So, I never said the Thanksgiving treat would be another chapter for Soda Ain't Here... Sneaky, I know. Hehe. Here you go loves, a really long oneshot. :D
Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders - S.E. Hinton does.
Steve Randle had changed - whether it be from the war or separation from his best buddy, Soda couldn't tell. The letters spoke differently, gave off a different air than what Sodapop Curtis was used to. Steve seemed different, but maybe it was just the way Soda's eyes had read the few letters he had received from the guy. After all, Sodapop Curtis was not known for his brains.
That was what he had told himself, anyway. Ponyboy would add comments at the bottom of Soda's responses about the war and Steve would reply back with little hatred for the kid. It was this that convinced Soda the most that Steve had changed. It was no secret the two didn't get along, but the fact that Steve was willing to keep contact with Ponyboy struck Sodapop as odd. He may have been dumb in school, but he understood the way people worked. Steve was changing.
It took him months just to convince himself the changes weren't anything to be concerned over. Steve was at war, and war was bound to change a person, right? Right. Maybe the changes were different than what Sodapop imagined, though.
It had been a shitty day for Sodapop when Steve came into work with a draft notice only weeks after Soda's eighteenth birthday. He remembered feeling helpless - like he was losing his best buddy. He'd already lost so much; couldn't luck be on his side just once? He kept moving forward with a smile though, talking of all the parties they'd have once Steve did his year over there. Steve would come back in his fatigues, all funny looking with a buzz cut, they'd joke. It'd be party after party when Steve got home and it would be like nothing had changed.
It was an ignorant hope that they'd had, one that could be likened to a child's. Steve played along more for Soda's sake; he knew the deal - war was going to screw him over and that was that. Soda wasn't the same as before though - still as tough as ever, but more sensitive at the same time. The previous two or three years had taken their toll on him; his smile was the tiniest bit smaller and his lively eyes were a tad less lively. Having his best friend leave for war didn't help at all.
It was a bittersweet day when Soda got his draft letter. Bitter because he had to go to that goddamn war and sweet because he had the chance to see his best buddy again. It was a blind hope really. His older brother Darry constantly was reminding him that the chances of them even being in the same area were slim to none. Still, Soda held that hope - the only hope one could have when going to war - that he would be reunited with Steve.
He wrote the letter, added a line or two about something only Steve would understand and mailed it. Six months later, he was out of training and being shipped out of the country.
He was as handsome as ever with his hair cut short - it looked just as good short as it was long. The uniform was new - something he wasn't all that used to - and as it turns out, being a greaser helped him in the long run. He was new to the game of war, but he sure as hell excelled at it fast. At least, that's what they'd told him in boot camp.
Who would've thought, though, that everything they'd prepared you for in boot camp was nothing like what you actually had to experience in the hot, sticky jungle. His first few weeks out there, Sodapop did nothing except hang out with his army buddies, smoke cigarettes, drink beers - although Soda didn't usually have more than half a bottle - and look at nudie mags.
Ponyboy had written him twice by the time he saw his first battle. It was a little over a month after being shipped to Vietnam and nothing the boys couldn't handle. It was a freak accident really. Both forces were marching in crossing paths when it started; gooks fired and Soda fired back, knocking at least four down with his good aim. He would have been nothing compared to Ponyboy, but his extra training allowed for an even more exceptional shot.
After that first battle, his dancing eyes faded even more than before.
Two months into his tour and they were heading for a base farther north. He hadn't heard word about or from Steve since he'd been in the country and the childish hope was close to diminished. He kept his head high like always though - there was no way he'd let his army buddies see anything past his tough, but happy-go-lucky exterior.
It took a week to trudge through mud and thick jungle to get the base. Another platoon was already based there and would be joining up with his own for a little while. Relaxed routines fell into place once more as they had when Soda first arrived in the godawful country. However, little did he know, a certain best buddy was in the other platoon.
Three days passed and neither knew they were so close. It was on the fourth day that Soda had been on base that he bumped into someone on the way back from the latrines.
"Sorry man, didn't see you there," the soldier said and continued to walk past without so much as a glance in Sodapop's direction. Soda didn't particularly look at the soldier either - hell, he hadn't even seen him or else he wouldn't have bumped into him - but there was something about the guy's voice that made him turn in question.
"Steve?" Soda muttered under his breath and took in the back of the soldier. Tall, lean and black haired - he looked exactly how Steve had looked when he had leave between boot camp and battle. "Steve?" he asked, louder this time, calling attention to the soldier.
The soldier stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around, a smile creeping on his face. "Well I'll be damned... Soda?"
Soda's eyes shone for the first time in months. They started off at a walk towards each other before breaking into a run, colliding together in a hug as they reached each other.
"Man, you sure look different without all that hair," Steve joked and ran a hand over the soft, ridiculously short hair of his once greased-up friend.
Soda smiled - the way he used to, the way he had before he'd gotten the draft notice. "Yeah, you ain't a woofin'."
"I didn't think I'd see you for years, man. How the hell did you end up in Tay Ninh?"
Soda shrugged and smiled once more, making Steve grin even wider. "My division got sent here."
No one would have guessed that they'd spent close to a year apart the way they carried on for the remainder of a week. They joked the same way, talked the same way, shared comfortable silences the same way. In fact, you could even say the other soldiers were jealous. Their best buddies were no where near them - hell, the lucky bastards probably hadn't even been drafted. It would have been better to buddy around back in Tulsa together, but Soda didn't mind so much. It was a small constant like having Steve alongside him in war that made his chaotic life seem worth it.
After a week or so though, Sodapop couldn't help but feel that Steve had changed. He tried, like he had tried back home, to convince himself that his mind was just playing games, but being around Steve made that impossible to do. Maybe he had changed, maybe ... maybe it wasn't as bad as Soda made it out to be. Everyone changes; they were getting older. Yeah, that's it, he'd think, they were just growing up. Sodapop, he'd tell himself, you just need to get with the times 'cause the times are a changing.
"Hey buddy, they got any beans and dicks left?" Soda looked up from his letter to see Steve coming off of guard duty.
"I'm sure they got some in the mess hall or something," Soda replied lazily. He had guard duty himself in a few hours and wanted to write back to his brothers before he lost the chance.
"Yeah, I'll do that... Letters from home?"
Soda held the letters up - one from each of his brothers - and nodded. "Pony's got himself a new girl," he explained, chuckling slightly.
Steve shook his head, grinning bitterly. "The kid's turning into you, I swear. He never could just leave you alone."
Soda smiled at the sudden flash of the old Steve breaking through. "Naw, I'm much better looking than him..."
Steve grinned and plopped down next to him. "Cockier too," he added, earning a playful punch in the arm.
Another soldier called from a way down. "Hey Randle, you want some smack? Ortez just got me some." There was a sudden intake of breath as Steve winced.
The whole world seemed to zero in on Soda. Smack? His breathing seemed slow and loud in his ears, and his jawline tensed along with the rest of his body.
"Soda...?" Steve prodded quietly; Soda looked dangerous. "Look it ain't nothing. You don't got to worry or -"
"How many times?" He didn't look anywhere but straight ahead. Soda knew if he looked Steve in the eye, he'd lose it; he'd make him remember what it was like to be beat up by a Curtis.
"Don't sweat it, man. I can stop anytime I want... It's an escape is all... Savvy?"
"Yeah I savvy real good. Now answer the damn question, Randle."
"What do you want me to say Soda? That I ain't never done it? 'Course I've done it!"
Soda stood up calmly, placed his letters in his back pocket and clenched his fists. Steve scrambled to his feet as well and stared him in the eye. "I asked you a question Steve - answer it," Soda said through gritted teeth.
"Man, I don't know! I've been here close to eight months and you expect me to just sit here and take all of this shit without even a little smack? A little grass? Beer and cigarettes only get you so far, buddy. I ain't a fucking candyass like you, Sodapop."
The last comment sent Soda over the edge. Out of no where came Soda's fist, connecting with his friend's face. Steve stumbled backwards for a second before retaliating.
"You're the candyass, Randle. Least I don't got to turn to fucking drugs to face the world. Least I can deal with it," Soda yelled through the mess of limbs being thrown between the two of them, kicking and punching and leaving bruises.
"Cut it out!" a rough voice sounded from nearby. The sound of pounding feet could be heard and soon the two boys were pulled apart.
They thrashed against their fellow soldiers arms, trying to get at each other - pound the other's face in. Steve snarled, "Yeah, you face the world real fucking well. Have a good cry over Sandy lately? How about when your brothers pull you into the middle of a fight? You're fuckin-" A sergeant, the owner of the rough voice, cut him off.
"I said to cut it out! You two damn well better learn how to follow orders. This is war, not high school. You're allies, not enemies - now act like it, damnit!" He turned and walked away, signaling with the wave of his hand that the other soldiers could release the two friends. They did so reluctantly - watching Soda and Steve glare at each other would make anyone uneasy.
After what seemed like hours to the others watching, Soda pushed past Steve and stalked away. Steve stood there, glaring at nothing in particular, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. The others glanced at him worriedly - none had ever seen Steve when he was really mad.
The soldier that started it all came loping over to him. "Hey Randle, you hear me before? You want in or what?"
Steve pushed past him and walked toward the familiar tent with the intent of adding another track mark on his arm. Yeah, he was in.
Soda on the other hand, was not in, nor would he ever be in. How Steve could ever get involved with the stuff was beyond him. Cigarettes - sure. Beer - yeah, okay. Grass - not bad. But smack? All those nights he spent tossing and turning, trying to convince himself that Steve hadn't changed, he was merely growing up, were now useless. Steve had changed. It was like Soda didn't know him anymore or something. The Steve he knew would never get into hard drugs - never.
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to punch something. He was suddenly hoping there would be a battle soon - every goddamned charlie was going to pay for this goddamned war, he thought bitterly. They would pay for the casualties, the draft notices that tore apart families, but mostly, they would pay for what they were doing to Steve.
The drugs - those fucking drugs - were all he thought about as he walked around camp, made his way to guard duty, sat on guard duty, and was relieved from guard duty. The actual sight of Steve high and leaning against the tent made Soda's blood boil. He had to force himself to walk in the other direction.
Soda's odd wish for a battle was granted days later with a sudden attack while one of his buddies was on guard duty. The alarm sounded and soldiers scrambled about into the jungle, the trenches and anywhere they could seek cover.
A grenade went off somewhere near Soda's right, followed by muffled cries and loud cracks of gunfire. Soda's eyes were set, he shot off a few rounds, knocked some charlies down and took off for a new trench for better shots. The anger he had been holding for days was being released with every shot he took.
He slid down, finding himself next to Steve and positioned himself to shoot again. Steve snarled and ignored him, continuing to shoot at the no good, ugly gooks. A few rounds later, a grenade landed too close for comfort and Soda bolted foolishly before the smoke cleared. Steve had seen it happen too many times in previous battles to not know what would happen. He scrambled after his friend, sliding slightly in the dirt and mud, trying desperately to reach him before a bullet did.
Luck never was on their side.
A bullet tore through skin and a strangled cry gave out - Soda's strangled cry. Steve was furious; no one messed with his buddies, whether he was mad at them or not. He shot blindly in the direction the bullet had come from, rage rising in his chest. It was his best battle yet, he would've said, if it weren't for an injured Sodapop.
"Soda? Soda?" he called wildly as the battle ended and the smoke cleared.
"Steve, shut up, will ya?" Soda hissed quietly from nearby. "There are still gooks around." He was crouched down, tightening the belt around his leg to slow the bleeding; he was okay. Steve let out a sigh of relief and started to walk towards him, not really paying attention - the worst mistake you could make in war.
The click of a gun sounded quietly - almost inaudible - in the still jungle. A Vietcong was hidden somewhere nearby and Steve was a walking target. Soda stood suddenly, hissing, "Get the fuck down, Randle," as he lunged at his friend. A second bullet tore through skin and seared white hot as it hit somewhere in Soda's back.
Steve snapped back into war mode and shot the gook dead before dropping to his knees next to his best friend. Soda's eyes were full to the brim with tears of pain and they were losing their liveliness by the second. Steve grabbed hold of him and shook slightly, making Soda's eyes meet his. "You always were my best buddy, Steve..."
"No, Soda, c'mon buddy ... you can't do this to me. You can't just take a bullet for me and not be there to brag about it later." He laughed feebly and rocked Soda in his arms, tears wellin gup in his eyes. "You ain't gonna get any girls that way, bud..."
Soda smiled and coughed up blood, tears streaming down his face. "Don't forget about those parties we were gonna throw, man."
"Soda, don't do this to me..." Steve felt like a little kid again, crying because he knew he wouldn't get his way. He never got his way when it really mattered. "Don't die. C'mon man, you're a Curtis. Ya can't die... What about Darry and Ponyboy? What about Two-Bit? What about me, man?"
"Ya'll be fine..." He smiled weakly and coughed more blood up, his breathing wheezy. "'Sides, I don't mind getting to see my folks again. I missed them somethin' awful. An' I can pal around with Johnny and Dal again. It'll be fine, really," he coughed feebly and attempted one last smile before his head lolled ungracefully to the side.
"Stop being such a damn hero, Soda...," Steve cried. His fists were bunched up in the dirty collar of Soda's uniform and tears were streaming down his face. "Aw shoot, Soda..."
A/N: Vietnam slang translation...
beans and dicks = beans and hotdogs
smack = heroin
grass = marijuana (that's kind of obvious, but I figured I'd put it in there)