Author's Note: Thank you to all who review! I've had the next chapter written for a while, but I struggled to think of what could have led to that chain of events. Finally I came up with this and I actually only started playing with this idea just this morning. I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out. Hope you like it! Please review!

Chapter Sixteen

Triggered

Soda felt like he was surrounded by a haze, separating him from his friends and his brothers. He knew they were all concerned about him and he made an effort not to worry them. He understood the point Steve had made about asking for help. He allowed Pony to go with him when he went on walks, he allowed Darry to bring his dinner to him in the recliner, and he made an effort to stay at the DX through his entire shift so that he could ride home with Steve.

Despite all of this his spirit felt heavy. He felt like he was wandering through his own life with no real purpose. He couldn't even take care of himself and he was starting to lose hope that he would ever be able to walk without the aid of his cane. He was also starting to lose hope that he would ever be able to rest peacefully without nightmares of the war. His exhaustion was only getting worse and at any given moment he felt like he could fall asleep in an instant. He knew he constantly had tired bags under his eyes and looked rather ragged, but he felt helpless to change that.

Another week had passed since he had gotten his new cane. Time never seemed to move consistently to Soda anymore. Everything always seemed to be on fast forward or slow motion. Today was a slow motion day.

Soda, Two-Bit and Steve were all working the same shift at the DX. It had been a very slow day and Soda had spent most of his time in the store with Two-Bit, leaning heavily on the counter. He knew that Darry wouldn't mind if Soda wanted to take a day or two off to get some rest, but he felt like that would be a failure on his part. All he wanted was his normal life back.

"You feelin' okay?" Two-Bit asked slowly, eyeing Soda. It was toward the end of their shift and Soda just couldn't stop yawning.

"Just tired," Soda mumbled, placing his head in his hands as he leaned on the counter.

"We should be able to leave in a few minutes," Two-Bit said. He glanced up as another customer entered the store. "You wanna wait in the car?"

"No, I'm fine," Soda said. He straightened up and gripped his cane as he limped back around the counter to make room for the customer that was approaching. He couldn't wait to go home, but he knew that waiting in the car wouldn't make the time go any faster. If anything it might slow the time down if he were isolated like that. His leg had been aching throughout most of the day and all he wanted to do was sit in the recliner and not move for the rest of the night.

They both glanced up as there was a honk from outside. A car had pulled up to the gas pump. Soda almost groaned out loud. He really didn't feel like doing another fill up.

"You wanna get that?" Two-Bit asked. "The next shift should be here in a minute, I'll be out as soon as they get here and we can take off."

Soda definitely didn't want to, but he nodded anyway. It was just one more and then they could go home. He could deal with one more customer. He limped back around the counter, noticing how the customer at the counter, an older woman maybe in her late forties, looked at him curiously. He had gotten used to these confused and curious looks that he got from customers on a daily basis. He knew he was a bit of an odd sight, being nineteen years old and hobbling around like an old man. However it still ground his nerves whenever he noticed people staring.

Soda slowly limped out the door and headed for the gas pumped. A man probably in his late twenties or early thirties was leaning up against his car, looking impatient.

"About time," he mumbled as Soda finally approached.

"Sorry, sir," Soda said as he set to work gassing up the guy's Ford. He didn't even bother trying to smile or act friendly. It had been a long day and he was just ready for it to be over.

"What happened to you, anyway?" the guy asked as Soda watched the numbers click by on the gas tank more carefully than necessary. His tone wasn't concerned or even really curious. He sounded condescending and bored. It certainly didn't make Soda want to tell him his life story. He considered not answering. It was none of this guy's business anyway. "You hear me, boy? Or are you dumb?"

Soda sighed. "'Nam," he said flatly. He hoped that would be enough to get the guy to stop questioning about his injury, but he was weary of the response, remembering how the Socs had taunted him.

"You're shittin' me," the guy said. He snorted. "I can't believe you would even admit that." Soda looked at him and cocked an eyebrow, not quite understanding, but he figured it was better not to comment. He just wanted to let the subject drop. Unfortunately the guy was persistent. "You know, what you guys do other there, it's downright disgraceful. What, you come back here and expect to be treated like a war hero? You should be ashamed."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Soda finally demanded, anger creeping in through his haze of exhaustion. What gave this guy the right to assume that he knew anything about him?

"I watch the news," the man said darkly. "I've seen the footage. You aren't soldiers. You're murderers. It's not a war going on over there. It's genocide."

Soda just stared, dumbstruck. He reached over and yanked the nozzle out of the guy's gas tank and slammed it back on the pump. "Done," he stated in harsh voice, not looking at the guy next to him. "Have a nice day, sir." He wasn't even concerned about getting paid for the gas. Hell, he would pay the bill himself. More than anything he just wanted this guy to leave him alone.

"Baby killers," the customer spat. "That's what you damn Vietnam soldiers are. Baby killers. You should do the world a favor and eat a bullet from your own gun." And with that he spit at Soda, hitting his pant leg.

Soda snapped. The next few minutes were a blur. He felt his fist connect with the guy's jaw. He felt a counterblow connect with the side of his face. He swung again, hardly noticing as his cane fell away from him.

"Hey!"

Steve's voice barely seeped into Soda's consciousness. Suddenly the guy kicked Soda in his bad leg. The pain was immediate and excruciating. He twisted as he collapsed to the ground, biting back against a scream of agony just as he had the night he had received his injury. Suddenly his mind was a couple thousands miles away, across the ocean and in a foreign country. Soda had to stay as still as possible, hoping the Vietnamese soldiers wouldn't find him. They would torture him, kill him. All he wanted was to go home and see Pony and Darry again.

"Soda?" Even though the voice spoke English, somehow Soda didn't trust it. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he lashed out desperately, trying to knock the person away from him, he had to protect himself, he had to live. "Easy Soda, it's me, it's Steve."

Soda gasped for breath, trying to control his panic. How could that be? Why would Steve be in the middle of the jungle in Vietnam? It didn't make any sense. Even if Steve had gotten drafted Soda would have known long before he made it over to the battlefield.

"Soda?" It was a different voice this time. Two-Bit? Was he loosing his mind out here in Vietnam? "C'mon Soda, it's okay now, he's gone."

Suddenly Soda realized that he was laying on something hard. Concrete. There was no concrete in the jungles of Vietnam. He placed his hands flat on the cement, just to be sure. He took a couple long shaky breaths, trying to think clearly through the awful pain radiating from his leg that seemed to consume him. He looked around, and watched carefully as everything was slowly coming back into focus. He wasn't in Vietnam at all. He was laying on the ground in front of the DX station in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

He had been laying on his side. Slowly he rolled himself onto his back, carefully stretching his left leg out, grimacing hard as he did so, trying not groan out loud. Just as slowly and with a great deal of effort he managed to push himself up into a sitting position. He looked around and saw both Steve and Two-Bit crouching next to him though they were clearly trying to keep some distance from him, mirrored expressions of concern and confusion on their faces.

"Sorry," Soda mumbled. He put his head in his hands and found that he was shaking.

"Don't worry about it," Steve said carefully. "That guy had no right to go accusing you of anythin'."

"I dunno where the hell any of that even came from," Soda muttered. He looked up at his friends, his eyes pleading for answers. They both looked uncomfortable, shifting and glancing at each other uncertainly. Soda let out a frustrated sigh. "Can we just get out of here?" he said darkly. His leg was killing him and he was feeling angry and frustrated and he just wanted to disappear.

"Yeah, sure, buddy," Two-Bit said, nodding. His normally carefree face was more serious than Soda had seen it since the night they had watched Dally shot and killed. Was he really that pathetic? Had he really made that much of a scene just now?

He grabbed his cane from Steve a little more aggressively than he had meant to, but he just didn't have the energy to worry too much about that. He started to pull himself up but didn't make it far. Thankfully Steve didn't wait for him to ask for help, because at this point he probably wouldn't have ever asked. His pride had taken a huge hit just now and he couldn't handle being made to feel any more helpless or weak. Steve silently pulled Soda to his feet and Soda immediately turned and started limping toward the car. He gripped the cane tightly, any pressure at all on his left leg making him feel dizzy with pain and with each step he had to keep from crying out. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should ask for help. The cane wasn't support enough for him at the moment. But he just couldn't bring himself to do that right now.

He wasn't moving very quickly, but he finally made it to Steve's car. He heavily fell down into the passenger's seat, slamming the door shut and staring straight ahead, his hand still gripping his cane so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"You okay?" Steve asked carefully, looking over at him unsurely from the driver's seat as Two-Bit silently climbed into the backseat.

"Fine," Soda practically spat, his eyes trained straight out the windshield, angry that the car wasn't moving yet. He needed to get as far away from that place as possible.

Another minute passed where the world was annoyingly still. Finally Steve started up the car and pulled out of the DX. Soda sighed. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the top of his cane, closing his eyes. It was just like one of his nightmares… except he was still awake.