Chapter Text
"Your brothers say your grades are slipping."
Ponyboy tries not flinch hearing the voice. He knew Dally was alive; one of his brothers had told him. Frankly, Ponyboy couldn't remember which one anymore. It came up, quietly, casually, at a dinner where he didn't eat enough and his head was already throbbing. He didn't try to visit Dally, and Dally didn't come to the house, as far as Ponyboy was aware.
Until now.
They hadn't talked since Johnny died and Dally fled the hospital.
Johnny.
Stay gold, Ponyboy.
Ponyboy clenches his fist as the words echo in his head for the millionth time since he first encountered them. Johnny had saved his life, ruining his own in the process. If he hadn't killed Bob, Ponyboy would be dead, yes. But Johnny wouldn't have gone on the run, would never get caught in that cursed church fire.
"Johnny would be here, if he let you die." Dallas' crude words echo his own thoughts.
"You think he should've let me die," Ponyboy mutters.
"Sometimes."
That’s not surprising. It still hurts though, although Ponyboy doesn't flinch. He clenches his hands tighter under the safe shadows of his desk.
Dallas sighs heavily. "Don't take it to heart; I ain't got no measure of morality anyways. You know that."
Ponyboy doesn't tell him that it's too late. He's always been fascinated by Dallas. A lot of people are, he supposes, although the way in which that fascination runs varies widely. Most people are reluctantly impressed by the sheer audacity of him. Ponyboy was always curious about him. He was like a vigilante, handsome and fearless, a bit shadowy. He'd lived on the streets of New York, which to Ponyboy mainly exists as a distant place almost impossible to grasp as real. He thought of New York and he thought of Jay Gatsby and Holden Caufield; of bright lights and danger. There were...mobs and mafia there, in that giant urban labyrinth. Dallas had been there though, and he'd survived.
Truthfully, he didn't care if Steve Randle resented him as Sodapop's stupid tagalong runt of a baby brother.
Dallas was different. He was never under the illusion that he was Dallas' favorite or anywhere near that. But everyone respected Dallas, whether they liked him or not. It was impossible to genuinely not to care what Dallas thought of him.
"Seriously, kid," Dallas continues in that rough voice of his. "Don't go killing yourself over this...I'll fucking bring you back—"
"And kill me again yourself?" Ponyboy cuts him off impulsively.
He hears a few heavy thuds before Dallas wrenches his chair around. He scowls down at Ponyboy with a blazing intensity. His hatred sears Ponyboy's skin, and his heart thumps frantically. "You don't fucking get it, do you? Johnny is dead because he saved your life. He believed in you more than he believed in his own freedom, in his own life."
Dallas steps back from him, and the fury melts from his face a bit. Ponyboy can't even be relieved though, because it gets worse: Dallas just shakes his head. He looks disgusted, more than he ever had over whatever ugly shiners or cuts they'd acquired over the years.
"You already got it all," he says, and Ponyboy swears he hears a sneer. "You're smart as hell, on the books at least, fast as fuck. You may be poor, but so are the rest of us, and nobody else on this side of town got the prospects you do."
Dallas paces back and forth. "You could get a scholarship, or somethin', and here you are...wasting everyone's sacrifices!"
The door bangs open, and Sodapop storms in. Ponyboy expects him to beg them not to fight, but Sodapop just looks coldly at Dallas. "Get out."
Dallas has the grace to look mildly abashed, but he doesn't leave yet.
"I said," Sodapop seethes. "Get out! Get outta our house, and get the hell away from my brother."
Dallas looks at Ponyboy, and he still looks a bit disgusted. And yet, just maybe...Ponyboy might be hallucinating out of desperation, but he looks a bit pitying. "You could be someone worth something," he says lowly.
Sodapop swings.
Now, Ponyboy isn't stupid enough to underestimate his brother in a fight. Soda may be the softest of the three of them most of the time, but that's within the family. Soda doesn't like them fighting because he loves them and wants them all to be happy...or as happy as they can all things considered. But his brother can fight. He can more than handle himself in a rumble, and Ponyboy knows he'd kill for him if need be. All that aside, Dallas doesn't even try to defend. He staggers a single step back, and Soda hauls him out of their room.
He comes back, and much more gently leads Ponyboy to their bed.
"I'm sorry, honey," he murmurs, brushing his hair aside. "He had no right to say that to you. He had no right to use us against you, or Johnny, because we know Johnny wouldn't want you to feel bad."
Ponyboy doesn't tell Soda, but that actually makes it a bit worse. Johnny had loved him until the end.
Stay gold, Ponyboy.
"It's true, though," Ponyboy gasped. "I'm failing Johnny, and I'm failing you—"
"No!" Soda cries, before he lowers his voice. "No, no, no. Please don't say that."
He tilts Ponyboy's chin up. "Dally's going through a tough time, but you've been through hell too. We know you're trying your best, and you're working so hard. You're fighting so hard, honey, and he ain’t got a right to say shit like that to you."
"My grades slipped," Ponyboy whispers.
"You've been through hell," Soda repeats. "And golly, if that wasn't bad enough, we had to go through that phony hearing debating if you were responsible for Bob's death when you got drowned in the fountain..."
"SODA!" Ponyboy snaps. "I know, I was there. I remember drowning."
Soda winces, and practically crumples over Ponyboy. "I'm sorry," he whispers brokenly and it hurts so bad. "I...you're right. I just hate it, Pone. You're our baby brother, and it makes me so mad, at how...unfair this has all been for you."
"Please stop talking," Ponyboy croaks.
Soda looks at him, his eyes wide and so, so sad. "Do you want me to leave?"
Ponyboy shakes his head. No, he doesn't. Soda can be a bit overwhelming at times, but he loves Ponyboy more than anyone else in the entire world. Ponyboy knows this. He doesn't have many friends outside of the gang, barely any, actually. Most of the gang treats him like an unasked for tagalong, although some with more grace than others. Johnny is dead. Maybe Darry doesn't hate him as much as he'd believed before, but Ponyboy still hasn't shaken the fact that he's an unwanted burden on their brother.
Soda loves him, though.
If he knows nothing else, Soda loves him.
"You can stay," he tries to laugh. "It's your room, too."
"I can move back," Soda mumbles.
He thinks of the nightmares, which only get worse as his life gets worse. He thinks of lying in the dark room, bed too cold, and too empty.
"No, please don't," Ponyboy practically begs. "I...I love you, I just...it's hard to talk sometimes."
Sometimes, being most of the time these days.
Soda doesn't push it though. He wipes Ponyboy's tears with gentle thumbs. "I know, honey. I'm sorry. I want you to always be able to talk to me, and I want to know what's bothering you because it hurts me to think about you suffering in silence."
He sighs softly. "I also know you deserve to set the terms for your...recovery. I just want to help."
"Can we just lie here?" Ponyboy whispers.
Soda gets under the covers of their bed, and Ponyboy joins him, carefully nesting himself next to his brother. Soda slings an arm around him and kisses his head.
”Pone,” he mumbles against Ponyboy’s hair. “Wanna go to the movies tomorrow?”
”Don’t you have work?”
”Steve’ll cover,” Soda says dismissively.
Steve barely tolerates Ponyboy tagging along with them, so he’s not sure why Steve would be alright with covering so Soda can go out alone with him.
Soda holds him a bit tighter. “Don’t overthink it, honey. He’ll cover, and you won’t hear no nonsense about it either. Let’s go to the movies tomorrow, and then I’ll take you to the library to get new books.”
They do go to the movies the next day; Soda even gets him buttered popcorn and they share a large drink.
They go the library afterward, and his brother engages in some light flirting with a library assistant. Ponyboy doesn’t mind; he wanders through the aisles, and picks some new books. He debates getting mysteries, but it’s a bit too much for now. He decides to get some new romantic fiction. Not his usual, but Ponyboy thinks maybe it’s time to try something new.
He’s perusing the books when he feels a light touch on his shoulder. He knows it’s Soda; nobody else is left who’d treat him so gently. Not his mother, not Johnny. Two-Bit is warm, but not delicate. He can’t remember the last time he’s seriously hugged Darry. Steve, obviously not—same for Dally.
“Thought you were flirting,” he whispers.
”Just a little fun,” Soda says and Ponyboy can practically hear his shrug. “I wanna find a book with you. You can read it aloud to me, how about that?”
“I’m looking for a novel,” Ponyboy tells him.
“Duh,” Soda scoffs. “You only read dusty smart folk books with a million words.”
“Why’d you want me to read to you, then,” Ponyboy sighs.
”You’re a good storyteller, Pone,” Soda says. “You make boring things sound interesting.”
“I gotta catch up on schoolwork,” Ponyboy says dully. “I got lucky that some of my teachers are letting me—“
“You almost died multiple times within a few weeks,” Soda mutters bitterly. “And then you were sick for what seems like forever.”
”That’s what they expect out of the only Greaser in the advanced classes,” Ponyboy tells him in a low voice. “They expect a burn out, crash out, or both.”
He clenches his jaw, and only releases it as his brother touches it gently. They don’t talk for the rest of the library trip, or on the car ride home.
Soda flops on their bed, as Ponyboy puts the library books on their shelf.
”Oh Pony,” he suddenly says in an anguished voice as Ponyboy is still bent over their shelf.
”What?” He whirls around and his heart sinks to see Soda holding his book—the one with Johnny’s note.
”Give that back,” Ponyboy snaps.
He snatches the book himself and shoves it on the shelf.
Soda watches him pitifully. “You said you were failing Johnny…”
Pony clenches his jaw, and Soda pauses. Clearly he deems his little (hopefully little) intervention necessary, because he soldiers on.
”I ain’t no poet, golly, we all know I’m the family fool,” Soda says with a self-deprecating laugh. “But even I know he didn’t mean this to mean school or even track…”
”I know!” Ponyboy snaps. “I know he didn’t! He was…he was too good for that. I’m still failing him though, like I’m failing—“
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Soda warns him softly.
”Well, I’m failing Darry then,” Ponyboy said with grim smugness.
“He’s…he’s not perfect,” Soda admits. “But he loves you. He just wants better for you. He doesn’t think you’re failing him. Pone, if this is about Dally…don’t take his words to heart, especially not now.
”Why not?!” Ponyboy cries. “He was more involved than the rest of you.”
“You ran away,” Soda says tightly. “I know Darry messed up, Pone, but you ran away. There was only so much I could help you there…and golly, Pone, Dallas gave you two a gun after you were already on the run for murder.”
He’s breathing hard now, and Ponyboy knows he’s dangerously close to hyperventilating. Thankfully, Soda calms down after a moment, at least a bit.
”Don’t listen to Dally,” he whispers. “Just don’t. He hasn’t been thinking straight, and…he needs someone to blame.”
”He’s got the right person,” Ponyboy mutters.
“No,” Soda argues. “He doesn’t. There’s no one to fight here that hasn’t already been fought. Bob started this, and he got what was comin’ to him. But Dally needs a fight, and he can’t deal with the fact that we’re all in the losers and mourners club together here.”
”You think Dally doesn't think I’m mourning?” Ponyboy breathes with quiet horror.
He knew Dally was mad at him, and that he was an ungrateful little runt. He thought Dally at least knew he was grieving, though.
“He’s not thinking straight,” Soda echoes.
“Why?” Ponyboy demands.
Soda looks away.
”Sodapop!”
”I don’t think he thinks you’re not grieving…but he doesn’t…it’s not the same.”
”What?” Ponyboy growls.
Now he’s mad.
“Oh honey,” Soda cups his cheek and Ponyboy backs away.
Soda’s shoulders slump. “We’re all grieving…but we got each other. We got family, difficult as it is. He ain’t got nobody, not like we do. Our friends, except maybe Two-Bit, ain’t got family, Pony. Not really. And Dally, you know he’s always had it rougher than the rest of us. I mean we ain’t ever heard of his parents or anything. Just the streets of New York and well…”
It was Dallas Winston, and most people left it at that. He seemed to spawn out of shadows and chaos, and Ponyboy admittedly has no idea who any of his family members are, if they’re in his life, how well he knows them…if at all.
With Johnny…it was like he softened part of his heart just for him. Everyone loved Johnny—Ponyboy would say he was the most beloved member of the gang. Nobody feuded with Johnny, ever. Even he couldn’t say the same, because a good portion of the gang found his very existence exhausting.
So, yes, everyone had a soft spot for Johnny. Dally, though…was shocking due to his extraordinarily jaded…everything.
Darry calls them down for dinner soon after, ending their conversation. His eldest brother is trying, Ponyboy realizes that much. He still remembers Darry crying by his hospital bed, and his brother had taken time off without complaint (at least not where Ponyboy could hear) when Ponyboy was sick and concussed.
Yet, he catches Darry’s pursed lips and furrowed brow while discussing his progress. Darry was like him, once, crazy as it seems now. He gave up college and football to raise Ponyboy and give him the opportunities he once assumed he would get.
Ponyboy feels like shrinking back into his seat. He’s been slowly climbing back, but his next report will see a notable decline from the last one.
He wonders if Darry will envision his stolen future when he sees it.
Soda tries to give him an encouraging smile and Ponyboy doesn’t bother returning it.
Ponyboy huffs as he gets off track. Coach had told him it was his best practice in a while. The track team was a wide mix of people, but mostly Socs and the lower middle class. Ponyboy is likely the poorest person on the team. He’s fast, though. The Socs had openly jeered and cheered his recently slump. Ponyboy doesn’t even come in first at this practice.
He’s second, but it’s bad enough. He hasn’t completely lost it, and they hate it. The relief is visible on Coach’s face, and he pats Ponyboy on the shoulder as they stretch after their last lap. The Socs fume behind him, and his street clothes are mopped through the dirt while he’s in the shower. Ponyboy is forced to put his track uniform back on, and shoves on his shitty, peeling sneakers.
When he leaves practice, he sees a familiar car and he grimaces.
He debates walking past Dally, but knows it’s fruitless.
”What are you doing here?” he blurts out as he climbs in.
”Steve wasn’t exactly fighting to stay your chauffeur,” Dallas snorts.
So either Soda didn’t tell Steve, or Steve didn’t care. It could honestly be either one, Ponyboy thinks grimly.
”Sorry,” Ponyboy says dully.
“You had a good practice,” Dallas observes.
”What makes you say that?”
“Your coach gives his grease runner charity pats?”
”No,” he admits sullenly.
“And your classes?”
”I already got a resentful older brother to interrogate me,” Ponyboy says bitterly. “He’s not above hitting me either, so don't you worry about me gettin’ put in my place.”
“He shouldn’t have done that,” Dallas snarls.
Ponyboy is so, so tired. He doesn’t understand if Dallas hates him or not, if he wants him dead or alive, or what in the world is happening now.
”I don’t get what you want from me,” he sighs.
“Johnny loved you more than life,” Dallas tells him once again. “The fire killed him but he considered himself as good as dead as soon as he killed Sheldon. But Sheldon would’ve killed you and he couldn’t live with that.”
He doesn’t sound so scary in that very moment. He sounds as tired as Ponyboy feels.
“Why’d you help us run, then?”
”Was I supposed to let y’all go to the gallows?” Dallas barks. “This is why you get on everyone’s nerves, Ponyboy. Can never decide if you’ve got a good brain or not.”
He glares at Ponyboy through the rear view mirror. “Just ‘cause I wasn’t gonna let you two go down easy doesn’t mean Johnny didn’t make a choice when he knifed Sheldon. He chose you over his life, and you’re gonna learn to deal with that.”
”Why are we here,” Ponyboy whispers.
“You’re gonna be someone who means something, whether you like it or not,” Dallas snaps.
”And if I’m not?” Ponyboy breathes. “What happens then?”
”That’s not your concern.”
”How is that not my concern?! I’ll have to witness it!”
As Dallas’ car slows near his house, he says quietly: “and what makes you think that?”
“What?”
”Stay gold, Ponyboy,” Dallas says coldly.
Ponyboy barely gets to close the car door when his car tears down the street.