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Part 7 of Tumblr fics
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2024-10-14
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2,746
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1/1
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No regrets

Summary:

“Quit bein’ dramatic.”

“Oh if you think it’s gonna be such a calm and collected conversation why don’t you call Darry and explain that we got arrested for public indecency.”

“I think they called it disturbin’ the peace when they was cuffin’ me actually.”

“Lucky you,” Ponyboy snarls, because yeah, okay, Curly did have his pants on when they got arrested, but he definitely hadn’t had them on when that old lady called the cops, so really, they should both be getting the indecency charge.

Bullshit.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

 

 

This is so not his fault. 

 

If he’s going down for it- and it definitely seems like he is, considering the holding cell the blond haired cop with the gross cologne is locking them into seems pretty hardcore- he just wants to make that very clear. This is not his fault. 

 

Ok, so maybe it was his idea. But it was the kind of good idea that seems great when he’s lying in the lot passing a joint back and forth with Curly, the same kind of good idea as buying a drink for a stranger when you’re drunk, or baiting Steve into a fight until you find out Evie’s mad at him- not an actual good idea. He, being a very rational, very smart individual, knew this. 

 

Curly, apparently, did not. And since Curly is like a dog with a bone, or like that freakish raccoon he feeds with a box of soggy McDonald’s fries, he refused to let it go. So they did it. 

 

In both of their defense, while it was stupid, it wasn’t something he thought they could be arrested for. Ok, that’s wasn’t exactly true, but it definitely wasn’t something he thought they’d get caught doing. Something tells him that defense isn’t exactly gonna go over well with Darry. Soda might have thought it was funny- if it hadn’t been Curly he was doing it with. 

 

Bull shit.

 

“One phone call boys.” Officer Dipshit Cologne reminds them with a frown, then crosses to sit at a desk on the side of the room opposite the holding cell. 

 

Just great .

 

It’s kind of anticlimactic all things considered. Two-bit and Steve tell such tuff stories of being hauled in that he’d thought he’d at least feel cool the first time he got arrested, but so far it’s just been like, super annoying and inconvenient. He doesn’t feel very cool. Mostly embarrassed. And kind of hungry. Darry is supposed to be making chicken tonight and he really hopes he can get outta here before dinnertime because Soda will steal his share if he isn’t there.

 

He sighs and exchanges a look with Curly.

 

“You gonna call Tim?”

Curly scoffs.

 

“Why bother? Bail is five bucks we don’t have, ‘specially since I'll be out tomorrow. ‘Sides, he bailed me out last month when I lit that fire in the park, so it’ll be at least half a year ‘fore he does anythin’ like that again.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“What?” Curly grins, entirely in his element. Hell, he almost looks more relaxed than usual, standing in this glorified cage, leaning against the bars without a care in the world. Ponyboy can’t decide whether the sight makes him want to punch him or snog the life out of him. It’s a familiar feeling at this point. “not lookin’ forward to callin’ good ol’ Darry?”

 

“Shut up,” Pony glares. Fuck, he definitely wants to kiss him. Stupid fucking Curly Shepard with his cocky grin and that catlike arrogance, driving him mad when he should actually be mad, “the second I call Darry is the second my life ends.”

 

He’ll be grounded for life for this. He’ll be forty years old and sitting bored out of his fucking mind in the living room while Darry glares at him from the armchair. Curly, unfortunately, is an asshole and so refuses to see the gravity of the situation. Instead, he fucking laughs .

 

So much for “solidarity” and “don’t worry it’ll be fun” and “I’ve got your back, so quit being a pussy and just fucking do it already.”

 

Bull shit.

 

“Quit bein’ dramatic.”

 

“Oh if you think it’s gonna be such a calm and collected conversation why don’t you call Darry and explain that we got arrested for public indecency .”

 

“I think they called it disturbin’ the peace when they was cuffin’ me actually.”

 

“Lucky you,” Ponyboy snarls, because yeah, okay, Curly did have his pants on when they got arrested, but he definitely hadn’t had them on when that old lady called the cops, so really, they should both be getting the indecency charge. 

 

Bull shit.

 

“Real talk though,” Curly says, “I don’t mind callin’ Darry for you. The big man loves me.”

 

“Do not .” 

 

Darry was actually being like, really cool about his friendship with Curly but this whole incident would change that. And don’t even get him started on what would happen if Curly called the house and Soda answered. Then the holding cell would be a blessing, simply because Soda couldn’t commit a murder if Curly was already locked up.

 

“Well unless you’re fixin’ to stay here overnight and cuddle, one of us has gotta call someone .”

 

“What about Angela?”

 

“What about her?” Curly props his elbow on Pony’s shoulder.

 

“Would she come get us?”

 

“Hmm,” Curly considers it, “she might come get me . She owes me for helpin’ her sneak out without Tim catchin’ her last week, but she definitely won’t come for you.”

 

He’s right. Ponyboy knows he’s right because he and Angela kind of can’t fucking stand each other. He wouldn’t bail her out, not even for Curly’s sake, so it makes sense she wouldn’t bail him out either. Still, it’s fucking rude .

 

“You could call Matthews,” Curly suggests, “bet he’d be cool about it.”

 

“I gotta better chance of gettin’ the president on the line than Two-bit.”

 

“Guess you’re shit outta luck then,” Curly shrugs, beckoning him over to the bench on the other side of the cell. There’s a greasy looking guy passed out drunk leaning against it, so they take a seat on the opposite side, “you can always just stay the night with me. We could get real cozy if y’know what I mean?”

 

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Pony swats at him. Dealing with Curly, he’s learned, requires skills not unlike those one would need to tame a rabid dog or a toddler on crack. Which, given Curly’s upbringing, may have been something that happened once or twice. 

 

“I can’t not go home,” Ponyboy reminds him, “they’ll lose their shit.”

 

Which is fair. After Windrixville and Johnny and Dal it makes sense that Darry and Soda go apeshit when he’s late for curfew and doesn’t call ahead, which is why he tries his very best to keep them informed. Still. This is not a situation he is looking forward to informing them of.

 

“Aren’t they gonna lose their shit anyway?”

 

“Well yeah, but it’d definitely be worse if I don’t go home tonight and then they find out it’s because I was arrested.”

 

“I mean,” Curly points out, “you wouldn’t have to tell them.”

 

Shows what he knows. Curly has never had to sit on the couch with Darry using his freaky mind reading powers and Soda’s huge disappointed eyes boring into him to get him to confess to maybe, hypothetically, potentially cussing his teacher out in science class. Those two can get him to be more truthful than a polygraph. It’s so annoying.

 

“Yes I would. And I can’t not call. I just…I can’t.”

 

Curly seems to finally get it because his eyes light in understanding and he headbuts him in the shoulder. It’s kind of sweet.

 

“Better do it sooner than later then, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Pony sighs, waving the cop over, slapping a hand over Curly’s mouth when the other boy goes to say something because he knows that look in Curly’s eye. It’s the same look he had when he told their gym teacher his shitty attitude probably wasn’t why his wife left him it was his looks.

 

Two minutes later he’s standing in front of the phone, that cop- who’s cologne is still terrible and giving him a headache- practically breathing down his neck, and wondering if he’s really going to go through with this. 

 

The cop clears his throat and that’s when Pony realizes that yes, he is indeed going to do this, because he does not have a choice.

 

Sighing, and refusing to glance at where Curly is audibly laughing at him in the holding cell, he carefully dials the number. Of course the first  number is a nine so he has to watch as the rotary phone slowly winds back to zero before he can wind it over to the six.

 

Finally, the dial tone sounds in his ear. It rings once. Twice. Three times. He’s just starting to worry that maybe no one is home when he hears a click and Darry’s smooth baritone filters through the speaker. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey Darry,” his voice comes out a lot squeakier than he hoped and he fights to keep his feet from fidgeting. That cop had made it clear he didn’t appreciate it, and much as he’d never admit it, he was still kind of scared of cops, maybe even more so after Windrixville. 

 

“Ponyboy?” He can hear the slight concern in Darry’s voice. It’s an odd time for him to be calling, considering it isn’t even six yet and curfew is still hours away. “Everything ok?”

 

“I need you to come pick me up.”

 

“Okay…” Darry sounds almost suspicious now. He can hear hollering in the background- probably Steve and Two-bit arguing over the tv. “Where are you?”

 

“Don’t get mad.” Pony begs, and apparently it’s the wrong thing to say.

 

“What did you do?” Darry isn’t shouting- he’s a lot better about that now- but the resigned exhaustion in his voice is almost worse.

 

“Nothing!”

 

Ponyboy, ” Darry warns and it’s his I-swear-to-god-kid-you’re-gonna-send-me-to-an-early-grave voice, “where are you?”

 

“Before I answer that I need you to think about how good I’ve been lately. Straight As at school, track awards, hell, I even did the dishes yesterday even though it was Soda’s turn-”

 

“-You got arrested, didn’t you?” Darry cuts him off and Pony has to hand it to him, in the past year, ever since they got close again, Darry really has learned to read him like a book. 

 

“...yes.”

 

Darry sighs. It’s world weary, but if Pony didn’t know better he’d swear there was an undercurrent of amusement there. The arguing in the background has abruptly cut off, which is kind of rude. He’s just as tough as the rest of them. Him getting arrested shouldn’t be this surprising.

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Before I tell you I need you to keep an open mind-”

 

“-Nevermind.” Darry cuts him off again, firmly, “just…what’s the charge?”

 

“I’m not exactly sure,” Pony admits, “they said public indecency when they were cuffing me, but Curly swears it’ll only count as disturbing the peace-”

“If I get down there and you don’t have pants on so help me god, Ponyboy-”

 

“Cool it Dar,” he rolls his eyes, “the cops let me put them back on before they cuffed me.”

 

“Jesus christ ,” he can almost see Darry through the phone, resting his forehead against the wall and rubbing his eyes, “you better have a damn good explanation for this.”

 

Good? Maybe not. Interesting? Definitely. Not that he was about to say that. This was going better than he could’ve hoped, all things considered, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Darry continues, “don’t answer any questions and don’t do anything stupid- scratch that, don’t do anything else stupid. And tell that friend of yours I’ll be payin’ Tim a visit on my way over.”

 

The line goes dead. 

 

He can’t help but grin as he places the phone back on the receiver. Sure, he’s still in huge trouble but that went like, so much better than he’d imagined. Hell, his grounding might even be lifted before he graduates.

 

As the cop walks him back over to the holding cell he can’t help but hope Soda wasn’t home to hear the aftermath of that particular phone call. Not that he thinks Soda won’t support him , but if Darry mentions Curly then the chances of him making this whole thing a lot more of an issue than it needs to be are 1000x higher. 

 

“Well?” Curly grins as soon as the door clanks shut behind him, Officer Dipshit Cologne’s key jangling in the lock, “How’d he take it?”

 

“He said he’s stoppin’ to talk to Tim on his way over here,” Pony tells him, hoping to wipe that smug look of Curly’s face, “so don’t get too comfortable.”

 

“Comfortable?” Curly snorts, stretching out on the bench, “Ponykid, this place is practically my second home at this point. ‘Sides, I already told you Tim ain’t comin’, not for somethin’ like this.”

 

“He might if Darry asks him to.” Pony points out. Curly doesn’t deign to answer. It doesn’t matter: they both know he’s right, even if Curly doesn’t want to admit it.

 

“Move over will ya?” Pony nudges Curly into a sitting position, taking a seat next to him on the bench. 

 

Curly elbows him back because he’s a menace.

 

Pony shoves him.

 

Curly hip checks him, hard enough he almost falls off the bench.

 

Pony tackles him. 

 

Then they’re really wrestling, rolling around on the concrete floor. Curly smells like Marlboro cigarettes, dirt and cheap shampoo but somehow it works. They’ve rolled a bit, but Curly’s got him pinned right now, and just like every time they fight it's unlike fighting anyone else. He’s hyper aware of everywhere Curly’s body is pressed against his- knees bracketed on either side of his hips, one hand pinning his shoulders down, the other reaching to smack at him half heartedly in a way Pony knows is Curly’s version of playful.

 

He loves it, and like every time they tussle like this, he kind of also wants to explode.

 

“Hey!” Officer Dipshit Cologne rattles the door of the cell, “Knock it off you two!”

 

Ponyboy and Curly exchange a look and burst out laughing. Curly climbs off him, pulling Pony to his feet and they collapse on the bench together. 

 

Their mirth doesn’t last long.

 

“Ponyboy Curtis!” A second later Darry Curtis is striding into the station, green flannel tucked into his jeans in an attempt to look respectable, wearing his best ‘responsible adult’ face, and Ponyboy remembers he is still in so much trouble. “I’m here for my brother, Ponboy Curtus.”

 

Beside him, Curly has gone stiff. 

 

“No way,” he mutters, looking like he had that time they explored the old Bronsen house on halloween- that is to say, like he’d seen a ghost, “theres no fucking way…”

 

Ponyboy looks up and sees what stopped Curly in his tracks. Tim Shepard, as grim faced and dangerous looking as ever, prowling after Darry like a panther.

 

Pony shoots Curly a smug look. Curly swats at him without taking his eyes off his brother.

 

“This ain’t good…” he mutters, as Tim starts talking to Officer Dipshit Cologne alongside Darry.

 

“Sure ain’t.” Ponyboy agrees as the officer marches toward the cell, Darry and Tim at his heels. Golly they look pissed.

 

“Wanna make a run for it?”

 

“Fuck no,” Pony murmurs back, “I’m already in enough shit as it is.”

 

Curly gives him one last pleading look and their brothers are upon them.

 

“You fuckin’ dumbass,” Tim barks as soon as the door’s unlocked, and he seizes Curly by the ear, ignoring his pained yelp as he half drags him out of the police station, scolding him in rapid fire spanish. Pony doesn’t understand much of it but his name gets thrown in there a few times and he can’t help but wince. The last thing he needs is to be on Tim Shepard’s shit list.

 

Darry doesn’t look too happy but he doesn’t look near as mad as Tim. Pony thanks his lucky stars for that.

 

“C’mon kiddo,” Darry jerks his head, “let’s go.”

 

Pony follows him out to the truck, explains the thought process behind stripping down and trying to steal the coins in the fountain at the park because it seemed like there’d be enough for cigarettes and movie snacks. He pretends he doesn’t know what Darry means when he tells him he of all people needs to be careful about indecency charges while his cheeks heat and Darry gives him terrified, significant, half pleading looks .  

 

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret any of it. Not even when Soda spends half an hour ranting to him about how Curly is the spawn of the devil on earth. Not even when Steve laughs at him about why he got arrested.

 

Like everything when it comes to Curly, it was just too much fun to regret. 




Notes:

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