Chapter Text
And I hate to make this all about me
But who am I supposed to talk to?
What am I supposed to do
If there's no you?
"Hey, how you feeling, Pone?" I ask, peeking my head into the bedroom.
"A little better," he says placing his book down on his lap. "Still feel like crap though," he adds, his voice hoarse from the cough.
"Damn, that sucks," I say, tapping my fingers against the door frame. The poor kid's been sick all week. He caught something last Friday and it just knocked him on his ass. Fever, cough, stuffy nose, headaches, the whole nine yards. It got so bad that Darry even talked about taking him to the doctor. Luckily though, Ponyboy did start to get better a couple days ago, slowly but surely.
"I don't think I'm gonna be able to make it tonight. My throat's still killing me," he says, rubbing the front of his neck.
"I'm sure that nasty cough isn't doing you any favors," I say, sliding on the bed next to him. "Maybe we could reschedule. I'd hate to go without you."
"No," he says immediately, shaking his head rapidly. "You guys have been looking forward to this all week, I'm not gonna be the jerk that spoils it." I bite my lip. He was right, we had been looking forward to this all week.
Tonight we had plans to go to Jay's and then down to the pool hall. Darry was the one who planned it, both because he had been needing a night out for a while, but also as a sort of late birthday celebration for me since we had all been too busy to properly celebrate it earlier this month (even though I insisted that the cake and song was just fine.) The whole gang was coming and we were all thrilled about it, especially considering how rare it was that we were all able to go out together anymore.
Which made it all that more devastating that Pony wouldn't be there.
"Are you sure? I'm sure Steve and Two-Bit wouldn't mind if we postponed," I say and he scoffs.
"Um, if Steve found out his plans tonight were soiled by me, he'd drown me in the bathtub before sunrise," he says, nudging me with the corner of his book. "Really Soda, its fine. I suck at pool anyways."
"Alright," I say, resting a hand on his head. "In the meantime, do you need me to get you anything?"
"I'm okay," he says, giving me a toothy grin. "Just make sure Steve don't get too excited when he hears the news."
I can't help but laugh.
"Is Ponyboy almost ready?" Darry asks, hair dripping and a towel around his waist. "I know he likes to fuss about his hair, and I wanna get going in like fifteen minutes."
"Pony isn't coming," I say, looking around the living room for my missing shoe. "He still ain't feeling so hot."
"Oh, shit really?" he says, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He had been at work all day, so this was news to him. "I thought he was getting better."
"So did I, but he's been hacking up his lungs all day," I say, finally finding the sneaker behind the front door. "Told him we could just reschedule, but he said no." Darry bites his lip and taps his foot.
"Maybe I should call the doctor, get him checked out," he says before turning his head towards me. "What do you think?"
"I dunno, Dar," I say, rubbing the back of my head. As "overprotective" as I was, even I thought Darry had a tendency to overreact when it came to Ponyboy, especially when he was sick. Hell, when he got pneumonia last winter, Darry was half-way convinced he had one foot in the grave. "I think it's probably just the last of the gunk leaving his system."
"Alright," he says with a sigh. "You're probably right, it's probably nothing."
"Yeah, I know. I always am," I say with a cocky grin. He rolls his eyes playfully and walks into his bedroom to get changed.
"Who's ready to get their asses kicked in pool?!" I hear Two-Bit's loud voice holler from the porch as he rips the screen door open, something that Darry has told him probably a million times to not do.
"I think you are, Mr. Loves-To-Hit-The-White-Ball-In," I tease.
"Hey, I do it on purpose, just to keep y'all's guard down," Two-Bit says as he plops himself down on the couch next to me as I shoved my feet into the worn tennis shoes.
"Yeah, sure," Steve says, also making his way inside the house. I can immediately tell something was wrong, both by his face and the tone of his voice.
"You alright, Stevie?" I ask as sits on the other side of me.
"Dad's on a rampage," he says with a heavy sigh, gripping the knee of his jean. "Mom left for her sister's house last night again, and he's basically been drinking and screaming at me for twenty-four hours straight."
"Jesus, I'm sorry man," I say, a pang in my chest. I just didn't understand how you could treat your own child the way Mr. Randle, along with half of the parents in this damn neighborhood did. Neither my mother or father, no matter how mad, tired, or frustrated they were, ever laid a hand on any of us growing up. And although Darry did technically hit Ponyboy before, he was also so full of guilt about doing it that he was physically sick for hours. Not to mention that after Ponyboy came back home, Darry told me that if he ever laid a hand on Ponyboy again, he wanted me to beat the shit out of him.
"Nothing I ain't used to," he say, picking at his cuticles. "You mind if I stay here tonight, though? I prefer to stay out of the crossfire for now."
"Yeah, man. Of course," I say, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder. He gives me a weak smile back.
"Hey, guys," I hear Ponyboy say as he enters the living room.
"Woah, kid, you planning to go out in your jammies?" Two-Bit says as Ponyboy perches himself on the arm of the couch.
"Nah, I'm gonna stay home tonight," he says before coughing into his elbow. "This damn cold is still hanging around."
"Ew, stay in your room then. We don't want your germs," Steve says, a small grimace on his face as Ponyboy coughed again. I give Steve a small jab in the side. Even though I knew we was just teasing, I still hated when he was mean to Ponyboy for essentially no reason. I understood Pony was younger, but Two-Bit, Dal, and Johnny were never meaner to him just because he was a kid.
"Um, don't make me remind you who gave me this stupid cold," Pony says, his voice cracking slightly.
"That was not me," Steve says defensively. "You probably got it from school."
"You were literally sick last week with the same damn thing. Yes the hell it was you," Ponyboy says, pointing an accusing finger at Steve.
"First of all, get that grimy finger out of my face," Steve says, swatting Pony's hand away. "Second of all, I was not sick, I had allergies."
"Yeah, okay," Ponyboy says with a scoff.
"Alright, that's enough bickering from you ladies," Darry says as he re-enters the living room. They both shut up immediately, however Ponyboy sneaks a middle finger at Steve. That's my little brother, always needs the last word.
"Who's driving tonight?" Darry asks, clasping his hands together.
"I will," I say, raising my hand up. Darry cocks an eyebrow.
"I don't know. I kinda wanna make it back in one piece," he says, eyeing me carefully.
"Oh, come on, Dar, quit being a busted rubber," Two-Bit says, giving me a slap on the back. "Let ol' Sodapop drive us 'round."
"Fine, but you run one stop sign, and we're switching seats. I can't afford another speeding ticket from you," he says somewhat sternly.
"Deal," I say with a playful whine.
"Alright, lets get this show on the road then," Darry says, clasping his hands together as we all rise from the couch, except for Pony, who grabs the remote and switches on the TV. I suddenly feel a wave of guilt rush over me. He was sick and we were leaving him home alone to go have fun without him. I slowly sit back down next to him, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.
"Hey, are you sure you're okay with us going? I can stay home if you'd like, I really don't mind," I say, playing with the ends of his hair that were still blonde from his haircut with Johnny.
"I am not a baby," he says, giving me one of his signature eye rolls as he continued flipping mindlessly through the channels. "I promise I'll be okay for like three hours."
"So, you won't get scared here all by yourself?" I tease, giving him a playful poke in the ribs. He laughs and swats my hand away.
"Yes, I'm sure, Soda."
"Okay," I say, giving him a brief kiss on the top of his head. "See you later, honey," I whisper into his hair. He hums softly.
"See you later, Soda."
"I thought Robbie was in jail," Two-Bit says, leaning towards Darry sitting in the passenger seat. "Didn't he get caught trying to set his mom's house on fire with her in it?"
"He was in jail, they just released him," Darry says, shaking his head. "Good behavior, I think."
"What was that? Three months? You'd think he'd at least get six," Steve says, also shaking his head.
"Well, I was scared shitless when he tried talking to me. Hid my lighter in my jacket just in case," Two-Bit jokes.
"Two-Bit, you're so full of booze, you'd probably blow up like a firework if you caught fire," I joke back and everyone in the truck laughs.
The rest of the drive is pretty quiet. It was long night and we were all pretty tired, especially poor Darry who worked an entire shift before tonight. In all though, it was a pretty good time and it felt great to be out together again, just like old times.
"What the hell?" I mumble under my breath as I pull down the street and see an unfamiliar red car parked in front of our house. "Who is that?"
"Oh, motherfucker!" Steve hisses, hopping out of the truck before I could even put it in park. Darry and I exchange glances before quickly jumping out of the truck as well and jogging over to Steve, who aggressively rips open the red car's door, and pulls out the passenger, who was no other than Steven Randle Sr.
He looked like hell. He normally did, but he somehow looked worse than ever. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, his hair was greasy and disheveled, but the worst thing was his face, beaten and bloody like he'd been in a bad fight. Given the circumstances, I assumed it was most likely a bar fight.
"You drunk bastard! What the hell are you doing here?" Steve hollers in his face before shoving him into the side of the car.
"I was looking for you," Mr. Randle says, taking a step towards Steve, who only pushes him away.
"I told you that I didn't want to see your drunk ass!" Steve yells, rubbing the sides of his face with his hands, trying desperately to calm himself down. Eventually he sighs, dropping his hands from his face. "Go home, dad. I'll be back tomorrow."
"I'm not going home, son," he says, his voice almost eerily calm as he walked over to the front porch steps and sat down slowly, hands on his knees and his face down. "You probably don't have to worry about me being home ever again."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Steve says, his voice angry, yet confused. Mr. Randle sighs again before looking up, staring me directly in the eyes.
"I killed him. I killed the boy in that house."