A/N: Here we go with the next chapter. This is later than I expected to post it but to be honest I had some trouble with inspiration. However,I watched Apocalypse Now this afternoon and it just hit me. So here we go. I added some song lyrics with it this time. It just fit. The song is The End by the Doors. I highly recommend it. It's a great one. Also, just a heads up that Charlie was a term sometimes used for Vietnamese soldiers. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy it!

This one shot was requested by xxLiveLoveReadxx. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or The End

Story Six

Ponyboy and Steve

"This is the End"

This is the end

Beautiful friend

This is the end

My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end

Of everything that stands, the end

No safety or surprise, the end

A horrible red, orange color tore into the air and a horrible, loud, gut wrenching sound worse than thunder split the sky.

A few men cheered, some swore at the enemy that were now nothing at all.

But he had a horrible hollow feeling in his gut. Oh, he hated them all right. Damn Charlie. If it weren't for them they wouldn't be here at all. But some days he hated his side more.

Death was nothing to celebrate. He'd learned that at a very young age. It was a lesson no one else here seemed to know.

Suddenly, a gunshot ripped by him. Stunned, he whipped around to see one of his comrades, one of his friends, the one person who reminded him even a little of his friends back home, fall to the ground with a hole in his gut.

The order to run was given but he ignored it, running to his friend. He fell to his knees beside him, desperately trying to think of something to do. Something to save him.

The soldier was trying to talk, trying to form words of some sort. Maybe he wanted to tell him to find someone for him. To give a message to his family. He'd do it. He'd do anything this man wanted. It was in that moment that he realized his friend was going to die here in the jungle. He didn't deserve to.

The man put a picture in his hand with a horrible, painful effort then closed his fist around it.

Someone grabbed him from behind and wrenched him to his feet, pulling him along with the moving soldiers. He looked behind him desperately to see his friend move slightly and then fall still.

With a strangled cry, Steve Randle to the floor. His breath was coming out in heavy gasps and he could feel his entire body shaking uncontrollably. The room was pitch black and he looked around wildly, trying to figure out where he was.

Maybe it was all a dream. He hadn't gotten home. He was still out there. At any minute he was going to have to get back to the horror of it all. The horror…

The light flicked on but he barely noticed it. He closed his eyes, trying to convince himself to realize it. He was home. He was really home. It was okay. He was sleeping in the Curtis' living room, just like old days.

He opened his eyes and looked down. He was twisted in a sheet, drenched in sweat. He looked up to see who had turned on the light, knowing that he looked like a mess. He could feel his heart pounding so fast that he thought he might have a heart attack and he knew that his wide eyes betrayed his terror.

Seeing Ponyboy standing there watching him, he tore his gaze away from him again, face hardening.

"I'm fine," he said harshly. "Go back to bed." He slowly untangled himself from the sheet, throwing it to the side and swearing at it softly. "Darry still asleep?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Steve glanced up at him. "Seriously, kid, I'm fine. Go to bed."

Pony still lingered. "No. And I ain't a kid anymore. I'm sixteen. I'll be seventeen soon."

Steve scoffed. "Being a kid don't have to do with age."

"Wise talk for a grease," Pony said lightly, sitting down on the floor near his brother's best friend.

A strange look passed over Steve's face. "There's a lot more to this world beside Soc and grease," he spat bitterly. "A whole lot more."

"And a lot more to those other people than just a rumble."

Steve's eyes flashed furiously. "You don't know the half of it kid. Go back to bed. Let me rest."

Ponyboy watched the young veteran get up off the floor and throw himself off the couch. "You gotta talk to someone."

"You ain't exactly my first choice."

"Yeah, your first choice isn't here," Pony shot back firmly.

Steve looked at him, shocked. Soda had been drafted about eight months after Steve had and he was still out there fighting. Steve had just gotten home himself and he hated to think about Soda still out there. So did Ponyboy. And Pony never even mentioned it. But Steve didn't let his face soften at all from his surprise. He didn't want the kid bugging him right then. He wanted to be left alone. "Yeah and who knows if he's coming back."

"He'll be back."

"You don't know what it's like out there."

"I know. But I have faith." Pony looked up at him stubbornly. "Maybe you should too."

Steve scoffed a laugh. "Kid, if I ever had any I sure as hell don't now."

"Maybe it'd help to talk about it."

"You don't just talk about the shit that went down there." He shakily grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the floor and his lighter and lit up. "It don't go away when you talk about your feelings."

Pony shrugged his shoulders. "Might help."

"Kid, you don't get it. I've seen men better than you go crazy in that heap. You ain't been. You don't understand."

"I could easily go," the kid said quietly.

Steve's gaze snapped to him. He had never thought about that. But Pony was right. He was nearly seventeen. One more year and they could get him too. But they couldn't. They couldn't. The thought of the kid going scared him almost worse than the idea of going back himself did. After Johnny died, Pony had become the one they looked out for. He was the kid of the group.

Steve had never spent much time with him. He'd never really talked to him. But he knew Pony meant a great deal to Soda and that was enough. His best friend would need to know the kid was safe. Soda would be a wreck if anything happened to him. So would everyone really.

"That ain't gonna happen. War's gotta end soon." He looked up at the ceiling. "They don't go on forever."

Pony said nothing and that was worse than anything he could say. Steve pulled his weed away from his lips, gritting his teeth. This war sure made a mess of things. He took another drag.

"I used to like fighting," he said softly before he even registered he was saying it. "It was just a way to blow off steam. But I had no idea what it could do… You learn about it in school but the real thing… It ain't nothing like that." He closed his eyes tightly and he could suddenly see the sky lighting red and orange with explosions. If it weren't so disastrous and so brutal it'd be beautiful.

"I remember a few years back you asked us all why we liked fights. I liked the violence of it. I liked getting back. I liked letting the hate out." He blew a string of smoke from his lips. "Don't get me wrong here kid… I hate the enemy. I hate them. I hate them so much I could just…" His voice started shaking and he took a deep breath then another drag. "But we ain't any better. Not really. There's something wrong with that. When you look at the men you're supposed to be able to trust and you know they'd blow you away in a second if they though it would help them. You don't know who to trust over there. Some of them would do anything to live to get home. Those are the ones that ain't so bad… They ain't so scary."

He glanced at the kid, whose green eyes were fixed on him, wide and mesmerized. But they were also horrified. He looked back at the ceiling.

"The real threat are the guys who have lost the will to go home. They don't want this war to end. Killing and sneaking… It's become their life. There's nothing for them anywhere else. Yeah…" He sat up and out his cigarette out in the makeshift ash tray he had sitting on the table on the end of the couch. "They're the ones that are dangerous. You got one of them leading you and you're screwed. I ain't saying they'll get you killed. Hell, they're good soldiers. But they're too good. With them, you ain't got a chance of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. With them there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Not unless it's from a bomb of some sort." He gave a light, humorless chuckle. "You're just another gun hand to them."

"What kind did you have leading you?"

Steve looked at him seriously. "I was just a gun hand to my sergeant. Last thing he wanted to do was go home."

Ponyboy took in a sharp breath and Steve lit up another cigarette. He'd always been a heavy smoker but now he could count on one hand the number of times he'd only smoked a pack a day.

"Things ain't right out here," he said simply. "You wanted it straight. There's a taste of it. You hate the enemy but some days you hate yourself more. That's what it's like."

Pony stared at him and he could feel the kid working through it, studying him. It sure was uncomfortable but Steve's nerves were too worked up right now to snap at him. He had to focus to try to calm down at all. Keeping his voice steady was a real trick.

"Did you ever think you were going to die?"

"Every damn day." He scoffed. "Maybe that's why I never did. To be honest, I never really truly thought I'd get home. I just assumed that if I didn't die out there the war would never stop and they'd never let me go." He voice shook again. "No. No one ever really gets home."

"You got home," Pony said softly.

"Not intact. Not even close. Part of me is still out there. Always will be." He took up his sergeant's voice and said, "You're a soldier now Randle. Better embrace it. It's all you'll ever be now." He put his cigarette to his lips but didn't take a drag. "He wasn't wrong. I can tell it already." He took a long drag.

Pony watched him for a minute then said, "Sorry, but that's bullshit."

Steve nearly choked on his smoke out of shock. "What'd you just say?" He almost felt amused. He'd never really heard the kid swear. Especially not at him. He always felt like the kid was almost afraid of him.

"You heard me. You can be whatever the hell you want to be. Someone once said to be, "Don't be so bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world." That applies here too. Just swap greaser for soldier. You served. You saw some stuff. It doesn't mean you can't snap out of this."

Steve digested that, trying to come up with something decent to reply with. He couldn't find anything so he finally just said, "Who was this guy?"

"It was Johnny."

That took him by surprise. He looked at the kid for a long moment, decided he was serious, and nodded slowly. "Kid knew more than people thought." He was quiet for a few more minutes as he smoked then he said softly, "But I don't know about this. It gets sort of stuck on you. Like a bad smell or a scar."

Pony gave him a look and that look alone was almost calling him stupid. "Do you let a scar define your life? I sure don't."

Steve stared at him. When in the world did the obnoxious kid he knew for so long grow up enough to lecture him? Where was he during all this? "It's a little deep to ignore," he said slowly.

"What do you call watching your best friend die and then seeing another friend die right after? It sure ain't a scrape. And don't say it. I know it is a scrap compared to being in Vietnam. I ain't an idiot. But I know we're a tough group here. And you can get past it. Life ain't ever been easy. But I didn't ever think I'd see the day when it beat Steve Randle."

Steve blinked at him slowly, processing what he said. "Fair enough," he said after several minutes.

Ponyboy nodded his head slowly then got up. "Want a cup of water? I want some water." He walked into the kitchen without another word and Steve stared after him. He cracked a grin and shook his head. There was something wrong with that kid. But he was starting to see everything Sodapop saw.

His head poked out of the kitchen again and he said, "Well? Water?"

"Yeah, sure."

A few minutes later a glass was shoved his way and he took it. He finished it quickly, still not used to the great taste water had back here. He set the empty glass down a minute later. He looked at the kid, who was working on his cup still.

"Hey, kid."

Ponyboy looked up.

"Thanks. You're an okay kid, Pony."

"Yeah." Pony grinned. "You too."

Steve gave a light chuckle and shook his head. "Yeah, all right. We should get some sleep."

"You sure you can get some?" Pony asked carefully.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I think I can."

Ponyboy nodded and got up, taking both glasses to the kitchen. He reappeared. "Night Steve."

"Night, Ponyboy." Steve lay down on the couch and the light flicked off. He blinked his eyes, taking a few minutes to calm his heart rate. Since he'd been back, being in the dark almost spooked him until his eyes adjusted. He hated not being able to see what was around him. That was how he could be sneaked up on.

He stuck his hand in his pocket briefly, feeling the photo his friend had given him just before he had died. It was of him and his girlfriend and he was supposed to give it to her. It had a small note for her on the back. Steve hadn't even really made himself to think about it yet. But now he realized it was time to start. He'd get her the message. He'd let her know how much her guy had loved her.

Steve folded his hands behind his head and glanced around. His eyes were starting to adjust and he felt better. He knew where he was. He was safe here. It was the Curtis house. It was home. He made it home.

And now he could recover. Now he could work on not being a soldier.

He was finally home.