S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Last chapter! Longer than the rest. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited and followed. It means so much. :)

He's Him

Chapter 5

He Was Happy

He was happy.

God, he was so happy.

He had moved on. His heart had mended. His tears had dried up. His smile grew wide. His eyes again sparkled.

He was happy.

He had gotten a raise in his job. Gordon thought large of him. Of the other worker too, but man oh man, Gord had really loved him. Loved how he was so great with the customers. Especially the female ones. He loved how he was happy to work - happy to fix the cars, even happy to do the pumps and do the cash. He was his favourite.

And Gordon knew of his story. Knew of his life. Knew his family. Gord tried hard to keep in tabs. Afterall, he had liked him. He really did.

Gordon had knew when his heart was broken. When it was tore in two. Ripped apart.

Gordon knew when his brother had went missing. When his heart ached for his family, his little brother.

And Gordon knew when he was happy.

He was so happy.

That brother of his, back into his arms. That girl of his, put into the back of his heart. Moved on. He was happy.

Gordon gave him a raise. More money. Gord didn't have much as it was, but he liked him. He deserved it.

His friend had graduated. He would have been in the same class, if he hadn't dropped out three years ago. His little brother had been upset, and he understood. He really did. But school wasn't the place for him. Never was. He didn't care, he accepted it. Embraced it. Stayed happy. So when his friend had put on that cap and gown, walked up on that stage and grabbed that diploma, turning the blue tassel to the left, he screamed. He stood up in them bleachers, stood up and waved his hands around, and screamed. Shouted his friends name, over and over and over, ignoring all the glares from others in the crowd.

Because that was his friend down there. His best friend. And he'll be damned if he wasn't happy for him. Happy.

They had celebrated that night. A party. A big one. Invited almost everyone on the east side. Friends from school had come, those met at the gas station had come too, and some just charged on in, seeing the party from the road.

It was a great party. Lots of booze, lots of music, lots of card games. But lets face it, he didn't need booze. He had a buzz that lasted forever.

He made cake, too. Made it himself. The way he liked it. Not many ate it, complaining of the amount of sugar and chocolate icing, but he didn't care. He ate plenty, and so did his friends. Especially the one cracking dumb jokes all night.

He gave his little brother a beer. He felt he deserved it. He might not have been the one graduating, but he had passed another school year, got a shiny report card to go with it. That little brother of his had worked hard. He knew it - saw it. And boy, was he mighty proud.

So happy.

Of course, his older brother wasn't as much. Snatched the bottle right out of that boys hand the minute he laid eyes on it, glaring at his younger brother strongly. He had stepped in. He hated when they fought.

Told his brother to relax. Give the guy a break. He was sixteen, a genius, and good. A good kid. One beer couldn't hurt.

His big brother did. Took a breath, blinked his eyes, and handed the bottle back. Gave a smile too, but not without assuring that the boy would have one, and one only. But it was a victory to his little brother, and the smile on his face stretched ear to ear.

He loved that smile. It made him smile too.

God, that boy made him smile.

He made him so happy.

His friend had handed in his notice on the job they had shared. Wanted to put the diploma to good use. He understood. He couldn't hate the guy. Sure, working without him would be lonely, but he was still happy. He still liked his job. And besides, it's not like his friend was leaving, he was just going to community college. He still practically lived at his house, drank his beer, played his cards, ate his food.

They would always be friends. Best friends.

And he was happy for him. Always happy.

He had met a girl. She was beautiful. Her eyes were piercing blue, bright and dazzling. The lightest he's ever seen. Even lighter than his brother's. It brought out her hair; strawberry blonde. It was just passed her shoulders, soft and gently curled. Her nose was small; her lips wide.

But he loved her smile. It showed her white teeth, perfectly straight. It was a perfect smile, beaming across her face, lighting up a room.

Lori was shy. She'd get embarrassed, especially around the gang, but he loved it about her. Over time, she grew close to everyone. She'd talk more often, laugh more often, and smile. He loved when she showed off her smile.

He had told her to show it more. Show off her pearly whites, let the world see the brightness. The sparkle she had. And sometimes, she did. She'd let loose, just smile. And it was because of him. He always made Lori smile that smile he had so adored.

He was just always so damn happy. So cheery.

His eighteenth birthday had come.

It was a good day.

The party was small. Much smaller than that of the graduation celebration, but it's okay. Money had been tight, real tight. His older brother's truck had broken down, and new parts had to be bought in order to get it running again. Some parts they couldn't even afford, so they just had to leave it as it was.

He had promised to fix the truck on his own. He promised his brother it would be up and driving again in no time.

His family had felt bad. Wanted a big party. A cheery party. Lots of booze, lots of music, lots of card games, and lots of people.

But he didn't mind. Didn't mind it one bit.

There was music. Lots of it. Booze was stolen - his friend was an expert at that sport - and there were still card games. He doesn't know how many poker games they had went through. He'd be lying if he hadn't used different...strategies...to help his game status, but he's pretty sure the other players knew. Five guests had attended the party. Five friends. His brothers and girl included.

And those friends, he couldn't ask for anyone better.

They were his family.

They made him happy.

His little brother made his cake. Made it extra sugary. Extra sweet. Just the way he liked it.

Man, he loved that kid.

And everyone ate it. Everyone had a slice; didn't even complain of the amount of chocolate icing. He had a feeling they were only eating the desert for him, but he took it. It warmed his heart. Made him smile.

His life was going so good.

So great.

So happy.

And then that letter came. That manila envelope.

And then he was scared. So scared.

But his family. His friends. He could tell it was hitting them hard.

His big brother. Man, he went to the army recruitment office more times than once. Over and over. Begged the men to leave him. Begged them to just not take him, let him stay home. His brother had wanted to be the protector, wanted to save him. He loved him. He really did. But he couldn't protect him. Not this time.

His friend. The jokester. The clown. He saw how it was effecting him, saw it hitting him to the core. He was strong, yes, but he had a soft center. Cared so much for his friends, his family. He wanted his friend to continue laughing, continue cracking jokes, but he knew it was hard. Knew it was near impossible.

Lori had cried. Cried for days. Cried for hours. He comforted her, cuddled her, told her it was going to be okay. He didn't know. Of course he didn't know if it was going to be okay. How could he? But she needed to hear it. He knew she did.

And that boy. His little brother. With his big sad eyes and those soft rosy cheeks. God, it hurt him so much to leave him. He wanted to stay. Wanted to stay so badly. Curl back up in under the blankets with him, wipe away his tears and stay. Stay forever. But he couldn't. He had to leave. It hurt. It hurt his little brother too. He saw it. Felt it.

His friends, his gang, all had brought him to the station. All of them.

He wished they hadn't. It made it harder - leaving. Watching them as he boarded the plane, watching his little brother cry...it was real hard. But he knew they had come for them. They needed it. Needed that last goodbye. So he wiped his eyes, grabbed his bag, and didn't look back. Couldn't look back.

But then he came around the corner. Wearing the same uniform as him, carrying his own bag.

His best friend.

He was so angry at him. Wondering why the hell he had given up his life. Given up college.

But his answer was always the same.

"I did it for you."

"You really think I'm gonna let you go over there alone?"

And his anger faded. Just like that.

It was hard. The army. The war. Everything about it. Hard.

The training. The hiding. The shooting. The killing.

The nightmares that came after. The guilt and the fear.

And when his bestfriend had been pulled away. Dragged on another chopper. Up, up, up, and away. Away, leaving him alone, strangers by his side. Many as scared as he was.

But he managed. He fought his way through. The letters had kept him going. His little brother, telling him of his exams, telling him of a new book. He smiled reading them. A real smile, even when he didn't think it'd be possible. It was.

After everything, he was still happy.

It was a dangerous attack. Unexpected. Gooks, coming from all directions, guns blazing, bullets zooming past him, soldiers on his platoon going down, their bodies horrifically falling, lifeless.

Explosions. Everywhere. Screams. Everywhere. Blood. Everywhere. Bodies. Everywhere.

His heart raced inside his chest, his breathing fast and heavy. He didn't lose focus. Not once.

Until Jack Hobbert got hit. His buddy. Fellow soldier. A bullet pierced his abdomen, blood oozing everywhere. He watched it. Watched him go down. And he ran. Boy, did he run. Would've made his brother proud.

He was gone before he made it. Hobbert had bled out quickly - he was unable to stop it. No use.

Bullets increased, grenades flew through the air, gooks charged in like no other. Hundreds of them. He ducked his head, covering.

But someone called his name. His commander. Helicopters started up, the blades shouting and whirring.

He looked up, saw the helicopters, saw the commander. Saw the soldiers boarding the aircraft. Knew he had to run. Knew he had to try. And he did. But he was so far, had such a long distance to cover.

A bullet hit his side. Made him scream.

Another hit his leg. Made him go down.

It hurt. God, it hurt. But he was too focused - had too much adrenaline.

He had called for help. Screamed for the commander. For the soldiers. For a medic.

But they didn't come. It was too late. The gooks had surrounded him, racing towards the helicopters, shooting their rifles like water guns.

He watched the helicopters. Watched as they rose. Watched as they flew. Flew far away. Leaving him alone.

And he knew it was it.

It was it.

Quick. A bullet to the head. One final bullet.

But he was happy.

Even in his final moments, thinking about home. Thinking about his big brother, all strong and protective. Thinking about his friend, cracking jokes and creating smiles. Thinking about his boss, how Gordon loved him like a son. Thinking about his baby brother, those big green eyes and those rosy red cheeks. Thinking of his girl, and her pearly white smile. His bestfriend, who gave up his damn life for him.

Even in the end, when the barrel of the opposing force's gun raised to his head, he wasn't afraid. His heart still remained full.

He was so happy.

He was so cheery.

He was Sodapop.

And now, ...he's gone.

But he's happy.

Still so fucking happy.