Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. James Taylor owns "Fire and Rain."

Been walking my mind to an easy time

My back turned towards the sun

Lord knows, when the cold wind blows

It'll turn your head around

December 28, 1969

The ranch looked the same as ever, except where there were once fields of green surrounding the entire property, branches on trees decorated with lush green leaves, it was now barren of any form of Summer and warmth, replaced with a soft blanket of snow, the sky overhead gray and cool, Winter in her full glory—icy yet mystical. Dallas had never been one for the cooler climate, though he didn't exactly mind it. He preferred Autumn and Summer—in that order, too—and didn't really like freezing his ass off and trying to conceal the fact that he was just about shaking like a fucking leaf under the comfort of his leather jacket and ripped up, faded jeans. Hell, at this rate, the only things that were truly warm were his feet, and that was because he had decided to put on two layers of socks. Christ almighty.

The former hoodlum wasn't sure what had honestly brought him back to Tulsa—again. He had beat it out of there Christmas Eve . . . right after his run-in with none other than Two-Bit Mathews, of all the people he could have bumped into. Something about his old friend's words had stirred something in him, something that he didn't quite understand, a disturbing reminder of what Joanne had said to him some weeks back. It both irritated and aggravated him, like a fucking splinter he couldn't dig out of his skin. Everyone was telling him that he was running, that he was hiding—and when Two-Bit told him that he was a coward, Dallas had nearly pulverized him.

But that wasn't the issue.

No, the issue was solely the fact that Dallas wasn't sure why it even bothered him. Good Lord, but a few years ago none of this would have even made him think twice about it, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why it was now, presently. Had things really changed so much? Had he? He had tried to gun it out of Tulsa right after he had left the diner that night, and he had made it as far as Texas, before turning around and coming back. For the first time in his life, Dallas felt . . . empty, hollow. No longer was the thrill of the open road and the liberation it once brought doing anything for him. Instead of feeling the adrenaline pumping hot through his veins, or the exciting wonderment of what rested around the bend of where he was headed, he felt . . . nothing. In fact, there was more of a feeling of it being a chore to go, rather than the innate feeling of freedom.

For three days, Dallas drove around Tulsa. He spent the nights in a cheap motel to keep himself from freezing to death, figuring that maybe a few days off the road would do him some good, only it really hadn't. Instead, the blond found that he was yearning for something, a type of warmth that couldn't be felt from the bottom of a bottle, or from various broads who threw themselves at him for a cheap thrill and a good time.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he had a pretty good idea. He would never admit it to himself, though . . . or at least, he couldn't bring himself to. If he did, if he even allowed himself to entertain the mere thought of it, or her, he would be inviting trouble back into his life. Oh, trouble had always been a close friend of Dallas's, but this was a different form of trouble, a type of trouble that Dallas knew would hook him for the rest of his life if he even so much as sought it out.

So engrossed was he in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Buck Merril's car pull up beside him, the engine cutting a moment later before the cowboy got out to make his way over to Dallas's truck. A few seconds later and he was lightly tapping on the driver's side window, his brow quirked, lips pressed into a thin line as he stared the younger man down, an overall curious expression blanketing his face. Buck hadn't seen Dallas Winston since he had bailed for the second time, which was several months back, so seeing him at the ranch was . . . not shocking, but slightly surprising. In all honesty, Buck figured that he would be seeing the last of Winston for a good while, reckoning it would be longer than the first time he had disappeared.

When Dallas rolled the window down, Buck spoke.

"What the hell are you doin' here?" he asked, and looked him over. "Thought you were just itching to git on out of Tulsa and never come back to this shithole."

Dallas's countenance remained blank. "I need a place to crash."

Buck wanted to laugh. Really? That's what this fucking prick had come back for? Oh, wasn't it just so convenient for him to show up at his family's ranch telling him that he needed a place to stay. There were a few things he wanted to say to Dallas right then, but he knew the former delinquent, and he really didn't fancy the idea of getting his nose busted right then.

"Got plenty of places downtown you can stay at." He eyed him hard, coolly. "I ain't got nothin' for you this time, Winston."

But Dallas wasn't having it, not then. He was livid enough to be blue in the face, an emotion that hadn't been brought to the surface in quite some time. But being back in Tulsa, for a reason he couldn't even fathom, no less, was enough to make his blood boil. He really didn't need Buck Merril's help, but the lanky old cowboy had always come through for him, and the only other person that Dallas would ever trust couldn't help him, or that's what Dallas told himself anyway. No, the last fucking thing he wanted to do was go to Darrel Curtis for help, not that he was exactly asking Buck for it. But the situation with Darry was different, and he definitely wasn't going to intrude on him, no way. Buck Merril was more available, and Dallas needed someone on the outside of things, close enough but far enough from the very fucking thing that was causing him trouble to begin with.

Stupid bitch.

His teeth grinded together, and his jaw clenched, an animalistic look in his icy eyes. "Look, I need a place I can layover for a bit, so either you—"

But Buck cut him off. "I what?" he challenged. "I give up my home for you so you can up and leave whenever the hell you want?" There was a moment that passed between them where the two men stared each other in the eyes, hard and critical. Buck had always been easy to get over on, especially with Dallas Winston, because the younger man knew exactly how to deal with him. Really, Buck wasn't put off with his presence, but he was pissed enough at him, which was saying a lot, because Buck Merril wasn't the type of guy to hold grudges—for long anyway. Eventually, he sighed, shoulders seeming to slump down as he made a face. "You can stay up at Joe's."

"I still can't believe it," Evie said, shaking her head. "It just feels so . . . sudden." She took a sip of her Pepsi, the carbonation settling on her tongue. It wasn't so much that she was put off about Mary leaving Tulsa so soon, but it felt more like she was pushing it. Well, alright, so they had technically known about her wanting to leave for quite some time, but the last Evie remembered, Mary didn't really know what she was going to do, or where she was going to go. Now she had bombarded her and Ella with the news that she was leaving in just a few short days—January the first, to be exact—and it seemed to come out of nowhere. "I mean, I'm happy for you, but—"

Mary shrugged. "I've wanted to leave for a while, and I guess the more I think about it, the more I want to go." A sigh as she looked around the vacant house. "I don't want to runaway from Tulsa, I'm just awfully anxious to have adventures of my own."

"I suppose I can understand, in some way," Evie replied after a minute. "So, when are the new folks gonna move in?"

Ah, yes, the news Evie and Ella hadn't expected. It was the big question Ella herself had been thinking about, too, and she was glad that Evie had asked. They had only found out moments ago that Mary was officially leaving in a few days, and that her house was under contract. The brown-haired girl figured that it had gone fairly quick, and she assumed that was why Mary was growing more eager to leave, other than another silenced reason . . . one they hadn't brought up. Soda Curtis was back in town, only just arriving earlier that day, and the brothers were having their own belated Christmas celebration that particular Sunday. It seemed in some way that everyone had news to gush about, save for Ella, who was the only one who didn't have any form of good or exciting news. Mary was leaving, Evie and Steve were officially engaged, Ponyboy had made high honors (again) for the first semester, Darry had become manager at Mike's painting business, Two-Bit had gotten a bonus raise, and Soda was home for good. What did Ella have to say about herself? Well, she did have one thing, she supposed, and it was exciting enough in a bittersweet way. She had officially gotten herself a pony, paid off in full as of two weeks prior.

Mary took a swig of her own beverage, a slice of pizza in her other hand. "Well, after everything is all said and done and sorted, I reckon. Most likely around mid January."

"Damn," Evie muttered, and her eyes adverted to her engagement ring, a smile brushing her lips. "Ain't it something?" she gushed for the umpteenth time that afternoon, and then caught herself. "Well, you'll have to be back here for the wedding."

The younger of the three grinned. "I wouldn't miss it!"

"You know, Steve gets out in a year from now, and I'm thinking we'll probably get married right after, or maybe around Summer," she said, expression becoming dreamy. "I think a Summer wedding sounds awfully nice, don't you?"

Ella chuckled. "And really hot."

Evie made a sound like a groan. "You're probably right," she agreed, and laughed. "Hell, I'd probably choke to death in my gown and look like the bride of Frankenstein before I made it to the damn alter."

"At least you're already making plans," Ella continued on leisurely, and took a bite of pizza. "You'll be prepared before Steve even knows what hit him."

And Evie had to laugh at that, because it was true. Steve liked to be organized, and he was never one to take to change too easily, but whereas Evie liked to be planned in advance, Steve would wait until the very last minute to decide anything. But as far as wedding plans, Steve told Evie that he was okay with whatever she wanted to do—and of course, her mother was there to assist. Evie herself had been going over things in her mind since Steve had proposed, even though there was a part of her that was still so surprised by it—or rather, she couldn't believe that she was actually engaged. Well, Beth had been so blunt in saying that it was about high time Steve popped the question, and told Evie that if he didn't ever work up the courage to do so, Evie might have been the one to get down on one knee and ask him for his hand in marriage. Good Lord.

The brunette shook her head of those thoughts. Yikes.

"Someone has to be," she responded to Ella. "You two will definitely be bride's maids, since Beth will be my maid of honor, and well . . . my cousin Sheila will hopefully be my matron." She grinned. "You know somethin'?" She pursed her lips for a second. "I've only ever been to one wedding in my whole life, and it was Sheila's. She asked me to be her maid of honor . . . and Beth was so pissed, but she was too young anyway. I reckon we—Beth, I mean—always had this silent agreement that we would ask each other to be our maids of honor."

Mary smiled. "That's real nice. I wish I had a sister."

Ella nodded along. "Me, too."

Evie, for all her worth, snorted almost obnoxiously. "No, you don't. Neither of you!" She pointed a finger at the both of them. "They sound great, until you actually live with them, and share a room with them, and have to sometimes share things that you don't want to, and . . . when you don't have any ounce of privacy, y'all can come talk to me."

But Ella merely shrugged her comment off. "Well, either way, it would be an honor to be one of your bride's maids."

A grin. "I know Steve is gonna ask Soda to be his best man, no doubt in my mind. And of course the boys will be his ushers, too, so . . . he's got a solid setup going already."

What Evie and Ella didn't notice was Mary's grimace. It wasn't that she had anything against Soda, nor did she wish any ill-will against him, but sometimes hearing his name, or even thinking about him, made her inwardly cringe, or made her heart skip a beat and speed up, and without any control of her own, she would find her mood souring. Maybe it was because, deep down, she was still desperately trying to get over him, and even though she had let him go, there remained a part inside of her that hadn't exactly gotten over what he had done to her—and she despised herself for it. Hearing that he was back in town only seemed to dampen her spirits all the more, and what she wasn't telling anyone was that she was secretly getting out of Tulsa as quickly as she could, not wanting to accidentally see him, or face him, or well . . . anything.

For her, it was better that way—or that's what she kept telling herself.

"Sounds like you're on a sure roll," Ella commented, and reached for a napkin to wipe the grease from her hand. She knew that Evie was excited, and hell, she was excited for her, too, but she still felt an emptiness inside of herself, a void, which yearned to be filled. "I'm happy for you, Evie."

"So am I," Mary chimed in, trying to remove her previous thoughts. It wasn't the time to feel sorry for herself, but rather, to celebrate their friend. Besides, Mary herself would be away from Tulsa in just a few short days, so it wasn't like she had to worry about anything. No, she told herself, she should be happy . . . and more than that, she should be happy for herself as well. "Since you expect postcards from me along with constant letters, I expect to know the wedding date ahead of time."

Evie's brow quirked in amusement. "Ahead of time? Why?"

"Because," the younger girl drawled, "I'll have to get a head's up beforehand . . . just in case I'm out and about lounging on the scenic shores of Greece, or"—She grabbed another slice of pizza—"simply enjoying a Sicilian pizza in Italy."

"You're gonna have to give me an idea of how I'm going to reach you, then," Evie replied with a light laugh. "How the hell is anyone supposed to keep you informed of anything if we won't even know where you'll be?"

Something about the question made Ella's chest tighten, and it wasn't because of Mary leaving. There was another person who came to mind at that particular moment, someone who Ella really didn't want to think about—not then and not ever. But she wasn't able to help herself, and her mind wandered if just for a moment as she pictured his icy blue eyes and blond hair falling over his forehead and down the nape of his neck. She remembered his rough skin, the bullet scars that marked his chest, the way he would look at her . . . as if sometimes looking straight through her rather than at her. She could recall his voice, uncaring and straightforward, low but holding some form of intimidation. She wondered what he was doing right then, or what he was up to. And beyond her control, she allowed herself to entertain the idea of him even thinking about her. Did he?

Probably not.

It was a waste of time to consider such a thing, she told herself, so why these thoughts kept coming back and creeping around in her mind was something the young woman couldn't understand.

"I'll have to figure something out, I guess," Mary's voice rang out, causing Ella to snap out of her own thoughts as Evie merely shrugged, going on about something else . . . like needing more food. Good thing that Ella came fully stocked and prepared.

The last thing that crossed her mind was if she would actually ever see Dallas Winston again.

"Whatcha writing about?"

Ponyboy looked up from his place on the couch into the brown eyes of his brother, a genuine curiosity in them as he tried to peer over his shoulder. It still amazed the teenager that Soda seemed so different now, so much like his former self that it felt . . . surreal? Impossible? Well, there were still times when Ponyboy and Darry were able to detect something that was out of sorts with their once overly happy-go-lucky brother, but he appeared to be making much progress. Of course, that wasn't without the help of a counselor, which he had to see twice a week. There were still a lot of things that Ponyboy didn't know about, and sometimes, he fantasized about asking Soda what happened in Vietnam. He had once mentioned it to Darry, but Darry told him to wait a while, before bombarding him with questions like that. Honestly, though, Ponyboy was just happy that Soda was home for good, regardless of the reason, and he was even happier that he was beginning to relax and adjust with ease.

He shrugged casually. "It's chapter four of my next novel. I'm just going over a few things, changing them around and correcting errors."

Soda nodded. "Can you tell me anything about it, or is it some big surprise, like your first book?"

Despite the question, the middle Curtis brother was actually very proud of his kid brother. He was really turning out to be something, and that's all he and Darry ever wanted for him. He couldn't wait for the kid to graduate college and officially pursue his career as an English teacher. Sometimes, it still amazed Soda that Ponyboy had really done it, that he had come so far. It wasn't that he had ever doubted him or his abilities, but he always found himself so impressed with him. Quite truthfully, he was proud of both of his brothers—Darry had gotten himself a damn good job, which he was now the manger of, and Ponyboy was pursuing a great career. It made Soda wonder what he would end up doing with himself now that he was out of the Army, made him wonder exactly what his place was now that he was home . . .

He hadn't ever been book smart like either of his brothers, and he wasn't real brainy. He remembered a time when . . . Mary—her name caused him to inwardly wince—had told him that she thought he was real special because he was smart in a way that most people weren't, and he had never told anyone, not even her, how proud of himself it had made him feel. But that had always been the thing about Mary DeVaney, though . . . she could make just about anyone feel like they were worth something, or make them feel valued, and it was a natural trait of hers, not something she did just as a friendly gesture.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, Soda turned his attention back to Ponyboy, who looked as though he were considering on telling him about his book or not.

Finally, with a bit of reluctance, Ponyboy caved. "Not exactly like it, but it's similar."

"Is it about us?"

"No."

Soda made a sound like a hum. "Any of us?"

He was teasing now, and Ponyboy had to grin at that as he closed his journal. "Well, maybe . . . based on two of you." And then his expression seemed to drop a little. "I actually didn't mean to start writing about it, but it just . . . sort of happened."

Now that sparked his interest. "You can't tell me that and leave me hanging, Pone. It'll just cause me to keep hounding you for more information about it." A smile. "Which two?"

Oh, blast it, the teen thought. It was hard enough admitting that he was writing a story based on two of the people he knew, but telling Sodapop exactly who the story was about, or rather, what it was about, or where the idea had come from, didn't feel so hot to him. It wasn't anything he felt he should really be embarrassed about, but . . . well, he didn't want to upset Soda. He hadn't told anyone what the story was about, and he hadn't exactly planned on doing so until he saw Mr. Franklin and let him read it over. This time, he meant to keep it more of a secret. If anyone, he actually considered on letting Ella read it again because, even though she was a central person in his life, she would be on the outside of the story itself . . . or would she? Shoot, he wasn't so sure anymore, because Ella was incredibly close to one of the people he had based a character off of. Glory.

It was hard to exclude Soda, though, and now Ponyboy was beginning to feel a bit of a weight on his shoulders. He had meant what he said, though—he didn't mean to actually write the story, it had just merely happened, and quite honestly, he thought it was turning out pretty good.

"Alright, fine," he said, sounding just a little irritated. "I don't know how it happened . . . you know how I've been trying to write the entire Summer . . . but one day, it just came out, and I didn't realize it until I was pretty far into it, but—" He took a breath, wishing for a cigarette suddenly. "It's about the war . . . and a couple that . . . tries to make things between them work through it."

He didn't have to spell it out for him, because Soda understood immediately. He was writing about the events of him and Mary. For a moment, Soda felt oddly amused that his kid brother would want to even write something like that . . . but he was also conflicted. Against his will, Mary's face crossed his mind for the second time that day, and he felt his previous good mood wearing off. Hell, he wasn't angry at Ponyboy, but he felt a little troubled.

He nodded, slow like. "Oh."

There was a brief moment of silence, before Ponyboy spoke again. "Soda, can I ask you something? It's personal, so I wouldn't be upset if you didn't want to—"

"You want to know why I broke things off with Mary." It wasn't a question, because Soda already knew where he was headed. His eyes met his, and that was all the affirmation he needed to give. The twenty-one year old shifted on his feet, before taking a seat in the recliner chair. He leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. "It's complicated, Ponyboy." A sigh. "There was just too much going on with me, and I . . . I didn't want it to weight her down."

Ponyboy listened to his brother's voice, hearing the slight tremble in it. "You know she's leaving soon," he stated, remembering what Ella had told him. "She's leaving Tulsa to travel the world or something like that. She cleared out her aunt's house and put it on the market."

Now that was news to Soda's ears, but he didn't want to intrude on Mary's personal life in any way, and even though there was a part of him that almost wanted to know more, he decided against asking. It was better to leave the past in the past . . . where it belonged.

He jerked his chin toward the journal. "What happens to them . . . in the end, I mean . . ."

Joe had no problem with letting Dallas stay at his house, going on about getting ready to sell it soon, or something along those lines. The only problem that Dallas was facing was that there wasn't any damn food in the house, and since he didn't know how long he planned on sticking around, he decided to do a bit of shopping, so he didn't have to keep going out and potentially run into anyone. Unfortunately for him, though, luck just wasn't on his fucking side at all, because he literally turned into the same aisle that Darrel Curtis Jr. was standing in, his gaze fixated on the price of flour. The blond had been two seconds short of turning on his heel and hightailing it out of there, figuring that he could come back later, but Darry had spotted him before he could even move from the spot he was standing in, and he wasn't about to turn his back on him like that.

Their eyes locked, a firm expression on Darry's face as he looked him over. "Dallas," he said, voice quiet and casual, almost questioning. "So you're back in town, huh?" He nodded a little, mostly to himself, a trait he got from his father. "I almost thought Two-Bit was kidding."

Dallas cocked an eyebrow. Of-fucking-course Two-Bit had to open his mouth. "Told him I wasn't going to stay long."

"That was four nights ago."

His teeth pressed together hardly. "Was it?" He wanted to tell him that he was keeping better tabs on his life than he was. "I don't keep track."

Darry, however, remained level and firm, and he gave Dallas a look that stilled him. It wasn't anything that resembled condescending, or pity, or anything even remotely negative . . . but it was authoritative at the same time it was sympathetic. Darry had always been the logical of the bunch, and Dallas was pretty sure that the older man knew that there was more going on, even though he hadn't volunteered any information about himself. Two-Bit and his big fucking mouth probably had . . . in the way where he most likely informed Darry that he had told him he was running from his own life, or whatever in the hell bullshit had come spilling out of his mouth Christmas Eve.

"Well," the older man began, "I don't know what your plans are, Dallas, but if you're still around New Year's Eve, you're welcome to stop by the house. It's only going to be a few of us there, the usual bunch anyway . . ." He gave him a cool stare. "Door's open to you, remember that."

He didn't bother to say anything else, instead turning on his heel, grabbing a bag of flour, and dropping it into the cart before making his way down the aisle, his back toward Dallas.

The blond stood there in silence for a few seconds, a blank expression on his face.

Oh, I've seen fire and rain

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

But I always thought that I'd see you again

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