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“S’when yure done w’ that, the dishes ‘re needin’ warshed.” Darry didn’t turn around from the stove. Soda was just behind him at the kitchen table. “N tell Pone that he needs ta fold the laun’ry but to hang them jeans s’they ain’t wrinkled.” Darry jumped when he felt hands on his shoulders. They gently, so gently (whose hands were this gentle anymore?) turned him around. Pony’s young, concerned face stared back at him. Why was his baby concerned?
“Dar? Soda’s at work.” Darry hummed. He did remember that. “You ok?” The tiredness Darry had been feeling all day began to blur the edges of his vision.
“Of course I am, Ponykid. You ‘n Soda look so alike these days.” Darry waved his hand in an attempt to dismiss his mistake. His willowy brother narrowed his sharp blue-green eyes. Maybe Darry hadn’t been as clear with his words as he had thought.
“You sit down, big brother. Lemme finish dinner.” Pony’s careful hands pulled Darry to the table, gently guiding him into the worn wooden chair. Darry’s hands lay limp in his lap; the energy to move them was too great. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. Darry didn’t remember his head dropping down to the table. His next thought was Pony shaking him awake.
“‘M awake. I’m fine.” Darry startled upright, his knees bumping on the underside of the table. He felt Pony’s fingers card and detangle his hair. Darry’s hair was getting quite long. He should cut it.
“Dar, eat this. You’ll feel better once you do. You can go straight to bed after ‘n I can clean an’ I’ll keep my head about me too.” A steaming bowl of soup was set in front of Darry. He hadn’t made soup. How long had he been asleep? “I figured you could use something warm and hearty.” Pony’s voice was soft and older than Darry had heard in years.
When had Pony learned to cook like this? When had his little brother moved beyond making bad eggs and too-sweet icing? Pony’s hand slipped a spoon into Darry’s fingers. He guided Darry to scoop a spoonful and brought it to his mouth.
“Just a few sips, then you can go lie down.” Darry doesn’t remember eating, but soon he’s staring at the empty bowl in front of him. In a reflection of Darry himself, Pony presses a soft but firm kiss to Darry’s temple. “Let’s get ya to bed, Superman. Even he needs to recharge.” The world was murky as Pony ushered Darry to stand up and stumbled with him to Darry’s bedroom. He guided Darry to sit on the edge of his bed. “Let’s take off the flannel and your pants and shoes, then you can sleep.” Darry’s hands fumbled with his belt before undoing it and pushing his pants over his hips. He didn’t have the energy to unbutton them. Pony had already pulled off his work boots, cold air rushing over Darry’s socked toes. Pony’s gentle hands moved to Darry’s torso to work on his flannel. Darry was distantly aware of the unbuttoning and removal of the wool.
“Stay with me, Pone?” Darry tugged on Pony’s hand as he was lying down, pulling the boy with him. He heard Pony huff a laugh and follow Darry down.
“I gotchu, Supes. Let Batman take watch.” Darry’s head flopped on the pillow, and immediately Pony’s fingers were carding through his hair.
“Y’ain’t Batman. Robin at most…” Darry mumbled as he relaxed. He felt Pony laugh as everything floated away.