AN: Sorry! I've been trying to remember to update this story. I just get writer's block all the time, but I promise I won't give up. I have way too many ideas for this story.

Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

I get lost so easily; I've never been to this school, and I was definitely not paying attention on the drive here today. I don't recognize anything around me. I try to remember anything I was told on my tour of the town, but nothing comes to mind. I've spent every waking moment for days preparing for this stupid test, and I find that every conversation I've had since I got here has faded from my mind.

I pat my pocket, remembering that Darry wrote the house number for me. I'll call the house, and hopefully someone will know to come pick me up.

Except there's no paper in my pocket. My fingers only brush scratchy fabric, with no hint of paper or phone numbers.

I clench my fists as I feel myself starting to panic. My fingernails dig into my palms, grounding me. It's a small town, I remind myself. How far could I possibly be from the house? I take a breath and start walking.

I turned left out of the school, and I'm going to stay on this sidewalk until I see something familiar. If I don't notice anything before 6:00, I'll turn around and come back to the school.

I'm beginning to question my initial decision after about 30 minutes. Nothing around me looks familiar at all, and the sun is starting to set. The days are getting shorter. Just another reminder that school is about to start, and my life is about to change.

I pass many payphones on my walk, but no matter how hard I try, I can't remember the Curtis' number. Or any number for that matter. There is literally no one that I could call. The chill of the night is settling on my shoulders when I decide to take a break. It's well past 6:00 now. I don't want to turn around and walk back, so I duck into an alley on my right, leaning against the wall and shutting my eyes. I sit that way for a while, catching my breath and trying to calm my mind. When I open my eyes again, I look around me, taking in my surroundings.

There's a dumpster to my left that reeks of rotten food. The alley cuts off about 20 feet in, ending in a brick wall. I get to my feet again and curl up against the back wall, pillowing my head on my arms. When I close my eyes again, I'm hit with a wave of déjà vu. I've been here before. I sit up again and look around. Directly in front of me is the entrance to the alley. Beyond that is the sidewalk and the road. Across the street there is a small auto-parts shop. That's definitely familiar. I stand once more and walk out of the alley.

I feel excitement course through my body. If I cross the road and continue to my left, I'll hit the DX.

I nearly start singing when the familiar lights of the gas station crest the hill. I did it, I found my way back home!

My thoughts nearly stop me in my tracks.

Since when do I think of this place as home? I have no home. I can't become too attached to this town, to these people.

I can feel myself shut down as I walk into the station. The pleasant ding of the bell does nothing to represent how I feel. I barely respond when Soda greets me and asks how the test went. I don't even flinch away when Steve ruffles my hair.

This isn't my home. It can't be. Soda and Darry, they're not my brothers. My brother is gone, and it's my fault. How can I feel this way? How can I feel happy when he's dead? He'll never feel anything ever again.

I'm too distracted with my own thoughts to pay attention to anything around me. I don't notice the concerned looks that Soda and Steve shoot at each other. I don't notice when Darry and Soda stay up late, talking about me, trying to figure out what's wrong. I don't notice when the guys are quiet the next morning because they're walking on egg-shells around me.

The same question keeps running through my head. How can this be my home?

I know that these boys are the kindest people I've ever met, and I know that I stand a better chance at a future with them than I do with anyone else. But I also know that they will never replace Jack. They can never fix what my parents did to me. I'm a boy with no home, no family, and meeting a few strangers isn't going to change that.

I'm aware that the more I think about it, the more closed-off I become from the gang. I feel my old armor fall back into place, the one that I thought I got rid of the day I met Steve. I fall back into the self-preserving acts from before. I barely talk to them as the last few days of summer end. When they try to force a conversation, I lash out. I can feel them all losing their patience with me. On one hand I'm terrified that they'll throw me back on the street. I don't think that I could handle that after relearning what it feels like to be loved. On the other hand, I kind of wish that it would happen. Then I can find peace in the knowledge that I was right all along. They didn't really care about me. I'm surprised that they hardly retaliate even when I'm needlessly rude.

I almost fall apart the day that my test scores come in. They show up in the mail with my schedule the Saturday before school starts. Darry and Soda are so, so happy in a brotherly way, ruffling my hair and hugging me and insisting that we go out to dinner to celebrate. The others are the same, though far less huggy. Two-Bit picks me up and shakes me, and Steve grips my shoulder and tells me that he's proud, and Johnny smiles and points out all of the classes we will have together. Even Dally seems happy with my scores, buying me a milkshake the first chance that he gets.

It's all too much. Every touch and smile tears me down a bit. Because how could I be considering leaving these people? How could I, after promising to stay? I told them I would try in school. I told them I was happy here. What would they think if I left? What would they do? Would they look for me? Would they breathe a sigh of relief to have me gone?

And then I would kick myself because of course they wouldn't.

Right?

I know I've taken the moodiness too far when I snap at Darry and he snaps back. I was sitting on the porch where the indecision and confusion in my brain were putting a sour look on my face.

"Hey, kid," Darry said, only furthering my salty mood. I'm not a kid. I'm going to high school tomorrow. "Stressed about starting school tomorrow?"

My mouth works faster than my brain, leaving no respect in my voice. "I may be young, but my entire world doesn't revolve around school. I can have real problems, too." I scowled. "And I'm not stressed."

He made a face, one that very clearly said 'yeesh'. And he muttered under his breath, "Someone's in a bad mood."

That's all it took. I started yelling and yelling.

Then I got to my feet. I don't know what I thought that would do. Maybe I was gonna fight him. Maybe I just wanted to look intimidating so he would leave. Maybe I needed to pace. Maybe I wanted to run away.

Next thing I knew, Darry stood up as well. It's safe to say, he is much bigger than me. I was ready to stop right then. Ready to drop my sword at his feet and bow before him.

I never got the chance. He started yelling, too. Soda came home in the middle of our shouting match and tried to get between us.

"Darry!" He said. "There's no need to yell at him!"

And then I rounded on him. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me! You're not my brother!"

Soda realized immediately. I had said it. I had voiced the real problem. Soda and Darry would never be my real brothers. It didn't matter how convoluted I made everything, that was the real issue.

They would never be my family. My family is gone. Jack is gone.

Unfortunately, Darry didn't catch on as quickly. "THAT'S IT! GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

Soda still looked like I had struck him, but I didn't say anything. Instead I just growled and turned on my heel to march into my room. Every fiber of my being wanted to slam the door, but I knew that wasn't fair. I shut it normally and collapsed onto my bed. I never, never wanted to fight with Darry ever again. I stewed for hours before finally falling into a restless sleep.

My dream was familiar. I wouldn't remember where it came from until I awoke the next morning.

It was of the last day I had spent at home. In Osceola.

My parents had been fighting. For weeks. It was almost like they forgot we existed. It was kinda nice actually. They left us alone for the most part. But they kept us up. All night long. They yelled. My father drank. My mother smoked. She was a druggie, and had been my entire life. They shoved and screamed and threatened each other for hours. I hated it. Hated them. Hated Jack for refusing to take me out. Most of all, I hated myself.

Because I loved them. I know that's wrong. They don't want or deserve my love. Jack does maybe. He's cold and careless. But he never beat me. And he's part of my gang. You weren't supposed to hate your gang. You shouldn't love them either, but you're definitely not supposed to hate them.

And I loved when my parents fought, because then they were at least interacting. My mother and father rarely spoke to each other. My mother spent too much time out. She had a boyfriend. Why anyone would want to date her is beyond me. Then again, he was a dealer, so there's no way he could have been right in the head. To supply people with the thing that can destroy their lives is the most horrendous thing to me. But I've guessed that he did the drugs too.

Apparently, they were fighting because my father found out about the other man. I know that isn't true. She hasn't exactly been hiding it. There's no way he had just found out, but I suppose he just recently came to his senses long enough to register that she was having an affair. While my mother did drugs, my father is an alcoholic. And he doesn't drink cheap stuff like beer. No, he likes whiskey, scotch, rum. That kind of stuff.

That's the only reason he went to work. There was no job to hire a ten year old or a fifteen year old for that kind of money. My brother and I both had jobs. I'm not quite sure what Jack did, but he always helped with the bills. I worked at our local library, stocking and checking out books. The librarian was a mean old lady that could barely walk to the desk, so I took over for her. I know she doesn't like me, but she'd rather pay me to do the work than do it herself, so I got a pretty good weekly check. Our money was used for the essentials. I paid for food, and Jack paid for the house, electricity, gas, water, that kind of thing.

Sometimes we struggled with money. We usually had enough for food for the both of us, but sometimes Jack didn't have enough for the bills. During that time, we had to use some of our food money in order to help pay the bills. That's when I learned to steal food. I hated it. It made me feel … dirty. And it just proved everyone right. Everyone who said we were no good hoods were proven right whenever anyone in my gang stole something. No matter how essential the stealing was, we were still "bad people." Then again, a lot of the stuff that the others stole was completely unnecessary and "just for fun." Whatever.

So, my mother and father were fighting. Jack was out. He wasn't supposed to be. The only thing my parents had managed to tell us that morning was to stay in our rooms. But his room had a back window. And I had seen the gang strolling down the street earlier. With him in the center. I was kinda disappointed that he hadn't thought to invite me along with them. I had a window in my room too, but mine was sealed. It didn't open. Which meant that my brother's window was the only choice. Now it wasn't an option because my parents had moved their fight to just outside my bedroom door. I could hear them screaming at each other like I was right in between them. It was terrible. I can't believe my brother left me here alone with them. He was supposed to protect me. I know he didn't want me to be part of his gang. He wanted to be old and out on his own without having to deal with his clingy kid brother. Sadly, for me, I hadn't known that he thought that until about a month ago, so he went pretty much my whole life disliking me. What fun.

It was a miracle my parents still had their voices. They had been yelling for hours. It was about 11:00 at night when I heard my parents calling us out into the living room. As I walked down the hall, I nearly ran into Jack. I wonder when he got back. Judging from the smell, he had been drinking. I hated it when he drank. It made me think of what a terrible father he's going to be. I wanted better for his kids than what he and I got.

"We're getting a divorce. You two are going to live with the bitch. Pack your stuff." My father's voice was triumphant. We'll see how he likes paying for his house and food.

"ME? They're not living with me!" My mother screeched.

"Like hell, they're not! You think I want that brat?" My father bit back. His finger was directed at me. I felt myself growing smaller. Shrinking into myself. Suddenly, my mother was standing and grabbing Jack by his arm.

"I'll take him! Then you only have to deal with one of them!" She yelled, tugging Jack away from me. I fought the urge to reach for him.

"NO! I CAN'T STAND THAT BOY! YOU'RE TAKING HIM!" My father stood as well. I was slowly backing away. I had a bad feeling about this. Something bad was going to happen.

My parents scrambled around the room, grappling with unseen objects. Out of nowhere, both of them held a weapon. My father carried a gun; my mother carried a knife.

"You shoot that gun, and I'll kill him," my mother whispered. She had her knife to Jack's throat.

"You kill him, and I'll shoot you. You are not going to kill my eldest son," my father promised. Stalemate. Great. My eyes flashed to Jack, hoping he was looking at me. He was. We could figure this out.

"Why don't you both just put your weapons down? We can talk this through. You don't want to kill Jack. He's the only reason we have lived this long with a functioning house. And he feeds us. Not to mention, he knows an awful lot of people who would be very upset if you slit his throat." I had my hands up, begging them to leave my brother alone.

"Yeah, yeah!" Jack jumps in. For a moment, I think that together we can calm them down. Then he looks at me. "Kill him! He does nothing! He's nothing but a nuisance! And he's a thief, he takes money from both of you." I stared at my brother as he pleaded for my parents to kill me. I dropped my hands and watched my father turn his gun on me. Jack had conveniently left out the fact that I was taking the money to pay for food, and that he did the same.

"I don't want to have to deal with the boy's body. Don't shoot him. He can go on the streets for all I care, but even I know it wouldn't be wise to kill him now. The shot will attract attention. It'll put all of us in danger of arrest. Don't do it." My mother still held Jack by his hair, her knife lowered from his neck.

"Do it," my brother murmured. I gaped at him.

"You think you can steal from me?" My father aimed the gun. "You think you have any right to my hard-earned money?" He cocked it. "You're wrong." He fired.

Luckily for me, he was absolutely tanked. He missed my head by a good three feet. I felt tearing pain through my side and looked to see my right hip bleeding. He had only skimmed the surface of my flesh, but I still fell to the floor. I was riddled with shock. My brother had sacrificed me. I was alive. Jack told my dad to kill me. I was alive.

The gunshot still rang in my ears. Before another word could be said, my brother lay dead on the ground, the knife lodged in his throat. My mother was true to her word. My father shot the gun, and she killed her first born child. A second gunshot rang out and my mom dropped beside Jack, groaning in pain. Like my mother, my father stayed true to his promise. I watched my father walk into the kitchen and pour himself a glass of whiskey. With his back turned, I crawled toward my dying mother.

"Mom? Are you alright? I- what do you need? What sh-should I do?" I stuttered out of pure shock, pain, and fear. "I love you," I said as I grabbed her hand and started trying to look at her chest wound. My mother ripped her hand from my grasp and shoved me from her side.

"What should you do? You should leave. Never come back. No one wants you here. You're nothing but a defective child with far too much audacity. You caused your only brother to die, you've all but killed me, and you forced your father to become a murderer and a drunk. Leave. I hate you," she whispered the last part. Her tone was full of disgust. She took one final breath, her hands dropped to her sides … and that was it. She was dead.

I packed. I grabbed my bag that I used for school and two sets of fresh clothes. I felt tears streaming down my face as I gathered my bathroom essentials. I cried, not for my mother or my brother, but because of them. My mom had used her last dying breath to tell me she hated me, and my brother had tried to sacrifice me to save himself. I snatched the last $20 in the house (I had been able to save last week's and this week's paychecks). I was about to go out Jack's window when I remembered to bring my books. I brought three novels and my sketchbook.

Jack's window slid open smoothly. I could hear my father on the phone, likely with the police, saying that he had watched his youngest son kill his wife and his son Jack. The last thing I heard before I closed the window was my dad's voice, "I've always hated that boy. He's been a no-good drain on this family since the day he was born!"

I woke up to a wet pillow. Tears were steadily streaming down my face and light from the hall was filtering through my open door. Steve's head was poked through the crack. It took me a moment to realize that he was speaking.

"-ou okay? I heard a shout, so I thought I'd check on you."

"I'm fine." Even I can hear how rough my voice sounds. I swallow, trying to rid myself of all emotion and the memory of my dream.

He stares at me for a moment. "Okay," he says, his voice the epitome of defeat. "I know that you and Darry had a fight today. Do you need to talk about it?"

Suddenly I remember that he told me a shout had woken him. "Are they awake?" I say guiltily, knowing that both of them have to work tomorrow. Then I remember that Steve and I have to start school tomorrow.

"No, I don't think so. I haven't heard them get up."

"Good," I say, recalling the way that Darry yelled at me and the look that Soda had when I shouted at him. "Good night." I turn my back to him and force myself to ignore the memory. I need to sleep before school starts.

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