ANNOUNCEMENT AS OF OCTOBER 23RD, 2016

Shackles and Blades will be only 12 chapters instead of the anticipated 16. I have a difficult time coming up with ideas, and with the third book being planned out as soon as this chapter comes out, I have had a large urge to write for that rather than this.

There will be a third installment to this series. The title is not yet decided, however.

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I've had a lot going on with three projects, two papers and one death in the family just in October alone. This shouldn't happen again, but there are no promises.

Here is Chapter 10.

Chapter 10:

What Happens in War

Ponyboy

Two weeks.

That's how long he'd been here; only two weeks. And within those two weeks, he'd seen more death and more wounds than he'd ever thought possible. He'd heard more cries, more cussing, more screams than he'd ever heard in his entire life. He'd watched countless men, whether they were his age or older, fall to the ground in agony as their bodies reached their limits; he'd watched as their General had cussed and hollered in their faces, demanding they rise and get their asses back to work.

This is crazy, he realized as each day passed, and I'm insane for thinking I could do this.

Was it bad that he wanted to go home? Back to his brothers, back to the gang? Back to Kat and Molly and his life before this? To himself, no; it was completely normal and reasonable.

But to everyone else? It would be seen as cowardly, and Pony couldn't be considered a coward here. Not with a gun clinging to his side and number after number of people behind and before him, all fighting for the same reason he was: just so they could go home.

With each passing day, with each passing moment, he could feel a loneliness settle deep inside of his chest, almost like a tumor. It seemed to always grow a little bigger each day, trickling into the edges of his already dreary and clouded mind, wiping his thoughts of every sense of morality, of right and wrong and belonging and loss...

It left him feeling hollow; a feeling he hadn't experienced since forever ago.

"You good, mate?"

The voice just so happened to come from Peter, a young but strongly-built man no more than the age of nineteen. He happened to be British, and from what Pony gathered about him, he had no interest in fighting. He'd signed up to be in the army as a nurse, but alas, his dreams weren't able to come true and yet he was shipped out anyway. Pony would never understand that; but Peter didn't enjoy discussing much about himself, so it never was brought up.

"Yeah," he said. The word felt heavy on his tongue and it was rather difficult to get it out. "I'm fine."

Peter frowned for a moment but said nothing, only sat down beside him. "You thinkin' about your girl, aren't you?"

"Guess you could say that."

"Bloody hell," Peter scoffed, nudging Pony lightly with his shoulder. From his build, Pony would've had his shoulder knocked out of its socket had he done it any harder. "You're in a real funk today; more than usual."

"Like you've got any place to talk," Pony shot back hotly, which only made Peter grin. His heart twisted at the sight of it; it was a lopsided one, a small twitch in the mouth, but it reminded Pony so much of Sodapop's.

"Do you miss home?"

Pony laughed out loud at his question. "Of course I do, Peter. Don't you?"

"Nah," Peter said bluntly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a smoke. He struck a match against the side of his steel-toed boot and lit it, taking a long drag before speaking again. "My old chaps couldn't give a damn if I were dead or alive."

That hit him hard, of all things that should've impacted him more than that. It seemed to coil and ravel around in his head, trying to wrap itself around a thought, a memory, anything, and when it found nothing, it just sat there. It sat there like a headache; throbbing and egging him on until he couldn't take it anymore and he finally stood, kicking his foot into the ground.

"I need time alone," he murmured to Peter, who responded with "I can see that" and watched him walk off, yelling out after him, "Take care, and come back, would you?"

He didn't reply. His mind was too clouded; too dirtied with thoughts and words and memories. He continued to think and yell internally as he walked with tears gathering in his eyes, wondering just how in the hell he was going to make it through this alone.

Above him, the sunlight was blinding. Inside him, however, the sunlight was lost to storm.

Darry

Two minutes.

That's how long Soda was declared dead. Two minutes on the dot; no second before, after, or in between.

That's how long his heart, both his Soda's, stopped. That's how long he screamed and shouted and hollered for someone, anyone, to help; to save his brother who he very well could've killed.

That's how long it took for Soda's body to twitch in response to Molly's CPR and for the sound of him gasping for air to slowly make Darry's heart come down from panic.

He watched, rigid, as Soda turned and met his gaze. He suddenly shut his eyes and broke into a coughing fit; the sound of him groaning from obvious pain made Darry's blood boil.

Molly felt along Soda's side and winced as Soda cursed when her hand passed over his ribcage. "He's got a broken rib, but he should be okay." she reported, and from what Darry could see, it made Kat more calm than anyone else.

From the far corner of the room, Darry felt Kat's gaze settle on him. Fear came over him with each step she took as she advanced, a snarl clear on her face and a fire in her eyes. The closer she came, the more her voice raised and came close to a scream as she said, "You son of a -"

"Kat."

Soda's voice, which was low and soft with pain, echoed in the room. Kat stopped, her eyes wide and smoldering yet softening upon hearing it. Her face was close to Darry's now, but she hastily turned and looked to him as if Darry didn't even matter in the first place.

"Don't do anything to him."

"He tried to kill you!" Kat scoffed in astonishment, clearly not expecting him to say that.

"I said don't do anything, Kat; I mean it." Soda's eyes were hard with reasoning, and when he looked to Darry, the reasoning melted away, replaced with a thousand and one questions.

He never got the chance to ask one, however, because Darry was already being hauled away from the room with the end of a Taser gun in his side.

I'm sorry that this chapter is so short, but I felt I needed to update. These next two chapters, along with the epilogue, should be longer.