Author's note: So, I meant to wish all y'all a happy Steve's birthday last time, but I forgot, so happy belated Steve's birthday. April 15th, man.

Unfortunately, we have come to the final chapter of our story. Thank you all for the reviews and for just reading even if you didn't review. I've worked really hard on this, and I hope you all enjoyed it. My mom and kid brother spent a lot of time making fun of me for writing things using other people's characters, so just know that I am persecuted for my craft, but I think it's worth it for all y'all. You make this worth it.

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine but Motley

Chapter 17: YOU FAILED ME

MOTLEY'S POV

Halfway home, I ran into my next-least-favorite-chick, Sylvia. I'd never understood what Dallas saw in her. I mean, they had an on-again off-again relationship, so obviously he didn't see too much in her, but enough to get on top of her every chance he got. Not my type, honestly. Nice rack, but her ass was as flat as a two-by-four.

"Oh! Motley! How are you?"

Another example of how completely insensitive this bitch was. "How the shit do you think?"

She sighed. "I know. I miss him too."

"Like shit. You just liked riding him."

I'd struck a cord there. "Oh, here we go with the 'you're a slut' thing. You ain't so innocent yourself, y'know."

"I never said I'm innocent. I'm just sayin' you ain't either."

She conceded. "That's a fair point. We're both sluts. What else is new?"

See how I managed to inadvertently gain myself a rep as a fast and loose, easy sex guy? It was the girls who were sluts, not me. I wanted something more.

Though, to be fair, maybe I shouldn't've put out on the first date. Or right after I ran into them at Buck's.

Suddenly, I actually did wanna hang with Sylvia. Just to talk at someone, if nothing else.

"You wanna go get a drink or somethin'?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"It ain't nothin' like that." I said in exasperation, realizing what she thought I meant. "I just wanna go drink myself stupid, and you know Buck. If I'm alone, he'll limit what he'll let me have. If I'm with someone, there'll be more booze than Two-Bit could drink."

She liked that. She liked it a lot. "Alright. Let's go."

XxXxX

Hours later, I couldn't see straight. And neither could Sylvia. I unloaded everything on her. I told her about Darry and his chick, the pills, the dreams, the fights, everything.

Happy now, Dallas? I trusted somebody with personal shit other than you and Ponyboy and Soda.

Finally, glancing up at the clock, I saw that it was three. I only had an hour before Soda would be home from work, and then I'd miss my window. I needed to go now.

"Either way, thanks for listening, Syl. I gotta go now, though. You look after yourself, y'here? If ya'd just settle down, you could have somethin'."

She looked at me funny. "Why're you talkin' like that?"

"I'm leavin', Syl. I'm leavin', and I ain't comin' back."

She was actually speechless for a minute. For a whole minute, Sylvia Clarissa Jensen was speechless.

I guess I can cross that off my bucket list.

"Glory. I knew this is buggin' the shit outta you, but you're actually gonna leave?"

I nodded. "I've had enough. I ain't stickin' around for this bullshit. I can write Soda and Ponyboy. But I'm done with Darry. I just can't do this anymore."

She sat there, digesting it. "I guess that makes sense."

"Of course it does. Either way, I'd say see ya later, but I guess I won't." And I turned and left.

DARRY'S POV

I left work early and went to pick up Soda when he was finished. We needed to talk about Motley. I'd been thinking over the last thing he said, and it didn't imply good things.

Soda was surprised to see me there, to say the least. "Darry? The hell're you doin' here?"

"We got a problem."

He frowned at me accusingly as he got in. "What'd you do this time?"

"You automatically assume I did somethin'."

"Well, ya did, didn'tja?"

My silence was answer enough for him. He just shook his head at me.

And somebody ran right into the side of the car. Who the hell manages to run into a parked car?

Sylvia, of all people, yanked Soda's door open. "Soda." She panted. "You need to - go home- and stop Motley - before he leaves."

"What?"

"I was - talkin' to him - at Buck's. He asked - me to come - 'cause he wanted to - drink himself stupid - and Buck gets - stingy when - you're alone. He told me - everything. The fighting, everything. Then he - told me he was - leaving and that he - wasn't coming back."

Soda went white. "Thanks, Sylvia. Step on it, Darry!"

Sylvia shut the door and I floored it.

I think I broke my land-speed record on the way home, pushing 90 the whole way. I couldn't lose him. Not now. Not after everything we'd been through in the past year. Losing our parents, thinking I'd lost Ponyboy… it'd been hell on Earth. I couldn't lose Motley too.

Soda'd already left the car and was in the house calling Motley's name before I'd even completely stopped the car. I hated it when he jumped out of moving vehicles - happens more often than you'd think - but I didn't have it in me to say anything about it just then, considering that was exactly what I would've done if I were in his position. As it was, I barely got the car in park before I jumped out and ran in too, leaving the door wide open.

I headed through to Motley's room, figuring that was the place to start.

I've bugged Motley for eight months to clean his room. He never has. Not once. He doesn't care enough to. Occasionally he'll put a couple things away when you can barely see the floor anymore through all the stuff. Don't get me wrong, his dirty clothes aren't all over the place, he isn't that kind of slob. He dutifully dumps all that stuff in the washer. It was his clean clothes that were always in a jumbled pile next to his dresser. He'd just pick up off the floor whatever was at the top and wear that for the day. Then there were all the magazines. School books in random places on the floor. Unfinished homework assignments that would never see the light of day again. Cartons of unused cigarettes to just pick up like the clothes.

Except half of that mess was missing.

The clothes were gone, the many cigarettes were nowhere to be seen, the photographs he'd had on the dresser were gone.

Soda was just kneeling there in the middle of the floor looking like he was about to keel over and die, a couple of the scattered papers clutched so tightly in his hands that they'd crumpled past recognition, almost like he thought that if he held onto them tight enough, he could somehow hold onto his twin. Make him stay.

I put a hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away. He stood up and headed into the other room. I followed.

And there, on the table, was the last thing Motley wanted me to know. The only one of the photographs in his room that he'd left behind.

He'd taken the one of him with Soda when they were three, curled up in bed, asleep with their arms around each other. He'd taken the picture of him and Mom, smiling while doing heaven knows what outside when he was ten. Something that got them both covered in mud. He'd taken the one of him helping Ponyboy fix his bike. Neither of them knew they were being watched. He'd taken the one with Dad giving him The Lord of the Rings trilogy for his birthday.

The one he hadn't taken was the one of him and me.

Sitting there, in the very middle of the table, was the picture Dad had taken at my state football championship my senior year. Motley had said he was gonna be just like me and win state football championships too. He was wearing my jersey, not seeming to care it was covered in grass and dirt and sweat and blood. But the picture didn't look like it used to. If I had to guess, I'd say he'd thrown it against the wall, half the glass shattered and nowhere to be seen. It looked like he'd cut himself on it, blood spattered across our smiling faces.

And right across the whole thing, in thick letters obviously done with permanent marker, were three simple words.

YOU FAILED ME

XxXxX

THE END

So, how do you guys feel about a sequel? Or should we just leave it at that and accept that, sometimes, stories don't end the way we want them to. The more reviews I get in favor of something continuing Motley's story, the faster I'll get onto it. Or even do it at all. Really, it's up to you guys.