Church hadn't been much of a priority since both of my parents were killed in a car crash where the drunk that hit them walked away with a few stitches. After that, I found it sort of difficult to convince myself of a higher power.

But fuck, if I wasn't praying in that moment. Crouched in the brush of a plant so bright and green it looked venomous. Beside me, Bartner's chest rose and fell rhythmically. The sound of his breath was deafening in the silence. He elbowed my ribs.

"Curtis. Now."

In a swift motion reminiscent of my high school track career, I leapt forward into a run. An all-out sprint.

So fast I was hardly conscious of my own breath, or of my feet making contact with the ground in rapid intervals. It was the sort of running you do in dreams. You're moving, exerting all this energy, but the tree line never gets any closer.

My chest was tense. My ribs were primed for the inevitable impact of a bullet. As if preparedness would be of any use.

I didn't relax even when, against all odds, I reached the tree line, panting like a dog. Nauseated and baffled by my own success. My fingers slackened, reduced to jello. Their iron grip around my rifle loosened. A rookie error that should have been drilled out of me by then.

I turned. There was a kid behind me, facing me now, probably even younger than I was. And I was freshly nineteen. Unlike myself, the kid was still on the defensive.

Like a dope, I held up my hands in a surrendering gesture, like this was a backyard rumble and not a real, live war. A kid got killed in a rumble maybe once every ten years. Deep down, I was still the same schmuck I was at 14, picking up pieces of glass out of the road.

My voice was wrecked. "Please don't."

For a split second, the kid frowned, apologetic. After all, what were we? Two kids on the opposite side of the same shitty card. Then he fired. And I swear, as he did it, he closed his eyes.

—

15 MONTHS EARLIER

Sandy came forward right after Soda died.

There was no funeral, because there was no body. When Soda got blown up he ceased to exist in all forms, even physical. The dust of him evaporated into the clouds and someday, little bits of him would come out in our tap water, and we'd use him to brush our teeth.

We held a service. It was meant to be a relatively private one. The thing about Soda, though, was that he attached himself in some way to anyone he ever met. He pollinated people, in that sense. So there was a bigger turnout than we were expecting.

Sandy approached Darry and I after most everyone else had trickled out. Her eyes were duller and her hair was blonder than I remembered, like the Florida sun had bleached her right out.

"Hi, Ponyboy. Darrell." Her eyes darted between us like a caged animal. "Sorry," she spit out hastily, "I know I shouldn't—sorry."

For a moment, Darry's eyes flashed with molten fury. He had been poised to lash out all day, just waiting for a reason, the slightest sore remark. I dug my fingernails into his forearm in a vain effort to calm him. Not the time, not the place. Think of Soda.

"I am so… sorry." When neither Darry or I spoke, Sandy reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of folded paper. She pressed it into my palm and folded my fingers over it protectively. The paper was so worn it was almost soft, like a piece of fabric. "Not right now. Just, whenever you're ready. It could be two years from now for all I care. Just call me, alright?"

Darry opened his mouth; his lips parted with a noise like a suction cup. No doubt he was about to tell Sandy exactly where she could shove her phone number. I piped in.

"Sure, Sandy. Thanks for comin."

—

It was simple, really. Almost too easy. I canceled my student loans, cleared out my side of the dorm, and never enrolled in any spring courses. Just like Soda had dissipated into thin air, I ceased to exist on the campus at UT just as suddenly.

My original plan wasn't to enlist. Soda had died in April, so I wasn't even 18 when I dropped out of school. The decision had been made on a sticky night in July, sitting on the back steps with Steve. He was smoking and I was working on a Pepsi; I'd quit cigarettes on account of my partial athletic scholarship. Can't be a collegiate runner with a pair of bum lungs.

He was going on about Dave Sullivan, some soc who used to sit behind him in algebra. I always forgot that Steve was smart; he'd been in honors classes, too

"He came through the DX the other day. And you know what he told me?" Steve gnawed at the butt of his smoke, eyes glassy. It had killed him when he couldn't enlist right next to Soda. He'd tried to, but he didn't pass the medical clearance on account of he had an astigmatism. "He's runnin off to Canada. Motherfuckin pussy."

I held onto the sweating neck of my Pepsi bottle like I was trying to strangle it. "I thought Dave Sullivan went to TCU."

"He dropped out. Probably got hooked on something. You know, I hear those frats dish out enough coke to kill a perfectly healthy horse."

My knuckles tightened. "How is he getting to Canada?"

"I dunno. He probably has Eskimo cousins or somthin."

Steve mashed out his cigarette on the concrete stoop, extinguishing our only source of light. Without the orange glow of his smoke we were left sitting in the pitch black. The night crept up on us: mosquitoes and crickets and cars passing on the street. If I closed my eyes this could be the end of a summer day in my childhood.

"That's bullshit," I spat into the darkness. Steve snorted, deep and cynical.

"Fucking tell me about it!"

—

When I told Darry what I did, he decked me. A calculated, closed fist, tucked thumb swing that nailed its target: my face. I undoubtedly deserved it.

What followed was classic Darry, his characteristic tirade. What was I thinking? How could I? How DARE I? Did I harbor that much resentment against him? Was this some sick form of revenge for my stolen childhood? Did I know how much he had SACRIFICED, for me?

I sat in a kitchen chair and listened, rubbing the throbbing half of my face. A trickle of blood leaked out of my left nostril, over my cupid's bow and onto my teeth. Maybe it was broken. I waited to speak until he had worn himself out.

"I can't go back to school, Dar."

His eyes just about burst out of his skill. "Why the fuck not? You would be safe there. Don't be a fucking asshole, Pony."

"I can't go back."

"Oh, I see what this is." His jaw twitched, and I knew he was about to deliver a low blow. He was gonna turn mean. "This is part of some hero savior complex you have, ain't it? Your whole self sacrificial thing."

"Darry…"

"Soda's not here any more. So fuck me, fuck Darry, you gotta go tagging along after him."

I drilled my fists into my eye sockets until white bursts of light exploded behind my eyelids. "That's not true."

Darry smiled cruelly, and I felt a sudden jolt of empathy for my younger self. The kid who resented Darry for being such a hardass, thinking he didn't want me around and all, that he hated me. Because at that moment, he did. Even if it was only for a split second. He thought I'd chosen a favorite brother and was leaving him behind.

Hell, maybe I had.

"Oh, please, don't give me that. Soda got his brains blown out, so now you want to go and get yours blown out. Understandable."

Bile rose to the back of my throat like a tidal wave. I barely made it to the toilet in time. It felt like years that I sat there, cold tile soaking through the seat of my jeans, retching over the bowl.

When I returned to the land of the living, Darry was standing in the bathroom doorway. He was crying.

"Pony." He collapsed onto the bathroom floor beside me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His nose brushed my upper lip, scraping off flakes of dried blood. I'd forgotten he hit me. "Please don't. Please, please don't. I'm begging you."

"It's okay." Tendrils of saliva leaked from my mouth into the toilet water. I had nothing left to give but my spit. "I'm sorry too." I didn't respond to his pleading, because it had caught me so off guard, like a sucker punch to the gut.

Darry leaned his head onto my shoulder. He was still a lot bigger than I was, and his deadweight caused me to slump over, against the wall.

We stayed like that for a while. I didn't bother to wipe the vomit off my chin. Darry wept quietly.

A/N:

I also posted this on AO3 since I've seen a lot of writers migrating there! Same username.

Been ages since I wrote anything outsiders! About to start my second year of college (creative writing minor) so ff has been pushed to the back burner in terms of writing. Been working on some original stuff & actually got published in a lit mag. Ponyboy & co. will always have a special place in my heart, tho. Glad to be back.