#johnnyxv

“Know why you’ll always be second fiddle?” Johnny continued. He leaned close enough for his breath to brush Kerry’s face and lowered his sunglasses, meeting him naked eye to naked eye. “Because you don’t have the spine to take the spotlight for yourself. You’re too busy standin' in my shadow and whinin' about it like a goddamn child.”

Kerry’s breathing grew heavier, nostrils flaring. Johnny could see the hurt. Could see the years of frustration and resentment bubbling to the surface. Could see how his eyes were growing wet with tears. And something ugly in Johnny liked it.

“You’re a fuckin’ pussy. And you're a quitter. Every time you had a chance to step up, you back down. Hell, even now, I’m right here, practically askin’ for you to hit me, and what do you do? Stand there, lookin’ at me like a kicked puppy. Pathetic.”

"You — John —"

“— Go on,” Johnny goaded. “Do it. Prove me wrong for once in your goddamn life.”

But Kerry didn’t. Like always.

Johnny laughed and took a step back from him. “That’s what I thought."

“Fuck you."

Johnny scoffed and roughly shoved him back with his metal arm. “Whatever. Now kindly ghost. The fuck. Off.”

He then ripped the dressing room door open and slammed it in Kerry’s face so hard the walls shook, finally leaving him in blessed silence.

The smell of cigarette smoke hit him before anything else.

Alt.

“Said you weren’t comin’ tonight.”

Alt sat on the worn couch, one long leg crossed over the other, and cigarette dangling from her cybernetic hand. Her other hand was busy using her cyberdeck. She didn’t even look up at him. “Was that Kerry again?”

Johnny didn’t answer. She didn’t need one when the answer was obvious. Instead he went to the dressing table, rummaging for the cocktail of pills he’d stashed there earlier. A couple went down with a swig of tequila, followed by a quick line of synthcoke. The heat in his chest blurred the edges of his thoughts and dulled the sharpness of everything else.

Then the rest played out like it always did. Her nails digging into his back as they fucked against the dressing room door. The inevitable argument that followed. The door slamming hard enough to rattle the hinges as she left.

And, like always, Johnny followed after her, pretending he was on the same level as her. Pretending that she wasn't too good for him.

"Alt!" He called out after her. She ignored him, just like every other time they do this.

He weaved through the chaos backstage where the crew were packing up for the night, and the buzz of the synthcoke already wearing off.

That's when he saw them from the corner of his eye. Johnny stopped dead in his tracks.

The stairs weren't lit and deeper shadows swallowed the corners, but there was no mistaking the familiar shape of Kerry pressed up against some random groupie Johnny didn't recognise. His hands were tangled in Kerry’s hair and Kerry’s mouth was on his, moving with purpose. The soft, wet sounds of their kissing filled the space between their gasps.

Kerry’s eyes opened mid-kiss, and that’s when he saw him. Their gazes locked.

It lasted only a second, but it felt like a lifetime. Long enough for something heavy to settle in Johnny’s chest. A twist of jealousy? Loneliness? Rage? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

But Kerry didn’t stop. He didn’t push the joytoy away, didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge the moment beyond that sharp, deliberate eye contact. If anything, Kerry leaned further into the kiss, his hands sliding down the guy’s back, making it clear: this wasn’t about Johnny.

Except, Johnny knew better.

He tore his gaze away, his chest tight and his throat burning, and delta’d out of there. Past Kerry. Past the stairs. Past everything.

By the time he got outside, Alt was gone. There was nothing left but the glow of her car’s taillights disappearing into the dark. She wouldn’t be at tomorrow’s gig, and maybe that was for the best.

Everything was easier when it was broken.

2077

V came to, jolting out of Johnny's memories with the sharp tang of blood and asphalt on his tongue. He groaned, pushing himself up on unsteady hands. His head throbbed like it had been put through a blender. Fragments of static flickered through his mind. Glimpses of Johnny's date with Rogue, tangled with vivid memories that weren’t his. Memories he slipped into while Johnny had control.

“How’d the date go?” V muttered, wiping at his mouth as he staggered to his feet.

He half-expected Johnny to launch into a smug monologue about how Rogue was still into him, but Johnny didn’t even meet his gaze.

“Fine,” He said, his voice distant. “Until it wasn’t.”

“You fought.”

Johnny’s construct flickered into view, leaning back against the only burned out car in the drive-thru. His silver hand tapped an idle rhythm against his forearm. “Dunno what about. She just… got mad and left.”

V squinted, trying to piece together the fragments in his head. He remembered Rogue asking Johnny if he’d change anything if he could go back in time. He couldn’t recall Johnny’s answer. Then she was walking away. And Johnny — he’d just stood there. Confused. Hurt. Alone.

“Maybe she finally lost interest in you,” V offered cynically. “It’s been over 50 years, Johnny. People change.”

Johnny scoffed. “Nah. It’s not that.” He hesitated, then frowned. “Take me to North Oak. By the sign.”

“Why?”

“Tell you when we get there.”

The Porsche hummed along the road, the city lights a neon blur in the rearview mirror. Johnny sat in the passenger seat, uncharacteristically quiet.

“You know why Rogue left, don’t you?” He asked finally. “You saw it, didn’t you? In that skull sponge of yours.”

“Bits and pieces.” V admitted, glancing at him. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

Johnny snorted softly, his gaze out the window. “Maybe she figured it’d never change. Me. Us. It was always the same song and dance. Hot one second, cold the next. I cheat, she leaves, I charm her back. Rinse and fuckin’ repeat.”

“And now she’s sick of it?”

“Course she is. She was sick of it 50 years ago. But she always came back. Guess I thought… hell. Doesn’t matter now.”

They stopped at the overlook by the North Oak sign, the city sprawling below them like a living, breathing creature. Johnny’s construct flickered into view by the edge of the water, a cigarette materialising between his fingers.

“Kerry’s got himself a buck-a-mansion up here,” He said, staring up at the sign. “Done real well for himself.”

“And where'd you hear that?”

“Oh right, you weren't there.”

“Your big night out. Right.”

“Yeah.” Johnny flicked the cigarette into the puddle. “Picked up a few things about him, actually.”

“What things?”

“He’s depressed. Tried to end it.”

The words hung in the air and V wasn't sure what the expected response was. Sympathy? Understanding? He was never good at this kinda stuff.

“Oh.” He said simply. “That's why we’re here?”

“Yeah, wanna talk to him. Help him.”

“You sure? He might be goin’ through some real personal shit right now.”

Johnny’s face tightened. “Kerry’s always been a mess. Always personal shit. Always waitin' for me to throw him a fuckin’ bone. I never did.”

“And now you want to?”

Johnny turned to look at V, his expression raw. “I don’t know how, V. But I figure it starts with showing up.”

“Greeeaaat.” V sighed. “Yet another front-row seat to Johnny Silverhand’s ‘fix my mistakes’ tour. Can’t wait.”.

Johnny didn't respond. He was staring at the North Oak sign but not really seeing it.

He’d thought about Kerry more often than he cared to admit. The band days. The gigs. The fights. Always so much noise between 'em. Noise Johnny created to drown out the shit he didn’t want to think about.

Kerry had been the constant in his life, the one thing that didn’t evaporate like smoke. Alt came and went. Rogue loved him but (rightfully) never trusted him. But Kerry was always there, always lookin' at Johnny like he wanted something Johnny couldn’t — or wouldn’t — give him.

Kerry had always been searchin' for something. Love. Connection. Maybe just someone to notice him. And Johnny — selfish, fucked-up Johnny — had never been brave enough to be the friend he needed. To give him what he needed.

He swallowed hard at the burn of shame that crawled up his throat.

Maybe he wanted Kerry.

Once.

That was the part he couldn’t deal with.

Even now, the thought of wanting Kerry — of being wanted by Kerry — tangled in his chest like barbed wire. And then there was V.

He glanced at the young merc.

Johnny didn’t do feelings. Didn’t do attachment. Because if he’d let himself feel it back then, really feel it…

“I treated him like shit, V,” He finally said. “Kept him at arm’s length ‘cause I was scared of… fuck.”

“So what, you wanna make amends now? Might I remind you that it's been over fifty years, Johnny?”

Johnny shook his head, looking out at the city. “I don’t know. I just… I owe him, V.” He turned to look at the young merc again, his voice surprisingly earnest. “Means I’ll need to borrow your body again, though.”

V gave him a flat look. “Uhuh. Any other last requests?”

“C’mon,” Johnny said, a coy grin tugging at his lips. “I behaved last time, didn’t I? Gave you your body back, like I promised.”