Author's Note: Apologies once again for the obscenely long wait, and thank you so much for sticking with it if you're still reading!

Reviewer responses: Silverstagbeauty – thank you!, FeistyFeist – I'm glad you appreciate my return! It's true that it's only Sunday, and you'll be surprised to see at the end of this chapter, it's STILL Sunday! (oops, spoilertags!) Eventually I'll get to fateful Tuesday, and S.E.H. can take over!, IAmOnlyMe – I loved reading your favourite lines! It's always nice when the details are noticed! Thanks so much for the concrit! Eee, I hope this chapter has less typos! :P, Marauder and the Q – We've definitely all had Death Chair experiences, unfortunately! Our poor, abused bums! And yes, it's surprising the amount of material that crops up in four days!, MBP – I'm glad the POV worked for you!, xodamhsoirxo – Thanks!, SamSammySamantha – Hopefully you had some tissues handy!, Kitty Lane – You bet!, NeverEndingSugarHigh – I hope this didn't scare you even more!, Honeydukes013 – Thanks!, Kimmerkay – Hello again! I hope your vacation was amazing (California sounds lovely, I live in Canada!), I'm glad you caught the clock/courtroom connection, that's what inspired it! No Darry POV in this chapter for you, unfortunately, but he's in the next one! Thanks so much for your input, Kim!, Printandpolish – I think there must be more to Steve too!, Laughing – If you think it fits well into the story then my mission is accomplished!, LutraShinobi – If last time was forever, I don't wanna know what this was! :S Sorry! I'm glad you see the improvement over "It's Not Over," since that was written, oh, six years ago when I was quite young! No PM needed, because I always had inspiration (oh the movie!) but unfortunately never had the time/resources to sit down and write!, FatherTime'sDaughterSage – Thanks!, AvatarKitara38 – Thank you!, PonyboyCurtis'GreaserGirl – I do, but S.E.H. gives info on what she thought would happen to the characters after the end of the story, not what happened while Pony was sick. I think, anway!, Bobbie3926 – Thanks!

Also, you may recognize a few sentances from the book, where they appear in Two-Bit's memory. Those were written by S. E. Hinton.

I know that was a ridiculously long A/N, but I feel the need to respond to anyone who takes the time to give me some feedback, because I really do appreciate it! But now I'm done, so let the awkward hugs and manly tears ensue!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

Everyone has heard the expression "if these walls could talk…," but few have really thought about it. What would the walls say if they could talk? Given the opportunity, would they share their secrets? Perhaps the more important question is, would you listen? Would anyone listen?

If you asked hospital walls to tell what they knew, what would they tell? Would they discuss superficial observations like their colour or decorations? Or would they talk of the haunting events that take place within their walls that only they have witnessed? When doors are shut and people think they are alone, what do the walls see and hear? What sticks with them?

Maybe it's the young mother, sobbing as she clutches a silent and blue-tinged baby to her chest. Or maybe it's the teenage boy with gunpowder on his hands, a hole in his head, and a white sheet over his face. The old man, perhaps, struggling alone with no family or friends at his side, fighting for his dying breaths. Or could it be the battered housewife with her black eye, broken wrist and shattered heart.

It must be heartbreaking being a wall. Seeing all that only they can, and unable to do anything about it, because there is nothing more stoic and helpless than a wall.

There are many things that only walls can witness. Others, like a bruised and burnt teenager with dark eyes dying in a hospital bed, a slender youth with a callused heart and bullet wounds in a black bag, and a tired blonde boy who cannot get peace even in sleep, others can see as well. And they can do something about it. But will they?

-- Soda's Point Of View --

I jerked upwards, feeling strangely as if I were falling, only to find myself already standing. Disoriented, I reached up and smoothed my hair in an unconscious nervous gesture. I sort of glanced around as I did so, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I was behind the counter of the DX, that was for sure, I'd recognize that dirty cash register and smeared counter anywhere. Half my face had a sorta numb feeling, and my elbow was sore. My shoulder, too, come to think of it.

Not all that impressive in and of itself, but I'd fallen asleep on my desk enough times back when I still went to school to figure out why my arm hurt and my face felt like it had been pushed out of place. As for my shoulder…

Steve was straightening candy bars on the rack to my right. The rack that was suspiciously shoulder level, if I were leaned over the counter with my chin propped up on my palm. I opened my mouth to say something appropriately annoyed and profanity-filled to him, to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face, when the door slammed open.

"Curtis!"

I jumped, startled by both the door and the harsh shout of my name. I remembered I had left my DX cap on the till, and swept it on as he strolled towards me.

"Look awake there, boy!" His thick grey moustache wiggled as he talked in a very distracting way. "I don't pay you to catch up on winks, ya hear?"

"Yes sir!" I nodded, rubbing the side of my face in what I hoped was a casual way. Mr. Rick, the owner and manager of the DX station was one tough guy, as he had to be to run a station in this part of town. Shoot, I don't get scared easy when it comes to authority figures, but Mr. Rick held my future paycheques in the palm of his hand. He wheeled on Steve, who was suddenly finding the rows of cigarettes in huge need of straightening.

"And you!"

Steve raised his head, tucking a thumb into his waistband and leaning back, the picture of cool and calm. I couldn't help but grin, knowing he found Mr. Rick just as damn scary as I did. I pushed the cap back from my forehead a bit and leaned over the counter.

"Ain't you s'posed to be out there fixin' the Dolton's Nova?" His eyes narrowed, bushy grey eyebrows intruding into his line of vision. "That goddamn Chevy ain't gunna fix itself! Get to it, boy!"

As Steve was getting to it, I made a show of being a productive employee by breaking open a new carton of Camels and lining them up next to the Marlboros. Mr. Rick, with nothing new to tell me off on or threaten me about, disappeared into his office. It just said 'Manager's Office' on the door, leading to further confusion over whether Rick was his first or family name.

Once again left to my lonesome again, I rubbed my tired face with both hands and wanted to just lay down and pass out. I'd fallen asleep at work. That in itself wasn't all that surprising, working the cash register at the DX was pretty hit and miss: the place was either swarming or empty. But I'm a sixteen year old high school dropout, and although I'm pretty good with cars, I'm not the whiz that Steve is. I mean, I'm good with people and all, but I'm not that much of an ideal employee. I could be replaced easy. And Darry needs my help with the bills… Mr. Rick already thought I fooled around too much, if he caught me sleeping on the job…

From Darry, my mind slipped to Pony, and something in my chest constricted painfully. Johnnycake. Bruised little Johnny Cade, everyone's little brother. And Dally, his loudest defender. Tough Dallas from New York City, who could survive everything but Johnny's death.

And Pony; dreamy, smartass Ponyboy, sick and hurt and lying in a hospital bed calling out for me, Darry, and his dead parents and friends.

Johnny and Dally were gone, but Pony was still here, Pony was still fighting, and it just suddenly hit me how wrong it was that I was not at his bedside, holding his hand and helping me through it, like I'd done through his nightmares so many times before.

I was out from behind the counter before I'd realized I'd made a conscious decision to move, and soon I was pushing open the front door and stepping off the curb towards the street. I didn't know how I was going to get to the hospital from the DX, I'd walk if I had to –

Something grabbed my arm and spun me around. Steve was standing there with a pissed off look on his face, hand still clamp-like on my upper arm.

"Let me go!" I insisted, hating how childish I sounded and noticing with a strange sense of detachment how choked my voice sounded. "I have to be with Pony, he needs me!"

Steve grabbed my other bicep and held me solidly in front of him. Over his shoulder I could see the Nova with its hood up, tools laying about where Steve dropped them when he ran to catch me. He was looking at me now with a serious, pained expression on his face, and I remembered his broken ribs. There was sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hair didn't look as sharp as it usually did. I wondered, despite my own hurts and concern, if that was because he couldn't reach up high enough to comb it properly.

"You're helpin' Ponyboy far more by being here, keeping your job and earning enough to pay those hospital bills." Steve was letting his own worry show through, something I knew he usually tried hard to avoid. I knew he cared about my kid brother, I just didn't know if he even realized it himself. "Darry can take just fine care of him, you know that."

He sighed, letting my arms go when he realized I wasn't going to run off again. "This is rough shit, Sodapop. For you and Darry 'specially. But if I hadn'ta woken you when I did, fuckin' Rick would have fired you. And you Curtis boys need that paycheque."

I suddenly fully realized what Steve had done for me back in the store. I'd fallen asleep, I managed to piece together that much in this stupid head of mine. And Steve had woken me up when he saw Mr. Rick coming by jabbing me with the candy rack, I'd gotten that too. But Steve had let me get some much-needed but almost impossible-to-get sleep without losing my job, which, really, was kinda impressive.

"Steve…" I started to say, unsure how to say my thanks in a tuff way. I already felt on the edge of tears, and I know I'd done enough blubberin' for a good long while. Who knew I was such a crybaby? I didn't care, mostly. My pride would recover eventually.

"Just get back in there before he notices you're gone, you idiot." Steve said, almost fondly, and there was an awkward moment where he wasn't really sure whether or not to hug me again. He settled for a friendly pat on the back and picked up his scattered tools as he made his way back to the Chevy.

I made it just behind the counter when the bell on the door rang, signalling we had a customer. I looked up and was met with the sight of Mabel Shoebocker, and what a sight it was. So old she was reaching the outer limits of ancient, she was shrunken and wrinkled and had skin that was so thin you could see all the little veins and things inside. She walked with a cane, which in itself was almost a feat, since it looked like a good gust of wind would not only knock her over, but kill her instantly.

And yet she still flirted with me like a shameless Greaser gal.

"Are you behavin' yourself today?" She asked, her depleted lower jaw constantly in motion in a way that reminded me of an eating cow, and what can only be described as a leer on her face.

"Doin' my best, Ma'am." I leaned forward on the counter and gave her my biggest, devil-may-care grin.

"Well, aw shucks." She smiled at me, or at least I think she did. It was hard to tell with all the wrinkles and constant movement. "Can't you be just a little naughty? For me?" She was eyeing me in a way that I think I should have felt somewhat embarrassed or offended by, but could only be amused at. To be threatened in any way by Mabel Shoebocker was ridiculous. Two-Bit liked to swat her bum and tell her that she was the most beautiful creature to walk the earth.

"Well, I'm going for employee-of-the-month, you see." I grabbed two packs of Mabel's preferred cigarettes that made up her daily purchase and rang them through. "I'd hate to do anything to ruin my chances. As much as I'd love to, of course." I assured her, smiling widely.

"Are you sure you couldn't just-" And she proceeded to suggest some lewd acts we could partake in together, using language that I knew would turn Pony's ears red.

I flicked my hat further up from my forehead and listened intently as Mabel moved into a description of something that I was fairly certain she was physically incapable of participating in her present age and health.

So I smiled and listened, missing Pony so much it hurt with what was left of my heart after Dally and Johnny's deaths left gaping holes in it.

-

-- Two-Bit's POV --

I took one look at the ass-end of my car surrounded by leaves and bushes and decided that it was time for me to make use of the good ol' Tulsa Transit System. Which, admittedly, would be pretty damn funny. I looked pretty tuff, all blood and dirt and I know I smelled pretty raunchy. Speakin' as a cat who has only a dismal respect for personal hygiene, when you can smell your own BO, you know its time for a shower.

As for the bus fare, well, all my loose change had been spent in procuring the coffee at that hole of a cafeteria. So, naturally, I went in search of wallets in need of filchin'. Now, I'm usually fairly generous with who I get my five-fingered-discounts from. I mean, I think I've ripped off almost everyone I know, hell, even the gang knows that if a fiver goes missing, I'm the first one you corner. In fact, I think its kind've a public service, 'cause if you catch me holding on to your goods, I'll happily return it and you'll probably be more careful next time. But if a real rough hood lifts your stuff, he ain't going to be nearly as generous with its return. Once burned, twice shy, or some shit like that. Anyway, the point is, even I have some reservations about takin' from sick people and their families.

So I had to go all the way to Tom's Dime Shop to relieve some professional-looking fella of his wallet. I just took the bills and slipped the wallet back in his coat pocket. He never noticed a thing.

The bus driver looked me up and down, in all my day-after-a-rumble-and-haven't-washed-yet glory and reached for the lever to close the door in my face. I glided in before they closed completely, and handed him a ten dollar bill for the fare.

"Keep the change, eh buddy?"

Unsurprisingly, he suddenly realized he hadn't taken such a dislikin' to me after all.

By the time I was dragging myself up the front steps to my house, I could fully appreciate how goddamn exhausted I was. I let the door slam shut behind me and glared at the couch in my living room, where some Grease was detangling himself from my little sister. I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes.

"Lordy me. What have we here? Stephanie, dear sister, who's this ugly mug?"

"It's Stacie!" She sounded annoyed. I wasn't surprised. The guy who she'd been swapping spit with was already hightailin' it outta the door, doing up his jeans along the way, and letting the screen door fall shut with far less noise than I had. I think he was the younger brother of one of Tim's gang, but I couldn't be bothered using the mental power to care.

As she buttoned her blouse back up, I moved into the kitchen, feeling like the pain in the side of my face and hand were all I was capable of dealing with right now.

My mother was sitting at the table, reading a magazine about housekeeping. I opened the fridge and grabbed three bottles of beer, then walked towards the bathroom.

"Have a nice morning?" My mother asked absently, turning the page. "How are your friends?"

I paused in the doorway, and watched as her brows drew together in confusion, as something flicked in her memory and she tried to remember what it was about my friends that she had felt was important at the time.

"They're fine." My voice sounded dull, even to my ears. I didn't have the energy to explain to my mother what had happened to Johnny and Dally, or even remind her that they'd… moved on. I didn't even want to think about Pony, still in the hospital. So I took the cowards way out, and took advantage of my mother's absent-mindedness.

I turned on the water in the shower as soon as I reached the bathroom, giving it time to heat up as I kicked the door shut and propped two of the beer bottles on the windowsill. The third I braced against the edge of the sink, and popped the top off, flicking it into the sink. Taking a long swig, I ditched my clothes and opened the medicine cabinet. There, the aspirin, right behind the small row of pill containers with Susan Matthews written on them and little yellow pills inside. Mother's Little Helper.

I wondered sometimes if the gang knew the real reason behind my mother's detachment from what was going on around her. We've never really talked about it, and I sure as hell wasn't going to bring up her dependence on those things. But there was a reason Stephanie and I got away with everything we did. Ponyboy had once explained to me what the word 'vapid' meant: something that had lost all its spirit and was now flat and almost lifeless. I thought it was a perfect word to describe my mother.

I swallowed a few aspirins with a gulp of beer, watching the steam from the water behind me fog up the mirror as the water heated up.

"-I'll be well by tonight. I'll take a bunch of aspirins." Ponyboy was pleading.

The kid was always trying to impress us with how mature he was, even though he was still only 14, he didn't want to be the Curtis Boys' Younger Brother anymore. He usually acted pretty tough, trying to keep up an image of a tuff Greaser. We knew better – he was pretty tuff alright, tough even, but we all knew he was made for better things then runnin' with the gang his whole life.

But he was pleading with me now, begging me not to tell Darry, and not caring how cool it made him look, well, that alone would have shown me how important it was to him.

"All right," I allowed, looking at him and pushing down the worry I felt at how pale he was. "But Darry'll kill me if you're really sick and go ahead and fight anyway."

"I'm okay," Pony insisted, and I made an effort to believe him. "And if you keep your mouth shut, Darry won't know a thing."

I'd kept my mouth shut. Ponyboy had been sick, and I'd known, and I'd allowed the kid to convince me not to tell Darry, so Darry'd allowed him to fight in the rumble. And the kid was a good fighter, but he wasn't at his best, not even close – and I'd known that even from how easy it was to beat him when we wrestled that morning. He wouldn't have stood a chance in a rumble.

Now he lay sick in the hospital, asleep and delirious, and it was all my fault.

Beer still in hand, I stepped under the spray of the shower and felt it pound against my back. I picked at the bandage on my hand, drank some beer, picked at the label of the bottle, drank some more beer, closed my eyes and tried not to think of anything important.

It wasn't until I sprawled out on the couch, flipping the top off beer number seven, that my mind started messing with me again. I probably could have ignored it and thought about something else, but Stephanie took the opportunity to sit on the other end of the couch and watch me pointedly.

"Are Johnny and Dallas really gone?" He voice was quiet and very small-sounding. I looked over at her, and she had her legs drawn up under her chin and her arms hugged them. For once, my sister actually looked her age.

"Yepp." I was glad of my six-beer buzz. There was no way I could have answered her question differently.

"How?" She almost squeaked it. Her eyes were big, and she looked on the verge of tears. I looked away.

"Johnny couldn't make it with his injuries from bein' a hero at that burnin' church. And Dally…" I don't know how I managed to say it. "Dallas couldn't live in a world where things worked out like that. So he chose death by cop." I took a long drink. I was thinking about black nights and bright streetlights and loud noises that woke everything up.

"And Ponyboy?" There was something desperate in her voice. I knew my little sister had a crush on Pony, and not like the unholy predatory lust she felt for Steve, either. I think Stephanie could see what we all could, that Pony was meant for more than getting jumped and working at gas stations. Plus, she thought he was cute. I hadn't teased the kid about it, though, because truth be told, Ponyboy would be good for my sister. If she didn't ruin it in the meantime by getting a bun in the oven or something with all the foolin' around she did.

"Sick and hurt and tired." I stared into my bottle, trying to see the amber liquid through the foam. "He'll be okay. " I swished the contents around.

But it's my fault he's there in the first place.

I fell asleep. At least, I think I fell asleep; I don't think I was soused enough to pass out right there on the couch, but Lordy, who knows. It'd been a long few days, with too little sleep and food and too much goin' on in my head. It was enough to make even a regular booze hound like me more tipsy than usual.

What I do know is that Stephanie woke me up with a jab to the ribs, causing me to jerk awake and spill lukewarm beer all over myself. Tuff.

"Phone's for you. I think it's the beefcake Curtis."

I brushed past her, handing her the mostly empty bottle and captured the phone from the table.

"Howdy." I scrubbed my face with my good hand, wincing as I got too close to my stitches.

"Hey Two-Bit. The doc's with Pony right now. They're giving him a final exam, but say I can take him home with me tonight." Darry sounded both exhausted and elated, the combination making me more tired just thinking about it.

"Glory hallelujah! That's the best news I've heard today, Darryboy." I hollered into the phone, giving a whoop of joy that caused Stephanie to splutter on the warm beer she'd been attempting to get down. I threw a crumpled up piece of newspaper at her in retaliation.

"Do ya think you can get over to the house and drive over my truck? Steve and Soda are still at work, and I don't want them playing hooky."

I glanced over at the clock and was startled to see it was getting close to eight. Damn, no wonder I was hungry.

As for Steve and Soda, they'd only be at work for another hour. I considered if I should go over and give Soda a heads up on his brother's newfound freedom, then quickly decided against it due to the likelihood of Soda going AWOL from work. If Soda found out Ponyboy was going home, he'd want to be there.

Ol' Mister Ricky at the DX would never fire Soda, despite what Sodapop may think. The boy's just too pretty. His bein' so good lookin' brings in a ton of business to the station, and Ricky knows it, too. But Soda needed the work hours, 'cause the Curtis boys needed the cash. Soda will be pretty disappointed when he finds out he missed his little brother's homecoming, but oh well.

"Sure thing, Darry-O."

After I hung up I turned and grabbed a curious-looking Stephanie under the arms and swung her about, almost knocking over the lamp. She squealed and I put her down, and she swatted me on the shoulder and I swatted her back.

"Ponyboy's coming home!" I enlightened her. She grinned, then blushed, then attempted to look like she was too cool to care. I raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed again, and then stormed off with some girly excuse I didn't want to think about.

I went to grab my coat, wondered where it was, and then realized I hadn't had it since last night at the Curtis house after the rumble. That brought down my good a few pegs. I collected two pieces of bread from the kitchen, slapped them around a block of cheese and took a bite out of what was quite possibly the laziest sandwich ever.

"Goodbye, dear!" From my mother as I headed to the door. She didn't ask where I was going or when I'd be back, like Darry would if I were Soda or Pony. She couldn't be bothered to worry.

I shouted goodbye then slammed the door.

It was only as I slouched my way down the street towards the Curtis house, wishing I'd taken a few aspirin for my face and hand, that I remembered that it was my fault Pony was sick, and that if Darry knew, he wouldn't want me anywhere near his house.

-

The hospital was just the same as I'd left it. It was busy as hell, especially the waiting room. There was some kid puking into a small little curvy cardboard bowl in the waiting room, and missing entirely. Next to him a guy with a nail through his hand and a very bloody rag tried to back away as much as possible. It was an escape not made easy while he was still wedged into his little red plastic hospital chair. The vomit, impalement and blood combination was revolting.

I pushed the up button for the elevator about eight more times then was strictly necessary, and saluted a doctor that glared at me as he walked past. The doors beeped as they opened, and I looked up to see it was already full. I glanced over at the door to the stairs, and then growled under my breath and slipped past an angry-looking man in a suit. I wedged myself into a corner next to an overweight woman who smelled like mouldy bread.

"Check out monkeyman," I pointed a thumb at suitboy. "Guess I shouldn't have left my fancy duds at home, eh?" The big woman tried to inch away from me, but was stopped by the press of people on all sides. I slung my hands in my pockets, wrinkled my nose, and planned the exciting launch of an anti-elevators and pro-stairs committee.

After going to the fourth floor, the third floor, and back to the first floor, we finally arrived at the second floor. I almost had to do the breaststroke to get through the crowd of people towards the door. And not the fun kind, if you know what I mean.

The door to room 206 was open, so I let myself in. All eyes swivelled to me as the tense conversation came to an abrupt standstill. I gave a smile and a wave, crossing the room to Pony's side. I gestured for them to continue. They ignored me, and Darry and two guys in white coats went back to their argument. I recognized the Whitecoats as the doctors from before, but I sure as hell didn't remember their names.

Grey-haired doc looked like he was trying to look down authoritatively at Darry. He wasn't doing a very impressive job, since Darry was not only taller than him, but could probably bench-press him. Darry looked like he wanted to toss Grey out the window. The younger-looking doc with the tuff sideburns was looking between the other two and just looked tired.

"It is my professional medical opinion that Mr. Curtis is not yet well enough to be released into the care of his guardian." Grey said the last word as if it tasted bad.

"Ponyboy will get more rest at home than he's getting here! And that's all he's doing here, isn't it? Resting?" Darry was gesturing wildly as he spoke. I could tell he was trying to be calm. I wouldn't say he was being completely successful.

"He's here under observation – " Grey started, his grip on his pen looking almost painful.

"That's what he was here for last night! And you said he's going to be fine!" Darry ran a hand through his hair.

"We would like to keep him here until he makes a complete return to consciousness, to make sure there is no lasting damage." Grey was obviously trying to sound soothing, but instead sounded annoyingly like he was talking to a four year old.

I know the real reason Darry didn't want to keep Pony in the hospital. It was true that the kid really would sleep better at home away from all the impersonal white walls and the impersonal white-coated staff. But now that Pony was all bandaged up and out of danger, by taking him home Darry would save on the hospital bill.

"But is that really necessary?" Darry sounded worried. He wouldn't take Pony home unless he was sure he wasn't hurting his brother's health in some way.

The doc with the sideburns looked like he had finally had enough, and stepped forwards until he was practically in between Darry and Grey.

"You can sign Ponyboy's release papers at any time, without medical consent, but if you do so you also remove any liability the hospital may have for Ponyboys' health resulting from that decision." Sideburns was talking straight to Darry, and Grey didn't look too pleased about it. "But I think in these circumstances we can consent to Ponyboy's release, and I can come by your house for checkups."

"That would be great." Darry said immediately.

"Doctor Brenton is correct," Grey admitted, looking irritated. "That is an option, although not one we usually pursue. In a hospital as busy as Tulsa General, we don't have time to be making follow-up housecalls for every patient. However, we do make exceptions for special cases, and if Doctor Brenton feels he has time to spare for checkups in addition to his current Intern duties, I'm sure something can be arranged."

I snorted, and everyone momentarily looked my way. I raised my eyebrows and they went back to ignoring me. No wonder Grey didn't suggest it right off, apparently actually helping patients was not as important to him as making his job as comfortable as possible.

As Sideburns found a nurse and asked her to go get the paperwork they needed, Grey put his pen back into his coat pocket. "Doctor Brenton seems to have everything under control here," he said stiffly. "And I have other patients to attend to. Good luck with Ponyboy, Mister Curtis." He offered his hand to Darry, and I've seen handshakes at the beginning of rumbles with more sincerity than that one.

I looked down at Pony, and couldn't help but reach for his hand. Call me a big ol' softie, but I liked the kid and he just looked so darn young. His hand was cool in mine, and his pained expression softened somewhat. They'd removed his IV and changed the bandage on his head. He looked impossibly small lying there in the bed, and as I looked at his hospital gown I wished I'd thought to bring him some clothes from the Curtis house when I picked up the Ford. Ah well, no one had ever accused me of being thoughtful, so I guess I wasn't lettin' anyone down.

"Soda…" Pony turned his head into the pillow, his forehead creasing. "Soda, I wanna come home…"

I squeezed his hand a bit, wondering if it was wrong of me to hope that he thought I was Soda.

"Alright, we're golden." Darry said, coming up beside me and brushing Ponyboy's bangs off his forehead. The lines in the kid's face sorta softened, and he twisted back the other way. "The nurse is gunna roll his bed down to the front doors, and I'm gunna carry him from there." Darry sounded understandably excited, and I grinned at him.

I tell ya, those rolling beds are handy. People just moved outta our way, and we even got the elevator all to ourselves. I wished Soda and Steve were here in less tense circumstances and we could have some pretty tuff races on those things. Drag races would have nuthin' on those. Add in some beer and dames and it'd be great times.

I laughed my head off when Darry started to lift Pony up and we saw that his hospital gown was open in the back, showin' off his undies to the whole wide world. And then I took my jacket off and put in on the kid, and it was big enough on him that his modesty was safe. Mostly.

Darry gave me a look that said I was never to mention this in Pony's presence, and I regretfully agreed. But the look on Pony's face when he was normal again would be priceless, and very, very red. The kid was so serious, he could do with some teasing now 'n then. I very humbly took the responsibility for said teasing upon myself. Steve would help. He was good like that.

I sat in the back seat of the truck with Pony, so that he wouldn't roll off. Darry laid him down so that his head was in my lap, and as small as the kid seemed to all of us, we still had to do some arranging to get his long legs in the car and not hanging out the window.

Darry drove as careful as I've ever seen him, doing more shoulder checks and lookin' in his mirror far more then was really needed. I can't say I blame him. When Sammy Joe knocked up his gal Jenny, he drove them both and the new baby home from the hospital at half the speed limit. Boy got honked and hollered at till kingdom come, and the fuzz even gave him a ticket for drivin' so slow. Sammy Joe didn't mind though, 'cause he got mama and baby home safe.

Pony started talkin' about Johnny on the drive though and it near broke my heart. I could only pat his too-blonde hair and think of all the Marilyn Monroe jokes I could torture him with.

Once Darry carried him inside and got him all settled in his bed, my guilt came back to bite me in the ass. I still hadn't told Darry how this was all my fault. If I had told Darry about Pony's fever, he'd know that he was in no shape for a rumble, and Pony would never have gotten kicked in the head. He never would have seen Dally get shot – fearless, tough Dallas – and fainted from the shock. It all spiralled down to me, and that one, awful decision.

"Well, I should go." I caught a glimpse of Darry's look of confusion at my sudden departure, and then I was out the door, and two blocks away when I realized I had forgotten my jacket at the Curtis house, again.

Pony's getting sick was all my fault. Darry didn't know. Darry needed to know. Darry should know before Soda and Steve got home, so that when he decided to pummel me he wouldn't have back up.

I was turned around and walking back towards the Curtis' before I could stop myself. Any beating Darry could give me for causing his kid brother to spend the night in the hospital would only be fair. I knew when I promised Pony not to tell Darry that if he ever found out he'd kill me. And now he was really sick, and I hadn't told him.

I found Darry where I'd left him, in Pony and Soda's bedroom, watching over a pale, sleeping Pony. I steeled myself. I was a tough hood. I could do this.

"It's my fault." The words caught in my throat. I was looking at Darry's well-defined muscles and wishing he maybe carried less bundles of roofing up ladders quite so often. I thought of the rumble, and Darry's ability to get Socs to fly three feet with one punch.

"What?" Darry sounded wary, and a bit confused. It was okay, it was only fair that he know the details before he pounded the living daylights out of me.

"When I babysat him, the day of the rumble," Now that I had already started, it seemed a lot easier to get all this guilt of my chest. I never was real good at keeping secrets. I could feel my voice speed up. "He was out of it, real tired and pale and sick-looking. He almost feel asleep at a bus stop after we visited Johnny."

The thought of Johnny, so awful and close to death and my fake cheerfulness the only thing I could do, and Johnny's mother, such a trainwreck and the only one to visit him except the gang, made my throat close up.

Oh, Lordy! He has to live with that. My words that day had been true. Vacant and drug-dependent as my mother was, she didn't let somebody beat on me night and day.

"And he was runnin' a fever." My voice started shaking. Shit, shit, shit, I was NOT going to start bawlin' in front of Darry!

"And he made me promise not to tell you, that he'd be okay, that he just needed to take some aspirins." I watched as Darry stood up, still not able to look at his face. I wasn't going to back down, I was going to take my beatin' like a man.

"And now… Now he's real sick, and 'cause I didn't tell you – " Okay, so much for this whole 'not blubberin' in front of Darry' plan. "So, it's all my fault." Some tuff Grease I was.

And then Darry took a step towards me, and I braced myself for the sledge-hammer blow, but then he put his arms around me and was hugging me and I was bawlin' like a baby and I was grabbing his shirt and sobbing into his shoulder and I think I could hear him crying too and it was nice.

"It's not your fault." Darry assured me, when we pulled away, faces damp and slightly embarrassed for ourselves and each other. "I knew he wasn't at his best, but if I hadn't let him fight he'd have come on his own like Dally. This wasn't just a rumble, it was personal. I let him come with us, so I'd know he was close."

I had to admit, it did make sense. I felt a lot lighter now, like all that was left in me was sadness, and that I could live through.

Darry whacked me over the head. "Ow!" I said, more out of reflex than pain, since the swat to the back of my head hadn't actually hurt all that much.

"When I'm blamin' you for something, you'll know it." Darry said.

-- To be Continued --