While all of my stories intertwine, this one specifically belongs with The Second Night (Darry's POV) and The Fifth Night (Pony's POV), set in the week of the accident. Now, it's Soda's turn...

THE FIRST NIGHT

"I hate'im."

A surprise gust whips my words around with the spitting snow, and Dally just shakes his head and cups both hands around his heated breath, his silver ring flashing.

"Soda, quit your bitchin' and hurry up," he barks, leaning over my fence like some New York wise guy, this unusual Northern weather bringing his accent on thick. "How long you think it's gonna take you anyway, Slo-mo?"

I jab my shovel against the icy snow and it stands on its own when I throw my hands up in frustration, my voice shooting up an octave. "You think he's lettin' me outta here?" I pull the gloves from my back pocket and start jamming my numb fingers into them. "I don't think you get it Dal. I've never seen Dad more pissed. He lit my ass up and then handed it back to me, along with 'bout fifty chores."

"He's out now though ain't he? Both of 'em?" His leather jacket makes a scrunching sound when he folds his arms together and he can't hide the shiver that's running through him. "Who says you gotta stay home and slave when they ain't even here huh? What, you Cinde-fuckin-rella now?"

Ponyboy blasts out of the den onto the porch, a string bean without a shirt, his bare feet hopping back and forth over frosted concrete. "Soda, you make it five," he points to me, "and maybe we'll talk." He runs back in without even acknowledging Dallas, slamming the door and damning the cold under his breath.

I look back at Dally and rub my wool coat sleeve under a sudden runny nose, draw in a powerful sniff. "But they're comin' back. My night's fucked Winston." And the defeat sets in when I tell him, "You can just go without me." I kick the shovel loose from the iceberg it's staked in and get back to scraping.

Dally doesn't look that disappointed. Why would he be when his Friday night still waits for him? "Sucks to be you man," he says through a grin that taunts. He pats my gate twice before he turns and lights a cigarette, his shoulders blocking the breeze, and he's already halfway across the slippery street when he calls out behind him, "Don't worry Soda, I'm sure I won't burn through all that high end tail. Maybe I'll leave a couple of the fat ones for ya tomorrow night." He and his blowing smoke vanish around the corner with the last light of dusk.

Asshole. Tomorrow night? I'll be lucky if Dad lets me out of the house by Spring, and I curse my father with every violent drag I take across the ice, the backs of my thighs on fire against my jeans.

"Hey Sodapop." I didn't even notice Johnny sauntering up the walk until he's right next to me, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of a jacket far too flimsy for Winter. "How's it hangin' man?"

I'm trying to stand up against the catch in my back after being bent over for too long and answer, "Aw you know, a little to the left and just below my knees." We grasp for a Greaser handshake and I haven't seen him around in awhile. "Where you been Johnnycake?" I unbutton a layer cause now I've worked up a sweat.

"I been around," is his standard answer, and he flips his collar up. "Uh oh, what'd ya do now?" he asks blinking into the wild wind, eyeing my work in progress, knowing me all too well.

I prop my arm on the shovel handle and smile at him standing in the warm glow of the windows. "Now what in the world would make you ask such a question? You know I'm a do-gooder who's just happy to help when I can." By now we're both chuckling.

"Well in that case you missed a couple spots. 'Bout broke my neck on the way up here," he razzes me like a brother and jogs up the steps to find Pony, ignoring my gloved middle finger. My smile warps into something more evil when I imagine my dad slipping on the slick spots I leave. Falling. Hard.

I'm in a rhythm now, almost done when Darry's headlights are turning in and I halfway forgot he's home for break. He's practically had full rein of the truck and been visiting all his circle jerk friends every chance he gets and it's starting to piss me off. And of course this fine evening he strolls in like he owns the world and maybe he does.

He starts to whistle the tune of Dixie when he sees I've been worked and been whipped like a damn mule. I throw down the shovel and shrug out of this hot coat. "Shut up Darry, I'm not in the mood to hear from the Chosen One," and I feel kinda bad talking rough, since I've missed him while he's been away at school. "Must be nice being able to run all over creation."

"What's that s'posed to mean?" and he stands there acting like he doesn't know how hard Dad is on me. The branches scratch and tangle, and I can hear Johnny's and Pony's muffled conversation spilling through the walls and across the frozen yard.

A faraway siren howls at the clouded crescent moon.

"Nothin'," I say and back down. I know it's my own dumb fault for getting busted with that booze. No matter that it was Darry who shared half the bottle.

"Why didn't you get Pony to help?" Darry moves away from our tension and picks up the shovel, starts swiping over the piss poor job I've done and I don't stop him.

"I tried. He wouldn't do it for less than five and I don't have that kinda cash." I take off my gloves and rub my blistered palms.

"Oh yeah?" he asks, not even close to out of breath. "Next time reel him in with a dirty magazine. I never mowed the yard once this summer." I think how brilliant that is while I watch him clear the bottom step with ease. He's always been brilliant. "Where'd Dad go?" he asks when he notices his car gone.

"Who cares?" and to that, Darry stops and turns around to face me. And I can't help but fling some more shit for good measure. "What? What do I care where Mom and that redneck bastard went?"

Darry fires up to defend his King and I try not to listen. "Soda, you're the dumbass who can't keep your mouth shut when he's lecturin' you. " And because he's right, I flinch a little. "What do you expect him to do when you smart off to him like that?"

I don't have an answer. Because the man who raised me to defend and fight for myself at all costs is the same one who wears me out when I do. And as much as I'd like to, I'll never be able to control those impulses. I'll never be a Darry. Or a Pony. I'm too much my father's son.

Darry glances all across the front path and driveway, lighted by the porch and flood lights. "S'good enough Soda," he says and grabs my coat where I shed it, "c'mon inside."

And I take a wistful look down the cold dark road, because somewhere out there Friday night goes on without me. And it sounds like it's already started off with a pretty good bang, judging by all those distant screaming sirens.

xXx

"Where'd Johnny run off to?" I feel a draft in the kitchen where the back door's been left open a crack, and I walk, bare feet over cold tile to shove it closed.

"I don't know. Said he had to be home for supper." Pony and I both know that's not true. The only thing cooking up in that house is a shitstorm. But Johnny doesn't like staying in any one place for too long. Not even our place. He's one of them drifter kids.

"Speakin' of supper, where's Mom?" Pony asks from inside a sweatshirt he's wrangling on. I wonder the same when I see the fish she left out to thaw on the counter. I wrinkle my nose at the raw juice that's pooling around it as it nears room temperature, which luckily happens to feel about as cool as a meat locker in here. I look at the empty fireplace and hope Dad builds a fire tonight.

Pony's left his hood up and his arms tucked inside his shirt and around himself while he watches TV, so I crank up the thermostat and don't really give much of a shit if Dad gets on to me about it later. Then I can't help but yank Pony's empty sleeves that hang limp at his sides, cross them quick over his front and wrap them around to tie behind his back like a straightjacket.

"Dammit Soda, quit," he says while he grunts and struggles but I can hear the tiny hint of a laugh in his pleading. I think. Or maybe that's just me.

"Shh, don't try and fight it Pony," I joke, pretending to be the mad doctor in the creepy Twilight Zone episode we saw last week, "I'm just gonna make a little itty bitty incision right here and you'll feel all better." And I keep thumping his forehead while I try and dodge his wild kicks.

"Darry help me," Pony shouts when our freshly showered brother walks through, but Darry's got his mind on bigger things, like finding his wallet and walking through a spritz of Dad's cologne and deciding who's the lucky girl tonight that's gonna have a prized pair of quarterback hands playing tickle underneath her skirt.

"Mom and Dad still ain't home?" he asks over Pony's dramatic choking and hollering to be let go. I squeeze and jerk him tighter.

"Nope."

"Well, tell 'em I went out and won't be havin' on no fish tonight. In fact you can tell Mom about the juicy cheeseburger I'm fixin' to eat," and he brings the tips of his fingers to his lips and kisses them off into the air. He's never been one to follow Mom's rules that closely.

"Darry, Darry please," Pony begs until Darry finally notices him. He eyes my tortured victim as he passes toward the door, tucking a wallet of cash and condoms in his back pocket. "Darry wait, please, please make him get off me."

"Sodapop," Darry says with a false threat to his voice and Pony stills himself to quiet, waiting for the save. Our big brother swings a coat on instead, grins and tells me, "Give that boy the dreaded lobotomy," and slams the door behind him.

xXx

Something's wrong.

So terribly wrong.

There's so much wrong in the air tonight, wrong pitting my stomach, wrong crushing my chest.

I've exhausted the hours hiding wrong from Ponyboy.

"Where you think they are Soda?" he asks, his voice thick with worry.

"Prob'ly just decided to get a bite to eat and you know Mom. How she likes to window shop." I dump the catfish in the trash can when he's not looking. Hand him a peanut butter sandwich.

I sent the kid back in his room earlier with a stack of mine and Darry's old skin mags, anything to keep him busy cause I can't handle any more questions.

I lost count how many times I've gone out and paced the porch, willing their car home, or at least Darry's. My stomach hollows with every passing hope.

I peer in Pony's door to find him asleep, his thirteen your old mind blown from all those busty centerfolds and his dirty little thoughts.

I turn off his light and walk into Mom and Dad's room. Lie in the middle of their bed and stare at the crack on the ceiling, until my eyes drift to Mom's crucifix on the wall. But I don't have enough wits to strike up even the smallest prayer. It's been so long. Have I forgotten how?

I roll over and see Dad's belt laying across his nightstand.

Christ Almighty Soda why can't you keep that mouth shut boy?

I reach out and touch the buckle, the leather. Grip it. Wrap it around my left hand and sit up at the bed's edge.

What do I care where Mom and that redneck bastard went?

I look to Mom's old painting, her most sacred of the Christ. Look Him dead on.

"Don't you do this to me," I warn Him, quiet and dangerous. "Don't you even think of doing this to me."

I glare so hard at Him, but He's forever glaring upward.

And I raise my arm and swing the belt down against the mattress like a whip. And I crack it once again. Twice as hard. My shoulders slump forward and my head hangs low, my hands grasping my father's belt, holding tight.

"Don't," I plead now with whispered shaking breath.

xXx

He rolls in right at curfew and I'm already out the door, meeting my brother on the walk. He speeds up when he sees me, his unbuttoned coat sliding halfway down his shoulders.

One look at me, the lighted house, the empty driveway, and Darry's registered all of it. His eyes are wide. He sounds young to me.

"Soda what? They haven't come home?"

xXx

He hangs up his coat, he closes Ponyboy's door all the way, he turns off the hall lights, the bathroom light and our parents' light and unplugs the colored bulbs of the sagging Christmas tree. I follow him around like a puppy, because maybe he knows what to do.

"Why didn't y'all come find me?" he asks but under his breath, headed for the kitchen drawers. And why didn't I? Would we be in this mess if I'd gone out to find him? Could I have found him? What? Did I do something wrong?

"I, I really didn't know what to do," I say, laying out all my cards, revealing all my helplessness and desperation, my hands tugging through my hair, "Darry I'm sorry."

He stops his digging and turns around immediately, his face visibly struck by something I've said. "Soda, I'm sorry. For being out." He still looks sharp. Dressed in his nice clothes and all. "And you didn't do nothin' wrong."

xXx

Darry grabs the phone book from the third drawer he's pulled out and takes his spot at the kitchen table. He's flipping through Tulsa's Southwestern Bell listings, licking his finger and sending the flimsy yellow pages flying. I scoot out my chair and collapse in my own place and wait for him to tell me what to do, what to think.

"Where'd they tell you they were goin'?" he asks me and it feels like I'm thinking back a hundred years to this afternoon.

My finger plays against my bottom lip. "Mom mentioned somethin' bout some fabric sale at Brown's, and then Dad said he was gonna run her by Rexall's for her medicine, but only after he checked out the new hardware store on Fourth." Their entire conversation as they climbed into the car suddenly comes back vivid now. Funny I hadn't known I was even listening to them after Dad slapped that shovel in my hand. And now I'm able to see more clearly his quick but warm smile when he passed me his gloves, can recognize it as a kind of truce he was offering, the one I refused when I simply looked away.

Darry seems frustrated after what I've told him, knowing there can't possibly be one hopeful explanation at all for our parents not to be back from a simple errand run. He returns to squinting at the directory. "They've gotta have a section for hospitals right?"

"I'd imagine," is all I can offer once my heart remembers to pump again.

He looks up at me and shrugs. "I don't know what I'm doin' either Soda," and I can't stand to hear him say that. "Only thing I can think of is to check and see if they've been brought in hurt somewhere." I nod my head cause that sounds smart and I need so badly to hang on to that part of him.

"Let's see we got Hillcrest, we got St. Francis," Darry lists them off, "which one's closest to Fourth?"

Does it matter? Did they even make it that far?

"Hell I don't know. Try Hillcrest," I tell him, and stand up to pull the phone over.

I jump out of my skin startled when I run into Pony rounding the corner. "Pony," shoots out of my mouth on an explosive breath, my hand flies over my heart. "Man you scared me." His hair's a wreck. His sweatshirt's rumpled and my old jeans hang low on him. He looks confused.

His voice, soft and sleepy. "Why's there a cop car outside?"

Everything stops.

My breath. My blood. My world.

I can't hear sound. Not even the pained "Darry" that tumbles out of me when I turn to face him. Everything now in slow motion.

My big brother looks up at me, crushed by the blow that's coming for us, knowing already what we've lost and I can't even hear his "Oh no" but can read it on his lips and watch his head shake back and forth twice against all of this. Our eyes become tangled together in our despair as we stare at each other frozen in these last few seconds before the knock, before the sky falls down.

xXx

Three short, official sounding knocks and the wolf's outside our door.

Three distinct raps, three warning shots that announce a lifelong battle, and the second that Darry stands up to answer our fate, a crueler world is set in motion.

Pony grabs for my elbow. "Soda, why are they here, what does this mean?" he asks panicked, finally waking up to the scene. I reach over with my hand and cup the back of his neck. It's the only comfort I can manage to give him right now when I'm so afraid myself.

On his way to the door Darry turns on him, "Go on, get outta here Pony," a futile attempt to keep our baby brother from having to witness this, but of course Pony won't have it and follows right behind him. My feet drag behind my brothers, my legs feel funny and my mouth is dry.

My mind is spinning. Maybe they're just hurt and these cops want to drive us to the hospital. Maybe Mom and Dad are in full body casts and couldn't dial a phone. But the rational part of me knows the hospital would've called about any injuries. They don't send the fuzz out to your house for broken bones. My stomach does a somersault.

When he reaches the door, Darry takes a quick look at me over his shoulder, as if he's making sure I'm with him, behind him, and our entire childhood together has brought us to this moment. Having each other, being there, is all we've ever known. He takes a breath, turns the knob and I brace for impact. It's on instinct I move to stand in front of Pony, like I can somehow take the brunt of it.

"We're sorry to disturb you so late. I'm Officer Wigand and this here's Officer Havanez. You happen to be Darrel Curtis Jr.?"

Darry answers "Yes sir," and when the men in blue both remove their hats in sympathy, I hear Darry faintly whimper, "No God."

xXx

"I'm deeply sorry boys, there's been a terrible accident.."

I drift away, above the moment. This can't be happening.

"...sorry to inform you Mrs. Margaret Curtis was pronounced dead at the scene..."

I absently touch my hair, freshly cut.

"Soda keep your head down and be still, I'm almost done." Snips of my hair float to the towel that protects our kitchen floor and I think she should've done this for a living the way she easily maneuvers both scissor and comb along my wet head. "Okay you can look up now, look at me hon, I just need to make sure you're even." She stands in front, studying me with the eye of a painter, the way an artist studies her work. Satisfied she unclips the towel from around my shoulders.

"How do I look?" I ask her, using my hands to feel if she left the front the way I'd asked.

"You're gorgeous, but that has nothing to do with your looks," she says like always. I shake my head because I really want to know if I look good on the outside. I thank her anyway.

"You'd better get to shovelin' Soda. Daddy and I have to run out for a bit..."

I feel Pony squeezing my palm, and I didn't even realize I'd reached behind me to hold his hand. My blood is frozen, a solid sludge in iced over veins. I float in and out.

"...Mr. Darrel Curtis was transported to St. Francis Hospital.. but unfortunately succumbed to his injuries at approximately..."

"God dammit Soda you know I love you right?" I walk away, knowing full well I'll make up with him later, we'll be laughing and joking, my father and me, the heated but passionate free spirits of the family. This too will soon be water under a forgotten bridge. But for me, not yet. He grabs and pulls me in anyway, and I allow myself to sink into his warmth, a strong man who's never been afraid to show affection. I'm wrapped by his rough and tattooed arms and his words are close to my ear. "Let this be over. I'm tired of fightin' you babe," and he hugs me the same at sixteen as when I was three.

Not yet. I pull away from him.

I close my eyes when Pony starts bawling and repeatedly telling himself it's not true. The officers don't stop with their impersonal reporting, trained I guess to keep driving down the middle when everyone around them is being ripped apart. I turn and grab for Pony, hold him up and wonder when I'm gonna break.

"...policies require us to take any minor children into the custody of the state until further..."

I'm drowning, too trapped in my chaos to truly understand what this means for Pony and me. But Darry's quick to say something to them. And the officers are already assuring him. "...good to hear. Believe me, we'd always prefer leaving the children in the care of family members, but you'll need to sign off on several forms and then we'll be able to release both boys in your charge tonight, and that can all transpire here, right now."

I take a good look at Darry, his face no longer wearing all the emotional expressions from before, taking the forms, answering their questions about where he currently resides, his agreement to stay within the county limits as a temporary guardian, and he hasn't even had time to digest what's happened to our parents before he's signing his name in a dozen places.

They quietly tell him something about identifying the bodies and I swallow the bile in my throat while my heart dies.

"We're so very sorry for your loss," they announce and I'm glad they're finally leaving. They've done enough damage. But they do sound genuine, and the old guy comes over to give Pony a pat on the back. "Sorry son." Pony lifts his head from my chest and watches them go, devastated where he stands.

To Darry they add, "Mr. Curtis, the Department of Social Services will follow up tomorrow to establish a temporary to permanent placement for your brothers," and they leave us to our grief and misery. But they don't make it far navigating my ice trap minefield before Darry races out the door and yells from the porch, "I want them. Permanent with me. How can I make that happen?"

My hands cover my face when I fall to the couch and weep for us all.

Not yet, I'd so arrogantly denied my father earlier. Not yet.

I could've been so much kinder.

My parents will never hold me again.

xXx

Darry's finally back in, leaned exhausted against the door with his papers. He's lost in thought, then suddenly remembers where he is, remembers us. He stands up and brings his arm out, beckoning. "C'mere," he says softly to both Pony and me. I immediately head for the person who looks most like my father. All we have left of him. "I'm so sorry," he keeps whispering, and with one arm he grasps me, the other waits open for the third brother. Suddenly he says concerned, "Pony, you ain't lookin' too good, let's sit you down." Then with alarm, "Soda grab him," and Pony collapses before either of us can reach the baby.

xXx

Pony came to, and now he's cried himself to sleep. On the couch, his feet are in my lap and his head rests in Darry's. I've wept enough for an army. Darry's held it together. I tell him, "You know it's okay to let go Darry, he's asleep."

xXx

"I'm goin' with you to identify them."

"Like Hell you are."

"You can't do that alone, Darry. I won't let you."

"I won't."

And that's all that needs to be said. It's understood he'll call Two-Bit for that.

I feel better.

xXx

"Can you wet this again?" Darry asks me, his voice raspy.

I run the cloth under the faucet, numb. Pony's struggling, bent over the toilet and vomiting for the fifteenth time. I'm worried.

xXx

We lie sprawled on the floor of the bathroom. Darry's actually passed out in the tub. The light of morning casts a grey glow through the tiny window. Motherless, fatherless, we three survivors of the night, are beginning to stir again.

A/N: Outsiders by SE Hinton

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