Author's Note: Just to preface, I didn't expect this one-shot to get deep, but when I began writing it last night, I just couldn't stop. If you've read my bio, you know I love Steve, so this perspective might be slightly OOC for him, but I tried to make it as accurate as possible. It was originally supposed to be a drabble that ended up into a one-shot. Enjoy! Also, all rights reserved to S.E. Hinton, the fabulous queen of greasers.

"Mommy, don't!" I was yelling at my mother through the flames in my naive, six-year-old voice.

She turned back to look at me, ash covering her strong, yet gentle face.

I've never seen her look that determined before.

"Steven, go! Now! Mommy will be right out!" she yelled at me before she went back inside the burning house.

And that was the last time I saw her.

And I didn't even try to stop her…

"Steve! Hey Stevie, wake up man, you're dreamin',"

I suddenly jolted awake, confused and dazed before I realized that I was in the Curtis' living room, sprawled out onto their couch. Sodapop was kneeled next to me, concern etched onto his normally joyful face.

"Jesus, you're sweatin' bullets," he mumbled as he put his hand on my forehead. Immediately I sat up and swatted his hand away. I put my own hand up to my face, trying to calm my heart rate down and rub the grogginess out of my eyes.

That was the second time this week I had that nightmare.

I inwardly shuddered, trying to forget about it.

But how could I forget about it, when it did happen?

"Steve, you okay?" Soda's gentle voice shook me out of my thoughts. I looked at him and he looked genuinely concerned about me.

That's the one thing that I disliked about Soda. His never-ending supply of empathy.

I hated anyone being worried over me.

I was so used to being on my own and dealing with problems myself that I felt uncomfortable when others were willing to deal with and try to solve whatever in the hell was wrong with me.

I hated being vulnerable in general and unfortunately for me, Sodapop had a knack for doing just that.

"I'm fine Soda," I grumbled out, wiping the rest of the sweat away from my forehead. I knew he didn't believe me.

I didn't even believe myself.

Before he could get another question in, I decided to lead the conversation and change the subject entirely.

"Christ, what time is it?" I asked instead, truthfully still a little disoriented. It was pitch black outside, the kitchen light being the only thing that was illuminating half of Soda's face.

Regarding the subject change, Soda's face fell for a second before he quickly regained his composure. It was quick, but I caught it.

He knew exactly what I was doing. Soda ain't stupid. He knows me like I know him. And he especially knows that I don't like being pressed with personal questions.

So luckily, he pointed to the clock that sat on the mantle.

"It's three in the morning," he replied softly.

I groaned.

I promised my old man I'd be home by 12 but I guess picking up all those extra shifts at the DX really got to me. I don't even remember knocking out.

Then again, my old man was probably too shit-faced to even remember that I wasn't home.

"Ah hell," I muttered as I brought myself to a sitting position. Sodapop retreated to sit on the coffee table, much to my dismay. He wasn't going to let this go, I realized.

His soft brown eyes were burning into me. He tilted his head slightly, as if he was trying to dissect my thoughts.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked me a second time. As much as I wanted to glare at him and tell him to leave me the hell alone, I couldn't.

This was Sodapop. He was tough during a rumble but on the other hand, he was sensitive as can be when it came down to the people he loved.

"I'm fine Sodapop, quit pestering me," I answered, trying to mask my annoyance as I finally met his gaze. I needed to divert the questions back at him.

"Why ain't you sleeping?" I fired back at him instead.

He shrugged easily. "I needed a glass of water," he told me evenly, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Well then go get yourself a glass of water and go back to bed." I grumbled so he could leave me alone.

"I can't." was what he replied with. I rolled my eyes.

"And why's that, Sodapop?" I sighed out. I was getting real tired of these back and forth questions.

"Because you were having a nightmare and you don't want to tell me about it." He crossed his hands across his chest. He really wasn't going to let this go, I thought in irritation. I narrowed my eyes.

"I'm not Ponyboy," I muttered out.

He dismissed that.

"Don't matter," he shrugged. Sodapop was adamant to get me to spill my feelings.

And people say Darry and Pony were the stubborn ones.

"Why are you so pressed about my nightmare?" I countered him back. I watched him go from being determined to get me to spill, to suddenly becoming hesitant. His face turned gentle as he bit his lip, his gaze falling to the floor.

I raised my eyebrow. I was already exhausted enough as it is and I was slowly getting impatient with him.

"Well?" I inquired. After a couple seconds, he met my gaze.

"Because you were calling out for Thomas," he finally told me in a soft tone.

At the mention of his name, my stomach turned, and I felt the familiar aching in my chest. By instinct, I clenched my fist so hard that my knuckles turned white. I haven't heard anyone say his name in years.

"Oh," was all I could say.

It was quiet for a couple of moment before Soda spoke again.

"Maybe it'll make you feel better if you talked about it," he suggested to me delicately. That's the same tone of voice he used to talk to Ponyboy after a nightmare.

It made me feel like a dipshit that he was having to talk to me like I was a little kid. He was my best friend, not my big brother.

In fact, I was older than him by six months.

By mere instinct, I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I ain't your brother," I snapped. I hated snapping at Soda because he didn't deserve it.

But man did he know what buttons of mine to push.

Soda just stared at me.

"Steve, c'mon, it's me," He pleaded softly, his puppy-dog eyes and matching pout coming out in full force. "You're the closest thing to a twin I could ever get."

I snorted at his comparison.

"Yeah 'cept I'm better at cooking," I couldn't help but crack a smirk. He grinned at me with his world-famous grin.

"And I'm better at getting the girls," he winked. I rolled my eyes but chuckled.

"I don't know what they see in you, a no-good hood," I teased him back. He rolled his eyes and chuckled.

And before we knew it, it was quiet once again.

Sodapop was still sitting on the coffee table, searching the living room with his eyes, as if he was looking for something. He didn't say anything or meet my gaze, but by his energy, I know he was mentally telling me to start talking.

And I knew for a fact that he wouldn't let it go.

So with a heavy sigh, I started talking.

"I dreamt about the fire again," I began slowly, this time letting the wave of sadness come to me. Immediately Sodapop's ears perked up as he shot his head up and leaned in to listen. It was rare for me to ever discuss my past and he was well-aware of that.

He knew about the fire and about Thomas, but I would refuse to go deeper than that. I wanted to forget that that part of my life even existed.

Seeing that I was stalling, he nodded his head softly, urging me to go on, his full attention on me.

"What happened in the dream?" he asked me, encouraging me to go deeper.

I cleared my throat. It might've been over ten years since it happened, but Christ, did it still feel fresh.

I could still smell the ash and hear the fire trucks in the distance…

I shrugged, my gaze fixated on the old worn rug that the Curtis' had since Soda and I were kids.

I swallowed thickly, my throat burning.

"The house was burnin' and my mom was tryin' to go back in to get Thomas, and well…" I trailed off, gruffly. I could still picture her, the flames perfectly illuminating her loving face. She was a strong woman who put everyone before herself.

And in the end, that exact thing cost her her life.

Soda's face turned soft, his empathetic energy practically oozing from him. I shut my eyes, my chest tightening.

Ten years later and it was still so hard to talk about.

It was easy for me to forget about it than to come to terms with it.

Especially when my old man pretends it never happened and they never existed.

I felt Soda reach over as he gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I opened my eyes back up and realized I was crying. Touching my hand to my cheek, I felt the hot tears slide down my cheek gracefully, thankful that they were finally being shed.

I wiped them away hastily, angry at myself for allowing them to fall. I know it was in front of Soda and he was someone I trusted more than anyone else, but I was a greaser.

Greasers don't cry. We're the scum of society, we aren't allowed to have feelings.

And yet, here I was in the Curtis house, crying my eyes out.

Sodapop transitioned to sit next to me on the couch, rubbing my back soothingly, letting me calm down. I put my hands on my face as I leaned forward, trying to erase the memory of the nightmare.

Except the nightmare isn't just a nightmare.

It was my reality.

"Do you wanna tell me about Thomas?" Soda asked me gently, this time not urging me to talk. He was good at knowing when to pry and when to back off.

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, clearing my throat a couple times quietly. I knew Pony and Darry wouldn't wake up since they're the heaviest sleepers known to man, but I still made sure to keep it down.

I didn't need them to find me bawling.

Finally composing myself, I let a huge wall that guarded my heart, down, and told him all about Thomas, something I haven't done yet.

It felt foreign to do so, yet it came to me with ease.

Thomas was my two-year-old brother. He was the world's most curious little kid. With his blonde hair and hazel eyes, his favorite past time was making mud pies and following me around. I was only four years older, but Thomas loved to be around me.

If I was playing ball, he was right next to me.

If we were eating lunch, he would want to sit right by me.

If we went to the store, he wandered around with me.

He was my tag-along.

In some ways, that's why I resented Pony for always tagging around with me and Soda. It reminded me too much of Thomas and the way he would follow me around, happy just to be next to me.

To put it simply, I was jealous.

Jealous that Soda got to have his own tag-along while mine was six feet under.

Sodapop at this point was listening intently, nodding along with me. His eyes would produce tears every now and then, no doubt comparing mine and Thomas' relationship with his and Ponyboy's. I've never met people more family-oriented than the Curtis'. That's why I liked hangin' here all the time than at my own place.

It reminded me so much of what my home used to be like: full of laughter, smells of cookies echoing the house and a loving feeling all around.

Now?

It was full of crushed up beer cans, constantly smelled like molded cheese combined with old beer and it had a cold, empty feeling in every room you stepped into.

Of course by now I was used to it. When you have to grow up fast as a kid, you realize how cold and cruel the world really is.

But I didn't want the cold and cruel feeling to be in my home anymore.

I wanted the love back.

Sodapop was the only person who knew about Thomas, aside from my pops if he even remembered him anymore. A couple years back, I got shit-faced and told Soda I used to have a brother who died in a fire. Soda being Soda wanted me to tell him everything, but I couldn't at the time.

Shit, even now I could barely do it.

He brought up again last year when he and I were hanging out on his back porch. At that time, I was at odds with my old man and when Soda brought it up, I got mad at him for reminding me again. I was so furious that I stormed out of his yard.

In that point in time, I felt like I had no one.

My mother and my brother were gone, and my father was already mentally checked out from the amount of alcohol he consumed.

I felt alone.

Luckily, Soda and I patched things up after a couple days, and he never brought it up again.

And at this point, I was tired of holding in all of my anger and sadness. Sooner or later I was going to burst with it.

And thankfully, it was in front of Sodapop Curtis.

I gave a final sniff and wiped my eyes as I looked at the clock on the mantle. It was already nearing 4 in the morning.

Inwardly cringing, I realized I had spent an hour talking about my feelings to Soda. It felt weird and definitely out of character for me to do that.

But it felt good. Real good.

It felt like weight was lifted from my shoulders.

And if there's anyone I wanted to see me cry, it was Sodapop. He knew how to listen, how to comfort and most importantly, when to shut up.

That's why he was my best friend.

Soda, sensing, my discomfort gave me a small smile, trying to make me feel more at ease. I knew he wouldn't tell a soul about my past. He wasn't like that. No matter how close he was to anyone in the gang, including his own brothers, he wouldn't dare bring it up.

He was tuff like that.

We fell into a silent moment again.

"So," I started off, clearing my throat. "You ever gettin' that glass of water?" I asked. Soda laughed and rolled his eyes as he got up, seeing that it was his cue that his work was done.

"Ha-ha," he told me sarcastically as he stood up and stretched slightly. I smirked as he began to leave. However he suddenly stopped walking midway. I raised my eyebrow, as he turned to look at me.

"Hey Steve," he said lowly. I looked at him strangely.

"Yeah?"

"You know you're welcome here anytime, right?" he told me seriously, his eyes burning into mine. "At anytime of night or day, the door is open for you, always."

I bit my lip as I gave him a nod.

"I know," I replied back softly. "Thanks Soda," I told him sincerely. "Really."

"Of course, don't need to mention it," he said. And with a final goodbye, Soda headed back to his and Pony's bedroom as I made myself comfortable on the Curtis' couch. I thought deeply about Thomas. For the first time, I allowed myself to miss him. I had finally let myself talk about him.

All thanks to Sodapop.

I thought about Sodapop too. He spent a whole hour dedicated to me spilling my feelings to him. He could've easily left me alone for the night or not even wake me up at all. I wasn't his blood or anything. He knew I had an internal struggle with this, and he helped me try and overcome it. He found the right time and place to do it and listened when he didn't have to.

I knew Sodapop cared.

But being reminded that he did gave me a familiar, warm feeling in my chest. One that I haven't felt since my mom passed.

After settling down and bringing the Curtis' old blanket up to my chin, I could finally say that maybe the world wasn't as cruel and cold as I thought it was.

Maybe everything would be okay.

End.

Author's Note II: And that was.. a lot haha. One day I was thinking about Steve's mom and after fact-checking with Michelle Loves Chocolate 99 if she was ever mentioned in the book, I decided to have my own theory as to what had happened. I didn't expect it to get deeper, but hell, it did. Thank you so much to all who read this! You guys are awesome!