Chapter Text
Johnny’s middle name is Andrew. His last name is Curtis. It always has been.
He knows he’s not really a Curtis, not by blood. Pounding on the front door reminds him, an angry burst of noise that shocks his nerves and sends him crawling under the bed like he’s five years old again instead of fourteen. Dust tickles his nose and makes him sneeze, and Johnny immediately claps a hand over his mouth. The person outside can’t know he’s here.
“Where the hell is he, Darrel?” A loud voice demands. It doesn’t mean Johnny’s older brother. The voice wants his father. The voice wants him. “Get ‘im out here now!”
Johnny trembles in the tight space between the bedframe and the floorboards. It would have been a lot easier to shut himself away in the closet, in hindsight, but Johnny had favored proximity over comfort. His parents have told him time and time again that he doesn’t need to hide when this particular visitor comes to call. They won’t let anything happen to him, they won’t let him get taken away from his home.
But Johnny hides anyway. Every time.
“Johnny?”
This voice is different. Kinder, softer. This voice has always cared about him. So he answers.
“Under here,” Johnny replies as quietly as he can. Sneakers appear in the crack of light he can see from his spot on the floor, and suddenly Ponyboy’s eyes are peering at him from the other side.
“Want me to stay?” Pony asks with a somber smile. Johnny nods quickly. “Alright. Scooch over.”
He makes as much room for his brother as he can while remaining completely concealed himself. If there’s even a chance that the stranger on the porch somehow gets inside the house, Johnny can’t risk them finding him. They’d drag him off, they’d take him to a place he doesn’t know, they’d say they’re his real family but they’re not, they’re not, they never have been and he doesn’t want them to be, not ever –
“Hey, Johnnycakes. Breathe.” Ponyboy instructs calmly. He inhales deeply through his nose, a cue for Johnny to do the same. Johnny drags in a breath, but it does little to ease the crashing waves of panic in his stomach.
“I mean it, Curtis! That little brat is mine!” The gruff, grating voice outside calls again. It sounds angrier than normal. Maybe it’s drunk.
“You’re not.” Ponyboy says before Johnny even has a chance to let his tears fall. “You’re ours. You’re my brother, Johnny. Just remember that, okay?”
He rubs circles into Johnny’s back, and the repetitive pattern manages to calm him just enough to allow deeper breaths into his body. “You promise?”
“Cross my heart.” Pony does the motion, too, and Johnny repeats it. Their sacred oath.
More footsteps echo down the hallway, urgent and purposeful. Johnny can tell they belong to both Darrel Sr. and Darrel Jr.
“Johnathan.” His dad’s greeting is curt when he opens the door. There’s none of the usual friendliness and cheer he’s known for in the word, and it would almost be scary if Johnny didn’t know the man who spoke so well.
“Where’s my son?” The voice asks again, making Johnny flinch. Ponyboy shushes him gently while he keeps up the circles.
“You don’t have a son.” Johnny’s brother Darry pipes up now. He’s almost more intimidating than their father. “Or are you too drunk off your ass to remember?”
“Johnny’s my kid, and y’all stole ‘im from me!” Johnathan Cade argues. His words slur; Darry’s right.
This routine usually plays out most often when the Cades overindulge. That seems to be the only way they can recall they’d once had a baby boy. And it’s the only time they care enough to want him back.
But they don’t really want him in the same way the Curtises do. From what few memories of his time at his biological parents house he can conjure, he knows all they’re really after is a punching bag. He has a scar on his cheek from where his biological father – Johnathan – had taken a bottle to him the night he’d been swept away from that hellhole for good.
“That’s when we got our bonus brother!” Soda always says when the story’s told. He’ll usually ruffle Johnny’s hair after that.
It’s the only good thing that comes out of Johnathan Cade’s “visit” every few months. After they’ve chased him off, Johnny’s real parents and his brothers will gather him in their arms and remind him that they chose him. They rescued him and brought him to a home where safety is guaranteed and love is boundless. Johnny’s convinced he’s the luckiest kid there’s ever been.
But right now, when Johnathan is still here, it’s all too easy to believe fate will leave him high and dry.
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, Johnny,” Ponyboy reads his mind. “You’re stayin’ right here.”
“I’m asking you to kindly leave me and my family alone now, Johnathan.” Their father’s request is measured and calm, but there’s a threat lurking behind it that Johnny knows will be made good on if the other man doesn’t comply.
“And this time don’t come back,” Darry growls, his anger much less concealed. Johnny can practically see the fists that form his words.
“Ain’t you one to talk about family, Curtis? When mine is here, freeloadin’ offa you and your wife?”
Freeloading. That’s what he’s doing, isn’t it? Should he just go? Would he be doing everyone a favor if he weren’t bumming around here anymore? “Ponyboy –”
“Don’t listen to him.” Johnny’s youngest brother firmly cuts him off before he can say anything he’s thinking out loud. Johnny’s silently grateful.
“Johnny’s our son just as much as our other boys are. We’ve taken good care of him, believe me.” Darrel Sr. insists. “So you can go now.”
There’s a sudden scuffling sound, and Darry yells “Hey!” in a tone that sends a jolt of frenzied fear through Johnny’s bones. He whimpers despite himself, clamping his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes as tight as he can to block out everything around him except for the feeling of Ponyboy’s soothing circles on his back. Every muscle in his body tenses while he prepares for the inevitable: Johnathan got in somehow. Any moment now he’ll pull Johnny out from under the bed and bring him back to that house filled with nothing but pain. He’d been a fool to think this life with the Curtises would last forever.
Fingertips graze his own, and Johnny jerks back as far as he can.
“Johnny! It’s just me!” Soda’s voice comes out quick and desperate. “He’s gone!”
Johnny blinks quickly and a few wet drops slip past his lashes. Soda reaches out slowly to wipe one away.
“Gone?” Johnny repeats around a hard swallow.
“Gone.” Soda confirms with a nod and a gentle grin. “You and Pony can come out now, yeah?”
But Johnny doesn’t want to come out. He wants to stay here, tucked away with Ponyboy, safe from Johnanthan’s warped, cruel voice forever.
Softer footsteps follow Soda’s into the room, and his mom– the only real mother he’s ever known– ducks down onto the ground, her face coming into Johnny’s line of sight. Even just looking at her makes him feel calmer. She always smells like chocolate cake.
“Hey, baby,” she says sweetly. “You’re safe now. You wanna come on out?”
Johnny shakes his head. Karen sighs.
“Well, I suppose that means we’ll all just have to have dinner under here tonight.” The words take Johnny by surprise.
“What?” he chokes. His mother shrugs.
“S’pose so, huh Pony?” She cracks a smile, and Ponyboy giggles beside Johnny.
“Yeah, let’s have dinner under the bed!” he says, nudging Johnny in the arm. “Make room for everyone!”
Even as a joke, the idea of making his entire family eat on the floor for his sake fills Johnny with a dread like no other. He pushes himself out from underneath the bed before anyone can suggest such a thing again.
“N-no, we don’t have to do that,” he stammers. His hands wring themselves at his chest, a nervous habit.
“Then we won’t,” his mother replies simply. She stands when Johnny does and bushes dirt from her knees. Ponyboy follows suit.
“Aw man!” Soda whines, but he’s grinning too. “I really wanted to eat with all the dust bunnies!”
“What’s this about dust bunnies?” Johnny’s father and Darry appear in the doorway, both of his heroes cool and collected as though they hadn’t just thrown their intoxicated neighbor out of their house.
“Mom said we’d eat under the bed with Johnny if he wouldn’t come out,” Ponyboy reports. He takes Johnny’s hand. “But he’s here now, so we don’t have to.”
“That sounds fair to me,” their father chuckles. He runs a hand through Johnny’s hair as he and Ponyboy pass by them and head out into the hallway toward the kitchen. The touch is comforting, familiar, steadying. Johnny has a feeling he wouldn’t receive the same from the man who’d been on their porch today.
Dinner is a lively affair, as usual. Soda talks about a fight he almost got into at school today (“But I didn’t!” he quickly reassures their parents), Darry recounts a new play he learned at football practice, and Ponyboy and Johnny keep their heads ducked close together, reading out of To Kill A Mockingbird. Well, Pony whispers the story out loud while Johnny eats and listens.
Their being allowed to have a book at the dinner table is how Johnny knows what happened tonight was serious. Their mother typically scolds Pony when he brings his latest novel to their shared meal. But tonight she only smiles when Johnny looks up to make sure it’s okay.
And despite it all, Johnny smiles back.