A/N: I don't own Twilight. Right now, I'm kind of on a roll with this story. I tweaked - okay, scrapped - some ideas and added a touch of Drama™. Hopefully, I've been rid of all the people who find themselves frustrated while reading this story. Now to the people who actually enjoy it, let's ride. I can't wait to share what's coming up next with you guys.

This chapter isn't as wild as other ones; it's really a response to the previous one, featuring Quil, Embry, and heavy dialogue. Warning: suicide is a prominent theme in this chapter.

Enjoy.

LXIX.

you could be a bad motherfucker
but that don't make you a man

Quil called Embry just after he got home from killing Jasper that night, the last night of winter. The vernal equinox wouldn't be until tomorrow, but with the way Quil had handled matters, things seemed to be balancing out already. The equinox had come early.

Embry, reliable as ever, answered the phone. "What's up?"

The twenty dollar bill burned in Quil's pocket, but taking it out and setting it down on the table in his basement didn't make him feel any better. It sat right next to the gun. Cause and effect.

"How do I kill myself without my mom finding out?" he asked.

Embry hung up and was knocking on the basement door in two minutes. Quil, completely paranoid, waited a moment before even getting up from the couch. That was when Embry thought he'd lost him. Embry knocked on the door harder and harder until his fist hurt, and Quil finally swung the wooden door back and brought the metal one forward. He looked like he'd been crying, and Embry looked like he was about to cry himself.

Quil angrily wiped at his own face. "The fuck are you doing here for?" he asked. "You scared the shit outta me."

"What's going on?" Embry asked.

Quil, wordless, just let Embry into the basement.

Embry looked down at the table and saw the gun. "What's that?" was all he asked.

"It's a gun, dumb-ass."

"No, Quil, where did you get it?"

"Embry, that's not the point. I'm about to kill myself."

"Why?"

Quil just collapsed onto the couch, his head in his hands. He wasn't crying, but he was about to. "Man, you're gonna hate me if I tell you," he said, his voice muffled.

"No, I'm gonna hate you if you don't tell me."

Quil was silent for a few moments, and Embry just sighed. Then Quil looked up. "I killed someone tonight," he said quietly.

"Deadass?" Embry asked.

"Yeah, man, his ass is dead," Quil said. "That dumb-ass is just lying on his front porch with a fuckin' hole in his forehead. His nice-ass Xbox is probably still on, too. And the pizza man—oh God, Embry, the fuckin' pizza man is gonna find him! Could you imagine going into work thinking you're gonna have a regular night until you find a dead body?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Embry said. "Hold up. Who did you kill?"

"Nobody we know," Quil replied. "His name was Jasper. He used to be my friend, but then we started having issues. I just… I snapped, man."

"So you think this is how you solve your issues?" Embry demanded. "Look, I hate eighty-eight percent of my coworkers, but do you think I'm gonna kill someone every time we have issues? No, Quil, we just grow the hell up and move on. We don't just snap like that."

Quil didn't say anything at all. He just glowered at Embry.

"What's next?" Embry asked. "Are you gonna shoot the next person who talks crazy to you or even looks at you funny? Are you gonna shoot me? What, Quil, are you gonna snap again?"

"Don't fuckin' be like that," Quil said. "Don't say that, Embry! I mean, shit, you were there! You heard the gunshots when they pulled up on our street last night. They fuckin' shot up my house and scared the shit outta my mom. If I didn't do anything, he would have gotten away with it."

"Okay, well, get this," Embry replied. "You're not fuckin' Batman. You sell weed on a reservation."

"I should just kill myself," Quil said. "Everybody always said I wouldn't amount to shit. They're right. I'm just as dumb as everyone expected me to be."

"I mean, if you wanna become a stereotype, then sure," Embry said, "but we both know that's not what you want. Quil, you fucked up, but that doesn't mean you've gotta kill yourself. Shit, what would your mom think?"

"She'd lose her mind."

"She'd lose her mind," Embry echoed.

"I can't take it back, though. Killing Jasper."

"No, you can't, but you can try to make things better."

Quil shook his head. "I can't turn myself in. That'd be exposing the chop shop and everyone involved. That'd be exposing Paul, and I can't do that."

"What has Paul ever done for us?" Embry asked. "When has he ever not been completely selfish?"

"Don't say that," Quil told him. "I get it, nobody really fucks with him, but the guy's family to me. To us. And he needs the extra money. I just can't do that to him."

"Then don't turn yourself in," Embry said. "But you've gotta get off the streets."

"I've been out here since I was fourteen, fifteen," Quil said. "It's not as easy as you think."

"Of course, it's not easy," Embry agreed, "but you've still gotta do it. You can start by getting a real job. I can talk to my boss and put in a good word for you at the diner."

"That's real por-active—"

"Proactive," Embry corrected him.

"Proactive of you, but I just need some time, okay?"

"You could kill yourself in that amount of time," Embry said bluntly. "It's best to just get off to a fresh start as soon as possible. I swear to God, you'll feel a whole lot better. A new job makes everyone feel better."

"The thing is, though, you don't know everything," Quil asserted. "Honestly, you don't know shit. Who the fuck told you that we can make it? That we're equal? We're fuckin' native, Embry. We live on a goddamn reservation! You grew up with a single mom and you didn't find out you share a dad with Sam until you were, like, nineteen. Now you wanna tell me that I'll feel better if I get a real job?

"Embry, the guy I killed today was my age and did nearly the same sketchy things that I do, but if you turn on the TV right now, the whole country will be in a goddamn crisis, with every channel talking about how some rich-ass white boy from Forks had his whole life ahead of him, as if he wasn't a college dropout and fucking an underage girl. If I killed myself right now, it would be old news by next week. So fuck outta here with that white shit, Embry, 'cause we natives, we just ain't equal. That was never part of the plan from the moment Christopher Columbus sailed his pasty ass over here, calling us Indians."

"Look, I know we're not equal," Embry replied. "I know that 'it gets better' shit doesn't work on us, but that doesn't mean you can't try to make things better for yourself. You know what you are, Quil? You're fuckin' hardheaded. You don't wanna change because you think you'll lose something, but let's be real—what are you gonna lose if you change? You ain't shit out here, so you wouldn't lose your street cred. You're already broke, so you wouldn't lose much money. You'll lose more, like your life, if you don't change. You're right that nobody's looking out for us, but that's why we've gotta start looking out for each other."

Quil was just silent. He couldn't act like Embry wasn't right. Embry was the moral compass of the entire circle of people that Quil knew—he was always right. Quil couldn't fight this time, even if he really wanted to. All he could do was nod his head and accept it.

"So what are you gonna do?" Embry asked him.

"I'm gonna go get rid of this gun," he replied. "Wanna come?"

"I shouldn't."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Quil and Embry were soon in the former person's car, driving inconspicuously out to the sticks, out of town completely. They kept the radio off.

At some point, various police cars rushed past them, sirens blaring, in the opposite direction. Quil and Embry realized that the pizza man must have finally arrived at Jasper's house. It wasn't as funny as they initially thought it might be.

When did I decide, Embry thought, that the concept of family is more important than the law?

They drove out past Forks but not quite in Port Angeles, and then ditched the car to go out to the woods. They hadn't really thought this through, so they ended up digging into the rain-soaked earth with their bare hands. They buried the gun deep in the ground and then went back the same way they came, making sure to mess up their shoe prints on the way out of the woods.

With dirty fingernails and tired eyes, Quil drove back to La Push. He dropped Embry off at his car, just outside. Embry got out and waved to Quil.

"Take care of yourself, man," Embry said.

"I will," Quil replied. "Talk to your boss for me."

"You've got it."

A/N: Thanks as always,

HS