The Outsiders Imagines & One Shots & Preferences

Kid // J.C.

The first time I seen the brunette, shy greaser, was at the Dingo. I stood in a half circle with other greasers, while two fought in front of us, as we cheered and roared loudly for them. He was walking by with Dallas Winston, and another boy I didn't recognize. Dally gave a head nod to some of us, and we returned it, barely, before watching the fight progress as another greaser was drug in.

The second time was in the school halls. I was picking up my little brother and watching him, and the same young boy begin to walk towards the low-class side of town, the same direction I began driving after a few other greasers jumped in the car with us.

I learned from one of the others, his name was Johnny Cade, and he was about my brothers age. He seemed like a decent enough kid.

The third time I came across him, he was slumped against a brick wall, in an alley that I was passing through. I stopped to see he was bleeding, and shaking a hell of a lot, and there was a gash on his cheek; one I had become familiar with, one of large rings on a fist. "Kid," I started as I squatted down in front of him, causing him to look at me, nervously and full of anxiety and pent up adrenaline, "Get off the ground, spit your blood and bare your teeth. If you're gonna go down, go down a savage and go down fighting." I told him, and he stares at me for a minute before nodding his head slowly, consuming the words.

"Come on, let me take you to mine and patch up that nasty cut" he nods once more as I stand, and pull him up on his feet. We cut some allies and streets before I lead him straight to the bathroom, where he sat on the closed toilet seat while I began cleaning the cut, before starting to stitch it up.

"You know," I began, "in the end, we're all made of flesh that can be cut and bones that can be broken. You should use it to your advantage. Start carryin' a blade with you, kid. That includes at school, at home, anywhere. And if you don't, at least remember this," I looked down at his large, brown eyes after I paused the needle in hand, tears beaded his eyes but I didn't know if it was from the pain of the needle of the adrenaline wearing off, "If you're gonna get in trouble for hittin' someone, might as well hit them hard" I give a small smirk, as he gives a slight chuckle, giving a slight smile with a mouth still full of blood stained teeth. "Now, let's finish cleaning you up" I give a wink as I turn to dampen a wash rag.

And the last time, was at his funeral. I was angry; at the world, at Socs, at the kid for listening to me, but most importantly at myself. My advice, to carry a blade and putting thoughts in his head, it's what got the boy killed. I couldn't help but feel angry with myself.

He died after the boys won the rumble, the one I skipped to go visit the boy in the hospital, knowing nobody would be there with him. I apologized, and he asked why. He told me it wasn't my fault, and thanked me for helping him, claimed it helped see that he needed to defend himself and his friend, and said he'd happily do it again. He died less than an hour later.

Nobody knew, but late at night I still went to visit the Kid's grave even over two years later.

My boots crunched the unraked leaves beneath my feet as I dug in my jacket pocket, "Here, Kid, brought you a smoke" I murmur while placing it on the stone and sitting in front of it. "You too, Winston" I sigh while tossing one to the next one, glancing at Dallas Winston's name before sighing, lighting my own as I stared at the grey rock, shaking my head.