Work Text:
The shower had begun to run cold.
As futuristic as 2077 was and Johnny almost verbally scoffed at the fact that they still had limited hot water.
But the shower had begun to run cold and V was still sat in the bottom, unmoving as their head lay forward on their bare chest, breathing laboured and chest heavy. He could feel the pressure as if he were still alive, an elephant sitting on his lungs, Johnny almost wished he could smoke again just to feel something else.
From when Johnny had first met V to today, a few days later, V had barely walked or moved and, of course, digging into their memory while they’d slept, Johnny figured out why.
That fucking chip.
But he felt bad for the poor kid, watching their paled skin sit in the bottom of the shower, blood rinsing down the back of their neck as their had lay forward on their bare chest, breathing laboured and chest heavy.
From his spot propped against the wall, his back to the paint with his arms crossed over his chest, Johnny pushed off. He grabbed his glasses from his face and hung them from the neck of his shirt. He reached for the white towel hanging from the wall and has his hand closed around it, his fingers flitted through it. For barely a moment, he thought he could feel the soft fabric of the towel, but when his hand passed through it, he stopped short. He clenched his eyes shut hard and willed himself to grab the towel. He reached for the white towel again and, still, his fingers fell through. Like air.
He cursed under his breath and looked back to V, who now had adjusted so their head laid back against the wall, pressure lessened on their chest but, still, they looked in pain.
Johnny could feel the pain.
He moved on, remembering how it felt when he and V moved their hands together and he tried his hardest to will it, watching V’s third finger twitch before their entire hand moved. He helped V push themself forward, V instinctively pulling their legs under themself as they adjusted into a crawling position. Their arms trembled under their own weight and Johnny could feel the bile rising in their throat. He got closer and put a hand on V’s chest, now closely guiding V through the hanging beads in front of the toilet and, with one sudden movement, they jerked forward and lurched into the toilet, head over the porcelain bowl as the beaded door hung loosely around their abdomen.
V’s legs buckled out from under them as they fell to the side of the toilet, coughing roughly as their throat burned hot. Johnny never forgot the feeling of throwing up your guts after a hard night, but his nights were usually booze or fist fight filled. He never had to battle against his own body and, if only for a moment, Johnny felt bad for the kid.
He watched through the ugly beaded curtain as V barely twitched, semi conscious as their eyes rolled back into their head and their breathing got rougher. A sputtering cough escaping their throat one more time.
Johnny looked back at the towel, biting his tongue as he narrowed his eyes at it.
He was Johnny Fucking Silverhand.
He reached for the white towel hanging from the wall and has his hand closed around it, his fingers flitted through it. He almost yelled out in frustration, his hand closing into a fist and punching into the wall. It stopped solidly against the metal and paint, but nothing shook or cracked. He only felt the reverberations up his arm.
He reached, yet again, for the white towel. But this time... he reached slower, feeling his skin fingers graze the towel but the feeling was hallow as he felt the soft texture of the textile, probably picking up on how V remembered it feeling.
He stopped a slumped against the wall, to his right were V’s bare legs and feet as they lay, hardly twitching beside the toilet.
Johnny has now resorted to thumping his head against the wall, feeling the vibrations rattle around in his skull.
But maybe there is a god, somewhere.
The towel flitted town from it’s iron hook and landed in Johnny’s lap, halfway between falling and sitting in mid-air. Johnny wasted no time in throwing it over V, pulling it over their shoulders and feeling the way the muscles of their back rose to meet Johnny’s hand, their body reacting to whatever technological bullshit was happening with this chip in their head.
Whatever technological bullshit was happening with Johnny’s chip in their head.
Johnny put a hand on V’s arm, feeling solidly as their arm shifted with him, slowly moving as Johnny grabbed it and lifted. Whether this was their body reacting to the chip or Johnny actually, physically moving it, he didn’t care.
Johnny turned V over, carefully lifting them into a sitting position. Their head slumped to the side and face relaxed into a peaceful sleeping expression.
He stood up and willed their legs to follow as he lifted them up carefully, pulling their body carefully into himself as he pulled them out of the bathroom.
V’s legs stumbled and narrowly tripped as Johnny leaned V’s weight against the wall, pulling them closer and closer to their bed. He could feel the cold wall against his arm as V slumped into it, sharing touch and sensation was... off-putting, at the very least.
Finally landing on the bed, V now hung half off, their arms laid peacefully on their bed, head resting on top as if on a pillow, but their bare ass and legs were still on the floor beside them.
Johnny stopped and moved to lean against the wall, knocking his head against it as he tried to even out his breathing— between the pain of moving V’s heavy bones and the exertion it took to move a corporeal body that wasn’t his... Johnny was tired.
But the job was nearly done.
He desperately wished for a smoke. The heavy pressure on his lungs was draining, but V probably felt it 20 times worse.
Was he pitying V? ...are you fucking kidding?
Johnny pushed off the wall, drawing his boot back to kick V’s leg before he stopped. Why did he stop? Because... he’d feel it? Probably. He’ll go with that.
So Johnny pushed off the wall, drawing his boot back to kick at V’s limp leg before he stopped short. He knew he’d feel the pain that they’d get from it, and asked himself why he’d do that to himself.
Johnny reached a hand down and lifted one of V’s legs, setting it on the bed before doing it with the other.
Now that a naked V was laid on their bed, still soaked from the shower with heavy chest pressure, a probably bleeding skull, and the cold sweats... Johnny adjusted them carefully. He straightened their back out, set their head on the pillow, and made sure they were on their side, just so they didn’t drown in their own vomit and ruin all of Johnny’s hard work.
And Johnny sat down against the side of the bed. Sighing. He felt himself glitch out of existence for a moment and... decided to let it happen. He’d already died once and was sitting with a living, breathing corpse— albeit, a corpse on the brink of death, but V, nonetheless.
Johnny wasn’t really afraid of not existing in the space for a few hours, just enough to sleep.
Besides, he’d be back when V woke up.