Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Grass Roots own "Let's Live For Today."

When I think of all the worries

That people seem to find

And how they're in a hurry

To complicate their minds

July 4, 1969

"Just take a deep breath, and relax."

Easier said than done, Soda thought. He really hated these fucking doctors, hated the fact that they had to interrogate him, make sure he was okay enough to go on his way, or something like that. He didn't like talking to them, watching their scrutinizing gazes rake over his form almost condescendingly. It drove him up a wall, and then some. Soda felt like he had been interrogated enough, asked a million and one different questions about himself, his family, his friends, his life . . . Jesus, but it just made him feel like—

No, he stopped himself there, not wanting to remember it.

It had been a few days since the last month and a half had come flooding into his mind like a damn tidal wave, and quite honestly, Soda felt sick from it. He had found out that Tyler was alive and well, or well enough to be considered "okay", whatever in the fuck that meant. Still, Soda had to sit and talk to these doctors, or counselors, as they referred to themselves, for an hour or so a day to make sure that he wasn't going to harm himself or anyone else, or to make sure that he was in the right place upstairs. He understood the process, got what they were doing, but still . . . it irked him. It seemed as if they were just trying intentionally to diagnose him with something so they had something to put down, make themselves look good. He remembered one of the guys he had worked with telling him about his great uncle getting PTSD from fighting in WW1, and that had made his skin crawl. Now, to hear these doctors evaluating him as such pissed him off.

And that was mostly why he didn't tell them everything.

The questions weren't hard or anything like that, but the entire process was annoying. Really, Soda just wanted to go home, to get out of there. He didn't know what was going to become of him after that, but he figured he would be shipped back out somewhere or another. He hadn't heard too much about Steve, only that he had made it safely (or as safely as one could make it) out of Vietnam, went home for a short leave, and had been sent to a new location . . . somewhere in the states. Soda wasn't sure, and they didn't (or wouldn't) tell him.

He could hear the clock ticking on the wall overheard as he closed his eyes, taking a deep inhalation, before slowly exhaling like the doctor suggested. Even though they had instructed him to relax, Soda found that it was damn near impossible to do so. He felt as if he let his guard down, something would happen, as though it were a test designed to set him up for failure. Even having his eyes closed in a room full of people he didn't know didn't quite feel right to him, but he focused more on what he was able to hear, remembering what he was taught. Save for the counselor, Soda was able to tell that there were three others in the room with him, and that was while relying on his hearing only. He wouldn't have had to see them beforehand to know that they were there. Still, he never liked not being able to see his surroundings, and after a few seconds, he opened his eyes.

Dr. Morgan blinked. "One of the nurses said you didn't eat your dinner last night. How come?"

Now Soda wanted to roll his eyes. This was the shit that irritated him. Even though it had only been a week or so—he couldn't remember—they continued to ask him stupid shit like this. If he did something one way and not the next, or if he ate the mashed potatoes instead of the meat, there had to be a damn reason why, and it really got under his skin. As far as Soda was concerned, he was ready and able to leave, even if they fucking sent his ass back overseas. Well, maybe not, but still. He just wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could. Physically, he was okay, save for some broken ribs, a giant lump on his head which hadn't gone away, and a few other things, but he thought he was alright. The only thing that bothered him were the nightmares, or the fact that he couldn't let himself shutdown mentally, his body always seeming to be on guard and alert. Hell, one night he had heard his door handle being jiggled, and he had shot up like a rocket in bed, reaching for a gun that wasn't there.

He hadn't divulged that to any of them, though.

"Gee, Doc," he answered, "I guess I wasn't too hungry."

The older man scribbled something down in his notes, adjusting his glasses as he did. After a minute or two, he glanced back up at Soda, studying him as if he were trying to find something that nobody else could visibly see. The twenty year old thought he looked relatively normal, all things considered. They hadn't let him shave his face or anything, wouldn't let him near a fucking razor blade, God forbid, so the only oddity about him was that his hair was awfully shaggy, falling over his forehead and starting to creep down his neck; it had been a good while since he'd had it cut. He was currently sporting a filled-in beard, scruffy looking, too, but he didn't mind it, thinking that it made him look older and ragged, not that he cared about his looks at the moment.

"Alright, Mr. Curtis," Dr. Morgan said, "I'm going to look over some things, and we'll discuss them tomorrow."

"Sure, Doc." He stood up, fingers twitching. "You think I could try giving my folks a call again?"

A nod. "I don't see why not."

Soda had tried calling home, but every time he did, nobody answered the damn phone. Well, perhaps nobody was there, even though he had tried at different hours of the day. Some part of him didn't even want to tell them where he was, and he wasn't sure why. One time, he had called and hung up after the second ring, and before he could consider calling again, he forced himself to walk away. Sometimes, he asked to call and didn't, and other times, he would let the phone ring and ring and ring, until ultimately giving up.

Maybe today would be different.

"Mary!" Ella nearly cried, looking the younger girl over, eyes wide with shock. "Oh my God," she continued, reaching a hand out to steady her. "What happened?"

But it was very clear what had happened, for Ella could see it in her face, smell the liquor on her breath and on her clothes. Oh, Ella knew that something had been wrong, knew it for a long time, and now that she was witnessing it first hand, she felt terrible that she had never bothered to do anything about it, like perhaps, talk to the girl more, try and figure out what was causing this behavior. Mary looked really bad, as though she had spent the entire night partying with herself. Her makeup, though she wore very little, was smeared, her eyes were bloodshot and glassy, as though she had spent a good amount of time crying, her clothes were wrinkled, and there was a small cut on her forehead, the area around it beginning to swell and bruise.

Mary was still holding the door open, her gaze fixated on Ella. "Nothing happened," she bit out, and made a sound like a moan of discomfort. It was clear the sun was bothering her. "What—" She cleared her throat. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"

Ella raised an eyebrow. She knew deep down that Mary hadn't asked the question with disdain, but she was very, very clearly hungover, the effects taking their toll. It was more than obvious that Mary had been doing this for quite some time now, but Ella couldn't understand why. Maybe it really wasn't any of her business—she wasn't looking to stick her nose in her friend's personal affairs—but Mary was still a friend of hers, and she cared about her well-being. She didn't want to see her do something that could possibly mess herself up for good, or end up going down a dangerous path. Ella could only assume that Mary's brash behavior was due to Soda missing, because she couldn't fathom how losing her aunt—who had been nothing short of cruel to her—could emotionally affect her this badly. No, this was something else entirely.

Still, they were all supposed to go to the rodeo that evening. Ella was picking Mary up, and they were going to meet up with everyone else. It was easier that way, since Jan's house was closer to where Mary lived than Evie's or Ponyboy's. Ella didn't mind getting Mary, since she knew the younger girl would have preferred going with someone rather than drive herself, which Ella understood. Honestly, she was glad for the company, too. But when she had called Mary to let her know she was on her way and didn't get an answer, she decided to take a ride to her house anyway, figuring that Mary was busy, or simply hadn't heard the phone. All had seemed normal until Ella knocked on the door and stood outside waiting for what seemed like forever, before ringing the bell. It took another minute or so before Mary answered, looking as disheveled as ever.

"I was picking you up to go to the rodeo tonight," she replied, keeping her voice low. "I tried calling, but I figured you might have been busy or something, so I drove over anyway."

Mary's expression twisted into one of blatant perplexity. "Oh," she said after a minute. "I guess I forgot about it." Despite her words, she did appear genuinely upset. "I'm sorry, Ella."

But Ella didn't care about that; she was more concerned for her friend. "Mary, are you okay?"

The question was firm and direct, and for a moment, Mary considered on telling Ella the truth. Really, she hadn't meant to get so wasted, but the nightmares . . . they kept eating away at her, waking her up in the middle of the night feeling hopeless and lost and sick, and she couldn't help herself. It wasn't so much about Aunt Vera's murder, but more about Soda. Was she so afraid to lose him? So dependent on their relationship that it had led to this? Mary wanted to tell herself no, that none of that was the brutal truth, but somewhere inside, she knew it was. She was afraid to lose him, afraid of what she had done, and more importantly, afraid of herself and to be alone with her thoughts. Top all of that along with Dallas Winston's threat of revealing everything to Darrel Curtis, and Mary found herself brewing away in a melting pot.

Before she could stop herself, she sniffled, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. "I . . ." She took a breath, trying to wipe at her face. "I don't know, Ella."

The older girl inched her way over to Mary as she beckoned her inside. For a moment, Ella felt strange, as though she were about to intrude. She wasn't sure why she felt like that, but merely supposed that it was because she had never seen Mary DeVaney in such disarray. When she stepped inside of the house, however, she felt nothing short of pity. Oh, Lord. Empty bottles littered the area, the curtains were all closed, which made the entire downstairs feel eerie and dark, and to her right, Ella was able to see where Mary must have fallen and hit her head on the table in the living room, the objects that were once neatly on display now on the floor and scattered. Ella made a face, trying to keep her thoughts at bay, but something inside of her shifted, and she felt more bold. Mary's personal and internal struggle was one thing, but Ella could clearly see what her problem was.

"Mary," she began, and turned to face her, "I think you need help."

The teen stared at her with a knowing look in her dark eyes, despite the statement. She knew it as well as Ella did; this had gone on far too long. Mary never thought that she would end up in a predicament quite like this one, never seeing herself as a drunk, but Ella was right, she thought, she did need some type of help, and quickly . . . before things could spiral out of control. But where could she turn? She would have to tell another person—beside Dallas Winston, which wasn't meant to happen—about her aunt's death, as that in itself had been the very thing that had led to all of this. If she hadn't contacted Albert Webberly, Soda would still (possibly) be there, not missing. It was all Aunt Vera's fault, and that single thought alone was enough to make Mary's blood boil.

Oh, how Aunt Vera would just love to see her now.

She ran her hands over her face, before leaning back against the wall. Ella's leering gaze was almost enough to burn a hole through her head, but she figured, if there was anyone that she could truly trust, it would be Ella Mitchell. They had never been real close, but beside Evie, Ella was the only female friend that she had kept in touch with. It's not that she couldn't trust Evie Martin, but . . . well, Mary felt closer to Ella, and in some strange way, Ella was connected to Dallas, who already knew the truth. The only thought that lingered on Mary's mind was Ella being so close to Ponyboy . . . or maybe that could be a good thing. Mary wasn't so sure, but at this particular moment, the raven-haired girl wasn't sure of too much.

Her eyes finally met Ella's blue ones. "I know," she half-whispered. "I do."

And then Ella was beside her. "What happened, though?" she tried gently. "Is this because of Soda?"

"Some of it," came the response, and then Mary shifted on her feet, before sliding to the floor, her knees bending to her chest as she folded her arms around them. "Ella, I need to tell you something, but you have to . . . promise that you won't tell anyone."

Ella nodded, unsure of where this was going. "Okay, Mary," she agreed, and took a seat next to her, a strange feeling lurking in the pit of her gut. "I promise."

Dallas enjoyed the thrill of the race, lived for the innate feeling of freedom that came with it. He had participated in a few in the past two years, but something about being in Tulsa again brought back a rare form of nostalgia that he wasn't expecting. He wouldn't ever admit it to anyone—hardly himself—but in the very pit of his gut, he almost felt like he was back in the past again, to a time when things felt better, easier . . . more simple. He could remember Soda hanging out with him, a horse enthusiast, too, the two of them more hyped than any of the others over the rodeo. There was just something raw and overly energetic that caused Dallas to come alive, to forget his other troubles and simply live. Well, there were plenty of things to live for when it came to the rodeo, if the blond wanted to admit, and it didn't always have to do with participating in those particular events.

Still . . .

He had been able to spot his old friends up in the stands, surprised to see that even Darrel had come along; he usually didn't hang around dingy places like the Slash J. Well, Darry did have a wild streak in him, probably passed on from Mr. Curtis, but since he and Mrs. Curtis had passed, Darry hadn't really let loose, according to Ponyboy, and since Soda was drafted and Ponyboy had left for college, he had thrust himself more and more into work, trying to keep himself as busy as possible. Besides, without Ponyboy in the house, Darry didn't have anyone to come home to or do anything with, so working felt easier to him than merely sitting around and moping. But Darry had always been hard-headed like that, never one to quit or give up, and that was a trait that Dallas had always admired about him.

The win had come with enthusiasm and a lot of energy, and the blond could nearly feel the adrenaline pumping hot through his veins. Buck Merril was off to the side, giving him a curt nod, but Dallas knew that the older cowboy was only happy because they had made some dough that night. Afterward, he and Two-Bit had decided to try bull-riding, which hadn't ended too well for either of them. Two-Bit had surprisingly managed to stay on a few seconds longer than Dallas, before being thrown straight across the pen, the rusty-haired man still laughing as he climbed out lopsidedly.

When it was time to leave, and everyone was going their separate ways, Dallas had pulled Ponyboy aside to give him a few extra dollars for helping him out. The teen seemed shocked, but Dallas simply waved it off, telling him to go buy himself some cavities. Ponyboy laughed and thanked him, before heading out with Darry. Two-Bit had gone his own way, so when all was said and done, the blond leisurely made his way out to his old pickup, shock blanketing his face when he saw none other than Ella Mitchell leaning casually against the truck bed, arms crossed over her chest, wearing a cool expression as she eyed him critically. He could tell that something was up, judging from the look in her eye, because usually, Ella never had the balls to confront anyone, unless she was pissed enough to do so, and that took a lot for her to work up the nerve.

"Ain't you supposed to be with Evie?" he asked, tone indignant. He really didn't want to deal with her right then. He remembered seeing her with Evie earlier, saw Evie's car out in the lot before he had gone inside, so he wondered why Ella was still there. His eyes scanned the lot, looking for Evie's car, which wasn't where it had been parked before. "What's your deal, huh?" he continued when she didn't answer right away, and he began to feel irritated.

Ella shifted, chin raising. She would have left with Evie, but had told her to head on home after the race, telling her that she was going to catch a ride back to Jan's. When she relayed that she had wanted to speak with Dallas, Evie merely told her to be careful, before taking her leave. Mary had decided to stay home and rest anyway, so Evie had swung by Jan's to pick Ella up, figuring that it was easier that way—mostly so none of them had to show up alone—or else Ella would have had her own ride.

Still, she was playing her cards here and hoping for some luck for once. "We need to talk, Dallas."

The blond wanted to roll his eyes, but didn't. "Yeah? Well, make it quick," he replied. "I got things to do, and hanging around with you ain't one of them."

But Ella was feeling a little more than ambitious that particular night, and pushed herself away from the truck, eyes narrowing. She really didn't want to do this any more than she thought she had to—and it wasn't for her sake, but for Mary's. Really, she wasn't pissed at Dallas, but there was a part of her that was very much annoyed with him. After learning the truth about Mary, Aunt Vera, Soda, and now Dallas, Ella felt like her head could just about explode. The reason she was irritated with Dallas was because his threat to Mary had made the girl so anxious, it had made her drinking problem worsen, which had led to her ultimate spiral the previous night. Usually, Ella didn't like to go prying where she didn't belong, but she felt that she had to set things right with Dallas, clear them up for Mary . . . if she was able.

And that started with talking to the former hood . . . her ex.

"It's about Mary, Dallas," she finally revealed. At Dallas's blank expression, she continued. "She told me . . . about everything. Including you."

Dallas merely snorted, though. "Did she?" And then he scowled. "What exactly did she tell you?"

Two and half years away from this fucking place only to come back to more drama, Dallas thought with bitter contempt. Good Lord, but Tulsa would never be anything more than a shit-show, as far as he was concerned. Add the likes of Ella Mitchell and his buddy's girlfriend, and you had an entire circus event starring in it. Glory, but the joy he had been feeling from his win that night was beginning to wear down, and he almost considered knocking Ella's head off. For Pete's sake, she couldn't choose a more convenient fucking time to do this, could she? Of course not, because it was Ella, and Ella had a one-way way of thinking.

The girl shrugged lamely. "Would you rather me tell you out here, or . . . can we take a ride?" Even the question sounded careful, as though she were weighing her words. "I'd rather not accidentally involve anyone else."

Yeah, right, he thought. His scowl was seemingly permanent as he told her to get in the damn truck, not waiting to see if she reacted or not. Apparently, she was eager to speak to him, though, because she was in the passenger seat a moment later, and now that they were close enough to each other, Dallas could smell her floral perfume. His nose scrunched as he recalled a time when they were together, when they were a thing, when she always smelled light and flowery, and like mint from all the gum she chewed. And even though she smoked, he could never really pick up on the smell of it, because whatever she used in her hair combined with her perfume always masked it.

But he shoved those thoughts aside as they drove along the dark road. Ella hadn't bothered to open her mouth, say whatever she needed to, and Dallas didn't really feel the need to start for her. If it was so damn important, she needed to open her mouth. Truthfully, he didn't give two shits about Mary or her issues, the only concern of his being Soda. Why in the fuck she would open her mouth to Ella was really beyond him, and to relay that she had explicitly told Dallas himself pissed him off all the more.

Finally, Ella seemed to rejoin the living. "Where are we going?" she asked, turning toward him.

Dallas made a motion with his hand. "You wanted to take a ride, so we're taking a ride. I'm waiting for you to say whatever the hell you need to." What he really wanted was a smoke. "I do have some shit to do, so any day would be nice . . ."

Ella rolled her eyes. She still had a bone to pick with Dallas Winston, but right then wasn't the time, but she hadn't forgotten. She stared at him for a few seconds, taking in the fact that even though he had changed, there was still that underlying bitterness to his demeanor that seemed like it would always be there in some form. But he was definitely more laid back than she remembered, and for Dallas, she figured that was really saying something.

She started speaking, though, and Dallas listened on intently. He didn't really have any place in mind to go, so he merely drove toward the highway as Ella droned on. However, what she divulged was quite interesting, if he said so himself. Ella went on to say that the younger girl had become a drunk—not her exact words, but good enough for him—and a bunch of other shit, and then she unloaded her own irritation on him . . . for apparently helping to assist Mary in her drinking, because he had threatened to tell Darry about Aunt Vera and some guy named Webberly, and what they'd done to Soda. For a split second, Dallas nearly turned the truck around to floor it to Mary's house so he could whack her upside the head. Ella's blatant accusation was enough to further piss him off, and he wanted to push her out the passenger side door and leave her on the side of the road. Fuck.

". . . but I think finding out about Soda missing is what really did her in," Ella went on. "I just feel bad for her, and I reckon she thought if I spoke to you about . . . talking to Darry, it would ease things." A shrug. "I guess she will in her own good time."

"You got a cigarette on ya?" he asked, and eyed her bag.

She made a face. "Did you even hear anything I said?" When he gave her a hard glare, she rolled her eyes and dug around her bag for her pack of cigarettes. "Here," she bit out after a minute, and when he took it, lighting up, she cleared her throat. "Do I have to ask again?"

The blond was about to tell her what she could do with herself, but before he could get the words out of his mouth, the truck stalled out, making a clunk of a sound, and rattling a little as it came to a stop. Ella internally cringed as Dallas attempted to start the truck up again, only to no avail, and a moment later, he was out the door and under the hood. She could hear him bitching from where she sat, and she let out a long sigh, wishing for one moment, something could just go right . . . only she was with Dallas Winston, and well, fat chance there. She had to admit, though, that it would have been humorous under different circumstances . . . but the situation with Mary was serious, and all she wanted was for Dallas to promise that he wasn't going to say anything to Darry.

So far, she hadn't been so lucky.

To make matters worse, a crack of thunder nearly jolted the girl in her seat, and then fat droplets of rain started hitting the windshield, a bolt of lightning streaking the sky in the distance ahead. The hood of the truck slammed shut seconds later, and Ella could see the sneer on Dallas's face; he was livid, and if she was correct in her assumptions, she was about to hear it. She wasn't afraid of him, though, didn't really care if he was pissed at her or not, but some part of her remained leery about what he could do, or what he was capable of, and not regarding her safety, but his own.

Dallas climbed in the truck, wiping his hands over his face and through his shaggy hair, muttering a string of profanities under his breath.

Ella debated on offering him another cigarette.

The rain started coming down harder, thunder roaring in the background with streaks of lightning flashing in front of them as the wind picked up, rocking the truck ever so little. On second thought, Ella decided against the cigarette, figuring that it wasn't worth it to roll the window down to vent the smoke out, not with the weather the way it was right then. Besides, she didn't want to sit in a smoked up car, either, no thank you—and sitting with Dallas in sheer silence was bad enough as it was.

Dallas breathed, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He would have to wait until the storm cleared up before doing anything else; he wasn't going to go looking for help, either, not in this shit, he thought. Part of him wanted to blame all of this on Ella, but he knew that realistically, none of it was actually her fault—he was honestly surprised the truck didn't completely fucking die altogether, but this was the problem he'd been having for a good while now. Thing was ready to move on to greener pastures, as far as he was concerned, but really, for him, it just cost too much to fix up than it was worth, and getting new wheels was more in his price range these days.

He leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes. "You can tell Bloody Mary over there that she can deal with Darry herself." Really, he just didn't want to be involved with any of this more than he had been, which was too much, for his liking. The less he knew, the better it was for him, and truthfully, he felt the same for Ella. Also, Dallas had done a lot of things in his twenty-one years, but contributing to someone's alcoholism wasn't something he wanted to add to the list, especially after what he'd heard about Two-Bit Mathews. "I suggest not sticking your nose into anymore of this shit."

Ella's lips pursed, though she was stunned that Dallas had agreed so easily. "I didn't plan to," she said, and sighed. "I just want Mary to be okay."

Darry let out an agitated breath of air, his gaze drifting over toward Ponyboy, who was asleep on the couch. He shook his head with a small smile—that kid sure could sleep through anything, he thought, and decided to just turn the television off. The storm was interfering too much with the broadcast anyway, not that there was much else to do. Well, perhaps he could do some reading . . . something he hadn't done in a while. It was too early to go to bed, especially for a Friday night, but the storm they were getting was real nasty—so much for lighting off fireworks. He figured Ponyboy was worn out from helping Dallas all day outside, his skin red with sunburn, his hair still nearly flat to his head from sweating so profusely.

Finishing the last of his drink, Darry stood up to retrieve one of his books from his room, but before he could take another step, the phone rang, the sound startling him for a second. He wondered who could be calling at eight o'clock at night, and hoped it wasn't something bad. Last time, it was Two-Bit's mother calling to inform them that her son had been in an accident . . . He shook his head, not wanting to think about that.

"Hello," he said, holding the handle to his ear.

"Darry?"

The dark-haired man made a face. "Yes, who's this?"

And the response nearly shocked him to death, the cradle practically falling out of his hand. He hadn't even recognized the voice, and his heart started racing, harder and faster, mostly with excitement, and he wanted to yell for Ponyboy to get the hell up, to get over there.

"Darry, it's Soda."

Sha-la-la-la-la-la live for today

And don't worry 'bout tomorrow, hey

Thank you for the continuous support on this story, y'all! It means the world! :3