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Johnny has always kept his hair short, unlike Rubens. In their line of work long hair isn't the end of the world, but it can occasionally cause trouble; Johnny's hair might be short enough to show the gnarly scars on his scalp, but it's not like the ones on his face aren't a bigger distraction.
He loves it and hates it these days. On these ones where the pain flares back and he can barely breathe, where lights flicker across his vision.
When he first woke up it was the nurses who washed his hair, then it was Rubens, and now it's still usually Rubens, though Johnny at least has the dignity of a shower these days.
"Ok?" Rubens asks him.
His best friend, his life, his everything asks him, standing there in one of Johnny's shirts, perching on the balls of his feet. It somewhat drowns Rubens, but it covers the glowing scar on his chest. It's not that Johnny minds it, it's just...
Tonight their bathroom - the adapted one, not the guest one - is lit by a cinnamon scented candle in the sink, and a couple of fake tealights balances on the radiator. It's already more light than his eyes want right now, but he wants to be clean and cannot do this blind. Adding neon to the mix...
Also Rubens cares about it, being unsettled by his own scar. Johnny thinks it's kind of badass, having a gaping wound stitched together by glowing cables, but he's not exactly going to say it. Not when he knows why Rubens is so upset.
"I'm okay," Johnny replies, shifting a little, offering a smile.
After months in hospital - in a coma, then too weak - Johnny's had to get used to a lot of things, nudity among them. He's never been exactly self conscious, quite happy to strip when the situation calls for it, but the vulnerability of the shower, perched on a seat not quite sized for him and not falling mostly by grab rails...
It's a bad day compared to his current ones, sure, but it's not as shit as they used to be.
Just remember that it's not as shit as it used to be.
Tiny as he is, Rubens barely reaches Johnny's head like this. He has bright yellow crocs on but no trousers, and Johnny stares at the charms pushed through the holes as he butts his head into Rubens' shoulder.
Rubens laughs and Johnny can feel it through his skull. He listens to that and to the sound of a bottle cracking open, then breathes as practiced fingers begin to rub shampoo into his hair.
He doesn't have a lot of hair, but it's not just the shampoo; Rubens has a lot of practice with when Johnny's body betrays him. He digs soap in with his fingers and massages the base of Johnny's neck with his thumbs, right where his tendons are screaming. Again and again, back and forth and teasing the tight muscles. It's a bit like popping his ears on a plane, the way it softens his headache; the other pain is no better, but even just breaking that one point...
And then there are the rest of Rubens' fingers, small circles pressing a little deep. Fingernails scratch slightly as they force shampoo down to his roots, exactly how Johnny likes it. Rubens feels like he should be humming or chatting but remains quiet, leaving the only noise the shower spilling all over the floor. It beats down too, into Johnny's back, and it doesn't stop the pain, not really, but it shifts it into something less intolerable.
Once he's done with the back and sides, Rubens kisses a soapless spot by Johnny's ear, and taps his chin with a suddy finger.
"You want my head?" Johnny checks.
He receives an agreeing hum.
Johnny can feel his spine pop as he pulls himself up. What was once an easy maneuver is now only manageable with grab rails, and he tries not to think about that.
A few months ago he couldn't even sit. He's doing well, it's just... it's hard.
It's so hard.
Rubens smiles as their eyes meet, and squeezes more shampoo onto his hands. It's far more than Johnny needs, but probably less than Rubens uses for himself. Long, tight curls will do that, it seems.
"Again?" Rubens asks, gesturing with soapy hands.
"Go for it."
Rubens always asks. He didn't used to - when Johnny first left hospital his partner could barely speak - but he does now. Johnny might not be able to do it himself any more, but it's as much control as Rubens can give.
The shirt he is wearing is soaked through, and the crocs squeak as he shifts to his toes. He does it, though, gently massaging the soap into the rest of Johnny's hair - careful of his scars, even old ones - before rinsing his hands under the shower.
"Say when?" Rubens' sleeves are drenched well past the elbow, but he shows no discomfort with it.
He had to work past that months ago, too.
"Go ahead," Johnny gestures at the shower.
"Lean back?"
Their usual dance.
Johnny does what he's told as Rubens pulls down the shower. It would take Johnny two hands to control it - and even then it would be a risk - but Rubens maneuvers with just the one. With his other hand he combs Johnny's hair through, twisting the shower-head as he does - certain to find all the soap.
Sometimes they'd use conditioner, but they already know it smells too much for these nights.
Trusting Rubens not to get soap in his eyes, Johnny cracks one open. His arms strain with the effort to keep himself lent back and still - not falling - but he's managed worse. He's lived through worse. They've both survived worse.
The scars on their bodies prove it.
Still...
Rubens isn't quite done when Johnny has to pull himself forward, curling up. He pulls his hands from the grab rails, instead tucking aching arms as close as he can.
"Johnny?"
"Just a moment."
"We can stop."
Johnny glances up, where Rubens is carefully holding the shower to his hand and the wall - muffling the sound and keeping it from splashing.
"You were nearly done."
"You're hurt."
He's been hurt ever since that stupid mission - longer perhaps - but Johnny does understand what Rubens means. He understands what Rubens means even when nobody else does, because he's Rubens, and he's Johnny's. It doesn't change the stab of guilt, though, guilt and pain and, fuck, Johnny's still not convinced it wouldn't have been better if he'd died.
But Rubens hates that talk, and Johnny knows why. He gets it. He really, really does...
"Can you finish it like this?" Johnny asks, instead of facing that tangle.
Rubens hums as he thinks, visually judging what is left against where they can both safely achieve.
"Will try?"
"Go on then."
Rubens has to stretch to reach the far side of Johnny's head, but he just about manages it. Johnny doesn't know what to focus on - the comb, the shower, his pounding head... Rubens pressed against him, a wet shirt the only thing between their skin.
Johnny shivers a little. Rubens must notice, because he pauses to turn the shower a little warmer.
There is not really enough hair for the comb to tug on, and certainly not at the sides, but... It still feels like it. Stupid hypersensitive skull.
"Done." Rubens tells him, pulling away.
The shower goes up, back on the hook and splashing down on them both.
"Thanks, Rubens," Johnny tells him. "You're good?"
"I'm good," Rubens shrugs. "Bed? Lounge? Kitchen?"
"You joining me?"
"Laundry," Rubens gestures to himself, and huffs to hide a laugh.
"After that."
Not that Johnny needs him, just...
Days like this bring nightmares, and it's easier if the person dying on them is alive and at his side. He probably needs to sleep, even this early in the day, but he'd rather not do it alone. He can manage watching some football, or some car show, or something if Rubens won't also come to bed.
"I can work?" Rubens asks, leaning around Johnny to turn the shower off.
"Computer?"
"Hm!'
"Yeah sure, just be quiet."
Not that Rubens is ever loud, these days. He used to be, before that mission, every single thought put into words that didn't always make sense to others, but were usually correct. Balu tells him it was worse, while Johnny was in the stupid coma, that Rubens is positively chatty now.
It doesn't feel like it, though. Not when Johnny knows how Rubens was before that mission, when he can see the scars beyond the physical.
The reaches up, and just for a second clings to Rubens, they're here, they're safe, they both made it out, and not by Johnny's skills.
Rubens reaches down to squeeze Johnny's wrist, position of his fingers telling for the two seconds before they both pull away. Rubens gives Johnny a thumbs up, agreeing to the request.
"My room, then? I think I just need to sleep it off at this point."
"Sorry."
"Rubens. I'm pretty sure you're the only reason I'm not some fucked up blood zombie. You're fine."
It's a reflex for Rubens to apologise, but Johnny knows he feels bad, thinks he should have done more; Johnny's not entirely sure what Rubens could have done, given how a monster who might as well have been a god wanted only one of them to live. He tries not to think about that fucker, nor about who he used to be, but it's a little tricky when the scars of those 'games' are all over both their bodies.
"But-" Rubens tries, and fails.
"Rubens."
"Ok."
As they talk, Rubens leaves Johnny to sit. His wheelchair had been pushed out of the range of the shower - they really need one that can get wet, bur if they haven't gotten around to it yet, it's probably not happening until one of Ruben's teammates realises and surprises them with one - and a towel thrown on it.
It's the same towel Rubens grabs then kneels in the wet with, drying Johnny's legs and feet, before handing it to him for his upper body.
Johnny does it - because he can, and he does what he can to do something at all - before carefully rising.
His legs cannot take him, not really, but leaning his weight onto Rubens they can manage just long enough to finish getting him dry, and then safely transfer to the wheelchair.
They do sometimes change in the bathroom, but not on days like today.
"Can you push?" Johnny asks. "Arms are..."
He trails off, but "yes" Rubens agrees.
It's Rubens who leaves a trail of water, but it's also Rubens who will have to clean up. He helps Johnny with his pyjamas - not point with clothes, not with a headache and weakness like this - and under the covers before vanishing.
Johnny listens to him about their home, the slamming of the washing machine a mop being dragged about. It's better, knowing where Rubens is, but not as good as touching him.
Since the day they were paired up for their mission, he's worried about where Rubens is. It takes a different flavour, though, after everything.
Johnny drifts to the sound of Rubens moving around, not quite awake and not quite asleep either. Time seems to skip, and then Rubens is pulling himself up and onto Johnny's bed beside him. There's the noise of him ferreting around with his laptop wires, then the whirring of fans as the laptop boots, and Rubens leans down to kiss Johnny's cheek.
He bothers to open his eyes, then, Rubens' face blocking out the majority of the light.
"Hey," he whispers.
"Sleep," Rubens shifts to nudge him with his head. "Got work."
"Order work or money work?"
"Yes."
"Better you than me."
"It's always me, Johnny."
Rubens' voice is the sort of flat which means he can be doing nothing but trying to make Johnny laugh. It doesn't quite work, not when Johnny is the one who always used to do everything. Still, he smiles, and moves just enough to kiss his Rubens' cheek in return.
"Johnny. Sleep."
That is the more annoyed sort of flat, and it does make Johnny laugh where the attempt failed before.
"Okay, okay. Sleeping now."
It's hard to find a comfortable position, but Johnny's used to sleeping in pain. The shuffling about is mostly for show, and to remind constantly exhausted limbs that, yes, this is actually sleep time now.
Shuts his eyes, and begins counting down from five hundred - the same method that got him through kids screaming at the orphanage as a child and hasn't failed him since.
Just as his breathing begins to slow Rubens grasps his wrist, and squeezes it, and Johnny knows exactly what he means.