Chapter Text
Only minutes after Soda, Darry and the rest of the house woke up. Once everyone was up and going, they realized they had no flour to make Darrel’s famous Christmas morning pancakes, so he reluctantly decided to go to the only open grocery store to buy the missing ingredient.
He knocked on the door to the bathroom. “Soda, I’m going out to get flour. Make sure Steve doesn’t break anything.” He requested, waiting for a response. He thought he heard a ‘yeah’, so he nodded to himself and said goodbye to everyone before throwing on his coat and grabbing his truck keys.
He made his way down the porch steps and got in the truck, pulling away and humming along to the Christmas song that came on the radio.
He had slept like a baby, which he hadn’t in a long time, and he was so refreshed that he wondered how much work he could get done that day if it wasn’t Christmas. His back wasn’t aching like it normally did, and his eyelids didn’t feel so heavy.
His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he began to sing.
“With the kids jingle-belling and everyone telling you be of good cheer, it’s the most wonderful time, of the year,” he finished, shutting off the vehicle and striding into the store.
He nodded to the man at the counter and hustled to the baking aisle, grabbing the bag of flour and some chocolate chips, which he knew his brothers loved to have in their pancakes.
He checked out, left the man an extra five dollars out of Christmas spirit, then got back in his truck and set the grocery bag onto the passenger seat.
As he drove through town, he passed the graveyard and slowed down. He knew exactly where his parents’ headstones were located, as well as Dally and Johnny’s. He considered going to wish them all a Merry Christmas, but then thought that foolish and realized he could just say it from the truck. He nearly pulled away, but then he felt an ache in his chest, an ache that he owed it to his friends, to their parents, to go and say it to them.
He stopped the truck and hopped out, walking down the snow-covered path to their parents’ headstones. When he was nearly there, he froze in his tracks, eyes widening as he glimpsed a head of messy brown hair and felt a jolt of fear shoot through him. He knew that hair, and that jacket, and those dusty boots.
Then he saw the gash in his neck, and the blood pooling in the stark white snow.
Then he ran.
He ran so fast he should’ve tripped, but the sheer terror driving his soul let him make it to his little brother without busting his lip open. He dropped down beside him, holding his face. “No no no no no-” he begged, unfurling his scarf from his neck and securing it as tightly as he could around Soda’s without choking him. “Shit, Soda- shit shit shit,” Still cursing, and beginning to cry, he looked around frantically, hoping there would be a random bystander that could go call their house, but the only out of place thing he saw was a folded piece of paper on their mother’s grave.
“Oh, little b-buddy, no.” He cried, snatching the letter and stuffing it into his jacket pocket. He ached to read it, but knew he was running out of time. As carefully as he possibly could, he scooped his brother into his arms and held onto him closely, rushing to his truck. He managed to get the passenger door open, laying Soda down on the seats. He was about to climb in when he spotted a phone booth. The thought of taking his eyes off of him destroyed him, but the thought of potentially losing him because he didn’t call home made him want to throw up.
So he kissed Soda’s forehead, made sure he still had a pulse, then sprinted to the phone booth, fumbling to put a quarter in.
It picked up after one ring. “Hello?”
It was Cherry’s voice that reached his ears. “Cherry, I need you to call Danielle at the hospital right now and ask her to come to our house. Tell her to bring supplies to do stitches. It’s Soda.”
“O-Okay. I’ll do that.”
“I’ll be there as fast as possible.” He hung up and ran back to his truck, getting inside and resting his brother’s head on his lap as he sped through the streets, ignoring traffic lights and zooming back to their house. It was far closer than the hospital, and he knew if he brought Soda to the hospital in this condition, his brothers would be put in a home on the spot.
He wouldn’t lose them, too.
His truck came barreling into the driveway, and he practically fell out, running over and lifting Sodapop out of the vehicle, cradling him as he hurried across the lawn and up the front porch, into the house where Cherry was waiting for him, bandages and gauze in hand.
She inhaled sharply at the sight of the bloody scarf and Soda’s graying face. Oh no. “Danielle should- she should be here, soon.”
He nodded, gently setting Soda down on the carpet, kneeling beside him. “Hold on, kiddo. Come on.” He ran a hand through his hair which was wet from lying in the snow. “Breathe, Pepsi Cola. C’mon,” he pleaded, cupping his face in his hand. He was still breathing, but just barely.
Where the hell is Dan-
The door flew open and Danielle came tearing in, medical supplies in hand. She saw Soda, lying there, bleeding through the wool of his brother’s scarf, struggling for every breath. He’s your patient, Danielle. For now, he isn’t Ponyboy’s big brother, or Darrel’s little brother, he’s your patient, and you have to save him.
She lowered herself beside Darry, assessing what she had to do first. She steadily removed the scarf, a deep sense of dread washing over her as she saw how large of a cut he had managed to make. Oh, Sodapop. What’ve you done? She held her hand out, Cherry handed her a clean dish towel, then she pressed it to Soda’s neck, stopping as much of the bleeding as she possibly could before attempting stitches.
Throughout the painstaking process, she did her best not to glance over at Darrel, in fear that she would take one look at him and break down. She didn’t want to see that. She only wanted to see tears of relief when she managed to save his brother. C’mon, Dani. Focus.
With Cherry’s help, she was able to stitch his neck, and it looked promising until his body slowly, than quickly, began to shake violently.
“What’s happening?” Darry shrieked, grabbing Soda’s hand in his own. “What’s wrong?” He frantically looked towards Danielle.
“He’s-he’s-” Dying.
He stopped shaking, he stopped moving.
He stopped breathing.
Darry stopped breathing, too, eyes stuck on his brother’s still-parted lips. No- no no. He’s not gone. He’s still breathing. His lips will move, and they’ll smile, and everything will be all right.
“I’m going to start chest compressions.” Danielle said, raising up on her knees and placing her hands on Soda’s unmoving chest. Using all her force, she performed them expertly, taking the required pauses, praying with every push that they would work.
Darry never thought he would be so grateful to hear a coughing fit, but relief was the only thing that filled his entire being when Soda began to cough forcefully. “Little buddy!“ He gasped through sobs. “Oh, honey-”
Soda’s eyes were somehow wild and vacant at the same time. They met Darry’s. “Cl-Clark, Kent-” He choked, holding onto his hand with all the strength he had left. “Take-Take care of-of him- o-okay?”
“Pepsi, what are you… you doing?”
“Promise me.”
“Sodapop,”
“Darrel, pr-promise me t-to keep-keep Neigh alive.” Weeping, he took a shuddering breath. “I-I’m sorry. I-I love-love you.”
He took one more laborious breath, and then he took no more.
Neither did Darry until he physically couldn’t handle the lack of air. And then he began to wail, burying his face in Soda’s lifeless chest and soaking his old shirt with a waterfall of tears.
This isn’t happening. He isn’t gone he isn’t gone he isn’t fucking gone.
But as he hid his crying eyes in the thin fabric, he knew his thoughts weren’t true.
Sodapop Curtis was dead.