People yelling and boots squelching in mud and gunfire and blood and no, not him too, please not him - and then I'm awake and screaming. I don't know where I am but it's dark and I'm terrified, sobbing and fighting to catch my breath - and then someone has me and my knuckles are probably white for how hard I'm gripping the back of their shirt. I don't know who it is and I don't care; I just lean into them, shaking uncontrollably. The arm around me tightens, and the hand that was at the back of my head moves, running up and down my back in an attempt to soothe me.
"Shh, Ponyboy, I've got you. I've got you. It's okay."
It takes a second to come back to reality, but when I do, I can tell it's Darry who's talking quietly, holding me together, being my lifeline. For a split second, I find it odd that he's being so gentle, so soft, so human - but the thought quickly dissipates as I press myself against him and do my best to stop crying, do my best to forget the reason I'm crying. I can't tell if it's minutes or hours that pass before I finally feel the tears slowing and my breath gradually going back to normal, but Darry doesn't say anything; he just keeps his arms wrapped around me as I curl against his chest and desperately try to focus on the warmth radiating from him, on the steady beating of his heart, on anything but the words that keep cutting through my mind, sharp as a knife.
We regret to inform you that Private Sodapop Curtis was killed in the line of duty…
"He's really gone, isn't he, Darry?" I whisper, my voice hoarse, and Darry pauses, brushing my hair back for a moment before replying softly, "Yeah, kiddo. He's really gone."
That sets me off again, and this time Darry's crying too, his chest heaving as I cling to him. He buries his face in my hair, and I don't know how long we stay like that, holding each other as we cry, but the last thing I hear before I finally drift off is Darry's soft sobs.