Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to the wonderful Susie Hinton, and I'm honored to play in her sandbox.

A/N: This is a story I wrote a while ago for a fanfic contest at the 731 N. St. Louis St. boards. At the time, the authors were kept anonymous until voting was finished. Well, the voting is finished now, so I can come forward and claim my story. :) So here it is. A huge thank you goes out to RileysMomma for being my beta for this.

The house was deathly quiet for once, unusual but relieving at the same time. It wasn't often I was granted these quiet moments, but I cherished them when I was. Usually I would be writing or drawing, or immersing myself in a book, but today was different. You see, one year ago, today, my life completely changed.

That was the day my parents died.

I didn't know you could feel a pain so raw and so deep that you felt completely numb and yet incredibly aware at the same time. I thought that the worst thing that could have happened to me had occurred.

But I was wrong. Oh, was I ever wrong.

Eight months later, after we had moved on and started to live again, Johnny and Dally were taken from us, and it was then that I really wanted to stop living; their deaths on top of my parents hurt so bad that I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to do anything besides think about them. You would think that I was eating or washing the dishes or going to school, but I was really just thinking about them. Even while I was doing homework or watching TV, all of my thoughts were on them.

Now that I was here, facing a full year without my parents, it seemed easier, even easier than when I had written about it. Looking at these pictures that marked almost every important event in our lives, it was comforting to just let go and reminisce about days long past.

My hands floated over the ivory keys of the piano, caressing a few of them, remembering how Mamma taught us boys how to play. I was the only one who kept it up for very long; Darry got into sports soon enough, and Soda only wanted to know how to play his favorite songs. I smiled as I remembered Soda and Dad, pounding away at the piano, singing their favorite Christmas Carols off-key with their own words substituted in the traditional songs. It had been one of my favorite things about Christmas, along with Mamma's special decorated sugar cookies, of course.

I paused for a moment; I hadn't touched the piano since Mamma's death; it had just been too painful. But now, now that it wasn't so painful anymore, I wondered if I could still play.

I pulled out the bench from under it and sat down as I tentatively pressed a chord.

I grimaced as the sour tone reverberated through the body of the piano; that wasn't a chord. I was off a little bit, but once I found it, it all started coming back to me and I started playing some of the little ditties that I had first learned. I smiled as I fondly remembered sitting at the piano, my feet unable to reach the pedals, while Mamma showed me how to play "Baa Baa Black Sheep." Soda had kept running by, randomly banging piano keys as he did, much to my frustration, until Dad scooped him up and took him outside to play.

The more I played, the more confident I became; playing the piano was like riding a bike, even though I hadn't touched it in so long I still remembered once I started playing again.

Hesitantly, I started playing the first notes of Für Elise. It was Mamma's favorite song, and each one of us boys had learned it, whether we kept up playing the piano or not. I remember when I was young, probably the first grade, I would be reading or drawing in my room while Darry was off at junior football practice, Soda tagging along so he could goof off in the stands, and the house would be quiet, a lot like it was now. It was in those quiet moments when I would hear the gentle melody of Für Elise drifting through the house. After carefully bookmarking my page or setting my pencils aside, I would join Mamma on the piano bench and just watch her play. She amazed me, the way she played, her soft, gentle hands pressing the keys in such a moving way. I didn't quite understand it then, but I did now; Mamma had natural talent.

"I didn't know you still played," a voice said, breaking into my thoughts and making me jar the keys on the piano. I whirled around on the bench to see Darry standing in the dining room doorway, tool belt in one hand, jacket in the other.

"I … I haven't since …" I didn't need to finish that sentence; he understood. "It was one year ago, today."

"I know," he said quietly, setting his things down and joining me on the bench,

While staring at the pictures on top of the piano and the surrounding wall, I heard a sniff. Looking over, I saw a single tear make its way down Darry's rugged, tanned cheek. I was shocked; he hadn't even cried at their funeral, what could possibly cause him to cry now? Wordlessly, I placed a hand on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around me. A shudder and a sigh later, and all was quiet again. "Darry?" I asked, needing to know something. "Darry, why didn't you cry when … you know …?"

Another sigh. "Because I had to be strong, Ponyboy. I had to be strong for you and Soda. I didn't have the time to deal with losing them, I had to just go ahead and move on."

I accepted this with a little bit of guilt; I had inadvertently forced my older brother to grow up faster, and that didn't really sit well with me. But he squeezed my shoulder reassuringly and added, "Don't worry about it, Pone, it ended up being the best way I could have dealt with it."

I nodded, feeling the need to add, "You know, it's still ok to cry."

I felt almost embarrassed that I had said something so corny to Darry of all people, but he just gave me a small smile and a squeeze as if, I know, and then, he did something that took me by complete surprise.

After settling his fingers on the keys, he started playing. I didn't succeed in keeping my jaw closed; Darry, of all people, was playing Für Elise! And not just lackadaisically, he did it with the flair of a concert pianist. I realized later that he played exactly like Mamma did; Darry had natural talent.

When the song drew to a close, I was still too surprised to say anything, but I didn't have to. He flashed me a half-smile and said, "I still remember, too."

I shook myself out of the shock and managed to get out, "I didn't know you still played!"

His fingers caressed the ivory keys and he got a wistful look in his eye as he replied, "Sports became my main focus, but I've always wanted to excel in everything I did, whether it was playing football or playing the piano … or taking care of my brothers." He looked up at me with a serious look on his face. "A lot of stuff has happened in a year, Ponyboy, stuff that I wasn't really ready for, and while I'm doing the best that I can, I'm still not sure if I'm doing it right." He paused to let his words sink in before he continued quietly with a sigh, "Sometimes it seems like it was just yesterday …"

It was my turn to put my arm around my brother, and I paused for a moment to consider my words before I spoke, "I know I haven't made things any easier for you, Darry, but I think we're all doing ok, considering. In fact, I think Dad would be really proud of how you've kept us together." I paused for a moment before I added with a grin, "And I think Mamma would be really proud that you kept up playing the piano."

He grinned back at me. "As long as you don't tell the guys. I don't think they would understand, and I know Two-Bit would give me a good ribbing for it. You, now you could get away with it, but me … not so much."

"Agreed," I replied with a broad grin as I slapped him on the back.

For a moment, he got that look back, that look he'd always had before the accident, that "big brother" look. He hadn't had that look for a year now, and it was good to see it back.

He gave me a wink before he said, "Now go ahead and start supper while I clean up; I'd rather not let Soda be the cook tonight …"

I laughed as I got up from the bench and made my way into the kitchen.

After supper, Soda eagerly grabbed his coat and said something about meeting Steve at the Dingo before taking off. Nowadays, he seemed unaffected by the events of the past year – to a certain degree – and for that both Darry and I were grateful. After all, someone had to be the perpetual optimist in the family, and neither of us was up to that task.

We hadn't seen hide nor hair of Two-Bit; I figured he was out with Kathy, if they were still together, or if not he was probably playing snooker or getting drunk or both.

I remember how around this time last year, the gang left us alone for a couple of days, wanting to give us some much-needed space, but now, a year later, everything was almost back to normal.

Almost. It would never be the same without Dad's hearty laugh or Mamma's special sugar cookies. Things could never be normal without Johnny lurking between our house and the lot or Dallas smarting off to anyone about anything, pausing only to strike a match against his zipper.

Sitting in my room, with a pad of paper and a pencil, I was trying to finish an essay for history, but my mind had other plans. It was due tomorrow, Monday, but I couldn't keep their faces out of my head and snapshots of miscellaneous memories began flitting through my mind. I wondered how they were, if they had met each other wherever they were now, and if they had remembered each other. I wondered if Dad had picked up Johnny in a big bear hug, like he used to do to us all the time. I wondered if Dallas had given Mamma a shrug and a sheepish look when she asked what he was doing there. My mind began to drift freely, not focusing on anything in particular, just letting the memories come as they may.

I had given up writing my essay some time ago, but the paper and pencil felt comforting, and soon I was aimlessly sketching until I settled into drawing a picture of them as I thought they would be now, all together and smiling and happy. Well, except for Dallas. Probably the best I could get out of him was a dangerous-looking smirk, but I drew him much more at ease than he usually was, and it didn't seem too out of character for the notorious hood. Johnny was different, too; instead of that scared look, he was confident and sure, standing straight and looking like the gallant gentleman he was. I noted that I had neglected to give him a scar on his face, and after a bit of debating, I decided to add it; after all, it made him who he was, and I couldn't deny that.

Setting my pencil aside to admire my work, I smiled. Some people probably would think I was silly for drawing something like this, but I found it to be comforting to put my vision to paper.

I sighed as I realized my essay was still waiting. As I was putting my sketch aside, I realized that the house was quiet again, and soon I heard the gentle melody of Für Elise.