AN - Hey guys! This story is based off of a Korean drama I watched a couple years ago, called 49 Days. So the general plot of this is not mine. And the characters (other than the OCs) belong to S.E. Hinton. Anyway, please review, follow, and favorite if you like the story. Thank you and enjoy!

Prologue: Day 0

Monday evenings brought all kinds of delinquents to Buck's bar. Not the usual crowd of good-natured greasers, but something much worse. There were the arsonists, the serial rapists, the psychopathic killers. Always Monday, too. Must've been the hangover of another eventful Sunday that kept them crawling back to Buck's place.

Without fail, those men hung around on the first day of the week. And that's why, when Monday rolled in, you could always find Dallas Winston anywhere else. The crowd was its own mobile New York City, a place he never wanted to see again. He didn't even acknowledge its existence anymore.

He called it New York Night at Buck's and he'd only been to one. The resemblance was too much. He'd left that city for a reason...

Those nights, he always tried to jump into bed with Sylvia cause he had nothing else to spend his time on. Except Johnny. But Johnny seemed to dislike staying out too late. Something to do with his parents getting mad whenever he did. Thinking about Johnny's parents made his skin crawl, his stomach churn. He willed the feeling away, though, distracting himself with thoughts of Sylvia.

When he walked up the steps of her house, he came face-to-face with his girlfriend's brother, who'd been waiting for him at the door.

"She ain't home," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Get outta here, Winston."

Normally, Dally wouldn't have listened to him. He would've forced his way into the house and looked for Sylvia himself. But it was something about a Monday night that made that task seem much more strenuous. Really wasn't worth the effort. Or the fight that would surely follow his forced entry.

So it was Sylvia's fault that he was wandering around the darkened streets, searching for any source of entertainment he could find. Not much to do out in Tulsa when your friends liked to sleep and you didn't have money. Dally had learned that on his first day in town.

He tried shoving that thought away, but it kept on bugging him. His first breath of fiery Oklahoma air... The heat ripples that had hovered above the cracked pavement... He strayed into the road, losing himself to the memories.

When he recovered his senses, he became aware of a sound, a feeling. Some distant rumble, a slight quivering in the ground he stood on. He glanced around, still dazed from his reflection. Nothing. He walked on.

Then, there was an explosion of yellow light as a car came barrelling around the corner. He didn't have the chance to dive out of the way - it all happened too quickly for that. Glass broke, bones broke. Searing pain washed over him, wave after wave, becoming increasingly intense. He felt himself roll off the hood of the car and just lay in the road, helpless. The driver was screaming. He couldn't hear words, though. Didn't see anything either.

It took a good fifteen minutes before he woke up again. He hadn't even been aware that he was sleeping... Groaning, he dragged himself up to his feet then glanced around. A car with a shattered windshield, an ambulance, a stretch of pavement soaked in blood. His eyes dropped down to his own body which he found to be miraculously undamaged.

"Dallas Winston?" a voice asked, demanding his attention.

"Yeah?" He glared at the man who approached him. As he faced off with the man, a police officer jogged by them, heading toward the driver of the car.

"I need you to come with me."

Dally shook his head vigorously. "I ain't goin' to the hospital," he said. "I'm fine."

The guy pointed to a group of paramedics. "Too late for that, son. They're already taking you."

His eyes followed the stranger's fingertip, gaze coming to rest on the emergency medical team. But he couldn't see much aside from their backs. They seemed to be hovering around a stretcher, administering first aid to some unlucky bastard. A sense of sadism drove him to see who it was. He took a few steps then froze.

That was his face. On the broken body of the crash victim. His face, dressed in purple bruises and rusty blood. How was that possible?

"Hey!" he shouted, running forward and grabbing at the stretcher. His hands passed right through it. "Would ya give that back? I kinda fuckin' need it!"

"They can't hear you," the strange man told him, moving to stand at his side. "You're dead, Dallas. Well, dying. You're not quite gone yet."

He felt his face turn pale. "Who are you?"

"I'm called the Scheduler," the man explained. "I possess the knowledge of when everyone will die and I am to take them to their afterlife. But, that's what I mean to discuss with you. It isn't your time to die right now."

Dally said nothing.

"I can give you your life back," he continued, carefully studying Dally's expression. "Real simple, too. All you have to do is collect the tears of three people who love you."

"Oh yeah?" Dally challenged, unable to rip his eyes away from his lifeless body. They loaded it into the ambulance and drove off to the hospital. "What's the catch?"

The Scheduler gave an innocent laugh. "No catch, just some minor rules."

He pulled a scroll out of his coat pocket and handed it to Dallas. It read:

Rules and Regulations

1. The tears must be shed for the individual specifically

2. The individual may not tell anyone of his/her quest

3. A host body may be used to aid in the completion of this task

4. The individual shall not harm the host body in question

5. The task must be completed within 21 days

Any violation of these rules shall result in the immediate termination of the individual's life

Dally stared at the words for a while, only vaguely aware of what they meant. It seemed pretty easy, though. He just needed three people who loved him enough to cry over him. Well, perhaps it wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. But there was at least one person he knew who would cry for him.

He handed the scroll back to the Scheduler, nodding slightly. "I'll do it."

The man grinned at the blond greaser approvingly as he tucked the scroll into his coat pocket. He searched another of the many pockets, pulled out a chain from which a glass teardrop hung. With a new sense of wariness, Dally reached out and took it.

"This will keep track of how many tears you've collected," the Scheduler explained. "When it is full, your life will be restored."

"I ain't wearin' a necklace."

A soft laugh came from the man, like wind chimes being tossed about in the breeze. "Of course not. It can stay your pocket, if you'd like." He patted Dally's shoulder.

Dally stepped back a bit as the touch sent weird jolts of unpleasantness through him. The feeling vanished once contact was broken. But he still shuddered in spite of himself. So he studied the necklace to keep his thoughts away from the strange man.

It was a silver chain, thin and delicate. If he tugged on it, he was sure the metal links would snap. And the little glass teardrop sparkled in the moonlight, sending faint rainbow hues to dance on the pavement below. Very much unlike the jewelry he'd ever seen a greaser girl wear...

"Well, I suppose I should be getting you to your host now," the Scheduler said, his soft voice somehow easily regaining Dally's attention.

"Host..."

It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway. "Yeah. Jack Marshall - good kid, good family. You'll like him just fine, I think."

Before Dally could reply, the Scheduler snapped his fingers. The world got hazy, started fading out. Dally glanced around, squinting in an attempt to see clearly. Despite his efforts, it all passed into nothingness. There was one last voice, though, scarcely recognizable. The Scheduler's voice, whispering a gentle Good luck...