A/N: Hey all. I took this down and reposted it for a few reasons. One, it has been two years and as such, previous followers may or may not be interested any more. Secondly, I changed the first and second chapters both (only sort of for the first…but still) so keeping the old reviews seemed misguiding. Apologies if this upsets anyone.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or any affiliated content.

Summary: When Ponyboy wakes up in the hospital, he doesn't remember why he is there or anything that happened in the past two month. Worse, nobody will tell him. And when the gang starts acting strange around each other, Ponyboy decides it's about time he finds out what happened before it tears everybody apart.

Gilded Gold

When I wake up, I notice two things.

The first is that there is a low, indistinct murmur of voices. I can't tell who they belong to or what they are saying, but my brain is too out of it to really try very hard anyway.

The second is that I am not in my own bed. I can tell without moving or opening my eyes that it's too stiff and too small. The air tastes like metal and smells faintly of antiseptic, making my nose itch. My hand twitches slightly.

"Ponyboy?" Somebody's hand fumbles with mine.

I recognize the voice, but I can't quite place it. I feel a little out of it, if you want to know the truth, and it takes me a bit before I can open my eyes. The first thing I see is Sodapop staring down at me, eyes bright with equal parts relief and concern.

"Hey," I say, my voice coming out scratchy and quiet.

"Hey." Soda tries to smile. He's in his DX shirt, loose strands of his wheat-gold hair falling into his face. He's got something dark—grease or oil—just under his left cheekbone and it somehow makes his dark eyes look even darker. The light is casting shadows across the room as well, which doesn't help my brother's pale complexion.

A deeper voice speaks up, but it doesn't catch me as off guard as it probably should. "How do you feel, kiddo?" I look past Sodapop's shoulder to see Darry standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. My oldest brother looks cleaner than Sodapop, but no less worn.

"Um…" I blink a few times, trying without much success to clear my head. Soda frowns.

"It's okay," Darry says quickly. I give him a strange look, because the sudden rush of reassurance isn't like my oldest brother. Darry continues without noticing. "Doc said you might be a little foggy when you woke up."

I nod. Soda looks back at Darry, who returns the gaze and subtly shakes his head side to side.

"What?" I ask, looking between the two. They share another glance.

"It's nothing, Pone," Sodapop replies, but his eyes are doubtful.

I want to argue with him, but my disagreement is cut off by a yawn. "What time is it?" I ask instead.

"About three." Darry pushes himself off the wall and walks over to stand beside the bed on the opposite side of where Sodapop is sitting.

"In the morning?" I look up at my oldest brother, who leans against the wall again as if he's too exhausted to stand up on his own. He nods slowly, and I frown. "How long have I been here?"

"You've been here a few days, Pony," Darry says evasively. There is something off about his voice, but I can't place it as I feel myself slipping back into unconsciousness. Darry pushes my hair back.

"Go to sleep, kiddo," Sodapop says softly. "We'll be here when you wake up."

"Really?"

"Doc said it was possible."

"Maybe it's for the best, Soda. I mean, maybe it's better if he doesn't remember what happened."

"But Steve… if he doesn't remember, who's going to tell us what happened? Two-Bit's sure as—,"

"Soda."

The conversation cuts out abruptly as I open my eyes, squinting momentarily against the glare of the lights above me. I am still in the hospital, but I feel more awake than I did the last time. I'm also hungry, despite the fact that my stomach is sore. I try to push myself up but there is suddenly a firm hand on my chest that gently pushes me back down.

"No so fast," Soda tells me. "How do you feel?"

"Good," I answer, smiling at him. Soda gives me a look that shows he doesn't believe me, but I ignore it. "When do I get to go home?"

Steve scoffs. "You've been awake for less than two minutes and already want to get out."

"Can you blame me?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. The entire gang has always hated hospitals. We always have, and I'm pretty sure we always will.

Steve shrugs. "I'll give you that one, kid." He looks at Soda. "I'll go call Darry. He'll want to know."

"Thanks," Sodapop replies as Steve walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. My brother blows out a long breath before he turns to look at me. "How are you, really?"

"I'm fine, Sodapop."

Soda still looks doubtful, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he walks to stand by the window. It's not until the sunlight streaming in through the blinds hits his face that I realize how dark the circles under his eyes are. How pale he looks. He hasn't been getting enough sleep, and my stomach twists with guilt.

"Soda," I say, and he turns around immediately. "Go get some sleep. I'll be all right."

"I ain't leaving. Besides," Soda replies with a shrug, "I can't sleep much anyway." He tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Why?" I ask, worried. "Something up?"

Soda gives me a sad look. "Pone… you don't remember anything?"

It doesn't occur to me until then that I hadn't really put much thought into why I was in the hospital. I thought hard, but the last thing I could remember was Soda's birthday party.

"I remember your birthday party," I offer, but it sounds wrong somehow. I stare at the thin cotton sheet on the bed in concentration. "Something happen there?" I look up and stop when I see Soda's slightly pale expression.

"Ponyboy… that was two months ago," he says thickly.

"Two months?" I repeat, bewildered, racking my brain to remember something more recent, but there's nothing. "You're sure?"

Soda must be able to see the alarm in my eyes, because he rushes to the side of the hospital bed and starts rubbing circles in my back. He speaks in a low, soothing voice but it's not until he says that the doctor said this was possible that I actually hear what he is saying.

"And there's nothing they can do about it?" I ask.

Soda shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Pony."

Two months. Two months. Soda starts telling me to breathe. Telling me that it'll be fine. That I'll be okay.

I want to believe him.

I spend the next two days doing one of three things: losing games of poker, staring at the ceiling, or telling people that I feel fine despite my apparent concussion and the soreness in my stomach with a scar to show for it. By the end of the third day, I'm relatively certain that I've never been this bored before in my life. Steve, the only other person in the room because both of my brothers are at work, laughs when I explain this to him.

"Suck it up, kid," he says. "You've put your brothers through a lot recently. You can give them a few days to relax without having to worry about you."

"They do anyway," I point out. There's a beat of silence before I curse. "This doesn't make any sense. What happened to me?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy," Steve replies, and for a brief second, seems apologetic.

"You know something, Steve?" I reply, scowling at the ceiling. "If I wasn't on strict orders from the doctor, Darry, and Soda to stay in this bed, I'd slug you right now."

"You may not be able to tell, but right now? I'm cowering in fear," Steve deadpans.

"You don't get it," I groan. "Having everybody know what happened the past two months but you is…it's…" I fumble to find the right word.

The sudden seriousness of Steve's voice catches me off guard. "It's better you don't know, Ponyboy. Trust me on this."

"I wouldn't trust you as far as I can throw you," I tell him half-heartedly.

Steve gives me a dry look. "Just do us a favor and don't go looking for trouble for a while."

"I never look for trouble, Steve," I reply as I watch him shuffle a deck of cards. "It finds me."

"Amen to that," he says, slamming the deck down in front of me. "Your deal."

"You're free to go as soon as your brother finishes signing the paperwork," Dr. Richards tells me the following morning with a smile.

I barely hear him, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. I'm beginning to realize how restless I feel and my hand twitches in anticipation of being let out of the stuffy hospital room. I can tell I'm not the only one: Sodapop and Darry have been here almost as much as I have. Darry reads all of the pages, but the speed with which he scribbles his signature at the bottom betrays his impatience. Soda paces across the room.

I'm still frustrated: not knowing what happened is killing me. The doctor told me about my injuries, but he said I'd be fine in a day or two aside from the scar. He added that, in hindsight, it wasn't all that bad.

So I don't know why nobody will tell me what I'm missing from the past two months.

"Where's Two-Bit?" I ask. I hadn't seen him at all in the past five days I'd been conscious. Soda stops suddenly and both he and Darry look at me. Soda looks sad and Darry looks furious, but neither expression stays long enough for me to actually tell anything from it. I dismiss it as I wait for my answer.

"He's workin'," Darry eventually replies.

"Two-Bit got a job?" I laugh, but I also feel annoyed. What else do I not remember?

Soda ignores my question. "Thanks, Doc," he tells the older man.

"Of course, Mr. Curtis," he replies with a kind smile. I decide then that I like Dr. Richards. His kindness and sincerity is something us greasers don't see too often from adults. "If anything comes up, you know how to reach me."

Darry stands up and hands him the clipboard before shaking his hand. "Hopefully we won't need to," Darry says.

The doctor laughs. "Indeed." He turns to me, and for a second I think he'll say something, but he just smiles and inclines his head. "Goodbye, Ponyboy." He leaves before I can reply.

Darry looks at me. "You ready, Pony?"

"Of course, Dar," I reply, jumping down from the hospital bed. The room suddenly tilts violently and I slam a hand down on the bed to keep myself from falling over. Both of my brothers are beside me instantly, Soda gripping my arm and Darry's hands hovering as if preparing to catch me.

"You okay?" Soda asks me. I blink hard and the room stops spinning. I nod and Soda reluctantly lets go, staying beside me in case I collapse.

I smile at my brothers in reassurance. I realize then that Steve is right about one thing: I've been making my brothers worry too much. "Let's go."

"There's no place like home," I tell myself as I get out of Darry's truck and look at the house. It looks the same as ever, and in this case, that's a good thing. Soda steps up next to me, nudging my shoulder.

"I'll race you inside," he tells me. I eye the short distance to the door.

"Sodapop, it's less than four yards."

"Ready…"

"Soda—,"

"Set…"

"I don't—,"

"Go!"

My brother starts running and I take off less than a second after him. Sodapop slows down going up the porch steps and I clear them in one leap, passing him as I sprint inside. He comes in after me, laughing breathlessly.

"Glory, Pone," Soda says. "Even when I cheat, I can't beat you." He's grinning.

"What's that tell you?" I reply, smirking even as I try to catch my breath and ignore the ache in my stomach that resulted from my leap up the steps.

Darry comes in, shaking his head in disbelief as he closes the door behind him. "That's just embarrassing, Soda."

Sodapop laughs again, sitting himself down on the couch. "Nah. If I was gonna lose to somebody, it was gonna be my kid brother. Pony here's a regular speed demon."

"Yet no fuzz has ever given me a speeding ticket," I answer. I've had my license for almost a year, having gotten it a few days after I turned sixteen.

Darry walks into the kitchen, opening up a cabinet. "Let's keep it that way, Pone," he calls lightheartedly.

I smile, but don't respond. I'm not willing to make that promise. Soda notices my lack of reply, and a reckless, mischievous glint alights in his dark eyes.

"You've got time."

I smile, but my reply is cut off when there's a knock at the door.

"Social services?" I guess. Soda heaves himself off the couch and shakes his head.

"They came by two weeks ago," he says uncertainly. "Dar?" he calls.

"Go ahead and answer it, Sodapop," Darry replies. "I'll be there in a sec."

Soda walks to the door and swings it open. It's Two-Bit. I smile before noticing that he seems uncomfortable, out of place. I look at Soda and freeze. His expression has darkened to the point that he seems dangerous. Almost Dallas Winston dangerous.

"H-hey, Sodapop," Two-Bit says.

I reply before my brother does. "Hey, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit's gaze zeroes in on mine and he suddenly looks relieved. "Glory hallelujah—,"

Soda cuts him off. There's an edge to his voice that confuses me. "Two-Bit."

Two-Bit's eyes suddenly turn almost pleading as he meets Soda's gaze. I go to step forward, step between them or at least be closer in case one of them does something stupid, but Darry is suddenly behind me, his hand on my shoulder to keep me in place. I look up at him, but his eyes are as dark as Soda's and he doesn't look back at me.

"I just want to make sure he's all right," Two-Bit tells Soda. Glances at Darry. "And…" his voice drops. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't know."

Sodapop's expression softens slightly but he shakes his head. "Just go. Please."

Two-Bit locks gazes with me again for a moment, but I'm so confused I don't know what my expression is. I can't tell what his is, either. Then he turns and walks away.

There's a very long stretch of silence after Soda closes the door before Darry's quiet voice breaks it. "I need your help in the kitchen, Soda. Pony…I need you to clean up your room."

I don't argue, but I also don't clean. I go to my room and flop down on the bed and look up at the ceiling. I try again to remember something since Soda's birthday, but nothing. Something big happened in the past two months. Something I should know, but I don't.

It doesn't matter, I decide. Because I'm going to find out.

A/N: So… what do you think? Please review! It's gonna be a bit of a wild ride.