~Cicada~ Johnny Cade x male reader

Brawl Buddies

         TW: ABUSE, MENTIONS OF PUKE, HOMOPHOBIA, VIOLENCE

             I just want to make one thing clear: I am not a soc. That may seem like an odd sentence to an outsider looking in, but you'd be surprised how often I'd been confused for one by people who know my mother. She lives on the soc side of town. She acts like them too. Verbally abusive, a manipulator, vile, and vain. But being her kid, I was able to handle her. Well, until she finally put her hands on me.

          I came home with my grade card, and I had a B- in mathematics. Boy, was that lady livid. The rest is a blur, but I remember a stinging on my cheek, the pain of a bruise forming on my stomach, and a pile of vomit next to where I laid. I was emancipated by 16, which brings me to where I am now. Walking back to my home (on the Greaser side of town) with a couple bags of groceries I picked up from the gas station. I'm a regular there because it's the only place with prices I can afford to get food at. One of the workers is real swell. His name is Sodapop Curtis. I find his name odd, "Sodapop". He's always really nice to me, though. He says it's because I remind him of a member in his gang.

          Which reminds me, I might want to take the other way home. There's gonna be a brawl soon on my normal path. I cut into an alleyway and recenter myself on the cracked sidewalk on the other side. You never know what's gonna happen 'round here. Between the switchblade fights, beer blasts, and brawls it can be quite overwhelming. Luckily, my house is on the outskirts of town, out of the way of most of the action. It's good to lay low in my situation. I mean, I'm a soc-gone-greaser that's openly gay and lives alone. I'm the perfect target to get beat. I smile as I finally arrive in front of my house. It's got old, peeling white paneling that's got "Greaser Territory" in  red spray-paint splattered on it, a bullet hole in one of the four windows, and an old wood roof that's sagging slightly, but it's home.

         I enter, put my groceries in the fridge, then head back out for a walk. It's a little chilly, my black, wide-strapped tank top not doing much to shield my arms from the wind. I keep walking until I pass a seemingly empty lot, where I hear my name being called. I stop.

"Hey, (Y/N)!"

        I scan over the empty lot once again and see Sodapop calling my name. He was hanging with a group of people.

"Well, don't be shy, come on over, man!"

         Sodapop waved me over. Beginning to walk over, I drop my expression, put one hand one of the pockets of my baggy dark jeans, and ran the other through my hair. Greasers have to appear tough, or people won't take them seriously. That includes other greasers. "Hey Sodapop, Hey Steve," I greet the two people I recognized from the gas station. "Me 'n the gang were about to head over to a brawl on the next street over. If you're into that sorta thing, wanna come? The more the merrier!" Now you may remember saying that kinda thing was overwhelming. Well the thing is, I don't go looking for brawls. However, a brawl once in a while is quite a way to relieve stress. I smile.

"Sure, man. Skin-to-skin or will there be switchblades?"

"This brawl's with a group of socs, so I'd bring a switch just in case."

"Always got one one me."

"Smart kid."

         Sodapop turns to his gang. He pointed each one out to me. "The big goofy Looking one is Two-Bit. He's a real funny guy. The troubled looking kid over there, that's Dallas Winston." I knew Dallas Winston. Everyone did. He's got quite a reputation. "The little one with lighter hair," Sodapop continued, "is my little brother Ponyboy. Yep, that's his real name! The kid over there with tan skin and dark hair is Johnny. He's the one who you remind me of. My big brother Darry couldn't make it due to work, and you already know Steve." I take in all this information.

"Hey Guys!" Soda yells, getting his gang's attention. They all look towards us.

"This is (Y/N)! He's gonna join us for this evenin's brawl!"

        Dallas just grunts in response. However, Two-Bit, Ponyboy, and Johnny approach me. "How old are ya, squirt?" Two-Bit asks. "I'm sixteen," I say, "but I know I probably look younger."

"You good in a fight?" Two-Bit asks.

"I've won my share."

"Carry a switchblade on ya?"

"Everywhere I go."

         I don't think I ever mentioned why I always keep a blade in my back pocket at all times. One night, coming home from a particularly late shopping expedition, I was cornered. A blue mustang. I was about halfway home when it pulled up. Before I could even blink, five big guys with clean hair and madras jumped out and surrounded me. I quickly tossed the grocery bags aside. I tried my damnedest to get away, but to no use. They pulled out a blade and it was over for me. After ten minutes of getting beat and having "Queer!" And "Fag!" screamed in my face, I was left bleeding on the sidewalk. I still have a scar on my upper arm from a gash the blade left.

        "Alright, boy. You seem trustworthy. Welcome to the gang!" Two-Bit said cheerily. "I'm Ponyboy, but you can just call me Pony," the kid next to him said. "And that's Johnny, but I'm sure Soda already told you all this." Johnny tilted his head at me as a way of saying hello. I smile. "Nice to meet ya Two-Bit, Pony, and Johnny! Now, who's ready for a brawl?"