#greiving

You bumped into him as he practically fled the funeral home, trying to get away before he broke down in some type of capacity. He wasn't even sure how it was going to happen. He just knew that something was bubbling up in his chest, and that all of a sudden he couldn't hardly breathe.

"I'm so sorry," you gasped as you knocked into him.

"It's okay," he said gruffly, trying to look more put together than he felt.

And apparently failing miserably.

"Are you okay, Darry? You look pale," you had said, reaching out a gentle hand to steady him. He'd looked dead on his feet, to be honest.

"No," he had rasped, and you were both kind of shocked at the honesty.

"My car is nearby. How about I give you a ride home?" you'd offered, glancing around at the lack of vehicles on this block.

He nodded, and tried to smile in thanks but it fell flat.

He had managed to make it to the car in one piece, and you were halfway to his house when he spoke.

"You ain't gonna ask?"

"Not my business unless you want to tell me," you shrugged. "Your call."

Despite your letting him off the hook, he felt like an explanation was in order. Unfortunately, he had been bottling up everything since they got the news, trying to take care of his brothers who were a mess. He didn't have time to break down, there were things that had to be done and people he had to look out for. So, of course, he was able to get out of exactly two words, "my folks," before the dam broke.

He was mortified, apologizing over and over and trying to say he was fine despite the fact that he was sobbing in a near-stranger's car. You didn't know him well, but you knew him enough to realize he probably wasn't prone to fits of emotion over nothing. Plus, he'd come out of a funeral home.

You turned down a side street, and he looked confused when you parked in front of an empty lot.

"Figured you needed a minute, before you'd want to be faced with everybody at home," you had said quietly, eye trained on the windshield to try to help ease his embarrassment.

"I'll be fine," he had said, convincing neither of you.

"Yeah, you seem fine," you said in a slightly teasing tone, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "Sometimes it's easier when with somebody you don't really know," you had offered. "Somebody you aren't trying to be strong for all the time."

Despite his obvious embarrassment and his best efforts, he couldn't seem to pull it back together. You had sat with him quietly, eyes forward, as he eventually just dropped his head into his hands and cried. You had felt awkward, like you should be doing something; you didn't realize that this was exactly what he had needed. To have a minute, and a safe place, to fall apart before he had to go home and be Superman.

"Is it okay to put a hand on you, Darry?" You'd eventually asked. "I feel like I ain't doing you a whole lot of good over here."

He had hesitated before nodding, and then you had rested a hand lightly on his back, rubbing soothingly across his shoulders.

When he managed to calm down, he wiped his face on his hands and then on his shirt. He couldn't look you in the eye. "God, I'm sorry," he muttered. "You gotta be real glad you picked me up."

"I am," you had said, and he had let out a disbelieving huff. "I'm not sorry, Darry. You don't need to be either."

"I gotta go home and take care of things," he had said, voice choked. "Take care of my brothers."

"Okay. I'll take you, if you're ready to go," you said softly.

"I gotta be," he said, and you'd started to drive again. When you got to his house, he thanked you again and walked in beet red, with a neutral expression on his face.

You saw the news about the Curtis folks in the paper, which confirmed what you had suspected. You didn't bother him or his brothers, but you did drop more than one casserole by the house that week. And you'd gone to the funeral, and had seen Darry standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, both of his brothers clinging to him and bawling. Darry had just stood there with the most helpless, pleading expression you'd ever seen.

You did decide to stop by and check in about a week after the funeral, with another casserole and a dozen cookies. When he opened the door, he looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

"Hi," you greeted him, and his face was a little pink. "Just brought you some food."

"So you're the one been dropping all the casseroles by?"

"I mean, I don't know if I dropped all the casseroles. People tend to bring a lot of those after a funeral, in my experience," you told him. He looked at you sharply. "My dad," you'd explained.

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

"I'm sorry, too," you told him quietly. He nodded in acknowledgment, swallowing hard.

"Sorry I ain't got no manners lately. You want to come in?" he asked.

"I was just stopping by," you tell him. "Don't get me wrong I appreciate the invitation. But I understand completely, believe me, that having your house invaded by strangers, over and over when you're grieving ain't that helpful."

He chuckles hollowly. "You ain't exactly a stranger," he says quietly. He hesitates. "If it ain't no trouble, I wouldn't mind the company," he had admitted quietly.

"Okay," you had told him, stepping into the Curtis house for the first of what would become many times.

A few months later, you and Darry have become...something. Something confusing, to be honest, because the only label you got is friendship, and it don't feel that way when he looks at you. Every so often he has looked like he might feel the same way, but then he'd divert yours or his own attention to something else quickly. It's a little disappointing, sure, but it's understandable given the circumstances. And it ain't like he owes you nothing, anyhow. He's becoming a good friend.

You work part time, taking whatever college classes you can afford at the local campus, and since it's just you and your mom at home, and she works a lot, you've started spending a lot of time with Darry, and with his brothers. Which means seeing the rest of the gang pretty frequently as well.

Soda and Pony seem to have think you're good for their brother and approve of the friendship, though Soda asks a lot of pointed and sometimes embarrassing questions. Pony's friend, Johnny, is sweet but real quiet when you're around. You've barely seen Dallas, and you were sure he hated you before Darry told you otherwise. Told you that he was worried about Dallas, that he'd just been angry at the whole world lately, but that he didn't know what to do about it, let alone have the capacity to deal with one more thing.

Steve and Two-Bit have taken to calling you Lois, and you were confused until they added "Lane" to it a couple of times.

You help Pony with his homework when he needs it, and Soda when he'll let you, but both of those are rare circumstances to be honest. On the days when you don't have work, it ain't uncommon for you to head over to the Curtis house to cook breakfast. Sometimes you'll help Soda and Pony start dinner when you get there. Neither of 'em need much help, but seem to enjoy the company most of the time. Mostly you just talk to 'em.

You're there in the morning when Darry and Pony get into it, and you see Soda trying desperately to calm them both down. And you're there that night when Soda comes in slamming the door with Darry calling after him. You ask Darry if he wants you to go try to talk to him, and the weariness in his eyes is probably the only reason he agrees.

Soda tries saying to go away at the first knock. "Honey, I'll go if you want me to," you tell him through the door. "Just thoguht you might want somebody to talk to."

There's silence for a minute before you hear a muffled "okay."

When you go in, you pull the door shut behind you and sit on the edge of the bed. Soda is face down. You know he's usually okay with people touching him, so you put a hand on his shoulder. That's when it becomes abundantly clear that he's crying. You wait, steady, and eventually he tells you about how hard it's been trying to keep everybody happy, but also how dang miserable he's been in school. When he runs out of steam, he sits up, face blotchy and tear-stained, and he throws his arms around you.

Things aren't always smooth, not by a long shot, and you're not a miracle worker. You thought Darry was gonna lose his mind when Soda told him he wanted him to drop out. They'd both seemed furious when you were at the house that day, but when you talked to Darry alone, after the boys were in bed, the anger disappeared. He sat on the front porch with you and a bottle of beer, and you held him while he cried over how he felt like he was failing both of his brothers. And about how scared he was for Soda's future after dropping out.

Somewhere along the way, you realize that you've kinda become each other's people, at least in a platonic sense. His brothers and his buddies, especially Soda and Two-Bit, can get him to relax and smile once in awhile. You can, too, at times. But you're the only one that he doesn't feel like he has to be strong for. You're the one he comes to when he feels like he can't do this anymore, and wonders if he should just give up and throw in the towel. He admits, you think only to you, how sad he is about not just losing their folks, but about losing the future he'd hoped for. About how he feels like all he does is yell, because the boys need to be taken care of and most of the time he's at the point that he's either gonna yell or cry. Most of the time, if he gets upset enough he might tear up just a little. But when he talks to you about how he feels like the boys hate him sometimes, and about how much he misses just being their brother? It's the first time since you drove him home after the funeral home that you see him break down and bawl.

You think you have Soda to thank for actually getting you together. When Darry eventually tells you that he has feelings for you, he's a nervous wreck. Apparently he wouldn't have said anything at all if Soda hadn't pestered him for a week straight that he was sure you felt the same way way.

He kisses you, and you make Soda a dozen cookies.

And then all bets are off as far as the gang are concerned, once the two of you are official. Two-Bit occasionally jokingly calls you "Ma and Pa," and Darry gets so red and flustered that the rest of the gang end up doing the same.

If someone had told you a year ago that Dallas Winston would call you Ma, you'd have thought they lost their mind. But here you are. It's always Ma and Pa; Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were, and always will be, Mom and Dad. Mrs. Mathews is Mama to all of 'em. But since they lost their mom and dad, Darry became "Pa," some combination of brother and father. And you fell in love with each other before you ever went on a date, and somehow became "Ma" along the way.

Things get better between the boys, too. You don't get all the credit, by any means. But it's amazing how much of a difference all of you see in Darry when he has a place to let go once in awhile. He yells less, and he smiles more.

And when Ponyboy and he get in that fight about curfew, it eventually ends in a hug rather than a slap.

And that changes everything.