Sometimes Darry Curtis could be forgetful.

Sometimes, after a long, brutal day roofing houses in the burning sunlight, it was easy to forget the life he used to have, one that was relatively carefree. Sometimes he forgot the innocence his parents had worked so hard to instill in his brothers.
/It was an easy thing to do. But then there would be reminders, brilliant flashes in their everyday monotony, and in those moments, he could see clearly again. All the pain, all the laughter, all the love.

It was a week after Soda had dropped out of school. It had to have been close to 2 a.m., and Darry was waiting for him to come home. The eldest Curtis sat at the kitchen table, pushing the crumbs left from a slice of chocolate cake around on his plate. He glanced up periodically, his icy gaze checking and double checking the digits on the clock. He should have been home by now.

Minute by minute passed, and with each second Darry's worry grew. Every Greaser knew the stories. The late night muggings, the knife fights, the gang battles. His happy-go-lucky brother was just impulsive enough to quite possibly get involved in any matter of those.

Finally, as the clock rang on the hour, Darry stood up, the wood legs of his chair screeching gratingly against the tile of the floor. He yanked his jacket from the hook by the door, and then strode back across the room to the kitchen cabinets. He rifled ferociously through the drawers, looking for a switchblade, and the clatter he was making almost disguised the noise of the storm door creaking open.

"Hey, Dar." Came his brothers soft voice. Darry looked up, his face one of blatant surprise as Soda waltzed into the room. His eyes held about a thousand years worth of exhaustion as he stumbled to the couch, removing various articles of his grime and grease covered clothing until he collapsed into the cushion, wearing only his boxers and his hat.

The younger Curtis gave a loud yawn, then seemed to focus on his brother for the first time since walking in, his brows furrowing as he took in his brother's shocked expression as he stood frozen, the switchblade clutched in his unmoving fist. "Everything ok?" Some of the fatigue in his face melted into concern, and he sat up a little straighter. "Where's Pony?" He asked, automatically assuming the worst.

Darry stared incredulously, always taken aback by his brother's relaxed interest. He never understood how oblivious Soda could be to worry when it concerned him and not someone else. It was as if the kid didn't think anyone could worry about him.

"Where the hell have you been?" He managed to sputter, more relieved than angry. Soda gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders, leaning back once more against the couch. "Boss asked if I could work a double shift. Figured we could use the money, so I said yes."

Finally regaining the use of his limbs, Darry dropped the blade back into the drawer, approaching Soda. He did a quick calculation in his mind when he heard the words, his expression remaining unreadable, as was his trademark countenance. "You left for work at eleven o'clock this mornin', Sodapop. You tellin' me you been at work all this time?"

Soda nodded, his eyes finding the floor. Anyone else listening to the conversation would have heard an older brother asking his younger one a simple question. But Soda was closer to him than anybody, and he heard the underlining meaning.

They were words of concern, worried about how long his little brother had worked, just so they could afford the most basic of necessities. They held the guilt Darry carried that Soda had to work. There was residual anger over Soda dropping out, mixed with the great pride he felt for how hard he worked.

Soda offered his brother a carefree grin. "The girls dig it, man." He stared simply, pulling the brim of his hat over his face as he leaned back on his arms, feigning sleep to spare Darry from the emotional conversation that could have been about to happen.

It was moments like these where Darry saw how broken their family had become, but also how strong they were when united. As this memory appeared in his mind, Darry rifled through the fridge. Due to his absentmindedness, it took him longer than it should
/have, considering there were only about two things in it. His eyes fell on the only consistent thing they ever had in their refrigerator: a messy little chocolate cake, and another memory sprang into his mind.

Mrs. Curtis swatted Soda's hand away as he snuck a finger's worth of batter. "I ain't gonna tell you again, stay out of the batter or we won't have enough for the cake." She scolded, but as always, there was a glimmer of mirth in her eyes. It was impossible not to, no one could deny Soda's charm when he sent them his oh-so-charming grin.

"Relax," Soda laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "The batter is better anyway." He shot Pony a cheeky smirk when he saw that his younger brother was currently attempting to steal a bit of the ingredients himself. Mrs. Curtis was far too quick however, and she smacked the wooden spoon she was holding against Pony's hand. "Shoo. Both of you. Or you ain't getting this cake."

Her infectious grin, so much like Soda's, made her threat much less intimidating, but her boys ran off anyway, laughing all the while. Margaret Curtis then turned to her eldest, giving him a smile. "This is why you're my favorite, Darry." She said loudly enough so the other two could hear, before sending him a wink. Darry returned the smile, though with a tinge of mischief himself, as he had snuck some of the recipe as well, just a lot sneakier than the likes of his little brothers.

Darry sighed, putting the cake on the counter. He grimaced vaguely as he noticed a distinct handprint in the frosting where Steve had gotten into it, no doubt, and carefully cut around it. Who knew what kind of disease that kid could be carrying. Steve
/had always been a bit of a permanent fixture in the Curtis household. Like an annoying brother you just want to lock in a closet and forget about.

"Soda!" Twelve year old Darry yelled, running as hard and fast as he could through the tall grass of the vacant lot. A panic was starting to set it, his seven year old brother had been missing for the last hour. "Mom and dad are going to kill
me.." He thought, his heart pounding in his chest.

He had searched every inch of town, from the old DX to the elementary school. Darry forced himself to stop running, taking a deep breath to clear his head, attempting to purse the problem logically. The two of them had been planning catch, and when Soda accidentally missed it, he ran after the ball. Darry waited a good ten minutes for him to come back, but he never did.

Worst of all, Darry had found the baseball sitting there at the bottom of the hill, with Soda-sized footprints leading right up to it in the dust.

The oldest Curtis began his run again, still calling out his brother's name as he searched frantically. He was beginning to give up when he heard it. Laughter. Soda's laughter. His little brother was in the backyard of a broken down house a few streets down from their own, cackling like a mad man as he and another kid climbed into the utmost branches of a tall tree.

Soda caught sight of his older brother when he peered over the fence, and his little face broke into an even wider grin- if that were possible. He took a flying leap off of one of the branches,soaring to the ground with the grace of a firecracker. "Dar!" He cheered, running to his brother as fast as he could. "Look!" He pointed to the gap-toothed, bright eyed boy with the mop of dark hair. "That's Steve Randle." He squared up his thin shoulders as he said it, mimicking the teenage greasers he had seen around the neighborhood. Darry rolled his eyes, sighing.

The memory caused present-day Darry to roll his eyes in the perfect imitation of his younger self. He pushed the cake back into the fridge, taking a cigarette from his pocket. He took a long drag on it, the soothing feeling hitting him almost instantaneously.
/Sometimes he enjoyed the memories, other times, all they did was remind the roofer of what he had lost.

Darry Curtis had gone from big brother to father figure and primary caregiver in the course of a minute. Everyday was a struggle, every moment a burden.

He took another drag, then snuffed out the flame in a quick, deft movement, shaking his head. Burden. It wasn't a burden, they weren't a sacrifice. Sure, he'd given up his future, his education, his chances at worldly happiness. But in the meantime
/he had gained something so much greater. And he wouldn't trade the life he had now for all the riches and wealth in the world. So he threw those memories out with the butt of the cigarette. He didn't need them anymore. He had all he needed right in
/that little run down house.

Really enjoyed this one. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of one shots focusing on snapshots of old memories, but I should probably wait. For those of you who are reading my multi-chapter story, I've decided I'll be updating that one every few days, but onthe days I don't update, I'll probably post oneshots. I'm too obsessed with these boys for my own good.

Don't forget to R&R!

-Gracella