A/N: Hey guys! Another chapter! Yay. That was relatively quick for me! Aren't you all proud?

-Marco-

I had already knocked so many times my knuckles were almost raw. I checked three times to make sure it was actually room 1399. It was. So I knocked again- then screamed.

"Jake! Jake!" This was not good. It was possible, of course, that he had told me the wrong room number. He was drunk on the phone, after all. But still, just to be sure. "Jake, open up the damn door. This isn't funny!" People from room 1398 came running out like I had just yelled "Fire!" They froze and whispered. They weren't that dumb, they figured it out fairly quick.

All right, time to be sensible. Let's make our way down to the front desk, Markey boy, all Ryan-like during the Ryan-He's-Got-A-Gun episode of The O.C. in season one. Except behind this hotel room, there's not a gorgeous Mischa Barton waiting for you to be saved. Nope, instead there's just one Jake Berenson who was in deep shit.

Marco, come on down- you're the next contestant on Save Your Best Friend's Ass!

I'd been a contestant a lot lately. It wasn't really Jake's fault, he went to a lot of psychiatrists and doctors and he even tried a hypnotist. He sank into this killer depression. No one could pull him out of it, not Tobias or me or even Cassie. He still blamed himself for Rachel's death. He still thought it was his fault. They all tried to help him but what do you say to the leader of the Earth Liberation Army. There's never been anyone with Jake's problem before; no one knew what to do. Your typical soldier back home from war had seen only half as many things as our Jake did.

"Hello, I'm Natalie. How can I help you?" The lady behind the front desk asked. Natalie- the world was playing some cruel trick on me.

"Hi Natalie, my name is Marco. My friend Jake called me about a half hour ago and I would really like it if you could help me out." I flashed a killer smile and flexed a little. I still had a way with the ladies.

"I'm sorry Marco, but I'm not allowed to let anyone into that hotel room. It's a privacy issue."

Here's where I love being a celebrity- "Natalie, my name is Marco and my friend Jake, Jake Berenson, called me about a half hour ago. Now I can't get into his room and it's really important that I get in. Can you help me?"

It dawned on her eventually. Everyone knew who we were, everyone in the world. We were the invincible Animorphs. Invincible with our ex-leader incapacitated in his hotel room.

Life sure had changed.

She handed me the key once we made it upstairs. I wouldn't let her go inside. "It's an Animorph thing." I told her and she smiled like she was in on some big secret. Technically, she would be if she stepped through that room- which is why I made her give me the key.

The room was dark and it reeked like alcohol and puke. It was disgusting and I almost didn't want to step inside. He was going to pay for this. We were supposed to be adults now. We were eighteen. Why couldn't he act like it?

But I knew. I knew that Jake was trying to move on but he wasn't sure how.

He was lying on the bed and I was fairly sure he was passed out. An open pill bottle was lying on his pillow and the random bottles of alcohol were strewn about the room. It was not a good situation.

I stood there for a few minutes. I remembered Jake as he used to be- the leader who took decisions to heart and wanted every so often to be normal. Or the Jake that knew running away from his problems only made them worse.

I missed that Jake. The Jake that was lying on the bed didn't look like the leader of the Earth Liberation Army. Truthfully, he looked pretty pitiful. He looked like a failure.

"Jake, you gotta get up." I said and grabbed his arms. I had to get him to the shower. Actually, I really had to get him to a hospital but thinking in the long-term and the press that would come with the long-term wouldn't be the best thing for Jake.

Pulling him, I noticed he had gained weight. It was a good thing, ever since the war he'd lost way too much weight. Now was just not a good time to have ten extra pounds to pull off the bed.

He chose that moment to wake up. Me, with my legs straining in the business suit I wore, clutching onto his arm for dear life and pulling to drag him from the spot he'd carved out for himself.

"What the hell are you doing?" He grumbled. I could smell his breath from here.

He wrenched his arm from my grip. The sudden shift caused me to fall back onto the floor. I bumped my head on the way down. That made me bitter.

"I was trying to get you to grow up."

He sat up and from my position on the carpet I could see his disorientation.

"Go away Marco."

There was something about the way he sat. It was desperate and nonchalant and determined to convince me of the truth. Instead, I saw deeper. And his hurt was a lot deeper than I could ever imagine- or handle.

"I'm calling her," I said.

He made no move to stop me.