There seemed to be a bit of a split on whether or not to have a Soda/Darry chapter, so I'm going to stick with Ponyboy for now, but you get a hint of "Soda" and "Darry". ;)

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The world was foggy, swirling around me dizzily. I couldn't quite keep my eyes open, but I was running. A mustang...blue, maybe green, I couldn't tell, flew past me. I stumbled toward it, groping towards the strange sense of familiarity that it brought. A paperback book floated into my vision, the pages flapping rapidly in a wind I couldn't quite feel. I opened my mouth to call out, but couldn't get my voice to work. The book continued to float down the deserted street that I blinked to find myself running down. I jogged heavily behind it. I felt sluggish, like I was running through quicksand. My eyes still fought to stay open.

The book landed lightly on some steps. Three steps. They weren't connected to anything, and a sense of disappointment descended over me. I sat down and put my heavy head in my hands.

"Hey there, Pony."

A voice behind me floated into my ears softly. I tried to turn my head around, but my neck refused to move. I tried to speak, but only a groan came out. A big, warm, calloused hand came down on my shoulder, and I was suddenly able to stand up and turn around.

Soda stood in front of me, my favorite lopsided grin spread across his face. Darry's head poked around a doorway that had appeared. My doorway. Our doorway. My house slowly crept into existence, sliding silently from the fog.

"Where have you been, Ponyboy?"

Soda had his hand on my back and he steered me inside, where Darry stood with his arms crossed. I couldn't piece my jumbled thoughts together.

"I- they took me, Darry, I swear!" His expression didn't change, and he cleared his throat as if still waiting for an answer.

"Darry, I swear. I was running, and then I sat down on the curb-"

"Where in the almighty universe were you, Ponyboy?" Darry's face was turning slightly red, his fists clenched. Soda was looking down at me sadly.

"We've been worried, Ponyboy. Where were you?"

"I…I told you, they took me. I couldn't do anything." The words came out fast and garbled, dribbling from my mouth.

"Can't you ever use your head, Ponyboy?" Darry's voice was rising.

"He had a gun."

"What on earth is the matter with you?"

"I was chained."

"Ponyboy," Soda chimed in, and a rush of gratitude swept over me, "you haven't even got a coat on. Can't you think of anything?"

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, and hot tears started running down my cheeks. Darry and Soda grew larger and larger, both with their arms crossed, their fists clenched. They glared down at me, their voices booming.

"You could've fought, Ponyboy." Darry's giant face wavered in front of mine.

"You're weak." Soda's frown mangled his face.

"Can't you ever think? Why didn't you fight?" They were speaking together now as one deep voice. I started shaking and my feet felt like they were nailed to the floor. Giant Soda and Darry loomed over me, their voices ringing in my ears. My head throbbed. Hot tears ran down my cheeks, and fell into my burning wrists.

"Can't you ever think? Why didn't you fight? Can't you ever think? Why didn't you fight? You're weak. You're weak. You're weak."

You're weak.

I'm weak.

I awoke with a gasp.

He was lounging on the bed reading a magazine. I snapped my eyes shut as soon as I saw him and tried to keep my breathing slow and steady.

"I know you're awake." He closed the magazine and sat up. I sighed. "Come on, open up."

I heard him slide off the bed, and he was next to me in three steps. Three steps. I kept my eyes shut tight. I wasn't ready to leave that nightmare for this one. I wasn't ready to face him. Seeing Soda and Darry had almost been a welcome relief. Almost. I wished desperately for just a few moments alone. My grasp on reality was slipping, and I needed a moment to slide everything back into place. The real throbbing in my head and wrists and face helped with that a bit. Feeling his hands on my shoulders, I took one last deep breath and opened my eyes.

"That's better." He smiled down at me, squeezing my shoulders slightly. I just stared straight ahead. He patted my purple cheek lightly and sat down next to me. We were both silent for a few long minutes.

"It's not very comfortable down here," He began in a baiting tone, letting his voice trail off suggestively, "You could use the bed."

I just grunted. The bed would be nice… I had a hard time even remembering what something other than a hard floor felt like beneath my aching bones. The thought of a pillow cushioning my ever-splitting head caused a longing moan to slip out. Skinny chuckled and ran a hand through my hair. I flinched back.

"If only we could get rid of that nasty reflex."

His lips were right next to my ear, and I could feel his sticky breath on the side of my face and neck.

"A night in the bed sounds good, doesn't it?" He whispered.

I couldn't help it. I nodded. He smiled and rubbed his hands together.

"I think a little training should iron that out."

He walked over to the door and made a show of trying to open it. He jiggled the handle, banged on the door, even shoved against it with his shoulder, all the while smiling at me.

"Now that we have that covered, I know you'll be a good boy when I unlock those cuffs." He flourished with the key for a moment, before unchaining me and stuffing it back into an inside pocket of his jacket. I stood up slowly, taking my sweet time, not that my sore body would've let me move any faster if I'd wanted to. I winced and cracked my back, which was screaming and protesting. My legs, which I hadn't used properly since I arrived, felt like jelly. Skinny watched me curiously as I stretched each leg out in front of me and gave it a quick shake.

It wasn't until I tried to walk that my knees gave out. I found myself on all fours, panting and muttering. Blood from my wrists, which had ripped open with the swift movement, dribbled onto my hands and the floor. Skinny chuckled, and pulled me up by the collar of my shirt.

"I'm sorry, son, but the only way to get rid of this reflex," He ran a hand across my cheek, which I moved away from, "requires that I hurt you."

Gee, that's new. I fought the urge to spit at him.

"When you can take a hit without reacting, you'll be fully trained."

He slugged me across the face, knocking me to the floor. My breathing became ragged again, and I struggled slowly back to my feet, rubbing my cheek.

"Strike one."

The next punch was to the ribs. I went down again.

"Strike two."

A punch to the chest. I went down.

"Strike three"

It was harder to get up each time, and I struggled not to pass out as he made it to, "Strike fifteen."

Somewhere around eighteen I stopped trying to get up.

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Keep up the amazing reviews! I know this chapter came late, but they really are extremely motivating, and I just love me some constructive criticism.