Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders

A/N: Huge deds and thanks to somebluedecember for all of her help.

This story is being posted as part of "Good Fic Day," an effort to raise the quality of writing here. We hope to encourage more writers to improve the quality of their own fan fiction - spell check, grammar check, keep the gang in character, outline, plot and don't use Mary Sues. Good fan fiction requires effort, and we would like to encourage other writers to rise to the challenge of producing better fan fiction, not only for our readers, but for S.E. Hinton, who created the wonderful book we are trying to honor.

June 1968

The day passes by quickly, but you don't do anything productive. You walk around, clutching your jacket to your body to keep some warmth as the November chill starts to blow by. The smokes that you stole from the corner gas station are all gone by five o'clock and your stomach is rumbling, begging for some food. You contemplate grabbing a bag of chips or something from a mom and pop grocery store, but you know that won't settle anything, so for now you ignore any signs of hunger from your body.

Your feet keep walking, and eventually you find yourself under a bridge that has been vandalized by nearly every gang in Tulsa. The words 'River Kings' are written in a solid black while orange letters spell out tigers. Though whoever wrote 'Tigers' obviously hadn't been in school for long because the word is missing the 'e'.

A bench with it's paint peeling off is the only place where you can sit down, so you take a seat, hoping that you aren't taking some hobo's bed.

The sun has already set, but the bottom of the horizon still has a purplish glow to it. You stare at the edge of the world and wonder what is on the other side.

You know that by now Angela would have stopped by the Curtis' house only to find that you have already left. You hope that she doesn't get too mad at you, but you needed to get out and not be dependent on anyone anymore. She's probably searching the streets right now looking for you.

The thought of Angela out looking for you makes you sick. You wish that she would just leave you alone for once. Ever since you had seen her in the reformatory when she told you that Dallas Winston had died, her care for you has increased tenfold, and it made you feel like a ten-year-old kid instead of the hood that you are. Ever since about a year ago, she would cry over any scratch that you received, and you wonder what really made her change.

Was it because Dallas Winston had died? But you aren't Dallas Winston, not in any shape or form, and Angela knows that. Angela hadn't even been close to Dallas; she had only known him through Tim.

Tim. You still see him standing in the background with his arms crossed across his chest like he owned you and had punished you like he saw fit. His smoldering gaze upon you said that you weren't even worth his time anymore and that you had to get out. The way his scar tensed as he glared displayed his hatred for you.

You reach up to touch your new battle wound on your face. Steve's outburst earlier had thrown an ironic thought into your head. You remember on the last day of your stay at the reformatory and how you had stared into the mirror, thinking about how much you had grown and how you looked so much like Tim now except for his scar. It's ironic to think that the very person who would give you a scar to match Tim's would be Tim himself.

Your older brother had always watched out for you; taking care of you when you got jumped by the River Kings before your gang days, pulling off other guys in rumbles while he fought two other people at the same time, reaching to grab the cereal for you before school when you couldn't reach the top cabinet.

But it seems that recently you had started going off on your own more. You remember going into the courthouse and seeing Tim's look like he had better things to do. Then, in the reformatory, when you were shoved in solitary confinement, how you would cry for Tim, wishing that he was there. You remember being angry when he wouldn't respond to you after you have saved Angela from her mess of a boyfriend. You remember standing up to him when he expected you to admit that you are a dumbass, when he told you that you were going to end up just like Dallas…

OOOOO

The first thing you realize when you wake up is that you are freezing. The cold air is biting your skin and your teeth are chattering in an attempt to get warm. You hear a faint voice, but it takes you a moment to understand what it is saying.

"Shepard."

Realizing it's your name, you look up and grin at the person standing in front of you. It's Dennis from the reformatory and you manage to give a weak 'hey' in reply before sitting up, digging your hands deeper into your pockets to regain some warmth.

"Trying to kill yourself, man? You'll probably get frostbite or some shit. What you doing sleepin' out here on a bench? You tryin' to get knifed?"

Ignoring his lecture, you shake you head. You try to stand up, but your knees and leg muscles are locked in an 'L' position from the cold weather. Dennis reaches over and grabs one of your arms, pulling you to a standing position.

"C'mon, we're goin' to my house," Dennis says, pulling you along. You pat the inside of your jacket to make sure that you have Pony's book with you.

"Thanks, man," you say quietly. As much as you don't want to accept help from anyone, especially after what Tim said, you admit that you need some help otherwise you are going to freeze to death.

Dennis' house is only a few blocks down, but the cold wind means that it takes twice as long to get anywhere, and it's a good twenty minutes later when you finally reach his front porch.

He opens up the door, a blast of warmth blowing out into your face, and beckons you inside. You follow him inside where a little girl about five years old stands near the door, looking at you with confusion. You give her a small smile and look at Dennis.

"That's Nellie." Dennis introduces you to his little sister. "Say hello, Nellie."

"Hi," she says in a tiny voice before running back into the adjacent room, which you guess is the kitchen based on the smells that are coming from the general direction.

"Ma!" Dennis calls as he makes his way in that direction. "We've got 'nother person here for dinner, cool?"

"Of course, honey. Who is it?"

"His name is Curly, I met him earlier this year," Dennis says as he enters the kitchen. You notice how Dennis refrained from saying 'reformatory'.

You follow Dennis into the kitchen where Nellie is now sitting at the table coloring, and a woman wearing a waitress uniform is cooking dinner. She turns around and wipes her hands on her apron before holding one out.

"Hello, I'm Mrs. Robertson, but you can just call me Betty."

"Hello, ma'am." You attempt to use your best manners. "Hope I'm not intruding or nothing."

"Oh no, not at all. I'm making some chicken for dinner, does that sound good?" Betty asks as she turns around and starts scooping some mashed potatoes into a bowl.

"Yeah, of course." Bewildered that someone is making dinner and asking if that was okay with you. At your house nobody even made dinner, let alone asked what you wanted.

"Hey," Dennis starts. "Is it okay if Curly stays the night? The couch is open, right?"

"Sure, sure," Betty says. "If you boys want to give me about ten minutes dinner is almost ready, okay?"

"Sure, ma," Dennis nods and then walks back into the living room. He walks to the couch and points to the crocheted blanket on top. "You can sleep here. I'll get one of my pillows for you to use."

"Yeah," you say, still taken aback at the cleanliness of the house and the welcoming manner of Dennis' mom. "Your mom is really nice," you finally say.

"Yeah, she is. I have it a lot better than most of the boys at the reformatory," Dennis admits, sitting down and lifting his boots on top of the table.

"Why -" You drop off, unsure of how to phrase the question. Luckily, Dennis knows what you are thinking.

"Why do I get in trouble when I come from a good home?" he asks, before answering his own question. "Waitressing doesn't pay for all of the bills," he says with a sad grin.

You then think back to when you first met Dennis Robertson and everything clicks together.

"Cool, man. Dennis Robertson, possession. You?"

"You hear about Billy?" Dennis breaks you from your thoughts.

A knot forms in your stomach when Dennis mentions Billy. "Yeah," you admit. "Harvey told me while I was in solitary."

"I heard that you had to spend the rest of your time there. Sorry about that, man. You shouldn't've had to do that. 'Specially when you was only defending your cellmate," Dennis says wistfully.

"S'all right," you say, even though you remember your time in solitary as a period when you wished you had just gone straight to hell.

"What happened to your face?" Dennis asks.

"Full of questions tonight, huh?" You grin, trying to avoid the question.

"Hey," Dennis replies back. "You asked me a question too, so don't get on mah back 'bout it."

"Dinner!" Betty's voice calls through the house, and you are secretly relieved that you don't have to answer Dennis' question. It's something that you don't really want to tell anyone, because deep down it just brings up the fact that you still can't beat your older brother.

Dennis stands up. "C'mon, my ma makes some good chicken."

You follow Dennis back into the kitchen and take the seat across from him at the small round table. Nellie still looks at you with big eyes as she takes bites of her already cut chicken.

"So, Curly," Betty starts. "You go to school?"

The question hits you by surprise. You haven't thought about school for a while now, even though you've read that book nearly five times, each time learning something different from it.

"No ma'am," you say truthfully. "I like to read, though," you admit, wanting to show Betty that you aren't a complete hood, stupid and illiterate. A feeling of pride surges through you as you feel the hard cover of the book through your jacket.

"Really?" Dennis asks. "Playboys don't count," he says with a grin.

"What's a Playboy?" Nellie asks.

"Nothing," Dennis hushes her. "Boring magazines. You don't ever want to read those," he says while giving Curly a wink. "Ow," he says then looks at Betty.

"Dennis." She tries to sound firm but a smile manages to peek past her lips.

While the family starts lightly bickering, you can help but think about your own family. Your mom, who never leaves her room. Your stepfather, who only talks to you when he wants a beer or for you to get out of his seat. Your younger sister who only started paying attention to what you get yourself into after another hood managed to get shot up by the cops. Or your older brother, once your inspiration, now the very person who kicked you out of the house after you tried, for once in your life, to stand up for yourself.

"So, you like to read, Curly?" Betty asks again.

You nod. "Yeah, my friend introduced me to some books, and they're interesting."

"That's good," Betty smiles.

The rest of the dinner goes along naturally - as natural as dinner can be for you. It's the first 'family' dinner you've ever had, and for once you feel okay without your older brother watching over you.

OOOOO

It seems like eons ago that you stumbled out of the front yard after Tim had kicked you out the house. The inside is quiet; you know that the rest of the family is probably still sleeping since it's only six o'clock in the morning. The sun hasn't risen yet, but the edges of the horizon are a dark red, indicating that the sun will come up very soon.

Nevertheless, you quietly open up the door and step through the threshold. It's silent and no one is there. You walk into the laundry room where you find your car keys hanging on the same hook as Tim's keys.

Grasping them in your fist, you get ready to head out, but once you walk out of the laundry room you come face to face with Angela. You didn't even hear leave her room.

"Angela," you say, surprised.

"Where were you yesterday?" she asks. "I went over to the Curtis' house but Ponyboy said that you had left early in the morning."

"Look, Angel," you almost plead, begging her to understand. "I don't have a place to go no more. I gotta get out."

"Get out? And go where? Ask Tim, I bet he'll let you stay here if you just say you're sorry -"

"Fuck that, Angela," you spit. You are so angry that she would even offer the suggestion of apologizing to Tim. You don't understand why she, Darry and even Ponyboy have this crazy notion that you should just apologize, or beg to be let back. "I wouldn't stay here even if he apologized to me."

"Curly." Her voice sounds so sad. "Don't leave, please."

"I have to go," you say again.

"Please, Curly."

"What's going on, Angel?" Tim suddenly appears behind Angela, his face stony and his eyes cold.

Silence falls over the three of you as you stare at Tim, Tim stares at you, and Angela's eyes dart back and forth as if she's waiting for one of you to attack first.

"What are you doing here?" Tim asks, his voice is completely authoritative, like he is the one who pays the mortgage.

"Getting' my stuff and getting out," you answer with a strong voice, not daring to back down. "You got a problem?"

If possible, Tim's face gets even angrier and he takes a step forward. Angela tries to intervene but he gently blocks her with his hand and takes another heavy step forward.

"You always were a smartass," Tim says, shaking his head. "It would pleasure me to knock you out and throw you out on the front lawn."

You smirk. "Like you could."

He throws a punch. Angela screams but you manage to dodge it. In retaliation you punch him in the face and the stomach and his back hits the wall. You glare at him, as though daring him to try again. You expect him to start another brawl, but instead he just keeps your stare, hate evident in his harsh blue eyes.

You walk past him and out of the laundry room to the front door. Angela's footsteps are behind you but you ignore them.

"Curly!" You turn around.

Her gaze catches yours for a moment. Her eyes are begging you to not leave, but you ignore them. With one last glance, you turn around and walk out the door.

You open the creaky door to your car and get into the seat. Pulling the thick book out of your jacket, you throw it into the front seat, letting your eyes settle on it for a few seconds before you plug the keys into the ignition and turn it. The car lights up and the engine roars. You back down the driveway and onto the street as you see Angela dart out of the house in your peripheral vision.

With no regrets, you press on the gas pedal and speed off into the sunrise.

A/N: So, that's it. Thank you so much for all of the reviews. Now, as you can probably tell from the last line, Curly has a whole other story to tell. It's slowly in production at the moment because of time, but hopefully it will be up sometime this summer. If not, by the beginning of the next school year. In the meantime, check out the Tim oneshot that parallels this story (should be coming out within the next two weeks) and anything else that may pop up in the meantime.

I hope you hear all your comments, good and bad. Thanks again!

K. Nefertiti