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Author's note: Hiya! So listen, I've had this idea floating around for a while, but I haven't done anything with it until now 'cause I wasn't sure how it'd be received. I'm still not. Please review and let me know.

Basically, this story starts right after Dally's been shot. I've given Soda a twin. If that bugs you, go ahead and tell me. If you're nice about it, I'll be nice. If you're mean, I'll be mean right back. I don't care. Now, I am changing a little bit of the canon story for the sake of my plot. Ponyboy does not get kicked in the head during the rumble, does not have a concussion, and does not get sick. Cool? Cool. Again, if that bugs you, above statement stands.

For the record, most of this will be from the twins point of view. Just 'cause.

Alright. Let's do this thing.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders. However, Motley is mine.

Chapter 1: Motley Ace Curtis

MOTLEY'S POV

My name is Motley Ace Curtis. I'm Sodapop Curtis's twin.

Why Motley, you ask? Well, simple. Dad said that right away he could tell I would be different from my twin. Someone apart. And he was right.

Soda's nice. He's caring and sweet, and he loves everyone. I've got a bit of a mean streak. Being caring and sweet would ruin my rep, and I don't love much of anyone other than my brothers.

Much of anyone.

Either way, enough of the stupid introductions. Let's just get down to the story.

Dallas was dead. My very best friend. The only person on the face of the whole planet who had ever actually really got me. I know, it was sad about Johnny, but I was more torn up about Dallas. I knew Dal would kill me if he ever heard me say that, but that didn't change that it was true. Dallas meant more to me than the Cade kid ever had. And now he was gone.

And I suppose that's where our story starts. Dallas had been shot, blown to kingdom come, and now I was tearing through the streets of Tulsa, running from everyone and no one at the same time. I'd left my best friend's body and my brothers and other friends at the lot. I couldn't bear to stick around and watch whatever the hell it was the cops did with the bodies of the people they'd shot. Killed in the line of duty.

Murdered.

There. It's out there. I have a hard time with the 'line of duty' concept. I mean, yeah, sometimes a cop needs to shoot somebody, but c'mon, man, you need to understand the circumstances behind it first. This mess was a perfect example. Johnny'd just died, and the gun wasn't even loaded in the first place. And isn't there some rule somewhere that says 'don't fire till you're fired upon'? This was one of those times when the cops should've just left well enough alone.

I'd made it down by the tracks. Shepard's territory. But that was okay. I'd always got along with Tim, and we'd just fought together in the rumble. I didn't see any reason to expect any trouble from any of these guys tonight.

I turned a corner and ran smack into Tim.

"Damn it, Curtis, watch where the shit you're goin'." He half laughed as he helped me to my feet. Then he got a closer look at my face. I wasn't crying - tough greasers just don't do that - but I was close to it. "Whoa, man, what the shit happened?"

"What makes you think anything happened?"

"The fact that you look like you did when your parents died."

Wow. Did I really look like shit? That's what he meant. That's what he'd told me when he saw me at the funeral. Exact words: 'Curtis, you look like shit'. "Fine. Johnny's dead."

"Yeah, Winston told me. But that's it?"

He knew me too well. He knew that Johnny dying would get to me, but wouldn't get me as shook as I was. So he followed it through to the logical conclusion. Either I was a bigger pansy than he thought or something else was up. Even amidst it all, I felt flattered that he hadn't really considered the first option.

"Dallas is dead too."

Tim just stared at me for a second with this look on his face like a deer in headlights, then said quietly, "Well that explains this." He held a small black box out to me.

"What is it?" I asked, taking it.

"Winston came to see me about fifteen minutes ago. He told me the Cade kid was dead. He seemed real tore up about it. He gave that to me and said, 'give it to Motley, and if you open it or don't get it too him, I will come back and haunt you, you understand, dipshit?' At the time, I thought I just misheard him when he said hunt, but I guess he meant haunt as in ghost. Damn, Curtis, Winston's really dead?"

I nodded numbly, wondering what the hell could be in this box. What had Dallas felt important enough to get to me to resort to threatening Tim Shepard? We only did that when we were either real bored or real desperate. We liked being on good terms with Shepard too much. "Thanks, Tim."

"What happened? I'm guessin' since he talked like he knew what was gonna happen, it was some kinda suicide?"

I winced at his callous sentence, but that was just Tim Shepard for you. He switched off his emotions when he didn't want to feel. Dallas had too. So did I. "Suicide by cop. Knocked off a store, bothered to call us and ask us to meet him in the lot, then pulled an unloaded gun on the fuzz to get em to shoot him. You'd almost think he wanted an audience."

Tim shook his head. "What a way to go. See ya around, Curtis. I think the big one might murder you if ya don't get home soon."

"See ya, Tim." I muttered, turning right back around and walking slowly towards home.

Dal hadn't wanted an audience. I knew him better than that. No. In reality, Dallas was being decent in his own way, making sure the only people left who meant anything to him knew what became of him.

And he didn't want to die alone.

That thought just made me stop and cry. I was down an alley and nobody could see me, so I didn't bother to try and stop it. I just crouched behind a dumpster until the sobs had subsided. Then I straightened up, brushed the tears off, and continued home.

I didn't get there for a few hours, which is a personal best, even for me. Usually I can't help walking faster than that, but for some reason, tonight, I didn't have it in me to go more than a snail's pace. When I walked in the front door, everybody was just lounging around smoking.

Darry looked up when I walked in. "Motley?"

I didn't grace him with a response. I just sat down on the floor right there next to the door. I didn't have it in me to move another step. I didn't care anymore.

"Motley?" Soda said gently, coming and sitting next to me.

I didn't respond to him either. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Why should I? The only person I wanted to talk to had been dead before he hit the ground.

Not fair. He got what he wanted. Why couldn't I?

Soda noticed the little black box. "What's this?" He tapped it with his finger.

I jerked it away from him. It was Dal's last present to me. Nobody else was ever gonna touch it. Ever.

Soda looked startled. "Whoa, man, sorry. Just lookin' for a conversation piece."

I knew I was being hard on him, I knew he was just trying to make it better and help me even though he had no idea how, but I didn't care. I didn't care about much of anything at this point.

"You didn't steal it, did you?" Darry said, accusing in a way only Darry and Mom had ever been able to pull off.

I just glared at him. No, I hadn't stolen it. Why was he always assuming that was what I'd done? Just because I did it on a regular basis, that didn't mean everything I walked in the door with was potential crime scene evidence.

Soda noticed a little piece of paper on the bottom of the box that I hadn't seen before. He ripped it off without even giving me a chance to stop him and looked at it. His eyes welled up with tears. "Oh, Motley. Okay. I get it."

He set the piece of paper back on the top of the box. Now I could see what it said.

For Motley Curtis

From Dallas Winston

Never forget, man. Never forget me.

I'm sorry.

"What's it say?" Darry questioned impatiently.

I didn't want to share this with him of all people, but Soda didn't give me much of a choice, grabbing the note back off the box and handing it over.

Darry stared at it for a second before looking back up at me with a pained expression on his face. "Oh, baby."

I stood up abruptly, snatched the note out of his hand, and stalked back off to my bedroom. Baby? Had he seriously just called me that? I wasn't a baby. I was going to be seventeen in two weeks. He didn't just get to call me 'baby'. That wasn't how this worked. Where did he think he got off calling me that?

I sat down on my bed, staring at the little box in my hands. What was in it? I wanted to know, but at the same time, all I wanted to do was bury it with Dal's body and never look at it again. But I knew better than to do that. That was just right now. Sooner or later, the itch to know what Dal's last present was would get to me and I'd go dig up his grave to get it.

I slowly opened the lid. The first thing I saw was a folded up piece of paper. I gently lifted it off, then stared, transfixed, at what was inside. Holy shit.

It was the necklace and skull ring Dal always wore. He never took them off. Never.

I picked up the piece of paper, curious, wanting to know the reasoning behind this.

Motley,

You're my best friend man. I just thought it would be right if you had these. I'm so sorry for bailing on you this way. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. I can't stay here. Not like this.

If you want to know where these things come from, the necklace I stole out of my mom's jewelry box right after her funeral and right before I ran away. The skull ring was my last birthday present from my twin kid brothers, Anthony and Joey, who would be about Ponyboy's age if they were still with us, if you know what I mean..

I want you to have them because you're practically my family and these are things that should be kept in a family. I love you like a brother man. Never forget that.

See ya in hell,

Dallas

Oh hell. Oh shit. Oh hell oh shit ohhellohshitohhellohshit…

I gently lifted the necklace out of the box and slipped it around my neck. I wasn't ever gonna take it off. And I would never give it to somebody else. I wanted to be buried in it. I slipped the skull ring on my finger. The same went for this. These were the only worldly possessions Dallas had treasured, and he'd thought it was worth it to give them to me. So I would treasure them to.

His note left me with a lot more questions than answers. Mom? Little brothers? Run away? Granted, I'd never seen Dal's old man, but I'd always assumed he was here in Tulsa somewhere and that Dal at least went back there occasionally. Now, I honestly just didn't know. His dad… was he still in New York somewhere? I knew Dal hadn't been to any funerals except my parents', so that meant his mom's funeral would have to have been before he came here, and it sounded like he'd run away right after that.

I sighed, slipped the notes inside the box, then put the thing in the bottom drawer of my dresser. It was where I kept anything important. It was where I put my last Christmas and birthday cards from Mom and Dad. The note of encouragement Darry had left on my nightstand the day after they died. And now Dal's last words were going in there too.

I took a chair, wedged it underneath the door handle, then flopped down on my bed. I was so happy I was alone and had the power to keep it that way. I really wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone just then.

XxXxX

Let's clear one thing up right now. I bet a lot of you out there are going 'why the hell does he get his own room? Isn't Soda his twin? Shouldn't they share?'

Okay, here's the deal.

Soda, Ponyboy, and me all used to share. As I'm sure you can imagine, it was a tight fit. Darry had a room and Mom and Dad had one. When Mom and Dad died, Darry moved into their old room and Soda and I moved into his old one. When Ponyboy started having nightmares, Soda moved back in to help him not be scared, and even though I'd gotten the invitation to come back too, in typical teenager fashion, I told them no. I finally had my own room for the first time in my life and they thought I was just going to give that up?

That's what I dreamed about that night. In my head, I told my brothers over and over again that I was going to stay where I was and watched the disappointment wash over Ponyboy's face. Soda did a better job of concealing it, but I could tell he was disappointed too. Dallas told me I'd made the smart decision and this way I could sneak out in the middle of the night if we wanted to do something Darry wouldn't approve of. Which I did. All the time.

Then the same thing happened again. It was like a broken record. That's certainly how I'd felt the night before and how I felt when I woke up the next morning.

Broken.