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Darry had fallen asleep by the phone again.
Soda didn’t mention that he’d been doing that for a week straight, but they both knew it.
He just didn't want to miss anything.
He knew Pony hated him, was scared of him, but he hoped that maybe Soda would be enough for Pony to call and let them know he was ok.
But the phone he’d leaned his face onto rang, and he jerked awake.
He thinks he made some shocked noise in his throat, but he answered too fast to tell.
“Pony?” He says hoarsely into the phone. “Pony, is that you?”
“Mr Darrel Curtis?” The voice is serious, and Darry deliriously wants to call for his dad because that’s Mr Darrel Curtis, not him.
Then he remembers.
“Yes, sir?” he says, trying not to sound too exhausted even though this man just heard his panicked call for his little brother.
“Are you in charge of Ponyboy Curtis?’ The man sounds remarkably bored for the life changing news he’s dropping on Darry at the moment.
Soda pokes his head out of his bedroom, woken up by Darry’s freakout, and sees him on the phone.
Is it Pony? He mouths.
Maybe. Darry mouths back, ushering Soda over so he can hear too.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your little brother was caught in a church fire. He’s currently at the hospital. He’s alright, but we need you to come here and pick him up.” Darry hardly hears him over the ringing in his ears.
His brother. Caught in a fire. In the hospital.
He doesn't even notice when Soda drags him in the car and starts speeding down the road to the hospital. He doesn’t remember hanging up the phone, and somewhere in the back of his mind he hopes Soda did because they can’t afford a phone call that long.
Soda abandons him as soon as they arrive in the lobby of the hospital. His little brother runs ahead, turning seemingly random corners in his search for their brother.
Finally, through the hazy corners of his vision, he sees Soda focus on something and start sprinting even faster towards it. Darry follows just as quick, finally seeing what Soda is going to.
His hair is an awful, damaged blonde, and he’s shaking and covered in soot, but it’s Ponyboy.
Pony doesn’t seem to see Darry at first, burying his head in Soda’s chest and mumbling things about Johnny and Dally and Darry. Soda runs a hand over Pony’s dry hair and whispers comforts to him.
Finally, Pony pulls back and locks eyes with Darry.
And the fear in those eyes must be from Darry himself. It has to be. Because this is all his fault.
His chest hurts, and his head aches, and his eyes feel unfamiliarly wet. Darry feels a sob fight its way out of his mouth, and before he knows it he’s holding onto his baby brother for dear life, crying harder than he’s ever cried in his life.
A week’s worth of worry, stress, exhaustion, and guilt is wept into his poor brother’s poor hair.
Soda looks at him, struck to stillness at the scene before him. Darry fumbles around behind Pony’s back, trying to reach out to Soda through his blurry vision, and he meets the shirt sleeve of his sweet, too good for this world brother. He yanks Soda’s stiff frame into his arms too, and cries even harder.
A nurse is hovering awkwardly behind him, but he can’t find it in himself to pull it together enough to talk to her.
Pony smells like smoke and blood, and it smells so unlike his brother that he finds himself shaking violently and he wishes he could stop.
“I’m so sorry, Ponyboy,” he mumbles, voice thick and wet.
“I forgive you. I forgive you. I’m sorry too. I forgive you.” Neither of them know how long they stand there, repeating the same phrases over and over, but Soda has to be the one to break away and speak to the nurse.