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He looked awful. His hair was blonde and felt like straw. And Johnny’s hair cutting skills were awful. He’s never going to let him touch it again.
His reflection in the switchblade was teasing him. He doesn’t want to go back to Tulsa. He’d be made fun of and that’s all anyone will remember for a long time.
The blade had been stained with Bob’s blood. Ponyboy wished it was his. He should’ve been the one to be killed, to disappear. His life isn’t worth living. He’s the one that got them into this mess.
Unconsciously, he moves the blade closer to him, to his skin. Maybe if he just… No. Don’t.
Whippoorwills were chirping. The wind was blowing. Breathe.
Ponyboy felt a weight on his chest. He feels as if something bad is going to happen to them. His brain is telling him something’s coming. Something’s been following them for a while and hasn’t stopped since. There’s an impending doom and no way to stop it.
“Hey, Pone,” Johnny came back into the church, sitting on the bench beside Ponyboy.
“Hey,” he was still looking at himself. The stretched out, shiny image of himself in the blade. He hated it but he couldn’t stop looking.
Johnny’s eyes furrowed. “You good, man?” He carefully put his hand on Pony’s shoulder. “Are ya sick? Headache?”
Ponyboy swatted Johnny’s hand away, the one that was coming up to check his temperature. “I’m— I’m fine! I’m good. Just… thinking,”
“‘Bout what?”
“Glory, Johnny! Can’t ya just lay off?”
Johnny scooted away. “Jeez, sorry,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry. I just wish it was me.” Ponyboy quietly admitted. He regrets saying it after. Pony wants to run away.
Again. Like he always does.
Johnny looked up from his lap, worry splashed on his face. His gaze switched between the blade and Pony’s face. It suddenly clicked in his mind that his best friend was saying it should’ve been him that died.
“No! No, it shouldn’t have been you! Why the hell would you say that?!” He felt angry. Why would Pony say that? He hasn’t been hurting himself, has he?
Johnny thinks he needs to take the blade away.
“I’m the one who got us into this mess! You’d be better off without me anyways!” Tears fell off and onto the blade.
“Better off witho— better off without you?!” He stood up. He was sad. Angry, even. How could Pony even say that?
Ponyboy sniffled, cradling the blade to his chest. It’s still open.
“Pony, I love you, okay? No one is better off without you.” Johnny said, earnestly. “I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. I would be dead in a ditch somewhere, probably.”
The younger boy shook his head, “No. No, you wouldn’t.” He feels like he can’t breathe. There’s a lump in his throat that he wants out. He thinks he might throw up.
“Yes, I would. ‘Sides Dally, you’re the only person who makes me feel like I have a place, like I belong somewhere.” Johnny’s hands moved slowly and carefully to the knife that was being held up to Pony’s chest.
Ponyboy scooted back.
Johnny took his hands back, but he’s not giving up. He’s not risking his buddy hurting himself.
“Give it back,” Johnny’s big eyes were staring daggers into him. “Please.” It almost sounds like he’s begging.
Ponyboy opens his mouth to say something and then closes it. Christ, it feels like he can’t breathe. He’s got to cut back on smoking.
“Pony.”
More tears fall. He can’t take it anymore.
“I’m scared.” He sounds younger than his fourteen years — and maybe he should be embarrassed and should run away. He can’t be acting like a baby, he’s supposed to be tough.
Johnny’s face falls into something that Pony could read out as sympathy or maybe empathy (he still gets those mixed up sometimes). But Ponyboy didn’t need that. He didn’t need any comfort. He’s fourteen, he can deal.
It’s silent for a few minutes. Ponyboy thinks he shouldn’t have said it.
Johnny sighs. “I know you are. I’m scared too.” he speaks softly, like he’s talking to an injured animal.
“But I have you. And you have me.” He smiles. “What’s there to be afraid of when we get each other?”
Ponyboy thinks he doesn’t understand. “Johnny, we can’t go back. We’re wanted for murder.” His voice breaks. “I really want my brothers,” he whispers.
The blade moves back to his arm, unknowingly. He’s looking off into the distance. Thinking of his brothers and their warm hugs and obnoxiously loud forehead kisses.
“Pony, you’re worryin’ me. Can I have that back? Please?” Johnny points to the blade.
Oh. He forgot about that.
Ponyboy closes it and gives it back, “here.”
“Thank you.” Johnny shoves it in his pocket. Hopefully Pony won’t steal it.
More silence. It’s not awkward, more unnerving with Johnny staring at him intensely.
“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do with myself, Pony.” Johnny admits, a single tear rolling down his face. He quickly wipes it.
“And you can’t get rid of me. Not that easily. I ain’t ever leaving you alone. Ever.” He scoots back closer to Ponyboy again. He lays his head on his shoulder.
Ponyboy apologizes, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you. I got sad,” he puts his arm around his buddy, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him. “And I ain’t leaving you alone either. You’re stuck with me.” he laughs quietly.
Johnny hums and snuggles closer. The warmth of Ponyboy is nice. Comforting. He always liked to hug him because of that. Ponyboy always runs hot.
“What are we going to do?” Ponyboy sighed, running a hand down his face.
“Wait, I guess. Dally said he’d come check on us in a couple days. Don’t worry, Pone. It’ll be okay,” Johnny’s eyes close. With Pony’s hand rubbing up and down and his warmth, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to stay awake.
Johnny yawns, gives Pony’s shoulder a quick kiss.
“You tired, Johnny?” Ponyboy asks, already knowing the answer. Johnny just nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
He scooted back so they’d be a bit more comfortable (not like sleeping on wood is comfortable at all). His hand never left Johnny’s arm and they fell asleep like that. Cuddled together.
They’ll be okay.