Yeah, I'm a great procrastinator. I've been busy, working on my other fanfic, but I've gotten stuck on that one so decided to come back here and work a bit.

To my amazement, so many people still have this on their story alert list! Wow.

I'm going to try to work out a more regular schedule of updates for this story, so we'll see if I can stick some more regular chapters instead of once every billion years. And this plot is promising to turn out pretty cool, so if I have the time and can work around my other fanfic, I'd love to see how this can turn out.

Soo, anyhow, read and review and enjoy!…or was it read and enjoy and review…oh well.

Reviews!

Faes One: Yep, I'm hoping to install a more regular schedule of updates!

BodomsGirl: Will update faster!

Stardust104: Cliffhangers will continue to abound in this story for quite a bit, I think. It seems like it's going to turn out to be a cliffhanger tale.

Maddie Cade: Thanks! Who knew one could be so motivated by an English assignment?

Smile because it happened: I love your screen name! They don't react well…just keep on reading!

Karlei Shaynner: Well, this may not be really soon, but I have updated…finally!

Horse1lover23: I'm actually kind of surprised there were so many reviews for this. Didn't know the outsiders were so popular because they've been published for YEARS now.

Trinity Anya: Where have you been? Review!

CountryPersonel: Thanks!

Its.Garnet.Time: Yeah, but you know, what with Canale's little tests every other day and the writing assignment, it's a bit hard to like a book from an English class. Oh, well.

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He felt so clumsy, so out of place. Awkwardly, he said, "Sandy…it's me. Sodapop."

She jumped at the sound of his voice, stepping away nervously. "Well, come in, I suppose," she said in a timid voice. "He's here."

His instincts screamed against it, but Sodapop entered anyway. It was a nice little house, neatly furnished. Sandy gestured for him to sit. "Mark?" she called in a quavering voice.

Mark. A good, solid name. "How old is he?" Sodapop asked. "How old is…our son?"

She just looked at him, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. "Sodapop…" she began.

A large hand pushed her aside. "I'm Mark," the newcomer announced. Sodapop looked up in shock. It was a man, a huge, muscular man with a skull's head tattoo running down his shoulder.

And he did not look happy.

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Darry stumbled backwards from the man. "Soda?" he whispered.

The stranger—Sodapop—didn't answer. I got a tissue and started scraping away the worst of the blood on Sodapop's face. "Darry, you didn't know," I began, then stopped when he raised a hand.

"I could have," he answered in a broken voice. He looked at me, a terrible look of pain twisting his face. Then, to my shock, he said, "Why is he here?"

I looked at him in surprise, a strange emotion twisting my insides. "Darry, what's the matter? It's Soda! He's back!" Even to my own ears, my voice sounded squeaky. Fake, almost.

He got up, breathing hard. "Damn it, Ponyboy! He—he—" Darry gestured emphatically at Soda, then said, "He's dead. He's gone. Why is he—no! Why—why—why did he come back now? Where was he?"

Darry was almost screaming by then, breathing hard and fighting back tears. "Why did he come back?" he said in a softer voice. "Why did he leave?"

Sodapop moaned and stirred under my hand. "I bet something held him up," I said finally. "He would have come back if he could, Darry. He wouldn't have stayed away on purpose."

Darry dropped into a chair, his head in his hands. "I can't believe it," he said finally, his voice muffled.

Neither could I. Part of me wanted to slap Sodapop awake and start bashing the answers out of him one by one—where have you been? Why didn't you come back? What held you up? But another part—a tiny, sensible part—told me that it was better to wait. And much as I hated it, that part was getting bigger by the second.

A soft cry broke the uncomfortable silence. I jerked back in surprise as Sodapop twitched. His eyes fluttered open for a fraction of a second, gazing blindly into the distance, then closed again. He was muttering something.

I glanced up at Darry. He looked just as appalled as I felt. Uncertainly, he moved closer to Sodapop and touched his forehead. "He's sick," Darry said finally.

Together, we got him onto the sofa and put some blankets on him.

Neither of us got much sleep that night.

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When I woke up the next morning, Darry was already awake. He was standing at the window, and I could see the side of his face. His expression made my gut twist with pain, then anger. Anger at Darry, and anger at Sodapop.

It wasn't right. None of it.

I stood up. Darry turned slightly to catch me in his eye, then said in a low voice, "He woke up about an hour ago."

I glanced at Sodapop, who was now asleep. "And?"

Darry gave me a bitter, mocking smile. "He doesn't recognize me," he said with a sardonic laugh. "He thinks I'm some guy named Mark. Almost went ballistic, kept on screaming."

"And you didn't wake me up?" I said, feeling sick at the look on Darry's face. "How could I have slept through all that?"

He shrugged. "Guess you're a sound sleeper," he said quietly.

I hesitated. It was growing light out—I'd have to head out to school soon. "I could take a day off," I offered hesitantly. "I mean, Professor Bismarc would understand, I'm sure. And you've got work later."

Darry sighed and shook his head. "Go to school, Ponyboy," he said in a tired voice. "I'll be fine."

I'll be fine. That's what he said. Not we'll be fine.

"Darry—"

"Go, Ponyboy."

I knelt at Sodapop's side, hesitating, playing for time. He was so thin, and all those bruises couldn't just be from Darry's throw yesterday. No, they looked older. I pulled up his shirt and recoiled.

Somebody had beaten Soda. Badly, very badly. I looked up to meet Darry's eyes. "Who—" I began.

Darry gave me a vicious half-smile. There wasn't any need for words.

I gathered my books and left.