Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When did his life become so miserable? Maybe when his parents died. That was when it started to go downhill for him. Newly orphaned, the bullying worsened, and people changed. Darry was one of them. Ponyboy used to have a great relationship with his eldest brother—used to adore him—but now his strictness has become insufferable. He was on him about anything and everything, to the point where it was maddening. Nothing was ever good enough anymore, and soon, it felt like Pony’s life was being served on a platter.

But maybe those reasons weren’t enough to make the colors of the world dull. He hadn’t noticed it until he began to realize that his life wasn’t his anymore. There was no more Ponyboy to be Ponyboy (or maybe there was too much of him; he didn’t know). It was like an eraser had failed to erase him and left behind an ugly smudge.

So, he guessed the better question was: When did he stop feeling happy? And maybe the following question could be: What did happiness feel like? He had forgotten. Maybe the eraser succeeded in one thing.

But you know what? Everything fucking sucked. He hated that his life was like a zoetrope: a repeated sequence that made it appear like he was moving, but, in reality, he wasn’t. But, most of all, he hated how trapped he felt; how suffocating everything was. So, one day, he did something about it. His life (and personality) turned around a full 180 degrees—golden boy to the worst of them all. Anything to chase after that lost happiness.

He didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did. It just happened. He wanted things to go back to how they were before, but the trail he took had faded away like snow had covered his footprints. He didn’t think he would ever be able to return. Did he regret his decision to deviate? Multiple times. Would he be able to stop? He didn’t know.

But anyway, he met the guy who throttled him forward—for good or for bad—during the winter before his 16^th birthday. He was already having a bad day at school but when his teacher randomly called on him, he couldn’t stop the cold sweat that spread across his back. He looked forward with his mind buzzing.

“Hm?” he hummed.

The teacher groaned as they repeated themselves, “As I asked before, what is rhetoric, and can you give me an example of it?”

Ponyboy bit his tongue. Truthfully, he hadn’t been paying attention. For some reason, it had been hard to these days. A fog had clouded his mind as he tried to remember any detail of the lecture. Nothing. Panic started to seep in as the time ticked by.

How long had he been sitting there without an answer? It felt like several minutes had already passed. Surely, everyone was getting annoyed with him. Ponyboy shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his anxiety became unbearable. Everyone was staring. The teacher was disappointed in him.

He needed to say something, but what? It was like his voice had been stolen from him. He was silent for too long now.

“I…” he squeaked out. He didn’t know! Why did the teacher have to call on him? Stars started to dance across his vision as his chest tightened. When had he stopped breathing?

The final bell of the day rang and everyone shuffled around to pack their stuff. He had been saved by the bell. Ponyboy let out a deep breath and looked down at his hands to ignore the disappointed look from the teacher.

“What a waste of time,” a Soc behind him grumbled.

“Yeah, how stupid could that greaser be?” another taunted. “He was placed in this class because he was supposed to be different than those other hoods, but it looks like he’s going to end up like the rest of them: drugged up and in jail.”

“You’re right on that. Imagine if this was a test. He would have failed and his parents wouldn’t have been able to put it on the fridge.”

“No, his parents are dead. His brothers take care of him, but they won’t put it on the fridge either. They’ll probably be so disappointed in him and wonder what the point was in giving up everything to a useless, no-good brother who can’t even define ‘rhetoric.’ I mean, we’ve spent the entire period talking about it.”

“Golly, if I were one of his brothers, I would hate him. I wouldn’t even want to look at him.”

Ponyboy bit hard into his tongue until he could taste iron. Didn’t they know he could hear them loud and clear? That was probably the point. He shoved his notebook into his backpack. Their words stung, but he knew better than to listen to them. It still didn’t prevent the lingering thoughts though. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t have hurt as much if they said that to his face.

They started to walk past him and one of them purposefully shoved his shoulder along the way. He laughed, “Whoops. You were in the way.”

Rage cleared up his mind. Ponyboy grabbed his backpack and swung it wide until it slammed into the Soc’s gut, causing him to double over. He grumbled, “Whoops.”

The Soc glowered at him. “Seriously? Did you seriously just do that?”

“You were in the way.”

With a growl, the Soc grabbed his collar and brought his face close. His smelly breath wafted across his face. The tobacco scent made Ponyboy’s nose crinkle. “Don’t play smart with me, kid. I hate smart alecks.”

“Thank you for calling me smart, but you should probably stick with your arguments. If you don’t, you’ll fail all of your essays and your parents won’t put them on their fridge.” Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut and perhaps he shouldn’t have engaged him in the first place, but there wasn’t going back now. His comeback wasn’t the best, but it didn’t take much to offend someone like the Soc in front of him.

The grip on his shirt got tighter and Ponyboy started to get nervous for his wellbeing. Luckily, the teacher finally noticed them and asked, “What’s going on over there?”

The Soc glared at him for a long moment and before he shoved Pony away, he hissed, “You’re dead. Just you wait.”

Ponyboy swallowed the lump in his throat, gathered his stuff, and pushed himself out of the classroom before anything else could escalate. He didn’t slow down until he was a block from his house. Golly, he thought he was going to get socked.

Steve and Soda were already there by the time he got home. They were moving around and getting ready for something they had planned. Soda grinned when he saw him.

“Hey, Pony,” he chirped. "How was school?"

"It was okay," Ponyboy lied. "Where are you guys going?"

"Going to the drive-ins. Want to come?“

His brother liked to invite him along whenever he wasn’t going on a date. Ponyboy loved to spend time with him even though Soda was never able to sit through a movie. The problem was Steve. The other greaser glared at him—a silent warning not to accept the invitation—and Ponyboy knew that he was going to get an earful.

“Why do we have to bring him along?” Steve complained. Ponyboy could feel the eye roll coming.

Soda, who was used to this by now, wasn’t at all phased and responded without a skipped beat, “It’ll be fun.”

“Maybe for you. He’s just a kid. I don’t want to be stuck on babysitting duty all night.”

Before Ponyboy could argue that Steve was also a kid, Soda persisted, “Come on, Steve. He can come with us.”

There was no correction on the babysitting comment, Ponyboy noted. “Why can’t he go by himself another time?”

So, he needed “babysitting” if he went with other people, but it was okay for him to go alone without supervision? He started to raise an eyebrow but when Soda whispered something to Steve, his gut plummeted to his feet.

“He stays home too much. I’m worried about him,” he had whispered. He wasn’t supposed to hear what he said, but he did.

Although those words were normal, it felt like he had been stabbed in the back. He curled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms. They were caring words but Soda was almost no different than those bullies from before. Just like with the Socs, Soda should have said it out loud so it wouldn’t have hurt as much because then Ponyboy would have considered it as him doting. However, since he tried to hide it, it didn’t translate that way, causing him to overthink the meaning.

This was a pity invite? Had Soda ever wanted to hang out with him? All of those times he had invited him in the past, were they all lies? Now that he thought about it, whenever he had invited Soda out, his brother often argued that he had something else to do. That realization made his throat tight.

“He should make friends then,” Steve said. “He doesn’t have any. All he does is hang around all of us and demand our attention.”

The world started to spin, making it hard for him to stay upright. Usually, Steve’s words didn’t get to him, but it wasn’t true this time. He really shouldn’t listen to him because everyone in the gang were brothers to him. So why was Steve insinuating that they were only hanging out for him because they had to entertain him? His breath shuttered as he stated, “I have friends.”

Steve scoffed. “Yeah? Then how come you don’t spend any time outside of school with them? Explain that.”

He wasn’t lying. Ponyboy did have friends. They just weren’t as close to him as the gang was. Well, to be more technical, they were more like class friends or track friends. They were good to talk to but only during class or track. He never asked them to hang out with him outside of these periods and, in return, they never asked him. Whenever the year ended, they would go back to being strangers until they were around each other again. Still, they considered each other friends. He also had Curly, at least, though Darry never liked that. “I talk to them at school.”

“I’ve never seen you with anyone, kid. Are you lying?”

“I’m not lying.” His irritation was rising quickly. Ponyboy took a quick glance at his brother who was frowning deeply. He had to keep it together or Soda would be sad. He took a deep breath, forcing his anger back down his throat and into a fragile bottle. “You know what? Whatever. I’m not going to get into this with you. I’m just going to go back to my room and you guys can go yourself.”

But Steve had to push it. “Good. We don’t have to babysit you then.”

And he just had to indulge him. “You wouldn’t have to babysit me anyway.”

“Again, good. We all hate to do it.”

Golly, if I were one of his brothers, I would hate him. I wouldn’t even want to look at him, the Soc’s voice rang out in his head. There was pressure on the backs of Pony’s eyes. He was going to cry, he realized, but he couldn’t unless he wanted to prove Steve’s point.

Steve was just being an asshole, he tried to tell himself, but what did he know? It started to seem like everything he knew was false.

“Steve, you shouldn’t say things—” Soda started but Ponyboy cut him off.

“Do you agree with him?” Ponyboy questioned him with a demanding voice.

Soda’s mouth closed. One second passed. Then two. On the third, he answered, but Ponyboy drowned him out. That took too long for him to answer when it should have been automatic. Whatever he said was probably a lie and thus he accepted Steve’s words as true. Maybe he was some tag-along kid that everyone tolerated. The pressure behind his eyes grew more intense, causing his jaw to clench.

Did everyone in the gang secretly dislike him? Was he just some kid in all of their eyes? He prayed that it wasn’t true, wanting to go back in time so he wouldn’t have to learn this shocking truth. There was a tightness in his chest that was getting tighter and tighter, squeezing so tightly that he could hardly breathe. He was going to break if he didn’t get out of there. A voice in his head was screaming at him to run.

Go. Get out of there, it chanted.

He crossed his arms and dug crescents into his skin to ground himself; distract him from his impending tears. His legs wanted to move but he stood his ground. He had to be strong for one more minute.

“Fine, if you both feel that way,” he said with the most monotone voice he could muster. He was going to regret his next words later. “I’ll start hanging out with other people instead. The next time you’re thinking about inviting me anywhere, do yourself a favor and save your breath.”

With his chest held high, he walked to his room, doing his best not to look at anyone or to crumple.

“Wait, Ponyboy,” Soda called out behind him.

“Let him go,” Steve said. His brother must have tried to go after him.

“But…”

“Just leave that baby to cry.”

“Steve…” Soda said disappointedly, turning to his friend. “Why did you say that?”

“I was just stating what was true.”

Ponyboy closed his door, cutting off their voices and sinking to the ground. He pressed his back against it to make sure that it couldn’t be easily opened and dug his face into his palms.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, finally letting the tears fall. He cried as silently as he could even though he wanted to scream.

They didn’t like him? All this time?

Useless, no-good brother.

I would hate him.

Fuck.

Did they hate him?

With each intrusive thought, the colder his chest felt. He threw his head back against the door and whimpered. He must have been such a nuisance to everyone. To them, he must have been just some annoying, little kid. Did Johnny not like him around too? They were best friends, weren’t they? He didn’t know what to believe anymore. Everything was a lie, so wouldn’t that mean that Johnny was faking it?

Everything sucked. What was he going to do now? He almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic he was, but only a blubbered sound came out. The ice in his chest was overwhelming him and he would have run back out into Soda’s arms if he didn’t know the truth.

The gang didn’t want him around. His brothers didn’t like him either. For the first time, Ponyboy hated who he was. The problem had to be him. If he were different, would things be better?

It took a while, but he eventually ran out of tears. His nose was clogged and his eyelids felt like sandpaper against his corneas. He didn’t bother to throw on pajamas before he settled into the bed. It was still early in the evening and Ponyboy hadn’t had a bite of food yet. He had skipped breakfast and lunch and had been looking forward to whatever Darry had planned, but, now, he didn’t have any motivation to put food into his mouth. And he wished that he had gone to the spare room because he couldn’t stand the thought of looking at Soda (or anyone in the gang) at the moment. But, worst of all, Ponyboy couldn’t fall asleep. His mind was plagued with their hurtful words and his intrusive thoughts, like blaring alarms in his head. He buried his face into the pillow and grumbled.

At some point, Soda entered the room to check on him. The bed dipped but Ponyboy made sure to stay perfectly still.

“You awake?” he tentatively asked, playing with Pony’s hair. It was still greasy, the younger boy realized. He knew that Darry was going to get on his ass about that later. After a while, Soda let out a soft sigh. “Guess you aren’t…”

Gently, he got up and left the room. He could hear Darry asking about his whereabouts and if he was joining them for dinner. He could also hear the entire gang, who joked boisterously with each other. They laughed and cheered at whatever game they were playing.

Glad they were having fun without him, Ponyboy thought bitterly. He wondered if they were ever this energetic whenever he was with them. There had to be times, but, for some reason, he couldn’t think of one instance. Every time he thought of one memory, his mind seemed to rewrite its script. In an instant, what was once a happy memory was erased into nothing more than a plain recollection. His lips trembled. It was better for everyone if he didn’t go out. He didn’t want to ruin their fun. They were happier without him, after all.

Maybe that was his purpose in the gang: to make them happy at the expense of his own happiness. A purpose was supposed to lift him up, but, for some reason, it only made him feel hollow on the inside.

That entire night, Ponyboy stayed awake. Because of that, he was up before everyone else too. After grabbing his jacket and backpack, he tiptoed into the living room. His chest tightened at the sight of the gang who were fast asleep. He carefully stepped over them and exited the house, not bothering to grab food.

Outside, he slipped on his jacket which had gone through one too many washes. The fleece lining was no longer fluffy and didn’t insulate him enough. Shivering, he stuck his thumb through one of the holes in the sleeves before he started his walk to school. His eyes were still puffy and his nose was still clogged, yet the cool air helped with making it runny. It also helped clear his brain from the gang, but he started to worry about something else. He had to go to school and deal with that guy who had it out for him.

When would he be able to catch a break?

Ponyboy was used to staying at school late because of track practice. Thus, he had the pleasure of experiencing what it was like when empty. Since he arrived so early, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was the only student there. Not knowing what to do, he walked back outside towards the stadium. He wiped down the bleachers with his sleeve before he sat down, resting both feet on the row in front of him. After placing his backpack under his legs, he curled forward and blew hot air into his palms.

His entire body was trembling from the cold, but there was something about a winter sunrise that made the experience worthwhile. As the sun rose, the light caused the frost on the ground to sparkle as if Jack Frost had sprinkled glitter on each and every blade of grass and leaf. Just looking at this view—this practice of mindfulness—caused all negative thoughts to be temporarily cleansed. It made him realize that, although people could be cruel, the world was beautiful.

Eventually, students started to roll in and Ponyboy reluctantly left the stadium with a red face and numb toes. As soon as he entered the school, his anxiety returned.

There wasn’t much cover in the hallway yet since not everyone was there, but there was a chance that the Soc wasn’t there yet. He still had time to grab what he needed from his locker and head to his first class. Too bad his luck wasn’t that good. This guy must have had no life or nothing better to do because Ponyboy found him waiting for him at his locker. Instantly, their eyes locked and the guy sneered at him. Gulping, Ponyboy stuck his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders as he passed by, hoping that the guy would leave him alone. He knew it wasn’t going to work though. Why did he try? He had no idea.

A hand grabbed his backpack and yanked, making it so that Ponyboy had no choice but to follow. The Soc dragged him to a nearby bathroom where he threw him into the first stall locking the door behind him. He hardly had the chance to push himself back up when a foot stomped down between his shoulder blades and forced his chest to slam onto the gross floor.

Ponyboy pushed against the leg but the guy slammed his heel into his hand, causing the younger boy to yelp out in pain as it was crushed. His bones creaked dangerously, threatening to break. Ponyboy had to bite his tongue to keep himself from crying as tears stung the corners of his eyes.

“I said you were going to get it,” the guy growled. “Nobody treats me like that and gets away with it.”

“Maybe they should so you wouldn’t be so uncouth,” Ponyboy bit out and regretted it instantly. The guy’s face twitched and his eyes darkened.

“A greaser like you doesn’t have the right to say that.” He grabbed Ponyboy and threw him against the toilet. Fortunately, it had been freshly washed by the janitor. “Lucky for you, I’m providing a free intro class. This lesson: proper citizens have good hygiene. So, let’s start by washing your greasy hair.”

Ponyboy struggled as much as he could, planting his hands on the gross stool seat to distance himself. Unfortunately, that meant that he had to put all of his focus on that. While his head was inching closer, all he could think about was how many people took a dump in there and how, even though the toilet had been washed, he could still smell the feces.

He was not going to put his head in there, he internally declared. But pushing back was hard, and the closer he got to the bowl, the less hope he had of escaping.

Just when he thought he was going to get a swirly, there was an explosion in the furthest stall down. Ponyboy just about jumped out of his skin. Porcelain flew everywhere, skidding across the tile until they hit his leg. The pressure on the back of his head instantly released as the Soc cursed, “What the hell?”

Both of them heard an amused laugh. Someone else was in there with them. That person must have left the stall and gone to the next because he could hear another stall door being kicked open, which was soon followed by another ear-piercing explosion. Then it happened again and again, getting closer to them. Water was pooling at the bottom of the entire bathroom now, soaking Pony’s jeans.

“One more,” he heard someone say. The voice didn’t register with a face, but the Soc must have recognized it because he paled. Ponyboy watched as a set of brown high-top Converse stopped in front of the stall they were in.

“What the fuck!” the Soc hissed under his breath. “It’s him? Shit, I thought he was still in juvie.”

The stall door slammed open before the Soc could do anything and it was then that Ponyboy recognized who this person was.

The guy’s name was Harley… Well, his nickname was. Ponyboy wasn’t sure what it actually was. But, yeah, he heard of him, and the Soc’s reaction was granted. He never had the chance to interact with him, let alone look at him. His reputation did exceed him though. Ponyboy heard the stories. Like the reason why he got his nickname was because he had stolen a Harley Davidson motorcycle when he was only twelve, though this was probably greatly exaggerated. He had done much worse than that though—enough to send him to the slammer several times as well as different rehab programs. It was a wonder how he was still in school. This guy was allegedly insane and nasty, so much so that even Darry heard about him and told him to stay clear away.

Just looking at him screamed danger. He had this wild look in his dark eyes that could make anyone shiver. It matched his dark hair that had been grown out and mulleted in the back. He gave them a wolfish grin, showing off his sharp canines which looked like he had personally sanded with a nail filer. He was very attractive but his rumors canceled it out.

“Did you like the fireworks?” he asked, voice somehow both velvety and flat. It made him sound sarcastic, yet it was pleasant to listen to.

“Fireworks?” the Soc scoffed, taking a few steps away from him. “What kind of fireworks were those? Those were explosions.”

Harley reached into his pocket and pulled out mini firecrackers and waved them around. “They’re fireworks.”

“Why did you bring them to school? Are you crazy?”

“I wanted a bigger explosion.”

“Then don’t do it in the toilet!”

The guy stepped forward; his piercings jingled as he moved. “Then how about you?”

“Me?!”

“Eat one.”

“I’m not eating that.”

He moved closer. “Say ahh!”

It was obvious he wasn’t going to do anything, but that didn’t matter. The Soc just about had enough and bolted out with a tail between his legs, screaming, “You’re crazy! Get away from me!”

When he was out of the bathroom, Ponyboy could still hear the Soc yelling about how there was a madman in the bathroom. With a click of his tongue, Harley pocketed the fireworks and held out his hand for Ponyboy to take. Not wanting to do anything that would offend him, Ponyboy let him help him up.

“Thanks, man,” he mumbled.

“Don’t know why you’re thanking me,” Harley replied, shrugging. “I was having a lot of fun.”

“Well, thanks anyway.” It was about time for him to go as well. By now, the school was probably panicking and calling the cops. Ponyboy tried to get past him, but the guy didn’t move out of the way. He started to get nervous. He couldn’t read Harley’s eyes yet they stared straight at him, causing his heartbeat to rise again. “What do you want?”

“Do I have to want something?” Harley shot back. Ponyboy raised an eyebrow, causing the guy to laugh—a hearty chuckle that was much nicer than his appearance. “I get it, I’m the bad guy here.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re cautious. Smart. What’s your name, kid?”

Ponyboy’s eyes instantly narrowed, that icy feeling returning. “Don’t call me a kid.”

Harley moved closer and it took all of Pony’s willpower to not back away. Soon enough, he became too close for comfort. At this distance, he could smell the dizzying scent of aftershave. His face was right in front of his and his eyes were narrowed as he examined his features. Ponyboy’s heartbeat was going out of control and his ears were turning red. “What are you? Like thirteen?”

“I’m almost sixteen,” Ponyboy corrected with no strength to back his words. His throat felt strangely tight.

The guy opened his mouth and nodded. He backed away and Ponyboy could finally breathe again. “So… you’re fifteen. We’re the same age then. You look younger.”

“I get that a lot.”

He smiled. “And your name. Haven’t gotten it yet.”

“It’s Ponyboy.”

A snort left Harley’s nose. “How’d you get that nickname?”

Ponyboy sighed, “It’s my name.”

“Your name? You’re fucking with me!” the guy drawled. Realization hit him. “Wait… Are you a Curtis?”

He clenched his hands. Yes, he was the annoying brother that they didn’t like. The failure himself. “What’s it to ya?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Do you have bad blood with them or something?”

“Just had a fight, is all,” Ponyboy said. Even though they didn’t like him, he didn’t want to say anything bad about them. They were still family after all.

“Brothers aren’t the greatest,” Harley said. “Mine is shitty. He once secretly signed me up for military school to get rid of me.”

By how many times he had been arrested, he didn’t think that was the reason why. Golly, he really needed to get out of there. “That sounds awful, but I gotta go now.”

Smooth, Ponyboy. Surprisingly though, the guy waved his hand and signaled him to go. When he walked by, he asked, “Aren’t you going to ask for my name?”

“I know who you are,” Ponyboy responded. “You’re Harley.”

“You got it.” He nodded before he clicked his tongue again. “Anyway, I have things to do, fentanyl to sell to the gym teacher, and places to be. See you around, Ponyboy.”

Fentanyl? You know what? He wasn’t going to ask.

Even though Ponyboy moved first to leave, Harley was the one who ended up going, leaving him standing in the flooded bathroom and wondering what just happened. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he looked down at his soaked clothes. He really needed to get changed.

Chapter Text

The police soon arrived and assessed the large group of students that had managed to evacuate outside. Ponyboy was one of them. The hectic panic allowed him to slip out unseen. However, he was still soaked to the bone, which garnered several weird looks from his peers. He was currently sitting on the ground and shivering; arms wrapped around his body in a futile attempt to keep warm. The winter weather made it unbearable to be outside while wet. He could quite literally feel the ice form on his clothes.

While the police investigated the school building, a cop walked up to him and started to ask him questions. Either that Soc told them that he was a witness or the police found it suspicious that he was the only one there (besides maybe that Soc) with wet clothes. Just that alone was a huge giveaway.

“Who was in the bathroom with you?” the policeman interrogated, his eyes scanning him up and down. “A witness had seen you there.”

Bingo. He called it.

Ponyboy knew what type of questions the cop was going to ask and he knew exactly what type of answers they were looking for. They wanted something they could use to put Harley behind bars again—maybe for good this time. The Soc most definitely skewed the story to make himself look like the victim. If Ponyboy was lucky, the blame was put entirely on Harley and not him. He didn’t need anyone knocking on his door to take him away. The fact that they were asking was a good sign, but Ponyboy was no snitch and he owed Harley for helping him. So, he gave them a not-so-helpful answer.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug.

The policeman sighed and pinched the root of his nose, “I’m just trying to figure out what happened here so we can nab the person who destroyed school property. Can’t you give us the name of the people in there with you?”

“Well, there… was that Soc.” What was his name again? Barney? Barnaby? That sounded about right.

“Soc?”

“The guy you probably spoke to before me. Barnaby?” Ponyboy then hummed. Even though Harley didn’t want anything back, he was going to do something for him anyway. “There was also another guy. I don’t know his name. He saved me though.”

“What do you mean? Can you clarify?”

“Barnaby has been…” He quickly thought of something to say. “Well, he’s been bullying me. Yesterday, I finally stood up for myself and he threatened me. He told me he was going to kill me. You can even ask my teacher. He was there when it happened.”

“And who was this teacher?”

“Mr. Mintz. He teaches English Composition.”

The cop jotted this down. “Okay, and what happened after that?”

“When I came to school next, Barnaby found me and dragged me to the bathroom. He tried to shove fireworks down my throat. I managed to slip out of his hold and tried crawling under the stalls to get away. He kept blowing the toilets up to scare me. Luckily, there was someone else in the bathroom who helped me out. Barnaby was livid but ran off. He probably figured that he ran out of time to hurt me. Man, that guy is insane.” Hopefully, this story was close enough to whatever Barnaby told them.

“Whatever he told you, don’t believe it,” Ponyboy continued. “He thinks that because he comes from a good family, he could get away with anything.”

The policeman had a poker face, making it nearly impossible to read, but he swore he saw a twinkle in his eyes. Something must have resonated. After a few more questions, he was left alone and Ponyboy was beyond cold now. His teeth chattered uncontrollably and his body was curled into a ball. He tried to breathe hot air into his hands but they were too numb to feel much of anything. Right before he was about to tap out, someone dropped a jacket onto his shoulders.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” a familiar voice asked. Ponyboy looked up and wrapped the jacket around him tighter. He felt himself relax when he saw who it was.

“Hey, Curly,” he greeted.

“Hey, Curtis. Now, answer my question. You’re soaked to the bone. You’re gonna get hyperthermia or something.”

“You sound like Darry.” When all he got was a raised eyebrow, Ponyboy sighed. “Just had a run-in with a Soc.”

Curly’s eyes sharpened. “Who did this to you?”

“Someone who won’t be bothering me again.” That was for sure. “It was taken care of. I’m fine, seriously. Just cold.”

The other greaser’s jaw clenched but didn’t press into the Soc’s identity further, deciding to believe Ponyboy. It didn’t look like he was harmed anyway. He crossed his arms. “I heard that the bathroom exploded. Were you involved?”

“Not… actively. I was there?”

This time, both of Curly’s eyebrows rose. “Shit, man. How’d everything go down? I heard the explosions. Shit was loud.”

“There’s not much to say. It was just a guy playing with fireworks.” He paused before he continued. “Hey, unrelated, but did you hear that Harley was back?”

That caught Curly’s attention. “Really? Damn, that guy is crazy. Wonder if he got out with good behavior.”

He snorted as if that thought was preposterous. Harley was tuff and an enigma, but someone with good behavior was not a way to describe him. Ponyboy understood that right away. But there was also a lot that people didn’t know about him. It was almost like a mystery and only a surface had been scratched. Maybe the insanity was a mask or maybe he was reading him all wrong and he really was crazy—perhaps even more than what people believed.

“What do you know about him?” Ponyboy asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Nothing much. Why the interest? Darry wouldn’t let you breathe the same air as him.”

“Just curious. I also had a run-in with him. He seems a lot nicer than what the rumors make him out to be.”

Again, Curly snorted and shook his head. “He’s not. Every time we crossed paths, he’s been a real jerk. He full-on lost his shit on Tim. I don’t know if he was on something or what!”

If he was that crazy, why did he act so “friendly” with him? “Over what?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Almost wish he stayed in juvie longer. It would have done everyone a favor.”

“What was he in for?”

“Drug dealing. He might be psycho, but everyone goes to him to get their hit. It’s like they turn a blind eye if they can get high. Heard he does his business on the roof.”

“The roof?” Ponyboy honestly didn’t know there was even a door to get up there. “You can’t go up there.”

“Yeah. That’s how he gets away with it too. Nobody thinks to check.” Curly waved his hand to pass off the conversation. “Anyway, I’m getting out of here. They’re probably going to close the school for the day. Angela wanted Tim and I to do something with her today. Interested in tagging along?”

Ponyboy bit his tongue. In an instant, his mood dropped. Tagging along? He almost let out a laugh. Didn’t he just go through this with Soda and Steve? He couldn’t believe it. Even Curly. He really shouldn’t have been so surprised though. Curly was a Shepard. They wouldn’t have been friends if it weren’t for their gangs. In other words, it was highly possible that Curly only tolerated him as well. He felt that familiar ice that stabbed at his chest and overshadowed the small voice in his head that tried to tell him that he was overthinking it. He handed the jacket back. “Nah. I’m good.”

Curly shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The greaser left while Ponyboy watched with a bitter taste in his mouth. There goes another friend. He was on a roll with losing them, even though, technically, he didn’t lose them at all. He can’t lose something he never had to begin with. His nails dug into his numb arms. He shot up to his feet to avoid a public breakdown, turning on his heels to go back home. It was later when he found out that the day was canceled.

He hesitated when he saw his house in the distance, not quite ready to face anyone yet. His heart pounded against his chest, and that anxiety that shouldn’t be associated with a home grabbed at his ankles. Each step brought panic and made his mind spin, but when he saw that no vehicle was parked in front, he let out a relieved sigh.

Once inside, he immediately went to take a shower, peeling off the now-stiff clothes that had frozen to his skin. The warm water was relieving, yet, at the same time, painful as his body quickly returned to a more reasonable temperature. Pins and needles stabbed at his skin, but his mind was too occupied to react. How was he going to interact with the gang from here on forth? It was a small house so he couldn’t fade himself into the background like how they probably wanted him to. Those thoughts troubled his mind so much that he lost track of time. Even when the warm water turned cold, he wasn’t snapped back to reality. It was only when he heard Two-Bit’s boisterous voice did he step out of the shower. He slipped on dry clothes, grateful he thought about grabbing some, and exited the bathroom.

Johnny and Two-Bit were in the living room. When they saw him, their faces seemed to brighten, but those were lies. Why would they be excited to see him? In contrast to theirs, Ponyboy’s face darkened.

“There you are!” Two-Bit exclaimed. “We were looking around the school for you. Why’d you come back alone? I could have given you a ride.”

They weren’t excited. The expression was just a mask to cover up how mad Two-Bit was at him. Ponyboy bit the insides of his cheeks. Maybe he should have sought them out. He didn’t think it was a big deal because he had made the walk plenty of times alone before and, surely, Two-Bit wouldn’t have wanted to watch over him. But maybe this was part of his babysitting gig. Maybe he didn’t trust him. Regardless, he must have been irritated with him.

Ponyboy thought of a response but when he tried to look at Two-Bit in his face, he found that he couldn’t. His head felt heavy on his neck, forcing his eyes to be trained on the floor. He was unable to bring himself to look at his disappointed face. He couldn’t even look Johnny in the eyes.

“Just wanted to take a walk,” he quietly responded.

“You left early this morning too,” Johnny noted in awe. “It’s freezing outside. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I had a jacket. It wasn’t too bad.” It wasn’t that bad of a lie. They knew by now that he didn’t always use his head.

Of course, they knew. They had to put up with it.

“The bathroom exploding was sure something. Talk about convenient timing,” Two-Bit hummed, moving the conversation forward.

“Do you think that someone did it?” Johnny asked.

“Who knows, but we got off early so I’m not complaining.”

“When have you ever complained about going to school?”

“When did you start coming up with comebacks?” He laughed loudly, patting Johnny on the shoulder. “We should do something to commemorate this.”

“Yeah?” Johnny lifted the corners of his lips. “Like what?”

“We could go drink?”

Johnny shook his head. “We’re underage.”

“Never stops me. I guess we can figure out what we want to do later. Wanna come, Pony?”

Ponyboy clenched his jaw. He wanted to go but he wouldn’t be a fun companion. Just then they were having fun without him. If he went, he was going to be left out. He said a bit too bitterly, “No thanks. I got something else to do.”

Both Johnny and Two-Bit looked at him curiously, immediately sensing that something was off about him but they didn’t know what it was.

“What else do you have to do?” Two-Bit asked.

“Homework,” was the first word that came to mind.

Now Two-Bit was more skeptical. “But there were no classes today. How do you have homework?”

“I have larger projects that I have to work on and a few tests I have to study for.”

“If they’re due later, then can’t you do them later?”

Ponyboy shook his head. “I really have to do them. I’m behind.”

“If you say so…” Two-Bit mumbled, already giving up. He wished that he asked one more time.

Johnny stepped forward and tried to look him in the face, but Ponyboy turned away. He furrowed his brows and asked, “Are you doing alright, Ponyboy?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ponyboy deflected.

“You haven’t looked in our eyes once.” Leave it to Johnny to notice something.

“I’m fine, Johnnyca—” He stopped himself. Did he even have the right to call him Johnnycakes now? He put up a stiff smile. “I’m fine, Johnny.”

Johnny’s brows furrowed even tighter, creating wrinkles across his forehead. He tilted his head and was about to press further, but the door opened. Darry walked in with bags of groceries in his arms. He blinked in surprise when he saw them, most likely not expecting anyone to be home until later. When he got over his initial shock, he turned to Ponyboy and tried to catch his eyes, but the younger boy turned away before he could.

“What are you doing back home?” Darry finally asked him. “You’re supposed to be in school.”

“School got canceled,” Ponyboy simply answered.

Darry looked like he didn’t believe him. He turned to Two-Bit, who then confirmed, “The bathroom exploded. They sent everyone home for the day.”

“Is that so…” Darry tailed off, dropping everything he was holding onto the counter. He then whirled back around, stupefied. “Did you say the bathroom exploded?”

“Went boom, boom, boom! They’re doing a whole investigation to find out what happened. So, now we have a day off and we were just about to go out and do something together.”

Darry looked at Ponyboy. “Have you finished studying?”

Even though he didn’t know he was helping him, Pony was grateful for his strictness for once. He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I told you several times that your studies are your priority.”

But even though he was grateful, why did he suddenly feel so gross inside? It was like an attack on two fronts. “I know. I wasn’t planning on going.”

“You need good grades to go to college and you need that to get a good job.”

“I know,” Ponyboy repeated. His brother didn’t have to keep pressing the same button.

“You can’t keep fooling around.”

This time, Ponyboy didn’t respond. He pressed his lips into a thin line as Two-Bit shrugged, “Oh well. Maybe next time. Come on, Johnnycakes.”

“Uh…” Johnny started but stopped. He tried to catch Ponyboy’s eyes again but when he couldn’t he nodded and backed away.

See? They weren’t sad that you weren’t joining them, a voice in his head said, causing his chest to hurt.

“Have fun,” Ponyboy said shakily. They were going to. He didn’t have to worry about that because he wasn’t going to be there to bother them. They had accepted everything too quickly as if they were eager to get going before they could trap themselves. They even rushed out of the house. Guess Steve was right. He really was unbearable to be around.

It was day one of him separating himself from them and he was already crumbling. Now that he had to be more aware of his own presence, he finally understood how much his life had intertwined with theirs. He had to work harder to diminish his presence around them.

He was alone now but that was just it. He didn’t want to be. If there was something he realized, it was that he was scared of loneliness. Was there a word for that? If not, there should be—a phobia of being alone and lonely, similar to how claustrophobia is the fear of confined spaces. He never thought to worry about being abandoned and alone, but here he was. It had hit him out of the blue, leaving him unprepared for what was to come.

Now what? He had to meet people to make friends. However, he wasn’t sure if anyone liked him enough to be friends with him.

For some reason, he thought of Harley at that moment. He quickly passed on the thought of befriending the guy. It was better not to get involved with him. But then who else was there? At least with Harley, he could be reassured that he would be treated sincerely, and it also seemed like he was friendly enough with him.

It was probably significantly harder to befriend anyone else. It was already halfway through the year and everyone had already separated into their cliques and groups. It wouldn’t be easy to nudge his way into one and, if he did, wouldn’t it be the same as with the gang?

He swallowed thickly. He couldn’t do that. He knew that he was proving Steve correct in his friendlessness, but it was better if he was alone. His stomach turned.

He wondered again what it would be like to be friends with Harley. Ponyboy envied him in some ways. Although it didn’t seem like he had many friends, if any, he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. He was a free guy—a bird without clipped wings. It was so different in comparison to him—a guy who cared too much and who also had too many expectations laid on top of him. Who, despite his attempts at change, was only wrapping himself further in chains.

It didn’t matter though. It wasn’t like he was going to see Harley again.

In truth, however, Ponyboy saw him the next day, but this time, it wasn’t by coincidence.

Chapter Text

Overnight, a thin blanket of snow fell over a sleepy Tulsa and, although there was some ice on the streets and a lavatorial explosion that happened yesterday, school commenced the next morning. The bathroom incident was still under investigation, but the school board didn’t want to prevent students from their education indefinitely. As a compromise, the restroom was closed—not like anyone would use it anyway.

Ponyboy was about to head out. However, he didn’t even reach the door before Darry stopped him and told him that Steve was going to drive. Instantly, his anxiety flared up. He froze in place and his back became stiff as blood prickled like little needles under his skin. His neck creaked when he looked back and squeaked, “What?”

“It snowed last night. You shouldn’t walk to school. Steve’s here so he can take you,” Darry repeated.

“I don’t want to drive him,” Steve complained, shooting pointed looks his way. Ponyboy shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Well, you’re going to have to suck it up.”

“It’s not that cold out,” Ponyboy tried to argue. There was no way he was going to be able to ride with Steve and leave without his mentality unscathed. “I have money for the bus. I’ll take that.”

“Why bother? Don’t waste money where you don’t have to.”

“But it’s still my gas money,” Steve grumbled.

“You were going to school already. Don’t make a fuss.” Darry was relentless. Why would he care about what transportation Ponyboy was going to take? It was easier for everyone if he went by himself. But his brother left no room for further argument and he was soon sitting next to the person he least wanted to be next to. He looked out the window, turning his body as much as he could to communicate that he didn’t want to be disturbed. It was silent for the majority of the way and, for the most part, they both preferred it that way. That was until Steve opened his big fat mouth.

“How’s your expedition on finding friends coming?” he asked with a knowing smirk.

“I told you, I already have friends,” Ponyboy shot back.

“Both of us know that’s not true. You know how I know this?”

Ponyboy sighed. “How, Steve?”

“Because nobody likes you.”

He was already expecting a hurtful comment like that. However, Ponyboy could still feel the corners of his lips drooping and the heart in his chest sinking. He slumped in his seat, trying his best not to react to the other greaser. If he were to, his mask would have shattered. He bit out, “Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re so different than anyone I know. Who would want to be friends with someone so different?” Steve sighed, “Look, kid, I’m trying to help you here.”

It was a funny way to give advice. Ponyboy almost laughed.

Steve continued, “And if you don’t change yourself, people are going to continue to hate you and the gang won’t want to be around you no more.”

Ponyboy tried to ignore the way those words hurt. He knew that he was different and he wished that his individuality wasn’t so hated as it was. He bit his tongue when he felt pressure behind his eyes. His throat was tight with words he wanted to babble out, but he couldn’t find the strength to open his mouth.

You’re annoying. Why don’t you shut your mouth up for good?

When they made it to school, Ponyboy immediately jumped out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut behind him. Steve’s words were stuck in his head for the remainder of the day. And, throughout his classes, he found himself looking for people to make friends with but whenever he saw an opportunity to jump into a conversation, his words got stuck in his throat. They became jammed with the other words from that morning like a clogged pipe. Before lunch could even start, his throat was sore from unsaid verbiage.

Lunch eventually arrived and Ponyboy trudged towards the cafeteria in his last effort to find people to be around. That was until he saw Johnny. He hadn’t seen him that morning so he hadn’t expected him to attend that day.

Ponyboy tried to hide, but it was too late. Johnny had seen him. The other greaser raised a hand in greeting, but the younger boy forced his head back down. He walked towards the nearby staircase. He quickly went up the flight of stairs, almost tripping over his feet as he skipped every other step.

“Ponyboy!” Johnny called out but Ponyboy didn’t turn his way. Johnny started to follow him, much to his dismay. He cursed under his breath as he went up the next flight of stairs.

Ignore him, Ponyboy repeated in his head as he silently pleaded with Johnny to give up his chase. He was now on the top floor of the school and he was running out of space. Ponyboy weaved himself through the cluster of students despite knowing that he was going to hit a dead end any second now.

“Hold up, Pony,” Johnny shouted behind him.

“Go away,” Ponyboy whispered, gulping when he reached the end of the hallway. Doors were on both sides of him. One led to a classroom while the other was to a janitor’s closet. Both didn’t provide good hiding places. He looked between them before ducking into the closet.

The janitor’s closet was too dark to see inside. The only light was from the crack between the door and the floor. Ponyboy groped around for the light switch, almost knocking over a plethora of cleaning supplies in the process. When he found it, he flipped it on and looked around the cramped space. Now what? He was even more trapped than he was before. Johnny was still looking for him and would eventually check the closet. It would be clear then that he had been trying to run away, and unless he wanted to trashcan himself, there was no place to hide.

But there was something else in the closet. It stuck out like a sore thumb. Pressed against the wall was a ladder that led up to a trapdoor on the ceiling. Since he was on the top floor already, this much have been a way up to the roof. An image of Harley flashed in his brain. The roof was his spot but would Pony be welcomed up there? He bit his bottom lip as he contemplated if he should check it out or not, but he didn’t have much choice. He would rather be on the roof than in the closet. With that said, he climbed the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor.

The cold wind slammed into him like a bulldozer, causing his greasy hair to become slightly disheveled. Shivering, he pulled himself up the rest of the way. The roof was spacious, but, other than that, there wasn’t anything special about it. The only thing that was up there was a pile of discarded furniture that the school left there for storage purposes. They must have been there for a while judging by the water and sun damage on them.

The roof didn’t have much of a barrier around its perimeter. When Ponyboy peeked over the ledge, the world swayed around him. His body became heavier, making it feel like he was about to fall. What a nasty way to go. He took a step away and looked up, breath instantly catching in his throat.

Ponyboy rarely had the chance to be in high places, but, now that he was up there, he could appreciate it. His eyes sparkled as he overlooked the houses and the tops of trees that were covered in the blanket of snow almost as if society had camouflaged itself. Although he couldn’t see his house from up there, being able to see a Darry Queen sign was cool too. Drugs aside, no wonder Harley liked to be up there.

“What are you doing here?” someone asked. The sudden voice almost caused him to jump right off the roof. Luckily, he had taken a few steps away from the ledge when he did or he would have turned into vibrant paint splattered across a white canvas.

When Ponyboy turned around to find the source of the voice, he found Harley who was almost hidden by the discarded furniture. He was sitting precariously on an old, rusty desk; one knee pulled up to his chin. His eyes were cool and cautious as he watched him, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. Ponyboy thought about what he could say in response, but all he came up with was, “Hey, Harley. What are you doing here?”

He really needed to get better at not sounding lame. Here Harley was, as tuff as someone could be. And here he was, making a fool out of himself. He sighed, trying his best not to overthink it. Harley rubbed his tongue over his gums as if he were swiping stuck food away, eyes glimmering in hidden curiosity. “I asked you first, but whatever. What’s your name?”

At that, Ponyboy felt his stomach dip. He didn’t remember him? Sure, their meeting had been brief, but only one day had passed since then. And surely, he would have remembered the guy that was there with him in an exploding bathroom. The image of his face should have been blasted into his memory like it had done with him. Now Ponyboy was left there, not knowing how to respond, but if he kept silent, it would make things more awkward. “We met yesterday. Ponyboy?”

Hopefully, that was enough to jog his memory. The other guy’s eyes opened in realization. “Oh, shit! You’re the bathroom boy!”

“That’s me.” However, he didn’t want to be remembered as the bathroom boy.

“What are you doing here, man? You don’t peg me as the type.”

It took a second for him to realize that Harley was referring to drugs. He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “Just wanted to see what was up here.”

Harley shook his head. “You wouldn’t be up here unless you were specifically looking for something… or someone. Don’t tell me you wanted to see me.”

The tone was mocking but Ponyboy couldn’t deny it. It was half of the reason after all. He huffed, “You wish. I just wanted to escape.”

“Yeah, I get that. What are you escaping from?” He paused. “Or who?”

Ponyboy flinched. “How did you know I was running from someone?”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to see if you would give yourself away and you did.” A small, amused smile (almost unnoticeable) graced Harley’s lips when he saw Pony’s ears turn red. “Geez, you sure get picked on a bunch. Who’s it this time?”

“My frien—” Ponyboy stopped himself. He quickly corrected himself. “Johnny from my gang and he’s not picking on me.”

“If he’s not picking on you, why were you avoiding him?”

“Because…” He contemplated how much he should tell him. Harley was a stranger. He shouldn’t use him to unwind his drama, but it felt nice to talk to someone. He could only imagine how great it would feel to get everything off his chest, but he was afraid that if he did that, he would scare him away. Instead, he opted for a vague answer. “Because of some conflict between me and the rest of them.”

“Are everyone in your gang assholes?”

“They’re not,” Ponyboy was quick to defend. “The problem is me.”

You’ve wasted their lives.

It was always him. He continued, mumbling, “It’s always been me.”

Harley clicked his tongue. “Are you about to dump all your trauma on me?”

His ears were bright red now. “No.”

The two stared at each other for several seconds before Harley asked, “Well are you going to tell me or what?”

“I don’t think you’ll care much for my problems.” If Harley didn’t want to listen, then he wouldn’t subjugate him.

“Oh, yeah, that’s true. I wouldn’t even care if a meteor fell and blew up half of Tulsa. Guess that means I’m a good person to rant to. So, just tell me, man.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go right ahead. I didn’t have anything else to do anyway.”

Well, if he said it was okay. He thought about how he could phrase his words.

“Do you ever feel like people only tolerate being around you?” he started.

“My entire life is people trying to tolerate me,” Harley snorted. He leaned forward. “Did your gang tell you that?”

Steve did. Ponyboy shrugged his shoulders and looked back over to the horizon, eyes becoming glassy. “Maybe, but I guess it makes it clear what my flaws are. I have to improve myself for their sake.”

“Why?” Harley rolled his eyes. “Why should you give a fuck about that?”

“Because they’re like family to me.”

“Doesn’t sound like it on my end. It sounds like they don’t give two flying shits about you. So, why should you care about what they think?”

“I… I just want things to be like how they used to be.”

“If they can’t tolerate you now, they didn’t tolerate you before. Expecting things to change is like believing your drugged-addicted mom will get better but, behind the scenes, she’s snorting up lines up coke in the bathroom of a Waffle House.”

Ponyboy gaped at the terrible—almost ironic—example provided to him. He wondered if he was describing his own mom, but the flat look on Harley’s face had no attachment to his words. He squeaked, “I mean, she might.”

“She might also start exploiting her kids.”

“Things can get better for her.”

“How?”

“Through perseverance and her love for her children?”

Harley snorted. “Yeah, maybe. But what I’m trying to say is that people don’t change at the drop of a hat. Why go through the effort of changing yourself if the end result will be fruitless? And fuck anyone who wants you to be a specific way.”

What he said was correct. Ponyboy knew that and he was left almost speechless. Why should he care what Steve or anyone else thought about him? He was his own person and if they had a problem with that, then whatever. But it was easy to think that and it was hard to execute. He would have loved to have the same mindset Harley had—the part that didn’t care enough; not the insanity. Whether he changed himself or not, he had a lot of work he had to do.

“You know, I thought you were crazy, but you actually give sensible advice,” Ponyboy giggled. Christ, did it feel good to have someone listen to him.

“Crazy? No. Just numb on the inside… and maybe clinically depressed, but who’s keeping tabs?” Harley reached down to his backpack and pulled out a bag of small tablets. “I usually sell these but it looks like you really need one... or a few. How about it? It’s just Valium.”

And there it was—the reminder that Harley was a dealer. Ponyboy chewed the insides of his cheeks, swallowing saliva down his dry throat. The offer, as much as he hated to admit, was tempting. But he knew that he shouldn’t take them. The bag reminded him why he shouldn’t be involved with Harley in the first place.

He was about to deny the offer, but his words got stuck in his throat. If he declined, he would look like a square and that wasn’t tuff. His brain buzzed as he tore his eyes away from the tantalizingly, swaying baggie.

He wasn’t going to take it, he silently stated. He didn’t need it. Valium wasn’t an awful drug, but he felt like if he took one, he would fall down a rabbit hole.

“I’m good,” he declared. The bell rang and Ponyboy felt relieved. Harley was not the friend he wanted. He had to remind himself of that. “I got to get to class.”

Harley waved once, dropping the bag back in his backpack. “Nice seeing you again.”

“You coming?”

“Nah. I’m skipping.”

When the day ended, Ponyboy was taken back home. Both Johnny and Steve were in the vehicle with him and if any of them spoke to him, he didn’t respond. He zoned out, his mind still reeling from his encounter with Harley. Although his choices for his life path weren’t the best, he was right about what he said. Ponyboy shouldn’t let the gang change who he was. However, he still wanted things to be better between them.

What to do…

The gang was all there that evening. Darry was working on dinner while the others were messing around in the living room. Ponyboy briefly went to his room to drop everything off and build a mental wall, stacking each brick one by one to make it tall. He exited with a new resolve. His steps slighter faltered when he heard them laugh though. Each giggle added weight to his shackles.

They’re having fun without you.

“What are we having for dinner?” he asked Darry to include himself in something. This was going to work. If changing himself wasn’t good enough, he could at least make things easier for them.

“Beef stew,” Darry responded while chopping carrots. Ponyboy dampened his lips with his tongue, knowing that this was his chance.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Darry sent a quick, curious glance his way. “Finally wanting to help out? What’s gotten into you?”

“Is it so weird?”

“Fine,” Darry accepted. “Can you toss the meat and flour together?”

Nodding, Ponyboy went to work. It was a few minutes into helping when his brother asked, “Did you finish your homework?”

“Most of it.” This was going to work. After this, he would move on to the rest of the gang and they were going to be happier. He found himself smiling at the thought. “But I should be fine for today. Everything left is due another day.”

Darry fell silent; even the chopping of carrots stopped. The silence was deafening, causing time to slow. That was when Ponyboy made the mistake of looking at Darry’s face and instantly regretted it. His blood turned to ice as his brother stared at him with cold, blank eyes. No emotion was shown on his face, yet, at the same time, so many negative ones were displayed. Ponyboy stopped breathing—his breath had been sucked into the black holes that were Darry’s eyes.

What was that look for? Did he disappoint him somehow? Had he already failed? But all he did was help out.

Of course, you messed everything up. You always do.

“Do you think that’s good enough?” Darry asked after the longest few seconds of his life.

“What do you mean?” Ponyboy asked, voice sounding small, even to him.

“Did my words not get through to you? You need to get good grades. You can’t be procrastinating.”

“I’m on time though.”

“But you could still do more.”

Nothing you do will be good enough for them.

“I’ve been trying my hardest,” Ponyboy continued, wondering why he was still trying. He could feel the wall he had built before starting to crumble. He had spent all his time making it tall and mighty, but he ended up forgetting to bind the pieces together as a result. Weak and brittle were what he was.

“You can be better.”

You will never be able to make them happy.

Without meaning to, he bumped into the counter and knocked over the beef broth, causing it to fall and spill onto the floor in a waterfall. In a panic, he corrected the container but most of the contents hadn’t been saved.

“Look at what you did!” Darry yelled, sending a shockwave throughout his body. His brother hurriedly tried to wipe up the mess, eyebrows knitting together in anger.

“Sorry, Darry!” Ponyboy said, grabbing another rag. Christ, he messed up again. Why couldn’t he do anything right? “Let me help clean this up.”

But before he had a chance to, the cloth was ripped from his hands. Darry sternly pointed at him. “Don’t. I think you’ve helped enough.”

“But—”

“Ponyboy, go to your room right now. This wouldn’t have happened if you did what you were supposed to do. Now I have to run to the store and buy more.”

It’s your fault.

You’ve ruined everything.

Darry is going to hate you now.   

He doesn’t want to see you.

Nobody wants you around.

You’re a failure.

You’re a pain.

His blood turned to ice. In an attempt to fix things, he muttered, “Sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to reverse time,” Darry growled, slamming the rag onto the floor.

“I’m sorry.” His words didn’t feel like they were coming from his mouth. He messed up. The gang was never going to like him now. He ruined everything.

“What happened?” Soda asked, checking in on them. His worried eyes scanned the scene before him.

“An accident. Ponyboy ruined everything,” Darry answered.

“Are you both okay? You’re not hurt, right? Why’d you have to mess things up, Pony?”

“We’re fine. Why can’t you be better?”

What was happening? Their words weren’t matching the movements of their lips, almost as if the original dialogue was being erased and rewritten. His hand clenched the shirt above his heart. The cold was overwhelming him, spreading everywhere in his body. He hated it. It hurt. It was too much for him. It was eating him alive. All Ponyboy wanted at that moment was to stop feeling—whatever it took to not experience this pain anymore.

Looking at his feet, he whimpered, “I’m sorry.”

“It was just an accident. You don’t have to say sorry. You sound pathetic. Why are you still here?” Soda said.

He hates you.

Why can’t you do anything right?

“I’m going to go back to my room,” he said. His voice sounded farther away than it was before. Running was the only solution he had. If they didn’t see him, they would be happy again, right? “Sorry again.”

“Ponyboy, wait. We’re better off this way,” Soda called out.

Before Ponyboy could leave the kitchen, he stopped and turned around, pulling up a wobbly smile. He still couldn’t look at their faces. “Oh, I wanted to tell you that I think we should start sleeping in separate rooms again.”

“What? Finally.”

This was how it should have been from the beginning. Soda was probably relieved that he had his space back. It was the least he could do after messing up his life so much. He turned around again and walked into the living room, almost passing through it without halting. Soda and Darry stayed in the kitchen. Even though a small part of him wished that they chased after him, he knew they wouldn’t. They didn’t care enough and they certainly didn’t think that they needed to go after him over spilt beef broth.

“You made another mess?” Steve teased.

“I’m sure it wasn’t bad. You need to stop making things harder for us,” Two-Bit said.

“Darry sounded pretty angry there. You must have fucked up again.”

“Hey, lay off him, man. When is he not?” Dally said.

“Ponyboy, are you okay? Did you get hurt? How do you feel now? Are you going to cry like a baby?” Johnny asked, frowning.

Ponyboy’s fake smile was on the verge of failing, yet he couldn’t whine or cry because that would have annoyed them. He answered with a shaky voice, “I’m fine. Just going to my room now. There’s a lot I have to do.”

“Hold on. I hate him.”

“Don’t,” Steve sighed. “Looks like he needs to be alone.”

The first instinct Ponyboy had once he entered his room was to hide. He made a beeline to the closet and sat down, pulling the door shut and bathing himself in darkness. He didn’t know why his first instinct was to retreat there, but the small space was as comforting as a hug. It served as another barrier between him and the gang. The lack of stimuli allowed him to break down; his wall had been stomped to dust.

Crying again? How pathetic.

You need to do better.

You’re such a nuisance to everyone.

Too bad the closet couldn’t protect him from the voice in his head.

Why couldn’t he be better? He tried, didn’t he? But he only made things worse. Why was he like this? What was the point of him?

You’re meaningless.

A knife was stabbing his chest. They hated him. They didn’t want him around. Harley was right—Steve was right, as well— and Ponyboy was the only one who was wrong. His jaw clenched, sniffling involuntarily.

They would be happier without you.

Shut up, he wanted to scream. He knew that.

This is all your fault.

His head slammed into the wall, the pain only giving him some relief. Tears stung his eyes as he continued to bang his head, snot running into his mouth. This was his fault, he repeated with each hit. Perhaps the mild sting on the back of his skull served as a punishment as well.

Calm down, he tried to tell himself. The gang was going to hear him and then they would know how much more pathetic he was. He wished he had taken the Valium and saved it for this moment because maybe that would have helped him.

Why did you even try to make things right?

Nothing was going to change.

You’re going to be alone forever.

Nobody likes you.

Soda hates you.

Darry hates you.

Johnny hates you.

Dally hates you.

Two-Bit hates you.

Steve despises you.  

You deserve to be alone.

Ponyboy slammed his head one more time before he curled into a ball. He didn’t want to feel this way anymore. He wanted someone to catch him, but the door remained closed and nobody thought to check on him.

The next day, he made it to school with numb feet and heavy eyebags. He didn’t bother waiting to be driven. His eyes were still puffy when he reached the rooftop, fingers twitching against his legs.

Harley was already up there, almost like he was waiting for him. The guy turned to him and raised an expecting eyebrow.

“You look like shit,” he commented, but Ponyboy ignored him. He was hesitant before, but screw his judgment. He was going to take whatever he could have. If that meant drugs to dull his pain or a friend like Harley, then so be it. Besides, he wasn’t going to become addicted after one pill.

He held out his hand, and declared, “I want some.”

Chapter Text

The tablet was small, white, unassuming, yet intimidating at the same time. It felt heavy in his palm, almost burning a hole through it as if it were a hot iron. Ponyboy stared at it, arms too stiff to bring it to his mouth.

“So, I just swallow it?” he asked tentatively, suddenly nervous again. That bravado he had earlier had been wiped away as soon as it was handed to him. He was relatively confident then, but he remembered he had no idea what he was doing. The only drugs that he had taken before were pain and cough medications. So, it felt stupid that he was so anxious about a prescription drug out of all things.

“No, it’s a suppository, so shove it up your butt,” Harley answered sarcastically. Ponyboy’s attention snapped towards him as his cheeks flushed red. He stuttered, unable to form coherent words which only made Harley huff in amusement. “I’m joking, man.”

Joking… Just joking… Ponyboy forced out a nervous laugh. “Oh.”

Harley finally decided to answer his previous question, “Yeah, you can swallow it or we can crush it into a powder. It hits faster that way.”

“I’ll just swallow it.” He was going to take this one step at a time. He blinked heavily. That thought hit him hard. One step at a time? That implied there was a next time when this should have been a one-shot deal. He seriously needed to watch himself. There was no way he was going to let this get further. “Do you have something I can drink this down with?”

“Uh…” Harley looked around him before he handed him a flask that most likely contained alcohol. There definitely wasn’t fruit punch in there, that was for sure. “Here.”

Ponyboy was about to object, but there wasn’t anything else around and he wasn’t psychopathic enough to swallow a pill dry. It was only going to be a sip or two. That wasn’t going to hurt him. Somehow, he felt like he was going to recite that line multiple times that day.

He took the flask and used the liquor inside to swallow the tablet. It burned his throat and tasted awful on his tongue. He had taken a few sips of beer before so he wasn’t new to alcohol, but he had never been able to finish a bottle before. He just didn’t like it and was never sure why Two-Bit drank it so often. It didn’t help that the liquid inside the flask was hard liquor. He handed it back to Harley and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He waited for the pill to take effect for a few seconds, half expecting it to activate immediately. It didn’t.

He then asked, “What happens now? What’s it supposed to feel like?”

Harley hummed, “I just get sleepy.”

“Valium’s a sleeping pill?”

“It’s mostly used for anxiety, I think. Not a fun drug to get high off of by itself.”

He gave Harley a look. “Then why did you give me one?”

The other boy shrugged. “Because it works.”

“And all I have to do is sit here and wait?”

“Yeah, basically.”

Ponyboy sighed and sat on one of the discarded desks. The wind howled, causing him to shiver and hug himself. “Golly, it’s cold out. How could you sit here?”

“I don’t really feel it.”

But he could. Reaching into his bag, Ponyboy pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He slipped one out and brought it to his lips, holding the box out to Harley. “Want one?”

Harley took one and Ponyboy lit them with his lighter. Smoking made the cold more bearable. He could already feel himself relaxing.

For a while, they sat there, watching each other attempt to make smoke rings. Both of them weren’t very good at it. At one point, Harley’s sleeve rolled down when he took a drag and accidentally displayed several thin lines that ran across his wrist, some more faded than others. A question formed on the tip of Pony’s tongue regarding them, but he swallowed down his words in the end, thinking better about it. It was probably a topic he needed to stay away from with a ten-foot pole. Asking would probably annoy his newfound companion and he didn’t know if he was in the right state of mind to handle another hit.

“It’s all right that I’m here?” Ponyboy instead asked with a frown.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Harley answered, bringing Pony more reassurance than he realized.

“Cool,” he echoed quietly. “Let me know when you don’t want me here anymore.”

Harley’s wolfish eyes flickered towards him. “You’re fine, man. Really. You’re good.”

Part of him thought he was just saying that to be nice, but it still felt good to hear. He dropped the cigarette butt and smooshed it under his foot. He was about to smoke another one when Harley stopped him with a question.

“Want to try smoking something better than a cigarette?” he asked. “I’ve got some good stuff.”

“What kind of good stuff?” Ponyboy curiously questioned.

“What do you think?”

He must have meant weed. He had never tried it before. He didn’t think anyone in the gang had either. Maybe Dally had but he had never mentioned it before. There must have been a reason why the gang never tried the stuff or why stoners had such a bad rap.

“I don’t know…” Ponyboy was reluctant. He had already taken a pill, drank alcohol (granted, a few sips), and smoked. Smoking pot would be the cherry on top.

At his hesitance, Harley continued, “It’ll make you feel real good. You’ll have one hell of a time. All your worries would go away.”

That sounded too good to be true. Was weed really that good? He chewed on the insides of his cheek. The Valium still hadn’t taken any effect and the voices in his head were doing everything in their power to make him feel shitty. He would do anything to make them shut up and cloud the memories of the gang crushing his heart. His fingers tapped anxiously against his legs.

He shouldn’t.

But it would make him feel better.

It was weed.

But it was a temporary solution and he needed that.

Harley was peer pressuring him, but honestly? No matter how he looked at it, it didn’t sound all that bad. He was desperate to feel better and it was only going to be this one time. Ponyboy loved the feel of smoking cigarettes but he could smoke an entire pack and still not feel the same high he did back when he started. Pot would refresh that feeling.

In the back of his mind, he could hear Darry’s warning when he agreed. There were two voices of reason speaking to him at that moment. One warned him not to go further because he was about to fall into the pits of addiction. The other urged him on because pot would take away his pain. The latter won because he believed (although he later knew that it wasn’t that easy) that he had enough willpower to not get addicted. One blunt wouldn’t do anything. Besides, how strong could it be?

Harley went to work putting a blunt together. In his backpack, there was a bag of cannabis which looked more like small clumps of moss. He ground everything down, rolled it up, and sealed it with his tongue as if he were preparing an envelope. It was honestly quite fascinating to watch.

When it was all prepared and lit, Harley demonstrated how to use it, taking a long drag of it. His shoulders instantly relaxed, making it all the more tempting. Then, it was handed to him and it was his turn. They passed it back and forth. The first few times, Ponyboy didn’t feel anything. He just scrunched up his nose at how strong and musky the scent was. He wondered if smoking so many cigarettes made him immune to being high. What a stupid superpower that would have been. He would have much rather been immune to pain. Fire would have been tuff too.

He didn’t know that he was already high until he looked up to the sky and watched some birds fly overhead. They moved slowly, almost by frame by frame as if they were slightly different images on a stack of papers that moved when you flipped through them quickly. His head felt light like a balloon full of helium that was floating to the sky with the birds. It brought the phrase head stuck in the clouds to a whole new meaning.

The next thing he noticed was how dry his mouth was. No joke. It must have been dryer than the Sahara Desert and he had no water to quench it— only a flask of liquor that started to be passed with the blunt every once in a while. Whatever distaste he had for it was gone and, instead, it started to taste good to him. Why did he not like alcohol again?

The final thing he noticed was how the voices in his head had become silent. They weren’t even loud enough to be a whisper.

“Oh, wow,” Ponyboy couldn’t help but say.

“Nice, right?” Harley huffed, passing the joint back to him. “How does it feel?”

Good. Like really good. He never felt this way before—never this relaxed—and he didn’t know why he was opposed to trying this. His chest felt warm and bubbly—about to burst—and he just wanted to talk and talk and talk. So, he did. “I like it. My head feels light like it’s about to fly with those birds. Wait, did you give me something that’ll turn me into a bird?”

What kind of nonsense was he talking about? If he cared more, he would have died of embarrassment. These were thoughts that were meant to stay in his head, but a force was pulling them straight out of him.

“Did I?” Harley squinted at the bag, trying to read words that weren’t there. “Was it this or the Valium? It’ll be good to know.”

“I dunno,” Ponyboy found himself slurring a bit. “Birds are majestic, don’t you think?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“I really like them. Eagles, hawks, robins, sparrows—"

“Vultures.”

“The Vulture? Like the supervillain?”

“I don’t know who that is, man.”

“I think someone told me he was a villain.” Ponyboy then whined, handing the blunt back to rub at his hair in distress. “I don’t want to be the Vulture. He’s evil.”

“Maybe… Maybe it was decided by the universe like the… like the alphabet order. Do you ever think about that? Like who decided that? Why is B after A? What if the letter Z wanted to be first?”

“The universe is a jerk.”

“The biggest jerk. The universe might be beef jerky.”

It wasn’t very funny, but, for some reason, a laugh erupted from Ponyboy’s throat. He laughed so hard his sides started to hurt and tears stung his eyes. He clutched his stomach and laughed and laughed with no signs of stopping. Harley was laughing beside him and that was the only thing that almost caused him to stop so he could hear it more. It was hearty and like a chime and nice to listen to. He wondered how many people had the pleasure to hear it. The flask slipped and the contents were spilled, but instead of being mad or apologetic, they both cackled harder.

Every atom in his body tingled with euphoria. He was high and tipsy and had nothing to worry about. He didn’t care about the gang. He didn’t care that he was putting bad substances into his system. It was great. He was having a blast and it looked like Harley was having fun as well.

Finally, after what felt like three hours, the bell rang and some of his focus came back. He moved to get up, but his limbs suddenly felt heavy. The Valium was probably starting to kick in, amplified by the cannabis and liquor in his system. His brain started to get foggy.

Crap. How was he supposed to go to class like this?

“I need to get going,” he said—an ultimatum for himself that he would have trouble following.

“Why?” Harley questioned. “Just skip with me, man.”

“Darry’ll be mad if I do that.”

The other groaned. “Is that gonna be your excuse forever? You’re going to be thirty and still be saying that. Skip with me. It’s better than going to class while high as a kite.”

Ponyboy looked down. “I suppose that’s true.”

Darry was going to be so disappointed in him, but Harley was right. It would be worse for him to go to class like this. One skipped day was fine. He could always tell Darry that he felt sick. He wanted to take another drag of the joint but it was done and he didn’t have it in him to ask for more weed just yet.

“What do you suppose we should do?” Ponyboy asked. What did people normally do when they skipped?

Harley hummed, “I’m feeling pretty hungry.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m starving.” Ponyboy licked his chapped lips, cringing. “And really thirsty.”

“We should go get something to eat.”

“Like what?”

“I know this place that makes really good breakfast sandwiches?”

Was he in the mood for that? He kind of felt like eating a giant bowl of ice cream. “How about ice cream?”

“We can get that. So… no breakfast sandwiches?” Harley almost looked disappointed.

“I mean, we could get them, if you want?” Ponyboy paused. “Why do you want them so badly?”

Harley shrugged as he tried to help Ponyboy to his feet. Something that Pony realized after smoking weed was just how much chattier and friendlier Harley was. It was like he was showing another mask and he was pretty sure it was the same for him as well. They interacted with each other as if they were long-time friends. “I just ate one the first time I got stoned and now I think about them whenever I get high. The place I’m thinking about has milkshakes too, I think.”

It was the best of both worlds. “As long as I can drink water, I’m good.”

Finally up, the two dragged each other forward, laughing as they swung, stumbled, and tripped every few steps. Each blunder they made was hilarious in their eyes. When they got to the ladder down, Ponyboy tripped on the first step and his body hit the ground with a loud smack, sending an electric shock up his spine. Yet, even though he could register how hard he had hit, no pain was felt. He got back up as if nothing happened in the first place. They continued along their way through the school not even trying to lower their voices to be incognito.

By the time they reached the stairs, Ponyboy’s vision had tunneled and his depth perception became especially bad. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get down them without hurting himself and the two of them struggled to keep each other upright as they descended it. With a frustrated groan, Ponyboy sat down on a step and pushed forward. It made more sense to him to do that than walk anyway. Like he was six, his body slid down the stairs. Harley stared at him incredulously as he did so. He didn’t join him though, having enough control over his limbs to make it down.

At the bottom, Ponyboy laid back and looked at the ceiling. It shifted around like a moving wall in a funhouse. Christ, how high was he? His back was angled in a weird position but it was strangely comfortable to him—too much to get back up. That was when he heard Harley hiss, “Shit, someone’s coming.”

He wasn’t high enough to not process those words.

“What are you two doing?” a female asked, causing Ponyboy’s blood to freeze a bit. He got up as the faculty member reached them with fists on her hips. Shoot. They were caught. The woman’s eyes landed on him and Ponyboy knew they were doomed. She had to know they were high. The scent of pot and alcohol must have been rolling off of them. He didn’t drink much—only enough to get tipsy—but he still smelled guilty. “Not skipping class, I hope?”

“I’m taking Ponyboy to see the nurse,” Harley explained, trying to sound normal.

The teacher raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not something I picture you doing, Mr. Wright.”

“What can I say? I’m a changed man.”

“Sure.” Her voice was blank as she said that, but then turned to Ponyboy. “Mr. Curtis, why are you in need of the nurse?”

But before he could come up with something, Harley answered for him. “He felt nauseous.”

“I think I asked Mr. Curtis.” The staff member looked directly at him, and Ponyboy squirmed under the stare. Did he smell like marijuana or not? Were his eyes bloodshot?

The staff member had a large mole. It slid around her face, going from her lips to her eye, to her forehead, and to the tip of her nose. Her face moved, reminding Ponyboy that he had to focus.

“Mr. Curtis? Why do you need the nurse?” she asked again.

“I feel sick,” Ponyboy answered after a short pause. His words felt like they were disappearing as soon as he thought them up.

“You don’t look sick.”

“I suffer from extreme migraines and it makes me want to vomit. Harley’s here to make sure I don’t pass out.” Sleep sounded nice.

“He already threw up if you want to clean it up,” Harley said. “Though you’re not following the dress code for that.”

The faculty member sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She ignored Harley’s inappropriate comment. “What class did you come from?”

He thought about it. Brain fog was really something. The Valium must have been tampering with him because the name of his teacher was out the window. He had to say something though, so he answered, “I was in Mr. Stevenson's class.”

Harley chirped, “We were learning about vultures today.”

Ponyboy stifled a laughing fit by coughing. He covered his mouth to hide his smile, earning a weird look from the staff member. Eventually, she waved her hand and said before she left, “Alright, get going.”

At that confirmation, Harley all but dragged Ponyboy out of the school. A crooked grin was plastered on his lips. “Man, that was close.”

“I thought she was going to find out about us skipping or smoking pot,” Ponyboy sighed. Christ, that was stressful. His body itched with the need to be numb.

“We’re in the clear now. Let’s go.”

Harley then took him on a trek through town, weaving through the streets until they made it to a diner. Thankfully, it was nowhere near the DX station or where Darry worked so he probably wouldn’t get caught skipping. They sat down in a booth where they were given glasses of water. Immediately, Ponyboy chugged it down so fast that half of it dribbled down his chin. It hardly helped to quench his thirst, unfortunately.

When the waitress came back, Harley ordered them the milkshakes and breakfast sandwiches, which weren’t on the menu at that time. He must have personally known the cook since it didn’t take long for their food to arrive. It smelled amazing, making his mouth water. Ponyboy took a bite and the flavor exploded in his mouth. He had breakfast sandwiches before and this looked no different than the others, but it tasted so much better. It was crazy how good food tasted when starving. He scarfed it down, wanting to order another. He could probably eat a hundred of them, he was that hungry.

The milkshake was just as good. It was cold and refreshing against his tongue. He lifted the straw and blew on the shake that clung to it as if it were hot. Just like when he was on the stairs, he wasn’t sure why he thought to do that. It just seemed logical at the time.

Ponyboy looked at Harley, who had a more aloof look to him now. It reminded him that this was how he usually was. He was neither goofy nor happy-go-lucky. Harley was tuff and borderline sociopathic, if the rumors about him had any cred. Would they even get along when they weren’t high? The two versions of him were too different.

He slumped back, his body sinking into the seat. Oh well. That was a worry he could have when he wasn’t stoned.

“What’s that look on your face for?” he asked after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. “Are we leaving soon?”

“No,” Harley answered. “There’s something I have to do here.”

“What do you have to do?” There was no verbal answer to the question, but nothing needed to be said in the end. It took several seconds to connect the dots. “Oh.”

He came here to sell something. Ponyboy really should have more of a reaction to it. The back of his mind registered the severity of it, but because he was so high, he found himself unable to worry much about what he was about to get dragged into.

Chapter Text

Drug dealing and Ponyboy Curtis had no similarities whatsoever. Hell, you wouldn’t even hear those words in the same sentence. Until now that was. Christ, how did he get here? He had only wanted one Valium pill, but, somehow, he had gotten dragged into dealing drugs by lunchtime. He was still high and that skewed his judgment, but he still had enough reason to bark out, “You brought me here to sell drugs?”

“I didn’t bring you here to sell drugs, okay?” Harley defended. “We came here for breakfast sandwiches. Selling drugs is just an extra. Now, be quiet. You’re being too loud, man.”

A few eyes had turned to them and Ponyboy forced a smile onto his face to make everything seem like a joke to them. When they turned back around, he let out a breath. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, but he also couldn’t bring himself to care more about it. The thought to was there but the feeling was off. There was just no motivation for him to act on total reason. He needed to develop standards when high because he was probably going to find himself just rolling with whatever. But he supposed he couldn’t solely point his finger at the pot for his skewed judgment. He had himself to blame. He didn’t want to look wimpy in front of Harley. Wasn’t that a good enough explanation for his actions so far?

“The gang is going to freak,” he said mostly to himself as he was dragged to the bathroom to avoid eavesdroppers. Both of them didn’t have a good volume control at the time.

Ponyboy looked around the small enclosure. Somehow, they found themselves in a bathroom again. They met each other in one and now they were going to discuss drug dealing in one as well. It was a full circle, really. At least this bathroom had a lit candle by the sink and no one had clogged a toilet (yet). It was a bittersweet victory. If only the Donovan song wasn’t playing—albeit muffled—from the jukebox outside.

“Do you regularly hang out in bathrooms?” he asked, kicking a discarded paper towel that had missed the trash can.

“Do you normally talk so loudly about selling drugs in public?” Harley shot back. Ponyboy smiled sheepishly at him.

“Hey, I’ve never done it before. Why did you bring me anyway? Wouldn’t you be more hush about it?”

Harley shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I didn’t think you would snitch on me or anything.”

“Why did you think that?” He wasn’t going to, especially now that he had skipped school, but he was happy that Harley had that much trust in him.

“You didn’t tell the cops about me about the fireworks.”

“I don’t snitch,” Ponyboy flatly stated. No one in the gang did.

A small smile was on Harley’s face. It was a very nice smile. “I know now. So, are you ready or not?”

Ponyboy frowned, shifting between his feet awkwardly. “I don’t know… What do we even do anyway? Wouldn’t we be told off for loitering?”

Harley gave him a funny look. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you work a corner?”

At that, Harley snorted. “Damn, Ponyboy, you make me sound like a hooker.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I mean, some people do? I don’t like to, but I’ve done it before. There was this one time…” He stopped and pressed his lips together tightly in confusion. He quickly gave up on figuring out what he was about to say, however. “Never mind. I just prefer to keep to my contacts as much as possible. They usually come to me or, in this case, I go to them.”

“I see.” He didn’t see. None of his words made complete sense to him.

“Anyway, all you have to do is help me make sure he pays what’s due. Bonus if you get him to buy more.”

Ponyboy was no way in hell high enough to do that. He was also not intimidating enough. He was smaller than the guys his age and his muscles were leaner. His face still had some baby fat to it. It made it seem like he was still thirteen or fourteen years old, and he hated that. Although he could hold his own in a fight, he wasn’t Dally or Darry. Honestly, he had no idea why Harley would suggest such a thing. “You make me sound like I’m some mobster. And you complained about me making you sound like a hooker?”

“How are hookers and mobsters on the same level to you?”

“How are you okay with me just hopping in like this?”

Harley grumbled, “Look, we should get going or it’s going to look suspicious. Just keep watch or something if you’re uncomfortable.”

Ponyboy sighed quietly to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wish we could have smoked more before this.”

Finally, it was go-time. They walked through the employee-only section as if they worked there. Nobody stopped them. Maybe they all bought drugs from Harley or he had been there so often that they didn’t bat an eye anymore. Harley made eye contact with a chef, nodding his head once before he continued forward. They stopped when they made it to the walk-in freezer. Not the place Ponyboy thought people would buy drugs from, but whatever. He couldn’t judge. Was there a point to take watch in there? The chef soon joined them inside and they left the door slightly cracked open to not risk being locked in. Ponyboy sat down on a produce box near the door but his attention was completely on the deal that was going on.

“Fourteen grams this week?” Harley spoke, holding the bag of cannabis but not giving it up. He had a firm hold on it just in case the chef tried to snatch it.

The chef’s eyes dilated as he looked at the bag. He reached into his pocket and took out a couple of five-dollar bills. He didn’t take out his wallet even though Ponyboy could make out the outline of it in his pocket. He found that weird, but it probably had a purpose. “Ten dollars, right?”

“Twenty.”

The guy gaped. “Twenty? But it was ten last week! That’s a hundred percent increase!”

“Inflation’s a bitch.” He said that so flatly that Ponyboy almost choked on air.

“This is ridiculous. It’s fourteen grams. It’s not like I asked for an ounce of weed. How about twelve dollars?”

Harley clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. “How about you take twelve steps away from us or I’m going to shove your roll of bills so far into your windpipe that Abraham Lincoln could listen to you penny whistle.”

Ponyboy could feel his eyes go wide as he bit his bottom lip. Harley was getting frustrated which would end up either good or bad for them. The chef also sensed this and took a step away from the other guy, feeling nervous for his wellbeing. This had to deescalate before Harley really did go through with his threat.

Jeez. Ponyboy told himself that he wasn’t going to get involved but it was hard to stay silent in such a small space. He turned away from the door and joined Harley’s side. For a brief moment, they held eye contact. A silent conversation passed through them.

Here goes nothing.

“What’s ridiculous is you wanting to be cheap to your friends,” Ponyboy said, crossing his arms to look more confident than he actually was. His heart was pounding against his chest and he was already stammering with his words.

That statement surprised both of them. The chef questioned, “What are you talking about, kid?”

“You bought this amount last week. I’m guessing you will buy the same amount next week too. There’s no way you could smoke this much in that time without other people.” Even then, could a group of friends burn through this much? Ponyboy hoped he was making the correct assumption.

“Yeah,” Harley instantly joined in. “I would want the edibles to make me feel something. I wouldn’t want a friend that was too cheap to let me have a good time. Right?” What the heck were edibles?

“Right. It’s not great. That’s why Harley here was trying to sell you something better.” He didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t even sound like himself. Ponyboy knew nothing about how this worked, but he trusted Harley enough to back him up if he went in the wrong direction. His fingers tapped against the side of his legs. “This comes from a better growth. Much stronger. It even smells different. Here, sniff it.”

Harley held open the bag for him and the guy took a whiff of the contents and frowned.

“It smells the same to me,” he said.

“Try again,” Ponyboy urged. “It has a pineapple scent to it.”

Again the guy sniffed it and his eyes widened. He sniffed it again but stronger. “Holy shit! I think you’re right.”

God, the placebo effect saved the day. It didn’t smell like pineapples, but he somehow managed to convince the chef that it did.

Harley added, “It’s strong stuff.”

“So strong,” Ponyboy agreed. “I don’t even have to smoke it to get high. Just being by the fumes is enough. It sends me to the sky.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get. I’ll even throw in MDMA for free.” Harley took out the Valium pills and placed some in his hand. Ponyboy knew what he was trying to do. He wanted to shove the pills back in the bag because, seriously? Harley was digging them further in a hole just so that he could scam the guy for more money.

“MDMA? No shit,” The chef breathed, eyes dilating further, but when he took a look at the pills his head cocked to the side. “These don’t look right.”

“They changed the look of it to disguise it more.”

“Did they?”

“Yeah, but the downside is that it made them weaker, so take them concurrently with the weed.”

The chef eyed the pills and breathed in the bag of marijuana once again before he made his final decision. He handed Harley the money, not taking his eyes off the weed. “Take it and go. My break is almost over.”

“Nice doing business with you,” Harley said. And just like that, it was done. Honestly, Ponyboy didn’t know what he was expecting with this entire ordeal. He thought for sure that selling drugs would end with him getting shot down during a drive-by, but this was pretty relaxed. It wasn’t something he wanted to do again though.

Once they were out of there, Harley swung his arm around Ponyboy’s shoulders and said, “I didn’t think you were going to do it, but nice going, man.”

Involuntarily, Ponyboy could feel his heart soar a little at his praise. He asked, “I did good?”

“Yeah, you kept up well. Did anyone tell you that you were good at lying? Cause you are. Had me believing some of the things you said.”

“Thanks.”

“Wish we could have gotten more from him though, but we can’t have everything.”

The arm removed itself from his shoulders and Ponyboy was compelled to ask a question that was on his mind. “Why did you mark up the price anyway? There wouldn’t have been an issue if you kept it the same.”

His new friend hummed nonchalantly, “We smoked some of it so I had to raise the price.”

Ponyboy squeaked. This was his fault? “What we smoked was ten dollars?”

“No. We didn’t even roll half a gram.”

“Then why didn’t you take the twelve?”

“I just like to round up.” Then why didn’t he ask for fifteen? Harley was sort of unbelievable. Huffing under his breath, Ponyboy took out a cigarette and lit it. They walked for a bit before Ponyboy asked another question.

“Hey, Harley, what exactly is MDMA?”

“Ecstasy. It makes you feel real good. You’ll be gone for hours.” Harley’s fingers twitched. “Damn, that sounds good right now. You should try it.”

It was starting to get dark. They must have been in the restaurant a lot longer than Ponyboy realized. “Maybe another time.”

Probably not though. He continued, “Why did you give him Valium?”

“Just wanted to get rid of the stuff. Didn’t cost me anything anyway.”

“Won’t he find out you gave him the wrong stuff?”

“Doubt it,” Harley said. “He probably won’t know the difference if he takes it with the edibles or if he takes multiple at a time.”

How many Valium pills were safe to take at a time? And if he believed they were weaker, wouldn’t he be compelled to take a bunch at one go? He stopped walking, causing Harley to turn to him. “What happens if he overdoses?”

And then Harley said something that reminded him why people thought he was a sociopath. His eyes narrowed. “How is that my problem?”

It became tense between them as if Harley was daring him to challenge what he said. Ponyboy almost did. A comment about how he shouldn’t be so dismissive about overdosing and dying was on the tip of his tongue, but he kept his mouth shut in the end. He pushed down his unease and decided to move the conversation forward. “What about an edible? What is that?”

It worked in an instant. Harley loped forward with Ponyboy right at his heels. He lit up a bit. “Well, it’s something that you also have to try.”

Ponyboy drowned him out to look at the sky, watching the stars slowly become visible. The duo hung out a bit more after that. By the time he got home, dinner had already finished, which meant that he was going to get a talking to. At least he made it back before curfew, so there was that.

When he entered (as casually as he could, mind you) eyes turned towards him. The atmosphere was off—Mickey Mouse wasn’t playing, there was no roughhousing, and there was no chatting. It was like the air had gone still. His brothers were the only ones there; so antsy that their bodies were stiff. When they saw him, relief had caused their shoulders to relax. The tension lifted but only for a second. Darry marched over to him.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“Out?” Ponyboy supplied. He didn’t know why Darry was acting like this. It wasn’t like he had been out all night.

“Steve couldn’t find you at school. You were supposed to come back home with him. Johnny and Two-Bit hadn’t seen you all day either.”

“I left with a friend after school. We hung out.” It felt great to say that. However, it wouldn’t feel very good to tell them that he skipped school to smoke pot and illicitly sell drugs with the infamous misfit. There was something in his pants pocket that he hadn’t noticed before. The more he focused on it, the heavier it felt.

“And you didn’t think to tell anyone?” Darry berated. If Ponyboy looked hard enough, he could make out the veins that bulged on his brother’s forehead. “We thought something happened to you. The gang is looking for you as we speak.”

Ponyboy flinched. Was it really that big of a deal? Soda could go out past ten without telling anyone. Why was he different? “I lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time? It’s dark out.”

“It’s winter.”

“Ponyboy, I don’t care if the sky is purple. What if something happened to you?”

It wasn’t the time, but he couldn’t help but blurt out, “I would be concerned if the sky turned purple.”

Golly, he was already starting to sound like Harley. Darry didn’t find his quip amusing in the slightest. “What is wrong with you?”

Those words hit Ponyboy hard. He clenched his jaw, feeling a pang in his heart.

What is wrong with you?

You’re the problem.

Can’t you see that?

“You’re so inconsiderate,” Darry continued, and something in Ponyboy snapped. His chest tightened as his jaw went slack. What? Inconsiderate? Him? Now that was funny. Ponyboy had been doing everything for them—for the gang, for his brothers, for everyone connected to them. He sacrificed so much to make their lives better. While they were laughing, he was crying. While they felt happy, he felt pain. How could he be the inconsiderate one?

“That’s funny coming from you,” he growled lowly, causing both of his brothers to go still. Ponyboy talked back before, but never had he insulted Darry so blatantly.

Darry was baffled. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. If I’m the inconsiderate one then you’re apparently the deaf one.” He then mumbled, “Heck, throw blind in there too.”

His brother’s face became an angry red. He opened his mouth to bellow at Pony, but, before he could do that, Soda stepped between them, knowing that things were starting to get out of hand. Too bad he hadn’t done so right from the get-go. He didn’t even address how Darry spoke about him.

Because he doesn’t care.

“We were just worried, Pony. We thought something might have happened to you,” Soda explained and Ponyboy always had a hard time being mad at him.

He took a deep breath to calm down and said, “I know, but it wasn’t like I was gone the whole day. I came back before bedtime. I was safe.”

Being safe was a stretch, but he felt safer with Harley than he was at home. That said something. He clicked his tongue.

“Just make sure you give us a heads-up next time,” Soda said. Ponyboy didn’t respond to this. He didn’t want to make a promise he couldn’t keep.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Ponyboy said instead, taking a step forward while ignoring Darry’s glare. He was probably one push away from grounding him.

“And Ponyboy?” Soda called, causing his kid brother to stop. There was a funny look in his eyes.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

Not at all, but he couldn’t say that. “Why are you suddenly asking me this?”

“You didn’t look like yourself when you came in.” You also didn’t act like yourself when Darry was yelling at you, was left unsaid.

A short moment of panic washed over him. Did Soda know he smoked pot? Did he know he sold drugs? He quickly pressed his worries aside. There was no way Soda knew. He certainly didn’t smell like weed anymore, and his drug dealing had been done clandestinely. The only thing that might have looked off about him was his red face that was caused by the cold. Reassured, he forced a smile onto his face. “I’m fine, Soda. Promise. I’m just tired.”

Perhaps this one lie was fine.

He walked to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His hands gripped the edge of the sink. There was a smile on his lips but no light had reached his eyes. It was an awful grin—as fake as you can make it—but his brothers didn’t find anything wrong with it. He needed to practice this more.

The heavy weight was still in his pocket so he ripped whatever was in there out. Some bill and Valium tablets had been slipped inside, causing his stomach to dip and guilt to seep in. Harley must have snuck them in. He probably knew that Ponyboy wouldn’t have accepted the dirty money otherwise. A part of him considered flushing everything down the toilet, but, in the end, he thought against that idea and just stuffed everything back into his pocket. He looked into the mirror again, shifting his face to change expressions. He did this while wishing he could get high again.

Chapter Text

The clock ticked every second like a metronome. With each click, it felt like the pendulum banged against his temples, making him go more insane each time. Ponyboy’s eyes stared uninterestingly at his homework that was smoothed out in front of him. He stabbed the dull graphite of his pencil into a rubber eraser and drilled a hole into it. He had been staring at this stupid sheet of paper for an hour or two and had only completed his name and part of question one. The homework itself wasn’t difficult. He was confident he could finish it in less than thirty minutes if he tried. The problem was that he had no motivation to do so. He wasn’t in the right mood. With a groan, Ponyboy threw his pencil down and fell backward onto his bed to stare at his ceiling. That was far more interesting.

From inside his room, he could hear the front door open. The gang was back and was as loud as ever.

“We couldn’t find him,” Dally informed his brothers with frustration laced in his voice. He must have been mad at him for wasting his time.

“That’s okay,” Darry said, reassuringly. “He came back home not that long ago.”

There was a pregnant pause before Two-Bit’s said, “That’s good. Where was he?”

“He said he was out with a friend.”

“Friend? Sure,” Steve scoffed. Ponyboy felt himself roll his eyes. “The kid must have been lying.”

“Steve,” Soda chided, “he might actually have a friend.”

Okay. Wow. Soda probably didn’t mean to make it sound the way it did, but, golly, that statement hurt. Jeez.

“I haven’t seen him around anyone at school,” Johnny commented, unintentionally adding fuel to the fire.

“See?” Steve said. “He was lying. Kinda sad, if you ask me.”

“Then why was he out so late?” Soda asked.

“Probably wanted attention.”

Darry grumbled, “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Save it for later, Superman,” Two-Bit proposed. He paused. “Hey, did any of you see that tuff-looking car in front of O’Connor’s place?”

And just like that, the conversation had shifted and Ponyboy was treated like a topic of the past—forgotten like always. He couldn’t bring himself to be upset about it though. He was almost at his limit anyway. His mind felt as dull as his discarded pencil. It was hard to think, daydream, or do anything but disassociate on the bed. He wished that it would swallow him whole instead.

A loud creak brought his attention back. Soda peeked his head in and just stared at him for several seconds. Perhaps he thought Ponyboy had fallen asleep. So, he spoke, “Yeah, Soda?”

“Oh,” his brother faltered. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m just tired.” And he wanted to be left alone.

A pause. The gang seemed to be doing that a lot lately as if they had to pick their words carefully around him. Their conversations stopped feeling natural and felt more forced, and Ponyboy was more aware of this change now. Or maybe they had always spoken this way to him. “You said you were with a friend, right?”

Ponyboy groaned. Not this again. It was obvious that no one believed him. “Yeah.”

“Do I know him?”

“Probably.”

“Will I get to meet him?”

“If he wants to.” Would Harley? It would probably be like a chore to him which was understandable. Ponyboy thought about what it would be like for the gang to meet him and almost snorted. He could just picture their slack-jawed faces and hear them complain about him.

Soda was clearly uncomfortable with the short answers and the obvious disconnect between them. Nevertheless, he forced a smile on his face. “Well, we were planning on seeing a movie today. Do you want to come? You can bring him along.”

Translation: We made plans without you but I didn’t want you to feel excluded. Please don’t accept the offer. We don’t want you there.

Whatever. Ponyboy wasn’t going to accept anyway. The gang was happier without him. Besides, he didn’t feel like watching anything either.

“I think I’ll pass,” Ponyboy replied. Soda’s eyes opened in shock. He hadn’t expected Ponyboy to turn him down. He used to accept every invitation and his brother loved movies. It was a two for two! It was unnatural to be turned down.

At Soda’s confusion, Pony added, “Maybe another time.”

“Okay,” Soda squeaked and swallowed his unease. “How about we do something this weekend then?”

He wasn’t going to let it go and it made Ponyboy feel nice in a way, because, no matter what, there was always a glimmer of hope in him. Even though hope caused pain. Because maybe, just maybe, his brother wanted to be around him. Just the two of them. When was the last time that happened? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t think they hung out alone before besides when they went to bed. Someone from the gang was always there. He pushed that thought aside before it could upset him too much. “Sure, that would be nice.”

Soda’s smile was more genuine now. He nodded his head and left soon after, leaving Ponyboy back to his thoughts, much to his dismay.

You made him upset before.

You are always messing things up.

Why are you still around?

He pressed his palms into the sockets of his eyes. His breath shuttered. The pressure in his pocket was back so he reached inside it and pulled out a tablet of Valium. He made a mental note to take everything out before his pants could get washed.

Ponyboy held the tablet over his head. Maybe he should take it. One more couldn’t hurt him. Harley mentioned before that it would hit harder if he snorted it and he did consider trying, but he ended up chickening out and swallowing the pill instead. All there was left to do was to wait.

Time ticked on and the metronome called his clock still drove him mad. He needed a painkiller too but he didn’t have the energy to walk out there and deal with the gang. Slowly, he started to feel the effect of the pill, making him want to shut his eyes and rest. It wasn’t quite time for him to go to bed and that reason was the only thing that kept him awake. He listed the other things he could do to pass the time, but nothing seemed interesting. He had a book he could read. He had been on the same chapter for a few days now and it had left off on a cliff-hanger. However, even that didn’t seem all that appealing to him. He could write or draw but that seemed like too much work.

You’re really boring, you know that?

Is that all you could do?

No wonder nobody likes you.

With a groan, Ponyboy used the remainder of his energy to sit up, open a window, and light a cigarette. He smoked until he burned through half the box and until the chatter in the living room had died down. Gone just like how he should be.

The next day was, at first, like the rest. He woke up, struggled to leave his bed, stared at the bags under his eyes in a mirror, forced an empty smile onto his face as he got ready, and left for school before anyone could tell him to ride with Steve or Two-Bit. When he sat at his desk, he instantly shoved his head into the crook of his elbow and closed his eyes, ignoring how wet his shoes were. His classmates trickled in, slowly filling the room with almost unbearable noise. People spoke loudly with each other. None of them were talking about him and there were no eyes on him either. And yet, regardless of that, that meant nothing to his brain.

“Did you understand number nine? I couldn’t figure it out. That damn greaser is back,” one student said to another.

“I was going to ask you that. Too bad he couldn’t just disappear altogether,” the other student replied.

“Well, shit, man. What are we gonna do now? I wanted to copy off of you. It would do everyone a favor.”

Ponyboy shifted so he could cover his ears with his shaky hands (to others, it looked like he was having an early midlife crisis) but it hardly did anything. The voices went through them like they weren’t there to begin with, whispering to his brain and suggesting harmful thoughts. His stomach clenched with nausea as they only got louder.

“What perfume are you wearing? It’s that fuck-up again.”

“You’re not going to believe what happened last night. Do you think he knows that everyone hates him?”

“I don’t want to be here right now. Look at how stupid he looks.”

“I had so much fun yesterday. No wonder he’s alone.”

It was too much for him, overwhelming him so much that he almost bolted out the door. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together, pulling harshly at his hair. He was drowning and suffocating and—

A ball of paper bounced off his head and landed in front of him. Ponyboy finally looked up, noticing that no eyes were actually on him. It had been his imagination. He was so caught up in his intrusive thoughts that he didn’t notice the person who sat behind him. They were probably going to tease him like everyone else. He could only imagine what was written on the ball of paper, but morbid curiosity got the best of him and he found himself reaching for it. With trembling hands, he opened it, but the sick message that he was expecting wasn’t there. Instead, in messy handwriting that rivaled a doctor’s was: LOOK BEHIND YOU.

Ponyboy’s head spun around. There were a few things that he had expected—a fist about to sock him in the face, the female occupant that usually sat behind him, bullies who wanted to tease him—but he wasn’t prepared to see Harley. The other boy was lounged behind him. His legs were propped on top of the desk, muddy and just as wet as his were. It almost threw him for a loop. Ponyboy, for a second, thought he had imagined him.

“Harley?” Ponyboy spoke, bewilderment clear on his face. The amount of relief he received when he saw him was almost concerning. His shoulder slumped as he relaxed. “What are you doing here?”

“Going to class,” Harley nonchalantly answered.

“This isn’t your class.”

“Yes, it is.”

No, it wasn’t. Ponyboy would have noticed if it were. He had never seen Harley in there once. Or, at least, he thought he hadn’t seen him before. “I’ve never seen you.”

“I started later.” Right, he forgot about juvie. “I never felt like attending. Took the tests though.”

“How have you not been expelled yet?”

Harley shrugged. “Good behavior?”

That got Ponyboy to snort in amusement. But there was still one question on his mind. “Okay, so why are you attending today? Why the change?”

Harley opened his mouth before his face scrunched together. He clicked his tongue, “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Their eyes met. There was something off about his. They were slightly red and the pupils were dilated and unfocused. A realization hit. “Are you high right now?”

“No,” Harley stubbornly answered, reaching into his backpack to pull out his notebook, but ended up pulling out a bag filled with bottles of prescription drugs. It was quickly dropped back in once he realized what he had grabbed and a sheepish sigh left his mouth. “I may be a little stoned. It’s wearing off.”

A little? Ponyboy huffed. He wondered how on earth Harley was going to get through class like that. When he was high himself, he was jittery and couldn’t shut his mouth to save his life. Sitting without speaking would cause an explosion, he thinks. It seemed like Harley was on the same train of thought.

“God, I have to get out of here,” he muttered under his breath, kicking Ponyboy’s calf. “Hey, want to head out?”

“I’m not skipping again,” Ponyboy flatly declared.

“Not going to, don’t want to, or can’t?”

Ponyboy paused in thought. “Darry got mad that I got home so late. Had the whole gang looking for me.”

Harley raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Little dramatic much?”

“I’ll say.”

“Fine, then.” He slumped forward on his desk. It was only a second later when he spoke up again, words quieted by the different conversations that were happening around them. “How about at lunch? Do you want to do another session? I brought something for you to try.”

Was that what they were calling it now? A session? It sounded like he was going to a therapist.

He shouldn’t accept Harley’s invitation, but he wants to. Last night, it felt like there was an itch under his skin that he couldn’t get. Now that Harley was in front of him, he knew exactly what he needed. He was a bit ashamed that he was already so hooked on pot. It made him feel good and he wanted to feel that way again. Going another round wasn’t going to hurt him. Without realizing it, he nodded along.

“Great,” Harley said then started to talk about something random and outrageous. It was quite amusing to listen to, and if Ponyboy was high, he knew he would be adding to it and having a blast while doing so.

At that moment, the student who usually sat behind Ponyboy walked up, tapping her Mary Janes impatiently on the floor.

“You’re in my spot,” she stated to Harley.

“And you’re blocking my view,” he retorted without a missed beat.

“Get out.” When he didn’t do so, her face twitched and she was about to holler something nasty when her friend tried to pull her away in a rush, whispering to her about how crazy Harley was. He wasn’t that crazy, Ponyboy whined internally. Just intimidating with a whole bunch of rumors that may or may not be true. He would have to ask about them later. Before she left, she spun to Ponyboy and pointed her well-manicured nail at him. “I knew that you were a damn hood!”

And with that, she stormed away, leaving Ponyboy a bit stupefied. What the heck did he do? All he did was exist. That seemed to be his problem nowadays.

Soon enough, the teacher started the class and went around to collect the homework—the one that Ponyboy regrettably hadn’t done. He cursed to himself, cold sweat falling down his spine. Shit. He knew he said it a lot, but Darry would kill him if he found out. That thought sent a new wave of anxiety through him, causing him to chew on the insides of his cheeks.

“You didn’t do your homework?” the teacher asked him, raising a surprised eyebrow.

“Didn’t have time,” Ponyboy mumbled. His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he shifted uncomfortably under their gaze. The teacher tutted and muttered something about how disappointed his brother probably was (a totally uncalled-for comment) before they moved on, only briefly faltering when she reached Harley. Said boy twitched in his seat when they passed, most likely worried he was going to get caught. Ponyboy would give it less than half the period before he did something stupid.

And just like he thought, it was only ten minutes in when Harley whispered, “God, I have to get out of here.”

“What are you planning on doing?” Ponyboy whispered back, eyeing the teacher to make sure they didn’t hear him.

“I don’t know. Something.” He looked around. “What class are we in?”

“U.S. History.” Before he had the time to question the relevance of that, Harley hummed and raised his hand. Upon noticing him, the teacher grimaced but called on him.

“Do you have a question?” they said.

“Yeah,” Harley dragged out. “You like George Washington, right?”

Now Ponyboy was really confused. By the looks of it, so was the entire class. “Of course. George Washington was possibly the greatest president we ever had. He accomplished so much.”

“If you were president, would you take after him?”

“I believe he would be a satisfactory role model.”

“Even though he had slaves?”

Although the teacher was several feet away, Ponyboy could see their eyebrows twitch. “Many people had slaves back then.”

Harley leaned forward. “Do you want slaves too? How kinky. I didn’t know you liked that.”

Ponyboy choked on his laugh, causing the teacher to whirl towards him. “What are you laughing at, Ponyboy?”

“Nothing,” Ponyboy quickly said, trying to keep his face straight but failing.

“Do you find this misconduct funny?”

It was a bit funny. Ponyboy kept his mouth shut though. He hid his grin behind his hand while his ears tinted pink. Harley continued, “Do you dress up as George Washington and mistreat your slave during sex? You do, don’t you? Just like George.”

“He did not mistreat his slaves,” they exclaimed. “I don’t know where you heard that.”

This caused Harley’s eyebrow to raise. “Tell that to the people he pulled teeth out of to make his dentures. Do you have something to share with the class?”

Everyone laughed at that. The teacher snapped the chalk in their hand, face turning red. They pointed to the door. “Office, now! Get out of my classroom.”

A smile lifted Harley’s mouth. He hopped out of his desk, grabbed his stuff, and eagerly agreed, “Okay. Bye.”

The door closed behind him and Ponyboy sort of wished he joined him. At least he had the chance to watch his teacher fume. That was probably the most excitement he was going to get for a month.

Finally, lunch came along and Ponyboy was practically vibrating. He made his way up to the roof where Harley already was and waited for the other boy to pull out the weed. But instead, he took out a baggie of brownies. They weren’t the most flattering squares—crudely cut and crushed from their ride in the backpack. Ponyboy’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Didn’t take you for a baker,” Ponyboy commented with fake awe. “I thought we were going to smoke weed, not eat brownies, but you’re in luck. I love brownies.”

“No,” Harley said, nose crinkling, “these are edibles.”

“I know they are edible. They’re brownies? They should be.”

“No, Ponyboy. These are edibles.”

“Yeah, they’re food.”

“As in pot brownies?”

“Oh.” Ponyboy’s eyes opened in realization. He blushed. How awkward. “These are edibles?”

“Yeah, man. We talked about this yesterday.”

Ponyboy sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. A small chuckle left his mouth. “A lot happened yesterday.”

Harley let out a huff. “I bet.”

The trapdoor opened and Harley quickly hid the bag. They both stared at it like they had been caught red-handed but when a student pulled themself up, they both relaxed. It was just someone who wanted to buy something. It was strange to recognize people and then figure out what substance they liked. This time, it was a cheerleader. They’ve never interacted, but they never had the reason to.

Her eyes flickered unsurely at him, but Harley reassured her that he was fine. She bought some sort of powder before she left. Ponyboy had no idea what that was, but he was certain he was going to find out later.

“Hey, Harley, I had a question,” he inquired. “Why do you carry all of this around with you? The brownies, the pot, the pills, and that powder. Aren’t you scared someone would find them?”

Harley didn’t have a good answer, but he didn’t seem nervous about it. He joked, “What are they going to do? Send me to juvie?”

“I mean, that seems like a big consequence.”

Harley shrugged, unbothered. “Better place than with my parents.”

The muffled hum of the intercom went off before Ponyboy could process what Harley had said. The both of them strained their ears to hear the hardly audible message. Some student—Ponyboy didn’t catch the name—was being called to the office. At this, Harley sighed and stood up.

“Gotta go,” he groaned. They just got there. They didn’t even have enough time to smoke anything which meant that he was going to feel miserable for the remainder of the day. He wasn’t so happy about that.

“Dang it,” Ponyboy grumbled to himself. He was desperately craving something to get the edge off and cigarettes didn’t hit the same way. His disappointment was radiating off of him. Biting his bottom lip, Harley’s pupils shifted around rapidly as he made a decision. He pulled the edibles out again and handed the bag to him, though reluctant to do so.

“Here,” he said. He was one second away from pulling back. “Take them.”

At that, Ponyboy’s eyes boggled. He thought he heard him wrong at first. “Take them? All of them?”

“Yeah, man. Take them and try them out. Tell me what you think later.”

“All of them?” Ponyboy repeated, coming out as a squeak this time.

“Give them back to me on Monday. They’ll be safer with you anyway.”

He didn’t understand what he meant by that. Why was it safer with him? What was Harley hiding? But whatever. Did he trust him that much? No offense to him, but they met not that long ago. This seemed very irresponsible, so excuse him for thinking that Harley had a second agenda. But he wasn’t about to argue with him, so he tentatively took the bag and thought about how he was supposed to hide it from the gang. “And I can eat as many as I want?”

“Don’t eat more than one at a time,” Harley warned. “Trust me. Even half of one is more than enough.”

Harley’s words echoed in his head for the rest of the day. The brownies made his backpack feel a hundred times heavier. His skin was crawling with anxiety, waiting for someone to call him out for having marijuana. It felt like all eyes were on him, watching him like hawks.

They knew.

They could smell it.

He was acting suspiciously.

Stop acting weird.

When was the last time he checked his backpack to see if it was open?

When the final bell rang, he felt like he could finally relax. He made it. But then came the harder problem: the gang.

They were nosey. If they saw him acting differently, they would snoop. What if they opened his bag and saw the brownies? They probably wouldn’t think much about them at first and would eat them, scolding him for not sharing. Then they would get high and realize that Ponyboy was a stoner-in-the-making. To say he was stressed was an understatement.

It was just for a few days, he tried to reassure himself. He could do that. It wasn’t like he interacted with them much anyway.

When he got home, he instantly retreated to his room and pushed the edibles to the back of his mind. He attempted homework again, but, just like before, he found no motivation to do so. Since it was the weekend, he had plenty of time to finish it. Ponyboy sat on his bed and zoned out. Nothing had changed from the previous night besides the newly added drugs.

Why did Harley have to give him them? It was too much. It would have been better if he was only handed one brownie.

Several minutes passed before he decided to check them out. He maneuvered his body so that he could grab the baggie. They literally just looked like regular brownies. It was crazy to think that they were laced with anything. He wondered how strong they were in that form too, but he was going to find out soon enough.

He tapped the bag with his index fingers before he opened it and took a square out. It was far less intimidating than a joint. He really wanted to try it. To his knowledge, everyone in the gang had something planned, so he wasn’t going to see anyone for a few hours. That was probably enough time to get everything out of his system. He hoped, anyway.

With that said in mind, Ponyboy practically stuffed the brownie in his mouth. It was something he was going to regret later, but he said that about a lot of things. To be fair, no one told him he was supposed to take it one bite at a time. He could blame Harley for that later.

The brownie itself tasted like a regular one—gooey chocolate that dissolved on his tongue—and if he wasn’t careful, he knew he would eat too many. Harley’s warning be damned. His feet kicked happily for a bit at how they tasted. They were practically on par with Darry’s chocolate cakes, and if they made him feel really good in the end, then oh, boy. They might just have a winner.

For several minutes, nothing happened and he almost reached into the bag to eat another one when he remembered what Harley said. It probably took a bit more time to feel something. Ponyboy threw the brownies back into his backpack and shoved everything under his bed. What was he supposed to do until then? He wished Harley was here. This part probably would have been more fun that way.

With a loud sigh, he walked out of his room. He figured that he could grab something to eat and drink just in case he got cravings later. There weren’t too many snacks so he just grabbed the box of cereal on top of the refrigerator and called it good. He was going to head back to his room but stopped when he remembered that he had the house to himself for a bit.

The next idea he had was stupid. He felt bold. That was the only way to describe it. Ponyboy wanted to watch something to help speed up time, and he thought this was the perfect opportunity to do so.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Everything about this was stupid as he turned on the TV and switched through the few channels they had before he stopped on a run of Twilight Zone. He didn’t even bother to make it to the couch, but, melted on the ground instead. His hands ran across their dirty carpet and was enraptured by the texture.

Whoa. When did their carpet feel so interesting?

He continued to rub his palms against it and his attention was only snapped back when there was a loud noise from the TV.

Right. He was watching something. He had completely forgotten why he was sitting there in the first place. Ponyboy started to watch the program, but he really couldn’t bring himself to get into it. Everything about it was… bad. Weird since Ponyboy remembered that he usually liked to watch the show. The storytelling was fine. It was just when he looked at the characters, he noticed the patchy makeup that was slathered on the actors’ skin and how fake the prosthetics looked. He was hyper-focused on all the little details and when he watched the actors interact with one another, he couldn’t help but think about how phony everything was. It was awful.

“Why are we watching this again?” he asked out loud before he remembered that he was the only person in the house and it was he who had decided to watch the show in the first place.

In the end, he decided to switch channels. He settled on a marathon of Quick Draw McGraw and was totally mesmerized. The colors were bright and so saturated that he couldn’t look away. His body was buzzing as he watched, tongue heavy and dry in his mouth. He was so transfixed that he didn’t notice that the front door had opened nor that Johnny and Two-Bit had walked in.

“Ponyboy? Earth to Ponyboy,” Two-Bit called out. When Ponyboy showed no signs of responding, he clapped in front of his face, causing the younger boy to jump out of his skin in a delayed reaction. Panic hit him in the head with a baseball bat.

Oh no. They weren’t supposed to be here for a few more hours. What were they doing here so early? Shit. He was higher than the clouds right now. They were going to catch him.

“Finally,” Two-Bit said. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for minutes.”

Minutes? Ponyboy dug his nails into his arm in a way to ground himself. He quickly rambled out, “The episode of Quick Draw McGraw was good.”

Both Johnny and Two-Bit exchanged looks and Ponyboy knew that he said something wrong. He just didn’t know what.

“You were watching Woody Woodpecker,” Johnny said, concerned.

“What?” Ponyboy squeaked, looking at the screen. Just like Johnny had said, the program was different. Oh, God, how long had he been sitting there? He could have sworn he was only there for a few minutes. He turned to the clock and felt a cold sweat sweep over him. A few hours had passed and he hadn’t realized it. “Oh…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired,” Ponyboy tried to explain. He made the mistake of looking at them in the face. Their eyes had fallen to their chins and Ponyboy couldn’t help but stare intensely at them. It was fine. They probably thought he was avoiding eye contact and… Were his eyes red? Was that a side-effect of edibles?

“Yeah, you look tired,” Two-Bit observed.

“I think that’s a sign I should get some sleep.” He needed to abort the living room.

“You don’t want to stick around for a bit?”

He wouldn’t be able to pretend to be normal for that long. “I should sleep.”

“Okay,” Johnny said and Ponyboy tried to pretend he hadn’t seen them exchange another look. Ponyboy forced a smile on his face as he turned around to go, accidentally kicking the box of cereal and almost tripping as a result. He could feel their eyes burning into his back as he corrected himself, cleaned up a bit, and finally slipped away. He let out a huge sigh when he closed the door to his room.

That was too close.

Chapter Text

If his mind had a consciousness, it would be pointing and laughing at him, saying it told him so. Ponyboy should have known better, really. He just had to get his hopes up.

Hanging out with Soda would be fine, he told himself. It was going to be fun, he reassured.

Wrong.

It sucked because Ponyboy hyped himself up for it. He was excited to spend time with his favorite brother. No Steve. No girlfriend. Nobody but them. They had it all planned out (via a short blip between them in passing). They were going to meet at a diner after Soda’s shift, eat a late lunch, and catch up. Simple and sweet. Ponyboy missed talking to him. He missed the late-night conversations between them and how open he could be. It was probably all a lie though. Soda never had a choice. He was forced to share a room with him and listen to his annoying babbles.

But Soda reached out first. That had to say something.

Ponyboy arrived at the diner before him and grabbed a table. The greasy smell made his stomach rumble as he reminisced about breakfast sandwiches and weed. Drinks were soon ordered to start them off. He got them both Pepsi because that was what they both liked to get whenever they had the chance to eat out. He leafed through the menu and sipped at his drink while he waited…

And waited…

And waited…

His straw picked up the last of his drink with a loud slurp as he glanced at the clock with a bored expression. It was now an hour after when Soda’s shift should have ended. Not a big deal (although it was). It took time to get from Point A to Point B. Ten more minutes passed and the waitress was starting to get annoyed with him. He had yet to order anything besides the beverages. Ponyboy’s legs jumped up and down beneath the table as he shredded his napkin into tiny pieces, distracting himself from the unbearable cold sweat on his back.

Twenty more minutes passed and now he was just concerned. He wondered if something happened to his brother. The thought of Soda being jumped made him bite the insides of his cheeks. Maybe he should check the DX Station to see what was up. That was probably the best thing to do, but he kept himself sitting regardless.

Soda promised him he would come. He gave him his word. They even confirmed everything this morning.

He was going to be there.

But, at that moment, the restaurant’s phone rang. Initially, Ponyboy ignored it, favoring to listen to the song that was playing on the jukebox. Then an employee called out, “Is there a Ponyboy here?”

Ponyboy, who instantly knew something was wrong, raised his hand and replied tentatively, “That’s me.”

“You got a phone call, hun.”

Standing up, Ponyboy tried to hide his nervousness. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, Pony,” came Soda’s guilty-sounding voice. At least he sounded fine. That eased some tension, but why did he sound so ashamed?

“Soda,” Ponyboy breathed out. “Where are you?”

“I got held up at work.” There was a long pause as he picked his next words. “Listen, my boss wants me to work more hours so I won’t be able to make it.”

And there it was: the reason why he should never get excited about anything. Ponyboy sharply inhaled. He bit his tongue and gripped the phone so tightly that the plastic groaned under his fingers. “I see.”

“But let’s try again another time.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He tried not to sound hurt, but each word felt like venom on his tongue. Luckily, Soda hadn’t noticed the change in his tone. “Let’s try again later.”

“Good. I gotta get going now, Pony.” Soda hung up right after and Ponyboy almost slammed the phone back down. That was it. There were no apologies for making him sit in a restaurant and embarrassing himself. There was no repentance for lying and hurting him. Instead, Soda sounded almost relieved because he never wanted to hang out with him in the first place.

It was fine. Whatever. Things like this happened. Soda couldn’t deny his boss and the extra hours would be nice on his paycheck.

It was fine.

It was all good.

Everything was okay.

Things like this happened.

But why did it have to happen to him?

Ponyboy ignored the stinging in the back of his eyes as he returned to his table. He slapped whatever money he had onto it to pay for the two cups of Pepsi. Soda’s cup was still full, ice long since melted, while Ponyboy’s was empty. He didn’t have much on him but he surely had enough for a tip to make amends for loitering. He left without looking back, not planning on ever returning to this particular establishment. The chime on the door was too cheery for his mood.

Soda was a liar.

For a while, Ponyboy wandered aimlessly, kicking a pebble like a soccer ball. He was so naïve. Of course, Soda wasn’t going to show up. He should have stuck with his gut and rejected the offer when it was made. He should have known better since the universe was always plotting against him. It would have hurt less and it definitely would have saved him from the stupid weather. Not even his hoodie could protect him from the dropping temperatures. He shivered and kicked the pebble so hard that his toes stung. God, he was craving a cigarette again.

He pulled one out and lit it. He was about to turn around to go back home when he heard a grunt and a scuffle. It sounded like someone was getting beaten and he knew what that was like. He had heard knuckles on skin too many times. Instinctively, his back tensed up. He shifted toward the sound, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind demanding he play smart and leave. But he couldn’t just turn a blind eye to something like this. There was always a chance that someone he knew was getting jumped. So, he couldn’t leave. Not after Johnny had been brutalized so badly he became scared of his own shadow.

As he got closer, he could hear three voices.

“Where is it?” one of them demanded.

“Where’s what? The Statue of Liberty? Your lost sock? I don’t think I can help you on the last one.” Was that Harley? Ponyboy’s breath hitched as he finally got in a position with a decent view of what was happening.

Harley was pinned against the wall on the side of a secondhand store. Two men—one burly with a mustache, the other short and stumpy—were glaring daggers at him. The stronger of the two held the collar of his shirt and lifted him to his toes. The other hung back but there was a gleam in his hand that indicated he was armed. Ponyboy decided to call them Mustacho and Beansprout respectively.

Mustacho looked like he made protein powder his personality, judging by the size of his muscles. The mustache under his nose was like a fuzzy caterpillar had crawled there and died. His entire body was covered in bad tattoos. The most notable was a swastika on his barren scalp. Why anyone wanted a tattoo like that was beyond him. However, Ponyboy was pretty thankful that his facial hair wasn’t a vertical strip because he would have questioned everything he knew about Harley.

It was safe to assume that Mustacho and Harley knew each other. He wondered if his friend was involved with nazis. The thought made him cringe. If Harley was in cahoots with the deceased Hitler, he was going to have a problem. Ponyboy drew the line at Hitler.

Harley grimaced when he was suddenly punched. He sputtered, “What the fuck, man!”

“Answer the goddamn question,” Mustacho snapped. “Where the fuck is it?”

“Look, I don’t know where your fucking pot is. I told you; some guy jumped me and took it. Who knows where they are now.”

Mustacho’s grip became tighter. “And why don’t I believe you?”

“Yeah, you’re probably keeping it all to yourself,” Beansprout, who lacked many of his teeth, chimed accusingly. Or he put them into brownies and gave them to Ponyboy for “safekeeping” so he could enjoy them later. The realization made Pony go pale.

“Oh, why don’t you shut the fuck up you whistle-blowing garden gnome?” Harley snapped. “Do you see it anywhere or do you need to take an eye exam?”

“Do you know how much you lost?” Mustacho shrilled. “How much was that all worth? We need that money!”

“I think what you need is an anger management class.”

With a sneer, Mustacho pulled back his fist and Ponyboy’s body moved automatically. He rushed forward. His loud footsteps alerted them of his presence as he jumped on the guy’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck. Ponyboy jammed the end of his cigarette into it, causing the guy to yell in pain. The rancid smell of burnt flesh wafted in the air as arms tried to rip him off but he adjusted his legs to hold on tighter.

“Get off!” Mustacho screamed. “Get him off me!”

Beansprout moved to grab him but was tackled down by Harley. In his moment of distraction, Ponyboy was finally torn off—the cigarette had been tossed somewhere—and punched square in the face, causing stars to dance across his vision. His ears rang as iron flooded into his mouth. He must have accidentally bit his tongue. His face stung but, at the same time, it felt revitalizing. It was like Ponyboy had been jolted awake, making him feel alive again. Aware. Feeling.

He dusted off the jagged gravel embedded in his palms as he rebalanced himself on his feet. Harley was still keeping Beansprout down which didn’t look very difficult since the former had a whole foot over the other. It still meant that Pony was on his own.

With a growl, Ponyboy launched himself forward fist first, and the two tussled. Much to everyone’s surprise, he managed to hold his own pretty well. Not to toot his own horn or anything, but Ponyboy had always been a fairly decent fighter and it earned him some respect with other greasers. This was just the tip of the iceberg.

“Oh, forget this,” Mustacho growled after a while, pulling out a gun that had been tucked inside the waistband of his pants. Ponyboy instantly froze in place, stopping his sore fist midflight. All hairs were on their ends as the barrel was aimed at his forehead. He held his breath as dread seeped in.

Ponyboy was going to get shot. There was no way he could dodge a bullet at point blank.

He wondered if everything that led up to this moment was worth it; if his actions only made things better or worse. At least Harley got loose. He could escape if he ran. Maybe his death could give the gang some peace of mind as well. The thorn in their sides would be gone. And maybe this would prompt Harley to visit them and voice Ponyboy’s anguish that he never had the courage to vocalize. One last hurrah after death did him part.

Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose as he went cross-eyed from just staring down the barrel. The heat on the back of his neck was like a hot iron was pressing into it. Harley cursed from somewhere nearby as he disarmed the blade Beansprout was holding and pressed it against his neck.

“Drop the gun,” he barked.

“Who the fuck is this, Harley?” Mustacho demanded.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s none of your business.”

“It became my business when he burned me. Who he is?”

“His name doesn’t matter,” Harley insisted. “What matters is that he’s fine. Savvy? He helps me.”

“You’re bringing people into this business?” Beansprout asked with a strangled voice as the blade pressed into him deeper. “You’re crazy, man! Who does something like that? How do you know he won’t rat us out?”

“He won’t, so calm down.”

“Calm down? Do you know how major this is?”

“The only thing major is the headache you’re giving me. So, put the gun down.”

Both of them clenched their jaws. Mustacho’s fingers twitched towards the trigger, and, for the longest moment, Ponyboy thought this was it. Being murdered wasn’t the way he wanted to go out, so this really sucked. He scrunched his face to prepare himself for impact. But then the gun lowered and he was able to breathe again.

“Shit, man,” Mustacho hissed. “If you’re lying to me, you’re both dead meat! You know he’s not going to be happy when I tell him what you did.”

“He’s never happy,” Harley grumbled, removing the blade from Beansprout’s neck and getting off of him. He walked over and stood between Ponyboy and them like a wall. “Look, are we cool?”

The look on their faces said that they weren’t but at least they didn’t have to worry about being gunned down anymore. He was going to take what he could get.

Beansprout pulled himself up and asked,” How are you going to make up for the product you lost?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harley reassured. “I’ll get you the money.”

“You better.”

“Right. Got it.”

“Because if you don’t—”

“We’re dead meat,” Ponyboy repeated for him, mouth dry. It would have been best if he kept his trap shut.

“That’s right. We’re only doing this to make up for the favor we owe you, Harley,” Mustacho spoke. What favor? “I’ll give you two until the end of next week to find that pot and get us that money.”

He then turned to look directly at Ponyboy, causing a shiver to go down his spine. He continued, “You’re lucky I’m giving you this chance, kid. Don’t screw with us.”

“Got it,” Pony squeaked before he was grabbed and dragged away.

When they were out of sight, Ponyboy felt like collapsing. His hands were still shaking so badly that he was forced to shove them into his hoodie’s pocket. He couldn’t believe he got out of that so simply. Whatever Harley did for them in the past must have been big. It was something he probably wouldn’t ever find out about though.

As they walked, Harley didn’t look at him and it was hard to read what he was thinking about or if he felt any bit of guilt.

“What was that?” Ponyboy asked him, his voice sounding far away.

“Probably what it looked like,” Harley simply responded.

Ponyboy hated how he was so dismissive and listless sometimes. He spun around to face his friend, stopping him in the middle of the sidewalk. He dug his heels into the ground, staring straight into Harley’s eyes. “Harley, seriously, what was that?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? He almost killed us for the pot that you gave me! Now I’m being forced to sell drugs for my life!” Luckily, there was no one around to hear him at the moment.

“You weren’t supposed to be there. I had it handled.”

“Yeah, you had it so handled. You were pinned to the wall and punched. So, sorry that I tried to save a friend. Can’t you just say thank you for trying to save you, and sorry for dragging me into your drug business?”

Harley’s face twitched before he looked away. He opened his mouth before he closed it again. They continued to walk without saying anything. Ponyboy was convinced that he was going to stay stubborn about it, but, finally, he relented.

“Sorry,” he bit out as if he were a child, “and thanks. Happy?”

This threw Ponyboy off. He wasn’t actually expecting him to do that. It would have been more in character to be insulted. Regardless, that didn’t change how upset he was. There wasn’t a point in continuously being mad at his friend though.

Ponyboy took a deep breath, “I can’t believe this happened to me. Is this where you get your drugs?”

“Not all of them,” Harley admitted, picking at a loose string from his sleeve.

“And how did you get dragged into this?” Ponyboy made a mental note to ask where he gets everything later. He shook his head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. How do I get out of this?”

Finally, some emotion showed on Harley’s face. He looked at him in surprise, eyebrows slightly raised. “You don’t want to do it?”

“No!” Ponyboy snapped, baffled. He quieted down when another pedestrian looked at him. “Why would I want to? I can’t sell drugs.”

“You’ve done it before.”

“That was a one-time thing. Now, I’m going to die if I don’t do it.”

Harley cringed, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Yeah, that sounds pretty bad if you put it like that.”

Ponyboy wanted to sob. He covered his face with his hands, already picturing his corpse in a casket. He wondered if the gang would find out about his clandestine activities; if they would honor him a proper funeral if they discovered that he dealt drugs. Doubtful. They already hated him. They wouldn’t go to his interment, let alone plan for a burial. That meant nobody would go and that thought made him sick to his stomach. “I’m gonna die. What am I going to do?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Harley removed the hands from Pony’s face and held his wrists gently. “Look. We’ll do it the same as last time. We sell some pills, enjoy the edibles ourselves, and then give them the money. Then you slowly back out. If they ask, I’ll pretend nothing’s wrong. They’ll eventually forget about you. Sound good?”

Ponyboy nodded because there was nothing else he could do. It was the only plan they had regardless of all the flaws. “Yeah, sounds good.”

He just hoped that nothing would go wrong.

As they walked, Ponyboy was finally able to see what he looked like from his reflection in the windows. His lip was split from the punch and his cheekbone was red and sore. A nasty bruise was probably going to appear later that was going to be difficult to hide. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and winced when the action stung. He didn’t look nearly as bad as Johnny did after he was jumped. In comparison, this was nothing. There was no room for him to complain about his wounds.

They were now in an area that Ponyboy recognized. The streets were busier and, therefore, louder. There seemed to be some event that was happening—a parade for the New Year by the look of it. His high school’s marching band was participating, blaring their instruments and moving in sync with one another. Trucks drove down with people who threw necklaces and candy around. A Tootsie Roll almost hit him straight in the face at one point. This event would have been fun to see with Soda if he hadn’t ditched him.

“What are you doing in that part of town anyway?” Harley asked suddenly as they pushed past a family that was blocking the path. Ponyboy flinched.

“I…” Pony bit his tongue and looked away. He didn’t want to talk about it. The hurt was still there. “I Just had plans, is all.”

“Uh-huh,” Harley looked like he didn’t believe him but didn’t press.

“You’re not going to ask for more information?”

“Do you want me to?”

Ponyboy made a face. “I’m good.”

“Okay. So, what now? There’s—” His voice drowned out when Ponyboy heard a familiar laughter. He found himself slowing to a stop again as he stared ahead and, when he did, his pupils shrunk.

No, not him. The world really hated him because there was no way this coincidence was happening to him.

There in front of him were Soda, Steve, and some other people that the two hung out with from time to time. They pushed and joked with each other, laughing so loudly that he could hear them over the music. They held street food in their hands as their pockets were stuffed with souvenirs from the parade. Their eyes were as bright as their smiles—happy and euphoric.

Soda was a fucking liar.

Ponyboy clenched his jaw and curled his hands into fists. There was a tightness in his chest that was crushing him and making the air leave his lungs. Soda lied to him. No surprise there, but how could he? He was his brother. Were his feelings that fun to trample on? Did he laugh about it with his friends? Was Ponyboy some fucking joke to him?

Ice stabbed his heart as the world spun, and Ponyboy half realized he wasn’t breathing correctly. The music became louder and people started to shove his shoulders as they passed—a way to tell him to get out of the way. They were getting closer and it reminded him of how scared he was. But behind the thin, scared surface—behind the ice—there was hurt and a boiling rage. He wanted to march right up to Soda and have him feel shame for ditching him, but what would be the point of that? Soda didn’t care about him. No one did. A sour taste was brought to his mouth.

It would have been best for him to hide somewhere until they passed, but his legs were as heavy as lead. He stuck out like a sore thumb as he stood frozen in the middle of the walkway, staring straight at them as people got by him. He needed to move. He wasn’t ready to face anyone yet. But his legs remained glued to the ground.

Suddenly, half of his vision became obscured as his hood flipped over his head. An arm wrapped around his shoulders before a hand pushed his head into a bow. The scent of pine and weed filled his nose and made his head feel strangely fuzzy. His face flushed involuntarily.

“Harley?” Ponyboy asked unsurely. He tried to look up but couldn’t. The hand remained firmly in place. When Ponyboy struggled, Harley guided his head closer toward his chest, which kept him from squirming so much only because the action made him freeze. His blush got deeper. He was close enough to hear his heartbeat. “Harley?! What are you doing?”

“Come on,” Harley prompted as if he wasn’t making Ponyboy feel so confused. He guided him forward, making sure to keep his head low so that Soda wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Ponyboy’s heart pounded in his ears as his brother passed him, not even noticing his presence besides making a short comment about how he used to have the same hoodie before it got too small for him. He felt another stab at his chest.

When he was gone, Harley let go and Ponyboy couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed for some reason. The touch felt nice. He couldn’t remember the last time someone held him that close which was pathetic because it wasn’t technically a hug. Harley was warm and when his hand touched his scalp, it made his head feel like fireworks had gone off. He already longed for more physical contact, but he knew that he probably wouldn’t get that anytime soon.

Looking over his shoulder at Soda’s retreating figure, Ponyboy muttered, “Thanks.”

“That was your brother, wasn’t it? Soda or whatever?” Harley asked flatly and cracked his knuckles. “Why’d you freeze up like that?”

Ponyboy thought of what he could say. He looked down at his shoes but didn’t want to cry about not getting attention from his brother. It was embarrassing now that he had more time to process what happened. “It’s complicated.”

Harley hummed and looked at the sky in thought. It was starting to snow again. The flakes fell on his face like freckles that melted off a second later. The parade was going to end soon if it continued. “Hey, want to go to my place? I got a feeling you don’t want to go home right now and it's cold as shit. We need to plan everything out. I have pills but it would be nice to have something else.”

The conversation, despite it being bad, successfully distracted him.

“What? Like meth?” Ponyboy snorted sarcastically.

“That would be the dream. We would make so much money, but I don’t know how people make it.”

“Not that hard.” He shut his mouth but it was too late. Harley seemed to seize.

“You know how to make meth?”

“Quiet down,” Ponyboy hissed when more people looked at him. He clicked his tongue. Technically, he did know how to make it thanks to his Chemistry teacher. It was meant as a brag and a joke to look fun in front of the students, but the recipe unintentionally stuck with him. He never made it before though, and he didn’t know if he could replicate it. “And, yeah, I sort of know. You can buy everything you need in the store.”

He was digging himself deeper into a hole. Harley’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “You have to show me. Come on.”

He needed to go home, but Harley was right before. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t bear to see anyone at the moment, especially Soda. However, he also didn’t want to make a prohibited substance. Choices were difficult, but he was curious about what Harley’s house looked like. It wasn’t a great excuse, but he nodded. He could regret his choice at a later date if he felt like it. “Okay, but I’m not going to make it for you, you hear?”

Chapter Text

Ponyboy wasn’t sure what he was expecting when it came to Harley’s house. He had pictured it to be some shabby shack with an unkept lawn and rotten framings—a real piece of work that was better off torn down than renovated. What he got, however, was a middle-class home that screamed out “American Dream,” with its white picket fence, a spot for a garden that would grow in the spring, and a layer of fresh paint on the wood sidings.

He glanced back and forth between Harley and the house, comparing their contrasting styles. Ponyboy had honestly thought that Harley was a greaser like him. He sure dressed like it and had a criminal record to top it all off. Not to say that all greasers had one, of course. The detainment probability of a greaser was just higher. But this house was nice and the neighborhood didn’t have one discarded needle. Safe was the word he was looking for. How did someone like Harley come from a place like this?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Harley asked when he noticed the weird look he was getting.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Ponyboy admitted sheepishly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… you don’t really…” he trailed off, not sure how to put it. Luckily, Harley realized what he was trying to say. He nodded his head, not offended at all.

“Oh, yeah, I get it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “My dad’s a pharmacist, so he brings home the cash.”

So, this was what he meant earlier. He got the other half of his inventory from stealing from his father. But now he had new questions. A pharmacist usually had a good salary and it didn’t look like they were struggling based on the house and neighborhood. If their family was so comfortable, then why did Harley sell drugs?

“And your mom?” Ponyboy asked to be a bit nosy.

“My mom’s in the hospital,” Harley said. He didn’t elaborate and Pony instantly felt bad for asking.

“Oh, sorry.”

His friend looked at him weirdly. “Why’re you sorry?”

“For your mom.” There was a chance that Harley sold drugs to make money for her treatment. How noble of him. “What happened to her must have been terrible.”

“What are you talking about?” Harley questioned, cocking his head to the side. “She’s a nurse.”

Ponyboy fought the urge to slap his forehead. Then why didn’t he say so? Why did he have to be so ambiguous about it? His ears heated up as he looked away.

Harley dropped the conversation and led him into the house. It was just as nice inside as it was outside. As they walked towards the stairs, Ponyboy observed the photos they passed. All of them depicted Harley’s happy family. His parents and brother looked like pleasant people, but it was hard to tell what they were truly like from the photos. There were pictures of Harley as well, but his contrast with his family was just as shocking as him and the house. In most of them, he stayed at least a foot away from them as if an invisible separator existed between them. He wore a face that indicated he would have rather fallen off a cliff than be there. Seriously, how did he get produced from this family?

When they got to Harley’s room, Ponyboy let out a quiet sigh of relief. It was more of what he was expecting when it came to him. It was a mess; as if a tornado had run through it. Clothes were strewn everywhere, leaving barely any room to move around freely. Posters of alternative rock bands hung from the cigarette smoke-stained walls and there was a strong, familiar scent in the air that could have easily been mistaken as incense. There was a low table in the center of the room that Harley sat down at, motioning for Ponyboy to do the same. When he did, Ponyboy pressed his back against the side of the bed.

He continued to take the bedroom in when Harley brought up the inevitable. “Why can’t we cook meth? My family’s not home. It’s the perfect time.”

“Not doing it,” Ponyboy denied, crossing his arms. Not this again.

“Fuck. Why not?” Harley practically whined.

“Just...” He paused, coming up with a good reason to tell him. He ran a hand through his hair. “We don’t have everything we need.”

Harley clicked his tongue, begrudgingly accepting the excuse. “I guess we just have pills then.”

He reached over and grabbed the backpack that he usually carried at school. Dumping the contents out, he started to take inventory of what he had and needed. It was interesting to watch him work and it was obvious that he had done this several times. His fingers moved fast as his brows furrowed whenever he read a label. Any time he would find a pill he hadn’t worked with, he would place the bottle to the side. When everything was sorted, Harley picked up a bottle from the “Haven’t Used” section and took out a tablet. He held it between his index finger and thumb for a few seconds before he placed it on the table and crushed it into a fine powder. Ponyboy just stared as it was shaped into a line.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Exactly what it looks like I’m doing,” Harley answered matter-of-factly.

“Okay, but why?”

“The best way to see what a pill does is to test them out.” With that, he bent down and inhaled the powder nasally. Immediately, his face scrunched up in discomfort. “Fuck, man.”

Ponyboy looked at him worriedly. He reached out but stopped himself short. “What?”

“It just stings. Shit.” If it stung, why did he do it then? Ponyboy blanched when Harley crushed a different pill, this time right in front of him. “Here. Try it. See for yourself.”

“Why?” Ponyboy asked, raising his hands off the table like he had been caught by a cop. He was trying to find something that would help his pain; not give himself more. He voiced that concern.

Harley rolled his eyes. “Hence the reason why we should do this. Just try it.”

Ponyboy looked at the line nervously, subconsciously wetting his cracked lips. He trusted Harley enough. The guy never went out of his way to harm him and he generally knew what he was doing. He also enjoyed every hangout, and fun was what he needed at the moment. He didn’t need Soda to enjoy the day.

But the moment the powder shot up his nostrils, the first thought that hit him was that he made a terrible mistake. His face scrunched up in pain as his sinuses burned. That was an understatement. It was as if water had made it up his nose and caused the back of his brain and eyes to sting. With teary eyes, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate the pain. It honestly didn’t work that well.

He let out a grunt. Why the hell did he trust Harley? There was no way that people thought this was fun. The way his heartbeat sped up so fast that it felt like he was about to have a heart attack. The way that confusion consumed him because he didn’t know what was going on. And the way that this caused panic to settle in and strangle him. Why would anyone want to experience this?

What did he just do?

It hurt!

Oh, God.

Was he going to die?

His chest hurt.

Why did it hurt?

Why couldn’t he breathe?

His brain couldn’t compute what he was feeling.

But then everything stopped. His heart didn’t feel like it was about to run from him. His nose stopped hurting as much. His eyes were still watery and his nose was plugged, but was he just being dramatic?

Huh.

He might have been overreacting because he was fine.

“How is it?” Harley asked, eyeing him curiously.

Ponyboy tilted his head as if that would help the drug to process in his system. He sniffled, “I don’t feel anything different.”

“Really?” Harley made a face and put the container that held that pill to the side. It was probably better taken orally, but Ponyboy wasn’t a good judge. They didn’t wait to see if the effects would come in later before another pill was crushed. “Try this one.”

There was a brief worry of overdosing before Ponyboy nodded. Just like before, snorting the powder caused his sinuses to burn, but he was more prepared for it this time. Not to toot his own horn, but he only had a brief freak-out this time.

“So,” Harley started as he crushed more. His nose was starting to sound clogged. Ponyboy wondered if it was the same for him. “Do you ever think that people who separate conjoined twins ever want to do the opposite?”

What? Ponyboy looked at him like he had grown another head. “You were literally just asking me about the pills. Where did this come from?”

“I don’t know...” His friend fidgeted with his fingers. “What else are we supposed to talk about?”

“Talk about whatever, but not that.”

Harley huffed and rested his chin in his palm. “Then talk about that weird tension you have with your brother.”

This was the other topic he didn’t want to talk about. Guess he walked right into this one. He leaned back against the bed. The mattress dug into his shoulder blades as he did so, almost anchoring him. But his mind started to feel fuzzy and maybe that was why he felt more inclined to speak about it. “It’s kind of dumb.”

“Not as dumb as holding everything in. You need to learn how to not care.”

“It’s not as easy as you make it seem, Harley,” Ponyboy grumbled, narrowing his eyes. “If you have a bright idea on how to do that, let me know.”

“Just don’t give a fuck, man. People that make a big deal out of everything are sissies.”

Ponyboy gnawed his bottom lip. It still wasn’t that simple, but he wasn’t about to be labeled as a sissy. “It’s really embarrassing.”

When Harley didn’t say anything, Ponyboy quietly continued, “Well… Soda and I were planning on hanging out today but he didn’t show up. Said he had another shift at the DX Station.”

“But he was at the parade.” As soon as Harley said that, the realization hit. His eyebrows rose. “Oh. That’s fucked up.”

“Like I said, it’s embarrassing.” But after he explained the synopsis, he didn’t actually feel that way. There was a warmth in his chest that started small before it spread across his entire body, trickling through his veins like he had been injected with something. It was a calming warmth that seemingly wrapped his body in a comfy blanket and shook his problems off his shoulders—a lulling hearth that made his eyelids heavy. He found himself stripping his hoodie off and throwing it somewhere in the room; probably lost in Harley’s dirty laundry. Oh well. He pressed further into the side of the bed and bent his neck backward to rest his head on the mattress and stare at the ceiling. He let out a drawn-out sigh. “I couldn’t help but think that something was wrong with me.”

Past tense. Right now, he found himself not caring that much. It was getting harder to think clearly, making his words slur.

“Nothing is wrong with you. It’s your brother. He’s like… He’s like… Shit…” Harley cursed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You alright?” Ponyboy asked, not tearing his eyes away from the ceiling.

“Yeah. It’s hitting.” Harley cleared his throat and composed himself. “Who’s in your group?”

“There’s Darry and Soda, my two brothers. Steve is Soda’s best friend. There’s also Dally, Johnny, and Two-Bit.” He didn’t expect the other to know any of them.

Harley looked at him with furrowed brows. “You have someone named Two-Bit?”

“A nickname. His real name is Keith.”

“And he and the rest of them treat you like shit?”

Ponyboy shrugged. “Some more than others.”

“So basically, Two-Bit is Two-Faced?”

“No! I mean, they’re not all bad…” He should be more defensive of them. But just saying that sentence brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

Harley didn’t have as much patience as him. He crossed his arms. “I don’t know why you’re defending them. Why the fuck are you tolerating their bullshit? It doesn’t seem like they care about you because, if they did, they wouldn’t treat you like a whiny bitch’s turd.”

Ponyboy grimaced. “Can you not say it like that?”

“Not the point,” Harley stated. “Why do you defend people that go behind your back like that?”

He wished he had a good answer to that. He didn’t know why he did it. Time and time again, he was hurt by them. And time and time again, he found himself following right behind them like a loyal dog. If there was any answer, it was because… “They’re family.”

“A family that wouldn’t defend you if someone insults you.”

That caused Ponyboy to flinch. He knew they wouldn’t defend him in that scenario. He knew that they would take the chance to join in on the insults. He should despise them, and maybe he did in some way. But they were family and he was starting to detest that. Ponyboy hated that he was conditioned to march to the beat of their drums—a little soldier boy in their platoon. He found himself curling his hands into fists. The drugs were making it hard to think straight; made it difficult to feel anything. The comforting warmth was dragging him down. Yet, he had enough clarity to snap, “I fucking know, alright?  They’ve been treating me like shit and I know that I shouldn’t give them the time that I do, but I can’t help but feel trapped. They’ve been making me so damn miserable yet I’m too pathetic to do anything about it. Trust me, I want to be free, but it’s not that easy. No matter how hard I try to separate myself from them, it feels like there’s this stupid leash around my neck. I… Fuck!”

He slammed his fists against the table and clamped his mouth shut as his words left him. His brain was so cloudy now that thinking felt like he was walking through wet cement. The rant caused him to breathe hard, but his eyes shifted to Harley. He expected him to be mad at snapping, but his friend just quirked his eyebrow and said, “Wow. Got enough money to put into the Swear Jar?”

Ponyboy rolled his eyes and lightly kicked Harley under the table. “Like you’re the one to talk.”

He ran his hands through his hair and continued, “I can’t believe Soda did that to me though. I don’t know what went wrong between us. We used to be so close.”

“Brothers are shitty.”

“Yeah… Yeah, they really are.” He ignored how wrong that felt but there was no need to worry about that for now. He only had to feel the euphoria of the drugs.

“But I like this part of you,” Harley continued. “Unrestrained. Don’t hold back anymore. Do what you want to do.”

“Right now,” Ponyboy spoke, “all I want to do is forget.”

It took a full minute for Harley to speak up again, continuing where they left off. “And to say fuck them?”

It was meant as a joke, but Ponyboy went along with it. “Yeah, fuck them!”

Harley threw his head back and laughed, causing Ponyboy to chuckle at the ridiculousness of everything.

Ponyboy did end up forgetting about a lot of things the night—why he was angry at Soda and the gang, why he cared about what they thought, and even the time he had to return back home. He lost count of how many lines they snorted and only stopped when Harley got a bloody nose.

His entire body was both buzzing and numb when he left. He should have asked to stay at Harley’s place and called home to tell someone where he was at. He was hoping the walk would clear his mind, but the high hadn’t dissipated by the time he stepped onto the property. Whenever he hung out with Harley, time always passed weirdly. Dawn turned into dusk, and dusk turned into twilight. Nobody was out and about anymore. The roads were empty and lights were turned off in most homes. It was eerily silent, yet the howling wind filled the void left behind.

When he got home, all he wanted to do was crash on his bed, revel in the remainder of his high, and fall asleep. But that plan was foiled when the gang turned to him upon his arrival. Sometimes, he hated that they hung around his house so often. It made it inconvenient to sneak around. That and the squeaky door that Darry had yet to fix—his mortal enemy.

It screeched when he entered the house, bringing all attention to him. Soda and Steve weren’t there, he noted. They were probably still hanging out with friends. Darry, of course, was the first to speak.

“Where have you been?” he barked, shooting out of his chair, eyes burning hot. What a familiar conversation he found himself in. Ponyboy knew what he was going to ask next.

“Do you know what time it is?” he mimicked at the same time that Darry said it. The look that Darry gave him was quite amusing.

Ponyboy’s eyes flickered to the clock. It was well past midnight. He hadn’t realized that much time had passed. He never had the time to answer Darry’s question before his brother rushed towards him. For a moment, he thought he was going to get hit, but his brother stopped in front of him and stared. The rest of the gang did too, though they stayed where they were. Confusion quickly turned to worry. He wondered why they were looking at him like that and shifted his weight.

“What happened to you?” Darry then asked, which Ponyboy wasn’t expecting.

“Huh?” Ponyboy said, as a result, blinking heavily. What did he mean by that?

“Why is your lip busted?” Dally elaborated.

“My lip?” He touched it, feeling a slight sting. Oh. He forgot about today’s altercation. Add that to the list of things he had forgotten.

“And his cheekbone too,” Two-Bit added, pointing at his face. “Look!”

Ponyboy went to cover it, but Darry pulled his hand away so that all of them could see. A bruise had started to form there. Although currently light, it was probably going to look nasty come morning.

“What happened?” Darry demanded then looked at his arms and added. “And why were you walking around without a coat on? You’re freezing. Jesus!”

When he looked down, Ponyboy noticed he wasn’t wearing his hoodie and got confused. He could have sworn he had it on earlier. He certainly had it on when he was walking by the parade. Then a fuzzy memory of him taking it off at Harley’s house popped up. Ah. Another thing to add to the list.

Huh.

It was almost funny that he hadn’t noticed it missing. The whole walk home, he hadn’t felt cold whatsoever. But judging by how his body looked, he knew that it was still hit with the effects of the bad weather. Both his arms and hands were so flushed that they were borderline red, and his fingertips looked like they were starting to turn white. He could hardly feel them when he wiggled them. His toes were the same. He could only imagine what they looked like under his soaked shoes.

He marveled at how he managed to walk outside for so long without a coat on. Why weren’t drugs used more to help tolerate the cold? It was a bad thought. He knew better than to think that way because it was stupid. But that thought led him to wonder what he took for him to feel nothing. He had snorted several different pills. Harley never told him what they were, but some didn’t do anything. Or at least, he thought they didn’t. It was hard to tell since he never waited for a pill to take effect before moving on to the next. And by that point, he didn’t know what was doing what. But at least he was alive and felt good.

“I feel fine,” Ponyboy reassured, nose plugged. “It wasn’t that cold outside.”

Darry deadpanned, “It’s below freezing.”

“Well.” He threw his arms up.

“How are you not cold? Your fingers look like they’re about to fall off.”

Ponyboy had no logical answer for him without telling the truth. He continued to wiggle his fingers when Darry grabbed his shoulders and shook him to get him to focus more on their conversation. The grip was strong and it should have been painful, but, still, he felt nothing.

“Get your head out of the clouds,” Darry scolded. “I’m talking to you.”

“Can’t we have this conversation later?” Ponyboy asked seriously.

This only seemed to frustrate Darry more. Veins popped on his forehead. “Not before we discuss all of this! And don’t give me that attitude.”

“What attitude, Darry?” Ponyboy exhaled loudly. “I just want to sleep.”

“You’re making it worse,” Two-Bit voiced, trying to shush him.

“No, Darry’s making it worse by escalating things. It’s seriously nothing.”

“Nothing?” Darry croaked. Ponyboy ignored Two-Bit’s quiet comment about how he had done it now. “Ponyboy, do you know how irresponsible you are? I don’t know where to begin with you! Putting the coat—which you should have been wearing—aside, what were you doing out this late? Do you know how worried Soda was when he found out you didn’t come home?”

Good. Let him worry.

“Where is he by the way?” Ponyboy asked, looking around.

“Out with his friends right now,” Darry answered. “Told him to stay put for now. I was just about to call him again.”

Ponyboy almost rolled his eyes. Guess he wasn’t worried enough then. If Soda cared about him, he would have instantly searched for him. “I see.”

“So, what were you doing out? You better have a good explanation, Ponyboy Michael Curtis!” Darry growled. If he meant to intimidate him by using his full name, it didn’t work. If he wasn’t high, he probably would have been in hysterics by now.

He was about to answer some lowball excuse when Johnny asked, “Were you jumped?”

That caused everyone (besides Pony) to tense. They examined his appearance more, taking in the damage done to his body. Luckily, he didn’t walk in with a bullet wound because that almost happened. Honestly, he thought he looked pretty good considering what happened to him.

“Yeah, what happened to you, Pony?” Two-Bit asked and Ponyboy just shrugged in reply, causing some eyebrows to be raised at his nonchalance.

“I guess I just fell?” Ponyboy said. There was that lowball excuse. He could have done better, but he couldn’t tell them that he started a fight with drug dealers. They were worried about him being jumped when it was technically the other way around.

“Into what? A fist?” Dally scoffed. “Who did this to you?”

Again, Ponyboy shrugged. He still didn’t know their names. “Not sure who. Some guys I haven’t seen before. One was tall. The other was short.”

Darry seemed to put aside the part about him missing curfew, but his stoic demeanor hadn’t changed.

“Were you carrying anything?” he asked.

“I mean,” Ponyboy started. “I burned one of their necks with a cigarette?”

“A blade, Ponyboy. Were you carrying one?”

“Oh.” Guess he was more mad at him for not taking more precautions to defend himself. There was no pleasing him. “No.”

Darry pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “We talked about this before! What would happen if you were killed because you weren’t carrying a blade?”

“Well, at least I wouldn’t be shot down by a cop?”

The gang fell silent as they stared at him.

“Pony…” Two-Bit sighed defeatedly. What? It was an honest statement. Excuse him for thinking about the situation optimistically.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked, finally deciding to ask the question that they should have asked from the beginning.

Dally beat him to the answer, “Of course, not. Look at him, Johnny.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t sound right either. Like he’s in shock,” Two-Bit added.

“I’m fine,” Ponyboy flatly reassured.

“Are you sure? Because you don’t sound like yourself,” Johnny commented.

“Yeah, I just want to sleep it off. So, I think I might do that.”

He started to leave when Darry held up a hand to stop him, “Hold on. We still have to talk about this.”

Ponyboy shook his head. “Another time, Darry.”

“Just let him go. He was just jumped. Let him sort things out,” Two-Bit said as Ponyboy pushed past his brother to go to the bathroom for a needed shower. “He knows.”

“No, I don’t think he does,” Darry argued but didn’t make another attempt to stop him.

"He doesn’t look right,” Johnny brought up again. Ponyboy closed the door behind him, cutting out whatever conversation they were having about him. He let out a sigh and turned on the water, stepping into another warmth that nearly put him to sleep.

The next morning, Ponyboy woke up feeling terrible. His hair was messy, bags were under his eyes, and his nose was dry. His skin was sickly and he wondered briefly if this was what death felt like. But no. He was just exhausted and a bit irritable.

With a groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. If only he didn’t have to go to school. He might have been able to convince Darry to let him stay home. When he left his room, he could hear voices in the living room. Soda and Steve were back and, instantly, Ponyboy’s already sour mood deepened. They were laughing and they weren’t caring about their noise levels. They were bright, but Ponyboy saw red.

Chapter Text

The moment Soda saw him, a smile graced his lips. His grin was too bright for the early mornings, enough to cause a headache. Ponyboy found himself grimacing. To others, the smile would have been infectious, bringing ease to anyone who received it. But, to him, it brought the opposite. Ponyboy saw through the lies. He saw how the fakeness mocked him because there was no way that Soda was happy that he was there. This realization only spurred him on. While Soda’s vision was clear and sparkling, Ponyboy’s was cloudy and red.

“Mornin’, Pony,” Soda greeted him so innocently as if yesterday never happened. As if he hadn’t stabbed him in the back and embarrassed him in front of people. That remorse Soda voiced over the phone was never real. He never felt bad for ditching him or lying to him. Despite how genuine he appeared, he was a phony deep down.

Soda doesn’t like you, the voice taunted in his head. He doesn’t want to waste time with you. You’re just a tagalong to him.

“You look like shit, kid,” Steve teased. “You should fix that.”

Ponyboy scoffed. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. He had a rotten day yesterday and felt terrible today. His patience was thinner than paper and Steve was truly testing him.

“Considering how often you stare at that ugly mug of yours, I thought you would have fixed yourself by now,” he snapped back without a missed beat.

“Pony!” Soda hissed, horrified. He waved his hands in shock and distress. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Ponyboy crossed his arms defiantly and raised an eyebrow. “He threw the first punch. I was returning it.”

His brother frowned. “You shouldn’t say that about anyone.”

“But he’s allowed to say that about me?” Typical. Soda was taking Steve’s side even though he was clearly in the wrong.

“It’s different,” he tried to explain, and Ponyboy almost laughed. What a lame and unfair justification.

“How is it different?” He pointed at Steve angrily. “What makes him so different that you think giving me the cold shoulder is okay?”

“I’m not doing that. Why would you think that?”

“You had no problem doing it yesterday.”

“What?” Soda sputtered, eyes widening. “What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, kid, you shouldn’t go around accusing Soda like that,” Steve said with a sharp glare. It was a warning that told him to back off but Ponyboy couldn’t care less at the moment. He was seething—a red, hot anger that bubbled under his skin. If this was a trial, then he was the plaintiff and they were the defendants, and he was not going to lose this hearing. They were guilty of all charges and Ponyboy had his evidence in front of him.

“You left me there,” Ponyboy growled, clenching his hands into fists. He bit down viciously on the insides of his cheeks, tasting iron on his tongue. “I was waiting in that restaurant for so long before you called. Which, by the way, wouldn’t be so bad if you told me you couldn’t make it the moment you knew. Or you could have at least told me right from the get-go that you didn’t want to hang out. Would have saved me a lot of pain.”

Ponyboy’s lips pursed as he continued, “What happened? Are you embarrassed by me? Is that it? Do I annoy you?”

“No!” Soda quickly denied. His eyes were even wider now. “I was caught up at work. I told you this.”

What a dirty liar. To think that he was still fibbing to him. His eyes narrowed as his nails started to dig out blood from his palms. “Then why the fuck did I see you at the parade with friends?”

Immediately, Soda’s skin turned white as snow. The look on his face was clear. He knew he had been caught red-handed. “It’s not what you think.”

“What else am I supposed to think, Soda?”

“You said you were okay with it.”

“For a work issue. Not a lie-to-your-brother-to-hang-out-with-other-people scenario. Are you that dumb?”

“I… I…” Soda blubbered as tears sprouted from his glassy eyes. Ponyboy’s words were crushing. He must have truly been mad because it never got this bad. And the fact that he was targeting Soda’s insecurity was further proof of this. The Ponyboy of the past would have never called him dumb, even when he was emotionally charged, because he knew better. Where was the brother that used to comfort him whenever Soda spoke bad about himself? Where did he go wrong? A sob left his throat.

“Say that again,” Steve snapped. “Say that again and I’ll beat the tar out of you.”

“This isn’t about you, Steve, so stay out of it,” Ponyboy spat. He turned back to Soda who was hunching his shoulders. Finally, his brother was able to find his words.

“They asked me to come after—”

“No,” Ponyboy interrupted. “You keep trying to make up an excuse, but there are other things you can say to me. You’re a terrible brother, you know that?”

Soda flinched and Steve stepped between them and stood over Pony. It was meant to be intimidating, but Ponyboy just had an ex-con point a barrel at his forehead and force him into a drug ring. Steve had nothing on that. He stepped forward to challenge him, but that only ticked him off more.

“That’s it!” Steve yelled, but before he could try anything, Darry separated them.

“Whoa!” Darry stepped in. He kept his hands on their chests to keep them apart. The gang was standing around them, a detail that Ponyboy had missed because of his anger. Since they were out looking for him yesterday, they decided to spend the night. Now they were watching them in astonishment. Even Dally was shocked at his outburst. “What’s going on here?”

“Are Soda and Ponyboy actually fighting?” Two-Bit asked no one in particular, looking gobsmacked between the two brothers. “They never fight.”

“The kid just started yelling at Soda,” Steve explained as if they all hadn’t already been there. “Soda didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He did too!” Ponyboy screamed, bending his body so that Darry wasn’t blocking his view of Soda. “What you did was fucked up, Soda! You made me feel like shit, you know that?”

“Ponyboy!” Darry chastised, removing his hands to now fully turn to him. “That’s your brother, you’re talking to. Respect him and watch your tongue!”

“I’m not going to respect anyone that doesn’t respect me back.” This only made the others talk.

“You’re not like yourself,” Two-Bit said.

“But that’s Soda,” Johnny commented.

“You need to cool it,” Dally warned.

With each sentence said, Ponyboy could feel himself get more irritated. Their voices were piercing to his ears; almost annoyingly so. He ground his teeth as they continued to speak words that were supposed to help him see reason. To Ponyboy, they sounded like they were trying to micromanage his feelings. The metaphorical bottle in him was filling up fast, threatening to explode. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Shut up!” Ponyboy screamed. “Shut the fuck up!”

Everyone grew tense, their words coming to a halt. They have never seen Ponyboy this riled up. Sure, he had gotten into arguments with Darry, but never with Soda, and never with dry rage like this. He might get mouthy from time to time, but he had never snapped like this before.

“You shouldn’t speak like that,” Soda cried, face red. “That’s not nice.”

“And you’re not nice,” Ponyboy retorted. “So why don’t you shut up, go back to work, actually do your job for once, and read a book on family etiquette?”

The back of his head was whacked hard, making him bite his tongue. The gang was glowering at him, save Johnny who was trembling. From their perspectives, what Ponyboy said looked bad. To them, there was no basis for his insult. It was wrong. They should have been glaring at Soda, not him.

“Don’t say that,” Two-Bit snapped after he had hit him. “Watch your mouth if you know what’s good for you.”

“You’re letting him off too easy,” Steve snarled. “I told you, kid, you say something like that again, and I’ll beat the tar out of you.”

“Why don’t you, then?” Ponyboy dared, eyes narrowed. His tone had no ounce of fear. There was no doubt in it either, which threw Steve off. It was like he was actually requesting a beatdown.

“What?”

“Hit me. Beat me up. You keep threatening it, but aren’t following through.”

He deserved the pain. He deserved to be beaten until he was bruised and bloodied. He deserved to be dead. This was his punishment, but even being hit wasn’t good enough.

“Golly, Ponyboy,” Johnny started, voice small. He was still shaking like a leaf and his eyes were larger than plates. Part of Pony felt bad that he triggered this reaction out of him. He often came to their house to avoid arguments because his parents were abusive shitbags that fought all the time. It was just another reason why he failed the gang. “You didn’t have to go that far.”

Did they not listen to the entire argument? He had listed Soda’s offenses loud and clear, and none seemed to bat an eye. They were all against him. Not one on his side. And perhaps he did overreact and took it too far. It still hurt. Ponyboy was never right—always wrong in the others’ eyes. It wasn’t fair.

“Glory, what has gotten into you lately?” Two-Bit asked and Ponyboy had nothing to say to him. It wasn’t required. He didn’t need an explanation for why he was angry.

There was so much going on with him on the inside. It was more than Soda’s betrayal. Ever since he woke up, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and maybe that was why he blew up on him to the extent that he did. Something was missing. Everything seemed to tick him off—the gang, the lack of substances inside him, and even the precarious fruit fly that was buzzing by his head.

He took a better look at Soda and his teary cheeks. He caused that and it was supposed to make him feel good. Finally, his brother felt a portion of the pain he suffered through. Instead, Ponyboy felt nothing if not a little guilty. There was ice covering his heart, making everything feel numb. So where was this guilt coming from?

Oh, who was he kidding? Ponyboy had enough common sense to know that he was the problem. He knew that he took it too far because Soda wouldn’t be crying otherwise, and the gang wouldn’t be glaring at him like he was scum.

It’s always your fault.

You made him cry.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

YOUR FAULT.

“Your attitude is unacceptable!” Darry screamed, voice breaking Ponyboy out of his thoughts. “Apologize now.”

“What?” Ponyboy sputtered, backing away. Why couldn’t he apologize to him? “Why do I have to?”

“Are you kidding?” Steve scoffed.

“Just apologize, man,” Dally urged.

But Ponyboy didn’t want to. Soda was the one who hurt him. His throat clenched, “No.”

“No?” Darry questioned, veins popping on his forehead.

“No. Why can’t he apologize to me?”

“Do you need your eyes checked? You made Soda cry. You’re the one who hurt him.”

Ponyboy huffed. “Do you need your eyes checked? He hurt me! Why can’t you see that? I’m the one that’s in pain.”

He thought that should have given him some sympathy, but all he got was, “You’re only saying that for attention.”

Instantly, whatever flooring he had beneath him shattered. How could that be? These past few days, all he did was try to disappear.

It wasn’t good enough. Nothing he ever did was. He bit hard on his inner cheeks as pressure started to form behind his eyes. Why did everyone love Soda and not him? Why did he receive no appreciation or support no matter what he did? He didn’t even get the same smiles as the others. If the roles were reversed and Soda was the one that went off on him, he would still get the gang’s support. Pony wasn’t important to them.

“I’m not,” Ponyboy stuttered, willing himself not to cry. They would accuse him of only doing it for attention again. “I just want—”

“You don’t get to want anything. Not after this,” Darry interrupted, crossing his arms. He waited, tapping his foot against the floor. There was no way he was going to get out of this without apologizing. This was so stupid.

Ponyboy glared at his feet, biting the bullet. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry for what?”

This was so embarrassing. “I’m sorry for everything that I said. I shouldn’t have insulted you.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Darry said. He took a quick glance at Soda. “You need to understand that Soda needs his space.”

“This is bullshit.” Ponyboy clicked his tongue. After everything, this was the result. How absolutely ridiculous.

Darry glowered. “Watch your mouth—”

“Screw all of you,” Ponyboy hissed, cutting his brother off. He needed to get out of here. Clearly, they weren’t going to listen to him. He shouldn’t waste unnecessary breath on them. He turned to Steve. “Guess this is more about you than I thought.”

Before Steve or anyone else could yell and pull him back, Ponyboy turned on his heels, flipped them all off, and marched to his bedroom. He slammed the door so hard that the door’s framing became loose. This was going to kick him in the back later. Darry was probably going to come marching in there at any minute to lecture him, but he had to get out of there.

You made him cry.

What a horrible brother you are.

The gang hates you.

Did you see the looks they gave you?

They never liked you.

They made that clear.

Soda wasn’t sorry about what he did.

Ponyboy finally let the dam break, falling to his knees. Tears cascaded down his cheeks and salt water mixed with the iron of the blood in his mouth—a terrible combination. He cursed himself for crying; for being so weak. He also damned himself for being the problem. No matter what he did, he just messed things up. If he voiced his thoughts, he was pummeled down. If he did something, he was accused of garnering attention. If he existed, it was too much for everyone. His entire being was a stain. The gang hated him. They wished that he wasn’t around.

He could give them what they wanted.

He shook the thought away as ice crept further across his chest. Numbness spread like wildfire and should have canceled everything he felt. But while he was numb, he felt pain. He was being ripped apart but had no way to stop it from happening. He closed his eyes and his breath shuttered.

He meant nothing to them. He was just some nuisance.

Why was he even still alive?

Damn it! He clenched his jaw and slammed his fists into his thighs. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he wanted it to. So, he slammed his fists again and again, tears blurring his vision. He deserved this. He deserved pain. He deserved to be punished. A sob left his mouth as he hit himself one final time.

It wasn’t fair. Why was it he who had to suffer? Why did the world hate him? He didn’t do anything. He needed to be better but he couldn’t. All attempts have failed. It was hopeless. He was hopeless.

He took a deep breath and felt hollow in his chest. Empty yet suffering. He hated it.

He didn’t want to feel like this.

He wanted everything to stop.

It hurt.

His heart was being shredded apart.

Pain.

So much pain.

Why couldn’t it stop?

It was overwhelming him.

Drowning him.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

A sharp pain in his arm broke him out of his thoughts. Glancing down, he noticed that he had started to dig his nails into his forearm. A deep crescent was left behind when he pulled away. He thought back to when he saw Harley’s mutilated arm. They were obviously self-inflicted. At the time, he wasn’t sure why he, or anyone else, would do that to themselves, but he was starting to understand it more.

Ponyboy pressed his lips into a thin line, craving not to feel this way anymore. He walked over to his desk and shuffled through his drawers. The first item he pulled out was scissors, but, after several minutes, he learned that they weren’t the best choice for cutting. They simply weren’t sharp enough. At most, they were only able to scratch his skin. He dropped it in the drawer and let out a frustrated noise.

Then he remembered he had a switchblade. It was meant to defend him from others, but, tonight, it was going to protect him from himself.

When he flicked the blade out, he froze. Briefly, he doubted himself. Fear held him back. He didn’t have to do this to himself because he could have eaten a pot brownie instead. But he could hear the gang talk about him, and that was enough to push him over.

He only did one cut. It ran across his wrist, light and jagged. Red beads that resembled garnets poked out before they fell down his forearm, following his labyrinthine veins. Ponyboy hissed at the stinging sensation and nearly dropped the blade. The new wound throbbed, but it was strangely nice. It grounded him and pulled him away from the damage the gang caused. Emotional pain was so much more painful than physical, he realized. Cutting made things quiet but also served as a punishment. But, most of all, it made him feel like he was in control for once.

But his blade wasn’t a magic wand. He couldn’t flick it and make his problems disappear. But he can sure try.

Chapter Text

Nothing prepared the gang for the storm that was Ponyboy Curtis. He came in explosive and left a wreck behind. Nobody spoke for a long minute and it was silent, but their thoughts were loud, making it seem like there was irate chatter in the house. They were fuming as they tried to pick themselves back up. Darry paced back and forth with heavy footsteps and they all wished he would stop because they were aggravated enough and the pacing wasn’t helping.

“What was up with Ponyboy?” Dally was the first to speak up. He was leaning to the side, still staring down the hallway Ponyboy disappeared down.

“I’ve never seen him act like that,” Two-Bit said. They all chirped their agreements.

“Yeah, the kid acted like he had a stick up his rear end,” Steve added.

“Soda,” Darry started, finally halting his movements. “What really happened? Why was he so mad at you?”

Soda's shoulders were still shaking but he looked like he was starting to wind down. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he began his side of the story. The gang listened intently. As he went on, the atmosphere grew tenser.

“I didn’t mean for it to go the way it did,” Soda blubbered, twiddling his thumbs. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Well, congrats, man, you did,” Dally sarcastically stated. He whistled. “No wonder he was angry. You played hooky on him.”

“I know… I messed up.” Soda looked down, unable to look at any of them. He couldn’t get the look that Ponyboy gave him out of his head. “I should have said sorry.”

Why didn’t he?

“Maybe I should go and do that now,” Soda continued as if the word would erase his wrongdoing. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

“He’ll get over it,” Darry said but none of them thought so. “Just leave him be.”

“I don’t know if he should be alone right now,” Johnny said. There was a bad feeling in his gut. He clutched the shirt over his chest. He wanted to go himself because he knew Ponyboy felt comfortable around him. Or at least he did. His friend has been distant lately but they were still close. He was about to go, but Darry shook his head.

“I’ll talk to him later,” he sighed. “He’s going to need a good talking to after what he said. How he acted was unacceptable.”

“He was angry though.” And hurt.

“Would any of you act like that if you were put in his shoes?” The gang fell silent. In truth, yes, they probably would react similarly. They would be so incredibly angry, but none of them wanted to admit that. Who would? In their heads, they could only picture themselves handling it well. They weren’t emotionally charged and weren’t put on the spot like Ponyboy was. Thus, they couldn’t provide an accurate answer. Their backs were tense as they shook their heads. Darry tutted. “Thought so. He needs to learn that he can’t get away with saying stuff like that.”

Ponyboy went too far, but, in Johnny’s opinion, it wasn’t necessary to punish him. A good, civilized conversation would have sufficed. A punishment would likely backfire, but Johnny trusted Darry’s judgment. He would leave Ponyboy alone for now despite the unsettling feeling in his gut. But there was another topic that made him feel uneasy.

“Steve?” Johnny tentatively started. Steve turned to him and so did the rest of the gang. “Why did Ponyboy say that last part to you?”

“Yeah, why did he say that?” Two-Bit joined in, raising his eyebrow.

“How should I know?” Steve snapped back, sweat falling down his spine.

“I swear, this all started when he made that friend,” Darry said. “Who are they anyway?”

None of them could tell him. They all exchanged looks. Darry hummed when he received no answer and continued, “None of you know?”

“We haven’t seen him around anyone,” Soda admitted sheepishly. Why didn’t they know?

“I’m not even convinced this person is real,” Steve added. The gang couldn’t disagree with him. So far, Pony’s friend was shrouded in mystery and because they haven’t been seen yet, it was easier to believe they were a fragment of his imagination. Steve hoped that was true and couldn’t wait to catch him in his lie. He could just picture Ponyboy’s embarrassed face and that thought sent a shock of joy through him.

“I think it’s good that he found a new friend.”

“Can’t disagree with you there,” Darry said. “But his actions, on the other hand…”

“It’s probably nothing, Dar.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Surprisingly, Ponyboy was only grounded for one week. He wasn’t sure why it was that short. He was expecting it to be at least two, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Darry had come in and lectured him, but if someone asked Ponyboy to repeat what was said, he wouldn’t be able to. His head was too messed up; too busy to retain anything. Admittingly, he was worried about being caught after cutting himself.

His arm was hidden behind his back for the entire lecture. The cut had been sloppily cleaned with whatever was lying around—dirty laundry and old napkins that were from the bottom of his backpack. He had taken a few pills to help him deal with it all. Although, he wished he had some painkillers instead of Valium. By the time Darry came in, the cut had stopped bleeding and his head was fuzzy with exhaustion. All he could do was watch Darry’s rapid lip movements as he ranted about his bad behavior. His voice sounded like several filters had been placed over it.

After that, Soda tried to talk to him, but Ponyboy couldn’t help but feel angry when he saw his brother. His attempt was shut down quickly. He was almost glad about school on Monday because it was easier to avoid everyone there.

Ponyboy found himself back on the roof before the starting bell. The wind was harsher than usual that morning, causing his teeth to chatter. By the time Harley arrived, Pony’s face was flushed and his toes were numb. They greeted each other and prepared for the inevitable day of selling drugs.

While Harley was sorting everything out, Ponyboy passed the leftover brownies that were starting to go stale. Instead of taking them all, half was handed back, along with more pills and baggies of weed. They were all shoved in his backpack, making him feel like a criminal.

Maybe because it’s illegal? the voice in his head pointed out. That would do it.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to get the measurements and the pricing right, but Harley reassured him that everything was labeled, but he should try to aim higher than the projected cost. He just wished that he didn’t have to carry this around for the whole week. It only took one mistake for it to be over for him.

“Too bad we can’t make it more inconspicuous,” he sighed. “I would rather be dealing candy.”

Harley froze and stared at him with wide eyes. “You’re just brimming with ideas, aren’t you?”

Ponyboy looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“First, the meth, and now this? Why don’t we make this into candy?”

He wished he carried duct tape because, apparently, he needed it. He didn’t mean to give Harley another idea, honest.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not making meth for you,” he reestablished, raising a finger. “And second of all, we can’t turn pills into candy. It’ll be too obvious.”

“Depends.” Harley licked his lips almost excitedly. He wore a smirk. “If we do it right, it could be big. Think about it. We can make them into fun forms.”

With a sigh, Ponyboy decided to play along for a bit. “Like edibles?”

“Yes and no. If we can get wrappers…” Harley muttered the last part, putting a hand on his chin. There was a gleam in his eyes that screamed trouble. He stood back up and shouldered his bag. “I have a great idea. Go about your day here, sell as much as you can, and then we can get everything we need after.”

As much as he would rather be carrying around “candy,” there was one big problem. “Can’t. I got grounded.”

“Grounded? That’s dumb. What for?”

Ponyboy raised an accusing eyebrow. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“Oh, right.”

The bell rang and Ponyboy lifted his backpack, frowning at the weight. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Selling drugs with someone was a lot smoother than alone, Ponyboy found out pretty quickly. For the entire time he was in class, he was on edge. He couldn’t concentrate on a single thing, knowing that he could be discovered. He kept trying to figure out how he was supposed to do it. Harley had it lucky because he was already established and had regulars. Ponyboy was fresh to the game and had to hide the fact that he was selling drugs from people that he knew. How would he even approach anyone without sounding like a Class A Creep?

Hey, wanna buy some drugs?

He would be arrested immediately.

As time went on, he got more anxious. Cold sweat fell down his spine which caused him to squirm, and his wrist itched. All eyes were on him—staring, judging, knowing. They were picking him apart, seeing right through him. They knew. They were going to tell the teacher or some other authority about the contents of his bag. Their hands were grabbing onto his ankles and plunging him into deep water. This was it for him.

Only it wasn’t. He took a shaky breath, pressing his fingers into his cut and letting the sting ground him. There were no eyes on him nor were their hands that were dragging him down. The only thing that he was drowning from was his imagination. Nobody knew anything and they weren’t going to if he stayed vigilant. It was going to be okay.

The classes felt like they lasted for an eternity, but it eventually became time for lunch. Ponyboy needed to sell something, but he couldn’t do it out in the open. He wondered which niche would have the best consumers. Jocks and cheerleaders, maybe. Theater kids were a possibility. Honors students too. He could play it safe and go to people who were obviously stoners, but they already had their connections. They were his best shot though.

The straps of his backpack dug into his shoulders as he weaved through student traffic. He was planning on heading to a spot he knew stoners liked to hang out at, but that was when he saw a guy whose face was scrunched in displeasure. His eyes were red and teary as he stormed out the doors of the school.

Usually, Ponyboy liked to keep to himself as best as he could, but a horrible idea formed. His stomach twisted as he walked forward with a new plan.

He was sitting on a bench by the time Ponyboy got outside. He approached slowly, listening to him chant, “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

He pulled at his hair, not noticing Ponyboy’s presence just yet. From up close, he could see some bald spots on his head, most likely caused by this habit. He touched the guy’s shoulder, but it was instantly ripped away.

“What’s wrong?” Ponyboy tried to ask but his concern sounded fake to his own ears.

The guy glared at him, “Why do you care? Get lost!”

Ponyboy was flabbergasted. What the hell did he do? He held up his hands in surrender and forced a smile onto his face. “Just worried, is all.”

When he realized that he meant no harm, he relaxed a bit. The guy relented, “What do you want?”

Ponyboy chewed on the insides of his cheeks, trying to figure out how to get from this conversation to one about drugs. This was out of his element. He was no dealer and manipulation wasn’t in his bones. “Just wanted to check on you. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He thought for a moment, staring Ponyboy down. Ponyboy, meanwhile, tried his best to look as innocent as possible. “You know what? Sure. Why the hell not? I just blew it. I messed up on a test and my parents are going to beat the shit out of me. It’s not even a bad score but to them…”

“What did you get?”

“An eighty.”

“Percent?”

He nodded. He was right. It wasn’t a bad score, but sometimes expectations made people forget that. Ponyboy knew that firsthand with Darry. His brother had unrealistic expectations for him. He expected him to match it, and it drove him up the wall. What Darry wanted was a perfect being—good grades, well-mannered, social, in many extracurricular activities, and talented. He wanted a brother who did no wrong, didn’t complain, didn’t voice his own opinion, and was always attentive. It didn’t sound human. Because it wasn’t. It would make him no different than a doll.

“That’s not a bad grade,” Ponyboy comforted.

“I know, right? But they don’t see it that way. They’re going to be so disappointed that they raised a failure.”

“You’re not a failure.”

“Tell that to my parents when they compare me to my perfect siblings and cousins.”

Ponyboy couldn’t relate the same way as him. He didn’t have a big enough family to be compared to. That didn’t make him totally exempt though. Darry often asked him why he wasn’t like him. He had good grades, had many friends, was on the football team, and was on the road to playing for a college. He made people proud. And although Ponyboy had good grades (or used to) and was a good runner on the track team, it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t remember the last time someone was proud of him and didn’t know when his accomplishments turned into an expectation. He was expected to get good grades. He was expected to run well. There was no room to be proud whenever he hit the bar, but there was room to be disappointed when he didn’t. It was always, “Why couldn’t you do this? I did it when I was your age.” Ponyboy was sick of hearing Darry say something like that.

And when he did meet the expectation, the bar would rise and make it a game of cat chasing mouse. It made it clear that he would never be good enough. So, Ponyboy knew this guy’s pain.

“That sucks,” Ponyboy said, this time more genuinely. “They need to know that being proud of someone and bragging about them is different. I’m sorry that you have to deal with that.”

The guy groaned and put his face in his hands. “I’m scared to tell them.”

“You don’t have to tell them anything.” Ponyboy pursed his lips and scratched his cheek. “You know your parents best so what you do is up to you. You can converse with them, be honest, and give them your solutions. I hear most parents like that. Or you can do something else. Whatever you feel is safest.”

He couldn’t give him a good solution. He wished he knew the answer himself. Their families were different and he didn’t know how they would react to anything. A conversation wouldn’t work for him because Darry never listened, but maybe this guy had a better shot. He truly wished he could give him advice, but there was no solid answer.

The guy listened but he still looked stressed. “I can’t stand this. I can’t stand this feeling.”

This was a good opportunity for him, but after all of that, the last thing Ponyboy wanted was to sell drugs to him. He couldn’t take advantage of him but he could still offer anyway. Ponyboy reached into his backpack and pulled one of the bags of weed out just enough for the two of them to see. “Want to buy this?”

“Weed?” The guy raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Only if you want to. Can help with the anxiety.”

For a long minute, the guy stared at it. His head tilted to the side, eyes becoming glassy. “I don’t know…”

“That’s fine. Just wanted to offer it.”

“I mean,” he swallowed thickly, glancing around. “How much is it?”

“Wait, really?” Ponyboy gaped. He wasn’t expecting any interest in it and was about to drop it into his bag. Quickly composing himself, he told him the price that Harley had listed. He didn’t have the heart to go any higher.

Still, his eyes grew wider. “That expensive?”

Ponyboy nodded. “It’s good quality.”

The guy took out his wallet and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “How much can this get me?”

“Half of this.”

“Let’s do that then.” The guy handed him the money and traded it with the weed after he split it, and not a moment too soon. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Johnny walk out of the school. He instantly spotted him and started to walk over.

Ponyboy shot up and roughly zipped his backpack up. “I gotta go. I hope things get better for you.”

“Thank you for everything, the guy said with a small smile. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Po—“ Ponyboy stopped himself. He shouldn’t tell him his real name just in case it got around that he sold drugs. “It’s Michael.”

His middle name would have to do for now until he comes up with a better one. He waved goodbye as he walked around the building while he pretended that Johnny wasn’t there. There was no way he could face him or anyone in the gang.

He continued with this mindset even when he got back home at the end of the day. He didn’t bother with dinner and tuned out Darry’s lecture about him wasting food. His eyes stayed glued to the ground, one hand over his cut wrist.

He didn’t interact with the gang much. He couldn’t bring himself to, not after the altercation yesterday. And not while the gang hated him. Ponyboy just told them that he had a test he had to study for and went to his room to smoke instead.

Nobody came to check on him and he pushed down the weird amount of disappointment he felt because of that. Time passed while Ponyboy waited for something to happen. He was just about to give up and go to bed when he heard a light rap on the window, causing him to jump. At first, he passed the sound off as the house settling or maybe a bird had flown into it multiple times. Then the sound came again but more insistent this time; louder. A flash of wariness went through him as he approached the window, peeking through the blinds. He could hardly see outside with his lights on so he ran back and shut them off before returning.

There outside was Harley. He was dressed in dark clothing that blended with the void outside. The only things that stuck out were his shoes. Despite that, there was something so enchanting about him that made Ponyboy not want to look away. As if he were gazing upon a male version of the primordial, Nyx. But maybe Erebus would have been a better comparison because there was darkness to him that clashed against Pony’s light. Opposites were attracted to each other and that became clear in that moment. But he really shouldn’t be comparing Harley to a god even though he always seemed so omnipotent.

Confused, Ponyboy opened the window with a perplexed expression.

“Harley? What are you doing here?” he asked with a low voice, trying not to alert the gang in the living room. There was another more important question though. “How do you know where I live?”

“Asked around,” Harley answered. For some reason, that sent butterflies to Ponyboy’s stomach and his cheeks tinted pink. “I came to break you out.”

“I’m grounded.” Christ, he sounded so lame there.

“I know. That’s why I’m at your window. So, make like Rapunzel, and let’s go.”

A smirk quirked Ponyboy’s lips as he leaned forward. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“Do I look like I know Brothers Grimm?”

“Well, you know about Brothers Grimm.”

Harley rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. Are you coming or what?”

Ponyboy looked at his door and bit his bottom lip. He could hear the gang chattering away and having fun without him. He could have fun too and they wouldn’t even know. He had never snuck out before, but the thought of doing so was exhilarating. “Yeah, hold on.”

With a made-up mind, he slipped on a jacket, stuffed pillows under his blanket to make it look like he was sleeping, and quietly removed the screen that separated him and Harley. Ponyboy swung his legs over and dropped down. He shut the window before Harley grabbed his wrist, sending a tingling sensation down his arm. The two of them ran off, one pulled the other as they disappeared into the night. He was so glad the darkness hid the blush that painted his face.

Chapter Text

The streets were supposed to be quiet at night. And, for the most part, it was. Yet, as he ran, his footsteps stomped like drums and his shoes crunched the sleet on the road. There was no reason to be moving this fast, especially with the patches of black ice that made him skate but he sprinted anyway. Ponyboy’s side cramped and his breath felt heavy and labored. There was a syrup on his tongue that tasted suspiciously of iron. But even though his throat ran dry and his saliva became refreshing whenever he swallowed, he never slowed down. Not even when the snow squall caused his visibility to reduce and the water on the edges of his eyelashes to freeze. The gang left his mind, and there were no worries except for the exhilarating fear of being caught.

Harley led him several blocks away from his house until they were running parallel to the highway. There weren’t too many cars out, and those that were, drove slowly. Finally, they arrived at a billboard. MARK GALWAY: A REALTOR, A FRIEND THAT CARES was written in bold letters next to a blown-up face of, whom he guessed was, Mark Galway.

“How big-headed do you have to be to have an advertisement like this as a realtor?” Harley snorted.

Ponyboy chirped in agreement, “You would think he’s running for president or something with how he’s campaigning.”

“You would think.” Readjusting his backpack to sit more securely on him, Harley started to climb up the ladder. Ponyboy looked startled.

“We’re going up there?”

“Yeah, don’t be a pussy. Come on.”

Biting the insides of his cheeks, Ponyboy placed his hands on a rusty bar, cringing at how cold it was. He hurried up after Harley, not letting his hands remain on the metal for more than a second each. There was hot potato, but Ponyboy was playing cold potato at the moment. His fingers were quickly becoming numb and every instinct told him to let go, but as he hit the halfway point, he knew that wasn’t an option anymore.

He looked down. The ground was getting further away. It felt like he was playing a game of Chicken. He used to sometimes play it with Curly until Darry and Tim got on their cases when they burned their fingertips with a cigarette butt. Only this time, he was climbing a ladder. Billboards were pretty tall, he came to realize. It all made him dizzy, so he decided to stare at the bottom of one of Harley’s shoes instead. There was dried gum smeared on it, darkened by dirt. He continued onward.

The rungs creaked dangerously with each step, threatening to snap under his weight and encouraging him to pick up his pace.

When they finally got to the top, Ponyboy flopped himself onto the middle of the platform way too dramatically. It didn’t have railings, so any wrong step would end horribly. His fingers poked through the gaps in the floor, wiggling nervously. Harley sat heavily on the edge, swinging one leg over and folding the other to his chest. He dropped his backpack, letting whatever was in it clang loudly on impact.

It took a full minute for Ponyboy to gain enough bearings to move. He slid next to Harley, dropping both legs over. For a long moment, they watched the slow-driving cars below them. At some point, Harley rolled a joint and passed it to him, but since he left the house so suddenly, he forgot to grab his lighter. When he explained this, Harley took his out. A hand was placed on the nape of his neck and Ponyboy couldn’t help but let out a quiet gasp as his head was turned towards the other.

“What are… What are you doing?” Ponyboy stuttered, trying to reel back, but the hand was too firm. To answer him, Harley raised his lighter and swiped the spark wheel. The flame danced between them, no doubt showing how red his cheeks were. It was hot… The flame, he meant! Just the lighter, not what he was doing. Or maybe it was the blood flowing to his face. Nothing else. Nope.

Their eyes were locked together, and Ponyboy found himself unable to look away. The flame made Harley’s eyes look like they were sparkling. He wondered what was going through his mind at the moment. Was he thinking about him? Was he thinking of doing anything else?

Ponyboy’s heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it was about to explode. Somehow, he managed to tear his eyes away. However, there weren’t many other places to look. His eyes inevitably fell upon Harley’s lips.

There was only a lighter between them. A shameful thought passed by Ponyboy’s brain: he wanted to lower that lighter and kiss Harley.

As soon as he thought that, he felt terrible. He put the joint to his lips and let Harley light it. Then, he moved away and Ponyboy mourned the loss.

What was he thinking? He shook his head, which probably made him look a bit insane. There was no way he should be thinking about kissing him. They were just friends, and friends wouldn’t do that stuff together. They definitely didn’t think about it either. Harley would hate him if he found out.

He suddenly felt sick. What did all this make him? He didn’t want to think about it. Thinking meant realizing, and he was afraid of what he would conclude about himself.

Luckily, there was a way to take his mind off this. The joint was never as appealing as it was that night.

They started to pass it back and forth despite the dangers of getting high there. It warmed Ponyboy and made him kick his legs like a child. Minutes went by until he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“The view’s nice,” Ponyboy commented, smoke filtering through his teeth. “Pretty like the Grand Canyon.”

“I think the Grand Canyon is ugly,” Harley bluntly opinionized.

“Why? What did the Grand Canyon do to you?”

“I don’t like its colors. Why’s it so red? Dirt should be brown.”

“I think it has layers.”

“I also don’t like the layers,” Harley said matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” Ponyboy looked over. “Does that count as body shaming? Color shaming? Are you racist?”

“Can someone be racist if it’s about a rock?”

Ponyboy froze in thought. There was something off about what Harley said. “Wait, I think it’s a canyon.”

“I think it’s a disappointment. We should fill it up. It’s a Grand Disappointment. Grand Rock. Grand… Red Planet?

“Have you been there?”

“No, I’ve never been to Mars.”

“When did we start talking about Mars?”

“I don’t know.”

Ponyboy couldn’t help but laugh. Everything they talked about was absolutely ridiculous and so random. They had scooted closer during this time, their arms pressed together. Electric shocks ran down Ponyboy’s arm, and it felt so nice that he kept leaning more weight onto Harley. They spoke more about other things until their faces were numb. Without realizing it, the short storm ended and their clothes were soaked through.

“Okay, okay,” Ponyboy started when curiosity got the best of him. “What’s in your bag?”

Harley made a noise with his throat and struggled to unzip his bag. Inside were several cans of spray paint. They both grinned toothily at each other.

Soon all they could hear were the rattling marbles inside the cans. It muted the voice in Ponyboy’s head that told him not to vandalize. It also made him forget that freezing wasn’t the same as drying. The paint had a hard time sticking to the surface, making it difficult to layer or do anything. That being said, Ponyboy had no idea what he would paint.

He looked over at Harley who was defacing Mark Galway’s face with the classic mustache and horns. But with the paint not sticking, it made it look like his entire face was melting.

Ponyboy decided to just paint Mickey Mouse. He rubbed his tongue over his teeth as he applied pressure to the nozzle. Black paint blasted onto the surface. It was hard to get the feel of it. He kept messing up on how far away he needed to hold the can, making all his lines uneven and sloppy, but it was also an abstract masterpiece. In reality, it looked like he painted a deformed cousin of Mickey Mouse. Harley reassured him that it looked like it belonged in a museum though; said it was the best art he had ever seen.

Fumes wafted into their nose, making them feel more lightheaded than before.

“Is it possible to get high from paint?” he asked.

“I mean, I once got high from markers. That’s basically the same thing,” Harley answered.

The more paint that was added, the less Mickey Mouse looked like himself. The running paint made him more like a giant blob. Ponyboy pouted. “Harley, this isn’t working. It’s not drying.”

“No, it’s drying.” Harley touched the surface and pulled back his hand, now covered in red. “Oh, never mind. I lied.”

“What now?”

Harley thought for a moment before an idea flashed through his brain. He reached into his pocket and took out his lighter. He also grabbed one of the spray bottles. He lit the lighter and when he pressed the nozzle of the can, both flames and paint shot out with a strong intensity.

Ponyboy nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that would work.”

But as they started to dry the billboard—albeit messily—with the makeshift flamethrower, they heard someone scream below them, “Hey! You’re not supposed to be up there! Get down!”

“What?” came Harley’s totally intelligent reply. He looked down at the guy below them and squinted his eyes. But as he did that, his arms lowered and the fire washed over the other spray bottles. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know,” Ponyboy said honestly, distracted by the clicking noises that started by their feet. “What’s that noise?”

“Hey! Get down here!” the guy yelled again.

“Get some doilies?” Harley said, impressed with himself. “Ponyboy, I think I might be able to read lips.”

“I thought he said to get some town beer,” Ponyboy responded.

“Huh. Is that what he said?”

“Get down! I called the cops!” the guy kept screaming.

“Shut up, man! We’re trying to figure out what you’re trying to say!” Harley screamed back. He turned back to Ponyboy. “Was my voice too loud there?”

“He might be deaf,” Ponyboy said. “Probably didn’t hear you. We should go down there and see if he can read lips.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Harley threw the lighter behind him as he started to climb down. Ponyboy followed along, each step felt like there was nothing below him. He tapped his toes, trying to feel where each rung was before putting more weight down. But they were only able to get a quarter way down before disaster hit. From above them, there was an explosion. The blast had them both slipping off the ladder, shards of broken metal from the spray paint cans flew by them like bullets. The flames scorched their eyebrows and burned the tips of their hair. Everything was moving very slowly. Even the ground that was about to meet them.  He didn’t know why, but something about nearly being blown up was quite sobering.

He groaned when he slammed into the ground, ribs creaking. For a moment, he didn’t know what had happened. He just knew that he was on the ground and his body was hurting. His ears rang as he pushed himself into a sitting position. It didn’t seem like anything was broken, which was good. The snow cushioned his fall, but he wouldn’t be able to fully assess himself until later. He couldn’t imagine what bruises were going to show. Honestly, it was miraculous that he wasn’t hurt more.

“Harley, you good?” he asked.

“Yeah, as much as I could be,” Harley replied. His friend sat up and cursed under his breath as he shuffled around, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the remains of what was his backpack. He looked through it before he shoved everything into his pockets. It kind of made him look ridiculous, but what else could he do? The backpack was basically toast. “It’s okay, the weed is fine.”

“Hey, you delinquents,” the man, who had recovered from his shock, rushed over to them. “You’re in deep trouble now.”

“Let’s go!” Harley said, grabbing Ponyboy and yanking him to his feet.

“Oh, no you don’t!” The guy grabbed Harley’s scruff, dragging him back, but Ponyboy rammed his shoulder into him before his friend could fall. Without a second delay, Harley stuck out his leg and tripped him. The man landed on his back with a grunt. Before he could get back up, Ponyboy kicked him in the temple, knocking him out cold.

“Well, that was taken care of,” Harley commented, poking him with his shoe. “Nice.”

“What now?” Ponyboy asked. “We can’t let him stay out here, right?”

“The police are coming, so they’ll find the body.” Harley looked around and found a spray paint can that managed to survive the explosion. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He didn’t like that. “Hey, what are you doing?”

While he was contemplating if he could get away with potential murder (not that he wanted to) if the police couldn’t find the body, Harley started to spray the man with bright paint. It adhered to his skin and clothes much easier than it did to the billboard. Soon the word SKUNK was written down the length of his body. Harley threw the bottle away and wiped his hands like he did good work.

“Skunk?” Ponyboy asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Skunk?” Harley repeated, looking disgruntled. “Can’t you read? It says skank.”

Ponyboy rolled his eyes. “Can’t you write? Your handwriting is terrible.”

At that moment, they could hear distant sirens that were headed towards them. Harley cursed and his eyes widened. “Shit, we gotta go. Come on!”

And the two were off again, sprinting as fast away from the scene as they could. They needed to get somewhere they could duck into. They got away from the highway and swerved down the streets, taking random turns, trying their best to cover their tracks whenever they left them in the snow. Eventually, they found a dumpster and they ducked behind it.

Their chests heaved as they waited for the sirens to pass, scrunching their nose at the vile scent of garbage. When the cops did pass, the two waited a few more minutes to make sure they were truly gone before leaving their hiding spot.

The weed was completely (if not mostly) out of their systems by then and they were now colder than ever. They were about to call it a night when Harley tugged him in another direction.

“Let’s go in there,” Harley suggested, pointing at a 24-hour mart that recently opened in the area.

24-hour stores were convenient for most people, but Ponyboy was quick to figure out that he wasn’t part of that group. It was empty inside besides the clerk. The clerk eyed them suspiciously and Ponyboy couldn’t blame him for doing so. What else could two shadily dressed teens be doing there past midnight except to steal? Harley grabbed a basket, ignoring the eyes that were on him. They went straight to the candy section where Harley started to dump as much as he could in there—chocolate, Neco Wafers, Pez and their dispensers, just to name a few. He also dropped in string, skewers, and food dye. By the time he was satisfied with his haul, his basket was almost overflowing. Ponyboy had to grab the other side of the handle to keep it balanced.

“What do we need to get?” Harley asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” Ponyboy asked back.

“You already know.”

Ponyboy stared, slowing to a stop. He looked appalled. “Seriously? This again?”

“We’re already here, so might as well get the stuff for it.”

The clerk cleared his throat, causing Ponyboy to snap his attention to him. They were still being watched and he didn’t know how much was overheard. They were speaking so loudly. Harley wouldn’t be stupid enough to make a scene if he said no, would he? Ponyboy swallowed thickly. Doubtful but Harley was unpredictable. They needed to get out of there before the clerk got too suspicious. He rubbed between his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” Ponyboy relented, already regretting his decision. “But I don’t know the steps and I don’t think I can make meth in its purest form.”

“Whatever,” Harley agreed, shrugging his shoulders. “Not like customers would know the difference. What do we need first?”

The two of them went through the store, dropping whatever Ponyboy needed into the basket. With the stuff that he picked out, it was going to be a miracle if he succeeded. All of the ingredients had to be substituted with common goods that contained whatever chemical or mineral. Some were easy to find—distilled water could be purchased in gallons, they made supplements for iodine, and acetone was right next to the cheap nail polish. Others were real head-scratchers. It took time for them to find the pseudoephedrine. It was literally just in allergy medication. Both hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide were found in different cleaning solutions. With how many cleaning products they had, this recipe seemed very toxic. But meth wasn’t very good to begin with.

The hardest ingredient was the red phosphorus. That stuff was illegal. But there was one place where they were still used commonly that Ponyboy could think of: matches. They grabbed all the boxes they could find. There were now the issues of scientific equipment, filters, and a good location.

Their one basket had now turned into two. Ponyboy looked down, just imagining the final price of everything.

“I don’t know how we’re going to pay for all that,” Ponyboy brought up.

“Why would I pay?” Harley responded. “Let’s just go.”

That made sense. The problem was, it was going to be too obvious to steal since they were the only ones in the store. The last thing they needed was for the clerk to pull a rifle on them. He let Harley take the baskets. “You go. I’ll distract and meet you outside.”

With a nod, Harley positioned himself so that he was out of view. Ponyboy took a deep breath. On his way up to the counter, he grabbed an atrocious-looking shirt that said, I’M THE REAL TULSAN. He made a face at it before he dropped it on the counter.

“Hi, I was wondering if you had this in the size extra-large?” he started, making sure that his voice stayed stable and nice. “There weren’t any on the rack.”

The clerk sighed, “Don’t assume I don’t know what you two are trying to do.”

Ponyboy gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to leave you two unsupervised. You’re going to walk out with all that merchandise as soon as I turn my back.”

“I just want a shirt.”

“Extra-large isn’t your size, kid.”

“It’s for my grandpa,” Ponyboy lied.

“Yeah, I totally believe you,” the clerk responded sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

This was going to be more work than he would have liked. He had some practice in stealing. He would sometimes take things like a pack of gum or a candy bar. He wasn’t that into it, but he helped the others steal. He once helped Dally walk out with two packs of beer. “I was going to pay. Why are you denying me service? Can I talk to your manager about this?”

Instantly, the clerk went rigid. “He’s not in right now.”

“But someone has to be here to supervise you. If not, they’re on call just in case something happens. I would like to tell them about how you’re treating me.”

Now, the clerk really started to look worried and Ponyboy prayed that he wouldn’t call him on his bluff. The clerk grumbled as he grabbed the shirt. “Fine, I’ll check the back. Wait here.”

As soon as the clerk got out of sight, Ponyboy looked over his shoulder and saw that Harley was gone. He must have slipped out while the two of them were arguing. He tapped his fingers on the counter for a second before he ran out after his friend. Harley was waiting for him off to the side, and for one last time during the night, they were off.

“There’s one more stop,” Harley told him. This time, he was brought to their school. Golly, the number of illegal activities they were accomplishing in one night was truly tallying up. They might as well have won a World Record. With some pickpocketing on Harley’s part, they managed to get in. All Ponyboy had to do now was succeed. He was in for a long night.

Chapter Text

Those many hours spent in the lab were long and laboring, filled with suffocating air and sticky sweat. The vents ran loud, muting the clinking of beakers. Trials upon trials were done, using the product they stole and resources they found locked in the cabinets. They were able to substitute some of the stuff they stole with what they found, making everything seem less toxic. Each time, the recipe was altered just slightly and the process was done differently. Altogether, things went a lot better than they thought, which was surprising. It took several tries—Harley tested each trial—but eventually, they had something that could be considered meth. It wasn’t the prettiest result but it was better than nothing.

By the time they finished preparing, the sun was beginning to rise and Harley was so high that he started speaking nonsense. Ponyboy had declined when he was offered the meth. It was too heavy; too destructive for him. He knew that he would get fucked up if he smoked it. Instead, he gave the lame excuse of being the sober one. He looked down proud at all they accomplished in doing.

While Ponyboy was figuring out the odds and ends of making meth, Harley (when he wasn’t high) went ahead and tackled everything else. He merged cannabis with chocolate, using rectangular trays as molds. He stringed round pills into bracelets and necklaces after he dug tiny holes into them with a fine needle. They were mostly white but a quick spray of food dye made them vibrant and inviting. Both of them were glad they thought about swiping the aerosol version instead of just the drop bottles. He also crushed pills and took apart capsules, pouring the powder into a paper tube. Harley even went through the trouble of carefully wrapping everything in candy wrappers to hide what they truly were.

When Ponyboy got the approval for the meth he made, Harley crushed it into smaller shards and artistically constructed them on the skewers, gluing the pieces together with sugar water and spraying them with dye until they looked like vivid rock candy. It all looked so convincing. If Ponyboy hadn’t made them, he wouldn’t have thought they were anything but sugary sweets.

After they cleaned, packed, and took off their protective equipment, they headed back home without many more words shared between them. By the time Ponyboy returned, he was exhausted. His body was sore, his back was aching, and his feet were screaming at him. To collapse in bed was the best feeling in the world.

He had somehow managed to get back home before anyone could check on him or wake up themselves, but it was close. By the time his eyes managed to shut, he could hear Darry turn on the coffee maker. The comforting background noise lulled him to sleep. It was nice, even if it felt like his eyes were only shut for a few seconds before Darry came into his room and shook him awake, telling him to get ready for school. With a groan, Ponyboy sluggishly got up, feet dragging heavily across the floor as he dressed himself in fresh clothes. Again, he started his day over.

For the entire week, Ponyboy and Harley did what they could to sell the new products. They were an instant hit with his clientele and Ponyboy was finally able to see how much of an empire Harley had created just within the school. Some students started to walk around with the candy they made, more out in the open and unashamed. Others, who didn’t know what was going on, started to hop onto the trend and purchase sweets from regular stores, helping them cover their tracks more. Everything was benefiting them exponentially. Their debt was covered and they got more money out of it as well, and Ponyboy started to get more footing in the drug dealing world, though he kept his real name a secret still. It was better that way.

But there were still negatives. The more comfortable Ponyboy got, the further away he got from himself. His grades were dropping, he was still avoiding the gang, and he was starting to come to terms that he was addicted to all of the substances he was putting into himself. Everything started to get duller and each day was harder for him to do anything if he wasn’t high from something.

He was just so tired.

His mind kept berating him, beating him down at any opportunity it got. Never silent. Always hurting him. Always so loud. Disassociation helped when he wasn’t on anything.

There was one day when Ponyboy was lying on the couch. The voices in his head were especially loud. He had the TV on. The news channel filled the house with noise. He didn’t care much for watching the channel but he didn’t feel like changing it.

Ponyboy was still grounded and couldn’t go out. Soda was supposed to watch him, although he was out at the moment. It was the reason why he was even allowed to have the TV going. If he didn’t have that, he probably would have been in his room snorting up some crushed pills, but he didn’t feel like doing that, if he was being honest. He hated how it felt after. It never felt good unless he was constantly doing it and Ponyboy had no mood for that.

Anyway, he was lying on the couch, not really paying any attention to what the news anchors were saying. They were mostly serving as background noise that helped drown out the voices in his head. That was when Two-Bit walked into the house, wrists and neck adorned with candy. Ponyboy had to look twice to make sure he hadn’t somehow gotten his hands on pills.

“Hey, Pony,” Two-Bit greeted, turning his body in a way that invited Ponyboy to ask about his newfound “jewelry”. Too bad Pony had no reason to ask about them. He was mostly wondering why Two-Bit was there in the first place since nobody was there but him. It was probably a mistake because there was no way that he was there for him. Two-Bit had to be looking for someone else that he could bug. Someone that wasn't him. Ponyboy turned back to the TV, not even bothering with a greeting back.

“No one’s here,” he said.

“Oh.” And wasn’t that a painful sound? Like Two-Bit had gotten disappointed. It caused his heart to pang because why the hell did he have to sound so upset that he was stuck with him? Two-Bit quickly and seamlessly adjusted his tone. “Well, you’re here.”

Part of him wanted to correct Two-Bit on that. Ponyboy wasn’t like the others. He was only in the gang by association. He wasn’t a friend. Just some kid brother the gang had to babysit. Ponyboy clenched his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’m grounded.”

“Still?”

“It’s what I get when people don’t like me.” It was what he got for wanting to be treated correctly. It was what he got for wanting to be cherished more; to be loved like he once was.

Two-Bit frowned as if that sentence didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t fathom why Ponyboy would say something like that. “Ponyboy, that’s not…”

He stopped himself with a shake of his head, but Ponyboy secretly wished he would press more into it. Two-Bit looked at the TV instead, choosing not to open that can of worms Ponyboy had placed in front of him. “What are you watching?”

“TV.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that,” Two-Bit snorted. He made a face when the weather broadcaster appeared. “The news?”

“I guess.” But Ponyboy wouldn’t be able to repeat anything that was said in the last thirty minutes. It was too exhausting to stay actively listening to it. The two of them fell into silence as the broadcaster started to talk about how temperatures were starting to rise and how there were no signs of a sudden snowstorm.

Two-Bit groaned, “This is so boring.”

Sadly, Ponyboy couldn’t help but translate that as him being the reason why. His eyes became sunken. “Sorry.”

Again, Two-Bit gave him a weird look but shrugged off any worry he had. He walked over to the television and changed the channel without asking before doing so. Ponyboy made a noise of dissatisfaction when Two-Bit tapped on his leg to move, which he did. But instead of simply bending his legs, he got up instead, already feeling like he was taking up too much space in the living room. He was disappointed but what could he do? Two-Bit didn’t want him there.

“I’ll go if you wanna watch something,” Ponyboy said sadly.

“Where are you going?” Two-Bit asked.

“My room.”

Two-Bit raised an eyebrow. “Trying to be antisocial or something?”

The voices in his head started to come back, clawing at his mind with razor-sharp words. They overwhelmed him and made him crave some sort of sweet release. His energy was draining fast, siphoning away like air from a deflating balloon. How could he convince him that he wasn’t trying to be antisocial? How could Ponyboy explain that he found it difficult to talk? Or that he didn’t have enough energy to do much of anything? Two-Bit would just end up calling him lazy in some way. Yet, even though he mostly wanted to retreat, there was another part of him that silently begged Two-Bit to let him stay so that the two could hang out together. Just the two of them. How does one explain these complicated emotions?

“Just tired,” Ponyboy answered through gritted teeth.

“You’re boring.” The words hurt despite the playful tone to them.

“I know.” Ponyboy pressed his lips into a thin line, breath shuttering. He dug his nails into his palms. “You should find someone to hang out with. I think Soda will be back soon. He went to pick up Steve so they both might be here any minute now. Johnny’s probably at the lot, and Dally’s at Buck’s most likely, and Darry’s—”

Two-Bit held up a hand to stop him from speaking anymore. He let out a chuckle. “Whoa, Pony! You make it sound like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“I’m just giving you options that are better than being stuck with me.”

“What?” Two-Bit’s full attention was on him now. His eyebrows were scrunched together in concern. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. I know you wanted to see someone other than me here. I can tell.”

Two-Bit had trouble deciding what to say to that. He had a drink and, usually, that helped him talk, but it didn’t prepare him for such a delicate conversation. It was obvious that Ponyboy was sad about something, but he had no idea what. Was he upset about being grounded? That had to be it, he concluded. He grinned. “Elvis is here? I didn’t know he made house calls.”

He thought his joke was funny, but he must have said something wrong because Ponyboy’s eyes dimmed further. But as fast as that expression appeared, it was gone, replaced by a small smile. “Yeah? You just missed him. Had a whole concert and everything. You might be able to catch up to him if you run though.”

“I always wanted to ask him if his suede shoes were really blue. They’re tuff. I wonder if he’ll let me have them.”

“Maybe if you pay him enough.”

Two-Bit let out an animated sigh. “Who has enough money for that?”

“Just let me know, and I can give you the money,” Ponyboy mumbled before he could stop himself. He internally cursed at himself when he realized what he just said. He messed up. He shouldn’t have said anything. Now Two-Bit would know that something was off because there was no way Ponyboy had enough cash to buy Elvis’s shoes. He really didn’t but he did have a lot of cash on him.

“And how did you get enough money for that?” Two-Bit chuckled and Ponyboy let out a sigh of relief.

He thought it was a joke. Ponyboy could have laughed. Of course, Two-Bit would think that. And with that realization, he thought of a perfect response—an entirely risky one too—to his question. He would only be able to use it this one time. “I sell drugs.”

Two-Bit burst out in laughter, patting him on the back. “You? I don’t think you would be able to run a lemonade stand.”

Ponyboy tried not to get offended by that. “I bet I could run a successful business if I wanted to.”

“Sure, I believe you,” the other greaser said sarcastically.

Before Ponyboy could utter a clever retort, Soda and Steve walked in. In an instant, Two-Bit’s face brightened in an excited way that had never been directed at Ponyboy. The greaser gave a rapturous greeting back. It knocked Pony back a few pegs and had him stumbling over a wave of sadness. See? Just as he thought. Two-Bit would rather be hanging out with other people. He could have at least hidden it more though.

“Hey, Two-Bit,” Soda greeted with an easy smile.

“What’s that around your neck?” Steve asked, looking quizzically at the string of candy.

“Like it?” Two-Bit boasted, grinning cheekily. He looped it over his index finger to show it off. “Everyone’s been wearing them around school lately.”

“I haven’t seen many people wear them.” Steve crossed his arms, smirking. “Didn’t think you followed trends though. It looks stupid.”

“Yeah, well, I have candy and you don’t. Isn’t that right, Pony?”

“Hm?” He hadn’t been focusing on this conversation, too focused on settling the unease in his stomach. He looked nervously at Steve who was glaring at him coldly. It was clear what he was trying to convey: Leave. Ponyboy took a few steps away, hunching his shoulders and hugging his stomach. “Oh… uh… sure?”

“He wasn’t even paying attention,” Steve pointed out, still sending the message for him to go.

Yeah, yeah. He got it. He didn’t want to be there anyway because of how awkward it was. He hadn’t spoken to Soda since their argument. The tension between them was suffocating, affecting the mood of everyone else. His brother has tried to talk to him on multiple occasions so, in a way, it was mostly his fault that the tension persisted so long. But Ponyboy didn’t think he could have a conversation with someone he couldn’t bring himself to look at. Whenever he thought about Soda, he was reminded of the betrayal. How could he forgive him just like that?

“You okay?” Soda asked and Ponyboy realized that he zoned out again.

“Yeah,” Ponyboy said, blinking heavily. He resisted the urge to bite his tongue because they must have been so annoyed by him for staying there for so long. “I’m just tired. I think I’m going to go back to my room.”

Soda’s eyebrows knitted together, not quite believing him. “But we just got here.”

Annoyance settled under his skin at that. Like that mattered. He clicked his tongue. “So?”

“I just thought…” Soda trailed off, only for Steve to cut into the conversation.

“Just let the kid go,” he said. This was the first time Ponyboy agreed with him, but he wished that Steve would have phrased everything better. He was making him sound like a brat. “If he wants to leave, then let him.”

“I’m tired,” Ponyboy reiterated to shine a better light on him. “I’m going to go to my room so don’t let me ruin your fun.”

He turned and left before Soda could say anything to stop him. He knew that his brother had more to say but he really couldn’t handle being there anymore. When he got to his room, he didn’t fall asleep like he implied he would. Instead, he propped open his window and started to smoke a cigarette. He leaned against the window sill as he tried to get the edge off.

He quickly burned through one, clenching his jaw when it didn’t give him the desired effect. So, he moved on to smoking a joint since there was a good chance that it would make him tired. Or chatty, but he hoped that it wasn’t that one.

Whatever it took to not feel so shitty.

His brain was buzzing with words that he originally wanted to drown out when he was in the living room. It was loud. So incredibly loud, but as time went on, these words were being snuffed out like someone was blowing out candles one by one, leaving him in the blissful darkness of his mind.

He watched as the tip of the joint burned the parchment, his pupils slowly growing bigger. The hum of the heater grew louder to his ears, sinking him further and further down. He could already feel the effects of the weed. It made him feel better; more relaxed. He started to forget all of his problems, even if this bliss only lasted for a few minutes more.

There was a knock on the door and Ponyboy nearly jumped out of his skin. He quickly snuffed the joint out on the window sill before he chucked it outside. The screen was still off, he realized. He needed to put it back up later.

He tried to fan out the smell that the smoke left behind. He cursed under his breath when it wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“Can I come in?” came Soda’s voice.

“Hold on,” Ponyboy yelled back, opening the window wider. Fuck. This wasn’t a good time at all.

Whether he heard him or not, Soda opened the door. His brother sniffed the air and made a face. “What’s that smell? Were you burning incense or something?”

Ponyboy’s heart was pounding. Christ, he couldn’t deal with this right now. He needed to send him away as soon as possible. “Or something.”

“Why is the window open?” Soda observed with a frown. “You know that Darry doesn’t like that. The bill is high enough.”

What was this? Was Soda here just to criticize him? Ponyboy rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk. I’ve been trying to give you space, but we need to have a conversation about what happened.”

“No, we don’t,” Pony was quick to say.

“Yes, we do. I don’t like what’s happening between us.”

“Don’t you have something better to do? Like hanging out with your friends?” He was never going to let that go.

Soda gave him a look. “That was one time.”

“One time too many.”

“Can’t you forgive me?” Soda pleaded. More like whined.

He couldn’t be serious. Did Soda have some screws loose or something? Did he think that he was innocent? Ponyboy started to get riled up again, fueled by both his anger at this situation and panic about being caught high. “Fucking, why would I do that?”

“Because I’m your brother?”

“That’s not a good enough reason.” Ponyboy glared. Soda was wasting his time if he thought that would work. He wasn’t adding anything new to the table. This was so ridiculous. What a waste of time. He pointed at the door. “Now, get out.”

Soda went slack-jawed at the cold treatment he was receiving. Something was obviously different about his brother. He wasn’t acting like his little buddy anymore. This was a different person. Soda didn’t recognize Ponyboy for some reason. The ball of light was now a stormy cloud. “Why are you so angry all of a sudden? You keep acting up.”

“I’m acting up right now?” Ponyboy scoffed. Soda didn’t even know what trouble he could get himself into. “Trust me, this is nothing.”

“What’s up with you?” Soda asked, eyes wide.

“Right now? Not my serotonin levels,” came Pony’s dry humor just so that he could be obnoxious.

“What does that even mean? Ponyboy, this isn’t good. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need help.”

He’s judging you, the voice in his head said. He probably wants to lock you in a loony bin.

“I don’t need shit from you or anyone!” Ponyboy roared. His lips were trembling with how angry he was, veins protruding up his neck. “If you’re going to be like this, get out!”

“Pony, but—” He wanted to scream.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Soda, get out of my room! I don’t want to talk to you anymore!” Why couldn’t he understand that? He was making his request loud and clear. Even a fourth grader would know better.

But Soda was relentless; too stubborn for his own good. “We have to talk!”

“No! Get out!”

“You can’t kick me out. I live here too.”

“Fine!” Ponyboy screamed. He grabbed a thicker jacket and pushed past Soda. “Then I’ll go. Happy?”

Soda followed right behind him. Their footsteps were out of sync with each other. “Where are you going?”

“To my friend’s house.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Not anymore.” He grabbed the door when he got there, turning around to face Soda. “Tell Darry I won’t be back tonight.”

"You're grounded."

"I don't care."

“Pony, wait—”

Ponyboy didn’t wait. He slammed the door in Soda’s face. The door rattled so much that part of the framing chipped. He stomped towards the front door. Two-Bit and Steve stood up when he got to the living room and tried to intercept him, but Ponyboy pushed past them as well, shoving his shoulders into their arms roughly.

“Get out of my way,” he hissed before he slammed the front door shut, only slightly lighter than his bedroom door.

Chapter Text

Harley’s house was never meant to be a place where he could find solace. Yet, when he saw the smoke that rose from the chimney—signs of life in the quaint abode—he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. His tense muscles relaxed and he was given a short sense of respite. He had only been there once, but it felt more welcoming than his own home. Safe. This was a place where he could feel better.

By the time he jogged up to the front door, a question about Harley’s whereabouts popped up in his head. He had no way of knowing if he was home or not, but someone was there. Ponyboy rapped his numb knuckles on the door and waited patiently as he listened to someone shuffle around on the other side. But instead of being greeted by his friend, an older woman opened it. She looked a lot like Harley, down to the wolfish features. This must have been his mother. She was dressed very nicely, in vibrant, ironed clothes, and wore a strong rose-scented perfume. Not a strand of hair was out of place on her head.

“Hello, who are you?” she greeted, a smile on her lips that almost hid how suspicious she was of him.

“I’m Ponyboy. Harley’s friend.” Ponyboy didn’t elaborate any more on that.

She gave him a confused look. “I don’t know a Harley.”

Right. That was a nickname. He looked past her shoulder towards Harley’s room. “Your son, I mean. The one around my age. He here?”

“Oh, you mean Charleston? He’s in his room,” she said, tutting her words. He didn’t know if her tone was because she was disappointed in Harley or if she disproved that Pony was her son’s friend. It was likely both. “He’s taking some lessons right now so he won’t be available for some time.”

She meant it as a way to tell him to go away. Harley didn’t have any extramural lessons. His mom obviously didn’t like Ponyboy. He was a no-good greaser after all. She was about to close the door on him, but Ponyboy swiftly stuck his foot out to catch it before it could close halfway. He knew it wasn’t a good thing to do, but he needed something that would help him and a safe place to do it. “I can wait.”

Harley’s mom didn’t look pleased with his tenacity, but her expression stayed mostly the same as if a suspicious individual hadn’t stopped her. She reopened the door and stiffly gestured inside. “Why don’t you come in? It’s nice to meet a friend of his for once.”

Ponyboy did just that, shoving his hands into his pockets. Golly, this was going to be an awkward experience. “Okay.”

The two of them didn’t move from the foyer as they stared at each other. She waited for him to say something but he didn’t have anything to talk about. Seconds went by and Ponyboy wished that he climbed through Harley’s window instead. Finally, she spoke again. “How are you doing, hun?”

“Mm-hmm.” It wasn’t an answer to her question. That response didn’t even make sense in context. The atmosphere was too awkward for small talk. It was driving him mad.

She froze again and waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Did you two have something planned?”

“Not really.”

“I’m sure you can find something fun to do. So, why don’t you tell me about yourself? How are you doing in school?”

“Alright,” he lied.

“Are you doing any extracurricular activities?”

“Not anymore.”

“How’s your family? What do they do?”

Was this… Was this an interview? He didn’t know that being Harley’s friend was an occupation. He pressed his lips into a fine line and crossed his arms. “What is this?”

She didn’t falter, however. Harley’s mother motioned him further into the house, an easy smile still plastered on her face. “Oh, how rude of me. We should go sit down while we wait. I can get you some tea while we chat some more.”

Yeah, how about no? He seriously had no patience or energy to deal with this. There was no reason to wait for Harley. He pushed past her, as rude as it was. He would have been scolded if his brothers saw him do that. “No thanks. I’ll go up myself.”

“Wait,” she called out after him, voice now almost a shriek. “Get back here! He can’t see you yet!”

He didn’t respond or look back at her, quickening his pace to put space between them. God, that woman was… Well, she was something. He wouldn’t call her crazy, just strict. It was no wonder Harley didn’t get along with her.

Ponyboy opened Harley’s door after a quick knock. When he slipped inside, Harley didn’t look surprised that he was there. He probably heard him and his mom talking, which irritated him. Thanks for not coming down to get him. It would have saved him from the awkwardness.

“Your mom, by the way—” Ponyboy started.

“Is a bitch?” Harley finished. Well, he wouldn’t use that word to describe her either. “Yeah, I know. My mom’s a bitch. My dad’s an asshole. And my brother’s a douchebag.”

Ponyboy sighed as he went over and plopped onto the bed, staring at his ceiling. “You know, she said you had lessons. What’s up with that?”

“She likes to tell people that to make me seem more impressive to other people.”

“That seems excessive.”

“Yeah, she thinks that if she were to do that, it would make me apply myself more; make me live up to her expectations. Too bad I’m not aiming to be some dumb, corporate pig who laughs at Steve Allen’s jokes.”

“I can’t imagine you wearing business formal attire.”

“I would rather die.”

Humming to himself, Ponyboy continued, “You know, she also called you Charleston. Didn’t think you would have such a fancy name.”

Harley clicked his tongue. “She told you that, huh?”

He nodded. “My question is, why do you go by Harley when you could have gone by Charlie or Charles?”

“Because I like Harley. Charleston makes me seem like I’m a butler. I’m no lap dog, so don’t let me catch you calling me anything else.”

Rolling his eyes, Ponyboy agreed. Those names didn’t suit him anyway. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“Good.” Harley, who was also on the bed, was sitting against the wall near an open window. He crossed his legs and tapped his knees. “So, what are you doing here?”

Ponyboy grumbled, not wanting to go into it. It was a nice distraction while it lasted. He just wanted to move on from what happened and not feel so shitty. He needed something that would get his mind off of it; not refresh his memory. “Another argument.”

“Another argument?” Harley echoed. “Jeez. You fight with them all the time.”

He sulked. “It’s not like I want to. It’s just—”

“It’s just they aren’t able to read you like you want them to.”

Ponyboy nodded, letting out a big sigh. He looked over at his friend with a pitiful pout. “Look, can you help me or not? I need something.”

“Yeah, I got you. Want a drink?” Harley suggested. Ponyboy made a face. Drinking with Harley once didn’t change the fact that he hated the taste of alcohol. He could already feel the burn of it in his throat. He didn’t think his mind on it would change, but who knew? Two-Bit liked the stuff and it made him happy.

“As long as it makes me feel better, sure,” he said. “If only alcohol tasted better though. I think I would have a serious problem if it tasted like Pepsi.”

“Pepsi? Not even Dr Pepper or Coke?”

“What’s wrong with Pepsi?” Ponyboy narrowed his eyes.

“Fucking everything. Only annoying bitches who think they’re so special drink that.”

He really should have taken offense, but he knew that Harley was just saying that to cause problems. Ponyboy could have said any drink and he would have insulted it in the same way. He decided to tease him a bit. “I drink it, so does that include me?”

“What?” Harley sputtered, caught off guard. “No! I wasn’t talking about you. I just… I just… God, I just want coke right now.”

“Then should we go get some at the store?” He could go for another walk.

“No, not Coke. I want cocaine. That coke.”

“Oh.” Ponyboy’s ears turned red. How was he supposed to know that? They were just talking about soft drinks.

“Yeah…” Harley got up to avoid being trapped in an awkward silence. He stretched his back as he stepped closer to the door. “Anyway, I’m going to get those drinks now.”

It was several minutes later when Harley came back to the room. He had some Pepsi bottles tucked under his arms and a bottle of vodka—likely stolen from his dad’s liquor cabinet—in one of his hands. Somehow, he had snuck it past his mom. He locked the door behind him to make sure that she wouldn’t walk in on them drinking. The glasses clattered together when he put them down on the bed. Ponyboy still had no idea what he was planning.

Harley was such a hypocrite. He had just insulted the Pepsi brand and its consumers, yet here he was with several bottles. Ponyboy raised an eyebrow but sat back up as he watched his friend start mixing the two drinks into another glass like a mad scientist. Once he did that, he handed the glass over.

“You can do that?” Pony asked incredulously, staring at the liquid that still looked and smelled like Pepsi. He took a tiny sip. It even tasted like it too. The sugary sweet concoction was so refreshing that he wiggled his toes.

“You can make almost any drink alcoholic,” Harley answered nonchalantly, mixing a glass for himself.

Ponyboy drank some more. If Soda saw him now, he would have been so shocked. He was the one who was acting up? That may be true, but he liked to see it as him not holding himself back anymore. His brothers knew nothing about him and neither did the gang. They didn’t care about him—not really, at least. That thought caused his heart to clench.

He didn’t come to Harley’s house to be in the dumps. Fuck his emotions. Fuck his thoughts. He just wanted to be free from his shackles; to drink this dangerous, magical potion that would relieve him of his pain for a couple of hours. He wanted it to squash his negative emotions like a bug. He held out his glass, “How much more of this do I have to drink to stop feeling?”

No answer came his way. Instead, he experienced it firsthand. It became clear how dangerous the concoction he was drinking could be. Turns out, mixing drinks can get you really drunk. Crazy, right? Who would have known? Ponyboy should have, especially after he drank a couple of glasses.

The Pepsi masked the alcohol perfectly. Since he couldn’t taste it, he kept drinking it. He didn’t realize how drunk he had gotten until he became so dizzy that a gentle breeze could knock him over. There was a warmth under his skin that was so unbearable yet weirdly nice. Skin flushed, he felt like he was burning up. Words were on his tongue, waiting for the right push to be released.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Ponyboy blubbered, standing up on wobbly legs. The world swayed around him like he was standing in the center of an out-of-control carousel. “They treat me like a kid. I’m not… I’m not a kid. I hate when they treat me like I’m some needy child but then complain that I’m annoying to be around.”

“Jesus,” Harley sighed to himself. “I should have figured that a sad Ponyboy equals a sad drunk.”

“I’m not sad. I can have fun! And I’m not needy!”

“I didn’t say you were needy.”

“I’m not needy!” Ponyboy reiterated, glaring at his friend. He threw his arms up in frustration.

“I told you, I didn’t say you were!” Harley yelled back. Then, he quieted down, pinching the skin between his brows. “I can’t even tell if you’re sad drunk or mad drunk now.”

Maybe he was both. He didn’t know why he was so irritated all of a sudden, but he couldn’t stop himself from yelling. “Shut up!”

Harley took a longer sip of his drink, not even flinching at his outburst. It was like he expected him to yell at him. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Again, it could have been both. Ponyboy took a few steps in a pacing manner, stumbling over his feet. The room kept swaying. Moving while drunk must have been one of the hardest things he has ever done. It was so disorienting.

“You’re drunk, man,” Harley reminded.

“So are…” Ponyboy said with much difficulty. “So are you.”

“Yeah, but I feel good enough to drive.”

Ponyboy finally sat back down and Harley made him another cup. He could have sworn he put a lot more vodka in the ratio this time. “You can’t say that when you don’t have a license.”

“I do too.”

“Fake licenses don’t count.”

“Whatever, let’s just drink until we stop functioning.” Harley walked over to a record player hidden in the corner of his room. He turned it on after picking out a vinyl. It started to spin on the turntable, the needle scratching across its surface. Soon, music started to blast from the speaker of some alt-rock band that Ponyboy didn’t recognize. He didn’t particularly care for the music, but it helped distract him from whatever gloomy shit he was dealing with. He took another sip and everything started to fade away from him—the blasting music, Harley’s mother’s screams to turn the volume, and the room around him.

Look, Ponyboy didn’t know how he got so drunk. He swore all he drank was Pepsi with some alcohol mixed in it, but he guessed that was the issue. But the next thing he knew was… well, nothing. Ponyboy couldn’t remember much of that night. It was like his memories were imprinted on a film gauge, but the second half of that night had been destroyed and unrecoverable. He figured that this was what blackout drunk meant.

He woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and the desperate need for a bathroom trip. The morning light that shone through the blinds quickly became the bane of his existence as his eyes stung the moment he opened them, thus making his headache worse as a result. It was as if a sledgehammer was bashing into his temples. There was a terrible taste in his dry mouth. He swallowed thickly.

He was lying on Harley’s dirty floor next to a puddle of his own stinky vomit.  Some dirty clothes were draped over his body to act as a blanket. In contrast, Harley was sleeping soundly in his bed. Loud snores rang throughout the tiny bedroom. Ponyboy clicked his tongue, bitter that at least one person was sleeping so well. He squinted. Christ, someone needed to put a curtain over those blinds.

Ponyboy’s stomach flipped when he got up, mouth salivating. He covered his mouth with his hand and rushed out of the room to the bathroom. As soon as he got there, he hunched over the toilet and spewed whatever was left in his stomach. He was sort of glad that his bile didn’t taste like Pepsi. It would have ruined it for him.

He went over to rinse his mouth with water, bending over to splash his face as well. He wondered if there was any pain medication in the medicine cabinet. Knowing this family, there probably were several bottles stocked. He stood back up and reached out to look at what was behind the mirror and froze.

What the hell?

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. There must have been leftover drugs in his system but he couldn’t remember touching anything that would cause him to see things. But, then again, he couldn’t remember anything after a certain point. Something definitely happened between Point A and Point B because his hair was no longer light brown, slightly red. It was blond.

His hands instantly shot up to his head. No. No. No! What happened to his hair?!

Panic rose to his chest as he tugged at it, praying that it was a wig all along, but it wasn’t. At some point, while drunk, he had gotten it bleached. Ponyboy wanted to cry.

Not his hair, he whined to himself. It was his pride. It was what labeled him as a greaser. He didn’t even look like himself anymore. He wrinkled his nose as he attempted to steady his breathing and get over the initial shell shock of the situation.

Okay, it wasn’t bad, he tried to convince himself. He needed to calm down and think a bit. Harley… Oh, shoot, Harley! He must have known more about what happened.

Without another second wasted, he rushed back into Harley’s room. His friend was still on the bed, dead asleep. Ponyboy pounced on it, slamming his hands on his shoulders and shaking him.

“Harley!” Ponyboy hissed. When Harley didn’t stir, he slapped him across the face with moderate strength. “Wake up, man!”

“Ow!” Harley cursed, shooting up. “What the fuck? Did you just slap me?”

“Never mind that! My hair!”

Harley blinked heavily. “What about it?”

Ponyboy wanted to scream. How could he not see the haystack on his head? “It’s blond.”

“Yeah, I know it is. I bleached it.”

So, he was the culprit! He growled, “Why the hell would you bleach it?”

“Oh, I don’t know why,” Harley answered, obviously lying.

“That’s not a good reason!”

“Why are you so mad? You’re the one who was okay with it. We thought it would look cool and did it.”

That threw Ponyboy through a loop. He didn’t remember giving consent for it at all, but if he did, all he could do was blame himself. He was the one who got drunk. He let go of Harley and slumped onto the floor. Anger sizzled out and was replaced by hopelessness and devastation. It took him forever to get his hair to look the way it did before. It was tuff and now he looked like some pansy. People were going to make fun of him.

“What’s wrong now?” Harley asked, crossing his legs.

“It looks silly,” Ponyboy whined. He pulled at his hair again.

Harley rolled his eyes. “Jesus. No, it doesn’t. It looks fine, man.”

Just fine? Ponyboy slumped his shoulders. Seeing this, Harley quickly added, “It looks good. You look good. Very tuff.”

It sounded sarcastic, but the words perked him up some. ‘You look good.’ That sentence replayed in his head, making his chest feel warm and his stomach flip. “Does it really?”

“Yes, Rapunzel. It suits you. Have you looked at yourself properly?”

Not since he left the bathroom. There was a mirror in the room which Ponyboy looked at. It wasn’t terrible. Now that he wasn’t freaking out, he could appreciate the work. It wasn’t sloppily done at all. Harley did a fantastic job at bleaching his hair, in fact. He combed through it so that it would look closer to how he usually wore it… and it was different, for sure, but he knew he wasn’t used to seeing it that way and that was what was getting to him.

The more he stared, the better it looked. Okay, fine. He could get behind it, but that still didn’t mean he was happy that it happened. Maybe in the future, he would like it more. It’ll look better once he greases it. And if he still didn’t like it after all of that, his hair was going to grow out anyway. Maybe he could convince Harley to dye it back to its original color.

Harley’s mom knocked on the door, telling them that they had to go to school. Both of them groaned.

“I don’t want to go,” Ponyboy said. He was still too hungover and he didn’t feel ready to show off his new hair.

“Then let’s skip,” Harley suggested. That sounded like a fantastic idea and he wished he could do it. However, the gang would tell his brothers if they couldn’t find him after his outburst at the house. He banged his head against his knee.

“I don’t think I can today.”

“Do what you want. I think our history teacher is going to make Goofy impressions throughout the class though.”

Ponyboy made a face. “No way.”

“See for yourself. I think I’m going to spend my day trying to convince people to bungee jump with a normal rope.”

Ponyboy groaned and flipped his hood up. It helped with light filtration. He didn’t comment about how that could kill someone. It sounded like a lot more fun than sitting through a lecture though. “Do you have anything I can take that would help with this headache?”

Ponyboy’s headache didn’t go away when he arrived at school. He slipped into his desk, hoodie still on his head. He groaned and rested his forehead in his arms. The students were so loud, words like mini jackhammers. He wasn’t a minute into the class and he was already regretting his decision to go to school. The pain medicine was helping, but it wasn’t enough.

“Good morning, everyone,” the teacher greeted, looking around the room. Their eyes fell onto Ponyboy. “Mr. Curtis, hood off and eye up front, please.”

Damn it.

With a lot of attitude for the small movement, Ponyboy pulled the hood off. The class stared at him. Some people (his bullies and other assholes) laughed but most people stayed silent. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Oh, new hair color?” the teacher casually asked. Ponyboy was grateful for that.

“I wanted to try something new,” he said, shrugging.

“Well, it looks nice.”

The topic soon changed to the lesson plan, the hair already forgotten. He guessed that it wasn’t a big deal after all if that was the reaction he got. Maybe Harley was right. And maybe he would be able to get through this day despite how terrible he felt.

As the lecture went on, however, Ponyboy wanted to eat those words. Just as Harley said, the teacher started to make a terrible attempt at a Goofy impression. It sounded more like if a clown was in that one drunken scene in the Dumbo movie. He didn’t see how that was relevant to what they were learning about, but perhaps the teacher thought it would make them remember the material better. He wondered how Harley knew this was going to happen since they were in the same class.

The teacher did the Goofy laugh and Ponyboy was ready to throw in the towel. Yep, he couldn’t do this. He raised his hand and requested to go to the restroom. The teacher gave him an annoyed expression and made a sly comment about how he should have gone before the class started, but his request was granted anyway. In the end, he didn’t go to the bathroom. Ponyboy left the school altogether. Luckily, he didn’t have his backpack on him or it would have looked suspicious.

He didn’t know where he should go, but he remembered that Harley said he wanted to convince people to jump off bridges with a regular rope. He didn’t know if he went through with it nor did he know what bridge though. Skipping school alone was a lot less fun. He needed to find something else to do.

Ponyboy walked down the road, not paying attention to where he was going. The cool air helped numb his pain. He turned around a corner and instantly regretted not paying attention because he walked straight into none other than Dallas Winston.

Chapter Text

The world really had it out for him. He swore that it was pointing the middle finger and laughing at him. Everything was one sick joke to it. But, to be fair, he was bound to get caught sooner or later. It was much sooner than what was expected though, and, thus, he was unprepared.

As soon as he registered that someone was in front of him, Ponyboy slammed his foot onto the floor to keep himself from walking straight into their chest. It was almost successful and his forehead still hit them anyway. It only touched for a second before he was pushed back, causing him to gulp. Dally’s eyes were cold, most likely not realizing it was Ponyboy. His hood was down but Dally hadn’t yet seen him blond and his hair wasn’t as greased up as he usually liked it. Ponyboy cursed internally as he tilted his head to hide his face, but it was too late. Recognition flashed in Dally’s eyes.

“Ponyboy?” Dally asked, voice way too loud for his liking despite it just being the two of them. The weather hardly did his headache any favors. “Glory, what happened to your hair? I hardly recognized you.”

Ponyboy’s mouth felt dry. Suddenly, his insecurities came back in full force. He put both hands on top of his scalp.

“I just bleached it,” he said weakly yet stubbornly.

“Did Darry approve this?” Dally continued, tilting his weight onto one leg. “Nah, I doubt he would.”

Why would he need that to change his hair? “I don’t need his approval.”

“So, he doesn’t know, I take it.”

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes. “And you can’t tell him.”

“Relax, kid, I won’t tell. You on the other hand? Good luck trying to hide that from him.”

Shit. Everything he said was true. There was no way that he would be able to hide this from anyone. Darry was going to see it soon. There was no point in asking Dally to hide this from him. He was going to get in so much trouble.

But then, why did it matter? He wasn’t looking for his approval. If he didn’t like it, then whatever.

Dally reached over and grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging at it lightly. “Jesus, I still can’t believe you did this, man. It looks so different.”

Ponyboy swatted the hand away. “Well, don’t touch it.”

Generally, he would have never told him not to do something—Dally always got what he wanted—but he just hated to have his hair pulled like this. Luckily, the other greaser didn’t do anything other than smirk. Dally leaned against a nearby vehicle that wasn’t his. Surely, if the owner saw, they wouldn’t be happy but the other never cared about that stuff. Ponyboy awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, knowing that he was going to have to stick around longer.

“So, what are you doing here, Dal?” Ponyboy asked. Instead of answering with words, Dally pointed at a nearby building: Buck’s. He hadn’t realized he had walked there.

“Oh,” he said.

“I should be asking you this. Ponyboy Curtis, skipping school?” Ponyboy’s ears turned red. He had been so distracted by his hair, he forgot that he was supposed to be in class. He scrunched his nose as he waited for the backlash he knew he would receive, but it never came. “Good for you.”

Huh? He blinked. Well, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised about that one. Dally never was an exemplary student. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m not one of your brothers.” Dally crossed his arms and looked at him curiously. “You’ve been different lately, more independent.”

Independent? That was a funny way to describe him. Did separating himself from the gang make him independent? That was a good thing, right? “Independent” was a good trait to have in most situations, but it didn’t feel like a benefit in his case. It made him feel ill. The word didn’t settle well with him, making him want to vomit again.

To set things straight, Ponyboy didn’t feel independent. No, he felt like he was something else, a word that he couldn’t quite place at the moment.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his voice as stable as he could.

“You’re more tuff. Better.”

“Better?” His voice was more like a squeak at that point. He didn’t know how to feel about that. It was supposed to be validating, but it didn’t feel that way. To him, it undermined who he was because this version of him… he didn’t know what to think about it.

They like this version better.

That was the thought that stood out to him the most. Suddenly, his arm became itchy and Dally’s voice became muffled in his head. He was only brought back when Dally grabbed his shoulder and gave him a weird look.

“What’s with you lately? You were spacing out,” Dally questioned.

Ponyboy plastered a small smile on his face and shrugged, “Just tired, is all.”

How many more times would he have to say that sentence as an excuse?

“Must be exhausted because you look terrible,” Dally said.

He definitely felt like it. He wondered how long hangovers lasted because even though he took some painkillers, he still felt horrible. The light from the sun was giving him the worst migraine and he couldn’t help but glare at the melting snow, cursing the existence of albedo. Stupid light reflection. Stupid migraine. Frustration bubbled under his skin.

“Thanks,” he sassed. Dally didn’t comment on his attitude which he was grateful for. The less talking, the better.

“So, why are you skipping?” And he spoke too soon. Of course he did. Ponyboy sighed, thinking about what to say.

“Not feeling well,” Ponyboy finally settled on. “I want to get some pills.”

“Then why didn’t you call home? Darry would have picked you up.”

Ponyboy shook his head doubtfully. “Would he though? He probably would have given me a barf bucket and told me to suck it up.”

“Yeah, well, there’s also Soda.”

Not with his current standing with him. “Don’t wanna bother him.”

Dally gave him a dead expression, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He held the box out for him and nodded his head towards it. “Take one.”

Ponyboy took one and let the other light it. He stuck the other end in his mouth, relieved that he was doing something to get himself high. The warmth crept down his throat, to his chest, to his fingers, and then to his toes. The tobacco kissed his aching temples and covered his eyes with a haze. But still… “It still feels weak.”

“Weak?” Dally huffed, exhaling smoke from his mouth. “Did the bleach go to your head?”

Ponyboy pressed the cigarette back to his lips, eyes never leaving Dally. Now that he was sitting there, observing him smoke, he couldn’t help but compare him to Harley. They were alike in many ways, but they differed greatly as well. Both of them were impulsive and arrogant in the worst ways, always getting what they wanted. But he had a feeling that both would also meet their demises at a young age as a result, but how was where they differed.

Dally was smart but he was also an instigator. Ponyboy had a morbid feeling (one that he shouldn’t be thinking about) that his life would be extinguished by the system itself. He would go out with a bang, but, ultimately, in the end, he would be another dead hooligan—erased and forgotten.

Harley, on the other hand, was self-destructive, unpredictable, and careless. One day a switch would flip in him and he would overdose or he would hurl himself off a roof because he just felt like it. He would be a statistic in the teen suicide rate. If not that, he would probably be shot down by one of the many people he had scammed with unreasonably high-priced drugs. His greediness was going to be the end of him.

Was Ponyboy going to be a statistic too?

Although they had these similarities and differences, Ponyboy only trusted one of them to keep secrets for him, and that was Dally. He could commit murder and Dally wouldn’t even tell his brothers. He couldn’t say that with Harley. To put it lightly, he didn’t trust him with even the most simple secret because he knew he would use that against him, and he had an inkling that he would throw him under the bus if he needed to. However, he could trust that Harley would get him out of any sticky situation without question.

“Something else did,” Ponyboy finally answered.

“Something else? Do you have weed on you or something?” Dally asked jokingly but when there was a delay in Ponyboy’s answer, he turned fully towards him. He raised an eyebrow. “Hold on, kid, do you?”

Oh, shit. “…No?”

Great job with the convincing. Dally didn’t look impressed. “Don’t lie.”

“Look, I don’t have any on me right now,” Ponyboy relented after a solid minute of panic. That jig was up.

Dally wasn’t even mad. More impressed than astonished. “Shit. Where did you even get it?”

That was information he wasn’t ready to share. “Nowhere.”

“Fine, man, don’t tell me.” He turned away and looked ahead. He gestured in front of him and Ponyboy followed his finger. Across the street was Harley, who was talking to someone, likely one of his customers. Ponyboy perked up when he saw him, butterflies fluttering in his chest. His toes tapped the ground, but he didn’t know why they were doing that. His friend hadn’t noticed them yet, which was honestly a good thing. The last thing he needed was Dally seeing them be friendly toward one another. If there was one thing he would snitch about to the gang, it would be his friendship with a drug dealer. “You see that guy over there? Don’t go buying from him and don’t get involved in his crowd. You gotta be smart about it, man. If you wanna talk crazy, Harley is the definition of it. Never liked him. Never will.”

“He’s not that bad,” Ponyboy defended, which earned him a look. Ponyboy quickly backpedaled after he realized his blunder. “Probably.”

If Dally or anyone in the gang were to find out about him and Harley, that would be an instant end to their friendship. And he just couldn’t have that happen. He needed Harley. He was his only friend, the only person that understood him.

“He is,” Dally reassured. “Kid’s a whacko. Don’t get involved with him.”

Too late for that. “Whatever. Why do you care if I get involved with him or not?”

“I’m just trying to help you, man.”

“Are you?” Or was he trying to take his friend away from him? Ponyboy’s jaw clenched as he threw the cigarette butt on the ground and stomped on it. Dally was trying to control him like everyone else. “Listen, my head is pounding. I need to go get those painkillers now. I’ll see you around, Dal.”

He didn’t wait for Dally to say anything else but he could feel his eyes on him as he walked away.

Now left without anything to do again, Ponyboy headed to the store. When the clerk wasn’t looking, he swiped a bottle of painkillers, stuffing them into his hoodie before he grabbed a couple more bottles as well. Compared to stealing the ingredients for meth, taking these was a cakewalk.

He found himself in the store’s bathroom soon after, shoving enough pills in his mouth to make him vibrate on the spot. He contemplated crushing some in a powder, but, in the end, he decided not to.

Maybe he could circle back around and find Harley again.

When he got back home, it was dark already, but that wasn’t new. He yearned for the late sunsets during summer and he missed the sound of cicadas throughout the day. When he saw his house, he instantly knew that something was wrong. It was that feeling of dread, that gut instinct that made you queasy to the stomach. He pulled on his hood and prepared for the worst as he walked to the door. He could hear them talking from outside, loud voices that knew no volume control. Everyone was there, even Dally, despite just seeing him. From the window, he could see Soda trying to calm Darry down who had been pacing back and forth in the living room.

“When I get my hands on him!” Darry ranted, face red with rage.

“What are you going to do?” Soda challenged, grabbing Darry’s arm to keep him from wearing down the floor.

“You don’t understand, Soda. He’s been skipping school.” A cold sweat swept over Ponyboy. Did Dally snitch on him? How else would they have found out? He shouldn’t have trusted him. Dally never liked him. Why did he think he would keep this a secret?

“He’s my kid brother too. I understand him just as much as you.”

“Really? Because it seems like nobody is able to understand what goes through his brain these days. Tell me you noticed it too.”

Soda hesitated, letting go of Darry to fiddle with his fingers. He looked at his feet. “He’s been… distant lately.”

“I’m telling you, that kid’s insane. He’s got a screw loose,” Steve piped up.

“He’s not insane, okay?” Soda defended, though it didn’t seem like he fully believed in his words. “He’s just being independent.”

“He’s too needy to be considered independent.”

“He finally hit his rebellious phase,” Two-Bit muttered to himself.

Ponyboy decided to make his entrance at that moment. All at once, the gang’s conversation halted as attention turned to him. He tugged at his hood again just to ensure that it was fully covering his head.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Two-Bit said.

“Two-Bit, you’re not helping,” Johnny whispered to him.

“I know, I know,” Ponyboy rambled, already knowing what Darry was going to say to him. “Where have I been? Do I know how late it is? I’m here now and that’s all that matters. I’ll think about my actions over. Blah blah. Can I go to my room now?”

Darry looked flabbergasted before he regained his stern face. “Not so fast. I just got a call from the school. Apparently, you skipped, not once, but multiple times now. Do you want to explain yourself?”

Well, at least Dally didn’t snitch on him after all. “What’s there to explain? Seems pretty self-explanatory.”

His brother’s arms were thrown up. “Ponyboy!”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Why do you think it’s okay to do that?”

“It’s just a couple of days. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“You don’t get it. Even skipping one day is bad. Everything goes on your record, not to mention the habit you develop. It’s lazy, Ponyboy. You go to school to learn. God, what is wrong with you?”

“Darry, hold on. We need to understand Pony’s side more,” Soda interrupted and made a noise of objection. His middle brother turned to him and Ponyboy fought off an eye roll. Just another plot to get on his good graces. “Can you tell us what happened? You teacher told us you didn’t return back to class.”

“I didn’t feel well,” Ponyboy explained.

“You should have gone to the nurse then, not leave,” Darry grumbled. “Think, Pony. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, you have to be as smarter,” Steve said. “Like me.”

“I think I would die if I jumped down to your IQ level,” Ponyboy spat back.

At that, Two-bit burst out laughing and Steve glared at him. “Why are you laughing?”

“That was pretty good,” Two-Bit cackled, grin causing his eyes to crinkle.

Steve jabbed him in the gut with his elbow. “It’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Enough,” Darry interrupted, bringing the conversation back to Ponyboy. “Ponyboy, your education is most important. College won’t accept you if you get in trouble too often. I had to argue with the principal to not get you detention.”

“Why can’t I be more important?” Ponyboy mumbled to himself, something only Johnny heard.

“What did you say?” Soda asked, leaning closer to him to hear him better.

Ponyboy groaned, “Nothing.”

“Hey! Don’t be sassy.” Darry snapped, jabbing his finger into Ponyboy’s forehead, startling him enough to take a few steps back. “And take that darn hood off when you're inside!”

“Why should I?” Ponyboy grabbed the edge of it to keep it in place.

“Because it’s rude. You’re indoors.”

“It’s just a hood.”

“Then take it off if it’s just a hood.”

“But—”

“Now, Ponyboy.”

Well, here went nothing. It felt like he was ripping off a bandage.

“Fine,” Ponyboy growled. He pulled it off and everyone fell silent. Their eyes boggled, bar from Dally. He shifted his weight between his feet but straightened his back to appear more confident. He smoothed out his hair, combing through it with his fingers.

They hate it.

They hate him.

“Your hair,” Johnny gasped. Was it really that bad?

“What did you do to your hair?” Darry demanded. “Was this why you left school early? You got this done?”

“No,” Ponyboy said. “It was before.”

“You were at your friend’s house earlier. Did he do this?” Soda asked.

“Yeah, he did, and I like it.”

“You look like Goldilocks,” Two-Bit commented. “Look at that hair!”

First Rapunzel, then Goldilocks. Who was next? Sleeping Beauty? Cinderella?

Steve grabbed his hair just like how Dally did earlier, but he tugged it rougher. “It looks ridiculous.”

Ponyboy batted the hand away, glaring at him, “Stop touching it, won’t you?”

“It looks nice, Ponyboy,” Johnny complimented, which made him feel a lot better. “I like it.”

“Well, I don’t,” Darry opposed. “You can’t just change your hair like that.”

Jesus Christ, everything he did was wrong to him. Ponyboy rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was never just excited for him. “It’s my hair.”

“Darry, it’s just hair. It’ll grow out,” Soda soothed. “I know he should have told us his plan, but it looks fine.”

“Yeah, he should have told us,” Darry agreed on that. “Unbelievable.”

“Why do I have to consult you on everything?” Ponyboy asked.

“Because you’re living under my roof.”

Ponyboy felt heat on the back of his eyes. This wasn’t Darry’s house. It was his parents’. All Darry was, was a tyrant. His mom wouldn’t like how he was running the show. She would have loved his new hair too. He’s been so miserable here. “You know, I’m really starting to hate it here.”

He probably wanted him gone.

Darry crossed his arms like he won an argument. He tilted his head towards the door, “Then get out.”

All air left his lungs, “What?”

“If you hate it here, then you can sleep on the streets.” Even the gang was shocked at what was coming out of his mouth. Because was Darry seriously threatening to kick him out because of hair?

Ponyboy was scrambling to find his words. “No, I—”

“Clearly, you don’t want to be here. So, why stay?”

“Darry,” Soda cried, shaking his head rapidly. “You’re taking things too far. You don’t mean that. We just need to calm down.”

“It’s just hair, come on,” Dally argued and the rest of them chirped their agreements.

While they were arguing, Ponyboy was standing frozen in his spot. Darry really didn’t care about him. He was trying to get rid of him.

Nuisance.

His breath shuttered, ice stabbing his heart.

He didn’t want him there.

He wanted him gone.

He was always a thorn in his side.

He was needy, just like Steve said.

It would be better if he was dead.

A hand touched his shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Ponyboy? You alright?” Johnny asked him. Pony swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I’m uh…” his voice sounded small. He should just disappear. It would make things easier for everyone. “I’m sorry for making things hard for you.”

He quickly exited the living room. While he was making it to his room, he could hear the gang talk for a bit.

“Christ, that was a shitshow,” Dally commented.

“Darry, you didn’t have to say that,” Soda hissed.

“What was that at the end though?” Two-Bit asked.

“He was just trying to make Darry feel bad. He’s an attention-seeker,” Steve answered. Ponyboy closed the door shut behind him, muffling their voices. He sank down to the floor, burrowing his head into his knees. It took one minute of him sitting there before he heard the gang start to laugh, the argument had already passed their brains. Forgotten, just like how he was going to be.

A future statistic.

They laughed and joked, and it was then he remembered the word he was trying to figure out before. He was lonely.

Chapter Text

The gang’s laughter was like a record playing on repeat; like the speaker was placed right next to his ear and he couldn’t turn it off. Echoing sounds, jeering whispers, and taunting mirth. Nonexistent insults were the lyrics. Loser. Creep. Loner. Prick. Brat. Scallywag. It was as if he was an attraction in a circus freak show and the gang was the audience. As fire lit rings and people walked on a tightrope, he was reminded that he couldn’t be loved for who he was. He wasn’t amazing. Nobody went to the circus just to see him. And as long as he was alive, he was going to be ridiculed. He was the joke. He was different. He was the outlier.

If only there was a universal remote that could shut everything down and let him rest for once. Ponyboy sniffled as he covered his ears to try to block the laughter out, but the voices penetrated through his hands. His jaw clenched, his teeth creaking under the pressure.

They were laughing at him.

They were laughing without him.

They’re having fun without you, the voice in his head mocked. They are happier without you. You don’t belong here.

He wanted the voice to shut up. He didn’t need them to remind him of things he already knew. He already knew that the gang was better off without him. He already knew that they only tolerated him whenever he was around.

The voices were by far the worst part of his head and didn’t come with an off switch. Not an easy one anyway. He slammed the back of his head against the wall several times until his eyes started to water. Hurting himself was the only solution that he could come up with besides drugs and alcohol. But, this time, the voices prevailed, surviving his nullifying process like a cockroach in gamma radiation.

They like it when you’re not there.

You’re a terrible brother.

They don’t like you.

Did you see how they looked at you?

They wouldn’t be sad if you died.

You will never be loved.

He wanted to scream but bit back his yell. The gang already thought he was an attention seeker. He didn’t need to prove their point. He hit his head again, causing star-like veins to appear in his vision.

The voice was right. Nobody will ever love him.

Ponyboy Curtis wanted to die.

His breath shuttered as he shook that temptation off. With sweaty palms, he patted his hoodie until he found the bottle of pills he had swiped earlier. He fumbled with the cap, fingers shaking. However, before he could pull the lid off, the bottle slipped out of his hands and rolled under the bed.

“Damn it,” Ponyboy cursed under his breath, dropping onto his stomach. It was filthy under there. Dust and forgotten childhood items—building blocks, a lost sock, and a copy of a picture book, to name a few—lay strewn there. He reached his hand forward and patted around, but the bottle rolled to the least convenient spot and his result was fruitless. He wasn’t about to crawl under for it at that time.

You couldn’t even do that without failing.

Ponyboy fought back the tears. The voice was a knife that was cutting into him. He got back up and the world blurred around him. Exiting the room, he stumbled to the bathroom, arms stretched outward to prevent him from walking into walls. Unfortunately, his departure from his room meant he had to pass by the gang again. It didn’t seem like they noticed him though which was both good and bad at the same time. He pushed the bathroom door so hard that it almost created a hole in the drywall. His breathing was starting to get out of control as an anxiety attack was beginning to settle in, strangling him with a vise grip.

He opened the medicine cabinet and looked at the array that was there—medicines for colds, allergies, sleep, pain, and blood pressure. He didn’t know what would be best for him, but he didn’t care. He would take anything. He grabbed the pain medication and poured everything out. There were only a few pills left. The gang always went through them quickly. Ponyboy clicked his tongue.

They hate you.

They want you gone.

He crushed the pills into a powder with the bottle and then lined everything up. Then, he took a dollar from his pocket, rolled it into a tube, and positioned it correctly. He inhaled deeply. The sting was instant and he cringed.

It hit hard but he knew that, as a result, the effects would die fast. He would have to continue doing it to remain high. He went down to finish what was left on the surface before he wiped off the excess around his nose. Ponyboy sniffled and shook the medicine bottle to continue, but much to his dismay, it was empty. Right, he knew that. Didn’t stop the frustration though. With a grumble, he threw the bottle in the bin and grabbed a random pill container from the cabinet.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He poured way more than the recommended amount into his palm. This time, he didn’t take the time to crush them and took them orally instead.

Your brothers are ashamed of you.

You have no friends.

You’re going to be alone forever.

Darry was okay with kicking you to the curb.

Your own brother…

Ponyboy wanted to bash his head into the mirror. He would do anything if it meant the voices would shut up. Instead, he pressed his thumb into the scab on his wrist. There was still some tenderness to the spot, but the reminder of the sharp pain he had felt allowed for some clarity. That was something he needed at the moment.

The medicine cabinet was still open, allowing his eyes to fall onto a box of unused shaving razors. He took one out, pressing his thumb against the blade hard enough to feel the sharpness but not enough to cut his skin.

The first time he cut, he thought he had made a mistake. Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in his life. It was at that time he figured out that mental pain was far more painful than physical.

He situated the blade above his old cut, brain fuzzy from the drugs. Ponyboy took a deep breath before he dragged it across his skin, causing him to hiss. Small beads of blood poked out of and trailed down his arms like tributaries of a river. The blood was pretty and red. There was something so elegant about the color. The beads that popped up were like rubies, but his blood wasn’t nearly as valuable as the stone.

He was planning on cutting just once again, but then he started to think about everything that was wrong with him. The gang tolerated him but he couldn’t understand why they took the effort to do so. He was a whiny, tagalong kid they were forced to take care of, but that wasn’t a new discovery.

He dragged another cut into his arm. This time, it was less painful.

Careless.

Needy.

Exhausting.

Each word garnered a new cut. What started as him cutting for release ended up as a punishment. Like when an authority figure forced you to write what you did wrong over and over again, but his cursive was in the form of lacerations and his ink was his blood.

Red droplets dribbled onto the floor and he watched himself bleed for who knew how long. He blinked heavily. Suddenly, his thoughts felt like they were traveling through cement. A yawn escaped his lips as exhaustion, unlike anything he had ever experienced hit.

Christ, what did he take?

He tried to pick up the bottle, but controlling his limbs was nearly impossible. There was hardly any coordination between them and his brain. Reading was even worse. His eyelids felt like weights were holding them down, and words didn’t stick even after reading them ten times. But he managed eventually.

Benadryl.

Was Benadryl even supposed to hit this hard? It was allergy medication. Well, he guessed it could zonk people out, but what he was experiencing was too strong. It felt like his entire body was dunked in Sandman’s magical dust.

Wait. How many did he swallow? He didn’t think he took enough to overdose, but he did take other drugs beforehand. Was he overdosing? He was too tired to think it through rationally.

Every instinct told him to lie on the ground and sleep, but he knew he couldn’t leave himself like this. With as much force he could put into his heavy limbs, Ponyboy managed to drop the razor in the trash and put the bottle of Benadryl away. He cleaned the wound as best as he could with some water and tissues before he flushed them.

His arm felt like it was on fire, burning with an unbearable itch. Lumps formed under his skin, moving around as if a colony of insects had nested under there, eating into his flesh. He watched in both morbid fascination and horror as his cuts shifted open and several maggots wiggled out. With a yelp, he swatted at them. The way he was going about it was useless though. He would have been better off by smushing them under his skin. He smacked his hand onto his wrist in one final attempt, but when he pulled back, nothing was there. There were no maggots. Just a cut-up arm that was starting to bleed again.

It was just a trick of the light, he convinced himself and sighed in relief. He probably would have passed away if there were actual maggots under there.

Returning to the task at hand, Ponyboy bandaged his arm. As soon as he did that, his eyelids drooped. Surely, resting for a few minutes would be fine, right? A few minutes wouldn’t hurt anything. He closed his eyes as soon as someone knocked on the bathroom door.

Johnny knew something was up. Ponyboy had been acting differently lately. That was clear as day. Even a blind person could see that. The problem was, he didn’t know why he was acting differently. It happened overnight several days ago. He became distant—way more than usual anyway. Johnny didn’t remember the last time he made eye contact with him. He was quieter too, yet became angrier and crueler. Ponyboy was more outspoken now and more impulsive. The gang was convinced he was going through a phase, but Johnny wasn’t so sure.

Then came the physical appearance changes. And he wasn’t talking about the new hair color. Ponyboy was skinnier now and paler too. His skin became dull and sickly looking with dark bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in a week (but he could have sworn that Ponyboy was sleeping more). He was also twitchier than usual, almost as if he was expecting to get caught with something he shouldn’t have.

But his eyes were the worst change. They used to be filled with as many stars as in the Milky Way. So bright and curious. But with each day, a star faded away. It was hard to watch this change. Scary even.

It all started when he got that supposed friend of his. He didn’t know what he was doing to Ponyboy, but Johnny didn’t like it. He didn’t like him. Anyone who made his friend look so miserable wasn’t going to be his favorite person.

Who was he? Ponyboy had been spending a lot of time with him lately, more than with the gang. Johnny hardly saw him anymore. He was always out the door before anyone could wake up and came back late as well. Johnny also had a worrisome hunch that Ponyboy was purposefully avoiding him and the gang. Did his new friend tell him to?

This was the question on his mind as he waited for Ponyboy to leave the restroom. And Johnny was by no means a creep and he wasn’t exactly counting how long he was in there. But it was noticeable when Ponyboy hadn’t emerged even after an hour. The shower wasn’t running, so there was no reason for him to be in there for that long. Something must have been wrong.

Silently excusing himself, Johnny knocked on the bathroom door, but there was no response. He started to wonder if Ponyboy was even in there. Maybe he left and Johnny hadn’t noticed. But no. He was sure that Ponyboy hadn’t left. He heard the toilet flush not that long ago.

He knocked again. No answer.

Worry started to seep in as the worst thoughts entered his mind. Images of Ponyboy’s collapsed body that he wanted to scrub from his brain. His breath got caught in his throat as he grabbed the doorknob. Ponyboy would just have to forgive him later for it. He half expected the door to be locked, but when it wasn’t, he pushed himself in.

Ponyboy was standing in the center of the room with his eyes closed. His body swayed as it kept itself up. Johnny let out a sigh of relief, but he couldn’t push down the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“Ponyboy?” Johnny tentatively called out. “You okay?”

“Hm?” Ponyboy groaned, eyebrows scrunching together. His eyes cracked open but his pupils didn’t look like they were focused in any way.

“You’ve been in here for a while.”

“Oh, okay.”

Johnny’s head quirked to the side when he noted how slow and slurred Pony’s speech was. Even with those two words.

“You alright?” he asked again. Something was seriously wrong.

“I’m really tired.”

Ponyboy wanted to close his eyes again, but something prevented him from doing so. Spiders crept across the edges of his vision. They spun their webs as shadowy figures stood behind him. They whispered eerily, causing his attention to snap toward them. His heart rate spiked as his breath hitched, but when he tried to focus on them, they vanished. His head moved heavily, but it felt like his vision was lagging behind its movements.

“What is it?” Johnny asked, looking in the direction that Ponyboy was looking, but nothing was there.

“Did you see that?” Ponyboy gulped, mouth unbearably dry. His stomach turned with nausea and his head started to pound again.

“See what?”

Ponyboy pursed his lips but eventually shrugged. “Nothing. I’m really tired, man.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed. “Maybe you should lay down. Gosh, you don’t look so good, Ponyboy.”

“Okay.” He could sleep this off, right? He just needed some shut-eye and then he would feel as good as new. Ponyboy tried to walk but his feet weren’t working right. Each step was heavy and clumsy. Shadows kept dancing across his vision and darkened it so much that it felt like his eyes were closed again. Somehow, he managed to make it out of the bathroom, stepping into the living room. What an accomplishment that felt like. But then a hand touched his shoulder and he blinked. Johnny was next to him, way closer than he was before. His eyebrows were pulled together and a frown was on his lips.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked worriedly. “You’ve been standing still for a minute now.”

Ponyboy was about to ask what he meant because he had spent so much effort walking, but when he looked around, he was suddenly back in the bathroom; back to square one. He let out a choked sound but kept his composure. “Oh.”

He started his journey once again. When he got to the living room this time, the gang was staring at him. They heard the quiet commotion and were curious about what was up. Ponyboy looked at each of them, vision still lagging behind his head movement. He tried to register who was who, but it was hard to focus on their identifiable features. To him, they looked like blurry blobs.

“Is everything alright?” Soda asked when Ponyboy kept staring at him. This person sounded so familiar, but who was it?

“Who…” Ponyboy mumbled, testing his luck. If he wasn’t potentially overdosing, he would have never tried. “Who were you again?”

The gang looked at him weirdly because did Ponyboy seriously ask that? It had to be a prank (and not a funny one at that). Regardless, Soda pressed the back of his hand to Pony’s forehead. It felt cool to the touch. “Are you sick, Pony? Your face is all flushed.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Ponyboy tried to pull his face away, no doubt his eyes were dilated like no other. That’s when this person’s identity clicked. “Oh, shit, I didn’t recognize you, Soda. I’m really tired.”

“Must be if you didn’t recognize your own brother,” Steve snorted.

“Maybe you should take some medicine,” Darry suggested, not correcting him on his foul language this time. He must have looked that exhausted.

“No thanks. I’m good,” Ponyboy shook his head too fast and instantly regretted doing so. He already took so many pills today. One more could downright take him off the board. His eyes shifted to the ceiling, watching it move around gelatinously. When did they change their ceiling?

“And he’s not listening,” he heard someone comment and it took a moment for him to register that Darry was still talking to him. “You’re gonna have to repeat that.”

“Sorry, can we do whatever this is tomorrow? I—” There was a deep laugh right next to his head and Ponyboy spun around, nearly tripping over his feet. His eyes were shifty, almost like they were trembling. His heart was pounding again, beating so quickly that it hurt. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Dally asked.

The noise couldn’t have come from anyone in the gang based on their positions. “Are there other people here?”

“Just us,” Two-Bit answered, looking around himself.

“I swear I heard someone.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he should sit down. The couch wasn’t too far away and was much closer than his room. There was a blanket that was draped precariously over an armrest. Its knitted pattern moved like waves as if it were alive. But upon closer inspection, the yarn wasn’t yarn at all. Thousands upon thousands of baby spiders skittered over one another in one giant mass. They clicked as they moved, beady eyes all staring at him. His skin crawled upon sight of them.

“What the fuck…” he whispered to himself.

“What?” Johnny pressed.

“Do you not see this?” He pointed to the blanket. He must have been really high, because what the absolute fuck was this?

“It’s just a blanket,” Dally told him, picking it up. The spiders took the opportunity to crawl all over his arm and up his body until they disappeared up his nose and ears.

“What are you, blind or stupid?” someone asked.

Ponyboy squeaked, tearing his eyes away, “I’m not really in the mood for insults right now.”

“What insult?” Darry questioned. The gang was looking at him weirdly again which meant that everything he heard and saw was in his head. Not again, but at least there weren’t any spiders. He couldn’t stand them.

“Nothing.” Another yawn left his mouth and his eyelids drooped. He lost balance for a second before he managed to catch himself.

“Steady,” Soda soothed. “You look like you’re about to collapse any moment now. Maybe you should go get some rest now.”

Ponyboy hummed in agreement, too tired to say another thing. He stagged towards his room, struggling to control his limbs. He could feel the gang’s judging eyes on him as he left. He tried his best to act normal and was relieved when he left their vision. The further he got from them, however, the louder his surroundings became. Voices that were previously incomprehensible became clearer. He was able to pick up a few words here and there.

Ponyboy.

Come here.

Ponyboy.

I want to talk.

In here.

Ponyboy.

The voices were coming from Darry’s room, but he found it empty when he opened the door to investigate. Ponyboy’s stomach dipped and stepped away. Just a figment of his imagination. Come on, Ponyboy.

He finished his trek back to his room and fell onto his bed. The lights were still on, yet shadows ran around him. They draped the room in darkness.

Ponyboy was tired but, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. His eyes shifted around the room in anticipation, waiting for something to pop out of nowhere and attack him. It just looked like a dark room to him, so why was he terrified? Why was his heart beating faster than a speeding bullet? Why did every noise cause him to flinch?

A knock on the door caused him to yelp.

Someone was just at the door. Keep it together.

“Come in,” he called out, but no one opened the door. The knocking came again, more insistent this time. He raised his voice because maybe they didn’t hear him the first time. “Come in!”

Still, nobody did. The knocks violently pounded on the door, rattling the room. Ponyboy felt his eyes water. That wasn’t someone from the gang.

Open up, Ponyboy.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Then, suddenly, the knocking stopped and everything was deathly silent. All he could hear was his heavy breathing. Minutes passed and he thought that was it. The worst of it was over. But the sounds started up again; a scratching noise that was under his bed. It was like nails running across a chalkboard, drilling into his brain. What was that?

He should have stayed still and waited for it to stop, but the scratching continued and Ponyboy just couldn’t take the sound anymore. He whimpered as he draped his torso over the edge and looked under his bed. This was something that he instantly regretted.

He hadn’t made it the full way down before he saw it. A deformed figure was staring back up at him. Its skin was misty and leathery, its body thin and snake-like. It was as if someone had stuck a head onto the body of a giant worm. The face didn’t have eyes, just empty sockets like two black holes. Its mouth was open, wider than what a normal person would be able to do. It made its way closer to him, causing Ponyboy to shoot backward. His back slammed against the headboard and prevented him from running away.

“No…” Ponyboy whimpered and tried to move, but all functionality left him. His fingers trembled as they shook by his sides. All he was able to do was scream, but nobody heard him. Or maybe nobody cared. He would never know.

Chapter Text

The gang watched as Ponyboy left for his room, stumbling over his own two feet in a sleepy haze. They were speechless for a long time. The fast shift in Ponyboy’s health was jarring, to say the least. He was fine before; no sign of illness in sight. He was even arguing with them earlier. How could this fast shift happen within an hour or two?

“Jesus,” Steve huffed after a bit. “What was the kid on?”

“Steve,” Soda scolded, giving his friend a pointed look. “He was just sick.”

“Ponyboy knows better than to do drugs,” Darry stated, very confident in that point. The rest of them nodded in agreement. Ponyboy knew what drugs did to people. He knew he couldn’t get caught with that stuff too. All of them had seen people who abused these substances before so there was no way that he would even try it. Still, they had no explanation as to why he acted that way. They just knew that it wasn’t drug-related. That’s what they liked to believe anyway. They wanted to put their trust in him to not make stupid decisions. It was getting harder to do that these days though.

Steve shrugged, “All I’m saying is that Ponyboy is different. Did you see how weird he acted? He was talking to things that weren’t there for Christ’s sake. If he wasn’t on something, you should take him to get checked out for schizophrenia or something.”

“He wasn’t on something, okay?” Soda expressed, voice strained. “I know my brother, and he doesn’t do that stuff, alright?”

“Ponyboy’s too much of a goody-two-shoes,” Two-Bit added even though they knew that wasn’t quite accurate. It came with being a greaser.

“That kid is anything but good,” Steve said. “Look, why don’t you check out his room for anything when he’s not around?”

Darry considered this. He placed a hand on his chin and hummed, “We won’t find anything, but looking might give us some insight into why he’s been skipping.”

“I bet it’s that friend of his,” Johnny said, the first time he had spoken since Ponyboy had gone to his room. The gang tensed. It wasn’t every day that Johnny made allegations against someone. Especially about someone that he hadn’t interacted with. “You’ve all seen it. He changed when he met them.”

“His friend doesn’t exist,” Steve reminded with a short snort. “He only ever hangs out with us.”

“He sometimes hangs out with Curly,” Two-Bit pointed out. None of them really liked that. If they wanted to talk about a troublesome duo, it was Ponyboy and Curly. Those two always seemed to find trouble together. They once caught them playing Chicken. For some reason, they decided to compete by pressing a lit cigarette into their skin to see who could hold it the longest. But it wasn’t Curly that Ponyboy had been hanging out with. They already checked with him. The last time Curly had seen him was when one of the school’s bathrooms exploded. That was weeks ago. “I hardly see him these days.”

“I’m glad that Ponyboy’s been spending less time around.”

“He’s getting more independent,” Soda said with a frown. He was happy about that, but he missed his brother. They used to be so close, but he supposed he messed that up. Pony used to talk to him about everything; now he hardly even spared him a glance at all.

They grow up so fast. That saying was extremely apparent these days. But Ponyboy was growing too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was already heading down a trail all on his own. Nobody told Soda time would go so quickly.

When they were much younger, Ponyboy had fallen off his bike and badly scraped his knee. It was one of the first times he had tried to ride without the training wheels. He had bawled his eyes out, snot running down his chin. When Soda carried him back home, he swore to himself that he would always be there for him. Ponyboy was his little brother, after all. He was the only younger sibling he was ever going to get.

Sadly, it took one selfish decision for him to break his vow.

“But he’s also getting too comfortable,” Darry countered. “He can get into trouble if he continues like this.”

Darry had always been way too overprotective. Soda let a small smile on his lips and sighed, “He’s growing. We’ve all had a rebellious phase.”

“You make us sound ancient. We’re still in that phase,” Two-Bit laughed. Darry playfully rolled his eyes at that. Two-Bit didn’t need to remind them. They were hoodlums and proud of that. Ponyboy was just going about it differently than them. He always did things his own way. That’s what made him so special and it ensured that he would get out of there one day. Ponyboy was a dreamer. He made dreams that he could follow. The rest of them already accepted that they were going to be stuck with lowball jobs.

“It goes with all that hormone stuff, I think. Puberty. I think I learned about this at one point.” Soda hadn’t been the best student when he went to school.

“I just don’t remember it being this extreme with any of us,” Darry sighed, running a finger through his hair. Some premature grays poked out through the gaps between his fingers before they were flattened back down. At that moment, Darry looked much older than his actual age. “I’m just scared he’ll get sent to a boys home. We’re all we have left. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Maybe try being less harsh?” Soda suggested as softly as he could. “I didn’t like what you said to him earlier.”

Darry looked down. He had regretted saying it the moment he uttered those words. There are never takebacks to things that are said though. Once words are out there, they are out there. Even if he were to apologize, he had no doubt that they would still stick with Ponyboy. “He still needs to learn better.”

But putting up rules only made people try to break them. Nobody liked being told what to do. “We should go the opposite way, shouldn’t we? Maybe this week, we can do something together and help build his trust again. That way he could feel safer to go to us.”

“When did my kid brother get so wise?” A smile graced Darry’s lip as he ruffled Soda’s hair and whistled. Soda preened at the compliment. Then Steve spoke up again.

“What if you do find something in his room though?” he asked.

They all fell silent again. That was a possibility they weren’t sure how to deal with yet.

During this whole conversation, Dally hadn’t said anything. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows were slightly scrunched together, enough to be passed off as a grimace or even a glare to other people. Not the gang though. Instead of a grimace, Johnny saw a lingering thought in his eyes.

“Do you know anything about this, Dal?” he asked because Dally definitely knew something related to this case.

“Why would I?” Dally shot back instantly which ultimately confirmed it. Dally was a great liar, but even then, he wasn’t perfect at it. There were microscopic cracks in the mask he always wore.

“You look like you were thinking about something.”

“I don’t know, man.” Dally stuffed his hands in his jacket’s pockets. “I was just thinking about stuff.”

“Anything about Ponyboy?” Two-Bit asked.

Dally raised his shoulders. “Look, we don’t talk much as it is. Ponyboy’s been elusive. I don’t know anything.”

Both Soda and Johnny looked like they didn’t believe him but none of them pushed further on the matter. If Dally and Ponyboy wouldn’t tell them, they would have to find out themselves. Looking in Ponyboy’s room would hurt his trust in them, but that was only if they were caught. Besides, they were planning on spending more time with him this week anyway.

Ponyboy had been allotted one free day to rest before he had to return to school. He wished he could have stayed home for another day though because he just felt terrible all over. Every muscle in his body was exhausted and he wished that he could close his eyes and never wake up. That wasn’t even the end of it. Darry told the gang that they needed to keep a closer eye on him in case he tried to skip again, which sucked because Ponyboy wanted to be anywhere but at school.

But as the day went slowly on by, Ponyboy was shocked to say that he probably could have skipped anyway. Not once had he seen the gang after he was dropped off. He could have left and come back when everyone was leaving. This could have only meant three possibilities. One, they were going to jump the gun and snitch on him no matter what. It didn’t matter if he was there the whole day or not. Two, they didn’t care enough about him to bother. He had to push that thought down before he got too hurt about it. Or three, their timings never aligned so they never ran into each other. He doubted it was the last one even though that was the most likely option. He didn’t want to believe that was the case, in a weird self-destructive way.

For the entire day, Ponyboy kept his head low, drawing on his arm a Zentangle in ink whenever he got bored. He was currently in the class before his lunch period, filling in a checkered pattern when the bell rang. He sighed as he threw his pen into his bag and stood up. Ponyboy was about to leave when his teacher called out to him.

“Mr. Curtis, please stay behind for a minute,” they said. Great. Fantastic.

He waited until everyone left before approaching their desk. Nerves crept at the bottom of his spine. “You wanted to speak to me? Am I in trouble or something?”

“No, you’re not. I just wanted to ask if everything is alright at home.”

Ponyboy instantly tensed up. The urge to tell them that things were a bit fucked up at the moment was on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t want to end up in a boys home if his words were taken out of proportion. Although, he would be doing his brothers a favor. He shook his head. “Everything’s good. Why’d you ask?”

“Your grades have been decreasing exponentially.” Their words started to become muffled to his ears like they were speaking through a filter. “You’re not turning in your work, you’re hardly in class, you’re failing all your tests. What happened? You used to do so well.”

He became a fuck-up, that what happened. Now that he thought about it, was there really a point in him going to school anymore? There was sandpaper in his throat. “I just have a lot going on right now.”

“Mr. Cur—” His teacher clicked their tongue. “Ponyboy, listen, you need to manage whatever you have going on. You’re on the verge of failing and this is a core class. You’ll have to take it over again and it won’t look good on your record. I’ve spoken to your other teachers and it’s the same story. This isn’t looking good for you, Ponyboy. You’re ruining your life.”

Something about those words triggered something within him. Ponyboy snarled, kicking the side of his teacher’s desk and causing them to flinch, “Then what’s the point in all of this? Why am I still here if my life is ruined?”

His teacher stood straighter. “You still have a chance if you put more effort into this.”

“All I have been doing is putting in effort. I can’t keep up. I’m crumbling under all this pressure, don’t you get it?” he blurted, spit flying out of his mouth. “I can’t be perfect no matter how much I try. I can’t make my brothers happy or the people I thought were my friends. Hell, I can’t even make myself happy. Everything I do is wrong, wrong, wrong! What’s the point in meeting a standard I can never reach? I don’t want to do this no more! I can’t do it!”

His breathing was ragged as he finished his rant. His fingers trembled as they tapped restlessly against his legs, heart pounding in his chest. He had to get away. He spat out words to reduce the pressure on his shoulders but it felt like he had only managed to let go of a falling bookshelf but was still under it.

“Now, Ponyboy, you need to take a breath and calm down,” the teacher tried to mitigate, holding out their hands. “I only wanted to check up on you.”

“Well, I don’t need you to, so don’t pretend that you care about me. Fake people disgust me.” He said that even though he was the biggest phony he knew.

Ponyboy readjusted his backpack and left the room before a punishment could be dished out to him for his outburst and violent behavior. People passed him in a flurry of blurry colors. Eventually, he spotted Harley—the only fully visible figure in his tunnel. Butterflies flew in his stomach and his steps became lighter. The interaction with his teacher was instantly thrown out the window.

Harley was leaning against the locker, one leg propped up and his arms over his chest. In this lighting, his features were as sharp as his jaw—dangerous, striking, appealing. He wore his leather jacket today. It clung to his body as if it were made for him and only him. He was only standing there, yet he exuded confidence. He was like a powerful king who was looking down at his subjects.

So cool, Ponyboy found himself thinking. The only thing he was missing was someone at his side, and Ponyboy was willing to volunteer for that spot.

He shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t think like that. He needed to focus, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than his friend.

Harley was watching two upperclassmen who were passing an underclassman’s backpack in a cruel game of Monkey in the Middle. He did nothing to stop it from happening, but only got himself more comfortable against a locker.

“You’re not going to help?” Ponyboy asked, approaching him. He helped Pony when he needed it. What made this any different? His previous interaction was sent to the back of his mind and was replaced by curiosity.

“Nope,” Harley flatly replied.

“What if it escalates to be more physical?”

Harley turned away to look at him pointedly. “I’m not scared of watching someone get beat up.”

“Wow,” Ponyboy mused. “Your morals are crazy.”

“I don’t need morals, man. I got drugs, and seeing him so miserable makes me feel good. Besides, see that guy over there?” He pointed to the taller of the two upperclassmen. He had an athletic build with toned arms and bulging calves, and he wore a varsity jacket for football. “That’s Anderson. He’s got the coke. If I make him mad then he’s going to charge more.”

“Like you never had a problem doing the same thing to other people,” Ponyboy mumbled to himself.

Harley pursed his lips and pushed himself from the locker. “Hey, want to leave? I’m bored now.”

“Can’t this time,” Ponyboy sighed. “Darry found out about me skipping and I got in trouble. The gang is supposed to be watching me now.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, and Darry threatened to kick me out.” His breath shuddered at the pang in his chest. The memory was still raw.

“Oh, shit,” Harley breathed out, eyes widening. “That had to hurt.”

“It did.” Ponyboy shifted his weight to his other foot. “I got really high off of Benadryl.”

Harley did a double take. “Wait, you took Benadryl?”

“Yeah, have you tried it?”

“No, it just makes everything super scary.” He thought for a moment. “But I would probably take it while watching a horror movie.”

“But it makes everything scarier. Why get high from it during a horror movie? They’re already trying to spook you.”

“Immersive experience.” The two of them started to walk to their usual spot on the roof. “Speaking of movies, do you want to watch something on Saturday? They’re rerunning this flick for their last showing.”

Ponyboy’s ears reddened and those butterflies in his stomach returned. He didn’t know why. All he knew was that he wanted to watch that movie with him. He really wanted to. He wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his sleeves. “What movie?”

Harley grinned. “Eegah.”

Ponyboy sputtered. The light that had been igniting in his stomach blew out, and for once since their conversation began, he was able to concentrate. “Eegah? Why are you acting so happy about that? I don’t want to sit through that.”

He wasn’t the type of person to hate a movie, but Eegah had to be on the exception list. It was beyond awful—from the terrible performances, to the bad plot, to the low-budget effects. Eegah should have been named Ugh.

Harley shrugged, “It’s because it’s awful that it’s so great. So, you coming?”

God, he was on the line on this one. But going did mean he could spend less time in the house. And Harley. He could hang out with him longer. He groaned, “Fine, but I better get high before I watch it.”

“Yeah, I got you. Don’t worry.”

They pulled themselves onto the roof, but instead of sitting down where they usually sat, they decided to plop down by the ledge. It was risky for sure. Someone could have easily seen them if they were outside, but that was the thing. Nobody was stupid enough to be outside besides them.

Ponyboy was ready for them to do something fun and have a lot of laughs, but this time, they didn’t talk much for some reason. They were comfortable sitting in silence together, but this felt different. Something was up with Harley that was causing his eyes to become scarily blank. Goosebumps rose on Ponyboy’s arms. There was something so creepy about how it looked on his face—like he wasn’t fully there. He felt more serious than usual. It was such a sudden shift that Ponyboy felt whiplash.

Harley opened his mouth before he closed it. He licked the inside of his cheek before he opened his mouth again, “Hey, Ponyboy, I think I might jump.”

Ponyboy’s stomach churned as those words were carved into his brain. His breath stuttered, “Harley…”

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” Harley smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. None of this was reassuring. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Ponyboy repeated, voice strained in his tightening throat. He hated that Harley was making a joke out of this because the talk of death wasn’t something that should ever be joked about. “How is that a maybe?”

Harley leaned fully forward, his fingers holding tightly onto the ledge. It was the only thing that was tethering him to the roof. Ponyboy’s heart just about stopped because he didn’t want to lose Harley, his only friend in this fucked up life of his. He couldn’t lose another person.

“Sometimes, I think that all I have to do to end everything is to let go. That’s all there is to it. If I were to let go, I would feel one more jolt of pain and that’s it,” Harley said.

“Please, don’t do that,” Ponyboy stressed. What were people supposed to say in situations like this? If Harley wanted to die, he couldn’t stop him. Asking him to live was useless. Telling him that people would be sad if he died was too. He would likely come up with something to say in the future when he had more time to reflect, but at the moment, he had no comforting words. He had a selfish question instead. “If you die, what am I supposed to do without you?”

“That sounds very intimate,” Harley teased.

Ponyboy’s face heated up as he scrambled to correct himself. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m talking about for drugs.”

That wasn’t true and both knew it. It didn’t make the teasing stop though. Harley pulled himself back onto the roof, much to Ponyboy’s relief. “Wow, you only use me.”

“Oh, haha.” They laughed but there was still tension in the air. And, honestly, Ponyboy couldn’t help but think that Harley was using his little joke as an excuse to live another day.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere was tense the next morning. The whole gang was there, chowing down on the breakfast that Darry had made. For some reason, their eyes kept shifting to the clock, lips sealed shut. Ponyboy tried to ignore it, but it was impossible to. He stabbed at his eggs, glancing around at everyone and wondering what was going on. Did someone die or something?

His fork scraped the plate, and his eggs soon turned to mush. Obviously, they were all in on something, seeing how they were doing the same thing. Ponyboy tried not to sulk about it. Tried not to think about how they excluded him again. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Soda started a conversation.

“Heard Evie wants you to do something nice for her this weekend,” he said to Steve, an easy smile on his face.

“Don’t get me started,” Steve replied, rolling his eyes. He plopped the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously.

Soda wiggled his eyebrows at him. “You think she’s expecting you to make a grand gesture?”

“What, like marriage?” Steve made a face, and he swallowed his food. “Not everyone is looking to get hitched, you know.”

“Come on, you like her, don’t ya?”

Ponyboy stopped murdering his eggs and spontaneously asked, “How do you know if you like someone?”

There were multiple kinds of ‘like’ and ‘love.’ He loved his parents. He liked chocolate cake. He liked Pepsi. He loved the feeling of being high. He loved the gang despite how much they hurt him. He wasn’t sure how this differed since he hadn’t been in a relationship before, but he was fairly certain it felt completely different than loving a girl… or a boy.

Ponyboy almost slapped himself in the forehead. A boy? What a slip-up.

Suddenly, all attention turned to him, and Ponyboy regretted speaking at all. His throat closed at the looks the gang gave him. Shoot. He just interrupted them, and they were probably annoyed with him. It must have been intrusive enough for him to be there, and this must have been the cherry on top. He prepared for the worst, but instead of looking peeved, they looked surprised.

“Well, you just do,” Soda answered, which didn’t answer him whatsoever.

“Does Ponyboy have a crush?” Steve teased, leaning in with a smirk. Instantly, Ponyboy recoiled. His ears turned pink.

“What? No!” he stammered. Two-Bit barked out a laugh from the other side of the table.

“Your ears are betraying you, Pinocchio,” he cackled and the others laughed along.

“I don’t have a crush.” Ponyboy insisted, embarrassment quickly rising. Why did he have to ask that? God, he was so stupid! This was just another thing that kept him apart from the gang, another reason he didn’t belong. “You know what? Forget it. Forget I even asked.”

Ponyboy huffed and dropped his head into his arms. He twirled his fork, a steel ballerina that danced in the guts of his breakfast. His cheeks burned.

The gang all exchanged looks. Soda reached forward and took his fork away from him, placing it down on his plate. He hesitated to place his hand on his head, but decided to keep it to himself in the end.

“I guess… You want to be around them all the time, and when they’re not around, you miss them,” Soda awkwardly answered, tapping his chin in thought. It was hard to explain, but he recalled what it had felt like whenever he was around Sandy before she had left him. “Every time you look at them, you feel butterflies in your stomach. Your heart starts racing, and you can’t take your eyes off them. You notice little details about them. Their quirks. Their features. They consume your thoughts, but it feels real nice, you know?”

Ponyboy dug his face deeper into his arms. His mind instantly wandered back to Harley and how he made him feel whenever they were close together. How his eyes couldn’t tear away from him. How droplets of water had frozen to his long lashes when they were on the billboard. How his laugh didn’t match his energy and appearance. And how electricity ran through their skin whenever they accidentally touched.

But Harley was a guy, and so was Ponyboy. He couldn’t possibly like him. It was taboo. There must have been another explanation for the feelings he felt.

“So, who is it?” Steve asked, still smirking. He was probably ready to use this as blackmail.

Ponyboy flinched, “I told you, no one.”

“I never see you around any girls,” Johnny mentioned, which only caused him to shrink in on himself. Of course, the gang didn’t take into account that their youngest could have been gay.

Gay? Was that what he was? It didn’t feel right. He wanted to say he liked girls because he did feel some sort of attraction towards them, but he also knew he had never felt this way with anyone other than Harley.

“That’s enough girl talk, ladies,” Darry interrupted, putting his coffee mug down by the sink. “Y'all need to get to school.”

With groans, the people who had to go stood up. Steve was taking them since Two-Bit’s car was parked at the DX Station to get looked at later. While they were gathering their stuff, Soda looked at Dally.

“You staying here, Dal?” he asked.

Dally knew what Soda and Darry were planning on doing later and he wasn’t going to miss out on it. He nodded, “Yeah, might as well.”

Soon, the house had dwindled to three people. When it was considered safe to start, they struck.

When the trio entered Ponyboy’s room, they found it quite messy, which was expected of a teenage boy’s room. But, while it was untidy, it also felt less lived-in for some reason. The room was cold and looked staged. It was like every object in it—from the laundry on the floor to the overflowing trashcan—were only pieces in a movie set. It was strange.

“I don’t know about this,” Soda mumbled, biting the nail on his thumb. What they were about to do was a big invasion of privacy. “This feels wrong.”

“I know, but think about how much better we’ll feel after we find out he’s clean,” Darry reasoned and Soda reluctantly nodded.

They started to look around, splitting up so they could get in and out of there. Soda first checked the dresser, pulling out drawers and leafing through the folded clothes. Darry checked the desk and even went as far as to skim the notebooks. Maybe he could find a journal entry about what he was up to these days. Dally took a more casual approach. He walked around the room and peeked behind the bed’s headboard for a second before he moved to the closet. His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked inside, again for a moment, before he moved somewhere else. It honestly looked like he was looking for something entirely different. But they figured if he were to find whatever he was looking for, he would tell them. So, they didn’t call him out for it.

Since the room was small, there wasn’t much to look through, and, so far, they found nothing. They knew it was going to be like this. Ponyboy wasn’t addicted to drugs. Cigarettes, definitely, but not drugs. Still, they did feel better with the reassurance. They were about to call it quits when Soda checked under the bed, the last place they hadn’t looked.

“Wait, what’s that?” he said and that wasn’t very great to hear. Soda reached under and pulled out a bottle of pills. He turned it over to look at the label, ignoring the blood pumping in his ears. The others looked over his shoulder in anticipation. His breath was released when he read what it was. “It’s just a bottle of pain medication.”

“Why is this in here and not the bathroom?” Darry wondered, placing a hand on his chin.

“Maybe he forgot to put it back.” But that didn’t answer why it was under his bed in the first place. Soda placed the bottle on top of the nightstand. He stared at it for a moment, remembering the haze Ponyboy was in earlier. “This couldn’t be the culprit, could it? Can you get high from this stuff?”

“Not like how Ponyboy was acting,” Dally answered.

“Whatever the case, it seems like Steve was wrong,” Darry expressed.

“You’re right. We checked everywhere. The closet, the desk, the dresser…” Soda listed. With each object mentioned, he gestured to it, and if they were close enough, he would touch it. “…and the nightstand.”

He opened the drawer and heard a rattling noise that they hadn’t heard before. They must have forgotten to look there. Soda curiously looked in and found… candy? He pulled out a candy bracelet, letting it dangle from his fingers.

“Why is this in there?” Soda asked. There were others in there too—chocolate bars, gummies, and some Pixy Stix, to name a few. He huffed out a laugh. “Did Pony rob a candy store?”

But none of them could fathom why he had that many sweets to begin with. Ponyboy had a sweet tooth, but this was taking it too far.

“I can’t understand what goes through his brain sometimes,” Darry sighed, shaking his head. Soda hummed and pocketed the candy bracelet. He didn’t think Ponyboy would mind since he had a drawer full of it. He probably wouldn’t even notice something missing.

“You’re taking one?” Dally asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ponyboy won’t mind,” Soda chirped happily. He closed the drawer and the three of them left the room. No drugs but that was a good thing.

There was still some time before they expected the gang to come back. While they waited, Darry had Soda help around the house. Dally, on the other hand, left to do whatever he felt like doing. They got a lot done by the time Ponyboy returned.

Their younger brother didn’t bother to greet them. Instead, he ducked his head and quickly moved to his room, but when he got there, he froze. Someone had been in there. Most of the stuff he had left lying around had been moved but not put entirely away. His clothes were placed in a pile and his notebooks were lying on the desk, but he was sure they had been placed in his drawer before he had left. Whoever was in there had been looking for something, and what confirmed it was the pill bottle that was sitting on the nightstand. The same one that was under his bed.

His blood ran cold. His brothers, the only suspects, knew something. He bit his tongue until he could taste blood.

Shit.

They knew.

They knew!

They had to have. Why else would someone search his room?

His body became clammy, cold sweat making him squirm in his spot. What now? What should he do? His brain was fogged up in panic and he knew that he needed to take a breath and calm down, but that was easier said than done. How could he not panic when he was screwed?

Then again, his brothers didn’t act like anything was wrong. They would have stopped him at the door if they found anything suspicious. And they couldn’t possibly have known something was up with a bottle of pain meds.

But they were suspicious enough to look in his room in the first place.

He wiped his palms on his jeans, taking a shaky breath. At least he carried everything with him to sell.

Well, not everything.

Ponyboy’s pupils shrunk as he threw open the drawer to his nightstand. Nothing looked out of the ordinary at first, but he had taken stock of everything he had. He knew exactly what was supposed to be in the drawer and one candy bracelet was missing. He counted the contents twice, thrice, and then four times. Each time he totaled everything, he felt his gut get pushed down further.

He should have carried everything with him. What was he thinking just leaving these here? He thought it would be fine because they were disguised as candy, but that benefit ended up being its flaw.

Harley was going to kill him. God, this was going to break his trust in him, and that thought hurt more than anything.

Maybe there was still hope though. Since his brothers hadn’t confronted him yet, they likely hadn’t tried the drug. With that reassurance, he ran out of his room, nearly skidding into a wall as he did so.

“Did you guys go into my room?” he accused, sweaty hands curling into fists.

“Yes,” Darry answered calmly. “We wanted to clean it up a bit.”

“It didn’t need it.” If that was the lie, they needed to take a look at his room again. They could have at least cleaned it so it was more believable.

“Yes, it did, so, we helped.”

“It doesn’t need your help. Stay out of my room, won’t you? Now everything has been moved.” But that wasn’t the most important matter to be bratty about. He clenched his jaw. “Did any of you take my candy?”

He glared at his brothers, scrutinizing every shift in their expressions. Darry’s eyes flickered over to Soda who sheepishly pulled out the candy bracelet, luckily still intact.

“Thought since you hadn’t paid the brother tax in a bit,” Soda joked but Ponyboy didn’t find it funny at all. He snatched the bracelet from him, curling his lips.

“Well, it’s mine,” he snapped. “You can’t have any.”

“You have so much, why can’t you share?” Darry asked.

“Because.” He was going to leave it there, but he knew that explanation would only raise more questions. He scrambled for an excuse. “It’s for school. I need everything in there, so, please don’t touch it.”

Darry tilted his head. “What project is it for?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just stay out of my room, from now on, okay?”

Both Darry and Soda agreed (though he knew they weren’t going to follow through with it) and Ponyboy was about to return to his room and move everything to his bag when Darry said, “We’re going to eat out today. The gang will be there.”

Ponyboy nodded. It sounded like they were going to have a great time. Good for them. “Okay. Have fun.”

“You’re coming.”

Ponyboy faltered. They were inviting him? He pointed to himself as if to make sure they were in fact talking about him and not some ghost next to him. “Me too?”

“Of course,” Soda said, looking at him confused. “Why wouldn’t you come?”

They would have a lot more fun without him. He shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

The diner they went to, much to his surprise, was the restaurant he went to with Harley to get their breakfast sandwiches (the weed part was on the hush-hush). Since then, Ponyboy had been there a handful more times with the same agenda: get high, eat food, sell weed. He ran his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Of course, the gang had to choose this place.

It was busier and livelier now since people were off school and work. There were greasers and socs alike, chowing down on greasy food and talking loud enough that the music became only ambient beats. The gang sat down at the bar top since they were a larger group and every other table was filled. They could have waited for an opening or they could have gone somewhere else, but Two-Bit was adamant about this place for whatever reason. He said that the food must have been good since it was popular and Ponyboy knew that it was, but he was high every time. The smell emitted from the kitchen caused his stomach to rumble as he sat between Two-Bit and Soda.

When the waitress came over, someone that Ponyboy had seen but never bothered to learn the name of, she started to take their order. But when she got to him, recognition flashed over her eyes.

“Just to let you know,” she started, “we don’t make breakfast sandwiches at this time.”

Ponyboy gave her a sheepish smile and gave her his order—just a burger and fries. When she left, the gang looked at him curiously.

“Have you been here before?” Soda asked to start a conversation.

“A few times,” Ponyboy answered, looking down and scratching at a mysterious stain on the table. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate any more than that, they started to talk about their day and all of that small-talk gibberish. It was almost nice. Ponyboy missed get-togethers like this. And for a brief moment, he let himself believe that everything was better again. A small smile graced his lips but it grew strained by the second as the voice in his head reminded him that they didn’t want him there. Sometimes, he wished it could give him a second of peace so he could be oblivious for a moment. Let him relish in this fabrication, but it wasn’t the voices in his head that broke him from his reverie. It was the gang.

“Hey, remember that time we got kicked out from bowling,” Two-Bit brought up and the smile dropped completely from Ponyboy’s face because he did not remember this.

“That was because you threw the bowling ball into the ceiling,” Darry said.

When did this happen?

“I thought it was because Steve kept knocking over other people’s pins before they had the chance to go,” Soda mused.

Did they go bowling without him?

“I didn’t do that. That was Johnny,” Steve defended.

Why wasn’t he invited? That was a stupid question. He knew the answer already.

“Why would Johnny do that?” Dally shot back. “He and Darry were the only ones playing the game.”

“He got a few strikes in too,” Two-Bit laughed, reaching over to give him a noogie. Johnny tilted his body away to save his scalp.

“You would have gotten some too if you didn’t purposefully aim for the gutter,” Darry sighed and smiled at the waitress kindly when she brought their food.

“What can I say, I was gutting out the competition.” The others groaned and started to eat but Ponyboy didn’t have an appetite anymore.

“You guys went bowling?” he asked lowly.

Soda’s eyes widened as he turned his full attention to his brother. “Yeah, sorry. We didn’t think you wanted to come since you were out all the time.”

He would have wanted to! Ponyboy slumped. Okay, fine, he probably would have still declined because he would have ruined their fun if he went. It would have been nice to get the invitation though. He shrugged, shoulders stiff. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t really.

“Anyway,” Two-Bit continued and proceeded with a joke that Ponyboy was never let in on. They spoke but nothing made sense to him, making him feel out of place. No spaces were left for him to speak and no glances were shot his way. His ears heated up as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was obvious that he didn’t belong in their group anymore.

They were so wrapped up with each other that Ponyboy was certain that if he were to leave, they wouldn’t notice him gone. So, that’s what he did. He excused himself to go to the bathroom but the gang didn’t even hum in acknowledgment. His chest felt tight as he escaped to the restroom before he could succumb to an anxiety attack.

He should just go. It was stupid that he came here with them. He wasn’t sure why they invited him in the first place. To embarrass him? Because they pitied him? To remind him that he would never be able to keep up with them?

He gripped the edges of the sink tightly and stared at his reflection until he felt composed enough to leave the bathroom. He still didn’t know if he should sit back down or leave entirely. Ponyboy looked over to them and with his last bit of stubbornness, he decided to test them. It was a toxic thing to do. Testing them would be something he would never be proud of. It was messed up and he was setting himself up for pain, but he needed that confirmation because there was no point in sticking around if they didn’t want him there.

Ponyboy waited for the gang to notice him missing; for them to ask where he had gone. But no one did. The spot he had been sitting in had been taken over, his food was pushed to the side. It was like Ponyboy hadn’t existed in the first place.

There. See? The gang failed the test already. Unfair? Probably. They didn’t have a chance to begin with.

Are you happy now?

His chest felt tight. Well, that confirmed it. He should just go. If they didn’t notice him before, they wouldn’t notice him leaving now.

He turned to leave, but right when he was about to exit the diner, the door opened and he came face to face with none other than Harley. This guy had a penchant for popping up at the weirdest times.

“Harley,” Ponyboy greeted in surprise. They were so close, only inches away from one another. His heart started to hammer in his chest, stomach fluttering with butterflies. At that moment, he remembered what Soda explained to him regarding crushes, and this only brought a blush to his face. Why did he have to start thinking about that now? He forced himself to step back to let his friend inside. The plan to leave instantly went to the back of his head. He coughed in his hand. “What are… What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” Harley shrugged as if Ponyboy hadn’t been freaking out. He leaned forward just a bit, but it felt like a big distance to the other. “I think I should be asking you that. Why are you here?”

Ponyboy pointed behind him. “The gang wanted to eat out today but I wasn’t feeling it.”

They sat down at an empty table and Ponyboy spared a glance at the gang who still hadn’t noticed his absence. Harley hummed. “Are you feeling up to help me tonight?”

Maybe on a different day. He wasn’t feeling like doing much of anything. “Not really, the gang’s sitting at the bar top. I don’t want to walk back up there.”

“That’s fair.”

“Shouldn’t you be going back there to sell your stash?”

“No, he can wait.” Harley leaned back on the bench. “I would rather not deal with him more than I have to. Deal to him, yes. Deal with him, no.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can handle him saying, ‘Um, actually,’ again.” He could feel a migraine forming just remembering the snotty tone.

“He does say that a lot. He never has anything smart to say after it either. Like, you’re just a guy who flips burgers and dips fries. We don’t have to listen to you.”

“I don’t like that he acts so pretentious about it.”

“He also says, ‘Oh man, oh man, oh man,’ a lot,” Harley said, attempting to impersonate the chef’s voice.

Something about the way he did it, however, was so funny. Ponyboy couldn’t help but laugh. He placed his hand on his stomach when his muscles contracted there. “You sound like Donald Duck.”

While he was teasing Harley about it, he was unaware of the eyes that had turned to him.

“Hey, where did Pony go?” Soda asked when he noticed that Ponyboy hadn’t returned. The gang looked over to the spot that was now filled by Two-Bit and blinked. Two-Bit had been sitting there for several minutes now so it must have been before that.

“That kid is sneaky,” Steve muttered.

“But where is he? He didn’t leave, did he? He said he was going to the bathroom.”

They didn’t have to wait long before they found out. A familiar laugh cut through the loud diner, something they hadn’t heard in a while. They turned around and saw Ponyboy sitting at another table close to the door. In front of him was another kid his age. They both had smiles on their faces as if the world around them didn’t exist. It would have been fine—great even—if it wasn’t for the person that Ponyboy was hanging out with.

“When did Ponyboy and Harley get close?” Two-Bit asked.

Chapter Text

Ponyboy and Harley: a duo that the gang hadn’t seen coming. The two of them were vastly different from one another—contrasting values, hobbies, and personalities. But that was the thing. They were different. It wasn’t like that anymore. Ponyboy was becoming more like Harley by the day, absorbing the other’s personality like a sponge. Most of his past behaviors and actions started to make sense. It wasn’t a teenage rebellious phase they were dealing with (not entirely, at least), it was Harley’s influence.

“What’s he doing with him?” Johnny asked out loud. They all knew about Harley. Some more than others. He was infamous for his insanity and was the definition of bad news. There were several rumors revolving around him, each crazier than the next. They weren’t sure which ones were true, but the fact that there were rumors was telling enough. Johnny realized that this was the guy who had been changing Ponyboy—the one he had started despising so much.

“They look close,” Two-Bit observed. Something about the way they looked at each other and the way Ponyboy fiddled with his fingers struck something in him. “Is that the friend he was talking about?”

They hoped not, but all directions were pointed towards yes. Seriously, how was this duo possible?

“How are they even friends? They’re so different,” Steve questioned. Different or not, he didn’t think Ponyboy was telling the truth about his friendship to begin with. Now he was eating his words because not only was he wrong, but he couldn’t help but think it was his fault that this happened.

“How did they even meet?” Soda wondered.

There were many questions on their minds and none of them were being answered by just sitting there. The gang exchanged looks before they got up and approached the other table. They couldn’t ignore how Ponyboy seemed to tense when he noticed them.

Why did he do that? Why did he look at them like they were about to jump him?

Everything about this was wrong.

“Ponyboy,” Darry started, eyeing Harley, who looked like he didn’t even care they were there. His nonchalant attitude only seemed to edge him on. While it seemed appropriate to call him a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Harley could never be mistaken for a “sheep.” He was a rattlesnake that didn’t need some disguise to hide how dangerous he was. That casual attitude was only the warning rattle before the strike. “What’s going on here?”

“Just talking to my friend,” Ponyboy answered, not looking at him. That answered the question about their relationship. They needed to stop this, right? But what authority did they have over this?

Darry shifted his stance wider to appear larger and more intimidating. He puffed out his chest and took a deep breath. “Can we talk to you for a second?”

Ponyboy’s shoulders slumped forward, already having expected this to happen. He looked pitifully at Harley who shrugged.

“I’ve gotta go anyway,” Harley said and stood up. “Speak to you in a bit.”

He loped off towards the kitchen and disappeared behind the door. Ponyboy knew that he was just going to finish his business, but he couldn’t help but give the gang a hard time about his friend’s departure.

“Great, you scared him off,” he said. When they didn’t react how he wanted them to, he sighed and rested his cheek on his palm. “What is it?”

Darry slid into the booth in front of him. Soda sat next to him while the gang stood around the table, essentially trapping Ponyboy in. There was no escaping this conversation.

“What are you doing with Harley?” Darry asked first, trying to get Ponyboy to look him in the eyes but failing. “Why are you friends with him?”

“Because we get along?” Ponyboy provided. Why else? He didn’t need a reason.

“But isn’t he crazy? I’ve heard rumors.”

The youngest shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but isn’t everyone a bit crazy?”

Darry pinched the bridge of his nose, “No.”

Ponyboy awkwardly hummed. They were going to find out about his friendship sooner or later. It wasn’t like he was keeping it a secret, but now that they knew, it was going to put a hamper on things. He wasn’t entirely sure why they were acting like this—concerned, that was. He thought they would be happy he wasn’t tagging along anymore. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t matter who he was hanging out with so long as he wasn’t around them.

“I don’t understand what the problem is,” Ponyboy said because all he was trying to do was talk to his friend. It wasn’t like he was going on a murdering spree with him.

“The problem is that you made friends with someone so insane,” Darry growled and Ponyboy had to prevent himself from glaring, protectiveness washing over him.

“You don’t know anything about him.” Darry and the gang didn’t have the right to judge. Harley was insane sometimes, but he was also one of the most level-headed people he knew. That was basically like everyone on this planet. Sure, he had his flaws, but nobody was perfect.

“Doesn’t he sell drugs?” Two-Bit brought up which only made the gang become rigid. If Harley was a dealer and it was theorized that Ponyboy took them, then this got a whole lot worse. But they didn’t find anything in his room. Did Harley get Ponyboy addicted to drugs or not?

While the gang was coming up with possible conclusions, Ponyboy reminisced about his first time in this diner. He and Harley were joking in the bathroom—about hookers that worked corners and mobsters that collected money. The memory brought a small huff of laughter. “No, he’s a hooker.”

The gang’s eyes boggled. For a moment, they thought they had heard him wrong because there was no way he had called Harley a hooker. They never thought he would say that word.

“Ponyboy,” Soda started, shaking off his shock. He needed a straight answer. “He sells drugs, doesn’t he?”

“He hasn’t sold anything since coming out of juvie,” Ponyboy lied, putting his hands in his lap so he could fiddle with his fingers. Ratting him out would be bad for both of them.

“Yeah, I don’t believe that one bit,” Dally snorted. Now he knew where he was getting the weed. This was upsetting since he warned him not to get involved with Harley.

“Why would he get in trouble with the cops again? He’s been trying to keep his head low.” The gang was looking at Ponyboy in disbelief. People don’t change that much. Forgive them for not believing that Harley decided to become a stand-up citizen after his imprisonment. A bead of sweat fell down Ponyboy’s temple under their scrutinizing gazes. He shifted in his seat, heart palpitating.

“Is he giving you drugs?” Darry demanded a bit too loudly.

Ponyboy rapidly shook his head, which was mostly an excuse to look around to see who was eavesdropping on them. “No! I don’t do drugs, Dar.”

“Then how do you explain the other night? You were acting strangely and talking to things that weren’t there.”

Ponyboy bit his bottom lip. He had no good excuse for that. He hardly remembered much from that night since he was so out of it. He just remembered that it was scary. His mouth felt terribly dry as his tongue scratched at its roof. As much of a good liar as he was, it didn’t mean he could create a good reason for everything. He couldn’t stay quiet forever though. “I was tired. Delirious, you know?”

“You were fine an hour before that.”

“Yeah, but…” He stopped. It didn’t matter what he said to that. They weren’t going to believe him. But sometimes the best answer was the lack of one. He didn’t need to know everything. “I don’t know why.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“But it’s the best one you’re getting. I don’t know what happened.”

Darry looked exasperated. He rubbed his temples. “If this is a health issue, maybe we should take you to see a doctor.”

“Maybe,” Ponyboy said, hands clammy. He couldn’t see one. Doctors meant drug testing. However, he couldn’t back out without the gang knowing he was lying. He just had to hope they would forget about this, and if not, he would have to deal with it later.

He was hoping the gang would drop the matter after that, but Johnny had to continue where they left off. He didn’t blame him for it. Johnny’s eyes were wide with worry.

“Harley’s not pressuring you into doing anything, is he?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Ponyboy reassured. And then he pressed his thumb into his wrist. The sting it brought hurt but helped ground him. “We’re just two guys who are friends with each other. We like each other’s company. There’s nothing more to it.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that he magically reformed?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ponyboy turned to him, gaze hardening. “Yes.”

The diner was feeling suffocating now. There were so many eyes and ears that could have been tuning in on their conversation. There were fewer people in there now. The dinner rush was close to over, which meant it was quieter in there now. The food scent that wafted throughout the restaurant started to make him nauseous.

His nails were creating crescents in his skin. He couldn’t stand this. The gang was interrogating him, peeling away at his thickest layers. He wanted them to stop. All of this guilt and anxiety would go away if they just stopped and left him be. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep everything from them.

“And you’re really friends with him?” Soda asked tentatively, even though Ponyboy confirmed it multiple times by now. Was it that hard to believe? He knew he hadn’t had a real friend until now, but this was excessive.

“Yes, why do you guys keep asking me this?” Ponyboy whined.

“We just didn’t think you would get along with him,” Two-Bit explained and that was a fair assumption.

Ponyboy pondered his next words, tilting his head from side to side. He leaned back on the bench and looked up at the ceiling lights. His fingers were still digging into his skin; still grounding him. Since the gang approached him, he had been telling lie after lie, but this time, he spoke straight from the heart. “Honestly? I didn’t think we would either. Something just clicked with us. Kind of felt like we were friends for a long time. Even when none of us spoke, it felt like we had a hundred good conversations. And when we did talk, he listened to me. He understood me. He didn’t make me feel bad for thinking the way I did or didn’t make fun of me for crying. He was an actual friend to me when I was alone.”

Everyone was shocked by what he said. They didn’t think he would say something so earnest about Harley because they didn’t want to believe he was a good friend to Ponyboy. They already had a preset image of him, and it didn’t match with what was described. Was Harley just misunderstood? No, he was labeled as insane for a reason. It didn’t matter if Ponyboy was okay around him because he was just a kid. He didn’t know better. But did they?

In his spiel, Ponyboy said he was comfortable enough to cry in front of Harley, and that he preferred to go to him over any of them. That didn’t make sense to any of them. Weren’t they close? Wasn’t he their little brother? Wasn’t he Johnny’s best friend? When had he drifted away from them? They would have listened to him if he had come to them.

Ponyboy said all of these things and more or less accused them of negligence, but how could they help him if he isolated himself? How were they supposed to know he was upset when he refused to interact with them to begin with? But maybe that was the hint. They should have stuck by him when he was pushing them away.

He said he felt alone. That was another thing they couldn’t quite understand because Ponyboy was never alone.

“You weren’t alone,” Johnny insisted. “You had us.”

“But none of you are there whenever I need you the most,” Ponyboy said.

The minds of everyone in the gang went blank. That wasn’t true. Surely, Ponyboy had the wrong idea.

“You said all these good things about Harley, but how do you know he isn’t secretly annoyed with you?” Steve asked.

“He’s not,” Ponyboy spat, glaring at Steve.

“That’s a bold claim.”

Ponyboy had a feeling Steve was trying to make him doubt his friendship with Harley. His chest tightened and his tongue clicked in his mouth. He clenched his hands into fists, realizing that he didn’t have to take his bullying anymore. Before, he had to pretend to get along because he didn’t want to upset Soda. He didn’t have that restraint anymore. “I thought you of all people would be supportive. I finally made a friend. I did what you said to do. Aren’t you happy?”

The gang didn’t know what he was talking about, but apparently, Steve did. His skin became pale because, at that moment, it was confirmed that the reason Ponyboy was different was because of him. This shitstorm was because of his stupid words.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve sputtered and Ponyboy’s eyes narrowed.

“What else could you have possibly meant? Your message was very clear and, quite frankly, eye-opening.”

“What are you two talking about?” Two-Bit interrupted.

Ponyboy didn’t remove his glare from the other greaser. “Would you like me to tell them, or you?”

“I… I…” Steve stammered, making the gang wonder what he did to get him so clammed up. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to take back control of the conversation. He sharpened his eyes. “There’s nothing to tell. Stop trying to change the topic.”

“What’s going on?” Dally cut in, sick of feeling like an outsider to this conversation. “Just spill it, man.”

“There’s nothing to tell?” Ponyboy growled, slamming his hands on the table. The diner quieted down at the sudden noise, eyes turning towards them. If Ponyboy noticed it, he didn’t react. “I don’t know why I’m under fire because you told me I didn’t have any friends, Steve. It was you who reminded me that nobody wanted me around because I was just some tagalong kid who needed to be babysat.”

“Steve, you said that?” Soda asked, turning to his best friend with wide eyes. This only riled Ponyboy up more because Soda was almost just as guilty.

“Soda, you don’t have the right to act shocked. You were there too.”

Soda’s lips pressed into a thin line, skin going pale like Steve’s. “No, I…”

Ponyboy sighed. He was so over this. The topic had successfully been switched away from drugs (though it would likely return later). He wished Harley had stayed to back him up so this could be over and done with. To be honest, he wasn’t that mad at Soda and Steve anymore. He was mostly over it by now, and all they did was tell the truth, so, in a way, he was grateful. But this conversation was getting annoying. Ponyboy had a headache, felt nauseous, and wanted to drown his feelings out with pills, weed, or alcohol.

Luckily, the waitress from earlier approached them, cutting their conversation short. She ushered them outside the establishment, stating that they were disturbing the other patrons. The blast of cold air sent shivers down their spines. The wind was howling, but, through it, they heard another noise. It didn’t take long for them to identify it. Harley was already in the parking lot, jiggling a handle to a tuff Skylark car. His brows were pulled together in frustration. Instantly, Ponyboy felt better. He approached him and the gang followed.

“Come on,” Harley muttered. Ponyboy stepped loudly to alert his presence.

“Hey,” Ponyboy greeted with a tired smile.

“Hey, man,” Harley responded, looking over his shoulder at the gang.

“What are you doing?” Darry asked pointedly. His hand was raised just in case he needed to pull Ponyboy away. “Is this your car?”

Harley didn’t see any reason to lie. He jiggled the handle again. “Nope, but it could be.”

Darry’s brows knitted together. He shook his head. “Ponyboy, he’s not someone you should get involved with.”

Not this again. Ponyboy rolled his eyes, “Really? All he was doing was trying to get in a car. Dally stole vehicles before.”

“He’s different. Dally’s not aiming to get you high.”

“God, I wish I was high.”

“What was that?” Darry’s face went red. Or maybe that was the flashing, neon restaurant sign.

“This whole intervention makes me want to get high,” Ponyboy repeated sassily. His hands rested on his hips.

“You’re not going to do drugs, Ponyboy!”

“I didn’t say anything about drugs, Darry! I don’t do them. I said that already.”

“Yeah, Ponyboy doesn’t drink either, and, if he did, he would be a total lightweight,” Harley backed up, secretly referencing when Ponyboy got his hair bleached. Pony’s ears turned red and he subconsciously combed through his hair.

“See? Now, can you finally drop it? I’m friends with Harley. Big deal.”

“I didn’t get paid for this deal,” Harley murmured to himself—a joke—but the gang all heard it and it wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.

“And you’re trying to convince us that he doesn’t sell drugs?” Dally snarked.

“He doesn’t,” Ponyboy confirmed.

“Yeah, so why don’t you shut the fuck up and stop making assumptions about me?” Harley snapped, which ultimately made their view of him worse. That headache Ponyboy felt earlier came back. Harley had to be the instigator and make things go from zero to one hundred. Why did he have to be this way? Was he on something or was he picking a fight on purpose? Nobody spoke this way to Dally unless they wanted to get hurt.

“Hey, man, watch your mouth,” Dally growled, stepping forward. Harley stood up straighter to meet him.

“Why don’t you watch your mouth or I’m going to slash these tires.”

“That’s not even our car,” Two-Bit pointed out but was mostly ignored.

This was getting bad. Ponyboy stood in front of Harley to separate the two, but it wasn’t enough. Dally rotated his neck with a pissed smile on his face.

He struck like a viper. His arm went around Ponyboy, chest slamming into him as he threw a punch at Harley. The sound of impact echoed off the restaurant wall. It only took Harley a split second to recover, however. He reached over Ponyboy (which was harder to do since they were closer in height) and flung his fist forward.

And, just like that, Ponyboy regretted that he got between them.