Chapter I

Carry on, my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more~ Kansas

o)0(o

1969

It was just another American graduation, the seats before the auditorium stage as crowded and diverse as the kaleidoscopes Ponyboy used to play with as a child. People were kinda like that to him as well, every shifting in their shapes and shades of iridescent hues. Preferences, ideals, thoughts, minds, the Self. All things are constantly in a state of becoming something else. From the moment you were born naked and squawking to the moment you died clothed and silent.

Life taught 'im that, long before the Draft noticed laid claim to his middle brother. They were all the process of becoming, becoming, becoming.

He craned his neck again from behind the stage curtain that separated his classmates from the rest of their lives; glaring at his personal cheer section sitting in the upper section of the metal stands. Two-Bit, being the mentally deficient idiot he was, had flicked open his lighter like he was at a concert when Ponyboy walked across the stage to get his diploma. Least before Darry managed to wrestle it away from him with a smack to the head.

Pony had rolled his eyes...but he'd also smiled. This was good, 'cause as valedictorian, his graduation wasn't over until he managed to spurt out something resembling good advice to the class of 1967.

Not that he was going in blind. He had labored over his speech since it became apparent he was required to give one: writing lines on cards to God-damn small to be of any earthly use to anyone, crossing more words than he ended up using, occasionally calling Johnny over in Windrixville, to talk him down when a spiraling sense of letting everybody down came over him...

Darry and he had stayed up all last night, going over the final results. Wanting it to be perfect. For his class, for his friends, for his parents, and for the gang. And most of all for Sodapop, who should be here more than anyone.

And for himself.

He was a little embarrassed that he had to adjust the mic quite a bit until it was his height. Not that Ponyboy was small fry no more -it just that Principle Welts was a giant straight out of the Old Testament, first cousin to Goliath himself.

He started his speech off normal enough -God knows, he tortured Darry enough times reciting it in front of him- just the general hellos and welcomes and we like to thank you all for your constant support of...us...

Here he faltered. A slow gradual thing like a long-gone train that had failed to arrive at the station. The audience eventually murmured, Darry and the others watched, looking concerned. But Ponyboy knew none of that, his fingers bleed white around the generations-old wood of the pulpit stand as he gazed out, locking eyes with something beyond all those present.

Then he was moving, running, leaping off stage with the track-star speed that knocked his cap off his reddish hair and turned his gown into a billowing cloud as he bolted for the Gymnasium doors. Where a young man with longish gold hair wrapped in a red bandana, army clothes, and a trundle bag at his feet was grinning like a maniac as he spread tan, wiry arms to catch his younger brother as they collided.

By this time, nearly all the Auditorium was on their feet, watching. Some even clapping, cheering as the gravity of the situation slowly dawned on them. Darry and the gang were soon fighting their way through pandemonium to get down to them, but Pony just didn't give a hang, hugging Soda harder. The world could all go jump in the river for he cared.

o)0(o

It was just another American food joint, in the small suburb of Oklahoma. Off from a creaked, endless road rather fittingly called Independence, as it cut through the Southwestern heartland of a nation, once more at the threshold of becoming, becoming. It was settled amidst the tall grass and swaying Oklahoma trees about to bloom with the full promise of summer, of life, and second chances. And in some cases, last chances. Leaning against a doorway of the dinner, a tall blond-haired man in an army jacket waited, with a solemn heart, for an unavoidable meeting with his brother.

It wasn't often that they talked, you see, for all they were kin. Simply wasn't much left to say at this point.

It was a weight of old sorrow in the towering man's chest, though it had eased with time, and the realization that all his brother endured was of his own choosing. The tall man waited on him a few minutes more, watching as two dogs play with the same stick, while birds chirp presently in the air.

The man closed his eyes, asking for strength. Wouldn't be long now.

And it wasn't. The birds suddenly shut their becks and the dog's playful yipping turned to savage fighting: snarling, growling, biting for dominance. The man breathed out and squared his broad shoulders before opening his vivid blue eyes.

His brother was standing lazily before him, inconspicuous in form and dress and being, the very lines of himself burred, out of focus.

"Mike," his brother greeted him, with the modern derivative of his true name. His true self. He nodded back.

"Luce."

Two could play this game. And they had played it. For so many years.

Luce's smile was as cold as an icy hand on his shoulder, too near to his throat. And even all these years later, the depth of that hate still mystified Mike.

But there was no point in wondering at it. His brother had chosen his path life-ages ago.

"Shall we?" Luce gestured to the Apple Core Dinner. Mike nodded. They went in. Sat down. Ordered. Drew more than a few pairs of eyes to them. After all, they were beautiful. Mike as he was. Luce in his cloaked self even more so, with his hair long and gleaming.

Mankind trusted their eyes too much. If they could see what laid beneath, they'd never be tempted by his brother again.

"Luce..." Mike warned through his teeth, when his brother, in the form of a grown man, began smiling at a flock of young girls. Who blushed and giggled behind their hands.

"What can I say? I've always liked the curious ones," Luce's tongue flicked out, licked his lips, tasted their scent. "So easy to snare."

"You've been busy up here," Mike said bluntly. Luce spread his hands.

"They called me here with our favorite board game, fair and square. This new generation. Gotta love it. Breeds more idiots every day."

Suddenly all merriment was gone from Luce's face as he leaned closer, eyes wild with possessive lust, consuming greed. Eyes that never loved nor wanted to. Only consume and consume.

"Their mine. The ones I have here? They are mine," Luce snarled, making people jump in shock. "They're so far gone no even you could pull them back."

"It's never been me who pulls them back, Luce," Mike shook his head. "How do you still not get that?"

There were many things Luce didn't get. That Mike didn't either, to be fair. To live was an intangible concept that an existence like Michael's had yet to grasp and understand. Michael, yes, that was his name. And long ago he was Mikha'el. Still was. He had been curious and young then, traveling across an empty universe containing nothing more than a few balls of dirt and spheres of gas to decorate the desolate space.

"...Rumor has it you've been busy too, over in 'Nam. With another of your favorites," Luce drawled, pointedly playing with a bottle of Sodapop. "Curtis right? The secondborn? I've had my eye on him for a while too. Charming. Charismatic. Dangerous. Reminds me of...me. Back in the day."

Mike narrowed his eyes. Ever so slightly. "He's nothing like you." He loves people.

Luce's cold eyes gleamed. "Oh really? If you're right, I'll pack up. This town will never see me again. If you're wrong...and I can make him do something he can't take back by the end of summer...then this place is mine. Mine for the next seventy years."

Mike eyed him. It wasn't the first time the two of them contested for the hearts of men. Wouldn't be the last either.

"I'll take you up on that wager."

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