His head was up in the clouds, as per usual.

It made him careless of the cracked sidewalk turning to dirt path and eventually the gutter alongside the road, and of the odd, mumbling sort of expression to his lips that made people stare.

They stared because they didn't realize. They didn't know that, up in his head, Ponyboy was far from alone.

His parents made appearances in his consciousness not only daily but constantly. It wasn't just when he was walking down the crowded halls of school and he smelled cologne and it struck him confused for a moment before realizing he had thought his father had been nearby or when he went to Two-Bit's and noticed the wilting tigerlillies in an abandoned planter that his mother could have saved. He'd think of them whenever he went into a different room of the house; saw their gentle smiles in pictures atop the piano, or when he got a shirt out of the closet in their bedrooms.

He would give anything to have them back but with time the pain had faded. It was only a rare occasion nowadays that he'd be giving a lazy response about why the widow would adopt Huck when the feel of his parents touched his heart and closed his throat. Simply saddening at first, then troubling.

Distracted for the rest of the day from that point, Ponyboy thought about them. And thought some more. Then he missed them. And he missed them some more.

How could God take them? He loved them good, hadn't he? Hadn't he showed God that he loved them so much that he would never be able to get along without them?

His heart turned sick when his thoughts turned on the idea that while some people would grow old with their parents, have children and maybe their children would have children before their parents died, he wouldn't.

Ponyboy Michael Curtis would never see his parents ever again.

He missed them so much, so hard, that he hadn't even noticed that he was approaching an intersection and he didn't know he was in the middle of it until the tractor trailer laid on that terrible, blaring horn.

In a split second his heart stopped before pulsing through his veins and then he ran out of the way, faster than he ever had at any track meet. He stumbled blindly onto the newly remembered sidewalk and a sob crept up his throat. Ponyboy didn't know up from down. A sob crept up his throat and before he could even think to quell it, it burst forth.

He could have died.

His brothers would never see him again.

The thought of his brothers reminded him that this was real life. Real life, where you can be here one moment and gone literally the next. The world spun, so real and stark and frightening. Some sense made Pony lift a shaking hand, where he found his watch. It was seven-thirty. He'd been out of school since three and was supposed be home when Darry got home at five. He had promised, swore up and down that he'd get home on time this week. Rolled his eyes when Darry said again and again that Pony would be grounded if he didn't follow the rules.

For the second time today, Pony made his personal running best.

He sprinted wildly at first, just running and not even realizing if he was running in the right direction, but soon forced himself to focus. He had to get home, he had to get home.

Though his thoughts kept jolting back to ones of his parents and of dying, whenever Ponyboy realized it he made himself sort facts. Darry would be mad, but Darry would be home. Soda would be a little mad, but he definitely wouldn't be home. He had said it this morning, patting Ponyboy's leg when he sat at the foot of the bed to tug on socks. "'M goin' out with Steve to check out the new thoroughbreds Buck's got. 'Sposed to be some mighty fine horses. Prolly won't be home till at least eight but definitely before nine, so you can just make grilled cheeses for Darry. We even got tomatoes, so you'll be the favorite tonight."

Buck's barn was so far. God, he'd be driving late tonight. Too fast. Soda was a good driver but not everyone else was. They learned that with their parents.

But he couldn't worry about Soda. Yet.

Darry would be home.

He'd be safe.

Darry was late.

Pony had stumbled through the screen door, gasping for air, tears of pain pricking at his eyes.

"D-darry," he wheezed, a hand gripping the now soaked t-shirt at his chest.

The house was dark. No radio, no TV.

It was like the home of someone who had died.

Ponyboy thought those words and his heart went wild. He tripped through the house, opening doors and screaming his brother's name. He was sprinting down the cellar stairs when Darry's voice called out, jovial, "Hey, Pony, I'm home!"

Ponyboy turned so fast, his feet slipped on the worn wooden steps. His chest hit the edge hard and his shins scraped down before he managed to find his footing after which he launched himself, crawling up the stairs.

There was Darry, setting his tool belt on the checked table cloth, face red from the sun but smiling. "Why are all the lights out?"

Pony threw himself at his older brother. He gripped him so tight it was a surprise his tendons didn't snap from the exertion.

Darry was too startled to do anything at first, but after a moment he laid a tentative hand on the back of Pony's head.

"Hey, little buddy, what's wrong?" he whispered.

Pony could only sob in response and tighten his grip on Darry's ribs.

"C'mon, c'mon." Darry managed to lead his little brother to the couch. He settled down and still stroking Pony's hair he said, "What happened?"

Pony lifted his head and stared at his brother and lip quivering he choked out, "You were late."

A bony fist slammed into Darry's chest. Brokenly he whispered, "Y-you were late and I th-ought you d-died."

The sobs broke loose again.

Darry finally returned his brother's hug with fervor. His rested his cheek on Pony's head. "Oh Pony. Don't cry. Darry's here. Darry's gotcha. I ain't going anywhere, baby."

In the still dark living room, Pony cried into his brother's chest. He cried himself to sleep trying to find comfort in his brother's words.

"I ain't going anywhere."

And to Darry's everlasting credit, he didn't.