Chapter Text
The next four days were the worst of Ponyboy’s life. He lived in a constant state of pain, delirium, and expelling any kind of fluids or foods his brothers and friends managed to force down his throat. Everything just went right through him, and he was hardly granted a moment without pain. He’d never been so exhausted in his life.
He saw the way people were looking at him. Everyone watched him constantly. Especially his brothers. Pony hated the feeling of being watched, even though they meant nothing bad by it. He knew they were just trying to help. He knew they were just scared. He was, too.
Most of all, he hated feeling so, so sick and being unable to control what his own body was doing. At least he wasn’t in that wagon anymore. But even sitting up anymore felt close to impossible.
The others tried to help. Really, they did. Johnny told him old stories. Two-Bit told jokes. But nothing changed his reality of a living hell.
On the seventh evening, propped up by Darry and trying hopelessly to listen to Two-Bit tell some ridiculous story as Pony tried to keep some supper and water down, his expression suddenly changed.
Soda, attentive as ever, noticed at once. “Pony?”
Pony looked away. “No.”
Darry was already heaving him to his feet and ushering him away. Pony squeezed his eyes shut, groaning. He needed everyone to stop looking. He needed everyone to go away. He knew he was already soiling his clothes, and the mortification was almost as bad as the pain, each and every time.
Pony just wanted to go by himself. He wanted to insist he could manage. He wanted to be fourteen and healthy again.
Instead, he was literally being pulled along by his older brother because he couldn’t even stand without help anymore.
Soda slipped an arm around his shoulders, and carried between his brothers, they carefully helped him away from camp. Pony kept his head down the entire time. He couldn’t even look. He could hardly think.
He wanted to cry, but his body couldn’t even produce tears anymore.
By the time they reached a patch of privacy, Pony was breathing hard from the effort. When had a few steps and cramps made him so winded?
Darry helped him sit safely. Then, both brothers immediately turned their backs and moved several steps away without another word, giving Pony the little dignity they could.
Pony stared at the ground, then let his forehead press against him as his body felt like it was tearing itself from the inside out for the thousandth time.
When the movement had passed, though it didn’t really feel like it had at all—Pony could already feel he was minutes away from something else, it was just this constant need inside him to go, even though there was nothing left inside him—he let his head dip against his chest, feeling nothing but pain and humiliation. He wanted to die. He just wanted to die already. It would be so much better than this. Everyone saw. Everyone heard.
“Baby,” Darry said softly. Pony couldn’t bring himself to look up. With utmost gentleness, as Soda helped Pony to sit up, Darry lifted Pony’s chin up. “I’m so, so sorry you’re goin’ through this. It ain’t fair. I’m sure it hurts so much and is mortifyin’ for you. I’m so sorry. But we don’t care about that part. No matter what your body has to do. Anythin’ to get rid of this sick. Nobody’s judgin’ you. No one. Not me. Not your brother. Not our friends. We’re jus’ scared ta death. We need to see ya get better. That’s all. I don’t care how ‘gross’ it gets. You’re not gross, you’re our baby. I don’t care that the wagon train abandoned us, I care that you get well. That you stay alive, Ponyboy. We love you.”
“Don’t look at me,” was all Ponyboy could think to choke out again.
His brothers exchanged a heartbroken look.
He spent yet another nearly sleepless night on the ground, pain and movements keeping him hopelessly awake and suffering. There was always someone at his side. Darry or Soda. He wondered if Johnny could stay with him if he asked.
He must’ve gotten a little sleep, because the next thing he knew, Soda was propping him up. “Pony, yer eyes…” Soda looked at him with concern.
“What?” Pony asked blearily.
“They’re so… sunken. Are you feelin’ worse today?”
“‘M not… feelin’ much o’ anythin’ today.” Glory, his mouth felt dry as a desert. He could hardly speak. “Water.”
“Yes. Yes, honey. Darry, go get him some water.”
Darry returned minutes later and lifted the canteen to Pony’s lips. But the moment Pony tried to swallow, he was dry heaving, and he couldn’t stop. “Cain’t. Cain’t,” he croaked and gagged.
“Okay, all right, easy, now,” Soda soothed, keeping him propped up so he wouldn’t choke.
Something felt different today. Worse. Instead of the intense pain he’d been feeling before, he felt a little more removed from his body. But maybe—maybe that meant he was at the start of a recovery. Or…
“Am I gonna die?” Ponyboy whispered.
When neither of his brothers answered right away, Ponyboy felt like he couldn’t breathe. He turned his face away, not even able to produce the tears that would have blurred his eyes a week ago.
More hours passed that day. He didn’t feel present for much of it. At one point, he realized he was being held between his brothers, and even though he felt so far out of his body, he felt safe. That even if he died, he would die here, and nothing would hurt him again.
He wondered if God would let him stay with his family even after he was gone. If people were allowed to do that. And if they were, if people like Ma and Pa had been with them all along, too.
“When I get there,” Ponyboy whispered, “I’ll ask God if he’ll let me stay here with you for a while. Kay?”
Soda’s breath caught, then he nodded. “Yes. Yes, okay.”’
With effort, Pony turned his head toward Darry. “Is that okay with you?”
“Of course,” Darry said, his voice thick. He tried to clear his throat. “You can stay with us as long as—as you like, baby.”
But while most of the day felt like his mind was detaching from his body, that didn’t last as long as he would’ve liked. Soon, he was struck with a terrible, searing pain that was different from the ones he’d felt before.
“It feels—it—” Ponyboy’s teeth clenched.
“What does it feel like, darlin’?” Soda asked, leaning forward.
“Like there’s glass in my belly,” Ponyboy rasped. “It’s burnin’.” He spasmed again, his body forcing himself to strain, even though he’d been passing nothing but blood and mucus for days and days. But even that burned for him now, too.
Pony vaguely understood how bad things were. Not just for himself, but for the others. When he was gone, would his family get back on a wagon train?
God, he prayed so. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he’d spelled their doom, too.