The memories leading up to Sodapop Curtis' practical loss of sanity were still fresh in his own mind, though they seemed like they were centuries ago. The gut-wrenching memories always made him a fool when he'd be certain that they were forgotten, only for them to come crashing down on him like a ton of lead―always at the worst moments. Sodapop often reminisced one of those sweet childhood memories, whether it be playing in the park with his brothers or mom's soft, gentle voice while she took care of him when he was ill. It didn't matter, because the relief of the high never lasted. And those memories―crumbled to dust once the others arose from the still, deep waters. They consumed him, ate away at him like if he was nothing but a rotting corpse.

Time took its course and just like that, he was dead to the world.

Then, the introduction of a particular something would be the solution to all Sodapop's problems, but at the same time, would bring the destruction of himself. As long as they were one, there would be no more pain. He would be given a set of wings and be taken to another realm that was truly worthwhile. And even if it didn't last forever, it was enough for a man like him. It became the only thing besides his brothers to live another day, no matter the weeks of contemplating if he should just end it all, then and there. He knew not only his brothers but also the gang needed him. But it wasn't easy for Sodapop to remember―that is, not when he's trapped in a drug-induced daze.

It was a lovely summer's day―the sky perfectly blue with crisp breezes coming every now and then, the sun shining comfortably on Soda's skin as he drove. Tulsa wasn't known for being beautiful but the town surely had its moments. For once in a blue moon, he was ecstatic and yet there was nothing that could truly take the despair away, was there?

Sodapop made his way into the run-down home and down the basement with cash in his hand, an action that had become routine in the past few months. It would be an hour or two before Pony and Darry would start looking for him, so for the time being, he was in the clear. He was grateful for every second of it, and the moment he saw the light from the bottom of the staircase and the sound of music in the distance, Soda felt a sense of comfort―almost like the one he feels from arriving home. But that feeling had come to dissipate and he isn't sure why.

"Hey Sodapop, how ya doin'?" came a soft voice as he takes his last steps into the basement. He instantly recognizes the voice as Clarissa, the brunette chick with the green eyes who always had a smile on her face. Was never been much of a talker, more of a laugher if you were to put it into words. It was the kind of word that could be used to describe everyone down there, all hippies, except Sodapop―more times high out of their minds than not. She wasn't real pretty, but she was friendly. "You looking to get a fix, baby?"

"Yeah, how much do I need to pay?" Sodapop answers tight-lipped, already getting antsy from waiting. Though no one was exactly a seller there it was where the drugs circulated, kind of like a commune but in an odd fashion―you'd have to pay to get the stuff and yet not directly from a dealer. The war veteran didn't want to have insight as for what it was all about, so he never dwelled in deeper―Soda was better off that way.

"Oh, nothin hun. Not today..."

"You sure?"

"Yeah...Now come here," Clarissa giggled. Sodapop simply assumes she's out of it at this point―doesn't want to deal with much―and so she leads him to a table. Must have been rather lost in thought, because the next thing he sees is a needle in her hand placed it into his. Soda's heart flutters with excitement at one look. There were times where he would let his demons take over. These were one of those moments. "There ya go..."

Soda couldn't hear the rest of what she was saying and with the needle had already gone through his skin, it was obvious he'd gotten a little too involved in shooting up just right. Before the effects could settle, he went to sit with some of the broads on one of the couches. He feels better and better as the heroin courses through his blood, a mere spectator to the way his muscles loosen up as Janis Joplin plays on the radio. He puts his arm around an insignificant blonde...

Darrel Curtis can't help but believe he's one fail of a brother. He can't help himself when anger gets the best of him, and the result―two best buddies dead, and a very sick Ponyboy. Neither did―could―he find a way of keeping Soda from getting shipped like a package to Vietnam. He could not shield him from the horrors of war and as a result, his little brother is a troubled heroin fiend. He'd found faith in a man upstairs since the real life had been too much to handle―thought that He could help him. No matter the effort or trust, Sodapop just can't seem to snap out of his deluded, fucked up state of mind. Just like the war fought across the world, Soda's got his own war inside that head of his. The group of boys had thought that the arrival of the middle Curtis brother would be the magical band-aid, healing all the wounds cut from when he was gone.

But, boy...were they far from right.

Darry and Ponyboy had been calling out Soda's name in an attempt he'd rise from the bed that seemed all too sacred to the war veteran, but not a sound was heard from the room. It made the eldest brother's heart drop all the way down to his toes since the hunch of something gone wrong—something he could've sworn he'd felt in the air—had seemingly been proved. He wasn't sure of how he got the courage to rush into the room, but what he knew was that the sight shook him to the very core. Sodapop's sheets were twisted all around him, the only movement coming from a chest that struggled to even out each faint, shallow breath. His mouth and fingertips had shifted into an eerie shade of blue, eyelids shut closed. Darry's heart squeezed in his chest as he impulsively sprang into action, shaking Soda's limp form something fierce. When no reaction came, Darry delicately cupped his face in his hands and with the sound of a sniffling noise coming from behind, tears began to form in the back of his eyes.

"Sodapop...Please wake up, little buddy," Darry frantically begged as he lightly tapped Soda's cheek, words tumbling out of his mouth without a touch of control. "Cmon Soda, wake up for me."

"Dar, what do we do?" Ponyboy spoke shakily as he released a choked sob. He pulled his big brother out of the way to get a closer look at Soda. If there was one thing clear through the fog, he was still breathing. Which also meant he had a chance, seconds he couldn't waste.

"Get the keys to the truck, we're going to the hospital. Hurry," Darry quickly responded, putting quite an emphasis on the word 'hurry'. He took Sodapop, who was as limp as a rag doll into his arms, cradling him protectively against his chest. He wasn't going to take any chances―his brother needed to stay alive. The world around him seemed to have some dreamlike quality, since the next thing he knew he was setting Soda into the back seat.

They took off within minutes to the hospital. Darry had his eyes staring intently at the road in an attempt to distract himself, silent tears streaming down his face. Even so, he went against his own wishes and turned his head to see Sodapop still unconscious as Ponyboy held him in his arms. Not that he could bear to look for no more than a few seconds.

"How much longer, Darry?" Ponyboy asked softly, sounding so much younger in the moment―almost as if he were 14 again instead of going-on 18.

"Not much longer, Pone. Make sure he's breathing, alright?"

A few minutes later, Darry had rolled up to the parking lot of the Emergency Room and once the car had stopped, both brothers were on their feet in seconds. Darry carried his blue-tinted, oxygen-deprived little brother through the double doors as a hysterical brother ran past for help. He was in a trance as the hospital staff laid him on a stretcher then wheeled him away, the sound of Darry's voice sounding as if it were from a great distance rather than in his sight-line. The air had suddenly felt harder to breathe when he began to sway lightly on his feet and to his unknown wishes, there was a presence to grab his arm and push him into a seat.

There, the two brothers―trapped in a shock-induced daze―waited impatiently.