I want to say a huge thank you to whoever nominated me for The Outsider's Fan Fiction Awards. It was a nice surprise to come home to that email! Now, for a shameless plug ;) —if you want to vote, the link is /ihatejacob1/The-Outsiders

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I could smell breakfast cooking when I woke up on Friday morning. That was unusual. Normally I was the first one up and therefore the one to make breakfast. I figured it had to be Pony cooking. Soda had barely had enough energy this week to get up for more than a few minutes at a time. We helped him into the living room a lot so he could spend time with the gang and also so he could get out of his room, but he usually ended up falling asleep on the couch. It was his week off the treatment so I was surprised he was so tired all the time. I was concerned, too, since he'd felt pretty good on his last week off. This last round of chemo had been rougher than the first one, though, so I was trying to pass his exhaustion off as recovery time. I usually tried not to think about it too much. The worry was driving me crazy when I did think.

I dragged myself out of bed, not feeling terribly energetic myself. Breakfast smelled awfully good, which was about the only reason I felt motivated enough to get up. Sure enough, I found Ponyboy standing over the stove cooking eggs, bacon, and toast. "Hey, Dare," he said, not looking up from what he was doing.

"Morning, Pone," I greeted, getting the coffee ready. I felt like I was practically living off coffee these days. After what happened last week, I was letting Pony handle Soda's night symptoms more, but that didn't change my work hours. I had some extra roofing hours this week since Soda wasn't so sick. He didn't need me to stay home and watch him sleep.

When Pony had everything ready, we put the food on to three plates and I helped him carry it all down the hall to his and Soda's room. We'd been eating in there a lot so Soda didn't have to spend extra energy sitting at the kitchen table. Just another change to make our lives less than normal. When we had everything set up—we'd bought a small tray for Soda to put his food on—I gently shook Soda's shoulder. "Breakfast time, Sodapop," I whispered. As long as his stomach was settled I wasn't letting him skip out on any meals. He'd lost enough weight last week with the fever and constant nausea.

Soda slowly stirred and opened his eyes. "Is it morning already?" he asked, looking around at the sunlit room.

"Yeah, little buddy. Time to get some food into ya."

I saw him wince and I felt bad for him. Eating was never pleasant for him anymore, even when he didn't feel sick. I know his appetite was totally gone, and I think that he was always afraid of feeling sick later, even though he usually kept food down when he wasn't on treatment. Usually, but not always—he'd been sick a few times during the week.

"Alright," he said, sitting up. "Give it here." Pony set the tray up on Soda's lap and we all started eating. Pony usually sat on the floor and I'd mastered the art of balancing my plate on my lap. I'm sure Social Services would have a field day with this set up, but I didn't care. I wasn't gonna make Soda eat by himself. I'd been relieved they weren't swooping in like vultures to take Pony away during all this. Dr. Sheldon hadn't said as much, but I had the impression he'd pulled a few strings to keep the State off our backs.

Soda was half asleep again by the time Pony and I had finished eating. There was still some food left on his plate, but I wasn't going to push him. These days he was doing well if he ate even half a meal. Pony and I quietly left the room and headed to the kitchen with the dishes. "Pone, I'll clean up," I offered when we'd dumped everything in the sink.

He looked at me skeptically. "You sure, Dare? I don't mind helping."

I nodded. "Yeah, you made breakfast." Pony shrugged and headed out front with a pack of cigarettes. I turned to the sink and started scrubbing the plates clean. I focused on the task at hand, making sure my mind didn't wander. If I didn't keep my thoughts in check, they usually started drifting to worst case scenarios, just like they had when Pony had been in Windrixville.

I was concentrating so hard on the dishes that I jumped when I heard the front door slam closed. I whirled around, annoyed that any of the gang would be so loud when they knew Soda was probably sleeping. I was surprised to find Pony standing in the kitchen doorway, holding the mail. He had a furious look on his face, which completely baffled me until I noticed the piece of mail on the top of the pile. "Why didn't you tell me, Darry?" he demanded.

I sighed and took the mail from his hand, moving the top piece with the bright red "FINAL NOTICE" stamped on it to the bottom of the pile. "What would you have done if I had told you, Pony?"

"I could've helped!" he cried. "I could've tried to get more jobs so I could help out more."

"Pone," I said gently, "you shouldn't have to work more. You shouldn't have to work at all. I can handle this. I'll have the money to pay this bill when I get my paycheck today."

"And what about the next bill?" he retorted. "Your paycheck'll be gone, so how'll we pay that one?"

"Look, I'm handling it, okay?" I snapped. "You don't need to worry about it."

"Dare, you said you weren't gonna try to do everything by yourself anymore."

I groaned and rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "Pone, you can't help with this more than you already are. I appreciate the extra money you're bringing in, but it just ain't enough to cover everything. That's why I picked up some extra hours this week."

"I can phone the Johnson's and see if they still need me to work tomorrow," he suggested. The Johnson's had called yesterday to see if Pony could watch their kids for the whole day tomorrow while they went out of town. I could understand why he'd said no after what he'd had to put up with the last time he was there. I didn't want him to have to go through that again, but I had to admit that twelve hours of pay would be real nice to have.

"You sure, Pone? You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He didn't hesitate, but I could hear the distaste in his voice. He went to the living room to make the call and I let him go. He didn't know it, but there'd be more final notices coming soon if we didn't get some cash fast. I was planning to pawn off a couple things to hopefully keep on top of the bills. I had a leather football jacket from high school I didn't need anymore and I was hoping I could get away with "losing" my watch without anyone thinking too much of it.

I heard Pony hang up the phone—the Johnson's had still needed someone, which wasn't surprising—and immediately the phone rang. Pony answered it, then poked his head into the kitchen. "Dare, it's Dr. Sheldon." I could see the anxiousness on his face. This would be the results of Soda's latest tests.

"Hello, Dr. Sheldon," I said, taking the phone from Pony.

"Hello, Darrel. I have Soda's tests results here and I wanted to let you know how they went and what needs to happen next."

What needs to happen next? That sounded ominous to me. "Alright, let's hear it." Pony was sitting on the arm of the couch, watching for my reaction.

"Soda's white blood cell count is down again, so the chemotherapy is still working. His blood test came back better than the one I took last Wednesday, which means the new drug is helping. Unfortunately, Soda has lost a lot of weight in just the past week."

"I know," I sighed, feeling bad about my brother's deteriorating health. "He could only keep food down in the mornings with the new meds."

"I understand, Darrel, and I'm not blaming you. He's going to have the same problem in the first few days of his next round of treatment, until his body gets used to the meds. I'd like him to stay in the hospital so we can keep him hydrated and make sure he gets the nutrients he needs, at least for the first couple of days. I'm hopeful he'll be able to go home by Wednesday or Thursday."

I leaned against the wall and put my head in my free hand. This wasn't want I wanted to hear. "Are you sure it's necessary?" I asked. I knew Soda wouldn't want to stay overnight in the hospital again and I assumed he'd be on an IV, which he really wasn't gonna like.

"Yes. If he doesn't get the nutrition he needs, his body is going to start shutting down."

I didn't like it, but I knew he was right. "Alright, we'll be there Monday afternoon." Dr. Sheldon and I said goodbye, then I hung up the phone and turned to Ponyboy.

"What is it, Dare?" He knew something was up; there was no point in trying to sugar coat the news or put off telling him.

"Soda lost too much weight last week. He needs to stay a few nights in the hospital till he gets used to that new drug."

Pony's face fell, but he nodded. "I guess it's not that surprising," he reasoned. He was quiet for a minute, then looked up hopefully. "Can we stay with him? Overnight, I mean? I heard they can set up a cot and we can take turns on it. Soda would like that," he added quietly, looking down at his feet.

I went over to sit next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. "Sure, little buddy. They'll have to drag us out of there kicking and screaming to get rid of us, okay?" Pony laughed a little and nodded. I knew when Soda woke up later I'd have to tell him. That wasn't a conversation I was looking forward to.

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I left for the Johnson's just before nine Saturday morning. I really hadn't wanted to take the job, especially since the parents wouldn't be back till nine at night, but the "final notice" bill that had come in the mail had really scared me. The money I was making didn't come anywhere close to covering Soda's missing paycheck, but at least it was something.

As I was walking up the path to the house, I heard a crash from inside. Great. The monsters were already in full gear. I took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for the worst, and rang the bell. A frazzled looking Mrs. Johnson opened the door and let me in. "Hi, Ponyboy. Thanks so much for coming today."

"It's no problem," I lied. This was the last place in the world I wanted to be.

"Dylan! Andrew! Ponyboy's here!" she yelled down the hall. She didn't wait to see if they would come. Instead she hurried around the room, gathering things together for the day. "They've already had breakfast and sandwiches should be okay for lunch. Here's some money for pizza for dinner," she said, handing me a couple of bills. "We should be back by nine at the latest," she continued, heading for the front door, now joined by Mr. Johnson. "Thanks again, Ponyboy." With that, they were out the door.

I cautiously went down the hall to the boys' room, saying a quick prayer that the day would be disaster free. There was dead silence in the house. I opened the bedroom door, stepped in, and was immediately tackled to the ground. "Got him!" Dylan crowed. "Tie him up!"

I struggled underneath Dylan. There was no way I was spending the day tied up while they did whatever they wanted. He was pretty strong for an eight year old, but he was no match for me. I threw him off and pinned him to the ground. "Listen up, kid," I growled, trying to sound intimidating. "You might not be afraid of me, but I got friends who would make you cry for mommy, so don't pull any of your crap today. Got it?" He swiftly kneed me in the stomach, squirmed out from under me, and took off down the hall, followed by his brother. I groaned; it was gonna be a long day.

Sure enough, I spend the next eleven hours chasing the two terrors through the house, trying to stop or clean up one disaster after another. By 8:00 they'd finished off the pizza I'd ordered (the part that wasn't smeared on the wall, anyway) and were sitting at the kitchen table. I'd done my best to keep them in my sight all day, but by now I really had to pee. I hoped that since they'd been fed, they'd be good for just two minutes. I hurried in the bathroom, and crossed my fingers as I went back to the kitchen. As I got closer I started to smell something strange. My stomach dropped when I realized it was smoke. I ran the last few steps to the kitchen and stared in horror at what I saw. One of the brats had put the napkins from the pizza on the stove and turned on the burners. There was no fire yet, but the napkins were smoking pretty good. I ran over, grabbed the napkins, and threw them in the sink. I turned the stove off, then turned on the cold water so I could run my now burned hand under it. "What the hell were you two thinking?" I screamed, turning to the two boys, who were still sitting at the kitchen table. "You could've set the whole house on fire!"

"What do you care? You're only here cause of your brother," Dylan taunted.

"Yeah, I heard he's gonna die," Andrew chimed in.

I truly wanted to kill these kids now. I lunged for Dylan, but he ducked out of the way and ran off down the hall, Andrew right behind him. I followed them, but before I could reach them they'd run into their bedroom and locked the door. I hammered on the door, but of course they didn't open it. After a few more minutes of fruitless banging, I gave up and trudged back to the kitchen. Their parents would be home soon and they could deal with getting their devil kids to open their door.

For the next half hour I worked on cleaning up the living room and kitchen, trying my best to focus on what I was doing and avoid thinking about what Andrew had said. When Mr. and Mrs. Johnson got home, I gratefully took my money, told them about their boys almost starting a fire and then locking themselves in their room, and beat it outta there was fast as I could. Once I was outside and walking towards home, there was nothing to distract me from my thoughts and I found myself dwelling on Andrew's comment. Was he right? Was Soda gonna die? I was always trying to convince myself that wasn't gonna happen, but really, how much chance did he have?

As I passed the empty lot, the tears started to come. I knew Darry was home and I didn't want him to see me cry again, and I sure as hell didn't want Soda to see it if he was awake. I made my way to the corner of the lot, sat down, and leaned against the fence. I put my head on my knees and just let myself sob like a little kid. Once the thoughts started coming, I couldn't make them stop. Was Soda gonna get sicker with this next round of chemo? The second round had been so much worse than the first. How long would he have to stay in the hospital for? What if the treatment stopped working? What if there was nothing the doctors could do in the end? I couldn't imagine a world without Sodapop in it. He was always laughing and smiling and now that Johnny was gone, Soda was the only person left who really listened to my problems. Darry and I were getting along better and I know he loves me, but he just can't listen the way Soda does, even when he tries.

When I realized that time was passing as I sat there and Darry would start to wonder where I was, I forced myself to calm down. When the tears had stopped, I rubbed my hands across my eyes and cheeks, trying to get rid of the evidence of my breakdown. I slowly started for home. When I got there, I said a quick hello to Darry, who was in the shower, then washed up, changed, and crawled into bed. It was early, but I was exhausted after the day I'd had.

Soda stirred when he felt me moving around next to him. "Hey, Pone," he murmured sleepily. "How was your day?"

"Fine," I replied. I didn't want him to feel guilty about how awful it was. Thankfully, he was too out of it to think about my response.

"Mmm. That's good." He rolled over and threw an arm over me, then was out again like a light. Lying in the dark with Soda asleep, there was nothing to stop my thoughts from coming back to me. Yesterday, Darry had told Soda about the impending hospital stay. Soda had tried to protest, claiming he wouldn't be so sick this time, but Darry didn't budge. It was doctor's orders, after all, and Darry and I both knew it was for the best, even if we didn't like it. Soda had finally given up when he realized he didn't have a choice and had spent the rest of the day in silence. He wasn't sulking or anything; he was scared, just like we were. I could feel my thoughts beginning to overwhelm me again, so I tried to push them away and focus on the present, on the feel of Soda's arm around me and the sound of his soft breathing. I concentrated on making my breaths match his and slowly felt myself fall asleep.

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