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The door’s always unlocked, Johnny knows this. Darry never made a secret of the couch being an open invitation.
But lifting his arm to turn the handle makes his ribs shift and he chokes on pained breaths. The lamp in the living room window sends a rectangle of glorious amber warmth onto the creaky wood porch. The gang must be in.
That’s half good, half bad. Good because maybe there'd be some leftovers in the fridge he could eat without Darry noticin' but there was no way they’d miss the blood from his nose.
He'd tried to wash it off but the pond next to the lot was all frozen over so he used his shirt as best he could. It didn't matter much anyway, the split lip was about as obvious as a greaser in a pack of Socs.
This was a bad idea, ya should've just slept in the lot, it’s not that cold out.
But that light from the window is like a square of heaven and he raps on the door instead, ignoring the aching of his knuckles. It takes less energy but it’s still more than he’s got.
He can hear the muttering inside as nobody moves to get the door until Darry - must be Darry from how loud his steps are - tugs it open.
"Johnny? Whatchu knocking for?"
"Maybe he's selling girl scout cookies. I'll take a box of them peanut butter ones!"
There's a soft oof as someone nails Two-Bit with a pillow and then scrambling as he retaliates.
Darry shifts and Johnny looks back up at him, "Where were you? Pony missed you for dinner."
"I..." he stammers but Darry just waits patiently for him to find his words, "I was gonna sleep in the lot, maybe I should-"
"Nah," He has a hand on Johnny's shoulder to keep him from running, "there's always a spot for ya here."
The house is warm but he is so cold it nearly stings.
"Pon'," Darry calls over the TV, "Johnny's here."
Ponyboy turns around from where he's sandwiched on the couch between Soda and Two-Bit. There's a smile on his face until-
"Johnny, what the hell happened to you?"
And that's when Darry gets his first real look at the kid in the light.
Johnny feels everyone's eyes fix on him and he wants to squirm, to run, to hide. Attention wasn't good, attention brought Socs and his parents and the teachers.
But Darry just sighs, far too familiar with this all, "Come on. Let's get ya cleaned up."
He's gotta admit by now his face is really starting to ache and his ribs feel like they're being stepped on so maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Darry walks him into the bathroom and makes him sit on the toilet lid.
The man rustles through the cabinet, his broad shoulders crammed in the opening. Finding his prize, he reaches out with a cloth to wipe the rusty stains from his face.
"Jesus, Johnny, you're freezin'." He winces, "Here, why don't you take a shower and then we can take a look at ya. I'll grab some of Pony's clothes you can wear."
On any other night, Johnny would have refused. They didn't have much hot water left and he should save it but right now, he's so damn cold he thinks his brain's frozen over so he nods. Just this once.
Ponyboy is on Darry the second he closes the bathroom door behind him.
"Is he alright? What happened?"
Darry holds his brother out by the shoulders, "Cool your jets, colt. I don't rightly know. He's about half a minute from becoming a Popsicle so he's warming up in the shower. And that knucklehead was gonna sleep in the lot! He'd have bled out or froze to death." He mutters softly, with no heat behind the insult.
"Once I get a good look at him, I'll tell you. He's spooked bad, so something big musta happened. Why don't you go make him some Ovaltine?"
He ruffles Pony's hair, who gives him an annoyed look but agrees anyway.
The pipes squeal as the water kicks on and Darry rustles up a pair of Ponyboy's old sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. Even still they'd be too big on Johnny but that was a problem a lot harder to solve.
When the water finally stops, he knocks softly on the door, "Hey Johnny, I've got some clothes for you. Mind if I just put 'em on the sink?"
Without a response, he opens the door just a crack but a hand reaches through and snatches the stack.
"Oh." He jerks back, "Well, when you're done, I wanna take a look at your nose, alright?"
The door shuts softly this time, Johnny saying okay without speaking.
Ponyboy's lurking nearby, the steaming mug in his hand and a fearful glint to his eyes.
"He's alright, Pony. Here," he takes the mug, "go back to watching TV. I don't want Johnny thinking we're ganging up on him."
"Yeah, alright."
"Hey," Darry calls to his brother’s retreating form. Ponyboy looks back, crestfallen, and he gives him a gentle smile, "I know you're worried about him. That's what makes you such a good greaser, Pon’. You look out for your friends."
The boy practically preens at the praise and straightens his shoulders.
The latch creaks and Johnny's big wide eyes peer out at him. His hair is tousled, the wet ends brushing his neck.
"Come on, let's get you looked at."
Though Johnny tries his hardest, every time the rubbing alcohol touches his skin, he winces. And every time Darry apologies for it.
That's worse. That makes him feel like he's burdening them, that he never should have come here. The pond on the lot was frozen but he coulda melted some snow or something instead.
"Now, you wanna tell me what happened? Your old man?"
He shakes his head and oh, does that make him dizzy.
"Hey now," Darry catches his shoulder, "your bell get rung?"
"Just some Socs." Johnny mutters, failing to stop a tremor.
It ain't fair that the Socs go after Johnny. He gets banged up enough at home. Nobody wants to get jumped but at least Dally and the older boys can swing back well enough. Johnny can fight hard when he's got no other choice but against a couple of Socs, he's no better than a blunt switch.
"How many? You know any of 'em?"
"Five."
Five? Darry bites his tongue hard to keep from cursing them out right there. Two on one was bad enough but five against one? That was downright malicious. They were lucky Johnny even made it home.
His nose starts sluggishly bleeding again and Darry pulls his chin down, "Let it bleed. It'll stop on its own."
There's a number of thin slices along his collarbone and ribs where someone got a little too zealous with a blade. His lip's fat, along with one of his eyes. There's bruises across his arms and legs - bootprints, looks like. But he's alive and right now, that seemed enough of a miracle to just about send Darry to a church.
He accidentally bumps Johnny's foot when reaching for the gauze and the boy nearly chokes on the blood in his throat as he hisses.
Making eye contact with Johnny's always been hard but it's as if Darry's some Soc trying to make trouble.
"Johnny, can I look?" He finally just asks.
There's a nod, and Darry's certain now that Johnny's had his head slammed because he turns that horrible shade of grey again.
Lifting the edge of the sweatpants slowly, knowing how the boy is spooked like a wild horse, he curses. Johnny's ankle is twice the size of his other, all bruised and red.
"Those damn Socs do this to ya?"
"No, my dad."
Darry is already struggling to keep his head above water with bills and food for his brothers but he'd starve if it meant Johnny was outta that damn house.
"It doesn't seem broken, I don't think even you tuff greaser would have gotten here if it was. I'll wrap it. I think we got some ice in the freezer still."
Darry smiles at him, and Johnny can see Mrs Curtis’ kind face looking back.
Ponyboy'd fallen off his bike one summer and broken his wrist. That was back when Mr and Mrs Curtis were still around and she'd swept him up and off to the clinic. He'd come back with this giant cast on his hand and pouted the whole six weeks because he couldn't go riding with Johnny.
But Johnny had secretly been jealous. The tenderness Mrs Curtis had had for her son was so unlike what he'd lived through, he wished Pony would break something else so they could stay inside all day watching TV as she brought them ham sandwiches and Pepsi and ice cream.
His clothes started to fit a little better that summer and he wasn't so cold all the damn time. But then Pony's cast had come off and Johnny's dad had sobered enough to ask where his son had been staying the whole summer.
The clothes fitting right didn't stay for long.
Johnny'd broken bones before. Lots, mostly ribs since you could hide 'em under clothes. His nose was crooked after his dad threw him down the cellar steps. He hadn't said anything to the gang but they could all tell who did it. He'd told Pony once that maybe if he broke it again he could set it right.
Darry's been talking the entire time and his ears flush when he realizes he hasn't listened to a word. A tight feeling enfolds his ankle and he looks up from his lap - just a little - to see him put the pin through the bandage wrapped snug.
“You need any around your ribs?”
“Nah, just bruised.”
Exhaustion tugs at him and he thinks of that great big feather bed Pony's always talking about, the one with soft sheets and a quilt made of patches of sunset colors.
"The gang's watching TV, you wanna join them? We should get your ankle up anyway."
Too overwhelmed to make any coherent decisions, he just lets Darry slip an arm under his.
They hobble out into the living room where everyone glances up. Whatever look Darry gives them is enough to shut up any questions before they're all shoving away to make room for Johnny between Pony and Soda.
The motion of sitting down on the couch sends his dizziness rocketing. His shoulders slump back into the cushion as Soda gives a bark of alarm.
"Johns, you okay?"
But the world is still spinning even with his eyes shut. A hand, smaller and gentler this time, tugs his neck forward until he's bent in half, staring down at the floor through his knees.
"Think he got his bell rung," Darry explains, "All the moving probably shook him up like a Pepsi."
The hand - Soda's hand - strokes his neck with a thumb, "Hey Johnny, when's the last time you had somethin' to eat?"
He tries to shake his head because he can't remember but that makes the dizziness worse so he bites down and murmurs, "Don't know."
Darry curses, "Ponyboy, come help me in the kitchen, will ya? Johnny, we got some tomato soup left. You want a grilled cheese too?"
The idea of warm food stirs him enough to manage, "yeah."
"Bring a glass of water when you come back too." Soda's voice calls.
The TV has been turned down and even Two-Bit and Steve are keeping quiet so he knows that he must look like a mess. Shame erupts in him and he squirms out of Soda's hold.
"Whoa, where you going?"
He staggers upright by some miracle, "I ruined your night, I'll just go back to the lot-"
"You were planning on sleeping in the lot tonight? It's freezin' out there." Dally pipes up.
"I'm intrudin'-" he glances out the window at the dark and shivers thinking about how miserable it'll be.
But he's a tough greaser, he can handle it.
Soda's hand smooths down his still-damp hair - when did he get so close again - "You ain't ever intruding, Johnny."
His eyes shift up to meet Soda's and it's so nice and warm inside the house. He doesn’t want to leave this and his resolve crumbles. The older boy sweeps him back onto the couch, bandaged ankle propped up on a pillow on the table.
"Two-Bit," he nudges him, "get up and change the channel to whatever Johnny wants to watch. There any westerns on tonight?"
"I think they're showing Gunsmoke again. Something about a gang of ranchers gone bad."
"That's all of them, Two-Bit." Steve snorts.
Pony returns halfway through the episode, a plate and glass in hand, "You're lucky. Darry never lets us eat on the couch."
"That's 'cause you always spill something on it!" His older brother hollers back from where he's washing the pan, "Sorry if the bread's a little burnt."
It's nearly blackened and the soup's from a can but he couldn't care less and scrapes the last of it clean. There's a little more cheer in Darry's eyes as he takes the empty dishes back.
They all squash closer now, the night growing even darker outside. After the first few episodes of Gunsmoke, Dally gets fed up and changes it back to Get Smart.
The clock on the wall hits 11:30 and Steve, Two-Bit, and Dally all head off in Steve's car for home. Darry sees them out, making sure that beat-up junker would even start in this weather.
"Dar," Soda whispers when he comes back in, "c'mere."
He creeps around the couch and finds Ponyboy and Johnny both slumped against Soda, breathing deeply in sleep.
When he just laughs silently, his younger brother glares, "You gonna help me or not?"
Darry rolls his eyes and carefully tugs Ponyboy up into his arms. He's nearly too big for him to do this anymore and that is its own kind of ache.
Soda grabs Johnny, the smaller boy an easier burden, and they both set them down in Pony's bed.
"Whatcha think they're dreaming of?" Soda asks, tugging the door shut.
"Ponyboy? Probably Paul Newman riding off into the sunset. And Johnny?" Darry pauses, "I don't know. But I hope it's something good for a change. Now come on, I'm not letting you sleep on the couch. Plenty of room in with me."
He knuckles Soda's head gently and savors that he can still make his brother laugh.
---
Soda's quietly putzing in the kitchen when Johnny manages to stagger out from the bedroom. Pony wouldn't be up until the very last minute and Johnny was hoping to sneak out of the house.
He creeps past the kitchen, watching Soda's back carefully in case he turns. But in his hazy, exhausted attempt at focus, he forgets the creaky floorboard.
That damn floorboard had caught all the Curtis boys out of curfew before. They probably kept it just because it made such a good burglar alarm.
"Dar? That you?" Soda murmurs, drying his hands on a towel. "Oh, hey Johnny. I was fixing Darry and Pony's lunches. You want a sandwich for school?"
"I was gonna-" his eyes dart towards the door.
Soda's gaze follows and he sighs, "well at least have some breakfast first. Glory knows that'll probably be your only proper meal today."
He's right. Even when his mom remembers enough to cook, there usually ain't enough for him to have more than a bite or two.
The idea of eating feels impossible right now. But Soda's offered and it would be rude to turn him down.
He slumps down at the table, dark eyes glassy. He nods at some vague question he's asked and then lays his forehead on the cool formica.
Soda abandons his plunder through the icebox and is next to him in a second, slipping a hand between his head and the table. His hiss tells Johnny all he needs to know.
"You're running hot. Bet something got ya in the cold last night."
Johnny shudders and gives a soft moan.
"Think you can make it to the couch?"
He limps, bad ankle dragging behind him with a trailing streak of pain, and folds down onto the worn fabric cushions.
"I'll get you a blanket, why don't you lie down and try to sleep again?"
Johnny flops over onto the pillow and falls immediately back to sleep.
Soda can hear his older brother get up - the clattering in the bathroom and grumbling at the clock. Darry walks into the kitchen in his work clothes, overalls patched and shirt not quite white anymore.
"Shh!" Soda hisses, "Johnny's on the couch. Poor buddy's sick as a dog."
Darry's face cracks when he sees the boy curled up under a blanket, shivering still.
"Soda, can you-"
His brother pats his shoulder, "I already had the day off work, I'll watch 'im."
A sigh of relief whistles through Darry's lips. They really couldn't afford him missing another day of work, "Thanks, Soda. I know that probably ain't the way you wanted to spend your day but-"
"Nah, don't worry 'bout it. Getting to watch whatever I want on the TV without you and Pon’ arguing about it? Sounds like heaven."
"I'll bring home burgers tonight for everyone seeing as it's Friday. I'll get one for Johnny too. We gotta keep him out of that beater’s house as long as we can."
"I agree with you on that one, Dar. I made you some breakfast, here." He slides the plate in front of his brother. "And your tin's got lunch in it already."
Darry's brows crease, scrutinizing his brother, "What'd you break?"
"What do you mean?"
"Soda, you're never this nice to me. Ponyboy, yes but this ain't right. You feel okay too?"
His brother sighs and glances towards the living room, "Just thinking about Johnny. That boy's got no one. We've got each other, that's worth a helluva lot. Sometimes I forget that we got it good. Sure there's things I'd want different but we ain't getting beat up at home, or beat up at school. We have a house that only leaks when it rains real hard and hot water - even if my older brother likes to hog it all." He knocks his shoulder into Darry's.
"You're right about all that except one." They hear the blankets shift in the other room and then settle. "Johnny's not all alone. He's got us."
The early morning silence settles back over the kitchen. The sun's only just starting to peek over the lot and it makes the snow glitter.
"I gotta run," Darry shoves his feet into his work boots, "Make sure Pony takes his jacket today. 'Supposed to be freezin' all day."
"Aye aye, Skipper." Soda salutes goofily and hands his brother his lunch tin.
Darry smiles, delicate in the dawn, "Now Gilligan, don't go crashin' the Minnow while I'm gone."
The door opens in a burst of chill and then shuts. Soda shivers with it and walks over to check on Johnny. His cheeks are flushed and he's breathing awful hard.
Darry said he'd been smacked around by some Socs but he didn't say it was that bad. Did one of 'em put a foot through his rib?
"Soda?" A quiet voice startles him.
Ponyboy's standing in the hall, eyes narrowed from the light and t-shirt slipping off a shoulder.
"Hey Pon’, you're up early." He tousles the already sleep-ruffled hair.
Pony gives a half-hearted swat at his brother’s arm but the energy isn't there.
"Is Johnny alright? When I woke up, he wasn't next to me. Thought he snuck out."
"He tried to. He's not feeling too hot so he's gonna stay here with me today. But you gotta get to school so come on, I'll fix you some breakfast."
"We got any chocolate cake left?"
"'Course. When don't we have cake?"
---
Ponyboy's off to school and Soda's hanging the last of Darry's socks on the drying rack when the lump on the couch finally stirs.
He turns the radio in the kitchen off, the soft music fading away.
A mangled mess of black hair pops up from the cushions and he grins, "Hiya Johnnycakes, how ya feeling?"
"Soda?" The boy croaks, eyes squinting trying to spot him in the bright light.
"That's what I'm called, unless somebody changed it and didn't tell me."
"Where's Ponyboy?"
Soda turns back and pins a sock to the rack, "He's off at school, but he'll be back to check on you later."
He can practically hear them gears in Johnny's head creaking.
"School?"
"Yeah, buddy. It's Friday, the last day of the week. For Pony anyways."
"Oh no," Johnny pales even more than his sickly color. He searches around for his tattered sneakers and jacket.
"Whoa, slow your roll there." Sodapop walks closer, "where you going?"
"I gotta get to school, my dad'll, if they call him, I'll-"
"C'mon, sit back down." The older boy's hands easily push him back onto the couch.
"But-" Johnny's wide eyes are full of terror - the kind no boy's should ever have.
"Don't you worry. Darry called the school this morning for you. And Pony'll bring your schoolwork home."
"Why, why would you?"
Soda's lips twist sadly, "'Cuz that's what greasers do, Johnny. We look out for each other. It ain't fair your dad never taught you that one. Now, truly, how are you feeling?"
The boy coughs violently in response, folding his chin to his chest as it rattles.
"Glory, I'll take that as a ‘bad.’" Soda pats his back, "you think you could eat something? Drink something?"
Those big eyes meet his again nervously and he smiles, trying to ease that anxiety.
"Do you got any-" Johnny starts and then shakes his head to stop himself.
There ain't much he would downright ask for and Soda can take a pretty good guess, "Say, I was about to make myself some Ovaltine since it's so damn cold out. You want a cup?"
The flicker of appreciation in Johnny's eyes is enough to tell him he was right on the money.
He uses the last of the milk and scribbles it down on the list next to the phone. The stove takes ages to fire up in this weather and he steps away from the pot for a second to check on Johnny.
Who's curled up against the armrest of the couch, face smushed into it, asleep.
He and Ponyboy are so similar like this, too young to already know that the world will always treat them as nothing more than poor kids from the wrong side of town.
The milk warms, steam curling up in the daylight and he pours two cups then stirs the mix in - with an extra scoop for Johnny who liked his extra chocolatey.
The mug makes a soft clink when he sets it down on the coffee table, taking extra care to put one of Two-Bit's magazines underneath it - Darry always hated rings on the wood.
Johnny's wheezing into his arm somethin' awful and as much as Soda wants to let him sleep, he really ought to try to coax some medicine into him.
"Hey Johns," he gently jostles his shoulder, "I got your Ovaltine."
The eyes that meet his seem more distant, more exhausted than they had been only minutes ago.
"I hate to break it to you, little buddy, but I think you need to take some medicine."
The look of disgust he gets makes him chuckle, "Just like Pon’. He hates it too. But after that you can wash it down with all of that." He points at the cup.
"Fine." Johnny mutters, hacking roughly.
They've got some cold medicine from when Darry got sick last year and he checks the date - still good. It's the awful cherry kind and he knows it's going to be a fight to get the kid to keep it down.
But, he sighs, it's that or feeling worse all day.
When he returns with it, Johnny doesn't fight. Not one bit. He takes the spoon, swallows the syrup down without so much as a wince, and then sips at his cocoa half-heartedly.
If his not arguin' over the medicine was reason enough for Soda to worry, Johnny not guzzling his milk down was a damn train horn blaring in his ear.
He must be feeling pretty lousy. Normally the boy could put away three cups of the stuff.
Johnny sets the drink gingerly back in its place and then flops back down. He shivers, tugging the blanket up and sleeps.
---
"Leav’ 'm lone."
Soda peers over the top of the comic book he's flipping through, "What was that, Johnny?"
"I don't wanna," he gives a heavy breath that chokes at the end, "fight. J'st leav’ 'm alone."
His shoulders are hunched up around his neck like he's trying to make himself smaller and Soda thinks back to how he looked last night, the ankle and the bruises.
Damn Socs.
"Hey, hey Johnny." He calls softly, "Wake up, you're dreamin'."
"No!" Johnny abruptly shouts, flying upright with a cry of pain that dissolves into a racket of coughs.
"Whoa!" Sodapop lurches out of the recliner to catch him, "Just take a breath. You got plenty of air around ya. This ain't outer space."
Once those coughs subside to wheezes again, he sits back onto the coffee table.
"I know it really ain't none of my business but you wanna tell me what happened last night?"
Johnny's eyes meet his and then flash away with a glint of tough resolve. It's the look of a greaser - one way older than the boy sitting on his couch.
"My dad was drinkin' again, tossed me out the front door. That's where I rolled my ankle. Landed on it wrong or somethin'. So I went to the lot."
"Why didn'tcha come here? You know we've always got a place for you."
"I... I didn't want Ponyboy to get sick of me."
Soda laughs. He actually laughs. "Pony? Get sick of you? You could be handcuffed together for a year and my kid brother wouldn't get sick of you. And you know Darry likes having you around. You're a mean hand at poker."
Johnny looks down, a glint of pink coloring his pale cheeks.
"I went to the lot and then that red Corsair started driving 'round. I tried to run for the house but with my ankle-" he pauses, "there was five of 'em. Said they were there to make a point. I told them I didn't want a fight."
It's the most he's said to Soda ever. Johnny wasn't known for being talkative. Raised in a house like his, talking didn't bring anything good.
But if this was how Soda got him to talk, he'd rather never hear Johnny say another word.
He should be talking about football and movies and the pretty girl in science class. Not telling Soda how he got jumped by some rich folk who do it only for the thrill of bloodied knuckles.
"But they said I was a message." He meets Soda's eyes, "They want Ponyboy. They, they-"
His breath catches and that damn hacking starts up again.
"Hey, hey. They ain't going to get Pony. Not with Dally or Two-Bit around. And especially not with me and Darry around."
That sends a spark of panic through the kid, "Who's getting Pony from school? You're here with me and not there. Is it Steve? You know he's always late and what if Pony tries to walk home again?"
"Darry's got ‘im." Soda grins, "And he's bringing home burgers."
Johnny's stomach growls on cue, reminding him he hasn't eaten since last night.
"I'll make a PBJ for you and then you can sleep the rest of the afternoon before everyone shows up."
Johnny only nods, reticent once more. Soda doesn't mind.
Sometimes there just ain't words for certain things.
---
The TV's softly playing some show Sodapop's only half aware of when he hears Darry fumbling to open the door.
"Darry, come on! It's cold!" Pony moans distantly.
Before they can turn the knob, the door opens to show their brother, a finger held over his lips to be quiet. "He's sleeping so don't go waking him up."
The blast of frigid air as it shuts makes Johnny shift and shiver again.
Darry winces as he looks at him. Their boiler's already working hard just to keep this place from icing over. Any higher and it'll blow out.
"Pony," he murmurs, "why don’tcha grab another blanket for Johnny? And then you oughta start your homework so you don't have to do it when he's awake."
Ponyboy nods and, after fetching the big quilt off his bed, takes his backpack to the kitchen table. There's a thump of a textbook hitting it and a quiet groan of displeasure at the presumed assignment.
Darry crouches down to see Johnny's face, "how's he doing?"
"He's been hacking up a lung all day." Soda whispers, "He didn't even fight when I gave him some medicine."
His older brother whistles low, "Poor buddy. Probably feels awful between that and him getting beat up."
"He said it was that red Corsair again. They're after Ponyboy."
Darry flinches back, "Pony? What do they want with Pony?"
"He didn't say. Was real upset about it though."
"What could the kid have done to get the Socs riled up enough to send a message like that through Johnny?"
"It's the Socs, Dar. Pony could have just walked past 'em and they'd still find a reason to jump him. Where's the burgers?"
"Two-Bit said he'd bring them. Pony was real anxious to see Johnny and didn't want to wait at the diner."
"We're real lucky they've got each other." Soda's gaze drifts to the light from the kitchen, "In case..."
Darry's hand clamps firm around his shoulder, "It ain't gonna happen, Sodapop. We ain't going anywhere."
His brother's throat works fiercely and he nods, "'Course, 'course. Ugh," Soda shoves him off, "you reek. Go shower before Pony uses all the hot water."
Darry shoots him a toothy smile and Soda has the sinking feeling that mischief is on his mind. He better watch his dimes at poker tonight.
Hearing the water pipes squeal, Soda sits down in the kitchen next to Pony, who's scowling at the book like it's personally attacked him.
He doesn't notice his brother beside him, still just staring at the problems on the page.
"Pon’? You alright?"
He jerks his head up sharply, "What? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."
"Hard homework tonight? Don't go asking me for help, you know I'm terrible at math. Darry can help ya with that."
"No." He mumbles, tapping the pencil on his notebook until the lead cracks.
Soda folds his arms, "I can see straight through you, little colt. Now what's really bothering you?"
Pony sits back against the chair carefully - too carefully. Soda's eyes narrow and he reaches forward to tug his shirt up.
His back has a wide bruise square in the middle of it, inky and dark.
"Glory," He breathes but Pony shoves him off and yanks the shirt back into place.
"It's nothing!"
"That-" he jabs a finger, "is not nothing! What happened, Pony? You get jumped?"
"I said it doesn't matter!" His younger brother shouts, a glimmer of warning in his eyes.
Soda's never been one for caution and he can't help but poke the bees' nest. "Ponyboy Curtis, tell me what happened. If it was those Socs-"
"You ain't Darry, Soda! You don't get to tell me what to do!"
"Listen here you little-"
"What in God's name are you two arguing about?" Darry snaps, hair still dripping wet.
He must have heard them through the wall and come running.
"Ponyboy's got a big ol' bruise on his back and there's no way he put it there himself!"
"It doesn't matter!" Pony snarls.
Darry turns to him, eyes dark and solemn, "Pony, if someone jumped ya-"
"Nobody jumped me, alright? The Socs threw me into a door, slammed my back into the handle, okay? That answer enough for you two?"
A blast of cold air spills into the room as Darry straightens his shoulders. No, no, that chill wasn't from his change of posture - the front door's slamming shut. They spin around to see who's coming in but there’s no one.
"Johnny!" Soda cries, spotting the empty couch.
Darry curses and scrubs his hair with the towel harder, "Kid must've gotten spooked by all the damn shouting."
"He left his shoes and his coat, he just took off!"
"We'll check the lot," Darry commands as he's throwing on his boots.
"Pony, anywhere else he'd go?"
"Johnny never goes anywhere by himself but here, the lot, or school. And his dad's but I can't see him running there."
Soda nods and grabs the truck keys, "I'll start driving around."
"Pony, grab Dad's old coat and come with me. The Socs could still be out looking for you."
"It's freezin', Darry. Who's gonna be out in this?"
"Anger burns hotter than you think, Pony."
---
The sky's getting dark, turning purple and blue as the sun sinks below the houses.
Streetlamps cast pools of amber in the dim. Ice glistens like molten gold and Pony has to stare down at the ground to keep from falling.
Even Darry's work boots are struggling to grip and their pace slows considerably.
It's no use calling Johnny's name, he isn't going to respond. Somebody shouting your name ain't a good thing on the East Side.
The lot's covered with footprints and the ruins of snow forts. But Darry crouches down and reaches out a shivering hand. His gaze tracks up and across to the narrow band of bushes that separates the lot from the next house.
They make sure their steps make noise as they walk closer - Johnny was a fighter when startled.
Ponyboy pulls back the dead branches and a blur flies out.
Darry catches their wrist, stopping the stick before it slams him in the ribs.
"Whoa, Johnny." He soothes. "We're not the Socs."
"Darry?"
Johnny's teeth aren't chattering and Darry has walked home in the winter too many times to know when cold is too cold.
"Pony, give 'im the coat."
"No," Johnny steps back, "I'll just go home-"
Ponyboy slips the coat over his shoulders, "How many times we gotta tell you Johnny, you're always welcome at ours."
The boy’s throat bobs and after a moment, he nods. He slips his arms into the coat sleeves gingerly. It dwarves his frame, swallowing him up in its wool like some kind of great beast.
"Now don't squirm." Darry tells him just as he sweeps Johnny up into his arms. "You don't have any shoes on. No way I'm letting you walk home."
He just coughs roughly into the older boy's shoulder and sags. The weather isn't helping him get better so Darry picks up his pace.
Their house is in sight and they start walking as fast as they can manage on the slippery pavement. Johnny's only wheezing softly now and it makes Darry's heart thunder in his chest. He’s not shivering and that ain’t good.
That's when Ponyboy's face whips to the side with a grunt of pain as a ball of ice slams into his cheek. He turns, a curse ready for his middle brother, and sees a red Corsair instead.
"Dar-"
"I see 'em, Pon'."
"Aw, what's this?" One steps forward, brushing his wet hand off on his pants. "Our little greaser get stuck in the cold?"
Another flips the shearling collar of his coat up, "And who do we have here? A pony. Hey Fred, you think grease freezes?"
"I don't know but why don't we find out."
Darry nearly tosses Johnny at Pony, who stumbles to keep the other boy upright.
"Pon', stay outta this one. Keep Johnny safe."
The and you too goes unsaid but clearly heard.
"Big brother standing up for his kid siblings, how cute. Well, it's five on one, greaser. You like those odds?"
One socks a swing at Darry who easily ducks under it and returns with his own. His fist slams into the Soc's jaw with a resounding crack, teeth slamming together.
The Soc spits blood into the snow and sneers. Two of his friends yank Darry's arms behind him with a harsh twist.
"Oh, we got a veteran here, boys. Must be a real piece of work then. Or does most of your experience come from fighting your little brothers?"
Their attention swings to the pair of greasers standing a few paces away. Pony's blood runs even colder than he feels and Johnny starts mumbling "no, no.”
The Socs manage to keep Darry from breaking free of their hold as Fred prowls towards the boys.
A switch flicks into the cold air, "Well I do know that blood freezes, but maybe I ought to see it again just to make sure."
Darry snarls and thrashes in the Socs' arms which earns him a punch to the jaw. His lip splits, dripping blood down onto his coat.
Soda'd spent so long patching that coat back together. Now he'd have to wash blood outta it too.
Pony steps in front of Johnny, trying to keep himself from trembling. Adrenaline was a helluva drug but it truly was frigid outside.
"Looks like the message got lost in translation here." One of the Socs chuckles darkly. "Should I put it in greaser terms for you? We don't want your barefoot friend. We want you, Pony. And now you got no one to hide behind."
Johnny's eyes go big and wide and terrified. He scrambles back but his bare feet slip on the ice and he only narrowly misses cracking his head on the concrete.
Darry's rage flares and he kicks out backwards at the guys holding him. There's a crunch as the heavy-soled boot slams the Soc in the kneecap. The other lets go in shock and Darry's fist meets his nose before he realizes it.
But then Pony gives a hoarse cry and his attention whips over to his little brother.
There's a cut beading up ruby on his chin and the bright red circle of a hard punch to the cheek.
It's this momentary lapse that allows the four other Socs to tackle Darry to the ground, kneeling on his tailbone. With his face pressed into the ice, he looks up.
Ponyboy stands over Johnny's crumpled form, hands raised into fists that shake something awful. It's the picture of brittle but necessary bravery and it makes Darry's heart feel like he's lost more than just his parents.
His little brother shouldn't have to fight like this, Johnny shouldn't have to fear a loud word, Sodapop shouldn't have to work like a dog at sixteen just to keep their boiler running.
Ponyboy's childhood, Johnny's innocence, hell even he and Soda's education. All lost to this damn town and the divide splintering it apart.
Pony holds his ground against the Socs, even though his eyes flick around like a cornered animal.
Loyalty ain't something only Socs got. Greasers have it - and there’s none stronger than Ponyboy and Johnny's.
Tires screech and voices join the skirmish. For a moment, Darry thinks it's more Socs and that this truly might be it.
"Get off 'im!" Soda shouts as the rest of the gang piles out from the truck. There's a scramble of footsteps and Pony's relieved voice.
Darry's hauled bodily off the ground, his head spinning at the sudden change.
"Hey there, Superman. Looks like Lois Lane saved your ass this time." Two-Bit smiles toothily.
"Johnny, Pony-" he rasps.
"Little shook up but they're alright. Come on, we gotta get you all back to the house."
The moment Darry's got his feet back, a copper-haired form barrels into him.
The whole gang goes silent as Ponyboy sobs into his brother's chest. They hadn't seen him cry like this since that day at the cemetery with the stone etched Curtis.
"Hey, hey, little colt." Darry runs a hand through those greased-up locks, "We're alright, we're all okay."
"I thought they was gonna-" Ponyboy chokes.
"But they didn't." He feels a nod against his ribs and cups the back of his brother’s head. "Come on, let's get warmed up. Two-Bit, you bring those burgers?"
"You bet your ass I did, Superman. I didn’t want to be responsible for ruining your Friday."
Johnny's not panicking anymore but his lungs are seizing in the frigid dry air. Soda convinces him to climb onto his back, the pair an awkward silhouette in the growing night.
The house is blessedly warm and the gang's quick to make the three sit down on the couch. Soda's got a wet cloth to wipe their faces with and another spoonful of medicine for Johnny.
The poor boy's toes are white and when Darry sees 'em, he barks at Steve to fill a bowl with water quick. Johnny doesn't make a sound when they slip his feet into it but his jaw clenches.
"Pony," Dally pipes up in the quiet living room, "why did those Socs have it so bad for you? You steal one of their cars or something?"
"It's nothing." He answers and Soda feels the stirring of a very familiar argument.
Dally just fixes him with an unbelieving stare and Ponyboy deflates.
"The history teacher gave us a project to do. He put me with a Soc."
"What's so wrong about that? Half your school's Socs."
"Yeah but they're not all named Peggy."
Dally whistles low, "They were after you because your teacher paired you with a girl? What'd she do, fall madly in love with you the second she saw you?"
"I don't know, Dal. They're just mad that a greaser's working with a Soc. They musta seen us in the library."
"Those bastards are getting gutsier by the minute."
The gang nods in agreement, thinking of all the times they’ve come back with a busted lip or black eyes because of the Socs.
Johnny coughs softly, as if trying not to disrupt the room.
"Hey Johns," Soda feels his forehead, "you're still feeling warm. You think you could eat something and then sleep?"
"Oh yeah! The burgers!" Two-Bit exclaims, reaching into his pack for a slightly mangled paper bag. He opens it but Darry clears his throat. "Yeah, yeah, in the kitchen, we know."
They all collectively shuffle into the small room, cramming around the table. Pony's chin has stopped bleeding but his cheek's already turning purple. Darry's busted lip makes him look younger, more reckless and less burdened, as he holds a bag of frozen peas to it. Even Johnny seems more lively under the warm light.
Dally plucks the pickles off Ponyboy's burger much to the boy's dismay, "Quit swatting at me, Pony, you don't like 'em!"
"Yes, I do!"
"No, you don't!"
"It's Two-Bit who doesn't like them, not me. Take them off his burger and leave mine alone!"
Said boy looks up sheepishly, burger halfway to his mouth - with pickles visible on the edge.
"Wait, yours still got pickles on it!"
Two-Bit shrugs his shoulders, "I like 'em, but when Dally says you don't like somethin', you just agree."
Johnny wolfs down his whole burger and part of Dally’s (with all the pickles). Darry and Soda share a secret grin at the boy’s hunger - back to normal.
"Alright, who's up for some poker?" Steve splits the deck with one hand.
Darry, Soda, and Two-Bit all toss a couple of dimes onto the table. Ponyboy fishes out a few nickels and pennies, having spent most of his allowance on popcorn at the movie house.
Johnny stares straight down at his lap, embarrassed at the emptiness in his pockets. But when he glances back up, there's suddenly a pile of coins in front of him too.
He opens his mouth to turn them down but Soda grins, "we all know you're gonna take 'em all anyways. Might as well start your kitty off purring."
And he does. He wipes the floor with them, racking up favors once all their coins were in his pile. Even wrapped up in Ponyboy’s quilt like a marshmallow, he can bluff better than a damn mountain.
“For someone who hardly says a word, you’re dangerously good at poker.” Dally teases. He’s the only one left in the hand, twirling an unlit cigarette in his fingers. “Fine, I fold.”
Johnny’s lips twist in the faintest mischievous grin as he lays a low pair on the table. The gang all groans but Soda whistles, “Damn, kid. Takes a tuff greaser to knock Dally down a peg.”
The boy’s ears blush red and Darry tugs on one playfully. Two-Bit gripes that he doesn’t have anything left to bet so they switch to playing Go Fish. This is Sodapop’s game and by the time the sun finally disappears, Ponyboy’s lost so many times that he’s on dish duty for the next two months.
It's getting late and Johnny's eyes keep flashing apprehensively to the front door. Ponyboy nudges his older brother with a knowing look.
"Hey Johnny, why don't you spend the night?" Darry offers, as casually as he can manage. He knows what the answer will be but still hopes maybe this once he’ll say yes. It’s frigid out and his parents’ house ain’t ever the right answer. If Darry didn’t have his brothers to worry about, Johnny’s dad would be waking up with a rearranged face.
“If not, at least take Dad’s coat-” Soda starts to stand.
Johnny glances around - at Ponyboy, at Sodapop, at Dally with Two-Bit in a headlock. It ain’t the same as his parents loving him - and it never will be - but there’s a lot in this room he loves too.
"Yeah, alright. I’ll stay."