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. More Dallas and Johnny! Those two are fun to write, that's why you're getting so many chapters with them. I'm not sorry.
I don't remember even taking my shoes off before I passed out, but someone had, because I was barefoot when I woke up. The late afternoon twilight glowed gently through the blinds, and the happy chaos that characterized our home life was softer than I'd remembered. I tried shaking off the excess sleepiness as I headed to the shower. That would wake me up. I stared at my reflection as the water got hot. I guess I looked a little too thin for comfort, but I still didn't eat much. That might've been why Dal was so concerned. My collarbone stuck out so far that people could walk on it, and my cheekbones had a sharper look to them than I'd thought. I could count my ribs, too, but I decided not to do that. That just drove the point home.
My hair was still dripping as I got dressed. It was the first official day of Christmas break, and I wasn't looking forward to doing anything. I just wanted more sleep, honestly. I forced myself to go into the living room, where I knew everyone would be waiting with bated breath. "It's just your family, Johnny. Go talk to them, then you can go back to bed and sleep for twenty some years." I mumbled out a pep talk, but it couldn't prepare me for the maneuvering I'd have to do.
"Hey, kiddo, how was your trip?" Dad met me in the hall.
"It was nice. We found an abandoned motel and went exploring." If he'd found out that we'd gone to Windrixville, I knew it wouldn't end well.
"Where was it?"
"It was in a little Podunk town way out in the boonies someplace. I blinked and missed the sign."
"Oh, too bad. We could've gone and checked it out."
"It wasn't that interesting. Lots of black mold, too. I don't think you would've dug it." I hated lying to him, but I had to. He couldn't know where we'd gone. We'd trespassed on sacred territory, and it was my job to act like we hadn't. "I'm gonna go see Dallas. I'll be back later." I shrugged into my jacket and walked outside and found him sitting in that oak tree, conveniently forgetting about the rest of the family. "Hey." I smiled, looking up at his dangling feet.
"Hey, kid. Sleep well?"
"Oh yeah. I passed out when I made it inside. You?"
"I fell asleep in the car. Luckily the window was cracked. Did you tell 'em anything?"
"Not really. I didn't think they'd wanna know where we went. I doubt they'd take it well."
"Good, then that can be our Jay Mountain." He slid out of the tree, beckoning me to follow him to the car.
We drove along in silence, each of us in an exhausted daze. We smoked for a little while, but even that got to be too much. I'd lied to my dad's face; something I'd never done before. Of course I'd told a few stories here and there, but that was different than lying to protect someone from the truth. It was only when we'd pulled up to the cemetery that I realized that Dal actually had a destination in mind. "C'mon, kid." He took my arm, leading me to where my dad's friends were buried. We sat near the graves, sharing our last cigarette and a thermos of coffee. It was a nice place to be buried, but it was kinda rough looking, like the rest of town.
"You think he'll find out?" Dal asked, exhaling smoke through his nose.
"I hope not. It'd crush him if he knew we'd gone there. It feels like forbidden territory." I took a drag on the cigarette, wishing it'd calm me down.
"What's he gonna do? Chew you out because I took you on a trip? I don't think he'd do that. He's too tuff."
"He might; he's been real protective since Mom died, kinda verging on strict."
"At least he cares about you. My old man don't even know I'm there most of the time, so I can run wild as the wind." He stared at the horizon for a long time. It was getting dark. "You're lucky, y'know. You got a whole family to love you. I got no one."
"That isn't true, Dal. You've got me." I thought I'd just kept that between me, myself, and I, but judging by the look he gave me, it had come out.
"I still think you're a few cents short of a Benjamin, kid. You'd have to be to love someone like me." He replied, handing me the thermos. "I wonder what they were really like." He was studying the gravestones, his eyes searching for any information to latch on to.
"Dad says that Johnny was real quiet and nervous from gettin' belted all the time. He was a good listener, too, according to everyone I've asked. I think the gang really liked him. I dunno much about Dallas, other than what he did for my dad and Johnny when that Soc died. My dad says he was one stone grease, all tough and too real to idealize. Johnny worshiped the ground he walked on. I don't know why."
"Maybe he was like you, kid. I thought of you every time I read about Johnny in that book, even down to the way you wipe your nose."
"You did not! I bet his technique was different."
"I bet not, I bet it was just the same. Now, I don't think I'm anything like that Dallas cat." He was leading me on, and he knew it.
"I dunno, y'all seemed real similar when I read through the book. Even down to the way you wipe your nose." I ducked as he took a swipe at me, but he didn't come back for a second try. He was laughing too hard.
I waited for Dallas before going inside. He'd wanted to meet everybody, but he had to park his car first. "You could've just parked in front of our house."
"Nah, that's okay, kid. Let's just head inside, it's freezing out here."
"You ain't a-woofin'." I agreed, opening the door.
"Oh, hi, Dallas. How's the project going?" Dad asked from the kitchen.
"It's okay, Mr. Curtis. I still don't know why you paired me with this kid, though. He's weird."
"Birds of a feather flock together, Dallas. Take your coats off and stay a while, there's coffee, if you want it."
"No, I think we've had plenty." He grabbed my wrist to steady it; I was shaking something fierce. "I think you need to sedate this kid, he's shakin' like it's goin' outta style."
"Too much caffeine, plus nerves, minus sleep equals Johnny, all right." He nodded as we sat down by Uncle Soda, who handed me a lit cigarette. "Soda, seriously, don't encourage underage smoking! It's bad for their health."
"And yet, he's fine. I think his color's coming back. Hey, who's the FNG?" He poked me, talking in a stage whisper.
"He's my project partner. His name's Dallas. Hey, Dal, this is my uncle Soda."
"Yeah, I've heard a lot about you. Nice ink."
"Got it in Huế, in a rat-infested hell-hole they called a tattoo parlor. My arm was swollen for at least a month." He grinned proudly, showing off his badge of honor. "You should see Steve. He's got tats like you wouldn't believe. Most of 'em were in Cambodia."
"I had an uncle who fought in 'Nam. His name was Jack Delaney, and he was with the 101st, too. You know him?" Uncle Soda's eyes darkened as Dallas mentioned that name.
"I knew him, yeah. Good buddy of mine, too. I miss him real bad; he was just a kid."
"You know what happened to him?"
"KIA. He was killed in combat." He fell silent, so we didn't say anything else till Mikey entered the room. I stiffened purely out of reflex and studied a worn patch on the carpet. He studied me for a moment, then sized up Dallas. "Who're you?"
"Who's askin', punk?" Dal drawled, stretching out languidly and crossing his ankles in Mikey's path. His boots were still wet from the frost.
"Aren't you gonna introduce your new friend, Johnny?" Mikey asked softly, eyes aflame. I wouldn't look at him. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you, boy!" He leaned in my face before Uncle Soda grabbed him.
"Why don't you go play chicken on some train tracks, Mike? Quit pestering Johnny; your dad'll have a fit when he finds out you've been messin' with him again."
"You won't tell, will you?"
"No, I will." Dad countered, glaring at Mikey. "Now, do as Soda says before you get your ass handed to you." Mikey split once the threat of punishment was voiced, and he didn't come back.
"That Mikey sure is somethin' else. You okay, kid?"
"I'll be okay, Dal." I didn't feel okay, but I knew he wouldn't quit worrying if I'd told him that.
"Okay." He patted my knee, and I flinched.