Johnny is at home in bed, restlessly turning under the thin, smelly cover, shutting his ears against the drunken shouting in the next room. Finally it climaxes with a smash against the wall, probably a plate that Johnny's mom was so fond of.Johnny sits up, hands over his ears, shutting out the shouting, bedsprings protesting against his slight frame. This isn't his home. Sure, it's his residence, but never where he's felt truly welcome or wanted. He decided to go to the only real family house he knew.
There he could sleep easier, spread eagled out on the couch or curled in a dormouse ball on the floor, he'd be able to shut his eyes without worrying about how he'd be woken up, his father hurling abuse at him or painful hits from the stiff bristled broom his mom would shove at him.
There he'd be more likely to be woken up by Two-Bit landing on him, complaining that he wasn't as soft as the couch or Ponyboy throwing a book at him and once or twice, he'd been woken up by a ruffle of his hair by Dally.
In the morning, there might be cake for breakfast, sitting round a table full of laughing and roughhousing greasers.
He grins and pulls on his worn and faded boots, grabbing his jacket and sliding up the sash window before he realises he's done this routine too many times before, finding it much easier to leave through the back window rather than strolling out through the living room and the front door. It'd attract too much unwanted attention.
Johnny hits the unplanted flowerbed beneath his window, smelling the dusty earth and seeing the gleaming stars above. He takes a deep breath and starts to walk in the direction of Pony, Soda and Darry's house.
Was he sure he wanted to go there tonight; he sometimes felt he was intruding on their family, their private time alone. He's seen Ponyboy asleep with Sodapop; they seem so much younger, more carefree, sleeping near each other.
He could have always gone to Two-Bit's place, his mom never minded him sleeping on the floor, but he knew Two-Bit had gone out hunting action tonight and didn't want to bust in if he'd got wasted. He hated it when Two-Bit drank too much, it reminded him of his dad. Not that Two-Bit was mean when he was drunk, he just depended too much on drink and it took away his natural charisma.
There was always the park waste ground, the old lot, with the stained couch and the urine smelling, crinkled dry newspapers he could pull over himself, he always enjoyed seeing the sunrises on those mornings but it was bitterly cold tonight and as he pulls his jacket around him, keeping out the wind, Johnny realises that he wants to feel safe inside a family house, with the real warmth of being wanted around him.
He reaches the familiar chain link fence surrounding the Curtis's place and rests his head against it, feeling the coolness soothe the ache in his head, in the far distance he can hear a dog barking and a car pulling away.
He pushes the gate open and walks up the pathway, stepping on the porch steps. They creak and he hesitates, looking through the window into the darkened living room. No-one else sleeping there tonight, a crack of light spilling out across the floor from under Pony and Soda's room, the couch looks inviting with a old blanket on the back he could pull over himself.
He turns the front door knob and makes his way into the house, shutting the door quietly behind him, hoping he didn't wake anyone up.
He tiptoes over to the couch, sits down and takes his shoes off. He decides to see if Ponyboy is still awake. He creeps over to the door and taps on it once, very lightly. The door swings into the room and he sees the two younger Curtis brothers asleep. They look so much younger, no frown creasing Ponyboy's forehead and a smile playing on Sodapop's mouth.
As he watches them sleeping, Sodapop turns over in his sleep, throwing his arm around Ponyboy's neck. Ponyboy frowns at the weight, shoving Soda's arm off. Soda grunts and slaps his arm back onto Ponyboy's neck, drawing a sleepy groan from his younger brother. Johnny grins - even asleep, the boys still liked to rough house. As Johnny draws back from the room, he sees Darry, Darry as he's hardly ever seen him before, with bedhead and threadbare pyjama pants.
Standing in the shadows, the older Curtis smiles wanly as he looks at the boys in the bedroom sleeping; he nods at Johnny, acknowledging his presence. As Johnny moves back towards the living room, Darry turns to face him.
"Even now, I find myself waking up in the night and having to check on them," he whispers. "Ponyboy used to have such a hard time sleeping with those dreams and I used to get scared that I'd wake up and they'd be gone."
Johnny doesn't know what to say. He knows that Ponyboy had bad dreams - he never went into full detail about them, but mornings after those dreams his pale face and the dark circles under his haunted eyes said more than he ever could.
Johnny's eyes itch with lack of sleep and he yawns widely. Darry, seeing the younger boy's tiredness steers him towards the beat up couch and the worn blanket. "Go to sleep Johnnyboy and we'll see you in the morning, we're always here for you, you know that".
Johnny mumbles his thanks as he lies down on the couch and is fast asleep within seconds, gentle breathing raising the blanket as Darry tucks it round him.
Darry stands, shaking his head as he regards the younger greaser, "poor kid", he thinks, "he doesn't have much of a life; at least he's safe with us."
Darry walks softly back to his own room, switching off the light in his brothers' room and shutting the door gently on the way. He sighs as he sits on the bed, and switching off his bedside light, he quickly gets under the covers and is soon asleep.
In the living room, Johnny smiles in his sleep, he is home, after all, isn't home where the heart is? The house is silent as the boys sleep contentedly.