Chapter Text
"Hello, Mr. Curtis, I'm Dr. Quill," a tall man says as Darry and I return to the waiting room, a nurse standing beside him. Darry gives him a slight nod and reaches for his outstretched hand, shaking it briefly.
"How-how is he, Doc?" Darry asks, his voice slightly wobbly.
"Why don't we take a seat first?" the nurse says, an uneasy smile on her face as she gestured over to the chairs behind us.
My heart instantly begins pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears. It was never a good thing when someone started a conversation by asking you to sit down. The cops did the same thing when they came to our door the night mom and dad died. I swallow hard and sit next to Darry in the stiff chair, while the doctor and nurse take a seat across from us. I reach for Darry's hand, squeezing it tight.
"The good news is that we were able to stabilize your brother. He was slashed ear to ear, but luckily it missed any major arteries," the doctor says, and I instantly let out a sigh of relief. "However," he says, his voice slow and cautious, and my heart drops again.
"Even though the knife didn't hit any major arteries, your brother's injuries were left untreated for a long period of time, and he lost a lot of blood. Your brother also wasn't getting enough oxygen because of the trauma to his windpipe, and although its too early to know for sure, he could very well have severe damage to his brain."
"So, what are you saying?" Darry asks, trying to keep his composure, but I knew he was as scared as I was to ask. "Is, uh, is he going to be okay?"
The doctor sighs deeply, placing a gentle, sympathetic hand on Darry's shoulder. "Do you boys have any other family?" he asks.
"No. It's just been the three of us since our folks passed," I answer.
"Gentleman, I'm sorry to say this, but I'm going to recommend that when you two go in there that you-" the doctor pauses a moment. "That you are prepared to say your goodbyes."
Darry immediately puts his arm around me, pulling me close. Fat tears roll down his cheeks and onto my face, but I don't cry at all. I don't know if it was shock or denial. Probably a combination of both. My brain was telling me that Ponyboy couldn't and wouldn't die, so I had no reason to cry.
He was going to be fine.
A few more words are exchanged between Darry and the doctor that I don't bother acknowledging before he stands and guides us both down the hall. We stop outside a door, but he doesn't open it.
"It might be distressing to see him like this. I just want to make sure you two are prepared, okay?" The doctor says, fingertips resting on the door knob.
"We're ready," Darry says, swallowing hard, rubbing the back of his head impatiently. "Please, I need to see him," he says, rubbing his red swollen eyes, long past the point of being too proud to weep in front of a stranger. The doctor nods solemnly and twists the knob. The door squeaks as it opens, it's not that loud, but it's deafening to my ringing ears.
My entire world and all its current delusions come crumbling down as soon as I set my eyes on him.
"Pony..." I whisper, my voice cracking badly. I felt sick to my stomach. My baby brother was laying in that bed, completely unresponsive, all sorts of tubes, needles and other medical devices I couldn't even name were seemingly engulfing him. The worst part was the large tube they had down his throat. It hits me like a truck that he needs that because he can't breathe on his own.
"Pony." I repeat, a bit louder, unable to move. Darry brushes a comforting hand on my shoulder as he walks past me and towards Pony. He kneels down, brushing a careful hand along Pony's battered face. He takes a few rapid, heavy breaths before he begins to cry loudly, burying his face in the side of the mattress, his chest heaving as he sobbed.
"I'm going to give you boys some privacy. If you need anything at all, please, don't hesitate to come get me," the doctor says, trying to stay professional, but I could hear the clear pain in his voice. He gives a quick head bow before ducking out of the room, leaving me alone by the door.
"Soda," I hear Darry say, a hiccup interrupting his syllables. I look at him wide eyed, squeezing my pant leg so hard my skin was being pinched. I was frozen, like a deer in the headlights. I was so scared to get near him, because if I saw him up close it would make this terrible reality that much more real. I wanted so badly to go back to my delusions that he would be fine, and in a few weeks this would all just be a bad memory.
"Soda, please," Darry begs, shifting his legs so that he was now facing me. I back up, gripping my chest as my heart pounded and ached.
I turn around and run out of the door.
I spend the next hour in the truck, chain smoking a pack of stale cigarettes Ponyboy must've forgotten about in the glovebox.
I knew it was beyond selfish and childish to be doing this. Mom and dad used to always get on me about hiding from my problems instead of tackling them head on, and it was terrible knowing how disappointed they would be if they saw me right now.
Darry and Ponyboy would've never done this had it been me in that bed instead. But I wasn't like them. I didn't have Darry's cool head that could keep him together in even the worst situations. I didn't have Ponyboy's bleeding heart that would've never even considered leaving that hospital room.
God, I wish it was me in that bed.
And not just because I would've traded my life for my baby brother's in a heartbeat, but because I selfishly didn't want to live without him. As morbid as it sounds, I always hoped I'd be the first one of us to go, so that way I'd never know a life without my brothers. I was devastated when my parents were killed, but Ponyboy dying was almost unthinkable to me because it just wasn't right.
Fifteen years was not enough time.
I didn't get to teach him how to drive, I didn't get to give him advice about how to get the girl he liked. I didn't get to see him graduate. I didn't get to drop him off at college. I didn't get to see him finally get out of our shitty neighborhood and be the person he was always meant to be.
His battered face and slashed neck flashes in my mind, and I have to rip the truck door open to vomit on the pavement. I heave a few times before spitting the rest of the bile out of my mouth and using my sleeve to wipe my watering eyes. I step out of the truck with wobbly legs, using the door to stabilize myself before finally standing up straight.
"Soda!" I hear a voice call out, which makes me whip my head up in surprise.
"Two-Bit!" I say breathily as he ran to me from the other side of the parking lot, his usual silly, laid back expression replaced with a grave one. "W-what are you-"
"How's the kid? Is the kid okay?" Two-Bit asks, gripping the front of my shirt. I don't say anything, only looking into his wide, desperate eyes with my moist, bloodshot ones. He gets his answer from that alone. "Fuck!" Two-Bit exclaims, letting go of my shirt and putting his face in his hands. "How bad?"
"They told us to be ready to say our goodbyes," I say, so emotionally drained I was now numb.
"Have they let y'all see him yet?" Two-Bit asks.
"Y-yeah," I say, averting my gaze. "I-I just needed some air." I pause a moment. "It-its just so hard. Seeing him like t-that."
"Hey, hey, it's gonna be alright," Two-Bit says, trying to sound optimistic.
"Keith," I say, his legal name feeling foreign on my tongue. "I-I don't want those to be my last memories of him," I say, my voice breaking towards the end, the mercy of my temporary numbness running dry. My legs give out, but my knees barely touch the ground before Two-Bit catches me in his arms, lifting my jelly legs off of the ground, supporting almost all of my weight.
"He's a tough ass kid, okay?" Two-Bit says in my ear. "You're gonna make plenty more memories with him, I know it." I bury my face into his shirt, appreciating the comfort he was providing me, even though I knew it wouldn't change the inevitable outcome.
After a few moments, I lift my head up and my heart drops.
"S-Steve?" I say quiet, but surprised. I back out of Two-Bit's embrace.
"Soda.." Steve says, his voice riddled with what I could only describe as grief and regret. "H-how is he-" Neither Steve nor Two-Bit see the punch coming. Its hard, swift, and immediately knocks Steve to the ground. Two-Bit looks at me in disbelief.
"What the hell, man!?" Two-Bit shouts, kneeling down to check on Steve, who's nose was now crooked and gushing blood.
"Everything was great!" I yell in a fit of pure rage. "Why couldn't you keep your fucked up life away from mine!? Now everything is gone!" I yell at Steve, who just sits on the concrete, looking up at me with wide, guilt filled eyes. I take a step towards him, fists clenched, but Two-Bit stands between us, pressing a hand to my chest to stop me in my tracks.
"Stop it!" Two-Bit yells, pushing me back as gently as he could. "You know damn well this is not his fault!"
"His dad came to my house, looking for him!" I scream, loud enough that my voice echos in the lot. "Its you! Its your fault!"
Now, filled with pure adrenaline, I shove Two-Bit to the side, making him lose his balance and fall to the ground. Steve doesn't even try to defend himself as I begin kicking, my foot making contact with his face, side, and everywhere else I can hit. After a few more blows, I'm grabbed from behind, leaving me now kicking just the air in blind rage.
"What the hell is going on here!?" a burly man with a blue shirt and a flimsy looking badge asks, standing between Steve and I.
"He killed him! He killed my fucking brother!" I scream, struggling against the other security guard restraining me. A few seconds later I feel a pair of cold metal cuffs being placed onto my wrists.
"Soda, stop it!" Two-Bit pleads, now on the ground with Steve, making sure he was okay. "You need to calm down!"
"I will not fucking calm down!" I shout as I begin being dragged away towards the hospital doors, which only enrages me further. "Let me go! Let me go!" I holler, struggling against the cuffs, making them bite into my flesh.
"What happened?" I hear a voice ask. I look up and see Dr. Quill standing near the entrance of the lobby I was being forced into, all the people in the waiting area staring at me like I was looney. "Mr. Curtis?"
"He-he killed my brother!" I say, my voice raw and hoarse, trying to point outside even though my hands were cuffed.
"Bring him in there," Dr. Quill says, gesturing to a closed curtain. "Mr. Curtis, I know you're agitated, but we're going to help you calm down, okay?" he says, giving a silent signal to a nearby nurse, who quickly scurries to another room. The guard drags me behind the curtain and forces me onto the bed.
I throw my head back and scream as loud as my raw throat allows me.
You're scared," I say teasingly.
"What? No I'm not!" Ponyboys says defensively, shifting in the stiff waiting room chair. "I'm just nervous about my math test tomorrow."
Ponyboy had to get his blood drawn today since the doctor was looking into putting him on some sort of medicine for his nightmares that decided to make a dramatic comeback a few months after Johnny and Dally passed. Usually Darry was the one in charge of these appointments, but his shift was running a little late today and he asked me to do it since I had the morning shift today.
"Oh, yeah?" I say with a sly smile, flipping open one of the magazines that was resting on the coffee table in front of us. "Aright, then. I'll just stay in here and finish this thrilling article while they stick you."
"No!" he exclaims, and I can't help but laugh at his expression.
"I'm just teasing, calm down," I say, giving him a playful nudge. He huffs and crosses his arms. I chuckle. He always pouted when I embarrassed him.
He tries to act brave as the nurse calls us into the collection room and has him sit in the chair. When they have him hold his arm out for the tourniquet. I see tears begin welling in his eyes.
"He's terrified of needles," I say to the young nurse as she ties the elastic band around his arm.
"Soda!" Ponyboy whines, angry at me for destroying his tough guy image that I guess he thought he still had right now, although I could tell he was getting more and more scared by the second.
"That's fine, honey. There are plenty of people who don't like needles," she says softly, opening an alcohol wipe and cleaning the skin, which only freaks Ponyboy out even more. He bites his lip and starts trembling slightly. "Just try to be still honey," she says, discarding the wipe into a nearby trash can.
"Can he sit on my lap when you do it?" I ask.
"That's fine," she says with a shrug. "If it'll help him stay still."
"What about it. Pony?" I ask with a grin. His face turns beat red, but he doesn't protest the idea.
After its done he insists he only did it because he didn't want to accidentally deck the nurse
"Mr. Curtis, we're going to give you a sedative, okay?" the nurse says, cleaning my arm the best she could as the guard pinned it to the bed. "You're going to feel a small pinch," she says, taking out a syringe and pulling off the cap before sticking the needle in my arm. I let out a cry, not out of pain, but in defeat. Less than a minute later, I feel my muscles go weak and my eyes get heavy.
The last thing I see and hear is Darry, standing at the end of the bed, but his form is blurry and his voice is muffled.
I silently pray I'm just imagining him.