A/N: Yeah, this is really supposed to be a tearjerker. Not too good with the tragedy, though, so tell me if this is corny or something, please. This is also my first ever one-shot, and my second story. I promised myself I wouldn't post anything until "Where Eagles Have Been" was finished, but this couldn't be helped. The plot bunnies, man.

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THE OUTSIDERS.

I look for you, and you look away...

Goodbye Blue Sky

You only just see the glint of the knife before it jabs in to your belly. About three times.

The robbers wanted money. Money. Isn't that all anyone wants nowadays? Jesus Lord. You were being honest when you said you didn't have any. You just spent the last of it buying a Pepsi for Ponyboy on the way home from the DX. You don't have a ride, even though you could have just waited ten minutes for Darry or Steve to pick you up. You wish you would have, because then none of this would be happening. Just ain't fair.

You can't help it. You utter a scream, then a sharp gasp. The scream echoes loudly, clattering and ricocheting on everything that surrounds you. Your knees buckle and your weight collapses all underneath you. You fall close to the side of a slimy dumpster with a thud.

Red. Everywhere. It covers your hands and clothes, staining them and everything around you.

This wasn't the way you planned to die - no, you planned to die as an old man with your family, or even in 'Nam, because that honestly seems like a much better way to die than to be stabbed multiple times by some muggers in an alleyway. At least you would die gallant.

Every ounce of your body hurts, and you can feel yourself getting weaker already. You're wondering if you're going to be left here, to die painfully alone. Left to rot.

Footsteps are heard in the distance, but that is the least of your worries. You try to stand, only to miserably fall back down again.

And you hate yourself for it.

You need to be better than this - for Darry and Ponyboy. Christ knows this is the last thing they need right now. You actually manage to chuckle.

You stare up at the blindingly blue sky, and realize that this could be the last time you ever see it. You drink it in, letting the warm sun shine on your face for one last second.

The footsteps are getting louder now, and you're lying pathetically on your back, holding your stomach as a futile attempt to keep it from bleeding. Oh, glory, you think, starting to actually panic. I think I'm actually gonna die.

Weakly looking up, you notice that it's your best friend and younger brother are now staring down at you. When did they get here? you can't help but think. Your younger brother may be sixteen now, but he still possesses that beautiful innocence that he's had since he was born. You want to cry, because that's one of the only things you ever wanted in life, for him to stay so … great. To stay so gold.

Ponyboy makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, his eyes wide and scared. His feet stomp against the pavement. "Oh, God," he mutters, quickly dropping to his knees. He turns to Steve. "Steve? No, no, no," he whispers desperately. "No, please."

Steve flips you over gently to inspect the damage, but there's just too much to identify. He spits out cuss words. His voice has a tough and hard edge to it, but he's swallowing repeatedly and his eyes are watering. He sees the blood. There's just too much of it not to. He tries to stop it all from flowing, but all efforts are in vain.

He's trying to stay cool, and you want to tell him thanks for being strong for Ponyboy, but you can't. Your brain can't seem to function correctly and you can't seem to find the words you want to say.

"Don't worry, buddy," Steve says, trying to be reassuring to you. His hands are hovering uselessly over your convulsingy pain-filled body. He doesn't know what to do. "You'll be alright. You'll be fine."

Your eyes leak, because no matter how hard you try to convince yourself, you know that you won't.

Your body seems to be exploding. You didn't know that it was possible to feel pain like this. You've got to be dead. It just hurts too much to be alive.

Ponyboy's crying a lot now, and you try to say that it'll be okay but your throat is closed up.

You're crying with him, and even though you've been trying not to, you've been thinking about the things you'll never be able to do in life. You'll never be able to get married. You'll never be able to have children. Hell, you'll never even be able to witness your brother's high school graduation.

Because you're either dead or dying and you know it. It hurts too much; it's pain past endurance. Dying hurts.

Steve is on the payphone on the other end of the alley, while Ponyboy is stroking your greased hair with a shaky hand. You grab on to his other hand and squeeze with what little energy you can muster. It's then that you realize you still have the Pepsi you were going to give him clenched tightly in your hands. You reach over for it and shove it in front of his face, and he seems to get it. And he only starts to cry more.

You hear heavy breathing and you're surprised to find out that it's you doing it. "Cold," you finally manage to choke incoherently, staring up at nothing. You can't even tell if you actually said that or if you're just imagining things. Steve turns his attention over to you at the sound of your voice. He bites his lip hard.

"I'm so sorry," Ponyboy moans, his voice thick from tears. He barricades his face in his hands. "So sorry for everything I've ever done."

Steve wanders back over to you, and your eyes are getting harder to keep open. "I love you, g-guys," you stutter. There's a wheezy quality to your voice.

Steve and Ponyboy are both crying now, staring down at your tragically young face. "Don't waste your energy, Sodapop," Steve says as he gives you an affectionate pat on the face. His voice is raspy and low. It's obvious he's trying to hold back tears.

You ignore him. "Love you… love Darry…" You don't know where this is coming from. It doesn't seem like you have any control over anything that you do anymore. Your brain is working on its own accord. For a split second you think of Sandy, Lorraine, Cindy, Nancy, Caroline, and every other girl you've ever dated. Their faces all rush and blur past you. Your brothers' faces do too, as does Two-Bit's and Steve's. You see the cop who came to your doorstep years ago to tell you your parents are dead. You see defiant Dallas, his face shining even after getting shot. You wish you could have been killed as brave as him. You see Mickey Mouse, and, as crazy as this may sound, you wish you could ride a horse just one more time.

Blood is making its way out from underneath you. It surrounds you in a thick, dark pool. Stains the concrete. You have to close your eyes, because it's too much for you.

"You're going to be alright!" Ponyboy yells sternly. "You are!" He looks at Steve, his green eyes so wide and innocent, like those of a child's, that your heart wrenches even more. He's overwhelmed, desperation is overcoming him. He wants Steve to reassure him. To tell him that he's right, that you're not going to die. But Steve just looks away. Just looks away. "Don't talk like that, Sodapop!"

You shut your eyes and give a cough. You wish he didn't have to see you like this.

Another sharp gasp, and then there's more blood, if that's even possible. You see it on you and Ponyboy's shirts. Can taste it on your lips. It cakes your hands. Ponyboy seems to be just waiting with baited breath. He shoves his palms in his eyes, and lets out a quiet sob. Poor kid.

"Gonna die," you say, and you wish you weren't being so painfully honest. Your voice is barely above a whisper. You can hear the sirens off in the distance, growing louder and louder steadily. You don't want this to be the last thing you ever say to them. You always thought your last words would be funny, or a joke, something to make your family not as mournful.

But now, you don't even know what you are doing; you're being too brutal. Too hard on them. They know, deep down somewhere, that you're dying; they just don't want to admit it.

A measured pause. Steve stands up and starts to pace. Ponyboy looks like he's going to rip his hair out. He won't stop staring at you.

"Shit," Steve hisses, clawing at his face angrily. "Where's the God damn ambulance?"

"It's coming," Ponyboy's now-deep voice (puberty, you think absentmindedly) grunts. There's a harsh sense of finality in his voice that you've never heard before. A mature edge. "It'll be okay."

But he's wrong. Because your eyes are drooping, and this time you can't stop them. There's a strange calm when you're dying.

Your surroundings fade around you.

Sight stops. You can't see anything anymore. You can't even bring yourself to panic anymore, because everything just seems so ... right. All darkness, then a bright light.

Feeling stops. No more pain. You're floating on a cloud. Maybe this won't be the last time you see the sky.

"Sodapop!" Ponyboy screams wildly, sobbing on to you. "NO!"

Sound stops.

And then…

…Serenity. Goodbye, blue sky.

Waking up is so much fun to do...

The name of this fic is "Goodbye Blue Sky" by Pink Floyd. They inspired the title, and pretty much the whole, overall ficlet. However, the lyrics you see are "Call Me Back" by The Strokes. I do not own either one of them, nor do I gain any profit by using them. Both are very different but great in their own ways.

Please review. I'm sorry if this is bad, I wrote it in under an hour. (I should be working on a research paper!)

-Billy

(Dedicated to greyhoundredux, for showing me the song "Goodbye Blue Sky". Here's to you!)