I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see anything but murky red water and Johnny's black hair and his hand still reaching for me.

They'd gotten his blade and-

they'd killed him.

My eyes shut tightly and my mouth opened in a sob, silent underwater and continuing the process of drowning.

Pain exploded from my head, and I heard my blood rushing and my ears popping. Rough fingers around my neck made the entire process even more painful.

My eyes burned with the blood and salt, but I kept them open, now. I wanted to close them, God knows the last thing I ever wanted to see was not the water being colored by my friend's blood. Everything was a kaleidoscope of darkness, light, and red.

And absolutely no one was coming.

Johnny hadn't gotten more than a holler, nothing close enough to draw attention- we lived in a hood, after all. I was just grabbed from behind and plunged into the frigid water.

The hands became unsteady for a moment, and I managed to claw my attacker in the face, pulling when I scratched. I got a few more breathes before he plunged me back into my death. My head slammed against the fountain's floor and I began to panic. I couldn't keep holding my breath and I let out at least half the air I'd stored up. My kicks weren't as strong as before, and I just felt like I was burning.

This had all happened in less than ten minutes, but it felt like I was taking too long to die.

Then the Soc slammed my head into the fountain again, and I gave up.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see anything but murky red water and Johnny's black hair and his hand, still reaching for mine.

I awoke in the hospital, confused and frightened and oh, so tired. Steve was next to my bed, looking guilty.

"J'hnny?" I asked, having cracked my eyes opened a bit. Steve's eyes flickered up to mine, then back down again. He chewed his lip in thought. "Where's Johnny?" I asked, more clearly this time. My voice ached and so did my throat.

Steve didn't answer.

"Steve?"

Nothing. Just another quick glance and then he just said, "Don't get up yet, kid. No point."

Please, no.

"Johnny-" I scrambled to get out of the bed, scrambled over the tubes. "Johnny- please no, Jesus, no-Steve, Johnny-!"

"Christ, kid!" Steve yelped, pushing me back into bed. "Johnny's fine, everyone's fine. He's just sleeping off the blood transfusions, is all. Johnny's fine, Ponyboy, I swear."

"He's alive?" I asked weakly. I started to cry, and covered my face.

"He's alive," confirmed Steve. "He'll even get out a few days before you do."

"Thank you," I said. "You don't understand... Johnny's.."

"Yeah," Steve said, hands twitching, "I know he's special to ya, kid."

I smiled to myself, feeling sleep overtake me slowly. "Go out and take a smoke for me, will ya?" I asked him sleepily.

"You sure you'll be-?"

I was already asleep.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see anything but murky red water and Johnny's black hair and his hand, still reaching for mine.

I awoke in the hospital, confused and frightened and oh, so tired. Darry was sitting next to my bed, looking guilty.

Sodapop lay on his shoulder, his back hunched uncomfortably. His eyes opened quickly, and he sat up straight, wincing.

"You okay?" Darry asked me quietly. I looked at him, feeling my breathing getting faster. I shook my head. "Pepsi-Cola, stay with him," Darry ordered. "I'm going to find a bag or somethi-"

"Don't," I rasped, trying to steady my heart rate. "I just- I need a few minutes. I'm fine. I'm fine."

"Ponyboy," Darry started again.

"Darry, stop," I gasped, feeling my throat seal up. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I just-" I twisted up in a ball, held my head between my knees and counted my breaths, just like Dally taught me. "I just need a minute."

A minute turned into approximately twelve, and then I uncurled. "I'm fine," I said again, my voice normal except for the after shakes. "It's happened before, it'll happen again. I just get spooked for a bit, that's all. I'm fine."

"This has happened before?" Soda asked weakly.

"I don't like waking you up," I explained, lamely adding, "you're both so tired..." Soda bit his fist, hard. I knew what he was trying to do- I'd done it several times, trying to keep from them waking early in the morning.

"The nightmares never stopped?" Darry asked. I shook my head. He unclenched my stiff fingers from the sheets, where I hadn't realized I was still clutching, knuckles white. He took it into his own; palms I'd grown familiar with, the gentle tousles of my hair, the friendly pats on my back that were still too rough, the desperate grabs he made when he looked over my injuries. His hands looked older than his time, and so did he. "I am going to say this once," he started, gruff, "'cause I don't think I could bear it. Ponyboy, I am so sorry for laying a hand on you."

"Darry-" I tried, but he shook his head and I hushed.

"I never," he started, "I never wanted to do that. I don't know what... I'm sorry. I have no excuse, and I'm so sorry."

"Darry," I said. I had no real way of saying this- not the way I wanted to. "You're my older brother, not my father. And while...while I understand the state thinks differently, you'll always be my big brother, not my dad or nuthin'." I moved my hands, trying to gesticulate my meaning, wincing when everything hurt. "I wasn't so scared of the fact that you hit me-" he and Soda flinched, "- it's just that in that moment, I didn't see you as anything but a threat. It took me talking to Johnny to calm down- you know how I get anxious, Dar, Soda, it wasn't your fault I get startled like a deer or something."

"Oh, baby," Soda said around his knuckle. His arms were held close to his body, trying to fight against his instinct and coddle me.

"It wasn't my fault, either," I clarified, realizing they might think I thought so. "It was just a brotherly spat at the wrong moment, that's all." My throat ached, so I moved to get some water. Soda, seeing his opportunity, grabbed the glass and handed it to me. I smiled my thanks.

Darry clapped my shoulder, more gentle than ever. "We're going home for now, okay? Soda needs to rest."

"So do you," Soda and I huffed in unison.

"So do I," he agreed, grinning. "Since you're not in an emergency anymore, they're allowing you to bunk with Johnny."

I grinned and nearly gave a whoop of excitement. Soda laughed, and gave me a big kiss on my forehead. Darry just smiled and threw an arm around me, rested his chin on my head for a bit, then let go.

"Also, Dallas brought your sketchbook by. Thought you might like it." Then they exited the room. I smiled, grabbed a pencil, and-

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see anything but murky red water and Johnny's black hair and his hand, still reaching for mine.

I awoke in the hospital, confused and frightened and oh, so tired. Dally was sitting between me and Johnny's beds. He nodded towards me, lit a weed and said, "They moved you while you were sleeping. Johnny here could barely sit still. How're you holding up, kid?"

"I'm good," I answered quietly.

"Really," Dally said, closing his lighter and putting it away, "Guess those stories of attacks from your brothers were hallucinations, then? Wicked..."

"Okay, not so good," I admitted, embarrassed. "Johnny, you okay?"

"I'm good, but glory, Pony, how're you?"

"I'm good," I said, because what else do I say? Greasers don't have any layers but the layer of filth that separates us from Soc's.

"We're gonna have a rumble," Dally said. "I'm staying here to watch over you both."

"You sure they'll fight fair?" Johnny asks.

"It should be all fair," Dally answered.

"It wasn't mighty fair of them to stab a kid and drown another," I pointed out wryly.

"Told everyone to bring a blade, just don't use it unless they have to," Dally admitted. "Shepard's gang's in too."

"That's good," Johnny smiled, trying to lift the mood.

"So, your nightmares?" Dally asked me.

I opened my mouth, and the first thing that came out was,

"I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see anything but murky red water and Johnny's black hair and his hand, still reaching for mine."