Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders. SE Hinton does.

Cursing below.

Sorry for the wait. Please review if you would.

*

Ponyboy's sprawled out on the couch, heavy with exhaustion. The house has a mellow glow thanks to the lanterns brought in from the garage. Darry touches the top of Pony's head before moving down the hall to grab another blanket. He opens the closet and just freezes; shutting his eyes, getting a rare moment for himself.

Darry wants to kill whoever's idea of a good time it was dropping a shitload of drugs into his brother's drink. He coughs into his fist, giving it another task besides slamming it into the wall.

Darry knows that he and Soda are lucky Pony's alive right now. Darry also knows that if he would have gone easier on the kid earlier, then maybe, just maybe, Ponyboy would have opened up to them.

Darry knows a lot of things that won't be easy to forget anytime soon.

When he comes back, Soda's plopped next to Pony, running a thumb down his scar and Darry wishes he wouldn't do that. Pony's pulled himself into a protective slouch.

"Does it hurt?" Soda asks.

"Not anymore." Pony removes his arm from Soda's palm, tucking it against his side. He sighs. "I'm real sorry I didn't tell you guys."

"You don't have to be sorry, kiddo. We know now, that's all that matters," Darry says, handing Soda the blanket to cover himself and Ponyboy.

Darry squats next to his brother. "Look, Ponyboy…I know bad things happened to you but you're here with us so don't worry anymore."

Ponyboy looks down, hands smoothing out the patchwork quilt their mother had made. "I just feel so shitty all the time," he explains. "My head's all fuzzy, like a blurry photograph or something."

If Darry's shocked by Pony's honesty, he hides it well, simply patting Ponyboy's leg. "Kiddo, ain't nothin gonna touch you."

"But it…it ain't getting better, Dar. Sometimes I think I'm royally screwed."

"It will."

"But what if it doesn't?"

"It will," Soda insists. "We'll help you." Ponyboy just nods.

*

Thanks to a dark rivaling midnight, Ponyboy falls asleep around seven in the evening. Darry scoops the kid up and puts him in his room. He covers him with four blankets, smoothes his hair back and shuts the bedroom door.

Darry finds Soda in the bathroom, washing his face. Soda straightens up, shutting off the water.

"You okay?" Darry hands him a towel to dry off.

Soda's lips smash into a straight white line. "Darry, when I saw his arms…I thought he had tried to—on purpose—"

Soda hangs his head. "And I feel like such an asshole for even thinking he'd do that."

*

For better or worse, Pony rises to face the day or the New Year (if he wants to think of it like that). He sticks his fingers through the window blinds. The electricity is back on, but the streets and the skies are still riddled with snow. Tulsa looks like a city stuck in a snow globe.

Pony pulls up his sleeves, staring at the lines Soda and Darry have glimpsed.

He's torn between fearful relief. Darry and Soda know what he knows. He doesn't have to hide or lie; he can talk to his brothers. But there's another aspect of him that still feels so lost, hanging around in limbo. Because now that it's out, what does he do next?

Roughly, he jerks the sleeves back down.

*

While Pony wrestles his demons, Soda has a bone to pick.

"He told you."

"Huh?"

"You knew about Pony."

Steve pulls the goggles off his face. He snorts. "Good. That dumb little shit finally 'fessed up." Tossing the goggles across the garage, they land on a workbench and then tumble to the floor.

"Steve." Soda moves to stand in front of his best friend. "You fucking knew and you didn't say anything?"

"Whoa. Don't go blamin me for whatever he was hidin. I ain't his babysitter."

"No, but he's my goddamn brother. He's not yours. The next time you pull this shit I'm gonna ring your fuckin neck."

"Jesus Christ, shit, Sodapop. I just thought he should handle it on his own and stop pussyfooting around. You know that kid is—" Steve's about to say dense when the defeated look on Soda's face makes Steve cut the shit.

"Soda," Steve lowers his voice. "What the hell's going on, man?"

Soda shakes his head, an explanation just won't come. He doesn't know how to fix his brother and he can tell Darry doesn't know either. Soda sags back against one of the, finally finding an apt adjective to describe their situation.

"Everything's a mess," Soda says, smearing his face in his hands. "Everything's fucked."

*

He keeps the story short. Darry tells it in one long breath, barely pausing. He feels guilty enough as it is; he should have been involved in the first place, at the first sign; instead of taking Ponyboy's silence as something he'd get over.

Alice covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Darry," she says. "I'm so sorry."

"I was stupid, Al. I shouldn't have hollered at him about school. I told him he gave up." Darry groans, remembering the argument.

"You couldn't have known the reason. He'll be okay. Just keep talking to him." Darry nods without saying anything and Alice asks, "What is it?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Say whatever you want. Or just listen – without yelling." Alice gives a wry grin, patting his hand. "Whatever it is, Darry, if it comes from you, he'll appreciate it."

*

Soda's thinking.

Thinking about his brother's claim that his mind don't work, that it's not right. It's horseshit; Ponyboy can't lose what makes him him. Soda won't let him.

Caught up in his thoughts, Soda keeps opening and closing his cigarette pack as if it has the solutions to his problems.

Open, close. Open, close.

It's been a week and things have gone back to as normal as they can get in these circumstances. Two-Bit and Steve know, trying to act unconcerned but Two-Bit's babbling bullshit and Steve's contrite attitude give them away.

Soda can't help it, he finds himself watching Ponyboy closely. Darry is too, albeit in a more conspicuous manner. Plainly put, Darry hovers, which Sodapop thinks is odd because Darry never advertises it. He'd rather deck you than admit he can't handle a problem, most of all his brothers.

Ponyboy notices too.

"I swear to god Soda," Ponyboy had told him just this morning, "if Darry asks me if I'm okay one more time, I'm walking out of this house."

Needless to say, Soda had told Darry to cool it on the questioning. "You're overcompensating, man," Soda said. Darry had grumbled something about having the right to overcompensate all he wanted and left for work, slamming the door shut hard behind him.

While Soda's concentrating on his packet of cigarettes, Darry saunters in a few minutes later, closing the front door against the cold and dropping his tool belt on the floor. He flops into his recliner, heavy coat and all.

"How was work?"

"Long. Some idiot was screwing around and broke his leg. Bunch of paperwork to fill out." Noticing the TV's off and the abnormal quiet of the house, Darry raises an eyebrow. "What're you doing, Sodapop?"

Soda sits up from his place on the couch. "Dar," he begins, finally taking out a cigarette, tapping the white stick against his palm. "Do you think we oughta take Pony to a doctor? Get him checked out or something like that?"

Darry sighs and Soda holds up a hand. "I ain't saying nothing's wrong but maybe just in case—"

"Soda," Darry interrupts. "I was planning to call someone next week." Other than the story of what happened, they don't know many details and when prodded Ponyboy just clams us. He'll talk to them but it's clear to see it's painful.

"I have a doctor," Ponyboy interrupts.

They both turn. He's standing in the doorway, hair sticking up in all directions, barefoot and in his usual clothes. He moves as if to join them but suddenly as if deciding that it's not worth moving anymore, Ponyboy sits down in the hallway, leaning his back against the stiff wall.

"I really want a smoke," Ponyboy mutters to no one in particular, thinking it odd since he hasn't had a craving in quite some time.

Darry's eyes move to Soda. "Who's your doctor?"

"Sam. The doctor who treated me. After the—the—" Ponyboy stutters and then finally decides on a term, "The accident, he made me come see him and…talk and stuff."

"About what?"

"Oh all kinds of fun stuff," Pony snorts. "You know, the usual, panic attacks, failing school, why the earth is round…"

Soda sets the cigarette down. "Damn it Ponyboy, stop being an ass."

Pony blinks. And then laughs; a real laugh creeping out of his mouth. He holds his stomach."Ok, Soda. I'm sorry. Ok."

*

Ponyboy doesn't tell Darry or Soda much more about what Sam had to say, instead keeping his summation to a measly, "We talked is all."

Darry – if he wants to be honest – is scared to death. Scared because he doesn't know how to help; he doesn't know exactly what Ponyboy experienced the past month without them. Pony's skewed version isn't reliable. Darry can hear the blame and doubt soaking through his shielded words.

Darry, finding a desperate need for secondhand information, sneaks around. And Darry hasn't done sneaking around since Sally Paulson in ninth grade. He knows he'll get bawled out by Ponyboy but he'll risk it. He has to do what's best for his brother.

So Darry calls the school, tracking down the man who knows what Ponyboy went through for the last month. Samuel Morrow is quiet on the phone, his voice deep and thick. He asks few questions, murmuring at Darry's comments, listening to Darry's composed concern with an attentive ear.

When Sam finally speaks, he's professional. A physician at one of the off-campus medical facilities, he's walking a fine line. "I can't tell you anything you don't need to know. I won't betray Ponyboy's trust. But we can talk in person if you like," Sam says. "I can come down tomorrow."

Darry wavers, thinking about Ponyboy, who's currently unaware of this phone call and probably won't be too thrilled with his older brother's due diligence.

Sam, noticing Darry's hesitance, asks, "Ponyboy doesn't know you called me does he?"

"No, he doesn't."

"Well, Darrel, sometimes, good or bad, you do what you have to."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

*

If they're surprised at the tall black man sitting at their kitchen table, they don't show it. In fact, Soda's more surprised that Darry had called Sam Morrow for advice. An hour ago, after they had shook Sam's hand and made introductions, Soda had pulled Darry aside.

"Boy howdy, Ponyboy's gonna be pissed at you," Soda whispered.

Darry had almost looked guilty. "I told Two-Bit to distract him for a while."

Now, sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by coffee mugs and questions Darry glances at the refrigerator. Soda's taken down the calendar that had hung on the fridge, hiding away the date with the big red circle marking Ponyboy's return to school.

Sam picks up where he's left off. "Sometimes with ecstasy, because it's a mind-altering drug, a hallucinogenic, the after-effects can linger for quite some time. And in the case of an overdose, the after-effects stay even longer; depression, confusion. It affects the brain significantly."

Impatient, Darry taps the table. "Well, where does that leave Ponyboy?"

"He should come out of it or he could remain fuzzy for a while. And that, combined with his traumatic experience, has left him depressed."

Sam takes a sip of coffee and then sets the cup on the table. "I did think of something that would help."

Soda perks up. "Name it."

"I think it would work wonders if someone went and got everything from his dorm and brought it home. To Ponyboy it would symbolize that that part is over in his life. That no one will make him go back there."

Sam's reproachful eyes fall on Darry and Darry wonders just what Ponyboy's told Sam about him.

Darry pushes his coffee mug away. "We can do that." His voice is thin.

"Good," Sam says. "I must admit, I was a bit surprised it took him as long as it did to tell the both of you; considering how anxious he was to get back home. But he did it. I'm proud of him, it couldn't have been easy."

Soda steals a quick glance at Darry who seems to have paled a few shades. Darry's hands are balled into tight fists, resting on the table next to his coffee. Soda gets what's bugging Darry; a stranger knows more about solving their brother's problems than they do right now.

Sam checks his watch. "I better get going before the snow gets worse."

They stand, walking Sam to the door and shaking hands once again. "We appreciate you helping us out," Darry says. "Really appreciate it."

"Go slow with him," Sam says. "He's young, you know how that is."

"Yeah, I do," Darry chuckles.

Soda laughs, punching Darry's arm. "Shoot, I don't think this one was ever young."

*

Soda and Darry are still chuckling on the front porch, when they see Ponyboy and Two-Bit headed their way. Two-Bit cuts across the neighbor's lawn, scooping up a snowball and smashing it at Ponyboy's head. Ponyboy laughs and flips him the bird.

"Shit," Darry swears, eyeing Sam's departing car. It turns the corner, disappearing out of sight, but not before Ponyboy catches a glimpse of it. He pauses in the middle of the street, eyes narrowing, and then runs up to Darry and Soda.

Pony's hair is matted with snow. He brushes it out of his face furiously. "Who was that?"

"Who're you talking about, Pone?" As Ponyboy scowls at Darry, Two-Bit shoots Darry an apologetic glance and points at a non-existent watch on his wrist, telling Darry they're early.

"You know who…that car – was Sam here?"

Soda leans against the porch railing. "Yeah kiddo, he came down."

"Well, why'd you call him?"

"Easy there, cowboy," Two-Bit says, propping both of his hands on Ponyboy's shoulders. "Don't get your chaps in a bunch." Ponyboy shakes him off.

"Ponyboy," Darry begins, "we just thought it would be a good idea to visit with Sam on our own."

"You could have told me if you wanted to talk to him," Ponyboy states flatly. "You didn't have to go sneakin around my back, dissecting my brain."

"Pony, we weren't—" Soda cuts off at Pony's hurt look and amends, "I'm sorry, kiddo. But we needed to talk to him."

"Sure," Pony sighs, staring at the ground. "I get it. But I don't have to like it."

Darry gets the point. "No. No you don't."

*

Pardon typos. Hopefully a long wrap-up next chapter.

Thanks for reading.