Chapter 1: desperado
Chapter Text
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences; open the gate
It may be raining, but there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you before it's too late.
"Desperado" by the Eagles
Hardly even one rider had so much as hopped off for a minute between the second and third stages, but their pace had slowed down considerably. They still had miles of desert ahead of them before entering the mountain range, and plenty of time to kill while their horses regained stamina.
Ordinarily Johnny would have been more than fine with riding in silence; he didn’t think of himself as much of a “conversationalist." But something was bugging him.
He looked at Gyro out of the corner of his eye. The Neapolitan, his new “teammate," wasn’t saying much either. His back was slightly hunched, his jaw slowly grinding in frustration. Johnny knew he was pissed off about the results of the second stage, but he swore up and down that he hadn’t meant to distract Gyro into getting 4th. He’d even told Gyro as much— not that Gyro believed him.
Gyro didn’t see that Johnny’s entire understanding of the race had changed during and after their fight with… uh… that kid, whatever his name was. Obviously he had promised to help Gyro win, which he would do— as long as it didn’t prevent him from collecting the corpse parts. And yes, he intended to come in second right after Gyro— unless he had to diverge to get the parts. The race had become secondary in nearly all respects to the corpse.
And why shouldn’t it? Gyro had said it himself: Johnny himself had already seen just one part produce two serious miracles. The left arm alone had given him a strange but incredible power, and it had momentarily brought movement back to his paralyzed legs.
Movement! To his legs! After two years of uselessness, he had moved his feet. Fifty million dollars meant as much to him as the dirt under Slow Dancer’s hooves compared to that.
He knew Gyro wasn’t in it for the money, of course. It was the amnesty that he was interested in. It was a noble cause, no doubt about it, but… it didn’t resonate with Johnny like the corpse did. The corpse had nothing to do with nationality, or laws, or even money. It had to do with miracles. It could accomplish things that no amount of money or earthly power could.
“You’re Catholic, right?” he blurted out.
To his credit, Gyro didn’t so much as blink at the random question. He only raised his eyebrows slightly.
“What makes you think that?” he asked.
When he spoke, his accent gave his words a certain quality that Johnny could only describe as curved, like each sound had a slight bend to it. His English was near perfect, though, probably even better than Johnny's.
Johnny shrugged. “Not sure,” he said. “I know the Pope’s Catholic, and he’s in Rome, and that’s in Italy. You’re from Italy, so…”
Gyro grinned, his obnoxious golden grills flashing. “Wonderful deduction, Johnny! You’re smarter than you look for sure.”
“Am I wrong?” Johnny challenged. “‘Cause I feel like you only have the right to be an asshole if I’m wrong.”
“Relax, I’m just joking,” Gyro said. “No, you’re not wrong. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who isn’t a Catholic in Naples— which, by the way, is different from Italy. We retained our independence through the unification in 1870 as a sovereign kingdom.”
“How was I s’posed to know that?”
“Consider it a free extra lesson,” Gyro said. “Why are you asking, anyway? You want to talk religion?”
“No, no way,” Johnny said with a reflexive grimace.
He always hated church as a kid and his opinion of it hadn’t improved much now that he was older. After Nicholas died, God became little more to him than another disapproving father who wanted nothing to do with him. By the time he was paralyzed, it sure seemed to Johnny like God had stepped out of his life completely.
“But since you’re Catholic…" he went on. "You know about a bunch’a saints, then?”
“What’s being Catholic got to do with it?”
“For your information, other Christians don’t do it the same way!” Johnny said. “We don’t have statues of ‘em everywhere and shit. I can count all the saints I know on one hand!”
“As you’ve already demonstrated,” Gyro said. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, I mean, you must at least have a theory about who the corpse is,” Johnny said. “Which saint it was. Right?”
Gyro sighed, like he was unfortunately waiting for Johnny to bring this up. “Is that dusty old arm the only thing you can think about now? What about winning the damn race?”
He threw his hands up in the air, waving them around in his building frustration. He sure did gesticulate a lot. “What about not fucking me over, huh, Johnny? What about the promise you made?”
“I told you, that was an accident!”
“Well, it better not accidentally happen again! These damn corpse parts better not make you lose focus!”
“Wh— no,” Johnny said. “I’m focused on the race, I swear. And I know you’re not corpse hunting— whatever, that’s fine. But you know more about this shit than me, and right now we’re just staring at sand! So would it kill you to at least try and figure it out with me, since we’ve got nothing better to do?”
Gyro pursed his green-painted lips in mild annoyance, but then shook his head. “You know, I have to say— I really haven’t thought much about which saint it is.”
I don’t believe you, Johnny wanted to retort. How could Gyro not think about it? It was the only question that seemed to matter anymore! That, and the question of what it could do when it was fully reassembled.
Johnny had a feeling the two answers had to be linked, though. The more important the saint, the more powerful the full corpse, right? He wanted to know just how big of a pot he was playing for, in other words.
“Just help me out,” he said. “Did you notice anything when you saw the arm that could, y’know, mean something?”
Gyro didn’t say anything, but Johnny swore he could’ve heard him inhale sharply. He spurred Valkyrie on, pulling ahead just slightly.
“Gyro!” Johnny had Slow Dancer speed up too to match him. “You did see something!”
“No,” Gyro said firmly.
“But you think—“
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Gyro snapped. “It still can’t be right.”
“I don’t understand! Why can’t it be right?”
“Because it’s heresy!”
At Gyro’s outburst, Valkyrie tossed her head, and Slow Dancer veered away slightly. Johnny had to tug on her reins to get her to line up again. But Gyro wasn’t having it.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Johnny,” he said. “I’ll leave your ass in the dust, I swear it.”
“Fine, fine,” Johnny muttered. “But we’re still going to send that letter to the Vatican.”
“I’ll do anything to make you shut up,” Gyro said.
“You could always do this race by yourself, Zeppeli!”
“Oh, please,” Gyro said. “You wouldn’t even be on that horse if not for me, Joestar!”
It was… strange. By all accounts, they were mocking each other, and yet Johnny didn’t feel the least bit of spite. And when he looked over, he saw that Gyro was even smirking a bit. That made him smile in turn.
Johnny had heard stories about how men who went through battle together became bonded for life by the shared experience. He wasn’t about to make any declarations of lifelong friendship this early on, but he and Gyro had battled together. They’d fought and won together. Multiple times.
Already they had each refused to leave the other behind: Gyro didn’t leave Johnny at the mercy of Mrs. Robinson, and Johnny didn’t abandon him with Oyecomova. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
It’s gotta be worth more than empty platitudes from fame-chasers, Johnny thought. He had lots of experience with that sort of ‘bond’. This had to mean more… there would be no getting through this race if it wasn’t.
Chapter 2: the only thing worth fighting for
Summary:
Johnny and Gyro get the chance to learn more about one another, but some wounds are slow to heal.
Notes:
quick content warning: the internalized ableism is particularly strong in this chapter, please take note! also, i think it probably goes without saying, but johnny's feelings about himself obviously don't reflect my own personal opinions.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Weren't we like a battlefield?
Locked inside a holy war
Your love and mine, due diligence
The only thing worth fighting for.
"The Only Thing Worth Fighting For" by Lera Lynn
Just past the stage 3 finish line, Johnny saw Gyro hop off of Valkyrie’s back, exhausted and defeated. Another 4th place finish was definitely not what he’d been expecting, and far from what he’d been wanting.
Should I leave him be? Johnny wondered, holding Slow Dancer back slightly. He knew that he hadn’t spoken exactly kindly to Gyro before the final stretch, but he was right. Just like he knew he would be. Gyro couldn’t beat Diego, not with things as they stood now. Johnny knew that because up until now, he couldn’t have beaten Diego, either.
Yet Gyro didn’t look angry, like he had at the end of the second stage. He just looked like he had a lot on his mind. Johnny decided to take his chances and rode up to him.
“Need a towel or something?” he asked.
Gyro looked up. Upon seeing who was speaking to him, he sighed and lowered his head slightly, just enough that Johnny couldn’t see his eyes under the brim of his hat (even with the slits).
“Are you going to say it?” he asked flatly.
“Say what?” Johnny asked.
“That thing that you Americans love to say when you’re right and someone else is wrong,” Gyro said. “You have an expression for it.”
“You mean, ‘I told you so’?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, that.”
Johnny folded his arms and tilted his head up, like he was considering it. “Hm… no, I don’t think I will.”
Gyro lifted his head so that Johnny could see him roll his eyes. “You kinda already did.”
“If you say so.”
Gyro snorted and grabbed Valkyrie’s reins. He flashed his grills at Johnny with his typical cocky, let-it-all-roll-off attitude.
“I’ve got to get Valkyrie’s leg patched up and pick up all the shit I dropped before the next stage starts in earnest," he said. "You coming?”
Johnny smiled back. “Lead the way.”
Gyro tipped his hat and started off. Johnny was content to follow in a slow walk, allowing Slow Dancer to get her breath back after the tight final stretch. He wondered where all Gyro’s stuff had ended up. He didn’t usually see him walking around in just his shirt, and it was kind of throwing him off.
In this getup, Johnny could see just how strong Gyro’s arms and shoulders were, perfect for throwing steel balls as hard as possible. Sometimes, he’d even catch a glimpse of his lower back, which only confirmed his suspicions that Gyro was tanned and muscular pretty much all over. He could probably lift a hell of a lot. He’d certainly be able to lift Johnny.
Gyro cleared his throat, making Johnny start. His stomach dropped as he realized he’d been staring.
What the fuck are you doing? he asked himself. Looking at another man like that? What’s wrong with you?
It had to just be the race. He had to stare at the other riders— it was all part of coming up with good strategies, figuring out their strong points and everything. It was all very physical. His brain was still in race mode. That was all.
Thankfully, he realized that Gyro wasn’t even looking at him, so he definitely hadn’t been caught. Instead, he seemed to be looking at the building they were currently passing by: a church.
“I’ll send that letter to the Vatican while we’re here,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll tell them everything that we’ve found out so far.”
Johnny took a deep breath. Corpse parts. Focus, Johnny. “How long will it take for them to respond?”
“Not sure,” Gyro said. “I’ll put the royal seal on it so they know it’s important, but there’s no guarantee.”
“What if it gets intercepted?”
“I’ll write it in Italian.”
“That’s not safe enough. There’s probably other riders who know Italian.”
“Latin, then. All those Vatican priests know Latin. But to everyone else, it’s a dead language.”
“If you know it, there must be others who know it too,” Johnny warned.
“Well, what do you want me to do, then?” Gyro said. “Write in code?”
Johnny shrugged. Gyro sighed, making some sort of exasperated hand gesture.
“I’ll figure something out,” he said. “Leave it to me. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it another second.”
Johnny didn’t have anything else to say, not even about the ‘pretty’ comment.
By the time they had gotten Valkyrie back up to speed and fetched all of Gyro’s waterlogged shit, night was beginning to fall over Cañon City. They decided to pitch a camp slightly outside of the city, since neither of them trusted the local establishments enough to not take a bribe from Diego (or anyone else, but especially Diego) to tamper with their equipment or anything. Johnny wasn’t complaining: after fighting Dr. Ferdinand’s army of villagers-turned-dinosaurs, he wasn’t exactly keen on spending another night surrounded by strangers, even if it meant sleeping on the ground.
“We won’t fall behind,” Gyro declared as they were setting up camp. “I won’t allow it! And anyway, it would be idiotic to push the horses harder than necessary right now.”
“You got it,” Johnny said, poking the fire. “Any progress on, uh, ‘turbo’?”
Gyro grimaced as he sat down next to Johnny and the fire.
“I asked around when we were in town, but nobody knows of anything in the area by that name, or any translation of it,” he said. “They all just looked at me like I was crazy for pressing the issue.”
“Hm,” Johnny said. He let himself fall back onto his bedroll, staring up at the star-littered sky. “I’ve been searching the map for… I don’t know, a cyclone-like shape, or something?”
He traced such a shape in the stars with a finger, like he could string them together and get an answer. “But nothing so far.”
“It won’t be that easy,” Gyro said, shaking his head. “I have a feeling that the further along we get, the less helpful these so-called clues are going to be.”
“You don’t think it’s related at all to the identity of the saint?” Johnny said.
Again— just like every other time he brought it up— he felt something close up in Gyro, like a compartment of his heart was being sealed. He could tell from the way that Gyro started to measure his breaths and avoided looking at him.
Johnny hated that feeling. It wasn’t just frustrating, it also hurt a little bit. Johnny shared all his ideas and suspicions about the corpse with Gyro, but he could tell that Gyro wasn’t doing the same for him. There was something that he was holding onto, holding away from Johnny.
Instead of answering, Gyro simply laid back as well. He folded his arms behind his head.
“We’ll just have to see, I guess,” he said finally, after an extended pause.
Johnny pushed himself up onto his elbows abruptly.
“Why won’t you tell me what you think?” he said. “What you really think.”
“Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gyro said, his eyes fixed on the sky.
“You won’t look at me.”
“It’s a nice clear night. I want to enjoy it.”
“The corpse—“
“I know,” Gyro interrupted, still not looking at Johnny. “Johnny, I get what you’re trying to tell me. The corpse has given you a purpose, hasn’t it?”
“Well, obviously! That’s why I’m out here!”
“Not a purpose for competing,” Gyro said. “A purpose for… you know. Living.”
Johnny blinked. He hadn’t expected Gyro to get so… serious. Sure, he was no stranger to spouting a line or two about abstract concepts like ‘fate’ and ‘respect’ and stuff like that, but that was usually in the heat of battle, when it really mattered! When they were like this, just waiting and watching, he tended to stick to more lighthearted topics. Sometimes, Johnny even suspected that he only let himself share the really important stuff when he had no other choice.
“I understand why you beat me today,” Gyro said. “You deserved it, honestly. Because you were right, about the hunger or whatever you call it.”
“Gyro…” Don’t damage your pride for my sake, Johnny thought. I don’t deserve it. But he couldn’t make himself say it.
“But it wasn’t Dio that you were really talking about,” Gyro said. “It was yourself. You were saying, ‘I am one who has hungered’. Am I right?”
Johnny was silent. He wanted to tear his gaze away from Gyro, but he couldn’t. Even when Gyro also sat up and looked at him, he couldn’t look away. Johnny wondered if the corpse part Gyro got in the Rockies gave him the power to look into Johnny's very soul.
“Let me ask you this,” Gyro said. “Why did you come to San Diego?”
“Why does it matter?” Johnny retorted.
“I told you what I’m doing here, so you owe me. What about you?”
Johnny sighed. He had thought about it, of course, but he knew his answer wouldn’t satisfy anyone. It didn’t even satisfy him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Why did every other spectator come? I just felt like I had to be there. Who wouldn’t want to see the start of the biggest horse race of the century?”
“And that’s all? You just wanted to see the race?”
“What other reason could there be?” Johnny said. “Come on, Gyro, don’t be stupid. I used to be a jockey. Horse racing was my life. Of course I wanted to see it!”
“You didn’t even think about entering yourself?” Gyro asked. “Not even a little bit?”
Johnny grit his teeth. “I don’t know if you noticed, but—“ he gestured dramatically at his legs— “I’m fucking paralyzed!”
Anger was beginning to build in him. What did Gyro know about what he wanted? He didn’t know shit about Johnny’s life before he came to San Diego! He didn’t know anything about the despair that he had felt, or the regret, or the pain!
“Entering the race wasn’t even an option for me! Do you know how hard it is to ride a horse without working legs?” he said. “Damn near everything is different!”
“But you did it! You’re doing it!” Gyro said, pointing at him emphatically. “Because you wanted to! That’s your hunger! To ride again, to compete, to win! That’s what brought you to San Diego! You always wanted to get back up. Hell, I bet you never stopped thinking about it—“
“Shut up!” Johnny snapped, swatting Gyro’s hand away. “You got no right to say those things.”
Gyro narrowed his eyes at him. “You think this is a one way street or something?” he said. “You think you know me well enough to say I’m just an ‘inheritor’, but I can’t know anything about you?”
“You don’t know shit!”
“Then tell me!” Gyro said. “I want to know!”
“Tell you what, exactly?” Johnny said. “You wanna know about my shitty life? My less-than-zero existence?”
“I want to know you,” Gyro said.
Johnny’s heart jumped in a weird way. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know! I just…”
Gyro swore in Italian and then sighed, lowering his head so his hat covered his eyes again. Johnny was barely able to resist the urge to flick it right off his head.
“I don’t know what I’m saying,” Gyro said. “Sometimes, I swear, you make me feel like I’m going mad.”
Johnny swallowed heavily. Gyro made him feel mad too, but he wasn't sure it was in the same way. “I… I don’t know what that means, either.”
“It means that I thought I knew what I was doing,” Gyro said. “I came here because I thought I had the best technique, and that was all I needed. I thought, ‘as long as I ride smart and use every trick I’ve got, I’ll win’. But then you come along saying that it’s not enough, and you were right.”
He looked up and raised his eyebrows at Johnny, his jewel-like green eyes glittering. “There’s not a lot of people out there who can make me change my mind about something, you know.”
Johnny was suddenly painfully aware of his heartbeat. “That so?”
Damn you, Gyro! As much as Johnny had learned about him, he could still be a total fucking mystery. Like now, for example— how could he get Johnny nearly ready to fight with anger, and then totally disarm him and make his heart race?
It’s nothing, he told himself. Just residual nerves from… something or other.
“Yeah,” Gyro said. “I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I want to… understand where you’re coming from. Why you think the way you do. Maybe it’ll help me.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we can help each other more. Increase both our chances of getting what we want.”
As much as he wanted to agree, Johnny had to shake his head. “I dunno. You’re the Spin expert, and you already know how to ride just as well as any jockey. I don’t know if there’s much else I can tell you.”
“That’s technique,” Gyro said, waving his hand. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, what about you?”
“For God’s sake…”
“Okay, okay, I’ll think of something more specific,” Gyro said.
He took a moment to consider, resting his hand on his chin thoughtfully. Johnny had to snort skeptically at his determined expression.
“Are you messin’ around?” he said. “Is this a gag?”
“No!” Gyro said. “No, I’m thinking!”
He snapped his fingers. “I got it.”
“Better be good,” Johnny muttered.
“Why do you love riding so much?” Gyro asked. “Where’d that come from?”
“That’s easy,” Johnny said. He was relieved that it wasn’t a more difficult question. “My old man trained horses, so I was around ‘em all the time. I was five when he put me on a horse for the first time and sent me ‘round the pasture.”
It was one of the few early memories he had that really made him smile to this day. It was a bright morning at the stables, one of those perfect days that sings of good fortune. He always accompanied his father and Nicholas to the barn to watch his brother ride, but this time, Nicholas had promised him a special surprise. He helped— as much as a five-year-old can help, that is— his brother brush and tack up his horse, but wasn’t expecting Nicholas to turn and help him up into the saddle instead.
Johnny remembered his little heart pounding as Nicholas led the horse out to the field where his father was waiting. He remembered the mix of fear and glee as he imitated what he’d seen his brother do to get the horse moving, and the total elation that followed when it obeyed him perfectly. He remembered the look of pride and satisfaction on his father’s face, a look that he would come to crave.
“I felt like I was on top of the world,” he said. “I’d watched others ride, but being up there was completely different. There’s no feeling like sitting tall on a horse, sensing its movements and its thoughts… And then, when you really get to know a horse, it’s like the two of you can read each other’s minds, and that’s… it’s… something else.”
“It’s special,” Gyro said with a nod.
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “It’s damn beautiful, is what it is. The way you move, the way you feel… Lord knows there’s nothing like it. Even when I was small, riding made me feel like I could do anything.”
That’s what led to all this mess. He couldn’t help but think that, too, as he was speaking. That illusion of power felt good until it ruined everything.
He cleared his throat. “Of course… that way of thinking’s dangerous. Nothing can make really make anything possible.”
Except maybe those corpse parts, he thought.
“Maybe so,” Gyro said. “Doesn’t mean you’re not a hell of a rider, though.”
Johnny laughed a little, though not out of humor. “You shoulda seen me when I was sixteen. Nobody could get within a horse’s length of me on the track when I really wanted it… nobody ‘cept Diego, that is. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t make him fight for it like no one else.”
“No one else made him fight, huh?” Gyro said. “Am I ‘no one’ to you?”
There was a teasing lilt to his voice. Johnny laughed— for real, this time— and gave an over-exaggerated shrug. His shoulders felt significantly lighter.
“I dunno,” he said. “Hey, can I ask you a question now?”
“Sure, shoot,” Gyro said. “Let me get comfy, though, if we’re gonna get into it.”
He took off his hat and laid back, bending one knee and crossing the other over it. His hair, although a little flattened from the hat, gleamed in the firelight. Johnny smiled and followed his example, taking a second to arrange his legs into a comfortable position before laying back and folding his hands on his chest.
“When we went to grab the Zombie Horse, you said your dad never writes letters,” Johnny said. “What’s the deal with that?”
He knew it was a weird question, but that passing comment had stuck with Johnny. His own father never wrote letters either, after all. He hadn’t spoken to Johnny through any means since he kicked him out. So he wondered if it was the same type of situation with Gyro.
“Ah, yeah,” Gyro said. “He’s weird like that. He’s like the opposite of a tourist. Doesn’t send letters, doesn’t write stuff down, doesn’t keep mementos… nothing like that. He says all that stuff leads to ‘sentimentality’, and that interferes with his job. Even though it might be helpful every once in a while.”
Gyro smiled, his grills winking with reflected firelight. “That reminds me… One time, when I was around ten or so, my mother had to leave home to take care of some relative in another part of the country. That left my father to keep the house for a few weeks. Now, I’m the oldest of five, and some of my siblings were hardly even a year old at the time. So my mom says, ‘cacchio, Gregorio, get over yourself and send a letter if you need me!’ But of course, my father’s just as stubborn as me, so he refuses. And wouldn’t you know, when my mom comes home the house is a mess, the five of us are running around like wild beasts, and my father is about ready to kill us or himself just to make it stop.”
He laughed. “Che casino! After that, she didn’t leave us alone until I was like, sixteen.”
He uses more Italian when he’s talking about his family, Johnny noted silently. He wondered if he missed them much.
“You get along with your dad, then?” Johnny asked. “You always speak highly of him.”
“For the most part, yeah,” Gyro said. “We don’t agree on some things— like the ‘sentimentality’ I talked about. He didn’t want me to enter the race, either. He thinks it’s a fool’s errand. But I respect him more than anyone in the world, even if I don’t always do what he wants. He taught me everything I know about the Spin, steel balls, and… pretty much everything else.”
Johnny had to suppress a sigh. It wasn’t like he wanted Gyro’s dad to be as shitty as his… but it would’ve been nice to have someone around who knew how he felt.
“Is it my turn to ask something?” Gyro said.
“Sure, sure,” Johnny said.
“What about your family?”
Johnny felt something in him turn cold.
“Don’t have any,” he said gruffly.
“What? You just mentioned your dad. Said he taught you to ride?”
“My brother taught me to ride,” Johnny said. “But he’s dead now. And my parents might as well be, too, for all I care.”
“Harsh.”
“Yeah, well, not as harsh as my dad. He kicked me out for wanting to borrow my brother’s boots, and I haven’t spoken to him since.”
There was more to it than that, obviously, but Johnny didn’t mind painting his father in a bad light at the moment. He deserved it for what he said. God took the wrong—
“That’s all I’m gonna say,” Johnny said. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”
He pushed himself up onto his elbows so he could look right at Gyro. Gyro craned his head up at him, confused.
“Johnny—“ he started to say.
Johnny cut him off. “Who do you think the corpse is?”
Gyro sighed and let his head fall back again. “I still don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” Johnny said. “Back in Arizona, you said—“
“I don’t even remember that far back—“
“—something about heresy,” Johnny continued over Gyro’s protests. “What did you mean by that?”
“That’s a different question,” Gyro said. “I didn’t agree to answer that.”
“Gyro! You can’t tell me that you don’t care at all—“
“Yes, you’re right!” Gyro threw his hands up in frustration. “I do care about the corpse! But I don’t care that much.”
“You were the one who brought up my ‘hunger’ earlier,” Johnny pointed out. “Caring ‘that much’ about the corpse is what’s driving me, Gyro!”
“Is it?” Gyro muttered.
“What did you say?”
“For God’s sake—“ Gyro covered his face with his forearm. “I don’t even know why I try to talk about it.”
“Talk about what?” Johnny asked. “Can you stop being cryptic for once in your life?”
“Fine!” Gyro sat up abruptly and faced Johnny, leaning in so close that Johnny could almost read the letters TURBO that had suddenly reappeared in his eye. The cross pattée glowed golden on his cheek. “Do you care about who the corpse is, or do you care about what you think it can do for you?”
Johnny had to push himself back a few inches, just to put some space between them. “What?”
“Does it really matter what the damn thing’s name was?” Gyro asked. “Or does it only matter whether or not it can make you walk again?”
Silence. Johnny was genuinely stunned for a few seconds. Then, he felt his whole body start to tremble with fury.
“Why the fuck,” he said, “would you say that?”
“I don’t know why you came to San Diego. Hell, it could’ve been the damn corpse working its saintly magic on you,” Gyro said. “But I know why you wanted to learn the Spin. When you touched my steel ball, it triggered a reflex in your legs that made you stand, but that’s all. It didn’t heal anything. It was just like if I moved your legs for you manually— you’d know that you couldn’t control it, or do it on your own after I let go. And I’m sorry about that, really. I wish I could help you, or any number of all the other people with injuries like yours.
“Maybe the corpse is different. Maybe it can do things that medicine can’t. I don’t know if I believe it myself. But I know that you believe it, and that’s why you want it. Just like you wanted to learn the Spin. You think it can fix you. But what if it can’t, Johnny? What if nothing can fix it? What will be your hunger, then?”
Johnny didn’t say anything for a long time. What was there to say? He wanted to slap Gyro silly for saying such things. He wanted to knock the damn grills right off his teeth.
But he didn’t do anything. He was so angry that he couldn’t.
Gyro didn’t do or say anything else, either. He just looked at Johnny with a look that made him sick: one of concern. Like he really gave a shit what Johnny would do if he failed.
But Johnny knew that he wouldn’t. If the race ended and they didn’t have the corpse parts, Gyro would just fuck off back to Naples and pick up his fine life where he left it. If he won, he’d have gotten everything he wanted. Even if he lost, he’d forget about Marco, eventually— Johnny would bet on it. Gyro had a future no matter what happened.
But Johnny? He wouldn’t have anything. He would go back to his useless existence. There was no place for him anywhere in the goddamn world. He might as well die without those corpse parts.
“You’re never going to understand anything about me,” Johnny said finally.
He pointedly turned his back to Gyro, dragged his lame legs over to the opposite side of his bedroll. The dead weight of each foot mocked him.
“Johnny, let me explain,” Gyro said.
“I’m going to sleep,” Johnny said firmly. “Put the fire out.”
He curled up as best as he could on his side and closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Gyro anymore.
Notes:
some fun translation notes: "cacchio" is a euphemistic way of saying "cazzo", which means "fuck". "Che casino" means "what a mess!"
i know Gyro is from Naples and thus would probably speak Neapolitan more so than Italian, but i haven't been able to find a good Neapolitan-English dictionary/phrasebook sooo...... Italian it is! (not that i speak Italian either..... whoops)
Chapter 3: heavy in your arms
Summary:
After nearly dying to Ringo Roadagain, Johnny feels the weight of things.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
This will be my last confession
'I love you' never felt like any blessing
whisper it like it's a secret
uttered to condemn the one who hears it
with a heavy heart.
"Heavy in Your Arms" by Florence + the Machine
Johnny heard Ringo’s gun fire, and he knew that he wasn’t fast enough. But he didn’t have time to think of anything else— no room for regrets, for confessions, for final prayers— before the world cut to black.
The next thing he knew, there was some sort of… presence, near him. He heard the hissing of a spray can, and a few soft words in a language he didn’t recognize.
“Starai bene, si?” said the voice. “Per favore…”
Am I dead? he wondered. Is this what angels sound like?
Johnny felt an arm under his back. Then he was shifted, and the floor disappeared from under him. Instead, all he could feel was a warm, solid form pressed up against his side. Holding him.
He opened his eyes a crack. The world was out of focus, distant, as if he were peering at it through a tiny hole. He strained his vision until he could make out what he was looking at.
It was Gyro, up close— closer than Johnny had ever dared to get otherwise. He could see small details that he never imagined before: little lines under Gyro's eyes, a slight stubble along his jaw between the squares of his beard, the fading mark of the wound under his chin that he'd stitched closed with the Zombie Horse...
In Johnny's half-conscious haze, he couldn't help but think that Gyro was beautiful.
Not an angel, maybe. But Johnny didn't mind. As he closed his eyes again and leaned his head against Gyro's chest, he thought that somehow, this was better.
---
Johnny rubbed his forehead absently. The nickel-sized hole was definitely fading away from sight, but he swore he could still feel it. Gyro told him that he’d been lucky that he wasn’t even an inch closer, and Johnny supposed he was right. What were the odds that someone like Ringo, who’d probably been in a hundred or more gunfights, would be just an inch from ending his life?
Johnny was no stranger to questions like this. A gun, a bullet, an inch away from death— he knew it all too well. And he knew there was no use trying to figure it out. If he lived, he lived. That was all there was to it.
After leaving Ringo’s orchard, they rode a little longer into the night than usual to make up for the time they’d lost in the fight (however much time it ended up being, Johnny didn’t know). It was already well past sunset when they finally decided to make camp.
Gyro had been in a pretty good mood after beating Ringo, talking and joking, but he was quieter now that the sun had gone down. Johnny wondered if he was thinking about what had happened earlier. He didn’t know what had transpired between Gyro and Ringo after he’d been shot, but he suspected that some sort of exchange had taken place. He couldn’t imagine someone like Ringo would pass up the opportunity to spout off something about his values or whatever.
Ringo was the worst kind of enemy— that was to say, one with convictions. It was easy to take out people who were just in it for the money, but Ringo fought for a belief. Enemies like him couldn’t be reasoned with or bribed. They would never be convinced to give up, even to save their own lives.
Johnny understood this. And because of that, he understood that the only way to defeat such an enemy was to kill them. So maybe Ringo was right, in that respect. Maybe he did have a dark determination.
“I’d make coffee, but we should probably try to get at least a little sleep,” Gyro said as he unburdened the horses. He chuckled to himself a little. “We kinda had a big day.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Johnny said. He struck a match and tossed it into the pile of dry timber he’d scraped together. He blew gently on the embers until they burst into a flame. “You think Dio is far ahead of us?”
Gyro scowled. “If he is, it won’t be for long,” he said. He touched his cheek, right under his right eye. “I’ve got the sensation now…”
Johnny didn’t ask what he meant by that. Instead, he asked: “So, did you actually steal those sandwiches from Hot Pants?”
“Nyohoho, I knew you’d ask me that,” Gyro said. He reached into his pack and brought out a paper-wrapped package. “Of course I did! Fuck that guy.”
Guy. Yeah… Johnny didn’t think so. But it was really none of their business. If Hot Pants wanted to be known as a man, that was on him. Her. Him?
“You know, that’s gonna only gonna piss him off more,” Johnny said. “He could’ve been an ally.”
But he still held out his hand so that Gyro could hand him one of the sandwiches. They weren’t particularly warm or fresh anymore, but still— roast beef. Damn.
“Like I care,” Gyro said, wrapping the rest of the sandwiches back up to save for later. “We don’t need any more allies, anyway. We got each other.”
Johnny ducked his head to hide the smile that comment brought to his face. Yeah, we got each other, he thought. That’s all we need.
He took a bite of his sandwich. It tasted just as good as it looked, maybe even better. Gyro was enjoying his sandwich too, judging by the noises he was making.
“Oh, fuck yes,” he said after taking a bite. “Feels like I haven’t had something this good since I left Naples.”
His pleased sounds led Johnny’s mind somewhere… questionable. He forced a laugh.
“Do Italians always make sex sounds when they eat good food?” he asked.
“Hey, when you’ve gone as long as I have without good food or good sex, you get the two mixed up,” Gyro said without missing a beat.
Johnny’s mouth was dry. Don’t you dare think that way about Gyro, he scolded himself. That’s your fucking racing partner, you pervert. Why, after two years of having no libido to speak of, was he thinking about this now? It had to be the race. Nothing was normal out here.
Johnny quickly finished the rest of his sandwich, almost forgetting to savor it in his inner conflict. Then, he set out his bed roll and curled up on it, putting his back to Gyro.
“Night,” he said.
“Hey, hold on a second—”
Johnny felt Gyro’s fingers brush against his shoulder, and instinctively he pulled away, whipping around to stare at Gyro like a defensive animal. Gyro pulled back too, like he couldn’t figure out why he’d done that in the first place.
They stared at each other for a second, neither able to fully comprehend the other’s thought process. Or their own, for that matter.
“What?” Johnny said.
Gyro cleared his throat and looked away. “Never mind."
“No, what is it?”
“I just…” He looked around, like he was searching for the question that had been so pressing a minute ago. Finally, he said: “Your head doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Johnny’s hand flew up to his forehead again. The dent was pretty much completely gone. He only knew where it had been from anxiously touching it so much.
“No, not at all,” he said. “Hot Pants’ spray is something else.”
“Yeah,” Gyro said. “Guess we have to thank him for something.”
He gave Johnny a lopsided, golden smile. “That and the sandwiches, I mean.”
“Yeah.” Johnny could have lay back down and left it there, but… he didn’t. “You… didn’t think I died, did you?”
“I mean.” Gyro laughed weakly. “It sure looked like it at first.”
Johnny didn’t ask himself what if anymore. But he sure wanted to ask Gyro. What if I had died? he wanted to ask. What would you have done? What would you have felt?
“But I didn’t,” was all he said.
“No, you didn’t,” Gyro said with a nod. “Thank God for that.”
“Thank God,” Johnny echoed.
For a little, Johnny thought that would be the end of the conversation. Gyro put out his own bedroll and lay down like he was going to go to sleep. Johnny scattered dirt on the fire to put it out, and then followed suit.
The night was quiet and peaceful. At times like this, Johnny liked to close his eyes and pretend like there were no enemies to fight, no goal to reach, no race at all. Sometimes he even entertained the thought of there being no corpse, just for a few seconds. Just him and Gyro and the endless sky, so full of stars that it looked like there wasn’t room for anything else.
But it was a short lived fantasy. He would inevitably think about his immobile legs, then his desire to possess the corpse, then everyone else who would kill him for it. He had to open his eyes again and live in reality once more, live with the ache in his chest.
It’s what I get for thinking about anything but the corpse, he told himself. Hadn’t his resolve been strengthened today? He’d thought so…
“Hey, Johnny?” Gyro said, interrupting the silence.
“Yeah?”
“Say… d’you believe in God?”
Johnny grimaced. “Why you gotta ask me that?”
“Hey, I answered when you asked me about religion,” Gyro pointed out. “Now you tell me. You believe in God?”
Johnny folded his hands over his midsection. Where to even begin on the subject of God?
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean— no, but yeah.”
“‘No but yeah’? What’s that supposed to mean?” Gyro sighed. “You Americans don’t know how to speak your own damn language.”
“Shut up,” Johnny said. “Yes, I believe in God. But only ‘cause I was told to, y’know? I never really felt like God was real or anythin’ like that.”
He lowered his voice to a mumble. “‘Specially not after Nick.”
If Gyro heard his addition, he didn’t comment on it.
“Well, you’re not supposed to base it on what you feel,” he said. “You’re supposed to have faith.”
“I dunno what that means, really,” Johnny said. “Why’d anyone believe in something they got no proof of?”
“‘Cause we believe in a lot of stuff that’s made up,” Gyro said. “Like the law, and society, and all that. That shit’s all made up by us, but believing in it gives us purpose, you know?”
Johnny snorted. “So you’re a fucking philosopher now, huh? Or was that sandwich bad?”
“You’re an asshole,” Gyro said. “A true blue American asshole.”
“Yeah, well, you’re an Italian asshole.”
“Neapolitan,” Gyro sniffed. “Not Italian. They’re different.”
“How is it that you’re perfectly fine with wiping your ass with leaves but you’re still so damn pretentious?” Johnny asked.
“It’s not pretentious, it’s my nation,” Gyro said. “Don’t you Americans have a sense of patriotism?”
“Not me,” Johnny said. “I don’t believe in that shit.”
Gyro’s voice became a little more quiet. “You don’t believe in a lot of stuff, do you?”
“I believe in whatever I can see,” Johnny said, ignoring Gyro’s thoughtful tone. He pointed to various things as he spoke. “See, I believe in the sky, and the ground, and that tree over there. Cause they’re fuckin’ real.”
I believe in the corpse, he thought. He’d seen what it could do to his legs with his own two eyes. That didn’t require faith or anything like that. Just because they were looking for a saint didn’t mean he had to get all devout or something.
Gyro shook his head. “You got a heart like a stone, Johnny Joestar. Your arms must’ve gotten so strong from trying to lift it.”
Whatever had gotten into Gyro, he wasn’t dropping it yet. Johnny fidgeted in annoyance.
“Ah, fuck off,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I never met you.”
He was trying to make a joke, but it came out much more biting than he’d intended. He didn’t know why— maybe he just got bitter when talking about God and stuff like that. But after the life he’d lived, could anyone blame him?
“Jesus, tell us how you really feel.” Gyro folded his arms. “I save your life and you wish you never met me?”
Was there a note of genuine hurt in his voice? Johnny couldn’t tell. He suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. How was he meant to take this back? It’s not true, Gyro. I’m happy that I met you. Maybe too happy, even.
No, it was too much. He’d just have to double down.
“Oh, quit it,” Johnny said defensively. “You’re the one testin’ me, asking me about God and all that.”
“I’m not testing anything,” Gyro said. “I was just curious.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Johnny said.
Gyro sighed. “Guess not.”
Johnny bit his lip at how defeated he sounded. Clearly “doubling down” was the wrong decision.
God, he was so fucking stupid. Why did he always have to lash out at the people who showed even the most fleeting amount of care for him? Suck it up, Joestar, and just say you’re sorry or whatever.
“I… didn’t mean it,” Johnny muttered. “What I said. About wishin’ I never met you.”
Not quite an apology, but it’d have to do. He waited for a response, his nails digging into his palms. It felt like it took damn near forever, but finally he heard Gyro inhale.
“I didn’t think you did,” he said.
“I just wanna be clear,” Johnny said. He didn’t even know why he was pressing the point. Where was this sudden sentimentality coming from? “I made it this far ‘cause of you.”
He coughed, feeling suddenly self conscious at how honest he was allowing himself to be. Why did he always have to act a fool around Gyro? Where was his cool?
“I mean, your ass would’ve been grass without me, too,” he quickly added. “So it’s fair.”
“Fair, huh?”
Gyro was quiet for a moment. Johnny wondered if he was truly engrossed in the starry sky, or if he was just thinking. Sometimes he thought before he spoke. Not often, but sometimes.
“We’re friends, right?” Gyro asked finally.
Friends? Johnny had limited experience with friends— true friends, that was. His only real baseline was his brother, the only person who never asked for shit from him.
But why wouldn’t he consider Gyro a friend? They’d come this far, faced this much danger and conflict. They’d done shit for each other that they weren’t obligated to do. And if you’d asked Johnny in the heat of the moment, it turned out that there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Gyro.
But that— that was too much to just say out loud. That wasn’t Johnny’s style, or at least he told himself it wasn’t. He didn’t have it in him to say that he actually thought friends was too light of a word.
Partners, he thought. Like cowboys. They were partners. That felt more like it.
“Yeah,” Johnny said.
“Yeah,” Gyro echoed. He abruptly took off his hat and turned onto his side, facing away from Johnny. “Okay. Night, John.”
Johnny didn’t say it, but suddenly he didn’t want this conversation to end. He was feeling strangely comfortable, and he was afraid to let that feeling go, in case it never came back.
“Don’t call me that,” he said instead. “It’s John-ny.” He emphasized the last syllable.
Gyro chuckled. “How ‘bout JoJo?”
Johnny cringed. His mom used to call him that, way back in the day. Then when he started getting famous, the papers picked it up as his actual nickname, even though “Johnny” was already short for “Jonathan." He associated that name with every high and low of his racing career— two very distinct peaks.
“Not in a million years,” he said.
“All right, all right,” Gyro said. “Goodnight, Johnny.”
Don’t go to sleep, Johnny thought, despite himself. A few weeks ago in Canon City, Johnny couldn’t stand the thought of Gyro asking more questions. Hell, a few minutes ago he was done with all that. But now, all of a sudden, he found that he’d gladly answer them all just to keep talking.
He even kinda wanted Gyro to know some of the things that he never talked about with anyone else. About how he got shot, and his brother, and his dad. Johnny had never told any of those stories out loud, but for some reason he wanted to tell them to Gyro. Because... because they were friends, right?
Friends… just friends. Just good friends.
Don’t go to sleep, Johnny’s mutinous thoughts continued. Was it that he couldn’t get control of them, or that he didn’t want to? Come over here, instead. Come over here and—
He turned onto his side facing away from Gyro, suddenly feeling something indescribable in the pit of his stomach, like a mix between nausea and exhilaration. Like the rush of doing something he wanted to do but wasn’t supposed to, but stronger. More dangerous.
Stop it, he told himself.
Gyro was right— he did have a heart like a stone. It was weighed down by everything he’d had and taken for granted and lost, every painful memory like a link in the chain. It was so heavy that he didn’t think anybody would ever be able to lift it.
But today, when he was half-conscious in Ringo’s cabin, he felt Gyro gather him into his arms and pick him up. Heart and all. For a moment, he’d imagined that the weight had fallen away.
And now, Johnny wished that Gyro had never put him back down.
Notes:
quick translation: "Starai bene, si? Per favore." = "You'll be okay, yes? Please."
don't mind me as i extrapolate wildly on every single moment that wasn't shown in SBR. thank you for reading!
Chapter 4: history book
Summary:
They've survived another day, but the past isn't that far behind.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As heavy as a history book can be,
I will carry it with me, oh Lord
Maybe when the bitterness is gone
There'll be sweetness on our tongues once more.
"History Book" by Dry the River
Hot Pants’ spray was definitely a lifesaver, but while it healed wounds it didn’t necessarily make all the pain go away. Johnny was definitely aware of this as he and Gyro lay on the riverbank, trying to reorient themselves after Sandman’s attack. His side was no longer punctured and bleeding, but it hurt like a motherfucker. And then there was the more recent bump on the back of his head where Hot Pants had brained him with the metal canister.
“Goddamnit,” he swore, rubbing the tender spot. “I swear, I’ll never understand her.”
“Understand… who?” Gyro mumbled from beside him, eyes still closed. “Where… what…?”
“Gyro!” Johnny forgot about his own pain, and dragged himself off the raft (what was that about? Hot Pants floated them to the other side?) to a position where he could take Gyro’s pulse. It was slow, but strong. “Fuck! You’re alive!”
“What is…” Gyro sluggishly reached up and touched Johnny’s wrist. He opened his eyes a little. “Johnny?”
“Gyro!” Johnny couldn’t help himself— he wrapped his arms around Gyro and squeezed him tight. “Jesus, I thought… You were…”
There had been so much blood, Johnny feared that he’d bled out before Hot Pants had arrived. So much… even the thought of it now, the memory of Gyro’s severed limbs floating in the water made him shake with terror and disgust. He couldn’t describe how good it felt to feel Gyro’s heart beating in his chest.
“Johnny…” Gyro gingerly patted Johnny on the back. “What’re you… what happened?”
Johnny forced himself to let go, taking deep breaths to banish the feeling like he was going to cry. Gyro is alive. He’s right there. You’re talking with him. He’s alive.
“Sandman was the enemy,” he said. “I thought we were done for, but— but— I figured it out!”
He laughed breathlessly. “The golden rectangle! I—I could see it! Everywhere!”
Gyro sighed— whether in relief or exasperation, Johnny couldn’t tell.
“I knew you would,” he said. “I told you everything you needed to know.”
Johnny would’ve hit him for that if he hadn’t just been gravely injured. “No way, asshole! You didn’t say anything about it being in nature! I figured that shit out on my own!”
Gyro laughed weakly. “Well, I couldn’t just tell you. Then you wouldn’t be able to see it right yourself. It’d be like trying to describe the way an orchestra sounds to someone instead of letting them listen to it. At least, that’s what my father always said.”
“God,” Johnny said. “If you hadn't just almost died, I’d kill you, Gyro Zeppeli!”
He put his hand on Gyro’s chest, over his heart. He didn’t know why— maybe it was to feel his heartbeat again, just to reassure him that it was still there.
A memory resurfaced— one from his childhood. From after Nicholas… those memories were still electric in him, after what he’d just been through.
He remembered attending his brother’s funeral. His mother made him go, even though he was just a kid, baffled by the strange custom of mourning. Why was everyone he knew there, and then some strangers too? Why were they all crying and hugging his parents? Why were they apologizing to him?
He knew what death was in theory, but it wasn’t something that was supposed to happen to people, much less Nicholas. Death was for horses with broken legs, not his perfectly healthy brother. That was the illusory explanation he had created for himself, one that he held onto until the moment he was standing in front of Nicholas’ open casket.
The body had looked so neat and clean, though a little pale. Nicholas’ hair was combed down oddly, rather than sticking up like it usually did. He was wearing one of his nicest suits, the one that his mother always fawned over. And there was a scarf around his neck, one that Johnny had never seen him wear.
As for his face… it looked like he was sleeping, but... it wasn’t right somehow. Johnny was bewildered.
“Nicholas?” he whispered.
It was like those nights when he couldn’t fall asleep and he woke his brother up to keep him company. He’d had one of those nights no more than a week ago. Usually, when he said his name and shook him a little, Nicholas would wake up and smile gently and ask what was the matter. But he wasn’t doing that now.
“Nicholas?” Johnny repeated, a little louder now. He leaned over as far as he could with his short arms and laid his hand on Nicholas’ chest.
To his horror, it was cold, and still. Like a hollow stone, or a stuffed mouse.
His mother saw what he was doing and screamed. His father stormed over and grabbed him by the back of the collar, hissing something that Johnny couldn’t remember. He dragged Johnny away just as the tears started to well up, and a shriek began to form in the back of his throat…
“Johnny?”
It was Gyro’s voice that broke through to him. Johnny started a little, having totally forgotten where he was. His face felt wet and he wondered if he was bleeding somewhere on his head, but when he wiped it with the back of his hand the liquid was clear. Tears.
“Shit,” he said. “I…”
“Johnny, it’s okay.” Gyro put his hand over Johnny’s, bringing his attention back to the warmth and life in Gyro’s body. “Why are you crying? We survived.”
“Yeah, I just…” Johnny tried his best to get himself under control. “Sorry.”
“What for?” Gyro smiled and squeezed his hand. “You did great.”
Johnny wanted this to be it. He wished that somehow, this could be the moment that endured. No more fights, no more enemies, no more brushes with death. Just the two of them.
“I…” Johnny searched for something, anything, to say. Finally, he blurted out: “Hot Pants took the corpse parts.”
“Ah, fuck.” Gyro let his head fall back against the raft. “For real? That son of a bitch.”
He let go of Johnny’s hand, which Johnny reluctantly drew away as Gyro sat up.
“I knew he was trouble,” he said. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got to make up some time and catch him if possible.”
Gyro stood up and flexed his reattached arm and foot. They seemed to be in working order, which was a relief. Hot Pants hadn’t completely fucked them over.
Johnny waited as he fetched Valkyrie and Slow Dancer, bringing Johnny’s horse close enough for him to do his usual “roll-on” routine. Once he was up on Slow Dancer, he paused.
“One more thing, Gyro,” he said. “What’s the deal with the, ‘you can only say that you can’t do it four times’ thing? Why is that a rule?”
“Think about it,” Gyro said as he mounted Valkyrie. “My dad wanted me to learn all this by the time I was thirteen, right? Thirteen-year-olds are the most impatient brats on the planet. I didn’t want to hear his explanations, I wanted to know the Spin! But by making me repeat that phrase, he forced me to realize that the way that we humans form the Rectangle is never perfect. No drawing, sculpture, or model can recreate what Nature does on her own. I had to suck it up and ‘pay my respects’ to that fact.”
He winked at Johnny before moving forward. “Just like you, huh?”
Johnny signaled to Slow Dancer to move as well. Never perfect, huh? Maybe the Zeppelis were onto something. After all, Johnny was beginning to see the Rectangle in all sorts of God’s creations: the leaves, the birds… Gyro’s eyes, and his hands, and his lips…
Sure enough, no artist could recreate the perfection that Johnny had in front of him. But that didn’t make him want to trace every line any less. Maybe, with enough practice, he could get close.
But he said none of this. He couldn't. He'd come so close to losing Gyro. If he said or did something to push him away now, he'd never forgive himself.
“So you did the same thing for me as you would for a thirteen-year-old?” he said instead, trying to inject some lightness into his voice despite the weight in his chest.
“Why not?” Gyro said with a shrug. “You picked it up way faster than I did back then! It took me at least a month to admit that I couldn't do it four times. Then, when my dad gave me the belt buckle, I realized that I didn't really need it. Still hold onto it though."
He grinned impishly. “I’ll let you in on a secret— the buckle is supposed to point up, like, towards God and all that. But I think it’s funnier if it points down.”
He pushed Valkyrie into a trot. Johnny, meanwhile, was still thinking through Gyro’s story.
“Hold on,” he called out. “Are you saying that I’m an impatient brat?”
“Nyohoho!”
“Gyro!”
Notes:
thanks for reading!
in case you're interested, i have a twitter @3kanite! let me know what songs i should add to my gyjo playlist (in addition to the ones featured here hrghgk)
Chapter 5: we looked like giants
Summary:
Johnny folds.
Notes:
thank you so much to liquidationlashes.tumblr.com for fanart of this chapter! check it out here: https://liquidationlashes.tumblr.com/post/190264808193/this-just-like-is-not-my-best-work-but-i
much love!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
And together there
In a shroud of frost, the mountain air
Began to pass through every pane of weathered glass
And I held you closer
Than anyone would ever guess
"We Looked Like Giants" by Death Cab for Cutie
“To the next part, and to the goal.”
“To the next part, and the goal.”
The wine was stale and bitter— Johnny understood why the Eleven Men hadn’t bothered to finish it. It tasted even worse when combined with the existing sourness in his mouth.
I had to, he told himself. I had no choice.
He and Gyro took turns pouring for one another. There wasn’t much wine left, but it still filled both of their small tin cups. When they had drank it all, they silently got back on their horses and started to ride through the snowy, deserted streets.
The wine only provided a slight flicker of warmth in Johnny’s body, not nearly enough to make up for the amount of snow that was starting to come down. Even Slow Dancer was starting to shiver.
“We should just—“ Johnny wanted to say give up, but he stopped himself. “We should just find a place to spend the night and wait for the storm to pass through. I don’t think Slow Dancer is accustomed to this type of weather.”
“Yeah, neither is Valkyrie,” Gyro said. “She’s used to being spoiled in beautiful Naples.”
Usually, Gyro’s quips would at least make Johnny smirk and roll his eyes. But right now, he couldn’t even muster that.
Gyro noticed as much and cleared his throat.
“Okay,” he said. “Shelter.”
Now that they’d given up their riches, they didn’t have the means to stay at a nice place in town. In a mere matter of minutes, they’d gone from the wealthiest men around to even poorer than before. Johnny could sure feel it. Between the two of them, they had almost nothing.
But at least there were two of them.
They traveled further from the city, back into the surrounding forests and mountains. The lake effect snow was brutal: thick, cold, and obscuring their visibility even more than normal at night. Finally, right as Johnny was feeling ready to scream with frustration, Gyro spotted a somewhat sheltered rock outcropping. As they approached it, desperate for shelter, it became evident that they’d stumbled across a small cave in a hillside.
“If there’s a bear in here I’m fucking done,” Gyro muttered as he dismounted to scout it out.
Thankfully, after a minute he motioned for Johnny to bring the horses closer to the sheltered area, where they’d be out of the wind. The two of them threw some blankets over the horses and ducked into the cave. It wasn’t particularly deep, not tall enough for Gyro to stand to his full height, but they could at least get out of the weather for a night.
“Should’ve chopped down that damn Stand tree for firewood,” Gyro said.
There was nothing they could do about that now, though— every inch of wood in the forest was already soaked from the snow. They would just have to bundle up and wait it out without a proper fire. In the cold dark, which was only getting colder.
They each wrapped themselves up in as many blankets as they had and tried to settle down. Johnny had to be sure to wrap up his legs, even though he couldn’t feel if they were cold or not. Hell, he could already have frostbite and not know it. Damn these legs.
“You good, Johnny?” Gyro asked.
“As good as I’m gonna get,” Johnny mumbled. “Besides being freezing.”
After a moment’s pause, Gyro started to move around. It was almost too dark to see him, but Johnny could hear him shuffling about.
“What are you doing?” he said. “I can hear you moving.”
“Scooting closer,” Gyro said matter-of-factly.
“Um,” Johnny said. “What for…?”
“Keeping warm,” Gyro replied. “Duh.”
“Oh.”
It took some maneuvering in the small space, plus the fact that Johnny had to arrange his legs by hand, but eventually they got in a not-too-uncomfortable position, sort of facing one another in close quarters— close, but not touching.
Would he be mad if I touched him? Johnny wondered. He was thankful for the dark, because he could feel a blush creeping up.
“Johnny?” Gyro said. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“…why did you do it?”
Johnny’s heart leapt into his throat. “Why did I do what?”
“You know.” Gyro shifted slightly. “The corpse parts.”
Johnny sighed. “I had to, Gyro.”
“No, you didn’t,” Gyro said. “You weren’t turning into a tree. You could’ve kept them.”
And let you die? After we’ve come this far together?
“I can’t think like that,” Johnny whispered back. “I just can’t.”
“Did you think about it?” Gyro asked. “About… not doing it?”
Johnny swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Does it matter?”
“I want to know.”
“Fine. Yes.”
“But you did it anyway.”
“Yeah.”
“Johnny…”
“Hold on, Gyro,” Johnny said. “You remember what you said to me back at Canon City? About what I’d do if I couldn’t find all the corpse parts, or if they didn’t work the way I wanted them to?”
“Yeah, that was shitty of me,” Gyro said. “You’re not still mad, are you?”
“No, no way,” Johnny said. “I mean, yeah, it did make me feel shitty. But mostly because you were right. I didn’t have a plan beyond the corpse parts. I couldn’t think of a single thing that I wanted to do after the race… I thought it was that or… nothing.”
“You mean…?”
“Don’t think too hard about it,” Johnny warned. He certainly tried not to. “Anyway, I don’t think like that anymore. Because I don’t have ‘nothing’ anymore.”
He paused to let his words sink in. Gyro slowly inhaled.
“Is that an American way of saying that you don’t have anything?” he asked.
“What? No!” Johnny said. “Wait, what are you even talking about?”
“Sometimes you use a, you know, double negative,” Gyro said. “I mean, we have it in Italian too, but I was taught not to use it in English, but then you use it all the time—“
“I meant that I have something,” Johnny said. “I have you, Gyro.”
His heart was beating so hard that he was sure that Gyro could hear it. He tried not to breathe so heavy, lest Gyro notice. When he spoke, he felt like he had electricity in his mouth.
“You, alive, mean more to me than some dead saint, no matter who it is,” he said. “You’re my… hunger, now.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Goddamnit, Johnny! That made no sense!
Gyro laughed a little. “That’s… a funny way of putting it.”
“D-Don’t think too hard about that, either!” Johnny said. “Don’t think too hard about anything I say!”
He forced a laugh. “Maybe that shitty wine is, uh, getting to my head a little bit, right?”
“You barely had anything to drink,” Gyro pointed out. “And anyway, I understand what you mean.”
Johnny’s breath caught a little. He felt… something strange. An energy, thick in the air. He couldn’t quite place it. It felt like something was about to happen, but he wasn’t sure what. “Yeah? You do?”
“Yeah,” Gyro said. “At least, I think so.”
Johnny could barely see anything, but the rest of his senses were more alive than ever. He could hear Gyro shifting a little more, could feel the warmth increasing between them, could smell their bodies mixed with the cold on the air, could…
He could taste wine. It was on Gyro’s lips. He could taste Gyro’s lips, because Gyro was kissing him.
Johnny shivered, but not from the cold. He didn’t feel cold anymore. Every part of his body that he could feel felt warm. Hell, he felt like he was on fire, like he was a burning engine and his heart was a piston, hammering at an unforeseen speed.
Is this really happening? He’d thought about this before, sometimes even dreamt about it. It made him feel dirty, but he couldn’t help it. Was this just one of those instances? Had he fallen asleep without realizing it?
He grabbed the front of Gyro’s jacket and pulled him closer. He felt Gyro’s lips twitch into a smile.
This is happening.
Johnny jolted back, breaking them apart. “Gyro!”
“Uh, Johnny?” He sensed Gyro reaching for him, but he shied away. The frantic feeling in him had melted into fear.
“W-We can’t do this,” he stammered. “I don’t know how it is in Europe, but in America, you can’t— men can’t—“
“Johnny, it’s okay,” Gyro whispered. “We’re in a cave in the middle of the woods during a snowstorm. Nobody will see us.”
“But still— it’s not right!”
No matter how bad I want it. He covered his face, feeling all kinds of conflicted. The cold was starting to seep in again, even more biting than before.
“Do you not…” Gyro cleared his throat. “We, uh. We can say it was the wine, if you want. We can forget it ever happened.”
Johnny didn’t expect that suggestion to hurt so bad. And even as Gyro pulled away from him slightly, it felt like he was losing him all over again. He could practically feel the branches of Sugar Mountain’s tree wrapping around him.
“No,” he said suddenly, reaching out again, feeling blindly for Gyro. “No, please.”
“‘No’ what? Johnny, I mean it, if you don’t want this you gotta tell me right now. Just say the word and it’ll go away—“
“Don’t,” Johnny said, feeling absolutely helpless, like nothing he said or did could change anything. He couldn’t have Gyro, but he couldn’t be without him. He was starting to feel like he was insane. “Don’t go away.”
“I’m right here,” Gyro said. “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to.”
“Okay,” Johnny said. “Okay.”
He pulled himself closer to Gyro until he was pressed up to his chest. He could hear the anxious pounding of Gyro’s heart, and once more thanked God that he was alive. Gyro sighed and rested a hand on Johnny’s shoulder.
They lay still for a little while in stillness and cold, but inside Johnny all was aflame. This was what he wanted— what he had wanted as far back as Cañon City, maybe even before that. What he’d caught just a glimpse of when Gyro carried him out of Ringo’s shack. He wanted to be close to Gyro… to hold him, or be held by him. He wanted to know everything about him. He wanted a part of his future.
There was no doubt about it, now— Johnny wanted Gyro even more than he wanted the corpse parts. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything stop him.
His eyes were just about fully adjusted to the dark by now. When he looked up, he saw Gyro still wide awake and looking down at him, his eyes full of questions. His eyes… they were so deeply, vibrantly green that Johnny could imagine them nearly glowing in the dark.
Beautiful, Johnny thought. They were the same color as Gyro’s smeared lipstick. He had done that— added a touch of blue to him.
It was all them, the two of them. In that moment, they were all that mattered.
“Kiss me again,” Johnny said hoarsely.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Gyro tentatively leaned down, and Johnny let his eyes slide shut.
Notes:
i know everyone and their mother has done a version of this scene, it's just! too good to pass up!! please accept my meager offering.
fun fact: i listened to the collection of songs that precede each chapter so much that they were my most listened-to songs of 2019. i wish i was kidding.
Chapter 6: just dumb enough to try
Summary:
Johnny doesn't know whether to avoid what's happening in his heart or let it swallow him whole. Luckily, he's not in it alone.
Notes:
caution: the internalized/period-typical homophobia is strong with this one
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
but I'm just dumb enough to try
to keep you in my life a little while longer
and I'm insane enough to think
I'm gonna get out with my skin
And start my life again
"Just Dumb Enough To Try" by Father John Misty
It stopped snowing in the early hours of the morning. The silence in the forest was nearly suffocating, all sound muffled by insulating snow drifts that had crystallized overnight into sparkling ice fields stretching in every direction. The world appeared pristine, almost unnaturally so, like a slate wiped clean.
Johnny awoke to this strangeness: the lack of sound, the blinding whiteness— and a cold spot at his side.
He sat up, instantly wide awake. Gyro was gone. But he could’ve sworn that last night they had fallen asleep side by side. Huddled up for warmth. He could have sworn that last night they—
Did I dream that? Johnny touched his lips. They didn’t feel any different, nor could he tell if his lipstick was smeared or anything. But he couldn’t have imagined it. He couldn’t have imagined what had happened in Milwaukee and what followed. It couldn’t have been a dream or a fantasy. The wine wasn’t even that strong, nor did he drink that much.
I kissed Gyro, he thought. No— Gyro had kissed him first. But Johnny kissed back. Either way, it was true. It had happened.
And now, Gyro was gone.
The more he thought about what this meant, the deeper and darker the pit in his stomach became— to the point where it was almost painful to breathe. Johnny couldn’t help but feel like he had made a grave, perhaps fatal error. It didn’t matter who had started it. Something had shifted, perhaps cracked. Perhaps shattered.
With trembling hands, he picked up his hat and put it on. Then, completely silent, he folded up his blankets and rolled them up with his sleeping bag. He didn’t touch Gyro’s side of things. The entire time, he stared ahead of him without seeing.
Maybe Gyro would be angry, now that he had gotten over the rush of almost dying; maybe he’d berate Johnny for taking advantage of him and call him all of the things that Johnny was internally calling himself. Maybe he’d kill Johnny, so that nobody would ever find out. Maybe Gyro had already left. Maybe Johnny would crawl out of this pathetic little cave and find in the dazzling sunlight that Valkyrie was gone and his former racing partner with her.
Maybe Johnny would let himself die here. He could take off his winter layers like a delusional person dying of cold and bury himself in the snow. He would not be found until spring, when he would unthaw and be written off as another forgotten casualty of the race.
He emerged from the cave, blinking rapidly from the shock of light. The first thing he saw were the horses— both of them, Slow Dancer and Valkyrie, still laden with their winter blankets. Then, he saw a campfire, a tiny one made of what few dry twigs could be found. Then, Gyro, crouched with his back to Johnny.
He was still here, at least. Johnny wasn’t sure if he could allow himself to feel relieved yet. He could smell the strong, dark scent of brewing coffee. He didn’t say anything as he dragged himself through the snow to warm his hands at the fire.
Gyro’s eyes flicked to Johnny, then back to his pot of coffee. He didn’t speak, either. Johnny kept his eyes trained on the fire until they watered.
When the coffee was finished, Gyro poured a cup. He didn’t hand it directly to Johnny, but instead set it on the snow next to where he was sitting. Snow melted instantly around the hot mug. Johnny looked up at him, but Gyro didn’t return his gaze. He just poured his own cup and set the coffee pot down. Johnny looked away.
They drank their espresso in the oppressive snow-laden silence. Johnny reckoned he never tasted coffee more bitter, nor felt snow more cold.
Gyro finished his cup first and returned to the cave. He came back out with his share of blankets and packed them neatly in Valkyrie’s saddlebag, along with the emptied coffee pot and his cup. Then he looked at Johnny. There was something dull about his eyes.
Gyro still said nothing, but he didn’t have to. Johnny drained the rest of his coffee and crawled over to Slow Dancer with his luggage. They both mounted their horses and continued heading east.
What the fuck is going on, Johnny wondered as they made their way through the snowy forest, the crunch of their horses’ hooves the only thing that interrupted the quiet. What the hell is he thinking?
He occasionally stole a glance at Gyro, but never caught him looking his way. He looked more focused than ever, shoulders hunched and eyes trained straight ahead.
Half an hour passed, then an hour. Not a single word was said. Johnny was beginning to get restless, shifting incessantly in his saddle. Slow Dancer snorted, sensing his discomfort. Gyro’s eyes flicked towards Johnny’s horse, but then immediately returned to his own path as if by force. Johnny felt like his ribs were cracking with the weight on his chest.
You should be grateful, a snide voice in him said. Thankful that he’s deciding not to say anything. Letting it slide. Giving you one more chance. You won’t get another.
If Johnny was sure of anything, it was that. He couldn’t slip up again. Couldn’t let any of that through. Never again. He had to wrap it up, tamp it down, smother and erase it. He’d done it to other feelings before. He’d done it with all the grief he’d ever felt in his life. He could do it with this. He would force himself—
“Hey, Johnny.”
Johnny’s head shot up, but to his dismay Gyro still wasn’t looking at him. He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”
“You mad at me?” Gyro asked, a little gruffly.
Johnny blinked. That was not what he was expecting to hear.
“N-No,” he managed to say. “No, I ain’t.”
Gyro gave a curt nod. “All right.”
Johnny sought out Gyro’s eyes, to no avail. “Are… are you mad?”
“No.”
“I thought you were.” It still kinda seems like you are.
Gyro didn’t say anything. Johnny’s fidgeting only worsened.
“I woke up and you were gone,” he said.
“Ah. Yeah. Sorry.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’d you leave?”
Gyro’s eye twitched. “I… don’t know.”
Johnny was pretty sure he did. “You don’t wanna be a queer, huh?”
“Don’t say that,” Gyro said sharply, hands balling into fists. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Ain’t that what it is?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
Gyro heaved a deep, heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Johnny.”
This answer was less than satisfying, but Johnny didn’t know what else to call it himself. All he knew were the ugly words, nothing fine or loving. He hadn’t thought he’d ever need a good word for it anyway. He never thought that it’d be… him. That he’d be— well.
Am I? He suddenly had no fucking clue. It was like he couldn’t identify with his past self anymore, not even the person he was at the end of September. The race had changed him. Meeting Gyro had changed him. He didn’t know what he was; all he knew was that he wasn’t the same.
The real question was: could he go back? Did he even want to go back…?
There was no way that Johnny was going to think about that right now, at the start of the day with plenty of race ahead. He hunkered down and patted Slow Dancer’s flank firmly to spur her into a run. Gyro followed suit.
---
They didn’t exchange many more words by sunset, when they reached a smaller town somewhere in Wisconsin. To Johnny’s surprise, Gyro slowed down as they entered the city limits.
“We should stop here,” he said. “We pushed ourselves and our horses through that blizzard. We need to be more careful.”
Johnny wasn’t about to argue. He still felt echoes of shivers from the cold they’d endured the night before, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. After all they’d been through, he wasn’t about to drop out of the race over pneumonia or something stupid like that.
In order to pay for room and board for the night, as well as a stable for the horses, Johnny withdrew the last of his meager cash supply from a nearby bank. His account, formerly replete with race earnings, had slowly starved over the past two years and was finally on its deathbed. To give them a little more wiggle room, they stopped in a local saloon and Gyro hustled a few games of pool using the Spin while Johnny lurked in a shadowy corner nearby, watching and avoiding being watched.
It wasn’t a hard or even particularly dishonest con— Gyro stuck out like a sore thumb as a European in a Midwestern bar. People wanted to play against him just to have the chance to talk to him, even if it meant losing ten or fifteen bucks in a ‘friendly bet’. A few of them even recognized him from the race. Johnny bet that for some of these folks, meeting Gyro would be the highlight of their week. Their year, maybe.
He himself had to admit that he liked to see Gyro smiling and chatting with people, even if he was mostly putting on a front. He just seemed to bring vibrancy and energy to the room with the way he smiled all golden and sauntered around the pool table, looking for the perfect angle.
Johnny watched out of the corner of his eye as Gyro lined up a shot: he planted his hand on the edge of the table and bent down to peer down the cue at his target. Johnny’s gaze traced the line of his body, taut but graceful like a bow ready to let loose its arrow.
Right before jabbing the cue, Gyro’s eyes flicked to Johnny. Their eyes met.
Johnny looked away. Gyro sunk the shot perfectly.
After collecting a tidy sum over the course of an hour, Gyro bid the other patrons adieu and returned to Johnny. As he turned his back on the people he’d just been entertaining, the light and cheery expression fell from his face. Even though they were inside, Johnny felt cold.
“We should have enough now,” Gyro said. “Let’s head back to that inn.”
They’d already shelled out a few dollars to have their horses stabled at an establishment a few doors down, to which they now returned with enough cash to finance a room for themselves. As always, Johnny let Gyro do the talking, instead opting to gaze out the frosty front window.
The snow-covered streets were emptying out as the sun disappeared. People retreated back to their fireplaces, dinner tables, warm beds. Johnny dug his nails into the armrests of his chair. It wasn’t so much the things that he was envious of, but the people that frequented them: families, friends, lovers. They were what he wanted, not those.
He knew because he had had it for a moment, in a tiny, frozen cave in Illinois. Despite the total lack of all material comforts, he had been happy.
For a moment. Now, even though he and Gyro were still traveling together, he had never felt more alone.
“Johnny,” Gyro said from behind him.
Johnny nodded numbly. He wheeled his rickety, on-loan wheelchair around and followed Gyro down the hall to their room. He felt like he was being dragged along by a chain, one too strong to break but too heavy to carry.
Was it even possible to leave Gyro at this point? After all they’d gone through together, how much it had shaped Johnny’s world, would anything make sense if they were separated? Johnny couldn’t go on like this— the silence, the avoidance, the weight slowly crushing him. But he couldn’t go on any other way either.
Gyro opened the door to their room and went inside. Johnny was about to follow him blindly, when something made him stop in his tracks. There was only one bed in the room, instead of the double they usually got.
“This isn’t our room,” he blurted out.
Gyro looked back at him, the lines on his face deepening as he frowned. “Yeah, it is.”
“But there’s only one bed.”
Gyro shrugged. “Cheaper that way.”
Johnny swallowed. “What’s the staff gonna think?”
Gyro turned away again, throwing his stuff on the ground. “They’re gonna think we’re fucking broke as shit and have no other choice. Because that’s the truth.”
Johnny swallowed again, but the lump in his throat was refusing to leave its residence. What was this supposed to mean? Did it mean anything? Did he want it to mean something? Why the hell couldn’t he stop himself from thinking these things?
He rolled slowly over to the far side of the bed and stopped there, pretending to be occupied by sorting through his luggage. While pawing idly through his few belongings, he listened to Gyro sigh and take off the most cumbersome elements of clothing, probably his cape and boots if Johnny had to guess. He heard the bed creak and the covers rustle, and then silence.
Johnny took off his hat, paused for a minute, then got rid of his boots. He didn’t dare undress any further. He climbed into bed with some difficulty, glueing himself to the far side and trying to cause as little disturbance as possible.
He hoped that he was exhausted enough to fall asleep quickly so the night would pass like the blink of an eye. He reached to turn off the single lamp—
“Hold on.”
Johnny froze mid-reach, unable to turn and look at the man speaking to him. His heart started pounding; he didn’t even know what Gyro wanted, but he was still terrified. Or thrilled.
“What?” he managed to squeak out.
“We need to talk.”
Johnny slowly retracted his hand, but he still couldn’t turn onto his other side. He couldn’t risk facing Gyro.
“Okay,” he said.
“I mean… really talk.”
“Okay.”
“About you and I.”
“Okay.”
“Johnny, for chrissake, look at me.”
Johnny cast the smallest glance over his shoulder. Gyro was propped up on his side, frowning. He’d taken his hat and jacket off, leaving just the long-sleeved insulated shirt that he wore under his clothes to protect against the cold.
For the first time that day, he looked Johnny straight in the eyes. It was almost too much to bear.
“We should be able to talk about this,” he said. “We’ve done way harder shit.”
Johnny disagreed. This was harder than any battle he could have imagined. No Stand power could make him burn up in invisible suffering like Gyro’s gaze could. No enemy was as invincible as his best friend and the things he made him feel.
At Johnny’s continued silence, Gyro sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Jesus,” he said. “This day has fucking sucked, hasn’t it?”
Johnny nodded. That, he completely agreed with.
“It doesn’t have to be like this. I mean, I don’t want it to be.”
Johnny nodded again. “Me neither,” he whispered.
“I…” Gyro faltered, looking down. “Damnit. I can’t pretend like nothing happened. I can’t say that I don’t… that you aren’t…”
He trailed off, at a genuine loss for words. Johnny turned onto his other side so that they were facing each other. Now, Gyro was the one who couldn’t stand to look Johnny in the face. But that didn’t stop Johnny from trying.
“You can’t say that you don’t… what?” he asked softly.
“That I don’t care about you,” Gyro said. “A lot.”
Johnny struggled to keep his breathing even. He didn’t know whether this electric feeling in him was fear or excitement. “How… how d’you mean?”
Gyro scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “You know.”
“You like me?”
“Why’re you asking me all the questions?” Gyro burst out. “You’re the one that I can’t get a read on! I can’t tell if you’re going to pack up and go off on your own or treat me like a stranger for the rest of the race or what! I don’t know if I’m misreading this, or if last night was a— a fluke, or—“
Johnny interrupted him by doing what he should’ve done that very morning— grabbing Gyro by the collar and kissing the breath out of him. He’d always been bad with words, anyway.
Gyro made a high-pitched sound that Johnny had never heard before and that he’d probably make fun of him for in any other situation. His hands stuttered on Johnny’s shoulders, then his arms wrapped around him, pulling them closer to one another.
Johnny opened his mouth, an invitation that Gyro quickly accepted. He made another sound that was new to Johnny’s ears, but much deeper and a thousand times more heady.
They only broke apart when neither could breathe anymore. Johnny gasped in a lungful of air and moved to continue, but Gyro stopped him.
“We need to talk,” he panted.
Johnny grimaced. He was afraid that if he thought about what they were doing for too long he’d lose the feeling of fireworks in every sensate part of his body, and subsequently lose his nerve. He didn’t want to let the fear in.
“I don’t wanna,” he said, voice hoarse. “I wanna kiss you and I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“But we have to,” Gyro said. “If we don’t, tomorrow morning will be just like today.”
“And tomorrow night will be just like now,” Johnny said. “Ain’t that enough?”
“No,” Gyro said firmly. “Not for me. Not with you.”
Johnny pressed his lips together, if only to keep them from trembling. That dreaded feeling was starting to seep in: a mixture of fear, shame, and things that Johnny wasn’t even ready to describe. He didn’t want to talk about what he and Gyro were, lest it meant acknowledging how he felt. Because if he felt something, it meant that this wasn’t just a random explosion of physical need. If he felt something, it became something.
“I’m not a queer,” he blurted out, a weak defense.
Gyro scowled. “I told you not to say that.”
“I’m just saying. I don’t do this with every guy I meet or nothing. I never done it before.”
“That’s not what I want to talk about.”
“We’re both men, aren’t we?”
“But it’s not about that,” Gyro said, sounding increasingly exasperated. “I couldn’t care less about that. I want to know if you actually give a fuck about me.”
Johnny was quiet for a moment. Then, he said:
“Wasn’t I clear last night? You’re the only thing I give a fuck about.”
If Johnny wasn’t mistaken, a blush rose to Gyro’s cheeks. He swallowed visibly.
“What about the race?” he asked. “The corpse?”
“I’m not gonna quit or nothing, as long as you don’t,” Johnny said. “But I’m not gonna lose you, either. Not for anything. You’re…”
Fuck— he was going to have to feel it, wasn’t he? He had no choice. Gyro was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish his sentence. Johnny averted his eyes as he continued.
“You’re the first good thing to happen to me in two years,” he said. “Probably longer, if I’m being honest. You’re the first real friend I ever had, aside from my brother. And you’re the first one to ever make me feel… the way I do right now.”
“Johnny,” Gyro said, with a tenderness that could’ve made Johnny sick with sweetness. “You—“
“Do you like me?” Johnny interrupted. “You didn’t say earlier.”
Gyro fixed him with an indescribable look, then nodded. “Yeah. I do. You’re—“
“Don’t say anything else, then,” Johnny said. “That’s all I wanna hear.”
He curled his fingers in Gyro’s shirt once more, urging him closer. He pressed his lips to his collarbone, a heated kiss on even hotter skin. He felt Gyro heave a shuddering sigh. Then, he surprised Johnny by laughing a little.
“And here I was thinking I was gonna have to use my charms on you,” he said. “You’re not even gonna let me get a single line out?”
Johnny nipped at his skin, causing him to jolt a little.
“No,” he said. “They’re probably bad, anyway.”
“Oh, they’re the worst,” Gyro said. “But that’s how I know you’d love ‘em.”
He pulled away so that he lock eyes with Johnny. Johnny allowed it— he was mesmerized by Gyro’s gaze anyway. Not just by his beautiful green eyes, but by the way that he saw: how he could pick out the Golden Rectangle from any environment, how he knew the fastest route instinctively, how he looked at Johnny like he was the only other person on Earth.
“Here’s one I’ve been dying to use,” Gyro said. “Can I kiss you, Johnny Joestar?”
Johnny blinked slowly. “Only if I can kiss you back.”
“That’s the way I’d prefer it, actually,” Gyro said, and closed the gap between them.
Johnny had never felt like this before, on multiple levels. For one, kissing a man was different from kissing a woman— not too different, but it was a little strange to run his fingers along his partner’s jaw and feel facial hair, or to press up chest-to-chest with another body and not feel breasts. But it didn’t bother him, he discovered. It was different, but still good.
On another level, he’d never felt about any of his previous partners the way that he felt about Gyro. He’d never been so ready, eager even, to devote himself to someone— and why shouldn’t he, after all they’d gone through together? He’d never trusted anyone like he trusted Gyro, not even himself. Their bond was forged in a baptism of fire, in flames that Johnny could feel on the back of his neck and in the pit of his stomach.
After some time spent kissing, Johnny allowed Gyro to push him onto his back and get on top of him. He felt so relaxed, like his bones had melted from the heat between them and left him completely pliant. That was also new to him: he’d never felt so at ease in a position like this, content to let someone else take the lead. It felt kind of nice, like he was being taken care of.
He ran his fingers through Gyro’s hair lazily as he let Gyro’s tongue explore his mouth. He had such long hair… that wasn’t so different from the women Johnny’d been with…
Gyro sighed softly before adjusting their position. His arms were getting tired, Johnny guessed, because he gently let his whole body press down against Johnny’s.
“This okay?” he asked between kisses. “I’m not crushing you?”
Johnny shook his head. He kind of liked the feeling, actually. “You’re good.”
“Mm-hm.” Gyro returned to his task, nibbling on Johnny’s swollen bottom lip. Johnny returned the gesture, wanting to see how he reacted.
He got a reaction, that was for sure. Gyro groaned and moved again— moved his whole body. Johnny realized that he was rolling his hips against Johnny’s thigh, where he couldn’t feel.
He looked down to see an obvious bulge in Gyro’s trousers. Now that was not like the women Johnny had been with.
Johnny swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Nervous thoughts started to trickle into his head. Was Gyro expecting them to, like, do something— something beside kissing, that was? Would he want Johnny to touch him? He didn’t know how, though, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be very good at it.
Or would he want to touch Johnny? But another quick glance told Johnny that, despite how good he felt, he hadn’t managed to get an erection himself. It was stupidly difficult since his injury. Was Gyro going to be disappointed by that? Insulted, even?
All the questions started to crowd out the pleasure. Johnny tried to push them away, but the more he fought it, the stronger they returned. His inexperience— his impotence— when Gyro realized all these things about him, would he change his mind? Would he see how pathetic Johnny truly was…?
Suddenly Gyro stopped, and for a heartbreaking moment Johnny thought that his prediction had come true. He bit the inside of his cheek hard as Gyro pulled back to look at him, dreading what he was going to say.
“You okay?” Gyro asked, panting a little. “You got all tense all of a sudden.”
Embarrassed, Johnny turned his face away. He tried to consciously relax himself, but he couldn’t recapture the feeling of suppleness from earlier. “It— It’s fine.”
“We can stop if you want,” Gyro said. “I know this is probably a lot.”
Johnny sighed, slinging his elbow across his face. Never in his life had he had to stop in the middle of a hookup due to something like this. But then again, a lot had changed since his last hookup. He hadn’t so much as gone on a date since he was shot. Now it felt like he was starting all over from square one.
“I don’t want it to be ‘a lot’,” he mumbled. “I don’t wanna make it a whole thing.”
“Hey, it's no fun for me if it’s no fun for you.”
Gyro rolled off of him and settled on the bed next to him. Johnny was surprised at how casual he was all of a sudden when only moments ago he’d been moaning and grinding on Johnny. He wasn’t annoyed at not being able to get off or anything. Johnny wasn’t sure he himself would be that generous in the same situation.
“You… wanna talk about it?” Gyro asked.
Johnny pursed his lips as he stared at the ceiling. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” Gyro insisted. “You worried about how this is gonna work?”
Johnny shrugged. “I mean… yeah.”
“What part?”
“Well— all of it!” He heaved a sigh. There was so much to worry about, after all. They still had the corpse to deal with, and the race. Suppose they managed to make it out alive— then what? Johnny didn’t come from a place where this sort of relationship was accepted, and he didn’t think Gyro did either.
With that thought came another, even more unwelcome: what would my father think if he knew about this? Knew that his once-proud, virile son was now letting another man kiss him? No, not just letting him— wanting his kisses, wanting his touch, wanting him? Johnny never pushed a thought down so fast in his goddamn life.
“Aren’t you worried about it at all?” he asked, searching for a way out of his mind. Talking with Gyro always seemed to help with that, however paradoxical it might be to talk about his problems with the source of said problems.
“Not really,” Gyro said. “We’ll figure it out.”
“You sound awful confident,” Johnny said, if only because he wished he could say the same for himself.
“Of course I’m confident,” Gyro said. He folded his arms behind his head and shot Johnny a signature grin. “It’s you and me. We always figure it out.”
Johnny felt like his heart might just up and quit at that. He thought (not for the first time) fuck my dad and scooted closer to Gyro to rest his head on his chest.
“This okay?” he asked quietly, almost as if he was asking himself.
He felt Gyro chuckle. “Whatever makes you happy, gattino.”
“What’d you just call me?” Johnny asked in an exaggerated drawl.
“Somethin’ real low-down and mean,” Gyro said. “I’d tell you but I don’t want to corrupt your poor virgin ears.”
Johnny snorted, putting his hand next to his face on Gyro’s chest. Gyro put his arm around Johnny’s shoulders and began to rub his thumb in circles on Johnny’s arm— or, rather, in spirals, if Johnny wasn’t mistaken.
Although the snow had started to fall again outside, all warmth had been restored by that touch. That, and by the sound of Gyro’s heartbeat right there under his cheek. That night, that strong and steady rhythm was his lullaby.
Notes:
starting now we're gonna EARN that M rating folks. but only after a lot of soul-searching and unlearning harmful thought processes so buckle up. if ya have any questions about where i'm coming from while writing this, feel free to ask!
Italian note: "gattino" means "kitten". ^w^
Chapter 7: no shade in the shadow of the cross
Summary:
The identity of the corpse is revealed, and Johnny struggles to make sense of it all.
Notes:
this takes place after chapter 59, "Gettysburg Dream", if anyone was following along!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
there’s blood on that blade,
fuck me, I’m falling apart.
my assassin, like casper the ghost
there’s no shade in the shadow of the cross.
"No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross" by Sufjan Stevens
Johnny opened his eyes. All there was before him was the empty plain of Gettysburg. The whole world, empty. The whole corpse… gone.
That corpse…
“Johnny!”
Freed from Civil War’s power, Gyro scrambled to Johnny’s side. His hands hovered over him, like he was afraid to touch him lest he crumble.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Your head— your neck—“
“I’m fine,” Johnny said.
“Jesus,” Gyro said, shaking his head. He got up suddenly and started kicking trash out of the way. “I can’t believe it! Valentine!”
He punched the air in explosive frustration. “Bastard! Fucking son of a bitch!”
He went on swearing in Italian, but Johnny couldn't even partake in his anger.
“Jesus,” he echoed. “Jesus Christ.”
He felt empty. That body… those hands… His mind was reeling, cast violently back into a pew in a Kentucky church.
He could see himself as a kid, seated between his mother and Nicholas, trying his best not to fidget as the pastor droned on and on about all the sins that they probably didn’t even know they were committing and how they would burn in Hell forever if they weren’t careful. He hadn’t thought about it in years, but he could remember it now like it was yesterday: at the very front of the church, right behind where the pastor was standing, there was a life-size figure of Jesus on the cross.
Someone had carved it out of wood, painted it, and hefted it up there for everyone to see— or, perhaps, so it could see everyone. Even though the craftsmanship was amateur at best, somehow the artist had managed to capture the most excruciating expression that Johnny had ever seen in his young life. For one, they hadn’t skimped on red paint to show the blood pouring from his hands, feet, and side. And while most other statues or illustrations showed Jesus with a serene, saintly expression as he died, this one had decided instead to portray him in agony, with tears rolling down his face.
It scared the absolute shit out of Johnny. It got under his skin in a way that nothing else had before. He wasn’t sheltered or anything, but he’d never seen a depiction of human suffering quite as effectual as that one. He could almost hear the man’s pained groans as he hung there, his breaths slowly becoming more labored until they stopped. During church service, he often had to look away to try and quell the instinctual fear that he felt in its presence.
But now, there was nothing he could do to stop that feeling. The corpse they’d run all over the country for were the remains of perhaps the most important man who ever lived— the man who had haunted him, his seemingly-eternal suffering emanating from the pulpit every Sunday. Why hadn’t he seen it? The holes in the hands and feet, the age of the corpse, the taciturn response from the Vatican— did everyone know? Did they all know except him?
He felt so, so stupid. This wasn’t the corpse of just any saint. It was the corpse of the saint.
And he’d just let it slip away.
“God damnit,” he whispered.
Hot Pants appeared from behind a pile of trash and approached them, still dressed in her all-white nun’s garb. If she was shaken at all by her experience with Civil War, she hid it well. Gyro furrowed his brows at her.
“You’re still here?” he asked. “Who are you, exactly?”
Hot Pants didn’t acknowledge him. Maybe she was still mad about the whole ‘fall off your horse’ thing.
“Are you hurt?” she asked Johnny.
“No,” Johnny said. “His Stand healed me or something. I feel fine, anyway, and he’s dead now, so…” He shrugged. “Hopefully it’ll stick.”
“Okay, I’m not gonna ask again,” Gyro said. “Who the fuck are you?”
Hot Pants rolled her eyes and took off her wimple, exposing her bright pink hair. She fixed Gyro with a withering gaze. Definitely still mad.
Gyro’s eyes widened. “Hey, you look like…”
“It’s Hot Pants, Gyro,” Johnny said flatly. “He’s a she.”
“What! What the fuck?” Gyro looked Hot Pants up and down. “Women aren’t allowed to race, are they?”
“For your information, they are, but I’m in disguise,” Hot Pants said. “Don’t bother trying to get me disqualified to up your own standing. I’ll be dropping out of the race any day now to pursue the corpse full time.”
“She’s a nun sent from your country,” Johnny said. “She’s basically here on behalf of the Pope.”
“What the…” Gyro shook his head. “Parla italiano?”
“Not with you,” Hot Pants said.
Gyro scoffed. “Rude."
He performed a gesture that Johnny had come to understand was something like flipping the bird. Again, Hot Pants ignored him.
“Does Valentine have all the parts now?” she asked Johnny.
“No,” Johnny said. “Diego Brando has the left eye, and the head hasn’t been found yet as far as I know.”
“So we’re down to zero,” she said. “Fantastic.”
“This wouldn’t have happened if not for you!” Gyro said, pointing at her angrily. “We followed you here, asshole! And don’t think I won’t beat the shit out of you just because you’re a woman!”
“Gyro,” Johnny warned.
“We all fell into the trap,” Hot Pants said.
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky we were here to save your ass,” Gyro said. “Stay out of our way from now on, or else!”
“Gyro!” Johnny snapped. “Go and get the horses ready.”
Gyro hesitated, but nodded. He glared at Hot Pants.
“Puttana,” he muttered.
“Vai al diavolo,” Hot Pants spat back.
Gyro opened his mouth to respond, but Johnny coughed loudly before he could and gave him a look that made his thoughts abundantly clear. Finally he stalked off, leaving Johnny with Hot Pants.
“Listen,” Johnny said. “I know Gyro can be a lot, but—“
“We need to team up,” Hot Pants said.
“Uh… yeah. That’s what I was going to say.”
“Valentine is more powerful than ever with the number of parts that he has,” Hot Pants said. "Nobody will get the corpse from him unless we work together. We can fight amongst ourselves after he’s been eliminated.”
“I know.”
“Tell that to your partner.”
Johnny almost choked, until he realized that she was referring to his and Gyro’s practical partnership, not their… other thing. “…Okay.”
“Okay,” Hot Pants said.
She took a step out of the doorway, but Johnny stopped her.
“Hold on,” he said. “The corpse… is it who I think it is?”
She looked at him, but her expression betrayed nothing.
“Who do you think it is?” she said.
“You know.” Johnny stretched out his arms in the unmistakable pose.
Hot Pants looked away, and Johnny knew he was right.
“What makes you think that?” she asked. To her credit, she kept her voice completely devoid of emotion.
“I… saw him,” Johnny said. “Just now, during the fight.”
That seemed to get her attention. She turned to Johnny and even knelt down to his eye level. Her eyes were gleaming, as if with tears.
“Did he speak to you?” she asked.
Johnny pulled back a little. He understood what she wanted to hear. He understood Hot Pants’ guilt, maybe more than she realized.
“Did he speak to you?” he asked.
“No… I thought I saw him, but when I spoke to him, he… didn’t reply.”
Johnny pressed his lips together. If she knew that he had spoken to Johnny and not to her, she could lose hope that she’d be forgiven. She might stop looking altogether. In other circumstances, that might be good, but right now she was right— they needed allies. They could fight amongst themselves once they got the corpse away from Valentine.
“Me neither,” he said.
A shutter seemed to close over Hot Pants' face again. She stood up, brushing her robes off.
“I understand,” she said. “When it’s complete…”
She trailed off, looking somewhat lost.
Johnny finished her sentence for her. “Nobody knows what will happen.”
She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Nobody knows… yet.”
She turned away once more. “Goodbye.”
With that, she hurried off around the corner of the church and disappeared. From the same direction came Gyro, leading the horses.
“Uffa,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction Hot Pants had gone. “Glad to be rid of that one.”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. He motioned for Slow Dancer to bow her head so he could get on. Gyro mounted Valkyrie in turn, and they set off once more.
With every step, it felt like a bottle of champagne was being shaken inside of Johnny, getting closer and closer to explosion. He clenched the reins to try and hold it back, but Gyro noticed his tension.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Did she say something to you? Threaten you? If she did, I swear—“
“No,” Johnny said. “It’s just…”
He thought again of the crucifix in the church, of the crying face, the dripping blood. He’d always tried to ward it off by saying it wasn’t real, it was just made of wood. But it was real. He had held the hands and feet that had been pierced, had bled…
Johnny had seen him. He was covered in scars.
“I saw him,” he said quietly.
“Saw who?” Gyro asked.
“The corpse,” Johnny said. “Who the corpse used to be, I mean. I know who it is, now.”
“…oh.”
“Yeah.”
They fell silent again for a little while, their horses’ hooves echoing through the night. Eventually, Gyro spoke again.
“What… was he like?”
“It was hard to get a good look,” Johnny said. “But I could feel him… standing behind me.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just imagine it?”
“No way,” Johnny said. “I swear, I could feel him. He had a physical presence… he was breathing, and everything…”
He faltered, and Slow Dancer came to a stop, stomping her feet in confusion. He felt like he might faint. Jesus Christ…
“Hey, Johnny!” Gyro managed to turn Valkyrie around and ride up beside him. “Hey. Look at me.”
“It was him, Gyro,” Johnny said. “Capital ‘H’ Him! It was Je—“
“Don’t say it!” Gyro said. “Someone might hear you.”
“I saw him!” Johnny said, not caring about the volume of his voice. “Gyro, he spoke to me!”
Gyro blanched. “He did?”
Johnny nodded furiously. “He said: ‘if your heart is wavering, Johnny Joestar, do not shoot’. He— he called me by name!”
Gyro looked around furtively, like an enemy might appear around any corner even though everything had already been taken from them.
“Come on,” he said. “I believe you, but we can’t talk about this here. We should get out of Gettysburg and make camp.”
Johnny could hardly hold in his nervous energy anymore. Oh fuck, that was Jesus. I saw Jesus Christ. I spoke to Jesus Christ. He wasn’t ready to learn this. Countless Sundays wasted in church and he wasn’t ready. He never could have prepared himself for something like this.
“Gyro, I’m freaking out—“ he started to say.
“Johnny, I love you, but you need to shut your mouth,” Gyro hissed.
Johnny paused, the entire business of the corpse suddenly forgotten at those flippant words. “You… what?”
“I—“ Gyro realized what he had said, and quickly looked away. “L-Let’s just get out of here. Now.”
He spurred Valkyrie on, and Slow Dancer automatically followed. The two of them rode out of the town of Gettysburg into the surrounding fields once more, the fields where troops had flattened the grass down under their marching feet barely ten years before Johnny was born.
The spirits of Axl Ro’s guilt still spun around in his brain, and he couldn’t help but imagine that every patch of uneven land under Slow Dancer’s hooves was another body laying in the dirt. How many ghosts did Gettysburg hold? Where was this “corpse” when they were dying?
Johnny pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He had to get himself together. The battle was over; the things he’d seen weren’t real. Like his father… and Nicholas… they weren’t real. Both of them were hundreds of miles away in Kentucky— his father in his old home, his brother in the ground.
With Axl Ro dead, those ghosts couldn’t hurt him anymore. Not physically, at least.
Gyro found a spot near the tree line that seemed safe enough; they dismounted and set up a small camp, working to make a campfire and pitch a tent in near total silence. Johnny knew that he ought to try and get as much sleep as possible, since it was already well into the night, but all he could do was hug his knees to his chest and stare into the fire.
Gyro sat down next to him and put his arm around his shoulder. Usually Johnny would tell him off for touching him like that where someone could see them, but right now he couldn’t care less. He leaned into Gyro’s chest, relishing in his warmth and the sound of his heart. Ever since the Mississippi, Gyro’s heartbeat had become a source of comfort to him, as a reminder that all he needed was right there.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say something earlier,” Gyro whispered to him after some time. “About the corpse. I didn’t think it was possible.”
“You knew?” Johnny thought back to all the times he had asked Gyro who he thought the corpse. He was always so evasive about it, insisting that it didn’t matter. Had he been trying to hide it from Johnny? Or had he been trying to protect him? “…Of course you knew.”
“I wasn’t certain,” Gyro said. “But… a holy corpse from 0 AD with wounds like that in the hands and feet? A saint whose name is too dangerous to put in a letter, who people will kill over? It made too much sense— but at the same time, it made no sense at all.”
He shook his head. “I still don’t fully understand, to be honest. For him to be here, in America? For there to even be a body left? It goes against everything I was taught growing up. The church probably isn’t happy with how much this contradicts their tradition. It’s heresy, but— it’s true.”
“What do you mean, it’s heresy?” Johnny asked. “You said that before.”
“He was supposed to have ascended to Heaven after the resurrection,” Gyro said. “That’s what the Bible says. If he stayed on earth long enough to come to America, it goes against all that doctrine. It calls the Bible itself into question.”
“Oh,” Johnny said. The pit in his stomach was only getting deeper.
Again, he was thinking of the Baptist congregation where Johnny’s parents forced him to attend service, where that haunting crucifix hung on the wall. He remembered all the lessons about how “the Bible is the Word of God”. That was drilled into his head so many times, the infallibility of the Bible.
And it didn’t even end there. The same idea bled into his daily life— it seemed like his parents had a verse memorized for every occasion, and whenever Johnny would try to argue something, they could shut him down with a quotation and a declaration that the Word of God was never wrong. How many times had his father yelled at him: Honor thy father and mother, boy!
Was that all up in the air, now? If the Bible was wrong— demonstrably wrong— about this, who was to say what else it could be wrong about?
“That’s… not good,” he said lamely.
“To say the least,” Gyro said. “Information like this… it could start a war. It could mean the end of the Catholic Church as it stands now.”
“Do you think people could die?”
“Don’t think about that,” Gyro said. “It’s out of our hands now.”
He pressed his lips to the top of Johnny’s head, and Johnny closed his eyes. He wanted to enjoy this moment, but all he could feel was dread.
Was it truly out of their hands? Or was this just another obstacle, a test they were supposed to endure? Was this their forty days in the desert, their ultimate temptation: to just give up? Was that was he would want them to do— to let someone like Valentine get a hold of his body? Or was this some way of coming around to what they were really meant to do…?
Johnny thought of the Mississippi river, how he felt when they were surrounded and near death. All around him hung the air of fate, something that was trying to catch up to him, something that had been chasing him ever since his brother died. He thought that it was trying to kill him, or snuff out the last of his hopes. But maybe it was more graceful than that.
“Hey,” he said softly, angling his head up to catch Gyro’s eye.
Gyro smiled slightly at him. “Yes?”
“In the Bible… he healed a paralytic, didn’t he?”
Gyro’s smile faded. “Johnny…”
“I remember a story like that,” Johnny went on. “There was a man who was lame, and he said, ‘Get up and walk,' and he did. Is that right?”
“Johnny, I don’t want you to think about that,” Gyro said. “You’ll just get your head in a bad place.”
“The parts aren’t all gone,” Johnny said, straightening up a little. “Diego has the eye, and the head could be anywhere—“
“Don’t,” Gyro said.
“Whenever I’m near the corpse parts, my legs move!” Johnny said, clutching Gyro’s jacket. “Even tonight! They twitched, and they’ve never done that before!”
“Stop, Johnny!” Gyro said, prying Johnny off of him. “Haven’t we gotten past that? Don’t you see? I thought—”
He sighed in frustration and looked away. Johnny touched Gyro’s cheek, tracing a line that ran between the patches of his beard. But Gyro just turned his head further, until Johnny couldn’t see his face.
“I thought you could be happy without the corpse,” Gyro said. “Isn’t that what you said after Sugar Mountain? We could be happy, as long as we were together.”
“Of course,” Johnny said, the lump in his throat growing. “But… it’s… it’s not just…”
He took a deep breath. Just tell him. You can tell Gyro anything.
“It’s not just about my legs,” he said. “It’s about everything in my past. It’s about my brother, and my father, and… and what I was put on this earth to do. What he wants me to do.”
“I don’t understand,” Gyro said.
Johnny sat up so that he could face Gyro. He stared at his hands, at his nails that had been imbued with some supernatural gift, maybe by God himself. All of a sudden, God had become important to him again.
His fingers were trembling. He made himself look back up at Gyro. His partner’s eyes were filled with apprehension. Johnny wanted nothing more than to convince him.
“Listen,” Johnny said. “I think, maybe… maybe this is my purpose.”
He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to get it all straight in his mind. “Maybe the reason that God took Nicholas instead of me… the reason that he took my legs… maybe it was all to get me here, to get me looking for the corpse. Maybe that’s why I went to San Diego, why I met you…”
“You are more than the corpse,” Gyro said fiercely. “You and I, we’re more than this race, or anything in it!”
“I could fix it, Gyro!” Johnny said, his voice escalating into a near yell. “I could fix the thing that’s been killing me my whole life! I could make Nicholas’ death mean something! I could fix myself!”
“No, you can’t!” Gyro shouted back. “You can’t fix yourself, Johnny!”
Hearing Gyro say those words tore through him. He balled his fists up and lunged towards Gyro, putting their faces close together, so close that he could feel Gyro’s quickened breathing.
“Why not?” he hissed. “Why can’t I?”
At that moment, he had forgotten his love for Gyro. He wanted an answer from him. He wanted to hear whatever shit he’d come up with, whatever excuse he had. He wanted to laugh at him, to berate him, to prove him wrong.
But then, Gyro spoke:
“Because you don’t need fixing,” he said, his voice quavering. “You’re not broken. You’re whole.”
With that, it all came rushing back: the real reason he had come this far; his hunger; his religion. The only saint that truly mattered was right here in front of him. Johnny fell down from whatever mysterious height he had been on since discovering the corpse’s identity. He fell right into Gyro’s arms again.
“Oh,” was all he could say, and the tears started to fall.
Gyro immediately wrapped him in an embrace, drawing him in close as he began to cry in earnest. So many times on this journey he had wanted to let this feeling out, but he never felt like he could. Tears were always forced out of him at the most inopportune times, never willingly. After all, there was always a battle to be won, another corpse part to be collected, another stage to run. There was no time to feel anything.
“Cuore mio,” Gyro said. “Mi dispiace…”
He held Johnny tightly, and Johnny could feel him starting to tremble too, his breathing taking on that sort of broken quickness that Johnny knew so well. He had never seen Gyro cry— he understood that Zeppeli men were supposed to be stoic. But he also understood that they had always, would always, break rules for one another.
For the first time in a long time, Johnny felt like it was okay to be in pain. He could let himself feel it, because he was safe. No matter how great the loss— the loss of his brother, of his family’s love, of his life as he had known it— he could tolerate it. Because no matter what, he had Gyro.
They stayed like that for a little while, clutching each other, until the tears ran dry. Johnny sighed, burying his face in Gyro’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Gyro said. “You’re going to get my hair all snotty.”
Johnny pretended to blow his nose in Gyro’s hair, which made Gyro laugh and playfully swat him away. His eyes were a little red around the edges, but still as bright as Johnny had ever seen them. He reached out and swiped a tear from Johnny’s cheek.
“Not fair,” he said. “You’re pretty even when you cry.”
“That’s perverted,” Johnny said, feeling his cheeks heat up.
“No, it’d be perverted if I said you were ‘sexy’ when you cried,” Gyro said. “Which you kinda are, but that’s not what I said.”
“Gyro!” Johnny smacked his leg. “Not out here."
“Ah, but it’s so dark and quiet,” Gyro purred, sliding closer. “I doubt anyone would see…”
Johnny’s breathing started to quicken again, this time in a good way. He looked around, but Gyro was right— there was nobody around for at least a mile, as far as he could see.
I t couldn’t hurt for him to get closer, he told himself. We’re completely alone. And he wanted it. He wanted Gyro to comfort him in whatever way possible. All he had to do was close his eyes…
But when Gyro’s face was only a few inches from his, he pulled away suddenly. Johnny’s eyes flew open again, half expecting some danger to have suddenly appeared, but Gyro was just grinning at him with his stupid gold teeth and stupid fake-coy eyes.
“Of course, I would never do anything improper without your explicit permission,” he said in a teasing lilt. He tried to flutter his lashes, but it just kind of looked like he was having a spasm.
“Gyro,” Johnny said with a roll of his eyes. “Stop making a fool of yourself and come back here.”
“Please, Johnny, I’m a gentleman,” Gyro insisted.
“As if!” Johnny said, folding his arms. “You Europeans are all perverts!”
“And you Americans are all prudes,” Gyro said with a lofty flourish of his hand. “If you want me to come over there and kiss you, you could at least say so, or—“
Johnny had had enough. He cut Gyro off by grabbing him by the collar and crashing their lips together. Gyro made a surprised but undeniably pleased sound.
A minute later, they had to break apart to catch their breaths. Gyro’s hat had fallen off, and Johnny wiped a bit of green lipstick from the corner of his mouth.
“How’s that for explicit permission?” Johnny asked between pants.
“I don’t know,” Gyro said, still grinning obnoxiously. “It could have always been more explicit, if you know what I mean! Nyohoho!”
Johnny rolled his eyes again— if Gyro said one more stupid thing, he swore the damn things would fall out of his head— and picked up where he left off without another word. Feeling brave and invigorated by Gyro’s touch, he carefully situated his legs on either side of Gyro’s lap. It took a little effort, but it was more than worth the soft gasp it elicited.
“Joh-nny,” Gyro said in a sing-song voice. “What are you planning?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Johnny rebutted.
He directed his next kiss to Gyro’s neck, right under the border of his silly beard. He pressed his lips there once, twice. Then, experimentally, he applied a little bit of pressure, sucking at the skin. Gyro shivered.
“Cazzo,” he muttered. “You’re a handful.”
Johnny nuzzled his neck. He never felt as exhilarated as he did when he was with Gyro in this way.
It hadn’t come easy, though. For a while after their first kiss, there were times when he could hardly stand to let Gyro touch him. He had to really work not to feel disgusted with himself. There was the whole “we’re both men” thing to get over, but in addition to that, it had been two years since anyone, male or female, had touched Johnny in a loving or amorous way. They had to chip away at those roadblocks, little by little.
But they’d made progress. Now, when he had his hands on Gyro, touching his chest or his waist or tangled in his hair, he finally felt more confidence than consternation. Johnny’s entire face and neck was flushed, but he wasn’t embarrassed. He felt like he could do anything.
“I like when you say stuff in Italian,” he murmured. “Everything you say sounds dirty.”
Gyro chuckled. “They call it a ‘Romance language’ for a reason.”
“You said that was because of the Romans…?” Johnny had been corrected more than once on that point.
“Yeah, but it still applies, doesn’t it?” Gyro slipped his fingers up under Johnny’s hat, stroking his hair. “Dammi un bacio, tesoro mio.”
Johnny squirmed a little. Something about the way the words flowed together in Gyro’s native accent made him dizzy. “What does that mean?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Gyro laughed. “It means ‘give me a kiss, my darling’.”
“That’s pretty tame,” Johnny said. “I thought you’d have a lot more perverted things to say.”
Gyro huffed. “I’m saving those.”
“Or you’re just sweet on me,” Johnny teased, letting his Kentucky drawl out a little more than usual. “And you wanna get all sappy without me knowin’ it.”
That made Gyro blush, and Johnny laughed, kissing his cheek.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I think I might be sweet on you, too.”
“I should hope so,” Gyro said. He looped his arms around Johnny’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”
Johnny affectionately ran his hand over Gyro’s hair. It kind of reminded him of a horse’s mane, but much softer. Only marginally better smelling, but what could you do. “Yeah, go ahead.”
“Have you ever been in love before?”
Johnny’s hand motions paused. Love? The word had fallen out of his vocabulary in the last two years. And to be in love, well— that was a realm he was totally unfamiliar with.
He’d had plenty of girlfriends in his racing days (sometimes more than one at the same time), but there wasn’t one among them who he could even remember clearly, let alone say he was in love with. Sometimes he’d say it to make them happy, but he never meant it. He was ashamed to admit it, but it was true.
Gyro cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said. “Too much?”
“Just… had to think for a second,” Johnny said. “But no, I don’t think I have. What about you?”
“No,” Gyro said. “Me neither.”
Neither of them spoke immediately after that. Are you in love now? Johnny wanted to ask.
But it didn’t feel like the right time, for some reason. He knew it was silly, but Johnny kind of wanted to declare his feelings to Gyro after they finished the race together. And then…
And then what? They couldn’t just be together, not like a man and a woman. They couldn’t get married, and they probably could never even tell anyone about their relationship. He didn’t even know if Gyro really wanted to stay ‘together’ after the race. The thought of it made Johnny’s heart ache, but it also made him want to savor this moment as much as he possibly could.
He pulled back slightly, putting a small gap between him and Gyro, and cleared his throat. “D-dam…”
Gyro cocked his head. “What’s that?”
“Hold on,” Johnny said. “Dam-me an… um… b-bachio?”
Gyro stared at him for a second, uncomprehending. Then, he began to laugh— just a little at first, but then exploding into an honest guffaw. He laughed so hard that he almost shook Johnny off of his lap. Johnny, meanwhile, turned a deep shade of red.
“Hey, don’t you laugh at me!” he said, punching Gyro’s shoulder. “I’m trying to be romantic and cultured and stuff!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gyro said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I’m not making fun of you, I swear, I just can’t believe how lucky I am. You, speaking Italian? I’m overjoyed!”
“Lucky?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah,” Gyro said. “To have met someone like you, I mean. You’re one-of-a-kind, Johnny Joestar.”
He leaned in a little, smiling mischievously. “You still want un bacio, bello?”
“I’m not entirely sure what you just said,” Johnny said. “But yes, I think so.”
“Certo,” Gyro said. “Qualsiasi cosa per te.”
Notes:
did you really think we were going to get all the way through this fic without referencing a sufjan stevens song?
translationsss (mighta gotten a little carried away sorry):
"Parla italiano?" Do you speak Italian?
"Puttana" means "bitch", and "vai al diavolo" means "go to hell". (there are a lot of different ways to say go to hell in Italian apparently, but I like this one because it has 'diavolo' in it. crossover)
"Cuore mio, mi dispiace." My heart, I'm sorry.
"Certo, qualsiasi cosa per te." Of course, anything for you.
Chapter 8: the coroner's gambit
Summary:
After defeating Valentine, there's only one thing left for Johnny to do.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
and I'm sorry I couldn't
Do you know how badly I wanted to?
Didn't want, didn't want, didn't want
didn't want, didn't want to lose you.
"The Coroner's Gambit" by The Mountain Goats
Johnny had never been in so much pain. It was like before that day he had never even known pain.
He’d been shot— a lot. He couldn’t even remember every place that he’d been shot. Blood was trickling down his face, filling his mouth with every breath. His hand had been severed. His body had been through too much to even register every wound. He was probably mere minutes away from going into shock.
It wasn’t that pain, though, that was unbearable.
That was nothing.
He screamed until he was hoarse. He screamed until he couldn’t breathe between sobs. It was directed at nothing, at no one, wordless, just screaming into the air as if he could expel the wrenching feeling out of his body that way.
But no matter what he did, the pain stayed in him, crushing his heart like a vise. He no longer felt human— he felt like a million wounds, tied together with a fragile string that was unraveling further and further by the second.
Although he was falling to pieces, he knew that he still had to save Lucy from her injuries. He grabbed Cream Starter and crawled, one-handed, to where Lucy and the corpse were laying. It had opened her back like a gory zipper; he couldn’t look as he sprayed her wounds closed.
Following that, he sprayed every wound that he could find on his own body. He’d have to go back and find his lost hand in order to reattach it, though. The tears never stopped running down his face.
All the while the corpse lay beside Lucy, finally complete. Completely useless. How long had Johnny dreamed of collecting all its parts? He had come all this way and paid the ultimate price for them. But now they just lay there, inanimate. Dead as they ever were.
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
He considered smashing in the dry, brittle skull with the butt of the spray canister. Or, better yet, ripping the thing into a million pieces and throwing them into the ocean. Scattering them in such a way that nobody would ever be able to reassemble them. He didn’t give a fuck who the corpse was anymore. Nobody would ever have to die for it again.
How could he have been so stupid? So selfish? He never should’ve started hunting for the damn thing. It had brought him closer with Gyro, but it had taken him away, too. It wasn’t worth it. Even the tingling in his legs, the feeling that he never thought he’d have again… it was nothing compared to what he’d lost.
I have the corpse, he thought. That’s it. I have the corpse and nothing else.
Next to him, Lucy stirred, coughing a little. Johnny did let himself breathe a sigh of relief at that. At least she had survived. If he had failed to save her, too, his “victory” would have truly been pyrrhic. He had no regrets about what he had done for her.
“Lucy, it’s me, Johnny,” he said. “Can you hear me?”
“Johnny?” Lucy’s eyes cracked open, and she reached out for him. He took her hand in his remaining one and squeezed it. She squeezed back feebly.
“Johnny…” She coughed again. “Is it over…?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. He gently helped her to sit up halfway. She was weak, but already stronger than she had been with the corpse inside her. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”
“Ah…” She was able to open her eyes now. For a moment, they were bright and clear, until they focused on his bloodied, stricken face. Tears began to well up. “You’re bleeding…”
“Not anymore,” Johnny said. “I healed us both with Hot Pants’ spray.”
“Oh, thank God,” Lucy said. She shut her eyes again, a tear rolling down her cheek. She touched it gingerly, like she couldn’t figure out exactly how it worked. “Thank you, Johnny, for everything…”
She hugged him, and Johnny sighed. He put his arms around her in turn, just glad to have someone here with him.
A goddess, he thought. He wasn’t sure he could agree with Valentine entirely, though. He thought Lucy was a goddess with the corpse inside her. She seemed much more holy to Johnny when she was just herself.
“Johnny,” she said, with her arms still around his neck. “Where is Gyro?”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It seemed that he had screamed as much for Gyro as he ever would.
“Johnny?” Lucy repeated.
He just shook his head and hugged her tighter.
--
When his teeth had finally stopped rattling from the Infinite Spin, Johnny was able to ask Steven Steel where he was taking him.
“I’m taking you where you need to be,” he said.
“The finish line?” Johnny asked. “I don’t care about the race anymore.”
“I know,” Steel said. “Listen to me, Johnny. You saved my wife, the most important person in my life, and there’s not much I can do to repay you.”
“Not much,” Johnny echoed.
“Not much,” Steel agreed. “But there’s something.”
--
The steps to the basement in Trinity Church were splattered in blood. Johnny gripped the wall, not trusting his shaky legs not to slip on the mess. At the bottom lay a body with no head, but Johnny knew the jockey’s uniform that it wore.
Diego is gone, too, he thought. Not that this was the Diego he’d known, but still. There would never be another Diego Brando in this universe. All of his thieving and hungering had gotten him here, to this end. Johnny stepped over the corpse.
“Johnny!” Lucy emerged from the shadows within the vault, grabbing onto Johnny. “You made it.”
“It’s all thanks to Steven,” Johnny said. He felt Lucy’s violent trembling. “What happened? Did Dio hurt you?”
Even if the bastard was already dead, if he’d hurt Lucy, Johnny would happily stomp on his dead body to make sure it stuck. He’d shoot the fucker with an infinite Spin and erase him from existence altogether—
“N-no,” Lucy said. “I stopped him…”
She buried her face in Johnny’s sweatshirt. “I brought his… other head, from the train tracks,” she said, her voice muffled. “When two things from different universes collide…”
She shuddered. Johnny patted her back.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”
She nodded, squeezing him just a little harder. Johnny couldn’t believe that she had done all that, at just fourteen. At fourteen, Johnny had just been riding horses and being a jackass, never imagining that any harm would ever come to him. She was already stronger than he was then. Maybe stronger than he was now, or would ever be.
He released Lucy from the hug and took her hands.
“Listen to me, Lucy,” he said. “From this day forward, I promise, nobody will ever come even close to hurting you ever again. If anyone so much as lays a finger on you, I swear—“
Lucy smiled a little at him. “I appreciate it, but I also think, after all of this… I think I can protect myself from now on. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Johnny released a short breath, bowing his head. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
He looked up just to wink at her. “Still. Just send a wire if you ever want me to beat the shit out of someone for you.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said, her smile widening.
“Steven is waiting for you upstairs,” Johnny said. “We should go meet him. He’ll be happy to hear you’re all right.”
He turned around, but Lucy didn’t move.
“Wait, Johnny,” she said. “The vault…”
She pointed, and Johnny turned. The vault was… still open. He could see the corpse’s feet. His stomach dropped through the floor.
“I... I thought Dio closed it,” he said.
“He didn’t get the chance,” Lucy said.
“Oh.”
The corpse was still laying there, unmoving. He didn’t know why he always was expecting it to move around or something. It seemed so powerless when it was just still like that. Its destructive capabilities were hidden, like a bear trap in the undergrowth.
The amount of blood that had been spilled for it, the lives that had been lost— the cost was immeasurable. Mountain Tim, Sandman, Wekapipo, Hot Pants, Diego… those were just the first ones that came to mind, not to mention Valentine and all his henchmen. Not to mention…
Johnny swallowed heavily. He couldn’t think about that, about him, right now. He’d fall apart if he did.
“You should be the one to close it,” Lucy said. “It’s like you said. You understand it.”
“Y-Yeah,” he said. “I… I can close it…”
Johnny approached it with leaden feet. All he had to do was turn the key on the door and it would seal shut for the rest of his life, burying the corpse deep in the earth where it belonged. He’d probably die before it could be opened again. It wouldn’t hurt anybody down there— just about everyone who knew about its existence was dead or at least an ocean away.
It would bring joy and prosperity to America for a thousand years. It was the key to stability and longevity. The key to miracles.
“I’ll close it,” he repeated, but his hands wouldn’t move. His heart ached, like a wound that never healed properly and never would.
Was this all? Was the body of Jesus Christ to become nothing but a bad memory to him? He had thought, perhaps, this was what he was supposed to do— his destiny. But it didn’t feel right. Johnny didn’t feel like he had accomplished anything.
He had come all the way across the continent, fought for his life more times than he could count, killed and nearly been killed himself, and what did he have to show for it? He could walk, but… for what? What were his legs for? What was it all for?
If your heart is wavering… do not shoot.
“Jesus wept,” he whispered.
“What?” Lucy said. “What did you say?”
“It’s the shortest verse in the Bible,” Johnny said, voice hollow. “My father once made me choose a verse to memorize as a punishment, so I chose the shortest one. Just to make him mad. It’s from the book of John— chapter 11, verse 35. ‘Jesus wept’.”
“Why…” Lucy hesitated. Johnny imagined she had a million questions and she was trying to pick the right one. “Why did he weep?”
“Because his friend had died,” Johnny said. “And he had been too late to stop it.”
A feeling came over him, one that he had felt before but never so strongly: determination.
He turned to Lucy. If he could have seen himself, he would have seen the dark fire burning in his eyes. Lucy saw it, and it made her cold. She, like Gyro, could sense what those twin blue flames meant: at that moment, Johnny was capable of anything.
“Where did Gyro’s body end up?” he asked in a flat affect.
“Steven put it… put him in a box, but he didn’t have time to move him anywhere,” Lucy whispered, beginning to shiver like the temperature had dropped thirty degrees. “He’ll stay on the shore until Steven gets the chance to go back.”
Johnny turned away again. He put his arm on the wall and leaned against it, breathing heavily like he had just finished running a 100 meter dash.
“Lucy,” he said. “You would do anything for Steven, right?”
Lucy inhaled deeply. “Yes.”
“You love him. Maybe not as a husband, but. You care about him.”
“Yes,” Lucy said. She took another deep breath, trying to stop her trembling.
“I loved Gyro,” Johnny said. “I still love him.”
I wanted to say that to him today, he thought. He wanted to say so much to Gyro, but that was the first thing.
“I know,” Lucy said.
“Not—“ Johnny’s voice faltered, and it took him a moment to formulate the words. “Not just as friends, Lucy. I love him. Do you understand what I mean?”
Lucy paused, and Johnny had to bite his tongue from saying anything more. He didn’t care what anyone thought about his relationship with Gyro. It was too late to care.
“Y-Yes,” Lucy said finally. “I understand.”
Johnny straightened up, his resolve coalescing within him into something as solid as iron. His heart was so hard that he was convinced that if someone stabbed at it with a knife, the blade would break before he did.
“Then you understand what I need to do,” he said.
Lucy looked from his flaming eyes to the vault, and her face went pale. She wrung her hands.
“Johnny, please,” she begged. “Please, it’s not worth it—“
“It’s the only thing that would make any of this worth it!” Johnny said, whirling around.
Lucy took a tentative step back; the fire in his gaze was stronger than it had ever been and it was scaring her. Seeing that fear, Johnny took a deep breath and tried to tone it down. It was hard, though. He had never felt so strongly about something before. He didn’t have control over this fire. Quite the opposite.
“I won’t be irresponsible with it,” he said, choosing his words with extreme care. “I’ll bring it right back when I’m done. I swear.”
“You say that now,” Lucy said. “But what if— if something else happens? Something awful? I-It can’t go on forever!”
“I won’t let it go on forever,” Johnny said. “I just need—“
He put his hand to his forehead. His skin was hot, like he was burning up with fever. “I need one more chance. Just one more. I swear…”
“Oh, Johnny!” Lucy did something that he wasn’t expecting— instead of running from him, she ran to him, grabbing his hands.
Her grip was strong now, her nails digging into his flesh. Her eyes sought his out, but he looked away.
“I just don’t want you to become like Valentine,” she said desperately. “Please, anything but that.”
Johnny jolted, as if struck. As much as his determination was burning in him, Lucy’s words cut him deep. This corpse... it didn’t belong in anyone’s possession. It was too powerful, and its power was maddening. Valentine had become the worst of himself, the worst of humanity, when driven by its promise. Could that happen to Johnny? If he did even half of the things that Valentine had, would he be able to live with himself?
But he didn’t want the corpse for himself. He didn’t want power, or prestige, or money. He had already had those things in the past, and they hadn’t made him happy. They had only led him to the darkest places of his life.
Johnny didn’t want to possess the corpse. Not at all. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life fighting for the thing that took Gyro from him. He had other plans for his future. He just needed one more miracle to make them happen.
Johnny made himself look at Lucy. Her eyes were wide and pleading, blue as robin’s eggs and shining bright even in the semi-dark crypt. It broke his heart that he was doing this to her. He wouldn’t hurt her for anything in the world. He had to give her a reason to believe that.
“I vow on my brother’s grave, I’ll bring it back,” he said. “You know Gyro wouldn’t let me break that sort of promise. He won’t let me become like Valentine.”
He had an idea. Something that might convince her. “Here.”
Johnny reached into his pocket and drew out Gyro’s last steel ball: the one he had left to save Johnny’s life, the same one that gave Slow Dancer the power to start Johnny’s infinite Spin. Turning Lucy’s palms upward, he pressed the ball into her hands.
“This is the last thing I have of Gyro’s,” he said. “It’s my promise to you. I’ll be back here— probably before the day is over. I’ll bring the corpse back, and I’ll lock it away forever. I promise.”
“Valentine…” Lucy hiccuped, then pushed the ball back towards him. “Valentine made promises, too.”
Johnny was speechless. He pocketed the ball again without another word.
I’m not Valentine, he told himself. I won’t let that happen.
“Johnny…” Lucy wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I know I can’t stop you, but… don’t let me down, okay? Don’t let Gyro down.”
She leaned in to touch her head to Johnny’s shoulder. He leaned his chin against her head, and it felt strangely familial. Briefly, he wondered if how he felt towards her was anything like the way Nicholas had felt towards him while he was alive.
“‘And now abideth faith, hope, and love, even these three, but the greatest of these is love,’” Lucy whispered. “That’s the only verse I know by heart. It’s the only one I’ve ever needed.”
Johnny didn’t know much about faith and hope. But she was right about love.
“Thank you,” he whispered back.
She left him, casting back one more meaningful look before making her way up the stairs. Johnny was left alone with the corpse.
Diego had left the cloth and rope that Johnny had used to wrap the corpse on the floor. Johnny gathered it up, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. There was no turning back after this. If anyone saw him, it was all over.
The slab that the corpse lay upon slid out of the vault with hardly a sound. Johnny laid the cloth over it, and then carefully rolled it up, making sure to cover every part. As far as he was aware, as long as he didn’t touch it directly, it would not absorb into him.
He bound it tightly with rope, trying to keep it looking as formless and inconspicuous as possible. Then, he gingerly lifted it from the slab.
It struck Johnny then that he was holding the body of Jesus Christ. It was still hard to believe, especially now that it was complete. It weighed less than everything he’d brought with him on the race, and it had shriveled to become much shorter than the average adult.
Over time, he’d almost stopped thinking of it as a body. It had become a package in nine parts. It was only back in Gettysburg, when he learned who it was, that he thought about what the body had been through in life for the first time. And now, as it sagged in his arms, no bigger than a child, he thought about it again.
Johnny didn’t think about what the Bible said, though. He thought about everything that came after that, everything unwritten— the lands that he traveled through, the sights he saw, the people he met. He hoped it had been a good journey. He hoped that when he died for the second and final time, it was peaceful.
He passed by the other Diego’s body once more on his way up the stairs, but didn’t spare him another thought. Instead of going out the door where he’d come in, Johnny slipped out a side exit into the cemetery. Looking at the rows of graves, he clutched the corpse tighter in his grip.
Johnny knew that Slow Dancer was tied up out front. On their way here, he and Steel had caught up to her and brought her along with them, and Steel assured him that she would remain there until Johnny came back from the vault. To get to her now, Johnny would have to go out onto Broadway, the road in front of Trinity Church, which was sure to be packed with people.
Taking a deep breath, he transferred the corpse onto his back and walked casually— as casually as possible for a former paraplegic— towards the street.
Although the race had ended about an hour ago now, people were still milling about, talking about this aspect and that, sharing news and predictions for the future. Johnny ignored them all, making sure the corpse was secured tightly on his back. He spotted Slow Dancer and made a beeline for her, trying not to make eye contact with anyone who crossed his path.
Just past where Slow Dancer was tied up, he saw Steel’s distinctive hair. He was looking around expectantly, waving off anybody who tried to come up to him for a word. He was undoubtedly looking for Johnny. Lucy was by his side.
Luckily, she spotted him before her husband did. Just as Steven was about to turn around, where he would’ve spotted Johnny, she tapped his shoulder and pointed to something in the opposite direction.
While he was distracted, she nodded to Johnny. Johnny nodded back.
He untied Slow Dancer as quickly as possible and hopped up on her back— and he had to admit, it felt good to mount a horse the normal way. Without a word, he steered her away from Trinity Church, taking the holy corpse with him.
Notes:
god i'm SO sorry for doing this to you, mea culpa. i promise this fic is tagged 'fix-it' for a reason though!
the verses cited are John 11:35 ('Jesus wept') and 1 Corinthians 13:13 ('...the greatest of these is love'). i always knew bible school would be good for something, turns out that thing is gay anime fanfiction
Chapter 9: demons
Summary:
Johnny takes a detour.
Notes:
thank you 1 million times to the people who made amazing fanart for this chapter! please check out prismatic-cannon and goldfishflowers on tumblr!
prismatic-cannon's work: https://prismatic-cannon.tumblr.com/post/613489889407893504/my-heart-wants-him-back-he-said-i-loved-him
goldfishflower's work: https://goldfishflowers.tumblr.com/post/614149961167388672/here-please-take-this-i-love-this-fanfiction-and
love you both so much <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You are the string in my bow
Biblical Mary to Joe
The north isn't true till it's leading me to you
You are the way that I know.
"Demons" by Dry the River
Lucy had told him that Gyro’s body would remain on the beach, and Johnny had no choice but to believe her. If Steven Steel left instructions for nobody to touch it, he just had to hope that his instructions were followed. He hoped that the corpse still brought good luck to whoever possessed it, because he needed it right now.
With his cargo, it was too dangerous to risk getting stranded on a ferry, so Johnny found the nearest bridge out of Manhattan towards Jersey. He kept Slow Dancer at a steady running pace; he felt bad for pushing her so much, but this would be the last “leg” of their race, so to speak. He stroked his horse’s neck as they ran.
“Well done, Dancer,” he murmured. “Just a little further.”
After this, he would make sure that the older horse retired in peace. Until then, they both had to push themselves one more time.
Johnny had one hand on the reins and one hand on the corpse the whole time. He wouldn’t let someone like Dio swoop in and take it when he wasn’t paying attention again. He wasn’t sure if the corpse’s “fortune” ability was active or not, but either way his path remained clear for the first time in a long time.
He rode until the sun started to set. Just as it was beginning to touch the ocean’s horizon, he found the fateful stretch of track where their final stand against Valentine had taken place. He could tell because of the large crater left by the infinite Spin— and the wooden box that sat next to it.
As soon as he was sure of what he was looking at, he slowed Slow Dancer to a walk, and then stopped. He transferred the corpse from his back to his arms and dismounted.
Johnny aimed a nail bullet at the box’s lid as he approached it. He shot and it knocked the lid off, ripping the nails out. He prepped another bullet, just in case, letting it revolve around his finger like a shark circling. Nothing in the world could come between him and his goal now— or so he thought.
Admittedly, he had envisioned this situation in a somewhat embellished fashion. He thought, he’d been through so much shit already, he would be able to do what he needed to do without a second thought. But as he approached Gyro’s makeshift coffin, he faltered.
“You can do this,” he said aloud, trying to give himself courage. “You can look at him.”
He took a few more steps, until he could see the body inside. His knees gave way, and he almost dropped the corpse.
“Fuck,” he swore, sweat beginning to drip down his face.
It was Gyro, all right— or what was left of him. It was his golden skin, his beautiful long hair, his distinctive beard... But his eyes were closed. He wasn't smiling, either.
Worst of all, he was so still— more still than he’d ever been while alive, even when he tried to be. Johnny had noticed that Gyro was always fidgeting. He could be steady when he needed to focus, but whenever it was just the two of them, riding normally or making camp somewhere, he was always active. Whether it was humming silly tunes, tapping his fingers or a foot, or spinning random objects… Gyro lived so much in the energy of the Spin that it was like it lived in him, too.
He was never still, even when sleeping. He was never meant to be still.
Johnny nearly forgot about the corpse in his grief. Looking at Gyro, he was clutching it so tightly to his chest that he was almost crushing it. Tears pricked at his eyes.
“Gyro,” he said, crawling closer with the corpse in tow. “Gyro, I brought the corpse, you can… you can open your eyes now…”
But Gyro wasn’t opening his eyes. Why isn’t he opening his eyes?
Johnny reached out with trembling fingers to touch his chest. It was cold and quiet. Just like it had been with Nicholas. He jerked his hand back, as if he had been burned.
“G-Gyro,” he said, and then his voice quit.
Johnny laid the corpse down next to him and waited for something to happen. Anything. Just being in the corpse’s proximity had healed his legs, right? There had been no magic words or special hand motions. Right now, Johnny couldn’t think of anything like that if he tried.
He checked Gyro’s chest again, just in case he’d been mistaken the first time, but the comforting pulse of his heart was gone. The beautiful rhythm that had accompanied them throughout their journey was silent.
Johnny’s breath was beginning to come in fast. He repositioned the corpse and tried again. He even held the bundle up, took Gyro’s limp hand, and laid it on the corpse. It felt like Gyro’s skin was getting colder by the second.
Nothing was working. He was starting to get frantic. This had to work. It just had to. He had no other options. Nowhere left to run.
“Please, Gyro,” he managed to say. “Please, we’ve come this far and I— I don’t want to go on without you. I can’t. I’m not… I’m not ready…”
A sob broke through him. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
He let go of the corpse, instead. It rolled out of his limp arms onto the sand. Johnny bent over the coffin and the beloved body inside. He wept.
“Gyro!” he called, broken by the silence that answered him.
Somewhere in the distance, dark clouds began to gather, releasing peals of thunder. Johnny could not hear it. His senses failed him. All he could feel was death.
Death had dominion— not just over Gyro, but over Johnny, too. Over his entire life. Over everyone and everything he had ever known and loved, everyone who had ever loved him. There was nothing left of Gyro and soon, there’d be nothing left of him either.
Johnny turned his attention upward, towards the darkening sky. “God! Jesus! Do something! Anything!”
He pounded a fist on the ground, scattering sand over the corpse. A shadow began to loom over the beach; the sea-brewed storm was making landfall.
“You told me!” Johnny shouted at the heavens. As if anyone was listening— they’d never listened before. But he was desperate, and angry, and shattered. “You said, ‘if your heart is wavering, don’t shoot!’ You said a ‘new path’ would be opened! You called me by name!”
He threw up his arms in exasperation. “I did that! I did everything you asked! I put your goddamned corpse back together! And my heart… my heart…”
Johnny let his arms fall, defeated. A deep exhaustion was beginning to seep into his bones, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Was this what Gyro had felt, when it all started to slip away…?
“My heart wants him back,” he said. “I loved him. For him, it never wavered.”
He hung his head, tears rolling. The sky rumbled and a light rain began to fall, but Johnny couldn’t even bring himself to care. Let them all be washed to sea for all he cared— he, Gyro, and the corpse. Let them all become corpses under the waves; let them come apart and be strewn across the world. Was that the only way he could be with Gyro again? As mere fragments?
Our shortest path was a detour. Those were Gyro’s last words to him on earth. What path was he to take now, alone as he was? What was left for him to do?
“Johnny Joestar.”
A crack appeared in the clouds for a split second; lightning struck the beach nearby. Johnny tried to cover his face but it was too late— the blast was blindingly bright and deafeningly loud. Sand flew in his face, and his senses reeled.
He thought for a moment that he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Who’s there?” he called out, wiping desperately at his blinded eyes. He summoned bullets on both his hands, but didn’t know where to shoot.
“Johnny Joestar.” The voice was behind him, but when he turned around, nobody was there. He shot three bullets in quick succession, but hit nothing.
Johnny frantically brushed the sand out of his eyes, searching for the source of the voice. Rain had begun to pour, and the sand dunes turned to waves of shadow under the black clouds overhead. It was impossible to see.
When the voice spoke again, it was still behind him somehow. “Do not be afraid.”
“I can’t see you!” Johnny said. His own voice sounded muffled by the wind, but whoever was speaking to him had a voice as clear as day. “Where—“
He turned again— and then he felt it. The same presence behind him, as it was in Gettysburg. The same body, his breath even and slow.
Johnny looked down through squinted eyes at where he had put the corpse. The strings had come undone and the cloth was unwrapped. There was nothing in its folds.
Panic began to mount in him. He looked around frantically, but there was no sign of the corpse anywhere. Where did it go? Did someone steal it again? It had been right there, literally right in front of him! How could it be gone?
What have I done? he asked himself.
“Do not be afraid,” the corpse repeated.
Now, Johnny could certainly feel the hand on his shoulder. It was as real as the rain, as real as the wind, as real as the tears on his face. He could feel the wide hole in its palm. He had found that hand in Arizona. Despite what the corpse said, he was terrified.
“I-I don’t know how not to be afraid,” he said. “I’m lost.”
“Take the path you know,” the corpse said.
“What does that mean?” Johnny cried out. “What path?”
He only knew one path, and it was the one that had brought him here. His road to hell, paved not with good intentions but utterly selfish ones. Why would the corpse tell him to take that path again?
“Take the path you know.”
The path— the route. Johnny’s gaze fell on Gyro again. Could it be…? Was he understanding correctly?
There was only one way to know. Johnny closed his eyes.
“Lord, I know that I’ve done wrong,” he said. “Hell, I’ve done more wrong than right in my life, and I’m sorry. But I have to ask you for one more thing. Just one more thing, and you can have… anything, in return. Anything you want…”
He turned his face upward; the rain felt cool on his face. It pooled on his lips and gathered on his eyelashes like dew. It ran down his cheeks like tears.
“Take it all,” Johnny said. “Take everything I own, take everything I’ve earned. Take… take my damn legs back, if you want!”
The voice came again. “Get up and walk.”
That was the last thing he wanted to hear. “No!” Johnny cried. “Don’t say that!”
“Get up and walk.”
“I don’t want to,” Johnny yelled in exasperation. “Don’t you understand? I don’t need that! I need him!”
He clasped his hands together and squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, curling in front of the coffin like it was an altar. He didn’t care if he looked like a fool, kneeling here in the sand and praying to nobody. He had only one care in the world.
“That’s all I want, Lord!” he shouted over the sound of the rain and the whistle of the wind. “Give me Gyro back! Give me Julius!”
The thunder roared once more, louder than ever before. It was like the clouds had gathered around Johnny’s head, sending their mournful keens straight into his skull. His teeth rattled; he was going to go deaf if it went on like this—
But then— silence.
The sky quieted. The rain stopped. The wind calmed. Johnny felt something shift around him, something like the air or an invisible body, but he was afraid to open his eyes. He was afraid of what he would see. He unclasped his hands, dug his fingers into his legs.
“Give me Julius,” he repeated. “Please, God.”
He heard something— a creak. Then, more impossible— a breath.
“What… did you just call me…?”
Johnny’s eyes flew open, and laid eyes on the most beautiful thing in the world: Julius Caesar Zeppeli himself, leaning halfway out of his coffin, looking absolutely pissed.
“Gyro!” he exclaimed. He lunged forward and nearly tackled Gyro out of the box, hugging him as tightly as he could.
“Hey, you didn’t answer me!” Gyro said, sounding a bit hoarse. He weakly pushed on Johnny’s shoulder in what was probably supposed to be an angry shove. “You fucker, you promised never to say anything about that name! What are you just throwin’ it around for? You want me to start telling people about your secret, huh?”
It is him, Johnny thought giddily. Only his Gyro would know that. “Shut up and kiss me, Julius Caesar!”
Before Gyro could scold him any further, Johnny kissed him right on the mouth, effectively shutting him up. He was ecstatic to feel his lips were warm. His heart was beating. He was alive.
“Thank you,” Johnny said when he pulled away. “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, thank you.”
“What the hell is going on?” Gyro said, looking around in utter confusion. “Where’s Valentine? Why are you all wet?”
Johnny ignored him for now, cupping Gyro’s face with both hands. “Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”
“No, not at all,” Gyro said. “Was I unconscious? I thought I heard someone else…”
Johnny cocked his head. “Someone else?”
“Yeah, they said—“ Gyro looked around at the empty beach, searching for enemies. When there was nobody else to be found, he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, did we win?”
“Yes!” Johnny pumped his fist in the air. “Yes, Gyro! We won!”
“Wh— Really?” Gyro peered over the edge of the box. “And— is that the corpse?”
Is it? Johnny thought that it had disappeared. But no, it was there, lying next to the box in its wrappings as before.
The cloth covering it was completely dry, though— in fact, Gyro was dry, too. The whole beach was dry except for Johnny, who was soaked. He had rainwater dripping down his back and off his hair. He couldn’t help but look at himself and laugh.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
“Well… great!” Gyro said. “Did it… you know. Can you…?”
He clambered out of the box and stood up, offering his hand to Johnny. Johnny swallowed thickly and took his hand.
He tried to push himself to stand— he really did. He thought maybe, just maybe, this was all a strange dream and Gyro had never really been dead in the first place. But he was only able to get to his knees, and that was giving it all he had. He touched the sole of his foot, and felt nothing. So it is true.
“N-no,” he said. “No, I can’t.”
He knew why. Take the path you know. There was only one such path: the way that he had come. Here, where all things converged, backwards was forwards-- or perhaps it was all circular. He wasn't sure.
All that Johnny knew was that he and Gyro had always tried to take the shortest route. And most of the time, the shortest route was also the most difficult one. The one that required the most sacrifice. The same was true of this path: he had to give up what he wanted in order to get what he needed.
“Johnny…” Gyro said, frowning. But Johnny just smiled.
“It’s okay,” he said. "If this is how it is... I'm okay with it."
“But you were able to stand in Philadelphia.” Gyro looked at the coffin, and then back to Johnny. “Hey... what’s with the box, anyway?”
Johnny could see him starting to piece things together in his mind. “Did— was I…?”
“Don’t say it,” Johnny said. He didn’t want Gyro to think about what could’ve been his fate. Hell, he didn’t want to think about it, and he wasn’t the one who had just died.
“Don’t tell me you…” Gyro knelt down next to him, putting both hands on Johnny’s shoulders. His voice suddenly became hoarse. “You didn’t use the corpse to— to exchange your legs and—“
Johnny looked down, unable to meet Gyro’s gaze.
“Johnny!” Gyro exclaimed. “We came all this way so that you could walk again! That was your goal, wasn’t it?”
He sounded indignant, but Johnny was too exhausted to be angry— too grateful, frankly. He had done what he set out to do, negotiated a price that he could live with.
“Not really,” he said with a shrug. “Remember what I said, Gyro? You’re my hunger.”
Gyro exhaled heavily. Then, he laughed a little.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, you know,” he said. “You get this look in your eyes when you’re determined to do something. Like you’d do anything. I guess it’s true.”
He hugged Johnny again, which Johnny gladly reciprocated. He was just about ready to never let him go again, actually.
“Thank you,” Gyro said. “Johnny, I mean it when I say there’s nobody like you in the world. Grazie. Thank you.”
Johnny was just happy to wrap his arms around Gyro and feel him breathe. He was happy to stroke his hair and relish in every small movement he made. For the rest of his life, he would love nothing more than that.
He was just about done being curious about the corpse. In fact, he was more than ready to put it back in the vault where it belonged and watch it descend into the ground, where it would remain until it was someone else’s problem. But he had one more question.
“You said someone talked to you,” Johnny said. “What did they say?”
Gyro scratched his chin. “It was strange,” he said. “They said ‘surge et ambula’.”
“Is that Italian?” Johnny asked. “What does it mean?”
“Latin, actually,” Gyro said. “It means, stand up and walk.”
Get up and walk. Johnny nodded, nearly wordless. That voice hadn’t been speaking to him after all.
“I see,” he finally choked out. “I’m glad…”
He let the sentence end unfinished, because really, he couldn’t choose just one thing to be glad for.
Johnny pulled out of the hug. Gyro watched in mild bemusement as Johnny put one hand on his own heart and the other over Gyro’s, then fixed him with a look of utmost importance. He had something he'd been wanting to say.
“Gyro,” Johnny said. “I love you.”
Gyro blinked in surprise. “You-- you mean that?"
“Look at me,” Johnny said. “What do you think?"
He knew what Gyro would see. Johnny was soaked to the bone by divine rain, exhausted after being awake for over twenty-four hours straight, and still more than a little bruised and battered from recent battles.
Physically, he was in pretty bad shape. But he knew when Gyro looked into his eyes, he'd see that the fire inside him had never burned brighter.
Gyro held his gaze for a minute. It felt like the longest time they'd ever just looked at each other. Eventually, Gyro swallowed visibly.
"You do, don't you?" he said.
Johnny nodded, slow and deliberate.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you since Gettysburg," he said. "I’m in love with you. I’m sure of it. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He let his hands drop, all at once feeling the weighty vulnerability of saying something and meaning it. “You... do you... love me?"
He looked down, embarrassed by his sudden inability to string words together. Gyro reached out to touch Johnny's chin with his fingertips, gently tilting his head up. Johnny could've sworn he was nearly blinded by the look on Gyro’s face: a golden smile, two beautiful bright eyes, and an unparalleled tenderness. It was everything that he'd ever wished for, hoped for, hungered for in his life.
Gyro was everything. He made Johnny feel like he could be something, too. With or without the corpse, with or without his legs, he could be something. Anything.
“Don’t be a fool, Johnny,” Gyro said. “Of course I love you. Of course.”
Johnny’s face broke into a grin. "Of course," he repeated.
He could be anything, but right now he'd settle for just one thing: loved.
Notes:
in my humble opinion, araki made two mistakes at the end of SBR: one, he took away Johnny's disability, and two, he killed Gyro. luckily god gave me both the power AND the nerve to fix it for him. you're welcome hirohiko. :3c
actual endnote: "surge et ambula" does indeed mean "get up and walk" in Latin-- in fact, it's a direct quote from the Vulgate, aka the 'official' Latin Bible of the Catholic Church. it can be found in the book of matthew, chapter 9 verse 5!
Chapter 10: trapdoor
Summary:
The corpse is finally where it should be. Johnny is, too.
Notes:
ETA:Fanart for this chapter was done by the lovely and inimitable MikaMurha! Thank you for the birthday present Mika, I adore it. <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
darling, don't abandon me
please just take a breath and you'll see
that not everything here is lost
and the profits will outweigh the cost
if the only thing that you want is love.
"Trapdoor" by the Dear Hunter
It was dark when they arrived at Trinity Church, but the two of them managed to sneak in the same side door Johnny had used to escape earlier. Gyro helped him down the stairs to the vault. It wasn’t an easy descent in his wheelchair, plus the fact they had to maneuver around the body that remained at the bottom of the stairs. Gyro grimaced at the sight of it.
“Oh God, is that Diego?” he asked. “What the hell happened to him?”
“Sort of,” Johnny said. “Lucy took care of him.”
“Lucy did that? Lucy Steel?”
“It’s a long story,” Johnny said. “Let’s just do this.”
“It’s all you,” Gyro said, releasing the handles of his chair.
Johnny put the corpse in his lap and wheeled over to the vault, which had remained open.
“Thank you,” Johnny said to it, although he knew words couldn’t fully express his gratitude. He decided to keep it simple. “Goodbye.”
He put it on the slab, pushed it into the elevator, and before he could even think to rethink his decision, turned the key. The vault’s mechanism began to churn, lowering the corpse out of sight, far into the earth below. The doors ground to a close, and it was done. Really, truly done.
“Do you think it’ll be safe?” Johnny asked. “I mean, Valentine thought it would be secure, but… you can never account for all the types of Stands out there.”
“Only a few people even know about this vault,” Gyro said. “As long as it stays a secret, I think it’ll be okay.”
He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “In eighty years or whatever, whoever runs this church is going to get one hell of a surprise.”
“About that, Gyro,” Johnny said, wheeling around. “You know that this has to stay here, right? Stay secret? I understand if you’re tempted to tell someone in Naples, but—“
“Let me stop you there,” Gyro said. “I’m washing my hands of this corpse business, here and now. I love my country, it’s the best country in the world and all that, but there’s no way I’m going to try and get that thing over thousands of miles of ocean. I’ve already been killed once.”
Johnny glared at him for that last comment, but then nodded. “Hopefully, everyone will just forget about this thing and it’ll stay locked down here forever.”
“Not likely, but at least we won’t have to worry about it for eighty years,” Gyro said. “By that time, I’ll be 104 and ready to die again!”
“You’re being very flippant about the dying thing,” Johnny said.
“I use humor to cope,” Gyro said with a shrug. “You should try it. You’ve got the cutest laugh.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “All right, Don Juan. Let’s go find somewhere we can send a message to Lucy.”
Johnny was thinking of what he would send to Lucy as they made their way back up the steps. When they reached the top, a shape darted out of the darkness towards them, face obscured by a cloak.
An enemy?! Johnny readied his nails while Gyro reached for a steel ball.
“Wait!” said a familiar, soft voice. “It’s just me.”
The cloak hood fell, revealing Lucy Steel herself. She was smiling, even though both Johnny and Gyro were pointing deadly weapons at her.
“Don’t do that, Lucy!” Johnny scolded, deactivating Tusk. “I could’ve shot you! Plus, it’s way too late for you to be out by yourself!”
“I knew you wouldn’t shoot me,” Lucy said. “And I brought protection.”
From behind her back she pulled out what Johnny could only describe as a big-ass knife. He and Gyro looked at one another in bewilderment.
“This is too much,” Gyro said.
“I’m sorry, I just had to make sure you kept your promise,” Lucy said, sheathing her knife again. “You said you would probably be back some time tonight, and I wanted to see it for myself.”
“We already put the corpse in the vault and locked it,” Johnny said. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I know,” Lucy said. “I watched you come in.”
“She could’ve easily slit our throats,” Gyro muttered. Johnny gave him a look.
“I told you I would keep my promise," he said to Lucy.
"I didn't doubt you, I just wanted to be sure." Lucy smiled as she looked at Gyro. “Your plan worked, then?”
But then, she looked at Johnny in his wheelchair, and her smile dropped. “Your legs…”
“It worked,” Johnny said firmly. “It worked perfectly.”
“You…” Lucy shifted her weight. “You’re happy, then?”
“Yes,” Johnny said.
Lucy's smile returned. She stole over to Johnny’s side to give him a quick hug. When she released him, she looked between him and Gyro meaningfully.
“Just so you know,” she whispered, “I— I think you ought to be together if you want to be! I really do! It’s not like it’s hurting anyone!”
Gyro’s eyes widened as he processed her words. He mouthed what the fuck did you tell her to Johnny. Dear God, he wished she hadn’t brought it up.
“Thank you,” Johnny said through gritted teeth. “Means the world.”
“You better not go saying anything, though,” Gyro growled. “Any. Thing.”
“I won’t!” Lucy said, crossing her fingers. “I swear!”
Johnny sighed, sensing that Gyro was still staring daggers at him. He supposed that if that secret had to be known by anyone, he probably wanted it to be Lucy. She was a good person, and she was trying. He’d make it up to Gyro later.
The odd trio— a recently-dead Neapolitan, a jockey in a wheelchair, and a fourteen year old girl—made their way out of the church to where Slow Dancer and Valkyrie (retrieved by Gyro from the near the beach) were tied up.
“Stephen went ahead and made arrangements for you at a hotel nearby,” Lucy said. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, he made arrangements for Johnny. But… one room won’t be a problem, will it?”
She blushed a little, raising her eyebrows at Johnny. Gyro slapped his palm on his face. Johnny took a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves.
“It’s fine, Lucy,” he said. “But we need to figure out what we’re going to tell your husband. He'll freak out if he sees Gyro walking around like nothing happened.”
“We can tell him the truth,” Lucy said confidently. “He’ll understand. All that matters is that the corpse is secure now.”
“If you trust him, I trust him,” Johnny said. “But, um. Leave out the… the one thing, okay? The, uh, part about… you know.”
As subtly as possible, he awkwardly pointed to Gyro and then to himself. Lucy nodded vigorously.
“He doesn’t need to know everything,” she said. “I mean, he doesn’t know that I’m out here right now, either. I sneaked out.”
Johnny snorted. “Let’s just get back before he notices. Lucy, you can—“
“Ride with me,” Gyro interrupted. “You can ride with me, Ms. Steel.”
Johnny gaped at him. Gyro just shrugged.
“I feel bad for how last time turned out,” he said. “Besides, I’ve got a new source of good luck in my life.”
He winked at Johnny. Lucy looked surprised but delighted at the same time.
“Really?” she said. “I’m honored.”
“Yep,” Gyro said. “Now get on up before I change my mind.”
He helped boost Lucy onto Valkyrie’s back. Johnny mounted Slow Dancer, and Gyro folded up his wheelchair before handing it to him to strap on behind him.
“Thanks,” Johnny said.
“Anything for you, caro,” Gyro said.
Johnny glared at him, to which Gyro chuckled.
“The only one here is Lucy,” he said. “And you already told her everything, apparently.”
“I had to convince her to let me go,” Johnny said. “Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m not difficult,” Gyro said, grinning wickedly. “In fact, when we get back to the room, I’ll show you how easy I can be.”
He hardly even bothered to lower his voice, and wiggled his eyebrows for good measure. Johnny saw Lucy’s eyes widen, and her hand flew up to her mouth. When she saw Johnny looking at her, she looked away and tried to play it off as a cough. Johnny flushed and leaned over slightly towards Gyro.
“If you keep saying shit like that, you can find your own room,” he hissed.
Gyro just laughed— he thought Johnny wouldn’t really kick him out apparently. He thought correctly, but he didn’t need to know that.
Gyro finally mounted Valkyrie, Lucy in tow. “All right, point me in the right direction, navigator Steel!” he said with a flourish of his cape. “We’re setting sail! Nyoho!”
Lucy giggled as they set off, and Johnny followed close behind. As annoyed and exhausted as he was, he couldn’t stay mad at Gyro for his comments. He actually quite liked the sight of Gyro making an effort to get along with Lucy, which he sensed was for his sake. Treating her well was the least that they could do after all that she’d done for them and all she’d been through as a result.
At the hotel, they passed their horses off (after Gyro intimidated the stable boys into promising to take excellent care of them) and Johnny reluctantly switched back to his wheelchair as they went inside. He’d gotten so used to riding everywhere in the wilderness, it really was an adjustment to switch back to navigating an urban environment.
“I hope Steel had the foresight to book a room on a lower floor,” he muttered.
“Don’t worry!” Lucy chirped. “This hotel is one of the most modern in New York! It has an elevator. You can get to any floor without going up a single step on a staircase!”
Gyro whistled, impressed. “You hear that, Johnny? New York is really something. We could have the penthouse if we wanted!”
“Sorry, but that’s where Steven and I are staying,” Lucy said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “You’re just below us, though.”
Gyro’s eyes popped, and even Johnny was taken aback.
“He’s paying for that?” he asked.
“Of course!” Lucy said. “I know you were disqualified from the race, but you’re still his distinguished guests.”
Gyro stopped in his tracks, his expression going from one of delight to one of distress. Lucy paused, while Johnny rolled back to him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Merda, the race,” Gyro said. “I completely forgot about the fucking race.”
He covered his face with his hands and groaned. Johnny sighed; he knew they would have to talk about it eventually, but he had hoped that he could break it to Gyro gently that the race was over. They had lost. The chance of an amnesty, for which Gyro had fought so hard, was gone.
“It’s okay,” Johnny said.
“No, it’s not,” Gyro said, still not removing his hands from his face. “That was my one job. My one responsibility. To win the race, and save Marco’s life.”
He threw his arms up, and then brought them down again in a frustrated jerk. His face was red, his lip curled into a snarl— Johnny had rarely seen him so angry. His fingers twitched by the holster for his steel balls, like he really, really wanted to throw one. Instead, he snatched his hat off his head and threw it onto the carpeted floor as hard as he could.
“Dio cane!” he shouted in Italian. Then, he followed up with English: “Fuck!”
Several people nearby turned to gawk at them, in shock at his open profanity. Johnny glared at them, but quickly turned his attention back to Gyro. He knew there was nothing that he could say that could make it better, so instead he reached up and touched Gyro’s elbow, trying to convey some inch of comfort through his touch. To his dismay, Gyro pulled away, shaking his head. He walked a short distance away, his hands on his hips and his head down.
Johnny tried to brush it off, but a lump was forming in his throat. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for this outcome. If he hadn’t gotten wrapped up in Johnny’s quest for the corpse, Gyro very well could have won the race. He certainly had the technique and riding ability, and later on he demonstrated that he could outrun even Diego. If not for Johnny, Gyro could have won the fifty million and the amnesty that he had put his life on hold for.
Johnny looked down at his legs. Neither of them had gotten what they started the race wanting. Was what they got instead enough? Johnny had made his peace, but what about Gyro? He pressed his lips together and leaned over to grab Gyro’s hat off the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy whispered to him.
“He had to win to save someone’s life back in his home country,” Johnny said, brushing off the hat. “It was the only way to grant him amnesty.”
“Is there something we can do?”
Johnny sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The two of them watched Gyro pace back and forth for a few minutes, muttering to himself in Neapolitan. Johnny couldn’t tell if he was still angry or if he was trying to formulate a new plan. Lucy put her hand on Johnny’s shoulder.
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “If anything… it was me that you came to rescue.”
“It’s not your fault either,” Johnny said. “It’s nobody’s fault. Nobody except the fucking king of Naples.” Fuck that guy. Fuck politics.
They waited a few more minutes until Gyro finally seemed to have calmed down a little and came back over to them. Johnny offered him his hat, which he accepted with a sigh.
“Thank you, caro,” he said softly.
He put it back on and directed his attention to Lucy.
“Who ended up winning?” he asked.
Lucy looked at Johnny uncertainly, like she wasn’t sure if she should tell him. Johnny nodded to give her the go-ahead.
“Diego finished first, but, um, wasn’t there to collect his prize, so he was disqualified,” she said. “The next highest points holder was Pocoloco.”
“The lucky bastard?” Gyro said. “That Stand of his must’ve been a hell of an asset. Somehow.”
Johnny had seen what appeared to be Pocoloco’s Stand a few times, hanging off its user’s back, but he’d…well, he’d never seen it actually do anything, come to think of it. He couldn’t be too angry about the results, though. None of the top placers (excluding Diego) had ever done anything particularly bad to him or Gyro. The second place prize winner, Norisuke Higashikata, was actually pretty nice, if not somewhat eccentric.
At least Diego was disqualified, Johnny thought. That was a small comfort.
“It’s over, in any case,” he said. Then, to change the subject, he asked: “Is Steven happy with the results?”
“Yes and no,” Lucy said. “I think he’s happy that it was so popular. But he’s upset that there were so many deaths. The last count was eighty-eight—“ she looked at Gyro and corrected herself— “eighty-seven people dead. And those were just racers, not even counting… you know.”
The three of them looked around surreptitiously. As far as Johnny knew, news of the president’s death had not yet become public knowledge. He wasn’t sure when it would be, since there was no body to be discovered and everyone who had witnessed Valentine’s demise would never say a word. They all understood that it needed to be done, and at the end Johnny was essentially acting in self-defense. There was no proof that he had assassinated the president of the United States.
I guess that makes me a terrorist, too, Johnny thought dryly. Surprisingly, that fact didn’t bother him much. He firmly believed that Valentine deserved what he got.
“It’s over,” he reiterated. “Let’s just go.”
Although he was usually vehement about rolling his own chair, at this point he was so exhausted that he just looked at Gyro, who nodded and wordlessly took the handles behind him. Lucy showed them where the elevators were, and handed Johnny a key.
“If you need anything, we’re on the top floor,” she said. “Just tell the security who you are, they have orders to let you speak to us whenever you want.”
“We really appreciate it, Lucy,” Johnny said. “Really.”
The elevator arrived and the doors opened, revealing a stony-faced attendant. Lucy stepped in right away, but both Gyro and Johnny were slightly skeptical of the device.
“It runs on electricity?” Johnny said. “What if it fails?”
“It has brakes, I’ve heard,” Lucy said.
Gyro looked like he was just about ready to take the stairs, but Johnny gave him a look that said if I have to get in this thing, you have to get in with me. He sighed and pushed Johnny into the elevator.
“Which floor, ma’am?” the attendant asked.
“Fourteen and fifteen,” Lucy said. Again, Johnny and Gyro looked at each other incredulously. Fifteen floors! New York really was quite the city.
Johnny fidgeted as the elevator ascended. He didn’t like the lack of easy exits. After months spent fighting for his life, it felt wrong to put himself in such a vulnerable position. Occasionally the elevator car would jerk or rumble ominously and Johnny had to sit on his hands to resist the urge to start shooting.
When they finally reached the fourteenth floor, he and Gyro exited, leaving Lucy to head to the next floor up. She waved at them enthusiastically.
“Have a nice night!” she said.
With that, the doors closed again and they were on their own. Johnny examined the tag on the key.
“1403,” he read out. “That’s gotta be us.”
“Got it,” Gyro said. “Let’s see how much Steel was willing to shell out for his ‘distinguished guests’.”
“Psh, if he really liked us, he wouldn’t have made us get in that death trap,” Johnny said.
“It is convenient, though,” Gyro said. “Even though it does makes one feel like a caged bird.”
“I’d rather take Slow Dancer up the stairs.”
“Ah, but how would you get her back down again, genius jockey?”
Their room was near the end of the hall. Johnny unlocked the door and they entered the dark room.
“I can’t see shit,” Johnny said. “You got a light?”
“This place has got to have lamps, right?” Gyro said. “Hold on.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I could really go for a campfire right now,” Johnny said as Gyro fumbled around blindly for the lighting fixtures. “No bullshit, just light a piece of wood on fire and let it do its thing. Bright, warm, simple. It’s perfect.”
“I second that, Johnny. Early humans had the right idea,” Gyro said. “Living off the land, riding horses, making fires, bathing in waterfalls— now that is how life is meant to be lived.”
Gyro finally found and managed to turn on a lamp. The room filled with a yellowish glow, at last illuminating their accommodations. Johnny’s mouth dropped open, and Gyro whistled.
“Thank you, Steven Steel,” he said.
The room was huge, at least compared to the shitty inns that they occasionally stayed at on the road. It had all kinds of needless furniture, like a wardrobe and table and some stuffed chairs, and there were paintings hanging on the walls. There were a bunch of fancy lamps, which Gyro set about turning on. Johnny, meanwhile, rolled over to the huge window, which took up almost the whole far wall and was covered by floor-length curtains. He peered out, amazed by the view of the city, which was ablaze with light and activity despite the late hour.
“Now this is what I’m looking forward to,” Gyro said, and Johnny heard a thump. Turning around, he saw that Gyro had thrown himself bodily onto the massive bed, which had four posts and even goddamn curtains. He could hardly believe that Steel had expected him to stay in this giant place all by himself.
“Hey, don’t get it gross,” Johnny said. “We’re back among humans. You can clean yourself properly now.”
“Oh shit, you’re right!” Gyro sat up. “Where’s the basin in this place?”
“Not sure.” He pushed himself back towards the entrance, where he spotted another door inside the room. “Hey, is this…?”
He pushed the door open. Sure enough, their room had its own bathroom attached: sink, toilet, bathtub, everything. It was everything that Johnny had dreamed of when they were on the road.
“Fuck, I take back everything I said before,” Johnny said. “I love civilization. God bless you, Steel.”
“What is it?” Gyro poked his head in over top of Johnny’s. “Oh shit! This is amazing!”
“I know,” Johnny said.
“The first bath is mine!” Gyro declared.
“What? No way!” Johnny tried to push Gyro’s head out of the way. “I saw it first, I get to use it first.”
“Sorry, Johnny, I already staked my claim,” Gyro said. He made a show of attempting to climb over Johnny, to which Johnny responded by punching him (lightly) in the stomach.
“You take forever to wash your hair, let me go first,” Johnny said.
“You’re going to use up all the hot water!”
“Well you’re going to get the basin all dirty, and I’ve got to sit in it!”
“Johnny, Johnny, please! Why must we fight?” Gyro raised his eyebrows suggestively, starting to grin. “Look at the size of that bathtub. We can share.”
Johnny’s face flushed and Gyro laughed.
“You fluster so easily,” he said. “What do you say?”
“I don’t know,” Johnny said. “If someone found out…”
“Who in the world would? Look.” Gyro made a point of locking the door and sliding the deadbolt into place. “Complete and total privacy.”
Johnny chewed his lip. The truth was, in their time spent together (and together, for that matter), he’d never really been totally… exposed in front of Gyro. Sure, they’d bathed in rivers and the like on their journey, but Johnny always spent as little time between the water and his clothes as possible. Even in the few moments of privacy that led to intimacy between them, they never got undressed. The nature of the race was such that they had to be ready to ride at any moment.
And, well, he was self-conscious. His body wasn’t what it had been in his jockey days. He had more scars, less muscle mass… Atrophy was a bitch. He was supposed to be in his physical prime, and yet sometimes he could hardly stand to look at himself naked, let alone let someone else look at him. Especially someone as physically beautiful as Gyro.
But it’s Gyro, he thought. Gyro, who had crossed the continent with him. Gyro, who called him bello, handsome, every chance he got. Gyro, who loved him.
“Something wrong?” Gyro asked.
“No,” Johnny said. “Just… thinking logistics.”
“No need to complicate it,” Gyro said, sliding between Johnny’s chair and the doorway so that he could point as he talked. “I’ll sit here, and you can sit in front of me. We’ll fit!”
He threw off his hat and started to take off his boots. Johnny took a deep breath and took off his own hat, then his hoodie, under which he had a short sleeved shirt. He focused on carefully folding each article of clothing.
All right, now the armbands, he thought. They were still a little bloody on the inside, especially on his left hand. It gave him pause to remember that just earlier today he had blood all over him. Just earlier today Gyro had been…
He looked up to find Gyro staring at him with an enigmatic expression. In contrast to Johnny, who was still mostly dressed, Gyro had gotten his jacket and top off already, leaving him naked from the waist up. His belt was halfway undone. He looked really good like that, but Johnny was too anxious to let himself stare. He averted his eyes quickly.
“What’re you lookin’ at me for?” he asked.
“You look nervous,” Gyro said. “Are you nervous?”
“W-What? No way!” Johnny scoffed. “Why would I be nervous?”
“Because I’ve never seen you naked,” Gyro said matter-of-factly. “And I don’t think you’ve seen me, either, unless you’ve been doing some spying.”
“No!” Johnny said, his voice way higher than he meant for it to be. He had to clear his throat before continuing. “I mean, it’s fine.”
How the fuck did he know exactly what I was thinking? Johnny wondered. Was he just that easy to read? Or maybe it was just that Gyro knew him, knew how he felt about himself and about their relationship.
“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable,” Gyro said, taking a step towards him.
“No, I want to,” Johnny said, but he kept his eyes down. “I’ve gotta get over myself eventually, right?”
“You’ve gotta take it at your own pace,” Gyro said. He took another step, and then crouched so they were at eye level. “Johnny? Will you look at me?”
Johnny did so. Gyro smiled at him, stroking his cheek with the back of his hand tenderly.
“You’re more beautiful than I can describe in English,” he said. “Or Italian, or Neapolitan, or any other language.”
“You’re just saying that,” Johnny said.
“No way,” Gyro said. “I swear on Jesus’ shriveled old body.”
Johnny laughed a little at that. He exhaled, and some of the tension went out of him. “I really do want to. Dunno why I’ve gotta be like this.”
“It’s fine,” Gyro said. “I’ll run the water and you do your thing.”
He kissed the top of Johnny’s head and went to do as he said, turning the faucet so that the bath started to fill with water. While his back was turned, Johnny took another deep breath and stripped off his shirt. He rolled a little closer to the bathtub so that he could transfer himself over a little easier, then quickly yanked down his pants and underwear over his legs. He managed to get the whole pants-boots mess out of the way before the bath was even halfway full. Then, without giving Gyro the chance to ask if he needed help, he locked the wheels on his chair and grabbed his legs to swing them over the lip of the tub. He pushed himself up so that he was hovering over the edge of the chair. Then, moving one hand at a time, he transferred his weight from the chair to the edges of the basin, sliding out of the chair. It was times like this that he thanked God for his upper body strength, as he was able to lower himself pretty steadily down from there into the water.
“Fuck, it’s hot,” Johnny said, as the water reached high enough on his body for him to feel.
Gyro seemed impressed by his minor feat of gymnastics. “You didn’t have to do that by yourself, you know.”
“I know, but I wanted to,” Johnny said. He stirred the water with his hands, watching the steam rise. Despite the initial shock of the temperature, he already felt less tense. When was the last time he’d had a hot bath?
“Here, go ahead and get started.” Gyro tossed him a bar of complimentary hotel soap, which Johnny gladly used to start scrubbing his arms. “How much more do you think I can fill it without overflowing?”
“Not much.” The water was already above his waist and it would only be displaced more by adding another person. “Get in and I’ll turn the water off when it gets too full.”
“As you wish,” Gyro said, standing up.
Johnny scooted forward as much as he could, pulling his legs towards his chest. Somewhere behind him, he heard Gyro move his chair out of the way and then shed the rest of his clothes. His belt buckle made a little clink when it hit the tiles, and Johnny’s heart started to beat hard. He resisted the urge to yank his head around to stare like a rubbernecker, instead focusing on removing the layer of grime that had come to coat his whole body.
There was a little splash, and Gyro sighed as he slid into the bath behind Johnny. He was seriously tall, so Johnny had to situate himself between his legs, which was something that he tried not to think too hard about. He busied himself with turning off the faucet when the water was high enough.
“Fuck, that feels good,” Gyro said. “Sorry about the temperature. I like it hot.”
“That so?” Johnny asked in a drawl, feeling a little braver now that they were situated.
“Nyohoho, Johnny, you dog,” Gyro said. “Hey, give me the soap. I’ll reach your back for you.”
Yes please, Johnny thought, handing him the bar. Gyro hummed as he splashed water on Johnny’s back and then began to rub soap on him. The combination of the pressure of his hands and the hot water felt so good after a hundred days of hard riding that Johnny had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning out loud. He leaned back slightly into the touch, to which Gyro increased the pressure slightly, kneading small circles into Johnny’s back.
“How’s it feel?” he asked in a slightly husky voice.
“’S good,” Johnny slurred, eyes sliding shut.
“You carry so much tension in your shoulders,” Gyro said. “I can feel it.”
“You a doctor or a masseuse?”
“I’ll have you know that steel balls are incredible at releasing tension, and that massage can be an integral component of physical therapy,” Gyro said in a mock-lecturing tone. He pressed the heel of his hand on tender spot near Johnny’s neck to work out a knot there, and Johnny’s mouth dropped open on its own accord. He almost didn't notice Gyro's hands lingering over a spot at the base of his neck.
“You have a tattoo?” Gyro asked.
Johnny opened his eyes. “Hm? No.”
“What’s this, then?” Gyro tapped his left shoulder.
“Oh, my birthmark?”
“That’s a birthmark? I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s like a perfect little star!”
“Yeah.” Johnny craned his head. It was hard to see on himself, but he’d seen it in the mirror before. “Sometimes I forget about it. It’s a Joestar thing. My brother had one just like it, same place and everything.”
“Stars for the Joestars,” Gyro murmured.
He traced its shape with a light finger, the familiar five points. Johnny closed his eyes again. He’d been born with that star, like his brother and father and grandfather before him. At one time, he’d thought it promised greatness. Later, he thought of it like a curse. Now, he wasn’t sure what it meant. All he knew was that it burned under Gyro’s touch, like it was falling out of the sky.
“You know what we call a birthmark in Italy?” Gyro asked.
“No, what?”
“Voglia. And do you know what that means?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“It means wish,” Gyro said. “The old wives say that if a woman gets a craving while pregnant and doesn’t fulfill it, her baby will have a voglia in the shape or color of the thing she craved.”
“What’d’you think that means for me, then?” Johnny said. “Hard to eat a star.”
Gyro chuckled. “Not sure. All I know is that you’re a wish come true.”
He pressed his lips to the mark, and Johnny couldn’t help but smile at how cheesy he was. He was thankful for the little lesson. If that’s what he wants it to mean, that’s fine with me.
“You’re such a smooth-talker,” he said. “When’re you gonna get back to that massage?”
“Whenever you tell me to, principe,” Gyro said. “I’ve just about finished with your shoulders. Do you mind if I…?”
His touch wandered a little lower down his back. Johnny sighed, knowing what was coming.
“Go ahead,” he said. “But there’s a point where I can’t feel much.”
“Understood,” Gyro said.
He began to work his way down, going slowly and thoroughly, and for a little while Johnny forgot about most everything except that touch. That was, until he touched the round, jagged circle of scar tissue on Johnny’s lower back.
Johnny tensed up automatically. Gyro pulled his hands away in an instant.
“I'm sorry," he said.
“Don't be,” Johnny said. "M' just not used to being touched there." But if anyone was allowed to do it, it was Gyro.
"Does it hurt at all?"
“No. Not anymore."
“But you can feel it?"
“Yeah, it just... it stops right beneath it,” Johnny said. “You can touch, uh, around there, if you want.”
“I just want to gauge how much sensation there is,” Gyro said.
“It varies from day to day,” Johnny said. “Go ahead. I’ll say when I can’t feel it anymore.”
Gyro started back at the top of Johnny’s spine, and began to slowly move his hand down. Johnny closed his eyes, feeling the calloused tips of Gyro's fingers gently brush their way down his back. He remembered having done this so many times himself when he had first become paralyzed: slowly testing himself, seeing where he could still feel somewhat and where numbness reigned. The more that he did it as the days went by, the more hopeless he felt as he became sure that he would never feel anything beyond a certain threshold. He tried to quell those feelings of helplessness now as Gyro’s hand reached that limit. The feeling started to become distant, and then…
Johnny opened his eyes. To his surprise, it… it didn’t fade out entirely. Not where it usually did. Gyro reached all the way down to his hips, and Johnny could feel when he took his hand away. Johnny’s eyes widened. Could it be…?
“You all right?” Gyro asked. “You didn’t say when.”
“Y-Yeah,” Johnny stammered. “Give me your hand.”
Gyro offered his hand, and Johnny grabbed it. He ran it down his side this time, observing the same sensation: where there had once been nothing, total numbness, there was something. It wasn’t so strong that he noticed it right away, but it was there, even when he closed his eyes.
He guided Gyro’s hand down the side of his thigh. Gyro cleared his throat.
“What, uh, what’re you up to?” he asked.
“Shh,” Johnny said, keeping his eyes closed.
He got all the way to a little above his mid-thigh before total numbness took over again. He released Gyro’s hand and poked it for himself. There was a slight tingle in the area that he had long written off as completely lost.
“Jesus,” Johnny said, opening his eyes.
“Is something wrong?"
“I mean, the corpse. I think the corpse gave me some feeling back.”
This was sort of how it had been before, come to think of it— like a moon slowly becoming full, he had described it. It wasn’t a switch on or off, but a gradual process. He wasn’t about to get his hopes up in a major way, but he couldn’t deny that he was glad.
“Really?” Gyro said. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “I haven’t been able to feel anything below my waist for two years. But now, I can feel something all the way to here.” He pointed to the spot on his thigh where the feeling now faded out completely. He’d gained at least another inch of sensation.
I guess God really is merciful, he thought. To an extent.
“Wow,” Gyro said. “So it’s an improvement?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “Definitely.”
“Well, that seems cause for celebration,” Gyro said. He snapped his fingers. “I know! Let me wash your hair. It’ll feel awesome.”
Johnny snorted. “Please do.”
Gyro helped him scoop water to rinse his hair, which he had to admit was in dire need of a wash. He usually kept it stuffed under his hat specifically to avoid this, but it had been way too long at this point. By the time that Johnny felt respectably clean, though, the water had turned an unpleasant shade of gray.
“Let it drain out and refill it,” Gyro advised. “It’s getting cold, anyway.”
“That’s a lot of water."
“So what? It’s not like we have to carry it from a well.”
He did have a point there. Johnny pulled the stopper out of the drain and let the used water drain away. As it did so, he and Gyro switched places; Gyro got out and Johnny scooted back to allow him to hop back in at the front. He definitely had to pull his knees up more than Johnny had, but they still fit. Gyro turned the faucet back on, and in no time bath was full of hot, fresh water again.
Johnny grabbed the bar of soap and started to wash Gyro’s back without a word. Although he didn’t know how to do the same sort of massage, Gyro still sighed happily at his touch. When Johnny was done with the soap, he passed it to Gyro so he could wash the rest of his body while Johnny worked on his long hair. He’d always wanted to brush out Gyro’s hair, so he took his time with it, rinsing it thoroughly more than once.
When they were just about done with all the cleaning, Gyro let himself slip down in the tub a little, leaning back against Johnny and closing his eyes. Feeling much less self-conscious, Johnny allowed himself to relish in the skin-to-skin contact of Gyro’s back against his chest, how warm and close he felt. How alive he was. He traced idle shapes on Gyro’s arms and chest. He was beautiful, muscular and deeply tanned, like a golden statue of some ancient idol. So beautiful that Johnny couldn’t believe he was holding him. He felt like he shouldn't be allowed. He didn't know what he did to deserve someone like Gyro. But for the rest of his life, he would never take him for granted.
Johnny let his fingers skate over the expanse of Gyro’s chest, feeling it rise and fall against his fingertips with each breath.
“There’s no marks,” he murmured, almost without meaning to.
“Hm?” Gyro opened one eye.
“Where Valentine shot you,” Johnny said. “It didn’t leave a mark.”
Gyro was quiet for a moment.
“No, I guess not," he said.
“Did it hurt?” Johnny whispered.
“Getting shot?”
“No… after that.” He still couldn’t bring himself to say what had happened.
Gyro tilted his head to look up at Johnny. His gaze stole Johnny’s breath. He lifted one hand out of the water and stroked his lover’s cheek.
“No, la mia vita,” he said softly. “It’s just like falling asleep.”
Johnny wasn’t sure he believed that. He put his hand over Gyro’s, holding it there for a moment longer.
“It hurt me,” he said.
“I know.”
“Don’t leave me like that again, Gyro.”
“I won’t,” Gyro said. He withdrew his hand so that he could form an X with both index fingers over his heart. “I swear it.”
“Okay.” Johnny kissed Gyro’s forehead.
“You don’t leave me either, okay, Johnny?”
“Never.”
They stayed there until the water got cold again.
Notes:
yeah so this fic definitely could've been over with the previous chapter but i just. love them. so have this!
italian notes: "dio cane" is a swear that basically means "god is a dog". "la mia vita" means "my life".
serious note: the next chapter in line is, like, mostly smut. i'm still debating internally on whether i want to release that into the world so the next update might be a little later than normal! we shall see.
Chapter 11: bedroom hymns
Notes:
OKAY SO here it is, the promised smut that you've all been waiting for. this scene ended up being SO LONG that I had to split it into TWO chapters. i'll post one tonight and one tomorrow. they're both just.... filth.... please don't tell my mom i wrote this
i want to make it clear that i am NOT a doctor and although i did a fair bit of research, i do not have first hand experience on what it's like to have sex after being paralyzed. every situation is different, so what works for one person might not work for another and what is true for someone might not be true for somebody else. with that said, i think that representations of disabled sexuality are important and i hope that i was able to do... something, idk. this is also my first time posting anything like this so it could just be hot trash, we'll see. enjoy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Cause this is his body
this is his love
Such selfish prayers
I can't get enough
"Bedroom Hymns" by Florence + the Machine
In the early hours of the morning, Johnny woke up. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help it. It was like his body suddenly demanded that he be alert, even though his brain vehemently disagreed.
Damn racing schedule, he thought. He’d gotten so used to only sleeping so long that his internal clock expected him to get up and start riding right at the first signs of dawn. But he had no such plans today. Or ever again, really.
He was lying on his right side and tried to roll onto his back, but there was no room— Gyro was pressed against his back like a wall, one arm slung over Johnny’s waist. He grumbled as Johnny fidgeted, trying to dislodge himself.
“Che fai…” He buried his face in Johnny’s hair, tightening his hold. “Smettila.”
“Can’t understand you,” Johnny muttered back.
“Impara italiano.”
“English, Gyro.”
“Stop,” Gyro said, switching to English finally. “Stop moving…”
“I’m trying to get comfortable,” Johnny said. “Let go of me.”
“Don’t wanna.”
“Don’t care,” Johnny said. “Off.”
He shoved Gyro’s arm, and got to work rearranging his legs. It took a lot of effort to even change what side he was laying on without lower mobility. As he shuffled around, Gyro yawned.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Dunno, go back to sleep.”
“Why’re you awake?”
“Habit, I guess. Body thinks it’s time to race.”
“Stupid body.”
Johnny chuckled as he finally managed to get comfortable on his left. Stupid body indeed.
He decided to just lay there for a little while and enjoy Gyro’s presence next to him. They rarely slept cuddled up during the race since the risk of someone seeing them in the morning was too high. Johnny figured he had a lot of lost time to make up for, and they might as well make it up while staying in a nice hotel room with a luxurious bed.
He did just that for a couple of minutes, just watching Gyro sleep. Or, he thought that Gyro was sleeping, until suddenly his eyes snapped open.
“Goddamnit,” he muttered. “Now I’m awake too.”
“Sorry,” Johnny said.
“You will be,” Gyro said.
Before Johnny could ask what he meant by that, Gyro surged forward to kiss him fiercely.
“Mm!” Johnny fell onto his back and Gyro climbed on top of him, straddling him while practically attacking him with kisses. He wanted to ask what the fuck he was doing, but his mouth was more than a little occupied.
Finally, Gyro pulled away long enough to explain himself, his eyes gleaming. His devilish look sent a thrill down Johnny’s spine.
“Since you’ve got so much energy all of a sudden, we had better put it to good use,” he said. “Better put the bed to good use, too, nyo—”
Johnny yanked him back down before he could finish his ridiculous laugh, smashing their lips together again. He’d been waiting way too long for the opportunity to kiss Gyro like this, with all the force and passion that he’d been holding back during the race. It had been on his mind last night after they finally got out of the bath, but there was one issue: Johnny had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours straight at that point and Gyro had recently come back from the dead. They were both too damn exhausted to do anything in bed except fall asleep.
But now, despite only having slept for maybe five or six hours, Johnny was wide awake. He definitely wasn’t fully recovered, but right now kissing Gyro was a form of healing that was more important than sleep. How could he have any regrets when he could feel the warmth and life in Gyro’s lips as they moved against his? For once it felt like they had enough time.
The kiss became deeper, more hungry. They’d made out a fair number of times but it had always been with reservations. But with the race over and the corpse shut away, now anything was possible. It was a prospect both exhilarating and terrifying; Johnny’s heart started to race, anticipation and apprehension becoming indistinguishable in the pit of his stomach. Johnny tightened his hold around Gyro’s neck like he might slip into some unfathomable depth if he didn’t.
He ran his tongue along Gyro’s teeth, which felt a little strange— not because he was wearing his grills, but because he wasn’t wearing them for once. (Johnny had made him take them out and soak them in water overnight, since they were probably disgusting.) He was so used to feeling those carved letters when they kissed that it struck him as strangely intimate to taste his real teeth. He wanted more of that intimacy; he wanted Gyro bare before him.
“Take off your shirt,” Johnny said between kisses.
Gyro nodded, grabbing the hem of his shirt and stripping it off in a fluid motion that barely separated him from Johnny. He threw it somewhere unknown in the semi-dark, then ran his fingers along the bottom of Johnny’s hoodie.
“Can I take yours off too?” he asked.
Johnny was almost too distracted by the sight of Gyro’s body to respond. God, he was fucking gorgeous. His shoulders and chest were so broad, wrapped in toned muscle. The way he moved was hypnotizing, even just the slight motion of his breathing. Johnny couldn’t help but think of how different they were: Gyro was large and dark and sort of hairy, whereas Johnny was lithe and pale and smooth-chested. He almost wanted to keep his shirt on for now, but then he thought of the bath they taken together the night before. He nodded.
Gyro smiled and helped him pull his hoodie over his head. Johnny resisted the urge to cross his arms as he felt Gyro’s eyes rake over his upper body. Then, Gyro ran his hands down over Johnny’s chest, as if just looking wasn’t good enough. Johnny was a little miffed that he hadn’t thought to touch Gyro in the same way at first, but then again he’d been a little overwhelmed. He now snaked his arms around Gyro’s shoulders to pull him back down into the kiss.
Gyro sighed and shifted slightly. Like many times before, he started to roll his hips, slowly grinding against Johnny. But unlike before Johnny could now feel it, even if only faintly. He could actually feel Gyro getting harder against him, and it was making his head spin. Not knowing what to do with this information, he flushed scarlet and turned his face away suddenly.
Gyro paused, blinking. “Something wrong?”
“No, nothing,” Johnny said, his voice kind of squeaky. “Dunno why I did that.”
He pushed himself up to kiss Gyro again, but Gyro pulled back.
“If you want to stop…” he started to say.
Johnny narrowed his eyes. He would’ve appreciated Gyro’s sensitivity if only it didn’t make him feel kind of foolish for how he reacted. As if he’d never done this before or something. Well, that wasn’t true. He was caught off guard, that was all.
“I’m not a virgin, y’know,” he said, a little snappy. “And I ain’t made of glass, neither, so you better not start treating me like it. If I wanna stop, I’ll say so.”
Gyro raised a brow. “All right, tough guy.”
Johnny detected mild amusement in his voice, which simply wouldn’t do. He wasn’t going to let Gyro have all the fun. On an impulse, he ran his hand up the back of Gyro’s neck and into his hair.
“I don’t want you to stop,” he said in a low voice. “So tell me… what the hell are you waiting for?”
With that, he tightened his fingers against Gyro’s scalp. To his genuine surprise, Gyro inhaled sharply at the sensation— Johnny might’ve thought he was in pain, had his hips not pressed insistently against his leg at the same time.
Johnny let go, staring at Gyro. Holy shit, is that why he keeps it so long? he wondered. Gyro stared right back, apparently in equal disbelief. Then, it was his turn to blush furiously.
“Um,” he said. “I—“
Johnny didn’t let him finish. He again closed his fist around a handful of Gyro’s long hair and pulled. Not hard enough to do any damage, but harder than the last time. Gyro’s eyes fluttered shut involuntarily and a deep, needy sound came from his throat. His reaction made Johnny feel stupidly brave, like he was drunk. He couldn’t help but press his buttons.
“You like that?” he asked. “You like to have your hair pulled, tough guy?”
“Shut up, it feels good,” Gyro muttered. He lowered his face to Johnny’s neck to start kissing him there— and also, Johnny suspected, to hide his blush. “Bet you wish I had a few bug bites somewhere.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. He did kind of wish that, now that Gyro mentioned it… but that was beside the point. “Don’t get cocky, Julius Caesar.”
Gyro growled and sucked hard on Johnny’s throat. “Don’t call me that, brat.”
“Make me stop,” Johnny heard himself saying in a sultry voice that he didn’t even know he was capable of. “M-Make me.”
“You know I can’t resist a good challenge,” Gyro said.”
He continued to kiss and nip at Johnny’s neck. Everywhere that his lips touched Johnny’s skin felt like a brand, hot and persistent even after he moved to a new spot. Gyro slowly worked his way up along Johnny’s jaw to his ear. As Johnny was starting to wonder where he was going with this, Gyro kissed his earlobe and then gently closed his teeth on it. It wasn’t hard, more teasing than painful, but for some reason it sent a pleasurable shiver over Johnny’s skin. He bit his lip but couldn’t fully suppress the whimper that he made.
Shit, that was such a weird sound, he thought. He couldn’t help it— that felt way better than it should. It was a little embarrassing, how worked up Johnny already was.
Gyro was nothing but delighted; this was his revenge on Johnny for pulling his hair earlier. He laughed wickedly at Johnny’s reaction and his subsequent wide-eyed bewilderment.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “I can’t wait to make you fall apart, Johnny.”
Johnny should’ve had a witty response to that, but he couldn't think about anything except how good Gyro sounded. His accent was thickened with lust, and the way it made Johnny’s name sound produced a strong twinge in his stomach. Johnny was beginning to forget his attempts at dominance in how badly he wanted Gyro to do just as he said— make him fall apart completely.
But there was one thing that was nagging at him: he didn’t know if he even could. Finish, that was. He hadn’t had an orgasm since he was shot. Most people assumed that he couldn’t have sex, and that was what he’d started to believe as well. He couldn’t even masturbate— he’d tried, but the experience proved too humiliating and unsatisfying to be of any real use. He had no way to relieve his sexual urges, which had diminished somewhat but never went away completely.
Maybe it’ll be different now, he thought. With some feeling back in his pelvic area, maybe he could finally do what he’d been craving for several years. The mere hope was intoxicating.
But that hope was dashed when he surreptitiously slipped a hand down to his crotch. Despite the increased sensation and everything, he still wasn’t hard. God fucking damnit. He should’ve known better than to even dream. No matter how much he loved Gyro, he was still useless in that department. A special kind of despair started to creep up in him, one generated by the harsh reality that he really was permanently broken.
Gyro was still kissing at Johnny’s collarbone, entirely focused on his task. Johnny wanted him to stay like that for as long as possible, with his eyes closed and his hands safely above Johnny’s waist. He dreaded the moment that Gyro had the same realization as him. The last thing that Johnny wanted was for Gyro to think that he didn’t love and desire him. He imagined the disappointment on his face and had to cover his eyes with his forearm. Do not cry, don’t you dare fucking cry you piece of shit—
But he couldn’t stop his breath from becoming shaky and fast, which was more than evident to the man above him. Johnny peered out from under his arm in shame and horror as Gyro stopped again and looked up at him with confused, concerned eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny blurted out. He couldn’t let Gyro say something first. “It— it’s not ‘cause I don’t like it.”
“What?” The concern in Gyro’s eyes only increased, which made Johnny wince. He pushed himself up off of Johnny. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I can’t…”
He couldn’t finish that sentence. He gestured vaguely downwards. His face was burning with humiliation as Gyro looked down; he retreated behind his forearm again as he waited for the damage to be done.
“M’ sorry,” he repeated in a mumble. “I can still get you off if you want, I just—“
“Why are you apologizing?” Gyro asked.
Johnny peered out from under his arm. He wasn’t sure what to say. “I… I just thought… it might be different this time…”
He sighed, dropping both arms to his sides to pick nervously at the sheets. “I dunno. You always say that you don’t enjoy it if I don’t enjoy it. But I want you to enjoy it, even if I… can’t.”
“Who says you can’t?” Gyro asked plainly.
Johnny frowned. Was this a trick question? “Um… my body?”
“As far as I can tell, you were doing just fine enjoying it until you started thinking that you can’t,” Gyro said. “I know you’re not that good of an actor to have been faking this whole time.”
“I wasn’t faking,” Johnny said. “I was enjoying it, but… I mean, what’s the point?”
“The point?”
“If I can’t come, why bother?”
“Because it feels good,” Gyro said. “Because we survived long enough to do it.”
He shook his head. To Johnny’s surprise, he started to smile a little.
“You worry too much, caro,” he said. “This might not be your first time, but you’ve got a lot to learn.” He winked. “I’m lucky I get to be the one to teach you, aren’t I? Nyohoho.”
“Don’t do that laugh right now,” Johnny said flatly. “I don’t understand. Can you just get to the point?”
“The point, the point! It’s all about the point with you.” Gyro tsked like Johnny was being silly or something. “Sex doesn’t have to just be about orgasm, you know.”
Johnny frowned. “Don’t get all sappy on me now.”
“I’m not being sappy, it’s the truth,” Gyro said. He poked Johnny’s cheek with his pointer finger, a decidedly unsexy move. Johnny swatted him away with a scowl as he went on. “Sex is psychological as well as physical. In fact, it’s more psychological than physical, if you ask me.”
“And you’re the expert, huh?”
“I am a doctor. Which is how I also know that there's a good chance you can still come.”
Now that got Johnny’s interest. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “What… what d’you mean?”
Gyro raised a finger knowingly. “The nervous system is extremely complex and adaptable. When some connections are damaged, others are established, often in unexpected ways. For example—“
“Okay, Dr. Zeppeli, I get it,” Johnny said, holding up a hand. “What does that mean for me?”
He realized how selfish that made him sound, but he was tired and horny and really did want to get to ‘the point’. Gyro just chuckled a little.
“It means that there are areas above your waist that are much more sensitive than they were before, and by touching there, you might be able to achieve orgasm,” he said. “Like— you seemed to really respond to having your ear stimulated. Did that feel good?”
Johnny coughed. Why did he have to use doctor words like stimulated? “Uh, yeah. It did.”
“Why don’t I do that again, then?” Gyro’s voice melted from clinical to sexy again in mere seconds. “How about you just let me take care of you, hm? We’ll figure it out together…”
He suddenly grabbed Johnny’s hips. Johnny gasped as Gyro hefted him up while simultaneously rolling onto his back. It wasn’t a perfect maneuver, but it basically made them switch positions. Gyro scooted back so he could sit up against the headboard, then pulled Johnny close again so he was seated on Gyro’s lap. The quick change made Johnny dizzy.
“Y-You could’ve just asked!” he spluttered.
“Yeah, but it’s more fun this way,” Gyro said. “Can I take your pants off?”
Johnny shifted his weight. “Why…?”
“Because I want all of you,” Gyro said simply.
Hearing that did something funny to Johnny’s heart. He nodded once and let Gyro lift him up so he could shimmy his pants off his hips. It was weird to feel the fabric drag over his thighs, however distantly. He imagined the cool air hitting his skin and shivered a little. Gyro helped him pull his leggings the rest of the way off and Johnny tried his hardest not to think of how exposed and vulnerable he was.
Gyro ran his hands up and down Johnny’s thighs, working his way around from front to back. His skin seemed to tingle everywhere that Gyro touched. Johnny exhaled shakily and looped his arms around Gyro’s neck.
“You feel that?” Gyro asked.
“A little,” Johnny said.
Gyro nodded, moving his hands up to the small of Johnny’s back, just below his scar. He leaned in and kissed the junction of Johnny’s neck and shoulder. Feeling like he should be reciprocating somehow, Johnny reached for Gyro’s waistband, but he stopped him.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “This is about you right now.”
“But I wanna touch you too.”
“Later, I promise.”
“Gyro…” Johnny squirmed in apprehension. “What… what’re you gonna do to me?”
“Did you forget what I told you?” Gyro asked. He nuzzled Johnny’s neck in a way that made Johnny clutch him tighter. “You’re not broken. You never have been. I’m going to remind you of that in the best way I know how.”
He lightly kissed Johnny’s birthmark. “By loving you.”
“O-Oh…” Johnny blinked a few times, and then let out a weak laugh. “You… you really are a sap, aren’t you?”
Gyro laughed against his skin. “For you, I’ll be anything.”
He began to mouth hotly against Johnny’s throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin below his jaw. Johnny’s breath hitched, feeling a shift deep in his bones as Gyro started to stoke the fire in him anew. He wanted so badly to believe Gyro and all the things he said… he might just have to let him convince him.
Gyro hummed a little, creating a pleasant vibration. Johnny sighed and tilted his head back and to the side, allowing better access. Gyro was right— he was more sensitive here than before, now that he thought about it. He was surprised at how quickly he became breathless from just this. He was also surprised when Gyro began to speak to him.
“How does it feel when I kiss you here?” he asked.
He did so, pursing his lips slow and languid against one of the marks he’d left earlier. Johnny sunk his fingers into Gyro’s shoulders. How could he expect him to describe a feeling like that?
“Good,” he managed to say. “It tickles a little.”
“Your skin is so soft,” Gyro said. “You think there’ll be bruises?”
Johnny’s breath hitched at the thought. “M-Maybe.”
“I think I’d like that, come to think of it,” Gyro purred. “I’d like you to remember what I’m doing to you, how it made you feel. Would you like that, too?”
He sucked particularly hard at the spot right under Johnny’s jaw where he could feel his pulse throbbing. Fuck, yes, I would, he thought. But there were risks, weren’t there?
“People might see,” he complained.
Gyro chuckled darkly. “They’ll be jealous, I bet. Jealous that I get to touch you everywhere, anywhere I want. That I get to hear your pretty moans. I, and I alone. Is that right, amore mio?”
Oh, fuck. Johnny couldn’t help but press up against Gyro harder as he spoke. He wasn’t used to being dirty talked— he used to always be the one doing the talking— but wow, he really liked it. Gyro’s smooth, deep voice struck him right to the core. And the things he was saying— Johnny never thought that he’d like the sound of them so much. But then again, they were true, weren’t they? Nobody else made Johnny feel like this. It was all Gyro, only Gyro. There was nobody else that Johnny wanted to do this with.
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “J-Just you.”
Gyro groaned a little and shifted under him. Johnny could feel his erection straining against his pants. He wished that Gyro would let him touch him. He might just have to make it too difficult to hold back.
“You’re mine, too, aren’t you?” he asked, running his fingers teasingly through Gyro’s hair.
“Mm… yes, tesoro, of course.”
The Italian endearment coaxed a whine from Johnny’s throat. That was too sexy for Johnny to not understand what it meant. “What'd you say? T-Tezzoro...?"
He couldn’t even come close to replicating the delicious way that the letters flew from Gyro’s lips like sparks. Gyro just smiled at his attempt, but didn’t translate it for him.
“I forgot how much you like it when I speak Italian to you,” he said instead. He moved up to Johnny’s ear, testing its sensitivity with his tongue. Johnny could hear his every labored breath before he spoke in a husky whisper: “Ti voglio più di ogni altra cosa.”
He punctuated his sentence with a nibble to Johnny’s earlobe. Just like before, the feeling made a moan break out from between Johnny’s bitten lips. It felt even better combined with the sweet sounds of Gyro’s native language. Johnny twisted this way and that, his entire upper body reacting. Damnit, if only he could move his hips a little easier— he wanted nothing more than to grind down against Gyro.
“Shit,” he said. “You sound so good, you have no idea.”
“What do you think I said?” Gyro asked in a teasing lilt.
“I have no fucking clue.”
“It could’ve been anything,” Gyro said. “It could’ve been totally mundane, and it would still drive you crazy. Are you that desperate, my love? How long have you been waiting for me to do this to you?”
“Forever,” Johnny said. Scenes flashed through his mind— every moment during the race when he’d wanted nothing more than this. “My whole damn life.”
“How bad do you want it?” Gyro asked. He switched sides, beginning to kiss and bite around Johnny’s other ear, whispering to him all the while. “How bad do you need it?”
The way that he was talking to him, like he was goading him on— Johnny couldn’t believe it, but it was working. Johnny hadn’t felt this way in a long time. It was like his body was full of electricity and Gyro was a lightning rod.
Can I actually come like this? Johnny wondered. Gyro made it sound like he could. The thought of that only pushed him that much further.
“Talk to me, Johnny,” Gyro said, pulling him back into his thrumming body. He traced his fingers lightly up and down Johnny’s chest. “I asked you a question.”
“Ah—“ Johnny struggled to remember said question. “Really… really bad.”
“You’ll get there, I promise.”
Gyro let his hands pass over Johnny’s body again, this time deliberately dragging his fingers over one of Johnny’s nipples. Johnny gasped and arched his back at the unexpected spike of pleasure that produced in him.
“Ah, another sensitive area!” Gyro said cheerfully, like he’d just struck gold or something.
“Is it supposed to be sensitive?” Johnny asked, bewildered.
“Yeah, have you never been touched here before?”
“Not really.”
“Did it feel good?”
“…yes.”
“Do you want me to do it again?”
“Gyro!” Johnny looked away. “You talk too much.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gyro said with a grin.
He bit lightly on Johnny’s bottom lip while simultaneously repeating his earlier motion, brushing the tips of his fingers over Johnny’s nipple repeatedly. He’d then switch hands, doing the same on the other side. Johnny was skeptical at first, half-convinced that his earlier reaction had been purely one of surprise. But then the light grazes became firmer circles, and he couldn’t deny how good it felt. It was like increasing the tension and relieving it at the same time. Johnny quickly ditched his reservations and decided that he wanted more.
“Could you—” he had to pause to swallow an excess of saliva— “could you use your mouth?”
Gyro looked a little surprised by Johnny’s request, but delighted at the same time. He wasted no time in granting it. “Yes, of course.”
He shifted his face downwards while gripping Johnny’s ass to pull him close. Even though he knew it was coming, Johnny gasped when he felt the wet heat of Gyro’s tongue on his nipple. Circling, stroking, flicking— goddamn, he was good with his mouth. Johnny might’ve felt threatened if he wasn’t the one lucky enough to be on the receiving end.
Johnny was starting to lose his composure. He grabbed a handful of Gyro’s hair, panting audibly. Gyro moaned softly at the pressure on his scalp and sucked hard, causing Johnny to cry out wordlessly. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He couldn’t believe Gyro was doing this to him, for him, with him. He was so goddamn lucky, he was… he was…
He looked down just as Gyro moved off to breathe, and something caught his eye. Holy shit. He was hard.
“G-Gyro,” he said breathlessly. “I—“
Gyro looked up at him with lidded eyes and a lazy smile. “I know, Johnny. I can feel it against me.”
“You gotta—“
“Shh, caro.” Gyro straightened up and traced a finger along Johnny’s bottom lip. “I’m going to. And I want you to watch, okay?”
Johnny nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yeah, just— please.”
He always thought he was above begging, but apparently not. Good thing that he was too far gone to feel embarrassed. Gyro was finally going to touch him where he needed it the most. It was too late to get shy.
“Please,” he repeated. “Don’t torture me anymore.”
Gyro laughed a little at that. “I don’t think it’s torture if you love it this much.” He licked a stripe from Johnny’s collarbone to his jaw, leaving a burning trail. “You love it, don’t you?”
The self-consciousness came back to Johnny, just a little, and he blushed. “Shut up…”
“Nyoho, that’s more like my Johnny.” Gyro nipped playfully at Johnny’s ear and Johnny shuddered. “It’s okay, I know you do.”
“Mn…” Johnny’s eyes fluttered shut as Gyro kept teasing his ear. God, it really did feel too good. He no longer doubted that he could come just from this, but he didn’t want to risk it. If he didn’t finish now, he’d probably have the worst case of blue balls imaginable. “Can’t take it anymore.”
“I think you’d be surprised,” Gyro said. “Open your eyes, Johnny. Watch me.”
Johnny had come this far, he couldn’t disobey now. He forced his eyes open and watched, breathing hard, as Gyro spat on his palm and wrapped his hand around the base of Johnny’s cock. The sensation wasn’t like it used to be, but he was so worked up already that just the sight of it made him ache.
“How does it feel?” Gyro asked again. “Go on.”
“I-I can’t feel it very well,” Johnny said.
“How do you think it would feel, then?” Gyro kissed him once on the jaw. “Think of how the rest of your body felt when I touched you. Imagine that now.”
He lightly circled one of Johnny’s nipples as well with his other hand, as if to remind him. Johnny squeezed his eyes shut again.
“Ah, it— it’s hot,” he said.
Shit, he couldn’t even put it into words. He thought of everything Gyro had done so far, the pressure and warmth of his hands, how tight the knot in his stomach had become and how close it was to unraveling. Screw how it felt before the injury— had he ever felt like this before?
“Keep your eyes open,” Gyro commanded. “I need you to see what I’m doing.”
Johnny whimpered and did as he was told. He held onto Gyro’s shoulders for dear life as he started to stroke him slowly, painfully slowly. Despite the lack of complete feeling, his imagination combined with the sight made the slight sensation he’d been left with feel a hundred times stronger. Every motion that Gyro’s hand made, he supplemented with a thought of how it would feel— hot, slick, tight. It was enough to make it feel almost real.
“Faster,” he told Gyro. “I-I can feel it, sort of…”
“A-As you wish,” Gyro said, speeding up. Johnny could’ve sworn he heard him stutter. Was this pleasurable to him? Was he getting off, too? Shit, the thought of that… If Johnny could’ve moved his hips, he’d have been thrusting hard into Gyro’s hand.
“Fuck.” Johnny leaned his head against Gyro’s shoulder, never taking his eyes off of his hand as it glided up and down. “God, Gyro…”
“Yeah?” Gyro huffed. “Feels good?”
“Yes, yes,” Johnny said, beginning to tremble. “Don’t stop, don’t— don’t you dare stop.”
“Anything for you, amore mio,” Gyro said through gritted teeth. “Sei bellissimo, Johnny, you’re so beautiful.”
He quickly nipped at Johnny’s ear again, causing Johnny to groan. He was shaking in earnest now, quivering with the force of the feelings that were beginning to overwhelm him. No matter how much Gyro gave him, he wanted more, and then more still. He wanted everything he could give him and then some.
“Are you close?” Gyro asked.
“Yes,” Johnny bit out. “Close.”
He was so close for the first time in two years, and it was Gyro who had brought him there. Gyro, whose voice could be as rough as gravel or as smooth as honey. Gyro, whose hands were calloused and yet his touch so soft. Gyro, who he had given everything for, who he would give everything to, who was his, only his, always his…
Gyro put his hand on the back of Johnny’s neck and touched their foreheads together. His skin was glistening with sweat and his eyes were so serious, so determined. Johnny knew he himself probably looked like a mess, panting and shuddering and flushed all to hell, but he was way past embarrassment. If this kept up much longer, he was sure to say something stupid. He just couldn’t help himself. Don’t say I love you, don’t say I love you, don’t say—
“Gyro,” he moaned shamelessly. Luckily he was too incoherent to get anything else out.
“I want you to come,” Gyro said in a hushed tone, like he was sharing a secret. “Come for me, Johnny.”
That was all it took: the look in Gyro’s eyes, a simple command, and the whispered sound of his name. Johnny came, his eyes rolling back and his nails digging into Gyro’s flesh. The feeling was hard to describe— it wasn’t like it used to be, but it was still good, so good. Whether it was mostly mental or physical Johnny didn’t know, and at that moment he couldn’t have given less of a fuck. He cried out hoarsely and slumped forward into Gyro’s waiting embrace. The overwhelming tension was washed away by sluggish warmth.
“That’s it,” he heard Gyro say. “Perfect.”
That was the word he didn’t know he was looking for: perfect. The word to describe this feeling, to describe Gyro, and finally, maybe, to describe himself. Perfect.
Notes:
HRGHRGH. gyro's turn next chapter. *WONK*
translations: "Che fai" = "what are you doing
"Smettila" = "stop that"
"Impara italiano" = "learn Italian"
"Tesoro" = "darling" (literally "treasure")
"Ti voglio più di ogni altra cosa" = "I want you more than anything else"
"Sei bellissimo" = "you're so beautiful".
gyro is, indeed, a big ol' sap.
Chapter 12: mystery of love
Notes:
me: omfg im so embarrassed about posting smut for the first time
also me: writes 10k words of emotional sex
enjoy~
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Oh, woe is me
The first time that you touched me
Oh, will wonders ever cease?
Blessed be the mystery of love.
"Mystery of Love" by Sufjan Stevens
As the echoes of his orgasm died out, it began to dawn on Johnny what had just happened. He’d managed to come, sure, but it was more than that— and coming from Johnny, who’d never tried to read ‘more’ into sex before, that was saying something. Gyro, the madman, the miracle worker, had brought out a part of him that he thought had died. He buried his face in Gyro’s chest and took a deep, shuddering breath. Gyro slowly rubbed his back.
“You okay?” he asked.
Johnny nodded. He turned his head so his cheek was against Gyro’s body. He could hear Gyro’s heartbeat, and it made him almost want to cry.
“Yeah,” he said finally, when he was sure that he could speak without his voice wobbling. “I’m okay.”
Johnny pulled back and smiled at Gyro— a teary-eyed but genuine grin, which was rare from him. “I’m more than okay. That was amazing. Thank you.”
Gyro perked up at that.
“No need to thank me,” he said, although he looked and sounded mighty proud of himself. “I knew you could.”
“Only because of you,” Johnny said.
He leaned in and fitted his lips with Gyro’s once more for a drawn-out, lingering kiss. Gyro smiled against him, brushing back a lock of hair that had gotten ruffled during… all that. Johnny was sure that he was a mess— that was, until he looked down and saw that Gyro’s other hand was glistening only with his own saliva.
“Did I pass out or something?” he asked. “I definitely came, but there’s no… you know.”
“That can happen,” Gyro said, wiping his hand on the sheets. “Men with spinal cord injuries don’t always ejaculate.”
Oh God, he’s getting all clinical again. Johnny changed the subject before having to hear more about sexual function in paraplegics. “Hold on— did you come?”
Gyro opened his mouth to say something, but Johnny was faster. He palmed the front of Gyro’s pants to find that he certainly had not. Of course not— they hadn’t even gotten said pants off.
“Okay,” Johnny said decisively. “Your turn.”
“Wait,” Gyro said. He grabbed Johnny’s wrist to stop him. “You don’t have to. You must be exhausted.”
“You ever think about the possibility that I might want to?”
Johnny was done being selfish. He wasn’t going to hang Gyro out to dry, even if he was given permission. He wanted this. He wanted to give back to Gyro what he’d just given to him.
Gyro paused, then slowly raised his eyebrows. He was trying to hide it, but his interest was obviously piqued. “Want to… what, exactly?”
“Mm.” Johnny looked him up and down. He could just jack him off, but that didn’t feel like enough. He was sure that Gyro would be happy with whatever, but Johnny himself wouldn’t be satisfied unless it was as good as he could offer.
I could let him fuck me, he thought, chewing on his lip. His experience was only with women, but he wasn’t so naive as to not know how two men could have sex. The problem with that, though, was that Johnny didn’t really know how he could do it and make it feel good. And for another thing, he wasn’t sure he was ready to just throw himself into it headfirst. Okay, shelve that for now.
That left one thing in his mind. He dragged a finger down Gyro’s chest, between his pecs and past his navel. He had a trail of dark hair leading the way past his waistband. Johnny licked his lips, contemplating. Can’t be that hard, can it? Girls do it all the time.
Gyro tilted his head as Johnny’s hands lingered. “So…?”
Johnny took a deep breath. His mind was made up. “I’m gonna blow you.”
Gyro’s brows shot up. “You done it before?”
“I’ve had it done to me, I know what feels good.”
“Okay, but I’m trusting you not to bite my dick off.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Johnny deadpanned.
He pushed Gyro’s shoulders to make him lay back on the bed. Gyro chuckled and let himself fall back against the pillows. He stretched out like a lazy cat, then folded one arm behind his head.
“Is this too comfortable?” he teased.
Johnny rolled his eyes. He leaned down to lick and kiss experimentally at Gyro’s abdomen. He tasted like sweat and the hotel soap. Gyro sighed out, his eyes half-closed.
“Don’t need much build up, if you know what I mean,” he said.
“I know,” Johnny said. He was more than aware of how hard Gyro was at the moment. But he was still gathering up the courage to get to the act itself. “Maybe I just wanna torture you a little.”
He ran his hands up and down Gyro’s body like he wished he would have done before, pressing his fingertips into every inch of his perfection. He was so warm and his muscles so taut— Johnny wanted to make him unravel. If he could make Gyro thrash and cry out in his mother tongue and finally come… well, Johnny would consider that a job well done.
“Torture, huh? Well, aren’t you just evil?” Gyro said. He threaded his fingers into Johnny’s hair, although from his gentleness Johnny guessed that he didn’t like pulling hair as much as having his own pulled. “And you’re sexy evil, too, which is the worst kind.”
Johnny pressed his teeth into Gyro’s hipbone, an insincere threat. “You just spent an hour giving me the slowest handjob of all time, so I think I get to be a little evil.”
“It was not an hour and you loved it, so don’t complain.”
“Not complainin’,” Johnny said. “Just returnin’ the favor.”
He breathed hot over Gyro’s skin while beginning to rub his clothed dick. He felt Gyro tense up a bit before relaxing into it, continuing to toy with Johnny’s hair like he needed something to do with his hands. Johnny imagined he was getting impatient after having been so worked up for so long. Wonder if I can get him to beg for it. It wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t get Gyro as desperate as he’d been, right?
“Why, look at you,” he said, dropping his voice to a sweet, low Kentucky drawl. “All hard n’ wantin’ n’ shit, it’s about the sweetest thing I ever laid eyes on… did you like watchin’ me come, darlin’? Liked when I called your name?”
Gyro shivered a little. Apparently Johnny wasn’t the only one with a thing for accents.
“S’ fine,” he said, although his body told a different story. He took his hand away from Johnny’s head to grab onto the sheets below him.
“Liar,” Johnny said. “You loved it. I can’t feel much down there, but I could feel you ruttin’ against me.”
He placed a wet kiss against Gyro’s straining erection. Gyro exhaled, shifting his hips a little. From the look on his face, he was fighting hard not to let his bravado slip. He swallowed thickly and flashed Johnny a grin.
“That all you got?” he asked. “Come on, Johnny, weren’t you some kind of sex god back in the day? Show me what got that millionaire's daughters to fall into bed with you.”
“It was one millionaire’s daughter, the other girl was just her friend,” Johnny said. “They weren’t sisters or anything, that’d be weird—”
Realizing he’d been thrown off track, he smacked Gyro’s leg. “Hey. Stop distracting me.”
“Stop getting distracted,” Gyro rebutted. “I’m the one waiting for something interesting to happen.”
Johnny was aware that Gyro was trying to goad him on, but he wasn’t biting. I’ll make you wait as long as I like, he thought, pressing the flat of his tongue against Gyro’s dick to tease him. Gyro was correct that he’d never gone down on a man before, but Johnny was starting to understand that it wasn’t really about the anatomy. He may not have known any mind-blowing tricks, but he knew Gyro. Everything else could come later.
Can’t be much different than what I used to like, anyway, Johnny thought. It might’ve been a while for him (not counting what had just transpired a few minutes ago), but he hadn’t forgotten what made him feel good once upon a time. God knew he’d fantasized about it enough— about this exact situation, if he was being honest.
He finally pulled down Gyro’s pants, exposing him to the cool morning air. Gyro exhaled, letting his head loll to the side. Johnny, meanwhile, tried not to show his intimidation. He’d felt Gyro up through his pants before, but this was different somehow. Is he big or is it just me? Johnny wondered. He didn’t exactly have a huge frame of reference. Although a guy wouldn’t wear a belt buckle with hands pointing to his dick if he didn’t have a good reason, right?
“So this is it,” he said, half to himself. This felt like a point of no return when it came to his sexuality.
Gyro waggled his eyebrows, craning his head to watch Johnny. “Impressed?”
“You’re a pervert,” Johnny said.
Conscious that he was being observed, Johnny wrapped his fingers around the base of Gyro’s cock. It felt hot, hotter than the rest of Gyro’s body, and twitched slightly at his touch. Gyro let out a soft, wordless noise of approval, his head falling back.
Okay, it’s time to do this, Johnny thought. No more stalling. He was going to do it. He was going to suck another man’s dick. There was no going back.
He started simple, licking a stripe from base to tip— first on one side, then on the other, spreading saliva over the heated skin. The taste was… fine, not amazing but not as gross as he had feared it would be. That bath earlier probably helped. Once he reached the head again, he flicked his tongue experimentally against the slit.
Gyro reacted strongly to that, moaning and balling his fists in the sheets. “Y-You done torturing me yet?”
Johnny smiled. How beautiful he looked when he was desperate! “Depends… have you had enough?”
Gyro had the gall to roll his eyes. “I had enough ten minutes ago. If you’re gonna do something more, do it.”
“No need to be testy,” Johnny said. He started slowly pump Gyro’s cock with his hand, smirking as he started to squirm under his touch. “Try asking nicely.”
Gyro muttered something under his breath, looking torn. He bit his lip when Johnny rubbed his thumb purposefully over the head. His face was getting nice and flushed. It was a good look for him, Johnny decided.
“Gyro,” he prompted, continuing his slow strokes. “I’m waiting.”
“Ah…” Gyro slung his arm over his face, torn between his pride and his desire. With the way Johnny was teasing him, though, the latter was pulling ahead. He finally conceded in a hoarse voice. “Johnny… please…”
“All right, honey.” Johnny kissed the tip of his cock lovingly, then slid his lips around it. He swirled his tongue around, trying to get used to the feeling; Gyro tasted like sweat and salt. Johnny knew he wouldn’t be able to get it all in this time around, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do his best. Gyro rewarded his efforts with a chorus of delicious moans. He watched with lust-clouded eyes as Johnny started to bob his head a little.
This isn’t so bad, Johnny thought. He thought he was doing a pretty good job, actually. Emboldened by his success thus far, he decided to try taking it a little deeper on the next stroke, but that was a mistake. It made Gyro buck his hips a little too enthusiastically, which Johnny was not prepared for. He had to pull off completely to cough, tears coming to his eyes.
“Shit, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Gyro sat up, but Johnny waved him away. He was not a quitter. He was going to make Gyro come if it was the last thing he did.
Once he got his lungs under control again, he returned to his task with gusto. Despite almost making him choke, he wanted to make Gyro move like that again. He knew Gyro was proud of his strength, and he loved being the one to make it crumble. He made sure to cover his teeth with his lips and began moving again enthusiastically. The increased pace made Gyro hum with pleasure.
“Johnny, bello, you’re doing amazing,” Gyro praised, his chest heaving. “You feel so good. Sei… fuck, I mean, you’re…”
He laughed breathlessly. “Shit. Forgot what I was going to say.”
Johnny moaned in response. Please keep talking. Gyro’s English was starting to slip, which Johnny adored. Was that a fetish? Did he have another fetish? It was probably more likely that it was just Gyro’s effect on him.
He’s gotta be close, Johnny thought, seeing Gyro’s dazed expression. Now was the time to get serious. He looked up at Gyro with blue eyes wide as he took him as deeply as possible, only stopping when he was on the verge of gagging.
Gyro looked enraptured. He slid his fingers into Johnny’s hair again, but instead of roughly grabbing it he gently massaged Johnny’s scalp, sort of like he was petting him. Johnny shivered at the love in his gaze and touch.
“Oh, Johnny,” he breathed, his accent thick. “Johnny, Johnny… I’ve wanted you like this for so long. You know I adore you, don’t you, amore?”
Johnny shut his eyes and nodded. Only Gyro would say those kinds of things with his cock in another man’s mouth. He was idiotic and fearless like that. Johnny was a little sorry now that he didn’t say I love you earlier. It would’ve been embarrassing, maybe, but it was true.
“I’m close,” Gyro warned. “You… you better stop soon…”
Not for the world. Johnny stopped for a moment so he could speak.
“I want you to come in my mouth,” he said.
Gyro’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Johnny nodded solemnly. “I want all of you.”
For once, Gyro looked nearly speechless. He nodded, brushing that same stray lock of hair back from Johnny’s face again. Johnny smiled fondly at him and took him into his mouth once more. He didn’t care about the ache in his jaw or the tears in his eyes or the potentially gross aftermath that was awaiting him. All he wanted was to make Gyro happy, for him to feel as loved as he made Johnny feel.
Not a minute later, Gyro shuddered and came with a strangled cry of Johnny’s name. Johnny tried his damnedest to catch everything in his mouth, but there was more of it than he was expecting, nor was he prepared for the taste and texture. He swallowed what he could just to get it out of his mouth, but caught a bit on his chin and hand.
Shit. He didn’t want to wipe it on the sheets in case they decided to sleep some more, but he couldn’t get to the bathroom easily and didn’t want to make Gyro get up either. Fuck it. He swiped off his face then stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean.
“Damn,” Gyro commented, still breathing hard. “That’s hot.”
“Shut up.” Johnny dragged himself up next to Gyro. “How did I do?”
“Pretty good for your first time,” Gyro said. “You’re always so determined. I swear, I saw your eyes burning.”
“I wanted it to feel good,” Johnny said with a slight pout.
“Oh, trust me, it did.” Gyro tapped his own lips. “Dammi un bacio.”
Johnny remembered that phrase. He curled his lip. “Dude, you just jizzed in my mouth and now you want to kiss me?”
“I don’t care what I just did, I want a kiss,” Gyro said. “Want to congratulate you on a job well done.”
“Fine, but you’re gross.”
“You’re the one who begged me to come in your mouth.”
“I did not beg, I asked politely,” Johnny said.
He pressed his lips to Gyro’s, and for some reason it reminded him of Sugar Mountain and the first time they kissed. It was a bittersweet memory. He had no idea back then what hell he was about to go through.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. It’s over now.
Breaking their kiss, he curled up with his head on Gyro’s chest, listening to that familiar, steady heartbeat. He loved it— he loved Gyro— but… He sighed. Why can’t I just be happy now?
Well— because of Sugar Mountain. Because he hadn’t known then what was awaiting them, and he wasn’t in a better position now. He was afraid to enjoy it, lest it all be ripped away again like it had been back then. The problem with getting everything that he wanted was now he had everything to lose. And if there was one thing that Johnny was practiced at, it was losing.
“I love you,” Gyro said.
“I love you too,” Johnny echoed back. But his mouth felt numb.
“Is something wrong?”
Gyro had gotten ridiculously good at reading Johnny’s moods. There was no point in lying to him.
“The race is over,” Johnny said.
“Yeah, it is.”
“And we’re together.”
Gyro chuckled low. “We certainly are.”
“So… what’s next?”
“Does there have to be something ‘next’?” Gyro asked. “We should enjoy this.”
“I want to enjoy it,” Johnny said. “But it’s not gonna last.”
Gyro sighed. “Is there something you’re trying to say?”
“I’m not sure,” Johnny said.
They lay in silence for a little while. Gyro lightly stroked Johnny’s hair, curling it around his fingers. Johnny stared into space.
“Are you gonna go back to Naples?” he asked finally.
“I have to,” Gyro said. “I might not like it, but I have an obligation to my family and my country.”
“What if you didn’t go, though?” Johnny asked. He knew it was dangerous to press the issue, knowing how serious Gyro took his responsibilities, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to bring it up again if he didn’t ask now.
“That’s not an option,” Gyro said. “It just isn’t.”
“Why not?” Johnny asked, his fingers curling into a fist on Gyro’s chest. “Why can’t someone else take your position?”
“There is no one else, for one,” Gyro said. “The Zeppeli family Spin is unique.”
“You got siblings, don’t you?”
“They don’t have the same type of training as me. They don’t even know that we’re executioners.”
“You could teach them,” Johnny said. “You taught me.”
“That was to save our lives, Johnny. I didn’t exactly have a choice.”
Johnny could tell he was starting to get agitated by the sound of his heart. Gyro took a deep breath, and his heartbeat calmed a bit.
“Listen, I know this is hard to understand, but it’s not really about the Spin,” he said. “It’s not about me or what I want, either. It’s… it’s about duty. Nobody wants to execute people, even if they’re criminals. It’s an awful business. But someone has to, and that duty was given to the Zeppelis 380 years ago. We prepare for it, we accept it. It’s not for just anyone to pick up. We don’t like it, but we do it because it’s our assignment.”
“Why do you have to?” Johnny asked. “What about consent, Gyro?”
“I have to consent.”
“Why?” Johnny was beginning to feel desperate. He didn’t even know what he wanted from Gyro, didn’t know what answer he wanted to his questions. “That’s not consent! Why would you ‘consent’ to something you don’t want to do? Why would you consent to killing an innocent little boy?”
Johnny knew if anyone else had said something like that, Gyro wouldn’t hesitate to lodge a steel ball in their skull. He knew it was going too far. And seeing Gyro’s reaction, he wished that he could take it back.
Gyro abruptly moved out from under Johnny. His movements weren’t aggressive but tense, like a forced silence. Somehow, that hurt more. He sat on the edge of the bed, putting his back to Johnny. He put his head in his hands for a moment, and then clenched his fists and lifted his head again. He didn’t look at Johnny as he spoke.
“You don’t get it, Johnny,” he said sharply. “You won’t ever understand, because you’re not a Zeppeli. Don’t try and get involved in things you don’t understand, okay?”
Johnny wanted to reach out and touch him, but he didn’t. He felt like despite everything, this part of Gyro was still too far away for him to reach. Its roots were too deep. They went back 380 years. 380 years of men telling themselves that they had no choice but to kill, whether they thought it was right or wrong. 380 years of schooling themselves in the art of feeling as little as possible.
He didn’t want to believe that Gyro belonged to that tradition— boisterous, passionate Gyro, who fought for his values even when he knew he would lose. When he knew he would die.
He wanted for Gyro to break the mold. But he didn’t even know if it was possible.
Johnny pulled his knees up to his chest. “I’m… sorry. You’re right that I don’t understand. I’m not part of any great family, at least as far as I’m aware. I’m not even part of my own family. I just wish that things were different.”
Gyro glanced back at him. Upon seeing Johnny curled up like that, his gaze and posture softened. He hesitated, and then moved back to Johnny’s side. He didn’t put his arms around him yet, but simply sat next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder.
“They can be,” he said. “You can come back to Naples with me.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that Gyro was saying he wanted to stay with Johnny. Usually, that would have made him ecstatic. But right now, his vision was clouded.
“For what?” he whispered, hugging his knees tighter. “Your father will want you to marry a woman, have kids. Continue the Zeppeli line… it’s your duty.”
“We can still be together.”
“I won’t be your mistress, Gyro!” Johnny snapped. “Don’t ask me to share you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gyro said. “I could find some excuse to train my oldest nephew, or something like that.”
Why is it that you can bend some family rules but not others? Johnny wanted to ask, but he held his tongue. He’d pushed too far already. Maybe it was time to bring something else up, while they were talking about family.
“My dad apologized to me,” he said. “Sort of. I haven’t actually spoken to him yet but… I know what he’s going to say.”
After a moment’s absorption, Gyro nodded once. “Are you going to forgive him?”
“I don’t know,” Johnny said. “Maybe.”
Honestly, he hadn’t thought much about it with everything else going on, but now that he said it out loud it felt… passable. He thought he should at least try.
“In spite of everything, I miss him. I miss my mom. I want…” His voice wavered, but he persevered. “I want to see Nicholas’ grave again. It’s been two years.”
“Are you going to live with them again?” Gyro asked. “Or go back to racing?”
It was possible. It was all possible. Johnny could bury the Steel Ball Run, bury his injury, bury the past. He could race again, maybe even win. A few months ago, that would’ve been enough.
But now, there was Gyro. He already knew that he couldn’t bury Gyro.
“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t want to.”
He looked right at Gyro, not even caring that his eyes were starting to fill with tears.
“When I said I loved you, I meant it,” he said. “When I said I’d never leave you, I meant it. I didn’t just say it ‘cause I wanted to— to fuck you and then never see you again!”
“Johnny,” Gyro said, putting a reassuring hand on Johnny’s arm. “I meant it too, okay? Don’t ever doubt that.”
Johnny took several deep breaths, until he felt the tears subsiding. Gyro gently rubbed his arm, up and down.
“I’m so fucking scared,” Johnny admitted finally. “I’m scared that we’ve came all the way to New York and fought and died and all that shit and it’s all gonna come to nothing. I’m scared I’m gonna lose you and there’ll be nothing that even the fucking corpse of Jesus Christ himself can do.”
“You won’t lose me,” Gyro said. “I told you, I won’t let it happen.”
“There’s no way to know, though,” Johnny lamented. “We— we think that we know what’s going to happen, and it can just— it just all falls apart. For no reason at all.”
Gyro sighed, closing his eyes. “Like when the ball hits the net.”
“What?” Johnny had heard Gyro say something like this before, but he’d never explained it. He couldn’t remember the exact circumstances in which it had come up.
“In tennis, sometimes the ball hits the net and goes into the air, and in the seconds before it falls, it’s impossible to tell which side it’ll land on,” Gyro said. “It’s God’s decision. Whatever happens happens. We can only trust that it happens the way it’s supposed to.”
“What are you saying?” Johnny asked incredulously. “That if I lose you again, I just have to accept it?”
“No, no,” Gyro said. “I’m saying that there’s a reason that we were able to come all this way and that you… that you were able to bring me back. I think…”
He hesitated, biting his lip, like he was trying to find what he wanted to say. Johnny said nothing. He didn’t know what he could say.
“I think the ball has come down, you know?” Gyro said finally. “I can’t presume to know why, or even how, but you and I… it’s been decided. There’s nothing that the world can throw at us now that’s worse than what we’ve already overcome.”
Johnny blinked. He suddenly remembered where he’d heard Gyro say that before— it was after Sugar Mountain, and the tree, and the corpse’s test. When he had chosen Gyro… was that where it had come down?
“I hope you’re right,” he said. “God, I hope you’re right.”
Gyro ran his hand down Johnny’s arm to intertwine their fingers.
“You’re not alone,” he said. “I’m scared too. I don’t know what the future holds… nobody knows. But I know that we’ve fought like hell for each other. And I won’t stop fighting just because the race is over.”
He squeezed Johnny’s hand. Johnny squeezed back. He rested his head on Gyro’s shoulder.
“I won’t stop fighting either,” he said. “I won’t ever stop fighting.”
He let his eyes drift closed. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Gyro squeezed his hand again to get his attention.
“You’re falling asleep, caro,” he said. “We might be able to rest a little more before we have to get up, if you want.”
“Mm,” Johnny murmured. He nodded, drowsing.
“Come here, then.”
Gyro threw the covers back and lay down on his side. Johnny curled up facing him, their foreheads nearly touching. Gyro covered them both with blankets, but as far as Johnny was concerned, all the warmth he felt was coming from the body beside him.
“Sei la mia anima gemella,” Gyro whispered.
Johnny didn’t need to ask what it meant. He understood.
Notes:
One chapter remains... it's not sexy tho, just wrapping everything up!
translations:
"bello", "amore", "caro": all terms of endearment (handsome, love, and dear, respectively)
"Dammi un bacio": give me a kiss (obviously!)
"Sei la mia anima gemella": you are my soulmate (literally "twin soul")
Chapter Text
And you said, this is the first day of my life
I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you
But now I don’t care, I could go anywhere with you
And I’d probably be happy.
"First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes
The first thing they did in the morning was check on the horses. Johnny was anxious to make sure that Slow Dancer’s wounded neck was healing well. He’d almost lost her too, after all.
To his relief, it seemed like the staff had taken exceptional care of their horses. Gyro immediately found Valkyrie’s stall and began chattering to her in Neapolitan. Johnny had some difficulty wheeling on the uneven ground in the stables, but he managed to find where his own horse was penned up.
Slow Dancer whinnied when she saw Johnny, and leaned her head down to lick his face. Petting her, he could tell that she had been groomed: washed, brushed, even clipped of her winter coat. After several months of riding in all manner of weather and getting dirty as hell, he’d almost forgotten that her hair was supposed to be light gray.
He examined where her throat had been slit. Hot Pants’ spray had done its job, saving her life. All that remained as evidence of her once-mortal wound was a light discoloration, like a scar that had already aged many years. Johnny now had many marks like that himself.
“We make quite a pair, you and I,” he murmured, stroking her forehead. “A washed-up jockey and an old nag, yes ma’am. Who’d’ve thought we’d make our way ‘cross America, huh?”
She nickered, her tail gently swishing. Although he’d been riding for a long time, Johnny had never had a horse quite like Slow Dancer. She was a tough one, not easily spooked, and could have a serious attitude. Getting her to trust him had been hard, even after he figured out how to get on her back. But even though she didn’t look like much, she could be fast as hell when she wanted to be. He wouldn’t have made it this far without her: wouldn’t have defeated Valentine or saved Gyro. He had to find a damn good place for her to live out her days. That was the only way he could repay her.
“I thought I might find you here,” said a voice.
Looking into Slow Dancer’s stall was Steven Steel. Johnny wheeled himself out of the stall, closing the door behind him. Steven gave him an apologetic smile.
“I apologize for having to disqualify you,” he said. “You are certainly quite the rider. You deserved victory as much as any other contestant.”
“It was for the best,” Johnny said. “Thanks again for what you did for me on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’d have been a goner if you hadn’t showed up.”
“It was the least I could do,” Steel said. “Lucy tells me that you… you took care of everything.”
Just as Johnny was about to answer, Gyro stepped out of Valkyrie’s stall, brushing his hands off. Seeing Steel, he stopped. Steel’s eyes widened at the sight of a very-much-alive Gyro. He didn’t say anything at first. Lucy must’ve told him what Johnny had done, but hearing it and seeing it in the flesh were two very different things.
Gyro cleared his throat. “Mr. Steel.”
Steel blinked, as if he didn’t expect this apparition to speak. “Mr. Zeppeli. You look… well.”
“As do you,” Gyro said coolly.
Steel shifted his weight, looking around to see if anyone was nearby listening.
“Thanks be to God,” he said in a low, reverent voice. “It’s a miracle.”
“It’s all Johnny’s doing, as far as I’m concerned,” Gyro said.
Steel nodded. He still seemed a bit speechless.
“There’s nothing to be concerned about,” Johnny said. “The corpse is secure.”
Steel nodded again. He took his glasses off and looked at Johnny.
“You… are a most remarkable young man, Johnny Joestar,” he said finally. “To have such a power in your grasp, to use it so selflessly, and then to willingly relinquish it? I am in awe of the strength of your character.”
“…thanks?” Johnny said.
“Truly, the bonds that we have with one another are the most valuable treasures on the earth,” Steel went on, putting a hand over his heart. Ever the showman, that man. “And there is no bond quite like the one between friends— nay, brothers-in-arms. May your friendship sustain you through the ages, you two. I salute you both.”
Johnny and Gyro looked at each other, neither sure how to react. Gyro raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say: Friendship, huh? At least Lucy had kept her promise and portrayed their relationship as merely platonic.
“Thanks for everything, Mr. Steel,” Johnny said. “Including the hotel room and all that.”
“Of course,” Steel said. “That reminds me— a wire came in to the front desk for you, Johnny.”
He produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Johnny.
Would like to see you stop Central Park Bethesda Terrace noon stop it read. It was sent by his father.
A lump was forming in Johnny’s throat. He stared at the message, reading it over and over again. “I see. Thank you.”
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Steel said. “Now or in the future. Lucy and I would be happy—“
“Thank you, Mr. Steel,” Gyro interrupted. “We’ll be sure to write.”
“Yes, of course,” Steel said. “Goodbye for now.”
He bowed his head to the two of them and went on his way. Johnny kept staring at the message. Gyro looked at it over his shoulder.
“From your dad?” he asked.
Johnny nodded.
“You going to meet him?”
Johnny hesitated. Then, he nodded.
“You want me to come with you?”
He nodded again.
“It’s done, then.” Gyro clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Chin up, Johnny. It’ll be okay.”
Johnny folded up the message and put it in his pocket.
“Okay,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”
---
Neither of them had ever been to Central Park before, so Gyro tried to convince Johnny to stroll (or in Johnny’s case, roll) around it for a little before the time came to meet his father.
“Come on, when’s the last time we actually got to enjoy being outside?” he said. “It’ll help you relax, too.”
“I don’t need to relax,” Johnny said.
“Yeah? Unclench your jaw, then.”
Johnny didn’t even know he had been clenching it. He took a deep breath.
“Okay, fine, maybe I am a little nervous,” he said. “But there’s nothing to be nervous about. We’ve worked it out.”
“You didn’t actually speak to him,” Gyro pointed out.
“Yeah, but he brought my brother’s boots!” Johnny said. “I know what that means.”
“If you’re too afraid to go outside with me because of my dazzling good looks, just say so,” Gyro said with a dramatic flip of his hair. “I won’t be hurt. It’s difficult to compare to this.”
“Maybe I’m too embarrassed to be seen with you, have you thought of that?”
“You wound me, caro.”
Eventually, though, Johnny gave in. Deciding to let the horses rest, they walked through the city to get to the park. New York was still abuzz with the results of the race, its streets full of people who had come from all over to see its final stage and its winner. The sidewalks were packed with men in suits and hats and ladies in dresses; children ran in the streets, dodging carriages pulled by teams of horses. On busy streets like this, Johnny felt more self-conscious than ever in his wheelchair. He definitely didn’t want to be pushed by someone else, but he was painfully aware that he couldn’t push himself nearly as fast as someone could walk, at least not over large distances. Could he use the Spin to give himself a boost, maybe…?
“Hey, Johnny, listen to this,” Gyro said, a welcome distraction. “Have you heard about those ‘horseless carriages’ that were recently invented?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “They’re called ‘automobiles’. One was supposed to participate in the race, but I don’t think it was able to handle the terrain.”
“Ha! It just goes to show,” Gyro said. “Only a horse could accomplish a feat like crossing a continent!”
“What about a train?” Johnny pointed out.
“Well… that’s cheating,” Gyro said, scratching his chin. “The tracks are already laid down for ‘em. Horses make their own roads.”
“Also, Sandman was planning on crossing the continent on foot, and he probably could’ve done it if not for us. So a human could do it, too.”
“All right, all right!” Gyro threw up his arms. “I take back what I said. But about the automobiles thing— do you think it’ll catch on?”
Johnny considered for a moment. “Maybe. Doesn’t beat riding, though.”
“Nothing beats riding,” Gyro agreed.
They entered the park from the west, following a long path that crossed its width. Johnny much preferred the park to the streets; the trees planted along the edges of the park muffled most of the bustling sounds of the city. Sometimes, he could almost let himself be tricked into thinking that he was really outside of the city entirely— almost.
“Would you look at that,” Gyro said, pointing. “Are those sheep?”
Johnny looked where he was indicating: in a small group resting under a tree, there were indeed a handful of sheep. In the middle of the city. And New York City, no less.
“That’s… surprising,” Johnny said.
“Will wonders never cease?” Gyro said. “Call me old-fashioned, but if you ask me, sheep belong in the countryside.”
“Does someone look after them?” Johnny wondered aloud. “Imagine being a shepherd living in New York.”
Gyro laughed. “See, I told you this would be interesting.”
Johnny had to give him that. New York was quite the place. He understood why Steel chose it as the final destination of the Steel Ball Run. It was unique, timeless, monumental. People would be talking about the race that passed through some of the greatest American cities for decades to come.
They came to the Mall and turned left, starting on the promenade through the rows and rows of elm trees still bare from winter. Here it became evident that they were not the only ones who had the idea to spend some time outside. There were people walking, standing, or sitting along the walkway. Johnny glared at anyone who had the gall to stare at them.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he said in a low voice. “Someone might recognize us.”
Nothing would make him more uncomfortable. He used to love attention from crowds, insofar as it fed his ego, but since his injury he neither wanted nor received the same kind of loving adoration from strangers. After the race, though, all of that was liable to change. Did people follow the race closely enough to know who he was, or at least who he used to be? Did strangers care about him or Gyro?
“We’re already here, and it’s almost noon,” Gyro said. “If they recognize us, they recognize us. We can tell them to fuck off if we have to.”
Regardless, Johnny pulled down his hat and tried to look unfriendly the rest of the way. To his relief, if anyone knew who they were, nobody said anything.
At the end of the Mall was the Bethesda Terrace, the place where Johnny’s father had asked to meet. It was a grand cap to the promenade: a two-tiered terrace, connected by two large staircases, overlooking a fountain and the lake. The two of them paused at the upper terrace, looking out and over. Johnny’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for the familiar figure of his father. Finally, he spotted him: he was facing away from them, looking up at the statue on top of the fountain. Johnny’s heart picked up its pace.
“You’re still sure you want to do this?” Gyro asked.
“He came all this way.”
“You don’t owe him anything.”
“We came all this way, too,” Johnny said. He gripped the wheels of his chair. “Listen, Gyro… I want to hear what he has to say for himself. I know you’re gonna wanna step in if shit gets heated, but… this is between me and him, okay?”
Gyro paused, then nodded. “All right. I understand.”
They took the longer route, which had significantly fewer stairs, to reach the lower level of the terrace. Johnny steeled himself: he had fought worse enemies, braved worse conditions, made harder choices. This would be nothing compared to that.
But his father was holding those boots…
George Joestar turned when he heard the roll of Johnny’s chair. He hesitated, like he wasn’t totally sure that it was Johnny, then took a step, then hesitated again.
“Jonathan?” he said. “Johnny?”
Johnny gave him a strained smile as he wheeled closer, Gyro right behind him. “Hi, Dad.”
“I’m glad you came,” George said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
Johnny didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he looked to Gyro. “Um, Dad, this is—“
“Gyro Zeppeli, from Naples, right?” Transferring Nicholas’ boots to one arm, George offered a hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve read about you in the papers.”
Gyro looked at Johnny; Johnny nodded, almost imperceptibly. Gyro took George’s hand and shook it once firmly.
“Pleasure’s mine,” he said, somewhat stonily.
“Gyro was my racing partner, and… my friend,” Johnny said. “We met in San Diego and ran the race together.”
George nodded. “You must be a formidable rider,” he said. “You both posted incredible times at each stage. I imagine it was quite a challenge.”
You have no idea, Johnny wanted to say. They had posted those times while also fighting for their lives. The challenge was not in the distance or the time. The challenge was in defending themselves from a near constant barrage of Stand attacks, assassins, and tests; it was in killing when they had no other choice. Johnny had done things that he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of merely one hundred days ago. The goddamn times didn’t matter. He left the thought of them behind him like horse shit on the road.
“Why did you come here, Dad?” he blurted out.
“Johnny, I—“ his father faltered— “I wanted to… to see you race—”
“You never came to see me before,” Johnny said. “Even at the Derby. The goddamn Kentucky Derby, Dad. Do you know how hard I worked to even qualify for that race? You win seven Triple Crowns and you can’t even come see your own son run in the Derby?”
“…I know,” George said. “I—“
“And—And why’d you bring those, anyway?” Johnny pointed to the boots. “I told you, they’re just a goddamn pair a’ shoes. There— there’s nothin’ of Nicholas left in ‘em.”
“Johnny—“
“Why didn’t you show up when I actually needed you?” Johnny said, beginning to lose control of his voice. “Sure, it’s nice and convenient to see you at the end of the biggest race I’ve ever run, but where the hell were you when I was in the hospital, Dad? When they told me I was never gonna walk or race again? Where were you then?”
He had to look away, blinking back tears. Gyro put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder.
“Johnny,” George said, voice strained. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s why I came… because I knew I’d done you wrong and I needed to apologize.”
Tears had begun to roll down the elder Joestar’s face. He wiped at them and took a deep breath, but his voice still shuddered.
“You’re right,” he said. “I done things to you that no father ought to do to his son. But I was wrong, Johnny. I was wrong. The things I did, the things I said… it was all wrong. I wanted you to know that…”
He broke down anew. Johnny just stared at him, not knowing how to feel or what to say. When he felt wetness on his own cheeks, he was almost confused— why was he crying? Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted— for his father to grovel and beg for forgiveness? Why didn’t it feel the way he wanted it to?
George managed to collect himself long enough to speak again.
“I know there’s nothin’ I can do to make it up to you,” he said. “I know they’re just boots, and that’s all they’ve ever been. But I wanted you to have them so that you’d know that— that I still love you, no matter what, and I’m proud of you. A-And your mother is, too. And I think— Lord, I know—“
His voice took on a tight, wheezy quality, like his throat had almost totally closed but he was still fighting to get the words out.
“Your brother would’ve been damn proud of you, too,” he said. “I know it.”
With that, he thrust the boots in Johnny’s direction. Johnny stared at them for a moment, almost uncomprehending. His lip trembled. He took them, turning them over in his hands, feeling the aging leather. Absently, as his tears dripped onto the boots, he noted that they were probably too small for him now anyway.
“Dad,” he said hoarsely. He tried to figure out how he felt. “I…”
There was the anger inside him, of course, an anger that he had started cultivating around Nicholas’ death and had let grow and fester inside him ever since then. It was the first thing to rear its head whenever he thought of his dad, but it wasn’t the only emotion he had towards him. There was confusion at why he was never able to measure up to his brother, who Johnny had loved just as well as his father had. There was regret at the things that he had said and even more at what he didn’t say. There was even pity for his father, who had lost both of his sons before they were eighteen. But most of all, there was sadness.
Sadness, knowing that his brother would have been devastated to see them fight like this; sadness, knowing that things were only the way they were because of flaws that neither of them could overcome nor even admit that they shared; sadness at the thought that it might be like this forever. As the years without contact stretched on, it became a very real possibility that George would die and Johnny would never have the chance to say any of the things he wanted to. That got flipped on its head during the race— then, Johnny wondered if he would die, leaving his father with only the echo of last words said in pain: God took the wrong son.
Johnny didn’t want it to be like this forever. He didn’t want those feelings to haunt him or his father throughout their lives. He wanted closure, or something like it. He wanted… resolution, before he or his father died.
He hugged those boots to his chest, remembering with terrible acuity the last time he saw Nicholas wearing them. Above all, Johnny wanted Nicholas back. But that was impossible. The only thing left of his brother was the man standing before him.
Johnny didn’t care that they were in public. He wheeled forward a few inches and put his arms around his father’s midsection. George broke down even further; he crouched to hug Johnny properly, clutching him like it was the only thing keeping him from slipping away.
“My son,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
Johnny cried too, albeit silently. He had exhausted his stock of impassioned tears in the past few days. He felt that now his heart was turning from a tornado of rage and sorrow to something more quiet and still. The fragmented pieces stopped jumbling around in him and laid calmly now, waiting to be put back together.
“Please understand,” he said. “This is all happening really fast, and I need to do more thinking before I’m ready to forgive you. But for what it’s worth, I think that it’s what Nicholas would want.”
George released his grasp on his son and stood up again, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaning his face with it. He looked embarrassed but relieved, like some amount of pressure had been let out of him.
“O-Of course,” he said. “I realize that this may not be the best time for you. But with the race over, I wanted you to know that you’re welcome back home whenever you want. Your mother hasn’t been the same since you left.”
To go back home… Johnny had thought about it, of course, but along the line had lost faith in its possibility. He hadn’t been sure if he’d ever go back to Kentucky, let alone Danville. And his mother…
“Does Mom know that you’re here?” he asked. “Does she know I was in the race?”
George laughed weakly. “She’s been snipping the results out of the paper since the first stage. Neither of us could believe you were riding again… but we were happy for you. And seeing you in the final stage, well, you looked like you were getting along on that horse just as well as… as before.”
His eyes flicked to Johnny’s legs and his wheelchair. Johnny realized that when his father saw him at the beginning of the ninth stage, he’d been putting his legs to full use. It had probably seemed like a miracle to him. He didn’t know that the real miracle that Johnny had been granted was standing a short distance away.
“Some days are better than others,” he said. “Why didn’t she come with you, though?”
“Well…” George wrung his hands. “To be completely honest… your mother’s health isn’t like it used to be. She wanted to be here, she really did. But the doctors thought that the train ride, the crowds, the city air… it’s not good for her. That’s why I want you to come home as soon as possible.”
“Is she… dying?” Johnny asked, his stomach sinking. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but he’d hate himself forever if he didn’t ask.
“No, no,” George reassured him. “I just think that seeing you would really raise her spirits. And after that, if you wanted, I could introduce you to some of the new foals that we’ve got in the barn— some of them have great pedigrees, and I’m quite hopeful about their prospects in the next few years. If you didn’t have plans…”
He trailed off, but Johnny knew what he wanted to say. Even able-bodied jockeys couldn’t stay in the game forever and they both knew it. And his father was getting older. He had to admit that it made sense for Johnny to become a trainer and pick up the legacy that George had begun.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to— actually, spending the rest of his life around horses and riders didn’t sound too bad. But if he took up his father’s mantle, he’d probably find himself stuck pretty firmly in Kentucky. And there was one major problem with that: Kentucky was thousands of miles away from Naples.
“I’ll visit when I can, I promise,” he said. “But after that, I…”
He looked at Gyro, who had stationed himself a few yards away as the father and son talked, although not too far as to be out of earshot. Gyro looked back at him, and to anyone else it might have appeared that he had no definite expression, but Johnny knew the subtle shade of anticipation in his eyes. He gave Gyro a minute nod.
“I have other commitments,” Johnny said. “I appreciate the offer.”
George exhaled, somewhat deflated, but nodded. “I’m sure your performance in this race will open many doors to you, Johnny, not least of all our own. I can’t tell you enough how proud we are of you.”
Johnny couldn’t help but find it funny— he’d sought out his father’s pride for so long, trying so hard to race and win as often as possible in hopes that it might make him change his mind. But it wasn’t until entering the Steel Ball Run on a whim, completely forgoing the hope that his father would ever love him again, that he finally got what he used to want so desperately.
The shortest path was a detour, he thought.
“I have one favor to ask you, Dad,” he said. “The horse that I rode, Slow Dancer— I bought her in San Diego, but I’ve got no place to board her right now. If I brought her to Kentucky, would there be room for her at the stables?”
George looked thoughtful. “The Appaloosa, right? How old is she?”
“Eleven,” Johnny said. “She was the perfect fit for the race, but as far as I’m concerned, her racing career is over. She can be… temperamental, but she treated me well and I want her to have a comfortable life.”
“Of course,” George said. “She must be quite the mare. I’ll see to it that she’s well taken care of.”
“Thank you,” Johnny said. “It means a lot to me.”
“It’s the least I can do, after…” George stopped and cleared his throat. “Well. I won’t keep you and your friend any longer. I’m due at Grand Central Station to get back to your mother.”
“Give her my love,” Johnny said.
“I will,” George said. He shifted his weight, and then continued: “I love you, Johnny.”
“I…” Johnny swallowed. He knew what his father wanted to hear, and there was a part of him that wanted to say it, but… it was too soon. “I’ll see you soon.”
George dropped his eyes and nodded. “Yes. See you soon.”
He waved awkwardly to Gyro, who tipped his hat in acknowledgement. Then, still looking hesitant, he left. He looked after his shoulder at Johnny several times as he retreated.
When he was out of sight, Gyro sidled back up to Johnny.
“Well done,” he said.
“Don’t make jokes,” Johnny said.
“I’m not joking,” Gyro said. “That must’ve been hard.”
“It was,” Johnny said. He looked up at Gyro, clutching Nicholas’ boots. “Do you think I did the right thing? Telling him I’d come visit and all that?”
“It’s your father, not mine,” Gyro said with a shrug. “If it felt right, then it was right.”
Johnny felt… some way. It was too soon to tell what it was, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was one step closer to the closure he wanted, maybe. Not there yet, but closer.
“I guess the ball is in the air now,” he said.
“So it is,” Gyro said.
Johnny rolled up next to the lake, and Gyro stood by his side. He put his hand on one of the handles of Johnny’s chair, as if he was making sure that Johnny didn’t roll into the water, but Johnny knew that really it was his way of holding Johnny’s hand when they were in public. They watched the small rowboats come and go, carrying New Yorkers who wanted to get away from it all for a little, maybe pretend they were rowing away from whatever troubles waited for them in the city.
“Is it really okay for me to come with you to Naples?” Johnny asked.
“Yes, of course,” Gyro said. “I want you by my side.”
“I might have to go down to Kentucky first,” Johnny said. “See my mom and all that.”
“I’ll come with you, if you want.”
“I’d like that, but… don’t you have to get back to your family?”
“Eventually,” Gyro said. “But a few more weeks won’t hurt. And anyway, if I have to be there when you reconcile with your dad, then you have to be there when I reconcile with mine.”
“It’ll be different,” Johnny said.
“Oh, for sure,” Gyro said. “My dad doesn’t cry, for one.”
He grinned at Johnny with his signature grills glinting as they always did— dazzling Johnny, as they always did. With a sight like that, Johnny couldn’t help but smile back.
For the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time in his life, he felt like things were falling into place rather than falling apart. Maybe he didn’t have it all planned out to the letter. Maybe he hadn’t conquered every single fear he had about the future. But for once that uncertainty felt bearable— exciting, even.
Johnny looked at Gyro again. To have him here, alive, was the only thing that he really needed to be sure of. This is a story of revival, he thought. Of how he was literally able to revive the most important person in his life, and by doing so revive his own soul.
It was funny, actually. So much of what he used to believe revolved around the resurrection of the man that Johnny ended up finally burying. So many of his prayers on this journey had been made to someone who was really, truly dead. But the existence of that corpse spoke of something more powerful to Johnny: the existence of second chances. That, he could understand. Because of the second chance that had been given to Gyro— the second chance that had been given to him— he could even believe in it, maybe.
He could, at least, finally believe in the path that he was on. For once, Johnny was more than ready to take whatever detour awaited him.
For a moment, Johnny disregarded the fact that they were in public. He reached up and placed his hand over top of Gyro’s on his chair handle. Gyro didn’t visibly react— he just turned his hand so his palm was facing up. Then, he interlaced their fingers and gently squeezed Johnny's hand.
Johnny smiled. He had to correct himself: he was ready for whatever detour awaited them.
Notes:
quick history note: there really were sheep in Central Park from 1864 to 1932! i found this out while doing research for this chapter and it was just too fun not to write in.
well folks, this marks the end of OUR roundabout path. I want to thank everyone who read and left kudos, and especially everyone who left comments! i'm just a simple fanfic writer and i appreciate your feedback, it really keeps me going. i hope to bring you more GyJo fics in the near future. in the meantime, if you want to chat about SBR or anything else, the best way to reach me is via my twitter. thank you so much for reading and see you next time!
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