Note: I don't own The Outsiders

Chapter 22

The hardware store was quiet; the aisles almost empty. Johnny and Tom were staring blankly at the wall of paint colors. Neither one of them wanted to admit to the other that they had no idea what their next step should be. Johnny had a feeling that Tom knew just about as much about interior decorating as he did - which was absolutely nothing.

Mary had shooed the two of them out of the house as soon as breakfast was finished, claiming she needed some peace and quiet to get some cleaning done. Johnny had no idea what she was talking about. He could probably count on one hand the total number of words he'd spoken in that house since he'd moved in yesterday.

Once Sarah left to go to her own apartment, the trio had run out of things to talk about. It wasn't in Johnny to start a conversation with people he barely knew - hell, he had trouble starting them with people he'd known all his life. Tom and Mary tried to coax information out of him, but all he could come up with were one word answers. He found himself growing more and more embarrassed and frustrated as the day dragged on.

Eventually, he claimed he was tired and spent the rest of the night holed up in the pink palace, reading and trying to sleep. He didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but he wasn't sure how to act around the Martins.

That awkwardness had not disappeared by the next morning and he was pretty sure Tom and Mary felt it, too. That was probably why Mary had practically pushed him and Tom out the door. Maybe she was hoping for some male bonding, or something.

The silence of the hardware store was broken by an overly enthusiastic, chipper voice that sounded behind them, startling them both.

"You gentlemen look like you could use some help." The salesgirl had a perky personality and a wide smile that made her look like someone from a toothpaste commercial.

"Sure," Tom said, his rough voice a sharp contrast to the girl's singsong approach to speaking.

"Well, what are you looking for today?"

"Paint," Tom answered gruffly. The girl nodded slightly and looked at the pair expectantly, as though she was waiting for more information.

"Okay," she said slowly, smile still firmly in place but it was beginning to look a little forced. "Let's start with color, shall we? What color were you interested in?"

Tom and Johnny exchanged a glance and they both shrugged at the same time.

"Well, kid, it's your room," Tom said, passing the decision off to Johnny who was still staring at the selection of paint chips. He had no idea where to begin. Anything but pink seemed fine to him.

He remained mute and the salesgirl's smile began to droop at the corners and it looked like she was gritting her teeth.

"How about a favorite color, then." She was looking at Johnny now and he felt his face grow hot. This was his first trip out in public since being released from the hospital and he wasn't used to strangers looking at him. Some scars on his neck and arms were visible and, combined with the wheelchair, he felt incredibly self-conscious.

"Do you have a favorite color?" she repeated the question and Johnny realized he hadn't answered her.

"Um …" he began before realizing he had never really given it any thought before. His first impulse was to say black - that would make a cheerful room, he thought to himself, dismissing it immediately. "Blue, I guess," he said hesitantly.

"Great," she clapped her hands together, like she was cheering on a team to victory. "What shade of blue would you like?"

"Shade?" Johnny and Tom asked together and Johnny swore he heard the salesgirl sigh.

Ten minutes and several probing questions later, the color was chosen and the paint was being mixed. Johnny wheeled away from Tom to do a little exploring and to escape the obnoxious sound of the machine that shook the paint can to mix the pigments. He found the automotive section and was looking at the cool accessories when he heard two women talking in the next aisle. At first he felt rude eavesdropping until he heard them mention the Martins.

"God bless Mary. I don't know how she let her daughter talk her into it. After everything that happened last year, now they have to live with a hoodlum under their roof?" Johnny sucked in a shocked breath.

"Kim, that's really not fair. Wasn't the boy found not guilty?" The other woman was talking quieter than the first, like maybe she realized she might be overheard. Kim, however, didn't seem to care and he would have been able to hear every word she said even if he wasn't trying to listen.

"Guilty. Not guilty. Does it really matter? He still killed another kid. How would you like to have that living down the street from you?"

Hearing her say it out loud, Johnny realized that was what frightened him the most. It wasn't people looking at him and pitying him because of the wheelchair and the scars - that bugged him but he could live with it. No, it was people looking at him and seeing a murderer. He wondered if he was going to be reminded of it every day of his life.

"Kim, he's in a wheelchair. I remember reading about a couple of the poorer boys rescuing some school kids. I'm pretty sure he was one of them. It's not like he's going to break-in and murder you in your sleep."

"Well, they travel in packs, you know. Filthy greasers. Thieves and criminals - every last one of them." Johnny felt his hands shake, he couldn't believe what that woman was saying. Well, maybe he could believe it. He'd heard it all his life, he just thought that things would maybe be different now.

Tom appeared at the end of the aisle, his arms weighed down with painting accessories.

"There you are, kid. Ready to go?" Johnny nodded without speaking and slowly moved his chair down the aisle. As he neared Tom he saw the older man's brow wrinkle in concern.

"You okay, Johnny?" he asked, his voice low and kind.

Johnny smiled weakly, trying to deflect the concern. "Yeah, I'm fine." He tried not to wince at how far from fine his voice sounded. Tom didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the issue.

The ride home was silent and Tom was beginning to wonder if Johnny actually talked in complete sentences. He had yet to hear one.

The kid was an odd one, and Tom was surprised to realize that he was already feeling protective toward him. It wasn't just the because of the injuries from the fire, they were a part of it. No, it was the look in his eyes, like he was afraid to trust anyone.

Sarah had told him and Mary about Johnny's parents, at least as much as she knew. She said Johnny hadn't told her much - big shock there - so most of it she'd gathered from his friends. Well, his parents sounded like real pieces of work, alright. It was times like this that he wished he was still a cop and that he still carried a sidearm.

Johnny was staring out the window, but Tom didn't think he was really seeing anything. His mind was elsewhere - something had rattled him back at the hardware store, that much was certain.

Once they got home, Johnny announced he was tired and that he wanted to take a nap. Tom didn't believe him for a second, and caught him before he got into his room.

"Hey, kid - come outside and keep me company," Tom said. He leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, "Mary won't let me smoke in the house and I'm dying for a cigar. I might be able to scrounge up a cigarette or two."

Johnny eyed him uncertainly. He hadn't smoked in months, not since Windrixville. He hadn't really thought much about starting back up again, but those women had really stressed him out and he could really use a smoke.

"Sure," Johnny said with a resigned sigh, "lead the way."

It was one of those weird days between winter and spring where Mother Nature was trying to figure out what season she wanted it to be. The air was mild, but with a slight bite to it. The sun was out, but the blue of the sky was slightly off - kind of gray, like it could still snow later if it got cold again.

Tom brought out a beer for himself and a bottle of Pepsi for Johnny. The smoke from Tom's cigar scented the air and Johnny could see why Mary didn't want it in the house. He lit a cigarette and took his first drag in what felt like a year, and was quickly overcome with a fit of coughing.

"Damn," he said, feeling a little nauseous, "I think I'm gonna have to stay a non-smoker."

Tom laughed and Johnny found himself smiling as he ground out the cigarette on the porch railing. Tom's laugh soon faded and his face got that concerned look on it that he'd had back at the store.

"So, what was bugging you back at the store?" Tom asked, trying to keep his voice light. He didn't want to scare Johnny, but he wanted him to know it was okay to talk to him. It was obvious he carried a lot of stuff around inside him - everyone needed someone to talk to, to share the burden with.

Johnny shrugged, "Nothing." Tom wasn't surprised. He knew Johnny's answer before he said it. He could have imitated it exactly, right down to the nonchalant swig of soda Johnny took at the end to mask the fact he was uncomfortable.

Tom leaned forward in his chair and gave him a look that clearly said "Bullshit".

Johnny absentmindedly fidgeted with the Pepsi bottle, flicking at the raised paint with a fingernail. He didn't want to meet Tom's gaze. Part of him wanted to tell him what he'd heard, but the other part didn't. He was afraid - he didn't want to find out that Tom and Mary agreed with what that woman said. That Sarah had somehow forced them into being his foster parents. Sometimes it was just better to remain ignorant - no matter what the answer was.

Tom didn't say or do anything for several minutes - just looked at him, waiting for him to finally crack and spill the beans, or whatever cops called it. All that was missing was a bright light shining in his face, blinding him to his surroundings.

"Geez, man, I give up," Johnny finally announced, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Tom sat back in surprise and laughed. "Sorry, kid. I guess I got a little intense there."

"A little?" Johnny said quietly, but there was an edge of sarcasm there that wasn't lost on Tom. He was glad to hear it.

"Fine, I'll tell you what you wanna know," Johnny said. He looked down at the bottle in his hands, finding that easier to focus on than looking directly at Tom.

"I overheard two ladies talking at the store." His voice was unsteady and he stopped to take a breath. When he didn't start back up again, Tom found he had to prompt him to continue.

"And …?"

"And they were a talking about me … about me living with you guys."

"Oh," Tom said quietly. "I take it that what they had to say wasn't very nice?"

Johnny shook his head sadly. "No. They said I was a murderer and that my friends are criminals." Johnny looked up at Tom, his eyes red from unshed tears but there was a determined glint in them that surprised Tom. "Is that what you guys think? Did Sarah force you guys to take me in 'cause no one else would take in a murdering greaser?"

"Mary and I don't think that, not at all." Tom spoke calmly and evenly - careful not to spook Johnny. He reached out to put a hand on Johnny's arm, but he flinched away from the touch. Tom's breath caught at the kid's reaction - again he found himself wishing he had Johnny's father in front of him to teach him a lesson or two about raising kids. He didn't acknowledge Johnny's reaction, though. He figured it was something they would have to deal with later.

"I was a cop for a long time," he continued. "I've seen a lot of really bad things. A buddy of mine showed me the file on what happened in the park. Johnny, I would have done the same thing you did."

"Really?" Johnny asked with some apprehension.

"Really," Tom assured him with a smile. "Hey, you don't by any chance catch who those two women were, did you?"

Johnny thought for a second. "The only name I heard was Kim. From what she said, I think she lives down the street."

Tom finished his cigar and dropped it into his empty beer bottle. He shook his head and laughed. "Yeah, she's always been a bit of a bitch."