Disclaimer: Borrowed characters.
"We're on our way home now. About three hours away. Just hang tight, kid."
Darry Curtis hung up the phone on his youngest brother and climbed into the truck he had saved up three years for, looking over to the side where Sodapop, the second child born to Darrell and Karen Curtis was squished up against the window, tears streaming from his closed eyelids. He thought of the advice he had told his brother.
Hang tight kid.
Darry swallowed the lump in his throat. He reached across the truck and squeezed Soda's shoulder. He heard Soda take a deep breath, as if to steady himself. Darry took a breath of his own and focused on the road.
The two older Curtis boys were making their way back to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where their youngest brother, Ponyboy, was waiting.
Darrell Sr. and Karen Curtis wouldn't be there.
Karen wouldn't welcome her boys into the family home proclaiming her love, and how much they had grown, even though Darry had been home no more than two weeks ago, and Soda was merely spending the weekend with his older brother at school.
Darrell would not slap his namesake on the back, ask about classes and how football training was coming, broadcasting how much he couldn't wait for the first game to come around so he'd be there to watch his boy play. He wouldn't be there to ruffle Soda's hair, to yell for Pony to help their mother put away the rest of the groceries and tickle him when he complained.
"What are we going to do?" Soda's voice was barely a whisper, and so broken hearted sounding that Darry didn't dare turn to look him in the face, not wanting to witness the anguish bound to be portrayed on his face. Not knowing if the question was answerable Darry opted to stay quiet, speeding up, urging the car to somehow just get them home.
He tried to clear his head, refusing to replay the conversation with Ponyboy in his head. Refusing to hear the desperation in his brother's voice. Refusing to acknowledge what Pony had told them.
"They're dead."
Darry cleared his throat, causing Soda to jump slightly. Darry risked glimpsing over. His usually exuberant middle brother somberly stared straight out the window. The tears had slowed, but Darry knew it was merely moments until they started up again.
16 was too young to be sobbing over the death of their parents. 13 was too young to have to tell brothers about the death of their parents. 20 was too young to be driving home from college to prepare his parents funeral.
They were too young to die.
The ding of a bell grabbed the attention of both brothers. The gauge that showed how much gas was in the tank was blinking, illuminating the little 'E'. They still had at least two hours until they'd reach their destination.
"Damn it." Darry switched into the right lane and read the sign telling them to take the next exit to the nearest pump station.
Hang tight, kid.
Pulling up to the pump, Darry looked over to Soda. Even with his face splotchy and eyes rimmed with red, he was handsome. Out of the corner of his eye, Darry saw the pay phone. "Wanna call home, tell them we're a third of the way?" Soda shrugged, but opened the trucks door. Darry fished in his jeans pocket, pulling out some change.
He watched as Soda stumbled over, and started the task of filling up. After wasting ten whole bucks, Darry sat back down in the driver's seat. He slowly directed the car over to where Sodapop was.
Soda climbed back into the car. "Twobit, Steve and Johnny are over, staying with Pony."
Darry nodded. He had expected the gang to be there, refusing to let Pony be alone. Thankful his friends were around to keep an eye on the youngest Curtis boy, Darry turned back onto the highway. He was hoping to be home by 8:00, and in bed by 10:00, where he could pretend this wasn't happening. That he was back at college, training to be the next football star.
Darry sighed, knowing sleep was very unlikely for the next week or so. And after that...
Another hour went by, Soda's soft even breathing soothing Darry as they came closer and closer to their house.
Hang tight, kid.
They pulled up to the house, the one with the mismatched paint job, thanks to Soda's inattentiveness and hyper activeness, the golden lettering, put up by Darry allowing the mail carrier to know just where to bring his college acceptance letters, the three old books Ponyboy was reading and had forgotten.
In the midst of all that were four boys. All smoking, looking as miserable as he felt. Soda stirred, slowly waking up. He hesitated before opening the door, not wanting to step out of the car, into the place where the absence of mom and dad was noticeable. He glanced at his brother, who nodded. Soda straightened up and climbed out, bracing himself as if a tornado threatened to whisk him away.
Darry followed his lead. Clenching his hands into fist so tight, his knuckles went white.
Soda was sobbing into Steve's shoulder while Dallas, TwoBit and Johnny stared hard straight ahead, as if the vacant lot across the street had the answer to all the questions in the Universe. Darry glanced over there. Overgrown weeds. Broken bottles.
"Where's Ponyboy?"
Twobit stood up, stomping out the rest of his smoke. He leaned against the railing before answering. "Asleep on the couch." Darry nodded, turning to make his way inside. "Dar," Twobits voice trailed off. Darry nodded, accepting what was either a warning about what state Pony was in or his sympathies. Neither were going to help him.
Hang tight kid.
Asleep, Ponyboy looked no more than 11 years old. The thought scared him. He was still a little boy. And little boys needed Moms. Dads. Not scared older brothers.
Blinking the sleep out his eyes, groggily waking up in the same fashion Soda did merely minutes ago, Pony looked up into his older brother's face.
Having nothing to say, Darry sat down next to his brother. Wrapping his arms around the kid who'd never have his mom at his 8th grade graduation, dad to take him on one on one hunting trips, Darry swallowed hard once again. The screen door closed, and an exhausted looking Sodapop joined them of the couch, snuggling up on the other side of Darry. No one spoke. They sat there.
Hang tight, kid.