Okay, so I decided to try this Christmas story! updates will be pretty quick and probably not too long because I want to get it done before Christmas! Hopefully it works haha. My Christmas spirit was very late coming this year so I got the idea to do this based off of my struggling with it.

Each chapter will be a different greaser and be based off a different Christmas story (song, album, movie, book). I hope you guys enjoy this.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or A Christmas Carol or the song Where Are You Christmas.

Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away
Where is the laughter
You used to bring me
Why can't I hear music play

My world is changing
I'm rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too

Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I'm not the same one
See what the time's done
Is that why you have let me go

-Where Are You Christmas by Faith Hill

Story One

A Christmas Carol

Soda had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets as he turned into the bookstore. It was freezing out and he was regretting his decision to be outside on his night off. But it was Christmas and he had things to get done. What's the point? asked a small voice in his head.

He shook it off with a guilty pang in his stomach. This Christmas, the Christmas of 1967, was harder than any other in his life. It was his first Christmas without his parents who had loved Christmas so much and without Dally and Johnny. Of course he wasn't alone in being depressed this year. No one in the gang felt any sort of Christmas spirit. They may not have talked about it but it wasn't hard to tell. He knew the boys too well. Besides, when you felt it yourself it was easier to see it in someone else.

Soda slowly walked into the store and glanced around. He didn't have much but he had some money and he thought maybe he could find Ponyboy a book. Then the poor kid wouldn't have to keep rereading everything in the house.

The clerk looked up the moment he set foot inside. He was an older man with a beard that was probably grown out for winter and a unfortunate sweater on. "Good evening son. May I help you with anything?" Soda noticed with surprise that the man wasn't eyeing him distrustfully. He wasn't reaching for the phone just in case he needed the police and he wasn't keeping an eye on the register.

Soda hesitated then shook his head. "I'll just look around." The store wasn't very large but it was overflowing with books. Soda grimaced. He had no idea what he was looking for. He didn't know his way around books in the slightest. He ran his fingers through his hair and started down one of the rows of books. All he saw were autobiographies and the like so he quickly changed rows.

"Are you looking for something for your girlfriend?"

Soda fought back a groan. It wasn't a ridiculous question. People tended to expect him to have a girlfriend. But he didn't want to start thinking about losing Sandy on top of everything else. He was depressed enough this season without that. "No." Please, please stop asking questions.

"A friend?"

He won't stop. This guy is way too friendly. "My little brother." He wondered vaguely if he'd rather deal with the questions or distrust.

"I take it he enjoys books."

"Yes. He's read everything in the house and he's only 14." Soda could hear the pride in his voice and felt a smile tug at his lips. Maybe the entire world had fallen down over the past year but he still had his genius brother.

"That's a rare thing, a good thing. It's good to encourage it. Do you read?"

"No. I'm a drop out," Soda told him as if that explained everything. He glanced back at the desk to see the man giving him an unimpressed look.

"What difference does that make?" he finally asked. "My wife dropped out. She reads more than I do and I own a book store."

Soda opened his mouth and then closed it again. This guy didn't understand and he didn't feel like telling him that he was too dumb to read. He couldn't sit still to save his life, much less to read a book. "I don't like it."

"You don't like being able to travel the world?"

Soda rolled his eyes. His mother had given him that talk before. "Just because I read a book wrote in London don't mean I'm in London."

"Just because you read a book that was written in London doesn't mean you're in London," the man corrected.

Soda threw him an exasperated look and started scanning the shelves faster. He wanted out. Distrust was better. You do learn something everyday.

"Something tells me that you aren't very excited about Christmas this year."

Soda spun around to look at the man. "It ain't your business." Now he was getting really annoyed. Maybe no one ever came in here and the man was bored. Although if he was this pushy maybe there was a reason that Soda was the only person in the shop.

"Your defensive tone is my answer."

Rolling his eyes, he looked back at the books. He needed to get home before Darry got worried. Did this shopkeeper have any organization?

"What else has your brother read?"

Soda rattled off a few titles that he'd seen around their room. A moment later the shopkeeper was at his side, looking at a shelf of books. He pulled one out and handed it to Soda. "That is my recommendation." Soda took a look at it. It was thick so it would probably take Ponyboy a few days at least. He flipped through it as the man named his price. Feeling that it was more than reasonable, Soda followed him to the counter.

After he paid for the book, he muttered a thanks and turned to leave.

"Wait a moment son."

Soda fought back a sigh and turned around. "Yeah?"

"That is my recommendation for your brother. This is my recommendation for you."

"I don't read and I don't have the money."

The man waved his hand. "A gift. As you can see by my shop, I get them faster than I can get rid of them sometimes." He pulled out a very small book and set it on the counter. A Christmas Carol. "When I'm depressed at Christmas, I read this," he said. "No one likes being depressed and it tends to be worse at this time of year. I'd like to help if I can."

Soda eyed him distrustfully and picked it up. He flipped through the pages until he reached the end then glanced at the page number. He couldn't stop his lips from turning up at a corner. "It's less than a hundred pages." Even he knew that that was short for a book.

"Yet, it's one of the most famous. I trust that you know the story?"

"Sure. Scrooge visited by three ghosts, so on and so forth. My mom used to tell us the story every Christmas." It was true. She'd sit the kids down and tell them the story and their dad would butt in with colorful remarks and little additions (his mom would then say "That didn't happen Darrel" with a smile on her face and his dad would answer "How do you know? Were you there?" and she would laugh and shake her head).

"I think it'd be worth a shot, don't you?" He saw Soda continue to hesitate and said, "If I can read this book nearly in an hour, I'm sure it won't take you long either."

"Fine," Soda said. "Thank you." He took the book, wondering how far he'd get through it. "Thank you Mr…?"

"Miller," the man said cheerfully.

Soda nodded and held out his hand. "Thank you Mr. Miller. I'm Sodapop."

"I know."

Soda raised his eyebrows, feeling instantly distrustful. "What?"

"I worked with your father." The man gave him a kind smile. "I recognized you from a picture he had of you boys."

"Oh." He swallowed and looked down at the books. He felt like he should say something besides "oh" but didn't know what. His parents were a topic that he generally evaded.

"I was sorry to hear of your loss," Mr. Miller said gently.

Soda forced a small smile, something his mom often called a "brave smile". "Thank you. We get along all right. My brother…" He thought of Darry, working an extra job for the holidays, which made the total three jobs, and fell quiet. He cleared his throat. "Thank you again."

"Merry Christmas," Mr. Miller told him gently.

Soda paused by the door then glanced back. "Merry Christmas."

He needed to sleep. He really needed to sleep but he couldn't manage falling asleep. Soda looked over at Ponyboy, who was snoring lightly as he slept. Why couldn't he be asleep like that? Instead he was wide-awake.

I could count sheep, he thought. But that never works. Soda rolled on his side and spotted the book that Mr. Miller had given him today. In school nothing put him to sleep faster than a book did. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and grabbed the book before moving to the living room.

He muttered under his breath as he read, "Marley was dead: to begin with." He paused and chuckled. "What a first line." He kept reading, surprisingly captured by the story that his mother had told him so many times. But maybe that was why he was so taken with it.

This was the first year that his parents hadn't told their kids the story. Reading this made him feel like he was younger and curled up on the couch with his brothers again. It made his parents feel like they were still there and in reach. Surprisingly, it made it feel like Christmas again. The feeling was more than welcome.

When he finished the last page, he shut the book and put it down. He looked at a picture of his parents then at the corner of the room where the tree was supposed to be but wasn't yet. Darry was working at a tree farm. What was their excuse?

He bit his lip before getting up. Well that was that. He had a new goal for the season (his old goal had been "survive it"). He was going to enjoy Christmas, like he had as a kid, and he was going to try to help the others feel it too. His parents had always made Christmas as fun and loving as they could. Now it was his turn.