Archive of Our Own ^beta

The kitchen smelled like fried eggs and hot grease, that kind of familiar, warm, heavy smell. It was hot and loud, pans clattering as Donna moved between the stove and the counter, the radio murmuring softly in the background. She was focused, shoulders tight, trying to get dinner done before everything boiled over, literally and figuratively. 

In the small bedroom, Ponyboy’s cries cut through the air like a siren. 

He was red-faced and shaking, little fists tangled in his blanket, breath coming in broken hiccups. Pony didn’t know why he felt wrong, only that he did, and usually that meant his dad would appear to soothe him.

“Hey, hey, what's wrong?” Darry soothed, circling the cot until Ponyboy could see him. He picked Ponyboy up from the cot, bouncing him slightly like he’d seen his parents do a thousand times, first with Soda and later Pony. “It’s okay, I got you.”

But Ponyboy didn’t want him.

Pony continued to wail, his cries becoming louder with every minute that passed.

Darry winced, swallowing thickly. He glanced towards the doorway, his dad’s voice floating in from the other room, calm and amused. Soda giggling and mimicking him in response. Darry could picture it, Soda perched on his dad’s hip, bright curls bouncing, his dad pulling funny faces just to hear that laugh again. 

Darry focused on Pony again, face all screwed up in a way that tugged at his heart. His dad had been trying to get Darry to help with Ponyboy, so this was all up to him. He had an idea. It felt smart in his head, genius even. The kind of idea only a kid would think was foolproof. If his dad couldn’t come to Ponyboy, then he would just have to become his dad. 

He gently set Pony down into the cot, even though Pony started to protest immediately, his cries growing to scarily close to screams.

Darry’s eyes scanned the room, eventually stopping on the chair in the corner of the room. His dad’s signature coat draped over the arm of the chair, and shoved his arms through the long sleeves and tugged it on, almost stumbling under the weight. It smelled like aftershave and mom’s cooking, like safety. He straightened his posture just like he’d seen his dad do many times before. 

“There,” he said, trying to deepen his voice. “See? It’s okay.”

Pony sniffed, big watery eyes blinking up at him

The crying slowed, his breath hitched, the occasional hiccup slipping past his lips. A tiny smile broke through, then a laugh. It was small and surprised, like Pony couldn’t believe what he was seeing. That small laugh grew into a real laugh, high and bright.

Darry felt something bloom in his chest, warm and proud. Nothing matched the feeling of making his kid brothers laugh. He did it. He fixed it. He helped. 

He reached into the coat pocket without thinking, just like his dad always had. His fingers brushed something papery.  He pulled the object out, curious. It was…a box? 

It was small, made of flimsy cardboard that didn’t smell pleasant, like something that had burned. The back was covered in small sentences, the contents of whatever was in it he realised.

He turned the box over in his hands, reading the matte black words printed on the front of the box. Cigarettes. He opened the box to a single cigarette sliding haphazardly when he tilted it to look inside. 

Darry took it out to inspect it. He stared at it, turning it over between his fingers. He’d seen older boys on the street with them, seen his dad light one when he thought nobody was watching him. Dad never smoked around them, said he didn't want to influence them, always said it was bad for their health, but Darry didn’t think so. It was probably one of those adult things that his parents didn't want him to do until he was older, like when his mom said he couldn’t drive just because his dad could.

Darry didn’t really think much about it, he just wanted to be like his dad. His dad couldn’t get too mad if it helped Pony calm down. 

He stuck it between his teeth. He didn’t know it was supposed to be lit. He didn’t know anything except that it made Ponyboy laugh harder when it dangled crookedly from his lips.

Darry laughed around the cigarette, chewing the end of it slightly. It didn’t taste nice at all, but he couldn't risk Pony crying like that again, his heart won’t, no, can’t handle it. 

The bitter taste of the cigarette mixed with the smallest hints of sweetness that lingered on his tongue. Pony was calm, so whatever he was doing must've been working. He chewed and chewed until he almost gagged with the strong taste of the chewed-up tobacco. Before he realised, nearly half of it was gone, and Pony was drifting off, closing his eyes and then jerking his head up to watch and giggle softly at Darry as sleep was threatening to take over.

Darry grinned softly, and then his vision shifted.

The room tilted sharply, like the floor had dropped out from under him. His head was throbbing incessantly, a crushing pressure building up behind his eyes. His mouth filled with saliva, thick and bitter, as his stomach twisted violently. 

“Woah-” Darry staggered, reaching for the wall next to him.

He missed. His hand sliced through empty air.

His knees buckled as he stumbled around the small room, trying to steady himself. He wasn't sure where he was trying to go, but his body eventually collapsed behind the cot with a dull thud, the oversized coat tangling behind his legs, doing nothing to cushion the fall. 

The cigarette, soggy from chewing, slipped from his mouth, landing on the floor, bitten clean through. 

Pain ripped through his gut, sharp and relentless. Darry curled into himself instinctively, knees drawn tight to his chest.  

His muscles jerked uncontrollably, unrelentless tremors running through his body. A cold sweat broke out all over his skin, dampening his hair, his clothes, the coat.

His heart was racing so fast it felt like it might tear its way out through his ribs and rip through his skin. 

Pony’s soft giggling stopped abruptly.

There was a pause, one small, terrible second where Pony just stared at the now empty space where Darry had just been. Then his face crumpled, and he screamed. Not the wailing of an unsettled child, but one of pure terror and confusion as he watches his big brother writhe on the floor in pain. 

Darrell came running in, Soda still on his hip. “Pony? What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t see Darry from where he stood. But Soda could see it from where he was perched on his hip.

Soda started babbling incoherently as he tried to form the words. He pointed, squirming violently, little hands pushing at his dad’s chest. He let out a sharp cry of his own as he accidentally smacked his dad in the face while struggling.

“Hey, hey, Soda, what’s going on with you?” Darrell frowned distractedly, trying to soothe him.

Donna burst in, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “What in the world is going on in here?” She asked as she reached for Soda out of habit, lifting him from Darrell's arms and turning slightly to look at Ponyboy. Then freezing halfway.

She saw the hair first. Dark, familiar.

“Darry?” Her voice cracked.

She shoved Soda back into Darrell's arms without explanation and dropped to her knees. Darry was on the floor, curled tight, shaking, his face pale and slick with sweat. His eyes fluttered when she touched his shoulder, unfocused and glassy. 

“Oh God… oh God.” Her breath hitched as she spotted the chewed-up ends of the cigarette on the floor. “No, no, no…”

Darrell followed her a moment after. He gasped as he took in the scene, panic slamming into him all at once.

He moved faster than he thought possible, placing Soda down in the cot with Ponyboy so he couldn’t get to the cigarette still on the floor. He kneeled next to Donna, scooping Darry up carefully, cradling him like he was made out of glass. Darry groaned softly, clutching at his stomach, body still trembling.

Pony was still crying in the cot, hiding his tiny face in the crook of Soda’s neck, his fingers grasping with all the strength a baby could possess. Soda was crying quietly, watching the scene without understanding, his breath hitching every once in a while. His fingers were clutching Ponyboy close so tight his knuckles were turning white. 

Darrell ran to the truck, placing Darry in the back carefully, while Donna called Mrs. Mathews to watch Soda and Ponyboy before running to the truck, and they sped off towards the hospital. 

By the time they reached the hospital, Darry was barely conscious.

He lay curled up on the gurney, knees drawn up, arms still wrapped tightly around his middle. His clothes were spotted with dark spots from the sweat, his heart hadn’t slowed, if anything, it got worse. Thick saliva pooled at the corner of his mouth, trying to fight off the rising nausea fruitlessly. There was nothing he could do but turn his head weakly and vomit, shaking with the effort. 

There were hands everywhere. Touching, poking and pushing. He wished for it to stop; it hurt. It hurt. He wanted to scream and beg his parents to make it stop, for his mom to sing to him and tuck him into bed and tell him everything would be alright, but he couldn't see her. His eyes were too blurry.

Where was his mom? He wanted his mom.

Donna stood frozen in the waiting room as they took her son away, hands pressed to her lips, eyes shining with tears. Darrell hovered helplessly, one hand gripping the rail, the other shaking as he laid a hand on Donna’s shoulder, feeling her breath hitch.

Darry looked so small like that, curled up, his head tossing as he searched for his parents. 

************

“7 year old male, symptoms are hypertension, fever, vomiting, nausea, abdominal pain and muscle tremors.” 

The doctors wheeled Darry further down the hall until Donna couldn't hear him anymore and broke down sobbing, turning into Darrel’s shoulder as he squeezed her tight, kissing her forehead.

Meanwhile, Darry was being rushed into a room in the ICU, still curled up in merciless pain, where he heard muffled voices all around him. The lights above him were too bright, making his head pulse in time with his racing heart. Someone grabbed one of his arms, and without warning, he felt a sharp prick on his arm, but was too weak to protest. There was a light pressure on his pointer finger too, but he couldn't bear to move to see what it was; his muscles weren't listening to him and he hurt, he hurt so bad. 
    
The sound of machines beeping madly filled the room, but the IVs Darry was hooked up to lessened the incessant throbbing in his head, though just barely. His mouth was still filling up with saliva, but now his heart rate started to slow down, the cold sweat sticking to his skin, his hair, and most importantly his dad's coat, hanging loosely around his fragile frame. 

Someone began to touch his face and he whined when a bright light was shone in both his eyes. 

“Doctor, pupils aren't reactive.”

“Hey sweetie, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?”. Darry heard the voice trying to reach him, but it was lost to the sea of pain, he couldn't tell where it was coming from. 

He started to cry, but stopped as soon as he started when he felt the pain suddenly intensify from his weak attempts of communication.

“He's hypotensive and bradycardic,” Someone in the room put something cold on his chest, really cold, “Difficulty breathing too, he might go into hypovolemic shock.”

“Get me vasopressors and 2 bags of O negative stat.”

Darry tried to take deep breaths, but they were shallow and quick.

“Push 400mcg dopamine.” 
       
Darry heard a drawer being opened and closed before someone stood next to him. A nurse administered the drug into his tiny body. It started to calm his body down as intended. The doctors shone a bright blinding light into his eyes again making his head throb and his eyes water.

“Pupils still unreactive, but bradycardia’s gone.”

All of a sudden, Darry couldn't breathe. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest. 

His vitals, which were previously holding steady on the monitor with white numbers, were now a glaring red and alarms blaring incessantly. Darry was getting no oxygen and began to thrash around wildly on the gurney, clawing at everything within his reach.

“CODE BLUE, I NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!” 

Darry did hear the shouting voice, at least at first, but the longer the invisible force weighed down his chest, the less he could hear and feel his surroundings. 

Then, he saw a light.

This one was different, it felt different. It wasn't forcing Darry to focus, it felt calm, and weirdly magnetic. 

“HE'S CRASHING, CALL A CODE!”

Darry found himself slowly slipping towards that light, but a lightning-like sensation ripped him away, sending him hurtling into complete darkness.

“I’ve got a pulse.”, sighed a nurse, slightly out of breath. “It’s faint but it’s there.” She glanced at the monitor before drawing her attention back to the unresponsive boy that lay with his arms sprawled out on the bed, 2 angry iron-shaped marks on his chest from where they shocked his heart back into rhythm. “He’s comatose. Heart rate 55, oxygenation 91. I want him on a ventilator. Keep an eye on him; Thorpe, come with me, we’re going to speak to the parents.”

****************

Donna and Darrel sat by their baby boy’s side, one hand holding Darry’s, the other holding each other’s. After the nurse had explained what happened in that short period of time, he requested all the details of the event before finally giving permission to see their son. 

Darry looked ghoulish, all the colour drained from his face. His limp body lay relaxed in the centre of the sterile hospital bed. The only bit of colour near him was the activated charcoal entering his system to rid him of the nicotine. 

While Darrel cleared out a space in the back of the truck, Donna carried Darry’s pliable frame, while Mrs. Matthews took Soda and Pony in her car back to her house. Donna yelled out that the kids would only be there for a couple of hours, but there was a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach; they all knew this was far more serious than they had imagined.

The doctors mentioned that the activated charcoal would bind to the nicotine going through his system, but it would be well into the night before they’d be seeing any improvements. 

*time skip*

Donna looked at the bleak clock that hung on the wall above the patient bed, which read 4.07. She was exhausted beyond words, but at the same time too agitated to sleep, unlike Darrel, who was sitting in one of the visitors’ chairs, Soda curled up against his side, and Pony sprawled out next to Darry on the firm mattress, which was the only way he agreed to sleep.

Donna’s head snapped up when the nurse that queried her and Darrel earlier entered the room, closing the sliding door behind him.

“Do you know when he’ll wake?” Donna whispered hopefully, cautious of her resting family.

“There’s no definite time, but according to other patient files with similar cases, it might be a day or so before he does, but he seems like a healthy boy, I’d give it about half a day, maybe until the evening.”

Donna looked at her son’s fragile body and tears pooled in her eyes.

“Mrs. Curtis” he spoke softly, “I know it may feel like it’s your fault, like you should've been there, like maybe you could’ve stopped what happened; but the truth is, nothing could’ve prepared you for this, it could’ve happened to anyone’s son, and I believe that young Darry here” he nodded in Darry’s general direction “will get over it before you can even process it, and he’ll go back to driving you crazy in no time.”

“Yeah, I guess”, she breathed out, a faint smile ghosting her lips. 

“How about you get some sleep, hm? I’ll bring another chair in.”

“Thank you Doctor.”

She looked back at Darry’s body once more, thanking the heavens he was strong enough to pull through. If she had lost him…… it would break her.

The doctor came back a minute later with the chair, as promised, and she thanked him, sitting down carefully, chair scraping quietly as she set it next to Darry's bed. 

She glanced at the clock. 4.18.

She exhaled gently and closed her eyes, letting sleep consume her.

*time skip*

Donna slept surprisingly well, nothing woke her, not even the sound of Ponyboy’s cries of hunger could wake her from her deep slumber.

Instead, a quite grumpy Darrel had to deal with him and Soda, because if Ponyboy was crying, Soda also wanted to cry. So now, at 9.28, Darrel found himself walking towards the elevator with two cranky, crying children, trying to find a sign pointing to the cafeteria so they could all eat some well-deserved breakfast. Darrel prayed they had baby food, cause if not, he’d have to wake up Donna. Just the thought of waking her up sent shivers down his spine.

Meanwhile, in the room, Donna was still passed out when one of the nurses who tended to Darry when they admitted him came to do an examination of Darry’s state. She knew better than to disturb a sleeping mother, so she did her work quietly, and in the end noted everything on the chart hanging at the foot of the bed.

9.31am. No major physical changes; heart rate 52, oxygenation 94, pupils still non-reactive.

She slipped out of the room mere minutes before Donna woke up.

Donna rubbed her eyes and confusion took over as she forgot yesterday’s events, until her bleary eyes focused on her eldest son’s peaceful state before her. It took her a minute, but the silence alerted her of her missing husband and sons. 

She stayed next to Darry until her stomach was rumbling to the point where she felt like she couldn’t wait any longer and got up to grab some breakfast in the cafeteria just as Darrel and the kids returned, happy and with full bellies.

“Morning,” Donna greeted, “ I was just about to go grab some breakfast.”

“No need honey, I brought you back a sandwich, how does cheese-lettuce-tomato sound?”
 
“Amazing, thank you.” She gratefully took the sandwich before taking Soda into her arms and sitting back down into the hard chair.

10.13

Donna inhaled deeply while unwrapping her sandwich. If the doctors were right, it would still be all afternoon before she could communicate with her son.

“Hey honey, how about I take the kids home for lunch? Give you some space, and they get fussy if they’re anywhere for too long.”

“If you want to come back later, drop them off at Sarah’s, Pony and Soda love seeing Keith.”

“I’ll be back soon Don.” said Darrel, kissing her forehead before taking Pony into his arms and grabbing Soda’s hand to lead them out of the cramped hospital room.

10.19

The nurse that gave her the chair last night came back to check up on the both of them.

“Good morning Mrs. Curtis, how are you today?” he asked politely, closing the door behind him.

“Well,” she breathed, looking at her comatose son, “could definitely be better.”

“Where are you kids, breakfast?”

“No, Darrel just took them home, but he should be back after lunch.”

The nurse hummed in response before taking out his stethoscope to check Darry’s lungs, to see if they’re clear enough to take him off the ventilator.

“Good news,” he chirped after listening to Darry’s chest in multiple locations, “I think this”, he stretched, reaching for the plastic globular cone on Darry’s round face, gently taking it off while reaching around the back of his head to carefully remove the elastic that immobilised the mask, “can come off.”

He set the mask aside before checking Darry’s vitals on the bright screen. “O2's sat at 96, that’s an improvement I like to see.” 

The monitor began to beep faster and confusion flashed over his face. He checked Darry’s pulse by pressing his index and middle fingers against the boy’s jugular vein, before his expression changed to something much happier.

“Mrs. Curtis,” he began, grinning at her, “His heart has begun to speed up. I think he’ll be awake within the hour.”

Hopeful tears reflected gratitude in Donna’s eyes before she thanked the kind nurse and he left the room.

“Darry, baby, are you in there?”, she whispered, treating him as a fragile trinket, hand ghosting over his. 

“Did you hear what the nurse said? He said you’re fighting it, and you’re doing such a good job honey. You just need to fight a little bit longer, okay? I’m right here, take as much time as you need.”

Donna was true to her word; she sat there holding his hand, murmuring sweet nothing to him while he fought. She nearly didn’t notice Darrel come into the room, carrying home-made lunch in a brown paper bag that was slightly crumpled at the edges.

“How’s he doing Don?” He sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the room, handing her the packed lunch on the way.

“The nurse was here again at about 10.20, he said that Darry could wake within an hour, but it’s almost half past eleven.”, Donna fretted.

“It’s alright honey, you know there’s no way we can know for certain when hes gonna wake up, how ‘bout you take a break in the cafeteria, get yourself a coffee there, eat your sandwich, and I’ll stay right here with him, you do look like you need a little bit of a break.”

Donna chuckled airily before agreeing. “Fine, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She stood up, backs of her knees moving the chair back a couple of inches before she turned around and slipped out of the room.

Darry let out a long sigh before heading to sit in Donna’s now empty chair. He stared at his eldest son, lying limp, helpless, on the patient bed. He couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath and a tear slipped from his eye, rolling down his cheek, leaving a salty trail behind before sliding off his jaw, leaving a tiny dark patch on his sleeve from where it fell.

What Donna didn’t know, was that after he had put the kids to bed the night before, he gathered all his concealed cigarette packets, (which there was only 5 of, but he wasn’t taking any chances), tilted the contents of them out into a shallow hole in their backyard and lit them on fire. Granted, it wasn’t the best way to get rid of the cigarettes, and it wasn’t the quickest, and it left a smell behind, but as long as they didn’t exist anymore, Darrel was content. He couldn’t go through that again; not now, not ever. 

He was deep in thought when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and flinched at the sensation. Donna stood behind him, coffee in one hand, concern embedded in her eyes. Darrel turned his head back towards his song, before discreetly wiping his glassy eyes and standing, letting Donna have the seat as he shuffled back to the one remaining chair in the room.

“Darrel”, she uttered, worry framing her features. 

“Don’t worry about me honey, really.” 

Donna took a breath, watching him for a couple seconds more before giving him a hesitant nod and turned her attention back to her son, catching his hand. The room was deathly silent except for the gentle sounds of all their breaths until Darry’s heart monitor began beeping more rapidly than before, the big number reading 78.

Donna didn’t know what that meant and hurried to the door. 

“Nurse?" she yelled, voice echoing in the hallway. 

The nurse nearest to her happened to be the one who charted his vitals in the morning. When she noticed Donna’s expression of panic, she ignored the stack of papers she was focused on and scuttled to the room, examining the monitor while placing the back of her hand on Darry’s forehead, checking his temperature.

“Vitals are good, no fever, normal pulse.” She noticed Darry’s eyelids twitching and a small smile crept onto her face. “I think he’s trying to wake up. I’ll go get Nurse Thorpe.” She strode out of the room but Donna paid no heed to her as she was currently standing over Darry, squeezing his hand, begging him to wake up.

“Come on, honey, I know you're in there, you can do it.”

Darry’s eyelids fluttered faster and his heartbeat slowly creeped up to 84. Darrel rose silently from his chair and made his way to his son, eyes welling up. He delicately grabbed Darry’s hand.

“Darry, c’mon buddy, I know you have it in you, please buddy, you can do this, I know you can.”

Donna stared at her husband, mouth slightly agape. Darrel never really showed much emotion, but she was glad the love he had for their son rose to the surface so she could truly see how much he cared. She turned back to Darry when she felt his little hand jerked underneath her palm. 

“Yes honey, come on, you’re so close, you’re almost there.”

***********

Darkness. Silence.

For a whole day, that’s all Darry could sense. There was no pain, no fear of vomiting all over himself, no pains in his stomach, no throbbing headache, no feeling like he was going to be split in half. But there was no Ponyboy, no Sodapop, no mom, and worst of all, no dad. 

He tried to move, but nothing was working. He knew he had arms and legs, so why weren’t they moving?

A long time passed. Darry was bored, but mainly scared. If he got into this place, then he could get out of it. So he tried. He fought. He fought so hard that it nearly started to hurt. Over time, he grew exhausted, and stopped fighting so hard. That was until…..

“Darrel.”

“Don’t worry about me honey, really.”

Wait, he recognised those voices…..

WAS THAT MOM AND DAD?

Now Darry was fighting harder than ever before, and he began to notice a faint glow covering the darkness, nearly replacing it.

He felt a squeeze on his hand. 

“Come on, honey, I know you're in there, you can do it.”

Mom was so close, he could feel her hands on his. There was another hand on his other side.

“Darry, c’mon buddy, I know you have it in you, please buddy, you can do this, I know you can.”

Dad.

He focused on his parents’ hands encasing his, providing the support he needed to fight the darkness, which was getting lighter by the second.

“Yes honey, come on, you’re so close, you’re almost there.”

Only a bit more, come onnnn. He reached for the white light, feeling it in his grasp when—

He broke through.

Donna held her breath. Darrel didn’t move.

Darry cracked open his right eye, trying to adjust to the light. Then he opened the other, wincing at the intensity of the light.

“Mom? Dad?” he asked, voice cracking.

“Oh honey,” Donna wailed, cupping her face in her hands. She leaned over the bed, nearly suffocating Darry again in a motherly hug.

*Time skip*

Darry didn’t remember much about leaving the hospital. 

He remembered his mom fussing over him, tucking a coat around his shoulders even though it was warm outside. The coat looked familiar but in the haze but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He remembered his dad lifting him into the truck like he weighed nothing at all, careful and steady, like Darry might shatter if held too tightly. He remembered the hum of the engine and the way exhaustion crept up on him, eventually dragging him down until the world blurred again. 

What he did remember clearly was waking up at home.

The house was quiet in that late afternoon way, sunlight slipping through the cracks in the blinds of the living room window and painting the walls gold. Darry lay on the couch, wrapped up in one of Mom’s blankets, his head pounding dully but nothing like before. The smell of home, laundry soap, old wood and something warm cooking, settled around him comfortably. Although he did note the smell of smoke seemed to have disappeared. 

He shifted, just a little.

A sound echoed through the hallway.

A soft, breathy sound.

Ponyboy.

Darry’s heart jumped painfully in his chest. He pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing, before he could stop himself.

“Pony?” His voice came out rough, barely louder than a whisper.

There was a pause.

Then hurried footsteps. Donna appeared in the doorway, Pony perched on her hip, his face red and blotchy, his little hands clutching at her shirt. He was crying harder now, the kind of deep, frightened sobs that came from confusion and fear.

It looked like he had a nightmare.

Donna froze when she saw Darry sitting up.

“Oh- Darry, honey, you shouldn’t-”

Ponyboy’s cries cut off mid-sob.

His head snapped up. 

Big, watery eyes locked onto Darry.

For a second, Pony just stared, chest hitching, like he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Then he made a small, broken sound. Like a half gasp, half sob, then reached out with both arms.

Donna and Darry stood frozen as Ponyboy started to clench and unclench his fists. Donna snapped out of it when Pony started to take a deep breath as if to release another broken sob.

Donna’s breath caught. She didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room and carefully lowered Ponyboy into Darry’s arms.

The second Ponyboy felt him, felt his warmth, his solid chest and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, he went completely still.

No more crying.

No more shaking.

He buried his face into Darry’s shirt and clung to him like he was afraid Darry might disappear again. Darry wrapped his arms around him instinctively, holding him close, pressing his cheek to Ponyboy’s soft hair.

“I’m here,” Darry murmured, voice thick. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Ponyboy sniffled, tiny fingers curling tight in Darry’s shirt, but he didn’t cry again. His breathing slowly evened out, little hiccups fading until he was just quiet.

From the doorway, Darrel watched, his jaw tight and his eyes shining. Soda peeked out from behind his leg, sticky fingers clinging to the fabric of his dads jeans. 

Donna wiped at her eyes, smiling through the tears.

The house felt whole again.

Darry held Pony a little closer, heart aching and full all at once, and for the first time since everything had gone wrong, he knew, really knew, that he was home.