The Buddy System
Disclaimer: No, silly, I never have nor will I ever own The Outsiders. S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. *sighs* :( I simply borrow them for my own creative enjoyment purposes.
Summary: An unexpected bout of illness shows Steve how even though his dad had never been there for him when he needs him, his best friend always will be. One-shot.
A/N: I decided that this site didn't have enough Steve sick-fics (or any, for that matter, that I can find) so I decided to make one. Enjoy this little story of fluff!
~ Thursday, October 19, 1967 ~
The first sound Sodapop heard as he was walking into the DX station was the sound of Mike yelling. Mike had never been a quiet guy, but yelling was also out of his nature. He normally just communicated with his employees in a slightly louder than average voice, but his tone held an anger that Sodapop wasn't accustomed to hearing out of his boss. As Sodapop began walking towards the open garage door, the conversation began to become more clear.
"What, are you stupid? I told you to go home yesterday, Randle. Why are you still here?"
Steve's response was much quieter, and Soda wondered vaguely why his voice sounded so weird. "You told me to go home yesterday. And I did. But I'm here today."
"Do I have to spell it out for you? Go home, and don't come back until you stop sounding like a chain smoker."
"...But I am a smoker," Steve responded, his voice almost questioning rather than disrespectful or argumentative.
"Well, then maybe you should quit," Mike grumbled as Sodapop appeared in the garage. Steve was underneath an old, rusty Ford truck, only his feet poking through. As Sodapop walked closer he could hear Steve's deep, hacking coughs, the obvious reason Mike had sent the poor guy home.
"Mike!" Sodapop called out right before his boss shut the door to his office. "I'm takin' Steve home."
"Good. The last thing I need is this whole shop dealing with a flu epidemic, on top of everything else," Mike muttered the last part as he grabbed a pen from the cup, his eyebrows scrunched together as he looked over a pile of recent sale receipts.
"Come on, Steve-o," Sodapop encouraged, lightly tapping Steve's exposed foot with his. "I'm taking you home."
Steve rolled out from underneath the truck unhappily, and as soon as Sodapop saw him he knew why Mike had sent him home yesterday. His normally sun tanned face was at least two shades paler than normal, except for the bright red splotches that covered his cheeks. Steve stared up at him with glossy, feverish eyes, and an annoyed expression, but before he could add in a smart retort he started coughing again.
"Don't you want to be home in a bed, Steve? Come on. Man, why'd you even bother coming in? If the boss gave me a few days off, I'd take it in a hurry."
"Oh, yeah, my dad and I can eat chicken noodle soup and have a nice bonding day. Wait, that's right, he's currently passed out cold in the middle of the living room," Steve snapped, and even though Soda knew it was the fever talking he couldn't help but let a look of hurt flash across his face. Steve sighed.
"I'm sorry, man. I just couldn't stay in that house anymore with him."
"It's fine. Let's just go back to my place, alright?"
"Alright." Steve's expression softened, and the look in his eye told Soda he was more grateful than he would ever say.
Steve stood up to follow Soda, but before he could rebalance himself, he began swaying unsteadily. Soda quickly caught him by his shoulders, and kept a steady hand around his back as they stumbled out to the car. The mere fact that Steve allowed him to help him walk told Soda all he needed to know about how sick Steve really was.
Steve managed to settle himself into the passenger seat by himself, and Soda sat in the driver's seat of Steve's car, since Darry had dropped him off at work that morning and then left to his own job afterwards.
"When we get home, lay down in Pony's old room, alright? Everything's still made in there," Sodapop commanded as he signaled and turned onto the their street. Steve nodded wordlessly, but he looked conscious enough to walk without help this time. Once they arrived, that's exactly what Steve did, leaving Sodapop alone in the kitchen to begin making dinner.
OoOoOoO
Soda settled on a few pieces of yellow chicken, and one blue one for himself. He figured that green wouldn't sit well with Steve's already upset stomach, and red would be hard to distinguish when the chicken was done, as it turned pink once in the oven. Soda was just placing the chicken in the oven when he heard Ponyboy arrive, the pattering of his feet growing closer as he entered the kitchen.
"Hey, kiddo, how was school?" Sodapop greeted, a small smile playing on his lips. Ponyboy returned the grin effortlessly as he filled up a glass of water.
"Okay, I guess. I gotta lot of homework, and a book report due in a week that I'm gonna start on tonight."
Ponyboy began walking towards his room as Soda started toward the bathroom, but when his little brother suddenly grabbed the knob of his old bedroom Sodapop quickly grabbed Pony arm, keeping him from opening the door.
"Steve's sleeping," Sodapop explained. Ponyboy turned the knob, confused, until the light from the living room streamed through the cracked door and illuminated Steve's sleeping body. Soda could see Ponyboy taking in Steve's pale, sweaty skin and flushed cheeks, and understanding lit up on his face.
"My books in there, I gotta get it real quick. I'll be quiet, alright," Ponyboy whispered. Soda nodded as Ponyboy began to tip-toe into his old bedroom in search of The Great Gatsby. He held his breath when Steve suddenly stirred, but the sick teenager simply sighed and rolled over.
"Is he okay?" Ponyboy asked once he had retrieved his book and Soda was finished in the bathroom.
"Yeah, he'll be fine. Just sick 's all. Try to get some of that book report done before Darry gets home, alright?"
"Yeah, alright," Ponyboy agreed. He did as he was told, and the house was quiet until the unmistakable sound of the squeaky bedroom door being pushed open broke through the comfortable silence that had engulfed the house as Ponyboy read.
"Steve?" Sodapop asked.
"Hey," Steve greeted, his voice hoarse and raw. He started coughing as he sat down on the couch, sounding painful. Ponyboy looked up from his homework.
"You look like crap."
"Shove it, kid, I ain't in the mood," Steve shot back, his eyes hard. Ponyboy furrowed his eyebrows.
"Someone's a little crabby today, aren't we?" Ponyboy retorted glumly.
"Cut it out," Sodapop interjected. "Dinner's ready. Eat up."
Ponyboy happily dished himself a plate, but Steve hung back.
"I'm not really that hungry."
"You have to eat something, Steve," Sodapop instructed. He gave Steve a plate with a piece of light, yellow-orangish chicken and a side of purple mashed potatoes on it. Steve accepted unhappily, but he slowly got though a few bites of mashed potatoes and almost half of his chicken before he couldn't force himself to eat anymore.
"Feel any better?" Soda asked as Steve set his plate in the sink.
"Yeah, a little," Steve replied. As much as he didn't want to admit that Soda was right, eating did make him feel a little better. His nose was still stuffed and he was still coughing, but his chest didn't hurt as bad and he didn't feel as weak and dizzy. It was a step, and Steve hoped after another day or two of rest Mike would let him go back to work.
"Hey, Soda?" Steve asked quietly after a minute, pulling Sodapop's attention away from the dishes.
"Yeah, Stevie-boy?"
"Thank you. Seriously, man. Thanks. For everything."
Soda grinned at his buddy, his face lighting up.
"You're welcome, Steve."
A/N: Please review!
Stay Gold,
~ Alee XxX