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There was an angel hovering above Sodapop’s face. Was he dreaming? Sodapop blinks dazedly at the angel, attempting to sit up, only to fall back again. There was a sharp pain in his side.
“Soda! Soda, get up!” the angel kept shouting at him.
Soda opens his mouth to tell the angel that he can’t get up, but the words won’t come out. His mouth feels as if something sticky has been poured inside. It tasted like metal and Sodapop wrinkles his nose, wanting to spit it out. The pain in his side didn’t seem to hurt anymore, just a faint warmth that slowly spread all over his body. Soda was so tired. He wished the angel would quit shouting at him so he could go to sleep. His eyelids grow heavier and then drop closed.
Then suddenly, the faint warmth in Soda’s side became a burning hot pain. It was as if fire was licking at him, tearing him apart. Someone is screaming, and Sodapop wants to tell them to shut up, because the sound is hurting his ears.
“Soda! Soda!” the world snaps into focus again. The angel is gone, replaced by a boy who had blood running down his nose and a desperate look in his dark eyes. Steve Randle, Sodapop’s best friend. Pity they never had the chance to be something more.
“You’re bleeding,” Sodapop tells him dazedly, but the words come out slurred and all wrong. “Yur bee’ing.”
“I’m bleeding?” Steve understands the slurred words anyway. He always understood, Soda thinks sleepily. “Soda, look at yourself!” Steve is still talking, the words filled with panic. His hands push down on Soda’s side, sending a wave of pain through him. The person from before starts screaming again, but this time Sodapop realizes that it’s him who’s screaming.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Steve fretts. “But I have to stop the bleeding, Soda.”
“I’m bleeding?” Sodapop frowns in surprise. He tilts his head up to peer at himself, biting back an embarrassing whimper of pain. Sure enough, his entire side is soaked in blood, staining the grass below them, Sodapop’s uniform, Steve’s hands, and everything around them. That must be the source of the burning pain.
“You’re just noticing?” Steve asks dryly. He looks annoyed, but Sodapop knows him well enough to know that he’s scared out of his mind.
Gunshots ring behind them and Sodapop grabs Steve’s hand with the last of his strength. “You have to go.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you.” Steve hisses, pressing down hard. Sodapop can’t bite back the cry of pain this time. “Shit,” Steve grunts. “We have to get you back to the base. Come on, sit up.”
“I can’t.” Sodapop rasps.
“Yes, you can. I’m not letting you die on a damn battlefield.” Steve snaps at him.
“I can’t, Steve.” Sodapop says firmly. God, he’s so tired. “Go.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Fucking hell, Steve, just go!” Soda feels a wave of annoyance at Steve’s stubbornness.
“Can you please just get it through your thick head that I’m not leaving you?” Steve snaps, shaking him slightly. Sodapop cries out again, and Steve blanches. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Soda.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just get the hell out of here!” Sodapop manages to grit out through the pain. He’ll be damned if Steve dies here because of him. “Steve, I’m dying.” He blurts out. He knows it’s true. He can feel it.
Steve’s face seems to turn a shade paler than he normally is. “Don’t say that. You’re not dying.” His voice comes out wrong, as if he had to force the words out.
“I am,” Sodapop says. To his surprise, hysterical laughter bubbles up from between his lips. Steve stares at him as if he’s gone crazy, and hell, maybe he is. “I’m dying, Steve.”
The words seem much more real now that he said them aloud. Sodapop Curtis was going to die on a battlefield in Vietnam. He’s going to be one of the many nameless soldiers that no one is going to remember in a few years. How ironic. How could the boy who could charm just about anybody with just a smile die like this?
“Don’t say that,” Steve repeats, quieter this time. “What about Darry? And Ponyboy? What are they going to do without you?” His dark eyes seem to search Sodapop’s face for something. “What am I going to do without you, Pepsi?”
“You’ll figure it out.” Sodapop grins at him weakly. “You always do.”
“Not without you, I won’t.” Steve protests.
Sodapop ignores his words. “Take care of Ponyboy and Darry. And Two-Bit, too. They’ll need you.”
“Take care of them yourself, when you get home.” Steve says weakly. His eyes are starting to fill with tears, which somewhat surprises Soda. In all their years of friendship, he doesn’t ever recall a moment where Steve cried in front of him. Not after being beat and kicked out by his dad, not after his ma died, not even when they lost more people than they could ever imagine losing.
“Take care of ‘em, Stevie.” Sodapop says, voice firm but faint. He’s growing even more tired than before. His eyelids keep drooping, and he has to fight to keep them open. His breaths feel slower, as if he can’t suck them in fast enough. “Swear it.”
“I swear it.” Steve gives in, promising. Tears are openly dripping down his cheeks. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away.
“And take care of yourself too,” Sodapop adds, forcing a smile for him, despite the pain. “You deserve it, man.” “
Okay,” Steve whispers. “I will, Soda.”
“I love you,” Soda says impulsively. Under any other circumstance, would he have said those three words for fear of ruining their friendship. Well, fuck it. He wasn’t going to die without telling Steve the truth about his feelings. He only wished they both had more time. “I fucking love you, Steve. Now get the hell out of here.”
This time, Steve doesn’t protest. He just cups Soda’s face, staring down at him, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of Soda’s face. “Goodbye, Pepsi,” he whispers, his voice cracking.
Sodapop's blur over then, and the world starts to fade away, the edges slowly darkening. But just before Sodapop closes his eyes for the very last time, he swore he heard Steve say ‘I love you’ back to him.