🌟 You Want To Help Him, But He Won't Let You
Slang: what is your bag (what is your problem/do you have a problem), catch (a person/thing worth getting), gob (spit)
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Johnny Cade:
"Johnny, please. We-We can figure this out. Please, don't go." You cried onto his shoulder, grabbing his jacket like your life depended on it. Your head was spinning with wild thoughts of what was going to happen to Johnny - what could happen to him.
"Oh, Pony. You, too." You brought him into your embrace for a lingering hug. You could barely bring yourself to speak, too overwhelmed by emotion.
"I love you," Johnny sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean for any of this to happen. He was drowning 'em." Overcome with grief, he brought you closer, giving shaky kisses to your hair.
"I know, I know," you repeated, as if trying to convince yourself. There weren't words to describe the ache in your chest. You knew that at any moment he'd have to leave your arms and that you may never see him again. Just as that dreadful thought crossed your mind, you heard Dallas speak.
"C'mon, kid, it's time to go." He grabbed Johnny by the elbow, giving you a sympathetic look.
"Please!" You cried out. "Johnny, I'll come with you. Let me help. You didn't mean it!" You brought your hand to your face, wiping your flowing tears with the back of your hand.
You scrambled for any words that would make him stay; words to just convince him to be with you in his time of need. Except, much to your dread, it was no use. His mind was made up, as terrible as the decision was.
With one last fleeting look, you could see the pain of the evening in Johnny's eye, the hurt he felt for leaving you, and his fear for the future. You collapsed into a broken pile on the ground, knowing there was nothing you could do for him in that moment. You felt helpless and vulnerable.
"I'll see you soon," he cried over his shoulder, looking white as a sheet, before he took off into the night.
Darrel Curtis:
"Oh, Dar," you cooed, finding him with his hands in his hair and an anxious look etched into his face. On the table in front of him sat a spread of miscellaneous papers, which you recognized as bills. Glory, did it look like there were a lot of 'em, too.
He must have noticed your equally worried expression as you scanned over them, "it looks worse than it is. It's the electric I'm worried about. We're gonna be short, I just know it."
He grimaced, wrapping you in a side hug from his seated position and resting his head on your side. You wondered, "could you call the company? Just explain that you'll get it to them as quick as you can?"
"I'm gonna have to," he grumbled, "but they've heard that one before. I don't know how much good grace they've got left for me there."
You could hear the stress in his tone. If you knew one thing about Darry, it was that he was beating himself up. If there was anything he felt shame about, it was when he felt he couldn't take care of his brothers. Whether it was a 10 cent difference or 5 dollars, he'd be kicking himself for not just working that extra mile.
"I'll cover it, Dar." You spoke after giving it a moments thought.
"Gosh, I couldn't ask that of you, Y/N. You don't even live here." He threw his hands up in nonacceptance.
"I might as well. Please, Darry, I want to help. I've been picking up extra shifts anyway. It ain't gonna hurt me, promise." He kept shaking his head as you continued, "C'mon Dar, let me take care of you for once." Your hand laced with his as he gave you an uneasy look.
"I-I can't accept your money, hon. Just drop it. How about we get dinner started instead? I'll worry more about this later." He pushed his chair back, going to busy himself before you could even get in a word of protest.
Ponyboy Curtis:
You loved to do homework with Pony, especially when assignments felt over your head. He simply made the math problems and reading prompts that much less intimidating. What you didn't like was that, despite studying together to help each other, Pony refused to take your advice.
"Pony, I'm telling you that ain't the answer. See, look -" you went to place your paper next to his, but Pony swatted it away.
"I got this. Lemme' figure it out myself." He grimaced, shooing your hand away.
"It's a simple fix, don't worry. It got me at first, too. Here -" you began again.
"I got it." He clarified, a hand rubbing the back of his neck as he erased the problem with clear annoyance.
You scoffed, leaning back in your chair to look at him. It wasn't often that he got like this, but sometimes he could be so touchy. He had no reason to be acting like this when you were just trying to be helpful.
"What is your bag?" You asked huffily.
He stayed quiet for a moment, continuing to solve the problem, before sighing. His arm slung over the back of the chair as he turned to you.
"I know how to do math. I appreciate you tellin' me about the answer, but I can do it myself. I don't need to look at your paper or nothin'." He stated pointedly, but by the look on his face, you could sense that wasn't the full truth.
"That ain't it, Pone. You're acting too nasty to me for it to just be a pride thing."
He sighed, mumbling something under his breath that you didn't quite catch. Encouraging him to speak up, he finally cracked.
"It just makes me feel dumb, is all. Just let me get it myself, okay?" He admitted, a sense of finality in his voice as he turned back to his page.
Sodapop Curtis:
"You don't own a single clean shirt, do you?" You laughed, helping Soda to fold his laundry one evening.
You held up his once gray shirt, looking over the oil splotches that littered the bottom third of the fabric. You couldn't help but shake your head, earning a pair of socks being thrown at you by Sodapop.
"It's not that bad," he spoke, rolling up a pair of pants and stuffing them in his drawer. "I have a few shirts I don't wear to the DX. Those ones are squeaky clean."
"Could've fooled me. Anyhow, you should let me look over your work shirts before your next load. I read an article about getting out marks that I bet would keep these from getting any worse." You continued folding, scoffing at yet another shirt.
You could hear him riffling around his drawers from behind where you sat on the bed. As if to prove his point, he smirked, presenting you a clean, white shirt after some time. You gave him a knowing look, shaking your head at him.
"Geez, Y/N! I've worked on cars since before we got together. You should be used to motor oil stains by now." He spoke incredulously, leaning against his dresser to look at you.
"Oh, I'm only joking, you know that. You should let me try that trick out though. Can't hurt much, and 'sides, maybe it'll end up being a real catch and we can let Steve know about it, too."
"I oughta' know how to do my own laundry by now. Trick or not. I'll be fine without it."
"You'd think, but all your clothes come out looking this way. Odd for someone who knows how to do their laundry, isn't it?" You smirked, earning a shoulder nudge from your boyfriend as he kept folding, ignoring your teasing.
Keith Matthews:
Bursting through the door of the Matthew's house, you adjusted your skirt. Even though you and Two-Bit had been together for months, you still found yourself giddy and nervous when he asked you on dates. It felt like a schoolgirl crush.
Having heard the door, Two-Bit rounded the corner, his baby sister sat on his hip. He looked frazzled as she whined about wanting dinner, grabbing at his shirt in some kind of tantrum.
"Thank god, you're here." He sighed, coming to kiss you on your cheek as his sister began fighting out of his grasp. "Mom got called in for a shift and I'm stuck with this ankle biter."
You felt your heart sink a bit. "What about our date?"
"I'm sorry, but I just can't leave her here. Are you okay? You look real nice." He set his sister down, wrapping you in a hug and kissing your temple. You knew you couldn't be mad at him, at least not for this.
"S'okay, Two. I can hang here if you'd like, help you watch her." She ran towards him, a toy in hand, which she used to beat at his shins, still demanding dinner. "Looks like you could use it."
He groaned, picking her up and twisting her upside down by the ankles, to which she fell into a fit of giggles. As hard a time as he gave her - and admittedly, as hard a time as she gave him - you knew Two-Bit adored his little sis. "It's cooking! Now, you hush before I put a big gob in it."
She squealed with repulsion, agreeing to patiently wait for her food while she played. Keith sighed, turning to you. "I feel bad, you got all dolled up for nothing. I can't ask you to stay. See if any of your girlfriends wanna hang out." He smiled sincerely.
"I don't mind," you pushed, "you know I love hanging with the two of you. Especially when she starts giving you grief like that. You could use it sometimes."
He laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry, but not tonight. Now go on and get, have some fun! Tell me all about it tomorrow," he chuckled, urging you out the door so your night could begin.
Steve Randle:
"For the love - stop being so thick headed! Let me help!" You cursed, attempting to push behind the counter.
The obstacle in your way just happened to be Steve, who was juggling between running outside to help Soda, shooing you away, and struggling with customers at the register. Some of the patrons gave you odd looks, not understanding what was going on or why no one was helping with their things.
"I'll be right with you in a moment," you smiled pleasantly to the next customer in line.
"No, she won't," Steve spoke to the same man, using his hip to budge you out of the way. "She don't even work here."
"For the love - you let me behind that counter before I whip the snot outta' you, Randle. Go help in the garage. Job here or not, I can work the register during the rush." He simply grunted, looking through a large pile of papers.
You let out an exasperated sigh. He was being absolutely ridiculous. "At least let me do something. You can't do this all by yourself."
He looked over at you meaningfully, but a smirk quickly made its way to his features. "Alone? It's like Soda's chopped liver or something."
"Unbelievable," you cried, hands reaching to pull your hair in frustration.
Next to the register, someone cleared their throat - the same man you'd addressed earlier. You and Steve set aside your differences for a second to both send him a dangerous look.
"Now is not the time," you both snapped at him, grimacing.
Dallas Winston:
"Dallas Winston!" You cried, slamming the screen door of the Curtis's house behind you. "I oughta' thank those Socs for not killing you, just so I can!"
Sat at the kitchen table was Dal, lip busted, knuckles cut, and his hands bruised. He sure was a sight for sore eyes, but you were too angry to feel any sympathy for him.
"I told you to leave well enough alone, but you just couldn't listen. The five-o could've gotten a hold of you or-or," you threw yourself into the chair next to him, too angry for words at this point.
He could only look at you with a sideways smile, to which you shook your head in disappointment. You knew one day this boy was gonna give you a heart attack. Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you silently thanked Ponyboy for bringing you a rag and a bowl of water.
"Scoot your sorry ass out from underneath the table," you commanded, dipping the cloth into the warm water.
"Now, stop fussing with me. I'm fine," Dallas griped, pushing the rag away from his face.
"Dallas Tucker," you scoffed, grabbing him by the wrist to press the washcloth to his knuckles. "Just let me help you. You need cleaned up or you could get an infection or something."
"I don't need nobody's help, not even yours. Those socs were asking for it, alright, and you know it as well as I do." He changed the subject, but it wasn't enough to quell your anger. In frustration, you threw the rag on the table.
"Your behavior repulses me sometimes, you know that? Can't you just have a quiet night?" To that, he shook his head, wiping his own knuckles. You silently found satisfaction in the way he tried to hide his discomfort. Sick as it was, it seemed punishment enough for his stupidity.
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This isn't my greatest work, and I apologize. I've been gone for some time and, well, I've got to start somewhere again.
- Shaunessy