AN: Good day, Kats and Kittens. Yes, I know, it's been quite a while. And I apologize immensely. I just finished my other Outsiders fic, so I decided I should probably work on this one while my writers block fizzles out on my Scrubs fics. So, I figure I've let you wait long enough. I'll let you all get to it.

Thank you so much for sticking with me through this whole ordeal, and I hope you all aren't disappointed with another short chapter, but if I get some things done this week, I may be able to squeeze out another chapter real soon. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven:

"S-Social worker?" I squint up at the lady and swallow hard, almost gagging on the taste of blood and bile. Steve strokes my hair, shaking his head and mouthing something that I can't understand. "Wh-What? Steve . . . Steve I can't . . ."

My vision starts to go funny. First it blurs, then it sort of fizzles, like those antacids Darry uses sometimes when his heartburn acts up. I can almost see the bubbles swimming around me, and I imagine that I'm somewhere far away, like the ocean. I'd like to see the ocean someday. People say it stretches on forever and ever. The biggest thing in the world. They say we're just a speck compared to it. And I wouldn't mind being a speck, not if it meant I could be away from here.

A darkness begins to close in on my eyes. I think this is what they call tunnel vision or something. Weird. I'm light-headed, and I start to feel dizzy. All I can see is the sky now, gray and overbearing with clouds that threaten to spill at any moment.

"Steve?" I whisper before everything goes black.

0 o 0 o 0

One Week Later:

"And that bruise around your eye? Where did you get that?"

The social worker is annoying. She has frizzy red hair and bright pink, coke-bottle glasses that are too big for her face and that magnify her eyes tenfold. She keeps pushing them up with one finger, crinkling her nose so that they slip down again every few seconds. There's bright red lipstick smothering her lips and the front of her teeth. She looks like she just made out with a clown. Her nose is pointed and turned up slightly, a prudish look that I've seen on most Socs. Her skirt is plaid, reaching down to her bulging ankles, which are covered by tight, white socks. Her shoes are plain penny loafers, the pennies long gone -- probably stolen by one of her charges at some point in time. Her blouse is beige, the kind with the wafty collar spilling down the front in a sort of v-neck.

She sits across from my hospital bed in a plastic chair, her legs crossed as she leans forward slightly to better study me. A pad of paper rests against her knee, a pen poised just above it. The first two pages are already filled with notes, the third dangerously close. I'm getting tired of all these questions, and I don't like the look she keeps giving me -- like she accepts the answer but doesn't quite believe it. Though I don't see why she should. I've been lying to her from the start.

I know I said some horrible things to Soda and Darry that night Soda popped me a good one. But I don't really want to be taken away. I wouldn't let them. I'd kill myself first, I think.

"Gym class," I say. It'd be a lot smoother-sounding and more convincing if my throat wasn't so sore from the ventilator tube that'd been in my throat for five days. I only woke up two days ago. Internal injuries, apparently, take a while to recover from. A punctured lung from a broken rib and massive hemorhaging in my abdominal area. I didn't understand half the things the doctor said to me, but I'm sure it all means a lot of money on the hospital bill we're going to be getting. Maybe I should find a job . . . "Dodgeball. Some jerk threw the ball at my face. He told the coach it was an accident, but-"

"Ponyboy, I don't know why you keep lying to me, but it isn't helping your case any," Miss Spenster interrupts, and I grind my teeth. I wish Darry and Soda were allowed to be here. But she insisted that she needed to talk to me alone. And of course I've been lying to her. There's no way I'm going to be put in a boys home. 'Cause if I am, then they'd start investigating Soda, and then Darry wouldn't have anyone. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna leave Darry on his own.

"I ain't lyin'," I reply indignantly, sniffing and coughing as my throat itches. My whole chest flares with pain, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from whimpering. I don't want her to know how much I hurt. It might not help Steve's case. And speaking of Steve . . .

"You know that Mister Randle was taken into custody?" Miss Spenster asks, scanning over her notes and pushing her glasses up her nose again. I want to slap those stupid glasses off her stupid, fat face.

"Yea," I force out through clenched teeth. "My brothers told me."

"And you know that I'm obligated to suggest that you press charges," she continues without missing a beat.

I sit forward slightly, wincing as the lines running from the surrounding machines tug on my skin. "Well, thanks, but no thanks, lady. I don't wanna press charges against him."

"Assault is a serious crime, Ponyboy. He must take responsibility for his actions. I've already filed a suit for you and-"

"You did what?!" I demand angrily, forcing my legs over the side of the bed. Miss Spenster stands quickly from her chair, dropping the pad of paper and the pen with a look of worry on her face.

"Ponyboy! Please, don't-"

"D-Don't call me that!" I wheeze, trying to catch my breath as the stitches in my lungs pull mercilessly on the soft, injured tissue. "Just . . . Just get . . . Get out!" The last two words are more of a sob than anything as the bare soles of my feet touch the cold, tiled floor. My IV line is ripped from my skin, and I grasp desperately at the metal carrier, taking it with me as I topple to the ground.

The social worker runs towards the bed, shoving her thumb over the emergency call button and pressing it with excess force.

"Help!" She screeches as if her own life is on the line . . . and I suppose in a way that it is. No charge, no job, right? "Someone help! Please! I need help!"

The first two people through the door are my brothers, and I have never been so happy to see them in my whole life. I reach for them with my right hand, my left slipping out from under me on leaked IV fluid. I clench my eyes shut, awaiting the feeling of the tiles smacking against my chin, but it never comes. Soda has me in his arms instantly, cradled close and safe. I grab him around the middle and shove my face into his chest, wishing upon nonexistent hopes that this is all just a dream and that I'll wake in his arms in our room.

I don't know when the tears start, but by the time I realize it, I'm sobbing hysterically, so hard that my body heaves with each cry.

"Pony! Shh, baby, it's okay! I've got you! You're all right!" Soda tries to be gentle with his words, but he can't quite reach me through the noise. "Honey, what's going on? What happened?"

"Miss Spenster, is there something you'd like to tell us?" Darry demands accusingly from above Soda and me. She sputters wordlessly, looking back and forth between him and me and the doctors hovering around us trying to get through.

"She wants to take me away!" I wail into my brother's shirt. "She wants me in some home! She wants to take me away! Don't let her! Don't let her, Darry! I don't want to go! I don't want to leave!" Soda strokes my hair, making soothing noises and resting his cheek against the top of my head. "And sh-she's . . . b-blaming Steve! She says I'm gonna have to go to court! I-I've already got a s-suit against him!"

"What?" Darry and Soda exclaim at the same time.

"Mister Curtis," the woman addresses Darry, "I think it would be in the best interest of Ponyboy and everyone if that boy was put away."

"'Best interest'?" Darry asks incredulously. "I'm sorry, Miss Spenster, but I really don't think that was your call to make. We had no intention of filing any sort of suit against Steve. It was an accident. This whole thing was just a big misunderstanding."

"Nonetheless, this 'misunderstanding' has landed your brother in the hospital and has not put a very good report in for social services," Miss Spenster counters defensively, and I can imagine her eyes bugging out, making them look huge behind her glasses. "And I'm sorry to say that I will be requesting that Ponyboy be put into foster care."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, what do you think? Another cliffie, I know. I'm a horrible, horrible person. But I haven't completely forgotten about this fic yet, so there's still hope that I might finish it sometime before the end of the year. Here's hoping, Kats and Kittens. Wish my luck. :)

Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.