Chapter Text
The first thing that registered was that he had gotten himself trapped. Ponyboy was smart, despite how often he got called out for not using his head, especially when it came to navigating the East side. After Windrixville, Ponyboy got a lot more street smart. The gang noticed it in small moments, the way he broke a bottle without hesitation, or made sure to keep a blade on him at all times, and even the sharpness of his eyes when danger approached. He wasn’t doe eyed and timid anymore in the face of danger, even if he still had a little bit of softness left in his heart.
As much as Darry hated to see him toughen up, he couldn’t help but be grateful that he didn’t have to worry quite so much about his youngest these days. Darry had gone so far as to extend the soon to be fifteen year olds curfew on weekends.
Today wasn’t a weekend though, it was a Tuesday, and Ponyboy had been walking home from track practice. He had originally planned on going out to get milkshakes with some of the guys, but by the end of their practice he was exhausted. He had been studying for exams almost nonstop as they came up to the end of the semester, and between the late night study sessions and track, he was mentally and physically exhausted. Instead of catching a ride with the older boys and going out for milkshakes, he waved his goodbye and headed home, backpack slung over his shoulder.
For the most part, Ponyboy got along well with his teammates. Despite being fourteen and a sophomore, most of them had grown to respect his skill and contribution to the team. Their team was mostly made up of middle class kids, and none of them seemed to care that he was a greaser. Things had been a little tense after the Windrixville situation, but most of them had come around pretty quick all things considered. Still, there were a few socs on their team that weren’t as keen to let it go.
Ponyboy had fallen into a false complacency though. The socs had left him alone at school after they realized that Steve, Two-Bit, and Curly weren’t keen on leaving him on his own. It took a couple of weeks after he returned for them to lay off, but after the rumble and enough run-ins with the older greasers, things had died down. Ponyboy had naively thought that maybe things were going to be better now.
He made it about two blocks before he realized he was being followed. Trying not to panic, he took a couple of side streets, hoping that he would lose the tail he’d gained. It hadn’t worked though, and Ponyboy found himself a mile from the DX, caught with his back between a wall and a corvette blocking him in. For half a moment, he thought they were going to hit him, but instead, a car full of five boys jumped out. Ponyboy might be a little tougher than he used to be, but he was still at least two years younger and half a foot shorter than the boys in front of him.
“Baby Curtis, glad you could stop to chat! I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Paul called, his voice dripping with malice. Ponyboy grimaced, looking at the older boy with disappointment. It was hard for him to reconcile that this was the same Paul that used to come over to his house, used to give his Mama flowers, and was nervous around his Dad. This was the same Paul that used to make Darry’s entire face light up and would pick Ponyboy up from school and bring him along with them to grab milkshakes. The same Paul who bought him his first set of nice water color paints and a sketchbook that had an encouraging note in the cover telling him to keep dreaming.
The boy, man really, in front of him was a cruel imitation of the person he used to know. He wondered, then, if losing Darry, and then Bob, had done this to him. Ponyboy didn’t have time to consider it further though as the pack of them were steadily moving towards him. To his credit, Pony tried to run first. He attempted to duck around them and make his escape, and he almost managed it, if Tripp hadn’t caught him by his hood and ripped him backwards, choking him until he hit the ground. Ponyboy groaned, wishing his blade wasn’t tucked into his jeans pocket shoved in his backpack, and instead on his person, but his track uniform didn’t have a place for him to hold it.
Before he could recover, they were on him, and Ponyboy found himself pinned as the blows were delivered. It was hard for him to understand what they were jeering at him when he felt like he was floating outside of his body. Vaguely, he could hear the ghost of Dallas Winston telling him to wise up, reminding him that he couldn’t daydream his way out of this. Ponyboy’s wits caught up to him, and he started screaming like his life depended on it, and thrashing in their grip. He wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
His elbow caught Chet’s face, and he felt a sick satisfaction at the blood that poured from his nose. Unfortunately, it only renewed their efforts and despite his best efforts, Ponyboy found himself fading fast. He wondered how long it would be until someone found him, or if they even would. Eventually, his brothers would come looking for him, but he knew they didn’t expect him home until after dinner, between practice and going out with the guys. Maybe, by some miracle, his brother or Steve heard him shouting, but he was still a full mile away from the DX and he doubted his lungs were that powerful.
Ponyboy looked at Paul, eyes black and nose bleeding, as he held onto the last thread of control he had, “I thought you wanted to talk?” he smarted off, a hateful smirk forming. He wouldn’t give Paul, or the others for that matter, the satisfaction of seeing him break. It was mere months since they’d nearly killed him in the fountain, but Ponyboy wasn’t the same kid. Paul sneered at him as he grabbed his face, “I think our message is pretty clear. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius? The courts might have found you innocent, but we don’t.”
Anger licked at his skin as he considered how much more he had lost because of the gang of boys around him. “Bob was an asshole. He would have killed me, and the rest of you would have helped because you’re too chicken shit to have an original thought. ‘Yes Bob’, ‘whatever you say Bob’, ‘oh please be my friend Bob’” Ponyboy mocked, groaning as his head was slammed back into the concrete. Still, he didn’t stop, “Two good men died because your friend was a piece of shit who got off on beating the hell out of kids half his size who were outnumbered. You want to blame someone? Blame him, or hell, blame yourselves,” he spat.
“You just don’t know when to shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Trip laughed, dark and dangerous. The kicks to his ribs were bordering on dangerous, and he felt a tightness in his chest that he knew should scare him. His head was foggy and he briefly wondered how many head injuries he could sustain before the damage became permanent. The last thing he said before passing out was aimed at Paul, and it lacked the previous bite as he clung to consciousness, “My Mama would be so disappointed in you.” Ponyboy blacked out before he could see the way Paul hesitated.
When Ponyboy came to, it was to a hand cupping the side of his neck as they gave him a gruff but gentle shake. “Come on, Kid. Wake up. I’m not bringing home a body to your brothers,” a familiar voice spoke. Ponyboy’s eyebrows knit together, “D’lly?” The sharp intake of breath above him was the first clue that he was wrong, but the quiet response made his chest ache, “Nah Kid, it’s Tim. Come on, open your eyes.” Ponyboy let out a sigh as he did what he was ordered to. “Hi Tim,” he greeted, words slurring a bit, and Tim gave him a tight smile that looked more like a grimace, “Hey PonyKid. Ran into some trouble huh?”
“Trouble ran into me,” he responded, making Tim snort. “Alright, sure kid. I’m liftin’ ya up so hang tight. We’ll get you home and then call off the search party,” he explained, before lifting the kid up into his arms. Time winced as he groaned, but settled him easily enough. He might not be as soft with his own siblings, but the instinct was still there.“There’s a party?” Pony asked, confused and a little sad sounding.
“Ah hell, they must have gotten you in the head pretty good. Not a party, a search, you know, for you, their missin’ kid. Curly freaked out when you didn’t show up at the Dingo, said he was planning on walking back to yours with you and the guys said you didn’t come with ‘em. He called your house and your brothers said they hadn’t seen you so obviously everyone went out looking. Christ kid, you never do things in halves,” Tim bitched. Ponyboy tipped his head towards him and mumbled, “S’rry”. Rolling his eyes, Tim muttered, “Shut up and tell me who did this.”
“Doya want me to shut up or tell ya?” he asked, and if he didn’t sound so serious, Tim would have pinched him for being a smartass. “Tell me, PonyKid. I want names,” he ordered. Pony gave a tired groan, “Paul, Chet, and Tripp. One of the others was older, like Paul, and I think his brother is on my track team. Then there was the other football player. He was a freshman when Dar was a senior.” Nodding, Tim murmured, “Good shit. I’ll take care of it.”
Truthfully, Tim would have looked after any of the East side kids if he found them jumped to hell, and he never needed an excuse to beat a few soc’s heads in, but the fact that it was Ponyboy was worse. He and Darry had always had a quiet understanding between them - they looked after each other’s kids like they were their own. When the Curtis parents first died, it was Tim that Darry had leaned on for advice. Tim, who thought he’d be the last person anyone would go to for child rearing advice, had been a steady and encouraging force in his own way.
On top of that, he was almost positive Curly and Ponyboy were seeing each other. Neither of them had confirmed it, but the amount of time they spent together in the last couple of months was pretty self-evident that something was going on there. The pair of them had always been good friends, much to Darrel’s chagrin, but things were different after Curly got out of the reformatory. Tim had been shocked to realize that his brother was actually going to school, and passing. The phone call he got from Curly this evening confirmed his suspicions though. The usually cool and collected greaser sounded panicked on the phone. It reminded him of when his brother was ten and had called him frantically because their Mom wouldn’t wake up after a night of drinking. He hadn’t heard his brother sound that scared since then, not until today.
As if that wasn’t reason enough, there was one more reason that Tim found himself sick with worry over a kid that wasn’t technically his; Dallas Winston. Their relationship had always been tenuous, and they fought against each other as often as they fought with each other. Half the time, he couldn’t tell if they were flirting or fighting; fighting or fucking. Sometimes it was both, using one as a twisted sense of foreplay, but either way, Dallas had always been someone to him. Dallas had always mattered to him in some capacity, and Ponyboy was one of his kids. Everyone knew that Dallas would do anything to protect Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade. They had always been his; his to protect, his to teach, and his to look after.
The least Tim could do was look out for the one that got left behind; he owed Dallas that.
“I was gonna call ‘im,” Ponyboy muttered, and Tim dropped his gaze down to the boy in his arms. “Call who?” Tim asked, gently setting him into the front seat. “Curly,” he mumbled, and Tim let out a quiet sigh, shutting the door once he was sure Ponyboy wasn’t going to get caught in it. Coming around the other side of the car, he got in the driver’s seat, “Yeah?” he asked. Tim knew it was wrong to pry when Ponyboy was clearly half out of it, but he was a big brother, and nosey, and deserved to know these things damn it. How was he going to protect them if he didn’t know what they needed protecting from?
“I wouldn’t stand him up,” he mumbled, his speech slurring some, “I would have told him I went home instead and had him meet me there.” Tim laughed, letting the confirmation wash over him, and easily shaking his head as he responded, “Of course you would have. He knows that, kid. That’s why he was so worried.” Part of him wanted to tell the kid to shut up, to beg him to keep this to himself because it put such a damning target on both of their backs, but he needed the kid to stay awake, so instead he asked, “When did it start? Tell me about it.”
If Ponyboy was once worried about Tim finding out, he couldn’t remember for the life of him why. His brothers knew, Steve and Two-Bit knew, so why shouldn’t Tim? “Couple weeks after he got out. I kept tryin’ to push ‘im away, ‘cause everyone I love dies, but he kept coming back,” Ponyboy admitted, and Tim felt a pang of heartache for the kid. “He told me I was bein’ stupid and then he just kept showing up and I dunno. He sat with me ‘nd watched the sunset and I kissed him. I thought he was gonna hit me, but he didn’t seem to mind. Took us a minute to talk about it, but couple of weeks ago we just, dunno, decided to try I guess.”
Ponyboy paused, before he continued, “You can’t tell Tim though. Curly’s worried he’ll take it badly.” Tim looked at him in concern for a moment, trying to figure out who Pony thought he was talking to, before it hit him. Dallas. Ponyboy was still confused, disoriented, and probably thought he was Dallas. Tim swallowed, “I won’t tell him,” because he knew that Dallas wouldn’t have.
Half a mile from the Curtis house, he saw a familiar figure, and he stopped the car, rolling down the window. “Curly, get your ass in the car. I’ve got him,” he called. Curly’s head snapped up, and Tim could see the distress that plagued him, and it pained him to see him so upset. Within moments, Curly was sliding into the front seat, sandwiching Ponyboy between them.
“Hey, hey Pony, are you alright?” he asked. Ponyboy grumbled, but leaned against his shoulder. Curly cupped his face, trying to get him to meet his eyes, “Ponyboy?” he asked. The boy in question blinked sluggishly, but his vision started clearing some the more he tried, “Curls? ‘M sorry. I was gonna call.” Curly chuckled, “Don’t worry about that now. It looks like you were pretty preoccupied, huh?” He let the younger boy rest against him as he asked, “What book have you been reading? Tell me about it.”
Curly looked up at Tim as the younger boy rambled about his latest read. Panic and resolve was warring in his eyes, and Tim raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking him to confirm what he already knew. Over Ponyboy’s head he murmured, “You got shit to say about it?” Tim gave him a sharp grin as he shook his head, “Nope. Lover boy over here already filled me in.” Curly narrowed his eyes in response, clearly skeptical and Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Don’t be stupid. You’re my brother Curly; thick and thin, and you could do a lot worse. Though, Christ, we’re gonna have to do something about the socs targeting him. This is ridiculous.”
Before Curly could say anything, they were at Curtis' house, and he saw a very worried Darrel Curtis barrelling out the front door at the sight of Tim’s car. “Thanks, Tim,” he murmured, before opening the door so that Darry could meet them. “Jesus Christ,” Darry whispered, and Curly moved carefully so that he could get to his little brother. He knew better than to get in the way of Darry and his kid brothers, especially the baby.
“Dar?” Pony damn near whined, and Darry immediately took the younger boy into his arms, “Yeah, yeah I’m right here, kiddo. We’re gonna get you cleaned up,” he promised. Darry knew it was bad, both by how Ponyboy was reacting and how the Shepard boys were hovering. Without prompting, Tim went ahead and opened the door for them. Curly went straight to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kid that he knew was fully stocked. The Curtis home had always been a safe haven, and he couldn’t count how many times he and his brother had wound up there in order to be patched up. It was second nature grabbing what they needed.
“Alright kid, here we go,” Darry murmured, laying Pony down on the couch. In the light, his injuries look even more devastating. “Who fucking did this?” Darry seethed, before he reigned himself in, “Pony, hey, you gotta tell me what hurts.” Ponyboy gave a quiet hum as he took stock, “Head, ribs, eyes, nose,” he murmured. Nodding to himself, Darry got Pony’s shirt off so he could look at the damage done to his torso. He could already see the boot print forming and upon checking, determined two of his ribs were broken, but likely weren’t puncturing anything.
He clearly had a concussion, and he was bleeding something fierce from a cut on the back of his head. Darry looked at the cut on his torso and winced, “Yeah, you need stitches. I’m sorry bud, this is gonna suck.”
Before he could think to ask, he heard Tim on the phone, clearly already calling the boys and letting them know they had Ponyboy here. Curly came back in the room with a sterilized needle and stitching supplies. “Here Darry,” he offered, clearly anxious and wanting to help. Darry nodded, “Thanks Curly. Think you can help pin him down and keep him calm?” he asked. Curly took a deep breath, but nodded, “Yeah, I got him. Right Ponybabe? I’ve got you,” Curly murmured, talking directly to the boy in question.
“Hi Curls,” he murmured, causing the other boy to laugh, “Hi Pones. Doin’ okay?” he asked. Ponyboy hummed, “I think I told Tim about us,” he admitted, and Curly laughed outright, “Oh yeah, you definitely told Tim. S'right though. He’s cool about it,” he reassured. Pony startled them all, save for Tim, as he admitted, “Thought it was Dally at first.” Darry made a wounded noise, and to his surprise, Tim put a steading hand on his shoulder. “Not Dally, but someone who’s still lookin’ out for ya,” he reassured. Darry gave Tim a nod of thanks, before focusing on the task at hand.
“Alright Colt, try not to move, okay?” he warned, before he started stitching him back up. Ponyboy didn’t seem to fully be aware of what was happening, which was both worrisome and for the best. Curly kept Pony’s hands in his, rubbing his hands gently with his own to keep him from moving. “You’re pretty tough, Ponybaby,” he grinned, and Ponyboy beamed at him. “You think I’m tough?” Pony asked, and Darry rolled his eyes at the pair of them. Tim outright laughed, “Christ I hope the two of you are more subtle in public.”
“They save the sappy shit for my house I swear to god,” Darry complained, but it was lighthearted. It didn’t take him long to finish stitching him up and he’d just finished putting the bandage over the cut on the side of his head when the door banged open.
“Ponyboy?!” Soda shouted, and instinctively, Pony tried to shoot up to get to his brother, clearly hearing his distress. “Stay down, Colt,” Darry chided, pushing him back down gently before continuing, “He’s okay, Pepsi-Cola. Come here,” he eased. Soda was crashing down beside him in an instant, taking Ponyboy’s face gently in his hands as he examined him. “Aw honey, they got you good huh?” he murmured. “M’okay” Ponyboy reassured him. Tim snorted, “We know you're tough kid.”
Steve and Two-Bit hung back, but both looked relieved to see he was in one piece, even if he was worse for wear.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and in new clothes, yeah? Curly can sit and talk to you until you’re able to sleep,” he offered, knowing he had to keep his kid brother awake, and it was unlikely the younger Shepard was leaving tonight. He figured he’d post up on the couch or even the floor of the bedroom if Soda didn’t kick him out. Most likely though, he’d end up on the couch. “Kay,” Pony agreed, more pliant than he usually was. Darry lifted him up easily to get him settled, leaving the other boys in the living room.
“I’m going to keep an eye on him, but whatever you guys plan I want in on. Whether it’s a rumble or just going after the bastards that hurt him, I want to be there,” Curly commanded. Steve and Two-Bit nodded their understanding, and Soda clapped his shoulder, “Course. Just keep him awake, yeah?” Curly nodded, before heading towards the boys shared room.
Tim watched with intrigue, “He’s here a lot.” Soda looked at him, and though the middle brother was known for his charm and good humor, he looked like he was sizing him up. “Yeah. At this point, he might as well be one of ours.” Part of Tim wanted to get defensive at the implication that his brother would need sanctuary from the Curtis gang. Another part of him had a hell of a lot of respect for Sodapop Curtis, and was glad to know someone like him was in his brother’s corner.
“Yeah? Well that’s good. He’s still one of mine though. Yours too,” he confirmed. Sodapop smiled, nodding his head, “Good. Glad we’re all on the same page.”
–
In the other room, Darry was getting Ponyboy settled into clean clothes and into bed. “Hey, I know you’re tough shit, but it’s okay if you’re not. It’s okay to break down,” he murmured, brushing his brother’s hair back. Ponyboy swallowed. “I was scared. I mouthed off, and I think it probably made it worse, but I couldn’t let them think - I couldn’t let them win,” he admitted. Darry nodded, “Yeah, I know kid. You and me, always gotta have the last word,” he grinned.
Snorting, Pony nodded, “That’s our specialty.” Darry laughed, giving him a few pain meds and a glass of water to wash them down. “There you go. You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. Pony murmured, “It was Paul. I told him Mama would be disappointed in him.” Hurt, anguish, and anger flashed through him, but he settled on devastation as he placed a kiss on his brother’s forehead, “She would be. I’m so sorry, Ponyboy. I’m so sorry I ever brought him into our life.” Ponyboy squeezed his hand, “Don’t be. S’not your fault. He was nice once. He used to give a shit,” Pony murmured.
“He’s not going to get away with this,” he vowed. Ponyboy could see how much Darry meant it too. He wouldn’t let Paul get away with this, or the others. It was personal for Darry though. He couldn’t imagine doing something like this to a random kid, soc or not, but especially not to someone he once cared about. If Paul had siblings, Darry would have looked after them, regardless of what his status with Paul was. Maybe that was the fundamental difference between them.
“Are you okay, Colt?” he asked, and Ponyboy nodded tiredly, “Yeah, I’m okay, Dar. Thanks for patching me up.” The knock at the door had them both looking up, and Curly gave a small wave. “Hey, I’ve come to keep you awake Ponybaby,” he grinned, causing Ponyboy to laugh. Darry rolled his eyes, but pressed a kiss to the top of his brother’s head. As he passed the younger Shepard, he clasped his shoulder, “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Or if he says anything about needing to throw up.” Curly nodded, “Yeah of course. I’ve got him, Dar.”
Curly sat down on the bed next to him, letting Ponyboy lay his head in his lap. “You really scared me today, you know that?” Curly asked, running his hands through his boyfriend’s hair. Ponyboy murmured quietly, “I’m sorry. I was tired after practice and just wanted to go home. I was going to call you as soon as I got here and tell ya to come meet me here instead,” he admitted. Curly brushed his hair, “I”m not mad, Pones. I was just scared when no one could find you.” After a moment he quietly added, “Do you want to talk about it?” Ponyboy gave a quiet sigh, “I dunno.”
Taking a breath he continued, “They blame me for what happened to Bob, and maybe it was my fault, I dunno, but they act like they’re the only ones that lost something. Bob tried to kill me, and I lost two of my best friends because of it. You don’t see us jumping them left right and center.” Curly quietly murmured, “It wasn’t your fault. Those assholes deserve worse than death for what they did to you. No one’s going to let this go, Pones. They keep this up and they’re gonna be six feet in the ground with their best friend Bob.”
Ponyboy gave a small sigh as he murmured, “I’m glad you’re here, Curls. Dunno what I’d do without you.” Curly gave a slight chuckle as he answered, “back atcha Ponybabe.”
–
In the living room, Darry was trying to contain his rage as much as he possibly could. “Dar?” Soda asked, worry lines creasing his face as he watched Darry pace. “He’s okay. You checked him over yourself, and Curly is with him,” he reassured. Darry gave a sharp nod before he bit out, “It was Paul Holden.” Understanding and anger crossed Soda’s face, and he watched Two-Bit and Steve’s fists curl at the knowledge.
“Trip, Chet, a brother of a kid on your brother’s track team, and a kid that was a freshman when you were a senior, on the football team,” Tim added, and Darry looked at him in surprise. “I asked for names and he coughed up what he knew,” Tim shrugged. Darry nodded, “Thanks, Tim. I can figure out who it is from there.”
“Curly and I are helping. He might be your kid, Darry, but he’s one of mine too,” he murmured, and Darry looked at him appraisingly, before nodding. “Yeah, suppose he is. Right, tomorrow we’ll find ‘em and take care of this. Leave Paul to me though,” he warned. Tim hummed, “Five of them, six of us, let me have your back?” he asked. Darry looked at him for a moment, before nodding, “Yeah, yeah alright. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you boys tomorrow,” Tim waved, heading out. Darry nodded and then turned back to the others. “Everyone get some sleep. We’ll handle this tomorrow. Everyone good?” he asked, and got resounding sounds of agreement.
Soda put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “It’s not your fault Darry. This isn’t on you,” he reminded. Darry gave him a tight smile, “Sure Little Buddy.” Soda faltered, “Hey, I mean it. This isn’t on you, and we’re going to make sure no one puts a hand on him again. I’m serious Dar, I’m tired of these assholes thinking they can get away with this shit. They’re not going to touch him ever again.”
Darry nodded, “Yeah, you’re damn right they won’t. We’ll make them wish they never even looked at him. I’m going to make Paul regret ever knowing this family,” he admitted. Soda nodded, giving him a hug, “I’m sorry, Dar. I’m sorry he turned out to be just another rich asshole.” Darry nodded, “Me too.”
Pulling away, he nodded, “Get some sleep, Little Buddy.” Soda smiled, “You too. Love you, Dar.” Darry smiled, “Love you more,” Darry murmured, sending him off to his room.
Darry knew he’d get up several times to check on Pony, and he would be unsurprised to see Curly asleep on the floor next to his bed. He also knew that in the morning he’d spend the day fussing over his brother, before evening fell and he cornered Paul in order to pay him back. Tim Shepard would be at his six, and there would be something so cathartic, so symbolic, about Tim being there when it counted, and Paul being the enemy he was fighting with one and for all.
For now though, he laid down in his parents old room, grateful that his kid was safe and home.