Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Title and lyrics taken from the Sublime song. Heavy language. Offensive things said somewhere probably because it's Curly Shepard. Shameless and annoying bickering.

This was originally deemed a lengthy one-shot, but I decided to split it up and let it go on for as long as my muse allows. I'm guessing it will be about two or three chapters. Please review.

"We're only gonna die from our own arrogance
That's why we might as well take our time"

"You're so fuckin' stubborn, man." Curly paces around the waiting room and I watch his face screw up in frustration.

I grit my teeth through the pain but I manage to get my say in there anyway. "Now, I wouldn't say that. I'd—I'd say I lean more towards the...the determined s-side."

He rolls his dark blue eyes, the irises getting lost in the midst of a black, greasy swirl of hair. "Stubborn and determined are pretty much cinnamons, aren't they?" He laughs darkly.

"Synonyms, you jackass," I quip, though I can't deny I'm impressed he was that close. I hold my stomach, carefully avoiding the knife, feeling blood rolling over my hands no matter how much I try to stop it from happening. Curly's makeshift tourniquet—a blood stained towel balancing precariously over the blade—isn't doing its job.

"What the fuck ever, Curtis." He looks closely at me. "I don't give a hang what you say. We're not leavin'."

"I say we go to my place. Darry...Darry can patch me up." Darry wouldn't be able to patch me up at all, but the deeply-residing, chronic fear of hospitals overtakes me and for an irrational second I'd rather die than stay here.

The knife embedded in my stomach holds a lot of the blood in; Curly was unsure whether he should keep it in or pull it out, and honestly, neither option sounded too appealing at the time.

Curly stops what he's doing and stares at me, then glances down at the blade and the black-red blood staining my light blue t-shirt, and then back at me again, as though I'm the thickest person he's ever met. I probably am in that moment; Curly ain't exactly a good judge of character but he might just be on the dot this time.

I'm not sure why, but I offer him more of an explanation. "I just don't like the—" I grimace, trying not to let Curly know how much I'm actually hurting. "—the lack of control, ya dig? Doctors probin' me and shit. Who knows what I'll say w-when I'm doped up, ya know?" Truth is I've hated hospitals since Johnny died in this same one two years ago. Everyone I love seems to end up here and it never ends well.

Curly snorts when I say "probing" and says, "No, I don't." He finally cuts his pacing short and settles himself into the hard plastic chair next to mine. "And how do you know if they'll give you somethin' to drug you up, huh?"

"Well, you been stabbed before. W-wouldn't you know?" I hate the way my voice shakes, but I guess that's what I get for palling around Curly Shepard, for being dumb enough to get knifed. I feel myself losing blood and I may black out soon. I'm just glad we're at the hospital, even if it is with Curly Shepard of all people, but he is filling out my paperwork. But then again, he did land me in here in the first place.

"What the fuck are you babblin' about? I ain't been stabbed before."

I look at him strangely, wondering why the fuck he's lying because even though he's a dipshit he's always been pretty honest, at least with me, because he's never really had a real reason to lie to me. "Aw, don't go bullshittin' me now, Shepard," I mumble, incapable of bringing my voice to much more than that. "What about that time that you and that guy in your gang, Lou, got into a fight with Brumly?"

"Aw, yeah, that was fuckin' great! That was tuff, man." He whoops and hollers and everyone in the sparse waiting room looks up at us. Curly waves them all away with a dismissive hand. "But they just gave me some light stuff. Shit to take the edge off." He notices my tenseness as I stiffly sit in the chair, curling in on myself. I realize then that I'm breathing shallowly, in time with my erratic heart beat. The blood rushes through my head, through my ears. "Hey, calm down, would you? You're gonna get an aneurysm or somethin'."

"Oh, and wouldn't that be the fuckin' pits? Aneurysm on top of the fact that I'm..." I take a breath; it has slowly become harder for me to get enough oxygen. "...slowly bleedin' out. Thanks to you, I might add. I don't got the slightest notion why I'm stressed; it ain't like I just got stabbed or nothin'."

"Hey, it ain't my fault you got in the way of the knife."

Exasperated, I reply, "How was I supposed to know you'd throw a knife right next to where I was standin'?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know you'd be dumb enough to jump in front of a goddamn knife? And they say you're the smart one."

I didn't jump in front of knife. I've done some crazy, reckless things in the past but I'm not so vying for death that I would deliberately put myself in harm's way. I already do that enough when I'm not even trying to.

I wonder why he can't just take this more seriously. Sure, I'm not keeled over and dead yet but I need help now, and he's acting like nothing happened at all. In fact, he looks almost bored.

I breathe deeply and squeeze my eyes shut. I feel like death, like I'll die in the waiting room of a hospital with Curly Shepard of all fucking people. We sit in silence because I just can't bring myself to speak anymore. I'm too tired.

Eventually Curly seems to notice this and comes to his senses a little bit, which is a rare feat for him in this day and age. He's even more of an idiot than he was when I was thirteen and he was fourteen and he took the swan dive off the telephone pole.

Aloud he announces, "Okay, where's the fuckin' doctor already? I didn't take this kid to the hospital just so people with the flu could be taken care of first." He mimics the staff as he says, "'Oh, who cares if this kid's bleedin' real bad? This person has a goddamned cold. Much more important. Much more life-threatening.'" Curly looks flabbergasted, shaking his head and turning to face me again. He ignores the annoyed stares of others, and I wish I could apologize to them. They're hospital dwellers too. It's not like hospital is a fun place for anybody. "Doctors are sadists, Ponyboy, I tell ya."

I would smile but that requires the effort I don't have. Mostly I'm impressed he knows what a sadist is. Deep down I'm touched, secretly happy for Curly's company so I don't have to die so tragically alone, but I can't help but wish it was someone else instead, like my brothers.

I blink as I taste the slight tang of blood in my mouth. All I know is that, if I live, Darry's gonna kill me. Or kill Curly. Or kill both of us.

Oh, God, it hurts so bad, and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block it out. I pray Curly's smart mouth doesn't get me into more trouble than it already has tonight.

A bundle of nurses walk lightly, dawdling, and stop suddenly when they see me. I don't think I'm gonna be able to stay awake much longer.

"Oh, now you decide to show up. Thanks so much for makin' your presence known."

I'd tell Curly to shut up but he's right. These nurses were just strolling idly, babbling in gossipy conversation. I could have died. Hell, I still could.

"Oh, my," an older nurse breathes. She turns to Curly, asking him questions. Something about my guardians, but it's hard for me to make out. Even from my vantage point full of blurry shapes, I can tell Curly is bullshitting his way through, because that's what he does to all people of authority.

She looks at me. She reminds me of my mom. "Do you think you can walk?"

I can't even hold my head up or speak, much less get up and put one foot in front of the other. "I don't think he's gonna be able to," Curly says for me. "Maybe if you'd a gotten here a little earlier, than he could have."

"I'm sorry, sir," she says, and suddenly I feel bad for her. Getting the third degree from Curly can't exactly be pleasant. "I have to ask him. It's protocol."

"Yeah, whatever. Just fix him up." I slouch uncomfortably. I wonder what they're talking about. "Hey, Ponyboy." Curly lightly taps me on the face, getting my attention, and suddenly I can't remember at all why he's so blurry, why my vision is so skewered. "You gotta stand up, man."

I close my eyes and brace myself. I move slowly to stand. I get steady for a good two seconds before the world in front of me seems to shift off its axis.

And down I fall, my vision blurring even more as my surroundings rush. I feel the blood in me rush and it hurts, loud and overwhelming. I close my eyes and don't even care that I'll hit ground.

But I feel Curly pick me up last minute, like I weigh nothing. But he's got a good twenty pounds on me even if I've got the height advantage. I'm like a ragdoll in his grip and it's sort of embarrassing. I don't think he's gonna let me live the fact that I basically fainted in his arms down. Just like a little girl.

Other hands grab at me, hurried and unsure. I'm put on a long surface, and it's supportive and solid. It's real soft too, a cloud, and I think I'll just go to sleep here. I've got school tomorrow. Darry wouldn't want me to stay up late.

I wake up on fire in the hospital bed. I ask a nurse where my brothers are and she says she doesn't know. In my feverish mind I hope Curly's okay, wherever he's at. I don't remember where he went off to.

Curly comes into my room some time later.

"Where the hell have you been?" I say. There's an unnecessary heat to my voice but, you know, waking up alone and disoriented in the hospital isn't always a real fun happening and if Curly were there it'd have been nice.

He has the decency to look sheepish, but he avoids my question. "How long have you been up, man?"

"I don't know. What...?" I blink sluggishly and drift off from what I was saying. I feel tubes in my nose and even though I feel like my skin is burning off, I think I'm okay. I'm sitting on a cloud again.

"Oh, man. You're flyin'." Curly chuckles. "What did they give you?"

"I don't know. How the fuck would I know?" I mumble. I hope it sounds more decipherable to him than it does to me.

"Yeah, okay, Curtis."

"What day is it?" I ask, my senses clearing as I get my bearings. Curly leans against the wall. He watches me as I struggle to get up.

"It's tomorrow."

I scrunch my eyes up, wishing he could just throw me a bone here and help me to not have to think things through. "Could you clarify?"

"It's Saturday. It's 2:30 AM. You shouldn't even be up right now. The doctor's orders."

"Oh, God. Since when are you a fuckin' do-gooder, huh? Since when do you care what a doctor thinks? What anyone thinks?" I roll my eyes at the silence.

"I'm just sayin'. You'll be here for a while, might as well get comfy. You see, I got an epiphany, man." At this, I scoff, but he continues. "I realized that, like, I could die any minute, and so could you. You have to live in the moment but you also gotta take care of yourself."

I roll my eyes, wondering when he became like this. "Oh, glory. I don't know what's worse, Curly. Watchin' you wax poetic or the fact that I'm in the hospital for a knife wound I wouldn't be gettin' if you weren't stupid enough to put it there."

"Aw, hush up. You were the stupid one for gettin' in front of me when I threw it. Who the fuck runs in front of knives?"

"Well, obviously I do, because if I hadn't we wouldn't be here in the first place." I resist the urge to rip out the IV and get out of here. His presence is more annoying than the cacophony of beeps going on around me from the various machines.

We sit in silence for about thirty seconds before Curly speaks again. "I called your brothers about ten minutes ago. You only just got out of surgery about a half hour ago. I can't believe you're awake, man."

He's talking too fast. I can only pick out bits and pieces. "My...brothers?"

"They'll be here soon. Can't wait for the Big One to show up. I'll end up here too." He laughs like what he said is actually funny.

This gets me real awake. "Jesus. What'd you tell 'em, Curly? They didn't seem too worried, did they?" The tubes are going into my nose, and though they're irritating, it's a distraction from the impending storm brewing.

Curly throws me an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look and it'd be comical if it weren't so serious. "Have you met your brothers, man? They're gonna kick my ass."

"Did you tell them it was you?"

"Hell no. I may be dumb but I ain't got a fuckin' death wish. Shit."

I bite the hook. "Then...why would they kill you? It's me they'll probably be after, for being shitty enough to land here. Imagine all the cash this little rendezvous is gonna require."

"They'll murder me because I was with you. Hell, they'll murder me just because I'm me, and you're you."

My eyebrows furrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

He looks at me again, a look brimming with a rage I could never understand, a look that's been ingrained on his face for as long as I can remember. He's always been angry at the world, bitter, and I struggle to think of a time where he hasn't looked at me like that.

"Oh, come on, man. When you're older, you're gonna be in Harvard or whatever the fuck those schools are. And I'm just gonna be here. And your big brothers of yours don't like me 'cause I'm a bad influence on their poor little baby brother."

I roll my eyes. "For Christ's sakes, Curly. They don't hate you, man. Why are you bein' weird?"

"Maybe it's the beers, man. I drank a lot. I probably shouldn't a driven you here." He laughs, and it's self-deprecating in a way. He's always been so cryptic. "I probably shouldn't have been throwin' knives either, though. Am I right?"

At this, I can't help myself. My lips pull up into a contrite smile. The drugs have numbed my entire body. I'm drained and loopy, willing to laugh at Curly and this entire situation. I can't deny that if Darry beat him up I wouldn't be too eager to stop it from happening.

Before I realize it, my eyes are sliding closed. I hear Curly mumble something and then a door slams.

Curly is your stereotypical hood. If you ask anyone in the universe the first word that pops into their head when they think of Curly Shepard, you'd probably get words like "stupid," or "dumb," or "thick."

But he's got his moments. He's smarter streetwise than I'll ever be, knowledge of the entirety of Tulsa like it's written on the back of his hand. I can't help but think that if he got a better home as a kid he'd be real book smart too.

He's got his moments where those people are justified in calling him all of the first words mentioned. Like tonight.

Curly's been off-the-walls lately, strung out and bouncy in a Sodapop-esque way but with a scarier edge to it. When Soda wants to do something it's playing poker. When Curly wants to do something it's getting into fights. He always bitches about the lack of Socs to pound—1969 brought about a lot of changes for the society we live in. Socs became greasers, greasers became hippies, up became down. Nothing is right. You can't tell no one apart and that makes Curly mad.

But really, what doesn't set him off these days? When he's not kicking the shit out of someone, he's screaming at his sister or drinking hard liquor.

Tonight, though. Tonight was different.

As mentioned earlier, Curly's been crazy, a mix of the lack of something to do since his brother's gang disbanded (Vietnam has taken in its toll in more ways than one) and wanting to get stoned behind the gym at my high school.

Curly called me up, which in itself was odd. We go through long spurts of not talking to each other, falling back into an easy camaraderie again when we reunite, as though there was no time gap at all.

I like to buddy around with him because it doesn't require much thought to be around him. I tend to overanalyze everything and it's easy to be around him. His simplicity sets me at ease. He's high maintenance, a hoodlum, and I struggle to see more though I know there is. There's something underneath that rough exterior, something that comes out in the wicked way his eyes gleam, harsh and unfeeling.

Curly told me he wanted to do something. In retrospect, I really should have just hung up then. It would have saved me a whole lot of trouble, not to mention pain.

But I went with him, and that was my first mistake.

The second mistake was hustling pool with Curly.

The third was getting in close vicinity with Curly later that night: a Curly with a knife, a Curly with alcohol in his system.

In reality, I got myself into this mess.