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“Mom, I’m home!” Ponyboy called, shutting the front door.
“In here!” His mother, Caroline, responded. He followed the sound of her voice to the kitchen, where she held a bowl and mixer in her hands.
“How was your day, honey?” She asked.
“It was alright. We started this new book in English class, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. It’s about this orphan kid in Mississippi who grows up in the 1830s and goes on adventures with his friends. Tom reminds me a lot of Two-Bit. We read a bit in class, but I kept reading during lunch. It’s a real good book.”
“That sounds nice,” Caroline said. “I remember reading that book when I was your age.”
“Is Dad still at work?”
“Yeah, he tried gettin’ off early, but his boss wouldn’t let him. Lord knows they need to finish the job before the next snowstorm.”
Ponyboy’s shoulders slumped. His dad had been so busy with some roofing job on the west side of town. It paid good money, which the family needed, but it also came at the cost of Pony seeing his father less. He was always up before anyone else and Pony had trouble staying awake until he came home. He’d barely been around since Christmas.
“Hey, he told me they’re hopin’ to be done by Monday. I know he’s missin’ you boys somethin’ awful,” Caroline said, rubbing Ponyboy’s arm. “And he’ll be home tonight. It’s Darry’s birthday. He wouldn’t miss that.”
Ponyboy nodded, eyes still downcast.
“What do you say you help me finish this cake? I’ll let you lick the spoon.”
Ponyboy’s eyes lit up. “Sure,” he said, moving to put his bookbag down at the dining table.
“Good. You got the frosting?”
“Huh?” Pony mumbled, distracted by the sight of his book.
“The chocolate frosting? For Darry’s cake?”
The realization hit Ponyboy like a freight train, sending a jolt up his spine.
That morning, his mom asked him to stop by the local bakery on his way home from school to pick up frosting. He agreed, promising to remember. But he was so focused on the new book, he’d completely forgotten. He even walked right past the bakery on his way, but didn’t notice it. His pocket grew heavy with the money she’d given him to pay for it. His cheeks burned red. He felt horrible.
“I forgot,” he said, voice small and quiet. His mother sighed. If there was one thing worse than making her mad, it was disappointing her.
“Ponyboy, I asked you to pick up that frosting. You know I’ve been busy for a while, and your father sure doesn’t have time to get it. I wanted to do somethin’ special for your brother today. You understand?”
Ponyboy nodded, biting his lip.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to forget. I-I can go back and get it, right now.”
He started towards the door, but Caroline stopped him.
“Ponyboy. I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. I know it was an honest mistake. But you gotta understand that I trusted you with something, and you didn’t do it. I want to be able to trust you with bigger things down the line, but that starts with small things like this. And I know sometimes you get lost in that head of yours, which is only human. But when it comes to doin’ somethin’ nice for your brother, you gotta make it a priority. We’re the only family you got.”
“I know,” Ponyboy said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. Darry won’t be back til late. I’ll go out and get it. Your father needs a ride home, anyway.”
Ponyboy settled down on the couch while his mother worked in the kitchen. He cracked open the book to where he’d left off, with Tom Sawyer meeting Becky Thatcher. His mother walked it, grabbing her coat from the coathanger.
“I put the cake in the oven. It should be ready in about an hour, but I set the timer to remind you.”
Ponyboy smiled sheepishly. Caroline ruffled his hair.
“Can I trust you to do that for me?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’ll be back by five. I love you.”
She bent down and kissed his cheek.
“Love you, Mama.”
Then, she was gone.
—-------------------------------
When the timer went off, Ponyboy pulled the cake pans from the oven with his mother’s battered oven mitts. Darry was probably out with his Soc friends, and wouldn’t be back til after dark. Soda had a shift at the DX after school, and the gang was who knows where. So Ponyboy was alone in the house.
He didn’t mind it, though. He wasn’t truly alone, not with his book to keep him company. Plus, with the constant chaos that enveloped the house with each boy who entered, it was nice to have some peace and quiet. It let him get deeper into the story.
Tom and his friends Huckleberry Finn and Joe Harper had run away to a river island to live as pirates. Well, until Joe and Finn got homesick. Back home, everyone thought they were dead. So Tom had the bright idea to attend their own funerals. It was funny and concerning.
Ponyboy wondered what it would be like to attend your own funeral. To hear everyone talk about how they knew you, how they perceived you. To see all the lives you touched, for better or worse. He’d never been to a funeral. He had no grandparents or relatives to mourn. He supposed it might be for the better; the whole thing seemed like a rather sad affair.
A sharp knock on the door yanked him out of his reading. No one ever knocked on the door. The gang just walked in. So did Mrs. Mathews and Susie, Two-Bit’s little sister. Aside from them, no one ever visited the house, except maybe Tim or Curly Shepard if they had nowhere else to go. And they didn’t knock, either.
Maybe his mother had her hands full of bags and needed help carrying them in. But the family never had enough money to afford more than two bags of groceries at a time. So who could it be?
The last person Ponyboy expected to see upon opening the door was a police officer.
“Is this the Curtis residence?” The officer asked.
“Yes,” Ponyboy said, squaring his shoulders to look tough, just how Soda taught him. “I’m Ponyboy.”
“I’m Officer Johnson, and this is Officer McCrary. Is your brother, Darrel, home?”
“No, he’s out. He won’t be home for a while. Why do you need to talk to him?”
Officer Johnson sighed.
“Can we come inside? It’s better if you sit down for this.”
A pit of dread opened in Ponyboy’s stomach as he let the officer and his partner inside. Everyone on the east side knew cops were bad news. They were always looking for excuses to punish or arrest greasers. You stayed away from them as best you could, and you certainly didn’t invite them into your home. Ponyboy kept himself out of trouble, but he knew his friends had it way worse. Dally was in the cooler every other week now, and Steve couldn’t talk about cops without punching a hole in the wall.
“What’s goin’ on?” Ponyboy asked, taking a seat on the couch. “Did Darry do somethin’?”
“No, he didn’t do anything. This actually has nothing to do with him. You sure your brothers aren’t here?”
“No. Darry’s out with his friends, and Sodapop is workin’. Ain’t nobody here but me.”
Officer Johnson rubbed a hand over his face, looking solemnly at Ponyboy. Pony was scared to death, but tried his best to hide it.
“Earlier this evening, we got a call about an accident on the crosstown train tracks. A car stalled on the tracks due to the recent snowstorm, and an eastbound freight train ran straight into it. Two people were found in the car, both killed on impact. They were identified as Darrel and Caroline Curtis. I’m sorry, son, but your parents are dead.”
The pit in Ponyboy’s stomach dropped, taking his throat with it. He froze, unable to comprehend what the officer said. Dead? No. His parents weren’t dead. His mom kissed his cheek an hour ago before leaving. His dad was excited to come home for the birthday cake. They were still on their way home. Mom said they’d be back by now. So why weren’t they? Why didn’t they come home?
“I understand if this is a lot to process,” said Officer McCrary, “but we really need to get a hold of Darrel Jr. He is the next of kin, and–”
Ponyboy blocked out whatever shit he was saying. His hands gripped the couch cushions, desperately trying to cling to something solid. This was all just a big misunderstanding. Maybe they'd mistaken those people in the car for his parents, and they were really two completely different people. Maybe they’d decided to pick Soda and Darry up on their way home, too, and that’s why they were taking longer. They weren’t dead. They couldn’t be dead.
“Son? Son!”
Officer Johnson gripped his shoulder, and Ponyboy flinched away violently, curling into the corner of the couch. His chest felt tight and his stomach swirled in knots. His brain could barely process any of the information. All he knew was that his parents were not dead.
The front door opened, and footsteps slid to a halt.
“What the hell is goin’ on here?”
Dallas and Johnny stood in the entryway.
“Dallas Winston,” said Officer McCrary. “What’re you doing here?”
“I asked you first,” Dallas barked.
Johnny’s gaze fixated on Ponyboy. He crossed the room, kneeling down in front of the couch.
“Ponyboy? What’s goin’ on? Is somethin’ wrong?”
Ponyboy vaguely realized that Johnny was speaking to him, but he didn’t have the energy to form a response. Luckily, the pair understood each other without words.
“Are your parents or brothers home?”
Ponyboy inhalers sharply at the mention of his parents, drawing further in on himself. Johnny’s brow knitted with concern, taking Pony’s hands.
“Hey, easy. It’s okay.”
Meanwhile, Dally was two seconds away from punching one of the cops.
“The hell do you think you’re doin’, spookin’ a kid like that? He’s thirteen, for fuck’s sake.”
“Watch your language, Winston,” Officer Johnson said.
“Or what? You gonna arrest me again? Send me back to county lock-up and make me wash my mouth out with soap?”
“Now, let’s just be civil, here.”
“You ain’t got a right to talk like that when you—”
“Dal!” Johnny said sternly. “Please.”
Dally sighed, but shut his mouth, balling his fists into his jacket.
“Would you at least care to tell us what’s goin’ on here?” He asked.
“That information is for Ponyboy’s brothers. We’re waiting for his family to return.”
“Hell, we’re just as much family to him,” Dally said. “Ain’t we, Johnny?”
Johnny swallowed and nodded, but didn’t say anything. Cops scared him shitless, almost as bad as his old man. However, one look at Ponyboy told him something was clearly wrong. He never shut down like this unless he was upset or overwhelmed. They had to know what was going on.
“Please, officers,” he asked softly.
Officer McCrary sighed.
“We got a call earlier about an accident on the crosstown train tracks. A car stalled and got hit by a train. Ponyboy’s parents were in the car. They’re dead.”
A look akin to pain flashed fleetingly through Dally’s eyes before his cold, steel mask returned. Johnny gasped, looking to Dally, and, then, to Ponyboy.
“Oh, Pony,” he murmured, “I’m so sorry.”
Ponyboy didn’t respond. He just stared blankly ahead with a mournful look in his eyes, like he wanted to cry but was so far under a tsunami of emotions that he couldn’t quite remember how. Johnny joined him on the couch, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Ponyboy leaned into the touch, resting his head on Johnny’s shoulder with his arms clutched around his stomach.
“Do you have any idea where Darrel or Sodapop might be?” Officer Johnson asked.
“Soda’s workin’ late at a DX station near here,” said Dally. “Darry, well, he’s probably out with his friends. It’s his birthday.”
The room went dead silent. Ponyboy’s breath caught. Johnny’s arm tensed. Darry was twenty, and the only present he’d be getting was two cops telling him his parents were dead.
“Jesus Christ,” Officer McCrary muttered, running a hand over his face.
“I don’t know where he is, but I know someone who might,” piped Johnny. He looked to Dally, who got the message and headed to the phone in the kitchen.
—--------------
If Paul kept driving over any more potholes, the five shots Darry downed ten minutes ago would be making a guest appearance on the car windshield. The pair raced down the streets of Tulsa, pedal to the metal. Paul always liked to drive fast. Darry normally didn’t mind. But he had a weird knot in his stomach tonight, a gut feeling that something wasn’t right. He told himself it was just the beer.
The car sputtered as Paul came to a red light. He normally ignored traffic laws, but there were three cars in front of them, and Darry made him promise to not drive like a maniac today. If he could give him nothing else for his birthday, he would be happy with that.
“Dammit,” Paul swore, slapping the dashboard. “Stupid piece of shit. This thing’s practically falling apart.”
Darry kept his mouth shut. The car was almost mint condition. Paul had it washed every week, he never failed to mention that. His father got it for him maybe a month ago, just like he did every so often. Darry, on the other hand, was stuck with a rusted pick up twenty years past its prime that only still worked because Soda and Steve worked some kind of witchcraft on the engine. The leather was ripped, the radio was static half the time, and he couldn’t remember the last time he washed it. There was no point if the dirt wouldn’t budge.
Darry looked at the fuel tank. It was getting low, almost empty. He sighed, sometimes bewildered by his friend’s incompetence.
“It's just outta gas,” he said. He looked at the street sign. Folsom Avenue. They were near the DX station where Soda worked. Darry didn’t know how they’d made it over to the east side so quickly.
“I know a gas station near here. It won’t even take ten minutes.”
Paul sighed, but relented. “Which way?”
A few minutes later, the pair pulled up to the DX. The lights flickered, and the paint was peeling on the sign. Darry foolishly hoped Soda’s shift would be over by now. Paul didn’t exactly like his brothers, and neither did they.
His hopes were dashed when he saw Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit through the window. Soda noticed him, too, face falling mid-laugh. He sighed.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the birthday boy himself,” said Two-Bit, striding out the door towards the car. Then, he noticed Paul. “And you brought one of your newfangled Socy friends! How excitin’!”
Paul scoffed, glaring at Two-Bit. Darry hurried to diffuse the growing tension.
“We just need some gas,” he muttered.
“Comin’ right up,” Soda said through gritted teeth, avoiding Darry’s eyes. He went to the pump while Paul went inside to get a Coke. Steve followed him begrudgingly.
“Jesus Christmas, man, how much cologne are you wearin’?” Two-Bit asked, scrunching his nose.
“Not much,” Darry said.
“Oh, really? You smell like a Soc threw up on you. Look like it, too.”
Darry pulled his letterman jacket tighter around his shoulders. He was wearing a purple and gold madras shirt Paul lent him, his nice church slacks, and loafers. It was his birthday, though. Didn’t he have a right to dress however he wanted?
“It’s none of your business,” Darry snapped. Steve scowled, but Soda piped up.
“Since when do you own madras?” He asked.
“I’m borrowin’ it from Paul.”
“Mhm. And is that all you’re borrowin’?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Madras, loafers, English cologne? Dammit, Darry, you’re turnin’ into one of them!”
Soda stepped toe to toe with him, eyes staring up in a fiery blaze.
“You know, ever since you started hanging around them bastards, you changed. You pretended not to know me at school, you spent all your time on football. Hell, you even helped beat up other greasers, for Pete’s sake! What happened to my brother?”
Darry bit his lip, sighing. Since his graduation, he’d become somewhat estranged from his brothers. He was always at work or with friends, never with the gang. He only ever saw Soda or Pony at mealtimes, if he could even make it home by then. All his time was spent working, working, working, so he could get even the smallest chance of putting himself through college and finally getting out of Tulsa. His ears burned red.
“Soda, let’s not do this right now, okay? Nothing has changed, I just–I mean, you ain’t grown yet. You don’t get it. I got better things to do than play babysitter for y’all all day.”
Soda gasped, eyes glinting with hurt. Darry realized what he’d said.
“Soda, I–”
“That’ll be $5.50,” Soda spat, marching towards the door. Darry sighed, fishing out his wallet.
“That was harsh,” Two-Bit said.
“Yeah, no shit, Two,” Darry replied.
“You sure you ain’t on somethin’?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Sure, ‘cause someone who’s fine talks like they got their head stuck up their ass. You ain’t gotta be such a d–”
“Keith Mathews!”
Darry and Two-bit turned to see Mrs. Mathews hurrying towards them.
“Thank god I found y’all,” she exclaimed. “Is Soda here, too?”
“Yeah, he and Steve are inside,” Darry said. “What’s goin’ on?”
Mrs. Mathews had a pensive expression.
“I think it’s best if I explain this to you in the car.”
The pit in Darry’s stomach returned, larger than ever. Something was clearly wrong.
—--------------------------
After a brief goodbye to Paul with no proper explanation and plenty of judgmental stares, Darry squeezed into the back of the Mathews’ run down Ford beside a sulking Soda and Steve. Two-Bit hopped in the passenger seat. Mrs. Mathews drove a few blocks down before pulling over, turning to face them.
“What’s wrong?” Darry asked, scanning her face for answers. She sighed.
“Dallas called me from your house thirty minutes ago. The police are there. He and Johnny came in and saw them talking to Ponyboy.”
Soda sat up, fully alert.
“What? What would cops be doing at our house? Pony ain’t in trouble, is he?” He rattled.
“Hold on, Soda. Let me finish. He told me the cops were there because……” Her voice caught. “Because they came to report an accident with a train. A car stalled on the tracks and got hit by a freight engine. Those cops found two bodies in the car, both dead. They identified them as your parents. I’m so sorry.”
Darry forgot how to breathe. He sucked in, but the air didn’t make it all the way to his lungs. Why wouldn’t it go in?
Soda gasped, collapsing into sobs. His wailing drew tears from Mrs. Mathews’ eyes. She placed a hand on his leg. Soda turned to Steve.
“Steve….” he whispered.
“Oh, Soda,” Steve replied, throwing an arm around his best friend. If Darry looked hard enough, he would’ve sworn he could see tears in Steve’s eyes, too. He felt a hand shake his arm.
“Darry!” Two-Bit said.
He turned to Two-Bit and his mother, at a loss for what to say. What to do. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth.
“I….I….” he stuttered.
Suddenly, the car felt too small. So did his stomach. His hands fumbled for the car door, shaky and clammy. Darry stumbled out onto the sidewalk, crawling on his knees to the nearest bush. The alcohol swirling in his guts rocketed up his throat, spewing out his mouth. His shoulders shook, nearly collapsing onto the sidewalk. A hand came to rub his back.
“Easy, buddy,” said Two-Bit.
Once the last of the vomit left his stomach, Darry sank back onto his knees, trembling. His insides felt numb, like misshapen clay. He stared at the bush.
“Darry,” Two-Bit placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Darry turned to him. Two-Bit gazed at him empathetically.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “What do I do, Two?”
Two-Bit pulled him into a hug. Darry gave in to the burning hole in his chest, letting out silent sobs.
“You ain’t gotta know what to do right now, Dar,” Two-Bit said. “You just gotta feel.”
Darry gripped the back of Two-Bit’s leather jacket tightly. For once, his shirt didn’t smell like whiskey.
“They’re fucking gone, Two,” Darry cried, “Mom and Dad. They ain’t comin’ back.”
“I know.”
“What do I do? What I am sposed to do for Soda now, and Pony…..”
Realization shot through Darry’s veins.
“Pony!” He gasped. “Pony, he’s home, by himself, he don’t know that we’re…..where we……we gotta get home. Now.”
Darry scrambled back towards the car, Two-bit close behind.
“Step on it, Ma,” Two-bit said. Mrs. Mathews didn’t need to be told twice.
As the car sped through the East Side, Darry grabbed Soda’s hand giving it a gentle squeeze. Soda squeezed back.
—------------------------
Mrs. Mathews barely pulled up to the curb before Soda and Darry bolted out the car door and up the front steps. Inside, the sight made Darry’s heart stop.
Two cops stood in the living room, one pacing anxiously and the other furrowing his brow. Dallas was perched on the arm of the couch, springing up when the door opened. Johnny was sitting on the couch, a deep, mournful look in his eyes. Next to him was Ponyboy.
Pony was curled into Johnny’s side, a blank look on his face Darry knew meant he was stuck back in the deep recesses of his mind. His arms were wrapped tightly around his stomach and his knees tucked under himself, making himself even smaller. Darry was surprised he hadn’t disappeared into the couch yet.
“Jesus Christmas, you two are gonna give me a heart attack!” Dally shouted. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Leave it, Dal,” Steve barked.
Soda rushed to the foot of the couch. Darry followed.
“Pony?” Soda asked softly.
“He’s been like this since we got here. Hasn’t said anything,” Johnny explained.
“Pony, it’s Soda. I’m here. I’m so sorry I’m late, but I’m here now, honey.”
Honey. Mom calls Ponyboy that. Darry’s stomach dipped at the thought.
Ponyboy’s gaze scanned Darry and Soda, drinking in their presence. His eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe they were really there.
“Soda?” He whispered, voice soft and raspy.
“Yeah, it’s me, baby,” Soda said tearfully, “I’m right here.”
Ponyboy’s arm had barely moved before Soda was on the couch pulling his little brother into his embrace. Darry froze, watching them. It was then that Pony finally broke down.
If total silence was bad, this was even worse.
Sharp, harsh wails echoed from his mouth. Tears poured down his cheeks, his whole body shuddering with sobs. He gripped Soda’s shirt like a life raft. All the while, Soda rocked the pair back and forth, gently shushing his baby brother through his own tears. He ran one hand up and down his back and the other through Pony’s hair.
“Oh sweetheart,” Soda murmured. “I’m so sorry, honey. I got you. Ain’t goin’ nowhere no more. I’m right here, darlin’. I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re right here, Little Colt.”
Dad calls Pony that. The sting of the nickname wasn’t lost on any of them, despite how easily it slipped off Soda’s tongue.
“Are you Darrel Curtis?”
Right. Cops. Darry forgot they were even there. He stiffened, turning to them.
“Yes.”
“We’ve got a couple things to discuss with you, son. Do you mind if we step into the kitchen?”
Darry looked back at his brothers, hesitant to leave them drowning in tears. But even then, he didn’t know how to handle this. How to fix it. There was no glue or nails that could patch everything up again like how it used to be.
“We’ll stay with ‘em, Darry,” Johnny said, Steve nodding in affirmation. Darry had never been more grateful for his little brother’s best friends. He stood and followed the cops into the kitchen, where Mrs. Mathews and Two-Bit sat at the dining table.
“Excuse us, but we’ve got some business to discuss with Darrel,” said the blond cop, indicating for them to leave.
Darrel? Darrel was his father. Everyone called him Darry. The only time he ever got Darrel was when his mother was mad at him. Even then, his dad still called him son or junior. He was Darry Curtis to most, just Darry to the gang, Dar to his brothers. Not Darrel. It felt wrong.
“No, please, can they stay?” Darry asked. “Mrs. Mathews, she’s my mom’s best friend.” Was. “And Two-B–Keith, he—can’t they stay?”
The cops must’ve been tired enough to not put up a fight, relenting and letting the Mathews’ remain at the table. Darry sat next to Two-Bit, who nudged his knee in support.
“As you’re all aware,” said the brunette cop. Officer McCrary, his nametag said, “Darrel is the eldest child and next of kin. We still need to put your parents’ will through the legal bureau to sort everything out.”
Darry never even imagined his parents having a will. His father was only forty.
“The main thing we need to discuss is custody. There are no other living adult relatives of the family, meaning that Ponyboy and Sodapop will go to a state placement. We’ll set you up with a social worker to—”
“Hold on, what?” Darry asked. “A state placement? What does that mean, like an orphanage?”
“Essentially,” said the blond cop, Officer Johnson. “Both boys are underage and now without a legal guardian. They’ll go into the foster care system until they come of age.”
“But I’m of age. I’m nineteen–twenty, now. I’m their brother. Can’t they stay with me?”
Officer Johnson blinked wide.
“Son, do you understand what kind of work it is to take care of two kids? You need to pass a financial benchmark, keep up with state reports, not to mention the actual legal application and hearing. Like you said you’re only twenty. This is a lot for anyone to take on, especially at this age. Are you sure you want to do this?”
Darry looked over at Two-Bit. His stomach wove in and out of knots. Just from Officer Johnson’s description, his head was spinning. The family barely scraped by with two parents. How were they gonna survive with just one?
For a fleeting moment, Darry imagined saying no. Sending Pony and Soda off to some boys home, applying to college, pulling out of the family savings to finally get out of Tulsa like he’d always dreamed of.
But the soft cries of his brothers echoed from the living room. Two-Bit looked at him with weary encouragement.
You can do this, his eyes seemed to say.
Pony and Soda need you.
“Yes,” he said. “They’re staying with me.”
—----------------------
The cops left around one in the morning. After a lengthy explanation of the whole guardianship application process, Darry wanted to fall right into his bed and never leave. But he still had so much to take care of. He lingered in the hallway, looking into the living room.
Ponyboy and Sodapop were passed out on the couch, curled against each other like kittens. All that crying must’ve tuckered them out good. Pony’s arm dangled off the couch, and Soda’s hand was tangled in Pony’s hair. Even their breathing was in sync. Gosh, but the two of them always did everything tougher. Even grieving. Johnny and Steve flanked the couch like guard dogs. Dally leaned against the windowsill.
“You boys oughta tuck in for the night,” said Mrs. Mathews, grabbing her coat. “I’m goin’ home to check on Susie, but I’ll be back tomorrow mornin’.”
“You really don’t need to–” Darry started.
“Hush. Don’t you worry ‘bout nothin’. Your mama helped me and my family more times than I can count. Seems only fair I return the favor.”
She pulled Darry into a hug. The wave of grief loomed as Darry sank into the touch, but he held it back.
“Give yourself time,” she whispered. “You don’t gotta handle everything tonight.”
Two-Bit kissed his mother on the cheek, and then she was gone.
“You goin’ home, too?” Darry asked.
“Nah. Ma’s got it covered. Besides, like she said. Returnin’ the favor for all the times you saved my sorry ass.”
Darry shook his head, sighing.
“Well, I assume y’all are sleepin’ over, too.”
The other three greasers nodded. Darry padded over to the couch, kneeling in front of his sleeping brothers. If he could make one wish, it would be for them to wake up in a world with their parents still here. But he didn’t have the power to make everything alright again. Not now. The least he could do was watch over them tonight. Like Mama and Daddy would’ve wanted.
Ponyboy’s eyes fluttered open. Ho noticed his older brother kneeling, almost praying. His brow furrowed.
“Dar?” He crooked, voice gravelly. Darry’s gaze softened.
“Hey, kid,” he replied.
Pony reached out, taking Darry's hand in his. He didn’t say anything, just clinging to his brother like a lifeline. Darry squeezed his hand. Pony squeezed back. He climbed onto the couch, settling Pony between him and Soda. The brothers nestled into a tangle of limbs, unable to tell whose arms lay where. Darry held his brothers tightly, daring the universe to take either one away. After the night they’d just had, his guard was up. The gang kept watch around them, a silent set of sentries.
In the morning, there would be more to deal with. The papers, the courts, the state, the bank, the bosses, the teachers, the neighbors. All of them learning just how much the world lost less than twenty-four hours before. But not all was lost. Darry kept a strong, steady grip on his brothers all night.
A solid reminder.
I’m here.
I’ll keep you safe.
I love you. Always.