Chapter Text
When Johnny woke up for the second time, his stomach dropped. It couldn’t be taking Pony this long to get a little food, could it? They were in the middle of nowhere, yes, but on the way, they had passed a gas station that couldn’t have been more than two miles away.
He sat up, less tired than before, and pulled his legs to his chest. The message written in the dust was slowly blowing away, but it was still there.
A few feet away from Johnny was the switchblade and gun. He grabbed the knife and tried to look at himself, but it wasn’t working. Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what he looked like—he could feel that his hair was a mess.
He hummed to himself, confused when his eyes grew tearful the longer he stared at the blade.
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” he whispered. Johnny talked to himself when nobody else was around. It made things easier, made him feel less alone when his parents were fighting, and he was afraid. “If I didn’t, Ponyboy would be dead.” It was worth it. They were drowning him.
Johnny would do anything for Ponyboy. If getting caught and sent to the cooler meant his best friend got to live a long, full life, he would do it all over again.
He sat there for a while, anxiety deepening with every passing minute. Eventually, he decided to get up and explore the church, as if there was anything special to see.
Johnny quickly spotted the bag at the door. He frowned in confusion, sitting down next to it. Right away, what grabbed his attention was the note in Pony’s handwriting. As soon as he grabbed it, his stomach twisted, and it tasted as if there was acid in his throat.
Johnny Cade,
I’m real sorry for this, but it’s for the best. I want you to know that I didn’t make this decision easily and it’s hard to even write this down, but I’m leaving. I know you know it’s my fault for all of this. If I hadn’t run to get you, then you would still be back in Tulsa and you wouldn’t have had to kill Bob.
I know you’re gonna say that it’s not my fault and that we had no choice. But that’s just what I mean. You had no choice but to kill a boy because of me. And I hope you don’t feel guilty, but I know that you will, because you don’t wanna hurt anyone. So I’m leaving before anything else can happen to you, because who knows what will happen if I stay?
And before you think I’m running just for you, that’s not true. It’s for Darry and Soda, too, because Soda worries about me too much when he shouldn’t have to and we both know that Darry don’t want me around. The others will probably be glad they don’t have a kid to watch over, especially Steve.
I hope you forget about me or hate me, cause that’ll make it easier. But if you’re ever sad and think you don’t got anyone, just think about your old best buddy Ponyboy, who loves you no matter what.
When you get back, cause you will, tell Soda I love him and I’m sorry. Darry too. He’ll probably be glad, but he’ll feel bad about hitting me, so tell him I said it’s alright and that I forgive him. Tell Dally I said thanks for helping us. And tell Steve and Two-Bit that I’ll miss them. But don’t let them read this letter. Nobody can, except maybe Soda. But you can burn this if you want.
Anyway, I’m running out of space now, so I just gotta say one more thing. Please don’t come looking for me. Get your name cleared. Maybe I’ll be back in a few years, but just forget about me. Please. I’m sorry
All my love,
Ponyboy
When Johnny finished reading the letter, he was sniffling, angry, and so confused.
“Oh, Ponyboy,” he cried, “you idiot. You got it all wrong.” How could he not see that they all loved him like a brother, especially Darry? Everyone knew Darry was just trying to look out for him!
And it wasn’t his fault at all. Johnny probably would’ve got involved in something like this no matter what, since he only hung out with the Greasers, specifically Dally.
“Don’t so much as stick your noses out the door,” Dally had said. And Johnny always did what Dally told him—he was the toughest guy out there and always knew what to do. But even he never could’ve planned for this.
Who knew where Ponyboy was by now?
Furious, Johnny tore the bag open and stared at everything else, searching for some clue of where Pony went, but all he found was food, cigarettes, and a book.
Who the hell did Pony think Johnny was? Was he supposed to read and just let his best friend go?
Gone With the Wind. If he weren’t so upset, that might be ironic enough to laugh at.
And he already knew what happened! They had seen the movie together.
Without thinking about it, Johnny bolted out of the door and took off, running as fast as his legs would take him. He had never beaten Ponyboy in a race before, but maybe he wasn’t running. He couldn’t have gone far, right?
“Ponyboy!” he screamed, not really expecting an answer. He wasn’t really thinking at all, just moving.
Johnny yelled his friend’s name again and again, each time more raw and breathless than the one before. “Ponyboy,” he eventually gasped, quietly, because he was so out of breath and only just now seeing the gas station. “Ponyboy.”
He wasn’t thinking straight. How could he be? Ponyboy was gone.
Johnny stopped just before he could see the whole gas station, looking between it and where he came from. He needed a plan, and not the one Pony had given him. That was a dumb plan. Of course, he was going to look for his friend, and once Johnny got home, they’d get Tim Shepard and his gang on it too, and they would find him in no time.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, Johnny knew that Ponyboy didn’t want to be found, and if he didn’t want to be found, well, nobody was finding him.
Johnny knew that Pony thought about running away a whole lot. He’d been open about it. Johnny just never thought that he’d be running away from him. He always considered himself a part of Ponyboy’s plans—they would run together. It wasn’t like Johnny had anything to stay for besides the Greasers. His parents wouldn’t even notice he was gone except when they were drunk and aching for a fight.
Besides, he was last and least of all of them. Everyone else was outspoken, unafraid, except for maybe Ponyboy.
That was the problem.
Johnny was too scared to think for himself. He just did whatever Dally told him, and Dally had told them to stay in the church no matter what. Well, so far, they’d made a whole big mess of that.
Another thing about Johnny was that while he might be afraid, he was real good at not showing it. So he squared his shoulders, the same way he’d done in the park, and tried his best to look tough. But he also needed to look innocent, just in case.
Johnny wiped at his eyes. He hadn’t been crying since he left the church, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
He swung the door open, nearly wincing when a loud bell attached to it rang. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here. Ponyboy wasn’t in here—nobody was except a bored-looking cashier who was smoking a cigarette. Johnny had half a mind to ask for a drag, but he figured that was a bad idea.
The back of the store seemed like the safest option, but even back there, he wasn’t out of sight. “Hey, I had another kid in here earlier who looks just like ya.” Johnny jumped, then slowly turned around. He watched as the man looked him lazily up and down. “Well, ‘pose he don’t look like you. But you remind me of ‘im.”
Johnny just stared.
“Oh, sorry, sorry, it’s just…I don’t got many people stopping by, you dig? So I remember people too much. An’ usually, it’s some rich folk stoppin’ on a road trip. Not many stores around here, huh?”
Golly, Johnny hated having to talk to new people. He was no good at it. “Uh…right. Well, I’m by my lonesome.” He tried to smile self-deprecatively, but he just raised the other man’s eyebrow.
“By yourself? Shoot, kid, how old are ya?”
Man, Johnny really didn’t have time for this. “Not all by myself. I’ve got friends,” he said vaguely, dodging the question. He turned back around, making sure he was out of eyesight this time, which was when he really started to think about the conversation. Obviously, that kid from earlier had to have been Ponyboy, but Johnny already knew that. He didn’t think it likely, but maybe he had talked to the cashier, and that was how Johnny could find him.
Feeling in his pockets, he realized with disappointment that he’d left the money on the floor of the church in his panic. It wasn’t like he needed anything else—maybe he did, but that wasn’t at the forefront of his mind right about now—but it would’ve been an excuse to go to the counter.
Johnny looked around, finding the bathroom. He figured that was a decent enough excuse. When he walked in, he didn’t turn on the light.
“Johnny?” someone called, making Johnny jump harshly. He’d been sitting on the couch, ordered to go to sleep by Mrs. Curtis, but couldn’t. At that voice, he turned around. It was Ponyboy, ten years old and already looking out for his friend. “Why are you here?”
At eleven, Johnny didn’t really have a filter. “Your mom was afraid my dad’ll kill me, I think.” He probably shouldn’t have said that. Ponyboy was too old for a nine-year-old—they all were too old for their ages—but he still swallowed loudly at that.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that Johnny was hit at home, but they didn’t really talk about it—you don’t mess with family issues.
“Oh.” Ponyboy shifted uncomfortably. “Want to smoke?” he asked, and Johnny nearly laughed. He’d been smoking for two years by then, but Pony had only done it a couple of times—Darry had gotten upset with him when he found out, so he didn’t do it much. They all knew he felt tuff doing it, and it wasn’t that unusual.
But right then, Johnny was just scared, and he didn’t want to go outside like he knew they’d have to. “Nah.”
He was probably running out of things to say this late at night. “You oughtta sleep, then,” he suggested.
“Can’t,” Johnny whispered, sounding sad.
Ponyboy frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well, why not?” he asked, like that had never been a concern of his before. It probably hadn’t. Johnny had never heard of Pony having a nightmare before.
With anyone else, Johnny wouldn’t have been able to admit this, but even then, Ponyboy was probably his best friend, and he understood. “Cause it’s dark. An’ I know he won’t, not with Darry and your dad here, but I…sometimes I just get real scared. That he’ll kill me.” But another part of Johnny knew that his dad probably wasn’t even thinking about him and instead was likely drowning in the drink. “It’s only ‘cause it’s dark,” he defended, but that was a lie.
Johnny was a little afraid of the dark, but he’d never, not in a million years, admit that. Greasers weren’t supposed to be scared of things like that. It was embarrassing. Ponyboy wouldn’t judge, though. “Sometimes when it’s real bad, I get scared of the dark. But you can’t go tellin’ people that, you dig?”
“Yeah, I dig.”
Neither of them slept that night. Ponyboy grabbed a flashlight, and they made faces and played shadow puppets until morning, when Mr. Curtis fussed at them and sent them to bed.
Johnny slept until mid-afternoon. He’d never done that before.
He was crying in a gas station bathroom because it was dark, and he could just turn a light on. Glory, he didn’t feel like a Greaser right now. He felt like a scared kid.
Maybe he wasn’t crying just because it was dark. Maybe he wished all he needed to do was turn on a light. But his light—at least, the one that pointed it all out; the sunsets, the beauty—was gone and didn’t want to be found.
Johnny wiped his tears away for the second time that day and pulled himself together. He decided to use the bathroom and wash his hands because who knew when he’d do that next?
Finally, he walked up to the cashier, making eye contact this time. “Hey, that kid you said was here this morning—did he say anything to you?”
“Nah,” he replied, blowing smoke right in Johnny’s face. “He was real quiet. Kinda looked like he’d been through somethin’, kinda like a kicked pup.”
“But what was he doing?” Johnny demanded, sounding more desperate than he meant.
“Gee, how’m I s’posed to know? The sun had just rose—I wasn’t all that interested. Said he liked baloney sandwiches. He must’ve, with how much he bought. But he wasn’t nearly as talkative. Seemed in a rush.”
Yeah, he was in a rush to run away forever. “An’ he left after that?”
He nodded, crossing his arms. “Ya sure ya don’t know him?”
“I might,” Johnny shrugged. He was disappointed then. He should have just stayed in the church. This was no use. “Don’t think so, though. Well, thanks. I ought to get a move on,” he said with much more pep than he was feeling at the moment. “See you around.”
Johnny left without waiting for a reply, the stupid bell on the door ringing again.
Someone braver than Johnny might’ve spent more time searching for Ponyboy, but he was too frightened to do anything except go back to the church.
Now, on his second cigarette of the day, he still hadn’t eaten anything—the thought of it made his stomach turn. It had to be at least noon—time was passing horribly slow, but he wasn’t going to do anything.
Johnny thought about Ponyboy. He wasn’t really sad anymore, but he was starting to get mad. How could Pony leave him here, all alone? He knew that Johnny couldn’t stand to be alone in places he didn’t know. Was he just okay with not knowing if the fuzz found Johnny? What if he got the electric chair and couldn’t say goodbye?
But then again, the police probably wouldn’t let anybody say goodbye to Johnny. They had never been very sympathetic to his case—even when he waltzed into their station, crying that his dad was gonna kill him, they just ignored him.
Nobody cared when a Greaser died. They sure as hell didn’t care who got to say goodbye.
They cared when a Soc died, though. Bob was going to be mourned. He would be forgotten, eventually, because everybody was. His friends would remember Johnny, though—maybe they would forget about that kid the Greaser had killed, but they would remember that there was a kid who was murdered. He had been their friend.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, hoping Bob could hear him, wherever he was. He wasn’t sorry, not really, but the dead kid deserved to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, this time to Ponyboy, for making him feel unwanted enough to leave. “It wasn’t your fault. But also, I’m real angry with you for leavin’ me here. Cause who knows when Dally’ll get here? I’m gonna be all by myself.” And Johnny never fared well alone. “I hope you’re not alone, wherever you are,” he whispered.
There was some part of Johnny, however small, that was hoping Ponyboy had chickened out and run right back to Tulsa. He could tell the fuzz what’d happened, and maybe, just maybe, it’d be enough to get Johnny out of a death sentence.
No, he thought, grabbing his third cigarette, Ponyboy was definitely long gone by now.
He’d left.
That didn’t mean Johnny quit looking for him. Every night, he worked up the courage to leave that church. He wandered around in the dark all night, terrified, just to come back every morning and sleep all day.
Time went by faster that way.
He felt hopeless by now, on his third night of aimlessly searching. There was only so far out he could go, but so far, all he’d found were dumb trees.
Walking on dead feet, he returned just as the sun was finally up and assembled a baloney sandwich, wolfing it down in four bites.
He lit a cigarette, taking a few drags before he finally fell asleep. He woke up sometime in the evening, the sun just beginning to go down—it was the fifth day now—and began thinking.
He had already decided that when he returned, he wouldn’t be so scared. He would go straight up to Darry, tell him what’d happened, and maybe even get upset that he’d made Pony feel unloved. Then he would go to Dally, and together, they would come up with a plan. He knew a thing or two about running. Surely he could help. And instead of letting his friends watch over him, Johnny would stay out of trouble, but when he did find himself in any, he would fight his way out of it like any of his friends would. He wouldn’t need to use a blade or kill anyone.
When they found Ponyboy, he would hug him for a long time and then yell at him. They’d probably cry despite themselves, because unlike Two-Bit and Dally, they had never forgotten how.
They would take him home, and he would go back to school, graduate, and then be the first Curtis boy to go to college. Everyone would help pay—they all knew Pony deserved it.
Then things would go back to normal, but better than before, because Johnny would be a real Greaser, not everyone’s pet like he knew he was. Maybe he would always be a bit jumpy, but people would stop being cautious around him.
He thought about Dally, who hadn’t always been that tough. He probably hadn’t decided that one day he would be, either. It just happened.
So Johnny looked outside, the day still bright. If he went looking for Ponyboy now, that might be brave. He might see somebody who would recognize him—his name was likely all over the paper.
He could see it already: Delinquent Hood Kills Innocent Boy!
But what good was looking at night anyway? Ponyboy would be quiet and asleep. He was quiet either way. And by now, long gone, Johnny’s mind tried to tell him, but he wasn’t having it.
He grabbed the cigarette from earlier and stormed out of the church, slamming the door behind him. That was the first time he’d done that—he was worried it’d fall off the hinges, honestly. Sometimes, when he was nearly asleep, he worried it’d cave in on him.
Johnny went north, the only direction he hadn’t been in. There weren’t as many trees this way, and he’d been nervous. He ran a hand through his long hair, having half a mind to be thankful it was still on his head. He’d had a plan for Pony to bleach his and they’d both cut it, but he wasn’t going to take the switchblade anywhere near his own head by himself.
The sunset slowly crept closer and closer the longer he walked. He felt more comfortable that way, which was a shift from normal, at least.
He hadn’t been this way before, but so far, it was the same. He’d found a few deer stands and vacant tents, but that was it for a while.
Then he saw a lone building. It was falling apart, but it was something. Ponyboy wasn’t there, though. Johnny checked. Past that, he kept seeing more things until finally there was what looked like a small town. There weren’t that many people, but he decided to keep his head down and be careful.
But as he made it to the third building—a jewelry store—he saw a bulletin board beside it with papers pinned to it.
There was a wanted sign on one of them.
Johnny was looking straight at himself. There was a hundred-dollar reward if he was returned alive. He gaped at it for a few minutes, which he should’ve realized already was stupid of him. A hundred dollars was more than Johnny ever thought he’d be worth—if his mother saw this, she’d never believe it. But she probably wouldn’t care either.
“Can’t believe somethin’ like that happened here,” somebody said. Johnny didn’t realize they were talking to him until it was too late.
“Hey, kid, don’t’cha hear me? You deaf or sommat?”
“You look kinda like—no shit. Robert, get your ass over here!”
At that name, Johnny jumped to life. He’d heard the man beside him but hadn’t really registered his words. But the name was too jarring to be numb.
Well, shit, he thought, and started running.
At first, it was fun. He wasn’t worried at all—these men were older and not exactly small. But they were determined—kept hollering about how they’d be rich, but Johnny inferred this money would be spent on booze. He could smell it.
That was the first thing that made him worry. He was being chased down by two crazy, drunk men. It didn’t help that drunk men always made him think of his pa, no matter who it was. Even Two, who got drunk so often you were more surprised if he wasn’t, sometimes made Johnny have to remind himself where he was.
The third was that if Johnny got caught now, he wouldn’t get to be brave like he’d promised himself he’d be. He would go to jail instead.
Finally, the voices seemed to fade away, but he didn’t stop running. It was a miracle he didn’t get lost, really.
He didn’t even know if they were still following him, but once Johnny got scared, he wouldn’t calm down until he was absolutely, without a doubt, safe.
Maybe that was why he didn’t question the car outside of the church or when Dally was inside, looking worried sick. “Johnny Cade!” he yelled. “Didn’t I tell ya to keep your ass inside?” His arms were in the air, and he looked mighty upset.
Johnny ignored him—or just didn’t hear him—and shouted, “We gotta go!” He ran outside and jumped in the car, not thinking about anything except getting away from those people. They’d reminded him of his dad.
“What the hell, Johnny?” Dally demanded from inside the church, his voice echoing loudly.
“Hurry!” Something was wrong. His throat felt tight, but not just because he’d been running. His chest was rising and falling too quickly, but no air was leaving his body. He closed his eyes, putting his head in his hands, elbows on his thighs.
Dally joined him with the knife, gun, and money. He started the car immediately but asked, “Where’s Pony?” There was wariness in his voice, but he was also being soft—as much as Dallas was capable of, anyway. He was probably imagining all the worst things. This might’ve been one of them.
Johnny straightened up at the mention of him, looking at the boy for the first time. “The letter,” he gasped. “Did you get it?”
“Letter?” Dally repeated, looking the most off guard Johnny had ever seen him. “What letter, Johnnycakes? You gotta calm down, man.” He put a cautious hand on Johnny’s shoulder, leaving it there when he only flinched a little.
“You didn’t,” he realized, unbuckling and running back inside the church. He had to hurry. The note Ponyboy had left was in the same spot it was before—right where Johnny went to sleep every single night.
They were running out of time. Johnny didn’t want to get caught. He didn’t want to die. “Hey, knock it off!” Dally yelled when Johnny nearly ran straight into him a few seconds later on his way back to the car.
Johnny jumped violently. He looked between Dally and the letter and the car, finally making sense of things. “Hey, Dal,” he said sadly.
Looking relieved but still worried, he gave one of his fake grins. “Where’s the kid run off to now?” he asked again.
Oh, if only you knew.
Johnny started walking back to the car but didn’t get in it, just sat on the hood this time, fidgeting with the paper in his hands. “Gone,” he admitted softly, blinking quickly. He was not going to cry.
“The hell do you mean gone? What happened?” Dally’s hand was in the air, then ran through his hair. “I leave you alone for five stinkin’ days, and you lose the kid? Do you know how worried his—”
“Stop yellin’ at me!” Johnny screamed, then bit his lip. He hadn’t yelled at Dally before. There’d been that time at the nightly double, but that certainly didn’t count as shouting. Nobody with a brain had ever yelled at Dallas before, except the fuzz.
He just frowned, looking real displeased and a little confused, but didn’t fuss. “What happened?” Dally fished out the second-to-last cigarette in the pack and lit it.
“I don’t know. It was the first day. He was—I woke up, and there was a note in the dust. It said he was goin’ to get supplies, so I went back to sleep. I woke up again later. He—he still wasn’t back. So I just…I got ready, best I could, and started lookin’ around. There was a bag on the floor. I thought about how you said not to go outside, but I figured he was out there anyway, but then I found the note.”
“Give it to me,” Dally said immediately. Johnny was sure he wasn’t explaining this right, but Dallas seemed to be following just fine. He always did understand Johnny well enough.
Johnny shook his head. “He said only me an’ Soda can see it.” His words were met with another deeper frown. “But, Dally, he’s thinkin’ this was all his fault and that we’re better off without him!”
He raised both hands to his face, putting them over his eyes and rubbing. “Well, he’s stupid, ain’t he? Darry an’ Soda have been a mess without him. I don’t think they’ve slept a wink this whole time.”
“Oh, it ain’t just that,” Johnny argued. He moved to sit in the car now, buckling again. He folded up the letter and put it in his pocket. It felt safer there. “Darry hit him, and he thinks Steve hates him, and—”
“Steve don’t hate the kid. Nobody hates that kid, ‘cept the Socs. But they hate everybody.”
Sounding small and sad, Johnny said, “Yeah, I know that. Pony don’t.” And then he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so he asked, “What’s up at home?”
Dally told him about their spy and how things weren’t all that great.
Johnny finally said what he’d been thinking about since before they’d even gotten onto the train. He should’ve done this from the beginning, but he had been afraid. He still was. But if they found Ponyboy, he could deal with whatever came next. “I’m turnin’ myself in.”
He thought it was about time to be brave himself.