A/N: This probably won't have a happy ending. The following quote gives you an insight on what to expect.

The story is from Pony's perspective. It's also post-book, and an AU where Dally and Johnny lived.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders in any way, shape, or form!

!~~~T~H~E~~O~U~T~S~I~D~E~R~S~~~!

Trust, but Verify

"That's the thing about trust. It's like broken glass. You can put it back together, but the cracks are always visible―like scars that never fully heal." – Hope Collier, Haven

I still remember it clearly. How it all started. Just like it was yesterday.

I was in the emergency room of the hospital, my backpack in the seat next to me, and for good reason. I had hit my head. The paramedics that had arrived on the scene had bandaged it up, because it was bleeding, before then sending me here to make sure I didn't have a concussion.

The moment I got there, I asked the nurse to call my oldest brother, and she did while the doctor took a look at me. He was currently running tests as I sat down in the waiting room, doing, well... waiting. Not much else I could do.

I could've started on homework, but my head injury was giving me a real bad headache. Nope. Out of the question. I would barely be able to concentrate. I was lucky today was Friday. I had the following two days off. Hopefully, the headache would be mostly (at least) gone by tomorrow, and if not, then definitely by Sunday.

So, I couldn't do homework. I couldn't even read to pass the time. Anything that required any type or level of concentration was out of the question as long as the pounding in my head remained. All I could do was wait for either the doctor or Darry in silent pain.

Darry arrived first. He made a beeline for me as soon as he saw me. "Pony. Are you okay?"

"My head hurts," I replied, as he sat down next to me. "Other than that, I'm okay." I was also sore all over, which was understandable given how I landed, but the parademics and doctor both focused on my head, so I assumed that everywhere else, I didn't need to worry.

"Wanna give me your side of the story?" Darry asked, letting me know that he already knew the situation, probably from the radio or a co-worker.

"I was walking home from school," I began, my voice as loud as my headache would allow it to be, "when I saw a group of Socs making trouble in front of a gas station."

It wasn't a DX, I remember, at least not the one Soda and Steve worked at. If it was, Soda (at least) would definitely be sitting next to me.

"Mm-hmm." Darry's cue for me to keep going.

So I did, "I didn't want to face them, so I went to cross the street. As I was doing so, the place suddenly went up in flames. I don't know what happened exactly, probably one of the Socs dropping a cigarette or something, but it sent me flying back. I hit my head, and the paramedics sent me here. I'm waiting for the doctor to let me know if I have a concussion or not."

And if I didn't, I could go home.

I was grateful Darry had arrived before the doctor did, and that he didn't have any pain that felt like hot needles driving into his skull. That meant he would be able to concentrate on the doctor's words and then put them into simple words I could understand. I didn't feel like doing much work right now.

"I see," Darry said, before asking, "You feel dizzy? Nauseous? Confused?" All three were classic signs of a concussion, which all seven of us were educated on due to rumbles and jumpings.

"No, no, and no," I answered. "Just a headache."

"Was it bleeding before?" He asked, and I knew he had seen the bandage that was there.

"Yeah." No point in lying. He was already worried. "But it's okay. I'm fine."

"Let the doctor be the judge of that," he advised, and I agreed. It was the wisest choice. But I didn't speak. All I felt comfortable doing was nodding. Well, as much as I could without making my headache worse. Darry then made to stand up, "I'm going to call Soda, let him know."

"We can tell him later," I replied. "He has to work, and I'm fine." This was true. If I had a life-threatening injury, I wouldn't have spoken up the way I did then (which would be understandable if I was dying).

But the worst case scenario here was that I had a concussion, which would go away in a few days as long as I took it easy. All I had was a headache. Thus, there was no need to get Soda here when he could've been working instead.

Darry gave me a look that said 'don't question me', his usual expression whenever he wanted to end a conversation, before crossing the room to the payphone the hospital had installed for the use of those waiting.

Again, all I could do was power through the pounding in my skull as I waited for my oldest brother to finish whatever calls he needed to make. I couldn't even listen to his side of the conversation.

I didn't notice when Darry had returned until he placed a sturdy, yet gentle hand on my shoulder. I looked up from the floor (I was hunched over in my seat) to see him back in the chair next to me, a look of genuine concern in his face.

"I'm fine." He didn't say anything yet, but the look in his eyes told me I was obligated to reassure him it was sincerely just a headache.

"Again, let the doctor be the judge of that," was his response. I sighed, knowing that was as far as I was going to get with Darry, before he slung an arm around my shoulders.

If he had a problem with me leaning my aching head on his shoulder right then, he didn't say it.

"What'd you tell him?" I asked, referring to his phone call with Sodapop.

"The truth," Darry replied. "All I said was that you were in the E.R., but it wasn't life-threatening. So, don't worry 'bout him skipping work. I told him not to."

I hummed my approval. Being close to Darry was easing my headache a bit, especially since he wasn't making any unnecessary noise. It was pleasantly quiet when I then said, "Sorry."

"For what?"

"For causing trouble," I softly replied. "Again."

The 'trouble' I was referring to was being in the Emergency Room, because the hospital meant bills. Bills meant money, money that my two brothers had to work for, money that we didn't have.

'Again' was referring to two months ago, when I ran out, leading to Johnny killing Bob, leading us running off to hide in Windrixville, leading to that fire.

Johnny, Dally, and I were all lucky to have walked away from that fire with minimal scars (well, I was unscathed, but Dally's arm and Johnny's face weren't so lucky).

But I was mostly apologizing for the medical bill this would bring.

Fortunately, Darry seemed to understand what I was talking about, "Don't worry about that. You have no control over it. It's not something you should be concerned about."

I agreed with that. I was only fourteen, after all, making my only concern school and making sure I kept my grades up. I was still a kid. I still had my whole life ahead of me. But the death of Mom and Dad had brought several heavy realities to the forefront, one of them being how tight our money was.

So despite what Darry was telling me now, I knew that I was always going to worry about that.

There was not many people in the waiting room, meaning it was most likely a slow day, so Darry and I didn't have to wait much longer. About five minutes later, the same doctor who checked me out returned and told us, simply put, that I was fine.

More specifically: I did not have a concussion, but the pain persisting throughout the next week was grounds to return. I also did not need stitches, as the cut on my forehead (underneath the bandage) would heal up within the next week. But again, if it didn't, then I had to return.

I breathed a sigh of relief, as did Darry. It meant that I could go home and rest.

!~~~T~R~U~S~T~~B~U~T~~V~E~R~I~F~Y~~~!

A couple hours later, however, I was in my room, trying to take a nap (key word: trying) and Darry in the kitchen making dinner, when the rest of the gang came home, slamming the door like they always did.

Darry must've told them I was trying to sleep, because their voices suddenly dropped a few notches in volume. They began talking, but I only heard mumbling through the walls. I didn't know what they were talking about, and I decided that I didn't care, mainly because it was most likely a conversation about how everyone's day was.

Little did I know that what they were talking about would come back later to bite me.

And by 'later', I mean 'an hour'. I had finished up the dishes, when Darry finally said my name. The gang had largely ignored me up until now, and at the time, I assumed it was because Darry had told them about what happened at the gas station, and that they were giving me space to recover.

Wrong. It was actually because of what they told Darry about what happened at the gas station.

"What's up?" I responded, after drying the last dish with a towel and putting it on the rack.

"There's something we need to ask you," Darry explained, "about earlier. We need to double-check your story."

I sighed, "Can we please not do this song and dance right now? I have a really bad headache and I'm not in the mood." I didn't want them to 'double-check' my story. I wanted them to believe me the first time. Why wouldn't they?

"Well, we heard another version of the story with a lot more details than yours," Steve cut in, and I cut back the urge to growl at him.

I replied with , "I already told you everything I know." I really wanted them to stop talking in general. This was not helping my headache at all.

"The police confirmed that it was a dropped cigarette that started the fire," Sodapop said, his voice somewhat soothing but his next words put that feeling to a complete halt. "However, they're considering everyone who was there a suspect, including the people who claimed to be simple bystanders."

"So, you guys think...it was me..." I slowly responded. "That I dropped a cigarette that sent a gas station up in flames. That I would risk getting in trouble with the police over something I actually use my head about."

I recalled something I wrote in my theme, about Windrixville: Johnny and I had to be careful with our cigarettes and where we dropped them, because if that church caught on fire, there was no way to stop it. That's a rule I always operate under, a rule that Darry has made me follow ever since I first started smoking.

Johnny was quiet when he said, "Well, you can't deny that everyone there claimed to be innocent bystanders is suspicious. Even if it was an accident, someone's at fault."

"I'm not denying any of that," I told him. "I haven't touched a single cigarette since that day."

Everyone knew what I was talking about. And it was true. The Windrixville fire could've killed us, me, Johnny, and Dally. Even though Dally and Johnny still had scars from the burns, all three of us were lucky to get out of there alive. Afterwards, I couldn't stand to even think about smoking as long as Johnny still had those scars on his face and Dally those scars on his arms. And the doctor said those scars were permanent.

So I no longer smoked. I didn't want a repeat of that fire.

But the room was quiet, and my heart was struck with a damning realization. The look on my face must've turned from anger and desparation to absolute horror.

"You guys don't believe me..." I muttered, as their eyes were sharing glances with each other, except me.

"Pone, we're giving you a chance to be honest here," Two-Bit said.

"I am being honest," I shot back. "If you guys were brave enough to look me in the eyes, you'd know that."

Mr. Syme told us how to tell if someone was lying, and avoiding eye contact was a reliable sign that they were. I was maintaining it, though switching between all six of them in order to address the person that had spoken.

I continued, "I don't know who dropped the cigarette, but it definitely wasn't me. All I am guilty of is crossing the street to avoid Socs."

"We don't know," Steve cut in, unhelpful as always. "Blaming the Socs in this situation is a little too perfect."

"I am not blaming anyone," I shot back. "I never was."

"Are you sure, kid?" Dally asked me. "Don't lie to us."

This was where I lost it, "Why the hell would I lie to you all about something like this?!"

This was a rhetorical question, meaning I wasn't intending for it to be answeres. That was why Darry's next line was what ended the conversation.

"Because you can't get in trouble with the police." He sighed before delivering the final verdict, "No, we don't believe you, Ponyboy. Your story is just too perfect. You're grounded for the next six months unless you come clean before then."

I was fuming, but I said nothing. I was too tired of arguing with them, Darry especially, to fight back now. I glared at each and every one of them, before heading to my room, closing the door behind me, being quiet the entire way.

At least I could now do my homework in peace.

!~~~T~R~U~S~T~~B~U~T~~V~E~R~I~F~Y~~~!

Throughout the next seven days, I stewed in my anger, but never acted on it. Due to being grounded, I was only ever allowed to leave the house for school, but that wasn't what I was angry about. After all, at home, I could read and study with very little interruptions, and school played out the same way it always did. I did miss the movies though, even though nothing good was playing right now.

The Friday after the incident (a.k.a.: Day 7), Mr. Syme asked to see me after school, making sure to make sure I was the only one who heard him. I was grateful for that. I didn't need anyone making fun of me for possibly being in trouble with a teacher. All my classmates being Socs was torture enough.

After school, I headed back to Mr. Syme's classroom, and after his other students left the room, I entered. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Syme?" I asked.

He was seated at his desk, and he motioned for me to sit down at a desk. This told me that this was going to be a long talk. I was already preparing myself for Darry's inevitable questions about why I was late and what bad grade I got now.

But Mr. Syme surprised, "All throughout this week, I've noticed that you were in a bad mood. I just wanted to know if everything was alright." I didn't respond, only looking down at my math book to busy myself with studying the picture that was on the cover. I didn't want to answer. "Is this about what happened to that gas station last week?"

Everyone had heard about the incident thanks to the television and newspapers.

His last question hit a nerve, as the gang had been ignoring me since last week, so my answer was immediate, "I didn't do anything."

"I know," Mr. Syme replied, surprising me enough to make me look up at him. "I believe you. You are a kind and caring person. If you did drop that cigarette, it wasn't on purpose. Everyone knows that."

"I don't think my brothers and friends would agree with you," I said, and I was surprised at how depressed I sounded.

Darry, Sodapop, Johnny, Two-Bit, Dally, and Steve were the only ones who thought I was lying. Everyone else, including Socs, knew I was innocent.

I had spoken to the owner of the gas station yesterday, of my own violition, seeing that he had returned to begin cleaning up and repairing his business. Fortunately, he wasn't in the building at the time of the fire, and while he had a concussion from the explosion that had resulted, his injuries weren't serious enough to warrant staying in the hospital. I had apologized to him for what happened, but he told me that it was alright.

The puddle of gas that the cigarette had been dropped into had just been spilled, and the owner was outside getting supplies to clean it up. It was crazy to think that something could happen during that time.

Anyways, the owner didn't blame me or anybody else. The guy was well-liked by everybody, especially he was neutral ground for Socs and us Greasers, so it was difficult to believe that anyone would drop their cigarette near his gas station on purpose. After every day since then, it seemed more and more like it was an accident.

No, I wasn't upset about the grounding. I'd been through a lot worse (a week in isolation in Windrixville). No, I was upset about my brothers and friends not believing me, them being quick to point out I could be lying, them choosing not to look at common sense and the facts I had presented to them that day.

Mr. Syme seemed to read my thoughts and emotions, because what he said next was oddly fitting to what I was thinking, "Albert Einstein once said, 'Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important matters'. I'd hate to get in between you and your family, but if you cannot trust them to have your back with something like this, then you must question what you can trust them with. I know the answers will most likely be painful for you to think about, but it's an important question for the future."

I thought about Mr. Syme's advice the entire way home. He was right.

!~~~T~R~U~S~T~~B~U~T~~V~E~R~I~F~Y~~~!

The moment I got home, I was greeted by the people who called themselves my friends. It surprised me, because I thought they would've been doing something else. Y'know, like being at work.

Darry was sitting in the armchair, and when I opened the door, he immediately got to his feet. "Pony, we need to talk to you."

"Sure," I was quiet, and already building up my walls against more punishment, even though I didn't do anything wrong. I noted this a couple seconds later, especially how immediate a reaction it was. I mentally sighed, adding it to the list of evidence about Mr. Syme being right.

"Listen, kid," Dally said, "the fuzz have finally closed the case. According to the papers, yesterday, a group of Socs confessed to dropping the cigarette. The cops have ruled that the fire was an accident, and the owner's admitted he's not pressin' charges."

Two-Bit cut in, "The cops also admit that the Socs had the worst injuries, indicating that they were the only ones close enough to drop the cancer stick in the first place."

I responded dryly, "In other words, I wasn't lying."

"No, you weren't," Darry was quiet, and I glanced around the room. Once again, they were refusing to look me in the eyes, now for a completely different reason than last week. They were clearly feeling guilty about last week. Normally, I would feel sympathy for them. Now...I didn't.

I was glad they were feeling guilty.

Darry continued, "We're sorry, Pony, for not believing you. You are no longer grounded."

That wasn't good enough. If Mr. Syme hadn't talked to me earlier, that would be it. It would done, over, easily forgiven, and we'd move on from it. But now, I couldn't do that.

In that moment, I made my choice.

"Gee, thanks," I said, clearly not as apologetic as they were. "Sorry, but it's gonna take a lot more than that to fix this one."

As I turned to head towards my room, I heard Steve mutter, "Are you kiddin'? You just got ungrounded. The least you could do is not act like a brat."

Somehow, his comment made me finaly snap. I immediately turned around to face them, my anger unbridled and raw, "I could care less about being punished for something I didn't do! I looked all six of you straight in the eye and told you the truth over and over again! But not one of you believed me! So forgive me if you think I'm overreacting, but my problem...is that you all would believe the words of a complete stranger...over me..." I paused, not to catch my breath but to prevent the tears from falling. When I continued, my voice was quiet, but I made sure the anger I felt was still there, "I used to have nightmares about this, about you all not believing me no matter how much I stuck to the truth. You all would tell me how unlikely a scenario that was, because we're a gang, and we stick up for each other...but now, that's no longer 'just a nightmare'...it's my reality...because if I can't trust you to have my back with something like this, then what can I trust you with?"

Betrayal. That was why I was upset.

Bob's death, despite how inappropriate it sounds, allowed all seven of us to turn over a new leaf. The law was on our side for once, because the judge had ruled Johnny stabbing Bob as self-defense, mostly thanks to the Socs' testimonies. That day, when court was let out, we had all sworn that we would all stick together from now, to ensure that something like this would never happen again. Together, we were determined to keep the Curtis house a pure safe haven, no more fighting or arguing whatsoever. We had almost lost three of us, and we would never let things get that bad or dangerous again.

Apparently, they only promised Johnny that, because they had turned their back on me.

"We're sorry, Pony," Johnny's voice was quieter than I had ever him. "We really are."

"So am I," I replied, solemnly.

With that, I left the room and them speechless.

!~~~T~H~E~~O~U~T~S~I~D~E~R~S~~~!

A/N: Trust, but verify. In other words, don't trust.

If you want me to do a follow-up to this, a happy ending if you will, then I will do it, but you have to tell me in the reviews/comments.