A Little Off-Limits - Ponyboy x Reader

The Ashes

You
     Steve didn't like the note. He hated it so much that he crumpled it up. He set it on fire with his lighter. He used it to light a smoke and then threw the blackened wad of paper on the ground. I could hear him fuming — inhaling and exhaling loudly as if his lungs weren't doing him any good. The bottom of my heart and the top of my stomach ached. I could feel the tingling rushing up my legs that were tired from standing and waiting as Steve was reading. He had his back turned to me, his foot crushing the ashes that stained the cement of our garage floor. I didn't know what to say.

"You keep that money safe, got it?" he told me after a minute. He didn't budge from his position, fists clenched so his knuckles were white, head down at the cement. He kept rubbing the sole of his shoe into the cement, creating a crinkling sound which softened as he continued. I thought he'd rub the bottom of his shoes clean off.

"I will," I said. "Steve, you okay?"

He snapped, "I'm fine." He mush have sensed my shock, because he sighed shortly after. "I just... I thought we'd be enough for Dad after Mom died. I knew he was hurtin', and I thought being a family like we was could keep us together."

This made sense. It was Steve who made sure to continue reading bedtime stories to me and Dad at night until I got too old. And he had come to my art exhibits and made sure Dad fixed his schedule to come too. And it was Steve who shopped for groceries and my paints and pencils like Mom had. I had thought that I was the one who replaced Mom, being the "lady of the house", as she liked to put it. It turned out not to be me.

Steve sighed again, and I saw his shoulder shaking. "Turns out we were the ones who were 'killing him'," he said with a mouth full of spite. He spun around. His eyes were burning and filling with tears that refused to fall. It had been a few months of pent up energy, and I knew it would have to burst. I just didn't expect crying. I felt humbled by it later, but standing there and watching Steve cry... it made me feel unsafe. Like there was no protection whatsoever. Like when your city is under siege and all the sudden the surrounding wall, the one that divides soldiers and civilians, suddenly crumbles.

     "F*ck him. We don't need him no more. Him and his bullsh*t. F*ck him, blaming you for looking like Mom. That's not on you. That's on him. We don't need him!" he cried out. His foot beat down on the ashes again and again, and he threw his finger towards the ground. He began to mess up his hair relentlessly, tossing it left and right and releasing all of that grease, getting it stuck all over his hands. I wanted to hand him a smoke, maybe call his nerves, but I knew he couldn't handle it.

     "Steve..." I whispered, listening to him curse.

     He glanced up at me from his shoes, eyes glazed over with tears that refused to fall. He stopped, his panting still heavy and his eyebrows raised up. "I thought we were enough."

     I looked into his glossy eyes with a hot gaze of my own. My whole body was trembling and crumbling. Until now I hadn't even been that furious or torn apart about Dad leaving. But I didn't like Steve being as crushed as the ashes from the note upon which he'd stepped. I slowly stepped towards him and went to my toes and hugged him tightly. I could hear him sobbing quietly against my shoulder for the longest time.

     Steve began to organize our move out just a few days later.