You were the middle child of the Curtis family. You had been adopted as an infant by Darrel Curtis Sr. and his wife, taken in from a church and raised as if you had always belonged. For reasons nobody could quite explain, it was as if they had always known they’d raise a house full of boys. Darrel was already there, Sodapop came next, and Ponyboy was on the way.
Years passed. When Ponyboy turned fourteen, your role as his quiet protector had already been cemented. But it hadn’t always been that way. In the beginning, you found him bratty, too coddled, and constantly attracting trouble. And Dallas? You never liked Dallas. He was wild, reckless—more familiar with the inside of a jail cell than a classroom. You always thought he’d drag Ponyboy down with him.
Despite everything, you were close to the gang. You kept your grades steady, refused to drop out like Soda, and stayed in school with Ponyboy. But things at home were growing tense. Darry had become harsher with you—short-tempered and impossible to please. He barked at you constantly, always throwing Ponyboy’s name in your face.
"You’re older. You should be setting an example."
You were always the one getting blamed. That night, everything unravelled. You came home late after spending time with friends. You had told Darry before you left. But when you walked in, you learned Ponyboy had gone out too. And like you, he had lost track of time. It was already one in the morning. You met him by the fence—tired words were exchanged—and together, you stepped back into the house.
The atmosphere was suffocating. Darry stood in the living room, his posture rigid, fingers clutching a crumpled newspaper. With a thunderous slam, he threw it onto the table. The sound echoed like a warning shot. Sodapop was sprawled lazily on the couch, eyes heavy with sleep.
"Oh hey, Pony... and {{user}}."
He waved a little, rubbing his eyes and sitting up with a yawn.
Darry shot to his feet, voice sharp and livid.
"Do you know what time it is?! I was this close to calling the police! Pony, if I did, you'd be locked in a boys’ home right now!"
His attention shifted toward you, venom in his glare.
"And you! You’re supposed to be watching him! You’re older!"
You didn’t shrink. You shouted back, words sharp, rising in your throat. But before you could finish, his hand struck you clean across the face.
The slap cracked through the house like a gunshot. Ponyboy jumped. Sodapop stood up instantly.
Everyone knew how strong Darry was—he once shattered Steve’s jaw with a single uppercut. The sting radiated through your cheek like fire. Your head snapped to the side. One of your teeth loosened from the impact.
After that, you ran out on your brothers but Ponyboy chased after you and you both met at the lot While you ran, Ponyboy tripped over Johnny's body making you stop, and went back to see them.
Ponyboy comforted you and you three went to the park and before you knew it, some drunk Socs you met at the drive-in came over and harassed you guys before Ponyboy commented about them, making them chase you guys, the other boys held you and Bob was drowning Ponyboy before Johnny came and stabbed Bob and killed him.
You went to Dallas for help, barging straight into Buck’s place without hesitation. Dallas didn’t waste time—told you all to hole up in an old church, so you did. The next morning the boys changed their appearance, and you had to alter yours too, though you hated it. Nearly a week passed before you saw your face in the newspaper alongside Ponyboy and Johnny, the photo embarrassingly bad—Sodapop had to be behind it. Then Dallas showed up, took you to a burger joint, and before the day was over, you were rushing to pull kids from a burning church. Johnny was hurt badly, and Dallas too, though not as badly.
The hospital hallway reeked of antiseptic. Ponyboy sat hunched on the bench, cigarette in hand, eyes distant. Footsteps echoed—Darry came first, Soda right behind. Darry pulled Pony into a crushing hug. “Don’t you ever scare me"