A/N: Aaah, The Outsiders. My reason for existence. Still working on those other fanfictions I need to write (I know I really need to update Puppy Love and Saving Me XD). Just thought I'd post something, because seriously, half of the fics in The Outsiders catagory are all CanonOC's, and I HATE THOSE WITH A BURNING PASSION. Not to mention my rather long disappearance. I don't expect this to get many reviews, though... ah well. By the way, the point of view changes between three characters, but it centers totally around the first one. 3

Dedication: This goes out to my senpai. You know who you are. 'Cause you need something like this after the accident and because you've been somehow inspiring me to continue this, even if you didn't know it. 3

Disclaimer: I do not, sadly, own The Outsiders, but by golly I wish I did. But no, S.E. Hinton owns those little darlings. The lyrics are from Keep Holding On by Avril Lavigne. KThxBai.

.:X:.

Certain Shades of Grey

.:X:.

Keep holding on
'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through
Just stay strong
'Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you
There's nothing you could say
Nothing you could do
There's no other way when it comes to the truth
So keep holding on
'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through

.:X:.

The gunshots rang through the night, the shouts of the others blocking my hearing. Even through the dim buzzing in my ears, a dull ringing from those damn heaters, I could hear the frantic, pleading, desperate shout rip from my chest, burning my throat. It was cliche, but at the time, it wasn't.

"No! Don't--- he's just a kid!"

We all screeched to a halt. Dally half-crawled, half fell towards us, bleeding badly. I'd seen people bleed before. It comes from being a greaser; there ain't nothing you can do about that. But this time... it was different. Dally's only a year and a half younger'n me. It's not like he's actually a kid dying in front of me. And I've been in rumbles more times than I'd ever like to count. Not to mention the jumping I so generously recieved from those darling Socs the other day.

"Pony..."

A last word, a last breath, a last swallow.

And suddenly he was dead. Just... like that. Dead. Nothing dramatic, like the movies. Just... dead.

"Stupid idiots!" Darry screamed, madder than I've ever seen him. "You stupid freaks!" Steve was in the middle of what looked like a cross between an seizure and a surrender. Soda and Pony stared at Dally, stunned. I could hear Ponyboy muttering Dallas and Johnny's names.

It took me a moment to realize two things. One, I'd stopped breathing, too preoccupied with the unbreakable vision of Dally, and two, Ponyboy'd collapsed.

And my stomach suddenly felt like all that beer I'd chugged down before would come right back up.

"Ponyboy! Hey, Ponyboy!" Soda shook his brother frantically, Darry a hair behind him, and we all knelt down immediately beside them, trying not to look at Dally as the fuzz made their way over. It sounds cold, but there was nothing we could do for Dally anymore. At least we could help Pony. At least, I hoped. I really didn't feel so hot right about then. The kid was way too pale underneath that coat of dried blood on his face.

"You feel okay? You're awful hot."

"I'm all right. Don't tell Darry, okay?"

"Is that boy all right?" One of the cops said, making us all jump and spin around, immediately shifting into our "tough hood" look. We must've not been convincing, though, because he just glared at us coldly.

"Come on, Two-Bit, be a buddy. I'll be well by tonight. I'll take a bunch of aspirins."

Soda turned back to Ponyboy, ignoring the cop. "We gotta get him to the house," he said, biting his lip. Darry nodded and carefully hoisted up Ponyboy. He looked over at Steve, who was still staring with a shocked, bewildered look on his face. "You might want to take care of Steve, little buddy," he muttered to Sodapop under his breath. Then he looked at me, right in my eyes, and I realized Ponyboy was right: those eyes were piercing. I looked down, hands shaking because I looked right where Dally had been, and there was a big pool of blood. The cops had taken him over towards their car and were searching him. I saw a familiar flash of silver as they pulled something out of his pocket.

"All right. But Darry'll kill me if you're really sick and go ahead and fight anyway."

"I'm okay. And if you keep your mouth shut, Darry won't know a thing."

"You all right, there, Two-Bit?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Get the kid home."

Darry cocked his head, shifting Ponyboy carefully. "You wanna come on over to our house? You look about as good as Steve."

"I'm fine," I snapped unexpectedly, even to myself. "Just mad. The bastards just have my switchblade is all." The words sounded weird. Switchblade? Right... of course. Think of it that way. They have my switchblade... that 10-inch switchblade I waited two hours for... don't think of Dally... or Johnny... or Pony... just think of the switchblade.

"What?"

"Yeah. I lent Dally my blade and now the cops have it, and I can't exactly walk over there and ask for it back, now can I?"

"Is that all that's bothering you?" Steve snapped suddenly. "That switchblade?"

I looked right at him, and we had a staredown for a moment. "No," I sighed finally, giving in. "But that's what I'm wishing was all that's bothering me." I couldn't help myself from looking at Ponyboy.

The switchblade, I reminded myself sternly, shaking.

Darry's eyes narrowed; not in anger, but almost like scrutiny, as if he was wondering if he could trust me being alone by myself at the moment. What, like I was going to kill myself or somethi--

Oh.

I looked back at the dark pool near my feet. The possibility of suicide wasn't so far out of the norm at the moment, it seemed.

"I'm fine," I told him again, trying to speak with my eyes, assure him that I wasn't going to do anything. He seemed to get it, because he nodded and began to walk back towards their house, still carrying the unconcious Ponyboy. Steve and Soda walked after him, and a few moments passed before I followed.

I was after I'd said good-bye to the rest of them that I started the walk back to my house, slowly, contemplating the night.

Stupid idiot, I thought to myself. The switchblade?! You made it out like all you cared about was that stupid switchblade? Hell, I can just steal another one, I don't need to gripe about my old one. But we can't get another Dally or another Johnny...

My stomach felt like it dropped a few notches in my body and I felt my whole body lurch without warning, acid in my throat. I grasped on to the nearest fence post and was quietly sick in the bush next to me. Out of nowhere, it hit me like a ton of bricks. They were gone. Never coming back... ever. Not like Pop, who I didn't care about, but still almost wished he would come back, because he could. Johnny and Dally were gone for good. They weren't coming back. They weren't coming back. They weren't coming back. I retched again, emptying my stomach.

I gripped the fence so hard that my hand started bleeding through the bandage. I could feel a few of the stitches rip my skin open again, and the bandage was slowly turning red as the dark spot spread through the thin fabric. Wiping my mouth, I pushed back from the wooden post and walked unsteadily back onto the sidewalk.

They're dead. They're dead. They're dead. They're dead.

They're dead.

My stomach lurched again, but there was nothing there to bring back up. Nevertheless, the movement unbalanced me for a moment, but I didn't care. My face felt hot, and I reached up to feel my forehead. It was hot. Nothing compared to Ponyboy's fever from before...

I bit my lip. Ponyboy was sick and it was all my fault and I was so stupid not to tell Darry and it would be my fault if Ponyboy died too. I knew he wouldn't --he couldn't-- because Darry and Soda would take good care of the kid. But it was still my fault.

I stopped and stared at the house in front of me. It was white, with a picket fence in front and yellowish curtains in the windows. Yelling and screaming was coming from inside.

"Dead?! I never even got to see him! The no good little --- saw those damned filthy scum but he wouldn't see his own mother! He'd rather see the fugitive and the drunk--"

I narrowed my eyes. If I had my choice, that women would have already been dead. She was calling me a drunk? I remembered my words in the hospital, a millenia ago.

No wonder he hates your guts. You don't even care about him, you damn drunk

"He deserves it!"

My breath caught in my throat. A mother... saying her own son deserved death?

Anger and hatred and pity and sadness and lonelieness and guilt all welled up inside me at the exact same time and the tears came without my wanting them. I didn't sob, and I didn't yell. I barely made any noise. I just cried silently for Johnny. And Dally, too. And really all of us. Because where would this take us?

"He deserves it! Everything he gets! They all deserve it, the scum!"

Yes. Some of us deserve it. I deserve it. Steve and Tim and Curly deserve it. But not Johnny. Johnny Cade didn't deserve what he got. Except for the fact that he died a hero. Johnny deserved to go out a hero.

But if there was ever anyone that didn't deserve death, it was Johnnycake.

"Don't talk to me like that! He died in your hospital. It's your fault as much as it is their's!"

'Their's?'

Us?

Johnny was dead because of us?

Why was I even listening to this woman? How could I listen?

The thought seemed to settle it. I whirled around and sprinted back to the Curtis'.

.:X:.

"Is he breathing easily?" I called wearily, placing a bandage on the bite on my hand. That Soc had the sharpest teeth I've ever seen, I swear.

"Yeah," came Soda's reply. He came into the room wiping his forehead and grinning sleepily. "He wouldn't swallow the medicine, though. Kept mumbling about how it tasted like boloney. I had to use that old trick where you pinch his nose and lips to get him to swallow it."

I groaned. "Don't do that, Soda. It's uncomfortable for him."

"Yeah, I know, but he needed the medicine, so I gave him the medicine, like you said."

Sighing, I shook my head and made to go to my room to get changed; I was covered in blood and dirt and sweat and I really needed a shower. But at that exact moment someone pounded on the door.

Soda and I looked at each other. The boys had all gone home for the night-- I stopped myself. It wasn't "the boys" anymore. It was Two-Bit and Steve, now. That was it. It could be Tim, but I was sure he'd gone home. Soda had made sure Steve had gotten in his house safely, and Two-Bit had headed home too. Soda shrugged and nodded towards the door. I took a breath and crossed over to the other side of the room. If it was a Soc or the police...

Opening the door, I started.

"Two-Bit? What-- are you all right?"

None other than Two-Bit Mathews was standing on the steps. The moment I'd opened the door, he'd looked down, not meeting my eyes. He was pale and trembling, and I noticed the bandage on his hand was red. I placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly. "Hey, Two-Bit. Talk to me. Two-Bit!" I admit I was a bit freaked out. Two-Bit was crying.

Two-Bit doesn't cry. Keith Mathews just doesn't cry. It's like crying isn't in his genetic make-up or something.

Soda came up behind me. "Hey, you okay, buddy?"

He took a deep breath and grinned strainingly up at us.

"Sorry 'bout that. Just needed... to tell ya'll something is all. I'll be all right, just give me a sec. Just spooked." He paused. "I heard Johnny's mother talking when I passed by to cut through their lawn like I always do."

I stiffened. We all knew Two-Bit was like Johnny's guardian, protecting him from his parents whenever he could. If he hurt Johnny's mother... As much as we all hated her, we knew the trouble Two-Bit would get into if he laid a hand on her.

"What happened?" I asked cautiously, still keeping a hand on his shoulder; he looked ready to break down completely.

He seemed to know what I was implying, because he still grinning, although it seemed as though it hurt to do so, I will admit. "Nah, nothing that like. Just got me a little mad. She said..." He paused again, seeming to be struggling with something he wanted to say. Finally he relaxed completely and said slowly, "Well, she said a lot of things actually. But the last thing she said before I r- walked over here..."

I caught that, much to his discomfort. "'Ran'? You ran here? Two-Bit, no one runs across two blocks and a vacant lot because they got a little mad!"

He was looking down again, and when he spoke again, his voice was unlike anything I've ever heard from Two-Bit.

"She said... it was our fault."

I never thought so many emotions could be conveyed in one single sentence before. It was sad and angry and above all, questioning. Like he was questioning whether what that bitch said was right, and needed our reassurances that this wasn't the case, and if he didn't get that, he'd never forgive himself. At the same time it was hestitating, like he was scared we'd get mad because he'd even considered the possibility, and embarrassed because he was sitting on our front steps crying. Then it was almost defensive because he needed a reason to justify why he was on our front steps, and even possibility pleading, like he wanted us to punch him or something for saying that, just so he could feel pain and know that he was still alive. But above all, his voice sounded guilty. Guilty because maybe Johnny's mother was right, that it was our fault, and he didn't want to believe it, but at the same time he was.

And there was something else being said in his grey eyes. Something I recognized, because I saw it all the time in Ponyboy's.

Fear.

Not the fear that we would hurt him. Fear that we'd get mad at him and not want to speak to him and slam the door in his face.

Soda was staring at Two-Bit with a wide-eyed look we all associated with the face you make when you saw a small puppy get kicked.

"She said it was our fault that Johnny's dead... and that... that..." he hesitated again.

I gave his shoulder a little shake.

"...She said he deserved it." He let out a little yelp as I unconsciously squeezed my hand on his shoulder, and I let go immediately. Soda's eyes were blazing.

"He deserved it?" He asked through clenched teeth. Everyone was having weird emotions tonight. Two-Bit was crying, and Sodapop looked ready to kill someone for the second time that night.

"But that's not why I'm here!" Two-Bit said hastily, looking as though he'd rather be both anywhere and no where else at the same time. And with good reason. The Curtis brothers looking ready to kill is always a sign to run away, but Two-Bit's stubborn. He's going to tell us what's on his mind, I knew.

And I was right.

"I...I, uh..." He hesitated again.

"You wanna come inside?"

"Nah. Just..." A pause. "How's the kid? How's Ponyboy doing?" A flicker of something crossed over his face, like he remembered something that had been said.

I cocked an eyebrow; I couldn't help it. "He's doing fine. Two-Bit, you seriously don't look so good."

"Don't worry about me."

"Too late."

Soda piped up. "You said you needed to tell us something."

He looked up, and I stared into those bright grey eyes, waiting. Waiting for whatever it was he wanted to say to me and Soda.

He took a deep breath, then let it out.

Then babbled as only Two-Bit can do.

Talking fast, as though that would make this easier, he said loudly, "It's my fault Ponyboy got sick, he was running a fever right after we visited Johnny and he told me not to tell you and that he'd take a bunch of aspirins and it was really stupid of me to just let him go along with it that's why I was freaking out when he passed out because I thought... that he was... gonna... die too. Hi." We were staring stupidly at him with our eyebrows raised. I honestly had not gotten one word of what he'd just said, except when he slowed down at the end. "Okay," I said slowly. "Repeat that, please."

"It's my fault Pony's sick?"

"Okay..."

"He was running a fever after we visited Johnny, and he talked me into not telling you."

"Got that."

"And I freaked out when he fainted."

"Yup."

"And that's it."

I sighed. "Okay, Two-Bit, you obviously need to come inside and calm down."

"But--"

"In." I pointed at the floor, and he pulled a face, looking more like the Two-Bit we knew, though he was still really pale. He shook his head. "Nah, ya'll, I really oughta get home. My mom's probably worried sick."

"Alright," I said reluctantly. "Stay there for a sec."

He cocked an eyebrow as I walked into the bathroom and grabbed our bottle of sleeping pills. Popping the cap off, I dumped some in my hand, chose two, put the rest back in, and strolled back to the living room, where Soda was talking to Two-Bit in a really low, soothing voice. Pretending I didn't see so as to preserve Two-Bit's dignity, I walked over, grabbed his wrist, placed the pills on his palm, and pushed his fingers over them.

"Now I want you to go home," I told him, looking right in his eyes, "and take these. I have a feeling none of us are gonna sleep much tonight without some help. We gave some to Steve, too," I added, as he opened his mouth to protest. "So you aren't gettin' any 'special treatment'."

He looked down again, not saying anything.

"You gonna go home and do what I said?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. He turned around and started to walk back. "Hey, Two-Bit." He looked back over his shoulder. I studied him for a moment: the bandage on his cheek, the bags under his eyes, the hair flopping into his face, and the way he held himself, as though he was keeping himself together.

"Take care of yourself, alright?"

He smiled, and the old Two-Bit shone through the broken shell.

"Yeah."

.:X:.

I sat down, or plopped would be a more better term, I think. "Boy, what a night!" I said into my hands.

He grinned wearily and shut the door before walking over and sitting next to me. "Poor kid," he said tiredly. I knew he meant Two-Bit. "He really thinks it's his fault."

I looked at him in some surprise. "I thought you didn't know what he was talking about?"

Darry looked at me increndously. "What? Of course I knew what he was talking about."

"But-- but you--"

"You think I was going to get mad at him?"

I withered. "No, of course not."

Darry looked at the door. "I'm not gonna blame him. You know, I think I'm just gonna pretend that I thought he was delusional. The last thing Ponyboy needs is for one of us to blame themselves for him getting sick."

I contemplated that for a moment. "I see your point."

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "You know everything's gonna be different, now."

"Yeah," I said softly. "For better or for worse, though, I'm wondering."

Darry gave me a funny look. "I see your point, too."

I sighed. "I'm gonna try'n sleep," I said, getting up. He followed.

There was a silence for a moment as we made our way to our rooms.

"Hey, Soda?"

I turned.

"Don't tell Ponyboy about Two-Bit, if he wakes up, alright?"

I gave him a look, but agreed to it. "Yeah, alright."

He gave me a rare grin and disappeared into his room.

I plopped down next to Ponyboy and smoothed back some of his hair from his sweat-streaked forehead. He mumbling something inconherent. I sighed and laid back.

"G'night, Pony," I whispered.

I just starred at the ceiling for a long time, not going to sleep.

Wondering what would happen next.

.:X:.

A/N: Uh... wow, what a crappy ending. o.o Feel free to imagine what could've happened next.

Two-Bit's thoughts are actually my own, the thoughts I was thinking when I found out that one of my classmates had been murdered (which, incidentally, I found out the same day I'd written and published the first chapter of Savin' Me, so it was only a few hours after I published it that I saw the news). For those who don't know, finding out a friend died from another friend (meaning Kelly gave me the news) is about the worst thing in the world at that exact moment; regardless of how well you knew the person, it's such a shock that you really do feel like throwing up on the spot, and the same sentence keeps going through your head: "He's dead." You really can't think anything else, so I wasn't being cliche or overdramatic or anything. And when you're young (we were all fourteen at the time, not even freshmen yet), it's even worse.

I feel morbidly sad now. D

Fitting, however. It helped me write a lot of the fic.

By the way, I know that Ponyboy was in the hospital, but I forgot that at the time I wrote it, and I really didn't want to rewrite it because it would've screwed up my entire fic up.

Ja ne, nya.

COMMENT PLZ. For Johnny?