Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns. Swearing below. And a little shock.

A Thanks

OoO

I can't sleep.

I start to drift off into dark places but then the dark merges with the alley and I hear Tony say, "Mikey, I don't want to do this," and I search around for Nick but there's nothing. No one. There's the glint of the blade and slick, slick red.

Soda crawls into bed with me. He's been staying over ever since Big Sal and Carmine stopped by. I can tell he and Darry are worried they'll come back. I don't have the heart to tell them they're probably right.

"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me. His breath is light on my neck.

For once, I sleep.

OoO

"Does it still hurt?" Liz asks, as I settle in the doorway watching her poke at the turkey. The flesh indents and she gives a satisfied nod.

I shrug. "Not too much anymore. Sorry I can't really do too much today."

She gives a smile. "If I know you Ponyboy, that's exactly why you broke your fingers. To get out of dishwashing duty."

I laugh, turning away. Liz stops me by saying, "I feel like you're gonna run, Pony. And Darry won't tell me anything so I'm not going to ask but I need to know this. Are you going to run?"

"I could have gotten you or Darry hurt," I begin slowly, feeling her eyes on my back. "If that happened I couldn't handle that…so yeah. I should get out of here." I turn back to look at her.

Liz tucks a piece of dark hair behind her ear and exhales. "You shouldn't go. He needs you."

The doorbell rings and Liz drops the turkey in the pan.

OoO

Two-Bit breaks a vase and all bets for a calm Thanksgiving are off. Kathy and Mrs. Mathews start pouring drinks. Snow falls outside and the wind whips. Nick shows up with a six-pack, looking antsy but calmer than I've seen him in a while. I'm relieved about that. Evie and Steve bring a store-bought pie, Liz looking like she wants to drop it in the trash but she thanks them. Steve eyes my hand but says nothing. Soda bounces around the room, making a phone call every now and then. Darry's calm but watchful.

I survey the room, the chaos of my family the only soothing thing.

OoO

Liz wrinkles her nose, trying to light the stove. She swears when she straightens up. "What is it?" Darry asks.

"I forgot the potatoes." She looks ready to cry. It's stressful – she's cooking for a full house. I hop up from the table.

"I'll go. I'll get 'em."

"Nothing's open," Soda says.

"Sure it is." That's Karen. She juggles Hank on her knee. "The mini-mart on seventh. Remember those people got shot there last Thanksgiving? Brains splattered all over the cooler? Mr. Keller still kept it open. Always does, every year."

People stare at her. Soda looks horrified. And I thought I was bad.

I reach for my keys. Darry's eyes move. "Nick," he says, worried.

Nick stands. "I'll go with him."

OoO

"Is it hard driving with that mitt?" Nick asks.

"Nah," I say. I toss the sack of potatoes in the back seat, careful of my hand. "It'll be off before I know it. It's harder getting out of the house these days."

Nick cracks a laugh.

The wind and snow pick up, gusting across the road. Heading back to the house, I pass seventh street, pass eighth and that's when I see it. The giant Mobile station, the logo a winged red horse, the sign perched high above it like a beacon. I nearly crash the Ranchero into the curb, instead managing to swing it around and park across the street from the abandoned gas station.

"Curtis?" Nick asks, gripping the dash. "You done and gone crazy?"

I stare at the dilapidated building. At the wide-spread wings of the Pegasus. "This is what he meant. The horse."

"Ponyboy…"

"No, Nick. The boy – one of 'em – is in here."

"You can't believe this."

Twisting in my seat, I zip my seatbelt off and climb out of the car. I have to see; if Willy Wiese is right and I pass it up, I'd never forgive myself.

"I'll go look."

"Jesus, don't do this again." Nick's on my heels. "Not a repeat of Miami." He grabs my arm, fear plain in his eyes. "Please."

"Don't worry, man. Five minutes. I'll be back." Don't forget to duck, I tell myself. Nick moans as I cross the deserted street and run into the abandoned gas station.

OoO

It's darker than dark inside the old Mobile and I wish I had a flashlight. Chilled, I zip up my jacket. The dusty cement goes whisk-whisk as my feet slowly move across. The urge to cough brews but I clear my throat, chasing it back down. Another thing I don't want to deal with at the moment.

The old Mobile station sits on a corner just off of Main Street. It used to be open ten years ago, until the DX put it out of business. Situated and silent, it's the perfect spot for bad deeds. I move through, brushing away cobwebs and dust. Something scurries along the rafters. Shadows beckon; I squint, my eyes adjusting to the dark.

There are a few candy bar wrappers littered across the floor. Coils of electrical wire and a tattered newspaper. I kick one of the wrappers with the toe of my shoe; it looks recent. I'm careful not to touch anything. I skirt a corner, wondering if the black stains on the ground are blood or paint.

I keep walking until I see a door. It looks like a small janitor's closet. I go up to it, squat and listen. Right when I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing, I suck in a breath when I hear ragged breathing. My heart nearly stops when there's a weak, "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?"

I touch fingers to my lips, not trusting myself to speak.

"Please, hurry…he'll be back soon and—"

I take off, limping along, hurrying, until there's a loud whoosh. I don't even glance up – Wiese's words in my mind—don't forget to duck—so I do.

A thickly braided chain dives towards me, one used to lug and lift cars. It's so close, the whoosh of air on my cheek, the chain cut and flopping around like a live wire. I land in a pile of trash, coughing and choking on dust. I roll onto my shoulder, wincing as a few light plywood boards land next to me.

Finally, getting my bearings, I make it out of there, but not before I think I spy someone in the shadows. But I can't be sure.

OoO

Nick calls the tip in from a payphone. We wait a few blocks away until the cop cars and ambulance come.

I breathe into my hands when a figure's brought out on a stretcher. "Thank god," I say. "Thank god."

"Oh fuck," Nick says. "He's alive."

I glance at the clock. "Oh shit."

OoO

They're just setting down to eat when we walk in. Nick goes straight to the table. Darry follows me into the kitchen, his expression furious. "You've been gone three hours, Ponyboy! For potatoes? Where the hell have you been?"

I dump the potatoes on the counter. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I think of the boy and hope he makes it.

"It's Thanksgiving," Darry snaps. "I don't understand why you can't be on time for it. I don't understand why you have to keep doing this, why y—"

Liz is suddenly there smiling bright, her apron on. There's flour in her hair. "Hey, no," she says. "We're not doing this now." She lowers her voice, hisses, "They can all hear you so shut up."

Darry gives me a look then turns to his girlfriend. "Then let's eat." He storms out.

"You better have a drink, Ponyboy," Liz warns. She doesn't look happy. "You're gonna need it."

OoO

Dinner's fine and it weren't for Karen Mathews it'd be great.

Darry's cool and calm but deep down he's royally pissed. I don't blame him; I know he's just worried. Liz knows what she's doing though, she gives him a few drinks and eventually he loosens up.

Karen dips her head toward mine. She's on my right. "So you're really working that serial killer case?"

There are so many words wrong in that sentence; I wince at serial killer and case. "Uh, yeah," I shift awkwardly. "That's right. It's just for work." I keep my voice low but it's too late, they're watching.

"Two-Bit says you're interviewing someone at the prison. Like you did at that hospital…"

"Yep, that's true." I shoot Two-Bit a look: I'm gonna kill you.

"That's such a cool job." The baby grabs for her hair and Karen reshuffles him on her lap. "You ain't gonna check yourself in there are you?"

Soda starts choking on his beer. Two-Bit tosses his fork down. "Jesus Christ, Karen."

Hank starts crying, taking Karen's attention, and I thank god for small favors.

OoO

The house clears out except for the staples – Steve, Two-Bit and their girls. They all sit at the table, continuing the night with coffee and bourbon.

Nick turns on the 10 o'clock news. We wait for it and then the newscaster comes on. They flash photos across the screen and announce that yes, despite missing his hand, Bradley Miles is alive. One of the boys has been found. No further information is available but donations can be sent to…

Nick and I just stare at each other.

"Wiese was—"

"Don't say it," Nick says. "Okay? I get it. Just…don't say it."

I dip low, breathing evenly at the thought of what's just happened. "Oh, holy shit."

"Curtis," Nick says, clasping my shoulder. "You just got yourself one helluva inside scoop."

OoO

MISSING BOY FOUND

P.M. CURTIS

An 16-year-old boy who was reported missing was found alive, according to police.

The boy, identified as Bradley Miles, was a possible victim of the Butcher, a serial killer thought to be responsible for at least two more abductions in the area. Police received a tip around four in the afternoon on Thanksgiving Day, which eventually lead them to an abandoned Mobile Station where Miles was being held.

No other leads have been found in the case…

OoO

Two days later Max calls me at home and barks into the phone, "You gotta get down there and interview him, Curtis!"

"Who?"

"Bradley Miles. You think this story will write itself?"

"Aw, hell, Max…harassing some poor kid in the hospital ain't my forte."

"Yeah, well you better get over it pretty damn quick."

The buzz is back in my brain. "Max—"

"Don't make me tell you twice." He hangs up.

OoO

I drive over to St. Joe's to interview Bradley Miles but it's a no-go. The cops won't let me past security; his family won't even talk to me. I've never felt like such an asshole getting turned away at the door of some kid's hospital room. One of the worst experiences of my life.

The Ranchero dies on the outskirts of town. It putters to a stop on the shoulder of the road. I hitch a ride to the nearest gas station and call the DX. Steve answers.

OoO

"Thanks a lot," I tell Steve as he drives us into town. "I really appreciate it, man."

"I'll send someone up to bring your piece of shit back to the DX. Me and Soda will take a look at it."

"Thanks." I lean back against the seat. His truck is warm and I hold my good hand up to the vent, the air filtering through my fingers.

"What're you doing up at St. Joe's anyway?" he asks.

"Trying to interview that boy – Bradley Miles."

Steve raises a brow and whistles. "Hell, kid. You're more of an asshole than I am."

"Don't remind me."

"You know," Steve says, shooting me a sideways glance. "I read your article the other day. And I think it's mighty odd considering he was found on Thanksgiving near the Seventh Street market…right around the time when you were gone…"

"Was he really?"

"Fuck you, Ponyboy," Steve snaps, taking a right on Fowler Avenue. "You wrote the goddamn story. You know what I'm talking about."

There's a long beat and then I ask, "You didn't tell Darry did you?"

He lets out an exasperated laugh. "No, kid. I didn't. I figure that's the last thing you…" Steve slows on the gas and instantly breaks, jerking us both forward.

He parks us next to the post office and shuts his truck off. "You son-of-a-bitch," he swears. I follow his stony gaze. My heart sinks. It's like a shock of icy water on my face. Soda's coming out of the Holiday Inn with the same girl from the movie house. Only this time it's not just a blonde. It's the blonde. He has his arm around her and they duck into a bar. My mouth drops open. All this time it's been—

"Sandy?" I ask Steve.

His eyes are grim. "News to me too, kid."

I smear my face in my free hand, spots flashing as I squeeze my eyes shut. "Shit…"

"Bristol?" Steve asks.

"What's in Bris—" It dawns and I remember. I raise my face. "Oh yeah. Yeah."

OoO

Bristol. A small honky-tonk town 30 minutes outside of Tulsa and the place where Steve and I first got drunk. About two years ago, right after I had gotten out of Cherry Hills. It had been on accident really. I had been there to interview someone for a story, they never showed but Steve did. He bought me a drink and I had ended up calling Soda for a ride.

And boy howdy, if this isn't the right place for me and Steve Randle to commiserate over Sodapop Curtis.

"I knew it. I knew he was acting weird," Steve says, his voice wobbly. "But I never thought it was this." He gestures at the bartender who brings us each a shot of whiskey. "What the fuck is he doing?" Steve asks. "What the fuck, man?" He downs his shot.

I shoot it down too. Sandy had broken my brother's heart, scared him off dating, off women, and now he's back with her?

"It just don't make sense." I murmur.

"What's she doin' in town anyways? Evie would've told me if she moved back…" He moves black eyes my way. "You didn't know?" When I shake my head, Steve actually reaches out to pat my shoulder. "I thought for sure he would've told you, kid."

I don't – can't – say anything.

"So that's what he's been doing – taking long lunches, sneaking around…it's all been with her. With that dumb bitch."

"He should have told us."

Steve cocks a brow. "Hell, kid, he shouldn't even be doing it." He shakes his head. "You know, Soda gets a lot of passes, a lot of credit, but not about this. Not with her."

I feel sorry for Steve. He picked up so many pieces of Sodapop after Sandy left and I ran away. More than Darry and I ever could. I'll never know how hard it was. He listened to Soda cry and tried to get him back out playing the field. He's my brother's best friend and being kept in the dark has got to sting.

Ready to drown his sorrows, Steve orders a second round. "You in any hurry to get back?"

"I ain't got anywhere to go," I say.

"Between us, Pony," Steve says when the bartender shows up with the liquor. "This stays between us and these shots." I see it plain in his face: he's embarrassed for my brother. And I don't blame him.

OoO

"Oh, this is fan-fucking-tastic," Two-Bit moans. "C'mere," he says, gripping the front of my shirt. He pushes me onto the barstool. "You're both shithoused and it's one in the afternoon."

"Kid's a bad influence," Steve slurs, settling up with the bartender.

Two-Bit affects hurt, saying, "You know, Pony, I would have liked to have been invited. Today's my day off."

"I'm sorry," I say. "You want a drink?" I grab a shot glass and end up dropping it onto the floor. It shatters into a million pieces.

"No, no I don't kid. Remember, I'm your ride? You called me? Jesus Christ, never mind…"

Two-Bit manages to herd us both outside. Steve claims shotgun, I hobble into the backseat, tossing my stick on the floor. Two-Bit glances in the rearview mirror, pulling away from the curb and into Tulsa. "Don't you dare puke in my car."

I hold up my bandaged hand. "You can't see it but I'm giving you the finger."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know you are kid. What're you doing with him?" he asks Steve. "Soda called, said you blew off work. When he finds out you've been off drinking with this one, he's liable—"

"Who cares about what Soda thinks," Steve snaps. "'Sides, Pony can make his own decisions."

I fall across the back seat as Two-Bit takes a turn. "Thanks, man!"

"Anytime, kid," Steve retorts.

"I'm confused and scared by this," Two-Bit says, glancing back and forth between us. "Am I in the Twilight Zone?"

"Not yet," Steve says, raising dark brows.

OoO

Two-Bit pulls up to the house, cutting his engine.

Steve says, "You should come in for a beer."

"Yeah, man." I climb out of the car and fall on the icy grass. "Have a drink."

"Ponyboy," Two-Bit says, and I hear the smile in his voice. "I think you've had enough."

"Enough's never enough," Steve says. He sticks his hands in his pockets, watches me sit on the grass.

Two-Bit helps me stand up. "You got it?"

"Sure I got it. How 'bout you?"

Two-Bit busts into a laugh. "Jesus Christ. Let's go get a beer. Hell, I ain't married yet."

"That'll never stop you, Two-Bit."

He smiles, happy. "No, it won't, kid. No it won't."

OoO

Pardon typos.

Thank you, thank you for the reviews. So happy you're still reading this. Keep it up. Don't kill Soda.

XO,

Feisty