Disclaimer: SE Hinton owns, cursing, dark subject matter, etc.

This is a sequel to Wild World…so if you haven't read that…yeah. Go read it.

A Prologue

OoO

I haven't seen my brothers in six months.

It's not for lack of trying. Although I'm sure Darry would probably want to argue that the next time we see each other.

The last two years it seems like I've been on the lam, always chasing down a story. Cherry Hills put it in my blood. I haven't been able to give writing up. There were times when I couldn't pick up a pen, and now that's all I can do. After Cherry Hills, Nick and I kept getting Max his usual if-it-bleeds-it-leads stories. They never were as good as Nurse Wilkes and Cherry Hills but they were stories. We were writing. I can't really remember what the articles were all about…my memory's fuzzy now.

But we cracked the news. Nick and I, we're good at our jobs. So good in fact that I left school for the second time in my life.

I'm still employed by the Tulsa World. I'm a junior reporter. Only now, 1,400 miles way, I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get back.

If I die here, Max will never let me hear the end of it.

OoO

There were times when I didn't think I'd make it to 20 years old. Today's no exception.

I'm proud of myself. Any hang-ups I had in the past with the pills, they're done with. But I've traded them for other things. Other just-as-dangerous things. I've never used my head, but now, I do it less often. I take risks with my writing. I love the chase, solving the unanswered questions.

Soda keeps telling me I'm not a detective but I don't agree. I just wield a pen instead of a gun.

Being at Cherry Hills made me realize just how much I love to write. How much I want to right things. I can't fix everything, but I have to try.

So, Nick and I got an assignment from Max. It brought us out east and the shit we've stumbled into is movie-worthy.

Everything in my life has changed but so much is still the same.

Darry and Liz live together again. It should be any day now before he puts a ring on her finger. Before I left for this assignment I was living at the house. It took some time to convince me to stay when she moved back in again. Wrecking their second try wasn't something I wanted to particularly claim.

Darry's still Darry. But he's lightened and loosened over the year thanks to Liz. She makes him smile and calms him down. Sometimes I can't believe they almost never made it.

Liz is good to me. Sometimes too good, and I'm afraid she's trying to make up for the past. It was my fault, my mistake when I took those pills. She got caught up in something she didn't know how to handle. It wasn't fair. Now she fusses, won't let me move out, cooks, cleans. Darry jokes that he wonders who she's really dating, and then she'll give me that look that says everything: she still feels guilty. She may have the most sense out of anyone because she doesn't trust me completely.

Hell, sometimes I still don't trust myself. Especially now.

Darry got his associates degree and took out a loan to open his own construction firm. He's taking on a lot these days – possible wife, new job, his own business – but he's happy. Finally, he has his own life. It took a while to get there but it's his. If you ask him that – and sometimes I do because I'm so goddamned relieved – he rolls his eyes and declares that Soda and I were all that mattered.

It took him a long time to get over Cherry Hills; an event that has lodged itself into all of our minds. At first – about three months after I was home –he was checking my room. My sock drawer. The pockets of my jeans. He always seemed slightly on edge, as if he was just waiting for the ball to drop.

I can't blame him for that. But eventually, he lost that wary look. Began to breathe easier. Therapy brought us closer, made him softer. He may not get me all the time but he listens. He tries so hard.

Except now.

He and Soda always took my job in stride, accepting the fact that I worked part-time at the paper and went to school. But then…well, six months ago I dropped out of community college (with a little persuasion from Max) to chase the lead out east and Darry's royally pissed.

Soda keeps telling me he'll get over it but I ain't so sure I believe him. On a good day – when Darry'll actually take my phone call – he just grunts and answers my questions. I understand. He's upset. It's a big change for both of us. Liz acts as peacekeeper, another way she tries to make up for the past.

Speaking of Soda…Soda's still Soda. Soda's still single.

He and Steve live in that apartment downtown. He dated a girl last year, a Shelley, and they were hot and heavy until suddenly they weren't. Unlike his breakup with Sandy this time he wasn't sad, he was angry, and everyone knew not to talk about it. He wouldn't even tell me what happened and that says a lot. He's scarred. But except for the girls, Soda's an even keel. He's still at the DX. Still happy. Content. He's always been like that.

We were lucky the draft passed him up. All of the guys actually. I would catch Darry watching the newscasts at night, his jaw taught with worry.

When I left Soda gave me 20 bucks and a lecture but he let me go. He makes me call home at least once a week. "Darry may not want to hear from you but I do," he reasoned in Soda's calm way.

They've fought. Two-Bit told me about it; that after I left Darry and Soda had words. "Words you should be glad you didn't hear, kid. Real glad."

Two-Bit should be married by now, but he's not.

They didn't call it off and it's not for lack of trying. His mom – Mrs. Mathews – had a heart attack about a year ago and he and Kathy moved into take care of her, postponing the wedding. It's odd seeing Two-Bit grown-up. As much as he can be at least.

It hit him hard at first but now he's back to his old self. Albeit with a job. He works at the used car lot across town. Sells Caddys and Chevys to those who need them…and those who don't. He's a good swindler. Karen, his sister, had her baby last year. She lives with them too, all of them pitching in. It's a full house but his house has never been like Steve's or Johnny's where there's cursing and yelling. It's just crazy. He and Kathy are trying to save up for the big day. It's next January.

I'm his best man, so thank god I'm still alive for that.

Steve.

What can I say about Steve? He took me out and got me drunk last year so I suppose we've made some progress. Sometimes he and Tim Shepard take up a poker game or two but overall, not much has changed with Soda's best friend. I know he's a good guy. Now I know that. I think he feels the same way about me – we just each choose not to acknowledge it. Soda thinks we'll never get along, he just doesn't know that we already do. Sometimes I don't think we know it either. Steve's always been the one to tell me that I'm the one who'll get tough like Dallas, and lately I believe him.

I haven't even been gone that long.

We're all still there. Sunday dinners with Steve and Two-Bit. Football games. Camping. We made our own family out of something I never imagined. We've existed against things we shouldn't have.

So I get why Darry's mad.

At first my plan was to be gone two months – summer. Then the story got extended; Nick and I couldn't figure it out. And not used to giving up, Nick cashed in his savings and talked Max into extending our stay. That's when I called home and shit hit the fan. I told Darry I canceled my fall classes.

I gave it the old college try twice, Dar, guess it's not going to work out.

Glory, I never heard him yell so loud.

And me? I've been better. The last two years have been relatively low-key.

I still keep in touch with a few people from Cherry Hills. They're all still there. Flora still eats puzzles but she's more than that. She wrote me a few letters, mailed me a few drawings. Sometimes Stubs checks himself out and we'll grab a bite to eat or talk about what I'm writing about. I use him to bounce ideas off of and get feedback. Beverly Wilkes is behind bars. She's tried to contact me one or two times but that's been a lost cause. I can't think about her too much without breaking into a cold sweat. She's one of the things in my life that's scared me bad.

Even here, in Miami, with what I've seen, I've never really been afraid.

I turned 20 a month ago. Nick took me out for a beer and I ended up spending the night in the trunk of a car – it's a long story. Darry and Soda couldn't send me anything; I didn't give them a mailing address.

But so far, I've lived a good, healthy life.

And then this.

Darry doesn't know yet. Nobody does. Except Nick. And boy howdy, he's having a grand old time with his guilt trip.

OoO

Max sent us to Miami. A few kids in Tulsa had died of drug overdoses. The cops traced the distribution source to Florida. Possibly Tampa, probably Miami, Max had bet. Max wanted us to get the story for our town. It was our duty, he had sworn in that bullshit type of way he had. He'd back us the cash, pay our way. It sounded fine to me. Nick too. So we said yes and I told Darry.

First of all, I never should have mentioned that the story was about drugs.

Second of all, I dropped out.

Both of those were the kickers.

So we went to Miami and as hard as it was to find, we found the story.

Hot and dirty, Miami was something Nick and I've never seen. Compared to the slow drawl of Tulsa, it was a circus. If I had known what I was going to stumble into I would've backed the hell out. But foresight's a bitch.

We stumbled into our roles and got them right most of the time. I didn't realize how far we dug ourselves in until I figured out who we were talking to. Really talking to.

This assignment was fucked. It was bad. I talked to the wrong people, trusted the wrong source and last night around midnight I found myself with a blade in my back. It sliced clean around. I went down. Went down for the count and bled for a long, long time. I just remember the music. Someone had their car on, idling, and the soft tunes of the Rolling Stones' Time is on my Side.

Typically I'd hate being here, but right now the hospital is a safe place. Because when I see my brothers, when I walk through the front door, Darry is going to goddamn kill me.

I just have to call him first.

OoO

Bad habits are what Miami is good for.

I started smoking again. A shit thing, but I needed the act to blend in. And it was so easy. Although, the reason I'm in this mess is because I wouldn't fall into another bad habit. Looking back, I should have done it, should have shoved that shit up my nose and called it good.

10 hours ago I lay in a slummy alleyway in the middle of Miami's art deco district, drowning in my own blood and now I'm stitched up, hooked up and doped up in a dingy hospital room. Life's funny that way. Although, I'd use the term hospital loosely. The room's a long corridor filled with about ten beds and shoddy machinery. The nurses barely speak English.

I doubt the sterilization techniques but I'm not in the position to judge right now considering I can barely keep my own head on straight.

They keep sticking needles in me and when they pull them out they're filled with blood. When they ask in fractured English what they can do, I tell them I just want my brother. I just want Sodapop.

OoO

A phone's brought in. the nurse padding lightly across the tile floor. She sets it on the nightstand. Mutters in Spanish. Leaves. I can barely pick the phone up, managing to drag receiver to my ear. It's late there. It's four in the morning in Florida, making it three in Oklahoma. I can picture Darry and Liz, tangled in blankets, waking for the phone call. They'll be confused for about two seconds before Darry kicks it into high gear.

Dread doesn't even begin to describe this.

I shouldn't even have to call. I'm drugged and half the time I don't even remember what I'm saying. I have about a million stitches in me and someone else's blood. But the hospital needs my social and I sure as hell can't remember it.

I watch the dial spin and go dizzy. The phone rings. Ten times, twenty times, I let it ring and then there's Darry's rushed, sleep-soaked voice.

"Hello?"

"Darry? It's me."

For a second I almost wonder if he'll hang up. But then he's back, this time voice alert. Angry. I flashback to when I left six months ago, remembering how he had barely said goodbye, like I was never going to come back, and suddenly, stupidly, realize this was what he's probably been afraid of ever since I left.

"Ponyboy? It's damn near three in the morning. If you think—" He cuts off like he's just realized the reason I'd be calling at this godforsaken hour. "What's happened? What is it?"

My throat's tight. It doesn't want to let me breathe. I lick dry lips.

"Darry…"

"Do you need money, kiddo?"

Kiddo. It's that word that makes me hurt. Darry hasn't called me that since I left. I blink fast. Say fast, "No, I need my social. I can't remember it."

"Your social…?" He rambles it off, something I imagine didn't take him very long to memorize back when he first got custody. When he's done, Darry sighs. "That couldn't wait until the morning?"

"I'm in the hospital, Dar…"

I can hear his breath hitch, like someone's socked him in the gut.

"How bad?"

"Listen—"

"How bad, Ponyboy?"

"Let's just say I won't be running laps any time soon."

"Jesus Christ."

"They don't – I don't – we'll know more in the morning." I rub my face. It's the truth. I can't feel the lower half of my body they numbed me so good.

"What happened?" There's that slap of panic in his voice; Darry wanting to stay in control, even when we're separated. God, he tries hard.

"Pony?"

"Some guy stuck me with a blade – I don't even remember what—Hello? Darry?"

It's Liz's voice now. "Hold on, hold on, Ponyboy…" I lean my head back against the pillow. Close my eyes, listening to the murmured whispers. It's been about two minutes before I realize Darry's speaking again.

"…careful, Pone. Do you hear me? We can't handle this again. Do you understand me?" His voice sounds thick, drained, and I wish he'd just yell at me instead of being so nice. I put him through so much. And this time I wasn't even trying.

"I'm still alive, Dar."

"So what the hell happened?" he spits.

"I can't—I can't talk to you about it right now, Dar. I can't tell you." I open my eyes. I need to get out of Miami. "Look it just hurts too bad okay? I'll tell you when I come home. When I get outta here."

"I'm coming out there. Tell me where you are and I'll—"

"No. No, Darry." I want to keep him as far away from Florida as I can. "You stay there. I'll come back."

His breath hitches. "You get back here. You get home, Ponyboy. Come home so I can fucking strangle you."

He hangs up on me.

OoO

This is how I got into this mess. This is how I'm going back home.

OoO

What can I say? An older Ponyboy is fun to write. I'll warn you now…I'm going to kick his ass a lot in this. This story will be long. But hopefully not boring or bad. I really wanted to write them older, show them as family, but of course toss in some craziness.

Please read and review. Pardon typos.

Enjoy.

XO,

Feisty