DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything involving Gilmore Girls

Okay, I know that I am horrible for not updating in so long! I just didn't have the time to devote the proper amount of attention to writing this. All the reviews were awesome once again, so a huge thanks to you all!

P.S. I feel that I should issue a dark and gloomy warning on this chapter.

He didn't want to deal with it anymore; nothing in the world could be worth all this pain. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't think of anything that he would be missing out on in life. A loving family… not in the least. Caring friends… not since the first grade. A goal for the future… only to make it to the future, and that was becoming less and less important every day. A sense of achievement… nothing. He had spent years listening to hospital social workers drown on and on about how he was doing the most important thing he could: fight for his life. That was all that mattered; who cared about what would happen in your future if you only had a 50 chance of getting to it? He had given up on caring what would happen, because it was far too painful to imagine a life that he wasn't certain he would want, or be able to live.

Tristan's eyes flew open as he shook away the images that had just invaded his sleep. The same images that had been reoccurring since he was just a kid fighting something that he didn't even understand. He had thought that they would stop by now; he had spent years pushing them out of his mind. There had been a few years where he was simply a healthy, normal teenage boy. The dreams of a scared little boy had been replaced with those of a hormone-driven teenager. Unfortunately, after hearing those familiar words from the doctor two months ago, the scared little boy had resurfaced and his slumber was plagued with the images that a terrified, lonely little boy had imagined.

"Tristan, it's time."

The small, wide-eyed, bucktoothed, version of Tristan looked up curiously at the figure in front of him. "For what?"

The figure took Tristan's small hand in his and slowly led him away from his brightly colored hospital room. He was wordlessly led through the hospital corridors, looking at the rows of people staring sadly at him. Smiling brightly and waving, Tristan glanced towards the person leading him. "What's wrong with them?" He asked innocently.

He received no answer, just a stronger pull at his arm. He suddenly felt cold, standing beside his leader in his hospital gown. They had stopped walking, and Tristan looked around confused. The figure slowly extended his arm and pointed to a spot in front of them. The hand slowly disappeared, followed by the rest of the mysterious figure beside him. Tristan screamed and looked desperately towards the spot that he had been directed to. A large group of people were gathered, standing under a large oak tree. He quickly ran towards them in hopes of finding someone to help him.

As he neared the group, he slowed down and quietly crept up to the still and silent adults. One man was talking, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. He softly tapped the leg of the man he was standing near, but he didn't seem to notice. Deciding he needed to tap harder, Tristan began hitting the man's leg repeatedly with his whole hand. "Excuse me, mister?" The man didn't so much as turn his head away from the direction in which they all seemed to be staring. Giving up on that attempt, he pushed his way through the crowd to get a glimpse at what they were all so interested in.

In front of him was a large hole in the dirt with a wooden box poised above it. Tristan looked from the box to the adults, trying to figure out if this was some sort of game he didn't understand. If it was a game, it definitely wasn't something he wanted to play. Everyone was staring at the man dressed in black robes with a book in his hand. Starting to become really annoyed at being ignored, Tristan shouted, "Hey, what's going on?"

No one said a word or looked at him. Desperately flailing his arms, Tristan tried to get someone's attention. Looking around, he began to recognize some of the people in front of him. There was his Aunt Cynthie and Uncle Landon, holding hands and looking sad. His grandma was in the front, nodding solemnly. Tristan looked around expectantly for his parents, but he didn't see them anywhere.

"God's plan isn't easily understood, but he saw a greater purpose for our young Tristan. We can only take comfort in the fact that he is in a better place and that his suffering has ended."

Tristan ran up to the man speaking and said, "I'm right here! I didn't go anywhere!"

The man lifted a lever and the box slowly started going into the ground. Roses were thrown on top of it, coloring it until it could no longer be seen. The group slowly walked away, whispering softly to each other. "How could Alex and Christine miss this?"

Tristan's face lit up at the sound of his parent's names. "What did they miss?" He shouted at the retreating figures. Soon, he was standing by himself, rain beginning to pour down on him. He instinctively hugged himself to keep warm, but soon realized that he didn't feel the slightest bit cold. Shrugging, he walked dejectedly back to where the group of people had just vacated. Sitting against the tree, he looked around sadly for someone to help him. All that he saw was the pounding rain drenching the muddy pile in front of him. He noticed that there was a large object sticking out of the ground and slowly walked towards it. Tears mixed with the rain running down his face as he fell to the ground, fingering the words in front of him. He was all alone and no one was coming for him.

Tristan Janlen DuGrey

5-12-85 – 8-24-94

Beloved son

Taken too soon

Tristan placed his pillow over his face and screamed as loudly as he could. He pulled the pillow away and threw it across the room. "I'm not that little kid anymore, damnit!"

Looking around the room angrily, Tristan eyed the roses that had been placed in his room by the maid, who said that they were from his parents with best wishes. "Who the fuck sends their sick teenage son roses?" He rubbed his eyes harshly, wiping away every last bit of moisture that had formed there.

It seemed like every time he had his dream, he became more and more angry. Angry at his parents for not being there, angry at himself for being so clueless and most importantly, angry at the fact that this particular dream kept coming. He knew that he had no right to be angry at his parents for something that never happened, but it wasn't hard for him to imagine them not showing up to their own son's funeral. "God, I need to stop letting this get to me so much. How pathetic am I?"

He always woke up even more bitter than usual from his dream, and the fact that he couldn't close his eyes without having it was causing his anger to spin out of control. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down. It wasn't a good idea to get all worked up right after a brutal round of chemotherapy. Tristan was clueless as to how to take his mind off things. There was no way that he could get out of bed on his own, and there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it. Figuring that the false sympathy cards surrounding him couldn't get worse than his parents', he began to flip through the large amounts of envelopes the maid had delivered.

There was a particularly inappropriate card from Christina that promised him a certain kind of reward for getting better. Shaking his head, he moved on to the next one.

Tristan,

I sincerely hope that your health improves soon. If you should need any help, please don't hesitate to ask.

Paris

Tristan couldn't help but laugh at that one; count on Paris to be that cold and unoriginal. After a few more cards, Tristan was beginning to become discouraged once again. They all said pretty much the same thing, and he had even started to count the duplicate Hallmark cards. Just as he was about to dump the pile, a purple envelope caught his eye. Ripping the envelope open, he immediately knew who it was from. The handmade card could only have come from one person.

Tristan,

I know that you are going through a hard time, and life pretty much couldn't suck any worse right now. I understand that you need to cope with this in your own way, but please remember that I'm here to help it suck less. If anyone can get through this, it's you. I really miss you and your bald head. And other things…

Don't forget that we Gilmore girls have a very effective way of distraction. If you need a laugh or just someone to talk to, you know who to call.

Love,

Rory

Tristan smiled as he lightly ran his fingers over Rory's handwriting. Leave it to Rory to just be honest and admit that not everything can be fixed with a sunny and cheerful card. He knew that he should let her help him cope with this; the time he had spent with her had made him feel infinitely better. And having her distract him wouldn't be so bad either, especially if he could get the chance to kiss her again. Man, no matter how crappy I feel, I still can't help but think about kissing Rory, he thought.

He really and truly needed to swallow his pride this time; he had done enough back and forth with her, and she deserved to be treated better after all that she had done. Vowing that he was finally going to let his guard down enough to let her in, he took a deep breath and grabbed the phone from the nightstand beside him. Dialing the number that he had long since memorized, he waited nervously as it rang.

"Hello?"

Tristan faltered for a moment at the sound of her voice. "Uh, Rory?"

"Yes?" Rory immediately knew that it was Tristan and she anxiously waited for his response.

"It's Tristan, in case you didn't know." He heard Rory laugh nervously and he continued. "Do you think you could come over?"

"Yes!" Rory said, a little bit too enthusiastically.

Tristan laughed and said, "Thanks for the enthusiasm. I'll see you in a bit?"

"Yup, see you in a bit." Rory hung up the phone and quickly went to find Lorelai to tell her where she was going. She couldn't remember the last time she was this nervous; she had no idea what Tristan was going to say to her. Every time she had thought she had him figured out, he pushed her away. She had never felt like more of a failure than when she had seen Tristan wheeled into the house and the door slammed in her face. She didn't want to fail him anymore.

Okay, so that felt really long to me. And I'm sorry there was hardly any Rory in it. Have I freaked you all out with the dream? I warned you that this wasn't exactly going to turn fluffy. Again, everyone has their own experiences with this, and I am simply taking from what happened to me. Anyways, please review and let me know what you thought!