trust me,” Darry said, sounding mournful as he placed the cigarette between his lips. “Me either.”

     “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Two-bit said, replicating Darry’s actions before pulling out a pack of matches, striking one to light both their cigarettes. 

End Note: Hey!! Thanks for reading ❤️ Usually, I put the notes in, well, the notes section.. but I put it here because I couldn’t figure out how to put a link in the note section (if you can even do that).

So, as I said above I’ve had trouble with keeping motivation up for this fic, as for me I find it difficult to focus on writing one thing for too long. And sure, I’ve had other little side things I write sometimes, but they’re just not the same. So, I’ve started another little project!

I’ve had this idea rattling around for a while, but didn’t know what to do with it. It’s unlikely to have one clear storyline, and instead will likely be just a bunch of little fun stories crammed together. Heres the summary;

Darry Curtis and Sodapop Curtis grew up with an absent mother, and Ponyboy Curtis grew up with no one at all. 

They lived hundreds of miles apart from each other, but two unfortunately timed deaths later had their lives turned upside down; and now, they're all suddenly under the same roof again. 

Follow the brothers across the land of loss, love and adjustment, as they all struggle without their parents, and Ponyboy’s new presence in their lives.

If you’re interested, link should be here!

But anyway.. that’s really all the news I’ve had. Think of that fanfic also as a little apology for being gone so long.. I’m hoping to have more motivation, now that I have two things to hop between! Any comments/criticism is appreciated! I hope I made your day just a little better! (Or worse, depending..)

Chapter Text

Saturday, September 25th,

1965 3:35 PM

     Sodapop swung open the doors to the lobby and stepped inside. This time, he hardly even noticed the strong chemical smell. 

     Looking around, it was awfully crowded, especially compared to how empty it was last time they were there. But to be fair, it wasn’t 12AM, either.

     Approaching the only free receptionist at the desk, they were met with a big lady, with dark brown hair tied in a bun. She offered a practiced, but no less warm smile as she spoke.

     “Hello, how can I help y’all today?” 

       “We were just wondering where my brother's room is?” Darry asked. 

      The receptionist hummed, pulling out one of the drawers on the desk. “Name?” She asked.

      “Ponyboy Curtis.” Darry responded.

     The woman murmured the name as she quickly glanced through the folders. She moved down to the next drawer, then the next, and the next... 

       As she was searching, a tall, lanky man dressed in a grey t-shirt, black, slim trousers, and a long, white lab coat approached them. 

      He had thick auburn hair that was gelled to the side and cut short in the back, but long sideburns crawled down the sides of his face, nearly rivaling Two-bits.He looked older, with defined forehead wrinkles, and crows feet by his eyes. 

     “Execuse me?” He asked Darry, coming up next to him, adjusting the stack of papers he held in his hands. Darry looked at him dubiously, and said nothing.

      The man adjusted his square glasses, pushing them up his large, crooked nose. “You’re Darrel Curtis, yes?”

      “Yeah. And you are?” 

     “Im Floyd Wilburn, one of the doctors who's taking care of Ponyboy.” Dr. Wilburn shifted the papers in his arms and offered a hand to Darry, to which he accepted, shaking firmly.

     Dr. Wilburn laughed dryly, fixing his glasses again once his hand was free. “Awfully strong grip, there.” He commented, before turning to glance over the group accompanying the man. “These are some friends, I take it?” He asked. 

     “His other brother, Sodapop.” Darry said, motioning to Soda. “Then yeah, a couple friends.

     Dr. Wilburn didn’t miss a beat, and took a step forward to shake Soda’s hand, saying “Nice to meet you, son.”

     Soda gave him a small smile, suddenly feeling like he was eight again and was seeing his strange uncle for the first time in years.

     “You too.” He said simply, hesitating only slightly before asking. “How is he? Ponyboy, I mean.” 

     “Well,” Dr. Wilburn started, hesitant. “He isn’t awake yet, and I don’t suspect he will be for a while, considering his surgery didn’t wrap up until a few hours ago.”

     “What all happened?” Darry asked. “While he was in surgery?”

      As Darry spoke, Dr. Wilburn turned to the brown haired receptionist, reaching over the desk to hand her the papers, muttering something to her, before turning back to the group.  “Nothing life threatening, or you would’ve already been notified about it.” He said, before pausing and checking the watch on his wrist. His eyebrows furrowed, just slightly, as if thinking.

      “If you boys want,” He started. “We could talk in depth about Ponyboy’s condition, though It’d have to be quick, I’m in a bit of a time crunch.” 

     Sodapop’s heart jumped. Finally, he thought, Some proper news. His mouth dried up with anxiety at the thought.

     “We’d appreciate that.” Darry responded, smiling slightly.

     Dr. Wilburn nodded, matching Darry’s polite smile. “I have an office upstairs, if you’d prefer to talk there. Less eavesdroppers that way.”

     “That’d be just fine.”

     Dr. Wilburn nodded again, before his eyes turned to the other boys. “Are your friends coming?” He asked.

     “Are we allowed?” Steve asked, arcing an almost accusatory eyebrow.

     Dr. Wilburn didn’t seem to notice the defensiveness lacing the teens tone, simply answering, “Sure. As long as it’s okay with the family.” He looked at Soda and Darry. 

     “We don’t mind.” Soda said, glancing at Darry, who nodded in agreement.

     Satisfied with the answer, Dr. Wilburn rounded the large receptionists desk, and started down the long, broad corridor. “Just this way.” He said, not noticing the teens struggling to match his long strides, having to practically scramble to keep up.

     Once they reached the end of the hallway, Dr. Wilburn took a right, and after that it was just a blur of yellow wallpaper and doors to Sodapop. Dr. Wilburn didn’t miss a step though, as he ducked through doorways or swerved around corners like he knew the place inside and out. Which he likely did, Soda guessed.

     Many hallways, and one set of stairs later, Dr. Wilburn paused in front of a hardwood door. “Right in here then,” He said, twisting the doorknob and pressing the door open with his shoulder. 

     Silently, they all filed into the mans office. The room was small, but welcoming. A large window sat on the back wall, and thick blackout curtains blocked any light from coming in, leaving the room almost entirely dark except for the tall lamp in the corner, which emitted a warm yellowish light. The semi darkness gave the eyes a welcoming rest from the brightness of the hallways. A desk took up most of the tiny space, and it was surprisingly messy. The edge was lined with childish looking crafts, and all kinds of photos, even a few scattered papers here and there.

     “Apology for the mess.” Dr. Wilburn said, quickly rushing to tidy up the space.

      “It ain’t no problem.” Darry said, glancing around the room. He ran a calloused hand across a small bookcase that rested against one of the walls. 

      Sodapop took a seat in one of the two hard blue seats that were in front of the desk, throwing the doctor something akin to a smile. “You think this is messy? You should see me and my brother's room.” He got comfortable and leaned back in his chair, though he felt nowhere near relaxed, despite the space's unusual calm.

       Darry slowly came to sit next to his brother, eyes scanning decorations that sat on the edge of the desk. “You got kids?” He asked the doctor, sounding nearly confused as he leaned forward, glancing over the pictures. They were mostly  pictures of kids, each a different age, different race.

      “Me? Oh, no.” Dr. Wilburn chuckled. Seemingly satisfied with the freshened state of his desk, he pulled up the cushioned spinny chair he had shoved aside in his dash to clean, and took a seat. “I'm not even married. I just work in pediatrics— I try not to get attached, but a lot of them make me crafts, and who am I to reject?”

     Darry leaned back with a small hum, an unreadable expression on his face. “Must deal with a lot of sick kids then, for this much.” 

     “Like you wouldn’t believe.” The doctor said, “I work solely with kids, and specialize in conditions involving the brain, so most of the children I see aren't in the best of shape.”

     “Considering you’re working with Ponyboy, that ain’t a good sign, is it?” Two-bit asked, playfully serious from where he leaned on the wall by the door, with Steve next to him.

     Dr. Wilburn's smile faded, and suddenly the oddly tranquil atmosphere disappeared. The doctor pushed up his glasses, sending slanted shadows across his face.  “Well, it definitely isn't the best indicator.” He replied. “To be blunt, Ponyboy's condition is grave. I don’t know if you boys knew, but he was in a fire.” The doctor paused, but when there were no gasps of shock or further confusion, he continued. “Fires usually come with much more than solely burns. Respiratory damage for one, but another big problem is falling debris, which if I had to guess is  what caused most of Ponyboy’s issues.”

      “He suffered from blunt force trauma to the head, which caused a traumatic brain injury; which to that simply just means that Ponyboy suffered an impact to the head, and it left him with brain damage. Shortly after that, internal bleeding started in his skull, which isn't exactly uncommon after blunt force trauma, but it still definitely isn’t good.”

      “The specific type of bleed that Ponyboy had was an acute subdural hematoma, or an SDH. An SDH stems from a torn blood vessel in the skull after a head injury, which then causes blood to pool up between the dura mater and arachnoid mater, which are both tissue layers that protect the brain. That building blood puts pressure on the brain, damaging it, meaning if the blood isn’t cleared out quickly then it could lead to complications like paralysis, or even death.”

     Soda could hardly understand what the doctor was spewing, but one word rang clear in his head. Death.

     “But, y’all were able to fix it though?” He asked, wringing his hands together nervously. “Right?”

     “Fortunately so.” Dr. Wilburn said, and Soda let out a relieved breath. 

     “How’d y’all manage to do that?” Two-bit asked, cocking his head to the side.

     “Through a craniotomy, a type of brain surgery.” Dr. Wilburn explained. “It’s fairly simple; we cut out a section of his skull, and through that opening we used suction and water to drain the blood.

      “Golly..” Two-bit muttered, voice low, teetering on the edge of scared. Soda didn’t dare to look at the teen behind him, eyes focused on the floor as he gnawed at his fingernails. “That sounds awfully..” Two-bit hesitated, searching for the right word. “Serious.

     “There’s much worse out there when it comes to brain surgery.” Dr. Wilburn said. “Plus, the operation went smoothly, and we were able to drain the blood in good time, hopefully before any permanent damage happened.”

     “Hopefully?” Darry echoed, sounding perplexed. “Whatddya mean, hopefully?”

     “Is there something wrong with him?” Soda interjected, leaning forward as his gut gave an aggressive jerk.

       “Do y’all not know if his brain was damaged?” Steve asked, the edges of his mouth pulling down in an incredulous frown. 

     “Okay– that isn’t...” The doctor stammered.

     “What else do y’all not know then?” Steve asked, through gritted teeth.

      “Just let him talk.” Darry said, turning in his seat to glare at the black-haired teen. Steve clenched his jaw, his eyes meeting Darrel’s, their gazes matching in intensity. 

     “I was just sayin’-”

      “Well you’re done sayin’.” 

     Steve hesitated, but decidedly backed down, not wanting to get his jaw shattered again. 

     After a moment, Dr. Wilburn continued before anymore trouble could start.“Ponyboy has been through a lot here recently. That kind of damage to his brain... it can be incredibly harmful to his mental functions, what he can and can’t do. The brain is mysterious, there’s no telling what could be affected. His ability to walk, talk, read, write…”

     “Wait,” Soda interrupted, much to Dr. Wilburn’s clear annoyance. “You’re sayin’ he could have trouble readin’ or writin’?” 

      “It’s a possibility.”

     Soda’s hand flew to cover his mouth, and he leaned back in his chair as if he had been hit— and with the pain in the chest, it felt like he had. 

       “Keep in mind that I said it’s just a possibility. Nothing can be known for sure until Ponyboy wakes up and I can properly assess him.” 

     Darry swallowed thickly, his rough hands clenched into tight fists where they sat on top of his knees. “And when do you think that’s gonna happen?”

     “Well,” Dr. Wilburn said. “I don't know that either. It could be a matter of hours, maybe up to a few days. If he falls into a coma it could be weeks, potentially years.”

     “Years?” Soda asked. “That’s.. that can happen?”  

     Dr. Wilburn nodded. “It’s a likelihood, although not an incredibly common one.”

     “Oh, lord..” Soda mumbled, slumping forward just slightly, tears finally breaking through, rimming his eyes. He felt Darry’s hand pat uselessly on his back, rubbing up and down slowly.

     Dr. Wilburn gave them a minute, before clearing his throat and continuing. “As I said earlier, Ponyboy suffered from head trauma, and that left his skull broken; which isn't rare after blunt force trauma .. But Ponyboy’s injury was especially bad. The blow to his head not only broke his skull, but, to be crude, dented it. The fragments of skull were pushed inwards, towards his brain, putting even more pressure on it.”

     “That added pressure could’ve caused a lot of damage, but we were able to relieve it with a second surgery called a cranioplasty. It’s a more delicate process compared to the craniotomy, but it’s still fairly easy. To return Ponyboy’s skull to normal, an incision was made in his scalp to reach the damaged area, then the bones were then carefully raised and moved back into place and secured there with wire. Ponyboy was lucky, as the break was relatively clean, and the bone broke off into large fragments rather than shattering, allowing the surgery to go quickly.”

      Lucky. Soda thought, picking at a string on the hem of his shirt. What about any of that screamed lucky?

     “But overall, the injuries, as well as the surgeries, were very hard on him; on his brain, on his body. Not to mention he’s also got a severe fever, which isn’t too uncommon after surgery, but I suspect he was sick prior to that.. But anyway, right now we have him on fever medicine, as well as medications to prevent his brain from swelling, multiple antibiotics, blood thinners to prevent strokes…”

      “So he’s just pumped full of all kinds of stuff?” Darry asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

     “That can’t be good for him.” Soda stated, glancing up at his brother, before back at the doctor. “Can it?”

     “It’s helping him, trust me. They’re the only things keeping him alive right now. He’s incredibly vulnerable at the moment, vulnerable to infections, blood clots, seizures, all kinds of ailments. Ah, we also have him on IV fluids, as he was very dehydrated, not to mention extremely underweight for a boy his age.”

      He was already so skinny before, Soda thought, helpless to his own racing mind. How’d he look now? Soda bit his lip, feeling freezing cold fear grasp at his heart. Hell, had they even had food in that church? He had given his whole pay check to Dally to give to them, but that was a few days after they had disappeared. Who knows if a store was even nearby. Had his brother eaten anything in the past week?

     Soda’s words tumbled out before he could think about them.  “We didn’t have nothin’ to do with all that.” He said, bristling. “We feed him, water him.”

     “I’m not claiming that.” Dr. Wilburn reassured, voice sounding suddenly gentle, too gentle. Like he was calming some kind of animal— or child who was throwing a tantrum. “I don’t know what his home life is like, and I’m not assuming anything. I’m simply just saying that being so underweight and dehydrated isn’t helping his condition much.”

     Soda didn’t answer, feeling his cheeks go red with guilt and shame. He wiped tears from his eyes, ones he didn’t know the origin from, if it was the worry, anger, weariness. Maybe a mix of it all. 

     “Are you sure we can’t get a break?” Darry asked from beside him, and though Soda’s eyes were shut tight as he aggressively rubbed them, he could tell his brother was staring at him. “Just.. a lot to take in is all.”

     Dr. Wilburn looked uneasy as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. He hesitated, before saying, “I can make some time, I’m sure.”

      Immediately Soda shot up, so quickly that his chair leaned onto its two back legs before falling forward and stabilizing itself again. He turned and sped walked out of the room.

     He slammed the door behind him as he stepped out into the too bright, too noisy hallway. His chest was heaving, he realized, and his breathing was heavy and stuttered. He wiped his burning eyes, finding his hand came back soaking. 

     He tensed as the door opened again, and a large figure settled by his side.

Darry didn’t waste a moment, gently muttering, “Soda, this ain’t nothing we didn’t hear last night.” His hand hovered just over his younger brother's back, but didn’t touch him, as if he was too scared to.

     “I know–” Soda hiccuped, sniffling aggressively. “But–But all of it in detail,” He sobbed. “Just—knowing that he went through that– it, it..” He stumbled forward as a sob ripped from his throat, and Darry finally found it in himself to sling his arm around his brother, squeezing tight, as if he was afraid to let go. 

     “I know, little buddy, I know.” He tucked his head on top of Soda’s, who in response buried his face into his brother’s chest.

     Soda sobbed hard, shoulders shaking as Darry continued to hold the both of them upright, arm never moving from Soda’s shoulders.

     “Just..” Darry started, words mumbled in Soda’s hair. “Don’t think about the details.”

     “Easier said than done.” Soda sniffled

     Darry sighed, eyes going to the floor. “I know, baby.” He said. “Lord, I know.”

      The two brothers stood there for a few more minutes, simply holding each other, before eventually letting go and shuffling back into the office. 

     In awkward silence, they sat back down. Soda could feel Steve's eyes burning holes in the back of his head, but he stayed facing forward.

     A light green box of tissues had appeared on the edge of the doctors desk in the short time that they were out, and Dr. Wilburn gently nudged it forward with the end of a pen. Soda nodded a curt thanks as he took the box and placed it on his lap, before plucking out a tissue and swiping it over his nose. 

     “I’m sorry all of this is happening.” Dr Wilburn started, and Soda just nodded, crumbling the tissue in his hand and tossing it in the small trashcan next to the desk. “But so far your brother has made it through, that's a good sign if I've seen it. Most wouldn’t have survived long after the initial impact, and the fact he’s made it this far is telling.” He paused. “He’s a fighter, alright.” 

     Darry just nodded, his face grave even in the shadow of the doctor's reassuring words. “Thank you,” He said. “But we heard that he was in a fire? And something about amputation?”

     Soda let out a squeak, quickly wiping his puffy eyes, but either no one noticed or they just didn’t comment, as Dr. Wilburn continued.

     “Thats right. Though, I wasn’t the one handling the amputation, or the burns; that responsibility was put into the hands of Doctor Harrison, a trauma surgeon.”

      “Amputation?” Steve asked suddenly, confusion clear in his tone. “Ain’t that when like..they take off body parts?”

       “Thats a way to put it, yes.” Dr. Wilburn confirmed, taking a glance at his watch. “But, as I said I was not the main surgeon on that operation, I can’t speak much about that… I’m sorry boys, but I’m afraid I’m out of time.” 

     “Out of time?” Soda asked, panic creeping under his skin. “I mean what about the burns? The amputation? Coma? Whatddya mean you’re out of time?” 

     Dr. Wilburn had already pushed back his seat and was beginning to stand, his hands up to his chest, palms facing out . “I’ll get you in contact with Dr. Harrison ASAP, but truly, I have to get going.”

     “But-” Soda started, scooting back his chair as he got to his feet.  

     “Where do ya have to get going in such a hurry, anyway?” Steve asked, defensiveness clear in his tone, his shoulders tense as he took a step forward.

     “I’m a surgeon,” Dr. Wilburn stated, clearly getting impatient . “So obviously I am very busy, and now if you would get of my way please-”

     “Can we see him?” Darry asked suddenly, desperation surprisingly clear in his tone, if just barely. “Ponyboy, I mean.”

     Dr. Wilburn paused, turning to the brown haired man, before nodding. “Family members strictly, he’s still in a rough state. We want to minimize the risk of infection as much as possible.”

     Darry’s brow unfurrowed slightly, and breathed out a quiet thanks.

     Dr. Wilburn gave him a curt, practiced smile. “The receptionists can give you the room number.” He said, sliding past a scowling Steve to open the doors.

     The boys followed him out of the office and into the hallway. They all wished their goodbyes as the doctor rushed away.

     Soda watched as his long lab coat disappeared around the corner, worry causing him to shift his weight from foot to foot. 

     “Lord.” Steve muttered, his soft voice seeming twice as quiet than normal.

     “Hm,” Darry grunted. “Lord is right.”

     “Shit, Dar.” Soda said, putting his hand on his forehead as he leaned against the wall behind him. “What’re we gonna do?”

     “There ain’t nothing to do, Soda.” Darry replied. “Nothing to do but, hell, pray I guess.”

     Soda let out a long breath, not taking his eyes off the ceiling as he said “You sound like mom.” 

     Darry nearly winced at that, and quickly looked away, silent.

     “Brain surgery,” Steve said faintly, as if he couldn’t believe it. His eyes still hadn’t moved from where Dr. Wilburn had disappeared. 

     A long moment of silence passed between the boys, as if they were already mourning. Suddenly, Two-bit cleared his throat.

     “It’s about time for the rumble.” 

     Soda mustered the energy to glance at the clock that hung next to the doctor's office door. 4:00, on the dot.

     “Really?” Steve asked, glaring at the red head. “That’s the only thing you can think about? When Ponyboy’s—“

     “Hey now,” Two-bit put his hands up in a mock surrender. “Like Darry said, it ain’t like we can do nothin’. And god knows what the others’d think, that we chickened out?”

     “Even so,” Darry started, shaking his head. “We ain’t comin’.”

     Soda saw Two-bit throw him a glance, but he didn’t fight his brother's words.

     Two-bit turned from the blonde, and shrugged. “Me and Steve’ll go. It ain’t like anyone’d mess with Superman and his brothers, anyway.” 

     “And who said I was goin’?” Steve cut in, blue eyes narrowing.

     “Just assumed.” Two-bit said simply. “I mean— it ain’t like we could see Pony today anyway, and I don’t fancy sittin’ in the waiting room for the rest of the day. Plus, ain’t your dad waiting for his car back?”

     Steve’s bushy eyebrows raised, and he cursed under his breath, before glancing at Soda, who gave him a half hearted grin. 

     “The rumble’ll be fun, I’m sure.” The blonde encouraged weakly. “Sorry we gotta miss it.”

     Steve looked at him worriedly, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly deciding between staying with his best friend and being bored out of his mind, or not getting his ass kicked by his father, and getting to pound on some Soc’s. After a moment, he asked “You’ll be alright?”

     Soda nodded. “Sure.” 

     Steve hesitated just a second longer, before relenting. “Alright.” He said, nodding slightly, before starting to fish in his back pocket for his keys. 

     Two-bit clapped. “Settled, then!” He said, taking a step forward, his eyes meeting Soda’s for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. “He’ll be okay.”

     Soda didn’t bother to smile this time, instead he just nodded. 

     Two-bit gave him a pat on his shoulder, before he and Steve started down the hall, both casting equally worried glances toward the brothers as they turned the corner.

      Silently, Darry pushed himself off the wall, his legs looking like they could barely support his large frame. 

     When Soda didn’t follow, Darry looked at him, his face soft, nearly making him look his age. 

     “C’mon, Pepsi-Cola.” He said, one large hand going to Soda’s shoulder, but he still didn’t move, and he felt pathetic for that.

     “I can’t.” He said quietly, eyes closed tight, knees locked like a stubborn toddler refusing to leave a store without a toy. “I can’t do it.”

     “What do you mean? Soda, we have to-”

     “I mean, how’s he gonna look?” His eyes opened, and he looked at his brother, tears threatening to fill his spill, again. “How different? I mean, after all that?” He shook his head, his voice trembling. “He ain’t gonna look the same.”

     “But he’ll still be our baby brother.” Darry responded, grip tightening on Soda’s shoulder. “No matter what. To hell, if he looks different, if he can’t read, write or talk right. He’s ours, all the same.” 

     Soda sniffled and leaned forward, grasping his brother in another hug. “That sounds like somethin’ right outa of a poem he’d read.” He muttered into his shirt. 

     Darry let out a breath, patting his back. “Yeah.” Was all he said. “It do.”