So I feel like I made this too…I dunno. Pony seems little-kiddish the whole time. Why is he always crying? I really need to make something where he's happy. That would be a nice change. Oh well. Just another unrealistic one, folks.

There's the awful screeching of tires, and I stand there, horrified, watching from the sidewalk as the eighteen-wheeler slams into our pickup. I'm running across the street before I know it, not bothering to make sure no one's coming. The pickup flies through the air like a toy truck that's been tossed by a child, before landing on its side with a sickening crunch and rolling, top over bottom, and finally coming to a stop upright.

I'm to the passenger's side in no time, yanking open the door that's barely on its hinges. I see Darry in the driver's seat, slumped forward, so much blood on his face that he's barely recognizable. His eyes are closed and I can't tell if he's breathing. I can't breathe.

I pull myself onto the bench seat, hearing and feeling the glass from the shattered windshield crunch beneath me as I scramble over to Darry. "Darry?" I can hear the panic in my voice. Why is there so much blood? It's everywhere- "Darry, come on!" I sound like a scared, helpless little kid. That's what I am. Darry and Soda are all I've got, Darry can't be-

I reach out and shake his shoulder - not the smartest thing to do to an injured person, but I've got to get him awake. "Darry!"

There's a groan, and finally, his eyes flick open, barely. My heart starts beating again as I catch my breath. He's alive.

"Pony…" he mumbles, his eyes sliding shut again.

"No- don't close your eyes, Darry, you'll be okay. Don't close your eyes."

No response.

"Darry?" I hold a hand under his nose and almost throw up. He's not breathing. "Darry- no-" I don't know what to do. I'm terrified. I can't think straight. What do I do?

I hear a siren wailing and vaguely realize someone must've called an ambulance. I keep shaking Darry, saying his name over and over, trying to wake him, because I can't accept the fact that he's-

Someone suddenly opens the driver's door and pulls Darry out, and then someone has me from behind and is dragging me out the passenger door. I struggle to break free- just let me see Darry- but whoever it is has a strong grip on me. I see Darry on a gurney, being wheeled out from behind our truck, paramedics on both side of him. He's not moving. I claw at the person who has me, but a deep voice says, "You're alright, kid; calm down."

I'm not alright! I want to yell it but my voice won't obey me. I'm not alright, let me go, my brother's-

"Gone." The paramedic says it in an expressionless voice, and everything seems to slow down. No.

A scream rips from me as I suddenly find my voice, breaking away from the man's grip. I tear over to Darry, grip the front of his shirt with shaking hands. "No Darry please don't go please Darry-" I'm begging, my words running together, and I feel hands pulling at me, trying to get me away from him, but I refuse to let go. "Don't Darry please don't leave me-"

But it's too late.

I sit straight up, Soda's arm dropping from across my neck to flop on the bed. I'm sweating, shaking, terrified. Soda's out cold. I tear off the blanket and go down the hall to Darry's room, the floorboards cool beneath my bare feet, and look in the doorway. Half of me is scared that he won't be here- but he is.

He's here. He's okay.

It hits me all the sudden, and for some reason I feel like crying from relief. He's alright.

I don't realize I'm making any noise, but Darry stirs, opening his eyes, the moonlight reflecting off of them like two pieces of ice. He sees me in the doorway and his expression goes from tired to anxious. He pushes off the covers and gets up, coming over to look at me worriedly.

"Pony, what's wrong?" He pulls me over to sit on the bed, searching my face. "Are you hurt?"

I shake my head, taking a deep breath to calm myself down.

"What is it?" He's using that voice he only uses when either Soda or I is hurt or scared: gentle, at least for Darry, and soothing.

"I had a dream and- you were in an accident- like Mom and Dad, and-" My voice is thick, and it breaks off as I feel tears leak out of my eyes. "I thought it was real. I got so scared…"

Darry looks pained, like he hurts for me. "Pony…"

He sits on the edge of the bed, tucking one foot underneath himself, then pulls me over, cupping the side of my head against the front of his shirt. I feel myself shaking as I cry, and try to stop- but sometimes once you start, you can't stop until you get it out.

"Shh, I'm right here." Darry's voice is soft in my ear. "Nothing happened. It was just a bad dream, that's all. It's okay, little buddy."

He goes quiet, letting me calm down, and I hear my shallow, choppy breaths in contrast to his slow, steady ones. It was just a bad dream. I close my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Darry's alright, he's right here. He's okay. I focus on that, and my breathing evens out as I stop crying. His heart's thumping in my ear, and the slow rhythm suddenly makes me tired.

I'm so tired I almost don't notice when Darry sets me down in bed, pulls the blanket up over me, and crawls in beside me, pulling me close to let me know he's there. But I do.

The phone's ringing when I get home from school the next day, and I leave my backpack on the floor of the living room to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Is this the Curtis residence?"

"Yeah…"

"I'm sorry to inform you, but Darrel has been in an auto accident."

I grip the counter to keep myself upright. "What?"

"His pickup was hit by a truck."

"Is he okay?" My voice is rising in panic. Tell me this is just a bad dream…

There's a short pause. "I'm sorry, but he dies instantly. We…"

I don't hear anymore. I've blacked out.