sore ribs || the outsiders imagines

angst 7 // p.c.

A week and two days. Exactly a week and two days. 216 hours, 12,960 minutes, and exactly 777,600 seconds. That was how long they'd been gone; how long they'd been dead. He'd told you time and time again, how he couldn't take another loss. Not after the death of his parents. But at the time, he didn't know that he'd have to.

He'd have to get through the rest of his life knowing his bestfriends were dead. He didn't have a choice. They were gone, dead, and he had no say in it. If he did, it wouldn't have happened. But he didn't, and it did happen. And he had to live with the fact that he couldn't help them.

But you had a say in something. You had a say in his future. You could leave him, making him deal with yet another loss, or you could stand by his side, and help him heal. You knew he'd never fully heal, god, who would after all that? But that didn't change your position in things. You didn't care what happened, you were staying with Ponyboy Curtis - and nothing was going to change that.

The funeral services for Johnny Cade and Dallas Winston were set to play out at the same time, 10am on a Saturday morning. Today. Neither of the families, nor the gang, could afford a nice funeral, especially not two. So, financially, it was easier to do them both together. Mentally? It was harder. How could it not be? Two friends dead within the same hour - and you're expecting to sit through a service with a straight face.

You hated it, and you could tell that Ponyboy hated it too. The drive to the funeral site was dead quiet, nothing could be heard but the rustling of the leaves in the wind and the broken hearted sighs of many. Nobody dared to smile - dead eyes hid torn minds and mixed emotions like a black cat on the darkest of nights.

With a dress code of all black, it seemed to fit your vacant mind and heart perfectly. Ponyboy's eyes were stern, the once green hue seemed indifferent against the now overpowering gray. He'd always wished his eyes were more of a gray than a green. But not like this. Not like this at all.

His hand rested in yours, but it was cold and limp. Scars from the rumble on that unspeakable night were still evident, no matter how many times you'd kissed them or treated them with home remedies. Nothing could mend Ponyboy's physical or psychological wounds - nothing but time.

The service was short and cheap, no priest was there, no one to lighten the mood. Just groups of unloved and troubled kids who had no place without Johnny or Dally around. Once it was over, everybody slowly dispersed until it was you and the gang left.

You looked over each of the boys' faces - each laced with anguish and despair. You were sure that yours mirrored all of theres. The six of you stood in a 'u' shape surrounding the graves. From left to right it was you, Ponyboy, Soda, Steve, Darry & Two-bit - all sharing the same exhausted and distraught posture. But your eyes stopped on the boy closest to you - on your Ponyboy Michael Curtis.

His emotions were nearly unreadable, his back straight and a cold gaze inhibiting his once hope filled eyes. He looked like you'd expect Darry to - like he was trying to hold it together for everyone else. But Darry wasn't holding anything in this time around, it was Ponyboy's turn for that.

It hurt like hell, seeing him so joyless. Your eyelashes stuck together as hot tears pushed out from between them, landing straight on your worn out shoes. You could hear as the others began retreating back to the Curtis household - and when you looked to see who's feet were still there, none were. None but Ponyboy's.

It was just the two of you now, and though you didn't say it, you wanted to hold it together for him. So, you took a deep breath, wiping your eyes with your sleeves silently as you shifted your weight from foot to foot. Ponyboy knew you were there, but he still looked straight ahead, quiet and still.

But it wasn't a peaceful still. It was a tormenting silence, a still that was as if time had stopped and would never start moving, it was to replay the horrid scene over and over with no escape - no safe haven. But you didn't want that for you, and especially not for your Ponyboy - the boy who made life worth while for you.

Shakily, you tangled your fingers with eachother, blinking away tears and pushing down the straining croak in your throat as you spoke up. "If you wanna talk-"

"I don't want to talk." His voice was raw and harsh - but you knew he wasn't trying to hurt you. You knew he wouldn't hurt you now, not on purpose, anyways.

So you nodded, taking a step back. Perhaps Ponyboy wanted to be alone, and if that was what he wanted, you'd let him have it, no hard feelings.

"I'm gonna head back to the car. I'll be there if you need me." You spoke to the back of Ponyboy's head quietly, turning your back to his as you headed back to the car. You sighed, wrapping your arms around your torso.

But something stopped you. Ponyboy.

"Y/N?" He had called out, but his tone was much different than before. It was soft and mellow, full of tribulation and woe. That was your Ponyboy, vulnerable and not holding anything in.

You turned back around, clutching your shaking frame, listening as Ponyboy continued.

Your bottom lip begin to tremble against your will, and you found yourself taking steps back towards Pony. Once you were close enough, the two of you exchanged poigant smiles. He slowly brought himself to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his palms flat on your back. His face rested against your neck, your hands massaging the nape of his.

It was a subtle moment of excruciating melancholy, that somehow made the future seem a bit better. Though the both of you were far from ok, you knew you'd get through this together. Neither of you were going anywhere, and through loss and gain, Ponyboy would always have you.