I do not own The Outsiders. All characters used are borrowed with much respect to S.E. Hinton. To all of those that have read my story, I thank you, and many thanks to all that have made an effort to review.

9

I drove.

I drove and wasn't aware of anything until the throbbing pain to my hand started to annoy me and I found myself half way to Owasso and I had no idea I was even on the highway. I drove for another five miles before coming to a turnaround, kicked up the dirt as I pulled a U-turn and headed back.

I was on auto-pilot; my brain shutting down from sheer exhaustion; my soul agonized with the truth I knew. I gave a start as I geared the truck into park, realizing I'd stopped in front of the house and I didn't know how in the hell I'd gotten there. I eased my way out of the truck and shuffled like a zombie up the walk, barely making it up the steps to the porch.

I didn't even remember the condition we'd left the house in more than a week ago. I pushed open the door and it never looked so empty. It never sounded so quiet. I dragged my feet through the living room and noticed the neatly folded covers on the couch and figured either Steve or Two-Bit, or maybe even the both of them had moved in.

My hunch was confirmed as I wandered into the kitchen and noticed the clean dishes drying in the sink. I spun around and noticed the mail was in a tidy pile along with a week worth of newspapers. I turned back to the sink and grabbed one of the drying glasses before turning on the tap and filling it. After a drink of water, I slowly placed the glass on the counter as my hand gave another throb of pain, and I headed to the bathroom to tend to it.

I turned the water on in the bathroom sink to warm before running my hand and arm through. With all the old blood gone, I could get a better look at the damage. I ignored my reflection as I opened the medicine chest and hauled out the first aid kit. There were a few small shards of glass imbedded in my hand, and my hand began to bleed freely as I removed them. The best I could do at the moment, was place gauze on the open areas, and wrap my hand firmly in bandage.

I headed for my room with the intention of changing into some clean clothes and going back to the hospital to face Soda, but I found myself in the boys' bedroom instead. The clothes that were usually strewn across every inch of the floor were neatly folded and placed on the desk and chair. Part of me was so thankful to have our buddies help out like that, but it also felt eerie to have Pony and Sodas' things put away like they didn't live there anymore.

I walked around the room, inspecting every inch and holding every item's meaning close to me. A stack of hot rod magazines Soda and Steve would pass back and forth, an empty sketch pad Pony had asked me to pick up for him. I looked on the walls where various pictures he had drawn were tacked on. Horses, cowboys, and one of Dally.

"I don't know what to do," I said out loud.

I didn't know if I was talking to myself, or if I was talking to God, Jesus, Mom, Dad. Maybe I was talking to Dally or Johnny; I didn't know anything anymore.

"Please tell me what to do. I don't know what to do."

I sat down on the bed and eyed a pillow. I was so fucking tired. I grabbed the pillow only meaning to toss it back, when I caught the familiar smell of Ponyboy's hair. I brought the pillow closer, practically burying my face into it while I inhaled the smell of my brother. The smell of my brother before he was broken.

"I don't know what to do."

It was my truth, and I cried as I clutched Pony's pillow like a lifeline that would keep him with me. I cried for all the mistakes I'd made with him. I cried for the times I was just too busy and too tired to try to understand him. I cried for the boy he was and all the times I gave him grief for it; wanting him to change. I cried for the boy I couldn't protect. I cried for the boy he'd never be again. I cried for the boy I missed so much and wanted back. I laid down on their bed and I cried.

I cried.

A gust of wind shook the house and I opened my eyes to find myself laying on my brothers' bed in the dark. Time had passed and I had no idea how long I'd been asleep. I eased my way off the bed, inhaling the smell of Ponyboy one more time, and headed for the bathroom to wash the last weeks' worth of misery away and try to focus on what to do next.

I let the hot water pour down on me, hoping that it would some how symbolically wash the last week away with it down the drain. For as miserable as I felt, I wasn't low enough to not realize how good it felt under the hot spray. The shower was a long one, until I noticed the hot water give out and cool. I lathered up quickly, not even bothering to shave, and hurriedly dried off after I shut the taps off. The bandages on my hand were soaked, so I re-dressed them and then headed for my bedroom to get into a new change of clothes.

I headed for the kitchen and grabbed a paper bag from under the sink and the went back into Soda and Pony's room and rifled through the neat piles of laundry. I grabbed some clean clothes for Sodapop, and tucked them away in the bag, then headed for the bathroom to grab toothbrushes, toothpaste, and other assorted personal items.

The clock read a quarter past seven when the phone rang and I knew it was Sodapop. I started wondering if that ESP thing worked both ways for us.

"Yeah," I answered. No time for pleasantries when you know you're going to get an earful.

"Where the hell you been, Darry? Do you know what time it is?"

I couldn't help the way my eyebrows shot up at that moment, or the way my eyes almost rolled back into my head.

"Yeah, its late. Sorry, mom." I answered dryly and thought I could hear a soft chuckle come out of Soda.

"You missed your friend, Darry. He was doin' some wild voodoo dance and burned grass in here. Thought he was gonna set the hospital on fire. Then he grabbed Ponyboy's stuffed horse and rode it the hell on outta here."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I swear talking to Sodapop was like talking to Two-Bit Mathews sometimes.

"The Indian!" Soda sounded exasperated. I never really took Soda for being a racist before. He was always known to be extremely accepting of everyone no matter what their colour.

"Soda?"

"Yeah?"

"You're being an asshole."

"I know. I'm sorry, Darry I'm just freaked out a bit. The guy's pretty cool." And just like that, my brother returned.

"Thank you."

"You're okay? Did you sleep?"

"It may have been more like a coma, but yeah. I got some rest. Grabbing a few things; anything in particular you want?"

"Can you bring my bed?"

"Soda, come home." I urged. "I'm half way out of here and we can switch off. Get Steve to bring you."

I realized I had another little brother to worry about. For all my worrying and stressing out and carrying on, I'd let myself forget that Sodapop was in this too and had gotten about as much sleep as I had.

"I'm not leaving him, Darry. Besides, we need to talk."

I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I nodded.

"Darry, you still there?"

I didn't realize I hadn't said a word. "Yeah, I'm here. I just…" my hands started shaking.

"Darry, come back." Soda's voice was pleading, and yet somehow still calm. "Pony needs you here. I do too."

"I'm so sorry, little buddy. I didn't mean to leave you there by yourself. I'm sorry." I felt all of the emotions coming back while my voice started to shake along with my hands.

"Darry, it's okay. Steve and Two-Bit have been here. Just come back, okay? You're scaring me."

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"No, you ain't and I am worried, Darry. I dunno. I've never seen you like this, not even when mom and dad died. You really scared me today. I wanna know what's going on."

With that, I realized that I did owe Sodapop an explanation. I still wasn't convinced that I should tell him the whole story, but it wasn't right to keep him in the dark either. Ponyboy was everything to him.

"Okay then. I'm on my way."

I hung up the phone, grabbed the bag full of clothes and headed out for the truck. The rain was still coming down pretty hard and my mind started wandering as the windshield wipers swept back and forth. I pictured every scenario I could think of, of how this conversation with Soda was going to happen. I didn't know exactly what I was going to say, or how I was going to go about saying it, but none of the reactions I imagined in my head were good ones.

The thing about Soda is that when something bad happens, it hits him hard. He spends the majority of his time calming everyone else down and smoothing out the edges. I wondered sometimes if he ever had anything left for himself. I knew that what happened to Ponyboy was going to kill him. What I didn't know was how that was going to look. Anger? Rage? Despair? Confusion? All of the above? Would he be like me and blame himself? After all the times he told me something was off, and I told him he was reading too much into things, would he blame me? I didn't know, and that's what made my hands shake and knees feel like jello when I made it to the elevator and arrived on the third floor of the hospital.

The all too familiar walk felt a lot longer this time, and as I turned the corner and made my way into Pony's room, Soda was right there to meet me in a flash. He didn't say anything, but gave me a pointed look, making sure that I was okay. There was an unspoken communication happening. I bit my bottom lip, nodding and then put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He nodded back to me and looked down at the bag that I was holding.

"There's some clean clothes and stuff so you can wash up. You're pretty ripe, little man. Your clothes will probably stand up on their own." I tried to grin.

Sodapop nodded. "Yeah okay, Darry. I'll be right back."

"Hey, kid," Two-Bit was sitting on the edge of Pony's bed with what looked to be a comic book. "Your big brother's back. Told ya he'd be back," he said cheerfully before giving Pony's leg a pat.

"Hey, Two-Bit," I said as I slowly approached the bed. I walked around to the side opposite the cluttering of machines, where Two-Bit was sitting.

"Whatcha got there?" I asked as I leaned over and brushed my lips softly against Pony's forehead. My hand followed, and settled there while my thumb rubbed him gently between his eyebrows. The swelling around his eyes had lessened even though the bruising hadn't. He was still unresponsive.

"Well, I know how much he likes to read. Unfortunately, I hate it so I swiped ol' Spiderman from the gift shop downstairs. Thought I'd read to him, but I'm pretty sure there's something lost in the translation."

I smiled at Two-Bit, thankful for his light-hearted spirit even through tough times. He was a loyal friend who I knew would take a bullet for either one of my brothers. I also knew he'd kill for any one of us. That was his serious side. His playful side included sitting at my brother's bedside and reading comic books all day.

"How's Papa Bear? You look like you got some sleep."

I grinned at the 'Papa Bear' comment. "Yeah, I managed to clean myself up a bit; sleep for a bit. Thanks for being here. Where the hell is Steve?" I looked around and realized it was just Two-Bit.

"Evie," was all he said, and I nodded. That was the one thing I did not have time or patience for. Girls.

"Well, that's it for me, Ponyboy. We'll check out Superman tomorrow if I can get him past the old broad at the cash register." Two-Bit slid off the side of the bed and tossed the comic on the empty chair. I watched as he tucked the stuffed horse I'd bought, closer to Pony's side before walking away.

"You been staying at the house?" I asked out of curiosity as Two-Bit made his way to the sliding doors.

"Yeah, me and Steve are taking turns; trying to help out a bit."

"Thanks, Keith," I said seriously. Two-Bit cocked his eyebrow before nodding. I wasn't sure he liked being called his given name since it happened so infrequently. He nodded at me and then smiled.

"You bet! See ya tomorrow, Darry."

I watched until Two-Bit was out of view, and then turned my attention back to Ponyboy. It was a game of patience; hurrying up just to wait and see how he was going to pull out of this thing. Even though I prayed he'd come out of this with minimal scarring, it was hard to imagine that happening when looking at him now.

"Darry?" I looked up and found Sodapop staring. He was washed up, freshly shaved and towelling off a wet head of hair wearing a set of fresh and clean clothes. Despite his groomed appearance, he still looked exhausted and underfed despite my practically force feeding him throughout the week.

"Feel any better?" I asked simply.

Soda shrugged his shoulders with a frown, rubbing the towel over his head before tossing it over his shoulder. He slowly pulled out the chair he'd been living in the past while, and sat down slowly while never taking his eyes off me.

"You keeping the beard? Makes you look old y'know?" Soda commented dryly. I didn't even think about it. I just shrugged, remaining silent.

"Gonna freak Ponyboy out when he wakes up and sees you," he tried again. I only nodded, knowing Soda was working his way up to the conversation he actually wanted to have, and the one I'd been avoiding since this whole nightmare had started.

"You gonna talk to me, Darry? Tell me what the hell is going on?"

I sighed as I nodded, slowly grabbed my assigned chair and sat down, resting my elbows on Pony's bed while I tiredly rubbed my face. I didn't know how to say what I needed to say; I couldn't even make eye contact. Soda, in his usual manner, sensed my discomfort and gently grabbed for my hand and held it in both of his.

"Darry, talk to me," he urged, and I finally looked at him in the eye.

"I lied to you, Soda."

"What do you mean, Darry? What are you talking about?" Soda looked at me confused; his eyebrows furrowed.

"There was no accident, Soda. The hospital didn't call me to let me know Pony was here. I'm the one that found him."

Soda's eyes hardened and he let go of my hand and leaned back in his chair. "Not an accident? Where'd you find him, Darry? What the fuck is going on?"