Started: October 3 2008, Friday - 8:04 pm

Finished: October 31 2008, Friday - 11:05 pm

Last Revised: November 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders, Susan Eloise Hinton does. And no profit has been gained in the making of this fic.

Genre: General/Miscellaneous

Summary: ["So...you guys are the same?" I asked in disbelief. What was Johnny talking about? They were not similar in any way! "Pone, there are just some things ya need to get on your own."] And until years later, Ponyboy still hasn't figured it out.

Warnings: Cussing, brief verbal references to incest and homosexulaity, but not actually implied

Notes about story: Pony is 58 in here, but he'll have a flashback of when he was 11. It's going to be a mix of older Pony's thoughts and younger Pony's thoughts, so he's going to sound smarter then an average 11 year old. Also, I made a lot of changes - numerous, actually.

Notes to readers: Alright, this is confusing, I know. I uploaded this story again because, to two very helpful reviewers (Not. Really. and OliverScye), I realized I was being unfair to my reviewers by not seperating the story. Reading it over, I realized that normal human beings can't process that much of a story all in one chapter. So NOW, it is a three shot. I know you guys are smart enough to get how I sperated it and, hopefully, I seperated it at the right spots. Well, anyways, I hope this is more readable.

Notes to reviewers: While I do want reviews, you don't have to. But, if you did decide to both read and review, then thank you! I am depending on you to tell me whether or not this fic is good. But I do ask you for some things:

1. I am fine with flames. I'm a big girl, so go ahead. But I am not fine with it if you don't tell me WHY.

2. Tell me what you like about my fic, what you don't like. Criticise me. Tell me what I shouldn't do, what I could do to make it better, ect. Rant if you want. I want something that can help me. Just saying "it's good" or "it sucks" won't cut it. But if you will, then I can't stop you.

3. This one is sort of linked to number 1. Do not be nice. Don't think that you need to spare my feelings, I'll be alright.

4. Be mature. I have seen name-calling in flames and that sure isn't mature. Telling me I'm a "embarressingly pathetic dumbass" is not mature. But go ahead, be my guest, and throw a tantrum.

However, I don't think that my story is actually bad enough to follow through numbers 1 and 4.

Opposites Attract

It's only been a few minutes and my pencil was already on the other side of the room.

"So, this is what those poor fellas call a writer's block?" I sighed out, shaking my head as I pushed my chair back from my desk, cringing at that ear splitting creak. I grabbed the offensive paper in front of me and read so far of what I've written down.

"Last year, I had written about Dallas Winston and how Johnny Cade was the only person he ever cared for. I thought it'd be hard writing about that man, but it was easy. So, I haven't been close to him, but I had so many things to say about him - both good and bad - that I didn't even know which one to talk about. But Johnny? I didn't know what to say. Not at all. For all my last stories, they didn't seem right to me, but there just wasn't anything right I could think about. Until now."

Self-annoyance - that is all I am feeling right now.

Scowling, I slammed the paper down. This year, I'm writing about Johnny. Why is it Dally I'm thinking about? I did care about Dally lots, but Johnny was the one who was close to me. If you were closer to someone, you'd have more words for them, right? Or has that belief been wrong all along? "I'm getting a headache," I muttered, rubbing my forehead with my palm.

After a few moments, my headache subsided and I looked up at that hideous clock my loving wife forced me to buy.

Wow, is it that late already?

"You only got today to write this. No more slacking off," I muttered to myself. I sound like Darry. Then again, I always sound like him nowadays.

Talking about Darry, it would be much easier to write about him. I could just imagine how I would start it off:

'Darrel Curtis - football player, older brother, father, husband, and a guy that gotta stick up his rear all around the clock. I remember being fourteen and resenting him for all he's worth. But now that I look back on it, I wouldn't have him any other way. Call me a sap, but after a long while, I finally came to realize how much I love him just the way he is.'

See? It was off the bat, right there - sweet, humorous and serious. And I'd still be able to write some more crap for five straight hours. I can even make Gone with the Wind with its one thousand-page length have a run for its money.

Damn it, I'm procrastinating again.

Shaking my head, I got up from my chair, knowing I'd never be able to get to writing at this point. "Whose dumbass idea was this anyways?" I asked to the empty room, looking at the ceiling in wonder. I immediately laughed though, because right after I said that, I remembered I was the dumbass who suggested (and I quote) "for all of us to write some sorta muse for Dally and Johnny's death - also for Soda's, mom and dad's".

At that time, I thought it was a pretty good idea. I'm pretty much regretting it right now.

Even last year, I had problems with writing about Johnny. Dally came in easy, but Johnny was hard. So, I decided to just write it on just Dally for that year then for Johnny this year. Once again, a pretty good idea...until it came back to bite me in the rear. I dunno what's with me, but my imagination ain't what it was before when I was still fourteen.

...Still fourteen...that seems like a lifetime before. I wonder how many times Darry felt like this when mom and dad died. First being this inexperienced twenty year old anticipating for college, then this inexperienced twenty-going-on-thirty year old anticipating for raising two teenage boys. It must've made things worse when you had a stupid fourteen year old teenage kid who don't think straight and goes against everything you say.

Great, my guilt for spilt milk is rising once again.

I lightly kicked the cabinet before me, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed together. C'mon Ponyboy Curtis, get rid of those thou - "Hey!" I rubbed my head. "Ow..." I grumbled out, looking down at the thing that hit me. "Hey! I've been lookin' everywhere for this!" I whispered, picking up the worn out green art book in my hands.

By the Mickey Mouse carving, lovingly done by Two Bit, I knew this was my very first drawing book. Yes, I kept it. I got that pack rat gene from mom, who was more of one then me.

Though, even when I packed it, I still couldn't find it. I haven't touched this notebook until...well, I don't know how many years, but it's been so long. It felt like meeting a piece of the good ol' golden days again.

Smiling, the writing problem forgotten, I opened the book and stared at the first page.

Dally and Johnny's faces stared back at me.

I chocked back my laughter, feeling irony at the fact that my current problem was right before me. Well that and the humor of a forgotten memory.

There was actually a picture of this taken by mom - when Dally was just a new face. I dunno why, but something about it made me like it lots, so I kept the picture and took a try at drawing it. Though, Dally hated the picture ever since he first laid eyes on it. He told (or, well, demanded) mom to throw it away...but like me, she liked it too much to do anything bad with it.

"I can't believe I remember that," I said, sighing. Just looking at this drawing makes me remember every little detail of those days. It makes me remember mom's words when she gave it to me for safe keeping. It makes me remember that, just two weeks after drawing that picture, Dally found it on top of my art book. Also the way he belted me round the ear and stormed outta the house like some angry 5 year old. "I'm gonna fuckin' burn this picture!" he had yelled.

He lied, though. He lied bad.

A few days after Dally's death, Tim and Curly came by to drop off the stuff Dally left at Buck's place. That same picture he swore to burn was hidden at the very bottom of a box, covered by all of his Kools and clothes.

Stubborn ass. If I said that, I knew it would be with a fond tone. I didn't think of Dally much after a few days. But after awhile...I started to miss him just as much as I missed Johnny. It was weird missing a guy you used to fear.

I shook my head and went back to examining my drawing, but closer this time. I was always proud of my drawing. I made pretty decent pieces, even at eleven years old.

Johnny was looking at Dally, a slight smile on his face. His hands were in his pockets and one of his legs was bent forward, making him cock his hips to the side. Dally held Johnny's hair in a light fist, leaning his head back as he hitched his thumbs and held a cigarette with his middle and pointer fingers. A smirk was on his face as his eyes were angled down, making him look like a total bad ass. He looked pretty good in the drawing, too. Now that I think about it, he even was alright in the picture. I'll tell ya, the guy wasn't what you'd call hot stuff.

I looked at Johnny again. "Hey..." I brought my art book closer to my face. I narrowed my eyes and stared at Johnny once more, wondering if I was imagining it. I dunno how I did it, maybe it's just the trick of the light or something, but I made Johnny look at Dally with the one thing he had always held for him - adoration and admiration. "Well I'll be," I said, grinning as I shook my head in wonder. Johnny and Dally was a funny couple. They were both opposites, in looks and persona. Yet, they were close together; they cared about each other and were like brothers.

Most, including me, believe that "opposites attract" is a big fat lie. Just look at me and Darry before - we loved each other but were so different that we couldn't find common ground. We couldn't agree and we always fought. Soda was different from me, too, but we weren't opposites.

So...how could Dally and Johnny ignore their differences?

I frowned, feeling a strong sense of de'ja'vu. I have a feeling that I asked this question to myself one too many times. Haven't I actually asked Johnny something like this? I closed my eyes, trying to figure out when in the world I thought this before.

This year, though, winter has never looked so tuff in Tulsa...

...It was still real cold, though.

"Com'mon, Dall', I'm fine..."

That was when I realized Johnny...

Oh. I remember now.

It was the last winter with my parents. Back then, I was a pretty happy kid, even with the Socs problems and other normal teenage worries. I grinned, I teased, and I was an almost opposite of what I became after the auto wreck.

Before mom and dad died, I was trying to find my place in my own life (and to be honest, I never did find it), but the one thing that made me stand out as a kid was that...I was still curious about everything. Each day, I found something to wonder about - from Steve's curly hair to Johnny's suspicious and paranoid look.

Then, the day of wondering about Dally and Johnny's relationship finally came.

Have you ever had so many questions with so little answers? You search and search for those answers until you feel like you turned into Sherlock Holmes or Nancy Drew, but you couldn't find anything. And just when you're about to give up until another day comes, something or someone comes in with what you're looking for. But instead of giving you answers, they gave you more questions to ponder - more time spent wondering.

Well, you ain't alone. That's how it was exactly like for me.

To Be Continued...

The next chapter is the flashback. So, it's going to immediatly begin with it.