The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting a cold, sterile glow over the hospital waiting room. Ponyboy sat slumped in one of the stiff plastic chairs, arms wrapped around himself, his mind a blur of exhaustion and worry. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee clung to the air, but he barely noticed. All he could think about was Johnny, barely hanging on, and Dally, tough as ever but still stuck in a hospital bed.

The doors swung open suddenly, and before he could even look up, strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Ponyboy,” Sodapop’s voice was thick with relief, his warmth cutting through the cold dread that had settled deep in Ponyboy’s chest.

Then came Darry. His hands were firm on Ponyboy’s shoulders as he looked him over, his face lined with worry. For the first time in a long time, Ponyboy really looked at his oldest brother—not as the guy who was always yelling at him, but as someone who was just as scared as he was. Someone who had almost lost him.

“You okay, kid?” Darry asked, his voice softer than Ponyboy had heard in a while.

And for the first time, Ponyboy knew—really knew—that he wasn’t alone.