Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your patience! This is the final chapter of this story, so I hope it was worth the wait! I want to thank every single person who reviewed this story along the way, you guys are my favorite!

Chapter Thirteen

He remembered more than he would have liked to.

He remembered the splitting headache that he had gotten at the drag race, deciding to call it a night early even though he didn't have as much time to go out like this anymore. He remembered driving down that deserted road, feeling relieved to get away from all the bright lights. Then suddenly there were headlights coming right at him. He tried to swerve out of the way, but the car coming at him swerved with him, grazing the truck as it forced him off the road. Crunching metal. Blinding pain. And then an eerie silence.

He wasn't sure how long he had been trapped, but the worst part – even worse than the pain – was the silence. It was the silence that continually reminded him that no one was coming for him. It was the silence that tormented his mind, made him wonder if anyone was even looking for him.

He was constantly drifting in and out of consciousness while he had been trapped. There were times when he was lost within a haze of pain and fear. And then there were other times when he felt strangely awake and aware, trying to work out ways to free himself. He would yell until he was hoarse if he thought he heard any noise coming from up near the road. He would try and pull himself out from under the steering wheel which pinned him in place. He even got the glove compartment open at one point, hoping there'd be a tool or something he could use. But there was nothing.

He had been sure that he was going to die in that truck. Every time he felt himself drifting away he would prepare himself to never wake up again. He found himself contemplating an afterlife, wondering if he might at least get to see his parents again. All in all, after days of trying in vain to free himself, he eventually felt at peace with the idea that this could end soon and he wouldn't have to feel this pain anymore.

But it seemed that fate or life or perhaps even God above had other plans for Sodapop Curtis.

When he woke up in the hospital, he had very little idea of how he had gotten there. He had some hazy images of Darry and Steve in the truck, but he couldn't be sure that those hadn't been hallucinations. It wouldn't have been the first time he saw someone that wasn't actually there while he had been trapped and suffering from some pretty severe blood loss, not to mention the malnutrition and dehydration.

But none of that mattered when he opened his eyes and found his friends and family gathered around his hospital bed. Everything else melted away and the only thing that mattered was that he was no longer alone. It was strange, but when he woke up he found that he didn't have the energy to speak. But while that was a bit frightening, he revealed in being able to listen. He listened to his brothers' voices, his friends' voices, the doctor's and nurses' voices. He listened to the noises that the medical machines made around him, the sound of chairs scraping across the tile floor.

The hospital was never silent, and for that he was grateful.

Despite all the listening that he did, it was often difficult for him to really comprehend what was going on. And more than that, he found that for the first few days after he woke up he didn't particularly care to really know what was going on. He was out of that truck, he was safe and he was with his family. Anything beyond that just seemed so trivial. Despite his inability to speak, he was able to somehow convey the message that he felt comfort when he was able to hold on to someone. Perhaps they could see the panic in his eyes when they pulled away from him, but at all times someone would hold his hand, anchoring him in the present and assuring him that this was all real.

As days passed, it felt like haze in his head was beginning to slowly clear. He was starting to breathe easier, he could start to speak in small sentences, though sometimes he struggled with getting words out, even when he knew what he wanted to say. Still, he could tell he was improving by the relieved looks on the faces of Darry, Pony, Steve and Two-Bit.

"Hey, little buddy." Soda turned his head to see Darry entering the room. He had been disappointed when Darry had to return to work, but thankfully everyone else had worked out a way that there was always someone there with him. Right now, Steve and Two-Bit were sitting with him. Two-Bit had been babbling on about something that Soda could barely follow, but he was glad for the noise. "How are you feeling?"

Soda took a deep breath. He knew the doctor was encouraging him to speak more, but it was often difficult to find the will, especially since it was still difficult getting words out.

"T-tired," Soda stammered. It was becoming his usual answer to the often asked question, not only because it was how he usually felt but also because he had used the word so often that it was becoming one of the easier words to get out.

Darry gave him a skeptical look that told Soda that he suspected that Soda wasn't being as honest as he could be, but thankfully he didn't push the issue as he took a seat next to the bed. Soda was already reaching for him before Darry leaning forward to take his hand.

"I just got done talkin' to the doctor," Darry told him. Soda did his best to focus on Darry's words, wanting to understand what the doctor had told him. "He said that we might be able to take you home soon." Soda had very mixed feelings about this news. As much as he missed his home – he didn't even know how long it had been since he had been there – it was intimidating to think about going home when he couldn't even get out of bed. "The biggest thing he needs from you before that can happen though is for you to be able to eat and keep down solid food. Do you think you can try that today?"

Soda considered this for a moment before he carefully nodded. He knew that Darry really wanted to get him home; he couldn't even imagine what this hospital stay was costing them. He could at least try for Darry's sake. He still had a big question though.

"B-but…" he started, concentrating hard as he tried to form the words that he knew he wanted to say. "C-can I…" Some strange noises came out of the back of his throat and he felt frustrated. Why was it this difficult just to speak when he knew what he wanted to say? It was like certain words would just get lost on their way from his brain to his mouth. Finally he just raised his free hand and pointed down at his feet, hoping Darry would get the message.

He knew that there had been a lot of issues with his thighs and his hips, which had both been badly damaged in the crash. Over the course of the first couple days of him being awake, there had been a lot of poking and prodding of his legs, asking if he could feel things and asking if he could move his feet. The idea that he might not be able to walk was a scary one, and he didn't know how he could go home if he couldn't walk.

Darry frowned, clearly understanding what Soda was getting at. "Can you walk?" he supplied softly. Soda nodded. Darry sighed heavily. "Not yet. It's going to be a while before you'll be able to walk again. You need skin grafts on your thighs after you do some more healing and you may need more surgery on your hips. Then you'll have to go through a lot of physical therapy before you'll be able to walk again. It could be several months before we get to that point."

Soda squeezed his eyes shut at this news. It was difficult to process this idea.

A light touch on his cheek coaxed him to open his eyes. He looked up at Darry to find that his eyes were glistening as he fought for composure, obviously hating that he had to be the bearer of this news.

"I know it's hard to think about," he told Soda. "But it's going to be okay. We're going to get you through this. I promise you, Sodapop. We're all here for you and everything is going to be okay. You know why? Because you're still here with us. And we will never take that for granted."

Soda took in a shuddering breath. "Th-thank you," Soda mumbled thickly. "I k-knew you'd… you'd…" He took a deep breath and concentrating, wanting so badly to get this out. "I knew y-you'd never g-give up on m-me."

Darry smiled even as a tear streaked down his face. "You got that right, Pepsi-Cola."

"Darry?" Pony asked slowly. "What're we doin' here?"

Darry didn't answer immediately. They were in a car they had borrowed from Two-Bit, parked on the side of a street that was very clearly in Soc territory. These were houses that could probably fit his entire house in their living room. But he wasn't looking at the houses. Instead he was looking at the car that was parked in one particular driveway.

A brand new, bright red Chevrolet Camaro sat in the driveway. It hadn't been hard to track down; there weren't many of that model, even in this neighborhood. And word tended to spread fast whenever anybody got a fancy new car. The car probably hadn't been off the lot more than a couple months tops. The only blemish was a broken headlight alone with a scrape along the front left side of the car. Even from here Darry could see the green paint that had transferred in the crash.

This was the car that had run Soda off the road that night.

It had taken a lot of coaxing, but they had finally been able to get Soda to tell them what had happened that night. He told them about the car that had swerved across the centerline. Even though he had only gotten a glimpse of it, he was still able to clearly remember what kind of car it had been. It was second nature to him to be able to identify a car at a glance.

They had relayed this information to the police, who were conducting an investigation on what happened that night. But the Greasers had done some investigating of their own. It had taken Tim Shepard less than two days to find out which Soc had been bragging about his brand new, red Camaro just a week before Soda's disappearance.

"The fuzz ain't gonna do shit, and you know it, Darry," Tim had told him when he had given him the information about the car. "Even if they do find 'em and get a confession, worst they're gonna do is a slap on the wrist. We gotta take care of our own. Say the word and I'll send my guys after 'em." He grinned mischievously. "Trust me, he won't walk before Soda does."

It had been such a tempting offer. Soda had been in the hospital a grand total of three weeks trying to recover from the horror that he had endured. Didn't they deserve a little justice?

"Anna! Get back here!"

A little girl in pigtails had appeared from the house, running across the lawn as she laughed. She couldn't have been more than five or six years old. A teenage boy came calling out after her, probably not much more than sixteen.

"Anna, stay out of the street!" he called as the little girl was heading right for the road. Obediently, the kid turned and started heading for the teenager instead. The boy smiled as he scooped up what was assumedly his little sister. "You gotta be careful, Anna. You run into the street and you could get hurt. Promise me you won't go running into the street?"

"P'omise!" the little girl exclaimed, grinning in that carefree way that children had.

"John!" a harsh voice came from the house. A moment later, a man dressed in an expensive suit appeared in the doorway. At the sight of him, John was quickly putting the little girl down and pushing her behind him in a protective way that Darry knew quite well.

Darry narrowed his eyes as he watched what unfolded. The man – assumedly John's father – spoke in an angry undertone, so Darry couldn't hear what was being said. Even so, he could recognize the signs of a guilt-ridden lecture even at this distance. John kept trying to interject, but his father kept cutting him off, only getting angrier. Then the older man jabbed a finger toward the little girl who was cowering behind John's back. That seemed to set him off. John stepped forward, starting to yell something when suddenly his father smacked his open hand across his son's face. John stumbled backwards at the blow but his father seized the front of his shirt and yanked him back toward him. He said something in a low voice and then shoved him away, almost sending John tripping over his little sister.

In all honestly, had he been witnessing this scene in his own neighborhood, Darry would have been out of the car and heading over to help out the poor soul being pushed around by his parent. But this wasn't his neighborhood. He knew how to handle the parents of Greasers and hoods; he had no idea how to handle the parent of a Soc. So all he could do was sit and watch.

To his credit – and possibly a testament to how often this happened – as his father stormed back into the house, John collected himself well as he turned to his little sister.

"Hey Anna," he said with strained enthusiasm, "how 'bout some ice cream?"

"O-okay," the little girl mumbled, all the happiness from earlier drained away, clearly shaken by what she had witnessed.

He led her over to the car and helped her climb in. As he was circling around the front to get to the driver's side, he paused at the damaged front corner of the car. The corner that sported the distinctive green paint from Darry's truck. Darry watched carefully as something dark passed across this boy's features. It was like he was straining to remember something for the ump-teenth time and then was frustrated when he had no luck. And it was in that moment that Darry realized the truth.

He had no idea how that damage had happened.

Perhaps he was so drunk or high that he couldn't even remember the incident. Or perhaps a friend had borrowed his car that night and taken it for a joyride. Who knew? But what Darry did know was that it was not his place to pass judgment on this kid. He would pass off what he knew to the police, and then he would focus on his own family. Soda needed him more than ever right now, and going after this kid and risking getting thrown in jail just wasn't worth it.

Darry started up the car and began to pull off the curve.

"Things are rough all over, ain't they?" Pony said softly, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess," Darry reluctantly agreed.

It took no time at all for Darry to drive the now familiar path to the hospital, the entirety of their little detour only adding about fifteen minutes to the usual drive. The closer they got to the hospital, the lighter the feeling in the car was. Today was a very important day for them. Today was the day that they would finally be bringing Sodapop home.

His recovery process had been a rough one so far and it wasn't over yet. He had been unconscious for four days after arriving at the hospital. Even after regaining consciousness though he still wasn't in any fit shape to go home. It had taken two more weeks of surgeries, recovery time and the beginnings of physical therapy to get him to a point where they could finally bring him home, though he would have to go back to the hospital in a couple weeks for skin grafts, plus there would be regular visits for more extensive physical therapy.

Even with all this hanging over their heads, it was a relief to see Soda finally beginning to heal from the horrible ordeal he had been through.

Darry and Pony immediately followed the now painfully familiar path up to Soda's hospital room. As they entered, Darry couldn't help but grin. Steve and Two-Bit had already helped Soda get dressed and got him out of bed and into his wheelchair. The idea that Soda was going to be confined to this wheelchair for several more weeks – or even several months – was a troubling thought. But he had to keep reminding himself that this could have turned out so much worse.

"Looks like you're ready to go," Darry laughed.

"More than…" Soda started and then paused. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "More than ready." Then he gave his big brother a small smile.

Darry grinned. Soda had been working a lot on his speech lately and had been making huge improvements. The rest of them had to learn quickly to be patient and not jump in and try to supply Soda with the words he was searching for unless he asked them to. They had tried to do that a few times in the beginning and he had gotten very upset with them. And there were few things that Darry found more heartbreaking than seeing his bedridden and battered brother getting worked up and upset with him. They had to learn to let him work it out for himself.

"Glory, it's gonna be good havin' you home," Pony said, grinning. "It ain't been the same without you."

Pony and Two-Bit quickly busied themselves with helping Soda gather up all their stuff that had made it's way to the hospital in the past couple weeks. Darry was about to help, but stopped as Steve placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, c'mere for a second," Steve said in an undertone, jerking his head for Darry to follow him.

Darry looked at him with confusion and concern, but followed him over to a more secluded corner of the room.

"What is it?" Darry said worriedly. "Is somethin' wrong?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Steve said quickly. "I was workin' in the truck earlier today." Tim Shepard and his guys had towed the truck out of the ditch about a week after they had found it and had dumped it in the back of the DX station where Steve worked. "Just kind tinkering around and starting to see what's going to need fixing."

"How bad is it?" Darry said, dreading the answer. As much as he didn't want to dwell on the truck too much, knowing that the truck's well being was less important than his brother's, it was still important for him to have a way to get to and from work.

"It ain't pretty, but we'll get it fixed," Steve said, waving off the concern. Clearly that wasn't what he wanted to talk about. "I was messing around on the driver's side, 'cause that'll need the most work, and on the floor I found this."

Darry had to stare at the item that he held up for a moment before he could really comprehend what it was. A silver chain was wound around his fingers, draping down and swaying slightly. Hanging down at the bottom of the chain was a silver oval. Upon closer inspection, a figure could be seen carved into the metal. Darry's eyes widened.

"What?" he gasped, looking at Steve in shock. "Is that Dally's St. Christopher pendant?"

"If it's not, it's something that bears a very strikin' resemblance," Steve pointed out lightly with a chuckle.

"But… how?" Darry said as he took the pendant to examine it.

Steve shrugged as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I dunno. It must have fell off while he was in your truck a some point."

"I can't even remember the last time he was in my truck," Darry insisted.

"I dunno what to tell you," Steve said. "But that's where I found it." He paused. "You were lookin' for it, right? You mentioned it a few weeks ago."

"Yeah I was just… wondering what happened to it," he said vaguely, still staring with amazement at the small trinket. "Thanks, Steve."

"Don't sweat it," Steve said with a shrug.

"Are we goin' or… or what?" came Sodapop's voice.

Darry couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, yeah, little buddy," he laughed as he tucked the pendant into his pocket and crossed the room. "Just hold on to your horses."

There would never be any clear answers to many questions that arose from the ordeal. It would never really be revealed why that car had crossed the centerline that night because the case would never be taken to court. After it became apparent that John's car was the one that was implicated in the accident, his parents settled out of court, covering all of Soda's hospital bills. With that weight off his shoulders, Darry didn't feel the need to pursue it any further. It would never be clear how Darry had found Soda that day. Or how Soda's body was able to survive such trauma for so long before he was able to get medical attention.

And the biggest mystery to Darry would always be how Dally's St. Christopher pendant had ended up in his truck when Dally never took off the pendant and, to his knowledge, hadn't been in Darry's truck for weeks before he was killed.

Perhaps someone was looking over them. Maybe it was some kind of sign of divine intervention. Or perhaps it was all just one coincidence after another. They may never really know the truth. What they did know was that against all odds, Sodapop had come out of this alive. And that alone was more than they ever could have hoped for that night when he didn't come home.

It would be months of rehabilitation before Soda could walk again. It would be longer until he could return to work. He would have side effects of his heart stopping – which had cut off oxygen to his brain for several minutes – for years to come. The most noticeable of this being that his speech would always take a little more concentration than it used to and he would forget words from time to time, but also his dexterity would never quite be what it used to. But all this was a small price to pay in order to have their brother back.

As Darry wheeled Soda out of that hospital, anything else that might have weighed down on his mind dissipated. His family was whole once again. And that was something he knew from experience to never take for granted.

It can get so lonely here
Still I know I'm not alone
Do we learn to face our fears,
Before they carve our names in stone?

Well I'm on my way
Yeah, I'm on my way
Well I'm on my way now

Calling on St. Christopher
Gonna need some help tonight

[Michael Logen – St. Christopher (On My Way)]

The End

Author's Note: Thanks again for all the support you guys have given me throughout this story! I do have a few ideas for more Outsiders stories floating around, so keep an eye out!

Stay gold!