Well, as planned, here are the rest of the gangs' POVs. I hope you enjoy it.

Johnny's POV

I was pleased to finally receive a letter from Pony. It had made me worry when I didn't get a response from him. I played different scenarios in my head of what could have happened. I wouldn't tell Ponyboy that, though.

I opened the letter, my only contact with the outside world. I had asked Pony to see if any of the gang would write me, but they'd just deliver their one-line messages through Pony's letters. It was disappointing, but expected.

Dear Johnny,

I'm having a nervous breakdown. Soda and Darry don't know what to do with me. They let me stay home, they watch me 24/7, but it doesn't make a difference. I can't seem to get a hold of my life. I can't take it! Things are supposed to be getting better, maybe they will, but it's taking too long. I need something, some good in my life to cancel out the bad. But it's not happening, Johnny! It's not happening!

I'm sorry. You must think me to be the most ungrateful person you know. I'm alive. I have brothers who love me. I have the gang. I have a roof over my head. I should be happy, right? Well, I'm not.

I just need to rant for a while. If I told Soda and Darry this, they'd only worry more. I can't stand to let that happen. I won't. I'll do whatever I can to keep them from finding out what I'm thinking. I will not break. I refuse!

I hope you're okay, Johnny. I know you're having it awfully rough. Only a little less than eight months and you're free!

Your buddy,

Pony

I was surprised by the sorrow in his words. Pony was usually the optimist. I never expected this, though I probably should have. He hasn't been himself lately. I should have known something like this would happen. I just hoped that Darry and Soda would be able to bring him out of it. They were the best brothers I knew of. They'd handle things. And if they weren't able to, I'd do a little intervening myself.

Tom was sleeping fitfully in the top bunk. I could tell by the way the mattress creaked so often.

"Tom?" I called up.

He calmed suddenly. I got up from my place at the lower bunk. I walked around the room until I could get a better view of the top bunk. I was surprised by what I found.

Tom's side was bleeding heavily, spilling out onto the comforter that covered his bed. I then looked to his hands. His right hand clutched a knife, a knife covered in blood, reminding me of a certain switchblade that had been covered with crimson blood up to the hilt.

"Where'd you get that?" I demanded, seeing that he was still conscious. He was slipping fast, though.

I rushed to the door, where there was an opening if we needed anything.

"Help! Someone help!"

Two of the workers came running fast. They unlocked the door and rushed inside. I pointed to Tom and they got him down fast.

"He's losing too much blood!"

"How long has he been like this?"

"How'd he get a knife in here?"

"We have to get him to the hospital!"

"He'll never make it!"

Their words reached my ears, haunting me. I sank into the the desk chair. As more workers came in, I pushed myself as far out of the way as possible. Even with the large mass of people, Tom still was able to catch my eye. He smiled at me.

What was that all about?

Tom was carried out on a stretcher ten minutes later when an ambulance arrived. I was surprised he had lasted that long. Would he survive much longer?

Steve's POV

I was changing the tires on one of the cars when the car pulled up. I recognized it immediately. I saw Soda get up to help the latest customer, but I called him over before he could.

"What's up?" He asked, looking back at the customer.

"I'll handle this one. Go inside."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it!"

"Okay, okay."

Soda looked worriedly behind his shoulder before entering the DX.

I wiped my hands on my jeans, smudging them with grease. It wasn't any different than usual. They were already stained with oil from earlier in the day.

"What do you want?" I asked when I stood in front of our latest customer.

"Steven, I'm... I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what your mother would think of me now-" I cut him off.

"Mom would worship you, just like she always has. What are you doing here?"

He took off his black Stetson, the one Mom had bought him. I hadn't seen him wear it in a long time, not that I had seen that much of him before. When I did go home, he was usually out getting drunk, unless it was early enough in the day that he was at work. He worked at the factory down town. I rarely saw him during the day. When he was off work, he'd head to one of the bars and spend what money he'd made.

"I-I know I've messed up a lot and I want to make things right. Come home, son."

"No, Dad." I glared at him.

"Come on, now. You know I didn't mean it. I just... I get so upset when I drink too much. It's nothing personal."

I snorted. "Nothing personal? You coming at me with a broken bottle is nothing personal? Sure."

I turned and walked back toward the car.

"Steven! Come back. Let's talk this out!"

I whipped around.

"What's there to talk about? You kicked me out! You tried to kill me and almost succeeded. What do I have to talk to you about? I'm done trying to live with you!"

"Please. Think about what your mother would have wanted," He said in a quiet voice.

"Mom's dead! You drove her to suicide! What Mom would have wanted doesn't matter anymore. Don't pretend it does!"

"Please."

"No. Go home, Dad," I growled.

I marched away from him and back to the car I had been working on. Soda was looking out the window when I turned back and he tried to pretend he hadn't been watching when I caught him staring.

I heard Dad's car as he drove away. I had my backed turned to him, so I didn't actually see it. Sodapop came out soon after.

"You okay, buddy?" He asked.

"I'm fine," I snapped.

"Okay," Soda replied quietly, tending to the rest of the work.

When I fixed the tire, I stood. I walked into the DX and into the back room. I needed to hit something. I found an old, empty jug of milk and kicked it.

"Damn it!" I screamed, kicking it again. When that didn't satisfy me, I kicked over the only chair in the room, nearly breaking it.

I sank to the floor, panting heavily. I rested my forehead on my arms, waiting for my temper to cool before going back outside.

Two-Bit's POV

Molly took a turn for the worse yesterday. I drove the three of us to the hospital. Molly was taken in, barely conscious of what was going on. Her seizures began when she was laid on a stretcher. I watched helplessly as she was taken back. The medication wasn't working, I thought to myself.

The doctor had come out an hour later, telling us the devastating news. She was starting to fade away. She'd slip into a coma soon and later die. He told us to make the best of the time we had with her, when she was still conscious.

That was when I took off. Now I sit alone outside one of the grocery stores, doctoring a bottle of beer, the whole case sitting beside me.

It was late, so few people came around. Those who did I normally knew. Greasers I know usually get out at night. It's when the city comes alive and you forget the rest of the world. For me, nothing could make me forget, not even a twelve-pack of beer.

I stumbled through the darkness, nearly falling in my drunken state. I found my way back home. Mom wasn't there. Molly wasn't there. They were waiting on the inevitable. I wasn't so sure I could face Molly's fate. She was supposed to have at least two more months. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. I hoped it'd be painless for her. I knew it'd be anything but for me.

I slumped against the front wall of the house, keeling over on the front porch. I laid like that, looking up at the stars for the rest of the night. Sleep wouldn't come. Too many thoughts rolled in my head. It wasn't until the next morning that I remembered my promise to Molly. Though she hadn't died yet, I owed it to her to stick around with Mom.

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the hangover. I was used to them. They didn't bother me so much anymore. Still, I had to run inside the house and throw up, emptying the contents of last night's drinking.

I poured cold water on my face. Molly would know I went out and got drunk for sure. It was too easy to tell, judging by my bloodshot eyes and pained expression. Every little noise bothered me. She'd see it for sure. She'd see how I failed her once more.

I walked to the hospital, which was still five miles away. I had few memories of where I had actually gone the night before, but assumed I'd walked a lot by the way my legs ached.

When I got to the hospital, Mom was in the waiting room to the ICU. There were tears rolling down her face. Her eyes were bloodshot like mine, but for a different reason.

I came up to her and kneeled down in front of her chair.

"Mom?" I spoke softly.

She looked up at me, rocking back and forth as she fought to control her emotions.

"My little girl is going to die," She said quietly. The brokenness in her voice made my eyes water. I fought the tears. Mom needed someone to be strong for her. I'd have to be the one.

"I know, Mom." There was nothing else to say, no lie I could tell her. She knew the truth. I couldn't fill her mind with empty hopes. Molly was going to die. There was nothing else to it.

"Can I see her?" I asked.

She nodded and pointed to the direction I was to go. I found her, lying weakly on the bed, a breathing mask placed over her face. She looked even paler than the last time I had seen her, which was only hours ago.

"Hey, Two-Bit," She said weakly.

"Hey."

I came up to her and took her hand.

"I'm scared."

I said it... not Molly.

Dallas' POV

I lay across the uncomfortable cot. The ceiling was of no interest to me, but there was nothing else in the room to entertain me. Jimmy was snoring across the hall from me. I turned my head so I could watch him sleep. He kicked out, reminding me of a dog having a dream about chasing rabbits.

I found a carving in the bed post, letting me know I had been here once more. I laughed at the profanity I had written. So I'd been here before, huh? It was hard to tell considering every cell looked the same.

I closed my eyes, hoping to get some sleep, when I heard Jimmy begin to cry out. I could see he was having a nightmare or something like it.

I stood stiffly, my back aching from the springs in the cot that poked through the mattress. I rubbed my lower back as I walked to the bars so I could get closer to Jimmy.

"Hey, dumb ass. Wake up!" I said loudly. Jimmy started, waking up. He searched the room and seeing there was no danger or whatever it was he had dreamed of, he wiped his eyes in relief.

"Thanks, Dal," He said weakly.

"Whatever, man."

I went back to the cot, sitting up in the hopes that without the springs poking my back I could sleep better. But my thoughts took over.

I was going to be in here for nine months, then I'd have three months of probation. I felt the urge once more to get high, but knew there was nothing I could do about it. Nine months seemed like a long time. Johnny would be out before me. I got the news yesterday. The court decided it without my attendance, not that there was anything I could do about it. Jimmy also got the news, which I overheard.

He was in for four years. He'd be moved to the state prison in a week. I actually felt bad for the guy. He didn't seem too smart and I could tell he hadn't spent much time in jail before. Jimmy was probably doing it for the money, nothing more. I doubted he even used the drugs he sold. What an idiot.

Jimmy sat on his cot with his knees up to his chest. His eyes were wide and fearful, reminding me of Johnny. I realized the gang had no idea where I was, not that they usually did. If I got another chance for a call, I'd take it this time. Last time I declined, knowing no one to call or who'd care.

I closed my eyes, hoping I'd be able to fall asleep. It wasn't likely in this stupid hellhole.

Well, I left you with two cliffhangers in that one, didn't I? So evil. Bwahahaha! It's been a week, and I know I'm going to make it. Thanks again for those messages you guys sent. They really helped!