Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.


He is a shell of himself, what he once was. Time moves on but it does nothing to alleviate the dull ache that has grown and taken over. He doesn't laugh at Two-Bit's jokes or smile at Sodapop's grin or make smart-ass replies to Steve's remarks. He clings to silence like it is survival, turning inward and burying himself further. Isolated himself within himself. Books and movies, the magic and words and stories have lost their meaning. He has no escape from the plagues of reality because he cannot escape his own shadow. He goes through the everyday motions mechanically, without a thought, because to think is dangerous. He feels lonely when he's with others, but suffocates when he's alone.

Soda shakes him, yelling at him to "Wake up!" But he can't, because he's not asleep and he doesn't think this is something he can wake up from. Darry says he wants Ponyboy back, stubborn, aggravating, head-in-the-clouds Ponyboy. But who is Ponyboy? He hardly recognizes that name anymore. Ponyboy is gone. Shot down under street lights with Dallas Winston. Burned up in that church with Johnnycakes. Wrecked and buried with his parents. He doesn't exist. "Feels like we're losing you," they say, "Like we did mom and dad, Johnny and Dally." But they already have. He's already lost.

The world has lost it's color, drained of everything that once was held so dear. He can't stand sunsets. Nothing seems gold. He took Johnny's words, his best buddy's final breath and tied it up with a nice piece string in a nice little box and hid it away from the world. The world that is mean. The world that is cruel. The world that does nothing but take. He hid it away somewhere within himself, to keep it safe. Because it is fragile, like glass. Able to shatter at any moment. Already cracking, but he has to preserve it and shove it from his memory. Because he can't do what Johnny asked and he can't be Dallas. Lock it up and throw away the key.

Night is the worst, where he collapses upon himself and his mind feeds on everything. Feast of thoughts until there's nothing left but a skelton of what was and could've been. And even the monster of his mind can't leave that alone; they use the bones to pick their teeth. Sleep brings nightmares and being awake brings memories and ghosts. Does this torture ever end? "Help me," He whispers under the blankets of darkness, curled up beside his older brother, listening to his even breathing like a far away lullaby. "Make it stop!" He presses the heel of his hands against his clenched eyes. "Just make it stop!"

And Soda throws an arm over him. It should feel protective. It should feel comforting. Instead it's heavy, unbearably heavy and it's like a wrecking ball to the dam he never knew he built. He feels himself crumble and when the dust and debris of the derelict that is himself begins to clear, he's afraid nothing will be left standing. He struggles away, squirming, groping for something that's gone, but he isn't sure what. Soda tightens his hold.

"Let go!" Ponyboy cries, desperately, feeling the tears worm their way into his eyes, feeling his throat constrict, hearing the brokenness within his own voice.

"No!" Soda whispers fiercely, affectionately, refusing to lose another person he loves. He pulls Ponyboy closer, crushing him in a tighter hug, like he is a life preserver, afraid his brother might slip away from him otherwise. He knows, he understands, he digs. "You let go!" Ponyboy fights it, the last feeble effort and Soda smiles at the stubbornness, knowing he's winning. Seeing a glimpse of the old Ponyboy that he needs. He can't lose him. He couldn't take it. He is barely holding on as it is. "Let go!" He whispers against Pony's hair. "Please." And it's that pleading, that beseeching tone of Soda's that does it, breaks him. He becomes undone.