hi gang! sorry for the break - kinda had writer's block for this and college has been kicking my ass, but i'm back!

hoping this chapter makes up for my absence.

-endless

lost in you

I told myself Vietnam wouldn't be so bad.

Somehow, I convinced myself that it would be an easy fight. That we would come in, blast some Vietnamese to bits, and return home in a few months; maybe even a year. That the war wouldn't take me five years to come home to what I anticipated would be a hearty reunion, a right of passage that was greatly admired by the American people.

When all of us came home, our dead soliders in tow, the American people were disgusted. We were rejoiced and surrounded by love in the very beginning, but they turned against us just as quickly as they hugged and cried. The news, as always, portrayed us as the real enemy - the real disaster that came back just to destroy our homeland. The rejection of the war, the disapproval of everyone but the government, was enough for me to lose another 7,000 of my brothers to themselves. It was enough to find myself saluting my fellow soliders at their funerals. flinching as others performed the 21 gun salute.

It was enough for me to find myself in that place not long after; that wonder, that ambition, that desire.

"Y'all know what to do." Soda's voice is dark with rage. "Give 'em hell."

Pony quickly rises to his feet. "I-it's fine, Soda," he stammers, but I know the black eye burns deep. I know the cut on his face, just above his eyebrow, will surely scar and always be a reminder of what happened to him - what Soda took as a reason to send the other three gangs to fuck up the Socs. They file out of the room without another word, their silent excitement crackling in the room like lightning.

"You're going about this the wrong way." And it's like a battlefield as everyone turns to stare at me. I can tell Pony wants to agree with me, take my side, but his loyalty to Soda rings louder than any bell ever could. Again, I want to reiterate that Soda isn't his only brother. I'm always alone in fights; always holding my own and losing anyway.

"What else could I do? They need to be handled."

"They're gonna beat up every Greaser at that high school even worse now that we've provoked them."

Soda rolls his eyes and fights to push him to the side of his bed. He's clearly winded, for his body shakes from pushing against fabric. But those dark brown eyes are a mix of fire and ice as our gazes lock.

I find myself intimidated by my younger brother, and that scares the shit out of me.

His gaze flickers from mine to Pony, who sits at the end of the bed, worry crashing against the tension in the room. "Are you -"

"I'm fine, Pone," Soda says between staggering breaths. His eyes lock with mine again and I feel myself flinch. But then his eyes change from anger to desperation as his medical team files in with a wheelchair in tow. He stares at them, at the wheelchair, at Steve, at Two-Bit, and then finally Pony and me. I feel an encouraging smile from Pony radiating onto Soda like the sun, and I try to copy that exactly, but we all know that I can't convey the same pride, the same confidence. I look at my baby brother and remember how he used to be; a kid that would sneak out and keep secrets. A kid that never enjoyed being told what to do. A kid that wasn't scared of anything.

And now I stare at a kid - my brother - who never shuts up unless Pony or I ask him to. My brother that I know will have my back until the day I die. My brother that listens to my every word like he's never disobeyed in his life. My brother who is haunted by his dreams.

Though he will never, ever admit it, I know that I'm looking down on my brother who still finds himself in a disaster zone. I know I'm looking down on my brother who wishes he hadn't survived.

The world feels like it's going to collapse as he asks, "Can you help me stand up?"

My heart nearly explodes with excited pleasure. All four of us move together as we grab Soda by his hands and his waist. I hear him sigh painfully at the movement of Pony shifting closer so he can get a better grip, and immediately Pony freezes with a wide, sorrowful gaze. He opens his mouth to apologize and loosens his hold, but I shake my head fiercely, knowing that Soda will back out of this entire idea if Pony shows the slightest bit of doubt.

"You ready?" I ask, and I watch Soda glance at Steve and Two-Bit, whose hands float by his waist in case he staggers backward. His eyes fall back on mine and I see the pain brewing, the anger that he can't do this himself. But he locks his jaw and nods heavily. I start pulling his body towards mine, but he immediately resists and thrashes about, small cries of disappointment echoing along the walls.

Somehow I telepathically convince Steve, Two, and Pony back away, leaving Soda and I facing each other. His body language is terrified, but he keeps his hold on my forearm like he has no other option. The sweatshirt that covers the upper half of his body does nothing to his freezing cold grip. He's not looking at me, but I see him cast sharp glances at the wheelchair looming in the corner of the room.

"Soda, look at me."

There isn't any malice or disgust in those four words, but even still, Soda flinches as if I'm giving an order. For a split second, I understand, because Dad has always favored Pony and I. I know Soda knows that, and I know he feels resentment towards our father. But there's a phrase that Dad would throw his way sometimes whenever Soda was dealing with more than he let on. When his mind didn't associate Soda with a lost cause.

In the kindest, most loving tone - something my father never had for him - I murmur, "Don't quit on me now, lil' colt."

The air in the room changes faster than I can take a breath. I hear Pony's sharp gasp of recognition, followed by Steve and Two-Bit's unified sigh of relief. In silence, we surround Soda once more, and I think we feel invincible. His body feels like a thousand and one weights being pressed on my arm, but I've never held on to my baby brother tighter than this. I've never wanted him to stand up, to move on his own after being in so much pain, since he was launched off of his horse all those years ago.

His body crashes against my chest with a sharp gasp of pain. The feeling takes back to six months ago, where I stood in this exact position, only trying to save Soda. Trying to keep him alive. Trying to be there for him and love him like our father never could.

All of a sudden I'm being led down a hallway with Soda's arm looped through mine. He's gripping a side rail with everything in him, but his eyes radiate with determination.

I force Soda to stop and breathe. His body shakes with exhaustion, even though we've barely managed to walk a few feet beyond his room. His face hides inside of his arm, but I can see the pain on his face as if I'm looking at him through a mirror. The cold tile floor rests against my neck as I sink to the hospital floor, peering up at Soda through tearful eyes. Pony kicks my leg out of the way and stands right next to me, letting his head rest on Soda's back.

Soda's eyes fall to me on the floor. There's a questioning glare in those dark brown eyes, but the question shifts to humor. The small smile he offers burns me right then and there, soaking me with soot that I can't brush off. "I ain't a quitter," he says through several winded breaths.

I feel like we've gotten through to him - maybe not in the way we wanted, but at least it's something.