Chapter Text
The fire had been a tragic event. If it hadn't been for Dallas, then it would've been even more tragic. Johnny had gotten stuck in the flames, trapped by a falling support beam, and Dallas had saved him. It cost Johnny his legs, but he got around pretty alright with the wheelchair Dallas ended up buying for him. Johnny felt sort of useless at times, but the gang always knew how to make him feel better. They always reminded him how that despite no longer being able to fight, he still could help on the sidelines. Johnny spent most of his time at the Curtis household, his mom was just too much to handle now that he'd gone through such a traumatizing event. She acted like she cared, but Johnny knew better. So he stayed around the people he knew who did care. Sodapop had even gone as far as installing a ramp so that Johnnys wheelchair could get into the house easier. Now this was his family. Johnny felt bad though for constantly being at the Curtis household. He felt like he was a burden to them despite how often Darry would make sure he knew he was wanted in the house. Johnny just had a hard time accepting affection and being wanted. Nobody ever seemed to want him, not his folks, not the town, no one but the gang wanted him around. He just didn't really know how to feel half the time. Being crippled was hard, especially when he'd been so used to his flight instinct. He'd fallen out of the wheelchair more times than he counted when spooked suddenly and trying to run. He was glad Dallas was around.
Since the fire, Dallas had been extra observant over Johnny. The hospital scare had been the worst thing for him, he thought he lost his Johnnycake. Dallas wasn't no where if Johnny wasn't there first. He was like Johnny's personal watchdog, even wheeling him around if needed. It made Johnny feel less bad? If that made any sense. The whole situation didn't make sense. He should have died because of that fire, but he didn't. He didn't understand how he managed to survive, so he sort of thanked some kind of guardian angel who had decided to spare his life. And he was mostly glad for that. Mostly. Johnny struggled more than he did when he had his legs. He felt utterly useless all the time. He stayed in the Curtis house, parked by the couch. It's where he always was if Dallas wasn't around. Johnny glanced away to the window by the couch, his gaze drifting over to the window where the sunlight streamed in, casting a warm glow over the room. He wished he could go outside, feel the sun on his skin, the grass beneath his feet. But he knew that was impossible now. This was his life now, and he had to make the best of it. Even if it meant being stuck in this wheelchair, dependent on the kindness of others. It made him feel weak. Like a burden.
He hated it. He hated it so much. He wanted to be useful, he wanted to be something more than just a lump on wheels. But he wasn't. he knew that just from how his folks yelled at him. The way his mother switched up when she found out he was in the hospital. He'd heard it from Two-Bit. Oh the hell he'd given her. That's what he liked about Two-Bit. He'd always speak his mind, and if it was something serious then by the Lord above he'd make sure they knew exactly how he felt. He'd been forced to stay with his folks shortly after being discharged from the hospital till Dallas showed up with the wheelchair he was now confined to. He hated it at first, finding it annoying and hard to maneuver. But as he tried and learned, it got easier. Didn't mean he didn't need someone to push him around at times. Tulsa wasn't exactly the most cripple friendly place. Stairs had become one of Johnny's worst enemies. There'd been a case once of a wheelchair accessible area being a total lie, what with the door needing to be pulled open and then leading into a stairway.
Johnny stared out the window, absently listening to the cartoons playing on the TV. What were they? Some Spongebob reruns or something like that. Johnny wasn't really paying attention. He was more focused on the outside. He wished he could lay down straight without the pain. He wished he could just be normal. But that fire had taken that enjoyment from him. He could never lay on his back anymore without pain. His back was all scarred up from the fire and the wooden beam that'd fallen on him. He just felt awful. Awful all the time. Hated it. Hated the fire. Hated the pain. Hated himself. He hated himself the most for being so stupid. Why'd he have to go back for those kids. If he'd just used his head like Ponyboy did, then he wouldn't have been in this situation. Granted, he'd probably be in jail for the technical murder, but that'd still be better than being confined to some creaky metal chair that locked up half the time when he wants to get somewhere.
Johnny hated it. And he hated himself even more.