Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” he hummed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were in the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again, good. We all hate to do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go. Get out of there, it chanted.

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

“Just leave that baby to cry.”

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

“I was just stating what was true.”

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

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

They didn’t like him? All this time?

Useless, no-good brother.

I would hate him.

Fuck.

Did they hate him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When would he be able to catch a break?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you like the fireworks?” he asked.

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

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

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

“I wanted a bigger explosion.”

“Then don’t do it in the toilet!”

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

“Me?!”

“Eat one.”

“I’m not eating that.”

He moved closer. “Say ahh!”

The Soc just about had enough and bolted out with a tail between his legs, screaming, “You’re crazy! Get away from me!”

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

“Thanks, man,” he mumbled.

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

“Well, thanks anyway.” It was about time for him to go as well. By now, the school was probably panicking and calling the cops. Ponyboy tried to get past him, but the guy didn’t move out of the way. He started to get nervous. “What do you want?”

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

“I didn’t say that.”

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

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

“What are you? Like thirteen?”

“I’m almost sixteen.”

The guy opened his mouth and nodded. “So… you’re fifteen. We’re the same age then. You look younger.”

“I get that a lot.”

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

“It’s Ponyboy.”

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

“It’s my name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

Bingo. He called it.

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

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug.

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

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

“Soc?”

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

“What do you mean? Can you clarify?”

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

“And who was this teacher?”

“Mr. Mintz. He teaches English Composition.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Curly,” he greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

“Not… actively. I was there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was he in for?”

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

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

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

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

Curly shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We could go drink?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“School got canceled,” Ponyboy simply answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t keep fooling around.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ponyboy sighed. “How, Steve?”

“Because nobody likes you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He really needed to get better at not sounding lame. He sighed. Harley rubbed his tongue over his gums as if he were swiping stuck food away, eyes glimmering in hidden curiosity. “I asked you first, but whatever. What’s your name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are everyone in your gang assholes?”

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

You’ve wasted their lives.

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

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

His ears were bright red now. “No.”

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because they’re like family to me.”

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

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

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

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

“She might also start exploiting her kids.”

“Things can get better for her.”

“How?”

“Through perseverance and her love for her children?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You coming?”

“Nah. I’m skipping.”

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

What to do…

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

They’re having fun without you.

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

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

“Do you need help with anything?”

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

“Is it so weird?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m on time though.”

“But you could still do more.”

Nothing you do will be good enough for them.

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

“You can be better.”

You will never be able to make them happy.

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

It’s your fault.

You’ve ruined everything.

Darry is going to hate you now.   

He doesn’t want to see you.

Nobody wants you around.

You’re a failure.

You’re a pain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hates you.

Why can’t you do anything right?

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

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

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

“What? Finally.”

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

“You made another mess?” Steve teased.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on. I hate him.”

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

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

Crying again? How pathetic.

You need to do better.

You’re such a nuisance to everyone.

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

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

You’re meaningless.

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

They would be happier without you.

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

This is all your fault.

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

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

Why did you even try to make things right?

Nothing was going to change.

You’re going to be alone forever.

Nobody likes you.

Soda hates you.

Darry hates you.

Johnny hates you.

Dally hates you.

Two-Bit hates you.

Steve despises you.

You deserve to be alone.

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harley hummed, “I just get sleepy.”

“Valium’s a sleeping pill?”

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

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

The other boy shrugged. “Because it works.”

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

“Yeah, basically.”

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

“I don’t really feel it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think?”

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

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

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

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

He shouldn’t.

But it would make him feel better.

It was weed.

But it was a temporary solution and he needed that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, I guess.”

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

“Vultures.”

“The Vulture? Like the supervillain?”

“I don’t know who that is, man.”

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

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

“The universe is a jerk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darry’ll be mad if I do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should go get something to eat.”

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What can I say? I’m a changed man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t look sick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re in the clear now. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you work a corner?”

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

“That’s not what I meant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Twenty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here goes nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It smells the same to me,” he said.

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

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

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

Harley added, “It’s strong stuff.”

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

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

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

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

“Did they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Harley, what exactly is MDMA?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lost track of time? It’s dark out.”

“It’s winter.”

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

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

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

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

What is wrong with you?

You’re the problem.

Can’t you see that?

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

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

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

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

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

Because he doesn’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

Perhaps this one lie was fine.

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

“He said he was out with a friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably wanted attention.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know him?”

“Probably.”

“Will I get to meet him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You made him upset before.

You are always messing things up.

Why are you still around?

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

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

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

You’re really boring, you know that?

Is that all you could do?

No wonder nobody likes you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Going to class,” Harley nonchalantly answered.

“This isn’t your class.”

“Yes, it is.”

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

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

“How have you not been expelled yet?”

Harley shrugged. “Good behavior?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a question?” they said.

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

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

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

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

“Even though he had slaves?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you find this misconduct funny?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Ponyboy. These are edibles.”

“Yeah, they’re food.”

“As in pot brownies?”

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

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

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

Harley let out a huff. “I bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They knew.

They could smell it.

He was acting suspiciously.

Stop acting weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoa. When did their carpet feel so interesting?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was too close.

Chapter Text

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

And waited…

And waited…

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

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

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

He was going to be there.

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

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

“You got a phone call, hun.”

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

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

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

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

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

“But let’s try again another time.”

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

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

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

It was fine.

It was all good.

Everything was okay.

Things like this happened.

But why did it have to happen to him?

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

Soda was a liar.

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

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

As he got closer, he could hear three voices.

“Where is it?” one of them demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drop the gun,” he barked.

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

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

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

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

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

“He won’t, so calm down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better.”

“Right. Got it.”

“Because if you don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve done it before.”

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

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

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

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

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

He just hoped that nothing would go wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to?”

Ponyboy made a face. “I’m good.”

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

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

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

Soda was a fucking liar.

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

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

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

Suddenly, half of his vision became obscured as his hood flipped over his head. An arm wrapped around his shoulders before a hand pushed his head into a bow.

“Harley?” Ponyboy asked unsurely. He tried to look up but couldn’t. The hand remained firmly in place.

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

When he was gone, Harley let go and cracked his knuckles. Looking over his shoulder at Soda’s retreating figure, Ponyboy muttered, “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

“What? Like meth?” Ponyboy snorted sarcastically.

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

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

“You know how to make meth?”

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck. Why not?” Harley practically whined.

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asked.

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

“Okay, but why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What did he just do?

It hurt!

Oh, God.

Was he going to die?

His chest hurt.

Why did it hurt?

Why couldn’t he breathe?

His brain couldn’t compute what he was feeling.

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

Huh.

He might have been overreacting because he was fine.

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

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

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

There was a brief worry of overdosing before Ponyboy nodded. Just like before, snorting the powder caused his sinuses to burn, but he was more prepared for it this time. Not to toot his own horn, but he only had a brief freak-out this time.

“So,” Harley started as he crushed more. His nose was starting to sound clogged. Ponyboy wondered if it was the same for him. “Do you ever think that people who separate conjoined twins ever want to do the opposite?”

What? Ponyboy looked at him like he had grown another head. “You were literally just asking me about the pills. Where did this come from?”

“I don’t know...” His friend fidgeted with his fingers. “What else are we supposed to talk about?”

“Talk about whatever, but not that.”

Harley huffed and rested his chin in his palm. “Then talk about that weird tension you have with your brother.”

This was the other topic he didn’t want to talk about. Guess he walked right into this one. He leaned back against the bed. The mattress dug into his shoulder blades as he did so, almost anchoring him. But his mind started to feel fuzzy and maybe that was why he felt more inclined to speak about it. “It’s kind of dumb.”

“Not as dumb as holding everything in. You need to learn how to not care.”

“It’s not as easy as you make it seem, Harley,” Ponyboy grumbled, narrowing his eyes. “If you have a bright idea on how to do that, let me know.”

“Just don’t give a fuck, man. People that make a big deal out of everything are sissies.”

Ponyboy gnawed his bottom lip. It still wasn’t that simple, but he wasn’t about to be labeled as a sissy. “It’s really embarrassing.”

When Harley didn’t say anything, Ponyboy quietly continued, “Well… Soda and I were planning on hanging out today but he didn’t show up. Said he had another shift at the DX Station.”

“But he was at the parade.” As soon as Harley said that, the realization hit. His eyebrows rose. “Oh. That’s fucked up.”

“Like I said, it’s embarrassing.” But after he explained the synopsis, he didn’t actually feel that way. There was a warmth in his chest that started small before it spread across his entire body, trickling through his veins like he had been injected with something. It was a calming warmth that seemingly wrapped his body in a comfy blanket and shook his problems off his shoulders—a lulling hearth that made his eyelids heavy. He found himself stripping his hoodie off and throwing it somewhere in the room; probably lost in Harley’s dirty laundry. Oh well. He pressed further into the side of the bed and bent his neck backward to rest his head on the mattress and stare at the ceiling. He let out a drawn-out sigh. “I couldn’t help but think that something was wrong with me.”

Past tense. Right now, he found himself not caring that much. It was getting harder to think clearly, making his words slur.

“Nothing is wrong with you. It’s your brother. He’s like… He’s like… Shit…” Harley cursed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You alright?” Ponyboy asked, not tearing his eyes away from the ceiling.

“Yeah. It’s hitting.” Harley cleared his throat and composed himself. “Who’s in your group?”

“There’s Darry and Soda, my two brothers. Steve is Soda’s best friend. There’s also Dally, Johnny, and Two-Bit.” He didn’t expect the other to know any of them.

Harley looked at him with furrowed brows. “You have someone named Two-Bit?”

“A nickname. His real name is Keith.”

“And he and the rest of them treat you like shit?”

Ponyboy shrugged. “Some more than others.”

“So basically, Two-Bit is Two-Faced?”

“No! I mean, they’re not all bad…” He should be more defensive of them. But just saying that sentence brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

Harley didn’t have as much patience as him. He crossed his arms. “I don’t know why you’re defending them. Why the fuck are you tolerating their bullshit? It doesn’t seem like they care about you because, if they did, they wouldn’t treat you like a whiny bitch’s turd.”

Ponyboy grimaced. “Can you not say it like that?”

“Not the point,” Harley stated. “Why do you defend people that go behind your back like that?”

He wished he had a good answer to that. He didn’t know why he did it. Time and time again, he was hurt by them. And time and time again, he found himself following right behind them like a loyal dog. If there was any answer, it was because… “They’re family.”

“A family that wouldn’t defend you if someone insults you.”

That caused Ponyboy to flinch. He knew they wouldn’t defend him in that scenario. He knew that they would take the chance to join in on the insults. He should despise them, and maybe he did in some way. But they were family and he was starting to detest that. Ponyboy hated that he was conditioned to march to the beat of their drums—a little soldier boy in their platoon. He found himself curling his hands into fists. The drugs were making it hard to think straight; made it difficult to feel anything. The comforting warmth was dragging him down. Yet, he had enough clarity to snap, “I fucking know, alright?  They’ve been treating me like shit and I know that I shouldn’t give them the time that I do, but I can’t help but feel trapped. They’ve been making me so damn miserable yet I’m too pathetic to do anything about it. Trust me, I want to be free, but it’s not that easy. No matter how hard I try to separate myself from them, it feels like there’s this stupid leash around my neck. I… Fuck!”

He slammed his fists against the table and clamped his mouth shut as his words left him. His brain was so cloudy now that thinking felt like he was walking through wet cement. The rant caused him to breathe hard, but his eyes shifted to Harley. He expected him to be mad at snapping, but his friend just quirked his eyebrow and said, “Wow. Got enough money to put into the Swear Jar?”

Ponyboy rolled his eyes and lightly kicked Harley under the table. “Like you’re the one to talk.”

He ran his hands through his hair and continued, “I can’t believe Soda did that to me though. I don’t know what went wrong between us. We used to be so close.”

“Brothers are shitty.”

“Yeah… Yeah, they really are.” He ignored how wrong that felt but there was no need to worry about that for now. He only had to feel the euphoria of the drugs.

“But I like this part of you,” Harley continued. “Unrestrained. Don’t hold back anymore. Do what you want to do.”

“Right now,” Ponyboy spoke, “all I want to do is forget.”

It took a full minute for Harley to speak up again, continuing where they left off. “And to say fuck them?”

It was meant as a joke, but Ponyboy went along with it. “Yeah, fuck them!”

Harley threw his head back and laughed, causing Ponyboy to chuckle at the ridiculousness of everything.

Ponyboy did end up forgetting about a lot of things the night—why he was angry at Soda and the gang, why he cared about what they thought, and even the time he had to return back home. He lost count of how many lines they snorted and only stopped when Harley got a bloody nose.

His entire body was both buzzing and numb when he left. He should have asked to stay at Harley’s place and called home to tell someone where he was at. He was hoping the walk would clear his mind, but the high hadn’t dissipated by the time he stepped onto the property. Whenever he hung out with Harley, time always passed weirdly. Dawn turned into dusk, and dusk turned into twilight. Nobody was out and about anymore. The roads were empty and lights were turned off in most homes. It was eerily silent, yet the howling wind filled the void left behind.

When he got home, all he wanted to do was crash on his bed, revel in the remainder of his high, and fall asleep. But that plan was foiled when the gang turned to him upon his arrival. Sometimes, he hated that they hung around his house so often. It made it inconvenient to sneak around. That and the squeaky door that Darry had yet to fix—his mortal enemy.

It screeched when he entered the house, bringing all attention to him. Soda and Steve weren’t there, he noted. They were probably still hanging out with friends. Darry, of course, was the first to speak.

“Where have you been?” he barked, shooting out of his chair, eyes burning hot. What a familiar conversation he found himself in. Ponyboy knew what he was going to ask next.

“Do you know what time it is?” he mimicked at the same time that Darry said it. The look that Darry gave him was quite amusing.

Ponyboy’s eyes flickered to the clock. It was well past midnight. He hadn’t realized that much time had passed. He never had the time to answer Darry’s question before his brother rushed towards him. For a moment, he thought he was going to get hit, but his brother stopped in front of him and stared. The rest of the gang did too, though they stayed where they were. Confusion quickly turned to worry. He wondered why they were looking at him like that and shifted his weight.

“What happened to you?” Darry then asked, which Ponyboy wasn’t expecting.

“Huh?” Ponyboy said, as a result, blinking heavily. What did he mean by that?

“Why is your lip busted?” Dally elaborated.

“My lip?” He touched it, feeling a slight sting. Oh. He forgot about today’s altercation. Add that to the list of things he had forgotten.

“And his cheekbone too,” Two-Bit added, pointing at his face. “Look!”

Ponyboy went to cover it, but Darry pulled his hand away so that all of them could see. A bruise had started to form there. Although currently light, it was probably going to look nasty come morning.

“What happened?” Darry demanded then looked at his arms and added. “And why were you walking around without a coat on? You’re freezing. Jesus!”

When he looked down, Ponyboy noticed he wasn’t wearing his hoodie and got confused. He could have sworn he had it on earlier. He certainly had it on when he was walking by the parade. Then a fuzzy memory of him taking it off at Harley’s house popped up. Ah. Another thing to add to the list.

Huh.

It was almost funny that he hadn’t noticed it missing. The whole walk home, he hadn’t felt cold whatsoever. But judging by how his body looked, he knew that it was still hit with the effects of the bad weather. Both his arms and hands were so flushed that they were borderline red, and his fingertips looked like they were starting to turn white. He could hardly feel them when he wiggled them. His toes were the same. He could only imagine what they looked like under his soaked shoes.

He marveled at how he managed to walk outside for so long without a coat on. Why weren’t drugs used more to help tolerate the cold? It was a bad thought. He knew better than to think that way because it was stupid. But that thought led him to wonder what he took for him to feel nothing. He had snorted several different pills. Harley never told him what they were, but some didn’t do anything. Or at least, he thought they didn’t. It was hard to tell since he never waited for a pill to take effect before moving on to the next. And by that point, he didn’t know what was doing what. But at least he was alive and felt good.

“I feel fine,” Ponyboy reassured, nose plugged. “It wasn’t that cold outside.”

Darry deadpanned, “It’s below freezing.”

“Well.” He threw his arms up.

“How are you not cold? Your fingers look like they’re about to fall off.”

Ponyboy had no logical answer for him without telling the truth. He continued to wiggle his fingers when Darry grabbed his shoulders and shook him to get him to focus more on their conversation. The grip was strong and it should have been painful, but, still, he felt nothing.

“Get your head out of the clouds,” Darry scolded. “I’m talking to you.”

“Can’t we have this conversation later?” Ponyboy asked seriously.

This only seemed to frustrate Darry more. Veins popped on his forehead. “Not before we discuss all of this! And don’t give me that attitude.”

“What attitude, Darry?” Ponyboy exhaled loudly. “I just want to sleep.”

“You’re making it worse,” Two-Bit voiced, trying to shush him.

“No, Darry’s making it worse by escalating things. It’s seriously nothing.”

“Nothing?” Darry croaked. Ponyboy ignored Two-Bit’s quiet comment about how he had done it now. “Ponyboy, do you know how irresponsible you are? I don’t know where to begin with you! Putting the coat—which you should have been wearing—aside, what were you doing out this late? Do you know how worried Soda was when he found out you didn’t come home?”

Good. Let him worry.

“Where is he by the way?” Ponyboy asked, looking around.

“Out with his friends right now,” Darry answered. “Told him to stay put for now. I was just about to call him again.”

Ponyboy almost rolled his eyes. Guess he wasn’t worried enough then. If Soda cared about him, he would have instantly searched for him. “I see.”

“So, what were you doing out? You better have a good explanation, Ponyboy Michael Curtis!” Darry growled. If he meant to intimidate him by using his full name, it didn’t work. If he wasn’t high, he probably would have been in hysterics by now.

He was about to answer some lowball excuse when Johnny asked, “Were you jumped?”

That caused everyone (besides Pony) to tense. They examined his appearance more, taking in the damage done to his body. Luckily, he didn’t walk in with a bullet wound because that almost happened. Honestly, he thought he looked pretty good considering what happened to him.

“Yeah, what happened to you, Pony?” Two-Bit asked and Ponyboy just shrugged in reply, causing some eyebrows to be raised at his nonchalance.

“I guess I just fell?” Ponyboy said. There was that lowball excuse. He could have done better, but he couldn’t tell them that he started a fight with drug dealers. They were worried about him being jumped when it was technically the other way around.

“Into what? A fist?” Dally scoffed. “Who did this to you?”

Again, Ponyboy shrugged. He still didn’t know their names. “Not sure who. Some guys I haven’t seen before. One was tall. The other was short.”

Darry seemed to put aside the part about him missing curfew, but his stoic demeanor hadn’t changed.

“Were you carrying anything?” he asked.

“I mean,” Ponyboy started. “I burned one of their necks with a cigarette?”

“A blade, Ponyboy. Were you carrying one?”

“Oh.” Guess he was more mad at him for not taking more precautions to defend himself. There was no pleasing him. “No.”

Darry pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “We talked about this before! What would happen if you were killed because you weren’t carrying a blade?”

“Well, at least I wouldn’t be shot down by a cop?”

The gang fell silent as they stared at him.

“Pony…” Two-Bit sighed defeatedly. What? It was an honest statement. Excuse him for thinking about the situation optimistically.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked, finally deciding to ask the question that they should have asked from the beginning.

Dally beat him to the answer, “Of course, not. Look at him, Johnny.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t sound right either. Like he’s in shock,” Two-Bit added.

“I’m fine,” Ponyboy flatly reassured.

“Are you sure? Because you don’t sound like yourself,” Johnny commented.

“Yeah, I just want to sleep it off. So, I think I might do that.”

He started to leave when Darry held up a hand to stop him, “Hold on. We still have to talk about this.”

Ponyboy shook his head. “Another time, Darry.”

“Just let him go. He was just jumped. Let him sort things out,” Two-Bit said as Ponyboy pushed past his brother to go to the bathroom for a needed shower. “He knows.”

“No, I don’t think he does,” Darry argued but didn’t make another attempt to stop him.

"He doesn’t look right,” Johnny brought up again. Ponyboy closed the door behind him, cutting out whatever conversation they were having about him. He let out a sigh and turned on the water, stepping into another warmth that nearly put him to sleep.

The next morning, Ponyboy woke up feeling terrible. His hair was messy, bags were under his eyes, and his nose was dry. His skin was sickly and he wondered briefly if this was what death felt like. But no. He was just exhausted and a bit irritable.

With a groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. If only he didn’t have to go to school. He might have been able to convince Darry to let him stay home. When he left his room, he could hear voices in the living room. Soda and Steve were back and, instantly, Ponyboy’s already sour mood deepened. They were laughing and they weren’t caring about their noise levels. They were bright, but Ponyboy saw red.

Chapter Text

The moment Soda saw him, a smile graced his lips. His grin was too bright for the early mornings, enough to cause a headache. Ponyboy found himself grimacing. To others, the smile would have been infectious, bringing ease to anyone who received it. But, to him, it brought the opposite. Ponyboy saw through the lies. He saw how the fakeness mocked him because there was no way that Soda was happy that he was there. This realization only spurred him on. While Soda’s vision was clear and sparkling, Ponyboy’s was cloudy and red.

“Mornin’, Pony,” Soda greeted him so innocently as if yesterday never happened. As if he hadn’t stabbed him in the back and embarrassed him in front of people. That remorse Soda voiced over the phone was never real. He never felt bad for ditching him or lying to him. Despite how genuine he appeared, he was a phony deep down.

Soda doesn’t like you, the voice taunted in his head. He doesn’t want to waste time with you. You’re just a tagalong to him.

“You look like shit, kid,” Steve teased. “You should fix that.”

Ponyboy scoffed. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. He had a rotten day yesterday and felt terrible today. His patience was thinner than paper and Steve was truly testing him.

“Considering how often you stare at that ugly mug of yours, I thought you would have fixed yourself by now,” he snapped back without a missed beat.

“Pony!” Soda hissed, horrified. He waved his hands in shock and distress. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Ponyboy crossed his arms defiantly and raised an eyebrow. “He threw the first punch. I was returning it.”

His brother frowned. “You shouldn’t say that about anyone.”

“But he’s allowed to say that about me?” Typical. Soda was taking Steve’s side even though he was clearly in the wrong.

“It’s different,” he tried to explain, and Ponyboy almost laughed. What a lame and unfair justification.

“How is it different?” He pointed at Steve angrily. “What makes him so different that you think giving me the cold shoulder is okay?”

“I’m not doing that. Why would you think that?”

“You had no problem doing it yesterday.”

“What?” Soda sputtered, eyes widening. “What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, kid, you shouldn’t go around accusing Soda like that,” Steve said with a sharp glare. It was a warning that told him to back off but Ponyboy couldn’t care less at the moment. He was seething—a red, hot anger that bubbled under his skin. If this was a trial, then he was the plaintiff and they were the defendants, and he was not going to lose this hearing. They were guilty of all charges and Ponyboy had his evidence in front of him.

“You left me there,” Ponyboy growled, clenching his hands into fists. He bit down viciously on the insides of his cheeks, tasting iron on his tongue. “I was waiting in that restaurant for so long before you called. Which, by the way, wouldn’t be so bad if you told me you couldn’t make it the moment you knew. Or you could have at least told me right from the get-go that you didn’t want to hang out. Would have saved me a lot of pain.”

Ponyboy’s lips pursed as he continued, “What happened? Are you embarrassed by me? Is that it? Do I annoy you?”

“No!” Soda quickly denied. His eyes were even wider now. “I was caught up at work. I told you this.”

What a dirty liar. To think that he was still fibbing to him. His eyes narrowed as his nails started to dig out blood from his palms. “Then why the fuck did I see you at the parade with friends?”

Immediately, Soda’s skin turned white as snow. The look on his face was clear. He knew he had been caught red-handed. “It’s not what you think.”

“What else am I supposed to think, Soda?”

“You said you were okay with it.”

“For a work issue. Not a lie-to-your-brother-to-hang-out-with-other-people scenario. Are you that dumb?”

“I… I…” Soda blubbered as tears sprouted from his glassy eyes. Ponyboy’s words were crushing. He must have truly been mad because it never got this bad. And the fact that he was targeting Soda’s insecurity was further proof of this. The Ponyboy of the past would have never called him dumb, even when he was emotionally charged, because he knew better. Where was the brother that used to comfort him whenever Soda spoke bad about himself? Where did he go wrong? A sob left his throat.

“Say that again,” Steve snapped. “Say that again and I’ll beat the tar out of you.”

“This isn’t about you, Steve, so stay out of it,” Ponyboy spat. He turned back to Soda who was hunching his shoulders. Finally, his brother was able to find his words.

“They asked me to come after—”

“No,” Ponyboy interrupted. “You keep trying to make up an excuse, but there are other things you can say to me. You’re a terrible brother, you know that?”

Soda flinched and Steve stepped between them and stood over Pony. It was meant to be intimidating, but Ponyboy just had an ex-con point a barrel at his forehead and force him into a drug ring. Steve had nothing on that. He stepped forward to challenge him, but that only ticked him off more.

“That’s it!” Steve yelled, but before he could try anything, Darry separated them.

“Whoa!” Darry stepped in. He kept his hands on their chests to keep them apart. The gang was standing around them, a detail that Ponyboy had missed because of his anger. Since they were out looking for him yesterday, they decided to spend the night. Now they were watching them in astonishment. Even Dally was shocked at his outburst. “What’s going on here?”

“Are Soda and Ponyboy actually fighting?” Two-Bit asked no one in particular, looking gobsmacked between the two brothers. “They never fight.”

“The kid just started yelling at Soda,” Steve explained as if they all hadn’t already been there. “Soda didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He did too!” Ponyboy screamed, bending his body so that Darry wasn’t blocking his view of Soda. “What you did was fucked up, Soda! You made me feel like shit, you know that?”

“Ponyboy!” Darry chastised, removing his hands to now fully turn to him. “That’s your brother, you’re talking to. Respect him and watch your tongue!”

“I’m not going to respect anyone that doesn’t respect me back.” This only made the others talk.

“You’re not like yourself,” Two-Bit said.

“But that’s Soda,” Johnny commented.

“You need to cool it,” Dally warned.

With each sentence said, Ponyboy could feel himself get more irritated. Their voices were piercing to his ears; almost annoyingly so. He ground his teeth as they continued to speak words that were supposed to help him see reason. To Ponyboy, they sounded like they were trying to micromanage his feelings. The metaphorical bottle in him was filling up fast, threatening to explode. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Shut up!” Ponyboy screamed. “Shut the fuck up!”

Everyone grew tense, their words coming to a halt. They have never seen Ponyboy this riled up. Sure, he had gotten into arguments with Darry, but never with Soda, and never with dry rage like this. He might get mouthy from time to time, but he had never snapped like this before.

“You shouldn’t speak like that,” Soda cried, face red. “That’s not nice.”

“And you’re not nice,” Ponyboy retorted. “So why don’t you shut up, go back to work, actually do your job for once, and read a book on family etiquette?”

The back of his head was whacked hard, making him bite his tongue. The gang was glowering at him, save Johnny who was trembling. From their perspectives, what Ponyboy said looked bad. To them, there was no basis for his insult. It was wrong. They should have been glaring at Soda, not him.

“Don’t say that,” Two-Bit snapped after he had hit him. “Watch your mouth if you know what’s good for you.”

“You’re letting him off too easy,” Steve snarled. “I told you, kid, you say something like that again, and I’ll beat the tar out of you.”

“Why don’t you, then?” Ponyboy dared, eyes narrowed. His tone had no ounce of fear. There was no doubt in it either, which threw Steve off. It was like he was actually requesting a beatdown.

“What?”

“Hit me. Beat me up. You keep threatening it, but aren’t following through.”

He deserved the pain. He deserved to be beaten until he was bruised and bloodied. He deserved to be dead. This was his punishment, but even being hit wasn’t good enough.

“Golly, Ponyboy,” Johnny started, voice small. He was still shaking like a leaf and his eyes were larger than plates. Part of Pony felt bad that he triggered this reaction out of him. He often came to their house to avoid arguments because his parents were abusive shitbags that fought all the time. It was just another reason why he failed the gang. “You didn’t have to go that far.”

Did they not listen to the entire argument? He had listed Soda’s offenses loud and clear, and none seemed to bat an eye. They were all against him. Not one on his side. And perhaps he did overreact and took it too far. It still hurt. Ponyboy was never right—always wrong in the others’ eyes. It wasn’t fair.

“Glory, what has gotten into you lately?” Two-Bit asked and Ponyboy had nothing to say to him. It wasn’t required. He didn’t need an explanation for why he was angry.

There was so much going on with him on the inside. It was more than Soda’s betrayal. Ever since he woke up, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and maybe that was why he blew up on him to the extent that he did. Something was missing. Everything seemed to tick him off—the gang, the lack of substances inside him, and even the precarious fruit fly that was buzzing by his head.

He took a better look at Soda and his teary cheeks. He caused that and it was supposed to make him feel good. Finally, his brother felt a portion of the pain he suffered through. Instead, Ponyboy felt nothing if not a little guilty. There was ice covering his heart, making everything feel numb. So where was this guilt coming from?

Oh, who was he kidding? Ponyboy had enough common sense to know that he was the problem. He knew that he took it too far because Soda wouldn’t be crying otherwise, and the gang wouldn’t be glaring at him like he was scum.

It’s always your fault.

You made him cry.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

YOUR FAULT.

“Your attitude is unacceptable!” Darry screamed, voice breaking Ponyboy out of his thoughts. “Apologize now.”

“What?” Ponyboy sputtered, backing away. Why couldn’t he apologize to him? “Why do I have to?”

“Are you kidding?” Steve scoffed.

“Just apologize, man,” Dally urged.

But Ponyboy didn’t want to. Soda was the one who hurt him. His throat clenched, “No.”

“No?” Darry questioned, veins popping on his forehead.

“No. Why can’t he apologize to me?”

“Do you need your eyes checked? You made Soda cry. You’re the one who hurt him.”

Ponyboy huffed. “Do you need your eyes checked? He hurt me! Why can’t you see that? I’m the one that’s in pain.”

He thought that should have given him some sympathy, but all he got was, “You’re only saying that for attention.”

Instantly, whatever flooring he had beneath him shattered. How could that be? These past few days, all he did was try to disappear.

It wasn’t good enough. Nothing he ever did was. He bit hard on his inner cheeks as pressure started to form behind his eyes. Why did everyone love Soda and not him? Why did he receive no appreciation or support no matter what he did? He didn’t even get the same smiles as the others. If the roles were reversed and Soda was the one that went off on him, he would still get the gang’s support. Pony wasn’t important to them.

“I’m not,” Ponyboy stuttered, willing himself not to cry. They would accuse him of only doing it for attention again. “I just want—”

“You don’t get to want anything. Not after this,” Darry interrupted, crossing his arms. He waited, tapping his foot against the floor. There was no way he was going to get out of this without apologizing. This was so stupid.

Ponyboy glared at his feet, biting the bullet. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry for what?”

This was so embarrassing. “I’m sorry for everything that I said. I shouldn’t have insulted you.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Darry said. He took a quick glance at Soda. “You need to understand that Soda needs his space.”

“This is bullshit.” Ponyboy clicked his tongue. After everything, this was the result. How absolutely ridiculous.

Darry glowered. “Watch your mouth—”

“Screw all of you,” Ponyboy hissed, cutting his brother off. He needed to get out of here. Clearly, they weren’t going to listen to him. He shouldn’t waste unnecessary breath on them. He turned to Steve. “Guess this is more about you than I thought.”

Before Steve or anyone else could yell and pull him back, Ponyboy turned on his heels, flipped them all off, and marched to his bedroom. He slammed the door so hard that the door’s framing became loose. This was going to kick him in the back later. Darry was probably going to come marching in there at any minute to lecture him, but he had to get out of there.

You made him cry.

What a horrible brother you are.

The gang hates you.

Did you see the looks they gave you?

They never liked you.

They made that clear.

Soda wasn’t sorry about what he did.

Ponyboy finally let the dam break, falling to his knees. Tears cascaded down his cheeks and salt water mixed with the iron of the blood in his mouth—a terrible combination. He cursed himself for crying; for being so weak. He also damned himself for being the problem. No matter what he did, he just messed things up. If he voiced his thoughts, he was pummeled down. If he did something, he was accused of garnering attention. If he existed, it was too much for everyone. His entire being was a stain. The gang hated him. They wished that he wasn’t around.

He could give them what they wanted.

He shook the thought away as ice crept further across his chest. Numbness spread like wildfire and should have canceled everything he felt. But while he was numb, he felt pain. He was being ripped apart but had no way to stop it from happening. He closed his eyes and his breath shuttered.

He meant nothing to them. He was just some nuisance.

Why was he even still alive?

Damn it! He clenched his jaw and slammed his fists into his thighs. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he wanted it to. So, he slammed his fists again and again, tears blurring his vision. He deserved this. He deserved pain. He deserved to be punished. A sob left his mouth as he hit himself one final time.

It wasn’t fair. Why was it he who had to suffer? Why did the world hate him? He didn’t do anything. He needed to be better but he couldn’t. All attempts have failed. It was hopeless. He was hopeless.

He took a deep breath and felt hollow in his chest. Empty yet suffering. He hated it.

He didn’t want to feel like this.

He wanted everything to stop.

It hurt.

His heart was being shredded apart.

Pain.

So much pain.

Why couldn’t it stop?

It was overwhelming him.

Drowning him.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

A sharp pain in his arm broke him out of his thoughts. Glancing down, he noticed that he had started to dig his nails into his forearm. A deep crescent was left behind when he pulled away. He thought back to when he saw Harley’s mutilated arm. They were obviously self-inflicted. At the time, he wasn’t sure why he, or anyone else, would do that to themselves, but he was starting to understand it more.

Ponyboy pressed his lips into a thin line, craving not to feel this way anymore. He walked over to his desk and shuffled through his drawers. The first item he pulled out was scissors, but, after several minutes, he learned that they weren’t the best choice for cutting. They simply weren’t sharp enough. At most, they were only able to scratch his skin. He dropped it in the drawer and let out a frustrated noise.

Then he remembered he had a switchblade. It was meant to defend him from others, but, tonight, it was going to protect him from himself.

When he flicked the blade out, he froze. Briefly, he doubted himself. Fear held him back. He didn’t have to do this to himself because he could have eaten a pot brownie instead. But he could hear the gang talk about him, and that was enough to push him over.

He only did one cut. It ran across his wrist, light and jagged. Red beads that resembled garnets poked out before they fell down his forearm, following his labyrinthine veins. Ponyboy hissed at the stinging sensation and nearly dropped the blade. The new wound throbbed, but it was strangely nice. It grounded him and pulled him away from the damage the gang caused. Emotional pain was so much more painful than physical, he realized. Cutting made things quiet but also served as a punishment. But, most of all, it made him feel like he was in control for once.

But his blade wasn’t a magic wand. He couldn’t flick it and make his problems disappear. But he can sure try.

Chapter Text

Nothing prepared the gang for the storm that was Ponyboy Curtis. He came in explosive and left a wreck behind. Nobody spoke for a long minute and it was silent, but their thoughts were loud, making it seem like there was irate chatter in the house. They were fuming as they tried to pick themselves back up. Darry paced back and forth with heavy footsteps and they all wished he would stop because they were aggravated enough and the pacing wasn’t helping.

“What was up with Ponyboy?” Dally was the first to speak up. He was leaning to the side, still staring down the hallway Ponyboy disappeared down.

“I’ve never seen him act like that,” Two-Bit said. They all chirped their agreements.

“Yeah, the kid acted like he had a stick up his rear end,” Steve added.

“Soda,” Darry started, finally halting his movements. “What really happened? Why was he so mad at you?”

Soda's shoulders were still shaking but he looked like he was starting to wind down. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he began his side of the story. The gang listened intently. As he went on, the atmosphere grew tenser.

“I didn’t mean for it to go the way it did,” Soda blubbered, twiddling his thumbs. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Well, congrats, man, you did,” Dally sarcastically stated. He whistled. “No wonder he was angry. You played hooky on him.”

“I know… I messed up.” Soda looked down, unable to look at any of them. He couldn’t get the look that Ponyboy gave him out of his head. “I should have said sorry.”

Why didn’t he?

“Maybe I should go and do that now,” Soda continued as if the word would erase his wrongdoing. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

“He’ll get over it,” Darry said but none of them thought so. “Just leave him be.”

“I don’t know if he should be alone right now,” Johnny said. There was a bad feeling in his gut. He clutched the shirt over his chest. He wanted to go himself because he knew Ponyboy felt comfortable around him. Or at least he did. His friend has been distant lately but they were still close. He was about to go, but Darry shook his head.

“I’ll talk to him later,” he sighed. “He’s going to need a good talking to after what he said. How he acted was unacceptable.”

“He was angry though.” And hurt.

“Would any of you act like that if you were put in his shoes?” The gang fell silent. In truth, yes, they probably would react similarly. They would be so incredibly angry, but none of them wanted to admit that. Who would? In their heads, they could only picture themselves handling it well. They weren’t emotionally charged and weren’t put on the spot like Ponyboy was. Thus, they couldn’t provide an accurate answer. Their backs were tense as they shook their heads. Darry tutted. “Thought so. He needs to learn that he can’t get away with saying stuff like that.”

Ponyboy went too far, but, in Johnny’s opinion, it wasn’t necessary to punish him. A good, civilized conversation would have sufficed. A punishment would likely backfire, but Johnny trusted Darry’s judgment. He would leave Ponyboy alone for now despite the unsettling feeling in his gut. But there was another topic that made him feel uneasy.

“Steve?” Johnny tentatively started. Steve turned to him and so did the rest of the gang. “Why did Ponyboy say that last part to you?”

“Yeah, why did he say that?” Two-Bit joined in, raising his eyebrow.

“How should I know?” Steve snapped back, sweat falling down his spine.

“I swear, this all started when he made that friend,” Darry said. “Who are they anyway?”

None of them could tell him. They all exchanged looks. Darry hummed when he received no answer and continued, “None of you know?”

“We haven’t seen him around anyone,” Soda admitted sheepishly. Why didn’t they know?

“I’m not even convinced this person is real,” Steve added. The gang couldn’t disagree with him. So far, Pony’s friend was shrouded in mystery and because they haven’t been seen yet, it was easier to believe they were a fragment of his imagination. Steve hoped that was true and couldn’t wait to catch him in his lie. He could just picture Ponyboy’s embarrassed face and that thought sent a shock of joy through him.

“I think it’s good that he found a new friend.”

“Can’t disagree with you there,” Darry said. “But his actions, on the other hand…”

“It’s probably nothing, Dar.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Surprisingly, Ponyboy was only grounded for one week. He wasn’t sure why it was that short. He was expecting it to be at least two, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Darry had come in and lectured him, but if someone asked Ponyboy to repeat what was said, he wouldn’t be able to. His head was too messed up; too busy to retain anything. Admittingly, he was worried about being caught after cutting himself.

His arm was hidden behind his back for the entire lecture. The cut had been sloppily cleaned with whatever was lying around—dirty laundry and old napkins that were from the bottom of his backpack. He had taken a few pills to help him deal with it all. Although, he wished he had some painkillers instead of Valium. By the time Darry came in, the cut had stopped bleeding and his head was fuzzy with exhaustion. All he could do was watch Darry’s rapid lip movements as he ranted about his bad behavior. His voice sounded like several filters had been placed over it.

After that, Soda tried to talk to him, but Ponyboy couldn’t help but feel angry when he saw his brother. His attempt was shut down quickly. He was almost glad about school on Monday because it was easier to avoid everyone there.

Ponyboy found himself back on the roof before the starting bell. The wind was harsher than usual that morning, causing his teeth to chatter. By the time Harley arrived, Pony’s face was flushed and his toes were numb. They greeted each other and prepared for the inevitable day of selling drugs.

While Harley was sorting everything out, Ponyboy passed the leftover brownies that were starting to go stale. Instead of taking them all, half was handed back, along with more pills and baggies of weed. They were all shoved in his backpack, making him feel like a criminal.

Maybe because it’s illegal? the voice in his head pointed out. That would do it.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to get the measurements and the pricing right, but Harley reassured him that everything was labeled, but he should try to aim higher than the projected cost. He just wished that he didn’t have to carry this around for the whole week. It only took one mistake for it to be over for him.

“Too bad we can’t make it more inconspicuous,” he sighed. “I would rather be dealing candy.”

Harley froze and stared at him with wide eyes. “You’re just brimming with ideas, aren’t you?”

Ponyboy looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“First, the meth, and now this? Why don’t we make this into candy?”

He wished he carried duct tape because, apparently, he needed it. He didn’t mean to give Harley another idea, honest.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not making meth for you,” he reestablished, raising a finger. “And second of all, we can’t turn pills into candy. It’ll be too obvious.”

“Depends.” Harley licked his lips almost excitedly. He wore a smirk. “If we do it right, it could be big. Think about it. We can make them into fun forms.”

With a sigh, Ponyboy decided to play along for a bit. “Like edibles?”

“Yes and no. If we can get wrappers…” Harley muttered the last part, putting a hand on his chin. There was a gleam in his eyes that screamed trouble. He stood back up and shouldered his bag. “I have a great idea. Go about your day here, sell as much as you can, and then we can get everything we need after.”

As much as he would rather be carrying around “candy,” there was one big problem. “Can’t. I got grounded.”

“Grounded? That’s dumb. What for?”

Ponyboy raised an accusing eyebrow. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“Oh, right.”

The bell rang and Ponyboy lifted his backpack, frowning at the weight. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Selling drugs with someone was a lot smoother than alone, Ponyboy found out pretty quickly. For the entire time he was in class, he was on edge. He couldn’t concentrate on a single thing, knowing that he could be discovered. He kept trying to figure out how he was supposed to do it. Harley had it lucky because he was already established and had regulars. Ponyboy was fresh to the game and had to hide the fact that he was selling drugs from people that he knew. How would he even approach anyone without sounding like a Class A Creep?

Hey, wanna buy some drugs?

He would be arrested immediately.

As time went on, he got more anxious. Cold sweat fell down his spine which caused him to squirm, and his wrist itched. All eyes were on him—staring, judging, knowing. They were picking him apart, seeing right through him. They knew. They were going to tell the teacher or some other authority about the contents of his bag. Their hands were grabbing onto his ankles and plunging him into deep water. This was it for him.

Only it wasn’t. He took a shaky breath, pressing his fingers into his cut and letting the sting ground him. There were no eyes on him nor were their hands that were dragging him down. The only thing that he was drowning from was his imagination. Nobody knew anything and they weren’t going to if he stayed vigilant. It was going to be okay.

The classes felt like they lasted for an eternity, but it eventually became time for lunch. Ponyboy needed to sell something, but he couldn’t do it out in the open. He wondered which niche would have the best consumers. Jocks and cheerleaders, maybe. Theater kids were a possibility. Honors students too. He could play it safe and go to people who were obviously stoners, but they already had their connections. They were his best shot though.

The straps of his backpack dug into his shoulders as he weaved through student traffic. He was planning on heading to a spot he knew stoners liked to hang out at, but that was when he saw a guy whose face was scrunched in displeasure. His eyes were red and teary as he stormed out the doors of the school.

Usually, Ponyboy liked to keep to himself as best as he could, but a horrible idea formed. His stomach twisted as he walked forward with a new plan.

He was sitting on a bench by the time Ponyboy got outside. He approached slowly, listening to him chant, “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

He pulled at his hair, not noticing Ponyboy’s presence just yet. From up close, he could see some bald spots on his head, most likely caused by this habit. He touched the guy’s shoulder, but it was instantly ripped away.

“What’s wrong?” Ponyboy tried to ask but his concern sounded fake to his own ears.

The guy glared at him, “Why do you care? Get lost!”

Ponyboy was flabbergasted. What the hell did he do? He held up his hands in surrender and forced a smile onto his face. “Just worried, is all.”

When he realized that he meant no harm, he relaxed a bit. The guy relented, “What do you want?”

Ponyboy chewed on the insides of his cheeks, trying to figure out how to get from this conversation to one about drugs. This was out of his element. He was no dealer and manipulation wasn’t in his bones. “Just wanted to check on you. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He thought for a moment, staring Ponyboy down. Ponyboy, meanwhile, tried his best to look as innocent as possible. “You know what? Sure. Why the hell not? I just blew it. I messed up on a test and my parents are going to beat the shit out of me. It’s not even a bad score but to them…”

“What did you get?”

“An eighty.”

“Percent?”

He nodded. He was right. It wasn’t a bad score, but sometimes expectations made people forget that. Ponyboy knew that firsthand with Darry. His brother had unrealistic expectations for him. He expected him to match it, and it drove him up the wall. What Darry wanted was a perfect being—good grades, well-mannered, social, in many extracurricular activities, and talented. He wanted a brother who did no wrong, didn’t complain, didn’t voice his own opinion, and was always attentive. It didn’t sound human. Because it wasn’t. It would make him no different than a doll.

“That’s not a bad grade,” Ponyboy comforted.

“I know, right? But they don’t see it that way. They’re going to be so disappointed that they raised a failure.”

“You’re not a failure.”

“Tell that to my parents when they compare me to my perfect siblings and cousins.”

Ponyboy couldn’t relate the same way as him. He didn’t have a big enough family to be compared to. That didn’t make him totally exempt though. Darry often asked him why he wasn’t like him. He had good grades, had many friends, was on the football team, and was on the road to playing for a college. He made people proud. And although Ponyboy had good grades (or used to) and was a good runner on the track team, it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t remember the last time someone was proud of him and didn’t know when his accomplishments turned into an expectation. He was expected to get good grades. He was expected to run well. There was no room to be proud whenever he hit the bar, but there was room to be disappointed when he didn’t. It was always, “Why couldn’t you do this? I did it when I was your age.” Ponyboy was sick of hearing Darry say something like that.

And when he did meet the expectation, the bar would rise and make it a game of cat chasing mouse. It made it clear that he would never be good enough. So, Ponyboy knew this guy’s pain.

“That sucks,” Ponyboy said, this time more genuinely. “They need to know that being proud of someone and bragging about them is different. I’m sorry that you have to deal with that.”

The guy groaned and put his face in his hands. “I’m scared to tell them.”

“You don’t have to tell them anything.” Ponyboy pursed his lips and scratched his cheek. “You know your parents best so what you do is up to you. You can converse with them, be honest, and give them your solutions. I hear most parents like that. Or you can do something else. Whatever you feel is safest.”

He couldn’t give him a good solution. He wished he knew the answer himself. Their families were different and he didn’t know how they would react to anything. A conversation wouldn’t work for him because Darry never listened, but maybe this guy had a better shot. He truly wished he could give him advice, but there was no solid answer.

The guy listened but he still looked stressed. “I can’t stand this. I can’t stand this feeling.”

This was a good opportunity for him, but after all of that, the last thing Ponyboy wanted was to sell drugs to him. He couldn’t take advantage of him but he could still offer anyway. Ponyboy reached into his backpack and pulled one of the bags of weed out just enough for the two of them to see. “Want to buy this?”

“Weed?” The guy raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Only if you want to. Can help with the anxiety.”

For a long minute, the guy stared at it. His head tilted to the side, eyes becoming glassy. “I don’t know…”

“That’s fine. Just wanted to offer it.”

“I mean,” he swallowed thickly, glancing around. “How much is it?”

“Wait, really?” Ponyboy gaped. He wasn’t expecting any interest in it and was about to drop it into his bag. Quickly composing himself, he told him the price that Harley had listed. He didn’t have the heart to go any higher.

Still, his eyes grew wider. “That expensive?”

Ponyboy nodded. “It’s good quality.”

The guy took out his wallet and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “How much can this get me?”

“Half of this.”

“Let’s do that then.” The guy handed him the money and traded it with the weed after he split it, and not a moment too soon. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Johnny walk out of the school. He instantly spotted him and started to walk over.

Ponyboy shot up and roughly zipped his backpack up. “I gotta go. I hope things get better for you.”

“Thank you for everything, the guy said with a small smile. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Po—“ Ponyboy stopped himself. He shouldn’t tell him his real name just in case it got around that he sold drugs. “It’s Michael.”

His middle name would have to do for now until he comes up with a better one. He waved goodbye as he walked around the building while he pretended that Johnny wasn’t there. There was no way he could face him or anyone in the gang.

He continued with this mindset even when he got back home at the end of the day. He didn’t bother with dinner and tuned out Darry’s lecture about him wasting food. His eyes stayed glued to the ground, one hand over his cut wrist.

He didn’t interact with the gang much. He couldn’t bring himself to, not after the altercation yesterday. And not while the gang hated him. Ponyboy just told them that he had a test he had to study for and went to his room to smoke instead.

Nobody came to check on him and he pushed down the weird amount of disappointment he felt because of that. Time passed while Ponyboy waited for something to happen. He was just about to give up and go to bed when he heard a light rap on the window, causing him to jump. At first, he passed the sound off as the house settling or maybe a bird had flown into it multiple times. Then the sound came again but more insistent this time; louder. A flash of wariness went through him as he approached the window, peeking through the blinds. He could hardly see outside with his lights on so he ran back and shut them off before returning.

There outside was Harley. He was dressed in dark clothing that blended with the void outside. The only thing that stuck out was his shoes. Confused, Ponyboy opened the window with a perplexed expression.

“Harley? What are you doing here?” he asked with a low voice, trying not to alert the gang in the living room. There was another more important question though. “How do you know where I live?”

“Asked around,” Harley answered. “I came to break you out.”

“I’m grounded.”

“I know. That’s why I’m at your window. So, make like Rapunzel, and let’s go.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“Do I look like I know Brothers Grimm?”

“Well, you know about Brothers Grimm.”

Harley rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. Are you coming or what?”

Ponyboy looked at his door and bit his bottom lip. He could hear the gang chattering away and having fun without him. He could have fun too and they wouldn’t even know. He never snuck out before, but the thought of doing so was exhilarating. “Yeah, hold on.”

With a made-up mind, he slipped on a dark jacket, stuffed pillows under his blanket to make it look like he was sleeping, and quietly removed the screen that separated him and Harley. Ponyboy swung his legs over and dropped down. He shut the window and the two of them ran off, disappearing into the night.

Chapter Text

The streets were supposed to be quiet at night. And, for the most part, it was. Yet, as he ran, his footsteps stomped like drums and his shoes crunched the sleet on the road. There was no reason to be moving this fast, especially with the patches of black ice that made him skate but he sprinted anyway. Ponyboy’s side cramped and his breath felt heavy and labored. There was a syrup on his tongue that tasted suspiciously of iron. But even though his throat ran dry and his saliva became refreshing whenever he swallowed, he never slowed down. Not even when the snow squall caused his visibility to reduce and the water on the edges of his eyelashes to freeze. The gang left his mind, and there were no worries except for the exhilarating fear of being caught.

Harley led him several blocks away from his house until they were running parallel to the highway. There weren’t too many cars out, and those that were, drove slowly. Finally, they arrived at a billboard. MARK GALWAY: A REALTOR, A FRIEND THAT CARES was written in bold letters next to a blown-up face of, whom he guessed was, Mark Galway.

“How big-headed do you have to be to have an advertisement like this as a realtor?” Harley snorted.

Ponyboy chirped in agreement, “You would think he’s running for president or something with how he’s campaigning.”

“You would think.” Readjusting his backpack to sit more securely on him, Harley started to climb up the ladder. Ponyboy looked startled.

“We’re going up there?”

“Yeah, don’t be a pussy. Come on.”

Biting the insides of his cheeks, Ponyboy placed his hands on a rusty bar, cringing at how cold it was. He hurried up after Harley, not letting his hands remain on the metal for more than a second each. There was hot potato, but Ponyboy was playing cold potato at the moment. His fingers were quickly becoming numb and every instinct told him to let go, but as he hit the halfway point, he knew that wasn’t an option anymore.

He looked down. The ground was getting further away. It felt like he was playing a game of Chicken. He used to sometimes play it with Curly until Darry and Tim got on their cases when they burned their fingertips with a cigarette butt. Only this time, he was climbing a ladder. Billboards were pretty tall, he came to realize. It all made him dizzy, so he decided to stare at the bottom of one of Harley’s shoes instead. There was dried gum smeared on it, darkened by dirt. He continued onward.

The rungs creaked dangerously with each step, threatening to snap under his weight and encouraging him to pick up his pace.

When they finally got to the top, Ponyboy flopped himself onto the middle of the platform way too dramatically. It didn’t have railings, so any wrong step would end horribly. His fingers poked through the gaps in the floor, wiggling nervously. Harley sat heavily on the edge, swinging one leg over and folding the other to his chest. He dropped his backpack, letting whatever was in it clang loudly on impact.

It took a full minute for Ponyboy to gain enough bearings to move. He slid next to Harley, dropping both legs over. For a long moment, they watched the slow-driving cars below them. At some point, Harley rolled a joint and they started to pass it back and forth despite the dangers of getting high there. It warmed Ponyboy and made him kick his legs like a child. Minutes went by until he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“The view’s nice,” Ponyboy commented, smoke filtering through his teeth. “Pretty like the Grand Canyon.”

“I think the Grand Canyon is ugly,” Harley bluntly opinionized.

“Why? What did the Grand Canyon do to you?”

“I don’t like its colors. Why’s it so red? Dirt should be brown.”

“I think it has layers.”

“I also don’t like the layers,” Harley said matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” Ponyboy looked over. “Does that count as body shaming? Color shaming? Are you racist?”

“Can someone be racist if it’s about a rock?”

Ponyboy froze in thought. There was something off about what Harley said. “Wait, I think it’s a canyon.”

“I think it’s a disappointment. We should fill it up. It’s a Grand Disappointment. Grand Rock. Grand… Red Planet?

“Have you been there?”

“No, I’ve never been to Mars.”

“When did we start talking about Mars?”

“I don’t know.”

Ponyboy couldn’t help but laugh. They spoke more about other things until their faces were red. Without realizing it, the short storm ended and their clothes were soaked through.

“Okay, okay,” Ponyboy started when curiosity got the best of him. “What’s in your bag?”

Harley made a noise with his throat and struggled to unzip his bag. Inside were several cans of spray paint. They both grinned toothily at each other.

Soon all they could hear were the rattling marbles inside the cans. It muted the voice in Ponyboy’s head that told him not to vandalize. It also made him forget that freezing wasn’t the same as drying. The paint had a hard time sticking to the surface, making it difficult to layer or do anything. That being said, Ponyboy had no idea what he would paint.

He looked over at Harley who was defacing Mark Galway’s face with the classic mustache and horns. But with the paint not sticking, it made it look like his entire face was melting.

Ponyboy decided to just paint Mickey Mouse. He rubbed his tongue over his teeth as he applied pressure to the nozzle. Black paint blasted onto the surface. It was hard to get the feel of it. He kept messing up on how far away he needed to hold the can, making all his lines uneven and sloppy, but it was also an abstract masterpiece. In reality, it looked like he painted a deformed cousin of Mickey Mouse. Harley reassured him that it looked like it belonged in a museum though; said it was the best art he had ever seen.

Fumes wafted into their nose, making them feel more lightheaded than before.

“Is it possible to get high from paint?” he asked.

“I mean, I once got high from markers. That’s basically the same thing,” Harley answered.

The more paint that was added, the less Mickey Mouse looked like himself. The running paint made him more like a giant blob. Ponyboy pouted. “Harley, this isn’t working. It’s not drying.”

“No, it’s drying.” Harley touched the surface and pulled back his hand, now covered in red. “Oh, never mind. I lied.”

“What now?”

Harley thought for a moment before an idea flashed through his brain. He reached into his pocket and took out his lighter. He also grabbed one of the spray bottles. He lit the lighter and when he pressed the nozzle of the can, both flames and paint shot out with a strong intensity.

Ponyboy nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that would work.”

But as they started to dry the billboard—albeit messily—with the makeshift flamethrower, they heard someone scream below them, “Hey! You’re not supposed to be up there! Get down!”

“What?” came Harley’s totally intelligent reply. He looked down at the guy below them and squinted his eyes. But as he did that, his arms lowered and the fire washed over the other spray bottles. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know,” Ponyboy said honestly, distracted by the clicking noises that started by their feet. “What’s that noise?”

“Hey! Get down here!” the guy yelled again.

“Get some doilies?” Harley said, impressed with himself. “Ponyboy, I think I might be able to read lips.”

“I thought he said to get some town beer,” Ponyboy responded.

“Huh. Is that what he said?”

“Get down! I called the cops!” the guy kept screaming.

“Shut up, man! We’re trying to figure out what you’re trying to say!” Harley screamed back. He turned back to Ponyboy. “Was my voice too loud there?”

“He might be deaf,” Ponyboy said. “Probably didn’t hear you. We should go down there and see if he can read lips.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Harley threw the lighter behind him as he started to climb down. Ponyboy followed along, each step felt like there was nothing below him. He tapped his toes, trying to feel where each rung was before putting more weight down. But they were only able to get a quarter way down before disaster hit. From above them, there was an explosion. The blast had them both slipping off the ladder, shards of broken metal from the spray paint cans flew by them like bullets. The flames scorched their eyebrows and burned the tips of their hair. Everything was moving very slowly. Even the ground that was about to meet them.  He didn’t know why, but something about nearly being blown up was quite sobering.

He groaned when he slammed into the ground, ribs creaking. For a moment, he didn’t know what had happened. He just knew that he was on the ground and his body was hurting. His ears rang as he pushed himself into a sitting position. It didn’t seem like anything was broken, which was good. The snow cushioned his fall, but he wouldn’t be able to fully assess himself until later. He couldn’t imagine what bruises were going to show. Honestly, it was miraculous that he wasn’t hurt more.

“Harley, you good?” he asked.

“Yeah, as much as I could be,” Harley replied. His friend sat up and cursed under his breath as he shuffled around, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the remains of what was his backpack. He looked through it before he shoved everything into his pockets. It kind of made him look ridiculous, but what else could he do? The backpack was basically toast. “It’s okay, the weed is fine.”

“Hey, you delinquents,” the man, who had recovered from his shock, rushed over to them. “You’re in deep trouble now.”

“Let’s go!” Harley said, grabbing Ponyboy and yanking him to his feet.

“Oh, no you don’t!” The guy grabbed Harley’s scruff, dragging him back, but Ponyboy rammed his shoulder into him before his friend could fall. Without a second delay, Harley stuck out his leg and tripped him. The man landed on his back with a grunt. Before he could get back up, Ponyboy kicked him in the temple, knocking him out cold.

“Well, that was taken care of,” Harley commented, poking him with his shoe. “Nice.”

“What now?” Ponyboy asked. “We can’t let him stay out here, right?”

“The police are coming, so they’ll find the body.” Harley looked around and found a spray paint can that managed to survive the explosion. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He didn’t like that. “Hey, what are you doing?”

While he was contemplating if he could get away with potential murder (not that he wanted to) if the police couldn’t find the body, Harley started to spray the man with bright paint. It adhered to his skin and clothes much easier than it did to the billboard. Soon the word SKUNK was written down the length of his body. Harley threw the bottle away and wiped his hands like he did good work.

“Skunk?” Ponyboy asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Skunk?” Harley repeated, looking disgruntled. “Can’t you read? It says skank.”

Ponyboy rolled his eyes. “Can’t you write? Your handwriting is terrible.”

At that moment, they could hear distant sirens that were headed towards them. Harley cursed and his eyes widened. “Shit, we gotta go. Come on!”

And the two were off again, sprinting as fast away from the scene as they could. They needed to get somewhere they could duck into. They got away from the highway and swerved down the streets, taking random turns, trying their best to cover their tracks whenever they left them in the snow. Eventually, they found a dumpster and they ducked behind it.

Their chests heaved as they waited for the sirens to pass, scrunching their nose at the vile scent of garbage. When the cops did pass, the two waited a few more minutes to make sure they were truly gone before leaving their hiding spot.

The weed was completely (if not mostly) out of their systems by then and they were now colder than ever. They were about to call it a night when Harley tugged him in another direction.

“Let’s go in there,” Harley suggested, pointing at a 24-hour mart that recently opened in the area.

24-hour stores were convenient for most people, but Ponyboy was quick to figure out that he wasn’t part of that group. It was empty inside besides the clerk. The clerk eyed them suspiciously and Ponyboy couldn’t blame him for doing so. What else could two shadily dressed teens be doing there past midnight except to steal? Harley grabbed a basket, ignoring the eyes that were on him. They went straight to the candy section where Harley started to dump as much as he could in there—chocolate, Neco Wafers, Pez and their dispensers, just to name a few. He also dropped in string, skewers, and food dye. By the time he was satisfied with his haul, his basket was almost overflowing. Ponyboy had to grab the other side of the handle to keep it balanced.

“What do we need to get?” Harley asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” Ponyboy asked back.

“You already know.”

Ponyboy stared, slowing to a stop. He looked appalled. “Seriously? This again?”

“We’re already here, so might as well get the stuff for it.”

The clerk cleared his throat, causing Ponyboy to snap his attention to him. They were still being watched and he didn’t know how much was overheard. They were speaking so loudly. Harley wouldn’t be stupid enough to make a scene if he said no, would he? Ponyboy swallowed thickly. Doubtful but Harley was unpredictable. They needed to get out of there before the clerk got too suspicious. He rubbed between his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” Ponyboy relented, already regretting his decision. “But I don’t know the steps and I don’t think I can make meth in its purest form.”

“Whatever,” Harley agreed, shrugging his shoulders. “Not like customers would know the difference. What do we need first?”

The two of them went through the store, dropping whatever Ponyboy needed into the basket. With the stuff that he picked out, it was going to be a miracle if he succeeded. All of the ingredients had to be substituted with common goods that contained whatever chemical or mineral. Some were easy to find—distilled water could be purchased in gallons, they made supplements for iodine, and acetone was right next to the cheap nail polish. Others were real head-scratchers. It took time for them to find the pseudoephedrine. It was literally just in allergy medication. Both hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide were found in different cleaning solutions. With how many cleaning products they had, this recipe seemed very toxic. But meth wasn’t very good to begin with.

The hardest ingredient was the red phosphorus. That stuff was illegal. But there was one place where they were still used commonly that Ponyboy could think of: matches. They grabbed all the boxes they could find. There were now the issues of scientific equipment, filters, and a good location.

Their one basket had now turned into two. Ponyboy looked down, just imagining the final price of everything.

“I don’t know how we’re going to pay for all that,” Ponyboy brought up.

“Why would I pay?” Harley responded. “Let’s just go.”

That made sense. The problem was, it was going to be too obvious to steal since they were the only ones in the store. The last thing they needed was for the clerk to pull a rifle on them. He let Harley take the baskets. “You go. I’ll distract and meet you outside.”

With a nod, Harley positioned himself so that he was out of view. Ponyboy took a deep breath. On his way up to the counter, he grabbed an atrocious-looking shirt that said, I’M THE REAL TULSAN. He made a face at it before he dropped it on the counter.

“Hi, I was wondering if you had this in the size extra-large?” he started, making sure that his voice stayed stable and nice. “There weren’t any on the rack.”

The clerk sighed, “Don’t assume I don’t know what you two are trying to do.”

Ponyboy gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to leave you two unsupervised. You’re going to walk out with all that merchandise as soon as I turn my back.”

“I just want a shirt.”

“Extra-large isn’t your size, kid.”

“It’s for my grandpa,” Ponyboy lied.

“Yeah, I totally believe you,” the clerk responded sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

This was going to be more work than he would have liked. He had some practice in stealing. He would sometimes take things like a pack of gum or a candy bar. He wasn’t that into it, but he helped the others steal. He once helped Dally walk out with two packs of beer. “I was going to pay. Why are you denying me service? Can I talk to your manager about this?”

Instantly, the clerk went rigid. “He’s not in right now.”

“But someone has to be here to supervise you. If not, they’re on call just in case something happens. I would like to tell them about how you’re treating me.”

Now, the clerk really started to look worried and Ponyboy prayed that he wouldn’t call him on his bluff. The clerk grumbled as he grabbed the shirt. “Fine, I’ll check the back. Wait here.”

As soon as the clerk got out of sight, Ponyboy looked over his shoulder and saw that Harley was gone. He must have slipped out while the two of them were arguing. He tapped his fingers on the counter for a second before he ran out after his friend. Harley was waiting for him off to the side, and for one last time during the night, they were off.

“There’s one more stop,” Harley told him. This time, he was brought to their school. Golly, the number of illegal activities they were accomplishing in one night was truly tallying up. They might as well have won a World Record. With some pickpocketing on Harley’s part, they managed to get in. All Ponyboy had to do now was succeed. He was in for a long night.

Chapter Text

Those many hours spent in the lab were long and laboring, filled with suffocating air and sticky sweat. The vents ran loud, muting the clinking of beakers. Trials upon trials were done, using the product they stole and resources they found locked in the cabinets. They were able to substitute some of the stuff they stole with what they found, making everything seem less toxic. Each time, the recipe was altered just slightly and the process was done differently. Altogether, things went a lot better than they thought, which was surprising. It took several tries—Harley tested each trial—but eventually, they had something that could be considered meth. It wasn’t the prettiest result but it was better than nothing.

By the time they finished preparing, the sun was beginning to rise and Harley was so high that he started speaking nonsense. Ponyboy had declined when he was offered the meth. It was too heavy; too destructive for him. He knew that he would get fucked up if he smoked it. Instead, he gave the lame excuse of being the sober one. He looked down proud at all they accomplished in doing.

While Ponyboy was figuring out the odds and ends of making meth, Harley (when he wasn’t high) went ahead and tackled everything else. He merged cannabis with chocolate, using rectangular trays as molds. He stringed round pills into bracelets and necklaces after he dug tiny holes into them with a fine needle. They were mostly white but a quick spray of food dye made them vibrant and inviting. Both of them were glad they thought about swiping the aerosol version instead of just the drop bottles. He also crushed pills and took apart capsules, pouring the powder into a paper tube. Harley even went through the trouble of carefully wrapping everything in candy wrappers to hide what they truly were.

When Ponyboy got the approval for the meth he made, Harley crushed it into smaller shards and artistically constructed them on the skewers, gluing the pieces together with sugar water and spraying them with dye until they looked like vivid rock candy. It all looked so convincing. If Ponyboy hadn’t made them, he wouldn’t have thought they were anything but sugary sweets.

After they cleaned, packed, and took off their protective equipment, they headed back home without many more words shared between them. By the time Ponyboy returned, he was exhausted. His body was sore, his back was aching, and his feet were screaming at him. To collapse in bed was the best feeling in the world.

He had somehow managed to get back home before anyone could check on him or wake up themselves, but it was close. By the time his eyes managed to shut, he could hear Darry turn on the coffee maker. The comforting background noise lulled him to sleep. It was nice, even if it felt like his eyes were only shut for a few seconds before Darry came into his room and shook him awake, telling him to get ready for school. With a groan, Ponyboy sluggishly got up, feet dragging heavily across the floor as he dressed himself in fresh clothes. Again, he started his day over.

For the entire week, Ponyboy and Harley did what they could to sell the new products. They were an instant hit with his clientele and Ponyboy was finally able to see how much of an empire Harley had created just within the school. Some students started to walk around with the candy they made, more out in the open and unashamed. Others, who didn’t know what was going on, started to hop onto the trend and purchase sweets from regular stores, helping them cover their tracks more. Everything was benefiting them exponentially. Their debt was covered and they got more money out of it as well, and Ponyboy started to get more footing in the drug dealing world, though he kept his real name a secret still. It was better that way.

But there were still negatives. The more comfortable Ponyboy got, the further away he got from himself. His grades were dropping, he was still avoiding the gang, and he was starting to come to terms that he was addicted to all of the substances he was putting into himself. Everything started to get duller and each day was harder for him to do anything if he wasn’t high from something.

He was just so tired.

His mind kept berating him, beating him down at any opportunity it got. Never silent. Always hurting him. Always so loud. Disassociation helped when he wasn’t on anything.

There was one day when Ponyboy was lying on the couch. The voices in his head were especially loud. He had the TV on. The news channel filled the house with noise. He didn’t care much for watching the channel but he didn’t feel like changing it.

Ponyboy was still grounded and couldn’t go out. Soda was supposed to watch him, although he was out at the moment. It was the reason why he was even allowed to have the TV going. If he didn’t have that, he probably would have been in his room snorting up some crushed pills, but he didn’t feel like doing that, if he was being honest. He hated how it felt after. It never felt good unless he was constantly doing it and Ponyboy had no mood for that.

Anyway, he was lying on the couch, not really paying any attention to what the news anchors were saying. They were mostly serving as background noise that helped drown out the voices in his head. That was when Two-Bit walked into the house, wrists and neck adorned with candy. Ponyboy had to look twice to make sure he hadn’t somehow gotten his hands on pills.

“Hey, Pony,” Two-Bit greeted, turning his body in a way that invited Ponyboy to ask about his newfound “jewelry”. Too bad Pony had no reason to ask about them. He was mostly wondering why Two-Bit was there in the first place since nobody was there but him. It was probably a mistake because there was no way that he was there for him. Two-Bit had to be looking for someone else that he could bug. Someone that wasn't him. Ponyboy turned back to the TV, not even bothering with a greeting back.

“No one’s here,” he said.

“Oh.” And wasn’t that a painful sound? Like Two-Bit had gotten disappointed. It caused his heart to pang because why the hell did he have to sound so upset that he was stuck with him? Two-Bit quickly and seamlessly adjusted his tone. “Well, you’re here.”

Part of him wanted to correct Two-Bit on that. Ponyboy wasn’t like the others. He was only in the gang by association. He wasn’t a friend. Just some kid brother the gang had to babysit. Ponyboy clenched his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’m grounded.”

“Still?”

“It’s what I get when people don’t like me.” It was what he got for wanting to be treated correctly. It was what he got for wanting to be cherished more; to be loved like he once was.

Two-Bit frowned as if that sentence didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t fathom why Ponyboy would say something like that. “Ponyboy, that’s not…”

He stopped himself with a shake of his head, but Ponyboy secretly wished he would press more into it. Two-Bit looked at the TV instead, choosing not to open that can of worms Ponyboy had placed in front of him. “What are you watching?”

“TV.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that,” Two-Bit snorted. He made a face when the weather broadcaster appeared. “The news?”

“I guess.” But Ponyboy wouldn’t be able to repeat anything that was said in the last thirty minutes. It was too exhausting to stay actively listening to it. The two of them fell into silence as the broadcaster started to talk about how temperatures were starting to rise and how there were no signs of a sudden snowstorm.

Two-Bit groaned, “This is so boring.”

Sadly, Ponyboy couldn’t help but translate that as him being the reason why. His eyes became sunken. “Sorry.”

Again, Two-Bit gave him a weird look but shrugged off any worry he had. He walked over to the television and changed the channel without asking before doing so. Ponyboy made a noise of dissatisfaction when Two-Bit tapped on his leg to move, which he did. But instead of simply bending his legs, he got up instead, already feeling like he was taking up too much space in the living room. He was disappointed but what could he do? Two-Bit didn’t want him there.

“I’ll go if you wanna watch something,” Ponyboy said sadly.

“Where are you going?” Two-Bit asked.

“My room.”

Two-Bit raised an eyebrow. “Trying to be antisocial or something?”

The voices in his head started to come back, clawing at his mind with razor-sharp words. They overwhelmed him and made him crave some sort of sweet release. His energy was draining fast, siphoning away like air from a deflating balloon. How could he convince him that he wasn’t trying to be antisocial? How could Ponyboy explain that he found it difficult to talk? Or that he didn’t have enough energy to do much of anything? Two-Bit would just end up calling him lazy in some way. Yet, even though he mostly wanted to retreat, there was another part of him that silently begged Two-Bit to let him stay so that the two could hang out together. Just the two of them. How does one explain these complicated emotions?

“Just tired,” Ponyboy answered through gritted teeth.

“You’re boring.” The words hurt despite the playful tone to them.

“I know.” Ponyboy pressed his lips into a thin line, breath shuttering. He dug his nails into his palms. “You should find someone to hang out with. I think Soda will be back soon. He went to pick up Steve so they both might be here any minute now. Johnny’s probably at the lot, and Dally’s at Buck’s most likely, and Darry’s—”

Two-Bit held up a hand to stop him from speaking anymore. He let out a chuckle. “Whoa, Pony! You make it sound like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“I’m just giving you options that are better than being stuck with me.”

“What?” Two-Bit’s full attention was on him now. His eyebrows were scrunched together in concern. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. I know you wanted to see someone other than me here. I can tell.”

Two-Bit had trouble deciding what to say to that. He had a drink and, usually, that helped him talk, but it didn’t prepare him for such a delicate conversation. It was obvious that Ponyboy was sad about something, but he had no idea what. Was he upset about being grounded? That had to be it, he concluded. He grinned. “Elvis is here? I didn’t know he made house calls.”

He thought his joke was funny, but he must have said something wrong because Ponyboy’s eyes dimmed further. But as fast as that expression appeared, it was gone, replaced by a small smile. “Yeah? You just missed him. Had a whole concert and everything. You might be able to catch up to him if you run though.”

“I always wanted to ask him if his suede shoes were really blue. They’re tuff. I wonder if he’ll let me have them.”

“Maybe if you pay him enough.”

Two-Bit let out an animated sigh. “Who has enough money for that?”

“Just let me know, and I can give you the money,” Ponyboy mumbled before he could stop himself. He internally cursed at himself when he realized what he just said. He messed up. He shouldn’t have said anything. Now Two-Bit would know that something was off because there was no way Ponyboy had enough cash to buy Elvis’s shoes. He really didn’t but he did have a lot of cash on him.

“And how did you get enough money for that?” Two-Bit chuckled and Ponyboy let out a sigh of relief.

He thought it was a joke. Ponyboy could have laughed. Of course, Two-Bit would think that. And with that realization, he thought of a perfect response—an entirely risky one too—to his question. He would only be able to use it this one time. “I sell drugs.”

Two-Bit burst out in laughter, patting him on the back. “You? I don’t think you would be able to run a lemonade stand.”

Ponyboy tried not to get offended by that. “I bet I could run a successful business if I wanted to.”

“Sure, I believe you,” the other greaser said sarcastically.

Before Ponyboy could utter a clever retort, Soda and Steve walked in. In an instant, Two-Bit’s face brightened in an excited way that had never been directed at Ponyboy. The greaser gave a rapturous greeting back. It knocked Pony back a few pegs and had him stumbling over a wave of sadness. See? Just as he thought. Two-Bit would rather be hanging out with other people. He could have at least hidden it more though.

“Hey, Two-Bit,” Soda greeted with an easy smile.

“What’s that around your neck?” Steve asked, looking quizzically at the string of candy.

“Like it?” Two-Bit boasted, grinning cheekily. He looped it over his index finger to show it off. “Everyone’s been wearing them around school lately.”

“I haven’t seen many people wear them.” Steve crossed his arms, smirking. “Didn’t think you followed trends though. It looks stupid.”

“Yeah, well, I have candy and you don’t. Isn’t that right, Pony?”

“Hm?” He hadn’t been focusing on this conversation, too focused on settling the unease in his stomach. He looked nervously at Steve who was glaring at him coldly. It was clear what he was trying to convey: Leave. Ponyboy took a few steps away, hunching his shoulders and hugging his stomach. “Oh… uh… sure?”

“He wasn’t even paying attention,” Steve pointed out, still sending the message for him to go.

Yeah, yeah. He got it. He didn’t want to be there anyway because of how awkward it was. He hadn’t spoken to Soda since their argument. The tension between them was suffocating, affecting the mood of everyone else. His brother has tried to talk to him on multiple occasions so, in a way, it was mostly his fault that the tension persisted so long. But Ponyboy didn’t think he could have a conversation with someone he couldn’t bring himself to look at. Whenever he thought about Soda, he was reminded of the betrayal. How could he forgive him just like that?

“You okay?” Soda asked and Ponyboy realized that he zoned out again.

“Yeah,” Ponyboy said, blinking heavily. He resisted the urge to bite his tongue because they must have been so annoyed by him for staying there for so long. “I’m just tired. I think I’m going to go back to my room.”

Soda’s eyebrows knitted together, not quite believing him. “But we just got here.”

Annoyance settled under his skin at that. Like that mattered. He clicked his tongue. “So?”

“I just thought…” Soda trailed off, only for Steve to cut into the conversation.

“Just let the kid go,” he said. This was the first time Ponyboy agreed with him, but he wished that Steve would have phrased everything better. He was making him sound like a brat. “If he wants to leave, then let him.”

“I’m tired,” Ponyboy reiterated to shine a better light on him. “I’m going to go to my room so don’t let me ruin your fun.”

He turned and left before Soda could say anything to stop him. He knew that his brother had more to say but he really couldn’t handle being there anymore. When he got to his room, he didn’t fall asleep like he implied he would. Instead, he propped open his window and started to smoke a cigarette. He leaned against the window sill as he tried to get the edge off.

He quickly burned through one, clenching his jaw when it didn’t give him the desired effect. So, he moved on to smoking a joint since there was a good chance that it would make him tired. Or chatty, but he hoped that it wasn’t that one.

Whatever it took to not feel so shitty.

His brain was buzzing with words that he originally wanted to drown out when he was in the living room. It was loud. So incredibly loud, but as time went on, these words were being snuffed out like someone was blowing out candles one by one, leaving him in the blissful darkness of his mind.

He watched as the tip of the joint burned the parchment, his pupils slowly growing bigger. The hum of the heater grew louder to his ears, sinking him further and further down. He could already feel the effects of the weed. It made him feel better; more relaxed. He started to forget all of his problems, even if this bliss only lasted for a few minutes more.

There was a knock on the door and Ponyboy nearly jumped out of his skin. He quickly snuffed the joint out on the window sill before he chucked it outside. The screen was still off, he realized. He needed to put it back up later.

He tried to fan out the smell that the smoke left behind. He cursed under his breath when it wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“Can I come in?” came Soda’s voice.

“Hold on,” Ponyboy yelled back, opening the window wider. Fuck. This wasn’t a good time at all.

Whether he heard him or not, Soda opened the door. His brother sniffed the air and made a face. “What’s that smell? Were you burning incense or something?”

Ponyboy’s heart was pounding. Christ, he couldn’t deal with this right now. He needed to send him away as soon as possible. “Or something.”

“Why is the window open?” Soda observed with a frown. “You know that Darry doesn’t like that. The bill is high enough.”

What was this? Was Soda here just to criticize him? Ponyboy rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk. I’ve been trying to give you space, but we need to have a conversation about what happened.”

“No, we don’t,” Pony was quick to say.

“Yes, we do. I don’t like what’s happening between us.”

“Don’t you have something better to do? Like hanging out with your friends?” He was never going to let that go.

Soda gave him a look. “That was one time.”

“One time too many.”

“Can’t you forgive me?” Soda pleaded. More like whined.

He couldn’t be serious. Did Soda have some screws loose or something? Did he think that he was innocent? Ponyboy started to get riled up again, fueled by both his anger at this situation and panic about being caught high. “Fucking, why would I do that?”

“Because I’m your brother?”

“That’s not a good enough reason.” Ponyboy glared. Soda was wasting his time if he thought that would work. He wasn’t adding anything new to the table. This was so ridiculous. What a waste of time. He pointed at the door. “Now, get out.”

Soda went slack-jawed at the cold treatment he was receiving. Something was obviously different about his brother. He wasn’t acting like his little buddy anymore. This was a different person. Soda didn’t recognize Ponyboy for some reason. The ball of light was now a stormy cloud. “Why are you so angry all of a sudden? You keep acting up.”

“I’m acting up right now?” Ponyboy scoffed. Soda didn’t even know what trouble he could get himself into. “Trust me, this is nothing.”

“What’s up with you?” Soda asked, eyes wide.

“Right now? Not my serotonin levels,” came Pony’s dry humor just so that he could be obnoxious.

“What does that even mean? Ponyboy, this isn’t good. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need help.”

He’s judging you, the voice in his head said. He probably wants to lock you in a loony bin.

“I don’t need shit from you or anyone!” Ponyboy roared. His lips were trembling with how angry he was, veins protruding up his neck. “If you’re going to be like this, get out!”

“Pony, but—” He wanted to scream.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Soda, get out of my room! I don’t want to talk to you anymore!” Why couldn’t he understand that? He was making his request loud and clear. Even a fourth grader would know better.

But Soda was relentless; too stubborn for his own good. “We have to talk!”

“No! Get out!”

“You can’t kick me out. I live here too.”

“Fine!” Ponyboy screamed. He grabbed a thicker jacket and pushed past Soda. “Then I’ll go. Happy?”

Soda followed right behind him. Their footsteps were out of sync with each other. “Where are you going?”

“To my friend’s house.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Not anymore.” He grabbed the door when he got there, turning around to face Soda. “Tell Darry I won’t be back tonight.”

"You're grounded."

"I don't care."

“Pony, wait—”

Ponyboy didn’t wait. He slammed the door in Soda’s face. The door rattled so much that part of the framing chipped. He stomped towards the front door. Two-Bit and Steve stood up when he got to the living room and tried to intercept him, but Ponyboy pushed past them as well, shoving his shoulders into their arms roughly.

“Get out of my way,” he hissed before he slammed the front door shut, only slightly lighter than his bedroom door.

Chapter Text

Harley’s house was never meant to be a place where he could find solace. Yet, when he saw the smoke that rose from the chimney—signs of life in the quaint abode—he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. His tense muscles relaxed and he was given a short sense of respite. He had only been there once, but it felt more welcoming than his own home. Safe. This was a place where he could feel better.

By the time he jogged up to the front door, a question about Harley’s whereabouts popped up in his head. He had no way of knowing if he was home or not, but someone was there. Ponyboy rapped his numb knuckles on the door and waited patiently as he listened to someone shuffle around on the other side. But instead of being greeted by his friend, an older woman opened it. She looked a lot like Harley, down to the wolfish features. This must have been his mother. She was dressed very nicely, in vibrant, ironed clothes, and wore a strong rose-scented perfume. Not a strand of hair was out of place on her head.

“Hello, who are you?” she greeted, a smile on her lips that almost hid how suspicious she was of him.

“I’m Ponyboy. Harley’s friend.” Ponyboy didn’t elaborate any more on that.

She gave him a confused look. “I don’t know a Harley.”

Right. That was a nickname. He looked past her shoulder towards Harley’s room. “Your son, I mean. The one around my age. He here?”

“Oh, you mean Charleston? He’s in his room,” she said, tutting her words. He didn’t know if her tone was because she was disappointed in Harley or if she disproved that Pony was her son’s friend. It was likely both. “He’s taking some lessons right now so he won’t be available for some time.”

She meant it as a way to tell him to go away. Harley didn’t have any extramural lessons. His mom obviously didn’t like Ponyboy. He was a no-good greaser after all. She was about to close the door on him, but Ponyboy swiftly stuck his foot out to catch it before it could close halfway. He knew it wasn’t a good thing to do, but he needed something that would help him and a safe place to do it. “I can wait.”

Harley’s mom didn’t look pleased with his tenacity, but her expression stayed mostly the same as if a suspicious individual hadn’t stopped her. She reopened the door and stiffly gestured inside. “Why don’t you come in? It’s nice to meet a friend of his for once.”

Ponyboy did just that, shoving his hands into his pockets. Golly, this was going to be an awkward experience. “Okay.”

The two of them didn’t move from the foyer as they stared at each other. She waited for him to say something but he didn’t have anything to talk about. Seconds went by and Ponyboy wished that he climbed through Harley’s window instead. Finally, she spoke again. “How are you doing, hun?”

“Mm-hmm.” It wasn’t an answer to her question. That response didn’t even make sense in context. The atmosphere was too awkward for small talk. It was driving him mad.

She froze again and waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Did you two have something planned?”

“Not really.”

“I’m sure you can find something fun to do. So, why don’t you tell me about yourself? How are you doing in school?”

“Alright,” he lied.

“Are you doing any extracurricular activities?”

“Not anymore.”

“How’s your family? What do they do?”

Was this… Was this an interview? He didn’t know that being Harley’s friend was an occupation. He pressed his lips into a fine line and crossed his arms. “What is this?”

She didn’t falter, however. Harley’s mother motioned him further into the house, an easy smile still plastered on her face. “Oh, how rude of me. We should go sit down while we wait. I can get you some tea while we chat some more.”

Yeah, how about no? He seriously had no patience or energy to deal with this. There was no reason to wait for Harley. He pushed past her, as rude as it was. He would have been scolded if his brothers saw him do that. “No thanks. I’ll go up myself.”

“Wait,” she called out after him, voice now almost a shriek. “Get back here! He can’t see you yet!”

He didn’t respond or look back at her, quickening his pace to put space between them. God, that woman was… Well, she was something. He wouldn’t call her crazy, just strict. It was no wonder Harley didn’t get along with her.

Ponyboy opened Harley’s door after a quick knock. When he slipped inside, Harley didn’t look surprised that he was there. He probably heard him and his mom talking, which irritated him. Thanks for not coming down to get him. It would have saved him from the awkwardness.

“Your mom, by the way—” Ponyboy started.

“Is a bitch?” Harley finished. Well, he wouldn’t use that word to describe her either. “Yeah, I know. My mom’s a bitch. My dad’s an asshole. And my brother’s a douchebag.”

Ponyboy sighed as he went over and plopped onto the bed, staring at his ceiling. “You know, she said you had lessons. What’s up with that?”

“She likes to tell people that to make me seem more impressive to other people.”

“That seems excessive.”

“Yeah, she thinks that if she were to do that, it would make me apply myself more; make me live up to her expectations. Too bad I’m not aiming to be some dumb, corporate pig who laughs at Steve Allen’s jokes.”

“I can’t imagine you wearing business formal attire.”

“I would rather die.”

Humming to himself, Ponyboy continued, “You know, she also called you Charleston. Didn’t think you would have such a fancy name.”

Harley clicked his tongue. “She told you that, huh?”

He nodded. “My question is, why do you go by Harley when you could have gone by Charlie or Charles?”

“Because I like Harley. Charleston makes me seem like I’m a butler. I’m no lap dog, so don’t let me catch you calling me anything else.”

Rolling his eyes, Ponyboy agreed. Those names didn’t suit him anyway. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“Good.” Harley, who was also on the bed, was sitting against the wall near an open window. He crossed his legs and tapped his knees. “So, what are you doing here?”

Ponyboy grumbled, not wanting to go into it. It was a nice distraction while it lasted. He just wanted to move on from what happened and not feel so shitty. He needed something that would get his mind off of it; not refresh his memory. “Another argument.”

“Another argument?” Harley echoed. “Jeez. You fight with them all the time.”

He sulked. “It’s not like I want to. It’s just—”

“It’s just they aren’t able to read you like you want them to.”

Ponyboy nodded, letting out a big sigh. He looked over at his friend with a pitiful pout. “Look, can you help me or not? I need something.”

“Yeah, I got you. Want a drink?” Harley suggested. Ponyboy made a face. Drinking with Harley once didn’t change the fact that he hated the taste of alcohol. He could already feel the burn of it in his throat. He didn’t think his mind on it would change, but who knew? Two-Bit liked the stuff and it made him happy.

“As long as it makes me feel better, sure,” he said. “If only alcohol tasted better though. I think I would have a serious problem if it tasted like Pepsi.”

“Pepsi? Not even Dr Pepper or Coke?”

“What’s wrong with Pepsi?” Ponyboy narrowed his eyes.

“Fucking everything. Only annoying bitches who think they’re so special drink that.”

He really should have taken offense, but he knew that Harley was just saying that to cause problems. Ponyboy could have said any drink and he would have insulted it in the same way. He decided to tease him a bit. “I drink it, so does that include me?”

“What?” Harley sputtered, caught off guard. “No! I wasn’t talking about you. I just… I just… God, I just want coke right now.”

“Then should we go get some at the store?” He could go for another walk.

“No, not Coke. I want cocaine. That coke.”

“Oh.” Ponyboy’s ears turned red. How was he supposed to know that? They were just talking about soft drinks.

“Yeah…” Harley got up to avoid being trapped in an awkward silence. He stretched his back as he stepped closer to the door. “Anyway, I’m going to get those drinks now.”

It was several minutes later when Harley came back to the room. He had some Pepsi bottles tucked under his arms and a bottle of vodka—likely stolen from his dad’s liquor cabinet—in one of his hands. Somehow, he had snuck it past his mom. He locked the door behind him to make sure that she wouldn’t walk in on them drinking. The glasses clattered together when he put them down on the bed. Ponyboy still had no idea what he was planning.

Harley was such a hypocrite. He had just insulted the Pepsi brand and its consumers, yet here he was with several bottles. Ponyboy raised an eyebrow but sat back up as he watched his friend start mixing the two drinks into another glass like a mad scientist. Once he did that, he handed the glass over.

“You can do that?” Pony asked incredulously, staring at the liquid that still looked and smelled like Pepsi. He took a tiny sip. It even tasted like it too. The sugary sweet concoction was so refreshing that he wiggled his toes.

“You can make almost any drink alcoholic,” Harley answered nonchalantly, mixing a glass for himself.

Ponyboy drank some more. If Soda saw him now, he would have been so shocked. He was the one who was acting up? That may be true, but he liked to see it as him not holding himself back anymore. His brothers knew nothing about him and neither did the gang. They didn’t care about him—not really, at least. That thought caused his heart to clench.

He didn’t come to Harley’s house to be in the dumps. Fuck his emotions. Fuck his thoughts. He just wanted to be free from his shackles; to drink this dangerous, magical potion that would relieve him of his pain for a couple of hours. He wanted it to squash his negative emotions like a bug. He held out his glass, “How much more of this do I have to drink to stop feeling?”

No answer came his way. Instead, he experienced it firsthand. It became clear how dangerous the concoction he was drinking could be. Turns out, mixing drinks can get you really drunk. Crazy, right? Who would have known? Ponyboy should have, especially after he drank a couple of glasses.

The Pepsi masked the alcohol perfectly. Since he couldn’t taste it, he kept drinking it. He didn’t realize how drunk he had gotten until he became so dizzy that a gentle breeze could knock him over. There was a warmth under his skin that was so unbearable yet weirdly nice. Skin flushed, he felt like he was burning up. Words were on his tongue, waiting for the right push to be released.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Ponyboy blubbered, standing up on wobbly legs. The world swayed around him like he was standing in the center of an out-of-control carousel. “They treat me like a kid. I’m not… I’m not a kid. I hate when they treat me like I’m some needy child but then complain that I’m annoying to be around.”

“Jesus,” Harley sighed to himself. “I should have figured that a sad Ponyboy equals a sad drunk.”

“I’m not sad. I can have fun! And I’m not needy!”

“I didn’t say you were needy.”

“I’m not needy!” Ponyboy reiterated, glaring at his friend. He threw his arms up in frustration.

“I told you, I didn’t say you were!” Harley yelled back. Then, he quieted down, pinching the skin between his brows. “I can’t even tell if you’re sad drunk or mad drunk now.”

Maybe he was both. He didn’t know why he was so irritated all of a sudden, but he couldn’t stop himself from yelling. “Shut up!”

Harley took a longer sip of his drink, not even flinching at his outburst. It was like he expected him to yell at him. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Again, it could have been both. Ponyboy took a few steps in a pacing manner, stumbling over his feet. The room kept swaying. Moving while drunk must have been one of the hardest things he has ever done. It was so disorienting.

“You’re drunk, man,” Harley reminded.

“So are…” Ponyboy said with much difficulty. “So are you.”

“Yeah, but I feel good enough to drive.”

Ponyboy finally sat back down and Harley made him another cup. He could have sworn he put a lot more vodka in the ratio this time. “You can’t say that when you don’t have a license.”

“I do too.”

“Fake licenses don’t count.”

“Whatever, let’s just drink until we stop functioning.” Harley walked over to a record player hidden in the corner of his room. He turned it on after picking out a vinyl. It started to spin on the turntable, the needle scratching across its surface. Soon, music started to blast from the speaker of some alt-rock band that Ponyboy didn’t recognize. He didn’t particularly care for the music, but it helped distract him from whatever gloomy shit he was dealing with. He took another sip and everything started to fade away from him—the blasting music, Harley’s mother’s screams to turn the volume, and the room around him.

Look, Ponyboy didn’t know how he got so drunk. He swore all he drank was Pepsi with some alcohol mixed in it, but he guessed that was the issue. But the next thing he knew was… well, nothing. Ponyboy couldn’t remember much of that night. It was like his memories were imprinted on a film gauge, but the second half of that night had been destroyed and unrecoverable. He figured that this was what blackout drunk meant.

He woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and the desperate need for a bathroom trip. The morning light that shone through the blinds quickly became the bane of his existence as his eyes stung the moment he opened them, thus making his headache worse as a result. It was as if a sledgehammer was bashing into his temples. There was a terrible taste in his dry mouth. He swallowed thickly.

He was lying on Harley’s dirty floor next to a puddle of his own stinky vomit.  Some dirty clothes were draped over his body to act as a blanket. In contrast, Harley was sleeping soundly in his bed. Loud snores rang throughout the tiny bedroom. Ponyboy clicked his tongue, bitter that at least one person was sleeping so well. He squinted. Christ, someone needed to put a curtain over those blinds.

Ponyboy’s stomach flipped when he got up, mouth salivating. He covered his mouth with his hand and rushed out of the room to the bathroom. As soon as he got there, he hunched over the toilet and spewed whatever was left in his stomach. He was sort of glad that his bile didn’t taste like Pepsi. It would have ruined it for him.

He went over to rinse his mouth with water, bending over to splash his face as well. He wondered if there was any pain medication in the medicine cabinet. Knowing this family, there probably were several bottles stocked. He stood back up and reached out to look at what was behind the mirror and froze.

What the hell?

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. There must have been leftover drugs in his system but he couldn’t remember touching anything that would cause him to see things. But, then again, he couldn’t remember anything after a certain point. Something definitely happened between Point A and Point B because his hair was no longer light brown, slightly red. It was blond.

His hands instantly shot up to his head. No. No. No! What happened to his hair?!

Panic rose to his chest as he tugged at it, praying that it was a wig all along, but it wasn’t. At some point, while drunk, he had gotten it bleached. Ponyboy wanted to cry.

Not his hair, he whined to himself. It was his pride. It was what labeled him as a greaser. He didn’t even look like himself anymore. He wrinkled his nose as he attempted to steady his breathing and get over the initial shell shock of the situation.

Okay, it wasn’t bad, he tried to convince himself. He needed to calm down and think a bit. Harley… Oh, shoot, Harley! He must have known more about what happened.

Without another second wasted, he rushed back into Harley’s room. His friend was still on the bed, dead asleep. Ponyboy pounced on it, slamming his hands on his shoulders and shaking him.

“Harley!” Ponyboy hissed. When Harley didn’t stir, he slapped him across the face with moderate strength. “Wake up, man!”

“Ow!” Harley cursed, shooting up. “What the fuck? Did you just slap me?”

“Never mind that! My hair!”

Harley blinked heavily. “What about it?”

Ponyboy wanted to scream. How could he not see the haystack on his head? “It’s blond.”

“Yeah, I know it is. I bleached it.”

So, he was the culprit! He growled, “Why the hell would you bleach it?”

“Oh, I don’t know why,” Harley answered, obviously lying.

“That’s not a good reason!”

“Why are you so mad? You’re the one who was okay with it. We thought it would look cool and did it.”

That threw Ponyboy through a loop. He didn’t remember giving consent for it at all, but if he did, all he could do was blame himself. He was the one who got drunk. He let go of Harley and slumped onto the floor. Anger sizzled out and was replaced by hopelessness and devastation. It took him forever to get his hair to look the way it did before. It was tuff and now he looked like some pansy. People were going to make fun of him.

“What’s wrong now?” Harley asked, crossing his legs.

“It looks silly,” Ponyboy whined. He pulled at his hair again.

Harley rolled his eyes. “Jesus. No, it doesn’t. It looks fine, man.”

Just fine? Ponyboy slumped his shoulders. Seeing this, Harley quickly added, “It looks good. Very tuff.”

It sounded sarcastic, but the words perked him up some. He needed to hear that. “Does it really?”

“Yes, Rapunzel. It suits you. Have you looked at yourself properly?”

Not since he left the bathroom. There was a mirror in the room which Ponyboy looked at. It wasn’t terrible. Now that he wasn’t freaking out, he could appreciate the work. It wasn’t sloppily done at all. Harley did a fantastic job at bleaching his hair, in fact. He combed through it so that it would look closer to how he usually wore it… and it was different, for sure, but he knew he wasn’t used to seeing it that way and that was what was getting to him.

The more he stared, the better it looked. Okay, fine. He could get behind it, but that still didn’t mean he was happy that it happened. Maybe in the future, he would like it more. It’ll look better once he greases it. And if he still didn’t like it after all of that, his hair was going to grow out anyway. Maybe he could convince Harley to dye it back to its original color.

Harley’s mom knocked on the door, telling them that they had to go to school. Both of them groaned.

“I don’t want to go,” Ponyboy said. He was still too hungover and he didn’t feel ready to show off his new hair.

“Then let’s skip,” Harley suggested. That sounded like a fantastic idea and he wished he could do it. However, the gang would tell his brothers if they couldn’t find him after his outburst at the house. He banged his head against his knee.

“I don’t think I can today.”

“Do what you want. I think our history teacher is going to make Goofy impressions throughout the class though.”

Ponyboy made a face. “No way.”

“See for yourself. I think I’m going to spend my day trying to convince people to bungee jump with a normal rope.”

Ponyboy groaned and flipped his hood up. It helped with light filtration. He didn’t comment about how that could kill someone. It sounded like a lot more fun than sitting through a lecture though. “Do you have anything I can take that would help with this headache?”

Ponyboy’s headache didn’t go away when he arrived at school. He slipped into his desk, hoodie still on his head. He groaned and rested his forehead in his arms. The students were so loud, words like mini jackhammers. He wasn’t a minute into the class and he was already regretting his decision to go to school. The pain medicine was helping, but it wasn’t enough.

“Good morning, everyone,” the teacher greeted, looking around the room. Their eyes fell onto Ponyboy. “Mr. Curtis, hood off and eye up front, please.”

Damn it.

With a lot of attitude for the small movement, Ponyboy pulled the hood off. The class stared at him. Some people (his bullies and other assholes) laughed but most people stayed silent. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Oh, new hair color?” the teacher casually asked. Ponyboy was grateful for that.

“I wanted to try something new,” he said, shrugging.

“Well, it looks nice.”

The topic soon changed to the lesson plan, the hair already forgotten. He guessed that it wasn’t a big deal after all if that was the reaction he got. Maybe Harley was right. And maybe he would be able to get through this day despite how terrible he felt.

As the lecture went on, however, Ponyboy wanted to eat those words. Just as Harley said, the teacher started to make a terrible attempt at a Goofy impression. It sounded more like if a clown was in that one drunken scene in the Dumbo movie. He didn’t see how that was relevant to what they were learning about, but perhaps the teacher thought it would make them remember the material better. He wondered how Harley knew this was going to happen since they were in the same class.

The teacher did the Goofy laugh and Ponyboy was ready to throw in the towel. Yep, he couldn’t do this. He raised his hand and requested to go to the restroom. The teacher gave him an annoyed expression and made a sly comment about how he should have gone before the class started, but his request was granted anyway. In the end, he didn’t go to the bathroom. Ponyboy left the school altogether. Luckily, he didn’t have his backpack on him or it would have looked suspicious.

He didn’t know where he should go, but he remembered that Harley said he wanted to convince people to jump off bridges with a regular rope. He didn’t know if he went through with it nor did he know what bridge though. Skipping school alone was a lot less fun. He needed to find something else to do.

Ponyboy walked down the road, not paying attention to where he was going. The cool air helped numb his pain. He turned around a corner and instantly regretted not paying attention because he walked straight into none other than Dallas Winston.

Chapter Text

The world really had it out for him. He swore that it was pointing the middle finger and laughing at him. Everything was one sick joke to it. But, to be fair, he was bound to get caught sooner or later. It was much sooner than what was expected though, and, thus, he was unprepared.

As soon as he registered that someone was in front of him, Ponyboy slammed his foot onto the floor to keep himself from walking straight into their chest. It was almost successful and his forehead still hit them anyway. It only touched for a second before he was pushed back, causing him to gulp. Dally’s eyes were cold, most likely not realizing it was Ponyboy. His hood was down but Dally hadn’t yet seen him blond and his hair wasn’t as greased up as he usually liked it. Ponyboy cursed internally as he tilted his head to hide his face, but it was too late. Recognition flashed in Dally’s eyes.

“Ponyboy?” Dally asked, voice way too loud for his liking despite it just being the two of them. The weather hardly did his headache any favors. “Glory, what happened to your hair? I hardly recognized you.”

Ponyboy’s mouth felt dry. Suddenly, his insecurities came back in full force. He put both hands on top of his scalp.

“I just bleached it,” he said weakly yet stubbornly.

“Did Darry approve this?” Dally continued, tilting his weight onto one leg. “Nah, I doubt he would.”

Why would he need that to change his hair? “I don’t need his approval.”

“So, he doesn’t know, I take it.”

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes. “And you can’t tell him.”

“Relax, kid, I won’t tell. You on the other hand? Good luck trying to hide that from him.”

Shit. Everything he said was true. There was no way that he would be able to hide this from anyone. Darry was going to see it soon. There was no point in asking Dally to hide this from him. He was going to get in so much trouble.

But then, why did it matter? He wasn’t looking for his approval. If he didn’t like it, then whatever.

Dally reached over and grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging at it lightly. “Jesus, I still can’t believe you did this, man. It looks so different.”

Ponyboy swatted the hand away. “Well, don’t touch it.”

Generally, he would have never told him not to do something—Dally always got what he wanted—but he just hated to have his hair pulled like this. Luckily, the other greaser didn’t do anything other than smirk. Dally leaned against a nearby vehicle that wasn’t his. Surely, if the owner saw, they wouldn’t be happy but the other never cared about that stuff. Ponyboy awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, knowing that he was going to have to stick around longer.

“So, what are you doing here, Dal?” Ponyboy asked. Instead of answering with words, Dally pointed at a nearby building: Buck’s. He hadn’t realized he had walked there.

“Oh,” he said.

“I should be asking you this. Ponyboy Curtis, skipping school?” Ponyboy’s ears turned red. He had been so distracted by his hair, he forgot that he was supposed to be in class. He scrunched his nose as he waited for the backlash he knew he would receive, but it never came. “Good for you.”

Huh? He blinked. Well, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised about that one. Dally never was an exemplary student. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m not one of your brothers.” Dally crossed his arms and looked at him curiously. “You’ve been different lately, more independent.”

Independent? That was a funny way to describe him. Did separating himself from the gang make him independent? That was a good thing, right? “Independent” was a good trait to have in most situations, but it didn’t feel like a benefit in his case. It made him feel ill. The word didn’t settle well with him, making him want to vomit again.

To set things straight, Ponyboy didn’t feel independent. No, he felt like he was something else, a word that he couldn’t quite place at the moment.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his voice as stable as he could.

“You’re more tuff. Better.”

“Better?” His voice was more like a squeak at that point. He didn’t know how to feel about that. It was supposed to be validating, but it didn’t feel that way. To him, it undermined who he was because this version of him… he didn’t know what to think about it.

They like this version better.

That was the thought that stood out to him the most. Suddenly, his arm became itchy and Dally’s voice became muffled in his head. He was only brought back when Dally grabbed his shoulder and gave him a weird look.

“What’s with you lately? You were spacing out,” Dally questioned.

Ponyboy plastered a small smile on his face and shrugged, “Just tired, is all.”

How many more times would he have to say that sentence as an excuse?

“Must be exhausted because you look terrible,” Dally said.

He definitely felt like it. He wondered how long hangovers lasted because even though he took some painkillers, he still felt horrible. The light from the sun was giving him the worst migraine and he couldn’t help but glare at the melting snow, cursing the existence of albedo. Stupid light reflection. Stupid migraine. Frustration bubbled under his skin.

“Thanks,” he sassed. Dally didn’t comment on his attitude which he was grateful for. The less talking, the better.

“So, why are you skipping?” And he spoke too soon. Of course he did. Ponyboy sighed, thinking about what to say.

“Not feeling well,” Ponyboy finally settled on. “I want to get some pills.”

“Then why didn’t you call home? Darry would have picked you up.”

Ponyboy shook his head doubtfully. “Would he though? He probably would have given me a barf bucket and told me to suck it up.”

“Yeah, well, there’s also Soda.”

Not with his current standing with him. “Don’t wanna bother him.”

Dally gave him a dead expression, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He held the box out for him and nodded his head towards it. “Take one.”

Ponyboy took one and let the other light it. He stuck the other end in his mouth, relieved that he was doing something to get himself high. The warmth crept down his throat, to his chest, to his fingers, and then to his toes. The tobacco kissed his aching temples and covered his eyes with a haze. But still… “It still feels weak.”

“Weak?” Dally huffed, exhaling smoke from his mouth. “Did the bleach go to your head?”

Ponyboy pressed the cigarette back to his lips, eyes never leaving Dally. Now that he was sitting there, observing him smoke, he couldn’t help but compare him to Harley. They were alike in many ways, but they differed greatly as well. Both of them were impulsive and arrogant in the worst ways, always getting what they wanted. But he had a feeling that both would also meet their demises at a young age as a result, but how was where they differed.

Dally was smart but he was also an instigator. Ponyboy had a morbid feeling (one that he shouldn’t be thinking about) that his life would be extinguished by the system itself. He would go out with a bang, but, ultimately, in the end, he would be another dead hooligan—erased and forgotten.

Harley, on the other hand, was self-destructive, unpredictable, and careless. One day a switch would flip in him and he would overdose or he would hurl himself off a roof because he just felt like it. He would be a statistic in the teen suicide rate. If not that, he would probably be shot down by one of the many people he had scammed with unreasonably high-priced drugs. His greediness was going to be the end of him.

Was Ponyboy going to be a statistic too?

Although they had these similarities and differences, Ponyboy only trusted one of them to keep secrets for him, and that was Dally. He could commit murder and Dally wouldn’t even tell his brothers. He couldn’t say that with Harley. To put it lightly, he didn’t trust him with even the most simple secret because he knew he would use that against him, and he had an inkling that he would throw him under the bus if he needed to. However, he could trust that Harley would get him out of any sticky situation without question.

“Something else did,” Ponyboy finally answered.

“Something else? Do you have weed on you or something?” Dally asked jokingly but when there was a delay in Ponyboy’s answer, he turned fully towards him. He raised an eyebrow. “Hold on, kid, do you?”

Oh, shit. “…No?”

Great job with the convincing. Dally didn’t look impressed. “Don’t lie.”

“Look, I don’t have any on me right now,” Ponyboy relented after a solid minute of panic. That jig was up.

Dally wasn’t even mad. More impressed than astonished. “Shit. Where did you even get it?”

That was information he wasn’t ready to share. “Nowhere.”

“Fine, man, don’t tell me.” He turned away and looked ahead. He gestured in front of him and Ponyboy followed his finger. Across the street was Harley who was talking to someone, likely one of his customers. Ponyboy perked up when he saw him. His friend hadn’t noticed them yet, which was honestly a good thing. The last thing he needed was Dally seeing them be friendly toward one another. If there was one thing he would snitch about to the gang, it would be his friendship with a drug dealer. “You see that guy over there? Don’t go buying from him and don’t get involved in his crowd. You gotta be smart about it, man. If you wanna talk crazy, Harley is the definition of it. Never liked him. Never will.”

“He’s not that bad,” Ponyboy said, which earned him a look. Ponyboy quickly backpedaled after he realized his blunder. “Probably.”

If Dally or anyone in the gang were to find out about him and Harley, that would be an instant end to their friendship. And he just couldn’t have that happen. He needed Harley. He was his only friend, the only person that understood him.

“He is,” Dally reassured. “Kid’s a whacko. Don’t get involved with him.”

Too late for that. “Whatever. Why do you care if I get involved with him or not?”

“I’m just trying to help you, man.”

“Are you?” Or was he trying to take his friend away from him? Ponyboy’s jaw clenched as he threw the cigarette butt on the ground and stomped on it. Dally was trying to control him like everyone else. “Listen, my head is pounding. I need to go get those painkillers now. I’ll see you around, Dal.”

He didn’t wait for Dally to say anything else but he could feel his eyes on him as he walked away.

Now left without anything to do again, Ponyboy headed to the store. When the clerk wasn’t looking, he swiped a bottle of painkillers, stuffing them into his hoodie before he grabbed a couple more bottles as well. Compared to stealing the ingredients for meth, taking these was a cakewalk.

He found himself in the store’s bathroom soon after, shoving enough pills in his mouth to make him vibrate on the spot. He contemplated crushing some in a powder, but, in the end, he decided not to.

Maybe he could circle back around and find Harley again.

When he got back home, it was dark already, but that wasn’t new. He yearned for the late sunsets during summer and he missed the sound of cicadas throughout the day. When he saw his house, he instantly knew that something was wrong. It was that feeling of dread, that gut instinct that made you queasy to the stomach. He pulled on his hood and prepared for the worst as he walked to the door. He could hear them talking from outside, loud voices that knew no volume control. Everyone was there, even Dally who he had just seen. From the window, he could see Soda trying to calm Darry down who had been pacing back and forth in the living room.

“When I get my hands on him!” Darry ranted, face red with rage.

“What are you going to do?” Soda challenged, grabbing Darry’s arm to keep him from wearing down the floor.

“You don’t understand, Soda. He’s been skipping school.” A cold sweat swept over Ponyboy. Did Dally snitch on him? How else would they have found out? He shouldn’t have trusted him. Dally never liked him. Why did he think he would keep this a secret?

“He’s my kid brother too. I understand him just as much as you.”

“Really? Because it seems like nobody is able to understand what goes through his brain these days. Tell me you noticed it too.”

Soda hesitated, letting go of Darry to fiddle with his fingers. He looked at his feet. “He’s been… distant lately.”

“I’m telling you, that kid’s insane. He’s got a screw loose,” Steve piped up.

“He’s not insane, okay?” Soda defended, though it didn’t seem like he fully believed in his words. “He’s just being independent.”

“He’s too needy to be considered independent.”

“He finally hit his rebellious phase,” Two-Bit muttered to himself.

Ponyboy decided to make his entrance at that moment. All at once, the gang’s conversation halted as attention turned to him. He tugged at his hood again just to ensure that it was fully covering his head.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Two-Bit said.

“Two-Bit, you’re not helping,” Johnny whispered to him.

“I know, I know,” Ponyboy rambled, already knowing what Darry was going to say to him. “Where have I been? Do I know how late it is? I’m here now and that’s all that matters. I’ll think about my actions over. Blah blah. Can I go to my room now?”

Darry looked flabbergasted before he regained his stern face. “Not so fast. I just got a call from the school. Apparently, you skipped, not once, but multiple times now. Do you want to explain yourself?”

Well, at least Dally didn’t snitch on him after all. “What’s there to explain? Seems pretty self-explanatory.”

His brother’s arms were thrown up. “Ponyboy!”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Why do you think it’s okay to do that?”

“It’s just a couple of days. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“You don’t get it. Even skipping one day is bad. Everything goes on your record, not to mention the habit you develop. It’s lazy, Ponyboy. You go to school to learn. God, what is wrong with you?”

“Darry, hold on. We need to understand Pony’s side more,” Soda interrupted and made a noise of objection. His middle brother turned to him and Ponyboy fought off an eye roll. Just another plot to get on his good graces. “Can you tell us what happened? You teacher told us you didn’t return back to class.”

“I didn’t feel well,” Ponyboy explained.

“You should have gone to the nurse then, not leave,” Darry grumbled. “Think, Pony. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, you have to be as smarter,” Steve said. “Like me.”

“I think I would die if I jumped down to your IQ level,” Ponyboy spat back.

At that, Two-bit burst out laughing and Steve glared at him. “Why are you laughing?”

“That was pretty good,” Two-Bit cackled, grin causing his eyes to crinkle.

Steve jabbed him in the gut with his elbow. “It’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Enough,” Darry interrupted, bringing the conversation back to Ponyboy. “Ponyboy, your education is most important. College won’t accept you if you get in trouble too often. I had to argue with the principal to not get you detention.”

“Why can’t I be more important?” Ponyboy mumbled to himself, something only Johnny heard.

“What did you say?” Soda asked, leaning closer to him to hear him better.

Ponyboy groaned, “Nothing.”

“Hey! Don’t be sassy.” Darry snapped, jabbing his finger into Ponyboy’s forehead, startling him enough to take a few steps back. “And take that darn hood off when you're inside!”

“Why should I?” Ponyboy grabbed the edge of it to keep it in place.

“Because it’s rude. You’re indoors.”

“It’s just a hood.”

“Then take it off if it’s just a hood.”

“But—”

“Now, Ponyboy.”

Well, here went nothing. It felt like he was ripping off a bandage.

“Fine,” Ponyboy growled. He pulled it off and everyone fell silent. Their eyes boggled, bar from Dally. He shifted his weight between his feet but straightened his back to appear more confident. He smoothed out his hair, combing through it with his fingers.

They hate it.

They hate him.

“Your hair,” Johnny gasped. Was it really that bad?

“What did you do to your hair?” Darry demanded. “Was this why you left school early? You got this done?”

“No,” Ponyboy said. “It was before.”

“You were at your friend’s house earlier. Did he do this?” Soda asked.

“Yeah, he did, and I like it.”

“You look like Goldilocks,” Two-Bit commented. “Look at that hair!”

First Rapunzel, then Goldilocks. Who was next? Sleeping Beauty? Cinderella?

Steve grabbed his hair just like how Dally did earlier, but he tugged it rougher. “It looks ridiculous.”

Ponyboy batted the hand away, glaring at him, “Stop touching it, won’t you?”

“It looks nice, Ponyboy,” Johnny complimented, which made him feel a lot better. “I like it.”

“Well, I don’t,” Darry opposed. “You can’t just change your hair like that.”

Jesus Christ, everything he did was wrong to him. Ponyboy rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was never just excited for him. “It’s my hair.”

“Darry, it’s just hair. It’ll grow out,” Soda soothed. “I know he should have told us his plan, but it looks fine.”

“Yeah, he should have told us,” Darry agreed on that. “Unbelievable.”

“Why do I have to consult you on everything?” Ponyboy asked.

“Because you’re living under my roof.”

Ponyboy felt heat on the back of his eyes. This wasn’t Darry’s house. It was his parents’. All Darry was, was a tyrant. His mom wouldn’t like how he was running the show. She would have loved his new hair too. He’s been so miserable here. “You know, I’m really starting to hate it here.”

He probably wanted him gone.

Darry crossed his arms like he won an argument. He tilted his head towards the door, “Then get out.”

All air left his lungs, “What?”

“If you hate it here, then you can sleep on the streets.” Even the gang was shocked at what was coming out of his mouth. Because was Darry seriously threatening to kick him out because of hair?

Ponyboy was scrambling to find his words. “No, I—”

“Clearly, you don’t want to be here. So, why stay?”

“Darry,” Soda cried, shaking his head rapidly. “You’re taking things too far. You don’t mean that. We just need to calm down.”

“It’s just hair, come on,” Dally argued and the rest of them chirped their agreements.

While they were arguing, Ponyboy was standing frozen in his spot. Darry really didn’t care about him. He was trying to get rid of him.

Nuisance.

His breath shuttered, ice stabbing his heart.

He didn’t want him there.

He wanted him gone.

He was always a thorn in his side.

He was needy, just like Steve said.

It would be better if he was dead.

A hand touched his shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Ponyboy? You alright?” Johnny asked him. Pony swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I’m uh…” his voice sounded small. He should just disappear. It would make things easier for everyone. “I’m sorry for making things hard for you.”

He quickly exited the living room. While he was making it to his room, he could hear the gang talk for a bit.

“Christ, that was a shitshow,” Dally commented.

“Darry, you didn’t have to say that,” Soda hissed.

“What was that at the end though?” Two-Bit asked.

“He was just trying to make Darry feel bad. He’s an attention-seeker,” Steve answered. Ponyboy closed the door shut behind him, muffling their voices. He sank down to the floor, burrowing his head into his knees. It took one minute of him sitting there before he heard the gang start to laugh, the argument had already passed their brains. Forgotten, just like how he was going to be.

A future statistic.

They laughed and joked, and it was then he remembered the word he was trying to figure out before. He was lonely.

Chapter Text

The gang’s laughter was like a record playing on repeat; like the speaker was placed right next to his ear and he couldn’t turn it off. Echoing sounds, jeering whispers, and taunting mirth. Nonexistent insults were the lyrics. Loser. Creep. Loner. Prick. Brat. Scallywag. It was as if he was an attraction in a circus freak show and the gang was the audience. As fire lit rings and people walked on a tightrope, he was reminded that he couldn’t be loved for who he was. He wasn’t amazing. Nobody went to the circus just to see him. And as long as he was alive, he was going to be ridiculed. He was the joke. He was different. He was the outlier.

If only there was a universal remote that could shut everything down and let him rest for once. Ponyboy sniffled as he covered his ears to try to block the laughter out, but the voices penetrated through his hands. His jaw clenched, his teeth creaking under the pressure.

They were laughing at him.

They were laughing without him.

They’re having fun without you, the voice in his head mocked. They are happier without you. You don’t belong here.

He wanted the voice to shut up. He didn’t need them to remind him of things he already knew. He already knew that the gang was better off without him. He already knew that they only tolerated him whenever he was around.

The voices were by far the worst part of his head and didn’t come with an off switch. Not an easy one anyway. He slammed the back of his head against the wall several times until his eyes started to water. Hurting himself was the only solution that he could come up with besides drugs and alcohol. But, this time, the voices prevailed, surviving his nullifying process like a cockroach in gamma radiation.

They like it when you’re not there.

You’re a terrible brother.

They don’t like you.

Did you see how they looked at you?

They wouldn’t be sad if you died.

You will never be loved.

He wanted to scream but bit back his yell. The gang already thought he was an attention seeker. He didn’t need to prove their point. He hit his head again, causing star-like veins to appear in his vision.

The voice was right. Nobody will ever love him.

Ponyboy Curtis wanted to die.

His breath shuttered as he shook that temptation off. With sweaty palms, he patted his hoodie until he found the bottle of pills he had swiped earlier. He fumbled with the cap, fingers shaking. However, before he could pull the lid off, the bottle slipped out of his hands and rolled under the bed.

“Damn it,” Ponyboy cursed under his breath, dropping onto his stomach. It was filthy under there. Dust and forgotten childhood items—building blocks, a lost sock, and a copy of a picture book, to name a few—lay strewn there. He reached his hand forward and patted around, but the bottle rolled to the least convenient spot and his result was fruitless. He wasn’t about to crawl under for it at that time.

You couldn’t even do that without failing.

Ponyboy fought back the tears. The voice was a knife that was cutting into him. He got back up and the world blurred around him. Exiting the room, he stumbled to the bathroom, arms stretched outward to prevent him from walking into walls. Unfortunately, his departure from his room meant he had to pass by the gang again. It didn’t seem like they noticed him though which was both good and bad at the same time. He pushed the bathroom door so hard that it almost created a hole in the drywall. His breathing was starting to get out of control as an anxiety attack was beginning to settle in, strangling him with a vise grip.

He opened the medicine cabinet and looked at the array that was there—medicines for colds, allergies, sleep, pain, and blood pressure. He didn’t know what would be best for him, but he didn’t care. He would take anything. He grabbed the pain medication and poured everything out. There were only a few pills left. The gang always went through them quickly. Ponyboy clicked his tongue.

They hate you.

They want you gone.

He crushed the pills into a powder with the bottle and then lined everything up. Then, he took a dollar from his pocket, rolled it into a tube, and positioned it correctly. He inhaled deeply. The sting was instant and he cringed.

It hit hard but he knew that, as a result, the effects would die fast. He would have to continue doing it to remain high. He went down to finish what was left on the surface before he wiped off the excess around his nose. Ponyboy sniffled and shook the medicine bottle to continue, but much to his dismay, it was empty. Right, he knew that. Didn’t stop the frustration though. With a grumble, he threw the bottle in the bin and grabbed a random pill container from the cabinet.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He poured way more than the recommended amount into his palm. This time, he didn’t take the time to crush them and took them orally instead.

Your brothers are ashamed of you.

You have no friends.

You’re going to be alone forever.

Darry was okay with kicking you to the curb.

Your own brother…

Ponyboy wanted to bash his head into the mirror. He would do anything if it meant the voices would shut up. Instead, he pressed his thumb into the scab on his wrist. There was still some tenderness to the spot, but the reminder of the sharp pain he had felt allowed for some clarity. That was something he needed at the moment.

The medicine cabinet was still open, allowing his eyes to fall onto a box of unused shaving razors. He took one out, pressing his thumb against the blade hard enough to feel the sharpness but not enough to cut his skin.

The first time he cut, he thought he had made a mistake. Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in his life. It was at that time he figured out that mental pain was far more painful than physical.

He situated the blade above his old cut, brain fuzzy from the drugs. Ponyboy took a deep breath before he dragged it across his skin, causing him to hiss. Small beads of blood poked out of and trailed down his arms like tributaries of a river. The blood was pretty and red. There was something so elegant about the color. The beads that popped up were like rubies, but his blood wasn’t nearly as valuable as the stone.

He was planning on cutting just once again, but then he started to think about everything that was wrong with him. The gang tolerated him but he couldn’t understand why they took the effort to do so. He was a whiny, tagalong kid they were forced to take care of, but that wasn’t a new discovery.

He dragged another cut into his arm. This time, it was less painful.

Careless.

Needy.

Exhausting.

Each word garnered a new cut. What started as him cutting for release ended up as a punishment. Like when an authority figure forced you to write what you did wrong over and over again, but his cursive was in the form of lacerations and his ink was his blood.

Red droplets dribbled onto the floor and he watched himself bleed for who knew how long. He blinked heavily. Suddenly, his thoughts felt like they were traveling through cement. A yawn escaped his lips as exhaustion, unlike anything he had ever experienced hit.

Christ, what did he take?

He tried to pick up the bottle, but controlling his limbs was nearly impossible. There was hardly any coordination between them and his brain. Reading was even worse. His eyelids felt like weights were holding them down, and words didn’t stick even after reading them ten times. But he managed eventually.

Benadryl.

Was Benadryl even supposed to hit this hard? It was allergy medication. Well, he guessed it could zonk people out, but what he was experiencing was too strong. It felt like his entire body was dunked in Sandman’s magical dust.

Wait. How many did he swallow? He didn’t think he took enough to overdose, but he did take other drugs beforehand. Was he overdosing? He was too tired to think it through rationally.

Every instinct told him to lie on the ground and sleep, but he knew he couldn’t leave himself like this. With as much force he could put into his heavy limbs, Ponyboy managed to drop the razor in the trash and put the bottle of Benadryl away. He cleaned the wound as best as he could with some water and tissues before he flushed them.

His arm felt like it was on fire, burning with an unbearable itch. Lumps formed under his skin, moving around as if a colony of insects had nested under there, eating into his flesh. He watched in both morbid fascination and horror as his cuts shifted open and several maggots wiggled out. With a yelp, he swatted at them. The way he was going about it was useless though. He would have been better off by smushing them under his skin. He smacked his hand onto his wrist in one final attempt, but when he pulled back, nothing was there. There were no maggots. Just a cut-up arm that was starting to bleed again.

It was just a trick of the light, he convinced himself and sighed in relief. He probably would have passed away if there were actual maggots under there.

Returning to the task at hand, Ponyboy bandaged his arm. As soon as he did that, his eyelids drooped. Surely, resting for a few minutes would be fine, right? A few minutes wouldn’t hurt anything. He closed his eyes as soon as someone knocked on the bathroom door.

Johnny knew something was up. Ponyboy had been acting differently lately. That was clear as day. Even a blind person could see that. The problem was, he didn’t know why he was acting differently. It happened overnight several days ago. He became distant—way more than usual anyway. Johnny didn’t remember the last time he made eye contact with him. He was quieter too, yet became angrier and crueler. Ponyboy was more outspoken now and more impulsive. The gang was convinced he was going through a phase, but Johnny wasn’t so sure.

Then came the physical appearance changes. And he wasn’t talking about the new hair color. Ponyboy was skinnier now and paler too. His skin became dull and sickly looking with dark bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in a week (but he could have sworn that Ponyboy was sleeping more). He was also twitchier than usual, almost as if he was expecting to get caught with something he shouldn’t have.

But his eyes were the worst change. They used to be filled with as many stars as in the Milky Way. So bright and curious. But with each day, a star faded away. It was hard to watch this change. Scary even.

It all started when he got that supposed friend of his. He didn’t know what he was doing to Ponyboy, but Johnny didn’t like it. He didn’t like him. Anyone who made his friend look so miserable wasn’t going to be his favorite person.

Who was he? Ponyboy had been spending a lot of time with him lately, more than with the gang. Johnny hardly saw him anymore. He was always out the door before anyone could wake up and came back late as well. Johnny also had a worrisome hunch that Ponyboy was purposefully avoiding him and the gang. Did his new friend tell him to?

This was the question on his mind as he waited for Ponyboy to leave the restroom. And Johnny was by no means a creep and he wasn’t exactly counting how long he was in there. But it was noticeable when Ponyboy hadn’t emerged even after an hour. The shower wasn’t running, so there was no reason for him to be in there for that long. Something must have been wrong.

Silently excusing himself, Johnny knocked on the bathroom door, but there was no response. He started to wonder if Ponyboy was even in there. Maybe he left and Johnny hadn’t noticed. But no. He was sure that Ponyboy hadn’t left. He heard the toilet flush not that long ago.

He knocked again. No answer.

Worry started to seep in as the worst thoughts entered his mind. Images of Ponyboy’s collapsed body that he wanted to scrub from his brain. His breath got caught in his throat as he grabbed the doorknob. Ponyboy would just have to forgive him later for it. He half expected the door to be locked, but when it wasn’t, he pushed himself in.

Ponyboy was standing in the center of the room with his eyes closed. His body swayed as it kept itself up. Johnny let out a sigh of relief, but he couldn’t push down the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“Ponyboy?” Johnny tentatively called out. “You okay?”

“Hm?” Ponyboy groaned, eyebrows scrunching together. His eyes cracked open but his pupils didn’t look like they were focused in any way.

“You’ve been in here for a while.”

“Oh, okay.”

Johnny’s head quirked to the side when he noted how slow and slurred Pony’s speech was. Even with those two words.

“You alright?” he asked again. Something was seriously wrong.

“I’m really tired.”

Ponyboy wanted to close his eyes again, but something prevented him from doing so. Spiders crept across the edges of his vision. They spun their webs as shadowy figures stood behind him. They whispered eerily, causing his attention to snap toward them. His heart rate spiked as his breath hitched, but when he tried to focus on them, they vanished. His head moved heavily, but it felt like his vision was lagging behind its movements.

“What is it?” Johnny asked, looking in the direction that Ponyboy was looking, but nothing was there.

“Did you see that?” Ponyboy gulped, mouth unbearably dry. His stomach turned with nausea and his head started to pound again.

“See what?”

Ponyboy pursed his lips but eventually shrugged. “Nothing. I’m really tired, man.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed. “Maybe you should lay down. Gosh, you don’t look so good, Ponyboy.”

“Okay.” He could sleep this off, right? He just needed some shut-eye and then he would feel as good as new. Ponyboy tried to walk but his feet weren’t working right. Each step was heavy and clumsy. Shadows kept dancing across his vision and darkened it so much that it felt like his eyes were closed again. Somehow, he managed to make it out of the bathroom, stepping into the living room. What an accomplishment that felt like. But then a hand touched his shoulder and he blinked. Johnny was next to him, way closer than he was before. His eyebrows were pulled together and a frown was on his lips.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked worriedly. “You’ve been standing still for a minute now.”

Ponyboy was about to ask what he meant because he had spent so much effort walking, but when he looked around, he was suddenly back in the bathroom; back to square one. He let out a choked sound but kept his composure. “Oh.”

He started his journey once again. When he got to the living room this time, the gang was staring at him. They heard the quiet commotion and were curious about what was up. Ponyboy looked at each of them, vision still lagging behind his head movement. He tried to register who was who, but it was hard to focus on their identifiable features. To him, they looked like blurry blobs.

“Is everything alright?” Soda asked when Ponyboy kept staring at him. This person sounded so familiar, but who was it?

“Who…” Ponyboy mumbled, testing his luck. If he wasn’t potentially overdosing, he would have never tried. “Who were you again?”

The gang looked at him weirdly because did Ponyboy seriously ask that? It had to be a prank (and not a funny one at that). Regardless, Soda pressed the back of his hand to Pony’s forehead. It felt cool to the touch. “Are you sick, Pony? Your face is all flushed.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Ponyboy tried to pull his face away, no doubt his eyes were dilated like no other. That’s when this person’s identity clicked. “Oh, shit, I didn’t recognize you, Soda. I’m really tired.”

“Must be if you didn’t recognize your own brother,” Steve snorted.

“Maybe you should take some medicine,” Darry suggested, not correcting him on his foul language this time. He must have looked that exhausted.

“No thanks. I’m good,” Ponyboy shook his head too fast and instantly regretted doing so. He already took so many pills today. One more could downright take him off the board. His eyes shifted to the ceiling, watching it move around gelatinously. When did they change their ceiling?

“And he’s not listening,” he heard someone comment and it took a moment for him to register that Darry was still talking to him. “You’re gonna have to repeat that.”

“Sorry, can we do whatever this is tomorrow? I—” There was a deep laugh right next to his head and Ponyboy spun around, nearly tripping over his feet. His eyes were shifty, almost like they were trembling. His heart was pounding again, beating so quickly that it hurt. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Dally asked.

The noise couldn’t have come from anyone in the gang based on their positions. “Are there other people here?”

“Just us,” Two-Bit answered, looking around himself.

“I swear I heard someone.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he should sit down. The couch wasn’t too far away and was much closer than his room. There was a blanket that was draped precariously over an armrest. Its knitted pattern moved like waves as if it were alive. But upon closer inspection, the yarn wasn’t yarn at all. Thousands upon thousands of baby spiders skittered over one another in one giant mass. They clicked as they moved, beady eyes all staring at him. His skin crawled upon sight of them.

“What the fuck…” he whispered to himself.

“What?” Johnny pressed.

“Do you not see this?” He pointed to the blanket. He must have been really high, because what the absolute fuck was this?

“It’s just a blanket,” Dally told him, picking it up. The spiders took the opportunity to crawl all over his arm and up his body until they disappeared up his nose and ears.

“What are you, blind or stupid?” someone asked.

Ponyboy squeaked, tearing his eyes away, “I’m not really in the mood for insults right now.”

“What insult?” Darry questioned. The gang was looking at him weirdly again which meant that everything he heard and saw was in his head. Not again, but at least there weren’t any spiders. He couldn’t stand them.

“Nothing.” Another yawn left his mouth and his eyelids drooped. He lost balance for a second before he managed to catch himself.

“Steady,” Soda soothed. “You look like you’re about to collapse any moment now. Maybe you should go get some rest now.”

Ponyboy hummed in agreement, too tired to say another thing. He stagged towards his room, struggling to control his limbs. He could feel the gang’s judging eyes on him as he left. He tried his best to act normal and was relieved when he left their vision. The further he got from them, however, the louder his surroundings became. Voices that were previously incomprehensible became clearer. He was able to pick up a few words here and there.

Ponyboy.

Come here.

Ponyboy.

I want to talk.

In here.

Ponyboy.

The voices were coming from Darry’s room, but he found it empty when he opened the door to investigate. Ponyboy’s stomach dipped and stepped away. Just a figment of his imagination. Come on, Ponyboy.

He finished his trek back to his room and fell onto his bed. The lights were still on, yet shadows ran around him. They draped the room in darkness.

Ponyboy was tired but, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. His eyes shifted around the room in anticipation, waiting for something to pop out of nowhere and attack him. It just looked like a dark room to him, so why was he terrified? Why was his heart beating faster than a speeding bullet? Why did every noise cause him to flinch?

A knock on the door caused him to yelp.

Someone was just at the door. Keep it together.

“Come in,” he called out, but no one opened the door. The knocking came again, more insistent this time. He raised his voice because maybe they didn’t hear him the first time. “Come in!”

Still, nobody did. The knocks violently pounded on the door, rattling the room. Ponyboy felt his eyes water. That wasn’t someone from the gang.

Open up, Ponyboy.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Then, suddenly, the knocking stopped and everything was deathly silent. All he could hear was his heavy breathing. Minutes passed and he thought that was it. The worst of it was over. But the sounds started up again; a scratching noise that was under his bed. It was like nails running across a chalkboard, drilling into his brain. What was that?

He should have stayed still and waited for it to stop, but the scratching continued and Ponyboy just couldn’t take the sound anymore. He whimpered as he draped his torso over the edge and looked under his bed. This was something that he instantly regretted.

He hadn’t made it the full way down before he saw it. A deformed figure was staring back up at him. Its skin was misty and leathery, its body thin and snake-like. It was as if someone had stuck a head onto the body of a giant worm. The face didn’t have eyes, just empty sockets like two black holes. Its mouth was open, wider than what a normal person would be able to do. It made its way closer to him, causing Ponyboy to shoot backward. His back slammed against the headboard and prevented him from running away.

“No…” Ponyboy whimpered and tried to move, but all functionality left him. His fingers trembled as they shook by his sides. All he was able to do was scream, but nobody heard him. Or maybe nobody cared. He would never know.

Chapter Text

The gang watched as Ponyboy left for his room, stumbling over his own two feet in a sleepy haze. They were speechless for a long time. The fast shift in Ponyboy’s health was jarring, to say the least. He was fine before; no sign of illness in sight. He was even arguing with them earlier. How could this fast shift happen within an hour or two?

“Jesus,” Steve huffed after a bit. “What was the kid on?”

“Steve,” Soda scolded, giving his friend a pointed look. “He was just sick.”

“Ponyboy knows better than to do drugs,” Darry stated, very confident in that point. The rest of them nodded in agreement. Ponyboy knew what drugs did to people. He knew he couldn’t get caught with that stuff too. All of them had seen people who abused these substances before so there was no way that he would even try it. Still, they had no explanation as to why he acted that way. They just knew that it wasn’t drug-related. That’s what they liked to believe anyway. They wanted to put their trust in him to not make stupid decisions. It was getting harder to do that these days though.

Steve shrugged, “All I’m saying is that Ponyboy is different. Did you see how weird he acted? He was talking to things that weren’t there for Christ’s sake. If he wasn’t on something, you should take him to get checked out for schizophrenia or something.”

“He wasn’t on something, okay?” Soda expressed, voice strained. “I know my brother, and he doesn’t do that stuff, alright?”

“Ponyboy’s too much of a goody-two-shoes,” Two-Bit added even though they knew that wasn’t quite accurate. It came with being a greaser.

“That kid is anything but good,” Steve said. “Look, why don’t you check out his room for anything when he’s not around?”

Darry considered this. He placed a hand on his chin and hummed, “We won’t find anything, but looking might give us some insight into why he’s been skipping.”

“I bet it’s that friend of his,” Johnny said, the first time he had spoken since Ponyboy had gone to his room. The gang tensed. It wasn’t every day that Johnny made allegations against someone. Especially about someone that he hadn’t interacted with. “You’ve all seen it. He changed when he met them.”

“His friend doesn’t exist,” Steve reminded with a short snort. “He only ever hangs out with us.”

“He sometimes hangs out with Curly,” Two-Bit pointed out. None of them really liked that. If they wanted to talk about a troublesome duo, it was Ponyboy and Curly. Those two always seemed to find trouble together. They once caught them playing Chicken. For some reason, they decided to compete by pressing a lit cigarette into their skin to see who could hold it the longest. But it wasn’t Curly that Ponyboy had been hanging out with. They already checked with him. The last time Curly had seen him was when one of the school’s bathrooms exploded. That was weeks ago. “I hardly see him these days.”

“I’m glad that Ponyboy’s been spending less time around.”

“He’s getting more independent,” Soda said with a frown. He was happy about that, but he missed his brother. They used to be so close, but he supposed he messed that up. Pony used to talk to him about everything; now he hardly even spared him a glance at all.

They grow up so fast. That saying was extremely apparent these days. But Ponyboy was growing too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was already heading down a trail all on his own. Nobody told Soda time would go so quickly.

When they were much younger, Ponyboy had fallen off his bike and badly scraped his knee. It was one of the first times he had tried to ride without the training wheels. He had bawled his eyes out, snot running down his chin. When Soda carried him back home, he swore to himself that he would always be there for him. Ponyboy was his little brother, after all. He was the only younger sibling he was ever going to get.

Sadly, it took one selfish decision for him to break his vow.

“But he’s also getting too comfortable,” Darry countered. “He can get into trouble if he continues like this.”

Darry had always been way too overprotective. Soda let a small smile on his lips and sighed, “He’s growing. We’ve all had a rebellious phase.”

“You make us sound ancient. We’re still in that phase,” Two-Bit laughed. Darry playfully rolled his eyes at that. Two-Bit didn’t need to remind them. They were hoodlums and proud of that. Ponyboy was just going about it differently than them. He always did things his own way. That’s what made him so special and it ensured that he would get out of there one day. Ponyboy was a dreamer. He made dreams that he could follow. The rest of them already accepted that they were going to be stuck with lowball jobs.

“It goes with all that hormone stuff, I think. Puberty. I think I learned about this at one point.” Soda hadn’t been the best student when he went to school.

“I just don’t remember it being this extreme with any of us,” Darry sighed, running a finger through his hair. Some premature grays poked out through the gaps between his fingers before they were flattened back down. At that moment, Darry looked much older than his actual age. “I’m just scared he’ll get sent to a boys home. We’re all we have left. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Maybe try being less harsh?” Soda suggested as softly as he could. “I didn’t like what you said to him earlier.”

Darry looked down. He had regretted saying it the moment he uttered those words. There are never takebacks to things that are said though. Once words are out there, they are out there. Even if he were to apologize, he had no doubt that they would still stick with Ponyboy. “He still needs to learn better.”

But putting up rules only made people try to break them. Nobody liked being told what to do. “We should go the opposite way, shouldn’t we? Maybe this week, we can do something together and help build his trust again. That way he could feel safer to go to us.”

“When did my kid brother get so wise?” A smile graced Darry’s lip as he ruffled Soda’s hair and whistled. Soda preened at the compliment. Then Steve spoke up again.

“What if you do find something in his room though?” he asked.

They all fell silent again. That was a possibility they weren’t sure how to deal with yet.

During this whole conversation, Dally hadn’t said anything. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows were slightly scrunched together, enough to be passed off as a grimace or even a glare to other people. Not the gang though. Instead of a grimace, Johnny saw a lingering thought in his eyes.

“Do you know anything about this, Dal?” he asked because Dally definitely knew something related to this case.

“Why would I?” Dally shot back instantly which ultimately confirmed it. Dally was a great liar, but, even then, he wasn’t perfect at it. There were microscopic cracks in the mask he always wore.

“You look like you were thinking about something.”

“I don’t know, man.” Dally stuffed his hands in his jacket’s pockets. “I was just thinking about stuff.”

“Anything about Ponyboy?” Two-Bit asked.

Dally raised his shoulders. “Look, we don’t talk much as it is. Ponyboy’s been elusive. I don’t know anything.”

Both Soda and Johnny looked like they didn’t believe him but none of them pushed further on the matter. If Dally and Ponyboy wouldn’t tell them, they would have to find out themselves. Looking in Ponyboy’s room would hurt his trust in them, but that was only if they were caught. Besides, they were planning on spending more time with him this week anyway.

Ponyboy had been allotted one free day to rest before he had to return to school. He wished he could have stayed home for another day though because he just felt terrible all over. Every muscle in his body was exhausted and he wished that he could close his eyes and never wake up. That wasn’t even the end of it. Darry told the gang that they needed to keep a closer eye on him in case he tried to skip again, which sucked because Ponyboy wanted to be anywhere but at school.

But as the day went slowly on by, Ponyboy was shocked to say that he probably could have skipped anyway. Not once had he seen the gang after he was dropped off. He could have left and come back when everyone was leaving. This could have only meant three possibilities. One, they were going to jump the gun and snitch on him no matter what. It didn’t matter if he was there the whole day or not. Two, they didn’t care enough about him to bother. He had to push that thought down before he got too hurt about it. Or three, their timings never aligned so they never ran into each other. He doubted it was the last one even though that was the most likely option. He didn’t want to believe that was the case, in a weird self-destructive way.

For the entire day, Ponyboy kept his head low, drawing on his arm a Zentangle in ink whenever he got bored. He was currently in the class before his lunch period, filling in a checkered pattern when the bell rang. He sighed as he threw his pen into his bag and stood up. Ponyboy was about to leave when his teacher called out to him.

“Mr. Curtis, please stay behind for a minute,” they said. Great. Fantastic.

He waited until everyone left before approaching their desk. Nerves crept at the bottom of his spine. “You wanted to speak to me? Am I in trouble or something?”

“No, you’re not. I just wanted to ask if everything is alright at home.”

Ponyboy instantly tensed up. The urge to tell them that things were a bit fucked up at the moment was on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t want to end up in a boys home if his words were taken out of proportion. Although, he would be doing his brothers a favor. He shook his head. “Everything’s good. Why’d you ask?”

“Your grades have been decreasing exponentially.” Their words started to become muffled to his ears like they were speaking through a filter. “You’re not turning in your work, you’re hardly in class, you’re failing all your tests. What happened? You used to do so well.”

He became a fuck-up, that what happened. Now that he thought about it, was there really a point in him going to school anymore? There was sandpaper in his throat. “I just have a lot going on right now.”

“Mr. Cur—” His teacher clicked their tongue. “Ponyboy, listen, you need to manage whatever you have going on. You’re on the verge of failing and this is a core class. You’ll have to take it over again and it won’t look good on your record. I’ve spoken to your other teachers and it’s the same story. This isn’t looking good for you, Ponyboy. You’re ruining your life.”

Something about those words triggered something within him. Ponyboy snarled, kicking the side of his teacher’s desk and causing them to flinch, “Then what’s the point in all of this? Why am I still here if my life is ruined?”

His teacher stood straighter. “You still have a chance if you put more effort into this.”

“All I have been doing is putting in effort. I can’t keep up. I’m crumbling under all this pressure, don’t you get it?” he blurted, spit flying out of his mouth. “I can’t be perfect no matter how much I try. I can’t make my brothers happy or the people I thought were my friends. Hell, I can’t even make myself happy. Everything I do is wrong, wrong, wrong! What’s the point in meeting a standard I can never reach? I don’t want to do this no more! I can’t do it!”

His breathing was ragged as he finished his rant. His fingers trembled as they tapped restlessly against his legs, heart pounding in his chest. He had to get away. He spat out words to reduce the pressure on his shoulders but it felt like he had only managed to let go of a falling bookshelf but was still under it.

“Now, Ponyboy, you need to take a breath and calm down,” the teacher tried to mitigate, holding out their hands. “I only wanted to check up on you.”

“Well, I don’t need you to, so don’t pretend that you care about me. Fake people disgust me.” He said that even though he was the biggest phony he knew.

Ponyboy readjusted his backpack and left the room before a punishment could be dished out to him for his outburst and violent behavior. People passed him in a flurry of blurry colors. Eventually, he spotted Harley—the only fully visible figure in his tunnel. His friend was blankly watching two upperclassmen who were passing an underclassman’s backpack in a cruel game of Monkey in the Middle. He did nothing to stop it from happening, but only got himself more comfortable against a locker.

“You’re not going to help?” Ponyboy asked, approaching him. He helped Pony when he needed it. What made this any different? His previous interaction was sent to the back of his mind and was replaced by curiosity.

“Nope,” Harley flatly replied.

“What if it escalates to be more physical?”

Harley turned away to look at him pointedly. “I’m not scared of watching someone get beat up.”

“Wow,” Ponyboy mused. “Your morals are crazy.”

“I don’t need morals, man. I got drugs, and seeing him so miserable makes me feel good. Besides, see that guy over there?” He pointed to the taller of the two upperclassmen. He had an athletic build with toned arms and bulging calves, and he wore a varsity jacket for football. “That’s Anderson. He’s got the coke. If I make him mad then he’s going to charge more.”

“Like you never had a problem doing the same thing to other people,” Ponyboy mumbled to himself.

Harley pursed his lips and pushed himself from the locker. “Hey, want to leave? I’m bored now.”

“Can’t this time,” Ponyboy sighed. “Darry found out about me skipping and I got in trouble. The gang is supposed to be watching me now.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, and Darry threatened to kick me out.” His breath shuddered at the pang in his chest. The memory was still raw.

“Oh, shit,” Harley breathed out, eyes widening. “That had to hurt.”

“It did.” Ponyboy shifted his weight to his other foot. “I got really high off of Benadryl.”

Harley did a double take. “Wait, you took Benadryl?”

“Yeah, have you tried it?”

“No, it just makes everything super scary.” He thought for a moment. “But I would probably take it while watching a horror movie.”

“But it makes everything scarier. Why get high from it during a horror movie? They’re already trying to spook you.”

“Immersive experience.” The two of them started to walk to their usual spot on the roof. “Speaking of movies, do you want to watch something on Saturday? They’re rerunning this flick for their last showing.”

A movie would be nice. He could sneak out for that. “What movie?”

Harley grinned. “Eegah.”

Ponyboy sputtered, “Eegah? Why are you acting so happy about that? I don’t want to sit through that.”

He wasn’t the type of person to hate a movie, but Eegah had to be on the exception list. It was beyond awful—from the terrible performances, to the bad plot, to the low-budget effects. Eegah should have been named Ugh.

Harley shrugged, “It’s because it’s awful that it’s so great. So, you coming?”

God, he was on the line on this one. But going did mean he could spend less time in the house. He groaned, “Fine, but I better get high before I watch it.”

“Yeah, I got you. Don’t worry.”

They pulled themselves onto the roof, but instead of sitting down where they usually sat, they decided to plop down by the ledge. It was risky for sure. Someone could have easily seen them if they were outside, but that was the thing. Nobody was stupid enough to be outside besides them.

Ponyboy was ready for them to do something fun and have a lot of laughs, but this time, they didn’t talk much for some reason. They were comfortable sitting in silence together, but this felt different. Something was up with Harley that was causing his eyes to become scarily blank. Goosebumps rose on Ponyboy’s arms. There was something so creepy about how it looked on his face—like he wasn’t fully there. He felt more serious than usual. It was such a sudden shift that Ponyboy felt whiplash.

Harley opened his mouth before he closed it. He licked the inside of his cheek before he opened his mouth again, “Hey, Ponyboy, I think I might jump.”

Ponyboy’s stomach churned as those words were carved into his brain. His breath stuttered, “Harley…”

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” Harley smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. None of this was reassuring. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Ponyboy repeated, voice strained in his tightening throat. He hated that Harley was making a joke out of this because the talk of death wasn’t something that should ever be joked about. “How is that a maybe?”

Harley leaned fully forward, his fingers holding tightly onto the ledge. It was the only thing that was tethering him to the roof. Ponyboy’s heart just about stopped because he didn’t want to lose Harley, his only friend in this fucked up life of his. He couldn’t lose another person.

“Sometimes, I think that all I have to do to end everything is to let go. That’s all there is to it. If I were to let go, I would feel one more jolt of pain and that’s it,” Harley said.

“Please, don’t do that,” Ponyboy stressed. What were people supposed to say in situations like this? If Harley wanted to die, he couldn’t stop him. Asking him to live was useless. Telling him that people would be sad if he died was too. He would likely come up with something to say in the future when he had more time to reflect, but at the moment, he had no comforting words. He had a selfish question instead. “If you die, what am I supposed to do without you?”

“That sounds very intimate,” Harley teased.

Ponyboy’s face heated up as he scrambled to correct himself. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m talking about for drugs.”

That wasn’t true and both knew it. Because Ponyboy didn’t need Harley to acquire anything anymore. It was just an excuse. It didn’t make the teasing stop though. Harley pulled himself back onto the roof, much to Ponyboy’s relief. “Wow, you only use me.”

“Oh, haha.” They laughed but there was still tension in the air. And, honestly, Ponyboy couldn’t help but think that Harley was using his little joke as an excuse to live another day.

Chapter Text

They struck when Ponyboy was at school. Instead of the whole gang being crammed in the tiny room, the search party only consisted of Darry, Soda, and Dally. When the trio entered, they found it quite messy, which was expected of a teenage boy’s room. But, while it was untidy, it also felt less lived-in for some reason. The room was cold and looked staged. It was like every object in it—from the laundry on the floor to the overflowing trashcan—were only pieces in a movie set. It was strange.

“I don’t know about this,” Soda mumbled, biting the nail on his thumb. What they were about to do was a big invasion of privacy. “This feels wrong.”

“I know, but think about how much better we’ll feel after we find out he’s clean,” Darry reasoned and Soda reluctantly nodded.

They started to look around, splitting up so they could get in and out of there. Soda first checked the dresser, pulling out drawers and leafing through the folded clothes. Darry checked the desk and even went as far as to skim the notebooks. Maybe he could find a journal entry about what he was up to these days. Dally took a more casual approach. He walked around the room and peeked behind the bed’s headboard for a second before he moved to the closet. His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked inside, again for a moment, before he moved somewhere else. It honestly looked like he was looking for something entirely different. But they figured if he were to find whatever he was looking for, he would tell them. So, they didn’t call him out for it.

Since the room was small, there wasn’t much to look through, and, so far, they found nothing. They knew it was going to be like this. Ponyboy wasn’t addicted to drugs. Cigarettes, definitely, but not drugs. Still, they did feel better with the reassurance. They were about to call it quits when Soda checked under the bed, the last place they hadn’t looked.

“Wait, what’s that?” he said and that wasn’t very great to hear. Soda reached under and pulled out a bottle of pills. He turned it over to look at the label, ignoring the blood pumping in his ears. The others looked over his shoulder in anticipation. His breath was released when he read what it was. “It’s just a bottle of pain medication.”

“Why is this in here and not the bathroom?” Darry wondered, placing a hand on his chin.

“Maybe he forgot to put it back.” But that didn’t answer why it was under his bed in the first place. Soda placed the bottle on top of the nightstand. He stared at it for a moment, remembering the haze Ponyboy was in earlier. “This couldn’t be the culprit, could it? Can you get high from this stuff?”

“Not like how Ponyboy was acting,” Dally answered.

“Whatever the case, it seems like Steve was wrong,” Darry expressed.

“You’re right. We checked everywhere. The closet, the desk, the dresser…” Soda listed. With each object mentioned, he gestured to it, and if they were close enough, he would touch it. “…and the nightstand.”

He opened the drawer and heard a rattling noise that they hadn’t heard before. They must have forgotten to look there. Soda curiously looked in and found… candy? He pulled out a candy bracelet, letting it dangle from his fingers.

“Why is this in there?” Soda asked. There were others in there too—chocolate bars, gummies, and some Pixy Stix, to name a few. He huffed out a laugh. “Did Pony rob a candy store?”

But none of them could fathom why he had that many sweets to begin with. Ponyboy had a sweet tooth, but this was taking it too far.

“I can’t understand what goes through his brain sometimes,” Darry sighed, shaking his head. Soda hummed and pocketed the candy bracelet. He didn’t think Ponyboy would mind since he had a drawer full of it. He probably wouldn’t even notice something missing.

“You’re taking one?” Dally asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ponyboy won’t mind,” Soda chirped happily. He closed the drawer and the three of them left the room. No drugs but that was a good thing.

There was still some time before they expected the gang to come back. While they waited, Darry had Soda help around the house. Dally, on the other hand, left to do whatever he felt like doing. They got a lot done by the time Ponyboy returned.

Their younger brother didn’t bother to greet them. Instead, he ducked his head and quickly moved to his room, but when he got there, he froze. Someone had been in there. Most of the stuff he had left lying around had been moved but not put entirely away. His clothes were placed in a pile and his notebooks were lying on the desk, but he was sure they had been placed in his drawer before he had left. Whoever was in there had been looking for something, and what confirmed it was the pill bottle that was sitting on the nightstand. The same one that was under his bed.

His blood ran cold. His brothers, the only suspects, knew something. He bit his tongue until he could taste blood.

Shit.

They knew.

They knew!

They had to have. Why else would someone search his room?

His body became clammy, cold sweat making him squirm in his spot. What now? What should he do? His brain was fogged up in panic and he knew that he needed to take a breath and calm down, but that was easier said than done. How could he not panic when he was screwed?

Then again, his brothers didn’t act like anything was wrong. They would have stopped him at the door if they found anything suspicious. And they couldn’t possibly have known something was up with a bottle of pain meds.

But they were suspicious enough to look in his room in the first place.

He wiped his palms on his jeans, taking a shaky breath. At least he carried everything with him to sell.

Well, not everything.

Ponyboy’s pupils shrunk as he threw open the drawer to his nightstand. Nothing looked out of the ordinary at first, but he had taken stock of everything he had. He knew exactly what was supposed to be in the drawer and one candy bracelet was missing. He counted the contents twice, thrice, and then four times. Each time he totaled everything, he felt his gut get pushed down further.

He should have carried everything with him. What was he thinking just leaving these here? He thought it would be fine because they were disguised as candy, but that benefit ended up being its flaw.

Harley was going to kill him. God, this was going to break his trust in him, and that thought hurt more than anything.

Maybe there was still hope though. Since his brothers hadn’t confronted him yet, they likely hadn’t tried the drug. With that reassurance, he ran out of his room, nearly skidding into a wall as he did so.

“Did you guys go into my room?” he accused, sweaty hands curling into fists.

“Yes,” Darry answered calmly. “We wanted to clean it up a bit.”

“It didn’t need it.” If that was the lie, they needed to take a look at his room again. They could have at least cleaned it so it was more believable.

“Yes, it did, so, we helped.”

“It doesn’t need your help. Stay out of my room, won’t you? Now everything has been moved.” But that wasn’t the most important matter to be bratty about. He clenched his jaw. “Did any of you take my candy?”

He glared at his brothers, scrutinizing every shift in their expressions. Darry’s eyes flickered over to Soda who sheepishly pulled out the candy bracelet, luckily still intact.

“Thought since you hadn’t paid the brother tax in a bit,” Soda joked but Ponyboy didn’t find it funny at all. He snatched the bracelet from him, curling his lips.

“Well, it’s mine,” he snapped. “You can’t have any.”

“You have so much, why can’t you share?” Darry asked.

“Because.” He was going to leave it there, but he knew that explanation would only raise more questions. He scrambled for an excuse. “It’s for school. I need everything in there, so, please don’t touch it.”

Darry tilted his head. “What project is it for?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just stay out of my room, from now on, okay?”

Both Darry and Soda agreed (though he knew they weren’t going to follow through with it) and Ponyboy was about to return to his room and move everything to his bag when Darry said, “We’re going to eat out today. The gang will be there.”

Ponyboy nodded. It sounded like they were going to have a great time. Good for them. “Okay. Have fun.”

“You’re coming.”

Ponyboy faltered. They were inviting him? He pointed to himself as if to make sure they were in fact talking about him and not some ghost next to him. “Me too?”

“Of course,” Soda said, looking at him confused. “Why wouldn’t you come?”

They would have a lot more fun without him. He shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

The diner they went to, much to his surprise, was the restaurant he went to with Harley to get their breakfast sandwiches (the weed part was on the hush-hush). Since then, Ponyboy had been there a handful more times with the same agenda: get high, eat food, sell weed. He ran his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Of course, the gang had to choose this place.

It was busier and livelier now since people were off school and work. There were greasers and socs alike, chowing down on greasy food and talking loud enough that the music became only ambient beats. The gang sat down at the bar top since they were a larger group and every other table was filled. They could have waited for an opening or they could have gone somewhere else, but Two-Bit was adamant about this place for whatever reason. He said that the food must have been good since it was popular and Ponyboy knew that it was, but he was high every time. The smell emitted from the kitchen caused his stomach to rumble as he sat between Two-Bit and Soda.

When the waitress came over, someone that Ponyboy had seen but never bothered to learn the name of, she started to take their order. But when she got to him, recognition flashed over her eyes.

“Just to let you know,” she started, “we don’t make breakfast sandwiches at this time.”

Ponyboy gave her a sheepish smile and gave her his order—just a burger and fries. When she left, the gang looked at him curiously.

“Have you been here before?” Soda asked to start a conversation.

“A few times,” Ponyboy answered, looking down and scratching at a mysterious stain on the table. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate any more than that, they started to talk about their day and all of that small-talk gibberish. It was almost nice. Ponyboy missed get-togethers like this. And for a brief moment, he let himself believe that everything was better again. A small smile graced his lips but it grew strained by the second as the voice in his head reminded him that they didn’t want him there. Sometimes, he wished it could give him a second of peace so he could be oblivious for a moment. Let him relish in this fabrication, but it wasn’t the voices in his head that broke him from his reverie. It was the gang.

“Hey, remember that time we got kicked out from bowling,” Two-Bit brought up and the smile dropped completely from Ponyboy’s face because he did not remember this.

“That was because you threw the bowling ball into the ceiling,” Darry said.

When did this happen?

“I thought it was because Steve kept knocking over other people’s pins before they had the chance to go,” Soda mused.

Did they go bowling without him?

“I didn’t do that. That was Johnny,” Steve defended.

Why wasn’t he invited? That was a stupid question. He knew the answer already.

“Why would Johnny do that?” Dally shot back. “He and Darry were the only ones playing the game.”

“He got a few strikes in too,” Two-Bit laughed, reaching over to give him a noogie. Johnny tilted his body away to save his scalp.

“You would have gotten some too if you didn’t purposefully aim for the gutter,” Darry sighed and smiled at the waitress kindly when she brought their food.

“What can I say, I was gutting out the competition.” The others groaned and started to eat but Ponyboy didn’t have an appetite anymore.

“You guys went bowling?” he asked lowly.

Soda’s eyes widened as he turned his full attention to his brother. “Yeah, sorry. We didn’t think you wanted to come since you were out all the time.”

He would have wanted to! Ponyboy slumped. Okay, fine, he probably would have still declined because he would have ruined their fun if he went. It would have been nice to get the invitation though. He shrugged, shoulders stiff. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t really.

“Anyway,” Two-Bit continued and proceeded with a joke that Ponyboy was never let in on. They spoke but nothing made sense to him, making him feel out of place. No spaces were left for him to speak and no glances were shot his way. His ears heated up as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was obvious that he didn’t belong in their group anymore.

They were so wrapped up with each other that Ponyboy was certain that if he were to leave, they wouldn’t notice him gone. So, that’s what he did. He excused himself to go to the bathroom but the gang didn’t even hum in acknowledgment. His chest felt tight as he escaped to the restroom before he could succumb to an anxiety attack.

He should just go. It was stupid that he came here with them. He wasn’t sure why they invited him in the first place. To embarrass him? Because they pitied him? To remind him that he would never be able to keep up with them?

He gripped the edges of the sink tightly and stared at his reflection until he felt composed enough to leave the bathroom. He still didn’t know if he should sit back down or leave entirely. Ponyboy looked over to them and with his last bit of stubbornness, he decided to test them. It was a toxic thing to do. Testing them would be something he would never be proud of. It was messed up and he was setting himself up for pain, but he needed that confirmation because there was no point in sticking around if they didn’t want him there.

Ponyboy waited for the gang to notice him missing; for them to ask where he had gone. But no one did. The spot he had been sitting in had been taken over, his food was pushed to the side. It was like Ponyboy hadn’t existed in the first place.

There. See? The gang failed the test already. Unfair? Probably. They didn’t have a chance to begin with.

Are you happy now?

His chest felt tight. Well, that confirmed it. He should just go. If they didn’t notice him before, they wouldn’t notice him leaving now.

He turned to leave, but right when he was about to exit the diner, the door opened and he came face to face with none other than Harley. This guy had a penchant for popping up at the weirdest times.

“Harley,” Ponyboy greeted in surprise. He stepped back to let his friend inside. The plan to leave instantly went to the back of his head. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” Harley shrugged. “I think I should be asking you that.”

Ponyboy pointed behind him. “The gang wanted to eat out today but I wasn’t feeling it.”

They sat down at an empty table and Ponyboy spared a glance at the gang who still hadn’t noticed his absence. Harley hummed. “Are you feeling up to help me?”

Maybe on a different day. “Not really, the gang’s sitting at the bar top. I don’t want to walk back up there.”

“That’s fair.”

“Shouldn’t you be going back there to sell your stash?”

“No, he can wait.” Harley leaned back on the bench. “I would rather not deal with him more than I have to. Deal to him, yes. Deal with him, no.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can handle him saying, ‘Um, actually,’ again.” He could feel a migraine forming just remembering the snotty tone.

“He does say that a lot. He never has anything smart to say after it either. Like, you’re just a guy who flips burgers and dips fries. We don’t have to listen to you.”

“I don’t like that he acts so pretentious about it.”

“He also says, ‘Oh man, oh man, oh man,’ a lot,” Harley said, attempting to impersonate the chef’s voice.

Something about the way he did it, however, was so funny. Ponyboy couldn’t help but laugh. He placed his hand on his stomach when his muscles contracted there. “You sound like Donald Duck.”

While he was teasing Harley about it, he was unaware of the eyes that had turned to him.

“Hey, where did Pony go?” Soda asked when he noticed that Ponyboy hadn’t returned. The gang looked over to the spot that was now filled by Two-Bit and blinked. Two-Bit had been sitting there for several minutes now so it must have been before that.

“That kid is sneaky,” Steve muttered.

“But where is he? He didn’t leave, did he? He said he was going to the bathroom.”

They didn’t have to wait long before they found out. A familiar laugh cut through the loud diner, something they hadn’t heard in a while. They turned around and saw Ponyboy sitting at another table close to the door. In front of him was another kid his age. They both had smiles on their faces as if the world around them didn’t exist. It would have been fine—great even—if it wasn’t for the person that Ponyboy was hanging out with.

“When did Ponyboy and Harley get close?” Two-Bit asked.

Chapter Text

Ponyboy and Harley: a duo that the gang hadn’t seen coming. The two of them were vastly different from one another—contrasting values, hobbies, and personalities. But that was the thing. They were different. It wasn’t like that anymore. Ponyboy was becoming more like Harley by the day, absorbing the other’s personality like a sponge. Most of his past behaviors and actions started to make sense. It wasn’t a teenage rebellious phase they were dealing with (not entirely, at least), it was Harley’s influence.

“What’s he doing with him?” Johnny asked out loud. They all knew about Harley. Some more than others. He was infamous for his insanity and was the definition of bad news. There were several rumors revolving around him, each crazier than the next. They weren’t sure which ones were true, but the fact that there were rumors was telling enough. Johnny realized that this was the guy who had been changing Ponyboy—the one he had started despising so much.

“They look close,” Two-Bit observed. “Is that the friend he was talking about?”

They hoped not, but all directions were pointed towards yes. Seriously, how was this duo possible?

“How are they even friends? They’re so different,” Steve questioned. Different or not, he didn’t think Ponyboy was telling the truth about his friendship to begin with. Now he was eating his words because not only was he wrong, but he couldn’t help but think it was his fault that this happened.

“How did they even meet?” Soda wondered.

There were many questions on their minds and none of them were being answered by just sitting there. The gang exchanged looks before they got up and approached the other table. They couldn’t ignore how Ponyboy seemed to tense when he noticed them.

Why did he do that? Why did he look at them like they were about to jump him?

Everything about this was wrong.

“Ponyboy,” Darry started, eyeing Harley, who looked like he didn’t even care they were there. His nonchalant attitude only seemed to edge him on. While it seemed appropriate to call him a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Harley could never be mistaken for a “sheep.” He was a rattlesnake that didn’t need some disguise to hide how dangerous he was. That casual attitude was only the warning rattle before the strike. “What’s going on here?”

“Just talking to my friend,” Ponyboy answered, not looking at him. That answered the question about their relationship. They needed to stop this, right? But what authority did they have over this?

Darry shifted his stance wider to appear larger and more intimidating. He puffed out his chest and took a deep breath. “Can we talk to you for a second?”

Ponyboy’s shoulders slumped forward, already having expected this to happen. He looked pitifully at Harley who shrugged.

“I’ve gotta go anyway,” Harley said and stood up. “Speak to you in a bit.”

He loped off towards the kitchen and disappeared behind the door. Ponyboy knew that he was just going to finish his business, but he couldn’t help but give the gang a hard time about his friend’s departure.

“Great, you scared him off,” he said. When they didn’t react how he wanted them to, he sighed and rested his cheek on his palm. “What is it?”

Darry slid into the booth in front of him. Soda sat next to him while the gang stood around the table, essentially trapping Ponyboy in. There was no escaping this conversation.

“What are you doing with Harley?” Darry asked first, trying to get Ponyboy to look him in the eyes but failing. “Why are you friends with him?”

“Because we get along?” Ponyboy provided. Why else? He didn’t need a reason.

“But isn’t he crazy? I’ve heard rumors.”

The youngest shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but isn’t everyone a bit crazy?”

Darry pinched the bridge of his nose, “No.”

Ponyboy awkwardly hummed. They were going to find out about his friendship sooner or later. It wasn’t like he was keeping it a secret, but now that they knew, it was going to put a hamper on things. He wasn’t entirely sure why they were acting like this—concerned, that was. He thought they would be happy he wasn’t tagging along anymore. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t matter who he was hanging out with so long as he wasn’t around them.

“I don’t understand what the problem is,” Ponyboy said because all he was trying to do was talk to his friend. It wasn’t like he was going on a murdering spree with him.

“The problem is that you made friends with someone so insane,” Darry growled and Ponyboy had to prevent himself from glaring, protectiveness washing over him.

“You don’t know anything about him.” Darry and the gang didn’t have the right to judge. Harley was insane sometimes, but he was also one of the most level-headed people he knew. That was basically like everyone on this planet. Sure, he had his flaws, but nobody was perfect.

“Doesn’t he sell drugs?” Two-Bit brought up which only made the gang become rigid. If Harley was a dealer and it was theorized that Ponyboy took them, then this got a whole lot worse. But they didn’t find anything in his room. Did Harley get Ponyboy addicted to drugs or not?

While the gang was coming up with possible conclusions, Ponyboy reminisced about his first time in this diner. He and Harley were joking in the bathroom—about hookers that worked corners and mobsters that collected money. The memory brought a small huff of laughter. “No, he’s a hooker.”

The gang’s eyes boggled. For a moment, they thought they had heard him wrong because there was no way he had called Harley a hooker. They never thought he would say that word.

“Ponyboy,” Soda started, shaking off his shock. He needed a straight answer. “He sells drugs, doesn’t he?”

“He hasn’t sold anything since coming out of juvie,” Ponyboy lied, putting his hands in his lap so he could fiddle with his fingers. Ratting him out would be bad for both of them.

“Yeah, I don’t believe that one bit,” Dally snorted. Now he knew where he was getting the weed. This was upsetting since he warned him not to get involved with Harley.

“Why would he get in trouble with the cops again? He’s been trying to keep his head low.” The gang was looking at Ponyboy in disbelief. People don’t change that much. Forgive them for not believing that Harley decided to become a stand-up citizen after his imprisonment. A bead of sweat fell down Ponyboy’s temple under their scrutinizing gazes. He shifted in his seat, heart palpitating.

“Is he giving you drugs?” Darry demanded a bit too loudly.

Ponyboy rapidly shook his head, which was mostly an excuse to look around to see who was eavesdropping on them. “No! I don’t do drugs, Dar.”

“Then how do you explain the other night? You were acting strangely and talking to things that weren’t there.”

Ponyboy bit his bottom lip. He had no good excuse for that. He hardly remembered much from that night since he was so out of it. He just remembered that it was scary. His mouth felt terribly dry as his tongue scratched at its roof. As much of a good liar as he was, it didn’t mean he could create a good reason for everything. He couldn’t stay quiet forever though. “I was tired. Delirious, you know?”

“You were fine an hour before that.”

“Yeah, but…” He stopped. It didn’t matter what he said to that. They weren’t going to believe him. But sometimes the best answer was the lack of one. He didn’t need to know everything. “I don’t know why.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“But it’s the best one you’re getting. I don’t know what happened.”

Darry looked exasperated. He rubbed his temples. “If this is a health issue, maybe we should take you to see a doctor.”

“Maybe,” Ponyboy said, hands clammy. He couldn’t see one. Doctors meant drug testing. However, he couldn’t back out without the gang knowing he was lying. He just had to hope they would forget about this, and if not, he would have to deal with it later.

He was hoping the gang would drop the matter after that, but Johnny had to continue where they left off. He didn’t blame him for it. Johnny’s eyes were wide with worry.

“Harley’s not pressuring you into doing anything, is he?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Ponyboy reassured. And then he pressed his thumb into his wrist. The sting it brought hurt but helped ground him. “We’re just two guys who are friends with each other. We like each other’s company. There’s nothing more to it.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that he magically reformed?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ponyboy turned to him, gaze hardening. “Yes.”

The diner was feeling suffocating now. There were so many eyes and ears that could have been tuning in on their conversation. There were fewer people in there now. The dinner rush was close to over, which meant it was quieter in there now. The food scent that wafted throughout the restaurant started to make him nauseous.

His nails were creating crescents in his skin. He couldn’t stand this. The gang was interrogating him, peeling away at his thickest layers. He wanted them to stop. All of this guilt and anxiety would go away if they just stopped and left him be. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep everything from them.

“And you’re really friends with him?” Soda asked tentatively, even though Ponyboy confirmed it multiple times by now. Was it that hard to believe? He knew he hadn’t had a real friend until now, but this was excessive.

“Yes, why do you guys keep asking me this?” Ponyboy whined.

“We just didn’t think you would get along with him,” Two-Bit explained and that was a fair assumption.

Ponyboy pondered his next words, tilting his head from side to side. He leaned back on the bench and looked up at the ceiling lights. His fingers were still digging into his skin; still grounding him. Since the gang approached him, he had been telling lie after lie, but this time, he spoke straight from the heart. “Honestly? I didn’t think we would either. Something just clicked with us. Kind of felt like we were friends for a long time. Even when none of us spoke, it felt like we had a hundred good conversations. And when we did talk, he listened to me. He understood me. He didn’t make me feel bad for thinking the way I did or didn’t make fun of me for crying. He was an actual friend to me when I was alone.”

Everyone was shocked by what he said. They didn’t think he would say something so earnest about Harley because they didn’t want to believe he was a good friend to Ponyboy. They already had a preset image of him, and it didn’t match with what was described. Was Harley just misunderstood? No, he was labeled as insane for a reason. It didn’t matter if Ponyboy was okay around him because he was just a kid. He didn’t know better. But did they?

In his spiel, Ponyboy said he was comfortable enough to cry in front of Harley, and that he preferred to go to him over any of them. That didn’t make sense to any of them. Weren’t they close? Wasn’t he their little brother? Wasn’t he Johnny’s best friend? When had he drifted away from them? They would have listened to him if he had come to them.

Ponyboy said all of these things and more or less accused them of negligence, but how could they help him if he isolated himself? How were they supposed to know he was upset when he refused to interact with them to begin with? But maybe that was the hint. They should have stuck by him when he was pushing them away.

He said he felt alone. That was another thing they couldn’t quite understand because Ponyboy was never alone.

“You weren’t alone,” Johnny insisted. “You had us.”

“But none of you are there whenever I need you the most,” Ponyboy said.

The minds of everyone in the gang went blank. That wasn’t true. Surely, Ponyboy had the wrong idea.

“You said all these good things about Harley, but how do you know he isn’t secretly annoyed with you?” Steve asked.

“He’s not,” Ponyboy spat, glaring at Steve.

“That’s a bold claim.”

Ponyboy had a feeling Steve was trying to make him doubt his friendship with Harley. His chest tightened and his tongue clicked in his mouth. He clenched his hands into fists, realizing that he didn’t have to take his bullying anymore. Before, he had to pretend to get along because he didn’t want to upset Soda. He didn’t have that restraint anymore. “I thought you of all people would be supportive. I finally made a friend. I did what you said to do. Aren’t you happy?”

The gang didn’t know what he was talking about, but apparently, Steve did. His skin became pale because, at that moment, it was confirmed that the reason Ponyboy was different was because of him. This shitstorm was because of his stupid words.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve sputtered and Ponyboy’s eyes narrowed.

“What else could you have possibly meant? Your message was very clear and, quite frankly, eye-opening.”

“What are you two talking about?” Two-Bit interrupted.

Ponyboy didn’t remove his glare from the other greaser. “Would you like me to tell them, or you?”

“I… I…” Steve stammered, making the gang wonder what he did to get him so clammed up. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to take back control of the conversation. He sharpened his eyes. “There’s nothing to tell. Stop trying to change the topic.”

“What’s going on?” Dally cut in, sick of feeling like an outsider to this conversation. “Just spill it, man.”

“There’s nothing to tell?” Ponyboy growled, slamming his hands on the table. The diner quieted down at the sudden noise, eyes turning towards them. If Ponyboy noticed it, he didn’t react. “I don’t know why I’m under fire because you told me I didn’t have any friends, Steve. It was you who reminded me that nobody wanted me around because I was just some tagalong kid who needed to be babysat.”

“Steve, you said that?” Soda asked, turning to his best friend with wide eyes. This only riled Ponyboy up more because Soda was almost just as guilty.

“Soda, you don’t have the right to act shocked. You were there too.”

Soda’s lips pressed into a thin line, skin going pale like Steve’s. “No, I…”

Ponyboy sighed. He was so over this. The topic had successfully been switched away from drugs (though it would likely return later). He wished Harley had stayed to back him up so this could be over and done with. To be honest, he wasn’t that mad at Soda and Steve anymore. He was mostly over it by now, and all they did was tell the truth, so, in a way, he was grateful. But this conversation was getting annoying. Ponyboy had a headache, felt nauseous, and wanted to drown his feelings out with pills, weed, or alcohol.

Luckily, the waitress from earlier approached them, cutting their conversation short. She ushered them outside the establishment, stating that they were disturbing the other patrons. The blast of cold air sent shivers down their spines. The wind was howling, but, through it, they heard another noise. It didn’t take long for them to identify it. Harley was already in the parking lot, jiggling a handle to a tuff Skylark car. His brows were pulled together in frustration. Instantly, Ponyboy felt better. He approached him and the gang followed.

“Come on,” Harley muttered. Ponyboy stepped loudly to alert his presence.

“Hey,” Ponyboy greeted with a tired smile.

“Hey, man,” Harley responded, looking over his shoulder at the gang.

“What are you doing?” Darry asked pointedly. His hand was raised just in case he needed to pull Ponyboy away. “Is this your car?”

Harley didn’t see any reason to lie. He jiggled the handle again. “Nope, but it could be.”

Darry’s brows knitted together. He shook his head. “Ponyboy, he’s not someone you should get involved with.”

Not this again. Ponyboy rolled his eyes, “Really? All he was doing was trying to get in a car. Dally stole vehicles before.”

“He’s different. Dally’s not aiming to get you high.”

“God, I wish I was high.”

“What was that?” Darry’s face went red. Or maybe that was the flashing, neon restaurant sign.

“This whole intervention makes me want to get high,” Ponyboy repeated sassily. His hands rested on his hips.

“You’re not going to do drugs, Ponyboy!”

“I didn’t say anything about drugs, Darry! I don’t do them. I said that already.”

“Yeah, Ponyboy doesn’t drink either, and, if he did, he would be a total lightweight,” Harley backed up, secretly referencing when Ponyboy got his hair bleached. Pony’s ears turned red and he subconsciously combed through his hair.

“See? Now, can you finally drop it? I’m friends with Harley. Big deal.”

“I didn’t get paid for this deal,” Harley murmured to himself—a joke—but the gang all heard it and it wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.

“And you’re trying to convince us that he doesn’t sell drugs?” Dally snarked.

“He doesn’t,” Ponyboy confirmed.

“Yeah, so why don’t you shut the fuck up and stop making assumptions about me?” Harley snapped, which ultimately made their view of him worse. That headache Ponyboy felt earlier came back. Harley had to be the instigator and make things go from zero to one hundred. Why did he have to be this way? Was he on something or was he picking a fight on purpose? Nobody spoke this way to Dally unless they wanted to get hurt.

“Hey, man, watch your mouth,” Dally growled, stepping forward. Harley stood up straighter to meet him.

“Why don’t you watch your mouth or I’m going to slash these tires.”

“That’s not even our car,” Two-Bit pointed out but was mostly ignored.

This was getting bad. Ponyboy stood in front of Harley to separate the two, but it wasn’t enough. Dally rotated his neck with a pissed smile on his face.

He struck like a viper. His arm went around Ponyboy, chest slamming into him as he threw a punch at Harley. The sound of impact echoed off the restaurant wall. It only took Harley a split second to recover, however. He reached over Ponyboy (which was harder to do since they were closer in height) and flung his fist forward.

And, just like that, Ponyboy regretted that he got between them.

Chapter Text

Harley never thought he would be fighting someone tonight, but shit happens. He was just going to sell weed that day, but then he saw Ponyboy at the diner with that gang he always talked about. His friend looked pitiful and was going to leave if Harley hadn’t conveniently stepped into the establishment at that time. That expression was granted. Harley would rather stick his face in boiling oil than be in that situation.

Christ, now he was craving fries. Harley wondered if he could walk to McDonalds from here. Probably not. Maybe he should get a car.

So, eventually, he exited the diner from the back door to pick one out. He could have chosen any of them, but a particular one looked pleasing to the eyes—a nice paint job, good rims, and shiny leather seats. He jiggled the polished handles. Locked. Groaning, he tried again as if that would change the outcome. It didn’t, which meant no McDonalds.

With a scowl, he kicked the door and started to think of more legitimate ways to get inside. It was starting to become more work than what it was worth. He could break a window or even slide a hook inside. Hell, he could even pick the lock. But before he could act, Ponyboy walked up to him with the gang behind him.

Shit started to happen from there. That gang started to badmouth him right to his face, and he usually wouldn’t even care, but he was just denied fries because the stupid car door was locked, so he was more irritated than usual. That was when the first punch happened.

It didn’t hurt. His veins were pumped full of drugs that numbed him to his very core and slowed his perception. At first, everything was a blur of flying fists and splattering blood. Harley’s body moved automatically. Punch, duck, elbow, smack, grab. He attacked Dally with gusto just to prove to him that he could handle himself. And luckily, Ponyboy had pulled himself away before he could get hurt.

Dally was a formidable fighter, but Harley wasn’t too shabby himself. He learned a lot from the brawls he watched behind bars. That didn’t mean he picked fights himself. Scuffles weren’t his thing. He preferred watching over participating. It was entertaining to see people get beat up. When he did have issues with someone, he preferred a more indirect route. He could fight, sure, but he would rather manipulate them in a way that would ruin their lives. Harley liked to play the long game. Unless it involved money, of course. It was more work to do things this way, but he was a hypocrite.

In juvie, he had to learn how to defend himself unless he wanted to get shanked in the middle of the night. He made a lot of enemies—inside and outside of prison—and one of them was bound to retaliate sooner or later. This was the consequence of cheating people out of their money or causing their sentences to become longer.

Dally, however, was arrested more times than him (Harley only once) and learned the ins and outs of everything. He was built stronger too. Harley wasn’t the strongest guy around, but he wasn’t weak. His strengths came from his speed and resourcefulness. His muscles were lean and enabled him to deliver strong strikes.

But Dally was a guy who liked to fight, and Harley was getting hit more times than he was landing any. He was going to be defeated, and there was nothing he hated more than losing to a guy who looked like a cheap, knock-off version of Jack Frost. The problem was, he couldn’t figure out how he was going to win.

“Fuck,” Harley hissed when Dally kicked him in the gut, successfully winding him.

“Are you finished?” Dally growled.

“I bet you say that a lot, huh?” Harley’s lips quirked up when Dally glared at him. “I bet you also get lied to every time you ask that.”

His scalp was suddenly grabbed and his nose was slammed into a knee. It was miraculous that it didn’t break. Blood spewed from his nostrils and pooled in his mouth. This was getting so annoying, and frankly, boring. It would be more fun to frustrate him. If he was going to lose, he was going to drag Dally down with him. He had an idea.

Stars danced across his vision as he straightened his back. When Dally threw another fist forward, Harley saw it coming. He moved to dodge it when he remembered what his plan was. He pulled himself back in front of the punch. The impact had him stumbling back. Dally’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

“What are you doing?” Dally demanded, punching again but the results were the same. Harley moved out of the way before he went back to get hit. On purpose.

Dally’s confusion quickly turned into frustration. It was clear what Harley was trying to do, but knowing meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. If Dally were to hit him, it would be because he let him. He had every capability to dodge, but Harley’s effort made it seem like he was taking damage to create a handicap. He was telling him that he was in control of this fight, regardless of everything.

It wasn’t like this before. At least, Dally thought Harley was fighting seriously at the start of it. But now he was starting to doubt himself. He felt like he had to do the opposite of what he was doing, but he couldn’t do that. The opposite of hitting Harley was not hitting him, and doing so would end in a loss. There was no way he was going to lose in such an embarrassing way.

Somehow, Harley had backed him into a corner. In other words, it was a checkmate—or a stalemate if they wanted to be more technical because Harley couldn’t truly win unless he started to fight dirty.

While Dally was trying to figure out how to go around this, Harley was trying to stay conscious. This wasn’t a great plan, he would admit. It didn’t make a lot of sense (in his defense, he was high as fuck) and he was already regretting it, but if he backed out now, he would look like a pussy. So, he toughed it out because another thing he hated was being looked down on. Yeah, sure he was going to lose this battle, and that was lame as hell, but the war was more important to him.

“Stop doing that, man,” Dally hissed. When it happened again, his face turned red.

“You want a real fight?” Harley asked challengingly. He reached into his pocket, fingers gliding over his blade. He considered using it, but then he felt something else. He smiled, and blood filled the cracks between his teeth. He pulled it out. “Hold this first.”

He passed over the object, quickly bringing his lighter to it. Dally felt the warmth of the flame before he realized what was shoved into his hand—a firecracker. His eyes widened as he cursed loudly before he chucked it away. The small explosion caused everyone to jump as car alarms started to blare loudly. If Dally hadn’t reacted fast enough, he probably would have lost some fingers.

“Was that a firework?” Steve asked, mouth agape.

“No, screw the firework. What was that, man?” Dally barked, wiping the blood from his face, but he only ended up smearing it more. “That wasn’t a fight.”

“What do you mean?” Two-Bit asked because, in his eyes, it looked like Dally won. The damage taken on both of them was proof enough.

Dally jabbed his finger towards Harley. “You let me hit you. Why?”

“To give you a chance,” Harley said, swaying a bit. Ponyboy placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him, face scrunched in concern for his friend. “Not my fault you’re a wuss.”

“You’re crazy,” Darry yelled. The fight had been short in total—only lasting a few minutes. The gang wanted to help more, but each time they moved to assist, they were met with a harsh glare from Dally. This was something he wanted to handle alone. They would have to deal with Harley later. They only intervened when their fight was about to turn into a death match. “You nearly killed him!”

“I don’t think it would have killed him,” Ponyboy commented, earning looks of horror.

“And you,” Darry turned to his little brother, face ashen. “Why aren’t you caring more? He gave him an explosive. What is wrong with you?”

Ponyboy looked to the side, eyes becoming unfocused in thought as if what Darry said troubled him, but not in the way it should have. In the past, he would have flinched at the words and would have taken them to heart. This time, he was mulling over how he had changed since then instead. The look didn’t last long before his face went blank.

Sirens sounded in the distance, signaling their fun was over. Someone from the diner must have called the cops on them. He had a bottle of drugs tucked away in his coat and staying there would no doubt end with his arrest. That meant it was time to go.

“Fuck, I never got my fries,” Harley cursed under his breath.

“I mean, you could have gotten them here,” Ponyboy answered, though he wanted to talk about something else.

Harley shook his head. “No thanks. Ordering food after everything is basically like wining and dining with the chef, and I would rather douse myself with gasoline, light myself on fire, and then throw myself off a cliff. Fuck that.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“Not if it’s true.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Whatever,” Harley grumbled. “Do you want to come or not?”

Ponyboy nodded fervently and Harley couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted to get away from the gang or if he was just worried about him. It was probably both, knowing him. They turned to leave. Ponyboy didn’t spare the gang another glance as he offered his side to give him subtle support. The gang called out for him to stop, but there wasn’t much they could do when the cop car pulled into the parking lot.

They slipped away easily, using it as a wall. The gang didn’t follow them, which was a lucky break. Ponyboy once mentioned that they were trying to avoid any problems with the police because they were only together if they had good behavior.

“Are you okay?” Ponyboy asked when they were in the clear. There was that question he wanted to ask him before.

“Yeah,” Harley sighed. He scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “Don’t feel a thing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Ponyboy gave him a critical look. “You’re about to collapse.”

“I won’t collapse if I have fries.”

“What is this craving for fries? Where are they good enough to crave them this much?” It was already clear that they were walking in a planned direction.

“I don’t know. I just want McDonald's.”

Ponyboy stopped walking. “The nearest one is like five miles away, man. They’re not good enough to walk there in this weather.”

Harley didn’t agree with that but he was too tired to argue. “Yeah, that’s why I was trying to get a car, but I got interrupted.”

He turned around and started to walk back to the diner. Ponyboy fell silent as he followed behind him. It was eerie, really. Harley found himself uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Ponyboy eventually said. “If I hadn’t approached you, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Harley answered. He was pissed that he got in a fight, but it wasn’t Pony’s fault. “I found Dally’s annoyance worth it. Plus, I took his wallet.”

He held it out for him to see. Ponyboy grabbed it, thumbs brushing over the cracked leather. “When did you snag this?”

“When he was throwing the firework away.”

They made it back to the parking lot and Harley took the wallet back. The cop car was now parked by the front doors of the diner and the officer was inside, questioning the patrons on everything they saw. The gang was nowhere to be found. They likely left at the same time as them. This also meant that it was going to be easier to steal, and he knew exactly which car he wanted.

Harley made a beeline toward the police car. Unlike the other vehicle, this one was unlocked. The cop probably didn’t think anyone would have the balls to steal it.

“What are you doing?” Ponyboy asked in a more hushed volume, but it was more like a hiss.

“Getting us a ride. Now, shut up,” Harley shot back. He slipped behind the wheel and checked all the nooks and crannies for the key. If the officer was dumb enough to leave it open, he was betting that they left it in the sun visor or some other stupid place. But when he checked, it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere else either. Apparently, they were more competent than they thought.

It was time to move on to attempt number two. Harley pulled out his blade and cracked open the panel beneath the wheel. His eyes flickered to the diner windows just in case someone was about to catch them. He turned back to the task and his fingers froze. Despite his reputation, he had never hotwired a car before. All that it looked like to him was a bunch of tangled wires. He had stolen a motorcycle in the past, but he found the key beforehand. This was a different ballgame.

Guess he was going to have to attach different wires in hopes that something would work. He moved to cut one like he had seen done in movies, but Ponyboy made a strangled sound.

“What?” Harley asked. Ponyboy looked over his shoulder nervously before he pushed Harley further inside the car.

“Just let me do it,” he said.

Harley gave him an impressed look. “You know how to hotwire a car?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ponyboy made quick work on the wires, and pretty soon, the vehicle rumbled to life, but that was when the policeman exited the diner and saw them.

“Shit, hit the gas, Pony.”

With a hitch of his breath, Ponyboy slammed the door shut and put the vehicle in reverse. It almost stalled on the ice, but they somehow backed away without much issue. Ponyboy turned the car around and they shot forward so fast that their backs slammed into the seat.

“Hey!” the policeman yelled, reaching for their walkie-talkie. “Stop!”

But Ponyboy had already maneuvered the vehicle out of the parking lot. Harley turned around to watch the policeman chase after them on foot. To make them angrier, he turned on the sirens as they left them in the dust.

He learned a few things that day:

1. Ponyboy could hotwire a car
2. His gang sucked ass
3. Ponyboy wasn’t a good driver, even though he claimed to have learned how to drive
4. Learning how to do something doesn’t mean someone is good at it
5. Cop cars are fun to ride in while not in custody

Later, they found out that the police were searching for a hijacked cop car, so they had to ditch it and walk anyway. It was worth it, though.

Chapter Text

The house was tense and silent as Dally patched up his wounds. The events of that night took a while to soak in. None of them could believe that Ponyboy befriended Harley, and the fact that he chose him over them was unprecedented. They didn’t know where everything went wrong. Well, that wasn’t true. They did know because they, the gang, caused this rift. They caused the crack that started this whole mess and continued to poke and prod until there was a clean rip between them. And they likely made it worse after Harley and Ponyboy ran off.

They did try to go after them, but the timing of the officer’s arrival couldn’t have been worse. While Ponyboy and Harley used the disruption to their advantage, the gang snuck back to their cars, careful not to get stopped for questioning. By the time they maneuvered out of the parking lot, the duo, however, was no longer in sight. They drove down the road to search for them but they must have gone in the wrong direction because they still couldn’t find them. Ponyboy and Harley were traveling on foot so there was no way they could have gotten far. There was still a chance.

They turned their vehicles around to continue their search in the other direction, stopping briefly to let a cop car speed by them. In the end, they still couldn’t locate them.

Worry curled in their guts as they thought about what horrible things Harley was doing to Ponyboy. Nothing good came with him. If he didn’t get Ponyboy killed, the weather would have. The night seemed to suck up the light emitted from the streetlights. The roads were icy and dangerous, and they slipped even when they drove slowly.

They searched for a while longer, but even they had to throw in the towel at some point. Maybe Ponyboy was waiting for them at home. It was unlikely though. They wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to spend the night at Harley’s house to stay away from them longer.

This was proven somewhat correct when they got back. The lights in the house were turned off and there were no signs of Ponyboy ever making it back. That brought them back to the present time with Darry’s fingers constantly tapping the back of the landline in preparation for a call to a dispatcher.

“Golly, Harley sure did a number on you,” Johnny said to Dally. The other was standing in the bathroom, a first aid kit balancing on the sink. A long cut ran across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, neither shallow nor deep. The skin around them was red and inflamed. Dried blood was packed in his philtrum, having earlier been spewing from his nostrils. Blood had also splattered across his face, covering up the bruises that were sure to be there in the morning. Dally grumbled as he poked the swollen skin around one of his eyes.

“Harley looked even worse,” Two-Bit hummed. He sat down on the couch with a new bottle of beer in his hand. “I still can’t believe that he and Ponyboy get along. They looked close too.”

“Close enough to take his side,” Soda reminded, grimacing. He grabbed a frozen bag of peas from the freezer and tossed it at Dally.

“He wouldn’t have if he was treated better,” Johnny said loudly and assertively. Ever since he had been jumped, Johnny rarely spoke up. He became more withdrawn, but when he did raise his voice, the gang knew to listen. This was the same case.

“And if he wasn’t told that we didn’t like him around,” Darry sneered, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” Dally asked, pressing the pack of peas against his eyes. The cold was an instant relief. He exited the bathroom and leaned against the door frame.

Eyes turned to Soda and Steve accusingly, causing them to squirm under their scrutiny. Soda gripped his wrist nervously while Steve bit the insides of his cheeks, his eyes falling to the floor in shame.

This blows, Steve thought. He really screwed this one up. He hated how the fingers were pointed at him. There was a pit in his stomach that made him want to vomit. It would be ironic if he lost them as friends after he gave Ponyboy such a hard time about it, but he wouldn’t blame the gang if it came down to that. The prospect of being alone—having his friends (who were closer to him than his family) abandon him—was painful. It hurt more than a bad breakup. If only he had considered that Ponyboy would have felt this way before he said those awful words. His eyes drifted over to Soda who looked like he was about to crumple to the floor. If Steve was going to lose the gang, then he wasn’t going to drag his best friend with him.

“Don’t blame Soda,” Steve declared. “He didn’t say anything back then. It was just me.”

But Soda shook his head.

“No, I’m just as guilty,” Soda admitted, shoulders drooping. “I didn’t defend him. I stayed silent when he needed me. I also did other selfish things to him that can’t be forgiven. If anything, I did more harm. I’m a horrible brother.”

“No, you’re not. I’m the horrible one. I’m the one who told him that he has no friends.”

“But why say that to him?” Two-Bit questioned.

“I don’t know,” Steve replied, mouth suddenly dry. “The kid and I rarely ever got along and he was always invited everywhere. I guess I got fed up.”

“So, you thought it would be okay to say that to him?” Darry boomed angrily. “You were bullying my brother, Steve?”

“I didn’t think this would happen.”

Darry stomped closer to Steve, grinding his teeth together. “You shouldn’t have bullied him in the first place. How long has this been going on, huh?”

But Steve was too scared to answer that. If they defined bullying as someone who would torment someone by calling them names and belittling them, then he would most definitely be one. Steve hadn’t been the kindest to Ponyboy. He never liked how Soda brought him along everywhere and how it was always about him no matter what. He was treated like he was the center of his universe. That didn’t mean he disliked Ponyboy. There were still a number of good memories they had together. They clashed often, but he still viewed him like a pseudo-brother. They were like two siblings that constantly annoyed one another for the heck of it. Only, Ponyboy never seemed to try like Steve did. Pony could stay away from him and he would still be annoying.

That thought caused Steve to freeze. A realization hit him that almost made him helplessly laugh out loud. For years, he thought Ponyboy was following him like a lost duckling. In reality, it was the other way around. Steve was the one who was latching onto him.

Ponyboy tried to keep to himself. He would accept invitations from Soda, sure, but if he couldn’t come, he didn’t complain. He stayed away as much as possible for him. That’s when another thing hit him. Ponyboy was truly a kind person and Steve had let himself get jealous of him.

Jealous? Him? Steve grabbed his bicep and dug his nails into his skin. It sounded embarrassing to think that he had been jealous of Ponyboy of all people. How did he let this jealousy win against his ability to treat someone like a human?

He didn’t think that his words were hurtful since they both sent jabs to each other, but he now knew that he had taken it too far this time. He had crossed a line he shouldn’t have. If he were in Ponyboy’s shoes and someone said that to him, he wouldn’t take it too kindly. Ponyboy was more sensitive than any of them—more imaginative, reflective, and always thinking. He couldn’t imagine how hurt he must have felt.

God, Steve really was a jerk.

“How long, Steve?” Darry asked again, glowering at him. Steve still didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t even want to think about it. However, his pause only seemed to make everything worse. Darry grabbed him by his shirt. “You’re the reason my brother is like this.”

“Darry, knock it off!” Soda cut in, separating the two. Darry’s attention turned to his other brother but his glare didn’t drop. “It’s not all Steve’s fault. Don’t act like it’s just him when you’re part of the problem too. You’ve always been so harsh to Pony.”

Darry faltered. “Excuse me?”

“You put too much pressure on him and you’re always fighting with each other. You’re too rough with him too. Why did you have to say that stuff at the diner?”

Darry went pale, only realizing then the damage he caused. The anger diminished to nausea. And just like that, the blame turned to him. He backed up, stumbling over his feet. “I didn’t mean…”

“Y’all keep saying you didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t change anything,” Johnny said. “All of us are at fault. Stop singling people out.”

There were no objections to that statement. They never stopped to think how Ponyboy thought about their actions; how painful it was to be on the other side of things. To Ponyboy, it looked like they were abandoning him.

They wanted to point their fingers at each other to ease the pain of their wrongdoings. Nobody in the world liked to be at fault. But, in their case, there was no room for finger-pointing. They had to face their mistakes despite how bad it felt.

“We need to do better,” Soda said. “I just wish he would let us get close to him.”

“We have to try,” Darry agreed.

At that moment, the door opened and their conversation died down. Ponyboy walked in, eyes glued to the floor. The sight of him was an instant relief. He tried to go to his room without a word, but they couldn’t let him go past just yet.

“Hey, Pony, can we talk?” Soda started, stopping his younger brother from going further. Ponyboy gave him a look—slightly annoyed but mostly exhausted. He fiddled with his sleeves, pulling them further down until they nearly covered his hands.

“Can’t this wait?” Ponyboy asked. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“It’ll be quick, promise.” Soda looked at the others to see if they wanted to speak up first, but they were also looking around to see if someone would go before them. He let out a breath. “I… just wanted to say sorry.”

Ponyboy tilted his head to the side. “Sorry about what?”

“About everything. How we’ve been treating you and making you feel like an outcast…”

“And for saying that none of us are your friends,” Steve continued, scratching the back of his neck. He was looking anywhere but at Ponyboy, but the genuineness was clear. “It wasn’t true. I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry.”

Ponyboy’s hands curled into loose fists, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Do you think an apology is going to fix anything?”

In truth, they wish it would have. They wanted to apologize and move on; have everything the way it used to be. Let bygones be bygones. But this was all wishful thinking. They knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“No,” Dally answered.

“Good,” Ponyboy grumbled. “Because the train to do so is long gone.”

“We want to do better,” Darry said. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Like leave me alone? I have a long day tomorrow.”

Darry frowned. “That movie, right? I don’t feel very comfortable with you going. I don’t like Harley.”

Ponyboy clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “What you think about him doesn’t matter to me.”

“He’s going to get you hurt or killed.”

“Then I die.” It was as simple as that. “But that probably would help you all out, wouldn’t it?”

Those words struck the gang hard, as if they had stabbed them in their chests with their own switchblades.

“Don’t say that,” Johnny immediately said, eyes growing wide.

“Yeah, it’s not true,” Two-Bit agreed.

Not Ponyboy. Those words should have never been uttered, let alone considered, by him. How could they have allowed it to get this bad? How far did they push him to think that they would rather him be dead than alive? How could they navigate forward from here? How could they get his forgiveness and return things to how they were before?

Ponyboy was depressed and it was their fault.

“Ponyboy, I’m sorry,” Steve choked and this, on a normal day, would have caused him to be teased relentlessly. Not that night. Not when they were traversing over thin ice. They had to fix this. Ponyboy was slipping further from them with each passing second.

His apology was thrown out the window in an instant, however. Ponyboy’s eyes were full of mistrust and doubt. Nothing they could say could make things better. The gang could have said a hundred nice things that suited this situation, but Ponyboy wouldn’t have believed one of them. His trust in them was as broken as a shattered plate.

And it was their fault.

“What did I say? Apologies mean nothing to me,” Ponyboy reminded. The gang stayed silent to figure out what to say next, but he nodded to conclude things. “If that’s it, then I’m going. Or is Harley still a problem?”

“He’s going to get you killed,” Darry repeated but didn’t say anything more. Ponyboy raised an eyebrow, expecting him to protest more—maybe even blow up in his face about it—but nothing came. Surprise flashed over his face before it was schooled.

“He won’t.”

And perhaps Ponyboy should have listened to him because he started to realize how truly messed-up Harley was when he went to the movies with him.

Chapter Text

Ponyboy couldn’t fall asleep. He threw the blanket off his upper body with a groan, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He could hear the gang in the living room, but that night, they weren’t rowdy. Their voices used to be background noise to him—like rain pattering against the roof or the periodic horn of a distant train. However, they failed to lull him to sleep this time. Instead, their voices made him more anxious as he waited for someone to enter his room and drag him out of bed. He didn’t think he could handle facing them anymore.

A billion thoughts ran through his head, making his quest for sleep even more impossible. The gang’s actions only brought doubt and questions.

Why would they talk to him like they were apologetic? It wasn’t like they cared about him. He didn’t understand. He just knew he shouldn’t forgive them.

They did say sorry though.

But that didn’t mean anything. They were lying. People can say sorry without meaning it. To them, it was all a joke. Ponyboy was sure that if he accepted the apology, they would make fun of him and tease him. It would give them another reason to bully him and he wouldn’t be able to take it. The gang would tell him that he was stupid he even believed them. Ponyboy wasn’t dumb enough to fall for that. He refused to be hurt by them again. It didn’t matter if he missed them, he had to put his foot down.

After tossing and turning in bed, Ponyboy sat up, giving up on trying to sleep on his own. He reached towards his bag to grab his stash to smoke and frowned when he realized how little he had left. Ponyboy made a joint, opened the window for aeration, and lit it begrudgingly.

He breathed in the smoke and held it in his mouth before letting it go, watching the trees hypnotically sway outside. Slowly, his body relaxed as the weed kicked in, and all worries and fears left him. Multiple functions that had been overwhelming him shut off and made his brain so quiet that a relieved sigh left his lips.

Once the joint was finished, he laid down in his bed. The window was still open, blasting in the cold air that was sure to ramp up the gas bill. His body sank into the mattress and the clouds above. His eyelids carried sandbags that he tried to keep open at first, but there was no need for him to fight it. All he had to do was relax… relax… relax…

Ponyboy wasn’t sure when he finally closed his eyes, but he guessed he fell asleep at some point. He would have loved it if it were a good rest, but it was ruefully interrupted halfway through.

At some point, he woke to find that his window had been closed and that someone was sitting on the bed behind him. He couldn’t tell who it was because he was turned away from them, however.

A hand that touched his hair almost caused him to flinch. They combed through it ever so gently, fingers splitting through locks and tickling his scalp. Without meaning to, Ponyboy leaned into it. His eyes fluttered closed again. A content sigh exited his mouth, no longer feeling so touch-staved. The person let out a quiet, breathy chuckle and pulled the hair away from his eyes. It felt nice.

That’s when Ponyboy figured out he was still dreaming. That tender touch that was filled with care and love wasn’t real. No one in the gang would have done this. They didn’t care enough for him.

Yet, this felt real. He wanted it to be reality so much because of how nice it was. He hadn’t had such a good dream in a long time.

“Are you awake?” someone whispered, but Ponyboy was too tired to figure out who it was, and his mouth wasn’t cooperating enough to talk back. When he didn’t respond, the person spoke again. “I hope one day you will be able to forgive me… us.”

The combing continued for a few more seconds before it stopped. The extra weight on the bed lifted. They wished him a good rest before they walked away, leaving the room emptier than it had been before.

It began and ended as fast as a dream. It was too bad that dreams were always fantasies.

When Ponyboy arrived at the movie theater, he half thought about turning back around. He breathed heavily, watching the expelled air condense like smoke. He wasn’t feeling up to a movie that night. They weren’t enjoyable to him like they were in the past. He only looked forward to Harley’s company, which wasn’t great. At least he would be able to get more weed from him.

The neon lights glowed brightly, making the theater look newer and more maintained than it actually was. Upon a closer examination, the listed movies on the marquee signs were missing letters. GIDGET GOES TO ROME was now GET TO ROME. IN HARM’S WAY was now simply IN ARM’S WAY. At least EEGAH was correct.

Harley was leaning against the wall with one leg propped up. When he saw Pony, he nodded his head in greeting before he walked over. His face was a lot worse today than it was yesterday. It was all puffed up, bruised, and not very nice to look at. Compared to Dally, he had it worse, but that was understandable after what Harley decided to do during the fight. Ponyboy couldn’t help but cringe.

“You look terrible,” Ponyboy commented, earning a deadpanned look.

“How do you think I would look like after all that?” Harley said with an eye roll.

Fair. “You okay?”

He shrugged. “Don’t feel it.”

That didn’t quite answer his question but Ponyboy didn’t ask more about it. If Harley wanted to talk more about it, then he would have.

Ponyboy sighed and looked around. There weren’t many people present for this showing, he noted. It was either because it was so late at night and nobody wanted to be outside right now, or because the movie sucked. Either way, Ponyboy was going to need something to help him get through it. His fingers were tapping restlessly against each other.

“Do you have it?” he asked, assuming Harley knew what he was talking about. It was open-ended on what it was because he was going to be trying something new or something he already had before. It was really whatever Harley had planned for him and was able to snatch.

Harley nodded, “Yeah, I got something for you to try.”

So, it was something new. Judging by the smug look on his face, it was probably good too. Harley pulled out what looked like little squares of paper that were a little more than half an inch long. He handed one over and Ponyboy took time to admire it, flipping it over to examine it more thoroughly. Was this a blotter sheet? His fingers rubbed the edges.

“What’s this?” Ponyboy asked. It was so plain-looking that he wouldn’t have ever guessed that it was some sort of drug. It would have looked better if the sheet had some sort of design or had been colored.

“LSD,” Harley answered.

“Oh.” He heard that name before, but he didn’t know much about it. He was sort of excited to test it out. “What does LSD stand for?”

Harley shrugged. “I don’t know, man. It’s acid. It’s a psychedelic.”

“This is acid?” It didn’t look like acid to him, but he had never seen it before. Ponyboy always assumed it came in a more liquid form, hence the name—like citrus juices or stomach acid or that skin and metal-melting substance in sci-fi movies.

“One of the forms of it.”

“I thought it was a liquid.”

“It can be a liquid too.”

Ponyboy nodded in understanding and watched as Harley placed his sheet on his tongue before he did the same as well. It didn’t taste like much or anything really. Maybe it was a bit bitter but not enough to make him gag. He wondered how long it was going to take to kick in and how it was going to go. Was it going to be like smoking weed or drinking alcohol? Was he going to see some mad hallucinations?

Without further ado, the two went into the theater, walking past the ticket cashier without paying. The employee called out for them to stop, but it wasn’t worth chasing after them. They settled into their seats, getting comfortable while the lights in the room dimmed. Soon, the projection blasted light on the screen and the movie began.

It took a while for it to hit. At first, Ponyboy just felt off. There wasn’t a better word to describe it, but it got stronger the longer he sat there. He looked up at the ceiling, a slight feeling of nausea in his stomach. He could barely see the surface, but it shifted and moved slowly. The walls did too. It was as if they were streams, flowing slowly away from him. Acid wasn’t like how it was depicted in Dumbo, where bubble elephants tooted their tusks like horns and marched in a band. No animals were dancing across his vision. His hallucinations weren’t anything special. It was just moving walls and nothing much more than that. Sometimes, though, he would see faces and other shapes form in the patterns on the wallpaper.

His gut felt tight as he turned back to the screen. It was blindingly bright and so very colorful, amplified to the maximum level, and as beautiful as a kaleidoscope. The music was loud, but when a song played in the background, it was nice. Almost a euphoric tickle to his brain.

He found his mind wandering throughout this, not really paying attention to what was going on. His eyes fell on the club the caveman was holding and he wondered what kind of tree it came from. Perhaps an oak or a sycamore. He then wondered if those species were even alive during the Paleolithic Age, even though he was fairly certain the movie took place in a modern time. His thoughts trailed off even more, shifting into a tangent about the evolutionary cycle of trees, with the age-old question: What came first: the tree or the seed? Never mind the chicken and the egg.

Harley’s quiet huff caused him to look over. There was a faraway look in his friend’s eyes, pupils blown wide. Ponyboy figured he looked the same as well. Harley stared ahead at the screen, but it was more like he was looking past it. It reminded Pony that he was supposed to be watching too. He turned back to the screen and put all of his effort into focusing, but it was HARD.

He couldn’t concentrate on the whole screen like he was supposed to. The idea of doing so brought him anxiety. Instead, he put his focus on small details—the red vehicle the characters drove, the gap between the caveman’s front teeth, or the brush on the ground. Loads of random theories and questions flooded his brain. They ranged from how the vehicle could get enough traction on the rough terrain to what type of caveman he would be in a fantasy scenario. If he stayed focused on an object or subject for too long, it became stale, but if he jumped around, it became overwhelming. It was exhausting.

A few thoughts led him to spontaneously burst into hysterical laughter, while some scenes in the movie made him feel like he was about to implode. His heart was beating rapidly and sweat made his clothes stick to his body. Goosebumps rose on his arms as he rubbed at the rough fabric on his seat. His breath became heavy as he pulled up his sleeves, feeling the seat’s fibers poke out of each bump on his skin.

When the movie ended, Ponyboy thought about standing, but his limbs wouldn’t listen, and his mind kept wandering. As soon as the urge to stand came, so would his random thoughts. And when he remembered that he needed to stand again, his mind would wander again. It was an endless cycle, and Harley wasn’t having much luck either. They only left when they were kicked out for cleaning.

Soon, they were walking down the street, having conversations that were deep, engaging, and profound (from their perspective). If he hadn’t been tripping, he would have been more aware of how outrageous they sounded, but everything they spoke about made perfect sense in their minds. He now knew why some writers liked acid and why it was becoming popular with students.

“Hey, why are a lot of deep-sea fish the color red?” Ponyboy spontaneously asked. He wasn’t sure why he decided to babble about that out of all the topics he could have chosen. There wasn’t anything around them that would have triggered such a conversation. But maybe it was the lit lamps that lined the dark streets, leading them to an unknown destination like an angler fish.

Harley shrugged, “To get seen. They can’t stand out when everything looks the same. It’s probably like joining a sorority down there, only they aren’t blonde or brunette, copy-and-paste, white girls wearing the same outfits.”

That would make sense. Ponyboy almost accepted it, but then thought about it some more. “What if it’s for camouflage or something?”

“Red stands out in black. If red camouflages, then I shouldn’t see you, right?” He pointed at Pony’s red hoodie.

They made their way into a nearby park and headed towards a bench. They couldn’t go home since they were still under the influence, and Ponyboy wondered how long it would take for the LSD to wear off. They’ve been tripping for quite a while now.

He wanted to talk more about it, but more on the topic of light reflection to relieve them from the staleness that was forming.

They were talking out there for what felt like a couple of hours. Their faces and hands had turned red, which Pony swore he could somehow hear. Similar to how he had gained the ability to taste sounds. It was well past the time he was supposed to come back home. He could feel when the peak of the high hit and when it started to wear down, and it was disappointing. He felt off when he started, but it didn’t prepare him for the comedown.

The saturated colors weren’t as vibrant and the world became duller. The air wasn’t vibrating around him and his senses didn’t feel like they were going crazy. His mouth was terribly dry and he desperately needed to go to the bathroom. He became more aware of his body and how cold it was, and it sucked.

Just when he was going to suggest they find a warmer spot, someone yelled, “Hey!”

Ponyboy jumped because he wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the park so close to midnight and in the middle of winter. People weren’t as crazy as them. The two of them looked over to see who it was.

Ponyboy didn’t recognize the guy. He had this worn look to him. His eyes were sunken and his sickly skin sagged on his face. Red open sores dotted the skin on his neck and hands, likely also running up his arms as well. His melted appearance wasn’t as bad as his smell, however. This guy stunk. They were standing a couple of meters away, yet it was like Ponyboy’s face had been shoved in someone’s sweaty armpit.

“Who’s this guy?” Harley wondered out loud, but was answered soon after.

“I need more crystal,” the guy demanded, breathing heavily and fast, and sweating bullets as if he had run a marathon before coming here. Ponyboy briefly wondered how he had managed to find them in the first place. The guy scratched at his arms aggressively and picked at his sores. His pupils were blown wide, sclera rimmed red. “Give me more.”

“Yeah… I don’t have any meth, man.”

This answer only made the guy more aggravated and desperate. He shook his arms as if he was getting bugs off of it, breaths becoming shorter and faster. “Yes, you do! Don’t lie to me. I need more!”

“What you need is to go away, man.” Harley nudged Ponyboy. “Come on, let’s go somewhere else.”

With an eager nod, Ponyboy followed after his friend. He wasn’t a big fan of whatever this was. Something about this guy was more manic than the other people he had dealt with. He was glad that Harley noticed this too. But, while Harley was walking past, the guy grabbed his shoulders and started to shake him around. “Give it to me!”

Harley slapped the hands away and took a few steps back. “Alright. Alright. Hands off me, man."

Relief washed over the man as he fumbled to pull out a twenty. God, Ponyboy couldn’t imagine ever being that desperate. “Here. Take it.”

But Harley shook his head. “It’s thirty now.”

“Thirty?” the addict squeaked in despair. “I don’t have that much.”

“Then no deal.”

“That’s not fair.” The guy went even paler, pupils shaking. “I can’t… You can’t… You can’t just raise the price like that. They were already high before.”

“Do you know anyone else selling it?” Ponyboy joined in, giving Harley a side-eye. “That hasn’t been caught.”

“You don’t understand. I need it.”

“Then cough it up,” Harley said. “Or go home and cry to your mommy about it, basement creep.”

“No. You’re going to give it to me,” the addict stated, voice suddenly cold. His demeanor changed in a second. He ground his gross, rotten teeth together. He pulled out something that had been tucked away in his waistband and Ponyboy’s breath hitched. He was now armed with a gun, the barrel pointing at Harley.

“What the hell?” Harley exclaimed. Ponyboy stumbled back, eyes never leaving the gun. His sudden movement caused the gun to shift towards him. It scared him so goddamn much that he felt like exploding. Luckily or not, he turned back to Harley. But what was not fortunate was how his hands shook so badly that the gun went back and forth between them. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t want to do this?” For a split second, it seemed like he calmed down and was just confused, but the guy shook his head and became even angrier. “Don’t decide what I want and not want! I need it!”

“Sure, if you can give me what I need.”

The guy waved his gun around more. “I don’t have the money! Can’t you understand that? Give it here, or this bullet is going straight through you.”

The simple answer was to comply, or even sell the meth at the original price. But Harley decided to call the bluff. He stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest. “Do it. You probably can’t shoot straight anyway.”

“Harley,” Ponyboy hissed in warning. There was no need to antagonize him more. “Don’t.”

Harley ignored him and raised his voice. “Put a bullet through my fucking head!”

The guy’s trembling finger hovered over the trigger but didn’t pull it. Harley marched over to him, and the gun only shook more.

“Stay back!” the guy screamed, paranoia making him unpredictable.

“Shoot me, I dare you,” Harley said.

And he did. Shoot the gun, he meant. When Harley got too close, the meth head’s finger reeled back in a panic, and the trigger was pulled. However, as the shot rang out, the bullet never hit Harley. It avoided him by several inches, but that didn’t mean it missed. Warmth washed over Ponyboy’s shoulder. The force of the impact had him falling backward.

Red absorbed into the snow and Ponyboy made a face. Was the snow bleeding? His hand touched his shoulder, which was sort of bothering him. When he pulled back, it was covered in a similar color.

Oh.

Ponyboy realized then that it wasn’t the snow that was bleeding, it was him. He didn’t feel pain at first, but maybe that was because his body went into immediate shock.

“Huh,” was all he managed to muster. The guy who shot him sprinted off, hollering about how they made him do it and whatnot. The two didn’t run after him.

“Oh, shit, you were shot,” Harley said, looking down at him. Outstanding observation, Sherlock. “You good?”

Was he good? Shouldn’t it hurt more? Was he going to die?

Die? Somehow, that word wasn’t scary to him.

His brain was fuzzy as he lay there. The water from the snow seeped through his clothes, but, for a strange moment, he felt like he was at peace. It was strange to associate being shot with peace, but that’s what it was. His body was numb and his head was fuzzy.

He stared up at the sky, watching dark snowflakes fall around him. The snow created a cushion under him despite how thin it was. Yet, it still hugged him gently. Ponyboy thought that dying in the snow was a great way to go. He wasn’t even worried that he had that thought in the first place.

Isolated and so cold that everything goes numb. No overwhelming sounds, smells, or light. Nothing.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to get that luxury. His shock only lasted a few minutes before the pain came rushing in all at once. He sat up and yelped. The feeling that someone was pressing a hot iron into his shoulder made his eyes water and his brain clearer. He pressed his hands into his shoulder to stop the blood that was gushing from his wound.

“Oh my god,” Ponyboy panicked because that was what he was supposed to be doing in this situation. He was just shot! What the hell was he supposed to do besides that? “We need to go to a hospital!”

But Harley instantly shot it down, “Yeah, no,”

Ponyboy wanted to cry. “No?”

“You can’t go to a hospital, man.”

“Why the fuck not, Harley?” Ponyboy’s anguish was quickly rising, because what did he mean he couldn’t go to the hospital? This seemed like a medical emergency to him.

Harley’s hand grabbed his hurt shoulder hard, causing Ponyboy to wince. His eyes became more serious and darker despite the dilation still present. “Because if you go to the hospital, they’re going to ask questions. If they ask questions, then they’re going to find out why you got shot. And if they find that out, then they could trace it back to me.”

For a moment, Ponyboy thought, So? Let that happen.

But Harley must have read his mind, because he continued, “They’re going to trace it to you as well. You’re a part of this too.”

At that, Ponyboy wanted to vomit, and he actually did. He turned to the side and threw up from everything that just happened—from the drug he took, the bullet wound, and the blackmail that Harley was holding over him.

Why was he doing this? Harley was his friend, wasn’t he? Friends wouldn’t blackmail each other, right?

Those thoughts echoed in his head. It almost made him throw up again. If Harley wasn’t his friend, he would have nothing, but that didn’t feel right. Harley had his faults but he always had his back. That’s right. This wasn’t a case of blackmail. This was just him looking after him and nothing more. That was what Ponyboy wanted to believe, at least.

“But—” Ponyboy still wanted to protest because he couldn’t walk home with a bullet wound. The bullet was still inside his shoulder. He couldn’t leave it in there. This would have been significantly better if it had gone straight through.

“No hospital,” Harley finalized.

Ponyboy sighed and looked down at his lap. This was just Harley looking after him. This was just Harley looking after him. This was just Harley looking after him. This was just Harley looking after him. He kept repeating this sentence in his head like a mantra. “Okay…”

“Good.”

“But what about the bullet?”

Harley let go of his shoulder and used the snow to clean his hand. “We’re just going to have to take it out ourselves.”

This was quickly becoming the worst day of his life.

Each movement was excruciatingly painful as they made their way to the pharmacy Harley’s dad owned. Ponyboy felt like passing out halfway there, but he bit his tongue and pressed on regardless. When they unlocked the door, he sat on the floor while Harley left to get supplies from the shelves. He took his damn time too, but when he came back, he cut the fabric around his injured shoulder. Ponyboy was too weak to complain about that. It was a good hoodie.

Hydrogen peroxide was dumped over the wound with no remorse, causing him to hiss. Sadly, that was the easy part. Harley held up the pliers.

“Oh, Christ,” Ponyboy cried, tears in his eyes.

“You’re lucky I’m not using tweezers,” Harley said and touched the wound with the cold metal after disinfecting it.

“Oh my god,” Ponyboy couldn’t help but chant. “I can’t believe this is happening. Oh my god.”

“You’re fine, man. You’re still tripping on acid and this is just a bullet to the shoulder. You’ll live.”

That didn’t make anything better. “How did this even happen to me?”

“Not my fault you decided to dress like a stop sign.”

Ponyboy glared at him. “Are you still on the whole camouflage thing?”

“I’m just saying, red isn’t a good camouflage color. You probably attracted him like a bull to a red flag.”

“Not the time, Harley.” The guy hadn’t aimed at him in the first place.

“Yeah, whatever,” Harley said before the pliers entered the wound.

And you know what? It wasn’t fun. Here he was, getting a bullet removed without any numbing or anesthetics (just LSD that wasn’t strong anymore) by Harley, who wasn’t a licensed professional. He probably hadn’t even done this before. Maybe Ponyboy was the crazy one for letting him do this, though. The only thought that was getting him through this was that this was going to be a funny story sometime later in his life. The scar was going to be tuff too.

He could feel every movement the pliers made. Ponyboy gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly to hide his tears. His nails dug into his forearms to help distract him from the pain, but it hardly helped.

Do you know what it’s like to have a bullet removed by someone who was tripping on acid, albeit on the comedown? It was sloppy and unfocused. Harley was picking into him like he was a kid trying to find the best candy at the bottom of a Halloween bowl. He took his time, just like before, much to Ponyboy’s annoyance. He gritted out, “Christ, Harley, just take it out.”

His friend clamped down on the bullet, slowly pulling it out. Ponyboy had to bite his tongue to keep himself silent. The metal dragged against his flesh and bone, a feeling so agonizing that he became dizzy. Finally, Harley managed to get it out.

“Got it,” Harley said. Ponyboy opened his eyes and felt queasy. His blood was everywhere—on the floor, his clothes, the pliers, Harley’s hands—and made the pharmacy look like a murder scene. His friend was holding the bullet to show him. “Hey, how much do you think this would sell for?”

“Seriously?” Ponyboy grumbled with a glare. “You’re thinking about money right now?”

“Just wondering.” Harley shrugged, looking down. “I wasn’t actually going to sell it… yet.”

Ponyboy wanted to rub the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you.”

Perhaps his tone was harsh, but he had the right to be cranky. Fuck, Harley. Everything that happened today was because of him. This was all his fault, and all he could think about was money. Pony knew it was a joke, but the wound was quite literally too fresh for jests.

Harley started to work on sewing up and dressing his wound, pouring more hydrogen peroxide onto it. His sewing job was horrendous, but it was passable. That whole experience felt like it lasted hours and left him exhausted.

Ponyboy rested his head on a shelf and stared at the steadily shifting ceiling. He didn’t want to talk to Harley, but he couldn’t help but ask, “How long does an LSD trip last?”

“I gave you a weak dose, but it’ll probably last all night,” Harley answered as he cleaned up after himself, making sure to wipe down the blood.

Ponyboy’s head shot up. “All night?”

“Isn’t it great?”

Not really. It was interesting, but it didn’t fulfill him as other drugs did. Ponyboy would have rather eaten edibles than acid. There was no need for it to last as long as it did, but that didn’t matter. Ponyboy was shot because of Harley. They needed to go back to that topic.

“No,” Ponyboy finally answered, not able to hide his anger this time.

“Are you mad at me?” Harley asked, throwing away the last of their trash.

“What do you think? You got me shot by a meth-head.” A drug that Harley made him make, by the way.

“I didn’t get you shot. That guy was jacked up already.”

He could have at least said sorry to him. That would have been a start, but he doubted it was going to happen. “Sure, but he wouldn’t have shot if you kept your mouth shut.”

“Okay. Yeah. Fine,” Harley admitted, crossing his arms. “What do you want me to do? Do you want money?”

“I don’t want your dirty fucking money.”

“Then what would make you feel better? Am I supposed to go to mass and ask for forgiveness?”

Ponyboy gave him a funny look. “No?”

“Good. All that is are sad fucks confessing to something they did and asking for forgiveness so they could feel better about themselves, even though all they're doing is getting it off their shoulders.”

“Jesus, Harley.”

“That’s who they plead to when they find out they’re still going to Hell.”

“Just stop.” Ponyboy held up his hand to stop him from talking. His throat felt tight. Why wasn’t Harley more concerned for him? Was he like the gang? That thought made him want to leave. He shouldn’t have befriended Harley. Was “befriended” even the right word? “You know what? I’m just going to go now.”

He stood up and winced when he moved his shoulder wrong. He walked slowly to the door as he wondered how he was going to hide this from the gang.

“Are you going home like that?” Harley asked.

“Where else?” Ponyboy responded.

“Man, just come to my place. You’re still tripping anyway. Get cleaned up there and go back in the morning.”

Ponyboy stopped with a frown. He didn’t want to accept, but it was the best solution. Though, he had a feeling that if he were to accept, he would fall right back into Harley’s web. He had a good out right now. If he left, he wouldn’t have to be involved in Harley’s shit any longer. But he was all he had left. Did he want to throw that away?

He didn’t mean for him to get shot.

He was making sure he didn’t get in trouble with the cops.

He removed a bullet for him.

He always listened to him.

But he was unpredictable, and Harley had so many contradicting layers to his personality.

Ponyboy needed to be angry, but, again, it wasn’t like he knew it was going to happen that way.

But he was still shot.

Yeah, but he didn’t run away.

Harley was his only friend. Without him, what did he have? He still was quite bitter but Harley was trying, which is far better than how the gang was doing. Golly, Ponyboy really was a sucker, wasn’t he?

Chapter Text

Music blasted from the radio. The drums were so loud that he could feel his heartbeat change its rhythm to match the beats. Ponyboy looked at himself in the mirror. He was still covered in blood even though he had wiped himself down to the best of his ability at Harley’s house.

He was currently in the bathroom of his own home. When he arrived, no one was there and he wondered if the gang even noticed him missing. He had told them earlier about his plans, but that was under the assumption that he was coming back, which he didn’t do. If they were worried, wouldn’t they be here? Were they at work? He couldn’t remember what their schedules were.

Ponyboy glared at his reflection; at the dark bags under his tired eyes. He didn’t get a blink of sleep last night. The LSD really did last for hours and now he just felt like crap. He wiped at his skin and scratched the dried blood as if that would remove the memories that had stained his mind. He wanted to take a shower, but he was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to with fresh stitches. He resigned to a bath instead, planning to keep the wound out of the water.

As he waited for the tub to fill up, Ponyboy stripped himself of his clothing and unbandaged the wound, wincing when he saw it. It was larger than he thought, having been shot at such a close range and then the bullet being removed in such a brutish manner.

This was caused by Harley, a voice in his head reminded him. Logically, he shouldn’t be friends with him. Harley cared about himself more than anything and was willing to drag Ponyboy down with him without a second thought. He didn’t think friends would do that to one another, but who was he to judge? The people he used to call his friends never liked him and faked every interaction. He used to watch movies to live through them with the actors, but he realized the real actors were the gang. Reality was his film and it was a bad one at that.

But without Harley, what was he supposed to do? He had no other friends. No parents. His grades were in the dump. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had to repeat the year. He didn’t feel like himself anymore. Nothing made him happy. There was no enjoyment in his old hobbies. The vibrant world was now painted in muted colors. So, what was the point of him being alive?

That thought rang through his mind as he dug his fingers into the edges of the sink. Seriously, what was even the point?

There was no one in Ponyboy’s court. He wished he had his friends and family again, but the gang had each other. They needed one another, but they didn’t need Ponyboy.

At that moment, he wished the bullet hit a few inches below where it did. He wondered why he let Harley sew him up when he could have bled out in the snow instead and ended his suffering. It would have been better that way—for him to have died. He wouldn’t waste resources anymore or even time. The gang would be better off without him. Life would go on and nobody would miss him.

They probably wouldn’t even notice him dead.

Ice stabbed his heart. The cold crept through his veins like an infection. With tightly pressed lips, Ponyboy grabbed a new razor from the medicine cabinet and turned off the faucet. He stepped into the warm water and settled comfortably in the tub, ensuring the wound didn’t touch anything. The razor was loosely held between his thumb and index finger as he rubbed at his skin with his other hand. The blood seeped off of him, turning the water into an ugly, murky color. After he did that for a bit, he rested his back and sniffled. There was an uncomfortable pressure behind his eyes as tears threatened to fall. The voice in his head started to scream at him again with phrases that made him want to bash his head into the porcelain rim.

You’re worthless.

No one will ever love you.

You can’t do anything right.

You should have never been born.

Just die already.

With the blaring music, the voices in his head, the sobs that escaped his throat, the fluorescent ceiling light, and the water that was almost too hot to touch, everything became too much for him. His senses were overwhelming and he just wanted to shut everything off. But he couldn’t stop it. He could only distract himself.

The blade moved across his skin. The familiar sting became the distraction he needed. The blood fell into the water, turning it pink. It was gross but he didn’t care. The cut was deep, deeper than the other ones he had. He wasn’t sure if it was enough to end it though. Ponyboy considered swiping the blade down the length of his arm instead of across. That was a sure-fire way to die. One cut and he wouldn’t have to suffer any longer.

The music was still loudly playing—the song, The Hunting Song by Tom Lehrer. It didn’t fit the mood whatsoever. The tempo contrasted with his dreary emotions. He had started to play music to help separate himself from the world, but now he kind of wished he had chosen a station that played better songs because dying to The Hunting Song was kind of lame. The lyrics were interesting though. Whenever the gang finds his body, there will probably be a worse song playing, knowing his luck.

He tried to block it out and focus on literally anything else, but it was kind of hard to ignore it. He wished he could throw the radio into his bathtub to stop the music and kill him at the same time, but the wire didn’t reach that far so he was just going to have to suffer.

After a while of sitting there and some bad song choices later, Ponyboy gave up. The mood was lost. That’s what he told himself anyway. He did think about ending it right then and there. That part wasn’t a lie. But even though he thought about it, he just couldn’t go through with it. The idea brought knots to his stomach.

It was frustrating. After everything he went through, he still couldn’t bring himself to die. The bad song choice was just an excuse to live another day. Was he scared to die? Ponyboy took a deep, shuttering breath. No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure what was stopping him.

Ponyboy sat in the tub until the water became cold. After he finished bathing, he redressed his wound, took care of his arm, swallowed several painkillers, and got into fresh clothes. He threw his soiled ones in the bottom of the trash, carefully tucked under an empty bag of flour and an old newspaper. He turned off the music—a great relief—and was about to crash on the couch when the door opened.

Two-Bit and Johnny walked in. There was a pregnant silence when they saw him, both pausing at the door awkwardly. Ponyboy shifted uncomfortably under their stares. For a long minute, they stared at him, as if they were waiting for him to make a move first or maybe they didn’t know how to interact with him anymore. Typical for being so out of touch, Ponyboy thought bitterly. He regretted that he hadn’t run to his room when he had the chance to, but his shoulder would have made that movement painful. Finally, Two-Bit snapped out of it first.

“You’re back,” he chirped, shortening the distance between them fast, a huge grin on his face. He stopped when he was an arm’s length away. It was confusing. It was almost like he was excited to see him.

“How was the movie, Ponyboy?” Johnny asked, coming closer as well.

“Fine,” Ponyboy answered even though he didn’t remember one thing from it. “Where’s Soda and Darry?”

“At work,” Two-Bit replied. “They were worried about you. They stayed up all night.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ponyboy rolled his eyes.

“They were worried, kid,” Two-Bit reiterated, placing a hand on his shoulder, right where the wound was. Ponyboy bit his tongue to hide the cry of pain that almost left his mouth. He blinked slowly to wipe away the tears before they could fully form. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to hide the pain from his face. The hand was instantly removed and Two-Bit cocked his head to the side. “You all right there?”

Ponyboy forced his lips into a tight smile. “Just slept on that side wrong. I’m a little sore.”

“That looked a bit more than a little sore.”

“Well, it just is.” Throughout this interaction, Johnny was staring at him intensely. Ponyboy could feel the questions. He ground his teeth, angling his body so that his shoulder was facing away from them. “What is it, Johnny?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Johnny asked. A thoughtful question that caused frustration to bubble under his skin.

“I said it’s just a sore shoulder, didn’t I?” he snapped. Johnny flinched and Two-Bit frowned at his sudden aggressive behavior.

“I guess you woke up on the wrong side of the bed too,” Two-Bit sneered.

This only made Ponyboy more irritated, however. He was hurting both physically and mentally. The painkillers hadn’t kicked in yet, he was exhausted from staying up all night, he felt ill, he just went through something traumatic, he was upset at everyone around him, he hated himself, and people kept asking him if he was fucking okay. Couldn’t they say anything else? Moreover… “Can’t you guys leave me alone?”

“We just wanted to know if you were okay, is all.”

Ponyboy took a deep breath and pushed down his annoyance. He pressed an index finger to his temple. “Sorry. It was a long night.”

Two-Bit nodded in understanding. “Stayed up?”

“You could say that. Got some sleep.” The last part was a lie, but he didn’t know how else he would be able to explain the sore shoulder when he hadn’t slept that night.

“You must have had fun with Harley, huh?”

“It was until it wasn’t.”

That got their attention. “What do you mean?”

“I’m kind of mad at him right now,” Ponyboy admitted. He really should have been madder at him.

“What’d he do?”

Ponyboy hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He just said something wrong. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, well, there’s been a lot of that lately it seems,” Johnny muttered. When Ponyboy gave him a pointed look, he shook his head and clarified himself. “Not you.”

“Right…” Ponyboy looked down and they were back in that awkward silence he hated so much. It made it seem like they were walking on eggshells around him. Conversations didn’t flow easily anymore. They might as well have been strangers because of how disconnected they were.

“Is he… Is he a good friend to you?”

“I don’t know, Johnny. I don’t know.” Wasn’t that the truth?

Johnny’s eyes became intense again as he pried for more information, taking advantage of how open Pony was being. “Then why are you friends with him?”

“You already know why.”

“I don’t like him,” Johnny admitted. That wasn’t surprising. The fight and rumors didn’t leave a good impression. If the gang were to meet him again, he wouldn’t be surprised if another fight broke out. He was sure Two-Bit would have clocked him if he was given the chance to, judging by his downturned lips and furrowed brows.

Most people didn’t like Harley. It was a reason why Ponyboy got along with him. They understood each other. They were more similar than he would like to admit. Harley was what could have been, and what currently is. He was a possible path in a fork in the road. Like a bad ending in a book, Ponyboy was Harley.

“Ever since you met him, you’ve been different,” Two-Bit added.

“Not different,” Ponyboy said. The life in his eyes became blank like a corpse. It aged him, making him seem far older than a fifteen-year-old kid. “I grew up and saw what the world was like.”

“Yeah, but there’s still a heck of a lot more to see.”

Ponyboy made a face. The world was full of corruption, betrayal, and deceit. Nobody was trustworthy in this cruel reality. Everyone lies. People talk bad about others behind their backs. Others pummel people down to feel better about themselves. Humans are selfish, despicable creatures. There was nothing more to see. “I doubt it.”

Two-Bit’s frown shifted into a determined smile that depicted a lively, euphoric world with celebrations, memories, and laughter. A world that was surely delusional. Two-Bit needed to grow up because fantasy was only made-up illusions. “You’ll see.”

Pony didn’t have the heart to tell him that he likely wouldn’t. The gang’s lives would exceed his own. He was the youngest, but he would be the one who went first. There was no point in living without happiness, but nothing made him happy anymore. He chewed the insides of his cheeks. “Maybe.”

Wanting to liven the mood, Two-Bit asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Wanna help me move all the furniture an inch?”

“What? Why?” Ponyboy questioned, exasperated at the sudden change of conversation.

“To mess with your brothers.”

It sounded like a funny prank but also very stupid at the same time. Maybe he would have helped back then, but not now. “Well, you can sure do that.”

“Come on. It’ll be hilarious. Think about all the bruised shins.”

“Johnny can help you.” Anyone but him. Heck, a random ground squirrel would have been more useful. He could hardly move without wanting to cry.

“I think it would be fun for us to do this,” Johnny piped up and Ponyboy felt betrayed.

“Take that side of the couch. I’ll pull, you push,” Two-Bit instructed, bending down and wrapping his hands around the top of the armrest. “Johnny, you move the coffee table.”

Clicking his tongue, Ponyboy did what he was told. He went over to the other side of the couch but didn’t put his hands on it. Instead, he leaned the side of his thigh into it and pushed with his weight.

“Come on, Pony,” Two-Bit urged, raising an eyebrow. “You can put more effort into this than that.”

With a drawn-out breath, Ponyboy braced himself for a heap of pain. He moved his arms, feeling the skin around his shoulder and forearm tug agonizingly. He bit back a whimper, teeth biting hard on his tongue until he tasted iron. His eyes shut tightly as he put more weight into the push, but it only intensified the pain. This time, he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a whine.

The couch didn’t move. He didn’t remember it being so heavy, but he had also never tried to push it before. What a joke. He couldn’t even move it an inch. But when he opened his eyes, he realized Two-Bit didn’t help. He was staring at him. Johnny was too.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Johnny asked, worried.

Panic rose in Ponyboy’s chest. His sleeve started to feel wet. He nodded, mouth dry, “Yeah, I’m good.”

“It looked like you were in pain. And your face is puffy. Have you been crying? Wow. You couldn’t even budge it. How pathetic. Even a little girl could have moved it,” Johnny’s words were being rewritten again. Ponyboy clenched his jaw.

“I’m fine.” These words were now directed at himself rather than them. Please, shut up. He didn’t need to hear it.

“Is it your shoulder? That doesn’t seem like a sore muscle. You can’t do anything right. You ruined everything,” Two-Bit pressed. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!

“I’m fine!” Ponyboy snapped. “How many times will I have to say that for you to understand?”

“We’re just trying to look out for you,” Two-Bit said lied. “Maybe we should take a look at it and make sure nothing’s wrong.”

“No need. I’m going to go back to my room.” He had to get out of there before they could find out the truth. It was only a matter of time before the blood seeped through his sleeve.

“But we really should look at it,” Johnny urged.

“I’ll sleep it off.”

He left before any of them could protest any further, minimalizing any excessive movement. He was planning to sleep it off even though it was the middle of the day. He was exhausted and was about to settle into bed when there was a rap on the window. He already knew who it was before he could look out.

Harley was standing outside as if nothing happened. That nonchalant attitude just made him angry all over again.

“What do you want?” Ponyboy grumbled haughtily. Why couldn’t he be left alone for at least eight hours?

“I wanted to see if—” Harley started but Ponyboy held up a hand and interrupted him.

“Whatever you’re about to say, my answer is no. I’m not going to be Rapunzeled away again.”

Harley huffed. “Are you still mad?”

“What do you think?”

“It’s been a day. What are you still mad about?”

“There’s a hole in my shoulder. I have the right to be angry.”

“But I sewed it up,” Harley argued but ended up relenting. Maybe he understood what he did was wrong, but Ponyboy wasn’t going to get his hopes up. “Okay, fine, you can be angry, but look at it this way. At least you weren’t wearing flip-flops when you tried to storm off back then.”

Ponyboy gave him an are-you-serious look. “It’s the middle of winter. Why would I be wearing those?”

“I’ve done it.”

“You’re not normal.”

There was a pause. Harley didn’t even try to deny that statement and placed a hand in his coat’s pocket. There was a crinkling noise that got Ponyboy’s attention. He probably looked like a dog that saw a squirrel.

“I brought something,” Harley offered and if Ponyboy was any weaker, he might have accepted. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“Jesus.” Harley rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like an annoying, overbearing girlfriend.”

“If I’m so annoying that you can’t even apologize to me, then why don’t you just go? I shouldn’t have become friends with someone like you.”

“Then what will you do? Make new friends?”

“I could.” Ponyboy’s back stiffened, obviously not believing his words.

“Yeah, like you were so successful before. What did you say before? Someone like me? If you could make other friends, why didn’t you?”

Ponyboy’s ears reddened. Harley hit true. What chances did he have in finding another friend? Who would want to befriend a pest like him? Ponyboy gripped the window sill tightly, nails digging into the paint.

Part of him wanted to tell Harley off because he didn’t need him. If he was going to be alone, fine. It wasn’t like he was planning on living that long anyway. He was destined to be alone.

That thought sent a pang to his chest. He didn’t want that. Harley was right. He should just accept it.

Some people deserved second chances while others did not. It was up to him to differentiate who should be forgiven. Unfortunately, Ponyboy wasn’t a good judge for that kind of stuff.

Knowing that he won, Harley stepped away from the window and waved.

“If you ever give up this act, you know where to find me,” he said and left. What was the purpose of his visit anyway? Harley was still such a mystery to him.

No matter what, Ponyboy was a bug in a spider’s web. He closed the window and fell back onto his bed. What was he going to do now?

Chapter Text

Two-Bit and Johnny must have spoken to Darry (and maybe even the rest of the gang too) about his weird behavior because the following day, after Ponyboy dragged himself out of bed, his eldest brother confronted him. At first, it started with the standard lecture he had already memorized—how he needed to be more responsible, and how they were all worried about him, blah blah blah. Ponyboy didn’t listen to the full spiel.

Then the topic shifted to his shoulder. The wound felt worse that morning, even with the handful of painkillers he had taken. The stitches pulled at his skin too tightly, and each movement made them feel like they were going to snap. It was inflamed and gross. There wasn’t enough rubbing alcohol in the world that could prevent it from becoming an infection. He treated it to the best of his abilities though, and cleaned it carefully. Could you imagine what the gang would say if he randomly had to amputate himself because of the sepsis? He didn’t even know how that would work if the infection was in his shoulder.

“I’m fine, Darry,” Ponyboy reassured when asked, biting his tongue and keeping a straight face. His nails dug into his palms. “I’m not in pain. Two-Bit was just overreacting.”

“Both Johnny and him were worried,” Darry said. If both of them brought it up, it likely was a point of concern that needed to be addressed. His brother reached for his shoulder, but Ponyboy moved away, hiding a wince by looking at the clock.

“They didn’t know what they were talking about.” How easy it would be to tell him about everything so he could get the proper treatment. All he had to do was show his shoulder, but at this point, he was just protecting his pride. “Look, I gotta get going if I’m going to make it to school on time.”

Darry scratched the back of his head and sighed. This was a conversation to continue later, though he had a feeling the results wouldn’t change. “At least let me drive you today.”

Usually, Ponyboy would have declined, but his shoulder was seriously hurting. He couldn’t imagine walking even a mile with it. He was about to agree, but froze. Wouldn’t accepting be annoying? Darry was probably hoping he was going to decline. He didn’t want to spend time or gas on him. He shook his head. “It’s alright. I don’t want to burden you.”

At that, Darry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hey, you’re no burden, Pony, you hear? You’re my kid brother. You can never be a burden.”

Ponyboy’s chest flickered with warmth before his mind trampled whatever bud started to grow. Darry was just saying that. He couldn’t tell Pony anything else without sounding pessimistic. “It’s alright. You don’t have to bother with me.”

“It’s on my way. Come on, get in the truck.”

He ended up agreeing to the offer after that. Walking would kill him, and death by stubbornness wouldn’t be a great autopsy tag to have. With a nod of the head, he climbed next to Darry inside the vehicle.

The ride to school was one of the most awkward experiences he had ever had in his life. He and Darry never had good conversations in the past, and this wasn’t going to magically change here. His brother never bothered to learn about his interests, so all he ever got was the standard small talk.

“Anything new?” Darry asked, tapping his fingers on the wheel. Even he felt the tense atmosphere.

“Nope,” Ponyboy answered, facing the window. His eyes stayed locked on his brother’s fingers through the reflection.

“How’re classes?”

“Fine.”

“Learn anything new?”

“No.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m just tired.”

At least he was trying. It was Ponyboy who wasn’t throwing him a bone.

He was relieved when they pulled up to the school. Ponyboy quickly exited with a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Hold on, Pony,” Darry called out before he could leave. He pulled some money from his wallet and handed it to him. When he just stared at the cash, Darry explained, “For lunch. You didn’t eat breakfast. Don’t want you getting too hungry now.”

At the reminder, his stomach involuntarily rumbled, and his ears turned red. He gingerly pocketed the money with his lips pressed together. He hadn’t eaten anything for over a day, and his weight had been dropping. The clothes that used to fit him well started to look baggy. His elbows were pointier, but luckily, he could still wear a jacket to hide them and his weight.

After Darry drove off, Ponyboy entered the school. He almost went into autopilot and went to the roof, but had to stop himself from doing so.

Right, he was still mad at Harley. Today was going to be a drag. He didn’t know what he was going to do during lunch with no one to sit with. He was going to look like a total loner.

This had a chance of lasting a while. Maybe even the whole school year. Ponyboy didn’t want to consider that, but now that he was thinking about it, what was he supposed to do with the drugs in his room? He didn’t think he had to sell them, but that also meant he couldn’t keep them. Would Harley charge him if he did? His head started to hurt. This was something to figure out later. For now, he had to get to class. The only thing he needed to worry about was his shoulder.

He shuffled into the classroom with his eyes to the floor.

Ponyboy suffered through the entire lesson. The wound prevented him from concentrating, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he could. He didn’t understand what the teacher was lecturing about. The words scribbled on the chalkboard might have well been in another language. He drowned out the teacher’s voice and rested his forehead on his palm, figuring that finding the most comfortable position was a better use of his time. However, Ponyboy was only able to rest for a second before a ruler slapped his desk, causing him to jump and, thus, wince.

“Mr. Curtis, why don’t you answer the question on the board for me?” his teacher spoke, glowering down at him.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ponyboy looked up. He read the question once. Then twice. Then a third time. The chalky words didn’t make any sense. He had no recollection of when it was taught. No answer magically appeared in his head. The question seemed to sway on the board like a wave and blurred whenever he focused on it. He chewed on his bottom lip and shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Well, that’s because you weren’t paying attention. Sleep is for home, not in the classroom. Don’t let me catch you dozing off again.”

Ponyboy’s cheeks burned red as the class laughed at him. He just wanted to disappear. Still, despite the warning, he stared at his desk the entire period and listened to the voices in his head. His nails scratched restlessly at his wrist, knees bouncing up and down.

It felt like forever when the bell rang. Ponyboy quickly stood up, wanting to waste no time in getting the hell out of there. But a shoulder slammed into his bad one, and he bit back a cry of pain.

“Dumbass greaser,” the person who bumped into him said. It was Barnaby, the guy who tried to drown him in a toilet. Ponyboy had skipped class so many times that he had forgotten he shared this period with him. “Go back to your ditch and die. You don’t belong here.”

He laughed as he left the room, and Ponyboy followed behind him with a loud sigh.

The day continued to pass slowly, but eventually, lunch arrived. It gave him a break, but also brought along a new challenge. He stood in the cafeteria with a lunch tray in hand as he tried to find a good place to sit. Every table was taken, and none had anyone Ponyboy particularly enjoyed hanging out with. Again, he thought about Harley, who was probably lounging on the roof, getting high instead of eating. It sounded so tempting, but he shook the thought of joining him away.

Sweat fell down his spine. Eyes started to turn towards him, judging him and peeling him apart like the petals of a flower, but instead of “like,” it was “doesn’t like.” Imaginary whispers flooded his ears that he couldn’t tune out.

“Why is he standing there?” someone asked.

“What a weirdo,” another person stated.

“He’s all alone.”

“Probably a creep.”

“Does he not have any friends?”

“I heard his brothers don’t even like him.”

“He’s staring.”

“Such a freak.”

The room spun around him. His breath hitched in his throat. The cacophony of voices and the mixture of scents were overwhelming him. He could hear the chatter about what new skirt style was in and the guttural coughs from a sick student. He could hear every tap of the utensils as well as the droning voice of the lunch lady. And he could smell the rose-scented perfume someone doused themself in. It was all too much.

He had to get out of there before his knees could crumple from under him. Taking a shuttered breath, Ponyboy twisted around on his heels, but he didn’t pay enough attention to his surroundings. He crashed into someone. The contents on his tray smeared onto their shirt—gravy-topped meatloaf, applesauce, and corn kernels. Ponyboy’s eyes widened in horror before the tray clattered to the floor.

“Shit!” the guy cursed. It was Barnaby again. Was this guy following him or something? Seriously, he needed a better hobby than stalking him. Ponyboy wanted to comment about it, but instead, he gulped. Fuck. He didn’t need this today. “Watch where you’re going!”

This time, eyes really did turn towards him. He didn’t have enough time to react to the shove that came. Ponyboy stumbled back, almost tripping over his heels as pain flared in his shoulder. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Ponyboy snapped back with a defiant glare. He didn’t know where his confidence came from. All he knew was that he was not dealing with this bullshit today.

Barnaby wiped off the stuck kernels from his shirt and got face to face with him. His stinky breath wafted onto his face. “At least I belong here. You don’t belong anywhere.”

Ponyboy’s chest tightened at that, and he was just over everything. After all the crap he went through, a high school bully was infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t have to take this, just like how he didn’t have to take the gang’s shit.

“I haven’t seen you around those friends of yours,” Barnaby continued. “Guess they kicked you out when they realized you didn’t belong. Serves you right.”

“At least I don’t pretend to like someone. What about your friends? Or are you still oblivious to the fact that they only like you because your dad is loaded? Nobody else could tolerate you otherwise.”

“Speak for yourself. It’s you who nobody could tolerate. I would hate to be you.” Yeah, Ponyboy hated to be him too. That was why the insult didn’t hurt him as much as it should have.

He snorted, “And I would hate to peak in high school.”

Barnaby’s face started to turn purple. He sputtered out words to combat him, but nothing was coherent enough to be effective. He had successfully been baffled. While it felt like he was in the lead, Ponyboy had been hitting back insults with twice the force. In a battle of words and wit, Barnaby was no match against him. His hands curled into fists as he honed himself.

“Watch it, greaser, or do you want to continue where we left off?” the Soc managed out, trying his best to be intimidating. He used to be scary, but Ponyboy had stared down the barrel of a gun before. He was more of a badly trained puppy to him now.

“You mean that time when you ran away with your tail between your legs at the sound of fireworks? That’s something only dogs do.”

Barnaby glowered, baring his teeth, which didn’t help his case.  “I’m not a dog.”

“But you are a bitch.” His words cut through the cafeteria, causing every eye to turn to him and for all conversations to halt.

“What did you just call me?” They were moments away from fighting, and Ponyboy was ready for it. He was injured, and fighting wouldn’t feel great, but he just wanted to punch that sneer from the guy’s stupid face.

“Wow, stupid and hard of hearing. What a combo.”

To be fair, he had it coming. The punch was too fast for him to react. Pain exploded on the bridge of his nose and, for a second, his vision went dark. He cursed as blood spilled from his nostrils and pooled above his Cupid’s bow. There was a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t go away with a shake of his head.

“What the hell, man,” Ponyboy hissed, holding his nose shut and making his voice sound nasally.

“Can’t mouth off now, can you?” the Soc taunted, proud of himself.

“Well, considering you missed my mouth…” God, he wanted to punch that sneer off that guy’s face. He remembered that fight he was in with those other dealers. It felt so long ago. A lot has happened since then. He could still feel the vibrations that ran down his arms after each hit he dealt. That release of energy onto someone other than himself felt good back then. He reckoned it would feel even greater now.

Ponyboy’s calves tightened as he prepared himself to lunge at the guy, but before he could do that, his vision flickered over to the side of the cafeteria where a faculty member was. His toes caught his advance and almost caused him to trip and embarrass himself in front of the whole cafeteria. The faculty member started to walk towards them, and Ponyboy knew it was over. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and put his hands into his pockets. Barnaby watched him cautiously, yet there was a glint in his eyes that celebrated his victory.

“I’m over this,” Ponyboy muttered to himself. This wasn’t worth the trouble. He turned away, and a taunting laugh escaped the Soc’s mouth.

“Running away? I knew you were a pussy,” Barnaby cackled. In a normal case, this would have been embarrassing, but Ponyboy couldn’t care less anymore.

“Fighting you would be a waste of breath and energy.”

Before he could walk away, however, the guy yelled, “This isn’t over, grease, you hear? You’re dead.”

“You’ll be doing me a favor,” he said, but nobody heard this part.

When the Soc said it wasn’t over, he really meant it. Ponyboy never thought their conflict would return at the start of the next period. He was sitting in class and waiting for the final warning bell to ring. His nose had stopped bleeding a while ago and was now just sore. That was when his name was called over the intercom, instructing him to go to the principal’s office.

He cocked his head to the side as he stood up, ignoring the looks he got from his classmates as he left the room. What could the principal want?

Ponyboy soon found himself sitting in front of him in an uncomfortable silence. The clock ticked loudly in time with his heartbeat. Ponyboy leaned back in his chair, cringing at the squeak it made.

Principal Banner was a balding, middle-aged man who dressed in nice suits and polished shoes. He was the epitome of a put-together guy who had his life in place. Yet, it was clear he wasn’t happy with it. The corners of his eyes remained free of crow’s feet from the lack of smiling. Principal Banner had always been a stickler for the rules and had always favored Socs over greasers because of it.

His disappointed eyes were locked onto him, as if he were waiting for Ponyboy to confess to something. Only, Ponyboy had no idea what he could admit to.

What did he do? He got to school on time, he made it to all of his classes with minutes to spare, and he paid for his lunch with the money Darry gave him. He did everything correctly that day.

Well, that was a stretch. He had skipped in front of a couple that was making out in the lunch line. They didn’t even notice him doing so. He also didn’t turn in his homework. There was a project due today that Ponyboy had forgotten about. He had to make a bridge that could hold his weight out of popsicle sticks. Whoops, but whatever. He was already failing that course anyway. What else did he do? He guessed he didn’t pay attention in his classes. But none of these reasons warranted a trip to the principal’s office.

There was that altercation at lunch. Ponyboy’s fingers twitched restlessly. It had to be that. No question about it.

Eventually, the principal asked, “Do you know why you’re here?”

Yeah, he had a pretty good assumption. Ponyboy grumbled, “I guess. I mean, it happened less than an hour ago. Do you know why I’m here?”

He had to know how much the story had been skewed. Principal Banner rubbed his ring finger. It was missing a ring, Ponyboy noted. The imprint was still there, a thick green circlet that looked like a bruise. “You are here because you harassed another student.”

And there it was. “Harassed?”

The principal started to list his charges. “Let’s see, you cussed out this student, called him names, insulted him and his family, bullied him, poured your lunch onto him, sabotaged him, and physically assaulted him. I’ve got to say, all of this is sounding like a suspension or an expulsion. We don’t tolerate such behavior here.”

Ponyboy’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t done half of those! There was no way he was going to let this slide. He sat forward, slamming his hands on the armrests of his chair. “That’s bullshit! I didn’t do shit to him!”

“Watch your language and try that again, Mr. Curtis,” the principal clicked in warning, eyes narrowing.

“Sorry.” Ponyboy took a deep breath. “What the fuck did I ever do to him?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Who would have thought? Principal Banner slammed a sheet on his desk and started to write aggressive notes on it. “It seems like his claims were true.”

“No?” Christ, Darry was going to kill him. “This is so stupid. I just called him a bitch. I didn’t do anything else to him.”

“He was covered in food.”

“From when I accidentally bumped into him. I turned around, and he was right behind me.”

“Why would I believe that?”

“Who pours corn on someone? If I wanted to pour my lunch onto him, I would have just dumped my milk onto his head.”

“Still, calling people names isn’t right.”

“But it’s true. I wasn’t lying.”

“That’s not the point,” the principal argued. Ponyboy carefully leaned his back against his chair and rolled his eyes. “I would love to believe you. You’re a bright boy after all. You have good grades. Your teachers speak well of you, you know.”

Ponyboy snorted, “I’m failing all my classes right now.”

It was funny to watch the principal get caught off guard by his cavalier retort. Questions passed by his face. Meanwhile, Ponyboy wasn’t sure if he should be weirded out or honored that his teachers talked about him. Obviously, the principal wasn’t caught up on everything.

“I… I see…” the principal stammered, clearing his throat. He recomposed himself and opened his mouth to speak more (likely to punish him without hearing his side of the story), when there was a knock on the door. The secretary poked her head inside with a quiet apology for the interruption and requested to speak to him. Principal Banner looked at him calculatingly—no doubt was expecting him to steal something while he was away—before he joined her outside. Ponyboy was only able to catch a few snippets of their conversation.

“A fight?” the principal asked. “…him?”

“…same student…” the secretary said, most words cut off by the door that separated them.

“…more paperwork…”

“…separate them.”

“What about him?”

Footsteps stopped outside the door, and Ponyboy tried his best not to look like he had been listening in. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the now-bloodied tissue he used earlier for his nose. Looking briefly at the door handle, he tossed it in the wastebasket next to the desk. The door opened, but the principal didn’t acknowledge what he was doing. Pony would have been just fine with just sitting there.

Ponyboy sat back in his chair, briefly catching sight of a shattered frame with a photo of the principal and a woman. His wife, maybe? He must have been angry at her if the photo was still left inside. Marriage troubles? Ponyboy mused. It wasn’t his problem though. The principal rubbed the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh.

“Alright, get out of here,” he said, writing a slip for him. “Lunch detention for a week.”

Ponyboy blinked in surprise. It was a lot for not doing anything, but it was far better than a suspension. He still hadn’t told his side, and he was sure the witnesses hadn’t been brought in yet. He wondered if they would have changed anything. Could the principal give him detention without hearing his story? Should he… Should he complain to his higher-ups?

“That’s it?” he asked.

Principal Banner looked tired. “We just got more information. It looks like you’re not the problem student after all, but you still need to be reprimanded for the harassment you did do.”

“But I didn’t harass him.” He was led out of the room, and that was when Ponyboy saw why he got off so relatively easily. Two students were sitting outside the office, Harley and Barnaby. They were a few chairs away from each other to keep them from fighting. Barnaby looked like he was about to explode, while Harley looked bored out of his mind. Ponyboy made eye contact with his friend, deciding if he should talk to him or not. Ultimately, he decided to do so. His curiosity got the better of him. He walked over, sliding his detention slip inside his back pocket.

“Hey,” Ponyboy greeted awkwardly.

“Hey,” Harley replied more unenthusiastically.

Ponyboy chewed on his bottom lip, trying to come up with something to say. He tapped his fingers together. “Why are you here?”

“Fighting. Heard you got called to the office and then caught him talking badly about you behind your back.”

What? Ponyboy’s eyes boggled. He wetted his lips, voice feeling far away. “You… You did this for me?”

Harley shrugged, and Ponyboy felt a weight lift off his shoulder. Harley did this for him despite the possible ramifications that could occur. If Ponyboy was almost suspended, then Harley surely will be. Especially, if all the previously listed claims were blamed on him. After being arrested, he was brought back if he stayed on good behavior. Harley couldn’t get in trouble at school again, and he knew that. Yet, he still risked it for Ponyboy.

“I don’t know what to say,” Ponyboy muttered.

“Why don’t you take this gay shit somewhere else,” Barnaby groaned. They had almost forgotten he was there. Pony rolled his eyes. He was about to tell him off when Harley spoke up.

“Gay? That’s news to me,” he said with a wry smirk. “Ponyboy, are we a couple?”

“I wouldn’t want to date you even if you were the last person on Earth,” Ponyboy answered without a delay, scrunching up his nose. His answer must have been too fast because Harley looked almost offended. “Don’t give me that look. If we were together, you’ll probably do some wacky shit.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, you’ll probably cut open my stomach to hide things inside me without consent, or carve your initials into my skin with a blade.” This was, of course, all hypothetical. It made him feel uncomfortable that he would ask that, but that was Harley for you. The guy had several screws loose.

“Huh…” Harley looked back at Barnaby. Why didn’t he deny it? Christ, he felt bad for whoever dared to date him in the future. “And why do you need to put down a sexuality? Like you shouldn’t care that much about who other people do.”

“So, you’re admitting that you’re gay,” Barnaby pressed.

“No, I was just wondering how insecure you must be to act like this.”

The office door opened before they could go any further into this. The principal looked less than impressed when he saw Ponyboy was still there.

“Mr. Curtis, please head to your class,” he instructed. “There’s no need for you to be here still.”

“No, there is,” Ponyboy said, crossing his arms coolly. His eyes flickered to Harley, already deciding what he wanted to do. Harley really stuck his neck out for him. If he got expelled, that would be on Ponyboy. Sure, Harley wouldn’t care about leaving, but Pony did. Therefore, he decided he was going to help him out. “You didn’t hear my testimony.”

Principal Banner chuckled, “This isn’t a court case.”

“Whatever. It involves me too. Don’t I have a say in anything? Isn’t it part of your procedures to hear everything? Harley and I can go at the same time if it will speed things up for you. More time to finish your paperwork.”

He used that tidbit he overheard earlier as a bribe, but the principal didn’t take the bait. He forced a smile onto his face. “I’ll talk to you three one at a time.”

Principal Banner gestured for Harley to follow him, but before he could close the door, Ponyboy stuck his foot out. Ponyboy forced himself into the office and stood next to Harley.

“Mr. Curtis,” the principal warned.

Instead of waiting for permission to stay, Ponyboy just started. “Principal Banner, you’re biased. You were probably planning to kick Harley out, but it should be Barnaby who gets punished. He’s the one who’s been harassing us. Just look at Harley’s face. He did that.”

The bruises that adorned Harley’s face hardly healed at all. Realistically, it made no sense for them to develop as quickly as they did after his fight with Barnaby, but the principal didn’t know where or when they came from. For all he knew, the Soc could have been physically assaulting him for a long time. Harley quickly caught onto what he was doing.

“Yeah,” he agreed, trying to act like he was in distress, but it was overly done. “Look at my face, man. He’s been coming after us, throwing slurs and punches at us. We didn’t do anything.”

“He hated that I did well in school and picked on me for it. I haven’t been able to concentrate on my studies because of him. He told me I had no future because I was a no-good greaser who wouldn’t be able to get anywhere in life. But maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s all useless,” Ponyboy added. He liked to think he acted better than Harley.

The principal’s face went ashen. He didn’t like hoodlums, but even he wasn’t low enough to snuff out a spark. He shook his head, “Why haven’t you told anyone about this?”

“We’ve tried, but teachers don’t wanna deal with this. They tell you they want to help and that we should come to them when we want to talk, but they don’t actually care about anyone. I can’t help but blame the school for failing their duty to protect their students. This can’t reflect well if it goes public.”

If possible, Principal Banner’s face went paler as the severity kept rising. “Oh. That’s… That’s not acceptable. I’ll have to look into that.”

“I tried to take matters in my own hands, but I didn’t touch him,” Harley continued. “All I wanted to do was prevent him from spreading rumors about Ponyboy around school.”

“Rumors?”

“Yeah, rumors?” Ponyboy echoed. What the hell was Harley going to make up?

“Mm-hmm, about how Ponyboy took his parents out,” Harley lied.

At that, Ponyboy almost broke character, because what in the world was Harley thinking? How was he supposed to follow up with that? But he couldn’t stop and think, he had to act. And act, he did. He looked at his feet and slouched his shoulders to feign sadness which wasn’t that hard to do when it came to his parents. “I didn’t do anything to them. I loved my parents. They died from an accident. I wasn’t with them when it happened.”

Harley patted his good shoulder. “Isn’t it terrible that he was trying to blame him for murder? You can’t let him get away with it.”

“No, no. Of course not.” The principal agreed. “He will be reprimanded accordingly. I’m going to have a nice, long chat with him.”

At the end, Harley was given detention as well—a far better punishment than they thought he was going to get. After he was given a slip, the principal went to call law enforcement to come to the school. The two of them kept a straight face as they left the office, but Ponyboy was fighting a smile like his life depended on it. It felt nice to bounce back and forth with Harley again. The familiar feeling was elating, and it didn’t feel like they fought in the first place. He should still be mad, but he was more touched that Harley would risk so much for him.

When they were far enough away from the office, Ponyboy laughed, “The rumor was a nice addition, but I would have preferred if my parents weren’t brought up.”

Harley shrugged, “You acted well too. I almost believed you and I was in on it.”

They fell into a content silence after that, no longer bound by awkwardness or anger. Harley was an alright guy despite his many flaws.

“Thanks, by the way,” Ponyboy said. He should probably figure out what class he was supposed to be in and head there, but he stayed by Harley’s side. He found himself not wanting to go. Harley nodded and stretched his arms.

“Sure. Want to get fries?” he asked, pointing out the door.

Ponyboy grinned and lightly kicked Harley’s ankle. “Do you even have to ask?”

Chapter Text

Tulsa, Oklahoma: a dull city plagued by warring gangs and a lack of activities. As fifteen-year-olds skipping school, there weren’t many options available. Ponyboy and Harley already went to the store and stole stuff—a couple packs of cigarettes, these fancy-looking lighters, and Pony even got a new jacket. They also sold drugs as usual. This time, he made sure a better price was negotiated. It took a lot of nagging, but Harley eventually agreed, although begrudgingly. But at least he wasn’t getting shot at again. Honestly, it was a surprise he even let himself get wrapped up in that business again.

Then they walked around… and around… and around… until they got so bored they could die.

Eventually, they ended up at Ponyboy’s house. They still had time before school ended, and his brothers were at work. It was risky to bring him. No doubt, the gang would be mad later. Christ, they hated Harley, but they just had to accept the fact that the two of them were friends. They were going to see him around a lot more, and that was that. He could only hope a fight wouldn’t break out.

“Hey, do you have a spoon?” Harley asked. They were sitting in the kitchen at the time. In response, Ponyboy gestured around them, raising an eyebrow at the question.

“Yes?” he replied. This was a kitchen. A spoon was kind of essential. He still grabbed one from the drawer and handed it over. “What for?”

Harley placed it on the table and reached into his pocket. Ponyboy wondered if there was a can of soup hidden in there. What else could a spoon be used for? Cough medicine? On second thought, he wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled that out. Instead, Harley took out his new lighter and a small bag with fine white powder. Everything started to click into place.

“Is that crack?” Ponyboy asked loudly, leaning forward to get a better look at it. “You’re going to cook crack?”

“Heroin,” Harley corrected with a click of his tongue. “I wish we had crack. They go well together.”

“Where’d you even get that?” Actually, he didn’t want to know. He already had a suspicion. The two other drug dealers he met popped up in his head. They were violent and unpleasant, but Harley was still in contact with them. They probably gave it to him to sell, but here they were, about to use it for themselves. Would this bite them later? Probably. Did he have the means to stop Harley? No. He sighed, trying to make the most of the situation. “This is going to ruin the spoon.”

“You have ten more of them, it’s fine.”

Harley poured some of the powder into the utensil's dip and added a couple of drops of water from a forgotten cup that was left on the table. He put the lighter’s flame under it until it started to liquify—a gross-looking fluid that reminded him so much of turning sugar into candy.

“So, you just had all of this on you in front of the principal?” Ponyboy curiously asked, fingers tapping anxiously.

“Yeah, good thing we got out of there when we did,” Harley said nonchalantly as if he didn’t fear what would have happened if he were caught. He dug into his pocket again before he took out a syringe. What a weird thing to have, but his friend was always prepared for everything. But, seriously? A syringe? Was he going to pull out a stethoscope next?

“Gross.” The needle looked used—the barrel was cloudy, and the needle had dried blood on it. Ponyboy wondered how many times it was used and how many different people pressed it into their arms. He didn’t want to think about the diseases it could give him. Yet, he stayed silent as the drug was pulled into it. Harley gestured to his arm.

“I don’t know about this, man,” Ponyboy hesitantly said, pulling his arms closer to his chest. He eyed the syringe with distrust. If he took the drug, he would be crossing a line. No, he would be falling off a cliff. There was no question about that. It was too hardcore and addictive. There was a reason it was illegal. It messed you up. It could even cause death.

“Come on,” Harley urged, annoyance laced in his tone. “Don’t be a wuss.”

Ponyboy looked down and grasped onto whatever excuse he could think of. “My brothers might get back soon.”

But Harley didn’t back down. He never did when what he wanted was in reach. “They’re still at work. What do you have to lose?”

“I don’t know, maybe my life?” Ponyboy snapped back. Yeah, sure, he wasn’t scared of death, but he didn’t want to overdose on heroin or choke on his vomit.

“You’ll be fine. You’re not going to die. Worst-case scenario, you pass out.”

“I think the worst-case scenario is death. Don’t people overdose on this stuff all the time?”

“This is your first time taking it, so you’re good.”

“I don’t think it works that way.” Sometimes, Harley was stupid.

As if he could read his mind, Harley gave him a look. “Look, the people overdosing on this shit are people who built up a tolerance and idiots who don’t know what they’re doing.”

Ponyboy looked up, maintaining eye contact with his friend. He narrowed his eyes calculatingly. “Do you know what you’re doing? Have you tried it before?”

“Once or twice, and it’s good. Real good. Come on, try it, man. Stop being boring.”

Ponyboy chewed on his bottom lip. Was it really that good? Were the risks worth a few hours of a rush? The answer should have been no to both, but Ponyboy was so desperate to feel better. He missed the feeling of being high. All day, he had been feeling antsy and depressed. His body wouldn’t stop twitching, and everything was so suffocating—his skin was wrapped too tightly around his flesh, a weight was pressing down on his chest, and his mind felt too crowded. He already thought about breaking into his stash at home.

When he made up with Harley, he felt immense relief. But it wasn’t a relief that stemmed from regaining a friend. He felt relieved because he had full access to drugs again. Ponyboy needed the drugs, and therefore, he needed Harley around. Without realizing it, their relationship had shifted. He didn’t think he could take it if they fought again. He had to learn not to bite the hand that fed him.

When it came to drugs, Ponyboy trusted no one but Harley. So, yes, he was going to let him drug him up, as messed up as that sounded.

They moved over to the couch for more comfort. Hesitantly, he gave Harley his arm. After quick eye contact, his sleeve was pulled back. Ponyboy’s heart was pounding in his chest, and, for the moment before the needle touched him, he felt like a little kid again. That fear when a child had to get a vaccine; the hands that would hold them down to keep them still. Ponyboy had grown out of his phobia, but as the needle hovered over his skin, he had to fight the urge to kick and squirm away.

Harley’s hand was like iron, holding him still even as his arm twitched. Ponyboy couldn’t bring himself to look as the needle finally sank into him, hitting true to his vein. He then went to repeat the process for himself, taking more than what he gave Ponyboy. They shared that needle. Christ, if Ponyboy got Hepatitis B… Well, he would know how he got it.

It hit fast. Seconds. At first, he felt nauseous, but that was quickly replaced by so much euphoria that he almost couldn’t deal with it. A rush flooded his brain, and his body felt like it was floating. He had never felt anything like it. It was as if he were ascending. All of his problems, bad thoughts, and pain were gone in an instant. Instead, his body felt warm. As if he were bathing in a golden sunrise while warm honey dripped onto his ivory skin.

He thought a weed high felt good. It didn’t even come close to heroin.

His eyelids drooped. Whenever his chin would hit his chest, his head would jolt upright. He leaned his body further back into the sofa, his breath becoming shallow. The world melted away around him, leaving nothing but him and the clouds.

For the entire time, he couldn’t help but feel that this was it. This was what he was lacking in life, and he hated to think he couldn’t be doped up like this forever. How could anyone live without feeling like this? How could anyone function? Why wasn’t everyone using this drug? It was so great.

This pleasurable feeling lasted hours. The warmth he felt intensified as time went on until his skin became sweaty—a mixture of cold and hot, like during fits of anxiety. And, suddenly, it wasn’t so fun anymore.

His skin felt prickly and itchy, as if thousands of little bugs were crawling under it. That nausea he felt earlier slammed into him full force. He wanted to ask Harley to shoot him up again to experience that high again—the comedown dug a hole within him that needed to be filled—but his mouth was so incredibly dry, and he was riddled with lethargy.

He needed more.

He couldn’t just experience that and then have it taken away from him. It was like giving a blind person sight for only a day. He needed to feel that high again. He felt like he was going to die if he didn’t.

Ponyboy closed his eyes, eyelids as heavy as sandbags. His mind wandered again, clinging to the edge of consciousness. He didn’t even react when the door slammed open and his brothers entered the house.

“There you are,” Darry barked, but it sounded far away and cloudy. Ponyboy grumbled, but he still couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.

“Is he asleep?” Soda breathed, voice less abrasive.

“Not for long.” Darry snapped in his face, shaking his shoulder roughly. “Wake up. Now!”

One final push had Ponyboy breathing so sharply that his chest felt like it had been stabbed. His eyes opened, but his brain took a long time to catch up with what was happening.

“Hi, Darry,” Ponyboy greeted, sloshing saliva in his mouth. “How are you doing?”

Darry’s lips pulled tight. “Good. Until I got a call from your school about you not showing up for class. Again, Ponyboy?”

Busted. He didn’t want to hear this lecture again. “I was there.”

“Not for the entire day. Do you know what it was like to get that call? I had to leave work early to search for you. Soda too. We checked the house, but you weren’t here, so we looked elsewhere. But here you are, lying on the couch without a care in the world.”

“Wow, you’re just getting a call about this? And they say schools care about their students,” Harley said, opening his eyes. Ponyboy felt his heart plummet to his gut.

“Harley,” Ponyboy hissed, horrified. Why the hell did he have to say that? Maybe he was still too out of it to think clearly.

Darry spun to Harley as if he had just noticed his presence before he turned back to Ponyboy.

“What did he mean by that?” Darry demanded, raising his voice. “How many times has this happened?”

“I…” Ponyboy’s hands were shaking as he balled them up.

“Ponyboy, how many times have you skipped school since our last talk about this?”

There were too many to say out loud, that was for sure. Any answer would have been too many. He gulped. “You know… a few times.”

Darry looked like he was about to flip the coffee table. He threw his hands up instead. “Unbelievable. After we told you not to, you still kept doing it.”

“Pony…” Soda muttered in disappointment and a tinge of confusion.

“You can’t keep doing this. Isn’t that common sense?” Darry yelled. “You have an obligation to be there.”

His words were going straight over Ponyboy’s head, but luckily, Soda was there to calm Darry down some.

“Maybe there’s a reason,” he tried.

“What reason could there be?” Darry growled. “And don’t you dare say you didn’t feel well again.”

“But I did feel sick,” Ponyboy lied. Although, it wasn’t a total fib because he felt like he was moments away from puking all over the floor.

Darry rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows pulled closely together. “Like we said before, if you didn’t feel well, you were supposed to go to the nurse or call one of us. You can’t leave school. Why can’t you ever use that head of yours?”

“I don’t know, Dar, he does look really sick,” Soda pointed out, frowning. “Are you feeling okay? Golly, you’re all flushed.”

A cold hand pressed against his clammy forehead.

“You’re burning up,” Soda said, pulling away.

“I feel fine,” Ponyboy grumbled. But that was when the vomit had to come out. It rose up his throat and pooled in his mouth. Ponyboy covered it as he ran to the bathroom, spewing everything he ate that day into the toilet bowl.

“It sure doesn’t look like you’re fine,” Darry said, now seemingly gentler due to his worry. Yet, there was an underlying hostility to it. If Ponyboy’s mouth didn’t taste like shit, he would have told his brother to shove it. He crouched next to him and put a firm hand on the back of his neck, causing him to squirm at the heat that radiated off it. “If you didn’t feel well, why didn’t you call? Do you know how this looks? Do you think the state is going to take this lightly? What if something happened to you and I didn’t know where you were?”

Ponyboy stayed silent, slumping his shoulders forward. Like Darry cared. If he stayed silent, maybe this would pass. Maybe throwing up was a good thing.

Darry continued to “comfort” him, allowing him to ground himself until he became more aware. Ponyboy wiped his mouth with his sleeve, letting the leftover anger simmer down. He took a few shallow breaths. Then Soda had to speak up about a thought he had.

“If you were skipping because you didn’t feel well, why is Harley here?” Soda wondered, ruining his chances of getting out of this in one sentence. The bathroom fell silent as the words processed in Darry’s head.

“Why is Harley here?” Darry repeated, but it didn’t come out as gently as how Soda put it. Before Ponyboy could stop him, Darry stood up and marched back into the living room. Ponyboy followed him with Soda, a feeling of dread falling over him. Harley had nodded off again, his eyes closed and his head slung forward, but he wasn’t asleep. He opened his eyes when Darry got closer. Harley looked over at Ponyboy, then back at Darry’s angry face. He, unfortunately, came to the wrong conclusion. He looked back at Pony.

“Did he find out about you almost being suspended?” he asked. Ponyboy wanted to slam his head into the wall. Why? Why the fuck did he have to mention that? After his slip-up before too!

“Suspended?!” Both Darry and Soda exclaimed. Ponyboy winced.

“Oh, Pone, what did you do?” Soda asked him which did a fantastic job at making him feel shitty. They were quick to point fingers at him, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. To them, everything was his fault. They didn’t consider the other possibilities. Didn’t support him or have his back. His heart was pitted with ice, and he inhaled sharply.

“I didn’t do nothing,” Ponyboy answered pointedly. Darry glowered at Harley.

“This is your fault,” he spat at him. Harley raised both of his hands. They were shaking, but Ponyboy knew it wasn’t out of fear or nervousness. His pupils were constricted, and it would have made him look alert if they weren’t fogged over.

“I’m literally just sitting here, man,” Harley responded.

“Ponyboy was fine before he met you. Now, suddenly, he’s staying out late, talking back to us, skipping school, and getting suspended?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just growing up.”

“And, to be fair, Harley got me out of the suspension,” Ponyboy added.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Darry argued.

“Yeah, I think it does,” Harley said. “He was going to get suspended, but now he’s not. That’s a change.”

“But you’re still the reason it happened.”

Harley rolled his eyes. “Oh, just fuck off. You don’t know jack shit.”

“Then help us understand what Ponyboy did,” Soda said.

There it was again. He was still blaming him. Ponyboy scratched his arms and glared at the corner of the room. Before he could come up with something to say, he was interrupted by the sound of laughter.

The gang entered the house much louder than when Darry and Soda came home. Two-Bit was laughing at something he had said to the others. Probably a dumb joke or something. The rest of them either had small smiles on their faces or looked amused. However, that light atmosphere instantly dropped the moment they sensed the tension inside. They froze at the door.

“What’s happening here?” Two-Bit asked, looking between everyone. His gaze lingered more on Harley, knowing immediately it had something to do with him.

“Ponyboy almost got suspended,” Soda explained, and everyone’s eyes widened.

“What?” Johnny spoke at the same time that Steve said, “The kid was what?”

Dally, though, looked more interested—almost impressed—than shocked.

“What for?” he asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Soda hummed. And, again, all eyes were back on Ponyboy. It looked like he wasn’t getting out of this after all. Now he had to decide how he wanted to say it without all the nitty-gritty details.

“Before you go accusing him, none of it is Harley’s fault,” Ponyboy started, which was exactly what they were doing based on their glares. Dally looked like he was about to jump Harley. Heck, even the others looked like they would join in. The only reason they hadn’t tried anything was because Ponyboy was there. “This guy lied to get me in trouble.”

“Who was it?”

“Some Soc. Said I harassed him when I didn’t.” The worst Ponyboy did was provoke him and call him a name.

“A Soc was picking on you?” Two-Bit said angrily. “Who?”

Ponyboy shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, it was taken care of. Harley defended me when he saw him making up rumors about me.”

“He really did that?” Darry asked, running his hands over his face. Ponyboy nodded. He was still angry, but at least it wasn’t projected towards Harley anymore.

“Sorry, Darry, for causing you all this trouble,” Ponyboy apologized, scratching at his arms. He bowed his head to look more pitiful and more childlike. It helped that he looked like he was about to vomit again. It was silent for a bit while Darry tried to find his words.

“Okay,” he started, lips trembling with suppressed fury. This surprised everyone. Okay? “I’ll talk to the principal about this, but you still skipped again. You went behind my back and ignored my words. I’m so disappointed in you.”

He was acting much calmer than Pony thought he would, but his words still stung. At least he wasn’t in his face this time. Still, it was humiliating to be reprimanded in front of his tuffer friend and the gang. “I’m sorry…”

“Sorry won’t cut it. You had your warning already.”

What else was he supposed to say to this? “But—”

“No buts.” Darry gestured to Harley. “Let him out and then we can talk more about this.”

In other words, a punishment. Ponyboy stiffly nodded. Harley followed him out the door.

Even though Harley had messed up, Pony sort of wished he had spoken more, but he was still not completely there. Ponyboy probably would have been the same if he hadn’t been given a shot of adrenaline. Harley blinked heavily before he patted his pockets (suddenly, more aware) and cursed, “Shit, I think I misplaced it.”

“What? Your common sense?” Ponyboy joked, rolling his eyes.

“No, the stuff we used.”

“What?!” Ponyboy eyes widened, blood draining from his face. “Are you serious?”

The look on his face said he was. Shit! They were screwed. This is what they got for getting doped up in the living room. The gang was going to be so mad at him. No, they were going to kill him and Harley.

“What are we going to do?” Ponyboy asked, voice shaking. His hands were trembling so badly. He needed a cigarette, but that wouldn’t help him.

“It’ll be fine, man,” Harley responded, calmer than him, yet the muscles in his face were tight. “You’ll just have to go back in and grab everything.”

Why did it have to be him? “What if they already found it? They’re going to kill me, Harley.”

“The longer you wait, the more time they have to find everything.”

He was right. Ponyboy slammed the heel of his palm into his temple multiple times, panic fogging his brain. “Okay, uh, I’ll find them, you go.”

Things would go worse with Harley around. “You better.”

With that, he left. Ponyboy opened the door and he was flooded by hushed words from the gang. They were talking about him and Harley. Darry and Soda were updating them about what they had spoken about before they arrived. The moment, the door opened though, they quieted down.

There was only one area the heroin could be. Luckily, no one in the gang had sat down yet.

“Ponyboy?” Johnny asked as if he himself had been caught in an act.

Ponyboy paid him no mind as he rushed to the couch. On immediate view, he couldn’t find the syringe, the bag of heroin, Harley’s lighter, or the blackened spoon. For a heart-dropping moment, he thought the gang had found them, but he looked around more thoroughly. He looked under and behind the couch.

Nothing.

“What are you looking for?” Soda asked. As if he didn’t know already.

He stayed silent, shoving his hands under the cushions, groping around and feeling lost objects. His fingers pressed against something flat, round, and cool. A coin. He felt around more before his fingers pricked against something sharp.

He let out a breath and wrapped his hand around the cylinder barrel of the syringe, sliding it into his sleeve. Luckily, the baggie and lighter were close by and he hid them in his sleeve as well. He couldn’t find the spoon though.

“Did you lose something?” Two-Bit asked, walking over to help him look. He reached over to rip the cushion off.

“Just found it,” he said quickly before he could do so, shooting up after grabbing the coin. He showed it to them. “Harley’s lucky coin. He was looking for this. I’ll have to give it back the next time I see him.”

No one looked amused and Ponyboy gulped. A trickle of sweat fell down his forehead.

“Right,” Soda drawled, ignoring his weird behavior. “Why don’t you sit down, Pony?”

This was going to be a long night. He did as he was told. The gang went to the kitchen while Darry and Soda lectured him some more, but Ponyboy hardly listened to them. He only nodded in the right places and sprinkled in some apologies here and there. The entire time, he was thinking about heroin.

There was still some left, enough for one more use.

That rush he felt, he would do anything to feel it again. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to get addicted to the stuff, after all.

Chapter Text

It took only seven hours, fifteen minutes, and four seconds for Ponyboy to give in and try heroin again. He couldn’t stop thinking about it—the rush, the blast of euphoria, how he felt like he was floating. He had to experience it again. If he didn’t, he swore he would go mad.

There wasn’t much left in the bag. He had maybe one more shot left. It was enough at that moment, and that was all that mattered.

He carefully cleaned the syringe with a Q-Tip and some hydrogen peroxide, recounting the method Harley used to prepare for it. He tried his best to copy everything he did. His sweaty hands shook as he pulled the liquified drug into the needle. The tip bounced on his skin a few times before he found a good spot and injected himself.

It hit him hard, enough to erase his unease. He leaned back on his bed, body sinking into the mattress. The thumping of his heartbeat slowed and quieted to a whisper, a sweet lullaby sung with a breathy voice. The world melted around him. And while it felt like he was bathing in a golden sunset at a cabin in the rural countryside the first time he tried it, this time it felt like a crisp, summer sunrise. It was pleasant, but… it wasn’t quite like the first time. This hit was weaker. Not completely different, but just enough to notice something was off. Maybe he didn’t do it right. Or maybe he needed more heroin. Whatever the case was, Ponyboy couldn’t help the disappointment that formed under the several layers of bliss.

What was missing? Why wasn’t it like the first time? He had to experience that feeling again, no matter what. He needed it and he needed it soon, because his time under the influence of the drug was too short. Time flew by before he knew it, leaving an empty pit in his gut. Ponyboy decided to take several pills to fill the hole it left behind and to pass the time until he had to get up. It wasn’t the same. He really should have been thinking about how he was going to face Harley during this time, but instead, he spent the time disassociated.

When morning came and he had to get to school, his friend found him before he could do so himself. Ponyboy had just opened his locker when it suddenly slammed shut, almost crushing his fingers inside. Harley removed his hand from the metal and ignored the pointed look he sent him.

“What the hell, Harley?” he grumbled, reopening his locker. “You almost broke my fingers.”

But instead of one of his standard quips, Harley went straight to the point. He looked around him, checked to see if the coast was clear, before he asked, “Where is it?”

Ponyboy cringed, already knowing what the it was. He thought about what he could say and he could have told him the truth. After all, it wasn’t like Harley cared in the past about him using his drugs. However, Pony took one look in his friend’s eyes and saw absolute desperation, and he knew this wasn’t the case this time. This wasn’t weed or some over-the-counter drug. This was something more serious and way more addictive. He couldn’t tell him he used all of it because Harley needed the heroin just as much as he did. His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth as he spoke his next words carefully. “I forgot it at home. I’ll get it to you tomorrow.”

Harley let out a shuddered breath, fingers tapping against his legs impatiently, but he nodded slowly. “Make sure of it. I need it.”

“I know.”

He was glad Harley trusted him, but he shouldn’t have. He was a terrible friend and he didn’t deserve him. Ponyboy didn’t even trust himself anymore. Now, he had to figure out how to get him some heroin by tomorrow. No pressure. He could mix something together—flour kind of looked like it—but Harley could probably tell straight away that it wasn’t the real deal. That only left him with telling the truth or finding a dealer, and he knew damn well he couldn’t do the former.

There was a plus side to that option. If he found a dealer, he would also have more for himself. But there was one big question left in the air: Where was he supposed to find one?

Somehow, Ponyboy managed to get through the entire day. Two-Bit was supposed to drive him straight home from school since his brothers didn’t trust him anymore. When have they? But he figured he could tell them he wanted to walk back to clear his mind later and deal with the consequences later. It would be okay, so long as he made it back at a reasonable time. He wasn’t planning on staying out long anyway.

During the rest of school, he spent his time brainstorming places he could go. He had a rough idea, but there were two dealers in particular he knew had what he needed. Still, regardless, Ponyboy needed money and the only way he was going to get it was by selling drugs.

Ponyboy felt nervous as he stepped off the property, and he was sweating bullets when he got on the public bus. It was a short ride, hardly enough time to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do. He shouldn’t have been so nervous, but he was.

The bus dropped him off a few minutes away from the secondhand store where the conflict between Harley and those drug dealers had happened. It was the only place he could think of. The money felt heavy in his pocket as he walked over.

This was stupid.

He was stupid.

He should turn around and go home. His brothers were likely wondering where he was by now. Maybe they thought he skipped again. Dealing with them would have been better than being here, but he needed that heroin.

So, he convinced himself that his nervousness was just first-time jitters and continued forward. But, deep down, he was praying they weren’t there. It would have given him a good excuse to go home and figure out a better solution to his issue. What else was there? Unfortunately, the two men were there, standing at the same place like they owned it and were paying property taxes.

They hardly moved when he walked closer, but their eyes snapped towards him, calculating and watching. It was when he stopped in front of them that he remembered they didn’t have a great first impression of him.

“Um, hey,” he greeted awkwardly, throwing away any signs of weakness in his demeanor. He straightened his back and loosened his muscles. Casual and unassuming to any potential onlookers. It would appear that they were friends. However, the other two didn’t act like they were on good terms. It only took a second for recognition and then anger to flash through their eyes.

“You’re the punk that hangs around Harley,” the bigger one snarled, eyes narrowing and jaw tightening. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to buy.”

The guy looked surprised for a second before he schooled his expression, baring his teeth in a snarl. His narrowed eyes shifted around them, but when he didn’t see anything, he turned back. “What?”

“I came to buy,” Ponyboy repeated in case he hadn’t heard him. Did he already say something off? He dampened his chapped lips and looked at the other dealer (the smaller one) to get a better understanding of what he did, but the action must have been interpreted wrong, because, before he knew what was happening, his back slammed into the wall. A large hand wrapped around his neck and lifted upward, forcing him onto the tips of his toes. A strangled gasp left his mouth, his fingers instantly clawing at the hand in an attempt to remove it. The grip only tightened. With his other hand, the guy pulled out a gun and pressed it against his temple. Its cold barrel sent tremors down his body.

Phantom pain bloomed in his shoulder, making him whimper. Why did it always have to be a gun?

“Why did you look around?” the guy snapped, spit flying onto Pony’s face.

“I didn’t!” Ponyboy wheezed with stuttered words.

“Don’t lie to me, kid! You were planning on setting us up, weren’t you?”

“No!”

“Who else do you have with you, huh? Are the police around the corner?”

It was hard to speak more than a couple of words at a time, but he managed. “There isn’t, I swear. Look, I just wanna buy something from you.”

The guy snorted. “You see, I would love to believe that, but something doesn’t quite add up. Why didn’t you go to Harley? You’re so buddy-buddy with him. It would have been better than coming to us. And don’t think we forgot about what you did last time.”

Ponyboy somehow managed to shake his head. “I can’t ask him.”

“Why not?” The guy loosened his grip a bit, but Ponyboy still couldn’t answer. He shut his mouth tightly, refusing to admit that Harley had given him the heroin he was supposed to sell. He wasn’t about to snitch on him. Luckily, after several seconds of silence, the guy moved on. “Fine, don’t tell me. Not my business to know.”

Ponyboy almost sighed in relief, but a certain firearm reminded him that he couldn’t relax quite yet.

“Well, spit it out,” the guy continued. “What do you want?”

“I need some H,” Ponyboy answered, recalling a street name for the drug.

The laugh that the two let out was almost embarrassing. “Seriously?”

“That’s right.” He took out the wad of cash in his pocket with shaky hands. He wasn’t sure how much he needed, but he hoped it was enough. “I got the money.”

It was snatched from him, and Ponyboy felt his stomach drop when he wasn’t instantly given the heroin in return. The guy passed it over to the smaller one, who leafed through it for a few seconds before he shoved it into his pocket. He muttered something that Ponyboy didn’t catch, but the grip on him loosened some more, allowing him to breathe. The bigger guy asked him what form he wanted it in, and Ponyboy only ever knew it as a powder, so he told him as such. The guy reached into his coat and took out a bag, larger than Harley’s, that was filled with that sweet, white powder he came to love. Ponyboy went to grab it, but it was pulled away mockingly once before it was finally handed over. It was almost too easy.

He hardly had enough time to put it somewhere safe when the butt of the gun slammed into his temple, sending him to the ground. Spots danced across his vision and darkened at the edges. Then, a loud pop caused his ears to ring. Warmth spread across the side of his neck. It took a long moment to realize what had happened. The guy had fired his gun. The bullet was embedded in the wall next to him, a shot that was only meant to scare and not injure, but the aim was off. The bullet had grazed his neck and had successfully frightened him.

The guy crouched down and pulled his head up by the hair so he could look him in the face. He could feel blood trickle down his jugular.

“You’re lucky we aren’t beating the shit out of you,” the guy growled. “I should shoot holes down your body, until there’s nothing left of you but mush.”

“Why aren’t you?” Ponyboy managed out, cursing internally because of how much his voice quivered. His temple was pounding, and he wanted to rub it (or even hold his neck), but he didn’t want to make another wrong move. The last thing he needed was to get shot again.

The guy had a wry smirk. His voice was deceivingly friendly. “Because you’ll be back. How could I treat my customers so badly?”

He said that like he hadn’t just shot at him. Ponyboy bristled at the first part. “I ain’t your customer. This was a one-time thing.”

“That’s what they all say, kid.” The guy stood up, letting go of his hair. “Now get out of here, and if you tell anyone about any of this, I’m going to find you and your family and blow your fucking brains out. You got that?”

When he didn’t answer, he kicked him in the chest and he swore his ribs creaked. He gasped in pain, flinching when the guy spat on him.

“Answer me,” he growled.

“I won’t tell,” Ponyboy quickly agreed. “I swear.”

Satisfied, the dealer jerked his head to the side. Ponyboy took that as a green light to go. He scrambled to his feet and scurried away, feeling like he was a dog with a tail between his legs. He tried to ignore their laughter and the feeling of shame that was slowly consuming him.

Christ, what did he do?

He must have been crazy. Somewhere down the line, he had kept dealers and buyers separate. He had categorized buyers as addicts, and Ponyboy couldn’t be an addict if he sold. But the truth was this: even dealers could be addicts, and Ponyboy was both. ‘You’ll be back’ was burned in his mind as he ran home.

When Ponyboy returned, he tried to go straight to his room. However, Two-Bit, Johnny, Soda, and Steve were in the living room at the time. Their conversation came to a stop when they saw him. They left him out again.

“I thought you were going to ride home with Two-Bit,” Soda started, sitting up from his spot on the couch.

“Just wanted to clear my head,” Ponyboy responded. He had tucked the heroin under his shirt before he entered. He moved carefully, scared that the slightest move would cause the bag to crinkle.

Soda nodded, then took in his appearance. “You look like you just walked through a tornado.”

Ponyboy forced a chuckle out and combed his hair back with his fingers. “Yeah, the wind today was crazy.”

“It wasn’t that bad when we drove here,” Two-Bit brought up.

“And it wasn’t strong when I started my walk.” Ponyboy cleared his throat and rubbed the tender spots, but the action only brought attention to it. All four of them stood up, bodies tensing.

“Is that a cut on your neck?” Soda asked, eyes wide. He tried to rush over to him, but Ponyboy stepped away before he could get too close. There was no way he was going to let him check him for injuries while he was hiding drugs. However, the avoidance didn’t go unnoticed. Soda frowned. “What happened? Were you jumped?”

“It’s just a paper cut,” he lied.

“On your neck?” Steve questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Ponyboy looked him dead in the eyes. “Yes.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“If someone jumped me, I would have had more injuries than this.”

“But that doesn’t look like a paper cut,” Johnny pointed out, staring at it intensely. Ponyboy shrank back, avoiding eye contact. He covered it with his hand. He was able to feel what looked like. It wasn’t a big lesion, but it definitely wasn’t a cut. He would have been better off if he had told them a car had accidentally flung a rock at him.

“It looks worse than it is.”

Soda looked at him as if he were at a loss for words. He wanted to believe his brother, but there was something off about this. He had this feeling of dread that was turning his gut, but Ponyboy looked fine besides the “cut” on his neck. He said he was fine. He should trust him, but he couldn’t shake off this bad feeling. Soda should say something, but he also knew that Ponyboy wouldn’t take it well. He needed to show that he was willing to listen. Maybe then, his brother would open up to him. “You would tell us if something happened, right?”

“Yeah,” Ponyboy answered dismissively. He ran his tongue against the inside of his cheek and started to walk past them before they could inspect him even closer. “I have a lot of homework, so I’m going to head to my room.”

They didn’t stop him. Deep down, they didn’t care to double-check. Ponyboy locked the door behind him. As soon as he got to his bed, his legs gave out. He fell onto it and curled into a ball, but he didn’t cry. Instead, he covered his face with his shaky hands and wondered if the gang had seen them; seen how scared he was. The recent events replayed in his head, a nightmare while awake.

The bag crinkled when he shifted, reminding him that he still had something to do. He uncurled himself and poured some of the heroin into Harley’s empty pouch. When he was done, he slipped it into his backpack before he laid back down.

He held his own bag up. Could he snort this stuff? Would it feel as good as an injection? Before he had time to test it, someone twisted the doorknob, but when they found out it was locked, they knocked on the door. Ponyboy’s body stiffened as he shoved his pouch under his pillow.

“It’s me. Open up,” came Steve’s voice. Knitting his eyebrows together, Ponyboy did so.

“What do you want?” Ponyboy asked bitterly.

Steve scratched the back of his head awkwardly, eyes diverted elsewhere. “Hey, let’s talk.”

Ponyboy glanced behind his shoulder at his pillow before he turned his attention back to Steve. He rocked his weight from his toes to his heels. “Can’t we talk some other time?”

He tried to close the door, but Steve caught it before he could. “Listen, I need to say something. Now, are you gonna listen to me or not?”

With an annoyed huff, Ponyboy let him into the room, moving to sit on his pillow. Steve didn’t sit down. He looked around the empty room with a raised eyebrow. When Ponyboy shared a room with Soda, their room was full of life. The walls were adorned with pictures, the desk was always cluttered with notebooks or homework, the bookshelves were filled with his favorite novels, and even the dresser had lazily folded clothes sticking out of the drawers. In this room, the walls were bare and the desk was empty. Not even one novel or sketchbook was in the room. Nothing that screamed Ponyboy was there. But perhaps he grew out of his fantasies and old hobbies. At least it was messy. If it weren’t, he would have thought it was a guest room.

Steve sniffed the air, expecting to smell the musky scent that was usually associated with guys, but instead, it was weed. He made a face.

“What’s that smell?” Steve questioned. “Why does it smell like weed in here?”

Ponyboy froze. His fingers clutched the pillow covers as he cursed internally. He didn’t think the room smelled anymore since he hadn’t smoked since that morning. It should have aired out by now, but the scent must have stained the room.

Crap. What was he supposed to say to this? He needed to deflect somehow. His mouth was dry as he responded slowly, “Why do you know what weed smells like?”

Ponyboy thought his response was pretty clever. Clever enough to at least trip Steve up, but the other greaser only shifted and gave him a look. “Kid, weed has a distinct smell.”

“Oh, that?” Ponyboy made a show of sniffing the air. “That’s just, uh, incense.”

“Incense,” Steve repeated, disbelievingly.

He tried to look more confident by nodding his head. “I’m spiritual now.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what the hippies say.”

It was Ponyboy’s turn to make a face. “I ain’t no hippy.”

“Good.”

“It’s seriously just incense,” Ponyboy insisted. He crossed his legs and leaned forward. “I’m getting into, er, paganism.”

Steve’s mouth twitched up. “Paganism? So not God?”

Ponyboy shook his head. “If God were real, why would he make my life so miserable?”

He said it quietly, but Steve heard him anyway. It might have been the lighting, but Steve’s eyes softened. “Pony…”

He was about to say something more, but Ponyboy glared at him. “What did you want to talk about, Steve? Why are you here?”

And the awkwardness was back. Steve decided to drop his questions about the potential weed for now. He juggled with his wording in his head for a second before he started, “I wanted to apologize… again. Without anyone else around.”

Ponyboy was shocked that he was going this far. Steve was apologizing to him without being forced to? For what? He helped him realize things he had been oblivious to. It hurt, but Ponyboy needed to hear it. He deserved to be alone. “Don’t bother.”

Steve probably thought he would accept his apology this time. His eyebrows rose at his dismissal. “Look, I’m trying to take back what I said. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“If you were sorry, you would have said so at the time.” Ponyboy let out a shuddered breath. “Besides, you don’t have to apologize for pointing out something true. I get it. I’m insufferable to be around.”

“Kid… Ponyboy, you’re not.”

Christ, what was with him? Ponyboy’s jaw tightened. Steve was the one who told him nobody liked him in the first place. Ponyboy was doing everyone a favor and, apparently, it wasn’t enough. What else was he supposed to do? He could die. “Aren’t you happy I’m not around much anymore?”

Steve stilled and Ponyboy felt like he hit a nail on the head. The older greaser shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean, Steve?” Ponyboy scoffed.

“It was only supposed to be a joke, man.”

Knuckles turned white. “Pretty bad joke.”

“Yeah, it was.” Steve looked down, tapping the pads of his fingers together. “Look, it wasn’t like I didn’t want you around. It’s different without you. It’s affecting everyone.”

“For the better.” He had seen it with his own two eyes. The gang was happier without him. They laughed more, hung out more, and they were moving forward without him just fine. Life would go on just fine without him. “You’re all better off without me. I don’t know why you’re even trying to apologize to me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Let’s face it. I’m a fuck up.” All the stuff he had gotten involved with. All of the drugs he had taken. He was broken. He wasn’t worth saving anymore. “I’m annoying trash that deserves to be alone.”

“You’re wrong,” Steve responded. He pointed at him and tapped his foot. “Why can’t you listen to me?”

“I listened to you before,” Ponyboy bounced back.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He growled in frustration. His patience was running thin. He came in here to mend burnt bridges, not be Pony’s therapist. Steve clicked his tongue. “I’m trying to make up with you and apologize.”

“Would that be a joke to you too? There’s nothing you can say to me that would make me feel better.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.” He huffed. “I can’t stand this, man.”

“Then go to the living room and sit down on the couch.”

“Kid’s being a smart ass now,” Steve muttered to himself. He continued, but louder this time, “I mean, I can’t stand that you talk about yourself so badly. Why do you keep putting yourself down?”

“Just don’t want people to hurt me anymore. Nobody can hurt me more than myself.”

“That sounds dim.”

Ponyboy snorted. “I think you mean grim.”

“Whatever. People can still hurt you. Shoot, kid, you know what this actually sounds like? Lonely. You want to be alone.”

Ponyboy pressed his lips together. “Now you get it. Why don’t you leave then? It’s better that way. You never wanted to apologize to me in the first place.”

“You don’t want that.”

“I think I do.”

“No—”

Ponyboy cut him off. “Go.”

“Hey—”

“Leave.”

“Stop cutting me—”

“Bye!”

Steve huffed as he threw his hands up, clearly fed up. “Fine, if you want to be alone, then so be it. I tried.”

Before he left, he turned back to him and continued, “Word of advice: Stop trying to push people away. If you keep that up, you’ll be alone for good one day. People are trying, but you’re the problem. You need to meet them halfway. They can’t keep chasing you forever. It’s exhausting.”

With that, the door shut and Ponyboy was alone once again. His only companions were the drugs stashed away in various spots in his room. How sad was that? He slammed his fists into his thighs repeatedly, but he couldn’t feel the hits over the icicles that stabbed his heart.

Chapter Text

Johnny should have seen the signs. Looking back, they were obvious. If only he had seen them in time. Maybe it would have prevented everything that was going to happen.

Johnny liked to think of himself as an observant person. He spent most of his life watching and listening, standing off to the side like a visitor at an art gallery. Ponyboy was like that too. They got each other in a way the gang never understood. However, these days, Ponyboy was more of a tragic painting than an observer.

A while ago, the two of them found an art magazine on a shelf at the DX Station. They had spent an hour lying on the floor and flipping through the pages. Ponyboy rambled on and on about the hidden meanings and different techniques. He made stories out of splashes of colors while Johnny wondered how people could get so good at painting. The best he was able to do was a stick figure. Ponyboy was good at art. Yet, instead of being envious, Johnny was amazed. Ponyboy was amazing in general, and he wasn’t just talking about his talent. It was his ability to remain who he was, no matter what he faced. It was his creativity, his wonder, his purity. If Ponyboy were a color, he would be gold.

A picture was meant to capture an image at a certain time. The actions and emotions were supposed to be locked in place like a frozen memory. Johnny wished it could capture this innocence, but the painting Pony decided on was more despondent than anything.

Johnny didn’t know many artists, but he remembered one of the pieces displayed in the magazine. At Eternity’s Gate by Vincent Van Gogh depicted a man with his face buried in his hands. It evoked melancholy and the poignant feeling of despair, or so Ponyboy read from the picture’s description. Johnny didn’t know why it felt like Ponyboy personified this painting, but he didn’t like it.

Perhaps he should have listened when Steve came out of his room while he grumbled about how it smelled of weed. Johnny convinced himself that Steve was spouting nonsense about drugs, but Ponyboy wouldn’t touch that stuff. The gang even tore through his room and found nothing incriminating. And perhaps he should have connected the dots on this one day at school when a cop approached Pony. That day, during lunch, Johnny went around in search of him. For several weeks, he had been doing this, but he rarely ever had any luck. Some days, he would see glimpses of him, while others, not at all. It was rare to even get close enough to speak with him.

He looked in classrooms, bathrooms, the lunchroom, and even the stadium outside. Students were usually stagnant during this period and there weren’t many places to hide, yet Johnny never found where he and Harley hung out. With a sigh, Johnny decided to resign for the day and started to head towards the entrance, planning on meeting with Two-Bit to get something to eat.

The hallway didn’t have the usual thick crowd, but it was still filled with continuous babble. Ponyboy blended in so well that he almost missed him.

Ponyboy was at his locker, struggling to put in his combination. His fingers were twitching, making it difficult to land on the correct numbers. It didn’t help that, in one hand, half hidden by his sleeve, was a small envelope. His other arm held a textbook that was on the verge of falling apart. Johnny walked over until he was right behind him.

“Did you forget your password?” he asked. Ponyboy jumped and whipped around, smoothly slipping the envelope into a random page of his textbook.

“Uh…” Ponyboy stammered, trying to find the right words. “Yeah, I did.”

The conversation instantly fell into an awkward and tense silence, something Johnny wasn’t used to when it came to him. Luckily, Ponyboy continued, “What’s up?”

Despite the casual wording, there was nothing friendly in his tone, causing Johnny to take a small, tentative step backward. He rubbed his arm. He had spent days trying to find him, but now that he finally did, he had nothing to say.

“Nothing. Just trying to find Two-Bit,” Johnny replied. “I’m surprised you’re here. You’re usually with Harley.”

Ponyboy shrugged, “I had things I needed to do.”

Oh? “Like what?”

“Nothing you need to get yourself into.”

Try me, Johnny wanted to say, but his words got caught in his throat. It was like that chokehold some people get when they talk to a stranger. It was silly since Ponyboy wasn’t some random guy off the street. He was a friend and a brother. Johnny nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. “If you say so.”

When Johnny didn’t leave or say anything more, Ponyboy quirked an eyebrow. “Did you have something else you wanted to say?”

Johnny’s brain whirled, pushing him to say something. Literally anything would do. Well, not everything, because he ended up blurting out something stupid. “Two-Bit dragged me to this new liquor store the other day and tried to order alcohol. They carded him, but when he pulled out his wallet, five different fake IDs fell out.”

Why did he say that? It wasn’t what he wanted to say at all. He looked at Ponyboy, hoping he would find his story somewhat humorous, but his friend remained eerily expressionless. Johnny could feel his throat closing up. Did he say something wrong?

“Oh,” Ponyboy monotonously said. “When did he get those fake IDs?”

“Dunno,” Johnny answered. “Golly, you should have seen the pictures they used. They looked nothing like him. One of them was a girl.”

That was the kicker of his story. Still, Ponyboy didn’t look amused. “I see.”

Johnny should leave these types of stories to the others because he wasn’t good at telling them. He didn’t get it. Ponyboy used to love hearing stuff like this. “We got kicked out even though I wasn’t a part of it.”

“That makes sense. Thanks for sharing.”

This was going nowhere. How was Johnny going to move on from here? He smiled nervously, gesturing down the hallway. “He’s outside right now, if you wanted to join—”

“Mr. Curtis,” came the principal’s booming voice. Johnny jumped, back straightening. He clamped his mouth shut and spun around.

The principal and a police officer stomped over to them, eyes locked onto Ponyboy dangerously. Johnny froze with confusion upon seeing them. What was going on? The principal looked livid about something, and apparently, it involved Ponyboy. The cop had a hand on his holster, tapping his fingers against his gun, just waiting to pull it out at the slightest wrong movement.

Principal Banner pointed aggressively at him and dragged his finger towards Pony’s locker.

“Open your locker up,” he barked.

“Huh?” Ponyboy gasped. His face turned pale and his pupils shrank. “What’s going on?”

“We got a tip that you are hiding illegal drugs in there,” the policeman answered.

Illegal drugs? Johnny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What an insane accusation. Ponyboy didn’t have anything like that. How could they even think that? He waited for his friend to tell them they were wrong, but Ponyboy became paler. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He doesn’t have anything like that. He wouldn’t,” Johnny squeaked, managing to find his voice.

“If there isn’t anything, then there is no need for him to be nervous,” Principal Banner said.

That was fair, though he was mad that Ponyboy was even being put in this situation. Johnny looked at him expectantly. Once he showed them he was clean, it would be over.

But, sweat fell down Pony’s temple and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly. That was when Johnny noticed how silent everything became. All eyes were on them.

“Right,” Ponyboy nervously agreed, handing Johnny his textbook to hold for him. He stiffly turned back to his locker. This time, he managed to succeed on the first try. The hinges creaked as the door opened, but as soon as it did, he was pushed to the side. The cop started to tear through the locker. He pulled out books and any other contents. Everything clattered to the floor in a pile.

The cop kept pulling things out until everything was emptied out. They found nothing, unless they wanted to count a crumpled sheet of lost homework from the beginning of the semester as something. Johnny couldn’t help but feel relieved.

The officer then turned to Ponyboy, gesturing for him to put his hands on the wall. A pat-down? Johnny’s breath hitched. They were going this far?

With a defeated sigh, Ponyboy slipped off his backpack and did as he was told. The officer started to frisk him, paying more attention to his pockets, waistband, sleeves, and anywhere else where drugs could easily be hidden. Still, he found nothing.

Then, he moved on to the backpack, dumping its contents onto the ground with the rest of the stuff. There wasn’t much in there besides a couple of notebooks and some candy. When it was clear that Ponyboy didn’t have drugs on him, the principal’s ears turned red. His eye twitched as he cleared his throat.

“It would seem the information given to us was incorrect,” he spewed, trying to cover up his mistake by shifting the fault. Johnny waited for him to apologize, but none came. He hated that he just assumed Ponyboy was a dealer. It was probably because he was a greaser too. People were always trying to do that to them, and today, Ponyboy was the target. The principal turned around and was about to leave when Ponyboy spoke up.

“No apology?” he brought up.

The principal frowned. He hardly looked back at them. “My apologies for frightening you, Mr. Curtis.”

Ponyboy waited for him to say more, but nothing else did. He rolled his eyes. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What more is there?”

“You know, a pile of shit is more sincere than you.”

Johnny coughed.

“Ponyboy,” he hissed, tugging at his friend’s sleeve in horror. This wasn’t like him at all. What was he doing?

“Excuse me?” Principal Banner shrieked. “What did you say?”

“I said, I would have liked something more sincere from you,” Ponyboy lied loudly, changing his wording in a way that no one believed. “Or are you too much of a classist to do so?”

There were murmurs from other students. “It’s not classism. We have to take any and all drug allegations seriously, but if you would like to discuss this further, we can take this conversation to my office.”

Ponyboy held up a hand. “No, I’m good.”

“Then, if you excuse me, I have another student to talk to about an offense.” Principal Banner nodded at the cop. “Officer, if you would follow me.”

They left with heavy stomps. Johnny leaned over to his friend. His heart was pounding in his chest.

“What was that about?” he asked, eyes wide. That whole interaction was just strange, even how Ponyboy responded. He knew that he was different these days, but it was always so unnerving to witness it.

“Wouldn’t be able to tell ya,” Ponyboy responded, grabbing his textbook out of Johnny’s hand, calmer now that he had it. He slipped it into his backpack before he started to throw everything else in there as well. Whatever couldn’t fit was stuffed into his locker. Johnny helped, but he noticed how his friend watched him closely as he did so.

“We should tell Two-Bit. He’s right outside.”

“No, it’s fine. There’s nothin’ to tell him.” Ponyboy shook his head. His eyes were glassy. “I need to find Harley.”

Why him? He was probably the guy they were looking for. Why did he trust him more than them? Johnny swung his backpack on his other shoulder and stood up straighter. “I’ll come with you.”

Again, Ponyboy shook his head. “Don’t.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Johnny’s focus broke off of Ponyboy for a second, but when he turned back around, his friend was already down the hallway, going the other direction from his next class.

Darry should have seen the signs. Looking back, they were obvious. If only he had seen them in time. Maybe it would have prevented everything that was going to happen.

Perhaps he should have caught on that day he returned from the grocery store and needed help bringing everything in. Ponyboy was sitting at the table with a tray of freshly baked sugar cookies that almost masked a strange scent in the air. His eyes were half-lidded and glazed over, and his pupils were wider than normal. He hardly acknowledged him when he entered, as he shoved a cookie into his mouth.

“You gonna get up and help, or what?” Darry said, placing a bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter.

“Huh?” Ponyboy looked up, eyes still not focused on him.

Darry huffed, tapping his foot. “The groceries? The ones that need to be put away?”

Ponyboy slowly nodded. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

Several seconds passed without movement. Ponyboy remained sitting, his eyes glazed over again. Looking closer, they were rimmed with red, making it seem like he had been crying for a long time. Darry walked over and snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Pony. Time to come back down from space.”

This appeared to have worked. Ponyboy shot up, but his ankle got caught on the chair, causing him to trip. His palms slapped against the ground before he corrected himself and stood up like nothing happened. Darry shook his head in exasperation. Teenagers and their clumsiness. He didn’t remember ever being this bad though.

The two of them went to grab the remaining bags from the vehicle, but when Ponyboy was bringing the last one in, his foot got caught on the door’s threshold, and, again, he tripped. The bag of groceries flew out of his hands. Cans and fruits rolled away, going every which way. They were now dented or bruised, but the most tragic result of his collapse was the carton of eggs that opened upon impact with the floor. The eggs cracked and splattered everywhere, making a huge mess.

“Gosh, darn it!” Darry hissed.

“Sorry,” Ponyboy mumbled sheepishly.

Darry pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He took a deep breath before he could snap out words he would regret. “Just grab what fell. I’ll get a rag.”

He grabbed a dishtowel from the kitchen counter and dampened it with water. But when he turned the tap off, he noticed that the sink wasn’t empty. He picked up what was left in there, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Why is there a lighter in the sink?” he asked, holding it up between two fingers.

“I used it, so I had to wash it,” Ponyboy responded as if that was the most obvious answer in the world. Still, Darry didn’t get it.

“You… You washed it?”

Ponyboy tilted his head. “No? I haven’t gotten to it yet, hence why it’s in the sink.”

That still didn’t answer why it was there in the first place, or why he thought it needed to be cleaned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would you wash a lighter?”

“It was dirty.” Ponyboy stared at it. “How many organisms are living on it, just squirming around each other, invisible to the eye? Do you think they get annoyed with each other whenever they bump into one another? How do they decide what to eat when they don’t have brains or eyes?”

Darry gave him a weird look and started to scrub the ground. “Just finish picking everything up. I think you smoked too many cigarettes. Told you not to smoke a whole pack. And what’s with the cookies?”

Ponyboy tore his eyes away. “I baked them for everyone since I know I can be a lot to you guys.”

“Most of them are gone.”

“I got hungry.”

The egg was soon cleaned up and Ponyboy placed the rest of the cans on the counter. He sat back down and picked up another cookie. Darry couldn’t believe he could still stomach them. He shook his head and started to put everything away. For a while, it was just that. Darry had a harder time making conversation with his youngest brother than Soda did. He thought about something to say to him.

“Spring is coming up,” Darry started, putting the milk in the fridge. “That means track and field is starting soon.”

In other words, he was expecting him to try out. Ponyboy placed the cookie down. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Darry’s arm froze halfway from putting away the can of green beans, attention now fully on his brother. “No? Well, why not?”

“I just… I just don’t feel like it anymore.”

“That’s not a reason,” Darry stated seriously. He clenched his jaw. “You don’t feel like it? Well, I don’t feel like doing a lot of things, but I still gotta do them. You can’t stop doing something just because you don’t want to no more.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Ponyboy repeated, “I don’t want to.”

“You need to do it for college. I reckon you think grades alone will pay for your tuition, huh? Well, here’s the deal.” Darry started to go on a rant about colleges and scholarships, and how much money they would save if he could get one. And how impressive extracurriculars looked on a college application. Ponyboy quickly zoned out, focusing on the dirty backsplash behind his brothers. The grout wiggled like worms, molding the tiles into shapes other than rectangles. It was clear no words were reaching him, yet Darry still went on. When he felt like he had gotten his message out (although not through), he snapped his fingers in front of Pony’s face again, causing him to jolt. “Did you remember that?”

“Wait, what?” Ponyboy spoke, blinking heavily. Confusion was evident. His words were slurred, Darry noted, but thought nothing of it after the next question. “When did we start talking about the Alamo?”

Now it was Darry’s turn to be confused. Again, he might add. “What?”

“Why does the phrase, 'Remember the Alamo,’ exist? Most people forget about it after they take their history class.”

“I don’t know, Pony,” Darry answered, exasperated and weirded out. “The Alamo doesn’t matter.”

“Then why do we have to remember it?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Darry’s eyebrows were pinched so close together that if he were to relax, they would have left wrinkles behind. He sighed. “Just continue eating your cookies. I’ll go over this again. Hopefully, this time it’ll get through that thick skull of yours.”

He started to repeat everything he had gone through already, but he should have learned from the first attempt that nothing was going to get through to him. At least Pony was looking at him this time, even if he was staring at him as if he had quite literally grown a second head.

Soda should have seen the signs. Looking back, they were obvious. If only he had seen them in time. Maybe it would have prevented everything that was going to happen.

He should have seen that something was wrong from the beginning. He was his brother, after all. He should have seen it that one night. Darry had asked him to fetch Ponyboy for dinner. He had almost walked into his own room before he remembered Pony moved into the other one. He switched a while ago, yet Soda kept forgetting. Signs of Ponyboy were still in his room. Soda hadn’t had the heart to put things away and fully claim the space for himself. It didn’t feel right to. Not yet, at least.

He changed directions and headed to Ponyboy’s new space. He pushed open the door.

“Dinner’s ready,” he announced. The room was dark. The light that filtered in from the open door was just enough to make out the lump on the bed, tucked under a couple of layers of blanket. He lowered his voice. “Are you sleeping?”

The only response he received were quiet snores. Eyes softening, Soda approached the bed. He placed a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder and shook it. Ponyboy’s eyes stayed closed. His body curled into a tighter ball.

Gosh, he must have been really tired. Dark bags stained the pale skin under his eyes and made him look like a skeleton. It looked like he hadn’t slept for days. If Ponyboy wasn’t breathing, he would have thought he was dead.

On his nightstand was a near-empty bottle of cough medicine. Soda frowned. Was Pony sick? He pressed his hand to his forehead. It didn’t feel like he had a temperature. But maybe Ponyboy was feeling under the weather and took it as a precaution. The medicine would have explained how he was sleeping so soundly.

Soda ran his fingers through his brother’s hair, being careful not to get them caught on any knots. Still, Pony did not stir. He made a note to tell Darry that they needed to pick up more cough medicine. Soda let go of the hair, deciding to let him sleep. He’ll save a plate for him to eat later.

He looked around. Maybe he should start bringing Ponyboy’s stuff in here. His eyes fell upon the backpack on the desk. Next to it, bookmarked by a pencil, was a notebook. He headed over to it and flipped it open out of curiosity. Ponyboy enjoyed writing and drawing, which Soda never understood. It sounded like homework to him and he never had a great imagination. Maybe that was why he had a difficult time sitting through movies or listening to the stories Pony wrote. He would always zone out or get distracted, like a dog that had seen a squirrel. The point was, he didn’t care enough about Ponyboy’s hobbies to push through his boredom.

 At some point, Ponyboy must have given up because he stopped showing his work. Soda couldn’t remember what the last story was about. His drawings were easier since he only had to look at them for a couple of seconds.

Don’t get him wrong, he was immensely proud of his brother, and he constantly praised him, but that alone didn’t seem like it was enough. He needed to do more for him, put more effort into their interactions, and give him the time he deserved. Because Ponyboy was growing up fast, and Soda only had the chance to see him for a few hours a day at most. Time was fleeting. Months seemed to pass by with each blink of the eye. In a small handful of years, Soda would only get a few hours per year. He might even decide to cut ties with all of them after high school. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like he had any time left with Ponyboy.

If he could spend a few minutes a day just to understand his interests, that might be enough for Ponyboy. Soda could start here.

He studied the page in front of him, but it wasn’t something he expected to find. There were no fun drawings or legible words. Instead, what greeted him were harsh lines that ran back and forth, and created shiny patches of graphite. Some of them covered sentences and made it so Soda couldn’t read them, but the sentences were the same four words.

Soda’s eyebrows knitted together as he flipped to other pages. There weren’t too many used, but most of them were like that.

Why? Where were the stories and drawings?

He wished he had the answer.

Ponyboy stirred, and Soda quickly shut the notebook and placed it back down on the desk. It was time to get out of there.

The notebook was probably nothing. There were several possible reasons as to why he marked the pages like that. He could have been trying to come up with an idea, for example.

Soda closed the door behind him, consuming the room in a similar darkness as the graphite patches. If it were lighter, he might have seen the droplets of tears that dotted the pages.

Dally should have seen the signs. Looking back, they were obvious. If only he had seen them in time. Maybe it would have prevented everything that was going to happen.

Ponyboy was different these days. For starters, he started to smoke weed, but that wasn’t a cause of concern. Actually, he wasn’t sure if what he saw was concerning or not.

Dally was walking over to Buck’s when he saw Ponyboy and some Soc talking to each other in an alleyway. They spoke quietly, unaware that someone was watching them. It didn’t look like the Soc was giving him any issues, and that was the only reason why Dally wasn’t intercepting.

His body tensed as the Soc took his hand out of his pocket and then relaxed when a blade wasn’t pulled out. From where he was standing, he didn’t have a great view of what was happening. Ponyboy reached his hand out for what looked like a handshake. But something was off about it—the way that both of their hands were cupped like they were secretly trading something. There wasn’t any shaking of the hands. Instead, it looked more like a weird clap.

Then it happened once more. Ponyboy pulled his hand back to his pocket and then brought it back out, still cupped, and clapped the Soc’s hand again. Only they weren’t claps.

Were they trading something? Were they friends? He hadn’t heard about him from the gang.

The Soc put his hand back in his pocket, muttering more words to Ponyboy with a nervous smile on his face. They exchanged a few more hushed words before they decided to break. Ponyboy gave him a wave—the other didn’t return the gesture—as the Soc left down the alleyway, away from where Dally was. Ponyboy turned the other direction and froze when his eyes locked onto him. His eyes widened as if he had just been caught red-handed. He dragged his feet until he reached him.

“Hey, Dal,” Ponyboy tentatively greeted, shoulders drawn closer to his ears.

“What was that about?” Dally asked, nodding in the direction of the Soc.

It was like that question had a separate—unknown to him—meaning, because instantly, Ponyboy relaxed. His shoulders dropped back down and a breath was released. It was a simple question. He didn’t know why it had such a huge effect on him.

“Nothing. He was just asking a question about a class,” Ponyboy responded with a shrug. “We share English.”

Dally nodded, though he knew that it was a lie. Why would they be talking about class in a dingy alleyway? But if the kid wanted to keep a secret, so be it. “He wasn’t causing trouble?”

“No.”

“You buddies with him or something? I didn’t know you had other friends.”

The mood shifted as soon as he uttered those words. Ponyboy glared at him. His hands curled into fists. “I’m capable of making friends, you know.”

Dally leaned his weight on one foot and pressed his tongue against his cheek. He glared back twice as sharply. A warning for Ponyboy to tone it down. “Sure, whatever, man. Don’t need to act so fussy about it.”

“I ain’t actin’ fussy,” Ponyboy defended.

Dally clicked his tongue. “You see, I think you are. How about we get you a drink so you can cool down that hot head of yours?”

That only made him angrier. His eyes were ice cold. Forget about knowing each other for several years. With the look Ponyboy was giving him, they might as well have been mortal enemies. It almost gave him whiplash because not that long ago, they were fine with one another. Dally had been covering his back, so the least Ponyboy could have done was be more appreciative.

“Shut up, man. I don’t need to hear that from you, of all people,” Ponyboy snapped.

“What did you say to me?” Dally growled, instantly ticked. He shoved Ponyboy back, but not hard enough to knock him down. It was more of a last warning. If he wanted to teach him a lesson, he would have. “Never say that to me again, you hear?”

Usually, that would have been enough to get Ponyboy to stand down. However, this time, it was different. He stood up straighter and broadened his shoulders. There was no fear in his eyes. No regret. Just a crazy look in his eyes that served as a warning to him. But even though he wasn’t afraid, he didn’t go further than that. He rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. I have somewhere to be,” Ponyboy said. “If you see Darry, tell him I’m coming home late.”

He shoved past him, knocking his shoulder with his on purpose. Dally almost spun that boy around and socked him.

That kid. What the hell was going through his mind? Dally kicked a discarded beer bottle against the wall, watching it shatter into several pieces.

Two-Bit should have seen the signs. Looking back, they were obvious. If only he had seen them in time. Maybe it would have prevented everything that was going to happen.

He found Ponyboy sitting on the porch one night. Two-Bit had crashed in his living room and woke up with a full bladder that needed to be emptied. He hadn’t noticed the younger greaser on his way towards the bathroom, using the outside light to navigate his way to his destination without tripping over Johnny’s body. It was on his way back to his comfortable spot on the carpet when his eyes caught sight of Ponyboy through the window.

Ponyboy was lounging with his face tilted towards the sky. At first, Two-Bit thought he was just imagining him because it was freezing outside. Who would be crazy enough to be out there? Apparently, Ponyboy was.

There wasn’t a blanket around his shoulders to keep him warm. No mittens or gloves covered his hands to prevent them from turning blue. No socks on his feet to keep his toes from falling off. At least he remembered to wear a jacket.

Nobody else was outside or awake. And Ponyboy looked… lonely.

Two-Bit decided that he was going to give him some company. He grabbed a couple of beers and headed outside. The door shuddered too loudly behind him.

“I didn’t know Darry let hobos crash on his porch,” he began.

Ponyboy glanced back at him. His eyes were blank, as if someone had erased all the stars in the galaxy. They were like black holes, a place with no light… no nothing. It was so off-putting that Two-Bit faltered in his next words.

“What’s a little lass like you doing out here on your lonesome on this fine night?” he managed, super perturbed by Pony’s silence.

“Just thinking,” Ponyboy fortunately answered and rubbed at the dark bags under his eyes. Gosh, he looked like a zombie in this lighting. Better yet, a ghost. He was so thin that a slight breeze could have blown him away. When had he gotten so skinny?

“Don’t work your brain too hard. The fire department can only save so much.”

Ponyboy didn’t respond. He turned back to the sky, watching a cloud slowly cover the moon. Two-Bit rocked on his feet. Christ, he hated this silence. Luckily, he brought beer because there was no way he was going to be able to handle this sober. Jokingly, he held both up.

“Want a beer?” he asked, knowing full well Ponyboy was going to refuse. The other stared at it for a second, eyes trailing the condensation trickling down the bottle’s neck. And then, without a word, he held his hand out for it. Two-Bit raised an eyebrow in surprise because he knew that Ponyboy hated the taste of beer. A voice in the back of his head said that something was wrong, but another voice reasoned that Ponyboy was growing up and thus had different taste buds. Slowly, he handed it over and sat down next to him.

He popped the bottle open with a calloused hand, the ridges of the cap poking into his palm. He was used to doing so, but Ponyboy was not. He struggled to do the same, and Two-Bit cracked a joke about soft hands before he helped out.

“Thanks,” Ponyboy muttered quietly and brought it to his lips without any hesitation. He took a sip and cringed. “Tastes gross. How can you drink this?”

“I like the taste,” Two-Bit chirped and cracked a grin. He took a large swig himself.

“Well, your taste buds are broken. At least mix something with it.”

Two-Bit whistled. “You’re a mixologist now?”

“No, I just have taste.” This caused Two-Bit to bark out a laugh.

The two of them enjoyed the chilly night as best as they could. Drinking helped, but Two-Bit wished he had brought a jacket and a blanket with him. He didn’t know how Ponyboy was tolerating it so well. He leaned back, placed his palms on the splintering porch, and looked up at the sky that Ponyboy was so fixated on. It was neither tense nor comfortable, but the awkward breaks between each conversation were killing him. He wondered what was so interesting about the sky or what was going through Pony’s complicated brain. So, he decided to ask.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he asked.

For the longest time, Ponyboy didn’t respond. He just continued to drink until the alcohol made him numb. It took so long for him to answer that, when he did speak, Two-Bit had almost forgotten the question he had asked.

“Do you think astronauts get scared in space?” Ponyboy spoke, voice soft and quiet.

“Probably,” Two-Bit responded, squinting his eyes at the stars. “Why?”

“Space seems so vast and lonely. I wonder what goes through their brain when they’re floating up there, looking down at Earth. They’re only tethered to their spaceship by a measly rope. If something were to happen to it, they would float away, slowly losing oxygen. That is, if they don’t fall back to Earth. If they were to float away, would they be lonely? They would be dying alone up there. What would be their last thought? And, if they were to fall, how long would it take to hit the ground? How fast would the death be? Or would they die before impact? Are they even scared of dying?”

Two-Bit did not have an answer for him. All he could think was, What the hell?

Because how the heck was he supposed to respond to that? Worry churned his gut. Ponyboy’s questions were depressing. It was all about death and loneliness, and it was borderline messed-up. Two-Bit couldn’t even bring a smile to his face as he said, “That’s dark.”

He wished he could have said more. Ponyboy only smiled pathetically at him, lips wobbling and eyes squinted in a way that hid his tears. The porch light flickered, and that pitiful expression was gone. Switched back to a blank abyss. A quiet chuckle left Ponyboy’s mouth, “Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about that. And you probably don’t want to be out here with me.”

Two-Bit rested his arm on Pony’s shoulder. “What are you talking about? Of course, I want to be out here.”

Ponyboy pushed his arm off and stood up. “Yeah, right. I know I’m exhausting to be around.”

Two-Bit whipped around, knocking over his beer. He quickly picked it up and placed it to the side. He was stuck on cracking another joke and being serious. He didn’t know what Ponyboy needed or what he wanted. Both directions could blow up in his face.

“What gave you that idea?” he asked, deciding on the more attentive approach.

“It’s just something someone said to me,” Ponyboy mumbled. “I’m sorry that I woke you up, Two.”

“Shoot, Pony, I was already awake. Haven’t spoken to you in a hot minute, and I needed a midnight drink. This worked out nicely.”

But Ponyboy shook his head. “I know I can be exhausting to be around, so you don’t have to say that. I don’t want to ruin the rest of your night, so I’m going to head in, okay? I want to be alone right now.”

“Hold your horses,” Two-Bit said before Ponyboy could go back inside. The other fought the urge to roll his eyes at his choice of words. “I don’t know how to answer your questions, but everyone’s scared of death, but we can’t let that stop us from doing anything.”

“I don’t think that’s quite right. I think being alone is far scarier than dying.” Ponyboy pressed his lips together bitterly and Two-Bit had the chance to see trails of tears, like fallen stars, on his cheeks. He held up his near-empty bottle. “Thanks for the beer, Two-Bit. ‘Night.”

He left before Two-Bit could say anything else. Grumbling, the greaser fell back on the porch and looked up at the sky. He decided there that he didn’t like stars that much.

Steve should have seen more signs. Looking back, they were obvious. If only he had done something in time. Maybe it would have prevented everything that was going to happen.

Ponyboy’s new attitude was the first sign, yet Steve passed that on as teenage rebellion. He was more distant now, and that should have been the second sign. However, Steve convinced himself it was normal. Pony was already a quiet kid, so it wasn’t out of place.

Then came that weird smell, and that should have been the third sign. He never got the chance to talk more about it with him. He told the gang immediately after, but they dismissed it because they thought Steve was trying to pull something again. They never truly forgave him for what he had said to Ponyboy. There was still an underlying disdain that he would likely never completely erase. Trust had been severed.

The fourth sign practically slapped him in the face, yet he still didn’t see it. Steve was sitting on the couch while Soda and Darry were outside, looking at a maintenance issue. Ponyboy was home too. He had locked himself in the bathroom a while back, but it was starting to become worrisome with how long it was taking him. There was no water running, no toilet flushing, just quiet noises that sounded like sniffles. What could that kid be doing in there? Was he braiding his hair? Did he finally find a chest hair?

After a while, Steve needed to go to the bathroom. He definitely wasn’t concerned about Ponyboy, but it would be good to check on him. He got up and knocked on the door.

“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” he asked.

There was shuffling inside before he got an answer, “Just finishing up. Be out in a minute.”

“Yeah, well, hurry up.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It took around five minutes for Ponyboy to leave the restroom, and he didn’t look very good. He was paler than he had been a couple of hours ago; a hand was wrapped around his forearm. His eyes were puffy and there was a defeated look to his face. His back was hunched, making him look smaller and so much like the kid that he was.

Something was wrong.

He didn’t look right.

Ponyboy brushed by him, and Steve pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

Ask if he’s okay, a voice in his head urged, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that in the end. He entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t lying about having to go.

Everything looked normal inside. Nothing seemed out of place, so he went about his business. It wasn't until he reached the sink that he noticed something.

The mark was so small that Steve had almost missed it. On the inside of the bowl was a streak of red. Blood. It looked as if it had been quickly wiped at, but not efficiently, since it was still there. There weren’t any tissues or toilet paper in the trashcan, so whatever was used must have been flushed away.

Steve thought back to his earlier run-in with Ponyboy, trying to remember if he had cuts and bruises on him. If there was blood, then he might have been jumped. But it was hard to tell because of his long sleeves. If he had any injuries, they would have hidden them, and Ponyboy would have kept everything to himself anyway. He wondered how bad his injuries were.

Shit. Steve’s hands curled into fists. He needed to check.

He swung the door back open, eyes scanning around him. Ponyboy hadn’t quite made it to his room yet. He was grabbing his backpack off the couch when he winced. Steve’s eyes narrowed.

That confirmed it. Ponyboy was injured.

With great resolve, Steve approached him and held out his hand.

“Let me see your arm,” he barked. Ponyboy instantly retracted it, holding it close to his chest. Fear flashed across his eyes.

“What? No,” Ponyboy rejected.

“Come on. I just want to check something.”

Ponyboy gulped. “Check what?”

Steve held his hand more insistently, not answering the question. “Come on, let me see, man.”

“No. Check your own arm.”

“It doesn’t make sense to do that.” Steve grabbed at his wrist and managed to wrap his hand around it before it could be pulled away. Ponyboy yelped, muffled by him biting his lip. He struggled against the hold, but it was too strong. Steve tried to yank his sleeve up, but it was difficult with how much the other was twisting around. “It’ll only take a second.”

Ponyboy started to panic. His other hand held down his sleeve. “Let go. This is weird, man. What’re you doing?”

At that, Steve stopped. He was right. What was he doing? Trying to prove something? All for some bruises and cuts that Ponyboy didn’t want to share with anyone? He let go and tucked his hands under his armpits. Ponyboy cradled his wrist as if he had been badly injured, but Steve hardly put any pressure in his grip. It shouldn’t have hurt him.

Oh great, Steve thought. Ponyboy was going to act dramatic and get him in trouble. He bit his tongue to stop himself from calling him out on it. He would not make the same mistake again. But he still wondered why Ponyboy was being so defensive about his arm.

“Fuck you, Steve,” he spat and scurried back to his room after he grabbed his backpack. Steve let him go, scratching the back of his neck.

“That kid is so weird,” he mumbled.

“Who’s weird?” came Soda’s voice. He and Darry had decided to return at that moment.

“Your brother.”

“What’d he do this time?” Darry asked.

“Think he got jumped. He got defensive when I tried to check for injuries.”

“What?” Soda gasped. Both his and Darry’s focus was fully on him now. “Why didn’t he say something? Is he okay?”

“Looked fine to me, so maybe he hadn’t been jumped. I don’t know. Like I said, it was weird.”

“Ponyboy got jumped?” came Johnny’s voice. He entered the house, forcing Darry and Soda deeper inside. Dally and Two-Bit were beside him.

“Do you know who did it?” Dally questioned, eyes narrowing. He recalled the Soc he saw with the young greaser in the alleyway. “I swear if it was some Soc messing with him…”

But Steve shrugged and shook his head. “Didn’t say anything about it. Wasn’t spooked or anything. He just started acting strange.”

The gang all exchanged looks, waiting for who would speak next. All of them had experienced something weird with him, and they could tell from each other’s expressions that they all witnessed something as well.

“He’s been like that lately,” Darry agreed with a nod.

“Ponyboy’s always acting strange,” Two-Bit said, remembering that one night they drank together and his dark words. “Just more so lately. I offered him some beer and he drank it.”

“What?” Darry spun towards him. “You gave my kid brother alcohol?! He’s only fifteen.”

Two-Bit held his hands up. “I didn’t think he was going to take it!”

“Yeah, and we all tried alcohol around his age,” Steve defended. He nudged Two-Bit jokingly. “Two’s the only one they’re going to need alcohol IV drips for if he gets sent to the hospital.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Pony didn’t like the taste of it,” Two-Bit offered, which earned a few eye rolls. Luckily, Darry didn’t push this topic further. He just grumbled until the next person said something.

“I saw something weird,” Johnny spoke up in such a way that chilled the air. The gang turned to him. He pressed the pads of his fingers together nervously. “At school, the principal accused him of having drugs.”

There were several things he could have said. However, that wasn’t one they were expecting. Their eyes went wide. They all thought they had heard wrong.

“What?” Soda gasped. “But Ponyboy doesn’t have drugs.”

“They didn’t find anything,” Johnny reassured, which made them let out the breaths they were holding. But Johnny remembered something at that moment. The cop didn’t check the textbook, and he was sure he had seen him slip something inside it. What was it? It couldn’t have been drugs, right?

No, if it were, then surely it would have been more obvious.

“Good,” Darry said, jaw clenched and eyes stormy. “How could they even think he would do that?”

“Some Socs must have done it to get him in trouble,” Two-Bit huffed, crossing his arms. “Damn Socs.”

Dally clicked his tongue in agreement. Again, he was reminded of that Soc. They were trading something. Drugs? It had to be weed. Ponyboy did use anything else. But if he was selling it, then where was the money going, and where was he acquiring the substance? Nothing was adding up, and Ponyboy didn’t have it in him to sell drugs.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” Soda asked. “When did this happen?”

“Earlier this week,” Johnny responded, shuffling his feet. He didn’t know why he didn’t mention it. He knew now that he should have, but when it happened, it was just so shocking, and he wanted to earn his friend’s trust back. He figured the best way to do so was to go along with what Ponyboy wanted. “I should have said something.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Darry agreed firmly but shook his head and sighed. “But he didn’t have anything on him, so that’s good.”

“His room still smelled like weed,” Steve reminded.

“We already checked it and found nothing,” Soda said with a pout. “Stop making Pony look bad. He doesn’t do drugs or smoke weed.”

It was Steve’s turn to sigh. He nodded and looked away. He could argue for several minutes about this, but he knew when to stop pushing something. “You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

“We need to focus on the injuries first,” Darry brought back up. “Where did you say he was hurt?”

“His arm, I think. Might be in other places too.”

“I’ll grab the first aid kit and head over to his room then.”

“Yeah, and maybe he’ll talk more about what happened,” Two-Bit agreed.

Darry left the room to grab the kit. He walked over with hurried steps to Ponyboy’s bedroom, knocking first, three strong hits that rattled the door. He waited for a few seconds, but there was no answer. The room stayed silent. Eyebrows knitting together, he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.

“Hey, Steve said—” Darry stopped short. His feet froze in place and his grip on the first aid kit tightened. A cold breeze brushed across his skin, causing him to shiver. The window was wide open, the screen taken off and placed to the side, and Ponyboy was nowhere to be seen. “Pony?”

Again, no answer. He wasn’t there. Panic rushed through his veins.

Darry rushed out of the room, back towards the gang, who startled when he stomped over.

“Darry? What’s wrong?” Soda asked, worriedly.

“Ponyboy,” Darry breathed, eyes wild. “He’s not in his room. He’s gone.”

Chapter Text

Okay, Ponyboy might have been a little dramatic. Just a little. After Steve almost pulled his sleeve up, the first instinct he had was to run. So, that was what he did. The moment his bedroom door shut behind him, he made a beeline for his window. He removed the screen and quietly jumped outside. His mind was reeling by the time he reached the street.

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure if Steve had seen the cuts or not, but the way he was so persistent about looking at his arms freaked him out.

How did he know? His arms were covered the entire time. Ponyboy bit the insides of his cheeks. They had gone raw with how often he had been chewing them. Maybe his sleeves had rolled up at some point, and that had been the moment Steve had seen his cuts.

So, maybe running wasn’t dramatic. Because if Steve saw, then he would tell the others, and they would gang up on him. He didn’t want to think of how much of a disaster that would turn out to be.

God, he had been so careless lately. He kept slipping up—almost getting caught at school, Dally almost catching him dealing, and Darry walking in on him while he was high, just to name a few. The gang was going to get mad at him for running too, now that he thought about it, but that was okay. Maybe it will distract them from everything else.

He ran to the only place he knew where to go. Harley’s house. He didn’t bother with going through the front door like a normal person would. He walked around the side and stood under his window. The light was on, signifying that his friend was there. Ponyboy looked around for a way to get up. There was a condenser unit outside, which he pulled himself on top of, but he was still short a few feet even on his tiptoes.

This wasn’t going to work. He jumped back down.

What else could he do…

He grabbed some pebbles next. He threw them against Harley’s window like he was in a cliché movie. They tapped loudly against the pane before they fell back to the ground.

“Come on, Harley,” Ponyboy mumbled with a frustrated huff. “Look outside.”

After the fifth pebble, the window finally opened, and Harley stuck his head out.

“What are you doing?” he asked flatly, a bit surprised he was there. “This better be good.”

“Just help me in,” Ponyboy responded. No explanation. Just a request.

Harley sighed and dangled his arm from the window. No question needed to be asked. Ponyboy liked it that way. “Yeah, sure.”

His arm was still too high for him, but Ponyboy decided to try anyway. He climbed onto the condenser unit again and crouched down, eyes zeroing in on the waiting hand. With a pull of his leg muscles, he launched himself up and clasped his hand with Harley’s. Harley lurched forward before he caught himself and quickly repositioned his weight to hold them both up. He gritted his teeth, veins popping up the side of his neck. Ponyboy planted his feet against the wall and pulled himself up the rest of the way with a loud grunt.

When he was inside, Ponyboy finally had enough time to relax, and that was when he noticed the stinging in his wrist. It had started to bleed again. Red quickly soaked through his sleeves like watercolor that touched a damp page. Seeing this, Harley threw him one of his band t-shirts that had previously been discarded on the floor.

“Wear that. Use the one you’re wearing to stop the bleeding,” Harley instructed. “Then throw it away.”

“What? I’m not throwing this away,” Ponyboy objected pointedly. “I like this shirt.”

“Well, what do you want to do with it? It’s covered in blood.”

“Wash it like a normal person?”

“Yeah, like washing blood out of clothes is normal.” Harley sat on the bed and leaned back on his hands. “Just put it on. Take your shirt with you. I don’t care, man. Do what you want.”

Ponyboy stripped off his top, shivering when the cold air hit his skin. He wrapped the shirt around his wrist like a tourniquet. Earlier, he had sliced his wrists three more times, each one deeper than the last and was bound to leave gashes instead of scars. Steve knocked on the door before they had the chance to stop bleeding completely.

He sniffed the shirt Harley gave him, cringing at the musky scent. It was definitely used. Probably more than a few times by the smell of it. He slipped it on and instantly noticed the short sleeves. He subconsciously tugged on them as if the motion would stretch them to a comfortable length. He gave up after a few minutes of doing that and sat on the bed next to his friend, tapping his fingers against his knees.

“Thanks, man,” he said quietly.

Harley lightly kicked the back of his calf. “Hey, so what’re you doing here?”

“I needed out. Steve almost saw my cuts, and I panicked.” Ponyboy held up his wrist. “They’re going to check when I go back, I just know it.”

“Then cover them up if you’re worried.” Wow, Ponyboy never thought about that. He rolled his eyes.

Instead of a sarcastic comment, Ponyboy stuck with being more serious. “That’s not going to work. They’re going to pull up my sleeves.”

“Then cover them with something else.” Harley suddenly stood back up and shuffled around until he found what he was looking for. He came back with several bracelets and dropped them on the bed. Ponyboy eyed them quizzically, but Harley spoke before he could ask about them. “Do they really know about the cuts?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

Harley hummed in thought. He “Then throw them off. Wear short sleeves around them so they can see your arms, and cover the cuts with these bracelets.”

Ponyboy clicked his tongue skeptically. Picking a few up to inspect closer. “I don’t know if they would do anything.”

“I use these every summer and haven’t been caught yet.”

“That you know of.” Ponyboy slipped them on both of his wrists one by one. Together, they acted like two cuffs, just big enough to cover his cuts. There were several kinds of bracelets. Some were made of chains, several were beaded, and a few were made of strips of leather. There was even one made of the tabs from cans. And another looked like it with those random beads found at the bottom of a grandmother’s sewing kit. Whenever he shifted his arms, they clinked together like maracas and pinched at his skin. “I look ridiculous.”

“It’s either this or they catch you.”

Ponyboy sighed. He absentmindedly played with a bead using two of his fingers. He didn’t have much of a choice, did he? “I know…”

“They’re going to check no matter what, so might as well make it seem like you’re not hiding anything at all. Just hope they don’t look under or you’re screwed.”

Groaning, Ponyboy flopped onto his back. He covered his eyes. In a few short hours, he would have to face them. He wasn’t a prophet, but he already knew what was going to happen. If they saw his cuts, they would assume he was only hurting himself for attention, and he couldn’t handle hearing that again. That accusation. Their faces. The aftermath. He would rather die than go through that. “I hate my life.”

“That makes two of us.”

Yeah, but he didn’t have to get berated by the gang later. He wanted to scream into a pillow or do something that would end him from this misery. Christ, he wanted to die, but he couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He decided to be vocal about this, but, obviously, he couldn’t make it sound serious (even though he kind of was) because Harley might get exhausted from him. He rubbed at his eyelids before slamming his hands down on the mattress. He put a more dramatic flair to his breakdown. “I want to die. Help me die. How do I tie a noose?”

Harley raised an eyebrow. Already, he knew that Ponyboy was using humor and drama to cover up the hurt, but he didn’t call him out for it. “Do I look like I know how to do that yee-haw stuff?”

“No…” Ponyboy sighed. “What can I do then?”

“Nothing.”

At that, Ponyboy looked over and pouted. “You’re no help.”

“I’m also not a therapist, but I know a place we can get your mind off of everything.”

Well, that sounded suspicious. He gave Harley a skeptical look. “What do you have in mind?”

“So, there’s this nightclub—”

Ponyboy stopped him there. He shook his head. “We’re too young for those.”

But Harley had a mischievous smirk on his face. “Ponyboy is, but Arnold, who had just turned twenty-one, isn’t.”

Who the hell was Arnold? Ponyboy sat up and saw that Harley was holding up two cards. He handed him one of them so that he could look it over. It was an ID, realistic-looking at that. The name "Arnold Palmer" was printed on it. Next to his name was a picture of some guy Ponyboy had never seen before—some young adult with a pompadour the size of a fist and a permanent scowl on his square face. But, most of all, it was someone who looked nothing like Ponyboy. They looked so different that not even a visually impaired person could be fooled.

Ponyboy gave Harley an are-you-serious look. He huffed, “Arnold Palmer? Seriously?”

“It rings,” Harley shrugged. “Sounds good.”

“Maybe because it sounds familiar?” He rotated his wrists in circular motions in a way to jog Harley’s memory. When that didn’t work, he gave him the answer. “You know, the golfer and the name of that drink?”

Harley hummed, realization hitting him. “Oh, that’s right.”

Ponyboy placed the ID down next to him. “Well, it won’t work anyway. I’m not even old enough to have a license. This won’t fool anyone. Yours probably too.”

“You think so?”

Ponyboy looked over at Harley’s fake ID, and couldn’t help but snort. “Yours is some French guy.”

“How do you know he’s French?” Harley asked defensively.

“Because your picture is just some guy wearing a beret and holding a baguette—completely stereotypical and inaccurate, by the way. It’s not even a valid ID photo. Whoever made this didn’t even try. You’re not even French, man.”

“Hey, I could be.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ponyboy accepted that challenge easily, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Say bathroom in French.”

Silence. Harley pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and shoved the ID into his pocket. He grumbled defeatedly, “Okay, so I’m not. I knew I should have paid more.”

Maybe so, or maybe he should have found a different person for the job. Either way, this plan wasn’t going to work. Ponyboy dampened his chapped lips and sat on his hands nervously. The motion caused his card to slide under his thigh.

If they couldn’t get in, what then? Well, he knew what. They could go back, which Ponyboy had a preference for anyway. To tell the truth, he would have been happy right where he was, getting high in Harley’s bedroom, not being forced to socialize, and not being expected to put on a mask. Or they could have gone somewhere else to latibulate. It was Harley who felt like they had to go, which ultimately meant that they were only going to complete a job. The booze and the club ambiance were only a plus to him. Ponyboy wanted to voice his opinion on the matter, but it would be a waste of breath. It was always Harley’s way at the end of the day.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Ponyboy asked, a small sliver of hope that Harley would cancel this excursion. Unfortunately, he quickly caught onto his nerves. Harley smirked.

“Relax, we could always just sneak in,” he suggested. Harley’s mind was set, and that meant no changing the plans. Ponyboy flopped back onto his back, grumbling under his breath. He pulled back a string on one of his bracelets and let it snap back to his skin, but the sting didn’t wake him up from his nightmare.

When it was dark enough, the two left for this supposed nightclub. They had to go all the way downtown to get there, taking one of the last buses running that night. Ponyboy wasn’t sure how they were going to get back, but that was a bridge they were going to cross later. During the ride, he couldn’t lower his growing anxiety. Although he had a brooding expression on his face as he rested his forehead against the cool window, his knees betrayed him by jumping up and down. He had never done this before, that much was obvious. It was just as obvious as his age. Let’s face it, they were going to catch him instantly. Sometimes, he wished he looked older so he wouldn’t have to worry so much.

The rumbling of the bus rattled his teeth as he stared outside at the city that seemed to transform into someplace new at night, a place he hardly recognized, and a place that was hidden in the shadows until the sun went down. Neon signs lit up the streets, bathing them in pink and blue. Spring had melted the snow from the roads, turning it into puddles that reflected its surroundings like stained glass. The gutters ran streams polluted with cigarette butts and food scraps.

Few people were out and about, acting more wild, restless, and awake; crazier and rowdier too. There were fewer judgmental eyes on them as they threw beer bottles against walls and used everything as a sidewalk. The emptier streets didn’t mean there was an absence. It was louder now and full of life. Boisterous laughter spewed out of every dark corner, echoing from building to building as if they were sirens that were trying to lure people into their grasp.

It wasn’t much different inside the bus. The driver had turned off the main lights, leaving them mostly in the dark. Only some safety lights and the neon lights outside allowed Ponyboy to make out the blurred silhouettes of other passengers. There weren’t many people on board with them. Harley pulled the string that signaled their stop was approaching.

Ponyboy’s breath fogged the glass as the bus slowed to a stop. The lights turned back on, and that might have been worse than if it had stayed dark. Now, he felt like he stood out, as if he were a white splatter on a black canvas. Still, the two of them exited the bus as if they belonged nowhere but there.

The nightclub itself didn’t stand out much. The only things that marked it was there were the short line of people and the dim marquee with the words THE VELVET SWING printed in all caps. It hummed lowly, flickering in and out like a dying insect. Live music blasted from inside, filtered by the door blocked by a bouncer.

Harley and Ponyboy didn’t have a good plan. They had briefly discussed something on the way there. Nothing fool-proof. Nothing concrete. Nothing that remotely had a sliver of a chance of succeeding. It was simply, as Harley had put it, “You distract, I’ll sneak in. Then I’ll distract from inside, then you sneak in.”

Harley might have been a bit tipsy at the time of making it, and Ponyboy might have been as well for going along with it.

When they got closer, Harley walked away from him and Ponyboy got in line, feeling the stares of the people around him. He tried to ignore their whispers, but it was hard when they were so loud and so nearby.

“Is that a kid?” someone asked another.

“Maybe he got in the wrong line?” another tried to explain.

“Yeah, but it’s the dead of night. Everything is closed. He’s probably getting babysat by someone.”

“Must be. He looks like he’s about to cry. Maybe he got lost.”

Ponyboy dug his nails into his palm. He took a step forward and then another. The line got shorter, or, rather, he got closer to the front. He tried not to look around to find Harley, keeping his eyes trained on the ground until he reached the bouncer.

The reaction to him was immediate. The bouncer scoffed and shook his head. He pointed with his thumb.

“Nope. Nice try,” he said. “Go home, kid.”

“I’m no kid,” Ponyboy grumbled. The bouncer only raised an eyebrow.

“Really? How old are you then?”

And, without a skipped beat, “Thirty.”

Apparently, he overshot because the people around him laughed. “A shrimp like you couldn’t possibly be that old.”

Ponyboy tried to look offended, which wasn’t that hard, because he hated being called short. “I am, too. I have a rare condition, I’ll have you know.”

“Really.” The bouncer wasn’t convinced. “And what condition would that be?”

Ponyboy’s throat closed up. He didn’t know how to answer that. Sweat pooled down his back, blinking away the salty water that fell into his eyes. He was hoping they wouldn’t go that far. It wasn’t like Ponyboy had an encyclopedia on him. He bit his tongue, knowing that he was running out of time to say something. But just when he thought he was too late to reply with something, Ponyboy pulled out a name from the depths of his creativity. “Juvenostasis Syndrome.”

He was one hundred percent sure it wasn’t real, and he was also fairly certain that there was an actual condition for it, which went by a different name. He was quite proud of himself for making something up on the spot, and it was a good thing the bouncer didn’t try to go into the medical field. Ponyboy looked exasperated and shook his head. “Got an ID to prove your age?”

The moment of truth.

With too much hesitancy, Ponyboy pulled out his fake ID. He tried to cover the photo with his thumb, but the bouncer snatched the card out of his sweaty hands before he could get a good grip on it. It took him less than one second to scan it. He scoffed.

“This doesn’t look like you,” he said.

“Plastic surgery does wonders,” Ponyboy lied through his teeth.

“I thought you had a condition.”

“Can’t it be both?”

The bouncer hummed, not fooled. From the corner of Ponyboy’s eyes, he saw Harley start sneaking in. Ponyboy bitterly wondered what took him so long.

“How old are you, kid?” the bouncer asked again. “No more jokes this time. You’re not thirty.”

“Uh…” Ponyboy rubbed his arms, praying Harley would hurry up so he could get out of this awkward conversation. He gave him a sheepish grin. “Take away half of that?”

The guy stared at him for a long time, causing him to squirm in his spot. He waited for the inevitable to happen—a full kick-out before he could even take one step in the nightclub. But that didn’t quite happen. Instead, the bouncer rolled his eyes. “You should know we don’t allow ten-year-olds in here.”

“Ten?” Ponyboy was baffled. Was this guy stupid? All he had to do was simple division. It wasn’t even a difficult problem. It was something grade schoolers would be able to solve in a heartbeat. Heck, Ponyboy didn’t even look that young. “How the hell did you get ten?”

The bouncer shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m not a professor.”

Professor? Ponyboy was moments away from having his jaw drop. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s division. It’s literally just thirty divided by two.”

“Whatever, man, I’m still not letting a kid in here. That’s final.”

At that moment, Harley accidentally made a sound. A small scuffle and a slap of his shoe against the concrete after he tried to correct himself. The bouncer started to turn around to investigate the source of the noise, but Ponyboy was quick to act. He cleared his throat and yelled, “Discrimination!”

Attention snapped back towards him. Ponyboy stood tall and puffed up his chest. He continued, “This establishment doesn’t support those who don’t fit the norm.”

Harley finally made it to the entrance and looked back at him. Finally. The bouncer shook his head, pointing at Pony, “What is this? What are you doing? What are you supposed to be?”

Ponyboy gave him a sheepish smile. “The distraction.”

“Huh?” The bouncer spun around once his words processed, eyes instantly locking onto Harley. He cursed under his breath. “Hey!”

He tried to move towards Harley, but Ponyboy hooked his foot with his ankle to trip him. The bouncer fell to the ground with a hard smack. It was then that Ponyboy took the opportunity to rush forward. He and Harley slipped inside the establishment, but didn’t stop moving even when they got into the main area.

It was crowded inside. A band on the stage was performing their rock and roll songs. Their heavy beats were both catchy and luring. The smell of musk, cigarettes, and alcohol hit their noses as they weaved past people who seemed to be in some sort of trance. Unfortunately, they didn’t make it far enough to take in more of the nightclub. The back of Ponyboy’s shirt was grabbed, halting him from moving forward.

The bouncer had caught up to them, face red with fury. He growled, “You’re in big trouble now.”

Well, it was fun while it lasted, he guessed. He let out a sigh, already accepting the outcome. But before he could be dragged out by the scruff like a kitten, another voice cut through the noise.

“Hold on,” that person interjected. “Let them go.”

And the bouncer did. It was as if that voice came from a king, and maybe it did because an older man walked up to them, dressed in a tacky suit that screamed he wanted to make others think he had a lot of money. Instead of a crown on his head, large, gold rings adorned his fingers. The same type of ugly rings you would think mobsters would wear. He moved slowly but deliberately as if he had enough power that allotted him all the time in the world. Patrons parted for him like the Red Sea. It was obvious that this was the ruler of this nightclub. The top dog and owner. At his entrance, Harley’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“I caught these kids sneaking in here,” the bouncer tried to explain. “They don’t belong.”

“They’re a special case,” the owner said. “You can go back to your post. They’re with me.”

Nodding quickly yet skeptically, the bouncer left with one last side-eye, leaving the two boys with the older man. The owner led them up the stairs and onto an overlook of the nightclub. As soon as they sat down, Harley and the man went into business mode. Ponyboy sat still, trying to bring himself to speak up because that was what he was there for—to be a good duo with his friend. Instead, he kept feeling like he was falling, and falling, and falling into a dark void.

The music was too loud, the scents were too strong, there was a sour taste on his tongue, and the bracelets were still pinching his wrists. The voices in his head were too powerful, and his memories were too fresh. He bit his tongue to help stabilize himself and to wash out the sourness with a metallic twang. Ponyboy pulled back a bracelet and let it snap back against his skin; against the fresh cut he made earlier that morning. It stung, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He pulled back again and let go. And he did it again. And again. And again. Snap. Snap. Snap.

Harley nudged his shoulder, and Ponyboy snapped the bracelet on his wrist one more time before he looked up. His friend looked perturbed, a weird expression, since he was normally stone-faced.

“Find something to do, man,” he nudged. “You’re killing the mood.”

The jab wasn’t meant to be against him, but it sure sounded like it was.

“Oh,” Ponyboy swallowed. If that was what he wanted… His stomach dipped as he stood up on numb legs. Harley’s voice drowned out as he forced himself back down the stairs and onto the overstimulating floor below.

Ponyboy looked around the unfamiliar territory and at the unfamiliar faces around him. He finally had a chance to take in the place, not like he cared that much. The nightclub had a weird, old-fashioned elegance to it that teetered between grit and 1920s chic. Just as the name of the business implied, red velvet fabric was strung like garland from the ceiling to the floor all around them, gathering like drapes over the small stage. The drapery would have suited a jazz quartet more than the rock and roll band that was performing.

There were several gold-accented tables scattered around, each with lipstick-smudged cigarette butts in ashtrays and glasses of alcoholic drinks. There were other velvet seating areas around, which surrounded hookahs that released smoke so thick it made the nightclub seem like a fever dream. It filled his lungs, made his mind dizzy, and his throat close up. The volume of the music rose, but the voice was louder.

Did you hear that?

He just threw you away.

He didn’t want you around.

You killed the mood, he said.

It’s just like with the gang.

Wouldn’t it be better if you were to disappear?

Ponyboy ground his teeth and tried not to think about how much he wanted to die.

There was an empty seat at the mahogany bar. He slipped into it, laying his head into his folded arms. Someone cleared their throat to get his attention. The bartender was standing in front of him, or rather, in front of the customer next to him. He was measuring ingredients with a jigger while staring at him critically. Ponyboy had just had enough of that look tonight.

“You’re a little too young to drink,” he said. “How did you get in here, kid?”

“I’m just friends with someone who knows the owner,” Ponyboy responded, sliding off the stool. Obviously, he wasn’t wanted there either. “I’ll move.”

“Don’t bother. Would you like a glass of water or something? Maybe some orange juice?” But Ponyboy didn’t hear him. The voice in his head rewrote everything that was said around him. It created phrases like:

“What a waste of space.”

“I have to babysit him now?”

“I’m already exhausted being around him.”

“His friend must have tossed him aside.”

“Wow, he’s disliked that much? There must be something wrong with him.”

Ponyboy’s hands clenched, nails digging into his palms until they started to hurt. A warm pressure formed behind his eyes. He hadn’t realized he had frozen in place until he heard a clink of glass hitting the bar. Ponyboy looked down. The bartender had placed a glass of Pepsi in front of him.

“You look like a Pepsi type of guy,” he explained, somehow hitting right on the nail. Ponyboy accepted the drink gratefully, forcing a tired smile on his face even though it was fake. He slipped away from the bar so he wouldn’t annoy the bartender any further, taking small sips and praying it would make things better. It didn’t, and there wasn’t even alcohol in it.

Eventually, Ponyboy managed to find an open, cushioned seat. A few people were sitting nearby and giving him looks, but he was starting to get used to them. He placed his Pepsi next to him and just watched the band play a cover. Fingers strummed cords, and the beat of the drum made his heartbeat feel weird. He snapped his bracelet on his wrist to match the rhythm until there was a tap on his shoulder. The person next to him was giving him the same perturbed look that Harley gave him. He held up a familiar paper-like square of LSD for him to take and gave him a simple, “You look like you need it.”

Did he really look that bad?

He sniffled, and his vision blurred. He realized then that he was crying. When did he start doing that? God, he was such a crybaby.

LSD wasn’t alcohol, weed, or heroin. It probably was going to make him feel like shit, but a drug was a drug, and he needed something that would make him feel less like him. He placed the LSD tab on his tongue without thanking them and sank into the seat while he waited for the effects to start.

The night was a blur after that. He found himself wandering around the nightclub after focusing too hard on the velvet seat. People moved around him in a blur of mesmerizing colors and fucked-up looking faces (thanks, acid). Smoke from someone’s cigarette brushed past his face, and it caused the air around him to ripple. Ponyboy reached out, slashing his hand through it and watching the people in front of him fade into wiggling, breathing organisms whose limbs tangled together into impossible geometric shapes. Everything around him was moving to the beat of the drums. The ceiling melted into the floor, the drapery became alive, and the music became solid shapes. The world was spinning and melting, and the music started to sound like shattered glass that rattled his skull.

Neon lights had him in a trance until he stumbled into a pillar. He breathed heavily, placing his hand on the rough cement to stabilize himself, the bumps and dips crawled up his arms as if he had looked Medusa straight in the eyes and was turning into stone. It was so dry, yet it felt interesting enough to continue petting. He didn’t worry about anyone looking at him. They were gone as well.

At some point, he went back to the couch, suddenly parched. He chugged his drink, which he had almost forgotten about. It didn’t take much longer after that for his world to tilt sideways. It was a subtle hit. At first, he felt a buzz which he easily passed off as nothing. But then it progressed from there. His brain fogged up, and his body felt heavy and weak. He tried to stand to shake it off, but it took all his power to do so. The band, which had been so loud before, became muffled as if he were underwater. Ponyboy blinked heavily, but it did nothing but make the corners of his vision darken.

Something was wrong.

He shouldn’t be feeling this drunk. He didn’t have a lick of alcohol except for the few sips he took before he left his friend’s house.

He needed Harley. He would know what to do. But where was he?

He moved around, sliding his feet on the floor and bumping into people, much to their annoyance. He opened his mouth to call out to Harley, but his voice wasn’t working right. Panic started to settle in his bones but even that had been dulled by the fog in his brain.

This wasn’t right.

He needed help.

Some guy shoved him hard after he stumbled into him. It had almost sent him to the ground.

“Ah, jeez, who gave this kid alcohol?” that guy grumbled loudly.

“Glory, he’s really drunk,” another person noted.

But Ponyboy wasn’t drunk! It was something else. It was something… something…

He couldn’t think of the right word. His vision was so dark that it was hard to see. Somehow, he managed to make it to the other side of the room, leaning his body heavily against the wall. Christ, what was happening to him? A whimper left his mouth as he sank to the ground, unable to stand any longer.

He needed help. Why wouldn’t anyone stop and ask if he was alright? Where was Harley? He wanted to go home. Ponyboy didn’t want to be here anymore.

Through the blaring music, heavy footsteps approached him. His back burned with muted anticipation and fear.

“Jesus, what happened to you? You look like ass.” It was Harley. Ponyboy struggled to focus on him, relief settling in his chest. “How much did you drink? I took you here to get enough to feel buzzed, not shit-faced drunk, man. But you do you, I guess.”

“Nothin’,” Ponyboy slurred, tongue heavy in his mouth. His eyes were now half-lidded, which only made him look drunker. “Didn’t drink. Only Pepsi.”

Luckily, Harley seemed to catch on to what happened quickly. His eyes widened. “Shit, man, did some pedophile-rapist roofie you?”

Through his haze, he could feel his heart drop. Someone was trying to do something with him? If Harley hadn’t found him when he did, what would have happened? He shook his head. “Dunno. Wanna go now. Leave.”

Harley rocked on his feet, looking over at the bar. “Yeah, we can go. I didn’t get something to drink yet, so we can go after that.”

Ponyboy grabbed Harley’s calf tightly. The slight rocking of the movement almost made him pass out. “Harley…”

Harley sighed loudly and crouched down. He looped Pony’s arm over his shoulder and helped him stand up. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go. You good to drive?”

“No car.”

“Guess we’ll have to steal one.”

“No… Can’t drive. Drugged.”

“Oh, right.” Harley started to walk them towards the entrance. “I mean, if you don’t get caught, it’s fine.”

“Harley…”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not a good driver anyway. I’ll do it.”

Ponyboy didn’t remember much after that. He thinks he passed out the moment Harley found a vehicle and sat him down. That day ended up being one of the worst ever. He didn’t have the same fun Harley had promised and even got himself roofied. Not great. But, hey, at least he didn’t get kidnapped or raped.

Yay…

Chapter Text

Ponyboy woke up to an awful headache. He groaned, eyes squinting even though the morning light was dim. It couldn’t have been later than six in the morning. Probably even earlier than that. The room—Harley’s—was freezing. The window was left wide open, and everything inside was a little damp from the moisture in the air. He was lying on the floor, though he didn’t remember ever getting there. There was a gap in his memory that hurt to fill in.

He sat up and instantly regretted the motion. Nausea hit like a truck, his stomach flipping. He hardly had enough time to prepare for the upcoming vomit session as saliva thickly coated his gums. He hurriedly pushed himself to his feet and almost face-planted when his vision tilted. Somehow, though, he managed to reach the bathroom in time. He leaned over the toilet and spewed out everything he had consumed the day before. It hardly made him feel better.

His hands gripped the bowl so tightly his knuckles turned white. He vomited again.

Christ, he felt so hungover. What the hell happened?

It was then that Ponyboy remembered everything that had transpired at the nightclub and the roofied drink. His lips trembled, glistening with a mixture of spit and stomach acid. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Everything had almost gone south fast. If Harley hadn’t stumbled upon him when he did, then…

Ponyboy didn’t want to think about it.

“Fuck, if Harley hadn’t…” he grumbled to himself, unaware of the presence approaching him.

“If I hadn’t what?” Harley asked, suddenly behind him. It almost made Ponyboy jump. Instead, he threw up. Harley frowned. “Damn, I didn’t think I looked this bad.”

Ponyboy almost laughed, but his stomach acid was burning his throat.

He ended up vomiting a few more times. When his stomach calmed down enough, he flushed the toilet and collapsed on his back on the tiled floor. He rubbed his throat gently to ease the pain.

“You gonna head home later?” Harley asked, voice hushed to be somewhat courteous to the other inhabitants who were still fast asleep. One of the most respectful things he had done, but also, it was morning, and his voice hadn’t been able to reach full volume yet. Harley grabbed a bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet and handed it over to him before he leaned against the doorframe.

It took a while for Ponyboy to respond. He swallowed a few pills dry, letting the bitter taste (unsuccessfully) balance out the acid. He should go back, or at least call to tell his brothers he was okay, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so yet. It was fine to wait longer, he decided. It wasn’t like the gang was looking for him. He shook his head. “They’re not missing me. Unless you don’t want me here?”

“It’s fine. Do whatever you want.” Harley hummed. “But what are we gonna do? I don’t think there’s anything to eat. My mom was planning on shopping later today.”

“It’s okay,” Ponyboy reassured, touching his stomach. “I’m not hungry.”

But, just to spite him, his stomach growled. Weird, since he definitely didn’t feel hungry.

“When did you last eat?” Harley asked him.

Ponyboy thought about it. He hadn’t had the chance to eat yesterday. He hardly ate the day before that as well.

“A while ago,” he responded. He groaned and sat up, preparing himself mentally to go. Even he knew that he needed to eat more. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll feel hungrier later.

They didn’t leave right away. They waited until Ponyboy felt well enough to move around without vomiting, but they still left when many were still asleep. It was fairly dark out. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, bright enough to tint the world in blue and make the dawn air crisp. In the distance, pink and orange bled into the clouds like how colored water could dye white roses. Ponyboy wondered if clouds went through the process of transpiration like flowers did, seeing how the colors seemed to absorb into them.

It was peaceful. The only people awake were those who were going to work, the newspaper boy, and the milkman. Harley and Ponyboy moved in step with each other like two boys in a marching band, playing different songs yet somehow harmonizing. Harley’s shoelaces were untied, slapping against the ground with each step and picking up dirt and water.

“Your shoelaces are untied,” Ponyboy pointed out. He wasn’t sure why he brought it up. They didn’t actually bother him, but it kept them from talking about what had happened at the nightclub, not that they were going to talk about it. Harley was always good at not pressing for details. What he wasn’t good at, however, was talking himself out of impulsive thoughts.

Harley jumped into a puddle, maybe in response to him. Dirty water splashed all over Ponyboy’s jeans, and his damp shoelaces were now soggy and drenched.

Ponyboy sputtered, “Seriously? Are you four?”

“We’ve been walking for ten minutes, and all you’ve been doing is having a staring contest with the sky. It’s kinda creepy, man,” Harley responded.

“Sorry, just…” Ponyboy scratched the back of his neck. He took a deep breath—inhaled through the nose and exhaled from the mouth. The air condensed into a fog like he was smoking a cigarette. “A lot happened. I’ve been trying to sort through everything and figure things out.”

“Or you can do what I do and suppress everything.”

Ponyboy gave him a flat expression. “I’m no therapist, but that doesn’t seem healthy.”

Harley only shrugged. “Works for me.”

“And you’re a mess.”

He didn’t confirm or deny it. “What, and you’re not?”

Ponyboy shrugged. “I mean, I don’t wanna be. That’s kind of the point of me sorting my thoughts.”

“Sounds stupid.”

“Oh, shut up, man,” Ponyboy said, rolling his eyes before he looked down. By his foot, there was a worm that had crawled out of the dirt to escape its fate of drowning. Without thinking, he reached down, picked it up, and then threw it at Harley. The moment it stuck to his arm, he made a face.

“Is this a worm?” he asked, peeling it off his skin.

“Yeah,” Ponyboy responded, already regretting what he did. How lame. Why in the world did he do that? Couldn’t he be cool for one second? What if Harley thought he was too childish to be around? He swallowed the lump that grew in his throat at the thought.

“Gross, man,” Harley sneered. He dropped the worm back on the ground and squished it.

“Well, you started it.” Now, he was the one acting like a four-year-old.

“I splashed you with water, and you threw a worm at me. How is that in the same ballpark? They’re grody, man.”

Ponyboy almost felt bad for the worm under Harley’s shoe. It didn’t deserve such an untimely death. All it did was exist. “Hey, worms have feelings too.”

“You say that like they have souls to begin with. What, do you want to become a worm in your next life?”

Ponyboy snorted at the thought. And do this over again? “No thanks. I don’t want a next life.”

“I get that,” Harley agreed. He smirked. “But you didn’t deny being a worm specifically.”

“I’m not going to be a worm,” he immediately stated. If he had to choose something to be reincarnated into, he would choose something else. Something like… “I want to be a rock in my next life. Not a gem or anything. I want to be as lackluster as gravel.”

“Damn, same,” Harley agreed with a slow nod. “But I want to be a really tiny pebble that somehow always finds itself in someone’s shoe.”

“So, basically you want to be—”

“A minor inconvenience, yeah.”

Ponyboy chuckled to himself. “How am I not surprised?”

He was about to say something else, but the sound of an engine revving cut him off. Suddenly, a car sped down the road with its radio’s volume on full blast. It swerved, and, for a second, Ponyboy thought they were about to be run over. It was either from slippery roads, hydroplaning, or the driver was an asshole. Of course, it was the latter.

The wheels hit the large puddle they were standing in, sending a large wave over them. They were drenched from head to toe in an instant.

“What the hell, man?” Harley yelled after the vehicle as it sped away. He glared at it—a navy blue sedan—and memorized its license plate before it got too far.

“They did that on purpose,” Ponyboy bit. Great, exactly what he needed. His head still hurt, he felt like crap, and now he was soaking wet. It wasn’t even noon yet. God, he hated his life. Seriously, fuck everything right now. The driver was probably laughing his ass off, and that pissed Ponyboy off more.

“Asshole.” Harley was just as mad. His jaw clenched, fire burning in his eyes. “Wanna do something about this?”

“I just might.” He was being serious about it too. He stuffed the angel on his shoulder inside a small box and threw it in the far corner of his mind. He was frustrated and jealous that this guy was happy and living his best life while Ponyboy was struggling to find a reason to live at all. How dare they laugh while he was close to tears? So, screw good morals.

They trailed after the vehicle even though the car was long gone. It was likely their anger would fizzle out before they see it again. But by some stroke of luck, they saw it parked in a driveway roughly a mile and a half away from the puddle. The glint of blue had caught their eyes and Harley confirmed the plate number when they got closer. The driver wasn’t in the vehicle anymore as it sat empty and still radiating heat.

After a quick nod towards each other, they began.

Harley moved first. He took out a key and swiped it across the shiny paint job. Ponyboy didn’t hesitate to join in, pulling out his blade and slashing the tires. Each time he punctured them, he felt even more satisfied, as if the act of revenge was enough to put him at ease. For once, he felt like he was taking control of his life.

Side mirrors were snapped off, dents were made in the hood, license plates were pried off, and a window was smashed. Somehow, they managed to do all of this without alerting the owner. It was quite miraculous because they weren’t very subtle about it.

At some point, Harley nudged him, handing him some small fireworks. Ponyboy still didn’t know where he hid them. He took out his lighter and noticed that Harley wasn’t holding any for himself. What he did have was marijuana. At first, Ponyboy thought it was for them, but instead of handing it over, he dropped it on the ground several feet away from the vehicle.

“Why are you doing that?” Ponyboy asked with a frown.

“Planting something for the cops when they arrive,” Harley explained.

“That’s a lot. Seems like a waste.” It wasn’t actually a lot, per say. But Ponyboy would have loved to use it for himself.

Harley flashed him a sly grin. “Worth it to see him get arrested after he sees what we did to his car. Bet that would ruin his day.”

But what if the cops connect the weed to the vandals (them) and not the driver? That was the biggest problem he foresaw, but whatever. He lit the firework and threw it inside the car through the broken window. His fingers dragged on it for a split second longer just in case he wanted to change his mind. He took several steps back and waited, but the results were… underwhelming.

Sparks flew and loud, gunshot-like pops were made, but besides the smell of burning leather, there really wasn’t much that happened. It wasn’t like in the movies, where cars blew up in a fiery hellscape. It was nothing more than a flare.

He should have stopped there, but he made the mistake of making eye contact with Harley, who opened the gas flap and unscrewed the cap underneath.

“Go on,” Harley urged. “Light it up.”

Ponyboy did and balanced the firecracker on the lip of the gas tank. He stepped back, dragging Harley with him until they were a safe distance away. There were more popping noises. Finally, the owner of the car ran out, his hands shooting to his head.

“My car!” he screamed, running towards the nearest hose. He quickly turned on the water, but by the time he turned around to put everything out, the sparks hit the gasoline inside and flames flooded everywhere. It was a good thing Ponyboy decided to move, or he would have been torched. Even from his distance, he could still feel the heat of it all. It singed his eyebrows and stung his skin. Harley held out his hands like he was enjoying the warmth from a campfire.

And, while he was watching the flames dance, Ponyboy thought he should have felt remorse for his act of arson on the guy whose only crime was splashing water on him. Still, the only regret he felt was how much time he spent vandalizing the vehicle when it was going to get blown up anyway. Wasted him a good five minutes or so.

At this point, people started to trickle out of their homes to see what was happening, and Ponyboy was certain someone had already contacted the fire department. It wouldn’t be long before they arrived with the police.

The car owner whipped towards them, face red.

“You two!” he screamed, dropping his hose to storm up to them.

“Time to go,” Harley said, grabbing his bicep and pulling him away. The two of them ran from the scene, which was perfect for him. The flame’s brightness and the booming noises were bringing back his migraine. They didn’t have a destination since everything was still closed, so they continued to run until they felt safe enough to walk again.

“I feel better,” Harley began after a while.

“I feel…” Ponyboy started, but didn’t finish his sentence. He trailed off as if waiting for the right words to appear, but they didn’t, so he shrugged.

Harley’s step faltered for a second. He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for him.”

“Of course not.” He didn’t feel anything but numb. How could he easily explain that to him? He should have felt something, but he didn’t. He didn’t even feel excited about the explosion. Sure, there was some satisfaction, but that didn’t make him happy.

“Good,” Harley nodded, “because that guy had it coming.”

They continued to walk, finally reaching a more commercial area instead of a residential one. Harley peered into the businesses.

“Think anything is open now?” Harley asked to start a conversation. His hand was on his rumbling stomach. “I’m really craving some rotisserie chicken.”

“Maybe,” Ponyboy drawled, kicking a stone and watching it ricochet off a trash can. Wouldn’t it be easier to go to a store for that kind of thing? “Why that specifically?”

Harley nudged him with his elbow. “You don’t get my vision. It’s the skin I want. That’s the best part. If we bake it, we can make chips. That, plus lying down in this weather and smoking? Sounds perfect to me.”

That did sound like a great time. He would have loved to join Harley, but there was one problem. “I’m not that hungry. You can go on if you want.”

“Still?” A small frown appeared on Harley’s face, and Ponyboy knew he had disappointed him.

He shook his head in defeat, nails pressing into his arms. He hated that he wasn’t meeting his friend’s expectations of him. No matter how much he tried, he was always going to be boring and needy. What if this was the final straw? What if—

His train of thought was interrupted when Harley patted his pockets.

“Damn, I forgot I dropped my weed,” he complained with a loud sigh. Seemed like he already regretted what he did.

“Do you have anything else on you?” Ponyboy asked.

Harley patted his pockets more, and, like a magician with a rabbit in his hat, he pulled out a small bag of gummies from one of his back pockets. He smirked. “Look what I found.”

“Yay, butt gummies,” Ponyboy said sarcastically, which earned an eye roll.

“Want one or not? Cause I don’t have to give you any.”

“I want one.” No hesitation. No delay. There was no way Pony was going to pass this up. He held out his hand, and Harley plopped one onto it. He threw it into his mouth and didn’t even bother to chew it completely before swallowing. Harley was about to do the same, but made eye contact with the driver of a truck that sped by them way too quickly. He froze and dropped his hand.

“Was that your brother?” he asked.

“Huh?” Ponyboy spun around as the familiar truck screeched to a stop. It reversed until it was right next to them. Ponyboy cursed under his breath. “Oh, shit.”

‘Brother’ turned out to actually be brothers. Plural. Pony quickly found that out when Soda rolled down his window, revealing both of them. He thought he was already hallucinating.

“There you are!” Darry screamed from the driver's side. Ponyboy instantly stiffened. For many long seconds, he couldn’t bring himself to look at his brothers’ faces. Not that he was able to before. They were sure to be angry at him for running off. No, it was more likely they were mad at how much trouble he had caused them. They had to spend time searching for him when they could have been doing something more worthwhile.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted sheepishly, dragging out his words awkwardly. His eyes were trained on a piece of gum stuck on the ground.

“We’ve been looking all over for you! Everyone’s been searching all night. We even got the Shepards to keep an eye out, and you were with Harley this entire time? You were…” Darry tailed off, eyebrows knitting together. He gripped the wheel tighter. “Pony, look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Cringing, Ponyboy forced himself to look up. His brothers didn’t look pissed like he thought they would. Instead, they looked… relieved? But that was preposterous. Ponyboy was definitely hallucinating, or he misread their expressions. It felt odd looking into their eyes, and it took everything to continue holding it.

“Why did you leave?” Darry tried again, gentler this time. His shoulders sagged, grip loosening. “We were worried. We didn’t know where you were or if anything had happened to you. You could have at least called and told us you were okay.”

This confused Ponyboy greatly. What could they possibly be worried about? He wanted to say something, but his throat closed up.

It was a lie. He shouldn’t let himself get fooled again. Darry and Soda were only acting concerned because Harley was there. They were saving face and nothing more.

When it was clear Ponyboy wasn’t going to answer, Soda butted in and smiled, though it looked tense. See? A lie. He climbed out of the truck with Darry and placed a hand on Pony’s shoulder. The younger greaser tried not to flinch.

“Hey, Pony,” he casually greeted. His eyes raked over his sopping clothes, and the smile dropped slightly. “You’re soaked. Was there a flash storm? What happened?”

“Well, it was definitely weather-related,” Harley muttered, and the two remembered he was there. Soda looked at his clothes as well.

“You’re soaked too.”

“You’re both going to catch a cold if you stay out here like this.” He motioned to the truck. “Come on, let’s go back home. It looks like it’s gonna rain soon. Harley can come too.”

But Ponyboy wasn’t ready for that. Especially not when he was about to get high. He took a shy step back, something that didn’t go unnoticed by his brothers. He shook his head and held up his hands.

“Actually, Harley and I were heading over to his place,” he lied, but Darry was having none of it. He crossed his arms, eyebrows knitting together.

“Ponyboy, I will drag you by your ear if you don’t sit your rear down in my truck,” Darry huffed. He’s kidding… Ponyboy thinks. Darry wouldn’t go that far, right?

“Yeah, let’s go home so we can tell everyone you’re safe,” Soda coaxed.

Ponyboy looked at Harley helplessly, waiting for him to step in and come up with a great excuse to get them both out of this. He tried to give him a signal with his eyes, but his friend only hummed.

“Do you have any food?” he asked. Ponyboy died a bit on the inside.

“Harley…” Ponyboy bit lowly.

Harley shrugged. “What? I’m hungry, so I want food. What’s wrong with that?”

“We were going to get food at the restaurant, remember?” Come on, man, take the hint.

“And nothing’s open right now.”

“The Denny’s is open. They have that whole 24/7 thing.”

“Yeah,” Harley said, tapping his chin. “But I got kicked out a week ago.”

Ponyboy blinked once; then another time, baffled. “Wait, how the fuck did you get kicked out of a Denny’s? They’re basically like a Waffle House that took one more minute to screen their hires.”

“They tried to sell me a pancake when I asked for a wheat cake.”

“And that was enough to get you kicked out?” Ponyboy tilted his head. That couldn’t have been the full story. “What’s the difference between the two anyway?”

“I dunno,” Harley shrugged. When Ponyboy gave him a look, he continued. “Look, they didn’t give me my order, so I thought they didn’t understand me, so I spoke louder for them.”

And there was the real reason. “So, you yelled at the employee.”

“No, I spoke louder. If speaking louder to aliens helps them understand our language, I figured it would apply there as well.”

“Sure, but aliens aren’t real, Harley.” It also didn’t work that way.

Harley crossed his arms and rose an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, are you an astronaut?”

Ponyboy sighed, “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Harley stomach rumbled. He clicked his tongue. “All this talk about food is making me really hungry.”

“When are you not thinking with your stomach?”

Harley snorted at his words. “God, you make me sound like a sad type of whore.”

Darry cleared his throat, cutting through their conversation like a guillotine. Both he and Soda were looking at them weirdly, but Ponyboy guessed they had never seen him banter like that before. Sure, he had back-and-forths with people before, but they were more one pitted against the other. A competition where words were scaled. Harley and Ponyboy’s banter felt equal, in a way. Friendlier. Less on the teasing aspect and more on the encouraging side. They spurred each other on and expected each other to write the next part of the story.

“Hurry up and get in, you two,” Darry barked, already deciding that Ponyboy was coming no matter what. “I can’t park here forever.”

There really was no getting out of this. Ponyboy rubbed his arm. Now he just had to hope he won’t get caught.

Both of them climbed into the vehicle, which was cramped with all of them inside, but they made do. Ponyboy tried not to speak the entire way back home, which was a lot easier than he thought because there wasn’t any space for him to talk. For the entirety of the drive, Darry ranted about how his actions were reckless and stupid. He went on and on, probably with the intent of embarrassing him in front of his friend. Joke's on him though. Not one word was retained. He zoned out the entire way home.

When they arrived, Ponyboy noted the gang was all there, taking a break from searching all night. The moment he stepped inside, they hounded him, some more excited than others.

“Where have you been?” Two-Bit teasingly exclaimed, picking him up by the elbows and spinning him around despite his protests.

“Knock it off,” Ponyboy grumbled, keeping his body straight and looking more like a stretched cat than a teenage boy. “Put me down, won’t you?”

“Too bad. You’re not a dog.” Still, Two-Bit did. He gently placed him on the floor and looked at his now-damp hands. He wiped them on his shirt and quirked his eyebrow. “Maybe you are a dog. Did you run through a sprinkler or something? You’re soaked.”

“And that’s why he needs to get changed,” Darry cuts in, stepping inside. He took off his coat, and when he reached for Pony’s, he noticed his brother wasn’t wearing one. “Short sleeves? Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really,” Ponyboy answered, but shivered anyway.

Steve was watching him like a hawk. His eyes scanned over his arms, and Ponyboy was glad Harley had lent him the bracelets; otherwise, this would have quickly gone south. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, a look of confusion crossed his face. When Soda came inside, the two made eye contact. Steve shook his head, and relief flashed in Soda’s eyes.

The Harley walked in, and the tension grew in an instant.

“Why is he here?” Dally growled, pointing at Harley accusingly. Probably wasn’t the best idea to have two people who hate each other in the same room. Or, more accurately, a whole room of people who didn’t like him. Their backs were tense, just waiting for Harley to pull something crazy or say something wrong. Harley flipped him off.

“Because he also came pre-soaked and I didn’t want to leave him stranded,” Darry responded, pushing the two boys along. They walked past the gang, ignoring everyone’s glares.

“So, let him wander back home on his own. I don’t get why you gotta do that asshole a favor.”

“It’s just nice,” Johnny said quietly. He said something else, but his words were cut off when Ponyboy closed the door to his room behind them.

The two of them put on dry clothes. Harley wore some of Soda’s hand-me-downs while Ponyboy slipped on a sweatshirt. The sleeves were scratchy on his arms, but at least they covered them. He would have to return the bracelets later, but, for now, he continued to wear them just to be on the safe side.

“Jeez, this is worse than huffing Smarties,” Harley muttered under his breath, gaze on the door. Ponyboy didn’t respond to him. Instead, he sat on the bed and simply zoned out. The edible hit all at once and as suddenly as death. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. It might have been minutes. It might have also been hours. The longer he sat there, though, the lighter his head felt. He dampened his lips with his tongue.

Christ, his mouth was so fucking dry. He wasn’t a stranger to this feeling, but, golly, did he want water and those chicken skin chips Harley had mentioned. Maybe like forty of them.

He knew he couldn’t sit here forever. He needed water and food, but he was getting too high, and the gang was out there. What was he going to do? He couldn’t just wait, could he?

“I’m hungry,” Harley complained, and his plan to sit tight was shattered. Right. He had forgotten that was why Harley was here in the first place. Ponyboy rubbed his face in his palms, trying to blink away the haze, but his vision was tunneling, and it was hard to concentrate on both Harley and himself.

“Then go get something to eat,” Ponyboy sassily responded.

“Can’t. Your gang doesn’t dig me very much.”

Right. That. Ponyboy pondered his two options: stay or go. If he stayed, Dally might jump Harley. But if he went with him, he might get caught. Then again, Ponyboy felt mostly fine. Maybe the edible was a dud or wasn’t properly made, but Harley wasn’t the type to mess up like that. He chewed on his nails. What should he do?

If he hurried, maybe he could get back to his room before he really started to show the signs. They’ve never caught him before, so what would make this time any different?

“Fine,” he decided. “Let’s grab something.”

They left the bedroom, and Ponyboy’s steps faltered when he saw that Curly had arrived at some point. He was drenched, worse than he and Harley were. The rain had finally started, pouring down a barrage of bullets. Curly must have gotten caught in it, though he wasn’t sure why he stopped here when he could have gone home. Ponyboy then remembered the gang had managed to convince the Shepards to keep an eye out for him. But that was hogwash. Curly didn’t have a good enough relationship with him to do that.

Curly was talking to the gang about something Ponyboy didn’t catch. Harley walked past, bumping shoulders with him.

“So, what do you have here?” he asked too loudly, which brought attention to them. Ponyboy turned his head away from the gang, trying his best to look normal. Was his back too straight? Was he blinking weirdly? Was he walking normally? He kept overanalyzing himself when he should have been focusing on creating an answer.

“Oh, we have, uh—” he started, pushing himself forward towards the kitchen, but he didn’t get that far before they were stopped.

“Holy shit. When did you become friends with him?” Curly asked, stepping forward in shock. Water dribbled down his face and slid off his sharp features.

Ponyboy blinked heavily, taking a tentative step back to keep distance. He knew his eyes were rimmed red, and he knew Curly would know he was high just based on that. “A while ago. He’s cool.”

“This guy is crazy, man.”

“That’s what we’ve been telling him,” Steve huffed as if he wasn’t the driving force that got the two together, “but he’s not listening.”

“I haven’t done shit,” Harley defended, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, right,” Curly snorted, rolling his eyes. He could have listed a hundred things Harley had done if he felt like it. He crossed his arms and turned his attention back to Ponyboy. “Whatever, man, hang out with whatever assholes you want. Didn’t know you had it in you to befriend this piece of work. I’m gonna head back now.”

“It’s raining cats and dogs,” Soda reminded, looking out the window while taking cautious glances at Harley. “Might as well stay here until it passes.”

“He’s right,” Darry agreed. “Or at least, stay until Tim comes and picks you up.”

Curly curled his lips in displeasure, but nodded his head when the flash of lightning caused them to go blind for a millisecond. He sighed, “Fine.”

“I’ll call him and tell him you’re here.” Darry walked over to the rotary phone, and Ponyboy watched the dial spin with each number entered, mesmerized. This didn’t go unnoticed, of course.

“What’s on your mind?” Johnny asked him.

Ponyboy should have kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help but blurt out, “Phones are just wild, man.”

This earned him a lot of weird looks. Even Darry was surprised enough to mess up the number. Johnny tilted his head to the side to encourage him to continue. “What do you mean?”

It all spiraled from there. “Like, how do they even work? I mean, each phone is given a number, but how do calls connect without someone guiding each call out? Is this why we can hear other people’s conversations? Pretty invasive, if you ask me. No wonder everyone knows everyone’s business. I bet someone is always on the line just to listen to people’s conversations, but that doesn’t seem very convenient because what if you have to go to the bathroom or another room? They should figure out how to make phones without wires, like walkie-talkies.”

He continued on and on about this, and he didn’t know how he had so much to say about phones, but he did. The gang and Curly exchanged glances during his rant, just as shocked. Ponyboy continued, “I wish they would change the ringtone too. I get anxiety just hearing it go off.”

“Do you?” Two-Bit asked, playing along even though he was unsure what to make of this.

“I hear it in my nightmares.”

“That creepy, huh?”

“Can you imagine it just randomly going off in the middle of the night? Could probably make a horror movie like that. You get a call and there’s someone on the line saying you have a week left to live.”

Something finally clicks in Curly’s brain. His eyes widened.

“Holy shit, you’re high,” he blurted, and Ponyboy froze. Time seemed to go slower again as his heart tried to leap out of his throat. How the hell did he find out? He thought he was being careful. His eyes shifted around the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone, too scared of their expressions. He tried to act normal (overly so), but Ponyboy didn’t know what that was anymore.

“What? No, I’m not,” Ponyboy said, unconvincingly.

“Yeah, you are. You just talked about phones for almost ten minutes straight, man. No sober person would do that. How much grass did you smoke?”

And that was all it took for hell to break loose.

“You’re smoking weed?!” Darry shrilled, causing Ponyboy to flinch.

“I knew it!” Steve exclaimed, pointing at Ponyboy. “I told you he was getting high! I fucking told you so!”

No. No. No. Shit. Ponyboy couldn’t breathe. Everything he had built was crumbling in an instant.

What should he do? Fuck. How the hell was he supposed to do? His nails dug into his palms, but he couldn’t feel the sting. The room moved around them, walls spinning and shifting. He needed to say something, but he couldn’t come up with one good explanation. He was so talkative before, but now that everything was on the line, he couldn’t come up with one thing to say.

Shit. They were going to send him away or call the cops on him. He needed to say something.

Think! Focus on a way out of this and not the smell of eggs someone fried earlier this morning.

“I didn’t smoke weed,” Ponyboy responded, finally.

“Don’t lie. No wonder your eyes have been red lately.” Darry growled.

“I think it’s better to know where he got it from,” Steve said. “Where’d you get the weed, kid? Did you buy it from Harley?”

“No,” Ponyboy answered honestly and immediately. Harley had never charged him for it, so, technically, he wasn’t a customer. “I didn’t buy from him.”

Sensing the sincerity, Soda sighed in relief. Maybe this was all a misunderstanding.

“That’s good,” he breathed, but then he processed how strangely Pony said that. “Wait, why did you emphasize the word buy?”

“He means Harley just gave him it,” Dally answered for him, making the whole situation worse. Immediately, all attention shifted back to Harley. Darry was on him in less than a second.

“You gave weed to my kid brother?” he growled, teeth baring.

“Yeah? He asked for it,” Harley answered, somehow managing to look calm, but judging by his twitchiness, he was likely close to snapping back at the gang. “You’re lucky I wasn’t robbing him.”

“He didn’t,” Soda said as if he knew his brother still. “He wouldn’t. Not that.”

Harley groaned. “It’s literally just pot, man. It’s just like a cigarette but healthier. Why else would it be green?”

“That’s not quite true,” Two-Bit said.

“Okay, whatever, just stop acting like it’s the end of the world.”

“Can’t look tuff smoking pot,” Steve commented.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he roped him into other stuff,” Curly added to the fire. “Harley deals.”

The gang circled the two of them. Half of them were looking at Ponyboy with disbelief, while the other half was a second away from socking Harley in the face. Most of them wanted to do both. The thought of Ponyboy becoming a druggie didn’t sit right with them. He was the one who was supposed to make it out, but he was falling faster than a butterfly with clipped wings.

“Ponyboy wouldn’t do that,” Johnny rejected desperately, shaking his head. None of this sounded true at all. Soda looked at Curly, throat tight.

“You sure Harley sells?” he asked, subconsciously crossing his fingers.

“Yeah,” Curly answered. “He does his business at school mostly. Been selling stuff that looks like candy. Probably why he hadn’t been caught yet.”

The gang went silent, blood running cold. The drawer. It had been filled with different types of candy. Soda had picked up a bracelet, which Ponyboy threw a fit about before he snatched it away. It seemed weird at the time, but now it was all starting to make sense. Like pieces of a puzzle, everything was put in place so perfectly that there was no room for excuse. Their stomachs dipped.

Ponyboy Curtis was a drug dealer.

“You were actually selling drugs?” Two-Bit asked Pony, horrified. He remembered when Ponyboy made the joke about getting money from selling drugs. He thought it was a funny comeback at the time, but after learning about this… Holy shit. Ponyboy hadn’t been lying. How did he miss it when the revelation had slapped him straight in the face? “I thought you were joking!”

Ponyboy choked. His heart was pounding in his chest. His life—his lies and secrets—were being peeled away, and he couldn’t stop it.

“You said it was for school,” Soda gasped.

“It was,” Ponyboy admitted. There was no hiding it now. He tried to square his shoulders and took a deep, shaky breath. “I sold them in school.”

Soda gasped, hand covering his mouth. “Oh, glory. Pony, no…”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Darry said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you know how stupid this is? How stupid you are?”

“All I did was sell some drugs,” Ponyboy defended, throwing out his hands.

“Don’t make it sound innocent.”

“At least I’m not out there murdering people.”

“It’s still illegal. They're going to throw you in juvie once the cops find out what you’ve been doing.”

“Well, they’re not gonna find out.” He’s been fairly careful about it. Not careful enough, apparently.

“They always do.”

“But they won’t,” Ponyboy said stubbornly, blinking heavily. Christ, his head was cloudy. There was too much going on. It took everything in him to keep track of what everyone was saying.

Both Curly and Dally noticed, of course. The way he blinked slower, how his eyes were unfocused, how it looked like he was only processing half of the words said. Ponyboy was struggling to keep up, and it was clear. Everyone was so blinded by their rage that they weren’t seeing that.

Darry kept hollering at him, and at some point, he checked out. Or maybe he was trapped in paranoia. It was hard to tell which. Ponyboy stared past his brother, unmoving if not for his fingers that were subconsciously pressing into his wrist.

“You’re wasting your breath, man,” Dally spoke up.

“What are you talking about?” Soda asked him, jaw clenched tightly. He was stuck between being mad and trying to understand.

“He probably didn’t get most of that. Not focusing.”

For a long minute, the gang stared at Ponyboy. The young greaser hadn’t even noticed they stopped speaking, which only pissed Darry off more. Darry’s face turned red as he roughly grabbed Ponyboy’s shoulders, jolting him out of the trance he was in. Soda was quick to intercept before Darry could yell some more.

“Hold on,” Soda said. He grabbed hold of his brother’s arms and gently pulled him away. Darry didn’t fight against it. “You shouldn’t be so rough all the time to him.”

“He needs to listen,” Darry growled, crossing his arms. “I’ll make him focus if he’s having a hard time.”

“Maybe we should wait until he’s not high,” Johnny suggested.

“You’d have to wait a few hours,” Curly mentioned. He walked towards the door and opened it. The storm had lightened up a bit. It was still not good weather to walk in, but it was manageable. Anything would beat staying here and watching the gang go off on Ponyboy. “I’m not gonna stick around for that. I’ll walk home.”

“We can call Tim,” Soda offered, but Curly was already on his way. The door slammed loudly behind him. His exit didn’t change anything, though.

For a long tense second, nobody said anything. The atmosphere was so tense that it was suffocating. Ponyboy switched to scratching his arm. None of them knew where to take it from here, and they certainly weren’t going to wait out the high.

“Hey, if you’ve been selling drugs, where does the money go?” Two-Bit asked, trying to fill the silence. To his knowledge, dealers made quite a bit. Yet, Ponyboy never acted like he had a lot of money.

“Probably been buying,” Steve muttered.

“I can do other things with it,” Ponyboy responded, which earned another look of disbelief.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Ponyboy faltered. Besides buying heroin? He’s been spending it on… Ponyboy pressed his lips into a tight line. Where was his money going? He gave some of it to Darry without him knowing, but he couldn’t admit that. He also stopped doing that a while ago so he could buy heroin. “…Stocks…”

The gang didn’t find him very funny.

“Well, I hope the money is worth going to jail over,” Steve spat.

“It’s enough to cover the trauma,” Ponyboy said, which baffled everyone. Because what trauma could there be?

“What trauma?” Johnny asked.

Ponyboy stopped scratching his arm. He shoved his hands into his pockets. He spoke the next part quietly. “You know… Did some things here, watched a movie, got shot.”

He said it so quietly and quickly that the gang almost missed it. The moment the last word was spoken, they felt their hearts leap to their throats.

“Can you…” Soda swallowed. “Can you elaborate on that?”

Ponyboy nodded slowly, thinking they were asking about the movie. “I watched this movie about this caveman and it—”

“No,” Darry interrupted, eyes wide. “You got shot?!”

Oh. They weren’t supposed to find out about that, Ponyboy remembered. He pressed his lips into a thine and shrank back. He wasn’t sure why he reacted this way. What happened wasn’t a big deal to him anymore since it happened so long ago. It was almost a fun story now. Ponyboy didn’t know what to say, so he just went with the simplest response. “Yeah, I guess.”

“How are you so calm about this?” A bullet went into him, for Christ’s sake! “Explain. When did this happen?”

“Well, I was walking and this guy was on meth or something—”

“Meth?!”

“Yeah, and he shot me in the shoulder. Harley took it out. It’s all good now.”

No, it was not fine. Darry felt a bit headache starting. “And you didn’t think to tell us or go to the hospital?”

“I didn’t think any of you cared.”

“Didn’t think… Didn’t think we cared?” Soda repeated, flabbergasted. “Pony, of course, we care.”

“That’s not what it sounded like whenever he talked to me,” Harley said. The gang was reminded that he was to blame for all of this.

“You,” Darry growled, grabbing hold of Harley’s shirt with shaky fists and trembling lips. He glowered at him with eyes colder than a glacier. Ponyboy had never seen him look so angry before. “This is all your fault. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t influenced him!”

“Hey, I didn’t influence anyone. Like I said, he came to me.”

“That’s a whole lot of bull. Did you force him to try anything else? Did you rope him into making drugs with you?” Soda spat. Ponyboy also never seen him this way. He had never seen such a fire in his eyes before.

“No, no.” Harley waved his hand. “We both wanted to make meth.”

Ponyboy didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. We? So now Harley was able to speak French? If he remembered right (and he was pretty damn sure of it), Ponyboy did not want to cook meth. He never did. Harley was trying to drag him down with him.

A sudden punch sent Harley flying backward. His back slammed hard against a nearby wall. The house rattled with the force of it, and when Harley moved away, he had left a hole in the drywall, right where his elbow was.

“What the fuck, man!” Harley cursed.

Darry pulled back his fist, shaking his hand even though the punch didn’t hurt him. The gang moved like hungry wolves stalking their prey. Their hairs stood on their ends, their backs hunched. They looked like they wanted to kill Harley.

They wouldn’t, Ponyboy wanted to believe. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t beat him half to death or scare him a little.

“Stop it!” Ponyboy pleaded, trying to push his way through them, but the wall they created was too difficult to pass. “Leave him alone!”

It was as if he were in a nightmare. With everything that had happened, it might as well have been. Harley did his best to protect himself from the gang, but there was only so much he could do as one person. He was screaming for them to stop, but it fell on deaf ears. His throat felt raw as he slammed his palms into each of their backs, just hard enough to tell them he was there.

And, honestly, Ponyboy didn’t remember what happened next. Small snippets of time were skipping. One moment Ponyboy was trying to get the gang’s attention, and the next, he was on the floor. Instantly, the room froze. The gang went rigid, eyes bugged out of their skulls. There was a ringing in Pony’s ears, his brain static.

Did… someone push him?

The push, if you could call it that, had neither been aggressive nor hard. It didn’t hurt. The movement was closer to a swat than anything, a mere motion to tell him to stop slapping their back. But paired with Ponyboy’s weakened coordination, it was enough to knock him off balance. Most of all, it was enough for Ponyboy to fill in the minuscule gaps in his memory.

Someone (he wasn’t sure who) had pushed him. This proved it, right? That the gang never liked him, not that he needed more proof of it. Ponyboy didn’t cry, though it felt like he should have. Like it was scripted for him to, but he couldn’t remember his exact lines.

“You okay, Ponyboy?” Johnny asked worriedly. He took a step forward to help him up, but when Pony shrank back, he froze.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Harley said sarcastically. He rubbed at his arm that had been roughly squeezed. “He just decided to suddenly sit down.”

“You shut your trap,” Dally snapped, spit flying out of his mouth. He whipped around and punched him square in the face, hard enough for there to be a sickening crunch. He had been waiting to do that since Harley took a step in the house. “Get the fuck out of here, before I knock your teeth in.”

“Oh, I’m so scared.”

“Can’t you see you’re not welcome here?!” Darry screamed, voice dripping with vitriol. “Get lost!”

When Harley didn’t move, he grabbed Harley and started to drag him to the door. Harley stumbled on his feet, not able to fully stand for more than a second before he was thrown out the door.

“What the hell, man!” Harley hissed.

“Go,” Darry barked. “And don’t ever let me catch you here again, if you know what’s good for you.”

Harley clenched his jaw. He looked over to Ponyboy, pissed, causing the other boy to gulp. He turned away, expression hardened. “Whatever. Didn’t want to be here any longer anyway.”

Darry slammed the door in his face before he could say anything else. Steve patted his back. “You sure about letting him off so easily?”

“What do you suppose we do?” Darry sighed, looking tired. “We can’t call the cops on him without mentioning Ponyboy. The last thing we need is their involvement. I don’t want him to get arrested.”

Darry then turned to Ponyboy, who finally stood back up. He continued, trying to keep a steady tone, “You’re not going to see him later, you understand that, right?”

“What?” Ponyboy asked, feeling his heart drop.

“You can’t see him again.”

“No.” His eyes widened. He couldn’t do this to him. Harley was his only friend. He was the only one who cared enough about him. What was he without him? He shook his head, finally feeling the hot tears well up behind his eyes. “No, you can’t decide that.”

“Look at what he did to you, Pony! He’s obviously a bad influence. You’re sneaking out, skipping school, doing drugs, acting different, and now you’re making drugs? And don’t forget about your grades. I know they’ve been dropping. This is all because of him.”

“You’re wrong. None of that is his fault.” It was his own for being so fucking pathetic.

“You’re blind if you don’t see it. Too addicted.”

“I’m not addicted and I ain’t blind either.”

“Yes, you are, and you need to fix yourself. Starting with Harley. You aren’t allowed to hang out with him anymore.”

“Like hell! Why can’t you leave me to figure out my life on my own without you dictating it?”

“Darry’s only trying to help,” Soda tried, which was bullshit. None of this was helping him. If the gang wanted to do something right, they should leave him be.

“He only wants to ruin my life.”

“That’s not true…”

“It sure feels like it.”

“Ponyboy… you should listen to him,” Johnny begged.

“He really is trying to help,” Two-Bit agreed.

“Harley isn’t someone to get involved with,” Steve said. “You could do better.”

“He’s an asshole,” Dally added.

Ponyboy almost laughed. Everyone was against him. Not one person was on his side. Couldn’t they see that Harley was good for him? He was Ponyboy’s escape; the only reason he hadn’t jumped off a roof yet. The gang didn’t know what they were doing to him. It was them who were ruining him, not Harley. The difference between them was stark. Harley had never once made him want to weep his eyes out, while the gang made him question why he was still living on Earth to begin with.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ponyboy sputtered. His chest felt tight, and his heart was on the verge of splattering. He raised his hand to his chest, feeling the fast rhythm of his heartbeat.

“No, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Darry argued, abandoning his attempt at having a more civil conversation with his brother. He stomped over to him.

“I can’t just leave him. He’s my friend.”

“Well, make new friends! Not him. If I find out you even so much as talk to him, so help me God.” Like it was that easy. It took him fifteen years to get just one friend. And weren’t they the ones who were annoyed he had no one else to hang out with in the first place? They didn’t have the right to veto anyone who came into his life.

“You can’t make me not hang out with him,” Ponyboy argued.

“Yes, I can. You live in this house, so you live by my rules. If you don’t like that, then you can go.”

Ice washed over him. He didn’t mean it. Fuck, he didn’t mean it. But the words stabbed deeply. An icicle pierced his heart and shredded his chest. He wiped at his face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Shit, why did he have to say that? “I don’t want a different friend.”

“Well, I don’t want a dead brother!” Darry bellowed in his face.

Ponyboy pressed his nails into his wrist. He tried to glare, but there was no way he could look tuff in this situation. And then, he said something he didn’t mean. “I hate you.”

The house fell silent. Everyone’s mouths were open. Darry’s, though, was closed. His jaw was set tight. He stood up straight, nodding his head like he accepted his words, but his eyes were cold, void of any emotion.

“Go to your room,” he said. Such a simple sentence, but one that was loaded with emotion and meaning.

It was final. Ponyboy knew there was nothing more that he could say anymore, but he didn’t have much else to say anyway. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him a second longer, so it was mutual. His legs were as heavy as lead. “Darry—”

“Go to your room!” Darry repeated, pointing down the hallway. Screw this.

“I’m going!” Ponyboy yelled back and stormed away. The idea of leaving crossed his mind. To go somewhere that wasn’t in this cursed home. Maybe he could escape to Harley’s house or go to a bridge or something. He wasn’t picky. But Darry’s voice rang through the house.

“And keep your door open!”

Ponyboy flipped him off even though he knew it would bite him in the butt later. He grabbed the door and slammed it shut so hard that the doorframe cracked. The house rattled at the impact, an earthquake that caused a fissure to rip between him and the gang. And, just like that, he was alone again.

Chapter Text

The air went stale the moment Ponyboy left the room. The gang didn’t know what to say for the longest time. Their faces were pale, and their stomachs twisted so tightly that they all felt sick. Ponyboy had just dropped a bombshell on them and then fled with flames on his heels.

How did they let it get this far? They should have known the moment he befriended Harley. Their sweet, innocent Ponyboy was different just like that. Tarnished and battered. But that would be infantilizing him. He was never completely innocent to begin with, especially not after everything he had witnessed in his life. No greaser could make it to eighteen without something happening. That was how it was.

But it was so easy for them to fall into the habit of babying him. It wasn’t that many years ago when he was a newborn. Darry remembered the day he came into this world. He had been so small and fragile-looking. Darry had promised to protect him and to become the best big brother ever. Time sure went by in the blink of an eye, and he was now only a few years away from leaving the nest. Where was the Ponyboy who used to lick the mixing spoon? Where was their kid brother, who used to watch them in fascination and would try to mimic them? Where was the child that was so sneaky that they would somehow find him climbing dressers or squeezing himself behind the television? The one who used to love being read to? The one who gave them multiple heart attacks from how clumsy he was? How was he almost old enough for college? And how was this boy one mistake away from being thrown into a juvenile hall?

“So,” Steve started, pressing the pads of his fingers together. He played around with his words in his head, but there was no delicate way to start. So, he just said the obvious. “The kid is a drug dealer now.”

“Yep,” Two-Bit hummed, dazed. His body swayed as if he were in a dream.

“And he’s been doing drugs behind our backs.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he knows how to cook meth.”

“Apparently.”

Steve threw out his hands, exasperated. “Well, how the hell did he learn how to do that?”

“It was all Harley,” Dally muttered. “Had to be.”

How tempting that was to believe, but they wouldn’t be surprised if Ponyboy was the one who knew how to do it from the get-go. After everything they learned, anything was possible when it came to him. But Johnny saw the look he gave Harley, and it made him believe that maybe he was forced to cook meth against his own volition.

“I don’t think he wanted to,” Johnny said with his hand on his chin. “He didn’t look happy when Harley said they both wanted to.”

“Probably because he didn’t want to get caught,” Dally scoffed. “I wouldn’t want anyone throwing me under the bus either.”

The others nodded in agreement. That made the most sense, but Johnny wasn’t convinced. “But if he didn’t want to get caught, why did he still want to hang out with Harley?”

Dally shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t know, man. Access.”

If he stayed on Harley’s good side, he would continue to get drugs. There was no way Ponyboy could tolerate him otherwise. Only, they knew that wasn’t the case. He genuinely seemed to enjoy Harley’s company. They saw it in their banters and how friendly they acted around each other. If the gang didn’t know better, they would have thought the two had been friends since elementary school. That wasn’t just for “access.”

Darry shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s addicted. We need to get him into a rehab or something.”

“That’s an awful lot of money,” Soda muttered, but not to complain. He would sell an arm and a leg to help Ponyboy.

“Yeah, but we might just have to at this point. What else are we supposed to do?”

Soda thought about it for a moment. It was hard to say since he had never dealt with something like this before, but there was something he knew had to be done. “Give him support, show we care. Watch him. Make sure he doesn’t try anything else.”

This would be, of course, easier said than done. Addiction was not a simple matter, and they were bound to bite off more than they could chew.

“Won’t be easy to get him sober. Kid’s addicted. You saw how high he got,” Steve said. He remembered all the times Ponyboy acted weird, and it was a lot. He frowned. “Now that I think about it, he’s been high a lot.”

“It would explain the weird behavior, the smell, his red eyes…” Two-Bit listed. They thought he had been burning incense. How dumb were they?

“And don’t forget that time he was stumbling around and acting scared. Looked like he was seeing things.”

They all knew what this implied, and Darry was so disappointed in Ponyboy. However, he was also disappointed in himself for letting this go on for as long as it did. The facts were simple. He was a bad brother, and he failed his parents. They must be turning in their graves because of this.

“Where did we go wrong?” Darry sighed sadly, his shoulders slumped. He tried his absolute best to take care of his brothers. He dropped out of school, got a couple of jobs, ensured there was food on the table, and pushed Ponyboy to succeed in life. It was a bumpy ride, sure, but surely, this would have done enough to keep him from falling. He knew it wasn’t just because of him, but he couldn’t help but blame himself. He was Ponyboy’s guardian and thus had responsibility over him.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Soda tried to comfort him, but there was no belief in his words. It felt like he failed as well.

Darry shook his head. “Clearly, we did. He wouldn’t have turned to drugs if… if…”

If Steve hadn’t bullied Ponyboy.

He spun around and pointed his finger at Steve, glaring. Darry spat, “If you hadn’t said those mean things to him.”

Steve instantly held up his hands in defense, “Hey, I already said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix this, Steve. My brother is broken—”

“He’s not broken!” Johnny spoke up, startling everyone. “He’s not. He just needs help.”

“Yeah, and we’re all at fault here,” Two-Bit added. “Did you not hear him before? He thought we didn’t care. He was talking about all of us.”

“I just don’t see where he got that idea,” Soda said. “We do care. We always did.”

“Maybe it didn’t seem like that to him,” Johnny said. He pressed his lips into a thin line and rubbed his arm. “We haven’t been around him much these days.”

But that was because they were honoring his independence. He was growing up and wanted more space. At least, they thought that was the case at the time. Did they really misread him that badly?

“We could have tried harder,” Soda said. How many times have they excluded him already? They could have at least asked him. Why didn’t they think about asking? “We didn’t invite him to go bowling…”

“It was just bowling,” Steve argued, despite agreeing with Soda, “and he was always out.”

“It might not have seemed like a big deal to us, but it could have meant the world to Ponyboy,” Johnny said. “We can’t decide his feelings. We could have at least asked, even if we knew he would decline. We need to do better.”

They all nodded at that. They didn’t know how they would begin, if it weren’t too late already, but they could figure it out as they went along. That brought them to the other issue.

“That’s fine and dandy and all, but what do we do about the addiction part?” Dally brought up. He had stayed relatively silent until then. The mood darkened. Right, drugs were still an issue they had to take care of. They didn’t even know where to begin with that.

“First, we need to make sure there is nothing for him to use,” Darry listed. “Then we have to watch him. Never let him out of our sights.”

“He won’t be happy about that,” Soda muttered.

“It’s for the best.”

“I know.” Soda shifted his weight. His feet started to burn from standing in place for too long. “I just wish we didn’t have to go through this.”

“I know, buddy, but we have to.” Darry scratched the back of his head, eyes narrowing. “It won’t be easy, judging by how often he smokes weed.”

Dally cut in with a huff, “It’s just pot, man. Let the kid have that. He already smoked cigarettes before.”

“You sound like Harley,” Steve said, which made Dally glare dangerously at him.

“Don’t compare me to him.”

Steve shrugged. “I’m just sayin’. You said the same thing as him just now.”

As much as nobody liked to admit it, he did. They knew Dally had smoked weed before (maybe even several times), but it felt different now that they knew Ponyboy liked the stuff. The others usually stuck with cigarettes because they made them look tuff and it did enough to help with stress. When they thought about marijuana, they already had a preconceived image of what stoners looked and acted like, and it wasn’t positive.

“Now that I think about it, how come you didn’t look surprised about Ponyboy smoking weed, Dal?” Two-Bit asked. That got everyone’s attention. Why was he not surprised? He acted as if he knew all along, and that pissed Darry off.

“Did you know about the drugs the entire time?” Darry snapped, incredulously. His eyebrows knitted together so tightly that wrinkles formed on his forehead. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know about the drug stuff,” Dally explained, crossing his arms. “I just knew he smoked weed, man. More people are doing that these days. Only a matter of time before someone else here tried it.”

“Well, you should have said something.”

He said that as if reprimanding him on something like that was going to do something. He kept things to himself, especially when it came to something like this. If Ponyboy didn’t want someone knowing, Dally would take the secret to his grave. He never ratted anyone out.

“We should check in on Pony,” Soda suggested before the two could clash about it. Darry nodded, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Soda gave him a small smile. “Gotta make sure he’s not causing anymore trouble.”

It was sort of a jest, but it wasn’t really.

“Want us to come with you?” Johnny offered, but Soda shook his head.

“Nah, we’ll handle it from here. Don’t want the room to exceed the occupancy limit,” he responded. “That’ll be a safety violation.”

The gang soon left, leaving the two older brothers in front of Ponyboy’s bedroom. Soda placed a hand on Darry’s shoulder.

“Only talk and support, not argue,” Soda reminded. There would be that, but Darry wanted to make sure there was nothing hidden in the room as well.

Darry hummed, “When did my kid brother start sounding like a support group facilitator?”

Soda grinned. “Facilitator? Sounds fancy. Think I’ll make a good therapist?”

“If you get a master’s degree in psychology, we can decide on that.”

Soda made a face and was about to make a self-deprecatory comment about not being smart enough, but Darry continued, “Let’s just go in.”

He placed his hand on the doorknob and pushed open the door.

The bedroom kept shrinking, pressing Ponyboy down with loud thoughts that made him teeter on the breaking point. His knees hit the floor as tears fell, his back against his bed to even let himself stay in an upright position. His breaths were ragged and fast as they scraped his ribs, and his hands tugged at his hair in large clumps, burning his scalp as some strands ripped out. Cold sweat pooled in the small of his back—uncomfortable and clammy-feeling, hot and cold—as if his body was too broken to function correctly.

“Fuck,” Ponyboy whispered, though it sounded like he was blubbering nonsense. He bit the insides of his cheeks and tasted the sharp taste of his blood.

You fucked up.

He knew that, but it still hurt to hear.

The gang knows there is something wrong with you now.

He didn’t mean for them to find out.

You’re broken.

The voice in his head was relentless, and there was nothing he could do to stop the onslaught of cruel truths. He rocked his body, maybe as a way to soothe himself from this pain, as a mother would do for a crying baby. Everything hurt regardless. His heart was being stabbed by an icicle, his nose was plugged and made it more difficult to breathe, his throat burned, his eyes stung, and his wrists itched. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He sobbed and sobbed until his face turned red. Golly, he was so weak, crying this much. No wonder nobody liked him. He was a crybaby. Maybe his tears could waterboard him, and he could finally die.

They want you unhappy. They won’t even let you have one friend. See? Everyone who enters your life is bound to leave you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he choked. But, even though at this moment, he was considering death, he didn’t move. After months of thinking about killing himself every day, he still didn’t know what was stopping him from going through with it. He looked at the ceiling, vision blurring so much he couldn’t make out the popcorn texture. He wasn’t too religious. He’s been to church a few times, but it wasn’t enough for him to really turn to God. He wasn’t even sure if he was real. No, he was certain he wasn’t. Ponyboy’s life was nothing but downs and there was no way someone could be so cruel to him. Still, he couldn’t help but rue him for causing him so much pain. If he found it so amusing, why couldn’t he do one thing for him and strike him down. Smite him, if he had the power to, because he couldn’t bare living in this world any longer.

But nothing happened. Typical.

From where he was sitting, he could hear the gang’s boisterous voices back in the living room. Did they already move on? His brain filled in the blanks with laughter.

They hate you. They hate you. They hate you! Everyone hates you. You’re going to be alone forever.

What was he supposed to do now? For the first time in a while, he felt powerless. He lost his one and only friend because the gang couldn’t let him have one good thing.

A sob tore through his throat; the pain, akin to heartbreak, was unbearable. He raised a fist to himself and struck his thigh. He gritted his teeth as he hit himself harder and harder because it was his fault that this happened. Everything was his fucking fault. If he wasn’t a screw up… If he wasn’t him… Then… Then…

Then what? Would everything magically be better? He was sure that, no matter what, he would find a way to ruin everything. He was a disappointment—a druggie who couldn’t stop getting high, and someone who would even go as low as selling drugs so he could get more himself.

He hit his thigh again, feeling worse somehow. Desperate to feel better, he searched around his room for something that would calm his nerves. He looked in his bag, but that only left him even more frustrated when he found it practically empty. He threw it harshly to the side. He wanted heroin or meth, or literally anything that would override the taste of the edible on his tongue. For once, it tasted like he had been chewing on ash.

He remembered the heroin he had tucked between the side of the mattress and the bedframe, a hiding place he started to use after the gang looked in his room before. He knew he shouldn’t use it since the gang knew about his drug problem and were just outside his room, but his judgment was severely clouded, and he needed something. Anything.

He could always slit his wrists and end it all.

He grabbed it, a syringe and a scorched spoon were hidden with it. He placed everything on his nightstand and sat on the bed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He shouldn’t. The gang was going to find out. But he needed it.

His fingers trembled as he lit his lighter, but that was as far as he was able to make it.

The door opened. Ponyboy had forgotten to lock it, a foolish mistake since he was so worried about getting caught. Darry was as imposing as ever. The moment he entered the room with Soda right behind him, Ponyboy knew he messed up again.

Always messing up.

Always a disappointment.

Ponyboy watched everything process through their minds. He watched how their eyes landed on him before they trailed down his arms to the lighter and then to the items in front of him. It only took a second for them to know what it was.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Darry boomed, rushing over to him and grabbing his wrist and forcing him to drop the lighter. His fingers dug into his cuts, and Ponyboy hissed. Darry’s eyes were cold, his pupils shrunken. “It hasn’t been even fifteen minutes and you’re doing drugs?”

“I…” Ponyboy swallowed the lump in his throat. There was nothing that would explain this.

You’re so pathetic.

“What is wrong with you?” That caused Soda to pull Darry away, a hand on his back that reminded him that they were supposed to be calmly talking about everything. But that was before they discovered the heroin. “I didn’t help raise you to be like this.”

Whoever said that “sticks and stones may break your bones, but words would never hurt you,” was a fucking liar. Who decided that words hurt less than broken bones? He would rather break his arm than feel the way that he did, because heartbreak was a cold, lonely tundra that was worse than being tortured. But it was a feeling that Ponyboy had started to get used to. Through his pain, he scoffed. His parents died only a couple of years ago, and all Darry had been doing since then was bitch about everything he did. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was neglecting him. “Funny, since I hardly remember you being there for me at all.”

The words cut like a knife. Ponyboy flinched at himself, already expecting to be called ungrateful. He pressed his nails into his arm, not enough to break skin but enough for it to ground him.

“Pony…” Soda whispered pitifully. It was a harsh contrast from Darry’s tone. It almost gave him whiplash. “We must have really hurt you. I’m sorry. We thought you were tryna be independent.”

“Only because you all forced me to be, but I was just lonely,” Ponyboy admitted. “And you banned me from seeing my friend.”

Soda came closer, wanting to hug Ponyboy. “We’re sorry we had to do that, but we had to.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He gave you drugs and forced you to sell them,” Darry brought up. Before Ponyboy could react, he scooped up everything on the nightstand. “Did he give you this heroin too?”

“He didn’t!” Ponyboy tried to grab his stuff, but Darry moved further away. “Give it back!”

Darry scoffed and dropped everything in the small trash bin. The younger boy glared, “Hey! That was expensive!”

Darry ignored him. He didn’t care if his brother spent a grand on that stuff, there was no way he was letting him keep it. “How could you even think about using this stuff? Heroin is bad! Drugs are bad! They ruin your life.”

“I don’t care!” Ponyboy tried to go to the trash bin, but Darry stepped in front of it to stop him. Baring his teeth, Ponyboy spun around and kicked a leg of his bed. Pain shot up his foot, but he pretended he didn’t feel anything. “You’ve already ruined my life.”

“Look at how aggressive drugs have made you. You’ve never acted this way before.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t act this way if you weren’t taking everything from me,” Ponyboy shot back, “if you weren’t dictating my life and telling me what I can and can’t do, or who I can hang out with.”

“Harley’s not someone you want to be friends with,” Soda said. “He’s bad news.”

“So is Dally, but he’s still around.”

“That’s different,” Darry said.

“You don’t say anything whenever he gets detained, or when Two-Bit gets blackout drunk.”

“Because they don’t share blood with me. I promised Mom and Dad I would take care of you if something happened to them. What would they think if they saw you injecting heroin?”

Ice washed over Pony. They would be so disappointed in him, and that thought stung. He grimaced. “But they’re not here.”

Darry ran his hands through his hair, pacing around the room. His eyes roamed in search of anything drug-related. “You have a real problem, you know that?”

Ponyboy flinched. He knew he had a problem just as much as he knew he was the problem. He felt himself shrink back, fingertips returning to the divots he previously made with his nails. If there were an easy way to fix everything, he would. But there wasn’t.

“We’re gonna help,” Soda said, surprising Ponyboy. That sounded like a long-term commitment. But were they offering to be around him that much? Wouldn’t they get annoyed? They were likely planning on throwing him in the loony bin. “We’ll help you get through this.”

“I don’t need your help,” Ponyboy clashed. “Just let me be.”

“If you don’t want our help, then obviously we can’t trust you,” Darry growled. “I wasn’t planning on doing this, but you left me no choice after I saw the heroin.”

Ponyboy licked his lips. What was he going to do? Hit him? Disown him? Report him to the authorities?

Darry turned to Soda, continuing, “Soda, get the toolkit. We can’t trust him to be alone, so we gotta remove his door.”

“What?” Ponyboy gasped. His head snapped up. That was a huge invasion of privacy. This was insane! There was no way Soda would let him get away with this. He looked over to his other brother. “Soda—”

“I’m sorry, Pone, but this is for your own good,” Soda said, removing the little hope he had left. His brother gave him a weak smile. “We’re just tryna help you. Promise.”

There was nothing he could say or do that could change their minds. “It doesn’t seem like it.”

The moment Darry and Soda left the room, trashcan with them, they looked at each other. This did not go as well as they hoped. It was necessary, Soda tried to convince himself. They had to be stern for Ponyboy’s sake.

Chapter Text

It had been a couple of days since Ponyboy’s door was removed, and he was already at his breaking point. Losing it left a gash behind and made him feel unsafe and exposed, making it so he could never truly relax. Not with the gang checking in on him every minute and not with their boisterous voices coming into his room, unfiltered. There was no time to decompress anymore; no place to let him disassociate without someone breathing down his neck.

The gang did try to include him more, which would have been nice weeks ago. Now, it just felt artificial, as if inviting him was a chore and involving him in their conversations took actual effort. They walked on eggshells around him, careful not to address the elephant in the room. Ponyboy wished they would spit out their thoughts already. He could tell none of them knew what they were doing when it came to him.

The only people who weren’t acting like he was made of glass were Darry and Dally. But, in Dally’s case, that was just because he was him. He couldn’t care less if Ponyboy smoked pot or was rougher around the edges now. On the other hand, Darry was even more strict and stern, if that was possible. He set layers upon layers of rules, left no breathing room, and nitpicked everything he did that was even slightly out of line. Ponyboy didn’t know if he liked the gang acting cautiously or overbearingly more. He didn’t want to live long enough to find out.

Currently, he was trying to take a nap, eyes glazed over, while his fingers scratched his forearm raw. From the corner of his vision, he could see heads pop in and out. It was worse than when he was overdosing on Benadryl. No matter how much he tossed and turned, he couldn’t fall asleep. The door used to block out the hallway light and stopped people from walking in without warning. He couldn’t even change clothes without fear anymore. His cuts would be on full display if the timing were bad. Ponyboy had to pull his shirt over his head quickly every time, hoping he wouldn’t get tangled in his garments. He tried to change in the bathroom, but even there, the gang hardly left him alone. They were always right outside when he opened the door. He wasn’t even allowed to lock it.

All of this just for drugs. Ponyboy wasn’t even that bad! At least he wasn’t folded over on some fent.

Another head popped into his vision, and Ponyboy just had enough. Groaning, he banged the back of his cranium against his pillow before he sat up.

“Can you stop doing that?” he grumbled. “It’s driving me up the wall.”

“Not until you stop thinking about doing drugs,” Darry, who was the current culprit, said. He was now standing where his door was, looking just like a sleep paralysis demon with how the lighting cast a dark shadow over his entire silhouette.

“Well, I’m not thinking about that at the moment,” Ponyboy mumbled sassily. He was thinking about something too negative to say out loud.

Darry’s eyes narrowed at his remark. Luckily, he didn’t pry into that can of worms. “If you keep yourself hidden in here, we’re going to be checking to make sure you’re not doing anything.”

“I don’t even have anything to do!” After he was found out, his brothers spent a bit over an hour scrutinizing every nook and cranny of his room. He didn’t have much on him, but they cleaned him out.

“We can’t be too sure.” Ponyboy was about to say something to argue this, but Darry continued, “Try all you want, but that door is staying off until you’re better.”

Darry left his room, but it didn’t feel like he did at all. He kicked his legs restlessly, turning to his clock. Right around now, he would have used heroin. The disruption in his schedule was nauseating. He stood up and paced his room until he started to create a social trail in the carpet, something he did to alleviate this feeling he had, but it hardly worked and just made him a weird mix of tired and too full of energy.

He couldn’t wait until he could go back to school. Never thought he would admit that in a million years. But school meant Harley and drugs. He just had to figure out how to meet him without the gang there. Christ, when did his life become so difficult?

When school rolled around again, Ponyboy dragged himself out of bed. Soda was at the table, eating breakfast. Darry wasn’t in sight, so he must have left for work already. Plated on the table were eggs, cooked hard. His favorite. They were accompanied by some pieces of crispy bacon, a slice of buttered toast, and a glass of chocolate milk. It was fancy compared to what he used to ate for breakfast, and made Ponyboy slightly suspicious. Before he lost his appetite, he would have enjoyed such a meal. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to find food appetizing.

“How’d you sleep?” Soda asked, taking a sip of his glass of milk. When he pulled the glass away, it left behind a chocolate mustache over his lips. In the past, Ponyboy would have thought that was the funniest thing in the world. “I made eggs for you.”

Ponyboy grimaced, “I’m not hungry.”

At that, Soda deflated. He pushed away from his own plate, which was almost empty now, to face his brother fully. “You should eat something.”

“That’s okay.” Ponyboy shook his head. “I’m just gonna head to school.”

He started to walk towards the door when Soda shot up. The chair scraped against the floor like nails on a chalkboard. “Hold up! Two-Bit’s gonna take you today.”

Ponyboy slowed to a stop. “I can walk just fine.”

“Darry and I think it would be best for you to go with someone, you see.”

So, that was what this was. Ponyboy scoffed and balled up his hands into fists. “Let me guess, this is because you don’t trust me. You think I’ll take some drugs on the way to school.”

Soda held up his hands, his smile now forced. “It’s not that we don’t trust you…”

Ponyboy clicked his tongue in annoyance. “If you trusted me, you would have already returned my door.”

Soda’s smile dropped, and he almost looked guilty. Good, he should feel that way. However, Soda didn’t look like he was going to give in, and that pissed Ponyboy off more. “We’re just trying to help.”

“Can’t you see I don’t want your help?” Ponyboy screamed, seething. “All you’re doing is making things worse.”

“But—” Soda cut himself off and shut his mouth. There were both a hundred things he wanted to say and nothing at all. Of course, he wanted to comfort his brother and convince him that they were trying to make things better, but he needed to word it perfectly. It was so easy for Ponyboy to twist everything and take what he said as an attack on his being. Soda wished that helping him was fast and easy, but this was surely one of the hardest challenges he would ever have to face. How could he help someone who didn’t want to be helped?

It didn’t matter if he said anything, in the end. Two-Bit took that moment to enter. The door swung open, and a high-pitched whistle cut through the house. Two-Bit was cheery for the morning, a bit too hungover to feel how tense it was inside.

“Rise and shine,” Two-Bit beamed, eyes zeroing in on Ponyboy. “Ready to go, Pony?”

Ponyboy shook his head, walking over to where his brothers had left his backpack after they ransacked it. He swung it over his shoulders. He started to say, “I’m wal—”

“He’s ready,” Soda spoke over him. He quickly grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl, shoved it in Ponyboy’s hand, and patted his shoulder. “Darry wants you to come home right after school. Spend lunch with Johnny.”

Why couldn’t they leave him alone?

“This is ridiculous,” Ponyboy groaned, dropping the orange in his bag. Two-Bit wrapped his arm around his shoulders to prevent him from running off. Friendly in image only, but the purpose was to contain him. Soda gave him a thumbs-up, and Ponyboy glared back, which caused his brother to drop the gesture and frown. Never will he get used to that look from his younger brother, that unrivaled bitterness.

“Time to get going,” Two-Bit chirped, dragging the other forward and forcing him to comply.

When the door closed, Soda let his shoulders fall. His stomach turned in unease. Maybe… Maybe they were going about this the wrong way. There was no way they were doing this right.

The ride to school was mostly just Two-Bit talking and Ponyboy zoning out. Luckily, the older greaser tended to drive fast and recklessly, so they arrived quickly. Ponyboy jumped out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut before Two-Bit could even put it in park.

“Wait up,” Two-Bit called after him, getting caught on his own seatbelt. The one time he remembered to wear it.

Ponyboy quickened his pace, weaving through the other students just to put distance between them. He scanned the faces around him, trying to find the familiar, dark mop of hair. There was a good chance Harley was on the roof, but Ponyboy knew he would never make it on time. His knees felt like they were spring-loaded as he continued forward. The longer it took to find him, the more desperate he became. He shoved a few students aside, probably pissing off people he shouldn’t make mad, but he didn’t care. All he needed were drugs and to see his friend.

He ended up finding him at his locker. Ponyboy stopped next to him.

“You would never believe what my brothers did,” he started, out of breath. He pressed his temple against the cool metal of the locker. It felt a lot cooler than it usually did. He wondered why.

“After getting yelled at by that gang of yours, I think it’s safe to assume they did something crazy,” Harley answered, closing his locker and leaning against it. “They’re crazy protective over you.”

Ponyboy scoffed at that. Protective over him? The thought almost made him laugh. “They want me to portray a certain image. They don’t actually care about me.”

Harley looked a bit doubtful but didn’t care enough to correct him. “You sure they want you hanging around me right now?”

“No. Two-Bit’s probably going to be here any second.” Ponyboy looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, he could see Two-Bit further down, sifting through the crowd of mingling students. They had a minute at most. He stood up straighter and rocked onto his heels, fingers twitching at his sides. “Hey, wanna skip? Do something fun?”

By fun, he meant drugs. Christ, if Harley had some heroin or another type of opioid, he would be set. The gang was going to be mad, but he told them time and time again that he didn’t want any of their help. Maybe this would get the message across.

“Yeah, okay. I’m down,” Harley agreed. “Wanna go now?”

Ponyboy looked over his shoulder again and cursed under his breath. Time was up. Two-Bit’s eyes zeroed in on Harley, and Ponyboy swore he saw a flash of resentment. He shook his head. “Later. Gotta get distance from you before Two-Bit gets here.”

After a nod of parting, Ponyboy walked away. Luckily, Two-Bit changed trajectory and started to follow him. He caught up quickly.

“You weren’t supposed to talk to him,” Two-Bit reminded.

“Funny,” Ponyboy spoke. “I never took you as a stickler for rules.”

Before Two-Bit could rebuke him, Ponyboy lied, “Relax, I was just saying bye. I didn’t get the chance to the last time I saw him. I owed him that much.”

“Darry and Soda aren’t gonna be happy,” Two-Bit said.

“They’re never happy.” The bell rang, saving him from this conversation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get to class. Or are you supposed to sit next to me for that, too?”

Two-Bit gestured forward, and Ponyboy was glad he was letting him have a looser leash for once. “Get going. See you later, Pony.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Ponyboy didn’t make it through the first period. For the first twenty minutes, his knees bounced impatiently under his desk, nails scraping into the scars on the wood surface until chips started to snag under his nails. He kept his eyes trained on the board, but he found focusing on the lesson too difficult with how crowded his brain felt. So, instead, he turned to the clock and watched the second hand spin around.

He wondered what Harley was doing at the moment. Was he sitting on the roof? Was he selling to someone in the bathroom? Did he sneak into someone’s classroom to terrorize the teacher? Did he do something that forced the school to call the cops on him? Ponyboy could never tell. All of those options were plausible.

What was after this class? How many minutes did they provide students to get to the next one? Four or five minutes? That wasn’t nearly enough time.

He scratched his scalp with both hands and gritted his teeth. Oh, screw it. He couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

He shot up to his feet, grabbed his backpack, and stormed out, ignoring his teacher's panicked command to sit back down. Ponyboy realized he would be alright if he got detention from this. They were already going to be upset with him. This wasn’t going to change anything. And detention didn’t seem all that bad at the moment since it would help him escape.

He found Harley in a nearby bathroom. He had just finished dealing to another student who had tucked his head down when he passed him.

“Ready to go?” Harley asked, sliding off from the sink. Ponyboy nodded eagerly.

The two of them started toward one of the school's side doors. That was until Harley made a detour and headed towards the cafeteria. Confused, Ponyboy could only follow him.

He watched his friend sneak inside the kitchen area, peaking out of one of the windows to see the cafeteria ladies outside, smoking cigarettes and gossiping. When he knew he was clear, he started to look for food, rummaging through some (empty) trays and the pantry.

“There’s no food,” Harley complained, kicking a jug of cooking oil. It fell over, spilling where the cap wasn’t put on correctly. “Where are the corndogs?”

Ponyboy thought for a moment. “It’s not even ten in the morning. Why would they have corndogs? You have cereal and milk, but that’s probably all you can get right now.”

“Huh.” Harley ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. “I wonder if they have Lucky Charms.”

He started his search again, leaving his spot to investigate elsewhere. Ponyboy, meanwhile, stared at the spilt oil. He pointed at it. “You’re just gonna leave it like that?”

“You expect me to clean it up?” He did.

“No,” Ponyboy sighed after thinking about it.

“Clean it up yourself if you have an issue with it.”

If this were him from a few months ago, he would have done so because someone could get seriously injured if they fell. But Ponyboy was not that person anymore. He looked at the spill with distaste, thinking about how much trouble cleaning oil was. He shook his head, placing a nearby Wet Floor sign over it instead.

Before they left the kitchen, they managed to find the cereal. Unfortunately, their school wasn’t fancy enough for Lucky Charms. The best they had was Wheaties, which Harley was less than pleased about. They ended up leaving without any cereal, and Ponyboy thought they would finally get to exiting the actual campus when Harley decided to go deeper into the school.

“Wait, I thought we were skipping,” Ponyboy finally said, keeping in step with Harley. They were now heading towards the band room for whatever reason. Currently, it was the marching band’s period, and they were on the field practicing, so the room was empty except for some stands, backpacks, and sheet music.

“We are,” Harley answered.

A beat. “Why are we skipping in school?”

They could have been anywhere. They could go to a diner, go to the park, or even watch a flick. Hell, Ponyboy would take being on top of the building rather than inside of it.

Harley shrugged, “I dunno. Don’t feel like anything right now.”

“We could have gone to the roof,” Ponyboy suggested.

Harley pursed his lips, some annoyance slipping through his tone. “Okay, we can go there later since you want to so much.”

“No, that’s not—” Ponyboy closed his mouth and shook his head. He wasn’t getting it. “You know what? Forget it. What are we doing here anyway?”

“Thought it’d be fun.”

Ponyboy held him to his words, but in the end, it wasn’t all that enjoyable. There wasn’t much to do but watch Harley play “Chopsticks” on the piano. Over and over again, grating on his ears in a way that could be considered a torture method. Ponyboy grimaced when he hit the wrong keys.

He looked at the clock—he had been doing that a lot today—and calculated how much longer he had to sit there until the period was over; until he had the chance to rant his heart out. At the rate they were going, he wouldn’t be able to take something or smoke.

“Is this your idea of fun?” Ponyboy asked when he got too impatient. “I need drugs, Harley. Not a headache.”

“God, you’re so addicted,” Harley said, slamming his hands down on the keyboard one last time. Hearing him call him that only riled him up. It was one thing to hear it from the gang, but Harley was the only one on his side. So, for him to say that felt like a knife had plunged into his side. “This is fun enough.”

“You know what’s more entertaining than this? Watching paint dry.”

Harley whistled, jumping up to sit on top of the piano. “Damn, why are you so hot-headed right now?”

Cold water washed over him. Ponyboy let out a breath. He screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. Shit, he had to calm down, or he was going to drive Harley away. He let his shoulders drop as he shrank back. “Sorry, just been having a rough time at home.”

“Sounds like you need to take something.”

Ponyboy breathed, “You have no idea.”

Harley dug into his pocket. Ponyboy, meanwhile, sat on the bench instead, absently pressing random keys until Harley pulled out a miscellaneous bottle of pills—the container he uses when he was too lazy to sort through everything. He spilled out the contents next to him, colorful tablets and capsules of different shapes and sizes. Ponyboy wasn’t the best at telling them apart yet, but he recognized the Valium tablets instantly. He even thought he saw some capsules of steroids in there. He would have rather had heroin, but beggars can’t be choosers. And it was probably best not to get caught with that at school. They were already taking a huge risk with this.

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing an assortment. He swallowed down what he thought was cough medication, cringing as they dragged down his esophagus. He then used the edge of his lighter to crush the other tablets into a fine powder, some grains falling through the cracks between the keys. Harley ripped up some sheet music and rolled it up into a straw for him, which he proceeded to use.

The powder stung behind his eyes and brain, and his body started to numb everywhere. Ponyboy sniffled and wiped his nose, wishing he had water on him and that he had drunk something this morning. He cursed to himself.

“So, what happened after they kicked me out?” Harley asked, rolling the rest of the sheet music into another straw.

So, Ponyboy went on a rant. He explained how his brothers banned him from breathing the same air as him, how they were watching him like hawks, how they were planning to rehabilitate him, and how they took away his door. His voice became strained as he spoke, throat tight.

“They took away your door?” Harley repeated, surprised.

“Yeah, and they won’t give it back,” Ponyboy sighed, crushing more pills into a powder. “I can’t do anything now. Can’t even lie in my bed without them questioning me. It’s driving me insane.”

“Damn, that’s rough.” Harley paused to snort up his line. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Don’t know.” He sucked up more drugs and almost sneezed. He pressed a cord on the piano before he sat on his hands and leaned back until he felt like he was about to fall. His brain swam and tingled. The ceiling didn’t look quite right.

“You can always make them want to give it back.”

Ponyboy rolled back to a normal position, raising a curious eyebrow. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Annoy them, I don’t know,” Harley said with a shrug. “You know them better than I do. Play some loud music.”

“Maybe I should play the piano as badly as you,” Ponyboy joked, but his eyes glazed over. The problem was, he didn’t know what else he could do. Be himself? That was enough to annoy them on a normal basis, but his door was still gone, so that meant it wasn’t enough. He sniffled again.

“Guess I’ll have to figure it out,” Ponyboy muttered. He had a lot of thinking to do, but, for now, he wanted to live in the present. “Why are we in the band room again?”

“Can’t I be here just because?”

“I know you well enough to know you don’t go somewhere without a reason to.”

“Oh, right,” Harley realized. He didn’t say what he was planning on doing. Probably something crazy. He jumped off the piano, scooped up everything, and started to walk towards one of the band member’s backpack. However, voices filled the air, and he stopped short. “Guess time’s up.”

The two ran out of the room as fast as they could while under the influence. They only got to the end of the hallway when a faculty member stepped in front of them.

“You two, office, now,” they ordered. Yeah, they were definitely going to get detention. Darry was going to be pissed.

Chapter Text

That night, after Darry had yelled at him for an hour straight, music blasted from his bedroom. When no one was looking, Ponyboy had taken the radio and played whichever song he landed on first. He wasn’t picky.

What he ended up with was a fairly new release from the band, 13^th Floor Elevators. Ponyboy only knew of them through Harley. They used to go to this record store near the movie house, granted for a job. But Harley had a fair relationship with the owner, so they got to stick around for a bit and hang out. They spent several minutes sifting through vinyls while breathing in the weed the owner smoked until they started to feel high themselves. Then they would go back to Harley’s place, lie on the floor, take LSD, and listen to a new album until it was time to go.

Look at him, already nostalgic about something that happened only weeks ago.

He turned the volume all the way up and cringed hard when music pierced his eardrums. His hands shot up to cover his ears, but it still felt like they were about to bleed. It didn’t take long for Darry to march into the room. He was already dressed in pajamas, and his mouth was covered in toothpaste.

“Turn that racket down,” he yelled, pointing his toothbrush at the radio. However, his words were inaudible, muffled by the melody. Ponyboy had to rely on reading his lips to understand what he was trying to say.

“What?” Ponyboy yelled back, removing his hands from his ears as if that would help him hear Darry better. It only gave him pain, so he covered them again.

“Turn the music down!”

“What?”

“Turn it—” Darry closed his mouth, deciding that this could go on forever. He stomped over and turned the radio down himself until nothing but a high-pitched ringing was left. “I said turn it down. Do you know what time it is? Soda’s sleeping.”

Of course, Soda was his first worry. He was the more important brother to Darry, but his missing door was pretty darn important to Ponyboy. “You’re gonna give me back my door?”

The response was instant. “No.”

Flat. No butter-coating.

Ponyboy turned the volume back on in one final act of defiance, knowing full well that it was only going to last one second.

Darry immediately ripped the plug out from the wall and snatched the radio away so he couldn’t mess with it anymore.

“What did I just say?” Darry growled.

“No,” Ponyboy repeated calmly. “But that’s also my response to keeping it down.”

“Try whatever you want, you’re not getting the door back until I can trust you,” Darry finalized. The radio creaked under his strong grip. “Now, go to bed.”

Ponyboy’s teeth gritted when Darry left. He sat on his mattress, seething. His hands clutched his blanket.

Harley was wrong. Annoying them didn’t work. This was a useless waste of his time.

Darry walked to the kitchen. His step faltered when he saw Soda at the table. Darry placed the radio on it and slumped into one of the chairs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“What happened?” Soda asked, sleep in his eyes. “What was all that commotion?”

“Just Ponyboy acting up again. He really thinks that we’ll give him back his door,” Darry answered incredulously, shaking his head.

Soda chewed on his bottom lip. “About that. Don’t you think we’re being too harsh?”

“I think we’re being too easy on him.” However, there was no conviction in his voice. He knew it was harsh, but he didn’t know what else he could do. He just wanted his brother to get better, and this was the only way he could think of. “We’re keeping him safe.”

"It seems like it’s making everything worse." Ponyboy was acting out even more, was sneakier, and more aggressive too. They might have taken away the door so there wouldn’t be something separating them, but they just created another wall in the process.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“I suppose so…” Soda sighed and picked out the grime from underneath his nails. “He told me he didn’t want any help. How are we supposed to help him if he keeps pushing back harder every time we try?”

“Eventually, it’ll work out.” They had to think that.

"But how do you know?”

“I don’t.” Darry admitted after a moment of hesitation. “But I refuse to give up on him.”

“Me too,” Soda agreed. His head slumped as he stopped picking at his nails. “I’m scared, Dar. What if…”

What if they weren’t enough? What if they lose Ponyboy? He wished his parents were still alive. They always knew what to do.

Darry placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. It was firm but nothing like their father’s. “It’ll be okay. It’ll take some time, but Ponyboy will be back to normal one day.”

Soda wanted to believe him, but there was no way things would ever be back to normal, even if they got through this. Darry didn’t see the look Ponyboy gave him earlier. After this, Ponyboy would likely resent them forever. “He hates us. Things can’t go back the way they were.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Darry reassured. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just taking his frustration out on you. We just have to take this one step at a time.”

Soda’s shoulder dropped. “I wish there were an easy guide to follow.”

“I know. Me too.” Darry stretched his back and gestured for Soda to get up. “Now, go back to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I can,” Soda said, standing. He slowly made his way to the door. Darry hadn’t moved. His eyes had a faraway look to them. Soda turned around and frowned. “Dar? You okay?”

Darry snapped out of it. “I’m fine. Just sorting my thoughts.”

“You should get some sleep, too. You also have to wake up early tomorrow.”

Darry nodded. “I will. In a minute.”

Darry didn’t sleep much that night, and frankly, neither did Soda. They stayed up for a while in the dark, listening for Ponyboy’s snores, a reassurance that they could relax. They were only able to close their eyes then.

The DX Station was peaceful in the early mornings. The air was filled with the familiar scent of gasoline—sharp, pungent, and comforting. It clung to the walls, the pumps, and Soda’s uniform. No matter how many times he washed it, he was never able to get the scent off, but he had grown used to it. Light caused the oil-sheened floor to glimmer in a rainbow of colors, more lustrous than the chrome gas pumps nearby.

There were no cars there yet, allowing Soda to set everything up for his shift. He entered the building, which had quieter scents to it. More bearable to those who weren’t there all the time. Small specks of dust danced along the beams of light that shone through the blinds, reminding him of the work that needed to be done. He adjusted his vest and looked around.

He went down his usual checklist. He changed the gas price sign a cent higher per gallon, wiped down the counter, opened the blinds, and started brewing some coffee. All while listening to the old heater rumble away, wondering when it was going to finally die on him. He then checked the expiration dates on the snacks, tossing whatever was close enough behind the counter to take home later. He knew Ponyboy would like them, so he ended up taking more than he probably should have.

An hour passed before he knew it. The bell on the door rang, and Steve stepped inside the station in his uniform. He yawned loudly, mouth wide enough to see some chunks of cereal stuck between his teeth.

“Mornin’, Soda,” he greeted sleepily. He made his way to the back to clock in himself.

“Hey, Steve,” Soda chirped back.

“Busy morning?”

“Pretty slow so far.”

Steve hummed and looked out the window. “Must be because of that new gas station down the road.”

“The fancy one?”

“Yeah. I hear they are going to start building an automatic car wash.”

Soda whistled. The only new thing they got was a coffee maker, which made the coffee too watery. “You think they’re gonna take all our customers?”

“If it does, you’ll just have to tweak your uniform. You have that towel from your shower?” Steve joked, grabbing the bag of chips Soda was about to throw over the counter. He ripped it open and plopped one in his mouth.

“I don’t think our boss would let that slide,” Soda laughed, hitting Steve’s arm. He finished up the snack section and placed his takeaways in the now-empty box to make transportation easier. He then picked up the final box of the day, which was just filled with new magazines. Or, maybe they were old. Soda didn’t know where the boss got them. Some of them might have been from the barber shop he went to.

The shelves were already pretty full. Not many people came in there to buy a magazine.

Steve watched Soda closely, noticing how much harder his friend was working than usual. He figured it was to distract him from Ponyboy, which was understandable. Soda placed the “new” magazines on the rack, absently reading the front titles as he did so—magazines for fashion, interior design, cars, and more. Sometimes, he would flip through them to look at the pictures. One article in particular caught his eye. He froze.

Understanding Addiction: What Worked For Me

His fingers gripped the pages tightly as he skimmed the article. It was something about someone’s personal experience with helping a friend who was addicted to drinking. Some tips were sprinkled in there, as well. It wasn’t quite what Ponyboy was going through, but addiction was addiction. There had to be at least some similarities.

“This is it,” he said to no one in particular. He held it up like it was the Holy Grail. Finding this had to be fate.

“The magazine?” Steve asked. “What’s so special ‘bout it?”

Soda only grinned. He wanted to run back home to show Darry, but he knew his boss wouldn’t let him off early. So, he grabbed a stool and sat behind the counter. “It’s just something for Ponyboy.”

Steve said something else, but Soda didn’t hear him. His eyes were glued to the page. He wasn’t a reader like Ponyboy was, and didn’t find articles interesting like Darry did, but that wasn’t the case for this one. He found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the printed words, absorbing everything they had to offer.

He couldn’t wait to get home later.

Ponyboy sighed as he made it to lunch period. The gang had doubled down on making sure he and Harley stayed separated. Darry even called the school to ensure he didn’t spend detention at the same time as him. So far, Ponyboy hadn’t seen his friend once. He likely already skipped the day, and Ponyboy wished he were able to join him. He walked down the hallways and looked for Johnny since he now had to eat with him. His steps were slow, dragging his speed on purpose to spend less time around someone he knew didn’t want to spend time with him. He felt several eyes on him, but he didn’t know if that feeling was real. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders to disappear into himself.

“I hear he’s a druggie,” someone whispered, voice cutting through the loud students.

“I heard his brothers took away his door,” another said.

“Really? They must hate him.”

“I would never be able to disappoint someone enough to get my door removed. He must be such a nuisance.”

Ponyboy wanted to spin around and snap at them to shut up, only these voices weren’t real. One look around at the blurred-out faces, and none of them were actually paying attention to him. Nobody even knew he existed here.

A sharp pain brought his attention down to his arm. Sometime during that short walk, he had removed his hand from his pocket and grabbed his forearm. His nails were dug into fresh scars, blood already beading from the reopened wound. He slowly removed his fingers, the tips painted in red as if he had gotten them painted. He blinked slowly at them, chest icy.

Oh…

He should probably clean this up before a teacher sees.

He walked to a bathroom—strangely empty—and washed his arm under the water, watching his blood get washed away. The water was ice cold and made his wrist numb, but that was welcomed. He definitely held it longer than he needed to.

The door opened, but he trained his eyes on his wrist. The person would hopefully mind their own business and leave soon. But, because his luck was rotten, it didn’t go that way. A minute passed, and there was no sound of a zipper going down or a stream of piss hitting the urinal. It was just silence, but he could have sworn someone entered the bathroom.

He shut the water off and went to get a paper towel when his wrist was roughly grabbed, causing lightning to jolt up his arm.

“Look what we have here,” the person said, dragging his arm up. His sleeve was forced further down before he knew what was happening. Standing in front of him was that bully who tried to drown him in the toilet. How ironic that they met again in a bathroom. Only this time, Ponyboy didn’t have Harley to come save him. The Soc examined his arm, a glint in his eyes. “Been cutting yourself?”

He dropped it as if it were a disgusting, used tissue. He wiped his hand on his shirt and continued, “Do you not get enough attention at home, Lonelyboy? Do you think cutting yourself will get people to notice you?”

“Stop,” Ponyboy growled, shoving his sleeve back down so roughly that it scratched his cuts and made him wince. The bully, of course, noticed that.

“Does it hurt to cut? Or is that your favorite part?

Red started to creep into the corner of his vision. His jaw tightened. “Shut up.”

The Soc seemed entertained. His smirk grew, and he let out a derisive laugh. “What’s wrong, Lonelyboy? You scared that if I speak loudly enough, people will find out about your little hobby? That people are going to see who you really are? Well, I hate to break it to you, but everyone knows you’re broken. Is that why that psycho isn’t with you? You so fucked up that you scared him off?”

He kept pressing the spots that hurt the most. “You don’t know jack shit, man.”

“Well, I know you’re alone.” The bully stepped forward, trying to force Ponyboy to step back, but he held his ground. This only fueled the Soc to continue. “I know you would rather dump your trauma onto other people and slice your arms instead of fixing things. Do you know how pathetic that is? You can’t do anything but make people uncomfortable.”

“You know,” the Soc continued. He shoved Ponyboy. “If you want attention so badly, why don’t you cut your own face instead of your arms? That would get people to finally look at you, to see how ugly you actually are.”

Red consumed the rest of his vision, his chest now hollow. He straightened his posture to appear taller and stepped forward with an empty smile, momentarily surprising the Soc. “You know what I could also cut?”

The Soc decided he was going to entertain him a bit. His smirk quivered. “What?”

Ponyboy’s smile dropped. “Your throat. I’m going to slit it and watch your words bleed out. Maybe then you’ll find better insults.”

Ponyboy punched him in the face, different than cutting, but watching the Soc’s head snap back sent shivers down his spine. He punched again before he could straighten back up, knuckles cracking against flesh and bone. Pain exploded through his hand. The Soc stumbled back and swung at him sloppily. It had hit him straight in the face, but Ponyboy hardly felt it.

“You sonofabitch!” the soc screamed, nose gushing blood.

Ponyboy growled and punched again, hitting him square in the chest this time. He let out an animalistic scream as he punched and punched, leaving little room for the other to attack again. With each hit, a portion of the weight on his shoulder lifted, like he was shoving all of his baggage onto the other. It felt good, almost. He felt way better than he did before, at least.

He took everything out on him, starting from the beginning.

What Steve revealed to him.

He punched the Soc in the lungs.

How the gang avoided him.

He bashed his forehead against the other.

The pain he felt.

He kicked his shin.

How he was shot.

He elbowed his neck.

How the gang banned him from seeing his friend.

He kneed him in the gut.

How his door was taken.

He tore out some hair.

And how he couldn’t use drugs recreationally anymore.

He punched and screamed, and punched again.

It wasn’t fair!

Why did he have to go through all of this?

God, he was so done with everything.

Ponyboy kept attacking, and the thought briefly occurred to him that he could kill this Soc. Releasing all of his frustrations only left numbness behind. His punches only faltered when he heard the door to the bathroom open. The moment he paused, the Soc tackled him down, and a flurry of punches snapped his head back and forth like a tennis match. Knees pressed into his hands, pinning him to the floor and forcing him to take the barrage of fists. It was fine. Again, he didn’t really feel much. He watched through a blurry vision as his blood started to paint the guy’s fists. That was the only indicator of the damage done to him. And briefly, he wished he would kill him.

“You’re a psycho too!” the Soc screamed at him, and Ponyboy silently agreed. He was.

Then, hands pulled the Soc off of him, and another pair helped him up. Some teachers had heard their scuffle from outside, he would later learn. The Soc was kicking and screaming profanities at him, but all Ponyboy could hear was muffled gibberish.

His tongue tasted like iron, and Ponyboy realized he had bitten his tongue at some point. He didn’t like how the Soc was looking at him, so he mixed his blood with his spit and spat it at the other. It fell short by a few feet, but the effect was still efficient. The bully yelled and broke out of the teacher’s hold, grabbing him and slamming his face into a mirror. During that split second before impact, Ponyboy got a look at himself. He looked worse than Harley when he had gotten in a fight with Dally. His lip was busted, his nose bleeding (miraculously not broken), his skin had split, and even his ears had blood flowing out of them. By tomorrow, his face would be covered in bruises.

The teachers, once again, pulled the Soc away.

“You don’t do that!” one yelled, wrestling the Soc still. “Both of you, get to the principal’s office!”

Ponyboy didn’t struggle as he was led out of the bathroom. They walked down the hallway as students stared. He saw Johnny in the crowd, who went pale when he saw him. Pony avoided eye contact with him.

They stopped by the nurse before the office, where she assessed their injuries and checked for concussions. Ponyboy didn't need a light shining in his eyes to know he had one. There really wasn't more to do but give them ice packs and a towel to clean up. Ponyboy refused to let her check his arms.

When they made it to the office, both were told to sit down and wait. They were separated across the room to help prevent another fight.

Ponyboy pressed the ice pack over his eyes to block the light, too bright to be bearable. He wished he could cover his ears too, because everything became too loud—the clacking of a typewriter, the clicking of the clock, the hum of the lights. Maybe something was wrong with him.

There were a few people in the office with him. There was the receptionist who was typing away, the Soc who hadn’t stopped glaring at him, and a jock who was sitting right next to him. He looked familiar somehow, but his brain was too fuzzy to place him. The principal was in his office, finishing up a meeting. They were also waiting for both parents and guardians to arrive. It would take a bit of time.

“You look like hell,” the jock next to him said. Ponyboy moved the icepack so he could stare at the other with one eye.

“I feel like it, too,” Ponyboy mumbled, slouching in his chair. He was going to end the conversation like that, short and simple. But as time ticked on, he looked over again. “Why’re you here?”

The guy crossed his legs. “Accused of plagiarism.”

“Did you?”

“Maybe.”

“Sounds like you did.”

“Who’s got time to rewrite sources in an essay, anyway?” he groaned. “I think they should award me for my time management skills.”

“Sure,” Ponyboy said and looked away, too tired to say something smart about it.

“You get in a fight?”

“Yep.”

The jock laughed as if his pain was the funniest thing in the world. “Looks like you lost.”

“Shut up…” Ponyboy grumbled, slumping further. There was no winner or loser in that fight.

“No, but seriously. You lost to him?”

Ponyboy tuned him out. He was just some asshole blubbering nonsense. At some point, the guy started to harass the receptionist, but was quickly shut down by them.

“Mr. Anderson,” they started monotonously. “Please stay seated and wait until you are called up.”

“Alright, jeez. I was just stretching. Don’t need to act so bitchy,” he replied and sat down again.

Anderson? Where had Ponyboy heard that name before? Maybe Harley had sold something to him. Ponyboy couldn’t remember or concentrate long enough to figure it out. His thoughts were lost in a heavy fog.

Eventually, Darry and a woman (probably that Soc’s mom) arrived. The mom burst in like a storm and cried when she saw her son’s beaten face. Darry walked over to him, a bit fast, and Ponyboy prepared for a hollering of a lifetime, but it didn’t come. He placed his hand on his shoulder, maybe to comfort him, maybe to silently punish him. His fingers gripped lightly, but they sent jolts of pain throughout his shoulder. Ponyboy must have injured it in the fight.

Finally, the principal came out, worn and tired. He sighed when he saw Ponyboy there as if he already knew he would wind up there again.

“Come on in,” he said, letting them into his office. “Take a seat, everyone.”

When they did, the Soc’s mother shrieked, “What is going on?”

“These two were caught fighting.”

Darry stiffened next to Ponyboy. The mother shot up, the chair scraping the floor as she did so. Ponyboy winced at the sound.

“What?” she yelled.

“Sit down, Mrs. Sanders,” Principal Banner repeated. She reluctantly did before she pointed an accusing finger at Ponyboy.

“This hoodlum must have started it. There’s no way that my sweet son would have.”

“No way Ponyboy would have fought without a reason,” Darry defended, though it didn’t sound like he believed his words. Ponyboy was way more aggressive than he used to be. He definitely could have. Unfortunately, Mrs. Sanders also caught this hesitance.

“See? Even his…” She peered at Darry, looking him up and down. “Father?”

“Brother,” Darry corrected.

“Even his brother isn’t sure. Clearly, the lack of parental guidance is really showing. He should have been sent to a boys’ home. He would have been better behaved.”

Ponyboy flinched, and Darry glared at her. If there was one thing he hated being said, it was that. But before he could retort something, the principal cleared his throat.

“Please keep yourselves in check,” Principal Banner said gruffly. “This is about the two students, not you two. I do not need another fight to deal with.”

In other words, he was telling them to act like adults.

Darry’s hands gripped the armrests tightly and turned his attention away. Principal Banner continued, “We’re here to figure out what exactly happened. I’ve already spoken to the teachers who separated them, but let’s hear what the students have to say so we can have a better understanding of the situation.”

So, the Soc went ahead and launched into a made-up story about how Ponyboy came out of nowhere and started to hit him. It was obviously fake, but Mrs. Sanders ate it up with tears in her eyes. She hugged her son, glaring at Ponyboy murderously.

“That boy should be expelled for what he did! He should be locked up!” she hissed. “Why isn’t a cop called here? I should press charges.”

“Charges?” Darry growled, spinning back towards her. “There’s no need to go that far.”

“Yeah,” Ponyboy agreed, taking the icepack off his eye. He was so over this. He couldn’t help but act snarky. “You’re doing too much.”

“Excuse me?” she shrieked. “You’re the one who punched him for no reason.”

“No, I punched him because he was a jerk.” When Darry rubbed his temple, he continued, more seriously this time. “He was harassing me. I went to the bathroom after class, and he followed. He started grabbing and making fun of me. He was bullying me. I defended myself.”

“You punched first,” the Soc shot back.

“And you could have easily avoided it.”

“Enough,” the principal interrupted. “Fighting is unacceptable, no matter what the cause is. You two will be reprimanded accordingly.”

“My son too?” Mrs. Sanders gasped. “My son didn’t do anything! He’s the victim.”

“It sounded like he initiated the fight and then continued it. We also take bullying claims seriously, and it seems like this has been going on for a while.”

Ponyboy almost scoffed. They’re only taking it seriously now that Mrs. Sanders and Darry were involved. He leaned his head back and let everything drown out. It was too hard to focus and too loud to listen to. All the principal was doing was explaining how both he and the Soc were going to be suspended for the rest of the week. Nothing worth listening to.

Things moved quickly from there. He was eventually led out of the school, and Darry yelled at him the entire way home. He wasn’t mad about defending himself, funnily enough. He was angrier at Mrs. Sanders than him. Still, he called Pony reckless and told him he had to be more careful or whatever. Ponyboy only agreed to get him to shut up faster. But when they got back home, Darry sent him to his room to reflect. Ponyboy just sat on the bed instead and did nothing more than pick at his arm.

He didn’t have a door to block out the sound of Soda coming home.

Soda couldn’t wait to tell Darry what he had found. He got back home lickety-split, a bounce in his step. Though the moment he stepped inside the house, he knew something was wrong. The atmosphere was thick, and Darry was in the kitchen, cutting some carrots too loudly and roughly, forgoing any cooking safety rules. Ponyboy was nowhere in sight, which meant he was in his room. Soda tried to ignore it as he approached his older brother, putting on a smile.

“Look what I got,” Soda chirped, holding up the magazine. Darry looked over.

“A magazine?” he said plainly.

“Yep.” That was Steve’s reaction too.

“What’s so special about it?”

Soda’s grin grew. “There’s an article in here about helping another get through addiction. I think this will help Pony do a 360 in life.”

Despite the previous atmosphere, Darry couldn’t help but snort and shake his head fondly at what his brother said. “I think you mean 180. A 360 is a circle.”

“You knew what I meant.” Soda had never been good at geometry. He placed the magazine down on the counter. “You should read it.”

“I don’t know how this is going to help, Soda.”

“Just read it,” Soda urged.

Darry sighed. “Okay, I will after dinner. Now, go wash up and then help me with dinner. You have motor oil on your cheek.”

Soda didn’t move though. He tapped his fingers on the counter almost nervously, looking at Darry’s face and then back down, and then looking back at him again. It was obvious he had more to say. The constant looking quickly got on Darry’s nerves.

“Is there something else?” he asked.

“I…” Soda started. Darry wasn’t going to like what he was about to say next. He just wished he knew how to say it without it being so blunt. “I think we should give Pony his door back.”

The knife came down hard, rattling the cutting board. Darry’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that’s a hot idea right now.”

“But the article said we shouldn’t punish him like that,” Soda argued.

“Punishing helps him learn, Soda.”

“But it just makes things worse. You can see it too. He’s getting worse, Dar. The article—”

“I don’t care what the article says,” Darry interrupted, slamming the knife down. He grabbed the cutting board and swiped the chopped carrots into a bowl. “Did you know Ponyboy got suspended today?”

That caught Soda by surprise. His eyes widened. “What?”

“He got in a fight with another student. I’m honestly surprised both of them weren’t expelled—glad they weren’t—or that the parents of the other kid didn’t press charges. You should take a look at Pony’s face. It’s wrecked. The other kid’s too. Ponyboy got him pretty good. Apparently, he was picking on him, so Pony punched him. Things escalated from there.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, but he’s not talking much. The school nurse took a look at him. He has a concussion, several bruises and cuts, but he’ll be fine.”

Soda let out a breath of relief. Fine. He’ll be fine. That’s better than being hospitalized or turned into a vegetable, for sure. Small wins. “That’s good, at least.”

Darry shook his head as he picked out some potatoes to peel. “I don’t know how much more of this version of Ponyboy I can take. I want to help him—”

“And we will.”

“—but he just keeps getting worse. More violent. I’m at a loss. Nothing is working. He still doesn’t want help.”

“We can try what I want to try,” Soda brought up again. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot. “Give him back his door. We need to start there.”

Darry stared at him for an awfully long time, gauging how certain he was. Soda tried to act confident.

“Trust me, Dar. I’m sure this will work,” Soda continued.

Finally, Darry sighed. He nodded. “Fine, if you’re so sure. Let’s give it a shot, but the moment he gets worse, I’m taking the door away again.”

“Thanks, Dar.” For trusting him. Hopefully, he can get Pony to trust him too.

Chapter Text

When Soda knocked on Ponyboy’s doorframe, he was instantly taken aback by how rough he looked. Soda had seen his brother beaten up after rumbles before, but it was never easy to see him covered in cuts and bruises. His injuries from this attack were worse, and he knew that Ponyboy wasn’t a bad fighter at all. So, either the other guy was great at it, or Ponyboy just let himself get beaten up. Soda forced down his worry with a smile.

 “Hey,” he greeted, shaking a bag of Ruffles. “Swiped this from the DX for ya.”

Ponyboy mumbled something that sounded like a greeting back, so Soda took that as permission to step inside. He sat down next to him and held out the bag, but his brother didn’t reach for it at first. He placed it on the bed after several seconds.

“Did you get some good licks in?” Soda asked, pointing to Pony’s swollen eye.

“You should see his face,” Ponyboy said, finally grabbing the bag and opening it. He plopped a chip into his mouth and looked at Soda expectantly, waiting for him to get up and leave like he always did. But Soda stayed put and pulled out a bag of Chex Mix for himself, sifting through it.

“You might get some tuff cuts for a while.” He fished out a pretzel with a grin and threw it into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. When he swallowed it down, he decided it was time to tell Pony the good news. “So, I spoke with Darry.”

Ponyboy winced. “What about?”

“About your door.”

If possible, he winced more. “Let me guess, I’m going to lose bathroom door privilege too? So that I’ll have no more privacy?”

Soda shook his head rapidly. He couldn’t imagine ever doing that. “That’ll be a punishment for all of us.”

Which wasn’t exactly true. The gang wasn’t exactly shy around each other, though they did have their boundaries. Soda could walk straight out of a shower with a towel around his waist, and no one would bat an eye at him. Or someone would walk in on another going to the bathroom so that they could grease their hair. Still, they all preferred to keep that door shut while they were in there. They were close but not that close. Ponyboy fished out another chip. “Then what?”

“I managed to convince him to give you back your door.”

His hand froze halfway to his mouth. The chip dropped onto his lap, eyes widening. “No way.”

Soda beamed, but then looked down to find a breadstick so he wouldn’t have to look his brother in the eyes when the conversation went deeper. “We might’ve been too hasty—”

“No kidding,” Ponyboy huffed.

“—but I wanna tell you we trust you. I hope you could trust us as well.”

Ponyboy put the fallen chip back into the bag and set it aside. He didn’t feel like eating anymore.

What bullshit Soda was spouting. They’ve never trusted him. If they did, they wouldn’t have removed his door in the first place or watched him like a hawk. The door was probably back on a trial basis. He wouldn’t consider that trust. Trust meant no ulterior motives, and this definitely had the makings for that.

Soda’s awkward words also sounded like he was reading from a poorly written script. He wouldn’t doubt if he stole that from some random magazine article. What was the title called? Ten Generic Things to Say to Your Mentally Unstable, Drughead of a Brother?

“Why’re you being weird?” Ponyboy asked, because, Christ, Soda wasn’t acting like himself. It was unsettling and made him uncomfortable.

“Guess I just am,” Soda shrugged.

“Well, stop.”

Soda rubbed his fingers together to remove the seasoning from the Chex Mix from them. “I’ve just been worryin’ about you.”

“Get in line. Seems like everyone is,” Ponyboy grumbled. “You don’t have to be worried about me.”

Soda nodded. “But I will anyway. You’re my brother.”

Ponyboy stared at him with uncertainty, trying to figure him out. It didn’t seem like he was going to berate or judge him, but he could never be sure anymore. He narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t doin’ anything bad, so if you’re tryna fix me, then you can just go.”

“I’m not.” He continued, “I realized we can’t just do that, but I still want to help.”

Soda realized he had chosen the wrong word too late. Ponyboy’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need your damn help. You just said you’re not tryna fix me!”

“Shoot, Pony, I’m not,” Soda quickly said. “I was just tryna say that I’m here to listen if you wanna talk.”

“You don’t have to,” Ponyboy said, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t understand me anyway.”

He was quick to challenge him. “Try me.”

Ponyboy sighed. What was the point? Still, he gave in a bit. Maybe to scare him off, or maybe to test him. “It’s always so loud. My brain—my thoughts, these voices—they never shut up, and it’s crushing me. It hurts so damn much, and all I want is silence, but I can’t have that. You don’t know what it’s like, Soda, to have your own brain attack you.”

It was a lot to unpack despite how little was actually given to him. Soda pressed his lips tightly together, brain buzzing. He willed it to come up with the right words to say, but none would come. Ponyboy was right. He didn’t understand because he had never experienced this before. He couldn’t relate to him or pull out some wisdom from a hat. He thought maybe Ponyboy had been talking about his active imagination because he was the most creative in the gang. However, this didn’t seem quite right.

Just looking at Ponyboy’s face made him want to wrap him in a tight hug until everything was better. It sucked. He always wanted to protect him, but he didn’t think he was able to defend him from the onslaught of his own mind. That didn’t mean he wasn’t determined to try though. He wanted to learn more so he could be better equipped.

Since he wasn’t quite sure how to respond, he decided to say, “I don’t know what’s going through your head all the time, but if you ever want to go on a drive, just let me know. Maybe that’ll help. Distract you, and all that.”

Ponyboy was actually touched for once. But then Soda continued, “Maybe you can try this first before turning to drugs. Any of us will drive you around.”

He should have just left it there instead of adding that.

“Soda…” Ponyboy mumbled. If he did go to the others, they would quickly get sick of it.

“Just please, promise, Pony.” Soda pleaded before he could refuse, voice more desperate. He then smiled sheepishly. “I kind of already told Darry that you’ll try.”

Ponyboy felt his eye twitch. He sighed loudly, pulling at his hair. “Why’d you go and tell him that?”

“It was the only way I could think of.”

Another sigh. He still didn’t want help, but if agreeing was enough to get his door back, then it was better to go along with it. Besides, if he acted fine, things would go back to normal.

“I’ll try,” Ponyboy lied.

Soda smiled. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Sometimes, it was scary how easy it was for him to lie. He grabbed his bag of chips again and plopped one in his mouth. It didn’t taste good anymore.

For the first day of Ponyboy’s suspension, he didn’t do too much. For most of the duration, he stayed in bed, disassociated and unmotivated. He could have been more productive—read a book, draw, start a new hobby—but everything felt like a commitment. This ended up being fine since Darry would have gotten upset if he had done anything but reflect. He didn’t want Ponyboy to treat the suspension as a vacation, even though he wasn’t initially mad at him for defending himself.

Everything was going fine, except for how irritable he got during the times he normally smoked or did drugs. During those times, the voices in his head were the loudest. He ended up cutting himself by the end of the day.

By day two, Ponyboy felt like he was going to jump off the walls. While he was unmotivated on day one, he was restless on day two. He kicked his legs and tried to relieve the tension, but it didn’t work. It didn’t help that the gang was coming and going from his room. Sometimes, they tried to speak with him, but Ponyboy still felt like they were pulling their teeth with their words. Ponyboy did try to put more effort into their interactions, but pretending was draining, and wearing a mask was exhausting. Being someone they wanted him to be felt wrong, but he did it anyway and recharged as much as he could whenever the door closed again.

His effort must have been working since the gang checked in on him less by day three, ironically. As soon as he started to show improvement (though faked), they backed away, as if their job was complete. Or maybe they thought he was less of a liability. Ponyboy didn’t know if he liked either of those two reasons.

On day three, they left Ponyboy stay home alone so that they could do something fun without him. Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit were out drag racing. Darry was invited to play football with some old high school teammates. And Johnny and Dally were at the Dingo. None of them asked if Ponyboy wanted to join since it would have been too hard to keep track of him. They just saw him staring at the ceiling and left him. However, most of them did agree to get back to the house as fast as possible, and Soda joked that he would drive so fast in the race that he would be home before anyone knew it. In response, Darry told him not to be too reckless.

So, for the first time ever, Darry locked the front door. Not so much to trap Ponyboy inside, but more so to keep Harley out if he swung by. Not like it would have done much since Pony could still unlock the door and then relock it. But he guessed it also served as an indicator, just in case he left and didn’t return before someone from the gang came back. Ponyboy realized he didn’t have a key to the house. He had never needed one before.

It was risky to leave. Still, the door tempted him as if it were a huge, red button that said, DO NOT TOUCH. If he left, he would fail their test on whether or not he could be trusted, and then they would start breathing down his neck. They might even take away his door again. Bye-bye privacy.

Christ, he really wanted to smoke or do something that would get him through today. He needed it so badly that it hurt. His nails had already been bitten to their nubs, and his scabs were raw from how much he picked at them. He wished Harley would swing by despite the risks.

Groaning, Ponyboy got up and marched to the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet, as he had done a million times before. He didn’t expect anything to be there since Darry had already moved everything. Ponyboy opened and closed the door, just like someone would do to a pantry or a fridge when they want something to eat.

Open.

Close.

Open.

Close.

Open.

The phone rang. The shrill ringtone was grating on his ears.

Ponyboy closed the cabinet door and walked over, debating whether he should answer or not. He wasn’t feeling it, but it could be an emergency. With a sigh, he picked it up and held it up to his ear.

“Hello?” he said.

“Word on the street, you got suspended,” Harley said from the other end. Ponyboy let out an air of relief.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started. Darry’s pissed.”

“I heard you got in a fight.”

Ponyboy nodded even though Harley couldn’t see him. “Yeah, the guy who was picking on me before tried to start something again. I fought back.”

Harley scoffed, “Why’s Darry mad about that?”

“Permanent record kind of stuff,” Ponyboy shrugged, even though he knew that wasn’t the full reason. He started to play with the cord, stretching and twirling it with his fingers. “Anyway, I got sent to the office real quick after that. It was super awkward.”

“Did they make you two hold hands until one of you said sorry?”

“What?” Ponyboy blinked. “No. They just had us sit in the admin office until our parents and guardians showed up. There was another guy in there. Err… Anderson? He was an asshole.”

There was a huff of air on the other end, something that was a mix of a laugh and a sigh. “Anderson? What’d he do this time? Hide vodka in a water bottle?”

“Plagiarism.”

“Well, that’s not as fun.”

“You know him?”

Harley hummed to tell him he did. “I pointed him out to you before. He’s the one with the cocaine. He has some gang buddies—like a real gang, not like your buddies—where half of them are locked up in jail. They hook him up to sell. Anderson thinks he’s a big shot, but I’m pretty sure they’re just using him. People just don’t want to suspect a guy from the varsity team. I’m not going to complain, though, since coke is coke.”

Ponyboy did remember Harley briefly telling him about him. His mouth formed an ‘O’ at the recognition. “That was him?”

“Sounds like it.” Harley moved the mic closer to his mouth in interest. “Did you get some coke from him?”

If he did, he wouldn’t be so miserable right now. “No.”

“He didn’t at least offer a hit?” Harley loudly sighed, and that interest was gone. “What a douchebag.”

Ponyboy nodded absently, and a thought occurred to him. If he couldn’t procure heroin or any other substance from Harley, then it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to befriend this guy, someone that the gang didn’t correlate with drugs. “I wish I had some. I think I’m gonna go insane in here. Darry took everything away. Even the medicine cabinet was cleared out. I’m so desperate, huffing markers is starting to sound good.”

“That won’t give you a good high. It’ll just make you dizzy and give you a headache.”

“I don’t care at this point.” Ponyboy cried, spinning around and letting the cord wrap around him. “Can’t you come over? No one’s here right now.”

Harley huffed, “And have your gang attack me when they come back? No thanks.”

Ponyboy expected as much. “What else am I supposed to do then?”

Harley thought for a moment. “I mean, do you have whipped cream? The one in the can.”

Ponyboy looked at the fridge. He wasn’t close enough to open it, but he was pretty sure there was a can in there. Soda likes to spray whipped cream on his hot chocolate sometimes. But why was whipped cream relevant? “I think so, why? Are you trying to suggest that I get a sugar addiction?”

“No man, whippets. The aerosol cans have laughing gas in them. If you’re going to huff something, huff that.”

Whippets? Wasn’t that also a dog breed? Ponyboy tilted his head to the side. “Do you do them, Harley?”

“No,” Harley scoffed. “I don’t do that weak shit.”

“Then why did you suggest I try them?”

“I mean… what else are you going to use?”

He got him there. He sighed, “I guess I can give it a try.”

Harley chuckled. “You know? I didn’t think you would agree to try whippets. You don’t look the type.”

Ponyboy narrowed his eyes, almost offended. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” There was a loud boom from the other end of the line, and Harley cursed. “Shit! Gotta go, man.”

“What was that?” Ponyboy asked, eyes growing wide. Was Harley in trouble? That boom was LOUD.

“I’ll tell you later.” He sounded like he was rushing. “But, listen, if you do make friends with Anderson, can you hook me up?”

Car alarms were going off from the other end. Ponyboy tried to ignore them. “Yeah, man, what are friends for?”

“Nice.” But then Harley cursed again before the line suddenly went dead. Ponyboy frowned as he put the handheld down. He hoped Harley was okay, but he wouldn’t find out until the week was over.

He tried to shake it off as he walked to the fridge, taking the can of whipped cream out. He took it to his room and sat on his bed, wondering how he was supposed to huff it. Harley never got the chance to tell him. For a long time, he stared at the can, turning it in his hand to read the label.

When he thought of gas, he immediately thought of helium, and thus, balloons. Was that how he was supposed to get the gas out? He didn’t have any handy though. Maybe there was another way to extract it. It couldn’t be as simple as putting it up towards his nose, right? On second thought, it probably was that simple. However, there was still another problem. The whipped cream.

How was he going to breathe in the gas without getting a face full of the stuff?

There were so many questions that he was going to have to answer through trial and error.

He didn’t bother with shaking the bottle. He didn’t want to risk messing with the gas before he could dispense it. He took the cap off and held up the nozzle to one of his nostrils. Ponyboy covered his other one. Slowly, he began to press the nozzle, being very careful not to push too hard or too fast to avoid suffocating himself with whipped cream. He continued to put pressure until there was a hushed sound. Something that felt like oxygen brushed against his nose, and he readjusted so he could breathe it in easier.

He wasn’t sure if he was doing it right, nor did he know what the right amount was. Was he holding the nozzle for too long? Too short? Should he press harder?

His brain eventually started to wander after a couple of minutes. He started to think about how ironic it would be if dentists used whipped cream cans to get people high before a painful procedure—a real sweet treat. The image made him laugh, but he wasn’t so sure why he found that thought funny. It wasn’t really.

Ponyboy huffed more of the gas, and his lips went numb. His vision went black for a second, and a sudden wave of wooziness hit. So, he laid down with a laugh, and his body relaxed. Christ, his head felt as light as cotton. His cheeks started to hurt from smiling, and his chest stuttered with each breath. His laughter was infectious only to him.

The effects, however, were very short-lived. In minutes, they started to wear off, so he huffed more and more until he could hardly feel his limbs. Small pieces of whipped cream, the size of crumbs, sprayed out and made him wrinkle his nose. He laughed at that too.

At some point, he had blacked out. He didn’t remember when, but he supposed it was around the time when he got extremely dizzy. Or maybe he was awake and just had a gap in his memory. He didn’t know. But he was lying unconscious on the bed when the front door unlocked and opened. Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit entered the house.

“Pony?” Soda called out after throwing his key on the kitchen counter. He frowned when there was no response, panic quickly rising. He ran to his brother’s room and flung open the door, grateful that it wasn’t locked. His shoulders relaxed when he saw his brother asleep on the bed. His chest was rising up and down slowly, his mouth parted, and one hand was wrapped around a can of whipped cream. He looked over to Steve and Two-Bit. “Guys, look.”

Steve and Two-Bit poked their head in and laughed. Soda elbowed them to quiet them down.

“It’s like he’s holding a pacifier,” Two-Bit teased.

“Guess he wanted a snack.” Soda gently took the bottle from his brother, being careful not to wake him. He didn’t know he was smiling until Steve pointed it out.

“You’re smiling,” his friend said.

“I’m just happy he stayed and that he’s trying to get better.” Soda shook his head, never letting his lips drop. “We should let him rest and sleep off this sugar crash.”

With a nod, the three of them slipped away. Soda closed the door behind him.

If Ponyboy were conscious, he would have felt a little bit sad for deceiving him.

Chapter Text

Ponyboy had met hundreds of people in his short life. Hundreds of people of different backgrounds, demographics, and experiences. Yet, out of those, he had only managed to make one friend. It was better than a lot of people, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but compare himself to the gang. Take Two-Bit and Soda, for example. They could be in a room full of people and somehow manage to make friends with everyone there within an hour. Yet, if you put Ponyboy in that same room, people only gave him tight-lipped smiles and asked him questions, not about himself, but about the gang.

Oh, you’re Sodapop’s brother? He’s such a doll. Is he single?

I remember Darry from school! What’s he been up to these days?

Steve helped fix up my car once, and now my mom is having issues with hers. Can you ask him why her engine sounds like a snare drum?

Man, Two-Bit’s the life of the party! Have you seen him around?

Johnny’s pretty quiet, but he seems pretty sweet. Can you introduce us?

I’ve heard that Dallas recently got caught stealing someone’s car. What other things has he gotten in trouble for?

Never did they show interest in him, even when he tried to ask them questions. They never bounced the conversation back like he was told conversations were supposed to go. It made Ponyboy think that maybe he was the issue. Well, he knew he was. He wasn’t charismatic, funny, or smooth. He wasn’t even mysterious or approachable. Ponyboy didn’t have the good looks like Soda did. He wasn’t movie-star handsome or had a sunny personality that drew people in. He was told to keep his head down and stay out of trouble, so that was what he did. If only he knew that the gang had set him up for failure.

Now, he was just a stupid, wilting wallflower with a grating voice, an annoying personality, and a list of issues as long as the numbers in pi. Never-ending. It was no wonder people wanted nothing to do with him and were ready to toss him in the trash. Because he was that. Trash.

Would he even be considered a wallflower at this point? Flowers were pretty and full of life, and he was the opposite of that.

His petals were dried of what made his colors so vibrant, and his stem was covered in both deep and shallow cuts. He could no longer hold his head high anymore. His sweet youth was long gone, and only a withered, discarded body was left behind. So ugly, yet breath so poisonous. There was no point in keeping him around.

These days, Ponyboy hated looking in the mirror because he had to see what he had become. A boy with sickly skin so tightly wrapped around protruding bones. His stomach and cheeks were sunken in, and the bags under his eyes were permanently dark. His body was curled in on itself in a fetal position, but while a fetus was at the beginning of a lifecycle, Ponyboy was at the end. A corpse would be a fitting description for him. His limbs were twigs, arms covered in scars that listed things that were wrong with him. He wasn’t nearly done writing, but the rest of his body was a blank canvas, and he had a large supply of ink to work with. No matter how he looked at himself, he didn’t look right anymore.

He had met hundreds of people, but the person who hated him the most was himself.

The voices grew louder as the week went by, and the shaking worsened. Each day dragged on like his own personal punishment in Hell. Whippets barely got him through it. It elevated his mood just enough, but it often left his body numb. Not a good numbness, but not unbearable either. Uncomfortable. He didn’t like it very much, but his cravings worsened, and the only solution he could think of was huffing more nitrous oxide to see if the effects would last longer.

Sitting on the sofa, he chewed on what was left of the nail on his thumb. In his other hand was the canister of whipped cream. It was currently resting on his lap, waiting to be used incorrectly again. Around him was the gang, who were all hanging out in the house since it was raining outside. The pattering of the large drops sounded like hail on the rooftop. It was falling so fast that they could hardly make anything out whenever they looked outside.

“Golly, it’s really raining hard,” Johnny commented, looking out the window.

“Good, we need it,” Darry muttered without looking up from the mail he was finally getting to.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Steve agreed, stealing a slice from the chocolate cake that Two-Bit was hoarding for himself. “The firefighters must be pretty happy about it after what happened.”

“What happened?” Ponyboy asked, ears perking up with curiosity.

The gang looked at him, shared a glance with each other, and then turned back to him. Ponyboy felt his stomach turn uneasily. What was that look about? Steve was the one who answered, “Haven’t you heard? The gas station that opened near the DX blew up a couple of days ago.”

He did not. Nobody told him. His grip on the whipped cream tightened. “I haven’t. Did anyone get hurt?”

“The employees who were working were in critical condition, but that’s about all they’re showing on the news.”

Ponyboy cringed. No way anyone would be the same after that. If they survived, their skin would be blistered and peeling, so scarred that nobody would be able to recognize them. How incredibly painful both dying and surviving would be.

He thought back to his call with Harley. It had ended abruptly after a huge boom. Did Harley do this? He knew he had a sick fascination with arson, but would he go as far as to blow up a whole gas station?

He would.

“What does this mean for you guys?” Two-Bit asked.

“Boss wants us to take up more shifts soon since it’s going to be busier, and the employee who does graveyard just put in his two weeks. We’re going to have to cover for him until they can rehire,” Steve explained, not mad or happy about it. On one hand, more hours meant more money. On the other hand, less free time and more stress.

They went on to talk about other things, like the new cheap beer that Two-Bit started to like, the switchblade Dally managed to swipe from a Soc, and more. Ponyboy did try to join in to seem more “normal”, but it quickly became apparent how out of place he was.

He knew none of their references. He didn’t get their jokes. He didn’t know why they were happy.

Ponyboy tried to copy their expressions to make him feel like he belonged. When they laughed, he laughed. He tried not to make it too loud or too quiet. He knew better than to make himself stand out. When they smiled, he would force a small smile onto his face. It was easy to do. He had a lot of practice. But he hated how hollow it felt.

“Seriously, what made you think that was a good idea?” Darry exasperated in response to a memory Two-Bit was reminding them of. Something that Ponyboy knew nothing about.

“It worked in the end. All’s well that ends well,” Two-Bit said, and the others started to chip in their thoughts, all the while Ponyboy was confused. He opened his mouth, wondering when the right moment to speak would be.

“What worked?” Ponyboy asked when he finally found a chance. Or when he thought he had the chance. No one answered his question, but Ponyboy decided give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they just didn’t hear him. They were being pretty rowdy and were talking over each other. But when Ponyboy tried to include himself again, he found that he couldn’t.

Cold sweat trickled down the curve of his back. He clenched his jaw. They were so caught up with each other that Ponyboy could walk back to his room without them noticing. Maybe he should. They were probably uneasy by his presence. He was holding them back, which was dumb to think about because of the promise they made.

Pony could almost scoff. So much for them trying to be better about leaving him out. He should have known better. They only said that because it was the correct thing to say at the time, but it didn’t mean that they meant it.

He stood up, which hardly garnered any attention. He brought the whipped cream up, eyes catching with Dally’s. The other raised a knowing eyebrow at him, but he didn’t say anything about what he was about to do. Ponyboy turned his body away from the gang and raised the nozzle to a nostril. He was getting bolder with it, just like how he was whenever he smoked weed. Dally excluded, he hadn’t been caught yet. The gang thought this was his way of dealing with withdrawals. They would rather have him addicted to sugar than drugs.

He pressed the nozzle and breathed in. One second. Two. Three. Four.

He still didn’t know the proper amount he was supposed to breathe in at a time. The effects lasted only a few minutes, and he wished they had lasted longer. Maybe if he breathed in more of the stuff, it would be more fulfilling. So he went past his usual length, forgetting why he should never do whippets while standing up.

Just like the other times, it didn’t happen straight away. He huffed some more, ignoring the creeping numbness in his hands and feet. The room started to spin around him, and Ponyboy blinked heavily in an attempt to nullify his dizziness, but it only made it worse. Darkness spotted his vision, and his mouth became dry. The gang’s voices became muffled, replaced by an eerie ringing.

Ponyboy didn’t know when his vision went dark, but one moment he was standing, and the next he was on the floor. The gang was standing over him, and someone was shaking his shoulder and telling the others they needed to take him to the hospital. Did he black out? It must not have been for a long time, since they were still trying to decide what to do.

He clenched his fingers, something that was hard to do, and found that the whipped cream can wasn’t there anymore. He cracked open his eyes and nearly threw up from how nauseous he felt. Most of his body ached from the inside out. Golly, how hard had he hit the ground?

“He’s awake,” he heard Johnny gasp.

Ponyboy wasn’t planning on sitting up, but Darry forced him to, much to his dismay. He squeezed his eyes shut with a groan.

“What happened?” Ponyboy asked after a bit.

“You blacked out on us,” Soda responded worriedly. He had been the person who was shaking his shoulder.

“How long?”

“Fifteen minutes. We were about to take you to the hospital. Got us worried there, bud.”

When Ponyboy opened his eyes again, he still couldn’t focus on what was in front of him. Still, he picked up on the word hospital. There was no way he could get taken to one. So, he pushed himself to his feet, wavering slightly. “No need for that.”

Soda tried to push him back down. “I think you should sit back down.”

“I can stand.”

“You’re hardly able to stand on your two feet,” Two-Bit pointed out.

“Did your concussion cause this?” Soda asked at the same time.

“No,” Ponyboy answered, shaking his head. “No… It wasn’t that. I just stood up too fast. I might have an iron deficiency.”

It was an obvious lie that none of them believed. Ponyboy shrank at their disbelieving looks.

“You sure you don’t need to get checked up?” Johnny asked.

“Positive. So, you can go back to your conversation,” Ponyboy reassured. He tugged on his sleeves, making sure they were completely covering his wrists. They must have been so annoyed that he fainted like that. They probably all thought he fainted for attention. The realization left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“If you’re sure,” Soda repeated slowly and unsurely.

See? They weren’t even worried about him anymore and were encouraging him to go away. He faked a smile, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’m going to go to my room and maybe rest or read or something.”

He was rambling, he knew that. And he sounded suspicious, but, really, what did they have to be suspicious about? They already banned him from all substances.

Speaking of which… Ponyboy reached for the can of whipped cream that had been moved to the coffee table by someone after his collapse. But, before he could grab it, Dally said, “Maybe you should lay off that for a bit, man.”

Ponyboy’s hand froze. His eyes met Dally’s again. A discreet suggestion about the gas, and not the sugar. He reluctantly nodded to not cause a bigger scene, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered, pulling back his hand. He turned to leave.

“Get some rest,” Darry called after him.

However, he didn’t even make it to his room when the gang started to talk about him behind his back.

“It looks like Ponyboy’s getting worse,” Soda commented. The moment Ponyboy heard his name, he stopped walking. He pressed his back against the wall to eavesdrop.

“Isn’t he supposed to for a bit? It’s so annoying,” Two-Bit said, words rewriting in Pony’s head.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to go this way. The kid is looking pretty sick. It’s like his health took a nosedive. He’s been hanging around too much and has been so desperate for us to pay attention to him,” Steve said.

“Is he doing drugs again? Was his fainting fake?” Johnny asked.

“We took away anything he can use. Had to be,” Darry answered.

“But he fainted, Dar. That ain’t normal. He’s not normal,” Soda said.

“If he gets worse, we’ll take him to a hospital. I wish we could get rid of him.”

Ponyboy made it to his room with a large pit in his stomach. He sat down on his bed, his heart feeling like ice. He tried to take a deep breath, but it shuddered in his throat. Why did he even try to act like nothing was wrong? It was painful.

He looked around, but there was nothing to help him feel something other than this pitiful feeling. He should have taken the whipped cream with him despite Dally’s subtle warning. Pressure started to form behind his eyes.

He fell back on the bed and rubbed them with his palms, trying not to cry, but his tears came out anyway. They slid down the sides of his face and absorbed into his pillowcase. He turned to his side and sniffled. His nose was already plugged.

So stupid. He was crying, even though he was used to this.

No matter what he did, he was always going to be doing it for attention in their eyes. It wasn’t fair. He was trying, but he could never get it right.

He really wanted heroin right about now. He needed it. He craved it. His nails subconsciously scratched at his arm. It wasn’t even itchy there, yet his nails dug into his skin, catching and reagitating his cuts. He scratched his skin raw till his skin turned red, and the markings from his nails formed horrific art on his skin that told no other story but pain.

The creaking of the floorboards outside his room made his heart leap to his throat. In one swift motion, he dove under his blanket and pretended to be asleep.

The door opened a second after, and Soda and Darry looked into the room. Ponyboy held his breath, biting his tongue to hold back his whimpers. The rest of the gang was in the living room still, by the sound of it. They were back to joking around as if Ponyboy hadn’t fainted minutes prior.

“He’s asleep,” Soda whispered to Darry.

“That was fast. Has he always fallen asleep this quickly?” Darry asked.

Soda shook his head. “No. He must have been less okay than he admitted to us.”

“Well, let him sleep now. He needs as much rest as he can get.”

The door closed again, and Ponyboy let go of his breath. He opened his eyes, which had stopped shedding tears and were now puffy.

They were fine without him.

They were happier when he wasn’t in the same room as them.

They would be better off with him gone.

His lips were trembling as much as the rest of his body.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

How was he supposed to last a full week trapped here? He was already falling apart.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this!

He curled up in a ball and held his breath, counting.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Just like before. Only this time, he wasn’t inhaling. He was suffocating.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

If he held his breath long enough, maybe he could die before it got too unbearable. Seconds ticked on, and spots started to appear in his vision. His lungs burned, yet he held on as best as he could. But humans weren’t able to easily suffocate themselves by holding their breath. He couldn’t help but eventually breathe in sharply, shattering that plan into jagged pieces.

He bit into the pillow to muffle himself and cried.

It got worse as the week went on. He started doing whippets more often and spent a lot of time passed out because of them. He didn’t even have a good time doing them, but he did them because if he didn’t, he probably would have tried huffing carbon monoxide instead. When he wasn’t doing that, he was smoking packs of cigarettes or stealing some leftover beer from bottles Two-Bit left sitting around.

Ponyboy was almost relieved to go back to school. It still didn’t help that it was terrible to wake up in the morning, though.

The morning of his return was chilly. The heater had been very janky lately and would sometimes cut out for hours at a time. Ponyboy struggled to leave the warmth of his blankets, but he did so anyway. He pulled on a hoodie and worn jeans, grabbing some leftover cash and stuffing it into his pocket. It wasn’t much. Most of the money he earned from drug dealing went into buying heroin. If Anderson wasn’t greedy like Harley, he should have enough.

Today, he was supposed to stick by Johnny’s side for as much as possible. They were dropped off at the front by Darry before he headed to work. Most students didn’t bother staying outside that morning, and neither would they. The two of them walked up the stairs, Pony’s stomach twisting with nerves. He frowned at the entrance.

“You nervous, Ponyboy?” Johnny asked him, noticing the look on his face.

“A bit,” Ponyboy answered truthfully, chewing on his bottom lip. Those two words weren’t special, but Johnny’s eyes brightened when he heard them for some reason.

“Because of the fight?”

Ponyboy shook his head. “No. I couldn’t care less about that.”

“Then why are you nervous?”

They finally went inside the building, and eyes turned to him. People pointed at his face in shock when he passed by. Some of them knew what had gone down, while others were just reacting to his healing wounds. Ponyboy didn’t pay them much mind. He had spent the whole week mentally preparing himself for this moment. He hummed, not sure how to answer Johnny. “I guess… I’m just nervous about the uncertainty of the future.”

The near future and not the far future. He didn’t picture himself with a far anything. Currently, he was more concerned about befriending Anderson, acquiring drugs, and maintaining his friendship with Harley.

Speak of the devil, though. Several feet down the hallway was Anderson.

Anderson was hard to miss. He was taller than most kids his age by a head, and his voice was so boisterous and loud that it overshadowed others. He was laughing loudly and making dumb jokes to the people standing near him. Ponyboy could even hear him from where he was standing, and that was impressive, given how crowded and loud it was inside. You know what they say about loud people, though. The louder they were, the dumber they were.

Anderson was always wearing his varsity jacket, even though it wasn’t the right season for the sport he was playing. Football was a fall sport, and they were currently only a few months into the year. The jacket clashed with his outfit—a madras shirt, khaki pants, and loafers—but he wore it proudly because he was only going to peak in high school.

Even the way he stood was distinct. Anderson stood tall, shoulders rolled back and stance open. He positioned himself like he was the center of the universe and everything should be bending for him.

Johnny bumped Pony’s shoulder. Maybe on purpose, or maybe an accident. “Everything’ll work out, Ponyboy.”

Oh, right, they were still talking.

He could tell Johnny wanted to press more into this, but Ponyboy didn’t take his eyes off the Soc. His step faltered for a second. He shuffled his feet before he changed direction and started to head over to Anderson, much to Johnny’s confusion. He opened his mouth to stop him, likely thinking he was heading towards Harley. But Johnny looked ahead and didn’t see him, which only made him more confused.

“Where are you going?” Johnny asked, trying to keep up.

“Just gonna say hi to someone,” Ponyboy replied. “You don’t have to come with me.”

Johnny matched his pace regardless, although tensely and on guard. Ponyboy pressed his tongue to his cheek, thinking about what he should say to Anderson. He couldn’t just go up to him and act all buddy-buddy. That would be weird. He didn’t have much experience with making friends. What was a good way to greet him? What topics should he talk about? Would he even want to talk to a greaser like him?

Before he could come up with anything, he was standing next to Anderson. The other boy wasn’t talking to other people anymore and was currently sorting through his locker.

“Hey,” Ponyboy said, trying to act more confident than he actually felt.

Anderson was surprised to see him, his eyes widening a fraction. He likely never thought he would see him again. He quickly schooled his expression, pulling up his cocky smirk again. His eyes followed the bruises on his face like he was connecting the dots.

“You really got your shit handed to you,” Anderson cackled.

“It looks worse than it is,” Ponyboy said. How many times had he said that already? Johnny shifted a bit closer to him.

“You’re Horseboy, aren’t you?” Seriously, people needed to stop with that name, but at least he wasn’t showing any aggression towards him for being a greaser.

“Ponyboy,” he corrected, trying not to sound annoyed. He fought the frown that was trying to form on his face and grinned instead. Johnny tilted his head at Pony’s crocodile smile.

“What’s the difference?”

This time, his smile fell for several seconds. He forced it back on, but it was obviously strained. “Several letters and sounds.”

Anderson tilted his head and started to count on his fingers. He barked a laugh. “Four letters. That’s not several. What are you, stupid?”

The smile was very strained now. Just keep smiling, he reminded himself. “You’re the one who couldn’t complete an assignment correctly.”

Pony was the one to talk. He rarely completed assignments and, when he did, they were done half-assed. Technically, Anderson was being a better student than him, and that sort of peeved him because this guy was an idjit. Anderson’s jaw clenched. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m at the top of my class.”

“In what, Remedial English?” Ponyboy needed to stop talking back like this and suck up to the other guy, but he couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, so?”

“Nothing.” Ponyboy crossed his arms. “What was your assignment even about?”

What a lame question, but Ponyboy couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. Anderson didn’t seem fazed by it, though. “Had to write an essay about Helen Keller. Dumb bitch couldn’t even write letters correctly. All she did was draw dots.”

“You mean Braille?” Christ, this guy wasn’t just a douche; he was worse. And he thought Harley was bad. Harley was an ass in a way that he purposefully wanted to be a piece of shit just for the kick of it. Anderson was an ass because he was genuinely a corrupt person. Everything he spouted so far had been horrible. Helen Keller’s IQ was over three times higher than his. She certainly had more accomplishments than he would ever have in his life. Great, Anderson was both offensive and dumb. A brutal combo.

Anderson opened his mouth, but didn’t get the chance to reply. The bell rang, saving him from this interaction. When Anderson ran off, Ponyboy wondered if he ruined it for himself.

Johnny followed Pony to his next class even though they were supposed to go in opposite directions. Before he could go in, Johnny reached out and tugged on his sleeve, causing him to rip his arm away instinctively as if he were just burned. Ponyboy wrapped his wrist with his hand like a cuff, hair standing on end.

“What?” he almost snapped.

“Who was that?” Johnny asked, a worried expression on his face.

“That was Anderson.” As if that would explain anything. Johnny wouldn’t know who that was. He thought of a good excuse as to why he had to talk to him. He couldn’t say that they met in the office after they both got in trouble, and he definitely couldn’t tell him that he wanted to buy cocaine from Anderson. Those wouldn’t have left good impressions.

“I’m tutoring him,” Ponyboy ended up blurting out. “For extra credit, since I have to catch up to go to the next grade.”

At that, Johnny’s eyes lit up. “You were always good at English.”

He nodded. “I want to get better, and this helps.”

Johnny was so proud of Ponyboy for putting so much effort into getting his life back together. He nodded enthusiastically, and the two bid their farewells before going their separate ways to make it to their first class on time.

But it wasn’t like it mattered if he made it to class or not. Throughout the day, Ponyboy found that he had a hard time focusing on anything. His legs jumped under his desk restlessly, hands shaking so badly that his handwriting was almost illegible. He gave up pretty quickly each period, dropping his forehead onto his biceps and wrapping his arms around to the top of his head. He closed his eyes, but doing so only made the voices in his head louder. He stayed like that until the teacher called him out for it and scolded him in front of the other students. Cold sweat trickled down his spine each time, but it was fine (it was not); he was used to feeling this way. Like his body couldn’t pick a good indicator for heightened anxiety, so it chose all of the above.

Then it was time for his English course. He tried to pay more attention to this one, since he could write the voices instead of listening to them. The class was currently going through a creative writing unit. The assignment they were working on was to write some slam poetry. Graphite pencils scribbled loudly, and some obnoxious chatter came from the class jesters. Ponyboy tried to write too, and it was easy to get his thoughts on paper, not that he would be able to read them later. His handwriting looked similar to a doctor’s, honestly.

“Can I have your attention, please?” his teacher, Mr. Mintz, called out, clapping his hands. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. His teacher cleared his throat and held up a flyer. “There’s an open mic event happening at the end of the month at the old theater. I’m offering extra credit for anyone who participates. You can choose to read the poem you’re working on now, another work, or maybe even sing a song if you’re musically gifted. I know I’m not.”

He chuckled to themself, but when no one laughed with him, he went around to pass the flyers out. He continued, “It’ll be fun. There’s going to be free food too. You can bring whoever you want to watch.”

When the stack of flyers reached Ponyboy, he didn’t take one as everyone else did. Instead, he passed the stack along to the person behind him before he went back to his assignment. However, after that announcement, he lost whatever motivation he had to write, so he switched to drawing an eye at the corner of the page. He was filling out the pupil when there was a tap on his shoulder.

Mr. Mintz was looming over him, trying to decipher the glyphs that were his handwriting. When Ponyboy turned around, his teacher asked, “Are you going to the open mic? It’ll be a great opportunity to raise your grade.”

Ponyboy shook his head, “Don’t plan on it.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t feel like it.” Did he need another reason why?

“Shame,” Mr. Mintz sighed. “I’ve heard from Mr. Syme that your writing is powerful.”

Ponyboy’s ears turned red at that. He looked back down and continued shading in the pupil. Now, it was shiny from the graphite, and the area was rubbed thin, ready to rip at any moment. “It’s not that good. He played it up too much.”

“I don’t think so. I can tell you like to write.”

“I haven’t been feeling like writing for a long time.”

His teacher pointed to his page, which was only a quarter way filled out. “You’re writing now. I’m sure your poem has a great message in it.”

Pony folded his assignment in half to hide the words. “This wasn’t for the assignment. It’s just my thoughts.”

“Writing can come in different formats, but in the end of the day, it’s your voice.”

Ponyboy let out an airy laugh that sounded more like a scoff. “There are a lot of voices.”

Mr. Mintz tapped the paper, but didn’t open it. “Which you were able to write down. I’d like to hear them sometime. A lot of people would.”

This time, Ponyboy really did scoff. “I assure you, they won’t.”

“I think you’d be surprised.” Mr. Mintz placed a flyer for the open mic event on his desk. “But it’s up to you if you would like to share them. Your poetry.”

“These are just random sentences. Nothing nice like poetry is.”

“The beauty of slam poetry is that it can be practically anything.”

He left at that. Ponyboy stared at the flyer on the desk and almost walked to the front with it so that he could throw it away in front of his teacher out of spite. But, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He didn’t know why, but maybe there was a little bit of hope left in him.

Ponyboy slid the flyer into his backpack and went back to shading in the pupil until the bell rang.

There weren’t many incidents after that. School went painstakingly slow, and his shaking only got worse with each class. He never encountered Anderson after that morning, and Ponyboy wanted to sulk because he came to school thinking he would be able to buy drugs. When he was done with everything, he took the back entrance instead of walking to the front like most everyone else. He was supposed to meet back up with Johnny so they could wait for Darry to pick them up, but he wanted to extend his alone time just a bit more.

He was walking past the baseball field when he saw two figures of a boy and a girl in the dugout. Normally, he wouldn’t give them a second glance, but then the guy spoke, and Ponyboy instantly recognized the voice.

“Fucking bitch,” Anderson yelled, garnering some looks from other students who were passing by the field. Ponyboy slowed to a stop. From where he was standing, it just looked like a couple was arguing. She had her back against the fence, fingers curled into the open spaces of it. Her brows were furrowed as Anderson towered over her. Ponyboy started to head over to them because he still needed to talk to him, and also because this looked like it was escalating. “Just do it.”

“Look,” the girl hissed, voice much lower. “I don’t see why I have to give you such a favor. I have enough money, so just let me buy some, pervert.”

Anderson glared at the name she called him. “Pervert? I’m not a pervert.”

“You asked me to give you head for it. That’s disgusting.” If Ponyboy heard this conversation a few months ago, he would have blushed in embarrassment, but all he felt now was exasperation. He was supposed to make friends with this guy? Seriously?

“It’s that or—”

Ponyboy interrupted them, “He’ll take the money.”

Both of their heads whipped towards him. Anderson gaped, “What?”

“He’ll take the money,” Ponyboy repeated, glaring at him. “Right?”

Anderson seemed to take the hint (the only smart thing he had done today) and nodded. “Yeah, whatever, man.”

The girl slammed the cash into his hand and snatched a baggie full of white powder. She cursed Anderson out under her breath as she stormed off. After she was far enough gone, Anderson’s eyes narrowed. “Are you stalking me now?”

Ponyboy sighed, “No, you were yelling so loudly that I could hear you across the field. For the record, if you’re going to sell drugs, at least do it inconspicuously. You’re going to get expelled and thrown into jail at this rate.”

“Yeah, right.” Anderson smirked. “They wouldn’t do that to me. I’m too important here.”

“No one gives a shit that you’re a high school football player, you know. They’ll see the drugs, and they’ll get rid of you in a heartbeat. Trust me, I would know.”

It was at that moment that Anderson recognized him. “You hang around Harley.”

Ponyboy nodded, twisting his words to try to make friends with him again. “Us dealers have to watch each other's back, right?”

“Right, but I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? Because she was one step away from going to the principal and snitching. You scared her, man. You can’t act like that.”

“Like I’m supposed to understand her feelings. I’m not a therapist.”

“No, but you will be that, but with a space between the letters E and R.”

“What do letters have to do with getting head?”

“No,” Ponyboy said. He almost slapped his forehead. “That’s not… You know what, forget it. Point is, you need to learn how to do this part of the job better, and I can show you how, if you’d like? You probably have a quota to meet, right?”

Anderson looked surprised. “You can?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you how to get your money’s worth.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Like I said, us dealers have to stick together.”

Anderson thought about it, hesitantly. If he were smart, he would have denied the offer because Anderson was working closely with some people who wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet between his eyes. But, he wasn’t. So, he grinned. “Okay, fine. We can meet later, and you can tell me how Harley taught you.”

“Great,” Ponyboy sighed in relief. He did it. “And we can start now. I want to buy, so show me how you would normally do it.”

Chapter Text

The spot on his hip where the bag of cocaine was hiding felt hot the entire way home. His waistband was just tight enough to hold it in place. Ponyboy ensured his face was neutral through the entire commute, wary of any weird looks that were sent his way. Whenever Darry asked him about his day, Ponyboy would only shrug. It wasn’t odd for him to stay silent anymore.

But although he stayed composed, he couldn’t help but feel a buzz of excitement. He was eager to try the cocaine, and he hoped it felt as good as heroin did. Ponyboy was tired of feeling like his skin was flipping inside out, and he also hated how whippets made him pass out. They were more work than they were worth, if he was being honest. He was also pretty sure the gang was starting to catch on. There was only so much passing out someone could do before eyebrows were raised.

So, when they arrived back home, Ponyboy jumped out of the truck and headed inside. The house wasn’t empty, but it rarely ever was. The TV was turned on to Mickey Mouse, the volume several levels too high. Sitting in front of it was Two-Bit, who raised his beer when they entered in greeting.

Darry scoffed fondly, “Does this look like a charity to you?”

“I don’t know what charity gives out free booze, but if this does, I’ll send a good review to the newspaper,” Two-Bit snorted. “Free advertisement. Soon, more people will come to support it.”

“They better not. Otherwise, my hospitality won’t be free anymore, and you’ll have to get your own beer.”

Two-Bit chortled at that. “Fine. I’ll give you a bad review so I can have it all to myself.”

Darry rolled his eyes and took Ponyboy’s backpack, opening it to do his daily inspection for drugs. He wasn’t going to find anything, of course, but what he did find was the flyer from his English class. He pulled it out and smoothed out the crinkles with his fingers.

“What’s this?” he asked. Ponyboy quickly reached over to grab it, but Darry held it further away from him.

“It’s just a flyer to an event my teacher wanted students to attend,” Ponyboy grumbled out. He hopped to grab at it again, but missed by a hair. It was times like this when he hated being short for his age. It wasn’t fair that his brothers took all the height from the family.

“You going to participate?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Darry lowered the flyer to read it, and Johnny took that moment to look at it as well. Johnny smiled, “You gonna read poems on stage, Ponyboy?”

“I don’t know,” Ponyboy repeated, now frustrated and a bit embarrassed.

“I haven’t heard one of your poems in a while,” Darry said. Ponyboy prevented himself from giving him a stink eye. Maybe that was because he never cared about them and always acted as if he were wasting his time.

“I haven’t written anything.”

“I’m sure you can whip something up. You can do one of those haikus. How’d they go again?” Two-Bit said, starting to count the syllables on his fingers. “I ain’t poetic. Just throw some words together. Add pizzazz and go.”

Ponyboy started to count with his fingers too, but instead of going up as Two-Bit did, he went down. “Try all you want to. No to haikus on a stage. I would rather die.”

At the last syllable, only his middle finger remained up. Before Darry could reprimand him for flipping Two-Bit off, he dropped his finger and crossed his arms. Two-Bit wasn’t phased in the slightest. He snapped his fingers and pointed at him with both hands. “Now you have something for it.”

He wanted to tell them that he really didn’t want to do it (again), but he stopped himself before he could. If he said that, it would make his extra credit tutoring excuse invalid. He smiled wryly, now speaking with a flat tone, “I guess so.”

“I think you should try it,” Johnny pushed. “It ain’t gotta be a haiku. Do what you wanna do, Ponyboy.”

“He’s right. Pull something out of that mind of yours,” Darry agreed. A thought occurred to him. “I don’t think I work that day. We can all go to it.”

“Yeah, we can be your personal cheer squad,” Two-Bit chirped.

“You don’t have to,” Ponyboy said. It wasn’t like they would come anyway. Darry was just saying that to be nice. No one in the gang would want to sit through the entire event.

“I want to,” Darry declared with a look in his eyes that Ponyboy couldn’t place. As if to prove his point, he put the flyer on the fridge.

Ponyboy’s breath shuddered, but he wasn’t sure if it was an annoyed sigh or a noise of surprise. He still didn’t want to perform on stage, since it sounded grueling, and he had lost interest in poetry a couple of months ago. But he was sort of… touched? He tried not to think about how they were not going to show up, and how he was going to be both crushed and humiliated about it. He scratched his cheek, resigning himself to his fate. “Do what you want then.”

He took that time to slip past them, heading straight to his room without looking at any of them. The three other greasers shared a glance. When the younger boy was out of earshot, Darry turned to Johnny, who was putting his bag on the couch, and asked, “How’d it go today?”

“It went good,” Johnny answered, gracing them with a small smile. “He’s going to start tutoring someone for extra credit.”

Darry’s eyes opened wider in surprise. Ponyboy was a good student. But that was the thing. He was. A big emphasis on that word. Now, the only school-related “extracurriculars” he was good at were skipping and failing. Why would a teacher give him such an opportunity when he himself was so behind? If this was true and not one of Ponyboy’s many lies, then this student had to be doing worse than him. “Really? Who?”

“I think he said his name was Anderson.” Johnny didn’t sound so sure. He mumbled to himself, “But that sounds more like a last name.”

“Tall guy, wears a varsity jacket 24/7, part of the football team?” Two-Bit questioned, taking a swig of his drink. He wasn’t paying attention to the show anymore. Darry wished he would turn the volume down or, even better, shut it off to lower the electricity bill.

Johnny shrugged. “I don’t know if he wears that coat all the time, but I think that’s the guy you’re thinking of.”

“Know him?” Darry asked Two-Bit.

“Not really,” Two-Bit answered. “But I’ve seen him around the cheerleaders—”

“The ones you’re always heckling?”

“The ones I’m lightly teasing,” he corrected with a smirk.

“I’ve seen you pants some of them the other day,” Johnny said pointedly.

Two-Bit grin never faltered as he tapped his temple with his index finger. “Can’t pants someone if they were wearing skirts.”

“That’s not how that works,” Darry said before motioning for him to get back on topic. “What else do you know about him? Does he do drugs?”

Two-Bit shook his head. “Doubt it. A player like him can’t get caught with that stuff. I wouldn’t doubt it if he uses steroids, though. He’s a big guy. Bigger than you, Superman.”

Darry was too deep in thought to get annoyed at the nickname. Even if Anderson didn’t seem like he would do drugs, it didn’t mean it was impossible, because that was the thing about them. Sometimes you just can’t tell who did them. They went a few months before they found out Ponyboy was a druggie. But he couldn’t assume the worst about someone just because they were associated with his youngest brother. “Is he a good guy, at least?”

This was something Johnny could answer.

“I didn’t like him,” he said, almost ominously. Darry felt the muscles in his back tighten. “He said some awful things. I don’t think the two of them got along either.”

Two-Bit whistled, “Pony’s going to have a fun time tutoring him then.”

“But do you think he was telling the truth about the tutoring?” Darry asked.

Johnny nodded, “I don’t think he was lying.”

But Darry still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced. There was something off about this. He could feel it in his gut. However, another part of him wanted to believe it because Ponyboy was showing signs of improvement. He didn’t know what had changed, but maybe it had something to do with giving back his door. If so, then it was the right decision, and Soda was right. Maybe he should read that article he wanted him to read, after all. “I hope you’re right.”

They were interrupted when Ponyboy left his room, walking back into the living room with a hardcover book pressed against his chest. The cover was faced away from them, so they couldn’t see what it was called; all they saw was the thickness. Ponyboy looked like he was on a mission, determination clear on his face. He glanced at the front door before he turned to Darry.

“Hey, Darry, can I go out?” he asked. He used to be able to leave without permission. He wondered how long he would have to play pretend before he would be given that privilege back.

“Depends,” Darry replied, putting his hands on his hips. “Where are you off to?”

Ponyboy tapped his fingers against the sides of the book anxiously. “I, uh… I started tutoring someone to get extra credit. We were planning on meeting today at his place.”

The three other greasers didn’t look surprised at what he said, which meant Johnny must have already told them. He could tell they knew he realized that, so he was confused when Darry acted like he didn’t. “Really? Who?”

“An upperclassman on the football team. He was failing English, and if he flunked, he wouldn’t be able to play.”

“Isn’t football a fall sport?” Darry asked that even though he already knew it was.

Ponyboy nodded, his brain blanked for a second before he came up with a cover-up. “This is for next season, and most of the pressure is from his parents. They gave him an ultimatum. Pass English class, or he can’t play anymore.”

If Darry thought it was weird, he didn’t say it out loud. His older brother’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

Why did Darry have to be so suspicious of him all the time? Yes, he was being shady, but still. Ponyboy dropped his shoulders and stuck out his bottom lip, not excessively but just enough to make him look pitiful—a puppy dog look that he hadn’t used since he was six. “I’m really trying, Dar.”

It worked like a charm. Darry’s expression instantly softened. He reached out and ruffled Pony’s hair. “I know you are. I just wanted to learn more about what you’ve been up to, is all.”

Ponyboy pointed to the door. “So, can I…”

Darry nodded. “I’ll drive you.”

“No, it’s okay,” Ponyboy instantly said, barely able to hide the panic in his voice. “I don’t want to bother you, and I can walk.”

“You shouldn’t,” Darry said sternly, causing Ponyboy to shrink back. Was he still skeptical about leaving him alone?

“Don’t you trust me? I thought…”

“You shouldn’t because you might get jumped. I take it that Anderson is a Soc, right? You’ll be going to their side of town, and they’ve been rowdy lately. Someone who runs with Tim’s gang got jumped the other day. I ain’t about to let my kid brother get beat up again.”

While that sounded nice and all, Ponyboy couldn’t help but notice how Darry swerved around his question instead of answering it. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll feel better if I drive you.” He fished out his car key from his pocket, leaving no room for further arguments. “Come on.”

“Thanks,” Ponyboy muttered defeatedly, a bitter taste on his tongue. He followed his brother out the door and back towards the truck, cursing a storm in his head.

After he climbed in, he leaned back and got comfortable, waiting for the vehicle to rumble to life. When it did, Darry nagged, “Put your seatbelt on.”

Ponyboy couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “It’s only a few minutes away. Not like we’re going to get in a car accident within that time.”

“You never know what’s going to happen, and I’m not going to risk you flying through the windshield. Put it on.” Intoxicated, impatient, distracted, sleepy, and bad drivers. Road hazards and bad weather. There was a plethora of dangers on the road that were hard to dodge. The best he could do is minimize the chance of injury.

Groaning, Ponyboy grabbed the seatbelt and clicked it in place, and then they were on their way. The book was placed on his lap, and Darry could finally see what it was—an omnibus of Shakespeare’s plays. The pages were frayed, and the hardcover had dents from who knew what. He never got the hubbub when it came to Shakespeare’s works. They were hard to read and even more difficult to understand. He once had to read Romeo and Juliet when he was a student, and all he learned was that the guy wrote a lot of tragedies. He was glad Ponyboy was enjoying them, though.

“Are you reading Romeo and Juliet in school?” Darry asked, tipping his head towards the book. Ponyboy’s fingers clenched tighter around the edges.

“No,” he answered monotonously. “Othello.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t heard of that one. He wondered if it was another tragedy.

Ponyboy didn’t explain what it was about. He turned his head to look out the window to silently tell Darry that he didn’t want to talk anymore. He would only give directions.

The scenery subtly changed as they drove to a nicer part of Tulsa. There was less litter on the ground, and graffiti faded into fresh paint jobs on homes. Uncut weeds shifted into neatly trimmed lawns that were so green they were fluorescent, and the run-down homes turned into a cookie-cutter suburbia. Although they were nice, Ponyboy preferred their little neighborhood since it had more personality and life.

He paid careful attention to the houses as they passed by. While most had similar formats, some deviated. He had a plan brewing in his head on how he was going to shake Darry from his tail for a few hours. However, there was a fifty percent chance it would fail.

That was when he saw the perfect home to use. It had a small porch with a width that was hardly larger than the front door. A wall of bricks arched over it like a rainbow, making a shallow tunnel that would easily give him the cover he needed.

“Right here,” Ponyboy informed, pointing to it.

“That one?” Darry asked, pulling over to the side of the road. Ponyboy hummed in agreement and started to climb out of the truck. “What time should I pick you up?”

He thought about it for only a few seconds. “Around six o’clock.”

That would give him a few hours to work with. He closed the door and started towards the house, keeping the truck in his peripheral vision. He walked slowly, hoping that if he took long enough, Darry would leave before he made it over. Unfortunately, he sat in the vehicle and waited.

When Ponyboy made it to the front door, he positioned himself behind the brick arch to hide his body from Darry. His brother was angled just right to be able to do so. He didn’t dare to knock on the door. Ponyboy just waited, listening to the rumble of the truck, the only indicator he was going to have to go off of.

A full minute passed before Darry drove away. Ponyboy waited thirty more seconds before he hopped out of his hiding spot and walked back to the sidewalk.

Next up was Harley’s house.

With a new gusto, Ponyboy started his trek over, the bag of cocaine tucked securely away in a secret compartment in his book.

Harley’s house was only a fifteen-minute jog from where he was. Ponyboy made sure to memorize the path he took to get there so that he could return to it when it was time to go. When he arrived, he wondered if he should knock or climb the window, but he ended up picking the former because he didn’t think he could climb with one arm. He rapped his split knuckles against the wood and rocked on his feet.

Harley’s mother opened the door—prim and proper as always—and her eyes narrowed when she saw him. Even after weeks of visiting, she had never warmed up to him.

“Is Harley home?” Ponyboy asked, catching his breath.

“I don’t know a Harley,” she answered coldly, like she did every single time. She wanted him to acknowledge his birth name, but no one but her liked it, and Pony was as stubborn as she was.

He gave her a flat look. “We go through this every time I’m here. You know who I’m talking about.”

She clicked her tongue, but finally moved away to let him in. “He’s in his room.”

Ponyboy stepped into the house and beelined towards Harley’s room. When he opened the door, Harley whirled around. He had been leaning his head out the window, smoking weed. His hand moved quickly to hide it from view.

“Jesus, don’t you knock?” Harley hissed, relaxing when he realized who he was.

“Sorry,” Ponyboy apologized, closing the door behind him. He looked back at Harley, taking in the dark bags under his eyes. “Didn’t sleep?”

“Trying to.” Harley leaned back against the wall. “Accidentally took some Medrol and couldn’t sleep last night.”

“What’s that?” Ponyboy sat down at the little table in the center of the room.

“Steroids.”

He looked at his friend incredulously. “Why the hell would you take something like that?”

“Was sorting pills and accidentally mixed some.” If he was like that, he probably took several. Honestly, Ponyboy was kind of jealous. He missed sitting here with Harley and snorting or swallowing random pills to see if they would feel anything. Harley pressed the end of the blunt to his lips. “What are you doing here anyway? Thought your brothers banned you from coming over.”

“Snuck away,” Ponyboy shrugged.

“Damn. How’d you manage to do that? They never take their eyes off of you.”

“Told them I was tutoring someone for extra credit.”

“That’s actually really smart,” Harley murmured, voice gravelly. He picked at the lint on his shirt.

“Yeah, and I told them I was tutoring Anderson.” Ponyboy placed the book on the table. He didn’t need to open it for Harley to get what he was implying.

He sat up straighter, eyes wide. He snuffed out the blunt in his arm and hid his wince. “No, shit! You got it?”

Ponyboy nodded, opening the book and taking the bag of cocaine from the small compartment in it. “It was an effort. Anderson was driving me up the wall, and we’re planning on meeting sometime next week. Why couldn’t you get this from him yourself?”

Harley looked at him like he had asked the dumbest question. He slid down to sit on the other side of the table. “Because he’s annoying.”

“So, you made me do your dirty work,” Pony deadpanned.

“It’s for you anyway. You were already going to do it yourself.”

That was true, so he couldn’t be mad about it.

The bag of cocaine was placed between them. He didn’t know where to begin, but luckily, Harley did. He lined it up on the table, used a playing card (found nearby because of how often he used it) to make it perfectly straight and thin, and tore out a page of the book and rolled it into a straw. Ponyboy watched him impatiently when he snorted it. When he pulled away, he didn’t wait to watch how it affected him. He was quick to mimic him.

He poured some out for himself, his hands shaking so badly that much more than what was necessary fell out. Christ, he needed this. He couldn’t wait to not feel like shit. It had only been a week since he last did something that wasn’t a whippet, so maybe it was pathetic how desperate he was, but he didn’t care. Not with the tunnel vision he had right now.

He straightened it into a rough, thin line with the card, pushing the excess away for later. His back was hunched over it, body ready to take it in. The closer he got to it, the more of it he smelled. It smelled distinctly like fuel, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but he figured it was. He grabbed the straw, placed it to one nostril and closed the other, and then he inhaled it all up.

His sinuses burned for a bit, but soon enough, the feeling switched to a numbness. And when it hit, it was like his entire head had been dunked into water, but only in a way to say that it felt like everything woke up. His pupils dilated, and his body practically buzzed with jittery energy. His exhaustion was lifted, but even so, he didn’t feel like he was functioning any better.

“Well, I don’t think I’m sleeping,” Harley murmured, reminding Ponyboy of the reason why he was smoking weed earlier.

“Oh, shit, right,” Ponyboy drawled. It felt like everything was great with the world. It was bright and shining and amazing. Only it wasn’t actually, everything just felt euphoric. He could understand why people got hooked so easily on this stuff. Who wouldn’t want to feel this way all the time? The only gripe he had was how fast his heart was beating, like it was about to explode from his chest. To keep him busy, he started to make smaller lines of coke with the card, using the coke he had pushed away earlier. Man, he felt like he could run a marathon while running a presidential campaign at the same time. He decided to voice this.

“I think you can do it,” Harley encouraged.

“I dunno. I think there’s an age requirement to run for president.”

Humming, Harley nodded. “Then start a cult, man. Basically, the same thing but on a smaller scale.”

This would have seemed like a crazy idea a day ago, but now Ponyboy found himself going along with it. “You’re right, maybe I can start a cult.”

Was he kidding? He didn’t know. Maybe. Probably.

“And you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You can do whatever you want, and there are a bunch of drugs involved in the best cults,” Harley continued.

Ponyboy subconsciously ground his teeth together as he thought more about it. “Don’t cults usually have doom days?”

“Yeah, man. Mass suicides seem to be a recurring theme.”

Suddenly, a cult didn’t sound half bad. Not dying alone seemed nice. He could start one, snort more of this cocaine, and die. Not in that order. Actually, maybe. Again, he didn’t know. “Is it bad that I kinda want that?”

Harley shrugged, reaching over to steal one of the lines he made, but Pony knocked his hand away protectively. The other only snatched the bag before he could say anything and helped himself.

After about twenty minutes of constant chatter, he noticed that euphoria wasn’t as strong as before. He rubbed the bottom of his nose with his thumb as he grabbed the straw. Inhaling this time was a lot easier than the first. The cocaine didn’t sting as much, sliding down his sinus like it had been coated in slippery oil, which didn’t make much sense imagery-wise. However, the effects didn’t feel quite as amazing as the first one he did. It made him want to snort more.

Everything was moving too fast. A couple of hours flew by before he knew it. He didn’t know what made him look over to the clock, but at some point, he did. A curse left his mouth. It was almost half past five. Time sure flew by. He struggled to get onto his feet. They tingled almost painfully from them being asleep. He tried not to show his discomfort on his face.

“I gotta get going,” he hissed, looking around for his things. He didn’t bring much, but somehow everything was scattered around.

“Already?” Harley asked.

“Darry’s supposed to pick me up at six.” He swept whatever cocaine was left on the table into the bag and rezipped it. He then started to look for his book, but noticed it had fallen under the table. He grabbed it, but right before he could put the bag back inside the compartment, the door started to open. Ponyboy gasped, panic flashing through him.

He didn’t have much time to react.

The most logical answer would have been to slip it into his sleeve or pocket, but instead, he did the first thing that came to mind. He chucked the bag out the open window and immediately regretted his poor instincts.

Harley gave him an are-you-serious look, but Ponyboy could only give him a sheepish expression back. The door opened fully, and Harley’s mom walked in, her nose turned up when she saw he was still here.

“Are you staying for dinner?” she asked.

Pony shook his head, “I was just about to head home.”

She nodded, but didn’t say much more on the matter, even though it was obvious that the answer satisfied her. She exited the room first, and Ponyboy went back to making sure he had everything. Harley gave him some other stuff too—mystery pills and weed—that he expertly hid in the seams of his clothes or any place he knew the gang wouldn’t look. When he got to the front door, he was met with Harley’s mom again, but this time, she wasn’t empty-handed.

In her hands was a plate of plain donuts with some powdered sugar sprinkled on top. They looked closer to being beignets than those from a donut shop. She practically shoved the plate into his hands; the Saran Wrap was the only layer that prevented him from being covered in the sugar.

“You’d best eat those,” she spoke, somehow coldly. “A boy your age should have meat on his bones.”

“Uh,” Ponyboy started. Just looking at the food made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to give them back, but he knew it would take longer to leave if he did so. He thinly smiled. “Thanks.”

After a nod to Harley, he left the house, scooping up the bag of cocaine and placing it back in its original hiding spot. He picked up his pace on his way back to the random house.

Somehow, he made it back with minutes to spare. Ponyboy sat on the curb, trying not to look like he had just jogged there, but it was hard with how he was sweating, and he was fairly certain the run didn’t cause it. The ground was wet under him, almost enough to soak through his jeans. He tapped his feet impatiently, smudging part of a chalk drawing that a child had recently done. His legs arched over a channel of water that carried leaves to the gutter. Looking at it, he couldn’t help but reminisce. He used to race paper boats along the curve. How he missed the simpler times when all he had to worry about was which activity he was going to play outside.

When Darry pulled up, he hopped in and clicked in his seatbelt after another stern look from the other. The plate sat on his lap, still warm.

“How’d it go?” Darry asked.

“Fine,” Ponyboy replied. There was an urge to go into it, but he held his tongue and tightened his jaw. However, he might have held back too much because saying one-word answers wasn’t that great. Especially, since it gave him more opportunities to grind his teeth together.

Darry continued to stare at him from the corner of his eyes, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “What’d you do?”

“Study.”

“Anything interesting happen?” What was that supposed to mean? Did he know about the coke? No, impossible. Ponyboy was acting pretty normal. This was him just being paranoid. Only, what if he wasn’t acting normally?

“No.” Did that sound alright? Now, he was overthinking it. He started to fidget with the Saran Wrap.

“Are you going to answer with more than one word?” Darry started to sound exasperated.

Ponyboy shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Literally anything.”

“Literally anything,” Ponyboy echoed cheekily but monotonously.

“Do you want to walk home?” Darry threatened after he let out a big sigh, pressing the brake too hard at a stop sign. “I can pull over.”

Ponyboy raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to walk?”

In other words, Do you want me to be unsupervised for that long?

Darry’s jaw tightened, and he continued to drive without a word. After a while, Ponyboy decided to say, “His mom gave me some donuts.”

It was then that Darry noticed the plate and said, “That was nice of her.”

“Yep.”

At a stoplight, Darry looked over at him, noticing a powdery substance near his nose. His fingers tightened on the wheel. “What’s on your face?”

“Huh?” Ponyboy’s back stiffened as he quickly wiped his nose, brain scrambling for an excuse. Has this been on his face the entire time? Why didn’t Harley say anything? He looked away from Darry, just in case he hadn’t noticed how blown his pupils were. “Oh, I, uh, ate one already.”

It must have been a good enough excuse because Darry’s grip loosened. The light turned green, and they continued forward. “I can tell. Was it good?”

“Yeah,” Ponyboy huffed a laugh and sniffled. “They were like crack.”

Perhaps he was playing with fire with that one, but luckily, Darry didn’t catch on. His older brother hummed in amusement. “That good, huh?”

He nodded. “You’ve gotta try one.”

“Maybe after dinner, kiddo.”

“What are we eating?” He wasn’t hungry, yet as Darry spoke, he found himself invested in what he had to say. Usually, hearing about meatloaf wouldn’t be so interesting. He asked about what was in it, where he got the recipe from (he knew it was their mom’s, but he just wanted to talk), and more. “You make a really good loaf. You can open a restaurant.”

Darry chuckled, feeling like he got whiplash from the change in Ponyboy. “It takes a lot more than a good loaf to open a successful restaurant.”

“You can specialize in different meatloaves. Make that what grabs people in. You can make them have different, weird ingredients. And, and, and—”

Darry held up his hands, which was weird because they were still on the road. “Whoa, cowboy, slow down. Never knew you could talk about meatloaves for fifteen minutes straight.”

Fifteen minutes?

It was then Ponyboy noticed that the truck wasn’t moving anymore. They were back home, and his brain spun at the realization. He swallowed thickly, cringing at the awful taste at the back of his throat. He hadn’t realized he had been talking for that long. How had he not realized? Worst of all, he probably could have gone for another hour or two if it hadn’t already been pointed out.

By now, he didn’t feel as good as before. He wanted to snort or smoke more cocaine to make up for it and to get rid of this taste, but he couldn’t do so in front of his brother.

“Well, I just realized I haven’t used my voice much this week,” Ponyboy blurted, rubbing his nose again. “Had to make up for it.”

Darry shook his head. “I swear, you can talk more than Soda or Two-Bit sometimes.”

Was that an insult? Ponyboy almost accidentally snapped that out, but he didn’t. Instead, he released the seatbelt and climbed out of the truck. Hopefully, Darry didn’t find that weird.

“Dinner is in an hour,” Darry called out after him.

Ponyboy pretended not to hear him as he beelined to his room to hide his new stash. Would it be obvious if he snorted another line? Maybe if he smoked some weed, he would be hungry enough to eat. Yeah, that sounded good. He didn’t know how they would interact together, but he was used to experimenting.

What mattered the most was that he felt better and was having fun again. Why would he ever stop?