Chapter Text
Ponyboy had never liked Thanksgiving.
There were a variety of reasons that led him to feel this way.
First and foremost, it wasn’t historically accurate. It was problematic. It used blood to dye glasses rose-colored and painted a picture of history so inaccurate it should have been shelved in the fiction section of the local library.
But to the other aspect. He understood the sentiment of gratitude. Of wanting to gather with your family and share a meal together. He just hadn’t experienced that togetherness and love in nearly a decade.
When he was real young, he had vague memories of his mother cooking up a big Thanksgiving dinner for him and his father. She was a real good cook, and Pony could still remember how the kitchen would smell. How warm the house felt not in temperature but in spirit.
But Thanksgiving in his various foster homes had been a different experience. At best, it had been skipped. At two of his placements, Ponyboy had not been invited to the family dinner, instead, he just remained huddled up in his room eating some leftover bread and chips he’d managed to snag. One of his placements had made him cook the whole meal. If he was honest, that had been one of his better memories. Sure, his foster mother had snapped at him for cutting the carrots wrong and had nearly turned blue from shouting when Pony had spilled flour on the floor, but at least he’d been able to eat some of the leftovers. And Ponyboy didn’t mind cooking, it was a much better way to spend a day compared to some of the more violent options.
But this Thanksgiving would be different. Because for the first time in years, Ponyboy had a family. He legally had two brothers in the Curtises and had four unofficial brothers in the rest of the gang. He had a safe place to sleep every night and food on the table. He was making good grades and didn’t have to worry about black eyes or broken bones. He was the happiest he’d ever been and maybe that was something to celebrate.
“Do we want turkey or ham?” Darry asked on Wednesday morning. He was flipping through the grocery store catalog looking for coupons that would make their feast financially possible.
“What’s cheaper?” Soda asked, jelly from his breakfast sandwich covering his mouth and chin.
“Turkey is cheaper, but ham is easier to cook.” Darry mused. He pulled out a sharpie from where he had tucked it behind his ear and circled one of the coupons before flipping the page. “Glory, I don’t really know how to cook either though.”
“Well for turkey you can either do a dry rub or a brine.” Pony said, poking at his eggs with his fork. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he didn’t want the worry lines in Darry’s forehead getting any deeper. So, he ate.
The oldest boy seemed more stressed lately. Maybe it was the variety of upcoming holidays. And there was the added fact that Pony knew there were fewer hours that could be worked as it got darker and colder since Darry’s work demanded he be outside most of the time. So, money was tighter. Darry didn’t talk about it, but Pony could still tell. Ponyboy did his best to be frugal where he could; he made sure to turn the lights off when he left a room. He kept his bedroom heat on as low as possible until Soda always turned it back up saying they would both catch hypothermia in that condition. He never asked Darry or Soda for any spending money for the drive-in or the Dingo. He’d offered to give up his therapy sessions too since he was getting better, but Darry had insisted that was out of the question.
And perhaps that was a good thing. Even if Pony had improved substantially in the months that he’d been seeing Mr. Gomez, some things didn’t go away. Pony still had the dark thoughts. The thoughts that told him he was just a burden. The thoughts that told him maybe Darry wouldn’t be so worried about Thanksgiving if Pony wasn’t another stressor on his list. Yes, he was better. So much better. But it’s impossible to run from the past when the past made you who you are in the present.
“How you know how to cook a turkey Pones?” Soda asked, sounding almost impressed.
“Oh…um…I had to help with Thanksgiving a few years back. At one of my other homes.”
Soda paled slightly like he always did whenever Pony mentioned his time in the foster system before nodding. “Got it. Well, what is your favorite Thanksgiving food?”
“I dunno.” Pony said, trying to sneak a peek at the grocery list Darry had lying next to the catalog. He spotted ‘potatoes’ written near the top and figured he would go with a safe answer. Something that was already being planned to be served and not something Darry would feel he needed to go out of his way to add to the menu. “Mashed potatoes?”
“You like them more buttery or garlicy?” Darry asked, adding a little star next to the potatoes on his list.
“I’m good with whatever.”
Darry gave Pony a look. Not a mean look by any means. It was the look Darry gave him when he knew he was lying. When he could dive into Ponyboy’s mind and see the boy was blocking out his true thoughts in favor of being compliant.
“Butter.” Pony said, returning the smile Darry offered.
“Butter it is then.” The oldest boy nodded.
The rest of the day went as it always did. It was really starting to get cold in Tulsa. Ponyboy had been real good about remembering to grab the winter coat that Soda had outgrown otherwise he’d be at risk of getting frostbite from even the shortest of walks.
It should have been a good day. Pony should have been filled with the mix of joy and excitement that always came before getting a few days off school. He should have wanted to draw the beautiful red and orange leaves that were falling from the trees on his walk home. He should be looking forward to spending some time with Darry, Soda and the rest of the gang.
But he wasn’t.
Mr. Gomez said it was normal to have bad days. He said it didn’t make him crazy to feel these sudden waves of anxiety and guilt coming in with a strength greater than he’d felt in months. Part of Ponyboy wondered if he should ask Darry to call his therapist and get him a last-minute session that night. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be a burden.
But there was one thing he could do. Pony thought back to the stress lines that had been tattooed across the oldest boy’s face. He thought about how Darry had been telling everyone to lower the expectations for the meal, saying he didn’t know how to cook half the things on the menu. And he knew Darry didn’t particularly like to cook. He didn’t mind it, sure, but when given the option he would always prefer to do the dishes over making dinner any day.
But Ponyboy knew how to cook a turkey. He knew how to make the potatoes, stuffing, and all the side dishes. So that is exactly what he would do. If he got up early enough, Ponyboy was sure he could take care of all the hardest parts of the meal and maybe he could even find a way to silence Darry’s alarm clock and let his brother get some much-needed sleep.
Ponyboy felt a grin coming to his face at the thought. Because most of the time, when he had his bad days, there was nothing he could do to fix them. Sometimes he would confide his feelings to Soda or Johnny, and they were always quick to reassure him that he was welcome and loved but it didn’t make Pony feel any better. But this would. Because this was something real that he could do to make Darry’s life just a little bit easier. It would prove to himself more than anything that he wasn’t just a burden and could actually contribute in a tangible way.
The teen was so worried about not waking up on time that he barely slept a wink. When the clock read 5 am he figured that was as good a time as any to climb out of bed and get to work. The gang would be coming over for an early dinner around 3 pm before they would all head over to the lot for their annual Thanksgiving football game.
Pony threw on a pair of sweats and a clean sweater before he tiptoed into the hallway and pressed an ear against Darry’s bedroom door. He grinned at the sound of light snoring coming from inside. Good. He was still asleep. And Pony had in fact managed to steal his little red alarm clock so hopefully Darrel would be knocked out for a good few more hours.
He knew the turkey had to be the priority. It had been thawing in the fridge for the last few days and Pony got to work pulling it out and cleaning it before beginning the process of making the brine. He’d found all the recipes that Darry had planned on using sitting on the counter which made it easy for him to start mixing together the spices and herbs. He didn’t entirely know what he was doing but between his memory of the last time he cooked turkey and the instructions cut from some magazine, he figured he was doing pretty okay.
And everything was going smoothly. Really, it was. The clock was just striking 9 am and both Soda and Darry were both still asleep just like Pony had wanted. The turkey was still in the oven and was reaching the stage where the entire house was beginning to be filled with the warm and welcoming aroma of the meal. So everything really was going fine until Pony started making the mashed potatoes.
He figured the potatoes were a good dish to make earlier in the day because they would be easiest to warm up and serve when it was finally time to eat. Pony had already peeled the potatoes and was just about to start the water on to boil when things went wrong.
Pony lit the stove, watching the little blue flames spring to life. He turned it to a medium heat since the pot he was planning to use wasn’t too large. And he was just about to set said pot on top of the burner when he noticed one of the potatoes he’d peeled was becoming an escape artist as it slowly began to roll away toward the edge of the counter. Without thinking, Ponyboy reached out to grab it before it could hit the ground. Unfortunately, his potato-catching instincts did not take into account the open flame coming from the burner, and as he reached across the stove to grab the falling starch the sleeve of his sweater had brushed the fire just close enough to make a new flame spring to life on the hem of the sleeve.
At first, all Ponyboy could do was freeze. His eyes grew wide as he watched the flame. It moved slowly, remaining in a little cluster at the bottom of the sweater before it slowly began to make a path up. But Ponyboy couldn’t move. Because he wasn’t in the Curtis house anymore. He wasn’t home. He wasn’t even in Tulsa. He was back in his father’s house in Oklahoma City. He could feel the flames starting to lick at his skin, his scars beginning to burn as though they were fresh. And the smell of burning too, though light, started to fill his lungs with a black fog so toxic that he couldn’t breathe.
Pony didn’t even feel the pain in his arm. The only pain he felt was in those old scars as they throbbed and burned as deeply as they had when Pony had been stuck lying on that wooden floor as the house fell down. It wasn’t until he heard the buzz of his kitchen timer telling him to baste that turkey that he managed to snap himself out of it. He quickly ran over to the sink, extinguishing the flame with water. And it really hadn’t been that big; only traveling about three inches from his wrist up his sleeve. And the sleeve of the sweater had been baggy, hanging far enough off of his wrist that the fire wasn’t actually pressed against his skin.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t touch him.
Pony pulled up his sleeve finding a bright red mark that was turning deeper by the second. He felt like he could feel his pulse in the burn as all he could do was stare at it. It was like an anchor, but not one that he wanted. Every throb of his wrist sent a signal to his old burn scars too, sending him back into the past. Like he couldn’t escape it. It felt so real that Pony wondered if the last several months with the Curtises had actually been one big dream and his father and that fire were the only reality he could experience ever again.
“Ponyboy?”
The teen jumped, quickly tucking his arm behind his back as he turned to see a disheveled but well-rested-looking Darry standing in the doorway with his mouth open. The older boy’s hair was askew and he had a pillow indent in his cheek in the way that only came after a really good night of sleep. The bags that were typically living under his eyes were gone for the first time in months.
“You…you’re cooking?”
“Yeah.” Pony nodded, the hand behind his back clenching into a fish so tight his nails dug crescents into his hand. He needed to be present right now. He had to fight the pull. The burn that was taking him back to the City.
“Did you take my alarm clock?”
“Sorry.” He looked down.
“No I just…you’re cooking Thanksgiving dinner.” It wasn’t a question. More of a statement of disbelief. “Why?”
“I wanted to help.” Pony admitted, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” Darry’s tone was still disbelieving but slightly different now. “Jesus, are you kidding? Ponyboy this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I just thought since you’ve been working so hard, you should get a day off too.” Pony shrugged. “It’s no trouble.”
Darry couldn’t help but grin, crossing the kitchen and reaching out to give his brother a hug but froze in his place when the younger boy did something he hadn’t done in some time. At least, something he hadn’t done to Darry.
He flinched.
Darry knew not to take it personally. He couldn’t or he knew his heart would break. But he watched the boy, noticing how Pony’s eyes were wider than normal. How his skin was pale. How he seemed to shrink in on himself. He almost looked like he had back when he’d first been dropped off by Sandra.
“Are you alright kiddo?”
“I’m fine.” Pony mumbled. He tried to relax. Did his best to drop his shoulder so Darry would quit his worrying, but he knew he was failing. “J-Just need to brine the turkey.”
“Why don’t you take a break.” Darry said. “You’ve done all the heavy lifting, I can jump in.”
“No I can-”
“Really Pones, based on how good that turkey smells I can tell you’ve been working hard. Why don’t you go take a shower and get dressed then wake up Soda? Then we can tackle the rest of the meal together. I’ll be your sous chef, alright?”
And Ponyboy could feel his nails starting to draw blood in his palms, so he nodded before quickly scrambling out of the kitchen and locking himself behind the safety of the bathroom door. He pressed his back firmly against the wall, a coping technique Mr. Gomez had taught him that was supposed to make him feel grounded. But every breath he took seemed to bring another wave of fire through his body. And it wasn’t that the burn on his wrist hurt all that much, really it was a minor burn, it was more of what it represented. Of what it brought back. It felt like his past trauma was being branded into his skin over and over again and he couldn’t run from it because it was on his own body.
He took a freezing shower. And it helped. A bit. Sure, his lips were blue by the time he got out but his breathing had returned so that was a win. He still felt like his chest clenched, like there was a fist around his heart restricting it from beating properly, but he did feel functional. No longer paralyzed. He opted not to bandage or treat the burn. It was small and he didn’t want anyone to notice. He needed to act normal. He couldn’t ruin Thanksgiving for the gang. Not when they had already given him so much.
So, he put on jeans and a fresh sweatshirt, one that belonged to Soda and was more than long enough to cover well past his wrists. He rolled the sleeves up just a touch to make his hands accessible before heading back to the kitchen and getting to work again, this time with Darry by his side.
It was almost fun. Pony really did like to cook, and Darry seemed to be enjoying himself now that they were ahead of schedule and weren’t in a time crunch. And cooking a Thanksgiving meal seemed to be the one area in the entire planet that Ponyboy knew more about than Darry. It was nice getting to show Darry the best way to mince garlic or have the older boy ask him a question about the green bean casserole and Ponyboy actually knowing the answer. It was almost fun. And it should have been fun. It would have been had it not been for that red mark on Pony’s wrist. Every once and a while he would manage to forget about it, getting caught up in sampling the pie filling or putting on some old album on the record player, but then Pony would accidentally brush his sleeve against the counter or he would catch sight of the flames that were cooking the mac and cheese and it was like he was being shoved backward into a black hole that he couldn’t escape.
He knew Darry had noticed something was wrong. Darry always noticed. As hard as Pony was trying to act normal, he knew he was jumpier than usual, flinching at noises or movements he didn’t anticipate. And he knew he was zoning off too, getting stuck in the past. But he couldn’t fight it. Glory, he wanted so badly to be normal, but he couldn’t.
This was just one of his bad days. That’s what he kept telling himself.
On the bright side, dinner turned out perfectly. The rest of the gang had come over one by one and Darry had put them all to work too, setting the table, bringing out dishes, and guarding the pumpkin pie so Two-Bit didn’t steal a slice before it was time to eat.
“You really made all this Pony?” Johnny asked as the group began sitting down around the table that was slightly too small to fit all of them and the vast amount of food, but they made it work.
“No, it was me and Darry both.” Pony said, taking his seat on the corner of the table with Johnny to his left and Darry’s spot at the head, to his right.
“Hey, I made the whipped cream ain’t I! Where’s my kudos?” Soda grinned, taking the seat across from Ponyboy.
“You whisked for three minutes. Pony baked a whole turkey.” Darry said, bringing said turkey out and placing it in the center. “And quit being so modest Pones, you cooked like 90% of everything.”
And Pony couldn’t argue with that to he just turned red and gave a shy smile.
“That’s what I call a fucking bird.” Dallas nodded, reaching over to pat Pony on the back as he passed but stopped when he saw the boy flinch. Dally’s eye twitched slightly as he exchanged some look with Darry that Pony couldn’t quite read but he was pretty sure it was about him. Luckily, no one pressed it and Dally just muttered a “Good job kid” before heading to the other end of the table to take his seat at the other head.
Darry brought the last few dishes out, finding space on the packed table to set them down. Just when Pony thought that everything had been set, Darry returned with two more items.
“Are those mom’s dinner candles?” Soda asked, getting that half-fond half-sad look on his face that he always did when his parents were brought up.
“Glory, I remember those.” Steve said, moving one of the serving dishes slightly to let Darry set down one of the tall fancy candles at their end. “Mrs. Curtis would whip those out for any special occasion.”
“Mama was real into decorating and all that.” Soda explained, reading the look in Pony’s eyes as confusion. “She had all these fancy table settings and dishes and everything she would bring out for holidays, birthdays, really any special occasions. But these candles were her favorite. She’s got a whole stash in the cupboard.”
“Wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without them.” Darry said, setting the second tall dinner candle on the other end of the table.
Right in front of Ponyboy.
Pony felt his hands begin to sweat as Darry asked to borrow Johnny’s lighter and he carefully brought the orange and blue flicker to the thin white wick. He watched as the wick turned black within a second and the candle was lit to life. They were not scented candles, purely decorative. And yet Pony could have sworn there was something thick filling his nostrils. It wasn’t the smell of the dinner he had worked so hard to prepare. It wasn’t the smell of Darry’s cologne or the lingering scent of weed on Johnny’s clothes. It was a dark terrible scent. The smell of burning wood. The sound of the roof collapsing. The feeling of fire crawling over his body like an electric shock, starting at his wrist and flooding the rest of his skin with the deep scratch of burning fire.
And he couldn’t take his eyes away from the small flame as it began to melt the tip of the candle, little wax drops slowly starting to drip down the sides but Ponyboy felt like they were dripping down his skin. Like he was the candle. Like his now auburn hair had been once again bleached against his will and was disintegrating before his eyes, one hair singeing at a time.
It was the feeling of falling he hated the most. Of knowing he was tumbling back into one of his flashbacks but not being able to do anything to stop it. Glory, he should have confided in Darry earlier. He should have asked Soda to help bandage his burn.
But now it was too late. Because the dinner table was fading around him as Pony felt himself tumble back into that house, the roof creaking above and fire….fire everywhere. On the walls. On the floor. On his body.
A hand reached out to grab his shoulder and Pony flinched away so violently he felt his back hit something firm. Because it had to be his father. Back to seek his revenge again. And this time Ponyboy didn’t have anyone to come and save him. Why would Darry want to come save him when Pony was the reason, he was always so stressed and tired? Why would Dally run into a burning building to save the likes of Ponyboy?
He was all alone.
Ponyboy knew he hadn’t fallen asleep but the sensation of coming out of his attack felt almost like waking up. He’d closed his eyes so hard that eventually, the word had turned darker than black. And the next thing he knew he was slowly blinking his eyes, trying to accept that he was returning to reality.
The first thing he noticed was that he was on the floor. The chair he’d been sitting in was on its side like he’d fallen backward and then scooted himself as far away as he could, ending up cowering in the corner. Soda and Darry were in front of him, which was not an uncommon sight after one of Pony’s panic attacks, but what was abnormal was the looks of helplessness on Soda’s face and terror on Darry’s. Pony hadn’t had a flashback or major panic attack in so long. Especially not one like this.
Behind the two brothers was the rest of the gang. Everyone had left the table, standing several feet back so as to not crowd the youngest of their gang. Dally was a step in front, looking like he was fighting everything in his being not to join Soda and Darry on their knees but also knowing another body so close to the shivering boy wouldn’t be the most helpful.
“Ponyboy?” Darry said after a moment. “Hey kiddo, are you with us?”
Pony felt his chest rising and falling at a rate that was far from normal but he gave a short nod. He was here. He wasn’t in that house. He was at home. He was safe.
And he was really fucking embarrassed.
He’d ruined Thanksgiving. Just when they were about to sit down for a meal he’d had to go and ruin it all. He couldn’t even hold it together for one day to give the entire gang something nice. To give Darry a rest. Because those worry lines were even deeper now and it was all Ponyboy’s fault.
“I-I’m gonna use t-the bathroom.” Pony stuttered out, getting to his feet shakily like a deer just learning to stand. “Don’t wait for me to start eating.” He mumbled, forcing his tears to stay in his eyes as he quickly scrambled out of the room, not being able to bring himself to meet the eyes of the rest of the gang.
Once in the bathroom he quickly closed the door, pressing his back to the wall like a magnet praying that the coping strategy would work better on the second try. He didn’t realize he’d started crying until he felt the tears pooling at the bottom of his chin, running down his cheeks in a defined pattern his face knew well. He tried another strategy Mr. Gomez had taught him to cope with the bad days; words of affirmation.
“I didn’t ruin Thanksgiving. I’m not a burden. The gang doesn’t hate me. I’m not worrying Darry.” Pony lied to himself. He only wished he could believe his own words.
“Pony honey?” There was a knock on the door like Pony knew would be coming any moment. “You alright?”
“Fine Soda.” Pony said, trying and failing to keep his voice even.
“Can we talk about what just happened?” Darry was there too.
“I’m fine. You two just go have dinner. I don’t want to keep you away.”
“Ponyboy the dinner can wait.” Darry said firmly. “We want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Could we come in?”
Pony quickly used the sleeves of his sweater to wipe at his cheeks, hoping they weren’t as red as they felt before muttering a, “yeah.”
The door opened slowly revealing both of his brothers, their faces still a tale of concern, fear, and worry.
“Oh, honey.” Soda whispered, looking like he felt Pony’s pain like it was his own. And maybe he did. He made a move to rush forward but hesitated, remembering how the boy had flinched away just minutes before. But Pony shook his head, reaching his hands out for his brother and Soda wasted no time in crossing the small space and pulling the boy close. “We’re here now Pones. We’ve got you.”
Soda and Darry had also met with Mr. Gomez once, to better learn how to best help Ponyboy as he healed. They’d been told to avoid phrases like “you’re okay” when comforting the youngest Curtis. Because sometimes Ponyboy wasn’t okay. And it’s okay to not be okay.
Pony felt his tears falling again as Soda gently guided him down to the floor, so they were sitting together, backs pressed against the cold bathroom wall. There really wasn’t room for all three of them in the small bathroom but they made it work as Darry slowly sunk down to sit on the black and white tile as well.
“Pony?” Darry said softly, making Pony peek his head out from where it had been tucked in Soda’s embrace. “How can we help?”
Pony knew he was really asking what happened, he just didn’t want to pressure the teen to talk unless he was ready.
“I just…I’ve been having a hard day.” Pony sniffled, using his sleeve to wipe at his face again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Things had been so good lately it’s just today…I don’t know.”
“Nothing is wrong with you baby.” Soda said, rubbing his hand up and down Pony’s shoulder to try and stop his shivering even though he knew it wasn’t from being cold.
“Soda’s right.” Darry nodded. “Just because you’ve been doing so well doesn’t mean everything is perfect. It’s normal to have hard days. Especially after everything you’ve been through.”
“But it’s been so long.” Pony huffed, frustrated with himself. “Shouldn’t I be over it by now? Shouldn’t I be tough enough to not freak out the second I see a flame?”
“There is no ‘getting over’ trauma honey.” Darry scooted a bit closer, grabbing some toilet paper from the roll and using it to help Pony dry his tears. “And you are more than tough enough. You’re the toughest guy I know.”
“Was it the fire that spooked you?” Soda asked, putting two and two together. “The candles?”
“I guess. I just kept thinking about the fire and the house and sorta got sucked into one of my flashbacks.”
“You seemed a bit off earlier though too.” Darry said. “Did something happen this morning?”
Pony’s hesitation was all the brothers needed to know that Pony was hiding something.
“Pones?”
“I accidentally burnt myself while cooking.” Pony admitted, pulling up his sleeve to reveal the little red mark. Darry didn’t even waste a second as he quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed their first aid kit from the bathroom shelf. He pulled out some ointment and bandages and got to work treating the burn.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Soda asked, looking between Pony’s wrist and his eyes.
“I didn’t want to be any more of a burden.”
“You’re not a burden.” Both Soda and Darry said at the same time.
“I…I know that.” Pony nodded. “Really, I do. It’s just…sometimes it’s hard to make myself believe it. On the bad days.”
“I get that kiddo, really I do.” Darry said, beginning to wrap some clean gauze around Pony’s arm. “But you need to let us help, especially when you’re hurt like this. And even if there is nothing, we can say to make things better, we still want to be there. We can watch a movie or play catch or just try to get your mind off the hard things. We’re all in this together honey. We’re a family, remember?”
“I-I know. Thanks.” Pony tried to give a smile, watching as Darry finished treating the burn and carefully rolled Pony’s sleeve back down for him. “Sorry I ruined Thanksgiving.”
“You ain’t ruin nothing.” Soda said firmly. “We’ve still got the food and the gang. That’s all we need. You didn’t ruin anything.”
“Do you want to come out and eat with us?” Darry asked, still trying to get a readout on how Pony was feeling. “If you’d prefer a quieter day we can send the gang home with tupperwares and have a smaller meal with just the three of us.”
“No.” Pony shook his head and slowly got to his feet. “I want to have Thanksgiving dinner with the gang. They’re part of the family too, ain’t they?”
“Course they are.” Darry grinned, his face finally free of those lines that Ponyboy blamed himself for creating.
No one said anything about Pony’s flashback, not that he thought they would. The group sat down at the table (which was now missing the two candles) and resumed the meal like nothing had happened. The mashed potatoes had gotten a bit cold and the turkey was slightly dryer than Ponyboy would have hoped but he found that he didn’t really mind.
Because despite the bumps and bruises the day had brought, Pony was happy that it had ended with him here. With his family. Because these were the people, he loved beyond anything else. And sure, Thanksgiving was far from his favorite holiday, and he didn’t think it would be making the jump anytime soon, but he was beginning to paint over the painful memories of the past and replace them was a new tapestry of the present. And, of course, the old pictures would still peek through from time to time, there was no hiding them completely. But he would build on them. He would change the colors and the designs until the canvas was bright, happy, and full just like Ponyboy felt after he’d eaten two heaping plates of Thanksgiving dinner.
So, yeah. Maybe he did have something to be grateful for.