A/N: Unfortunately... more autobiography...

The next morning dawned sunny and cool, in complete contrast to the mood of the day. It should have been raining. It always feels like it should be raining when there's a funeral. I wasn't complaining, though. This whole thing was going to be hard enough without having to contend with bad weather too.

I was meeting Brad at the school, so we could go to the funeral together. Chris was once again going to be home with James, but they were both still asleep when I left, so I kissed both of them lightly and eased my way out of the house, praying that James would let Chris sleep until at least 9.

Brad was waiting for me in his car when I got there, so I parked in my usual spot and hopped into his passenger seat. He reached over to hug me, and I squeezed him tightly.

"How are you doing?" I asked softly. Yesterday had been a lot harder for him than I'd expected, and I was worried about how he was going to handle everything today.

He shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot and began driving.

"Well, I barely slept last night. But," and here he paused to pull his tie out of his jacket. From the anguished smile on his face, I knew what he wasn't saying. Well, that and the fact that the tie was obviously not something he would have ever picked out for himself.

"Two Bit got it for you, didn't he?" I asked around the lump in my throat. He nodded, and I could see the tears in his own eyes. We didn't speak again until we got to the church. After got out of the car and walked over to where people were starting to gather in front, we both started looking for who I had started to think of as "our" kids. I saw Ponyboy first. I didn't think I'd ever seen him look so pale. He came straight over to me, put his arms around me quickly and muttered in my ear, "you'll sit with us, right?"

I let go of him and nodded. I was starting to calm down now that I had other people to worry about. (This was one of the reasons I'd always known I'd be a good mother.)

As we were standing there, Soda, Steve, and Darry approached us, and I was struck by how small this group of friends had become … and it hurt. I motioned towards the doors because I wasn't ready to hear them talk to each other, so we walked inside silently, taking seats toward the front. If I hadn't promised to sit with them, I know Brad and I would have sat much further back.

Somehow as we filed in, we ended up with Pony on one side of me and Soda on the other. I offered to switch seats, but they glanced at each other quickly and then shook their heads. I sighed inwardly, hoping I would be up to this very hard task.

I was… until we all heard Mrs. Mathews break. That was all it took for the tears to well up in my eyes. I blinked furiously, unable to imagine what she must be going through, unwilling to process what this all meant to her… that she had lost her child, the baby she had brought into this world. James flashed through my mind, and the tears I was trying to suppress slipped down my cheeks. I reached up to wipe them away and suddenly became aware of a movement to my left. Soda had hunched over in his seat, his head in his hands, and he was silently shaking with sobs. I put one hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and on his other side, Steve squeezed his other shoulder, taking deep shuddering breaths of his own. I watched him helplessly until Darry put his arm around him, and as Steve almost collapsed against him, I started rubbing Soda's back in small circles. He was still crying when Pony broke down; the sounds of all of these people crying were too much for him, but I was reluctant to abandon Soda. I glanced over at him and was gratified to see Brad nod at me, his own eyes full, but his arm around Pony. We all stayed that way until the service ended, and that was when we had to stand up and watch the service end in a way none of us were quite ready to see.

We all stood slowly, unsure of our balance, and I noticed that we all seemed to let go of each other and wrap into ourselves, self-isolating into our own worlds of misery for the five minutes it took them to carry Two Bit out. I couldn't stop the tears from sliding down my face, but I was starting to regain control of my breathing as we exited our pew. That is… until I caught sight of Darry. He'd tried so hard for the entire service. He'd tried to be the other adult for these boys, so they'd have someone else to lean on. He'd tried, and he'd almost succeeded. I'd almost managed to forget that, to me, he was still a kid. I'd almost managed to forget that he'd lost Two Bit too. And then I glanced behind me to make sure they were all there as I walked out of the church, and I saw Darry's face. He was frowning, and it was a frown I recognized both from years of working with teenagers and, now, from my own child. It was the grimace that was supposed to keep the tears at bay, but whenever a kid needed to use it, it also meant that the tears were perilously close.

Pony tried to put his arm around me, but I shook my head and whispered, "I need to talk to someone first." He nodded, looking puzzled, but as he turned to see where I was looking, his face dropped, and I could see that he recognized the look on Darry's face too.

"Yeah, go ahead," he muttered, almost pushing me in his oldest brother's direction. I could see he was grateful that I was going to do this because I could also see that he was afraid to.

I approached Darry as the rest of the mourners sluggishly made their way out of the church, and I stopped in front of him. He looked down at me, and the frown intensified. He knew what I was capable of, and I could see through this frown that he was afraid of letting someone else help him. I couldn't let that happen.

I reached up to hug him, and he hugged me back, squeezing tightly, and then ready to let go… but I didn't. I just held on, and then I could feel his arms tighten around me in response. I could feel his breathing becoming uneven, and I could hear the sniffles he was trying to hide. He buried his face in my shoulder, and I smoothed his hair silently. He didn't need me – or want me – to say anything. He just needed someone to understand that he was hurting too. That much I could do.