A/N: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Lifehouse owns "Fool."

This chapter was previously posted as the last chapter of "One Headlight" ... as an April Fool's joke. We have since replaced it with the real last chapter and didn't want this to go to waste, so we're posting it as a one-shot for anyone that missed it the first time or for anyone that wants to give us hell for the prank. I guess we deserve that. :)

Just to be clear, this was only a joke and absolutely nothing from this chapter will occur in our sequel to "One Headlight." Although, we kind of like the idea of Dally knowing the future and using that knowledge ... for good or evil. :)

'Cause I am reaching for you
But my arms aren't long enough
And I am running to you
If I could go a little faster

April 1968

Spring fever was running rampant all throughout the state pen. Every con from minor offense to the more serious crimes was feeling the itch to get out and just getting out into the exercise yard wasn't cutting it for them. Dally, on the other hand, didn't give it too much thought. At least not because of the change of weather. He had some big things on his mind and the biggest one was that last letter of Ellie's. The fact that it was so angry had him worried, although he would never admit that to anyone else.

Five months had gone by since that letter arrived. He had read it and dismissed it as easily as he had the others, but unlike those, another never followed. In five months, he hadn't gotten another letter from her, and he had come to realize just how much he looked forward to that small message from the outside, that sentiment from her. He had dismissed her anger so easily because she simply never stayed mad for long. Ellie always came back around, but he was honestly getting worried. Five damned months and not a single word.

As he contemplated eating the bologna sandwich on his tray, he heard the explosion of chaos around him. He turned in his seat and took in the scene wide-eyed as a brawl between men at one table was spreading like a fever until everyone was in the middle of some huge rumble.

"Fuck," he muttered, getting to his feet and backing off.

Dally was never the type to back away from a fight, but he usually knew what the hell he was fighting. This was just a fucking mindless riot. He looked across the cafeteria and watched as a burly, biker-type beat the shit out of some smaller guy with big ears with a lunch tray. Blood spurted out of the smaller man's nose and he crumpled to the ground, knees pulled up to his chest and hugging his head. COs poured in, some in riot gear and others just holding billy clubs and taking the opportunity to hit who they could.

The clusters of screaming men moved in waves and overtook him into their ranks where Dally started using his natural talents and took on who he could just to keep from getting his head slammed into a wall. He tried to imagine it as the rumble with the Socs, but that had lost its appeal a long time ago. Now it was just him and a hundred guys just like him, all fighting for no reason in the world except to ruffle feathers and come out on top.

Dally found some guy about his size blocking his exit and landed the guy a punch in the face so hard the older man fell backward into a table. Another guy with red hair and missing teeth stepped into his way and shoved him backward into the backs of a group descending on a CO separated from the rest. As he righted himself, he took a strong hit from behind and stumbled forward into a guy covered in tattoos. A cold shock hit him and for a long second the two of them stayed touching until the tattooed man pulled his hand away quickly, leaving Dally gasping for breath and feeling for his abdomen. It was a shock to see his whole hand reddened with blood.

"Oh fuck," he muttered, wanting to lean over to inspect it but found himself unable. "Shit."

It was bleeding freely, and Dally turned to get out of the fracas. It seemed that blood was the ticket to the waters parting, and Dally pushed through, the sound of the riot being replaced by his own frantic breathing.

Once through the crush of inmates, he leaned against the cold cinderblock wall and pressed his hand into his side, watching in amazement as the fuzz struggled to regain control. A portly officer ran up to him, a man whom Dally had once wanted to throw against the wall before for calling him a kid.

"You okay, son?"

Dally pulled his hand away and the man's eyes widened and then blew a whistle. Four cons he wasn't watching grabbed him and pulled him back into the fight. It was all such a helpless situation, and Dally felt incredibly far away.

XXX

Sirens wailed overhead and sang in tune with several others all around. The ambulance bounced and jolted him with every tiny bump in the road, but Dally could grit his teeth against it. His little injury had earned him a free trip away from his cell. It was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in over a year. He didn't know why he wasn't just in the prison's infirmary, but he also didn't care.

Once they arrived at the hospital, Dally lay still as he was pulled from the ambulance and wheeled inside the white-walled hospital. They pushed the gurney into a room with curtain walls. A doctor cut off his shirt, inspected his wound and listened to his chest with a stethoscope as a pair of nurses packed his wound with a fresh bandage and then left. He lay there staring at the ceiling, the smells burning his nose. It didn't hurt nearly as bad as he thought it would have to be stabbed like that. It probably wasn't anything except precaution to bring him back to Tulsa.

A thought gripped him, and he hoped he wasn't there too long while at the same time hoping he would be there long enough for word to get out. He didn't let himself think it through, but he was hoping that maybe Ellie would show up. It sure would be fun to pick up where the left off the night of the rumble. Fucking nurses screwed everything up between them.

It was a fucking stupid thought. They would patch him up and ship him back without too much fuss; hospitals probably didn't like having cons in their beds. His head ached a bit, and he reached up to pinch his nose and realized for the first time that he was not tethered to the bed. He stared up in awe at his free hand and raised his other. Slamming them back down, he looked around and listened hard. No one was bothering with him.

Sitting up was difficult, but a lot easier than right after he got shot. He felt his side and when his hand came back clean, he carefully swung his legs over the bed. Standing still and listening, he waited until he was sure no one was about to bust him. He took quiet steps forward and parted the curtain a little. The corridor was busy with people moving in every direction. Dally looked carefully for any uniform and saw none. With a smirk on his face, he was about to slip between the curtains when he remembered he wasn't wearing a shirt.

"Shit," he said, touching his bare torso and glaring at the white bandage with the red dot. Looking around the tiny curtained room, he only saw a hospital gown so he grabbed it and put it on like a robe. He would just act like he was going to bathroom or something. Real easy.

He darted out of the curtain, arms crossed and holding the robe closed. He kept his eyes down and walked like he knew where he was going, at least until he was out of the busy area he was in. Walking a little slower now, he starting looking for a locker room or something. Somewhere he could pick up a shirt. There were a ton of patient rooms and he sat uneasily in a chair in the hallway, a make-shift waiting room. He watched various rooms as doctors and nurses came in and out of them. He decided on one at the end of the hall, the room of an R. Robinson, and peeked in. The room was dark, the lump in the bed still. Looking around quickly, he found the man's belongings in a small closet and grabbed the first shirt he could find to wear over his prison issue jeans. Dropping the robe he slipped on the shirt and grimaced a little at how large it was on his lithe frame. It definitely looked like it belonged to an old man and wasn't Dally's style, but it didn't matter. He wanted out more than he cared about getting shit for what he was wearing.

Dally walked the same halls he had run out of when Johnny died and the same ones he ran down when he escaped the fuzz the first time. This time he walked out with his head a little higher and walked right out the front doors. His first few breaths of freedom were wonderful, and he marveled at how big the world was in that moment. He didn't know why he had ever wanted to stay in prison. There was no way he was going back.

XXX

Hours had gone by since his escape, and he was starting to worry about getting picked up. He kept to side streets, off the main drags and didn't dare go near the Ribbon, knowing he'd be made there in seconds. Hoods he'd known his whole life would point him out, and he'd never get around to what he wanted before the fuzz caught up to him. Instead he walked around, picking out small places he wanted to see, places he wondered if she'd be. The little grocery store she worked at was nothing more than an empty property now. He peered through the window at the empty shelves and dust and sighed.

If he pushed much further, he'd be back in their neighborhood. He knew if any of his friends were around, they'd give him a ride and find her for him, but he still wanted to find her himself. He headed toward her house with thoughts of tapping on her window and climbing in and making her feel bad for sending that letter in the first place. But when he got to her house it was empty. The window produced nothing and when he got the nerve to knock on the door, no one was home.

"Fuck," he muttered, knowing what he had to do now.

Standing on her lawn, he looked toward St. Louis Street and tried to take in a deep breath, finding it difficult. He put a hand on his wound and pulled it away in surprise because it was wet. Blood had soaked through the bandage and his stolen shirt. The red on his hand and his shirt drained the strength he had, and he looked back up and imagined how far away the Curtises' was. It was only three streets away, not too bad. Taking in as deep a breath as he could, he tried to straighten up and headed over. The walk was long, longer than three streets sounded like they should be, his feet starting to betray him as they dragged a bit every few steps.

"Snap out of it you pussy," he told himself, his hand now pressing into his aching side.

The house appeared like an oasis in the desert, and he stopped across the street, afraid it might be a mirage. People were standing on the porch, and he heard his name. He started across the street, and he saw her standing on the porch steps.

"El," he said.

She jumped down the steps and ran to him. Dally hardly noticing the puzzled boy she left behind. Stopping in the middle of the street, he waited for her, watching her long hair bounce around her shoulders, the surprise in her hazel eyes. The worry. It was the prettiest sight he had seen in a long time.

"Dally?" she said his name carefully, stopping right in front of him. She looked at him and down at his side, and he remembered the blood. "Oh my God, are you okay?"

"It's a scratch," he said, wiping his hand on his jeans. He wanted to touch her.

She turned around, shouted to the boy in the cowboy hat on the porch and he ran inside. When she turned around, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, long and passionate. She leaned into his kiss, as hungry as he was. When he pulled away, the only thing not spinning was her face, the world centered in her eyes. She looked at him, the passion fizzling back into worry, and he lost his balance, the pavement breaking his fall.

"Dally!" she screamed, her face hovering over him. Her hand in his, squeezing it hard, another hand on his forehead, brushing the short hairs back. "Don't you dare. You hear me, Dally?"

"Dollface," he said, wanting to touch her again, but he couldn't lift his arm. It was too heavy.

She was ripped away suddenly, out of his view, her hand gone. Lights flashed and then nothing.

XXX

Dally woke with a start, pain stabbing his side. He wondered for a brief moment if he had yelled. That was quickly put out of his mind as he looked around the room. He wasn't dead; he wasn't bleeding; he wasn't even outside. He was in the Curtis house on the Curtis couch, and six pairs of eyes were watching him with a healthy mixture of confusion and amusement.

"Golly, Dal," Two-Bit guffawed, "have a bad dream or something?"

"What?" he asked, still scanning the room. His eyes landed on Johnny, and he had to rub at his eyes to make sure he was seeing him correctly. "Johnnycakes?"

"Yeah?" he replied, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes.

"Johnny?" he repeated.

Johnny looked between him and their friends. "You all right, Dal?"

Dally lay his head back on the arm of the couch and slung an arm over his eyes. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," he muttered. A goddamn dream? What the fuck kind of dream was that? "What day is it?"

"Friday," Two-Bit replied.

Dally didn't have to look at him to know he had a stupid grin on his face. "What's the date?"

"September 17th … 1966," Darry said. "You feeling okay, Dally?"

No, he sure as shit wasn't feeling okay, but it wasn't like he could ask them what the hell had just happened. They'd never understand, just like he would never understand, and Two-Bit – probably Soda too – would never let him hear the end of it.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"You mean, out like a light or out of the cooler?" Steve replied.

"Asleep," he spat.

"Welp, pretty much since you've been out of the cooler," Two-Bit butted in. "You got out early this afternoon and crashed here. Boy howdy, Dal. You sure snore like a freight train sometimes."

He dropped his arm and scanned the room again. Six of his friends were around him, stupid smirks on their faces. But where was the other one?

"Where's Ellie?"

"What?" Darry asked.

"Ellie. What's she doing that she ain't here?"

"Who?" Pony asked.

"Ellie," he repeated, saying her name a little louder. "Ellie. What the fuck is wrong with you guys?"

"Who's Ellie?" Soda asked.

"What? This some kind of joke or something?" Dally snapped. "What is this, April Fool's Day or something? Fuck you guys. Where is she?"

Steve looked at him and then over at Soda, but Dally didn't miss the look that past between them. They didn't have any idea what he was talking about.

"Listen," he said, sitting up. "I gotta get outta here. I got some things to take care of."

Darry was the one that stopped him. "Dal, you don't look real hot. Maybe you oughta stay here a little longer. Get some sleep. I think you need it."

"I'm serious, Darry. I got shit I need to do tonight."

"Are we still going to a movie?" Johnny asked.

Dally's head snapped up. "A movie? At the drive-in? Fuck no we aren't. And you," he added, pointing at Pony, "you ain't doing a goddamn thing tonight except staying home and keeping the hell out of trouble. Hear me?"

Pony nodded slowly, a confused, and maybe a little scared, look on his face.

"Christ," he muttered, "I gotta get out of here."

Darry followed him to the door, and Dally reluctantly turned back.

"You guys are just fucking with me, right?" he asked, only loud enough for Darry to hear him. "Really. Where's Ellie?"

Darry shrugged, a look of deep concern on his face. "Dal, I don't know who you're talking about. Maybe you dreamed it or something."

Even though he said it, Darry didn't seem to believe it himself.

"A dream?" Dally said, mustering up enough attitude to keep his voice steady. "What kind of fucking dream is that?"

But even as he walked down St. Louis Avenue, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was something more than that. Either way, it didn't matter. He felt like a fucking fool for thinking it was real.

And I am crying to you
But I can't hear my own voice
I am waiting for you
And trying not to fall asleep now

A/N: Hopefully no one holds it against us for tricking you guys the first time around and, for those that missed the trick, hopefully this provided a nice laugh.

XO Katie and Kori