Disclaimer: Hinton owns it, man.

Two-Bit sat down gingerly on the hard plastic chair and pressed a cold compress to his head. He was lucky; he was walking, and aside from being banged up and bloody, he was okay. Ruthie wasn't. They'd pulled her out of the car and loaded her into an ambulance before Two-Bit could even realize she was gone.

Now he sat in the waiting room, waiting for word on how she was and for the kid to show up with some fresh clothes or something. He didn't know. Ponyboy just said he was on his way when Two-Bit called; he didn't say if he was going to take him home or what. He sighed. There was a joke or pun somewhere in that last jumbled mess of thoughts—waiting in a waiting room? Maybe not. He was out of it. Too out of it to grin or laugh or make himself look any less miserable than he felt.

How did he get to be where he was? Sitting in a waiting room of a hospital just outside of Oklahoma City with a girlfriend in emergency surgery was not how the night was supposed to go. They were supposed to get away for the weekend, you know, check into a hotel somewhere. They weren't supposed to check into a hospital.

Two-Bit buried his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his aching legs. Footsteps and the smell of cigarettes made the presence of another person in the room known, but he paid no attention really. His thoughts were racing. He was going to be a father. Goddamn it. A father. But Ruthie wanted nothing to do with him after his stupid jokes.

Two-Bit pulled at his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp. He shouldn't have started anything with her, he thought. All he wanted was to lighten the mood and it ended in a fight just like it always did. He remembered thinking: This is why I started seeing that blond chick.

"Fuck," he muttered, remembering how Ruthie had screamed at him, calling him all sorts of lousy things for not noticing how she'd developed a bump over the past few months, and that she knew about the other girl. God, he was going to be a father. He wasn't ready to be a father, but damn it all to hell if the accident was the reason they lost the baby.

Two-Bit sighed heavily and looked up at the small cup of coffee being pushed at him. The only other person in the waiting room had two cups of it—one in each hand—and was offering one to him.

"You looked like you could use it," the man said, making Two-Bit sit up and abandon the cold compress.

He blinked. Gray hairs sprinkled the man's rust-colored hair, and his familiar gray eyes looked tired. Two-Bit swallowed hard. "Thanks," he mumbled, eying the man warily.

The man sat down across from him. "No problem," he said, and the two settled into an awkward silence.

Two-Bit hadn't seen this man in ten years—ten long years—and it looked like he didn't even recognize Two-Bit anymore. Two-Bit wanted to punch him like he should have all those years ago but was too shocked and angry to even move.

Everything came back to him—the smells, the sights, the sounds, the anger.

x

Music blasted from somewhere in the house, smoke clouded everyone's vision, and drinks were being passed around. Two-Bit had his arm around the first love of his life, or so he claimed that night, and a beer in his hand as their tongues explored each other's. He was just fifteen and getting lucky, his fingers exploring skin under the girl's blouse—in the middle of a party, no less.

He put the beer down blindly and fell onto a chair as she sat in his lap and pushed her hips against his, making his jeans tighten. No one cared until the girl's brother showed up and pulled her off of him.

"You touch my sister like that again, and I swear to God, I'll cut you, Mathews."

Two-Bit got up casually and grinned, getting in the boy's face. "Big words for a meathead, don'tcha think?"

He barely felt the fist connect with his jaw before a full out fight had started and it spilled out onto the lawn. Switches were flicked out and skin was cut before the rest of the party ran at the sound of sirens.

It was only a little while later that Robert Mathews froze at the sound of the phone ringing. His wife stirred in bed, but he put a hand to her shoulder and told her to go back to sleep. "I got it," he whispered, silently sighing with relief that she didn't see him packing up his belongings.

He was almost mad at his son when he heard the words "I need you to pick me up from the police station, Pop" sound through from the other line.

Robert let out a short sigh, and said, "Okay," before hanging up.

Two-Bit half expected him to blow up at him for getting himself jailed, but blew it off and asked the police officers if they had any donuts to spare instead. "You see," he said, "fighting makes a guy hungry. I guess that's why ya'll are always eatin' … fightin' crime an' all at all hours of the day."

His arms hung lazily over the bars just like the officers' feet sat lazily on their desks. "Ya'll seen ol' Dallas Winston tonight?" Two-Bit continued. The adrenaline rush he once had was gone, and he could no longer feel the effects of the alcohol he'd consumed; he was tired.

"Not tonight." The officer opened the newspaper on his desk, bored.

Two-Bit drummed his fingers slowly against the bars, looked down the hall to the front desk one last time, and then stepped back, plopping down on the one unoccupied, hard bench. "Gah!" That was a mistake, he immediately realized, but chuckled along with the officers down the hall. The other guys in the cell scowled at him for disturbing their sleep, but Two-Bit just nodded a cheeky hello at them.

He'd almost passed out when the sound of footsteps echoed against the floor and the jingling of keys sounded at his cell. "Looks like yer daddy's here ta bail ya out," the officer drawled, chewing on a toothpick.

Two-Bit jerked awake and ran a hand over his face as the cell door opened. "Thanks, occifer," Two-Bit said, and grinned, slapping the officer on the arm and nodding a good-natured goodbye at him. "See ya around."

The officer waved his keys at him. "Get outta here 'fore I send you back," he grumbled.

Robert Mathews drummed his fingers on the front desk, waiting for his son. Two-Bit walked up to him, tense, waiting for the yelling to start. He was always getting in trouble with his dad. In fact, he couldn't remember a day where his dad hadn't gotten mad at someone in the house, and getting jailed was bound to set him off.

But when Two-Bit reached the desk, thumbs hooked in his belt loops and bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning widely, his dad didn't blow up like Two-Bit had expected him to. His eyes twitched somewhat, but his face remained neutral as he jingled his keys nervously in his hands and started walking towards the door. "Let's go," he said.

Two-Bit stood there, dumbfounded. Not much shocked him, but getting jailed and not even receiving a glare from his dad made him nervous. So nervous that he just stood there, chewing on the inside of his cheek, until an officer walked by and chuckled. "I can throw you back in the cell if you're so damn fond of this place."

Two-Bit snapped out of his trance. "I'll take a rain check, buddy," he said, and half-walked, half-jogged to catch up with his dad, tripping on his way outside into the crisp autumn night.

The gravel beneath his feet crunched harmoniously with the sound of the car's engine as he walked towards it, hands now in his pockets. He noted the way his dad sat calmly in the car, a cigarette, distinct against the darkness, hanging out of his mouth. As he walked closer, he noticed the back seat and how it was filled with a few boxes of stuff.

Two-Bit swallowed hard. Man, he thought, he'd really screwed up. That was probably all his stuff in the back, and he was being kicked out. Getting jailed was the last straw for his dad.

"You getting in or what?" his dad asked gruffly, cigarette smoke escaping his lips with each word.

Two-Bit reached for the door handle and opened it, for once having nothing to say back. He was being kicked out and he had no witty comments. Shit, shit, and shit were the only words echoing in his head for a while.

"Keith, I'm leaving."

Two-Bit snapped out of his thoughts, forgetting the elaborate story he'd been cooking up, and turned his head to look at his dad. "What?"

"I'm leaving," he repeated.

"So those are your things in the back?" Two-Bit's mouth remained slightly open. He wasn't getting kicked out?

They stopped at an intersection, allowing time for Robert Mathews to raise an eyebrow at his son before he turned left onto their street. "Are you that dense, kid? Whose boxes did you think they were?"

He wasn't getting kicked out! Two-Bit almost celebrated until he realized that his dad meant that everything in the back was, in fact, his dad's. "You're leaving us?"

Robert's knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip and slowed down. He wasn't supposed to explain all of this; he was just supposed to leave and never come back. "I have to."

"Why? You an' Ma gettin' a divorce or somethin'?"

"Your mother doesn't know, and she ain't gonna know until the morning unless you wake her up and tell her."

"Why the fuck are you leaving, Pop?" Two-Bit was pissed—no, infuriated. It was supposed to be the other way around—his dad should have been mad at him for getting jailed, not him being mad at his dad for ditching them. "Ain't you supposed to let your own damn wife know when you're leaving her?!"

Robert slammed on the breaks two houses down from their own. "Dammit, I told you! I have to leave."

"Why? What's so goddamn important that you have to ditch your own fucking family?" His dad didn't say anything; he just sat there while Two-Bit went off on him, yelling like his dad was yelling back at him, until finally he got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Robert snapped finally and followed suit.

He grabbed Two-Bit by the collar and shoved him against the car. "Listen, you little shit, when you get a girl pregnant, you take care of her, you got it? Your Mama ain't the one that's pregnant."

Two-Bit stopped and glared at his dad. "You got Ma pregnant with me and Lizzie first, though, didn't ya? What happened to takin' care of us, you—"

Robert's fist connected with Two-Bit's jaw when he was least expecting it, and Two-Bit went flying with it, landing on the grass as his dad let him go and got back into the car. "You're a bastard," he hollered, wiping blood from his face as his dad sped off. "A fucking bastard …."

x

The man looked at Two-Bit with confusion, his head jerking back. "Say, do I know you from somewhere?"

Two-Bit gave the man a blank stare. "Yeah, Pop, I'd say you do."

Please review if you have the chance, and also take a look/review at my last oneshot "Silence Is Not Golden" if you can. I'll love you forever if you do. :P