Steve Randle never cared about the price tag or if it went down smoothly— the only purpose of booze was to get him blown out of his mind, to drown his sorrows 'till tomorrow. It had been one of those days, the twilight sky as cold and dark as his spirit. Too many days were like these— wanting more to life than to shut everyone else, but knowing all too well it was simply a lost cause to begin with.

So when Steve popped open the bottle of whiskey he'd found in the kitchen cabinet— not that there were much in there besides the stuff— he only had one goal. And that was to drink until there was quite literally no tomorrow.

When the first drop of liquor hit his tongue it was as if he fell into a trance— detached, floating from reality as if the very concept had shattered into as many pieces as the stars in the night sky.

He was far from mindful as he repeatedly filled the shot glass, tilted his head back and slipped away from the life he knew, booze filling his mouth with a taste of bitterness that had taken a resemblance to the one in his very own soul.

Steve couldn't count how many he took, but it was when the liquor began to taste like water is when he knew it would only be several more until it was over. And suddenly, fleeting as quick as a bolt of lightning he thought of his own father— the stinging of his cheek beneath his rough hand as it made contact with his son's youthful skin, the scorching of hatred in his eyes that would only end up burning a hole through the innocence of a young Steve.

But then came understanding, a feeling that Steve never knew he could feel towards his deadbeat father. Then, it all made sense— a bit too much sense. At that moment, he was in the same position as the one he hated the most— like father like son they said. When all was said and done you'd find them pouring some liquor into a glass, everything deep within that came to haunt them drowning in the liquid that made its way down their throats.

When Steve heard the door open with a creak, he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned frantically to where it stood, only to be greeted with fuzzy objects that swam in front of his eyes. And when he saw some sort of figure moving towards him with the color of dark gold on its head, in an instant he knew who it was. It was Sodapop Curtis.

"Soda," he slurred, watching as he kneeled in front of him. Steve can't recount the rest, but what he could remember next was his best friends voice, sounding as if his head was underwater.

"Steve? Oh man..." he gasped, cupping his hands around Steve's face. "Cmon man, don't pass out on me,"

Steve's eyes flew open and he hazily took a look at Sodapop's gentle face, eyebrows furrowed tight and his brown eyes clouded over like a storm. Concern was written all over his face— yet he didn't deserve it, he thought. He was a monster, just like his father before him.

"Y-You don't get it," Steve choked out. "I tried..."

"Huh? What did you try?"

"You know I tried failing those damn tests. And I couldn't and I..." he trailed off, tears filling his eyes. "Look where it got me. Look at me, buddy. I'm a fucking monster,"

Sodapop's words caught up in his throat, and suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe. "No no, you ain't no monster. I fuckin' understand it, Stevie— I understand it all," he confessed, the strength in his voice crumbling as his tongue formed the last few words.

"But...But...Oh my god, Soda. Oh my god," Steve moaned, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I hate this world so damn much, just let me die,"

"I ain't gon' let you die bud— you're worth too much," Soda croaked, catching the tears that ran down Steve's face. "If you die, we sure as hell die together," squeezing his shoulder. He barely noticed the tears that gathered, silently flowing from his own eyes.

That's when he sat on the couch next to him, pouring the whiskey into the cup and downing it all in one gulp, wincing at the taste. "Your turn, Stevie," he quirked, shaking the glass in front of Steve's face— all of it almost comical. And that's when Steve Randle knew his best friend was more than enough to keep him living.

"Darrel, your brother is not in good condition," Dr. Clark said truthfully, "After his heart stopped, we had to rush him into emergency surgery,"

"...Will he be okay?" Darry gulped, bringing his trembling hands to his head.

"I'm sorry, but I can't promise that," he frowned, his eyes scanning the clipboard for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Is there anything else you can do?" he demanded, looking into the doctor's eyes who stood before him. Sodapop's life depended on this very doctor, and not even he was sure he'd pull through. Darry was not accepting of the thought of his little brother dead at the hands of people who were meant to save him. And in the blink of an eye, he was at his wits end with Dr. Clark. Although it could've been all in his mind, he didn't seem so enthusiastic about saving his life.

"We've done everything we can," the doctor assured, sounding like a well-recited line. "It's all up to Sodapop if he'll wake up. We'll just have to wait and see,"

"Okay," Darry nodded, all of his rising anger dissipating as quickly as it came. "When can we see him again?"

"You'll be able to see him after the surgery is over," Dr. Clark answered. "That's all I have to say, Darrel. I'll have a nurse lead you back to the waiting room,"

When he wandered through the halls back to the waiting room staring at the dull-colored walls, he wasn't sure how to feel. It was as if all of his feelings had canceled out on themselves, leaving an emptiness in its wake. And he surely wasn't prepared in the slightest to inform an already broken Steve what he had been told.

xxx

"We're here, Pony!" Two-Bit boomed as he flunked his job at parallel parking. "Oh Lord, Steve's gonna whoop my ass if I crash this car," he muttered to himself.

"Ponyboy?" He repeated when he didn't respond, twisting his head to take a look at the passenger's seat. There he saw Pony, head leaning against the window with his eyes shut. "Cmon, wake up,"

He stirred restlessly, slowly opening his eyes. "Where are we?" he moaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Home. Go get some sleep in an actual bed, man,"

"But Soda-"

"I didn't have much of a choice, I'm afraid. Superman wanted ya to get some rest. So do I," Two-Bit explained, opening the car door. "He's still at the hospital with Steve,"

Pony instantly yanked open the car door, stumbling his way to the gate. Before he knew it, he was stepping foot into home at last. While part of him was glad, another screamed at him to run all the way back to the hospital. But the piece of him that compelled him to just sleep was clearly the winner because the next thing he did was make his way to bed, out like a light before his head hit the pillow.

While Ponyboy slept, Two-Bit took the opportunity to doze off as well. When Steve had barged into his home at two in the morning, to say he could spit nails was an understatement. He lay sprawled out on the couch, seeking to sleep off his hangover while also trying to forget how bad off his friends were at the same time— and it wasn't exactly easy.

Just when darkness was about to claim him, that's when the telephone started to ring. He groaned, pulling a pillow onto his head in an attempt to block out the noise. But then he remembered what Darry had said— that he'd call him as soon as he knew anything about Soda. And in a snap of a finger, he was on his feet making his way towards the telephone. Two-Bit's stomach dropped, a growing feeling inside that what he had to say wasn't good.

"Darry?" he spoke into the receiver, gripping the table so hard his knuckles turned white. "What's going on?"

"It ain't him," a voice answered flatly. "It's Steve, man,"

"...Where's Darry?"

"He passed out cold," Two-Bit could hear Steve shaking his head. "They took him to the E.R when he came to,"

"Huh?" Two-Bit squeaked, eyes widening. How was he supposed to tell Ponyboy this? "Is he okay?"

"The doc thinks he'll be okay, just dehydrated. Darry told me somethin' about Soda, he's in surgery or whatever," Steve's voice had taken on a dismayed quality. "Wasn't really listening, I don't know,"

"Oh, shit," Two-Bit muttered. "Should I tell Pones? He's sleepin' like a baby right now,"

"He told me not to, said he'd come over there soon," he answered. "I just think I'm gonna stay,"

"Okay," Two-Bit choked out, most of his words failing on him. "Thanks for telling me, man,"

Two-Bit didn't get an answer because the very next thing he heard was the phone on the other end being placed back into place. So there he stood, totally lost on what to do and what to say. He let out a sigh, collapsing back onto the couch. Two-Bit knew that if Sodapop didn't survive, it was going to destroy their little family.