Chapter Text
Darry knew his parents didn’t approve of severance.
It didn’t escape their notice that only people on the east side were given the procedure. They were the ones who needed money badly enough, who had lives they wanted to leave behind even for a few hours.
Darrel Sr. had been offered a severed job. It had come in a crisp letter on fine paper. His name was printed by hand, the rest of the letter written in impersonal typeface. He’d scoffed, ripped up the letter, and threw it in the trash.
He had been a strong man. He stuck to what he thought was right.
Darry didn’t.
When the job offer came to the house two weeks after putting his parents in the ground, Darry called and immediately accepted. He didn’t really have a choice. The state was breathing down his neck, waiting for a single slip up to swoop in and take his brothers.
The salary printed in neat black letters made his head spin, even though the number would have been pennies to soc families.
So, he’d told his brothers he’d been offered a job at a construction company, a nice cushy desk job. He told them that it would probably be hard to reach him at work, that they should call Two-Bit’s mom for anything urgent. He told them so many lies.
Sometimes he thought Soda caught on to something suspicious, but he never called Darry out. For that, Darry was incredibly thankful. If Soda voiced his disapproval, Darry knew he would quit immediately. So, Soda could never know.
The procedure happened exactly twenty days after the death of his parents.
He went into that massive, cold building. He was asked inane questions about his background, his personal life. What is your mother’s maiden name? What does your father do for work? The present tense of the questions made him nauseous. But when it was all over, Darry didn’t feel any different. He’d shaken hands with a man in a white coat and was sent on his way.
They called it a miracle of science when it was first created. Darry’s mom had laughed, saying it was just another way that corporations would have more control over people that couldn’t stand up to them. That was why he didn’t tell anyone. Not his brothers, not his friends. He knew what they would think. He knew they wouldn’t understand.
Darry knew his parents would be so ashamed of him.
But he was able to put food on the table, pay the mortgage, even get Ponyboy a new pair of track shoes after his first paycheck. They weren’t well off by any means, but it was enough to keep his boys. That was all that mattered.
Besides, severance made things easier. While at work, he forgot all about his brothers and his parents’ deaths, he only needed to focus on getting work done. At least that was what he assumed. And while home, Darry didn’t have to think about work or deadlines. He could just be there for his brothers and his friends.
He could try to hold together what remained of his family.
By some miracle, Sodapop and Pony were already awake when Darry finished making breakfast. For once, he didn’t have to drag them out of bed by their ankles. When Darry voiced as much, he just got grumbles from the half-asleep teenagers.
To appease them, Darry slid eggs and toast onto their plates, giving Soda a jam knife before he could ask for one. “You’re my favorite brother,” Soda sighed as he slathered jam over the entire plate. Ponyboy kicked him under the table with a playful frown.
Darry just smiled to himself, moving the dishes to the sink. Darry reached blindly for the pan on the stove, a motion he’d done a hundred times. But this time, he missed the handle, instead dragging his knuckles across the hot metal.
Darry swore, clutching his hand to his chest. Ever the empath, Soda was at his side in an instant, “You okay?”
Darry waved him off with his uninjured hand, “I’m fine.” He stuck his hand under the faucet, letting the water soothe the burn. Soda just watched him nervously for another second. But realizing that Darry wasn’t in danger of immediate death, he went back to his food.
Ponyboy watched Darry with owl eyes. Darry knew the kid was worried too, but wouldn’t voice it aloud. Without the Damocles of money hanging over his head, things at home were actually alright. Yeah, he and Pony still fought, but it wasn’t the same caliber as it was even a few months ago.
“You eating?” Pony asked Darry, noticing that he didn’t sit down to join them. Ponyboy’s hair was messily greased back. He wore a shirt Darry knew didn’t belong to him. Sometimes, he still looked so much like a kid. He hadn’t grown out of his baby cheeks quite yet.
“Nah, I’ll eat at work.” He figured it was true, after all, he didn’t come home starving. Besides, it was better to leave more food for his brothers and the gang. Especially since Ace and Steve had been crashing with them more and more, though they were absent this morning.
He was making good money at work, but his full time salary and Soda’s part time one didn’t add up to what their parents earned. There was usually enough to cover everything they needed. Darry didn’t have to choose between food and gas, he thanked God every day for that. But beyond that, Darry saved every penny he could for Pony’s college. With all that, they were scraping by every month. But his brothers didn’t need to know that.
A car honked outside, making Ponyboy shovel his food into his mouth. Darry watched with an eyebrow raised in amusement as Ponyboy tumbled from his chair, jumped into his shoes, and sprinted out the door with a called, “See ya!” over his shoulder.
Soda and Darry both laughed. Soda shook his head fondly, “One morning, he’ll leave without his head attached.”
Darry laughed and started to pack Soda’s lunch. It wasn’t much, a sandwich, an apple, and a granola bar, but it would get him through the day. All his morning tasks taken care of, Darry slathered some burn cream on the back of his hand. The tube was ancient, probably expired, but he thought it was still good.
“Can you give me a ride to work?” Soda asked, licking his fork clean. “Steve’s off today.”
Darry nodded, “Go get ready, we’ll leave in a minute.” In record time, Soda did his hair and got dressed. Darry only had to remind him to grab his work shirt once. It was probably a record.
When their dad was alive, Darry loved it when he could drive him to school. It would just be the two of them and music on the radio. Dad would tell him stories about life before he was born and Darry would regale him with the happenings at school and with the socs.
Those mornings were probably what he missed most about his dad.
But sometimes these morning drives with Soda could feel similar.
Soda jumped in the passenger seat of the truck, buttoning up his shirt. The engine started with a roar and they were off towards the DX. Darry turned the radio on, smiling when it played Elvis instead of the Beatles.
“Do you really eat at work?” Soda asked after a moment, once his clumsy hands finished buttoning his shirt. “Or do you say that so we don’t worry.”
Keeping his eyes on the road, Darry reached out and squeezed Soda’s shoulder. “I’m bein’ honest, little buddy. Work has plenty of food for us.” He didn’t know if it was the truth. “You don’t need to worry about me. Worry more about tying your shoes before you break your neck.”
Soda looked down and quickly did as Darry said, finishing just as they pulled into the DX station. Soda gave Darry a quick hug before leaping out of the car and running to work. Darry threw his lunch bag after him. Soda caught it with a wild smile and blew Darry a kiss.
Darry smiled and turned the radio up as he drove to the other end of town. He sang just like he did with his dad.
The parking lot was full of cars just like his.
They were old, rusted, and noisy. Some of the cars had chipped paint or mismatched hoods or doors. Darry pulled into his usual parking spot. He looped his badge around his neck and walked towards the large metal doors.
He exchanged his usual greeting with the security guard and stepped into the elevator.
—23 8 1 20 0 3 15 12 15 18 0 1 18 5 0 25 15 21 18 0 13 15 20 8 5 18 19 0 5 25 5 19—
Darrel blinked twice before the elevator doors opened.
He looked down at himself and noticed the top button of his shirt was undone. Darrel quickly fixed it and straightened his tie. He needed to look presentable, otherwise he’d get a demerit. He didn’t have many yet, but they would add up quickly.
He stepped out of the elevator, the doors closed behind him with a soft ping.
It was day 130. He’d been here for six months, though it felt like much longer. He supposed that was what happened when every second of his awareness was spent in these yellowish walls and brown carpeting.
Darrel strode confidently down the bland hallways. His badge bounded against his chest, a comforting rhythm. Above him came the faint buzzing of artificial lighting. He turned. Left. Left. Right. And was at his office pod.
The others were already at their desks. They didn’t look up as Darrel took his seat, but he hadn’t expected them to. He’d tried to make friends during his first few weeks, but none of them seemed interested. That was for the best, chatting would only inhibit the work they were doing.
Darrel sat down and fed the first sheet of paper into the typewriter. Soon, the sound of clacking keys filled the room. It was his favorite sound.
As Darrel began to type, he noticed something on his hand. There was a burn on the back of his right knuckles. It wasn’t painful, but was bright red and plastic looking. He’d come to work with the odd bruise or small cut before, that was ordinary. This wasn’t.
Darrel touched the damaged skin, wincing when it caused pain to flare. He’d never felt pain like that before. Darrel could feel the residual heat from the burn under his skin. Darrel curled his hand into a fist a few times, testing the stretch of the skin. It was painful, but the kind of pain that made it easier to think.
How had he gotten it? A fire? Hot coffee? Ironing his clothes?
Wondering was discouraged.
They weren’t supposed to think about their lives outside of work. They weren’t supposed to wonder who it was they were sharing a body with. All he had was a name. Darrel Curtis Jr. And his age. Twenty. He could guess other things though.
His clothes were well maintained but old. He’d found patches sewn on waistbands and buttons reattached with the wrong color of thread. He was always hungry when he came in, like he hadn’t eaten in hours. His shoes didn’t quite fit him, they were the slightest bit too big and nearly worn down to the soles.
From all that, Darrel knew that he was not well off. That was why he kept his head down at work and did each task after the other. He had something to work for.
Sometimes he liked to imagine a family. Maybe he had a wife. He liked that idea very much; though he didn’t wear a ring. Maybe he was working to support his parents or a child. He could imagine himself as a father. He very much liked the idea of going home to a toddler smiling up at him, running towards him on clumsy feet.
Darrel smiled at the thought.
“Darrel C., back to work,” a disembodied voice came from a speaker in the corner of the room. His coworkers looked at him.
Darrel ducked his head. He stretched the injured hand one more time and got back to typing.
— 16 15 14 25 2 15 25 0 19 15 4 1 16 15 16 16 15 14 25 2 15 25 0 19 15 4 1 16 15 16—
Dally strode into the Curtis home like he owned it. He kicked off his shoes, more scuffs joining the wall, walking to the fridge to find something to eat. With most of the gang at school or work, it was only Dally and Two-Bit at the house. Though the latter was passed out on the couch with a bottle of beer next to his hand.
Dally grabbed an apple and bit into it loudly. He walked back into Darry’s bedroom, planning on taking a nap in his bed. Darry’s room was always so neat and tidy, unlike the rest of the house. Dally delighted in messing it up just a little. Besides, he could usually count on there being clean sheets. The came couldn’t be said for Pony and Soda.
Dally leapt and flopped down onto the bed. He sighed in relief. Next time, he wouldn’t let Tim get so many hits on him.
It was when he turned over that he saw something on the bedside table. A ripped envelope and a piece of fancy looking paper. It wasn’t even a question for Dally to reach over and read it. Why would it be left out if not for him to read?
His eyes widened when he saw the company name printed on top. Then his eyes fell to the pay statement below it.
Monthly Income: $200.00
Severed Employee Bonus: $50
“Holy shit.” Dally blinked five times to make sure he was reading it correctly. Darry was severed.
Dally knew there had been something off with Darry’s job, but he’d assumed it was some illegal shit that Darry didn’t want the kiddies knowing about. But this? This was so much worse.
Dally ran into the living room and kicked Two-Bit awake, the paper was clenched so tight in his fist that it nearly tore it. The boy groaned and looked up at Dally, “What the fuck, man?”
“Did you know Darry was severed?” If anyone would know, it would be Two-Bit.
Two-Bit threw an arm over his eyes, “The hell you talkin’ about?”
Dally thrust the page at Two-Bit. He groggily sat up, eyes raking over the words. Dally saw the moment it hit Two-Bit, his eyes widened comically and his hand clenched on the page. He was suddenly alert. “Holy shit.”
“That’s what I said.” Dally sat down on the couch. “You didn’t know?”
Two-Bit shook his head. That was odd. Two-Bit and Darry were close as could be. Usually if Darry was keeping a secret, Two-Bit was the one in the know. “Do you think the kids know?” Even though they weren’t much older than Soda, it tickled Dally something good to call them “the kids”, especially because it annoyed Pony.
“I don’t think so. We all thought he was working at the same construction company as his dad.”
Dally scoffed, “What an asshole. And a fucking sellout.”
Two-Bit clenched his teeth. “But look at what he’s makin’. With two kids and the rest of us to look after, I get why he did it.”
“I don’t,” Dally snapped. “No amount of money in the world could get me to sell my life. He’s a fucking coward.”
“Dally,” Two-Bit said, “his folks died. It’s probably easier for him this way. And there’s probably a reason he didn’t want us knowing.”
Dally just scoffed again. He remembered the gleam in Mr. Curtis’ eyes as he tore up that letter, how he’d preached the horrors of severance. There was no amount of money that was worth betraying his family. “Ain’t no good reason.”
Dally stormed back into the bedroom, leaving Two-Bit with the letter in hand. Two-Bit folded it into a little ball and shoved it under the couch.
Darry looked up as the front door opened. He was in the middle of making dinner. As expected, Steve and Ace walked in. Steve had his arm around her shoulders, a smile on his face despite the bruise under his eye. Ace pulled away from Steve, plopping herself down on the couch next to Ponyboy.
“Nobody ask how he got the bruise, he won’t shut up,” she told them.
Darry laughed at the offended face Steve made. Soda cooed at him, “Don’t worry, Stevie, I care about you.” Soda walked over and gave him a loud kiss to the side of his head.
Darry rolled his eyes as Steve launched into a clearly exaggerated tale about his run in with one of the socs. He and Ace shared a commiserating look. Ace padded over and hopped up onto the counter next to where he was cooking. She folded her legs under her.
“Everythin’ okay?” Darry asked her softly, not wanting the others to hear. “You and Steve need a place to crash again?”
Ace blushed in embarrassment and nodded. “Yeah. My aunt was gettin’ into it with me and I was fightin’ back but Steve just had to get involved which made his daddy go after him. Sorry, superman.”
He shrugged, “Ain’t no problem.” He fished out a noodle from the pot and offered it to her to see if it was done. She blew on it before popping it into her mouth. “We like having you around, Steve not so much.” Ace laughed, gently kicking his side before confirming that the pasta was done.
They heard the door open again, this time it was Dallas followed by his perpetual shadow, Johnny. Johnny bounded over to Pony immediately. Ace greeted Dally, “Hey, Dal, you crashing here too?”
Dally looked over, body tensing as he saw Darry. Darry furrowed his brow in confusion, “You good?” Dally wasn’t usually one to hide his injuries, but you never know with these boys.
Dally scoffed and shook his head as though Darry had committed some faux pas, “Just makin’ sure the kid got here safe.” And he turned around, slamming the front door as he left.
“What the hell was that?” Ace asked.
Darry just shook his head, “Not a clue.”
He had half a mind to go after Dally and confront him, but he knew that would likely lead to blows, as most confrontations with him did. Instead, Darry called out that dinner was ready. Whatever Dally was mad about would either blow over or land him in jail. There wasn’t much Darry could do about that.