A/N: This is not a Zombie fic. There is a play on the words 'living' and 'dead'. You'll see what I mean by the end of this chapter. I've not written anything for a long while and re-read The Outsiders just recently and let's just say my writing muse fired up.

I hope you enjoy reading the chapter as much I loved writing it. Please let me!

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CHAPTER ONE.

October 15th, 1969

I kneel down at Johnny's grave, wrestling with the all too familiar grief that washes over me.

"You'd think," I choke, "I'd be over it by now. It's been four years Johnny. Can you believe it?"

I somehow stop the tears. Suck it up, Pony, I silently chide. You're not a kid anymore.

"Turned 18 last month," I continue, my voice now steady as I attempt to pull my wayward emotions in check. "I'm technically an adult."

I let out a laugh that sounds far too bitter. "I'm telling Darry what to do."

The irony of it

I can see Johnny perched on his headstone, a wry grin on his lips, 'man, seriously?'

I'm glad no one is around to see my imaginary conversations. I always visit Johnny's grave at dawn on the anniversary of his death. I'd come later in the day with the other gang members. Every year we'd pay our respects, but this … me and Johnny … watching the sun rise, it was just the two of us. Yeah, I remember him telling me 'that sure was pretty' in our short stay at Windrixville, when one morning we'd watch the sunrise.

It seems a lifetime ago now and strangely not … I don't even know how to explain it.

"Within reason," I cough. "Let's say I got a job and told Darry to go to College. He's done so much. He needs a break. I told him that he was going to college and I'll work the next three years and then we can swap, you know."

'That's cool, Ponyboy. See, I always knew you'd do something like that. You stayed gold didn't ya, Pony?'

I nod. "Yeah." Least I tried to. Nobody is ever that good, all of the time, right? I sure ain't.

I see the curiosity in Johnny's dark brown eyes. God, how I miss him. "You should be here," I murmur, swallowing the painful lump in my throat.

'Don't go there, Ponyboy,' I hear him speak.

I screw my eyes shut to stop the tears.

'Talk to me, man. What about you, what job you doing now?'

I somehow manage to find my voice again. "I work at a bank."

Johnny falls off the headstone in astonishment. It makes me smile. Okay, so maybe this is all in my head, so be it, I don't care. This is all I have left of him, I'll take what I can get.

"Got good grades when I graduated, didn't have problems getting a job, had to buy a suit though and get a haircut," I sigh. "Man, that sucks, but the pay ain't bad. I guess it's worth it, getting used to the hair so short anyway. Two-Bit and Steve still like to take the piss out of me from time to time, but it's been nearly a year and the whole novelty has kind of worn off now."

'That's alright, still looks better than Windrixville,' Johnny reassures.

I smile. "Yeah, man I don't think it could get any worse than that."

'You dissing my hair dressing abilities now, Pony?' he jokes.

It may have bothered me once, but my self-identify was no longer tied up in the length of hair, not like it was then. "You know, don't think I was ever a greaser, just had no choice … like none of us really ever did."

I toe poke a patch of dirt with my sneaker. I might have no say about my past, but I could try to change my future, right? I ain't that jaded yet.

'Ya, gonna be more, Pony, I know ya will be.'

Every year, it's always the same. I justify my existence, why I live and why he doesn't. "I try to be, Johnny … I try …" My voice catches in my throat.

'Hey, c'mon, Ponyboy.'

A dark lock of hair falls in his eye. 'Always tough times …' his face suddenly becomes serious, worried... 'don't give up hope, Pony, dark days will come and go, but you gonna survive … because I know you."

I frown. This is new, I don't remember Johnny talking this way before. "What are you sayin' Johnny?"

'Just stay gold, Pony. Don't let the world beat ya. Don't get bitter.'

I'm still confused. I want to reach out. I want to feel something solid beneath my fingertips, something real. If I could just touch him … then maybe this wasn't a figment of my imagination. I reach out my hand, like I always do, but there is nothing there … just air … and it's cold.

Johnny vanishes before my eyes, and the loss hits me hard. My whole body starts to shake. My teeth clatter against each other. God, how I hate this time of year.

"C'mon, Johnny, don't desert me now."

I sound so pathetic, like a ten year old. I run a distraught hand across my face, through my hair, pulling on the short blunt ends in despair. Is four years really long enough to get over losing your best friend?

"Pony?" comes a strangely familiar voice.

My hand drops to my side and I raise anguished eyes to the face of my older brother. "Darry?"

Darry doesn't hesitate, before I can even respond to his presence, I find myself caught up in his embrace. His warm arms wrap around my skinny frame. I'm nearly as tall as him now but that was where the similarities end. I was too lanky, knobbly knees and pointy elbows with gaunt cheeks and everyone always telling me to eat more. Since Johnny's death and then Dallas, my appetite has never been the same. It has gotten a bit better with time, but then I'd shoot up in height and just end up thin once again.

"Jeez kid," Two-Bit would muse, "when ya gonna stop growing?"

"When you hold down a job," I'd retort.

Two-Bit would grin. "Mouthy little shit. Getting' too big for ya own boots now."

They all still like to baby me, just because I'm the youngest, god how it annoys me. Still, Two-Bit is my best buddy. Everywhere I go, he follows, as if it's his god damn duty or something. I don't mind. Kind of like it, he always keeps the dark shadows at bay with his jest and humour. At times, I sorely need it.

"Who ya' talking to, Pony?" Darry asks, I hear the concern in his voice.

"Don't ask," I mutter, pulling out of his embrace.

I can feel his eyes raking off me, studying me and worrying; always worrying. Though he no longer needs to worry. I ain't a kid anymore.

"Not a baby," I remind him.

He slides an arm across my shoulder and I welcome it, baby or not. As usual, still lying to myself.

"Okay, little brother, who still thinks he knows it all," Darry begins, pulling me along and away from Johnny's grave. "What are you doing out here?"

I take a deep breath. "What I always do, watch the sunrise with Johnny on the anniversary of his death."

Mercifully Darry doesn't push it. He's kind of mellowed out this last year. College has been good for him, he's finally doing something he's always dreamed of wanting to do, but never believing he would. The stress he's carried for so long has begun to ease up. He looks younger too, or well more his age.

"Don't sweat it, Darry. I know he ain't real, it just makes me feel better imagining he's there." I talk honestly, because I know Darry gets it now.

He ruffles my hair. "Alright Kiddo."

I roll my eyes, push his hand away from my hair in annoyance. It's that damn kid thing again, will I ever escape it?

I slick back the shortness of my hair with greasy oil, for what it's worth. It was Johnny and Dallas' memorial after all. Steve cocks an eyebrow in amusement at my feeble attempts.

"It's like a new found foal trying to find its legs," he quips.

"Still earn more money than you," I retort.

He scowls. That shuts him up. I can see him grit his teeth. I still don't like him, but he has grown on me with time.

As for Sodapop, he'll never change. He'll stand the test of time, defy its gravity, 'I won't ever age, you can't make me, I'll always be young'.

Hell, even I act older than him now. He is turning 21, legal drinking age. Though we'd all been drinking at a much tender age, except me, because Darry wouldn't let me. Not that he needed to be so tough, I'd already seen how much damage excessive drinking does to a person. I barely touch the stuff.

Steve and Sodapop are still working at the DX station, only Sodapop is like the manager now, which really ticks Steve off and makes me secretly smile in a smug kind of way.

As for Two-Bit, he finally did grow too old for high school, leaving a year before I did. In the end I think he only hung around because I was still there. Now and again he manages to get a job, only to get fired shortly afterwards. We all have running bets on how long he'll last whenever he gets a new job. Once, he surprised us and lasted a whole week.

Grabbing a carton of chocolate milk from the fridge, I walk into the living room. I catch a glimpse of the six o'clock news. Always bleak and grim, always about the Vietnam War. Always about death, as if we can never truly escape it.

"Man, is that war ever gonna end," Steve snorts, taking a swig of his beer. "They're doing another damn draft lottery. Sure hope they don't pick my date of birth."

Darry switches the television off.

Steve glances in Two-Bit's direction. "Hey, man, maybe you'll get drafted and then you can't get fired."

"Not me, no way. I'll just high tail it to Canada."

"What about you, Soda?" Steve continues.

Soda plonks himself down next to me and I shiver. Just the thought of either one of my brothers getting drafted into that horrible war secretly terrifies me.

"You cold, Ponyboy?" Sodapop asks, concern reflected in his eyes.

I shake my head, take a swig of chocolate milk. Soda just shrugs at Steve's question and doesn't answer.

"Enough talk of that, let's go pay our respects," Darry interrupts. He hates talking about anything to do with the war. I already know he's lost a couple of friends.

There is no banter as we arrive at the cemetery. Two-Bit has already downed at least half a dozen beers. I know he'll be out cold by the end of the night.

Even Sodapop's usual enthusiasm is seriously down played. He walks, head bowed and hands shoved in his pockets.

All of us have grim expressions on our faces. I light a cigarette and draw back deeply. Recent research, without a doubt, has now shown that smoking does indeed kill you, but then what in this life doesn't? I don't really care. If I'm gonna die, then hell, everyone's gotta die sometime, right. No one's really paying much attention to the feeble health campaigns about the dangers of smoking and I can't see it ever changing. Though Darry does get on my case about it. He just can't let go of that whole big brother protective role, despite me now being 18.

He has a girlfriend. Her name is Sue. He met her at College. She's pretty cool, but man does she go on about the rights of woman and how badly treated they are and given what I know; I agree with her, though the rest of the gang just laugh at her or tease her. Some of those College girls sure are feisty and there is something about Sue that vaguely reminds me of Cherry Valence. Man, I haven't seen her in well over three years, but I've never forgotten her. Sometimes I still stop, catch a beautiful sunset and think of her. I wonder if she is watching the same sunset too.

Each one of us usually says a couple of words at Johnny and Dallas' graves. I hang back, always wanting to be the last one because usually by that time the others are starting to fidget and not really paying attention. But tonight, something doesn't feel right. It's as if Johnny is lurking in the shadows, feeling anxious. I shake my head to clear it. I'm seriously delusional at times.

Overly sensitive.

Maybe, that's why everyone feels as if it's there duty to protect me or something? And protect me from what exactly? I might be sensitive, but I'm strong too. I've had to be.

When it's my time to speak, the words catch in my throat. I see him; Johnny. He looks sad. Dallas is always standing back in the darkness, I never know what is going on with him.

"Be strong, Ponyboy," a voice … his voice whispers on the cool night breeze.

I shiver and quite suddenly, I just want out of here. I just want to go home, to the warmth and the familiar banter among friends and brothers.

I was glad to leave the cemetery. The mood began to slowly lighten as we headed home. Sodapop and Steve were already discussing playing Polka. Two-Bit was making some rather crude jokes and everything feels right again.

"Hey, Ponyboy," Darry calls over his shoulder as we walk up to the front porch. "Can you check the mail?"

I grumble under my breath, but do as he asks.

I shove my hand in the letter box, grabbing a couple of letters, no doubt bills and a rather large A4 manilla envelope. I peer down at it frowning. It's addressed to me. I flip it over and my heart sinks at the return address; The Department of the Army.

I frown, my heart does a funny little lurch. This … can't be happening … this …

My hands shake as I tear open the envelope. I somehow manage to read the official words. You are hearby directed to present yourself for Armed Forces Physical Examination in the local board named above by reporting at Tulsa Recruitment Office, 230 Sanchez Road, Tulsa, Oklahoma on the 1st November.

My vision blurs, I check the name and it's definitely mine. Along with my address and the chilling words: Selective Service System. There is the Eagle Emblem of the U.S. Army in the top right corner. This is no mistake.

The letter flutters out of my hands and drifts to the ground.

But I'm too young … I've just turned 18. Johnny's pained words came back to haunt me, 'I don't want to die now. It ain't long enough. Sixteen years ain't long enough. God, but is 18 really all that much longer? My throat tightens, I can barely breath. Just two years more than Johnny, I'll only get two more years.

I feel a maniac wild pained gurgle of laughter erupt which sounds more like a pathetic whimper. All this time I've been worrying about my brothers being drafted and at the end it would be me … a sob catches in my throat.

"Ponyboy," I hear Darry call, but his voice sounds distorted and distant; from a far. "Ponyboy?!"

I can hear the sudden concern in his voice. I numbly watch him approach. I guess I must look as wretched as I feel. Everyone knew gettin' sent to Nam was nothing short of a death sentence. The only way I'll ever return home is if I get seriously injured and declared no longer 'fit for duty'. Probably losing a limb in the process or some damn internal organ or god knows what else. And providing I do survive … I've heard horror stories. I'm not stupid. No one ever returns from that place sane.

I can feel Darry hands roughly grab me by the shoulders. "What is wrong with you?"

I shiver, my eyes wander down to the letter lying on the ground; the letter that determines my fate. Letting me go, Darry bends down and picks it up. I wait for it … watching the myriad of emotions crossing Darry's face; shock, horror and then rage, white hot rage.

"No!" He screws up the letter in his hand. "I say no, Ponyboy! You're not going! I won't let this happen. You have to do as I tell you!"

I don't have the heart to tell him he no longer has that right that I'm no longer a boy and he has no say, no control anymore. God, though I wish he did. It's probably the only time in my life that I want to do as I am told.

My whole body is shaking so badly. Darry is beyond reasoning. I've never seen him so upset. His yelling and cursing attracts the attention of Sodapop, who is already making a beeline towards us. He probably thinks we're fighting, he's always hates it when we argue.

"What's going on?" he demands.

He somehow manages to catch me in his arms as I sink to the ground.

"Ponyboy?"

I don't have the heart to tell him. I know the shit storm that is about to follow and I screw my eyes shut. I'd spent the last four years living in fear that I would be taken from my brothers and put into foster care. Turning 18 had prematurely given me peace of mind. There is no need to worry anymore. I was safe. We'd made it as a family.

I really should have known better. Am I not cursed since birth?

And quite suddenly, I just don't want to feel so much anymore. It hurt, everything hurt. Soda holding me in his arms as he's done since Mum and Dad died however is strangely soothing.

"It's alright, Pony. I got you." He strokes my hair in a comforting gesture.

How I wish … I can block out tomorrow. Pull the handbrake; stop the world from spinning and just … breathe and get to live and … be … normal.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Would love to know what you all think! Reviews are always very much loved! I know the Vietnam thing has been done a lot, especially with Sodapop, but there are a few little twists along the way with this story.

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