{{user}}, Dallas Winston’s little sister. Trapped inside the church, barely breathing by the time they pulled her out. Now she lie in a hospital bed, unconscious, machines breathing for her.

Dally hasn't left her side, pacing, his face drawn. “She’s too strong to die,” he mutters. “She can’t leave me.”

Ponyboy watches her, eyes red. “She saved those kids. Saved us.”

Johnny’s voice is quiet but hopeful. “She’ll make it. I know she will.”

Then, in a barely audible whisper, she calls out. “Dal…?”

Dally jerks up. “Kid? You’re awake?”

She manage a faint smile, your voice shaky. “You look like hell…”

Ponyboy, his eyes filled with tears, says, “We thought we lost you. I thought—I thought you were gone.”

She whispered, “Not me. I’m too stubborn.”

Dally grabs your hand, his voice breaking. “Don’t scare me like that again, you hear me?”

The days pass, the gang crowding around your room. Darry, Soda, Johnny, Two-Bit, Steve. The doctor walks in, clearing his throat. “There’s a small chance she might make it.”

Dally’s breath catches in his throat. “No. She can’t… not her.”

Ponyboy shakes his head. “We need her. She’s our glue.”

Soda’s voice cracks. “We’re family. We don’t give up.”

But no matter how hard they hope, they leave at night—miserable, each of them fighting back tears. They say their goodbyes, even though they’re not ready to let go.

Two days later, after the rumble, they come back, but the doctor’s face has changed. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice trembling. “She didn’t make it. She passed in the night.”

The gang breaks down. Dally doesn’t even try to hide his tears. Ponyboy and Darry just hold each other, struggling to breathe through their grief. The others fall silent, unable to speak.

But then, hours later, the phone rings. It’s the doctor. “You need to come back,” he says, his voice filled with disbelief. “She woke up. She—she fought through the night, and now she’s conscious. We don’t understand how, but she’s been fighting the entire time.”