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It took all of two weeks for Ponyboy to realize he felt sick.
It wasn’t physical sickness. At least, not in any way he was used to.
Rather, breathing burned his lungs, and everything still smelled eerily like smoke. Not his cigarette smoke either, but smoke of large, open flames licking away at the frame of an old church as it fell to the ground.
Cold water was like being electrocuted, and it left him sucking in air. Even worse was when the water splashed his face—Ponyboy could barely breathe when that happened, and he ended up in his room, back against the bed and knees against his chest as he rocked back and forth, trying to stay in the moment.
All water, no matter the temperature, tasted like it came from the fountain in the park, the fountain they had to temporarily remove due to the blood staining it.
All loud noises echoed like gunshots in the night, bullets that flew towards children under streetlights, killing boys who just needed someone to guide them.
Any heat scorched like a fire that was out of control, burning his skin and setting his clothes ablaze.
The shouts of his friends turned into screams of terrified children, trapped in a raging inferno.
He could swallow back the pain for the most part, pretend like everything was normal.
Sure, he never slept anymore, but he had developed a taste for coffee pretty quick after it jolted him awake the first morning he needed it.
Besides, eternal exhaustion was better than waking his brothers up crying and screaming.
While he had always done that, the dreams had shifted from what he couldn’t remember to what he couldn’t forget.
He would rather be tired than wake Sodapop up because he saw Dally crumpling under that light over and over, the blood pooling around him and only growing each time he fell, until it filled Pony’s nostrils and he drowned in the liquid spilling from his friend’s wounds.
He would rather drink three caffeinated drinks every morning that startle his brother awake, shaking as he saw Johnny glaring down at him from heaven, cursing Pony out and blaming him for his death as hands dragged Pony down to hell, where Death waited with a smile, a board beside him with all his loved ones’ names on it, four of them already crossed out.
What his brothers didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, so he kept it to himself.
The sleepless nights, the vivid flashbacks, the scorching heat, and overwhelming smoke, the awful noises…
All of it stayed safely in the mental box Pony kept in the back of his mind labeled “later”.
It was mostly fear of being a burden that kept him from sharing what plagued him, but he couldn’t help but be scared the state would take him away if they found out he was losing it.
Surprisingly, it was Steve who noticed something was wrong first.
“Hey, Horseman, you look like shit,” Steve announced, slamming his locker shut to stare at Pony, who had the misfortune of passing through that hallway on his way to lunch.
“Thanks, Steve,” he said flatly, trying to convey his usual contempt. He didn’t find the energy to do so.
“No, I’m serious.” Steve’s voice was serious, an undercurrent of concern lacing it as he grabbed Pony’s face roughly in his calloused hands and twisted it this way and that, studying the younger greaser.
“Ow, Steve, that hurts,” Pony whined, pushing the hand away.
“Ain’t you been sleeping?”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly. Lying to Steve Randle was like trying to get a beer from Two-Bit - a waste of breath and time.
“Why not?” Steve demanded, but the usual disdain he spoke with was gone, replaced by more prominent worry.
“Just ain’t been able to.” Pony shrugged, trying to get away from the older boy.
“Ponyboy.” Pony turned. Steve rarely actually called him Ponyboy, it was usually some annoying variant or “kid”. But now, his expression was conflicted, and his tone was stern. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Pony shrugged again, not wanting to explain the slew of nightmares plaguing his life, sleeping and waking.
“I know I ain’t good at showing it,” Steve started, looking constipated, and sounding as if he were ill, “but I’m here for ya, Pony.”
His shock must have been on his face, because Steve huffed and turned back to his locker, opening it again.
“Pick your jaw up, kid. We’re greasers, ain’t we? We stick together. And I may think you’re an annoying piece of shit, but you’re my family, and I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to ya, ya hear?”
Ponyboy’s lips twitched up in a small smile, gratitude filling him. “Thanks, Stevie.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go do whatever is was you was doin’ and leave me alone.”
Pony rolled his eyes and bit back the urge to respond that he had been minding his own business, Steve had initiated the conversation.
“Hey, Pony?”
“Yeah?” He turned, glancing back at the boy.
“I meant what I said. I’m here for ya. You ain’t alone.”
Pony gave him a smile and continued to the cafeteria, considering Steve’s words.
Maybe he wasn’t alone.
Steve was his family too, even when Pony hated it.
Could he really go to him about the trauma?
He decided he didn’t want to risk it.
“You should take a break from smoking.”
Pony turned, scowling when he found Two-Bit standing there, his arms crossed and a frown on his lips.
“And why’s that?” he snapped, stubbornly lighting the cigarette in his hand, now more to prove a point than to calm his nerves.
“I see the way you flinch at the smoke, Pone.” Two-Bit sat on the bleachers, waving cheerily to Coach Brian when shouted at to leave track practice.
“I don’t,” he said reflexively.
“You do. Any time smoke is around, you do this weird thing.”
“What?” Now less annoyed and more confused, Pony stared at Two-Bit expectantly.
“Like… Ya sort of flinch and inhale sharply, and then your face turns all red like you’re tryin’ to not cough, and then the red turns purple like you’re holdin’ your breath. It ain’t a good look on ya, Geldingchild.”
“I will put this out on your arm,” he threatened at the nickname, and Two-Bit’s grin widened, even as guilt filled Pony as the words left his mouth. He had forgotten Bev and Paul had already done just that weeks prior.
“I’m just worried ‘bout ya, kid.” Two-Bit leisurely stretched, wiggling his fingers at the coach again. “You’re my brother, Pony. Blood or not. And if you need someone to talk to, well… I ain’t called Two-Bit for stayin’ quiet.” He snickered at his joke, and Pony rolled his eyes, even if he appreciated the gesture.
“I’m fine, Two. Thanks, though.”
“Yuppers. Seriously, though, Ponyboy. You’re only thirteen. You shouldn’t be dealin’ with none of this, ‘specially not by yourself. I’m here if you need to let out what you’ve been feeling. You ain’t no burden neither, so don’t go arguin’ that.”
Just weeks before, Pony would have argued that he was fourteen, and had been for three months now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to waste his energy on such a pointless factoid.
“Thanks, Two,” he repeated, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stomping out his cigarette.
Carefully, too, he counted ten times before he was satisfied it was out.
He’d never forgive himself if another fire started ‘cause of his smoking.
“Anytime, kid.”
Two-Bit’s worried gaze bore into Pony’s back as the younger boy made his way to the team, but Pony ignored it.
He didn’t need help, he was handling it just fine himself.
As it turned out, he was not handling it just fine himself.
He ended up drifting off as soon as he got home from track later that week, and woke up on the couch.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking over.
He froze when he found Johnny sitting on the floor, grinning at Pony as he tilted his head. A show they both liked played faintly in the background as Johnny lowered his half-eaten sandwich, clearly giddy his best friend had finally woken up.
But Pony didn’t share that joy.
“You’re dead,” he said dumbly, voicing the only thought in his mind.
Johnny’s smile faltered, and he stood. He tried to speak, but only whispy sounds left his mouth.
Soon, his body faded to the charred one Pony remembered, and his face twisted in agony. His eyes blazed with hatred as he leveled his gaze on Pony, and he opened his mouth again.
“It’s hard to stay gold when you killed me, isn’t it, Pony? You did this. You left that cigarette burning, you ran into the church. You think I wanted to help those kids? No, I was right behind you because I had to protect you. You’re too weak. You’re nothing but a burden to your family. You don’t even love me, do you? I return and all you do is remind me of my death.” Johnny’s body started to burn, his veins glowing with molten lava. “I’d say see you in death, but you won’t be joining me up here. You’ll rot in hell for what you’ve done. Cursed to spend your afterlife watching those around you die, all because of you.” Johnny’s hands reached out, and Pony found he was rooted to the spot, unable to move.
Looking down, he wasn’t held down by anything, yet his feet refused to step back as Johnny’s hands wrapped around his neck.
He gasped sharply as the heat hit him, sinking through his skin and making him feel as if he were melting.
And then, with horror, he realized he was. His flesh was melting off his bones, dripping onto the floor and singing holes in the couch and carpet.
His blood was boiling, speeding along the process.
He gasped for air, pleaded with Johnny to let go, but Johnny wasn’t there anymore.
Two corpse hands were around his neck again, but no body was attached to them.
Johnny’s eyes and mouth flashed into existence, smiling cruelly at Pony, and then faded again.
Terror filled Pony as he died, and all he could think of was it was all his fault, and how he was ruining Darry’s furniture and it would cost so much money to replace it all, and that the state might take Soda away if Ponyboy melted to death in their living room.
He let out an agonized scream as his organs began to melt, and then he was nothing anymore.
Pony jolted awake, breathing heavily. His hand instinctively went to his neck to feel if Johnny’s ghost was still strangling him, but he felt nothing.
Looking down, he found there was no sign he had ever been melted, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.
That relief only deepened upon realizing Soda and Darry were both still at work, so neither witnessed his nightmare.
The relief was short-lived, however, when the bathroom door creaked open and Bob Sheldon grinned at him.
“You led to my death. Flirting with my girl, then letting your friend stab me? I should stab you the way he did to me.”
He pulled out a knife, his bloodied hand gripping the handle firmly.
Pony shot to his feet, running from the living room and out the door. He skidded around the corner, not slowing down as he heard Bob’s taunting remarks over the wind rushing past him.
“Murderer. Your family wouldn’t care if you died. You think Steve and Keith actually view you as family? No, you’re the little brother of their actual friends, so they have to put up with you. You did this to yourself. You flirted with Cherry, you stayed out late, you ran away from home, you called us names, you let me die, you ran away again, you lit the cigarette that burned down the church, you led Johnny into the fire, you let him get hit, you let him die, you let Dally kill himself. You have the blood of three boys on your hands, Ponyboy.”
Slick liquid trickled from Pony’s palms onto the ground, and he slowed as he looked down.
Blood coated his hands, dripping onto his feet and the pavement.
He swallowed back bile and forced himself to keep running, even as the blood fell faster, and his shoe slipped on a patch of the red liquid.
He closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t run into anything. He tried to tune out Bob’s taunts, which had shifted to how he forgot the frosting and led to his parents’ deaths, leading to Darry growing up too fast.
He opened his eyes again, and gasped.
The sky had turned dark, and in the distance stood Dally, firearm out and pointed at the cops.
“No!” Pony screamed, and Dally turned to look at him.
His eyes were blank, and his body was already covered in bullet holes. Bone was visible, and organs were shriveling up. He was dying, yet he still moved, still aimed the gun at Pony’s head.
“You couldn’t save me. Die.”
Pony woke up, his shirt drenched with sweat and the memory of bullets tearing through his body still fresh. He was surprised to find himself in one piece, having dreamt Bob caught him and sliced him apart, fingers first, then toes, and then his limbs followed, until Pony should have been dead, but he wasn’t, he was still breathing, still able to feel the knife being plunged into his body over and over, even when he wasn’t connected to it anymore.
Someone was holding his hand, whispering sweet nothings to soothe him.
“-ony, you’re okay,” they were saying, and as Pony’s heart rate settled back to normal and his mind actually processed his surrounding, he realized he recognized the voice. “Breathe, honey. You’re okay, I’ve got you. C’mon, baby, wake up.”
Pony blinked, twisting to find Sodapop squatting beside him, his brow furrowed with worry.
Pony’s heart ached at the thought of being the person to cause Soda to look so concerned and helpless.
“Hey, baby,” Soda breathed, relief lacing his voice as he pressed a kiss to Pony’s head. “Are you with me?”
Pony nodded, sitting up.
Soda settled beside him on the couch, rubbing soothing circles onto his back as he kissed his head again.
“You were screaming something awful,” another voice added, and Pony’s heart dropped.
Darry stood behind them, looking shaken. His face was pale and his hands were still trembling.
“Sorry,” Pony mumbled, sheepishly tugging at his damp shirt.
“Don’t be.” Darry moved to the other side of him. “Y’know, Two-Bit came to the job earlier today. Interrupted right as we were preparing to finish up roofing that darn house. He looked nervous, and I got real worried. He said you’ve been strugglin’ with smoke lately, and he was worried it was ‘cause of the fire.” Darry’s voice was soft, his tone gentle in a way it rarely was, but Pony still flinched.
“Steve was also concerned,” Soda continued cautiously, watching Pony for a reaction. “He was real distracted durin’ work, so I asked what was on his mind, and he said you told him you ain’t been sleepin’.”
“I’ve noticed you haven’t been drinkin’ much water, you always spit it out,” Darry added quietly.
“You shower with hot water, and you used to prefer cold,” Soda whispered.
“And you flinch at loud noises.” Darry grabbed Pony’s hand, and Pony forced himself to not pull away.
They were just worried, he knew it, but he felt guilty for being the cause of his worry.
“Ponybaby, are you doing okay?”
After a moment, he shook his head. Soda’s expression fell, and Darry let out a deep sigh.
“I thought so.” Darry squeezed his hand. “That’s okay. We’re here for you.”
“Can you tell us what’s been bothering you, honey?” Soda asked, his voice sweet like syrup, but not in a sickening way.
So Pony did. He recounted the nightmares, and how water made him feel like he was in the fountain, and how loud noises brought him back to Dally crumpling, and how heat sent him to the church burning down, and so did smoke, and how he saw Bob sometimes at night.
His brothers listened, looking so sad and pained that he almost stopped talking, but he didn’t.
And he was glad he didn’t when they wrapped their arms around him and both held him close.
He felt their tears falling onto his skin, but for once, he didn’t mind the liquid.
“We’re here for you, kiddo,” Darry promised, his voice gruff. “We ain’t never gonna leave you, and we ain’t never going to blame you for what happened. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t your fault.” Darry’s tone was firm as he repeated himself. “Ya hear me? It wasn’t your fault. Johnny knew what he was doing when he went into that fire. He didn’t follow you, he had the same idea, he knew that the right thing to do was save those kids. Dally knew what he was doing when he lifted that empty gun at the cops. He wanted to be dead, he had for a long time. Neither were your fault.”
“Bob chose to jump you and drown you, he was going to kill you. It was self defense, and you know Johnny would have done it for anyone in the gang. Don’t blame yourself for his death. None of this has ever been your fault, baby. Okay? You’ve had shitty luck, but you’re not to blame.”
“We’re your family, kiddo, you should’ve come to us. Any of us. Two and Steve are our brothers too, they would drop everything if they thought you needed them. They don’t show it, both those two would do anything for you. Remember Two-Bit trying to go to Texas to find you after you ran away?”
“And Stevie took the week off work because he kept messing up,” Soda added. “He was so worried about you, he spent every night in the lot waiting for you to show up, and wouldn’t come to our place until he was sure you weren’t going to show up that night. He loves ya, Pone, you’re his brother and friend.”
Pony swallowed. He hadn’t known that about Steve, and suddenly every negative thought he’d had about the older boy made his stomach churn.
“We love ya, Pone. Please come to us whenever somethin’ bugs ya, okay? We’ll figure out the water thing, and maybe we’ll all sleep in Mom and Dad’s bed until the nightmares stop. We’re in this together, ya dig? We’re family.” Darry looked at Pony earnestly, and he believed him.
“I love you,” Pony whispered, and both his brothers smiled.
“We love you too, honey baby. Now, how’s about chocolate cake for dinner?”