A/N: I'm excited to be getting this chapter out to you guys, thank you for your patience! I had blast writing the gang's dialogue, and really hope you get a better sense of the characters, as well as the story.
Be sure to re-read the first chapter to refresh your minds, I've recently finalized it!
…..0…..
CHAPTER 2
I'm underwater.
Shadows surround me.
My lungs scream for air.
Hot tendrils wrap around my torso as fiery talons dig into my chest.
A beam of light shines through the murky depths, beckoning me to its call.
I desperately reach forward.
Fingertips brush mine, tugging me to the surface.
Suddenly, I can breathe.
My eyes open.
"Pony? Can you hear me? Oh, thank, Christ. Oh, Pony."
…..0…..
"There you go, hon. That's it, take it easy." The straw from my glass is held steady by Sodapop as he guides it to my mouth. Cool gulps of water soothe the back of my burning throat. Residual moisture falls onto my chapped lips as Soda sets the cup back onto the side table.
"Glory, Ponyboy, you sure know how to find trouble, huh?" Two-Bit jovially pipes up. He's lounging on an ugly orange sofa that's set against the window. Faint glimpses of dusk peek through the cracks in the blinds. Rustling emits from his worn jeans as his leg bounces up and down.
"Yeah, I'm a real magnet for it." I rasp, eyelids heavy under the bright, florescent lights. Steve snorts from his spot next to the door, arms crossed.
Soda tightens his hand around mine, shifting forward in his seat at my bedside.
"Are you feelin' okay, honey? Do you want somethin' from the cafeteria?" I shake my head. So far, I'd only been able to down a few spoonfuls of ice chips. The thought of anything heavier makes my stomach churn.
Titling my head, I look over at my oldest brother, who's been relatively quiet thus far since I woke up, positioned on my other side. His eyes soften as he catches my gaze, snapping himself out of whatever thoughts he'd lost himself in.
"You should eat what you can manage, Pone. It's past dinnertime, and you haven't had anything since lunch."
"I can always head on out and pick up some hamburgers if you don't want the crap they're serving here. There's a Dairy Queen down the road- should still be open." Two-Bit offers, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
"I don't think I'd be able to get anything down. Breathing hurts enough." A muscle in Darry's jaw ticks. Soda slumps forward, carefully resting his forehead on my arm.
Two-Bit winces, slouching back against the couch.
"Sorry, kid. Forgot you might not have an appetite. I remember when Brenda sprained a rib during cheer practice last summer. Even when Ma made her favorite meals, she still couldn't stomach much."
Steve swears sharply and begins to pace.
"Those fuckers. Fuckin' gangin' up on a kid. They ain't got nothin' better to do? Hell was they even doin' on our side? Bunch of damn cowards." He curses again before kicking the trashcan near the door. A hollow clang echoes around the room as it topples over.
Muttering to himself, he goes back to leaning against the wall.
"Gonna get what's comin' to 'em, pieces of shit-"
Darry cuts in then, gently nudging me on the hip with his knuckles, eyes hardening.
"What happened, kiddo? I thought those socs weren't bothering you no more. Have they been messin' with you lately?" Barely repressed anger simmers beneath his even tone.
Still sluggish from the painkillers I'd taken earlier, I slowly shake my head.
"No, they usually leave me alone." Aside from hurling insults my way and occasionally jostling me around, but I don't mention that to Darry. "I was just walking to the DX when they saw me. I tried gettin' away, but there was too many of them. They got a hold of me and, well- yeah."
Two-Bit utters a soft swear under his breath. Darry rubs a hand over his mouth, looking pale.
Soda lifts his head, eyes glistening as he drags his gaze along my left arm, enclosed within the sling hanging against my chest.
"God, Pony. I'm so sorry. I should've been there sooner." He exhales shakily, stroking his thumb against my bandaged fingers.
I frown at him.
"Hey, this isn't your fault, Soda. I was the one takin' my time, not paying attention." My muscles scream in protest as I wriggle in an attempt to sit up.
Both my brothers shoot their hands out, halting my movements. I sigh as they adjust the pillows behind me and carefully shift my body into an upright position. Two-Bit chuckles, watching my mother hens at work.
Darry grimaces, looking at Sodapop.
"He's right, little buddy. This ain't your fault." Settling back into his chair, his unwavering gaze falls on me. "And it ain't yours either, kiddo."
I swallow around the lump that steadfastly forms in my throat and nod.
Soda heaves a soft, almost inaudible breath.
"I should've known something was wrong. I was out back, working on an old clunker. I kept lookin' at the clock, 'cause I knew school got out around that time. When I came inside for a drain pan, I realized you were later than usual." He falters, absentmindedly tracing a pattern on the gauze wrapped around my digits.
"Told myself I'd give you five more minutes before I sounded the alarms." He chuckles wetly. There's no real mirth to the sound.
"But then Steve came running in, said he heard you yellin' down the block. Swear my heart dropped straight out of my chest."
Steve huffs, cracking his knuckles one-by-one.
"Speedy here was gone faster than I could get your name out. Richard came limpin' out of his office askin' if there was a fire with the way your brother ran out the door."
Richard. Mr. Schwartz. Owner of the DX.
I've spoken with him a few times in passing since Soda started working there. He doesn't mind me hanging around during Soda's lunchbreaks, so I'll usually see him through his office window in the afternoons, either talking on the phone or doing paperwork.
Mr. Schwartz isn't married and doesn't have any children that I know of, but there's a warm, fatherly presence to him that makes me wonder why. Maybe he's one of those guys that works too much and doesn't have time to date, kind of like Darry.
Sometimes, when I'm waiting for Soda to clock out after a shift, Mr. Schwartz will ask me how classes are going, but we mostly just end up talking about my track practices. He ran on a D1 team during his college days in '39, before he permanently tore his ACL.
For all his nostalgia, he never seems too put out about it, in spite of the cane he's had to lug around ever since the accident.
He's always been very understanding of our situation at home, having hired Soda despite being a high school dropout. On more than one occasion, when we'd gotten a little tight on money and bills were stacking up, he'd happily given Soda his paycheck in advance. On top of that, he gave out some pretty nice bonuses to his employees around the holidays. That extra money had allowed us to splurge on a decent-sized turkey for our Christmas dinner this past year, with all the fixings.
All things considered, he's a great boss to Sodapop- and Steve- and for that, I've always respected and liked the man.
Biting my lip, I withdraw my hand from Soda's, instead fiddling with a lone thread sticking out from the blanket resting over my lap.
"Pone?" I grimace at his worried tone.
"I'm sorry if I got you guys in trouble for ditching work." I mumble as a heavy onslaught of guilt threatens to overwhelm me. Despite Mr. Schwartz's easygoing nature, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I got Soda fired from his job, and one that he loves, no less.
Plus, we couldn't exactly afford the loss of income on his part.
"Hey, hey. Ponyboy Michael, you look at me." Upon meeting his gaze, Soda takes my hand back in his, squeezing gently. His handsome face looks tired, but his eyes are fierce.
"You come first, Pony. Not some damn job at a gas station. You're my family, my baby brother." He flashes me a small, but genuine smile. "I'd drop everything for you, 'specially when you need me. If somethin' happened to you, I don't know what I'd do with myself."
My eyes sting, so I drop them to our linked hands, squeezing back faintly.
"Just don't want you and Steve to get yelled at-" I murmur unsteadily, before a grunt from across the room interrupts me.
"Aw hell, kid. Quit your pity party."
"Steve." Darry warns balefully. Steve puts his hands up, rolling his eyes.
"Just meant that it ain't no skin off my back. Them socs don't got no right to be messin' with none of us, least of all you." Jaw set, Steve ambles over before plopping down at the foot of the bed.
"'Sides, you know ol' Richie. He's a good man." One side of his mouth quirks up.
"Told 'im as fast as I could what was goin' on. Right away, he went into boss mode- took my keys, and followed behind with the truck while I caught up to your brother." His nostrils flare as he scans my undoubtably bruised face.
He scowls, looking away with his nose scrunched up.
"Their fuckin' chevy nearly flattened us. It's a good thing we heard it backfiring before we turned the corner on Rockford." He glances fleetingly in my direction, eyes narrowed. "Didn't get a look at the maniac who was driving. The fucker had tinted windows."
I tense, inhaling sharply. My face goes carefully blank as my thoughts come screeching to a halt.
Flashes of this afternoon bombard my mind in a blur.
The chevy? Backfiring?
"Rest of those sons of bitches scattered when they saw us coming, but the 'stang that bunch rode off in- I've seen it at a few drag races. It belongs to Max Foster."
Two cars?
Darry scoffs, upper lip curling in disdain.
"I knew his brother, Wayne." He mutters stonily. "During my junior year, he joined the football team- played tight end. The guy was a big 'ol showboat, too cocky for his own good. Flirted with all the guys' girlfriends, was always tryin' to pick a fight. I think even Coach Kent was relieved when he had to kick him off the team for not keepin' his grades up."
"Maybe stupid runs in the family." Soda sullenly remarks. Darry huffs through his nose.
"Well, if Wayne's kid brother has even a lick of sense to him, he'll stay away from our neck of the woods." Steve chuckles darkly.
"Got that right, Superman."
"Did you recognize any of the other socs that jumped you, Pone?" Two-Bit inquires as he studies me with a slight frown, taking note of my sudden apprehension.
I resolutely avoid my brothers' inquisitive gazes, tucking my chin down.
"No, not really. I might've taken a class or two with a few of 'em before, but no one in their gang really stuck out to me 'til today." I sift through my flickering memories, distinctly recalling one soc in particular. "I'm pretty sure I heard the name 'Nick' being thrown around though."
Fortunately, the spotlight is taken off of me as Steve groans, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Yep, that would be Aaron Nichols. He runs with Max's crew. The dumbass got his ass handed to him by Tim Shepard at a party last year, after Nichols poured beer down his kid sister's dress. Crazy bastard ended up with two black eyes and was still laughing after gettin' a beatdown."
Two-Bit cackles, finally taking his eyes off me. I exhale quietly, but my relief is short-lived as he chimes in.
"Heh, I remember that. The kid's got balls on 'im. I'm surprised he didn't stick around lookin' for a fight, 'stead of scramming. Wonder what finally kicked his brain into gear."
Heart-pounding, my eyes dart between Soda and Steve, but their current expressions don't change.
I know what caused the socs to retreat, what scared them off. Because I'd been there- heard the shots being fired myself, saw the marks left behind.
The gun.
Steve snorts.
"That's a soc for you. All bark 'n no bite, 'specially not when it means getting their precious hands dirty." He smirks a fraction, reaching over and slapping Soda on the arm.
"Can't say I blame 'em. If I had this guy runnin' at me like a bull seein' red, I'd have hoofed it out of there too." Soda cracks a smile.
"Probably didn't hurt that Richard was blastin' towards them like they were a couple of bowling pins."
Steve huffs, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, he sure was bookin' it, wore my tires out good enough." He shakes his head.
"Boss jumped out like a man on a mission, helped get you in the back. He nearly came with us before rememberin' there was no one watchin' the DX- said to tell 'im how you were doing once we got here."
He thumbs towards the door. "Rung him up earlier when the doctors were settin' your shoulder- said he was real glad to hear you're okay." Soda turns to him.
"Did he close up shop after we left?" Steve nods.
"Yeah, figured he should since we were both gonna be out for the day. Said he'd head over to the police station and file a report 'bout the rides those rats peeled off in. Told him it was a good idea."
Both my brothers and I stiffen, but Steve is oblivious to the air of unease he's invertedly created, squinting at the muted television in the corner that's been playing reruns of The Twilight Zone all day. Even Two-Bit picks up on the burgeoning tension, eyes darting between the four of us as he straightens up, one eyebrow cocked.
There's a brief pause- the calm before the storm, before Soda and Darry begin speaking in rapid succession.
"You let him go to the cops about this? What the hell were you thinking?" Darry barks, tensing as he faces Steve, gripping the arms of his chair, white-knuckled. Soda mirrors him, marginally less agitated but no less troubled.
"Steve, you know we can't be gettin' tangled up with the police no more, we already got the State breathin' down our necks as is it." His brows crease in trepidation.
It was true, especially after last year. Any slack they'd given us before was now practically non-existent after Johnny and I made headlines in the newspaper last year. We'd reverted back to regulation monthly visits with our social worker, Ms. Nancy, instead of every three months as they'd previously allowed.
She was a nice enough lady, certainly sympathetic to our circumstances, but her presence was just a reminder of the very real possibility that Soda and I could end up in a boy's home if we weren't careful.
However, this turn of events isn't exactly my biggest concern at the moment.
Three deafening cracks sound through the air, drowning out all other noise.
I gulp.
"Hey, I ain't a fuckin' moron, alright?" Steve snaps, his anger spiking along with the ever-growing hostility in the room. "I'm well aware of what could happen if the fuzz got word that y'all was stirring the pot again-"
"You clearly don't if you're lettin' some stranger run his mouth about us and getting my brothers involved." Darry retorts, locking his icy eyes with an equally frosty glare.
"Guys-" Two-Bit begins uncertainly.
"Hell, Steve. I only got a few months left 'til they stop giving a shit about me." Soda releases his grip on me to run trembling hands through his gelled hair, nervously licking his lips. "Pony's the one they'll be keepin' an eye on, and him endin' up in the hospital like this won't look good-"
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, pal." Steve spits sarcastically, standing up and heading towards the door. He turns around sharply, doorknob in hand. "You think I don't know that? That I'd put him- you- in that position?"
"Hey, man, just wait a second-" Two-Bit tries again, throwing a hurried glance in my direction.
Darry stands, crossing his arms, staring the black-haired greaser down.
"No, I ain't gonna stand here and get talked down to like I'm some dumbass- I get enough of that shit from my old man." Sodapop intakes sharply, before he seems to deflate, shoulders sagging as he eyes his best friend.
"Steve, we didn't mean it like that. We just-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know what you meant." He releases the door handle to mirror Darry's position. Within a moment's notice, he's fixing the eldest Curtis with an almost bored look, his previous agitation having all but vanished.
I'd almost believe his unbothered front if he still didn't look so taut, like a rubber band stretched to its limits, right before breaking.
"I told Schwartz y'all can't be gettin' involved with the fuzz and he understood- promised he'd leave our names out of the report." He lets out of breath of frustration, breaking eye contact with Darry in favor of looking off to the side.
"He's stickin' to the truth as much as he can without mentioning us- that he saw a couple of punks from the West Side messin' around the DX, bothering customers, and startin' fights- ruckin' up a fuss on private property and all that. He has a few friends at the station- said they'll have a couple cars patrol the area as a favor."
He swallows audibly.
"Listen, I don't like the idea of the coppers sniffin' 'round our stomping ground, 'specially not after what happened with Dal. But I figured since Richard has an in with 'em, then they might actually do somethin' if an upstandin' businessman brought it to their attention rather than a couple of hoods. Maybe even keep them on their side of the tracks for a while." He looks at me then, mouth twisted to the side.
"Lord knows when we try protectin' our own, the hammer comes down on us and it's their word against ours."
Silence falls over the room.
Soda's shoulders hunch further as he goes to stand, grimacing apologetically. Darry puts his hands on his hips, chin tucked to his chest. Steve eyes them both warily, lips still pursed.
"Buddy, I'm real sorry-"
"Look, Steve. I shouldn't have-"
Both my brothers pause as the door creaks open, and a dark-skinned woman with frizzy curls poking out from underneath her white cap enters. She opens her mouth to speak, but visibly hesitates as she assesses the scene playing out in the crowded hospital room.
Almond eyes fall to the waste basket on the floor before flicking to me.
"Mr. Curtis, is everything alright?" My brothers forcibly relax their stances while Steve scowls and goes back to leaning against the wall.
I nod, reeling from the new information my brain is still trying to piece together.
Her eyes narrow, regarding Darry's muscular, rigid frame and the way Soda is partially looming over me.
"Sweetie, are you sure-" Two-Bit claps his hands, startling the poor woman.
"Say, what's a fella gotta do to get his hands on one of them metal doohickeys?" He gestures around his own neck. The nurse blinks owlishly at him, brows pinching together as she looks down at her stethoscope.
Two-Bit grins broadly, snapping a finger.
"Oh, wait. They must only give 'em out to pretty ladies like yourself, huh?" Heat rises in my cheeks as Steve reaches over and cuffs Two-Bit on the back of his head.
Darry pointedly clears his throat.
"Did the doctors need to see Ponyboy again, ma'am?" The nurse wrinkles her nose before facing my brother.
"No, Mr. Curtis. Unless he's been feeling unwell since his initial checkup?" She glances towards me, one eyebrow arched. Soda ducks into my line of sight, his gaze searching mine.
"Pone? You're lookin' a little pale, honey. Anything hurtin' more than it should?" I swallow against the dryness building in my throat, stamping down my nerves.
"I'm okay, Soda. Just tired." He scans my face for another moment before nodding, stroking a gentle hand through my hair. I peer over at the nurse and see her eyes soften, the irritated scowl on her face slipping away as she watches us. She readjusts her grip on her clipboard, scribbling something down.
"Glad to hear it, Mr. Curtis. Just in case, I'm writing you a prescription for acetaminophen to take home. I'll go down to the pharmacy in the morning and grab it for you before you leave." She flicks her eyes to Darry.
"And I was just stopping by to inform you that visiting hours are over." She regards the room's inhabitants warily. "As a reminder, the hospital only allows one family member or legal guardian at a time to stay overnight with non-intensive care patients."
She jolts as Steve abruptly pushes off the wall, moving past her and opening the door.
"I was just on my way out anyhow." He quickly glances at my brothers before he looks over at me. "Feel better, kid."
Darry takes a step forward, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Mind if I walk you out?" Steve is quiet for a moment, before he nods briskly and slips out into the hallway.
"It looks like you'll be needing some extra blankets and pillows. I'll be back in five minutes." The nurse swiftly turns on her heel and bows out.
Soda sighs, turning to Darry.
"Give me a second, I'm gonna go talk to him." Flashing a quick smile at me, he strides out of the room.
Darry grabs his jacket from where it's strewn over the back of his chair and fits his arms into the sleeves.
"Alright, kiddo. My shift starts at five, so I'm headin' home to grab some shut-eye. Soda's gonna spend the night with you here." He sits on the bed, careful not to jostle me. "The doctors said they'll discharge you tomorrow at noon, so I'll come back during my break to sign you out."
He hesitates before placing a hand on my knee.
"There's a phone right down the hall. You call me if you need me, Pony. No matter what- I'll be here." His tone takes on a sterner edge.
"You tell Soda if you start feelin' bad, or your shoulder starts bothering you, or if it starts gettin' hard to breathe, savvy?"
"I dig you, Dare." I droll as my mouth twitches. Eyes crinkling, he huffs before patting my leg.
He looks over his shoulder.
"You need a ride home?" Two-Bit bobs his head as he stands, stretching his arms over his head until we all hear a loud crack. I wince as he glances at the clock hanging on the wall.
8:07 PM, the hands read.
"If you don't mind. Next bus don't come around for another twenty minutes, and I don't think I should be leggin' it at this time of night." Darry nods in agreement.
The name Terrance Macans flashes through my mind, and not for the first time since his death.
When he was alive, he worked late nights and early mornings as a delivery driver, shipping fresh produce from residential distribution sites to the local grocery stores.
His fiancé, Laura, said he went in for a shift one night, but he never came home. She called the police the next morning. Hours later, they found his truck pulled over on the side of an old backroad.
His body had been reclining in the driver's seat. The officers who found him said they originally thought he'd just fallen asleep, due to his closed eyes and peaceful expression. But then they spotted the bloody cut that stretched across his neck, peeking out from underneath his uniform's collar.
I suppress a shiver as Darry turns back to me.
"Get some rest, kiddo. I'll see you tomorrow." I heave my right arm up, catching his wrist in an unsteady grip. His eyes snap to mine.
"Be safe, Darry." I rasp.
He stares at me for a long moment, before he cradles my hand in both of his, ever so gently, as if I'll break otherwise. His voice is gruff as he lowers our intertwined digits to my lap, easing the strain on my arm.
"I will, little colt. Don't you worry."
They both head to the door, Darry throwing me a half-smile over his shoulder before he's gone. Just as Two-Bit is halfway out the door, departing with a 'see ya, kiddo,' I call out to him.
He falters in his steps, before poking his head back into the room. It would almost be comedic if not for my suddenly clammy hands and rapidly beating heart.
Did my brother- or his best friend, for that matter, use a heater to protect me?
Two-Bit would know the whole story by now, I'm sure of it. Steve and Sodapop would've given him a rundown, if only to keep him from asking too many implicating questions in front of Darry and me.
Without a doubt, they'd have kept it from my oldest brother. There'd be hell to pay if he ever found out Soda even owned a gun, much less that he was flashing one around in broad daylight. He'd hit the roof.
I'm also sure that Soda would choose to actively hide something like this from me, as much as the thought hurts.
Sodapop does that when bad stuff happens, like he's protecting me by keeping me out of the loop. As if I'll fall apart when reality sets in. He still hasn't learned by now that I only get more upset when I inevitably find out his secrets, especially if he's kept me in the dark for too long.
Of course, Steve would agree with Sodapop's decision, but for an entirely different reason, likely under the assumption that I'd go blabbing on them.
But would Two-Bit tell me the truth if I asked him for it?
I'm almost positive he would.
Two-Bit has a real bad habit of telling me things I'm not supposed to know, especially against my brothers' wishes.
Like when Darry got real "sick" after the night of his senior prom.
The next morning, I'd spotted Darry kneeling down and clutching the toilet- practically green in the face. Worried, I'd gone to my parents, but they had reassured me that he'd just caught a little stomach bug.
Eleven-year-old me was none the wiser, until Two-Bit decided to clue me in, laughing hysterically after I'd asked him if he thought Darry's sickness was contagious.
According to Two-Bit, Darry was pretty sick, but only because he'd had one too many beers at the dance with his buddies. He'd stumbled into our sleeping household hours past curfew, only to be caught going up the stairs by my mother, who then smelt the alcohol on his breath.
Subsequently, he'd been grounded for the next two weeks.
Sometimes, I think Two-Bit forgets we're four years apart and I'm glad for it. He never treats me with kid gloves, doesn't try and shield me from a world that I'll inevitably have to face. He knows I can hold my own, trusts that I can keep my mouth shut when it matters.
I can only hope that he'll put that same faith in me now.
It's on the tip of my tongue, to lay everything out in the open, as the furrow between his brows deepens with every passing second- when my nurse reappears in the doorway.
"I apologize, sir, but you'll really have to get going now."
Two-Bit nods distractedly.
"Pone?"
I swallow, sinking into the pillows behind me as my chance slips away.
"You stay safe, too."
…..0…..
The room is dark, with only the moonlight outlining my brother's slumbering figure on the sofa, so much farther away than I'm used to him being when we sleep. I'm so accustomed to his warmth, to his lean arms wrapped around me, pulling me to his chest.
I blow out a low sigh. Exhaustion creeps up on me as my body throbs and aches all over. Soda's soft breathing nearly lulls me into unconsciousness with its familiarity, but my mind is still wide awake.
I can't seem to wrap my head around Steve's words. Maybe it was for the best that I'd never gotten around to telling Two-Bit about my erratic thoughts, when I can barely wrap my head around them myself.
He'd mentioned a chevy, but the socs who'd beaten me up were driving around in a mustang- that, I knew for a fact.
So who'd been cruising around in the other car, and what were they doing hanging around a bunch of socs jumping a lone greaser?
My eyes widen.
What if they were the ones who fired the gun?
I can't imagine they were shooting to kill. They'd clearly been within the right distance to, but what could've easily turned fatal, hadn't.
This person had intended to send a message. A warning, based on the three bullets that had lodged themselves into the brick above our heads.
If that was the case, whose side were they on? The socs?
The weight on top of me becomes almost unbearable as the boy abruptly leans over me. His wide eyes are flicking in every direction, his mouth moving inaudibly.
"What the fuck!"
"Was that a-"
"Who the hell-"
Maybe not.
But why interfere in the first place? If not to help the socs, who are apparently as in the dark about the shooter as I am, then what was their intention?
To help me? Some stranger?
Had they really just been a random greaser, helping out a fellow greaser?
But a vague memory emerges from the mess entangling my mind, hindering me with doubt.
Looking at my brother through blurred vision, I can't help but feel thrown off-kilter.
"Get away from him you sick sons of bitches!"
I'm almost positive I'd heard my kind-hearted, goofy brother, snarling with a rage I didn't know he could possess, right before the gun went off. But if what Steve said is true- then it'd be impossible for Soda- or Steve- to have fired at the socs.
The order of events didn't make sense otherwise. As I'd pieced together- I'd been jumped, shots were fired, the chevy got the hell out of Dodge, and only then had my brother and Steve arrived on the scene.
"Ponyboy! Oh my, God!"
"Get the fuck away from him, you fuckers!"
The thought of anyone in our gang, especially my brothers, carrying around a heater makes my stomach lurch. I'd seen them firsthand do more harm than they ever did good.
No one on either end of a gun ever wins, I'd learnt.
I used to think that guys like Dally carried them around because that's what you did when you were tough. You use what you can to protect yourself, so you don't get hurt. That's what Dal told me to do- you get tough like me and you don't get hurt- get smart and nothing can touch you.
Only, Dally did all that, threw up his walls, shut people out- and in the end, he died on the street, with no family at his funeral, other than us.
As I drift off, I focus on the steady rhythm of my heart, and think of my brothers.
…..0…..
Miles away, at the Curtis household, Darrel Curtis rests in his bed.
He dreams that he's sixteen years old again. It's summertime, and he's outside playing tag with a little boy, whose auburn hair nearly covers his vibrant green eyes. From behind, a laughing teenager tackles him. His dark eyes are dancing.
In his sleep, Darry smiles.
Down the hall, in the room of Ponyboy and Sodapop Curtis- with neither occupant present, all is quiet.
Until the latch on their window slowly clicks open, and a shadowy figure quietly emerges from outside.
…..0…..
A/N: Well, that was a heavy dialogue chapter. Hope you guys didn't mind, I personally loved writing this. Each character has such a different personality, and I tried keeping everyone's dialogue believable and grounded, as much as they would be in this situation.
I'm really gonna try and start making the chapters more of a mix between dialogue and inner thoughts and action, rather than have some chapters tilt more in one direction than the other. I'm also going to try and have more than one scene per chapter, so the story moves forward a bit, time-wise.
MYSTERY IS AFOOT. Who shot the gun? Why were they helping Pony? Was it just a greaser who hates socs? (Because same)
AND WHO THE HELL IS IN THE HOUSE? DARRY RUNNNNNNNN!
Love to read your reviews! Hope to update real soon!