Disclaimer: Sad to say I don't own Stand By Me, Teddy Duchamp/Corey Feldman, etc. etc. Would I be writing this if I did?

Teddy's thoughts as he sees Ray Brower's body. Just something short I wrote for an English II project.

REVISED! I wasn't sure if Teddy's chapter tied in with Vern's enough, and I wanted to give a bit more insight into his character, so I rewrote this chapter. PLEASE LET ME KNOW if you prefer the first one. Thanks guys, hope you like it:)

I, Teddy Duchamp, have never been afraid of anything. Train dodges? No problem. Illegally scaling a junk yard fence? Why not. But as I stand here now, looking at that dead Brower kid… the way his eyes sort of sink back into their sockets... I'm damn near about to shit myself.

When we left home yesterday, I thought we were just going to bring him back and, you know, get our pictures in the paper and what not, maybe get a nice shiny little medal or something. We were supposed to be heroes.

I'm not supposed to feel sorry for the kid. Get there, get the kid, and get out. That was how it was supposed to go. But he looks so… cold… so dead… I mean, the kid was only a year or so older than us. What if that had been Chris? Or Gordie? Or hell, even Vern? We wouldn't be trying to get something out of this if it was someone we knew, would we? Hell no, you don't do that to your friends.

I wonder if the kid had any friends. I'm sure he did; everyone has friends, right? I wonder if they'll cry at his funeral… Is he even going to have one at all? Will they clean him up first? His parents probably don't want to see him all cut up and shit…

Chris just told me and Vern to build him a stretcher. What are we supposed to hold this thing together with, Bazooka? Well it's not like we could just toss him over our shoulders or something and carry him all the way back. Shit, man, he's a person not a sleeping bag.

Oh great, now Gordie's crying. I wish he wouldn't do that. It kind of makes me want to cry too, though, you know? The kid never even made it to junior high. He'll never smoke another pack of Winston's or play another game of Scat. Hell, I don't even know if he liked Scat or smoked Winston's. What am I talking about? Everyone smokes Winston's. I think my eyes are watering. Oh shit, Vern's staring at me. If he asks, I'll just tell him I poked myself in the eye with a stick. Yeah.

Man, what would my dad say if he saw this? If he knew I wanted to cry?

I can almost hear him. "Toughen up, Ted! Soldiers don't cry! What are you gonna do on the battlefield if one of your buddies gets his fucking head blown off, huh? You gonna cry then, too?"

And then I'd probably get a beating or something, but I'd rather leave that part out. He always did that... knocked me around, I mean. But just to toughen me up, you know? You've gotta be tough if you wanna make it as a soldier.

As if things couldn't get any worse, here comes Ace. That's it, we're gonna die. Words are spilling out of my mouth before I even know what I'm saying. I think I'm making fun of Billy Tessio. Oh yeah, we're definitely gonna die.

Chambers needs to get his ass out of there, right now. Who just stands around when someone's got a switchblade in their hand? And they call me crazy!

I'm watching Gordie standing there with that pistol in his hand. I never even saw him pick it up. I think Ace is scared. Ha, who would have thought half-starved Gordie Lachance could scare resident town badass Ace Merril? I wonder if Gordie is really going to shoot him. The whole scene is playing right in front of my eyes like one of those silent black and white movies. Everything is happening in slow motion. Ace is walking away, I think…

I ask Gordie if we're going to take the body. He says no. I'm trying not to show that I'm relieved (and I don't mean I just pissed, either). The kid… Ray… he deserves better than being hauled into the police station on sticks and leaves.

Vern's staring at me again. He really needs to cut that out, man. It's like he's trying to read me or something. He's trying to see if I'm scared, if I want to cry. Well screw you, Vern!

I fling my hand in front of his face, say "Two for flinching!" and hit him in the arm twice. Rubbing his shoulder, he grins and pats me on the back.

I'm not scared, Vern. I'm not. Teddy Duchamp is not scared. Teddy Duchamp does not want to cry. Teddy Duchamp is a soldier, damnit.

Are you proud of me yet, Dad?

Oneshot? I haven't decided yet. I might do more chapters for Gordie, Chris, and Vern. This just sort of came up as an English essay, so… But I apologize for anything that may have been out of character. It's hard getting into the mind of a twelve year old boy, haha.

Reviews? Are very very much appreciated! Love it, hate it, I want to know:)