A/N: Well, I moved. Anyone who has moved before knows how hard that is, and my back has been killing me! I wrote most of this last week or so, but didn't have the energy to type it until now. My exams have also finished, but start again in another two or three weeks.
Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed; wow, that was a while ago! I'm sorry for the wait again!
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Ponyboy scratched his forearm almost automatically, trying to concentrate on the almost one sided conversation Soda was having with his brothers. He felt like a failure. He had not had a smoke for two hours now, and already he was overcome with desire for a cigarette. He had gone this long without smoking hundreds of times, but now that he had it in his mind that he would smoke no more regularly than every six hours today, it was all he could think about. The feelings of depression were almost consuming him, especially since his normal anti-depressant was smoking.
He felt disgusting. Just last night he had become homeless, one brother had almost died while the other had to find the money to house and feed both himself and Soda. Lord, he had it easy! He didn't have a right to complain! He couldn't even give his sick brother the courtesy of his attention.
Pony was used to Soda's speedy recoveries, so walking into the room to see him sitting up, oxygen tube gone, and talking to Darry like there was no tomorrow had not surprised him. Soda would get sick real fast, stay that way until his lungs could hold enough air to properly absorb the medicine from the nebulizer, then heal completely within a matter of a couple of hours. He had then been forced to sit there with no one to talk to and nothing to do; Two-Bit, until Darry and Pony had arrived and sent him home, had been sprawled in a chair against the wall, sleeping off the rest of his hangover. Soda was too nice to wake him, and he was never one to handle boredom particularly well.
Unbeknownst to Pony, Darry was also having trouble concentrating on Soda. His mind was occupied with numbers, numbers that could ruin them. He thought of the numbers on his bank statement. He thought of the numbers on the bill for the emergency room. He thought of the numbers on the bills he had yet to pay from the house he had no longer: the electricity, water, gas… the list went on. He thought of the numbers he had not yet seen on the bills he knew were coming: the house repairs, the furniture he would have to replace, and the rest of Soda's hospital bills.
Darry pulled at the fabric of his jeans in nervous habit. He was glad Soda was not looking at him; he was smart enough to recognize the tenseness of his jaw. Soda had not asked him about the house yet. He certainly wasn't looking forward to that conversation…
He suddenly realized that Soda had stopped speaking, and he followed his gaze over his shoulder. Standing there, hand just poised to knock upon the open door, was a woman Darry knew very well by now. "Hello, Mrs Parks," he said, trying to mask the shock and fear he felt at the sight of the social worker. No. Please no. They couldn't take his brothers.
"Hello, boys," said the woman. "I'm sorry for intruding here, but I'm afraid it's the only place I know I can find you. I hope you don't mind."
Mrs Parks had been fair to them over the years. She seemed to genuinely believe Darry was a good guardian, and had readily forgiven Pony's slip in marks after Johnny and Dally's deaths, on the condition they picked up after sufficient time. But loving your little brothers was not enough. High marks were not all that defined a decent guardian. Darry did not have the finances to convince the state not to put Soda and Pony in a boys' home, not any longer. He'd fight to the ends of the earth to keep them, this he knew, but he was not kidding himself. If God was there, now would be a great time to show it. "I don't mind," he said quietly, in a voice that could only be described as defeated. "It's your job." He moved from his chair and joined Pony and Soda sitting on the edge of the bed.
"So," said Mrs Parks, taking out a clipboard and pen as she sat down in the chair Darry had just vacated. Soda looked at each of his brothers, seeing his own barely contained fear mirrored in their eyes. "Your house was burned down." She glanced up, her gaze half sympathetic, half stern.
"The back half," said Darry. "Bedrooms and stuff."
Mrs Parks nodded, writing on her clipboard. "You were there, weren't you?" she said to Soda. "Where were you two?"
"Er, with some friends," said Darry, perhaps a touch too quickly for his liking. Well, it was the truth, just not all of it.
The social worker seemed to be almost trying to stare him down, the way she was looking at him over the rim of those green glasses she always wore. She was not too old, probably between forty and forty five, but she dressed like the elderly ladies who sat about town complaining in loud voices about the behavior of youth these days. It came with the job. "The police are treating it as arson," she said quietly.
Soda looked down. He didn't want anyone to get sent to prison, regardless of whether or not they deserved it. He had seen what prison did to Dally. He knew he had to tell her what happened; otherwise it would be Darry's neck on the line, but it did not mean he had to like it. "Yeah, it was arson," he said. "I heard them talking… they didn't know I was home."
"So it was not lit because of an accident on your part?"
Soda blinked. Was she blaming him? "No!"
Her eyebrows rose. "I'm not blaming you, Sodapop; I just need to know for the sake of your case." She flipped to another page in her clipboard. "Do you have a place to stay?"
"Yeah," said Darry, relieved he at least had this going for him. "A friend's mother offered us to stay with them as long as we need. It's good for her," he added, hoping to make it sound less like he was just filching food from a kind lady's table. "She has a younger daughter, and it's much easier for her to know there's always going to be someone around. Ponyboy and I stayed there last night; Soda's got one more night here" – Soda looked up sharply at his brother, mild outrage expressed on his features – "but she's fine for him to stay too."
There was another long silence in which Mrs Parks stared at Darry. He held her gaze, but was beginning to get the impression she did not like him so much anymore. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're being called to a hearing again. Your friends certainly weren't beneficial to your cause the last time."
Pony looked down at his hands in despair. Not again! He wasn't stupid; he knew their arguments would be a hell of a lot less strong now that they had been called twice. Soda was staring at the social worker, eyes that were normally dancing suddenly dulled. "What does that mean?" He tried to focus on breathing regularly as fear mounted. He knew he wasn't still here because he was sick; he was still here because there was a huge chance he would get sick.
"A friendship with Dallas Winston… you boys can trust me when I tell you that does not impress the authorities. I sincerely hope you are staying with someone of high moral groundings now; are you even aware of the fact that Steve Randle was arrested this morning?"
"What?" Soda cried. Darry put a hand on his shoulder, silently asking him to be quiet. Soda ignored him. This could not be happening! Why the hell would Steve get arrested? "How come? And how do you know?"
Mrs Parks pursed her lips, and her gaze hardened even further. "I don't like your attitude, Sodapop. Remember what is in my power to do." Soda looked away. "If you must know, your friend was arrested for assaulting two other boys. In light of everything that has happened, I am working with the police on this case, and I must say that I am not impressed."
Soda, you idiot, thought Darry. What had made him explode like that, to a social worker, no less! He was usually smarter than that. Not that Darry could blame him; he felt like punching the woman, ethics be damned. "We ain't staying with Steve," he said. "Two – Keith Mathews. He goes to Pony's school; it's his mother that offered us."
She wrote this and looked back at him with eyes that were suddenly sympathetic. "If you give me the number and address now I should be able to set up a meeting with the family tomorrow," she said. "But until I get a meeting, I cannot allow Ponyboy to stay there. It will probably be only one night, but I'm going to have to put him into foster care."
Darry put his head in his hands. That was it; he was not good enough. I'm sorry, Pony…
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A/N: God, poor Darry. Reviews are always appreciated, and I have a question that someone should be able to answer – how many cigarettes in a pack? It would probably help, considering what I'm writing about Pony… should have found out earlier. Theories, too! Haha, you'll never guess what'll happen at the trial thing… Thanks for reading!
