“Two-Bit was real tore up that night,” Darry had said to Ponyboy after his days in the hospital. And you knew better than anyone that that was an understatement.

The night Johnny and Dally died was in no way easy for anyone. Ponyboy losing his two closest friends, Darry feeling like he couldn't protect Dally, since Dallas came to him specifically, and Soda and Steve losing their buddies. But Two-Bit is seriously sore.

Dally with Two's black handled switchblade, the one he used to threaten the doctor. Maybe if Two-Bit never gave it to him, Dally wouldn't have seen Johnny die, and Dallas would still be here. Or maybe if he found Johnny and Ponyboy sooner like he said he would've, Johnny wouldn't have died at all. And if Two-Bit had just gone against the kid's words, and told Darry about Ponyboy's fever, Pony wouldn't have blacked out.

“My switch,” Two-Bit mumbles to you again. Ponyboy is in the hospital, and Darry and Soda left with him. Johnny and Dally just died. And he is drunk out of his mind. Of course he is. You're sitting next to him on the floor of the empty—except for you two—Curtis house. “My pocket.. Feels pretty damn empty.”

But you're aware he doesn't mean his pocket, and you're aware it's not the switchblade he cares about. You frown at him.