Chapter Text
October 1965
“I hereby call this Curtis family meeting to order,” Darry announced, pretending to bang a gavel on the kitchen table.
“I think you’ve been watchin’ too much Perry Mason,” Soda remarked.
“Shut your trap.” Darry gently shoved his shoulder, causing his chair to scoot a few inches along the floor. “As if you ain’t watchin’ it right along with me every week.”
It was good to see Darry engaging in a bit of levity, especially after the month they’d had. For a second, Pony glimpsed the big brother he used to be, the one who snuck them extra cookies from the cookie jar and let them watch horror movies on TV when their parents weren’t home. He suspected Darry was doing it for his benefit, trying to snap him out of the funk he’d been in since returning from Windrixville.
“So what’s all this about? Why all the” — Soda twirled a hand vaguely in the air — “theatrics?”
“I figured it’s time we talk about…y’know. Everything,” Darry replied, getting back to business.
Sure, they had briefly discussed the disastrous chain of events leading up to Johnny and Dally’s deaths. But they hadn’t really gotten into the gory details yet. The wounds were still too raw, too fresh. Pony wasn’t ready to get it all out in the open, and he didn’t think his brothers were, either.
Darry must’ve noticed his unsurety, because he added, “Not all of it. Not tonight. But there’s some things I think we need to discuss as a family.”
“Well, get on with it, then,” Soda prodded. He must have felt as uneasy about this whole thing as Ponyboy.
Darry cleared his throat and grabbed a seemingly blank piece of notebook paper from atop the pile of bills on the edge of the table. “First off. Pony, it’s not your fault what happened. Uh-uh” — he waved away Pony’s protests — “I don’t wanna hear it. It was out of your control, and it won’t do us no good to obsess over what-ifs. But I think it’s high time we created some rules to try to prevent somethin’ like that from happenin’ again.” He flipped the paper over to reveal House Rules written neatly at the top.
Pony glanced over at Soda and found him already looking back, eyes narrowed. “Like what?” they asked in unison.
“Mostly things we already do. I just figure it’ll be good to have it in writing as a reminder. And if we all agree to ‘em, maybe it’ll help us stop fightin’ so much.” He shot Pony a wry smile.
As much as Pony didn’t want anyone telling him what to do, he had to admit Darry had a point. Their lives had been desperately lacking structure after their parents’ deaths; some ground rules would do them good. He nodded his assent.
“How ‘bout you, Pepsi? You good with that?”
Soda flashed a thumbs-up.
“Great. I didn’t wanna put anything on the list without talkin’ it over with you guys first. I figured we should work together to figure out what rules make sense for us.”
“Lemme guess. No fighting?” Pony asked.
Darry thought for a moment, humming contemplatively. “I don’t think it’s fair to say we can never fight with each other again. Sorry, Soda.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” Soda was quick to reassure. “I just don’t want it to always be as bad as it’s been.”
Pony truly felt awful for the way the two of them had put Sodapop in the middle of their constant fights. He’d been so frustrated and angry all the time that he hadn’t stopped to consider the toll it took on Soda, and he suspected the same was true for Darry.
“I’m sorry,” Pony apologized for the umpteenth time since his brother’s meltdown the other week.
“It’s okay, honey. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” That was the thing about Soda — he was quick to forgive, even if you didn’t deserve it. Ponyboy both loved and hated that about him.
Darry blew out a slow breath, then continued, “Things are gonna come up, and we’re gonna disagree and get mad. It’s just a part of life. But maybe we can be smarter about how we handle it.”
“How so?” Pony asked, curiosity piqued.
“No fightin’ after midnight?” Soda suggested. “It’s no use hollerin’ at each other when everyone’s already tired and grumpy. If you’ve got a bone to pick, leave it ‘til morning when you can be more…level-headed about it.”
Darry’s face broke out into a grin. “Hey, that’s a good idea, little buddy. I think we can make that work. Pony, you agree?”
“Uh-huh.” That one shouldn’t be too hard to follow; he was in bed by midnight on school nights, anyway.
“You wanna do the honors, Pone? You’ve got the best handwriting.” Darry slid the paper over along with a pencil.
No fighting after midnight, Pony carefully wrote on the first line.
“Excellent! What else d’ya think we should add?”
It was times like these that Pony could see why Two-Bit always teased Darry about “goin’ soc” back in high school. His brother was confident and self-assured in the way that only a Boy of the Year could be. Darry had a goal in mind, and by golly, he was gonna achieve it. All he needed was the power of teamwork and a few reassuring smiles.
“Whoever cooks is excused from dish duty?” Pony suggested. It was one of their mama’s rules; she was happy to cook for them every day as long as they cleaned up afterward.
“Good one. All in favor, say aye.”
“Aye!” Soda agreed, even though it meant he’d be doing the most dishes of the three of them. That’s what he got for being the family’s worst cook — not that the bar was very high. Well, what he lacked in skill he made up for in food dye, Pony supposed.
“I’ve got one,” Darry said once Pony had finished writing. “Call if you’re gonna be home late.”
“Darry, you tell us that every day.” Pony shot him a disbelieving look.
“And I’m still left wonderin’ if my baby brothers have been kidnapped or arrested or left in a ditch somewhere when they don’t come home. Maybe if you write it down, you’ll remember next time.”
Boy, he could guilt trip like no one else. Pony added it to the list.
“Speakin’ of gettin’ arrested…how ‘bout don’t get arrested?” Soda asked, eyebrows raised.
“Says the only one of us who’s actually been hauled off by the fuzz,” Darry teased.
“I’ll tell you what I told the fine officers of the Tulsa PD: Cartwheels are not a crime. I rest my case.” Soda leaned back in his chair, hands folded on the table in front of him.
“I think that one goes without sayin’, but sure. Add it to the list, Pony. No gettin’ arrested.”
Ponyboy could read between the lines: On the east side, you had to skirt the law sometimes to survive. The important part was not getting caught, which he wasn’t so good at yet. His gut twisted as he thought about the upcoming hearing regarding Bob’s death.
“I have one I know you ain’t gonna like,” Darry warned, bringing Ponyboy back to the present, “but it’s important, especially now.”
“What is it?” Pony wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“I want both of y’all to always carry a blade with you.”
Pony shook his head emphatically. “No.” Weapons always made things worse. He’d seen firsthand the massive devastation that could come from a tiny switchblade, and he wasn’t eager to relive it.
Of course, Darry had been expecting him to argue, and he had a counter-argument already lined up. “Johnny’s blade saved your life, kid. Heaven forbid somethin’ like that happens again, but if it does, I want you to be able to defend yourself.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, writing it down. Just because he had to carry a blade didn’t mean he was gonna use it.
“Y’all have any other ideas?” Pony and Soda shook their heads. “Alright, then. We can add stuff later if we need to. There’s just one more thing I wanted to bring up tonight: I don’t want y’all to walk anywhere alone after dark no more.”
“C’mon, Dar, I’ll be eighteen in like, a year!” Soda whined.
“It don’t matter none, not to me or the socs. You’re still my kid brother, and I’m still in charge of keepin’ you safe.”
“What about walkin’ to and from the Mathewses’?” Soda challenged him. “I mean, you can see their house from our front porch.”
Darry considered this for a moment, pursing his lips. “Fine. As long as you’re within shoutin’ distance of home, I’ll allow it.”
“Good thing I can yell real loud, then,” Soda said, seemingly satisfied.
Pony wasn’t so easily convinced. “So what’re we supposed to do, then? What if we need to go somewhere?”
“Ask your brother or one of the guys to walk with you. And if they can’t, you call me, and I’ll always, always pick you up. I don’t care if you’re drunk or high or it’s 4 a.m. or I have to leave work to come get you — I will be there, no matter what. Do y’all understand?”
They nodded, eyes wide. Pony was unused to such earnest sincerity from his oldest brother.
Darry squeezed Pony’s forearm with one callused hand and grabbed Soda’s wrist with the other. “There’s nothin’ in this world more important to me than keepin’ you two safe,” he declared. “That’s what these rules are all about.”
Any complaints Pony’d had about this whole exercise vanished. In that moment, he saw Darry for who he truly was: a boy who was scared to death of losing his family, just like him. Maybe they were more alike than he thought.
He placed his hand atop Darry’s and gave him a tiny smile. The corners of Darry’s eyes crinkled with relief, settling something inside Pony’s chest.
With a little groan, Darry stood up, knees cracking. “Meeting adjourned, I guess. Hang that paper on the fridge, would you, Soda?”
“Yessir.” Soda gave him a little salute.
Darry placed a hand on each of their heads and ruffled their hair a bit, then leaned down in between them. “I made dinner tonight, so it looks like the two of you have a sink full of dishes with your names on it,” he said, looking back and forth from one brother to the other, eyes twinkling.
“Oh, geez.” Pony let out a little laugh. “I’m really startin’ to regret suggestin’ that one.”