Together We Stand
Full Summary: Summer of 1966 was supposed to be different. They were all healing from the sh-tshow of 1965. But as Robert Frost once said, 'Nothing Gold Can Stay' and luck is never on their side. One wet, stormy night could prove to change their lives forever, in the worst ways possible. Or it could bring them together in ways they had never expected. The only thing they knew for certain, was that together they stand.
Chapter 1 - Take Me Home Tonight
It was late. Far later than Jax planned to leave the run-down diner she'd been working at since she was fourteen and waiting tables off the books for pocket change. But her old chevy wouldn't start, the DX was closed up for the night and no one was answering at Buck or the Curtis' place so her only chance of getting home was calling up her old man and hoping he was sober enough to navigate the long winding roads leading back home.
"You're drunk," she snapped as she slid into the passenger seat. It was pouring rain and the wind was whipping, the roads ink black and slick. "Let me drive."
"Ain't killin' ol' Bessy on me too," her father drawled. At least he wasn't in a bitter mood. Richard Anderson was known for being a cruel drunk. That's why Jax, having just turned eighteen, never stayed home. If she wasn't slumming it at Darry's, she was sleeping in the lot or at Buck's. With Dallas dead, she inherited his room at the run down bar Buck kept. Though I'd never open that closet or dresser, she vowed when she took the keys from the grim man before her the first time she asked for the room. And she never did, though her best friend's prized ring hung loosely around her neck on her late mother's dainty chain. She couldn't remember who had the sense to grab his ring after he was shot dead all those months ago, but it had been Tim Shepherd who had given her the ring weeks after they buried their friend. Told her he promised Dally a long time ago that if anything happened the ring was hers.
"I didn't kill my van," Jax protested, focusing her attention on the road ahead of them. Even drunk, her father was a decent enough driver, but Jax had a bad feeling about the roads that night. Something felt off. "Steve just has to change out the starter again, ol' piece of shit doesn't kick over."
"That Randle kid is amazing with cars, ain't he? Maybe he can teach Connor a thing or two," her father mused. He reeked of cheap booze and cigarettes, a hint of musk and oil. Connor was her baby brother, a quiet, scared kid just weeks shy of his tenth birthday. Jax couldn't help but wonder where her kid brother was holed up for the night at. Connor, like herself, tried to avoid their father when he was drunk. "Connor needs to man up. Grow some hair on his chest," her father went on. He reached over her and popped open the glove department, a silver flask falling into his outstretched hand.
"Daddy, can't you wait till we get home to drink?" Jax asked timidly. She prayed her sweet southern drawl that sounded so much like her mother's was enough to remind him he was driving. "Please, the roads daddy."
"Oh, sweet Jessebelle, don't you worry you're pretty little head," her father cooed. Jax cringed. Jessebelle was her older sister. A sister that met an early grave when pneumonia claimed her at just sixteen.
"It's Jax, daddy, Jessebelle is dead, remember?" Jax hesitantly reminded her father. "It's Jax."
"Don't you talk like that, Jesse baby, you're not dead. You're just a little sick is all," he moaned. Jax blinked quickly. Her eyes broke from the road and traced her father's tired, drunken features. That moment was all it took. The old beater swerved. Tires screeched against the pavement before the impact threw Jax against the dashboard, then the sound of metal, the taste of metal, the sheering pain attacked her senses all at once.
Her last conscious thought was how the red truck they had collided with looked awfully familiar.
Darry hated driving in storms. Ever since their parents had been killed in an automobile accident just over a year prior, he made it a point to drive with exceptional caution when the roads were slick. Especially if he had the boys in the truck with him.
"Darry, you're driving like an old man," Soda complained, fiddling with the radio dial. "It's just rain."
"The roads are slick," Darry retorted tiredly. He had just picked Soda up from work, after a long and tiring day of his own. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a warm meal and his bed. In that order. His back was on fire from working both jobs that day – up on the roofs before the storm rolled in then down at the warehouse until it was far later than he'd normally work. But the bills never seemed to stop. Even with Steve and Jax chipping in, the bills never seemed to stop.
He didn't let his mind wander for long, as he soon listened to Soda ramble on about his day at work and how Jax seemed jumpy when she stopped in at lunchtime.
"What do you mean jumpy? Any chance her ol' man tossed her around again?" Darry asked. Jax normally crashed on their couch as much, if not more than, Steve did, but that week she stayed away for whatever reason. Darry wasn't home enough to push the issue.
"Dunno," Soda admitted. "She wouldn't say. Just told me to be safe and look out for you and Pony. Even tipped Steve when he filled up the van. Jax never tips."
Jax, like them, barely had enough money to keep gas in the van, much less tip the guys for filling it. After she made her the lights stayed on at her own house, she gave whatever was left to Darry, no matter how much he objected. It was her way of paying for all the food, hot showers, and medical supplies she racked up over the years. She might've been a girl but she still got into her fair share of scraps over the years. Especially after their parents died. She lost her mother only two weeks prior to the accident and that all but killed her. Losing Dally and Johnny so close after…Darry wasn't paying attention to the road in front of him anymore. Not until Soda let out a blood curdling scream.
Darry knew the old beater from somewhere, but in the flash on metal colliding with metal, he couldn't remember where. He swerved as best he could, so his side of the truck took most of the impact. He grunted as he was slammed into the steering wheel, the wind knocked out of him. He vaguely saw the other car tip before it rolled. Before the world went black around him.
Soda knew the car instantly. It was Jax's father's old run down beater that barely ran. His mind was a jumbled mess as the passenger side of the car rammed right into the driver's side of the truck. The sickening sound of metal kissing metal would haunt him the rest of his life. But not nearly as much as he scene before him as the smaller car rolled, not once, but twice before coming to a stop right outside his door. The truck fishtailed before coming to a stop, the tailgate smashing into the wrecked car.
"Darry? Darry!" Soda screamed, shaking his brother weakly. Soda felt pain radiating through his body, but he was conscious. His brother, on the other hand, was out cold. "C'mon Dare, you gotta wake up, Darry!"
The smell of gasoline overpowered him. He knew he had to move and fast. He struggled to push open his door before unbuckling Darry. With all his might, despite the sheering pain in his leg, he pulled his brother's dead weight out after him, both of them falling in a heap on the ground.
"You kids okay?" A passerby called out, having driven by just moments after the wreck. "Shit, Janice, go get help," he instructed the woman that was with him. The man lifted Darry off the ground as best he could and dragged him across the pavement, away from the wreckage.
"I know the girl in the other car," Soda all but sobbed out, struggling to get his legs back under himself. "Save her, please."
"As soon as I get you up outta here, I'll see about them," the man said gently. He hoisted Soda up effortlessly and carefully half dragged, half carried him over to where Darry was lying unconscious on the cold, wet pavement. Soda collapsed next to his brother, sobbing bitterly.
Moments later, though to Soda, they felt like hours, Jax was helped over to him, her arm pressed tightly around her side, her forehead bleeding like a stuck pig.
Glory, she's alive, Soda thought graciously before his vision blurred and he dropped like a ton of bricks.
"I'll get your father," the man assured Jax as she sank down to her knees, her hands trembling as she pressed them to Soda's neck, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Don't you dare go to sleep, Sodapop, open those eyes of yours," she demanded. Soda stirred but didn't wake. That was enough to tell Jax that he was still breathing. Satisfied and hearing sirens in the distance, she turned her attention to Darry. His skin was a sickly shade of grey, his lips blue. She crawled over to him, her fingers tracing his throat. At first she was sure he was dead, but under her tough, he coughed and groaned. Jax let out a weak cry, the shock of the entire ordeal taking over. Her body trembled, both from the icy summer rain and the adrenaline wearing off. She couldn't feel her own injuries as she pressed her hands firmly to the deep, blood gushing wound on Darry's abdomen.
"You don't get to die, ya dig? You don't get to give up!" She begged. She wasn't sure if she said the words aloud or not.
As the sirens approached, Jax felt a heaviness she'd never felt before come over her. One second she was pressing down to slow the bleeding on Darry, the next, she felt like she couldn't breathe. Then she felt sick and cold and shaky all at once. Then she felt nothing at all as the ground seemed to open up to swallow her whole, just as a loud explosion went off behind her. Heat engulfed her as she fell forward, welcoming the darkness she feared so much.
"What do you mean they were in an accident?" Steve's voice caused Ponyboy to look up from the book he was reading. Steve had wandered into their living room just after midnight and was surprised to find Soda nor Darry were there. While it wasn't unusual for Darry to give Soda a ride home, especially if it was Steve's day off, normally they'd have been home long before then. It was nearly 1 in the morning when the phone rang.
"No, no, yeah, we're on our way." Steve slammed the phone down before turning to Ponyboy who was wide eyed, his breathing hitching in his throat.
"Pony, there's been an accident," Steve said softly. "Get your shit, let's go."
He didn't need to explain any further. All of the color had drained from his face as he jumped over the sofa to retrieve his jacket and his car keys. Seconds later, he and Ponyboy were racing through the rain to the car before peeling out of there like bats out of hell. Ponyboy was silently grateful that Steve was an expert driver. Even in the storm, even going twenty miles over the speed limit, Pony wasn't afraid. Not of crashing. He was afraid of what awaited him at the hospital.
Not again, Pony begged. God please, not again. I can't lose them too.
That summer was supposed to be different. They were supposed to be healing. But as Robert Frost once said, nothing gold can stay, and luck was never on their side. So Ponyboy prayed. With all his might, he prayed.
AN: Edited for minor timeline errors and grammar mistakes.