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Sidekick let out a resounding whoop. They did it. They saved everyone. Soot and ash from the conflict fell like snow, slowly settling on the ruins of the collapsed building. Sidekick lay breathless amongst the broken concrete and jagged steel. Debris dug into their back as smoke quietly rose above the city skyline. They sighed in relief.
“What a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here, Sidekick.”
An icicle of fear shot down their spine. No. It couldn’t be. Sidekick’s head snapped up, a feeling of horror washing over their entire body.
Villain casually strolled through the destruction–the devastation they caused. Their trenchcoat flapped in the wind, kicking up dust as they approached.
“Where’s Hero? The two of you are usually inseparable,” Villain grinned. Their teeth gleamed wolfishly.
“Stay back,” Sidekick stammered, heart beating rapidly in their ears. “Or I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” Villain tilted their head. They scoffed. “You really think you can match me?”
Sidekick scanned their surroundings, searching frantically for a means of escape. They couldn’t beat Villain in a fight–especially not without backup. Rubble scraped Sidekick’s palms as they scrambled backwards. It was quiet, save for distant sirens and the debris crunching under Villain’s boots. They were all alone.
“Hero isn’t here to save you this time,” Villain remarked, seemingly reading Sidekick’s mind. They advanced, quickly closing the gap. Every step forward eliminated another way out.
Sidekick couldn’t afford to stall any longer. Out of the corner of their eye, something caught their attention. Moonlight glinted off shrapnel jutting out of the earth; a Sidekick-sized gap in the deformed metal.
Sidekick bolted, squeezing through the opening. The jagged edges sliced their skin. Blood roared in their ears. Villain yelled out. Adrenaline pumped through Sidekick’s veins as their feet slapped against the pavement. They pumped their arms as quickly as they could. Lungs burning, Sidekick sprinted full-tilt towards salvation.
They were fast, but Villain was faster.
“Gotcha.” An ungloved hand locked around Sidekick’s forearm; the chase ending as quickly as it had begun. Sidekick hadn’t even made it out of the ruins–not that they stood a chance evading Villain in the first place. Their eyelids drooped, Villain’s powers already taking effect.
“I’ve been wanting to have a little chat with our dear Hero,” Villain mused. “Think you’ll motivate them to show up?”
“No,” Sidekick slurred, weakly pawing at Villain. They couldn’t let them get away with this.
Their arms grew heavy, every movement requiring a monumental amount of effort. Sidekick whimpered as Villain carried their limp body away from the city lights–away from any help. Their head lolled back against Villain’s chest.
“Easy, don’t fight it.” Villain’s thumb swiped the blood from Sidekick’s cut cheek. Sidekick only whined sleepily. The world quieted as their eyes fell shut.
I'm a fan of double-meanings in whump dialogue--especially if the phrase can be said by caretaker and whumper.
"Put down the gun." - caretaker soothing a defensive living weapon whumpee / whumper thwarting caretaker's rescue attempt
"Shhhh." - a parent caretaker consoling a young whumpee after nightmares / whumper gagging a crying whumpee
"Oh my god, you're bleeding!" - caretaker upon discovering a stoic whumpee's hidden wounds / a sadistic whumper mocking whumpee after a brutal torture session
Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to post something yesterday. So, this work is written for Days Three and Four of Outsiders Week! I wrote a PB&J angst fic because they are literally my favorite ship of all time. 🥹 I hope you all enjoy! <3
TWs: grief, angst, hurt no comfort, smoking, character death, referenced blood, referenced murder, switchblade, gun
Johnny Cade: that was the name inscribed on the headstone of his best friend. Two words—all but ten letters—now summed up the life of a once living and breathing person. That, and two dates: 1949 - 1965. Ponyboy traced over the numbers chiseled into the stone with his fingers, nails bitten to the quick. The edges were still rough and fresh, not yet worn down by time and the elements.
The wind raspily whispered through the trees. Autumn leaves softly fluttered down, blanketing the ground of the cemetery in hues of golds, reds, and oranges. Headstones jutted out of the ground like teeth in the maw of death. The cold cut into Pony, but he paid no mind. He was no stranger to the wind; he had gone many nights to the drive-in without a coat. Like that one night with Dally and Johnny. The night Johnny killed a Soc. It was just a few days later that that fire took his best friend from him forever. Pony couldn’t shake the grief even one year later. It still clung to him like lichen on a weather-worn rock. He was feeling pretty worn-down himself.
Pony ran his hands through his hair, which had grown lengthy with time. The reddish-brown strands now brushed shoulders. The bleach still persisted. He couldn’t bring himself to cut it out. Pony remembers it clearly as day; being at the church. The fear-filled train ride where they jumped at each sound and cowered at every light. Pony and Johnny laid as still as they could in that train car, the smell of blood still lingering on their clothes. With one hand, Johnny smoothed out Pony’s hair in an attempt of comfort. In the other, he white-knuckled the revolver Dally gave to them. Pony still couldn’t believe that Johnny was able to kill Bob; how someone capable of such kindness was also capable of such violence.
When they actually escaped to Windrixville, there was the matter of the church. Boy, was that place a fixer-upper. An abundance of cobwebs covered every feasible surface and creatures of every shape and size were their roommates. The dusty wood of the pews was half-rotted and there was a perpetual must about the place. It wasn’t the most comfortable hideout, but it was inconspicuous. The pair made do.
Pony will never forget the day Johnny returned back from the store with hydrogen peroxide. The absolute horror he felt when Johnny told him that he was going to cut and bleach his hair. Not his beautiful hair! He had worked so hard on it, meticulously taking care of the locks. But, they were wanted criminals now. The least Pony could handle was a little haircut.
Johnny tried to be as gentle as he could with the switchblade, yet it still hurt like hell. He murmured soft apologies to Pony the entire time. Then came the bleach, which was strong-smelling and tingled his scalp. Pony didn’t even recognize his reflection. A foreign figure stared back at him from the pool of water behind the church. Pony made quick work of Johnny’s hair, but didn’t bleach it. Johnny said it would “make him look weird.” Now they were thoroughly disguised, unrecognizable even to themselves.
Days at the church were filled with sunrises and cards and joking and cigarettes. Homesick nights were spent star-gazing and listening to the sounds from the darkness. Pony read Gone With the Wind aloud any moment they got. They saw themselves in the outlaws from the story. The pair laughed until their stomachs hurt and cried until their eyes were bloodshot. Their best and worst days were spent in that church.
Then, fire. A single cigarette had set the place ablaze. One damn unstuffed cigarette was all it took. Hellfire rained down on the church. There were kids trapped inside, and Pony couldn’t ignore their cries. The heat was unbearable. His eyes watered profusely and the oppressive smoke choked him. Yet, Pony, Dally, and Johnny saved those kids. Everyone got out except for him. The church collapsed in a final blaze of glory, and sirens sounded through the air.
Johnny was at the hospital for a few days. Pony was in and out of the hospital too, rarely away from his side. He continued to read Gone With the Wind to Johnny—he couldn’t really do anything else. The next day, he returned with Dally. The familiar scent of antiseptic filled Pony’s nose as the two made their way to Johnny’s room. He wasn’t doing too well. Johnny wheezed weakly, his eyes barely open. Then came the words that still haunt him to this day:
“Stay gold, Ponyboy.”
Everything was a blur after that. The days spent in bed, the sleepless nights; a hole formed in heart, one he wasn’t sure could even be filled. The rumble came and went. Then, Dally was gone. Things had happened so quickly, too quickly.
Now, Pony had come back on the anniversary of Johnny's death to read to him the end of Gone With the Wind. His hands shook slightly as he thumbed through the worn pages. Pony rested his back on the headstone, just like how he and Johnny would lay in the lot: arm in arm. The wind whipped around him, but the gravemaker shielded from the brunt of the elements. The light of golden hour illuminated the print on the novel’s final pages.
“With the spirit of her people who would not know defeat, even when it stared them in the face, she raised her chin. She could get Rhett back. She knew she could. There had never been a man she couldn't get, once she set her mind upon him.”
Pony’s voice quavered. Tears ran tracks down his face; they tasted salty on his lips. The trees rustled their soft encouragement.
“I'll think of it all tomorrow, at Tara. I can stand it then. Tomorrow, I'll think of some way to get him back. After all, tomorrow is another day.”
The cover thumped closed with finality. They had done it; they had finished Gone With the Wind. Pony brushed away the dirt and grime that had accrued on the headstone since the last time he had visited Johnny. He pressed his forehead to the cool stone. The wind seemed to still.
“I miss you buddy,” Pony whispered.
He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his jean pocket, selecting two. Pony lit both, placing one between his quivering lips and the other in the dirt next to Johnny’s grave. It had been a long time since Johnny had a good smoke: he deserved one. The cigarette was still burning even after Pony left. Tendrils of smoke floated away into the twilight.
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Happy Day Two of Outsiders Week! This fic is my first attempt at writing whump, so hopefully it’s ok. Two-Bit does not have a fun time at all. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! <3
TWs: Whump (don’t worry, there’s comfort), blood, violence, bruises, cigarette burns, held down, concussions, smoking, forced to kneel, referenced character death (it’s Bob btw), defiant whumpee
He mostly remembered the pain. That, and the lingering stench of burnt flesh. The lit cigarette lay smoldering and smoking on the concrete beside him. Those bastard Socs didn’t even have the decency to stomp it out. Two-Bit groaned.
Getting up was out of the question. Two-Bit’s muscles screamed whenever he even thought about twitching. He had gotten the ever-living shit kicked out of him. Bruises bloomed all over his torso, arms and legs. So, essentially everywhere. Blood trickled down from his scalp and nose, painting sticky streaks of crimson on his already marred body. Even worse, the streetlight was relentlessly assaulting his eyes. The all-consuming night was slightly blurred, and his foggy mind struggled to stay awake; he definitely had a concussion. Great.
What the hell had happened? Two-Bit tried to shake the confusion from his brain, but the haze persisted. He remembered walking home—alone of course—because he was a Greaser and Greasers are tough. He shouldn’t fear the night; the night should fear him! Then, tires squealed, headlights blared, and car doors slammed. There were six of them in total. Paul shouted something to him, but he just kept his head down and back turned, continuing to walk on. Two-Bit didn’t want any trouble, especially with those numbers. He was close to home; so close.
Before Two-Bit knew it, he was grabbed from behind. Two Socs—Chet and Trip, or whatever their dumbass names were—held his arms in iron grips. Two-Bit struggled like his life depended on it, but all of his attempts at escape were futile. The back of his knees were kicked out, kneecaps crashing against the concrete. Strong arms continued to keep him down.
A triumphant grin split Paul’s face as he approached. Beverly lingered at his side like a specter, smoking a cigarette. She gazed down upon him with a mix of disgust and haughtiness. Bev blew smoke into his face, and all Two-Bit wanted to do was shove that cigarette down her throat. Marcia lingered behind the pair, head down. This puzzled him: Marcia hated fights. What was she doing here?
“Look what the cat dragged in!” Paul whistled. “I didn’t expect to see you out so late, and alone too. Don’t you know it’s dangerous past dark? I heard someone got killed around these parts.”
“You better get out of here,” Two-Bit threatened, eyes hardening. “This is the East Side, buddy. Any funny business and you're going to have to answer to the rest of the Greasers.”
“My, my! Such bold words! However, you’re in no position to make demands of me,” Paul mocked. The hands around his biceps dug into his flesh hard enough to bruise; a thinly-veiled threat. Bev watched him, uninterested. He was about to show her. He was about to show all of them.
“Fuck you,” Two-Bit responded. He spat on Paul’s shiny black shoes. They were clearly very well-maintained. Now, there was a glob of spit running down the side of them.
Two-Bit felt the punch before he saw it coming. The wet slap of Paul’s fist against his cheek resonated in the night. The leering and cheers of the other Soc boys egged Paul on. Unyielding fingers snaked through his hair and tugged. Hard. Two-Bit yelped in pain.
“Listen, Grease,” Paul snarled. “I think I’ve been nice enough, but you’ve taken my kindness for granted. One of your little buddies killed Bob, and we’re here to set it right. An eye for an eye, yeah?” He released his hair, and Two-Bit’s head hung limply.
“Hold him down,” Paul commanded.
At this, Two-Bit really started to fight back. He thrashed around, eventually getting a good hit against one of the Socs before he was pinned down again. Another boy, Brill, sat on his legs, keeping him from getting away. Punches rained down on him from above. He felt every hit viscerally. Two-Bit was definitely going to be black and blue tomorrow.
“Is that all you got?” Two-Bit wheezed. Paul sent a swift kick to his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. He flopped around like a fish, desperate to get air back into his lungs. The boys continued to kick the shit out of him. Two-Bit tried to curl up to protect himself, to do anything, but the impacts were relentless.
Paul grasped his chin tightly. Beverly lithely approached, her eyes gleaming. She seemed ecstatic to get in on the action.
“You know what? I think we should leave him with a little mark. A parting gift, if you will,” Paul sneered.
As the lit end of Bev’s cigarette approached Two-Bit’s face, it dawned on him what was going to happen.
“No! No, wait. Please-” Two-Bit pleaded.
Then, all he knew was white hot agony. He screamed and screamed until his voice went hoarse. It didn’t matter though: no one else was around to hear his cries. Beverly left a few more “gifts” on his collarbone and arms before she grew bored of him. Two-Bit’s eyes watered, and a mix of snot and blood ran down his face. The Socs roughed Two-Bit up a bit more before abandoning their plaything. They sped off into the night as quickly as they arrived. The exhaust from the car was the last thing Two-Bit saw before he blacked out.
***
Being beaten and displayed for any passer-by to see was embarrassing. As a matter of fact, it was down-right humiliating. However, that wasn’t Two-Bit’s most pressing concern. He still had to get home; sleeping out on the cold hard concrete wasn’t exactly ideal.
A bit of green appeared in his peripheral vision, and Marcia soon stepped into his view. A look of horror was set on her face.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, quickly rushing to Two-Bit’s side. She did a quick once-over of his injuries and grimaced. Murmuring unintelligible apologies, Marcia propped Two-Bit up against the pole of the streetlight.
“Hey babe~ What are you doing here?” Two-Bit slurred. He felt incredibly sleepy, eyelids starting to droop again.
“Hey!” Marcia snapped her fingers, concerned. “Stay with me.”
She stood up, gently situating Two-Bit’s arm around her shoulder. He moaned in pain. Marcia strained as she got Two-Bit to stand, taking the brunt of his weight. They took it slow.
“I couldn’t just leave you there. I thought they were going to kill you,” Marcia confessed quietly. She felt incredibly guilty. Maybe this would absolve her of her sins. She led Two-Bit down the road, one foot in front of the other.
“C’mon,” Marcia gently urged. “My place isn’t that far from here. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Two-Bit slightly smiled. He knew that Marcia would take care of him. He was finally safe. Arm in arm, they limped out into the night.
It’s Day One of Outsiders Week! :D I decided to write about Marcia because I love her! (Also Marcia x Cherry fics are always so scrumptious 🤭) Just let the girls have fun at junior prom! I hope you all enjoy <3
It was the night of junior prom, and Marcia was standing in the corner: a perfect wallflower. She sipped a plastic cup of punch and sighed. Colorful dresses swished around her as laughter permeated the air. The theme of this year was “shining stars,” and a constellation of cut-out stars and multi-colored balloons and streamers decorated the gym. The music was in full swing and everyone was dancing: girls twirled around boys, falling into their arms.
Marcia didn’t even have a date. As a matter of fact, she came alone. She had begged her dad for a ride for weeks, and he begrudgingly gave her one. She chewed her lip. He was probably at the bar, and she had no way of getting back home no matter how many dimes she spent on payphone calls.
It was a shame too, she was dressed to the nines. Marcia brushed crumbs off of her fern green dress. It was satin with a jewel neckline, and she paired it with a silver necklace her mother gave to her for her sixteenth birthday. Marcia wore flats because she intended to dance, but with the way her night was going, that was probably not going to happen. The attire was simple, but it felt so her. Too bad it was wasted just standing around.
“Why did I even come?” she muttered bitterly.
At this point Marcia would rather walk home than to spend any more time sadly haunting the refreshments table. Though, the punch wasn’t half bad. A pang of loneliness coursed through her as she watched a blond girl wrap her arms around a boy in a blue suit, pulling him in close. She was laughing: eyes closed and chest rising and falling in tandem with her date’s. What a waste of time this has been.
Marcia turned to leave when something caught her eye. Or not something: rather someone. Cherry Valance, the Queen of Will Rogers High, shone like a real star: her sequined bodice caught the light just right. Sparkles refracted all over the gym. Her dress was pink and off the shoulder, which caught everyone’s attention; especially the boys. She looked absolutely stunning.
Marcia chastised herself for staring too long, but before she could look away they locked eyes. Cherry smiled, her dimples making an appearance. Before Marcia could even blink, Cherry was parting the sea of people to make her way over to her. She weaved through couples dancing and embracing with the grace of a ballerina.
“Hey there!” Cherry grinned, emerald eyes shone with delight. Up close, Marcia took in her makeup. It was flawless—God, this girl was perfect.
“Hi,” Marcia greeted back with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which was very little. Cherry’s eyebrows furrowed at her response.
“Are you okay? Where’s your date?” She asked, voice projecting over the blaring music. Marcia chewed on the inside of her cheek nervously.
“I don’t have one,” Marcia admitted, cheeks tinged red with growing embarrassment. “I came alone.” Her hands fidgeted before Cherry’s took them into hers. They were well-manicured and exceptionally soft. Her red nail polish complimented her hair.
“Then, come dance with me,” Cherry smiled.
“Oh no, you probably have other people asking you to dance and-” Marcia stammered.
“C’mon! It’ll be fun!” Cherry cut her off and guided her to the dance floor. Marcia was increasingly aware that her hand was still grasped in Cherry’s. A warm feeling slowly oozed through her like honey.
The music slowed, and couples around the pair clasped each others’ waists. Cherry tentatively pulled Marcia in.
“Is this okay?” she asked the other girl. Marcia’s face warmed.
“Yes,” she carefully placed her hand on Cherry’s shoulder.
The two locked hands and started to sway. Time seemed to slow. All that existed was this one moment. It was just Marcia and Cherry, intertwined. The two held onto each other tenderly and danced. The music floated through the gym. All around them were couples doing the same, but this felt different: more tangible, more tender.
Then just like that, the music picked up again. Cherry looked deep into Marcia’s eyes, like she was searching for something. Marcia smiled a real, genuine smile. Cherry returned it. She settled her head on the cheerleader’s shoulder. They stood like that and swayed for what seemed like forever.
Marcia would never forget this night. It was this night that she fell in love with Cherry Valance.
This is my gift for The Outsiders Pride Gift Exchange run by @outsiders-gift-exchanges. My giftee was the lovely @kaiskornerart!! I really enjoyed writing about Pony and Johnny’s relationship, and I hope that you enjoy <3
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/outsiderspridemonthexchange2025/works/66287626
Johnny dug stars like Pony dug sunsets. Sure, the stars were beautiful; on cloudless nights they could see them twinkle and dance up in the blackened sky. The little dipper and other formations were of great interest to his buddy. They had spent many a days pouring over astronomy books from the library over in the West side of town. That was until Johnny was jumped. Now, the pair would quietly marvel at the beautiful shining lights from a distance.
It was summer. Summer brought crowded raucous games of cards around a tiny table with the gang. It meant no school and time for aimlessly wandering and smoking. It bore gifts like fireflies and backyard football and the occasional ice cold drugstore coke. But most importantly, summer meant nights at the lot.
The lot was a ten minute walk from the Curtis house. Broken glass from old beer bottles and cigarette butts long snuffed out littered the asphalt. Weeds grew up out of the cracks and newspapers blanketed the ground. It was a small slab of concrete, yet it felt like a second home. Here Pony and Johnny were sheltered from the stresses of normal life. Nights at the lot were quiet; the pace slower. They would make tens of trips to the lot over the duration of that summer. It was now August, and their days of freedom were waning. Soon the chill of autumn would sweep over Tulsa and school would start again. The change of the seasons would mark their dwindling time at the lot.
One memory of a night that August stuck out particularly in Pony’s mind. He had turned it over and over in his mind, like a stone smoothed by the tumbling of the sea. Pony and Johnny were over at the lot stargazing. Their small fire crackled softly, while the occasional rumble signaled that the train was passing by. Stray dogs barked, crickets chirped, and other creatures of the night rustled off in the distance. Johnny was quiet. Pony liked this about him. It was always nice to have someone you could be silent with. No awkwardness, just the sounds of their breathing intertwined. Pony couldn’t imagine a life without Johnny.
“Johnny, you’re my buddy right?” Johnny perked up at the sound of Pony’s voice. His big black eyes met Pony’s greenish-grey. A beat of subtle confusion and intrigue passed between them.
“Ya’ know I am,” he replied softly. “What’s on yer mind?”
The pair could always read each other. In fact, Pony always found comfort in it. They didn’t need spoken words to convey meaning. Sure, sometimes Darry and Soda knew what he was thinking, but Johnny got him.
Pony took a long drag of his cigarette, holding the hot smoke inside of his lungs a beat longer before expelling it slowly. A small sense of nervousness gnawed at him. Why was he nervous? It was just another night at the lot; they had come out here hundreds of times.
“Pone?”
“Look, the little dipper is ‘specially visible tonight.” He pointed to the grouping of stars, blatantly avoiding the invitation to spill his guts. Johnny always had a funny way of disarming him. His eyebrows knitted together, as he seemingly searched Pony’s face for the answer.
“Cut the crap, why don’t ya.” He was blunt, but never unkind. Johnny reached over to take a puff from Pony’s cigarette. His touch sent surges of energy down from his fingers to his toes. It seemingly enveloped Pony’s whole body in a sense of comfort and warmth. Johnny took a puff and blew slow smoke rings.
“Well, ya know, I was just thinking ‘bout something Mr. Syme was talkin’ about in English. We’re readin’ Romeo and Juliet, ya know? He was talkin’ ‘bout love and all that stuff. How they met and fell for each other. They killed themselves ya know? Dally’s talked ‘bout love too. About hot broads and shared weeds and flings.”
“Like what we’re doin’ right now?” An amused smile played on Johnny’s lips as he lifted the glowing cigarette. Pony felt his cheeks and ears burn up.
“No! Well, ya know what I mean…” He trailed off and buried his face in his arms.
“Hey, I was only jokin’, that’s all.” Johnny tugged on Pony’s wrist. His touch seemed to linger this time.
“Go on.”
“Well, I don’t think that kinda love’s for me, that’s all. I don’t wanna pick up a broad for just one night and then never talk to her ‘gain.”
Johnny’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked almost conflicted
The fire’s sputtering was quieting, soon it was going to go out. The pair sat silently and gazed at the stars up above, lost in thought. Pony likened Johnny to the stars. He had a quiet glow to him. Johnny shone the most at night. It was then when he felt the most safe: at the lot with Pony.
The dying fire still highlighted his features. Pony marveled at his onyx eyes, long curly hair, and his cupid's bow. He had barely visible birthmarks and his scar was still healing, but it wasn’t as bad as it used to be. Pony noted all of this. This was the kind of stuff that poets went on and on about; he loved reading poetry. Gosh, Johnny Cade was beautiful.
“You matter a lot to me, Pone.” Johnny broke their silence. “I don't care that much ‘bout girls and parties, but I do care ’bout you. And ya know, mustangs and weeds” He smiled softly at the night sky.
Pony’s heart galloped in his chest. The embers of the dead fire faintly glowed, yet he could still make out his best friend in the near dark.
“I love you.” Pony whispered this so softly that it was almost inaudible. The secret was timid and fragile and new, like freshly fallen snow. Johnny was silent. Pony’s stomach sank when his buddy didn’t respond. Was this the end? Had he messed everything up? He had to go. Pony inched away, embarrassed.
Then, Johnny took Pony’s hand in his. His touch was almost unsure, yet he held on anyways. His hands were cold. He didn’t say anything still, but he pulled Pony close to him. Johnny rested his head on his shoulder. His hair tickled Pony’s neck.
The two stayed like that for ages, looking up at the stars together. Pony was right, the Little Dipper was especially bright that night. He was no longer afraid. Ponyboy Curtis knew that Johnny Cade loved him back.
Outsiders Week Day 3 - “Go Fish” or Steve and Soda Play Cards
Sodapop loved playing cards. He always carried a deck on him in case anyone wanted to start a pickup game. Most of his summer nights had been spent around the dining table, cold beer in hand, playing blackjack with the gang.
Oh, how Soda loved the feel of how easily the waxy cards slid from beneath his thumbs whenever he shuffled. It felt so right; like his hands were made for the cards to fit in between.
Soda and Steve had just gotten back from the DX. They kicked off their shoes and padded to the dining room. Darry was still working, Pony, Johnny, and Two-Bit were at school, and Dally was out somewhere. They had the house all to themselves. Soda soaked up the blissful quiet.
Steve unbuttoned his powder blue work shirt and sighed. He propped his feet up on the table and closed his eyes for a second.
“So, what do you wanna do now that we have the house to ourselves?” Steve inquired, his eyes still closed.
“You wanna play cards?” Soda offered. He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Sure, I’ll bite,” Steve said. He took his feet down from the table and readjusted his chair.
“Alright!” Soda exclaimed. He whipped out his deck of Bicycle cards, and fell into the familiar motion of shuffling. The slap of the cards filled the silence.
“So, what do you wanna play? Blackjack? Pinochle?” Soda finished shuffling and set the cards in a neat stack on the tabletop.
“Neither,” Steve groaned. “We literally played both of them just yesterday.”
“How ‘bout Go Fish?” Soda offered.
“Go Fish? Soda, that’s a kid’s game,” Steve remarked incredulously.
“What? Scared I’ll beat ya?” Soda teased.
“Oh, I’ll show you!” Steve vowed. “Just deal the damn cards already!”
Soda laughed. He hummed as he fluidly dealt seven cards to the both of them. It started to rain outside. The droplets tapped against the glass, and mixed with the sound of their banter.
Soda looked at his cards. Two sevens, two threes, an eight, a jack, and a king. Not bad. Not bad at all.
“You got any eights?” Steve licked his lips.
“Sure,” Soda handed over the eight of diamonds.
“What about fours?” Steve asked.
“Nope,” Soda popped the p. “Go fish.”
Steve plucked a card from the top of the pile.
“Hmmm, do you have any threes?” Soda inquired.
Steve handed over another two threes, and Soda eagerly laid out all four cards. He grinned.
“What! How do you already have all four? I think you’re cheating pal!” Steve accused.
Soda just stuck out his tongue in response.
They had fallen into the rhythm of playing, and soon Darry, Johnny, and Ponyboy arrived home. The house buzzed with noise again.
“Gimme your fives!” demanded Steve.
“Say please,” Soda teased.
“Please give me your fives?” Steve asked.
“Go fish!” Soda grinned.
He howled with laughter, and Steve looked like steam was going to come out of his ears.
“That’s it, buddy!” Steve leapt out of his chair and tackled Soda to the ground. They started to wrestle. Steve pulled himself onto Soda.
“Hey!” he protested as he rolled away.
Soon the two of them were all sweaty and tired out.
“Truce?” Soda panted.
“Truce,” Steve agreed.
Soda got off the floor and mopped the sweat off his brow.
Outsiders Week Day Two - “Five on Two” or Cherry Visits The Fountain Where Bob Died
TW: Angst (there’s comfort dw), mention of character death, mention of violence, and blood (all of these pertain to Bob’s death)
The stone of the fountain was cold to Cherry’s touch. Wind whispered through her hair and the pink pleats of her dress. Bob’s varsity jacket was draped around her shoulders, but it did little to keep out the evening chill. It still smelled like him. But, the scent of leather and shaving cream made her more sad than anything.
Why did it have to be him? There were other guys there besides Bob that fateful night. They were all drunk. They were all looking for a fight. So why did it have to be him?
Something crooned in the back of her mind. He was asking for it.
“No. Stop,” Cherry muttered out loud. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
It had been about a week since the incident at the fountain. Everyone in Tulsa was on high alert. The police were searching high and low for the culprits. Paul tried to make her testify to the cops, but she wasn’t even there when it happened. Ponyboy and Johnny were still on the run. Everything was just a mess.
She didn’t believe it when Beverly told her that Johnny had stabbed Bob. She had just seen him and Ponyboy at the drive-in a few hours before. They seemed friendly enough. To add insult to injury, she had also broken up with Bob that night at the drive-in. She was angry, but still cared about him. Now, her ex-boyfriend was dead, and the two of them were still on the run. I guess that’s what happens when you back someone into a corner.
Cherry was fully crying now. She didn’t even have it in her to pretend she was okay anymore. She swiped a thumb over the blood-stained stone, her tears dripping down her face.
Then, someone put their hand over hers.
“Mind if I join you?” they asked softly.
Cherry’s eyes were blurry from the tears, but she could still make out clear as day who was there. It was Marcia. Good-ol’ Marcia. She sat beside her on the edge of the fountain, donning her signature checkered green dress and cardigan.
Cherry brushed the tears out of her eyes. Marcia reached into her sweater pocket and offered her a handkerchief.
“Thanks,” Cherry offered meekly. Marcia just nodded.
“I saw you out here, and I didn’t want you to be alone in the East Side,” Marcia added cautiously. “It is awfully dark out.”
She was right. Their only sources of light were the moon and a handful of dim streetlights. Cherry sighed.
“So…” Marcia twiddled her thumbs together. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I-” Cherry got choked up.
“He killed him,” she whispered. “He took a switchblade knife and ran it through his gut. I was so angry at Bob that night, but I never wanted it to end like this,” her voice cracked.
“The boys were drunk, and it was a five on two fight. What were they thinking? That boy was probably scared out of his mind!” Cherry bit her lip.
“Everything seems like it’s my fault. I broke up with Bob that night. I convinced him to go to the drive-in. I was the one who got him angry,” Cherry looked away.
“Why did it have to end like this?” She twisted her promise ring anxiously on her finger.
The two of them let her words hang in the air. The chirps of crickets filled the silence.
“Cherry, it’s not your fault,” Marcia said calmly, but firmly.
“You were standing up for yourself. You knew how he got when he was drunk. He got violent. No one knew what was going to happen after we left the drive-in that night. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. You can’t blame any of this on yourself.”
“Come here,” Marcia pulled Cherry into a tight embrace.
“You are the strongest person I know,” she whispered into her ear. They stood there for a good minute before parting.
“I got snot all over your cardigan,” Cherry laughed dryly.
“Never mind that. Let’s go get a Coke on me,” Marcia squeezed her hand.
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Outsiders Week Day One - How Ponyboy got his Bouncy Ball
It all started when Dally went to get more cigarettes.
Johnny and I tagged along because we had nothing better to do, and frankly we also needed a weed.
“Can y'all get any slower? C’mon man hurry up!” Dally called.
We were headed to the Rexall Drugstore. Dally, Johnny, and I usually hit it up because we never got caught using the five finger discount. That and it was one of the only corner stores in the East Side.
Gravel crunched underneath my Chucks and stray dogs barked in the distance. The smell of cigarette smoke and a slight chill wafted through the air.
Autumn was starting to set in. Soon I would have to convince Johnny to sleep at our house instead of at that old lot. Speaking of Johnny, he was kicking a pebble down the street. We were kind of dragging our feet, and this was getting Dally real worked up.
“I oughta leave you two slowpokes behind,” Dally spat.
There was no real venom behind his voice, but the comment made Johnny snap out of his daze real quick.
“Wait up, Dal!” he called, jogging to catch up. I followed close behind.
The facade of the building came into view. “REXALL STORE” was written on the front in real big red lettering. The paint was peeling and there were always signs that advertised sales in the glass display windows. We had arrived.
“Alright we’re here to lift some cigarettes. Make sure no one sees ya. I don't wanna be put in the cooler again, got it?” said Dally.
Johnny nodded profusely.
“Got it,” I mumbled.
“Great,” Dally grunted.
He pushed open the door, and a little bell jingled overhead. Dally slowly headed up towards the front, while Johnny and I wandered around. It was tough to be inconspicuous because the store was so small. We were eyeing up the penny candy when something caught my eye. It was a bouncy ball. A bright orange bouncy ball. It was like that thing was calling my name. Johnny and I stared at it for a good second. I was about to grab the ball when the owner started making a fuss.
“Hey, get back here greaser!” the owner shouted.
He was angrily waving around a newspaper as Dally bolted out the door. I started to panic. I looked at Johnny, and his eyes were real wide.
“Shoot! We gotta bounce!”
I started to run, and almost tripped over my own two feet. Johnny followed close behind. Even though he was small, he was as quick as a jackrabbit. I don’t know how long the owner of the store followed us until he gave up, but we stopped running about two blocks away just to be safe.
“So much for not getting caught,” I wheezed.
I was on the track team, but my lungs weren’t too good. I guess it's from all the smoking I do.
“Shut your trap, Pony!” Dally snapped. He looked all sour. “No one’s getting a weed now. We came here for nothin!”
Maybe Dally was right. I started to get all glum.
Then, Johnny pulled the bouncy ball I was eyeing out of his jeans pocket. I let out a surprised laugh. I couldn’t believe it! We were getting chased by the store owner and Johnny somehow swiped the ball in the process. He dropped it into my palm. I turned the ball over in my hands and smiled. The rubber shined in the sunlight. I bounced it up and down and laughed again.
“Thanks Johnny. You’re a real buddy,” I smiled, and put my arm around him.
“Yeah … no problem,” Johnny stuttered. A little blush creeped up on the back of his neck.
We walked back, and I bounced the ball the entire way home.
