A/n: I do not own The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton, nor do I own The Real Me, written by Pete Townshend and performed by The Who. Also, I do not own Just My Imagination (Running Away With Me),written by Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong and performed by The Temptations.

Okay, I know I haven't updated in nearly a month, because, frankly, I just suck and kind of put it off. But, here's an extra long chapter to compensate for how much I suck at updating. Enjoy!

Also, I know I don't reply to all of my reviews, but I read each one and I seriously appreciate them -- it's honestly my one reason for turning this oneshot into a ten chapter story. Thanks, you guys!

I went back to my mother
I said, "I'm crazy ma, help me."
She said, "I know how it feels son,
'Cos it runs in the family."

"Steve, when was the last time you even talked to her?"

Steve got up from the bed and stretched. Evie's late night appearance at his door had been nice, to say the least, but he hadn't expected that she'd sleep over. He walked over to his drawer and shrugged. Honestly, he hadn't any idea. "I dunno, Evie. Not since I was younger, I guess."

"So you're just gonna barge in on her out in Oklahoma City?"

"She's my goddamned mother. I have the right to check in when I want to, don't I?"

"Not really when it's a woman you haven't seen in … oh, I don't know, five or six years."

Steve walked over to the bed and put his hand on Evie's. "I don't know why you're worrying, baby. I mean, usually you'd be the one talking me into seeing my whole family."

Evie sighed and shook her head. "It's not really that. I mean, I really do want you to see her, but Oklahoma City's far away … and I'm just … worried."

"That I'll do something stupid?"

"Well, there's that," she said, laughing a little.

Steve sighed and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "Why don't you come with me, then? It's not some giant confrontation. Just a friendly 'hi, Ma, where the hell have you been for the last seven years?'"

"You don't really want me to come with you."

Steve got up again and walked over to the closet. Now she was just being difficult. "Well, I'm leaving in an hour. I've got Ernie's car … you know, the fat ass from the shop." He reached in and picked out a shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. All he really wanted to do was get there, ask something, anything, and get the hell out of there.

There was a brief silence and Steve turned on a record to compensate for it.

"Since when do you listen to Marvin Gaye?"

"Since I was a kid. My mom used to play him, actually …" Steve smiled at the memory. He'd only been around thirteen or so, but that was one of the few times he and his mother had ever bonded over something like music. "Well, are you coming or not, Evie? I gotta get moving."

"Uh, sure thing. Just let me get dressed, I guess. And we can take my car instead if you want."

"The Vista?"

"If it's still hanging in there …"

Steve snorted, knowing that his sixteen-year-old self would have been pissed to find him driving a car like an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser. It was no muscle car, but if it got him where he needed to be, he wasn't complaining. "Send it over to the shop … I'll have it looked at," he said, walking to the kitchen.

"Mmhm," came Evie's muffled reply.

Checking his watch, Steve sighed and began to pour a bowl of cereal. In all honesty, this was far from something he was looking forward to.

XxXxX

"Evie, if you touch that radio again, I swear to God, I'm gonna drive off the fucking road."

Evie threw her boyfriend an annoyed look, but laid off the dial.

"Fuck. I hate this song," Steve muttered, tightening his grip on the wheel.

"Well, you asked me to stop turning stations. They just happen to be playing a song you don't like." As an after thought, Evie teased: "I can change it again if you want."

"Don't you dare," Steve laughed.

"C'mon, sing it with me, Stevie. 'It was just my imagination running away with me.'"

Steve shook his head, concentrating on the road and trying to block Evie's off-key singing out.

"Steve," she continued. "Stevie."

"Damnit, girl. You know you really know how to nag." Steve shook his head and smiled a little. "Just my imagination running away with me."

"What are the rest of the lyrics? 'Soon we'll be married and raise a family.'"

"Oh, hell no." Steve quickly turned the station, laughing. "I'm not talking about that shit now."

Evie pouted and put her hand on Steve's arm. "When will you talk about it, Steve?"

"Shit, I don't know, Evie. Someday."

"Really?"

Steve took his gaze from the road and glanced at Evie. Half of her looked like she was only teasing, but he knew that look all too well. He took her hand and squeezed it, sighing. "Yeah, I mean it. Someday."

There was a comfortable silence in the car until Evie spoke up. "You know, I talked to Tommy the other day."

Shit, he really didn't want to talk about this now. "What'd you talk about?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"Well, I told him it was for the better that we didn't talk anymore. I still like him as a friend, and I don't think that'll change, but I just don't think it's really appropriate to talk to him … seeing the circumstances, you know."

Steve thought for a moment, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He cracked the window, watching the smoke curl out of the car from the corner of his eye. After a few minutes, he spoke. "Well, Evie … I'm not going to tell you who to be friends with and who not to be, but I do appreciate that. I mean, hell, if you want to stay friends with the guy," he spoke slowly, sighing. "Well, I can't stop that. But I need to know that you're my girl and not some rich bastard's."

"He's not 'some rich bastard.' He's a nice man, you know."

"Evie, I know that … but he is rich. I mean, look at the side of town he grew up on."

"Steve, please. We're past that kid shit."

"I know we are, hon. I'm only saying, he didn't exactly grow up paying half of the house bills from the looks of it."

"Neither did you, Steve."

"I paid for the TV and my own damn car."

Evie sighed and tapped her fingers against the dashboard. She seemed to be getting fed up with this. "Let's just stop arguing. I just wanted to tell you I'm not really talking to him anymore."

"And I'm telling you that you can if you really want to, but I want to know that you're here for good." That you're not gonna walk out like that bitch did, he wanted to say.

"Well, I am. I'm not like … you know … those other girls, I guess. I'm in it for the long run."

Steve took a long drag on his cigarette and passed it over to Evie. "Okay, okay. Let's just get to the city in one piece. It's a wonder your car hasn't stopped on me right here and now."

"Aw, she's not that bad."

"Once I get done with it you shouldn't have any problems. I just don't know why you didn't bring this damn thing in earlier."

"Honestly, the last thing on my mind is a car. You know that."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But still. I mean, you could at least get your windshield wipers replaced." He looked at the streaks on the windshield, obviously left from the wipers. "Bring it in Tuesday and I'll replace them."

"Okay, sure."

XxXxX

"Are you sure this is where she lives?"

"Almost positive. I found her address on an old letter my dad wrote her. You know, back when she first left. Why they kept in touch, I have no freaking idea."

"Steve, that was seven years ago. I mean for all we know, she's moved to California."

"If she has, then she has. But let's at least check it out."

The apartment building was shanty and small, but it could have been much worse. It could look like mine, Steve thought.

They walked in and Steve took out the envelope with his mother's address, just for reassurance that they were in the right place. Then the two walked to the floor guide.

"Loraine Randle …" Evie muttered, dragging her finger along the names. "Third floor … room 22A."

"Told you she still lived here." He threw her a smirk and then added: "Alright, let's go."

"You're sure you really want to talk to her?"

"I didn't drive an hour and forty-five minutes to turn back. Yeah, I'm sure."

The two made their way to the stairs and began to walk up. Reaching the third level, they walked down the hall and immediately found the door they were looking for.

"Jesus, she never did shit like this when she lived at home," Steve said, tracing the wooden "welcome" sign that was hanging on the door.

"Do we even know she's home? I mean, you probably should have called first."

"I realize that. They call it hindsight." He knocked on the door twice and then stepped back.

They could hear footsteps inside, and then a response. "Who is it?"

"Uh …" Oh, Christ. He had no idea what to really say.

"It's Steve," Evie said, through the door.

"Steve …" The door opened a crack to reveal a middle aged woman. For forty-six, Steve didn't think she looked bad at all. "Steve who?" The woman's mouth dropped when she got a proper look at her son. "Oh my God. Steven?"

"Uh … yeah. Hey, Mom."

Before he could say anything else, he was pulled into his mother's tight embrace. Hr winced a little, trying to break her hold. "My baby. Stevie!" She pushed him back gently and looked her son over. "Oh, Stevie. You've grown."

"Well, uh, yeah. I mean I ain't fourteen anymore, Mom."

Loraine looked almost troubled by that comment and looked to Evie. After a moment, she seemed to recognize the thirteen-year-old neighbor girl that had grown into the woman in front of her. "Evelyn Kerrigan. Is that really you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Evie said.

"Christ, you've both grown so much … How's everyone else? Here, come in." Loraine stepped back to allow her son and Evie inside. Steve threw his girlfriend a look, obviously unsure of what to do.

"Take a seat. I was just making dinner."

The inside of the place looked considerably better than the outside hallway. It was neat and had a comfortable, flowery scent -- something Steve remembered from when he was about fourteen. The three walked over to the small living room and sat down.

"So, tell me: how is everyone? What about that Mathews boy? Has he changed at all?" There was a small glimmer of laughter in her eyes, thinking about Two-Bit's antics.

"Yeah, he's still kicking. Still pretty funny, too," Steve said, shrugging.

"And what about Sodapop? He was such a sweet boy."

Steve tensed, barely noticing Evie's hand on his leg. Everything he'd been avoiding talking about came crashing back.

He's dead. Dead, dead, dead.

Steve couldn't even place this voice. His father's antagonistic voice? No, that wasn't it. Soda's? No, Sodapop would never say something in those words.

What if it was his own? It must have been. But Steve would never admit such a thing about his best friend. Even two years later. Oh, God. It hadn't really been that long, had it?

"He's dead." Steve croaked the words out, his voice hardly audible, catching at a lump in his throat.

Dead … You said it! He said it! Look, he couldn't even admit it! Ole Stevie's still in denial!

This wasn't Bill's voice. Not Soda's, not Steve's. But it was Steve's! He just couldn't … wouldn't admit it.

"Honey …" Loraine looked like she wanted to hug her youngest son, to comfort him after all those years. "Baby … how?"

"Vietnam … Viet-fucking-Nam. Goddamned Cong shot him."

She sighed shakily. "When your father wrote and told me you were drafted -- I was so worried, baby. I cried every night, you know that? I couldn't bear to lose another son."

"Then why didn't you fucking write, Mom? Why didn't you visit us all these years? You're a fucking hypocrite!"

Loraine looked hurt by her son's words, almost like she wanted to cry. "Steven … you don't get it, honey. I wanted to."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I was so afraid, honey. I was afraid of what you'd think of me for leaving you, that you wouldn't respond."

"Bullshit," he yelled.

"Steve!" Evie pulled Steve back into the seat. He hadn't even noticed he was standing.

"It's true, Evie. She don't give a shit."

Loraine Randle now had tears in her eyes and was staring at the floor. "I do, Steve. I just … couldn't. Did your father ever even tell you why I left?"

He hadn't. Steve shook his head, looking at his mother intently now.

This time Loraine sighed and stood up. "Well, I guess I've got some explaining to do. Let me get something to eat for you two."

They sat, and a moment later, she came back with three beers and some peanuts. "It was the only suitable snack I could find."

"That's fine," Steve said, handing a beer to Evie and leaving the one apparently meant for him on the table.

"You don't want yours?"

"I don't drink much anymore."

His mother nodded and handed him a glass of water instead.

"So, what were you gonna tell us?"

Loraine took a sip of her drink before starting. "I was eighteen when I had your brother, you know that, don't you?" She waited for Steve to nod and continued. "Well, I mean, I never planned that … I was supposed to go to college, get out of Tulsa. But things happened and your father offered to marry me. I thought we were in love, honey, I really did."

"So you left him after twenty years of marriage 'cause by then you'd finally figured it out?"

"I'd had you six years later, and I was going to leave then, take William and you. But your father … I really did love him by then. He was good to me and William, and I couldn't take care of you two on my own." She sighed, bracing herself for the reaction she knew Steve would have next. "And then, when you were ten, William died … you remember, don't you?"

"So, you couldn't take that pain and just took off? I mean, not even considering you had another damn son?"

"Steve … you have to understand, I knew I couldn't take care of you on my own. Your father could. He had a job --"

"Because what he was making could definitely support us, right?"

"It kept you in a clean house, food in your stomach, and clothes on your back!"

"Hardly. I was helping pay the bills by the time I was thirteen, mom. Did you know that?"

Loraine sighed. "I'd assumed it would happen. Still, honey … I couldn't take care of you. Leaving you with Bill -- I mean I knew he'd never physically hurt you and he'd keep you in a good home."

"Because kicking me out on a near weekly basis is just good parenting, right?"

"Steven, you don't get it, do you? Your father supported you. I know how many chances he must have had to leave you, look for me, or just go off. But he didn't he stayed and I knew he would. He loved you so much."

Steve thought about all the money his father had given him, how it'd helped him save up for a car, helped him buy that cheap engagement ring that he'd never given Evie. He supposed things could have been much worse. His father could have been another Junior Winston, booting his son out at the age of ten, almost permanently, or another Marvin Cade, beating his son until the kid was afraid of his own shadow. Steve knew things could have been so much worse.

"So you did it out of some twisted love then?"

Loraine looked hurt by Steve's wording, but nodded. "I left because I needed to … I couldn't stick around. But I left you with your father because I knew he'd be good to you. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah … somehow I do."

"Well, what happened since … you know."

"Since you left? A lot. I watched Dallas Winston get shot down at seventeen, I graduated high school, went to Vietnam, did a few drugs, drank, got clean."

"God, Steve. I really had no idea …"

"Yeah, well, you weren't really around. I mean … you know I get why, but still. You couldn't have visited? Given us any clue to where you were?"

"I'm guessing you only know where I live now by chance, right?"

"I was looking through some of Dad's old shit and I found a letter you wrote to him. Thought I'd give it a try."

"You know, honey, I'm kind of glad you did."

"Yeah, well, someone kind of nagged me to see you, but I guess it was for the better."

Loraine looked at Evie and smiled, but Steve was glad his mother didn't really know who'd told him. He'd keep it a secret.

For the better, he thought.