I do not own The Outsiders. All characters used from the book are borrowed with much respect to S.E. Hinton.

Steve didn't call again, and I could feel my stomach start it's old tricks as I worried myself crazy. Where was he? Was he in Tulsa? Did he move on like Two-Bit and Greg and find himself starting a new life somewhere different? Had I said the wrong thing? Maybe I should've had a softer approach—like Sodapop—to coax him into coming home. I didn't have the answers, but the whole mess was eating me up inside.

"Darry, can you help this guy load up?"

I looked over to Mr. Harris, my boss as he finished ringing his customer through while I was stocking paint cans on the shelf. I nodded quietly as I headed towards my boss and he handed me the sales slip.

"Some two-by-fours," Mr. Harris drawled. "I've got a contractor due by in a few with a big order. Can you handle this with your leg, Darry?"

"Yeah, this ain't a problem, Mr. Harris. You know you can gimme more work around here besides stocking the shelves and minding the till. I ain't some fragile flower." I grinned fondly.

Having men like Mr. Harris and Mr. Garver in my life was sort of like still having my dad around. These old boys had watched me grow up from a little kid into a man, and had been friends of Darrel Curtis Sr. for as long as I could remember. Mr. Harris cared about me, I could tell, but he didn't still need to treat me with velvet gloves.

"I guess not, son. I see you're moving along without that dang cane. It's good to see you getting better. It would've been a damned shame if we'd lost you, boy."

I gave him a smile because in all honesty, I didn't know what to say to that. I slapped his shoulder lightly before taking the list from him and headed for the lumberyard knowing how lucky I was for the good people that were still in my life.

A green pickup truck was waiting by the gate. After I opened it, I motioned for the truck to back up into the yard closer to where the lumber was stored. I walked backwards well into the yard; signalling and signalling until we were at the right stack, and had the truck stop where I needed it to.

"How're you today sir?" I approached the driver's open window without even looking in. "Can I get you to double check this order and make sure nothing is missing?"

"Yeah, no problem."

I looked up as the man took the slip from me, and my stomach rolled when I stared at the face of Detective Davis. Part of me wanted to disappear, and I wished wildly that he wouldn't look up or recognize me, but he was a cop and I knew that wish was futile. Even though Davis had managed to be much less of an ass than his counterpart Backus; his presence brought up nothing but painful memories.

"Looks good, sir." He smiled and then his eyes met mine. "Oh! Mr. Curtis, I didn't know you worked here!"

Fuck! Just what I needed!

"Yep. Been workin' steady here for quite a while."

"Oh, that's good, that's good." His voice trailed off like he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I'll get this loaded up for you, just gimme a few minutes." I moved to walk away, but he wouldn't let me.

"Y'know we never got a handle on your brother's case."

My stomach clenched, and I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding as I turned back to face him.

"What was that?" I struggled to keep my voice even.

"Martin Campbell."

Hearing the name out loud still gave me the urge to vomit, and I wondered if there would ever be a time when I wouldn't have that initial reaction.

"What?"

"We never found him. No sign of him anywhere, Mr. Curtis and I'm so sorry. I wanted justice for what your brother went through. I wanted to give him that."

I don't know why his words surprised me, but they did. The only real recollection I had of the two detectives was that of his partner acting as though Campbell's disappearance was more important than what my brother had gone through. The man had gone out of his way to try and upset me and my brothers, and I would never forgive him for that.

"I was under the impression y'all were more interested in Martin Campbell's rights; not mine, and certainly not my brother's."

Detective Davis frowned grimly as he nodded; staring straight ahead out the windshield of his truck. "Dale." He offered simply.

I shrugged not knowing what he was getting at.

"His methods…not always the most…"

"Your partner's a fucking asshole. Now let me load your truck so you can be on your way." I interrupted and turned around before he could reply.

I charged towards the back of his truck; finding the latch and slamming the tailgate down before spinning around to start loading the lumber in the bed.

I was fuming, and it was no surprise the way each two-by-four slammed against metal. The audacity of both detectives had me spitting nails. There were no good memories about that time of my life except finally being able to take Pony home.

"Darrel,"

I felt a hand on my shoulder and I whipped around defensively when I saw that it was Davis. He startled and held his hands up as though I were going to sock him one, and I scoffed at how ridiculous he looked before turning back to load more lumber.

"Darrel, please."

"Look pal, it's Darry or Curtis. Pick one or don't say anything at all." I threw another plank into the truck.

"Look, Darry. You're right about Dale. He can be an asshole; especially the way he handled your brother's case."

I stopped what I was doing and eyed him cautiously, careful that I wasn't falling into some sort of trap. Not a word was spoken by anyone about that night. What went down the night I'd confronted Martin Campbell would go with me to the grave.

"I'm sorry we never found that bastard to make him pay for what he did." Davis continued.

"I'm sure he's moved on to the next boy." I spoke coldly. "Just another no-good greaser from the wrong side of town. Not worth the time of day, so why bother? We're just poor white trash, ain't that right, Detective?"

"I never felt that way, Darry. I never wanted you or your family to feel that way."

"Then why didn't you fuckin' say something? Where were you when that asshole was following me around town? When he came to my house and caused my brother to have a seizure?"

"I'm sorry! I don't have a reason. At first we were just feeling you out to see if you had anything to do with his disappearance, but I saw you, Darrel. I saw you with your brothers and I knew…"

"You knew what?"

"That I'd kill the bastard if he'd done to my son what he'd done to your brother. That I didn't care if you took the law into your own hands to serve your own kind of justice."

I made every effort I could to keep my face stone. It wasn't hard—I'd been doing it since my parents died in order to keep my brothers from seeing me fall apart. I still didn't know if I could trust Detective Davis, but in other circumstances I may have respected him.

"Sorry to disappoint you. That scumbag is just a nightmare my brother and I will never get over. I know nothing else about him." I spoke calmly, and Davis looked sad.

"And you brother, how is he?"

I wanted to tell him how horrible it'd been—the seizures, the emotional trauma. I wanted to tell him that instead of a nineteen year old man, my brother was a seven year old boy wearing the face of our dead brother. I wanted to tell him about every struggle and set-back we'd had to face since before that monster ripped his way through our lives, but I didn't. My brother deserved so much more than that. He was strong, and beautiful, and full of life. He deserved nothing but respect and dignity. My brother was…

"He's…" I nodded. "He's a survivor."

Davis nodded sadly, but didn't say anything more, and I was glad. I loaded up the last of his order, and gave him a nod as he went on his way.

I brushed the dust off my jeans and headed back for the store to continue what I'd been doing before the past had come in and pushed itself into my present. Some things were just things that should be let go of; things that weigh a person down, and though I wasn't sure I'd ever forgive Dale Backus of how he'd treated me and my family, I felt sympathy for his partner. I didn't want to give much more thought than what was warranted, so I went right on back to the palette of paint and continued to stock cans on the shelf. The day passed like any other, and then it was time to go home.

As I made my way for the car I looked back towards the lumber yard and thought about my run-in with Detective Davis. Seeing him brought about nothing but bad memories, although I had to admit to myself that he seemed a good man. i wondered how he'd gotten paired up with such a lousy human being like his partner, when it seemed like he himself did care about the people he was paid to protect and serve.

"Hey! Watch it, asshole!"

My head whipped around when I realized I'd just about trampled over someone—a young woman with a bad mouth and a quick temper. Part of me wanted to help get her back on her feet, and part of me felt a little smug watching as she struggled to straighten out her clothes and push her hair back from her eyes.

"Christ, it's like walking into a fuckin' brick wall! Don't you watch where you're…"

The woman locked eyes with me, and it took a moment for me to realize that I recognized her.

"Curtis—shoulda known. Thought you died along with the rest of your herd."

Her cruelty was like a cold shower in the middle of winter—it chilled me to the bone. Her face was filled with disdain, and I wondered what it was I'd done in the past to make Evelyn Sanders hate me so bad.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Evie. Need a hand?" I motioned to the paper bag she'd dropped when we bumped into each other.

"Not from any of you." She hissed.

I should've just walked away, but beneath her tough exterior I could sense that she was hurting.

"I'm sorry, Evie. Wasn't my intention to upset you. You sure I can't walk you to your car? Take your bag for you?"

She eyed me suspiciously; tough as nails just like most of the girls from this side of Tulsa. Her face relaxed slightly, but I knew enough not to push my luck, so I quietly crouched down to grab her bag.

"Whatcha workin' on?" I asked casually as I glanced into the paper shopping bag.

There was twine, masking tape, and a few of different sized paint brushes.

"None of your business. This car is me."

She opened up the trunk to her busted up Ford, and I carefully placed her bag where there was an empty spot. The trunk was loaded with tools, and I closed my eyes tight enough that I saw stars after I'd counted five hub caps—no doubt courtesy of Steve's prowess around automobiles.

"Have you heard from him?" I blurted out; desperate to know anything about Steve.

"What?" Evie slammed the trunk door closed right before she turned around and gave me an incredulous look.

"Have your heard from Steve? Do you know what happened? Where he's at?"

Evie looked about ready to spit in my face and I took a cautious step backwards and out of her way. Cold hatred covered her face again, and I wondered if there was ever a time she didn't look like that. But it was her words that froze me in place; not the spiteful tone she took.

"Why don't you ask your precious Sandy."

"What?" I stood in shock.

Evie scoffed at me with disgust as she rolled her eyes and yanked the car door open.

"Ask that fuckin' whore of your brother's. Seems she's the only one that knows anything about what happened to my ex. Tell her I hope they're happy together." She choked, and then slammed the car door.

The ignition hiccuped before it roared to life, and she peeled out of the parking lot, leaving me there wondering what the hell just happened.

The unease inside of me only increased as I made the short drive home. Seeing Detective Davis seemed to give me a little bit of closure, but seeing Evie opened up a whole new world of questions and doubts.

"Ask Sandy…" she had all but snarled at me. What was that even supposed to mean? Did Sandy have contact with Steve after all this time? Did he turn to her after losing Soda when he thought he couldn't come home? Were they now together? In a lot of ways it would make sense; turning to each other for comfort after losing the one that was closest to them, but why would she lie about that when Two-Bit asked her flat out if she'd heard from him?

I couldn't exactly pinpoint what was going on, but my gut churned uncomfortably enough that I knew Sandy had been lying to me. I didn't know when, but I knew there was going to be a conversation between myself and the mother of my nephew, and it would be taking place real soon.

It was festering inside me like a hungry parasite as I took the four steps up to the porch. I walked through the open door, and could hear my wife speaking in hushed tones from the living room, and I wondered who she was speaking to. By the time I wrangled my work boots off from my feet, it occurred to me that she was reading out loud, and I snuck around the corner to peer into the room, only to find my wife and my brother on the couch together.

There was a pillow on her lap where my brother's head was cradled, and I watched as her fingers played with the strands of his hair while she read from the book. She looked up carefully as I quietly made my way around to them, and she pulled her fingers from his hair to signal me to keep quiet—my brother looking asleep and peaceful there on her lap.

I approached the two of them; sinking to my knees when I noticed the peculiar swelling from the bottom right corner of Ponyboy's mouth, and looked up to Beth for answers. She only nodded to acknowledge me, but kept reading the novel in that soft voice, and I thought back to the last time I'd walked in on her reading to my brother—when I'd gotten so desperate for a drink I'd abandoned him for a girl so hopped up on alcohol and drugs, she had no good sense left. I wondered if I'd screwed up again.

"He's okay." She spoke suddenly; most likely catching the expression on my face.

"Seizure?" I asked, knowing by the state he was in it was probably the culprit.

"He was crying for him."

I looked up sharply, wanting Beth to clarify. She shook her head, again being able to read me just by the look on my face.

"Soda. He kept asking for Soda. He fell asleep on the couch waiting for you to come home. I think he was having a nightmare. There's blood on the pillow—he bit through his lip."

I sighed; my eyes closed and head bowed as a sense of failure tried to settle in. I thought he'd been okay. He'd been so strong—putting on a brave face and keeping himself together for my benefit, but I knew in my heart it was all show. I knew in my heart that Sodapop's absence would take its toll on Ponyboy, it was just a matter of time. I'd been counting on it, but he'd been so good fooling me up until now.

"Who is Johnny?" Beth suddenly asked, and I looked at her in confusion. "There was a letter bookmarking the page. I read it, I'm sorry." Beth looked concerned.

"Johnny and Pony were best friends." My throat felt like gravel as I choked the words out.

"What happened?" Beth looked sad—as though she already knew.

"He died. The two of them got caught in a fire saving some kids. Johnny was hurt. Didn't make it in the end."

Beth nodded, closed her eyes and started weeping while feathering my brother's hair through her fingertips. Ponyboy had been in denial after Johnny's passing, and I couldn't remember much except the worry I felt over him being put in a reformatory, or a boy's home. But Soda had been there—Soda had always been there to soften the fall for the both of us.

But not now. Not ever again.

"You two deserve to be happy. After everything you've been through. It's like this whole damned town holds nothing but misery. Maybe we should leave?"

"You can't run from life, doll. One way or another, it catches up to you." I grinned at her for her suggestion. "Besides, where we gonna run to?"

"I'm not talking about running away. I'm talking about starting over fresh. Somewhere we can be happy—where we're not reminded of every single horror that happened within these walls and outside of them."

"You wanna go camp out with Two-Bit?" I looked at her like she was off her rocker until I saw the look on her face.

She was serious.

"Why not? At least we wouldn't be alone. Alberta is beautiful; I grew up there." She shrugged.

"It's minus a hundred up there!" I frowned as though the temperature meant anything compared to my family's happiness.

"So we buy warmer clothes. I'd rather be happy and cold, than warm and miserable Darry, and think of Ponyboy. Two-Bit's good for him. Right now he doesn't have anybody except us."

"I can't…" I stumbled.

"Why?"

"I have a job, for one. And we do have friends! What about Bradley? Eric? What about your job and the people you work with?"

"We can work anywhere, Darry. I'm serious. What's keeping you here?" Her eyes were soft, but her question was not.

"I can't leave." I whispered as my throat grew thick with emotion.

"Why?"

"I can't…" I shrugged.

"Why, Darry?" Beth interrupted, clearly wanting me to just spit it out.

"I can't leave him."

"Soda." She didn't ask, she already knew.

I nodded.

"But he's gone, Darry. He's been gone and he isn't ever coming back. He's gone."

"I know. You don't have to be so cold about it." I whispered.

"Have you even gone to see him?"

I heard the question fall from her mouth, and I could only shake my head in shame. My brother had been dead for more than two years now, and not once had I gone to visit his grave. I couldn't bring myself to go, maybe for the same reasons I hadn't gone to see my parents until Ponyboy pushed. I couldn't face it. I didn't want it to be real. If I saw his name etched in stone, then it would be final. The end of him.

"Maybe you need closure. You'll never move on until you face what happened to him, and I'm scared that you'll drag Ponyboy down too. I meant what I said, Darry. I'm ready to move on. I'll follow you across the world if that's what it takes to make you happy. It's your call when you're ready."

I knew my wife was right, even though her words stung, but I was scared of letting Soda go. I was scared of moving on and scared that it meant that I'd forget him. I wanted to be happy; I wanted Ponyboy to be happy, but I still wanted to hold onto Soda. I still wanted him to be with us with an empty ache that couldn't be filled enough of him and the moments we had.

Ponyboy stirred, and my attention was brought back to the swelling of his lower lip. I pressed it lightly with my index finger as I thought about what Beth had proposed; leaving Tulsa and starting over. Settling up north, where the towns were strangers but the people—two of the most important people left in this world were there waiting for us. Would I be better off up in Canada? More importantly, would Ponyboy?

"You want to lay with him tonight? He'll probably feel better." Beth's voice was soft and understanding; knowing I was feeling a little sore from her words.

I nodded my assent. I didn't speak. I softly kissed her cheek before sliding my arms underneath my brother; scooping him up to carry him to his and Soda's room where I laid him down on his bed. Even in his sleep he looked riddled with sadness, and I knew I'd have to make a difficult choice in the near future.

I pulled off my work clothes and kiboshed our usual evening bath; too emotionally exhausted by the questions and doubts that were coming at me from all directions. I crawled into bed beside Pony and laid there stinkin' thinkin' just like my father had done most of his adult life.

I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, and I looked down to see Ponyboy looking up at me worriedly.

"You okay?" He mouthed.

No sound came out.

"Yeah, I'm alright little buddy. Heard you had a rough one."

My hand moved up to card through Pony's hair, and he gave me an over-exaggerated pout—showing off the inside of his lip where it looked as though he'd bit right through. Although there was no blood, it was swollen considerably.

"Ouch," I winced in sympathy, remembering the few times I'd bit the inside of my cheek by accident. "Ya gonna make it?" I touched his bottom lip with my finger gingerly.

And then Pony surprised me. He shook his head while making a choking sound before pretending to pass out. It was like a little bit of Sodapop shining through, and the fact that there was such an uncanny resemblance between the two of them made it sweeter for me.

"You're a nut!" I laughed out loud, and squeezed Pony closer when his head popped up and he grinned at me.

It would have been just like Soda to go out of his way to get me out of my head by doing something ridiculous like making blue mashed potatoes, or green pancakes, and here was Ponyboy—cute and playful and full of all the tricks our brother taught him.

"You sure you're okay? Besides bein' crazy as hell, I mean?" I grinned at my brother.

A blink and nod before Ponyboy mouthed, "You?".

"I am now, little buddy. Thanks, Pony. You saved me."

Pony nodded with a thoughtful look on his face, and then laid back down and rested his head against my shoulder. His voice scratched out; forever damaged by his ordeals in the hospital.

"You save me everyday, Darry."