Trigger warning: This chapter discuss the possibility of self-harm and attempted suicide. It's not explicit but it is discussed.

***

Shawn tore open his blinds that faced the street. Near the old tree where Mitch, Emily, and he used to play in Foster's yard, red tail lights glowed from a smoking truck.

Mitch's truck.

Shawn's heart nearly stopped, and the air crushed him like an avalanche. He couldn't lose another person he loved. Breaking free of the trapped feeling, he bolted down the stairs, ripped open the front door and ran barefoot through the snow, gravel, and ice until he reached the driver's side. His hand hesitated. Was he about to witness another Foster die?

Not on his watch.

Shawn flung open the door. Mitch was slumped over the steering wheel, his forehead dripping with crimson. Unsure about the smoke coming from the hood, Shawn moved Mitch from the truck. He dragged him a fair distance toward the house. Shawn's heartbeat thumped like a hammer over every bump that could injure his friend's spine. Shawn lay him on the ground, tearing off his t-shirt, and using it to stop the bleeding. Mitch groaned. At least a small sign he was alive. As Shawn bent down to check his breathing, its strong and regular rhythm reassured him. Mitch was going to be okay. He had to be.

"Oh Lord in Heaven," Darla muttered behind him. "What happened?"

"When I left the bonfire, he seemed fine..." Shawn said to himself. What had changed? Had he started drinking or gotten high? If Shawn had stayed, Mitch would have been okay, but yet again, he'd failed his friends.

"For Christ's sake!" Martin grumbled as he ran over. "What is he trying to do, drink his way into the grave next to hers?"

The comment hit Shawn like a tranquillizer dart. Mitch didn't smell like booze, nor had they stopped to buy anything to drink on the way to the bonfire. The people there weren't involved in drugs, to Shawn's knowledge. Last night, Mitch had told Shawn he loved him and thanked him for everything, which wasn't normal. Mitch's statements since Emily's death flew at Shawn.

I shouldn't be here.

Nothing I do matters.

I don't know how to live without her.

Ice ran through Shawn's veins. Was Martin partially right? Was Mitch was aiming for the grave but intentionally? He'd missed tonight, but what would happen next time? Why the hell had Shawn left his best friend alone at a bonfire the night of his sister's funeral? The man wasn't okay. Shawn had selfishly chosen to sleep over his friend's life and had missed all the signs. If Mitch didn't survive, Shawn deserved this pain ten times over. Some best friend he was.

Darla's sobs broke him from his thoughts. She pulled her son into her lap despite Shawn's protests. "You have to pull through, Mitchell, my sweet boy, you have to." She pressed the t-shirt bandage to his head.

Bottles clanged as Martin slammed the passenger truck door shut. "I'll wring his damned neck! His sister loses her life, and he's ready to throw his away."

On the ground, Mitch rolled and moaned.

"Go inside," Darla said to her husband.

"Not until—"

"Go. Inside. Now." The words were as sharp as the impact of the crash. Martin's boots slammed on the snow as he retreated to the house.

Darla cried freely and rested her head on Shawn's shoulder. "Rehab was hard enough with Emily, now Mitch... where do I find the strength?"

Shawn swallowed. Would telling them the truth help? What parent wanted to hear that their only living child chose death? Darla sniffled and shook. Shawn already failed this family, who'd always been there for him. He wouldn't do it a second time. He'd do right by the Fosters and nurse Mitch to his old self.

"It's okay. I'll help him," Shawn said as his heart rhythm finally slowed and cold returned to his extremities. Gravel and ice dug into his burning feet.

Mitch groaned again and opened his eyes. "Where am I?"

"You're on the lawn outside your house. Can you wiggle your toes and fingers?" Shawn asked.

"What am I, two years old?" Mitch attempted to sit up from his mother's grip and grimaced before lying down in the snow.

"You were in an accident. Don't move too suddenly, all right? Shawn said.

"That explains the headache." Mitch touched his forehead and recoiled when he saw the blood. "What the hell?"

In the distance, a siren wailed. Darla's eyes widened, and she darted to the truck.

"The bleeding has slowed down. You'll be okay." The cut wasn't as bad as Shawn had thought, although his face would likely bruise. Even if he was talking, Mitch needed to get assessed for a concussion. Darla put the truck in reverse and drove it between a couple of other parked vehicles in their yard. The smoke had subsided.

"What's going on?" Mitch asked.

"We're taking you to a hospital."

Mitch shook his head then winced.

"You need to get checked out."

"I'm fine." Mitch lifted himself to a sitting position to prove it. His forced smile only lasted a few seconds before he lay down again.

"I'm sure you are, we just want to be sure."

He was the farthest thing from fine. The man Shawn had known since they were babies, the man he always turned to for advice, had died that night with Emily. He was in a semi-functional state where he couldn't see the value of anything or anyone who used to bring him joy. Look at his broken engagement, his strained relationship with his father, and even Shawn wasn't sure how long he could support his friend if things stayed this bleak. He could move back from Thailand for a few months, but by May...

Wait, that was it. Mitch needed distance from Emily's memory, and this place was crowded with her and people grieving her. Bringing him on a vacation might kick-start his enjoyment of life again. Heck, Mitch was almost a teacher and could stay on as a staff member if he needed a longer break from Nebraska. Shawn would need to call his international program director, but he believed in his idea.

"Everything's going to be alright, man. I can feel it," Shawn said.

Mitch smiled weakly.

When the police arrived, Darla and Martin spoke with them in hushed tones. Shawn didn't hear their discussion, but the officers checked Mitch for injuries before recommending he visit the emergency room tonight. They left without speaking to Shawn.

"If anyone asks, he was exhausted and misjudged where our driveway was," Darla said.

Shawn didn't question it since their family had been through so much. A sober accident was closer to the truth if Mitch ever found the strength to share his pain.

***

After Mitch was released from the hospital with instructions to rest, Shawn spent the following days at his side. Mitch's alcohol consumption had slowed but was still steady. Shawn had been corresponding with his advisor from Northwestern who coordinated the Thailand practicum program, and because of a couple of last-minute dropouts, Mitch could take an open spot in May and complete his outstanding education courses while in Bangkok to finish his degree. He wouldn't graduate this spring like Shawn, but he also might not make it through the next few months without support. Would Mitch bite? He'd rejected his parents' offers about rehab with vehement arguments, but he sure as hell wouldn't last much longer under his parents' roof.

He and Shawn sat in Shawn's mom's living room as snowflakes fell outside. Mitch tucked himself beneath a blue and green plaid blanket with a beer.

"How are you feeling about your classes at Northwestern?" Shawn asked.

Mitch stared out the window and sighed. "What's the point?"

"You can take a break."

"My dad would love having me here." Mitch took a long swig of beer. A few weeks ago that sentence wouldn't have had held an ounce of sarcasm, but their strong relationship showed no signs of rebounding since Mitch's arrival.

"What if you visited Thailand with me?"

Mitch swung his head around to face Shawn. "Why?"

Shawn shrugged, not wanting to scare Mitch off. Anytime he'd brought up Mitch's drinking or Em since the crash, Mitch had shut down with more alcohol. They hadn't had spoken once about Em since the funeral. It was agonizing enough to lose her, but erasing her from conversation was consuming him like a hurricane. He had to lure Mitch in somehow. It was the only hope of getting his living best friend back.

"Why not? Their beaches beat ours any day of the week. Booze is cheaper, and I miss having you around."

Mitch kicked him in the leg. "You're going soft on me, Walker."

Shawn laughed and smiled. The teasing was the closest he'd gotten to seeing his real buddy, instead of his numbed shell, in the past two weeks. "Just this once."

Mitch stretched his arms over his head. "When are you going back?"

"I don't know. Maybe in a few weeks or later if I feel like staying. The school year is almost over so we can travel in March."

Mitch laughed. "I won't last in this place until March. What about next Thursday?"

Shawn raised his eyebrows but covered his surprise with a smile. Perhaps deep down he knew he needed to leave to heal too. It'd be easier for Mitch to work if he applied for a visa in advance, but he'd manage on a tourist visa if he wouldn't get hired until May. He could crash at Shawn's apartment until then. Shawn's mom wouldn't love the sudden departure, since he would follow Mitch around during holidays instead of coming home. He didn't believe his friend would be okay on his own.

"We can see how the flights look, but it's possible."

Mitch gave him a high five and stood up from the couch, staggering. "This calls for a celebration drink."

Shawn should have refused, but the prospect of leaving Emily again made his throat constrict until the air had to force through. He closed his eyes and pictured the note he'd drawn from the jar this morning.

'The bigger the risk, the bigger the payout. Life large, and don't hesitate, Shawnie. Love, Em.'

Word Count: 8992 words