AN: Hidee Ho! How goes it, eh? Well, sorta new to The Outsiders fics ... watched the movie and read the book recently, and, Man-Oh-Man, I forgot how good they both are. Shee-oot! Well, hope you enjoy! Adios, Amigos!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders. I do not own the characters of The Outsiders.
Heart Stopper, Breath Taker, Fate Maker
Bloody fists pound ruthlessly against the Curtis's front door, the figure on the porch desperately seeking those inside.
"Darry! Soda!" A gasping, raspy voice shouts, fear and panic dripping from the tone. Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing the two eldest Curtis brothers, both looking oddly drained and worried.
"Johnny?" Darryl asks, his eyebrows knitting together as he attempts to pull the younger man inside. Johnny resists, backing away and nearly tumbling down the porch stairs. Before either of the men standing in the doorway can react, the sixteen-year-old begins to explain his erratic behavior.
"Ponyboy," he pants, unsuccessfully trying to catch his breath and stop the wheezing his lungs insist upon.
Smoking has definitely taken its toll on his body. Sure, the nicotine relieves tension and calms the nerves. Lord knows Johnny's nerves have been on edge as of late. But he is definitely taking a beating, even in his early age.
"Pony?" Sodapop asks quickly, his eyes glistening at the mention of his younger brother.
The fight had not been all that bad, in his opinion. Fighting is what they do best, especially when it comes to beating those lousy Soc's faces in . . . then again, this fight had not been with the enemy. This particular scuffle had involved family, the only family that they have left, that they can depend on.
It had only been a shove, a push across a small distance. Ponyboy had not even really hit anything but the floor, the carpet, no less. But the fact remained that Darry had done something he had never done before. He had hit one of his own family. What's more is that he had hit Pony, the youngest and the one that they had been counting on to get as far away from this kind of life as possible.
Someone like Ponyboy did not come around very often. Smart as a whip, the kid was. His teachers and guidance councilors had even talked to Darry about having him skip another grade or two. Ponyboy was destined for something big, not some small hick town where people were jumped nearly everyday and you had to constantly glance over your shoulder to make sure you weren't one of those unlucky souls.
"He . . . He's at the park," Johnny replies, already heading down the porch stairs and stepping through the gate, Darry and Soda having to follow him quickly to hear what he is trying to tell them. "Soc's . . . four or five . . . They've got Pony!"
Johnny's last three words are all that the Curtis brothers need to hear before they start off at a sprint down the street.
"Johnny," Darryl manages between long strides, "you get the others."
"But Darry-"
"Go!" The older man yells at the teen harshly. Johnny runs with them a few more paces before halting abruptly and sprinting off in the opposite direction.
They run in silence for a few moments, the park in sight just up ahead and a blue car peeling away as they reach the fence and jump over it as if it were a hurdle on a high school track.
"Jesus," Sodapop hears his older brother swear as they near the small jungle gym, their eyes searching frantically. "God, don't let us be too late. Jesus! Don't let us be too late!"
Finding nothing at first, Soda manages a question through his labored breaths, "You don't think . . . they'd take him . . . do ya?"
Darry snakes his fingers through his hair, his breathing not nearly as heavy as his brother's, but his entire body shaking with anxiety. He looks close to tears as his eyes continue to scan the small area.
"Jesus, I don't know! I don't-"
Darryl's breath seizes in his throat, his lungs refusing to allow the cool night air passage as he catches a heart-stopping sight on the other side of the park.
"Shit," he whispers, his legs finally able to move and beginning to pump beneath him at full throttle. Soda follows closely, his adrenaline rushing like he has just run a ten-mile marathon.
The sight that greets the two as they approach the fountain is that of their brother . . . face down in the pool of dirty, change-filled water. Both grab hold of the youngest Curtis, dragging him from the shallow pool and laying him gently on the cement.
"He's not breathing," Soda points out shakily as Darry checks for a pulse.
"Shut up, Soda," Darry breathes quickly, his eyes searching his younger brothers face as a weak beat pulses beneath his fingers.
"Darry, he's not moving," Soda says hysterically, his fingers snaking through his dark, unkempt hair. "He's not breathing, he's not moving, Darry. Shit, shit, sh-"
"SHUT UP, SODA!" The eldest Curtis brother's voice echoes across the park, heard by those running towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, Darry sees Johnny heading the pack, Steve, Dallas, and Two-Bit at his heels.
"Shee-it," Two-Bit whispers breathlessly as they stop, surrounding the three Curtis brothers. "What the hell happened?"
"Socs," Soda replies, his form rocking back and forth as tears slide down his cheeks. Darry tilts his youngest brother's head back and blows two quick breaths into Ponyboy's mouth.
Those CPR classes had seemed so unimportant in junior high, but the eldest of the Curtis brothers silently thanks anyone who dares listen to his prayer that he had paid attention nonetheless.
"Jesus, Kid," Steve says under his breath, staring at Ponyboy's pale, wet face.
He knows that there has always been a bad vibe between the two of them, and he knows that he had only ever really tolerated the younger boy because he was Soda's kid brother, but, truthfully, the gang would not be able to get along without him.
"I swear, Pony," Steve mutters to no one in particular, "I swear to God, make it through this, and I won't never complain again when you want to tag along. Swear to God, please, let him make it through this."
"Jeez, Dal, jeez," Johnny repeats this over and over to the older boy beside him as tears threaten to swallow his eyes. He rubs at them quickly and takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Jeez, Dal, you think ... you think he's ... Jeez, Dal, jeez."
"Shove it, Johnny," Dally hisses through clenched teeth, taking a long drag on the nearly finished cigarette in his mouth. His jaw tightens as his teeth grind painfully. "Just shut the hell up. He's gonna be fine ... He's gonna be fine." His cold, stony aire does not waver in the least, but his eyes give away his panic-stricken thoughts.
What does he care? It's just the kid, right? Not like they need him anyway. He's too scrawny, too brainy, and they always seem to have to get his ass out of trouble. What does he care if it's the kid? What does he care? ...
Suddenly, Ponyboy's body gives a violent lurch, and he begins to sputter harshly, water pouring past his lips and splattering this way and that. An audible breath releases from everyone, a breath they had not been aware they were holding.
"Jesus, Pony, Jesus," Soda splutters past the tears adorning his face. "God Almighty, we thought we'd lost you."
"Soda?" Ponyboy coughs, his voice rough and haggard. "Darry? What-"
"Them Socs sure pulled a number on ya, huh, Pony?" Johnny laughs nervously, trying to release the tension tightening in his chest.
Ponyboy's eyelids rest at half-mast, his head pounding with every burning breath he draws in, and he winces, letting slip a small groan.
"Pony ..." Darry starts uncertainly, brushing his younger boy's hair out of his eyes. The youngest of the Curtises looks up at Darry, squinting as his eyesight blurs.
"D-Darry?" He squeaks, his vocal cords weak from coughing. "God, Darry, I'm so sorry. So sorry ... Shouldn't of left ... Should of stayed ... Sorry, Darry. Don't be mad, please. I'm-"
"Christ, Pony, don't talk so much," Darry forces a smile as he manages to keep the tears at bay. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Pony. You wouldn't have left if I hadn'ta ... God, Pony, I'm so sorry."
That can't be right ... Ponyboy must be hearing things. Darry's never sorry for anything ... Ever. What's he going on about?
"God, Pony, when I saw you ... You were just ... You looked ..." Darry cannot seem to find the right words to put into place. His mind is jumbled beyond recognition, and he cannot seem to make a coherent sentence.
"We ... We thought you were gone for good, Pony," Soda says shakily, laying a hand on his younger brother's forehead and running his fingers gently through the long, thick strands of hair. "You gave a scare, little brother."
Pony begins to tremble, and he clings to Darry for warmth as his teeth begin to chatter.
"C-Cold."
"Let's get him home," the oldest Curtis brother says, slinging one arm underneath Ponyboy's back and the other beneath his knees, hauling him up. "He's wet to the bone."
Without thinking, Dally shrugs his leather jacket from his shoulders and wraps it around the younger boy, dropping his cigarette and grinding it into the playground soil.
"Thanks, Dal," Darry nods as he starts as quickly as he can through the park and down the street to the Curtis residence, the gang following quickly.
By the time Darry reaches the front door, Ponyboy has passed out cold.
AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?
Not sure if I'm going to continue with this one ... Don't really have any good ideas ... It was just supposed to be a vignette of some kind ... Any suggestions?