Sleep deprived
A 'The Outsiders' fanfic
A/N: Here's a new Outsiders' fic! Sort of proud of this one and really hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THE OUTSIDERS
Steve was about to crack Ponyboy a new face.
The little rascal had been hogging over Soda all week, a week in which Steve had barely caught glance of his best friend and, even then, the middle brother would look apologetic, exhausted and say "I'm sorry, Steve, but Pony- and so it would vary from there on, yet never did he fail to include the youngest Curtis in some shape or form.
Steve had gotten just about enough of the nonsense. So, with a very dangerous mindset, the teen stomped down the halls of their high school, looking for the conceited little rat with the intent of giving him a good piece of what he thought about his brat behavior.
Dozens f teens buzzed about, hurrying over to the next classroom, Randle knew that Ponyboy was at the lockers, shuffling with the bundle of thick textbooks, books and notebooks that he always carried about.
Steve turned around the corner, ready to drop hellfire onto Pony's head, when deep laughter halted his way. He strained to see two socs, junior year, clearly picking on the younger.
He dwelled on his feet; whether to intervene or to watch from afar. He leaned thoughtfully over the former, almost going for it, but he was abruptly shoved to the latter by the sudden memories of Soda's hunched shoulders and empty gaze as he drug himself into the station for their shift Yesterday.
"I gotta go back to Pony." Soda had muttered to him when Steve had offered to hang out for a while after work.
He'd wanted to help Sodapop, and Ponyboy kept him from doing so. Now, he kept himself from aiding the kid, because he deserved it.
Even with all that, however, the mechanic had to look over the constricted feeling that had formed in his chest as he lingered back. He watched the upperclassmen berate the kid, whilst Ponyboy kept his head lowered the whole time. Something about that fact had Steve bristle in silence.
Only when the Socs were long gone did Steve walk out of his hiding spot, immediately taking his turn.
Upon first glance, he wouldn't have seen it. He couldn't have seen it. And so, he didn't see it. Therefore, nothing stopped him on his murderous path.
He began hollering at the kid without really thinking of what was it he was hollering. He'd launched all kinds of nasty things in the younger's direction without letting half of his brain go over them first. Who cared if they were ion the middle of the hallway? It wasn't like anyone in that danged place gave a cow's behind about each other.
He spat for ages, his ranting only subsided when there was more anger than oxygen going into his lungs. His breathing had even grown labored and his head pounded with a vice once he was done. It startled him, since he couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a strong burst of rage.
He wondered briefly if he'd taken it too far, which he did, if the looks of bystanders had anything to say.
Ponyboy blinked, very slowly; Steve almost counted five full seconds. Then, at the same speed, the younger teen mumbled.
"Yeah… sure." And he turned around, walking away.
Steve became livid with his confusion and Pony's audacity. He snatched the kid by the forearm and yanked him back. Steve heard him yelp in surprise and it caught him off guard when he suddenly had to keep the fifteen-year-old upright as the youngest Curtis stumbled.
"What the hell, kid?" He bellowed in puzzlement and anger, fixating a glare on the younger.
Then he saw it.
Ponyboy was pale, maybe not extremely so, but a radical contrast to the tender light tone that Steve was so used to seeing on the kid. His eyes were sunken, akin to bloodshot. The younger was not looking good, at all, and it bothered Steve a bit when the kid tried and failed to shrug off his hold.
He knew real well that Ponyboy Curtis wasn't weak.
The tight feeling in his chest came back and it felt oddly like concern.
"You okay?" Steve asked even when he'd already put a hand on Pony's forehead. He frowned. Ponyboy was warm, very warm; it could be a fever, or it could not. Steve, decidedly, wasn't going to shake any chances.
He pointedly ignored Ponyboy's lame "Lay off, Steve," and tightened his grip on Curtis' arm, striding down the now deserted hallway. Subconsciously, he made sure his grip wouldn't leave any stray red mark on the kid, even though, no more than five minutes ago, he would've been delighted by the idea of bodily harming Ponyboy.
Ponyboy wouldn't stop struggling, so, Steve barked out a firm.
"Shut up, like hell am I lettin' ya stay here like this."
He dragged him out of the building, into the parking lot and towards his car. Halfway to the vehicle, he caught sight of Two-Bit from the corner of his eye. The mentioned had startled at what he saw, by his posture and bewildered expression, he clearly wanted to know what was going on. However, Mrs. Myers, the math teacher, wouldn't stop with her bickering, leaving the jokester pinned in place.
Steve knew Two-Bit's stare lingered on them all the way to his car.
They got to the passenger door, and Steve promptly shoved and buckled Ponyboy into the seat.
"Stop whinin'." Steve said, "I'm gettin ya home and that's the end of it, kid."
He was quick to reach the driver's door and strap in, start the engine and leave the precinct, driving on clear path to the Curtis household.
Steve fumed, internally calling himself a wimp, because he was still mad at the kid, but there he was, helping the cancer-stick-inhaling-machine, day-dream-eating-demon. Just because Pony may or may not have caught a cold.
Still, what does he care? He should just kick the kid out in the middle of the road and go on with his day like nothing happened…
…and, just as he thought this, he heard Ponyboy cough weakly from where he had his head pressed against the window.
"Damnit." Steve swore under his breath and stepped down on the gas.
They reached the driveway within the next five minutes. Steve pulled in with a huff.
"We're here, get off."
He waited for a moment for the youngest Curtis to whine and open the door, but that didn't happen. Scowling and confused, he turned to the passenger seat with a snarl halfway up his throat, which he had to clamp down when he saw what was going on with the younger teen.
Ponyboy was struggling to keep his head upright and his eyelids were traitorously dropping to a close on him, he was very close to completely nodding off.
At the sight, an amused snort escaped Steve. Which, unfortunately, had Pony immediately sit up with a start, looking disoriented and, for a second, scared, before gradually remembering how he'd been kidnapped by his brother's best bud.
Steve almost felt bad for him. "Hop off, you'll get plenty o' rest a soon as we get you inside."
He found himself being thankful for the Curtis' habit of leaving their doors unlocked for any of them rascals to crash in when pleased. Any other time Steve would've scolded them, considering that it was crime-packed Tulsa that they lived in. Right then, however, he thought nothing along those lines.
They stepped into the household, Steve called for the middle brother, but received no response. He frowned and strode to the telephone to call the station, but a white piece of paper on the kitchen counter got to him first. He swiftly changed course and snatched the sheet right off the surface and read the messy chicken-scratch scribbled onto it.
'Went out to the store, be back real quick.'-Soda
Steve gave a hefty sigh in frustration, because he'd really hoped to just have to deposit the kid into his brother's care and unstring himself from the situation. That obviously would not be the case anymore.
He turned away from the paper and counter, to find Ponyboy standing still in the middle of the living room. The blank gaze over his face gave the impression that the kid was absolutely lost, in his own house. Steve sighed again, unable to believe his luck.
He walked over and placed a hand on Pony's shoulder, the younger startled so badly at the touch that the mechanic reeled back on instinct. After a second, though, he tried again and gave Ponyboy a little push, steering him to his and Soda's room.
Steve suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as they stepped inside. He still thought that Ponyboy was way too old to be sharing a bed with his brother. In his opinion, the kid needed to grow a pair and let Soda go back to his old room. Partially, he also blamed Sodapop for being so encouraging, after all, Ponyboy already had him wrapped around his little finger.
He ordered the younger to bed in a mindless bark, and moved to step back outside. Then, he noticed that Ponyboy, yet again, just stood there in his lost gaze. Groaning, Steve gave him a gentle nudge towards the bed.
"Just get under the covers, kid. Ya look like the dead."
Eventually, though excruciatingly slow, Ponyboy obliged. Once he was in his bed, he simply laid there; his eyes were drooping, but he remained stubbornly awake.
Steve briefly wondered if clocking out the teen's lights with his fist was an option.
"What's got you so out of it, Pony?" He questioned, but the other did not elaborate. Steve leaned down to check the kid's temperature again. Still warm.
He hissed out a low curse, straightening and guiding himself out of the bedroom. "I'm getting' you some water, that alright by you?"
He did not expect a response, and he did not get one. He opted to also get himself a beer for all his troubles.
He was halfway into the kitchen when he choked on his own spit, realizing that, just earlier, he'd actually called the kid by name. With his astonishment also came a hint of shame. It shouldn't feel as odd as it did.
He shook his head, deciding that it wasn't the time. He fetched the glass of water and the cold beer and walked back into the bedroom.
"Drink up." He ordered, motioning with the glass, but the younger stared at it for an eternity, before shaking his head weakly. Steve huffed, placing the glass on the nearby desk and sagged onto the only chair in the room, taking a swig of his own drink. He really hoped the kid wasn't truly sick, because then he'd have a bit too much on his plate. Though, to him, Ponyboy looked plain exhausted rather than nauseous or anything. Steve's mind travelled back to Soda's pitiful state yesterday and felt a rise of anger within him. If the kid couldn't sleep, it wasn't his business to drag Soda down with him.
Then he saw Pony's bloodshot eyes again, and he couldn't help the bitter nip of worry pooling the floor of his stomach.
"Does it hurt anywhere, kid?"
A short pause and then, "No."
But it was a mumble, to which Steve promptly snorted.
"Well, there sure is something bothering you. So, spit it."
As if oblivious to Steve's pressing, Ponyboy kept unnervingly silent. The stubborn behavior threatened to rile Steve up, but he bit down on his temper, deciding wisely to not beat up a sick kid. Instead, he leaned back on the chair and let his thoughts loose because, if Ponyboy wasn't going to say anything, then Steve sure was.
"Y'know Ponyboy? You're a real pain up my ass." Steve said out of the blue.
Ponyboy actually snorted, and mumbled something along the lines of 'you're no saint, either' back at him, but the older ignored that.
"A tag-along from the very start. I meet Soda at the sand box in kindergarten and there you were, huge dopey pup eyes, clutching to his shirt like a goddamn flea." He chuckled, "And you've managed to always stick your nose in our business ever since. Like, this one time at the burger joint when you were, I don't know, six or eight of somethin', and you wanted me to lend you cash for that new shake they were servin'. You had the hard ass guts to ask while I was tryin' to get the waitress' attention."
Steve laughed.
"Yeah, I was eleven and dumb. You weren't any smarter than me either. Still, you're there again, with your damn sap eyes 'cause neither Darry or, surprisingly, Soda would give you anythin' and you came to me of all goddamn people."
Ponyboy did not react much asides from a small huff. Steve was undeterred though.
"I was this close to telling you to scram, but then she met your eyes with her own dying squirrel squeal and gush and, guess what? You got your fifty cents, you little shit. I didn't get her number but there were extra fries on my plate not three minutes later. Was it a fair deal? Hell no, you always get off easy, Pone."
Without realizing, Steve had gotten caught in a ramble, stumbling on and on about their childhood, or more recent, shenanigans of the gang or just him and the Curtis brothers, or even just him and Ponyboy. In each story, he managed to lightly jab at Pony's pride, throwing him under the cotton-made bus without hesitation.
Halfway through, he recognized that storytelling was a very Two-Bit thing to do, and he was really into it too, motioning with his hands and face in wild gestures and barking out harsh laughs at some of the dumbest moments that his memory managed to conjure up. He didn't know why he got so elated all of a sudden; it could've been something funny with the beer, that's what he tried to tell himself at least.
Whatever, he was too invested in his one man show to really care.
"It's nuts sometimes, kid. You manage to push my buttons every goddamn time, but," Steve paused, clearing his throat, "I don't know, we're a gang. We've always been somewhat buddies. I thought you knew that.
"Honestly, I haven't got the smallest clue where was it that you got the idea that I hated you, or somethin'. It ain't true Pony. Again, sure, major pain in the ass, but you're still my best bud's kid brother, and a part of the gang. So, I can't exactly hate your guts anyway, savvy?"
Steve waited for a mumbled response, or even an irritated groan, or a pillow shucked at his face, but he got none of that. Confused as to why, he turned to face the bed and actually froze at what he saw.
Ponyboy was snoring away, head deep into the pillow, probably didn't even hear half the things the older greaser said.
Steve just chuckled.
He glanced down at the empty bottle in his hand and opted for a new one. He was ridiculously careful on his way out, no joke afraid of stumbling over something and startling Ponyboy awake.
Randle dug out what he realized was the last beer in Curtis' fridge and half-heartedly popped it open, making a mental note of buying Darry a pack next time he came over.
He'd started to move towards the worn-out couch across the TV, when the front door suddenly opened.
Steve watched in silence as Soda's slumped form slipped into the household and grimaced at how loudly the middle brother slammed the door shut. The mentioned raised his head, as if about to yell something. Most likely to call for Ponyboy, when he stopped abruptly at coming face to face with his best friend, who'd been standing literally in front of him the whole time.
"Hey Steve." The confusion was clear on his face, which was a prime example of how extremely exhausted he was. Normally, it could be the whole gang randomly popping up in his living room and Soda wouldn't bat an eye.
"Hey Soda." Steve greeted back with an everyday normalcy, "Keep it down, will ya? You're gonna wake the kid up," he ventured a look down the hall, "if ya haven't already."
Soda paused in a visible freeze. His eyes went so wide as he stared back at Steve that it made the mechanic wonder he'd said something awfully wrong.
"P-Pony," the teen began, stuttering, "Pony's asleep? You-got him- to sleep?"
Steve frowned. "Yeah, I guess. Was I not s'posed to?"
Just like that, he witnessed as all tension on Soda's body melted away faster than he could light the cancer stick in his jacket pocket.
His best friend swayed a bit, which alarmed Steve, but Soda kept his balance last second and mutedly made his way to the couch; he plopped down on it much like Darry did when he was just back from a long day of work.
What a scary thought.
It was when Soda brought both hands to his face that Steve even noticed that the middle brother was carrying a plastic bag with him, he assumed Soda brought it back from his trip to the store.
Sodapop was quiet for too long.
"Soda-,
"Thank god."
It was only a whisper when his bud said it, but it rattled his body like a bellowed cheer. Much too similar to the voice of someone rushing down the streets exclaiming: "The war is over!"
Steve had all inclination to question what Soda meant, because he seriously needed to know what the hell was that, but Soda beat him to it.
"His nightmares, Steve they've been so bad lately." His voice was shaky, and it clung to the roof of Sodapop's mouth. "He's been hollerin' so bad that he wakes up with his throat torn to shreds! A-And now, he's been scared to fall asleep, so he won't, for the whole week! Nothin' we've tried seems to help…
"Yesterday-" he took a deep breath, looking at Steve with defeated eyes, "Yesterday he didn't go to bed at all, didn't sleep a blink through the whole night and, and it's just scary."
All this took Steve by the short hand. Considering the state Pony had been in, it shouldn't have been much surprising, and it shocked the teen how concerned he suddenly felt. Not only for Ponyboy, but for the brothers in general.
"Golly," Steve exhaled, "Why'd you let'im go to school?"
"He left before we could tell'im not to."
It was, well, a handful to take in. Steve knew about Ponyboy's nightmares, hell, who didn't? But, for them to bee so bad that the kid was willingly crossing sleep off the list just so he wouldn't have them? That was just too messed up for him to just ignore.
"Man, Soda." He sighed with secondhand grief. "That's tough."
Sodapop sighed too. "No need to tell me." He wiped a hand across his face again.
"So, how'd you do it?"
Steve's lips parted to answer, but they had to snap back shut and let him think for a minute.
"…I'm not sure."
"Really?" Soda asked in visible disappointment, causing Steve to wince.
"Yeah," he admitted, "sorry… What's in the bag?"
Sodapop blinked, looking down at his forgotten purchase.
"Sleeping pills."
Steve, not knowing how to answer, raised the beer that was now going stale in his hand.
"You want this, Soda?"
Sodapop stared at it for a second, unsure, before he sagged with a sigh.
"Sure, why not?" Steve handed him the bottle with just a hint of apprehension, knowing very well that his buddy didn't drink, but then he shut himself up. He reached for something in the right pocket of his jacket and pulled out his card deck. He showed it to Soda, who gave him a small smile.
"Poker?"
"Poker."
About an hour and a half had uneventfully passed by when the two greasers were startled by the front door being thrown open. Darry stumped his way in, looking tires and distinctly annoyed.
"Hey Darry, how was work?" Sodapop addressed him quickly whilst Steve greeted leisurely with a nod.
Darry let out a huff of anger. "It would've been just fine if the school hadn't called to let me know that our little brother skipped class. Why did he even bother to go without mentionin' this mornin' just to ditch later? Where the hell is he?" he turned towards the hallway, "Ponyboy! Get your behind here right now!" He yelled with half a mind to stomp down the corridor and maybe rip the door right off its hinges.
"Darry-," Soda wanted to intercept, but Steve was several steps ahead of him. Standing right away, the mechanic put himself between Darry and the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
"Easy there, Superman." He ordered with a tone he never thought he'd ever use on Darrell Curtis. "Ponyboy's gettin' some shuteye and, from what I hear, he hasn't been doin' that enough lately."
Darry blinked, all anger magically replaced by shock as he froze over. Any other time, Steve would've laughed at how uncannily similar his reaction was to Soda's earlier.
"He's sleeping?"
Steve sighed. "Yeah, let's just hope all your hollerin' and slammin' doors didn't change that."
It's a few moments before Darry, out of nowhere, made a beeline for the kitchen. Steve did not let him get too far.
"You're out of beer." Darry tensed mid-step. "Sorry."
The oldest out of them sighed, shoulders heavy, and turned back into the living room.
"How long since he passed out?"
"About an hour or two." If Steve could recall.
Darry turned to Soda. "How'd you do it?"
Sodapop shook his head. "I didn't. That was Steve."
The 20-year-old did a double take, almost as if whiplashed. "He did? Steve?" He asked with a tremendous amount of incredulity, and Steve couldn't even blame him for it. Honestly, he'd been trying to piece things together himself, because he wasn't entirely sure how real this episode was.
Steve nodded, almost shy. Darry chuckled in disbelief, and rightfully so.
"How?"
"I ain't really sure. But, uh," he stumbled over his next words, feeling, if just a little bit, flustered. "I think he hit the lights somewhere through the story."
Darry frowned in confusion, Sodapop positively beamed.
"A story?" His best bud asked excitedly.
Steve sighed. "Not really. I was just blabberin' about some godawfully stupid crap we used to get into sometime ago, savvy? And how he'd always stick along like a tick to dog fur-," He stuttered when Darry's intrigued stare morphed unto a glare, "b-but I meant no heat! Honest! Just ramblin'. Guess the kid got bored enough to get himself knocked out."
Darry slipped back into an eased look, with at hint of mirth, as Soda barked a short laugh, though still mindful of his volume.
The three of them settled into the living room; Steve and Soda went back to their game and Darry fetched a newspaper to read on his chair. None of them dared to turn on the TV, preferring not to take the risk of waking Pony.
Two-Bit walked in a couple of minutes later, thankfully without boasting in like usual, and he had a cool six pack in his hand. Darry filled him in, although Two-Bit told him that he already had an idea of what was going on; Ponyboy did look dead on his feet earlier that day. Leave it to Mathews to read into what everyone else can't.
Their prankster settled in easy, demanding to be let into the poker game or there would be no booze for anybody.
Sodapop had an ace in his shoe, Steve knew it, but he still let the little cheater win in order to further humiliate poor Two-Bit, who was about to lose his last nickel to gamble. He was just short of revealing his own hand when his ears caught on the soft paddle of footsteps down the hallway. Everyone else must have heard them too, because the only other thing could hear now was his own heartbeat.
Sure enough, Pony's drowsy face popped into the living room. The teen was rubbing his left eye with one hand, while keeping his balance on the wall with the other.
"Hey guys." The youngest managed to say through a stifle yawn.
Sodapop smiled. "Hey bud, sleep well?" His tone was light, but undoubtedly laced with concern.
"Any dreams you remember?" Darry added, showing his own worry and curiosity.
Ponyboy took some time to answer, before finally:
"I slept good."
The tension in the room considerably decreased.
"And I do remember somethin'." Ponyboy continued, regaining everyone's rapt attention. "We were all hangin' out again, all of us." He stressed that last part out, no one missed it's meaning. Then, Ponyboy paused and turned to Steve. "It… was fun."
When what he said really settled in, Two-Bit and Soda broke into loud laughter.
"Stevie, you're a god sent!" Soda teased through his cackles. Steve smacked him on the arm, face red.
"More like the devil sent'im up here to torment us." Pony said with a smirk, earning himself a glare from Steve. "Though, your word vomit wasn't half-bad Steve. Still, leave the story thing to Two-Bit, will ya?"
"Yeah." Randle suddenly chuckled though his embarrassment. "I'll do that."
Ponyboy yawned at least two more times after that, clearly not having rested nearly as much as what his system required.
"You wanna head back to bed, Pony?" Soda asked him, he frowned when Ponyboy tensed up.
"Well, yeah-but, uh, I'm not… sure." The youngest Curtis stumbled with his words. He didn't need to explain why.
"Want Good Ol' Two-Bit 'ere to tell you about his great voyage down the fair of beaches of mighty California?" Matthews offered, abandoning the game with a big grin.
"Golly." Ponyboy muttered, extremely flustered, but he nodded anyways. Two-Bit easily slung an arm across the younger's shoulders and led him back into his room, already gesturing madly about whatever tale he's got in the bag.
When they heard the door close, Darry turned to Soda, who met his older brother's look with a huge Cheshire cat grin, before both of them turned to Steve.
"So, storytelling, huh?"