Disclaimer: The Outsiders does not belong to me.

A/N: Look! I finally updated! Sorry about the extremely long wait but here it, I'd appreciate feedback. Special thanks to Al for editing once again :)

XXX

December 13, 1963

When you finally got home, Angela was sitting at the kitchen table eating peanut butter toast. It was late, maybe two or three in the morning. Usually you came home at a decent hour on weeknights, but tonight Marty decided drinking a whole bottle of Jack's was a good idea, and you had to play babysitter.

The kitchen was dark; the moon was glowing through the window above the sink. You had a gut feeling that something was wrong just from looking at your sister.

Slowly, you made your ways towards her and ruffled her hair. "What're you doing up?"

"Curly told me to wait in here 'til you got home," she said, taking a bite of her toast.

Curly was only thirteen, he might have acted as dumb as a doorknob most days, but you saw through it. After all, he was your brother.

Quickly you made your way out into the living room and stopped when you saw Wayne. He was sitting on the sofa watching T.V., and Curly was sitting in the recliner watching Wayne. You glared at him, and he lifted his head to give you an almost sick smile. The way the light of the television hit his face made him look like he was about to tell you a scary ghost story.

"Smart kid," Wayne said, motioning to Curly. "A lot like you."

You were tense; all that was on your mind was the need to kick the shit out of Wayne, the guy who'd just found out where you lived and not so innocently spent the entire night visiting with your kid brother and sister.

"Curly, take Angie upstairs."

Before doing anything you waited for Curly and Angela to climb the thirteen steps up to their rooms. Playing back the last week or so, there wasn't anything that stuck out in your mind as to why Wayne had to pay your siblings a visit. There wasn't anything else in the world you wanted more than to rip his head off, but instead you looked at him and waited for what ever he had to say so he could get the fuck out.

"Ben has nothing but good things to say about you," Wayne started.

Sighing, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, still unwilling to sit down.

"You know, he's fucking my sister." He chuckled. "They're sneaking around as if I'm stupid enough not to realize it."

Was he… confiding in you? Or was he trying to get something out of you? Either way it was uncomfortable because it was Wayne and you were too pissed off at the fact that he was sitting in your living room.

He was questioning Ben. He must have thought something was up, which wasn't good news for you, seeing as Ben had been the one who had taken you under his wing. In Wayne's eyes, if Ben were up to anything, you'd be the one who'd know.

"He's up to something, and I wanna know what it is," Wayne said, flicking his cigarette ashes onto the floor beside the sofa. Still standing behind the recliner, you gazed at Wayne as if he were insane. You knew this wasn't about Rita because Wayne could give two shits about either of his stepsisters.

"He hasn't said anything to me," you said, realizing he was waiting for something to be said. What did Rita have to do with anything Ben had planned for Wayne? Wayne had obviously known a long time ago about them, so why was he suspicious now? Maybe he always had been. The look on his face only confirmed your thoughts.

"I wouldn't expect him to. Ben is smart. But he doesn't think I know how much he hates me. Unfortunately for him, I'm smart, too," Wayne said with a menacing grin on his face as if he had some master plan up his sleeve. "I want you to find out what he's planning."

You stared at Wayne, giving him an incredulous look; even if Ben had a plan to do anything, what made Wayne think you'd tell him before being loyal to a friend? Finding anything out to report back to Wayne seemed like a hilarious notion.

"Do this, Shepard, and I'll make you my right hand man."

With a sigh and a smirk, you looked down at your beat up shoes before looking back up at Wayne. Why would anyone want to be second anything for a guy who would so easily betray someone he's known for years? There was a long history between Wayne and Ben, and it was full of holes that you didn't have the answers to.

But what were you going to say? No? That would just make him suspicious, and that was the last thing you needed. And although Wayne offering something like this was a compliment of sorts, it was also your way in; you didn't know what your plan was right now, but using this to your advantage seemed like a good first step.

"Good," he said, and you gave him a nod. He got up from his spot on the sofa and extended his hand out for you to shake. You were about to give someone your word, knowing it'd be broken, and that was something you'd never done.

"You'll see, Shepard," Wayne said, shaking your hand as if he knew you didn't plan on keeping true to your agreement. "Ben isn't the man you think he is."

XXX

Locking the door behind Wayne didn't provide much comfort. It just resulted in lying awake in bed, tossing and turning, because every time you started to dream, Wayne was there, standing above you about to blow your brains out. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you called Marty before it became too late—not that it wasn't late already.

He was half asleep when he picked up on the third ring. You didn't have to say two words before he knew something was up, didn't even have to ask him to come over and crash on your sofa. That was the thing about Marty; he was loyal, a true friend, and he probably knew you better then your own mother.

You sat on the sofa, watching a late night re-run of Star Trek until Marty came. He opened the already unlocked door, making you tense a little until you were sure it was him. He closed the screen door quietly behind him and stared at you awhile before making his way into the living room.

"What happened?" he asked as he sat down in the recliner across from you. He was still half drunk from earlier that night. He could probably guess what happened; he just wanted you to tell him so he could say 'I told you so,' something he hardly ever got to do. When he gave you a hard look, you shrugged and continued to stare blankly at the television.

"My bed is comfortable, Tim," he complained. "Start talking now or forever hold your peace."

Marty had always been a goof; he could be serious if he had to be, but mostly he left that to you while he provided the comic relief. He sat back in the recliner as you told him about Wayne; how he came into your house uninvited, more than likely scaring the shit out of Curly and what he had offered. Marty was the only person you could tell this shit to because he was the only one you trusted not to open his mouth; his opinion meant something even though he hated the gang bullshit you had gotten yourself into.

"Well… what're you going to do? Kill him?" he joked, rocking back and forth in the recliner. You stared at him until he realized that thought was legitimate in your mind.

"You can't be fucking serious, Tim." The recliner came to a squeaky stop as he stared back. "You can't kill someone just because they're an inconvenience."

Wayne was more than an inconvenience, and there was no doubt in your mind that if you didn't meet his standards for this little deal, he'd kill you. You didn't put it past him to shoot you in the back of the head; he'd do it, alright, and leave you with no chance or hope in hell.

"You can't just go around killing people, Tim," he responded to your silence. "Jesus, you're fifteen, you're not supposed to be even thinking of shit like that. This isn't good, Tim. I told you… I fucking told you- You don't know how to actually kill someone, Tim. You're gonna get the chair. I told you this was a bullshit idea—"

"I ain't killing no one," you reassured him. He was freaking himself out, and you had hardly said anything. Ben was right when he said Marty wasn't cut out for the gang. His brain wasn't programmed that way, and you supposed it was a good ting.

"What're you going to do?" he asked, becoming less tense. Taking it as a sign that he believed you, you gave him a shrug.

"I'm gonna figure out what the fuck is going on," you told him, leaning back onto the sofa.

And you knew exactly what you were going to do.

XXX

December 15, 1963

There hadn't been this many people eating at the kitchen table at once since you were really young. Your mom said that from now on Sunday dinners were routine, and that wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for Roger sitting at the end of the table… in your spot. He had brought his daughter, Kelly, to introduce to the family.

She seemed nice enough; didn't give you that no-good feeling Roger did at least. She was two years older than you and lived in Oklahoma City with her mom but visited every other weekend so there was a cot made up for her in Angela's already too small bedroom. She was quiet and polite, but you could tell what she thought of her father by the way she glared at him when he wasn't looking. Honestly, though, you didn't want somebody else to worry about, because surely with enough time, it would be natural to see her as a sister.

Dinner was awkward, and for the most part, quiet. You were glad to get out of the house as soon as it was over, even if it was just the porch. The screen door slammed shut behind you, the way it always did unless it was guided and clicked shut.

"Sorry, I didn't know anyone was out here."

You didn't have to turn around to recognize the unfamiliar voice; it was your future stepsister's. She looked overwhelmed or upset, but other than that, she looked like someone who really cared about what they looked like. She had perfectly kept short blonde hair, hardly wore any make up, and dressed more like the girls on the West side than the East.

You didn't know if her Mom made or came from a lot of money, but if she did, you didn't know how someone like Roger Boyd could get his greasy paws on someone like Kelly's mom, assuming that's where Kelly got her looks from.

"I don't blame you for wanting to get outta there."

Leaning up against the railing of the porch, you pulled out the pack of Marlboro's from your jacket pocket and offered one to Kelly. Much to your surprise, she took one, giving you a slight smile as you held your lighter out to her. She stood beside you and sighed as if she has something important to say.

"Listen, sometimes, you have to watch Roger," she said, taking a drag of her cigarette. She looked at you before glancing at the pack of cigarettes left on the railing. "He gets weird sometimes."

She looked almost worried. Whether it was because of her past with her father or that Roger was now your family's burden, you didn't know, but either way, it wasn't good fucking news. She opened the half empty pack of Marlboro's, flipped one upside down, and smiled a sad smile.

"One for luck."

XXX