Work Text:
"Johnny?" His head is spinning, he feels so dizzy, so damn dizzy - and he hurts.
Hears footsteps running to him, the thump of someone dropping to their knees. And then he feels relief, small and slight, as a hand gently catches hold of, shaking his shoulder before arms curl around him, carefully lifting him up an' hanging on. He rests against somebody's chest as he hears
"Hey, Johnnycake."
"...Soda?"
"Yeah, it's me. Don't try 'n talk, Johnny - you're gonna be okay."
"Th-there was a whole bunch of them," he can hardly swallow, and shifts his face, feeling the rough catch of bloodied cloth and softer, much softer press of hands. "They all came at me- I got so scared - son of a-" his voice breaks, he feels hot and also so, so cold, and then burning tears spurt out of his eyes, a slice of pain burns across his face as he jerks and whimpers.
"Ah, Johnny," there are murmurs, hitching breaths - he knows the boys are there, all of 'em, he hears Pony gasping a little like he's about to cry, but he focuses on Sodapop, who's holding him.
The middle Curtis' soft voice says "easy, Johnny, I gotcha. We gotcha, we're here."
"I- I was jus' kickin' the football around a little, y'know, an' they come up an' grabbed me. Said I couldn't be here, they were gonna-" he shudders, pressing his eyes closed and then crying out at the pain. He hurts all over and there's gonna be bruising, for sure. Like with his old man- except he knows an' chooses to hit where nobody's gonna see it.
The socs don't care. The sharp cold slice of metal into his cheek, that feeling, recollecting it makes Johnny's stomach roll, and he expels a wrenching gasp of "Soda, 'm gonna-"
And maybe it's intuition, maybe it's bein' an older brother, but Soda's hands are on Johnny's shoulders now as he shifts him over. Johnny's sight is blurry but he sees the ground, hard-packed dirt and pieces of grass, a bottle top mostly buried- and he's sick, heaving onto it. Spitting and shaking and closing his eyes.
"'M sorry," Johnny gasps, whimpers. He tastes salt - of blood or sweat or tears, maybe all, mixed with the acid of bile and the hot pulsing shame that shoots through him and keeps on. Cold tears drop from his face, his cheeks and chin and nose as they slide and he's shaking. "I'm sorry y'all, y' don't hafta -look at this, see this, stay here. 'm not worth it," he's gasping through the crying, and hears Darry's deep voice even as he feels Soda pull him closer again.
"Ah hell, Johnny -"
"He's in shock," Darry says quietly. "We gotta get him outa here. Soda, can you -"
"Yeah. I got him," and Johnny's vaguely surprised as Sodapop shifts him gently into his arms. "I'm gonna pick you up, Johnny. Okay?" His voice is still soft and gentle, not wild and loud, he's not moving around crazy bouncing or anything like he so often is doing. He's careful, gentle. In Johnny's hazy brain beyond the acute agony and ache of pain, he's rememberin' how Ponyboy always says how good of a brother Soda is. How he almost understands everything.
Johnny doesn't know about all that, but he's impressed Soda can carry him across th' neighborhood. Somewhere in his head he doesn't wanta go to the hospital, and whimpers, hands against his own chest flexing out enough for his fingers to brush against Soda's shirt, the soft material of an old white tee underneath the stiffer cloth of his uniform for working at the DX. Johnny wonders if he'll be able to get out the blood - and feels a shock as he feels the others pass and press around him, weight of big hands carefully holding his legs and feet. Darry.
He's always been a little scared 'a Darry, because of his size and quietness, how he gets this blazing cold look in his eyes. He knows Darry works hard and takes care 'a Pony and Soda, but it's not until right now that he realizes the oldest can be nurturin'.
"Easy, Soda - let's lay him down - Ponyboy, get a clean sheet an' some damp towels willya? Steve, grab me that throw pillow -" a pause and thump of cloth has him adding as if trying to keep his tone of voice low, but even so Johnny can hear the sound of frustration rumble in it "I didn't say ta thRow it, Keith, for chrissake!"
It's a shock to hear Two-Bit called by his given name by anyone but his mother, but there's a strain in Darry's tone that nobody says anything about. And then something makes Johnny feel sick again, his stomach drops as he hears shakier than he's ever heard, "-Is he gonna be okay, man?"
From Dally. Dallas Winston is standing close to the corner, shaking. Wouldn't say like a leaf, he moves quickly enough to grab the edge of the sheet Ponyboy flies into the room carryin', towels over his arms and a pillow from a bed rather than one'a the little ones they'd moved from the couch.
"Pony is that-"
"Yeah it's one 'a my pillows for him. I don't care," Ponyboy's eyes are so big as he's practically sputtering. He doesn't talk much in front 'a everybody, not even when he's hanging just with Johnny. But that's okay, Johnny's not a talker either. He presses his lips flat and squeezes his eyes shut now because otherwise he's gonna do somethin' like whimper and he doesn't need anyone feelin' any sorrier. Not for him, even though he knows they do. They got to, why else would they all be here, wiping off blood, Soda holding the back of his neck as Steve is telling him to take it easy?
"Take it easy there, Johnnycake."
"Don't worry, kid, we got you."
"Put up his feet -" that firm grip is on his legs again. Darry. "They gotta be higher up than his heart t' help with shock."
"Wrap him up a bit too, that'll help 'im."
"Gimme that blanket there Two-Bit."
And somehow this group of guys all come together. It's soft and swift as they can, every movement, everything they do. Ponyboy squeezes Johnny's hand after bringing him a glass of water, and Darry holds his head up as Soda helps him drink some.
Two-Bit and Steve alternatively push pillows behind him and shake out a blanket they find. And Dally is watching, seems as if he's guarding him, or maybe guardin' all of them, keeping eyes on Johnny and then out the door of the Curtis' house.
Johnny feels now a bit like he's floating, tethered only t' this place by pain, but the boys 're helping him, and he doesn't feel quite so cold.
Thank goodness fer that.