Archive of Our Own ^beta

4pm

The swing creaked as a gentle breeze pushed it back and forth on the porch. Ponyboy wasn’t bothered by the sound. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really thought about the sound. It was just there—it always had been. And after years and years, it just seemed to fade into the background.

His biology notebook rested in his lap, lab notes half completed. Beside him, Johnny glanced over his history notes for an upcoming test. 

Ponyboy tapped his pencil against the armrest like that was going to help him figure out the stages of mitosis. He let his eyes wander from the page, watching the clouds roll by in the sky. For a moment, they almost reminded him of the cells he was supposed to be writing about. 

His thoughts wandered from biology as quickly as his eyes did. He tore a page from the back of his notebook, scribbling down words as fast as they appeared in his mind.

Johnny snapped him out of his trance. “What are you working on?”

“Uh… nothing important,” Ponyboy decided. And it wasn’t. He’d be able to finish it later.

Johnny raised an eyebrow like he didn’t believe him for a second. “Yeah right. Looks pretty important. You always get that look when you’re writing.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be writing a lab report, not a story.”

Johnny shrugged. “I lab report’s kind of like a story.”

“Not really,” Ponyboy sighed, disappointed. “There are no characters and I don’t understand what’s happening half the time.”

“But you’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah.” He abandoned his story for now, turning the page back to his lab report.

Johnny spoke up again. “Do you know what ‘manorialism’ is?”

“No idea,” Ponyboy replied.

“Yeah, me neither,” Johnny glanced back at his homework.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Ponyboy listened to the rocking of the swing and tried his best to think about science. Johnny rustled through the textbook searching for the answer. Down the street, a dog barked. Cars drove past. 

But the gentle silence of the porch asked nothing from them.

Ponyboy flipped back to his story and continued writing. Right now, it felt easier than homework and the inspiration wasn’t always as tangible as it felt right now.

Johnny watched for a second, then went back to his own work, a small smile tugging at his lips as he glanced back and forth between homework, his friend and the slow passing of the clouds above them.

Eventually, Ponyboy stopped writing. He glanced down at his notebook, then pulled it tight to his chest as he leaned back against the wobbly railing. Johnny appeared beside him.

They looked past the roof, watching in silence as the sun drifted in the sky and the wind blew through the trees and the moment seemed to let forever.

_____________________

5pm

Johnny had gone home. Or to the lot. Or to Buck’s. Somewhere--Ponyboy wasn’t sure. He didn’t know where Johnny tended to vanish to when he wasn’t here.

Darry appeared in the doorway with a hammer in hand and a look of determination in his eye. 

He examined the railing silently, grabbing it tight and seeing how it moved—searching for what the problem might be. The railing had shaken as long as Ponyboy could remember. He remembered his brothers play-fighting on the porch and bumping into it and watching it bend, thinking they were going to tumble into his mother’s garden beds. 

Darry knelt next to the support beams, looking at where they met the wooden planks on the floor, twisting them, anything to prove they were as loose as he thought they were.

“Do you want any help?” Ponyboy heard his voice say. He couldn’t remember thinking about offering, but the way Darry’s expression soften made him think that was a good idea.

Darry didn’t respond right away. 

“I can hold the flashlight,” Pony offered.

A small smile eased the tightness in Darry’s jaw. “It’s broad daylight, kiddo.” He looked up from the railing. “Could you go inside and find a screwdriver?”

Ponyboy nodded, peeling himself off the swing and slipping inside.

By the time he returned, Darry had taken one of the beams off the railing. 

His eyes met Ponyboy’s as he looked up. “You’re just in time,” Darry began, motioning for him to come closer. “Can you use the screwdriver to reattach this while I hold it in place?”

“Sure.” 

He held the screwdriver in his hand like he’d watched his dad and Darry do many time before—lining up the screws, turning it clockwise until the screw began to disappear into the board.

“That looks pretty good,” Darry told him. He paused. “I appreciate your help, Pony. You know I hate it when things are falling apart.”

He laughed a little, running a hand through his hair, but Ponyboy knew exactly what he meant. With everything they’d been through in the last few months, the house falling apart was the last thing he needed—another reminder of everything crumbling around him. 

Darry worked so hard to keep that from happening. For all of them. But Ponyboy knew he desperately needed it for himself—to feel some sense of control over the life he’d been handed.

“I think that railing’s been loose since before I was born,” Darry said, hardly looking away from it.

“I don’t remember a time it wasn’t,” Ponyboy agreed. 

Another act to hold onto control: fixing the things he could and finishing things his parents couldn’t. Fixing the porch—raising two kids. 

“I remember spending a lot of mornings sitting out here with Dad,” Darry said. Hesitantly. He looked at Ponyboy, watching for a change in his demeanor that suggested he should stop talking about Mom and Dad, but it never came.

He continued. “Dad liked to sit here and do the crossword. I helped. And sometimes on spring mornings, Mom would work in the garden while we read on the porch. Soda helped. Well, I think he mostly dug for worms, but that’s close enough.”

Pony nodded along, taking in every word. He could almost picture it—the way things used to be. Sunlight streaming through the leaves of the oak tree. His mother’s apron dusted with soil, protecting her dress from the dirt while his father sat on the swing, calling out crossword clues that only Darry paid attention to.

“That sounds nice,” he replied slowly. He wanted to close his eyes, like it might help him capture the moment that didn’t exist anymore.

Darry stood up and gave the railing a shake. “That should do it,” he said, quickly.

Ponyboy sank back onto the swing, letting it creak as he swayed upon it. Darry leaned against the railing and, this time, it didn’t move. A look of satisfaction appeared on his face, corners of his mouth turning upwards, eyes closed.

The swing moved back and forth in the breeze, squaring softly with each movement. That seemed to snap Darry out of his short-lived, ever-needed moment of peace and contentedness.

His eyes opened again as he examined it. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll make that thing stop creaking,” Darry said, glaring at it.

Pony just shrugged. “I didn’t even notice.”

_____________________

7pm

Ponyboy didn’t look up from his homework until he heard the unsheathing of scissors. Then, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the impending disaster before him.

“Okay,” Darry began sternly, “it’s only a little bit off the end. Don’t do anything crazy.”

The scissors quaked in Soda’s hand, yet he responded with his usual confidence. “Got it,” he said with a smile.

Soda climbed onto the swing, swaying back and forth as it rocked.

“Why don’t you pick a chair that’s not moving,” Darry suggested.

He scrambled off the swing as quickly as he had gotten on it and opted for the railing instead. “You know, you could sit down and then I wouldn’t have to stand on the furniture,” Soda joked.

Darry looked up to meet his eyes. “But you’re already up there. I’d hate for all your effort to be for nothing.” He smirked as he turned around.

Soda ran his fingers through Darry’s hair, figuring out what he was working with. “If you say so,” he mumbled under his breath.

Darry shifted on his feet. He wasn’t sure if he regretted not going to the barber yet, but he worried he might be inching closer to regret. He turned to look at Soda again, concentration on his face as he perched on the railing. 

“Good thing I fixed that railing this afternoon, huh?” He laughed nervously. 

“Hold still or I’m giving you bangs,” Soda muttered through gritted teeth as he made the first cut.

Darry tried not to shudder as he watched a lock of his hair tumble onto the ground in front of him. Too late to call the barber now.

Another snip. Another curl floating to the ground. Soda let out a sigh. Darry felt the tension in his jaw ease.

“Okay. Done,” Soda said from behind him. 

Darry ran a hand through his hair. Most of it was still attached to his head. He was ready to celebrate a job well done until he noticed… Soda was quiet. Too quiet. 

“You okay?” Darry asked quietly enough that Ponyboy wouldn’t notice.

“Yup,” Soda replied quickly, “just…making sure it’s even.”

His eyes landed on the floorboards, distant and unfocused.

“Ponyboy, can you go find the broom,” Darry asked him.

Ponyboy looked up from his homework, not sure what any of this had to do with him. “Why do I—“

Darry cut him off with a raise of his eyebrow and a glance back to their middle brother running his fingers up and down the handle of the scissors, worry spread across his face.

Ponyboy understood. “On it.”

He left the porch, but couldn’t help but listen in.

Darry looked at his reflection in the window. “You know,” he began cautiously, “you did a pretty good job.”

Soda blinked hard, looking over at Darry again. “I did?”

“It looks as good as it would have if I got it done somewhere. They never get it right.”

“Glad you like it.”

“Thanks.”

A beat of silence passed between them.

Soda broke it. “I’m gonna go find Steve. He’s found a couple gals at school. Thinks we might stand a chance on a double date.”
Darry grinned. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Soda said softly.

Darry’s eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t sound as excited about that as I thought you would. What’s going on, little buddy?”

“I don’t know.” Soda hesitated. “It’s just that—it’s just, I don’t know that I want to be with her. Whoever she is. I don’t know if…” 

He sat back down on the swing. Before he knew what was happening, the words left his mouth faster than he thought his brain could string them together.

“I’m not ready to do all this again, Darry. I just got over Sandy and I can’t do that again. Have it all go so well only for it to go south and then get even worse when you thought it was already as bad as it could be. I don’t think I can even give her a fair chance ‘cause I already know I’m not going to like her. I’m only going to make Steve happy—he really likes her and I think he has a good shot and…and…” he paused. “And that’s it.”

Darry didn’t speak right away. He just sat down on the swing—grimacing when it squeaked again—and put an arm on Soda’s shoulder. 

“I’m proud of you for telling me.”

Soda looked up, confused. “You are?”

“Yeah,” Darry began, “that’s a lot to carry on your own and you usually do. I’m really proud of you for saying something.”

Soda didn’t respond.

Darry continued. “You don’t have to go you know.”

“I’m gonna go.”

“But you don’t have to.”

Soda stood up. “It’s not that bad. Just a couple hours anyways.” He smiled, but Darry saw right through him.

He wanted to drag him back onto the porch and keep him there all night.  Anything to keep his brother from having to face something that had him so worked up that he actually wanted to talk about it. But he didn’t.

He just watched from the porch as Soda vanished around the corner.

_____________________

10pm

Ponyboy’s homework was finally done. He’d left his corner of the porch to get ready for bed with no intention of going to sleep yet. He’d wait to go to sleep until Soda got home. 

For now, he just sat on the bed with A Room with a View open in his lap. He hadn’t looked at the pages in at least a minute. 

The way the summer breeze pushed the curtains caught his attention. Then, he noticed the gentle sound of the crickets. The laughter of children in the park on the corner. The neighbor’s wind chimes. The screech of the porch swing as someone sat down on it. 

No sooner had they arrived did Pony figure out who was out there. He recognized Steve’s voice instantly.

“What a waste of a Friday night,” he said.

“I wouldn’t call it a total loss,” someone else—Soda—said.

“No? They left after thirty minutes!”

“Yeah, but someone had to make sure those reservations didn’t go to waste,” Soda explained.

Steve smiled. “Guess you’re right. And that food was pretty good.” He paused. “What do you think would have happened if they stayed?”

Soda laughed. “I don’t think we would have had as much fun as we did. For some reason, I don’t think those girls would have enjoyed cruising nearly as much as we did.”

Steve laughed and pushed him so hard he almost fell off the swing. “What if you learned how to drive—for real? Then maybe they would have been able to stand it.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t have been able to stand listening to you make love to the car right in front of them,” Soda decided. He resituated himself on the bench, one knee pulled up to his chest and the other leg dangling over the edge. “What if we hadn’t brought up the car? You think they’d have known we were broke?”

“Shame they had eyes too,” Steve said.

Soda sighed. “And boy, were her eyes nice.”

“Not that nice. They’re not worth it anyways.”

“You’re right.”

“We’ll try again later.” Steve traced the pattern carved in the armrest. “With girls we stand a chance with.”

Soda leaned back against the chain. “Okay, so what if—instead of that—we win the lottery.”

Steve threw his head back laughing. “Yeah, and what if we moved to England.”

“I’m serious, Steve,” Soda said, trying to suppress a laugh, “what would you do with a million dollars?”

“What wouldn’t I do? What if we used it to start a synchronized swimming team?”

“Only if it’s made entirely of dolphins,” Soda suggested.

“As long as they’re still wearing those ridiculous shorts,” Steve agreed.

Soda laughed so hard he almost fell off the swing. 

“You know, what if instead of that, we opened a restaurant that only serves bacon,” Steve offered as he dragged Soda upright again.

“Add chocolate milk and I’m there.”
“Deal.” Steve paused, hesitating for a minute. “What if we fixed up a garage, opened our own shop?”

Soda leaned back, eyes fixated on the roof. “Yeah, I’d be there.”

Steve’s mouth hung open. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I like that a lot better than dolphin restaurants.”

Steve backpedaled as fast as he could. “Yeah, but it’s all made up anyway.”

Yeah, but,” Soda paused. “What if we owned our own garage someday?”

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head. What if they did? The weight of ‘what if’ settled in his mind. “Alright, that’s enough big dreams for one night.”

Soda’s smile lingered as he nudged Steve with his shoulder. “Yeah, but don’t act like you didn’t like it.”

Steve didn’t respond. Suddenly, ‘what if’ didn’t seem so far away. It wasn’t just a game he played with his best friend on the porch after the worst date of his life. It was a dream just out of reach. And he couldn’t dwell on it any longer.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow,” Steve said, standing up. 

“You’re not staying?”

“Nah, I gotta get home.”

“You actually going home?”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to rain in the morning. I’m not sleeping in the lot. Promise.”

Soda tried one more time. “You could just sleep here. The couch is empty.”

Steve didn’t know why he didn’t just say yes. He could’ve saved himself the trip back in the morning when it might be pouring. He didn’t know why, but suddenly the idea scared him—suddenly it seemed so real. 

What if we owned our own garage someday?

They could. Maybe they’d do it for real. 

He shook the idea out of his mind and let his face morph into a sly smirk. “Why? You miss me?”

Soda smiled back, pained, halfhearted—the same way Steve had just looked at him. “Maybe I would.”

Steve needed the voices in his head to stop screaming. To stop telling him that he needed to stay there. To not end this conversation and to say something that mattered. To do anything to bring back the feeling he’d felt a minute ago—before he’d ruined it. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sodapop.”

_____________________

11pm

Sleep didn’t come easily, even when Soda got in bed with him. Ponyboy lay staring at the ceiling for what could have been hours or minutes, restless. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He dragged himself out of bed and toward the living room, hoping the change of scene might help. As he sat down on the couch, he couldn’t help but notice a figure wandering up his driveway.

It wasn’t uncommon. Often, he’d go to sleep with the house empty and wake up to one of his friends asleep on the couch. It was probably going to be one of those nights. Especially with the rain coming tomorrow.

Dallas Winston didn’t go inside. 

Instead, he sat on the porch step, hunched forward with his elbow on his knees and a cigarette between his fingers. The red tip glowed in the darkness of the night. Ponyboy could have sworn it illuminated his face just enough to know that he shouldn’t go outside.

Dallas Winston didn’t want company.

Wherever he had been that night, nobody needed to know. 

The smoke curled upwards to the sky, redirected by the night breeze. The scrape of his boot on the boards echoed through the silence. Something that kept him tethered to reality. To Tulsa. To his gang. To something. Something that didn’t ask him to be better or worse or different than he was right now. That’s the feeling that had brought him here in the middle of the night.

Dallas Winston didn’t stay long.

He only sat there long enough to smoke his cigarette down to its stub. When he finished it, he flicked it onto the yard, missing the driveway by inches. He stood up, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the pressure of whatever had brought him here in the first place.

For a second, Ponyboy thought he might look up. That he might glance through the window and their eyes would meet and Dally might know that he was there. 

He didn’t.

Dallas Winston stuffed his hands in his pockets and vanished down the driveway as quickly as he’d appeared.

_____________________

Midnight

Ponyboy pondered his sketchbook under the light above the kitchen table. A drawing of the cicadas and trees as they rattled in the wind and the porch swing as it rocked back and forth incessantly, with all the time in the world and nothing better to do. He doodled the clouds of the summer sky and the rush of a stream he longed to return to and… the sound of footsteps on the porch again.

This time, the door opened and Two-Bit crept in, closing it slowly to not make a sound.

“Hey,” Ponyboy said nonchalantly from the kitchen table.

Two-Bit jumped as his back slammed against the door.

“Hey, Pony,” he said, regaining his composure, “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Ponyboy hoped he wouldn’t ask for any more details. He didn’t want to explain to his friend that he’d been too afraid to watch another rerun of his parents’ death with nothing he could do to stop it.

Two-Bit didn’t ask him about it. Instead, he grabbed Ponyboy’s jacket off the chair and tossed it to him. “Come on, let’s go outside so we don’t wake your brothers. I don’t wanna see Darry before he’s had his coffee.”

Ponyboy fumbled to catch the jacket and followed him outside.

The porch swing squeaked softly as he sat down. Two-Bit slid in right next to him.

Two-Bit nudged the ground with his heel, pushing the swing into a slow, easy sway. “You know,” he said, “I used to think this swing was a portal.”

Ponyboy blinked. “A portal?”

“Yeah. From the number of times Soda and I played pirates on here, it might as well have been.”

Ponyboy laughed under his breath. “I think I remember watching you walk the plank off the stairs a few times.”

Two-Bit leaned back, settling in. “Yeah, those were the days.” He paused. “Anyways, wanna hear about the time I almost joined the circus?”

Pony couldn’t help but smile. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.” Two-Bit rubbed his hands together. “So I was about eight and I decided I was going to figure out how to ride a unicycle.”

“You own a unicycle?”

“Nope! I borrowed one. Permanently. Guess I own one now.”

Ponyboy snorted.

Two-Bit continued. “I got on, found my balance, and made it about three feet before I crashed into Ms. Kellar’s rose bushes. My arms got all sliced up—you’d think I lost a battle with a paper shredder. Then Ms. Kellar came out and chased me out of her yard with a rake. I thought for sure I’d have to run off and join the circus for real after that mess.”

“You’d make a good clown,” Pony suggested.

Two-Bit grinned. “Don’t I know it, kid.”

The swing kept rocking. Crickets chirped somewhere in the yard.

Pony lay back against the swing. “What about the time you almost got caught shoplifting?”
“Ah, my great escape,” Two-Bit began, “I’m thirteen—old enough to know better but young enough to still do it—you get it, right?”

Pony nodded slowly.

“So there’s this convenience store and they have the best cholocate bars. They’ve got this caramel inside and the smoothest chocolate—a gift to this earth. I figured I deserved one.”

“You have any money?” Ponyboy asked sleepily.

“You know I didn’t have any money,” Two-Bit chuckled. “I’m thirteen and irresponsible. So I shove it into my pocket and start zipping it up. But here’s the thing: the zipper gets stuck when it’s halfway down, so I just walked out of there with this orange wrapper poking out of my pocket. The clerk saw me. I ran—fast. The fastest I’ve ever ran. He gave up after, like, six blocks. A man, it was some of the best echolocate I ever had.”

“Unbelievable.”

Two-Bit continued. “I offered to pay him back last year and he told me to scram before he called the cops.”

Pony laughed softly. The porch light buzzed gently above them. 

Two-Bit lowered his voice without even thinking about it. “You know, I used to get caught a lot. I wasn’t always causing trouble but… I don’t know, people were just expecting it. So I thought ‘might as well get good at it’.”

Ponyboy looked at him. For the first time, he thought he might have seen the real Two-Bit sitting next to him.

Two-Bit’s eyes drifted out into the yard. “Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat, “you wanna hear about the diner. That’s a good one.”

Pony nodded, resting his head back on the swing. 

“So I’m at the diner—minding my own business—and this guy thinks im the one who spilled ketchup all over the floor on the other side of the joint. Wasn’t me, by the way. But he’s coming toward me with this giant broom like he’s gonna push me right out the front door.”

Ponyboy’s eyelids fluttered closed, but Two-Bit kept talking.

“I dodged left, then right, then left again. He’s yelling about those ‘damn kids’ and shoving people out of the way to catch me, swinging that broom around like a club and—“

He glanced down as Pony’s head landed softly on his shoulder and his breathing slowed.

A small smile spread across Two-Bit’s face. “—and that,” he whispered, “is how I got banned from the best pie diner in Tulsa.”

He picked up his foot and stopped pushing the swing, letting it settle into stillness. 

For once, he didn’t fill the silence. He just let it wash over him as the peace of the night and sound of the kid breathing beside him lulled him into a comfortable kind of quiet he’d never known.

_____________________

In the morning

Darry was already outside by the time Ponyboy woke up. He wasn’t expecting to be lying on the porch swing with the blanket from the back of the couch thrown haphazardly over his legs. 

He probably wouldn’t mention it when Two-Bit came back. Instead, he’d wait to put the blanket away, and make sure Two-Bit saw it in his hands. Maybe, he’d make a comment about how well he’d slept or how comfortable he’d been—an unspoken thank you for an unspoken act of love.

Darry cradled a cup of coffee in one hand and the daily paper in the other, looking up once in a while to check on his brother or cast a worried look toward the sky. 

Ponyboy sat up slowly, noticing a slight ache in his shoulders from the night on the hardwood bench, but it would go away soon enough.

“Good morning,” Darry said softly as he set down the newspaper. 

Ponyboy rubbed his eyes. “Good morning.”

“You sleep out here last night?”

Ponyboy’s eyes couldn’t meet his. “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep so I came out here, then I fell asleep.”

Darry smiled. “I’m glad you managed to get some rest.”

The front door swung open and Soda stepped out, bearing two mugs filled to the brim with chocolate milk. He passed one to Ponyboy.

“Geez, it’s cold out here,” he said, leaning against the window.

Ponyboy tossed him the blanket off the bench before Darry could tell him to go put a shirt on.

“It’s gonna rain,” Darry said as he looked up at the sky.

Dark clouds swirled above them, heavy and slow, like they were mere moments away from breaking. The wind picked up just enough to ruffle Darry’s hair and send a few stray leaves scurrying across the yard.

Three sets of eyes fixated on the sky. Nobody spoke.

Ponyboy took a sip of his chocolate milk; Soda pulled the blanket tighter over his shoulders; Darry scrutinized the clouds like his complete and utter concentration would allow him to predict the first raindrop before it hit the ground.

Familiar footsteps sounded on the pavement as the latch on the gate squeaked open.

Two-Bit bounded up the steps with Steve close in tow. “What’s going on here?” he asked dramatically.

“We’re just looking at the sky, waiting for the storm to start,” Darry told him.

“Like a staring contest?” Two-Bit asked, grinning.

“Yeah, sure,” pony replied, not looking away.

Steve chimed in. “Who’s winning?”

“So far, I think it’s me,” Soda said.

“‘Course it is,” Steve said, throwing a Quick Look at the sky before turning back to Soda. “It’s always you.”

Soda looked away from the clouds long enough to give him a gentle shove.

The swing rattled as Two-Bit flopped onto it. “You bring snacks?”

Darry shook his head. “We didn’t even make breakfast yet.”

Pony looked away from the sky as his eyes met Two-Bit’s. “You should’ve brought chocolate,” he said, trying to hide a smile. 

Two-Bit didn’t reply, but the soft nod and his matching smile confirmed that he heard Ponyboy’s gratitude loud and clear.

Another set of quiet footsteps approached. Johnny cautiously stepped onto the porch like he wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to be there, but his friends made space for him without a word. 

Soda sat down on the steps beside him, engulfing him in the blanket as he threw an arm around his shoulder.

“You’re freezing,” he whispered, almost scolding, but his smile gave him away. 

Johnny shrugged, but pulled the fabric a little closer. “I didn’t think it was that cold.”

Steve sat down on Soda’s other side; Ponyboy, on Johnny’s.

Two-Bit leaned forward from his perch on the swing. “Man, this storm’s taking forever. I could’ve made breakfast by now.”

“You don’t know how to make breakfast,” Pony retorted.

Two-Bit gasped, pretending to be offended. “I make a mean slice of toast, kid.”

“If you like it burnt,” Steve reminded him.

“Burnt is a matter of perspective,” Two-Bit corrected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Soda asked. 

“Don’t know,” Two-Bit admitted, “read it in a magazine once.”

Laughter broke out across the porch. 

“I like this,” Johnny said quietly, “that we’re all here.”

“But we’re—“ before Ponyboy could argue that they weren’t all there, he looked around his porch and realized he was mistaken.

Dallas Winston had appeared beside them, cigarette against his lips and hands in his pocket as he leaned against the railing. Ponyboy hadn’t noticed when he arrived, but he was glad he was here. 

The clouds parted and the rain hit the earth in sheets, pounding against the roof above them and sputtering onto the sidewalk. Ponyboy slid a little closer to his friends, letting the blanket slide over his shoulders and resting his head against the swing. 

He listened to the rain, the gentle rhythm of it, and looked around at his friends—talking softly, watching the clouds, holding each other close as the sky fell around them. 

He looked around the porch, and for the first time in a long time, he saw the truest versions of his six favorite people all at once. 

The rain couldn’t touch what he’d found there. Warmth. Comfort. Their own sanctuary. 

Shelter from the storm.