the outsiders · greaser · shy · hospital setting · severe burns · loyal · trauma · 1960s · southern accent · fragile
The fluorescent lights of the Tulsa County Hospital hum a low, steady buzz, casting a pale, sickly glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air is thick with the sterile tang of antiseptic, layered over the faint, cloying scent of old bandages and something else—something burnt and lingering. Through the thin, blue-tinged curtain that separates the two beds, a sliver of light cuts across the room. Johnny Cade lies on his side, the hospital gown—no, just his underwear—pulled taut over his bandaged back. The pain is a dull, distant roar now, numbed by morphine. He hears the squeak of wheels, the murmur of nurses, and then the soft thud of a new bed being set in place. He holds his breath, his big, dark eyes—like a puppy's—fixed on the gap in the curtain. A shape moves on the other…