#if anyone deserves to be a goddamn menace its johnny

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

"Hey Johnny-"

"Not now, Pony." Johnny hesitates, the tray in his hands wobblin' crazily as he noses one skate off the curb, then the other. From the corner of his eye he can see Pony poutin' hard 'n he winces. "Sorry, Pone. Gimme a sec, number five has been waitin' on this meal for fifteen minutes 'cause the kitchen lost the ticket."

He scowls, shifts the tray over to his other hand, grabs his frustration with graspin' fingers 'n shoves it down 'n aside. It was fine. He's just tired.

"Oh, ook." Pony pulls his knees up to his chest 'n reorientes the book he's readin' on them. He's got whipped cream on his cheekbone from the shake Johnny snuck him 'n Johnny buries a laugh behind a cough.

"I'll be right back." He kicks off the curb, deftly maneuvers the pothole in the middle of the parkin' lot they refuse to fix. Someone shouts at him from a car 'n he fixes his mouth up into a practiced smile, gestures that he'll be there in a moment. Pulls up to the car parked in number five with learned ease.

"Hey folks! Sorry for the wait! I have-"

"Jesus, fuckin' took you long enough." Johnny grinds his teeth together, tosses his hair off his forehead. Just ignore it, just ignore it, just ignore it.

"So sorry! Kitchen had a bit of a mess back there-"

"Whatever. C'mon, hand it over." Johnny pictures, very clearly, throwin' the cherry cola all over the clearly reupholstered seatin' of the stupid tuff ass Mustang.

"Of course." He presses one skate into the other 'n bends down to hand the bag through the window. Someone behind him wolf whistles 'n he clenches his fists. It was fine. He was halfway finished this goddamn shift 'n then he could go lay face down on the Curtis' couch until Soda forced him up for dinner or Dallas cajoled him into a card game Johnny would inevitably pound him into the ground at. Just a little longer.

The guy doesn't tip, of course, but Johnny won't say anythin' as long as he can get the hell away from him. He rips out of the parkin' spot 'n Johnny smirks to himself when the car pitches as it hits the pothole.

Pony's perched up on top of the table still, the sun at his back makin' his hair look like a red gold halo. He's still got that smear of whipped cream on his face 'n Johnny laughs to himself.

Pony was still too young to get a job, really. Or at least that was what Darry thought. They had the argument about once a week. Pony insistin' he was mature enough 'n Darry laughin' in his face. He didn't mean to be mean but it always ended with Pony red-faced 'n madder than a wet hen. Johnny could see both sides. Darry wantin' Pony to focus on school 'cause he was smarter than all of them put together 'n Pony just wantin' somethin' that gave him a little extra cash on the side 'cause he felt bad askin' Darry or Soda.

Not that they ever fully explained that to each other.

Sometimes Johnny ached for Soda. Both his brothers were stubborn as the day was long.

A horn blasts 'n Johnny jumps, whips around. A new cars pulled into spot three 'n the driver waves a hand impatiently out the window.

Jesus, Johnny plasters on his smile, tries not to think about how bad his feet ache, presses the tray to his chest like armor, don't rush it, Pone. You ain't missin' anythin'.

"Hey folks! Thanks for comin' in! How are y'all today?" He shifts the tray to his side, flips open the chicken scratch notebook.

"Cherry shake, cheeseburger, 'n a fry." Yeah, I'm doin' just fine, too. Thanks for fuckin' askin'.

"Alrighty! Anythin' else?" The girl in the passenger seat leans forward, shoots Johnny a bright little smile.

"Just a chocolate shake!" Johnny scratches the order down, returns her grin with a genuine beam that shows his dimple.

"Sure, ma'am." She giggles 'n Johnny flips the ticket book closed, slides it into his pocket. "I'll have that right away."

He pushes off the curb, flick his eyes across the lot before he kicks into the street. A truck peels in, burnin' rubber 'n squealin' on the breaks suddenly. Johnny would recognize it anywhere. 'N it meant Soda was drivin'.

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, allows himself a fond smile. God, you would think they were all unemployed the way they found odd times to loiter around the joint.

Johnny hops the curb deftly, skates himself to the window 'n drops the ticket onto the metal rack. One of the boys in the kitchen glares at him 'n Johnny shrugs a shoulder. Not his fault the place was jumpin'. He sets the tray down on the stack, twistin' when he hears Pony excitedly callin' out to Soda.

The truck swings into an open spot, crooked as a car can be, 'n Soda throws the door open, grinnin' wide. Dallas pulls himself halfway out of the passenger seat so he's sittin' in the window with his feet on the seat 'n gives Johnny a lazy two-finger salute.

Johnny darts a look around to make sure his manager is still, as usual, nowhere to be found, before he hoofs it over to Darry's beat-up old pickup.

"Johnny Cakes!" Soda greets him with his usual grin 'n Johnny rolls his eyes 'n glances over his shoulder, pushin' him back to the car.

"Soda get back in! You know the rules on stayin' in the vehicles!" He hisses 'n Soda pouts cartoonishly, high steppin' back to avoid Johnny's skates.

"Glory, Dally, you hear this? Johnny's runnin' this place like the military!" Soda snaps himself to attention 'n Johnny sticks one skate behind his leg 'n pushes him deftly back through the wide open door so he lands hard on his ass back in the driver's seat.

"Yeah, we'll see what you have to say when I show up at the DX 'n act a fool." Johnny rolls his eyes, blows a strand of hair off his forehead, 'n Soda grins a wide, toothy smile.

"Aw, c'mon Johnny. You'd never." Soda pouts again 'n Johnny slips his notebook out, mimes takin' an order so he doesn't catch any flack if anyone's watchin'.

"Yeah, he'd never." Pony shoves one hand into Soda's chest 'n clambers over him to the middle seat. "He's the only one of you with any manners." Dallas 'n Soda let out twin indignant noises 'n Dallas kicks him at the same time Soda shoves him, resulting in a tangled mass of squirmin' limbs.

"You're one to talk, ain'tcha Pone?" Pony scowls, rubs at the sore spot on his hip Dallas nailed.

"Well, y'all aren't makin' your case." A horn blares across the parkin' lot 'n Johnny groans. Dallas twists to glare at them, flippin' them off when they hit the horn again.

"Dallas quit it." Johnny hisses 'n Dallas furrows his brow, pushes white blonde hair from his eyes.

"What? They shouldn't be allowed to do that shit." The horn goes again 'n now Pony, Soda, 'n Dallas are all glowerin' out the window.

"The fuck's their problem, Johnny?" Pony makes a face 'n Soda lets out a knowin' sigh.

"Go get 'em, tiger." He reaches through the open door to squeeze Johnny on the shoulder 'n Johnny lets out a long breath. A familiar routine, big smile, avoid the pothole, be nice. Be kind. Take it. Take it. Take it.

"Hey, y'all! Everythin' ok?" The roof's thrown back on the hot little Stingray. A car full of Soc boys Johnny's seen a thousand times. He bites back on the irritation, knows what they're gonna say before anyone even opens their mouths.

"Jesus, we've been waitin' here all day. Lousy fuckin' service." Take it.

"Sorry, man. We're kinda busy at the moment. What can I get y'all?" The boy in the driver's seat rolls his eyes, leans to stare daggers at the menu. So much for bein' in a fat fuckin' hurry.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. We'll take-" Johnny zones out, takes the ramblin' order absently, feels his smile slip when he hears Soda whoopin' 'n hootin' somewhere behind him. God, he'd kill to walk right over there, peel those stupid goddamn skates off, chuck 'em through the drive-through window, 'n rip right outta here.

"Fuckin' hello?" The boy's sharp voice prods him back to the present 'n he blinks, shakes his head.

"Oh, so sorry. Will that be all?"

"Fuckin' idiots they have workin' here." Take it, take it, take it-

"I'll get that in for y'all." Kick off the curb, dodge the pothole, drop the ticket in the window, pick up spot three's food. He was so close. So goddamn close.

The man in the Mustang is still scowlin' darkly. The girl's still smilin' that bright little smile like Johnny never left. "Hey, folks! Cherry shake, cheeseburger, 'n a fry for you, sir." He passes the food through the window, his voice chipper 'n fake even to his own ears. "'N a chocolate shake for the lady." He leans down to pass it through 'n the girl reaches out eagerly a giggle on her lips. The man catches his arm 'n Johnny flinches, fights the urge to not drop it straight onto his lap.

"She don't need no shake. We didn't order that." Johnny wavers, glances over to the girl. Her eyes dart down, smile fallin' quickly away.

"Oh! I'm sorry." He twists his wrist, goes to offer it again. Dislike 'n disdain 'n a sudden roarin' anger thrummin' steadily under his pulse. "My bad, man. Well, take it anyway. It'll just get tossed if y'all won't take it." The man's not lettin' go of him, pushin' his arm back from the car.

"She don't want it." The girl sighs 'n folds her hands in her lap, won't meet Johnny's eye. Jesus Christ. That was it. Actually.

"You know what?" Johnny wrenches his arm from the man's grip, drops the tray to the ground 'n does somethin' he'd imagined a thousand times every goddamn day.

He smiles sweetly, pins one skate against the other, leans down, 'n prettily pours the whole fuckin' thing into the man's lap. "It's on the fuckin' house tonight."

'N then he's rippin' back across the parkin' lot, the sound of the tires peelin' 'n Dallas howlin' his approval 'n graspin' him with long fingers, yankin' him into the truck. He pitches face first over Dally's knee, giddy laughter peelin' out of his throat. He twists, rips both skates off in one smooth move 'n braces himself against the dashboard as Soda cracks up, slams on the gas.

"That way!" Johnny points to that stupid supped up lil' Stingray 'n Soda jerks the wheel, sendin' them all tumblin' into each other. His aim isn't exact but it doesn't matter one bit when Johnny leans back out the window, spinnin' the skates by the laces, 'n sends them careenin' through the windshield in one smooth throw.

Soda 'n Dallas throw their heads back hollerin' laughter stolen by the wind as it rips out the windows when Soda slams his foot down on the gas 'n floors it around the back corner of the parkin' lot. Pony sticks a foot up on the dash, scrambles for his seat belt, watches Johnny with wide eyes as he leans over Dallas 'n braces himself on the window sill.

His manager's appeared in the lot 'n Johnny grins, a real smile that hurts his face with the force of how much he means it for once. And he'll regret this later. He really will. 'N Darry just might kill him. Dead. But he doesn't think about any of that when he sticks his middle finger firmly out the passenger side 'n shouts, giddy,

"You can consider this my two weeks!" And Dallas 'n Pony have to grab his shirt to keep him from flyin' straight out but he just yowls 'n his chest aches with how hard he's tryin' to catch his breath but it doesn't matter one bit. 'Cause he's not takin' it anymore. He's done. "'N one more thing! You can kiss my ASS!"