Chapter Text
“Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay Gold.”
Johnny thinks he can faintly feel someone attempting to shake him before the darkness swallows him whole.
“Clear!”
There's a shock to his system.
It doesn’t do much.
“Up the voltage — Clear!”
Johnny’s consciousness fades to black again.
Johnny thinks he can hear someone trying to speak to him.
“Turn up the dose...”
A cool rush washes through his body, numbing the burning ache as he grows tired again.
He’s out like a light.
...
..
.
The first thing Johnny notices as he comes to consciousness is this loud, incessant beeping noise. There’s light spilling in through his eyelids, and as he tries to open them, he cringes at the feeling of just how dry and scratchy they are, as if someone had thrown sand into his eyes. His eyelids are heavy, and it takes greater effort than it probably should for him to be able to open them all the way.
The next thing Johnny registers is a presence by his side.
“Are you awake? How are you feeling?” The voice is soft and soothing. As Johnny attempts to look at the woman talking to him from out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he can recognize her from earlier. He remembers her vaguely; she had laid her hand on his arm when he was in pain and had treated him with more care than his mother — or either of his parents, for that matter — ever had.
Johnny just barely manages to nod his head in response. She smiles sweetly at him. “Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe?”
“Please,” his voice comes out gravely and choked from disuse.
The nurse gives a small nod of her head and leaves the room for a minute or two before coming back with a small paper cup filled with water and little ice cubes. She helps gently maneuver him into a position that vaguely resembles sitting (He’s still practically lying flat on his back, but there’s just enough of an incline for his head to be up straight) before holding the cup to his lips and helping him take a few sips. “Not too fast,” The nurse reminds him, until all the water is gone. Johnny hadn’t realized quite how thirsty he had been until he felt the cool water slipping down his throat and filling up his stomach.
Having anything at all in his stomach is nice, but it seems to be a reminder to his body that it’s been a while since he ate. He can feel his stomach clenching uncomfortably around nothing, begging for some sort of meal.
“We can get you something light to eat in just a little bit,” The nurse says as if she had read his mind.
“Thank you...” Johnny looks for a nametag as his eyes land on a silvery, engraved piece of metal pinned to her chest above where her heart would be, “Susan.”
She gives him another soft smile. “There are actually people here who want to talk to you.”
What? Who was here to see him?
The thought of it being Ponyboy or Dallas made him feel warm.
Johnny nods his head in assent, giving the nurse permission to let the visitors into his room.
“I’ll be right back,” Nurse Susan says. “I’ll go get you some food while they talk to you.” And with that last statement, Susan exits through the door, leaving Johnny by himself. He can hear her voice on the other side of the door talking to someone quietly, before he can hear the telltale sign of her heels clicking away down the tile of the hospital's hallways.
Barely even a few seconds later, two men dressed in nice suits walk into the room and find a place standing by the side of Johnny’s bed. Johnny tries not to think of the way his heart sinks when it isn’t one of his friends walking into the room.
The first man is an older gentleman with a dark skin tone and hair nearly shorn to his scalp. He’s tall, with a beard, though it's not too long, and Johnny can just make out the beginnings of some grey starting to appear. His eyes look kind, yet tired from long years of what Johnny can only assume is from some sort of hardship or stress.
The man standing next to him is noticeably shorter and younger, maybe in his mid-twenties? He’s tanned and has blond hair and dark brown eyes. He looks extremely put together and is holding a notepad in one hand and a pen in another.
“Hello, you are Johnny Cade, correct? Full legal name Jonathan Andrew Cade?” The first man speaks, his voice low and husky.
Johnny nods his head slowly, a sense of dread beginning to wash over him. Why was he being questioned? Johnny’s stomach felt tight as he waited for the shoe to drop.
“My name is Jack Turner, and this is my partner,” Mr. Turner gestures toward the man standing next to him, “Nethaniel Wright.”
Mr. Turner turns back to Johnny, giving him his full attention. “Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”
“Yes...” Johnny feels hesitant, but it would look oddly suspicious if he said no.
Mr. Turner nods. “Alright then,” He says while Mr. Wright flips open his notepad and raises his pen to the paper. “We’ve been made aware by a person of the hospital's staff that you had a severely adverse reaction to the mention of your mother.” Johnny feels as if a bucket of ice has just been dumped over his head. “We’ve also had a report submitted from an eyewitness stating that there was an argument outside of your room in which one of the people, fitting the description of your mother, was accused of not caring for you properly and of being a drunk.”
“Is there anything you could tell us about your relationship with your mother or even both your parents?”
Johnny’s mind feels like it’s detached itself from his body. He thinks he hears them asking more questions. He thinks he can feel himself responding. He thinks he can hear the sound of a pen scratching against paper. By the time they’re done questioning him, Johnny’s not THINKING at all. By the end of the day, Johnny won’t remember most of what he said, if any of it.
The men leave with fake smiles plastered over their somber expressions, and Johnny feels the tension drain from his body as they leave.
Nurse Susan comes back not that much later with food and helps him eat, much to his chagrin, and he can’t help but feel a little betrayed by the fact that she had said something. Who else on staff had been there to see his reaction to the mention of his mother but her? He understands somewhere in the back of his mind that she did what she probably assumed would be best for him, but it still hurts. Johnny’s quiet as he eats, not saying a word except to thank her before she leaves.
It’s quiet... a faint hum, but not much else to listen to except the occasional footsteps outside his door. No one comes inside.
He notices a book by his bedside and wishes there was someone there to read it out loud to him. It still warms him to know who had brought it for him.
As the day begins to wind down and the sun dips in the sky, sunlight pours through his windows, painting the plain eggshell white wall in glowing hues of yellow, orange, and gold. He thinks back to his time with Ponyboy up on that hill by the chainlink fence and lets a sense of security wash over him.
Before he knows it, his world is going dark, and he’s drifting off into dreams with gold and silver linings.
The next couple of days throw Johnny for a loop.
His friends came to visit him in groups, and he is over the moon to see them. They tell him in more detail about the rumble with the socs, and they talk to him about Dally. They tell him Dallas Winston has officially been pronounced dead, and for a while, there's no consoling Johnny because he can guess with almost one-hundred percent certainty what happened, and the guilt sits heavy on his chest. When Pony first explained what happened to him, it felt like he couldn’t breathe. The heart rate monitor had spiked, and the nurses had to be called in.
They ended up pumping his system full of some medication—Johnny doesn’t know what— in an attempt to calm him down a bit. Honestly, he thinks the drugs just made the situation worse. He couldn’t show it physically; he was so out of it, but the medication made the images and scenarios his brain began to conjure of Dally’s death so much worse. He ended up sleeping most of the day away in a drug and terror-induced haze.
It was difficult looking Ponyboy in the eye after that...
Between visits from his friends, doctors and nurses continue to come in and out of his room to check on him and monitor his health. It’s during one of these visits when a doctor is checking on his progress that he tells Johnny that with enough time, patience, and effort, he might stand a fighting chance of regaining some function and feeling back in his legs.
Johnny is almost moved to tears by the news, and the doctor mentions a few exercises and treatments they can use to start with.
The news brings a certain motivation back to Johnny’s life that he wasn’t aware he was missing, and he does everything he can in his power to help progress the healing process. He needs help with a few of the exercises they have him doing, but maybe, he hopes, over time, he’ll be able to do them by himself.
Unfortunately, it can’t all be good news.
The two men come back a couple of days later to tell him that once his stay in the hospital is finished, he’s being taken into protective custody until they can find somewhere else for him to stay. They ask him if he knows of any other family members who might be able to take care of him. He mentions his aunt offhandedly, but it’s been forever since he’s seen her, and he doesn’t even know where she lives. He wouldn’t even know where to start looking for her, so that line of questioning feels like a dead end to Johnny.
The men nod and write down everything he says anyway.
They leave Johnny with what feels like a gaping hole in his stomach.
The burns are itchy and overall unpleasant in Johnny’s opinion.
They’re still giving him pain meds, so it's not painful per se, but it does, however, feel extremely uncomfortable. Maybe if they didn’t cover most of his body, it wouldn’t be an issue, but with just how large a surface area they coat, it's beyond irritating.
They start on his back, the worst of it being where he was hit by the falling beam, with the burns traveling up the front of his neck and partially covering his arms. (His jean jacket, which was now mostly ruined, had surprisingly saved Johnny’s upper arms, but not his forearms, and the back of his hands and fingers). There are a few places on his legs that are burnt as well, but not as thoroughly, and the burns even reach up past his neck and onto part of his jawline.
They try to slather on some kind of burn cream, but it has this awful smell, like if you tried to mix mint with a shit ton of chemicals and called it a day. Not only that, but the cream, meant to help numb him, really just feels like pins and needles and subsequently makes him feel like a giant pincushion.
Not only does Johnny feel like shit, but he has a feeling he looks like shit, too. He can tell because there’s this terrible face Pony gives him whenever he walks into the room and looks at him. He’s like a giant, living, burning reminder of how everything went to hell.
Johnny has this awful, anxious want to scratch at his neck, but knows he’ll only make it worse. Perhaps he should consider getting some turtlenecks and gloves...
There’s a trial.
Johnny doesn’t quite understand what's happening because it feels like it's all going so fast and monumentally slow at the same time. The progression of time throughout the trial trickles by like it's going through an hourglass, one grain of sand at a time, before returning to normal and speeding up again. One second, he’s lying in his hospital bed, and next, he’s tossed in a wheelchair and shipped off to the courthouse. (Realistically, Johnny was told this was going to happen since he survived, but it still feels unreal to be on trial for murder.) The gangs all there to support him, sitting behind him in the spectators’ area, and he notices a few other familiar faces that take the stand. There’s Cherry Valance, attesting to the fact that Bob and his friends were drunk that night, and he thinks he also sees the man from the church attesting to his character or something of the sort. He’s also almost certain that Mr. Turner takes the stand as well, stating that his behavior could also be attributed to his questionable home life...
How kind of him to bring that up in front of all these people, Johnny thinks sarcastically. What a rumor to go around school when he gets back. ‘Do you see that kid? I heard he murdered someone because he was abused at home.’ Gee... thanks.
In the end, the Judge rules him not guilty but slaps him in a foster home with mandatory counseling — which Johnny will have to get from the school counselor — for at least a year every Tuesday and Thursday at the end of the school day like clockwork. He’s still a little dazed and out of it, but he’s pretty sure he can hear his mother yelling up a fuss in the spectator area about having her child taken away, like she actually cared about Johnny.
In all honesty, Johnny is relieved by the verdict. It could have been so much worse, and it feels like the weight of the world has just been lifted off his chest.
Another couple of weeks go by, and Johnny thinks he’s making good progress physically.
Mentally, he’s struggling to stay in the here and now.
His friends continue to drop by. Ponyboy stays with him after he gets out of school to read Gone with the Wind to him. On the occasions where Two-Bit comes to see him, he brings Johnny contraband snacks like his favorite ice cream or candy bars. Steve brings him flowers to brighten up the room while he’s asleep, but refuses to admit it was him who got them for Johnny when questioned about it.
Johnny doesn’t mention how much their visits mean to him.
Just before Johnny is set to be released from the hospital in a wheelchair, a pair of forearm crutches lying across his lap, and strict instructions from his doctor on exercises he needs to continue to do on his own time, there’s a knock at his door.
“Come in.”
Mr. Wright walks through the door, and Johnny has to resist the urge to sigh. What more could they possibly have to ask him? Hasn’t he answered enough questions? Though he doesn’t appear to have his notepad for once, Johnny thinks sarcastically.
“Hey, I heard you were being released,” Mr. Wright says as he closes the door behind him. “Congratulations. How are you feeling?”
“Thanks...” Johnny can feel his hands twitching in his lap and begins to fiddle with the hem of his shirt in an attempt to keep them occupied. “Alright, I suppose. Could always be better, but I think I’ve made some progress. Might even be able to use these someday.” Johnny looks down and carefully drags his hands over the crutches in his lap. “It’ll never quite be the same again, though, y’know?”
“I know,” Johnny glances up at Mr. Wright, but doesn’t lift his head. “I had a brother growing up who got into a pretty bad car crash. He ended up in a coma for a year and wasn’t able to walk either once he woke up.”
Johnny lifts his head to look him in the eye. “...How is he now?”
“After a couple of years of trying to get better with no signs of progress, he sort of just... gave up.” Johnny hangs his head again as he feels his eyes begin to sting.
“Hey, kid, could you do something for me?” Johnny nods his head. “Don’t give up like he did. I can tell you’re strong and you have people here who care about you. It was... painful to watch him deteriorate like that and lose hope of ever getting better, knowing there was nothing I could say or do to help. Don’t let it get to that point...”
Johnny quickly raises his arm and wipes the tears beginning to form in his eyes as quickly as he can. “Sure,” he sniffles slightly. “I’ll try.” Johnny gives him a watery smile.
“Good,” Mr. Wright smiles back. “That’s all you need to do.”
Mr. Wright nods his head toward the door and holds it open for Johnny as he finally leaves the room.
Using a wheelchair is a memorable experience. He needed more help from Mr. Wright getting out of the hospital and into his car than he would have liked or was used to.
Eventually, after a couple of quiet minutes of driving, they’re pulling up to the curb in front of an old-looking house. It’s kind of big, probably housing a lot of people, and made of old, worn-down bricks.
“This is it.” Mr. Wright turns off the ignition and pulls out his keys. “Listen,” he turns to look at Johnny. “I know this will be difficult, but it should only be temporary, okay?”
Johnny nods his head. “Okay...”
“Alright.” Mr. Wright opens his door and climbs out, shutting the door behind him with a click and moving to the other side of the car to help Johnny. He quickly grabs the wheelchair from the backseat, placing it on the ground and making sure it's properly set up before opening his door and helping Johnny get comfortable. He hands over the few possessions Johnny has to him and starts to push his wheelchair toward the front door. “Don’t stress too much, okay, kid? The school’s barely a block away, and your friends will be there for you. That one kid, Ponyboy, right?” Johnny nods his head. “You’ll see him around school, yeah? And as far as this place goes, you should be on the first floor, and we’ve had people grab some of the stuff they could find from your house.”
“Oh! And one more thing!” Mr. Wright quickly pats down his suit. “My partner, Turner, wanted me to suggest something. He thought it might be a good idea to have your name legally changed for safety reasons, if you’re worried about your mother or father trying to find you, get into contact with you, or anything like that-” Mr. Wright pulls out a business card from a pocket on the inside of his suit, “this is my card. Please call me if you need help navigating that or need help with anything else.”
“Thanks,” Johnny says as he takes the card.
Mr. Wright nods his head and gives a short knock to the front door of the house. “Of course. Best of luck to you, kid.”