Chapter Text
“Darry? Soda?” Comes Ponyboy’s voice from his and Soda’s bedroom. It’s slightly muffled from that far down the hall but audible all the same. Instinct has Darry replying with a “yeah?” before he can think to analyze why Ponyboy’s tone seems wrong, though he finds it odd that he’d be up this early on a weekend.
Soda hums in response, but he doesn’t seem to sense what Darry does. But it is wrong, there’s something wrong, and Darry straightens where he sits on the recliner. Soda shoots him a questioning look, eyebrow raised.
“Guys?”
“What, honey?” Soda asks somewhat distractedly, still sounding half asleep. Darry doesn’t blame him, he’d hardly slept the night before and finally joined Darry in the living room, hoping to be lulled to sleep by the soft sound of the tv.
There’s no response from their brother, and Darry’s already halfway out of his seat when he hears a dull thud. He rounds the corner, just in time to see his little brother fall to his knees, just barely throwing his arms out in time so that his face doesn’t hit the floor first.
He’s at his side in an instant, just moments before Soda too kneels beside him.
“Pony!” Soda exclaims, “You alright? What’s wrong?”
Pony doesn’t seem to be hearing him though as he rocks back on his knees, hands going to his head. “S-sorry,” he mumbles after a moment, looking confused. “I just…got real dizzy all of a sudden.”
That’s most certainly not a normal occurrence. Ponyboy doesn’t get dizzy for no reason, and he certainly doesn’t collapse because of it.
Soda seems mildly less worried however, and hesitantly following his little brother’s lead, he stands, holding out a hand to help Pony back to his feet. A hand is gratefully placed in his and as soon as Darry effortlessly pulls him up, his legs seem to give out again and he would have fallen straight back down if not for Soda’s hands on his waist.
He seems to glance down at his wrists before meeting the eyes of both his older brothers. “Gosh, I’m sorry,” Pony says again, “I must not have eaten enough yesterday.”
Darry isn’t buying that for a second. “Can you walk?”
There’s a nod in response but as he goes to take a step, his feet fall out from under him and he goes down again, slipping out of Soda’s hands. If Darry wasn’t worried before, he most assuredly is now.
He kneels in front of him. “Lordy, kiddo, what’s going on with you? Are you sick?” Even though the hallway light is pathetically dim and it’s still dark outside, it’s plain to see how pale Ponyboy is, almost colorless all together, and when Darry touches his forehead, instead of it being hot like he’d have expected, his skin is ice cold. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m okay,” Pony shakes his head, and again, his little brother’s eyes find his forearms, widening slightly before he hurriedly glances away. Darry follows his gaze, and to his alarm, sees two dark red stains blooming out across the thin fabric of his long sleeve shirt.
Oh God, is all Darry can think, because not this again, please, anything else.
Soda seems to have come to the same conclusion, because he gasps, taking Ponyboy’s hands in his. He turns them over, spotting the blood on the underside of each wrist.
The thing is, Darry’s not mad, not even a little. But he is terrified, because for all the times that Pony has cut himself, he’s never (that Darry’s aware of) collapsed because of it. How much blood has he lost already for it to have affected him like this? He shudders to think of it, but because he has a bleeding, hurt little brother to care for, he pushes it from his mind.
“How bad are they?” Darry hates that he has to ask, he knows Pony hates it when he does, but he needs to know. He’d bet they’ve got to be deep and there’s probably more than a couple of them if the events of the morning are anything to go by.
Ponyboy swallows and looks away. He seems to struggle to find the words to say. “I-they’re not that bad,” he says carefully, “but they really hurt, Dar.”
Darry gets the sense that he’s being honest, but that’s easily the most alarming thing that Darry’s heard in a long time. Because if Pony is saying his wounds hurt, then it’s got to be bad. His little brother doesn’t just complain to be complaining of pain. Even the worst cuts that he’s seen on him didn’t elicit any such reaction.
Heart in his throat, Darry rocks back on his heels and takes his brother’s hands in his. “We gotta get you up, alright? Do you think you can make it to the kitchen?”
It looks like he’s about to say something to the effect of, 'I'm not a kid, of course I can walk to the kitchen,’ but after opening and closing his mouth once, he shakes his head. “I doubt it.”
So, Darry takes his left side and Soda his right, and together they move with slow steps towards the kitchen table. It’s achingly slow work, and Ponyboy’s knees buckle a few times, but he doesn’t fall again, his brothers don't let him, and they sit him down on one of the chairs.
Soda disappears for a moment only to return with a glass of water in his hand, gently placing it in Ponyboy’s hands. It doesn’t escape either of their notice that even as he grips it, he winces, presumably as his wounds are aggravated. Still, he downs the glass before placing it on the table and gingerly tucking his arms to his chest.
“I don’t know if you guys need to see them. I mean they’re not that bad, honest.”
There’s another dark splotch that now covers his upper left arm. It’s large, much larger than the other two stains on his wrists, and Darry frowns. “What about this?”
Pony follows his finger, and his eyes widen. Soda seems to take that as his cue to reach for his sleeve, tugging it down past his little brother’s shoulder. The motion reveals blood stained skin and two long, deep cuts that aren’t able to be seen in their entirety where they trail down his bicep. He’d cut completely through the skin and down to the layer of fatty tissue, and it looks horribly, terribly painful.
There’s a flinch as the fabric of his shirt brushes the wounds as Soda pulls his hand away.
“Oh, honey,” Soda gasps, and Darry feels every bit as horrified as he sounds. Have there been bigger cuts? Maybe, but Darry struggles to remember ever seeing any quite so deep.
“Could be worse,” Ponyboy offers up halfheartedly, and Darry wants to scream for a moment, because any wound on his little brother is unacceptable, it doesn’t matter that he himself caused them. But as he closes his eyes and breathes in and out, the urge passes just as quickly as it comes.
‘Keep it together,’ he reminds himself, ‘Pony needs you.’
“Not by much, kiddo.” He gestures for Pony to roll up his sleeves. “Let me see the rest of them.”
Ponyboy does, and Darry is relieved to see that in spite of the size of the stains, the wounds don’t bleed anymore. Still, they’re awful to look at, and he knows there’s nothing that he and Soda can do to treat them here. Bandaids aren’t going to cut it.
“C’mon, we’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
Darry reaches a hand to grip Ponyboy’s and slowly pulls him to his feet. He clings to him desperately, with what little strength he has, and it’s terrifying how weak Pony’s grip is.
Ponyboy looks like he wants to protest the idea of going to the hospital, but instead, he just pitches forward to rest his head against Darry’s chest. “I’m not so sure I can walk, Dar.”
Darry places a hand at the back of his head as he nods to where the keys lay on the kitchen counter. Soda grabs them without a word and is already opening the door as Darry lifts Pony up in his arms.
“You don’t have to, baby. Just stay awake until we get there, alright?”
Ponyboy does, but by the time they make it to the hospital and are led back to an exam room, it’s clear that whatever strength he had has all but disintegrated. Darry doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look so pale as his little brother does now, so white he almost blends in with the hospital bed sheets.
“-lost a lot of blood.”
“-needs a transfusion-”
The nurses move about the room, quickly setting up an IV and fluids to go along with it. He looks so young, so small hooked up to all the heart monitors and blood pressure cuffs, and he is both of those things, but Darry doesn’t recall that knowledge ever hitting him like a punch to the gut before.
Soda for his part looks almost as pale as Ponyboy as he shifts in his chair while their brother’s wounds are cleaned and wrapped with bright, white bandages. He leans his head on Darry’s shoulder, gripping his hand with his own clammy one.
Darry doesn’t want to know how he looks. Is his skin as translucent as Pony’s and his eyes just as red as Soda’s? After a moment's contemplation, he decides it doesn’t much matter. What does is his little brother unsettlingly still under mounds of heated blankets as they work to stop the shivers that wrack his frame.
All Darry can think about as he watches the minute rise and fall of his chest, Pony having since fallen asleep, is how this could happen again, except maybe next time, he and Soda won’t be there to pick him up off the floor and carry him in strong arms to the life saving care of the hospital.
What would life look like without their little brother? The word empty comes to mind, lifeless, like there would be a vital piece missing, a piece that no one could replace.
But Pony’s here now, he’s breathing and his heart beats and he’s alive. And that’s the thought Darry hangs onto as he eyes the myriad of machines that beep and hum.
“Dar,” a hoarse voice sounds. Darry’s eyes snap open, though he’s not sure when he closed them. He hates that he’d dozed off, he promised himself he’d be awake when Pony woke up.
He smiles anyway. “Hey, kiddo, how are you feeling?”
Soda too opens his eyes and is at their brother’s side in an instant. “Hey, Pony.”
Ponyboy shrugs off the blankets, letting them pool at his waist, and Darry’s pleased to see a reassuring flush has returned to his cheeks.
“Hot. What’s with all the blankets?” Pony looks around the room lethargically, but there’s a certain strength about him now that wasn’t there only an hour ago though Darry gets the sense that it’s waning quickly. His eyes flicker to the empty bag connected to the IV above his head and then to the machines surrounding him.
There’s a laugh as Soda ruffles Pony’s hair. “You were shivering, your skin was ice cold. We had half a mind to think you’d freeze to death.”
“Not anymore,” Ponyboy mumbles as he swings his legs off the side of the bed. Before either Darry or Soda can stop him, he settles his feet on the ground only to gasp as his legs buckle beneath him. Soda is there to catch him with an arm around his waist.
“Easy, honey. Why don’t you sit back down for a minute, yeah?”
“Might be a good idea.” Pony admits, climbing back into bed with Soda’s help and putting his head on his knees.
“Pony? You alright?” Darry asks, joining Soda where he stands next to the hospital bed. Pony, to his relief, nods, though his skin once again has paled considerably.
“Just nauseous.”
Soda begins to rub his back in soothing circles. “It’ll pass, just breathe through it.”
It does pass as Pony takes in several deep breaths, and after a while, slowly he raises his head to look each of his brothers in the eyes.
“You had us scared there for a second, baby,” Darry breaks the silence. He can practically see his little brother’s brain working to come up with a response, anything to justify the happenings of the day.
“Darry,” he finally says, averting his gaze, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, honest. I didn't feel so good last night, but I didn’t think I was that bad.”
A part of Darry could have screamed at him until his voice was hoarse, because Pony not thinking, historically didn't end well. It could have cost him his life this time, and maybe he’s being dramatic, but for the life of him, he can’t get the image of Ponyboy falling to his knees and his skin so pale he was almost white.
But he doesn’t raise his voice, instead he keeps his tone soft and even. “I know you didn’t. But next time, you need to tell us when you start feeling real bad.” Darry hates that there will probably be a next time, but he’s a realist if nothing else. “You gotta let us help you, kid, but we can’t if we don’t know what’s going on with you.”
Pony tucks his bandaged arms to his chest. “I thought you’d be mad. I said that I was doing better.”
“We’re not mad at you, honey, but you can’t just go around scaring us like that.” Soda’s voice shakes. It’s slight, but there all the same and Darry’s not sure who’s benefit it’s for when he reaches to take their little brother’s hand in his. “When you fell, we didn’t know what to think, what was happening.”
“I know.” Ponyboy sighs heavily. “I don’t suppose saying sorry will make up for this.”
“No,” Darry shakes his head and manages a somewhat playful smile. “But you looking after yourself would be a good start.” Any amusement soon fades as he adds. “I know you can’t just stop…what you do, but please, just try to be careful. You don’t know how much you mean to us, kiddo.”
”It’s hard though, Dar. Sometimes I don’t want to be careful.” He looks like he wants to continue but doesn’t, and Darry’s not quite sure what to make of that, what that means, but he chooses for now to let it be. Pony still doesn’t look so good, dark circles under his eyes and the slow movements that seem to take up all of his energy.
“Promise you’ll try,” Soda insists, eyes pleading.
There’s a long pause where Pony seems to be fighting a silent war with himself. A frown twists his lips, but finally, he nods albeit hesitantly. “I’ll try. Promise.”
His words are earnest, and though Darry knows it won’t be an easy promise to keep, that’s all he can ask for.