This was a request. Well, sort of. The request was the after math of Johnny being attacked (recommended by DoingItForJohnny because he guessed correctly in "Aid to the Helpless.) I think I've told you I hate one-shots, so I'm not going to make this one.

This is not a part of my Outsiders Series, but it is another story about Johnny.

I don't own the Outsiders.

The rings crashed into my skull, the sound reverberating in my ears after the blow had pulled back and the leader prepared for another.

Bob, my old friend, my partner in crime, beating on me. Of course, he had to. The Gunners weren't just going to let me go hang out with some greasers that weren't even part of a gang.

As a kick landed in my ribs, I tried to distance myself from the present by reflecting on the past. I didn't really see what I could have done differently, how could I avoid my imminent death?

I guess it started the year I turned ten. That was a good time. For most kids, it was the year they turned to double digits, the year they were the "big kids" of the elementary school.

Not for me. That was the year I was initiated into my first gang. I never told anyone this, not even Dallas. The Gunners were a soc gang.

The truth is, Socs aren't all that bad. The Socs who jump greasers and make fun of poor kids, those aren't Socs. Those are Gunners.

And I was one of them.

You may be wondering how I could be a soc when I didn't have any money. Well, at that time, I did have money. Lots of it. I was the richest kid on the block, cool as can be.

Back then, I wore my hair short in its natural wavy curls. I even went to the private school "St. Timothy's," which was a boarding school, but I lived so close, I didn't have to board.

Ten was the year I first tried any sort of drugs, alcohol, and other shady things that I'm not too proud of. Only ten years old.

Initiation was painful, but I didn't care. This was what I had always wanted. They carved the symbol of the Gunners into my back, a circle with a vaguely gun shaped line pointing out the right side so that it looked like a 'G.'

My home life was good back then. Two doting parents who would let me get away with murder, and a baby on the way.

Then my dad went off to war. When this happened, I got angry. Angry at my mom, at the baby in her stomach, at life, and especially at greasers.

Greasers don't really have gangs. The Shepard gang are kinda 'wannabe' greasers, poor little dirt bag who beat on innocent Socs who weren't even in the Gunner gang.

It made me laugh that the greasers didn't recognize the patterns, didn't target the people who targeted them. Of course, if they had targeted us, we would have hunted them down until they went extinct.

Eleven was the year I killed my first person. I never told anyone that either, because the Gunners would frown upon who I killed.

A woman, someone I'll tell you about later, why she's important. I was in New York, mostly because it was my turn to pick up the drugs, but also because the leader of the gang, Kirk, had taken a liking to me and wanted to show me the city.

The woman had a kid, a little boy, and I just...killed her. She didn't do anything. The kid was maybe my age, maybe a little older, and he ran.

Before I killed that women, I found out that my family had died. My father in war, my mother and unborn baby (who I later found out would have been my sister) by suicide. I needed someone to hurt as much as me, and thanks to me, that little boy did.

I can't tell you how bad I felt. Kirk died in a gang fight a week later, and Bob came to power, a tyrant if ever I saw one.

I was sent to live with my uncle and aunt, who I had never known about. Yeah, my "dad" beat me, but I was glad he did.

Truth is, I deserved every punch I got, and more. So I took the beatings, I did my work at school, I cowered in my house, and I prayed to god that Bob never got a chance to get me back.

Bob was jealous of me because Kirk always liked me best. There was a rumor that he wanted the gang to be passed down to me, but Bob took the responsibility instead.

I was lucky enough to hide from the gang without having to "resign." In gangs, they have initiation processes, where you either get beat up or burn a mark onto your skin of do something illegal. The resignation is when the entire gang just beats on you will weapons, fists whatever for twenty minutes.

Few people survive it. Actually, only one that I know of. That person in Dallas Winston. He has more scars than even I do. That's the real reason that I respect him, He stood up for his fears instead of hiding them behind closed doors.

Well, I guess they found me now. Maybe I was finally resigning from the gang that I had joined when I was just a kid. Then again, maybe I was resigning from life.

I heard distant shouting, but I think someone kicked my ears, and I couldn't hear too great. I heard a gun shot, and a stabbing pain in my upper leg, then I felt hands, softer than the Gunners on me.

"Johnny? Johnnycakes, are you alright?" Soda. No doubt. He was too compassionate for his own good, so of course he would be the one to comfort me.

"Shit! Johnny-" Either Steve or Dally. Both of them would be angry, but Dallywould most likely already be chasing the Gunners. Or, what he thought were just ordinary Socs.

I heard sobbing. Pony, obviously. I tried to speak. "Socs-"

"Don't try to talk Johnny." I grew angry, or at least resistant when Soda said this. For some reason, it was vital that I explain everything, now.

"Soda, listen-" I gurgled through the blood filling my mouth.

"Johnny, shh. Just don't try to talk."

"Soda, just shut up will you?" Yeah, I was in pain, and I guess that was an excuse, but not really. I shouldn't have been so rude to Soda. I immediately felt guilty. I moved to get up, but winced.

Soda was taken aback by my words (although no one else heard), but he recovered quickly in light of my dire situation. "Johnny, you just need some help-"

"No." It hurt worse than anything I had ever experienced, but I don't really have a normal sense of pain. So I guess for a normal person, this pain would be intolerable. I began to crawl away, growling at how weak I felt.

I acted weak around the gang, but I didn't want to be weak right now. i crawled right into Dally's legs, and I looked up at him like a hurt puppy.

"Johnny, tell me who did this to you!" He screamed, bending down to my level.

"Dally, it was...never mind, can I just tell you later? Please, just-" And I guess I passed out then.

The next thing I felt was the Curtis' couch, and all I heard were the whisperings, "What the hell is wrong with Johnny?"