warning: graphic descriptions of injury and blood. please read at your own risk.

Happy New Year, everyone!

I know all of you have been waiting six long updates for this. Let's just dive headfirst.

I should tell you that I am not a doctor, so I'm not entirely sure if this is exactly word-for-word on how this stuff works, diagnoses and all. Apologies that the "reveal" is super short, too. I just couldn't find the power to let myself go wild because I want it to be realistic.

This is entirely word vomit, so I'm sorry if it's a little rough! Y'all know I am really, really not one to proofread. Ooops?

Enjoy :)

-endless

soul bearing

Fuck. I'm still alive.

I'm still not in control of my own body. I know there's something breathing for me, controlling my pain, even collecting my piss. My lungs burn like I've breathed in smoke. My eyes are still too heavy to open. My skin feels like it's been ripped apart, and my I'm pretty sure that rods or pins hold my body together. I recall that this is exactly how I felt when I came home from Vietnam. The pain in my body almost exhilarating, but this is nothing like that.

Please let this kill me.

If I could use my hands, I'd slap myself. Clearly, the universe wants me alive. If for no one, then for my brothers. For Steve. For Two-Bit.

Even for Dally and Johnny. And for the longest time, I have wished I could trade places. I wish I wasn't here. I wish Dally was here to keep watch of Darry, shield him from pain that he's not even aware of. I wish Johnny was here for Pony, because God, I know he's never forgiven himself for Johnny's death. I wish they were both alive so neither Pony nor Dally could blame themselves anymore. It's that pain of watching my baby brother find himself lost in memories, of 'should have's and 'could have's, that makes me wonder just where I'm meant to be. It's that pain of watching my older brother fight for the affection, the idolization, the adoration of our youngest, that makes me wonder just who I am. If I'm even meant to be a part of their lives.

I have always been grateful to God for giving me my brothers. For choosing the best, most selfless brothers I've ever had. For allowing me to be born into this family, wear the Curtis name despite all of my misgivings. Despite all of my failures. Despite all of the hell I've put my family through. For giving me a mother that I know still loves me even in Heaven. For giving me a rough, tough, hard-as-hell father who loved fiercely but never let it be known and would give you the shirt off of his back. For giving me my best friend in the whole world besides Darry, and then Pony. For giving me Two-Bit, who has become Pony's rock.

For choosing me to go to Vietnam instead of everyone else. For giving me a reason to fight for something more.

For simply letting me a life I have never, ever deserved. For giving me more love, more refuge, than I've ever known.

The gang must think I'm invincible.

But I'm not Superman.

"He's right around this corner," the nurse says quietly. The doctor follows close to her side. He casts glances back at us every couple of feet, as if making sure we're keeping pace.

All three of us are holding Darry upright. Two-Bit and I boost Darry by his shoulders while Pony floats at the back, his hands close to his brother's waist.

"Are you sure -"

"Don't even ask again," I puff, hiking the weight of Darry farther up my back. For what it's worth, Pony shuts his trap, and I shut my eyes in gratitude.

We stop in front of a room labeled 647. I scoff, blowing air through my mouth as the number burns a permanent spot in my brain. That's Soda's favorite number, and I know that everyone is thinking the same thing. Even Darry, who's too sedated to even look at the ground. He stares straight ahead, a ghost of himself.

The doctor turns to us, her blonde hair almost smacking the nurse in the face. "I have to prepare you," she states."He's in critical condition."

Her voice gives nothing away. I'm not even sure if she cares until she looks at Darry, and her expression changes. Pony slips in where my body has left a small amount of access to his oldest brother. I keep my hand over of Darry's but feel Pony steal his weight off of my shoulders.

The doctor maintains her staring contest with Darry, as if she's waiting for him to blink. "He lost a lot of blood on the way here. He was unresponsive and faded in and out of consciousness. I suspected a brain bleed, and upon surgery, we found that he has a skull base fracture. The amount of nerve damage is unknown right now because there is still an intense amount of swelling in the brain. We need this to go down in order to assess him. The impact of hitting the water has broken ribs, two on each side, which led to severe chest trauma, often called a flail chest. He has a chest tube as well as drains that will be changed every few hours to, hopefully, minimize the chance of another collapsed lung."

She breaks away from Darry's sedated gaze to look at all of us. Her eyes light up with humor as we stare at her, dumbfounded. Pony's cheeks shine with tears. My eyes are so wide they feel like they're going to pop out of my sockets. The only word that comes from Two-Bit is "wicked," and he yelps as I hit him upside the head.

"So is he awake?" My mouth moves before my brain can process what I've said.

"To keep him as comfortable as possible, and to reduce the risk of opening wounds or re-traumatizing the areas, I've placed him in a medically-induced coma" - she stops as Pony immediately opens his mouth, ready to object on Soda's behalf. She smiles softly and murmurs, "It's completely safe, I promise. And, as with any amount of significant impact trauma, he's being watched by the best staff I have."

I silently pray that Darry has heard all of this, because I don't think any of us can repeat it.

The doctor and nurse back up. Together, we all move Darry forward so that his hand rests on the door handle, telepathically agreeing that, despite the circumstances and the image of Soda we've already scorched in our brains, it would be best if Darry saw him first.

It's the longest second and a half of my life.

There's not enough air in the room as we all find him in the middle. Probably ninety-nine percent of his body is wrapped in bandages, the off-white color contradicting his dark skin. His eyes are shut, his chest pumping from a tube that forces air into his lungs. Blood swarms around him like bees, working their way into more tubes that cascade in different directions. His gown is open, exposing his chest, where a thousand and one wires run beneath gauze and tape. My stomach turns as I see blood welling through one set of bandages, and I know that's probably his four broken ribs. His pretty face is bruised beyond recognition, both of his eyes swollen and blackened. The sideburns from Vietnam are gone, and I realize that, in order to get to his skull, they probably had to shave his head.

The only noise I hear is Pony's sharp intake of breath, Darry's sigh of remorse, and the beeping of the machines that keep Soda breathing, functioning, alive.

We're frozen in time, Pony's face in my shoulder, and then Darry moves. Out of his haze, he stumbles to Soda's bedside and just stands there. My heart shatters as his tears hit his shirt, fading the white color to a cloud of gray resting on his chest.

And then, finding his voice, Darry howls.