This idea took hold of my brain and demanded I write it down. S. E. Hinton said Sodapop dies in Vietnam, but she also said you could make up your own ending for him. I chose the latter. I highly recommend the book, Dear America, Letters Home from Vietnam, which, in part, inspired this oneshot.

I own nothing.

Whole Again

"I-I've been drafted." The letter in his hands floated lazily to the ground. My heart skipped a beat and the room fell quiet. The ticking of the clock in the kitchen sounded like gunshots. I really wish I hadn't asked what was wrong.

"Drafted?" I heard Darry ask in a detached voice. My vision was tunneling and all I could see was that damn letter on the floor. I had to blink a couple times before I could see what was going on around me.

Soda looked like he was cut from paper, draft paper, to be exact. Darry stumbled over to him looking so much younger than twenty-one. His face was pale, like an old china doll's. He looked about as fragile as one too. This wasn't supposed to be happening to us. Hadn't our family been through enough? Oh God, we were too young, too scared, too broken.

My mom used to tell me sticks and stones could break my bones, but words could never hurt me. 'Drafted.' That hurt like hell.

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Dear Darry and Ponyboy,

Merry Christmas! A truce has been negotiated for today, now who said Uncle Sam didn't care about his soldiers? They're making us a Christmas dinner, but I'll bet it pales in comparison to the one you'll be having with Mrs. Mathews. Tell her I said thanks for the cookies, they were a big hit with the guys.

I'm going to end this now because I can barely keep my eyes open. Sing some carols for me!

See you in a little less than eleven months!

Sodapop Curtis

I trace my finger over his signature and swallow the lump in my throat. Christmas wasn't the same this year. I thought last year was bad, but this one takes the cake. There is absolutely no merriness to be heard of. There's no use pretending we haven't fallen apart without Soda here.

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Dear Darry and Ponyboy,

I'm officially a double-digit midget! Seems like Charlie wants me to stay here forever, but there's no way I'll let him.

A couple days ago, I was out humping the boonies when, all of a sudden, there was an explosion. I hit the ground real fast while shrapnel was flying all over the place. I got up and saw my buddy Ellis had gotten hit and was bleeding all over the place. There was still dust and dirt all in the air, but I could see enough to know he was pretty bad off. I hollered for the medic who got dressing on him. He was crying real bad because he's got a little girl back in the States he ain't even seen yet. I can't tell you how scared I was for him at that moment, I wasn't even thinking of myself. Then the dust-off came and I got all his gear on the bird and he was taken away.

That's the last I saw of him, but I heard he's being sent to the World. They had to remove his leg but he's expected to pull through.

I'm scared to death, and I'm sick of this place. I just want to go home before I end up like Ellis or worse. I can't stop crying now that I thought about that day all over again. I need to get out of here. I don't think I'll ever be able to wash all the blood off.

I'll be there in titi,

Sodapop Curtis

I can't stop shaking. My brother has less than one-hundred days left and he could have been killed. Sure, he's written of some bad times before, but for some reason this time shakes me real bad. I'll write him back after I get home from work.

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I glance in the mirror one last time before rushing out to the truck where Darry has been waiting impatiently. Soda's coming home today. I didn't sleep at all last night, I was so excited. My hands are shaking and I glance over at Darry. He smiles at me and I can tell he's just as excited.

"It's finally over," he says in disbelief. It's been one long year since we last drove to the airport. The mood has changed dramatically. I nervously fiddle with the radio the entire drive there.

We pull into the parking lot and get out and head to Gate 18, Soda's gate. Darry's smile is bright enough to light up a room and his eyes have a sparkle I haven't seen in a year. He puts his hand on my shoulder and I can't help but break out into a broad grin myself.

My entire insides are dancing as we watch the plane land. This is it. The moment I've been waiting for. Minutes are like hours as the passengers start trickling off the plane.

My heart skips a couple beats when I see a familiar face coming off the ramp. He's home. He made it home. I take off towards him and he drops his suitcase and throws his arms open. I fall into them and can't stop bawling.

"Ponyboy," he breathes, squeezing me with a bone-crushing grip. He pulls back and holds me an arms length away to look at me. "Oh God." He smiles his signature smile through his tears before pulling me back for another embrace.

"Soda." We pull apart again and turn to see Darry standing there, tears running down his cheeks. Soda falls into him and starts bawling. Darry wraps his arms around his shaking shoulders and rocks back and forth while I stand there, unsure of what happens now. Darry looks up and pulls me towards him.

In the middle of an airport, three tough greasers are bawling their eyes out. None of that matters though, because we're a family again.

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My brother has been home for two months now. Darry says we need to be extra patient with him and give him time to adjust.

My handsome brother has a scar across the side of the face he refuses to talk about. If anyone asks him, he just stops talking and gets this faraway look in his eyes, which don't dance as much as they used to.

He's scarred on the insides as well. Sometimes when we're laying in bad at night, he'll tell me about Vietnam, the parts that he couldn't tell me in the letters. His voice is rough and filled with pain as he tells me about the Viet Cong and what they did to the villages.

He doesn't want to get his job back at the DX, his hands shake too much to work on cars. That's why he smokes so much now, to calm himself. He's still pretty jumpy, though. The other day a car backfired and Soda had a war flashback.

"Snap out of it, you're home now!" Darry had told him while keeping a firm grip on his shoulders. It didn't do much good, Soda kept hollering about Charlie coming from the North. "C'mon Pepsi Cola, you're not there anymore," Darry tried Dad's pet name for him, and it worked, he stopped yelling. But then he stopped talking in general.

He's the one with nightmares now. Now it's my turn to be the protector when he wakes up screaming, but I can't save him from his mind and the torment it puts him through. I wonder if my nightmares were this heart braking to deal with. I feel helpless as I try and wake him up as he screams for some guy I never heard him mention in any letter and he refuses to talk about. We're thinking about taking him to a doctor.

I hate the war for doing this to my brother. I hate the president who sent him so far away from us, and I hate the North Vietnamese for hurting my brother, both spiritually and physically. Darry says that we haven't lost him, the old Soda is still in there and every now and then we catch a little glimpse of who he used to be. Darry reassures me he'll come back to us. Maybe then, after waiting so long, we can finally be whole again.