The Outsiders - Spanking Ponyboy ((and other one-shots))

When Soda played Chicken

[[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."