Tell me that you’ve got everything you want, and your bird can sing…

Darry had taken you in. Like Johnny, you were another pitied runt that the whole gang was careful of. While Dally held an especially soft spot for Johnny, Darry Curtis was wrapped around your little finger.

He was almost as hard on you as he was Ponyboy. Constantly checking your grades, pushing you to do sports. But he did care. More than anyone else in your life ever had.

Darry was currently trying to fix the truck in the Curtis’ driveway. While he didn’t have the knack for cars like Steve Randle, he did have you as his little helper.

“Pass me that wrench. No—other one.” He said from beneath the vehicle, holding out his hand as you fumbled for the correct wrench. There were far too many.

“There’s too many, Darry.” You grumbled, digging through the toolkit.

The man sighed softly, pushing himself out from underneath the truck.

“S’alright kid. That one, right there,” He pointed down at a wrench that looked like every other.