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Before

The woman in front of me at the checkout counter was taking her sweet time counting out her change and I fought the urge to lose my temper, hands opening and close over and over at my sides, breathing deeply and trying to focus on something other than the fact that I'd just worked a twelve hour day, it was almost 8 o'clock, I hadn't eaten since noon, and Sodapop might not even have dinner ready. That last part might not even be true, I reminded myself, and my little brother was sixteen. There was no reason he shouldn't be out with his friends…heaven knows I spent enough time out with mine when I was his age. But it smarted, seeing guys my age going off to college and just…being free.

Of course, I wasn't doing myself any favors in the freedom department. What the hell was I thinking, taking responsibility for another kid? I mean…I liked the kid. I did. A lot. And taking responsibility for strays just felt like part of my typical life. But this one…this one didn't just need a place to crash for a day or two because his usual guardian was being an asshole. This one was fourteen. He needed raising still. Was I really the person to do that? I wasn't even twenty-one yet…I was only six or seven years older than the boy who sometimes slept in our spare room…in his room.

Part of me wanted to say no. It was the same part of me that, day after day as I drove to work, told me to just keep driving. To get out while I could, start over, get a job and save up for college. Sodapop would figure things out. But then I'd feel horrified as if just thinking that could get my little brother taken away. I could never do it…never abandon my little brother that relied on me. I could never be that selfish. I loved him too much…loved our parents too much. And as much as I knew my parents had wanted me to go to college, they wanted me to take care of our family more.

Hadn't they taken in strays? Dallas and Steve who basically had no parents, Johnny, whose parents were worse than having none, and Two-Bit, whose dad had split and whose mom was working herself to the bone. Hadn't they taken in every one of those kids and treated them like their own, even when they'd barely had enough money to keep me in football and keep all of us in clothes? How the hell could I justify abandoning everything they'd worked for…our family? A family of poor kids on the wrong side of town that loved each other and fought for each other.

And they would have taken Ponyboy Davis in too, no questions asked. The second we would have brought him home, covered in blood and bruises, they would have loved him and cooked for him and given him sanctuary. My dad would have gotten his old baseball bat and stood in the doorway if Aaron had come knocking, letting him know just what he thought of people that beat on little kids. My mom would have mothered him to death and damn it if the kid wouldn't have loved it. His own mother had been no prize, according to what he'd told Sodapop. He would have loved having a real mother, one that looked out for him and knew just what to say when he needed her. My eyes stung a little and I blinked hard. No use wishing for that kind of stuff.

What I was considering was crazy. Probably impossible. Why the hell would the State give me another kid, especially considering the fact that the kid already had a guardian? I was already stretched awful thin taking care of me and Sodapop and the house. And the guys. I couldn't forget the guys. Ponyboy would need clothes. Food. Attention. Rules…he was fourteen. No telling what kind of trouble he could get into without rules. Then again, he sure didn't seem to have any from Aaron, except the unspoken 'stay out of sight' one he seemed to follow pretty well. So maybe fewer rules than I was thinking. Guidance. As a twenty-year-old working two shitty jobs and a sixteen-year-old high school drop out, surely the state would see that we were the best people for that job.

No…that wasn't fair. Sodapop had a job he really liked. I hated that he'd dropped out, but he was responsible. He helped me take care of the guys and the bills and he'd been great with Ponyboy. The kid seemed to trust him more than anyone. Even now, when one of us would touch him, the kid tensed up a little, and in public, he leaned away from people. But Soda…he let Soda get the closest. Maybe Johnny too. Those two, he was comfortable with. Maybe it was because they were soft-spoken…approachable in a way I wasn't. No matter how I'd tried to be.

The kid seemed to trust me, though. Somewhat. Maybe not as much as Soda, but some. He was a good kid…smart and nice and he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. He had a chance. Ponyboy Davis could get out of this place. Have a real life. Go to college and meet a nice girl and make it better for his own family. But with Aaron as a guardian…it didn't seem possible.

"Sir?" The guy at the check out counter was staring at me, and the guy behind me sighed, making me wonder how long I'd been staring at nothing, lost in my own thoughts. Shaking my head sharply to clear it, I stepped forward, putting the box on the counter. He rung them up, barely glancing up at me. "Six dollars." I held back the flinch. That was six dollars we could use. For groceries. For clothes, since Sodapop was too tall for most of his pants, and most of my own were getting holes and were too filthy to ever get clean. For bills. Not for some stray kid to have tennis shoes. But I handed over the money anyway, not even feeling bad about it.

Over the last week, Soda had put in a little overtime to help me buy them. He insisted they were a birthday present for the kid. I'd asked when his birthday was, and he'd shrugged. "Sometime right after he moved here." Soda had told me, both of us keeping our voices down. It had been the night after the kid had gone to the movies with Dallas…the night after Tim had beaten our buddy up for slashing his tires, which, of course, was a shitty, stupid thing to have done. He'd been pissed at some girls or something…I hadn't bothered listening to the full story.

Ever since then, Ponyboy had been spending more time with Johnny, both in and out of school. The two did homework at the library and played cards at the lot. Sodapop told me they'd only been to the station once during their lunch with Two-Bit and Steve, preferring the library at school instead. He seemed to be a good influence on Johnny, helping him out with homework and keeping him away from Dallas who would do anything for him, and looked out for him, but who could also drag him into trouble sometimes.

That was the morning that Sodapop had brought it up, Ponyboy still asleep in the room we'd given him. He'd slept at his uncle's the night before but had snuck in through the window that night, crawling into bed sometime between seven, when I'd passed the open door on the way to the bathroom, and ten when I'd headed to bed and found the door shut. "Pony's real good at track." Soda had told me, glancing at me on that Monday morning while I'd been eating my egg sandwich.

"Mhm." I'd muttered, flipping past a newspaper article about Vietnam. It seemed to be the only thing in the paper these days.

"Yeah. He has a meet next week. The coach is letting him run all the races…or something." He'd shrugged. Sodapop didn't really get into sports much, so this was a surprise. I glanced up, wondering where this was going.

"That's good. He could get a scholarship if he sticks with it." There had been a long pause.

"He's practically running barefoot." I'd glanced back up from the newspaper, feeling the exhaustion already, and it was only 7 am.

"Soda…"

"I'll work some overtime. Steve wants to spend more time with Evie this week, so he's giving me some of his hours."

"Soda…"

"Come on, Dar. He needs shoes and you know his asshole uncle isn't going to buy them."

"Sodapop…"

"I bet the kid ain't never even had new shoes. Asshole probably got 'em used at the salvation army or something. He needs them. And he's part of the family now." I'd been quiet for a while, staring down at the article telling me how many kids just a little older than my brother had died in a country most of us had only heard of just a few years ago. What the hell was I supposed to do? He needed new shoes…I hadn't doubted that. But if I agreed to this…what then? New clothes? School supplies? Where exactly did this kid stand in our life? And it wasn't just for myself that I wanted to know. It wasn't fair to the kid…it wasn't fair to act like his family just sometimes. Heaven knew the kid needed more than that. Deserved more than that.

But I'd brushed all that aside, agreeing to help Sodapop raise the money, and so there I was, leaving the store with a new pair of running shoes that, hopefully, the kid accepted and didn't make a big deal of. I dropped the bag into the passenger side of the truck, turning the key over and flinching at the noise it made, making a mental note to have Steve look at the engine. Maybe it was something that could be fixed with a little elbow grease and not too much money. We'd had this truck since my dad had bought it when I was ten, and there was no way I could afford to replace it, not with another mouth to feed. So had I decided, then? Was I going to try and take this kid in for real? I don't know…I don't know if I'd decided yet.

The light was on at our place when I walked through the front door at 8:25, the glow from our living room illuminating my walk up from the driveway. I glanced over at the house next door out of habit, taking note of the truck in the driveway. So the asshole was home. I wondered if Ponyboy was at our place. Or maybe still out with Johnny. It was a Friday night...I figured I'd see him sometime over the weekend.

The kid came around more on his days off of school, seeming more comfortable with us every time. The night before, Steve and Two-Bit had taken him and Johnny to a movie after school…those two kept watch over the two youngest at school, and had reported that a group of socs was pissed at them because of…something. Something to do with girls at the movies. I was sure it was all Dal's fault, and when I'd brought it up, Dallas had gotten a dark look on his face and had promised to take care of it.

I found Soda at the kitchen table, picking at his chicken and vegetables without much interest, but he gave me a weak grin when I stepped into the room, bag in hand. "Hey, Dar." He muttered, looking back down at his plate real quick. He didn't have no bruises or nothing, so I wasn't sure why he seemed to be trying to hide.

"What's going on, Pepsi cola?" I wondered, ruffling his hair a little. He just shrugged me off, giving me that weak smile again, pointing to the stove.

"Left you a plate."

"Yeah? Thanks, kiddo." I grabbed the still-warm plate of chicken, corn, and bread off the stove, kind of surprised at the normalcy of everything on it. Even the mashed potatoes were the proper color. "I got the shoes," I told him, pointing to the bag on the counter. "Though you'd give them to him this weekend. You work tomorrow?"

"Nah. I'm off all weekend. Steve works tomorrow with the new guy." I hadn't known about a new guy but didn't ask, just dug into my food until my stomach allowed me a break long enough to ask another question.

"You feeling alright?"

"Yeah." He answered, his voice short, telling me in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to talk about it. Like any good older brother, I ignored it.

"You got plans with Sandy tomorrow?" I asked, trying to grin like I would any other time back before I'd become the head of this place. Like I was his big brother.

"Nope. Don't think I'll ever have plans with Sandy again, Dar." I paused at that, blinking and putting my fork down.

"You two done?" I asked, surprised. I'd thought he'd stick with her…hell, I'd figured he'd marry her. They'd been together for over a year and I'd never seen my brother like a girl like Sandy. Besides, she was a good girl. Smart. Sweet.

"She's pregnant." And then I felt my whole world come to a screeching halt. No. Surely my kid brother hadn't. He knew! He knew what thin ice we were on! I couldn't pay for a baby and neither could he! I felt shame and disappointment and just plain old sadness mixing. Before I could open my mouth, though, he went on. "Ain't mine. Her parents are shipping her off to live with her aunt." And then my little brother was pushing away from the table, looking tired and older than sixteen. "I'm going to bed."

I found myself alone at the table, still trying to process all that. He'd spit it all out like he couldn't wait to say it, and I wondered if I should follow him…knock on his door and make sure he was okay. But what the hell did I say to that? Of course, he wasn't okay! His girlfriend had cheated on him…was pregnant with some other guy's kid. I massaged my temples, closing my eyes and sighing. A baby wasn't something we could handle right then. And if she was running around on him, Soda was better off without her…but I knew it still hurt like hell.

I finished my food, barely tasting it, then washed the dishes, putting the leftover food away into a container that I left in the fridge. Grabbing a beer and popping the top, I took a long drink, wondering if that would help. I doubted it. Still, it tasted good and set my nerves at ease. If I hadn't worried so much about my health, I might have taken up smoking to keep calm, not that it seemed to do the others any good. I'd see Pony light up with shaky hands and take a drag, and he'd be still for about two minutes before they'd go right back to shaking. So I figured I'd stick to beer and beating up socs on occasion. Maybe Aaron too, if he pissed me off.

I knocked on Soda's door after a minute of debating, opening it as soon as he invited me in. He didn't say nothing, just stared at the car magazine held loosely in his grip, eyes staring straight at the page. I moved over to his side, feeling inadequate. He needed Dad. Dad would sling an arm over his shoulder and promise it would be okay. Dad would distract him and joke until he felt better. But I wasn't Dad…I didn't have it in me to joke about this. And he needed Mom. Mom would tell him she never liked that Sandy girl, a blatant lie, but a nice one. She'd kiss his head and stroke his cheek and tell him that he was going to meet a better girl some day, but that in the mean time, she'd make a chocolate cake. But I wasn't Mom neither.

So I sat on the bed beside him, one leg bent at the knee, the other hanging off the side, and reached out a hand to clasp his shoulder. He still didn't look at me. "I'm awful sorry, Pepsi cola." He shrugged like it didn't matter, but it did. Glory, to him, it mattered more than anything. "She ain't good enough anyway," I told him, faking a confidence I so desperately wanted, the words awkward and tentative on my tongue. But I pressed on. "That kind of girl don't belong in our family."

"What kind of girl?" Soda asked, voice oddly flat.

"The kind that hurts my kid brother." He glanced up at that, lips turning up just a little, and I grinned, a knot loosening in my chest. It was working. He opened his mouth, about to say something, when the scream split the air.

We both jumped, my hands dropping and his whole body going stiff, looking around for the source. It had been a short sound, cut off in the middle, like, and loud enough to be close. It was almost as though we'd imagined it, since it was all quiet for a minute, and then we heard the crash, the sound of glass breaking, and another scream, this one my name. "Darry! Darry!"

"Ponyboy." Soda all but whispered, jumping to his feet, and I was right behind, following him out into the hallway and through the house, my shoulder slamming into the wall as I slid, but I ignored it, following my brother out onto the front porch where we both paused, looking around desperately. Waiting.

We both looked at the house next door at the same time. A familiar truck was in the driveway. The front door was open, the light on in the living room. Neither of us could see inside from where we were, but instinct must have drawn us closer, both of us jumping off the porch and hurrying over to get a look.

There was a lamp on the floor. I pushed past Sodapop, taking their front porch stairs two at a time until I was yanking open the front door, all of it seeming unreal. The living room was a disaster of beer bottles and glass, a lamp on its side. The TV was on, some western playing, and Aaron was kneeling over someone. No, not someone. It was Ponyboy. I knew it right off. Who else would it be? Ponyboy was on his back, silent. Still. Hands limp at his sides. Aaron knelt over him, one knee on his left wrist, hands wrapped around the boy's neck, mouth moving as he muttered things I couldn't and didn't want to hear.

When I'd seen Ponyboy at the grocery store all those weeks ago…when I'd helped him pay for his groceries, he'd been talking to the cashier. "It ain't for me, man. If I don't get it, my uncle's gonna kill me." I hadn't thought too much about those words. I mean, yeah, his uncle was an asshole. Yeah, the guy beat on him. But I knew lots of guys whose family beat them. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But the State and the police sure didn't seem to care, so what could I do about it?

Then the kid had cut his own wrist, and I'd been more preoccupied with that. Everyone had kept an eye on him, and even though he spent plenty of time alone, he hadn't tried nothing like that since. But I knew things had to be bad for him to try something like that…to try and end his own life. Why hadn't I listened? Why hadn't I really thought about what the kid had said? "My uncle's gonna kill me."

My feet moved before I noticed, and I tackled Aaron with a force I hadn't used since my football days, not caring when his head cracked against the wood floor. My fist pulled back, slamming into his nose once, twice, three times before Soda's panicked voice broke through the fog surrounding me.

"Darry! Darry, he ain't breathing! Darry?" I stared down at Aaron who, against all odds, was blinking up at me, dazed and bleeding.

"Touch him again, I'll kill y,u." I screamed it, uncontrolled and furious, both things my dad had never been. But I didn't think my dad had ever seen someone try to kill one of us. That thought lingered for a second. I'd been wrong. I knew exactly where that kid stood with us.

Dropping to my knees beside the boy, I put two fingers against his throat, waiting for too long while Soda shook on his other side, one hand gripping the kid's pale, limp one. Blood. There was a lot of blood. And glass. But the kid wasn't breathing. His lips were too pale. Blue. The pulse was there but barely. Just a weak 'thump…thump…'

"My uncle's gonna kill me."

"Darry….Darry he…he…he's not…"

"Call an ambulance. Now." I barked, pointing at their phone, and Soda leapt to do as I'd ordered, glancing back at me as I bent over the kid, my hands careful as they tilted his head back. I knew mouth to mouth…had learned it at the YMCA course I'd taken, and never in my life had I been more grateful for it than when I opened that kid's mouth, pinching his nose and exhaling hard, my lips against his.

I'd always thought it would be weird to give somebody mouth to mouth. Too much like kissing. But as I pumped my hands against his chest, feeling something give and ignoring the knot in my stomach, all I could think of was the boy who'd saved Johnny Cade and who had made all of us love him…who was so afraid and so smart and good and…it wasn't fair. Hell, it was a stupid, childish thing to think, but it wasn't fair. This kid didn't deserve all this shit. He deserved a real family, one that actually cared. One that would never hurt him. And if he survived this, I was going to give him one.

I didn't stop pumping his chest and blowing air into his mouth until the sirens were in the driveway and EMTs were pulling the boy out of my arms. The police came too, demanding an explanation that I managed to choke out, Soda quiet and shaken beside me, and the next thing I knew, we were in a waiting room, me wondering how the hell we'd gotten there, and if our little brother was going to survive this.

Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it :)