(Ugh I hate how I wrote this one but Day 1! Swooning! I tried my best lol. Hopefully these will get better overtime.)
He looked late, part of me wished he was. He wouldn’t be suffering all that agony then. Gosh did that kid feel pain. The punctures, uniform on his cheek. So much blood that his hair gel mixed with the crimson liquid. Drying in his hair. A heaped up mess made of his hair. My breath hitched, looking down at my friend who was already meek and feeble before this. When the room wasn’t filled with the incoherent yells and ramblings of the gang, his cries were audible. A quarry caught in a bear trap. The stagnant whimpers I couldn’t hear all that well. Ever so often his sniffles would clog his throat. Making him have to cough and gargle. His once wide alert gaze transformed into a fluttering half lidded mess. My fingers trailed up his cheek. To my dismay, he was frigid. I staggered back, like I was afraid of him. In a sense I was. This boy wasn't the friend I had known. He couldn't have been. That's what I wanted to believe.
"Jesus Christ... What do we- What in the hell do we do?" Two-Bit asked, his face sharp and cold. It didn't match how he was an hour previous. I decided to scan everyone else's manner. Most were the same, panicked and shaky. Dallas wasn't. He was quiet, seeming to analyze Johnny. His eyes were dead. Almost as dead as Johnny looked. I picked up his rusted jean jacket. The one that had led us to him. The one that rode up his forearms. Exposing the lacerations and bruises from his folks' beatings. Sometimes the lacerations of his own. But now those, layered atop his past scars with new ones. I wrapped him up. At the moment, I worried he'd die of hypothermia or something. It was silly but he was so cold. The color in his face had faded. Like if you sucked the flavoring of a popsicle. His parents didn't care enough to buy him a new jacket. It's not like they could afford it though. Even if they loved him, that didn't print money. If it did they'd love the hell out of him.
I held the jacket tight around him, soaking up the blood. His head on the pavement. I could tell he was trying to force his eyelids open. All I could see was the black of his irises obscured by his eyelashes. "Pony...Pony...?" He gasped, his sniffles and whimpers hiding behind his words. "Yeah...Yeah that's me Johnnycake." I said, biting down so hard on my lip that it could've drawn blood. His frown pursed his lips as he stifled a sob. Tears fell down his face in a methodical rhythm. A helpless puppy at my feet. "Soda, get thread and needle. Bandages too and some peroxide okay?" Dally asked, his face stoic as he looked down at Johnny's frail figure. The tone of his voice, strained but unfeeling. Although he phrased it as a question, it wasn't. "Dally y'know I gotta-" "Go." He shot in, his voice raising as he spoke to Soda. His eyes never left Johnny despite him speaking to Soda. I could hear Soda gulp before he scampered off.
"I was just trying to get the ball...I didn't know- I didn't- I-It hurts God." Johnny whimpered, his eyes widening. "We're- We're gonna help ya' Johnnycake don't cha' worry, ya' dig?" Dally said, his voice shaken. Johnny coughed, some foreign fluid spurting out of his lips. He looked so gone. So gone. "I didn't mean to. I didn't want no trouble but now it hurts. It hurts real bad." I felt hot saliva gulp down my throat with each word he uttered.
The only thing that interrupted my thoughts was the sound of Sodapops converse. The hits on the pavement, boisterous. He had only taken about two minutes to run all the way home and back. His hands filled with medical supplies as he rushed up to Dally. Soda shoved all the supplies in Dallys hands. "I gottem." Soda muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped to the side. Dally strides up, leaning over Johnny's frame. His gaze is cold as he shoves me to the side. "Hey, Johnny. It's Dal'." He talked as if Johnny couldn't see him. All Johnny did was add a nod of acknowledgement despite his cries. His gaze was glossy, a deer in headlights. "Johnny, I oughta' do somethin' but it's gonna hurt some, ya dig'?" Dally asked, his voice with a strenuous tone. Johnny gulped, his legs quivering from below. Johnny doesn't say anything. Johnny would let Dally do anything though. He had no objections. He pulled Johnny up with ease, laying him back up against the wall of a shop between the alley. A bottle produced in Dallys hand. It was black with a white label I couldn't read from afar. He whipped it up, grasping Johnny's shoulder. Johnny's jacket in his lap. Dally put the bottle up to his teeth, using his canines to rip off the lid. Then all I could hear were the yelps that escaped Johnny's mouth.
The peroxide, dripping down his cheek and foaming at the punctures. His teeth brought up, hitting down on his lip and snapping down. Johnny's whimpers remained shaky, his eyes finally opening up as they were earlier. Dallys hands kept him somewhat still. At least his top half. His legs were thrashing and kicking about. That boy must have been so scared that even help hurt him. Everything hurt him. His hands trembled. The cuts and bruises on his body like coloring paper. The worst part was coming. Dally pulled out the spool of thread, tying it around the needle before looking back down to Johnny's eyes. "Dally...Dally please- I-I-" Johnny started, realizing the gravity of the situation. Despite Dal helping him, this wasn't going to be pretty. It wasn't. Dally pulled up his hand, inhaling as much as his lungs could hold. And then he pierced through his skin.
The sounds that came out of that boy were...indescribable. The shrieks of guttural agony filled the air. The rest of us couldn't help but wince in solidarity. He kept yelling and thrashing about. Yelling nonsensical nothings. Pleas and cries that went unheard. But it had to be unheard. It ain't like any of us could pay for medical help. Hell knows Johnny's parents didn't give a rat's ass about helping him. "Stop please stop- god just- Stop stop stop stop stop!" He screamed, tears streaming down his face and obscuring the thread. His legs were kicking. Not to kick Dally but to distract himself by moving. The stitches trailed up Johnny's cheek and temple. Each thrust inwards of Johnny's tanned skin. The layers of skin are pierced by the string. The thread that had been in our junk drawer ten minutes prior. Dallys face was still cold. But ever so often, his gaze would falter away from him each time he cried. He loved Johnny. He was all he loved. That's why he was stitching him up like Frankenstein.
His thread moved in and out of his cheek. Before landing on the last stitch, pulling his skin together with one quick tug. That was the worst. Johnny cried and whined so loud China could hear him. No one could blame him. His vision looked clouded. He didn't seem present even as Dally gauzed his cheek. Blood pooling and sponged by the white fabric of the gauze. "Johnny, I had to do that y'know." Dally said. Dally would never apologize for anything. Not even for Johnny. I knew what he meant though. Johnny sobbed, covering up his face with his hands before Dally pulled them away. He placed them to his sides before pulling up his hand. "Johnny, answer me. How many fingers am I holding up? Can you see Johnnycake?" He waved his hand in his face. His finger formed into a three. Johnny shook his head with vigor. "Three- I-It's three." He said, his voice quivering as much as his body was. Dally stepped back, tapping Darry before he scooped up Johnny.
"We'll patch you up Johnnycake. Promise."
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