A/N: to any of my US readers struggling with their mental health in light of recent events or to anyone just needing someone to talk to I'm always available if you want to PM me️

I planted my feet to steady myself, bracing both of my arms against the old, rusted wrench and using all of my force to try and get the same nut loose that I had been working on for the past half an hour. I made another millimeter of progress before I stopped, pausing to catch my breath and shake out my arms. I sighed as I looked out the garage windows, noticing that despite it still being early it was almost completely dark, as most October evenings were.

I braced myself against the wrench once more, alternating between pushing and pulling with all of my might. I must've been grunting for a few minutes before I looked up and noticed Steve watching me, his arms crossed and fist over his mouth, stifling a laugh.

"You gonna stand there and laugh at me or are you gonna get over here and help?"

He barked out an unrestrained laugh before rolling up his sleeves and positioning his hands on the wrench along with mine, the both of us pushing and pulling once more.

"You know," Steve started, his voice strained, "I could've told you this car was a lost cause from the beginning."

The nut finally came free, sending the both of us flying as the wrench came loose. We stumbled awkwardly before taking a few moments to catch our breath.

"So," I asked, still panting, "how do you feel about helping me with the half a dozen other ones that need to come off?"

"Yeah right," Steve said, throwing a dirty rag at me. "It's about time to close up the shop anyway. We can work on them tomorrow."

I nodded in agreement and got to work on the closing tasks we did every night. The two of us had closed the shop together so many times we didn't need a checklist or even to talk to each other, we just went about our tasks in the system we had developed years ago.

"Rock paper scissors for who has to lock the door?" I suggested. We may have divvied up assignments years ago, but locking the back door had always been the task we each fought not to do. That damn door was warped and splintered beyond repair, requiring a certain strength to lock it, likely giving whatever sucker that got stuck doing it a splinter in the process.

Steve reluctantly sauntered over to me and made a fist with one hand, placing it on top of his palm. I did the same, the two of us silently thinking rock, paper, scissors, shoot, before each making our move. I chose paper, suspecting Steve would choose rock, and pumped a fist in celebration when my prediction came true.

"Fine, you win. But you're locking it tomorrow," he insisted, pointing a finger at me.

"Yeah yeah, only if you can manage to not lose again."

I busied myself with sweeping up the dust that always seemed to coat the floor and putting the tools back into their places in our organized system of chaos that only the two of us understood. I was nearly finished when I heard a commotion coming from the back door.

"Hey, go around to the store entrance! This one's closed!" Steve called out.

Figuring he was pulling some sort of prank on me to get me to come over and lock the door for him, I stayed put where I was.

"Nice try, Steve, but you lost! You're locking that door!"

A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again. "Go! Around! This side's closed!"

"Huh?" I called out, poking my head around the corner to see what he was going on about.

"Someone keeps trying to open this door, I'm telling them to go around."

I went back to cleaning up, hoping to get home relatively soon. Darry had pulled me aside when I was still half-asleep this morning and mentioned that someone was coming over for dinner tonight and that Pony and I needed to pick up the house. I hadn't been lucid enough to ask who it was but figured it wasn't the state or else Darry would've looked more stressed. In fact, he looked almost…happy? In any case, I knew that happiness wouldn't last long if he came home to a messy house.

"Okay, okay, I'll open the door. Sheesh."

Steve's words broke me from my thoughts and I wondered vaguely who would be so desperate to get into the shop that they'd be banging on the door for this long. I heard the warped door being shoved open, followed by silence.

"Who is it, Steve?"

There was no answer. I fully stopped what I was doing.

"Steve?"

"Soda, shit, Soda you've gotta get over here!" Steve's voice rang out with a panic I had never heard before. I dropped the tools in my hand and rushed over to the door.

"What's wrong, Steve? Who was at the—"

I stopped in my tracks in horror at the scene that lay in front of me. The back door had been thrust open, swinging restlessly in the October breeze. Steve was on his knees, cradling someone's head with one arm and gently tapping their cheek with the other. It was Ponyboy. My little brother.

"What— " I began, standing frozen in my tracks. "Is he breathing?"

"Yeah, he's alive. Get over here, Soda, he needs you," Steve pleaded, his desperate eyes meeting mine. I rushed over to them, dropping to my knees and taking Steve's place, holding my little brother in my arms.

"I'll call an ambulance," Steve said, standing and moving to rush inside.

"No, wait!" I called out, stopping him in his tracks. "Call Darry instead. He should be home by now."

"Soda, I think he needs—"

"I know, I know. I don't wanna take him to the hospital unless there's no other choice, though. Darry will know what to do."

He eyed me skeptically, and I could tell he wasn't sold on the idea of not calling an ambulance.

"Please, Steve. I don't think we can afford it," I pleaded, feeling like a horrible person and a worse brother. He nodded and ran to call Darry, leaving me alone with Ponyboy.

I turned to my brother and studied him. The light from the inside of the garage faded and reappeared as the door continued to swing back and forth, so it was difficult to fully assess him, but from what I could tell he was in bad shape. I could already see bruises forming on his arms, legs, and face, and when I touched the back of his head my hand came away dark and wet. I immediately shrugged off my DX jacket and pressed it to his head, hoping to staunch the bleeding.

"Ponyboy? Can you hear me?" I asked. No response. I sighed and pushed his hair back from his face. "Oh Pony, you just can't catch a break can ya?"

Steve suddenly reappeared at my side. "Michael's on his way."

I shot him a confused look. "Michael? I told you to call Darry."

"Yeah, well, Darry wouldn't pick up and Michael's the only doctor we know."

I nodded, knowing he was right. I turned back to my little brother, who still lay unresponsive in my arms. I could feel my jacket getting soaked with blood and wondered if not getting him to the hospital right away was a bad idea.

"He doing okay?" asked Steve.
"I don't know," I admitted, trying to mask the shakiness in my voice.

"Michael will know what to do."

I nodded, moving to stroke Ponyboy's hair once again, hoping he was right.

— — — — — — — — — —

It felt as though hours had passed when Michael's Chevy came to a screeching halt in the DX parking lot. Steve stood up to wave him down and I clutched Ponyboy tighter, suddenly realizing how cold it was out here.

Michael came running over to us and quickly knelt down near Ponyboy's head. "How bad?"

"I don't know. His head's bleeding pretty good, I've got my jacket pressed to it. He's got bruises all over his arms, legs, face, probably his torso, too. He won't wake up Michael, I don't know if we should've taken him to the hospital but he won't wake up and he could die—"

Michael stopped me by putting a hand on my shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Soda. I'm not going to let anyone die on my watch."

I nodded, and for the first time in my life I put my full trust in my uncle. Michael began gently prodding Ponyboy's head before turning to Steve. "Was he awake when you found him?"

"Yeah, he was talking too, mumbled something about Soda. I think he walked over here from the school."

Michael nodded and continued to assess my brother. He gently ran his hands along his arms and legs, feeling for broken bones, I guessed. He then moved to his torso, poking and prodding various spots on his stomach. Finally, he turned his attention back to his head again, once more running his hands all over before snapping briskly three times next to Ponyboy's ear.

"Ponyboy, can you hear me?" he asked, loudly. No response. He turned to face us. "Do either of you have a flashlight?"

Steve quickly produced one from his pocket that he usually kept on hand for when he was under the hood of a car. Michael took it and turned his attention back to Ponyboy, gently lifting each of his eyelids and shining the flashlight in them one at a time. I watched as the green in his eyes expanded each time the light was shone in them, seemingly staring at me but in reality, seeing nothing.

Michael sighed as he clicked off the flashlight. "Soda, he needs a hospital."

"Are you sure? I don't think we can afford—"

"I don't want you to worry about what you can and can't afford, okay? I'll take care of it."

"Michael I can't ask you to—"

"You're not asking, I'm insisting. He's likely got a concussion and broken bones to say the least, not to mention that I can't fully rule out internal injuries. The hospital's the best place for him right now."

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, "let's get him to the hospital."

"Alright, we need to get him to my car. I'll lift his torso, Steve, you lift his legs. Soda, you need to keep his head as still as you can, okay? We need to carry him without injuring him further," Michael instructed.

Steve and I nodded, bracing ourselves.

"On the count of three. One. Two. Three."

The three of us lifted, Michael and Steve shouldering most of the weight, me doing my best to make sure Pony's head and neck were stabilized. He let out a painful groan as we lifted him, sending both a pang through my chest knowing he was in pain and a sense of relief as he showed a sign of life.

We got Ponyboy to the car and gently laid him across the backseat, Michael placing his head in my lap. I nodded at him gratefully, my eyes pleading for him to help my little brother. He seemed to get the message and took off out of the parking lot before Steve even had his passenger door fully closed.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. I barely noticed the traffic laws Michael was probably breaking as I stared at Ponyboy's bruised face. Tears began to roll down my cheeks and fall onto my brother as I cried, whispering to him and begging him to wake up. I didn't even notice that the car had stopped, or that Michael had opened the door for me.

He touched my shoulder gently. "Hey, Soda, we're here. Steve just ran in to grab the doctors, they're going to get him inside."

I nodded, brushing away my tears and pressing myself against the backseat in an attempt to stay out of the way as the hospital staff appeared to work on my brother. They put a collar around his neck to stabilize it and got him onto a gurney, a sea of doctors and nurses rushing him into the hospital. Michael ran in with them, spewing some medical jargon about my brother's condition along the way.

I sat frozen in the backseat and let Steve take control, parking the car and leading me by the shoulder into the waiting room. I stared at my bloody jacket, still clutched in my hands, my brother's blood soaking into and staining my skin. Steve sat next to me, rubbing my back and rambling about something. I didn't bother to listen to what he was going on about until I realized he was talking to me.

"Huh?"

"I said, why don't we go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up?"

I shook my head. "I need to call Darry."

"Do you want to do it or do you want me to do it for you?"

I sighed, dreading telling my older brother the bad news but knowing it should come from me. "I'll do it."