Sudden inspiration! I thought I'd do this just because, but since it's a one shot, it's pretty long. Please review, I really love to know what you all think!

NOTE: whenever Ponyboy is present in the scene (although his name isn't written in this story), I used S. E. Hinton's dialogue. So none of that is mine, and neither is Bob, Randy, Cherry, Marcia, David, Ponyboy (referred to as Bottle kid or the younger one), Johnny (referred to as the dark one), or Two-Bit (referred to as Side-burns). However, I made up Caleb, Will and Luke because there needed to be more Socs in the Mustang. So don't sue me! :)

ALSO: This story contains quite a bit of language and, ah, male behavior. I hope you don't mind; I don't usually use swears but I thought it was necessary for Bob's character and the rest of the Socs. (Plus most of the time they're drunk. Who can blame them? Er, me?)

Sorry, I'm rambling. Please tell me what you think!

"Cherry, baby, come on!" I pleaded.

"No! I am not going to sit around and watch you get drunk!" She jumped out of the Mustang, Marcia right behind. Randy reached out and tried to bring his girl back in, but she wheeled around and smacked him good and hard.

I clutched the steering wheel until my rings cut my fingers, fuming. "Fine! Figure out your own way home!" I stomped on the gas and we screeched off.

Randy crawled up from the back seat to ride shotgun, taking a swig from his bottle. "Well, shit," he muttered, "Broads. What's their problem, huh?"

"I don't know, man. I don't know."

We pulled up at The Way Out a little while later. There didn't seem to be a fight yet, so we headed on in.

"Bob! Randy!"

We looked up to see Caleb heading toward us. "You wanna shoot some pool?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Sure. Give us something to do, right?" Randy nodded.

I broke, but only got the one and the five in. We were playing nine ball.

Caleb started making small talk as he lined up his shot. "So, where's Cherry and Marcia?" the cue ball made a satisfying crack and the two sunk into the side pocket. He smiled.

Randy let out an irritated grunt. "Left us at the drive in. I don't know what their problem is. Fucking periods or something. But they got all pissed 'cause we brought some beer and ran off."

Caleb shrugged, backing up from the table, and threw me the chalk. "Well, it's not like they won't come back when you're sober. And even if they don't, hell, any broad in school would love to be your girl. 'Specially you, Bob. You don't have it half as bad as most kids I know."

His words caught me off guard, so my shot was off. The cue flew around the bumpers, missing everything. "Damn." I breathed.

A lot of kids have it worse than me, I know. There are kids around here who's parents couldn't give a rat's ass if they came home ever again, or who smack them around or yell all the time. There are kids who don't have parents. There are kids who got brothers in jail or doing drugs, kids who's sisters are whores and drink too much.

I know a lot of kids have it worse than me. But I want so bad to be someone else.

My parents don't hit me or scream or anything, but I almost wish they would. They give me anything I want and far too much more. If I get into trouble, they blame themselves. They have no rules, no boundaries, no cares. They don't care what kind of trouble I get into.

Hell, if I killed myself, they wouldn't care. They'd think it was what I'd wanted.

Which, right now, it is.

I can't take much more. I feel trapped in my own life. I've been drinking more and more often, trying to forget about it, but the hangovers are always worse afterward. I've been jailed a couple times on purpose, just to see if I could get my parents mad. It never works.

If they really cared about me they would get worried, get angry, not apologize to me and buy me more stuff. If they really cared about me they would give me punishments, just to show me they didn't want me doing whatever it was I did again because I could have hurt myself, like any normal parent would.

But they never did. They don't care.

The worst part of it is how I can't show it, can't tell anyone about it, not even Randy. Socs don't show their feelings. People think we're weak otherwise.

That's the reason why I hate greasers so much. Sure, they can barely keep themselves alive, what with the cops always on them and being so poor and all. But they've got each other. They're not afraid to trust others, to talk to them, to show how scared or sad or… trapped they feel. It's not fair that they, the lower class, get something so perfect, so genuine. That they have the only thing money can't buy me.

I envy them.

"Bob? Hello, Bob?"

I shook my head. Those thoughts didn't mean anything then. I looked up at Caleb. "Your turn." he said.

"Oh. Sorry." I mumble, and line up another shot.

-0-0-0-

We left The Way Out only God knows how much later with Caleb, Will, Luke and David, and I could feel a buzz from the booze. Randy and I had calmed down a bit and decided to go back to the Drive-In. Maybe Cherry and Marcia would forgive us. To be honest, I really missed her tonight. She's a great gal. Smart, understanding, and drop-dead gorgeous. Who doesn't want a girl like that?

But when we got to the Drive-In they weren't there.

"Maybe they're headed home?" Randy suggested.

I shrugged. "Let's hope so."

We headed back to the Mustang and started driving back toward our territory. Will handed around some more whiskey, and the car was filled with the simultaneous cracks and hisses of opening bottles. "So…" he took a swig and sighed. "You going to the game tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure." Anything to keep me away from home. "You?"

"Yup. Caleb, David, Luke and Randy said they'd probably go. There'll be plenty of broads there, too. And, if we're lucky," he nodded thoughtfully to himself, "We could get laid."

I snorted, although the idea wasn't a bad one. Cherry was a babe, sure, but her legs were locked together at the knee, and a man needed to satisfy his urges once in a while. Hell, a lot of girls at school were just asking for it anyway.

We were driving down an older street, still in greaser territory. Looking around I just got angrier. What was it about them that made them all such good friends? What was it that made them feel so… open about their feelings? What made it okay for them to show emotion?

We passed a group of five people on the way but I didn't think to spare them a second glance. The other five boys started talking about women and school and our much hated teachers. I came into the conversation every once in a while, but it wasn't too often. I've been keeping to myself a lot lately. I'm not really sure why. Guess with my parents being more and more uncaring I'm just getting more and more things to think about.

We drove around the little neighborhood once when Randy mentioned the five people again.

"Maybe we should turn around, get a closer look at 'em." he suggested, "You know, just to be sure someone didn't pick up our girls."

I wasn't sure if he'd be able to get a good look at anyone, he was so drunk, but I nodded and we turned around.

It was a good five minute drive or so, but when we saw them again you could just feel the hate simmering above the entire car.

"Greasers," David spat.

He was right. The headlights caught Cherry's unmistakable fiery hair and the shine of hair grease on three different heads. She was talking to some younger punk and Marcia was with some side-burned SOB. There was a darker kid between them, jean collar turned up and watching us approach with wide, dark eyes. They saw us coming and I knew they were a little more than spooked. Cherry said something to them as we pulled up on the curb, but I couldn't tell what.

"I can't believe… Marcia…" Randy studdered.

"I don't get it either, buddy, but I think we oughtta set some things straight." I said. He smiled and the others in the back murmured their approval.

Randy and I jumped out of the front seats and came up to them. Cherry's eyes were burning brighter than her hair and I knew she was still pretty pissed. Marcia looked just as angry. Dammit. We went straight to them, not giving the hoods a second glance.

"Cherry, Marcia, listen to us…" I started, but half of what I said was just a bunch of reassuring bullshit I didn't mean. In fact, I was drunk enough to be fading in an out of my own words. I started thinking about the dark greaser in the jean jacket. He looked familiar, and when I noticed the long scar gleaming on his face in the light of the streetlight I noted with grim approval that this was the one me and the boys beat the hell out of a couple months ago. Man, that was fun. I'd had a crappy day anyway, and seeing him bleeding, hearing him begging us to stop, feeling that satisfying crack of my rings on his face really lifted my spirits.

I suddenly found myself saying "…just because we got a little drunk last time…"

Cherry cut me off, flushing with anger. "A little? You call reeling and passing out in the street 'a little'? Bob, I told you, I'm never going out with you while you're drinking, and I mean it. Too many things can happen while you're drunk. It's me or the booze."

But you're leaving me with such a hard decision here! I wanted to scream at her.

Randy, seeing me losing steam, stepped up to Marcia. "Baby, you know we don't get drunk very often…" She stared at him coldly, and even from here I could feel the cold fury resonating from her gaze. I shifted from foot to foot nervously, but her look just made him angrier. "And even if you are mad, that's no reason to go walking the streets with these bums."

"Who you callin' bums?" one of them asked.

I turned to the greasers. The side-burned one had a smoke between his fingers, leaning against the dark one, who was hunched over with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. The other one stiffened a little. I have to admit they looked pretty fearsome, but they didn't scare me.

Well, not too much.

Besides, I knew we had the boys in the back seat just itching for a fight, and I told them so. "Listen, greasers, we got four more of us in the back seat…"

Side-burns rolled his eyes. "Then pity the back seat."

I saw Randy's fists clench at his sides. "If you're looking for a fight…"

Looking back at us, Side-burns cocked an eyebrow, and I felt my hate for him and the others flare. Arrogant, trashy, filthy greasers! I fought to keep the words back and my cool.

Side-Burns went on, "You mean if I'm looking for a good jumping, you outnumber us, so you'll give it to us? Well…" He grabbed an old pop bottle and broke off the end with an ear-splitting shatter, the sharp glass points sparkling menacingly. Without looking away from us he handed the weapon to the younger kid and flipped out a black, gleaming switchblade from his back pocket. "Try it, pal."

The angry fire in Cherry's eyes flickered fearfully, dancing between blade and bottle. "No! Stop it!" She turned back to me, and I knew how badly she didn't want to see the mess this would turn out to be. "We'll ride home with you." her voice came out in a frightened rush. "Just wait a minute."

"Why?" Side-burns grunted, eyes sparkling. "We ain't scared of them."

"I can't stand fights… I can't stand them…"

Bottle kid came up to us, and I was all for beating his greasy little head in, but he just gently pulled Cherry aside and started talking to her quietly. I watched the hard, angry look leave his eyes as he dropped the weapon, saying something to her that seemed to calm her down a bit. I'll bet he's really a nice kid, I thought, then mentally kicked myself for thinking something so ridiculous. He was a greaser! God, I need to lay off the whiskey.

She said one last thing to him and ran to my side. I really wished I'd heard, because whatever it was, he was clearly stunned. I hid a smile as Randy, Marcia, Cherry and I crammed back into the Mustang. I revved the engine once, and then we were off.

The girls didn't say anything the whole ride home, even with Luke pestering the daylights out of them. "What's the deal, huh?" "Greasers? C'mon, you guys can do better than that!" "What'd they do to get you to stay with them all night, give you a good fucking?"

My eyes widened at that. He must be really wasted if he let something like that slip. Cherry went livid, smacking him so hard his eyes rolled back. She spat several choice words then, and that's just saying it lightly. It took a lot to get Cherry Valance to swear, and boy was she pissed then.

She and Marcia lived real close to each other, so they both got out of the car when I stopped. Marcia went right on, but Cherry turned and looked at me right in the eye.

"It's me, or the booze, Bob." she hissed. "Choose." Then she stalked off, never looking back.

I watched her go, knowing she meant it.

Aw, hell.

"Hey, Will, give me another whiskey, would ya?"

-0-0-0-

We were drunk.

Not just a buzz. Not just a little bleary eyed, voices just a little slurred. No way. We were drunk. As in, wow, look how much brighter the lights are after six bottles! Or, how come the ground keeps spinning? Or, sweet God, is my head still on?!

We had driven back to The Way Out, just for something to do. We played some more pool, nearly killed Caleb playing darts, got slapped by several broads, and Luke passed out cold. I drank the least, maybe three or four bottles, not because I was the one driving but because I could still remember my last hangover. Twelve bottles in one night puts you through hell in the morning.

Around one thirty it was someone's bright idea to go out driving. We left Luke in one of the back rooms, planning to pick him up later. Like he'd care. But we drove around our territory for a while, then I realized I'd taken a wrong turn and suddenly we were in the East Side.

"Bob, you so druuuunk you can' fin' where you's goin'?" David asked me -- or tried to, his voice was so slurred.

"I guess." I mumbled.

"Hey, hey, hey," Randy sat up a little in his seat and turned to face the back seat. "Hey, guys, since we's here, how 'bout we," he pointed at them all with the hand that held his half empty bottle, "how 'bout we go finds them, them greasers who tooks our girls." he looked at me. "Huh? How 'bout it, man?"

I thought about it. I was still pretty pissed at those hoods, I realized through the haze in my mind. Hell, I always was. "Yeah. Yeah, let's find 'um."

The guys in back cheered, but it was drowned out by their next swig.

We continued to drive around the mangy, dirty excuse for greaser territory. I listened to the guy's slurred conversations and suddenly realized this was all I had. Whiskey and a nice car. There was no meaning to my life, nothing special about me. I was just another Soc with a Beatles hair cut and madras shirts. I was nothing important. The world could spare an idiot like me. The epiphany hit me hard, made me feel like crap. I took a big gulp from my flask, trying to find something I was good at, some way I was useful but turned up empty handed.

I shook my head. You're not gonna be anything here, I thought, This place has nothing for you.

Will's voice startled me from my thoughts. "Hey, s'that them?"

I turned toward where he pointed. We were driving by an old park. It felt eerily quiet, now that all the guys had stopped talking to see if they could find the greasers. The only sound was the fountain flowing and the wind blowing through the trees. I suddenly realized how cold it was and was glad for my sweater.

Then I saw them. Two greasers, not far from the fountain, their faces illuminated by their cigarettes. I recognized them as Bottle kid and the little dark bastard from before.

"Hey, yeah, there they are!" I exclaimed, and slammed on the breaks and the horn at the same time. Seeing greaser blood would definitely make me feel better. For a few minutes, at least. Then I'd remember everything and this jumping would feel like a total waste of time. But I'll deal with that later.

The guys in the back laughed, and we all jumped out and headed toward the two, staggering just a little. I guess knowing a fight was on drove the stupor from our minds. As we got closer I was pleased to see the dark one eyeing my rings with uncertainty. He remembered.

"Hey, whatta ya know?" I said, a little unsteadily, "Here's the little greasers that picked up our girls. Hey, greasers."

"You're outa your territory," the dark one growled, "You better watch it."

I was shivering from excitement. I could hear the little shit's voice screaming like a baby in the back of my mind and I knew he was scared to death, no matter how tough he sounded.

Randy spilled a string of curse words at them. "Nup, pal, yer the one's who'd better watch it. Next time you want a broad, pick up yer own kind -- dirt."

Some of the guys laughed quietly and we moved in closer.

"You know what a greaser is?" I asked, smiling in spite of my hate for them, "White trash with long hair."

Bottle kid's face paled, his hands clenching into fists. The dark one let out what I thought was a gasp, but it was hard to tell. His eyes smoldered like coals in a fire.

"You know what a Soc is?" Bottle kid asked, trembling from fear or rage I couldn't tell (or care), "White trash with Mustangs and madras." Then he hacked up a good one and spat by my shoe.

I didn't look away from him, and he kept his eyes locked on me. I imagined him bleeding and crying, screaming for mercy, and my smile broadened as I shook my head at his insolence. "You could use a bath, greaser. And a good working over. And we've got all night to do it. Give the kid a bath, David."

David, grinning happily, walked over to him and snagged him by the arm when he tried to run away. He twisted his arm behind his back and shoved his head into the fountain, keeping his head below with his free hand. Me and the boys busted out laughing as the greaser thrashed and fought uselessly, walking closer to the dark one.

"Did you think we'd leave you out of the fun?" I asked him, and I cracked the fingers on my ring hand. "Believe me, we wouldn't dream of it."

The dark one looked half crazy he was so scared, his eyes darting from one face to another. "Look at him," Will said, giddy now, "He looks like a lost little puppy, don't he? A puppy that's been kicked too many times."

Beside us, David started laughing as he lifted Bottle kid's head up out of the water for just an instant, then shoved him back under.

"We gonna beat you so bad," Caleb said, "We gonna beat you so bad you'll be wishin' you was dead."

And as we got closer, I knew the boys hadn't seen the dark one reach toward his back pocket.

I thought fast. I remembered Side-burns earlier pulling a switchblade from his back pocket when he thought we would jump them, and I realized that was just what this kid was doing. From the look in his eyes I could tell he would kill any one of us without thinking twice if it meant saving himself from the beating we would give him.

I remembered how much I didn't want to go home again, how much I hated my parents, how much I hated my life. Tomorrow would hold nothing for me, just another painful day filled with more emotions I couldn't let anyone see, filled with more lies I told, with more whiskey and broads and madras.

This life held nothing for me.

And here was this little scared greaser, offering me a back door out of this living hell.

I didn't think twice about accepting that offer.

I pulled my ring hand back at the same time he flicked out his knife, and as I threw my fist toward his face he gritted his teeth and drove it through the center of my chest. My punch fell short as burning pain pulsated through my veins with every beat of my heart. I grunted and he removed his weapon. I could already feel the blood oozing from beneath my shirt, dripping onto my hands as I keeled over, clutching the wound.

Randy was the first to realize what had happened. "Son of a bitch!" he screamed, jumping back. Caleb let out an unintelligible stream of profanities and took off toward the Mustang. David must have seen what was wrong, too, because suddenly there was a splash and he took off after Caleb and Will. I heard the engine roar and the squeal of tires and then there was nothing but the fountain gurgling, and me and the greaser's heavy breathing.

I looked up at him and met his shocked, dark gaze. His eyes drifted from mine to the blood now spewing out of me to the gleaming knife in his hand.

I managed a smile. "Thanks," my voice was strained, gasping, "I guess we're even now, huh?"

He just stared.

I struggled to swallow the knot in my throat and jerked my head toward the fountain. "You might wanna go… help y-your friend over there. N-no reason for… two of us to die tonight, right?"

He nodded and was gone. I could hear splashing and sputtering to my right and knew the other kid was okay.

I could feel myself slipping away fast as breathing grew harder and harder a task. I didn't regret what I'd just done. My problems were over now, dead, like me. But I wished I could tell someone that this was what I'd wanted. There would definitely be a huge fight over this, and the little greaser would get put in the electric chair if he got caught. I didn't want that. Not anymore.

I started to wonder what would happen now. Was there something more? Was there another life after this? My vision began to darken and I imagined a world without even the need for money, with no booze or cars. A world where everyone had meaning, a purpose, a reason for existing. A world where there were no Socs or Greasers, just people. Just friends.

I fell lower to the ground and felt myself deflating. That's the world I'd always wanted. And I was finally going there, thanks to that one little dark boy who I used to despise. My heart beat raggedly, loudly in my ears, and I realized I felt bad for him. He still had to stay in this world. But I was so happy that my time here was done. I could start over as a better, significant man.

I felt all my hate and envy for that boy and the rest of the greasers evaporate with my life, smiling to myself. I'm finally getting what I always wanted.

And then, blackness.