A/N: This is a one-shot about the events that occurred between Pony's passing out until he awoke. I got kind of tired of writing it at the end (I had no idea it would be this long!), so if it gets a little boring, sorry. It's all in Darry's and Soda's point of view.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Outsiders, if you already hadn't guessed.
BETWEEN THE LINES
Darry's POV
A gasp escaped from my mouth as Ponyboy collapsed onto the rigid pavement that was slick from rain, sweat…and new-fallen tears.
I looked upon Pony's motionless figure, too shocked to even function. I dimly remember thinking, First Johnny, then Dally…now Pony's dead, too.
A sharp cry from Soda quickly released me of my daze. Pony lay on the ground, shaking uncontrollably. I collapsed on the ground next to Pony, dumbly searching for a pulse.
"Pony…Ponyboy…Can you hear me?" My voice broke. "Please Pony…don't-don't do this." I stroked his hair back from his feverish, sweaty face.
The other boys were losing it. Soda sobbed, tears streaked down Two Bit's bruised face. Steve held his broken ribs, chewing on his lower lip, his face contorted with pain.
If it had been in any other situation, I would have been shocked, amused even. The boys never broke down like this. But, the past couple of weeks had been hard on all of us. And now, this, this was the last straw.
I heard someone give a small, awkward cough. I looked up to see the grim faces of two police officers.
"Should we call an ambulance for the boy?" One shouted over the din of the rain. I had a feeling this had not been the first time he had asked this question. I looked around. They were already zipping up Dally's body in one of those horrendous bags. Clearing the scene. Wiping away the blood. As if it had never happened. I couldn't look. It was too much.
I focused on the concerned looks of the police officers. I wanted to punch the lights of those two. I wanted to scream, You just murdered one of my boys! The gun wasn't even loaded! Can't you tell when a gun isn't loaded! You - But, I knew they were just doing their job. Dally wanted himself killed. Dally always got what he wanted.
Belatedly, I nodded at the police officers, and one radioed in an ambulance. I focused my attention back on poor Ponyboy. He was still unconscious, his fevered body still trembling frenziedly. Rain was making little gullies in the sockets around his eyes, trailing down his face and blood-stained clothes. I hoisted him carefully off the ground into my sore arms. I was Superman. I had to be strong. For Pony. For Soda. For the boys.
The police asked me questions, but I don't remember them, I don't know how I answered. All I knew was that Johnny and Dally were dead; my grief-stricken boys were all beat up, and my baby brother could be dying, too, for all I knew.
In turn, the boys escaped from their trance. Two Bit was kept on opening and closing his mouth, searching for something, anything, to lighten up the situation. But, nothing came. Soda was rocking back and forth, crying like a baby, his golden eyes showing no laughter. Steve looked ready to pass out; he held his head in his heads, eyes closed.
Finally, Two Bit muttered something about "taking Steve home" and left me, Soda, and Pony (who I still had cradled in my arms) with the police. Finally, an ambulance arrived, and I was suddenly all action. I knew that what had happened had happened, and there was nothing I could do to change it. But, right now, I couldn't linger over it; I had priorities, including that of the welfare of my littlest brother.
A small team of EMT's placed Pony on a stretcher, strapping an oxygen mask on him, and doing who-knows-what. I studied them watchfully, letting them to their job. Half a minute later, I was guiding Soda into the back of the ambulance. He was shivering, and I knew it was only partly from the cold. On the way to the hospital, everything was quiet, grim, as I watched Pony and soothed Soda, who was sobbing uncontrollably into my shoulder.
As soon as the ambulance pulled into the back of the hospital, everything went from still to chaotic. Soda and I were yanked out of the ambulance and somehow placed in the emergency room. I tried to wrestle free from the doctor who was guiding me, and he, quite successfully, held me back.
"But-but my brother! Where are you taking Pony?" I stammered, flabbergasted.
"Don't worry, son. You need to fill out some forms."
I allowed the kindly doctor to steer me and Soda to a nurse with a clipboard and pen.
"Fill these out as best as you can," she told me politely. I felt like I was in grade school again.
As I scribbled through the seemingly endless pile of medical information forms, the nurse brought out two blankets. I then realized how drenched – and cold – I was. In return, I handed her the forms, and inquired about my brother.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I truly don't know. I suspect the doctor will be out in a bit to talk to you." Her response was well practiced, as if she said it too many times to put emotion behind her words.
"Thank you, ma'am," I said, grateful for the blankets. I turned and wrapped one of the blankets tightly around Soda. He snuggled into the sudden warmth.
Soda had stopped sobbing a couple minutes later, and he seemed surprised by his surroundings, as if he'd just noticed where we were.
I looked at him with concern. "What's wrong, Pepsi-Cola?" I was hoping me calling him his favorite nickname would wipe that look of utter helplessness of his face.
He fixed me with one of those looks. A look that clearly said, "What's wrong?" What do you mean, "What's wrong"? Two of my closest friends just died!
"Where are we, Darry? Where're the boys?" He sounded frightened, like a little kid lost in a department store.
I tousled his wet hair softly. "We're in the hospital, buddy. Pony –" I stopped abruptly when I saw the sudden look on Soda's face.
"You-you mean…Pony's dead, too?" Soda was on the verge of tears.
"No, little buddy. Of course Pony's not dead," I told him gently.
"Then why are we here?" Soda demanded like a little kid.
"He's just…just getting checked out." Soda didn't look too convinced.
He sighed and leaned heavily on my shoulder. "Oh, Darry, I just wish…" His voice trailed off. I looked down and realized Soda was dead to the world. I thought only medication would be able to make me sleep that night, but I wrong…
Soda's POV
I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.
I heard the shots go off, but I couldn't watch. I couldn't watch one of my best buddies die. I just couldn't.
But I heard a loud thump as Dally fell to the pavement. I didn't have to be told. I knew, shoot, I could feel, that Dally was dead. Dally wanted death.
And, Dally always got what he wanted.
I felt Pony sway next to me, heard the impact as he fell onto the road.
Just like Dally, I thought.
Then, I broke. I cried like I never cried before, even more than when Pony and Johnny ran away. I sobbed. I screamed. I howled. I couldn't stop.
I wept for Johnny. For Dally. For Pony. A fuse inside me broke; maybe it was my heart. I was an everlasting fountain of tears.
Everything swirled together; flashes of light, bits of movement, pieces of conversation. I thought I had lost my sanity.
Somehow, I was suddenly thrown back into reality, realizing I was cold, tired, and…wet.
I found myself in a plastic chair, staring at bland walls. I was relieved to realize that I was no longer crying. I heard a faint scratching sound next to me, and as I turned, I saw Darry, at my elbow, jotting down some sort of information on some paper.
"What's wrong, Pepsi-Cola?" Darry asked me, watching me intensely.
I didn't know how to answer. There was so much wrong that I didn't know where to begin. I stayed silent, giving him a peevish look that surely expressed my feelings.
"Where are we, Darry? Where're the boys?" I asked. I was a little scared, I'll admit it.
Darry proceeded to tell me that we in the hospital. He told me a doctor was looking at Pony, but I didn't really believe him. I prepared myself for the worst, so it wouldn't catch me by surprise this time. I don't like those kind of surprises.
Darry continued on, but my eyes were just so heavy. It was getting harder and harder to keep them open. I wasn't surprised that I was so exhausted. It had been an exciting day. Submitting myself to my weariness, I slowly slipped into sleep.
Darry's POV
I was awakened by someone slightly shaking my shoulder. A doctor loomed over me. I glanced at the clock, realizing with surprise that I had been out only thirty minutes. It felt like hours.
"Mr. Darrell Curtis?" The doctor asked with uncertainty.
"Yes," I hurried to stand, carefully moving a still-sleeping Soda off my arm.
"I am Dr. Edwards. You are Ponyboy's guardian?" The doctor said like it was a question.
"Yes," I repeated and swiftly added, "And his older brother. How is he, doc?" I was tired of beating around the bush. I wanted to see my baby brother.
"He's doing okay, though I suggest he should stay here for a couple more days. He has a concussion, but we will not know the degree of head trauma before he regains consciousness." Dr. Edwards paused.
"That's all? Only a concussion?" I asked, hopefully.
"No, I believe he also has a case of pneumonia."
I inhaled sharply. Pneumonia was deadly.
"Don't worry, Mr. Curtis," The doctor must've seen my panic-stricken face. "It may not be as severe as you think. But, I'm not pulling him out of the 'danger' zone until he's conscious and his fever goes down."
I nodded. "May I see him, doctor?" I wanted to see for myself. I had to see that my Pony was breathing.
Dr. Edwards contemplated his answer. "Fine, but only for a few minutes. I don't want him disturbed too badly."
I nodded, again, even though I didn't agree. But, who was I to question a doctor?
Dr. Edwards led me to Room 112, and led me inside. To my surprise, the doctor left me alone with my Ponyboy. I walked over to the bed.
A small boy laid beneath the covers, breathing slightly, an oxygen mask covering most of his face. He looked terrible. His face was cut up, bruised, and dirty from the rumble, and a bloodied thick strip of gauze encased his head. Ponyboy looked tiny, pale, and…weak, utterly weak.
"Ponyboy Curtis," I started, trying to put some amount of scorn in my voice. "What on earth were you thinking? You scared Soda to death, you know. You should've never been in that rumble. Why…" I stopped, chewing on my lower lip. It wasn't Pony's fault. I knew that.
"Pony…why did you run away? I didn't mean to be so hard on you," I continued, my voice breaking. "It's just…I want you to turn out good, Pony. You know what, Pony? I-I love you, baby. Love you so much. I don't- don't want to see nothing happen to you. You just don't ever use your he-head, Pony. Why don't you use your head?" When I said these words this time, they came out soft, gentle. I wasn't mad at Pony, I was pleading. "I –"
I stopped talking as the door opened, and brushed newly-fallen tears off my face. Dr. Edwards peered inside.
"Mr. Curtis," Dr. Edwards called quietly. "Time for you go now."
I softly kissed Pony's bandaged forehead and left the room, shutting the door quietly.
"I didn't want to tell you this, Mr. Curtis," Dr. Edwards told me in the hall. "But, I think you should know. If Ponyboy doesn't regain consciousness in a couple of days, he might never."
Soda's POV
The next time I woke, I was in my own bed, and midday sunlight was streaming through my closed window. My back ached a little, and I felt unpleasantly cold and lonely. I turned to Ponyboy, but, to my utter surprise, his side of the bed was untouched, and I knew he hadn't slept in this bed last night.
Then, I remembered. I remembered Pony, Johnny, and Dally. My spirits sank. I nearly cried, again. I was feeling so hopeless, so afraid.
Yawning, I ran my fingers through my messy, tangled hair and made my way to the kitchen. Darry sat at the table, looking exhausted and anguished, a filled coffee mug lying untouched.
Darry looked up as I entered. "How's it going, Pepsi-Cola?" His eyes were kind, searching me.
"Okay, I guess. Where's Pony?"
Darry sighed. "Still at the hospital, out cold. I would be there now, but I knew you needed some rest after…after last night."
It had happened last night? It seemed to be an eternity. "Is Pony o-okay?" My voice was a whisper. I was almost afraid to ask.
Darry shook his head. He almost looked defeated. "Not so good, buddy. Not so good at all."
I slid in the seat next to him, looking intensely into his eyes. "What's wrong with him, Darry? Tell me, Darry…please."
He wouldn't meet my gaze. "Pony…Pony has a concussion and pneumonia." Darry stood, his voice suddenly stiff with anger. "And, the doctor says if he doesn't wake up during the next couple of days…he won't ever wake up!" He yelled and kicked a chair, making me jump. "Why?!" Darry was yelling. "Why did Dad and Mom have to die? Why did Johnny and Dally die? Why is Pony sick? Why am I such a stinkin' horrible brother?" He stopped, his chest heaving, tears and sweat running down his face. Darry's voice became quiet, to a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Soda. I thought I could do this. I thought I could take care of you and your brother, and, shoot, I thought I could take care of the boys, too. But, I can't. I'm so…so sorry, Pepsi-Cola…" He was on the floor now, shaking as he sobbed.
I was in a state of shock. Darry was Superman. I didn't think he would ever break. Shoot, he wasn't like this even at Mom's and Dad's funeral. Frankly, it scared me. I didn't want Darry like this, so vulnerable. He was always strong, for me, for Pony, for the boys. And, now, it was my turn to be strong for him.
I knelt beside Darry, rubbing his back. "Darry, you aren't a horrible brother, honest! Come on, Darry, you can do this. Shoot, you're nearly as good as a parent as Mom and Dad!"
He looked up at me. "You really think so?"
I nodded earnestly. "Of course! And Johnny and Dally dying and Pony being sick ain't your fault."
It took a couple of minutes, but Darry overcame his sorrow. I just held him as he quietly cried into my shoulder, as he has done to me many a time. Finally, he stood up and wiped the tears from his face. He was Darry, again. He was strong.
"I reckon we should go see Pony, now," Darry said, acting as if his breakdown never had happened. His eyes pleaded that I wouldn't say anything. And, I knew I wouldn't.
"Suppose so," I turned, grabbed by coat, and we both left.
Darry's POV
Ponyboy only was in the hospital for another day. I convinced the doctors that going home would be the best for him, that being in his own home would make him wake up.
"Now, Mr. Curtis," Dr. Edwards told me, completely serious. "You must understand that discharging Ponyboy doesn't mean he's on the road to recovery, yet. If I had it my way, he'd be in the hospital for a few more days, at least until he woke up. But, I can tell that you will take as good, if not better, care of Ponyboy as my staff here." I nodded. "But, I will be sending a doctor by your house until I see fit. And, an appointment has been scheduled for Ponyboy for a visit to me in a week from now. Agreed?" I nodded again.
Dr. Edwards stared at me for a moment, then quickly signed Pony's release papers. "Here, is his pain medication," he handed me a small bottle, "And, his antibiotics." I took the second bottle from him. "Now, you must give him the antibiotics twice a day, and the pain meds whenever he needs it. I suggest you keep those ready when Ponyboy awakes. He's going to be in some major pain. Goodbye, Mr. Curtis. I will see you in a week."
I carried Ponyboy into the truck, carefully laying him in Soda's lap. As soon as we arrived back home, I gingerly picked him back up, and carefully carried him back to his bedroom.
I had no longer got Pony comfortable between the sheets and Soda to my bed when the front door banged open.
I stalked to the hall, clearly set to tell off the visitor for making such a racket. Two-Bit stood nervously in the hall. It was strange, I hadn't seen him in two days.
"Darry!" Two-Bit cried, before I could open my mouth. "Darry, it's all my fault! It's all my fault Pony's sick! H-He had a fever the day, the day of the r-rumble. Bu-but he t-told me not to te-tell, so I di-didn't. I'm so sorry, Darry!"
I didn't know what to do. I really wanted to sock him, right there, and from the terrified look on Two-Bit's face, I knew he was expecting the same thing. But, I took a deep breath and told him, quite calmly,
"Thank you, Two-Bit. It isn't your fault Pony's sick. And, next time you come, please don't bash the door open. I have a sick little brother who's sleeping."
Two-Bit's eyes widened in surprise. I gave myself a congratulatory pat on the back. I think I handled that well.
"Okay, Darry. Er, well, if Pony's alright, then, I-I got to go now." He quickly exited; probably afraid my composure would erupt into rage.
I sighed, and went to check on Soda and Pony. Soda was completely passed out on my bed, and Pony wasn't looking so peachy. His skin was still pale and clammy, yet blotchy from fever. I force-fed him some antibiotics and watched him sleep for a while.
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It wasn't until the next day until Pony showed some life. Soda and I were in the kitchen, preparing dinner, when I heard a loud moan come from the bedroom. Both of us sped off to Pony's and Soda's bedroom in a flash, and I knelt beside Pony. He was tossing and turning in the bed, sweating profusely and groaning, his face twisted in pain.
"Come on, little buddy," I quietly urged him. I swept his bangs from his fevered face. "Come on, little buddy. Wake up."
"Mom?" Pony's voice was soft and scratchy. His words were labored, as if it talking took a supreme amount of effort. "Dad?...Soda?...His voice became softer. "Darry?"
I was gently shaking him, trying to wake Pony up. I called for Soda to bring in the pain medication, just in case. But, that stubborn boy remained in his semi-conscious state. A few minutes later, his frantic calling stopped, and he slumped against the pillows once more.
After that episode, I was feeling better. Happier. Pony didn't exactly open his eyes, but he was close. I felt an immense load being taken off my shoulders. Everything was going to be alright.
Or, so I thought.
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About one o'clock the next morning, a blood-curdling scream awoke me. I pushed Soda's arm off my face (for he was still sleeping in my bed) and ran to Ponyboy's bed, Soda hot on my heels.
Ponyboy was shaking so bad, I thought he was having a seizure. Sweat freely ran off the sides of his face. I held him down, as I didn't want him to harm himself. I winced as I touched his hot skin.
"Good Lord!" I shouted. "The poor kid's burning up! Soda, get me some wet cloths! Now!" Soda, who had been previously standing, shocked, by the door, dashed off to do complete his task.
"NO! Don't take him, please!" Ponyboy shouted groggily, his throat scratchy. He repeated the same phrase over and over, and I tried to console him.
"Little buddy, little buddy!" Soda ran to me with a bowl of water and some semi-clean cloths. I quickly wetted the rag and washed off Pony's feverish face. "They aren't going to take him, Pony!" I sounded like a lunatic, but I really didn't care.
The wet cloth quickly calmed Pony down, to a point. He was no longer yelling, but was still shaking unsteadily. Finally, he once again returned to oblivion, but I was prepared myself for another delirious rant.
"Soda," I called quietly. He stood by my side, looking frightened. "Pepsi-Cola, go back to bed. I'll watch over Pony for the rest of the night. Can you come get me at eight?" He nodded, dumbly, and left the room.
I put a cool hand to Pony's hot cheek and sighed deeply. The rest of the night I stayed, alert, at Pony's side, whispering to him softly. Promptly at eight, a quiet Soda came in and relieved me. I left, heading for the shower.
Soda's POV
My internal alarm clock woke me up strictly at eight o'clock. I was tired, no doubt, from the incident early morning. To be frank about it, it scared me. I had never seen my little brother behave in such a way. I was scared that something was going to happen while I watched over Pony. Darry reacted swiftly when Pony started getting all crazy. I don't think I would behave in the same way.
Nevertheless, I went and took over "Pony Watching," as I now have labeled it. I didn't like peering down at my little brother's pale, blank face. I wanted to yell at Pony, to tell him to "knock it off" and get better, because he was scaring me and Darry. But I never yell at Pony.
I swear, it hadn't been ten minutes when Pony's started to moan softly. Then, Pony started tossing around in the sheets. I wanted to call for Darry. But, I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. I was frozen to the spot. It was like watching someone transfigure themselves into something else. Then…
"Soda," Pony croaked, his voice barely audible. "Is somebody sick?"
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