a/n: Well this isn't the Digimon fandom. Damn. I wonder how I got here.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders. Also, I don't know if everything is entirely accurate (i.e. their ages, the information on the eye clinic in the 1960s (I don't think I went into detail on that), or if the Curtis brothers' father wore glasses). And honestly, idc. This ignores the events in the book, seeing as Johnny and Dally are alive, and includes brotherly fluff along with smol bouts of angst. Thank you for reading.

Sodapop Curtis was a very, very observant person, despite his bubbly and relaxed personality. He paid attention to detail when others brushed it off. He could easily tell when something was wrong just by someone's facial expression and body language—even the slightest change triggered the warning sirens in his brain and told him that things weren't the way they were supposed to be.

Especially when that person was his little brother, Ponyboy Michael Curtis.

Said young boy was leaning over the table in the dining room, squinting in frustration. His lips were pulled into a small frown, brows furrowed together. He tapped his pencil against the wood, elbows resting on the edge of the table, and his leg was bouncing irritably and somewhat anxiously.

"Hey, Pone," Soda said easily, plopping down unceremoniously in the chair opposite of him. "You doin' ok?"

"M'fine," he mumbled, but he did not look up from the book that lay open in front of him. He turned the page slowly, eyes still narrowed to slits.

"That book's real close to your face. You're gonna get a headache."

Ponyboy hummed in acknowledgment, although he didn't respond verbally other than that. Soda studied him more closely; intensely. His eyes caught the bead of sweat that rolled from his brow. And the way his face tightened with pain.

"Hey," the middle Curtis repeated, more gently this time. "Are you feelin' alright, Pony? Your cheeks are flushed."

With fever or frustration, Soda couldn't tell. He desperately hoped it was the latter—a sick Pony wasn't something he wanted to see. Especially considering Ponyboy never took is easy when he felt ill unless he or Darry demanded him to do so.

"I said I'm fine." Pony finally looked up at him with a small glare. Sora blinked, taken slightly aback, and Pony's expression shifted from anger to guilt within the next several moments. His frown deepened. "I'm sorry, Soda. I don't mean to raise my voice. It's just the print's real small and I can't see nothin'. It's already givin' me a headache."

"Do you want some aspirin?"

"I took some already," the young Greaser mumbled. "It ain't helpin' none."

Sora paused thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. He curled a finger and brought it to his chin. "Lemme see the book."

"What?" It was Ponyboy's turn to blink. "Why?"

He held his hand out, stretching his fingers and waited. "Just lemme see it," he repeated when his little brother didn't move.

Confused, Ponyboy did as told. Soda took a good look at it, eyes skimming over the page without really caring about the content inside. The difference was, he didn't have to squint like Ponyboy did. The print was small, but not small enough to bother him. He could focus on the page just fine.

"It ain't that small, Pone," he said after a time. "Maybe you should rest some 'til that headache is gone."

"That ain't gonna help none," Ponyboy argued. "I ain't tired, anyway. Everything always seems blurry. Even the chalkboard in class. It don't matter what I do."

Soda tilted his head to the side. "You can't see the board in class, either?"

Ponyboy's face paled somewhat, having realized what he just admitted. He opened his mouth, but no audio was released for several moments. Then he looked at his fingers and shrugged. "It don't matter."

"'Course it does," Soda said. "How are you s'pose to learn if you can't see nothin'?"

"It ain't a big deal, Soda." Ponyboy sighed quietly, while Soda cocked an eyebrow. "I've managed all this time. It ain't affectin' my grades much."

Much.

Soda's expression darkened slightly, and he wondered how long "all this time" was. His brows shot up further, lips tugging into another frown that mirrored Ponyboy's. Once again, his eyes pinned Ponyboy's with an intense, knowing stare. He wanted to dig deeper; to unearth more information. "What else have you been havin' trouble seein', Pone?"

Ponyboy hesitated. "Nothin'. Don't worry about it."

"I'm your brother—worrying is in my job description."

"You work at a gas station."

"Who says bein' an older brother isn't a second job?"

Ponyboy stared silently at him, his face a canvas painted with different emotions: a slither of fear; a tinge of irritation; a soft pulse worry. But then he became neutral. "Seriously. It's ok."

"Do you think you might need glasses? We could schedule an appointment."

His little brother winced. "That costs money."

"Yeah," Soda agreed slowly, and then shot Ponyboy a smile. "That don't matter, hun. It's worth it if it's for you."

He meant that with every part of his being. He would do anything for his baby brother. Would kill, fight, die. Sacrificing money from his paycheck for Pony wasn't a big deal—he was one-hundred percent sure that Darry would think the same and help out.

Ponyboy, however, was stubborn. "No. It's a lot money, Soda. We can't afford it."

"I've helped Darry with the bills," Soda argued. "He and I know what stuff we can't afford. A pair of glasses ain't nothin'. Why're you so worried about money?"

Silence followed his question, as expected. Ponyboy looked back at his hands, which were starting to curl into fists. Whatever reply he had was harbored inside his head would never pass his lips, and Soda was brutally reminded about how secretive Ponyboy had become since their parents had died.

"Pone," he prompted softly, reaching for his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "Look at me."

"Don't tell Darry," he said quietly. "I don't want him worryin', either. Like I said, it ain't a big deal. It's not like I'm blind."

"It's botherin' you enough to give you headaches," Soda continued. "'Course I'm gonna tell Darry."

"Soda, please—"

"Darry," he interrupted in a loud voice, spinning in his chair so quickly that he almost knocked himself out of it. "Darry, c'mere for a moment!"

Ponyboy's eyes widened and he hurriedly shot out of his chair as well with every intention of trying to stop the seventeen-year-old from drawing his eldest brother's attention, but he was too late. Darry was already out of his room, steel eyes softening as he caught the gazes of his younger siblings. "What is it? You ok, Pony?"

"It's nothin'," was what Pony said, right as Soda blurted out, "Our kid brother can't see the board in class, Dare."

"I can see it just fine," Pony snapped stubbornly, glaring heatedly at Soda.

Darry raised his brows in a way that was similar to Soda's. His eyes swept from one brother to the other, and he repeated the action multiple times as if not sure which one to believe.

"Your vision is messin' up?" he asked Ponyboy slowly with a concerned undertone.

"No," he lied, but Soda was nodding his head. Ponyboy elbowed him promptly, earning a squeak from the middle Curtis child, and shot him another look that seethed aggression.

"I think he needs glasses," Soda informed, pleasantly ignoring that glare.

Darry crossed his arms, frowning. "Is that true?"

"No," the youngest repeated, and when Darry's frown deepened, he shifted uncomfortably and his resolve seemingly faltered. "...Maybe."

"Then let's get you into the eye doctor," Darry said without hesitation.

Ponyboy shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"It's not worth the trouble," he murmured meekly, his voice so quiet that Soda almost didn't hear him.

"It ain't causin' any trouble," Soda reassured. "Right, Dare?"

"Absolutely," Darry said. "Your vision is important. And so are you."

Once again, Ponyboy was quiet. Silence blanketed the room like smoke, thick and suffocating, touching every corner that it could reach. Soda's heart began to ascend the staircase in his throat when his little brother looked at the floor soundlessly.

"You know that, right, Pone?"

Ponyboy nodded, but after several long moments of hesitation. Soda frowned and wrapped his arms around him instantly—a gesture that Ponyboy slowly returned—and he squeezed tightly. "You're so important, little brother. You're the reason we're all still here."

Darry stood awkwardly for a moment, while Ponyboy's shoulders started to shake as his eyes glossed over with tears.

"Don't cry," Darry murmured softly, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it affectionately. "It's true."

"You mean it?" he croaked out, sounding younger than his fourteen years.

"One-hundred percent," Soda murmured into his hair. Then he pulled back slightly and said, "Which means we're getting you glasses, and that's final."

"But—"

"No buts," Darry said, frowning slightly. "I'll call tomorrow to get you in. I'd do it now but I think they closed hours ago. No kid brother of mine is gonna squint to see across the room."

He disappeared into his room shortly after that. Ponyboy released a watery, quiet sigh, trying to escape from Soda's embrace. "You can let me go now."

"No," Soda said. "I ain't lettin' you go for the world."

Ponyboy laughed—a contagious, wonderful sound that was music to Soda's ears.

The next morning, Darry made the appointment as promised. Two days after that, Soda found himself sitting in the waiting room of the eye clinic, flipping through an outdated magazine without really focusing on the pictures or words. He wasn't really one to sit still for longer than a few minutes, but he would for Ponyboy. A half-hour had already passed, so he was certain his little brother would appear in the doorway any moment now.

He was right. Soda looked up when he heard footsteps, and he grinned excitedly when his little brother met his gaze. "How'd it go?"

"It was ok," he said nonchalantly. "Kinda boring, actually. He kept askin' me questions about school and crap instead of focusin' on the real problem." He paused, slipping his hands into his jean pockets and frowned suddenly. "I'm sorry you had to take off work for this, Soda."

"It's nothin'," Soda assured. "I just switched shifts with someone else. No big deal."

Ponyboy mumbled something in reply but before he could ask him to repeat it, a female asked from behind them, "Would you like to look at some frames?"

Soda glanced up again and smiled at the young lady that didn't look a day over twenty-four. "You wanna do that, Pone?"

"Sure," he said, and Soda stood up, grabbing his right arm with enough excitement for both of them. They spent the next ten or so minutes picking up frames to try on. Ponyboy was decidedly less enthusiastic about it, but when Soda jokingly put on a pair that didn't sit well on his face, he drew out a chuckle from the young boy. He crossed his eyes for humor, and it had the desired effect because soon Ponyboy's soft laughter became richer; he had to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle it.

"See?" Soda said, grinning.

"Actually, I apparently can't," Pony said.

"Smart ass." Soda shoved his brother playfully, although gently. "It ain't so bad, Pone."

Ponyboy rolled his eyes, reaching out to remove the glasses from Soda's face. Soda let him do it, and the seventeen-year-old said, "Why don't you try 'em on?"

"No way in hell," Ponyboy deadpanned. "I'd look stupid."

"Did I look stupid?"

"Kinda," he said honestly, which received another playful shove. "Fine, fine. I'll do it. But no laughin' at me."

Soda's grin widened considerably, and it certainly wasn't because Pony looked stupid. It was because when Ponyboy put them on, he saw their father standing in his place, rather than his kid brother. He tried to ignore the wave of sadness that pulsed through his chest alongside his heartbeat, but once the thought crossed his mind, it was all that he could think about.

Ponyboy looked so much like their father that it hurt.

"...you think, Soda? Soda? Soda, what's wrong?"

"Nothin', hun," he said in a suddenly hoarse voice, and blinked away tears. He was not going to cry in front of Ponyboy. The grin on his face faltered somewhat; became a wet smile, more than anything else. But he recovered quickly enough and ruffled his brother's hair—which he had spent at least twenty minutes in the bathroom this morning trying to perfect—and laughed wetly. "You look good in those. I think they're a keeper."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he echoed. "Can't wait 'till Dare sees 'em."

Ponyboy scurried almost excitedly to find a mirror, and when he saw his reflection, his happy expression faltered. "I look stupid."

"You do not," Soda said instantly. "I like them. You look smart and sophisticated."

"Well… if you like them…" Ponyboy paused and took them off, and he frowned as his eyes seemingly found the price. "They're a little expensive, Soda."

"Don't worry about it." Soda took the spectacles from his brother's hand and smiled once again, this time more carefree. "It ain't a big deal—I done told you that. C'mon, let's go see what kind of lenses you're gonna get to go with that frame."

"O...ok," Ponyboy agreed finally, and was once again dragged away by a very happy Sodapop.

They picked Ponyboy's glasses up about a week later. Two-Bit had gone with him—he'd actually volunteered—rather than his brothers because both of them had to work, but the moment Soda (with a noticeably disinterested Steve at his side) walked in the door, he raced to find his kid brother, who was sitting on the couch, gazing jadedly at the television.

Mickey was on, he realized vaguely, and Ponyboy wasn't the only one here. Johnny sat next to him (he noticed the bruise under the young teen's eye, and frowned sadly); Two-But was on the floor, munching happily on a piece (or two. Ok, three. Maybe four. Damn, he had the whole thing in front of him) of chocolate cake and a beer; and, surprisingly, Dally was sitting a few feet away from the other three, also equipped with a beer.

He would have said something—made a joke about how they looked like one sort-of happy family—but the next thing he noticed was that Ponyboy was not wearing what he had been waiting for all week.

"Hey, Pone. Where are your new glasses?"

"I put them away," Ponyboy mumbled, almost incoherently. "I ain't gonna wear 'em while they're"—he gestured to Two-Bit and Dally here—"around."

Soda frowned. "Why not?"

Ponyboy looked at his hands. "Two-Bit laughed at me. Said I looked like a nerd."

Soda walked across the room to turn off the television. When Two-Bit glanced up in horror and confusion, Soda glared at him. "You laughed at my kid brother?"

"Yep," he admitted without thinking, and only moments later did he realize his mistake.

"Don't laugh at him," Soda hissed suddenly, narrowing his eyes into slits. "He looks just fine. Ain't no one gonna tell him differently. You hear me?"

"Aw, Soda, I was just kiddin'," Two-Bit said, but the laugh that fell from his lips was tinged with nervousness. "I was just kiddin', Pony," he told Ponyboy when Soda's heated glare didn't soften in the slightest. "I know you need 'em. I didn't mean no harm."

"That's not what you said earlier," Ponyboy mumbled irritably.

"You know I didn't mean it," Two-Bit repeated.

"I thought you looked awfully smart, Pony," Johnny said shyly; suddenly. There was a timid smile on his lips.

Ponyboy turned to look at him. "You think so?"

"Don't listen to Two-Bit anyway, kid," Dally said, sounding somewhat bored with the conversation. "He ain't got anything important to say."

"Hey," Two-Bit shouted loudly and obnoxiously in defense. "That ain't nice."

"Who said I was nice?" Dally asked sarcastically.

Their small verbal brawl continued for several minutes, but Soda only paid attention to one person: his kid brother. He knelt down next to where he was seated on their couch, smiling as though his angry outburst hadn't happened.

"Where'd you put 'em? You should be wearin' 'em all the time, is what the eye doctor said."

Ponyboy smiled slightly. "I know. I'll grab 'em."

He stood and did so, and when he came back, Soda's grin spread ear to ear. "You look great, Pone. Smart and sophisticated, just like I told you."

"...Thanks," Ponyboy said hesitantly. "That means a lot comin' from you, Soda."

"You like 'em?"

"Yeah. I can see everythin' so clearly now," he said, adjusting the glasses so they rested comfortably on his face. "The book I'm readin' is pretty good now that I can focus on it."

Two-Bit stood to turn the television back on and went back to watching Mickey, although as he chomped on his—well, actually, Darry's—cake, he was slightly more irritated, mumbling to himself about being disrespected. Dally kept rolling his eyes. Johnny complimented Ponyboy again and was surprisingly echoed by Dally.

This made Ponyboy's entire face light up. He smiled—genuinely this time—and he looked so innocently excited that Sodapop couldn't help but smile again, too. After all, Sodapop always smiled, so it wasn't a big deal. Darry did, too, even if it was more of a solemn gesture. But Ponyboy hadn't done so very often ever since the accident that killed their parents, but when he did, it was contagious. Beautiful, even. He lit up the whole room with that smile, even if he didn't know it.

"Hey, Four-Eyes," Steve said absently-mindedly as he entered the room, a beer in hand, which stole the smile right from Ponyboy's face. And Soda's.

Later that night, after Ponyboy had gone to bed, Soda stood in front of the sink, hands covered in froth. It was his turn to do the dishes, but Darry stood next to him helping anyway. They'd worked in silence for several minutes until Darry suddenly spoke up.

"He looks like Dad, don't he, Soda?"

Soda smiled, although it wasn't a smile that threatened to break into laughter. It was sad. "You saw that, too, huh?"

"I forgot Dad wore glasses," his older brother admitted quietly. "It's been that long."

"Yeah," Soda murmured quietly. "Almost two years."

Darry went quiet for a little bit. "Pony's destined for great things. He's got a lot goin' for him. He'd make Mom and Dad proud."

"He's already done that," Soda told him. "Everyday of his life he's made us proud."

"You ain't wrong," Darry said. "He's gonna do what we can't, Soda."

It hurt to hear that. Can't. He didn't know if they had a chance to return to school and finish what they started. He didn't know if he could ever recover from the death of their parents—none of them would. But Ponyboy had a chance for a future, and Soda would be damned if he didn't make sure Pony took it.

"We're gonna haveta chase the girls away, too," Darry added seemingly as an afterthought, interrupting Soda's reverie. "And maybe some guys."

"Our baby brother is growin' up," Soda said and faked a sob for dramatic effect.

"Don't say that. You ain't even grown up yet," Darry told him with a frown. "C'mon, let's get this done. I ain't about to be up all night when we both gotta work in the mornin'."

"Sure, sure." Soda laughed a rich, full laugh, but what he had said wasn't a lie.

Ponyboy really was growing up. And now he could grow up with better vision.