[[a/n *does a dance* guess who back and churned out a depression fueled chapter? ]]
He was twelve, and his best friend in the whole world had dared him to do it. So of course he had to, otherwise he'd be made fun of and called names. So that's how Sodapop found himself in his front yard with Steve, watching the slightly older boy light up a cigarette. "Here you take this one," he handed it over.
Soda took it, and stared at it with wonder and fear. "You ever played before?" He asked Steve, who was now lighting up a second smoke.
"Once with Dally. He was good, too good. Okay hold it up like this." He got his cigarette ready in his hand and waited for Soda to follow his lead. "I'll count to three, then we press the lit ends to each other's hand. Who ever pulls away first looses. It's easy."
"Says you." But he still positioned the cigarette at Steve's palm and waited for the countdown.
"One," he only looked at Steve's hand, trying not to think about the fact he could already feel the heat of the cigarette adjacent to his own hand. "Two." This was gonna hurt like hell. "Three." They pressed the cigarettes forward. "Shit." Steve grimaced but held it together.
"Fuck!" He almost pulled away immediately as he felt the searing pain against the middle of his hand, but quickly remembered the point of this game.
Sodapop shut his eyes tight, trying to will away the tears of pain he felt as the flame burned into the skin of his finger. Steve started to cuss under his breath, he was hoping Soda would pull away by now - his friend never did like pain, it was surprising he lasted more than five seconds.
"Sodpaop!" Both boys pulled away when the name was yelled. "What the hell?" The boys let out an involuntary sigh of relief. It was only Darry, he'd just gotten home form football practice.
"D-Darry." Sodapop sniffled, he had tears running down his face despite how hard he'd tried to make them go away.
"Guess we both lost." Steve mumbled, bitter-sweet about the situation.
"We were playing -"
"I can see what you were playing. Sodapop, mama and daddy are gonna be pissed."
"Please don't tell them."
Darry looked down at the boys, who still sat in the yard. "Soda your hand looks really bad, we gotta tell them." Sodapop looked down, it did look bad- and it hurt even worse. "Whose idea was this anyways?"
"Mine." Steve admitted.
"Of course it was. Okay, let's go inside. Mama can help you both, is daddy home yet?"
"No." Soda answered as the two went inside behind Darry.
"Mama! I'm home!"
"How was practice? Oh - what's wrong?" Their mother came out from the kitchen to see Soda teary eyed, and both Steve and Sodapop nursing their hands.
"They was playing chicken with cigarettes. It looks bad." Mrs. Curtis grabbed the injured hands of both Steve and Sodapop.
"You two!" She smacked them on the backs of their heads, making them wince. "Both of you need a doctor. These are some really bad burns."
"I'll be alright Mrs. C." Steve said.
"No you will not. It could get infected Steven. I'll call your mother and let her know I'm taking you to the hospital. Darry get them cool rags for those burns and then take them to the car please."
"Yes ma'am," Darry went to the bathroom to find two rags and do as she said.
"I'm going to call your father too, he can come to the hospital instead of home from work."
Sodpaop groaned at the mention of their dad, "mama please -"
"Quiet little boy." She was pissed.
"Yes ma'am." He had wanted to argue and beg, but the stern 'little boy' from his mother had him claming up.
Darry came back out and gave them two rags, each boy wincing as the cool fabric touched their sensitive skin. Steve and Soda followed Darry back outside to the car and got into the back seats. "Your mom looked really mad." Steve said as Darry got into the passenger seat.
"She's calling daddy too," Sodapop said - looking to his big brother with worry. "You think he's gonna be really mad, Darry?"
"He's gonna be livid."
"Not helpful, Superman." Steve said, because the answer made Sodapop's tears start up again.
"He's gonna kill me."
Just then, Mrs. Curtis came outside and to the car, holding out the car keys. "Darry can you drive the boys to the hospital? Your daddy will come meet you there."
"Yes mama," he took the keys she'd been holding out towards him and slid into the driver seat.
"Your daddy is leaving work now to get there. You can come on home when he arrives. I need to stay here with Ponyboy, and I don't wanna bring him to the hospital with us."
"What about us?" Steve asked.
"Your mother said to whip you black and blue for this Steven." He groaned a little. "But, Mr. Curtis will bring you both home when the doctor finishes treating you."
"So I can still stay the night?"
"Yes. But I suspect you two won't be sitting still for supper."
"Mama I'm sorry." Sodpaop was still crying.
"Its okay baby," she opened the back door to lean in and give him a kiss and hug.
"But it hurts so bad, and daddy is gonna..."
"You shouldn't have played that dumb game then." Her voice was soft but stern. "Okay, get on." She closed the door and watched as Darry pulled out the yard.
"Crybaby." Steve said, only being a little serious.
"Shut up." Soda nudged Steve a little to rough, and made the boy knock into the side of the car.
"Stop." Darry told them with a glance over his shoulder, making them stop their incoming fight. They didn't need Darry telling Mr. Curtis they'd been fighting too.
When they got to the hospital, Darry had to sign them in and then wait to be called back. Their dad showed up while they were waiting. "What the hell were you two thinking?" Mr. Curtis immediately started to lecture the young boys when he walked into the waiting room and saw them. "You both are smart enough to know not to play some stupid game like that. And you -" he looked at his middle son. "Aren't to be messing with cigarettes and lighters in the first place."
"I'm sorry, I -"
"Sodapop Curtis. Steven Randle." A nurse called before he could finish his sentence.
"Let's go." He picked up both boys by their arms. "Thank you for bringing them like your mother asked Darry. You go on home."
"Yes sir." Darry shot his brother and Steve a sympathetic glance, and then left.
"Let's see the damage." The nurse said after the two boys settled together in a small room. "My lord," she shook her head when they uncovered their hands to revel the burn marks in the middle of their palms before she asked, "What happened?"
"We were playing a game," Steve said.
"It's called chicken. You hold a lit cigarette to the other guy's hand and whoever pulls away first looses."
"I'd say you both lost. These burns are very nasty. Luckily they aren't worse. I can treat them both right here and you can be on your way home in about twenty minutes." Their nurse explained before going to a cabinet and getting out some supplies.
"Daddy?" Sodapop looked over at his dad, who was standing with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall.
"Yes son?"
"A-are you mad at us?"
"I'm very displeased with both of you."
"Are you gonna spank us Mr. Curtis?" Steve asked, sounding worried for the first time that afternoon. "Ow!" He yelled when the nurse unexpectedly put some gel on his hand.
"Yes."
"What are you gonna do?" He asked, wincing at the nurse's touch.
"I don't wanna know." Sodapop whispered and then yelled in a similar manner to his friend when the nurse focused on his burn.
"First you're gonna apologize to Mrs. Curtis for scaring her so bad. I know she probably didn't show it, but she was worried sick about you two and how badly you may be hurt. And then -"
"Don't say it." Sodapop begged.
"Sodpaop Patrick, don't interrupt me when I'm speaking."
"Yes sir."
"T-then?" Steve stuttered a little.
"We will eat supper and then you both will wait for me in the bedroom. I don't think I need to say what you'll be waiting for?" They shook their heads, they knew. The nurse finished up quickly, and as promised they were leaving the hospital within twenty minutes.
The drive home was silent, both Steve and Sodapop
just stared at their hands, wrapped in gauze. And when the old pick up truck pulled into the yard, next to their mother's car - the boys clambered out and inside. "You boys okay?" Mrs. Curtis asked as soon as she heard them come inside.
"Yes ma'am, just a little burnt up. The nurse was cute, so that was a bonus." Steve started to make jokes, but when he heard Mr. Curtis clearing his throat his smiled faded. "I'm sorry we scared you Mrs. Curtis."
"I'm sorry too mama."
"Oh you boys." She gave them both hugs and kisses - even though Steve pretended he hated it. "I'm just glad you two are okay. Now supper is ready, so what are you two supposed to do?"
"We need to wash up and sit down for dinner." Sodapop answered.
"Then go on and do that. I'll have your plates ready when you sit down."
They ran into Darry on their way to the bathroom, the older boy having just washed his face and hands. "What he say?" Darry asked.
"We're getting it after supper, but he didn't say with what." Steve answered.
Soda was chewing on his lip nervously, so Darry patted his shoulder. "Don't think about it too much Soda or you'll make yourself sick with worry. Whatever it is, it won't be that bad."
"That's a lie." He muttered. "I seen you after daddy got you for sneaking out and taking the truck to a party last month." Darry grimaced, yeah. He remembers it too.
After they washed up, they went and sat down for supper. Neither Steve or Soda talked much, and the adults knew it was their nerves. Darry talked a lot about football, how the season was going and about the recruiters who'd been showing up. Ponyboy talked about school - he loved school.
Mr. Curtis noticed when Steve and Sodapop finished their food. They'd started to push around what was left on their plates and were glancing at him with worry. "Okay boys, go to the bedroom now. Noses to the wall, you know how to position yourselves."
"Yes Sir." They both hurried away from the table and to the bedroom.
"Soda and Steve are in trouble?" Ponyboy asked their mom.
"Finish your supper Ponyboy." Was all she told him.
"We are so dead." Steve started to worry for real now as they found their noses touching wallpaper. They stood beside each other, noses against the wall with their hands laced behind their head and feet shoulder width apart - waiting.
"He looked mad. Did he look mad to you?" Soda asked his friend, worrying even more.
"I don't know. He's got that stone face you can never read."
They stood there for a good ten minutes before the door opened, "Steven."
"Yes Sir?"
"You'll be going first, turn around." Steve turned, dropping his arms as he faced his impending doom. "Come here son." Steve made his way beside the man, who was standing by the bed. "Take your pants and underwear down, then lean over the bed."
"What are you gonna -?"
"Now."
Steve swallowed the lump he'd felt formed in his throat. He did not like not knowing what was gonna happen, but he obeyed the order. Mr. Curtis was just gonna whoop him - he could take it. His old man liked using fists and leaving bruises and welts. Mr. Curtis never did that, so he could handle whatever it was. He tried to push his jeans down but he winced when his injured hand grabbed the fabric, "I'm sorry Mr. Curtis - my hand.."
The man just nodded, reaching down and undoing the boy's pants and baring him, himself. "Over the bed."
"Thank you Sir." He muttered it, his face hot. It was embarrassing to get bared by the man about to whoop you - but he was grateful he didn't get screamed at for not being about to do it himself. Had it been his old man, he would've been hit and yelled at for acting like a wuss.
Steve listened, holding his breath as he waited for further instructions. He Waited, trying to hear what Mr. Curtis was planning. Then he heard it, the click of a belt being undone. "Twenty Steven. And I want you to count each and every one of them."
Steve was a lot better at taking a good whipping than his friend. That was thanks to the beatings he got at home, they steeled his emotions. So he took each blow of the belt with a grimace or quiet declaration of pain followed by a number. The only thing that got him actually crying was the lecture Mr. Curtis always gave.
"If you're going to hang around this house, you'll follow my rules Steven. And those rules include not playing games that get yourself hurt, and they definitely include not playing with cigarettes, especially seeing how you aren't old enough to be smoking anyways."
"Yes Sir. Eleven." He was half way done, he just had to stay focused and he'd get through this.
"If you want to keep this up, you won't be allowed over here anymore."
"Daddy-!"
"Sodapop Patrick, you are still in time-out. Now, turn around." Soda turned back around quickly, he didn't need to give his dad reason to add to his punishment.
"I'm sorry Mr. Curtis. Please let me keep coming over." That threat was the worst one imaginable. He yelped softly at a particularly painful bite of leather. "Twelve."
"You're a good kid Steve, that's why I do this. Because I know you can do better."
"Thirteen." He pressed his face into the bed, feeling tears slip down his face. His ass was on fire, and each fall of the belt was now hitting already attacked skin - making it even worse.
The man continued to lecture Steve, who answered with quiet 'yes sir's' and whatever number they were on. He kind of wished he'd just beat him and leave him alone. A whipping he could take, but the disappointed fatherly lecture was pure torture.
When it was finally over, Steve stood up without a word and pulled his pants up the best he could with one hand. "That's alright son," his voice was so gentle as he helped Steve right his pants. "Go back to the wall and take Sodapop's place."
"Yes Sir." Steve wiped at the few tears that were falling as he did what he was told. "It wasn't that bad." Steve whispered, trying to comfort his friend as he waited to be called away from time-out.
"Sodapop, over here." The boy turned and came over quickly at his father's instruction. "You get exactly what Steve received. You need help with your jeans too?"
He reached for his belt to undo it himself and push his pants down, but realized it did hurt to try and grab with his bad hand. "Yes Sir."
Mr. Curtis sat the belt down, reaching for Sodapop and undoing the boy's pants and pushing them to his knees alongside his underwear. "Over the bed." He instructed when Soda just stood - staring at said bed.
"I'm really sorry daddy. It was dumb and I won't ever ever do it again."
"I'm glad to hear, now bend over the bed. If I have to make you, it'll be an extra five." That got the kid moving. "Count each one."
Sodapop was a lot louder than his friend, he immediately let out a loud yelp when his dad landed the first WHAP. "One." His good hand curled into a fist around the blankets, the other pressed into the bed, and he bit his lip at the pain of the second stinging strike. "Two."
"You have any idea how worried your mother was Sodapop Patrick?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare her. Three!" He kicked his feet a little. He didn't get how Steve was so good at taking a whipping without yelling the whole time. Especially when it was with the belt.
"And you could've been hurt a lot worse playing with fire. It's very dangerous." He lectured as he landed hard hits of the belt, not pausing as long as Soda was counting. "Had you burnt yourself any more, they may have needed to do more than put some cream and medicine on that hand."
"I'm sorry!" He apologized again, maybe if he said it enough his dad would stop early.
"Sodapop Patrick Curtis if I ever hear about you playing with fire in anyway again, I'll switch your bottom until you can't sit for days. Is that understood?"
"Eleven. Yes sir." He pressed his face deep into the bed, trying to quiet his crying. Steve hadn't cried, so why was he blubbering like a baby? "Ow!" His hips started to shift from side to side after a few hits to the back of his legs.
"Sodapop I'll give you one warning about those hands." Soda's hands, which had moved to cover his throbbing backside - moved slowly back to the bed. "Next time they'll be getting hit."
They were nearing the end, only three more to go. But Soda was crying too hard to keep counting. "Daddy please. No more. I can't." Was the only thing Mr. Curtis could understand between all the crying.
"Now Sodapop, you either count these last three or you can have eight more to go with no counting. It's up to you." If he tried really hard And focused, he could manage the last three - but he just wanted to cry and have it be done.
"I can't daddy," he sounded so pitiful when he cried out the statement.
"That's your choice?" Sodapop didn't answer, he just buried his tear stained face into the bed. "Okay. Eight it is then." Soda cried loudly now, not trying to hold it in so he could count somewhat coherently. They landed fast, since the boy didn't need to try and count anymore. When he finished, Mr. Curtis threaded his belt back around his waist and watched his son make no moves to stand up. "It's over son, stand up now." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and pulled him to his feet before helping him with his jeans. "Steve come here."
Steve came back to stand beside his friend, trying not to look at him cry. "Yes sir?"
"I hope you both learned your lesson from this," they both nodded. "I want you both to get changed and go on to bed early tonight. Go on." Steve left the bedroom in a flash, glad to be let go. "Sodpaop, did you not hear me?" His father asked when he hadn't moved from his spot. Positive that Steve was gone, Sodpaop wrapped his arms around his dad - wanting a hug. "It's alright son." He hugged the boy and then rubbed small circles into his back.
"You're not really gonna tell Steve he can't come around, are you?"
"No son. But you two better start using your heads a little more. Or you'll both be in this position more often."
"We will."
"Now go do as I said and get yourself into bed."
"Yes Sir." Soda let go of his dad and went to the room he usually shared with Darry to change. Tonight Darry was going to bunk with Ponyboy since Steve was over.
"You okay?" Steve asked when Sodapop came into the room.
"Yea," he said it, but he was rubbing his bottom just as much as Steve. Plus he had more dried tears staining his face then Steve.
Soda started to change out of his clothes and into his pajamas, having to be careful of his hand as he grabbed his pants and shirt. "Your dad was really mad today. He's never hit that hard, I looked in the bathroom mirror and my ass is redder than a tomato."
"Don't remind me," Sodapop grumbled before crawling into bed next to Steve. "I'll never sit down again." He started to sniffle again, not able to help himself - his ass just hurt so bad.
"Don't cry Soda." Steve didn't like seeing his friend cry. "I'm sorry I talked you into playing chicken. It's my fault we got our asses busted."
"At least we can tell people at school how tough we were playing. We'll leave out the part about getting our asses tanned though." He smiled, trying to make Steve feel better - but he was still crying.
"I'll let you tell everyone you won. Even though it was a tie."
They chatted for a few more minutes, the conversation helping Soda distract himself from his throbbing backside long enough to dry his tears.
"Enough chatting boys, get to sleep." It was Mr. Curtis, who had come to check on them.
"Sorry Mr. Curtis." Steve apologized quickly, not wanting to get them into more trouble.
"Goodnight boys."
"Night," they both said softly as Mr. Curtis closed to door.
After they were silenced and told to sleep, Soda was reminded how badly he was hurting. And to Steve's dismay, Sodapop started to sniffle and cry again until he fell asleep. Listening to his friend hurting because of him, made him feel ten times worse. He slid out of bed and into the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were sharing a pot of coffee and talking.
Mr. Curtis looked up when heard someone shuffled in. "Didn't I send you to bed Steven?"
"Yes Sir. But -" he wanted to talk about how felt. He only ever felt comfortable talking about feelings with them. He wouldn't even talk to his own mom about how he felt.
"What's wrong honey?" Mrs. Curtis could sense something was bothering him.
"Can I sit down?" Mrs. Curtis gestured for him to take a seat. He did, and was squirming as soon as he sat down. "I feel awful."
"I'm guessing you're not talking about the whipping?" Mr. Curtis said.
"That feels awful too." Steve answered before continuing. "I feel bad, 'cause playing chicken was my idea. Soda didn't even wanna play but I kept hounding him to, and I called him a wuss for wanting to say no. It's my fault he was playing in the first place and it got us both in trouble. And he cried a lot after the whippin'. He even cried until he fell asleep, and it made me feel all guilty."
Mrs. Curtis was rubbing circles into his back gently to comfort him, letting him get his emotions out. He had a few tears fill his eyes that he quickly batted away. Mr. Curtis sat quietly, listening until Steve was done talking. "Now, I don't condone you pressuring my boys into doing dangerous things. But, you didn't make him do anything. Sodapop has his own mind and can make his own decisions. He decided to play chicken with you, he could've said no even with you're pestering."
"Don't you go blaming yourself for this Steven." Mrs. Curtis added, "Sodapop is just as guilty as you are."
Steve gave a small nod, "I wish I hadn't even mentioned the game."
"I bet so." Mrs. Curtis said with a smile. She leaned in and gave Steve and tight hug and then kissed his forehead. "Anything else you need to talk about?"
"No ma'am. Thank you for letting me talk to you."
"Of course sweetheart. It isn't good to keep your feelings bottled up inside of you."
"Thanks for not kicking me out Mr. Curtis."
"I would never, not unless you start acting like a hood. You're a good kid Steven, even if you mess up sometimes." Steve stood up from the kitchen table and went back to bed, feeling better now.