Author's Note: Okay, so it's taken me forever (again) to update. Lots of excuses, but I won't list them. Instead, I'll just shut up and give you the chapter.

Previous Chapter: Annabelle and her mom talked, and fought, and Darry and Ponyboy came by to visit on their way to see Two-Bit. Two-Bit finally got out of the hopsital.

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters, situations, or places. The lyrics are from Who I Am Hates Who I've Been by Relient K.

"I'm sorry for the person I became / I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change / I'm ready to be sure I never become that way again / 'cause who I am hates who I've been"

"Take this Aspirin to your brother. Here, I'll get a glass of water," my mother shoved three white pills in the palm of my hand and filled a cup up with water from the sink.

I'd been hovering around the kitchen for the past few hours, something weighing on my mind that I wanted to talk about but hadn't found the courage to bring up yet, and she was likely getting tired of my behavior.

"Now, I'm going to work, and I expect you two to be in bed and asleep by the time I get back." She shot a stern look my way, but I just shrugged. I hadn't been planning on going out anyway, and if I did change my mind, her glare wouldn't stop me.

And then she gathered her purse and took a last look around the kitchen, looking like she was forgetting something, before sighing and shrugging a jacket on over her skimpy barmaid outfit. Then she swept out the door and was gone.

I stood in the kitchen for another second, feeling lost, and then wandered over to Two-Bit's room. He was alone, for once, and I stood in the doorway for a second, just watching him.

He was lying on his bed, his hands clasped behind his neck, staring at the ceiling. The crutches were piled by his bed, and his scars and bruises looked painfully fresh. There was this terrible ache in my heart, and before I could figure out why, I cleared my throat and stepped into his room.

"Mom told me to give you these," I said awkwardly, setting the pills and glass on the table by his bed.

"Thanks." He tossed me a small smile and then turned his eyes back to his ceiling, not even touching the pills.

I shifted from one foot to the other, staring at him and lost in thought, and after a minute, he looked back at me. "Need somethin'?"

He was watching me quietly, apathetically, and I quickly shook my head and turned to leave. I barely got to the doorframe before I bit my lip and turned back around though.

"Actually…"

My brother turned to me again, intrigued, and I shook my head. "Never mind." I hurried out of his room.

"Annabelle." His stern voice stopped me in my tracks, and I winced, stepping back through the door and meeting his gaze. "What's eatin' you?"

I crossed my arms and frowned, leaning back against the wall. "I jus' don't get you."

"Like that's anything new… Why not?"

I was fidgeting now, nervous, I realized. Nervous about having a conversation with my brother.

"You used to know how to have a good time, you know? And then it was like you just stopped, and now you're all uptight and condescending." I wasn't exactly saying what I had wanted to say, but I didn't stop myself.

A dark look flashed across his features, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "I still have a good time, Annabelle. I just don't drink myself silly."

I snorted in disbelief.

"You think you can't have a good time without alcohol?" His voice was incredulous.

I shrugged.

"Annabelle. I ain't gonna tell you how to live your life, but drinking and drugs… they ain't always such a hot idea. Especially for you an' me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped.

Two-Bit sighed. "It's easier for us to get addicted. Dad was an alcoholic, and it's kinda like it's in our blood. We start, and it's hard for us to stop."

"So how did you? Why did you?"

He looked surprised by the sudden turn, but caught up quickly. "I realized that I was hurtin' a lot of people with what I was doin', and that's something I never want to do. I don't like being a burden to people because I'm too wasted to see straight."

"You can't change who you are though. Sometimes you get to a certain point that you can't return from, so it's pointless tryin'." I wasn't really talking about him anymore, and he knew that, of course.

Staring me intently in the eyes, he said steadily, "You c'n always change. It might be hard, but it's always possible. It ain't that black and white, Ann. You're not either a good or a bad person. Everybody's both, and you can choose which part you give in to. You dig?"
I nodded slowly. Not really, but it was pointless anyway.

He nodded, looking satisfied with himself, like maybe he'd made a difference in my life, and I felt another pang of this aching guilt. I quickly turned around and left, breathing heavily and shallowly. I got to kitchen and gripped the counter with my fingers, breaking out into a cold sweat. It almost felt like I was on drugs, but I knew I wasn't.

I was shaking like a leaf, consumed with the awful craving for something—anything—to stop this. I wanted vodka straight from the battle. I wanted LSD to take me away. God help me, I thought.

It wasn't until I felt the splash as a tear fell onto my hand that I realized I was crying, and then it took me another ten minutes to pull myself back together.

And without even fully comprehending what I was doin', I slipped into my stilettos and out the front door without so much as a yell good-bye to Two-Bit.

I walked for twenty minutes or so, my mind numb, and then finally heard the pulsing country music.

The party was in full-swing even on a Sunday, and I stepped in the door and breathed in a big gulp of smoky air, feeling strangely at home in this musky, rundown house.

I scanned the crowd and saw very few familiar faces. Dallas was absent, as was the rest of the Curtis' gang. Angela wasn't there, but a few girls she hung out with were. Sylvia was off in the corner with a guy from Shepard's gang, and with a sharp breath, I caught my first look at Tim since our breakup.

He was sitting over by the bar talking to Buck, a cigarette held loosely in his fingers and his stoic expression in place. There was a girl perched on his knee, and he had one hand placed on her waist, holding her to him.

I knew I was broken up with him. I knew I had expected no less from him. The drugs… Tim never woulda stood for it for long, and I never woulda let him tell me to quit, so that one was doomed from the start. And of course he'll have another girl. Just because he affected me in some great way, that don't mean I left even a dent on his life.

But even though my head knew all these things, my body didn't get the message. I felt sick to my stomach, a sharp pain in my side, and I pushed through the crowd, wanting away from the loud music. I saw Tommy in the corner, and knew that he would gladly let me buy something from him, anything to numb these feelings, and promptly felt disgusted with myself for even thinking it.

Feeling worse by the second, I finally broke free of the crowd at the base of the staircase and stumbled up to the second floor. I tried the doorknobs and when I finally found an unlocked room, I twisted the door open and gasped in shock at the sight that met my eyes.

Time felt like it was slowing down as I stared at Angela Shepard lying on the floor, her skin ghostly pale and a purple-almost-black bruise just barely visible where her shirt rode up on her stomach. The circles under her eyes were dark and heavy, and her black hair was fanned out around her on the carpet, wild and unruly, a few strands sticking to her face. She looked like an angel, or a fairy, beautiful but entirely unreachable. Her eyelids were closed, and the long dark lashes contrasted against that ethereal skin.

She still gripped an empty bottle of vodka in her fingers, and with a start, I realized that her chest was just barely rising and falling. It wasn't steady, not in the least, and before I had a chance to think about what I was doing, I was back in the hall, screaming bloody murder.

The only intelligible thing that came from my mouth was "Tim" but enough people understood that past the tears in my eyes I could see Tim turn around and stand up in shock, the girl that was with him crossing her arms as she glared at me and he strode quickly to where I stood.

I turned around and hurried back to that room, with him on my heels. "Shit shit shit." In a second, he had her scooped up and was stumbling down the stairs, sliding and losing his balance every once in a while, but never stopping. I was right behind him, and then we were in Buck's car.

He set Angela as lightly as he could in the backseat and I slid into the passenger. His driving put my stomach in an even worse state, but I still urged him faster and faster. The drive was silent, save for my choking sobs and his muttered curses.

It wasn't until we got to the hospital and he handed his sister off to a nurse, threatening her within an inch of her life that his sister had better be in top condition when he saw her next, that either one of us could even think about talking.

I sank into one of the plastic chairs they had in the waiting room, flashing back to when I'd sat here waiting to see Johnny a day before his death, and buried my head in my hands.

Tim was pacing in front of me, and he whirled to me with a look of pure loathing so clear in his eyes that I shrank back from him. "This is your fault."

I gaped at him.

"This is why I didn't want you around her. This is why. You're the biggest train wreck I've ever seen, you know that Annabelle? God, you leave ruins in your wake. First your brother, now my sister…"

I knew that he was just angry, upset, scared beyond belief, and that he didn't mean anything that he said. I knew that Angela's state was not a reflection of my influence, but probably had something to do with her father instead. And I snapped.

"Me? My fault? You don't even want to know what I know, Tim." I bit my lip to keep from saying more, determined to take the high road for once, see what the terrain was like.

"Oh really? Enlighten me, Annabelle, please." His tone was bitter and sarcastic, and it grated on my last nerve. After another minute of angry prompting from him, I let it loose, the secret that he had never seen coming, too sure that he wouldn't ever let it happen to realize that it already had.

"It's your damn stepdad, Tim! You're so wrapped up in your stupid gang to realize that he's been beatin' her for years now!"

The look on his face made me want to take it all back, to protect him from this, as strange as that sounds. Maybe even Tim Shepard needs to get looked after every once in a while.

"I'm sorry, Tim. It ain't your fault, you know that…"

Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the hospital, the doors slamming shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, I sank back into my chair, shaking like a leaf. His words kept goin' through my mind, the accusations he'd hurled at me… And he was right, ultimately. It was my fault that my brother got hurt. "You leave ruins in your wake…"

I sat there for half an hour, alone, waiting, but for what I couldn't have said. I was sick with worry, images flashing across my mind every time I closed my eyes. Angela's closed eyes, Tim's angry glare, Two-Bit in his wheelchair, the bruise on her skin, a mirror with cocaine lines, the guys standing around me at their intervention, the pain in Tim's face when I told him about his stepdad…

I opened my eyes with a gasp, the tears falling rapidly, terrified to close them for even just a second. I was a mess, crying and trembling like that, and this old geezer across the room was staring at me, his arm set protectively around his old lady's shoulder. And then there was some Soc to the side of me sitting with his mom, who was wearing a strand of pearls and a face of grief.

Finally, I stood up and walked shakily out the doors, to the payphone I knew was on that sidewalk, and picked up the receiver. It took me a minute to remember that I needed money to make it work, but I had none. I wandered back into the ER and straight to the nurse's station.

"I need… need to use your phone…"

Without even sparing me a glance, the lady turned it toward me, and I struggled to remember the number. I hardly ever used phones.

I punched in what I hoped was the right combination, hesitating over the last digit, unsure whether it was a 6 or a 7.

"Hello?" A sugary sweet ol' granny answered, and I hung up.

Musta been a 7 then.

I tried again, and this time got it right. "Yello?"

"I-I'm at the hospital…"

"Huh? What?"

"St. John's ER."

"Who is this?"

"Ann Mathews." I don't know why I added the last name, but I wasn't really thinkin' right. "I just… I can't… I don't…" My voice cracked. "Please come." I hung up and walked slowly back to my seat right as Tim walked back in.

He sat down in the chair beside me, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket, staring straight ahead.

I didn't say nothing to him, and he didn't talk to me either.

We sat like that for some amount of time—it felt like an eternity to me—before the doors opened and two greasers walked in, glancing around, their eyes finally falling on me. Hurrying over, Pony slid into the chair next to me. "Hey, what happened? Is it Two-Bit?"

Soda stood in front of me, his hands in his pockets, watching me with concern.
I shook my head. "She looked dead, Pony. I didn't… Shit."

"Who?"

"Angela," It was Tim who spoke, his voice gravelly, like he hadn't used it in a while.

Pony and Soda looked at him and gave him a quiet greeting.

Soda took a seat on the other side of Tim and Ponyboy sat back in his chair. "Have you heard anything yet?"

Tim an' I both shook our heads and we were all quiet for a few minutes before Ponyboy spoke up. "What happened?"

I shot a look to Tim, but he was staring at the floor. "I was at Buck's, an' I walked into one of the rooms… you shoulda seen her Pony, she was so pale… there was alcohol and bruises… she was passed out but breathing…"

That was as far as I got before I buried my head in my hands, haunted by those images again. Ponyboy set a comforting hand on my back and squeezed my shoulder. "It'll be okay."

I don't know how long it was before a nurse came out, "Tim Shepard?"

He stood up in such a hurry he would have knocked the chair over if Soda hadn't caught it, but he didn't notice. They talked for a few minutes and then Tim nodded and walked back toward us, his face relieved.

"She's alright. Still out though. Nurse said she can have two visitors in about an hour when she starts to come to."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and glanced over at Pony. He was barely suppressing a yawn, and I finally spared a glance at the clock on the wall. It was past eleven on a Sunday night. Darry wouldn't be happy if those boys didn't get home soon, and Soda was already fidgeting.

"Thanks for comin' you guys, but I'm alright now. You've got work and school tomorrow… I shouldn't have called. I was just scared."

"It's okay, we don't mind being here."

"I know. But y'all should head on out anyway. Nothing really you can do. Besides, I need someone to tell Two-Bit and my mom why I'm not home."

I managed a small grin, and Pony nodded hesitantly. "If you're sure…"

I was, and I told him that, thanking him for coming again.

Once he and Soda had left, Tim and I waited in silence for another hour for us to be allowed back.

I watched that Soc while we waited, noticing the wringing of his hands, the dark circles barely concealed with makeup under his mom's eyes… I wondered who they were waiting for news on, and whether it would be good or bad news.

I never did get to find out though, because the nurse let us into Angela's room then.

As we started walking down the hall toward her room, I slowed down, biting my lip. "If you wanna go in alone, I understand."

Tim glanced over at me, and shook his head. "It's okay." And I knew, somehow, that he didn't just mean it was okay for me to come in with him. It was also okay that I was who I was. He was saying sorry, in his own way, for what he'd said to me, and telling me that it wasn't all my fault after all.

I swallowed heavily and nodded, stepping into the room after him. I perched on a chair by the right of her bed, and Tim sat in one on the other side, grabbing one of her hands as we waited for her to wake up.

Nerves sat in my stomach, afraid that she would still be angry with me, anticipating how to word my apology, and the air around the bed seemed heavy with the past—hers and mine and Tim's.

As her eyes opened and she looked first at Tim, then at me, we both smiled tentatively at her, and things resettled after months of change. I was back to being Angela's best friend, and Tim was back to being her older brother, and nothing more to me.

Friends before, lovers then, strangers now.

The weird part was I felt like I knew him better than I knew this new me. I had the feeling it would take a while to get used to being clean, but with my best friend lying in a hospital bed beside me and my brother on crutches back home, I hoped to God the old me was gone for good.

... and The End. Thanks for reading! I'll probably (hopefully) be updating Back Home Again or Playing With Fire within the next month, and fingers crossed I'll get on a roll and have steady updates. Otherwise, I may start a new story (?). Hope you guys enjoyed this fic!