I'm really sorry that these are such short chapters.I know I can write more, and I feel like I should, but I just...can't. It's been hard and this is all I can give you. I apologize.

Not gonna lie: this one hurt. It's very personal. But it's meant to be that way.

Enjoy.

-endless

lights will guide you home

Dying is peaceful.

An abused child's intrusive thought.

Harsh. Bitter. Irrational.

An elder's fate.

Inviting. Warm. Calming.

A war-torn hero's easy way out.

Offensive. Cold. Terrifying.

They say that dying is part of life, and it is. They say that dying is almost a right of passage; a passage into a life that we aren't sure of. A life that we aren't sure if it was worth dying for.

Potes invenire pacem in morte.

May you find peace in death.

"What if he dies?"

The question falls into the air, too quiet to be heard by anyone but us. It's meant to be rhetorical; no response needed. But even so, Pony pulls away from my hold on him and looks into my eyes. And I find myself looking at Dad's eyes, but I know he's not here no matter how much I wish he was. So I'm wandering in this black pool of green, a reminder of what I lost all of those years ago.

A million and one answers spin in his mind. I know they all try and avoid the obvious. I know he doesn't want to think about it, and honestly, neither do I. But I have to prepare him - it's my job. I have to prepare him to experience more loss. More loss than he will ever deserve.

"I should've caught the signs."

I watch Ponyboy's eyes dim, like he's falling unconscious, and I steady myself to catch him. But he remains upright, his hold on me tighter than before as I sink to the ground, careless in my desire to protect him. "You couldn't have predicted anything. We didn't know."

I did. I watched him trace his scars at night. I watched him draw lines in his wrists with permanent marker. I watched him tear through notebook after notebook with suicide letters, my naive brain thinking it was just Soda's restless mind at work. I watched him dump his medications down the sink. I heard him screaming bloody murder at all hours of the night.

Steve's face hides the overhead lighting as he bends to my level. "Darry," he speaks slowly, muffled, like he's being dragged through water. "They're sayin' we can go back."

I'm not ready. "I missed the signs. I missed his cries for help and they were right in front of me..."

All three of them are in front of me now. Steve's voice is full of tough love as he says, "Darry, none of us knew. Not a single one. I bet Dally and Johnny didn't even know!"

"But -"

"But nothing." His eyes are fighting back tears. "You know Soda better than anyone, Dar. Would he want you moping around like this?" At his right, Pony nods imploringly, and I'm not sure if he's agreeing out of genuine he's right or out of just say whatever to get this bastard to his feet.

My heart breaks as Pony switches places with Steve. My youngest brother smiles weakly, and I know he's doing everything in his power not to collapse right now. I wish I could say the same for me, but here I am, in a ragged heap of clothes, flesh, and bone, and Ponyboy is stronger than ever.

It's wrong.

It's sickening.

It's demeaning.

But I can't help the sob that rises in my throat when Pony presses his forehead against mine, takes my hands, and says, "It's okay, Darry. I've got enough in me for the both of us."