The End Of Us, Sid Vicious X OC

There's a Johnny Rotten inside all of us

A/N: hey everyone, please keep letting me know what you think of this book it really helps motivate me

The boys had been on a relentless tour, jumping from venue to venue for nearly two weeks without respite. After Vanity didn't answer Sid's call, Johnny compelled Sid to refrain from reaching out unless it was a matter of utmost importance. Sid found himself on the verge of insanity.

The arrival of the Sex Pistols in America triggered a spectrum of reactions. The fervent, conservative Southerners viewed the Pistols as demonic entities straight from hell-abominations that needed to repent in church and undergo exorcism. Meanwhile, a younger, more perplexed generation discovered the Pistols as more than just a band. They were a movement, a rallying cry for the disenchanted youth. With the Pistols now in America, Johnny became the primary target of hostility. He faced attacks, attempts to pull him offstage, and an audience channelling their hidden anger towards the band.

Amidst this chaos, Sidney was descending into madness. Inside the tour bus, he pounded his fists on the table, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon. "I NEED HEROIN! Is that so hard to get through your thick, fucking skull!" he screamed at the man present. "Sidney!" Johnny scolded, attempting to restore order.

"SHUT UP JOHN!" Sid's yell was almost agonising, his voice cracking with desperation. He looked back at the man, his plea taking on a childlike tone. His struggle was palpable, and it was heart-wrenching to witness. The early stages of withdrawal only intensified his agony, compounded by the absence of Vanity, his usual companion in suffering. Mickey's absence meant he couldn't even secure drugs, and in this state, his performance suffered even more than usual. "please...please Mr American man"

As Sid cast a glazed look toward the man, appearing on the verge of surrender, the man sighed and reached into the pocket of his denim jacket. "Here, take some of my Valium; it should help," he offered, handing Sid an orange pill bottle. "No more than two at a time!" the man emphasised.

"Okay!" Sid struggled to respond, his desperation evident. "Can you open it, please?" he asked, extending the bottle back to the man. he grabbed it back off of him and took him two of the pills out placing them in Sid's hand. he shoved them into his mouth and took a huge gulp of beer.
Johnny watched, shaking his head, only slightly. he couldn't grasp what he was seeing. in the back of his mind he had a feeling this was going to happen to him however he didn't expect it to happen so soon. then once Sid took the pills he was spark out on the chair

chaos, slipped into a fitful sleep induced by the Valium. The tour bus rumbled on, navigating the dark highways of America, carrying the burden of its troubled occupants. As Sid lay unconscious, his mind drifted through a distorted realm where reality and hallucination intertwined.

In his dreams, he found himself in a surreal landscape – a twisted carnival of vibrant colours and distorted shapes. Johnny appeared as a ringmaster, commanding attention with a whip in hand, while the audience, faces morphing between Vanity, reporters, and faceless figures, cheered and jeered in a cacophony of sound. Sid stumbled through this dreamworld, searching for something elusive.

Meanwhile, Johnny, sitting across from the slumbering Sid, pondered the state of affairs. He knew they were teetering on the edge of disaster. The chaos on stage, the escalating hostility from the American crowds, and now Sid's desperate cry for drugs were signs that the tour was careening out of control.

Johnny's mind raced with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, he wanted to protect Sid, his friend and band-mate. On the other hand, he grappled with the growing realisation that he couldn't control everything. Sid was spiralling, and Johnny felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.