Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or the song "Turn Into Earth".

A/N: Despite the lack of reviews, I'm still going to uphold my promise of updating today.

How your restless hungry eyes. Speak of cloudy summer skies. The morning dew, turns into rain. Lonely winds will call my name. Dying leaves of seasons brown. Losing life as they drift down. Too soon in life. Return to earth. Only they can know their worth.

There's this thing with smoking. Once you've developed a habit, that first draw on a new cigarette brings a wave of relief that you have been craving for what seems like days, though it's only been hours. You feel like the smoke rolling off your lips. It's as if your soul is dying to escape and slowly, through cigarettes, it does. The smoke takes away the bad - the pain.

It's raining again. I've been watching Gilligan's Island until I'm sick. These chips are stale, I'm out of smokes and pain medication, and this knife in my hand is the only thing that's solid.

I've read the same headline in the paper, sitting on the coffee table, about ten times: Black Man Shot Dead on Streets.

There's a whole article underneath about equality. The thing about equality though is everyone's only equal when they're dead. Everyone hates everyone. There is no love and equality. That's just a bunch of loaded shit rich white folks and hippies want you to buy into and try to shove on everyone else.

Whites hate whites. Blacks hate blacks. It's the way the world is shaped and formed - around the foundation of such hate.

It's how we, as humans, are fueled.

There's a knock at the door. I'm expecting it to be Rick who forgot his keys here before he left. I'm hoping it's not. I've had enough lectures and I'm afraid of what I might do if I hear another one.

I'm nineteen years old - going on twenty. I'm an old man, not a kid who still needs disaplin and quidence.

I'm what you might call, a Free Spirit - or a JD Hood.

"Come on!" I shout. I'm not getting up. I can't. This bowel of chips on my lap is too heavy.

The door swings open as they escape the pouring rain. "Fuck, what happened to you?"

"What the hell are you doing here? Have you lost your fucking mind!?"

I could have gotten up if I could and beaten someone's head in, but my legs and stomach and ribs ache.

He shakes the wet out of his hair. "I heard what happened. Emily called me. I took three trains to get here and a taxi. I came as soon as I found out. You should be thanking me for caring so much."

I look at him like he's lost his mind. He must have to talk to me that way. "What? I told you not to come here again! Everyone told you never to come here again. Remember, ace?"

His age shows more and more. He's grown since I last saw him but he still looks like the fifteen, almost sixteen, year old kid with no clue as to what's really out there. "So how are you?"

"How does it look like I am?" I bum a smoke off of him and relax for a second. "You're the one taking years off my life. You know someone saw you come here, right? Fucking idiot."

He clears his voice. There's a cough in the back of his throat. I don't ask how long he's been sick or how long he's ignored it and not taken anything. "Mom called me. She's worried about you. You should call her."

I roll my eyes. "She's not my mother. She's yours."

"Rose called me," he corrects himself with a tone. "She's worried about you. You should call her."

I take a sip of my warm, stale beer. The pain becomes less. I need more medication if I'm going to get through this conversation. I know Rick has something somewhere he's hiding. "Smartass."

"She raised you, Dally," he says with a lecture tone. "'Least you can do is call the woman."

"Yeah she raised me. You know why she raised me, Ron? Because my mother is dead. My mother was killed. Do you know who killed my mother, Ronnie?"

I steadily let smoke roll off my lips. I've lost count how many this makes just for today. It's only eleven, and I know I had three packs when I started out the day. I needed something stronger. A lot stronger.

"Dally I just want to help."

"Leave, that'd help me out a lot."

He doesn't take no for an answer. Instead he leaps up like he's a rebel, disobeying me. "Let me help. I promise I won't screw up. You need help, Dally. Let me help you, please?"

"This is all up to me now, Ron. I gotta fix it on my own. I'm going to fix it. I'm going to end all this once in for all."

I feel like an old man when I manage to get up. I hope I don't live to be over fifty. That's a loaded wish though. I won't live past twenty. What's the opposite of nostalgia? Anticipation? Yeah, I anticipate death. I relish in the fact that one day, I'll be dead.

It's a coward thing to do, and I'd never admit it to anyone, but the truth of the matter is: death haunts me. It has my whole life and I've been running from it ever since I learned to walk.

I'm so fucking tired. I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of giving a fuck every day. There's nothing to give a fuck about anymore. I fucked that up. I'm a fuck up.

Maybe I deserve to die. That'd make the score even, right? Trade one life for another?

I head down the hall. Ronnie doesn't follow and I'm glad. My bedroom's the one closest to the living room. It used to be an old sewing room by the old lady that owned it before.

My dresser is against wall beside the door. I make sure Ronnie didn't follow before pulling my Remington out of the top.

"How are you going to end it, Dally?"

I click the bullets in, loading up the gun. "Trust me, Ron. I'm gonna finish this. I'm going to end this for good."

Sometime later that same day, Ronnie decided to take a shower. Apparently there were some pretty hellish people on all those trains he went on. I let him have a few minutes of peace before I lay into him again.

Am I being harsh? Ain't that what big brothers are supposed to do though? Look out an knock some heads if need be? I don't know, I'm kind of new at this. That's what the Curtis' do though so maybe I'm doing it right.

I take a load off and sit down at the kitchen table. Rick keeps a lot of envelopes and stamps and paper in the kitchen drawers. I take a handful, the shoe box I keep under my bed, and sit down with a pen.

Dear, Da-

There's another knock at the door. This time the back one. I yell again, putting everything up quickly and chucking it behind me so no one can see it. "It's open!"

Sodapop wears a plain white tee with oil stains and blue jeans that match and his DX shirt. It's almost dinner time so he'd just gotten off work. Sweat runs down his face along with the rain drops.

"Hey, man."

He's breathing heavily. He doesn't speak right away, just scowls a little and slowly shuts the door behind him. "I need to talk to you."

"Great."

He leans against the counter, not calmly sitting in front of me for this little chat we'll be having. I cross my legs and steal another pack of cigarettes from Ronnie's jacket that he lied to me about.

"You want one?" I offer Soda one, knowing already that he'll turn it down.

He shakes his head then looks down the hallway. "Who's here?"

"Rick."

"His car's not out there."

Smoke floats up to the ceiling from my cigarette.

He sighs deeply, looking down at the floor. His hair has gotten longer. He's growing it out. Or he's too tired and overworked to get it cut. These few months have sure aged him though. Even his scar ridden skin is starting to become more noticeable.

"What did you do to Danni the night before Darry's surgery?"

I recross my legs, listening as the water stops in the bathroom. "Getting right to the point I see." I slide the ash tray across the table so it sits beside me. "Why don't you ask her?"

"She says she was at Jennies."

"Then that's where she was."

"Dally!" Ronnie shouts from the bathroom and I wince. "Where are the towels?"

Soda's eyes flame into me. I ignore him, turning my head and answering him. "Why is Ronnie here?" Soda jumps on that.

I rotate back around, picking my cigarette back up. This day is really going to kill me. "Family visit."

"What happened to your face?"

I was wondering when that question would come up. When your face looks like a boxer's after losing a fight, that's usually the first thing people start to notice. "Bar fight."

"Yeah right," he snaps. "The bottom line is: something's wrong with Danni. There has been since that night. Well, it's gotten worse since that night, so just tell me what it is. I'm tired, Dally, I don't want to fight you."

I hear movement in the bathroom. I hope he doesn't come out here. Wouldn't that be the fucking cherry on top of this cake? "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I told you to stay away from her." He freely laughs, relieving the stress and anger from his body. "I told you to stay away from her, Dally. A few days after you got out of jail, I told you.

I tap the cigarette against the glass of the tray, letting the ash fall. "We had sex. You still know what that is, Sodapop?"

This takes him aback. He waits for me to take back the comment or to further explain but-

A fist is sent for my face.

My chair fumbles back and my ass slams against the ground. "What the hell!?"

"OW!" He pulls upward, holding his hand to his chest. "What, is your face made of freakin' steal? OW!"

I rub my cheek where he hit. That'd be another bruise to add to the collection. Where the hell is Ronnie anyway? Don't tell me he didn't hear that. I know damn well he heard that.

I slowly pick myself up from the floor. That's the hard part of this. That and picking up a chair that feels like it weighs a ton.

"Dally?"

"What?"

He's silent. He's expecting me to hit him back or shove or yell or do something. Thing is: I know what it's like to want to do good for your sibling, and to kill anyone who does them wrong. I'm not in the wrong, of course, but I sorta get it.

I try to anyway.

"Look," I say, picking up my broken cigarette and tossing it in the trash. "It ain't my fault she came around here wanting me to cuddle or hold her or some other girly shit. It was her who turned me down at the hospital. Yeah, ain't that fucking funny? You got a good one there, Soda. She turned me away. Me."

"She's afraid of getting hurt! Don't you get it? Are you that full of yourself that you think you did no wrong!? God, Dally, you're one of my best friends, man, but sometimes I really can't stand you."

I rub my head. I can feel the weight of my gun in the back of my pants. "I got to take Ronnie to the train station."

"Wait," he says, stopping me from standing up. "Do you love her? Do you love my sister, Dally? Just tell me that. You're my friend, Dally. You owe me the truth."

Ronnie didn't come down with any money. It took me a whole weeks pay to get him back home. I only hoped no one saw him come. No one knows where he went, and that's the way I like it.

The rain pours down hard as I walk over to the Shepard household.

"I heard you got the shit beat out of you." He smirks, holding the door open just enough for me to push past and get in and out of the storm. "Get in here, dumbass."

In the middle of the living room, amongst all the dirty dishes and toys, sits the baby daddy, of all people. He's a ghost these days. You never know when he'll just show up and strike a conversation. It's a real bitch to get rid of him too.

He has tons of fun down at the DX I hear. He and Steve have a nice bond going.

"He like live here now?" I ask, following Tim into the kitchen to get a beer.

He shrugs and spits, "Might as well."

Tim still works at the lumber yard full time. Tiffany is the stay at home mommy in this quaint little family and Jac...well he's the one night stand that made little Jake happen. Ain't it just the most pertinacious love story you've ever heard?

Tim's moved out of his family home. No one knows if his mom still lives there or not. No one really cares.

Tim packed up Curly and Jake, and moved across from the Curtis house this summer. I remember the fight I had over that one. Who would want a Shepard living with easy access to your girlfriend? Especially since that already happened once.

No, I think Tiffany's here to stay. There's something about that broad. She's dark, yet full of light.

Curly's the one who decorated this place. I'm the one who helped them move in and help dig around in the dump for furniture that Socs just threw away because it was old.

Tim hands me a beer that I hold and don't open. I've had more than I can count today. I don't think I can even get drunk anymore. I haven't had the time or energy to try. "I'm going to kill, Dale."

"Ha, sure you are."

There's a big picture frame on the mantle place. There are candles lit around the frame. They're always lit. The Shepard's, being catholic, even have a big cross above that frame.

"He's going to be at the old playground tomorrow afternoon. He'll be alone. I figure, pull up, do the job, get the heck out of dodge, and sit back with a six pack at my motel while the cops figure out who's blood it is all over the slide."

His beer travels down in throat slowly. "Oh fuck, you're serious."

I nod.

"Hey, Jac! Take Jake to the park. There's some stale bread in the garbage out back in the bin. Let him feed the ducks for about an hour."

Jac quickly jumps up. "Ok, Tim!"

Tim turns back to me. He waits for Jac to leave. He finishes off his beer and gets out a smoke before he speaks again. "So you come here just to tell me that?"

"No," I say. "I need your help."

He raises a questionable eyebrow. "You gotta be in some pretty fucked up shit to ask me for help."

I puff my cheeks out, and then exhale a long awaited breath of air. "You have no idea. So listen, you still got that old beat up truck in the back yard?"

"Yeah."

"I need it."

"Doesn't run."

This conversation's going to be long. My ribs are begging me to sit or drink or pop a pill or two, or all three. "I'll make it. I'm good with cars, 'member? I need something else too."

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head back and forth. "I'm not giving you my gun or cash. I ain't that stupid, Winston."

"Nah. It's actually two things."

He grabs another beer from the fridge. The bottle cap spins on the floor. "Better hit me up while I'm plastered, Winston."

"I need you to get some train tickets in Angela's name for a straight trip to California. Angela Winston. She's a newlywed. Call the station and confirm it. Book a hotel in San Francisco under the same name. Go to the bank and take out fifty dollars. Tomorrow night, take Jack, Jac, and Curly somewhere for a few days. When you come back, Dale's boys will find you and show up here with guns and knives. Tell them about the tickets and the money. Give them the receipts and play it cool for a few days. Think you can handle that?"

He doesn't break his sturdy, fixated stare. "The second one is?"

My weight is fighting against me. I lean against the kitchen counter so the room will stop spinning. Sodapop may be one-hundred pounds, but he punches as if he's two-eighty. "They'll come for Curtis next. Watch her for me. Watch all of them."

Tim jumps up on the counter. "Mighty big order you got there Winston. You sure you thought all this through? What's to stop them from shooting up the whole family?"

Tim, of all people, knows how this thing works. He's bailed out of town more times than I can count, and he's left more behind than me. He's a planner, Tim is. Some days though, Tim just freaks and bails. He used to anyway. Trouble would hit and he'd be in the next state over before dark.

This is more than just a quick getaway. It's a life – another one added to my list.

"They won't do anything without the big dog around. They'll try to find me first. And believe me, they won't be coming back to Tulsa when I'm done with them."

He scratches his stubble under his chin. He doesn't buy it, but goes along anyway. "Where are you going, Winston?"

I crack a grin. "To the land of snow, foreign broads, igloos, maple syrup, and moose."

"Canada, eh?"

"Canada, eh."

Dying leaves of seasons brown. Losing life as they drift down. Too soon in life. Return to earth. Only they can know their worth. Distant dreams of things to be. Wandering thoughts that can't be free. I feel my mind. Turning away. To the darkness of my day.

A/N: The climax starts in the next chapter! Woo!

Thanks for reading. Please do review for an update on Monday.