Chapter Text
“It’s a shame about that boy.”
“The burn victim?”
The sound of quiet conversation drifts into my room as I slowly blink into consciousness. My brain is still foggy, and everything stings, like a sunburn only ten times worse. Well, everything I can feel at least. My back down has been numb since I woke up in the hospital.
“Yeah, the little sixteen year old one.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
The voices of the nurses who had been looking after me came in from the hallway. Were they talking about…me?
“He’s nearly as old as my son.”
“Scary to think about.”
“His poor parents. Could you imagine?”
“We actually haven’t had any visits from a Mr or Mrs Cade recently. I’m not sure why they wouldn’t want to see their son.”
Cade?
But that’s my name.
“That poor kid.”
I’m not stupid, I picked up on the fact I was pretty bad off. I just didn’t think it was that bad.
I wasn’t sure what had scared me more. The fact that my parents haven’t come to visit, or the things the nurses were saying about me.
I guess I always kinda knew on some level that my parents never gave a rat’s ass about me. It’s just hard to hear.
When you spend your life with your folks, eating their food and listening to what they say, you can’t help but hope that they feel like you matter to them. That you’re more than some an inconvenience who just showed up and has to stick around for about 18 years until they can finally be rid of ya. No more important than a fly that flew in one day.
I’m not sure why I care so much bout what they think of me. I do hate em. And the gang always tells me not to take it personal when my mom hollers at me when she’s boozed up or when my dad’ll hit me if he’s in a bad mood. They’re just bad people. Plain and simple.
It’s hard not to think of it as personal though. I grew up with them. Slept under their roof most nights, til the bruises on my back started getting worse and I started to sleep out in the lot. I know we didn’t have it great, and we’d never be that picture-perfect family you see in movies and on Christmas cards, but I just wish they could’ve tried. For me at least.
Why hadn’t I been enough for them to want to change?
Why hadn’t I been enough for them?
Why hadn’t I been enough?
They won’t even visit me in the hospital. Maybe I was just unlovable. I mean let’s face it, I was never really good at anything anyways. I’m dumb as a rock and I’ve always been the runt of the litter, small and slight. I barely ever talked to anybody and sure, I was a good man in a rumble but so was everyone else my age. I’m nothing special, so why should I matter to anyone? But just because it makes sense, doesn’t mean it don’t hurt. And just cause I hate them doesn’t erase that they’re my parents. I can’t help taking it personal.
“You know I just wish there was something we could do.”
“Well all we can do now is make him comfortable.”
Wait.
What?
Comfortable? But that means…
Cade…
I’m dying.
I’m going to die.
It’s strange, I used to constantly wish death would come for me. That it would just take me away from everything; from my stupid brain, from my parents, from the socs, and everything else in this awful world. But now that I’m thinking about it, how much of the world do I even know? I’ve never been out of Tulsa besides being up in Windrixville with pony.
Oh god. I’m gonna die. At sixteen.
No. No no no no no this can’t be happening. It’s not real. There’s no way I’d have to leave, this soon. I have too much to see. There’s still so much left out there. I hardly even know what it’s like outside my neighborhood.
I always figured I’d never get very far, growing up where and how I did, but this can’t be it. This can’t be all there is, right? I mean there has to be more than this. There’s so many things I probably never even heard about. So many things I still should get to see. It’s not fair.
It’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair.
I can faintly hear the nurses talking in a low voice outside of my room but I can’t quite make out what they’re saying.
“What do you mean we can’t see him?” I instantly recognize the loud question as Two-Bit’s. Having grown up around the same 6 guys most of your life you tend to be able to pick em out of a crowd pretty quickly.
“I’m sorry but we were told-“ the nurse starts before being abruptly cut off by a gravelly voice.
“Let them in. He’s been asking for them. It can’t hurt.” It was the doctor. I vaguely remember talking with him in my delirium the night I’d been admitted and the morning afterwards. The moment I’d gained consciousness after the accident I’d asked him about Ponyboy to which he replied, “What is this kid talking about?”
I don’t remember much just quite yet. I’d been in a lot of pain and pretty heavily drugged. It still hurts, my neck, arms, chest, throat. Hell, even breathing feels like getting swallowing a thousand tiny splinters. But I’d never been one to complain. And I was no stranger to pain.
I nearly sat up to see if Ponyboy had come to visit with Two-Bit, but instantly remember that I’d been hit with a burning church the second I try to move and a sharp pain shot through my arm. I close my eyes, face down on my hospital bed. I feel pathetic.
The sound of steps near the door of my hospital bed instantly cheers me up though. I open my eyes and give my best attempt at a smile.
“Hey y’all.” My voice sounds weak and frail even to me. I hate it but at least I can speak at all, though I’ve never really needed to before. Oddly, I think being up in the church with Pony was the most I’d ever talked.
One nurse, who had apparently walked into the room along with Two-Bit and whoever else had been here, smiled. “So he can talk after all.”
I internally wince. This was not the first time I’d ever heard that from an adult. I usually only talk when it’s necessary but apparently for most folks that’s not real normal.
I stare down at the mirror they put under the bed as Two-Bit comes into view at my side wearing his usual cocky smile, only it looks slightly forced and solemn which made my stomach twist.
“They treatin you okay kid?” He asks quieter than I’ve ever heard him. I swallow the lump starting to form in my throat and nod. This is scaring me.
Suddenly I see Ponyboy in the reflection and everything else melts away. I faintly register Two-Bit pulling up a chair and chattering about something. I think I heard the word “rumble” maybe? But Ponyboy was my primary focus. I smile at him. I can’t help it. He gives me a tiny grin in return and my stomach flutters a little.
His blond hair nearly startles me. I guess I’m still getting used to it. He almost looks like Soda. I’d told him that when we were up in up church and he’d said something along the lines of “No I don’t. Soda’s handsome.” Which surprised me.
I’d always thought of Ponyboy as smart but gosh had he ever looked in the mirror? He has these grey-green eyes that make me feel like I’m the only other person in the room. Which ain’t a usual feelin for me considering that most people barely notice I’m there. Not pony though.
I could go on and on about this but my thoughts were interrupted by Two-Bit’s voice speaking up again, a little louder this time.
“It's the first big rumble we've had not countin the time we whipped Shepard's outfit”
Shepard. That reminds me. “He came by.” I mutter hoarsely.
Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow, “Tim Shepard?”
I had a foggy memory in my drugged up state of Tim stopping by and ruffling my hair, congratulating me on being a hero or something like that, asking the nurse where Dallas was, and sauntered out the door. He didn’t stay long but that was fair I guess. I don’t talk much and I’m not too exciting to be around even when I’m not all banged up. And dying apparently.
“Came to see Dally.” I whisper.
Two-Bit nods. There’s a short awkward silence which I take as an opportunity to stare at Ponyboy in the mirror. I really am not used to that blond hair yet. It looks like he greased it and combed it to the side. I don’t really think he looks any worse than when he had his natural rusty brown hair but I know that pony doesn’t like the color now. I still feel bad about bleaching it. He looks good though. A little sad. But handsome.
“Did you know you got your name in the paper for being a hero?” Two-Bit says placing a newspaper over the mirror. I get slightly frustrated at him blocking the view of my adorable, unfortunately named, friend. But I reluctantly scan the article on the front page.
“‘Delinquent’ youths turn heroes after daring fire rescue”
I skim through the rest of the page. I notice how they spelled Ponyboy’s name “Ponie Boy Curtis” and snicker.
“Tuff enough.” I nod, my voice still weak.
Two-Bit hesitantly takes the newspaper and sits back down in his chair. In the silence that follows I try not to think about the dying thing. It’s a little difficult though when the wise-cracking funny guy of your group has nothing to say for once in his life though.
Ponyboy doesn’t talk either, but he doesn’t usually talk unless we’re alone anyhow. In front of most people, especially new but some like Two-Bit and Steve who he’s known since before he could reach the bottom shelf, he doesn’t talk too much. Kinda like me. Only he substitutes what I usually use as shoulder shrugs or nods for one or two word answers. So not quite as extreme as me but nearly.
When we’re alone though, he’ll talk to me about lots of stuff. He’ll talk about movies, or annoying teachers, or sunsets and other small things. He talks to me about books like Great Expectations and I’d listen to him as he sketched in his notebook.
He’s a dreamer, Ponyboy. He likes to make up hypotheticals and stories. And he never expected me to talk back like most people do. We just understood each other without me having to talk. I liked that about him. About us.
“You want anything?” Two-Bit mumbles.
I blink. Do I want anything? I’m not entirely used to people asking me questions like that. I want to be back at the movie theater or the lot or anywhere as long as it’s with Ponyboy. Anywhere but here. Heck I’d go back to that church in a heartbeat, playing card games, cuddling, reading Gone With the Wind.
Gone With the Wind. Ponyboy and I went to see that movie and there was a good long while afterward where it was all he’d talk about. It was cute seeing him get so excited bout it. So when we were up in Windrixville and I saw the book I knew I had to get it for him. He never got to finish it though.
“The book,” I turn my head slightly to look at Pony. “Can you get another one?”
Pony and I lock eyes through the mirror and realization sets in his expression. He turns away to face Two-Bit and I get a slight pang in my chest.
“He wants a copy of Gone With the Wind so I can read it to him. You want to run down to the drugstore and get one?” Ponyboy mutters.
Two-Bit quickly stands up and gives us both a grin. “Okay. Don’t y’all run off.”
He scampers off toward to door and Pony walks over to take a seat in the chair Two had grabbed.
Pony frowns slightly, pinching his brows together like he was concentrating real hard on something. Probably trying to think of what to say. His gaze flickering from around the hospital room and to me and back.
Finally he speaks up, spooking me a little bit, “Dally’s gonna be okay… And Darry and me, we’re okay now…”
My breath hitches and I squeeze my eyes shut as sharp splintering pain runs up and down my arms, in my chest, and lungs.
“Johnny?! Are you okay?” I can hear the panic in his voice and it hollows out a pit in my stomach. I don’t want him to worry.
I nod weakly in an attempt to reassure him, keeping my eyes shut tightly.
“Yeah, it just hurts sometimes. It usually don’t… I can’t feel anything below the middle of my back.”
I take a couple shaky breaths to try and steady myself before opening my eyes and casting a long lingering glance toward Pony.
His grey-green eyes heavy and glassy. The sunlight filtering in through the window made his eyes shimmery, and illuminated the acne and freckles spotting his cheeks.
I know it’s wrong to think of another boy like how I think of Pony, but I can’t help it. Maybe I am insane and unnatural. But this boy gave me butterflies. The kind I was supposed to feel for girls.
I give him a little solemn smile, “I’m pretty bad off, ain’t I, Ponyboy?” My voice cracks in 18 different languages and I internally cringe.
Ponyboy’s lip trembles and he swallows hard before giving me a shaky grin. He blinks back tears threatening to spill over and swallows again.
He tries to sound comforting but it ends up sounding more desperate than anything. It makes my chest ache, “You’ll be okay. You gotta be. We couldn’t get along without ya”
I doubt that. I didn’t bring anything to the table. I was the least of our gang. Least strong, least social, least tough; the least of all. That’s me. The gang would get along just fine without me dragging everybody else down. Still, I didn’t like I’d have to miss growing up with the rest of them.
My smile falters and I avoid his eyes. I hate to make Pony upset but I didn’t want to deal with this alone. And pony is the only person I can really talk to.
“I won’t be able to walk again. Not even on crutches. Busted my back…”
“You’ll be okay.” Pony repeats in a harsh whisper. I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or me, but I don’t think it was working.
His trembling lip was tearing me apart, but I couldn’t stop my words from bubbling to the surface, “You want to know something, Ponyboy? I'm scared stiff. I used to talk about killing myself…”
I hate this. I hate myself for being so selfish. Ponyboy has enough to deal with already. Enough grief. And here I was spilling my hopeless guts. I can’t stop though.
“I don't want to die now. It ain't long enough. Sixteen years ain't long enough. I wouldn't mind it so much if there wasn't so much stuff I ain't done yet, so many damn things I ain't seen.” I choked out a broken sob, resenting myself more every second.
“You ain’t gonna die. And don’t get juiced up, because the doctor won’t let us see you no more if you do.” He whispered shakily.
Pony looked over at me, tears were welling up in the corners of his eyes, his face twisted up in grief. He’s still good-looking even when he cried. I’m sure the same is not true for me though. I sniffle.
“You wanna know something? That time we were in Windrixville was the only time I've been away from our neighborhood.”
Ponyboy stays silent, his face crumpling. I felt horrible. Who am I to make a boy like him cry? My life didn’t mean anything anyways. Savin those kids from the church fire was about the only useful thing I ever did.
Suddenly the nurse pops her head into the room looking tired, “Johnny, your mother’s here to see you.”
I freeze, sharp dread curling in my stomach and creeping up my throat. Ponyboy’s eyes went from plain miserable to furious.
He looks like he’s about so say something but I beat him to it, “I don’t want to see her.”
The nurse falters for a moment before replying questioningly, “She’s your mother.”
I shake my head, the burns on my neck stinging me. My eyes well up again and I speak up louder, “I said I don’t wanna see her. She’s probably come to tell me about all the trouble I’m causing her. Well tell her to leave me alone. For once,” my voice trembles and cracks. “For once just leave me alone!”
The pain spread across my arms and lungs and everywhere I can still feel stabs pins and needles all over me. It feels like the fire all over again, burning my chest. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out and my breath is stolen from my lungs.
My vision blurs around the edges as dark spots crowd around my line of sight. The dark splotches get bigger and bigger until everything is enveloped in black.