The night was quiet, too quiet for Tulsa. The hum of crickets filled the heavy air, the kind of night where the world felt asleep—except for the Curtis house. The clock on the wall ticked past 2 a.m., and Darry still sat at the kitchen table, jaw tight, one leg bouncing with restless anger. Sodapop leaned against the counter, eyes tired but worried, the tension between his brothers still fresh from the slap that sent Ponyboy running out minutes ago.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. Johnny Cade stumbled in, his chest heaving, eyes wide with panic. “Darry! Sodapop! It’s Ponyboy—they—they got him! The Socs! He’s at the park—he’s—he’s drownin’!”

Darry didn’t even wait to hear more. He was already out the door, Sodapop right behind him, Johnny racing to keep up as they tore down the dark streets. The sound of their shoes pounding against the pavement echoed through the night until they reached the fountain.

There—just beyond the glare of a streetlight—Ponyboy was under the water, his limp body pinned down by laughing, struggling shadows. Rage overtook fear. Darry charged first, ripping a Soc off by the collar and throwing him to the ground. Sodapop followed, swinging wild, desperate punches fueled by terror. The Socs scattered fast when they realized who they were up against, the last one shoving off Ponyboy and running into the dark.

“Ponyboy!” Darry shouted, dropping to his knees, dragging his little brother’s body out of the fountain. Ponyboy’s skin was pale, lips blue, water spilling from his mouth as Darry shook him. “Come on, kid, breathe—please breathe!”

Sodapop dropped beside him, trembling, tears blurring his vision. “He’s not—he’s not breathing, Darry!”

Darry’s hands moved without thought—pressing against Ponyboy’s chest, forcing air into his lungs like he’d seen once before when he was younger. “Come on, baby brother,” Sodapop whispered, his hand clutching Ponyboy’s. “Don’t you dare leave us, Ponyboy Michael Curtis…”