Hi, so here is a new story and I am so delighted to be back to this wonderful fandom. This story takes place around the episodes 3x01, The Conflict which I think easily makes it into the top 10 episodes of the Walton's of all time. There had to be more from John-Boy getting to shot to that final scene in the episode with Martha Corrine and so this is that.
I am not a medical expert so some events might be inaccurate.
Disclaimer-Nothing is mine.
Spelling and grammar are not my strong point either.
And Please Read and Review.
And keep in mind some swearing as well.
This story is not a criticism of Martha Corrine who is a fabulous character played by an actress that was on par with nothing I have ever seen before. But I do intend to show the divide between the Walton's in the hills and the Walton's on the mountain and the divide that came between what one side was willing to do and what one side wasn't.
And on a side note, I like so many other Fanfiction Authors no longer receive notifications via email about reviews/PMs etc. So if you do send any it might be a while, if ever before I get back to you. Please keep that in mind for it is not intentional-If anyone has a fix please let me know.
Guardians And Gladiators
The Missing Scenes that took place during Season 3, Episode 1, The Conflict: The beginning, the middle and the end of John-Boy's shooting and the ramifications it had on the family and their kin.
Chapter 1-More Than Kin And Less Than Kind.
In which John-Boy is shot, Zeb realises the powers of his actions and John is there like some avenging angel. AKA-The stage is set.
The pain hits him first. It slices through him like he's been winded with something. It knocks him backwards taking the road out from under him. He can feel gravel hit his back and dust settle in the crevices of his hands and he looks up to see the world righting itself.
Someone is making a horrible shouting noise to boot.
John-Boy should go and see who is making that horrible noise but as she staggers to his feet he feels another stabbing pain and he looks down to see a bright red stain ruining his white shirt.
His first real cognitive thought looking at it is that Momma is going to be mad. How many times has she told them children that clothes did not grown on trees? That they had to be more careful with what they wore because there was only so much soap and thread could do.
And now his white shirt that was a shirt he was thinking of taking to college in the fall is stained red with blood and Momma and Grandma are really not going to be impressed with him.
And who is shouting his name like that?
Someone comes into his vision seconds later and he turns to see his Grandpa. His Grandpa who he was supposed to protect. His Grandpa who he was running two when he was…when he was…when he was.
When he was shot.
Oh.
It's all coming back to him now.
Just as his Grandpa meets him his knees give out and he hits the floor hard. He's shivering despite the hot day but his Grandpa reaches him.
It's strange. He's calling him Johnny. John-Boy can count on one hand in the number of the times that he had heard that nickname. He doesn't even think it was a thing, sometimes he thinks he was christened John-Boy and the fact that his name is John is just immaterial. Somehow though he forces his mouth to work and behold! Words fall out.
For a writer that is an exceptionally stupid thought but John-Boy's having a hard type staying upwards at the moment so there's that to boot.
"Grandpa are you alright?"
"Are you hurt son?"
What kind of question was that? John-Boy knew that he should not sass his elders but really? He was shot for the love of—well—for the love off.
Boone were there too. Good old Boone who was part of the reason that he was in this mess. And Wade. Wade to be fair looked white around the mouth—or was that John-Boy? Was there a reason why his kin, the boy not much older than he was, was looking at him as if he was dying?
"I'm fine" he said though that was far from the truth, it was more he thought to get that look of Wade's face because John-Boy had heard of staring down your own mortality in books before but it was nothing to seeing it quite so starkly practiced as it was in front of him. And if truth be told he was beginning to feel like he had done that one time he'd had too much recipe when he was sixteen and he'd staggered home drunk and Momma had taken one look at him and hit the roof and his father grinning had shoved his head into water bucket until he felt sober enough to not throw up.
Yeah this was a little bit like that though right now he'd take the recipe and the resulting headache he got the morning after over this dizzy feeling, this feeling that all the things that kept him alive were spilling out onto his clean white shirt and the mountain floor and the rough fabric of his grandfather's trousers.
And that was not good. You didn't have to be Mary-Ellen on her way to nursing school to know that, that was not good.
"I've been shot" he said turning to his grandfather, trying to impart the knowledge onto the oldest man here, the oldest man in his family and trying to communicate that he was going to need help…and soon when suddenly the world spun again and he was leaning on his shoulder breathing in the smell of wood and sweat and everything else that had been about his childhood.
He could hear things going on around him. There was the sound of a truck and the sound of guns being cocked and he wanted to say something because surely him dying should be enough to get Blake to stop even for five minutes?"
And then another hand was there yanking his face up away from his Grandpa's shoulder and John-Boy staggered a little bit his knee connecting with something sticking out the ground and then his eyes were being forced to focus on something in his direct line of vision and though it took some time for him to not throw up at the current movement it was enough for him to stare at what was in front of him.
His Daddy.
And his Daddy did not look pleased.
John-Boy would have liked to have hazard a guess at what his Daddy was in terms of emotion but he was not sure he could. Partly because he was not sure that he could find the words to ever put that look down on paper and partly because his eyes were getting cloudy. It was like…it was like how it was when he had been in the hospital last year and he had been unable to see because of the pressure on his brain. He opened his mouth to tell his Daddy that but what came out was a rather undignified "Ow"
He didn't pass out though and for a second and a second only he was proud of that fact, he didn't pass out even though every part of his body was screaming at him. He was on the cliff's edge of unconsciousness but he didn't tip over but that thought lasted only a second because between the two of them his Grandpa and his Daddy they had picked him up and dragged him to the truck and put him in the back and right now even the slightest movement was pain. Sheer undiluted pain, not the kind that had felt when he was nine and he had broken his arm playing with Jason, not like when he had fallen into the lake when he was thirteen and had felt the cold sink to his bones, not even like the time when he was in hospital last year. This was pain on another level and John-Boy Walton, the writer, the wordsmith did not think that there would ever been enough words to ever paint someone the picture of just how much pain he was in.
There was blue sky up above him and he tried to focus on that for a second even though the spinning was making him feel sick but then—
"OW!"
"Johnny! Oh I'm sorry Johnny it's just for the wound, pressure don't you know. And you've been shot my boy and it's—"
But the pain had cleared some of the fog from his mind and his gaze had sharpened somewhat. He thought he might have been flying because he had never felt the truck, the raggedy old truck that was kept together by string, oil and sheer dumb luck had gone this fast before. The sky and the trees were moving so fast that the trees looked like birds.
"Will they keep on shooting?" he asked. It was partially to keep awake and partially out of curiosity. He had no idea what state they had left the war between the Waltons and the US Government when they had left. He didn't know if with one man fallen and one abandoning the cause Martha Corrine would simply shake her shoulders and turn to Wade or Boone and expect them to carry on where he had fallen.
He wouldn't put it past the old crone. She had shown in the last few hours a genuine lack of thought about the men in her family. All she cared about was her land and he wondered if she had ever thought about what would have happened to it once she'd been in prison or blasted away along with the rest of them. Try as he might to understand her thoughts and feelings there was an element of she had made this one hundred times harder on herself and he was currently bleeding all over his Grandpa's hands because of it.
"I don't particularly give a shit" came a voice from the truck and John-Boy huffed a laugh, partly out of amusement and partly out of shock. He had never heard his Daddy swear before. The closest he had ever heard was his mother say damn and there were people who didn't even think that was a bad word.
"John—"
"No Pa. Let the old crone get shot, I should have put my foot down on this the day we arrived but I didn't and now look at where we are. She wants to die for that shack then she can but she as shit isn't taking one of my sons to the grave with her"
"It's not her fault I was the one—"
"Oh don't worry Pa, I'll get to you in a minute, you better hope that the Doctors stay in the room and Livy arrives quick enough because if she doesn't I swear to God I might strangle you"
And with that the truck gave a sharp turn. They were off mountain land and mountain roads now and onto the smooth tarmac that came with a highway.
"John-Boy—"
It really was one of the nicest feelings, the wind in his hair, the road all nice and smooth and it didn't even feel like he was dying and—
Jesus! (and he said that reverently) someone had just slapped him!
It was his Grandpa who was wearing an expression that was honestly frightening to look at. John-Boy swallowed through the thick…something…that was in his throat and stared upwards at him.
"Your Daddy is speaking to you John-Boy"
Oh.
"Hmm?"
"JOHN WALTON JR, YOU HAD BETTER NOT DIE ON ME YOU UNDERSTAND?"
Good Lord why did Daddy have to yell?
"Yes Sir" he said finally. Seriously did they think they just wanted to die? It hadn't been in his life plans. He was going to college in the fall! He was planning to write the next great American novel! He was going to find a wife and have children and…oh God was he going to die a virgin?
He was going to be sick. He gestured weakly at his Grandpa's arm and he was turned on his side just in time for something to come out. He wasn't sure if it was just water and blood—he'd had no actual breakfast this morning because he had been so terrified he was going to be dead by lunch. Vera had joked about a last meal and he'd felt the urge to push her off the edge of the mountain baby or no baby. He had never understood the cavalier approach to the very real situation that they were in up there.
Then again the Walton's had never been in that position. There had always been the option to sell land…but they'd never had it taken away from them.
"John are you nearly there yet"
"Ten minutes Pa, keep him awake until I get there, and don't let him die whatever you do!"
There was something in his Daddy's voice that John-Boy didn't understand but he tried to keep himself awake nonetheless. It was a struggle though, a hard struggle and every second felt like a battle he was waging with an enemy that did not lose and it was only when he felt the truck come to a stop and the heat of the day catch up with him did he think that he had kept up his end of the bargain quite well and with that he closed his eyes and drifted off to a place he was sure where pain did not follow and the sky was very, very blue.
And there you go, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and I will bring you the next one sooner rather than later.
Next Chapter-John-Boy is whisked into surgery. Ike gets to deliver a message he never wants (alongside the Sherriff) and John can barely keep his temper in check.
