Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Electric Light Orchestra owns "Don't Bring Me Down."

You got me runnin', goin' out of my mind

You got me thinkin' that I'm wastin' my time

Don't bring me down, no no no no no

September 24, 1969

Ella released a heavy breath of air, raising a glove covered hand to press against her forehead as she leaned her body against the barn door. It wasn't as hot out as those scorching Summer days had been, but it was still muggy enough—and the young woman was feeling sweaty and gross. If there was one thing that Ella Mitchell despised . . . it was humidity. A thought crossed her mind just then, a humorous one regarding her once overly bushy hair. She would always have it tied back in a braid during the hotter months, because it frizzed out in every which way, and when it was humid, it would not only fluff out more than what it did naturally, it would stick to her back and neck. Now that it was shorter, and better managed, Ella didn't bother to do much with it—even on days such as this particular one. No, she would merely toss it up in a bun on top of her head, forgetting about it altogether.

Still . . .

Ella hated humidity . . . and more than that, she hated Dallas Winston's sarcastic grin aimed at her from across the ranch from where he was running Stella around the pen. Of course, he was doing it just to get a reaction out of her, one which Ella would ultimately provide . . . and had right then. One side of her mouth curved upward, nose scrunching as she flipped him off. His laugh was rich and hearty, and the young woman figured he was really getting a good riot out of this entire ordeal, even though it had been going on for a few weeks.

Since Dallas had so generously handed the reigns—no pun intended—of his job over to Ella, she had been spending every morning cleaning the stables and tending to the horses. It only took her a few hours, but Lordy, the thickness of the humidity and the rising heat did nothing to help with the stench that came with cleaning up horse manure, and there were some days when Ella thought she was going to be sick. She would drive back to Jan's house to scrub herself practically raw in the shower just to make sure she rid herself of the odor that seemed to cling to her clothes, hair, and skin. The girl grimaced just thinking about it, as it made her stomach turn, good Lord. But still . . . she had been following this routine for the past few weeks, working for Buck five days a week, while his cousin took over on the weekends. The strange thing concerning the matter was that—even though Ella had taken over Dallas's former job—Dallas himself had yet to leave Tulsa, like he had planned on doing weeks prior. Instead, even after he had gotten a new truck, he remained working with Buck training ponies and selling them for good money, which they split evenly. He also picked up and delivered the bales of hay, since apparently Buck thought Ella to be incapable of such a task, but in some way, she was glad she had gotten out of that one.

But every morning, Ella would see Dallas, and every morning, Dallas made sure to let Ella know that he was there . . . just to get under her skin and get her going.

One month.

It had been one month since Ella kissed him in his truck, a night she had thought about nearly every single day with innate clarity.

Since that moment, however, neither one of them had brought it up, mentioned it, or said anything to each other about it, and Ella sometimes wondered why. She expected more from Dallas that way, had wholeheartedly expected him to make remarks to her about it, only he hadn't. They had spoken to one another on several different occasions afterward, but each time had been nothing short of casual, and sometimes—if he was feeling especially uncharacteristic—Dallas was friendly with her. Actually, when Ella had first showed up at the ranch, Dallas had been the one to show her what to do, and she had listened to him and did as he directed her to. Since then, they spoke here and there, poked fun at each other—a rarity in itself—or there were some days, like this particular one, where he would do mediocre things to get a rise out of her . . . not that Ella truly cared, not really anyway.

There was some part of her that actually enjoyed it, and she was silently glad that Dallas, for whatever reason, had made the decision to stick around. He wasn't staying at the Curtis residence anymore, but instead staying at Joe Merril's (the cousin of Buck Merril) house. Joe only stayed in Oklahoma during the Summer in what used to be his grandparent's house, before heading back to Texas to stay with his father for the rest of the year, or something like that. Ella wasn't exactly sure, but she had gotten the gist of it from Ponyboy, and bits of what Dallas divulged to her. He only drove up to Tulsa on the weekends to check in on the ranch and help Buck out, and that was it. The house where Dallas was staying was roughly a half hour from where the rest of them lived, but he was closer to the ranch, which he seemed to like—and with what he had saved up from his wins jockeying, plus what Buck paid him, added to what Joe Merril was paying him to watch his house . . . Dallas was making out alright. Honestly, Ella was happy for him, and in some way, she was proud of him, not that she would ever admit that.

As for herself, though, Ella was still staying at Jan's, which the older woman seemed more than happy for . . . having someone else there with her, and Ella was content with her company. She continued to help her out and do things for her, but Jan kept insisting that she was just grateful for Ella's company, and that it was a gift in itself. On the other hand, Ella—even though she was okay financially and was getting by just fine—figured that she ought to get herself a job, even if it was something small . . . and so she had. For three days a week—Monday, Tuesday, and Friday—Ella worked in the cafeteria at the hospital. Her hours were the same for each day, ten in the morning until four in the afternoon, which suited her just fine. It was easy enough, and it allowed her time from when she left the ranch a little after eight to head back to Jan's and get ready. Surprisingly, Ella still had quite a bit of money saved up from her former jobs in New York, and she hadn't really spent it on anything too extreme over the course of the Summer, so this new job was simply something to do . . . and save up more. But Ella had other things in mind, too, things she wanted to do, and she decided that she would take a little time for herself to save up what she could, before moving forward with what she wanted to do with her future.

Perhaps she would be staying in Tulsa for a little longer than expected.

Well, she also had herself a pony, too. Shar belonged to her, as far as she was concerned anyway, and Buck didn't seem to disagree with it . . . so long as she did her job and kept her trap shut, as he had so graciously put it for her. But that was just peachy with her, because in her eyes, she had gotten him fair and square either way you looked at it.

Speaking of Shar, Ella decided that she ought to take him out, stretch his legs some, so that's what she did. She decided that she was going bareback this particular day, and didn't bother to saddle him up, instead pulling herself up with support from his stall gate, her leg swinging over his back with almost graceful agility; she had gotten good, better than she had been, in the past several weeks. She led the pony out, using her hand to shade her eyes from the brightness of the sun, the rays poking out from behind the clouds and beating down on her head and face. She felt Dallas's eyes on her as she took Shar passed the pen, her gaze focused on the dirt trail that went around the entire property. She had been back there only a few times, but mostly stayed closer to the stables and barn.

Dallas came up beside her a moment later, Stella making a sound like a grunt. "Goin' up the trail?" he guessed, looking her over.

Ella shrugged. "I was considering on it, but I think he could use a good run, too."

He eyed her coolly, giving her a once over. Dallas wasn't even sure why he had bothered to inquire in the first place, and figured that he was just bored—something he had been feeling a lot of recently. He wasn't even sure why in the hell he was still there in the first place, but usually, he never did anything without a reason, which only irked him all the more. It wasn't as though he had something holding him in Tulsa, or maybe he did . . . but it wasn't something he wanted to think about right then. His eyes trailed over Ella's relaxed form, and he took in how content she appeared, even for just mucking up horse shit. Her eyes were vivid in the light, and her hair was getting a bit longer, a few inches below her shoulders, part of it streaked to a slight golden color from being out in the sun all Summer. Her skin wasn't tan, but she definitely had color, and even without the makeup, which Dallas had gotten so used to seeing her wear before she worked for Buck, she looked . . . good. Damn good. Hell, even for being sweaty, she looked alright to him, and Dallas found himself a little enticed. He had been watching her for the past few weeks, keeping an eye on her to make sure Buck and his cousin didn't try to hassle her, because the two of them were sleazy cowboys that sometimes went looking for thrills in the way of messing around and saying shit to broads that wasn't . . . friendly. So he stuck around for a bit, kept himself busy, and . . . wondered when he would feel alright enough to head out.

Looking at Ella right then, though, made him want to fucking bail. Ever since she had kissed him that night—a fucking month ago now—Dallas had been feeling a bit . . . perked. He didn't have feelings for the girl, or didn't want to, but he gave a shit about her existence—same way he did about Ponyboy. Or Darrel. Or even Two-Bit. But that was all. So why he felt compelled to stay since that night was above and beyond him. Of course, he had enjoyed it, liked the feeling of her body pressed hotly against his, liked the way she tasted, the soft little moans that escaped her mouth when his own was busy working her neck, and damn, he really liked his hands on her. She was soft beneath his rough hands, and she smelled good, real good—how he remembered, and . . . he wanted more of her. Too bad she had stopped him that night . . . fucking tease.

But it was Ella, and he had been stupid to think he could have fucked her in his truck that night. Oh, well, he thought, he had gotten something—and then some when he went looking for an easy lay in the sack a few times.

Still, of all the broads he had been with, he had never once trashed Ella's name, or made any attempt to smear her reputation. He could have done so numerous times, he could have talked dirty about her, said shit, made her out to be a sleaze, like he had done to various other girls, but strangely enough . . . he never had. He remembered saying some real lousy shit about her in the past, even while they were an item, although it hadn't been anything cheap.

He wondered why in the fuck he still gave a shit.

"I know Shar's a good lookin' pony, Dallas, but he's not for sale," Ella said, breaking his train of thought. Her lips were pulled into a smirk, eyes bright. "Maybe I'll head up the trail after all," she added as an afterthought.

Dallas had a better idea, though. "How about a race first, sweets?" he propositioned, leaning toward her a bit. "Around the perimeter of the property."

Ella's brow quirked with intrigue. "What's the prize?"

He had to admit, he liked her train of thought. "I win, you let me take you out Saturday night."

"And if I win?" she pressed, intentionally and slowly letting her gaze rake over his body. She knew it would get under his skin, though, and still . . . she had been meaning to get another good jab in at him, or something. She smiled, then, and continued before he could respond. "You go back to mucking up horse crap for two weeks."

His expression was sharp as they both took off, Ella's laughter full and genuine.

Steve didn't want to admit it, really he didn't . . . but he knew that something was amiss with his friend, and it wasn't even subtle anymore. Since Soda had been transferred to the base Steve was on, he had been relieved and overjoyed. However, those feelings didn't last too long, because the more time that Steve spent with Soda, the more he began to realize just how off he was. They worked together, side by side, every day in the mechanic shop, which made Steve feel as though they were back home working at the DX . . . just like the good ol' days. Soda had been glad to see him, too—that much was obvious, at least to Steve it was, but suddenly, Soda's entire demeanor seemed to shift south, and Steve was getting to the point where he wasn't sure what to do. Oh, he had tried talking to Soda, tried getting through to him quite a few times in the past three weeks that he had been there, but all to no avail, and Steve was growing more worried than before.

Now he understood what in the hell everyone else had been telling him.

It started out small . . . like Ponyboy had told him weeks ago. The first thing Steve noticed was that Soda always seemed . . . aloof, or apathetic, as if he wasn't all there. He would stare off into space for lengths at a time, would jump at the faintest sound, and he tossed and turned practically all night in his sleep, even groaning out incomprehensible words. It had scared Steve stiff the first time, when he woke up to see his younger friend merely sitting up on the edge of his bed—the lower bunk across from his—with his back hunched over, hands shaking like leaves. Both of his arms had been tensed at his sides, though, the only other movement being his head shaking slowly . . . as though he were in the early stages of a seizure. Now, Steve wasn't one to get spooked too easily, but something about seeing his best buddy like that . . . put him on edge. Before he had the chance to even question him, Soda had quit trembling, pulled himself back onto the mattress, and went out like a light.

He had questioned him about it, but Soda didn't seem to recall the incident, or at least, he had done a pretty good job pretending that he hadn't.

Steve knew better, though.

Other than that, a few of the guys they were stationed with liked to go out when they were able to and have a good time. Steve was by no means a saint, and he had done his fair share of getting boozed up and smoking and having a few good bull sessions of his own, but Soda . . . he hadn't really ever been too much of a drinker. Now, though? Now he enjoyed going out and drinking himself nearly three sheets to the wind, smoking grass, and well . . . there were a few new hobbies of his that had been a bit surprising to Steve. Oh, he had gone with him, had himself a good time as well, but it was all in Soda's behavior, the way he spoke, the way he would get stony . . . and his eyes, Steve noticed, they weren't laughing and full of life like they had once been.

Instead, they were replaced by a grim expression, a stare that looked right through your soul and told you every agonizingly horrible thing about yourself—the type of eyes you didn't want to look into if you could avoid doing so. Eyes like death.

The killer moment of it all was when Soda had asked Steve to not say anything to his brothers, or any of their friends, about him being there until at least a week or so after his arrival. Steve had asked him why, which Soda had a very interesting answer for. He had told him it was merely because he didn't want them—mainly Ponyboy and Darry—to start breathing down his neck to keep an eye on him, or have him report anything back to them so that they could start worrying themselves out of their minds. In a way, Steve could understand, but it didn't feel right to him. Other than that, he had inquired about what had happened between him and Mary, which had very obviously pinched a nerve—the most normal reaction Steve had seen from him since he had gotten there. But it hadn't lasted long, and within seconds, Soda had gone completely apathetic, as if forcing himself to remain numb regarding his former girlfriend. The only answer that Steve had received from Soda was that things weren't working out anymore on his end, and so he had decided to do the right thing by breaking it off with her, rather than lead her on for nothing.

Steve blinked, pinching the bridge of his nose. Peering down at the letter he had gotten from Ponyboy just that afternoon wasn't exactly helping with his thoughts right then. It wasn't so much that Steve was irked with the kid, quite the opposite in fact, but there was a feeling of betrayal lurking in the pit of his gut . . . and honestly, it pissed him off. He decided to simply just respond to the kid, despite the way he felt; he had nothing else better to do anyway, and besides, he also had Evie to respond to . . . a letter that he was actually looking forward to writing . . . if only he could find a damn pen.

He shifted off of the bed, tossing the letters onto the mattress as he stood up to make his way over to the shared table he and Soda used for purposes such as this one. Originally, Steve had been roommates with Ronnie Baker up until he got transferred out. He figured he and Soda had gotten lucky—real lucky to be honest—to become roommates again.

As Steve dug through the drawer for a pen, his eye caught something sticking out from the side of Soda's bag. It was a silver flip case, similar to the one he had, but a feeling of unease came over Steve . . . one he couldn't quite understand. Call it utter intuition, but something about it unsettled him. The tiny latch wasn't even together all the way, leaving the case slightly cracked.

Against his moral code, as he didn't feel too hot snooping through his buddy's personal belongings, Steve reached for the case, his eyes broadening ever so little as he was able to make out just exactly what was inside.

Tiny tablets stared back at him, and Steve wasn't innocent enough to believe they were anything medicinal.

Fuck.

Ponyboy laughed, a smile on his face as he looked through the pictures Ella had sent him from their Woodstock trip with Mary. He had to admit that some of them were really good—Ella, and Mary, had gotten some decent scenery pictures—and then there were the few that made his cheeks tint a shade or two. Glory, but the teen sure hoped that nobody, especially his colleges friends, would come across the picture of him sleeping beside Mary on the ground, his mouth half open, hand resting against his chest, hair in disarray . . . that would be all he needed. Nevertheless, the pictures had put him in a better mood than what he had previously been in . . . all because he had forgotten his notes for class that morning, which hadn't exactly been his fault. Well, indirectly it was . . . but the damn alarm hadn't gone off, for whatever reason, even though he had set it. He had made it to class with exactly twenty five seconds to spare, before realizing that he had left his notebook back in his room.

Only two more days until the weekend, thank the good Lord!

"Hey, Ponyboy!"

The teen glanced up from where he was seated in the booth, a stunned expression on his face as Julia Higgins grinned down at him. Golly, he hadn't seen her since . . . the night she had ended things with him, and just seeing her then felt . . . strange. Still, she was as good-looking as ever, her brown eyes soft as she looked at him, her smile radiant . . .

He offered her a curt nod. "Hi, Julia," he replied, and tucked the pictures back into the envelope Ella had sent them in. "What brings you here?"

"I thought I saw you, and well, I just wanted to stop by and say hello," she answered, hands folding together in front of herself. "I mean . . . well, I understand if things are weird, but—"

"No, no," he quickly interceded. "It's okay, really."

Another grin. "Well, okay."

Ponyboy wasn't exactly sure if things really were okay or not, especially with how he felt about Julia and how things had ended between them. Truthfully, he didn't blame her or anything, but he had felt rather put-off and dejected about how she went about things. He really did love her, he was sure of it, having never felt the way he had for her about anyone else. His friend, Gregory Marshall, had been the one to introduce the two of them one night at a party. They had hit it off instantaneously, and it was the first time Ponyboy truly felt any real form of excitement after the publication of his book. After that, he and Julia had become nearly inseparable, and he enjoyed being in her company, loved to be around her while getting to know her. He imagined that feeling must have been what Soda experienced when he first got together with Mary . . .

It was surely something.

Still, that was a long time ago, or what felt like a long time ago at least, and Ponyboy was unable to forget how heartbroken he had been after she up and left as though he hadn't meant anything to her, or as though their relationship never meant a thing to begin with. It had stung something awful, and another reminder of what Soda had gone through when Sandy Vincent ditched him had gone through his mind.

The silence was beginning to make him feel uneasy, so he tried to remain as polite and as cordial as he could, so he asked, "So, how was your Summer?"

Julia's lips pursed, and she took a seat across from him in the booth, her eyes landing on his untouched slice of pizza. "It was alright," she responded, voice light and airy. "I heard you went to Woodstock."

A chuckle. "Yeah, I went with a couple of friends. It was something."

"Wish I could've gone myself, but . . . I think my folks would have thrown a fit."

There was a split second where Ponyboy almost wanted to rub it in that he had gone and she hadn't, that he had the experience that she wanted to have, too . . . but that was petty, and honestly, Ponyboy wasn't that cruel. He still had mixed thoughts regarding Julia, because even though he didn't want to have those particular feelings for her, he still did . . . and just looking at her across from him in the booth was bringing them right back up, like they had never started to dissipate. Still, it hurt to think of her and him, and what they had, so there remained an underlying emotion of shame and resentment aimed at her.

"Yeah," he decided to say, unsure of what else to make conversation of.

Julia, though, seemed more at ease than he was, and continued to speak as though she hadn't stunned him in the slightest, as though nothing was wrong between them at all, as though she hadn't— No, he told himself, they had broken up months ago—it was over.

". . . and Billy was saying that they were going to have a party Saturday night, and I guess I was going to ask you if . . . you were going to come . . ." She bit her lip, looking up at him through her thick and long lashes, an innocent expression in her eyes. "I mean, I just think it would be nice to do something together . . . if you want, you know, for old time's sake."

Ponyboy blinked, and before he could even think about attending a party, or Saturday night, or . . . well, anything else for that matter, he found himself nodding along in affirmation.

"Sure," he agreed, and took a sip of his Pepsi. "I'll be there."

Julia smiled, her countenance seeming to brighten a bit. "Great." She stood up, adjusting her purse as Ponyboy's eyes followed her movements. "So, I'll see you there, then?"

"Reckon so."

She said her goodbyes to him, offering him a small wave on her way out, and even though there was a slight desperation to go to Billy's party that weekend, some part of the teen wondered if he had honestly just made the right decision or not.

Ella was all smiles that night as she made dinner for her and Jan. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of baked chicken, sweet potatoes, and mixed vegetables, a pot of coffee brewing away and making the house smell like a cafe. But Jan and Ella both liked to drink coffee in the evening—Jan mostly, as she said it relaxed her after a long day at work. Besides, she enjoyed Ella's cooking and appreciated her company, as she had relayed to Ella more times than none. But the younger woman was in a real good mood right then, because . . . she had a date with Dallas Saturday night. Now, there was still a feeling of confusion twisting around in the pit of her stomach, a clench in her heart, but she was a bit giddy about it, too.

She had won in her mini horse race against her former boyfriend that morning, which had surprised the both of them . . . which meant that he would be taking up his old job of mucking up horse shit. Oh, she couldn't wait to see the look on Buck Merril's face when he learned of the news. Well, Ella thought, Dallas had agreed to it, and even though he could be a prick, or downright cruel, he had chosen to seal the bet with her, and had said he would be there Monday morning bright and early for the next two weeks to do exactly what he had been doing before Ella took over. Oh, what a wonderful day it had been.

Even though that she had won, she had told him to pick her up at seven o'clock Saturday evening, to which he had given her a crooked smirk. She wondered if he would actually show up or not, or if he would honestly even go back to cleaning the stables. She figured he would . . . even though he could bail out if he wanted . . .

Ella pulled the chicken out of the oven, inhaling the delicious scent of spices and herbs she had used to cook with, a content look on her face, one that clearly said she was satisfied with her work.

Only two more days of cleaning the horse stalls . . . and then she was free for two weeks. But other than that, Ella wasn't able to deny that she was internally excited about her upcoming date.

I'll tell you once more before I get off the floor

Don't bring me down

Thank you for reading, as well as for the tremendous support and positive feedback on this story! It's very much appreciated! :3