Looking at Johnny, his face all cut up like that and bleeding, and how he was barely conscious, his eyelids kept fluttering closed even in the middle of talking, and Soda kept telling him to be quiet but he wouldn't. I just stared at him, at the blood that had splattered all over his T-shirt and his jeans, the way he couldn't stand, how Soda had to carry him.
We brought him to our house because we didn't really trust his parents, and they'd probably end up getting mad at Johnny for getting beat up, like it was his fault. I shook my head, thinking about his parents. But we got him to our house and laid him down on the couch and he kind of just passed out. Dally was there, too, and he was scowling. I don't think I'd ever seen him look so mad, like if those socs were here right now he'd destroy them. The rest of us had run ins with the socs, not as bad as what happened to Johnny, but still. Steve and Two-bit had gotten into some pretty good scraps with them and Dally hadn't cared, not like this.
Darry was the one taking charge of the situation, and that's what I'd expect. Ever since mom and dad died he'd stepped up, did what had to be done not just for me and Soda but all of us, and it was a bit of a stretch when it came to Dally. Dally and Darry were really very different. I mean, Darry could be a soc. Dally was a hoodlum.
"Ponyboy, go get one of your T-shirt for him," he told me, and I ran to my room and grabbed one of my T-shirts from the dresser. I heard him telling Soda to get some wash clothes and band-aids from the bathroom, although that gash on his face was too much for a band-aid, I thought he pretty much needed stitches.
Gently Darry took Johnny's bloody T-shirt off him but Johnny still moaned in pain at the movement. There were some old bruises alongside his rib cage, stomach, and back, but I knew those were from his old man. But there were newer scrapes and gashes on his stomach and chest, and that soc with the rings punched more than just his face. I got so mad thinking about it. Why'd they have to go after Johnny?
I watched Darry clean him up, watched Johnny try to pull away and heard Darry talk softly and soothingly to him, telling him it was okay. Dally was off smoking in the corner and looked like he wanted to kill someone, and if those socs weren't available then any of us would do.
Things like this stunned Soda and Two-bit into uncharacteristic silence, made Dally and Steve angry, and spurred Darry to action. And me? I didn't know. I was in a daze about stuff like this, wondering all the time how and why. I'd never seen anyone beaten this badly, and I'd seen Dally and Steve and Soda after some awful fights. I mean, he wasn't even conscious, just barely. He was only moaning when something Darry did hurt him. His face was all swollen and bruised, one of his eyes was red, the white part was all red and it scared me to look at that. His lip was split open. Darry was dabbing at his lip and the gash from his temple to his cheekbone with the wet wash cloth. The white wash cloth was very quickly turning red.
I didn't think he dared try to get my T-shirt onto him, so he left it slung over the chair. He put band-aids on his cheek and covered him up with one of our old blankets and Johnny was curled up a little, holding onto his stomach where the socs had kicked him.
I looked at Johnny sleeping or unconscious on our couch, looked at the blood that was seeping from under the band-aids Darry had put on him, looking at his eye that was turning black and bruised, his swollen lip with the dried blood on it despite Darry trying to clean it. Johnny kept moving a little, obviously in pain. I thought about how his life was really a lot worse than mine, and not just because the socs beat him half to death. That could have happened to me, I'm just lucky it didn't. No, Johnny's life was worse than mine because of his parents.
None of us dared talk to Dally, not with that look on his face. Dally was funny about Johnny, he was real protective of him and nicer to him than to any of us. I didn't really like Dally, and not because he wasn't particularly nice to me, which he wasn't. He just seemed dangerous to me, and like he'd given up in some way. There was no hope in Dally, I guess.