Darry was rooted under the hood of his truck, elbow-deep in repairs, but his mind was elsewhere. The garage was quiet, save the occasional clink of metal and annoyed mutterings from Ponyboy. Darry watched his ham-fisted attempt at loosening a stubborn bolt, noting the determined frown as Pony examined the wrench, searching for the source of his difficulty.
It would have been easy enough for Darry to do it himself, or show Pony where Dad had kept the grease, but he didn't interfere. Pony needed to find his own way, just as Darry had. Besides, words often felt inadequate to Darry now.
His jaw tightened as he turned away, busying himself with the tools scattered on the workbench. Three months had passed since they'd lost Mom and Dad, and every day had become a battle to keep it all from turning to dust. Still, Pony deserved better. Darry knew that much, at least. Better than just scraping by without their parents. More than a brother who was always one step away from giving up completely.
A familiar emptiness snagged his gut; the horrible longing for all the things that had slipped through his fingers. It tore at something deep inside him. Something he wished he could ignore.
Darry didn't torment himself the same way over Sodapop. He was practically a man, already outgrowing the need for oversight. Darry's guardianship of him was a formality, at best. Soon enough he'd be ready to go it alone. Even with his own future held hostage by duty, Darry desperately wanted that chance for his brother. He loved Soda. It was easy and uncomplicated. But Ponyboy? He was a different story.
Loving Pony felt like being tied to the end of a mud hook. Darry hated how Pony looked at him, like he was both savior and oppressor, always reaching out for something Darry couldn't seem to give. He was a constant reminder of the family they once were and the future they might have had. In him, Darry could only see the years stretching ahead, filled with more sacrifices he wasn't sure he wanted to make.
The thought was cruel, one he tried to banish, but it lingered at the edge of his mind. And Darry worried that, deep down, Pony knew the truth.
"Dammit," Pony hissed, shoving a freshly tweaked finger into his mouth.
"Use the other grip," Darry said without looking up. "Hold closer to the base with your left hand and pull."
Pony made the adjustment, his gray-green eyes quick to search Darry's face for any sign he'd hit the target. Darry's gaze flickered to his brother once more. He gave a slight nod, his affection, wrapped in barbed wire. It wasn't much, but it was something, and Pony received it with a barefaced triumph. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue darting to the corner of his mouth in concentration.
Darry softened for a moment, the silence between them heavy but familiar. It wasn't that he disliked Ponyboy, or even having him invariably underfoot. Pony was tougher than he looked, stronger than he knew. If anything, he was a testament to why Darry kept pushing forward. To why he kept pushing Ponyboy, as well. Too far, at times, perhaps. But he had to. He had to be strong, for Pony, for Soda.
Sometimes though, in the quiet moments, Darry wondered if he was the one who needed saving. And if he was, who would save him? When Pony was grown and he was no longer needed, would Darry finally find peace? Or would the emptiness simply swallow him whole?