There was only one thing that ever made Darry cry.
A/N: You all should know by now that my stories are never in the same universe. Another possibility of the Soda in Vietnam idea. Ya'll ain't gonna like where this one goes. I've mentally prepared myself for the curses lol.
Uh, and Darry's POV is not my forte.
When I heard the news my heart almost stopped. My stomach fell and my entire brain shut down for a split second. The moment was so fast, but my body went into slow motion and I felt every possible nerve in my body snap. Everything I hoped and prayed for crashed and burned right in front of my eyes.
I put the letter down as I tried to regain my normal breathing, but at the moment nothing could do any good. I was being swarmed by something so horrifying, so unbelievable that it felt as if I was shot and was slowly falling. Tears pooled in my eyes- something I really hadn't been used to happening- and my chest was constricting my lungs. It felt like I was drowning.
I picked it back up.
We are sorry to inform you…
When you read something like that, then you have to realize that it's over. Something wrong has happened and you can do nothing to reverse it.
My thoughts immediately went back to the night of my parents' death- what the cops had said and the looks on their faces. Their "I'm so sorry" and "We knew them. They were great people", never helped no matter how many times they said it.
No one was around at the moment, though. I was all alone.
Sodapop Patrick Curtis…
I saw his name and my throat constricted and my stomach clenched tightly. I felt my knees go weak. My knees had never gone weak- not even when my parents died. That night I was strong.
What was the fucking point of being strong, though? When things came to this, there wasn't one.
My hands shook and I stared hard at the letter in front of me. My mind was telling me to look away and not read the rest of the words. Maybe if I just didn't read them then they wouldn't be true. Something my dad had always taught me, though, was that you couldn't delay the inevitable.
I couldn't delay the inevitable.
Was killed in action, last Tuesday, March 24, 1968…
I hit the floor- not completely, of course- but my knees shook hands with the carpeted ground and I could feel a sound erupt from inside my throat that I hadn't had in a long time. It felt strange. It was so abnormal to my body.
And it hurt.
I tried to regain my composure, but something broke inside of myself. I grabbed my chest and dropped the letter. Tears burned the rim of my eyes and I let them.
Soda was dead. My brother was dead. I promised I'd keep them safe. I promised them that. I promised my parents that.
And Soda was dead.
I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. The pain in my chest was bubbling and I sobbed- actually sobbed. If one of the guys were to walk in, they would probably be confused. They would never understand, though.
I gave up everything. I gave up my life to keep my brothers safe and I failed tragically.
I would never see one of my baby brothers again. He was dead- his soul vanished from the earth. How would I tell Pony? How could I? The only one left from the gang was Two-Bit, but I couldn't tell him either. He and Soda were good buddies. How do you tell somebody that one of their friends died? How do you tell someone their brother died?
Apparently a fucking letter was enough for me.
My vision was blurry from the tears and my throat was sore. I was still sobbing and it hurt my chest when my body racked. I covered my face with my palms and shook my head. I wanted to curse God. I wanted to curse Him worse than anyone else.
Why did we lose so much?
My parents were dead. Johnny and Dally were dead. Steve was somewhere in Vietnam. Pony was depressed. Two-Bit was at home taking care of his sister most of the time.
And now Soda was fucking dead.
I let myself cry- for Soda, for myself and for everything else.
God was an asshole. How could he do that? How could he kill my family? We went to church every now and again when my parents were still around. Back then, I believed God was an okay guy and that he was there to listen and help me out every now and again.
It didn't take too long to realize that wasn't true.
I let myself cry there. I didn't stop for a long time. Eventually, Ponyboy came home and found me. I tried to stop then, but I couldn't. At first, Pony was scared to death that I was hurt, but then he saw the letter and he soon found his way down next to me.
Pony hugged me- something that he hadn't done since we were little kids- and I hugged him back. We sat like that for a long time. My cheeks hurt from crying so much and my chest was sore.
The next morning when I woke up, we were still there on the floor and the letter was still beside us. I felt like a small weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but I was having a hard time choking down the pain I still felt for my brother. I grabbed the letter and with more anger than I'd ever had, I crumpled it.
We are sorry to inform you that Sodapop Patrick Curtis was killed in action last Tuesday, March 24, 1968.
I looked down at the only family I really had left anymore and stared for a long time. I made the decision then. We were going to pack later that day. We were going to get in my truck and go.
And we were leaving Tulsa, and all the pain that hung over top of it, far behind us.
A/N: Just a one-shot. It's short, but I'm not very good at long ones…Review for me loves!