A/N: S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. Sorry about all the swearing, it fits Steve's character. Either Fox or CBS owns M*A*S*H*.
It took a couple days before I'd recovered enough to hold solid food down, and I was finally sat in front of a bowl of oatmeal. "Eat this, it'll stick to your ribs." Steve said, handing me a spoon. I liked Steve. He was pretty rough around the edges, but he always seemed to keep his head unless he was pissed off. I think getting clean really helped him out. His son Dave, though, was another matter entirely. "Maybe you should feed it to him. I don't think the little pansy wants to eat anything."
"Oh, he'll eat all right. I'll make Two-Bit and Soda hold you down if you don't, Johnnykid. Dave, why don't you go do something productive, like shoving Mikey down a well, or something? Leave Johnny alone."
"Fine. But if he doesn't eat, I'm feeding him."
"Fuck off, kid. Sorry, my son's an asshat."
I didn't say anything, but I picked up the spoon and stirred the food around the bowl, flinching when Steve grabbed it from me. "I said to eat it, not play with it. D'you want me to get your dad in here?"
"No."
"Okay, then do as I fucking tell you, and eat the goddamned oatmeal."
"Steve, lay off, he probably can't eat since you're yelling in his face." Two-Bit sauntered in and leaned over the back of a chair. "Go ahead, Johnnycake, he won't bother you anymore."
The first bite was the hardest. I didn't know how much I should take, or if I should take any at all. When I'd put it in my mouth, I gagged slightly out of a reflex. I swallowed, but I wasn't happy about it. This was wrong, it wasn't fair to Mom. If she couldn't eat, why should I? I put the spoon down and pushed the bowl away. "See? What'd I tell you? That little brat would rather starve himself than eat a meal." Dave taunted through an open window.
"Stuff it, Dave. Look, kid, if you don't eat, the hospital will put a tube in your stomach. I know for a fact that you wouldn't want that, so please just humor us and finish that food." Steve picked the spoon back up and attempted to feed me, but I wouldn't open my mouth. I'd eaten one bite, and that was enough. "Damn it, Two-Bit, come over here and feed this kid. I'm gonna go talk with his dad." Steve stormed off into another part of the house while Two-Bit took his place.
"You think you can eat one more bite, Johnnycake?" I shook my head. "Why not?"
"I can't."
"Why can't you?"
"I just can't."
"D'you feel sick again?"
"No."
"Then eat."
"But I can't eat when she's not here!" I started crying, but I didn't care. I missed my mom, and I couldn't eat without her.
Two-Bit nodded, pushing the bowl further away, and he draped his arm around my shoulders. "I get it now, it isn't worth eating without your mom around. It'll be okay, kiddo. It'll all be okay." Steve reentered the room with my dad close behind. "What happened here?"
"It's because of Cathy. The poor kid can't eat because he's grieving."
"That's a weird way to take it." Steve scoffed.
"I'm gonna take him over to Soda, then you and I are gonna have a talk, Pony." Two-Bit whispered.
"Okay." My dad snatched me up in a hug before I left, but I could tell he was disappointed.
I didn't hear what they said; I just laid my head in Uncle Soda's lap for nearly the whole time. He'd started rubbing my back, which made me feel a little better. We never had to say much of anything; we just got each other. He silently offered me a drink from his mug when I sat up after a while. I took a swig, knowing its contents were spiked, but I didn't mind. The alcohol would take the edge off my nerves. "You should eat something, Johnnycake. You're gettin' too thin." He chided, turning the TV down.
"If I could eat, I would."
"You don't wanna end up like me, hon." I didn't know what he meant until he produced a faded photograph from his jacket pocket. "Guess who the stick figure is."
"You?"
"I'd gotten malaria, or somethin' before I came back, so I was really underweight when I landed in Tulsa. I couldn't hardly stand up when I got home, and it took almost two years for me to put on more weight. I even went to the hospital for a while because that was the only way they could feed me. You're real young yet, so it shouldn't be too much of an issue for you, but you've gotta eat. I can feel your ribs sticking out." He lit a cigarette and handed it to me.
"Soda, don't get him started on those. I know you've been letting him drink too." Dad sat down beside us, slipping his hand over mine.
"Maybe you should've told me that seven years ago, Pony. There's nothing I can do about it now, the kid's got good taste."
"You started smoking when you were nine, Johnnycake?"
"I don't smoke a whole lot. Just when I get nervous." I mumbled around the cancer stick. I wonder how much more trouble I'll get into today. My thoughts griped.
"Fine, just don't blame me when we're both dying from lung cancer." Dad took the cigarette from my mouth and took a few drags. "Damn, these are the nice ones. No filters."
"They're the real deal all right." Uncle Soda confirmed. "I got those in 'Nam, back before they took 'em out of the rations. My favorites were the Lucky Strikes- they always tasted like the Chiclets."
"Oh, here, Johnnycake, try eating this." Dad pushed a bowl of applesauce into my hand. "I know you can't stand oatmeal, so I thought this'd be nice for you."
"Thanks. Hey, this is the episode with Patrick Swayze, isn't it?" I loved watching old M*A*S*H* reruns with Uncle Soda and Dad; that show was one of the many things we bonded over.
"Yep, here, Soda'll turn it up." He said.