At The End Of The Road

by StayGold4ever

One eight letter word changes their lives forever. Leukemia. Pony struggles to beat the disease. But through the struggle, he finds new friends, repairs old relationships, and learns what it really means to live. The bond between the gang is stronger than ever as they realize just how much they've taken for granted. Johnny and Dally are alive!

10. Chapter 10: Infection

SADLY, I DO NOT OWN THE OUTSIDERS! ALL RIGHTS GO TO THE AMAZING S. E. HINTON!

Author's Note: Well, I've broken my streak of updating once a week. Sorry, I've been really stuck on this chapter. I think I'm slightly overwhelmed with the medical aspect, I've been doing a ton of research and I want to really be able to understand it, not just know the basics. Also, I'm starting off this chapter with Steve's POV, it seemed like a lot of people wanted that so that's what I did! And thanks for the great reviews, you guys are awesome! Hope you like the chapter ;)

By the way, I saw the new Spider-Man movie today. And guess who was in it? C. THOMAS HOWELL! (AKA Ponyboy) He played the father of the little kid who was trapped in the car. I was so excited when I found out he was in it! And it was a good movie ;)

At The End Of The Road, Chapter 10: Infection

STEVE'S POV

I walked alone down the silent street, stabbing the asphalt with each step. My ribs smarted and burned. I cursed my father inwardly. Lousy son of a b**** can go straight to h*** as far as I care. Really, I don't care. I had gotten home from Soda's around midnight, entering the house to my father's drunken raging.

"WHERE THE H*** HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

"Out."

"OUT?! I STAY UP ALL NIGHT WAITING FOR MY SON AND ALL I GET IS ONE WORD? YOU D*** WELL BETTER THINK OF A BETTER WAY TO SHOW YOUR APPRECIATION, STEVE!"

So of course I chose that moment to talk back. "You wern't waiting up for me. You're too drunk to sleep. You were probably sitting here drinking and forgetting your own name. F*** you."

Out came his fist, there go my ribs. My father usually doesn't get physical like that. It's usually words, if that at all. He mostly ignores me, although he can sometimes carry a conversation when he's sober. But I don't talk with him. I havn't forgiven him, for anything.

It took me 15 minutes to get to Soda's. I can get there quicker, but my ribs were really slowing me down. I slipped through the door. Thank God they keep the door unlocked. It was silent inside. I had been half-hoping that Soda would be awake and I could rant to him, but no such luck. We could talk in the morning. I quietly went to the kitchen and got myself a glass of water, than grabbed a blanket and sat down on the couch, gingerly touching my ribs. I didn't think anything was broken, but I'd probably tape them up in the morning. I edged myself down into a comfortable position, taking care not to irritate my ribs.

A door down the hallway opened, and a streak of light streamed out. Footsteps padded down the hallway. "Steve?"

"Hey, Soda."

"You okay? I thought you said you wern't crashing here."

"Yeah, I thought so to. Apparently my father disagrees."

"You guys get in a fight?"

"Would I be here otherwise?"

"Yes."

"Good point."

"Did he hurt you?" Soda was eying the blood on my shirt. I thought it wouldn't be noticeable.

"It ain't too bad, Soda. I can handle it."

"D*** Steve, just let me see." i would have argued more, but my ribs were actually getting pretty painful. I slowly lifted my shirt.

"Glory, Steve. You need to tape those or something. C'mon, I'll go get the first-aid kit." Great, just what I need. Charity.

"Don't worry about it, you can go back to bed, I'm good. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"Yeah, you did, but I don't care." I just rolled my eyes at him and followed him to the bathroom, where he got out the first aid kit. I yanked the medical tape out before he could get to it. I appreciated the thought and all, but h***, I can take care of myself.

"It's awfully hard to tape your own ribs, Steve."

"I can handle it." And I did. After I was finished, I trudged down the hall and sat at the kitchen table. Soda opened the icebox and pulled out a slightly lopsided chocolate cake. "Want some?"

"It's nearly 2:30 in the morning, Soda."

"Never too early for chaclate cake." He pulled off the saran wrap and cut a wedge. "Want some?"

"Sure."

He pushed a plate in front of me, sat down, and we ate in silence. When I was finished, I got up and sat back down on the couch. Soda tossed me a pillow. "Ya know, you can sleep in Pony's old room, if you want." I just shook my head. That would just feel wrong.

"I still can't see why the kid can't sleep on his own. He'll be 14 in a few months, won't he? Kid needs to toughen up."

"Dint be like that, Steve. You know he gets nightmares. And I think he's tough enough."

"Sure."

"C'mon Steve. I think the two of you could get along pretty well if you worked at it."

He'll never learn. Ever since we became friends, Soda has been trying to force the kid and I to spend "quality time" together. He really doesn't get that we just don't dig each other and it ain't gonna change. And I knew that I could try to make an effort to be nicer in light of the circumstances, but I just can't do it. Call me a coward, or heartless, but I don't think that just cause he's sick means that we should become all friendly and stuff. And although I don't like to admit it, I've been thinking a lot about that. If I was the kid (heaven forbid), I would want to be treated normally, not like I was broken. And I noticed that with the kid, too. If anyone acted differently around him, he noticed and was obviously annoyed about it. So I plan on treating him how I always do- ignore him.

I sat absientmindly on the couch, next to Soda, lost in my own thoughts, until another door opened, spilling light into the semi-dark hallway.

"Soda?" Darry's voice sounded worried. He opened the door to Soda and Ponyboy's room. "Soda?"

Soda jerked up with a gasp, half asleep. "I'm here, Darry. Stop shouting, you're too loud. Shut up. Darry, stop it." I bit back a laugh. Soda got really confused and grumpy if someone woke him up.

"Soda, wake up, get up. Seriously." He grabbed him and yanked him up to his feet. Soda shook himself awake.

"I'm up. What is it?"

"I need you to call the hospital. Ask for Dr. Mitchell."

My stomach dropped. Soda's expression changed completly.

"What's wrong? Where's Pony?"

"Soda, I don't know, just call the f***ing hospital."

Oh, boy. I was getting worried. Sure, I don't really like the kid, but I don't want him to die or anything. And this was bringing back all-too-familiar memories, bad ones, of nearly 5 years ago. My mother was diagnosed with a rare blood disease, Amyloids, when I was 12. I remember the frantic phone calls in the middle of the night, the heart-stopping ambulance rides, the doctors in their white coats and clipboards, who lowered their eyes, too weak to look me in the eye when they broke the news; "I'm sorry son. We lost her." D*** it. Don't think about it. Don't remember her.

I was pulled away from my thoughts by a loud crash and muffled curse from Soda as he tripped over the coffee table and and fell. I felt like an intruder, which was pretty ridiculous, seeing as I had practically grown up in this house. I got off the couch and headed down to Darry's room.

"Uh, Darry, you need help with anything?"

I heard Darry shuffling around, talking quietly to the kid. "Keep it under your tongue, kiddo, you'll be fine..." He stuck his head out through the doorway. "Yeah, actually, could you go look on the coffe table at those brochures? There's one labeled "Infections." See if it's says anything about fevers, cough, congestion, anything. Actually, just bring it back here."

I hurried back to the living room, flicking on the lamp. There was a heap of brochures strewn on the coffee table: Symptoms, Diagnosis, Understanding AML, Treatment, Insurance, Chemo. Infections. I grabbed it and took it back to Darry, flipping through the pages as I went. "Infections most commonly develop 7-12 days after a chemo session. Recent studies show that an infection occurring in adolescents aged from 12-20* years of age are twice more likely to die from complications of infection treatment then those younger than them. Syptoms of infections are fever (higher than 100.5), chills, sore throat, cough, pain when urinating, redness or swelling near cut or injury, mouth sores, rectal bleeding. To prevent infection, wash hands frequently and thoroughly, avoid coming in contact with people who are sick, ask other to wash hands when coming in contact with you, avoid getting cuts or scrape, cover cuts or scrapes with a bandage and keep clean, avoid large crowds of people, cook food thoroughly to prevent bacteria."

There was no need to read farther. Quite frankly, all that medical stuff was kinda freaking me out. And if the kid did have an infection, he was ahead of the ball game. 7-12 days. The kid had had treatment only what, 5 days ago?

I pushed open the door to Darry's room.

"Hey, here ya go, Dar."

"Thanks, man." Darry was pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Ponyboy was curled up on his bed. His eyes were open but he wasn't looking at me.

"DARRY!" Soda yelled from the kitchen. "DR. MITCHELL'S ON, HE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!"

"Coming!" He turned to Ponyboy. "Go sit on the couch, kay?" He nodded and stumbled out to the living room. Darry followed and grabbed the phone from Soda. "Hello? Yes... Yeah, he felt okay when he left the morning... No, sir... Yeah, he has a fever of 101, he's coughing, said his head hurt... No sir, they said they would call us when we heard back from them... Yes. Okay, that's fine, thank you. Bye." He hung up. "Get your shoes on, they think you have an infection, Pone." Darry grabbed his wallet from the counter and turned to me.

"Steve, you wanna stay here? You can crash in Soda and Pony's room, tell the gang tomorrow?"

You have no idea how much I wanted to agree to that little aragment. But I couldn't, it would just be wrong. Soda was there for me throughout the entire mess with my mom, and it would only be fair if I did the same for him.

"No, I'll come." Darry looked slightly surprised but tried to hide it. It ain't no secret that I'm not the biggest fan of the kid. But I'm coming strictly to support Soda. I ain't worried about the kid. Really, I ain't.

DARRY'S POV

I grabbed Pony's coat and led him out the door, Soda and Steve at my heels. Cold winter night air bit at our skin. I got into the driver's seat, Steve sat next to me, and Sodapop and Ponyboy sat in the back. I drove faster than normal, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. Panic and guilt were silently creepinto up into me. God, I am such an idiot. It's unbelievable how stupid you are. I'm worse than those drifty, airhead parents with no common sense. I mean, sure I'm new to this whole parenting thing, but still, I don't think anyone other than me would possibly be oblivious enough to do this. I was all like "Sure, go have fun." Just send a sick kid out into the snow for a couple of hours into huge crowds of people. He has cancer, and I caved in so easily. I knew this could happen, and I was gullible enough to think tsome this wouldn't happen to us. I let all my frustration out on the gas pedal and drove faster.

"Uh, Darry," Pony croaked from the back. "Ypu don't have to speed. I don't think getting pulled over by the fuzz would help our situation much."

Soda snickered. Steve muttered something that sounded like "Still a smarta**," under his breath. I slowed down but didn't stop worrying. Ponyboy had seemed to be doing okay most of the car ride, but in the last 10 minutes he started whimpering quietly, keeping a death grip on Soda's hand.

I checked back in the review mirror. His head was resting on Soda's shoulder, his eyes shut tight. "You doing okay, kid?" I asked. He coughed. "God, it really hurts, Dar."

"What does?"

"Everything." I started speeding again.

I parked as close to the door as I could get. We all got out and hurried through the doors and to the elevator. Ponyboy started coughing again, hard, than sat down on the floor of the elevator. Soda dropped down next to him and felt his forehead.

"Pony, what's wrong?"

"I don't know." He said inconherntly. His cheeks were flushed and he looked dazed. "I just feel... weird. I'm really dizzy."

The elevator doors opened then, just in time, cause I was starting to get really worried. I practically dragged Ponyboy over to the front desk. "Dr. Mitchell." I said urgently. "Is he here? I called here a half hour ago and he said he'd meet us here."

"Just a minute, I'll page him." I twitched my leg impatiently. If they didn't hurry...

"Kenneth Mitchell to front desk please, Kenneth Mitchell to front desk."

He came hurrying over to us two minutes later. Thank God.

"I'm so sorry, I was held up, a patient went-"

"It's all right." I said shortly. I knew I was being rude and I wasn't mad at him but I just wanted to hear that Pony would be okay.

Dr. Mitchell nodded. "We're going to take Ponyboy to examination now and we'll have him on treatment as soon as possible. We'll take him to the ICU if he's got an infection, we'll get back to you as soon as possible." And that was that. They hurried Pony off to examination and we were left standing there.

"You guys go sit down, I gotta go get paperwork." I said to Soda and Steve. They nodded and went to sit down. I got a stack of paperwork from the receptionist and started to write. Name: Ponyboy Curtis. Gender: Male. Age: 13 Date of Birth: July 22, 1952. Parents: Deceased. Guardian: Darrel Curtis, Jr. That was as far as I got. Height? Weight? Geez, brothers aren't supposed to know this stuff. Guardians do. I felt lousy. There was more. Medical history? Medical history of parents? Complications during birth? Is the patient taking persceibed medicine? Have they been on perscribed medicine previously? Does the patient take antidepressants? Drug/ alcohol history?

Well, Pony got drunk once. That doesn't count, does it? Did they seriously expect me to know this? God, I need my parents. I don't think there's a way that we can find their "medical history" without them. I knew they were probably just looking for major things in their history, but what if one of them got seriously sick once and didn't tell us? Maybe I could access the paperwork that Mom and Dad had filled out for us before, that would answer it. Glory, it would be a lot easier if they could just let him in and not worry about all this stuff.

"Soda." I nudged him. He was staring at the ground and chewing on a fingernail. "Hey, Soda, I need your help with some of this stuff."

"Sure thing. What kind of stuff?"

"Paperwork. You know any of thelse questions?"

"Well, sure. He's 5'5, he was 125 pounds, around that before treatment, now he's about 116. He was born 2 weeks late and he was on Avelox for when he had bronchitis last month, but he's not on it anymore. I don't know about the rest."

Well, way to make me feel bad. I mean, I knew some of that stuff, but only the basics. And I could have sworn that he was on Zmax when he had broncitis, but whatever.

"Alright, thanks little buddy. Be right back." He nodded and went on staring and worrying.

I flipped through the rest of the papers as I walked back to the desk. There were two pages completly devoted to insurence and medical coverage. Dang it. We hadn't heard back from Medicaid or Reed and Scafer's yet.

It took a lot of explaining allow me to look at the files, and an even longer time accessing them. And when I finally got them, I found nothing. They never had any problems with their health. At least now I know. I filled the medical stuff out,Haden had to go do more explaining about insurance. I think the receptionist was starting to get tired of our stories. But I eventually sorted it all out, finished the paperwork, and went back to waiting.

And worrying.

SODA'S POV

It's been an hour since we got here, and want to know what we've heard? Nothing, absolutely nothing. Now, I usually have a pretty good temper, but I'm starting to get frustrated. H***, I'm no doctor, but I'm nearly positive that Pony had an infection. How hard is it to just give him a couple of antibiotics? And to tell the family? I bit another nail.

"Hey, man." Steve lightly punched my shoulder. "You're gonna have no nails left if you keep that up. God, I sound like a girl."

I laughed. It sounded hollow. "I know. Just worrying, I guess. I mean, he seemed just fine this afternoon, ya dig?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Hey, the kid's tough. He'll be back to his smarta** self in no time."

I smiled at him the best I could, but it was hard. I was scared. Godd*** scared. When Ponyboy sat down in the elevator, my heart literally stopped. When people get so tired and weak that they need to sit down in someplace like an elevator, it usually means they're all old and stiff. But Ponyboy's not old. He's a thirteen year old kid who sure as h*** doesn't deserve to be sitting around in waiting rooms and hospitals and being poked with needles and hooked up to machines. He should be studying and running track and playing football and watching movies and sunsets and hanging out with his friends. He should be being a kid.

But he's not. As much as Ponyboy wants to be seen as older, he's still my kid brother, he's still everyone's kid brother. At least he was. He had to grow up too fast, something that had happened to Darry and I, but we had tried to stop that from happening with Ponyboy. A couple of nights after Mom and Dad had died, Darry had a talk with me. We both agreed that we had a good childhood. When we were thirteen, we were worrying about girls and homework and making the football team, not worrying about being taken away and living with strangers and not having enough money. We wanted Ponyboy to have the same opportunities that we had had. Well, no of us saw this coming. There goes the opportunities.

I looked up and saw an old nurse walking by. She obviously had gone completly grey, but had dyed her hair beach blonde. She worse scarlet lipstick and way too much makeup. Her nurse's uniform was about three sizes tighter than it should be. she's was also trying (and failing) to walk in three-inch heels.

I bit back a laugh. This was obviously Nurse Caroll. I had never met her, but I had gotten a detailed description on her from Ponyboy. According to him, she was having trouble coming to reality with her age and was still under the impression that she looked "cool and hip" when she dressed like a teenager. She talked like one, too. She also tried to hit on every man she laid eyes on, including the doctors, hospital staff, custodians, and even patients. Pony told me a particularly graphic (and disturbing) story about how she came walking into his room real smoothly and tried to turn him on. It's a good thing that Darry doesn't know about her, or Darry would have her head in a second for trying to mess with Ponyboy. Heck, if she tried anymore stuff with him, I would, too. I couldn't get him to tell me everything she did, cause his ears would just turn bright red and he'd mumble "It was nothing. She just said some stuff."

I heard Steve snicker next to me. I turned to look at him. His face was turning bright red with the effort to not laugh. He had obviously seen Nurse Caroll. I tried not to look at him, knowing he'd get me started too, but I couldn't help it. We both burst out laughing. Nurse Caroll turned to stare us down, which made Steve laugh even harder. I kicked him, desperately trying to stop laughing. Darry was glaring at me.

I was still laughing, but my throat was tightening up and I felt real sad all of a sudden. I got up, muttered something about using the bathroom, and beat it out of there.

I locked myself in a stall and sat down on the cold tile floor, pressing my forehead against my knees. D*** it. Why do I have to care so much? I don't know why I feel like this all of a sudden. I thought of Ponyboy's cocky grin when he told me about Nurse Caroll. D*** it. I love the kid too much, it just hurts to think about how sick he is. And if I lose him, it's just gonna hurt even more. It was like Mickey Mouse all over again. I remember my Dad telling me, "Hey, don't get too attached to that horse, kiddo. He's not yours, and if you grow to care for him, it'll just hurt worse if he gets sold or something." Of course, this is a totally different situation, and I know I'm being unrealistic. Whether I knew if this was going to happen or not, I was going to love Ponyboy like crazy. I'm just like thinking that to think that there was something I could have done to prevent this feeling. Mickey Mouse was something I loved, but Ponyboy was more like a part of me, as corny as that sounds. He's the part that makes me feel so happy, cause with the way he looks up to me, how could that not make someone happy? And it's going to hurt like h*** if I lose that part of me.

I stood up and unlocked the door. I had been in the bathroom a long time. I hurried back over to Darry and Steve and went back to waiting.

Dr. Mitchell came over to fifteen minutes later. Darry shot up and started asking questions, but I was silent. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answers.

Dr. Mitchell held up a hand. "Olay, I'll make this quick. Ponyboy does have a respiratory infection. His white blood cell count is low. White blood cells are responsible for fighting off infections, so when he developed it, his body wasn't strong enough to fight it off. Infections are pretty dangerous for cancer patients, because their immune system is basically shut off. But I assure you it's usually not life-threatening. It's quite common in patients after their first chemo session, so we know what to do in these situations. We're going to move him downstairs to the ICU. We've got him on antibiotics and we hooked him up to oxygen, because with the congestion and things, he's struggling a little to breath. You can walk down with him, you'll have to wait a little in the ICU waiting room to see him, and than you can. Any questions?"

Everyone was quiet. Darry spoke up, "No sir. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

I was relived. It was bad, but it could have been a lot worse. A couple of nurses came wheeling Pony down the hall on a stretcher, various tubes trailing after him. I hurried to catch up.

"Hey, Pone. You awake?" He groaned and opened his eyes.

"I am now." His voice was hoarse and almost painful to hear. He was pale, and dark shadows seemed to be carved under his eyes. His ungreased hair was sticking up in about fivr different directions on the pillow. Oxygen tubs were hooked under his nose, and I.V.s were taped to his fingers and hand. He looked horrible. I forced a smile.

"Hey, how you feeling, buddy?" Darry asked.

"Like I got hit by a truck." We got to the elevator. The nurses allowed us to get in with him. Everyone was silent for a minute.

"Soda."

"Yeah, Pone?"

"Nurse Maggie is taking a couple days off." He whispered. "Guess who's going to be my nurse?"

I slow grin spread across my face. "Nurse Caroll."

He nodded. I cracked up. Steve looked at me. "The old broad that was wearing the skin tight uniform." Steve started laughing again, and even Darry grinned. Pony smiled weakly, and we got out of the elevator.

The nurses took Pony into a room, and showed us to the waiting room. The ICU waiting room was a lot more comfortable than the oncology ward, probably because people would stay in here longer. There was an older couple crying on the couch. I looked away quickly. A couple of Socs were standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. We ignored them, but I ran my hand over the switchblade in my pocket, just in case.

We had to wait for another half hour. Steve went back to our place to get some rest. I felt bad for making him wait for so long, and his ribs probably wern't feeling too hot, either. Around 4:30 in the morning, a nurse gave us permission to go see Pony. We quietly walked into his room. Ponyboy was lying still on the bed, asleep. The heart moniter was beeping at a steady rhythm. I collapsed into a chair next to his bed and took his hand. Darry sat down in the other side and smiled tiredly.

"Some night, huh?"

"You got that right." I yawned widely.

"You can go to sleep now, kid. I ain't gonna sleep."

Ah, thank God. I lay my head against the side of the bed and was out in a minute.

*i said that an infection is twice more deadly in 12-20 year olds, but it's actually in 16-20. I just changed it to 12 to make it more dramatic ;)

Author's Note: Well, there's chapter 10 for ya! Hey, 10 is my lucky number, so maybe that means I'll get extra reviews this chapter! (hint, hint. ) This chapter was hard to write, I really struggle with Steve's POV, so I hope I pulled it off! Again, I'm really sorry for the long wait, my internets been crashing a lot and a accidently erased a ton of it but I rewrote it! Also, I found this awesome website called the AML guide; I'm giving credit to it now because I'll probably use it every chapter. Please review! Have a great day! Stay Gold! -Emily ;)

I GOT ALL MY INFO FROM THESE WEBSITES:

The AML Guide

Chemocare- Infections

Help Protect Against Infections

Blood Disorders

Chemotherapy and Low White Blood Cell (WBC) Count

Answers (for medicine to treat bronchitis and the height/weight of a 13 year old)