A/N: I'm sorry. But I don't really care if salbutamol was made available in the States in 1970, I'm afraid I'm pushing its distribution up a couple of years. And unless you're a medical historian (and I don't even know if such a thing exists) then it shouldn't bother you too much, if at all.

X X X X

Waking was a slow process, slow and painful. He knew whatever had caused the shutting down of his lungs was gone now, as his breathing was untroubled in that regard. It was, however, troubled by another type of pain, located in a different part of his chest.

Soda groaned.

"Steve, he's waking up," muttered Pony. He moved over to where his brother was sitting in Darry's chair, surrounded by pillows and swathed in blankets.

Steve moved over, his aversion to Ponyboy's presence evaporating in light of the circumstances concerning his best friend. Soda didn't look so pale now. They had gotten to him in time. He'd be all right.

Soda's eyes opened slowly. "Man, who the hell turned the heater up?" he mumbled to himself, attempting to throw off the blankets, one which he recognized as being Steve's jacket.

"The heater ain't on, Soda," Pony said, his fear evident on his eyes.

Soda looked at him, guessing his thoughts. "I don't have a fever, Pone," he muttered. "You just decided to suffocate me!" The blankets were all discarded, but Soda remained seated. "What happened?"

Pony looked uneasily at Steve, who looked at Soda with the expression he, Soda, had come to know as the mother hen look. It was the look he was leveled with every time he had an asthma attack, and though it wasn't anywhere near the proud look everybody wanted to see, and Soda especially, he was reasonably used to it. "We heard shouting," said Steve at length. "My old man kicked me out… again… so me and Pony ran down to see if it was a greaser in trouble. Never honestly expected it to be you."

Pony returned his gaze to his brother. "They ran as soon as they saw us coming. We never got a good look at them; we were more worried about you. You weren't breathing so good… how's it now?"

Soda suddenly noticed the presence of his inhaler on the ground near his feet. So that was why he could breathe… "It's… it's weird," he said at length. "Hurts real bad, but not the normal hurt."

Steve grimaced. "You sort of… might have cracked a rib," he said, somewhat lamely.

Soda remembered the fight, remembered the horrible and sudden pain lancing through his chest. That explanation made sense.

"Did you see them, Soda?" Steve asked quietly. Though he tried to give an exterior of calm, both of the brothers in the room knew he was desperate for a chance to extract revenge.

"Steve…" Soda began warily.

"Don't just not dob them in because you're scared of what I'll do to them," Steve said passionately. "That's assault, Soda. If we hadn't come, they could've killed you!"

Soda glared at the floor. "I don't care about them," he said. "I care about you. You'll do something stupid, Steve; don't say you won't! I don't want you in jail."

"Why would Steve go to jail?"

Three heads turned simultaneously as Darry entered the house. He noticed that something was amiss right away, and he knew the fact that his brother was sitting tiredly on his chair with his inhaler by his feet had something – no, everything, to do with it. "What the hell happened?" he cried, panic for Sodapop somehow making him seem angry.

"Them Socs," growled Steve through grit teeth. "They jumped Soda on his way home."

"They WHAT?" Darry cried. "Are you –"

"I'm fine, Dare!"

"No, you ain't!"

"STOP IT! Stop it!" Pony cried as the voices rose. "He's not okay, Dare. We think he cracked a rib; he's been out of it the last twenty minutes because of an attack!"

"It was only ten minutes –" Soda tried to protest. He didn't need Darry to yell at Pony because of this. He knew he would.

"How the hell would you know?" Darry said, staring at Soda intently, warning him with a gaze to keep silent. "Pony. What happened?"

Pony told Darry of how they had heard yelling and gone to investigate; of how their own cried had alerted Soda's attackers, who had made off into the night; of how he and Steve had brought Soda back here, praying his breathing would even out and, most of all, praying it would not shut down all together.

As Pony spoke, Darry's face grew darker and darker, his mind filling with horrible images of his little brother getting beaten up when the attackers knew he was virtually defenseless. Darry did not like to refer to either of his brothers as such, but it was an unfortunate actuality in Soda's case. If he had an attack, that attack could very well lead to his final breath.

When the tale was finished, Darry took a brief breath and looked to the ground. "Soda," he said, his voice carefully controlled calm, "go to bed. You look dead on your feet."

Soda recognized the dismissal for what it was. Evidently, so did Steve. "I'll put everything back for you." He collected the blankets taken from Soda and Pony's bed as well as the inhaler. Soda followed him towards his room, walking slowly and lethargically both because of his aching rib and because he knew what he was leaving Pony to.

Steve arranged the bed silently, knowing Soda was involved in his own thoughts. Just as his best friend lay down to try and sleep through the rest of the worst pain, Steve heard Darry start his inevitable rampage.

"They promised me, Steve," muttered Soda. "You know that? They promised me… now they're fighting because of me."

Steve looked at him sadly. He knew what had transpired that day shortly after Johnny and Dally's deaths; Soda had told him himself. He felt disappointment creep upon him; disappointment at Darry for failing to keep a promise set in good faith.

X X X X

A/N: Rather depressing, but also rather necessary, so I am sorry! Soda's okay, yay! But what shall happen next? Will Steve go on a murderous Soc-killing rampage (all who wish it please say I)? Will Two-Bit spill the beans about who hurt Sodapop? Oh, the questions!

Okay, I'm sorry for that. But seriously, reviews keep me posting! Please tell me what you think!