1 We're Back Chapter 8
A/N: I've updated! I can't remember the last time I did this. I miss you guys! Anyway, there has been A LOT of new stories, and they have been quite good. Just thought you should know so if you're a writer, Congratulations! Great work! And if you're a reader, then go check out some of the other stories, they're great! Anyway, here's another chapter, with unrealistic science, a silly humour. No sexual innuendoes in this one though, and I'll try to tone them down in further chapters They're just so fun! This is going to be a freakish story. Just warning you guys. (I guess it already is, oh well.)
P.S. I think I change tenses somewhere and I've done it badly. Sorry about that.
~
Lying on his back on the leather couch, cigarette in hand, Two-Bit studied the tiled ceiling, too stunned to speak or move. He watched the smoke twist up above his head, and finally thought to take a drag off his weed.
"Goddamn," he breathed afterward, a cloud of smoke blossoming from his mouth. "That was the coolest thing I've ever seen. You ever seen anything so cool?"
He raised himself up on his elbow and looked over to where Dr. Burgman sat, shaking his head and rubbing a hand through his blond hair.
"No, I haven't," the doctor said enthusiastically. "I hadn't seen anyone brought to life before today."
"Only me and Darry had," Two-Bit reminded him. "Seeing as Dally was the only other one."
"Yes, that's right," Dr. Wittles agreed quickly, sending Burgman a warning look. "He was the ONLY other one."
"And we weren't expecting it, and the power cut at one point, so we didn't really see it clear either," Two-Bit continued, oblivious to looks passed between the men.
"Well you did a good job," Dr. Wittles said monotonously, giving Burgman one last glare. Larry Wittles had become less and less rabbity throughout the day, and now seemed almost normal.
"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Two-Bit said excitedly. "Guess I'm a scientist now huh? Just like you guys!"
Again, the doctors exchanged looks.
Two-Bit grinned at them both. He felt giddy, like he usually felt after a beer or two and a hit of gin in coke. "Wait 'till I tell Darry I'm a scientist."
"Ah, maybe you shouldn't," Dr. Wittles said, just as Dr. Burgman yelped "That's not a good idea."
Two-Bit smile faded. "Why not?" he asked, pausing in his jubilance.
"Uh, because, it – he – he wouldn't understand."
Two-Bit gave Burgman a sceptical look. "Darry knows everything."
"It's a very complex project we are working on," Dr. Wittles said smoothly. "It would be best not to complicate things by sharing our knowledge with the public, and that includes your friend."
"Oh," Two-Bit said uncertainly. Then a thought occurred to him. "Does that mean I can't tell them about Johnny?"
The two men smiled. "Go ahead," Dr. Burgman said.
"But be careful what you say," Dr. Wittles warned.
Two-Bit grinned. He couldn't wait to tell the guys! Johnny's revival was forever embedded in his memory, as one of the best experiences of his life. Two-Bit rested back against the couch, lit another cigarette and closed his eyes, going over the events of that day for the twentieth time.
~
When he'd first seen Johnny so pale and unmoving he'd almost broken down and cried. Two-Bit had readied himself to face the boy, remembering with distaste the way Dally had been lying so still only a few days back. But seeing Johnny dead was ten thousand times worse than seeing the tow-headed criminal. At least death had been Dallas's choice, and he wasn't exactly a model citizen. But Johnny – he'd been so kind, pure, so shy and honest. Johnny was a good boy, better than someone in his position would have been expected to turn out. He hadn't wanted to die, Two-Bit knew that much, and he hadn't done anything in his short life to deserve it.
He'd choked back his emotions, partly because he wanted to get right into the job, and partly because the two doctors were right beside him, and in spite of everything, Two-Bit Matthews was a greaser through and through. He'd concentrated instead on watching them set up the equipment. Lots of wires, lots of switches, lots of fancy lights that meant nothing to him, all attached to a bunch of green boards with nails in them. Somehow, this thing was supposed to bring Johnny back. The doctors had set up the project, connecting several wires and clips to Johnny's body. Finally, they had finished, and never once asked for Two-Bit's help.
"What's my job?" he had asked, completely confused.
Dr. Burgman pushed back his long hair. He almost looked like a greaser if he'd been younger with his thick yellow slicked hair. He pointed to a tiny metal device standing in the corner. Two-Bit remembered this device.
"You flick the switch. On and off."
Two-Bit stared. "Couldn't y'all just do that yourselves?" he asked incredulously.
Dr. Wittles gave him a wry smile. "You would think so," he muttered.
Burgman was more helpful. "No one knows how long precisely each person needs this thing to be on for it to actually work," he explained. "It seems to work better as an intuition thing, instead of through scientific research."
Dr. Wittles grunted in agreement, but gave Burgman a dirty look. "Don't tell the kid too much," he'd hissed, out of earshot of the greaser.
Two-Bit, who had been ignoring Burgman anyway (he didn't know what 'intuition' meant and didn't much care), ambled over to the metal box. He watched Johnny, shuddering slightly. Truth be told he was glad the kid had been taken in from the hospital; he didn't know if he could stand the thought of Johnny's body locked underground forever, his remains being gobbled up by worms. Pushing the disturbing thoughts from his mind, he studied the switch. The greaser couldn't help comparing this time to when he'd accidentally flipped Dally's switch. That time, it had been so easy. Now he was terrified of that switch. What if something went wrong? What if he wasn't the person that they needed for this?
Two-Bit almost turned around and told the doctors they could shove the switch flipping process up their butts. But, in a flash of rare intelligent thought, he remembered the huge Darry-ish guard waiting to pulverise him, should he do something wrong.
"What harm could it do?" he murmured to himself, reaching for the switch. "Johnny's already dead. He won't feel it."
Gathering up his courage, Two-Bit pressed his finger to the cool metal. Slowly, slowly, he pressed down. The switch was not moving. He pressed harder. The switch did not switch. Harder and even harder he pressed. The switch was an immovable rock, a mountain of metal, a solid, firm, inflexible, adamantine, fortress of impenetrable steel, unrelenting to his ever-straining pointer finger. In a fit of pissed-off-ness, Two-Bit gripped the switch with both hands (which was hard to do, as the switch was very, very small) and shoved downward with all his might.
Dr. Wittles cleared his throat. "Uh, push it UP, Mr. Matthews."
This time, he did not hesitate, and no revelation came to stop him.
"Why don't you just shove this switchiness up your-"
With a mighty PUZZZZZAAAAP! the switch, was switched. Electricity, again flowed, the protons staying put (because PROTONS DON'T MOVE!) and the electrons moving fast and furious through the wires in giant coulombs of charge, generating a current of over 100 amps! [A/N: This statement of scientific genius brought to you by grade 9 science.] Johnny's body danced wildly and absurdly on the tabletop, much like Lestat with the dead mother in "Interview with a Vampire". With a manly shriek, Two-Bit dove for the floor. Then, inexplicably and frighteningly, Darry's voice rang through his skull in a major déjà vu: "TURN IT OFF!"
And Two-Bit did.
For a split second nothing happened. Then Johnny's eyes opened. All three men held their breaths. Johnny Cade gazed at the ceiling for several seconds before (get this) blinking. Then he closed his eyes. A few more seconds and he was fast asleep, having not said a word. The men breathed again. And that was precisely when Two-Bit passed out and had to be carried to the leather couch by Dr. Wittles, Burgman waving smelling salts beneath his greaser nostrils.
~
The day had been slow. Eleanor had spent the morning and part of the afternoon watching herself on the news. She couldn't believe how primitive the T.V. was. Still, it was a television, and she enjoyed hearing her words broadcasted, even if they were coming out of a male body. Studying Dallas on T.V. Eleanor was disgusted to see that he looked even sicklier than she remembered. He was skinny as hell, and his hair hung limply around his face and down to his shoulders. He needed a bath, a haircut, a good meal (or twenty) and a smack in the face to get rid of that smirk as far as Eleanor was concerned. Then she remembered that she had been the one smirking. For one horrific second she thought she might actually be becoming more like Dallas Winston.
"No," she said out loud, and the thought deflated like a balloon. She would never be anything like that rude, stupid hoodlum. 'He was probably racist too,' she thought angrily. She'd been tormented daily back home, just for being Spanish, and she'd developed a strong, automatic dislike for anyone who judged people on their racial background. She'd always been suspicious, and so truly had only two good friends: her mother, and her boyfriend. And just the thought of that stupid boy made her blood boil. Because of him she was now "Dallas Winston, idiot and dipstick extroadinaire". And she was not a happy camper.
The door unlatched and in walked a nurse, carrying a large tray filled with hospital food. She smiled and placed the tray down close to Eleanor.
"How are you doing honey?" she asked in a broad accent.
Eleanor smiled back. "Just fine, miss." 'People here in Oklahoma were so nice and simple,' she thought. Not like in her old hometown where people were tricky and conniving, everyday trying to squeeze out just a little bit more money so that they could squander it all on material things. 'Truly,' she thought suddenly, 'If it weren't for my mother, and this dumb ass body,' she pinched herself, pretending that Dallas actually felt it, 'I would rather stay here.'
A/N: I've updated! I can't remember the last time I did this. I miss you guys! Anyway, there has been A LOT of new stories, and they have been quite good. Just thought you should know so if you're a writer, Congratulations! Great work! And if you're a reader, then go check out some of the other stories, they're great! Anyway, here's another chapter, with unrealistic science, a silly humour. No sexual innuendoes in this one though, and I'll try to tone them down in further chapters They're just so fun! This is going to be a freakish story. Just warning you guys. (I guess it already is, oh well.)
P.S. I think I change tenses somewhere and I've done it badly. Sorry about that.
~
Lying on his back on the leather couch, cigarette in hand, Two-Bit studied the tiled ceiling, too stunned to speak or move. He watched the smoke twist up above his head, and finally thought to take a drag off his weed.
"Goddamn," he breathed afterward, a cloud of smoke blossoming from his mouth. "That was the coolest thing I've ever seen. You ever seen anything so cool?"
He raised himself up on his elbow and looked over to where Dr. Burgman sat, shaking his head and rubbing a hand through his blond hair.
"No, I haven't," the doctor said enthusiastically. "I hadn't seen anyone brought to life before today."
"Only me and Darry had," Two-Bit reminded him. "Seeing as Dally was the only other one."
"Yes, that's right," Dr. Wittles agreed quickly, sending Burgman a warning look. "He was the ONLY other one."
"And we weren't expecting it, and the power cut at one point, so we didn't really see it clear either," Two-Bit continued, oblivious to looks passed between the men.
"Well you did a good job," Dr. Wittles said monotonously, giving Burgman one last glare. Larry Wittles had become less and less rabbity throughout the day, and now seemed almost normal.
"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Two-Bit said excitedly. "Guess I'm a scientist now huh? Just like you guys!"
Again, the doctors exchanged looks.
Two-Bit grinned at them both. He felt giddy, like he usually felt after a beer or two and a hit of gin in coke. "Wait 'till I tell Darry I'm a scientist."
"Ah, maybe you shouldn't," Dr. Wittles said, just as Dr. Burgman yelped "That's not a good idea."
Two-Bit smile faded. "Why not?" he asked, pausing in his jubilance.
"Uh, because, it – he – he wouldn't understand."
Two-Bit gave Burgman a sceptical look. "Darry knows everything."
"It's a very complex project we are working on," Dr. Wittles said smoothly. "It would be best not to complicate things by sharing our knowledge with the public, and that includes your friend."
"Oh," Two-Bit said uncertainly. Then a thought occurred to him. "Does that mean I can't tell them about Johnny?"
The two men smiled. "Go ahead," Dr. Burgman said.
"But be careful what you say," Dr. Wittles warned.
Two-Bit grinned. He couldn't wait to tell the guys! Johnny's revival was forever embedded in his memory, as one of the best experiences of his life. Two-Bit rested back against the couch, lit another cigarette and closed his eyes, going over the events of that day for the twentieth time.
~
When he'd first seen Johnny so pale and unmoving he'd almost broken down and cried. Two-Bit had readied himself to face the boy, remembering with distaste the way Dally had been lying so still only a few days back. But seeing Johnny dead was ten thousand times worse than seeing the tow-headed criminal. At least death had been Dallas's choice, and he wasn't exactly a model citizen. But Johnny – he'd been so kind, pure, so shy and honest. Johnny was a good boy, better than someone in his position would have been expected to turn out. He hadn't wanted to die, Two-Bit knew that much, and he hadn't done anything in his short life to deserve it.
He'd choked back his emotions, partly because he wanted to get right into the job, and partly because the two doctors were right beside him, and in spite of everything, Two-Bit Matthews was a greaser through and through. He'd concentrated instead on watching them set up the equipment. Lots of wires, lots of switches, lots of fancy lights that meant nothing to him, all attached to a bunch of green boards with nails in them. Somehow, this thing was supposed to bring Johnny back. The doctors had set up the project, connecting several wires and clips to Johnny's body. Finally, they had finished, and never once asked for Two-Bit's help.
"What's my job?" he had asked, completely confused.
Dr. Burgman pushed back his long hair. He almost looked like a greaser if he'd been younger with his thick yellow slicked hair. He pointed to a tiny metal device standing in the corner. Two-Bit remembered this device.
"You flick the switch. On and off."
Two-Bit stared. "Couldn't y'all just do that yourselves?" he asked incredulously.
Dr. Wittles gave him a wry smile. "You would think so," he muttered.
Burgman was more helpful. "No one knows how long precisely each person needs this thing to be on for it to actually work," he explained. "It seems to work better as an intuition thing, instead of through scientific research."
Dr. Wittles grunted in agreement, but gave Burgman a dirty look. "Don't tell the kid too much," he'd hissed, out of earshot of the greaser.
Two-Bit, who had been ignoring Burgman anyway (he didn't know what 'intuition' meant and didn't much care), ambled over to the metal box. He watched Johnny, shuddering slightly. Truth be told he was glad the kid had been taken in from the hospital; he didn't know if he could stand the thought of Johnny's body locked underground forever, his remains being gobbled up by worms. Pushing the disturbing thoughts from his mind, he studied the switch. The greaser couldn't help comparing this time to when he'd accidentally flipped Dally's switch. That time, it had been so easy. Now he was terrified of that switch. What if something went wrong? What if he wasn't the person that they needed for this?
Two-Bit almost turned around and told the doctors they could shove the switch flipping process up their butts. But, in a flash of rare intelligent thought, he remembered the huge Darry-ish guard waiting to pulverise him, should he do something wrong.
"What harm could it do?" he murmured to himself, reaching for the switch. "Johnny's already dead. He won't feel it."
Gathering up his courage, Two-Bit pressed his finger to the cool metal. Slowly, slowly, he pressed down. The switch was not moving. He pressed harder. The switch did not switch. Harder and even harder he pressed. The switch was an immovable rock, a mountain of metal, a solid, firm, inflexible, adamantine, fortress of impenetrable steel, unrelenting to his ever-straining pointer finger. In a fit of pissed-off-ness, Two-Bit gripped the switch with both hands (which was hard to do, as the switch was very, very small) and shoved downward with all his might.
Dr. Wittles cleared his throat. "Uh, push it UP, Mr. Matthews."
This time, he did not hesitate, and no revelation came to stop him.
"Why don't you just shove this switchiness up your-"
With a mighty PUZZZZZAAAAP! the switch, was switched. Electricity, again flowed, the protons staying put (because PROTONS DON'T MOVE!) and the electrons moving fast and furious through the wires in giant coulombs of charge, generating a current of over 100 amps! [A/N: This statement of scientific genius brought to you by grade 9 science.] Johnny's body danced wildly and absurdly on the tabletop, much like Lestat with the dead mother in "Interview with a Vampire". With a manly shriek, Two-Bit dove for the floor. Then, inexplicably and frighteningly, Darry's voice rang through his skull in a major déjà vu: "TURN IT OFF!"
And Two-Bit did.
For a split second nothing happened. Then Johnny's eyes opened. All three men held their breaths. Johnny Cade gazed at the ceiling for several seconds before (get this) blinking. Then he closed his eyes. A few more seconds and he was fast asleep, having not said a word. The men breathed again. And that was precisely when Two-Bit passed out and had to be carried to the leather couch by Dr. Wittles, Burgman waving smelling salts beneath his greaser nostrils.
~
The day had been slow. Eleanor had spent the morning and part of the afternoon watching herself on the news. She couldn't believe how primitive the T.V. was. Still, it was a television, and she enjoyed hearing her words broadcasted, even if they were coming out of a male body. Studying Dallas on T.V. Eleanor was disgusted to see that he looked even sicklier than she remembered. He was skinny as hell, and his hair hung limply around his face and down to his shoulders. He needed a bath, a haircut, a good meal (or twenty) and a smack in the face to get rid of that smirk as far as Eleanor was concerned. Then she remembered that she had been the one smirking. For one horrific second she thought she might actually be becoming more like Dallas Winston.
"No," she said out loud, and the thought deflated like a balloon. She would never be anything like that rude, stupid hoodlum. 'He was probably racist too,' she thought angrily. She'd been tormented daily back home, just for being Spanish, and she'd developed a strong, automatic dislike for anyone who judged people on their racial background. She'd always been suspicious, and so truly had only two good friends: her mother, and her boyfriend. And just the thought of that stupid boy made her blood boil. Because of him she was now "Dallas Winston, idiot and dipstick extroadinaire". And she was not a happy camper.
The door unlatched and in walked a nurse, carrying a large tray filled with hospital food. She smiled and placed the tray down close to Eleanor.
"How are you doing honey?" she asked in a broad accent.
Eleanor smiled back. "Just fine, miss." 'People here in Oklahoma were so nice and simple,' she thought. Not like in her old hometown where people were tricky and conniving, everyday trying to squeeze out just a little bit more money so that they could squander it all on material things. 'Truly,' she thought suddenly, 'If it weren't for my mother, and this dumb ass body,' she pinched herself, pretending that Dallas actually felt it, 'I would rather stay here.'