A/N:

This idea came to my head as I was rereading The Outsiders by S.E Hinton, though I'll admit it came from a pretty dark place in my mind as I watched this episode of Law and Order: SVU titled Great Expectations, and also rewatched The Breakfast Club, particularly Andy's monologue about his assault on Larry Lester.

Hazing in sports is almost common. You hear news stories about competitive athletes who feel pressure to succeed hazing teammates they think are weaker than them, and with The Outsiders taking place in the sixties with greasers and other poorer kids getting jumped, I can imagine many incidents occurred where hazing and violence went too far. I'm not by any means trying to indicate that Ponyboy is weak; he even says he is small for fourteen years old, which makes him an easy target for getting kicked around.

This is just an experiment I am trying out. I do not know whether I will continue it or not. But review and let me know if you would want more. Most of this will be in Darry and Sodapop's points of view.

This is a rated M fic because of the details that will be covered: sexual harassment, sexual assault, hazing, bullying, and swearing, though it won't get too graphic other than verbal description, nothing more.

Chapter 1:

Darry's POV:

I collapsed into Dad's old armchair the moment I entered the house. Even though my day job roofing was over, more had to be done. Dinner's gotta get done. I need to sort out this week's grocery list. I gotta pay the electric bill. Pony's got another track meet tomorrow, so I gotta go to that 'cause I said I would. And then Sunday laundry's gotta get done.

I was sure glad my boss allowed me to take off so I could see Pony's meet. I felt a level of guilt not making it to his first, which was today. But I knew he'd do good. The kid was the best runner in the school, and he'd gotten back into shape after that scare he'd had after our rumble against the Socs back in September. Since then, Soda and I had been watching him like hawks. I knew it bugged Pony, but Soda and I have been paranoid since we lost Dally and Johnny. We couldn't lose another member of the gang, much less another member of the family.

By the time I set dinner on the table, Soda and Steve came in the house, horsing around like normal. Steve had Sodapop in a headlock, and Soda managed to get out of it and throw Steve down flat on his back. Though as I made up my plate of baked chicken, I noted the time. It was five. Pony should've been home from his meet at least an hour ago, in his room doing homework. Since he wrote that theme about all of us, his English grades improved; the teacher said he'd give Ponyboy a "C" grade if the paper was up to standard, and instead Pony got a "B," which was more than I expected, but that didn't mean I wasn't proud. Pony really pulled through with his grades after that rough patch and they were at a point where he could run track and he wasn't on academic probation.

I glanced at the clock a half hour after five. He still wasn't home. And I felt my worry increase. But I knew hollering at him wouldn't do nothing. I tried to calm my worry, thinking he just lost track of time, that he was going to come home soon.

I heard the front door open, and Pony entered, albeit a little tiredly. He looked dead beat; his eyes seemed hooded and he looked a little pale. That was a surprise. Running usually energized him. But as he removed his backpack and threw it on the ground, I noted how he seemed stiff, not quite relaxed. Soda seemed to notice, too, because he glanced up from his plate.

"Hey Pony, where've ya been?"

"I got held up after the meet," Pony replied.

"Did ya win?" I asked.

Pony shook his head numbly. "No."

"Well you've got another tomorrow. So wash up, eat, and get that homework started," I told him.

Pony nodded, and that was when I noticed him bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. I knew he was prone to headaches, but he wasn't looking too hot. He looked almost as pale as he did before the rumble back in the fall.

Sodapop rose from his seat and walked over to Pony. "Hey, you feeling okay, honey?" He pressed the back of his hand to Pony's temple and cheek, as if checking for a fever. "You're a little warm," he added.

"I'm fine," Pony insisted weakly. I heard the desperation in his voice. Even Steve glanced up from where he sat at our table.

"Pone, the last time you said that you fainted on us and was unconscious for three days," I said, moving toward him. "Why don't you sit down for a minute?" I grabbed his arm to lead him to the couch. But as I did so, I saw his knees buckle under him and his eyes roll into his head. I caught him before he could hit the floor, but that was when I noticed something that turned my veins to ice: there was a dark stain on the back of Pony's jeans, deep and red, and seemed to grow darker with each minute. I knew where it was coming from, and I knew this was bad. Very bad.

Soda's face went white as he, too, noticed it. But I reacted instantly. I moved Pony so that his arm was draped across my neck and I scooped him up, his knees under my arm. "C'mon! He needs the hospital!"

I sat in the waiting area, trying to keep it together. Soda was about ready to bawl while Steve looked infuriated. Two-Bit was pacing back and forth, unable to sit still. Meanwhile, I felt between wanting to bawl or punch something. I knew what this was. I'd been on the football team in high school, seen hazing and harassment happen to the kid that seemed scrawnier or smaller than the rest. But I'd never witnessed anything like this. But I didn't want to say it out loud. I worried if I did I'd vomit. This couldn't have happened to Pony. But it did. And that reality sinking in made it worse.

I tried my hardest to hold it together for Soda. I knew how deeply he loved our baby brother and how overprotective he was and that this had to be eating him up inside. But that was nothing compared to what I felt, as though an icy fist were clenched around my heart, and my stomach clenched with sickness as I sat there in the hard, plastic chair, my hands fisted.

As I sat there and waited for the doctor to come back with news, the doors to the hospital opened, and I saw Randy and Cherry enter, looking white-faced with worry. I knew those two were a couple of the only decent Socs who didn't have a problem with greasers; if anything, they'd been more neutral toward the Socs vs. greasers bullcrap the longer it went on, and they'd become something like friends to Pony, which I was glad about. With Johnny no longer there, Pony needed someone looking out for him.

"How'd you guys guess?" Soda asked, his eyes wet with tears.

"We overheard some members of the track team talking after the meet," said Cherry, nervously tucking her long red hair behind her ear. "We figured he'd be headed here either way. So we decided to come by and see for ourselves."

"Who talked about it?" I demanded.

"Bob's kid cousin Dalton. He was saying something about a grease getting roughed up after the meet to a couple of his buddies," said Randy, an unmistakable edge to his voice that sounded like anger. "If he wasn't Bob's kid cousin I would've kicked the shit outta him. The way he was talking, I guessed it was bad. But it wasn't like we could head into the locker room and see what was going on. 'Sides, we figured you guys would find out first thing he got home."

"Then Stevie-boy and I here will pay the punk a visit." Two-Bit flicked his switchblade out.

"Two-Bit, no," I said firmly. Despite how pissed I was, I knew we needed to settle things the old-fashioned way. "Once Pony's outta here and recovered, we're organizing a rumble."

"Right, 'cause they learned the first time, Superman," Steve hissed, his eyes narrowed into slits, and he swore under his breath angrily as the doctor came in.

"Family of Ponyboy Curtis?"

Soda and I jumped to our feet. "We're his brothers," I said, walking over to the doctor.

"I'm Dr. Stone. I'm in charge of your brother's case. I've already contacted the police and they'll be interviewing him once he wakes up."

"Why the police?" Soda's voice broke, and I moved in and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Your brother's injuries are quite severe. He has several broken ribs and bruising along his chest. He also suffered an anal rupture, which was the source of the bleeding. Our best guess we could come up with was the anal injury resulted from blunt force, like from a broom handle or a hockey stick."

I felt my stomach lurch, and I quickly spun around to the nearest trash can before I lost my lunch. Tears stung at the backs of my eyes as Soda came up behind me and patted my back soothingly as I got sick, gagging on the acid that crawled up my throat. And when I glanced up, Two-Bit looked as white as I felt and Steve looked like he would be sick, too. Even Randy and Cherry looked green in the face. Never before had anything like this happened. You just never heard of this happening, much less to guys, and I knew Pony was going to be humiliated, maybe too embarrassed to talk to Soda and me. Shakily, I wiped my mouth before turning to face Dr. Stone again, who looked sympathetic.

"It would be best if I kept him here overnight for observation. Though only family can stay, I'm afraid."

I sighed and nodded. Turning to Steve, Two-Bit, Cherry, and Randy, I said, "Go home," my voice hoarse.

They all nodded, though Two-Bit walked up to me and whispered, "We'll get 'em for what they did to him, Superman."

I nodded weakly, watching as they all left the room, and Soda and I followed the doctor to Pony's hospital room. When we entered, Pony looked so white he seemed to blend in against the pillows and sheets. He was shivering and moaning, tears cutting pathways down his cheeks even in his delirious state. I heard him mumbling for Soda and me, and we each sat at the edge of his bed, with Soda running his thumb along Pony's cheeks and I stroked Ponyboy's hair, pushing his bangs away from his forehead the way Mom would before I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

"We'll make 'em pay for what they did to you," I whispered, hearing the murderous tone to my voice as I continued to stroke his hair.