I can feel someone shaking my shoulder, but I'm too tired to care. Maybe if I ignore them, they'll go away…

"Darry?"

It's the voice that finally jolts me awake - Pony's voice. He sounds terrified. My eyes fly open as I sit up, pushing the blanket off. "What's wrong?"

The moonlight's coming through the window, casting a blue-white glow around the room, and in the dim light, I can see him standing by my bed, visibly shaking, a sheen of sweat on his face and neck. He looks absolutely petrified.

I'm on my feet in a second, looking over him anxiously, hands hovering, trying to figure out what to do as he says, "I don't know- I just- I can't-"

He's too worked up to get out a coherent sentence, and I put a hand on his shoulder and push him to sit on the bed, sitting next to him. "Easy, clam down. Did you have a nightmare?"

He shakes his head, his breath coming in short gasps, and I can actually feel the bed vibrating for how hard he's trembling. He's scaring me. Is he having a panic attack?

"Ponyboy, breathe," I command him, trying to sound calmer than I feel. I bring my hands up to cup the sides of his neck, my thumbs resting on the sides of his face, as if I can hold him steady. "C'mon, it's okay."

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Dar- I just- I can't stop it."

"Stop what?" I'm trying to be gentle, paternal, and, not for the first time, I wish Soda was here. He always knew what to do when it came to this kind of thing.

"I don't know." He looks up at me, eyes big, scared, pleading with me to help. "I just- I've got this feeling- like something awful's gonna happen, or- maybe it already did, but- Darry-" he breaks off, and I can see the panic rising again. "I can't make it stop. I don't know what's wrong. It's like-"

He's getting worked up, talking fast, voice rising slightly, and I do my best to soothe him. "Hey, hey; it's alright, Ponyboy. Just try to calm down. Just breathe."

He closes his eyes again tightly, forcing himself to take deep breaths, and slowly he stops trembling so much, letting out a small shiver every so often.

"Okay?" I ask, and he nods, pulling away, letting out a shuddering breath.

"Yeah. Sorry I woke you. I just- I didn't know what to do."

"It's okay. As long as you're alright."

He gives a short nod, but I can see by his eyes that he's not really alright; the anxiety, or whatever it is, is still bothering him - scaring him.

"Hey," I say gently, and he looks up at me. "Nothing's wrong, okay? You're alright. I'm alright. Everything's fine. Okay?"

He searches my face for a minute. "Okay."

He looks so young. Young and scared. I reach out and draw him towards me, and when he wraps his arms around my torso, I can feel how tensed he is. I cup the side of his head against the front of my shirt, his ear pressed to my chest so he can hear my heartbeat. I'm right here. I've got you. Everything's okay.

For a second, nothing happens - his muscles are so tensed under my hand that it must hurt, and I feel his rib cage heaving slightly as his breaths come faster than normal.

But then they slow down as he relaxes, the anxiety leaving him after a minute. I move the hand that's on the side of his head, running my fingers through his hair. It's something Mom used to do a lot, and I'm hoping it'll calm him down a little. It does; he closes his eyes, soaking it up, and lets out a soft, contented sound, almost like a hum. The corner of my mouth lifts in a smile, and I set my chin on his head.

"Dar?" he mumbles drowsily a minute later. " 's it okay if I stay in here tonight?"

I lift my head, laughing softly as I brush his bangs away from his eyes. "Yeah. It's okay."

I lean my head back to rest it against the headboard and close my eyes. I'll definitely have a stiff neck tomorrow, but it's worth it.

XXX

One week later…

Bills…junk mail…more junk mail…

I stop flipping through the envelopes when my eyes land on the one that says it's from the Army. I shove the rest of the mail into the mailbox and tear this one open. A letter from Soda? A message from his officer saying he's coming home-?

My eyes seem to jump on their own to the words that make my heart stop and my breath catch.

We regret to inform you that Private Curtis was killed in action…

Bile rises in my throat as dark spots start to cloud my vision. No. No, not him. Please no...

I turn over the envelope with trembling hands, a ringing growing steadily in my ears. I almost drop the letter.

It's dated one week ago today.