"Crapbaskets."

John ran over to Alice, grabbed her arm, and felt for a pulse. "She's still alive. For now, at least."

Maria punched him in the arm. "Seriously?! Was that last part absolutely necessary?"

"Ow, sorry! Just saying." There was a moment of silence until a tear dropped ever so quietly. More tears kept racing down. John tried to hold back for Maria's sake since she was crying up a river, but couldn't, and he shed a couple too.

"Maria, it's okay. She'll be fine."

"No, she won't! Why hasn't she woken up yet, huh?" Maria looked up from Alice and at John with a spiteful look. "Ya know, it was your idea to do this! This is all because of you!" Maria stomped up to John and slapped him square in the face. She went back over to Alice and whispered into her ear.

Meanwhile, John slowly stood up and felt for blood. It had really stung, but it would only leave a bruise. He calmly left the room and went to look for Blyke. But before he left, he had an idea, paused to tell Maria, and ended up deciding against it. He did hear something through the door, however.

"Oh Alice, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I'm the one who pressured you into going to that party. If you didn't go to that dumb party, none of this would've happened! Ugh!" He hears more tears. " It's all my fault. I'm sorry." He almost goes back into the room, but he knew that Maria would keep blaming him for what happened. He silently sheds another tear for Alice, but then goes on to look for Blyke. (She'll wake up, right? I mean, last time something like this happened, she woke up safe and sound.)

"Blyke! Blyke? Where are you?" John walked throughout the house looking for Blyke and kept calling out his name. "Blyke!"

"I'm right here." Blyke waved over to him from the kitchen and walked over to him cautiously with his off-brand water gun out, pointed right at his face. "What do you need, you filthy peasant? Huh?"

"Oh, I don't know." John unexpectedly kicks the water gun up into the air and catches it. "Maybe, some help?" He points it at Blyke's face and squirted Blyke in the face nonstop for a good minute until his conscience kicks in.

He coughs and gasps for air. "Dude?! What was that for?!" Blyke attempted to dry his face and his clothes. "I didn't even do anything! That time."

"Sure, whatever. I need your help." He throws the water gun onto the top of the refrigerator. "That'll give me at least a couple minutes. Alice isn't waking up."

"What?! What do you mean she's not waking up?" Blyke attempted to bolt up the stairs, but John grabbed and yanked Blyke's shirt, causing him to safely come back. "She's my sister! I need to see her!"

"Slow your roll, dude. You're probably just going to get in the way anyways." John lets go of Blyke's shirt and instead puts his hand on Blyke's shoulder. "Chill. There is something we can do. Actually, it's the only thing we can do right about now."

"What's that?" Blyke starts crying silently but still managed to cry more than Maria.

"Get a good night's sleep."

Blyke stared at John with a confounded look. "That's a buncha bunk! How's sleeping supposed to help when she's in a coma?"

"Chillax, dude. She just needs time, okay? Okay?" John stood up straight and picked up Blyke. "Speaking of time, it's time for you to go to sleep." John held Blyke at a distance while walking back up the stairs and into Blyke's room.

"Wait, what about dinner? I'm starving!" Blyke struggled to go to the kitchen; however, John picked him up and tucked him in. On the way up the stairs, Blyke was complaining, demanding, and whining the entire time. Once John had luckily survived the trip, he wrapped Blyke in his blanket to where he was in a cocoon

"I'll make a grilled cheese, okay? Deluxe* if you promise to stay still. Deal?"

"Fine." John walked out of the room before Blyke could thank him. He yelled, "Thanks!", but it seemed like John was too far away to hear Blyke. Blyke felt regretful for what he did and began contemplating. What was his reason for always being a pain in the butt? How come he kept getting in the way without feeling a drop of remorse? Why couldn't he ever have empathy for those he hurt? "Why?" Blyke asked himself. He kept asking himself, yet he could never summon an answer. Suddenly, he had an idea. A way to be better. A chance to make things right for once! The question is, should he take it?

Before Blyke could contemplate for any longer, John barged into the room, kicking the door out of the way with a plate full of deluxe grilled-cheese sandwiches. "Heya, Blyke! You still hungry?" He sits down and says, in a sing-song voice, "It's deluxe! C'mon have a bite!" John chomped down on one, tasting the intricate flavor called 'deluxe.'

For some strange reason, though, Blyke wasn't hungry. He couldn't eat when he was this close to the answer. He needed more time. He quickly snacked on a grilled-cheese sandwich and went immediately to sleep. "Leave."

"Um, excuse me? I just made you dinner, and you think-"

"Sorry, dude." He feigns a yawn to deceive John. "I'm just surprisingly tired. I ate a plentiful and delicious dinner, and I think I'm coming down with the itis."

"Oh. It's okay." John is hesitant to leave the room but does so anyway. "Nighty night!"

"Good night." With John out of the room and a full stomach, Blyke was now able to focus on the answer. What should he do? Should he go back to his old devious ways? Or should he change for the better? "Doesn't matter. They probably won't believe me. But maybe?" Blyke kept soul searching until he heard another cry of pain from Alice's room. He couldn't focus anymore, so he just decided to sleep on it.