"I'm looking for Steve Randle," Darry explained to the woman at the desk. "I'm his cousin."
She pursed her lips, obviously irritated by his presence. Darry didn't particularly care. He had gotten home from a long day at work only half an hour ago, looking forward to eating dinner and collapsing in bed, but dinner hadn't been made. Soda, who was supposed to cook tonight, had been lying in bed moping instead.
Not that he didn't have a good reason to mope. Pony had told Darry that Soda had lost his job – Soda hadn't had it in him to repeat it again for Darry. Plus, Steve was in the hospital, and Soda wasn't allowed to see him.
"He's been waiting to be picked up for a while now," said the nurse, reading from a file. "We got no answer from his daddy."
No surprises there, then, Darry thought to himself. "My uncle is at work," he said, keeping up the ruse of being Steve's cousin.
The nurse made a noncommittal humming sound. "Go on through to emergency, then," she instructed.
Like any time Darry had been in the emergency room, it was busy, loud, and crowded. It had frightened him when he had first come here (he had been seven, and he had been experiencing sharp abdominal pains that had turned out to be appendicitis), but over the years he had gotten used to it. Whether it was Johnny with his father, Dally stuck in a dirty fight, Pony getting sick or Soda doing something stupid, Darry seemed never to be too far from bailing someone out of the emergency room.
It wasn't hard to find Steve. He was sitting up on a bed four down from the doors to the waiting area. His legs were swinging under him – they weren't long enough to reach the floor – but aside from that he looked terrible. His face was swollen, his left eye almost obscured entirely. A gash near his temple had been stitched up, a split in his lip left to heal on its own. His wrist was in a splint, and Darry noticed a subtle lump around his middle under his shirt – his ribs were wrapped up too.
Darry let out a low whistle to announce his presence. Steve glanced up, and pulled a lopsided grin. "Heya, Superman." He spoke with a slight lisp, his mouth obviously paining him more than he was letting on.
After Darry signed him out (signing his name illegibly so they wouldn't find out he wasn't actually a relative), the two of them made their way slowly out to Darry's truck. They climbed in silently, and Darry let the noise of the engine fill the cab before he broached the sore subject. "Your old man?" he murmured, but it wasn't really a question.
Steve looked at him sharply.
"I know you didn't get jumped or anything," Darry said. "No bruises or cuts on your knuckles. You didn't fight back."
Darry was looking at the road, but he certainly felt Steve glaring at him. "You don't get it."
"Course I don't," Darry said. "I'm lucky. I never lived through the shit you do. But I didn't say I thought you should have fought back." Darry paused, carefully considering his next words. Steve wasn't as volatile as Dally ever had been, but he was a little unpredictable. "I'm proud of you," he said at length.
Steve broke his gaze and began staring out the window. He opened and shut his mouth a few times. Darry didn't say anything, but he thought he might be trying to hold back tears. "You were right," Steve mumbled quietly. "My old man… he didn't like that word was getting around that his son's a poof."
Darry bit his lip. He had always been the worst at holding in his urge to say "I told you so". His mom never had liked that particular habit of his. Being a parent had taught him more than his mom ever could that the vindictive pleasure he got saying those four words was not worth the hurt he caused in those around him. It wasn't Steve's fault he had been beaten by his father. "He shouldn't have done that to you," he said instead.
"Thought Soda might come with you though," said Steve. "Not that I don't appreciate this."
"He tried," Darry said honestly. "He ran into the same problem. Tried to say he was your friend, they told him they knew he was your boyfriend and made him leave." Darry chuckled in spite of himself. "You two are getting to have a more notorious reputation than Dally."
Steve grinned, then hissed as the expression pulled at his injuries.
"Listen, Steve," Darry said suddenly. "Soda was fired today."
Steve looked around sharply. "I'll kill him," he hissed, referring to his boss. "What the hell did he do that for?"
"Why d'you think?" Darry said, but there was no bite in his voice. "And don't you go saying anything stupid, one of you losing your job is bad enough."
Steve bit his lip. "I'll give you some money," he said. "It was my idea. It's my fault Soda lost his job."
"Shut up," Darry insisted. "It might not have been the best way to go about it, but without you Soda would be stuck in boot camp right now. You don't owe us a thing."
Darry had pulled up in his driveway. It was a no-brainer that he wouldn't be driving Steve home tonight.
"I'm real glad you're okay, buddy," Darry said. "We were all worried about you."
Predictably, Steve made no reply except to climb gingerly out of the truck.
I'm so sorry this took so long and is so short. I love this new idea of mine but unfortunately typing is very difficult for me right now because I have RSI. For many I've heard this is mild… for the past year I've found this increasingly disabling and devastating. I can hardly write anymore and I've even had to cut back on talking to friends and family (I live alone in a city, all my friends and family are overseas or interstate so internet is our primary mode of communication). I'm not saying this to whine but to explain why this is all so short and infrequent… took me weeks to do just this and I was waiting to get better enough to continue but unfortunately I'm still in too much pain so I thought I'd just post.
I've stopped replying to reviews for this as I really have to conserve typing, but I'm so grateful to those who reviewed. I love reading them and would love more for this chapter. You guys keep my love for Hinton alive.