Chapter Text
A knot was caught in Johnny's chest. He breathed, trying to let it untangle with every hitched breath. His fingers felt around the hospital bed sheet, gripping on slowly, almost clutching onto them. He grasped the concept that he was still alive, and opened his eyes. They shifted around the room curiously. White. Lots of white. A few weird-looking paintings of what were supposed to be flowers. Tan-colored curtains with a bad pattern. Beeping. As he expected, his parents were nowhere to be found.
He felt pain all over. His face stung as tears fell down his cheeks: Johnny, you stupid greaser.
His back... shit, his fucking back. Did it break from that piece of wood? The amount of burns he felt; Even through the load of medicine he was on, he could feel the burns. It would take at least weeks to heal. A lot of recovery. He remembered when those Socs beat him, it burnt. The pain of them holding him down, kicking and punching him as he lay there helpless. He didn’t let it happen again, he was stupid and wanted to protect someone. He was a felon now. He murdered someone. Oh, Johnny.
It seemed for a while time stopped. Everything blurred as more tears streamed down his face. His eyes closed again, darkness filling his life yet again. You wimp.
He opened his eyes again. Clearly he had fallen asleep as the curtains were now closed and the lamps were on. He’d been sleeping a lot ever since he woke up here. Maybe that was a good thing. Two fragmented figures hovered over him, seemingly waiting for him to look at them.
“Hello?” He cocked his head over to one of the figures, a soft smile lighting up his face once he managed to vaguely recognize the person. Or at least recognize who he hoped it was. Dirty blonde hair, pale blue eyes, tall stature. Hopefully it was dally.
Despite his distant, almost soulless, dark eyes, it was apparent Johnny was happy.
Happier than he should be. The shape he was in was devastating.
His eyes finally managed to focus on who was there, confirming his wishes. It was Dally and Ponyboy. Dally didn’t open his mouth to speak, he knew the words he would say wouldn't help anything. Dally let his expression tell Johnny all he needed to know. His eyes looked sad, but an oddly passionate smirk still occupied his face.
Johnny could tell he was tearing up, but still, Dally didn’t let a single tear fall short of his eyes. He wasn't like that, he hated crying. Ponyboy was relieved, standing on the other side of the bed and watching their silent interaction. Dallas needed to talk first.
“Hey Johnny. We got the Socs, chased ‘em out the neighborhood.” Dally managed to let out. “So… This is what you get for helping people, huh?”
Johnny paused, trying to decide what to say.
“Yeah.” He agreed, pausing to catch his breath “I wish I was there to help. I can’t...”
Fuck. He’s Miserable. Dally let Johnny's words sink in. Would he rather be dead? Dallas didn’t want Johnny to be dead or depressed. He’d suffered enough already. It was quite obvious that Johnny probably wasn’t the happiest person alive. No one could blame him.
Ponyboy figured Dal had his chance to speak, so he opened his mouth to ask something. He’d come up with the words as he spoke. But seeing all the bandages, his wounds, the IVs, the pale color of Johnny's normally tan skin… No words came out, his mouth closing instead. He stayed silent, feeling a lump forming in his throat too. He didn't know what to say at this point. He was confused; Why had this happened to Johnny of all people? Maybe it's fate. Johnny Cade never wanted to hurt anyone, he didn't even mean to kill the people drowning his friend. But still, here he was, trapped in a hospital with severe burns and a broken back.
Some of the newspapers and doctors were saying if he survived. Not when he recovers.
That hurt the most.
Could Johnny actually die? They went to the park that night to calm down, but it seemed like all that led to was more pain and suffering than what came from that push from Darry.
One accidental nap in the lot, one argument, one shove, one influx of emotions, that's all it took and within a week and a half his friend was about to die. Another teenager was dead. Dallas had burns on his arm that would scar for life. If Johnny survived he would be in a wheelchair at best, unable to do much. No fighting in rumbles with his friends. No playing football and getting accidentally swarmed by gnats. No sneaking out to go to the drive-in. It all ended there in that church. That lit ember ponyboy once wondered what it would be like to be in.
Seeing both of them silent made Johnny bite his lip. The idea of not being able to function as a normal person anymore made his eyes fill with tears, he only barely managed to hold them back. It wasn’t right. His friends ought to be able to enjoy themselves. It's all Johnny’s fault, aint it? He was the crippled one. What if they got bored of him? Didn’t hang out with him? Didn’t visit him? What if he didn’t live? Was he going to die?
“I’m... I’m sorry.”
Johnny suddenly felt a wave of both disappointment and anxiety wash over him as the two boys turned their heads toward him, as if they didn’t understand what he was talking about. Dally’s eyes looked kind for once, but also very confused.
“What?” Dallas muttered. Johnny felt his anxiety flare up more, he didn't know what he was going on about. He looked away, trying to avoid all direct eye contact as he thought. Explaining it would be worse than just telling him through gestures. But now that he said it, he had to provide some sort of explanation. Why? Why did he have to be so stupid? With a soft voice, he let one whisper out.
“I’m sorry. For.. all this.” He said as he looked down, desperate. Johnny was guilty. Guilty of both murder and ‘hurting himself.’ It wasn’t his fault he got injured, but it felt that way. It was like everything good that had happened up to this point was all falling down on him. It wasn’t his fault but he didn’t understand that. The fact he’s miserable is making everyone else miserable too, and he didn’t like that. His issues should be his only, he hates dragging everyone else down with him. But at least they were supporting him. Soda and Steve couldn't come to visit because of their work at the DX. Two-Bit had already skipped way too much school so he was being forced to go by a social worker. Darry had work too. They all would have come to visit him.
His eyes burnt from the tears he was already struggling to keep at bay, so he let them roll down his cheeks. He tried to ignore how embarrassed he was about it, but crying seemed taboo and downright shameful. If you were a greaser, you didn't cry. There's a few exceptions to this, but it was pretty hard to get the label of ‘crybaby’ off of you if you let your emotions slip. You control them. To everyone else except Johnny, of course, this was one of those exceptions.
“Sorry for what? Johnny-” Dally faltered for a second, trying to word it gently.
“You’re- I… I can't even find the words, Johnnycakes.”
If even Dally was struggling to put it at face value, there was clearly something bad going on. If you needed something told to your face with no sugar coating, Dal was the one to go to. He could put things into simplest terms with no care of how bad it made someone else feel. It was just how he talked, how he interacted with others. But he was struggling now.
All that fun they had during the summer amounted to a broken back and burn scars. Was any of this worth it? Running away to that church, becoming an outlaw, instead of just facing the penalties of a murder that they might not have gotten charged with? The room was silent again, the beeping of machines filling the room instead.
God, don't those machines ever shut up? He could hear them even in his sleep. Shit. As soon as his brain got reminded of sleep, his eyelids felt heavy, and his body felt light. This was nothing new, he was used to feeling like he was about to pass out at any given moment; But now he was desperate to stay awake, keeping his eyes open as best as he could. He wanted to spend more time with Ponyboy and Dally, even though there wasn't much conversation going on, and he felt like utter shit. Physically and mentally.
He didn't want to go to sleep and waste the time they were there. What if they never came back? Oh god.