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TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 7

STEVE'S POV:

Man, I'd never thought I'd see this day. No, seriously, the day that Sodapop flipped out and hit Ponyboy, and Dallas Winston goes all protective mode on the kid in the same day was never planned on my calendar. Probably wasn't on either member of the gang's either.

I didn't know what to do. I mean, Soda practically worships the kid. He would never holler at him like Darry does, let alone hit him. Well, that's what I thought anyways. I didn't know what the hell to do to help. I felt bad for the kid, sure, we all knew how much he adores Sodapop, of course he would react the way he did, I mean, come on, it must've sucked real bad when Sodapop snapped at him. But, then again, I also felt bad for Sodapop. I knew he didn't mean whatever the hell he said to the kid, and I knew he obviously didn't mean to hit him. He blamed himself for everything that happened afterwards, and he took it real, real hard. He could hardly keep it together, and all that crying and bawling was him trying to. Let alone if he lets it all go.

Sodapop was my best buddy, and even if he did something real bad, he sure as hell didn't deserve all this weight and guilt of thinking this was all his fault. I know what he did wasn't right, believe me, I do, but Sodapop takes everything hard, and god only knows what was going through his head when Two-bit ran in and made that phone call.

Me and Darry looked over the whole neighborhood when we were out searching for Ponyboy. We took one half, and Two-bit and Dally were supposed to be searching the other half. The deal was be back to the Curtis's house at ten, and even though Darry seemed like he wanted to stay out longer and look for the kid, we headed back. I didn't want to leave Soda too long anyways, and I knew Darry didn't either, even if there was a slight hint of anger towards him for hitting Ponyboy. I doubt it, though, Darry hardly every gets mad at Sodapop. Sodapop's just the kind of guy nobody can truly be mad at.

That was until I seen the look on Dallas's face.

When we all made it to the alleyway where Ponyboy and Dally were, I still didn't know what to do. Darry bolted over to both of them, and started comforting the kid, but to be honest, I think he was just trying to comfort himself. Two-bit kind of froze. I couldn't blame him. Hell, I couldn't even process what was going on in front of me. Sodapop just broke down then and there, started bawling his lungs off, and then...not a sound. He was crying so hard he couldn't even make a sound, and his sobs came out in small chokes and violent tremors.

I didn't know what to do. Man, I really didn't. So I just started trying to help Sodapop. I wasn't going to say nothing to him, let's face it, what can you say to a guy who's brother is practically dying in front of him and he's being given CPR by one of his buddies? That's right, nothing. So I just sat by him, rubbed his back, rubbed his shoulders, shushed him comfortingly every now and again.

I wasn't going to give him that "It's gonna be okay, Pony's gonna be fine" crap. Ponyboy wasn't fine, and really, none of us knew if he would be. I wasn't going to start lying to Sodapop and just making it worse. I wasn't. But it didn't help the fact that I had no idea what to do. Golly, I couldn't even move. I was just so...shocked.

So saying it was a relief when the ambulance got here was a major understatement. At first, Sodapop didn't move much when the medics hauled Ponyboy away from an angry Dallas and an upset Darry, he just stared at the commotion in front of him, still crying.

One of the medic said someone could ride in the ambulance with the kid, and as I would expect, Soda jumped so fast it would make your head spin. I got up then, and so did Two-bit who was still as lost looking as when we first got here to the alley.

I expected Darry to maybe speak up and ask Sodapop if he was sure, or even volunteer to get in the ambulance himself, but I sure as hell didn't expect Dally to step in front of Soda.

Dally was supposed to be either yelling or punching someone, or standing at a distance looking all dangerous and cool, not going all protective mode on the youngest. Dallas Winston didn't care for nobody. Of course, he did somewhat care for the gang, and we all knew he loved Johnny Cake like a brother, but when he died, Dally went back to the cold, mean, no-good, JD hood. Dally didn't care for nobody no more, and he sure as hell wouldn't care about the kid enough to step in front of Sodapop for him.

But to everyone's surprise, he did.

My mouth dropped open when Dally pushed Sodapop away from the vehicle, looking meaner than I've seen him since he ran in during the rumble a month back. I expected Sodapop or Darry to protest or speak up as Dal hopped right inside the ambulance, next to the gurney that Ponyboy lay, but nobody spoke a word. Not a sound.

Dallas's words seemed to echo through the alley, and I knew Sodapop felt even more guilty than he had before. "You've done enough. I'm riding with him."

I sighed, and went over to comfort Sodapop some more, who looked like he was ready to fall over again. I didn't blame the guy, nobody liked being on the bad side of Dallas Winston, let alone being on it because of hitting your little brother.

Before I could manage to think of sensible words to say, Darry had took off running down the alley. Me, Sodapop, and Two-bit didn't waste any time before we followed him, and it wasn't long until we were all speeding to the hospital, three of us in my car, and Darry in his truck ahead of us. I let Two-bit drive again, Sodapop needed someone there for him, and I was going to be the one who was. I wasn't going to let him suffer alone, I wasn't going to turn away from my bestfriend, I was going to help him, even if I didn't exactly know how at the moment.

We reached the hospital pretty quick. It was almost two in the morning and a Tuesday night, not many cars were going across the road so we didn't have to worry much about hitting no one. The fast speed we were going helped quicken the ride quite a bit too, must I say. But still, the ride still felt long as the thought of how beaten Pony looked ran through all of our heads.

Ponyboy was...god, he looked horrible. Nobody wanted to say it, but he already looked dead. Nobody could survive after losing all that blood. Nobody.

But no matter how much I kept bracing myself for the horrible news that the youngest greaser was dead, there was always this tiny pinch of hope swarming around inside me, and I knew it was swarming around inside the others too.

We parked hastily, and we probably took up more parking spots than we were supposed to, but none of us cared. As soon as Two-bit stopped moving my car, Sodapop was up and running to the hospital entrance. I got out and waited for Two-bit; he wasn't holding up too well, that was obvious, and he needed a friend too. Two-bit quickly shut off the engine, hopped out of the car, and pocketed my keys, knowing the driving arrangements would probably have to be the same on the way back. That is if Sodapop actually leaves the hospital, which I am totally sure he won't be doing in his own will.

Darry was already running behind Sodapop, not bothering to tell him to wait for him, and me and Two-bit were jogging behind. We kept our distance a bit, knowing the Curtis's probably needed a family moment or something.

Sodapop was through those doors as fast as you could think, and Darry was only a second behind him. I didn't know what went on after the two brothers went inside, but anyone from a mile away could hear the urgent yells coming from Soda, which I thought probably meant he was yelling at the receptionist, whose always on your case whenever you walk in through those big glass doors.

The yells were still coming when me and Two-bit came inside, and not to my surprise, Sodapop was screaming at the nurse in the desk, who looked rather taken aback from his yelling, but she was talking back to him in an angry, annoyed tone. I couldn't blame her, having a teary-eyed teenager hollering in her face and all, but Sodapop wasn't taking any of this situation well, and we all expected him to start yelling at some point.

Darry on the other hand was attempting to calm Soda down and apologize to the nurse at the desk at the same time. There were tears in his eyes, but you could tell he was trying real hard to stay strong. Good ol' Superman, that Darry is.

"I need to see my brother! His name is Ponyboy Curtis, and he was brought here in an ambulance, and I need to see him!" Soda yelled.

"Sir, you need to calm down, or I'm going to have to call security," The nurse said sternly.

"Just let me see my brother! Please!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait, sir-"

"No! Look, I'll be quick, please, I just need to see him! I need to say I'm sorry! I need to say sorry!" Sodapop started crying there again, and Darry's attempts at calming him weren't doing their job very well.

"Young man, if you would please calm down..." The nurse's town dialed down a bit when she saw the emotional state Soda was, but she still spoke clearly and strongly.

"I can't calm down! I need to see Ponyboy! He needs to know I'm sorry!"

Sodapop's screams were even louder, and that's when me and Two-bit knew it was time to step in. Soda was going to get himself kicked out, and neither of us wanted that to happen. Besides, it just gives Dally another reason to be pissed at him, and I know he wouldn't want that. We ran over to the desk where the commotion was happening, and we both took hold of Soda; me on his left, Two-bit on his right.

"Soda, come on, you don't want to get kicked out, man. Come on, let's go sit down. Pony's going to need you here when he wakes up, and you can't be there for him when your kicked out now can ya?" I said as gently as I could, and we guided him to the waiting room, despite his weak struggles.

"I need to...I need to say I'm sorry, he needs to know I'm sorry, he doesn't know I'm sorry, he thinks...he thinks I hate him...he has to know I love him, he has to." Sodapop sobs, and my heart breaks for how sad he sounds.

"He knows you do. He knows you love him, buddy. He does, lets just sit down okay?"

He weakly nods, and the three of us sit down together on the hard, plastic chairs in the waiting room. I sat on the left side of Sodapop, and Two-bit left a seat between himself and Soda, probably knowing Darry will want to sit next to him. Good ol' Two-bit, always thinking of stuff.

Sodapop fidgeted in his chair a bit, he was never one to keep still, and none of us exchanged any words. Two-bit was real lost and away looking. He kept going in his head and staring off into the distance like the kid always did. I knew him and Pone got pretty close after Johnny died, but I wasn't around much to notice what went on. With the kid and Darry always fighting, and Soda's whining about them all the time, it wasn't something you really wanted to get caught up in a lot, you dig? I think that's why Two-bit and Dallas stayed away too, but I couldn't be sure. But before we knew it, the whole gang was drifting apart, and where once there was a group of friends who were as close as family, there was friends so distant that they would pass each other in the street and they wouldn't even know.

Darry returned a couple minutes later, and sat down in the seat between Soda and Two-bit with a long, tired sigh.

"The nurse said Pony just got in...she don't have any information on his condition, so we'll have to wait until the doctor comes." He said.

"Where's Dally?" I asked.

"Should come out in a minute, they don't let no one in the trauma center where Pony's going, only doctors and nurses."

I nodded, and slumped back into my seat, glancing at Soda every now and then to see if he was okay. But that's the thing, he wasn't okay. Sodapop wasn't going to be okay until Ponyboy was alive and well, and in his arms again. That much was obvious, and as sad as it is to say, none of us knew if Ponyboy was going to be able to be held in his arms alive again.

It doesn't matter if I had time to process everything going on, I still didn't know what to do.

I didn't know if I should be yelling at the nurse to find a doctor and give me some information on Pony, I didn't know if I should leave and let the Curtis's deal with this as a family, I didn't know if I should be sneaking in through those Authorized personnel only doors and finding Pony or Dallas themselves, I just didn't know.

God, I didn't know. I was so damn confused.

So I did the only thing I could do, and that was comfort Sodapop. I put my arm around him, and rubbed his shoulders when his shakes would worsen. I let him lay his head on my shoulder and shushed him as he sobbed, and I didn't care when he turned over and cried in Darry's lap, because I would be here.

I would be here when he needed me, and I would be here when he didn't. I would be here, for Soda, even if he did something real bad, I would be here even if everyone else turned their backs on him.

Sodapop needed someone, and glory, I was going to be the one first in line to volunteer.

So as Sodapop wept, Two-bit stared, Darry sniffed, and I slumped, the wait began.

And none of us truly wanted to know what was going on behind those big "Trauma" doors where Ponyboy lay.

Because behind those doors, lay the answer we all have been waiting for.

Would Ponyboy, the fourteen year old who ran off into the starry night go cold? Die, surrounded by doctors, nurses, and possibly Dallas Winston? Or would his heart remain the warm, kind, beating thing it is? Would he live?

Yeah, that's the question of the night, isn't it.

XXXX

DALLY'S POV:

As soon as those doors to the ambulance shut behind me, blocking out the rest of the gang, every bit of anger I felt for that damn Sodapop vanished. Just swooshed down the drain, and was replaced with something unfamiliar; something I've only felt a couple times in my life.

Worry.

And, glory, I didn't like it. It made me want to scream right in that medic's face, it made me anxious, restless, like I couldn't even sit still.

The medic started hooking things up to Pony, who still wasn't moving. I swear, that guy should've let me be, giving CPR to Ponyboy. If I learned anything in New York, it was CPR, and I learned it pretty damn well.

I was only nine years old, and I was walking home with one of my buddies who was a year younger than me, and real, real small. I hadn't known him for long, he was a homeless kid who slept in a dirty homeless shelter, and I met him digging through my trash one night. He was lucky I caught him, and not my dad, my dad wouldn't hesitate to give the kid a black eye if he even walked by our driveway. All and all, I ended giving him some food I snuck from our fridge, and we became friends. He told me his name was David, but I had a funny feeling it wasn't his real name. He was a runaway, and any kind of smart runaway would know to change their name.

I don't know what I was thinking. It was a cold, windy night and I felt bad that the kid had to go and sleep in the rotten homeless shelter that was actually an abandoned lot where other homeless people slept. It wasn't exactly shelter, so as stupid as I was, I asked him to stay the night with me.

Like I said, I didn't know what I was thinking. My father wouldn't even let me stay there some nights, let alone one of my friends. Our house was small, dirty, and beaten up. The siding was more missing than it was there, and half of the windows were boarded up. I didn't stay there too often, my father was always drunk or high, and would beat me all the time, so most nights I stayed outside or at another friends. But for some reason, I thought bringing a friend home to stay under the same roof as my father would be a good idea.

David was hesitant about it. He saw the bruises on my face often, and I think he knew where they came from, but he still followed me. He didn't seem like he wanted to sleep in that homeless shelter on that cold night anyways.

We walked inside my house, and all the lights were off. I felt around for the light switch, and when I turned it on, he came into sight. My father, there he was, sprawled across the floor, beer bottles tipped over and scattered around, along with empty and filled syringes with something I didn't even know the name of.

David gasped, but I just stared down the sight of the man. I was thinking that I'd rather be homeless, rather be living on the streets than living with this guy I called my father. Some kids could always have sleepovers, some kids had parents that did everything for them, some kids actually had a family. Not me.

I didn't want to risk waking my dad, so me and David quickly started creeping to my room down the hall, but it was too late.

Before we could even step foot into the hallway, a grunt sound came from the living room, followed by loud, heavy footsteps. We were too late.

As soon as my dad came around the corner to face us, I instantly regretted even coming near the house with David. Glory, did I regret it.

"Now who do we have here?" He said, low and slurred.

"A friend, dad. He's uh, just a friend." I answered, shakily. David's breathing was quickened and I could tell he was scared.

"A friend, huh?" He said, leaning against the wall for support. "What were you and your friend planning on doing in my house?"

"Nothing, dad, we were just-"

"Heading out. We were just leaving, sir." David cut me off, and he spoke fast and shakily.

I nodded, and we both attempted at moving past my father, who had taken up the doorway. Unfortunately, he wouldn't let us leave, as a hard, rough hand came across David's chest to stop him. David practically jumped out of his shoes, but my father didn't care. Before I could react, another hand was on my chest, and both me and David were pushed up against the wall.

"Now, now, not so fast," My father spoke sternly.

"Please, dad...we weren't doing anything, I swear, we were just coming in to grab something."

Dad's grip on me hardened, and it was hard not to let out a yelp. "Hush up boy, and listen to me."

He nodded his head towards David. "You said you two is friends?"

I nodded slightly. Big mistake.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you, boy!" He yelled. David was trembling like an earthquake, but this was nothing new for me.

"Yes sir, we're friends." I answered.

"You good friends?"

"Y-yeah, I guess."

"You guess?!" He yelled again. "You answer me with a yes, or a no!"

"yes, sir. We're good friends. Real good friends."

My dad's bloodshot eyes kept going back and fourth between David and me, and right then, I knew something bad was going to happen.

"That's good. Good friends do everything for each other. Would you do everything for the kid?"

"Yes, sir, I would." I answered, remembering to answer clearly.

"That's good, son. Now you gotta remember, there's gonna be times where you're gonna have to do everything for your friend here."

I didn't answer, but he continued on.

"There's gonna be times when you got to do everything you possibly can for im'." He slurred. "Cause that's what good friends are for, you dig?"

"Y-yes sir, I dig."

"Now you answer me again, boy, are you two good friends?"

"Yes."

"Prove it!" He screamed, making David jump again.

"Prove it, father?"

"Prove it!" He hollered even louder, and then the next minute, he had David held by the front of his shirt, and threw him across the room. I gasped, and watched as my father stomped over to David's shaking form, and slung him across the room a second time.

Then, to my horror, my father started beating David. Punches followed punches, kicks followed kicks, he wouldn't stop. David was screaming and crying, and I worked up the courage to run over and try to pull my father off the eight year old, but it only resulted in me getting thrown across the room too. I thought it wasn't going to stop, I was sure it would go on forever, but then my dad started beating David's head off the floor. David was screaming louder than I ever thought possible, and then after one slam on the floor, followed by another, his screaming stopped.

Just stopped. Any sound, any movement coming from the boy stopped, and finally, my dad got up. He stomped over to a shocked, horrified me, grabbed me by the hair, and dragged me over to my friends limp body. He threw me on top of him, and I wanted to cry. Glory, I wanted to cry so bad, but I've lived long enough to know not to cry in front of my father.

"Prove it," He spat. "Save him. Give him mouth-to-mouth, boy. Save your friend." I was shocked. What? I was only a kid! I didn't know how to do CPR, I didn't know how to save him!

Dad must've seen my shock, so he started screaming instructions. He was screaming and screaming and demonstrating, and I was so overwhelmed I was ready to pass out.

Before I knew it, I was pressing down on David's unmoving chest, and blowing in his mouth.

I pushed and my father screamed, I blew and my father screamed. My father hollered at me more than he ever has in his life, and to say I was scared was an understatement.

After a horrifying, stressful, overwhelming twenty minutes, I felt a heartbeat underneath the homeless boy's chest. A small breath escaped his mouth, and I could've screamed for joy. What happened after was a blur. My father screamed and laughed, and screamed and laughed, and I ran to the phone, which I immediately dialed an ambulance. I told them I found an unconscious homeless boy in the street, beaten up, and brought him in my house. They said they were on their way, and the minute my dad realised what I had done, he was ready to murder me just like he almost had David.

I sat and watched as paramedics came and took David away, and as soon as the door was shut, then came the beating.

I was hit and kicked and shoved and thrown like David, but I stayed breathing. It was the worst beating I've ever been given by anyone, and the next day, we moved houses, not wanting to attract trouble with the police.

I'd never heard from David again.

I rubbed my eyes as the memory entered my mind. It wasn't something I was forgetting anytime soon, and I know I could've saved Pony. I know it. Just like I saved David. Glory, I could've saved the kid. I couldn't save Johnny, but I could've saved Ponyboy. Those damn paramedics had to drag him in this vehicle to save him.

The medic finished hooking stuff up to Pony, and started writing stuff in a chart. He worked quickly, and professionally, but he acted as if Pony was just something to poke at, like he was just another paycheck. It pissed me off knowing he probably didn't feel any sympathy towards the kid, but I had enough sense to let him be. He had a job to do, and so help me god, he better do it. He better save Ponyboy.

"What's goin' on? How is he?" I asked. He didn't answer me, and even if he just didn't hear me, I was ready to clobber him. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you! How's the kid?" I yelled, and that definitely caught the guys attention.

"I've got him breathing again, but he's losing a lot of blood. Too much blood."

"What do you mean, too much blood? Can't you put more in him?" I asked sternly.

"He's losing it faster than we can replace it, I-.." He shakes his head as if he was changing his mind about continuing, and it only pissed me off more.

"You what? Give it to me straight. How. Is. He." I asked again.

"He's fading, fast. His heartrate is anything but steady, and he's bleeding everywhere. That glass there, It looks like it stabbed right through this kid's left kidney, he'll need it removed...if he survives."

My breathing hitched. No, no, NO. Shut up, Ponyboy's not gonna die, he's-...Ponyboy's not gonna die.

"What do you mean if he survives?" I snapped.

"Son, you seen it yourself, his heart already stopped, it could be anytime for it stops again for good. That glass, I'm no mechanic, but that glass there is a shard of a headlight if I've seen one. My guess, this boy here has been hit by a car. You want me to tell you the truth?"

I took a minute to regain my breathing. Hit by a car? Christ almighty...

"Of course I want you to tell me the truth."

"Based on how everything looks right now, your friend here will be dead by sunrise." He said, not a hitch to be heard, like he just told someone his name.

I froze for a second, and all the anger rushed through me once again. It practically steamed from my ears, bled through my eyes.

I grabbed the paramedic by the collar of his shirt and pinned him violently back on the wall I was previously leaning on, knocking down some bottles and equipment on the shelves that scattered the place. He raised his hands up above his head, and grunted as his face came in contact with the hard wall.

"Hey! Son, what're you-" He started, but his voice only made his previous words run in my head again, and I fought the urge to strangle the guy.

I lifted him out from the wall, only to bang him against it again harder, and snarled as another grunt escaped his mouth.

"Now you listen to me," I growled. "My friend there is not goin' to die, you hear? By some time, he'll be up and prancin' around the track field like he does every Wednesday. He'll have his head in another book and he'll be comin' home with a report card of straight spankin' A's, you dig?"

He didn't speak, so I continued. "That kid on that table ain't dyin' today, not tomorrow, not any time soon. Not on my watch. So you just keep it in mind that the only thing keepin' me from breakin' every god damn bone in your body is the fourteen year old kid lyin' in this ambulance with us, who just so happens to be in your hands." I spat, and let go of him roughly.

He sighed, and returned over to Ponyboy, and started writing more stuff down, hooking up more cords, fiddling with that plastic mask on his face. I could tell I made him nervous, and I didn't feel an inch of guilt.

Because Ponyboy was not going to die before he saw another sunrise, watched another sunset like he and Johnny used to do. Ponyboy Curtis wasn't dying before sunrise.

You could say the ambulance ride was pretty quiet after that.

XXXX

There ya go, chapter number seven. ;)

This one was pretty longer than last chapter, but I just had a lot of ideas for this one I guess.

Next chapter's POV's are planned to be Darry's and Two-bit's, so that's a little spoiler there.

Let me know how you liked Steve's first POV! I've never actually written anything in the POV of Steve, so it might be a bit odd, which I apologize for if that's the case.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed, and even just read my story. It warms my heart.3

Until next time!