Another Family Guy piece for you guys. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Warnings: Swear words and character death.

In a side note, I got this idea from a writing prompt. The prompt was to write a story about a difficult decision that would forever change someone's life. I thought, nothing would change a life more than having to choose whether someone you love lives or dies. I'm a little twisted that way (as you can probably tell by my previous work, ha!).

Stewie looked at the dog before him and burst into tears. Typically, he wasn't too emotional of a person, but the thought of the decision he was faced with changed that. He stared at his childhood friend, Brian, as the poor dog lay there in agony. It broke Stewie's heart, his tears made that obvious, and yet he still stood firm that his emotions were brought by frustration.

Brian's back leg twitched once in awhile, but that was all the mobility he could muster; he had gotten up in age, after all. He would groan a little as indication that, despite the strong narcotics he was fed, he was in intense pain. His aged face was pressed against a cold metal table, halfway covered by an oxygen mask. It was a pitiful sight, and Stewie couldn't change anything about it.

The sixteen-year-old approached his childhood friend, tears in his eyes. He placed a hand over the dog's paw to let Brian know he was there.

"Uh, hey, Bry," Stewie forced through a few sniffles, patting the paw under his hand. "How's it goin', buddy?"

Brian groaned; whether the groan was out of pain or the pure stupidity of the question was hard to decipher. His paw twitched beneath the boy's hand, attempting to curl around it to no avail. It was painful to even try to make any motions at this point, even in order to comfort Stewie.

"I... I guess that was a pretty stupid question," Stewie muttered as he noticed Brian's struggle to grasp his hand. "Um, listen, Brian, I'm only here for a couple of minutes. I just wanted to stop by and say..."

He stopped. Just the thought of what he had to say caused his throat to cave in upon itself. His mouth had become dry and unable to form the words he needed. It hadn't done any of that when he had practiced at home, and now he suddenly couldn't make more than a few chokes and sniffles.

"I just wanted to say..." Again, he couldn't do it. "Damn it, I can't. I can't do this, Brian! I command you to pull yourself together at once!"

Stewie knew that was an impossible request. He knew that Brian couldn't just stop being old and sick. He knew that his canine companion wouldn't be able to "pull himself together" any time soon – or ever, for that matter. Brian was on his last leg, that was beyond obvious. And yet, Stewie refused to believe it. He refused to accept the fact that his best friend would no longer be with him.

He gripped Brian's paw more firmly, hoping that it would help in some way. He tussled the white fur with his thumb for a moment. He wanted to comfort Brian as much as he could in the short amount of time they had left.

"S-Stewie," Brian managed to wheeze, the mask over his snout fogging with his breath. "Can you get me off of these damn machines? They're... they're kind of uncomfortable."

The request pierced through the teen's body, smashing into him like a ton of bricks. If only Brian knew that was exactly why Stewie was there in the first place. It was Stewie's decision on whether the machines would be removed or not; a decision that made the difference of life and death for Brian.

Normally, Stewie would jump at the chance to play God. If it had been anyone else, he would have enjoyed the thrill of toying with them. He would drag out the decision to make them suffer and wonder if they would live or die. But, when it was Brian's life, Stewie would have given everything to not play the role of God.

"Well, actually, Brian," he began with a nip to his lower lip. "That's why I'm here."

"Oh... Well, great!" Brian cheerfully responded as his tail wagged for the first time in months. "So, you'll just take this stuff off, and we'll head on home."

That was the worst part of it all; Brian thought that he'd actually get better (mainly because Stewie had been leading him to think that). Sure, in the beginning, Brian was certain he would die, but overtime he had come to believe that his young friend was right – of course, that could have just been from all the drugs the nurses pumped into him each day.

Stewie sniffled, "uh, I... well, you see, I can't actually take them off."

The tail that wagged behind Brian had dropped to the table. The elderly dog, confused and in pain, looked up to his owner with pitiful eyes. It was as if the physical pain had left him when he thought he would be going home, but had returned multiple times over when that hope was crushed.

"W-what do you mean? You just said you were here to take them off," he somewhat shouted, trying to sound stern through the pain. "You just said that you could! You just... oh."

It hit him; the horrible truth had finally worked its way into his mind. Well, it had been rooted in his mind for some time, but it wasn't until that moment that he was forced to let go of that optimism Stewie had given him. He understood that those machines – those annoying-as-Hell machines – were the only things giving him life. Those machines were the only reason he had gone on as long as he had.

He bitterly continued, "so, you lied to me, huh? Well, I guess I can understand why. I mean, I'm just dying, that's all."

"Oh, Brian, don't be this way," Stewie whispered as tears came to his eyes once again. Damn that Brian for making him cry like that!

"How else should I be, Stewie? I'm living in pain, hooked up to these machines, and my best friend doesn't even have the balls to tell me that it's all for nothing. Wow, if I wasn't dying, I could use that as a plot for my novel."

Stewie rolled his eyes in slight frustration, but the mood immediately turned back to depression. He took in a deep breath to collect himself, containing his emotions as best he could. He took a deep look at his dog, mentally removing the machines and needles to restore Brian to the way he once was.

"Look, I'm sorry, but none of this is my fault," the teen tried to explain as he moved a hand to Brian's ear, gently rubbing it between his fingers. "You and I both knew that this was the inevitable."

Brian didn't say anything; he simply glanced to Stewie for a moment and then hurtfully to the floor. The cold metal beneath his chin flashed the blinking lights of the many machines against the tears that came to his eyes. He was deeply hurt, but it wasn't so much that Stewie had lied to him; it was more the thought of leaving behind someone who seemed to need him – who really loved him.

Stewie watched as his old friend had started to give up hope. He watched as the light (the small amount there was) of life in Brian's eyes began to fade. It made him feel helpless; he was Stewie Griffin, an evil genius since the day he was conceived, and he was unable to do anything about his beloved dog's dying.

"Yeah..." the canine sighed as he shut his eyes. "I'm sorry, Stewie, I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just, I thought you'd come up with something. I mean, you've built your share of life-altering things in the past, and I just kinda figured you'd be able to reverse this."

"You know I gave up on that nonsense a long time ago, Brian. Besides, even if I did cure you, we'd just be dragging out the unavoidable."

That was the hardest part to swallow. No matter if Brian could pull through, it would do nothing but make his passing that much harder in the future. Losing Brian would, without doubt, be the most difficult trial in the young boy's life. It would be man losing his best friend – his dog. A dog that cared for him and looked out for him more than any human in his life ever had.

Lois and Peter, Stewie's parents, were always more consumed with themselves and everyday life. His father was an immature fat man, while his mother was a nuisance in his life. His older brother, Chris, was a drooling simpleton that made him cringe, and his older sister was always too depressed to really form any connection with him. Brian, however, was his best friend – his family. Brian was like the father or the brother that he hadn't been given.

Such an intelligent child needed another intelligent being around him, especially in that fun house known as the Griffin household. Brian, despite being a dog, provided him with that. Brian was the rock that Stewie needed in his life in order to escape such a mind-numbing family.

He rubbed against Brian's ear a little longer before trailing down to the dog's tail. He stroked the tail for a moment before he rested his hand on Brian's back. He wanted to make sure his final moments with his companion weren't filled with their (somewhat) typical bickering.

Brian softly and suddenly spoke, "are you going to be okay?"

That was a good question; would Stewie be okay? After all, once this was over, he'd be returning home to those fools. He'd have to deal with Peter's antics, his mother yelling at Peter for those antics, his brother mooching off of everyone, and his sister's constant sulking. Sure, he normally had to deal with those things anyway, but he always had Brian to take the edge off. Without him, Stewie would certainly fall into that of insanity – a grieving child with so many ideas and no one to share them with (even if they were horrible ideas).

He nodded, sniffling in an attempt to prevent the waterworks. He wasn't positive he would be okay, but he didn't really have a choice. When someone you care about dies, you have no choice other than to be okay – or to at least pretend you're okay.

"Y-yeah, Bry," he chuckled a little to ease the tension. "Totally, of course. I'm a big boy now; no need to worry about me."

He knew that that was utter garbage. No matter how old you get, it's always a horrible experience to lose someone. Despite having become a teenager, Stewie might as well have been one again; he certainly felt like a child again. He was on the verge of crying again, something he felt only a child would do. But, that was his dog on that table; he couldn't have given less of a care if anyone saw him crying.

The door behind the two creaked opened as a woman stepped inside. She carried a tray that was topped with needles and various other things that would make anyone cringe. She sat the tray on a tabletop in the corner of the room, approaching the metal table after doing so.

She turned to Stewie with a clipboard held to her chest, "are you Stewart Griffin?"

"Stewie, if you please," he responded to the woman, though his eyes remained fixed upon the tray on the table. "And yes, I'm Stewie... I suppose you're here for my decision, right?"

"Mm-hmm," the blonde woman hummed and nodded as she looked to her clipboard. "I'll just need you to sign this paper for me."

It didn't seem much like a decision at this point. The woman practically forced the pen and paper into Stewie's hands, regardless that he hadn't yet given his consent. He, however, knew he hadn't had much of a decision to begin with. Freewill was nothing but an illusion, after all.

Stewie glared at the woman for a moment, but reluctantly took the clipboard from her. He removed the pen from beneath the clip and clicked it open. His hand trembled as it inched closer and closer to the signature line with that mincing 'X' drawn beside it.

"C-could you just give us a moment, please?" He asked, the "please" not making his stern tone sound any more pleasant.

The woman simply stood there for a moment longer, her eyes seeming to stare right through the boy. Stewie had grown uncomfortable with the stare, inching closer to the table to try to get out of her view.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get out of her, woman," he snapped, shooing her with a crude hand gesture. "Go jab some other mutt with a rectal thermometer, so my friend and I can have some proper final words."

"Yes, but I need your signature on those papers in order to..."

Stewie interrupted with impatience, "I'll sign your damn papers! I just want a moment with Brian, here. Sheesh, can't a boy spend some time with his dog before he's sent to the Great Pound in the Sky – if there is such a thing?"

The busty nurse looked on a bit stunned, but nodded in compliance. She gave Stewie a pat on the shoulder before she left the two alone once again.

Once the door was shut, Stewie returned his attention back to his good friend. He ran his hand through the fur on the top of Brian's head, disheveling it and fixing it back a few times. He patted his dog's head a bit before he moved both hands back to the clipboard.

"My apologies about that, Brian. Some people just can't take a hint," he explained as he glared at the door. "Now, where were we?"

"Jeez, Stewie, you were kinda harsh on her. She was just trying to do her job," Brian responded as his eyes fell upon the papers in his owner's hands. "Well, I guess that makes it official..."

"Her job is to kill you, Brian! I just bought you extra time, and this is the way you repay me?"

"Hey, calm down, I was just saying..."

"Saying what? Saying that you're ready for me to leave? Am I getting on your nerves, Brian? Would you rather die than have me to talk to?"

Tear had begun to stream down Stewie's face once again, dripping onto the papers. The ink smudged a little, but he didn't care; the more it smeared the harder it would be for those veterinarian bastards to read. He read over what words weren't ruined by the tears and took in a deep breath; it was happening – he was about to sign away Brian's life.

"You know that's a load of crap," Brian briefly snapped before he took notice of Stewie's tears. "Oh... H-hey, c'mon, Stewie, it's gonna be okay. You could... get a new dog."

That last part hurt. Just the thought of his longtime friend replacing him with some random mutt made him sick. Brian felt a sharp pain bolt through his heart (whether it was just the usual pain or his emotional state was hard to tell), and he reached a shaky hand to the teen's shoulder. Weakly, he patted Stewie's shoulder.

Stewie snapped his still oddly-shaped head toward the dog, a scowl on his face. He sniffled back a few emotions as his shoulders slumped, which caused Brian's hand to fall away from him.

"Yes, I could get a new dog. But I can't get a new Brian! I mean, really, how many other dogs do you think are out there that I can talk to? Besides, other dogs can be incredibly stupid – running around after sticks all day and whatnot."

Well, Brian couldn't argue with that; he truly was a dog to be reckoned with – a level-headed writer with four legs and a tail. It would be a task to find a replacement to match up with such an amazing dog, but the Griffins wouldn't have much of a choice in the matter. This was the end to his great legacy as the Griffins' pet and friend. He was more than a pet and friend actually – he was family. And losing him was just as painful as losing flesh and blood (at least it was for Stewie).

"Uh, yeah," Brian muttered as he tried to come up with something insightful to say, but there was no such luck; his brain had given up on him as he was left to struggle for words. A writer struggling for words; who knew that was a thing?

A knock rapped at the door, drawing the attention of the boy and dog. The door opened without hesitation for an answer, the blonde nurse with a robust man behind her entered the room. She approached Stewie while the head-vet went to Brian's bedside to begin the prep-work.

The nurse asked with a bittersweet smile, "have you signed those papers yet, Stewart – oh, I mean," she giggled, "Stewie."

While the giggle was out of her own foolishness, Stewie couldn't help but view it as if she were mocking him. He glared intensely at her before turning his eyes back to the clipboard. He had yet to sign the papers, but he preferred it that way. He didn't want to sign those blasted papers that would take his best friend away from him. How could anyone with any type of humanity in them sign away the life of another man, especially one that was viewed as family? It was despicable, and Stewie (although he usually loved being a despicable fink) wasn't ready to graduate to that level of evil.

Brian watched as Stewie held a pen over the signature line once again, he noticed the boy's hand trembling like before. He drew in a deep breath as he looked at his owner. He placed a paw on Stewie's shoulder in a supportive manner. He had come to terms rather quickly with the fact that he was to be "put down", it was time Stewie came to terms with it, too.

Stewie, however, felt trapped between a rock and a hard place. He wanted nothing more than to save his dog, but he himself had said they'd only be putting off something that would happen anyway. He was torn between wanting to put Brain out of pain and wanting to be selfish and have him keep living despite the agony. It was a lose-lose situation, but in the end, no matter what he chose, Brian would die. Whether he died by natural causes or by injections, it didn't seem to matter in the scheme of things.

Brian cleared his throat and managed to speak, "it's okay, Stewie, sign the papers."

"B-but..."

"It's for the best."

"But, Brian, how will you ever get along without me?" Stewie asked in a way to make himself seem like the leader, despite that being the exact opposite of their entire relationship.

Brian couldn't help but chuckle, "I'll be dead, I don't think I'll really know the difference."

The situation was not the type that should produce a smile, but Stewie couldn't help but smile faintly at the canine's twisted humor. That was the Brian he'd known and loved all his life; it seemed like they were back at home, carrying on one of their typical conversations.

"Well, if you're sure."

"I'm sure," the highly-intelligent mutt nodded as he moved his weak hands around his collar. He snapped off the accessory and handed it over to the teenager before him. "Here. Take care, kid."

The nurse and veterinarian looked on in awe with the same expressions one would have while watching puppies in a pet store window. It was a heartwarming conversation despite the horrible result that it would lead to. It seemed to be that silver lining that those overly-optimistic nuts always rambled on about.

A short time had passed as Stewie shuffled about in the waiting room. He didn't know what he was waiting for; he was instructed to head home while the dark deed was performed, but he wasn't about to start obeying authority figures now. So, there he paced in the waiting room, not really waiting for anything.

He twisted his hands around the frayed red collar multiple times. The tiny gold plate hanging from the silver ring jingled as it bashed against his thumb. He began to pinch apart the jump-ring, manipulating the shape of the metal until the tag came free. Stewie ran his thumb over the engraved words, holding them close to his heart. Sure, it didn't have the most heartfelt message, but it had been apart of Brian, just as Brian had been apart of him. It would have been nice to have a more pleasant message or even just his name, but that wasn't the case and it would have to do.

Stewie placed the tag in the pocket of his red jeans, though he kept his fingers wrapped around it as he stuffed his hand into the pocket. The words engraved on the tag played like a broken record in the back of his mind:

Cremate, do not bury...