Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just like them.
Just Like Dally
Johnny Cade ain't book-smart like Pony. So he doesn't like the way Mr. Harolson keeps calling on him in English class, asking him his opinion about Great Expectations. He wishes he were more like Pony, able to grasp things real quick and say it right, or even more like Two-Bit, who loves school and sits up front so he can harass the teachers. Two-Bit always has an answer, and even if the answer ain't right, it's clever.
The only person Johnny's like is Johnny, and that's like being nobody. He sits in the back of the classroom and shrinks into the collar of his jean jacket, skipping enough school and earning enough Ds and C minuses to pass each grade. It's a system that's worked for him since primary school. Stay unnoticed, coast through. And then Mr. Harolson has to go and ruin it.
Johnny ain't had a teacher like him since the third grade, when Ms. Nelson was also new and doe-eyed about making a difference. Mr. Harolson talks about being "passionate about instilling a love of literature in young minds." He's from somewhere in New England where rich people live, and earlier in the year Johnny made the mistake of asking the man if he'd ever met Robert Frost, which was probably the most he ever even said to a teacher. Pony'd been going on and on about this Frost guy, and sunsets and poetry and changing leaves in New England and stuff like that like Pony always does, so Johnny thought he'd ask, for Pony's sake. (And no, Mr. Harolson hadn't.) Even still, the question must have given Mr. Harolson the wrong impression, because now he keeps grilling Johnny on Pip's point of view or whatever and humiliating him, as if he don't understand Johnny's so stupid and illiterate he couldn't get through thirty pages. The dated language is too difficult.
It's a Thursday and Johnny's thinking about skipping school tomorrow to see Dally at the rodeo, even though Darry warned him about going. A lot of dangerous people hang there, but there are dangerous people everywhere and Dally specifically invited him. He's really looking forward to it, too. Dally's tuff-Johnny likes his cowboy boots and New York energy and even though he shouldn't, Johnny thinks the way Dal always does exactly what he wants to, when he wants to do it, no matter who it hurts, is the most impressive thing he's ever seen. More than anything in the world, Johnny wants to be just like Dally. Johnny knows he'll never be anything like him, though, no matter how much he wants it. He can't even be like Pony or Two-Bit.
But maybe Ponyboy is rubbing off on him, because he's daydreaming as he's leaving the classroom when Mr. Harolson's grabs his shoulder. Johnny cringes. It's only been a month since those Socs in the blue Mustang did a number on him, and he hasn't been normal since.
"I need to speak with you after class," Mr. Harolson says.
Johnny follows his teacher to the desk as the brush of taller students exiting hit his shoulder, and he starts getting jittery as he stands in silence and his teacher takes a seat across from him. It makes him real anxious, that setup. Having to stand across a grown man who'll just frown at you from the other side. It's almost like a rumble, before it starts and everybody's just eyeing each other up 'cross an invisible divide.
He knows what's coming up, too. Mr. Harolson's gonna warn him he's failing. It's not that Johnny really cares one way or the other about his grades. He just hopes his teacher don't call home is all. He needs his weed right now. He needs something to do with his hands.
Mr. Harolson waits until all the other students are out the door and out of earshot, which Johnny thinks is pretty considerate.
"You're sporting another bruise," he says.
It catches Johnny off guard. And he's a little pissed off, because that's unfair, to point it out. Tense and uncomfortable, Johnny bites his lip, one of his nervous habits. He winces. The "bruise" Mr. Harolson is referring to is a recently split lip that hasn't yet reached its worst day of swelling.
No one ever mentions it. Not even the boys, who know him best. When it happens, if Dally's around, he looks him up and down, mutters a few curses, and shoves him in the bathroom to inspect and disinfect his wounds. When his injuries are bad enough, Dally even punches walls. He's done that twice. But no one actually talks about the fact that at least once a week, Johnny's old man lands a few shiners on him when he gets boozed up and angry. Not unless Johnny mentions it first, which he doesn't often do.
Johnny clears his throat and tries to sound tough. "So."
"So who hit you, Mr. Cade?" Mr. Harolson's voice is so calm and authoritative that Johnny's scared of lying to him. But he has to.
Johnny considers telling his teacher he fell, but it's too obviously untrue. And then he thinks of telling him he was jumped, and on another day it might have been the truth. But he don't want to sound like a wimp. Johnny shrugs, but his shoulders are shaking. "I was in a rumble."
"You were in a rumble." Mr. Harolson sounds unimpressed. Johnny can't tell if the man don't believe him, or if he's just disappointed that his dreams of saving the world one kid greaser at a time aren't panning out. Maybe this will make him realize Johnny's just another worthless hood and he'll finally get off his back during class.
"Mr. Cade, look at me." Johnny remembers not bite his lip this time, and instead settles for vigorously rubbing the front of his takes a long time for Johnny to force his gaze off the floor. He settles for vaguely looking in Mr. Harolson's direction without actually meeting his eyes.
"Now I want you to tell me again how you got that bruise."
Johnny gulps down the knot that's been growing in his throat. Why doesn't the man just leave him alone? "I was..." but he can't keep his face up. He turns his eyes to the ground again, a little to the left. "...in a, a rumble," he finishes sheepishly.
The silence becomes increasingly uncomfortable.
"Can I go now?"
Mr. Harolson sighs. "You're dismissed."
Johnny looks up at him, relieved-like, and finally catches his expression. It's a look of pity.
He hates that look. It makes him feel so small. Because that's how Mr. Harolson sees him: as small and defenseless, pathetic enough to pity. And that's how his father and the Socs see him, except instead of pitying him for his weaknesses, they feel a need to exploit them, to punish him for them. Girls see him that way too-the only girl he ever tried to ask on a date laughed at him and asked him how old he was. And even the gang sees him that way, especially Dally. Dally, who treats him like a kid brother even though they're only a year apart.
Johnny's sick of it. He's sick of being scared, and he's sick of being small. Seeing that look, Johnny suddenly hates every person who ever treated him like some kicked dog, whether they were doing the kicking or the care afterwards.
So what if his old man hits him? Lord knows Johnny's not the best son. He gets in fights and he doesn't do well in school and he's a loser layabout greaser. His dad punishes him as he sees fit, and that's really no one else's business. Why the hell does Mr. Harolson feel the need to point it out? Is it some sort of power trip?
"If you need to talk to someone, I'm always available. Here, let me give you my phone number." The voice catches him off guard. Johnny realizes he hasn't moved since Mr. Harolson dismissed him. Mr. Harolson's reaching in his desk for a pen and paper.
Johnny wants to tell him to go screw himself. That he doesn't need some Soc of a teacher to go poking around in his life. He wants to show this stupid guy and everybody else he's a man. Johnny feels the need to assert himself welling inside, but he can't bring himself to raise his voice–a habit formed from years of a hand raised afterwards.
"I just want you to leave me alone." He's whispering to the floor. Johnny needs to get out of there right now.
"Johnny," and now Mr. Harolson has taken on a voice reserved for frightened animals. He's using his first name, which is just uncomfortable coming from a teacher. It ain't like they're friends.
Johnny looks up and stares down Mr. Harolson. "Leave. me. the. fuck. alone." He doesn't stop for breath as he continues, his words practically falling on top of each other, they're coming out so fast. "It's none of your goddamn business whether I have one bruise or one hundred. You have no idea what it's like for guys like me. All you care about is your own guilt for being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Well don't make me your project! I was in a rumble and if you don't leave me alone I swear to God I'll jump you myself." It all rushes out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and when it ends, he steps back, shocked by his own words, and regretting them right away.
Screw school rules. He's just threatened a teacher. He's already in more trouble than he's ever been. Johnny reaches into his pocket and grabs a lighter and a cancer stick. He cups his hand around the lighter as he flicks it and takes a deep inhale. He's sucking in the weed so quickly he makes himself cough, but at least it's calming him a little.
Mr. Harolson just stands there frowning, watching Johnny smoke, not saying anything.
"So you gonna suspend me." It's not a question. He knows they'll call home. Lord knows he doesn't need that. If it's not storming, he's gonna spend the night at the lot. He crashed on the Curtises's mattress for three nights straight before he forced himself to go home last night. That's when he earned that split lip. He'd go to the Curtis house again, only he doesn't want to overstay his welcome or burden Darry. Besides, the lot's not bad if it ain't too cold.
"No." His teacher's voice is soft. "Don't worry about it, kid. Let me get you that phone number."
It catches him off guard again, just like that question had. Johnny don't understand what he's trying to get at, but Mr. Harolson being so nice about it makes him feel worse about his outburst. Mr. Harolson is good man. The man's just too naive to know that Johnny's as stupid as he is shy, and that's why he keeps mistakenly 'trying to bring him out of his shell.' But what's he doing, trying to get him to admit his old man hits him? It's not like Mr. Harolson could go beat him up or something to stop it. Johnny guesses Mr. Harolson might call state authorities to his house like the ones that check up on Pony, but what good would that do? They'd put Johnny in a boy's home, and that'd only make things worse.
"I'm sorry." Johnny's hunched into himself. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean that bit about ju-jumping you, you know." He hates his stutter. It comes back at the worst times.
Mr. Harolson rests a hand on Johnny's shoulder. Johnny wants that hand off him; he can't stand to be touched if ain't by someone he knows real well, but he doesn't know how to move away without being rude.
"I know you didn't mean it."
Johnny throws away the slip of paper away the moment he's out of the classroom.
#
The anxiety Johnny's harbored over the incident earlier in the day has somewhat diminished by the time school's out, replaced with an anxiety over what version of his dad he'll encounter tonight. He wastes a few hours hanging out at the vacant lot and the park, but the longer he avoids going home the worse he feels. It's better to get it over with.
The moment he enters the screen door and hears his old man humming along to a Frankie Valli tune over the radio, Johnny's body relaxes with relief. Hid dad can't be too far into the bottle now. The scent of scrambled eggs and bacon waft into the room. When Johnny walks into the kitchen, his dad's at the stove, a spatula in hand. Johnny sees four empty beer cans in the trash, and he knows he's safe for now, if all the other signs hadn't been a give away. Johnny actually smiles.
These are the best days. The days when his dad wants to make up.
He's never actually said sorry, but sometimes, the day after they'd had a particularly bad fight, Johnny's dad will be extra nice. He'll do a chore that is usually left for Johnny, like taking out the trash or washing the dishes. He'll ask Johnny to help him sand some wood or work on some home improvement project, and tell him stories about when he was in school. He'll give Johnny a beer and ask him how his friends are doing, or he'll let Johnny sit next to him while he watches the t.v. and he won't even cuss at it. One time he even took Johnny out for ice cream. Johnny's always eager to forgive, hopeful that it will last. But the peace never does last long before Johnny does something to screw it up again. He promises himself he won't this time.
Lately, it seems every time things are right, they go wrong more quickly than they used to when he was little. That don't matter, though. Johnny knows when times are good, that's who is dad really is. His old man loves him, even if Johnny won't admit thinking that way to the gang 'cause they'd feel real sorry for him. They don't think his dad wants him one bit, 'cause they only see the results of the bad days. But for Johnny, it's the good days that matter.
"Hey Johnny," his dad says.
Johnny drops his bag of textbooks and rushes to his side. "Hi Dad. Can I help?"
"Get out the plates and utensils." Johnny sets the table and then runs to stand by his dad as he finishes up cooking. Everything is going real well, until out the blue his dad raises his hand and Johnny instinctually ducks, covering his face with his arms.
No matter how many times Dally play-wrestles him and horses around, pretending he's not teaching Johnny selfdefense, Johnny always forgets how to be aggressive, how to dodge and punch back in the moment. But it turns out his dad wasn't trying to hit him at all. He was only reaching for the cabinet just above Johnny's head. Johnny's ears turn bright red.
There's a tense second when Johnny straightens himself and pulls his hand through his greasy bangs as his dad looks on in disgust. Maybe even hatred. Johnny hopes it will pass as simply a tense second. Sometimes it does.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" His dad shakes his head as if he just can't believe what a loser his kid is. "Did I raise a fucking girl? Huh, tell me? Are you a girl?" His dad has the pepper shaker in his hand, which is what he'd been reaching for, and he throws it across the wall. The white porcelain breaks, and the black pepper specs spill onto the kitchen floor. Johnny cringes.
"I'm sorry, dad." His voice is shaking. He's ruined everything. And so soon, too. But his dad's not drunk enough to beat him, a least. He'll probably mouth off and then give him the silent treatment for a few hours or maybe even days and Johnny will have to be extra good to make him happy again.
"I can't do anything right with you, can I? Am I such a bad father that you need to cower like a girl when I'm treating you to dinner? Well? Am I?"
Johnny tries to find the right words, but he can't think of anything new to say. "I'm sorry."
"You're such a girl. Tell me you're a girl."
Johnny closes his eyes. A part of him's fed up. A part of him wants to tell his old man to fuck off. But there is no talking back when his dad gets like this. And anyway, most of him just wants to make his dad go back to humming that song. He still thinks there's a chance his dad'll let this pass. "Come, on dad. Please. I said I'm sorry."
"Tell me you're a girl or I swear John Daniel Cade I will beat the living shit out of you."
The best Johnny can hope for now is to obey and wait to see if that calms him down.
"I'm a girl."
Johnny's voice is shaky and barely audible. The red from his ears spreads across face, neck, and chest. None of the other boys would say that. None of them. Heck, he wouldn't say if a Soc tried to make him. He wishes he were anyone in the word but stupid, submissive Johnny Cade right now.
"I can't hear you."
Johnny clears his throat and raises his voice a notch. "I'm a girl."
"Go get the belt." For a moment, Johnny thinks he's misheard him. He hasn't been made to go get the belt in years. It's a kid's punishment, more humiliating than painful. Normally when his dad gets mad, he just beats him up. This is bad. Johnny knows he's really messed up this time. His dad's not even drunk yet. This time, he's doing it not because he can't control his boozed-up rage, he's doing it to make a point. He's doing it to humiliate him.
"Dad, please-"
His mom enters from outside, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. He doesn't realize the radio is still on 'til she shuts it off, cutting off the Lipton Tea lady mid-advertisement.
"Hi Mom," Johnny greets, hoping if he pretends everything is normal his father will play along.
"Go get the belt, Johnny."
His mom rolls her eyes and blows a waft of smoke. "Jesus, Karl, not again. Lay off on the kid, will ya? I've got my program on tonight and I don't want interruptions."
"Screw your program, you stupid cunt. Don't you dare tell me how to discipline my son. Johnny," his dad shoves his shoulder, "I told you to go get the belt."
Johnny looks at his mom, helplessly, hoping she'll step in again with some fake excuse about a friend who might be visiting or something but she's decided to avoid the problem, and she's searching the refrigerator for a snack.
"I don't know where it is," Johnny says. Maybe if he could just prolong this until his dad calms down...
"Where do you think it is? On my dresser, dipshit." Nope. It's gonna to happen. And there's nothing he can do to stop it. "And don't take your time trying to find it. I want you back here in ten seconds. The longer I count, the more times you're getting hit. You got it?" Johnny nods.
He runs up the stairs to his parents' bedroom, but of course, with his famous luck, the belt's not on top of the dresser. Johnny starts getting panicky. He's afraid to move anything around because that might set his dad off even more, but he's knows he's on a time frame and he'll have to do some searching.
Find the belt, find the belt, find the belt. Johnny starts pacing the room, unsure of what to do, panic rising in his chest, his heart beating rampant. He hears his father's footsteps approaching. He's messed up again, but before he can let the well of apologies escape his dad says, "Forgot I still had it on me."
Johnny breathes a sigh of relief that at least that's not his fault. He shifts his feet back and forth as his father takes off his belt. He don't know what to do with his hands, he don't know what to do at all. Normally, his dad's abuse comes out of nowhere. Johnny will say something wrong or come home at the wrong time or get in trouble at school and bam. He's on the floor. Johnny doesn't even mind, actually. It's simply a negative part of his life that he's accepted, like being hungry sometimes but not having enough money for a burger, or like when some jerk keeps talking at the movie house, or the person in front of him is taller and he can't see the screen. It's worse than that, but it's like that. Something that can't be helped.
But this... its' new. He hasn't been so scared since those Socs cut him up and left him for dead.
"Take off your jacket." Johnny takes off his jacket. He wishes he didn't only have his undershirt on, though. He's probably going to get a few bruises. "And your shirt." A few bruises indeed.
Johnny starts pulling his shirt over his head and the fabric over his face muffles his voice. "Dad, about downstairs, I just wanna apologize..." Pony would know what to say. He was smart and deep with words. Or Two-Bit would joke his way out of it. Or Dally or Darry or any of the other boys would just hit the man back and be done with it. But Johnny just takes it. He doesn't know what's wrong with him sometimes, except that maybe he thinks he deserves it anyway, so he should let it happen. He would never let someone do this to one of his buddies.
"Do you know how many hours I work to put food on your plate? Clothes on your back? Huh? And what do I get out of it? We can't even have a nice dinner together without you reminding me about our fight last night. You trying to punish me, Johnny?"
"No! Dad, I swear-"
"You're not even a useless hood. You're a sissy boy who pretends to be a useless hood." That hurts, Johnny feels a lump welling in his throat. He tries to think about anything else but what his dad's saying. He thinks about going with Dally tomorrow to the rodeo. He wonders what it will be like, a place with horses and all that. It ain't exactly the countryside, but it will be as close to the countryside he's ever been.
He wants to be just like Dally.
"I won't let anyone say I raised a wuss for a son. I'm gonna tell you the truth Johnny, I beat you because I have to."
Johnny nods. "I know."
"Pull down your pants and bend over the bed."
Johnny's eyes go wide. It takes him a few seconds to realize his dad's serious. "Dad, I'm not five!"
"Don't act like you're five and you won't get treated like you're five!"
Johnny counts to three in his head as he gains resolve, unzips his fly, pulls his jeans to his knees, and bends over the bed, supporting his weight with his hands. God, he can't believe he's doing this. Right away he knows he prefers his dad's sloppy punches, no matter how much more physically damaging they are then a few shallow belt welts. It's so much worse like this, being made to take part in his own punishment.
When the belt comes down, Johnny bites his mouth, and now the split lip is bleeding something awful again. His hands weaken and he falls face-first onto the mattress, marring the sheets with blood. The pain is a thousand times worse than he remembered. And it takes Johnny a moment to realize why: it was the buckle that came down on his back this time, not the other end. A thick, metal cowboy buckle. And his dad put a lot of force into it.
The belt comes down again, but Johnny just keeps biting his lip. He never cries when he gets beat. One time, his dad whipped him good with a two-by-four right in front of Pony, and he didn't even cry about that. Sounds crazy, but he'd been more worried about Pony getting upset about seeing the beating than he was about getting beat.
As the belt comes down again and again, his dad says, "You make me do this. You make me," and his voice is thick and strained. Johnny thinks it sounds like his old man'sthe one crying, but that don't make no sense.
#
After the beating, Johnny's dad leaves the house while Johnny stays up in his parents' bedroom for a while, trying to convince himself he can get up and walk. When he stands and takes a step, he's surprised to find that he can. It's excruciating, but he can.
He slowly makes his way downstairs, supporting himself with the railing. It smells like charred bacon and burnt eggs, and he checks the stove and switches it off. Then he goes back into the living room to make small talk with his mom, to try to make it seem like nothing happened, but she must be embarrassed by him, because she just nods and stares at Ed Sullivan on the t.v., angling her body away from him. She won't even look at him. He's pretty sure no matter how loud she was listening to the show, she could hear what was going on.
When Johnny asks if she's liking her program, she finally turns to him, and she looks disgusted. "Why do you have to go setting your father off like that, huh Johnny? Running around with them hoods. Jesus Johnny. Just don't get him started and he'll leave you alone. It's like you want him to beat you or something."
"Mom-"
"I just don't get you. You know, Carol's son comes home early every night, and he makes dinner and takes out the trash and everything. And what do you do? Steal things with those thug friends of yours and piss off your father so bad that he needs to drink. Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? You know how your father gets with me when he's angry with you, huh? What I ever do to deserve a son like you?"
Sometimes, a few sentences from his mom is worse than any beating his dad can give him. Johnny decides he can't be in the house no more that night. It's going to be another long night sleeping it off at the lot.
#
Even though it's only a few blocks away, Johnny doesn't know how he made it. His dad beat him for a long time. His whole body is throbbing by the time he gets to the lot. Everything hurts, and when he sits down on the bench, his ass smarts as the switchblade in his back pocket pushes up against one of the welts.
Dally'd stolen the knife for him, after that real bad beating.
Johnny takes it out to move it to his front pocket but stops himself and flips it open instead, rubbing the flat end of the blade between his forefinger and thumb. He knows, the moment he's looking at it, that he's going to have to try real hard to get rid of the thoughts that are coming into his mind.
He told Ponyboy once, when he was feeling that way, feeling like it would be better if he just ended it and made everybody happy, but it scared and upset Ponyboy so much that Johnny hasn't mentioned it again, even when he feels it real bad. When he gets like this, he tries to remember he'll feel better in a little bit. He tries to remember things that made him happy, like eating chocolate cake with the Curtises, playing football with the gang, Two-Bit making all them jokes, and Soda always smiling, and Steve telling him dirty stories and souping up all them cars, and Pony going on about something deep that Johnny don't even understand but likes to listen to anyway, and Dally. There's nothing in particular about Dal like there is with the others. It's everything, all the time, with Dallas Winston. When Dally ruffles his hair and looks at him in that way he does, it makes Johnny feel like a real person. And Johnny knows that last one don't make no sense, but that's exactly how he feels sometimes when Dally looks at him, or asks his opinion, or even stands next to him, like Johnny's somebody worth standing next to.
It's times like this when he feels like he's never gonna be happy again that he has to work real hard to remember that he's felt this bad before, and it's passed. He has to work real hard to remember there are things worth living for. He s'pposes this is what Elvis means 'bout having the blues.
Shoot, he needs to put that blade away.
He's so lost in thought that even as alert as he normally is he doesn't notice that someone's approaching.
"If it isn't little greaser who's afraid of his own shadow. How quant." Johnny looks up to see Tim Shepard, the toughest hood in Tulsa, approaching. Shepard rests a foot on the bench, uncomfortably close to him. "How's life treating you kiddo?" Shepard slaps him gently across the face, just because he can.
"Hey Tim."
"That's cute. I didn't realize we were on a first name basis. You're that kid who tags along with Dally's outfit, yeah?"
"I don't tag along. We're friends."
Shepard laughs. "Friends, huh? Well I'm gonna whoop that boy senseless tonight. We got a fight gonna on here any minute now, unless Dally don't show. He's late."
"Dally ain't afraid of you."
"Getting mouthy with me, huh? Normally I don't beat up fifth graders, but I'll make an exception."
Johnny's tired and he's caught up in his dark mood. For the first time, he's completely unafraid of whatever threat some bigger person decides to throw at him. He don't care what happens to him. It's all just useless noise and he wants it to end. And he realizes how much easier it'd be if somebody else did it for him. Johnny hands Shepard the switchblade, handle out. "Go at it," he says. He starts unbuttoning his jeans jacket.
Shepard looks from the switchblade to Johnny, horror across his face. The hood actually looks scared. "What are you doing?"
"Shoot, what's it look like I'm doing? Making it easy for you."
"Jesus! I was just teasing you. You're crazy."
Dally is heading over now. It's too dark to see his face, but Johnny would know that gait a mile away. There's a way Dally holds himself that no one else can match.
Dally gets closer and he sees Shepard with that weird scared look on his face, he sees the knife pointed at Johnny, he sees Johnny on the bench, his jacket half-opened on a cold night. His hard faces hardens even more. Johnny thinks Dal's never looked so scary.
"You threatening my Johnny?" Dally's voice is unnaturally calm.
Shepard throws the blade to the ground. "I didn't do nothing. That kid's unstable, man. He handed me the knife."
A look of fear and confusion momentarily crosses Dally's face as he turns to Johnny for confirmation.
Johnny is suddenly aware of what an incredibly stupid thing that was to do. The boys would be so upset if Shepard stabbed him. Dally, who gave him the knife in the first place, would be upset. He can't upset Dally.
"Yeah Dal, I did. I'm sorry."
Dally points to Johnny. "We'll talk about this." He turns to Shepard. "The fight is off."
"What?" Shepard is pissed. "I came all the way out here-"
"I don't give a fuck. If you wanna fight tonight, it will end with me putting that blade in your gut. I have things to do. And if I ever see you bothering Johnny Cade again, I swear to God your whore of a mother will cry at your funeral when she sees what I've done to your body." Dally don't make empty threats.
"I told you I didn't do anything to him!" Shepard shouts. "He's messed up, man. Kid's fucking nuts. Leave him, man. Your deal's with me tonight. I came here looking for a skin fight. You want me to tell everybody how Dallas Winston wimped out?"
"Go do that and leave me and Johnny alone."
Shepard walks away, muttering cusses. As soon as Shepard's out of earshot, Dally picks up the blade from the dirt and pockets it. In a second he's on his knees, in front of Johnny. He's touching his chin, getting Johnny to look into his eyes. "You okay, kiddo? Can you tell me what's wrong?"
Johnny's so deep in that mood that he can't bring himself to talk.
"Come on, you're scaring me. Come on Johnnycake." Dally lets out a fake laugh. "Who would have thought the day would come when little Johnny Cade scared the shit out Tim Shepard and Dallas Winston, huh? Come on kid, talk to me."
Johnny's too tired too talk, too tired to cry. He leans in and puts his face onto Dally's shoulder. He figures Dally's gonna shove him away but he don't have the strength to hold himself up no more. Instead, Dal runs his hand through Johnny's hair.
It registers that Dally's being gentle, affectionate. He's never like that. If it were any other time, if Johnny weren't in one of those moods where talking or thinking or moving or feeling is a huge burden, he'd be basking in Dal's attention. As it is, he just don't understand why Dally's practically holding him. Dally don't even hold his girls like this. He just fucks 'em, and brags about it later. Johnny thinks that's pretty mean. But then, he doesn't know anything about girls.
"It's okay, Johnny." Johnny leans further into Dally, and Dally wraps his hands around Johnny's back.
Johnny winces.
Dally peels back the collar of Johnny's jacket and undershirt to inspect. Johnny's shirt sticks to his back for a few seconds in the places where the welts have broken skin. It's dark, but there's a street lamp casting a long low light on them not far away. Dally pulls back and holds Johnny up by his arms. His face is unreadable.
"I'm gonna take you to the Curtises'. Take a look at that for you, yeah?"
Johnny shakes his head. "I don't wanna talk to nobody, not even the boys."
"Buck's place then," says Dally, as if there is no argument. "He'll have a spare room for us. Come on." When he picks Johnny up, Johnny doesn't protest.
#
Like most nights at that godforsaken place, Hank Williams is playing and there's a party. Exactly the sort of party Johnny avoids and Dally owns. Loud music, hard, chain smoking broads, and greasers getting drunk and handsy with 'em. Dally comes in through the back though, and people just step out of his way as he bounds up the stairs. That probably has something to do with his tough-as-nails scowl. Or at least, Johnny's imagining he's wearing one, 'cause he can't see Dally's face when he's looking over the man's shoulder being carried.
When they get to the room where Dally usually crashes, it's already occupied by a couple moaning under the sheets of the cot. Even in his condition, half-passed out in Dally's arms, Johnny's embarrassed. He wonders why Dal's not leaving.
"Get out."
The couple quickly separates and the girl pulls the sheets over her chest.
"What the hell?" the guy asks. "We're busy. You get out."
"Do you know who I am? I'm Dallas Winston. And if you don't get your things and get own in thirty seconds, I'll kill you." He says this so easy, so naturally. As if it weren't a threat, as if it were a simple fact he was relating to the man on the bed.
Johnny believes him. Dally can be cold like that–Johnny's seen it. He once stabbed a man in the arm for giving him a dirty look. He once knocked some guy's tooth out for asking him to move over at the dime store.
The man cusses and then the girl cusses, but they must believe him too because they both do as Dally says; he don't move out of the doorway neither, when they shuffle past him all embarrassed and angry.
Dally lays Johnny on the cot, which Johnny thinks is a little gross, but he's slept on worse, so he doesn't complain. He just wants to sleep, to be left alone. Johnny puts his face into the pillow and closes his eyes.
"Johnny, you gotta stay up a little bit longer." Johnny opens his protesting eyes.
"Can you take off your jacket and shirt?" Johnny nods and sits up and unbuttons the jacket the rest of the way. He cringes as he shoulders it off, he cringes as he pulls his shirt over his head.
When it's off, Dally paces the room, fast and angry. He's clenching and unclenching his fists, and Johnny's starts coming out of his reverie because he's feeling a little scared. Dally manages to calm himself when he sees Johnny's breathing getting faster.
"How far they go down?"
Johnny looks at the floor. "A-about to the back of my knees."
"That bastard made you take off your jacket, didn't he? They wouldn't be this bad if he hadn't." Johnny nods. Dally pauses, as if he doesn't know how to phrase the next question. "What about your legs kid, how bad are they?"
" 'bout the same."
"Jesus, Johnny." Dally kicks the wall, and then he punches it for good measure. He circles the room like a locked, feral animal and punches the wall again. When he looks at Johnny, he looks ready to kill, but not in the cool, indifferent way he had before with that couple on the bed. In the way most boys die in a fight, with too much anger and energy and violence to stop themselves.
"I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him." He's not even seeing Johnny now. He sounds desperate. He reaches into the back of his jeans and pulls out a heater. Johnny knows he's got one, but he didn't know he was carrying it. Dal wipes the sweat off his forehead with the heater in hand, and Johnny nearly gasps. Dal's gonna shoot himself by accident if he get's worked up, he thinks.
"Dally." Johnny manages to stand, his legs shaking. "Come on man, calm down." The sudden need to fix this forces him out of his black, silent mood and he's almost normal again.
"Shut up!" Dally stuffs the gun back into his jeans and leans over the dresser on the other end of the room and shakes it. He slams it down on the last shake. "Just shut up, Johnny. I'm gonna kill him. That's it. He's never gonna lay a hand on you again."
"You can't do that!"
Dally whips his face around and turns to Johnny, his expression fierce and wild, like lynx. "I can. I don't give a shit if they put me in the cooler for life, neither. I'm gonna kill him. You don't know what's good for you, Johnny. If you did you wouldn't stay there and you sure as hell wouldn't hang out with me. Give me one reason not to kill that bastard. One. I bet you can't."
"It would hurt me." Johnny's voice is quiet.
That shuts Dally up. He stares at Johnny for a good ten seconds before he breaks out into laughter. There's no joy to the sound. "You're real smart, you know that? Go sit down, you look like your gonna fain't." Johnny sits on the cot. It smarts up and down his legs.
Dally steps closer, and his eyes are red and glossy and hard. They're always hard. "This has to stop, ya hear me? You're not going back there." His voice is controlled again.
Johnny reaches for his wrist. "Dal, I'm okay, man."
Dally pushes his hand aside. Johnny thinks it looks like Dally's ready to hit him, he's that angry.
"That's not okay. You're not going back there. We both know it's been getting worse. Look Johnny, I know what it's like to have your old man not give a shit about you. To beat you. You have have to not give a shit about him back. You have to beat him back. You have to stick up for yourself, kid. Come on kid, for me? You're gonna hit him back next time."
Johnny gulps and looks down. He thinks maybe Dal's right, but then Dal's not there to know all the intimate details, to know Johnny usually deserves it, and even on the times when he might not, it's nothing he can't handle.
"You hear me, Johnny? If you won't leave, hit him back."
Johnny pushes a hand through his hair. "Dally, you don't understand." He says it real quietly, 'cause he don't like to argue with anybody, especially Dally. "He didn't mean it, man. He never takes it this far on purpose. I upset him real bad this time, is all. It was...it was an accident, Dal."
"Oh, so it was an accident?" Dally asks, the anger in his voice again, worse than before. "He accidentally striped you naked and beat you crippled with a chunk of lead? Jesus Johnny, do you hear yourself sometimes?"
"If you're just going to yell at me, what'd you even take me here for? I can get that at home."
Dally shoots him a look of pure hatred and walks out the door, slamming it behind himself.
#
Johnny's crying, the day's accumulation of shit just too much for him. He's managed to finally piss off Dally, he's managed to finally push him away. Dally, his hero. The person in the whole world who Johnny wants to be most like. And now he's alone at Buck's place, with the worst kind of hoods. He knows he needs to come up with a plan on how he's gonna get out of here and where he'll go, but the first person he thinks about going to for help is Dally. Maybe he would even use the switchblade now–on himself or someone else, he doesn't know–but Dally has that too.
Johnny pulls out a cigarette and lights up. But even the calming scent of a stale cancer stick don't help his heavy breathing and his bawling. He's crying on the bed and smoking up a storm each time he can catch his breath between sobs.
The door creaks open and Johnny tenses. He knows he can't handle another altercation tonight. He just can't do it anymore. He's too anxious to look to see who it is.
"Shoot kid, I didn't mean to lecture you, yeah? I just can't stand around and watch you get hurt like that." Johnny gazes up towards the voice with such relief.
Dally's holding rubbing alcohol and three bags of frozen peas. He's taken off his t-shirt to use as a cloth. When he gets closer to the bed, he sees Johnny and a look of actual guilt crosses his face. It looks strange on him.
"You thought I'd left."
Johnny should stop crying about now, because Dally's back and that means everything will be okay, but for some reason he starts crying harder.
Dally sits on the other end of the bed, uncomfortable-like and Johnny tries to calm himself. "Stop your bawling Johnnycake," Dal says, and despite using his pet name, his voice is cold.
Johnny wants to do as Dally's says, but it keeps getting worse and worse. Luckily, though, Dal doesn't mention it again. He sits on the end of the bed until Johnny can't cry anymore, occasionally looking over at him kind of frustrated or angry or something.
When Johnny's breathing is almost back to normal, and he's wiping the tears and the snot off his face, Dal says, "You're gonna need to take off the rest of your clothes."
Johnny's looks at Dally to protest, but Dally's face is stern, so there's no avoiding it. Johnny's always been more private then the other boys. Lord knows Two-Bit steps in on people in the shower to piss in the toilet and Darry walks around the house in only a towel showing off his muscles, but Johnny's always been embarrassed because he's small for his age and being naked makes him feel more vulnerable than he already is. It would just kill him if one of the boys teased him, and he knows they probably would, not meaning anything by it or anything.
"Come on kid, get undressed. You look like a blushing virgin," Dally jokes.
"I am," Johnny mutters as he pulls off his tennis shoes. He don't need to unlace them. They're that worn. He keeps on his socks and his underwear and lies face-down on the cot. Dally rolls his eyes at this. Dally kneels down and starts cleaning the welts that have broken skin across his back, slowing working his way down Johnny's body in the same shoulder-to-thigh direction that his dad hit him.
"You need to put on some weight, kid. I can see and feel all your ribs and your spine," Dally says. Johnny closes his eyes. It's just the sort of comment that makes him embarrassed to get undressed in the first place. Especially coming from Dally, who's strong and tall and tuff and handsome and perfect.
Dally cleans him in silence for a while, covering each cleaned batch of skin with frozen food.
Out of the blue, Dally says, "He's not your family, you know. The gang's your family. I'm your family. You hear me Johnnycake? I'm your family."
As he falls asleep, Johnny feels the sting of alcohol disinfecting his wounds and the melting pea bag soaking his underwear down to his frozen skin.
#
When Johnny wakes up he's still lying on his stomach, and Dally's hovering over him. His face is bruised up. Johnny checks and his knuckles are bruised, too. They weren't last night when Johnny fell asleep, neither. The daylight is creeping through the part of the window that's not blocked by a towel. Everything from the night before rushes back to him and Johnny feels a sick sense of dread.
Dally lights up a cancer stick. "Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
"What happened to your face?"
"Had that fight Shepard was begging me for. Three to one, though." He grins. "Those were good odds for me."
"He and his boys come looking for you while I was out?" Johnny asks.
Dally grins again. "Shoot kid, I came looking for them. Needed to blow off some steam." He pauses. "I had someone checking up on you while I was gone, though."
Johnny sits up and immediately regrets it. The whole back of his body throbs, from his neck to his knees. "What time is it?"
"Four o'clock in the afternoon."
"Shit Dal! I missed your rodeo."
Dally laughs. "I missed it too." He blows a ring of smoke.
"Can a bum a weed?" Johnny asks. Dally lights one for him and hands it over. "I'm sorry I made you miss it," Johnny says, after he takes a puff.
"No way I was letting you go out in that condition Johnnycake. You needed rest. And I can't expect someone else to babysit you all day."
Johnny rubs his hands over his thighs. He doesn't like Dally's phrasing at all.
"Get dressed. You need to eat. I'm gonna take us to get us burgers and milkshakes, yeah? You better eat the whole thing." Dally's right: Johnny's starving. But why'd Dally have to go and tell him he needs to finish his meal, like some mom to her toddler? Johnny just can't stand it, Dal thinking about him like that.
Don't act like you're five and you won't get treated like you're five.
Tell me you're a girl.
Johnny stands up. He looks Dally in the eyes. "W-we're only a-a year apart you know."
Dally scoffs. "Yeah, I know. So?"
Johnny pushes himself off the cot. "So quit talking to me like I'm some, some pathetic little kid."
Johnny can tell what he says has surprised him, even if Dally's good at hiding everything. Dally's quiet for a long time.
"I don't think you're pathetic."
"Yes you do." Johnny knows he sounds petulant, but he's tired and grumpy, and he knows he shouldn't be talking to Dally like this, Dally who'd beat someone for less than he's already said, Dally who cleaned his wounds last night, but he just can't take being made to feel like a helpless kid anymore. "You pity me. You talk down to me, even if you're nice about it. The whole gang does."
Dally stares at him, his cold eyes unreadable. Johnny turns away. "I'm sorry Dal. I don't know what got into me. I didn't mean it."
"Yeah you did," says Dally. "You meant it but you're wrong. I don't pity you, Johnny."
"Look, I said I'm sorry, okay? Can we just stop talking about it? I'm sorry, Dally. I really am. I don't even know why you hang out with me. You're right to think I ain't tuff. Shoot, I've ruined everything, haven't I Dal? I'm real sorry. Don't be mad at me, Dal. Please don't be mad." Johnny's words are rushed and panicky. He hates himself for always ruining everything. Now Dally's not gonna be his friend.
Dally drops his cigarette to the ground and stubs it with his boot. He stares Johnny down. Johnny's just waiting for the shoe to drop.
"You've got nothing to be sorry about, Johnnycake. Hear me? Stop saying you're sorry."
"Yeah, all right," says Johnny, calming down a little bit. "I'm sorry. I mean- Shoot." Johnny lets out an uncomfortable laugh.
"For the record, I don't pity you. And yeah, I'll admit I'm a little protective of you, but that's only because..."
Johnny's ready for Dally to mention how short and skinny and young looking he is or how often he gets jumped or something embarrassing like that.
"...because I care about you, Johnny." Dally don't look at him when he says it, but Johnny's looking at Dally, his eyes wide. He's in shock maybe, shocked that Dally would admit it, that Dally would even feel that way.
Dally takes out another Kool and lights up again. "You're different, kid. No matter what shit life throws at you, you just...you just accept it, and you keep trusting. You're tough, but you ain't hard. And that's rare. You're sweet–and don't you go taking that as an insult Johnny Cade. Takes nerve to be sweet in a town like this." Dally's smoking up a storm. "Whenever I see a new bruise on you, I fantasize about gutting your old man, for breaking that trust. I just...fuck if I know how to say it. I never want you to get hard, to be like me. I wanna make sure you're sweet little Johnny Cade forever.
"Alls I know is if anything happened to you, I swear I don't know what I'd do. Shoot kid, I love you. There. You needed me to say it, so I did. You dig?"
Johnny's mouth is open, and he's still staring at Dally as if he'd just turned into a horse and back or something. Dally shakes his head, smiles, and punches Johnny's arm playfully, as if he weren't a cold-as-ice hood who'd just admitted his most intimate feelings. "Jesus. What am I saying?" Dally laughs. "I sound like fucking Ponyboy reading a damn poem or something. Let's go get burgers and slash some tires."
Johnny eyes are wet, but he's smiling. "I, I love you too, Dal." He reaches up to give Dally's arm an affectionate squeeze, but Dally pushes him away. Not rough-like, but friendly.
"Think I don't know that, dumbass?" He rolls his eyes and ruffles Johnny's hair. "Everybody loves me." He pauses and shrugs. "At least everybody who don't hate me. Now don't go getting all sensitive on me."
Dally don't have to ask Johnny not to repeat what he'd said. They'd all think Johnny was crazy, making up a story like that.
#
Johnny stands straighter when he walks out the door of Buck Merril's house, as if he's not really that afraid of it at all. And at the burger joint, when the waitress takes their order, Dally don't order for Johnny like he normally does. Instead, the waitress turns to Johnny and asks what he wants. And Johnny orders a burger, and fries, and a milkshake, instead of just asking for water 'cause he don't want to be a burden. And Johnny looks at her when he orders it, instead of staring into his lap.
In the booth, Johnny scoots as close as he can get to Dally without it being weird, Dally's heavier weight helping him slide and sink into the cushion towards him. Dally just smirks and shakes his head, but Johnny's grinning ear-to-ear, like he just can't believe his luck.
Dallas Winston loves him. He said it. And Johnny knows the rest of the gang does, too. He'd always thought they did, but he knows it for sure somehow, now, like Dal's word is everyone's.
"What's that smile for, kid? You win the lottery or something I don't know about?"
"You know I did."
Dally rolls his eyes. "Jesus Johnny, you're such a sap." Johnny flicks a fry onto his lap. Dally laughs and ruffles his hair. He wipes the layer grease left on his hand on Johnny's shirt.
Maybe it shouldn't have taken Dal saying that earlier to make Johnny feel like he's somebody, like he's worth existing, but he did and he does. And for just a couple minutes at the burger joint, Johnny don't wish he were smarter like Pony, or funnier like Two-Bit, or bigger like Darry, or happier like Soda, or better with girls like Steve. He don't even wish he were more like Dally.
Dally–who's pretty much perfect–loves Johnny exactly how he is.