The smoke was still hanging heavy in the air, clinging to Dally’s jacket, Ponyboy’s hair, and Johnny’s trembling hands. The sirens wailed in the distance, loud and shrill, chasing away the sound of their own labored breathing. The church stood broken and charred behind them, the fire now under control, but the image of the roof crashing down would burn in Johnny’s mind forever. Only, it hadn’t been him this time—it had been Ponyboy.

Johnny’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. He hadn’t even realized he was screaming until Dally was dragging him back, shoving him toward safety. Ponyboy had gone down when the roof gave way, disappearing under a mess of burning wood and ash. For a moment Johnny’s world had just… stopped. He’d thought he’d lost him right there.

But then they’d found him—Ponyboy, limp and unconscious, but breathing. Barely burned thanks to Dally’s leather jacket shielding him from the worst of it, though his face was pale, smeared with soot, and there was blood trickling from somewhere near his temple. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like each breath was a fight.

Johnny felt like he couldn’t breathe at all. His best friend—his brother in all but blood—was lying there, so still, and Johnny couldn’t stand it. Dally was trying to keep it together, but his jaw was clenched so tight Johnny thought his teeth might break. For once, Dallas Winston looked scared.

The ambulance doors shut, and Johnny climbed in beside Ponyboy without a second thought. Dally argued with the paramedics until they let him ride along too. Ponyboy’s head lolled against the stretcher, his bleach hair darkened by smoke and sweat. Johnny reached for his hand, trembling, but he held it the whole way to the hospital, whispering shaky reassurances more for himself than Ponyboy.

By the time they got there, the waiting room felt like another world. Cold white walls, buzzing lights, the smell of disinfectant—it was nothing like the fire and smoke, but Johnny’s nerves burned all the same. He couldn’t sit still, pacing and wringing his hands until finally he worked up the courage to make the call. His voice cracked as he begged the operator to connect him to the Curtis household.

“Johnny? What’s wrong?” Darry’s voice had never sounded so sharp, so full of panic. Sodapop shouted something in the background.

“It’s Ponyboy,” Johnny choked out. “The church—it burned down, and he—he got hurt. He’s at the hospital, Darry, you gotta come quick—”

Johnny didn’t even get the words out fully before Darry hung up, probably already pulling Sodapop into the truck. Johnny dropped the receiver and slumped against the wall, burying his face in his hands.

Minutes felt like hours. Every time a doctor walked past, Johnny’s stomach lurched. Dally paced with the same restless energy, his fists clenching and unclenching like he was ready to hit the walls just to let something out.

And then the doors flew open.

“Where is he?” Darry’s voice thundered through the sterile hallway, raw with worry. Sodapop was right behind him, wide-eyed and pale. The two of them looked like they’d run straight through the world to get here.

Johnny pointed with shaking hands toward the closed door at the end of the hall. His voice was small, breaking. “He’s in there. They—they ain’t let us see him yet.”