A/N: Johnny and Dally are alive!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

Warning!: Language

Chapter One: Jumped

Pony's POV

The cold wind whipped across my face as I raced down the track, my feet pounding against the ground. I crossed the finish line, half a lap ahead of everyone else.

"Nice job, Curtis! A 4:29 mile time isn't bad at all. Keep it up, and you'll be running a full scholarship to a major university!"

I looked over at my coach and smiled at him, thanking him.

I packed my track things in my bag. Darry said that he had to work late, and Sodapop said he was pulling another shift, so I had to walk home today. It would be better if Johnny or one of the other guys could walk home with me (ever since Johnny's jumping, I was a bit paranoid myself), but I had track practice after school, and Johnny couldn't stay. Steve had work, and I had no idea where Two-Bit was. He probably skipped again.

So that means I'm walking. Alone.

I really don't mind. Walking was just... fun for me. I could take my mind off of things and let it wander around. The gang's right; my head is always up in the clouds.

I was two blocks away from my house—two blocks—when I heard footsteps and jeering behind me. I decided not to turn around. My gut told me not to. Instinctively, I shoved my hands deep down into my pockets and slouched. My feet also picked up speed.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A pretty little lone Greaser walking all by his lonesome."

My head whipped around, and was nose-to-nose with a big, tall, muscular Soc. Well, more like nose-to-chest, since that Soc was so tall.

I recognized that Soc as Andy, he was in my school. Senior, I think. He was tall, blonde, a jock, got all the girls. Yeah, like a typical Soc.

Then three more Socs appeared from behind him. Two of which I knew, since they were also in my school. The other one I haven't seen before.

One of the two that I recognized was James. He was a brunette, but he was like Andy, tall, jock, popular. Also a senior. The other was Alex. Junior. A redhead trouble maker at our school. He was a bit shorter than James, but was still imitating. He had a handful of girls always following him around school.

The one that I didn't know of was the scariest of them all. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that he was a monster drawn out of a little kid's book. He the tallest of them. Black-haired. Muscular. His eyes were dark black. So dark, it was like looking into a black hole, about to meet your end. He had a scar that started from his right eyebrow, then stretched across his cheek, and ended at his chin.

That guy may have been the scariest, but that doesn't mean the others weren't as muscular and imitating as him.

"Y-you're out of your territory." I tried to put on my best tough face and glared at them. In all honesty, I was terrified to the bone. But I wasn't going to let them see that.

Ignoring that comment, Andy leaned down close to me, and said, "Are you all alone grease? Ya wanna hang for a bit?" Behind him, I saw Alex pulled out a long, evil blade that could have rivaled Two-Bit's.

"And we could give you a... more greaser look," Alex said, fingering the blade. "Your face seems a little boring. A scar or two here and there would make you look like a doll."

James cracked his knuckles. The scary one crossed his arms and then flexed his muscles.

Then I realized that I was in a jam. And Darry always says to "use my head" but I never do. Maybe I should listen to Darry more often. Because instead of using my head, I scream. Loud and clear. Instead of running. But only for a couple of moments before the four tackle me down to the ground and start slugging me.

I continue to scream, or try to. Because if you've never been tackled by four Socs while one is slugging you every second, one is continually slapping you and smashing your head to the ground, another making lines on your arms with a knife, and the other kicking your ribs and stomach, and they're all yelling curses and swear words at you, let me tell you. It's kinda hard to scream for help when all that is happening.

By now I'm crying. Greasers don't cry in front of strangers. But I'm no longer a Greaser. I'm a kid.

That's why when darkness consumes me, I welcome it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Darry's POV

"Where in almighty hell is Ponyboy!" I yell, pacing the living room. Nobody answered the question.

Right now its six. Pony's track practice ended at four-thirty. At least that's what Pony said. But it only takes thirty minutes to walk from school to our house. So he should he here at five. But now its five forty-three. He's over half an hour late.

The whole gang, except for Two-Bit, are sitting around at our house, partly having nothing to do, and partially waiting for Pony, after Soda had rounded them up, asking for Pony's whereabouts. Nobody knew where Two-Bit was.

The door opened and I whipped around expecting to see Pony. Instead it's Two-Bit, stumbling in half-crocked.

I grab him around the shoulders, staring—or more like glaring—into his eyes.

"Where. Is. Pony," I breathe out.

Two-Bit holds up his hands. "Heeeeeey... Supermaaaan. Where's... the kiiiiid?" He slurred.

I ignored his comment completely, seeing that he isn't going to be much help.

Steve, who was watching some Western with Soda on the couch—though Soda's leg was bouncing up and down, signaling his anxiousness for Ponyboy—piped up, "Two-Bit skipped."

I groaned. "Does anybody know where he is?"

No answer.

"Steve, Johnny. Did Pony say anything on where he's going to go after school today? Besides track? Anything special that he had to do today? Anything?" I ask.

Steve and Johnny shook their heads, Steve's head still directed at the television.

In my mind, I'm thinking of all the things Pony would be doing. Knowing him, he would be at the drive-in, completely forgetting that his brothers are worrying their heads off...

"Relax, Darry," Soda said from his position on the couch, his leg still going eighty, "he probably just met up with some friends and forgot to tell us."

Before I got I chance to reply, Dally cut in.

"You know," Dally spoke, "instead of sitting around waiting, why don't we go look for him?"

"What if we can't find the kid?" Steve asked.

Dally shrugged.

"Well, let's go!" I commanded. It was better than just sitting around.

One by one we filed out the door, splitting up. Soda and I headed towards the school, while Dally and Johnny headed towards the Drive-in, and Two-bit and Steve to the park and lot.

I started muttering to myself. "When I find him he better have a damn good explanation. And if he―"

"Pony!"

I jerk my head towards Soda, who is now running at top speed towards a lump of a person a couple yards ahead of us. Looking closer, I realize that it's... Pony!

I started running.

Please don't be him! Please don't be him! Then I thought about kidnapping. Okay, please be him, but don't let him be hurt. Please be him, but don't be hurt.

"Pony!"

I fell to my knees. He looked so fragile. He had cuts all over his body, his nose was bleeding, his foot was bent at an awkward angle, he had a gap in his stomach that looked like he was stabbed, and he was paler than a ghost.

How long has he been like this?

Then I noticed he was still bleeding.

"Soda!" I hollered, "Get a doctor! Now!"

Soda didn't need to be told twice. He shook himself out of the shocked daze that he was in, and took off running towards the nearest house, pounding at the door.

I felt something wet on my cheek. It's not raining, is it? I felt my cheek, and when I pulled my hand away, there was a teardrop on my hand.

"Pony? Honey? Can you hear me?" I bellowed. I noticed the knife wound was still bleeding, and held a shaky hand to it, trying to stop the flow. I quickly took off my jacket after realizing that my hand wasn't helping any, and pressed it to the wound, my blue jacket quickly turning red.

I kept on combing Pony's hair and letting tears flow down my face. We can't lose him... not like Mom and Dad...

Sodapop came running back, panting.

"An ambulance in three," he supplied, quickly dropping down beside Pony and scanning for more injuries.

I glanced at him. His usually carefree brown eyes were clouded with worry and tears.

We spent the next few minutes checking for more bruises and cuts, tears threatening to fall, until I heard an ambulance coming. Soda tried to wipe away his tears and I picked Pony up carefully.

An ambulance came rounding the corner, driving like there was a tornado behind them.

One second I was holding my baby brother, the next he was in the ambulance.

A nurse came up and inquired, "Which one of you would like to ride with him?"

"I'll go," I said. Then I turned to Soda. "Take the truck."

He nodded, fresh tears forming in his eyes.

I hurried to the ambulance and hopped in.

The nurses were scurrying around in the cramped area, patching Pony up.

I started to panic. What if Pony's going to die? Will he die? Is he? If he doesn't, will he still lead a normal life? Is he injured severely? I mentally slapped myself. Of course he's injured severely! Or he wouldn't be in an ambulance, rushing to the hospital.

I turned to a nurse.

"Is he going to live?" I asked.

The nurse pursed her lips. Not a good sign. "Well, he certainly lost a lot of blood."

That's not a good answer. "Is he going to live?" I ask again.

"Hopefully."

Well, "hopefully" isn't a good answer either.

I am on the urge of strangling the nurse. "Is he going to live?" I ask, my patience wearing thin.

She sighed. "We're doing our best, sir."

I resist the urge to slam my head against the side of the ambulance. But I decide I'll just ask the doctor. That way, no more people will get hurt. But if the nurse doesn't have much hope, that isn't good either.

I turned back to my brother.

Please Pony. You're our only spark of hope.

A/N: Well? Good? Bad? Continue or trash it?