Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Al Stewart owns "Time Passages."


Well I'm not the kind to live in the past

The years run too short and the days too fast

The things you lean on are the things that don't last

March 24, 1972

The news of his father's death made Dallas feel . . . hollow.

It had only come that morning, a few hours ago from this particular moment, but Dallas couldn't really feel anything other than numb—completely numb. It had been two months since he was sentenced to four months in prison, and there was a part of him that wasn't even looking forward to getting out. He wasn't sure that there was anything waiting for him on the other side, either. Hell, the only people that had visited him were Two-Bit and Darry. Nobody else bothered to show up, not that he ever expected, or even wanted, them to. He was sure that Ella wouldn't waste one minute of her time paying him any visit of sorts, and quite truthfully, he didn't want her to. If he was being completely honest, which he was, he didn't want to see her at all.

The last time that they had spoken only brought an onset of emotions that he didn't want to think about, or face. There was too much with Ella Mitchell, too many feelings wired between the two of them that caused him to become angry and distant. In his heart, he knew that she loved him enough to mean what she had said to him—and that only made things worse. He kept telling himself that he shouldn't have come back to Tulsa back in 1969, that he shouldn't have involved himself with Ella Mitchell, opened the doors and entered her life again—he should have just stayed away . . . saved himself all the trouble that had come along with having her in his life.

Then again, he knew that none of it was really her fault. If anything, Ella had been the one solid thing that he could keep coming back to . . . and she always let him. It was because she loved him so much that she wanted him to know that somebody cared enough about him to stay in his life. He knew that, too, and even though he didn't want to think about it right then, he couldn't remove the thoughts that were creeping into his mind. Hell, there was nothing to do while sitting in a prison cell by his lonesome anyway, and he really had no intentions of remembering the old man . . . not that he could help that particular thought, either.

But there was something about Ella that he found himself often running back to. He had tried to run away from her before, or rather . . . everything concerning her in his life, only to learn that he would never truly be able to . . . until he could face himself. There were things that Dallas had long put off reconciling with, things that he buried so far beneath the surface that he thought he had forgotten about—only he hadn't.

And now that he was alone with nothing or nobody to turn to, he had to face himself. He was alone, so very alone, and there was nobody coming to help him pick up the pieces and move forward from this point. Of course, Dallas Winston never expected anyone to be there for him, never wanted to rely on anyone after he learned that his parents weren't stable beings in his life. He had turned to the streets, forced himself into the gang life just to be a part of something . . . because deep down, he wanted to belong, to feel valued in something—not just be his mother's diary to vent to or yell at, or his father's punching bag.

Those days were long gone now, though, long behind him. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he had seen his old man. Glory, but he figured that it must have been a good three years from this moment . . . and it had only been in passing; they hadn't even uttered one word to each other. He could remember his father's gruff voice and menacing eyes . . . his imposing figure and breath that always seemed to smell like booze and cigarettes. If he closed his eyes, he could almost recall what it was like to be in his presence as a child . . . the fear he felt whenever he saw that fucking belt in his hand as he glared down at him calling him every fucking name under the sun.

Yeah, he was glad the fucker was dead.

Only, he wasn't one hundred percent sure that he was.

There was a part of him that remained heavily conflicted, as if it was all surreal to him. Many times in the past he had wished terrible things on his old man, but now that he was gone—really gone—Dallas couldn't seem to feel . . . anything. He told himself that he was happy, relieved . . . that he didn't care, and to pile something else on top of that, he told himself that he was glad that everyone else was out of his life. When he was free in another two months, he was going to take off like last time . . . only he wasn't going to ever look back.

There was nothing for him in Tulsa.

Ella was right in some way, he supposed . . . not that he would ever admit that to her or anyone else for that matter. The world was moving on without him, and he was still stuck in a time that no longer existed, which he had come to terms with. He should have been dead the night that Johnny Cade died, should have died under that street light all those years ago. Life had nothing to offer him, and he didn't want to be stuck in a fucking ghost town where there was nothing left for him.


Evie contently finished a blueberry muffin, savoring the taste as she washed it down with a warm cup of coffee. Ella's and Mary's bakery was officially her new favorite place to spend her lunch time. She liked to stop in and visit her friends, and it was a nice five minute walk from her mother's salon. Of course, she always brought back goodies for her mother as well. Evie had to admit that the bakery was really getting good business, and she was damn happy for her two friends. They had really invested their time and energy into all of it, and it was really paying off for them. Every morning, Soda would stop in to see Mary, and Evie was sure that he and Ponyboy had kept their promise of wiping her and Ella out of rolls.

She chuckled to herself as she shook her head. Still, it was nice to sit inside and enjoy a small and savory snack, especially when it was still cool out, the sky still gray and overcast, no sun to offer any kind of warmth. It was still early Spring, though, Evie thought, so it wasn't about to just warm up over night. Nope. Winter weather was still—unfortunately—very much in play, and Evie couldn't wait until it went away and allowed some warmer temperatures to grace them.

There were a few people sitting inside of the bakery talking among one another, or eating, or whatever else, and Evie figured that this was the time of day when things started to die down a little. Ella and Mary worked decent hours—six in the morning until two in the afternoon—and usually, around noon is when it started to clear up a little. Evie thought that it was nice, because it allowed them to have the afternoons mostly free . . . save for whatever cleanup and setup they had to do for the next day. Still, they were there early in the mornings . . . when it was still dark and desolate out, and Evie would admit that she didn't envy them there—not at all.

It was a few minutes later when Ella joined her at the table, a cup of coffee in her hand. "I see that my mother's blueberry muffins are a hit," she joked, her voice light and breezy.

Evie grinned. "I'll say." A laugh. "My mom and I love them. In fact," she continued, moving to sit upright in the chair, "I think I'll take half a dozen with me when I leave . . . ya know, so my mom can take some home to my dad and Beth."

Ella nodded. "Yeah, sure. Thank you."

"No need to thank me," Evie said with a dismissive wave. "If anything, I should be thanking the two of you for satisfying my hunger." She took a sip of coffee. "I can't say that I miss dieting at all, to be honest with you, and I don't even mind that I've put on a few pounds." A shrug. "At least the walking saves me."

"Oh," Ella replied, making a face. "You look fine."

And that was the truth, she thought, looking her friend over. So much had happened in the past two months, and there was a lot that Ella still couldn't wrap her head around. The bakery had been open for two weeks already, and the swarming buzz of people that she and Mary had in and out from opening until closing was . . . Ella wasn't sure if there was really a word for it. Most of it just felt like a dream—a good dream, of course—and she had to admit that this was the happiest she had felt in a long time. It seemed as though everything had picked up a beat or two for her, and the atmosphere around her was beginning to feel much lighter—and she felt like she could finally breathe.

Still, there were times when she found herself thinking about Dallas. She wondered if he was okay, or what he was doing with himself . . . and how awful it must have been to be sitting up in the Tulsa State Prison for two months. Of course, she had heard all about his sentence and everything else from Two-Bit, who had gone to see him once or twice. To be honest, Ella was actually surprised that both he and Darry made it a point to see him. She would be lying to herself if she said that she didn't think about taking a ride out there to see him as well, but she also knew that she wouldn't.

No.

She had meant what she said to him the last time that they had seen one another. He needed to do some real soul-searching and growing up. When she had relayed this information to Ponyboy one night while they sat at the old park together, he had agreed with her. However, she thought that she had been able to detect some sentiment in his voice, as if he, too, missed his old buddy. Ella wouldn't be surprised if he did—she knew that Ponyboy still considered Dallas to be one of his friends, even if they didn't speak or see each other all that much. There was still a bond there between them, a link formed in one person that connected them to the past that had played such a prominent part in their lives . . . even to this very day . . . and Ella knew that it wouldn't ever go away.

In her own way, though, she was happy with the way things were looking for her. It seemed as though everyone had their own thing going for them, as if they had all been dealt a good hand for once, and she felt like she could allow herself to relax. There were still things that played on her mind, though, one thing in particular that she had never reconciled with—and she wondered if there would ever come a day where she would tell Dallas about it . . .

Until then, she decided that she was in a good place, and for that time, she had to leave the past in the past and allow herself to enjoy the present.


Ponyboy listened to Mr. Syme as he went over the class's book report, which was due Monday. While he was talking, Ponyboy sat in the back corner grading papers. He had spent the past few months bouncing around different English classes for different grade levels to help out with small tasks, like grading, helping out with organization, working one on one with different students, and even going over certain topics in class. He had to admit that he had been nervous in the beginning, but now he was used to it, accustomed to his schedule and the way things operated. Honestly, he found it quite comical being on the other side of the spectrum—where he was once the student, he was now assisting the teacher.

A lot of the students were very fond of him, because he was young like them, and he had a very easy-going nature about him . . . not to mention, he could resonate with a lot of them. A lot of the teachers had complimented him, too, saying that he was going to be very good in the teaching field. There were some who really didn't so much as enjoy their jobs anymore, which was more than evident in their lack of patience and sympathy where it concerned student emotions. There were times when Ponyboy wanted to intervene, or even see if he could talk to some of them, but that wasn't exactly his job, and he didn't want to stick his nose where he shouldn't.

He remembered talking to Darry about it once, and Darry simply told him to stay out of things that didn't concern him—it was the nicest, but most straightforward, way he could put it. Then again, being firm and direct about things had always been a characteristic of Darry's. Either way, though, Ponyboy enjoyed what he did, and even more than that, he really liked working with Mr. Syme. He had always been a good teacher, and he was one who understood his students real well. Ponyboy had always liked him, and when he was a student, he enjoyed being in his class. Hell, if not for Mr. Syme, Ponyboy reckoned that he never would have written his first novel.

Glory.

Speaking of novels and work, though . . .

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class period, and Ponyboy finished grading the last paper on the table in front of himself, the school day finally over and done with. He was glad that it was Friday; he had plans to see Lorraine the next day.

Mr. Syme smiled as he took the pile of graded quizzes from him. "How did they do?" he asked in a curious voice, turning to erase the chalkboard after placing the papers on his desk.

Ponyboy shrugged. "I'd say they all did pretty well. You have a good class."

"I think they're a good class because I'm a pushover," he joked, causing Ponyboy to chuckle. "In some way, I think it's a bit easier to . . . let them know you're available . . . instead of using authoritative tactics in the classroom." He took a seat, reaching for his grade-book. "It's one thing to be a person of authority, but it's also another to let them know you're there for them while still being in charge."

A nod. "Yeah, I think I'm gathering that."

"They seem to like you well enough."

Ponyboy smiled at the words, having just thought the same thing moments ago. "It's because I'm young like them, and they feel that I can relate to them, not the other way around."

Mr. Syme's brows furrowed for a second as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "You know, that's a good thing, Ponyboy. If you can make others feel comfortable enough to be relaxed in a high school classroom, I would say you're on the right path."

And that right there was probably one of the highest compliments that Ponyboy ever received. He had always wondered if he was doing the right thing, or if teaching high school English would be the right career path for him. Growing up, he had always enjoyed reading and writing, and his favorite subject in school had always been English—it was just something he was good at. He wasn't sure how anyone would feel about him, though, not that he was actually looking for any form of validation or true acceptance. He did the best that he could and merely hoped for the best, but to hear his old English teacher tell him that he was doing good meant a lot to him, and that alone only gave him further encouragement to move forward.

It was at this very moment that Ponyboy Curtis decided that he was officially going to go for the open teaching position at the high school. He had been thinking about it for a while now, and while there were some pros and cons that came along with it, he figured that the pros were outweighing the cons at this point.

And who better to talk to about it all other than Mr. Syme himself . . . the very person who had originally informed him about it in the first place? Ponyboy figured that there was no better place to start than right here and right now. He had a chance, and he was going to take it.

He took a breath, relaxing a little as he did. "Well," he began eagerly, "I was considering on applying for the teaching position here." When Mr. Syme looked up at him, he continued. "Would you be able to offer me any advice?"


Melody twirled some noodles around on her plate, hardly eating any of the meal itself. There were a few things on her mind, and one in particular that she wanted to discuss with Darry. She wasn't really sure how to approach the idea, but she did want to address it with him. With Easter only nine days away, Melody had wanted to take a trip out to Tennessee to surprise her parents, and she wanted to ask Darry if he wanted to come along with her. The thing was, she knew how important that Darry and his brothers took holiday get-togethers, and she didn't dare want to come between that. Then again, she also knew that Mary would be spending the day with Soda. She didn't want to invite herself, and Darry had never even mentioned anything about the holiday to her.

In some way, Melody wasn't sure what to say to even approach it. Should she ask him? Would it be wrong, or too soon? Well, considering that they had been a couple for over five months now definitely didn't feel like "too soon" was the right way to put things, but . . .

"You okay?" Darry asked from across the table. His eyes were intently focused on her own, and she couldn't help but sigh; it was hard to hide things from him. "You're quiet tonight."

Melody took a sip of iced tea. "I'm sorry," she apologized lightly, and went back to twirling the noodles around. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

Oh, boy, she thought . . . here goes nothing. To heck with it, she was just outright going to ask him, and if he didn't want to, then she wouldn't push. Maybe they could simply spend the holiday together with his family . . . if that was okay with him . . . and then visit her parents. Unfortunately, that would require both of them to take off from work, and Melody didn't want to step on his toes that way, either.

Glory, but why wouldn't her mind shut off?

"Well," she began, "I was thinking about visiting my parents for Easter . . . you know, I wanted to surprise them." She cracked a small smile. "I haven't seen them in a long time, and I only phoned them for Christmas . . ."

Darry merely shrugged, not understanding the big deal. "So go for it," he encouraged, shoveling a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. When Melody didn't reply, he looked back over at her, his face registering bewilderment. "What's wrong?"

She was quiet for a minute. "I wanted you to come with me." There was a pregnant pause, and for a minute, Melody felt like maybe she shouldn't have said anything. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she quickly continued, and cleared her throat. "I know that you and your brothers probably have plans, so I don't want to get in the way . . . and I don't expect you to feel obligated to me."

Honestly, Darry thought it would be a good idea. After all, considering that he and Melody had been together all this time without him meeting her parents was . . . a bit strange to him. He honestly admired how Melody always put his family before their relationship, but there was also something about it that bugged him—not that he was going to tell her that. Truthfully, he thought that she worried herself over silly things, like getting in the way, or doing the wrong thing, or making the wrong impression. Melody had always been a confident girl, and she could be wild and fun, and a bit reckless, but he liked that about her—he liked the mixup.

"Melody," he said, and shook his head, "I think it's a good idea. I'd like to meet your parents officially, and have them get to know me." He offered her a rare but reassuring smile. "I'm serious about you and this relationship . . . and I'd like to be invested in your life as much as I can."

Melody felt her chest clench a little. "Really?" she asked, and then laughed. "I mean . . . are you sure that it won't—"

"It's not a problem," he finished, and then their eyes met, a brief silence falling over them. "I . . . I love you, Melody," he said, his voice earnest.

Her heart was thumping so hard that she thought it might beat right through her. If there was one thing that she was certain about, it was her love for Darry. And right then, everything suddenly made sense to her, everything came together, had a meaning to it. For the first time, Melody actually felt more sure of something than she ever had in her entire life.

"I love you, too, Darry."


It was cold out, but Ella didn't mind all that much. The jacket she was wearing was enough to keep the air from causing her too much discomfort. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the fresh, crisp night air, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned back against the bench. Beside her, Ponyboy was casually smoking a cigarette, a habit that he was surprisingly trying to cut back on. Well, he had been saying that since January—one of his New Year's resolutions—and Ella had promised to help him along with it by quitting altogether. She could remember a time when she didn't smoke so much, but the habit had built up over the years before she was even able to realize how much damage it was doing to her.

Then again, she hadn't really cared all that much, either, and there were times when she and Ponyboy would meet up in the park at night just to talk and smoke marijuana together. That thought nearly caused her to chuckle, remembering when the two of them would casually pass a joint back and forth as they chatted about life's many woes. Sometimes, it seemed like forever ago to her . . . with all that had happened in the past few years, but Ella knew that it really wasn't.

Time was just moving more rapidly the older they got, and even though she had grown accustomed to it, some part of that reality made her feel sad.

Ponyboy leaned back beside her, stretching his legs out in front of himself. "I spoke to Mr. Syme today about the teaching position at the high school."

Ella's brows raised as she turned her head to look at him. "Really?" she asked, her voice sounding as surprised as she looked. "What did he say about it?"

"He's going to look into it and let me know on Monday," he answered, a grin curving his lips upward, and Ella could tell that he was excited. "He'll put in a good word for me, too, and maybe . . . if all goes well, I could have my own class next school year."

"Wow," Ella said. "That's wonderful, Ponyboy. I'm real happy for you."

Something in her voice caused him to look at her, an unreadable expression forming about his face. He and Ella had been good friends for a long time at this point, and he could tell when something was off with her . . . whether it was by the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes. He knew that she had been upset about Dallas getting arrested two months back, and he was aware that it played on her. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that she thought it was her fault by any means, but he did think that there was some form of underlying guilt that she felt . . . and he wasn't sure why.

He tossed his cigarette butt away, moving to look at her. "I'm happy for you, too, you know." He saw the side of her mouth twitch ever so little. "You and Mary have really outdone yourselves with the bakery. It's a big hit, you know . . ."

A nod. "I know. I never even thought that I would . . ." She paused, before sighing, her lips pressing into a thin line for a second. "I just didn't believe any of this would really happen." She met his gaze, then, a sincere look in her eyes. "In some way, I guess that I feel relieved. I found something that I love doing, something that I'm good at, and I have one of my best friends working with me every day . . . not to mention having all the support from you and everyone else." A smile. "It's a big deal to me, and it's probably the happiest I've been in a long time."

He knew more than anything that her words were the truth. It was obvious that she was happy, much more happier than she had been in a while. Her eyes were brighter, her demeanor was breezy, and there was a lightness about her that he hadn't seen in what felt like forever. He hated to admit that the last time he had really ever seen her this happy looking was when she and Dallas first got together all those years ago. This, however, was something different, and they both knew it—she had moved forward in life, accomplished a dream formed from her friend's idea and made it a reality.

Before he could think, Ponyboy blurted out the words playing on the tip of his tongue. "I'm glad that you're happy, Ella. You deserve it."

There was a moment of silence as the two friends looked at each other, and before either of them could register what was happening, they found themselves leaning closer to one another, their lips brushing in a light kiss. Ella's hand instinctively reached up around his neck as she pulled him closer, his own cupping her face almost delicately. For those moments that past, both of them forgot everything else around them, forgot about reality that was waiting just around the bend . . . and for Ponyboy, he had forgotten about Lorraine and his date with her the next evening. Somewhere, in the back of both his and Ella's minds, this held a feeling of security, of safety.

It was neither right or wrong, and they had both accepted that.

When they pulled away from one another, they could only stare back into each other's eyes, a surreal feeling embracing them. No words were spoken, but there was a silent promise to never mention this moment, instead letting it fade into the background along with the stillness of the night.

Hear the echoes and feel yourself starting to turn

Don't know why you should feel

That there's something to learn

It's just a game that you play


Thank you for reading!

Happy Thanksgiving! :3