"And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now
And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
And sooner or later it's over
I just don't wanna miss you tonight
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am"
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For @silverv-week ! This was supposed to be for the prompt sacrifice, but I'm a bit late (also this pic isn't my best work; I wanted to spend longer on it but I'm tired lol). Tower ending spoilers under the cut--
Vincent was overwhelmed with guilt, regret, and grief after undergoing the surgery needed to extract the relic. It wasn't fully Vince's choice to undergo surgery-- the only reason he accepted Reed's proposition was because Johnny begged him day and night to just take the offer. After waking up in 2079 and learning that the doctors shredded Johnny's engram instead of preserving it as he requested, Vince attacked one of the surgeons in a fit of rage and panic, resulting in him being moved to the psychiatric ward. He dreamt of Johnny nearly every night and clung to his jacket in his sleep, trying as hard as he can to will Johnny back into existence. One night, as Vince was damn near sobbing his eyes out, he hallucinated Johnny beside him, pulling his Samurai jacket over his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. Before Vince could say anything, though, the vision was gone and Vince was alone in a stark-white hospital room once again.
They made it. Both of them. Fifty feet apart in two hospital beds.
Johnny can't recognize himself, but he can recognize the voice that calls for him.
[AO3] - 2.6k words
Read Below :)
They're a room apart.
It shouldn't be possible, everything said it shouldn't. Lines of code, declining health, and the goddamn relic he was packed into. They shouldn't be a room apart, let alone breathing, in separate bodies, fifty feet apart.
Is it selfish to want to go back to the way it had beenâŚ.?
Cold, shaking hands hold onto the fabric of the thin, shitty blanket he had been provided in this horribly sleek hospital room. The sterile, white surroundings burn his eyes, every blink he's forcing away tears as he wakes. All he knows are the chills that wrack through him like he was nothing but a useless body on a shelf. Maybe he had been.
Out here, unprotected and painfully real, he can feel every bit of cold, every hit of pain that comes and goes. There's no IV drip by him, nothing hooked up to him for any sort of relief. No, there's nothing to soothe the ache and burn that seems to radiate throughout his entire body. Though, he guesses, he's not supposed to be comfortable here.
His head throbs as he barely barely manages to lift his head off the horrendous mattress. Splotches of red and black paint his vision the more he forces himself up. Maybe it's the haziness, but as each mark in his vision fades and is replaced elsewhere, he can just slightly see the state he's in. Rather, the body.
Cool metal leaves it's mark on his wrist. The wrist of the hand that's supposed to be metal. Through and through, it was supposed to be metal. Wiring here and there, something linking up his mind to the chrome. That's not his hand.
Over the pounding in his head, his thoughts run a mile a minute. And first conclusion he comes to, is that it didn't work. Of course that's the first thought. There's not even a monitor linked up to him to track the way his heart starts to beat out of his chest. It's wrong, everything screams that this reaction is wrong, but that doesn't stop the panic that spreads.
Where is V?
God, if this didn't work, if V was gone- Fuck, fuck, shut up.
If there was one thing his head was good at, it was screaming. Whether it be into a mic, at the people around him, or just at himself, it was always loud. Here, there were no drugs to take to shut it up, either.
When he and V got here, they both knew the chances of failure, and what would happen if they couldn't get the relic out⌠But, as much as he distrusted this goddamn corporation and it's rats, V trusted it, and Johnny trusted V. How fucked up is that? He followed where V went, like he was the one who wasn't shouting orders just a week ago. He trusted V more than himself, and that fucking said something, even if he'd never admit it. He doesn't succumb to weakness, nor guilt. That's not something Johnny Silverhand doesâhe can't.
In front of a court of law, he wouldn't let those words fall from his lips. He pleads not guilty to every charge, with a self-centered reason why something happened like that instead. The trail of bodies that followed him are just casualties, people who agreed to fight and die by his side. He can't be held accountable for it when every party signed away their right to breathe by entering Night City's grasp. The city claims souls, from men hopeful to get up the corporate ladder, to people just trying to find a dry place for the night.
He and V aren't so different from that, not when they scrounged for eddies and safety among each other. Two men who just wanted to be something, go out with a bang and never be forgotten, or live in the stars. People written into history books, feared or beloved among the masses. That's all they ever wanted. Insignificance wasn't an option.
Together, somehow, they were going to make it. Johnny thought they were going to make it. Hand in hand, minds intertwined in every way. But they're here, both further and closer than Johnny's mind can grasp.
Fear runs on loop in his mind, several trains running too close to each other and nearly missing each time one sped past on their tracks. It blurs his vision, like a mean high each time his head throbbed again. He doesn't get anxious, he swore by that for the longest time, but the more he sits here, and the colder he feels the metal digging into his wrist, the more it starts to ramp up. There's not another person to share the burden, no one to take it off his shoulders.
It's like ice against his skin, that metal he tugs over and over again. Each movement coming with a sharp ache he so desperately wants to ignore, just like the red splotches throughout his vision. It fucks up his vision beyond the tears threatening to fill his eyes. He can't make out the shining silver in the mess, but he can bend his hand just enough to feel exactly what is is. That takes but a second before he's bruising himself to get out.
Handcuffs secure one wrist to the bed, with the other cuff connected to a post on the railing of the bed. Every pull on the metal makes his skin burn, splitting the sensitive skin where his silver arm is supposed to be. Why? Why? He can pull as much as he wants, the amount of bruising doesn't matter. He's held there for a reason, whatever that may be⌠At the very least, that has to mean V's somewhere else. Is Johnny a danger to him? Is that why?
As his vision clears of the red and black marks, and his body struggles to do any more push and pull, Johnny lets his head fall back against the mattress. It's a painful kind of weak, restless with a screaming mind and he can do nothing but stare and hope, somewhere in his head that it's okay. He has to hope that V's okay.
It's all flushed away in an instant, however, when V's sharp voice is all that floods his ears. Loud, aggressive, scared. A jumble of words bounce off the walls, and through the wall separating the two of them. Each thing more clear than the last as V grows louder and louder. Incoherent words turn into threats, then simply yelling.
Yelling Johnny's name.
His stomach twists unbearably, bile burning at the walls of his throat the more he hears screaming. V is all he can hear. It's all his ears tune into. Not the shouting by anyone else, not the people attempting to shut V up. It's just V. It's always V.
"Johnny! You fuckin' hear me?!"
He does.
He hears him even if the sounds pelt his brain like hail, even if it hurts like hellfire. V's voice cracks on the harsh words, on Johnny's name, repeated over and over, and over again⌠If he lets his eyes close, he can imagine he's right there, wiping the tears from V's faceâhe doesn't have to think to know that his previous host is choking on his own cries. As much as V hid it before, he knows exactly the way his voice conveys everything his face doesn't. Flat and monotone to everyone else, but not to Johnny, never to Johnny. Just a few days in his head taught him every little thing V did.
Is it wrong to wish he was back in there, rather than here?
The shouts would quiet and they'd both be safe wrapped in each other's arms, not so very far. They're alive, goddammit, but Johnny would rather be anywhere else. It's cold here, everything with a terrifying sheen of unfamiliar. Had he told V no, if they turned back around, he wouldn't hearing pleadingâbeggingâfor him. It would be okay if they hadn't done all this⌠Johnny would be safely tucked in V's head, surrounded by warmth, not in this freezing cold, sterile room.
It's cruel. He's cuffed to the bed as if he's some kind of animal, a creature to be frightened by. Maybe he would be if his body would work, if he could just pick himself up or get out a single sound, he'd call for V's name the same way he did for Johnny. The most he can do is pull in strangled breaths that only send more pain throughout his weak frame.
Does V even know he's alive?
Does he know Johnny wants to shout for him too?
Instead, he'd stuck in this bed. Bound with chains and creeping agony. There's nowhere to go, all he can do is listen to sobs for him. Over and over⌠V doesn't let up, he pushes and pushes like he should. V fights because he's strong, his brain damaged beyond repair and yet he's the one fighting to get to Johnny. It should be the other way around. It should be Johnny screaming until his voice broke, like he did on stage.
If he made a sound, that meant he was alive. Every time he shouted into a microphone, it showed that he was alive. There was blood in his veins and his heart was pulsing in his ears. The crowds were always just as loud as him, filling whatever venue they managed to snag for the night with liveliness, with heat and passion. They were alive.
He doesn't feel that so much now. In the cold, with only V's voice to tell him there's someone there, waiting for him. His skin is cold to the touch, each time his fist tightens with a wave of pain, there's no warmth to the grip. Any passion he had turns into the simple need to get out. Thinking is useless when all of his thoughts revolve around the same few things they had for the last week⌠V, and finally being out. He has to run somewhere different now, but no amount of tugging at the cuffs release his hand and he's too weak to keep trying.
Johnny Silverhand, reduced to a weak, frail body without so much as a glass of water at his bedside. No one to accompany him when he had woken up, he wasn't there for V, either. These cuffs have to be punishment for something.
The shouting voices go from the room next to his, to the hallway by them. Never once does V falterâJohnny would applaud him for it if he could bring himself to pick up his other hand; all it does is send sharp waves of pain through his musclesânot beyond his voice cracking and the desperate gasps Johnny knows are the cause of the moments V goes silent.
The seal to the door breaks with a hiss of air and a sigh of relief sits at the back of his throat, for just a minute. He uses what of his strength that he has to push himself against the head of the bed and lift himself up, eyes scanning to see who would walk in.
It's not V. Of course notâŚ
Though, he can see the outline of his shouldersâhands grabbing harshly onto him, pulling him back. Everything he can see of V's body says fear, while the slightest view of his face shows anger. Relief was so close, V is right there.
A man in a white medical outfit walked in instead of V, his V. His head spins the more he stays in this upright position, but he grits his teeth and stares out to the personâdoctor?âcoming to his bedside. Words are quietly muttered to him, but don't make it to Johnny's ears over the yelling. V yells for him. Why can't he just see him? He's ten feet away, why can't V come in?
Really, he should be tracking the man who stands painfully close to him, but all his eyes see is the way V's hands keep reaching to, and slipping from, the door frame. Barely coherent wails falling from the man's lips. What has Johnny done that's so wrong to keep V away like this? He's not dangerous. He can barely hold his head up.
"Johnny!"
God, he wishes he could make a sound. Wide eyes stare to at door, uncaring as a hand squeezes his bruising wrist. V is right there. Make a fucking sound for the love of god- He can't. At the most, his adam's apple bobs in his throat and he only whimpers loud enough for the man next to him to hear, not V.
"Your friend talks a lotâŚ" He can barely make out the words over V's useless shouting. The doctor speaks in a low tone, one Johnny wants to shrink away from. It promises hurt. He knows that kind of gravelly voice well. "Do you know why you're here?" Is this some kind of checkup, or a threat without the gun to his head?
Johnny's eyes never leave the doorway where V keeps trying to push into the room. Adrenaline is a hell of a chemical, how's V even standing when Johnny can't do so much as lift himself up off the mattress the rest of the way. Nodding his head feels like it takes an entire weeks worth of energy.
"Then you know why you can't see him, yes?"
No.
With that, his gaze immediately comes to the man towering over his bedside. Why wouldn't he be able to? His chest tightens with every breath, staring harshly up at the doctor. What has he done this time? Existed? Survived? Their agreement was that he and V would be together when they woke up, if everything went smoothly. He can only imagine whats going through V's head.
"You're a terrorist, Silverhand⌠Fifty years in Mikoshi wasn't enough for you to forget, right?"
How does it boil down to that? He served his time, while getting his head fucked with and memories erased, even altered to the point of not knowing reality from what his head told him. When he was alive the first time, he had the excuse of The Hand, of cyberpsychosis, for everything he didn't remember. Now, he knows everything isn't the way he remembers at all, from Alt and Rogue. Hell, from Kerry too. Mikoshi isn't an excuse if he can't prove what he did, or didn't do.
He's too weak to fight, but a growl rumbles in his chest the closer the doctor began to lean down to him. His unbound hand pulls up closer to his chest, as if to prepare for a hit he knows could happen. It's clumsy, unsteady, but he holds onto the fabric of the shirt he's dressed in. The same white as everyone else's clothes in this god forsaken place, uncomfortable and borderline painful.
"You aren't leaving here, and you aren't seeing V again."
Johnny wants to slap the bastard's smug look off his face, but all he can do is stare with widened eyes. They can't take V away from him. They can't. After everything, they can't take them away from each other.
"Johnny, c'mon-! Johnny!!"
The sound of something hitting metal is the last thing he hears before silence falls over the room. Clothes shuffle just outside the room, and Johnny can just make out a figure grabbing V by the shirt to sling him over their shoulder. His stomach sinks, bile sits at the back of his mouthâŚ
They were outside the city limits. Far enough away that the sounds of the sleepless metropolis had fallen somewhat silent but close enough that they could still see the glimmering neon that bathed the skylight in a kaleidoscope of dazzling lights.
Johnny took a long drag of his artificial cigarette, letting the synthetic smoke fill his lungs as he crackled into existence next to V.
She was leaning against the front of her quadra, eyes locked on the city scape that sprawled out before her. He could see the dark circles that had made their home under her grey eyes and the faint glimmer of the threading that marked her face.
âWe gonna talk about it?â He glanced over at her and watched as she lit her own cigarette and pulled a drag.
âIâd really rather not.â
âIâm in your head, I know you do.â
âYou being in my head is what started it.â V snapped, exhaling smoke into the cool nights air.
âRight so maybe I shouldnât have lookedâ.â
âNo you fucking shouldnât have. Not rocket science Johnny, just basic fucking respect.â She pushed off the car and walked away from him.
Johnny sighed and flicked his cigarette away, watching as it fizzled away into nothingness shortly after leaving his fingersâyet another reminder of his false existence.
âSo what if I looked back on your âsaka days? You saw my Samurai days.â He scoffed, âNo different.â
âYou wanted me to see that. We agreed you wouldnât have free reign. Trusted you and you fucking betrayed me, again.â Her voice was full of venom, his anger and hers melding together and mixing into something vicious.
Johnny frowned at her, moving to stand a bit closer to the merc. He had crossed a line and now that line was slowly turning into a rift between them. He didnât want their relationship to sour over something as trivial as him slipping into her memories.
He took a moment, studying her face and the slight shake of her hand as she drew another drag. Something wasnât rightâher anger was warranted but he hadnât seen her this mad in a long time.
Johnny took a breath. He wasnât used to being the one who apologises firstâhell he wasnât used to apologising.
âRight, sorry I looked.â He muttered, looking away from her and out to the city.
âJust donât know how many more times I can take you betraying my trustâŚâ Her voice was smallâlike she was scared to speak to him, âHad too much of that recently, fuck it started this whole thing. Can trace it all back to a single fuckin moment of betrayal.â He can hear the bite to her words now, the anger seeping through them.
âDex?â
V laughed lightly and shook her head, âNah, Jenkins.â
Jenkins. Her old superior. Forty-something year old bureaucratic psychopath with a flare for cruelty, âThatâs why you didnât want me looking at your âsaka days?â
âJust reminds me that I fucked up my whole damn life cause I trusted someone.â V took another drag and looked over at him, âPlus, my corpo days werenât pretty ones. Rather save us both the misery reliving thatâŚâ
They fall into silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of the city that echo over to them, carried on the wind.
He can feel her thinkingâfeel the thoughts ticking over in her mind as she mulled over what she wanted to say to him.
âJenkins pulled me out of a rough spot. Not for him I would have been a burnt out runner at fifteen.â V tapped ash off her cigarette and kept her eyes on the horizon as she spoke, âBetrayal hits harder when it comes from someone youâre indebted to.â
Johnny let her talk, knowing it was better for her to get the anger off her chest instead of letting it fester into something ugly and twisted.
âSpent the next eight years trying to make it up to him. Being ruthless, railing synthcoke on my breaks and doing his dirty work all so he wouldnât have that leverage over me. All for him to go and fuckinâ betray me.â Her anger overflowed into her words, each syllable laced with vitriol and bitterness.
He looked over, seeing the hatred burning in her eyes and the tears bubbling up behind them.
Johnny knew how betrayal felt. First the militaryâthen militech. A dozen more moments of deceit and betrayal had marred his short life. He knew that burning anger that came with it and he knew that feeling of second guessing every action leading up to that moment.
âPromiseâŚâ She started, voice still shaking with aftershocks of anger, âPromise you wonât look again? You can ask if you want but justâŚno free rein? Got some stuff Iâd rather not relive.â
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
In the recordings, Johnny was playing guitar and singing Blistering Love, the show having some 5 minutes left. There was a little pause before the final song, where some parts of the amusement park were shown, some fans shared their experience, and the band was shown taking a breather before the final song. V was lost seeing the recording, which made him laugh.
âYou know you have the real thing here, donât you?â he said while poking at her ribs, and making her jump a bit.
âI know, I know!â she said, âbut I always wanted to see a concert of yours live!â she admitted as she kept watching the recording.
âYou can see it, but we will be having a lot of things to do there.â
V looked at him with a warm gaze. âWhat will you want to do first?â
Johnny shrugged, as if he hadnât been planning things to do with V for days. âFirst, letâs see if this thing actually works.â
V eyed him as she didnât believe in his disinterest, looking at him with a playful smile. âOkay, whatever you say.â
My contribution to the @silverv-week for the amusement park prompt!
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SilverV Week's Prompt : Soulmates
Sometimes her dreams melded with her lived experiences but nightmares often breached through in her rest. As if subconsciously, she tried to hold on the memories of the one she loved but it became a cursed pandora box that overflowed.
"Think it was time to stop playing a dead corpse? You're quite heavy, y'know."
It took her awhile then those vibrant eyes stirred. Her eyelids fluttered. Her dark skin was pale with deathly pallor but she began to breathe.
His dreamer mouthed some words soundlessly but he heard her just the same.
"Not dead, yet."
A small sigh escaped from her. The woman turned her head to him. Her headwound was gone but the rest still remained. Strange part of him enjoyed her dressed in blood.
More like the V he know. Even when this one was Arasaka.
"It's you," she whispered. There was a small indignation there. Almost made him chuckle. Her blank expression gave nothing away but her neon eyes were sorrowful. Not quite awake but somewhere in between of her past and present.
"Expecting someone else?"
Something flittered through her mind. Too bad, he couldn't feel her thought.
"Jackie." Tears welled again in those eyes. Her little voice felt like shattered glass.
"It was too soon, V."
"Missed him so much."
There it was. The unspoken words she reveal so readily to him. Things she would never say aloud when she was awake. Especially not to him.
But this little space was theirs alone. Her secrets became his too.
Johnny touched her soft cheek and brush a stray tear away. The dreamworld around them began to reshape but the landfill still remain.
He needed to take her mind off this nightmare.
"You're touching me. It's not allowed."
"What are you going to do about it, hmm?"
A dangerous glint appeared in her eyes.
Yes, it was a dare.
With her mind focused on him, her mindpalace erased the remnant of the landfill. There was only him being the intruder within her sacred space.
They were floating in a sea of starless skies. Her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Wild and glorious with no hint of the rules and restrictions that she imposed on herself. She wore a blood-red dress which matched with the shades on her lips. The scent of warm rose washed over them.
"What are you doing to me?" He murmured. His fingers idly brush against her jawline.
"I could say the same thing to you. I can't escape you even in here. In the dreaming."
Her voice was clear and as calm as the shapeless world around them both. Then she pushed herself until she stradled herself on his lap. The softness of her body molded against his. Her sharp eyes stared at him in accusatory.
He was dead and yet he felt breathless.
"Neither can I. Stuck together. You and me. Us."
A frown appeared and her eyes narrowed in lethal disapproval.
"Why do you always say that?"
"Say what? The truth."
"It was cruel."
Johnny pressed his head against her neck and breathed in her scent. This little heaven of his. He pressed his lips against her jugular but only the barest of touch despite the rush of blood to his head. It was ridiculous for him to be seduced this easily.
"And what wrong with that? Am I not a terrorist? A soldier. A sinner."
"I don't care."
The words was a careless whisper but he caught it. Even if it was just a dream. She would forget about all of this when the morning come. Just a little death.
But death no longer tainted her body. She was warm and completely his. In this little moments between sleep and awakening. He leaned close and inhaled her. Finally, he closed his eyes and allowed let himself to dream with her.
Raindrops splashed against his skin. The damp city glistened with bright lights. Now familiar neon signs greet him.
No-Tell Motel.
The same nightmare again.
All of Johnny Silverhand's senses overwhelmed by sharp and painful grief. It cut through him and under his skin.
Hopelessness washed over him. Dread gnawed at him and he heard the clicking sounds of her heels. He clenched his fist but willed himself until she passed by him.
Blood stained covered her face. Her expression neutral. There was no tears in her eyes. Yet, he felt her fracturing from the inside. The world seemed emptier tonight.
A world absent of Jackie Welles.
What was left of her was a wounded shell of a person that she was. Even as her body moved through the dank deserted hallways, her mind was still in the Delemain cab. Savoring the last memories of Jackie's still warm body against her hand.
Saburo's face appeared on the screens. Johnny spat on the carpeted floor and rushed ahead to match her footsteps.
V waited for a few seconds before she knocked against the sliding door. He memorized every second as she walked to her death.
Alone trapped in coyling room with two snakes.
Grief numbed her down. Everything she felt was concentrated on holding herself together. Her raw nerves were frayed. She was at her most vulnerable and it was clear to her murderers.
Like a broken record.
He followed her into the tiny bathroom. She saw her own face and trembled at Jackie's blood. Something rose within her. Her mind struggled to process. Fierce disbelief at her own failures. An all consuming rage sparked within her depth. She grasped hard on it and lashed out with her bloodstained fist.
Her reflection fractured.
Control wash over her mind and body. She locked her vulnerabilities back inside of her. The expression on her face was neutral again. She washed off Jackie's blood. Nothing slip through the cracks of her cold metal armor.
But it was never enough. She failed to see the threat to her. Knocked down. Brutalized in mere seconds. Blacked out. She fought through the blinding pain and pried open her eyes. Her rage kept her alive briefly. She yelled her outrage, but it was too late. Her head snapped back.
The bullet struck deep. Her warm blood soaked through her hair. He tasted blood in his mouth. Her blood.
Everything became colorless and emptier than before.
A world without V.
Someone nudged her body to see if she was dead. He didn't catch what the villains said but one of them lifted her body. Her blood soaked the carpet and trailed out of the room. Then she was ruthlessly thrown into a trash compacter. Her body hit a mound of trash.
They disposed her like she was nothing. An afterthought. Alone and unwanted.
It hurt so deep within his deathless soul.
Johnny sifted through the memories until he was hunkered close to her prone form. He breathed through his clenched teeth but kept his eyes on her still form..
Her broken body kept the memories of what happened to her while her mind was silent. There was nothing left. Her precious life snuffed out. Gone in what felt like an eternity.
Even within her dreams, she died again.
Her mind relived her own death. Unprompted. Unwelcome.
Johnny knew she still rested in the real world, but it felt too real. Memories shackled them together in a sick repeating tune. They can do nothing except keep on reliving it.
He felt the tell-tale noise of a municipal drone. Despite the tight space, Johnny gathered her close to him. The thick rusting metal compartment groaned as the drone clamped tight. Almost feel it like his own head instead.
And they were airborne.
Rainstorm shook the metal box from all directions. They both sunk deeper into the filth. He held her the entirety of the journey. Whispering words of comfort and safety. He wondered if he said it for her or just to make him feel better.
The drone dipped hard and suddenly became prone. A loud groan echoed through tiny space. Refuse began to unravel around them.
Johnny gathered her close to his chest. The floor opened up from underneath.
They were in the air and crashed onto a heap of trash filled with metal and questionable materials. The impact knocked him out of breath.
For a long moment, he laid there on his back and was glad that he had caught her this time. They had fallen multiple ways. Sometimes, she slipped out of his embrace. When that happened, he had to go through a mountain of trash to reach her body.
With a low groan, Johnny pushed the metal sheet that had flipped over. He pushed himself up on his elbows and cradled her precious body against his heart.
