Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, nor any of S.E. Hinton's original characters.

Darry always tried to carry more than he could manage. He never seemed to know that it was alright to struggle, to hurt. The same shoulders that carried too many bundles of roofing carried the weight of the world. They carried straight A's when he was in school, and never-ending bills after. They held up Soda and I and when we couldn't even stand, he went to work, went to the store, fought for custody, fought for me, fought to do more, to let me become more. And never once did I hear him complain.

That attitude hasn't always helped him, though. He would insist he was fine until he was red in the face, he couldn't admit to not always being Superman. The doctor said he'll be alright but he needs to take things slow. Turns out the stitches on his back had gotten infected. It's a good thing we caught it when we did, or it would've meant more nights in the hospital. But they just gave him IV antibiotics for a few hours then sent him home and told us to make sure he takes his meds, drinks lots of water, gets lots of sleep, and to come back if he gets worse or the fever doesn't break in 48 hours. So here we are back home in the living room. Darry's in Dad's old chair, asleep I hope. Soda ran out to grab some groceries. We haven't gone shopping in a while, and you can only eat so much cereal. Not only that, we're out of milk. So off to the store Soda went.

I glance at my watch. 9 pm. I stand up from the couch and flick off the TV. I wasn't really even watching it anyway. I cross the room to Dad's old chair and look at Darry for a second. His characteristically ungreased hair is plastered to his forehead from the fever that has still yet to break. I place my hand gently across his forehead. He opens his eyes and looks at me questioningly.

"Just seeing if your fever broke," I explain.

"I coulda' told you that myself." He says slowly with a sort of smile as he shifts in his seat, then frowns. "The answer is no." I feel bad. You can tell he feels like shit because, in all honesty, he looks like it. For as long back remember Darry hardly ever got sick. But when he did it hit him like a ton of bricks. I don't know what to say. What do you say to someone who fights so hard to control everything and suddenly can't?

I can't come up with anything helpful to say, so instead, I just tell him Soda should be home soon and shuffle off to bed. I leave the door half open so I can hear if he needs something, not that he'd call for me anyway. I can't sleep, so instead I lay staring at the ceiling until I hear the creak of the door opening and the pattern of Soda's footsteps against the floorboards.

"How you feelin' Dar?" He asks carefully.

"Fine."

"Bull." Soda says, exasperated. "You ain't gotta lie to me Darry. It's alright to hurt sometimes, you know that?"

No response.

"Dammit, Darry! Tell me you feel like shit, or that your head hurts, or whatever the hell else. Just talk to me, for Christ's sake!"

"I'm just tryin' not to worry you guys. You've got enough to think about."

"Darry, it makes me even more worried when you don't tell us nothin' because you're so damn prideful you can't even say when you don't feel well. How am I supposed to know if you're actually alright if you never tell us when you're not?" He pauses for a beat. "Darry, it took you nearly splittin' your head open falling over for you to even admit somethin' was wrong!"

"Okay. I'm sorry." I can't believe my own ears. He just apologized. He just admitted to not being okay. Holy shit.

"Alright, let's try again. How do you feel?" Soda says slowly.

"Not great. Better than I did. What about you, Sodapop? Those are some long-ass shifts you're taking."

"Don't you get on me about that too now. I've already got Pony hounding me about that." Soda gripes.

"He's not wrong," Darry says.

"Oh, don't act like you'd do any differently. We both know you'd work 20 hours a day and roof every damn house in America if you had too." Soda exhales. "You know the kid wants to get a job. Already has one lined up. Figured it'd be better to hear it from me." I sit up, straining to make sure I hear every word of my oldest brothers response. the

"I dunno. I'll talk to him about it later. I hate to say it but we could really use the extra money. The millisecond I go back to work though, he's quitting." Darry sounds so defeated, quickly swapping the topic. "You ready to hit the hay?" Soda must have nodded because I hear Darry stand up and the two pairs of footsteps plod into Darry's room. One pair emerges, and then I see Soda's silhouette in the doorway. I catch a glimpse of his face as he nods goodnight to me, his exhaustion shockingly pronounced. He flops onto the bed, still dressed and I know he's asleep before he even hits the mattress.

Thank you so, so much for reading and sorry for the delay in the update! Hopefully, you liked this chapter and please consider leaving a review! Have a fantastic day,

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