Rest Your Head

Summery - After Jo-Anna Beth Randle died in a car accident in 1972, leaving Steve with a newborn daughter, he and the gang were forced to overcome many challenges. The next fifteen years were far from easy, but somehow, they made it through. Sequel to "Ain't so Easy" and "Ain't Over Till It's Over".

Authors Note - I know I said I'd never continue to story, but I decided, why not? If you read the two earlier stories, you know exactly what's gone on already. If you haven't, it might do you some good to do so! This story will be flashing between past and present quite frequently, however, most of the story takes place in the past (So from 1972 to 1987.) It will follow Steve through the early years of parenthood, Michelle's attitude change as she grew, and the rest of the gang's outlook on life. The more reviews I receive, the more likely to continue I'll be!

Prologue

"Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay."

- "Nothing Gold Can Stay" - Robert Frost

April 13th, 1972

"Steve, slow down," Soda pleaded from the passenger seat where he watched the trees and houses whip by. Steve's knuckles were turning white from gripping the steering wheel with so much force. He narrowly hit the break in time to avoid a garbage truck pulling off the curb. "Steve!"

"They said it's bad, Soda, they said it's real bad," he hissed, tears in his eyes as he swerved around the truck, breaking several speed laws as he charged down the street towards the hospital. Only minutes before they had received a call that would change their lives forever. Jo-Anna had been in a head on collision just a few miles out of town on her way back from picking up her wedding gift from her aunts and uncles in Kansas. Mary, Jo-Anna's younger sister and Ponyboy's very pregnant wife, was killed in the collision instantly, her unborn child along with her.

"I can't slow down," Steve whispered. He was shaking something awful and started to cross the yellow lines. That was when Soda decided to coax him over to the side of the road, where the two changed seats. Once in the driver's seat, Soda hit the gas, making it to the hospital in record time, without the recklessness of his best friend.

Steve paid little attention to the cars that belonged to the members of the gang as he flew through the hospital doors, straight into the emergency room. He waited impatiently in line before reaching the nurses station, where a nurse that he later realized knew him and his family well, directed him to have a seat in the waiting area.

"Your wife was rushed into surgery," she explained once the entire gang was assembled in the small waiting area that was otherwise vacant at such an early hour. "The doctors are performing an emergency Cesarian Section in hopes of saving your unborn child," she continued. "Your wife experienced quite a number of injuries in the collision, the most severe of those being a crushed skull and multiple internal bleeds," she explained grimly. "The doctor will be out any moment to explain in detail what this means for you and your family."

The wait seemed to take hours. Even after the fuzz showed and explained to Darry, the only person level headed enough to hear him out, explained that the driver of the other car had been drunk and was speeding in the wrong lane when he collided with Jo-Anna, head on. Jo's car had been totaled, where as the other man made it out of the crash with barely a scratch on his body. A soc. A rich kid looking to blow off some steam. Darry was furious, as was every member of the gang.

Ponyboy was crying softly into Soda's shoulder, his hands holding the small gold chain that held his wife's wedding rings. The police had given it to him as soon as they identified the body. Soda was whispering sweet nothing's to Pony, in a futile attempt to calm him down.

Two-Bit looked ready to puke. His face was pale, his eyes clouded as he stared at nothing in particular. Darry was pacing the back wall, muttering to himself angrily.

Michelle, Mary and Jo's baby sister, was looking on with tearfilled eyes, her face pale, her expression grim as she clutched the stuffed animal that had been passed down from girl to girl over the years.

And Steve, well Steve felt like his life had ended the moment he got the call. He had seen death over and over in his short lifetime, having lost two of his friends at an early age, then going on to lose so many brothers in arms during his time in Vietnam, and now...he wasn't entirely sure if he could come back from this.

It seemed like hours later when the doctor finally came out. He sat the entire family down, knowing from experience just how close the family really was. He went on to tell them how sorry he was. How there was nothing he could do to save Jo. How her injuries were just simply too severe for any doctor to fix. And then he looked at Steve with sad eyes and said, his tone that of a man who had witnessed far too much loss in his career; "Would you care to meet your daughter?"

The words stunned every member of the group. Despite the odds, despite the accident and all the complications, Jo-Anna and Steve's unborn child had survived. A little girl. A daughter.

"Yes," Steve managed to whisper as he got to his feet, his entire body trembling.

The doctor led the way to the NICU, where Steve got to hold his daughter for the first time. The tiny newborn weighed only 5 pounds, her bright blue eyes reminding Steve so much of Jo's. He looked at the tiny bundle in his arms before turning to the nurse who was watching with a patient, yet troubled look.

"Bethany Joanna," he said simply as he kissed the tiny bundle's nose. "After her mother. Bethany Joanna Randle."

The nurse scribbled the name on the wristband before securing it to the infant's foot. Steve wanted to be happy. He wanted to be proud and to be the best father he could ever be to the tiny bundle, but deep in his heart, he knew he'd failed already. He failed to keep his daughter's mother safe. He failed to keep her alive. He failed to protect her. It should have been him. It should have been anyone else. Not her. Not Jo-Anna who had fought so hard to keep their family together. Not the woman who loved endlessly. Who knew just the right thing to say. Who knew how to brighten a room with her kind words. Not her.

1 year later...

"I miss her," he whispered as his fingers gingerly traced over the photographs that lined the mantle. "I miss her so much."

"I know, Steve," Soda said softly as he rocked his nephew, Shaynne in his arms. Shaynne was born just under a year after Bethany was, to a woman that Darry had only known for a few days before they hooked up. The sorry excuse of a woman left the moment Shaynne was born, leaving Darry to raise their son on his own. Darry, who had raised his brothers from the time their parents died until they were adult, was working endlessly to provide for his son, long hours, weekends, holidays. Soda had taken up being a babysitter, regardless of how often Darry told him not to.

"It's just not fair, man," he whispered.

"I know."

"I miss her too, you know," Michelle said sadly where she held Bethany in her arms. Since the passing of her sisters, Michelle had taken to Beth almost immediately, loving and cherishing every moment with the small child. Michelle was the mother Beth would never know in so many ways. And for that, Steve was grateful. At just ten years old, Michelle had stepped up to bat and was willing to help wherever necessary.

She paced the room, Beth hitched on her hip as she walked over to the ancient bookshelf that now held all the family albums. She gingerly reached for the pale pink one, Beth's babybook and pulled it from the shelf, carefully carrying it and the infant over to the couch where she sat down, shifting Beth so she was leaning against her stomach.

"Look Bethy, it's mama," she said softly as she opened the book, pointing at the first photo, an old, tattered one from when Jo had been about Michelle's age. "Mama loved so very, very much," she cooed, kissing the top of the baby's head. "Look, this is when you were still in mama's tummy," she went on, flipping through the pages, like she did almost every morning. If nothing else, the entire family hoped that Bethany would grow up knowing her mother, if only through the stories they shared with her.

April 13th, 1987

From the stories everyone told when I was growing up, my mother was a wise woman, who loved unconditionally. She was the first one to a rumble and the last one to leave the party. She was eager to please and always willing to lend a hand to a friend in need. She was one of the guys in so many ways,

My mother died on my birthday, fifteen years ago, today. She left behind not only me, but a husband who loved her to pieces, a family who missed her dearly and most of all, she left behind a legacy. Her death sparked a war that ultimately ended all wars between Greasers and Socs. Her death led to a movement. Led to a change.

As I sat beside her headstone, tears in my eyes, I found myself wondering how my father ever made it through the last fifteen years, raising a daughter on his own. How he managed to juggle work and graduating and everything else. But somehow he did.

I felt a heavy set of hands fall on my shoulders. When I glanced up, I saw the sad blue eyes of my father looking down on me. He forced a sad smile before looking up at the sky, his words barely a whisper when he said "I think you're old enough to know it all now."

And with that, I learned the story of how my father, how our family, made it through the last fifteen years without falling apart.