My excuse this time (not much of one, I'll admit): things are crazy.
anyway, I don't own any of this. Special shout out to Britney Spears for being so damn addicting.
EDIT:
kudos to steph36 for pointing out that there wasn't a break between day and night in this chapter. Guess deleted it or something, but there was a break. Thanks again for pointing that out!

Ponyboy sat at the breakfast table, pushing his eggs around his plate with little to no enthusiasm. The fact that it was a Friday wherein school was not in session did not seem to faze him, rather, the notion seemed to depress him even more. No school meant no distractions. Granted, he could find plenty of distractions within his house, but not on a week day.

The door opened, rusty hinges giving it away, although the visitor remained a mystery and Ponyboy didn't quite have the energy to get up and see who it was. It could have been Jack the Ripper for all he knew, and there he was, a sitting duck.

Fortunately, it was only Johnny.

"Hey Pone, whatcha starin' at your eggs for?"

Ponyboy looked up, his gaze challenging. "What, you want some?"

Johnny, sensing that Ponyboy wasn't serious, eyed the eggs with something akin to longing. "Ionno, man, they look pretty delectable to me."

"Triple letter score."

"Ha ha. Gimme yer eggs."

Ponyboy stared at Johnny, his gaze challenging his friend, and took a big bite of his (unpleasantly cold) eggs. Some of the yolk dripped out of the corner of his mouth and landed on the table, but Ponyboy didn't notice as he forced himself to swallow the ice cold breakfast. Johnny wrinkled his nose.

"Nevermind, Pony, keep your eggs if you want 'em that bad."

"Sorry John… I can make you some more if you want?"

Johnny shook his head, grinning. "Nah man, I don't eat eggs."

Ponyboy looked his friend up and down, wondering what on earth he did eat. "C'mon, you're a twig. Eat something. You like bacon, right?"

A shrug. Johnny stared down at his old, worn tennis shoes. He didn't like taking the food that Darry and Soda worked so hard to bring home, but he was hungry. "Yeah, okay."

"Good man." Ponyboy clapped Johnny on the shoulder, noticing a slight flinch and making a mental note to ask later, then headed over to the stove. Despite the momentary distraction that Johnny had provided, once silence fell his thoughts drifted back to the dream and he found himself reliving the moment again and again.

"Pony?"

His name snapped him out of his reverie, and he looked at Johnny questioningly.

Johnny cleared his throat awkwardly. Perhaps he had been hoping for a verbal response. "Uhh… just seeing if you were, y'know, okay…"

Ponyboy sighed, prodding the bacon with a spatula. "Ionno, Johnnycake," he began, then paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "I had a nightmare last night."

Instantly, Johnny's frown deepened and he moved a bit closer to his friend, as if someone might overhear their conversation. "Did you tell Darry?"

"Well, that's the thing," Ponyboy said nervously, prodding the sizzling strips of meat once more, "I don't think this is like the other ones. I mean…" He leaned closer to Johnny, voice dropping to a whisper. "I remember this one."

The house was still, save for the graceful fluttering of the curtains as a warm breeze drifted through the open windows. It was far too hot for anyone to be awake, it seemed. Far too peaceful.

Ponyboy lay in bed, curled slightly. His back was facing Soda who was, unbeknownst to himself or anyone else, breaking his 'movie star' image by drooling on the pillow. He snored softly, chest rising and falling, every once and a while murmuring something that made sense only in his dreams.

Johnny had opted to sleep on the couch that night, and was laying sprawled out, one leg dangling over the edge, his worn out sneaker hanging off his foot. He slept soundly, deeply for once, knowing he was safe if only for a little while.

Outside the house there was silence broken by the occasional yelling or the sound of police sirens. It was oddly quiet for such a rambunctious neighborhood, but there was nobody around to question it. After all, peaceful moments were few and far in between on the poor side of town.

Then, all at once, the atmosphere changed. The breeze picked up, leaves blown into small cyclones that whirled down the sidewalk before vanishing just as quickly as they had appeared. Everything suddenly seemed to become darker, more sinister.

The light from a streetlamp caught some movement. They moved together in a straight line, almost like a pack. Their suits were spotless and looked as if they had just been purchased, although one could infer, just by looking at their faces, that this was not the case. If one looked closely, he or she might have noticed that their feet never touched the ground.

The minions danced around them, arms waving frantically, faces obscured by the darkness. They stumbled along, swaying, hopping, the loose straitjackets unravelling and trailing behind them like banners. Silently announcing their presence.

Then again, everything about them was silent.

They reached their destination, the library, and paused as if considering where to go from that point. After a moment of exchanging glances, they nodded in unison and the minions were off again, continuing their crazed dance as the doors swung open with the flick of one pale, boney finger.

Up the stairs. Up into the attic where they stopped. One withdrew a box from his suit. Red and gold, ornate carvings covering the whole of it, and yet its beauty was lost somehow, as the thing carefully (silently) opened the lid and set it down upon a table. The very center. Space left for what was yet to come.

Back at the Curtis household, all was silent.

Soda's lips moved.

Nothing came out.