Chapter Text
“I'm here, I'm here, it's alright,” Ponyboy hears Darry's steady stream of murmured reassurances. The words themselves are soothing, but they do little to chase away the images that linger, burned behind his eyes.
It was only a dream, a nightmare, really, but it's the most vivid one yet, and the memories of it have him sobbing all the more earnestly into his oldest brother's chest. His arms are unyielding and warm around him, the only thing Ponyboy is able to find comfort in.
Darry shifts slightly on his bed so as to better accommodate his weight against him. The mattress groans, but he doesn't let him go, instead choosing to hold him tighter still.
“You want me to get Soda?” He asks gently, which Pony understands, because before all this began, this wasn’t a regular occurrence, Ponyboy allowing himself to be consoled in this way.
He loves Darry, but he and Soda have always seemed to understand each other better.
Even so, that is still the absolute last thing in the world Pony wants as Soda's rage-filled eyes come to mind against his will. Ponyboy flinches, while his brother just quietly offers more words of comfort.
“It was just a dream, baby, just a dream.”
But it's been almost four weeks of these visions, terrifying for how real they feel even long after he's woken up, and they don't feel very much like dreams anymore.
‘Soda wouldn't. He wouldn't ever hurt me,’ Ponyboy tells himself time and time again. He repeats it until the words cease to have meaning.
But would he?
Ponyboy feels a phantom sensation, the stinging of his cheek from where only earlier in the night, Soda had slapped him. Of course, when Pony had jolted awake, chest heaving and face glistening with sweat and tears, his brother had been sound asleep next to him, oblivious to the raw terror that had frozen the blood in his veins.
His stomach aches too, with the memory of the blade Soda had forced into his flesh there. It had hurt, sharp and burning, setting his every nerve alight.
But worse still was the look of absolute glee on his face when he had twisted the knife, and Pony had the distinct sense that he had been waiting for this moment. This wasn’t the first time Soda had thought about it.
He had cried silently for what felt like hours, trying to muffle his sobs into the pillow, before surrendering to the desire to seek out his other sibling. Darry had easily folded him to his chest, running a hand through his damp hair with an amount of gentleness Ponyboy hadn’t thought possible, though he can feel the confusion radiating off of him in waves.
Soda is the one Ponyboy would always go to after a nightmare. He knows better than anyone the right words to say and how to soothe him back to sleep, but he doesn't dare explain why he protests that now.
Darry would think it crazy, and it is, the idea of Soda ever willingly causing him pain. He would think that he’s lost his mind, and maybe he has, but Pony can't bear to lose both of his brothers. It’s heart wrenching enough that he’d lost Soda, and Ponyboy can hardly stand to look him in the eyes now.
“Alright,” Darry tells him, voice low. “It's alright. Just breathe.”
Ponyboy pulls in a shuddering breath. It doesn't feel alright, it feels like the sky is falling down around him.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Ponyboy is quick to shake his head, his whole body tensing, but to his relief, Darry doesn't push the topic. He presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Don't you worry,” he says, “we'll figure it out.”
Ponyboy can only hope he's right.
It takes Pony several moments for him to remember where he is as his eyes open to slits. A ray of sunlight is shining through the curtains, but they aren't the ones hanging in his and Soda's bedroom. The blanket covering him is the wrong color too, and the realization hits him all at once then. He's in Darry's room, having finally fallen back to sleep, exhausted, in his brother's arms.
It was the best few hours of rest he'd gotten in weeks, the knowledge that Darry was asleep next to him was enough to chase away any nightmares that might have otherwise plagued him.
The lingering feeling of peace is shattered abruptly by the sound of the bedroom door opening a crack.
Even without turning to look, Ponyboy knows who it is, with Darry most assuredly having gone to work already and Soda having been given the day off.
His heart begins to hammer against his ribcage.
“Hey, Pone,” Soda says, but Pony doesn't dare look at him.
At first, Pony had chalked them up to stress, a product of finals week, those dreams that so haunt him and have since begun to bleed into his waking hours. But school has been out for more than a week now, and he had aced all of his tests.
It doesn't make sense, he hasn't had nightmares this intense since his mom and dad died, and Pony is at a loss for how to stop them. Nothing seems to help. Sleeping in the same room as Soda, where it used to soothe him back to sleep after he would wake up screaming, now only causes him to desperately wish not to sleep at all.
He will lie awake all night, cringing at every little move Soda makes and every time their shoulders brush against one another.
Caffeine only seems to make them worse, and Pony can’t stay up forever in any case. The bags under his eyes are growing ever darker, and he finds that terrible exhaustion he feels to have settled in his very bones.
Soda says his name again and he trembles.
He forces himself to meet those eyes, pinched with worry, but he's only able to hold it for a matter of seconds before averting his gaze to stare at an old stain on the comforter.
“I made breakfast if you're hungry.”
Pony isn't hungry, hasn't been since this all started. Even the thought of putting anything into his mouth has his stomach turning. All he really is anymore is tired, scared.
“Not hungry,” Pony mumbles, praying that his brother will leave him so as to let him soak up the lingering sense of safety afforded him by being in Darry's room.
Several tense moments pass before Soda is then giving a defeated sounding sigh. Wordlessly, the door closes with a click, the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall. A breath of relief leaves Ponyboy, even if it's a short lived reprieve, because he can't stay in Darry's room forever, and he really needs to shower.
So, tentatively, bracing himself for the painful jolt his heart is sure to give, Pony pushes open the bedroom door.
Immediately, the scent of cooked food hits his nostrils, and it’s everything he can do not to gag as he makes his way down the hallway towards the bathroom. He is careful to keep his footsteps light, and quietly as he can, Pony locks the door behind him.
Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have thought to, trusting his brothers to respect his privacy, but things are different now, he is different now.
He takes as much time in the shower as he possibly can, standing shivering under the spray of water until it has long since gone cold. For all the goosebumps that cover his skin, Pony would be content to stay in the bathroom all day if he could, but it’s not practical. Soda lives here too, and Ponyboy can't avoid him forever.
He had just finished drying himself off and throwing his clothes back on when there’s a soft knock at the door. He jumps as if hearing a gunshot ring out, his chest immediately tightening at the sound of a familiar voice.
“You okay in there, Pone?” Soda asks, and any words he might have said get stuck in his throat. It feels like he’s choking, gasping for air that seems to be ever so elusive. Pony can’t move.
“Ponyboy?”
He’s got to say something, anything to make him go away. The door knob is jiggled.
“I’m fine,” but it comes out strained, and the words sound less than convincing even to his own ears. He can feel his brother's disbelief and can picture the frown he wears.
“Will-will you open the door?”
Scenes flood his mind then.
Soda hitting him, beating him until his eyes are swollen shut and his ribs bruise and threaten to break.
The way he is so clearly enjoying the sound of Pony's broken cries and whimpers of fear.
He chased after him too, and for as fast as Pony’s feet hit the ground as he ran, Soda always was able to catch up to him. From there, he knew only pain, because this was his brother who’s hurting him, and yet it is only a product of his own imagination.
‘It's just Soda,’ and that's the most unbearable part of the whole thing. He loves him still. He doesn't want to hurt him even though he knows he is by putting this distance between them.
“Please?”
It's because of that love, and going against every instinct, Pony places a shaking hand on the door knob, turning it ever so slowly. He used to trust his brother implicitly, all but worshiping the ground he walked on.
Yet as soon as his eyes meet Soda's, Pony is filled suddenly with a most pressing desire to run.
‘Not safe! Not safe, not safe! Get out, get out-!’
“Pony?” Soda is watching him warily, brow furrowed. When Ponyboy doesn't respond for several tense seconds, he reaches for him, only to freeze at Pony's sharp inhale.
“D-don’t touch me!” Pony stutters, and Soda pulls his hand away from him like he's been burned. He looks wounded. Ponyboy had never shied away from his touch before, seeking it out more than anyone else's.
All Pony can do now is beg him, “Please, don't.”
Soda raises his hands slowly in a gesture of peace. “Alright. Alright, I won't. Just take it easy now.”
Tears sting Pony's eyes as he fights down the hysterical sob that wants to escape.
His brother swallows thickly, sounding as if he were ready to break down himself.
“What did I do, baby?” He asks, voice watery, broken, and for all the fear he still feels, Ponyboy's heart shatters. The pain is written clear across his face, but he can't force any words past his lips.
Eventually, Soda lets out a pained sort of sound, bottom lip quivering, before turning away. Pony hears the soft click of their bedroom door closing moments later.
Ponyboy sleeps with Darry again that night, but this time, it isn't enough to chase away the horrid scenes he sees play out.
He wakes with a silent scream as he bolts upright. The thin t-shirt he wears is soaked through with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead. Adrenaline still tears through his veins like a raging fire.
Where is he?
For one heart stopping second, Pony thinks he's in his and Soda's bedroom for the way their room and Darry's are both coated with the same color of paint.
But then, there is a creaking sound, and a voice is suddenly very near to his ear. Pony lets out a gasp before he recognizes Darry’s voice, whispering soft words of comfort as he runs his hand up and down Ponyboy's spine.
“Breathe, baby, you've gotta breathe.”
Red fills his vision as he squeezes his eyes shut. It's the color of blood, stemming from the gash at his hairline made by the glass bottle Soda had brought down on his head.
It had been agony, the jagged edges slicing into his flesh like butter.
Darry's chin rests atop his head, and it feels like those strong arms around him are the only things keeping him grounded in something like reality.
“You're gonna be just fine,” is the promise that feels hollow, because before Pony didn't know what it meant to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn’t know how impossibly heavy it all was.
He knows now.
It feels to Ponyboy like an eternity has passed before he is able to stop crying. It's even longer before he is able to fall into a restless sleep, tossing and turning, and morning comes all too soon.
When was the last time he had felt this utterly exhausted?
He feels his arms being moved then, and slowly he opens his eyes to see Darry watching him with a soft smile. He gently extracts himself from Pony's hold around his waist.
“Sorry, kiddo,” Darry says, “Slept in for too long, I'm gonna be late for work.”
Ponyboy wants to hold on tighter, wants to dig his fingers into his brother's shirt and pull on it until he comes to lay back down, protecting him from the world.
“Soda said he'll make you something to eat.” At the sound of Soda's name, a shiver runs down his spine. “Promise me you'll have something?”
Pony shakes his head. Darry can't go, he can't leave him. He can't leave him alone with-
Darry is already rising up off the bed and shrugging on his work shirt before Pony can get out anything more than a whine of protest.
For as genuine as the sympathetic look he fixes him with is, Darry doesn't understand.
Pony isn’t sure for how long he cries for once he leaves, only that his whimpers stutter in response to the feel of the mattress dipping to his left and a hand, achingly gentle, is placed on the space in between his shoulder blades. It’s almost jarring, but he knows this touch, has been on the receiving end of it a million times in his life.
It doesn’t feel like Darry, though. The hand is smaller, lighter, and then a voice, quiet and laced with pain, is saying his name.
“Oh, Pony,” Soda begins, sounding equally as weary as Ponyboy feels.
He hadn’t even heard him come in, and he goes statue still, even as he feels a measure of surprise. His brother’s touch isn’t anything like he’d have thought it would be. It isn't cruel and bent on inflicting unbearable pain, rather it’s kind, careful. His skin feels warm through his shirt.
It might even have been soothing, would have been at a time that has long since passed.
Unable to help himself, Pony gasps, scrambling away so desperately he almost falls off the edge of the bed. He presses his back to the headboard, drawing his knees up to his chest.
Pony can see him now. He can see, ever so clearly, Soda watching him with bright, glassy eyes.
“Easy, easy, it’s only me.” The corners of Soda’s lips are pulled yet farther down, as if it were sinking in then that that is the very reason his little brother is completely paralyzed now.
Ponyboy wants to demand to know what he wants, what he's going to do to him now, because dreams and reality are blurring together more each day. Except he can't seem to form any words around his tongue which feels heavy as lead in his mouth.
Suddenly, and seemingly without warning, Soda exclaims, “I can't take this anymore!”
Raw, pent up emotion colors his words, and Ponyboy has to wonder if maybe this has been a long time coming. It's been weeks of Pony doing everything in his power to avoid him. It seems to be coming to a head now, and this was always going to happen.
Soda's breathing is heavy, his voice much too loud in the otherwise silence of the house.
Pony’s whole body quakes, and in response, Soda's expression turns apologetic. “I’m sorry, honey.” He seems to be struggling to speak around the lump in his throat before finally continuing with, “But please, I-I just have to know what I've done to make you hate me so much.”
Pony couldn't hate Soda if he tried, and he wouldn't want to. He hasn't done anything wrong. It's not Soda's fault that he's like this, and maybe he is crazy.
A helpless moan is ripped from the back of Pony's throat before he can stop it.
The sound startles Soda, his eyes going wide, and Pony gets the distinct impression that he is only just barely restraining himself from reaching for him again.
“Whatever I did to hurt you,” Soda says, and to his dismay, Pony sees wet trails running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
The brother of his dreams is never this vulnerable. He's cold, calculating, and everything about him is a light-year’s difference from how he is now, desperate and every bit as broken as he is. And isn't that what they are, broken?
Ponyboy's heart pounds so hard he wonders if Soda can hear it too.
“I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't mean to.” He pauses, and then comes the words that Pony so dreads to hear. “But I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me.”
Pony wouldn't know what to say even if he could get his lips to move.
Soda, ignoring the way Pony draws back, closes his fingers around his wrist. It would have hurt less if someone had placed a red hot brand on his skin.
“Ponyboy.” His voice borders on stern, though his eyes are pleading. “I ain't gonna hurt you,” Soda insists, needing more than anything to be believed.
Pony aches all over with the way his muscles have been tensed up for so long, but he can't bring himself to relax even when Soda begins to run his hand up and down his forearm.
“Just help me understand, honey. I'll listen, I promise.”
It's all too much. His brother's closeness, the feeling of his skin against his, and the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
He needs it to stop. He needs to eat something and to sleep for more than a few hours at a time.
He needs Soda back.
“It hurts,” Pony chokes on the words, and it does. On instinct, muscle memory alone, he looks to Soda before he can think better of it, recalling, if with difficulty, how easy finding comfort in him used to be.
Soda doesn't quite smile, but his features do soften with what seems to be understanding, and Ponyboy hears what he doesn't say.
‘It hurts me too.’
But where does he begin? How can he go about explaining it all, how can he make Soda understand?
Pony is still shivering as if he had been out in the cold, unforgiving Tulsa winter. But he doesn't feel so much like throwing up anymore, and the longer Soda's thumb strokes the inside of his wrist, the slower and more steady his breathing seems to come.
It's a familiar routine to fall back into even if his mind still screams ‘danger!’
“What's going on?” Soda asks as that hand then moves slowly to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. Surprising them both, Ponyboy doesn't pull away.
“I'm scared.” The words leave his lips without his conscious thought, and Soda hangs on each syllable.
There's a heavy pause where Ponyboy watches Soda's eyes close and hears him exhale shakily. “Of me.” It's not a question, and Pony's lack of response is answer enough, if confirmation was needed.
“Why?” And Ponyboy can only shake his head, eyes growing damp. “What did I do?” Soda moves to wipe at his watering eyes, but this time, the movement is just a bit too quick. It startles him out of the fragile state of being almost at ease he had been so foolishly lulled into.
He whimpers, the sound too loud, and then it is hitting him once again like a freight train.
This is Soda. Soda, who is dangerously close to him, who could hurt him.
‘Not safe!’
Ponyboy readies himself to jump from the bed without yet knowing where he will go, but his brother is reaching for him again before he can, keeping him in place.
“No!” Pony cries, but Soda just shushes him, ignoring the weak way he struggles. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so utterly drained of energy, physically and mentally as if the way he had neglected his needs is all just now catching up with him.
Soda pulls him gently but firmly against him, and Ponyboy feels at once too tired to resist the motion beyond giving a final, “Let me go.”
Soda doesn’t, and Pony cries. He cries for everything, the grip he had on what remained of his composure shattering as if it were never there to begin with.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you, sweetheart. Glory, how could you think…?” But the words aren’t accusatory, just sad.
Pony wishes he had an answer to give, but he doesn’t except that it all felt so real, it still does. It's as if in his nightmares he was shown another reality, one that was impossible to disregard the longer they continue to torment him.
He is not being hurt now, though, not even where he is, wrapped in Soda’s embrace. In fact, it’s almost nice, a soothing balm to his shot nerves, and the racing heart beat against his ear is almost enough to drown out the sound of his tears.
He's missed him so much it hurts.
“My nightmares are back,” Ponyboy feels compelled to say, his voice cracking, because he's scared, and hurting, and so desperately in need of his older brother.
Soda goes rigid against him, though he seems to put the pieces together quickly. “Are they about me?” He asks, and Pony can only nod.
It feels simultaneously terrifying to admit, and yet as if a heavy weight were lifted from him. He's not the only one who knows how terribly he has been suffering, he doesn't have to beat the crushing weight of it alone anymore.
There was a missing puzzle piece in his soul, and that piece was Soda.
Soda sucks in a breath. “Do I hurt you in your dreams?”
Ponyboy winces. He sounds devastated even before the almost inaudible reply of “Yeah” comes.
There’s a sound of despair made then, a beat of silence, and then Soda begins to shudder as he too starts to weep. Pony hates that sound, his brother shouldn't ever make that sound.
“But-but you know I would never think of-”
He knows that, really, the logical part of his brain does anyway. It always has even if he can’t bring himself to say the words.
All that comes out instead is an apology. “‘M sorry.”
Pony is sorry, sorry for everything. For hurting Soda. For being so weak, so scared. For pushing him away even though it is still agony for them both.
Soda, though, just shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry, baby. ‘S not your fault.”
It sure feels like it is. But then that earlier wave of exhaustion is returning, distracting him, and Ponyboy's eyes flutter closed against his will. He never thought he would feel comfortable enough to let his guard down in that way in front of him again, but he's just so worn out from it all. And it's still unsettling, but he has to assume that if Soda wanted to hurt him, he would have by now.
Still, he has to ask, “You promise?”
“Do I promise what?”
Ponyboy swallows around the lump in his throat. “Promise you won't-won’t hurt me?” He's sure Soda will think it a silly question, but he has to know.
Soda pulls back enough to look him in the square in the eyes. “I promise.”
It takes every ounce of faith and trust in him, but Pony believes him.
“You wanna talk about them, what your nightmares are about?” Soda asks, and Ponyboy really doesn't. He doesn't see what good could come from it. Recounting in any detail the images he sees at night is sure only to upset them both.
Maybe, he figures, the content of the dreams doesn't matter for all that they aren't real, and that is just a bit easier to accept with the tender way his older brother holds him. There isn't any need to give them more power by voicing them, and Pony shakes his head.
Soda seems to consider his silent answer for a moment before nodding his agreement. “Whatever you see, Ponyboy, however I've hurt you, I want you to know that the thought of causing you pain ain't ever crossed my mind.”
And Pony believes that too. For the first time in what feels to be years, he lets himself relax, and the tension goes out from him at once.
“‘M tired.”
Soda's expression morphs to one of open worry. “When was the last time you've slept?”
Pony doesn't know in truth, he can't say with any certainty when the last time he's slept more than a few hours was. He shrugs one shoulder, unable to summon the energy to do much else.
“Do you think you'll be able to sleep with me here?”
Pony has to think for several moments. At first, his heart leaps into his throat at the thought of Soda being with him while he sleeps. Even an hour ago, he wouldn't have even considered the idea.
But he has to acknowledge that a part of him, the part that has so missed his brother, and it's not insignificant in size, wants to beg him to stay. He wants to be pulled close and to drift off to sleep in the safety of his arms just like it used to be.
Unable to ignore that desire, and finally, if slowly, Ponyboy nods. “Can you stay?”
He half worries he'll be rejected, and it wouldn't be undeserved after Pony has pushed him away for so long. They are both still hurting after all.
He needn't have worried, though. Soda's eyes light up, glowing brighter than the noon sun.
“I ain't goin’ anywhere.”
So, Ponyboy lies down, hesitantly at first, but once his head hits the pillow, he feels consciousness rapidly slipping through his grasp.
Before he falls asleep, he feels the covers being shifted as Soda stretches out too, and the arm that curls around his waist bringing him flush against his chest follows soon after.
Sleep comes quickly then, even without that now familiar mantra reminding him that Soda won't hurt him. He feels the promise of it in his brother's touch alone.
The relief Ponyboy feels is a foreign feeling as of late, even if he has to acknowledge that it's not over. He knows better than most that healing doesn't happen overnight. But it is better, and only if for tonight, Ponyboy doesn't dream.