Work Text:
It was a lazy day at home today, which Darry always hates. He hovers around, looking for something to do, always irritating himself something awful. If he weren't so angry today, I might've laughed.
"Ponyboy, where are my jeans? I told you I needed them ironed, I got work tomorrow, and this is my only day off, and-"
He went on, and on. I sat up off the couch, looking concerned and glancing around for the sight of his blue jeans. Well, work jeans. Hardly blue anymore. But I've been doing that more lately, displacing things I meant to keep 'cause they were important. More than usual since, well...Since Dallas and Johnny went away. It got so bad I would forget to put shoes back on my own feet.
"Ponyboy, snap out of it!"
Darry drew closer, clapping his hands by my head. I hate it when he does that, a new thing he's picked up instead of hollering at me. Makes me feel like a dog.
"Darry, quit it! I haven't seen them. I washed 'em, and I let 'em out to dry, so they must be around."
I replied back with a slight bite, not hesitating to show my annoyance at his sudden frustration.
"No, no, I already checked. Ponyboy, how could you have messed this up? My God, it's like I'm talking to one ear and it comes pouring out the other!"
He responded with such scorn that it made me frown. I don't think I've ever seen cool old Darry so vexed in my life. Well, not since he hit me. But I straightened and finally stood up, trying to aid in his search for the elusive pair of jeans. I swear, I just keep losing things. Like a jigsaw puzzle piece that falls into a deep pit of nothing. That's how my mind's felt.
"Pony, don't you even try? You always got your head in the clouds, thinking about whatever, and I'm tired! Stop dreaming, you're down here with the rest of us!"
He exploded again, bearing an unexpected heap of anger at me. It made goosebumps form on my arms and my back start to sweat. Frankly, it scared me. And Soda wouldn't be home for another hour or so, meaning there was no one here to help mediate.
"Darry, stop it! You don't mean that. C'mon, I'll find your jeans and we can just-"
But he brushed me off, pacing towards the back room and pausing before turning back with another sour expression on his face.
"But I do! You don't help with a damn thing around here and I'm sick of it. I've had it up to my ears. Just- Just what could I say to make you wake up?"
Darry bellowed at me, getting closer than he ever has. This was a different anger, almost inhuman, and I felt myself slink away from my own brother, a feeling of disgust and disdain I hadn't felt in a long time. Since before-
"Tell me, does this life not interest you? Does, does, does being a functioning human in society not interest you?"
He blathered further, poking a finger into my chest. I felt my eyes and throat burn with tears of confusion and fear, my stomach turning.
"Darry, stop, it's just a pair of jeans!"
I cried out, but to no avail. His words never stopped, quick and like punches to the gut.
"It's not just about the jeans! It's about the apathy, the disrespect, the 'forgetting', the everything. Ponyboy, why can't you be normal?"
His voice broke then, seeming to wind down a few steps, breathing heavily. But I was just getting started now.
"Don't ever say that again! I am normal! I've tried so hard to be what you want me to be, and for what? For you to just disregard all of it?"
He rolled his eyes and straightened, which angered me more, because I was shaking something fierce.
"All of what? You haven't done a darn thing! Nothing of note, at least."
I exhaled deeply, my eyes burning again.
"The sleeping, the eating, not telling you about the nightmares, crying at night so you and Soda won't know! So maybe it's not enough for you, but it's...It's been, it's been a lot for me. I've been trying so hard, Darry. So hard to keep things under control, mentally, so you wouldn't have to worry extra. Because God knows you're not my keeper, and it's a burden to have a 'disturbed' kid brother, along with having to take care of him too."
I sniffled, a single tear rolling down my cheek in defiance. His expression looked concerned, then morphed back into the regular unfeeling look.
"So stop throwing a tantrum like a child! It's a pair of jeans, you have more. They were an old pair, anyway."
I managed to walk away a few paces, thinking I had the last word, before I was met with the rude awakening that was Darry's hand on my shoulder.
"Don't say that, all that crap. You, you, I can't explain to you how..."
His voice was low, like his temper could blaze any minute. Right now, he was scarier than anything I'd ever seen. I couldn't tell if I was sweating bullets or sobbing.
"Don't you understand? Those jeans weren't any jeans, they were...They were the ones I wore that night! Night of the rumble, that damned night. They've got Dallas's blood stained on 'em.
I froze, my expression going from twisted to puzzled. It had been months since we had openly talked about it. Mentioned it, even in passing. Almost a year, to the day.
"What does that have to do with anything? Darry, you're making no sense."
I cooled a bit, watching as he started to break down, suddenly.
"They're my only memory of them, I can't lose 'em...Ponyboy, I gotta find 'em. Through all this crap with bills and rent and taxes and groceries, and, and, it's my only reminder that they were even here, that measly blood stain. God, I'm pathetic."
He unraveled with each word, sinking down towards the wooden floors until his sitting with his knees to his chest, suddenly sobbing. It was horrifying and jarring, seeing him be so aggressive and melt down into a wither of nothing. Sadness, maybe. It left me confused, and my heart pounding.
"Darry, I'm- I'm sorry?"
I sank down to his level, mumbling the apology with a quivering voice. I was unsure now, more than anything. And a little sorry.
"I'm so sorry, so so sorry for what I said. I've just been, so angry. And I hate that we haven't talked about *it*. I wish we could. Scream it off the rooftops so every greaser would know what it's like. Sometimes I feel like we all act as if it didn't happen, and I hate it. It's even worse that I feel responsible."
He blubbered between sobs, rocking back and forth, almost like a child. His words made me sadder than heck, to tell the truth. He may be a jerk, that's Darry sometimes, but he's only 22. I frowned further, studying him.
"It's all okay, Darry, really. I can find the jeans, and I'll iron 'em extra good. No wrinkles."
I offered, my hand even extending towards him but he pushed it away with enough force that reminded me of his varsity days.
"No, stop! I don't indulge me, I don't deserve it. After what I've said to you, and how I'm acting like a toddler, I don't deserve it. I just need...I just need to pick myself up."
He attempted to sober up, but just kept on sobbing as result. So, I sat and watched him cry, and he didn't relent. The heaving just kept coming. After a while of sitting in my own head, I realized I should be more surprised, more cognizant that he was literally crying his heart out. But I wasn't. In a sick way though, I felt surprised that he was so taken with Johnny and Dallas leaving. I know, it's mean. A part of me still felt that Darry is still that cold eyed nag-machine I used to know. What I thought was unfeeling, uncaring, hateful. But it reminded me of that night in the hospital, where it clicked.
*When he yelled "Pony, where have you been all this time?" he meant "Pony, you've scared me to death. Please be careful, because I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you."*
That thought echoed through my head, and through his childish temper and big responsibilities that I had noticed, I used my head to realize something. Darry has always been the oldest, and he's always been seen as the man of the house. Babysitting me and Soda on school nights and weekends when we were all kids, working or playing sports in between, hoping that he might one day go to college and be a football star. When did Darry have a day off, even when he was a kid? Seemingly, never. So I took that realization, and tried to really look at him, his heart. And I saw that same old face I'd known forever, one that could fall off his bike and get back up again, and the one winning trophies to go on mantle just for a chance of being congratulated. That kid, that face that I knew, was still there, and it hadn't grown since he tried to leave it behind. He was an overgrown child, stuck in an overworked body, being thrown responsibilities he never had time to learn about doing. In that moment, I felt a need to be kinder to him. Like I would to a younger brother.
"You're gonna be alright. It all is, Darry. You just...cry. Cry until ya can't."
I mumbled to him with sincerity, giving him a small smile of reassurance. He looked up like no one had given him that freedom before and he started up bawling again. That look in his eye, hurt and broken, feeling responsible for the passing of Johnny and Dallas, and grasping around for a clue blindly. It made me wanna bawl like a baby, right there, and I did. Also because of the ammunition Darry had fired at me earlier, I was starting to cry over that hurt, too.
And so we sat and cried, embarrassing as it felt. And when the sun began to set, creating a beautiful golden glare into the room, Darry finally straightened up and cleared his throat. His eyes were puffy and red, but it made his blue eyes shine even brighter.
"I'm sorry about earlier, Pony, and don't say 'it's alright' like you always do. That wasn't right of me, but you have to understand I was hurting. And I know you are too."
His voice shook, and I thought he would sob again, but he prevailed.
"We don't have to right now, but I want us to be more...open about the *deaths* of Johnny and Dallas. Soda too. And it isn't gonna be perfect, but I think if we tried, we would all be a lot happier in this house. No more of my temper tantrums."
The word 'death' in the same sentence as 'Johnny and Dallas' made my stomach churn, and even Darry seemed to shudder at it, but we continued.
"I think the baseline is that...we're trying. In different ways. I pour myself into handy work and regular work, as always. And you, you hide away, zone out on nothing. And that's problematic because...We're so different, in that way."
He continued eloquently, the tone of the conversation shifting from intense to pensive.
"But we're trying, and we're processing it differently. And we don't make sense to each other most of the time, and it definitely doesn't help now that we're pumped full of emotions."
He sniffled and chuckled, which earned a chuckle in response from myself.
"But I think I've learned that...You feel differently than I do. And that's what makes us brothers. We compliment each other, and Soda comes right along and makes us all balanced out too. But what I mean is that, we won't make this easy. Grief isn't supposed to be easy. It's supposed to keep you up at night and make you cry, and when we are mourning, it's not the cookie-cutter 5 stages of grief. We'll phase through it at different paces and intensities, all 3 of us and Two-Bit and Steve."
He explained, and I felt invested, almost touched. Who knew Darry was so...thoughtful. I smiled at him as he spoke, watching the golden glare of the sun stretch across his face.
"So, finally, I think we both have to work on our understanding of each other. Soda deals with enough of our arguing, and I think we could all benefit from just a talk instead of a yelling match. No more crying all night for you, and no more bottling up my feelings for me. We...talk now. Gosh, that sounds awkward."
I smiled wider at that, and nudged his shoulder.
"Of course, Darry. There's...there's nothing more that I want more than that. Understanding."
My answer sounded strange coming from me, but I was so content I didn't bother to explain myself.
"I think this is the kinda gold Johnny wanted for us to have."
I spoke again, with a goofy smile, and it made us both pause there for a moment on that floor before we both exploded into laughter. Darry didn't know what that meant, but I did, and it was really something that my heart wasn't breaking all over again when I thought of that letter.
"Sure, kid. I'm glad we did...this."
I leaned my head against the wall with a sigh, my head pounding from my crying earlier.
"Me too. Wanna make dinner and tell Soda all about it when he gets home?"
I gave him a sidelong glance, and by the way he looked at me with that rare, caring grin he only gave Soda, I knew the answer.
"Last one in the kitchen has to do dishes!"
Were the last words I heard before we exploded into a bout of laughter and stumbled over ourselved trying to get up.
In the kitchen, washing dishes for Darry to use for food prep, I noticed the pair of his jeans laying on the patio table through the window. He saw them too, I could feel it. And we both decided to let it go.