Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Ben E. King owns "Stand by Me."

No, I won't be afraid

Oh, I won't be afraid

Just as long as you stand

Stand by me

December 24, 1969

It felt strange to Mary to spend the day before Christmas finishing up the last of her packing, and now that she was done, and the house was practically vacant—save for a few things—she felt better. She was officially leaving in a couple of weeks, traveling out of the country for the very first time, and she was truly excited. The house was on the market, the items she wanted to keep locked up in storage, and whatever she didn't want had been donated or sold. She had decided to leave some furniture behind in the house for whoever purchased it after she was gone. Mary had taken care of a lot of things, kept herself busy so she didn't have to think about other issues, not that they were really bothering her all that much anymore. Well, there was one thing playing on her mind, had been for the past few days . . . since she had found out about it.

Soda was being honorably discharged next week, and he would be back in Tulsa.

Mary wasn't sure of the whole story, mostly because hearing anything about Soda made her emotional and sometimes too overwhelmed to concentrate, part of the reason she was eager to get out of town, but supposedly, he wasn't . . . fit for duty, something along the lines of severe mental trauma and PTSD from his time spent in Vietnam. It made the girl's heart ache something awful for her former boyfriend, but she wasn't about to go sticking her nose in his business. She hadn't spoken to him directly since he had been home, which was months ago, and the only time she had bothered to reach out to him was by sending a letter, one which was to clear the air between them—so he didn't think she hated him. But Mary knew deep down that she would never be able to hate Soda, because, even after all this time, the wound was still fresh, and she still loved him. Always would, too.

But she wasn't going to sit around and wait for him, either. He had made his mind up, gave up what they had together—which she understood, in some way—and basically let her know that he wanted her to forget about him and move on with her life. In some way, she had wished that for him as well, even though he had seemed to do so before even ending things with her.

Mary shook her head, not wanting to let her mind be consumed with those particular thoughts. There were other things that she had needed to tend to . . . like enjoy a glass of wine. She had been seeing a counselor for months now, and since she no longer relied on alcohol to numb her emotions, she would allow herself a drink every now and again—and since it was the day before Christmas, she figured a glass wouldn't hurt her. It felt strange to her to be sitting alone on Christmas Eve, the house vacant and cool. When Aunt Vera had been alive, she would have a few decorations up and about, but she never went overboard with anything, always saying that "less is more". Mary liked decorating, though, and more than that, she really enjoyed baking. Her aunt, however, was . . . incredibly strict about what food the girl could consume, and how much of it she was allowed to. Sometimes, Mary despised the things that she enjoyed the most because of it.

She didn't want to think about Aunt Vera, either, though. Perhaps she would be spending the holidays alone this year, even though Ponyboy had invited her over Christmas day, which she agreed to. She knew that Ella would be stopping in as well, and probably Steve Randle, since he was home on leave, but she didn't mind. Just because she and Soda had ended their relationship several months back didn't mean that she didn't have friends among his friends, too. She and Ella were close, and she and Ponyboy got along okay. The only person she was slightly worried about seeing was Steve, and it wasn't because she directly had any problem with him, but because he was Soda's best friend. Well, that was okay, she decided, because she and Evie were friends, too.

The raven-haired girl sunk down on the couch, her robe keeping her warm. She had a fire going, too, and the smell of a few scented candles were the only things putting her even remotely in the Christmas spirit. Well, that, and she had decided to bake herself a feast, and the smell of everything she had baked was still wafting throughout the house, bringing a feeling of comfort along with it. In some way, Mary knew that she was going to miss it . . . going to miss Tulsa, and her friends, and in some way that she didn't quite understand, she would miss her aunt's house . . . the place she had grown up in. She didn't miss Aunt Vera by any means, and even though there was some part of her that regretted what she had done, she was partially glad that the woman was out of her life. But the memories would lurk in her heart for the rest of her life, and she was very much aware of that.

There had been a lot of firsts for Mary in that house, and more than that, what had happened there had transformed her into the person she was now. There had been a time when she was meek and shy, and when she was too afraid to stand up for herself, or rather, too afraid to stand up to her aunt. But then Soda had come into her life, and he had changed her so much. Well, it's not that he exactly changed her, but he had brought her out of her shell, helped her explore and discover more things about herself that she didn't even know. He didn't even know that he was doing it, and maybe Mary hadn't, either, but when she looked back at herself then versus the present, there was a part of Soda that would linger over her for the rest of her life.

The wine settled on her tongue, and Mary closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to relish the feeling of absolute silence—minus the cackling of the fire—without feeling put off or ashamed by her own thoughts. For the first time in a long while, Mary wasn't afraid to be by her lonesome, wasn't at all unsettled to let herself go back to a time that no longer existed. A smile graced her lips as she realized that, out of all the bad, so much good had happened.

Now it was up to her to decide where she wanted to take the next chapter of her life, and since she had the world practically in the palm of her hand—free to do as she pleased—Mary finally felt ready to start writing it. She knew that letting Tulsa go didn't mean that she couldn't ever return, because she would always have friends there, people who truly did care about her, or at least, for her . . . and somehow, someway . . . it would always be home.

Usually, Two-Bit wasn't out that late anymore, not with his mother in the condition she was in. She had been getting better, though, even went back to work weeks ago, but Two-Bit, though he would never directly admit it, was still concerned for her overall health and well-being. Plus, if he kept himself busy and working, he had something to focus on, which also made taking care of his younger sister easier. If he didn't look or act worried about anything, then she wouldn't be worried about him. His kid sister was pretty observant like that, even though she was much, much younger than him. Two-Bit would do anything that he could for both his mother and sister, so working all the hours that he did wasn't bothersome to him.

Honestly, he enjoyed his painting job, and even more than that, working with Darry helped keep him on the straight and narrow. He hadn't been kidding when he divulged to Ella Mitchell that he hadn't touched an alcoholic beverage in a quite some time. His mother was awfully proud of him, too, going on that he was a responsible and good man, something that Two-Bit never thought he would hear from her. Truthfully, she had seemed rather shocked when he had received his high school diploma, which he owed all to Ponyboy for his help. Glory, but if it hadn't been for that kid's generosity, Two-Bit knew he never would have had a chance in hell of actually making it to graduation. But then things had seemed to spiral out of control for him, and one thing led to another, and before he knew it, that godawful accident had occurred . . . and that's when he knew . . .

He needed some help.

And Darry had been there, as well as Ponyboy.

So even if it was Christmas Eve, Two-Bit was going to make sure that he got two of his best buddies some joyous gifts for the holiday. A case of beer for ol' Superman, and a pack of cigarettes for Ponyboy, the things they liked the best. Well, maybe not the best . . . but Two-Bit had never really been the overly sentimental type, and instead of going overboard with presents, he figured that the best things were the little things. Hell, maybe he would grab a case of Pepsi for the kid, too—Darry used to be a Pepsi fiend when he was younger, but not a lot of people knew that, because it was mostly before he started eating the healthy way, or whatever he used to call it. Out of all of them, Darry was the only one who didn't smoke—Soda, too, unless he was anxious or upset about something, which was rare—but Darry didn't want any of that shit near his lungs. Two-Bit had to laugh at those memories, remembering how simple things used to be for them . . . and hell, they sure thought they really had it hard. Boy howdy.

Since he had already finished up his Christmas shopping, which wasn't much, Two-Bit wanted to grab a few last things for his friends, do something nice for them. If anyone deserved anything nice, it was definitely Darry and Ponyboy. And hell, maybe good ol' Steve, too. Maybe he would get something nice for Ella Mitchell as well . . . since she had always been gracious enough to send birthday and holiday cards to him when she was in New York. He hadn't really sent anything back to her, only here and there when he felt like it—and it was only some form of gratitude for remembering his existence. But still, he figured a little something for her wouldn't hurt things . . . maybe— Good Lord, he didn't even know what in the hell she liked. Perhaps he would simply get her a card. That sounded good to him.

Just as those thoughts passed his mind, Two-Bit suddenly caught sight of a familiar head of blond hair, and he stopped in his tracks to do a double take just as he was about to climb into his car, his eyes seeming to widen as he looked at the face of none other than Dallas Winston. Holy shit, he thought, and wondered when in the almighty hell that good-for-nothing bum had decided to come back. From where he stood outside in the cold, Two-Bit could see that Dallas looked the same as ever, hardened and rough on the exterior, a bitter scowl twisted onto his mouth. He was seated inside of the old diner, and when Two-Bit turned his head, he spotted his old buddy's truck off to the side of the lot.

He stuffed his hands inside his leather jacket pockets, before making his way into the diner.

It was small and rundown, and there wasn't a whole lot of people inside—maybe two others beside Dallas—and it didn't take long for the blond's icy blue eyes to land on Two-Bit's approaching figure, his expression stony and blank.

"Thought that was you," Two-Bit remarked, and took a seat across from him in the booth. "What in the hell brought you back here?"

Dallas's lips pressed down more, if that was even possible, and he wanted to mentally kick himself. He hadn't planned on running into anyone while being in town—not that he wanted to be there anyway. It was just something he did every holiday, something he hadn't told anyone about. Every Christmas Eve since they had passed, Dallas would visit Mr. and Mrs. Curtis's grave, along with Johnny Cade's. He never stayed too long, never wanted to attract attention. This year had been no exception to his annual visitation, save for the fact that Two-Bit Mathews had spotted him this time around. He wondered why in the hell his old goof of a friend was out so late anyway. Didn't he have a mother and kid sister back at home getting ready to celebrate, or something like that?

He eyed him almost critically. "Nothin'."

"Sure looks it to me." He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. He remained at ease, though, relaxed like. "What's the matter? Church choir didn't like your singing voice?"

Dallas glared at him while he laughed. "Can it, Mathews, 'fore your face becomes a damn punching bag." And in his typical uncaring fashion, he lit a cigarette, ignoring the irritated expression from the old waitress who was standing behind the counter. Hell, he was surprised the fucking place had stayed open this late, especially on Christmas Eve, but it was a dingy place anyway, and he didn't care. "I ain't staying long. Just passing through."

"Oh, are you now?" Two-Bit nearly retorted, an edge to his voice. "Well, ain't that just savvy for you?" At the blond's bewildered countenance, he continued. "You take off for the second time, don't bother to say nothin' to nobody, and here you are . . . just passing through to ditch out again."

Usually, Two-Bit didn't get like that, and although Dallas was somewhat surprised, he was getting a bit annoyed with him. Who the fuck did he think he was? Yeah, sure, they were good buddies, but Dallas always did what he wanted, and he never bothered to care what in hell anyone else thought. He figured that a guy like Two-Bit would get that, so what was the big deal? He had been gone for over two years before returning the last time—save for a few unknown visitations—and everyone knew that he had never planned on staying permanently when he had come back. He figured nobody would really miss him all that much anyway, and as far as he was concerned, there wasn't anything in Tulsa for him; it was easier to live like he had been . . . away from everyone, isolated. It was shit like this that got under his skin and pissed him off. He didn't care, so why should anyone else?

He exhaled, the nicotine doing little to calm his nerves. "It ain't none of your business."

Two-Bit nodded, but not in agreement with him. "Yeah, sure, Dal. It ain't none of my business what you do, but it sure as hell is my business when it affects everyone else, ain't it?" He glowered, leaning forward in the seat. "You know somethin'?" His voice dropped. "We used to think you were tough as nails back in the day, but through this perception, I think you're a coward. You just keep runnin' away, and that's what you're gonna keep doin' . . . and you throw away anyone else who really gives a damn about you, like Ella Mitchell." He stood up in one fluid motion, offering him a cool and bitter look, his lips pulled into a thin line. "Merry Christmas, Dallas."

And then he was gone.

Steve sure was quiet, Evie thought, and glanced at him out of her peripheral. He had a thoughtful look on his face, but his eyes hinted as though he were elsewhere, distant. She wondered what was wrong, and hoped that it wasn't anything serious. He had surprised her by coming home again, but he had seemed happy, more at ease than the previous time he had been there. She figured it was because he was getting used to being in the states again, and with Soda in close distance, things probably felt normal. That had always been the thing with Steve, though, as far as Evie had ever known—he never liked change. It was one of the most annoying things to him, because Steve was someone who functioned by a schedule, and when he didn't follow it, or something came up and changed his plans, he got angry. Never with her, though—never. Still, she wondered if something was wrong, and tried to pick her brain for anything that seemed out of sorts, hoping it wasn't something she had done.

On the other hand, Steve actually felt . . . stiff.

It was officially Christmas Eve, the night he had planned on proposing to Evie. His mind was racing with thoughts, heart beating rapidly in his chest, and he couldn't seem to slow himself down. Of course, her family had been in on the entire thing, and for a while, Steve actually thought that Mrs. Martin might blow it. She had never been one to keep anything a secret like that—no way. Steve could remember a time when he wanted to get Evie something extra special for her seventeenth birthday and had gone to her mother for help. He knew Evie quite well, but he wanted to really surprise her that year, get her something that she would never see coming. Well, going to Mrs. Martin had been a real mistake, because on the day of Evie's birthday, she had "accidentally" spoiled the surprise by making subtle hints to her daughter about getting all prettied up that night, and tossing his name in the mix . . .

Steve had been bitter about the whole thing, but Evie hadn't. In fact, she thought that it was awfully special of him to even go out of his way for her that year, and it was a birthday that she hadn't forgotten about, even if Steve once thought that it made him sound whipped. Oh well. He didn't care anymore, and was glad that he had been able to make Evie happy. He had taken her out to dance, and had gotten her a necklace with their initials on it—took all of two paychecks, too.

But it was the big night, the very night he had been thinking about since last Summer. Well, the thought of marrying Evie Martin had passed through his mind plenty of times, but not like it had been since Albie Lars had planted the idea of actually going through with it. He had received Mr. Martin's blessing, and Mrs. Martin couldn't seem to keep herself still, overexcited and gleeful about the whole thing. Evie merely thought that she and Steve were going out on a simple date that night, but Steve did want to do something nice . . . and now that it was time, now that the night was there, he actually felt a little . . .

No, Steve Randle did not get nervous.

Or scared.

Or absolutely fucking terrified.

Glory, he could remember mentioning it to Soda a week back, after he had gotten over being "sick", and his younger friend honestly seemed happy for him, an expression in his eyes Steve hadn't seen in quite some time. He had hit him on the shoulder, telling him that it was damn well about time he had puckered up the courage—only Steve was seeming to miss any form of the word in the present. Evie sure looked pretty, and seeing her in person again only made the situation that much more authentic to him. Her hair had grown out from when she cut it back in the Summer, now touching her shoulders with pieces of it fluffing out just below her chin. By golly did she look absolutely stunning, and for some reason that he wasn't acutely sure of, it made him feel more nervous. Perhaps, if but for the first time, Steve felt like he didn't deserve Evie—but he sure did love her, and he knew that he would never love another girl the way he did her.

Not in a million years.

It was that thought alone that gave him the push that he needed, but before he could get the chance to open his mouth, Evie began speaking, her voice low and gentle beside him in the passenger seat.

"Sure is nice out tonight, huh," she remarked, and turned to face him.

Steve had to smile at that. "Yeah, sure is." What he really found nice and beautiful right then was her, and the way her eyes were shining as she looked at him. "But it don't have a thing on you."

"Well, Mr. Randle, ain't you just extra charming tonight," came the sultry quip, and she leaned forward to place her lips against his, giving him a quick peck before pulling away. She looked into his eyes for a moment, her head tilting. "You alright? You seem quiet tonight."

But Steve merely grinned, motioning for her to get out of the car. The night air hit him quick and hard, and he shivered a little as he closed the door, hoping to keep the inside of the vehicle warm. Evie followed him to the bridge where he leaned forward, his arms resting on the railing as they looked out upon the iced over water, their breaths visible in front of them in the frosty air. Evie placed her hands inside her pockets, raising her shoulders a little to inch her scarf up further around her neck.

"You remember coming here for our first date?"

Evie nodded, her expression brightening. "'Course I do," she answered. And that was the truth. She had never forgotten her very first date with Steve. Instead of doing the usual thing, like going to a movie, or out to dinner, she and Steve had gotten burgers and milkshakes for lunch, and had driven up to the bridge to eat. They had spent the entire afternoon talking and talking, getting to know one another, and that was the day Evie Martin swore that she was in love. Of course, she had a long time crush on Steve way before he had noticed her, but their very first date had always been sentimental to her, because it was also the day Steve asked her to officially be his girl, and it was right in the very spot they were at. "We were standing right here," she continued, speaking her thoughts out loud, and then motioned to where they were currently standing. "You gave me a cocky, one-of-a-kind Steve Randle grin, and you asked me if I would be your girl." A smile. "And I said yes, and you kissed me for the first time."

And now he would officially ask her to be his wife.

Here goes nothing, he thought, and took a breath.

"And that was the happiest day of my life," he replied earnestly. His eyes met hers, a sincerity in his own as he looked at her. "I've been thinking, Evie, and I . . . well, I want you to know how happy you make me, and how much I really love ya." He wouldn't admit it, but he was internally shaking as he moved down to one knee—and it wasn't from the cold. His hands were slightly trembling as he pulled the box from his jacket pocket, popping it open just a second later. "Evelyn Lisa Martin," he began, voice steady, "I love you, and there ain't another soul I can imagine standing by me for the rest of my life." Inhale, exhale. "Will you marry me?"

"When you were younger, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

Ella made a sound like a hum, lips pursing. "That's a hard one," she replied, taking a drag of her half-finished cigarette. "I suppose it really depends on what age I was, because it was always changing for me." A chuckle. "One year I wanted to be Lucille Ball, another I wanted to be Nancy Drew. There was a point when I thought I might pursue a baking career, too."

Ponyboy raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He thought he remembered her mentioning that once, but he wasn't sure. He made a face. "I wanted to be John Wayne."

The brown-haired girl laughed. "Are you serious?"

"Don't laugh," he said, although his voice was teasing. "I used to think he was real tuff, but then I . . . I guess I thought Paul Newman was cool, too, but that was in my early teenage years." He leaned back, relaxing against the ledge. He and Ella were sitting on top of one of the old abandoned buildings, the music from a Christmas party across the street seeming to echo around them in the night. The stars seemed to gleam down from overhead, one standing out as it twinkled among the others. Even though the next day was Christmas, Ponyboy and Darry wouldn't officially be celebrating until Soda got home the following week. Of course they had decorated, put a few ornaments on the small tree they had gotten, but Darry wanted to wait for Soda, and Ponyboy had no problem with that whatsoever. Besides, he had nearly a month before he returned back to school, so he had plenty of time to do whatever he wanted . . . even if that meant postponing a holiday. Ella, on the other hand, would be spending half of the day with Jan, before coming to his house for dinner, along with Mary. And Steve was there, too, but Ponyboy had a pretty good feeling he would be having dinner at Evie's. A sigh escaped his mouth as Ella slightly leaned against him, probably from being cold. "You ever miss New York?" he decided to ask, mostly out of curiosity.

"You know, I never thought about it," she said, sounding surprised herself. "I guess in some way I do, but I missed home more." She stubbed her cigarette a moment later, before folding her arms across her middle, a distant look on her face. "I don't know if this will make sense, but in some way, I still miss it."

"Home?"

A nod. "Yeah."

"No, I do get it," he responded, and glanced at her. "It does make sense." There was a pregnant pause, a silence engulfing them, and Ella turned her head so that she could see him better. "When my folks died, home never quite felt like . . . home, and I know both my brothers did their best to keep things flowing, you know, but even though we had our good moments afterward, it just never felt the same." His chin lowered as he stared at the ground. "I was home, and I missed being home." He shrugged lightly. "I reckon that's why I went out so much after everything. I figured I could get lost in movies, or in the books I read, make it easier to cope with things . . . and maybe that's why Darry worked so hard all the time, to keep busy so he didn't have to think, and Soda . . . well, he was too busy worrying about all of us and our problems that he never bothered to focus on his own."

Ella blinked, Ponyboy's words resonating with her more than she realized. "Does it ever feel like you can't go back sometimes?"

And he knew exactly what she meant. "Yeah. It does feel like that."

Their eyes met, and Ella nodded almost sympathetically. "Ponyboy," she began, "do you think that . . . years down the road, when we're older, more established on our own, do you think that you and I will still be in each other's lives?" The question was genuine, and her voice reflected that. "I mean, do you think we'll still be friends . . ."

Glory, but he sure hoped so. There was no real way to truly answer her question, though, and they both knew that. Time was never-ending, and with it, things changed, as was the natural cycle of life. He figured that he was awfully lucky enough to have the friends that he did for the time that allotted it, and he sure felt lucky to have one like Ella by his side, too. Perhaps they would remain good and close friends, perhaps they would end up going their separate ways, and distance would come between them, as it did for everyone . . . but for now, for this particular moment in time, they had each other and the friendship that they had established over the course of a few years, distance and all.

Several beats of sheer silence passed between them, before a smile touched Ella's lips, a song from the party below reaching her ears. It took a second for Ponyboy to hear it, too, and he figured that it was quite an appropriate song right then. He moved to his feet, trying not to chuckle as he offered his hand to her, a grin of his own adorning his lips. Ella took his hand as she stood up, and then they were dancing and laughing together, the Church bells ringing in the background as the dawn of a new day began, the music still echoing quietly in the background.

"Merry Christmas, Ponyboy."

"Merry Christmas, Ella."

And darlin', darlin'

Stand by me, oh, stand by me

Oh, stand now, stand by me

Stand by me

Only a few more chapters left, y'all!

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