Hi guys!

So excited for more angst. I hope you are too!

Let's go right in!

-endless

headspaces

Trying to explain my feelings is like talking to a brick wall.

I know Darry and Pony care about me. I know Steve would fight the world for me. I know Two-Bit would never let my memory fade into oblivion.

But they don't understand.

And, unfortunate for me, I don't know if they ever will.

My head is such a dark place to be. War sucks ass. It tears you into a savage, sadistic killing machine. It leaves you with scars, both mentally and physically, that you can't repair. And in the end, if you're lucky, you get to come home. But that home feels like a stranger.

The people in your life feel like strangers.

You know those dreams where you're standing in the middle of a field, or a city, or just in your own bedroom? And the people around you are talking, laughing, playing cards, and you're just standing there, unable to move? You holler. You scream, "I'm here! Listen to me!" and no one even turns in your direction. And at the end, you're standing in traffic.

This is how I wanted to die. I wanted to get hit by a car, just like my parents got hit by a train. I wanted to feel nothing as I died. I wanted to be, as they say, "dead on impact."

But here I am. Laying in a bed surrounded by those that love me, care for me, would go the ends of the Earth for me. Here I am, in a world that is just as fucked up as my own mind.

God, if only I let those three minutes turn into five.

"Another one."

"What?" Two-Bit squawks like a bird. I nod solemnly, too lost for words.

"That's like," Pony closes his eyes, then hangs his head. "The third one."

Steve comes back from a smoke break. "Third what?" The guy has probably smoked his whole pack, I think to myself.

"Crash," I say, my voice cracking on the word, and Two-Bit's gaze is crestfallen.

"Is he..."

I shake my head. I don't want to imagine it. I can't.

"Do they know why?"

"It's acute-breathin'-somethin'." Two-Bit snorts at his own joke.

Pony smirks. "It's acute respiratory failure, dumbass..." and Steve makes a smart rebuttal, but I'm no longer listening.

Steve is at my shoulder. I can feel his gaze on me, rating me on a scale of 1 to 10. "Dar," he says quietly. "Why don't you go home?"

I whip around. "Excuse me?"

He holds my gaze, not budging when I clench my fists. "You're exhausted, man. You need to go home, get some rest, take a shower... all that good shit."

I scoff and roll my eyes. His eyes flinch, but his body doesn't move. And I feel Pony and Two-Bit stop arguing, feel them look at each other and nodding in agreement.

"I'm fine." Now it's Steve's turn to scoff.

"Bullshit you're fine. If I gotta drag your ass outta this hospital, I'll do it. You need to go home. Get outta here for a second and just breathe."

"We'll watch over Soda," Two-Bit and Pony say together, and I nod at them. I know.

Steve slowly manages to herd me out the door and into my truck, but he's driving. Guess he thinks I'm not stable enough to drive. When he pulls into the driveway, he says, "I don't care if all you do is change your clothes at this point. I'll be here when you're ready."

Panic sets in the minute I step out of the truck. I climb the old wooden steps, which are slowly falling to bits, and open the creaky front door. The house is exactly how I left it. Blankets are thrown around the couch and the recliner, and cards are still scattered around the kitchen table from Steve's outburst that Two-Bit cheated. Dirty shoe prints have imprinted the carpet, and I tense as I see Soda's sneakers by the coat rack. I hadn't realized he wasn't wearing any shoes when he fled. The TV is still on, and I curse myself at how high our electric bill will be this month.

I make my way to Soda and Pony's bedroom, and I stop at the closed door. I immediately knock and whisper, "Soda? Pone? Can I come -"

I stop dead. They're not here. Soda's at death's door. Pony is holding our family together right now.

I stumble towards my own bedroom across the hall. I grab some clothes for Ponyboy and I, knowing that my sweatpants won't fit him, but I don't think either one of us care right now. I stuff them in a duffel bag and sharply turn the corner, where the bathroom light is still on. Damn you, Steve.

Steve wasn't lying when he said I was clearly exhausted. Dark circles practically take up my entire face. My eyes are dark red from sobbing. My hair is a fucking mess from laying at Soda's bedside, my head on my arm. My head pounds with a migraine that is probably a week old.

It takes everything in me to look further and see how broken I am. How afraid I am of losing him. How afraid I am of going back to that hospital just for Ponyboy to say, "He's gone, Dar. He's not in pain anymore." How fucking afraid I am of losing the one person that would, if I were in his place, keep the hospital fines climbing so that I could live. So that I could come home.

And I find myself leaning against the sink as I scream. I scream for him, for him to stay here, for him to hold on. For him to hold for Steve. For him to hold on for Keith. For him to hold on for Ponyboy. For him to hold on for me. I have no tears left. I have no strength left. I -

The phone rings and I about throw up. And I know what's coming; I know what's going to be relayed. But I still race to the receiver, tearing the phone off of the wall, forcing my voice to stay calm. "Hello?"

I don't need a reply to know that it's Two-Bit. "Dar, you gotta come back."

My stomach drops into the floorboards. "Is he okay?"

"I can't answer that."

"I swear to God -"

"Tell Steve to drive like a bat outta hell."

My hand grips the phone in frustration. "What the fuck is going on?" And the line drops, leaving me in silence. My mind immediately goes to Pony sitting on the ground, sobbing, and Two-Bit crouched beside him. I imagine Pony's shaking body, remorse weighing him down like the world just collapsed, his voice crackling as he says, "Soda's gone, Dar. He died just before you got here." I wander back to the bathroom and hook the duffel bag over my shoulder, glancing at myself as I exit. I stop cold, and I swear I see him behind me. I swear I see him crying, smiling, wondering.

This is going to hurt like hell. But I won't ever forget him; forget the love I have for him. Forget the love we all have for him.

"Please, baby..."

And then my hand is bloody, and the bathroom mirror is completely shattered.

"Come back to us..."

My blood mixes with the water in the sink. I wrap the gash in some tissues and tape it together. At the front of the house, Steve waits outside the truck. He's watching me the entire way, his gaze saddened. He says nothing on the way to the hospital, but his hand rests on mine, only removing it to make a turn. The tires scream and the engine roars as we make our way onto the freeway, and then the highway, and the entire time, I watch the stars, waiting for another to shine brighter than the rest.

Come back to me.