Chapter Text
Silhouettes of cacti flow past in the night, a pair of hands gripping the wheel of a 1954 Buick Century as it speeds down the desert two-laned road. A sky spotted with dots of light hang overhead, the bright light of the moon aiding in the little light provided to the desert at this time. The driver focuses on the asphalt, the hypnotic yellow of the median lining his path. In the back lays a body he had seen once a few years ago, back when he was even dumber than he currently was. They were both about the same age, having met during a bar fight that was of his causing. Judging by his current condition, however, he couldn’t tell if the man in the back seat ever grew out of that phase.
Covered in bruises, dust, and scratches, he lay locked in sleep. He’d found him a few miles back, face down on the side of the road, hidden under a bush, the beginnings of the smell of rot already clinging to his dirtied clothes. Experiencing a moment of fatigue, Buck had nearly driven off into the desert, resulting in his discovery of the body with the slamming of his breaks. Slicked-back hair was adjoined by a few wild strands, leather jacket torn and ripped by God knows what. Vernon didn’t have a clue as to whether he was even alive, or if he was even there. He had slipped into a hallucination episode earlier, right before he managed to take his next dose of antipsychotics. Who’s to say the man in the back wasn’t just another figment of his imagination?
“I just gotta get t’ the city… get there and get ‘em some help.” Buck mumbles, pressing the pedal closer to the floor. A quick glance in his rearview mirror confirms Johnnie is still laying there, side barely rising as he takes in shallow breaths. Fingers tighten around the wheel, focusing on the lights of the city, not wanting to ease up. To hell if a cop pulls him over, he thinks, then realizes that issue with that, considering the other man’s… affiliations. If he even is in that gang anymore. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he slows, pulling off to the side of the road before shifting his attention to him.
Keeping his head low, not wanting to slam his head on the roof of a car that’s a little too small for his height, he rises from his place and turns towards the back seat. Gently placing a hand on Johnnie’s shoulder. Body freezes when he feels him shutter, though it seems he’s still asleep. Carefully, he lifts his arm, beginning to tug off his worn jacket, pulling an arm through one of the sleeves like a needle and thread. Unfortunately, his care isn’t enough, as he begins to stir before mumbling, “Vernon, what da hell are ya doin’?”
Buck is quick to hush him, glancing around as to make sure no one is coming. He’s not sure how he’d explain this situation. “Takin’ yer clothes off. Ya can’t walk into a hospital wearin’ a gang jacket.”
“When da hell did I say I wanted tuh go tuh da hospital?” Johnnie groans, “startin’ tuh think I shoulda kept wahkin, god damn.”
“Shh, yer bein’ loud. Yer hurt and ya need help, alright?”
“Listen here, Pranceuh, I’ve been through wohse. I don’ need some doctah pokin’ at me all night.” Is his response as he begrudgingly pulls his arm fully from the jacket. It is followed only by a hum from Buck as he continues to remove the article. As if he was ever going to let him wander through the desert alone. The idiot would have found himself stuck in a cactus, or worse, bitten up by some angry beast. Folding it, he places it down behind the first seat so the identifying emblem would remain hidden, only showing the tag reading its size as small. With another huff, Johnnie lays back down, now dressed only in his dusty white undershirt and ripped pair of black Levis.
“Want me t’ just… take ya back t’ my place? Least let me get you cleaned up.” Though that wasn’t the only reason Buck was looking to take him there. Rather, he was wanting to ensure that this whole situation was real, that he really did watch a man come back to life, after nearly sending him into a six-foot-deep pit. He leans back slowly, before returning to his seat in front of the wheel, turning it to drive back onto the road and continue the journey towards the lights on the horizon.
“Fine… just let me get some sleep.”
Getting ever closer to the shining city, the stars above began to drown under the artificial lighting the modern man had found comfort in. Buck couldn’t deny this farewell of the night sky broke his heart a little. It was why he took up residence north of Los Angeles, where he could still witness the glory of the cosmos. Additionally, he was not a fan of the rambunctious city either, growing up in a small town not far from Dallas, the noise and the crowds were always too much for him and a brain that was already full of noisy thoughts.
The sun finally reveals its golden self as they enter the city, a mixture of concrete and brick buildings of various colors, shapes, and sizes drifting by as they enter the limits of Thousand Oaks. A view once dominated by sand and brush has turned into one of grass and trees. Another thought towards the man in the backseat, Buck realizes his increasing jealousy over Johnnie’s opportunity to sleep, while he’s only had a few hours in the past couple of days, what with all the stress he’s been under getting back. The thought of finally reaching his California home, sleeping in a place of his own, soothed him immensely.
As the sky grows increasingly brighter, being painted a deep blue, Johnnie begins to shuffle in his sleep prior to waking. It draws Buck’s attention up to the rear-view mirror yet again, but only for a moment, as he much prefers to keep his focus on the road ahead. He rises, knuckles rubbing free the crud that has gathered at the corners of his eyes, taking a peek down at his jacket. Gaze then turns to the window, staring at the trees and buildings as they pass. Old wounds on skin sting, and bruised bones hidden beneath ache. He wishes he could hop into a nice warm bath right now.
Attention is grabbed next by Buck, earning him a smile from Johnnie as he lets out a noise of amusement. His eyes were looking pretty bruised themselves. He looked just about ready to pass out on the wheel, and he sent up a little prayer to God that such a thing wouldn’t happen. Dying the first time wasn’t fun, and he doubted the second would be any better. Either way, the whole situation made his heart flutter a little, deep down in his chest. It was pretty cute, and so was this deer sitting in front of him, outlined by the glow of morning sun and headlights.
“Mahnin’ Bambi.” Johnnie’s greeting prompts Vernon to squint, then sigh.
“Mornin’, Johnnie.”
“We almost tuh your place yet or what?”
“Gettin’ close. Just a couple’a miles out.”
There’s another sigh from the man in the backseat as he leans back to look at the vehicle’s ceiling. A few seconds flow past in silence, allowing the greaser to breathe and relax. After too long, however, the lack of noise besides the hum of the car begins to prod at his mind, drawing him to open his mouth yet again. Requesting the radio to be turned on, Buck obliges, turning the knobs to awaken the sound of music. Daring melodies of guitars and drums play over the speaker, bringing a smile to the greaser’s face as tired old boots tap to the beat.
The tunes were having the additional effect of keeping Buck awake, as the sound pounded his ears and filled his head, staving off the looming threat of sleep. Just a couple more miles, his mind reiterates, just a couple more miles and I can sleep in my bed. Coming to a stop as the car reaches a red light, he takes another peak over his shoulder, looking back at Johnnie whose face is painted with a smirk. However, his face twists into an expression of discomfort as hunger overwhelms his moment of bliss. Hand is placed on his stomach in response to the singe of pain.
A wave of guilt hits Buck as he recalls the lack of food at his home. He was planning on restocking the shelves after getting some rest – and he’s not sure he could do so without it. Frowning, he attempts to generate a solution, and he finally reaches one. “Are ya hungry?” he questions as the traffic light turns green, prompting him to continue on.
“Hungry as hell.” Johnnie responds with a groan, falling back against the seat, head rolling to the side as he watches the views fly by. Buck doesn’t doubt him, he figured dying alone in the desert would take a lot out of someone. It would certainly leave them starving.
“Well, I ain’t got any food at home, but there’s this nice pizza place not too far from there. I’ll get you some if ya want.”
“Sounds good. I’d eat anythin’ right now.” Johnnie’s words turn Buck’s frown into a smile as he takes another quick glance into the rearview mirror. It was another few minutes, or by how he was tracking the time, another few songs and ads, before the duo found themselves in the parking lot of the local pizza parlor. The scent of the food, mixed with the warmth of the summer morning, cuddled Buck’s senses like a welcoming blanket as they exited the car. They could both practically taste the spices, which sounded another groan from the other man. “I’m hopin’ it’s as good as da pizza back home. Some places don’ do it right, y’know?”
Buck scoffs, shaking his head as he turns to Johnnie, “it ain’t half bad from what I remember. Nice you can take it back with ya.” A few seconds pass, as his eyes squint at his attire, “Johnnie, I ain’t too sure it’s a good idea for you t’ be goin’ in there covered in dirt.” There’s a huff as he opens his mouth to protest, then a grumble, as the greaser crawls back into his seat, annoyance taking as he submits.
With another chuckle, Vernon heads inside the parlor, nearly melting when the full range of smells hits him with the opening of the doors. If only Johnnie could smell this right now. Hopefully the pizza alone would suffice. Making his order, a few minutes pass in wait as their meal is prepared. He’s unknowingly being stared at by Johnnie, currently suffering from continued hunger pains, the smell driving him mad. Not even the music can distract him now, for he has a hunger that can only be satisfied by slices of the delicious concoction of dough, sauce, cheese, and any other ingredient added to the top.
Moments later, fingers soon find themselves wrapped around a small flat cardboard box, containing their meal. Thanking the employees for both their work and diligence, Buck presses his shoulder against the cold steel handlebar of the door and pushing the exit open. Attention lands upon his Buick, noticing the ravenous gaze belonging to Johnnie. There’s a snicker as he approaches the car, pulling open the single left door to hand him the box, prior to climbing back into the driver’s seat. “I only got a regular cheese. Wasn’t sure what you’d like.”
An expression of confusion forms at the lack of response from the ever-talkative Johnnie. Turning to look reveals the other man ravaging a slice. “Hey now, slow down, don’t go chokin’ yerself on some pizza.” The response he receives is nothing short of mumbling as he attempts to speak through mouthfuls. Watching him chew up another slice through the mirror, he lets out a sigh with a shake of his head. “You better leave some for me, Redmayne.”
Mention of his last name catches Johnnie’s focus, becoming frigid before relaxing, reminding himself that it’s only Buck. It’s a sequence of events the driver never notices. Clearing his throat, he replies, “I will, I will.” A snicker crosses Buck’s face at the words, before turning his full attention back to the route. Another of songs that have both of them tapping to the beat start then reach their and, as the long journey finally comes to a close of its own.
Pulling up into the driveway of his home, relief washes over Buck with the ceasing of the engine’s purr, plunging the vehicle into silence. Turning to look back, he spots Johnnie passed out on the seat yet again, next to a half-empty box of pizza. Hand extends to his shoulder, giving him a shake to bring him out of his slumber. The greaser awakens with a startle, before wiping his eyes free of the additional small bits of grit that has gathered at the corners. “Dis our stop?” his voice slurs, as he attempts to stretch out.
“Yup, this is my place. Got a guest bedroom you can sleep in.” Vernon says, reaching for the door to push it open. A nod gestures Johnnie to make his exit, “go on.” Stepping out onto the concrete, the dawning California sun shimmers onto their faces, with a lingering scent of the sea riding on the wind. Glancing over the house, the greaser is met with shock at the size. He’d figured Buck would have a larger home, considering his band’s fame, as well as his stature. Yet, it didn’t look like much beyond a humble cabin that appears as though it belongs in the mountains.
Walking the path to the door together, Vernon is quick to unlock it, entering through the doorway into a dark building. For the first time in weeks, the switch to the center ceiling lamp is flicked on, bathing the room in light. There’s a hum from him as he claps his hands, prior to dipping through the door again to withdraw his luggage from the trunk of the Buick. Pulling out his suitcase and retrieving his medicine from the glovebox, he returns to see Johnnie inspecting the interior, having set the pizza on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.
Setting aside the luggage, Buck approaches Johnnie, knocking him from his trance. “C’mon, let me show ya to yer bedroom.” A smile crosses his face as he speaks, leading the other man up the stairs and down a short hallway to one of two doors. Entering the room, he flicks on another light, pointing to the bathroom door at the other end. With a sigh, the greaser moves a few steps towards it, taking a moment to turn back to the host.
“Why is your house so small? I was expectin’ somethin’… bigguh.” He questions, gesturing to the room with his hand.
Buck’s head falls with a laugh, followed by a raising of his eye, “guess I just prefer keepin’ it small. Ain’t needin’ much, livin’ alone n’ all.”
“It just seems small fawh your type.” Johnnie says, accent becoming deeper as drowsiness engulfs, “bein’ a star and all.”
“Mm… well, it’s just my style, I guess.” Buck pauses in thought, “I’ll git you some a’ my clothes t’ wear. I know they’ll probably be a li’l big on ya, but better ‘n dirty clothes, right?” He chuckles, signaling to the room across the hallway with his thumb. Johnnie responds with a thumbs up and smirk of his own, before stepping inside the bathroom and hitting the switch. Hearing the bedroom door close, his hands grab the hem of his undershirt, noting just how stained it is under the brighter light. Holding his breath, he pulls it over himself, revealing a body covered in patches of black, blue, and red. Letting the shirt fall to the tiled floor, he unbuckles his jeans, pulling the leather belt from the loops, revealing more of the same discolored skin as the fabric slides down his legs.
Meanwhile, Buck has busied himself with dragging his luggage upstairs, bringing it to his own bedroom. Pulling the door open, he walks the bags to his bed, resting them atop the comforter. Pivoting on his heel, he moves to his closet, digging up some clean clothes for Johnnie, as well as a set of sleepwear for himself, setting the set of pajamas on his pillow. He then travels to the adjacent room, carefully entering and leaving the clothes on a table besides the bathroom door as to not interrupt, silently dipping out of the room afterwards. With that done, he’s quick to unpack, wanting to get to sleep as soon as possible.
Throwing a handful of clothes into a white basket, Buck moves to undress, only to remember he’s forgotten Johnnie’s jacket. Rushing back downstairs to his car, hoping to get it in the room before the greaser finishes washing up, he retrieves the item from the backseat of his vehicle after some fiddling with the door lock and returns upstairs. Slowing as to quiet his steps, fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting it to push open the barrier. With the way made, he adjusts his grip on the jacket, raising his head only to be met with a fluster.
Whilst Buck’s short list of chores regarding unpacking are being attended to, water flows along tanned skin as Johnnie wets his hair, readying a puddle of shampoo in a cupped hand. Closing his eyes, he blows some of the water away from his mouth as he combs the cleanser through his hair. Bizarre chills hit him at the feeling of the shampoo flowing along, mixing with dried, caked on dirt and blood, collecting at his feet before washing down the drain. His focus then moves on to the bar of soap, grasping it to thoroughly clean his tanned skin, dragging it along every inch of his body to ensure all that physically remains of the desert scare flows down the pipes.
After another few moments of enjoying the warm shower, Johnnie finally decides to call it quits, turning off the spraying water. A cloud of steam clings to his skin as he exits the small glass room, grabbing a warm towel to dry his body with. Glancing towards the mirror, he notes the scars and bruises that remain embedded in his skin. With a sigh, he raises the towel to his scalp, choosing to ignore his reflection and skip to dressing himself instead. Taking a breath, he opens the bathroom door, still rubbing away at his drenched hair, though freezing when he hears a sudden gasp.
Silence hangs in the room as Buck and Johnnie stare at each other, shyness emanating from them both. Redmayne, still naked, stands in one doorway, while Vernon, holding the leather jacket, stands in the other. Their feet are frozen in place, joints refusing to move, before all at once, Johnnie covers himself with the towel and Buck covers his eyes with the jacket. Creeping up to Buck, the greaser gently takes the jacket from his hands, before the other man backs out, eyes sealed shut.
I’m just gonna get dressed, and go to sleep, the both of them think as they approach their respective beds.