A/N: Oh my gosh, I am so sorry this took so long. December was so hectic. But I'm catching up now and things are slowly coming back to normal. I hope you guys like this and I sure hope it was worth the wait!

This was requested by Badger222012. She asked for not only Soda and Steve but the situation as well. So thank you for the request!

I am still taking requests, even if they take a little while so feel free to leave them in reviews or message them to me!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders.

Story Fourteen

Soda and Steve

"What Are Friends For?"

Midnight

Rain pounded against the windows and roof and wind was blowing so heavily that in a fleeting moment, Soda briefly wondered if it could blow the house over. This was Oklahoma after all. Anything was possible. He turned from the window and re-positioned himself on the floor, reshuffling the deck of cards in his hands.

He couldn't sleep. Everyone else was already in bed but he wasn't at all tired. Normally Steve would still be up with him. But Steve, sick with the flu, was at home and in bed. Steve must've been feeling horrible because he hadn't even called that day. Usually when Steve was sick you had to yell at him to either hang up or go home and sleep. Soda sighed and looked down at the cards in his hands.

Bored. He was so bored. Could you die from boredom?

With a huff, Soda threw himself against the couch so that his head was resting on the couch cushions. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before moving again. He pushed the door open and stepped outside. His bare feet were in a puddle and he absently noted that it was cold. He looked around and crossed his arms over his chest.

He wasn't sure why he was out here, just that he needed to be out here. He wasn't even sure where the thought came from but he eventually decided it had to be his gut. Like most of his friends, his gut instinct was strong. But he was beginning to think this one was wrong. It was every bit was boring out here as it was inside. He was beginning to wonder if he should just go to bed. Maybe he'd fall asleep soon from lack of stimulation.

He turned around and reached for the door knob just as a violent cough sounded behind him. Soda's hand fell away from the knob and he turned to see Steve standing by the porch, drenched, and coughing so hard that he looked as if he was going to fall over.

Soda launched himself off of the porch, completely skipping the steps, and landed in the mud next to his friend. The feeling was slightly jarring but he shook it off and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "What are you doing out here, Steve?"

Steve shook his head as he coughed into his arm. When the coughing fit subsided, he looked up at Soda. "Old man kicked me out." He sounded winded.

"What? Come on." Soda led Steve inside the house and sat him down on the couch. "He kicked you out? In the rain? Even though you're sick?"

Steve covered his mouth as another cough ripped through him. Soda waited patiently for it to end. He only ever had patience with his gang. Other than that… Steve lowered his hand with a grimace. "Yeah... The asshole... don't care... You know that."

"Shit. Lay down, man." Soda gently guided his friend into a laying position on the couch. "Are you hungry?" Steve shrugged half-heartedly, which was answer enough for Soda. He moved quickly into the kitchen and flipped on the light. He glanced around the room before finding what he was looking for. He grabbed a can of soup and dumped it into a pot. He set it on the burner and turned it on then went back into the living room.

He eyed the room then crossed it in a few steps and pulled a quilt out of the closet and pulled it over Steve. Steve tried to wave him off but it was once again a half-hearted gesture. He knew Steve hated being taken care of but it was freezing outside, he was already sick, he'd walked all the way from his house from the looks of it, and he'd been fighting with his dad (something that takes a lot of energy when you have the flu and are coughing so much that your ribs ache).

"Your dad's an asshole," he muttered.

"You think?" Steve murmured. The lack of hate or anger in his voice made worry hit Soda like the viscous wind was hitting the house. This was not the Steve he knew so well. He rested the back of his hand against Steve's forehead and then tore it away. He was burning up.

Soda bit his lip for a moment then got up and went to the kitchen. Should he wake Darry up? He thought it over briefly before deciding against it. He'd handle it and if Steve didn't show much life in a half an hour (after he'd had some food), Soda would wake Darry up. He took the soup off of the stove and poured it into a bowl carefully.

If Steve didn't eat, he decided, he'd have to get Darry. Some people lost their appetite when they were sick. Steve never had. He'd eat whenever he wanted and sometimes, if it was a stomach virus, he'd get sicker later because of it. It never stopped him. Soda took the bowl carefully (he'd learned form past experience not to be sloppy with a bowl of soup, it hurt) and walked back to the couch. He knelt by Steve and gently offered the bowl to him.

Steve groaned and rolled over so his back was to Soda. "Steve," Soda said gently. "Have you eaten today?"

"No." The response was so quiet and muffled that Soda almost missed it.

"You need to eat this, man. I know you don't feel good but you need to eat."

"Screw off." The words were half-hearted again, with none of the usual teasing tones or false anger.

"Steve," Soda nearly growled, "if you don't eat this I will force it down your throat."

Steve slowly rolled back over and gave him a stubborn look that one would expect from a six-year-old. Soda swallowed his fear back. "Will you eat it? Please?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a kid." Steve rolled back over.

"Fine I'm counting to ten and then I'm getting Darry. One."

Nothing.

"Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seevveeenn…"

Nothing. Worry hit him again and Soda set down the bowl. He felt horrible waking Darry but he had no idea what to do right now.

"Eight. Nine… Nine and a quarter."

The only response was a grunt. At least it was something.

"Nine and a half."

"Don't wake him up."

"Will you eat?"

"I'm not hungry, you ass."

"Nine and three quarters."

"I'm fine."

"Ten." Soda got to his feet and moved to the hall. He heard Steve grunting his name and hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. If his friend came after him, at least it was something. But Steve's eyes were shut. Soda bit on his lip again and went down the hall. He slipped into Darry's room and sat on the edge of the bed. "Dare." He shook him lightly.

With a sharp inhale, Darry's blue eyes opened immediately. "Is it Pony?"

"No. He's fine," Soda told him gently. "It's Steve. He turned up. His dad kicked him out and he's real sick, Dare. He walked all the way here and he's coughing and he won't even eat."

Darry sat up immediately, pushing his hair out of his face. "Mm'kay. I'm coming." He got out of bed without another word or pause and led the way down the hall. He knelt by Steve and put his hand to the other boy's forehead. Hissing a low exhale, he pulled his hand away. "You're burning."

"I'm fine…"

Darry shook his head. "This is not fine. I heard you ain't eating."

"I ain't hungry." Steve rolled over again.

"Steve. You need to eat something. Come on. You ain't' ever full."

Steve grunted again.

Darry looked back at Soda and hesitated before standing. He took the bowl of soup off the ground and went to the kitchen without a word. Soda shook Steve. "Come on," he begged. "Just two bites."

"No. I'll take two bites and you'll make me eat two more."

"I won't."

"You will."

Soda leaned back on his heels and watched his friend for a moment. Steve was shaking, that much was obvious now that Soda was looking for symptoms. Darry came back with the bowl and sat down by the couch. "Steve," he said softly. "A few bites. It will make you feel better. It'll help your throat."

Soda glanced at the bowl and noticed that there were several spices in there that he hadn't put in. He knew there was a reason he'd fetched Darry. Well, several really.

At that, Steve glanced over his shoulder at them, his eyes open and finally showing interest. Slowly, he pushed himself up. It looked uncomfortable for him. Soda glanced at Darry, looking for reassurance, but Darry had his eyes on Steve and he looked grave and concerned. He passed Steve the bowl and Steve looked at it blankly for a few minutes before taking a bite. The bowl was nearly gone after a few minutes, although he was interrupted about half way through by a coughing fit. He handed it back and lay back down gingerly.

"What's going on, Steve?" Darry asked gently.

"Coughing," Steve muttered, closing his eyes. His face was seriously flushed. "Throat burns… I feel achy… I can feel the heat in my face too…"

Darry looked at Soda and jerked his head to the hallway. Soda followed him. "He's pretty sick. But do you remember a few years back? Dad was this sick and he pulled out of it without and kind of prescription. Sometimes there's one day that's much worse than the others. I think we need to watch him tonight. If he isn't better tomorrow morning, or maybe even in a few hours, we should take him to the doctor."

Soda nodded, trying to pretend that he wasn't alarmed. He'd half expected something like that but he had hoped for something different. "Okay." He looked over his shoulder. "I can sit with him. You go to bed."

"No, I-"

"Darry. You have work tomorrow morning and you work all day. I'm only working half the day tomorrow. You need rest."

"Soda, I can stay up with him. We both know that I have the most experience with-" And then they fell into a short debate. In the end, Soda got his way, a few more blankets for Steve, and a ton of instructions.

"Try to get him to drink water. Keep him hydrated. Check his temperature ever half hour. If it doesn't come down in two hours or so wake me up. Keep him covered up. Do not let him take any blankets off, we want him to sweat it off. If anything happens, I expect you to get me up."

Now, Soda sat by the couch, watching his friend with his complete attention. It had been about an hour, almost two and Steve had slept the whole time. He was covered with blankets but still somehow looked cold. He started sweating about ten minutes ago and Soda was so relieved he had been concerned he'd cry.

At one point Soda had been afraid to look away, afraid that if he stopped watching his breaths they'd stop. He couldn't help but remember when Pony had been this sick and how close they had come to losing him. Honestly, Pony had been sicker but Soda was realizing that it didn't matter. Sick was sick. Scary was scary.

As he'd sat in his fear, he'd let his mind wander back to when they'd met. It had been first grade and Steve had taught Soda his first card game. He remembered pranking their second grade teacher and laughing when a Soc in ninth grade had picked a fight with Steve for stealing his girlfriend. Steve had won of course.

What would he do if something happened? Soda pushed the question away. He couldn't think about that now.

It had been about two and a half hours now. Soda knew he should be waking Darry up but he couldn't bring himself to leave Steve, not even for a few minutes. He was close to convincing himself to just do it when Steve let out a low groan. Soda's eyes snapped to his friend's face.

Steve's eyes flickered open. He blinked a few times before fixing his gaze on Soda. "Hey Soda…"

"Hey." Soda felt his face relax into a small smile. "How do you feel?"

"Better actually… I still feel like I was hit with a car but…" Steve pushed himself up so he was leaning against the back of the couch, but sitting just the same. "I barely even remember getting here…"

"Were you that sick all day?" Soda asked softly.

"Yeah…" Steve scratched the back of his neck, eyes fluttering shut again. His exhaustion showed on every inch of his body but he looked somewhat alert, much to Soda's relief. "I've been in and out of it all day… Dad got drunk and wanted to know why I didn't go to work… I told him to go away in a very rude way and it escalated, although I barely even remember that."

Soda felt some of the tension he'd been feeling since Steve had stumbled to the house drain from him. This was the most he'd heard Steve talk all night. "I'm sorry man." He grabbed the glass of water beside him and held it out. "Here." Steve shot him a grateful look and took a couple of gulps. Soda reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling it away from his mouth. "Sip it," he said gently.

Steve looked at the glass regretfully before taking sips. He looked almost as if it pained him to take such small drinks. Soda remembered the last time he was sick and dehydrated and Darry had made him sip. It had been painful. He'd wanted to gulp it so badly.

"Thanks." Steve gave him the glass back. "You might get sick now you know…"

"Don't worry about it." Soda shook his head. "What are friends for?"

Steve shot him another grateful look before settling down on the couch again. "I'm sorry I ain't much company."

"Don't worry." Soda gave him a small smile. "Just get rest." He reached out and touched Steve's forehead again. He was much cooler. Soda let out the breath he didn't know he'd still been holding. Steve was asleep in minutes. Soda decided the danger was gone and resolved to fill Darry in tomorrow. He didn't need to be woken again. Besides, he might make Soda go to bed and take his place. Soda didn't want that.

Steve was his best friend. He'd take care of him. That's how it worked.

A few days later

Steve walked into the Curtis house and pulled off his jacket, throwing it onto the floor. "He in your room?"

Ponyboy nodded. "Yep. He's probably asleep though."

"Don't matter." Steve went in and nodded to Darry, who was set up in a chair by the bed. "I got it."

Darry looked up and nodded, getting up. "Remember to check his fever," he said quietly before leaving the room, probably to make soup for whenever Soda woke.

Steve sat in the chair and watched his friend, feeling a small smile tug at his lips. It would look strange to most people, the fact that he was smiling. But he couldn't help but smile at their relationship. This happened to them countless times. Soda got sick so Steve got sick too, or the other way around.

Soda woke up a half an hour later. He blinked at his friend sleepily before mumbling, "You don't have to stay with me." To be honest it sounded more like youdon'thavetostaywithme. But Steve understood.

"What are friends for?"