Author's note: I am in no way a Bob sympathizer. Let's clear that up right now. I hope the asshole goes and burns in hell for all the shit he's pulled. The things about 'bad guys' at the end is just in general. Know the whole story before you make judgements.

Either way, this is set at that spot in the book right after Randy comes to visit and Ponyboy gets mad and tells him Johnny's not dead when he starts talking about that stuff. This is just a weird random idea that popped into my head the other day, so I thought I'd just roll with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders

PONYBOY'S POV

I was looking through Soda's old yearbook again. I know I shouldn't've been, but there wasn't much to do in this room after a while, and once Randly left, I wanted to get another look at Bob. I'd felt like I'd been interrupted.

I stared at his picture long and hard. I couldn't decide if I hated him or not. I felt like I should, after everything he'd done to me, but every time I tried to capture that feeling, I thought of Dally and how he'd hated everything, and I just couldn't do it. All I really felt was guilty.

The door opened and Soda came in and sat down next to me. "You okay, kiddo?"

I knew he was talking about when I'd gotten mad at Randy, but I didn't see why that mattered. It didn't really have all that much of an impact on me. Randy was just some random soc. "I'm just fine, Soda; don't sweat it."

He smiled and ruffled my hair, then looked over my shoulder. "Hey, this is my old yearbook. What're you lookin' at?"

"Just…" I trailed off and pointed out Bob's picture.

"What're you lookin' at Robby for?"

I paused and looked at Soda, startled. Didn't he know this was…

Then it hit me. Soda hadn't been there to see Bob, had never seen a picture of the boy he knew did this to me, and if he'd known Bob, but by a different name, there was no way for him to connect that they were the same person. The name Robert was so common, after all, and maybe he hadn't known Bob's last name. Could my brother really be familiar enough with this person to call him Robby? That was a more intimate nickname than I cared to admit.

"Did ya know him?" I wanted to be sure.

Soda didn't seem to notice my use of past tense. "Hell yeah, I know him." he said with a laugh. "Robby was one of the only socs in the whole school that I actually liked."

"So you guys were friends?" I was getting a sick, cold feeling in my stomach, and I knew I was not going to like the answer to my question.

"Yeah. Robby was a great buddy to have. Haven't talked to him since I dropped out, though. The only place we ever saw each other was at school. The circles we run in are just a little too different."

I didn't want him to think I was digging for information, but I had to know, so I said, "How'd that happen? A soc and a grease bein' friends, I mean."

"Well, I guess it was 'cause he saved me from some other socs, believe it or not." Soda was getting that far away look I've come to associate with people thinking about their past. "I was skipping biology, and I was makin' my way across the parking lot when about five socs showed up. They started messin' with me, and if I'm bein' honest, I was kinda scared. I mean, five of them and one of me? You know what I'm talkin' about: we've all been there."

I nodded. Hell yeah, I'd been there. One too many times.

"I didn't have my blade with me, and I was lookin' around for a pop bottle or somethin' when Robby showed up. I hadn't had any contact with him before that, but I'd seen him around, and all I could think was 'oh, goody. Reinforcements'. Then, y'know, he surprised me by tellin' em to back the hell off, that five on one was shameful. They left pretty quick. People listen to that guy. After that, believe it or not, we spent the rest of the class period in his friend's blue mustang - tuff car, by the way - and we just talked."

Soda'd been in the car. The car. The one I knew I would always look over my shoulder for. Hadn't he seen Randy with it? Guess not. Must not've been looking out the window.

"After that, we were friends. He was generally a pretty decent guy. He got the socs to leave me alone, got some of my teachers to raise my grade a little, talked the principal outta punishing me for pulling the fire alarm. He really helped me out, and i never did anythin' for him. But you know what he said when I brought it up one day?"

I shook my head wordlessly. This was really freaking me out.

"He said I kept him a good person. That every time he and his friends got drunk, and one of them suggested jumping a greaser, and he was ready to go along with it, he pictured me. His friend. He thought about somebody jumping me or someone I care about, and it stopped him. He'd talk his friends into doing something else. He said I reminded him that greasers are actual people, with feelings and families and friends and stories all their own, not just toys to mess with when he got bored. And he said if he wasn't around me as much as he was, he'd probably forget it. And then he thanked me for being his place to vent so he didn't got take it out on some helpless kids, and for being an example, something to work towards. I couldn't believe what I was hearing."

I couldn't either, but everything was starting to make sense. Soda'd kept Bob sane, and when Soda wasn't around anymore, he went off the deep end. After all, the first I know of Bob Sheldon jumping greasers was when him and his buddies got Johnny, a month after Soda dropped out…

"I wonder what he's doin' now. Gettin' ready to graduate, I guess. I bet he's still just as good a person as he used to be. I couldn't have that much of an effect on somebody. I mean, he said he only saved me that day 'cause he felt like I was different, better, but I bet that ain't true. He's got a good heart. I know it."

"He's dead." I said bluntly, past worrying about subtlety or tact.

Soda blinked, looking like a deer in headlights. "What d'you mean, he's dead? How d'you know that?" Tears were sparkling in his eyes. After all, as far as he was concerned, I'd just told him that a close friend of his who he obviously regretted not speaking to in five months was no longer of this world.

"Soda," I said gently, putting a hand on his knee and pointing to the names to the side of the row of pictures, "Robby's Bob."

If Soda'd looked like a deer in headlights before, it was nothing to how he looked now. I thought he might actually pass out. He definitely stopped breathing for a second. "But - but that ain't possible!" he stammered. "Robby'd never do what Bob did. He's better than that. He ain't that cruel!"

"Soda… maybe you did more for him than ya thought ya did."

"I can't believe this." Soda muttered. "I can't damn well believe this. He was my friend." He looked up at me. "I'm sorry, Pone."

"For what?" I was startled.

"For knowing him, for being friends with him, for liking him, for not being there for him to stop him, I dunno. I'm just sorry."

"Don't be. You didn't know, and there wasn't anythin' you coulda done. Besides, when you guys were buddying around together, he hadn't done any of this stuff yet."

Soda smiled slightly, but before he got a chance to say anything, Steve came bursting through the door. "Soda, c'mon, we're gonna be late! The rodeo starts in five minutes!"

"Right, sorry." Soda said hurriedly. "See ya, Pone." And they both left.

I looked back down at the picture of Bob. It seemed ironic to me that the same boy who'd tried to kill me had saved and been friends with my brother. It was almost like he was two different people. I guess that just goes to show that the bad guys aren't always as bad as we think.

After all, history is written by the winners.

XxXxXx

HAPPY NEW YEAR!