Hey there everyone! This is my newest tale. It ties in with chapter 32 of Finn, but I personally don't think you need to know more than the first two chapters of Finn to get it. Oh well. Hopefully everyone will enjoy! This was written with the help and betaship (if that's a word) of Zickachik73. Believe me, much better with her on the team. So thanks again, Zickachik73.

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders and I own everything else relevant in this story.

On with the shoe!

Everyone has a choice. Sometimes it just looks like there aren't any. I was better off not knowing...

Chapter 1

You know how everyone says it was just a regular, normal day when the most amazing stories happen? Well, I'm happy to say I didn't follow that damn cliché. My day had been one shit incident after another. First, I got up an hour too early and couldn't go back to sleep or I wouldn't get to work on time. Next was the fact that work was running slower than I could ever remember. It should have been accident city since today it was raining up a storm, too. And last, it wasn't even my shift. Starkey was taking a week's vacation and someone was going to have to cover his night shift at the station. Who woulda thought Starkey was ever relaxed enough to enjoy a vacation? But that wasn't the point. I was the only one who never had anything to go home to, but now I did. I had a bossy, over bearing redhead who had a bossy and over bearing boyfriend who seemed to think he could control everyone he'd ever met. Not to mention that know-it-all kid brother of hers. Naturally, when both Soda and Steve reminded me I owed them one, I took the shift and was happy to do so.

No one liked the night shift at the station. I understood why. There were more robberies at night then there ever were during the day. The thieves in Tulsa weren't brain damaged, but Starkey was old and mean enough so they held off on robbing this one. I could handle it for a week.

So there I was, minding my own business and looking forward to a day off tomorrow when none other than little Curly Shepard walked through the door followed by two of his punk friends. Now, Curly might as well have been brain damaged. He took one look at me and seemed shocked. Of course he covered it up quickly and ended up smiling to his suspicious looking friends before coming over to talk to me. I wasn't born yesterday. They'd cased the place and were expecting Starkey. I was an unknown element and he was out of his league trying to figure out where things went astray on him. He was no Tim, that was for sure.

"Hi, Garren," he offered as he leaned on the counter and his friends milled into the store.

"Curly," I replied.

"Since when do you work the night shift?" he asked.

"I don't."

Curly frowned deeply. Like I said, not the brightest bulb out there. I glanced over his shoulder at one of his friends. He was taller and older than Curly, looking more like an alley cat than anything. He was scowling as one hand was discreetly pocketing some candy. I glared at him, not looking away as I addressed Curly.

"Curly Shepard, if I find one item out of stock, your brother is going to beat the tar out of you."

"I didn't do nothin'!" he griped.

"No, but that dumb shit to your right is doing a lot more than nothin'," I replied with a nod of my head in the kid's direction.

Curly sent the kid a look and received a glare in return. I sighed, noting the other one was looking shifty too. He kept glancing at the one I had caught stealing. The thief was obviously the one I should be watching if his friend was so focused on him. His blue eyes darted over to me for a brief moment and I could tell he was just as anxious as Curly, even if he wasn't showing it. I glared at him and returned my attention to Curly.

"Kid, there'd better be something you want."

"I came in for cigarettes," he answered.

"I've got none to sell," I answered and he gaped at me.

There was a whole case behind me full of them, but I wasn't putting up with this shit. Curly Shepard and his friends had come in here for a reason. I knew the kid wasn't above knocking over liquor stores or anything equally as stupid. He'd had a reason for picking this time and he was nervous as all get out since there wasn't an old man behind the counter. I knew his brother, I knew how to handle myself and he was up shit creek without a paddle if he tried anything with me. He obviously knew it.

"You do too!" he said eagerly "You got lots. I'll take two packs of Camels."

The Greasers in Tulsa had a thing for Kools. Don't ask me, I never had a thing for Menthol myself. Apparently Curly didn't, either.

"Listen, Kid. It's late. Get home before your mother decides to spank you," I advised and he bristled.

"My mother is my business. You got no right, Garren."

"Then keep it that way. Get the hell out before the cops come down on your head and your mother becomes my business."

Now, that was apparently the wrong thing to say.

I heard a click and glanced over at the kid who had been lifting candy. He came forward with a gun in his hand. I sighed and wondered how dumb these kids could get.

"Hands up," he commanded and I kept them right where they were.

Curly spun around and gaped at his companion with something like surprise and impending doom.

"Put that away! You'll bring the fuzz down on us," he hissed.

"No. He's gonna call the fuzz down on us either way," the kid with the gun snapped, waving the gun at me like it was a damn toy.

"He wouldn't. He knows the score –"

"He don't know jack shit, Curly. He's behind the counter instead of the old man you promised," the third kid spoke.

I was careful not to look over at the third kid. He wasn't the one with the gun. I knew for a fact that punk kids and guns didn't go well and were always followed with a jumpy trigger finger. I knew I had to diffuse this and fast or I was going to be having a worse night than I already was enjoying.

"I'm not going to call the cops," I stated clearly.

"Bullshit!" the kid with the gun said – let's just call him Stupid for the sake of simplicity.

"He's got a rap like Tim's," Curly told Stupid. "He'd probably get hauled in right along with us."

"Shut up, Curly," the third kid – let's call this one Larry because this was shaping up to be a Stooge episode to me – ordered the youngest Shepard. "It's one thing for you to chicken out on us –"

"I am not!" Curly said adamantly "I can't help if I know the guy."

"Ladies, I hate to interrupt, but if this is a hold up it's one sorry excuse of one."

They all gaped at me and Stupid pointed the gun a little higher on my chest. Well, looks like I was going to have a hole in my lung if he ever got around to the shooting part.

"Shut up," he ordered and glared back at Curly. "This is a hold up, not a tea party with your sister."

Curly bristled and before anyone could say something to him he'd charged across the room at the older boy and shoved Stupid's shoulder roughly.

I don't pretend to be an expert on much, but this I knew: you never touch someone aiming a gun. That nervous trigger finger I mentioned and the shove were enough to cause a loud bang in the room. I ducked under the counter as the store fell into dead silence. All three of them froze for a minute before Curly found his voice.

"Shit. If the fuzz weren't going to come before they sure as hell are now. Great going, stupid."

"Let's get out of here," Larry suggested.

"Not without the money," Stupid declared.

My back hurt from hitting the back cabinet and I wasn't sure how that had happened, but it seemed to take a lot of effort to push off of it. I managed to latch onto the front counter and tensed my legs, ready to shoot up and give that kid a fist to the face for making my past ten minutes hell. He looked over the counter and I just couldn't seem to move. His eyes went wide and he pulled back. That's when my legs did move, but it was only so they could give out on me. My ass hit the floor and I leaned back on the case behind me heavily.

"What the hell is the matter with you? He can finger me!" Curly snarled.

"Let's go. Forget the money," Stupid stated

"I've been telling you that for ten fucking minutes," Curly snapped "Garren, I'm –"

He looked over the counter, too, and a look of horror crossed his face. I wasn't dumb. I knew something was wrong and it had to do with me. I was just too damn scared to find out what.

"Let's go, Shepard!"

"You shot him!" Curly sounded like he didn't believe it.

"Let's go!" Stupid ordered, grabbing a fist full of Curly's shirt and dragging him to the door.

"We'll call someone once we're away from here," Larry put in, grabbing Curly as well.

And then it was like they'd never been there. I sighed and tried to get up but pain lanced through my chest and side. I gasped and clamped my jaw to keep any noise from escaping. What the hell was going on?

That's when it hit me. The gun had blasted and I had been blasted back from the counter. It was like getting hit in the chest with a high-speed baseball. I should have put it all together sooner, but I guess I didn't think so well with adrenaline pumping through my veins. That little fuck had shot me. I was going to kill him as soon as I got up off this floor.

But first, I needed to know why Curly had looked at me like that. First I needed to know if I had a chance of getting up off the floor. So I tilted my head and looked down at my shirt. Blood was soaking it from a hole in the center of my chest and I knew it wasn't good when it poured out that fast. I tried to curse but only succeeded in coughing. Metallic flavoring suddenly coated my taste buds and I knew there was blood in my mouth. Funny, I didn't remember taking any punches. The cough made my chest sear with pain and I remembered I was bleeding down there. If I bit the side of my cheek, it could wait; this couldn't. It seemed like it took a lot of effort to bunch up the bottom of my shirt and press it to my chest. It hurt like hell, too, so much that I had to bite back a cry.

What was it Pop had said about pain? Oh, yeah. Pain meant my sorry ass was still alive.

I pressed the shirt tighter against the wound, remembering that time in New York when Matt had stabbed me in the shoulder. I'd bled out on the floor then, too. I hadn't bothered to push anything against the wound then and ended up in the hospital for four days. I pressed the shirt a little harder. No way in hell was I spending more than a night in that place again. I looked down at the bunch of shirt under my fist. It was soaked through and my hand was covered in dark blood. Some of it was leaking down my stomach towards my jeans. I frowned at it and knew that wasn't good. I needed something else to push against it. Looking around I saw the rag bin and reached for it. The movement made my whole body scream in pain, but I got the bucket. My clean hand reached in and helped itself to grease covered rags. I had the feeling that they would have been better clean, but they were all I had.

There was less pain with the rags and I knew I wasn't doing so hot. Someone had told me once that it didn't hurt to die, that you were beyond feeling pain or something. I wanted the pain. I needed the pain. I may have acted like I was tough enough to face death, but the truth of the matter was that I was not done with life yet. Death was supposed to back the fuck down. Fuck.

My eyes were getting heavy and it was getting harder to breathe. It was hurting less and less. Where the hell were the damn cops? If I got out of this, I was never paying taxes again.

If.

Fuck.

I was too tired to stay sitting up. I felt my body slide to the floor andmade a sound I would never admit to being like a whimper. That's when I realized Soda hadn't been kidding when he said no one ever cleaned the ceiling. It was filthy and water stained. I had the crazy thought that it suited my life, but I was going to hate myself if it was the last thing I ever saw. Too bad it didn't seem like I had enough energy to turn my head. My eyes were getting blurry and it was harder and harder to make out the patterns the roof tiles made.

I knew it was serious when I started imagining the patterns on the ceiling moving. It was more of a swirly blur, kind of like Coney Island at night. I don't know if it was still spinning when everything went black, but I knew it was going to be ok since I saw something other than the same boring old ceiling before I died. Come to think of it, dying wasn't so bad once the pain went away. Kind of like going to sleep with someone you felt safe with keeping an eye on you. I liked that feeling. But I couldn't help but wonder if it would have been better if I put it off for another thirty or forty years.

Guess I'd never know.

Ok, next chapter posted because I love you guys.

Any comments at all are welcome and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!!!

Tens