Hello! Long time no see, heh? So sorry it's been so long. Been busy with school, the usual!
SOMETHING CLOSE TO DYING
Darry wasn't sure how it all happened.
But then again, he couldn't be. How could anyone be sure about losing someone they love? How could anyone be prepared to lose someone they love?
He'd driven to the Air Force base by himself. Pony had tried to cram himself into the truck by climbing through the window (because Darry wasn't a dumbass and had locked the doors, much to Pony's aggravation), but Darry had simply hooked his arm around his youngest brother's waist and planted him back on the front porch. There wasn't any sort of look passing through Pony's green eyes as Darry ruffled his hair, wiped a tear from his cheek, and left.
Pony had made Soda promise to come home to him, to them, to what they had left. To Pony, Soda coming home meant everything; to Darry, that meant being tossed aside and only be depended on to supply both of them with money that they didn't have, with things they didn't need, with smart ideas with good intentions, but ideas that ultimately backfired.
Darry convinced himself that Soda's role in Vietnam, and therefore his death, was only a good idea gone bad; a good intention turned sour.
But something about that didn't make sense in his head, so much to the point that he pulled off to the side of the highway.
He let his engine run, let the cold sweep through the truck from the open windows. He left everything on but turned off the headlights and just sat there, waiting for the agony to hit him like a semi. It turned and contracted in his chest, ripping through him but keeping itself contained. All Darry could do was sit and wait––wait for it to consume him, wait for it to rise into his throat like bile and to throw it up in a scream.
The military base was nothing Darry had ever seen before. Wide trucks that were piling people on them like they were sardines; Darry silently wondered how Soda was ever going to get on one of those and manage to stay on as it drove away. The air reeked of car exhaust, from both the civilians and the officers on the other side, where his younger brother now stood with nothing but a crummy duffel bag hooked over his shoulder.
Soda's eyes were grim as they settled on his, then Steve's, then Two-Bit's, and finally Pony's.
"This is it," Soda stumbled on the words as if they were choking him. Beside him, Darry heard Two-Bit remind Ponyboy to breathe. Soda's eyes flashed to their youngest brother and winked at Pony as if to silently tell him that everything was going to be fine.
And then Soda started making his way towards him and everything fell apart.
At first, neither of them moved. They just sat there, staring at one another with all the love in the world; Darry was convinced that was the most endearing gaze Soda had ever allowed in his direction. Most of the time, the affection was towards Pony––most of the time, the hugs and kisses and adoration was towards Pony.
But not this time.
He felt his body breaking. It was almost as if his own body was torturing him, ripping the skin from bone and just letting everything follow. Letting the blood, the tears, the anger, the resentment, the worry––he let it all fall at the sound of Soda's voice.
"You're gonna be fine, kid."
Darry snorted. "I ain't no kid," he said, blatantly trying to not seem upset. Soda's eyes flashed with recognition, and Darry silently cursed himself; of course Soda would see through it. He couldn't play that game with his younger brother. Not when they were kids, and certainly not now, when Soda might not even come back.
"I know," Soda said gruffly, and his eyes began to fill with tears. "Dar, I'm sor––"
He didn't even give him the time to say anything more. Darry's chest tightened with an unshed sob as he pulled Soda to him and felt his younger brother bury his face into Darry's shoulder. "None of that now," he whispered against his brother's shaking body. "None of that apologizing business."
What happened after that... well, Darry didn't like talking about.
Soda never said another word to anyone after that. He'd simply walked away with a wave of his hand. Darry could only sit there and hope and pray to whatever God there was to believe in that his little brother would come home, safe and sound, to all of them.
God works in mysterious ways, his father used to say to him when he was younger. Darry scoffed at the mention of God nowadays. Nothing could bring Soda back to them; nothing could make the pain disappear, the wonder fade away. It sat there and ate him alive.
The thing about it all was that he allowed it. Darry allowed the pain to crawl slowly up his chest and fall into the night in a scream. He allowed himself the moment of grief that he never thought would come, that he never thought would be released. It was only in the silence of his car, with his brother's dog tags hanging from the rearview mirror, that Darry allowed himself to grieve over Soda in a way that seemed closer to dying than living.