This is a side fic to my story Losing Forever. I guess you could call it a sequel, either way. I appreciate all the reviews that I received on Losing Forever, thanks to all the readers! This story is going to have five chapters following the 5 stages of death. I got the idea from Scrubs a while ago (XD) and I had to keep it in my brain for future writing. By the way, this story is going to be in second-person perspective, like the previous story.

Well, here it is. Hope you like!

Disclaimer: Do not own the Outsiders or the five stages of death.

"I'm home!" you call as you walk over the threshold, kicking off your shoes and sending them in various directions. You'll find them later.

"Yeah, Soda, in here!" you hear from the hallway. Taking off your cap and tossing it on the tattered couch, you make your way past the mess in the living room and walk through the hallway into your room. Upon entering it, you smile at the person sitting at the desk and flop down, somewhat exhausted from a day's work, onto the bed.

"What are you doin', stayin' cooped up in here, Pone?" you say, laying on your side and propping yourself on your elbow and facing your brother. "Thought you'd be out with Two-Bit or Steve. You should be out having fun now that school's out. Not trying to finish another book report."

Pony turns and hangs one arm over the backrest of the wooden chair, closing the book on the finger marking the page. You lift your head slightly and lean your head over a bit, scanning the front of the book. When you see the title, you go back into your original position with a sigh. "Again, Pone? You must've read that book a million times."

Pony scoffs and brings the book to his lap, examining it. "I like it."

"You like it that much?" you say, genuinely surprised. "Enough to read it over. And over. And over. And - "

You laugh as a shirt whacks you in the face.

When you remove the offensive attire, you turn to see him looking annoyed, but smiling a little. "It's a good book. You outta try reading books like this sometime."

It was your turn to scoff, and you adjust your position, folding your arms behind your head and laying back. "I just don't see what so interesting about that book that would make you want to read it again, even though you already know what's going to happen. Where's the fun in that?"

He doesn't answer, but puts the book down, using a slip of paper as a bookmark.

"Where's Darry?" you ask as you realize the absence of your older brother. Pony shrugs.

"You came home early. He's probably still at work." He checks the clock on the wall above your head. "Should be coming home in a bit."

You sigh again and sit up with a grunt. A comfortable silence looms over you and Ponyboy, and you take the time to look at him while he is searching for something in one of the desk drawers. He was getting paler every day, clearly a sign that the kid had not been getting out in the sun enough. The bags under his eyes were becoming more noticeable. You grimace as you remember the nightmares he used to have, and vaguely you wonder if he's keeping something from you. Either way, the kid was not getting enough rest.

Scratching your head, you speak up. "Y'know, Pone, it's been a rough year. For all of us. What with... Johnny and Dallas and that whole Bob Sheldon deal. And Dad and Ma." He doesn't speak, and you take it as a time to continue. "You're also working too hard. I was just thinking we could take a break from Tulsa, get away from all the Soc/Grease crap, now that it's summer."

He looks up, the open drawer forgotten, a small glimmer in his eye. "You mean..."

You smile. "Yeah. I'm going to talk to Darry about it tonight. He should agree; Lord knows he could also use a break from work. Maybe next week, we could go to the country and go hunting, like we used to. Or have a camping trip. What do ya say?"

He grins. "You mean that?"

You nod. "Sure do, kiddo. Promise." You smile wider at the happiness that lit up in his face.

"Soda?"

You glance up at the doorway, startled. You then chuckle in embarassment as you realize it was only Darry. You didn't even hear him come in. "Oh, hey Darry." You stand up. Darry takes a step into the room, keeping his eyes on you. You frown at the fact that he hadn't even acknowledged your younger brother. You turn to Ponyboy, and he shrugs in response. You look back at Darry, who was looking more and more bewildered.

"Soda, who were you talking to?"

Now you're confused. "What are you talking about? I was talking to Ponyboy," you say, pointing without looking at where your brother was currently sitting.

Darry follows where you are pointing, but his reaction was not what you expected. He looks back at you, and you can see the wetness in his eyes and the raw grief on his face.

"Soda..."

Getting frustrated and annoyed at your brother, you gesture angrily toward Ponyboy again, turning to face him. "Look, he's right - ." You stop. Because what you're looking at doesn't agree with your eyes. The chair where Ponyboy had been sitting was pushed into the small space under the desk, vacant and empty, and collecting dust. And the open drawer was now shut tightly, untouched. Gone With the Wind is gone, too. And so is Ponyboy.

With a sharp exhale of air, you back up, only stopping when you hit the wall. And as you slide down to meet the floor, the mental walls that you worked so hard to put up for (you remember now) five months came crashing down. And so you do, meeting the ground with a hard thud. You let out a shaky breath and bring your knees up, clutching your hair.

Pony's gone. One wall down. He's fucking gone. Another. I saw him die. Getting closer.

Darry sits down next to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, the other going around and meeting the first in front of you, bringing you close. You feel something warm hit your hand and slide down your wrist, your arm.

"Little buddy..."

Final words. Final walls. The pain comes clawing back, ripping through your chest, your skin. Tears pour out from your eyes, soaking through Darry's shirt as you bury your face in his shoulder. The sobs push against your throat, agonizing, yet relieving. All Darry can do is rock you in the best way he can to show comfort and resting his head on yours while trying to keep back his own cries.

And all you can think of is the empty promise you had just made to your dead brother.

Because he isn't there.