Chapter Text
When Ponyboy wakes up, he notices two things.
The first is that someone—maybe two people—are talking. The voices are a low background hum, and Ponyboy can’t make out what they are saying. He’s too out of it to really try very hard anyway.
The second is that he is not in his own bed. He can tell that even without moving that it’s too stiff and too small. The air tastes like metal and smells faintly like bleach, making his nose itch. Ponyboy’s hand twitches.
“Ponyboy?” Somebody’s hand fumbles to grab his.
The voice is familiar, but Ponyboy can’t place it. His eyes are heavy, and it takes more effort than it probably should for Ponyboy to open his eyes. The first thing he sees is Sodapop staring down at him. He’s in a wrinkled DX shirt, and loose strands of his wheat gold hair fall into his face. He’s got something—grease or oil—just above his left temple, somehow making his dark eyes look even darker. The light casts sharp shadows across his face, and it doesn’t help Sodapop’s pale complexion. There’s a sheen to his eyes that Ponyboy doesn’t understand.
“Hey,” Ponyboy manages, his voice scratchy and too quiet.
“Hey.” Sodapop tries to smile.
A deeper voice speaks up from the corner of the room. “How do you feel, kiddo?”
Ponyboy looks past Sodapop’s shoulder to see Darry in the corner of the room. He looks cleaner than Sodapop, but no less worn. He’s wearing a red flannel that once belonged to their father, and his hair looks like he’s raked his hand through it one too many times.
“Um…” Ponyboy blinks a few times, trying without much success to clear his head. Soda frowns.
“It’s okay,” Darry says quickly. Ponyboy looks at him. The sudden rush of reassurance feels… unusual, but he can’t read his eldest brother’s expression. “Doc said you might be a little out of it when you woke up.”
Ponyboy nods, blinking owlishly. Sodapop looks back at Darry, who subtly shakes his head.
“What?” Ponyboy asks, looking between them. They share another glance.
“It’s nothing, Pone,” Sodapop replies, but glances back at Darry again.
Ponyboy wants to argue — as foggy as he feels, he can tell that his brothers aren’t telling him something — but his disagreement is cut off with a yawn. “What time is it?” he asks instead.
“About 3.” Darry pushes himself off the wall he’d been leaning against and walks to the side opposite of where Sodapop is sitting.
“In the morning?” Ponyboy looks at him. Darry leans against the wall again as if he’s too exhausted to stand up on his own. He nods, and Ponyboy frowns. “How long have I been here?”
“A while,” Darry says evasively. There’s something off about his voice, but Ponyboy can’t place it, and his eyelids are beginning to feel heavy again. Darry pushes his hair back.
“Go to sleep, kiddo,” Soda says softly. “We’ll be here when you wake.”
–
“Really?”
“Doc said it was possible.”
There’s a low whistle. “Maybe it’s for the best, Sodapop. Given everything… maybe it’s better if he doesn’t remember.”
“But Steve… if he doesn’t remember, then who is going to tell us what happened? Two-Bit’s sure as hell not—”
“Sodapop.”
The conversation cuts out abruptly as Ponyboy opens his eyes, squinting momentarily against the glare of the lights above. Ponyboy can tell he’s still in the hospital, but he feels more awake than the last time. He’s hungry, he realizes, despite a soreness in his stomach that he cannot explain. Ponyboy tries to push himself up, but there is suddenly a firm hand on his chest gently pushing him back down.
“Not so fast,” Soda says. Ponyboy realizes that he’s changed shirts and washed his face. “How do you feel?”
“Good,” Ponyboy answers without thinking about it.
Soda sighs. “Ponyboy—”
“When do I get to go home?”
Steve scoffs from the doorway. He looks the same as he always has, in worn denim blue jeans and a green t-shirt. “You’ve been awake less than two minutes and already are asking about going home.”
“Can you blame me?” Ponyboy asks, cocking an eyebrow. The entire gang has always hated hospitals.
The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches. “I’ll give you that one, kid.” He looks at Soda. “I’ll go call Darry. He’ll want to know.”
“Thanks,” Soda replies as Steve walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. He blows out a long breath before turning back to look at Ponyboy. “How are you, really ?”
“I’m fine, Sodapop.”
Sodapop doesn’t believe him. Ponyboy can tell. But the older Curtis brother lets it drop for now. He moves to look out the window. It’s not until the sunlight streaming in through the blinds hits his face that Ponyboy realizes how dark the circles under his brother’s eyes are. How pale he looks. He hasn’t been getting enough sleep, and Ponboy’s stomach twists with guilt.
“Soda,” he says, and Soda turns around immediately. “Go get some sleep. I’ll be all right.”
“I ain’t leaving. Besides,” Sodapop replies, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I can’t sleep much anyway.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Pone…” Sodapop looks at him and sighs, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. He tries again. “You don’t remember anything?”
It hadn’t occurred to Ponyboy until then that he hadn’t put much thought into why he was even in the hospital in the first place. He thinks hard, but the last thing he remembers is Sodapop’s birthday party.
“I remember your birthday,” he offers, but it sounds wrong to him somehow. He stares at the thin cotton sheet in concentration. “Something happen there?” Ponyboy looks up and stops at Soda’s expression.
“That’s… you’re sure that’s the last thing you remember?”
Ponyboy suddenly feels like the air is getting thin. “I… yes?”
“Ponyboy… that was almost a year ago,” he says thickly.
Ponyboy stares at his brother. “Funny joke, Soda. You’re hilarious,” he says flatly, because it can’t be true. It can’t—
“Kiddo…” Sodapop trails off, at an evident loss for words. When he looks at his brother, Ponyboy’s stomach drops. Sodapop isn’t lying.
“A year ?” he repeats, bewildered. He racks his brain desperately to remember something—anything—more recent, but there’s nothing. “You’re sure?”
Soda must be able to see the alarm in his brother’s face because he rushes to Ponyboy’s side and starts rubbing circles in his back. He speaks in a low, soothing voice but it’s not until he says that the doctor said something like this was possible that Ponyboy actually hears what he’s saying.
“There’s nothing they can do?”
Soda opens his mouth, then closes it. He tries again. “They said it might come back on its own.”
“Might,” Ponyboy repeats, his lungs tight. He doesn’t have to say what Sodapop seems afraid to. That might also means might not.
Soda looks at him helplessly. “I’m… I’m sorry, Pony.”
A year. A year . Soda tells his brother to breathe. That it will be fine. That he’s going to be okay.
Ponyboy wants to believe him.
—
Ponyboy spends the next two days in the hospital doing one of three things: losing games of poker, staring at the ceiling, and telling people he feels fine despite his apparent concussion and the stitches in his stomach. By the end of the third day, he’s fairly certain he’s never been this bored in his entire life. Steve—the only other person in the room since both Sodapop and Darry are at work—smirks when Ponyboy explains this to him.
“Suck it up, kid,” Steve tells him. “You’ve put your brothers through a lot recently. You can give them a few days to relax without having to worry about you.”
“They do anyway,” Ponyboy replies. There’s a beat of silence. “Shit, man. This doesn’t make any sense. What happened to me?”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” For a brief moment, Steve seems almost apologetic.
“You know something, Steve? If I wasn’t on strict orders from the doc, Darry, and Soda to stay in his bed, I’d slug you right now.” There’s no real bite to the words.
“I’m terrified. Can’t you tell?” Steve deadpans.
Ponyboy groans. “You don’t get it. Having everybody know what happened but you is… it’s…” he fumbles for the right words.
“It’s better you don’t know.” The sudden seriousness of Steve’s voice catches him off guard. “Trust me on this.”
“I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can throw you,” Ponyboy replies half-heartedly.
Steve gives him a dry look. “Look, just do us all a favor and don’t go looking for trouble for a while.”
“I never look for trouble,” Ponyboy replies, watching Steve shuffle a deck of cards. “It just finds me.”
“Amen to that,” Steve replies, slamming the deck down in front of Ponyboy. “Your deal.”
–
“You’re free to go as soon as your brother finishes signing the paperwork,” Dr. Richards is telling Ponyboy two days later with a smile.
Ponyboy barely hears him as he sits on the edge of the hospital bed. He’s restless now, his hands twitching in anticipation of being let out of the stuffy hospital room. Ponyboy knows he’s not the only one, given that his brothers have been here almost as much as he has. Soda paces back and forth across the room. Darry takes the time to read all the pages of the release form, but the speed with which he scribbles his signature at the bottom betrays his impatience.
Ponyboy is still frustrated. Not knowing what happened to him is killing him. The doctor told him vaguely about his injuries, but said that Ponyboy should be fine in a couple of days aside from a scar on his stomach. The doctor added that, in hindsight, Ponyboy got pretty lucky. Things could have been much worse, he’d said.
So Ponyboy doesn’t understand why nobody will tell him what happened.
“Where’s Two-Bit?” Ponyboy asks. He hadn’t seen the other greaser at all in the five days he’d been awake. Sodapop stops suddenly, and Darry freezes halfway through his second signature. Sodapop looks at Ponyboy. Darry doesn’t.
“He’s workin’,” Darry says, then finishes his signature.
“Two-Bit got a job?” Ponyboy tries to laugh it off, but he can’t help the twinge of annoyance. What else does he not remember?
Sodapop ignores the question. “Thanks, doc. For everything.”
“Of course, Mr. Curtis,” Dr. Richards replies with a kind smile. Ponyboy can’t help but think that his kindness and sincerity was almost enough to make him not hate hospitals quite so much. Almost. “If anything comes up, you know how to reach me.”
Darry stands up and hands Dr. Richards the clipboard before shaking his hand. “Hopefully we won’t need to,” Darry says.
The doctor chuckles. “Indeed.” He turns to Ponyboy then. For a second, it looks like he wants to say something, then changes his mind. Instead, the doctor smiles and inclines his head. “Goodbye, Ponyboy. I’ll see you at the follow-up appointment.” He leaves before Ponyboy can reply.
Darry looks to his youngest brother. “You ready, Pony?”
“Of course,” he replies. He jumps down from the hospital bed and immediately regrets it as the room tilts violently. Ponyboy slams a hand down on the bed beside him to keep himself from falling over as his knees shake. Both of his brothers are beside him instantly, Soda gripping his arm and Darry’s hands hovering as if ready to catch him.
“Shit, Ponyboy. You okay?” Soda asks. Ponyboy blinks hard and the room stops spinning. He nods, and Sodapop reluctantly lets go. Both of them hover as if still expecting their brother to drop to the ground.
Ponyboy offers a smile. Steve’s right about one thing, he realizes. He’s been making his brothers worry too much. “Let’s go.”
–
“There’s no place like home,” Ponyboy tells himself as he climbs out of Darry’s truck. The house looks just the same as it always has, and Pony feels the lead knot in his stomach relax just a little. Soda steps up next to him, nudging his shoulder.
“I’ll race you inside,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. Ponyboy eyes the short distance to the door.
“Sodapop, it’s less than four yards.”
“Ready—”
“Soda—”
“Set—”
“I don’t—”
“Go!”
Sodapop starts running and Ponyboy takes off less than a second later. Soda slows down going up the porch steps and Ponyboy clears them in one leap, passing him as he runs through the front door. Sodapop follows behind, laughing breathlessly.
“Glory, Pone,” he says with a grin. “Even when I cheat, I can’t beat you.”
“What’s that tell you?” Ponyboy grins back.
Darry comes in, shaking his head as he closes the door behind him. “That’s just embarrassing, Sodapop.”
Soda laughs again, sitting himself down on the couch. “Nah. If I was gonna lose to someone, it was gonna be my kid brother. Ponyboy here’s a regular speed demon.”
“At least no fuzz has ever given him a speeding ticket,” Darry says.
Ponyboy feels, for just a moment, like he’s off balance. Last he remembered, he was still getting driving lessons from Darry in the truck. “I got my license?”
Darry falters, but if the comment makes him sad, he keeps it off his face. “You did,” he says, moving into the kitchen. “And you’re a responsible driver. Let’s keep it that way.” The ease of the comment helps the sudden tension relax from Ponyboy’s shoulders.
Soda notices the lack of reply and a reckless, mischievous glint alights in his dark eyes.
“You could,” Soda tells him, “ or you could have fun.”
Ponyboy laughs despite himself, but his reply is cut off when there’s a knock at the door.
“Social services?” he guesses. Soda heaves himself off the couch and shakes his head.
“They came by two weeks ago,” he says doubtfully. “Dar?” he calls.
“Go ahead and answer it, Sodapop,” Darry replies. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
Soda walks to the door and swings it open. It’s Two-Bit, looking strangely uncomfortable. Out of place. He looks… thin, Ponyboy thinks. His Mickey Mouse shirt hangs off his shoulders loosely and his hair is longer than Ponyboy remembers.
Pony looks to Sodapop and freezes. His brothers’ expression has darkened the point that he seems dangerous. Almost Dallas Winston dangerous.
“Uh, hey, Sodapop,” Two-Bit says.
Ponyboy replies before his brother can. “Hey, Two-Bit.”
Two-Bit’s gaze zeroes in on the youngest Curtis brother, and then floods with evident relief. “Glory hallelujah—”
Soda cuts him off. There’s an edge to his voice that confuses Ponyboy. “Two-Bit.”
Two-Bit shuts his eyes, and when he opens them, they look pleadingly at Sodapop. Ponyboy goes to step forward—to step between them or at least be closer in case one of them does something stupid—but Darry is suddenly behind him with his hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. Ponyboy looks up at him, but Darry’s eyes are as dark as Sodapop’s and he doesn’t look back.
“I just wanted to make sure he’s alright,” Two-Bit tells Sodapop. Glances at Darry. “And…” his voice drops. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t know.”
Sodapop’s expression softens slightly, but he shakes his head. “Just go. Please.”
Two-Bit locks gazes with Ponyboy once more, but Ponyboy feels so confused he isn’t sure what his expression shows. Ponyboy can’t read his expression before he turns and walks away.
There’s a very long stretch of silence as Soda closes the door.
“What the hell was that?” Ponyboy demands the moment the door is shut, pulling away from the grip of his oldest brother.
Darry and Soda exchange a look too quick for Ponyboy to understand. “It’s for the best,” Darry begins.
“Bull shit it’s for the best!”
“Ponyboy—”
“It’s Two-Bit ,” he insists.
“Please, kiddo,” Soda cuts in. “We know. It’s just…” He looks like he wants to say something, then changes his mind. “Darry’s right. Trust us, okay?”
Ponyboy doesn’t know what to say. Two-Bit’s pleading look and Sodapop’s hard eyes are seared into his brain, and he can’t make any sense of what just happened.
Eventually, Darry sighs. “I need your help in the kitchen, Soda. Pony…” he hesitates. “Maybe lay down for a bit. You’re still recovering.”
Ponyboy doesn’t argue. He goes to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He flops on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He tries again to remember something since Sodapop’s birthday, but nothing. It may as well have happened right before he woke up in the hospital. Something big happened within the past year. Something he should know, but doesn’t.
It doesn’t matter, Ponyboy decides. Because he’s going to find out.