Chapter Text
The night fell heavy over Tulsa, settling like a thick blanket over the Curtis house. The gang had gathered in their usual spot, the living room, waiting for Darry to come home from work. Soda and Ponyboy sat on the couch, Soda tossing a bottle cap between his fingers, and Johnny, perched on the armrest, was staring out the window like always. Two-Bit was making dumb jokes, trying to get a laugh out of the guys while Dallas sprawled lazily across the worn armchair, cigarette hanging from his lips.
Darry was late—again.
"Think he's got a girl on the side?" Two-Bit teased, trying to ease the tension. But nobody laughed. It was weird for Darry to be this late, especially when he knew the gang was hanging out. Ponyboy fidgeted with his hands, glancing at the clock on the wall.
"Maybe he's just stuck at the plant," Soda said, his voice trying to sound easy but failing miserably. Everyone knew Darry worked too hard, always picking up extra shifts, always pushing himself to the edge to take care of his brothers and the gang. He was the backbone of them all. Strong. Steady. Unshakable.
Except tonight, something felt off. Ponyboy could feel it in the air, thick and oppressive, like the calm before a storm.
The front door creaked open, and Darry stepped in, looking exhausted but wearing that familiar smile he saved for when he saw his brothers. His hair was damp with sweat, his clothes stained from a long day's work. He kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the floor, his muscles tensing for a moment like he was working out the kinks from the day.
"About time!" Two-Bit shouted from the kitchen, lifting a beer in Darry’s direction. "Thought you'd run off and joined the circus."
Darry chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Long day."
Soda got up, walking over to slap Darry on the back. "You look like hell, man."
"Feel like it, too," Darry said, rubbing his neck. He moved to the fridge, pulling out a beer. But the minute he twisted the cap off, something shifted.
It was so subtle at first, no one noticed. Darry stood still for a second too long, his eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. Ponyboy was the first to see it, the way his brother’s hand twitched, the bottle slipping from his grip and crashing to the floor.
"Darry?" Pony’s voice was small, uncertain.
Darry’s body jerked. His knees buckled, and before anyone could react, he collapsed onto the ground, his whole body seizing violently. His muscles locked up, eyes rolling back in his head, and a choked sound escaped his throat.
The room froze. It was like everything came to a standstill as they watched Darry—their rock, their protector—writhing on the floor, completely out of control. No one knew what to do. It was terrifying, seeing the strongest person they knew reduced to this, so vulnerable, so helpless.
"Darry!" Soda yelled, diving to his brother’s side. He grabbed Darry’s hand, trying to hold him down, but the tremors were too much. "What’s happening?"
Ponyboy was paralyzed, standing there with wide eyes, not sure if he was dreaming or living some kind of nightmare. He couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t supposed to happen to Darry. Darry wasn’t supposed to break.
"Move!" Dallas barked, shoving Soda aside. His hands trembled, and despite his rough exterior, there was panic in his eyes. He’d seen plenty of violence in his life—more than anyone in the room—but this, seeing Darry like this, was something else. Something unbearable.
"Get a blanket," Dally growled, his voice cracking as he tried to keep it together. "Something to keep him from hurting himself!"
Two-Bit, for once, wasn’t cracking jokes. He was deadly serious, running to grab something to cushion Darry’s head. His heart was racing, and he felt like his world was spinning out of control. This was Darry. The guy who never let anything slip. The one who held them all together, and now he was falling apart right in front of them.
Johnny hovered in the background, terrified and unsure of what to do, but it was Two-Bit who came in, pressing the blanket beneath Darry’s head and kneeling beside him. “Hold on, man. We got you.”
Dally knelt on the other side, teeth gritted, watching Darry’s face, helpless. "Come on, Darry. Don't do this," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
The seizure felt like it lasted an eternity. In reality, it was probably only a minute or two, but those seconds stretched on forever. Finally, Darry’s body stopped convulsing. His muscles went slack, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He lay there on the floor, motionless, his eyes half-open, but he wasn’t really seeing anything.
“Darry?” Soda whispered, his voice breaking. He shook his brother’s shoulder gently. “Darry, wake up.”
For a terrifying moment, there was no response. Darry’s chest barely moved, his skin pale and clammy. Soda looked up at Dally, eyes pleading, searching for answers, but Dallas didn’t have any. Not this time.
"We need to get him to a hospital," Dally said, his voice thick with emotion. "Now."
Two-Bit grabbed his jacket. "I’ll start the car." His voice was uncharacteristically sharp, no trace of the usual jokes or laughter. The room felt suffocating as they scrambled to lift Darry, supporting his dead weight between them.
As they bundled Darry into the back of Two-Bit's car, Ponyboy squeezed into the seat next to him, holding onto his brother's hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. Darry was still unconscious, his head resting against Pony’s shoulder, and all Pony could think about was how unfair it was. Darry didn’t deserve this. He worked himself to the bone for them, sacrificed everything, and this—this was how life repaid him?
The drive to the hospital was a blur. Soda’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he looked back every few seconds, terrified that Darry would seize again. Two-Bit drove like a man possessed, tires screeching around corners, and Dallas sat in stony silence, eyes hard, like if he could just be angry enough, he could somehow fix this.
They made it to the hospital in record time, bursting through the emergency room doors with Darry’s limp form between them. Nurses rushed over, pulling him onto a stretcher, and suddenly, he was being whisked away, out of sight, out of their hands.
The waiting room was cold, sterile, and the gang was left there, completely powerless. They were always used to being in control—fighting, running, surviving—but this was something they couldn’t fight. Something they couldn’t fix with fists or switchblades.
Ponyboy sat, numb, staring at the tiled floor. Soda paced restlessly, running his hands through his hair, muttering under his breath. Two-Bit leaned against the wall, uncharacteristically quiet, and Dallas…Dallas just stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes burning with unshed tears.
The hours dragged on. No one said a word. No one knew what to say.
Finally, a doctor came out, clipboard in hand, and the gang stood as one, holding their breath, waiting for the verdict. The doctor looked tired, sympathetic, and when he spoke, his words felt like knives.
"Darry’s stable for now. It looks like he had a seizure, likely brought on by extreme exhaustion and stress. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse."
Lucky. That word hung in the air, bitter and sharp.
Darry wasn’t supposed to need luck. He was supposed to be invincible.
But as they walked into the hospital room, seeing Darry lying there, hooked up to machines, pale and vulnerable, they realized that maybe they had been wrong all along.
He was human. And sometimes, even the strongest people break