Helpless

Upset

Twobit POV:

"Morning!" I called, slamming the door behind me. Steve was sprawled on the couch with the TV on, but he was staring into the kitchen. The stove was on and eggs were cooking, but Darry and Soda's voices were coming toward the back of the house. I raised an eyebrow to Steve. "Pony sick again?"

Steve sighed. "Of course. He hasn't stopped hurling for the full three weeks they've been sticking him full of that crap." He took a swig of his Pepsi. "I swear, I don't know how that shit's supposed to be helping him."

I had to agree. Pony had been getting chemo for three weeks now, and the only result had been him vomiting and sleeping. Darry and Soda had started trading off sleeping with him, because he woke up at least once-often twice- a night either sick or coughing. Was it doing him any good? we'd asked. "It's too soon to tell," the doctor had said.

Too soon to tell. Meanwhile the kid's puking every two seconds and Darry and Soda are chronically sleep deprived, completely broke, and struggling to hide Pony's disease from the state. Those dogs were already sniffing around; now was not the time for them to be separated.

"Hey," Darry greeted me tiredly, rushing to the stove to turn the eggs off. "Soda, your breakfast's ready!" he shouted back toward his bedroom.

"Coming!" Soda hollered back. I began digging through the freezer for chocolate cake.

"Pony all right?" Steve asked slowly. Darry didn't turn around as he dumped the eggs onto plates.

"He's a little upset," he muttered. I almost laughed, it was such an understatement.

Soda emerged, a hand on a pink-eyed Ponyboy's shoulder. After three week of treatment the boy was already radically changed; his eyes were sunken, his skin pale, his body startlingly thin.

"Hey y'all," the youngest Curtis gave us a tired grin and settled at the table, scooting away from the food and toward the bathroom door. I realized I was staring and turned back to yank out the cake I'd found buried under a giant sized bag of tater tots. Darry reached under my arm and pulled out a large can of chicken broth, dumped some in a bowl and began heating it up without a word. Pony stared at the floor. I couldn't take my eyes off him; he was wearing Soda's old bathrobe, but it swallowed him. He'd wrapped the tie around his waist twice.

There was an uncomfortable silence as we ate. All eyes were on Pony, who just stared at the floor. I couldn't imagine what he was thinking about.

"I got a job," I finally announced. That got everyone's attention.

"YOU?" Steve laughed.

"Glory Two-Bit, givin' us all heart attacks," Soda smiled. I just grinned; I'd been hired down at a local drugstore. My Mom had laughed when I told her, but when I mentioned Pony and the financial help the Curtis' needed she'd sobered, smiled, and told me she was proud of me: not a phrase I heard too often.

Pony bit his lip, and I remembered Soda's advice: don't let him feel guilty.

"I'd been thinkin' 'bout getting one for awhile, for extra cash and all. Boozin' costs more than it used to."

"Glory, Two-Bit, they're other hobbies," Steve said, grinning. Pony seemed satisfied and went back to staring at the floor. Darry set the heated broth bowl in front of him. "You oughta try some, Pon," he said softly.

"I won't hold it down," Pony mumbled. His voice shook slightly. I glanced at Soda; he was frozen, watching his stony younger brother. "Just the smell's makin' me sick." "I know, but you oughta just try a little," Darry insisted.

Pony sighed. With a trembling hand, he scooped up a tiny bit and swallowed it down, looking disgusted the whole time. We watched him in fascination, returning to the uncomfortable silence that had descended on us before.

I miss Johnny, I thought suddenly, I miss Dally. They'd keep the conversation going. They'd try to keep things normal. I wished things were normal. I wanted things to be normal...

Pony leapt up from the table and rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door as he went. We heard the sound of retching. Soda started to get up, but Darry laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I've got him," he said, slipping into the bathroom without letting us get a view of his brother. "Take it easy," we heard him murmur as Pony threw up again.

"He hasn't eaten in two days," Soda said, stabbing at his eggs. "He can't hold anything down."

"Then how come you're the one that looks thin?" Steve asked, smacking Soda on the back affectionately. Soda sighed.

"He aint' sleepin' either. I had him last night. We got about three hours sleep. He keeps coughing, then throwing up, then dozing and havin' nightmares, coughin' again.." Soda trailed off. He looked miserable, as miserable as he had the week Pony and Johnny were in Windrixville. He looked like he'd lost a piece of himself.