A.N Thank you to my loyal readers/reviewers. You know who you are.

Chapter Nine

You're like brothers. Except it ain't your parents that are buried around the same time he's failing his junior year.

And even though you hurt like you have never hurt in your whole damn life, you know it's nothing to the pain that he's feeling.

You spend morning, noon and night just watching his face, be it from by his side or from across the room. You don't talk much but you know where he is at all times, even if it's just out the corner of your eye. You watch strangers offer condolences, neighbours bring round casseroles and the guys stumble around him awkwardly. You don't say nothing. You just sit there like a prize fool, doling him out cigarettes, lighting them when his shaky hands can't manage.

He's trying to be strong for Ponyboy. When he slips outside to cry you wait a respectable amount of time before you follow. And he doesn't hide it from you so you know he wants you there. You don't squeeze his shoulder and you don't give him a hug, even though he'd undoubtedly be able to offer those things to you. Instead, you sit quietly, just about managing to meet his grief stricken eyes when he finally manages to calm down.

You like it best when he gets mad and smashes things up because that you know how to do. The two of you beat the crap out of the old Curtis shed and then you sit side by side on the porch steps, knuckles bleeding, lungs screaming in protest. You want to look for more things you can break but the anger's left him now and he's crying again. Regretfully, you fish in your coat for another smoke.

At the funeral, you stand with Soda to your right, watching the coffins go into a hole, one on top of the other like a Jenga tower. On his right are his brothers. Darry standing as tall as he can, and Ponyboy between the two of them, wailing like a baby. Even you feel bad for the kid, you don't see how it's fair he loses both his parents. You almost offer God your Dad in their place, but then you remember you swore never to ask that son-of-a-bitch for anything again.

When Soda loses it beside you, you say to hell with your promise, and offer your Dad up anyway. But God's a sly old fox and he don't accept. Of course he wants Mr and Mrs C over your drunk of an old man. Hell, you do too.

Dally don't last the length of the funeral. He's cursing and muttering from the off and you're surprised he makes it as far as he does. He stalks off round about the time the priest starts talking about 'God working in mysterious ways'. You think it's a crock of shit too and as you watch the back of Dal's leather jacket leave, you're real jealous that he's escaping this suffocating sea of sadness. You could follow, you know that, but Dallas don't carry the responsibility you do, 'cause he ain't Soda's best buddy.

Hearing Soda and Ponyboy cry is the worst sound you have ever heard but you suck it up 'cause Soda needs you. 'Cause every few seconds he's leaning out of his fog of misery to check you're still there. The day of the funeral is the longest fucking day of your life.

Afterwards you all go back to the Curtis place. It's better than the churchyard but not by much. Ponyboy falls asleep in his daddy's arm chair and then Soda gets so drunk Darry has to haul him to bed. Dallas is still AWOL and once Soda's gone to bed, Two-Bit and Johnny call it a night and quickly leave too.

You are halfway through a beer when Johnny and Two-Bit leave. Once your can is empty, you look about the room to discover that's empty too. You head outside to go on home and it's Darry solemn voice that stops you as you head down the porch steps.

"You okay?" It startles you that he's asking you this. He's sitting on the old porch bench, an open bottle of whiskey sitting beside him. ' You okay?' is what you should be saying to him.

"I'm gonna take off." You start down the steps. Never in your life have you wanted to get away from this house so badly. You've spent your whole life running towards it. It's now pretty strange to be running in the other direction.

"Don't go."

His words make you freeze and you slowly turn, instantly seeing him for what he is. Darry Curtis is a scared and wounded kid, not the stoic steady man he's been portraying all day. Well, you'll be damned. No wonder he's so good at poker.

Still, you've done your bit. Soda's asleep and you want out of here.

"I just wanted to say thanks," Darry says, and you nod in a non committal kind of way. "I don't know what I would have done if not for you."

Now that you don't understand. You've barely said two words to anyone, let alone him.

"You're the only one holding it together, Stevie. The only face I can look at when...ya know," Darry trails off but you get it. "Soda and Pony are a mess, Johnny too. Dallas ain't one to stick around and if Two-Bit makes one more lame joke, I'll put him through the fucking wall, I swear to God."

He's half laughing when the snort turns into a sob. You stand there on the porch, not knowing what the hell to say as Superman Curtis starts to cry his heart out. It's a manly kind of sob, if that's possible- hand over his face, his great shoulders shaking violently, low guttural cries seeming to come from some place deep inside him.

You wonder why you don't feel nearly as awkward when Soda starts crying. You wonder why it is you want to stick around for that, but not this. You like Darry. A lot. But he needs to be doing his bawling to somebody else.

"I don't know that I can do this," he gasps. "I don't know if I can stay strong enough to convince the social services they're better off with me."

Now this gets your attention.

"You don't got a choice," you tell him fiercely. "You think your parents wouldn't want you to fight for them? You guys are the only family you got left!"

You appreciate the irony of it. You, only child and product of a broken home, are telling Darry Curtis about the meaning of family. But in a way you get a right to say it. 'Cause you only learnt the difference between your world and his from spending time in this house.

On this porch, in that yard, in the kitchen trying to eat Mrs C's too hot cookies. Under the hood of your old dodge with Soda, Darry and Mr C, on the living room couch, where every person that passed you sleeping there would throw you a blanket, offer you a drink, make sure without saying it that you knew you were welcome there.

You're glad Darry don't think you're overstepping the mark though. He nods through his tears that he gets it and even though you know you should feel some empathy, the only thing that kicks in is the onslaught of a blind panic. It's bad enough Soda's parents are gone. It's bad enough that Soda is a mess, but Darry you figured you could rely on. You can't afford for him to fold on this. You don't want your best friend shipped off to a boys home.

"Today it's alright not to be okay," you tell Darry. You don't really want to listen to him blub but you figure he needs a night at least. "Tonight, you can scream and cry as much as you want. But tomorrow, you suck it up. Tomorrow you're the perfect parent."

He nods again, mutely holds out the bottle of whiskey to you.

"Stick around, please, Steve? Take my bed, I'll have the sofa. I don't know what I'll say to them in the morning."

By them, he means Soda and Ponyboy, and you don't know why the hell he thinks you'll have something more to say. But if he's keeping your buddy here, you'll do whatever the hell he wants you to.

You accept the whiskey bottle. But you both know that taking it is so much more than accepting a fifth of Jack. In taking it, you are promising not to crack, not to walk away, to be Darry's back up when the other guys melt.

"Okay," you tell him. "But get it together by tomorrow. No pussying out."

An unspoken deal is made between you, one that neither of you ever mention out loud. When things get heavy, you don't follow Dally out the door like you want to. And when Darry is breaking, your poker face somewhere in the crowd is what keeps him strong.

Darry Curtis is your friend, but neither you nor him are under any illusion of what binds you the tightest together. Both of you love Sodapop more than you love yourselves.

For the next month or so, the Curtis house is a swarm of social workers, all of them looking at you like you're scum of the earth. And even though you'd never admit it, you straighten cushions and rub your sleeve across the top of the dusty TV whenever you know they're due. You don't know if they'll grant Darry custody of Soda, and what in the hell will you do if they don't? You might even miss his annoying little brother.

Darry wears that poker face all day long. It must help that he's a jock, that he's used to talking to reporters, local people, the Soc's on his team. He doesn't put a foot wrong, and once he's answered a question, Soda shoots a smile, and if the visiting party from the state is female, he usually follows up with a little subtle flirting. The two of them are a winning combination but it's made clear that their situation goes against the norm,

Darry has no experience being a parent. You doubt he's even babysat Pony while his parents went to the movies. And he isn't skilled in very much, can't afford college now but manages to score a job roofing houses. Them jock muscles come in handy after all but you still hear the locals saying it:

"It'a a darn shame."

Darn shame indeed. But there are situations like that all over the East Side. Lost dreams, stray parents, extreme poverty- hey, in a way, it is kinda like the Curtis' are finally joining the majority.

It's only a darn shame to those people because Darry Curtis had shouldered his way into a crowd society deemed important. Jocks, scholars, Socs. Steve always thought that one of the smartest things Two-Bit ever said was that, if it weren't for the gang, Darry would be a Soc.

And they are your gang now. Soda's your brother but you're also loyal to wild Dallas, solemn Darry, wise ass Matthews and Johnny, the gang's pet. You gotta admit you got a soft spot for Johnny. Hell, maybe the way Soda feels for Pony is how you feel about Johnny, like you wanna protect him, keep him safe. No progression with the kid though. Even his current tragedy doesn't make him any less annoying.

The night before the social workers make the decision, you lay awake for a long time. Staring up at the ceiling and thoughtfully smoking a cigarette, you ask God for one last favour. You tell him that he owes you at least one more for taking Mr and Mrs Curtis the way he did

And maybe that twisted sadist actually listens to you, because the Curtis brothers, against all odds, are allowed to stay together.

888

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