A/N: You'd think getting Covid would give me more time to write, but it just fried my brain instead and made it impossible to get anything done. Here's to another written-last-minute chapter!

The night air felt good against the searing hot pain that had been radiating through my ankle for the past week. I used my uninjured foot to gently rock the porch swing, taking a long drag of my cigarette. I'd been meaning to tell Darry and Soda how much my ankle had been truly bothering me, how it had been keeping me up at night, making me unable to focus on my schoolwork. But they'd just take me to the doctor, and doctors cost money. They thought I didn't know that they were still paying off my hospital bills from last year, but I had seen the bills in the mail, and the worry lines on Darry's forehead.

Talk of last year reminded me of the other reason I wasn't sleeping. It was one year ago today that two of my best friends died right in front of me. No way was I going to be spending today in a doctor's office like last year.

I glanced up at the stars and thought about the time Johnny and I had spent in that church. We were so bored we started stargazing almost every night, finding constellations and making up stories to go along with them. I wondered if he was staring at the same stars now, or maybe he was up there with them. I hoped Dally was with him, keeping him company. My parents, too.

I continued to gently rock the porch swing and began slowly lulling myself to sleep. Turns out almost a week of sleepless nights meant I could fall asleep almost anywhere. I could only hope that my cigarette had been fully put out as I drifted off.

— — — — — — — — — —

I felt myself being shaken, or maybe it was just me shivering from the cold.

"Ponyboy? Ponyboy, wake up."

I opened my eyes to see my oldest brother's face mere inches from mine, the same worried look on his face he seemed to be wearing all too often.

"You going to school today Pony?"

So he remembered what day it was too. Darry never let me choose if I went to school or not, but I guess today was an exception. I shook my head and curled up tighter on the porch swing, trying to protect myself from the chilly September wind. I wasn't going anywhere today.

I felt my shoulder being shaken again. "C'mon Ponyboy, at least come back to bed."

Darry was gripping my arm and hauling me to my feet before I could protest. He placed both hands on my shoulders and walked me to my room, forcing me to drag myself to bed in my half-asleep state. I was too tired to even mask the limp I had been trying to hide for the past week.

I flopped down on my side of the bed and felt someone pull the covers on top of me. I could hear my brothers talking but was far too tired to try and decipher what they were saying. I let myself drift away again, hoping I could sleep the day away and not feel a thing.

— — — — — — — — — —

The sun was up when I woke next, filling the room and making me hot under the blankets that were piled on top of me. I wondered why no one had gotten me up for school before I remembered. The porch swing, Darry walking me back to bed, what day it was. That was all it took for me to bury myself under the covers once again.

I couldn't help but wonder who in the universe I had pissed off so badly that I lost so much. My parents would never see me learn to drive, graduate high school, or get married and have kids. Dallas Winston would never know that I had finally gotten good at poker and sometimes even managed to use my head these days.

Losing Johnny hurt the most, though, at least today. I had lost my best friend. I had managed to make some new school friends, but none of them understood me like Johnny did. No one ever would. I remember how we used to sit in silence, just being around each other and communicating without having to say a single word. The knowledge that we would never do that again was enough to break me.

So I broke. I let the tears flow freely down my face, let my sobs ring out as loud as they wanted to be. I couldn't remember if I ever truly cried for Johnny, or if I ever even realized that I had fully accepted his death. Now, burying myself under the covers on a Friday morning, I knew that I would never see my best friend again. And it hurt.

I spotted a note on my nightstand and could recognize Darry's bold handwriting through my tears. I figured I'd better bother to read it in case it said anything important.

Pony,

Take it easy today. Soda and I are working until 5. Two-Bit and Steve are going to stop by during lunch and make sure you eat something.

-Darry

P.S. I'm making an appointment to get your ankle looked at, don't try arguing because I can tell it's still bothering you.

Two-Bit and Steve dropping by was the absolute last thing I needed. Two-Bit would pretend that nothing was wrong and act like today was just like any other day, cracking jokes to hide the pain behind his voice. Steve, on the other hand, would refuse to look me in the eyes, instead opting to stare at me from a distance like I was a breakable object. They'd both try and fail to get me to eat something before giving up and finding someone who wasn't depressing to hang out with.

To top it all off, Darry was going to make me see a doctor. I couldn't stand to see the look on his face as those medical bills piled up from my older ones last year.

I needed out. The house I had lived in my entire life held too many memories, good and bad. I didn't want to be here when Two-Bit and Steve showed up, and I sure as hell didn't want to stick around and wait for Darry to drag me to the doctor. I didn't want to be coddled or to be treated like a ticking time bomb. I needed to find someone who wouldn't see any reason to treat today any differently than any other day, and I think I had an idea of who. Better yet, he just so happened to be a doctor.

— — — — — — — — — —

Finding the clinic Michael was working at was easier than I thought. There weren't many clinics in Tulsa, and there were even fewer motels, so a quick cross-reference between the phone book and city map gave me a pretty good guess.

I hobbled in through the doors of the clinic before spotting a front-desk receptionist and made my way there.

"Excuse me, is Michael Price working?"

The woman paused, staring at me for a moment, before her eyes lit up with recognition. "Ponyboy Curtis?"

How much does Michael talk about me? "Um, yes?"

"My nephew, Eric, runs track at Will Rogers. I saw your meet last Saturday, you ran well."

"Thanks," I replied. Eric was kind of a prick, but I kept that information to myself.

"I think Dr. Price is between patients, I'll page him now if you'd like to have a seat."

I thanked her and took a seat, grateful to get off my foot. It wasn't long before the large double doors that led to what I assumed were the examination rooms opened and Michael stepped out, white coat and everything. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw me.

"Ponyboy I—what are you doing here?"

I gestured toward my foot. "My ankle's been bothering me since the track meet, do you think you could take a look at it? Darry wants to take me to the doctor, but they're expensive and…" I trailed off, realizing that Darry probably wouldn't want me telling Michael about our financial struggles. He seemed to understand, though.

"They certainly can be. Come on back with me, I'll take a look."

I followed him through the maze of hallways and backrooms that he seemed to navigate effortlessly, trying to keep up.

"So I take it your brothers don't know you're skipping school to be here?"

"They know I'm not at school, but no, not that I'm here," I replied, causing him to laugh.

He finally slowed to a stop outside of an unmarked door and opened it, stepping aside and motioning for me to go in. It was a small examination room, similar enough to a typical doctor's room to make me anxious.

"Hop up on the table and I'll take a look," said Michael as he moved to the sink to wash his hands.

I used my hands to boost myself onto the table and began carefully un-lacing my Converse, wincing as I pulled the shoe off my swollen foot. My ankle had been getting worse, not better, and was now sporting multiple bruises and was almost twice its usual size.

Michael's demeanor instantly changed when he saw it. "Ponyboy, how long has it been like this?" he asked, grabbing a swivel chair and moving to gently prod my foot.

I winced. "Couple days, I guess? I don't know, I thought it would get better, but…"

"Hmm," he said, continuing to poke and prod at my foot. I tried not to show my discomfort as he began flexing it every which way, his brow creasing as he went.

After what felt like an eternity of pain, he quit messing with my ankle and put his hands on his knees, using his feet to wheel his chair backward.

"I think it's just a bad sprain, you should be good after wrapping and icing it for a few days," he advised, grabbing a roll of ACE bandages from the cabinet.

I breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't something more serious.

"But Ponyboy, you could've prevented the pain you're in by wrapping it initially. Why didn't you tell anyone it was hurting?"

I shrugged. "I thought it would heal on its own, and when it didn't, I was worried it would be something I'd need a doctor for."

Michael sighed. "I understand that doctors can be expensive, but you can't put that above your health. You've gotta tell someone the next time you're in pain, yeah?"

I nodded, knowing he was right. Michael stood from his seat and I hopped off the table, mentally preparing myself to limp to the bus stop. Michael studied me for a few moments before glancing at his watch.

"It's almost one, have you eaten?"

I shook my head.

"Me neither, want to grab a burger?"

I shrugged, not wanting to let onto the fact that I didn't really feel like eating.

Michael put a hand on my shoulder and began to lead me through the maze of hallways once again. "Let's take advantage of my lunch break, I never used to get these at the ER."

— — — — — — — — — —

We ended up at Robin's, a Soc-y joint on the other side of town. I was worried about who we may run into, but I figured between Michael's Chevy and doctor clothes we'd be able to blend in.

Michael had tried to make small talk on the drive over, but now that my ankle was taken care of I didn't have much to distract me from what today was. I stared out the window of the diner, not paying attention even when the waitress came to take our order. Michael must've seen the look of surprise on my face when a burger and fries were set down in front of me, along with a chocolate shake.

"You didn't seem up to ordering, so I took a guess. You can order something else if you want, though."

I shook my head and began absentmindedly dipping a fry in ketchup. "This is fine."

"Something on your mind?"

I hesitated, wishing I didn't have to talk about it at all. Michael had taken me to lunch, though, he at least deserved half an explanation.

"Today's just...hard…"

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I get it."

I nodded, grateful that I didn't have to dive into it.

Michael was silent for a few moments, seemingly deciding whether or not he wanted to say something. He must've ultimately decided to, because he set his burger down and began speaking.

"You know, it was hard for me to talk about Margaret for a long time. Years, actually. But over time it got better, and I actually found that it helped me to process my emotions. I'm not saying you have to tell me anything you don't want to, but it might help," he reassured.

I could tell it took a lot for Michael to tell me that, so I decided to be brave too and ask the question I had been wondering since I met him.

"What was my mom like? As a kid, I mean."

I held my breath, hoping I didn't upset him. To my surprise and relief, he smiled.

"Maggie was my best friend. She was five years older than me, so you would've thought that we wouldn't get along, but she always made sure to include me. She was kind to everyone. A spitfire, too, she didn't let anyone walk all over her. If she had a problem with you, you knew it, that's for sure," he chuckled.

I laughed with him. "Yeah, everyone always assumed that my dad was the strict one, but it was always my mom. She didn't let us get away with anything."

"I believe it. Her kindness is always what stuck out to me, though. She was friends with everyone from all walks of life, not letting class divisions decide who she spent time with."

"She sounds a lot like Darry," I mumbled, almost a whisper.
"Really?"
"When he was in high school, before everything happened, Darry was the quarterback on the football team. I was too young to see it, but Soda says he was real popular. He was friends with socs—the rich kids, and greasers—the kids like us. He was boy of the year, too."

Michael nodded. "And do you feel the same way about Soda, being in high school with him?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Soda dropped out, actually, not long after Mom and Dad died. He says he's stupid but I know he's not."

"I agree, he's not. And how's high school going for you?"

"I don't know, fine I guess. I skipped eighth grade so I'm a year younger than everyone, which can make things hard sometimes. I've got some school friends, I guess, and of course the gang, but those are more my brothers' friends than mine."

"The gang…is that the two boys I saw at the track meet?"

I smiled. "Yeah, Steve and Keith, or Two-Bit, as we call him, since he's always gotta get his two bits in." Micheal laughed at that. "Steve is Sodapop's best buddy, but he doesn't like me too much. Two-Bit's mom and mine were friends, so he was Darry's friend before I was even born. So they're more friends by proxy, but not really my own," I shrugged.

Michael seemed to sense there was more, because he asked the question I had been dreading. "Is there anyone else in the gang?"

Silent tears began falling down my face involuntarily. I brushed them away quickly, but I knew he saw.

"Ponyboy, I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's okay. There used to be two more of us. They died a year ago today. That's why Darry and Soda let me skip school."

Michael nodded, seemingly deep in thought. I sipped my milkshake, letting my thoughts drift too. I had a lot to think about today. I didn't know how much time had passed before he broke the silence.

He surprised me by reaching his hand across the table and resting it on top of mine. "You can come talk to me whenever, right? Day or night, doesn't matter to me. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it." And I think I actually meant it.