Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders. :]
"He'll be home soon, Darry. I promise."
Darry was pacing around the room, chewing on his nails -- a god awful habit that he was used to scolding Ponyboy for. He choked back a sob. Ponyboy.
"What if he doesn't, Soda? What if he ran away? God dammit. That kid. . .who knows what kind of trouble he'll get into?"
Soda clapped a hand on Darry's shoulder, "Hush up. He's gonna be just fine, ya hear? He'll be back. Give it an hour or two, and he'll come galloping back. He may not talk to you for a bit," Soda grinned hastily, "He's fine, Darry. He's just fine."
"God, Soda. I hope so."
xxxXXXxxxXXXxxx
"Crap, it's freaking cold out here."
Johnny's face was dark, except for the speck of the glowing ember from his cigarette. He couldn't seem to sleep. Partly because it was cold, and partly because every time he closed his eyes he saw the soc's face. What had his name been?
Bob.
Johnny shivered. He held the smoke between his lips and rubbed his arms furiously. He cut through the park. Maybe a quick walk would help ease his nerves. Maybe he'd finally be able to get some sleep.
He tossed his smoke to the ground, crushing it beneath his heel. Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch. The gravel creaked as he jumped up, pulling himself up on the monkey bars. Swing hand-over-hand. CRUNCH. He landed hard on the ground after a flying leap through the air.
Maybe I ought to take Pony up on his offer of staying with him at his house, Johnny mused to himself. He hoped that Darry and Pony weren't getting into it to bad. He didn't really understand why Darry and Pony fought so much. He was just glad that Darry wasn't some drunk who would smack Ponyboy and run him out of the house. And he always had a couch for Johnny to sleep on.
"What the hell. . ."
The fountain had overflowed some. There was water splashed around everywhere. He hunched his shoulders when he saw something in the fountain. A big lump. Human sized, even.
"Oh no, no, no," Johnny muttered. He ran over to the body and flipped it over.
His stomach did flip flops as he backed away, recognition dawning on him slowly. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, goose bumps flooded his arms, the whole nine yards. He'd never seen a dead person before.
"P-Pony? Ponyboy?"
His teeth were chattering, as if the cold had suddenly dropped another ten degrees. He reached over and shook Ponyboy's arm roughly.
"God dammit Ponyboy, this isn't funny. You hear? Darry and Soda are probably worried sick! Come on! Let's get you home!"Pony didn't move. Johnny leaned forward, putting his ear to Pony's chest. The only thing he felt was wet, and the lack of a heart beat.
Johnny coughed on a sob and turned and ran. He had to get someone. Anyone. Ponyboy was dead. Ponyboy was dead. Ponyboy was dead!
Dally. Dally would know what to do.