Remember to read and review! I don't care if it's good or bad because either way, I become a better writer.

Disclaimer: I emailed SE Hinton less than a week ago. She still won't give me the Outsiders, not even just one character. *insert some rather colorful language here*. Also, some of the dialogue and wording is straight from the book, so if you recognize it, I don't own it.

Warnings: violence, weapon, language

I was walking home from the movies alone. That was weird in itself because no Greaser can walk alone in my town or they might get jumped by Socs. My friend, Johnny, is living proof of the rich, West side kids' cruelty; he has a scar on his cheek from some guy's rings when he slugged him.

Vroom! A blue Mustang tailed me, making me suspicious and, although I'll never admit it, scared.

When I saw five Socs leap out of the car, I thought of making a break for it, but if there's one thing I've learned from living in this town, it's that you don't show fear.

"Hey, Grease!" One slurred. "We're gonna do you a favor, Greaser. We're gonna cut all that long, greasy hair off." The guy wore a blue madras shirt, and honestly, I couldn't tell if he was drunk or if he was just speaking like it.

"Need a haircut, Greaser?" The blonde kid pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket and flipped open the blade.

"No," I told him, bluntly (mostly because I couldn't think of anything else to say) and backed away from the knife. Then, I felt one of their chests come in contact with my back. Of course.

While most of them kept my arms and legs pinned down, one sat on my chest with his knees digging into my elbows, which hurt like crazy. They smelled of English Leather saving lotion and stale tobacco, and the scent itself threatened to suffocate me right there. I battled against their grips, attempting to get loose only to fail as a blade was held against my throat.

"How'd you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?"

Oh my God, they could kill me if they wanted to. Hell, they almost murdered Johnny in the lot; they could slit my throat right here on this sidewalk.

"Darry! Soda! Dally!" I continued to screech until a hand was place over my lips and I bit it. Hard.

Pain ignited in my cheek as I was slugged again, and a handkerchief was stuffed into my mouth, effectively silencing my cries for help.

"Shut him up, for Pete's sake, shut him up!"

There was wild screaming and the loud pounding of feet. Jumping up, the Socs dashed away from me as I lay there, gasping for air, on the sidewalk that scratched up my skin. Through my dazed mind, I saw some people jump over me, yet I couldn't identify them with the cotton filling my brain. Suddenly, strong hands had me by the armpits and hauled me to my feet. Darry.

"Are you alright, Ponyboy?" He began shaking me, and I really wished that he would stop. I was dizzy and could only tell that it was my brother due to his voice and his unintentional rough ways. That's just the way Darry is.

"Quit shaking me, Darry, I'm okay."

"Oh, sorry."

But, he wasn't. Darry isn't sorry for anything he does. Ever since I was young, I always wondered how Darry could practically be Dad's twin, and yet act like the polar opposite of him.

I sat back down on the curb, rubbing my bruising cheek where that Soc had punched me the most.

Darry jammed his fists into its pocket. "They didn't hurt you too bad, did they?"

They did. My entire body ached, and I felt like I'd been run over my a garbage truck. But, you just don't say that to Darry.

"I'm okay."

Sodapop came rushing to my side, where he knelt beside me and examined my head.

"You got cut up a little, huh, Ponyboy?"

But, Soda's voice was fading like he was drifting away from me instead of sitting within a foot of my smarting body. And then he began to change. He no longer wore his DX uniform, but instead wore a white T-shirt and black shorts. On top of that, we weren't sitting on the curb. I was lying on bed, sweating and shivering, while Sodapop hovered over me.

"Soda?" I mumbled, groggily.

"Yeah, Pony, you had a nightmare. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Sodapop, I'm fine. Was I screaming?"

"Yeah, Ponyboy. Do you wanna talk about it?" This time Darry's voice broke in. I turned to see my muscular elder brother standing near the edge of the bed with a glass of water and a worried expression on his face.

"No thanks," I whispered, accepting the water gratefully. "Thank you."

"Pony..." Darry began, "do you remember what it was about?"

"Yeah, I remember it. It wasn't even that scary, but I guess-"

"It's okay, Ponyboy. You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," Soda comforted me. Darry looked ready to argue, but the blonde fixed him with "the look". "The look" was a mixture of a glare and the admonishing, warning stare of a parent, the one you get when you start to talk back.

"Alright, Pony, but you two better get back to sleep. It's four AM." Darry walked out of the room with one more worried glance at me.

"Kay, Pony, you think you can go back to sleep or do you need a sleeping pill?" Soda asked, starting to pull the covers off of his body.

"No, no, I'm fine." I haven't had a sleeping pill in a month, and I actually prided myself in that, no matter how pathetic that may be. In the beginning I depended on the pill to get me to sleep, but I realized that I had to learn to fall asleep on my own. Besides, the dream wasn't half as scary as some of my others.

I laid down beside my older brother, trying to sleep. Within minutes, I heard my sibling's breathing slow and his body relax as he slipped into slumber. Yet, I just continued to stare at him (I know, it's creepy) and tried to drift off.

The dream scared me for a reason. I've never told anyone, but sometimes my dreams come true. I had a dream about my parents' death a week before the accident occurred. There was the time that Soda dropped out of school, and I had a dream about standing alone in the school while my brother walked out the doors. Thirdly, I had had a dream about when Johnny got jumped (I still haven't gotten over my guilt on that one).

What if this dream cam true just like the others?