A/N: Golly, it's been a while, hasn't it? Nice to be back. Thank you to that friend of mine (I don't know your name on this site anymore) that edited this for me.

Notice: I haven't forgotten about Gilded Gold. I'm just unbelievably stuck on it.

Disclaimer: S.E Hinton, who is not me, owns The Outsiders and any affiliated content. I also do not own the title Man of Steel.

Summary: Five times Darry almost let his emotions slip, and one time he completely lost it. Post-novel. Oneshot.

….

Man of Steel

…

The first time Darry almost lets his emotions slip, he and Ponyboy are the only ones there.

Darry is sitting in his armchair when he looks at the clock on the wall, almost absent-mindedly. He blinks in surprise when it tells him it's nearing two in the morning, but he's not worried. Steve and Sodapop had decided to hunt up a poker game at Buck's, and though Darry wonders how much longer his brother will be out, he knows Soda is old enough to take care of himself. Besides, he'd call if he was in trouble.

Despite knowing that, Darry wants to wait up for him. He thinks about all the times that his father waited up—even that one time he didn't come home until three—and he smiles, wondering distantly if his chest will ever stop producing that slightly tight feeling when he thinks of his parents.

The oldest Curtis reaches down for the newspaper on the floor and gets about halfway through an article on the race riots in Chicago when he hears a scream.

Darry's on his feet and standing in the doorway to Ponyboy's room in record time.

"Ponyboy."

The 15 year old is still asleep, but the moonlight peeking past the curtains lets Darry see the distress etched on his kid brother's face. Ponyboy's pillow is damp with sweat and tears.

"Ponyboy," Darry tries again, a little more urgently, as he crosses the room and kneels next to the bed. He tries to ignore his kid brother's quiet whimpers as he shakes his shoulder.

The oldest Curtis brother releases a breath when the youngest jerks away with a gasp. His greenish gray eyes fly open and his breaths come in short, hitched gasps. Darry can't quite tell if he's just catching his breath, or trying to stifle sobs.

"Ponyboy," Darry says for the third time, but the urgency is gone. Ponyboy sits up, running his hands through his hair before burying his face in them.

A moment later Darry realizes Ponyboy is crying, and he suddenly wishes Soda was there.

"I…I can't…"

Ponyboy doesn't see the way his older brother's gaze flashes upwards, concern beginning to simmer in his blue-green eyes. Ponyboy does, however, hear it in his voice.

"Can't what, Pony?"

"I can't…breathe…"

"Just…take it slow."

Darry tries to think of something he can do—he's always been more of a man of action than one of words—and vaguely remembers that Soda would rub Ponyboy's back whenever he was worked up. Darry places his hand on the back of his younger brother's sweat-soaked shirt. He knows it isn't the same, but it seems to help.

Neither one of them says anything for a long moment. Darry tries to breathe deeply and slowly, maybe a little louder than normal in hopes that Ponyboy will catch on. Gradually, Darry hears his brother's breathing begin to even back out to normal. Pony lifts his head out of his hands.

Ponyboy still won't look at his brother, and Darry tries not to take it personally. Instead, he just asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Pony doesn't answer right away. When he does, he's so quiet that Darry almost misses it. "You didn't protect me…"

The oldest Curtis's brow furrows. "What?" His voice is harder, more defensive, than he really means it to be.

Darry realizes too late that it's the wrong thing to say, because he can see—physically see—the way Ponyboy closes himself off. "Never mind."

"No," Darry says, grabbing his younger brother's arm when he tries to lay back down. "What did you mean?"

"Just…" Ponyboy shakes his head. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it, Darry."

"Ponyboy."

"Leave it alone."

Darry can feel his frustration rising and he almost welcomes it because frustration takes the sting out of his little brother's words. The ones that keep echoing in his head. You didn't protect me.

Darry wonders if maybe Ponyboy had adopted one of his nightmares. The thought somehow makes Darry feel a surprisingly strong sense of guilt. He pushes the thought away.

"Glory," Darry says. "Just talk to me, will ya?"

Ponyboy shrugs off Darry's hand and lays down, turning his back to his older brother. "It was just a nightmare, Dar." His voice is a little softer than it was a minute ago. Darry isn't sure why, so he attributes it to his brother's evident tiredness.

Darry wants to push the issue more. A part of him—a part even Darry doesn't want to admit to—needs to know what Ponyboy meant. But he hears the sound of the truck pulling up in the driveway and he knows that Sodapop is home. And if Ponyboy really needs someone to talk to, well…Soda's always been better at it.

He looks back at his kid brother, not all that surprised that he's already fast asleep. Darry pulls the blanket that had been kicked to the edge of the bed back up over Ponyboy, and quietly leaves the room.

He hopes Ponyboy knows just how hard Darry will fight to protect him.

The second time it almost happens, Darry isn't sure if he should blame himself or the social services. Either way, he considers himself lucky that the worker they send doesn't seem to notice.

It's a Thursday afternoon in July and Darry comes home early on account of the rain. He's not surprised to see Ponyboy eating a piece of chocolate cake nor is he shocked that Two-Bit is sitting on the floor watching Bonanza. He does, however, cock an eyebrow at the sight of Steve and Sodapop sitting on the couch.

"Rain send y'all home?" Steve asks as they all look up at Darry. The oldest Curtis nods, eyeing him.

"Yeah. Soda, I thought you said you worked 'til closing today."

Soda shrugs. "There was a fire at the DX. It wasn't a big deal," Soda adds quickly at his brother's alarmed look. "It wasn't even big. Just enough that John thought it made sense to close for the day. Both Stevie and I'll be back tomorrow."

Darry situates himself in the armchair with a sigh, rolling his shoulders and willing the tightness to abate a bit. Maybe he shouldn't have carried two bundles of roofing so often today, but he really had been hoping to get the project finished before the downpour.

Soda's watching him, his eyes showing a fond exasperation. "Need a backrub, Superman?"

Darry is about to reply when there is a knock at the door. Everyone collectively freezes. Ponyboy sets his book down, casting a worried look at both of his brothers.

"I thought they weren't coming for another three weeks…"

Darry takes another deep breath as he stands. He hadn't been expecting them either, but he tries to not worry. "Probably just a surprise visit," Darry says, but he's saying it more for himself than for his brothers.

"Might not even be the social services," Two-Bit chimes, clearly trying to alleviate the growing tension. It doesn't work, but Darry appreciates the attempt.

"Want us to head out?" Steve asks. Even though he's trying to keep the concern out of his voice, Darry catches it. He considers it for a moment, but then shakes his head.

"No, that's okay." Darry glances around the room one more time before swinging the door open.

The man standing in front of him looks stiff and uncomfortable, like he is trying and failing to fill the space on the porch. Darry is practically twice his size, but when he looks up from his notepad, his piercing blue gaze somehow makes Darry feel small.

"Darry Shayne Curtis?" The man says his name with distaste, and it does nothing to placate the nervous churning Darry feels in his stomach.

"Yes sir," Darry replies. "Can I help you?"

"I am Mr. Smithton with the Tulsa, Oklahoma Social Services. I am here for a surprise home visit." His voice is cold and disinterested, and Darry's meager smile falls. The oldest Curtis steps aside. He knows he should be relieved—there are things much worse than a home visit—but something about the man sets Darry on edge.

"Please, come in," Darry says.

Mr. Smithton looks into the room as if he expects one of the gang to jump on him from around the corner before he steps up into the house. Darry shares a glance with Sodapop, and he sees that his brother is just as worried as he is.

"Eh…which one of you is…" He hesitates on the name, like he doesn't quite believe what he is reading. "Sodapop Patrick?"

Soda clears his throat. "That's me."

"And…Ponyboy Michael?"

Ponyboy gives a small, uncertain wave. "Here, sir."

The social worker mutters something under his breath, and though he can't be sure, Darry thinks he hears it. "Who names their children that?"

He sees Mr. Smithton look around the room and Darry follows his gaze. Shoes, clothes, and a few dirty dishes are still laying around. Darry holds his breath as the social worker's gaze lingers judgmentally on the few empty beer bottles on the table.

"Well," He says. "Your home is certainly…well lived in." It's no hint that he doesn't mean it as a compliment.

"Uh, yes sir," Darry agrees because he really isn't sure what else to say.

Mr. Smithton turns his icy gaze onto Steve and Two-Bit, as if just noticing their presence. "And who are you?"

Two-Bit shifts uncomfortably as Steve speaks up. "I'm Steve and he is…um…" Steve hesitates, and for a second Darry doesn't understand why until he continues. "His name is Keith. We're family friends."

Everyone but Steve and the social worker blinks at the use of Two-Bit's real name, but nobody comments on it.

"I see." He writes something down on his notepad and Darry chances a glance at Ponyboy, who looks wound tighter than Darry has ever seen him. "Well," Mr. Smithton says, making everyone jump slightly. "I suppose I ought to start with the youngest. Ponyboy, may I speak to you outside?"

Ponyboy pushes himself to his feet, nodding and following the social worker outside. He closes the door behind him.

There's a beat of silence before Steve blows out a breath. "Geez, he's a piece of work, ain't he?"

"I hate it when they send people like him." Soda's voice is hushed, like he's afraid the social worker outside will hear him. "What happened to Ms. Witherson? She was alright."

Darry shakes his head and shrugs. "I dunno, Soda. But we gotta deal with what we're dealt." He pushes himself out of the chair and walks over to the table, grabbing the three beer bottles still there from last night's card game, and tosses them in the trash. He hopes the gang doesn't catch on to how tense he feels.

"Well," he hears Two-Bit sigh, "might as well find somethin' entertainin'. What's this?" There's a pause. "'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…' What the—?"

"Two-Bit," Darry interrupts, snatching the book out of his hands. "Let's keep the swearing to a minimum while he's here." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sodapop grin.

Two-Bit offers a salute and a thumbs-up. "Aye-aye, Cap'n."

About forty-five minutes goes by before Ponyboy and Sodapop switch places. The gang talks about nothing in particular. Steve and Soda talk about cars and the next drag race coming up on Friday, Two-Bit teases Ponyboy about A Tale of Two Cities, and another forty-five minutes later, Sodapop comes back in. The social worker stands in the doorway.

Mr. Smithton is still writing in his notebook when he says, "Darrel, if you please…" He motions outside.

Darry looks back at his brothers, willing them to relax, before he steps out onto the porch.

"If you think, Darrel," the social worker says after he closes the front door behind him, "that you can intimidate me, you will be sorely disappointed."

Darry looks up, taken aback. "Mr. Smithton—"

"Do you know the kinds of families I see on a daily basis?" Mr. Smithton isn't even looking at him. "Kinds like yours. I see people like you every day. So I would encourage you not to try anything."

"I have no intention of intimidating anyone," Darry says, trying to keep the hard edge out of his tone.

The social worker coughs, and Darry has the suspicion is was more of a barely hidden scoff. "Regardless. I wanted to share with you my thoughts on your brothers. First, with the youngest.

"Ponyboy seems easily distracted and lacking proper guidance. His grades took a dramatic decline for a few months, he's run away from home, he was even caught up in the murder of that nice, up-and-coming young man…" He flips through the notepad, "…Bob Sheldon, I believe. Ponyboy seems like he could be a top-notch student, but it is clear he is missing the necessity of two well-grounded guardians."

Darry clenches his jaw and crosses his arms over his chest. Mr. Smithton glances up at him and Darry thinks he sees fear in his eyes, like the social worker expects Darry to slug him. A small part, the oldest Curtis admits to himself, wants to.

"As for Sodapop…my comments are similar. It seems like he has no aspirations, no drive to achieve. He dropped out of school, and has no desire to go back. He's working at a gas station that has limited potential for promotion, especially regarding his education as it stands." Mr. Smithton sighs. "It's a tragedy, when you think about it. Both of them."

Darry has to remind himself not to say anything. Because he wants to. In fact, he wants nothing more than to throw this worker's comments back in his face. Darry wants to tell him that his brothers are not the tragedy; that tragedy is something that happens to someone, and Ponyboy and Sodapop both have had more than their fair share of it. And he wants to makes sure Mr. Smithton knows that the only way Darry is going down, is to go down swinging.

But he doesn't. Darry takes a deep breath and turns an icy gaze onto the social worker as he continues.

"I will file my report and we will be in touch."

Darry still doesn't say anything, just watches the man get into his car—an AC Cobra—and drive away. He never tells Sodapop or Ponyboy what Mr. Smithton said to him. He just sighs in quiet relief when they don't hear from the social services until their next scheduled routine house visit…this time, with Ms. Witherson.

The third time it happens, Darry blames his boss and Soda is the only one who notices how close Darry comes to slipping.

It's a Tuesday when Darry comes home to the smell of bacon and the sound of Sodapop calling out, "Breakfast for dinner tonight, Dar!"

Two-Bit is lounging on the couch staring at re-runs of Hee-Haw while Steve shuffles a deck of cards at the table. Ponyboy looks up from his sketchpad and frowns at his older brother, but he doesn't say anything. Darry isn't sure if the look is because he came home later than usual or because, somehow, his little brother can tell that something is wrong.

Darry offers the 15 year old a tired shake of his head, as if to say don't worry about it. Ponyboy doesn't believe him; Darry can see that in his greenish-gray eyes.

"Sounds good," Darry calls back to Soda as he follows the smells into the kitchen. His younger brother stands at the stove with a skillet. Darry eyes the green food dye on the counter and arches an eyebrow at Steve, who offers a shrug and an amused smile in return.

Darry doesn't comment on it. By now, he's more than used to oddly colored food landing on his plate when it's Soda's night to cook.

"How was work?" Soda asks. The blonde's back is still to his older brother. He doesn't catch the way Darry's shoulders tense at the question.

For a moment, Darry's not sure how to answer. He needs to tell Sodapop what happened, but bringing it up with the entire gang around really isn't the right time.

But he also doesn't want to lie to his brother if he can help it. "The roof is almost done," he says instead. "We'll probably finish tomorrow if the rain holds off long enough."

"You get paid at the end of the week, right? When the project is done?"

"Yeah."

There must have been something in Darry's voice that catches his brother's attention, because Sodapop turns to face him. His eyes are conveying a clear question-what are you not telling me?-but Darry's eyes reply with an equally clear answer. I'll tell you later.

Sodapop lets it drop for now, but Darry can tell that he's still uneasy. He hopes that Soda waits to bring it up again until after Steve and Two-Bit leave and Ponyboy goes to bed.

"Dinner!" Soda calls, sliding the last of the green eggs into a bowl and setting it on the table.

Darry takes a seat along with the rest of the gang, grabbing a forkful of pancakes before passing the plate to Steve.

"Green eggs, Soda?" Ponyboy asks, eyeing the bowl with both skepticism and curiosity.

"They're still eggs, kid," Steve replies as he takes a slice of bacon.

"'I do not like green eggs and ham, I do not like them Sam-I-Am,'" Ponyboy says to himself, causing everyone at the table to stop and stare at him.

Darry can see his youngest brother's ears turning red as Two-Bit chimes, "Kid, if that ain't from some messed up poem, Darry outta have you checked out."

"It's from a little kid's book I saw at the library."

"I thought you was into those terrible books that never end. Like "Good Exceptions"."

"You mean Great Expectations?" Ponyboy asks, amused as he shovels down a mouthful of eggs.

Two-Bit waves a fork in his direction. "Don't go mouthin' off, kid," he tells him, smiling.

If he's being honest with himself, Darry stops listening after that. He's distracted and worried and stressed and he's only 21 how is he supposed to deal with this and it's not until his youngest brother says his name several times that he realizes someone had asked him a question.

"Yeah? Sorry," Darry offers, trying to focus because zoning out is not something Darry does.

There's a brief moment of silence before Steve awkwardly clears his throat. "Soda was wondering if you heard that weird sound again from the truck when you were driving it today."

Darry's about to answer when Ponyboy cuts in. "You okay, Dar?"

Darry runs a hand over his eyes and just nods. "I'm fine. Just tired." The oldest Curtis glances at Soda and doesn't miss the subtle, worried look in the usually happy-go-lucky face. "Long day at work," he adds and hopes that's enough. "And yeah, Steve. The sound is still there." If anyone picks up on the slight edge to his tone, they're smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

"We'll probably have to take it into the shop, then," Soda adds, frowning. "John can take it outta my paycheck."

"No," Darry says, too quickly.

Soda's frown deepens and Darry tries not to look uncomfortable under Ponyboy's suddenly piercing stare.

"We don't really got another option, Dar," Sodapop says, slowly. "Steve and I have done all we can on the engine without taking it in."

"How much is it gonna cost?" Ponyboy asks, but his eyes don't move from his oldest brother.

Soda shoots Pony a relaxed grin, as if that could relieve the tension building in the room. Steve and Two-Bit don't say anything.

"Don't worry about it, Pone. It ain't nothing we can't cover. We got two paychecks, after all."

Darry doesn't know if Steve picks up on some ungiven cue, or if he really needs to leave, but he suddenly stands up. "Two-Bit and I should head out. I think we're gonna hit up Buck's. Maybe get a little buzzed."

Two-Bit shrugs. "Sounds good to me, Stevie-boy. See ya guys around." He lets the door swing shut behind them.

The Curtis brothers haven't moved from the table when Soda finally turns to Darry and says, "Alright, Dar. Spill it. What's going on?"

Darry's jaw tightens, because once he tells Sodapop it suddenly becomes a very real problem. "Ponyboy, can you give me and Sodapop a minute?"

Ponyboy crosses his arms. "I want to stay."

"I need a minute with Soda."

"I'm part of this family too, Darry. I'm not a kid anymore."

That's what almost does it. Ponyboy doesn't seem to notice, but Sodapop does. The way Darry's jaw clenches as he takes a deep breath, the look that passes through his eyes that Soda has seen only a few times in his life, but he knows it. Fear.

And maybe that's why Soda sees it when Ponyboy doesn't. In his entire life, Ponyboy has never seen Darry truly afraid. But Sodapop has.

"Pony," Soda says suddenly, causing his younger brother to look at him. "Give us a minute. I promise to fill you in."

Ponyboy wants to argue, but he doesn't and Darry's grateful for that. The 17 year old pushes back from the table and storms off to his room. Soda doesn't say anything, just waits while Darry gathers himself again.

"I was fired today, Sodapop."

Darry can see that Soda tries his best to hide his surprise, but he doesn't quite manage it. The oldest Curtis can see the questions rush through his brother's mind, but for some reason, Sodapop doesn't let them tumble out of his mouth.

Instead, he says simply, "We'll figure it out."

The fourth time comes at four in the morning, several months later, after Darry answers the phone.

Darry is pale and he has the phone in a white-knuckled grip as he returns it to the receiver. He hears Ponyboy behind him, but the oldest Curtis doesn't turn around right away. He takes a moment to gather himself, because Darry can't let his kid brother see him panic.

"Dar?" Ponyboy's voice is quiet and worried.

Darry takes a deep breath, then turns around. He does his best to keep his face void of emotion, but from the way Pony's eyes widen, he knows he hasn't done a good job. Two-Bit, who was sleeping on the couch, stirs and sits up.

"What's up, Dar?" Two-Bit's eyes flicker over to the clock on the wall, cocking an eyebrow in surprise at the time.

Darry swallows thickly. "It was about Sodapop." He hears Ponyboy take in a slight breath, and his eyes return to his younger brother. "There was a car wreck at the drag strip…" Even Darry notices the hollowness of his own voice.

He watches his youngest brother pale. "Is…Is Soda…?"

Darry grabs his shoes and shoves them onto his feet. "I don't know."

"Was it his car?"

"Yeah." Darry takes another deep breath, feeling grateful when Ponyboy doesn't ask another question. Instead, he takes off into his room, returning a moment later with his shoes only half-on. Darry doesn't comment on it.

"Dar…" Darry looks to Two-Bit as he grabs the keys to the truck. Two-Bit doesn't need to say it. Darry just nods.

"I know. Let's go."

…

Darry speeds the entire way there. The urgency of getting to the drag strip far outweighs any concern over getting a speeding ticket. He focuses on driving and tries to not think about anything else. He doesn't do a very good job of it, but he tries.

There's a crowd when they get there, and Darry counts two police cars. One fire truck. One ambulance. The pit in his stomach tightens.

"Do you see him?" Ponyboy's voice reflects the desperation Darry feels.

Darry shakes his head, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of his brother. Ponyboy takes off running, pushing past anyone who stands in his way.

Darry yells after him. "Ponyboy!" His kid brother either doesn't hear him or ignores him. Darry sighs in frustration, raking a hand through his hair. "Two-Bit—," Darry begins, but his friend cuts him off.

"I got him, Dar." Two-Bit follows after the teenager.

The oldest Curtis shoves his hands in his pockets and he starts circling the crowd, his eyes sifting through the faces around him. But he doesn't see the happy-go-lucky grin or the familiar dark brown eyes.

He catches sight of a head of wheat-gold hair and Darry's heart jumps to his throat.

A second later, it plummets into his shoes. It's not Soda—the oldest Curtis knows this as soon as the guy turns around—and Darry suddenly has the vague feeling he might throw up. He swallows the feeling down, his pace quickening along with his heartbeat.

Pretty soon, Darry's practically at a run and he thinks he's probably circled the crowd forty times. He tries very hard to not look at the mangled cars in the center, and when he does he immediately wishes he hadn't.

His head knows its two cars—one of them Soda's—but the scene is largely a mess of twisted metal and the smell of burning rubber stings his nostrils. His eyes can't quite believe they were ever cars in the first place.

"Darry…" Ponyboy's voice catches Darry's attention. He turns around, and sees his youngest brother's tear-stained face. "Did you find Soda?"

The oldest Curtis's gaze flickers to Two-Bit, standing behind his brother. He looks lost and angry, looking back at the car crash in the center.

"No," Darry eventually replies. He grits his teeth and his hands ball into fists but he doesn't say anything else because he's not sure he can speak past the lump in his throat anymore.

Ponyboy spins around and for a second, Darry worries his little brother is going to bolt. But he doesn't, and Darry wonders if that's because he knows he can't outrun this.

A long moment passes and none of them move. Darry just listens to the sounds of the crowd talking and sirens wailing, trying to breathe despite the increasingly constricted feeling in his chest. He thinks of his parents, and then a voice cuts into his thoughts.

"Think I can bum a ride from you greasers?"

Almost simultaneously, the three of them whip around. Standing there—with a Band-Aid on his forehead and his clothes and face dirty from what looks like smoke and oil—is none other than Sodapop Curtis. Darry notices his eyes seem brighter, but he's not sure if that's from excitement or relief.

Ponyboy is the first to react. He nearly tackles his brother in a hug, and Soda returns it immediately. Darry sees some of the tension ease out of his middle brother's shoulders and he offers a small, apologetic grin when Pony pulls back and scowls at him.

"Where were you?" Pony demands, but the relief takes the bite out of his words.

Darry keeps scanning Sodapop. "Are you all right, Sodapop?" he asks. Soda looks at him. Darry distantly remembers Ponyboy describing their brother as 'drunk on life', but Soda's eyes are as sober as Darry has ever seen them.

"Yeah." Sodapop nods. "I'm all right."

Two-Bit slugs his shoulder, not quite as hard as usual. "Well glory hallelujah, kid. Stevie's gonna up in arms when he hears about this."

Soda chuckles, but he doesn't disagree. Steve, for once, hadn't joined him at the strip. He'd been with Evie all night, and since it was her birthday, Soda hadn't minded.

"No kidding," Soda says.

Darry steps up to his younger brothers, swinging an arm around Soda. His brother shoots him a grin, but there's something still off about his eyes. Whether or not he'll admit it, Darry knows he's a little shaken.

If he's being honest with himself, maybe there's a part of Darry that's been shaken too.

"I'm sorry, Dar." The sudden seriousness in Soda's voice catches his brother off guard. Darry isn't sure if he's apologizing for the wreck or something else, but he decides it doesn't really matter.

"Let's go home, Pepsi."

That night, Soda decides to sleep in his younger brother's room, and Darry has the distinct feeling it has nothing to do with Ponyboy's nightmares.

The fifth time, Darry's hands are clenching a piece of paper so tightly, Steve worries that he's going to rip it in half.

The house is quieter than it usually is when Darry comes home with the mail in his hand. Steve raises the beer bottle he has in a saluted greeting, and when the oldest Curtis sees the way the other greaser's eyes are still smoldering, he assumes Steve just had a fight with his dad again. Darry doesn't ask.

"Hey, Darry," Steve says, taking another swig. "Hope you don't mind I snagged the last one."

Darry doesn't look up as he shifts through the envelopes in his hands. "It's what they're here for."

He doesn't flip through all of them before tossing the pile onto the table. They all seem to be bills; he'll get to them later. He walks over to the refrigerator, pulling out the chicken and tossing it onto the counter before opening up a cupboard.

"You staying for supper, Steve?" Darry calls out.

"Yeah," Steve replies. Darry hears him come to stand in the kitchen as he pulls out a frying pan. Darry glances at the other greaser. Steve still looks angry, but the oldest Curtis knows better than to think it's directed at him.

Darry turns his gaze back to the pan as he sets it on the stove. "You spending the night?"

Steve doesn't answer right away. "Yeah." Something in his voice tells makes Darry cock an eyebrow.

"Need to talk?"

Steve shakes his head, lifting his beer bottle to his lips again. "Ain't nothin' new, Superman." He downs another swallow.

Darry nods as he hears the door open and his youngest brother jogs into the kitchen. Ponyboy's hair is sticking to his forehead in a sweaty mess, and Darry can smell him even though he's standing clear across the room.

"You cooking tonight, Dar?" Ponyboy's grin makes Darry crack a small smile too.

"Not for you if you don't hop in the shower and stop smellin' up the house."

Ponyboy blinks, then laughs, striking a heroic pose with one hand touching his shoulder and the other arm extended. "This is the smell of a champion."

Steve throws a towel at him. "You ain't one yet, kid. Don't get cocky."

The towel hits him in the face, but Ponyboy catches it before it falls to the floor. He tosses it on the counter and heads to the hallway. "I got a better chance of bein' one than you, Steve." Ponyboy ducks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. A moment later, Darry hears the water running.

"Arrogant kid," Steve mutters under his breath. There isn't any real malice in his words; Darry knows Steve's mostly just upset with his dad, and Ponyboy is hyped up on adrenaline.

Darry glances at the clock, frowning slightly. "Steve, ain't Soda supposed to be back already?"

Steve follows his gaze to the time, then shrugs. "They probably just got busy at the end. It is a Friday. Lots of people are gonna wanna take their cars out tonight."

Darry nods, knowing Steve is right, and turns the oven on. He grabs a handful of potatoes and a stick of butter. Steve busies himself with clearing off the table, picking up the pile of envelopes Darry had placed there a few minutes ago.

"Dar," he says, waving them at him when he turns around. "Where do ya want these?"

Darry sticks out a hand. "Here. I'll take 'em."

Steve places them in his hands and Darry starts sifting through them. He leans against the counter, tossing each envelope next to him as he looks through. As he expected, most of them are bills, a few are advertisements, and pretty soon, Darry only has two envelopes remaining in his hand. But something about the second to last one makes him stop.

It's addressed to Sodapop, but Darry opens it anyway. Looking back, he won't remember why he decided to open it.

He will remember, however, how it felt when he saw in big, bold letters the words: Order to report for Armed Services Physical Examination.

The air seems to leave his lungs and Darry forgets to breathe in again. He doesn't even hear Steve say his name in concern, because all he really sees are those words and Sodapop's name and their address written in the box marked to.

His brother has been drafted.

He doesn't know his hands are shaking until Steve comes over and tries to take the paper out of his hands. Darry doesn't let him; it's not that he doesn't want to, but he thinks that he physically can't let go.

He can't let go of the paper and he can't let go of his brother.

He doesn't hear Steve's string of curse words as he reads the paper over Darry's shoulder, and he doesn't hear the water from Ponyboy's shower turn off but there is something that Darry does hear, and the oldest Curtis steels himself with the paper still firmly in his grip as Sodapop opens the door and calls out.

"Darry? Ponyboy? I'm home."

When Darry falls apart, he is completely alone, almost a year and a half later.

When he comes home, he isn't surprised the house is empty, even considering the late hour. He knows that Ponyboy's working; he was a few months into his first year at college, home for a fall break. He'd picked up a job at the local library to help pay off his tuition. Ponyboy tended to play off the job almost with embarrassment, but Darry could tell his brother actually really liked working there.

Darry is proud of him. And not all because of college or the job.

Two-Bit had picked up some work bartending at a local restaurant a few months ago. Darry still hadn't gotten a straight answer out of him as to why he suddenly seemed to have a change of heart, but Darry didn't really have the energy anymore to press him too hard anyway.

As for Steve…well, he had signed up to ship out with Sodapop a week after they'd gotten the notification. Soda had tried to talk him out of it, and it had escalated into the first real fight Darry had ever seen the two of them have. It stuck in Darry's mind with surprising clarity.

"Don't be stupid!" Soda had told his best friend after hearing his plans to enlist. The twenty year old had been a little less happy-go-lucky that week, but this was the first time since he'd read the order to report for physical examination that Darry had seen him truly upset.

"I ain't!" Steve had replied. While Soda may have been upset, Steve was undeniably angry. "I'm tryin' to look out for you."

Darry could see the tightness in his brother's jaw. "Well, I want you to stay. You got family here."

"My dad ain't worth nothin', Sodapop."

"I meant the gang."

Steve had crossed his arms over his chest. "They'll be just fine without me. I'm goin' to enlist. You can't stop me."

Sodapop jumped to his feet and swore. His eyes were bright, and looking back, Darry wonders if there were tears. "The hell I can't!"

Steve was on his feet too. His voice was low and it was difficult to miss the hard edge in it. "No, Sodapop. I ain't gonna let you die without me." His eyes were angry, but there was another emotion there too. An emotion Darry still can't place when he thinks back on it.

Whatever it had been, Soda had seen it too. And while Darry wouldn't call it relenting, exactly, his brother stopped arguing with Steve.

It was the first of many things to change. Once they shipped out, even more things were different. Darry was busier, Ponyboy was quieter, Two-Bit didn't joke as often. He stuck around, though, and Darry was grateful for that.

The oldest Curtis jumps out of the truck after he pulls into the driveway, barely noticing the brisk air as it nips at the collar of his jacket. He slips his hands into his pockets—a habit that he seemed to be doing a lot more since Sodapop and Steve left—as he walks down the driveway to the mailbox.

He grabs the mail and newspaper without really thinking about it. Another thing that had changed was the fact that Darry hates getting the mail. Sometimes, he lets it go for a few days. Those days are usually following a broadcast Darry hears that hints at high casualties over in Vietnam.

Then again, Darry wonders dryly, when aren't the casualties high over there?

Darry walks into the house, turning on the lights as he makes his way into the kitchen. His stomach is growling, and though he doesn't feel much like cooking anything, he knows he should eat something. He tosses the mail onto the table, grabs half of a leftover sandwich, and picks up the newspaper.

That's when he sees it.

Darry doesn't want to look at it, but he lays the newspaper back down and picks it up anyway. He opens the envelope, but before he pulls out the slip of paper, he stands up and backs away from the table. He won't remember what is going through his head before he reads it. In fact, he won't remember anything about the day except for this moment, when he takes in a deep breath and pulls out the piece of paper.

When he reads Western Union Telegram at the top, he doesn't expect his stomach to give a violent surge. He swallows it down, letting his eyes linger on those words because he has the sinking feeling that those three will be the least painful in this entire message.

As he eventually, finally, reads it, he feels—actually feels—his heart drop and his stomach lurch and he doesn't know anymore which is which because everything inside of him becomes a jumbled, confused mess as his eyes take in the neat, carefully scripted print.

The secretary of the army, Darry reads, has asked me to express his deep regret that your brother, Private First Class Sodapop Patrick Curtis, died in Vietnam 14 October 1972 as a result of hostile action…

Darry doesn't read the rest of it. The telegram crumples in his fist, and Darry thinks briefly about tearing it apart, as if a trivial act of defiance could satiate his suddenly desperate desire for denial. Then he thinks of Ponyboy, and he tries to place the message on the counter so that his kid brother can read it for himself, but the piece of paper slips from Darry's hand and misses the counter.

The oldest Curtis watches it drift to the floor deliberately and painfully. A moment passes, and then Darry's knees follow it.

Kneeling in the kitchen, he stares at the message without reading it. His head knows the words won't change, but that doesn't stop a part of him from hoping anyway. When the telegram starts to blur, he doesn't try to stop the tears. And when the tears turn to sobs, he doesn't stop those either. He's alone, but he doesn't think he could stop them even if he tried.

Because they come with an anger and devastation that Darry Curtis, for everything he is, doesn't know how to control anymore.

A/N: Please review. Even if you hate me.