Disclaimer: Should I bother?
A/N: Again, I had a lot of trouble with this chapter; everything I wrote sounded better in my head and it required a lot of editing (I spelled soak as shoke, for Christ's sake), but it's FINALLY UP and I am so glad. I've been relapsing a little lately and I'm feeling kind of insecure about this chapter, so please review and tell me how awesome I am ;) As of now I have like 850 views for this story, so THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. Also, let me know what you think about Soda's POV! Is he OOC, unrealistic, annoying, or the most brilliant thing since Kleenexes for depression? ;)
Also, this chapter is dedicated to CriminalOutsider'sGirl14, who requested Soda or Ponyboy's POV – I hope it satisfies!
Allie: Thank you, your feedback means a lot! I agree, the gang was very out of line and hopefully in this chapter you'll get to understand their – ahem – misguided reasons, especially Soda's. I apologize for tormenting you with the long wait, but I had my reasons. *evil laughter*
"Darry!" Soda dashed to his brother's side, guilt and shame welling in him so suddenly he felt bile rising in his throat. Forcing it down, he wrapped his arms around Darry and rocked him, mumbling reassuring words, feeling Darry's tears soak his shirt. He spoke his brother's name again, and this time Darry responded, his eyes focusing in on Soda's as he sobbed and gasped for breath. Soda saw Darry's eyes flit to Ponyboy, who was gawking unashamedly, and then down to the floor, his cheeks coloring with shame. Soda, catching his embarrassment, gently guided Darry's head to his shoulder, letting him breathe deeply, trying to calm down. Soda rubbed his back gently and realized he was crying too, tears slipping down his cheeks.
"I'm so, so sorry, Darry," he stuttered, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. "I'm sor–" His voice cut off abruptly as Darry grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug, breathing hard and fast. Soda froze for a second, shocked, then melted into the hug, trying to offer back as much comfort as he was receiving. Finally Darry pulled back, exhaling shakily, and Soda saw that his eyes were red and his face pale and lined with exhaustion. Surprisingly, it was Dally who spoke first.
"Listen, man, we'll clean it up. Just get some rest, okay? You ain't lookin' so hot." Darry raised his head slowly, as if with great effort, and nodded slowly, shocking them all. Soda took a deep breath, wiping his cheeks fiercely, and slipped his arm around Darry, pulling him to his feet. He wasn't surprised to find Darry leaning nearly all of his weight onto him, but he didn't mind. They had fucked-up big time; it was the least he could do. He helped Darry hobble to the bedroom, shocked and horrified by his brother's weakness, and as he eased Darry onto the bed, he could hear the gang starting to clean up the kitchen, speaking in hushed voices. Soda sighed heavily and began to gently knead Darry's back and shoulders without invitation. He knew Darry must be in a considerable amount of pain to not even be able to walk, but Soda was still shocked at how tight Darry's muscles were and how much his efforts seemed to be hurting him. His brother actually cried out once, and asked him to take a break several times. It didn't take long for Soda to put him out, and as he watched Darry sleep, Soda wondered just what kind of day he'd had.
Once Soda got back to the kitchen, he found the place surprisingly organized. All food that could be salvaged – almost nothing – was on the table, while Steve and Two-Bit mopped the floor and Dally, Pony, and Johnny cleaned off the walls. As soon as they saw him enter, all activity stopped and Johnny asked tentatively, "Is he – is he okay?" He cringed as he spoke and Soda felt a twinge of sympathy for the kid; knowing him, he probably thought he was personally responsible. Soda bit his lip, deciding to be honest.
"Well, he – he's not great," Soda said shakily, squeezing his hands into fists. "He's crazy tired – maybe sick or somethin', and it seems like he's had a real rough day at work. He's, uh, sleepin' now."
Soda didn't know why he felt so nervous. Maybe because this whole mess was partly – alright, entirely – his fault; after all, his fighting with Darry was probably stressin' him out real good, and he was the one who had started the food fight. He'd thought maybe it would cheer Darry up – but then, thought probably wasn't the right word. He hadn't thought, really; he'd just acted, without thinking it through. Now that it was too late, it was obvious to him why that would stress Darry out. Hell, their food was all gone, wasted, all for a little fun. It was just like Darry said. Soda felt tears well up in his eyes and he cursed under his breath. If he wasn't so goddamned stupid –
Soda bolted.
He let the door slam and vaulted right over the fence, running as fast as he could, without a clear destination, his vision blurring with tears. He could hear somebody yelling behind him, probably Steve, but Soda ignored him, only running faster. Ever since they were little kids, though, Steve could always beat him in a race, and tonight was no exception – within a few minutes they were running neck and neck.
"You gonna stop," Steve hollered, "or am I gonna have to tackle you?" At that Soda slowed to a walk and then stopped altogether, whirling around and burying his face in Steve's chest, sobbing hard.
"Why the hell am I so dumb?" he choked out. "I just thought it'd be nice for Darry to loosen up and have some fun, and now look what's happened! I ain't askin' to be a genius or nothin', but why do I have to be like – like this!" He gestured wildly, and Steve wrapped his arms around him.
"Shut up, okay?" he said, uncharacteristically gentle. "You're not dumb, you just wanted to cheer him up and didn't think things through." Soda just looked at him, unconvinced, and Steve sighed, a little impatiently. "Listen, you're good with cars, right? That's gotta take some brains." He was looking at Soda expectantly, but Soda just shook his head, not wanting to hear it. Suddenly he whipped around and vomited in the grass, choking on sobs. "I'm such a failure – Darry hates me," he bawled, retching again. He felt Steve rub his back soothingly, hushing him as he rambled on, but Soda was inconsolable, not even sure what he was babbling about. Finally he sagged against Steve, utterly spent, and felt him pull his arm around his neck.
"C'mon," Steve said tiredly, starting to trudge forward, "let's get you home."
A/N: Perhaps I should be asking if Steve is the OOC one! Yet another sappy, overemotional chapter with somebody crying. This is the shortest chapter yet, and I apologize, but I couldn't think of a good place to end it, and I just wanted to get it posted. I know I promised Darry getting laid off and Soda dropping out, but it looks like that's getting bumped to the next chapter; again, my apologies :/ This chapter is pretty much Angst Without Plot (is that a thing? It should be), but the next chapter will have more of a story line, and I promise to update quicker.
So, I wrote this at 2 a.m., and only read through it a couple of times, so please let me know if you notice any typos or errors. All the he's and him's felt especially awkward in this chapter, as well, so tell me if anything doesn't make sense. And don't be surprised if you're rereading this chapter and it seems a little different; I'll probably be doing a lot of editing even after it's posted.
Also, I'd like to start a new story, so please PM me with requests or ideas (none with OCs though). I swear it won't interfere with this story getting updated faster ;) R&R!