Hi everyoneeee. Let me tell you - I have been SO busy. With Honor Society papers, field hockey...I've been writing in snippets of my free time.

So please have pity on me and review after you read!

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Ponyboy POV

"Pooo-neee-boooy…"

I realize I'm back in Tulsa. But not just anywhere in Tulsa—in the park, standing by the fountain where Johnny had killed the soc. Even all these years later, the cement is around it is still stained brown with blood.

I do the only thing that seems rational; freak out. Ten seconds ago I was falling asleep in Beatrice's apartment, with Smith snoring next to me and Lowell and Clarke talking in the next room over. How could I have traveled hundreds of miles that fast?

"Boo."

Nerves on edge, I jump a foot in the air. Jerking around, I can see nothing but a barrel of a gun pointed square between my eyes.

I scream so loud that I scare myself. I didn't think I could yell so much.

Instinctively I back away from the gun. The back of my knees hit the edge of the fountain and I nearly fall into it, just barely breaking the fall with my hand as I plop onto my ass, landing in a sitting position on the ledge.

To my relief the gun is being slowly brought away from my face. For a fleeting second I think this nightmare is over, but in a flash one horror happens after the other.

I'm face to face with a man. I can't see much of him but his face, which is only inches from mine as he leans forwards, is blank and unforgiving. I want to back away but I can't risk falling into the fountain. Not again. Never again.

"Did I scare you?" The Man's rough voice asks. I wince. He laughs, taking that as a yes.

"So," The Man twirls the gun around his finger. It glints in the moonlight even though the sky is dark. I follow it dangerously with my eyes, apprehensive of his pinkie that's way too close to the trigger. "THIS is how you repay your brothers? After all they've done for you...given up for you?"

"No," I croak out. I'm surprised at the sound of my own voice. I thought maybe I'd forgotten how to use it.

But this will NOT be how I repay Darry and Soda...whatever that means. I have to get away from The Man and get back to them. I need to tell them how sorry I am...maybe they'll forgive me. Maybe.

The man grunts and pulls the gun in front of my face again. I scrunch my eyes closed as though that would make it disappear. "You should have never left," he grumbles harshly.

"I know that. I'm sorry. I'll go home right now." I beseech, feeling like I'm kissing up to The Man's ass. He seems to like it. A malicious grin creeps up his face.

"HOW sorry are you?"

"Really sorry. So so sorry." I breath. I don't know who's doing the heavy breathing: me or The Man. Probably both of us. "I've never been so sorry…"

"Nope. Lies. Goodbye."

So this is the end of me. I expect him to pull the trigger on the gun and let it blast right in my face. But he doesn't. Instead he pushes me backwards from my already-too-close-to-the-fountain edge.

I scream. Too late. The last thing I'll ever hear is The Man's cruel laugh.

I fall back and drown again.

…

"Curtis. Curtis, get up!"

My eyes snap open. Only inches away from my face is Smith, examining me closely. He has a puzzled look on his face. "Man can you yell." he marvels.

I realize I'm not by the fountain with The Man anymore. I'm back in Beatrice's apartment in bed, the blankets twisted around my legs and the sun pouring through the window over my sheets. It takes a moment for my heart to stop hammering.

I bury my face in my hands, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," I mumble.

Smith chews his lip. I don't think he's used to this kind of stuff. At least...he's not Soda or Darry. "It's ok. I mean...I don't think you woke anyone else up. And I was already awake anyways."

"Oh. Good," I say, not meeting Smith's eyes. The last thing I need is for anyone else to hear me screaming to myself in my sleep. It's not exactly a divine topic of conversation.

"Was that another nightmare?"

I nod, feigning interest in the sheets.

Smith looks uncomfortable, standing there and looking down at me. I'm sure I don't exactly look perky right now. I can feel my hair clinging to my face with cold sweat.

"What was it about?" he asks, a little more gently, like he's comforting a scared animal.

I open my mouth to answer, but realize I don't really have anything to say. Smith, Clarke, and Lowell all know about what happened a few years ago with Johnny and Dally...along with everyone else in Tulsa. But I don't think they really understand it. To them it's just a murder rap. But it's so much more...the only people who would understand are all the way back in Tulsa..

I shrug. "I...I don't really know." It's partially the truth.

Smith snags a hand through his hair. I think he knows there's more to it. That's why I like Smith—he different than the others. He thinks more. He stares at me thoughtfully for a moment, looking like he's about to say something more but the bedroom door swings open and Clarke comes pounding in. One look of me still and bed and he's up beside me, violently ruffling my hair.

"Good morning. Thought you were dead, Curtis."

My mind flashes to the nightmare. How The Man had pushed me backwards into the fountain and I'd drowned again. Well I was.

I just give a big, sarcastic grin to Clarke. "I've never felt more alive."

Clarke rolls his eyes. "Right." Then he rubs his hands together, jutting his head out to the kitchen. "You know what I just heard? This morning ten people in Miami woke up robbed. In the middle of the night someone was robbin people."

Smith lets out a low whistle. My stomach drops. I can almost hear Darry's I told you so…

"Lowell better tell Beatrice to hide all her valuables," Smith cracks. "Cause I bet we're next."

Clarke rolls his eyes. "She ain't got nothing to steal."

"That was my joke," Smith frowns.

"You tell pretty shitty jokes."

"Can't you just let anything be funny?" Smith gripes.

The two of them carry their argument out into the kitchen. I untangle myself from the blankets, my head racing with thoughts. Robberies all over Miami…

I almost laugh when I realize how stupid I'm being. What are the chances?

…

Darry POV

Per usual, Soda comes clomping loudly through the door when he gets off work. This time, though, he is without Steve tagging along. We haven't heard much from Steve and Soda doesn't offer any information about where he might be.

In fact there hasn't been much talking at all. Last night's phone call and Soda's outburst has been completely swept under the rug...not that I made any efforts to dig deeper in the first place. Sometimes I think Soda is better off left to his own accord.

"How was work?" Soda asks me nonchalantly while he grabs himself a Pepsi. It almost feels like a normal afternoon.

I sift aside another piece of mail. Bills. All it ever is. Sighing, I decide to call it quits. Forty five minutes I'd been sitting here but managing to get nothing done. "Tiring." I admit.

Sodapop doesn't quite meet my eyes. "Same here."

I'm about to grill him for more information on why Steve isn't accompanying him, but the door bangs open again and Two-Bit waltzes in. "Good afternoon Curtises," he greets, tipping a nonexistent hat.

Soda gives me a sideway stare. Leave it to Two-Bit to interrupt. "Hi Two-Bit," I grunt.

Right away he heads for the kitchen, opening up cabinets and taking out food at his free will. "Ponyboy call?" he asks innocently, having no idea the weight of his words.

I see Soda go white and feign interest in his Pepsi bottle. I do the same with the stack of envelopes in front of me. "Yeah. He called last night..."

Finally settling on a bowl of leftover spaghetti of Soda's, Two-Bit turns on us. "What'd he have to say?"

"Not much" Soda gripes flatly. He puts his Pepsi down on the table with a heavy bang.

Two-Bit meets my eyes. He knows Soda well enough to tell when something is up with him. I shake my head at him. Not a good topic for conversation. He nods back, understanding.

He gives his best attempt at changing the subject. "Well where's Steve? Ain't seen him around. Hell, maybe he joined Pony."

Soda winces. Two-Bit blanchs, looking guilty, thinking he had done nothing but tell a joke. I sympathize with him. I know how it feels to not be able to say anything right.

"Steve is busy. I don't know with what," Soda says in short spurts. Then he yawns. "I'm calling it a day. Night Darry. Night Two-Bit."

I watch him leave. Two-Bit chews on his lip, looking uncomfortable. Guilt boils in my stomach. What a mess we're all in. If only I'd taken it easier on Pony that night, maybe none of this would have happened.

…

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