house rules

by pookie_mulder

Summary:

After the events of the book, Darry decides they need some family rules.

(a series of interconnected one-shots)

Notes:

Dates follow the book canon! If you’d like to see how each chapter fits into the series, check out this handy dandy timeline.

Chapter 1

October 1965

“I hereby call this Curtis family meeting to order,” Darry announced, pretending to bang a gavel on the kitchen table. 

“I think you’ve been watchin’ too much Perry Mason,” Soda remarked. 

“Shut your trap.” Darry gently shoved his shoulder, causing his chair to scoot a few inches along the floor. “As if you ain’t watchin’ it right along with me every week.”

It was good to see Darry engaging in a bit of levity, especially after the month they’d had. For a second, Pony glimpsed the big brother he used to be, the one who snuck them extra cookies from the cookie jar and let them watch horror movies on TV when their parents weren’t home. He suspected Darry was doing it for his benefit, trying to snap him out of the funk he’d been in since returning from Windrixville. 

“So what’s all this about? Why all the” — Soda twirled a hand vaguely in the air — “theatrics?”

“I figured it’s time we talk about…y’know. Everything,” Darry replied, getting back to business. 

Sure, they had briefly discussed the disastrous chain of events leading up to Johnny and Dally’s deaths. But they hadn’t really gotten into the gory details yet. The wounds were still too raw, too fresh. Pony wasn’t ready to get it all out in the open, and he didn’t think his brothers were, either. 

Darry must’ve noticed his unsurety, because he added, “Not all of it. Not tonight. But there’s some things I think we need to discuss as a family.”

“Well, get on with it, then,” Soda prodded. He must have felt as uneasy about this whole thing as Ponyboy. 

Darry cleared his throat and grabbed a seemingly blank piece of notebook paper from atop the pile of bills on the edge of the table. “First off. Pony, it’s not your fault what happened. Uh-uh” — he waved away Pony’s protests — “I don’t wanna hear it. It was out of your control, and it won’t do us no good to obsess over what-ifs. But I think it’s high time we created some rules to try to prevent somethin’ like that from happenin’ again.” He flipped the paper over to reveal House Rules written neatly at the top. 

Pony glanced over at Soda and found him already looking back, eyes narrowed. “Like what?” they asked in unison. 

“Mostly things we already do. I just figure it’ll be good to have it in writing as a reminder. And if we all agree to ‘em, maybe it’ll help us stop fightin’ so much.” He shot Pony a wry smile. 

As much as Pony didn’t want anyone telling him what to do, he had to admit Darry had a point. Their lives had been desperately lacking structure after their parents’ deaths; some ground rules would do them good. He nodded his assent. 

“How ‘bout you, Pepsi? You good with that?” 

Soda flashed a thumbs-up. 

“Great. I didn’t wanna put anything on the list without talkin’ it over with you guys first. I figured we should work together to figure out what rules make sense for us.”

“Lemme guess. No fighting?” Pony asked. 

Darry thought for a moment, humming contemplatively. “I don’t think it’s fair to say we can never fight with each other again. Sorry, Soda.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Soda was quick to reassure. “I just don’t want it to always be as bad as it’s been.” 

Pony truly felt awful for the way the two of them had put Sodapop in the middle of their constant fights. He’d been so frustrated and angry all the time that he hadn’t stopped to consider the toll it took on Soda, and he suspected the same was true for Darry.  

“I’m sorry,” Pony apologized for the umpteenth time since his brother’s meltdown the other week. 

“It’s okay, honey. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” That was the thing about Soda — he was quick to forgive, even if you didn’t deserve it. Ponyboy both loved and hated that about him. 

Darry blew out a slow breath, then continued, “Things are gonna come up, and we’re gonna disagree and get mad. It’s just a part of life. But maybe we can be smarter about how we handle it.”

“How so?” Pony asked, curiosity piqued. 

“No fightin’ after midnight?” Soda suggested. “It’s no use hollerin’ at each other when everyone’s already tired and grumpy. If you’ve got a bone to pick, leave it ‘til morning when you can be more…level-headed about it.”

Darry’s face broke out into a grin. “Hey, that’s a good idea, little buddy. I think we can make that work. Pony, you agree?”

“Uh-huh.” That one shouldn’t be too hard to follow; he was in bed by midnight on school nights, anyway.

“You wanna do the honors, Pone? You’ve got the best handwriting.” Darry slid the paper over along with a pencil. 

No fighting after midnight, Pony carefully wrote on the first line. 

“Excellent! What else d’ya think we should add?”

It was times like these that Pony could see why Two-Bit always teased Darry about “goin’ soc” back in high school. His brother was confident and self-assured in the way that only a Boy of the Year could be. Darry had a goal in mind, and by golly, he was gonna achieve it. All he needed was the power of teamwork and a few reassuring smiles. 

“Whoever cooks is excused from dish duty?” Pony suggested. It was one of their mama’s rules; she was happy to cook for them every day as long as they cleaned up afterward.

“Good one. All in favor, say aye.”

“Aye!” Soda agreed, even though it meant he’d be doing the most dishes of the three of them. That’s what he got for being the family’s worst cook — not that the bar was very high. Well, what he lacked in skill he made up for in food dye, Pony supposed.

“I’ve got one,” Darry said once Pony had finished writing. “Call if you’re gonna be home late.”

“Darry, you tell us that every day.” Pony shot him a disbelieving look. 

“And I’m still left wonderin’ if my baby brothers have been kidnapped or arrested or left in a ditch somewhere when they don’t come home. Maybe if you write it down, you’ll remember next time.”

Boy, he could guilt trip like no one else. Pony added it to the list. 

“Speakin’ of gettin’ arrested…how ‘bout don’t get arrested?” Soda asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Says the only one of us who’s actually been hauled off by the fuzz,” Darry teased. 

“I’ll tell you what I told the fine officers of the Tulsa PD: Cartwheels are not a crime. I rest my case.” Soda leaned back in his chair, hands folded on the table in front of him.

“I think that one goes without sayin’, but sure. Add it to the list, Pony. No gettin’ arrested.” 

Ponyboy could read between the lines: On the east side, you had to skirt the law sometimes to survive. The important part was not getting caught, which he wasn’t so good at yet. His gut twisted as he thought about the upcoming hearing regarding Bob’s death. 

“I have one I know you ain’t gonna like,” Darry warned, bringing Ponyboy back to the present, “but it’s important, especially now.”

“What is it?” Pony wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. 

“I want both of y’all to always carry a blade with you.”

Pony shook his head emphatically. “No.” Weapons always made things worse. He’d seen firsthand the massive devastation that could come from a tiny switchblade, and he wasn’t eager to relive it. 

Of course, Darry had been expecting him to argue, and he had a counter-argument already lined up. “Johnny’s blade saved your life, kid. Heaven forbid somethin’ like that happens again, but if it does, I want you to be able to defend yourself.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, writing it down. Just because he had to carry a blade didn’t mean he was gonna use it. 

“Y’all have any other ideas?” Pony and Soda shook their heads. “Alright, then. We can add stuff later if we need to. There’s just one more thing I wanted to bring up tonight: I don’t want y’all to walk anywhere alone after dark no more.”

“C’mon, Dar, I’ll be eighteen in like, a year!” Soda whined. 

“It don’t matter none, not to me or the socs. You’re still my kid brother, and I’m still in charge of keepin’ you safe.”

“What about walkin’ to and from the Mathewses’?” Soda challenged him. “I mean, you can see their house from our front porch.”

Darry considered this for a moment, pursing his lips. “Fine. As long as you’re within shoutin’ distance of home, I’ll allow it.”

“Good thing I can yell real loud, then,” Soda said, seemingly satisfied. 

Pony wasn’t so easily convinced. “So what’re we supposed to do, then? What if we need to go somewhere?”

“Ask your brother or one of the guys to walk with you. And if they can’t, you call me, and I’ll always, always pick you up. I don’t care if you’re drunk or high or it’s 4 a.m. or I have to leave work to come get you — I will be there, no matter what. Do y’all understand?”

They nodded, eyes wide. Pony was unused to such earnest sincerity from his oldest brother. 

Darry squeezed Pony’s forearm with one callused hand and grabbed Soda’s wrist with the other. “There’s nothin’ in this world more important to me than keepin’ you two safe,” he declared. “That’s what these rules are all about.”

Any complaints Pony’d had about this whole exercise vanished. In that moment, he saw Darry for who he truly was: a boy who was scared to death of losing his family, just like him. Maybe they were more alike than he thought. 

He placed his hand atop Darry’s and gave him a tiny smile. The corners of Darry’s eyes crinkled with relief, settling something inside Pony’s chest. 

With a little groan, Darry stood up, knees cracking. “Meeting adjourned, I guess. Hang that paper on the fridge, would you, Soda?”

“Yessir.” Soda gave him a little salute. 

Darry placed a hand on each of their heads and ruffled their hair a bit, then leaned down in between them. “I made dinner tonight, so it looks like the two of you have a sink full of dishes with your names on it,” he said, looking back and forth from one brother to the other, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, geez.” Pony let out a little laugh. “I’m really startin’ to regret suggestin’ that one.” 

Chapter 2

Summary:

The Curtis brothers encounter a mishap on the way to Ponyboy’s court hearing.

Notes:

Surprise! Another chapter! I whipped this one up in a frenzy last night and couldn’t wait to share it. Don’t get used to daily chapters, though :)

October 1965

“Alright, boys. Let’s hustle,” Darry called from the living room. 

“Coming!” Pony replied as he exited the bathroom. 

“Sodapop, you better get a move on.”

“Almost done!” Soda garbled through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Pony rolled his eyes; Soda was always making them late to things. 

Unlike his brother, Pony had carefully prepared everything the night before, laying out his freshly pressed pants and making a list of everything he needed to do. So far, he’d accomplished every task — except for one. 

He hesitantly approached his oldest brother, the collar of his nicest shirt flipped up and one of his dad’s neckties in hand. “Dar, I can’t figure this out.”

Darry’s face softened. “C’mere, bud.” He wasted no time in taking the tie from Pony’s hand and expertly tying it around his neck. “Remind me to teach you sometime when we’re not in such a rush.”

“Did Dad teach you when you were younger?” He didn’t know why he brought it up. Maybe he was missing his parents more than usual that day. 

A sad smile made itself at home on Darry’s face. “He sure did.” He adjusted the knot until it looked perfect, then rested his large hands on Pony’s shoulders. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Like I’m about to pass out. Or maybe blow chunks all over the floor.” 

Darry chuckled at that. “It’s gonna be fine, Pone. You have Cherry and Randy backin’ you up. Just remember what the social worker told you.”

He nodded. “Take a deep breath and stick to the facts.”

“See? Nothin’ to get all worked up about.” Darry patted Pony’s cheek, then released him, turning away. Pony could tell he was nervous, too, even though he tried to hide it. Instead of Darry’s anxiety feeding his own, he felt strangely comforted knowing he wasn’t alone. 

Tie securely fastened around his neck, there was nothing left to do but perch on the couch and wait for Soda to finish getting ready. While Pony’s anxiety surrounding the hearing manifested itself as meticulous preparation, Soda’s made him forgetful. Even more so than usual. 

All morning, he’d been a whirlwind of energy, racing from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen and back again. Finally, he came to a standstill by the front door, belt hanging loosely from his pants. “Let’s go.”

“You gonna buckle that, little buddy?” Darry asked, amused. 

“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.” His tongue peeked out from between his teeth as he smiled, doing up his belt. At last, they were ready to go. 

The three of them piled into the truck. Since Pony was the smallest, he sat in the middle, as usual. On any other day, he would have been annoyed to have to squeeze between his brothers, but today, he was glad to have their shoulders pressed against his. 

He didn’t think he’d ever been more nervous in his life. Not before the spelling bee in second grade or when he tried out for the track team or even when he ran into that fire to save those kids. 

The agonizing anticipation of his impending court date was somehow worse than all of that, and his anxiety only increased with every minute that passed. At least at the church in Windrixville, he’d had a heavy dose of adrenaline to spur him forward and into the flames. Now, there was nothing to distract him from his racing thoughts but Soda humming along to the radio and Darry tapping his finger on the gear shift.

Of course, Pony was afraid of facing jail time for his role in Bob’s death, but more than that, he was terrified of being taken away from his brothers. They were the only family he had left — he didn’t think he could survive being ripped away from them, especially not when he and Darry had just started to get along again. He’d already buried his parents and two of his best friends; he couldn’t bear to lose anyone else. 

He stared out the windshield and tried to clear his mind, instead focusing on the way the midmorning sunlight filtered through the autumn leaves of the trees as they drove past. He wondered how Johnny would feel if he were here. 

They had only traveled a few blocks when Soda suddenly exclaimed, “Darry! Stop!”

Darry slammed on the brakes, extending a hand to stop Pony from flying forward. “What? What is it?” he asked, panicked. Pony glanced out the back window to make sure they weren’t about to get rear-ended and sighed in relief when he saw they were in the clear. 

Soda screwed his handsome face up into a pout. “I forgot my shoes.”

“Sodapop Curtis.” Pony had never seen Darry look more incredulous. “Are you bein’ serious right now?”

“As a heart attack.” He lifted one of his socked feet to rest against the dash. 

Darry let out a mournful groan, hitting his head on the steering wheel a couple times. 

“We gotta go back, Dar,” Soda pleaded. “They won’t let me in the courtroom without my shoes.”

“If you screw this up for your brother, I swear I’m gonna kick your teeth in,” Darry threatened as he flipped a haphazard U-turn, but there was no real heat behind his words. “You’re gonna be eatin’ through a straw the rest of your sorry life.”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry, Pone!”

“It’s alright.” Pony would take any excuse to prolong the inevitable moment when he’d have to take the stand and tell a roomful of strangers about how Bob had nearly drowned him in the fountain. They weren’t in any real danger of being late, anyway; Darry had budgeted thirty minutes for a drive that normally only took seven, almost like the was expecting something like this to happen. 

Soon enough, they reached the house. Soda hopped out of the truck before it had even come to a complete stop, then launched himself down the walkway and through the front door. A faint crashing noise could be heard from inside as Soda tore apart the house looking for his old church loafers. 

Darry cast his eyes heavenward with a rueful shake of his head. “When we get back home, I’m addin’ another rule to the list.”

“What is it?” Pony asked, brow furrowed. 

The corners of Darry’s mouth turned up. “Check to make sure you’re wearin’ shoes before leavin’ the house.”

As they laughed together, the knot of anxiety in Pony’s chest loosened, just a tiny bit, and for the first time since waking up that morning, he felt like he could breathe. 

Shoes in hand, Soda threw open the front door, raced down the steps, and slid back into the passenger seat. His carefully greased hair had become a wild halo around his head. Pony reached out to smooth it down, smile lingering on his face. 

“Alright, fellas,” Soda announced between panting breaths, “let’s go show this judge who’s boss.”

Notes:

As always, suggestions/ideas are welcome!

Chapter 3

Summary:

“I — I saw the way you flinched this mornin’ when I reached up to fix your hair,” he finally said, “and I wanted to…make sure you were okay, I guess.”

Darry and Ponyboy deal with the repercussions of the slap.

Notes:

cw for discussions of Darry hitting Pony

November 1965

“Hey, kid, can we talk for a minute?”

Ponyboy looked up from his history textbook to see Darry leaning in the doorway, a strange expression on his face. 

“It depends,” he teased. “Am I in trouble?” He didn’t think he had done anything to warrant a stern talking-to, but he could never know for sure. 

“Nah. I just —” Darry walked over and sat gingerly on the bed, back ramrod straight and hands clasped together. Was he…nervous?

It took Darry a moment to gather his thoughts. Pony twirled his pencil between his fingers while he waited. 

“I — I saw the way you flinched this mornin’ when I reached up to fix your hair,” he finally said, “and I wanted to…make sure you were okay, I guess.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Darry was talking about. But in the moment, the thought that Darry was about to strike him hadn’t even crossed his mind. Pony just hadn’t been paying attention and was surprised when he saw a hand coming toward his face. Had Darry really been worried about this all day?

“You just startled me, is all. It’s no big deal,” he said truthfully. 

Darry’s hands twisted together in his lap, forming a complicated knot of knuckles and calluses. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t blame you if —”

“I’m sure.” 

Darry let out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping. “Oh. Good. I was worried….” He trailed off, looking away. 

Pony couldn’t help but think of the morning after he’d returned from the hospital a couple of months ago, ash under his fingernails and the smell of smoke lingering in his hair. He’d awoken to Darry sitting at the edge of his bed, just like he was now. 

Pony could count the number of times he could remember seeing Darry cry on one hand, but that day, he’d wept harder than ever as he apologized for hitting him and promised he’d never, ever do it again as long as he lived. 

Through his tears, Darry had explained how he’d talked to Soda about everything that had been going on between the two of them — the constant bickering and petty remarks and building resentment that had come to a head with the sting of skin on skin. 

“He told me how I made you feel like you were never good enough, and that just about broke my heart in two,” he’d said, voice shaky. “I guess I put so much pressure on you because I thought it was what’s best for you, but I was wrong.”

Pony had simply nodded at him, trying not to cry himself. Hearing Darry acknowledge the hurt he’d caused meant more than he could say. 

“Mom and Dad raised me better than that, and I’m gonna do everythin’ I can to make it right, I swear to you.” Darry’s gaze was soft when he continued, “I want you to know that you ain’t even gotta do a single thing for me to be proud of you. Just you bein’ here is enough.”

“It’s okay,” Pony had told him, because he didn’t know what else to say. His head was still kind of fuzzy at that point, and their conversation had been a lot to take in at once. 

“It’s not okay, you hear? I don’t want you to be like Johnny or Steve, terrified to come home at night because of what I might do to you.”

He didn’t need to worry about that. There was a big difference between Darry and someone like Johnny’s parents. Darry was owning up to his mistakes, while the Cades unrepentantly repeated them over and over. His brother was trying to be better, and that put him in an entirely different league altogether.  

“Y’know,” Pony had begun, choosing his words carefully, “when I was in Windrixville, what I wanted more than anythin’ in the world was to be able to come home to you and Soda? Even though I was mad and scared, I still missed you like crazy.”

Pony remembered the way Darry’s breath had hitched as he inhaled. He’d paused for a moment to clean a bit of soot from Pony’s jaw with a gentle swipe of his thumb before he murmured, “Golly, kid. I don’t deserve you.”

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe to some people, what Darry had done was unforgivable. But Pony was tired of all the fighting, and he just wanted his big brother back. 

“Maybe we deserve each other,” he’d said. “The good and the bad.”

The day Darry had hit him had landed squarely in the bad category, but the present moment — sitting across from Darry in his bedroom once more, the last rays of November sun turning the air golden — was shaping up to be one of the good ones. 

“I trust you, Darry,” Pony finally said, putting down his pencil. “I know you ain’t gonna do it again.”

Darry shook his head emphatically. “I won’t. This ain’t that kinda house.”

That gave Pony an idea. “How ‘bout we add it to the list?” he suggested. “No hitting?”

“That’s a mighty fine idea, Pone. I’ll go do it right now.” Darry made to stand up, but Pony stopped him with a hand on his knee. 

“I don’t hate you, Dar, and I never actually did. I love you. So you can stop hatin’ yourself.”

Pony thought he saw Darry’s eyes glisten, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. 

“I’m tryin’, baby. I really am.” He reached out a hand to push Pony’s hair off his forehead, and this time, Pony leaned into the touch. 

Notes:

I hope I did this justice! The slap is such a complicated and nuanced moment and I know people have Opinions about it lol

Not that it really matters, but in my mind, this chapter takes place just before twenty winks.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Ponyboy is hiding something from his brothers.

December 1965

“Ugh, Soda, don’t you knock?” Pony asked, pants halfway down his legs. 

“It’s my room, too!” Soda plopped down onto the bed with a soft grunt. “‘Sides, I’ve seen it all before. Ain’t no need to be shy.” 

“I really don’t need an audience to change clothes.” Pony hurriedly turned away from his brother and threw his jeans into the hamper, hoping he didn’t look too suspicious. 

No such luck. Soda could always tell when something was up; he knew his brothers too well. “Why’re ya actin’ so weird?” 

Pony shot him what he hoped was a convincingly innocent look. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.” Soda leaned forward to get a closer look while Pony tried to make himself as small as possible. “Glory, what happened to your knee?!”

“Nothing.” He pulled his sweatpants up, hiding it from view. 

“Yeah, right. Come sit.” Soda gently pulled his arm until they were sitting side-by-side on the bed. 

“I promise it’s not a big deal,” Pony whined as Soda pushed up the leg of his pants until it revealed a truly horrific mess of swelling and bruises. 

“It’s purple!” Soda’s eyes were wide. “I’d say that’s a big deal!”

Pony cringed. “Please don’t tell Darry,” he begged. He was not willing to endure another lecture about using his head. His pride, like his leg, was already bruised enough; he couldn’t take the I-told-you-so. 

“Darrel!” Soda hollered, paying his protests no mind. “Your baby brother busted his knee!”

Darry appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, wiping his hands on a dishrag. “My baby brother did what?”

“His knee. Look.” Soda grabbed Pony’s shin so he couldn’t squirm away. 

“Good grief.” Darry sounded almost impressed as he tossed the rag to the side and stepped closer. “How’d you manage to do that?”

Pony remained stubbornly silent. 

“You didn’t get into it with no socs, did you?” Darry asked, concern creeping into his voice. 

He briefly considered lying, blaming it all on some kids at school to avoid the embarrassing truth. But then Darry would want to know who was responsible, and he wouldn’t have a good answer. Best to stick with giving as little information as possible. “No, no socs,” Pony replied. 

“Well, what happened?” 

“I fell.” 

Darry scoffed. “You fell? That’s the oldest excuse in the book, kid. ‘Oh, sorry, Darry,’” he imitated Pony’s higher-pitched voice, “‘I didn’t want you to know I’ve been gettin’ into fights at school, so I’m gonna claim I took a little tumble all on my own.’”

“It’s the truth! I ain’t lyin’!” Pony snapped. 

“Then why’d you feel like you had to hide it from us, huh?” Darry asked, just as obstinate. 

“Guys!” Soda interjected, silencing them before they had the chance to really get into it. He turned to Pony, then said, voice gentle, “Honey, we’re just worried about you. Will you please tell us what happened?”

Pony flopped backward onto the bed and covered his eyes with a forearm. There was no getting out of this. “I really did fall while I was walkin’ home from school,” he explained through gritted teeth. “I slipped on the ice and hit my knee on the ground and a whole group of socs laughed at me. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Darry groaned in frustration. “I specifically told you this morning to call Steve for a ride! I didn’t want you to walk home in all the ice! Now look what happened.”

“Yeah, well, Steve hates me, and his car smells like that awful cologne he uses, and besides, it’s not that far of a walk, anyway!” Pony yelled toward the ceiling. “I don’t need you controlling my life!”

“Glory, kid, I’m not tryin’ to control your life! It’s my job to keep you safe, for heaven’s sake!” Darry ran a hand through his hair and collapsed into the desk chair like someone had cut his strings. 

The ensuing silence was deafening. Soda shot him a pleading look as he sat up to face his oldest brother. “So you’re not mad at me?” he asked meekly. 

“No, I’m not mad. I’m just frustrated and worried, is all. How come you didn’t tell me? It could be broken or sprained or somethin’.”

Pony waved him off. “It ain’t so bad. I just needed some aspirin.”

Darry narrowed his eyes. “How many?”

“Only four or five,” he admitted, looking sheepishly away. 

“Four or five?” Darry rushed over to examine his knee. “Pony, aspirin is a blood thinner! That’s why it looks so bad! You’ve got internal bleeding.”

Pony’s stomach dropped. He’d really screwed up this time. He should’ve just listened to his brother in the first place. 

“Is it bad?” Soda asked, worried. 

Darry poked and prodded a bit more, making Pony wince. “I don’t think so. But if it gets any worse by tomorrow, I’m takin’ you to the doctor, savvy?”

Pony nodded miserably. He knew they couldn’t really afford another doctor visit, not when they were still paying off his hospital bills. “Savvy.”

Darry clapped his hands, straightening up. “Alright. New rule: No hiding your injuries. Also, no more than three aspirin at once.”

Pony knew better than to argue. “Okay. And I’m real sorry I didn’t call Steve like you told me to.”

Darry gave him a reassuring smile. “I understand, little buddy. His cologne really is terrible.”

“It is!” Soda agreed. “I’ve been tellin’ him for weeks to knock it off, but he’s convinced Evie likes it.”

Darry met Pony’s eyes. “Just don’t do anything like this again, okay?” When Pony nodded in confirmation, he turned to Soda. “I’m sorry for puttin’ you between us again, Pepsi.”

Soda shrugged. “It’s alright. You guys are gettin’ better.”

“We are, aren’t we?” A few months ago, this argument would’ve turned into a full-blown screaming match, complete with hurled insults and slammed doors and frustrated tears. Now, Darry just leaned down to kiss Pony’s head. “Why don’t you come sit in the living room and ice your knee? Dinner’s almost ready.”

Before Pony could stand up, though, Soda coughed, a deep rattling coming from somewhere inside his chest. Pony suddenly noticed the slight flush in his cheeks and his bloodshot eyes. 

Darry leveled him with a glare identical to their mama’s. “Sodapop Patrick, are you sick?”

“No!” he exclaimed unconvincingly, suppressing another cough. Pony scooted away, not wanting to add getting sick to his already crappy day. 

Darry pressed his hand to Soda’s forehead. “Pretty sure you have a fever, bud. You’re gonna have to stay home from work tomorrow.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you! I knew you’d make me stay home, and I need the money to buy Christmas gifts!”

Darry was unimpressed. “Well, you can either stay home and rest for a couple days now or be forced to take a whole week off later when it gets even worse.”

“Besides, we’d like anything you gave us. It don’t have to be expensive or nothin’,” Pony added. 

Soda sniffled. “Alright, alright, I’ll stay home tomorrow. But I don’t wanna hear any complainin’ when all I can afford to give you is peanut shells and pocket lint.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Pony risked infection to nudge Soda’s shoulder and received a toothy grin in return. 

Darry made to leave the room, muttering something about cold medicine, but turned around at the last second. “New new rule: No hiding injuries or sicknesses.”

Notes:

I’ve got 9 chapters written so far, but if anyone has ideas for this fic, I’d love to write more!

The next one is definitely sillier, and we have the introduction of the rest of the gang!

Chapter 5

Summary:

The Curtises and company normally loved watching Westerns together on the old black-and-white TV in the living room. This particular film, however, was not quite what they were expecting.

Notes:

The introduction of the rest of the gang!

(Spoilers for Old Yeller ig?)

January 1966

The Curtises and company normally loved watching Westerns together on the old black-and-white TV in the living room. This particular film, however, was not quite what they were expecting.

“Poor Old Yeller,” Sodapop cried, tears streaming down his face. “It ain’t his fault he got rabies!”

Ponyboy figured he should’ve read the TV Guide description more carefully. In his experience, stories about dogs never ended well. 

“Pipe down, would ya?” Steve grumbled from his spot on the floor. “I’m tryin’ to watch the movie.”

Soda threw a piece of popcorn at him. “You’re just a heartless dog-hater.”

Steve threw it back. “At least I’m not a bawl-baby.”

Two-Bit made an exaggerated Wah-wah sound while gleefully wiping fake tears. 

Soda normally didn’t mind a bit of banter, but from the way he tensed up beside him, Pony could tell the guys had struck a nerve. 

Darry must’ve picked up on it, too, because he cautioned, “Guys….”

Just then, the TV cut to a commercial break. Steve and Two-Bit stopped their teasing in favor of singing along with the jingle. “Oh, I’d love to be an Oscar Mayer wiener….”

“Be right back,” Pony muttered before standing up and making his way to the kitchen. 

“Grab me a beer while you’re in there!” Two-Bit called after him. 

“You already drank the last one!” Pony replied as he grabbed the list of rules from the fridge. After a brief search through the junk drawer for a pencil, he scrawled a new rule on the bottom. 

Paper in hand, he returned to the living room. “I have an announcement.”

Four pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly. “What is it, bud?” Darry asked. 

“New rule: No making fun of Soda for crying.”

The boys immediately launched their protests. “Oh, so now we can’t tease our buddy?” Steve asked, defensive. 

“You can. Just not about this,” Pony explained. “He’s sensitive about things, and I think that’s pretty tuff.”

“Aw, it’s all in good fun!” Two-Bit said. “Ain’t it, Soda?” 

Soda remained silent, expression unreadable. Darry shot him a sympathetic look. “Well, I think it’s a good rule, and it’s my house, so I get the final say,” he announced, leaving no room for argument. 

Satisfied, Pony sat back down next to his brother. Thankfully, the movie had resumed, and the guys were soon too distracted to be annoyed. 

“Thanks, honey,” Soda whispered, giving him a small smile. 

“You’re welcome.” Pony smiled back and laid his head on Soda’s shoulder. 

It wasn’t long before the end of the movie played. To his dismay, Pony felt his eyes water as the puppy licked the boy’s face. Dogs, man. They really got to him. 

As the ending credits began, Steve stood and turned the lights back on. “What a film!” he proclaimed. “What’d y’all think?”

“It was pretty tuff,” Darry said. “Pony, you’re the one who’s seen the most movies. How was it?”

Pony surreptitiously wiped his eyes. “I liked it,” he said, trying his best to sound upbeat. 

“Shoot, now the kid’s the bawl-baby!” Two-Bit teased. 

“Hey!” he protested. 

“If I ain’t allowed to make fun of Soda, I guess that means I gotta make fun of you instead.” Two-Bit smirked ruefully. 

“Nuh-uh.” Soda snatched the paper and pencil from the coffee table, erased something, and rewrote it. “No making fun of anyone for crying,” he read, then looked to Darry for approval. 

Darry nodded. “Sounds good to me. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a good cry every now and then.” He winked at Pony. 

“Says the most emotionally constipated of us all,” Steve retorted, rolling his eyes. 

Darry had actually gotten much better at the emotional stuff over the past year, and Pony was mighty proud of him. He knew it hadn’t been easy. That’s why he simply had no choice but to defend his brother’s honor by proving Steve wrong. And if it took everyone’s attention away from his own tear-stained cheeks, well, that was just a bonus. 

“That ain’t true,” Pony argued. “Just last week, Darry cried over a Patsy Cline song on the radio.”

Steve looked like he had something to say about that, but Darry pointed at him, then down at the paper. “It reminded me of my dead parents, Randle!” he declared, emphatic. “Can you blame me?”

“Alright, that’s fair ‘nuff,” Steve conceded. There was no good rebuttal to the dead parents card; Pony would have to remember that for future arguments. 

“While we’re talkin’ ‘bout feelings,” Two-Bit began, "I guess I should admit that the movie made me tear up, too. I was just better at hidin’ it than Mr. Weepy over there.”

“Aha!” Soda exclaimed, vindicated. “See? All of us cry sometimes. Ain’t no big deal.”

“Except for me,” Steve said, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Darry, can we make fun of Steve for not crying?” Pony asked. 

Darry made a big show of looking over the rules while stroking his chin. “Well,” he said, “it don’t say anything about that on our paper here, so….” He shot them a cheeky grin. “Permission granted.” 

Notes:

The next chapter might be my favorite so far because of its sheer ridiculousness. It should be up in a few days! Here’s a hint: 🛀🔥🚽❄️💦🥊

Chapter 6

Summary:

“DARREL SHAYNE CURTIS!” Soda roared, yanking back the shower curtain.

Darry didn’t pause to think. He just booked it out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and praying that his brother would have the decency to postpone his vengeance until his shower was complete.

Notes:

This may be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written. Enjoy!

February 1966

“Soda? I gotta take a leak,” Darry called through the closed bathroom door. 

“Just be quick about it.” He could barely make out Soda’s reply over the sound of the shower running. 

“Thanks, man.” Darry opened the door, entered the cloud of steam, and began taking care of business. “Don’t stay in the shower too long, alright? I don’t want you to be late for work again. And I think Pony’s still gotta finish gettin’ ready, too, once he comes in from havin’ a smoke.”

“Yes, Mother.” He could practically hear Soda’s eye-roll as he zipped his fly. 

And that’s where it all went wrong. 

It had been a family rule as long as Darry could remember: You can pee while someone else is in the shower, but you have to wait to flush until after they’re done, since it makes the water run cold. (Number twos, as their mom had called them, should be taken down the street to Two-Bit’s.)

You’d think that Darry would have gotten it into his thick skull after all this time that if he used the toilet while one of his brothers was showering, he was strictly prohibited from flushing. But as it turned out, he — or rather, Sodapop — wasn’t that fortunate. Muscle memory had him reaching for the handle before his brain could catch up, and by the time he realized his mistake, it was too late. He only had about three seconds before Soda’s ear-splitting screech filled the tiny bathroom, echoing off the tile. 

“Sorry! I’m so sorry! I forgot!” he sputtered. Someone might as well have dumped a bucket of frigid water on his head for the way his blood turned to ice in anticipation of what was to come.

“DARREL SHAYNE CURTIS!” Soda roared, yanking back the shower curtain. 

Darry didn’t pause to think. He just booked it out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and praying that his brother would have the decency to postpone his vengeance until his shower was complete. 

No such luck. The sound of an enormous clamor followed Darry through the house. Soda caught up to him just as he reached the kitchen, towel hastily wrapped around his waist and shampoo forming a cloud of bubbles around his head. 

“Please, have mercy on me!” Darry begged. “I’m writin’ it on the list so I don’t forget next time! I promise —” His pleas were cut short by Soda grabbing him in a headlock, squeezing with all his might. 

“That’s what you get!” Soda yelled in his ear, using his other hand to poke at Darry’s sides. 

“No! Soda, stop!” Darry protested as giggles erupted from his throat. “You know I’m — ah — ticklish!” He managed to squirm out of Soda’s hold — it wasn’t too hard when his opponent was dripping wet and covered in soap — and grabbed a frying pan from the dishrack to use as a shield. 

In response, Soda tore his towel off, twisted it up, and began using it as a sort of terry cloth whip, flicking it wildly. He managed to dodge most of Soda’s advances, but a well-aimed attack hit him square in the face. 

“Stop! You’re drippin’ all over the floor!” Darry objected halfheartedly, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of his brother, butt-naked, whirling around the kitchen with his makeshift weapon and hollering at the top of his lungs. 

Thanks to a particularly effective flick of Soda’s towel, Darry’s frying-pan shield fell to the floor with a clatter, leaving him defenseless. “Ponyboy! Help!” Darry cried, but his only hope of reinforcement was out of earshot on the front porch. 

He let Soda tackle him to the ground — he figured his brother deserved a win after enduring a surprise ice bath — and pin his arms by his sides. 

“I’m gonna make you pay, you filthy traitor!” Soda bellowed, then shook his head vigorously side to side like a dog. Within seconds, Darry was covered in shampoo bubbles and drips of water, as was the rest of the kitchen. 

Darry smirked. “Filthy, huh? At least I finished my shower this morning. Looks like you missed a spot.” He wrenched his arms out of Soda’s grasp, rolled him over, and gave him a positively gleeful wet willy. 

“Okay, okay, stop!” Soda exclaimed as he batted at Darry’s hands. “Truce!”

With one last twist of his finger in Soda’s ear, Darry finally released him. The two of them laid side-by-side on the kitchen floor for a moment, panting, before Soda remarked, “Looks like I’m gonna be late for work after all.”

Darry couldn’t help but crack up at the absurdity of it all: the two of them wrestling like little kids again, not a care in the world. Soon, Soda joined in, their laughter feeding off of each other until they could hardly breathe. 

Just then, Ponyboy — evidently done with his cigarette — peeked his head around the corner, backpack in hand. “Dar, have you seen my —” He stopped, covering his eyes. “Soda, why are you naked?!”

Notes:

I had so much fun reading your predictions for this chapter, so here’s a hint for the next one: 🍽️🪼🍩👦🏻🎂🥳

Chapter 7

Summary:

Pony walked over to the fridge and scanned the list of house rules until he found Darry’s new addition. “Eat a jelly donut on Johnny’s birthday,” he read.

“Wait, Johnny’s birthday…it’s today, ain’t it?” Soda asked from the doorway.

“Uh-huh. March first.”

Notes:

ngl I had a harder time with this chapter but I think it turned out okay in the end

Ponyboy had been acting weird all week. This in itself wasn’t unusual; being fourteen years old came with its fair share of surliness and general malaise, especially for someone who had gone through so much hardship in such a short amount of time. What was unusual was Pony’s dedication to his sour mood and his complete refusal to talk about it with his brothers. 

Darry and Soda had tried everything to snap him out of his funk, but neither of them had had any luck. Pony wasn’t interested in going to the drive-in with Two-Bit or hanging out at the DX with Soda and Steve after school or watching Bonanza with Darry. Instead, he spent all his free time sulking in his room, scribbling in his notebook or rereading Gone with the Wind. 

For the life of him, Darry couldn’t figure out what was up with his brother. That is, until he flipped the calendar from February to March to write himself a reminder to send in the mortgage payment. 

All of a sudden, it clicked. Johnny’s birthday was on Tuesday. The first one since his death. 

In recent months, Darry had learned the hard way that there were some things he couldn’t fix. No matter what anyone did, Pony would miss his best friend for the rest of his life. 

But that didn’t mean Darry couldn’t do his best to make the grief a little easier to bear. 

—

The morning of March 1, Darry woke even earlier than usual. After scrawling a note and leaving it on the table in case his brothers got up, he hopped in the truck and headed to the little bakery on Main Street. 

He got there right as they opened, bought a dozen of those jelly donuts Jonny used to love, and hurried back home to set everything up. He blew up a few balloons and taped them above the doorway, then unearthed some crepe paper streamers from the back of a cabinet and hung them in swoops along the walls. It wasn’t much, but he figured Johnny would’ve appreciated the effort. It was more than his own parents would have done for him, that was for sure. 

Ponyboy stumbled into the kitchen just as Darry finished decorating, still in his pajamas. “What’s all this?” he asked, taking it in with wide eyes. 

“I’ve decided on a new rule.”

“No!” Soda yelled from down the hall. “No more rules!”

“I think you’re gonna like this one, little buddy,” Darry replied. “Why don’t you come in here and see?”

Pony walked over to the fridge and scanned the list of house rules until he found Darry’s new addition. “Eat a jelly donut on Johnny’s birthday,” he read. 

“Wait, Johnny’s birthday…it’s today, ain’t it?” Soda asked from the doorway. 

“Uh-huh. March first.”

“Does that mean —” Pony cut himself off when he noticed the little white box on the counter. “Donuts!” he exclaimed, smiling wider than Darry had seen in several days. 

Darry ruffled his hair, relieved. This was the little brother he’d been missing recently. “Y’all better start gettin’ ready to go. We’ll eat when Two and Steve get here.”

Pony scampered off to the bathroom, leaving Soda and Darry alone. Soda shot him a relieved look before heading to his bedroom to change for work. 

Darry was already dressed and ready, so he folded himself into a dining chair and got busy working on the morning crossword. It wasn’t long before Steve and Two-Bit waltzed through the front door, laughing about something or another. 

“Y’know, Superman, it ain’t like we need an invitation to come over and eat your food,” Two-Bit announced, heading straight for the fridge for some chocolate cake. He stopped in his tracks, though, when he noticed the decorations. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

Darry nodded, standing. “Johnny’s. He woulda been seventeen today.” 

“Are these the jelly donuts he was always goin’ on about?” Steve asked as he lifted the lid of the box to peek inside. 

Darry lunged forward and smacked his hand away. “Go sit down. We gotta wait for Pony and Soda.”

“What are we, the Cleavers?” was Steve’s teasing reply, but Darry could tell he was only trying to keep the mood from becoming too somber. 

Two-Bit made himself comfortable at the table. “You ain’t ever done anythin’ like this for my birthday,” he remarked. “Johnny must be pretty special, huh?”

“He was.” Darry cleared his throat. “Still is.”

Darry took a moment to remember Johnny as he was in life, before the fire turned him into a shell of himself. The way he noticed everything, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. His crooked tooth that showed when he tipped his head back in a laugh. Those big, brown eyes that betrayed depth beyond their years. He never wanted to forget a single detail about his friend. 

Before he could let his grief overtake him, Pony and Soda reappeared, this time dressed and ready for the day. Something tugged at Darry’s heart when he noticed that Pony was wearing Johnny’s worn denim jacket. With the collar popped up like that, he almost looked cool.

“Well, let’s get on with it,” Darry said with a clap of his hands, joining Two-Bit at the table and gesturing for the others to do the same. “Don’t wanna make everyone late.”

Once they’d all taken their seats, Soda spoke up. “We should sing,” he proposed. “We got any candles?” He frowned when Darry shook his head. 

“Let’s just use a match, then,” Steve suggested. 

Soda patted his head. “Aw, Stevie, I always knew we kept ya around for some reason or another,” he joked as he went to the cabinet in search of a matchbook. 

While Soda rummaged around, Darry took the best-looking donut from the box and placed it carefully on a napkin in the center of the table. A moment later, Soda returned, unlit match in hand. 

“We’ll blow it out together, since Johnny ain’t here to do it himself,” he said as he struck the match and stabbed it into the donut. 

On Soda’s cue, the five of them erupted into a rowdy rendition of the birthday song, complete with off-key, opera-like vibrato from Two-Bit and tabletop percussion from Steve. 

Despite the chaos, Darry couldn’t look away from Pony’s face as he sang. His brother was staring intently into the flame, a strange expression on his face. If Darry had to venture a guess, he’d say Pony was probably remembering the fire that took Johnny from them. How strange it was, he mused, that the very thing they used to celebrate Johnny’s life was what ultimately ended it. 

The corners of Pony’s mouth turned up slightly when he sang, “Happy birthday, dear Johnny,” and Darry hoped he’d found some semblance of peace. Heaven knew he deserved it. 

By the time they reached the end of the song, the match had almost burnt out. They blew it out together, then watched the smoke tendrils dissipate for a few quiet seconds until Darry broke the silence by saying, “Alright, y’all, eat up.” The boys didn’t need to be told twice, immediately grabbing their pastries and digging in. 

“Who’s gonna eat Johnny’s?” Steve asked, eyeing the perfectly golden donut in front of him. 

“I think Pony should have it,” Darry said, daring Steve to argue. He removed the stump of the match and slid the napkin over to his brother, who shot him a thankful smile. 

“What’d you wish for, Pone?” Soda asked. 

“Can’t tell, else it ain’t gonna come true.” Pony took a big bite to avoid further questioning. 

Two-Bit seemed to have no such reservations, declaring, “I wished for a nice, blonde gal with big ol’ —” A swift kick under the table from Darry shut him up. “Hey!”

“Wish or not, it ain’t gonna come true, anyway, pal,” Steve said, patting his shoulder condescendingly. 

Two-Bit’s emphatic protests were cut off when Pony asked, slight hesitance creeping into his voice, “What d’you think Johnny would’ve wished for? If he were here?”

They all thought for a moment as they chewed. “I think he woulda wanted somethin’ just like this,” Soda said eventually. “All of us together, eatin’ some good food and havin’ some laughs.”

“He was a man of simple pleasures, our Johnnycakes,” Two-Bit agreed, jelly dripping from the corner of his mouth. “He wouldn’t want us to throw him some fancy party when he ain’t even around to enjoy it.”

None of them said what they were all thinking, which was that Johnny probably would’ve wished for his parents to stop beating on him or for a safe place to sleep every night. Maybe he would’ve had the chance to dream bigger if he was able to look beyond his immediate needs each day. But Johnny didn’t live long enough to figure out what he truly wanted out of life, which was a cryin’ shame, if you asked Darry. He was five years older than Johnny would ever be, and he was still figuring that one out for himself. 

“I guess this is a good way to remember him, then,” Pony said thoughtfully. He looked around at his friends. “D’ya think we can do this every year?”

Darry nodded. “It’s a house rule, ain’t it?”

“As long as your big brother’s supplyin’ the treats, I’m in!” Two-Bit added. “But maybe we should do somethin’ for Dal, too, so he don’t get jealous and haunt us for eternity.”

Pony nudged Darry with an elbow, a bit of mischief glinting in his eyes. Darry had missed that look. “Does this mean we can hustle some pool at Buck’s on Dally’s birthday?”

Darry raised an eyebrow at him. “Absolutely not.” Luckily, they had until November to think of something more…appropriate they could do to remember Dallas Winston. 

“‘Sides, you gotta be good at pool to be able to hustle people,” Steve teased. 

“It ain’t my fault you’re a crappy teacher!” Pony accused him. 

“It ain’t my fault you’re a crappy student,” Steve shot back, but there was a touch of fondness in his tone. No matter how much he denied it, he had a soft spot for the kid. 

Darry swallowed his last bite of donut and checked his watch. “Alright, fellas. It’s almost 7:30. Let’s get a move on.”

The boys scrambled to wipe the jelly from their faces, shove their feet into their shoes, grab their backpacks, and head for the door. Darry didn’t need to leave quite yet, so he hung back a minute, sweeping crumbs from the table into the garbage can. 

At the last second, Pony rushed back to the kitchen and grabbed another donut from the box. “One for the road,” he explained. 

“Good idea,” Darry told him. “That big brain of yours needs lots of fuel.”

“You’d better not get crumbs all over my car!” Steve called before disappearing through the front door. 

Pony rolled his eyes, then took a bite and pressed a sticky kiss to Darry’s cheek. “Thanks for doin’ all this,” he said around his mouthful of donut. 

“You’re welcome, baby. But I didn’t do it for you.” Darry grinned at him. “I did it for Johnny.”

Notes:

if anyone can come up with a good idea of something they could do on Dally's birthday, let me know! I have 3 more chapters written and ready to go, but there could be more. Who knows!

Chapter 8

Summary:

Ponyboy is keeping a secret from his brothers.

March 1966

Darry hung up the phone with a deep sigh. His eyes fell shut as he rested his forehead briefly against the wall, gearing himself up for yet another tough conversation he felt wholly and completely unprepared for. 

“Hey, Pone?” he called, hoping his voice didn’t betray anything. “I sure could use some help with dinner.”

“Just a sec,” Ponyboy answered from his room. 

While he waited, he took out everything they’d need for his mom’s beef stew recipe. Beef, of course — he’d fixed a minor leak in the roof of the butcher’s shop the previous week and gotten some premium cuts in return. Potatoes, carrots, and celery came next, along with a bunch of herbs and spices, which he lined up neatly on the counter by the stove.

Once everything was ready, he grabbed a knife and began chopping the meat into neat little cubes. The repetitive action helped clear his mind as he considered the best approach. He needed to be gentle, but firm. Show his concern without being overbearing. It was a balancing act he feared he’d never perfect. 

Just as Darry was dumping the meat into the pan to sear, Ponyboy emerged from his room, pencil smudged on his hands. Darry figured he’d been drawing something in that sketchbook of his. 

“Hey,” Darry tossed over his shoulder. “Wanna wash up and chop some veggies for me?”

Ponyboy nodded, then washed his hands in the sink before grabbing a knife from the cupboard. If he had any idea of Darry’s ulterior motives, he didn’t show it. 

Meanwhile, Darry used a spatula to unnecessarily shift the meat around in the pan so he’d have something to do with his hands. Once he’d stalled as long as he could, he cleared his throat to get Pony’s attention. 

“So. I, uh — I got a phone call from your track coach,” he began. 

Ponyboy immediately tensed, his shoulders coming up to his ears. “Yeah?” he asked, feigning casualness. Darry saw right through the act. 

“Mhmm. He said he found your shoes.”

Relief smoothed the furrow in his brow as the tension melted out of him. “Oh, good. I was worried they were gone forever.”

Darry looked directly into his eyes. Here goes nothin’. 

“He said he spotted ‘em under the bleachers after the meet yesterday.”

The words hung in the air, awaiting Ponyboy’s response. Darry could practically see his brother’s mind sifting through possible excuses, trying to find one he thought Darry would accept. He must’ve come up blank, though, because all he did was grimace and say, “Oh.”

“Yeah. Y’know, the meet I didn’t know anythin’ about ‘til five minutes ago. You wanna tell me why not?”

“I — I just….” He cut himself off, twisting the knife around in his hands. “You’ve been super busy with work and everything, and I didn’t want you to feel bad you couldn’t come, so I decided it’d be easier not to tell you about it in the first place.” He rushed to get the words out, like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve halfway through. 

Of all the explanations he could have given, Darry wasn’t expecting that one. There was a part of him that wondered whether this was his own fault. Did Pony really think he’d prioritize work over coming to his track meet? Had he been so distant recently that Pony thought he wouldn’t want to be there?

Putting his own feelings aside, he tried his best to see things from his brother’s perspective. In Pony’s mind, his lie of omission had been the best way to spare Darry’s feelings. He hadn’t acted with malice; he had just failed to see the bigger picture, as fourteen-year-olds were wont to do. In the end, it wasn’t worth getting upset over. 

“But by keepin’ it from me,” Darry finally responded, “you didn’t even give me the chance to try to make it work. I coulda switched some things around, taken a couple hours off…I dunno, something. And even if I couldn’t have been there, I woulda cheered you on from afar.”

“I guess,” he muttered as he resumed chopping. 

“I ain’t mad at you, okay?” Darry said, trying to keep his tone even. “Well, I was at first, just a little bit. But now I’m just disappointed. You know how much I love comin’ to support you.”

“I know.” To his credit, Pony truly did seem repentant. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I was just doin’ what I thought was best.”

“I get that. I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings.” He paused. “But you’re gonna have to apologize to your brother when he gets home. He’ll be heartbroken when he finds out he missed it.” 

Pony’s face twisted up in a clear expression of guilt. “I thought about tellin’ him. I really wanted to, I swear. But he woulda squealed to you, for sure.”

“That kid can’t keep a secret to save his life,” Darry agreed. Sodapop was a strong contender for the title of World’s Worst Liar; his open, expressive face meant you could spot any attempt at deception from a mile away, especially if you knew him as well as his brothers did.

The corner of Pony’s mouth quirked up. “I learned that one the hard way when he told Dad about how I used his good cowboy hat as a mixing bowl for my mud pies.” 

Darry gave him a little smile in return, but he couldn’t let himself truly indulge in the moment. Not when there was something else they still had to talk about. 

They continued their dinner preparations in silence. The meat was nearly done browning, so Darry turned down the heat and went to stand beside his brother, then grabbed a carrot and started peeling. 

“There’s somethin’ else,” he continued hesitantly, not quite sure how to broach the subject. 

Pony looked over at him. “Hmm?”

“Your coach told me to tell you to have a good, long think about the conversation y’all had yesterday.”

“Oh.” Pony was quiet. 

“Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Steadfastly avoiding eye contact, he chose to examine a chip in the cutting board instead. “It’s embarrassing,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Darry gave him a little nudge, careful not to jostle him too much while he was holding a sharp knife. “Can’t be any worse than the time you puked all over Mrs. Reynolds at church.”

Pony shot him a look that said he didn’t appreciate the reminder. “Yeah, but that wasn’t my fault. I was eight years old, and I had the flu. This is…different.”

Darry thought about what their mom would say in this situation. She was always so good at getting her boys to open up without pressuring them into it. Maybe Ponyboy would be more willing to talk if he thought it was his idea. 

“You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t want,” he said casually as he checked on the sizzling meat. “But maybe I could help with whatever it is.”

Pony signed. “I dunno if this is somethin’ you can help with.” 

Darry arranged his face into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You never know unless you try.”

Pony considered this for a moment, then took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I haven’t been doin’ too hot this season,” he finally confessed.

As much as he hated to admit it, Darry felt a little rush of relief. This type of thing — athletic encouragement or whatever you wanted to call it  — was definitely in his wheelhouse. Calling upon his experience as the football captain, he channeled the version of Darry Curtis that gave rousing pep talks to the team after tough games. 

“It can't be that bad. It was only the first meet, right? There’s plenty of time to —”

“I placed in the bottom three for all my races, Darry. I knew I was gonna do lousy, which is partly why I didn’t want you there.”

“Oh.” 

Darry deflated as he took a moment to reconcile this fact with the boy he knew: the fastest kid in their neighborhood, the one who had been beating his older brothers in foot races since he was in fifth grade and had an impressive collection of medals hanging on his wall. Ponyboy and his lightning-fast feet simply didn’t know how to lose — until now. 

“Yeah.” Pony fell silent, focusing studiously on trying to cut away a mushy part of a potato without sacrificing too much of the good stuff. 

“So is that what your coach talked to you about? Is he…angry with you?” 

“More like disappointed, I guess. Seems to be goin’ around.” He chuckled dryly, then bit a piece of dry skin off his lower lip. “He said he understands that my lungs ain’t as strong as they were before the fire, and he don’t blame me for that.”

“But?” Darry prompted.

“But he said I ain’t gonna be on the varsity team no more if I don’t cut back on the cigarettes and get myself back into shape.”

Darry hummed to himself, considering his next move. He had been trying for months to get Ponyboy to quit. Despite everything, he was glad to have some backup. His brother could really use one more person looking out for him. 

“Maybe he has a point,” he said gently. “It ain’t healthy for you to be smokin’ like a chimney all the time.”

“I shoulda known you’d take his side.” Pony sliced a potato in half with more force than necessary, the knife making a sharp thwack as it hit the wooden cutting board. “You love to get onto me about everything I do.”

That wasn’t really fair of him to say. Darry had actually made a concerted effort over the last few months to give him space to figure things out for himself, even if it killed him to stand by and watch his brother make avoidable mistakes. Reminding himself that Pony was just being snippy because of his hurt pride, he raised his hands placatingly, palms out, like he was calming a spooked horse.

“Hey, ain’t no sides here, okay? We both want what’s best for you.” He let out a slow breath, then added, quieter, “I just worry about you gettin’ sick one day. I can’t stand to lose anyone else.”

Mom. Dad. Johnny. Dally. He was only twenty-one years old, and he’d already lost four of the most important people in his life, each taking a part of him with them. If he lost another person he loved, he was worried there wouldn’t be enough of him left to keep going. 

Ponyboy didn’t say anything in response, but Darry could tell his words had struck a chord by the way he worked his jaw back and forth. 

Darry’s voice was soft when he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were havin’ a hard time?” 

Pony carefully set the knife down on the counter and looked up at him. “You remember how proud Mom and Dad were when I first made the varsity team in junior high?” Darry nodded; they had acted like Pony was headed to Tokyo for the 1964 Summer Olympics or something. “I guess I just don’t wanna disappoint them.” He paused, then added shyly, “Or you.”

As if Darry could ever be anything but proud of the boy who stood before him: the little brother who had overcome so much heartache without losing his spark; the lowly east-side greaser dangling on the precipice of greatness. Darry was in awe of him every day. 

Placing a hand on the nape of Pony’s neck, he said, “Listen here, kid. I don’t care how well you do, and I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t, neither. All that matters is that you cross that finish line, even if that means you get last place every time.” He ran his fingers through the soft, blonde-tipped hair at the back of Pony’s head. “Me and Soda will be proud of you just for tryin’ your hardest. That’s all you gotta do.”

Pony nodded minutely. Darry could tell he was fighting tears, so he took pity on him by changing the subject. 

“So, do you wanna do what your coach said?” he asked as he resumed his carrot-peeling. “Cut back on the cigarettes?”

Pony followed his lead and began chopping the celery. “Not really. But I know I should.”

“Ha. That’s life, little buddy.” An idea began formulating itself in his mind. “Y’know, the roof we’ve been workin’ on is right across the street from a clinic. Maybe I can stop by at lunch tomorrow and see if they have any pamphlets or somethin’ that can help us out.”

“Us?”

“You don’t think I’d leave you to beat the withdrawals on your own, did ya?”

He tilted his head from one side to the other. “I guess not.”

“Hey,” Darry added, giving his shoulder a smack, “maybe we’ll even get Two-Bit involved. He sure could stand to drink a bit less, don’t ya think? You two can sweat it out together.”

Pony’s eyebrows crept toward his hairline. “If he were here right now, he’d whup ya for even suggestin’ that.”

With a laugh, Darry crossed the kitchen to write something on their list of house rules, still displayed proudly on the icebox. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Addin’ somethin’ to the list.”

“No giving cigarettes to Ponyboy?” he guessed, performing one of his signature eye-rolls.  

“Nah, but that’s a good suggestion,” Darry teased. “I was thinkin’ somethin’ along the lines of, Tell your brothers about important events.” 

Pony made a big show of stroking an invisible beard, a contemplative look on his face. “What counts as an important event, though?” he pondered aloud. “Should I tell my brothers about county meets, or just the state ones?”

Darry pointed a threatening finger at him, but his wide grin undermined its effectiveness. “You keep that up, and I’m not the only one gonna be gettin’ whupped,” he joked. 

“Please.” Pony scoffed, eyes twinkling. “As if you could catch me, bum lungs or not.”

Notes:

i am a firm believer in the fact that darry would never hit ponyboy again but he would threaten to every single day

Chapter 9

Summary:

Some rules were never spoken aloud or written down. Instead, they existed in loaded glances and subtle jerks of the head and the space between words where their true meaning lived, only able to be understood by a select group of people. 

Such was Sodapop’s favorite house rule: If Darry’s home on Saturday night, make yourself scarce from 7:00 to 7:30 so he can watch I Dream of Jeannie without fear of being teased. 

(If you're confused, this chapter was posted after the (current) chapter 13! Because of timeline reasons, I wanted it to go before (the current) chapter 10.)

Notes:

Special thanks to RunningOnSunshine, who inspired this chapter with her lovely comments on chapter 10 and graciously agreed to beta it! Please go read her collection of incredible fics! I'm especially partial to But Everything Went Wrong.

April 1966

Some rules were never spoken aloud or written down. Instead, they existed in loaded glances and subtle jerks of the head and the space between words where their true meaning lived, only able to be understood by a select group of people. 

Such was Sodapop’s favorite house rule: If Darry’s home on Saturday night, make yourself scarce from 7:00 to 7:30 so he can watch I Dream of Jeannie without fear of being teased. 

Saturday evenings in the Curtis home went something like this: If Pony and Soda weren’t otherwise preoccupied by work or school or social obligations, they made excuses to get out of the house by the time the show started. Soda didn’t know exactly how Pony knew — as a courtesy to their brother, they had never directly addressed the real reason behind their weekly excursions — but he must’ve put it together at some point based on the pointed looks he shot Soda the closer the hour hand crept toward the seven. 

At that point, they’d suddenly remember they needed to grab a couple things at the grocery store, or they’d decide to make a post-dinner milkshake run, or if the weather was nice, one of them would spontaneously invite the other to kick a ball around the lot. They roped the other guys into their activities whenever they could to minimize the chance of Darry being interrupted, but as far as Sodapop knew, Steve and Two-Bit hadn’t figured out the real reason behind any of it. And Soda intended to keep it that way.

“Hey, Pone,” he announced at 6:54 one Saturday evening in early April, “I forgot my hat at the DX today. Wanna come with me to grab it?”

Ponyboy hurriedly put the final dinner plate on the drying rack and wiped his wet hands on his jeans. “Oh, yeah. I’d love to,” he replied. 

“You can’t just get it when you go to work tomorrow?” Darry asked from the living room. 

“Well, I — I could, but —”

Thankfully, Ponyboy swooped in to save him. “We wanted some Pepsi. And we're out.” Soda shot him a grateful look, mouthing Thank you.

“Alright, then,” Darry said as his brothers headed toward the door and slipped their shoes on. “I’ll just be here, I guess.”

“Be back in a half hour! Don’t have too much fun without us!” Soda called before shutting the door. 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ponyboy erupted in a fit of giggles. “That was your lamest excuse yet.”

Soda shoved him gently. “Shut up. It’s hard to think of new things every week.”

“Did you really forget your hat?”

“Nah. I hid it under my pillow.” Soda grinned at him as they started down the street. “Did you really want a Pepsi?”

Pony scoffed. “Do you even need to ask?”

—

Despite his recent efforts to open up more, Darry was still a pretty tough nut to crack. As far as he was concerned, no one knew about his guilty pleasure. But not much happened in the Curtis house without Soda sniffing it out eventually, so he thought he had a pretty good handle on his brother, all things considered. 

He’d discovered Darry’s secret last fall. One evening, he’d come home from a dinner with Sandy earlier than expected. When he walked through the front door, Darry took a split-second too long to change the channel, allowing Soda to catch a glimpse of that iconic veiled hat before it was suddenly replaced with an advertisement for baby powder. From there, it wasn’t hard to piece together what his brother had been up to. 

Watching something like I Dream of Jeannie was out of character for Darry — or at least that’s what he wanted people to think. Despite his (frankly salacious) reading habits, Darry loved to claim he didn’t have the time or energy to deal with fictional people’s troubles, especially when it came to TV. He pretended such nonsense was beneath him. 

The only exception he’d own up to was Perry Mason. He saw it as a way to sharpen his critical thinking skills, and whenever his brothers joined him, he and Ponyboy worked together to try to solve the mystery before the end of the episode while Soda whined that they were taking all the fun out of it. That’s how Darry justified his viewing habits to the others (and himself) — it was an intellectual exercise, nothing more. 

There was no such excuse for Jeannie. It was all silly capers and unlikely situations and miles of exposed midriff. There was nothing remotely manly or intellectual about it, which is probably why he thought he had to hide it. 

Though Darry would deny it ‘til he was blue in the face, Soda had come to realize that his brother was as insecure as he was prideful. He cared a lot about what others thought of him, especially those in his small inner circle. 

Darry’s self-consciousness became apparent in high school. When they were little kids, Darry had always seemed so confident, so comfortable in his own skin in a way Soda could only pretend to be. But when he’d started palling around with Paul and those other soc-y football guys, Darry had started copying the careful way they spoke and polishing his hand-me-down leather shoes until they shone like new, as if he was trying to prove himself worthy of his new friends’ attention. Not quite sure what to make of this new version of his brother, Soda hadn’t said anything about it; he’d simply filed his observations away for later. 

Skip forward to now — Darry’s life looked completely different, but Soda knew his brother still wrestled with the suspicion that he was an imposter in his own life. He shared Dad’s name and face, but would never be as carefree and jovial as Darrel Curtis, Sr. He had custody of his brothers, but feared he could never replace their parents. He had a steady job, but there was always someone more experienced, more capable. So he clung onto the parts of himself he saw as innate, the ones that Soda had admired as a kid — his strength and stubbornness and stability — and any deviation from that carefully cultivated image felt like a betrayal of his sense of self, an invitation for outside judgement. 

That’s why Sodapop did his best to guard his brother’s pride. He pretended not to see Darry hastily wipe his tears behind their backs at Mom and Dad’s funeral; he never spoke a word to Darry when he’d started having nightmares after Ponyboy came home; he lied about leaving his hat at work to allow Darry to indulge in thirty minutes of mind-numbing sitcom shenanigans without judgement. 

It was the least he could do after everything Darry had sacrificed for them. 

—

Soda and Pony made great time on their walk to the DX, which left them a solid fifteen minutes to bother Steve while they sat on the counter and sipped their pilfered Pepsis. 

By the time they started heading back, the sun had begun its descent, giving the dirt and grime of the east side an otherworldly golden glow. It was times like these that Soda felt like he truly understood his younger brother. 

Being with Ponyboy quieted the constant noise in his head, bringing everything into sharper focus. Usually, he was too busy living life in the fast lane to slow down and notice the way the shadows grew longer and longer as the sky faded from blue to orange. But he had to admit he enjoyed peaceful moments like this every once in a while, especially when he got to share them with his favorite person. 

Soda nudged him, then gestured with his half-empty bottle to the low-hanging sun. “Pretty tuff, huh?” 

Pony simply smiled in return. Soda loved the way one side of his mouth curled higher than the other. 

They returned home just after 7:30 to find Darry nonchalantly watching the news while folding laundry. “How was it?” he asked them absentmindedly. 

“Good.” Pony slurped up the last of his Pepsi, then blew across the top to make a hollow ringing sound. “Steve didn’t make us pay.”

“That’s nice of him.” Darry finally looked over at them from his spot on the couch, then narrowed his eyes at Soda as if noticing something for the first time. “Hey, where’s your hat?”

Soda panicked. He was never very good at thinking on his feet. “Oh. I, uh — well, it turns out I didn’t —” He took a frustrated breath, then decided to start again. “You see, the thing is….” He trailed off as Darry gave him a knowing smile. 

“Y’know, y’all don’t have to do all this every week,” Darry drawled. “I’d like some company every once in a while.”

“You knew?!” Soda exclaimed. He couldn’t believe he’d been so proud of himself for figuring out Darry’s secret that he’d forgotten to guard his own. 

“Of course I knew,” Darry announced, unimpressed. “Y’all ain’t subtle. The constant glancin’ at the clock and weak excuses gave it away months ago.”

Soda grimaced, then looked over at Ponyboy, who was making a similar expression. 

“We just didn’t want you to be…embarrassed, I guess,” Pony explained shyly. “Plus, you deserve some time alone to relax.”

Darry softened. “I appreciate it. Really, I do. But it would be more fun if the three of us watched it together, dontcha think?”

“You really mean it?” Soda asked. Not only was he thrilled to get some brotherly bonding time, but he was glad he’d no longer have to try to catch reruns during the week. (The show was addicting, okay? He couldn’t blame Darry for enjoying it.)

“Of course.” Darry paused for a moment, then added, uncharacteristically sheepish, “Just…maybe don’t tell the rest of the guys about it.”

Soda figured that was a smart move. Steve would have a field day if he found out. 

“We’ll make it a secret house rule,” Soda suggested in a stage-whisper. “No telling the guys about Darry’s Jeannie time.” 

“Just don’t forget about the secret part, please.” Darry brought a finger to his lips conspiratorially, looking pointedly at Soda. 

He took offense to that. As long as no one asked him about it directly, Darry’s secret was most likely safe. 

“Hey! I can keep a secret if I really want to! But,” he continued with a smirk, “I reckon I’d be more inclined to zip my lips if we added No more predicting the end of Perry Mason and ruining it for Sodapop to the list.”

Pony and Darry communicated something to each other with just their eyes, appearing to consider his offer. “Nah,” they replied in unison, and then cracked up laughing. Sodapop couldn’t even bring himself to be mad; he was just happy his brothers had something they enjoyed doing together. He’d happily plug his ears if it meant they were getting along. 

He just had one more question for Darry: “So if you knew about it all this time, why’d you let us keep it goin’ for so long?”

“Y’all were too cute. I couldn’t bear to spoil your fun.” He stood up and pinched Soda’s cheek — a bit harder than necessary, if you asked him — then produced the DX hat from behind his back and plopped it on Pony’s head, gleefully smooshing his carefully styled coif. 

“How’d you find it?” Soda asked, aghast. 

“You’ve been usin’ the same hiding spot since you were a toddler. Plus, you left the edge of the brim stickin’ out.”

Ponyboy laughed. “If Darry found your hat so easily, maybe you should find a better place to hide those magazi —”

“Who wants to watch Jeopardy?” Soda asked, much louder than necessary. “I bet we can still catch the second round.” He pointedly ignored the amused look his brothers exchanged as he walked over to the TV to change the channel. 

“I thought you didn’t like Jeopardy,” Darry said, making himself comfortable on the couch.  

“I dropped outta high school,” he replied with a shrug. “Gotta get my education somehow.”

“I don’t think it counts as ‘getting an education’ if you yell the first nonsense answer you think of,” Ponyboy told him, removing the hat from his own head and putting it on Soda’s before sitting down next to Darry. 

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” Soda turned the cap around backwards and plopped down on the floor in front of the TV. 

On the screen, Art Fleming read the next clue: “In 1964, his widow said, ‘So now he is a legend when he would have preferred to be a man’.”

“Who is Ringo Starr!” Soda exclaimed. 

“Ringo’s still alive, you big dummy,” Pony said, but Soda could hear the smile in his voice. 

“He was born in Connecticut in 1800 and hanged for treason in Virginia in 1859,” Fleming announced. 

“Who is Lyndon B. Johnson!”

Darry groaned. “How’re we supposed to hear the answers — er, questions — if you won’t stop flappin’ your gums?” 

Soda responded by flapping his gums even more enthusiastically. “WHAT ARE GO-GO BOOTS!”

“He hasn’t even read the next clue!” Pony whined. 

Soda shot what he hoped was a stern glare over his shoulder. “What is ‘giving your brothers a taste of their own medicine as payback for ruining Perry Mason’?” he asked, voice positively dripping with sass. 

“Do you really want us to stop?” Darry got that little wrinkle between his eyebrows that meant he wasn’t concerned yet, but was on his way there. “I didn’t realize you cared so much about it."

Soda looked between his brothers’ expectant faces for a moment before finally letting his grin loose. “Nah, I just like complainin’.”

“You little punk.” Darry stretched out a leg and kicked him softly. Soda responded by slapping his ankle. 

They turned back to the TV, Soda doing his best to keep his comments to himself. That is, until Fleming read, “A prop central to the title character on this sitcom began as a special Christmas edition decanter.” 

Soda whipped around to look at Darry, whose eyes were wide in disbelief. “I DREAM OF JEANNIE!” the three of them chanted in gleeful unison, fists pumping the air like the Sooners had just scored a touchdown. Pony and Darry bumped their chests together and slapped each other on the back while Soda jumped wildly around the living room, hooting and hollering.

Once they’d calmed down and Soda had sat back down in his place on the floor, an awestruck Ponyboy remarked, “I can’t believe we actually knew that one. I mean, what a coincidence.“

“Too bad we forgot to phrase it as a question,” Darry mused, a faint smile still on his face. “We woulda lost fifty bucks for that.”

“If I had a genie, that’s what I’d wish for. Fifty bucks,” Soda said dreamily, leaning back against Darry’s shins. 

“I’d wish for a million bucks,” Pony said, and then poked Darry’s thigh. “What would you wish for?”

“I’ve got all I need right here,” he said softly. He slung one arm around Pony’s shoulders and used the other to pat Soda’s head. 

Soda could sense he still had more to say. “But?” he prompted. 

“But…” Darry’s little smile became a full-blown grin. “I wouldn’t say no to a date with Barbara Eden.”

Notes:

It turns out that almost nothing of Jeopardy’s early years has survived, so I just used some modern questions. My apologies to Art Fleming.

Chapter 10

Summary:

Darry breaks a rule and must be punished.

Notes:

like 30k words in this series so far and somehow I haven't written from soda's pov until now. i hope i did him justice!

April 1966

“Where have you been, young man?” Soda demanded the moment Darry slumped through the front door. “You’re two hours late. You could’ve at least called.”

Logically, he had known that his brother was probably fine — Darry had mentioned that morning over breakfast that a couple of guys on his roofing crew were out sick, and Soda could put two and two together — but still, his heart rate had steadily increased the colder their dinner had grown and the longer the phone remained silent. 

The thing about having such an active imagination was that he couldn’t always control it. As they waited for Darry to return, his mind had treated him to a horrific slideshow of every terrible thing that could’ve happened to his brother: Darry had been in a crash just like their parents; he had been the unlucky victim of a drive-by shooting; he had finally decided that raising two good-for-nothing teenage boys wasn’t worth it and skipped town. 

Everyone always said that Soda wore his heart on his sleeve — and he did, to an extent — but what they all failed to realize was that he’d gotten much better at hiding his inner turmoil. It had been necessary to survive getting caught in his brothers’ crossfire in the months after the accident. Darry and Pony were a rock and a hard place, respectively, and Soda had found himself constantly wedged between them, trying not to crack under the pressure. Whenever he had felt the fractures forming, he couldn’t afford to let them show lest the whole family come crumbling down around him. 

Sitting at the kitchen table earlier that night, watching minute after stubborn minute tick by, he had called upon those newfound masking skills. Pony was more in tune to other people’s emotions than he realized, and the last thing Soda wanted was for his own anxiety to feed his brother’s. So he hid it the best way he knew how: with distraction. 

“I’m sure it’s nothin’.” He flashed one of those winning smiles, the kind that made old ladies pinch his cheeks and disgruntled store managers let him off with a warning. “You know how he gets. That man can’t say no to overtime, huh? He’s a workaholic, our brother.”

“I guess,” Pony muttered, unconvinced. 

It seemed the smile only worked when its target looked up from poking at the remains of their green bean casserole, which his brother had not deigned to do. Soda tried one more time to snap him out of it. “Hey, whaddaya say we give him a taste of his own medicine when he gets home?”

That finally got his attention. “What do you mean?”

Wagging his eyebrows, Soda gestured toward the icebox — or, more specifically, the piece of notebook paper hanging on it. “We gotta punish him for breakin’ one of our rules.” 

“Can we even do that?” Pony asked, his frown creating a little dimple on his chin. 

“Why not?” Soda shrugged. “He agreed to the same rules we did, right? But for his punishment, I’m thinkin’ of somethin’ a little bit…different.”

And now here the two of them were, scheme in place, standing in front of their unsuspecting victim with their arms crossed across their chests and identical expressions of displeasure on their faces. 

Darry hurriedly hung up his tool belt and bent down to untie his boots. “I know, I know. I forgot to call. I'm sorry. But with two guys home sick, it took a lot longer to finish, and you know how they are about deadlines on these big projects —”

“Uh-uh,” Soda cut him off. “I don’t wanna hear it.” He gestured toward Pony, who cleared his throat performatively before reading something off the paper in his hand. 

“Call if you’re gonna be home late. It says so right here.” He turned the paper toward Darry and tapped item number three. 

Ponyboy was playing his part perfectly, and Soda couldn’t be prouder. He bit back a smile, reminding himself to remain stern. 

“Interesting.” Soda tapped the side of his head a couple times like he was thinking really hard. “Say, Darry, didn’t we all agree to these rules before addin’ ‘em to the list?”

“Yeah, but —”

“You didn’t think? You forgot to use your head? You were so busy it slipped your mind?” Pony asked in his best impression of Darry, putting on a deeper voice and puffing his chest out. He tsk-ed before adding, “Excuses, excuses.”

Darry kicked his shoes off with a groan. “It’s not an excuse; I was just explaining —”

“You left your poor younger brothers at home — completely unsupervised, by the way — just waiting for the phone to ring with the terrible news that you were found dead on the side of the road, leavin’ them orphans once more.” Soda wasn’t an actor by any means, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be theatrical when the situation called for it. Drama was in his nature. Plus, he loved to make Darry squirm. 

Pony clucked his tongue like a schoolmarm while shaking his head. “First Mom and Dad, then Johnny and Dally, and it coulda been you next for all we knew.”

Darry rolled his eyes just like Ponyboy always did. He may be twenty-one, but at that moment, he was acting more like a petulant teenager. “Are y’all done yet? I’m hungry. Did you leave me any dinner?”

Of course they’d left him a plate on the stove, but that wasn’t relevant right now, so Soda ignored him completely. “Pony, I say he needs to be punished,” he said like the thought had just occurred to him. “Whaddaya think?”

Pony nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah. Big time.”

Darry’s eyes bugged out of his head. “You can’t punish me! I’m the adult here!”

“You forfeit all parental responsibilities when you broke one of our cardinal rules.” Evidently, Darry hadn’t been the only one watching too much Perry Mason.  

“What are you gonna do, bend me over your knee and spank me?” Darry asked, one eyebrow creeping upward. 

Soda scoffed. “Oh, don’t pretend you wouldn’t like that.”

“Gross!” Pony covered his ears, glaring in Soda’s direction. 

“Don’t look at me! Darry’s the one who brought it up in the first place!”

“Guys.” Darry sighed, but Soda recognized a hint of amusement in the twist of his mouth. “I broke a rule. It’s only fair that I get punished for it. So what’s my sentence?”

Soda caught Pony’s eye and grinned, then turned back to Darry. “You’re grounded. One week. You can go to work, but that’s it.”

That amused smirk had become a full-blown smile. “Oh, really? And who’s gonna do the grocery shoppin’, huh?”

“We will,” Pony chimed in. 

“I reckon you’ll be the one chauffeurin’ your brother around town, too?” This question was aimed at Soda. 

"That's right," Soda replied. “No more wearin’ yourself out. And while we’re at it, no more fixin’ the leaky roof of the corner store or buildin’ a deck for poor old Mrs. Jenkins or pickin’ up odd shifts at the lumberyard. You work your regular hours, and you come straight home afterward.”

Soda could tell Darry didn’t like that idea. “But we need the extra money!”

“We’ll be alright for a week, won’t we? ‘Sides, you wouldn’t really be grounded if we allowed you to roam all around town, would you?” Darry pursed his lips. Soda was right, and he couldn’t deny it. Rather than argue, he let out a slow breath through his nose and asked, “Whaddaya suppose I should do with all that free time, then?”

“Read a book,” Pony suggested, to no one’s surprise.

“Take a nap,” Soda added. 

“Watch an I Dream of Jeannie marathon.”

“Invite a girl over and ask her to sp —”

“Thaaaat’s enough,” Darry said with a singular clap of his hands. He looked between them. “Honestly, fellas, this sounds more like a vacation than a punishment.”

Soda pretended to be puzzled, furrowing his brow and scratching his head. “Nah, that can’t be right, can it, Pone?”

Pony shook his head emphatically. “Nope. It’s the worst punishment imaginable. One day of bein’ stuck at home, and you’ll be climbin’ up the walls.”

“I guess I could do some work around the house, then,” Darry mused. “Catch up on the laundry, organize the attic….”

Pony looked toward Soda, slightly panicked. They hadn’t planned for Darry to see right through them. 

“We’ll, uh…we’ll do all that, too,” Soda replied. “We want you to be so bored, you’ll be beggin’ to scrub the kitchen floor.”

“Alright, lemme get this straight: My punishment is to sit around at home and relax while you two take care of everything?”

“Exactly!” Soda snapped his fingers, then pointed at him. “I knew there were some brains somewhere in that thick head of yours.”

Darry shook his head fondly. “What am I gonna do with y’all?”

“Love and cherish us forever and ever,” Soda suggested, trying his best to look angelic. 

“Make us pancakes tomorrow morning,” Pony added. “With chocolate chips. To make up for the emotional trauma.”

“You’ve got it, little buddy,” Darry said with a laugh as he ruffled their hair, then pushed them out of the way before walking toward the kitchen. He seemed…lighter, somehow, which made all the extra work Soda had just signed himself up for worth it. 

Darry turned back at the last second. “So, about that dinner….”

Notes:

only 2 more chapters written! if you have any ideas/requests, now's the time to tell me

Chapter 11

Summary:

“Welcome home, Darrel.” Soda folded his hands in front of him like some sort of wealthy businessman at a board meeting. The dim light cast strange shadows across the planes of his face, making him look almost menacing. “We need to discuss your work schedule.”

Notes:

This chapter contains a reference to brothers for a day

May 1966

The only things on Darry’s mind as he trudged through the front door were a hot shower and at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. His brother, however, had other plans. 

“Jiminy Crickets,” he gasped as Soda clicked the lamp on, illuminating the dark living room. Once he’d recovered from his shock, he asked, “What’re you still doin’ up?”

“Welcome home, Darrel.” Soda folded his hands in front of him like some sort of wealthy businessman at a board meeting. The dim light cast strange shadows across the planes of his face, making him look almost menacing. “We need to discuss your work schedule.”

“Sodaaaaa,” he whined, “whatever this is, can’t it wait ‘til morning?” His ten-hour shift roofing houses had turned into more like thirteen — he simply couldn’t say no when given the opportunity for overtime pay — and he felt like he had one foot in the grave. Maybe one-and-a-half.

“No, this cannot wait ‘til morning. Sit down.” He gestured toward the open seat on the couch next to him. Darry collapsed into it with a prolonged groan, unable to stay standing a second longer. His feet were killing him. 

It was then that he noticed the mess of paystubs, receipts, and his own checkbook on the coffee table, along with an old slide rule and a piece of scratch paper with a bunch of calculations scribbled on it. “What’s all this?”

“I took a look at our budget, and it turns out we can afford to have you start workin’ less.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

Soda gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re killin’ yourself with these long hours, Darry.”

“I’m not killin’ myself. I’m just….”

“Destroyin’ your body? Runnin’ yourself into an early grave?”

He didn’t have a good comeback for that. Soda was right; after more than a year of pushing himself to the absolute limit, there wasn’t a joint in his body that didn’t creak and groan and ache like those of a man thrice his age. 

“Anyway, I thought it was time to…reevaluate things, I guess. Remember last month when we grounded you and forced you not to work so much? We were okay that week without the extra money. And we’ve paid off Pony’s medical bills, thank heavens, so that’s one less expense. Plus, my boss finally trusts me to open and close the store, so that means more hours at the DX for me.”

Darry nodded. His brother was making sense so far. 

“And, uh…Pony has actually been talkin’ to the manager of that bookstore he likes. Turns out he’s lookin’ for some extra help this summer. And with Pony makin’ his own spendin’ money, that would help some, too. Maybe he can even set some aside for college.”

Darry wasn’t so sure about that. “He seems awful young to be workin’.”

Soda shrugged. “He’ll be fifteen in a couple months. Weren’t you baggin’ groceries at his age?”

It truly seemed like a lifetime ago. “I suppose.”

“Just think about it, okay? He’s been workin’ up the courage to ask you about it.”

Part of Darry felt bad that Pony hadn’t talked to him about it already, but then he remembered how he’d been nervous to bring things like that up to his own parents, afraid of having his hopes dashed. He supposed it was a normal part of growing up. 

“I’ll give it some thought.” He began unlacing his boots before adding, “How’d you figure all this out, anyway?”

“It’s not too hard. Plus, Pony helped me before he went to bed.”

“Sodapop.” Darry rubbed a hand over his stubbled face. “Please tell me you didn’t talk about our finances with the kid. He don’t need to be worried about money on top of everything else.” He hated that Soda was so involved with adult stuff like this, but with him working full-time, too, there wasn’t much Darry could do to stop him. 

Soda looked at him like he was stupid, and maybe he was. “Of course I didn’t. He just helped me figure out how to calculate everything.”

“Okay.” Darry took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever Soda was going to say next. “And what’s your final answer?”

“Fifty hours a week. That’s your limit.”

“Sixty.”

Soda scoffed. “That’s insane.”

“Fifty-eight?”

“This is not a negotiation! I’m already allowing ten hours of overtime! That’s more than enough.” He pointed a stern finger at Darry. “One of these days, you’re gonna get hurt, and then you’ll be workin’ zero hours and makin’ zero dollars.”

“Fifty-five,” he countered without missing a beat.

Soda reached for the slide rule, but before he could even pick it up, Darry said, “That’s eleven hours five days a week, or…nine-ish six days a week.” He thought for a moment. “Less than eight hours if I work seven days, but that wouldn’t make no sense.”

“Great, now he’s showin’ off his math skills,” Soda grumbled to himself. He leveled Darry with a glare. “You don’t make nothin’ easy, do you?”

Darry grinned, enjoying their back-and-forth more than he should’ve. “No sirree.”

“Fifty-two-and-a-half. And Pony and I’ll take care of most of the housework so you can relax when you get home. That’s my final offer.”

“Fifty-three?”

“What part of ‘final offer’ do you not understand? It’s thirty minutes, Darrel!”

Darry crossed his arms. “I’ll agree, but only if we have the option to revisit this conversation every three months.”

“I’ll just use that opportunity to convince you to work even less hours, but sure, fifty-two-and-a-half. You’ve got yourself a deal.” Soda spit on his hand and stuck it out for Darry to shake. 

He rolled his eyes. “Do I have to?”

“I’ll bring it back down to fifty if you don’t.”

“Ugh.” He reluctantly spit on his palm, then clasped Soda’s hand. “I never liked doin’ this.”

When Darry retracted his hand, Soda pretended to tip his hat like some sort of uppity politician and said in exaggerated drawl, “Pleasure doin’ business with you, Curtis.”

After wiping his hand on his pants, Darry straightened his imaginary tie in return. “You drive a hard bargain, Curtis.”

“So do you, Curtis.” Soda laughed, clapping him on the back. “Anyone ever tell you ya shoulda been a lawyer?”

“As if I could stand wearin’ a suit every day,” Darry said with a shudder. “I’d break out in hives.” 

Soda nodded sagely. “Good point.”

“Am I allowed to take a shower now?”

“I’d appreciate it. You smell like roof.” Soda plugged his nose.

Darry couldn’t help but giggle. He was deliriously tired, okay? “What does ‘roof’ even smell like?”

“You,” Soda replied in a nasally voice, earning himself a playful shove. “Go shower. I’m gonna go and add it to the list. That way, you can’t go back on your word.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m holdin’ you to that.” Soda stood, then screwed up his face for a minute like he was thinking, fingers twitching at his sides. “Three thousand…one hundred and…fifty minutes. Not a second more, you hear?”

“Holy Moses,” Darry exclaimed, thoroughly impressed. “How’d you figure that out so fast?”

Soda shrugged. “I’m better at multiplication than division.”

“Remind me of that next time Pony needs help with his homework.” 

“Nah. You’re gonna have plenty of time to help him now that you’ll be home more often.”

Darry thought back to a couple months ago when Pony and Soda planned a whole day where he didn’t have to be anything more than their brother. Maybe now, they’d be able to do more stuff like that. The thought made him smile. 

“I will, won’t I?” 

He truly couldn’t wait. 

Notes:

I’m about halfway through my own 13-hour workday, so I feel for Darry in this chapter lol
EDIT: it ended up being 14 hours SUCK IT DARREL

Chapter 12

June 1966

Ponyboy was just about to lay a card down on the table when Two-Bit burst through the front door. Soda and Steve looked up at the intrusion, giving him the opportunity to glance at their cards while they were distracted. He smiled to himself when he realized he could still win; he just had to be strategic about it. 

“Hey, have you guys seen —” Two-Bit cut himself off when he spotted his sister cross-legged at the coffee table with the boys. “Brenda Darlene Mathews, you little punk! You told Mom you’d walk right home from Katie’s!”

She shrugged, seeming entirely unconcerned. “I wanted to learn how to play poker.” 

“And you couldn’t have asked your own brother to teach you?” Two-Bit asked, affronted. 

Brenda gestured to Ponyboy, Steve, and Sodapop. “They don’t cheat like you do.”

Two-Bit put his hands on his hips in a way that Pony was sure he’d learned from his mother. “That’s a load of baloney if I ever heard one. I just saw Pony look over at Steve’s cards.” 

“Hey!” Pony and Steve exclaimed at once. So much for winning, Ponyboy thought as Steve kicked his shin. 

“Plus, Soda hates shoes,” Two-Bit continued. “He’s only wearin’ ‘em so he has a place to hide his cards.” He pointed to Soda’s feet, which he shifted suspiciously to hide under the table. Then, Two-Bit narrowed his eyes as if noticing something for the first time. “Soda, where are your pants?”

Soda frowned. “It’s hot.” None of the guys wore pants around the house in the summer, not even Two-Bit. He’d never had a problem with it before; why had he suddenly changed his mind?

“Oh, so that makes it okay to put your pasty thighs on display for my kid sister?” Two-Bit asked, disgust oozing from his voice. “Brenda, avert your eyes.”

She glared at him, never one to enjoy being told what to do. “I will do no such thing.”

Ponyboy fought the urge to laugh. Two-Bit was being ridiculous — it’s not like Soda was in his tighty-whities or anything. What was the difference between boxers and shorts? Honestly, he should be glad Soda was wearing any clothes at all. 

“Soda, cover yourself with a blanket or somethin’.”

“Aw, why do I have to?” Soda whined. “You ain’t said anything to Steve or Pony, and they ain’t wearin’ pants, either.” 

“‘Cause Brenda don’t have a big, fat crush on Steve or Pony, that’s why.”

“Keith!” Brenda shrieked, covering her face with her hands. “You promised not to tell!”

Two-Bit immediately got defensive. “I didn’t say you have a crush on Soda! I just said you don’t have a crush on the other two!”

Brenda looked close to tears, her face nearly as red as her hair. Pony felt bad — he’d always liked her. Unlike the other boys, he never minded the rare occasion when she tagged along to the rodeo or the ice cream parlor. She was always real sweet. Plus, half of Tulsa had a crush on Sodapop; she wasn’t special. 

Pony nudged his brother, pleading with his eyes for him to do something. He didn’t think Soda had ever been truly embarrassed in his life; he was so earnest and unashamed that judgement seemed to slide right off. If anyone could make it better, it was Sodapop. 

“Aw, Brenda, there’s no need to be embarrassed,” Soda consoled, attempting to pat her on the shoulder. She shied away, refusing to look at him. “I bet if I were your age, I’d think you were pretty swell.”

She perked up a bit at that. “You would?”

“Uh-huh. Cute little thing like you, I bet you’ve got all the boys at your school at your beck and call.”

She smiled shyly. “Well, maybe one or two.”

“You do?” Two-Bit interjected. 

Soda ignored him. “See? You don’t need a boring old man like me when you’re the most eligible bachelorette of the sixth grade.”

“Plus, he burps real loud,” Steve helpfully supplied. Soda stuck his tongue out at him. 

Brenda shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

“I always am.” He aimed that megawatt smile at her, the one that could soothe even the worst troubles. “‘Sides, everyone gets crushes on people who are too old for them. In fact, when your brother was your age, he —”

Two-Bit lunged across the room, panicked. “No, no, no —”

“— had a thing for my mom,” Soda finished. Two-Bit tackled him to the floor, but it was too late; the damage had been done. 

As they tussled, the room erupted into laughter, Brenda laughing the hardest of all. 

“Is that why you always wanted to come with us to the pool, Two?” Pony asked through his giggles. “That’s so gross.”

“Shut up!” he yelled, attempting to get Soda into a headlock. 

“Yeah, he wanted to get a good look at Mrs. C in her bathing suit,” Steve jeered. 

Before long, Two-Bit had pinned Soda to the ground and was sitting on his back. Poor Sodapop was fifty pounds lighter and two inches shorter; he’d never stood a chance. 

“Holler uncle!” Two-Bit yelled in his ear. 

“If I do, will you let me go?” Soda’s voice was muffled against the carpet. 

Two-Bit pressed him harder into the floor. “Yeah, but you gotta say it first, you dirty little snitch.”

Soda grinned, entirely too pleased with himself given the situation. “Okay. Uncle.”

“There we go!” Two-Bit released him and stood up, brushing off his jeans. “That’ll teach you to respect your elders.”

“My elders, huh?” he retorted from his place sprawled out on the floor. Only Sodapop could look so carefree and casual after just being pummelled, Pony mused. “Y’know, maybe in another life, you coulda been my stepdad. Then I could really show you some respect.” 

Two-Bit spanked his pantsless rear, which only served to make everyone laugh harder. “Stay here, brat,” he ordered Soda before striding into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with the House Rules paper and a pencil behind his ear. 

“Oh, no,” Steve griped. “What’d you add this time?”

Pony snatched the paper from his hands. “Pants must be worn in mixed company,” he read. “Hey, that ain’t a bad idea. I’m sure our social worker will appreciate that.”

Two-Bit cackled, ruffling Pony’s hair. “I always knew you were the smartest Curtis.”

“You don’t even live here,” Soda grumbled. 

“I’m in the house, ain’t I? And if your big brother has a problem with it, tell ‘im to kiss my” — he glanced over at Brenda as if just remembering she was there — “sweet…hiney.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that,” Pony groused. 

Two-Bit ignored him. “C’mon, Brenda. Let’s getcha home before Mom calls in the National Guard or somethin’.”

“Bye, honey!” Soda called as Two-Bit hauled his sister up by the arm and herded her toward the door. She gave him a little wave over her shoulder.

“Man, don’t encourage her,” Steve said after the door had closed behind them. 

“Oh, shut your trap, Steve.” Soda shoved him away. “You should be thankful I’m at least wearin’ a shirt.”

Chapter 13

Summary:

Darry has some car trouble.

Notes:

I know next to nothing about cars and even less about 1960s trucks. Please forgive any inaccuracies 🙏

July 1966 

Darry was a greaser, which meant he knew his way around an automobile. While he may not be as good with cars as his brother, his dad had taught him plenty. He knew how to change the oil, replace the tires, and check the transmission fluid. He could replace burnt-out headlights and dented hubcaps and troubleshoot most minor issues. 

But no matter what he tried, the godforsaken truck refused to start. 

After nearly three hours of begging, pleading, banging on the starter with a wrench, convincing a hungover Two-Bit to drive over and give him a jump, and an attempted hotwiring, he was covered in grease — not the good kind — and soaked through with sweat. His body was screaming at him to throw in the towel already, but his pride wouldn’t let him quit that easily. 

Yes, he could call Soda at work and ask for advice, but the only thing more powerful than his frustration was his stubbornness. He wanted to prove to himself that he could do this, that the morning he’d spent baking in the unrelenting summer sun wasn’t wasted. Darry Curtis was smart and capable, and a little car trouble wasn’t gonna defeat him. 

Or maybe it would. It seemed increasingly likely that this useless rust bucket was the kryptonite that would finally bring Superman to his knees. 

Nerves shot, there was nothing left to do but have a cigarette. He stole one from the pack Ponyboy left on the passenger seat and shoved it in the truck’s lighter before he could think about how bad it was for him. 

“At least one thing still works,” he muttered petulantly under his breath. 

While the smoke helped clear his mind, he was no closer to a solution than he was when he started. It didn’t matter how hard he stared at the various wires and tubes and hunks of metal — the problem refused to reveal itself to him. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a deep sigh. If he didn’t figure this out soon, there was no way he would be able to make it to work that afternoon. He’d have to call his boss and grovel, and there were very few things he hated more than groveling. 

“Man alive, Curtis, are ya tryin’ to blow yourself to kingdom come?”

Darry peeked around the open hood to find Steve several feet away on the sidewalk, hands outstretched warily in front of him like he was trying to shield himself from something. 

“Maybe.” He took a weary drag. “Why’d you ask?”

“Because you’re smokin’ a cigarette while leanin’ over the battery.”

“So?”

“So, batteries — especially old batteries like the one in this junky clunker — can leak hydrogen gas. Now, I ain’t a scientist, but I know that hydrogen plus spark equals boom.” Steve mimed an explosion and took a cautious step back. “So put that thing out before you kill someone, would ya?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Thoroughly chastened, Darry dropped his cigarette on the concrete and snuffed it out under his heel. He’d never been a smoker, so his dad hadn’t covered that particular lesson. He made a mental note to pass this newfound knowledge to Ponyboy should he ever express anything more than a passing interest in mechanics.  

With the weed extinguished, Steve must’ve deemed it safe to approach, because he came to stand next to Darry in front of the truck. “What’re you tryin’ to do, anyways? Your old man’s Chevy finally decided to crap out on you?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Bracing himself with a hand on the frame, Darry slumped forward and tucked his head into his shoulder. “The headlights were dim and flickerin’ when I drove home last night, so I decided to come out here this mornin’ and check it out,” he explained. “Stupid thing won’t even start. I pumped the gas, checked the carburetor, even tried to jump it. No dice.”

“Lemme take a look.” Steve nudged him out of the way and began his examination of the truck’s innards. After just a few seconds of poking and prodding, he donned a self-satisfied smirk. “Just like I thought: loose battery terminal. Hand me that wrench?”

Darry grabbed the wrench from the pile of discarded tools on the driveway and placed it in Steve’s outstretched hand. With an expert twist of his wrist, he tightened the terminal with surgical precision, then handed it back and wiped his hands on his pants. “Done. Try startin’ it up.” 

“Alright,” Darry said hesitantly before hopping into the cab. Surely it couldn’t be that easy, could it? But sure enough, when he turned the key in the ignition, the truck roared to life. 

Sweet relief coursed through his veins. He’d never heard anything so beautiful in his life, and he didn’t even care that Steve was the one who figured it out in the end. He was just happy to be done with it. 

As Darry cut the engine and slid out of the truck, Steve headed up the front steps. 

“Soda’s at work, by the way,” Darry called after him. “Which you should know already.”

“I’m not here for him. I heard there’s a fresh chocolate cake in the icebox.” At Darry’s withering look, he added, “Hey, it’s the least you can do after I saved your truck. And your life. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

Darry had to admit he had a point. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, waving him off. “Fair enough.”

“Oh, and I’m addin’ a rule to that little list of yours.” Steve pointed sternly at him. “Darry ain't allowed to work on the truck without supervision.”

“No, you ain’t.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Yes, I am. And you’ll thank me later when you realize your ugly mug would be even uglier with the eyebrows burnt off.”

“Says the guy who’s been tryin’ to hide his recedin’ hairline since the ninth grade.” It was a cheap shot, but Darry was too exhausted to think of a wittier comeback. 

To his credit, Steve seemed entirely unfazed. “You best shut your trap before I decide to bill you for my mechanic services,” he threatened. 

“Oh, glory, a full ten seconds of your time," he retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "How would I ever afford that?”

“You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you’d come up with somethin’.”

Shamefully pleased that Steve had called him smart, Darry decided to make him a generous offer. “How ‘bout I let you eat two slices of cake and we call it even?”

“Since when do I need your permission to eat your food?” 

Darry met him at the front steps so they could be eye-to-eye when he deadpanned, “Since my parents died and left me in charge.”

Steve suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. “Oh, geez,” he mumbled before slipping through the front door. 

Darry chuckled to himself before following him inside. Works every time.

Notes:

the idea that steve "kept his hair combed in complicated swirls" randle is doing All That just to hide his premature balding is hilarious to me

Notes:

This will be a series of one-shots about the different rules they add to the list. I already have a bunch more chapters lined up, but if you have suggestions for others, please let me know!

come say hi on tumblr!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of better than you know