Disclaimer: If I owned these lovely characters, I would be at the top of the New York Times best sellers list right now. Everything belongs to John Green.

After we published the article, Augustus turned to me with what could only be described as the gleeful look that one gets before he is about to hatch an evil plan.

"What?" I asked warily.

"We're going to go play on that pedophilic swingset of tears one last time." He said, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"It looks like it's going to rain."

"So?" He said simply

"It's been a long day, I'm kind of tired." And even on a good day I couldn't push myself, I finished in my head.

"I refuse to take no for an answer, Hazel Grace." He said, swinging his prosthetic leg off the bed. "And of course I'll be pushing you, you won't have to do anything but sit there." He said, bowing slightly and offering his hand to me. I still didn't want to, but there was no denying his puppy eyes, so I finally gave in. Augustus was practically bouncing with excitement as we made our way to the depressingly gray and beaten down swingset. I couldn't understand how anyone could be so excited about a piece of junk, and I kind of felt bad for whatever poor family would get it after. It was hardly worth the trouble of picking it up. He waved me over, holding one of the ropes steady so that I could sit down and adjust my oxygen tank on my lap. As soon as I was settled, he gave me a gentle push.

All of the sudden I was overwhelmingly reminded of when my dad used to do this, precancer. The wind was running through my short hair, and Augustus' strong hands on my back could easily be mistaken for my dad's. If I just closed my eyes for a second, I could almost pretend that it was him pushing me. It was a warm summer day. My mom was laughing in the background over some stupid joke. I'd nearly convinced myself it was real until Augustus' sweet voice pulled me back and I remembered that it had been a day dream. Nostalgia was a side affect of dying, I reminded myself. I could've cried if I let myself, but I didn't. Augustus had seen me cry once today, which was once more than I ever wanted him to see me cry; and besides, this was a pretty stupid thing to cry over.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" The question took me by surprise. It was such a childish thing to ask, but then again, I was the one on the swingset.

"Cremated."

"You know what I mean, Hazel Grace."

"I'm dying." I said bluntly.

"So am I. So are your parents and Isaac and Peter van Houten and Simon Cowel. That doesn't stop us from living now." When you put it like that, it sounded so simple, but really it's anything but. The sad thing is that that's exactly what my cancer had done: Stop me from living. I didn't have any plans for the future. I didn't even have any daydreams. I had nothing. Heck until Augustus had come along, I wouldn't even come out of my room unless I was being forced. I just looked at the ground because I didn't have anything to say. I wasn't interesting, and I had no big plans or ambitions. There was no real reason for Augustus to stick around with someone whose only skill was being a professional sick person; I didn't even know why he had till that point.

I didn't say anything, and it wasn't till I heard a protesting groan from the swing that I realized that Augustus had stopped pushing me and had taken the other seat.

"There are plenty of things you're good at, Hazel Grace." He said matter-of-factly.

"Not really." I mumbled, blushing slightly. My swing was slowing down now that Augustus wasn't pushing me. This was probably a good thing since the swingset was creaking horribly already, because I was a little big for it and it was really was old, so we both just sat there, together.

"Nonsense. You're good at plenty of things, like reading and thinking and noticing things and the systematic breaking down of the universe. You don't realize just how extraordinary you are. We just need to find a way to put your talents to use."

"Why? It's not like it matters. I'll die before then anyway." I said testily, because I was starting to get upset although I wasn't sure why.

"It matters, Hazel Grace. You might have to just trust me on this one." He said with a sad smile.

I had my mouth open to say something (I didn't know what) when my mom called from inside the house that lunch was ready. Augustus hopped up off the swing, which gave a groan. He wasn't more than a few steps away when he turned back, looking a little worried.

"Are you upset with me?" He asked.

"What? For disagreeing with me? No. Of course not." I said quickly.

"Good. All the same, I apologize to anyone who felt betrayed." He said with a little bow before turning back around again.

It started to rain a few minutes after we got inside, thus perfecting the depressing look of lonely swingset, which didn't look any less lonely for us having given it company not five minutes before. We had half finished our sandwiches before I broached the previous topic.

"What do you want to be?" He looked at me for a long minute, like he didn't know how to answer, even though he'd given the question a lot of thought.

"I don't know, Hazel Grace. I told you before on the night of the existentially fraught free throws that before my cancer I really wanted to be a pro basketball player. Regardless of my feelings for the action, it's not going to happen." He said, motioning to his leg. "Now I've given this a fair bit of thought, and I've arrived upon the conclusion that I want to be Max Mayhem." He finished. I laughed, thinking he was kidding, but looked at his face to see that he was totally serious.

"Gus, sweetie, you are aware that he is a fictional character?" I said gently, like I might be breaking a startling and painful truth to him.

"I am, fully. But I think we both know that sometimes fictional characters are more real than real people are. They're certainly more interesting."

"But why Max Mayhem? He's constantly in danger and having to rescue people and getting hurt. Why would anyone want that?"

"For precisely the same reason you just said. Danger is exciting, namely when it's a real danger that we can face up to and fight against. Which is exactly what he does. He'd give his dying breath so that another might have just a chance at living. He makes his life worth something. People remember him far and wide as one of the greatest heroes that's ever lived. Furthermore, he, like any overly clichéd action hero worth his salt, can't die."

I understood, I really did. I knew that me and Augustus were far different when it came to what we care about in this world, and that he found the idea of fame and life meaning and immortality as appealing as I found it revolting. "You can't fool me, Augustus Waters, you only want to be him because he's vastly more prepared for the inevitable zombie apocalypse than you are."

"That and the fact that if I were Max Mayhem, my prosthetic would totally be upgraded to a super powered mega robot leg."

Then he asked me if I would kindly fetch my copy of An Imperial Affliction, because something I had said reminded him of a bit of the book. I got it from my bedside table, where I always kept it close at hand, and gave it to him, asking what comment it was that spurred this recollection.

"The bit about the zombies, an element of which AIA is still sorely lacking in. 'Mother's glass eye turned inward...'" He began.

As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once.