A/N: Thank you so much to all reviewers! They keep this fic what is probably one of the most frequently updated on FFN! (Not meaning to brag. I'm proud of myself!)
Italics denote flashbacks.
X X X X
"Hey," called Darry as he walked into the house. He put the bags of groceries on the kitchen table and went to the living room, where Pony, Two-Bit and Steve were sitting around in front of the television. The general mood seemed to be quite morose. "Where's Soda?" Darry asked. If he had taken some girl out while he was sick…
"Sleeping," said Steve. "He hasn't woken all afternoon."
"Pony," said Darry softly, sitting in his favourite chair in the corner. "How was your day?"
His attitude towards his youngest brother had changed while he was at work, and now he realized his mistakes, he was grateful to the one who had, unintentionally, opened his eyes. It had been right at the beginning of his lunch break…
X X X X
"D'you mind if I knock off an hour early this afternoon?" Darry asked his boss. "I'll make it up tomorrow, and we're on schedule anyway…" He left the sentence hanging.
"Well, what do you have planned?" Mr Keate said. He was generally a good boss, but not the easiest to bend to your will. Most of the time Darry almost admired that about him; he was a strong person. Now it was more of an irritant.
"I have to take my brother to the doctor's. They close at five, and he's actually really sick." Sodapop certainly wouldn't approve of that description of him. Well, screw what he thought. Darry knew it was the truth. He scowled. Soda shouldn't have to go to the doctor's. If Pony had gotten there just a tiny bit sooner, he'd be all right. That kid never used his head.
"Your brother… that's the one that's got really bad asthma, isn't it?" Mr Keate looked somewhat thoughtful. "You look angry about it."
Darry looked up from where his gaze had slipped to glaring at the floor. "Well, he shouldn't be sick," he said.
His boss clearly assumed Darry was angry at Soda rather than Pony, but it had the same effect. "You know my little girl's got asthma?" he said. "Not as bad as your brother, but she suffers occasionally. It's not his fault, Darrel. Nobody can cure it or prevent it. We just have to deal with it. There are times when it's bad, and times when it's better. I strongly suggest you remember that if you don't want your relationship to suffer."
Darry swallowed almost inaudibly.
"Sure, take off at four," Mr Keate said in answer to his request, turning back to his papers. "I hope your brother gets better."
X X X X
"It was fine," said Pony, and Darry was relieved to hear no signs of strain in his tone. Nothing indicated that Pony even recalled the fight of the previous night, and Darry felt even guiltier because of it. If it were not for the words of his boss, he would probably still be stewing. "I got an A+ on that pop quiz."
Darry smiled, getting up off his chair. "Good for you," he said sincerely.
"But I need you to sign a note."
Darry turned back towards Pony. "What for?"
"I… sorta forgot my chemistry homework."
Darry felt the urge to yell at his younger brother, but with a monumental effort, he suppressed it. "I suppose I can understand why you would forget." He knew that, on top of finding Soda beaten and unconscious, Pony had not been able to sleep too well through Soda's night time coughing. Even Darry, who slept in a completely separate room, had woken a couple of times during the night. "Sure, I'll write that note. Just leave it on the table. I'm going to take Soda to the doctor's."
Pony seemed frozen in shock for a moment before a smile broke out on his face, and Darry felt a small tingle of regret in the fact that Pony had to be surprised that he was being understanding. He wished his parents were still alive; they always knew to do the right thing.
The sound of Soda starting up another coughing fit came through the closed door, and Darry silently swore to himself. He had probably been like this on and off throughout the entire day.
Darry opened the door and moved over to Soda's side. He could see why he was having such difficulty breathing; at some point during his sleep he had managed to slide off the pile of pillows and was now lying flat, something they had learned long ago was not at all beneficial. Darry shook him, softly at first, then when that garnered no response, more roughly. Soda awoke with a start, and the coughing seemed to double. Between the coughs, Darry could hear the telltale signs of wheezing.
Soda had baffled doctors for the first six years of his life. They all knew he had trouble breathing – though it had worsened during his years of puberty – but nobody could tell why. He complained about pain rather than wheezing, and though he coughed more than the average person, he did not cough as much as the average asthmatic. With no clue as to how to treat the attacks, and no clue as to why they were even happening, Soda had ended up spending a reasonable amount of time in hospital for almost constant testing as well as for oxygen in the times his breathing became too bad. It was only after a chest X-ray after he suffered a nasty bout of flu that they discovered that he did, in fact, suffer from something usually easily diagnosed and reasonably common. Now, wheezing was regarded by both Soda's doctors and his family as extremely dangerous; it meant the asthma had progressed beyond their control.
Darry looked around hastily and spotted the inhaler atop Soda's bedside table. He pulled his little brother up so he was half sitting, leaning against the three pillows on his side of the bed that were placed there for that very purpose and held the inhaler to his mouth.
"Breathe, Soda," he instructed quietly, stroking the blonde hair with his free hand. Inside, he was panicking, but he knew from experience that panic was the worst thing he could possibly do in this situation. Soda needed to calm down. "You're all right… come on, little buddy, you're all right…" He did not know exactly what he was saying, but whether it was the words, the medicine, or a combination of the two, Soda began to calm, his breathing easing up slowly but surely. Darry put the inhaler back on the bedside table.
"I'm taking you in to the doctor's," he said quietly. "You want me to get your clothes and stuff? We should go soon or they'll be closed…" He trailed off as Soda shook his head. "What is it, little buddy?"
"They'll – it's my rib," panted Soda, still holding his chest.
"That's part of the reason I want to take you in, silly," chided Darry softly. "We can get the doctor to have a look at that too, maybe get you something for the pain…"
Soda continued to shake his head. "What if – what if they think" – he coughed – "that you're abusing me?"
Darry frowned slightly. He hadn't thought of that. He knew the doctor would report anything he perceived to be abuse to social services, and he knew he was already under suspicion simply because he was Soda and Pony's brother, not a parent. And after Windrixville, he wasn't sure how much he could convince them it hadn't at all been him who had injured Sodapop. He couldn't very well tell them the truth: that Soda had been jumped on his way home from work. For one thing, that would prove him an inadequate guardian both for allowing Soda to work and for allowing Soda and Pony both to live in a neighbourhood riddled with crime.
He bit his lip. This was a bit of a dilemma…
X X X X
A/N: Am swiftly discovering I have no life. Go to school, come home, go to work, come home, write and post, sleep, write and post, go to school…
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