Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Bailey Zimmerman owns "Change."

And I'm tired of being so close

Living in a world where I want to let go

Take my pain with your name

And throw it all away

January 16, 1972

The sight of Danny Osbourne in his view made Dallas's teeth grind together hardly. He was waiting idly for the guy to do one fucking thing to set him off, just one thing so that he could deck him. He had been waiting since the moment he had found out from Ella that he had visited the house to get his hands on him—to beat the shit out of him. Now usually, Dallas wasn't a very patient guy. In fact, had it been several years before, he would have went and hunted Danny down just to settle the score. Hell, he could remember days like that very, very clearly in his mind. There was a part of him that wondered why he even waited.

But then . . . Ella's face appeared at the center of his thoughts, causing him to scowl. Fuckin' broad. To be honest, Ella had been playing a lot on Dallas's mind for the passed several days . . . especially since it had been getting closer to this particular day. He and Buck had everything planned out, knew what they were going to do, and how they were going to go about it. It wasn't the worst thing Dallas Winston had ever done by far, but it wasn't something he usually ventured into, either. And with the fucking likes of Danny Osbourne standing not four feet from him was only pissing him off all the more.

Buck was running his mouth to a few sleazy looking cowboys, nodding his head a few times to the trailers of ponies they had brought along with them. He was lying right through his teeth, but the dopes he was about to rip off were only too stupid to see that. Danny was grinning, his crooked teeth showing through his thin and chapped lips. It was cold enough that Dallas could see everyone's breath, his own hands stuffed inside his pockets, fingers curled into fists. It was early, too, the sun barely kissing the horizon in the distance. Buck's hushed voice and dramatic waves as he pretended to know what in the fuck he was talking about only caused Dallas to shake his head. He knew that this is why Buck wanted him to come along . . . to act as his backup spokesperson—he was never good with words, or coming off firm; he had always been a pushover.

Dallas's eyes shifted over toward Danny, who was leisurely sucking on a cigarette, his eyes half-slit as he watched the scene in front of them. He hadn't uttered one word to Dallas, barely glanced in his direction, but the towheaded former hood could feel that something was off with him. He knew Danny better than most people, having learned a thing or two from him back in New York. He could remember himself as a young kid following Danny around and taking orders like a fucking dog. But that was his job, and Danny had taken him under his wing. In the beginning, he had been good to him, helped him learn the ropes, navigate the gang life.

But then he had turned around and fucked him over, and that's when Dallas realized at the age of nine that nobody was really his friend.

Nobody ever truly had his back.

Hell, maybe he should have been accustomed to that since his parents had split. The old lady hadn't wanted him, and neither did the old man. Neither of them hardly paid attention to him anyway, so he did as he pleased, grew up in the streets, and learned from older kids that were like him. He got tough, became mean so that nothing could touch him . . . and in some way, he felt invincible. But Danny had taught him that . . . and Danny had been his "friend", or so he thought.

He should have known better.

Perhaps, certain lessons in life didn't settle in like they should have all those years ago. Dallas told himself that he didn't care none, and for a short second, he felt like his former self, like that thirteen to seventeen year old kid again . . . looking to start trouble with anyone, anywhere, at any time. But there was still an internal piece of him that didn't even understand what he was doing here with Buck Merril and Danny Osbourne. He wanted to kick the shit out of Danny, that much was true. Did he really need to feel the rush that bad? Is this what the past seven years had taught him?

Or would he always come back to it?

Unfortunately, Dallas's inner monologue was cut short in only a matter of seconds. He saw Buck take the money from the other cowboys ahead, and then Danny was grinning like a fool right at him, his neck craning to the side as he turned in one fluid motion. It seemed like reality had slowed itself down in those few moments, and as it played out, Dallas felt something drop into his stomach. Buck was too busy running his mouth to even notice the police cars coming down the trail in their direction, and then Danny's mocking laughter, which sounded miles away right then. The sirens went off, causing Buck to jerk his head in the direction that they were coming, his eyes broadening as the bills dropped from his hands, scattering across the dirt path surrounding them.

Dallas's heart raced as adrenaline pumped white-hot throughout his entire body, his eyes sharp as he charged swiftly at Danny Osbourne, his one arm swinging as he landed a solid punch to the guy's right cheek. Something in Danny's face shifted even more, and then he swung back at Dallas, the two of them going at it like two wild animals. Buck stood there like a bump on a log, his own expression one of innate disbelief. The cowboys who had partook in this grand scheme merely backed away toward the trailers of ponies, the wad of bills scattered about the area and half-forgotten.

It was only a minute or so later when Dallas felt himself being ripped off of Danny and pulled back by his arms, the cool metal of the handcuffs enclosing around his wrists a second after. He looked back at Danny, who was still laying on the ground, his nose and mouth pouring blood.

Everything from his past with the guy who had once claimed to be his friend flashed behind his eyes, and when his face crashed against the hood of the police car, Dallas let out a frustrated yell. Not only had Danny Osbourne fucked him over once, but now it was twice.

In those minutes that past, Dallas was both ten years old and twenty-four years old, one part of him being charged in a murder rap, and the other for bootlegging ponies with the intent to sell them for more than they were worth . . . and both parts had Danny Osbourne grinning down on him in sheer mockery . . . a sure promise that things hadn't changed so much after all.

A numbing silence fell about him, then, and as he was placed into the back of the police car, Dallas saw Ella's face once again in the back of his mind.

Ponyboy blinked, before rubbing his eyes. Glory, but it was awfully early in the morning, the sun still just poking through his drapes. The house was quiet, the only ones home being him and Darry, as Soda had spent the weekend at Mary's. Still, he could just make out Darry's soft snores coming from his room, and he smirked to himself as he shook his head. He had spent the last few hours working on one of his adventure stories, his conversation on the phone with Mr. Franklin the day before only encouraging him to write more.

He decided to keep the news to himself, like he had done with his first novel. This was going to be quite the surprise, he thought. Nobody ever expected him to go through with the publication of his second official novel, and Mr. Franklin's shocked voice was only a reminder of that. Still, Ponyboy was excited, his hopes high as he considered just how far this one might go. He remembered when his first book hit shelves, and he had to admit that it still felt funny to walk into the library and see his own book there amongst many others. Hell, he could remember the feeling of getting his first royalty check, his eyes gleaming as his face beamed with excitement. This story, though . . . he knew it was going to be something special—and he couldn't wait to get it out there and see it beside his first novel.

With a yawn, Ponyboy stood up and pushed his chair in. He stretched a little, before reaching for his sweatshirt that was tossed onto his bed. It sure was chilly out, the bitterness of Winter in full effect, and not even two pairs of socks on his feet were doing much to help keep his feet warm. The fireplace was cackling as he made his way out to the living room, and he figured Darry must have gotten up in the middle of the night to add more wood. The house wasn't in perfect condition by far, which they all knew, but they did their best to keep up with what they could. Ponyboy was just awfully thankful that they had some form of heat to keep it warm enough.

He got to work on making the coffee for Darry and himself, but he still happily grabbed the chocolate milk from the refrigerator, before getting to work on cooking them breakfast. Darry hadn't changed much, he reckoned—he still liked his toasted egg and tomato sandwiches with a side of chocolate cake. If only their mother were there, Ponyboy thought with a chuckle. Boy howdy would she tan their hides for eating cake for breakfast . . . not that she would ever really raise a hand to any of them. That had always been a rule in their house.

The eggs cooked in the frying pan on the stove next to the bacon, the aroma of them and coffee filling the air. Ponyboy missed mornings like this particular one. He could remember his mother bustling about as she tried to get him and his brothers out the door on time, bellies filled with a good and nutritious breakfast, lunch bags in hand with their school books, and the smell of fresh clothes wafting into his nostrils. Mrs. Curtis always made sure that they ate, had their homework and chores done the night before . . . and she always had them out the door for school on time. Sometimes, Ponyboy would wonder how she accomplished it all, or how his father could work two jobs and help out with other things just to get an extra scrap of money and hold them all together at the same time. And he thought about how Darry tried so desperately to live up to those expectations at just twenty years old . . .

And here they were now . . .

It seemed like a million years ago.

"Something smells good in here," came Darry's tired voice as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in different directions. He took one look at Ponyboy, before heading toward the coffee. "What time did you get up this morning?"

A shrug. "Around two or so."

Darry raised an eyebrow, before taking a sip of coffee. "What in the almighty universe were you doing with yourself all this time?"

"Writing."

Of course he was, Darry thought, but couldn't help the amused grin forming on his lips. Ponyboy had always been a bright kid; anyone could clearly see that. Darry was proud of him, he really was, and each day that they moved closer to his graduation made the oldest Curtis sibling feel as if a large weight had been removed from his shoulders. He could recall making a silent promise to both of his parents that he would make sure Ponyboy graduated from high school come hell or high water, and then he would see him through college. It was hard to even imagine that Ponyboy would be a college graduate—the first in their family to hold the honor.

It was surely something.

He decided to inquire, though, make some small talk. He was hardly ever able to spend time like this with his youngest brother. Between school, work, and their love lives, Darry didn't get much time to hangout and talk to either Soda or Ponyboy, so these were the moments that he valued the most. It was always nice to find out what they were up to. Then again, these days, Darry also saw more of Soda, save for the weekends . . . It felt as though he was swapping brothers or something; the thought nearly made him laugh out loud.

"Anything new you started?" he asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Ponyboy shook his head. "No, just one of the adventure stories." He made a face. "I'm thinking that I'll probably write a few of them, and then I'll move onto something else. Mr. Franklin said it's good to bounce around like that. Keeps things fresh, I guess."

Darry nodded. "Makes sense."

A few minutes later saw the two of them sitting across from one another as they ate their breakfast. The radio was on lowly in the background, and Ponyboy felt relaxed as he took a bite of cake. He wished that Soda was there with them for a moment, but he kept that thought to himself. When he and Mary married in July, Soda would officially move in with her, which everyone basically expected. It was a surreal feeling, but at the same time, Ponyboy was happy for his brother. He was happy for Darry as well, and he liked Melody well enough.

"Ponyboy," Darry called, and jerked his chin toward the window. "Look."

Following his gaze, Ponyboy smiled as he saw a few small flakes of snow making their way to the ground outside.

Mary stared at the soft dusting of white outside her living room window, a small smile on her face as she looked over the peaceful scene. She had always liked the Winter, liked the feeling of renewal and purity that it brought along with it. Behind her in the kitchen, Soda was groggily scrambling eggs, a jar of grape jelly opened on the counter beside him. Mary could have laughed to herself; only Soda could eat jelly in the morning and use it as a substitute for coffee. He was the only one she knew that wasn't much of a coffee drinker, preferring chocolate milk instead. Unfortunately, Mary hadn't gone shopping, so Soda had settled for getting his sugar intake from the jelly instead.

She could remember Ponyboy saying that he didn't think Soda would ever truly grow up, and at this point, she was inclined to agree—not that she minded at all. In some way, she appreciated Soda's ability to be so youthful, as it had opened her up and brought her out of her shell. He was a risk taker, he was funny, goofy, confident, and . . . well, Mary had never been any of those things. She could recall a time in her life when Aunt Vera's threatening voice could cause her to cower in fear, or when she was too nervous or anxious to speak up for herself. Those days seemed like forever ago now, and Mary had to wonder how different her life would be at this point had she never met Soda that one day, which was now years ago.

They had been through so much together, only coming out stronger on the other side. Mary sometimes found herself wondering if all of this was a dream, and there were moments when she would actually pinch herself just to make sure that it wasn't. She considered herself lucky in many ways, and though there were things that she very much regretted in her past, she had once admitted to herself that she would do everything over to get where she was at this moment, despite all of the bad and hardship that had come along with it.

A bang in the kitchen caused her to jerk around, previous thoughts forgotten. She looked at Soda, who was muttering under his breath as he shook his hand back and forth in a waving manner as if he had burnt it or something . . . which he probably had. Mary chuckled as she looked at him, shaking her head as she did.

"Are you okay?" she asked, walking up next to him.

He nodded. "Yeah, just wasn't thinkin' about—" He jerked his chin toward the pan with eggs in it—"that bein' so hot."

She inspected his red colored hand. "Do you want ice?"

"Nah," he answered in a dismissive tone. "I'll be fine. Ain't the first time, and it sure won't be the last, either." With that, he began mixing around some ingredients in a large bowl. "You want some pancakes? I was in the mood, so I thought I'd whip up some."

"Sure," came the response, and she smiled. "Are you using any food coloring I should know about?"

There was a smirk on his face. "Maybe."

Mary continued to watch him cook breakfast for a few minutes, before asking, "You know how we were discussing a July wedding?"

"Yeah," Soda said almost immediately, turning to face her, "about that." At her broadening eyes, he continued on quickly. "I was thinkin' that maybe we could do something different. Instead of the fourth, why don't we aim for the week after . . . and you and me do something the weekend of July Fourth?"

Her brows raised in curiosity. "I thought you wanted to spend that weekend with your family."

He appeared thoughtful for a moment, before speaking again. "I do, it's not that." His eyes met hers, before he turned back to flip a pancake in the skillet. "I just mean that I'd like to do something with you . . . you know, somethin' before we get married . . ."

"So . . . have our honeymoon before we get married?" she teased, and then laughed aloud.

Soda paused, his lips stretching out into a large grin, before he laughed along with her. "Well, I wasn't thinking about that exactly, but . . . I'm not opposed to it, either." He offered her a one-of-a-kind expression, brown eyes dancing. "You did say that you liked spontaneity and originality."

Mary was still giggling, her cheeks tinted red. "Okay, okay," she replied between laughter. "The week after the fourth it is."

Ella sat leisurely across from Evie, who was peeling apples for the apple pie she was preparing to bake for the four of them. Since Evie had invited Ella over for dinner that day, Steve had invited Two-Bit, and the two of them were messing around with Two-Bit's car out in the garage. The dusting of snow that they had gotten earlier had mostly melted, the temperature raising throughout the day. Ella had a lot of thoughts racing through her mind, having not seen Dallas that morning at the ranch. She had stayed at Jan's place, so after she was finished her duties at the ranch, she had taken a drive out to Dallas's house to see if he was home, which he wasn't, though his truck was in the driveway.

There was a sinking feeling in her gut that maybe—just maybe—he had taken off again without so much as saying a word, and that thought alone was enough to make her feel dizzy.

Across from her, Evie's gaze shifted to her friend, her lips pressing together. "Ella," she said in a firm voice, "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Dallas has . . . done this kind of thing before, hasn't he? I mean, I'm certain he didn't take off."

The brown-haired woman sighed. "I know. I just hope that you're right."

She reminded herself that Dallas had, in fact, done this before . . . and not just once, but a few times. It wasn't as if he just disappeared, though. Usually, he would say something to her, like he was going to take a ride—she would get the point and leave it at that. This, however, was strange, and no matter how hard she tried to, she couldn't remove the nagging feeling clawing itself up to her throat from the very core of her stomach.

The door slammed, nearly causing her to jump, but she relaxed back in the seat as Two-Bit and Steve walked in, tossing their coats on the back of the chairs, which caused a scowl to form on Evie's face as she glared at Steve.

"Something smells good," Two-Bit remarked, turning toward the oven. "Preparing the food for the bakery already, Ella? You hire Evie, too?"

Evie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "It's my mom's chocolate chip cookies for dessert . . . along with the apple pie I'm about to—"

She was cut off by the sound of the phone ringing, which Steve turned to answer. Ella watched his expression turn in the matter of seconds, before he pinched the bridge of his nose, a long, deep sigh spilling from his mouth. He shook his head, responding to whoever was on the other end in a quiet voice, and an overwhelming feeling of dread fell over Ella. She knew immediately that something was wrong, and more than that, she knew that it had to do with Dallas.

Her assumptions were proven correct when Steve glanced in her direction, holding the cradle of the phone out to her, his eyes almost sullen.

The ride to the police station was silent, but Ella could feel Two-Bit's eyes on her every so often. After she had spoken to Dallas on the phone for the minute he was given, she had informed Evie, Steve, and Two-Bit that she would be taking a ride to see him. Two-Bit had offered to drive her, and Ella wasn't sure if it was because he was simply being generous, or if he had seen the distant look in her eyes as she relayed her plans. Maybe it was both. Ella wasn't sure, and quite honestly, she didn't care much to argue. In some way, she was actually grateful for the company, and she was thankful that Two-Bit had volunteered to take her.

Still, she couldn't believe that Dallas had been arrested, and the thought alone was enough to give her a fucking headache.

After a few minutes, Two-Bit pulled to a stop in front of the jail, tossing the car in park as he turned to face her, his expression nothing if but sympathetic.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked in a serious tone.

Ella nodded, slow-like. "Yeah," she answered, and took a breath as she glanced out the window. "I don't think I'll be too long."

"Reckon not," he agreed, tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. "I'll be here when you come out." He looked around and shrugged lamely. "If not, I'll be in one these stores browsing the aisles or something, maybe grab a bite to eat. You want something?"

She half-smiled at the offer, but shook her head. "No, I'm good. Thank you." She moved to climb out of the car, her legs feeling wobbly. There was a part of her that felt angry at Dallas, and she figured that she had a right to be. "I'll see you in a bit," she said to Two-Bit, and closed the passenger side door.

Dallas and her weren't together, and it had slightly surprised her that she was the one that he wanted to speak to. He was only allowed one phone call, and he had chosen her. She remembered telling him the day before that she was going to Evie's and Steve's for dinner, but she didn't even think that he was really paying attention to her. Guess he had been after all. Glory, but yesterday morning felt like a million years ago at this point, and Ella couldn't shake the weight of this day off of her shoulders.

She asked to see Dallas once she was inside the building, and was told to wait. He was still in holding, and Ella had to wonder what in the hell he done to get arrested. They hadn't spoken a whole lot in the past few weeks—not like they usually did—but she did remember him saying something about Buck getting in trouble for bootlegging ponies, which was nothing new or unexpected.

Good Lord, but she sure hoped that Dallas hadn't gotten caught up with that nonsense.

Ella wasn't sure how long she sat there waiting to see Dallas, but she watched the clock continue to move at an aggravatingly slow pace, as if it were purposely testing her patience, and after learning what he had done, she was only more fueled. Her fingers were like vice grips curled around the cold metal arms of the chair she was sitting in, her one leg shaking slightly in anticipation. She was angry, upset, and disappointed. Part of her wanted to rip Dallas a new one, but she decided not to—maybe just give him a good piece of her mind.

The minutes seemed to tick on by, and when she was eventually brought back to see Dallas, she felt more numb than anything. She had always known Dallas to do as he pleased without asking permission from anyone—he would always be like that, and she knew it. He was allowed one visitor for fifteen minutes. When she saw him, her chest immediately tightened, but all of her emotions leading up to this point were somehow lost on her, and suddenly, she wasn't sure what she felt anymore. Why she felt like this, she wasn't sure, but the reality of the situation combined with Dallas's own choices were only now just beginning to settle in.

"Bootlegging ponies and lying about their worth," she said, staring directly at him. Her voice hadn't come out as cynical, but the expression was in her eyes. She shook her head. "Why?"

The question was simple, easy, but Dallas's lips only thinned. "Why what?" he asked, his fingers pressing against the cell. And then he smirked at her. "You gotta cigarette?"

"You're unbelievable," she bit out, taking a step back. "Why would you willingly go along with Buck Merril? Or . . . Danny Osbourne—"

But Dallas's hard voice cut her off, the iciness in his eyes threatening. "Osbourne set us the fuck up," he growled. "He fuckin' used Buck to get to me. That's what happened. Get your shit straight before you come in here thinkin' you know everything."

Ella's breathing was heavy, her own temper rising. "You're the one who went along with Buck. And you are the one who asked me to come here."

"Maybe that was a fucking mistake," he retorted, watching the slight flinch of her face. He was getting livid, though, resorting to old tactics. He wasn't pissed at Ella, not really, but he didn't want to deal with her pointing fingers at him. Hell, he didn't know what in the fuck he wanted. "I didn't ask you to come here so you could tell me what I already know."

She was silent for a moment, her eyes fixing themselves on her shoes. "So, where does that leave us, Dallas?" she inquired after a minute or two. "Where do we stand?"

Lord, but he wished he had a cancer stick. "It doesn't," he replied, voice lower, more measured. "It's not like we're together, dollface." He rubbed a hand over his face, then, before coming out with a lie that felt like vinegar on his own tongue. "I don't even know why I asked you to come here."

He wasn't sure why he said it, but some part of it felt right to. He really didn't know why he had asked her to come there, to see him. What did he want from her that she hadn't given to him already? Was he looking for some form of validation? Did he want forgiveness? None of those things felt right to him, but the anger he was feeling was beginning to direct itself at her, though he bit back what he really wanted to say, because he couldn't.

He was glad for the next words out of her mouth, because it made everything easier for him, a type of relief washing over him as he listened to the vexation laced in her voice, watched the fire burning in her eyes—and he let it cool him, numb him from everything that he didn't want to think about or feel.

"So that's it?" Her eyes were wide in disbelief, shock, annoyance. But she was fighting back tears that were threatening to fall. "You fuck up and . . . fuck everyone else over, too?" When he didn't respond to her, she continued in a hard voice, the most direct he had ever heard her before. "I hope they keep you here until you can learn to grow up, Dallas Winston." Her nostrils flared, but she held her ground as she stared at him, neither one of them budging. "That's your problem. You're afraid to grow up. People our age don't do this stuff . . . what you're pulling." Inhale, exhale. "You need to stop living in the past, Dallas, and wake up. The world is moving around you . . . and you're still living in a time that doesn't even exist anymore."

And with that, Ella turned on her heel and walked away, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she stepped out into the brisk air alone, her heart pounding inside of her chest.

'Cause everything we were yesterday

Is everything I wanna change

A lot is happening, huh?

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