Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, Cursing, Long Chapter.

The Calculation of Things

OoO

"What're you doing?"

"Um, nothing." Straightening up, I set Steve's wallet back on the coffee table, embarrassed that the few bucks I've been trying to slip in are sticking out as obvious as all can be.

Steve cocks a brow. "Robbing from the blind, kid?"

"More like from the crippled."

He snorts but still looks pissed. Crosses the room to snatch the wallet. He takes out my dollars and shoves the wallet in his back pocket. "I knew it was you, you little shit. How many times I gotta tell you to stay out of it?"

"You're living at my house. I can't stay out of it."

"God damn it," Steve swears. "You're making me like you less and less every day." He throws the money my way. It hits the floor.

"Funny," I snap, turning on my heel, leaving the cash strewn around the room. "I feel the same way about you."

"This don't make us even for that little stunt you pulled," he shouts as I open the front door. "I'm still gonna get you back."

"Yeah," I mutter under my breath, but I'm smiling. "I'll believe it when see it."

OoO

"Jill Reeser didn't think that."

"Jill Reeser was half blind, man, which explains why she dated you."

"Stevie, you're just jealous I called dibs on her first."

"Dibs? I didn't know we were in third grade."

"C'mon guys, shut up," Sodapop says, whacking a broken windshield wiper on the counter. "I can't listen to anymore of this." He points the wiper at Two-Bit. "Jill was blind." Swings it over to Steve who's sitting on a workbench. "And he did call dibs."

My laugh floats through the garage. Two-Bit spins around on the stool. "How's it hanging, Ponyboy? Low and steady? Hard and fast? Or maybe you're like Steve, loose and l—ow!"

Two-Bit rubs the back of his neck where Steve's just grabbed the windshield wiper from Sodapop and swatted him across the back of the head.

"What're you doing here?" I ask Two-Bit. "No job yet?"

"I should be asking you the same question."

"I'm still in school."

"Well, I'm here for a job."

"Bullshit." Steve snorts as I cock an eyebrow. "I wouldn't hire you if you were the last mechanic on earth. In fact," he says, jutting his chin my direction. "I'd hire the kid over you."

"Thanks," I mutter, sinking onto another workbench.

"What's goin on, kiddo?" Soda asks.

"I need to borrow a buck. Coach wants us to go out for pizza after practice tonight. Think Darry will be okay with that?"

"I'm sure he'd be fine," Soda slowly begins. "But kiddo, I ain't got any cash right now." Soda's eyes flit to Two-Bit, who's pretending to be interested in the invisible watch on his wrist.

I frown, caught off guard. "Oh...that's okay…I just thought—"

"Take this, Ponyboy." Steve has his wallet out, a dollar in his hand.

"Steve…"

"Just take it and get out of here," Steve says, his voice hard. I take the cash, uneasy about what's going on with Sodapop. As I walk out I catch Steve's eyes. Unlike his voice they're soft and he gives me just the slightest nod.

OoO

"Jesus, Steve, lay off will ya?" I cross the room; the phone's been ringing off the hook ever since I walked in. I touch the receiver and it goes dead. He's been laying into me ever since Pony left the shop.

"Twenty bucks, Soda. Twenty bucks is a big deal. Especially owing it to Hank Greer."

I sit on the couch; smear my face in my hands. "I know. I know it is. Shit man, I feel lousy enough without you rubbing my face in it."

"It's the kid, ain't it?"

"What?"

Steve sits in Darry's recliner and kicks his boots off. "I figured that's who you're worrying about. It always is." I don't miss the sarcasm in his voice. "But sneaking off to Pinkie's, losing money and lying about it isn't the answer, Sodapop."

"I'll get the money."

"When? Will you have it by next week?"

I groan. I better. I goddamn better have that cash or I'll be forced to spill the beans to Darry and then there'll be two people out to kick my ass, not to mention hire Ponyboy a personal babysitter.

OoO

"Thanks for lunch. Sure beats Soda's grape jelly and tuna fish."

Josie wrinkles her nose, stooping to reapply her lipstick in the reflection of the window of her sports car. "I really hope you're joking about that. But if you're not…" She straightens up. "I want to meet them one of these days."

"Soon," I promise. "Things are just crazy at home."

"I can handle crazy, Darry," Josie says, her blonde ponytail bobbing. "You forget, I'm a libra."

"I'm sure you can." I lean over, not really sure what she means, and give her a quick kiss. I check my watch. "I got to get back to work."

"Okay," she says. "Now remember, we have that quiz next week so we better meet to study. And I know it's just a quiz but Professor Brown can be exhausting and—" Josie's brown eyes move off to a spot above my shoulder. I see his reflection in the window. I turn.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Cowboy takes off his hat. "I need to talk to you about Ponyboy."

"I can't talk now."

"How about I meet you at your—"

"No," I say, intent on keeping him as far away from my little brother as possible. "After work, but not there."

"Dottie's Diner, then."

I nod and the Cowboy walks off. "That was him, wasn't it?" Josie's small hand wraps around my bicep. She squeezes.

OoO

"Stop it," I hiss at Sodapop as he practically leaps out of the booth when Thomas Mercer strolls in. The Cowboy's in jeans and a white shirt with the cuffs rolled up, his hat tugged down tight, shading his face. "I swear to god, Sodapop, relax…"

Soda shoots me an angry look but slumps in the booth. I hope I haven't made a mistake bringing Soda with me but it's important that we keep a united front. I want Soda to hear first-hand what Thomas Mercer says.

"So what d'you want?" I ask the Cowboy as he gets settled. I rap my fingers on the countertop, impatient. Pony should be getting home from track practice any time and I want to get home as soon as possible, as if just having this meeting is pulling him farther away from me.

Cowboy says to me straight, "I want to be in Ponyboy's life." He plays with the sugar bowl on the table. "I thought that maybe after our last conversation you'd reach out. Or he would. But now I reckon I'll—"

"No way. Absolutely not."

"Darrel, I ain't asking for him to call me dad. I don't want custody. I just want to spend some time with him. The last thing I wanted to do to your family is cause trouble. But you've made it impossible for me to see my s—"

The next words come from Sodapop, who's been sizing the Cowboy up this entire time. "Don't." He points at Thomas Mercer. "Do not even say it because I'm about two seconds away from breaking my fist across your jaw."

"I bet you've got a mean right hook."

"You bet your ass I do." Soda doesn't flinch.

Cowboy leans back in the booth. Thinking, he touches the brim of his hat. "I understand your point. Turning your brother over to a perfect stranger. Letters and photos aren't exactly proof positive…at least in your minds." He opens his hands. "A blood test then. Give me that much."

Soda's dark eyes flick to mine, hesitant. It's a gamble – the best way to rule it out but also a damn good way to turn the power over to Thomas Mercer.

"It's as close as we're gonna get, Darrel," Thomas Mercer says.

Soda swears under his breath as I agree.

OoO

"You come up with any cash yet?"

"Some. Not all of it. I still got time," I say, feeling less than sure. It's been three days and so far I haven't scrounged up a thing.

"You tell Superman?"

"Not yet. I don't know, Two-Bit, now ain't exactly the best time for—"

Two-Bit and I sit up in the hard waiting room chairs as a pale Ponyboy exits the doctor's office, a white bandage wrapped around the crook of his arm.

"Go okay?" I ask,

"Fine," he says with a scowl. "You'd think they'd have blood on file from last time."

Standing, I look at him closely. He means when he got the concussion. "I don't think they took enough then, kiddo," I tell him gently.

"Yeah," Two-Bit says, as we walk down the hall to the registration desk. "They probably wanted a fresh batch." Ponyboy gives him a slightly sick smile, leaning against the wall to wait as I check out.

I prop my elbows on the counter. Behind the glass partition a nurse is pulling our file. She waddles over.

"When do we get the results?"

She examines her chart, reading. "Mr. Mercer's already been tested…once we run the samples against your late father's we should have the results in oh…a day or two…he put a rush on it." She shuts the file. "The doctor will notify you."

When I ask for the bill the nurse tells me it's already been taken care of.

OoO

From its hiding place in the attic I slip the pearl enameled lighter of my mom's into the pocket of my jeans, needing something of hers to feel close, to remember. The minute Darry had told me about the blood test my stomach had shriveled up to the point of even existing.

My brother's hanging up the phone when I enter the living room. He blinks once, and for a minute I doubt he even sees me.

"That was the doctor," Darry says. "We have an appointment at three."

OoO

"The same?" Soda's asking. "How can they be the same?"

The doctor sighs, as if we all should be getting it by now. He hands me the test results and Thomas Mercer a copy. The Cowboy's standing, lounging back against the whitewashed wall, cowboy hat pulled down, darkening his face.

"Your mother was A-negative, Ponyboy's AB-negative," the doctor explains. "Mr. Mercer is B-positive and Mr. Curtis is—was AB-positive. Either of those blood types can result in your brother's, which is quite rare by the way..."

The doctor moves to sit at his desk. He shuffles papers. "You have to understand that while blood types can offer clues about paternity they're not definitive. All we can say here is that Mr. Mercer and your father," he nods at me, "are not excluded from being Ponyboy's biological father."

"So we still don't know," Ponyboy says in a low voice. I glance over. This whole time he's been quiet, and while that's nothing new, his face is glazed, like he doesn't know what to do with this information.

"It's half and half," the doctor announces, sounding bored. "You'll probably never know for certain."

"I'm sorry," he adds as almost an afterthought. "I'm sure this is quite a shock."

OoO

I give Ponyboy some change to get a soda and while he doesn't look like he trusts leaving us alone together he says nothing and goes. The Cowboy watches him turn the corner of the hallway and then says, "Well, seeing as how it's the best we can do, like I said, I'm sure you—"

"No."

"No?"

"We're still right back where we were," I say. "And I don't want to confuse him. I don't want you around my brother."

"Darrel, I understand, but we agreed that if this happened I'd be able to see him."

"If he was your son." Soda's jaw jumps. "I don't know who you are or what you want but you leave my brother alone. He doesn't need your shit."

By the way the Cowboy tenses Soda's said the wrong thing. But that's too damn bad. I'm too mad to worry about that. "Look," I say, jumping in. "Steer clear of Ponyboy."

Cowboy touches the brim of his hat, genuinely worried. "I didn't want it to come to this but if you refuse I may have to seek legal action. I have a right."

"What? No one would ever—"

"I have a friend at the courthouse," the Cowboy says. "I think it's only fair to warn you. I can pull some strings. I don't want custody and I don't want to resort to this but if you resist…" He holds out a hand. "No threat, I'm just giving you fair warning. I only want to see him. Maybe he wants it too. Have you ever even asked him?"

"I know what my brother wants," I warn, taking a step toward the Cowboy. My hands curl into fists. "He is my responsibility and I'll be damned if you're gonna step in and take him away from us."

"He has a right to know. I hope we can come to some sort of agreement…"

"Fuck your agreement," Soda swears, banging a fist on the wall. A few seated patients crane their heads to gawk at us. A nurse steps out from behind the counter. Soda, about five seconds away from decking Thomas Mercer, storms out of the clinic.

OoO

Darry's knuckles are bleached white as he steers the truck home. The glow of the streetlamps filters in through the cab as we pass under them. I'm stuck in the middle, between both my brothers. Soda has an arm looped around my neck.

"So what does this mean?" I ask, sick of the silence and ready to talk. "What'd the Cowboy want?"

Something tells me it had been more than small talk in the hallway of the clinic. Not to mention Sodapop's eyes are on fire; angrier and more bitter than I've ever seen. The test was vague but somehow I don't think it did us any favors. If anything I'm even more confused now.

Darry exchanges a slight glance with Sodapop. "He just wanted to know is all," Sodapop answers.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Ponyboy," Darry says, his face tight. He slows at a stop sign, flips his blinker on and takes a right.

OoO

Darry gives me his third disapproving glance of the night. On my way to bed, I pause in the hallway. "Just say what you wanna say, Dar."

"You can't…" Darry begins, exasperated, "You can't go flyin' off the handle like you did today, Sodapop. It doesn't help our case any."

"What case? We ain't gotta prove a case. We're his legal guardians and that asshole doesn't have jack shit." I rub a hand over my eyes, mutter, "I'll take his case and shove it up his ass."

Darry chuckles softly. "Sodapop, I swear to god if you were the oldest you never would have gotten custody of Ponyboy. You'd spontaneously combust the minute the state showed up."

I give Darry a weak smile, his words stinging. While I consider myself reasonable in a fight or the calmest out of Steve and Two-Bit that's nothing compared to the storm inside when it comes to my brothers. Especially with the latest situation. I rub sweaty palms on my jean; I have to get Budweiser that cash.

Darry turns a lamp on, picks up the newspaper on the coffee table. It's an old one; he's behind on reading. "You're right though," I say. Darry looks my way. "I never would have been able to keep him. So thank god, we got you."

Clearing his throat, Darry slowly sits in his recliner. "Sodapop…"

I put a hand on the doorknob. Pony's asleep inside the bedroom. I pause and turn back to my brother, saying what's been on my mind ever since Dottie's Diner. "We shouldn't have done it, Dar," I say, shaking my head, thinking of the already-paid doctor's bill. "We shouldn't have done the test. Now he wants—now he has the power."

"No," Darry says. "He doesn't."

OoO

Ponyboy's laugh filters throughout the house. I smile, happy to hear the sound and grateful to Two-Bit who's brought over a ton of food, claiming he's going to make something called a "scramble" for breakfast. I dump a load of laundry into the washer, measure out the soap, and hope I'm out of the house before I have to taste whatever hellish concoction they're cooking up.

The doorbell rings and instantly the kitchen quiets. Hushed murmuring. I'm shutting the lid when Two-Bit slides into view. "Darry." He hooks a thumb back. "You gotta get out here now."

When I get into the living room a frowning man is standing in the doorway, telling Ponyboy, "Kid, I'm gonna need someone a bit older than you to take this." A white envelope bobs in his hand.

I swear as Pony's eyes narrow. He opens his mouth but before a smartass retort can fly Two-Bit's dragging him away from the front door. He ruffles Pony's hair. "Zip your lips, kid."

Pony elbows him in the side. Two-Bit gives him a shove and I stand straight and firm, facing the man with a calm expression; it's all I can do not to turn around and yell at them to sit down and shut up.

"Can I help you?" I ask the man, crossing my arms. Ponyboy approaches, standing near my side.

"Darrel Curtis?"

"Yes?"

"I have a summons for you to appear in Tulsa's West District Court a week from now." The man hands me a letter, a big gold seal stamped on the front. "Have a nice day."

I rip the letter open, eyes moving over the contents. "I don't believe this…that sonofabitch…"

"Dar?" Two-Bit has his hand out. I give him the letter. Ponyboy stands near the still-open door, his face stormy. "That mother—" Two-But cuts off, finished.

Ponyboy steps up and grabs it from Two-Bit. He reads fast and then looks at me. "I never should have answered that door."

"No," I tell him. "It's not your fault. Look," I cross the room. "Two-Bit, can you take Pony and get out of here for while?"

"Say no more, Darry," Two-Bit says. "I get that you want to yell in complete peace and quiet." He wraps an arm my brother's neck. "C'mon kid. We'll go do manly things on this manly Saturday."

"No way," Pony says. He wriggles out from Two-Bit's arm. "I want to—"

"Just do it, Ponyboy," I snap, aware I'm saying the wrong thing, but my patience is on its last thread. "I don't want to have this conversation with you right now." Hurt, he stares at me a minute and then walks out of the house. Two-Bit rocks on his heels, looks like he wants to say something and then turns and follows Ponyboy out the front door.

OoO

Pardon typos.

Thank you for the read and reviews. So appreciated.

I did the research on the medical stuff and being that this was the 60s before DNA and all that jazz, this works for the above…at least I do so believe. However, I am sure I overlooked a few things on the scientific realm so be kind.

XO,

Feisty