A/N: TW -emetophobia, vomiting, sickness, etc. Enjoy!
February 1961
Darry: 16
Sodapop: 12
Ponyboy: 9
"A mother's work is never done." It's something that Margaret's mother used to say, though she never fully understood it until she became a mother herself.
At first, it manifested in the form of her children requiring her full attention at all times. Once they hit a certain age, though, they convinced themselves that they didn't need their mother for anything. No, please don't hold my hand in the parking lot, and definitely don't hug me in front of my friends. One may assume that a mother's work is done at this point, however, the roles simply reverse. Margaret found herself begging her children to let her mother them. Please let me hold your hand and hug you tight, please let me read you bedtime stories and tuck you in.
"Mom, Darry threw up!"
Margaret's head snapped at the words of her middle child, Sodapop. This wasn't how she wanted to spend her Sunday, but a mother's work is never done. She followed Sodapop down the hall to the room he shared with Darry and found her son lying curled in on himself, clutching his stomach. A garbage basket sat next to his bed, ready to grab again at a moment's notice. Margaret rushed to his side.
"You doing alright sweetie?" she asked, pushing Darry's sweaty hair out of his face.
Darry, being sixteen, was at the point where he decided he didn't need his mom to baby him anymore. That's why it came as such a surprise to Margaret when he didn't insist he didn't need her. He instead leaned into her touch, letting her cool palm rest on his forehead.
"Let me get the thermometer and some medicine, sweetie," Margaret said.
She passed a worried-looking Sodapop as she left. She placed a hand on his back and led him away from the room.
"Go get your father and tell him Darry's sick," she instructed. Soda moved quickly down the hallway while she went to get the supplies she needed. She grabbed an anti-nausea medication and fever reducer, along with the thermometer.
She ran into Sodapop again in the kitchen doorway, this time being trailed by Darrel, who was carrying Ponyboy in his arms. Margaret thought it was odd that Ponyboy was being carried, he was at the point where he would typically argue that he was "too big" for that, until she saw the look on his face. He was pale, his hair sweaty like Darry's, and he was clutching to Darrel like a lifeline.
"Looks like this one is sick too—must be going around the family. It is flu season you know," Darrel said.
Margaret sighed, planting a kiss on her youngest's forehead. She lived in a house with four boys, every season was flu season.
"I'm going to check on Darry and then I'll be in with you baby alright?"
Ponyboy groaned, nodding. Darrel continued to carry him to his room while Margaret went into Darry's.
"Open up, let me take your temperature," Margaret said.
Darry groaned, rolling his eyes. "You know I can do it myself Mom, right?"
Margaret smiled, happy to see a semblance of the Darry she knew.
"I know, but I'm your mother and it's my job to take care of you so open up."
Darry reluctantly obliged, seeing the frown on his mother's face deepen as the temperature climbed. It eventually settled on 102.1.
"You've got a fever, let's get some medicine in ya, and then you can rest. That sound okay?" Margaret asked.
Darry nodded, the worst of his sickness seemingly having passed. The same couldn't be said for Ponyboy, though.
— — — — — — — — — —
Darrel held his son tightly as they sat on his bed. He was attempting to kick and punch his way out of his father's arms but to no avail. Darrel sighed, trying not to get too concerned. His youngest son usually got this way when he got too hot, and as long as his fever went down in the next 24 hours he would be fine, he figured.
"Dad?"
Darrel looked to the doorway of Ponyboy's room to see Sodapop standing there, looking anxious.
"Not now Soda, I've gotta help Pony here—" Darrel's sentence was cut off by Sodapop proceeding to throw up all over the floor. Darrel was torn between who to help, the child that was delirious or the one who just threw up all over the floor. Luckily Margaret, having gotten Darry settled, heard the commotion and was quick to help. She whisked Sodapop to the bathroom and began to run the shower for him, allowing Darrel to turn back to his youngest.
"Are Soda and Darry okay?" Ponyboy asked. Darrel couldn't help but smile at his son, always concerned for his brothers.
"Yes, they'll be just fine. You get some rest," Darrel replied.
Once Ponyboy was asleep Darrel poked his head into Darry's room, pleased to find him asleep as well. Sodapop was being led down the hallway by Margaret, well on his way to sleep himself. Once Margaret had him settled, the two parents collapsed on the couch in a heap.
"Of course all of our boys would be sick at once," Darrel said.
Margaret smiled, resting her head on her husband's shoulder.
"Never a dull day at the Curtis house," she said smugly.
The couple was nearly asleep when they heard Ponyboy shouting from down the hall.
Darrel went to get up but stopped as Margaret moved to go instead.
"You sure?" he asked.
She shrugged, smiling. "A mother's work is never done."