DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE OUTSIDERS AND/OR THE SONG!
A/N: Heard this song on an oldies station and inspiration struck me. My first songfic, so please be nice. Hope you enjoy!
Darrel Shayne Curtis Jr., better known as Darry, was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The social worker was coming for a home inspection in a little over three hours and the house was a disaster area. A pile of jumbled old newspapers sat by the front door, along with a couple of bulging trash bags. Eggs, flour, jelly, and what appeared to be chocolate frosting were stuck to the tile floor in the kitchen; crumbs were everywhere. Dirty laundry had been scattered throughout the house and wastebaskets in several rooms were overflowing.
Darry knew there was no way in hell he was going to get the place looking respectable before the social worker arrived if he had to do all the chores himself, so he went into the living room to recruit help. As usual, both the TV and radio were blaring. His brothers Ponyboy and Sodapop, along with their friends Two-Bit and Johnny, were watching The Newlywed Game. An odd choice for Greasers, but they mostly watched it to crack jokes about the contestants. Darry crossed the room, turned down the radio, and switched off the television.
"Hey!" his brothers protested.
"It was just gettin' good," added Two-Bit. "They just asked these newlywed Socs if--"
Darry held up a palm. "I don't care. We gotta start gettin' the house cleaned up."
"Can't it wait 'til after the show?" asked Soda.
"Or why don't you just do it yourself?" suggested Pony.
Darry frowned heavily at them. Everyone in the room braced themselves; it looked like he was going to start yelling. Darry opened his mouth, but instead of shouting, he began to sing. "Take out the papers and the trash. Or you don't get no spending cash."
Two-Bit stroked his chin thoughtfully. "How much cash we talkin' about?"
"You don't give us an allowance anyway," Pony pointed out.
Johnny didn't say anything. He was almost afraid to. Had Darry gone off the deep end?
"If you don't scrub that kitchen floor..." He gestured threateningly at the radio. "You ain't gonna rock 'n roll no more."
"Yakety yak!" shouted Two-Bit.
"Don't talk back," Darry warned in a deeper voice than normal. He pointed to Pony. "You just finish cleanin' up your room."
"But most of it's Soda's mess." the youngest Curtis argued.
Darry ignored him. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed the broom. He marched into the living room, twirling it with the skill of a high-school drum majorette (and accidentally jabbing the low ceiling a few times).
"Let's see the dust fly with that broom," sang Darry, tossing the broom to Johnny.
Johnny caught it. He gave Darry a brief stunned glance before walking into the kitchen to sweep.
Darry collected all the wastebaskets and set them near the trash bags beside the front door. He pointed to Soda. "Get all that garbage outta sight...or you don't go out Friday night."
Soda and Two-Bit glanced at each other, both barely containing their laughter at Darry's behavior. The eldest Curtis brother was currently throwing all the dirty clothes into a hamper. He bustled out to the living room with it.
"You just put on your coat and hat," he instructed to Two-Bit.
Two-Bit pulled on his black leather jacket. "Good enough?" he asked.
Darry nodded.
"How 'bout this hat?" Two-Bit wanted to know, holding up an old fedora he'd found someplace.
"Let me finish!" Darry shouted. He went back to singing, "And walk yourself to the Laundromat." He shoved the hamper into Two-Bit's arms.
"Sure thing," said Two-Bit, wrinkling his nose slightly from the smell of Pony's gym socks.
"But we have a washin' machine," said Soda.
Darry didn't seem to hear this. "And when you finish doin' that...bring in the dog and put out the cat."
"But--but you guys don't have any pets," Johnny said timidly.
"Don't talk back," Darry warned in the same creepy voice.
Johnny gulped and hurriedly went back to sweeping. Pony came out of his and Soda's room, looking confused.
"Um, why's there a bag of chips in our bed?" he wanted to know.
Soda smiled. "Thanks, Pony, I've been looking for those."
Darry looked from Pony to Soda to Two-Bit, glaring. "Don't you give me no dirty looks." he practically hollered.
"We didn't," said Pony, bewildered.
"Your brother's hip."
"Yeah, you are," said Johnny, coming out of the kitchen. "Just calm down, all right, man?"
"He knows what cooks," Darry took no notice of the gang's pet; he still seemed temporarily deaf.
The loud honking of a car horn made everyone's heads snap around. Soda pushed back the curtains to look out the living room window. He saw Steve, sitting in a near-junker of a Plymouth Fury that was parked at the curb. Steve motioned for his best friend to join him. Unfortunately, Darry noticed. He rounded on Soda.
"Just tell your hoodlum friend outside," he sang, gesturing toward the window.
Soda looked hurt. "You know Steve's a good guy, Darry."
"You ain't got time to take a ride," Darry finished.
"Yakety yak!" shouted the Greasers (even Johnny).
Darry blinked a couple of times and ran a hand over his eyes. "What're y'all yellin' nonsense for? We got chores to do." he said.
THE END