A/n: Hey everyone. Keira again (Kiks if you don't know me by Keira). I've had this idea in mind for about a year now, and I never once wrote it up. But, with some convincing and promising to Rock and Tensleep, alas, here it is. It's different from anything you've seen before, I guarentee, and to tell you the honest truth, I don't remember where I came up with the idea. Anyway, yeah... I hope you like it. This is a short section, but it'll get much bigger, I promise.

Dedication: To Taurus, for no particular reason other than that she's awesome and I love her to death. This is for you girl.

Diclaimer: This is rather ridiculous, but I'll do it again anyway. :Puts on best monotone look and voice: I don't know The Outsiders... I don't own the characters... I do own the plot and future new characters... Steal and I'll kick your ass... :clears throat and tries to look innocent again:.

Enjoy!

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Prologue

(Third Person POV)

"Mama…" his whisper begged into the pillow, eyes scrunched with creased dread lines against a tantalizing dream, hands grasping the soft folds of the cottony touch. No one could hear his anguished cries. No one knew his pain. "No… No…"

Sodapop's young mind ran wild with feverish thoughts and scrutinizing visions. Images danced in his mind, taunting and pushing him to his limits. Patience wore thin, fear replacing it's void.

Would he ever be free?

"Mama," his voice cracked, his fingers reaching for something disembodied in the dark. "Mama, please…" he whimpered.

The all too familiar ritual spiraled in cycles night after night. Photographic details and that mesmerizing voice littered his every thought – wake and slumber. His heart had long grown tired of the incessant beating it used to fight off the torment and stress.

Soda rolled over to his other side, taking the warm covers with him. His fingers curled into loose fists and rose to either side of his trembling head, cradling himself in the fetal position, his knees rising to his stomach.

"Ma…" His lungs racked in his chest, fighting off unknowing tears. "…Daddy… help."

And so was another night in the summer of his fourteenth year. Neither comfort nor rest came with these R.E.M. dreams. Only time and patients would heal the haunter's touch. Justice and silent allegations had yet to diminish. But when they did… Sweet relief would be his.

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A/n: Review or flame... do whatever, but I'd really like to hear some feedback. Thanks!