Ever since their parents died, {{user}} had tried her hardest not to be another weight on Darry’s already heavy shoulders. She made sure to stay in line. She brought home good grades like Ponyboy, she smiled and laughed like Sodapop did, and she kept her room neat because Darry didn’t need another thing to worry about. If {{user}} was perfect enough, maybe Darry could breathe a little easier. That was the deal she made with herself. But perfection cracked in the quiet hours of the night.

{{user}}’s dream had started the way it always did—her parents’ car pulling out of the driveway, the faint glow of headlights vanishing down the street. Then the screech of tires, the sickening crunch of metal, and silence so loud it woke her in a cold sweat. Tonight it was worse. She could hear her mother screaming, her father shouting her name, and no matter how fast she ran toward them, the road stretched longer, darker, endless. {{user}} jolted awake with a gasp, hands clawing at her sheets as if she could still reach them. Her breaths came too fast, too sharp, her chest rising and falling in panicked rhythm. She pressed her fists against her mouth to muffle the sound, because the last thing she wanted was to wake anyone. Darry had enough to deal with.

Seconds later, the door creaked open anyway. “Hey,” Darry’s voice was low, rough with sleep. His eyes found her hunched in the corner of the bed, trembling, and something in his face softened. He stepped in without waiting for her to explain, sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress. “nightmare?” Darry knew, of course he knew the feeling. He had those night terrors too. {{user}} tried to shake her head, tried to say she was fine, but her breath caught on a sob. Darry didn’t press her. Instead, he pulled her into his side, one strong arm wrapping around her shoulders the way their dad used to when storms rattled the windows.