Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Cream owns "Strange Brew."

She's a witch of trouble in electric blue

In her own mad mind she's in love with you

With you

Now what you gonna do?

May 26, 1969

Buck's constant staring was beginning to annoy Dallas. He hadn't bothered to say anything since he had gotten there, which was barely ten minutes ago. The blond continued tossing the bales of hay in the direction of the barn, relief setting in as he took note to the fact that he was nearly done. He had already mucked the horse shit, brushed the horses, fed them, and all that good shit. This was the last part of his job, which he was glad for. Honestly, Dallas never minded tending to the horses, or helping Buck out with anything; it was cake work to him anyway. What he did mind, however, was when the older cowboy showed up just to stand there, smoke a cigarette, and attempt to make small talk with him. It wasn't that Dallas minded his company so much, but . . . Buck hardly spoke a word sometimes, and Dallas was beginning to think that all that booze he'd consumed in his youth had finally went to his head altogether.

"Nothin' better to do than stand there and watch me, huh," came the blatant remark, another bale hitting the side of the barn. "Never realized I was so entertaining."

Buck smirked ever so slightly. "Naw. You's ain't that entertaining, Winston. I just enjoy watching you do all my shit work."

"You're paying me good dough."

And that was truth enough. Dallas had no other reason to stick around the likes of Buck Merril or even Tulsa, but Buck was doing him a favor. One hand washed the other, he figured, and if working for ol' Buck was his ticket back out of there, then so be it. Really, Dallas only needed a few extra dollars to get something cheap in decent condition to get back on the road, and mucking horse shit and taking care of six of them wasn't that hard—not with what Buck was paying him anyway.

"Hoping you might have an answer for me," Buck replied a moment later, flicking his cigarette butt away. "You want to race or not? Simple as that." He jammed his fists into his jean clad pockets. "You gotta let me know soon."

Dallas exhaled hard. "Look, Merril, just because I step foot back into this shithole doesn't mean that I'm gonna stick around long enough to enter any races."

"Should consider it, though," he responded, voice a bit firmer. "I ain't tellin' you what to do, Winston, but it's more money for you in the long run, you know." He pulled out another cigarette, a clear sign that he was getting antsy. "I ain't gonna try and make yer mind up for you, and I ain't gonna wait 'round all day, either." He breathed in, the nicotine relaxing him. "Just tryin' to help an old friend out . . . 'fore he bails again."

For a split second, Dallas was actually caught off guard by Buck's words. Usually, he didn't get like that, and the younger man figured that he might be desperate. Buck was never really one to care too much about anybody's well-being, but in the past, Dallas remembered, he had helped him out several times . . . in many different predicaments. For the most part, Buck had come through for him, and truth be told, Dallas didn't get the impression that he was trying to dick him around any. He had taken the liberty to speak to Darry about the situation a few times here and there, and he had only told him that he needed to do what he thought was best for himself. Dallas had enjoyed the thrill of racing horses since he was a young kid—he lived for the feeling of innate freedom, the ride, the control.

On one hand, he really wanted to beat it out of Tulsa, he really did, but on the other hand, Buck and Darry were both right. He could get new wheels and have extra money in his pocket from racing. He knew he was good at it, knew the chances of him winning were pretty high. There were only a few things that irked him about staying the long-haul in Tulsa, and one of them was seeing everyone again and acting like everything was all honky-dory. Add that to the fact that Ella Mitchell—his ex-girlfriend—had conveniently arrived in town the other night and he was more than . . . put off. Now, they hadn't exactly split on bad terms, nor did he have a problem with his old buddies, but things felt strange. He hadn't seen Ella, and truthfully, he wasn't looking forward to it. He had learned from Ponyboy that the girl was back in town just the day before, and honestly, he had nearly chocked on his beer. The only image of her that he could even conjure up was the one of her in that skimpy little outfit in March's issue of Playboy.

Good fucking Lord.

Still, he hadn't seen her, and he wasn't even sure if he wanted to. The only problem was that he knew he was going to bump into her at some point, most likely being that night. Darry was having a little get-together for Memorial Day, having invited the guys to the house along with Ella, Evie, and Mary. Now, Dallas could skip out on it if he really wanted to, but he didn't really fancy the idea of strolling around town looking for "buddies" he used to bum around with, or hanging with Buck, or looking for some easy skirt for a cheap thrill. Dallas had enough cheap lays being on the road to consider himself cultured enough. Of course, he wasn't going to say no to a sleazy broad that wanted to throw herself at him, but he wasn't going to chase it. Fuck that.

Throwing the last bale toward the barn, Dallas jumped down from the truck bed, eyeing Buck almost critically. He lit a cigarette of his own, lips pulled into a thin line. He wasn't so sure about the choice he was going to make, but . . . he knew he could up and leave at any time he wanted.

"Tell you what, Buck," he began, taking a drag, "I'll do it." Before Buck could respond, though, Dallas continued on. "One fuck up and I'm out. I'm only staying until I have enough for another truck with some leftover to keep me going for a while."

Buck nodded, slightly surprised that Dallas had agreed to stay. "Fine. You do what you gotta do." He turned to fully face him. "But if you bail on me, you better say somethin'." His face turned serious, or about as serious as Buck could make it. "I mean it, Winston. No hightailing it out like you did last time, man. That was fucked up."

The blond merely shrugged. "Listen, I ain't got any ties here. Right now, you and I are just helping each other out." He stuck his hand out, the cigarette secured between his lips. "We split fifty fifty."

Buck shook his hand. "Deal."

"This place sure has changed," Ella remarked, and bit off the end of her pickle. "I mean, it doesn't look it so much as it feels it."

Evie nodded, placing her milkshake on the table. "I know what you mean." There was a moment of silence that passed between the two girls, Evie's brows furrowing together as she recalled what Steve had told her the other night. It felt almost surreal to her, seeing everyone again nearly all at once, but in a way, Evie was glad—it was as though normalcy had returned to Tulsa. "Funny you should say that, though," she continued. "Steve just said the same thing." A shrug. "I guess things would feel off to him, you know, with everything he's gone through."

"How is Steve?"

The younger girl made a face. Truthfully, she wasn't really sure how to answer her friend. Honestly, she really wasn't certain if things felt so different to Steve because he had changed. There was a feeling about him that threw Evie off, made her sometimes feel as though she were walking on eggshells around him. He was still Steve, she knew that, but there were things about him that were new to her, different. It was as if they had grown without one another, despite sending letters back and forth, and that thought alone made Evie's heart clench. She knew that she still loved him, always would, and she knew that he still loved her—that particular feeling hadn't changed, hadn't removed itself. But there was something about him that Evie couldn't understand, as though the man he had become while being away from her was uncharted territory, a part of him she didn't know yet.

"He's okay," she replied, and stared at her untouched burger. The reminder of Soda labeled MIA was still haunting her mind. She glanced back at Ella curiously. "Have you heard about . . . Soda?" she asked, her voice almost hesitant, careful.

Ella's lips pressed together for a second, before she spoke. "Yes."

The news had come as a shock to her. Just yesterday afternoon Steve Randle had shown up at the Curtis house. He had been rather surprised to see Ponyboy home, as well as learn that Dallas Winston was back in town, a current guest at the house, too. Ella remembered Ponyboy telling her last night on the phone about Soda—Steve had told him and Darry. Darry had nearly blown up, wanting to know why on God's green Earth nobody had told him about his brother prior to Steve, why nobody had— Ella could hardly fathom it, listening to her younger friend telling her the devastating news. It troubled her thoughts all night long. She was more than grateful when Jan had gotten in, her company much needed and very welcomed. Unfortunately, the tragic news of Soda's disappearance wasn't the only thing Ponyboy had informed her about . . .

Dallas Winston was in town.

Ponyboy had enlightened her with that information the night she had ran into him at the cemetery. She had been so glad to see him, and they had spent a great deal of time speaking to each other, even going down to one of the old diners to get something to eat. He sure had done some growing up, Ella recalled, noting that he no longer looked like a kid, but more mature, even wise beyond his years. Ella could remember herself at barely eighteen, but seeing Ponyboy after all this time was . . . shocking. He was turning out to look like Sodapop, but with Darry's disposition, just more reserved.

Evie spoke, her words breaking Ella's thoughts. "I feel awfully bad for Mary," she declared, and Ella frowned. "I saw her a bit ago. She said she ain't heard from Soda in about five weeks or so." A sigh. "I can't imagine it." Her eyes met Ella's. "She was real upset."

Ella felt sick. "I wish I knew what to say."

"You and me both."

Hell, Ella thought, but suddenly, she didn't feel so hungry. She was happy to see Evie, grateful to be in her company, but with the lingering thoughts of Soda, neither of them felt right. For a brief second, Ella wondered if that was why Darry was having a get-together that night—not to make everyone upset, but to get everyone together again. Ella wasn't so sure that she really wanted to go, well, not with Dallas being there. The idea of just seeing her ex-boyfriend felt strange. They hadn't spoken since the night before she had left for New York, hadn't seen one another . . . Honestly, Ella didn't know anything about him anymore, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. When Ponyboy had told her about him, her chest had tightened up, her throat seeming to close. Something inside of her had dropped at just the mention of his name, and realizing that they were so close to being in the same proximity of each other wasn't doing much to comfort her.

Glory, but Ella had spent enough time trying to get over him, trying to forget that they were ever in a relationship to begin with. It wasn't that she disliked him, or wished him any ill-will, but there was some part of her—something she couldn't explain—that dreaded seeing him. All those memories that she had spent the last few years trying to snuff out were dancing on a wick before her eyes, seeming to spark up again without her control.

Lordy, but Ella wished she had a weed right then.

The warmth of the sun felt good against his skin, and Ponyboy relaxed as he lit a cigarette, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes scanned the yard, and he figured he might do a little work around before anyone decided to show up later that night. It wasn't going to be something too big, probably wouldn't be all that exciting, either. Since Steve dropped by and relayed the information about Soda, Darry had went off, and Ponyboy . . . he wasn't up to doing anything. He hadn't said anything to anyone, but he had sat up all night in his room, tears in his eyes as he thought about his brother. He was pretty sure that Ella could tell he was on the brink of tears when he had spoken to her on the phone, but he wouldn't let them fall—not even to her. Of course, Ponyboy considered Ella one of his closest friends, but he just didn't fancy the idea of balling around a girl, on the phone or in person, friend or not. The good thing about Ella was that she understood, she always understood.

He was glad that she was back, but for how long, no one knew.

The teen exhaled, the smoke billowing out of his mouth. He was trying not to think about Soda, trying not to think that Dallas was staying in his room. He didn't have a problem with Dally, it wasn't that, but seeing him was like bringing the past right into the present, and for some reason that Ponyboy couldn't comprehend, it felt strange having him around again. He remembered seeing Ella's face when he told her that Dallas was staying at his house; her eyes had widened like a deer's, one caught in headlights, one that didn't know what to think, one that had frozen right before his own eyes.

Ponyboy couldn't blame her, though. He knew how she felt about Dallas, whether she was willing to admit it to herself or not. Oh, he knew all about Pete Rhodes and that catastrophe of a relationship, he knew about the guy she had hooked up with before meeting Pete, but he also knew that something about Dallas Winston was still locked in her heart, and he wondered if she would ever be able to let him go officially. Now, Dallas knew about Ella, too, and quite honestly . . . he hadn't so much as said a word about her to anyone. Dallas was still the same, Ponyboy thought, but he was also different. Hard were his eyes, but they weren't blazing like they used to be. Oddly enough, Dallas looked . . . unsettled, but unlike everyone else, he appeared satisfied. It was a weird combination.

He took another drag, deciding that he didn't want to think about Dallas anymore. It was enough that he was staying there, enough that he had to see him and interact with him every day. No matter how much he tried to understand what was putting him off about Dally Winston, Ponyboy just couldn't, so he just decided to forget it altogether for the time being. Besides, another distraction had come in the form of Steve Randle's truck rolling to a stop in front of the house, which caused the teen to perk up, crushing his cigarette butt under his heel.

Steve nodded to him as he stepped out of the truck. "What's goin' on, kid?"

Ponyboy shrugged. "Not much around here. Darry's at work, and I don't know where Dal is. Probably helping Buck out." Lordy, it almost sounded like old times, and the teen inwardly winced. "What are you up to?"

"Just stopping by, I guess."

Well, Steve thought, it wasn't exactly a lie. He hadn't wanted to stay at his own house, mainly because his dad wasn't all that thrilled to see him. Hardly recognized him at all, if Steve was being honest with himself, which he was. Hell, he could have just gotten a room at Buck's or some shit, but he didn't really want to spend his time home (if there even was such a place, at this fucking rate) in a lousy dump of a bar. Still, his dad wasn't home, Evie was out with Ella for lunch, and Steve had spent a good portion of the afternoon just driving around town. There wasn't much else to do, not much to see. Everything seemed almost out of it—not like when he and Soda had left. It wasn't the way he remembered. Christ almighty, but even recalling the fucking stories he and Soda used to tell the guys in their platoon for entertainment felt like they had made them all up, and truthfully, Steve hated it . . . he fucking hated it with a burning passion.

Fuck.

He looked back at the kid for a second. He looked just about as bored as he felt, or maybe, things felt different to him, too—even if he had been closer to home than the rest of them. Well, him, Darry, and Two-Bit. And Evie. Lord, but Evie was the only thing that felt like home to him, that brought his mind some peace, that let him know that those stories were real, that they had happened. It was real. He was real. Evie was real, and that was confirmation enough.

Hell, he and Ponyboy had never gotten along all that great, but looking at him then, Steve realized that the kid was . . . no longer a kid. He didn't even look like a kid anymore. He looked . . . Steve didn't want to admit it, but he looked like Soda. Could have been Soda at seventeen if he were standing at more of a distance. The resemblance was almost uncanny, but as Ponyboy put it one time regarding their personalities, Soda had a demeanor that was all his own.

Ponyboy shifted on the step, dropping his arms and crossing them over his legs. "You and Evie coming by tonight?"

"Probably," Steve replied. "Ain't nothing else to do."

A snort. "You ain't kidding."

And Steve had to smirk at that. "What do you even plan on doing with yourself for the rest of the Summer anyway, kid?" He lit up his own cigarette as he walked toward him, coming to a stop beside the porch stairs and resting an arm against the railing. "This town looks like it went to shit." He inhaled. "Drove passed the Dingo, or what's left of it."

"Yeah," Ponyboy said, "some guys got into a fight or something, I don't remember." And really, he didn't. "Place caught on fire, burned down."

Steve shook his head. "Ain't that some shit."

"Can't make it up."

"Reckon not."

It was almost surprising to both Steve and Ponyboy to have a normal conversation with each other, but then again, Steve had fought along guys roughly about the age of Ponyboy, and once they were all out there in the field, age didn't really seem to mean anything. As for Ponyboy, he went to college with guys the age of Steve, learned from one professor that was only a few years older than him, closer to Darry's age, but still. It was a different world to both of them now that they had been out on their own to experience it. The things that used to matter suddenly didn't, and in some way, Steve felt somewhat comforted in the reminder of Soda through his kid brother—not that he would ever admit that.

Ponyboy leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. "Think I'm going to straighten this yard up or something this Summer." His voice sounded almost comical, like the thought alone was funny to him or something. "Maybe work a few nights to keep busy."

Steve cocked an eyebrow. "Why nights?"

"Darry uses the truck during the day."

The older boy's lips pressed together as a thought crossed his mind. His first choice would have been Evie, but her dad had given her his old car a while back, so she was good to go. He figured, instead of letting his truck continue to sit and go to hell—even though his old man had been running it here and there to keep it moving—Ponyboy could use it in his absence. He wouldn't have to mooch off of Darry that way, and he could get a job during the day. Steve wasn't sure why he cared all that much, but he figured the kid would be doing him a favor, too. Besides, the truck needed some tuning up, and since Ponyboy wasn't working yet, he would make for some extra help, not that Steve really needed it. But, hell, if he was going to use the truck, he was going to help fix it up.

Ponyboy wasn't expecting the next words out of Steve's mouth, his jaw nearly dropping.

"How about I lend you my truck?"

The get-together at the Curtis house hadn't been all that fun, as Ponyboy predicted. Two-Bit had merely dropped in for an hour or so, Darry hadn't been in the mood to do much, and even though she was happy to be with her friends, it was quite obvious that Evie wanted to spend more time alone with Steve. Ella had stuck around Ponyboy for the majority of the evening, and Dallas hadn't bothered to make an appearance, although he'd said he would. Mary DeVaney had stopped in, which Ella had been glad for; she had missed the girl, wanted to see her. Mary, however, much like Darry, didn't really seem to be in the mood to talk to anyone, but nobody blamed her . . . or anyone else for that matter. Mary had greeted everyone, but when she had approached Steve, Ponyboy had been surprised to see the once overly bitter and angry best friend of his brother wrap the girl in his arms as if they were dear old friends. It was almost surreal to witness, but in his heart, the teen understood.

It was around nine when everyone cleared out, leaving only Ella and Ponyboy. They were sitting in the backyard on the deck, the music from the radio being the only other noise in the background as they smoked their cigarettes. Ella felt a strange sort of calm at that particular moment, and she wished that it would last. Seeing everyone, minus Dallas, hadn't felt that strange to her. Two-Bit had managed to lighten the mood, and honestly, Ella was happy to have seen him. He seemed different, more quiet in some way, but still full of wit and humor. The girl wasn't blind, though, and she could see the worry that lingered in his eyes, the same concern that was evident in Darry's face. Something inside of her felt as though there was a weight tugging at her heart the more she thought about Mary, and she felt as if she should visit her at some point.

Ponyboy's voice broke her thoughts, and her head turned in his direction as he spoke. "I was going to try to do some writing earlier today, clear my head a little, but nothing seemed to come out right."

"You have a lot on your mind, Ponyboy," Ella stated, and sighed. "I just wish I knew what I could do to help y'all, or at least . . ." Her chin lowered. "I feel helpless."

"Yeah," he responded, dragging the word. "I feel helpless and useless." His voice cracked. "He's my brother for crying out loud, he's over there . . . somewhere, who knows." He went quiet, and Ella felt goosebumps rising across her arms. "I mean, hell, Ella, but nobody even bothered to say anything, and Darry about lost his head when Steve told him."

Ella's shoulders dropped, wishing she had the right words. "Ponyboy," she began, trying to keep her own voice level, "I know you're upset—"

"You don't know anything!" he bit out, immediately regretting his words. He was angry, and holding it in was only making it worse. This wasn't a topic he had meant to get on anyway, and he really hadn't meant to snap at Ella. Glory, but she was only trying to help, he knew that, and he knew that unloading his issues on her wasn't going to solve them. He looked at her after a moment. "Shoot, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean that."

The girl merely brushed it off. "Don't worry about it."

"Ella, how long do you think you're going to stay in Tulsa?"

If the question itself hadn't caught her off guard, the tone of his voice had. It sounded as though he was expecting her to up and leave at any God given second. Ella knew that she could leave, as there was nothing holding her in Tulsa, but she didn't have any plans of doing anything right then. For the time being, she was staying put. Besides, she didn't want to leave her friends when they were going through an experience like this one. She was aware that Ponyboy would be returning to school in the next few months, knew that Steve would be leaving again in just a short time . . . and hell, but something told her that Ponyboy felt almost as alone as she did, as Mary did.

"Ponyboy—"

"Ain't it a little cold out here to be making small talk?"

Ella froze in her spot, the words she was about to say forgotten. She knew that voice, remembered it with innate clarity. Her stomach seemed to flip, but not in an eager way, not in an excited way. Instead, she felt . . . numb, as if every emotion she had once buried inside of her came rushing up in double time without her control, without her being able to process it. She turned to look at the door, her eyes taking him in. Glory, but the last she had seen him was over two years ago, and that was a night that had burned itself into her memory. She remembered how he made her feel, what she had learned from him during the span of their relationship. It felt so long ago, like it was nothing more than a dream she had made up in her mind, but looking at him right then let her know that it wasn't a dream . . .

He still looked the same to her, towheaded and grim. His eyes were more calm, though, not as shifty as she recalled them being. He stood a little straighter, too, face still hardened by life's many letdowns, but there was something more at ease about him that nearly surprised the girl. It was a look that she never thought she would see on Dallas Winston.

"Thought you were going to be here for the get-together," Ponyboy said, grabbing his empty Pepsi bottle as he stood. "Everyone left."

Dallas easily shrugged it off, cupping one hand around a cigarette as he lit it. "Yeah, I planned to, but I got caught up with Buck." He inhaled slowly, exhaling as he spoke again. "Got some ponies to train for the Slash J. Bastard finally talked me into it."

The teen's brow raised with sheer curiosity. "You're racing?"

"Surprised?"

It was Ponyboy's turn to shrug. "A little, I guess." He turned back to Ella, who was still sitting on the step, and motioned to the empty bottles that were sitting around. "I'm gonna take these inside . . . clean up a bit."

She nodded. "Okay."

It was quiet after he had walked into the house, and Ella felt like she should say something, only the words wouldn't come out . . . or she just simply couldn't think of what to say. She wasn't intimidated by Dallas, wasn't afraid to look at him again, but she couldn't find the right words to say. Fortunately, Dallas took the liberty to speak, the sound of his boots moving across the deck closer to where she was seated causing her heart to beat more rapidly in her chest.

"Finally took a bushwhacker to that hair of yours, huh," he smarted, taking a drag of his smoke. "I'll be damned."

He watched her stand up, turning to fully face him, and he gave her good, long once-over. She still looked good, he thought. She had thinned out a little, but glory, she had filled out real nice. Her eyes were sharper, though, and she held herself with determination and . . . pride. Holy hell, but Ella was no longer hiding herself . . . She was . . . liberated. He liked that look in her, though, not that he was ever going to relay that to her. He could see that she had changed so much, could feel it in the way she was looking at him, could see the maturity in her expression, the experience of life. Well, having pictures of yourself in a little magazine like Playboy might do that to a person.

"I needed a change," she responded, casual like, though inside of herself, she was burning with pure and raw anxiety. "Started with my hair."

Dallas smirked. "I'll bet." And then he cut right to the chase. "Was that before or after you became Miss Lydia Belle?"

The look on her face was so priceless that Dallas nearly busted out laughing. Ella had gone from being anxious to nearly fuming in under five seconds. Oh, if she ever had a problem with Dallas Winston, it had just manifested into an even larger one . . . if that was even possible. Despite all of that, there was something lurking around in the pit of her gut, something she was desperately trying to ignore and shove back down, make like it wasn't there. She was glaring at Dallas hardly as he merely stared back at her unfazed, as though his comment was all fine and dandy. Ella wanted to smack him, even though he technically hadn't done anything wrong. It was just the point that it was . . . Dallas, and it was he who had asked, ridiculous as that sounded.

And still . . . after all this time, with so much as one little question, he was able to get under her skin.

But unlike her old self, Ella was all fire these days. "Please," she replied, and rolled her eyes, "Lydia Belle had absolutely nothing to do with my choices in that department." A shrug. "But who knows, really? Maybe she was there all along and it took a real good experience to bring her out, something you wouldn't understand."

The jab was cool and direct, but Dallas didn't so much as blink, even when she walked inside the house with a small, barely noticeable, swing to her hips. A smile ghosted his lips for a moment as he shook his head, turning back to lean against the railing as he finished his cigarette. Under all that talk and experience, she was still Dopey Ella, and he knew her better than she thought.

Glory, though . . . she sure looked better in person.

On a boat in the middle of a raging sea

She would make a scene for it all to be

Ignored

And wouldn't you be bored?

And there's chapter five, y'all!

Thank you so much for all of the positive feedback! It means a lot! :3