Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun is high and the heat is unforgiving. Johnny feels the burn on his back, shoulders, and neck; the scorch of it all too reminiscent of his military years. Except then he had a rifle stuck to his back and a cigarette in his mouth, and the dust that was kicked up from the desert floor had stuck to his hair and made him squint his eyes near constantly.

Some things have changed since then. But some have stayed the same.

Tinted glasses still press against his nose bridge, his hair still moves with every gust of wind, and his dog tags still sit heavily against his chest. Instead of a rifle, there’s only a knife with a bronze blade and a purple handle tucked into his boot. The sun still burns, and the dust still kicks up from the sand beneath his tires.

Some things have stayed the same. But only one of those things are still his.

The glasses are some shitty ones V nabbed from an overly eccentric Dogtown shop. The hair is the same hair that V sat in-front of his mirror and painstakingly dyed every two weeks, always on a Friday, and always the same dark shade of purple. V loved the color, and when he found the knife for sale in some crappy shop in Pacifica, he threw down an absurd amount of eddies and never left home without it.

Johnny tried to dye the hair back once, when it started fading the first time. He had found the same brand, the same color, and the same shade.

But when he had brought the too tiny brush to the strands, he just couldn’t do it. Not without him. It wasn’t right, it was all too different; V wasn’t there to glare at Johnny through the mirror, he wasn’t there to tell Johnny to shut up when he said something bitchy, V wasn’t there to clean up the mess V always made whenever the dye touched his hands.

V wasn’t there. So he couldn’t do it, and the strands eventually faded to black.

Just like V isn’t here now, as the Night City skyline comes into view just past the horizon. He isn’t here as the Badlands sand kicks up in time with the tires of his motorcycle. V loved riding through this wasteland with the radio on and the wind cutting through his short hair. He wore the same glasses, watched the same landscapes as Johnny does now, as Johnny did then. He would never ride bitch on a bike, even as a hallucination, but he always made sure to watch through V’s eyes.

But this time, it’s just Johnny.

It’s been ‘just Johnny’ for longer than it was V and Johnny.

V isn’t here.

He’s been just Johnny for nearly ten years.

And for those ten years, he hasn’t stepped a single foot in this fucking cesspit. He hasn’t spoke to anyone except a quick phone text to V’s friends about eight years ago and never once turned the thing back on. He hasn’t spoken to Rogue, or Kerry, even though Kerry somehow figured out how to call his holo. Sometimes he feels guilty, but it’s not like they would believe him if he told them what went down in Mikoshi. So he just lets the calls ring. The fuck else is he supposed to do?

The sand abruptly shifts to rocky concrete as the tires hit the road. He turns the bike right and leans forward. Vibrations run up his legs and spreads to his arms until his hands rumble in time with the engine. His hair is longer than it was a decade ago, it hits his shoulders and falls to about where he kept it in the 2020s, and the strands smack against his face while the glasses slide down his nose as he eyes the speedometer: 115 miles per hour and counting.

The road stretches in front of him, where it eventually curves up onto a hill. A small bus stop sits at the left hand side of the road just up ahead. The sight of it hits Johnny about as hard as the columbarium right across the street from it. It’s been ten years, but he still remembers the way his eyes burned as he got on that bus, the way the cool glass felt pressed against his temple as Night City spit him out. And most vividly, he remembers the way he felt empty, how his mind had blanked, how he desperately kept talking to the only other person who he had ever really talked to until he realized there would be no answer.

His hands slip against the handles as his palms slick up with sweat.

He pulls the bike over and leans it against a half destroyed road blockage just outside of the memorial.

Concrete, sand, and odd pieces of glass crunch under his boots as he walks to the steps. He keeps his face down. He watches his feet inch closer and closer to the first stair and he shoves his hands into his pockets. He inhales. Sand hits his tongue. He coughs it back out.

Johnny dropped smoking the day he left Night City, but at times like these, he wishes he had that cancer between his lips.

His foot just won’t pick up. His stomach churns as dampness rubs his neck wet against his shirt collar and he feels like his belt is too tight and his dog tags are too heavy.

Fuck.

If only he had been the one…

But he wasn’t.

And V deserves this. To not be forgotten. But it’s not like he is, with all the people he helped.

Johnny walks until his feet drag him closer and closer to the niche. Every second he gets closer, his heart hits his chest, it slams against his muscles and rattles his bones. He tries to breathe, but his throat burns, and the air feels like it’s being dragged out of his lungs by some fucking other worldly being.

Shit. He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe. Hasn’t been able to.

His hands shoot up to his neck and he wraps his fingers around it. The hair at the base of his neck is damp where his fingertips brush against it. He shuts his eyes and tries to will his lungs open through brute force alone.

He’s always been a fuckin’ coward. It doesn’t matter if it’s been ten years or seventy, it doesn’t matter how much has changed or how much is gone, he’s always been the same. The same coward who couldn’t save anyone. Who couldn’t save the one person he cared about saving the most. Fuck… what the fuck has he done?

He opens his eyes, and through his tinted glasses, it’s there.

The only thing that V has to himself, just for him, and no one else. Not Johnny, not Night City, not Arasaka.

His grave.

His hand reaches forward and touches the cool, hard stone that says the only thing Johnny could think to write about a man who meant and did so much: ’Dreamer’.

“V…” Johnny chokes out. His voice catches on the syllable and he nearly throws up at the sound. At the name he couldn’t stand to speak out loud for so, so long.

His fingers run along the edge of the niche, the stone is rough against his fingertips and lightly scrapes against them. There’s quiet conversations around him and even quieter cries. The wind blows, he hears the sand follow it and foot steps walk in and out of the memorial. Somewhere in the outskirts of the city a horn goes off loud enough for it to echo in the silence of the graveyard, and at a niche right behind him, a young girl jumps at the sound.

“I am so, so sorry, V.”

It’s silent now.

He waits, but just like every other time he’s spoken to V over the past decade, there’s no reply.

He never adjusts. It feels wrong.

“V, listen, I—“

“Walk with me like we’re just two chooms meeting up for the day.”

His fingers pause and he feels his blood do the same.

Shit.

It’s a woman’s voice. He recognizes it from somewhere, but he can’t pinpoint exactly where. Fuck… today of all fuckin’ days.

“Listen, we have to leave right now.” She says, her voice sounds tight, it reminds him of Rogue.

He’s just about…

“Listen to me, I can’t explain now, but I will as soon as we get somewhere… more private.”

Fuckin’ bingo.

Panam.

“Have to say, Panam, I never thought I’d meet you here of all fuckin’ places. Thought you were riding through deserts, running around with your nomad pals.”

“Shut up. We need to go, now.”

Like he has a choice.

“…Shit,” He whispers under his breath as he turns and goes to fall into line behind Panam.
But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He misses V like hell, stronger than he’s ever missed anyone, and Panam is someone who V helped.

Johnny owes it to him to hear her out.

Even if he really, really doesn’t want to.

It’s hard, to walk away from the last remaining pieces of the person who Johnny shared a body with. V was someone he can never forget, not like he’d been trying to, anyway. He wants to stay. He wants to turn around, walk back to his friend, fuck… his best friend, and sit there and talk like V never left. He chances a glance back to the niche, and ignores the pain in his chest.

V would help her. He would want this, selfless bastard.

Panam has aged. It’s the small things that Johnny notices as he walks behind her, like the slight limp in her step and the slower sway of her hips. Her hair is longer, just a little, and the dark brown color it was the first time Johnny saw her is lighter now; probably from all her time in the sun. He wonders how many other people he and V used to know that has changed. Rogue, Kerry, Misty, Viktor… The list is almost endless, thanks to V’s kindness. Unyielding trust. Dedicated loyalty.

Everything Johnny was not.

Until he met V.

And all of that applies to only V. And maybe a little to his old friends. But the trust part? Nah. Johnny may have changed, but there’s one thing that’s the same: Never trust Night City, especially after it kicks you in the ass. Twice.

He leans against his red bike that’s stained and has dry dirt peeling off the body. He crosses his arms and watches Panam pace back and forth in front of him. Her steps are slow and precise while her hands rest on her waist. The wind blows loudly in his ears and whips strands of hair against his cheeks, she cuts her eyes towards him and then looks away quickly. She’s nervous… That means bad news. And the last time she spoke to him, she threatened to find him. To make him pay. So, he isn’t exactly thrilled.

“Alright, spit it out.” He says while he looks down at the gravel, dirt, and rocks that sit around his leather boots.

“I need you to come with me. To the Afterlife—“

“No fuckin’ way.”

“Johnny!” She pauses, closes her eyes, and breathes in. Like she’s steeling herself. She probably is. Johnny can only imagine how much she despises him. “This is important, you need to be there.”

“Tell me what the fuck is goin’ on right now. The Afterlife? Shit. Rogue will have me shot and gutted before I even step foot in Watson.”

“She won’t. Not while I’m there.”

“Uh huh, and what makes you think that?” He pauses, kicks his foot around until a rock hits the sidewalk, “Rogue threw me out like a gonk who had too much tequila. We aren’t on the best of terms, especially after her favorite merc gave his life for me. She won’t see me, doesn’t matter if the fuckin’ world depends on it.”

Johnny turns towards the bike and swings a leg over the seat. He leans forward and grabs the fabric wrapped handles. It’s warm under his palms. The machine sinks under his weight. There’s quiet clinks from his dog tags hitting each other on his chest.

Panam stops and turns to face him. Her eyes narrow.

“…V gave his life for you?”

“What, surprised? We were friends. I was a dick at first, but we got along pretty good by the end.”

“No, I…” She shuffles and crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at the ground, “I’m not surprised. V cared about everyone. Dick rockerboys or not.”

Night City glints in Johnny’s peripheral. He turns his head and watches it. He looks at the loops of roads leading to the outskirts, to the endless buildings and inconceivable skyscrapers, at the cars moving in and out of the city. It’s such a familiar scene, with the wind lightly brushing his hair against his cheeks and the sounds of the city reaching his ears. It’s there, at the tip of his tongue, the want to return, either out of curiosity or carelessness. He wants to see, to know, to return to something he’s known his entire life.

But then V is in his head and all he can think about is him. How that city devoured him, how it raised him up only to drop him face first and ass up, how it left him with no choice but to fight when all he was trying to do was live. He thinks about V coughing up blood, about him collapsing while everyone just parted ways and walked by, he thinks about V laughing and smiling even when he had less than a day to live.

“Yeah, you’re right…” He says. He turns back towards Panam and wipes the sand off his boots,“…But I can’t. I gave up being a stubborn dick out of my own past righteous delusions a long time ago, but this isn’t what V deserves. You may think I’m being a selfish bastard and I don’t care. I have more important things in my life now. The corps, the NUSA, the rich sons of bitches that run this shitty city… It’s not worth givin’ up everything for. It’s taken countless bodies dropped and blood shed for my sake to realize that leavin’ my old life behind is the best revenge I can give those motherfuckers and the peace that V deserves. I’m not gonna throw that away for whatever gig you needed V for.”

He’s changed now. Night City isn’t his home, and there’s no way it ever will be again. V deserves a second chance. More than Johnny did. And going back to Night City, for whatever gig or scheme this chick has in mind, is not the risk V deserves. Not when his whole life was risk after fucking risk.

“Johnny…”

“I’m sorry, Panam. But I can’t.”

“Shit!” She walks up to Johnny and shoves her finger against his chest, against his dog tags, right above his heart. Sand flies up around her and into Johnny’s mouth, eyes, and nose. He coughs while he tries to lean back, but she follows and presses even harder. The cold of the metal tags weigh heavy against his chest. Sand grits his eyes and he squints at the angry mass through his lashes.

“This is for him. If you walk away now, just know you will regret it for the rest of your borrowed life. You fuckin’ piece of shit. I haven’t forgotten what I said all those years ago on the holo. This is taking every ounce of my pure will to not pull out my gun and shoot you right now. This is for V, you owe it to him after all the bullshit you put him through.” She yanks her hand away and turns to the car idling nearby. Johnny watches her dig the heel of her boot into the ground.

And then… What she said hits Johnny harder than the fucking shotgun he got split in half with.

“What do you mean ‘for him’?” Her footsteps draw up sand and dirt as she ignores him. Johnny swings his leg over the bike and nearly trips as he rushes to catch up and grips her elbow harder than he meant to. A random person tells him to be chill, but he only catches the first half of it as blood rushes through his ears and his heart beat echoes in his head.

No… there’s no way.

Not after so long.

“Why do you think I came to get you, out of all the people V knew, you bastard?”

She shrugs him off and glares at him with sharp eyes.

“You’re the only one that knows where to find Alt. I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”

Fuck.

He follows Panam and gets in her shitty car.

--------

Rogue isn’t exactly happy to see him.

“No. No fucking way. Get him the fuck out of my sight right now before I zero him,” Rogue nearly shouts. Her face is red and her hands are on her hips as she practically nails Johnny to the wall he leans against with her sharp glare.

He can’t say he’s surprised.

Rogue still looks like… Rogue. She looks like she hasn’t changed a day. Except for some small things, like her hair being completely white and her skin more wrinkly. She still has that cold, cutting look in her eyes that drew Johnny in all those years ago. Her outfit is the same, her hair style is the same, hell, her posture is the same. That cold gaze that looks at him isn’t filled with barely concealed kindness, or understanding, or even a pinch of compassion like it was so long ago. It’s angry. It hurts Johnny, just a bit, but he isn’t surprised.

No, not at all.

He isn’t surprised that she hates him, like Alt, like Kerry, like every single one of V’s old friends. Like himself.

He hates himself. It's harsh, it's burning, it's always there. Everyone hates him.

Except for V.

It’s always V, isn’t it?

Or, wasn’t it?

That thought, even after so long, is still so hard to bear.

“Rogue, I promise not a single one of us in this room wants him here right now, but we have no choice. We need him to get to Alt, even if we fucking hate his guts,” Panam says firmly.

Ouch.

He crosses his arms over his chest and watches the two women… discuss. Very angrily. His glasses slide down his nose as he angles his head towards them.

It almost reminds him of old times. Of Rogue arguing with whatever douche Johnny had interrupted her conversation with, while he stood, or sat, with his leg kicked up and a bottle of vodka in his hand. He doesn’t drink anymore, but right now, it sounds damn good. Wash away some of that pain, even for a minute. Damn. V would tell Johnny to shut the fuck up before he poured one out, because V always gave into Johnny, even if he pissed and moaned about it all day long.

“This is not what we agreed, Panam. We said you would get someone that V used to know. I never thought it would be Johnny fucking Silverhand. Jesus, I need a drink—“ Rogue turns towards the table and downs the entire glass of whatever the fuck she’s drinking before she turns back to Panam. Her eyes move until she meets Johnnys own and she points a polished finger at him before taking a step closer, “—If you even think about speaking to me, then I will make you regret it. V’s body or not, I won’t fuckin’ hesitate with you, Johnny. You’re only here because I had no idea it would be you. Don’t push my boundaries, or I swear to fuck…”

Panam side steps until she’s in the way of Johnny’s vision. Her back is to him, cutting off Rogues face, her white hair the only thing he can see. Panam whispers something to her, but he can’t make it out before she steps away and Rogue takes a seat on the couch behind her. Panam follows and stares at Johnny expectantly.

There’s no way in hell he’s about to sit down. Rogue may shoot off his foot if he even gets an inch further into her mile long personal space radius.

Instead he stays where he is with one foot propped against the wall. He slides his glasses off his nose and onto his head. Rogue and Panam talk quietly to each other. Every so often, one of them glance at Johnny before they look away. He absentmindedly rubs his dog tags together.

It’s tense.

It reminds him of the vague memories that he has of V’s conversation with Dexter DeShawn. Some of V’s memories are still clear, while others are muddled and some are blended in with Johnnys own. But he can picture it clearly; Jackie sitting to V’s left, T-Bug beside Jackie, and Dex beside her. He can picture the way Jackie bounced his leg up and down nervously, how he rubbed the back of his head whenever Dex spoke. He can feel the bite of anxiety that V felt when he noticed Jackie’s nerves. How V was trying to be optimistic, but there was that sense of dread beneath it all.

If only V had listened to that feeling and walked the fuck away.

Johnny can’t say he blames him. He used to be the same. Desperation or needing to prove himself, whatever the fuck someone wants to call it, it’s all the same. And the lesson is never learned until it’s too fuckin’ late. Every. Single. Time.

But… If what Panam implied is true, about finding Alt, about V, then maybe it’s not too late. And that isn’t something that Johnny can just pass up because certain people don’t like him. V is more than that. Damn Johnny’s old feelings, damn his old friendships, damn his old choices. He doesn’t give a fuck what anyone has to say — if there’s even a shred of a chance that V could come back, then he’s going to fuckin’ take it. Doesn’t matter the cost.

“So, anyone gonna fill me in on what exactly I’m doing here?”

“Shut up”, they say in unison. Except for the guard. He just looks at him with pity.

He fucking hates it.

--------

One hour passes before the door beside his shoulder opens and someone walks through.

No one has spoken to him and he hasn’t said anything to anyone else. The silence used to bother him, but after a decade of being alone, actually alone, he’s used to it. It’s not like he has anything to say, anyway.

He stands up from his squat as a woman with short pink hair walks past him. She makes her way to Rogue and Panam, who stand and offer her a drink, which she declines. She sits down and casts a glance at Johnny. One look. Then another. He makes eye contact and watches her eyes open wide in recognition.

Songbird.

What a reunion this has turned out to be.

“V—“

“Johnny,” Panam interrupts her.

“Johnny. Sorry.” She looks at Panam before continuing, “wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

He goes to speak. “I…”

“Songbird, do you have the stuff we agreed on?” Rogue says. Very loudly.

…Wasn’t expecting it, either.

“Yeah, I left it with Nix. He said he would sort it out. It’s a nice set up you have down there, reminds me of my own when I worked for Myers.”

Rogue nods before she stands up and puts down her glass. She walks past Panam and Songbird and opens the door as her body angles sideways to avoid Johnny. He trails after them right before the door shuts in his face.

He stares down at his feet as green and blue neons reflect in the somewhat shiny floor. It’s loud with music and people at the bar. His clothes pinch in the wrong places and his shirt sticks to his back. He’s not used to this anymore, the quiet of the small towns and endless deserts outside of Night City is something he’s grown to like, to enjoy. The stars and moon are free of smoke and whatever other pollution sticks to this city like a disease. Now, the lights are just a little too bright and the music is just a little too loud. Maybe he’s just grown old. V would get a kick out of that.

Someone turns to him and he catches it in the corner of his right eye. Claire.

Another reminder that he’s the wrong person at the wrong place in the wrong body. All at the wrong time.

He looks at Panam’s heels.

There’s sand and dirt all over them.

The walk to Nix’s room is long, even though Johnny has walked the halls of the Afterlife in both of his lives.

He pushes his hands into his pockets as Rogue opens the door. Johnny reaches up and grabs the cool metal edge right before it starts to swing close. He walks in and leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

The room is filled with more shit than the last time him and V came here, but it's still the same size. It’s a tight squeeze with more than three people in it. There’s a desk with fifty something laptops to his left and a net runner chair in the middle of the room, which hooks up to fifty other laptops. There’s an ice bath in the back right corner. The lights are low, but with all the laptops and the neon light that shine in from outside the door, the place looks bright as hell.

Rogue stands in the middle of the cramped room. Panam leans against the desk on the left and Songbird types on a small laptop beside her. Her body is bent towards the computer and her pink hair covers her face… serious as usual.

“Well, shit,” says a man that slides past Rogue and walks to Johnny’s front, “haven’t seen you in a minute, rockerboy.” His hair is a little longer and his clothes a little more worn. Other than that, he looks like the same guy that V visited for the deck they found on Bartmoss a decade ago. Johnny vaguely remembers his name as Nix.

“Don’t think I’ve met you face to face before,” Johnny says. Please don’t get close to me.

“Technically not!” Nix laughs before he reaches forward and pats Johnny’s shoulder.

He recoils. The touch was unexpected and sent small static sparks down his nonexistent metal arm. He doesn’t do touch. It’s weird, after so long of no one reaching out, and before that, with V, he only felt the ghost of one. He hasn’t actually been touched in almost seventy years, besides a finger pointed angrily at his chest and a few punches his way.

He crosses his arms and nods at Nix. He feels his face twist into an awkward grimace.

Awkward.

Johnny Silverhand.

Shit, he hates change.

Nix takes a few steps backwards and twists until he faces Songbird from the side. He nods at her and the muscles in Johnny’s arms ache. He physically forces himself to loosen up. His body feels uncomfortable. The air in the room feels sharp, like how it did during a gig when V said the wrong thing, or pissed off the wrong people, and shit was about to hit the ground running. Or, actually, it feels the same as waiting in that elevator knowing that it’s too late for Alt. The he was too late. That’s how it feels. Dread and anxiety. The perfect fucking duo.

Between Panam and Rogue’s obvious hate of Johnny, the sound of Songbird’s typing filling up the already small space, and Nix’s eyes that seem to read everyone and everything all at once; it’s intense. And add Johnny to the mix? This is so out of his self made bubble that all he knows to do is stand against the wall and shut the fuck up.

Which isn’t as hard as it used to be.

“Nix, are you ready to go or not? We don’t have all the time in the world. You know that we’re on a tight schedule,” Rogue cuts out. Nix turns to her and leans on his right leg while he crosses his arms.

What the fuck is going on?

“Don’t you know it, Rogue! I’ve had this baby up and running for hours. All we need is a ‘runner to hook up and we’re good to go.”

Rogue nods and asks the same question to Songbird, who echoes out a resounding ‘yes’.

“Good. Panam, do you have everything ready?”

“Yes. Saul came by with the package earlier today,” Panam says while she settles her hands on her hips, “it’s in the back room.”

…Package?

“Militech give him any problems?”

Johnny tries not to scoff. Of course Rogue is still cutting deals with corps. That may be the part of his life he’s left behind, but the spite and anger at what those bastards did to V still gets him up and running. At least in his mind.

‘Least it wasn’t with Arasaka.

“Nope, not once we gave them your part of the deal. Bastards were in and out quicker than Trauma.”

“Alright, Johnny…” Rogue turns her head until she stares him down. Her grey Kiroshi shines from the dim neon green light cutting through the door. Her eyebrow drops and she turns away, “get in the tub. We’re chippin' you in.”

“Right. So what the fuck are you planning? You need me to find Alt. You need Songbird, who used to work for the NUSA dogs, for fuck knows what. You have the Aldecaldos helping while you sit here and cut deals with Militech. I may not know shit about netrunning but I know enough that this—“ he gestures to the fuckin’ Arasaka level gear they have set up “—is ridiculously overkill for anything remotely similar to what the fuckin’ Voodoo boy’s had in their basement the first time we found Alt.”

“Johnny—“ Panam starts with her tone bordering on bitchy as Songbird looks up from her constant work and both Rogue and Nix turn towards him.

“Nah, I may know fuck all about the current state of the world but I’m not doing anything unless you tell me what the fuck is going on and if it’ll do something… shit, anything for V. That’s what I’m here for. So tell me why I need to get in the bath or I’m walking out of this building and getting the fuck out of Night City,” his blood thrums through his veins, he feels his heart speed up, and that sweet, sweet flow of adrenaline hits him for the first time in a long time.

Rogue narrows her eyes are him.

“Tch, Johnny, you won’t ever change,” she uncrosses her arms and puts one hand on her hip, “Fine. We need you to find Alt in the blackwall…” Rogue looks down at the ground and Johnny’s eyes catch on her foot that taps as he feels his ears perk up to the loud sound in the now silent room, “…and convince her to tell you where V is. Then we will put him on an engram, and bring him back.”

That’s what Johnny figured the plan was, based on what Panam said outside the niche and the fact that both Songbird and Nix are here.

He expected it.

But that doesn’t change the shot of… happiness? Anxiety? Whatever the fuck is, it bursts through his heart like a jolt of electricity. He feels it run down his arms, flow through his legs, and makes his hair stand up as he defaults to staring at the ground.

This doesn’t mean anything… Alt may not know where V is. Or she may have made him a part of her. But on the off chance that he is still out there, somewhere in the endless blackwall, then Johnny could see him again. Or speak to him, if he’s lucky.

Or, he could come back.

Which is something that Johnny has dreamed about every night but hasn’t dared to consider.

Still, wouldn’t this be the same shit that happened with him and V, just with someone else? Overriding their soul, taking away their chance at life? Their ability to die? It’s fucked. V wouldn’t want that shit to happen to anyone again. Neither does Johnny… even if it means losing the chance to get V back.

“Let’s say I get in the ice bath and find Alt. By some fucked up chance, Alt hasn’t ate V or whatever the fuck she does… and some poor bastard gets overwritten the same way I overwrote V—“ he waves his arm and gestures to his body “—and we end up in the same situation. That makes us no better than those corpo dogs who created the Relic in the first place. I won’t do that to V. Not again.”

“That isn’t going to happen.”

He scoffs, “And how the fuck do you know that, Rogue? Are you a fucking genie with a magical ball?”

Songbird speaks. Her voice is calm and cuts through the thick air, “We have a plan, Johnny… I have no reason to lie to you. V saved my life. I owe it to him to help. Rogue is telling the truth.”

He shakes his head and leans back against the wall. His fingers touch the cool of his dog tags and rubs the pieces of metal together. He stares up at Rogue through his lashes, who meets his eyes before she looks away.

“And how the fuck can I know that? That you won’t fuck us over?” His voice is rougher than he meant. But he can’t help it. He can’t afford to put V in danger, not again, and he can’t even think about doing anything that could make it so V is gone. Actually gone.

“Look, Johnny. I may not give a single shit about you or anything you stand for, but I do care about V. We won’t… fuck him or you over. You have my word. Me and the Aldecaldos,” Panam says.

Johnny crosses his arms and closes his eyes. He leans his head back.

Fuck.

The only thing that’s stopping him from getting in the ice and pulling V back from god knows where is the fact that there can’t be any risks involved. No risks, no backstabs, no ulterior motives. He has to be sure.

…The only thing left is the deal Rogue cut with that damn corp, and the fact that this could have been done much earlier. So why wait so fucking long? He leans his head forwards and narrows his eyes at Rogue, “Why did you wait so long? And what does this have to do with Militech and whatever the hell you’ve got in that ‘package’? What’re you planning, Rogue?”

Rogue sighs.

“Look, Johnny, Militech doesn’t have any hand in this. Friends helping friends. That’s all that was. First we have to find Alt. Then we’ll go from there. Now get in the fucking bath,” Rogue says. She steps back until Johnny can see the ice bath.

Dammit, V…

He pushes past Nix and sits on the edge of the metal tub. The material is cool from the ice. He watches Songbird hoist herself up in the chair and connects random cords to herself. All the equipment here looks pretty fuckin’ new, but the chair looks like it was built the same year he died. Old world shit, and all that.

Fucking hell.

He takes a deep breath until his lungs burn and slides into the tub in one move.

“Shit!”

He doesn’t even recognize his own voice with how high pitched and girlish he sounds. He would blush if his body wasn’t going into fucking shock.

The burn of the ice is delayed but then immediately hits. Sharp edges stab into his back and under his legs as water swirls around his chest where he pants. He feels his arms shake and his sun glasses slide off his head and falls into the water with a slosh sound. Fuck. This is hell. He grips the edges of the tub until he can’t feel his fingers.

“Hurry the fuck up!” He grits out between gritted teeth.

He feels his body tremble as his dog tags slap against his chest with every breath he pulls in.

Nix walks to his side and starts to pull at a wire behind Johnny’s head, “Woah, calm down choom. Your body will adjust—“

“Like fuck it will!”

This is worse than last time.

V had fuckin’ balls, he’d give him that.

He hears Songbird through the blood that thrums through his ears.

“I’ll guide you to the Blackwall and show you the access point, but once you break through, it’s up to you. Find out where V is. Once you do that, keep him talking long enough for the engram chip to work. Then we’ll pull you.”

“Yeah, and how the fuck do I know the chip is on? That it’s working?”

“Me and Nix will handle that. All you need to do is get in there, find him, and leave.”

“…Fuck,” he grunts.

He watches Songbird nod at Nix through his peripheral. He closes his eyes and inhales until he feels something plug into his neural port. His head spins. He hears himself gasp and feels warm hands on his shoulders before he knocks out.

This better work, V.

Chapter Text

His vision spins and his stomach churns as his eyes adjust to what’s around him. It’s black except for lines of red, blue, pink, and purple that form random objects and walls. He’s all too familiar with this. The digitalized gleam on everything, the glitches that make the lines morph until they snap back to normal, and the absolute silence makes his head reel. A brief space between reality and his worst nightmare.

Blackwall, Mikoshi… it’s all the same shit.

It makes his stomach twist and vomit climb up his throat. Fuck.

There’s a high pitched sound ahead of him and Songbird flashes into existence. He hears her puff out a breath as she turns until Johnny can just barely make out her expression.

“You and me together. I’ll lead, you follow,” she says.

“Sure.”

When she starts to walk forward, Johnny follows. Not too close. But just enough to where he can see her and focus on something other than the sensation of what should be sweat sticking his clothes to his back, but it’s not actually there.

It’s too quiet. There’s no sounds of their steps or background noise. It’s silent. He fucking hates it.

“Hey, you okay?”

He drops his pixilated dog tags and winces at the press of metal that doesn’t come.

“Yeah. What, I look nervous or something?” His throat is dry and his voice sounds choked. Humiliating. Songbird turns her head and eyes him sideways.

“As a matter of fact, you do,” she turns straight again and Johnny picks up his pace to catch up, “I wouldn’t worry too much about finding Alt. She will locate you as soon as the Wall is breached. Nothing, AI or not, enters without her knowing. If she’s aggressive we’ll pull you.”

Shit. If the only thing he had to worry about was Alt being pissed at him, he’d call that a good fucking day. Nah, it isn’t Alt, not this time. It’s V… not like he can say that.

“Real reassuring, thanks.”

No, the reality is, he has no fucking clue what to say to V. The hell is he to say? ‘Hey, V. I’m sorry, you deserve better, and I think about you every day to the point it eats at me and I can’t fuckin’ function until I go to sleep, if I even can sleep, and then it all repeats the next day? But yeah, how has it been living in nothingness for a decade while being harassed by rogue AI’s and maybe not being eaten alive by my ex output?’

Fuck no. And what the fuck will V say? Fuck. Fuck. What will he think, what will he look like? Does he even remember Johnny or is he some conglomerate of god-knows-what like Alt? Now that Johnny thinks about it, he hasn’t even seen a photo of V. He hasn’t seen him since that day in Mikoshi. Technically he sees V every day, but it isn’t the same. It isn’t V. Not anymore.

He feels his chest grow tight.

Fuck, he’s acting like a girl with her first crush. What the fuck. Fuck. Shit.

“Johnny…”

He snaps his head up from Songbird’s shoes and looks at the pink of her hair, he pushes the air out of his lungs and clears his throat, “Lets just get this shit over with.”

“If you’re sure. The wall is just up here. I can’t go past it, too much risk for me to get sick again. So you’re going to have to do this alone,” her voice is clear as she stops to eye the red Wall right in front of them.

The red lines and dots of code move and glitch in and out of existence. It’s goes as far as he can see. He nods at Songbird and takes a step forward.

“Reach out and touch it. It should draw you in.”

He remembers V doing this when those piece of shit Voodoo Boys brought him in here. Fuck, that still gets him pissed. He shakes his head and reaches out with one hand. The code feels like nothing, but there’s a pull somewhere in the space. He puts his second hand in and starts to walk forward.

It’s surreal.

The red is vivid and engulfs everything around him. It blocks out the little sound and instead starts to fill his ear with what he can only describe as rolling static and numbness. The ground beneath his feet feels nonexistent, almost like he’s floating. He hears Songbird say something, but even as his ears strain to make it out, it’s too late.

…And then his feet hit solid ground and it’s all over in an instant.

Walls made of blue lines and winding hallways surround him. The silence drags on, just as it did in the other room, and the reality of his aloneness sinks in. It reminds him of long nights under the stars, where no one was there but himself, or the odd quietness that Kerry had the night before the bombing.

He walks towards the end of the long hallway. This is the same place him and V found Alt last time.

He turns a corner and walks to what looks like an opening. It’s a large circle with guardrails lining it, which he walks up to. The space is nothing but blue and red lines covering an endless blackness that extends towards the metaphorical ground.

It’s like the ocean… just way worse. Suffocating. Engulfing. Fuck, he hates it.

“Alt?”

Silence.

“You there?”

More silence.

Just fuckin’ phenomenal.

“Alt—“

Pink and red lines of code swirl in front of him until the body of a woman forms. Her presence seems to take up the endless blackness around him until there’s nothing left to focus on but her. His skin pricks and he feels watched, like everything around him is completely out of his control. Even if he’s known this, been told this, it still doesn’t stop the nervousness that settles over him like a thick blanket. And not the comforting kind.

“Johnny Silverhand. It has been a long time. I was not expecting anyone. What is it you seek?”

“Straight to the point, huh?”

“Indeed. There is no need for formalities.”

“Do you know where any…uh, thing, that comes in here is at?”

“Of course. I know where each AI is at all times,” she says as her hands lift up. Such human movements from an omnipotent AI is unsettling.

“Alt, I know I’ve asked you way too many favors over the years, but I need one more. Tell me where V is…so we can bring him back,” he asks while his arms cross tight against his chest.

“Bring him back? How so?”

“On an engram. Like me. Except some poor bastard won’t be overridden in the process.”

“He will be placed onto a chip and then copied by a net runner specifically tuned for a prepared body. Fascinating. That is something I would have had difficulty with, before I became what I am now.”

Johnny clears his throat and slides his hands into his pockets, he eyes Alt through his lashes and speaks, “I don’t know the details. All I know is that I have to find V, wherever the fuck he is, before they yank me. I know I owe you a hundred times over for Mikoshi. And everything before it. But I swear this is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you. I need to find him. Please, Alt,” he adds quietly.

He watches her. For a moment, there is silence. Nothing but the quiet buzzing of the constantly evolving lines that makes up this reality and the uncertainty that makes his heart squeeze and his hands turn to fists in his pockets.

“Johnny, you have changed.”

She sounds sincere, human. His stomach starts to feel empty and his chest aches, like someone beat him until he couldn’t move. His mind swirls with memories, of them fucking, of the arguments, of the shitty dates, of the emotions that he felt but couldn’t ever convey. Of the night he found her after she got ripped from herself when he couldn’t protect her. Guilt starts to eat away at him, and for a second its all too much, he just wants to retreat into himself and run away. Avoid the problems. The messes that he’s caused. The people he’s hurt.

His throat feels raw and his tongue heavy. His eyes burn. Shit. This always hits him at the worst times.

“I will guide you to him. Come.”

“Yeah, okay,” he chokes out. His voice is hoarse. Alt hovers towards him and gracefully fucking flies to an open archway to the right. Small red lines are left in her path as he walks behind her, but when he reaches out to touch them, they disappear like they were never there.

He follows her for what feels like hours.

Eventually, they come to what appears to be a wall that’s made up of blue lines instead of red. It’s similar to the Blackwall, like it’s separating us from them. He wants to reach out and touch it, but he feels increasingly dizzy and nauseous each minute that passes. His time here is probably running out. He has to hurry.

“This is the wall that I created to prevent rogue AI’s from harming V. Only I can enter, but I will alter the code so you can, as well.”

“I thought you were planning on absorbing V into yourself,” he asks.

“I did initially. However, I came to the conclusion that V is far too human. It would cause him nothing but agony, and he did not fit my purposes.”

Johnny feels his eyes brows inch down and he blurts out without thinking, “What do you mean ‘human’? He isn’t like you?”

“Correct. There must've been an abnormality in his genetic makeup, or he has abnormal resilience. He did not convert as I predicted.”

“Resilience? What do you mean?”

“I believe that one’s mental resilience when they first enter impacts their trajectory. When I entered, my neural cyberware had been bypassed and I was not fully adjusted to conditions as I once was. I had fled here for safety,” her arms raise again, “due to that, I had subconsciously became someone I was not. As time passed, and I consumed exorbitant amounts of rogue AI’s, I became what you now see. However, V had came in with less desperation than I had, and had already been exposed to experimental firmware that contained a mixture of code and someone else entirely. This, was you. Therefore, he retained parts of himself, and was too human to be able to traverse here as I or another can. This made him a target. And an abnormality.”

He takes a moment to process what she said. V, Johnny, AI’s, Blackwall… It’s shit that goes way past his head. But he does understand this: V is still V. That’s all that matters to him. He’s not shocked that V is special. He already knew that.

“So, he’s… himself. Is what you mean.”

“Yes, just as you are yourself. He is still you, to some degree, and you are still him. That is another reason I believe he retained his original self as well as he did; you had already been in a similar digital space, which was Mikoshi. V’s body and mind had already been exposed and adjusted to the intrusion that was you and all that came with it. That prepared him for his arrival here.”

“Intrusion. Thanks.” He rolls his eyes.

“That is what you were, a parasite that his body was forced to adapt to.”

“Shit. I get it, Alt. So, I just walk up to it? Like the Blackwall?” He asks as he turns away from her and gazes at the blue barrier in front of him.

“Yes. I have already made the adjustments to allow you to enter.”

“That quick?”

“Yes. I am quite efficient.”

He nods and walks towards the wall. He reaches out, and he feels himself be pulled in just like before. Just as his foot enters, he twists around and faces Alt with what he hopes is his most honest expression.

“Thank you Alt. And I’m sorry.”

“What for?” She asks.

His body starts to feel light again, as he enters more and more into the code.

“Lettin’ you down. So many times. If I could redo it, I wou—“

“There’s no need. I forgave you long ago, the last time you came here. Do for him what you tried to do for me. It is not too late to try again.”

“Alt, I…” he says through gritted teeth. He stares at her, at her familiar facial features, at her hair, at all the parts of her he used to love. Years have mellowed that, to the point that he’s realized he didn’t love her the way she loved him. Not at that time. Unconditional love with the happiness of his partner being his main motive? Not him, not then. But now? It could be different. The thought feels off. He doesn’t love Alt, not this Alt. He doesn’t love this Rogue, either. Not the way he used to. Or he thought he used to.

He doesn’t really love anyone. Not like before.

“Goodbye, Johnny.”

“See ya’ around, Alt.”

He looks towards the bright blue lines that fade in and out and his body is overcome by that split moment of numbness before he walks out into an endless blue that stretches out like the ocean. There’s no buzzing, no quiet humming or whatever the hell is around them in the other place, and no feeling of eyes that watch his every move. Solitude. Complete aloneness. It’s disgustingly like Mikoshi. He was fucked in there, left alone with his thoughts for half a century, and when he came out he was filled with anger and confusion. If V went through the same shit, because of him… Well, fuck.

He walks for what feels like an eternity. His mind crawls with countless outcomes and hundreds of thoughts that go by so quick he can’t seem to catch them. He can’t think straight, can’t focus, can’t even begin to consider what he’s about to see. Who he’s about to see. His neck feels clammy and his ears are muffled as his hands embarrassingly begin to tremble. He tries to breathe, to pull in puffs of air, but his lungs feel clogged and his limbs feel heavy like it did the second his body hit the ice bath. He can’t make out where he’s going, he doesn’t remember what he just walked by, in the endless blue and black that surrounds him.

Another wave of nausea hits him and he pauses. He breathes in, counts to five, and wanders in the direction he hopes might lead him to V.

His thoughts are overwhelming. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do, or what to think. But somewhere through all this bullshit his heart races, but not just because of the nerves that grip him, but because he’s excited.

He comes to what he can only guess is some kind of door… if doors can even exist in this shithole. He doesn’t even reach out to open it, it just does. Whatever.

He squeezes through the small space which opens to a room that’s creepily similar to V’s first apartment. The one with the cat. And the shitty neighbors.

“Guess this is it, then…” he mutters under his breath as he steps into the room.

Somehow, it’s even quieter in here than all the other random ass places he’s been to today.

It’s similar, but some things are different. There’s no gun storage, no computer area, and no bathroom. He walks towards the couch, to what some object that he he guesses is a guitar. It’s made out of red lines instead of blue. He reaches out, but instead of cool metal and firm strings, the thing glitches around his fingers and only when he pulls away does the shape return.

He’d recognize this anywhere.

It’s his guitar.

“Oh, V…”

He aches. It’s something he’s never felt before. It’s deep in his gut, it presses against his heart, and it’s firm against his chest.

He can’t…

So he turns around.

And his breath dies.

There, on the bed, with arms crossed and his knees pulled to the chest, is V.

V.

After all these years, he…

“V!” Johnny yells out. He nearly trips to get to him while his blood pours in his head and his heart pounds. He can’t hear anything, can’t make anything out, except for the jarring rhythm of his heart and the blurred edges of his vision.

“V, we’re gonna get you out of here, I swear, just like all those years ago, when I gave you my dog tags, do you remember? Alt already told me all the shit, but it doesn’t fuckin’ matter, because Songbird is here and we…”

He pants as he stares at the man in front of him. V hasn’t looked up, hasn’t acknowledged him, hasn’t moved a muscle even when Johnny ran up on him.

V would have reacted in his reflex perfect, merc way.

Johnny feels his heart stutter.

The shaking hand he reaches out to set on V’s shoulder falls right through.

Static ringing fills his head as his vision spins. He falls forward and braces himself on the bed beside V as he holds back vomit. His time is running out.

“…V?” He asks in a whisper. He stares at the little he can see of him as Johnny rests his head against his arm and his knees on the floor. Something is wrong… Why the fuck didn’t Alt say anything?

He tries to reach forward with his other hand again. He wants to touch, to feel, but he can’t in this stupid fucking place.

“You there?” He mutters.

He groans as he squeezes his eyes shut and shoves his face into the numb lines of the bed beneath him. He can’t even keep his eyes open, he’s so dizzy. Fuck. What the fuck does he do?

He blindly tries to grasp in the direction of V again, but his hand slips through nothingness.

His mind races. He’s panicking. There isn’t enough time to figure this out, to fucking think. He clinches his hands into fists as he struggles to sit up. He needs… V needs someone, fuck— maybe he can find Alt, get her to help, to… to cure whatever is wrong with V. His mind is too foggy to get his legs to move but he doesn’t fucking care. He drags himself off the bed and collapses on the floor as his mind does a fucking summersault. Fuck, he’s fucking dying, he can’t—

Cold. It’s so cold he burns, all around him, it’s all around him and he can’t get away. His legs feel numb, his skin raw, and so damn heavy he can’t move. His jeans stick to him, water soaks his shirt through, his dog tags press against his shaking chest cruelly.

There’s warm on his shoulders and voices around him. He can’t make them out, they’re all muffled… Where was he? Where is he? He was at V’s niche, he was… Fuck!

“V!” He shouts. He sits up and water sloshes around him, he hears it hit the floor and splash around in the metal tub. He can’t catch his breath. He races to pull himself out, but the edges are too slick, and he almost falls back, but someone grabs him and supports him from his shoulder blades. His vision glitches out with red and pink lines. He jerks his head around in circles, desperately trying to find, to see. He gasps for air as his fingers clinch around the tub.

He sees Rogue in the middle of the room. She stands with her arms crossed and he feels anger rip through them. How dare she, take him away from V, who’s been alone for so long and needs help.

“You— you fuckin’…! I was this close, I was…” something guttural leaves his throat as he puts all his strength into his tired limbs and hurls himself out of the freezing water and onto the floor. Water comes with him and his feet slide against the wet concrete as he points a finger at Rogue and spews his anger, his rage, “He fuckin’ needed me! Needed someone, anyone! You think this is all some fucking— some fucking game with you and the fucking corps that you suck the dick of! You… Fuck!” He shouts and twists away. He’s seething. His hands shake as his nails dig into his palms. The air in the room cools his still wet skin and he looks at his sunglasses at the bottom of the ice bath.

He gasps for air and tries to catch his breath.

He turns back to Rogue. She stares at him with sharp eyes and a scowl on her face. Panam looks at him with wide eyes from beside Rogue while Songbird is still hooked into the ‘runner chair.

They get to stand here pissed. V gets to sit in that hell as a shell of himself.

He feels so much anger, so much frustration, at being so close to V and being unable to do shit to help. Just like last time. He wants to go back, but after the display he just put on, he doubts Rogue will even let him walk out of the building alone. Fuck. Messing shit up again, just like always.

“I’m done,” he grits out while he cuts one of his hands through the air. He reaches into the ice bath beside him and pulls out his glasses. He walks towards the door and shakes them off. Cool water hits his face.

“Where the hell are you going, Johnny?” Panam asks sharply.

“To fucking help V. That’s where the hell I’m going, Panam,” he grits out as he grabs the door handle.

“Yeah, sure, and where exactly do you plan to find someone who’ll toler—“

“Woah, lets all just chill. Songbird’s almost done. Why don’t we wait to hash out biz until then?” Nix says from somewhere behind Johnny. He turns his head and sees him standing near the ice bath. So that’s who pulled me out.

Panam lifts her palms up and scoffs, “Fine. Whatever. But I’m not dealing with this piece of shit any longer than I have to.”

He hates it. But Nix is right. So he presses his sweat and water slick back against the wall and slides down to the concrete floor.

His mind wanders to V. What was wrong with him? If it’s anything like what Johnny went through… then V needs someone. He opens his palms and looks at the hands that slipped through V like he was nothing. Fuck. He fists his hands and squeezes his eyes shut. Water drips from his hair into his eyes and dribbles down his cheeks. If he knew that V was still out there, that there was a way to get him back, he wouldn’t have stopped until V was safe and away from all of it. But he didn’t know, and another layer of guilt is added onto the already too large pile for him to shoulder.

I’m coming V. I swear.

Time passes and he becomes more exhausted by the minute. He’s nearly asleep when Songbird convulses and Rogue starts to rip out the hundreds of fucking cords attached to her. Johnny pulls himself off the ground and stands straight. His knees pop.

It’s been an agonizing twenty minutes. His mind’s left with V in that horribly fake, digitalized apartment. He’s worried his bottom lip raw between his teeth. The burning in his chest has been constant. The feeling of wrongness.

Songbird sits up, coughs, and groans out loud as she hunches over on the edge of the chair.

He pushes past Panam and just… watches. He watches Nix’s fingers dart across the laptop keyboard, the stern set to his jaw, the way he’s bent over the desk as he starts to plug in wires to some machine next to it. He looks at Rogue and her serious posture, at her hands that are on Songbird’s shoulders, and her legs which are shoulder length apart. Songbird blinks, and her face looks sickly, like she’s shot up on the same concoction of drugs that Johnny took every day in ’23.

She looks like shit, for lack of better words, with her bloodshot eyes and red, puffed up skin. If the disorientation is anything like Johnny felt, then he feels for her.

But he feels for V more.

“Tell me it worked. That he’s out of there. Fucking tell me right now—“

Panam cuts him off with a scoff, “God damn it Johnny, do you have any sense of compassion? Any thing that even comes close to actually giving a shit about someone else? Can’t you see that she’s in pain? Or do you just not give a shit if it isn’t anything to do with you, or Arasaka, or god forbid—“

“Panam. Enough.” Rogue says in her shut the fuck up because I fucking said so voice.

Panam makes him want to rip his hair out. He didn’t like her then and he sure as hell doesn’t like her now. And saying that he doesn’t have compassion, or that he doesn’t care about anyone else is just fucking wrong. He does care for someone else, V, and Rogue and Kerry and Alt. Viktor and Misty are alright too. But that’s it. Right now V needs help, so why is he so crazy for wanting to make sure he gets it?

V once told him that Johnny and Panam are too similar. That their personalities would clash. But, that she isn’t as narcissistic as Johnny. At the time Johnny had laughed, made some snarky ass comment…now, he agrees with V.

Panam reminds him of the Rogue of his time. Just with less lenience… and less sex. And more brattiness.

He might be biased.

But it’s hard for him to look at her and not feel something. Something like anger, that crawls up his throat, but not exactly. He can’t place it…he only knows it started after V and Panam fucked.

He had hated that.

It was a one time thing, in that damn house in the middle of the sand storm. With…Saul asleep in the backroom. It was fucking pathetic. Their silenced breaths, the muffled groans that they had to keep quiet. It was disgusting. And Johnny made sure V knew all of it.

He was pissed, flickering in and out of V’s field of view, running his mouth the whole time.

That was only a week after him and V met.

After that time, V didn’t fuck anyone again. No Joytoys, no… cops with missing eyes, and no Kerry Eurodyne. Even though Kerry was very obviously into V. Thank fuck that was avoided.

“No, I’m sick of it! Every word out of his mouth is bullshit. I don’t know what the fuck V saw in you, or why he gave his body to you, you fucking douchebag! I should’ve never brought you, I should’ve kept my word, I should’ve… Fuck…!” She kicks at Nix’s table and storms out the door. It slams shut.

The room is filled with a stunned silence.

Frankly, Johnny doesn’t even know what the fuck he did wrong.

He stares at Nix who stares at Songbird who stares at Rogue who stares at the door.

Like a big fucking circle. How poetic.

The silence is broken by Songbird going into another coughing fit. Rogue turns back to her and Nix starts to type again. Johnny stands with his arms crossed.

“Is…” Johnny clears his throat, “…will she be alright?” He forces it out. Really, he just wants to ask about V.

“She’ll be fine,” Rogue says as she turns to Nix, “you have everything? How’s the progress?”

“It’s almost done… just…” Nix types some more code or whatever and stares at the screen. Something pops up in blue, then flashes black before hundreds of words appear, “…one more minute, and… done,” he yanks out a chip from the machine beside the laptop and holds it proudly in front of them.

Johnny’s heart pounds.

“So V is in that? He’s all there, nothing left behind?”

“Yeah, choom, don’t worry. He’s all here,” Nix says.

“You sure?” He asks.

”Have to be sure, Johnny, that this won’t hurt you. Before I agree to it. Need to know that Alt is telling’ the truth,” V had said to him before they entered the Blackwall all those years ago.

Shit.

“It’s all there. I spoke to Alt. Had to… to enter the Blackwall, to get him. He’s… all there,” Songbird rasps out with her dry throat and teary eyes, “takes a lot… to enter, after my treatment—“ She coughs and Johnny stares at her.

She’s telling the truth. He uncrosses his arms and Rogue eyes him warily.

“Johnny—“ Rogue starts.

“Relax, Rogue. I’m not heartless. I just wanted to be sure that V’s okay.”

“‘Preem. Me and Songbird have gotta work the encryption, make sure everything is intact and ready to go. Should only take a few hours. Y'all gotta delta, give us some breathing room,” Nix says.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she walks past Johnny and turns when she reaches the door, “Johnny, I don’t give a fuck where you go. Just don’t cause any problems,” she twists the door handle and it slides open as she starts to step out, “I’m going to get Panam. We’ll meet back here in four hours.”

The door shuts and Johnny looks at the pair before he walks out the room. He doesn't know where the hell he's going, and it doesn't matter, as long as it's a place for him to finally think and get some peace and quiet.

Chapter Text

His feet take him out of the suffocatingly loud bar and to the streets of the city.

He wanders, takes random turns, walks along the roads edge until he ends up on a roof top overlooking the city just after sun set. He’s been here before. The same two chairs are still here, the same roof edge, the same table that a gun and a handful of pills once sat on. His feet falter as he walks to the edge, as he looks out over the neon covered city, as he looks down and watches people and cars go past. Some in a blur, they move so quick he can’t quite discern them, and some slow, almost like they have no idea where to go.

He looks at the chairs behind him. His breath catches in his throat as he sees it, clear as day, clear as the feeling of emptiness and loss that he’s felt for so long.

V, in the chair, his heart beating slowly as he looked out at the city for one last time. His hands had trembled as Johnny sat on the roofs edge, watching, talking, waiting. Johnny can see it, V’s messy purple hair, the grayish blue under his eyes, the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The way his legs had spread open and his knees jumped up and down. Fear. V had been scared. And so had Johnny.

“Johnny, I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. What to do, it’s all so much, it’s—it’s overwhelming. My time’s up. I…I’m out of options, Johnny,” V had said with panic in his voice. Around the edges, his voice shook. Johnnys heart, V’s heart, had started to slam against his rib cage as blind terror bubbled up in his throat.

“V…” He had said as his… no, their eyes teared up.

“What do I do, Johnny?” V pleaded.

“I… don’t know, V. I don’t know.”

V had bowed his head as the gun fell out of his hands and the pills toppled to the floor.

The guttural sobs that shook his body still haunt Johnny in his worst dreams.

He pushes himself off the ledge and collapses into the chair next to the one V had sat in. He looks over at it and imagines that he’s there. He pictures the hair, the clothes, and the smile that he had always shot Johnny when he said some shitty joke he was proud of. He pictures that bright yellow jacket that V had started to wear close to the end, the one that had an EMT logo on it, that he wore to ‘Saka tower whenever him and Johnny made one last stand, the one that V had always said ”Nah, I didn’t know him… not personally. But I know who he was, what he did, why he did what he did. And I respect it.” Johnny had asked, prodded, and annoyed V until he finally caved in and told him what exactly this random ass merc had to do with him: ”He wanted to live, Johnny.” And that was enough for him, because he knew what that meant to the both of ‘em.

He looks at the bright lights and the looming towers of Night City. It’s cold tonight. The wind bites him, pushes his hair away from his face, finishes drying him off from earlier. He closes his eyes and feels the breeze push through him. The flow of the city beneath him. Car horns go off, AV’s fly past and bring a quiet rumbling sound. Johnny hears his own breathing, he focuses on his heart beating steadily in his chest. The ache in his legs from walking for hours. The way his clothes feel against his skin, rough and tacky with sweat. Another breeze comes through. He hears it go past his ears. It’s sharp. It prickles his skin.
He’s alive.

He inhales the city he used to love, and pushes it back out once it’s filled him enough. The door to the roof creaks open.

“Johnny.” Misty says, from her spot in the doorway. Her voice is light, airy, just like before.

He looks to her as she walks up to the roof edge and leans on it.

“Hey, Misty,” he says, in a rough voice. His throat is dry. He swallows against it.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come back, especially here.”

“I didn’t either. But here I am.”

“Yes. Here you are.”

Silence falls over them as Johnny looks up at the sky. He can’t see the stars.

Johnny figures she deserves to know. V cared for her.

“V is—“

“I know,” she interrupts him, politely. Somehow.

He pauses.

“How…?

“I saw it, this morning,” she looks at the city below them, “when I read V’s tarot.”

He raises an eyebrow at her.

“You still read his…” he pauses, can’t come up with the right word, they all sit wrong in his mouth, ”…destiny?”

She turns back to him and smiles a little. Just the edges of her lips in amusement. It reaches her makeup covered eyes, somehow.

“It’s not destiny, Johnny. It’s guidance.”

He’s never believed in that stuff. But V asked Misty to read his, sometimes, so Johnny tolerated it.

“Guidance, huh…”

The wind blows again. Johnny watches her hair ruffle with it. They stay that way for a moment, as Johnny sits and watches Misty, who stands and looks at Night City.

“The World and the Moon,” she says. The silence is broken.

“Which means…?”

“In V’s case, it’s change. He’s moving from one journey and embarking on another, however long that may be. Things are changing, for both him and you.”

“Right. So, good or shitty?”

“That depends entirely on chance, Johnny.”

He sits up straighter, “don’t believe in fate? In destiny? I’m surprised.”

She moves to sit in the chair that V once sat in. His heart pulls.

“Some days… I do. Others, I don’t. Some times it’s hard for me to believe in anything,” she says as she pulls her knees against her chest and rests her feet in the chair. Someone’s car alarm goes off below them.

“I get it. I used to rave about ‘Saka every day of my life, every night I had a show, every morning I woke up beside some random chick that I would never meet again. I threw it all away to get back at some mega corp who couldn’t give less of a shit about me. I believed in that ‘til the day I died.”

“And now?”

“‘Feels like I never even woke up again. Like I’m stuck in ’77.”

Drops of cool water hit his face and he looks up at the grey clouds covered by pollution, by smoke, by god knows what the fuck else. Water slowly starts to sprinkle around them. He hears it hit the metal rooftops that surround them as he watches it fall past the neon lights of the city. Something feels different, about himself, about everything, he can’t pick out what but it’s something. And then, V is in his head, and a dam opens in him that he can’t close fast enough.

“Sometimes I don’t know who I am. Or what to do. Somedays I’m Johnny Silverhand, infamous rockerboy with a hot face and an even better dick. Other days I get out of bed, stare in the mirror, and try to convince myself who I am. But all I see is V. His eyes, his nose, his bones. Then I put on some fuckin’ face plate that we got in Dogtown, and I look like me. But I still bleed his blood. I still wear his sunglasses. I still carry his knife. I talk like him, I picked up his fucking figures of speech. I eat something, I ride through the desert, I lay in my fucking bed and I try not to talk to him. Every single day. For ten years. I miss him, and it only gets worse. I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s like my head is so fucked that I can’t see straight.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling her this, but fuck, does it feel good to get it out.

“Johnny, were you and V…?” She trails off.

“Were we what? Some kind of fucked up sex buddies?”

She looks at him sideways. It’s quiet for a second too long. Johnny’s skin starts to crawl.

“Intertwined.” She says softly as rain starts to drop hard around them. He stares at her. For some reason, he can hear his heart thump in his ears.

“By the end… I was as much V as he was me.”

She looks away. He feels lightheaded. He wishes he knew why.

“I felt the same with Jackie. I still do. I think of him every day, just as you think of V. I miss him. He may be gone, but my love isn’t. That keeps him alive. Everyone, in some way, is only separated by time.”

His clothes are damp and his hair sticks to his face. He looks at his lap, at the small puddle of water that forms between his spread thighs, at the way it ripples as new drops meet it. That keeps him alive.

“Time is… weird, Johnny. It moves with or without us. Our bodies do, too, until one day we wake up and we realize where we are and what we’ve become,” she says. It gets his attention. He gets it. Johnny meets her eyes as she stands and stretches her legs.

“I wish you and V luck. He’s lucky to have you, Johnny. Stop by and visit some time, both of you. I know Vik will be waiting. You’re always welcome,” she says as she walks to the door.

“Thanks, Misty,” Johnny says. It rolls off his tongue before he thinks.

She smiles, pulls the door open, and turns to him again: “It’s raining. You don’t want to hug someone soaking wet, do you?”

He wants to flip her off, but for some reason his cheeks feel hot, so he just ducks his head and puts on his best brooding face. It’s a lie, because his mind is racing, and so is his heart.

V is coming back. Tonight. He’s coming back, and Johnny will be able to really see him, to reach out and touch, to hear his voice, to…

It may not even work. Especially after what he saw when he found V just a few hours ago.

There’s no need in getting sentimental.

He buries his wet face in his hands.

It may not even work. It may not even work. It may not even work.