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. I always liked Matt Dillon's interpretation, if you will, that Dallas was nominally Catholic. I will, therefore, be taking that idea and running with it in this chapter. (Don't groan, I know it's not book accurate, but I've been so faithful that I feel okay to use a bit of the filmverse in my story. Please leave all flames inside the church, we don't want Jerry getting burned.)

I never said anything about what happened in that room, so when we moved in with Uncle Darry and company after a couple months, I was forced to play pretend. Steve sometimes looked at me funny, like he knew there was something I wasn't saying, but I didn't take the bait. I couldn't talk about that experience now that Mikey was too close for comfort. Dad and I shared a room, and as a result, Uncle Soda took the couch, which suited him fine. He couldn't sleep much anyway; Two-Bit says he gets real bad nightmares and flashbacks.

I never figured out why we moved out, but if I had to wager a guess, I'd say that the house was just too full of sad memories. We'd kept it the way Mom left it, and it eventually wore us down. I kept thinking she'd just walk through the door on any given day. So, we sold everything we didn't need or want, and moved in with the rest of the family. Dad was right, it was cramped. We shared a twin bed, which sucked, because he kicks in his sleep and I have constant nightmares. We make a lovely couple, really.

Mikey played the part of the angel too well, but the scary thing was that most everyone was fooled. He forced me to go everywhere with him, and I know it was because he wanted to keep an eye on me. I got the message loud and clear, and convincingly portrayed a devoted best buddy. I took a few cues from Dad's friend Johnny, and it worked like a charm. I just wish I could be tough enough to wallop that little bastard. He looks too much like my dad, otherwise I would.

One wintery day, I was fishing around for a coat to wear when I pulled out a brown leather jacket with yellow wool inside. It was charred black across the back, but I didn't mind. It'd be warmer than my denim. I slipped it over my other jacket, finding that it swallowed me whole, but glory, it was warm. I put Buttons in the large inside pocket. I didn't trust leaving him around the house, and no one would know anyway.

"Where'd you find that, Johnnycake?" Dad stuttered, looking like he'd seen a ghost. He'd almost dropped the paper into his coffee.

"It was with all the rest of your coats. D'you mind if I wear it? I don't have one." I knew whose it was immediately.

"No. Just be nice with it; it was a gift."

"I will."

I scrunched through the frosty grass, wishing I had boots instead of canvas sneakers. They'd keep my toes warm. "Hey, Johnny, come over here for a sec!" Mikey called, his words crackling in the chilly air. I walked over to them, pushing my hands in the pockets of Dallas's jacket to look tough. "Nice jacket. Too bad you can't keep it."

"It's mine, Mikey, you can't have it."

"I think this says I can." My eyes widened as his switch flicked open in broad daylight. He seemed indifferent that he was showing his hand. Steve sprinted toward us then, eyes blazing in anger.

"D'you really think it's okay to pull blades on people?! Johnny, get in the truck." He started in on a lecture after I'd bundled into the safety of his pickup. I locked the doors just in case the others wanted to try anything. There were flowers in the middle seat, and once Steve got in, he informed me that I'd be accompanying him to the cemetery. "Dally would've gotten a kick outta seeing you in his old jacket. Have you checked the pockets yet?"

"Only the inside one. Why? Did you leave something in there?" I joked, watching the sparkling patches of grass whizz by.

"No, I just thought that he might've. Check the top right one. He was always leaving stuff in there."

I wriggled my hand into the pocket with a bit of difficulty, but soon produced a silver medal of St. Christopher. "Is this what you were looking for?" I wondered, turning the tarnished necklace idly in my hands.

"Yeah, actually it was. Put it on, but keep it under your shirt. Those kids have been jumping at the bit to snatch anything they can from you."

"Why don't they like me, Steve? Did I do something wrong?"

"I can't figure that out either, kid. My guess would be because we all like you. You're Soda's favorite, which might make them jealous. Neil and Dave are jerk-offs, though. I wouldn't even try to get them to like you, it's not worth it. What's your side of the 'best bud' relationship like? It looks a bit forced to me."

"Oh, you know, when you're threatened with a blade pressed against your carotid, you tend to do everything for the one holding the knife."

"That's kinda what I thought. You still have yours?"

"Yep. " I patted the lower right hand pocket on the leather jacket.

"Good. Keep it handy, you may need it someday."

We left the truck running because we weren't gonna stay too long. I watched Steve place the flowers, his breath crystallizing in smoky puffs. I lit a cigarette. My dad hadn't taken them away, and I wasn't about to throw them out either. I liked how they made me look tough. "Okay, that's that. You wanna say or leave anything, Johnny?"

"Thanks for the jacket, Dally, I'll get that medal polished as soon as I can." I don't know how my dad does it- he's able to talk to these guys with no problem. My words were eaten up by the gravestones. I dug a couple cigarettes out of the carton. "Have these too, it's colder than a witch's tit out here."