Sorry for the extended wait, exams will be the death of me, I swear. Anyways, here it is. As always, I own nothing.

TAKE CARE OF HIM JOHNNY CAKE - CHAPTER 8

TWO-BIT'S POV:

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. Not really. It was like I was trapped inside my own body, watching someone else control me. The minute I saw the lack of breathing coming from Ponyboy's limp form started it all.

I watched as Dallas gave the kid CPR, I watched as Sodapop broke down crying in the cold, wet alley, I watched as the ambulance came and took Ponyboy away as the commotion between Soda and Dally occurred, and I watched that ambulance speed off into the night, a dying fourteen year old in tow.

And that's what started it all. I realized Ponyboy was dying.

I didn't need a doctor to tell me that, I didn't need anyone to tell me that. Anyone who witnessed the events between 1:30 to 2:00 in the morning could figure that out themselves. Dally, Steve, and the rest of the gang, they knew it too. I know they knew it, deep down, but they kept pushing it away, pushing the truth away, and replacing it with desperate hope.

Hope. It's all everyone was clinging onto, along with the thoughts of Ponyboy's sweet smile and his high-pitched laugh. I had hope too, somewhere balled up inside it was there, but anytime I tried to cling onto it, Pony's unmoving, injured form took over my mind. His crimson blood, flowing along the pavement took over my thoughts, along with the sight of his bruised, cut, and scraped body. Every time I tried to cling onto that much needed hope, those two words entered my mind again and I couldn't get them out.

Ponyboy's dying.

And to think, those two agonizing words wouldn't even exist if I had just taken ten more steps in the lot that day. If I had just reached out to him, helped him when all he needed was a friend. All he needed was a friend, and I'm more than ashamed that I didn't even attempt to be one to him. Sure, we've all had it rough, but Pony's got it rougher. Ponyboy witnessed the events that happened a month ago. He felt the heat of the fire that took the life of Johnny Cade, heard the echo of the flat heart line coming from his limp form. Those two were the closest friends I've ever come to meeting. Sure, Soda and Steve were best buds, and we all knew they'd do anything for each other, but Pony and Johnny...they were just one of a kind, you dig?

Anytime Johnny would be hurting, whether it would be from the hand of his father, or just the pain in his heart, Ponyboy would always be there, even more than Dallas used to with Johnny. You'd look in the lot everyday, and there they'd be, Ponyboy and Johnny, sitting together, staring at the sky or at the fire pit they'd make, sometimes not even talking. You'd swear those two had telepathy or something.

And anytime Ponyboy would be hurting, whether it would be from the hollers of Darry or the teases of socs, Johnny would be there. He'd have his arm around his shoulder, speaking softly and kindly to him, or of course not even saying a word. After a couple of hours with ol' Johnny Cade, Ponyboy would be back to the happy, daydreaming self like not a tear fell from his eye.

But then that night last month had to happen. Even as one of them took their last breath, those friends stayed together. As one was being drowned in the park fountain, struggling to break free, the other committed the crime of murder, just so his friend could see the earth another day. He didn't think about jail time, didn't think about the state and court houses, all he thought was his bestfriend needed his help, and he didn't hesitate one bit to be there. As one ran inside a burning church, the other ran behind, sticking together, even in the moments of great danger. As one lay hurting in the hospital bed, the other sat by and comforted him. As one lay dying, his breaths coming down to their last, the other stood close by, not letting his friend go without one last hand hold, one last smile, one last goodbye.

Through everything, Ponyboy and Johnny stuck together. When Johnny died, he took a piece of Ponyboy with him.

So even though I sat there in the hospital, thinking of how Ponyboy's breaths may be coming to their last, I realize Pony was already dying.

Ponyboy's dying.

Ponyboy has been dying ever since that dark-skinned boy went limp in the hospital bed. Ponyboy's been dying ever since Johnny Cade died.

All this time, Ponyboy has been dying, and I stood by and watched it happen. I stood by and watched the life drown out of those green-grey eyes, and I did nothing to stop it. Nothing.

But now, it's too late. It's too late because not only is Ponyboy dying emotionally, but those fatal injuries caused him to start dying physically.

So as I sat there, not saying a word as Sodapop leaned on Darry's shoulder sobbing, I wasn't sure I wanted the doctor to come and give us the news.

Ponyboy's dying.

Because I knew the truth. I knew the truth, and I've known if for a month now, but sadly, I just wouldn't look closer.

Ponyboy's dying.

I wouldn't look closer to see the truth beneath those sad green-grey eyes.

Ponyboy's dying.

I wouldn't do a thing as the sad boy walked the hallways of the school, swimming in his own thoughts, missing his caring, small bestfriend by his side.

Ponyboy's dying.

I wanted to make it up to him. Glory, I had to make it up to him someway. I'd learn that sweet little telepathic thing he used to do with Johnny. I'll get into books, I'll come over the Curtis's place everyday, hell, I'll even try to get bumped down to his grade, I just...I had to make it up to him.

Ponyboy's dying.

But no matter how much I promised to make it better, promised to be better, the damage was done, and I couldn't stop it.

Ponyboy's dying.

Ponyboy, I swear, I'll be a better friend man, I'll be there for you, I promise. You've been dying, all this time, in front of all of us, but you can't die. Not now kid, you've got your full life ahead of you. Wife, kids, your own house, college and a nice job, come on Pone, you can't die, you got to hold on.

Hold on Pony, hold on.

But no matter how many times I secretly prayed for him to hold on, to not die, the guilt wrecked my body for my lack of actions the past month. Because what if it was already too late?

What if Ponyboy was already dead?

XXXX

Every second lasted minutes, and every minute lasted hours.

I guess I started coming out of my vegetative state, because I slowly started becoming aware of what was happening. I already knew I guess, but now the emotions were coming hard, and I didn't have my shell to crawl into to hide from them. I had to face them, and I was finding it mighty hard.

I got real restless like Soda gets, and I couldn't keep still. I don't know how many cigarettes I smoked while we were waiting in that waiting room and honestly, I didn't care.

For a while, I was stuck between deciding if I wanted to hear what the doctor would say, or if I didn't, knowing already the chances of Ponyboy's survival was slim.

But then I twisted in my seat anxiously, and I made up my mind that yes, I most definitely did want to see that damn doctor. Every time the hands of the clock on the wall moved, I was sure I wasn't going to be able to wait any longer. But the hands moved again, and the strong apprehensiveness that flooded my veins got worse and worse.

So when Dallas walked through that door, you could say I was ready to strangle him for some information. Luckily though, I avoided my temptations.

Dally still had that cool, tough, uncaring look to him as he scanned the room, looking for any sign of us, but there was something different. Something unfamiliar to see in his eyes. Distress? Anxiousness? Worry? I couldn't put my finger on it exactly, but one thing was for sure: if something was making Dallas Winston even slightly less tougher and meaner than his regular self, you best believe it was serious.

By the time his vibrant blue eyes managed to find the four of us, we were all already out of our seats and rushing over to him, Sodapop in the lead.

"Dal-Dally? Hey, what's goin' on? Ponyboy, is he-" Soda manages to get out as his voice shakes.

"Is he what? Hurt? Your damn right he's hurt, real bad too. But you would already know that, huh Soda?" Dally snaps, glaring at Sodapop, who is quiet taken back.

"Alright, cool it," Darry steps in. "Come sit down, we're makin' a scene."

We all return back to the area we were sitting at before, and everyone but Dally sits down, who stands facing us, running a hand over his face.

"Okay, spill Dal, what's goin' on with Pone?" I ask, ready to start yelling if I don't get any information soon.

He sighs, but speaks up clearly.

"Kid was hit with a car."

The breath swooshes out of my lungs, and by the looks on everyone else's face, theirs had too.

"A car? You're...sure?" Darry asks.

"No, I'm not sure, but that glass that Ponyboy was stabbed with; a piece of an headlight. Now I wouldn't put it past those socs if they somehow found a shard of an headlight and stuck the kid with it, but the medic was pretty damn sure it was a car that did the damage."

Everyone is silent for a minute, until Steve speaks up, asking the question no one else could push themselves to ask.

"What exactly is the damage?"

Another sigh from Dallas.

"He's alive, but he isn't exactly stable. His heartbeat wasn't too good, and he was loosin' a hell of a lot of blood. I mean a lot of it." He manages to get out, and finally takes a seat next to me in the hard chairs. "That's uh, that's all I know."

My mouth goes dry, and I let out a heavy gulp. Christ...I can't believe this is happening.

"You speak to the doc?" I managed to ask.

"Not really, bastard booted me out of where Pone was took in. The medic told me about how he was."

I nod slightly, and slump in my chair.

Darry and Sodapop were real quiet. Probably trying to process what was going on. Hell, even I had a hard time processing it, let alone the kid's brothers. But then again, Ponyboy is like a brother to all of us; even Steve.

The tension worsened, and by then, we were all fidgeting in our chairs.

So you can say when a bald-headed man with a long white coat and a stethoscope came through those doors saying "family of Ponyboy Curtis," we were pretty anxious to speak to him.

Until we saw the look on his face. It was that look. The look that has the power to ruin someone's life, the look that has the power to break someone then and there. It was that look that said it all. It was that look that scared the living daylights out of everyone of us.

We all jumped up out of our seats and hurried over to the doctor, who had realized we were the ones here for Ponyboy.

"You're all family?" He asked, a serious tone in his voice.

Dallas instantly spoke up quickly. "Yes, them two's his brothers, we're his cousins." He said, gesturing to Sodapop and Darry, who nodded in return.

Honestly, I didn't care if the doctor believed we were his cousins or not, I wasn't leaving, and I could tell neither was Dally, or Steve, knowing that Soda was here. I was going to get some answers and I was going to see Ponyboy, even if that included me being chased by a bunch of doctors and nurses.

The doctor nodded skeptically. "My name is Dr. Johnson, I'm Ponyboy's doctor," he said, extending his hand to Darry, who was the one facing him. Darry shook it willingly, and waited for the big speech that was going to happen.

"Why don't you all follow me into my office, where we can speak more privately?"

That can't be a good sign. No way. If he was going to tell us something good, he wouldn't said it already, out in the open in the waiting room. He wouldn't bring us into his office unless it was something...bad. It's going to be bad, I know it. Glory, don't I know it. Reluctantly, we all follow Dr. Johnson down the hallway, and take a right into a small square room with a large desk scattered with folders and papers, and several chairs. We all take a seat as he closes the door quietly behind us, and takes his own seat behind the desk.

"Okay...I'm not the kind of doctor that sugarcoats thing, so I'm going to explain Ponyboy's condition very accurately and truthfully to you all."

I squirm in my chair, and attempt to get comfortable, but there's no getting comfortable when a doctor had just said that to you. None whatsoever.

"Is he...he isn't..." Sodapop stammers, his voice quiet and shaky.

"Oh, no, Ponyboy is alive. I assure you, your brother is not dead."

I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding in, and shut my eyes for a second to play over the words that were just heard.

Ponyboy isn't dead. He's alive. Pony's not dead.

"Well? What's wrong with him then?" Dally snaps, clearly impatient, which earns him a quick glare from Darry.

The doctor doesn't seem effected by Dallas's behaviour, and continues on.

"When your brother was admitted here by ambulance, I was aware that he had already went into cardiac arrest before paramedics even arrived. That, and the amount of blood loss already put Ponyboy into a very serious, fatal category. A fairly large piece of glass that was identified as a shard of a headlight on a vehicle was stabbed into Ponyboy's abdomen, and into his left kidney, resulting in me having to remove it in surgery. His-"

Sodapop started crying again, and interrupted Dr. Johnson.

"Surgery? What-when? How-" He stammered.

Darry put a hand on Soda's shoulder, and gently told him to be quiet. "Hush, Soda, let him continue."

The doctor softly nodded, and started speaking again.

"His right foot suffered a closed full foot fracture, completely fracturing the cuboid, navicular, and slightly the cuneiform and metatarsal bone. The fracture was so severe, it was almost pronounced as compound or open fracture."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dally snapped again.

"A compound fracture is a fracture when the bone snaps and pierces through the skin, making the bone visible. Ponyboy's fracture wasn't compound, it was inside his foot, but it was so severe than any other slight damage to it would probably result in it being compound." The doctor answered, unaffected.

Nobody spoke up, so the doctor continued.

"Ponyboy's chances of regaining use to the foot or walking without crutches are slim, and even if he can walk on it, he'll have a limp for the rest of his life."

"Wait, what about track? Can he...can he still run track? He loves track, he's real good at it to, can he-" Sodapop sniffs.

"I'm sorry, with the extent of the fracture, if your brother is able to walk on his foot, any type of extended intensive training and running wouldn't be an option."

Sodapop shakes his head somberly and sniffles.

We're all pretty shocked. I mean, Pony can't run track anymore? Track is... track is a part of Ponyboy, he loves it.

My heart sinks as I think of all the things that will cease to exist.

No more picking Pone up from track practise, no more complaints from Darry when Pony needed new running shows, no more competitions and no more of those shiny medals and trophies. No more colourful ribbons scattering the Curtis's fridge, nothing.

No more track.

That alone made me want to break down and bawl like Sodapop was about to.

Until Dr. Johnson opened his mouth again.

"That is, if he wakes up."

Soda practically fell out of his chair.

"What? What do you mean? No, you said- you said he was alive! You said he- you told- he's alive, what?" He choked out as tears ran down his face.

"Yes, young man, I did. Ponyboy lost roughly about two thirds of his body's blood. He coded twice during surgery, which means his heart had stopped again. From the extensive amount of blood loss and the trauma to the heart, Ponyboy's body couldn't handle it."

There were ringing in my ears, my hands were sweaty and my legs shook. My mouth quivered and I could barely form a sentence.

"W-what are you saying?" I managed to ask.

"I'm afraid Ponyboy has fallen into a coma."

XXXX

DARRY'S POV:

The task of standing upright was extremely difficult as Dr. Johnson led me, Soda, and Steve down a long hallway to Ponyboy's room. His words echoed in my head, torturing my insides with the greatest amount of pain someone could imagine.

I'm afraid Ponyboy has fallen into a coma.

A coma...a coma? God damn it, no, this wasn't supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. Ponyboy was supposed to have a life, go to college, get away...he was never supposed to be in a hospital bed, resting in a deep sleep, unable to be wakened. Glory, how did it come to this?

As soon as the doctors words reached our heads in his office, Dallas stormed out, not a sound from him. I had expected him to; Dally doesn't want to face his emotions, he doesn't want to deal with the fact that Ponyboy might never open his eyes again. He'll keep telling everyone he will wake up, he's not in a coma, he is just sleeping, and anyone who says otherwise will probably get a punch to the face or an earful of insults because he just can't believe the reality, he can't.

Two-bit didn't stay long either. Two-bit's different in that way. Two-bit doesn't refuse to except his emotions, he just isn't use to them. He's use to being the jokester, the happy, jolly, funny guy. Overwhelming sadness doesn't come easy to him, and when it does, he just doesn't know how to handle them. Knowing Two-bit, he probably went to go find Dally as a distraction, or maybe even get drunk, but I know he won't be away from Ponyboy long. Those two had gotten real close after Johnny died, and I knew Two-bit probably felt real low after stopping hanging out with him now that he's in a hospital again. It isn't his fault, but try telling him that.

If it wasn't for Soda, Steve wouldn't be here either. I was real grateful that he was here to keep Soda standing during all this. Honestly, I wasn't sure I would do any good; I could barely keep it together myself. The others wouldn't see it that way, though. They saw a guy who never cried, never broke down, never felt sad. They saw superman, but right now, shoot, it was taking everything in me not to just stop and fall to the floor, crying.

As we reached the elevator, not a sound was said as the doctor hit the button with the number three and "Pediatrics" on it.

Pediatrics...hard to believe Ponyboy's just a kid. I mean, we all know he's a kid, hell, he's the baby of the group. Always have been, always will be, but you don't really realize that the guy who has been through so much, witnessed a murder, both parents dead, bestfriend died in front of him, spent five days living in an abandoned church, rescued a bunch of kids from a fire...you don't realize that that guy is just a fourteen year-old kid until your heading to the pediatrics ward of a hospital where he lay comatose.

Dr. Johnson and the three of us stepped out of the elevator and walked down a hallway scattered with younger and older kids, tired looking nurses and doctors, and parents of all emotions. Cartoons and rainbows were painted on the walls and to be honest, it worsened the mood of the hospital. Looking at the paintings reminded everyone that children were here, sick and unwell, some dying, some unable to wake up like Ponyboy. It reminded everyone that this is a place children lay sick and dying, it reminded you that this is a place where some parents have to say goodbye to their children for the last time, it reminded you that the rainbows and the cartoons painted on these walls have been the last thing that some children have seen. I couldn't look at it any longer.

I tried to ready and brace myself for what was waiting for me behind Ponyboy's door, but nothing could prepare me for what my eyes caught sight of as we stepped into room 314.

The room was a sickening white, sparse with two blue coloured chairs, a grey door to the bathroom, a table set with a vase of coloured roses, and of course, the bed where my baby brother lay deep in sleep.

The room was so clean that I felt out of place in it, like I would somehow ruin the shiny tiled floors or the whiteness of the walls.

But the only thing that was on my mind was the frail fourteen year-old boy lying in the blue blanketed hospital bed, hooked up to countless wires and machines, and his chest moving unnaturally as the whooshing sound of compressed air came from the large, white machine to his right.

It was nothing like I had expected; I had expected to see a dead-looking, pale as a ghost Ponyboy, covered in wires and machines.

What I saw though, was nothing like my predictions. There were wires and machines, yes, but they weren't as frightening and shocking as I had expected; a large mask covered his face, a cord came from his left hand and his forearm, and a few smaller cords came out from under the blankets. There were several machines scattered around the bed, most of them showing information that I didn't understand and a steady moving line. One I was familiar with, which made an annoying beeping sound as the line rose and fell across the screen. His heart monitor.

And Ponyboy, well Ponyboy wasn't dead-looking, wasn't pale as a ghost, he looked like...Ponyboy. He was pale of course, and you could tell he was sick, but if I didn't know any better, Ponyboy just had the flu, that my baby brother hadn't practically died three times in a day, hadn't lost roughly sixty percent of his blood, hadn't been hit by his big brother, then violently smashed into by a damn car.

If I didn't know any better, my little brother, who I had failed too many times, was just sleeping, ready to be tickled mercilessly to wake up, ready to eat a plate of breakfast and head off to school.

If I hadn't known any better, my little brother was sleeping, not a worry present.

But as Sodapop's sobs echoed through the room as he ran over to our little brother's bedside, I knew my brother wasn't just sleeping, my brother was dying.

Dr. Johnson started saying something about how he was going to insert a feeding tube tomorrow, just in case he would wake up by then, even if the chances were little to none. But I wasn't listening. All that I could think about was the boy in the bed in front of me.

Soda was crying so hard I thought he would make himself sick. Steve must've too, because he started shushing him and telling him to sit down, as he pulled up one of the blue chairs in the corner.

He agreed to sit, but it didn't lessen his crying. He sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed, and he started whispering to Pony.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean it Pone, I didn't mean any of it..."

Steve just rubbed Soda's back and stayed quiet, and I finally made my way over to Pony's other side.

Sodapop rested his head on Pony's hand that he held, and I held the other one. I started rubbing his hair out of his face, and took everything in me not to start bawling then and there.

I pulled up the chair, and continued what I was doing as Sodapop continued to cry and beg Ponyboy to wake up.

"Common baby, open them pretty green eyes for me, hey? You got to wake up Pony, you just got too..."

I don't know how long we stayed like that and frankly, I didn't care one bit. I'd sit here for days if that meant Ponyboy would wake up, and I didn't even have to think to know Sodapop would.

At one moment, Soda stopped crying, and all that could be heard from him was soft, wet sniffles. A nurse had brought in another chair for Steve, who sat by Soda, still rubbing his back comfortingly.

I stared at Pony's young looking face, which was scattered with several cuts and bruises, some with stiches, some little bandages. I listened to the air swooshing in and out of the machine next to me, and the soft beeping sound of the heart monitor beside me too. I looked at Ponyboy's small, frail hands, and the golden peach colour of his skin. I looked at his long, brown eyelashes and his dark, slightly curved eyebrows.

As he lay there unmoving, I noticed things I never had before. I noticed how his jawline were the same as Soda's, his small, pointed nose and his small round lips were the same as our mother's, his natural hairline was the same as mine, and the freckles that scattered his nose and slightly on his cheekbones were the same as our father's.

I noticed how I might never that jawline so similar to Soda's covered in shaving cream for the first time as Pony would start shaving, probably laughing and nicking himself all the way through.

I noticed that I might never see his small pointed nose wrinkle up in disgust as Soda's turn for cooking dinner would come again, and the smell of pink burgers dipped in tomato sauce would fill the room.

I noticed that I might never see his small round lips break into that heart warming smile or that joyful high-pitched laugh would escape from them.

I noticed that I might never see his hairline almost identical to mine smoothed back so cleanly for his wedding like I always imagined he would.

I noticed that I might never see him attempting to count his freckles in the bathroom mirror out of boredom, usually giving up and going to read a book over again.

I might never see those bright green-grey eyes of his light up at the sight of a new Paul Newman movie.

I might feel his soft, tight hugs he gives sometimes.

I might never hear his and Soda's quiet conversations in the night through our extremely thin walls.

I might never smell Soda's soft cologne on him some days when he tries to sneak some secretly.

I might never taste his fried eggs and extra chocolate cake in the mornings when he gets up first.

I might never see Ponyboy again. And that was enough to kill me, right on the spot.

So I looked at his closed, long lashed eyes once more, leaned in to kiss his forehead with the hairline similar to mine, and I whispered not to him, not to myself, not to anyone in the room, but to the sixteen year old boy who was once the one in the hospital bed, once the boy who lay hooked up to machines and ventilators, once the boy who was a best friend to Ponyboy.

I whispered to Johnny.

"Take care of him, Johnny Cake."

XXXX

Thank you, so much for reading.

The reviews are amazing you guys, I can't express my feelings enough...I'm completely wowed, and so, so, grateful.

You guys are the reason I continue this story. You guys are the reason I just spent a whole day writing instead of studying for exams, but I wouldn't have it any other way, because you guys are amazing.

Thank you, really.