hey hi hello! sorry i haven't been here in a little bit. been thinking of other stories!

let's just dive right in!

-endless

run to you

I don't need a reason to run.

I've always been the one to run headfirst into anything I perceived as a threat to myself or to my brothers. It's like I've got tunnel vision - unable to see past that obstacle, that body, that idea of "I can handle this on my own."

And I had it handled. I had everything handled until 'Nam.

Then I became that obstacle. I became that body. I became that idea of "I can handle this on my own."

Except I couldn't.

Except I can't.

It's raining today.

And it ain't a soft, delicate tapping noise that has nearly lulled me to sleep more than once. It's a hard rap-tap-tap that bounces across the car, going in any direction and every direction in order to keep me awake.

There's a dark tint to the world as I stare ahead in my beaten up truck, rotating my car keys between each of my fingers in a daze. A grimace has settled itself over my face. My body throbs with fatigue, having not slept in the past few nights. Today had been in my mind for the longest time, and now that it was here? I'm not sure I can do this. I'm not sure I can get through those front doors.

Come on, Steve, I bark at myself roughly, scowling inwardly. Get your shit together. You've waited forever for this; just drive and get it over with.

My hand moves toward the ignition, the key poised and ready to be placed in the slot. But as I begin to put the key in the proper place, I pause. I take the key out, sit back, sigh, and reflect.

Momentarily, nothing comes to mind.

But then I think of everything that's happened. Everything we've gone through.

I think of Pony, who sits at home and has no clue what I'm doing. I think of Two-Bit, who I had told everything to, but made him promise not to Pony or Darry. I think of Darry, his father figure, the light of his world, and how much shit I'm going to be in once this is all over.

Silently, quietly, I brush the tears away from my tired eyes, stick the key in the ignition and turn.

My first course of action, had I taken the initiative to mentally run through everything a second time, should have been to not mess with the guard just before you get to the patient rooms. I know the nurses, the doctors, the guard, and they all know me. It'll be easy. One quick nod to the guard, one quick flashy smile to the nurses and I'll be through.

So when I'm faced with another set of eyes that scream distrust, I stop dead. I hear the guard's body go rigid with skepticism, and I know he finds my appearance not worth his time. I solely focus on the toothpick he rolls between his teeth, and he throws a piece of paper on the counter, nodding at it like I have no fucking clue what I'm doing.

He's aggravated. He's boiling with annoyance at how slow I'm filling out this form I'm all too familiar with. His fingers drum on the counter, and he finally blurts, "Get a move on, kid. I ain't got all day." A smirk forms on my lips as I sign my name on the dotted line at the bottom, and he snatches it the minute I put the pen down. His steely gray eyes rummage through the paperwork, but they keep dashing upwards like he's making sure I haven't pushed my way in.

He says nothing more than a muttered, "Just tell the other two back there that you've filled out all your paperwork" and steps back. I voice my thanks and leave him to wallow in boredom. A word to the guards just before me; a quick glance to my right, followed by one behind me.

Swallowing the urge to run, I stuff my hands into my jean pockets and turn down the all-too-familiar corridor.

My first impression of Soda is quiet.

Actually, quiet doesn't begin to cover it. He's mute; solemn; oblivious to my presence right in front of him as he sits in a wheelchair.

He's scared out of his fucking mind.

"Do I have to leave?"

His voice brings me back to this moment. Brings me back to seeing his dark brown eyes torn between leaving and staying; of safety and the unknown; of wanting to live and wanting to die. I realize with a twinge on my heart that none of us thought Soda would ever get out of here. We thought he would stay for the rest of his life, given the fact that he'd already spent a good year and some months in this hellhole. After months of rehab trying to figure out how he could function with just one lung, he was finally going home.

In the long run, I know he'll come to realize that this was always the outcome. I know he'll come to realize that he's meant to be alive. I know he'll find his way again.

But here? Standing in front of him, taking in the exhaustion that has already settled in his eyes at the prospect of leaving, I know he's going back to that place. That need of dying. That desire of feeling his body shut down.

He still doesn't want to live.

But we do.

The walk out of the hospital is ungodly silent except for the pat-pat of rain on the pavement. Thunder calls and lightning traces bright lines in the sky, the rain coming down in buckets by the time my car pulls into the driveway. Darry's truck rests in a bank of mud, and by the smell of exhaust that seeps through the rain, it's clear that he's just come home from somewhere.

I hear Soda sigh from his place in the passenger seat. I steal him a glance, wondering if that sigh was meant in some kinda way. Pity? Excitement? Remorse? Relief? I find myself surprised. I never anticipated that Soda would allow me to pick him up and take him home. To drive him back to his safe space, his sanctuary, his life before. But then his steely brown eyes find mine and I quickly focus back on the house that radiates with relief.

I think Soda picks up on my wondering, my hoping, because he says, "I never wanted this for anyone."

"How many times do I have to remind you that it's not your fault?"

Soda reaches across the dashboard and grabs me chin, forcing our eyes to meet.

Yet again, I see him for what he is. He's still broken. He's still afraid. He's still tempted to live in a world where he'd rather die than exist.

"You know I'm different. Think about it, Steve. I tried to die a year ago. I nearly left my brothers, my friends, my life. I know damn good and well what it did to you - and you know damn good and well what it did to me."

"Mhm" is the only word I can find in my into those sorrowful dark brown eyes, I find myself hesitant to push myself out of the driver's seat and walk along the broken front bumper to his side of the car. I'm hesitant to pull him to his feet, help him walk into the warm house that isn't expecting his arrival. But even so, my door is open with rain absolutely soaking my seat. I almost reprimand myself for ruining the leather, knowing that it'll just crack and wither until it's completely gone.

And it's here that I realize that Soda would rather be my car seat than anything else.

I bolt to the other side of the car as if that'll shield me from the worst of the rain. I'm already soaked by the time I reach it, and the anxiety that rips from Soda's body is almost enough for me to take him back. It's almost enough for me to put him back in what he believes is the safest place for him.

"Are you ready?"

His body and eyes say no. They scream no. But his heart speaks for him this time. "Yeah."

His hands automatically reach for mine, and he grips my forearms with a force so strong, I think he'll rip my arms off of my body. His warm hands meld with my cold skin, and I feel myself relax as I pull him up and out of the car. He grunts in pain at the movement, but he doesn't complain as I quickly loop one arm around his waist and let his own fall across my shoulders. It takes what feels like seven thousand years to reach the front steps, and I silently curse Darry for not making a ramp. But Soda only nods in determination and his body shakes against mine with the effort of moving his legs beyond a standing position.

We stand at the front door. The house booms with laughter, and I see Soda's lopsided grin find its way back. I remove my hand from on top of his and knock heavily.

No one comes.

I knock again, harder this time.

No one.

It takes Soda nudging me that I realize his breathing has picked up like he's hyperventilating. I move so that he can lean on the railing, and he immediately puts in his head onto his arms. I whip open the screen door to find that the front door is completely locked. I know that the longer we wait here, the colder he gets, and the more time I lose trying to keep him calm. "Dar! Pony! Two!" I shout each of their names like I've been stabbed or something, hoping that'll shake them from whatever drunken haze they're in. "Wouldya open the door?"

Soda turns his head slightly as footsteps sound at the front hallway. The clicking of locks and bolts is like music to me, and I about leap for joy as Darry launches the door open. His eyes are glazed, totally being halfway between tipsy and full on drunk. He pushes his way out the front door, taking no notice of his brother that wheezes just a few feet away. But those same drunken eyes are scanning my body, looking for any sign that I could be losing my life, and I know that he is traumatically remembering what we all witnessed a year ago.

Darry's hands push against my shoulders, my neck, my chest, and my legs in an attempt to find something. "What the hell was that for?" His voice is icy as Pony and Two come into view. "You bastard -"

A solid, hellish cough grips Darry's attention. I watch the booze leave his green eyes and look to my left, where Soda has moved to the ground but is looking at me, at Darry, and at Pony and Two-Bit with a grin on his face. I hear Darry choke on his name, shaking his head, not believing at all what rests in front of him, the body he never thought he would see outside of a hospital room.

I've only seen Darry whip off his jacket and the shirt underneath a handful of times, but this one's different. I don't think he feels the freezing rain as he shoves himself past me and hauls Soda to his feet, shielding him from the cold with his own body and literally backs into the house, Soda huddled against him like a small child. I've only seen Darry grab his brother in his arms with such tender ferocity one other time.

Two-Bit and I stare at each other in the front hallway. He nods as he recognizes the plan I had all along:

I brought our brother home.