AN: The sound of awe echoes through the room as I say, I just read The Outsiders for the first time. Ever. I'm 22. I have to teach it come November, so that's the only reason I came across it. I watched the movie afterwards, and then succumbed to fan fiction. I'm also on a serious 80's movie kick now. It's all really wonderful. I started on a Dally fic yesterday, but after watching Risky Business and internet-stalking Tom Cruise, ultimately leading me back to The Outsiders, I came across a piece of trivia about Rob Lowe (sigh, Rob Lowe, sigh), S. E. Hinton, and Sodapop, and decided it necessary to write a short story for it. I only plan for it to be a few chapters or so.

Sorry for typos, grammatical errors, and anything else that could be caught with a quick edit. I just don't feel like editing. Merp.

Well, here it goes... let me know what you think. Or don't. Not letting me know is cool too.

CHAPTER ONE

Death

All he heard was a clear ringing as he searched for a place to hide. Everything around him was a blur though. He could see fire and explosions surrounding him but he saw no men, comrades or otherwise. In the moment, no fear seeped into his person. He was calm and determined to get out of there. Alive. He just had to find something – anything – to hide behind, to shield himself from explosions and any bullets that would find their way to him.

Everything was so dark. He couldn't find anything that could help him. All he saw was fire. If he kept going, it would end and he would be safe. Maybe he could go home. Maybe the war would be over. Maybe things would be like they used to be. Maybe.

He kept low as he crawled over debris and bodies. None of the horrors registered in his eyes. His life was all that mattered at that moment. He knew he was going to get out and go home, and see Ponyboy and Darry; Steve and Two-Bit too. Maybe he could track Sandy down. She loved him. He knew it. He could open up his own auto-repair shop with Steve. He could do what he loved and make money enough to support himself and his family. Nothing would stop him.

This is what he hoped, but the war had other plans. As Sodapop Curtis distanced himself from the fire caused by enemy bombing, and things got darker, he found himself by a tree-heavy area. He made his way behind the trees, using them as cover. He wanted to rest so bad, but knew that it could mean his death. So, on he went. He was on his feet now, but still stayed low. He hoped that he was quiet, but all he could hear was that damned ringing. He ran anyway. He ran until he couldn't breathe, and then he walked, pushing himself. Where would he end up? The thought had never really occurred to him before. Was he going into enemy territory? Where was he? He felt so disoriented in the dark and without sound. He stopped in his tracks and looked for signs of life to where he was going. The only thing he saw was trees in every direction. The fires were no longer in view. He was completely alone.

At that moment, he had no idea what he should do. If he kept going, he could run into enemies. He could also run into comrades. Was the risk worth it? It looked like bombs had stopped falling a while ago. He was one lucky son-of-a-gun, but should he push it? The indecisiveness caused him to sit up against one of the many trees. He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, searching for movement. While he sat, he couldn't keep thoughts of home out of his mind. Sometimes he would imagine that he was talking to one of his brothers and knew full-well how they would answer. Among all of the horrors, this exercise seemed to keep him sane. He felt sane anyway.

Sodapop was imagining the jokes that Two-Bit would make, if he could make jokes, about this situation. Sitting in place, unafraid, but unsure. Not very productive. A whole lot of good it was doing too. He could see the faces of everyone. Their smiles, their mannerisms, their jokes. Everything. He smiled at the thought.

Sitting against that tree was a lot more calming for the nerves than Soda thought it would be. He realized how tired he felt and knew he could go to sleep right then and there. The voice in the back of his head told him that he should keep going. The voice sounded a little like Ponyboy's. He smiled and said, "yeah, yeah." He used the tree to stand up, but before he got to full height, he felt a sharp pain that ran the full length of his torso, which caused him to double-over and fall back to the ground.

White spots invaded the darkness as he looked around, confused. Why was he in so much pain? While he sat against the tree, he lifted up his shirt, which he then noticed had been ripped and bloodied, and let out a humourless laugh as he saw the large gash in his skin, running from his armpit to his waist on the left. He hadn't noticed it before, but a large piece of metal had cut him and was still sticking out of his skin. Blood covered his entire left side and he could see a small puddle of blood forming next to where he was sitting.

Sodapop sighed. He was dying and he knew it. His dreams floated away and reality flooded back. The only way he'd go home was in a casket. If he was found. When he first landed in Vietnam and experienced his first battle, Soda had realized that death was an extremely real possibility for him. One night, he wrote a long letter to Ponyboy, Darry, and the guys, who he hoped hadn't been drafted as well. It was several pages long, expressing his love for all of his brothers, biological and not, and revealing silly secrets about pranks and Sandy, and anything else he could think of. He wanted to give them closure. Afterwards, he kept it in his jacket's front pocket, wrapped in plastic to protect it from the rain, and kept it on his person at all times. Just in case. Now, he realized he could very possibly not be found. Would they come back for the fallen soldiers? If they did, would they miss him? What was going to happen to him? What about Pony? Could the gang survive another tragedy? How would they react? The Curtis parents, Dally, Johnny, and now him, Sodapop. He didn't think himself anything special, but he knew that they cared for him deeply. He didn't want to put them through that much pain. He didn't want to die. And he most definitely didn't want to die alone. He was 18, for Christ's sake.

He felt tears running down his face as he thought about it all. He could feel his strength leaving him and the darkness became greater. The tears stopped falling and his breathing slowed. Calmness overcame him as the ringing stopped and the silence came. And then he was at peace.

Two-Bit Mathews sat on the front steps of the Curtis brothers' house drinking a cheap Oklahoma-made beer. It wasn't the best quality, but it was cheap and got the job done. Two-Bit wasn't much for sobriety lately, so he didn't care what he got or where he got it from, so long as he felt as little as possible. Over the past year, Mrs. Mathews had become increasingly worried about the amount of alcohol he was taking in. He laughed it off and pretended that it was only occasional, but it wasn't.

Thirteen months ago, his friend, Sodapop Curtis, had been drafted by Uncle Sam to fight in Vietnam. Some three months later, Steve Randle, another of his friends, had been drafted as well. The gang received a couple letters from each of them, but otherwise had heard very little. Two-Bit wished that he was drinking so much because he was worried about his friends, but the truth was that he feared for his own life. He didn't want to be drafted and the thought of it made him sick. He found that drink calmed is nerves. There was also a part of him that hoped the alcohol would have some medical side effects that would make him ineligible for the army.

Things were a lot quieter around the Curtis house with two more of the gang missing. Three. That's all there were. Ponyboy, Darry, and him. It was lonely and empty. Darry worked and because it was the summer, Ponyboy got himself a part time position as well. They were both safe from the draft at the moment – Darry was Ponyboy's primary caregiver, and Ponyboy was only sixteen. Hopefully the war would be over before the kid turned eighteen because both of Two-Bit's remaining friends would be eligible for the draft as well. Luck was never something that graced the gang. Two-Bit wouldn't be surprised if they all ended up overseas before the war was over.

Two-Bit leaned back against the stairs and closed his eyes. He had finished the beer and could feel the buzz coming on strong. He could hear the television in the background; Ponyboy and Darry were both home as it was early evening. Darry would be making supper for the three of them and Ponyboy would be watching anything other than News. Two-Bit had made a habit of spending a lot more time at the Curtis house. He found it more comforting than his own home. It was as if he was grasping at a life line there. The more bad News he saw, the bleaker it all seemed. He found it hard to joke at all anymore, so his nickname had lost all meaning.

Lost in thought, Two-Bit gave a start when he heard a car door close. He looked to the street and felt his heart stop when he saw the source of the noise. An army jeep. A man in uniform stepped out of the jeep and Two-Bit saw an envelope in his hand as he approached the house.

When the man approached Two-Bit, he asked, "Darrel Curtis?"

Two-Bit realized he was holding his breath and only then exhaled. He couldn't find words, but held out his hand. The man placed the envelope in his hand, turned, and walked away. As he drove off, Two-Bit stared after him. When he was out of sight, he looked down at the letter. A small part of him tried to convince himself that it wasn't the kind of letter. But what other kinds came hand-delivered from the army? He could feel tears stinging his eyes, so he shook his head. He had to give the letter to Darry. Two-Bit took a deep breath and stood.

Slowly, he walked to the door and opened it. He stopped in the entrance, but Ponyboy didn't seem to notice as he watched some show mindlessly. As he suspected, Darry was in the kitchen fixing dinner. He walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Darry didn't notice him with his back turned to the stove.

"Darry?" Two-Bit said quietly.

Darry turned around with a smile. He often wore smiles to lighten the mood, but his eyes always gave away the smiles' insincerity. He must have seen something in Two-Bit's face, because the smile quickly turned into alarm. "Two-Bit? What is it?"

All that Two-Bit could muster was, "army," as he held out the envelope for him to grab.

Darry grabbed it quickly and took in a deep breath. He went to open it up, his hands shaking, but stopped, "Pon- Ponyboy, c'mere."

A short moment later, Pony was in the kitchen. He saw the letter and his eyes immediately filled with tears. "Is he-?"

Darry didn't respond, but opened the envelope and entered its contents on the kitchen table. Pony let out a whimper as the tags hit the table. Out came a plastic-wrapped collection of papers, a photograph, and an official letter from the army. Darry opened the letter and read the first sentence, "we regret to inform you that Sodapop Curtis was…." Darry's voice cracked as he said the next word, "…killed… in battle…." He trailed off, unable to read the rest. His throat felt dry and his vision was blurred with tears.

Two-Bit had slid to the floor and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook as he cried, unable to stay strong for the remaining Curtis brothers.

Tears fell freely down Ponyboy's face as he cried silently and gasped between sobs.

Darry blinked back the tears, but didn't trust his voice. He looked through the contents that had also fallen from the envelopes. The tags had "CURTIS, SODAPOP" neatly engraved into them as if to prove just how real it all was. He picked up the photograph. It was of him and Sandy. Darry wondered if she knew he was in… had been in Vietnam. He would have to tell her for Soda. The other object seemed to be a thick rectangle of papers wrapped in plastic. Darry grabbed a paring knife from a drawer and cut the plastic, careful not to knick the papers.

He unfolded the papers and saw that it was a long letter. Darry broke down sobbing, all strength gone from his person, as he read the first line to himself:

Hey Darry, it's Soda.