Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

—Darry Curtis—

Nineteen year old Darry Shayne Curtis Jr. had it all figured out. He had graduated high school at the top of his class, a superstar football player, and had a half scholarship to Texas State University waiting for him when he came up with money for the other half.

He had to admit, it wasn’t what he was hoping for. When the letter came in the mail, as glad as he was for what he got, he knew it wasn’t enough. The only thing worse was the look on his parents’ faces when he told them. Darrel and Maggie Curtis did everything they could to provide for their three sons, so every dime was put toward keeping enough food on the table. There was no college savings. It wasn’t their fault, but the look of shame was identical on both of their faces.

“It’s okay.” Darry lied. “I don’t mind waiting a year. I’ll work full time, and by next August, I’ll have enough.”

His father mustered a tight-lipped smile on his lips, still sad, but at least now he could see a glimmer of pride in his eyes. He walked up, and silently put an arm around his shoulder.

“We’re so proud of you, honey.” His mother smiled up at him gently.

Maggie Curtis was a beautiful woman. Dark golden hair and shining hazel eyes. She spoke with a soft and firm voice that would make any hood stop and obey her every word. Even the notorious delinquent Dallas Winston adored Maggie Curtis. She was smart, but hardly ever lost her temper. She was the perfect mother.

Darry and his father looked so similar that people would think they were brothers rather than father and son. The same short brown hair, tall, muscular build. Tan from working outside, more his father, since Darry had only worked part-time. He was a passionate, driven man who loved his family more than anything. He was famous for his humor, and ability to lighten any situation.

Darry hated to see them feel guilty about not being able to pay for college. They both did the best they could; it wasn’t their fault. Of course, that didn’t stop Darry from being jealous of the kids at school who worked half as hard but got everything he wanted. He tried not to linger on it for too long; he knew the score. Besides, it was only a year. What difference would it make if he started at nineteen versus twenty? One year ain’t nothin.

“Hey, Junior, I can tell you been workin’ hard lately. Good job, bud.” Darry’s father bumped his shoulder. They were driving home after a particularly hot day of work. June in Tulsa was hell. Darry hated the feeling of sitting in his own sweat. He couldn’t wait to go home and take a shower.

“‘Course.” Darry shrugged. What else could he do? Darry just was a hard worker. He always worked hard at everything, whether he liked it or not. He didn’t know any other way, to be honest. That was how he earned all of his achievements, even if they didn’t amount to much.

“I’m just sayin’, you’re doin’ better than summa the guys that’ve been doin’ this shit for 40 years. That’s impressive.” He smirked at the road in front of them.

“Yeah, it ain’t college or nothin’. But hey; I’m sure glad I can haul wood up a ladder.” Darry rolled his eyes.

“Patience, Junior. You’ll get there soon. I’ll bet it’ll feel ten times better when you worked hard for it, too.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Darry’s gaze drifted out the window.

His mom had cooked grilled chicken for dinner. His favorite. To be fair, everything his mother cooked was his favorite.

The table conversation wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sodapop chatted everyone's ears off, Ponyboy struggled to get a word in edgewise. Their mother just listened contently, and their father would make a joke every once in a while. Everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

After a few minutes of this, Darry’s mind began to drift. Would he miss this when he went off to college? He was really close to his father, and enjoyed spending time with him every day. He loved his mother very much as well. He even considered missing his annoying little brothers. Go figure.

He was sharply brought back to earth by the sound of the door slamming open.

“Howdy, Curtis’s!” Two-Bit hollered from the kitchen. “Do I smell chicken?”

“Come make yourself a plate, honey.” Maggie Curtis stood up, grabbing clean dishes from the cupboard.

Two-Bit waltzed into the kitchen, the same lazy smirk on his face that he always wore. “You made me my favorite. How very thoughtful.”

“Yes, yes, take my seat at the table Keith- please pour that milk in a glass.” She sighed at the sight of him swigging straight from the carton.

“Glory, Two-Bit, didn’t your mama teach you any manners?” Sodapop laughed, eyes sparkling.

“Boy, do you know it!” He clambered his way over to the table, wiping the milk off his face.

“Why don’t you ever eat supper with your own family, Two-Bit?” Ponyboy rolled his eyes, and Two smacked him upside the head.

“If you must know, Mr. Nosy, I already did. I’m still hungry.” He said, scooping himself an absurd amount of mashed potatoes.

Darry had to stifle a laugh at their antics. Keith Mathews had been his best friend as long as he could remember; their mothers had been best friends since before he was born. They were family.

“So Dar, how’s the life of a working man?” Two-Bit inquired with an eyebrow raised.

“Figures you don’t know.” Darry teased. Keith was seventeen, but they all joked that he’d never get a job. Darry knew ten year olds with more responsibility.

Two-Bit stood up abruptly, low and ready to pounce. “Woah, take it easy, you break something you’re payin’.” Mr. Curtis interrupted.

“With what money?” Darry muttered under his breath. He figured Two heard him, because the two of them soon went flying to the floor.

“Oh, you think you can take me now, tough guy?” Darry strained, rolling over and pinning him to the floor.

“I gotta secret weapon, muscles…” He paused dramatically, then swiftly kicked him in the groin and jumped on top of him during his surprise.

“Eat shit, asshole.” Darry recovered, grabbing him in a chokehold.

“UNCLE!!” He hollered dramatically. “You’re a real jerk, Darrel.” He got on his feet, promptly flipping him off as he walked back to the table. Nobody was even paying attention to them anymore. Mr. Curtis was walking his dishes to the sink and whispering something to his wife. Soda and Pony were laughing about something, next to Two-Bit who was stuffing his face.

School would be starting back up in the fall, and Darry had a feeling he wouldn’t be used to the idea of not going to school every day. It would be weird, watching his kid brothers walk out the door every morning with their bags and books, and to not be right behind them. He hadn’t loved school, despite excelling in all subjects, but working full time made school look like a vacation. Darry hadn't minded his job when it was only part-time. Just some mindless labor. Roofing houses was hard work, but that’s why he did it. Darry was a hard worker, like his father.

He worked from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. during the week, and 7 a.m. to noon on Saturdays. It was feeling more and more like he had no time for himself.

Keep going, Darry. It’ll all be worth it. Just keep going.

After supper, Darry sat with Two-Bit and both of his parents in the family room. Mr. Curtis sat in the recliner, flipping through channels. Pony and Soda were supposedly doing the dishes, but judging by the giggling and occasional bang of something falling, they were doing anything but.

“You plannin’ on stayin’ the night, Keith?” Darry questioned. Darry and his parents were the only ones who even still called Keith by his real name sometimes. He hadn’t acquired his nickname until school, and nobody else really knew him before that.

“Naw, I’ll head home soon. Somebody outta make sure Lila makes it to school in the mornin.” Lila was Two-Bit’s little sister; one of the ten year olds with more responsibility than her seventeen year old brother. She came to Curtis's sometimes, and had an incredibly huge crush on Ponyboy. Said crush was completely obvious to everyone except Ponyboy, but the youngest Curtis never did notice much going on in the real world. He always had his head crammed into a book or something, never paying attention. It annoyed Darry, like a lot of other things his brother did. Not that it mattered. Darry and Ponyboy had a very simple relationship; Darry looked out for him, and Pony looked up to him. There wasn’t ever very much more due to the seven year age gap. They got along for the most part, and that was enough for both of them. Darry had his closeness with his father, and Ponyboy had Sodapop.

Pony and Soda always had a special relationship, and anyone could see it. Another level of understanding, maybe. Pony looked at Soda with stars in his eyes, and Sodapop adored it. They did almost everything together; at least unless Soda’s best friend Steve had a say. Ponyboy and Steve didn’t get along so well. Steve didn’t like Pony tagging along with them, so he didn’t sometimes.

Darry wasn’t jealous of, well, whatever they had. He couldn’t care less, to be honest. They were much younger than him, and if Darry spent enough time with them he’d about knock their heads together.

Darry’s attention was only ripped back to reality at the sound of his mother’s horrified gasp. “Glory…” His father muttered.

He looked up at the television, and his heart dropped. Front and center were the big white words: 1971 Draft Lottery Confirmed for August 1st.

And the little caption: Young men born in the year 1951 are to be drafted for the US conflict within Vietnam.

Darry’s birthday was January 5th, 1952. He had barely turned nineteen.

His breath was caught in his throat, and it took him a minute to collect himself. He looked over at his mother, whose face was white and still. He gently took her hand, and she leaned into him. “It’ll be okay, ma.” He whispered, to no reply.

“Jesus…” Two-Bit stood up, and shook his head. “Don’t you even worry Dar. There’s so many guys, I doubt you’ll even get picked anyway. Ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”

“Worry about what?” Sodapop wondered aloud as he strode into the room, Ponyboy in tow. “What the… Darry?” Darry’s heart dropped when he heard Soda’s voice wobble. Darry was never good with emotions, which is why it was very inconvenient to have a kid brother like Sodapop. He was all emotions, never bothering to hide them.

“There ain’t nothin’ to worry about, right? Darry’s goin’ to school. They don’t ship out the boys goin’ to school.” Ponyboy blinked.

Silence. The most deafening silence any of them had ever heard before.

“Pony, I ain’t goin’ to school ‘till next year, remember? I’m takin’ a break year.” Darry had never felt more numb in his life. He felt like he was outside of his body, watching the scene unfold from somewhere else.

“No…” Ponyboy whispered. “No, they can’t do that. You’re only taking off a year. You’re going after that, right? They can’t do that. Say they can’t do that, Dad!” He cried, voice rising with panic. Sodapop jumped quickly into action, pulling Ponyboy into a tight hug. The fifteen year old had always been in charge of comforting the youngest.

“Hush, Pony. Let the grown-ups figure it out. They’ll figure it out, honey.” He thought he heard Soda whisper before Two-Bit kicked the coffee table over.

Two-Bit opened his mouth to say something, red with rage, then closed it and kicked the table again before storming out the door.

Darry almost wanted to laugh at the weirdness of it all. Just a few hours ago they were eating dinner and joking around without a care in the world.

“August first,” the woman on the television repeated. “On August first, an estimated 90,000 young men will be drafted to join the United States military in the ongoing conflict…”

August first. One month from today. One month. His internal voice echoed unhelpfully.

They had all taken it for granted. Months prior, Darry and his father had laughed in relief. He escaped the first round of the draft by five days. He thought he was safe. Now there was a very high chance that in a few more months, he could be on the other side of the world. Or dead.

He looked over to see silent tears slipping down his mothers face. This really scared him; Maggie Curtis was a strong woman. She never cried. He gently wrapped his arms around her, and she tucked her face into his collar, weeping quietly.

“Ma, it’s okay, I promise. I’ll be okay.” He said, resting his head on top of hers, staring blankly into nothing. “I promise, ma. I’ll be alright.”

She pulled back gently, tears still shining on her cheeks. She cupped his face in her hands, and looked up at her son. “When did you get all grown up, Darry?” She tried to smile, her bottom lip still wobbly. “I ain’t ready to let you go yet, baby. You’re still my baby.” A rough sob broke her sentence, and he pulled her back onto a hug, rubbing her back.

“Yeah, ma, I know. I know.”

His father’s knuckles were white from death-gripping the remote. Sodapop held a quietly crying Ponyboy in a tight embrace, gently carding his fingers through his hair. He looked like he was holding back tears himself, too. Darry hated this. He felt a strange guilt for putting them all through this, even though his voice of logic knew it wasn’t his fault. But most of all, he was scared. He didn’t want to go to war; he wanted to go back to school and make happy memories and finally get out of Tulsa and maybe settle down with a girl-

“Darry?” Sodapop called quietly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah little buddy. I’m okay.” He replied softly, running a hand through his hair. No, I ain’t okay. I ain’t ever been less okay in my life. “You and Pony should head to bed, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, okay. Ya hear that, Pone?” His response was a weak nod. “Hold on tight, I’ll carry ya in.”

Ponyboy was real small for a twelve-year old. At first glance, he looked ten. Everybody knew he hated it, so the gang loved to tease him about it. He couldn’t be eighty pounds soaking wet, which allowed everybody to man-handle him.

“Darrel, put me down!”

Darry had always thought his kid brother spent too much time with his head in the clouds. He’d spent the whole day, the whole first day of summer, mind you, holed up in his room reading. It became Darry’s mission to add a new word to his genius brother’s vocabulary: fun.

“I swear, Darrel, I’ll scream. I’ll do it!” He hollered. Darry had ripped him out of bed and thrown him over his shoulder, walking out to the yard. He bounced as he walked down the porch stairs, and a laugh escaped his brother’s lips. Darry smiled.

“Is that the kid?” Two-Bit slinked over to them, grinning. “Horseboy takes a step out of his natural habitat? What’s his motive?” He drawled, imitating a guy from the Discovery channel.

“He was forced!” Ponyboy cried, trying to squirm out of Darry’s grip. “Darry, let me go!”

“Quit whinin’ like a baby.” Steve Randle complained from the ground, where he was sprawled out for some reason. “Before my eardrums fuckin’ explode.”

“Hey, don’t be swearin’ around the kiddies.” Dallas smirked, clearly trying to get a rise out of Pony.

“Hey, I ain’t no kid!” Pony yelled, insulted, causing everyone to laugh. Darry dropped him onto the grass, and he rubbed his side dramatically. “DARREL!!!”

“Lighten up, buddy. It’s summer, for Pete’s sake.” Darry smiled, ruffling the kid’s hair when he stood up. “Who’s up for some football?”

That had only been two weeks ago. Somehow, a lifetime passed in one night.

After Pony and Soda went to bed, Mr. Curtis led his wife to their room as well. Now, Darry laid in bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He already gave up on the thought of sleep, plagued with dark thoughts. He didn’t want to go to war. Darry Curtis Jr. already had plans. He was going places; Vietnam was not one of them. Or it wasn’t supposed to be. Sure, he would leave for college, but he would call home every weekend, visit for every holiday. He would miss his family if he was sent away. His parents, the gang, his annoying ass brothers.

“Darry?”

Darry rolled over haphazardly towards the door. It was barely open, a small sliver of light entering his room from the hallway. “Soda?”

The blonde fifteen year old tiptoed into the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Sodapop was a unique kid. He seemed to be able to read every person’s emotions the same way Ponyboy would read all those damn books. He could tell exactly what every person needed. Maybe that’s why he and Pony are so close, Darry thought. Pony’s so sensitive, and Sodapop loves knowing exactly what he needs and giving it to him all the time.

“What’s goin’ on, little buddy?” Darry murmured, sitting up. Soda huffed a sigh, and just hopped into bed next to him. Darry cautiously put an arm around his shoulder, and was relieved when Soda leaned into it. Darry had never been good with physical contact; he was awkward and stupid and didn’t know what to do or when. He was glad he guessed right this time; he tried to for both his brothers since they lived on it.

“Are you scared, Darrel?” Soda whispered, his head resting on his shoulder.

“I dunno.”

“Mhmmm… You can tell me the truth, y’know.”

“You suck.” Darry sighed. After a minute of silence, he admitted “Maybe just a bit…”

“Well, don’t be.” Soda said with so much confidence in his voice it made Darry want to laugh. “See, I was too, but then I got to thinkin’. The chances of you actually gettin’ picked are small, and they must weigh in that you’re plannin’ on goin’ to college next year. You’ll be fine, Dar.”

“That ain’t how it works, Soda. I wish it was, but it ain’t. It don’t matter that I’m goin’ to college a year and a half from now, I ain’t goin’ this year. Since half the guys my age are, that makes me twice as likely to be picked. I’m in a pretty shitty spot, man.”

He felt Soda stiffen beside him, and instantly felt guilty. “I’m sorry, Soda. I don’t mean to upset ya, that’s just the way it is.”

“Naw, it’s okay.” His voice quivered, and he let out a muffled sob.

“Aw, don’t cry, Pepsi. It’ll be alright.” Darry wrapped his other arm around his middle brother. Soda wore his heart on his sleeve, always.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He sniffled miserably.

“Hey, the draft ain’t for a month. There’s no reason to be worryin’ ‘bout this now, okay?”

“Kay…”

Darry swallowed dryly, feeling guilty for upsetting Soda. He hated to see Soda upset. “Is Pony asleep?”

“Um… I-I dunno. I’m pretty sure he was fakin’ when I stepped in. He always takes a while to fall asleep but…” He looked away, clearing his throat. “I’m worried about him. He’s gonna take this whole thing to heart, and I don’t have anything to say that’ll make him feel better.”

“You take good care of him, Sodapop. I’m real proud of you. Glory, I couldn’t do that for anyone.” Darry smiled, ruffling his hair.

“You take good care of me.” Soda murmured sleepily, snuggling into Darry’s side.

“M’kay, little buddy. Get some rest, will ya?”

“Can I stay with you?” He whispered, sounding younger than his age.

“Yeah, that’s okay.” Darry grunted, laying down. “‘Night, Pepsi.”

“‘Night, Dar. Love you.” He said, rolling over. Darry stretched out and closed his eyes. Maybe he’d get some sleep tonight after all.

Darry woke up at three in the morning, and he had to practically peel the covers off with the way he was sweating. Summer in Oklahoma was nasty, and it sure didn’t help that he had one brother, no, two brothers in his bed. Darry looked over, and apparently Ponyboy was here now too, sprawled out on top of Soda.
Weirdos, Darry thought to himself sarcastically. He couldn’t understand how anybody could possibly be comfortable like that. Darry liked his personal space while he was sleeping. He wasn’t sure if Ponyboy or Soda knew what personal space even meant. Soda’s arm was lazily wrapped around Pony’s shoulders, while Pony was hugging him with his head on Soda’s chest and his leg across his shins. Darry wasn’t quite sure how neither of them had died from the heat, huddled like that.

He stood up, stretching his left shoulder that had been giving him grief. He felt wide awake, the memories from last night rushing his mind. He was awake now, and he knew he wouldn’t fall back asleep. He had to leave for work in a few hours, anyway. He walked into the kitchen, and started some coffee, hoping to surprise his dad with a cup when he woke up.

He and his father would leave for work at 5:30, and his mother would probably use the morning to run errands. Sodapop would spend the day bumming around the DX, where his best friend Steve had started working in April when he turned sixteen. Soda had begged their parents to let him work there part time, but they insisted that fifteen was too young to have a job. He had spent half his summer there anyway, and Darry thought he might as well be getting paid for it. It’s not like they couldn’t use some extra money, but Darrel and Maggie Curtis’s pride was something else.

Ponyboy would probably stay home and read, like he’d do everyday of his life if given the chance. Sometimes Soda would drag him out and bring him somewhere, or Johnny would come over and they’d go out. Johnny was Ponyboy’s best friend, despite being closer in age to Soda and Steve. Johnny and Pony just understood each other. It made sense, they were both quiet kids. Maybe Two-Bit would make an appearance eventually as well, but he entertained himself for the most part. The real wild card would be Dallas Winston, because he was always one step away from the slammer, and so was anybody who was unfortunate enough to be with him. Darry would be surprised if they would make it through the summer without somebody getting arrested because of him, and he just hoped it wouldn’t be one of his brothers.

Darry sat down at the kitchen table, a warm coffee mug in his hands. His mother had completed all of the chores, so there was nothing to clean. He couldn’t turn on the radio or TV when everyone was sleeping, not that there’d be anything good on this early anyway. All he could do was sit with his thoughts.

Sodapop and Ponyboy would start school at the end of August, and Pony would be in high school. He was always the youngest in his grade, but at the end of the school year, his parents got a phone call that they wanted him to skip eighth grade. Now, a month after he turns thirteen, he’ll be a freshman. Darry could hardly believe it. Sodapop seemed excited about the prospect, which was good because Darry was worried it would upset him. Pony was almost three years younger, but he’d only be a grade below him in school. They could even be in some of the same classes. Darry knew Soda had a deep insecurity about his grades, which must have been really serious because Sodapop was never insecure about anything. Once, a couple years ago, they’d gotten into an argument. It was over something so stupid, Darry couldn’t even recall what it was about. But they’d gotten into it, and Darry took a jab at Soda failing two of his classes. Soda just got all quiet, and walked away. He hid in his room and cried for hours, with Ponyboy glaring daggers at him in the kitchen. But he seemed enthusiastic about Pony being in his school this year, so Darry thought there was nothing to worry about.

At about four, Darry heard a door creak open down the hall. He assumed it would be his Dad, but that was early, even for him. He heard quick, light footsteps pad down the hall, and Ponyboy froze when he was Darry in the kitchen.

“Hey, Darry.” He said shyly, quietly, looking back down the hallway at the bedroom.

"What're you doing up so early, buddy?” Darry asked, and Ponyboy sat down on the opposite side of the table, drawing his knees to his chest.

“I just couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Have a bad dream?”

“Yeah.” Pony said meekly, looking anywhere but at Darry.

“You remember it?” Pony just shrugged, and Darry let it go. He wasn’t the type to have touchy-feely conversations, anyway. They just sat there quietly for a while, and Darry was trying to figure out if the silence was awkward or not. “You want some coffee or somethin’?”

“I ain’t allowed to drink coffee.”

“Oh, right.”

Pony smiled a bit, and stood up. “I’m gonna sit on the porch. Sun’s coming up soon.”

“‘Kay. Dad’ll be up soon, I think.”

He nodded, and walked over to the door, but froze as his hand grabbed the knob. “Hey, Darry?”

“What’s up?”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he hesitantly asked, “Did you ever have bad dreams when you were younger?”

“No, I hardly ever dream of anything.” Darry answered, confused by the random question.

“Thought so.” He heard Pony whisper, and then he left.

Chapter Text

--Steve Randle--

Steve Randle decided that sixteen was a good year. He’d discovered his talent with cars, and he had his first steady girlfriend. He’d never admit it, but he knew that Evie Knox was a special girl. She was funny, and she wasn’t up his ass all the time like the other girls he’d taken out before. And man, was she pretty. She was crazy about him, too. 

He had a few close buddies, and they were real good guys. The best part: He had Sodapop Curtis by his side, just like he had since he was six. Things couldn’t possibly be better. Well, maybe they would be a bit better if Soda’s parents would just let him work already, but still. Steve’s life hadn’t looked up like this in a long while, so despite his usually pessimistic outlook, he knew it was good.

Then, on one random Thursday in June, Sodapop didn’t show up at the DX where Steve worked. No big deal, but it was odd, since yesterday he’d told Steve he was coming. Steve decided to stop by the Curtis’s after his shift, just to make sure all was well. Maybe he’d grab some chocolate cake while he was there. Man, he could never get enough of Mrs Curtis’s chocolate cake.

He slammed open the screen door, which would have earned him a scolding from Mr. Curtis if he was home, but he was still at work. It was only four, and he and Darry worked until six. 

“Sodapop! You home, man?” He yelled out, already walking over to the ice box.

Soda came out of his room, looking like quite the sad sack. He looked exhausted, and his eyes were red. Maybe he was tired, maybe he’d been crying. “Heya, Stevie.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Steve scowled. “Man, do you look like shit. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just…” he thought for a moment, unsure what he could use as an example, “Like, went to a cat funeral or somethin’”

“Geez man, you know I’m allergic.” He chuckled dryly, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “You see the news?”

“Today?”

“Naw, last night.”

“Do you think I watch the news, man? C’mon.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“There’s another draft. They might take Darry.” He said quietly, a far away look on his face that Steve had never seen before.

He didn’t even know what to say. What could you say to that? Oh, it sucks that your brother might die. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” He laughed humorlessly. “Shit.”

They both sat down at the table, chocolate cake long forgotten. That was saying something. “How’s Superman?”

“He’s fine, you know how he is. The world could catch fire and he’d hardly bat an eyelash.” Soda sighed, resting his face in his hands. He looked exhausted.

“How are you?” Steve asked.

Soda gave him a sarcastic look that said, seriously, man? Then he just shook his head, and rested it back on his fist. “Just ain’t fair, y’know? He’s supposed to be at college right now, and instead he has to deal with this.”

“Hey, don’t act like it’s a done deal. There’s no guarantee they’re gonna take him.”

“You’re not gonna be able to reassure me, man.” Soda bit, more on edge.

“Sorry.” Steve said a bit sheepishly. “How’d the kid take it?”

Soda just groaned, covering his face again. When he took his hands down, his eyes were threatening to spill. “It’s just too much, man. I can’t deal with all this right now, y’know? I woke up this morning, after everybody left, and he worked himself up so much it made him sick.”

“Jesus.” Steve groaned, stomach churning. He hated thinking about puke. He also felt a pang of frustration at Pony for stressing Soda out more, as always. The kid could never keep his own problems to himself. He probably bawled all over Soda about it, too. Somebody outta tell him that he’s allowed to have his own problems without making Soda feel like shit too.

“Hey, don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“You can’t be mad at Ponyboy for being upset that his brother might get drafted, man. He’s twelve.”

“I can do whatever the hell I want.” Steve grumbled, a bit embarrassed that Soda read him so easily. 

“Sure you can, but leave my kid brother out of it.” He said, trying to give Steve a look of disapproval, but not having enough energy. 

“You really should go back to bed, man. Maybe try again tomorrow.” 

Soda yawned. “Tempting offer. I might just take you up on that.” He stood up slowly, and he heard his joints pop. “Now, get outta my house, you greasy hood.”

“Yer lucky you look too pathetic to wrestle right now.”

“Sounds like you're scared.” He teased, but walked back down the hall. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Alright, buddy. Tell Darry I said hey.” I called, and he didn’t respond. I heard the door close, and two voices talking softly. Then it was quiet again. 

Steve felt a rush of annoyance, followed by a pang of jealousy. He left after that. 

As he walked back through the streets of the East Side, he thought a lot. 

He’d disliked Ponyboy Curtis for as long as he could remember. Even back when they were little, Steve would be cross when Soda insisted on letting him tag along whenever they would play together. He wasn’t afraid to voice his frustration, either. Once, he’d even made the kid cry. To his surprise, Sodapop laid into him. Sodapop never laid into anyone.

“You better quit bein’ a jerk to him. Pony’s my kid brother, and if you wanna hang out with me, you’re gonna have to hang out with him too. Get over it, or leave.”

That day, Steve had left. He had a bit of a stubborn streak. But he came back the next day, and even greeted Ponyboy when he got there. Sodapop forgave him.

He knew that Soda knew about his resentment toward Ponyboy; it was more than obvious. Ponyboy clearly wasn’t a fan of Steve either. To tell you the truth, it wasn’t Pony’s fault Steve despised him. Soda was the closest person Steve had in his life, and it pissed him off that his crybaby brother would always come before him. Soda and Darrel were close, but they were further apart in age, and Darry had his own set of friends. Even if they were really close, Steve would never give Darry as much as a dirty look. Darry could probably beat the shit out of him in a second. Ponyboy, on the other hand, couldn’t say ‘boo’ to a ghost. 

Did he feel bad for being mean to the kid sometimes? 

Nah, not really.

Their whole family babied the shit out of the kid. He didn’t know a thing about the real world. In fact, Steve was probably doing the kid a favor. He wouldn’t be able to get away with acting like a baby, not where they live. Especially not now that he was starting high school.

Steve had been so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice the Corvette; shiny, black, and new. Undoubtedly a Soc car. He didn’t see it until it was right behind him. 

Steve wasn’t dumb enough to hope they’d leave him alone. 

The car screeched to a stop, and four guys hopped out. Steve could tell by a quick glance that they were wasted. 

Steve wasn’t the kind of guy who ran away. He lived with his asshole of a father for Pete’s sake. A couple of Socs didn’t have shit on him. Steve didn’t know if they had weapons or anything, hell, he didn’t even know these guys. Steve was unarmed, but he wasn’t scared in the slightest. If anything, he was annoyed. They could never stay on their side of town.

“Isn’t four o’clock on a Thursday a little early to be shitfaced?” Steve sneered, glaring up to the tallest guy who was getting in his face. 

“Zip it, wise guy.” He scowled. A smirk slowly appeared on his face as his buddies lined up around him. “Certainly ain’t too early to mess you up, greaser, so watch it.”

Steve eyed the shorter guy behind him who pulled a switch out of his back pocket. He could normally take these guys, but he should’ve known they didn’t plan to fight fair. He looked around, not itching to get his throat slit. All he could find was an empty pop bottle laying on the ground a couple feet behind him. He could work with that, but he needed a distraction so he could grab it. He leaned forward, tilting his chin up so he was eye-to-eye with the bastard.

“Y’all think you're tough, but I remember you. I also remember how your girlfriend got dirty with about half the seniors a few months back,” he said cockily, and the guy took the bait. He swung his fist at Steve, but Steve was faster. He ducked swiftly, and decked the guy right in the nose. He stumbled back, blood dripping down his face, and Steve stepped back and grabbed the bottle and smashed it on the fence in one, swift motion. He held it out in front of him, just as the guy with the blade approached him. 

“Don’t mess with me, man. I’ll cut you up, I ain’t afraid.” Steve threatened. He looked around the street, and accepted that nobody else was coming. Steve was always itching for a fight, but he knew better than to fight four Socs with blades alone. Maybe he’d win, or maybe the drunk bastards would stick him in the gut. Steve was reckless, but not like that. 

“Brad, man, he ain’t bluffin’.” The blonde boy said to the guy with the blade. Steve scoffed at that. No shit.

After a moment, the guy took a step back and pocketed the blade. “Fuckin’ bitch.” He muttered angrily, stalking back to the car. His friends followed him back, one of them giving him the finger in the process.

“That’s right, drive away, buddy.” Steve taunted, not dropping the bottle yet. He chuckled as they sped away. He shook his head, marveling. “What a bunch of losers, man.” 

“Yo Randle, what the fuck was that, man?!” Steve looked up, and saw Tim Shepard, in his old pickup with the window down. 

“Just a bunch of Socs who don’t know when to stay on their own side of town, man.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Tim agreed, taking a puff of his cigarette. “You need a ride, someplace?”

“Nah, I’m almost home. Thanks though, man.” Steve replied easily. He liked Tim Shepard; he was a good guy. 

“No problem.” He nodded, and drove away. 

Steve kicked a stray pebble that appeared on the sidewalk, debating whether or not he should go back home. He didn’t feel like dealing with his dad right now. They were overdue for a fight soon, Steve could feel it. There was never peace in his house for long, there never had been. Not as long as Steve had been alive. Not even before his mom left.

Sometimes, when things got really bad, Steve liked to blame his mom. She left him all alone with a monster, after all. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye, let alone take him with her. He’d only even seen her once since then, about five years ago, and she’d brought her new kids. He could tell she loved them, which made him even angrier, because she was supposed to love him. He realized she never had. She had him when she was sixteen, by accident. He’d ruined her life, as she always put it.

But no matter how much he hated her, it didn’t compare to how much he hated his old man. All he ever did was get drunk and scream at people and break shit. Steve doubted he’d ever want to have kids after how bad his parents screwed him up, but if he did, at least he’d know what not to do. Hell, Sodapop’s parents gave more of a shit about him than his own parents ever did. They were the nurturing type, anyway.

Before he knew it, Steve was walking up his driveway, and into his house. He didn’t plan on hanging around for very long. Maybe he’d try to catch Two-Bit or Dally later; there was supposed to be a rodeo tonight. 

He could smell the strong scent of liquor drifting from his father’s bedroom. He was probably asleep, and Steve wasn’t itching to wake him up. 

He tiptoed to his bedroom, and shut the door behind him gently. He stared at his bed for a good minute or two, debating whether or not he should take a nap for a while. He could feel fatigue setting in, the adrenaline from his previous Soc- encounter wearing off. He finally decided against it, abiding by his usual motto: the less time spent in his house, the better.

He changed out of his work uniform, and threw on a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He walked to the bathroom and splashed some cool water on his face and messed with his hair for a bit, and walked to the kitchen. He opened the pantry, looking for something decent to eat, and found nothing that was less than one month expired. 

Just as he was about to leave, he heard a door creak open.

Fantastic.

Steve froze in his tracks, but his dad just walked over to the fridge. He wanted to roll his eyes, but restrained himself

“Where you think you’re goin’?” His dad asked him, popping open a Coors.

“Dunno.” Steve replies, avoiding eye contact.

“Y’know, you’re really supposed to ask before you just take off to.. God knows where you always go.” He says, looking Steve up and down, as if he’d done something wrong.

“You also always tell me not to wake you up.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” Steve sighs impatiently, tapping his foot on the wood floor. 

“Don’t give me attitude, boy.” He glared, turning towards Steve and placing the bottle on the counter. “You know what? You ain’t goin’ nowhere tonight.”

“That’s not fair!” Steve hollers, spinning towards him. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Bullshit! You hardly ever show up, and when you do, it’s only to use my water and take my food, and you never tell me where yer comin’ and goin’ off to!”

“‘That’s ‘cause all you do is scream at me when I come around here!”

He raised his hand, and backhanded Steve on his eye, knocking him into the sink. “Don’t you talk to me like that. I don’t know who you think you are. All you do is cause me problems and money that I ain’t got, and this is what I get!”

Steve was seething. “I don’t know why I even bother coming back here! It’s always the same. Everytime, it’s always the same.” He could feel tears prickling at his eyes, and that only made him angrier. “I’m leavin’, and I don’t give a damn what you say.”

Steve turned around and stormed to the door. As he grabbed the knob, he practically jumped out of his skin as he heard a huge shattering sound right next to his ear. 

“WHAT THE HELL?” Steve screamed, gaping at the green-tinted glass as it fell to the floor beside him.

“I said, you’re not allowed to go anywhere.” His father replied, unnaturally calm.

Sure, it wasn’t the first time his dad broke something out of anger, but he sure as hell had never thrown a beer bottle at his head. “You could’ve killed me. What in the actual hell is wrong with you?!”

“Get out of my house.” His dad yelled.

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

“GET OUT!!!”

Steve stormed out the door and slammed it behind him. He walked across the lawn in a haze, and before he knew it, he was jogging. By the time he was at the end of his block, he was running. He wasn’t quite sure why; he knew his father wouldn’t follow him. But he was running down the streets of Tulsa, not even sure where he was going. Hell, he wasn’t even sure where he was, but it didn’t matter. Wherever he was, it was far from his house, and that was good enough for him. 

When he finally came to his senses, he wasn’t sure if it had been thirty minutes or three hours. The sun had gone down, and the stars were out. He paused and looked around. The neighborhood he was in was middle class, but judging by the colors of the street signs, he wasn’t even in Tulsa anymore. He muttered angrily to himself, and stalked down the sidewalk, looking for a telephone.

He found one outside of a diner, and he hesitated for a moment on the dial. But after a moment of consideration, he called anyway.

Three rings, then, “Curtis residence, this is Ponyboy.”

Of course, the little shit answers the phone.

“Let me talk to Sodapop.”

“Steve? What’s going on?”

“None of you’re goddamn business. Give Sodapop the phone.”

“Why should I? You’re a jerk.”

Steve’s patience was long gone, and if he could punch the kid through the phone, he would. He’d punch him straight in the nose. “Ponyboy, I’m not playing your stupid little games right now. Is Sodapop home?”

He could hear Ponyboy scoff on the other side of the line, and he had to resist the urge to slam the phone into the wall. “Just let me talk to Sodapop, you little shit.”

“Fine. Geez. You’re a real asshole.”

“Finally.” He muttered under his breath, inhaling through his nose. 

He heard shuffling, then Sodapop’s voice. “Steve? What’s goin’ on, man?”

“Your brother’s a little shit.”

“Steve.” He groaned. Steve felt bad for a moment; he sounded tired. It occurred to him that he’d woken him up.

“Look, I’m sorry, man. I got into a fight with my old man, and now I’m in some town called…” He turned to read the name of the diner, “called ‘Catoosa’. If that ain’t the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Jeez man… Look, I’ll get Darry, and we’ll drive down and get ya, alright?”

“You ain’t gotta grab him from work for something like this, man.”

“No, he’s been home for an hour. It’s seven thirty.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Soda laughed tiredly. “Yeah. We’ll be there soon, ‘kay?”

“Okay. Thanks.”
“Yup.”

Steve leaned back against the cool brick wall as the phone clicked back onto the receiver. Eventually, he made his way to the bench, as he stared into the town. The lines on the road were freshly painted on. All the buildings looked relatively new, the lamp posts bright.

About twenty minutes later, the Curtis's old truck pulled to a stop in front of the diner. Soda stepped out, and Steve stood up. Soda came and threw an arm across his shoulders.

“You okay man?” He asked gently.

Steve swallowed. “Yeah.”

Soda nodded. “Let’s go then.”

Steve spent that night at Curtis's house. When he woke up in the morning, he realized he had a problem.

He had work today. 

His uniform was in his bedroom.

Steve just groaned in frustration, and slammed his piece of toast in the toaster. There wasn’t any way around it. I’ve done this before, he told himself, ain’t no big deal.

He walked slowly down the sidewalk leading to his house, his footsteps getting shorter the closer he got. Somehow, in a blur, he was through the front door and in his house. 

Everything was exactly where he left it yesterday. There was glass all over the floor, and his wallet was still lying on the counter. He could tell instantly that the house was empty, which was odd. His father hardly ever left his house for anything anymore, besides to buy more liquor, but their supply was not low. His dad worked when he was younger, but since he was a veteran, the government gave him some money once a month, which turned out to be just enough for him to live off beer. 

After he got dressed in his blue DX jacket and boots, he made his way back into the kitchen to grab his wallet. He hovered for a second longer when he saw a small, yellow post-it note on the counter, attached to a five dollar bill.

It read: Sorry, buddy. 

Steve just stared at it for a minute, debating whether he should pocket it or shred it into a million pieces. Eventually, he tucked it into the back of his wallet. He walked over to the hall closet, and took out the broom and dustpan. He made his way to the door, and stared at the glass that was scattered all over the floor. He crouched down, and swept it all up. Even after the floor was bare, he kept sweeping. By the time he got to the DX, he was an hour late, and his manager was giving him an earful. All he could hear was an indistinct ringing, and the weight of the five dollars in his wallet dragging on and on.