Chapter Text
Five years. Johnny was sentenced to five years in the slammer. The bus rocked and jolted as it made it’s way down the gravel road to the prison. Johnny’s stomach turned with the wheels of the bus. Good thing he hadn’t eaten all day or he might’ve had his lunch in his lap. Time was moving fast.
He didn't mean to kill him. It just happened so fast. He just didn't know what to do.
Johnny swallowed and looked forward to the front of the bus where the driver was chatting with the guard. The bus was relatively empty, there were two other tough looking boys. One of which kept eyeing Johnny suggestively. He looked down into his lap, flexing his thin fingers in order to avoid the hungry gaze.
He didn't belong here.
He missed the gang. He missed Steve’s cocky remarks and Two-Bit’s wisecrack jokes and he missed Soda’s reckless grin that could make anyone feel better. He missed Darry too, the protector of the group with his Superman complex. But most of all he missed his best friend, Ponyboy and his poetic ramblings. As much as he regretted killing that Soc, he would do it a thousand times over to save Pony.
The bus came to a slow stop, the brakes squealing beneath the vehicle's weight. The officer at the front of the bus and another at the back stood to their feet, leading the three boys out onto the dusty gravel and into the fresh air. Johnny took a deep breath, enjoying his last moments outside the prison walls. Miles of chain link fence surrounded the prison grounds, boys of all ages congregated behind. He grimaced as one boy threw a punch at another and his eye twitched.
Shuffling their feet, the group stopped in front of the administration building. Three new officers came out of the building and led the teens individually to different rooms. The sterile, concrete walls reflected the bright lights. Johnny adjusted initial brightness, quickly taking note of the frigid air.
“Strip,” the officer commanded, holding out his hands to take the clothing.
Johnny swallowed loudly as he began to remove his jacket. The emotionless gaze of the officer made him feel more self-conscious than he already was. His hands were shaking as he removed the last of his clothing. His body was littered with bruises and scars, some new and some old. The newer ones were a parting gift from his old man. The officer's eyes trailed down his body from neck to feet, not once meeting his eyes, he sighed and pushed the orange uniform into his hands. Johnny changed quickly, not wanting any more attention.
He had his photo taken and was blinded by the harsh flash of the camera. Then he was led down a darkened hallway and into an even brighter room. A man in a white lab coat sat in a chair. He had honey brown hair with dark eyes. His name tag read Dr. Richardson. The doctor gave Johnny a smile and pulled out a clipboard. Johnny answered all his questions, the ones about his bruises receiving vague answers. Dr. Richardson was kind to him and made Johnny feel at ease. He offered Johnny one last kind smile, one that met his eyes. The guard standing by the door cleared his throat after a moment, leading Johnny to his cell block.
Sneers and angry calls of ‘fresh meat’ rang out through the cell block as Johnny dragged his feet. The guards leading him to his cell tugged on the tight metal cuffs cutting into his wrists. His heart began to thump and it felt as if his heart was lodged in his throat. He was startled by the harsh voices around him. The other boys leered at him, some even lurched forward to the bars of their cells. An older boy in the cell across from him grasped the bars and grinned at Johnny, their eyes locking. He could have only been eighteen or so with dark sinister eyes and a healed gash across his cheek.
“Hey there,” the other boy sharing the cell smirked.
Johnny shivered, flinching away from the voice. The guard tapped his shoulder, he wasn’t so bad, pulling Johnny around to unlock the cuffs. Imprints were left on his wrists and they were sore. They walked past two more cells before they reached their destination. The guard gave him a reassuring squeeze as he gestured for him to get into the cell. Johnny gave him a small, shaky smile before going in.
He slid down the cold, concrete wall huddling in the corner, he grabbed at his dark hair, which was no longer greased up, in handfuls tugging and twisting. Johnny began to shake, his body wracked with uncontrollable sobs. He muffled the cries with his knees. He was glad he had no one to share his cell with, no one to hear him cry.