#mrs mathews

[dallasgallant]

Parent jobs-

Asked about this a little while ago, here’s a few of my ideas vague as they are. Hard to look up the types of jobs there are, especially blue collar. If you have a different idea let’s talk

Will update if someone has the actual titles or a better idea than me.

Mr Curtis- Handyman? Lumber?

Mrs. Curtis- Telephone operator or mail room

Mr. Randle- steel mill worker

Mrs. Randle- Washerwoman/ washes clothes

Mrs. Mathews- barmaid/waitress (canon)

Mr. Mathews- was one of the guys who goes up on the poles/wires for electricity - now unknown

Mr. Winston- there’s a name for it but loading docks/distribution but he works the floor

Mrs. Winston - ??? Dead or left like Mr Mathews

Mr. Cade- laid off -> Oil work

Mrs. Cade- packaging (what product?)

[purecommemasolitude]

mathews family headcanon lore dump aka i'm writing a short fic with two-bit and his mom and i wanted to flesh out some of his family details aka i'm procrastinating midterm studying

i used to think of keith as something only his family called him, but after reviewing the passage where his nickname is described and thinking some more, i have revised my vision to the below

keith is his dad's name

he doesn't really talk about it (and is barely called that anyway) so most people have forgotten, but not the mathews family

his mom only calls him keith when she's unhappy with him

speaking of his dad, he left when two-bit was six

two-bit was a purposeful pregnancy. his sister was not. his dad didn't want to take care of another kid or the financial burden of it and walked a few months after she was born

he hadn't even wanted two-bit that badly, it was mainly mrs mathews who wanted a kid, but it helped that he was a "little man" instead of a girl

they met in their mid-late 20s and had been married for five-six years before two-bit was born

i haven't settled on a name for his mom but maybe alice

the reason they weren't expecting two-bit's sister (who we'll also call brenda) is because she was at an age where it's pretty unlikely to get pregnant, especially if you're not actively trying for it

she had two-bit a lot older than the curtises were when they had darry, and after two-bit befriended darry & soda she was a somewhat maternal presence to the curtises, although it was weird sometimes how they'd been parents for longer than she had

there would be occasional tension caused by the last thing, what with the duality of her being older than them but less experienced in child-raising, but neither curtis had a good relationship with their family and were more-or-less no-contact (+ mrs mathews is very easy to get along with) so they were still friends

they did nottt like the cades randles or winstons (besides the kids of course) and all wished they could take care of their children instead a little, but they a) know how things work in the neighbourhood and it's run of the mill to have shitty parents and b) could never be able to manage that financially or legally

she's pretty lighthearted with a good sense of humour like ponyboy describes her, but she does worry sometimes more than she lets on to others and especially outside of the house

as he grew up, two-bit became more aware of this and feels guilty sometimes over how little he helps her with the family, especially after seeing how darry & his brothers shape up post-crash

he tries not to bother her too much with his problems because of this, which is just fine because he also tries not to think about his problems

two-bit knows he's not a very good son and that's part of the reason why he hasn't given up on graduating yet, because he promised it to his mom and he'll be damned if he fails her in this too

mrs mathews does wish two-bit could be more of a help to her, but at the end of the day her main goal is that he is happy and loved (and doesn't turn out like Dally)

he very much dreads being in the same grade as brenda or being the last in the gang to graduate, but pretends like he's looking forward to bothering her in her classes

brenda used to look up to her cool older brother and they do still get along, but as she's grown up she's had a gradual rude awakening by how little he helps their mom and how much he drinks

two-bit is very much the "treat my sister bad and i shatter your kneecaps" person to anyone she starts seeing seriously once she gets older

she doesn't know for sure that she's the reason her dad left, but she's put the pieces together of how soon after her birthday he left

for this reason, she feels guilty about the state of their family and tries to minimize being a burden on her mom

she's vowed to herself to get a job to help out as soon as she's able because she thinks it's her fault they're in the situation they are, but she hasn't told mrs mathews about it because she knows she'd protest. this feeds into her slight resentment at two-bit's laziness

the curtis crash freaked everyone in their house out a lot, because other than the grief of losing your friends/friends' parents/friendly neighbourhood figures, it made them all reflect on whether or not two-bit would be able to do what darry did

mrs mathews thinks he could if he really pushed himself to it. two-bit and brenda do not think he could do it at all

they have not discussed this with each other though so it kind of festers in the back of their minds

[brat-pack-it-up-boys]

If your ever having a bad day just remember your not Darrel Curtis having to read his younger brothers theme where he’s called heartless and a bitch a hundred times per page while his other brother is being called hot and perfect every time he’s mentioned

[tex-aintdeadyet]

See I feel like we talk about Mrs Curtis a lot in this fandom (atleast comparatively to when we DO talk about the Curtis parents.. we don't do that a lot but I'm saying when we do talk about them it's mostly about Mrs Curtis) but we don't talk about Mr Curtis and i think it's so under explored.

Mrs curtis wasn't the only one who opened her house, Mr Curtis did too. He's the one who made sure the porch light stayed on when he got home from another late shift. He taught most the kids how to drive and basic car maintenance and he wanted to teach Pony when he got older. He showed Darry how to shave and couldn't wait for the day Sodapop or even Ponyboy would eventually ask him to show them how to shave. He gave johnny space cause he knew enough about the kid who'd been staying over for dinner since he was 10 to know he didn't trust a big imposing man like himself and made a conscious effort to not be as intimidating, and he was a safe person for Johnny to ask about guy things. He sat down with Steve and helped him with his woodworking projects when he was struggling, he made sure he was always fed because he knew more times than not the only thing in his fridge was his dad's beer. He'd take Two-bit and his sister out to lunch after their dad ran off so he could take some of the stress off their mom's plate. Two-bit would call him things like dad and pops to be funny but deep down they both knew he was the closest thing to a father he had. He was the one who picked Dally up from the cops on his way back from work, he was the one who was almost on the fence about letting Dallas stick around cause he was sure the boy was nothing but trouble but came to realize Dally was just a kid as-well. He was as gentle as he was even when he was playing because he always wanted to be a safe person for any of the boys to go to, even if sometimes it was someone like Tim Shepard or Sylvia who he didn't know nearly as well crashing for the night or using his bathroom.

(Dedicated in part to @atwtmvtvftvsagvralps11 for suggesting I talk about this)

[badmilkk]

Silly aa doodles I made in class to de-stress. The idea that the boys bullied Pony and taught him how to swear is 100% canon and absolutely mandatory.

This friday I have the damn project presentation and I wanna throw myself out the window aaah!

[far-away-from-tulsa]

Sat in a stiff chair in the school office with bruised knuckles and dried blood under his nose, Darry Curtis knows he fucked up real bad.

It ain’t really even his fault, ‘cause he didn’t want to find his little brother gettin’ pushed around by his teammates—Darry’s friends, for God’s sake. He didn’t want to punch Paul when Paul grabbed Sodapop’s jacket and tugged, rippin’ the fabric and tearin’ a line straight down the seam of Soda’s favorite thing.

Darry just saw Soda’s eyes well with tears. And it was instinct to punch punch punch.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the office door bangin’ open and he spots his father.

Darrel—not Darry, ‘cause he would never go by Darry, he’s a full name and look me in the eyes when you speak to me, boy kinda guy—Curtis stands in the doorway lookin’ pissed to all hell, and Darry knows he gonna need a Hail Mary to get outta this.

His dad and the principal—no matter how many times the guy has said his name, Darry can’t remember it for shit—exchange some quiet words with grim looks on their faces before Darry’s called back into the principal’s office.

He’s always found it weird that the principal has an office inside the office, but he can tell that’s not his biggest issue right now when his father’s pushin’ his shoulders down and he’s plopped into another stiff chair across from the principal—God, the hell is this guy’s name?—and sent such a stern look that it makes him feel like he ain’t sixteen anymore, but six with mud cakin’ his face and snot runnin’ down his nose.

Principal dude sighs very loudly and very obnoxiously before sitting his chair on the other side, leaning over with his elbows on the desk like he’s tryna be sympathetic, as if Darry ain’t just another greaser wreakin’ havoc in his school.

“Darry, you’re a great kid. Your grades are remarkable, and your football playing is some of the best ever seen at this school. You know right from wrong. So why’d you attack those boys, kid? Most of them are your teammates, your friends.”

He says it all soft and gentle like, tryna get shit outta Darry like he ain’t accusin’ him of attacking people.

Darry didn’t attack nobody; those kids—Paul, God, Paul—fucked ‘round with his brother and found out the hard way.

Darry doesn’t respond. Rule number one of being a greaser: you shut your damn mouth about everythin’ and nothin’. He wipes under his nose, spottin’ more blood, crimson and wet, on his knuckle. It must be runnin’ again.

“Darrel,” his father growls, in a tone that says open your mouth before I open it for you. “Answer the man. Why’d you attack those boys?”

Darry shrugs, head down and blood drippin’ onto the chair. He can’t find it in himself to care much.

The principal sighs. “You have so much potential, Darry. Don’t throw that away in the name of violence.”

That stirs somethin’ inside Darry, somethin’ deep in his gut.

“I didn’t attack no one,” he says quietly, lookin’ up into the principal’s eyes. “They were pickin’ on my brother. Someone needed to do somethin’.”

The guys eyebrows raise, and Darry’s a bit surprised that his dad’s silent. He’ll probably get chewed out in the car.

“Is violence ever the answer?” the principal asks, and Darry can tell he’s fightin’ a smiles when Darry bites his bottom lip and looks away, mumblin’ a no, sir. “Exactly. I expected better from you. I think a five day suspension should be enough time to reflect on your actions and write those boys an apology. When you come back, I won’t be having to call your father here again, will I?”

Another no, sir and a coupla exchanged words later, Darry finds himself in the passenger’s side of his dad’s truck.

His dad’s grippin’ the steerin’ wheel so tight it might just snap under all the pressure as the pull outta the school parkin’ lot.

He’s in some deep shit now.

There’s a tense sorta quiet for three minutes and nineteen seconds—Darry counted—before his father finally says, in a low, whisperin’ voice, “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Darry doesn’t have an answer for that, ‘cause he don’t even know himself. He leans against the car window, hearin’ the birds chirpin’ away.

It’s April. Only two more long and dreadful months before Darry can get outta this hell hole, ‘way from the shit-talkin’ Socs that call themselves his friends before goin’ back to whisperin’ when they think he can’t hear ‘em. Away from the place that makes Paul an enemy and not . . . whatever they are.

“Y’know, your mother and I expect ya to be a role model. Your brothers look up’ta ya. You can’t be doin’ shit like this and expectin’ no consequences ‘cause whether ya like it or not, Darrel, this town won’t give ya any breaks.”

Whenever his dad gets madder and madder, his accent comes out stronger and stronger, slippin’ into his normally warm southern tones, like the one Darry would hear whenever they’d go visit his grandparents. Somethin’ like wind chimes and spun sugar. They ain’t wind chimes and spun sugar now.

“They were pushin’ ‘round Soda, what was I ‘posed to do?” Darry’s gettin’ madder too. Everyone always says they’re too alike.

Eyes on the road. His dad hasn’t looked at him once, even though he’s always preachin’ ‘bout the importance of eye contact and what it says ‘bout a person.

“What ya were ‘posed to do was stay outta it, Goddamnit. Soda ain’t need his big brother fightin’ all his battles. Kid needs to toughen up.”

Darry says nothin’. Wipes his bleedin’ nose on his hand. Soda shouldn’t need to toughen up. He’s fulla smiles and bright eyes, bouncin’ ‘round the house and knockin’ into things like a newborn fawn with wobblin’ legs and a nose to the wind.

It ain’t fair how Pony’ll need to toughen up too, washin’ his hands of the stories he makes Darry tell him at bedtime and the flower crowns he makes in the summer, forcin’ Darry to wear one and makin’ him pinky promise to keep it on forever, as if Darry would ever take it off.

It ain’t fair how Darry’s gettin’ suspended and chewed out by his father while his teammates and Paul are bein’ slapped on the back and fist-bumped and told how brave they are for standin’ up to a big bad greaser like him.

Ain’t none of it fair, but life as a greaser rarely is.

[curtis-brothers-hug]

You know there was at least one winter when Mrs. Curtis took care of seven flu-ridden boys at once.

[biggietofu]

Before Dally got his nickname, Two-bit would make cowboy noises whenever "Dallas" was said.

Mrs. C: Dallas, please get your muddy doc Martins off my coffee table

Two: DALLAS??? YEEHAW PAR'NER GIDDYUP COWBOY

And he's start galloping and neighing and slinging pony along with him as a Dally Sheild. That's how Dally got his nickname

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Mrs. C watching Dallas wrestle Pony to the ground, grab Darry by the hair, pin Steve to the wall, n sweep Two-Bit's legs out from under him bc they weren't listening to her

shout out to @thedeitywhoplayedwithbricks for never being wrong ever😭

[alaskan-wallflower]

everyone in the curtis gang has a stuffed animal that mama curtis sewed them.

darry has a stuffed bear. basically, maybe, but it was also the first one she sewed. she sewed it while her husband was fighting overseas, unsure if he would ever come home…but she knew from the start that darry was gonna be a protector, just like his papa. it’s still on his bed.

soda has a golden puppy, very cleverly named Godlen Puppy. she used to call him her snuggle puppy before he discovered what walking was and started running around nonstop, but before that he was clingy as HELL. he was her snuggle puppy, and she called him that a lot. he holds it every night. he swears he can still smell her sweet perfume on it when he closes his eyes

remember horsey? pony’s stuffed horse from that one headcanon i made a while back? well, mrs. curtis sewed pony that herself. she thought it was cute—a pony for her ponyboy, and he became very very attached to it very quickly. pony put horsey in the attic after their parents died, unable to look at it. on occasion, darry will bring it down fir him, tell him “horsey wants to say hi to ya”, and while it hurts, pony still needs it, more than he thinks.

johnny has a little cat plushie. she used to joke with him that he was sorta like a cat, quiet and independent, but still sweet and loyal to those in his “pack”. it’s the one gift he’s ever gotten from a potential figure in his life, and he savors it. he keeps his with steve’s in their shared hidey hole at the lot where they keep their valuables that they don’t wanna keep at home.

dally has a possum one. she used to joke with him about how he was very possum like—he was rough around the edges, but he cared a lot about the wellbeing of his friends. he has it at buck’s. buck found it and asked him about it and dally lashed out and punched him in the nose, but he still has it even if he doesn’t like admitting it one bit.

two bit has a mouse, of course. she even gave it a mickey sweater to match his. while two bit probably has the best mom out of the gang besides mama curtis, he still loved her as much as he loved his own mom. it’s still his, but he gives it to his sister. on tough days, she comes in and gives it back to him in hopes of helping, eoafekally on days where he feels like all he can do is drink the day away

steve has a raccoon. raccoons were always his favorite animal for some reason—he liked how clever they could be, even if they were technically “pests”. she made it for him when he was in her kindergarten class—he was a lonely kid who picked on others because he felt bad about his own life. she gave it to him because “everyone needs a friend”. it’s in his and johnny’s hidey hole, but in rough nights where he’s alone, he still holds it.

mama curtis loved everyone in the gang, even if they weren’t her biological kids, they were family in her eyes.

[gre4zerz]

Something that definitely happened:

Little Soda: What is that? *gesturing towards a newly born Ponyboy*

Mrs. Curtis: That's your little brother, dear.

Little Darry: I'm not related to that thing, he looks like a potato. I don't want to be a double older brother, take him back to the store!

[dallasgallant]

POV you’re Mrs. Curtis 1950s-mid 60s. This is a regular occurrence

Imagine just having a gang of little boys bring critters into your home constantly and you don’t even know how they manage or where they’re even finding them. Darrel sr. Is not helping. He is encouraging this.

Possum, raccoon, rabbits, armadillo, squirrel somehow, stray dogs, coyote they thought was a dog, probably would do a deer or a mountain lion if they could

Just converted and mud holding some poor creature like it’s a caught fish way too proud of themselves.

Johnny’s best with rabbits. Dallas would fight a bear given a chance . Steve can and will wiggle himself under a house after something .Twobit would jump in a river. Pony is good at climbing and fast. Soda does good calls. Darry tracks and knows basic animal facts.

[fan-a-tink]

Pride & Prejudice (2005)

[brat-pack-it-up-boys]

Just came to the horrifying (probably obvious) realization the Mr. Syme, ponyboys English teacher who assigned the theme, almost definitely taught Johnny too.

[tex-aintdeadyet]

Modern mrs Curtis 100% would be the mom wit the minivan and let me tell you that car has been through HELL. So many crumbs in the cushions and spills, tears from boys being rowdy in the backseat, puke from picking up drunk teenagers. It's been fixed by Mr Curtis so many times it's begging to die, it's been in a few minor accidents with dents all over it, it was the car Steve and Soda learned about fixing cars on, Dally drove it into a ditch when Mr Curtis tried to teach him to drive and they both agreed to never tell Mrs Curtis about it. It's been stolen several times in the middle of the night by kids who were told they couldn't go to a party but wanted to anyways (everyone stole it at-least once. Everyone thought they got away with it but in reality Mrs Curtis knew and let them. Pony was brought along on heists several times because he'd tattle if he wasn't involved.) Darry got to drive it part time when he got his license and that car went through hell with all his friends constantly cramming into that thing and throwing up in it. The steering wheel is permanently indented from Darry gripping it so hard constantly during that time.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Thick & Thin- 3 times Ponyboy knew something was wrong with Johnny +1 time Johnny knew something was wrong with Ponyboy

This fic is for the wonderful @trevination as a thank you for running the Valentines Gift Exchange. Thank you for all the work you did-it did not go unnoticed nor unapreciated. I apologize for any mistakes, I'll come back and edit before I post it on ao3

Also, I think its pretty obvious but just in case, in this fic

Darrel= Mr.Curtis, and Darry or Junior = Darry

Enjoy!

***********

***** ONE *********

She’s washing up the dinner dishes, staring out the front window and wondering how she'll be able to convince Sheila Lefaye to hire her to do her summer bookkeeping this year after the boys tore up her lawn, when she feels a tug on her blouse. 

“Mom.”

Ponyboy is there, the red-brown hair he inherited from her dad sticking up every which way, his little feet bare and covered in dirt. He’s got grass stains on his knees, and sunshine on his neck, just like he was always meant to. Soda is all autumn leaves, and Darry was made for winter, but Pony’s only ever been a summer child.

She hums indulgently, scrubbing the casserole dish, frowning when she notices the new chip in the corner. She told Darrel three times to be careful taking it out of the oven, and clearly he hadn’t listened. At least now she knew why he’d been in such a rush to go out to walk the dog, though if he thought he was getting away with it that easy he had another think coming.

“Mom.” 

Ponyboy tugs again, a little more insistently, looking up at her with wide, solemn green eyes. He’s an earnest little thing, always has been, the quietest of her brood, sometimes even quieter than Johnny. 

“Just a second sweetheart.”

She crosses the kitchen in two quick steps, and wrenches open the sliding glass door. 

“Darry Curtis Jr., if I see you flick that lighter at your brother one more time I’m takin’ it and you ain’t gettin’ it back!”

Her eldest grins, sheepish but not all apologetic, and pockets the offending item. Curse Darrel for giving him all his damn castoffs. 

“Sorry mom!”

She gives him one last stern look and closes the door.

“Sorry honey,” she ruffles Ponyboy’s already mussed hair before she sticks her hands back in the dishwater, “what is it you wanted to tell me?”

She’s expecting him to ask for a cookie, or tell her for the third time tonight that he doesn’t want the tooth fairy to take Sodapop away. She’s not sure which of the boys had convinced him the tooth fairy was some sort of ruthless kidnapper, but she was going to have words with whoever it was once she figured it out. She’d yet to convince Ponyboy of Soda’s continued safety or the tooth fairy’s innocence, and the kid had been nearly apoplectic at bedtime for the past week. Soda hadn’t even lost the friggin’ wiggly tooth yet for god's sake!

But Pony doesn’t start crying about the tooth fairy. Instead, he glances over his shoulder, beckoning her closer.

She bends down, scooping him into her arms even though he’s almost six and is really getting too big for it. He leans in close and whispers.

 “Somethin’s wrong with Johnny.”

“Oh,” Frowning, she props him on her hip and peers out the window at where the boys are all huddled in the back corner of the yard, no doubt getting into trouble and determined to hide it. Johnny is there, forever Soda and Steve’s shy, dark haired shadow, but he looks no worse for wear than he had at dinner, his mother’s handprint healing on his cheek, but otherwise unscathed. “Is he hurt?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with him then?”

“I don’t know,” Pony’s voice is still soft.

“He looks okay to me.” She assures him, cradling him close and pressing a kiss to his temple, “but if he needs anything he knows he can always come to us.”

Pony isn’t soothed. 

“Somethin’s wrong.” He insists, lip wobbling, “Somethin’s wrong with him.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” she tugs his head down to rest on her shoulder. He’s overtired, having spent a long day chasing the bigger boys around, and he’s always had an overactive imagination. She can hardly say she’s surprised at the meltdown. In fact, it’s long overdue, “what makes you say that?”

“He’s- he’s not playin’ right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pony sniffles, “he’s- somethin’s wrong.”

“Johnny’s fine, sweetheart. Look.” She points out the window, where the boys have moved on to tossing Darry’s football around, “He’s out there with your brothers and your other friends right now. Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

She puts him down, and he stares up at her balefully for a moment but totters down the step obediently, running over to the rest of the boys. She watches as Johnny breaks from the group to tug Pony next to him, always the first to include him, even though Darry and Soda are the first to protect him. She watches them for a moment, just to see, trying to parse out what might have set him off, but Johnny really does look fine, his usual quietly kind self. 

She watches them play for a minute and goes back to the dishes, thinking that’s the end of it. 

She couldn’t be more wrong.

When bedtime rolls around that night after Steve, Keith, and Johnny have all been sent home, Ponyboy turns into a terror of epic proportions. He wails. He screams. He slaps Darry when he tries to convince him to settle down for a bedtime story, and spends the whole time in time out crying that the tooth fairy is going to get Johnny and they have to go and save him. He’s absolutely inconsolable, and when eleven o’clock rolls around, Darrel offers to take him for a walk in the hopes the night air will calm him down, or at the very least that Darry and Soda can get some sleep. 

It’s blissfully quiet once they leave. She sinks into the armchair with a book, but she’s not even halfway through her chapter when her husband returns with a quiet Ponyboy in tow, who's holding Johnny Cade’s hand tightly, and swaying on his feet. 

She only has to share a look with her husband before she’s ushering both boys down the hall, handing Johnny a pair of Soda’s pajamas and dressing Pony herself, the six year old almost asleep on his feet after all his crying. He’s out completely by the time she’s tucked them both into Pony’s bed with kisses on their foreheads, closing the door quietly behind her.

“What happened?’ She asks, when she gets back to the living room, sinking into Darrel’s side on the couch. His arm comes around her automatically, and she leans into him, inhaling the scent of shaving cream and a mid afternoon slowdance. 

“I found him sleeping in the lot,” Darrel’s voice carries the same anger that she feels everytime Andrew and Henrietta Cade’s son shows the consequences of their sorry excuse of parenting, “said they told him not to come back ‘till tomorrow.”

“This the first time?”

“He says so. I ain’t sure I believe him.”

“He ain’t going back tomorrow.” She vows, “I ain’t lettin’ him go back to get beat on and kicked out again.”

“Josie,” he sighs, weary and hopeless, two things he was never meant to be, “we can’t hold him here. We ain’t got no claim to him.”

“He’s more our son than theirs at this point!”

“I know,” Darrel’s voice is grave, and he’s as serious as he ever gets, “but the law won’t see it that way, and I don’t think Johnny will either.”

She can feel the tears welling, and he must see because he wraps his other arm around her too, holding her tightly. He’s never been able to stand her tears, and because of it she’s never been happier than in her life with him, but this is one pain he can’t heal, one she doesn’t think will ever stop hurting, the pain of a mother who can’t protect her child.

“He deserves so much better.”

“I know.” Darrel says, “I know.”

He holds her while she cries into his shirt. She allows herself three sobs before she pulls herself together, gently disentangling herself from his arms, and wiping at her eyes. 

“C’mon, let’s go to bed. We can talk more about it in the morning.”

She pulls him to his feet, and he stretches, letting out a tired grunt as he follows her to their bedroom.

“At least Pony’s stopped crying.”

“He knew,” she murmurs, as she crawls under the covers and he hits the lamp, “He knew somethin’ was wrong with Johnny. I don’t know how, but he knew.”

Darrel doesn’t say anything. It’s not until he starts snoring lightly that she realizes it’s because he’s already asleep.

************  TWO ********************

It’s four years before it happens again, and by then she’s nearly forgotten about Ponyboy’s precocious six year old escapades, far too busy with keeping a rein on a growing number of preteen boys. 

“Sodapop Curtis you get your ass in here right this instant!”

She knows he knows he’s in trouble, but he still can’t quite wipe the self satisfied smirk off his face as he dutifully swaggers inside, looking for all the world like the cat that caught the canary. Twelve years old now, with all of Darrel’s spirit and his own special flair for the dramatic, he’s one child she can never keep a handle on. Between him and Steve looking for trouble like a hornet for jam, Darry’s evasive nature, and Dally Winston’s everything, she swears she’ll go grey by fourty. 

“Heya, mom,” Soda pulls a golden wrapped sweet from his pocket and presents it to her with a flourish, “you need help with something?”

In his carefully calculated maneuvering he’s managed to turn her sideways, half away from the door, and he’s all sweets and smiles, the picture of perfect innocence, capturing her attention like a fly in resin. That’s all well and good, but she married his father and raised him from the day he was born, so she’s wise to all his tricks. She gives him an unimpressed glare and looks where he clearly doesn’t want her to, at where his co-conspirators are attempting to sneak past the house. 

“Steven Randle and Dallas Winston if you ain’t on this porch in five seconds you won’t like what happens next time you come to it!”

Behind her, Sodapop sighs.

Dally and Steve share a look before she starts counting back from five. A second later Steve is on her porch, looking longingly at where Dallas is tearing around the corner. 

“He ain’t out of trouble,” she informs him, steering him into the house where he shuffles awkwardly to Soda’s side, “so don’t go thinkin’ he’s got the upper hand here.”

She goes quiet, arms folded over her chest. With these two, silence is the best way to make them squirm. Steve’s got a poker face to rival the big wigs, and Soda’s smile hasn’t dropped, dimples on full display, but the two of them smell like mischief and they’re scuffing guilt into her floor with every fidget of their feet. 

“I got a real interestin’ call from your teacher today,” she drawls, when Soda starts glancing towards the door and Steve the open window, “and whaddya know, she said you weren’t in class when you was supposed to be. ‘Course, I told her she must be mistaken because my boys know better than to be skippin’ school when they know how I feel about that. Ain’t that right?”

“Sorry mom,” Soda schools his face into an appropriately contrite look for all of three seconds before his grin is back, “but listen’, me’n Stevie here had to skip class, else the substitute teacher woulda had a horrible day. It was civic duty see-”

“Quit tryin’ your silver tongued tricks on me, Sodapop Curtis. Your daddy’s charms don’t work on me and yours don’t neither.”

“Oh really?” A familiar set of arms snake around her waist. Soda’s grin widens, and Steve’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and she just knows Darrel must've tossed them a wink at him over her shoulder, “You married me didn’t you?I think that means my charms must work a little.”

“No,” She says, fighting a grin, “don’t mean nothin’.’

He spins her around, dropping a kiss on her lips, and she loses herself in him for a second, the way she always does, because he’d more than charmed her. From the second she met him he’d bewitched her, wholly and completely.

“This don’t mean you’re outta trouble!” She calls as Soda and Steve make their escape, hightailing it out the door, no doubt to chase down Dallas and whatever trouble he’d found while they were gone. 

She sighs, relaxing back into Darrel’s embrace, letting her head loll against his shoulder.

“They been real bad today?”

“Skippin’ school again.”

He runs a hand over his face. 

“I’ll talk to ‘em. If I can get Steve back on board the school train, Soda’ll follow suit.”

“I’ll talk to Dallas,” she offers, “Lord knows I’ll never get him on the straight and narrow, but I reckon I can get him as close as it’s possible for him to be.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he drops a kiss on her hair and releases her, “speakin’ of Dallas, where’d he and the rest of the hellions get to? Two outta seven is less than I’m usually greeted with.”

“Dally’s out causin’ trouble, I haven’t seen Keith since this mornin’, and Johnny’s out back with Pony, harassin’ the dog.”

“Junior?”

“He called and said he’s got some sort of pool party to go to with his football friends.”

“Pool party, huh?” Darrel grabs a bite of the leftover chicken she’s slicing, dodging as she swats at him, “Sounds fancy.”

“Don’t you dare say a word when he gets in.”

“Josie-”

“I mean it. He’s havin’ fun.”

“I’m worried about him,” Darrel confesses, and she can see it where he hides it behind the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, “all those rich boys…they ain’t never gonna respect him. Not really.”

“He’s special our Darry,” she reminds him, “everyone knows it. Besides, that Paul boy’s been good to him, got the rest of the team on his side. I figure he’ll be alright, and we’ll be here if he isn’t.”

Darrel doesn’t look convinced.

“I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

“Oh my love,” she cups his cheek in one palm and stands on tiptoe to peck his mouth, “hurtin’ is part of life. But he’s gotta be able to risk his own hurts.”

Darrel sighs, but it’s fond now rather than worried.

“How did I wind up with someone so gorgeous and wise?”

“You’re lucky I like blue collar boys with smart mouths. Now, go shower ‘fore dinner is ready.”

He kisses her once more, firmly, and does as he’s bid, because they both know who runs this house and it sure as hell ain’t him.

She glances out the back door as she finishes up the salad, peeking at her youngest and his friend. Pony is waving a stick, trying to convince poor Stella to play fetch, but the old gal is going on thirteen, and seems far more interested in napping. Johnny’s laughing at him, tugging his cigarette away every time Pony makes a snatch at it. Good.

By the time Darrel’s reappeared with wet hair, she’s set the table and hollered out the door loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to know it’s dinnertime at the Curtis’ and pretty soon the house is bursting at the seams with sweaty preteen boys, all flushed faces and sunburned noses and golden youth.  

Soda and Steve, knowing they’re still in shit, keep their heads down and eat quickly, but she collars them before they can slink away and parks them in front of the sink, Soda washing and Steve drying under Darrel’s careful surveillance. Johnny snickers at their predicament and takes his leave, while Pony disappears to his bedroom, and Dallas plunks himself down on the couch like he owns the place.

Well. That’s just not going to fly, now is it?

“Dallas Winston I know you ain’t sittin’ on my couch pretending like you didn’t run when I called you earlier.”

“You’re not my mom.” He says, as he so often does, fourteen and hardened, soft under the slightest hint of her glare and softer under her smile, even if he’d never admit it.

“Sure ain’t,” she agrees, “but you’re still gonna come out and help me with my gardening and you’re not gonna complain about it either.”

He heaves a theatrical sigh- to save face from who she’s not sure considering it’s just the two of them- and follows her outside to start digging weeds out of her flowerbeds. 

She kneels down beside him and starts spreading mulch over the areas he’s finished. A few minutes pass relative silence, apart from Dally grumbling under his breath, and she’s just about to bring up school and why he’s skipping when Ponyboy sticks his head out the door.

“Mom? Can you come here a minute?”

“Sure.” She rises to her feet and dust her hands on her jeans, leaving Dally fighting with wild grass that’s taken root in her carrots.

“What’s wrong baby?” She pulls him to sit with her on the steps, and he rests his head against her shoulder, the silly, over greased hair that Soda taught him to style sticking to her arm thanks to the oppressive humidity.

Ponyboy is quiet for a second, a small crease forming on his forehead that only comes out when he’s troubled. 

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with Johnny.”

She’s reminded suddenly, of a night four years ago, when he wouldn’t stop screaming until they’d found Johnny alone in the lot, how he’d just seemed to know something was wrong. 

For a second, not even the sticky humidity of mid June is enough to stop the chill that goes down her spine. There’s something to be said about old magics, the kind woven in friendships and twin souls. Mama always told her to listen when she found them, and she’s certainly listening to Ponyboy now.

Across the lawn, Dally has stiffened up, shoulders tensing even as he continues weeding like nothing happened. He’s got a soft spot for Johnny, she knows, just like she knows that whatever Pony has to say has the potential to ruin a lot of peoples days if they dared mess with Johnny Cade. She also knows that if Johnny’s hurt she won’t stop Dallas from whatever vengeance he decides is fair. 

“Why’s that? Did he say somethin’?”

“He wouldn’t,” Pony dismisses with a wave of his hand, and, well, that’s probably true, “but I can tell.”

“Do you have any idea what might be wrong?”

“I think…” Pony hesitates, “well, don’t tell him I said anything, but he won second place at the science fair last week.”

“Did he?” She exclaims, proud and wondering how on earth she could have missed something like that, then remembers trying to convince Soda to hand in something, anything for that damn project had been like pulling teeth, and by the time the competition had come around she’d been all too glad to wash her hands of the whole thing. 

“Yep,” Pony grins, proud, “it was really somethin’ too, most everyone said so, even Mr. Stevenson and he favours the soc kids somethin’ awful. Johnny’s supposed to move on to county level but they won’t let him ‘less he has someone to drive, and you knows his parents won’t. I think he’s kinda disappointed ‘bout it.”

“He wants to go?”

“Yeah,” Pony shrugs, “I think. He worked real hard on it.”

“What day is it?”

“What day is what?”

“The county science fair.”

“Oh. Next Wednesday.”

She was hoping to pick up a few hours doing cleaning at the golf course on Wednesday, but it looks like that will have to wait. Darrel did overtime on Saturday, so they should be okay for groceries as long as she finishes Sheila Lefaye’s bookkeeping by the end of the week and the snotty nosed bitch didn’t try and stiff her on their agreement.  

“Okay,” she climbs to her feet, “do me a favour honey and go find Johnny for me. Dallas will go with you.”

“No I-”

“Dallas will go with you.” She repeats, cutting a glare at the blonde as he opens his mouth to protest, “unless he wants to do my weeding for the rest of the week. And then maybe when y’all get back I’ll have some chocolate cake ready.”

“Cake?” Pony’s eyes light up. Even Dallas looks suddenly a lot more inclined to do as he’s told.

“Only if you go find Johnny now and are quick about it.”

Pony doesn’t need to be told twice, dashing off immediately, swift as quicksilver. Dallas swears colourfully and chases after him, struggling to keep up.

She allows herself a self satisfied grin, and goes inside.

Steve’s just placing the last dish in the cupboard when she takes down her mixing bowl. 

“Aw mom,” Soda immediately protests, “we just finished tidyin’ up!”

“Well,” she sighs, hiding a grin, “I suppose if you really don’t want cake I can keep from makin’ a mess again-”

“Cake?”

“I was gonna make some but since you’ve just finished tidyin’-”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Soda’s eyes have gone round as saucers, “I want cake, ignore me, I was bein’ stupid.” 

“Go do your homework and I’ll consider sharin’ some with you then.” She measures out a cup of flour and pulls the cacao powder from the cupboard, “You too Steve.”

Sated by the promise of sugary goodness the two pull their books out without any of their usual protests. Maybe she should consider cake bribes more often.

“Cake, huh?” Darrel peeks over her shoulder a few minutes later, placing the dog’s leash back on its hook, “what’s the occasion?”

“Johnny won second place in the science fair last week.”

“Well hey, that’s great! How come he never said anything?”

“You know our Johnny,” she says, placing the pan in the oven, “quiet to a fault.”

His eyes go all sad for a minute. She gets it. 

“I’m takin’ him to the county level on Wednesday.” She continues, before they can get bogged down in the tragedy of the boy who refuses to be saved.

His eyebrows pinch. 

“There’s a thing of pork chops in the freezer, and I can stretch what we’ve got in the pantry,” she murmurs before he can say anything, glancing at the dining room to make sure Soda and Steve aren’t eavesdropping, “we’ve been pinched worse before and made it work. This is important.”

“Josie…”

“You know I’m right.”

“I know,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around her “I know. I just…”

He’s warm against her, this kind, loving man, who’d probably end up ditching his own work to bring Johnny to the fair if he knew how much it meant to him. She thinks about Sheila Lafaye and her castle on the west side, the husband she speaks of with barely disguised disdain, and knows she’d make penny meals for the rest of her life before she’d trade anything she has for that emptiness that pretends it’s love. 

“Thick and thin,” she reminds him, the words a line from their wedding vows all those years ago, and she can feel him start to smile against her neck, “This week will just be a little thin.”

“Thick and thin.” He pulls away just enough to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, that carefree smile she fell in love with back on his face, and she knows he’s on board now, totally and completely, because their life together is an adventure and they make it through every time, through thick and thin.

The door bursts open then and Pony tumbles through, followed closely by Johnny, Dally, and Two-bit who seems to have a sixth sense for whenever she’s baking anything. 

“Perfect timing boys,” she tells them, Darrel’s hands sliding off her waist as she turns to pull the cake out of the oven, “it’s just about done. Soda, would you set the table please.”

He jumps to obey as Steve packs away their schoolwork and the rest tumble into their seats, panting. They must have been racing to get to the porch first.

“Since I’m settin’ the table,” Soda starts and oh boy, she can tell just from his tone he’s about to try and sell her on something, “an’ cleaned up all nice after dinner, an’ am just a total and complete and total upstandin’ citizen, can I have Darry’s share of the cake since he isn’t here?”

“No,” she snorts, as Steve starts to protest that ‘he cleaned the kitchen too, asshole’, “Darry is havin’ Darry’s share of the cake.”

“But he ain’t here.”

“That’s what plastic wrap is for.”

“But-” 

“Keep it up and you won’t like who gets your share.”

Dally, Johnny, and Two-bit all snort, and Soda drops into his seat mutinously. 

“How come we’re havin’ cake anyway?” Steve wonders, as she pours cream into a bowl and starts whipping it, “It’s no one's birthday.”

“It’s because of me,” Two-bit says confidently, thirteen and pure mischief, puffing up to deliver some sort of speech, “‘cause I’m a hero. See, I was down at the dime store earlier today, and whaddya know but there’s this lovely box of playin’ cards, brand spanking new and abandoned just all alone on the shelf, all lonely lookin’. So I said to myself, ‘Two-bit, you’re a good guy, you wouldn’t leave those cards looking so sad and lonely all by themselves’, so I braced myself for a rescue mission see, because the store lady was just glarin’ at me, treatin’ me like a hoodlum, keeping those poor cards hostage, but she was no match for me and my cleverness. She turned her back to go after some ne’er do well trying to steal from her fine establishment- if you can imagine such a thing! And so, I took my chance, and liberated the cards in the way a knight of old would save a fair maiden from a castle, and was pursued by a most unscrupulous minion of the establishment for several blocks, who tried- and failed- to retake their prisoner.”

The boys and ever Darrel are all in stitches when he finishes his tale, pulling the aforementioned cards out of his pocket with a flourish and a grin like wildfire. She hides a smile of her own as she places the bowl of whipped cream down beside the cake on the table.

“We’re not celebratin’ your thieving Keith Mathews. This is Johnny’s cake.”

“Johnny’s?”

“Mine?”

“For winnin’ at the science fair last week. Congratulations honey.” 

She passes him the first piece and he flushes all the way up to his hair, sending Ponyboy a glare that her youngest pointedly ignores.

“Thanks Mrs.C.”

“If I’d known him winnin’ was worth cake I'd've told you a week ago.” Soda says, stuffing half his  own piece in his mouth in one go, and Steve nods in agreement, and then the table goes quiet, all of them too busy eating to talk. 

Eventually they all disperse again, Two-bit and Dallas off to find a poker game to play, while Soda and Steve go out back for a smoke, and Johnny follows Ponyboy to the livingroom to have a hushed argument under the guise of watching TV.

“What time is the county science fair next week?” She asks when Johnny comes to say his goodbyes. 

He goes six shades of red again, and sends a glance towards the living room that’s half gratitude and half disgruntlement before caving.

“Ten.” 

“Where is it?”

“Town hall I think.” 

“Perfect,” she smiles, “we’ll leave her at 9:30 then.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” She cuts him off firmly, “you worked hard, baby. You deserve to show that work off.”

He thanks her again, and says goodnight, a lightness in his step when he leaves that’s only obvious now because she hadn’t realized earlier that it wasn’t there to begin with. When she goes to collect the plates from the table, Ponyboy is staring at the closed door looking far too pleased with his meddling.

********* THREE ************

The next time it happens she knows better than to doubt him. 

It’s a sunny morning in mid August, warm and sticky. Darrel has a rare Saturday off and she’s flipping pancakes at the stove, filled with wild strawberries she’d picked in the yard and froze during the spring, because Darrel likes the tartness of them better than store bought ones and there’s pretty much nothing in the world she wouldn’t do for him. 

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice drifts from the radio, warm and syrupy even over the static, and Darrel turns it up as he enters the kitchen, pulling her into a dance position while she laughs and pushes at his chest. 

“I’m makin’ food!”

“One dance,” he pleads.

“You want burned pancakes?”

“After then,” he barters, “c’mon, it ain’t often I get you all to myself.”

“The boys out?”

“Well. Two outta three. Darry’s still sleepin’.”

“It’s past twelve.”

“Teenagers, huh?” Darrel grins, for a second looking like a teenager himself, forever the boy she fell in love with, and she leans into him just a bit. 

“Do you think maybe the reason he’s so tired is because he snuck out again last night?”

“Hm,” Darrel cocks his head, a tick all the boys have inherited from him, “probably. But maybe we should let him get away with it just this once.”

“‘Just this once’ he says for the fifth time.”

“There’s worse teenage rebellions. For example,” he grins wickedly, “he could be sellin’ grass under the bleachers.”

“I did that one time!”

“One whole summer more like.”

“Quit slanderin’ my good name.” 

“Ain’t slander if it’s true.”

“S’not my fault popa had good flower.”

“It’s your fault you decided to sell it.”

“Shut up,” she says, but she’s laughing. She turns back to the stove, flipping a pancake onto the stack that reveals itself to be a bit more than golden brown, “see, look what you made me do now!”

“They look fine to me,” he snatches it off the pile and stuffs it into his mouth, before spitting it out just as quickly, “ack!”

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“I can see that, thanks,” he snipes acerbically, and she can’t stifle her snicker.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he snarks, “some wife you are.”

“Hey, I’m the one makin’ you pancakes, ingrate.”

“Hmm, true.” He kisses her forehead on his way to set the table. With Darry asleep and Soda and Pony out- probably gone to the rodeo grounds if she had to guess- it’s just the two of them sat across from one another, coffee at her spot and tea at his, almost burnt pancakes and maple syrup between them. 

It’s a little bit perfect. Too perfect. She should have known the peace wouldn’t last- it never did in the Curtis house.

She’s just lifting the second last bite of pancake to her mouth when the door bursts open, practically thrown off its hinges as it slams into the wall. 

The scolding dies on her lips the second she sees Ponyboy’s chalk white face and wide, frightened eyes. 

“Somethin’s wrong with Johnny,” he gasps, “he- he’s real sick or hurt or somethin’. I think- he needs help.”

She shares a look with Darrel for a half a second, understanding passing between them before she’s on her feet, following Pony out the door, heart in her throat. She knows without having to ask that Darrel’s staying behind to grab the first aid kit and boil water and whatever else he needs for his little nursing set up.

She’s never been good at the whole playing doctor thing. Thank god Darrel is.

Ponyboy is fast, faster than her by far nevermind that she used to win medals for cross country back in school and he’s only just turned thirteen, but he slows his pace just enough she can keep up. 

He leads her down the street past the empty lot the boys play football at sometimes to the small copse of trees at the back, where Soda, Two-bit, and Johnny are… smoking and looking absolutely fine.

“Mom,” Pony stops her before she can ream him out for crying wolf, ��please, just check his forehead before you say anything. He’s been weird all morning.”

Never let it be said that she’s a fool. Her mama told her to watch for little magics, and Pony has proven before he’s got a sixth sense for Johnny’s pain, and she won’t do him the disservice of doubting him again now.

Besides, Johnny's reaction when he sees her isn’t exactly the look of innocent and unbothered.

“Ponyboy!”Johnny looks about ready to kill him, jaw clenched and face flushed. He’s taller than Pony now by almost three inches, considering Pony hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet, and for a second he looks downright mean, “I told you to leave off! Why d’you have to go and be such a fucking tattle tale all the time?”

Pony flinches. Soda’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, and he stares at Johnny like he’s grown a second head, while Two’s eyebrows make a valiant effort to get lost in his hair. Josie knows why. It’s not uncommon exactly for Pony and Johnny to fight- Johnny will rise to Pony’s bait, and Pony can be a vindictive little thing when you push the right buttons- but it’s rare for either of them to ever sound so downright hateful, especially to one another. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Pony snaps, “you wasn’t gonna say nothin’ but you’re dead on your feet and you've been warm since yesterday.”

“You promised you wouldn’t say anything!” 

“That was yesterday!” Pony screams, eyes wild and crazed like some sort of animal, “And yesterday I didn’t spend ten minutes tryin’ to wake you up and another five after that tryin’ to make you remember where you were! You’re only still here because you’re too tired to walk to rodeo grounds, and too feverish for any of us to leave you by your lonesome, but the rest of you were too pussy to do anything about it!”

He directs the last bit at Soda and Two-bit, who are both suddenly very interested in their shoes. 

Huh.

Now that she’s got a better look at him, the flush on Johnny’s olive toned cheeks might not be from anger the way she initially thought, and he’s sweating something fierce- though it might be due to the jacket he’s wearing.

“I’m fine!” Johnny insists, and she could just about cry looking at him, because when he turns his brown eyes on her he doesn’t look mad he looks terrified, “I’m fine.”

He curls in on himself a bit, hunching over a way that isn’t quite natural, his left arm held close to his body.

Wait a second. 

Long sleeves. In August. How could she be so stupid?

“Hm,” She steps closer to him, raising her hand slowly, trying her hardest not to startle him but he still flinches slightly when she lays the back of her palm against his forehead. 

He’s burning up. 

“I’m fine,” he says again, but it just sounds like begging as he bats at her hands haphazardly, sick and near delirious and so, so afraid, “I’m fine.”

Carefully, she takes his hand and gently pushes up the sleeve of his jacket, holding on more tightly when he hisses and goes to pull away reflexively.

Whatever she expected, it wasn’t this. Oozing and smelly, under sloppily applied bandages, lies a strip of burned skin from his wrist all the way up his forearm, almost to his elbow, the skin tight and puffy around it.

Soda swears. Beside him, Two-bit stifles a gag. 

“Oh honey…”

“It’s nothing,” Johnny’s voice shakes and he tries again to weakly pull away, “I'm fine, I promise.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Johnny.”

He sighs, and there’s eons of pain in that sound, a lifetime of weariness no fifteen year old should hold.

“Two days ago dad was beatin’ on me in the yard. He pushed me an’ I fell onto the burn barrel, and this happened. I tried to clean it best I could but it don’t act the same way a scrape does.”

‘It looks infected,” she says, forcing herself to keep her voice calm over the panic that crawling up her throat. She really is no doctor, but she knows infection is no joke, and he’s already got a fever, “but we’ll get you all fixed up.”

He doesn’t try to argue, which is more worrying than it ought to be. Johnny didn’t usually accept any sort of help this quick, especially when it came to injuries. She lets him go and he immediately pulls his sleeve back over the wound, shame wrapped around him tighter than the too small jacket, and she swears to herself the next time she sees Andrew Cade by his lonesome she’ll borrow Darrel’s hunting rifle from the shed and shoot him. 

“Soda, run along home and tell your dad we’re on our way, alright?”

Soda looks torn for a second before she fixes him with a look and he nods, dashing off without another word.

“Keith, do me a favour and head to the rodeo grounds and let Dally know the goings on. Last thing I need is him ending up in county lockup today.”

“Must’ve missed it when I was hired as an errand boy!’ Two chirps, but his joke falls flat. He clears his throat, nods. “Don’t worry Mrs.C, I’m on it.”

“Thanks sweetheart.”

He nods and lopes off, casting a worried look over his shoulder, but he’s almost the oldest of them, just a year younger than Darry, and she’s the only one she’d trust to break this to Dally properly. He’s got tact, even if he pretends not to for a laugh sometimes, and he steps up when it matters, just like now.

“Let’s go then,” she jerks her head back towards the house, “as soon as we get in I’m getting you a big glass of ginger ale and you’re drinkin’ the whole thing while Darrel does his whole doctor routine and decides whether we need to take you to the hospital, savvy?”

“Yes ma’am,” Johnny sighs, half resigned and half petulant, but there’s a bit of a glow burning away the fear in his eyes, and she thinks everything might be alright.

She follows behind him as he dutifully starts trudging towards the house. Pony trudges along beside him, having turned into something of a kicked puppy after his outburst, and she’s just starting to wonder if maybe this spat of theirs might need some motherly interference to help it get resolved when Johnny ruffles Pony’s hair and throws his uninjured arm around his shoulders, tucking him into his side. 

Pony hides a sniffle in Johnny’s shoulder and throws his own arm around Johnny’s waist, forgiven.

Despite herself, she smiles.

They’ll be alright.

******* PLUS ONE *******

Johnny always feels weird coming to the Curtis house nowadays. 

There's an oddness to it, a blanket of stifling silence that hangs over the place despite the ever present noise of the gang, a choking smog that crawled into their throats and left him quiet, and Steve murmuring, and Darry yelling that much louder like if he tried hard enough he could drown out the roaring grief that deafened them. 

Johnny wished he could tell him to save his breath. You can’t yell grief out of a suddenly shattered home anymore than you can wring love out of burned blankets, or keep happiness in a jar. Johnny knows. He’s tried every trick of an unloved creature and none of them ever worked.

He knows as soon as he steps over the threshold that today is one of the worse kinds of days in their strange new normal, an odd charade where they’re all playing the same characters but it’s like they all forgot their lines. Or maybe the lines are the same as they always were, but they’re all suddenly playing the wrong parts. 

Darry’s frying eggs at the stove, toolbelt already tied  on over his work clothes. Two-bit is lazing at the table, tossing bits of toast at Dally that the blonde is smacking away with increasing violence. Steve is watching coffee and watching Soda race from one end of the house to the other as he gets ready. Right now, his shirt is unbuttoned and he’s only wearing one sock, so Johnny figures he’ll have to get a ride with Two-bit to school because Soda and Steve will definitely be leaving late.

“Has anyone seen my nametag?” Soda hollers as Johnny grabs a slice of toast off what he assumes to be Steve’s abandoned plate and slides into a seat.

“You left it on your nightstand.” Dary yells at Soda’s retreating back, “Is Pony up yet?”

“No!”

“Jesus-” Darry runs a hand over his face, worry lines that weren’t there a few months ago etched deeply into his forehead. Even Mr.C never looked as tired as Darry does these days, “tell him to hurry up!”

Beside him, Dallas tenses, and Two-bit makes a truly horrendous joke that gets Darry’s incredulous glare fixed pointedly on him, and Johnny gets a sinking feeling this isn’t the first time today Darry has yelled for Pony to hurry up.

He slinks away from the table as quietly as he arrived, hoping to attract just as much notice- that is to say, none at all. 

Each step down the hallway seems to take more effort, the not-quiet silence muffling his footfalls and making him feel like he’s fighting through clinging mud. By the time he reaches Ponyboy’s bedroom door, the noise from the kitchen seems as if it’s faded out completely. 

He knocks softly. 

“Ponyboy?”

No answer. He wasn’t really expecting one, but it makes him feel kind of sick all the same. 

He pushes open the door and slips inside to see Ponyboy’s small frame burrowed under the blankets, staring blankly at the wall.

“Mornin’ Pony," he climbs up beside him, rubbing his back. Pony still doesn’t say anything. The only indication he gives that he even knows Johnny is there is pressing back into the touch the tiniest bit. 

“It’s a school day, man,” Johnny’s never been one for talking, but his role in this new play requires a lot more of it than his old one. It’s uncomfortable but he’s getting used to it, talking for Pony the way Pony has always known how to talk for him, and on mornings like this, talking to him feels like the only thing he can do. He’s not sure why he’s convinced himself now that his words are the kind of medicine Pony needs, but it’s the kind of pretty lie that sounds better than the truth, which is that Ponyboy needs some type of health or medicine no one on their side of town could ever afford to give him. 

It scares him, more than he wants to admit, this version of Ponyboy, the one who was zombielike on his best days, withdrawn and foggy eyed, who seemed to exist behind a thick wall of glass separating him from the rest of the world- and that was when he managed to move at all. Other days, like today, he would just stare at nothing for hours and hours and hours. Even when Darry made him move on these days, when he had to half carry him out to the car to go to school, Pony on these days wasn’t ever really present, never seemed to sbe able to escape whatever was keeping him a prisoner in his own head, held down under waves of grief that drained the life right out of him. 

“There’s fried eggs on the stove,” Johny tries again, “normal colours this mornin’ though, sorry. I know you like the pink ones Soda makes.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch. 

“One of those mornings, huh?” He sighs, giving up, “that’s alright, man, I get it. It’s tough. It’s really fuckin’ tough. I got you.”

He settles down a bit more, tossing one bent arm under his head, still rubbing Pony’’s back with the other. 

Not even two minutes later footsteps stomp down the hallway, the cacophony of a Curtis brother argument reaching them before the guys themselves all but burst in.

“...he’’s goin’ to school, Soda. Ponyboy get up!”

Darry’s madder than a hornet looking for jam and finding vinegar. He’s hardened now, having lost his dreams and his youth and his parents in one fell swoop, and it’s turned him bitter and desperate, but that’s no excuse for the way he glares down at Ponyboy now, cold and worried but unflinching in his pursuit of doing what he thinks is expected instead of what Ponyboy so clearly needs.

And Johnny? Well, Johnny’s seen enough.

“Leave him be, Darry.”

Darry freezes. FOr a second he just blinks at him, disbelief written all over his face. It’s almost comical. In any other situation it would be.

“What?”

“You ain’t helpin’.” He gestures where Pony is still huddled under his blankets, staring blankly at the wall, the purple shadows under his eyes so dark they look like bruises. He’s so far from okay it’s nearly incomprehensible, “and he ain’t goin’ to school. Not today.”

“Now look Johnny, I know you’re buddies an’ all-”

“No.” Johnny cuts him off because he doesn’t get it. “Darry he ain’t going today. How’s he supposed to go to class when he can’t even get out of bed? You ain’t there, you don’t seen him, but it’s torture for him when you make him go on days like today. Ask Two or Steve. Everyone with eyes can see it.”

It feels wrong, talking about Pony like he isn’t right there, but he still doesn't give any indication he’s heard a thing, and Darry needs to hear this and hear it now. Pony’s been like this more and more often since the Curtis parents died, and if Johnny’s being honest with himself, it scared him half to death. 

He knows it terrifies Darry too, that it's why he’s doing what he’s doing, but he's trying to help in the absolute worst way. Darry might be able to pretend everything is fine, has always been a superhero in his own right- Pony can’t, and it’s killing him to try. 

Johnny just wonders how Darry can’t see that.

Luckily his words seem to land, and Darry flinches. 

“I’ll stay with him while y’all go to work,” Johnny promises, more for Pony’s sake and his own than for theirs, “but he isn’t going to school today, Darry. I mean it.”

Darry’s face goes hard, but his eyes go sad, the picture of pure anguish. He has the look of his dad but when he’s upset he’s an almost perfect amalgamation of both his parents’ distress, from Mrs.Curtis’ tight frown on his thin lips, to Mr.Curtis’ furrowed eyebrows and hunched shoulders. 

“I…yeah, okay. Just this once.” He crosses the room in two steps, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Pony’s hair, “love you, baby.” 

He steps back, and clears his throat before ruffling Johnny’s hair, “Take good care of him, Johnnycake.”

“I will.”

Darry clears his throat, hesitates a moment, then decides against whatever it was he was going to say and takes his leave.

“Thank god,” Soda sags from where he’d been hovering in the doorway, “you’re a miracle worker Johnny, I swear, I tried everything to get him to listen but he’s just so fuckin’ stubborn.”

“Not that you’d know anything about that.”

Soda snorts. “Course not.”

A honk from outside interrupts before he can say anything else.

“Shit,” Soda cringes, already turning to leave, “I can’t be late again or my boss’ll kill me. Thanks again for stayin’ with him Johnny.”

“Anytime.” Johnny promises, but Soda’s already gone. 

He listens to the crunch of tires on gravel as Steve hurtles out of the driveway and settles down with a sigh, tossing an arm over Pony and pulling him close. 

“I mean it, man. I’ll be here anytime, through thick and thin. You’ll always have me.”

Pony doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Johnny knows the feeling is mutual.