Chapter Text
Sodapop couldn’t wait to get home.
He hadn’t had the best day at work. Two off-their-rocker customers, delayed shipments, Steve’s day off, a headache, some weird loiterers that he kept telling to leave the property if they weren’t there for anything, and an extra hour than usual all added up to a rough time. His body ached for a hot meal and to collapse into bed, ranting to Ponyboy about his day before falling into blessed sleep.
It was dark by the time he got off work, past rush hour. He started his usual route home, passing only a few people. No one wanted to be out in the biting early November wind. He shivered, tucking his arms in close. He wondered what Darry was making for dinner. Hopefully soup. It felt like a soup kind of day.
Soda didn’t notice the three guys until he was almost walking by them. They oddly kept to the shadows, out of the streetlights, their jacket collars turned up against the wind.
He made to go past them when they suddenly stepped into his way.
It was the three guys who had been loitering around the DX. They seemed to be in their late teens or early twenties, and they certainly weren’t socs. Their clothes were too worn through for that. But there wasn’t grease in their hair, and Soda didn’t recognize them from any of the local gangs.
“Hey, what’s up, kid?” the tallest one asked. His words sounded kinda funny, like he wasn’t local. He almost sounded like Dallas. New York guys? There was a bite to his words, and he held himself like he thought he was all that. He had a slight curl to his lip, revealing straight, nicotine-stained teeth. A smattering of freckles across his white face would make him appear almost boyish, if it weren’t for the eager, sickenly appraising look in his eye.
When Sodapop was younger, he hadn’t been able to hold his own as well. He had always been a scrappy kid, but he’d gotten jumped by socs once or twice. They had this same look in their eyes—like they were staring down prey, waiting for some fun.
“Just goin’ home,” Sodapop said, as level as he could manage. Unease crept through his veins. “Y’all should be doin’ the same. Too cold out for anythin’ else.” He made to walk past them, but he was shoved back. “Hey! Watch it.” His heart started thumping erratically. He was a good fighter, but he knew he couldn’t take on three guys like this at once.
“Or what?” one of the other two asked, a pale, towheaded guy with a short stature and ripped biceps.
“Or my brother will come huntin’ ya, and he’s not the sort you want to get on his bad side.” He could see the look on Darry’s face now—the kind of stare that would scare anyone shitless if he had his sights fixed on them. The kind of stare he only got if someone threatened or hurt his boys.
“Oh, didja hear that?” Leader guy looked at his two lackeys. They all were smirking. “Little boy needs his big brother to come save him. How cute.”
Soda fumed, his hands clenching into fists. He wasn’t some kid. He’d recently turned eighteen, and he wasn’t going to give these guys the pleasure of him being riled up by their mockery. “Let me by. I ain’t dealin’ with this shit tonight. It’s been a day, okay?” The last thing he needed was a jumping. His head hurt enough already, and he didn’t want to panic anyone by coming home bloody.
The guys laughed amongst themselves, and a shiver ran up Soda’s spine. The tallest one turned back, a sick glimmer in his eyes. “Oh, a day, has it? Trust me, kid, you’ve had a great day so far compared to what you’re about to go through.”
Sodapop felt like throwing up. His eyes darted around. Away. He had to get away. Could he outrun these guys? He wasn’t sure. Where the hell were people? No one around to hear him scream. Shit, shit, shit.
“I wasn’t kiddin’,” Soda said, inwardly cursing as he was unable to keep the tremble out of his voice. “I got a whole gang behind me. They’ll come itchin’ for a fight if I’m not straight home.”
“S’okay,” said the third, a lean black guy with high cheekbones, unruly brown hair, and unusual, unsettling blue eyes. “We won’t be around long enough for no fightin’.”
No fighting? What was this about if it wasn’t a jumping? He could only come up with a couple of options on the spot, and his heart sank with each one. Did they want to take him? Or kill him?
Soda barely had the time to get his arms up before the first punch was thrown. He stumbled back, pain flashing through his forearms, then darted from the curb into the street.
He only got a few steps away before he started choking against his shirt collar, someone dragging him back.
Oh, no. He did not want to stick around for whatever these guys had in mind.
“HELP! HEY, S—”
A hand clamped over his mouth, and Soda bit as hard as he could. The guy yelped, then delivered a blow to Soda’s head. The world went black for a moment before Soda regained his vision. His headache returned, throbbing along with the goose egg that was surely forming on the back of his head.
Hands pulled his arms behind his back, and someone else wrapped his arm around Sodapop’s neck, blocking his airway.
No, no, no. Deep panic set in. He strained, but the guys’ grips on him only got tighter. He was going to die. They were going to kill him. He hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. His brothers’ and friends’ faces flashed across his mind.
What did they want from him? It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t understand. Didn’t he at least deserve to understand?
Darry. He needed Darry.
His lungs burned, and everything went black.