[ ᴍɪɴɪ ᴍᴜsɪɴɢs ] couldn’t face a life without your light ❛ johnny civello
fandom: robert de niro / mean streets
featuring: johnny boy x fem!reader
rating: rated ow for this HURTED. lots of angst, mentions of blood, but nothing too graphic. I wanted to write some sad shit, and I did
summary: my own spin on the end of the movie, so if you haven’t seen it, spoilerish?
reader can’t live without him.
attention: do not repost my works or claim them as yours. this was not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. feedback and reblogs are essential to me, so please consider letting me know what you think!
out of the city.
just get out of the city and, for fuck’s sake, John, please be okay.
it was the prayer you repeated as you paced the length of Charlie’s apartment, chewing on the tips of your fingers. it was a terrible habit you carried, and by the time the phone rings, your cuticles are jagged and ruby speckles your forefinger. it only rings once before your trembling hand snatches it off the receiver.
if you were more optimistic, you would’ve expected Johnny to be on the other line. they would’ve made it out of the city safe, and they would all be okay. everything would be fine. he would be okay.
however, doubt floods your mind as you raise the receiver. it was much too soon; had they really made it so quickly to their haven? it didn’t make sense, not even if Charlie went so far as to fly like a bat out of hell, they would still be in his jurisdiction. they would still be in danger. something was wrong. very, very wrong.
it was freezing when you stumble, half-witted, into the hospital. you were lost, and if you hadn’t stopped to ask for directions two different times, you never would’ve found the place. nothing seemed familiar, no one looked like Johnny, and that scared you. regardless of everyone around, you were alone if he wasn’t there with you.
“Ma’am, can I help you?”
your head whips around, frantic to catch a glimpse of him. just one. please. pushing yourself on to your tiptoes, you attempt to peer into the glass doors behind the nurse standing before you. there were so many people, crowding the hallways. an order is barked in your direction, and you side step a speeding gurney, only catching a glimpse of the man who lay atop it. bloody, battered, but not your Johnny. it only made you more anxious.
“Where is he? Where’s Johnny Boy?” you’re stuttering, hyperventilating, and your heart is beating so hard it may as well have broken straight through your rib cage and punched a hole in your chest to escape.
pure confusion taints her countenance. it only takes a millisecond to realize, and you attempt to backtrack. “Um.. I mean, shit, sorry. John Civello. Is he, uh, I- is he here?” using both of your hands, you hug yourself, but it’s no substitute to how Johnny held you. there’s a lump in your throat that must be the size of a tennis ball, because it burns every time you try to speak. “I- I was told he was here, you’ve seen him, right?” admittedly, you are becoming more and more frustrated with that damned, puzzled look on her face. you begin to wonder if maybe the phone call was a fake, someone Michael hired to psyche you out.
no, there was no way. the thought was thrown out the window the moment you realized he couldn’t be dead. Johnny couldn’t be dead, because your heart was still beating, and that was proof enough. without his to beat in tandem with yours, you were certain yours wouldn’t have the strength to keep you alive.
“I- I don’t-“
“Listen to me!” your hands shoot out before you can keep them from doing so, and grasp her wrists, your voice shaking. “Listen, please! John Civello! He’s young, dark hair, dark eyes! He was shot, he would’ve been with two other people. He’s here, isn’t he? Please, someone told me he was here, you have to know.”
finally, something clicks. something falls into place. “Oh!” exclaiming, she takes a step back from you, and it's in that moment that you realize how tight you’d been gripping her wrists. it almost seemed like a threat, and you wonder if this woman was afraid of you. you quickly retract and clasp your hands together to keep them behaving, the wells of your eyes filling nearly to the brim when she nods. “He’s… here. He’s in room…” her eyes cast downward to the clipboard, although you do catch her cautious gaze flickering up to make sure you’re stable (and a safe distance away) before she finds the number. “206. But, miss, he’s not been stabilized-“
faintly, you hear the warning she gives, but you’re already pushing past countless lab coats and sprinting down the hall, eyes darting to count each number above every door. 203. 204. 205.
his name escapes your lips in a desperate call the second you see him in the bed, surrounded by doctors. several of them jolt, startled by your scream, but you hardly notice. all you can see is him, just him. he was there, he was alive. “You- you- fucking-“ you’re overwhelmed. relief that he was alive, but anger- no, white hot rage, that he had done something so idiotic as to gamble with his life. tears flood your ducts, and tumble, helplessly, over your cheeks. “Goddamn you, John Civello. Do you hear me?! Goddamn you!”
genuinely, as you approach the door, you’ve no idea whether you’re going to cling to him for dear life or deck him square in the jaw. “How could you do this?! Johnny!”
a pair of arms coil around you like snakes, and you reach for the doorway, to pull yourself inside against the strength of the foreign force. “Stop! I need to see him! Let go of me!”
your name is mumbled in your ear from a familiar voice, and you realize the one holding you in an organic cage is Charlie. “It’s me, it’s me I’m here.”
your fight, the anger you hold, they fade. you give in, and slump back against his chest with a pathetic sob. twisting to face him, weak fists bat at the expanse of his torso. “You- you promised…” it’s a croak, and a barely audible one at that, as you bury your face in his coat, staining his shirt with your saline testament. “You promised he’d be safe.”
Charlie is silent, deafeningly so, for a matter of seconds. what can he say, after all? his grip has shifted into a hug, palms pressed flush against your back and rub comforting circles.
crying into Charlie’s chest is a short-lived moment of reprieve from concern. he was here, but more importantly, so was Johnny, who was alive. you felt as though you may be able to compose yourself, but just as your heartbeat begins to settle, the atmosphere of the room changes.
“Mister Cappa, I’m sorry but we’ve already told you. We can’t keep him here, I’m sorry.”
“What?” your brows knit together and, sniffling, you pull away from Charlie and face the doctor. whether it’s the heat in your gaze or his revelation of his incredibly lousy way of delivering the news, he seems taken aback. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I- Miss, he has no money. No insurance. Legally, we-“
“Legally? You’re fucking with me, right? The man’s been shot and you’re spouting legalities?!” throwing your hand in the direction of the room, you take a threatening step towards the doctor. sniffling be damned, your cheeks are still wet and your lungs ache. “I don’t care how much it costs, I’ll pay whatever. You’d better save his life-“ you are acutely aware of the faint nudge from Charlie, but you don’t look away from the doctor’s eyes, glaring into them. “Save his life, doctor.”
he decides, and it’s the smartest decision to make, to simply nod and back away from you before he regroups with the others in the room, whispering. you can’t hear what they’re saying, but your eyes have fallen on your love, and you take slow steps towards the room. this time, Charlie doesn’t stop you.
seeing him like this, bloodied bandages wrapped around his throat, unconscious, it made your stomach turn. physically ill, is the only way to describe it. bile threatens to break the threshold of your pursed couplet, and you feel weak. he didn’t look like your Johnny; he looked like a corpse. the weight of your grief comes down on your shoulders, threatening to crumple you to the floor, and both hands grasp at the doorframe to keep you standing.
inhale. exhale. but you do so as he does, slow and uneven. his breathing is so shallow that it’s worrying you, and you’ve no choice but to stare at the movement of his chest, counting the moments between each one.
Charlie is at your back, and his fingertips linger on your shoulder. “Just relax.”
“I’ll relax when he opens his eyes. When he says my name. When he holds me again. I’ll relax when I have my Johnny back.”
it isn’t too long before another doctor approaches you. perhaps the previous one was too shaken, but you didn’t care. “I’ll have a nurse write up the paperwork. We have to get ready to move him for surgery, it’ll take a few minutes.”
“I want to stay with him.” you murmur, your eyes never leaving Johnny. it was like looking upon your heart, as it had been torn out and laid before you. you never knew how you would live a life without him, and you still didn’t.
the doctor, hesitant, looks to Charlie, who must’ve nodded, because he seems defeated. “All right, but you have to get out of our way when we move him.”
you nod, half hearted, and pass the fleeing lab coats, staggering closer to the bed, staring at him. “Johnny-“ you whisper. quaking digits find the harsh fabric of the sheet and press into it, scaling the length of the bed in an instant. “Did you hear that? They’re getting you ready for surgery.” there’s no response, not even the twitch of his fingers. you frown, collapsing on to the mattress beside his legs. “Can you… can you hear me? Come on, Johnny. You know me. It’s me.”
still nothing. you take a moment to suck in a shaky breath, a new tidal wave of tears ready to decimate your countenance. “You know you can’t leave me, don’t you?” both of your arms wrap around to hug his midsection, resting the side of your face against the sheet. tears soak a patch through it in an instant. “You can’t do that, Johnny Boy. Not to me. You can’t just… you can’t just make me fall in love with you, and then leave me alone. It’s not fair, you know? To play with people’s hearts like that. You have mine, you know that? You have it. It’s yours, and if-“ the lump in your throat returns with a vengeance, your words are broken. “If you take it with you, how will I be okay? Johnny, tell me how to live without you, because I- I- fuck, I don’t know how I can. It doesn’t make sense, you know? Me without you.” you shake your head, burying it in his torso. “Just doesn’t make sense.”
one hand seeks his, and you’re relieved to feel the warmth of it, to feel the impact of his breathing, no matter how shallow. you interlace your fingers, and feel the most subtle of twitches. blinking through fresh, hot tears, you pull back to look at his hand. “Johnny?” you're raspy, incredibly so, to the point that all you can do is whisper, gaping at his expressionless face. you felt it, you know you did. no matter how faint, it was more than he’d given you until now.
just as you’re about to speak again, two nurses breeze into the room. “Miss, we need you to step back so we can take him in for surgery.”
you’d said you would, and so you do. carefully and reluctantly, you peel yourself from him and step back, but hold on to his hand as they bring in the gurney to transport him.
“You’re going to be okay,” you whisper to him, gripping his hand tight, before raising it to kiss his bloodied knuckles. if you could kiss every wound away, you’d do so until your lips were cracked and bleeding. if only it were so easy. “You’re going to be okay. If you can hear me, Johnny, remember what I told you-“ you pause, uncurling your fist from his to press his palm against your chest. you only pray that he can feel the best of your heart, his property, beneath it.
you’re only able to hold his hand for a few more seconds before the hoist him on to the gurney and you’re forced to let his hand slip from yours, like sand through your fingers. there’s a guttural moan, and you see his eyelids flutter. eyes widening, you step closer, and you can see his lips moving. the shape they make when he says your name, but no sound comes out, but his arm reaches out, eyes hazy and searching for you.
luckily, Charlie is there once more to catch you as you clasp your hand over your mouth, sobbing into it. relief, but anguish is directly behind it, as you watch the only man you’ve ever loved leave you for a second time. your shoulders shake, but you clamp your free hand over the first, allowing for the first time, for your knees to buckle.
Charlie is quick to drag you to the chair in the corner, and he kneels beside it as you feel the air around you freeze. your world is dead, dark and cold, until he comes back. “He’s going to be okay,” Charlie offers through your muffled snubbing. “You told him that, yeah? Now, you have to believe it, too. Johnny is going to be okay.”
that sentence brings on a whole other type of tears- happy ones.
he was going to be okay.
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