Rush: Restless

[x-ricochet.livejournal.com]

Unable to sleep after their chaotic day, Johnny and Victor talk. One with more difficulty than the other.


By the time they had returned from the hospital, neither of the teenagers had been up for much beyond showering and slipping into their pajamas and collapsing against their pillows, the host on an air mattress and the guest in his bed. The trip had been relatively short, spent getting their own injuries attended to and visiting the slumbering Darren, who looked weak and pale, but who the doctors assured them would be able to return home soon, so long as he could be trusted to take it easy. And now there was nothing to do but sleep.

Despite his exhaustion, however, Johnny couldn't. From the sound of the persistent shifting in the nearby bed, he guessed Victor couldn't either. Exhaling quietly, he ventured at last in the dark, "...You awake?"

"Yeth," came the reply from the bed above him. After much uncomfortable examination, the doctors at the hospital had ultimately pronounced that he'd effectively sprained his tongue when Ritchie had yanked on it. They'd given him some anti-inflammatories and advised him to refrain from talking as much as possible, so he'd been quiet for most of the evening. But he really wanted to talk, and not just because he wasn't supposed to. "How 'oo doin'?"

"Sore," Johnny joked as lightly as he could manage. They were both worse for wear, bruised and scraped up and with one sprained tongue and a cracked rib or two between them. The doctors had sent them home with medication, but it could only soothe their injuries so much and the effects already seemed to be waning. Not that this was at the forefront of either of their minds.

"Freaked out, I guess," he admitted after a time, as if it needed to be said. The chaos of the evening had come out of nowhere and they were all lucky to be in as good of shape as they were. Victor and himself, Darren, even Ritchie. By the time they had arrived at the hospital, the volatile teen had passed out, drenched in sweat and with blood staining the corners of his mouth and beginning to seep down from his nose. He shook his head and stared up into the darkness of his ceiling. "...How're you holding up?"

Vic shrugged, then realized that Johnny couldn't see him. "Thame. Tha' wath...It wath a lon' day." Long, and confusing, and frustrating, and painful. Vic had a pretty good bruise under one eye from one of Ritchie's flailing elbows, not to mention the host of aches and bruises he'd picked up from tackling the larger boy. And the physical complaints were a convenient way to ignore the mental and emotional trauma that had come astride a day full of Ritchie trying to bash various skulls in. Victor sighed. He didn't have the words to categorize how crazy everything had been, and even if he had, he didn't have the ability to voice more than a few words at a time.

"...Yeah," Johnny agreed at length. Victor could hear him sigh in the dark, his ribs aching as the air drained from his chest and shifted his muscles and his healing bones. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all of this, Vic. I really am." Not that he had any illusions about how much worse things could have ended without his companion there to come to his aid. He remembered Ritchie looming over him with the metal bar, more than ready to slam it down into him and tried not to think about what his strength and that leverage would have done.

Vic rolled onto one elbow to look down at his roommate. "It'th okay. Really. I'm jutht glad everybodyth ok." Well, everybody except possibly Ritchie, but Vic only felt a little bit bad about that.

"Still..." The younger teen looked up into Victor's silhouette as he leaned just over the edge of the bed and was momentarily relieved he couldn't see the scrapes and bruises on his friend's face. Then he reminded himself how absurd the solace was. "You only got hurt because of me. So...sorry."

Vic shrugged one slim shoulder, trying to reassure his roommate, then realized that Johnny probably couldn't see it in the darkness. "Thuch ith 'ife." He paused, then giggled suddenly. He'd intended to say "such is life," something his dad might've said, except that it came out sounding like 'sausage wife.'

Thuch ith 'ife. Johnny couldn't understand what he had said at first and what it sounded like didn't make any...he heard Victor's light laughter winding its way down from the bed and he couldn't help but follow suit. Matched with the young man's tone and meaning and the hell the night had been, it was just too absurd not to laugh, even if it made his side hurt anew. It took a long moment for their strange amusement to fade and quiet and the white-haired teen sat up slowly on his air mattress. "...Some battle scar, huh?"

Vic rolled his eyes, although he was still fighting off the last of the giggles. "Thuper." Who sprained their tongue, anyway? This was clearly one for the annals of history, or something. The thought made him snort again, and even though he felt bad because he knew Johnny was probably in agony, he couldn't help but start laughing all over again.

The white-haired mutant did his best to swallow this second rush of laughter and, while he could keep most of the sound from manifesting, he couldn't keep his shoulders and body from shaking. He leaned against the edge of Victor's bed, folding his arms and ducking his head upon it as he finally fell still. It hurt like hell. "...Ow," he declared at length, voice small and still tinged with amusement in spite of all his efforts.

"Thorry," Victor apologized. He was quiet a moment before speaking again. "I'm thorry thith weekend kinda thucked."

Johnny, still leaning against the bed, shook his head, "I started it. Making you talk, right?" He exhaled slowly and his voice sobered, alerting Victor to the change in him, even if his features were all but invisible in the dark. "Not your fault. Not his fault either. But...doesn't exactly bode well, does it?"

His roommate sighed in sympathy. "Could be worthe?" he offered after a moment. "He wath tryin' to do the right thin'. Didn' work ou' like either of you wanned, but he thtill tried."

"I know," Johnny agreed quietly, though he still carried an uncertainty on the matter that left him feeling guilty and disheartened after seeing Darren in the hospital bed. But there were just too many unanswered questions. "...I think I might go downstairs," he added after a considerable pause, "Watch a movie or something. I don't think I can sleep right now."

Vic nodded. "Thoundth good." He smiled gently at the white-haired teen, hoping that the distraction of movie would be enough to help him feel better, or at least, let him sleep. "I'll even let you pick the movie."

For a moment, Johnny considered protesting or reminding Victor that he could try to get some rest if he wanted to...but company sounded like a very welcome thing. He pulled himself up stiffly and slowly, flicking on the lights and rubbing wearily at his eyes as they struggled to adjust before looking back at his roommate. "I don't care what we watch," he answered honestly, then amended, "...As long as it isn't a comedy."