Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders and all of the words and characters inside it.

Authors Note: The subject matter could potentially be disturbing.

When Steve was little, he wasn't sure what the pills his mom took were for. All he knew was that she took a bunch of them with a tall bottle of clear liquid. After she took them though, she'd sleep for a whole week at a time. While his father was at work, Steve took care of his brothers and sisters. He was the biggest—older by close to four years. His mother never kept track, so he didn't either.

It was the twin's fifth birthday and they insisted that their mother celebrate with them. Dad stopped home at his lunch break to bring them some doughnuts, but that was around an hour or so earlier. He tried to keep the kids as quiet as possible. Dad got so angry every time they disturbed their mother and of course, the blame always went to Steve.

"Stebe," Chris said, pulling his twin, Tina, along with him, "We are gonna get Mommy to come have a doughnut."

The twins had the same huge hazel eyes, but that was about as far as their resemblance went. All of the Randle kids had dark curly hair, but the softness of their hair rarely transferred onto their faces. Only Tina and Steve had their mother's heart shaped face, the rest of the children resembled their father.

"She's sick, don't bug her."

"Nuh uh! She was sick last week."

Steve pulled his baby sister, Julie, higher up on his hip and decided to ignore the twins. That is, until he heard the bedroom door creak open. "Kids! Come on you brats, listen to me for once, will ya?"

"Stevie, what's wrong with Mommy?" Those words from a tiny girl's mouth haunted Steve until the day he died.

Without even thinking, Steve ran full force into the room, stopping only momentarily to hand Julie off to Tina. What he saw was something a child should never see.

With her white nightgown ridden up to her hips and the rest of it plastered to her skin with sweat, she looked almost like a rag doll. Pale skin, long curly, black hair laid out beneath her head, red lips and flushed cheeks drenched in a pool of vomit, blood, and broken glass. He didn't even hear the bottle shatter. The outline of her breasts, clearly visible due to the dampness of her gown, did not rise nor did it fall.

"Get out now. Chris, go next door and ask Mrs. Foster to call Daddy." For once the boy did what he was told. However, the baby and Tina were starting to cry. Danny, only two at the time, toddled in as well.

Steve was overwhelmed beyond belief. With two crying girls, a toddler munching on his second doughnut even though Dad said he could only have half of one, and his mother—oh God, his mother. Steve did the only thing he could think of which was to pick up her face and put it on his lap. Oh God. If only she would breathe.

XXX

She did eventually breathe. When Dad came in and saw what happened, he knocked Steve straight across the room. He didn't understand how Steve could have let that happen. Dad took her to the hospital and she was back to normal in a few days. She even stayed awake for long enough to hold Julie. She was in and out for the next couple of years. Two more siblings arrived much to Steve's dismay. Lisa turned out alright, and by the time Tommy was born, Steve tried his hardest to stay as far away from home as possible. He grew to hate kids.

When Steve was fifteen, his mother passed away. She had been pretty normal for a few years, but Steve still hadn't forgiven her for taking his childhood. He blamed her for making him raise his siblings and cook and clean most of his life. She said it was his job because he was the oldest. Their relationship became more and more strained and so did his relationship with his dad. His dad never offered to help and just let his mom knock herself out for a week every time something didn't go her way and they had entirely different ideas on how to raise the kids. They also disagreed about how ungrateful Steve was or how much of a wiseass he was.

He came home around nine o'clock from a dinner at the Curtis house to find the house completely silent. None of the kids were screaming and his dad had mom's vodka in his hand. "She's gone, Steven." was all he said.

He didn't tell anyone in the gang. He'd been telling them she was a just a drunk rather than a nut. By his change in attitude, they assumed she'd up and left. It took about a month for Steve to even tell Sodapop. He felt like shit for not even crying. Hell, he cried more at Soda's mother and father's funeral a couple years later. He missed her though. Enough that in Vietnam, he had, "Mary Randle, Rest In Peace" tattooed on his back. That tattoo came in handy. It helped a gunny from Virginia identify his body.

Author's Note part 2: Dedicated to D.A.B. who is the real life Steve.