Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Buffalo Springfield owns "Bluebird."

So, get all those blues

Must be a thousand hues

And be just differently used

You just know

June 18, 1969

Soda made a sound like a grunt, his mouth dry as he spit up the last of the bile. Despite not eating for the last few days, the idea of consuming anything made him feel worse. He simply felt sick, and now he was nauseous. He was almost certain that there was nothing left in his stomach to get rid of, for he had spent the last several hours throwing up. He could barely keep his eyes open at this point, his body tired and ready to call it quits. His mind felt foggy, unclear, the only thing he could recall being the feeling of a gun whacking into his temple, before everything went black. Tyler, his fellow comrade, wasn't doing too much better than him, his skin ashen colored, his eyes wide and bloodshot. No words were spoken between them, but there was a mutual understanding.

In all honesty, Soda wasn't sure how long it had been since he and Tyler were captured, and he was beginning to think that it didn't matter. He was sure that they were going to die, either from being savagely beaten to death, or by starvation. Soda had never been one to lose hope, but the reality of the situation was setting in, and even though he had tried praying that help would come, that he and Tyler would make it out alive, he didn't think anyone was listening to him up there.

Nobody was coming.

Every day was the same routine. They would sit in cages, soldiers on either side to make sure that they didn't talk to one another. In the distance, Soda could see a few of the others nodding or pointing in their direction, mocking smiles on their faces as they spoke. In all his distress, the twenty year old felt useless, unable to do anything, and he knew that Tyler felt the same way. There was no way out of this, and Soda was losing any sense of normality, a strange sort of delirium taking over his thoughts. When the sky darkened, the soldiers would switch posts, and then Soda and Tyler were dragged out into the open, mocked and beaten, interrogated for information that neither of them had the answers to, and then—

He had to stop himself before continuing on.

It had only happened three times, as far as Soda knew. There had been five of them altogether, a pair that had been executed before his and Tyler's eyes in one case. But Soda didn't want to think about it, a deep realization that it was going to be his own fate at some point. He had been living every day in fear and agony, his heart hammering away in his chest, racing until he felt weak. It was only a matter of time before this group grew tired of them, before they would be the next pair, or individuals, brought out for public execution.

In the back of his mind, Soda tried to focus on any good memory that he could conjure up; he was long done trying to figure out how the fuck to get out of there alive. Oh, he had spent a lot of time while being stuck in that damn cage attempting to find any weakness he could, trying to figure out a way that he could get him and Tyler out of there. But it was no use, for every scenario he had come up with only led to them being caught, every ending being that of death. There was nothing that he could do, no way to make it out, and the overwhelming countdown was ticking on in his mind, a reality that he knew Tyler was just as much aware of as himself. Still, he tried to remember what things were like before he had been drafted, tried to remember his brothers, and Tulsa, and Mary, and a warm bed, and good food, and . . . what it felt like to be happy.

Soda just wanted to go back to a time when none of this—

It had always mattered, though.

He had just been too consumed in how good he actually had it to honestly pay attention. He had once been carefree, high on life . . . because compared to this shithole, he had it good. There had always been worse things going on in the world that he hadn't cared to think about, or pay attention to, and even though coming from the wrong side of the tracks had taught him a thing or two . . . or more, it had done nothing to prepare him for any of what he was going through at this moment. Nothing. Back at home, things had meaning, they had reason . . .

Soda wasn't even sure what in the almighty hell he was fighting for anymore.

"You've been doing what?" Darry's voice sounded more accusing with each word that passed through his lips, and for half a second, Ponyboy felt a bit irked by it. "I thought you were going to try and get a job at the bowling alley again, or at least something more . . . reasonable."

The teen's expression was critical. "Look, Darry, it's not going to be forever, and besides"—He took a swig of chocolate milk from the carton—"I'm making more than I would be there." And that was the honest truth. "Buck is paying me decent money."

Darry sighed. Really, he wasn't trying to step on his kid brother's toes, he wasn't, but after all this time, Ponyboy still didn't use his head where it counted. He just wished he could see things his way, instead of seeing dollar signs. Dammit, but he was going to have a few words with Dally about this. It wasn't so much that he was angry, but he wished that Dallas would have—at the very least—ran the idea by him before offering it to Ponyboy . . . who had no business being anywhere within one hundred feet of the Slash J. Okay, maybe Darry was being a little too protective, considering the fact that Ponyboy was only a few weeks shy of eighteen—he could remember himself at that age, too. Glory. He would respect Ponyboy's choice of work, but he was going to make some boundaries, ones that Dallas Winston was going to hear, too.

The shit that went on when he wasn't home . . .

"Okay, fine," he said a moment later, tone firm. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ponyboy, I really don't like this. I don't like you around Buck Merril, or the Slash." He made a face. "You know what them guys are like. Dallas is one thing . . . but those guys . . ." His expression turned serious as he looked his brother over, pointing a finger in his direction for good measure. "You be careful, Ponyboy. I mean it."

Ponyboy nodded. "I will be."

"How did this even come about?" Despite the question, Darry hadn't asked with annoyance; he was actually quite curious. "I can't imagine Buck Merril coming up with this idea."

The kid laughed, placing the carton of milk back into the refrigerator. "Well, Dallas and I got to talkin' the other day, and when I said I was still looking for a job, he mentioned helping him out with racing." A shrug. "Gee, Darry, I don't think he even thought about it too much himself. You know how he is, though . . . doing everything on impulse."

And Darry grinned at that. Yeah, Dallas Winston certainly hadn't changed in that department. "How is it anyway? I never pictured you the type to clean horse shit."

It felt good to be talking to Darry like this, Ponyboy thought with amusement. It wasn't that often that the two of them got to sit around and do so, but Ponyboy had been working up the nerve to tell his oldest brother that he had taken up a job with Dallas, helping him train ponies and the like, to help him get prepped for next month's races. He wasn't about to admit that he had considered the idea of racing, too, if only for a minute. Dallas was good, though, and he enjoyed that kind of thing more than anyone else Ponyboy knew—except for Soda.

"Beats sitting around staring at blank paper," came the smart remark, and Ponyboy chuckled. "Besides, it keeps me busy."

"That's good," Darry replied, and leaned back in the chair. "I spoke to Mike the other day about hiring Two-Bit."

At that, the teen perked up. Darry had said he would ask his boss about getting Two-Bit a job; they were going to be booked for the Summer, and even Darry agreed that an extra set of hands would be a great help. They both knew that Two-Bit really needed a second job, especially now that school was out. He would be doing cleanup for the Summer, getting things prepared for the next school year, but he could have another job to hold him over, put some extra dough in his pocket. Ponyboy sure hoped that Mike was willing to hire their old friend—it would be a good deal for him.

"What'd he say?" he asked, eagerness reflecting on his face.

His lips curved upward. "Well, if Two-Bit wants to paint, he could be starting next week or so."

Ella wasn't expecting to see the likes of Dallas Winston in the convenience store she used to work at, even though he had just the same right as she did to be . . . out in public. The girl felt a strange sort of deja vu, but she could also recall a night when Dallas had come in looking to buy cigarettes and she had thought he was there to start in on her. Oh, glory. Well, that had been quite some ago, and no longer did Ella work there, and no longer was Dallas Winston a delinquent, or maybe he was. Ella honestly didn't know too much about him anymore, wasn't sure she cared to. But seeing him again after their previous encounter felt weird. Okay, well, maybe weird wasn't exactly the right term, but Ella did feel something, and it wasn't all that comforting.

Maybe she needed to eat something, get her head straight.

She had been about to turn the corner, but as luck would have it, Dallas had already spotted her. For a second, he appeared surprised to see her there, too, or perhaps, he was just a little stunned at seeing her again. Of course, Dallas Winston had always been cool and calm, and now was no different. Ella half-expected him to make a snide remark at her, just to get his jollies in, but instead, she was greeted with a simple nod, looking as though he were debating on saying anything. If you didn't know him, it wouldn't be easy to pick up on, as Dallas had always appeared apathetic, uncaring, as though nothing in the world could touch him, but Ella knew better—she knew that look. He had approached her the first time, and now it was her turn, if she wanted to; the ball was in her court.

She decided making small talk couldn't hurt anything. "How've you been?" she tried, despite the fact that she was still slightly irked with him. But that was okay, for Ella wasn't going to let him know that he still had that upper advantage. "I wasn't sure if that was you or not . . ."

Dallas made a face. He knew damn well that Ella Mitchell was lying through her teeth; she had known that was him, just as he had recognized her immediately. But he wasn't in the mood to call her out on it, instead deciding to let it slide . . . for now.

"Been better," he answered, and that was the fucking truth. He didn't enjoy doing shopping for anyone, even if it was Darrel Curtis Jr, but he was good enough to let him stay at his house, rent free, and Dallas wasn't about to walk away from that sweet deal. Darry had asked him if he could pick up a few small items on his way back to the house from Buck's, and Dallas had (reluctantly) agreed. Bumping into the likes of Ella Mitchell, though, wasn't exactly all that enthralling. Still, he could be polite when he wanted to be, but truthfully, he still had a bone to pick with Dopey. "What about you? Posing for any other magazines?"

She frowned, shifting on her feet. "Real smooth, Dallas."

"Just askin'." He looked her over, intentionally trying to get under her delicate skin. She had always been too easy to get fired up—that was one of the things he liked about her, but that was then. Now, he just wanted to ruffle her feathers a little. "New York really did you in, huh?"

Ella's brow raised. "What do you mean?"

"Why else would you be back in this shithole?"

And that was something he had been wondering since the moment he had found out that she was back, for it didn't make sense to him at all. Well, of course she was friends with Ponyboy, and Evie Martin, and . . . Mary DeVaney, but still . . . It wasn't like there was anything really waiting for her there, there was nothing for her to come back to. He wondered how the hell she would feel if she found out that a girl she considered to be her friend was a murderer. Jesus Christ, but the news of all that still shocked the shit out of him, not that he really gave two shits about Mary DeVaney or her aunt. He had been surprised to learn what she had done, though, but he wasn't going to say anything, simply telling Mary that she really ought to see Darry. Or he would. Well, that had been what he'd told her, but in all seriousness, Dallas wanted to stay the fuck out of it. Last thing he needed was to get involved with an issue like that. Last time something like that happened, it fucked up his entire life, not that it wasn't already to begin with, but . . . he wasn't itching to get pulled into Mary's life. He had gotten his answers, and that was enough for him. The rest of it was her problem.

Ella was merely staring at him, her expression casual. "I could ask you the same thing. It looks like you are getting more comfortable than I am anyway, racing and all that."

A scowl formed on his face. "Yeah, well . . . I didn't feel like jacking a car, so I'm workin' for one." He didn't want to elaborate anything else to her, and stopped there. "Speakin' of cars, whatever happened to your old lady's Impala?"

"Broke down," she responded quickly, although she sounded somewhat sorrowful. A part of her really despised that she had to give the car up, but she really didn't have a choice. "Never bothered to get myself a new one, but that's not why I'm here." A shrug. "I suppose I don't really have an excuse, either, to be honest with you. I just needed a break from city life . . . or at least, New York life."

The blond had to sarcastically smirk at that. "Too much of a fast life for you, huh?" he jabbed, and then nodded toward her. "Or maybe not, considering the type of labor you were doing."

Ella rolled her eyes, not amused with Dallas's antics. "You know," she began, tone even, "I would have thought that two years might have matured you at least a little, but you still act like a child."

Something about her comment caused Dallas to freeze. It was one thing coming from anyone else, but with Ella, it was a different matter entirely. Honestly, Dallas didn't give a hoot what she thought, but it was the look in her eyes that had irritated him, got under his skin. Ella would always come back with something snide of her own—she was fiery like that—but two years had made her more upfront, more direct, and no longer did she hold back. She wasn't hiding herself anymore, a determination in her face that hadn't been there before. But her voice was more level, more defined when she spoke, and even though she hadn't spoken down to him, there was something about her expression that had gotten under his skin in a way that stirred his own emotions.

And aggravated him.

His teeth grinded together for a second, his gaze straight and sharp. "Right, because you're really so mature yourself, dollface." His nostrils flared. "Just because you flaunted yourself in a few magazines and made some dough from guys yanking themselves to you don't mean shit."

Ella's jaw nearly dropped. "You're—" She wanted to whack him across the face, she really did. Her breathing became heavier, lips pressing together into a thin line. This was not how she wanted to spend her afternoon. "You're unbelievable!"

Unbelievable? That was the best she could come up with? Dallas had been called worse by less, but just looking at Ella was priceless. She thought she was something, he could see it in her face, see it in the way she presented herself. She was still Ella "Dopey" Mitchell, still the same ditz he had met three or so years ago. She was brazen, he would give her that, but really . . . he was more pleased with the fact that she was still so easy to rile up, so easy to piss off. He could certainly count this as one of the more amusing days he'd had since arriving back in Tulsa.

He gave her one final look, and turned on his heel. "Whatever you say, Saint Ella."

The brown-haired girl bit the inside of her cheek, watching him take his leave. She was annoyed now, and she told herself that if they weren't in a public place, she would have smacked him good and hard for both remarks, for laughing in her face at her expense. Ella wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she was going to get Dallas back. He didn't get to insult her, or mock her, to her face and walk away acting like he was high and mighty.

No, she had plans for him.

Evie hadn't been expecting to run into Two-Bit Mathews, but she was glad that she had. She had been leisurely eating lunch at the diner downtown when he had come strolling in, looking as tired as ever, bags under his eyes, hair messy, expression worn. It had taken the dark-haired girl a moment to realize that it was actually Two-Bit, because, even though she had just seen him a few weeks back, he looked as different as ever. Hell, but he could have used a damn good haircut, Evie thought to herself, taking a sip of her milkshake. She had waved him over, the shock in his own eyes evident when his gaze landed on her. He had offered her a small, genuine smile, though, ordering himself something to eat, before making his way over to where she sat.

"It's real nice to see you again," she said. "Still over at the school, or are you done for the Summer?"

Two-Bit shook his head. "Naw, I still have another week or so of cleanup, and then . . . well, I don't know, Evie." He leaned back in the booth, leaving his hands resting on the table. "Ponyboy said he was gonna talk to Darry about possibly getting me a painting job with him, but I ain't heard back from him about it." A shrug. "I've been lookin' around, too, but everything seems to be filled up with all the kids getting out of school looking for Summer jobs."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Evie replied, grabbing a fry. "I think Ponyboy was job hunting, too, but Ella told me he ain't having much luck." She pushed her basket of fries toward him. "You want one?" she offered in a casual voice, mostly trying to be polite.

He had to grin at that. Evie hadn't changed a bit. "Sure," he replied, and reached over to take one. "I'm sorry I didn't get to see Steve much when he was here, but . . . with work, my old lady, and—"

"It's all good," she said, cutting him off. "Believe me, I understand, and I know Steve does, too." She gave him a reassuring smile as the waitress rounded the corner with his food. "Things aren't like how they used to be, you know? Can't just drop things and come running to see someone just because they are back in town." She made a face, but it wasn't anything condescending. "It's different now."

"Yeah."

They were silent for a few minutes while they ate, but internally, Two-Bit felt the weight of Evie's words. He had always known things had changed for all of them, and that was the natural way of things, as far as he knew. He knew that time would eventually pull them all away from each other, but Evie was right, too. Just because someone came back didn't mean that everyone else was going to drop their lives to accommodate them, no matter how much either person wanted to. But they were still all friends, despite their different lifestyles and all that jazz. Two-Bit knew that he could pop in any time at the Curtis house, could drop by to see Evie, if he wanted to, could swing by to visit Ella, but there were times when life simply just got in the way. It wasn't anyone's fault, nobody meant to be like that, but it happened—time happened.

Evie sighed. "I sure hope Steve ain't goin' back overseas." At Two-Bit's look, she continued. "Nixon said he was pulling over 25,000 troops out of there, bringing them home."

"I heard something about that when my old lady was watching the news channel." He rolled his eyes in a sarcastic manner. "Shouldn't even be in this damn war to begin with."

"Sure feels funny sitting in a park and getting high," Ponyboy said, passing the joint back to Ella, who gladly accepted. He laughed lightly, rocking a little on the swing. "Don't reckon Darry would enjoy seeing us here like this, either."

Ella inhaled, listening to her younger friend speak. She had to appreciate the fact that even though he was nearing eighteen, he still cared about what Darry thought. There was a great and mutual respect between them that Ella had picked up on, and honestly, she admired it. In the past two years, Darry and Ponyboy had grown much closer, probably closer than what Ponyboy himself even imagined possible, but that was the thing about getting older. But she also had to admit that the two of them sitting on the swings at nearly ten o'clock at night getting stoned most likely did look somewhat comical. It wasn't like they were going to hangout at Ponyboy's or Jan's place, though. Well, they didn't exactly have plans of hanging out just to smoke weed, but they had gotten to talking, and Ella offered without hardly thinking anything of it. Oh, she knew that Ponyboy was no innocent, for he had done his own fair share of experimenting with such things in college, especially with Julia. She didn't have any plans of making herself out to be a bad influence, either, though. But still . . . once wouldn't kill them.

"Probably not," she agreed, and passed the joint back to him. "What did he ever say about you working with Dallas?"

The teen's lips pursed. "He wasn't too happy about it, but he didn't argue."

Ella nodded. "That's good." She wasn't about to tell him that she didn't really think it was a good idea for him to be working with Dallas Winston, even though she didn't hate her ex-boyfriend. Personally, Ella just didn't want to see Ponyboy potentially get wrapped up in something that was over his head, but she had to remind herself that he wasn't a kid anymore, either. Even though Dallas seemed to be a lot different, in terms of how he lived, she still worried about Ponyboy. "I ran into him today," she stated after a minute. "He can't let that magazine picture go."

Ponyboy's brow quirked. "He's just trying to rattle you up, you know how Dally is." Lordy, didn't they all, he thought. But this was Dallas Winston. When Ella had first told Ponyboy about their conversation Memorial Day on the back deck, he couldn't help but laugh. Of course, Ella was his friend, and Dallas was an old friend, but . . . it was awfully funny that Dallas had come across one of Ella's photos in a Playboy magazine. Of course he had. "Don't worry about it."

And ever so slowly did the side of the girl's lips curl up. "I already plan to get back at him."

"What?" He'd be lying if he said he wasn't both intrigued and perplexed. "Why?"

Ella shrugged, kicking her foot into the dirt as she began to swing. "Because he has to realize that he can't just go around mocking everyone like that."

Ponyboy wanted to roll his eyes. "Sure," he replied, tossing the reminiscence of their joint away. "I'm sure getting back at him for a lousy comment will really teach him."

Despite the comment, Ponyboy hadn't said it with anger or annoyance, and Ella laughed. Really, she knew that doing anything to Dallas Winston to get back at him wasn't going to make him stop, or make him miraculously change his ways. If anything, it was only going to provoke him more, and for some reason that she couldn't understand, Ella found that more amusing than anything. It always used to be Dallas getting under her skin, and maybe he still could, but now Ella decided that she, too, could have a little fun getting her own kicks. After all, it was the very least she could do for Dallas, since he seemed so taken with her previous job.

Ponyboy began swinging beside her, a calmness taking over him. It felt good getting out like this, even though he'd had plenty of fun in college with his other friends, but there was just something about being home, being with an old friend that felt comforting. Ella's company had always been appreciated, and Ponyboy found that he really liked spending time with her—he appreciated her friendship more than she realized. Of course, she had changed, wasn't the same Ella Mitchell that had left for New York, but despite the time that had passed, their friendship had grown and expanded in ways neither of them were expecting. Ponyboy, of course, had ventured out and made his own friends in town, before he had even left for college, but he still had his older friends, even counting Two-Bit and Steve . . . and even though they hadn't spoken, Dallas was still an old buddy of his. He had only met Ella three years ago, feeling bad for her because she had been assigned as Dallas's tutor, never imagining that she would end up becoming one of his closest friends, if not the closest by this point.

His grin was sincere as he watched her swing go higher and higher, until she was nearly going over the top bar, her laughter echoing in his ears as everything else faded into the background.

Soon she's going to fly away

Sadness is her own

Give herself a bath of tears

And go home, and go home

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