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. This chapter has a very slight mention of animal cruelty, but it's there to advance a character arc. I apologize if I've offended anyone, I honestly don't mean to.

"Why are Uncle Pony and Johnny still here? Don't they have their own house to mess up?" Mikey groused. My cousins, as a rule, had never liked me well. Dad says it's because I'm too shy.

"Quit bellyaching and go do your homework, young man! You have enough schoolwork to keep you occupied till kingdom come. And don't think you can just 'lose' your papers either; I'm getting wise to you and Pat. You don't wanna end up in prison like your brother Shane."

"Okay, fine." Mikey grabbed my elbow. "But I want you gone by the time dinner's ready." He hissed. I didn't look up at him. Even though he's two years younger than me, he freaks me out. Once, he had a pet turtle that he liked to play with all the time. Well, when I'd finally gotten the nerve to tell him how much I liked it, he took it out of its shell. I think he did it to spite me, but I don't know why. I don't remember if I ever did anything cruel to him. Pat came in next, laughing with Dave and Neil, who is Two-Bit's son. "Hey, I thought y'all left hours ago. What gives?" He asked breathlessly.

"M*A*S*H* was on." Dad said, fashioning a paper football from old gum wrappers.

"Just don't let the door hit ya on the way out." He replied, punching me in the shoulder. The other two messed my hair up and pinched my cheek. I heard them whispering and snickering as they walked down the hall, and I knew they were talking about me. They always do when we stay over. I poked Dad's hand to get his attention. "Could we please go now?" I mouthed, glancing at the others, who were watching us from the safety of one of the bedrooms.

"In a sec, okay? Hold your hands up." Dad shot the paper football, but it didn't quite reach the goalposts.

The house smelled stale, since we hadn't bothered to open any windows before we left, and I caught a faint whiff of Mom's perfume as I paused by the coat rack. "I hate it when they do that to me." I rubbed my cheek, which had turned slightly red.

"Maybe if you started kicking ass and taking names, it wouldn't be as bad, Daniel-san." Dad joked, messing up my hair even worse. He rarely used that nickname for me, but when he did, it always made me feel better.

"If Mr. Fujita knew karate, I could probably do his housework in exchange for lessons." I grinned at the thought of my unassuming math teacher instructing me in the art of self-defense.

"That's the spirit! Just have a few training montages, and you'll totally be ready to win that tournament. He might even help you understand the logic involved in those quadratic equations you've been struggling with. Want stir-fry for dinner?"

"Sure."

I wasted no time hopping in the shower. All my problems evaporated with the steam, and I was truly relaxed for the first time in three days. Also, it was nice to finally wash my hair after being sick for so long. I shed hair like a dog in the summertime, though. It's a minor miracle that I haven't lost all of it yet. Instead of getting back into my clothes, I pulled on some sweats and slippers. I wanted to be comfortable after the uncomfortable few days I'd spent at my uncles' house. I took Buttons to the table with me.

"Maybe you should've put a shirt on, son. Now I know why you almost flunked the Presidential fitness test." Dad observed wryly, plating my food for me.

"I'll never be able to outrun those Commie bastards, so I don't see why wearing a shirt would matter. This isn't Red Dawn." I was thinking of going to bed after dinner anyway, and I never wore a shirt in bed. It bothers me when the fabric creases my skin.

"I guess it isn't. Want more than this?"

"No, that's fine. Looks like we'll be noshing on this for quite a while, huh?"

"Yep." I hadn't meant to make him sad, but after seeing the look on his face, I didn't make eye contact with him for the rest of the night.

Bedtime was late, since I didn't feel like having more nightmares. So, I stayed awake attempting to catch up on my required reading. I hated Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and it was all I could do to plod along through it. I hadn't made too much progress, however, and I soon fell into a daze, wondering why I had to read that book in the first place. It was supposed to be a satire; satires don't need to be critically analyzed. Mom would've known how to make it fun. She was always helping me out if I didn't understand something. She was better at explaining things to me than Dad was.

I burrowed under the covers after throwing the book across the room, holding Buttons close, and remembered back to the months before Mom died. There had been endless chemo treatments and surgeries, but the doctors just weren't able to beat the cancer into remission. I guess uterine sarcoma is pretty rare and hard to cure, and she was too far gone by the time anyone realized what was wrong. She'd been a shadow of her former self when hospice took over. She was so thin, and all her lovely hair was gone- she'd taken to wearing hats and scarves to cover up the hair loss, but it just wasn't the same. She was smiling even at the end, though, which was typical of Mom. The last thing she ever did was wish me good night and give me a kiss. It still makes me cry whenever someone says good night to me. Dad doesn't anymore. He knows how much it hurts.