Author's note: so, when I was trying to decide on a story to base of of 'Carry On My Wayward Son' by Kansas, I came up with two ideas. The previous chapter was the first idea. This is the second one. I don't think it's as good, but I hope you still like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own the outsiders or any of the characters

SODAPOP'S POV

My dad and I didn't get along. I suppose that's the first important piece of information. He wanted sons who were brilliant. Who did well at school and all teachers loved to have in class. He wanted his boys to get somewhere in life. He got what he wanted with Darry. He got what he wanted with Ponyboy.

He was utterly disappointed when it came to me.

I knew he wanted it for me because he loved me. I loved him too. I just didn't like feeling like I wasn't important, like I was second best, so I decided that since he was already gonna be mad no matter what I did, I was gonna do whatever the hell it was I wanted.

I remember probably one of the worst conversations we ever had. It was that day where they give you your report card right before term 4, and Ponyboy got home long before I did, proud of his straight As. I took as long as humanly possible. I'd already opened and read through my report card, and it wasn't pretty. I had straight Fs, except for auto-mechanics and gym, and the teachers all had plenty to say about me. Talks too much in class. Has a foul mouth sometimes. Just a plain old spazoid. Yeah, my english teacher literally wrote that on it.

When I came in the front door, I did my best to sneak back to my bedroom without being noticed. Maybe I could burn the report card and tell my dad it'd gotten lost.

No such luck.

"Sodapop, I'd like to see your report card, please."

Oh. Shit.

I went into the living room, handed Dad my report card, then took off back to my room and barricaded myself in. I wasn't in the mood for this just now.

A couple minutes later, my dad hammered on the door. "Sodapop, I need to talk to you." When I didn't answer, he knocked harder. "Sodapop Patrick Curtis, you open this door this instant."

"No." I said.

"What d'you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean exactly what I said. I ain't openin' the damn door."

"Watch your language, young man."

"Damn well make me."

"Sodapop, I'm incredibly disappointed in you." There was that word again. Disappointed. Did he ever feel any other emotion when it came to me? "It's not like you ain't smart. You're just a smart person being lazy, not a dumb person trying."

He was wrong. I was dumb. I'd known that pretty much all my life.

"Look at Darry. He's going to college next year, once he's got enough saved up. Ponyboy got put up a year in grade school and is doing really well. Why aren't you?"

No way in hell was I going to answer that question.

"And your teachers think you're absolute hellspawn. Except the ones who have a crush on you. You could let off a bomb in their classes and they wouldn't care."

I smiled at that one. I'd used that to my advantage once or twice.

"You're supposed to be better than this."

Ouch.

"You stay in there. You're grounded."

So there's a sampling of what me and my dad were like most of the time. We'd gotten a little better by the time Valentines rolled around that year. We weren't at each other's throats all the time, don't get the wrong idea. We just had issues.

Anyhow, like I said, I did what I wanted. I've never felt so free. I was happy. I had my brothers, my parents, my friends, my girlfriend, and all the fun a sixteen-year-old boy could want. I felt like the world couldn't touch me.

I guess I should've known it couldn't last forever.

I was on my way home from dropping Sandy off at her house on Valentines. It was about midnight, and I was so happy I was practically floating. I knew my parents didn't approve of Sandy. They warned me that she was trouble and that she'd break my heart someday, but I didn't listen to them. I loved her. I smiled to myself.

I saw my parents car round the corner. They were on their way home too, I guess. They'd gone out on a date that night too. Maybe I could get a ride from them.

Before I even had a chance to wave at them a car came speeding around the other corner, swerving crazily. It was obviously a drunk driver. And they were headed right for them.

I don't know which one of my parents was driving. I never bothered to find out. Whichever one of them it was tried to swerve and avoid the car, but failed and it nailed them head on.

I knew it was over. I didn't need to go look at the bodies. I didn't need to check for a pulse. I literally just felt something inside me disappear and I knew.

Call me a coward, but I turned tail and ran. Ran as far and as fast as I could. I didn't run home. I didn't go to tell Darry and Pony what I'd seen. I didn't call the cops or an ambulance or anything. I took off to the lot.

I'm not huge on smoking. That's just the honest truth, but that day, I chain-smoked my way through three packs before I was willing to even consider going home. By the time I was done, it was about three o'clock in the morning. I hoped somebody else had already gone to our house and told my brothers about what had happened, because I sure as hell didn't want to.

Like I said, call me a coward. You wouldn't be lying.

When I finally walked in the front door, Darry and Ponyboy were sitting on the couch together. Darry looked shocked and Pony was crying. I just stood there and stared at them stupidly. I wasn't sure exactly what to say at this point.

"Soda." Darry said gently, like he was talking to a frightened animal. "There's somethin' real serious I gotta tell ya."

"Don't bother." I muttered, looking down at my feet. "I already know. I saw."

"You… what?"

I looked back up and met Darry's eyes. "I saw drunk driver hit their car, okay? I saw it. I know what happened. You don't need to draw me a picture. I could probably draw a better one. I'm goin' to bed."

And just like that, I left Ponyboy and Darry alone in the living room. I wasn't in the mood to commiserate with my brothers just then. I didn't want to cry with them. I wanted to cry by myself.

Seriously. If you called me a coward, I wouldn't even be mad.

I fell asleep pretty much right after I laid down on the bed. It'd been a draining day, physically and emotionally. My parents wove in and out of my dreams, never in a way that freaked me out, but it sure as shit made me sad. I missed them. I didn't know how I'd keep going without them. I didn't really see a point in it. I really wished I'd got a chance to tell them I was sorry for all the things I'd done. I hadn't been a good son. I'd been a wayward idiot who did whatever he wanted, everything else be damned.

The last thing I heard my dad say in my dream as I woke up the next morning was this: "You just gotta carry on, Pepsi-Cola. What else is there to do?"