Salon and Saloon - teabags16 - ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken (2024)

Chapter 1: Kentucky Rain

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - Kentucky Rain

Fizz.

Hundreds of bubbles fizzed to the top of the glass, cascading one after another in gentle rows. They made their way up to the top of the glass, joining the thick layer of white foam on top. Condensation slowly formed on the side, creating a frosty sheen of droplets almost indiscernible to the eye.

If there was at least one thing in this world Johnny knew, a cold beer from a sh*tty bar always helped at the end of a bad day. At least marginally.

Johnny rested his head on the edge of the wooden table, staring intently into the faded yellow beer he had just ordered. He watched as the bartender lit up a cigarette, blowing his smoke in no particular direction. Johnny noticed the air conditioning unit on the wall above him picked up the smoke, sending it directly back into the bartender's face. He watched as the man tried to waft the smoke away with a flash of his hands.

Johnny traced his finger along the glass, feeling the condensation collect under his fingers. He tapped it into little blobs of droplets, drawing mindless lines and zig-zags alongside his drink.

His eyes shifted from his glass. Damn. 1… 2… 4, no…

Johnny counted 7 empty glasses stacked to the side of the table. 8, including the one he continued to swirl in front of him.

Well, he thought he counted 7, but he can’t quite tell. Could’ve been 8, or 9. He doesn’t quite care that much, he decides.

Years of heavy chain smokers coming and going through the sleazy bar had caused the entire area to turn a deep shade of yellow that was almost impossible to see. That was until someone took a napkin to the splintery wooden tables and chairs. Then it was easy to see how many food safety codes were blatantly being ignored.

But Johnny didn’t care.

The neon OPEN sign reflected all the way off the front window to the mirrors in the back of the bar, flashing rhythmically in succession. O… P… E…N… OPEN. It would flash three times, then repeat all over again; a hazy mixture of red and blues illuminating the bar ever-so-slightly. Rows of dusty multicolored string lights strung the walls haphazardly. The overhead lights were so dim, one could barely make out the features of someone sitting right in front of them. They kinda flickered a bit, too. Staring at them for too long would give someone a headache right quick.

But Johnny didn’t care.

The soft, warm feeling inside his chest he had been chasing all night had begun to form into one of uncomfort and staleness. His stomach started to churn and Johnny realized he couldn’t think of the last time he had near a sip of water.

Johnny didn’t care.

Some distant part of himself knew that all the emotions he hadn’t wanted to feel tonight had gone away, at least. And if that left him with only a queasy stomach, at the end of the day, he would rather live with that instead.

All of a sudden, Johnny’s ears started to tune back into his surroundings. A soft tune came from the room next door. It was a small bustling crowd of people murmuring softly. The shuffling of feet, a group of laughs. Microphone feedback, the clinking sound of drink glasses.

Johnny didn’t care.

He looked down at his legs. He had long forgotten what it felt like to dance at the bar on a saturday night. Maybe that was for the best, to be honest. He didn’t always like how handsy some people would get after one too many drinks, or the way it always felt like some guy was going to sling him a good one after dancing with his girl. It happened once; that was enough to keep him on edge every time after.

His eyes became cloudy. The effects of intoxication, some part of his thoughts echoed out. It wasn’t quite that, however, as he saw wet spots form on the fabric of his pants.

Tears, he guessed.

He wasn’t quite sure why he was crying. He sure didn’t feel like crying. Maybe this was some sort of subconscious reaction, but a reaction to what? He couldn’t quite pinpoint it. To be honest, he couldn’t quite remember much at all.

That tune in the background, it sounded really nice. The soft strumming of the guitar, and some good, clean vocals echoed out around the air around him. Some voices were even singing along, but nothing compared to the person on the mic tonight, he thought.

But Johnny didn’t ca-

He pushed his wheelchair out from underneath the table and started to wheel to the room next door, bumping haphazardly into chair legs that were strewn about by uncourteous customers.

Why was he doing that again?

Oh yeah. That voice, it sounded real… real… something…

Familiar?

It wasn’t the voice, no. It was the song itself.

Johnny rolled his chair around the corner to see about 10 or so people gathered around a dinky stage outfitted with a microphone stand and one small speaker. A few spotlights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the man on stage in a rim of golden light.

Someday, when we meet up yonder…

A group of drunken college-aged students swayed back and forth together, singing along loudly to the song.

We’ll stroll hand in hand again…

This was an odd song to make a ruckus to.

In a land that knows no partin’...

Johnny’s eyes locked onto the solemn voice singing into the mic.

Blue eyes cryin’ in the rain.

The college kids shouted loudly, giving a drunken roar of applause as the song came to a close. The eyes of the man who stood on the stage watched them closely, and if Johnny was a betting man, he had a feeling he was a little annoyed that they didn’t take his melancholy song so seriously.

Some part of Johnny didn’t like it, either.

The man on the stage strummed a few chords to fill the stale air between the chatter of the small crowd.

“Now, how about a bit of a happier song? We wanna dance!” one of the college boys exclaimed. His friends cheered in agreement, pumping their fists into the air and giggling.

The man at the microphone flashed a smile. “Not a fan of the slower ones, I see. Can’t win ‘em all I guess.” He began to expertly pluck at his guitar in rhythmic fashion, picking up the tempo. “How about this one? Y’know, I wrote it myself, actually.”

He leaned over the microphone, beginning to sing a soulful, catchy tune. The pesky group of kids broke up and started to dance with each other in front of the stage.

On the road to Kentucky, I'm traveling alone,

Through valleys and hills, and a land of unknown.

But I'm not afraid, I'll make it through,

With the grace of God, and my heart so true.

Definitely would sound better with some fiddle, Johnny thought.

Wait.

“What in the hell?”

Johnny thought he said that in his head, but the head turns and slowed down dances of the crowd suggested that he had done otherwise.

The man playing guitar didn’t seem to hear what everyone else did and continued to strum the jaunty, bluegrassy tune. How on earth could he know these lyrics? Wait, why did Johnny know this song? What was going on?

I’ve got my guitar and a pocket full of dreams

Hoping one day to hear my name in country music themes

I’ll sing my heart out in every little town

Hoping my music will take me around.

Johnny started wheeling closer to the stage.

“Watch it!”

“What the hell!”

“The f*ck is he doin’?”

He realized only after he was nearly 10 feet away from the stage that he had probably been rolling over some people's feet. Something was dragging him closer to this tall, blond haired mystery man. Like a magnet to a fridge.

Whether it was divine intervention, supernatural causes, or by a secret underlying will he had all along, Johnny had the most coherent thought he had had all night.

This was Nick’s song.

As the song broke into a melodic interlude, Johnny stared deep into those playful green eyes, ever-focused on the guitar strings. His hands slid across the frets of the boards effortlessly. He was good, Johnny thought.

But just being good wasn’t going to fly with Johnny.

“That ain’t your song.” Johnny said.

As Johnny’s eyes started to focus a bit more, he saw that the man had a funny looking beard. And that he hadn’t heard him one bit.

“I said, that ain’t your song!” Johnny exclaimed, a little louder this time. The man looked up from his guitar and met Johnny’s gaze. Not missing a single beat, he leaned over to the microphone, maintaining eye contact with the strange man in the wheelchair.

On the road to Kentucky, I'm traveling alone…

Johnny threw his hands into the air in resignation. By hell this random man was going to take credit for Nicholas’s song. This had got to be a blatant violation of copyright laws. Somehow.

“The f*ck you think you’re doing up there? This ain’t your song and you know it, asshole.”

Stares from the crowd burned holes into the cowboy hat on Johnny’s head.

“That ain’t your song! That’s Nick’s! NICK wrote that song!” Johnny felt more and more anger stirring up in his core as a familiar sting began to flow into his eyes. He slammed his arms down at the singer's feet. “Where do you get off claiming stuff as your own, huh?”

The man stepped back and stopped playing his guitar completely. The kids were no longer dancing and had started to whisper in their own little group. As blue eyes locked onto green ones, the green eyed man leaned back into the microphone.

“If you have a problem with me, then let's take it outside, sweetheart.”

The teens chattered in agreement with the man on stage. They started pointing and laughing at his wheelchair.

Their eyes never broke contact until Johnny felt a sudden sharp jolt pull him backwards. He whipped his head around in disdain. “The hell-”

He was met with the face of the bartender. His sleeves were rolled up and a fresh cigarette was lit in his mouth. The ashes from the untapped cigarette fell onto Johnny’s hat as the bartender quickly wheeled Johnny towards the exit of the building.

“What the hell are you DOIN’?” Johnny blurted out. “That man in there, he STOLE my brother’s SONG!”

The bartender swung open the door and pushed him out of it.

“Just go home, Johnny.”

As the door came to a close, Johnny turned his chair around to face the man who kicked him out. And for just a moment, he swore he saw a glimpse of the bartender's face. It wasn’t one of anger or annoyance, but one of pity.

Johnny spit onto the ground. He was the soberest he had been all night.

Chapter 2: Lonesome Town

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Lonesome Town

Johnny was cold.

November winters in rural California never seemed to get under the 50’s. Except tonight apparently. It was easily 30 degrees or below.

Johnny's teeth chattered as he rolled his wheelchair down the unevenly paved roads. He stopped briefly to wrap his arms around his torso. The short sleeved light blue button up he wore tonight did nothing to keep out the bone-chilling cold. He never dressed too warm for any occasion, anyway. He relied on alcohol to keep him warm most nights.

However, any warmth he felt from the drinks from earlier had completely dissipated and turned into a grueling stomach ache. Johnny stopped his wheelchair beside an alleyway and held his hand to his mouth.

He leaned over and retched onto the pavement.

Johnny hated throwing up. Every damn time. And for some reason, this time it hurt worse than it ever had before. His stomach turned inside out, his throat burning like a devil in hell. Tears stung his eyes for what had to be the third time that night. God, why was he cryin’ so much?

He knew why he was crying.

Johnny wiped his mouth unceremoniously and told himself he felt nothing but anger. Because who the f*ck did that guy think he was, really? Where in the hell did he even get that song from? As far as he knew, that song was never released.

Nicholas wrote that song. 7 years ago. Ain’t no doubt about it.

Johnny put his head in his hands. None of this made any sense. Who was that guy?

His eyes peeked through his fingers and glanced at a flier near his puddle of vomit. His nose wrinkled as he leaned in to get a closer look.

GYRO ZEPPELI

PERFORMING HIS SHOW,

“Go! Go! Zeppeli!”

TWO NIGHTS ONLY

NOVEMBER 06 - 07

FREE ADMISSION

The gaudy flier included large, round letters spelling out the dates and times, taking up near half the page itself. The center of the poster depicted the man smiling wide, his teeth quite literally spelling out “Go! Go! Zeppeli!”. Johnny couldn’t believe his eyes. Was that real? He prayed it was edited in.

Yeah, f*ck this guy.

“Gyro Zeppeli.” Johnny muttered under his breath, speaking to no one but the cold wind that whistled through the alleyway. He scoffed. Free admission? What, was this guy working off tip money? With a crowd like the one he gathered tonight, it sure as hell wasn’t worth the effort.

He adjusted his hat and sat up a little taller in his wheelchair.

I’ll see you tomorrow, asshole.

He shivered and rubbed his arms in silence.

~~~

Click. Click.

Gyro Zeppeli undid the clasps on his guitar case. Faded brown pleather frayed from almost every edge. The handle was getting a little loose too; he made a mental note to retighten the screws at some point. The orangey-brown velvet interior, however, was in perfect condition. It was the inside that counted, after all. Gyro gingerly placed his beloved Stella guitar into its resting place, his thumb grazing the pearl engraved star on the guitar head out of habit. He closed the lid, locking back the clasps in one swift motion.

He stood up, grasping the guitar case in one hand and adjusting his fuzzy bomber jacket with the other. The bartender stood before him.

“Nice job tonight, kid.” the man said, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Ah, well. Wasn’t much of a turnout like I hoped.” Gyro chuckled awkwardly as he released his hand from the handshake. His eyes scanned the room as the last remaining handful of customers chatted around the bar. Music was playing from the karaoke machine in the corner.

“Don’t worry about that, it’s a Thursday night. All the crowds come in on Fridays, I guarantee it. I’ve spread the word ‘round some, myself. Would love to see someone young like you bring some life back to this place.” The bartender reached for his pocket and pulled out a fresh box of cigarettes. “Want one?”

“Oddio, I’m good.” He thought about the utter hell that would be unleashed upon him if his father found out he smoked. Gyro reached down to grab his bottle of water he had placed next to the microphone. “You know, I never caught your name.”

“Timothy. But please, call me Tim.” The man with the thick southern accent flashed a smile and patted Gyro’s shoulder with vigor.

“Tim?” Gyro eyes widened. “So you’re the owner? Or do you just happen to work at a bar called ‘Mountain Tim’s’?”

“Sure am. My father owned this place since the early 20s, y’know. Prohibition era ‘n all that. Took over the place after he died,” He took a beat to take a long drag from his cigarette. “He loved puttin’ on shows for the town. Believe it or not, this place used to have a good reputation. Been runnin’ low on staff, though, so I have to do the bartendin’ myself nowadays.”

Gyro observed his surroundings. The bar was something else. Somebody might call it a ‘hole in the wall’, but Gyro thought a ‘pothole in the road’ was a better way to put it. Ah, a gig was a gig. He just had to keep telling himself that. The crackle of Tim’s cigarette interrupted his thoughts.

“You deserve to get up with the big leagues, kid. That voice o’ yours, it’s really something. I mean, who ever heard of a southern Italian singer before?”

Gyro laughed heartily. “Nyoho, I will. You’ll see me up on the Billboard Top 100 soon enough, Tim.” He playfully tipped his water bottle in the bartender's direction. “After this, I’m heading for San Diego.”

“San Diego. I read in the papers about the music competition starting down there. That where you headed?”

“Yep. All you gotta do is pay an entry fee and hope the crowds think you’re good enough to stick around.” He smiled and took a sip of his water. “I’m gonna win.”

A beat passed as they watched the last three remaining customers leave the bar. Ricky Nelson’s somber voice resonated from the karaoke machine. Lonesome Town. One of Gyro’s favorites.

Gyro cleared his throat. “So, that guy from earlier… you know him?”

Tim clicked his tongue twice and shook his head. “I do. He’s been comin’ to my bar for a few years now since he skipped town. Real sad story, that Johnny Joestar.”

Gyro’s heart might’ve stopped beating right then and there. So his suspicions were right. He told off THE Johnny Joestar during the middle of a set. He sang one of his dead brother’s songs right in front of him. And he claimed it was his own original song. Oh god, if this wasn’t karma for everything bad he’s done in his life, he didn’t know what it was.

Gyro bit the inside of his lip and simply nodded in response.

“How’d he end up here? I mean…no offense ‘n all.”

Tim’s face hardened a bit. He burned out the remains of his cigarette into an ashtray and turned to face Gyro.

“Johnny, he’s a lonely fellow,” Tim clasped his hands together and leaned against the counter of the bar. “Lots of rumors circulated ‘round after the incident. I don’t even know the full story. But it sure does break my heart to see him drink himself like that.”

“Ah.” Gyro stared at the opposite wall, watching as a single lightbulb on a string of yellow lights started flickering on and off. Incident?

“Better get goin’. It’s closing time.” Tim glanced at his watch. 2:00am already.

Gyro said his goodbyes and left out the front door. He dug through the pockets of his jacket and found the keys to his green Ford truck parked outside the building.

He swung open his car door and placed his guitar on the floorboards of the passenger seat. He started the engine with a sputter. The unusual cold of the night seemed to shock his truck, too.

“Cmon, Valkyrie, don’t mess around with me like that,” Gyro patted his steering wheel and adjusted the pink teddy bear sitting on the front of his dashboard. “We’ve got places to go.”

His gaze fell onto the collection of knickknacks stacked up in his passenger seat. It was piled high with copies of homemade fliers, empty bottles of co*ke, a notebook filled with song lyrics and chord sheets, and a pile of cassette tapes he plugged into his car system for long days on the road. He shuffled underneath the mess, pulling out different tapes one by one until he found the one he was looking for.

Gyro clicked on the overhead light and examined the cassette closely. On the front of the plastic case was a glued in picture of two boys, around 15 and 18. Both of them sat back to back with their arms hooked together. Their eyes pointed to each other playfully, smiling wide. Hand drawn blue letters decorated the top: “THE JOJOS”.

I’ll be damned.

Gyro’s hand reached for his chin and stroked his patchwork beard. So it really was Johnny Joestar at the bar tonight.

He flipped it over to see the back. Handwritten in black ink at the bottom right corner was a tiny “1962” .

Some quick mental math meant he was around 22, now.

Gyro knew what happened to Nicholas - hell, it was almost impossible not to have heard by now. What he couldn’t figure out was how both him and Johnny ended up here, in the same place at the same time. Gyro wasn’t even thinking about playing Nick’s song tonight, it was a spur of the moment thing. He groaned. He really shouldn’t have made that comment about it being his own song.

He looked back down to the cassette. 7 whole years ago. Johnny sure had changed since then.

He cringed again. He wasn’t quite sure why this was affecting him so much. But then again, the thought of disrespecting an honorable dead man who died in such horrible circ*mstances was enough to make him more than mildly uncomfortable.

Dio mio, forgive me.

He grabbed the rosary beads hanging from his rear view window and sent up a quick Hail Mary to anyone watching him from above.

Gyro reversed his truck into the road, one hand steering while he looked over his shoulder to check his back window. His motel was right around the block. He was also fairly certain he was the only person staying there tonight. Lonesome Town was a good song to end the night on, he decided.

The shadowy trees in the faraway hills painted the landscape in a bleak shade of gray. The moonless night made it especially hard to see anything without the help of headlights or road lamps. As he came to a stop at a 4-way intersection, his thoughts lingered on the man from the bar.

He recounted the events in his head as he remembered. So. A tenacious blond-haired cowboy in a wheelchair barreled down and began screaming at him from below the stage.

It was Johnny Joestar.

He wore a blue lipstick that matched the blue of his eyes. And his upper body was surprisingly chiseled. Especially his arms. Gyro wondered how much he could lift.

And for the briefest of moments, Gyro swore he saw a fire burning in those bright blue eyes. Everything else seemed a bit like a blur.

But the mans eyes were more than captivating; they were filled with a certain sadness he hadn’t seen before.

He was kind of a dick though, especially for interrupting his show like that.

No, no… he was a dick. Drunk or not, he ruined the whole vibe of the night. How was he supposed to get anywhere with-

A honk from behind him snapped Gyro out of his thoughts. He quickly accelerated, making a right turn at the stop sign.

Huh.

He called him sweetheart, didn’t he?

Chapter 3: Stars of the Midnight Range

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - Stars of the Midnight Range

June 1962 - Kentucky

“Johnny, get out here, quick! Look, you can see the fireflies over by the fenceline!”

Nicholas shouted upwards to the open window on the second floor. Soft, melodic chords that were emanating from a piano upstairs came to a stop as a blonde lop of hair peeked out from the windowsill.

“What’d you say?”

“Look!” The older boy gestured to the distance as a mass of fireflies flew around a grove of trees. “Oh man, there’s so many of ‘em. Come down here!”

With no hesitation, Johnny grabbed a pair of tennis shoes sitting by the doorway of his bedroom. No time for socks, he quickly decided, which left him hopping from one foot to the other as he slipped on his shoes and made his way down the hallway. Untied shoelaces dragged across the floor as he bounded down the stairs.

Nicholas greeted him by the stairs with a wide grin and two empty mason jars in each hand. Johnny smiled as he grabbed a jar from Nick.

“Aren’t we getting too old to be doin’ this?” Johnny exited the front door, holding it open for his brother behind him.

“When’s the last time you caught fireflies, huh?” Nick closed the door and jogged to catch up with Johnny. “Be young while you can, Jojo.”

“Fair enough. It’s been a while since we’ve been back, anyway,” Johnny took a deep breath of the warm night air. “Smells like home out here.”

“Yeah,” Nicholas walked alongside his younger brother. He unscrewed the lid from the empty jar. “And spaghetti sauce.”

“Ew, gross, dude.”

“These’ve been washed twice now. Dunno.” Nicholas screwed the lid back as he cleared his throat in feigned disgust.

Johnny chuckled under his breath. The two walked in silence, absorbing the atmosphere around them. A choir of crickets cried out their soulful ostinato; a warm breeze blew through the trees overhead. Bushels of leaves bristled against one another as the gust of wind blew through the branches, creating a rhythmic song only nature itself could create. It wasn’t the type of wind that sent chills up the spine, but a wind that encapsulated everything in its path with a sort of warmth akin to a hug. Thousands of fireflies glittered in the night sky, twinkling as bright as the stars in the cloudless expanse above. Johnny’s eyes widened at the beauty of the scene surrounding him as an immense feeling of contentment swelled up in his chest. The summer night’s song played a melody Johnny hadn’t heard in a long time. It sounded like home.

“Sure is pretty, huh?” Nicholas smiled.

“Sure is.”

Johnny’s hair blew in his eyes from the passing breeze. As he brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, a firefly carefully landed on his knuckle. He brought his hand to his face slowly as the insect came to a rest.

“Nick! I got one!” Johnny whispered in earnest. He cupped his hand gently over the firefly. “Lemme put it in your jar, I got mine in my arm right now.”

Nick opened his jar to Johnny. As he opened his hand, the firefly flew into the jar, clinging to the side of the glass, happily flashing its bright yellow colors.

“Hope he doesn’t mind smelling like tomatoes for a while,” Johnny said.

Nicholas put the lid back on, trading Johnny for his empty jar. The two brothers caught fireflies for a while, making exclamations of childlike excitement when they were successful in a catch. After their jars buzzed with light and life, they sat next to each other at the base of the big tree.

Johnny held up his jar next to Nicholas’s. A bright luminescent yellow glow illuminated their faces.

“I definitely caught more than you.”

“Nuh uh!” Johnny sat up and shoved his brother’s shoulder playfully. “I got more, mine just aren’t glowing as bright as yours.”

“Did not! There’s at least thirty in mine.”

“I caught thirty-two. I counted.”

“I know for a fact you were not counting.”

Johnny fell back against the trunk of the tree and laughed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The two fell back into a comfortable silence. Johnny laid his head on Nicholas’s shoulder as they watched the fireflies surrounding them. Against the clear night sky, it was hard to tell where starlight began and the fireflies ended.

“Yknow, I miss being a kid sometimes.” Nicholas sighed.

“Me too.”

Nicholas laughed. “You’re still 15, Jojo.”

“And? You just turned 18, like, a month ago.” Johnny took a deep breath. “Feels like we're older, though. Doin’ all the stuff grown adults do.”

“Sure does.”

Johnny opened his jar and shook the glass gently. He watched as the fireflies flew back to join the others. Nicholas followed suit, their jars decorating the black night once more.

They sat together quietly as they watched moon rise higher in the sky. A beat passed as they both contemplated their own thoughts in silence.

Johnny knew he tended to feel his emotions at face value. Most of the time he would cry if they felt too big all at once. And something about this moment felt similar to those times. He was surrounded by a cozy summer night, wrapped in its sounds, smells, and sights he hadn’t experienced in years. Johnny felt the tightness in his chest growing larger by the second.

The feeling wasn’t bad, though; it felt like something warm, and a little cold at the same time. Like love, he thought. A little bit of loss, too. And something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Johnny sat up and embraced his brother in a hug. Nicholas jumped, surprised out of his thoughts by the sudden movement.

“I love you, Nick. Sorry if I don’t say it enough.” A few tears fell from Johnny’s cheeks onto Nicholas’s sweatshirt.

“I love you more, Jojo.” Nick ruffled the younger boy's hair, smiling. He didn’t resist. He wrapped his arms around Johnny, resting his chin on the top of his brother’s head.

“You’re the best big brother in the world.”

~~~

November 7th, 1969 - California

It was a full house at Mountain Tim’s tonight. Johnny couldn’t say that he wasn’t at least a little surprised.

Granted, it was 9 o’clock on a Friday. The people in this sleepy town did have a tendency to make their way out of the woodworks for happy hour. They usually stuck around afterward to hear the music of whatever local artist would be playing for the weekend. Tim wanted the bar to have some sort of community, after all. Johnny was his only customer on the quiet days, save for a few travelers passing through town. On the busier nights, the townspeople wanted to enjoy company with one another, sharing community and brief glimpses into their lonely lives when they could.

However, for such a small town, the turnout was beyond anything Johnny had seen before. There were at least 60 or so people here tonight. There had to have been out-of-towners visiting for this performance.

Guess I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge.

Johnny had noticed a certain glimmer in Tim’s eye. Such a crowd hadn’t visited the run-down bar in years. By the state of the bar itself, Johnny knew the energy tonight was different. For one, it was clean. Just overnight, it looked like Tim had mopped the linoleum floors to a spotless shine. Tables that were once askew were made straight, and the string lights that were falling off their hooks on the walls were straightened and even dusted. He also noticed the lack of a cigarette in Tim’s mouth… tonight was special.

Johnny rolled his wheelchair behind two girls standing next to the bar and eavesdropped on their conversations.

“Yknow, I’ve heard some real good things about this guy!”

“Really?”

“Really! My friend a few towns over said she saw him perform a few weeks ago. And he’s Italian!”

“Italian! That explains his odd look! But he’s fluent in English though, singin’ all these songs?”

“Sure is! I think he went to school in the States. He’ll sing some bonafide Italian songs tonight, too. It’s so~o~o romantic!”

The two girls giggled to themselves and argued if italian or french was the most attractive accent. Johnny rolled his eyes and tuned out of their conversation.

He had no need to be close to the stage tonight. All he was going to do was observe and watch.

Observe, and watch. Right.

He took a sip of ice water he got earlier at the bar and tried to ignore the surprised look on Tim’s face when he told him he was staying sober tonight.

Johnny had gotten pretty good at fading into the background; it wasn’t easy at first, but as people forgot who he was, he became just another lonely face in a lonely crowd. He sat parallel to the far left wall and watched as people milled about, drinking and chatting amongst one another as the show was about to begin.

The lights dimmed down in the room. An excited hush fell across the crowd as they waited in anticipation. Applause erupted through the room as the man exited from behind a curtain on the stage. Bright stage lights turned on to illuminate the tall, golden haired man, poised confidently. His strange patchwork beard wasn’t something Johnny imagined when he was drunk, either.

Gyro swept his hair out from underneath his bomber jacket. It was ordained with a pale purple fringe and white rhinestones that sparkled from the overhead lights above. The man was wearing strange patchwork khaki pants and some sort of belt with a large buckle that he couldn’t quite make out from where he was sitting. Johnny watched as he basked in the crowd’s excitement. The golden man smiled widely and strummed the first chord of a song on his guitar.

So those ugly teeth were real.

Johnny rolled his eyes for the second time that night.

The man leapt into the song with vigor. The audience immediately recognized the tune and began to sing along.

…And you don’t tug on Superman’s cape,

You don’t spit into the wind,

You don’t pull the mask off an old lone ranger,

And you don’t mess around with Jim!

Johnny furrowed his brow and took another sip of his water. He hated to admit it, but he actually really liked this song. Jim Croce was one of his favorites growing up.

What was worse was the infectious energy from the man on the stage. The man danced around with the crowd, leaning into the microphone to sing each verse and chorus. Between those moments, he swayed from left to right across the stage with his guitar, expertly picking every note, adding even more complexity and musicianship to the original song. His effortless playing was impressive to the average onlooker, but with Johnny’s experience, he knew just how hard it was to play such difficult patterns and to sing and dance all at once. Johnny tipped the front of his hat down on his head, attempting to appear more nonchalant.

This guy is an asshole. Don’t be impressed, Johnny, he thought to himself.

The song came to a close and the crowd erupted into drunken cheers. The man leaned closer to the microphone to greet the audience.

“Welcome to the show, ladies and gentlemen.”

Johnny watched the two girls from earlier squeal loudly as the man winked at them from the stage.

“How about another song, courtesy of Gyro Zeppeli himself, sì?”

~~~

Johnny’s eyes burned. He realized it had been a while since he blinked. Around halfway through the show, he nearly forgot why he was there in the first place. This Gyro Zeppeli, he was full of mystery in more ways than one. It was impossible to ignore the talent he had, and the anger that had felt so strongly the night before was fading quickly.

But how? How did he know that song?

Johnny listened as the man began to play a slower song. Couples began to dance together and others began to sway with the gentle tune. But Johnny’s thoughts lingered on.

There was no way he could have known about that song. Hell, Johnny hadn’t heard it in years either. He definitely remembered Nick writing it, too. They were on the tour bus heading to Memphis for a show. Nick was playing around with a silly melody that reminded him of their home back in Kentucky. Johnny specifically remembered the bus hitting a bump as he was writing down the lyrics on a scrap piece of paper, causing Nick to drop his pen on the floor and hit his head on the top of the cramped bunk bed simultaneously. Johnny had erupted into laughter as Nick yelped and rubbed the back of his head.

They only recorded that song once, too. Around June, when they went back home for the summer. The same summer Nick…

Johnny pushed away that thought.

If this Gyro Zeppeli knew about that one song, did he know about the others? Johnny and Nick had recorded around fifteen songs that summer, more than enough for an album.

Not even the company had that song.

If they remotely knew about their impromptu album, it would’ve been hell to pay for. They knew it was risky recording their own stuff, especially living with their dad. Contracts were contracts, and the two of them were vastly limited with their creativity when they signed with Valentine records.

Johnny scoffed. It really was bizarre how much they wanted to control him and Nick back then. Even their dad had bought into the fame and money that came with being a household name.

He pushed away those thoughts too.

The man began to strum what Johnny thought to be the last song of the night.

“Thank you all for coming,” the man said in a low voice. The crowds cheered once more. “I hope you all will watch me from home this weekend. I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now, but I’m heading for San Diego-” He was interrupted by cacophonous cheers. Gyro smiled widely, blushing and walking away from the microphone. He strummed a few more chords to fill the air. “Please, please. You flatter me!” The people continued to clap as he laughed heartily. “If there’s one thing I ask of you tonight, make sure to vote for the one and only, Gyro Zeppeli!”

The crowd applauded even louder than before.

Wait, San Diego? What was in San Diego?

Johnny looked at Gyro. Earlier, he had taken off the strange jacket and was left only with a humble white undershirt. The tight shirt showcased three thick lined tattoos on his biceps. His skin glistened from a sheen of sweat from his lively performance. The golden man was shining, and Johnny almost felt the same inexplicable pull to the performer, just as the people had this night. Tonight was nothing like the night before.

What was this guy’s deal?

He shook his head and focused his sight. His eyes cleared and Johnny saw the man on stage staring directly back at him. He sat up a little taller in his chair, locking eyes with renewed intensity. He needed to talk to him after this, immediately.

The man hesitated for the briefest of moments, breaking eye contact and glancing down to his guitar. Johnny picked up on the shift and watched as the man suddenly changed his guitar capo and strummed the strings in a new key.

“Change of plan, everyone. Please enjoy this final song written by my good friend from many years ago.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. Gyro’s eyes fell back onto him as he began to sing.

I've been goin' down this road,

Longer than I care to say,

Searchin' for a place called home,

But the road just winds away.

Johnny’s lips parted as his jaw fell open. There was no way.

And I’ve struggled with growin' up,

This life’s so full of change,

Then I see a firefly fly by,

Just a flicker in the range,

He sat up taller in his wheelchair, his hands gripping the sides of his wheels. No, I need to wait, he thought.

Gyro Zeppeli’s eyes didn’t move from Johnny. He knew. He knew that he knew who Johnny was. This was on purpose.

Johnny didn’t know whether to feel overwhelmingly angry, sad, or shocked. It was a mixture of all three, and it was taking everything he had in him not to make another scene.

The nights are filled with starry skies,

And the music of the wind,

And in my heart I feel the pain,

For the life I’ve left behind.

The guitar style sounded just like Nick’s. It was replicated with such precision and honor that he had felt like he had stepped back in time into an old memory. Johnny sharply inhaled; he had nearly forgotten to breathe due to the strength of his emotions.

And I’ve struggled with growin' up,

This life’s so full of change,

Sometimes I feel like a firefly,

Just a flicker in the range.

The song ended on a similar chorus from before. Johnny was frozen solid as the audience roared for the final time.

Johnny clutched his chest and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, a pit forming in the bottom of his stomach. The lights began to brighten on the main floor but his world felt as if it were moving in slow motion.

The man had said his goodbyes.

The crowds began to thin.

The show was over.

…I have to talk to him.

Chapter 4: You Don't Know Me

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - You Don't Know Me

Johnny pushed his wheelchair as fast as he could, barreling through the crowded bar. He was at a disadvantage, being as he was around two feet below everyone else’s eye level. Johnny craned his neck and used his arms to lift himself higher off his chair, attempting to catch a glimpse of where the golden haired singer had disappeared to. He had to get to that man.

He saw a mass of curtain shift behind the stage, flowing as if someone had walked past it in a rush. He shoved a woman to the side with his arm who was blocking his way.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?” she squealed, gripping onto the arm of a man standing with her.

Johnny didn’t hear her, nor the angry male voice that followed. The two bystanders watched as the man in the wheelchair pushed through the scramble of people. They glanced at each other in indignant resignation.

Johnny flung open the side of the curtains, revealing a dimly lit storage area filled to the brim with odds and ends. There were chairs, broken tables, random assortments of cables, and…

Gyro Zeppeli.

The man was bent over an open guitar case, wiping down the sides of his guitar with a faded yellow cloth.

Johnny was frozen, unable to find the right words. Was he about to yell at this man again? His heart pounded in his chest, beating with confusion, anger, and most of all, some twisted sort of curiosity.

The man continued to wipe down his guitar methodically, sparing not even a glance in Johnny’s direction. Flecks of glowing dust flew through the air from the disruption of the old red curtains, and rays of light illuminated the room as Johnny held them open with his right arm.

“Can I help you?”

Johnny let out something between a laugh and a cough. He let the curtain fall behind him, darkening the back room once more.

“Cut the bullsh*t. You know who I am.” Johnny’s eyes squinted as he attempted to refocus his sight in the sudden darkness.

A pause.

“I do.”

He set down the guitar in the case and stood up.

“You’re Johnny Joestar.”

“And who the hell are you, then?”

The man laughed under his breath. He turned to face Johnny, his stature shrouded in shadows.

“Oh, I am many things,” The man uncrossed his arms and began to count on his fingers in grandiose fashion. “Singer, songwriter, performer, entertainer, future winner of the Steel Ball R–”

“f*ck off,” Johnny interrupted. He rolled his chair closer to the man, his path blocked by a stack of chairs. His voice lowered. “You know songs you shouldn’t.”

Some sort of emotion passed over Gyro’s face. Was he nervous? Johnny wasn’t sure what it was. It was too dark to make out.

“I do.”

The man crossed his arms back over his chest.

Johnny’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched tightly, frustration brewing deep in his core. This guy was actually insufferable.

Motherf*cker.

Johnny rolled his chair ever closer to the golden haired man standing in front of him. His voice was low and dangerous.

“No one else in the world had those songs besides me and Nick.”

Another pause.

“You some sort of serial stalker or somethin’, Gyro Zeppeli?”

Gyro laughed and a signature glint of gold teeth shone beneath his green lips.

“I just might be.”

He turned around and began to walk back towards his open guitar case. “Listen, kid. If you wanna talk later, I can, but I’m running a tight schedule here. I’m heading outta here in the morning. Plus, I can’t say I’ll share all the details–”

A sudden crash echoed out from behind him. Gyro whipped his neck around and felt two hands latch onto his arm, dragging him backwards. After nearly being knocked from his feet, he regained his balance and looked back to see the man in the wheelchair was now on the floor, gripping tightly to Gyro in desperation.

“God… ugh…”

Johnny closed his eyes and lowered his head in a feeble attempt to keep his voice from wavering.

“Asshole. I just… wanna know how you know those songs.”

Gyro froze.

Sincerity.

Johnny’s hands fell from the man’s arm and caught the weight of his fall. After bracing himself, he looked up at the taller man. Blue eyes filled with determination burned bright in the darkness.

Gyro let out a loud sigh. After a moment, he responded with more of a statement than a question.

“Why don’t you buy me a drink first.”

~~~

The crowds had fizzled out after the lively night of music, leaving behind a few drunken stragglers. A group of men were smoking and playing billiards in one corner; a group of girls were singing along to the karaoke machine in the other. Tim walked around behind the bar counter, cleaning up empty cups and putting bottles of liquor back on the shelf.

In some odd twist of fate, Johnny had found himself face to face with the man who had claimed one of his dead brother’s songs as his own just the night before.

He stared at the man sitting in front of him, watching as he chugged down his third pint of beer in one go.

“Gah!” Gyro cheered and slammed his glass onto the table in one swift action. “Thanks for paying. Clearly I was thirsty.”

Johnny stared back blankly in response. Gyro tipped the rim of the glass back and forth with one finger, comfortably ignoring the tension that was hanging thick in the air. Johnny wished he had gotten something to drink too. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

“So, Johnny,”

“How’d yo–”

Gyro interjected quickly. “How ‘bout we start with some small talk first?”

The taller man extended out his hand across the table for a handshake. Johnny’s eyes simply followed his motion, making no attempt to reciprocate. Gyro figured as much. He retracted his hand.

“Alright. Well, I’m Gyro Zeppeli. Born n’ raised in Italy.” He took a brief pause to evaluate where the conversation might be headed. Might as well keep going. “My nonna immigrated to New York ‘round the early 40’s and moved down to Georgia in the 50’s. I came down here to help take care of her when I was younger. Learned the language of the land n’ fell in love with the music.”

Blonde eyebrows were furrowed so deeply down the opposing man’s face that Gyro thought they might fall off right then and there. In front of him, on the table, no decorum.

He continued on.

“Let’s see. Well, I play guitar, sing, write, but you know that already. I’ve always had these big dreams of forming a band one day, but the one man gig ain’t that bad either. Oh, I’ve got some songs that I seriously think will be on the charts one day, y’know,” Gyro said. “Man, what am I forgetting… Ah! I like to cook, too.”

Silence. This wasn’t going very far. Why did this feel like an awkward first date?

Johnny broke from his silence. “How do you know Nick’s songs?” His tone was serious.

Gyro shrugged. “Secret.”

Johnny’s unamused face didn’t move an inch, yet Gyro swore he felt a red hot fire run up his spine.

“You claimed his song as your own not even the other night.”

The golden man looked off to the distance and scratched at his patchwork beard. “Ah… did I?”

Johnny lunged across the table and grabbed the man by the collar of his white undershirt.

“You tell me where you got those damn songs from and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let your little slip-up go,” Johnny’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Or, I wonder, do you steal all your songs like that?”

Their faces were inches apart. The overhead lamp above their table flickered twice as it rocked back and forth from the power of Johnny’s charge.

He let go of his shirt and sat back in his chair, watching as Gyro brushed the white top flat again.

“I’m sorry about that. I truly am. I didn’t think–” Gyro trailed off mid-sentence.

“Then enlighten me. Where do you know ‘Road to Kentucky’ and ‘Firefly’, huh? What else do you know?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Johnny’s expression darkened.

Sensing danger in his gaze, the golden-haired man replied swiftly. “No, seriously. I made a promise to him back then.”

“Back then?”

Blue and green studied each other for a moment. The bustle of the remaining crowds around them began fading away; the two of them remained.

“Fine, I won’t play coy anymore.” he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Gyro’s shoulders tensed up ever so slightly. His arm reached back to rub the nape of his neck as he inhaled through his teeth.

“I knew your brother.”

Blue eyes widened.

“...How?”

“Maybe not all that well, but I knew him. Our paths happened to cross around seven or so years ago. We were both around the same age, give or take.”

Gyro’s voice softened. “He was a talented guitarist. And a damn good man.”

Johnny’s fingers drummed against the tabletop, waiting expectantly for more information. A nervous tick, picked up from childhood. Constantly trying to play invisible piano keys on any surface he could, striving for the solace and comfort that came from the only thing that reassured him during days when every sense of peace seemed lost.

After a few moments of silence, it was clear that he wasn't going to get any more out of him.

“That’s all?”

“Mmm.” the man mumbled. He tapped his nails on the empty glass, emitting a soft tinkling sound. “For now. A Zeppeli never breaks a promise.”

A Promise.

A gut wrenching feeling fell to the very bottom of Johnny’s stomach. His fingers suspended their imaginary melody. The air from his ears was sucked out from underneath him, starting to ring.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

He could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Blurry faded memories of Nicholas flashed in front of his eyes. Nick. Johnny shivered. He was…

He was cold. He was so, so cold.

Where was he?
He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The sound of rain. Unrelenting thunder. Flashes of light illuminating silhouettes of trees around him. The taste of tears, the taste of rain, the taste of blood.

“I promise.”

Blood as far as he could see. Blood on his shirt. Blood on his shoes. Blood on his hands. Blood on his–

“Hey… hey, now…”

A hand was waving by his face in a blur. Johnny was suddenly aware of the presence of two gentle fingers wrapped around his left arm taking his pulse. He pulled his arm away from the other sharply.

“Don’t you f*cking touch me,” Johnny snapped. Gyro flinched back. The warmth of his hand left as quick as it came, yet seemed to burn all the same. Johnny rubbed the spot as if it had left a bruise.

“Alright, alright. Sorry,” His brows were knit together tightly in concern. The blond man’s breathing was rapid and unsteady. Gyro knew what was going on.

A delicate hand tapped the rim of Johnny’s headwear. A distraction. “So, what’s with the hat?”

Johnny stared back.

“Hat?”

“Yeah. You got these little bunny ears on top.” The man raised an empty glass to his lips.

“Ears?”

Gyro gestured and pointed around to the right and left sides of his head.

“Your little… things. Goin’ on up there.”

Johnny blinked hard as he returned to his surroundings. Mirroring the man in front of him instead of processing the question, he raised a hand to his own head and felt the pieces of hair sticking out from the sides of his own hat.

“I… I dunno. Got it a long time ago,” he cleared his throat. He continued to thumb mindlessly at the lock of hair sticking out, his thoughts clearing.

Wait. He stopped and brought his hand back down to the table.

“Man, who are you to judge the weird hat here?”

Gyro laughed heartily. “You mean the hat from my poster?”

“Yeah. Awful poster, by the way. Truly horrific.” He meant every word.

“Oh, Johnny! Not a fan of my look, are you?” The corners of Gyro’s mouth upturned in a smirk. “You Americans have no sense of style. What, is it my teeth?”

Johnny exhaled from his nose as he watched the golden man smile wide as ever. It was the same smile he had seen all night, just as egregious as the personality of the man who beheld it. Johnny shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

“Maybe it’s the teeth, I don’t know,” Johnny took a deep breath, fighting his lungs to inhale deeper each time. “Listen. I–”

Gyro waited.

“I don’t sing anymore. I don’t play much either. But when I heard you play tonight, I swore to God, if just for a moment… I heard him standin’ right in front of me again.”

Johnny chewed at the inner part of his bottom lip.

“You play just like him.”

Gyro swallowed.

“I need you to teach me how you learned to play like that. I don’t have much to remember him by – other than some real sour memories,” Johnny wrapped his arms around his torso. His face was serious again. “And I will find out how you got those songs.”

“I can’t.”

…

“What?”

“I said I can’t do that for you.”

A million emotions crossed over Johnny’s face in a split second. He unwrapped his arms from his core and brought them to his arm rests, raising his posture higher.

“Why?”

“I’m leavin’ for San Diego in the morning. I’ll be traveling for a few months with everyone else headed for the Steel Ball Run Tour,” Gyro looked toward his left, avoiding a very blue pair of eyes. “Plus, I charge for lessons. Nothin’ comes for free nowada–”

“I’ll come with you.”

Green met blue once again, surprised.

“I’m serious as all get out. I’ll come with you.” Johnny was resolute.

Gyro raised his brow. “You gonna join my band, topolino ?”

“No.”

“Well, I say you will. That’s my lesson fee.”

Johnny searched the man’s face, believing that if there were the slightest of cracks in his facade, he could make a way out of his request.

And nope. Gyro was as stubborn as he was.

“You’ll teach me how to play like Nick, and to tell me where you got our songs from?”

“I can only vouch for the guitar part. Maybe not the songs.” Gyro sighed after a long pause between the both of them.

“... I said, maybe .”

That’s all Johnny needed to hear.

“I haven’t sung in a while.”

“I don’t need perfection. Just a keyboardist and some vocals.”

Every ounce of Johnny’s better judgement was screaming against this proposal. His return to the spotlight would be with a strange Italian man who knew a little too much about his late brother. He would have to leave everything; not like there was much to leave behind, but it was the fact of the matter.

However, Johnny had already made up his mind around 5 minutes ago.

Johnny could tell from the sparkle in the man’s eyes that he already knew his answer. “How ‘bout it, Joestar? I’ll make up for the other night, too.”

Johnny extended his hand to Gyro for the second time that night. Though, this time, he wasn’t grovelling on the ground. One hand met the other, gripping tightly in a firm handshake.

“Sounds like a deal.”

Chapter 5: You've Got What It Takes

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 - You’ve Got What It Takes

What the hell was he doing.

That was the very first thought Johnny had as he woke to his digital alarm clock blaring sharp sine tones in his ears.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Goddammit, you shut up!” Johnny leaned over his pillows and slapped the snooze button with a dramatic swoop of his arm. He dropped back onto the bed and sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes free of a very unrestful night of sleep. He just needed… ten more minutes… if only he could just squeeze out ten more minutes, maybe he could feel a bit… more… rested…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“OOUAUGH!” Johnny threw his pillow angrily at the nightstand as the snooze timer disrupted his sleepy haze. The pillow did nothing but knock everything off the small table, including all of his pill bottles and his bedside lamp. He flinched, waiting for the telltale shatter of a lightbulb – but nothing came. A fleeting moment of relief passed over him—it was replaced just as quickly with a red hot annoyance as the alarm continued to scream (a little less loudly) from underneath his bed.

He groaned and covered his ears with a blanket as he reached over his bed and yanked the cord from the outlet. He stayed there for a moment, hanging off the edge of his bed, letting his arms dangle to the floor. Blood started to rush to his head; at least he was awake now.

He sighed for a second time and slumped himself completely off the bed, taking the blanket with him. Blond hair stuck out in every direction as he laid on the cold shaggy carpet. A million thoughts were trying to form, but all he could hear was television static.

He was really doing this.

Last night was definitely not a dream, and Johnny’s headache was definitely not a hangover. That was more or less the fact that he had packed everything last night around 3 in the morning, leaving him with about… 3 hours of sleep.

Oh god, it was 6:00am, right?

He sat up urgently and grabbed the cord to the clock and began blindly stabbing the wall behind the bedside table.

Dammit, where’s the outlet?

It took a moment for Johnny to realize that it would be much easier to slide the table out of the way to find the socket. He plugged it back and waited for the clock to boot back up, its analog numbers flashing in succession as it began to automatically reset back to the standardized local time.

And it was…

5:13am.

He dropped the clock back to the floor. Thunk.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

A final angry pull of the cord finally put the alarm to silence.

~~~

Hot water ran down Johnny’s face and body, enveloping him with warmth. This was something he hadn’t thought about yet. How was he going to be able to take showers without a stool? Or a bath seat? All he could do was hope the hotels he’d be staying at would have some sort of accommodations.

And where was his wheelchair going to go?

He thought back to the brief conversation they had the night before. Ah. Right. Gyro said he would handle that.

-

“I’m serious. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got a pickup truck with plenty of space to spare in the back. It’s the least I could do if you come along for the ride,” the golden man had said nonchalantly, as if he was chatting with a friend of 10 years. “All you gotta do in return is sing for me. Which I happen to know you can do just fine.”

Johnny had looked at him strangely. Why was this random man, who was much less a stranger, so willing to accommodate him? And to ask for his help, and so casually? Well, alright. He could admit that maybe ‘help’ wasn’t quite the right word for it.

“And so you know, by the way. When I win the competition, I’m takin’ my share, 70-30.”

Gyro paused.

“Actually, scratch that. How ‘bout 60-40? That sounds more fair.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow as he paused again.

“Okay. Y'know what, lets just say 50-50 for now. Makes me feel better for some reason.” Gyro had looked him dead in the eyes. “But remember who the childhood superstar is, now.”

-

Even stranger was the fact that Johnny didn’t feel at all bothered by the money talk. And as he considered it, not even the singing and playing part of the deal seemed all that bad anymore.

Any sort of reservations he had initially were replaced with an overwhelming determination – determination to learn how this man had captured Nick's playing so effortlessly, so easily, and with so much honor. Johnny spent the latter half of his career trying to replicate Nick’s talent in his music. He never once got close.

-

“You got your own guitar?”

Johnny nodded.

“Needs new strings.”

Gyro clicked his tongue.

“I’ll get you fixed up. Make sure to bring it tomorrow, cuz I’m not letting you borrow mine down the road.”

Gyro grabbed a napkin with some scribbled ink letters off the table and stood up from his chair. It made a loud scooting sound against the floor.

“Alrighty. I’ll pick you up outside your apartment tomorrow, then, ‘round 7:00 in the morning.” He waved the napkin that Johnny had written his address on. “And if you don’t come out before that, I’m leaving without you. Gives you some time to think about it all, just in case. No hard feelings.”

-

Johnny turned off the shower knob and watched the remaining water spiral down the drain. He shook his head, tearing gaze from the mesmerizing pattern. He grabbed a towel he had placed on the lid of the toilet earlier. He dried his body off thoroughly and wrapped it around his waist and transferred himself back over to his chair.

Part of him had gotten used to this routine, navigating through his life in new ways, innovating different techniques in order to have better movement in his surroundings. Things he would have never had to think about before the incident.

Before he was shot.

Johnny faced himself in the mirror. His visage was blocked by a thick foggy condensation that had collected on the glass from the hot shower. Sometimes it was better not to look at himself anyway. It was easier to forget the scars that had caused him so much pain.

But not today.

This felt like a turning point, the next chapter of his journey. He reckoned he could do with about 5 more hours of sleep, though. He didn’t know what in God’s name was letting him go through with this, but a force was dragging him out of his apartment to join a man who, in Johnny’s mind, emitted some of the most bizarre energy he had ever come across. A man he was still uncertain of.

Johnny dug through his bathroom drawers and found his hair dryer. He hadn’t had a need to use it that often, especially when his naturally wavy hair usually found its own way of sitting on his head. But again, today was different.

Instead of ignoring the man staring back at him in the mirror, he turned on the fan to high heat and began drying off the reflection in front of him.

The condensation began to disappear from the added heat, revealing the shape of a man; it was a figure that Johnny hadn’t looked at in a while. Faded winter freckles and dark beauty marks littered his body like constellations. Water droplets clung to his hair, dripping onto his shoulders in little plips. The drops slid down the nape of his neck and down his arms, running past a star shaped birthmark on his left shoulder. His hair was a shade darker when it was wet, and his face was a shade redder from the steam.

He felt small.

Two scars marked the side of his left hip and his lower abdomen. He gently touched them with two fingers, tracing his fingertips down his leg until he no longer felt any sensation.

It happened two years ago this week.

His front teeth sunk into his lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood. Digging nails into skin, he balled his fists up in frustration. Dammit, why had he let this stop him for so long?

He clicked the dryer to the hot setting and began to blow his hair. That was enough of that. He had spent the past two years feeling pity for himself; he could put that off for the time being.

Johnny pulled on a blue long sleeve shirt and a pair of faded jeans. His hair was a little bit more voluminous than usual – he made sure to flip the ends of his hair up with the side of his brush. Was this too much? It felt like too much.

He grabbed his hat and put it over his freshly styled hair for good measure. Nothing a hat couldn’t fix. The blow-dried hair laid flatter on his head than usual, so he stuck his fingers in the holes of his hat and pulled out two blond pieces.

Now that he looked at it, they did kinda look like little ears.

He grabbed all of his luggage and set it by the front door. Just his suitcase, a backpack, and his guitar. He didn’t need that much to make do. It was 6:30am.

Johnny pulled the covers up over his bed as neatly as he could. Pillows went back to their place, blankets were folded at the edge of the bed. He sat back and looked out at his small room.

He wouldn’t miss it all that much.

He checked his wristwatch again for the twentieth time that morning. 6:45.

Johnny sat by the door in silence, waiting for the sound of a car to drive up. His eyes felt heavy. Lord, he needed sleep. A sharp inhale woke his brain right up; he was doing this, no matter what. He needed to learn how to play like Nick, and he had to know the truth.

His eyes closed, retreating to a world all his own. His fingers began to tap on the sides of his wheelchair, creating a mental melody only he could recognize. Would he be able to return to playing like he could? His fingers hadn’t touched a piano in a long time. What if he forgot everything he knew?

The grumble of a truck rolling down an unevenly paved road snapped him quickly out of his thoughts.

Johnny opened the front door and watched as a green Ford pulled up to the front of his building, swinging effortlessly into the closest parking spot. Brake lights switched off, a car door was open and closed, and suddenly there was a man walking toward his front door. No turning back.

“So I’ll take this as a yes, then?”

The man propped an arm against the doorframe of Johnny’s apartment, towering over him. Johnny looked directly up into his eyes.

“It’s a yes.”

~~~

“You buckled up, Johnny?”

Gyro shouted from outside of the truck. Johnny watched him through the rear view mirror as he strapped down his folded wheelchair and both of their luggage securely.

“I am. And…” Johnny turned his head back fully to look out the open back window. “Are you sure all of that’s gonna hold?”

“This is my girl, Valkyrie. My loyal steed,” he said. “She won’t let us down.”

He secured bright orange straps with a taught pull, slapped the side of the truck twice, and hopped down from the truck bed in one smooth jump. Every action he performed was so damn showy.

“Do we really need to buckle in the guitars?” Johnny glanced to his left; both of their guitar cases had been stacked on top of each other, secured with a safety belt between the driver and passenger seat.

Gyro swung open the driver’s door and gave Johnny a deadpan stare. “You would buckle in your toddler, right? Same thing.”

Johnny’s brows raised as he turned his head back around slowly. For some reason he wasn’t quite convinced.

“...Allllllrighty.”

Gyro started up the truck with his keys. The engine sputtered into ignition.

“Alright indeed!” He turned to Johnny and flashed a smile, one with a noticeable lack of gold flare. He must’ve taken out his god awful grills. “Let’s get on the road, Johnny.”

Gyro was filled with too much energy this early in the morning. Johnny was filled with a lack thereof. Similar as the night was to the day.

The truck rolled out of the front gate. Johnny watched his building get smaller and smaller through the side mirrors.

“Ah, I made you some coffee too,” Gyro said, picking up a paper cup from the front console. “It’s black. Wasn’t sure if you took it with anything extra.”
Johnny grabbed the cup from his hands.

“Uh. Thanks,” he spoke. Johnny’s fingers burned a bit from the heat of the cup. “Yeah, I do usually drink my coffee with cream and sugar.” He tipped the coffee lid up to his lips.

Gyro grunted. “Dammit, I knew it.” He grabbed the cup back from Johnny’s hand, sloshing a bit of coffee onto the lip of the lid.

“Hey, now. I’ll still drink it,” Johnny started, startled by the sudden movement.

“You won’t like it.”

“Who says?”

“I say. I’ll stop by a drive through for ya, how bout it? There’s a Dunkin-”

“Give it. You don’t know what I like and don’t like.”

Johnny ripped the cup back from his hands. Gyro watched him with wide eyes as the other man took a long sip.

Johnny attempted to fight back a grimace – and lost the battle. His face contorted as he swallowed thickly with a cough.

“Jesus christ.”

Gyro snickered.

“The hell is this, battery acid?”

“Italian roast. Imported,” he shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t tell ya so.”

Johnny’s mouth tasted like bitterness and deceit. Gyro picked up his respective coffee cup and took a sip, utterly unphased.

“Y’all Italians hate yourselves that much? You’re actually kidding.”

“I like it. You can tell the quality by its strength and body,” the golden man said. “You’ll learn to appreciate good coffee soon enough.”

Johnny watched the road as Gyro pulled into the Dunkin’ Donuts less than a mile from his apartment. He cranked down his window as he rolled up to the speaker.

Gyro looked over his shoulder to the man sitting beside him. “Whatcha want?”

“Ah. Regular hot coffee. Three cream, three sugar.”

Gyro smiled to himself as he repeated the order to the speaker, making a mental note. He leaned back over his shoulder once more.

“Wanna donut?”

“I’m good.”

“C’mon, we've got a long day ahead of us. I know you’ve got a favorite.”

Johnny sighed. He was exhausted, barely processing the fact that he was actually leaving town and that he would be in San Diego by sundown. Food wasn’t exactly the first thing on his mind. But, y’know what, the gesture was appreciated.

It had been a while since he had someone who talked to him like this. Like a person.

Maybe this man was growing on him.

“I’ll take a jelly.”

“Jelly?!” Gyro whipped his head around, genuinely shocked. “You talk poor about my coffee and turn around and order a jelly donut? Hah!” He turned back around and leaned out the window.

Johnny took it back. He definitely was not growing on him.

“I’ll get a half dozen, three jelly, three glazed. Yep, that’s all. Thanks.” He rolled the window back up and drove up behind two more cars sitting in line.

“Whatcha got against jelly donuts?”

“Too sugary. The jelly is all congealed and so artificial,” he said, waving his hand in disdain. He leaned back in his seat, sliding his hands up and down the steering wheel impatiently. “I can make a sfogliatella that’s a hundred times better than these.”

Johnny didn’t say anything after that. His headache was getting worse.

The two sat side by side in silence, waiting for the cars ahead to receive their orders. Johnny leaned his shoulder against the side of the window and rested his head against his fist. His eyes began to flutter closed.

A sharp crank of the radio volume snapped him out of his daze. Johnny snapped a deadly eye in his direction.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Gyro whispered the second time. “I’m just gonna play something in the background.”

He reached over Johnny’s lap and opened the glovebox. Cassette tapes filled the compartment to the brim, a few falling out onto the floor by Johnny’s feet. He shot him another glare as he shuffled his hand through the mess of tapes.

“Annnnddd…” He pulled out one at random. “Marvin Gaye! A little soul for the morning.”

Johnny pulled down his hat over his eyes as Gyro plugged in the cassette. It made a weird squeaking sound, stuck in some sort of loop. Johnny heard him pound the top of the player twice with a fist until it clicked back on.

“There we go.”

The signature four notes of Let’s Get It On played at full volume. Johnny sat back up in his seat. Rest was clearly not a part of the agenda.

“Ah, I… hold up now.” Gyro fiddled with the volume switch til the song started playing at a much softer volume. “Damn finicky system.”

The last car ahead of them rolled past the drive thru window. Gyro pumped the gas, lurching them forward. Johnny took a deep breath. The coffee would help.

“That’ll be $2.89,” the employee said, handing Gyro the box of donuts and Johnny’s coffee.

He handed it off to the other man and dug through his pockets to find his wallet.

“sh*t. Johnny, you got any change? All I got are big bills.”

Johnny stared at him blankly, both of his hands holding the donuts and coffee uncomfortably. “Uh. In my wallet.”

Johnny handed back the food to Gyro and reached for his own wallet in his front jean pocket.

“Damn, well, me too.” He pulled out some large bills from his wallet and shook it into his palm, a few coins falling into his hand. “I got like, 53 cents,” Johnny said, holding two quarters and three pennies in his palm. The Dunkin’ employee looked down at them impatiently.

Gyro glanced back up at her. “Can you split a hundred?”

The employee shook her head.

“How ‘bout a fifty?” Johnny chimed in, holding up an old bill.

She sighed begrudgingly and took the fifty dollar bill from Gyro’s hand. Gyro threw in the fifty three cents change, too. She pursed her lips and opened the cashier.

“Do you think she hates us yet?” Gyro said under his breath, chuckling.

“Who could ever hate someone like you.” Johnny muttered sardonically.

“Exactly!” He placed a noble hand on his chest. “I’m lovable.” Gyro leaned back out the window to grab the change from the barista. As she counted out the bills one by one, Johnny noted that he was bad at picking up his sarcasm.

“Thank you, ma’am!”

Gyro drove off, making a left turn back onto the main road. Johnny counted the bills once again before putting them back in his wallet.

“You dumbass.”

“Huh?”

“Ten, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty.” He slapped the bills back in front of Gyro’s face. “She totally took ten dollars from us.”

“What!” Gyro slammed on the breaks, throwing Johnny forward. “Who does she think she is? I’m going back.” He merged into a turn lane at the light.

“No, it's fine. Don’t worry about it.” Johnny rubbed his temple with his free hand and took a sip of his coffee in the other. This was much better. Just the right amount of sweetness and creaminess to match the boldness of the coffee, no more and no less. “Let's just get back on the road.”

Gyro grunted and grabbed a donut from the open box on Johnny’s lap, keeping his eyes on the road as he un-merged from the turn lane he just got into. The man suddenly sputtered powdered sugar onto the dashboard as he realized he bit into one of Johnny’s jellies.

Johnny stifled a laugh as he took a bite of his own donut.

“Was that a laugh?” he exclaimed, his face contorted in disgust.

“No.” Johnny smiled into another sip of coffee.

Gyro threw the bitten jelly donut back into the box and grabbed one of his glazed ones, frowning.

“Dio mio, there’s so much powdered sh*t on my hands now. See, it’s just inconvenient.” Johnny watched as the man licked his fingers clean of the sugar one by one.

“Ya get whatcha ask for,” Johnny shrugged, looking back out the front window.

The two men ate their breakfast and drank their coffee, beginning their long drive down the main interstate. Johnny slowly began to feel more and more alive with each sip of coffee, the combination of caffeine and sugar finally hitting his brain and easing his headache.

Windows were rolled down and fresh morning air blew through the vehicle. A sunrise spread across the hilly landscape, a mixture of oranges and yellows forming a gradient into blue. White clouds scattered the sky, dispersing the light softly from the tops of the mountains all the way to the very car they sat in.

Marvin Gaye began to sing California Soul over Gyro’s truck speakers. The golden man, bathed in mornings’ golden light, chimed to the chorus.

“Cal-i-fo-na sh-ooooul!” he sang, his mouth full of donut. He quickly took a sip of his coffee and swallowed. “California so~o~oul!”

Johnny watched the trees run by in a blur. He put a hand on his hat to keep it from blowing off from the force of the rolled down windows, but ultimately decided to take it off and put it by his feet. He let his blond hair dance in the wind, his efforts from this morning being most surely ruined. When was the last time he had been on a road trip like this, let alone out of the house?

Johnny let himself be absorbed in the moment. He could be tending to the millions of ‘what if’s’ yelling at him in the back of his mind, but damn. It was a beautiful morning.

Gyro continued to sing Gaye's song as Johnny hummed along. Picking up on his tune, Gyro nudged the side of Johnny’s shoulder.

“C’mon! Sing with me.”

Johnny’s brows lowered.

“I dunno…”

“Don’t start that. Just sing. You’re gonna be doing it with me, anyway.”

Johnny began to make a snide retort to that last sentence, but Gyro jumped into the bridge seamlessly, his dark, soulful voice enhancing the richness of the song.

They had the melody and the beat,

But it still didn’t seem complete,

Until they saw two lovers kissing,

They knew just what was missing,

Gyro glanced expectantly at Johnny out of the corner of his eye, letting him be the one to sing the part with Tammi Terrell.
Johnny bit the bottom of his lip, slightly uncomfortable. What the hell.

So happy they were rocking and reeling,

Because they added that lovin’ feeling,

Gyro eyes lit up as Johnny sang softly. He smiled wider than he had all morning.

“That’s the spirit! Hah!”

He focused his eyes back on the road. The two of them harmonized, their voices meshing together as one. Johnny felt a bit more confident and sang a little louder.

To California soul

California soul.

Johnny felt heat creep across his cheeks as the song came to an end, feeling a little embarrassed. He hadn’t sung in front of anyone in God knows how long.

“I’m a little rusty.”

Gyro let out a hearty laugh. “Nyoho! What are you talking about, that was great!” He shook his shoulder. “I think you and I will make great music.”

Johnny propped his chin on his hand and stared out the window, breathing deeply. Right now, at this moment, Johnny felt like he made the right decision.

Are you proud of me, Nick?

A comfortable silence hung over the truck, but was quickly broken by the overcaffeinated driver.

“Wanna play 20 questions?”

Chapter 6: Just One Of Those Things

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 - Just One Of Those Things

“Wanna play 20 questions?”

…

The blond man was once again snapped out of his reverie.

“Not… really.”

“C’mon, we’ve got nothing better to do. I’ll go first.”

Johnny pursed his lips. There was no use fighting it right now. He wondered how many more times this would happen during their impromptu adventure. He also wondered how many restful nights he would actually end up getting.

Gyro cracked his knuckles, glancing over to Johnny in the other seat. “Okay, alright. So. What’s your favorite color?”

Gyro’s eyes shot back and forth from the road to Johnny in anticipation.

Johnny stared.

“...I don’t think you know how to play 20 questions.”

“Huh?”

“You’re supposed to think of something, then I try to guess it in 20 questions.”

“That’s never how I learned to play it.”

“And I’m sayin’ whoever taught you taught you wrong.”

Gyro huffed. “Well, my car, my rules. What’s your favorite color?”

Johnny crossed his arms. “You’re just asking me questions about myself, now. Don’t call it 20 questions when you’re not playin’ the real game.”

“Alright. Does the name ‘Gyro’s Version Of 20 Questions’ make you feel better?”

“I’m just sayin’.”

A pause lingered over the car. Soft music from the music player and the whiz of passing cars from cracked windows filled up the space between them. Johnny uncrossed his arms and put his hands in his lap. He sighed.

“Blue, I guess.”

Gyro smirked. “Y’know, I actually wouldn’t have guessed that one.”

Johnny tipped his head back, enjoying the final sugary sip of his coffee. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

Gyro gave him another look, eyeing his blue long sleeve shirt, his blue guitar case, his blue lipstick, his blue eyes.

“It’s a nice color. Reminds me of the sky.”

“Mm.”

Both of their eyes turned skyward. The vast expanse had turned to a light shade of blue as the sun rose higher and higher.

“S’ your turn.”

Johnny snapped back immediately.

“How’d you know Nick?”

Gyro’s face lit up with disbelief. “Now, c’mon. I’m not sayin’ anything til we get to at least my fourth lesson.”

The blonde man rolled his eyes and groaned. “I don’t like you making up all these fake rules.”

“I told you. My car, my rules. Now give me a question.”

Johnny took a moment to think.

“How’d you get here? From Italy, n’ all that.”

“Ah, there’s a good question,” he started. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel before taking a deep breath. “Think I mentioned it a little the other night, but my grandma ended up immigrating to Georgia a long while ago. After some issues with my family, I ended up moving to the States to take care of her and go to school.”

The golden man’s gaze was distant.

“I was 15 ‘round then. I missed Italy a lot,” he said. Johnny watched as Gyro’s face fell ever-so-slightly, then regained its stature just as quickly. “But if I never came down here, I would’ve never picked up a guitar. Or the southern twang.”

“You learned to play a guitar that well by yourself?”

Gyro looked back to Johnny. “Ah ah ah, it’s my turn now,” he said, pointing a finger in the other man’s direction.

“Where’d you learn to play the piano that well?”

Johnny wanted to make another quick snide remark, but instead, he looked down. He tapped his hands on his legs.

“I always loved the piano. Practically begged my mom n’ dad for lessons when I was younger. Picked it up pretty quickly on my own, too, to the point when I got to be a teenager, my teacher felt like she couldn’t teach me much more than I already knew. They all said I had a natural ear for it,” the blond man said. “Haven’t touched the keys in a long time though, so don’t be expecting much from me.”

Gyro laughed. “How many times I gotta drill it through you, Johnny. I don’t need much from you.”

“Well, I dunno. It’s been a while, and I don’t want you blamin’ things on me later on.”

Gyro switched lanes and passed a car who was going a little too slow in front of them. “I’ll only blame you if you come up and cause another ruckus at one of my shows on purpose like that.”

Johnny frowned.

“Now you know the reason why I did tha–”

“I’m kidding. Let bygones be bygones,” Gyro stated. “But for real. No more of that. If you’re comin’ with me, you better take this seriously.”

“Take this seriously?” Johnny felt burning annoyance brewing in his core. “I’m stuck with the most unserious man in California right now, and he’s telling me I better take this seriously?”

Gyro’s brows furrowed. He reached for the cassette player and turned the volume down to zero. “ Stuck with? That’s some nice talk from someone who willingly joined me.”

Johnny’s mouth fell open in an exasperated exhale. He got him there. Johnny turned and faced out the side window as thick tension formed between the two of them. Separated by nothing but their two buckled up guitar cases, the silence seemed to grow louder.

The blond man sighed. There wasn’t much use in bickering. His best bet was staying civil with this man, because after all, he held secrets he wished to know. Staying on Gyro’s good side was vital.

Plus, maybe he could deal with being a little less of an asshole to him.

…

“You got a favorite food?”

Gyro stayed silent for a moment. His eyes were glued on the road ahead of them, his eyes squinting a little from the direct sunlight. The man reached for his side door and pulled out a glasses case, revealing a pair of metallic purple-rimmed aviator sunglasses.

He gave in. “To make, or to eat?”

“Either or.”

Gyro’s lips upturned the slightest bit.

“I’ve got a few in mind.”

~~~

Johnny found out that Gyro’s favorite meals were a bunch of homemade pasta dishes from Italy (ones he couldn’t pronounce if he tried); Gyro found out Johnny preferred a good homemade potluck and barbecue after church. Johnny’s favorite drinks were beer and whiskey; Gyro then insisted the red wine from Naples would be better than anything he’s ever tried. They both grew up in religious families, they both shared a love for music since childhood, and they both shared a fond appreciation for jazz and classical music.

Maybe they weren’t that different after all.

Hours flew by as each question got pulled into rabbit holes, ones of which Gyro loved to elaborate upon. They drove on, telling story after story between the sounds of Gyro’s eclectic music collection. Johnny lost count of what question they were asking each other at some point, which eventually led the two talking in normal conversation.

Johnny closed his eyes after a while as Gyro plugged in another cassette tape to listen to.

“Can we play the real version of 20 questions next?” Johnny asked, his hat propped over his eyes. He was slumped against the side of his door. His legs were pulled up onto the chair, facing Gyro. He felt… surprisingly comfortable.

“I think my version wasn’t all that bad.”

“Yours was just a roundabout way of getting me to open up to you.”

“Maybe,” Gyro smirked. “I gotta get to know my roadie, eh?”

“Guess so,” Johnny took his hat off and looked to the man parallel to him.

“Hey, you feelin’ hungry at all?”

Johnny’s stomach growled unceremoniously – almost perfect timing. Gyro nodded.

“I could eat,” he replied. “Check the map. What all do we got ahead of us?”

Johnny unfolded the large map sitting on the dashboard of the truck. His fingers traced the winding road maps, attempting to follow certain landmarks the two had passed.

“You see any signs sayin’ we’re in Bakersfield yet?”

“Nope. We passed through that a while ago.”
Johnny checked his watch. 11:30am. They’d been on the road for four and a half hours already. Time flew faster than he ever could’ve imagined.

“Wait, I think I see a sign for a diner. Let's stop there?”

“I’ll eat anything.”

Gyro took the next exit and got off at a small gas station that appeared to have a diner inside the building. Before filling up his tank, Gyro leapt into the truck bed and grabbed Johnny’s wheelchair, unfolding it for him at the passengers door with a flourish of grandeur.

“My liege.” Gyro bowed deeply.

“Yeah,” Johnny held up a hand to the other man’s face. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Johnny unbuckled his seatbelt and lifted himself out of the car into the chair. It took a bit of finesse, but after transitioning to the floorboards of the truck and then into the chair backwards, it wasn’t anything too difficult. Gyro sat back and watched, looking like he wanted to step in and help.

Johnny grabbed a table inside the strange combination gas station diner as Gyro filled up his tank. Initial hesitations of the odd establishment were halted as soon as Johnny smelled the hearty, greasy, syrupy sweet smell of breakfast food. He could do for another cup of coffee, too.

Shiny red and white checkerboard tiles littered the diner floor. Red barstools, tables, and booths clumped together as an open kitchen in the background sizzled to life. A few other customers were enjoying their own respective late morning breakfasts as well.

Johnny rolled his chair to an empty table and grabbed a menu. A waitress approached him, ordained in a black apron and a white button up uniform top.

“Hey, there. What could I get for you– today?”

Johnny ignored the sudden pause after she looked up from her notepad.

“Can I get a coffee with cream and sugar? And some chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream? I don’t know what my…Uh…”

Who was Gyro to him? He wasn’t a friend. Acquaintance felt too formal, partner felt too casual. Roadie just felt weird out of context.

“My other…guy… I guess he’s my driver… well, he’ll be in a second, he’s fillin’ up the tank right now, so he can just order when he gets in here.”

The girl was still staring down into Johnny’s soul. Did she hear a single thing he just said?

In a soft voice, she asked, “Excuse me if I’m talking out of place, but…are you Johnny Joestar?”

“Oh, ah…”

A jingly ring of a bell at the opening of the front door precursed the loud golden man, sauntering in to join Johnny with a flash of his newly adorned golden smile.

Quite literally saved by the bell.

“Hey Johnny! Did’ya order anything for me yet?”

Alright, maybe not. Johnny grimaced as he yelled his name halfway across the restaurant. The waitresses' eyes lit up in anticipation.

“Ah, no. Wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

The waitress was still lingering over Johnny, waiting for a finite answer to her burning question. Johnny felt a little uncomfortable. He drummed his fingers against the plastic menu in his hands. Gyro grabbed the menu from Johnny ready to order. And completely none the wiser.

“Scuzi, miss, I’ll get the…” His eyes scanned the menu for a brief moment. “The Texas omelette. All the fixin’s. And water, per favore .”

Johnny cringed. Gyro had a weird tendency to throw in a lot of Italian words in front of the public. For what, attention? It sounded cool? He didn’t know.

Gyro stuck the menu back out to the waitress. She ignored it, continuing to stare back at Johnny, waiting patiently for her answer. Gyro’s eyes shifted from left to right, watching the awkward tension between the two closely.

Johnny bit the bullet.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I knew it!” The girl exclaimed. “I loved your music when I was little! I grew up singing you and your brother’s songs!”

Johnny smiled politely. “Thanks. Um. Yeah.”

Somehow Gyro was the one starting to feel awkward now.

“Are you headed down to compete in The Steel Ball Run Tour?” she asked Johnny directly. Gyro leaned into Johnny’s personal bubble to reemphasize his own presence.

“He’s actually coming with me . I recruited him.”

Johnny shot a look at Gyro. Recruited? It said.

Gyro shot back another look. For once in your life, don't be so stubborn and just go with it for now, It replied.

“Oh!” The waitress replied. “Well, ain’t that something! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in the spotlight, Johnny. I’ll look forward to it!!~”

She walked away giggling, jotting down their orders as she turned to walk back to the kitchen. Gyro and Johnny eyed each other carefully.

“Ain’t you the popular one, Johnny,” Gyro said, smiling.

“I ain’t used to it anymore, not like I was. That was awful.”

“Oh come on,” he exclaimed, “The women love you!”

Johnny avoided the embarrassment of that phrase and redirected his attention to a television playing in the corner.

THE STEEL BALL RUN TOUR STARTS TONIGHT!! 8PM CENTRAL TIME!!

Another server came to their table and poured their coffee. Johnny almost knocked the mug clean out from underneath him.

“TONIGHT?” Johnny yelped, slamming his hand onto the table. Gyro jumped so high he nearly touched the ceiling.

“I- I thought you knew!” He exclaimed. The server stepped back and walked away quickly.

“What do you mean, I THOUGHT YOU KNEW?? ” Johnny mocked Gyro’s stupid southern italian accent and threw his hands up into the air. “Did you ever once think to even mention the fact that we are singing tonight?”

“How did you not know! I-” Gyro brought his voice down to a harsh whisper. “I just assumed!!”

Onlooking eyes from customers in the kitchen watched the two squabble. Johnny sighed heavily. This man sure could fly by the seat of his pants.

“Alright. Fine. I’m not… entirely mad. I hardly watched cable news back at my old place,” Johnny said, matching Gyros' whispering voice. “Plus, I knew nothing about this ‘til just the other night, when I met you. It was all just talk.”

Johnny’s sight drew back to the television as the newscaster began to talk more about the details of the tour. Gyro began to say something in response, but the blonde man quickly held up a single finger to his green lips.

THOUSANDS FROM ALL OVER THE COUNTRY ARE CAMPING OUT TODAY AND TOMORROW IN HOPES THEY CAN DEBUT THEIR MUSIC FOR A CHANCE TO WIN BIG!

The camera transitioned back into the news anchor room. Johnny’s hand fell to the table as Gyro turned to watch the station with him.

Thanks, Steve! This is the chance of a lifetime, especially for these thousands of up and coming music artists, young and old. People are coming from across the world to have a shot at making it big in the industry, and what better a place to begin a cross-country music tour than in the deepest heart of California, San Diego!

You’re so right, Jan. Now, the lines are starting to get a little longer than I even expected. People are really camping out all night here?

That’s right~! The dedication is inspiring, I can’t wait to see what everyone has to offer!

Join us tonight for the multi-hour showing of the first stage of The Steel Ball Run Tour, running from Saturday, 5pm to 12am CT - to Sunday, 8am - 8pm CT! Almost Two Whole Days of live music! If you couldn’t grab any tickets to make it to the venue, join us here for the live stream–

If Johnny’s jaw could have hit the floor, it would have.

“We’re… camping? In what goddamn tent?”

Gyro paused.

“I have one. In the back. Of Valkyrie. S’ roomy.”
Johnny stared back with an incredibly unreadable face.

“Listen, this is the only time we have to camp out like this. After we pass the first round, we can book hotels along the way–”

Gyro paused.

“–and we just need to be able to sing a song by at least tonight or tomorrow.”

The same waitress, who didn’t seem to have seen the fiasco from moments earlier, approached with their breakfasts in hand.

“Texas Omelette for you, anddd~ chocolate chip pancakes for Jojo!”

Johnny fought back a grimace when she said that name. She placed the plate in front of Johnny; the pancake stack was decorated with a whipped cream star.

Johnny smiled up at her weakly as she turned to walk away. He pushed the pancake back and put his head on the table, groaning.

He was really doing this. Johnny was really here, physically, going to sing in front of a live audience ON TV with a man he barely knew, and camp with him overnight, in the cold November streets of downtown San Diego, already going on a solid two or three hours of sleep.

Gyro heard a muffled laugh from beneath Johnny’s arms.

“Gyro Zeppeli, you really owe me one now.”

~~~

Chapter 7: Breakdown Dead Ahead

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Breakdown Dead Ahead

“Nick, I’m not feelin’ all that well.”

Johnny's shoulders hung low. He wrung his hands back and forth, back and forth. He shifted the weight between his feet slowly, the wooden floorboards creaking softly. Nicholas sat in the corner of the dressing room by a brightly lit mirror, tuning his guitar string by string.

Blue eyes softened. Nicholas set his guitar down on the ground gently, getting up to approach his brother.

“Hey, now,” he whispered. “Just play like how we practice together, alright?”

“But what if I mess up? In front of all those people?”

“Jojo, the only times you’ve messed up have been the times when you get distracted by something else around you,” Nicholas said. He smoothed down the side of his brother’s hair with his hand. “You’re a born natural. And the most talented 10 year old out there.”

The corners of Johnny’s mouth tilted upward, but then fell just as quickly. His face was suddenly very serious.

“And what if my hands just up n’ stopped workin’?”

Nicholas laughed. “That’s not happening, Johnny. Not now, not ever. I don’t think there’s any way to stop you from playin’ a piano.”

Johnny’s lips finally upturned into a smile – just what Nicholas was looking for.

“Yeah. Maybe I’d just start playin’ with my nose.”

“Or your feet,” Nicholas joked, jumping in to tickle Johnny’s sides.

“Ew!” Johnny giggled. He tried to fight off Nick’s teasing, but to no avail. With a flash of flailing arms, both of the boys fell onto the floor. Johnny kicked his legs in defense, filling the room with a bright, tinkling laugh all the while.

“Stop it! Hah ha- Nick, we’re being too lou–”

“Boys.”

A voice boomed from the doorway.

Johnny flinched.

The two young children got up from the floor and stood up immediately.

It was their father.

“Yessir?” they replied in unison.

“Stop playin’ around.”

What once were expressions of childlike joy had completely disappeared. Their gazes both fell to their shoes.

“If you two don’t take this seriously, you’ll be the ones goin’ hungry for supper tomorrow night. This’s the biggest break you’ll ever get, ya hear?”

“Yessir.”

A woman with a clipboard tapped the man in the doorway on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

“She said you’ve got five minutes. Now pull yourselves together and get out there. And tie your damn shoes, Johnny.”

The door slammed shut.

It was suddenly all too quiet.

…

Two pairs of eyes looked to one another.

…

A snicker.

A laugh.

A “shhh!”

Two smiles.

Johnny let out a deep sigh. Maybe he was starting to feel a little better, after all.

Nicholas bent down at Johnny’s side to help tie his loose shoelace.

“You ready, Jojo?”

Nicholas looked up to see his brother’s bright blue eyes brimming with determination. He was met with a meek, yet equally confident voice. It was the voice of a child, just a child; but one that was prepared to take on a challenge.

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “I‘m ready.”

~~~

Johnny dreamt of something. Something he knew. It felt like a far away memory; maybe it was a memory — quickly losing its shape, it slipped into a spiral of nothingness. He tried to grasp onto it, to grab it with open hands, open heart –

“Johnny, hey Johnny.”

And it was gone.

“Mmmh?” he muttered sleepily. A gentle shake on his shoulder woke Johnny up from a nap.

“We’re heading through Los Angeles right now,” Gyro whispered. “I’m thinkin’ we’re getting close.”

Johnny rubbed his face, clearing the sleep from his eyes. He watched as green exit signs flew past the crowded cityscape. They were definitely in Los Angeles.

“I think we got about 2 hours left,” Johnny said, snapping the map open to get a closer look. “We drove the tour bus down from LA to San Diego one time for a show. Wasn’t too bad of a trip, but the traffic could slow us down.”

In almost perfect timing, Gyro began to slow down the truck for an upcoming traffic jam. Red brake lights reached for miles as cars inched forward slowly.

“Damn.”

“You spoke that one into existence.”

There was something on both of their minds now. Something they couldn’t avoid any longer.

“Guess this is as good a time as ever, huh?”

“Guess so.”

Gyro turned to Johnny as they came to a total stop.

“Alright, Johnny!” Gyro cracked open the case to one of his many cassette tapes, slipping it into the player. “Let’s practice.”

~~~

The pair had picked out the song they would perform shortly after they left the diner. They decided on a song they both knew–one that Gyro (in his own words) could ‘show off a little’ in as well. Johnny had played it long ago and even made a proper published cover of it with Nicholas. It was a song known by many, redone many times by artists new and old.

Theoretically, it was the perfect song to perform together.

But Johnny was unsure.

Johnny and Gyro were nothing more than two strangers to each other; two men who met under even stranger circ*mstances. The uncertainties of it spun in Johnny’s head. How were they supposed to perform on a stage after meeting each other less than 24 hours ago? How could the other man be so sure this would all work out in the end? Could he even get on the stage after everything–

Yet there was something driving Johnny to continue on. Something was pushing him to play with Gyro on the quickest of whims. After so many months of doing nothing,

feeling nothing,

existing for nothing;

He finally had something.

That same drive burned inside of Johnny as he and Gyro sang along the best they could to the tape. Gyro even got out his guitar, plucking the strings with the cassette, all while they were stuck in the middle of an LA traffic jam. It definitely had to be a traffic violation to drive and play the guitar at the same time.

“Wanna keep it in A? I reckon I can sing it pretty well with our pal Ricky.”

“I’m good if you’re good.”

Johnny closed his eyes. If he concentrated hard enough, he could see the piano keys right in front of him. He propped himself up, fingers dancing across the dashboard of the car as he imagined the body of a piano. Johnny thanked the Lord that he was born with perfect pitch, because if there was any time he needed it, it was today.

“Don’t be shy, now.”

“I ain’t bein’ shy.”

“Yes you are. Sing louder!”

“You can’t hear me?”

“If I can’t hear you over this sh*tty speaker, you’re not singin’ loud enough.”

“...”

Their voices were distinctly different, yet combined together surprisingly well. Gyro’s voice had a certain soulful depth behind it, one that could approach the gruffness of a vocal growl just as easily as a tender melody; whereas Johnny’s voice had a softness that allowed him to reach higher registers easier than Gyro. The combination of their voices melted together to form twisting harmonies.

“Johnny, you go down a little there. Bring out the harmony with me on the last bit of that chorus.”

“You should make that C# to F# a little stronger.”

“Shut it, I know what I’m doin’!”

Johnny listened closely to Gyro. Though his eyes were closed and the man was playing a few feet away from him, he could feel the music dance in front of him. He followed Gyro’s melody, adding inflections of a piano to enhance his playing; just like he did all those many years ago.

After thirty minutes of slow moving traffic, Gyro practiced a solo for the instrumental break. Johnny snapped out of his own mind’s eye, turning to watch the man perform an almost perfect line of rhythmic instrumentalism. He was transported to the night before, feeling the same magnetic pull of the man’s talent. He was damn good.

“You’re gonna catch a fly if you keep your mouth open like that.”

“Psh, hardly. I’ve heard better.”

“What?!”

Johnny gave him a resigned shrug.

“I think you could save to show off even more, if I’m bein’ honest.”

“More? Nyoho, you’re opening Pandora’s Box now.”

Gyro added even more complexity to the solo he had begun to practice. Johnny had forgotten the sensation of joy that came from making music with another person.

By the time the traffic started moving again, they had sung it through at least multiple times with the cassette and by themselves.
Then they sang it again.

And again.

The hours passed.

And soon enough, they passed a sign.

EXIT TO SAN DIEGO – 1 MILE

Gyro smiled wide and cheered, reaching his left hand out the car window in celebration as he accelerated down the final stretch of road before the exit ramp. Johnny let himself smile, too, his eyes sparkling in the mid afternoon sun. He checked his watch; 3:20pm. Rolling down his window, he joined Gyro, their arms whipping back from the force of the passing wind. Johnny made waves with his hand as Gyro whistled the chorus in perfect tune.

Gyro looked over to the other man as he approached the exit ramp.

“Johnny, I think we might just have this in the bag.”

“You think?” Johnny chuckled under his breath. “I’ve been playin’ a dashboard this whole time.”

“I can see you playin’ right here.”

Johnny frowned.

“Now you know that ain’t the same as playing the real thing.”

“I trust you!”

Why?

That’s what Johnny wanted to say, but his mouth said something else entirely.

“I don’t even know if I fully trust you, cowboy.”

Gyro flashed him a frown. Or was it more of a downturned smile?

“I think you’re gettin’ cold feet, topolino.”

“I think anyone would get cold feet after bein’ told they have to perform in front of hundreds of people the very day they left home.”

Johnny hadn’t intended to sound so vulnerable there, but a poor attempt at sarcasm thrown at a man who didn’t quite understand it read more as sincerity. An ever-so concerned glance was tossed his way.

“I know I sprung this up on you real last minute,” Gyro said. “But I meant it. I’ll teach you how to play guitar and tell you about…”

The slightest of pauses, but one Johnny knew all too well.

“...Nicholas. Just like I said.”

Johnny took his arm out of the window and placed it in his lap. He was quiet.

“You better.”

“I swear!” Gyro laughed. “Singing a Ricky Nelson classic with me is more than enough in exchange for a lesson from yours truly.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “After eight n’ a half hours of you, I’m not sure I can stomach a lesson right now.”

“Get used to it, Johnny!”

~~~

sh*t.

This was so much bigger than Johnny was expecting.

Johnny was met with thousands of people crowding the streets of Downtown San Diego. Not even all of them were part of the music competition; most of them were simply attendees anxious to be a part of such a historical event in music history.

“Want me to push you through this crowd?” Gyro said, crouching down to Johnny’s level.

“I’ve got it. I’m used to people getting in my way by this point.”

Gyro stood up tall once more. “Whatever you say. But don’t lose me, now.”

People milled to and from the surrounding blocks. Those carrying instruments seemed to be streamlining up the street to a booth, so the two followed the flow of people surrounding them.

“STEEL BALL RUN TOUR APPLICANTS MUST SIGN UP HERE FOR A TIME SLOT! NEXT!”

A voice boomed from a few odd feet in front of them.

“THIS IS THE LINE FOR THE STEEL BALL RUN TOUR! YOU MUST SIGN UP HERE AND RECEIVE YOUR NUMBER BEFORE GETTING A TIME SLOT!”

Gyro followed closely behind Johnny, tapping his hands on the back of his wheelchair handles to let him know where he was. They came to a stop behind some other people standing with different sized instrument cases.

“Y’think we’re in the right line?”

Johnny craned his neck back to see him. Gyro’s eyes were wide, absorbed in the energy of the crowd.

“This is suddenly gettin’ real,” Johnny spoke.

“Yeah.”

Johnny saw a few people walking past them from the sign up booth, attempting to pin paper numbers to the front and back of their shirts. He turned his wheelchair slightly to talk to the man behind him.

“There’s so many of ‘em, Gyro. How on earth is everyone going to get a chance?”

“There’s five different stages set up across town,” he said, gesturing his hands across the blocks in a vague manner. “We all get assigned to one alongside a performance time. But not all of them will make it to a stage.”

“And how do you know we will?”

Gyro leaned on the handle bars to whisper in Johnny’s ear,

“I have an extra in.”

This was news to him.

“Huh?”

Gyro reached into his back pocket and grabbed his wallet. He glanced around briefly before pulling out the corners of a few hundred dollar bills. Johnny’s face lit up in surprise.

“Bribery?” Johnny gasped. “Gyro, you’re a bonafide bastard.”

“Shh!” Gyro looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to their not-so-secret conversation, yet the world continued to move around them.

“It’s not bribery. Who do you take me as?”

Johnny shrugged. Gyro sighed.

“Oh f*ck off. I’m a man of the law.”

Johnny didn’t look convinced.

“It’s a donation to the prize fund,” he started. “They prioritize contestants with donations a little more than the ones who enter for free. It ain’t a guarantee that we’ll make it to the next stage, but it’ll get us a spot on the stage for sure.”

“And how much you got in there exactly?”

Gyro’s smirk grew even bigger as he leaned back into Johnny’s ear.

“Two thousand dollars.”

Johnny’s eyes and jaw widened at the same time. It was his turn to look around anxiously, making sure no one in a ten foot radius heard that amount of money out loud.

“You’re just casually holding that much cash on your person?!” Johnny whispered back. Gyro chuckled under his breath.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready to pay the price to win.”

Johnny was genuinely shocked.

“Just what is the prize at the end of all this?”

“The prize fund is already at 1.5 million dollars. At the end of all this, it’ll probably be worth around 3 to 4 million from donors and participants alone.”

“Good God almighty.”

Johnny turned his chair back around as the line began to move forward. His mind began to drift to other places as the chaos moved around him.

After running off to a rural mountain town, Johnny had forgotten the hustle and bustle of a busy city. People pushed by in masses, chatting, laughing, walking, smiling. No doubt, the energy of the day was electric.

Was he going to regret this? The only thing he was really regretting was not listening to the news back home. Any preparation for The Steel Ball Run Tour at all would have been helpful for him; he knew virtually nothing.

Because instead, he chose to spend the past few weeks in the least sober mind he had been in in months. The excitement of the past day had almost cleared him from thinking about everything at hand.

Two years since he lost everything.

Johnny had spent two goddamn years wasting away.

He wanted to walk again.

It wasn’t fair.

He wanted to play with Nick again.

It wasn’t fair.

Why did he have to die?

He wished his father had a single ounce of care to reach out.

For God’s sake, two whole years had passed.

“God took the wrong son.”

…

It wasn’t fair.

He could use a drink right now.

…

What was tickling his face?

“Hey! I ran and got us some water from over there. Keep that voice hydrated.”

The world suddenly came back into view as Johnny realized the odd sensation he was feeling was, in fact, Gyro’s long locks of hair grazing upon his cheek. The man handed him a plastic bottle of water, leaning into his personal space to shout a little louder in the chaos of the surrounding crowd.

“Oh, thanks.”

Johnny unscrewed the cap from the bottle and took a long sip.

“So I’m thinkin’, after we get our numbers and time slot, let’s set up camp for the night.” Gyro shouted. He took a swig from his own bottle and walked forward, filling in empty space from the moving line.

He leaned down to Johnny, his hair falling from behind his shoulder back into the other man’s face.

“Ah. We probably won’t get a slot til tomorrow since we got here so late, so we can go listen to some performances tonight. How’s pizza sounding for dinner?”

Johnny swatted Gyro’s hair away from his cheek.

“Pizza’s fine with me,” he said. Johnny flashed him a nervous grin. “Guess that’ll give us some extra time to practice, too.”

Gyro stood back and swung his hair into a high ponytail with a hair tie from his wrist. “Want me to bring your guitar from the car? Your first lesson could happen this very night.”

“Lord, I ain’t ever getting sleep around you.”

Chapter 8: I Wish

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: I Wish

“Johnny, ugh. I can’t get it. Here, just do it for me.”

Gyro shoved a few safety pins and a piece of paper with three large numbers into Johnny’s hands. He sat down in front of Johnny and pulled back his golden hair, his long legs making the tent a bit more cramped than it seemed.

The tent itself was a horrific shade of lime green and took quite a few minutes to set up, even after Gyro insisted he had set it up ‘hundreds of times’ before.

Johnny unhooked the sharp points of the safety pins and put a few in between his lips as he positioned the paper on the other man’s back. The man whipped his head around, surprising Johnny with the sudden movement.

“Try not to poke me.”

“Oh, I’wll trwy,” Johnny said, the pins in his mouth blocking the enunciation of his words. He took one out of his mouth with careful fingers, intentionally lining it up to poke through his clothes.

“Ow!?!” Gyro yelped. “What’d I just say!”

Johnny huffed. Payback was sweet sometimes.

They weren’t able to get a specific time for their performance tomorrow, but with the help of Gyro’s generous donation, they were given a special pass they could take to a donors only booth in the morning. That would give them a proper slot; one they could choose themselves instead of being given a randomized time.

Johnny placed the last of the pins to the back of Gyro’s jacket. Contestant 636. Johnny looked down at his own. Contestant 939.

“Kinda weird that our numbers are basically the same, just flipped around,” he said.

“Ain’t it cool! What a coincidence,” Gyro said as he turned around to face Johnny. “Maybe even a sign we were meant to meet, eh?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. They might’ve just had those numbers printed out next to each other or somethin’.”

Gyro frowned.

“Alright, go ahead and take the fun out of it.”

The two migrated to their separate corners of the tent, taking slices from a large margherita pizza sitting between them. Long, shadowy figures silhouetted the sides of the plastic tent walls as people walked by, just like moving pictures. They sat and ate, eavesdropping on conversations as pedestrians strolled by.

“Pizza’s good,” Johnny said, his mouth full of food. He hadn’t had much of anything good to eat today (donuts and pancakes weren’t that nutritious, he reckoned), so the cheesy, tomaotey, basiley goodness was well appreciated. But to be honest, this probably didn’t have that much nutritious value either.

“Our stuff’ll be safe in here, right?” Johnny looked to his blue guitar case taking up valuable space in the tent.

“Should be. They’ve got security patrolling around tonight for all the contestants camping out.”

“I see.” Johnny threw his crust back into the lid of the pizza box, wiping the sides of his mouth with the crummy brown napkins that came with their order. He crawled back to his corner of the tent, going to grab his brown leather backpack he brought from Gyro’s car.

“You gonna eat this?” Gyro asked, reaching for Johnny’s uneaten pizza crust. By the time he asked the question, though, he had already taken a bite.

He was going to finish his crust, but it was too late.

“...All yours.” Johnny sighed and pulled out a tube of lipstick and a pocket mirror after rummaging through the bag.

“You sure get around well.”

Johnny raised a brow as he uncapped the lid to his signature blue lipstick.

“What, for bein’ disabled?”

Gyro’s eyes widened in horror.

“No, no no! I mean, yes, but no! That’s not what I-”

Johnny continued to carefully put the color back onto his lips, not caring to glance in the other man’s direction.

“What I meant is that you’ve got to have a lot of strength to get around. And I see you’ve got a lot of muscle. On your. Arms.”

“Uh huh.”

“Ugh,” Gyro groaned, falling back onto his sleeping bag in despair. He sat up immediately to add more to his sentence.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. I worked in the medical field most of my life, I would never say somethin’ mean spirited like that,” Gyro said, squirming uncomfortably. “I was just tryin’ to say to you, man to man. You’re real strong.”

Johnny smacked his lips together, satisfied with the application. He snapped the mirror back together with a click and threw it back into his bag.

“Relax. I was just playin’ with you too,” he said. “Guess I do have some guns, don’t I?”

Johnny rolled up his sleeve and flexed his right arm in front of Gyro with a sly grin. The other man furrowed his brows and quickly turned his face away, pouting in the corner like a child.

“Shut up. Stop playin’. I, for one, don’t find it funny.”

“Didn’t find it funny when you stole my dead brother’s song the other night either.”

Gyro’s mouth fell agape. The man who seemingly could not find the time to stop running his mouth was suddenly silenced.

“Jo~oking. I’m joking again,” Johnny said, slapping Gyro’s knee playfully. “That was the last time I’ll bring it up. Right hand to God. No more.”

The man grumbled and stood up as tall as he could in the tent, brushing his pants of pizza crumbs. “Qualsiasi. Er, whatever. But I told you I’m sorry about that.”

“I know you are,” Johnny said, his tone lighthearted. He felt surprisingly refreshed from the meal. “Wanna go see who we’re up against?”

Gyro unzipped the tent door as Johnny unfolded his wheelchair from the corner, setting it outside and getting up into it just as easily. Gyro brushed the numbered paper flat on his chest and zipped back up the tent, locking it closed with a brand new lock he had bought from the CVS by the pizza restaurant. He set the code to 636939, smiling at how clever of an idea it was.

“Hurry up.”

“I’m comin’!” Gyro shouted behind his shoulder. However, there was no one there; Johnny had already started down the length of the sidewalk.

“Hey! Speedy! Wait up!”

Gyro jogged to catch up to Johnny, pocketing the key in the inside flap of his jacket.

“You gotta tell me about the whole medical field thing later, by the way.”

“What?! How do you know about that?”

“You literally just dropped that info not even 5 minutes ago.”

“You’re snooping into dangerous territory with me, Joestar.”

The two mens voices faded into the crowd as they made their way down the block, blending into the crowd.

Directly next to Gyro and Johnny’s tent was another tent, smaller than their own, but sturdy in nature. A figure slowly unzipped the front, revealing a man with long, purple hair. He donned a leather coat covered in metal spikes and black feathers fringed the back of his jacket. As he leaned forward, long, dangling earrings resembling a string of hyper-realistic eyeballs came from his ears.

The man peered from outside the tent, pinning a sheet of paper to the front of his white undershirt. Contestant 0215.

“So it is you. Johnny f*cking Joestar.”

He clicked his tongue as he stepped out of his own tent.

“There’s no way I’m letting you get ahead in this race before it’s even started.”

~~~

“Dio mio! Johnny, look at all the cameras!”

Johnny watched as Gyro walked up to a group of people standing behind a newscaster filming a live update. He waved his arms at the camera and ran back to Johnny’s side.

“You look like a kid in a candy store.”

They were at one of the five stages spread across the city. Several roads were closed down, replaced with bright orange detour signs. Thousands of people flooded the streets; some were standing, some were sitting, and some brought their own folding chairs.

Johnny navigated his way through the thinner parts of the crowd as Gyro frolicked around. News stations and television camera crews were set up on smaller fenced off stages parallel to the main stage. The lights of the cityscape against the dark of the night sparkled as people crowded behind metal barricades.

7:50. The first performance would start any minute now.

The two found a small area with sitting room to the left side of the main crowd. It was a pretty good vantage point to the stage, too, even for Johnny. The mass of people cheered and clapped as bright lights lit up the main stage. A projected video of a man wearing a strange hat lit up the back of the curtain. Gyro and Johnny’s eyes both widened at the same time.

HELLO EVERYONE! Who’s ready to hear some music!!

The crowd clapped their hands enthusiastically in response.

I sincerely apologize for not being able to be here at every stage as we go live… Unfortunately, I cannot be at five places at once. But I do have some tricks up my sleeve!

The man suddenly split into five copies, edited to look like he was in the same room with five versions of himself. The man and his copies waved to the camera, getting delighted laughs and applause from the audience. The camera cut back to a single shot of the man standing next to a young girl in a pink dress, the streets of San Diego serving as their background.

Thank you all for coming out tonight to not only watch, but perform in this historic tour!

It has been my dream since I was a child to hold a nationwide competition to discover some of the world’s best musical entertainers. I’ve always thought that the greatest of talents lie right among us. They could be your neighbor, your best friend, or even YOU!

More cheers erupted from the crowd. Gyro clapped his hands with them, eyes glued to the screen.

Alright, alright, I hear you! Why don’t we get this show on the road, eh?

Colorful lights lit up the stage exactly on cue. Absolutely no expense was spared in the production value.

Thank you for making my dreams come true. I’m Steven Steel. And welcome! TO THE STEEL BALL RUN TOUR!

Just as Johnny thought the crowds couldn’t get any louder, they went on to explode into enthusiastic praises. Gyro hollered and wolf-whistled louder than everyone around them.

Gyro yelled down to Johnny.

“Ain’t this the most exciting thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

Johnny wasn’t sure how to reply. He was a bit shell-shocked, if he was being honest.

“Uh, yeah!” Johnny shouted back, trying to ignore the loud rushing of blood beating in his ears. Pre-performance jitters were already creeping his way. He would be on this stage tomorrow, just like everybody else.

The lights dimmed on the stage. An electric hush spread across the crowd, waiting for the performer to enter. A bright spotlight illuminated the left side of the stage, awaiting its subject.

They waited.

And waited.

The hush of the crowd turned to confused chatter after a solid minute passed with no appearance of the first contestant in sight.

“I can’t imagine being the first one up, then being LATE on top of that,” Gyro whispered.

Johnny nodded, craning his head over a few people who had begun to stand in his view.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted into cheers as a man bounded onto the stage, his contestant number falling off the front of his shirt.

He stood behind an electric piano and leaned into the microphone, waving out to the thousands of eyes watching.

“HEY, YA!”

The crowds cheered.

“Sorry for bein’ a little late. I’m a country boy. Bein’ in the city, I just got so distracted by everything, and I didn’t even realize it was my turn to go!”

The audience gave him a hearty laugh.

“Contestant 777,” he stated into the microphone, looking into the camera facing in front of him. “The name’s Pocoloco. Hope y’all enjoy my show!”

Pocoloco pulled down some yellow tinted sunglasses from his head, immediately jumping onto the keyboard. He started by playing a plucky bass line in the lower register with a slight wobble as his right hand played a funky higher-pitched improvised section. With his foot, he started a drum set loop with some sort of pedal.

The man’s mouth opened and with a soulful twang, he began to sing.

Looking back on when I was a little nappy headed boy

Then my only worry was for Christmas,

What would be my toy?

Even though we sometimes would not get a thing,

We were happy with the joy the day would bring!

Johnny and Gyro turned their heads to each other at the same time. Their jaws were on the floor.

“Holy sh*t.”

“Holy sh*t.”

This man was good.

I wish those days, could,

Come back once more!

Why did those days,

Ev-er have to go?

I wish those days, could,

Come back once more!

Why did those days

Ev-er have to go?

Cuz I love them so!

The man leapt into an instrumental section, all accompanied by multiple loops and pedals. He filled up the road with layers of instruments, all done by one single electric piano.

Gyro grooved his head back and forth, his body rocking with the song. Johnny tapped the sides of his wheelchair with both hands, watching, feeling, seeing the music come alive around him. Orange and yellow colored lights illuminated the stage and the crowd, flashing with the beats of the music. In every regard, it was a spectacular first performance.

“Look at you!” Gyro nudged Johnny’s shoulder, shouting over the loudspeakers.

“Me?” Johnny yelled back, confused.

“You’re smilin’! With teeth! Forreal this time!”

Johnny hadn’t even noticed. He put a hand to his cheek, his body warming up from all the energy around him. He was smiling.

Gyro had turned back around to finish the last bit of Pocoloco’s performance. The man on stage continued to improv along the piano, adding more soulful inflections to the ending section.

Johnny sat with his hand stuck to his cheek, his mouth frozen in a grin he hadn’t worn in a long time.

He felt alive.

~~~

Gyro sat down next to Johnny after getting tired of standing, leaning over every so often to give his personal input on the artists performing. It mostly consisted of phrases like “Oh, I can play better than him,” “This guy stands no chance,” “Has he ever played a guitar before?” Johnny quietly watched, taking mental notes of what artists stuck out more to the crowds and what exactly they did to accomplish that.

After all, putting on a memorable show was what would get the people’s votes.

After a few hours, the two of them left early and began to head back to their tent.

Johnny was exhausted. His arms had gotten tired from the constant push and pull of the bodies around him, and he had definitely not had enough sleep or water to maintain him for another few hours. The emotional drain of the day alone had been enough to knock him out for a week.

Gyro noticed Johnny started to fall behind. He gave him a glance over the shoulder, wordlessly extending a helping hand. To his own surprise, Johnny accepted. Gyro carefully navigated Johnny’s wheelchair back to their tent as Johnny allowed his eyes to fall closed.

Trust.

Why was he trusting this man to push his wheelchair?

Johnny had been adamant about not letting people help him since his accident. He refused to be seen as weak, no matter how weak he may have actually felt.

What was different about Gyro Zeppeli?

Johnny chalked it up as being too tired to put up a fight.

When they got back to the tent, Johnny immediately crawled into his sleeping bag, not even caring to change into a different change of clothes. It was cold outside, but the soft down blanket bag was enough to keep him warm. Seconds after hitting the ground, Johnny fell fast asleep.

Gyro hadn’t even had a chance to crawl into the tent himself before Johnny lept in. He stayed on the outside, attempting to fold up Johnny’s wheelchair.

“Damn thing,” he whispered, the chair getting stuck on one of its folding beams.

“Need a hand?”

A voice appeared from behind him. Gyro turned around, ever-so surprised.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said. Harsh makeup made his features ghastly against the glow of the city streets.

“I’m your neighbor.” He pointed to the smaller black tent to the left of their own. “I was heading back to my own tent and saw you struggling, so I thought I’d stop by to help.”

Before Gyro could respond, the ghastly man leaned forward and grabbed Johnny’s wheelchair from his hands. In a lightning fast moment, he snapped the chair apart and back together, folding it back up to its compact state. He handed it back to Gyro and extended a hand.

“I’m Robin,” he whispered. Gyro stood still, uncomfortable by the abruptness of the encounter.

“Uh. Gyro. Gyro Zeppeli.”

He shook his hand, noting the unnerving string of eyeball earrings dangling from his lobes.

“My stage name is Mrs. Robinson. I presume you’re playing tomorrow as well?”

“Yep,” Gyro stated. He was getting extremely unsettling vibes from the man standing in front of him. “Me and my keyboardist will be playing sometime in the evening.”

“Oh, an original song? Or a cover?”

“A cover.”

“I look forward to seeing it.”

The strange man loosened his grip from Gyro’s hand, dragging out the handshake longer than any man should when making an introduction.

“Thank you,” Gyro said, unzipping the front flap of the tent. “We plan to win.”

“Oh!” Robin laughed from a few feet away. “Confident! AHA! HAHA!!”

Gyro’s eyebrows raised as the man began to laugh harder and harder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gyro.”

If Gyro were a betting man (which he was), he would bet that Robin wouldn’t make it very far in this competition. He was an odd one, and one he definitely did not want to run into again.

Gyro zipped the tent closed, locking the inner zipper with the masterlock he had for the outside. He wasn’t taking any chances with weirdos like that on their doorstep.

He looked over to Johnny to make sure the man’s strange laughing fit hadn’t stirred him. He sat quietly, listening for the soft breathing of someone fast asleep. Unsurprisingly, the man had completely passed out.

He hadn’t even taken off his hat.

Almost instinctively, Gyro began to reach over Johnny slowly, attempting to take off his hat and set it to the side of his tent.
Wait, what was he doing?

Something inside of him sent an alarm bell off.

Johnny probably wouldn’t want him to do that for him, would he?

He was a real independent person, and the last thing he wanted to do was push any personal boundaries with him.

He did let him push his wheelchair, though…

Gyro’s hand was frozen in midair.

Suddenly, the man below him shifted his body. Johnny turned onto his side, causing his hat to fall off of his head and plop behind him.

Gyro let go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He grabbed the hat and set it beside Johnny’s other belongings, just in case he rolled over and squashed it in his sleep.

Gyro moved to his sleeping bag as silently as he could. It felt a little warm in here, he thought; it must have been the addition of two people instead of one. He took off his shirt and folded it up for tomorrow, placing it on the top of his guitar case. His bare skin exposed to the cold November air of the night quickly cooled him off as he crawled into his sleeping bag, sighing deeply.

Gyro was just as tired as his traveling partner.

He put both of his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, reflecting on the day.

They sure did a lot. He deserved a good night’s sleep.

A slight sting on the palm of his right hand began to annoy him.

He pulled his hand from the back of his head and held it in front of his face, his eyes widening in an attempt to see clearer in the darkness.

A warm sensation began to dribble down his arm.

sh*t.

He was bleeding.

Gyro immediately sat up and grabbed one of the pizza napkins from earlier, pressing it firmly to his hand.

When had he cut his hand open like this?

He looked around him, hoping he hadn’t been getting blood all over the tent. He wiped up what he could see; luckily, the plastic interior of the tent made it fairly easy to clean up messes.

“You okay?”

A drowsy voice came from the opposite side of the tent.

“Yeah. All good. Cut my hand open, but I’m fine,” Gyro whispered back. “Now go back to sleep.”

It sounded like Johnny was going to respond further, but instead it came out more as a sleepy groan. Gyro sat still and watched as he rolled back onto his other side, the palm of his hand throbbing in increasing pain.

The cut was deep. Not deep enough to need stitches, he determined.

(If it were anyone else, however, he would’ve decided to stitch this wound up.)

Gyro quietly unzipped his own bag. He was thankful that the multiple years of medical practice had taught him to carry a first aid kit with him wherever he went. He unwrapped an antiseptic wipe and cleaned the wound, flinching from the sting. He bandaged it tightly with a bit of cotton and gauze.

Did he cut it when he was messing with the wheelchair?

It must have been around then.

I wish that freak wouldn’t have shown up…He’s bad luck for sure, Gyro thought to himself.

He retreated back to his sleeping bag, sighing once more. The pain was annoying, but nothing he couldn’t push past.

Gyro drifted off to sleep, hoping that the bandages wouldn’t affect his playing in the morning.

He had a competition to win.

Chapter 9: A Hazy Shade of Winter

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 - A Hazy Shade of Winter

Something dull was digging into Johnny’s side.

It stopped, briefly, just for a moment…

Nope. The nudging sensation came back. A little stronger this time.

It stopped again.

“The hell’s wrong with y-”

A distant voice echoed out in Johnny’s ears. He quickly tuned it out into peaceful, blissful silence.

…

Alright. So something was kicking at Johnny’s side.

With a sharp kick, Johnny was woken up with a boot by the side of his ribs. He shot up with a fast inhale as he suddenly jolted awake from a deep sleep.

“Lord, what in the hell?!”

Gyro was sitting back with the heels of his boots aimed directly at the side of Johnny’s sleeping bag. A single arm was folded over his chest as he stared into the man’s eyes with a mildly annoyed expression.

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty.”

Johnny’s brows furrowed.

“...Don’t call me that.”

He rolled back over into the comfort of his sleeping bag, turning to face away from Gyro.

Another jab from Gyro’s heel dug into his side. Johnny whipped back faster than he could think.
“What the f*ck is your prob–”

A heavy slap of fabric against his face silenced his complaints.

“Anyone tell you you’re a damn good sleeper? Honestly, I’m kinda jealous. I slept like sh*t last night, but you were out like a light the whole time.”

Gyro sat up and crossed his legs as Johnny pushed the stack of clothes off his face.

“Get dressed. You slept through breakfast. It was great, too. The staff catered a whole buffet for the participants. They had a fruit salad like you’d never believe.”

A dark, angry force hung low around Johnny, now fully emerged from his slumber. Gyro sensed danger.

“You didn’t wake me up for breakfast ?”

“Thought you were old enough to wake yourself up,” Gyro said, fidgeting a white set of bandages wrapped around his right hand. “Clearly. I was wrong.”

Oh, f*ck off, Johnny almost said. But instead of vocalizing his thoughts, he opted to flip off the man wordlessly, glaring deep into his soul.

Gyro would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a chill run up his spine.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m jokin’! Lighten up, grumpy.” he said, waving his hands in defense. “Didn’t mean to… poke the bear.”

Johnny didn’t blink in the slightest.

“Nyoho! Wait, that’s good! Poke the bear? Get it?” Gyro swung his feet out from underneath him and motioned towards Johnny with three playful air kicks.

“Yeah, I get it,” he muttered.

The dark aura surrounding Johnny grew a shade darker.

“I reckon a ‘nother certain bear better get out of this damn tent before I take a shotgun to him instead.”

“Oh, he’s funny!” Gyro laughed. “You don’t actually have a gun in that backpack, right?” He closed his eyes and leaned back with another hearty laugh, feeling more comfortable with the banter between them.

Opening his eyes once more, he stole another glimpse from the corner.

Ah, no. Maybe he was serious.

“Get out.”

Gyro continued to sit, taking in his words as an empty threat. Resilient and stubborn as he was, he would not let this oversleeping blond-headed California cowboy get his way. He had been awake since 6am and had had an entire day already, goddammit.

…

There wasn’t actually a gun in his backpack, right?

…

“Get.”

Gyro immediately leapt up and unzipped the front cover of the tent.

“Okay, fine. Mi dispace, I hear you,” he said, stepping outside in a rush. “I’ll be roaming around the block listening to some performances. Come find me at the second stage when you wanna be more… cordial.”

Gyro zipped up the tent as quick as lightning after he said his last sentence.

Whoops.

Johnny was left alone in the tent. A neon green sheen illuminated the inside as the morning sun rose higher in the city.

His chest was heavy with annoyance and frustration. Woken up with a kick by Gyro, with all his brashness and wit. Christ. The gall.

Johnny took a deep breath and closed his eyes before he got too angry to think.

Lord, forgive me. Help refrain me from being quick to anger-

Johnny’s short prayer was yanked from the heavens as the sound of the zipper came loose again with a slow ZIIIIIIIPPP! Gyro stuck his head back into the tent cautiously.

“Right. I almost forgot to tell ya. I got our time slot this mornin’ while you were asleep. And I got you a piano for you and I to practice together with. So if you could hurry it up a little…”

Gyro flung his head backwards as a shoe flew past his face.

“Heard ya! Okay. Second stage. Don’t forget. Ciao .”

Johnny could’ve sworn he heard Gyro mutter some other Italian word under his breath as he walked away.

Johnny sat up and brushed his fingers through his hair. He paused, for the slightest of moments, finally processing what exactly was thrown in his face. He picked up the stack of fabrics, realizing that what he was holding was a pile of brand new, tagged items of clothing.

…?

He unfolded the first item on top to reveal a flowy, long sleeve, deep cut shirt. It was dyed a light shade of blue and the stitching was a pure white, offering a slight and subtle contrast to the eye. Underneath the top was a small white scarf, a pair of dark blue bellbottom jeans, and something small wrapped in tissue paper.

Where on earth did he get all this? When on earth did he get all this??

The outfit choice was very… Gyro. That was for sure.

Johnny carefully unwrapped the tiny package. Underneath laid a folded piece of paper crammed with words, scribbled in rushed handwriting.

Here’s a little something to motivate you. We’ll both stand out on the stage tonight, Joestar!

~~ G. Z.

P.S. By the way, that entry donation was no joke on the wallet, especially for our new outfits. Just sayin’... one day, if you’re feeling like giving a reimbursem*nt… Nyoho you get what I’m saying. Grazie milleeee~!

P.P.S. ^means ‘Thanks a million’ in Italian

P.P.P.S I guessed your sizes Let me know if they dont fit

Johnny huffed out of his nostrils. Of course Gyro would be the one to give a gift just to ask for payment in return.

Beneath the note was a small chain wrapped around a piece of cardboard. The glint of a shiny silver charm reflected the green aura of the tent. With careful fingers, Johnny untangled the necklace and held it out in front of him.

A shiny inch-wide star hung from the center of the necklace, swaying back and forth from his grip.

Gyro was one strange guy.

He dropped the necklace over his head in one swoop, watching it fall to the center of his chest. He picked up the star charm with two fingers and twirled it between his fingers.

Johnny quickly pulled off his slept-in shirt and tried on the new one, feeling to see how the new blue top fit around his torso. It was a little tight around the shoulders and revealed far too much chest than he was used to, but it fit his figure fairly well.

The jeans came next; somehow those fit a little too perfectly.

He tied the white scarf around his neck in a loose knot to finish off the outfit.

Johnny pulled out the small pocket mirror from his backpack and tried to hold it out to see the details of the new clothes come together.

It wasn’t half bad.

Whether Johnny realized it or not, it was the first time in two years he had fully forgotten to acknowledge the scars at his side. Whenever he exposed himself bare to the world, a familiar rock would sink to the bottom of his core. Today, however, that rock had suddenly forgotten to fall from its place.

Something deep inside Johnny truly appreciated this kind gesture. Maybe it was the solid nine hours of sleep talking – or maybe it was something more. An entire outfit chosen for him by someone who barely knew him, and something that fit his form in a way he hadn’t thought to accentuate it before.

Maybe the Italians really did know a thing or two about fashion.

Appreciation crept up slowly, easing its way through his chest, tugging all the way at the corners of his lips.

But before Appreciation went too far to his head, Johnny remembered how Gyro quite literally kicked him awake and proceeded to throw his own gift to him in his face, so there was that. If you could even call it a gift.

He frowned.

Suddenly, the annoyance was back.

Johnny finished getting ready as quickly as he could. He pinned his contestant number to the front and back of his clothes and climbed outside the tent to set up his wheelchair. For some reason, he seemed to be having a bit more trouble than usual getting it unfolded.

Dammit, what’s wrong with this thing?

After a bit of a struggle, he climbed into his chair and grabbed his brown backpack from the tent, slinging it into his lap. At the last moment, Johnny remembered to lock the tent zipper closed with the lock that had been laying open inside.

Johnny took a deep breath of the crisp November air, the temperature warming up the city as it shone down its warm rays. He ran his fingers through his hair once more before he set off in search of the second stage.

Johnny’s stomach growled comically loud. He was glad Gyro wasn’t around to make a comment about it.

Maybe he’d find breakfast first.

~~~

“Heya.”

Johnny found Gyro standing at the same corner of the stage they were at the previous night, watching a performance from a lackluster trombone player. The rest of the very thin crowd seemed to be equally as disinterested.

“Ah!” Gyro exclaimed, slightly surprised. He turned around to face him more clearly, his eyes lighting up at his appearance.

“AH! You’re wearing my outfit! Excellente, it fits!”

“Well, you gave it to me, right?”

“I mean, yeah. But I wasn’t convinced you’d even wear it after you shoved me out like that.”

“You did kick me in the ribs to wake me up.”

“You were going to sleep the day away if I didn’t do anything!”

A loud BWOMMP came from the main stage. They both turned their heads to look at the performer; he had awkwardly stopped playing after the very glaring mistake. The surrounding crowds got quiet.

“Yeeesh.”

Johnny took a moment to observe the clothes Gyro was wearing. It seemed like he also had taken the time to buy himself a new outfit, similar to his own.

His long golden hair was tied back in a complicated braided plait, his bangs framing his face. He wore the same holey sunhat from his posters back at the bar; it was strangely inconvenient.

Opting to wear an emerald version of the same top he gave Johnny, he also wore two sets of gold necklaces — one was a golden cross; the other was a circular shape he couldn’t place from his distance — along with a pair of lighter colored bootcut jeans, and a large chunky belt with a buckle that had two hands pointing to his…

Johnny’s eyes shot up to look elsewhere, hoping Gyro didn’t catch him staring for too long.

“You like my belt?”

Ugh.

“I… sure…”

“My signature!” Gyro hooked two thumbs around his belt and showed it off proudly. “And not only that, it’s a good luck charm.”

“You're superstitious?”

“Oh. Very,” Gyro winked.

A polite applause started from the crowd as the trombonist shuffled off the stage.

“I got our time slot for the third stage at 7:30. On the dot.”

“Doesn’t the whole thing end at 8:00pm?”

“It’s even better for us to perform towards the end,” Gyro started. “Since I donated such a large sum, I could choose practically any time I wanted. The general public might not know about it, but since the higher-paid donors get access to the better times to perform, all of the VIPs, celebrities, and big-time donors stick around for us . Since they know all this, the staff try to corral all the musicians who paid well to perform towards the end of the night.”

“Oh, I see. And we’d be fresher in everyone's minds; they’d remember us more if we performed later on anyway.”

“Exactly!” Gyro pointed at Johnny with two fingers of approval. “Prime-time television will be on in every household. All those families home from church and work, eating dinner and watching us perform at the end of the first tour; we will be golden.”

“Damn. You’ve had this thought this out.”

“I do plan things sometimes,” Gyro smirked. “All we need to sell with the people is a good and solid first performance.”

“Then we get the votes to go onto the next round,” Johnny said, recounting all the information as clearly in his head as he could.

“Right. And for all the people watching from home, they have call centers set up to receive votes. All they gotta do is state their name and the contestant’s numbers they saw on screen; the call center people do the rest. Real crazy techy stuff. People listening on the radio can call in, too, since performers have to announce their numbers before they go on.”

“And they can vote here , too,” Johnny stated. “I passed by a voting booth on the way. It was out and around the block.”

“Yup. I voted for my favorites this morning. I liked that Pocoloco fella.”

The crowd began clapping for a new performer, snapping the two out of their conversation. Unfortunately, it was another nervous singer that began to sing extremely out of tune. Johnny and Gyro winced and continued talking.

“I can’t believe they’re using electronic voting here, too. Punch cards and everything. It’s like voting for the President.”

“Rich people spare no expense,” Gyro laughed, patting Johnny on the shoulder with his non-bandaged hand.

“Hey, I meant to ask. What happened to your…”

“Ah, cut it on something in the middle of night. Dunno what, really.”

“It won’t affect your playing, will it?”

Gyro held his hand in hand, holding the bandage gingerly. He paused.

“Not at all!” Gyro exclaimed. If there was any moment of hesitation, it quickly passed before Johnny could see it. “See? I can move all my fingers.”

He wiggled them in front of Johnny, pretending to pick and play an air guitar.

“It’s already scabbed over mostly. My hand is a little tender, if anything. Honestly, it was pretty deep and bled for a while. I had to change the bandages and keep it clean, but we Zeppeli’s have strong blood. And even stronger platelets.”

A doctorly side of Gyro seemed to come out at the end there.

Johnny just nodded. No use in pretending to know what platelets were.

“Cool.”

The singer on stage had finished her performance and had walked off stage, followed by even less applause than the trombonist before her.

“Say, you wanna go practice a bit?”

Johnny looked down at his watch. 12:29pm.

He took a deep breath.

“Sure.”

“ Va bene . I’ll go grab my guitar. You wait here; I’ll show you to your piano when I get back.”

Gyro turned back and ran off to the tents before Johnny could say a thing.

…

sh*t .

Johnny stared at his watch as the minute-hand ticked away by one.

12:30pm.

The hours were going by a lot faster than he thought.

There were only 7 hours left before they would perform together on stage for the first time.

They had 7 whole hours to face the music and pull it off.

Breathe.

Johnny twirled the star-shaped necklace from front to back and thought of all the times he had performed in the past; to be honest, the pre-show nerves had never seemed to get easier as a kid.

Yet somehow, it was better than feeling nothing at all.

A few years after Nick died, he threw himself into a solo career. Maybe it was for fame, maybe it was for validation, maybe it was a poor attempt to prove himself to his father.

Johnny wondered what he was doing nowadays.

If there was one thing he learned to understand during that time, there was nothing worse than performing alone.

All the empty friendships with the backup singers, the half-hearted conversations with the extra musicians, the throes of female fans who would throw themselves at him for just one night after a show…

None of it felt real.

None of it was real.

Maybe that’s why this time, it felt different. The spontaneity, the kind gestures, the unorganized chaos of Gyro Zeppeli himself; it brought a new challenge to something Johnny had grown numb to.

Breathe.

After all, he wasn’t so alone this time.

—

After a few minutes had passed, Johnny watched as the next group of musicians joined the stage. This group wore matching shirts and leapt onto the stage with acrobatics and cartwheels, nearly taking out a very expensive microphone in the middle of the stage.

As Johnny continued to spy the strange group of performers, a purple haired man dressed in black slinked behind a group of bystanders in watch.

His long strip of shiny eyeball earrings glinted in the midday sun.

Between two hands at his sides, he tossed back a butterfly knife in his hands.

Back and forth.

Back. and forth.

Back…and forth.

He continued to dangerously fling the knife just below his waist, where it was just out of sight from the people around him.

How easy it would be to make a scene.

But instead, he thought.

He thought like he usually did.

I know you. Johnny Joestar.

Mrs. Robinson expertly avoided the blade of the knife by catching the two handles in his hand, stopping the knife in a defensive position, ready to aim.

Seems like most people around here don’t notice you. Why would they, huh?

His breathing picked up as anger festered up, bubbling and churning inside his core.

Why come to an event like this when you have ridden off the success of your past for many long years? What makes you think you can just take away every opportunity from people like me?

His brow furrowed deep down his face as he stared at Johnny’s back from about 15 feet away.

You deserve to die.

He flicked the pointed edge of his knife against his fingernail.

You and that partner of yours. Gyro Zeppeli.

He took a step forward and began to weave his way through the crowd.

And can’t you see, Johnny?

…

“He’s just using you.”

“Excuse m-”

A firm hand had grasped onto his wheelchair from behind, knocking Johnny slightly off balance from the jolt. Johnny grabbed the sides of his wheels to steady himself. He was suddenly met with a warm, sinister breath in his left ear, shooting off alarm bells in every direction.

“Don’t move.”

Johnny went to turn his head but was met with piercingly cold metal at the crook of his neck.

“Take a stroll with me and let’s have a chat, why don’t we?”

Johnny was completely frozen solid. Blue eyes were wide with fear, and not a single word could escape his lips.

A single drop of blood trickled down the side of his neck as the man from behind wheeled him out from the crowd.

~~~

Chapter 10: You Don't Mess Around with Jim

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 - You Don’t Mess Around with Jim

“What are you doing here, Johnny Joestar?”

Johnny could do nothing but stare dead ahead as the man took complete control of his wheelchair.

The sharp blade being held to Johnny’s neck was covered up by his hair; virtually invisible to the average observer.
Johnny’s mouth went dry.

“You won’t talk?”

The man leaned back into his ear from behind.

“Then I’ll make you.”

They abruptly jumped the curb and turned into a quiet alleyway. Johnny gripped the sides of the chair, craning his neck away from the impact of the knife.

An immediate sting came from behind his ear, followed by a steady trickle of blood. A trail of metallic warmth absorbed into the white scarf tied loosely around his neck.

Johnny’s chest heaved up and down from shallow breaths as his body reacted to the suddenness of the pain.

There’s no way this is happening right now.

The man turned around Johnny, facing him straight on. He crouched down over Johnny, the eyeballs on his ears swinging close enough to hit Johnny in the face.

“I will say, Johnny Joestar. Out of all the money-hungry idiots that are here, your presence intrigued me the most. You see, that is because I know you.”

The purple-haired man dressed in strange leather attire withdrew the knife from Johnny’s neck.

“Famous childhood star, rich off of the wealth of a significantly early yet notable career.”

He flipped the knife handles around his fingers with a flurry of moves.

“Then your brother dies.”

Johnny’s heartbeat pounded rapidly in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears threatening to pour out at any moment.

“Your brother dies, and what did you do? Come on, everyone knows the story.”

With one leg, the man stepped up onto the bottom part of the chair, pointing the knife inches away from Johnny’s eyes.

“You go on to have another successful career; performing all over the nation in venues bigger than I can imagine. Fame and fortune continue to fall into your lap though you stand in the large, overhanging shadow of your dead. big. brother.”

A switch immediately flipped on inside of Johnny. The knots of fear tied in his chest were suddenly set ablaze, transforming into a burning hot web of anger.

Johnny’s expression went dark as he opened his eyes and stared directly into the face of the man cowering over him.

“Oh, did that touch a nerve?”

The man covered up a laugh with his hands, the knife dangerously close to his own face. The black fringe of his jacket blew in the gusts of wind that siphoned through the alleyway.

“So, tell me. You must have a reason for being here. Perhaps dear old dad cut you off from the funds?”

Johnny spit into the man’s face, causing him to lurch backward.

“HAH! HAHAH! So I AM right!”

He rubbed Johnny’s saliva into his face with a wide, crazed expression. Johnny fought back a look of utter disgust.

This man isn’t normal.

“And so, the story of Johnny Joestar continues!”

The man lunged back into Johnny’s face and left two small, precise cuts in the fragile skin above his eyes, happening faster than Johnny could even think.

“GAH!”

Johnny’s hands flung up to protect his face as blood poured into his eyes.

“After failing to live up to your brother’s name, you get shot twice in the back by a crazed superfan, accusing you of murdering your own brother.”

Johnny squinted and wiped his eyes clear of the red stain that covered his sight. A mixture of burning tears and blood streamed down his face.

“And here you are, years later, left immobilized to a wheelchair.”

The man tossed the knife back and forth between his hands, chuckling to himself.

“So perhaps this is the reason Johnny Joestar is here; he is here to rediscover his meaningless life, and to win back the love, care, and adoration from his loving fans.”

Johnny’s body began to tremble with anger.

With thousands of words fighting to be said, only two of them escaped.

“f*ck you.”

Standing up abruptly, the man reared back. With all of his force, he kicked under the right wheel of Johnny’s chair, right where he had struggled to open earlier this morning.

The wheel flung off of its axes.

Johnny fell hard onto the ground.

This cannot be happening to me.

Johnny blinked hard, clearing the blood from his sight once more. He stood himself back up with his arms, breathing heavily.

“My name, by the way, is Robin. I perform in fourty-five minutes, under the stage name ‘Mrs. Robinson’. Except for me, I won’t have a chance at winning, solely because people like you are here. You selfish celebrities, using your predisposed fame to advance in a race that was designed for people like me.”

Robin leaned close to Johnny’s face and whispered low in his ear.

“And unfortunately for you, Johnny, I happen to come from the mindset that anyone in this race with some sort of notoriety deserves to die.”

“You’re insane.”

“MAYBE! HAHAHA!”

Johnny glanced over to the entrance of the alleyway, hoping someone would hear the commotion occurring beside them.

I need to get someone’s attention.

“How dare you steal my chance of a LIFETIME!?”

The man charged forward at Johnny with the knife. With fast reflexes, Johnny knocked over a metal trash can sitting beside him.

The loud clatter and shuffle had alerted a few passersby to the action happening in the alley. A small group formed; a few amongst them were shouting for the police.

Trash was strewn all over the ground. Johnny lunged for the metal lid of the trashcan and slammed it back into Robin in defense, causing him to lose balance.

“Give it up, Jojo!! Your glory days are over!”

Robin leapt over the pile of trash and struck the ground with the knife, dangerously close to Johnny’s arm. Johnny spun himself around and out of the way, avoiding the attack. In the blink of an eye, Johnny had grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground and flung it straight into Robin’s eyes.

“Don’t you f*ckin’ call me by that name.”

“GAHHH!”

Robin fell onto his knees as he tripped over the trash can. His hands went to his eyes as he rubbed them furiously.

Johnny took the opportunity to turn himself around and crawl towards the exit of the alleyway. To his surprise, a growing group of bystanders had been standing in watch the entire time.

Yet not a single one of them had stepped in to help.

“I WILL NOT ALLOW ANYONE IN THIS RACE TO GET AHEAD OF ME!”

Johnny was suddenly dragged from his arms and flung onto his back, his arms being restrained above his head.

Robin held Johnny to the ground firmly, the knife now settled between his teeth in a seething grin. He laughed heartily, his eyes burning with crazed determination.

Johnny turned his head to the onlookers. There they stood, covering their mouths in shock, continuing to watch.

“Please, I-”

The knife was suddenly in one of Robin’s hands.

“DIE, JOJO!”

A third voice rang out from behind the whispered chatter of the crowd.

“You son of a BITCH!”

All of a sudden, a flash of movement passed by Johnny’s blurred vision. Robin was knocked off of Johnny, followed by a clink as the knife fell to the ground. Johnny blinked through the red sheen of blood on his eyes – and for a moment, he swore he saw the visage of Gyro Zeppeli.

The uniquely identifiable voice that followed confirmed his suspicions.

“I knew there was something real f*ckin’ wrong with you. You cut my hand last night, didn’t ya, stronzo?”

Johnny rubbed his eyes with the back of his arm, clearing his vision of blood. Five feet in front of him was Gyro, holding his attacker to the ground, choking him of his words with a firm arm to his neck.

Johnny smiled weakly, crawling out of the action to sit next to the exit of the alleyway.

“Gyro, I’ve never been more happy to see you.”

Distant police sirens began to grow closer as the crowd of onlookers began to bustle with concern.

Robin abruptly threw his head back, thrashing to and from, feebly attempting to escape Gyro’s grasp.

“HA! So his highness came to the rescue!” Robin shouted into Gyro’s face, spittle spraying his face in a crazed mania. “Who even are you, so-called Gyro?”

“If my memory serves correct, we’ve already met.” Gyro applied even more pressure to his neck as Robin choked from underneath his grasp.

In an instant, Robin tumbled out from underneath Gyro and swung a punch aiming for his face. Gyro regained his balance and swooped underneath, avoiding the attack with an almost trained precision. Robin had bent back over and grabbed the knife, aiming it in a defensive position at Gyro. Within a split second, Gyro had run up to him, restraining his arms once more.

Holy sh*t, Gyro.

Maybe it was the blood in his eyes, but Johnny felt as if he were watching a martial arts film play out right in front of him.

Gyro finally wrestled the knife from his hand, causing it to drop back to the ground.

“Johnny, grab it!”

Without thinking twice, Johnny leapt forward and grabbed the weapon, safely out of grasp from Robin’s hands.

Gyro straddled Robin onto the ground, shoving his face into the gravelly dirt and restraining his arms uncomfortably on his back.

“Guh- Ghgh..”

“You shut the hell up and stop gurgling like you want to say something,” Gyro threatened. He looked over his shoulder and growled at the surrounding crowd that had tripled in size.

“What do you all think you’re doing? Stop sitting there with your jaws open and do something! Find the f*cking cops!”

Johnny watched with wide eyes, attempting to catch his breath.

“Johnny, are you okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he said, though he was admittedly still a little wired from the adrenaline. “This guy just up and tried to kill me.”

The man strained from underneath Gyro’s grip. He stared directly into Johnny’s eyes, his gaze unwavering.

“Gy–ro…Zeppeli– admit it. You– just want to use him-”

“I said shut the hell up!” Gyro sent a knee directly into Robin’s crotch, causing him to wail aloud in pain.

“AUGH!”

Blue and red lights bounced off the shadowy walls of the alleyway as the crowd opened up, allowing law enforcement to rush in onto the scene.

Local news crews flooded the area with their cameras and microphones, following the action out of the alleyway.

It seems as if a fight has broken out between two contestants outside of the second stage. Police have arrested Contestant 0215; a man by the stage name Mrs. Robinson. He was supposed to perform not even thirty minutes from now until a group of passersby witnessed the crime occurring in this alleyway. EMT’s and law enforcement are on the scene as we speak –

Three policemen rushed in as Gyro and Johnny were ushered to the side.

“Get your hands up!”

The man was finally cornered. Fresh blood coated his dirtied leather jacket; it seemed as if he had injured himself with his own blade during the fight.

“My hands! You see? They’re up!” Robin laughed heartily, shaking his bloodied palms above his head. “They’re up! They’re up! They’re UP!!!”

Gyro and Johnny looked at each other in horror. He was a madman.

“This is the guy we were looking for,” one policeman said to another. “Those reports of serial stabbings that have been happening all over since the tour started. He matches every description.”

Johnny’s jaw went slack after overhearing the police chatter. So it wasn’t just him… just how many had he attacked in order to try to progress his way in this competition?

And why did this attack feel so personal?

An EMT rushed to Johnny’s side and tried to help him up.

“No- I can’t walk,” Johnny started. “I’m fine, ma’am. Truly. I just need a towel.”

“Excuse me. Move,” Gyro said. The EMT’s face retorted in offense, but Gyro spoke before she could say anything.

“First of all, I’m a doctor. Second of all, he’s my pianist.”

The EMT glanced between the two and sighed in resignation. She stood up, going to get bandages from a medical kit a few feet away.

“Lemme see you,” he said. He grabbed Johnny’s face gently, turning it so he could see the damage that was dealt to his eyes.

“Ow,” Johnny complained. Gyro continued eyeing the cuts on his eyes and neck.

“Hey. Give me a glove, lady.”

The EMT threw a pair of gloves onto Gyro’s lap with a frown. He pulled them on quickly and began to prod at the fresh wounds on his neck.

“I said, ow,” Johnny whined. “Don’t be so harsh, dammit!”

“Put a cork in it, Johnny. You were just mugged.”

Johnny shut his mouth and let Gyro continue to turn his face over, wincing every so often in pain.

“He needs antiseptic wipes, bandages, and some ibuprofen for the pain,” Gyro stated. “No stitches needed, and his eyesight is fine; the cuts there will heal fast. But he needs some eye drops and a towel to wash up. And get him a wheelchair, the one over there is broken.”

The EMT stared back at Gyro blankly.

“Didya hear me? Or should I repeat myself again?”

She shuffled through her things and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol along with some cotton balls.

Gyro turned his focus back to Johnny.

“You’re lucky I’m nosy by nature and saw what was goin’ on,” Gyro said, his tone soft, yet serious. “And I don’t know how you managed to get away with just a few surface wounds.”

“Christ. Me either,” Johnny said. The cuts on his body began to throb with pain, the adrenaline finally crashing out of his system. “Guess nothin’ wants to go our way, huh?”

“I’m sayin’. Did I tell you that nutcase is our tent neighbor?”

Johnny gave him a halfhearted laugh. Gyro smiled back, but his eyes were still downtrodden with concern.

“You think I’m joking. That lunatic could’ve killed us in our sleep.”

“Thank the Lord he didn’t,” Johnny said. “We’ve got things to do today.”

For such a harrowing experience, Johnny didn’t feel all that bad, other than the minor injuries. In fact, he felt almost invigorated. It was as if the crazed man’s words motivated him in some twisted way.

Gyro, on the other hand, looked stern and serious – an unusual array of expressions countering his usual playful self.

“Like I said,” Johnny spoke after a pause. “We can’t let this stop us. Are we heading to the piano now?”

“Not until I get you cleaned up. And I assume after we talk,” Gyro pointed his head backward with a tilt. “To them.”

Two remaining police officers stood against the wall, watching them carefully.

“Damn. I was kind of looking forward to heading over there– Ow! sh*t!” Johnny shouted, nearly hitting his head on the brick wall. Gyro had quick enough reflexes to grab the other man’s shoulders to tilt him forward before his head impacted with the wall entirely.

“Dio mio, you tryin’ to hurt yourself more than you are? You damn near split your head open,” Gyro growled. “Now sit still.”

Johnny stuck out his bottom lip in a pout as Gyro continued to clean and bandage his wounds.

~~~

The next three hours went by in a flash.

Police reports were filed; however, with multiple similar incidents occurring in the past few days, the evidence was all but confirmatory for their case. The police got Johnny’s best form of contact just in case they needed to ask more questions and let the two leave early.

However, Johnny failed to tell the police officers he was eight hours away from his home phone and wasn’t heading back any time soon.

Both of their outfits had been dirtied by the fight, coated in stains of blood and grime. Johnny initially opted to brush off the dust, but Gyro insisted they go back and buy new clothing.

“My clothes ain’t that important, Gyro. I’ll just wear what I had on yesterday.”

“Well, they’re important to me. And you’re part of my band, so this is my say,” he snapped. “Let’s just run in here really quick. I’ll be fast.”

The news of the freak attack spread amongst the crowds like wildfire. A serial stabber, almost serialkiller, was rightfully a concern amongst the concert goers. Unsure of names, the news stations only had Johnny and Gyro’s contestant numbers to report with. 636 and 939 were the most talked about numbers that day, and when someone recognized the two by their tags, they would stop and stare.

“Now what are they starin’ at?” Johnny said.

“Let 'em stare. It's is good for us, Johnny. But I can only hope they’re thinking we’re the cool ones for catching that crazy bastardo.”

“Yeah,” Johnny chuckled. “They’re probably thinking that.”

An employee from the clothing store had recognized Gyro from earlier that morning; and because of their unique circ*mstances, he offered them a full change of clothes at no extra charge.

Johnny tried hard to ignore the gleam in Gyro’s eyes as he was offered a free outfit.

After rolling around in a flimsy chair from the EMT’s, Johnny had been surprised to be presented with a brand new wheelchair from the staff running the Steel Ball Run Tour. Apparently, a higher-up had heard about the incident at the second stage. They sent a new wheelchair immediately alongside a note of apology.

“I’ll be! This is the nicest chair I’ve owned. Angled wheels and everything. And look at this! It’s even got blue trim!” Johnny said with a smile, inspecting the new wheelchair. “Gyro, this has gotta be the craziest day I’ve ever had.”

Gyro smiled beside himself.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about. A fresh new ride!”

“You think it’ll be alright in your truck? This one don’t fold up like the other did.”

“Hmmmmm….”

Gyro scratched his patchwork beard and held up his hands in a rectangle in an attempt to mentally measure the chair.

“Eyup. She’ll fit.”

Johny raised a brow. He wasn’t so worried about if it would fit, but moreso if it would fly out the back after accidentally hitting a bump speeding down an interstate.

After a brief lunch and bathroom break, the two finally managed to make their way to the humble piano studio around four blocks away from the main stages.

“When’d you find this place?” Johnny said, marveling at all the different types of pianos they had at their disposal. He rolled back and forth, getting used to the newfound smoothness of his wheelchair.

“I got lucky on my morning walk. Ran right into it,” he said. “So I walked in and asked if they’d let us use the studio space later on in the day. Apparently they’re renting out the spaces to musicians, so I grabbed us a spot. They said come in any time.”

“Damn, what luck. Woah, is that a Wurlitzer in there?!”

Gyro laughed as Johnny sped off in the other direction, heading for an electric piano in an open practice room.

If he was being honest with himself, though, he was a little put off by Johnny’s cheerfulness.

For God’s sake, someone just tried to kill him.

Gyro cleared his throat. What was he thinking? Johnny could and did fend for himself. Maybe he was being the weird one for being shaken up by all this.

Maybe he would talk to him about it later.

For now, he could learn from Johnny. Practice needed to be their only objective. They had less than four hours till they went on the stage.

“Alright, I made up my mind. I’m usin’ this one,'' Johnny shouted out at Gyro, prompting him to come forward with a beckoning arm.

Gyro rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and grabbed the guitar case by his feet. Taking a deep breath, he entered the small practice room.

“Okay.” Gyro undid the clasps of his guitar case and carefully lifted it out, brown lacquer shining in the overhead lights.

“Let’s see what we’re made of, Johnny.”

~~~

“I’ll be damned.”

Johnny looked up to Gyro with wide eyes, staring expectantly from his seat behind the piano. Gyro stood frozen, his guitar hanging loosely across his torso.

“Johnny, I don’t know what to say.”

“Well. Don’t say anything bad. Or else I really can’t ensure my abilities on the stage.”

“No,” Gyro stated clearly. “You’re a born natural.”

Johnny felt his cheeks grow warm. He looked down to his hands.

“I… don’t know about that. It's all just muscle memory. I told you I’ve played this one before.”

“Muscle memory my ass; it doesn’t matter,” Gyro said, breaking from his frozen position. He raised his left hand and high-fived Johnny with all his might. “You’re incredible.”

Johnny stood taller in his chair confidently.

“Well, I’m still nervous as all get out,” he said. “I hope we can pull this off.”

“Oh we will. And not just in general, but to win.”

“You really think so?”

“I know it.”

Johnny’s expression suddenly shifted. Gyro hadn’t known him for all that long, but there was a certain familiarity that burned in the fire in his eyes. It was the tenacity, the goal; that determination to win.

This was the Johnny he needed most right now.

Even if he was a little unnerving.

“Gyro, how’s your hand feel after all that playin’?”

To be honest, it did hurt. But he did treat it with some antiseptic balm from the EMT’s kits from earlier, so at least it ran a less of a chance of being inflected.

Gyro grinned at Johnny, giving him a thumbs up with the injured hand.

“Right as a whistle.”

“Alright then,” Johnny said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s keep practicing.”

~~~

Johnny fidgeted with the brim of his hat, his fingers anxiously tapping away on the wheels of his chair.

“It’s 6:50.”

“Forty minutes left,” Gyro said, staring ahead into the massive audience standing at the stage. Thousands of people were out tonight, excited to catch the final acts of the most notable musical competition America had ever seen. “We need to get lined up.”

Johnny itched at the bandage on his neck.

“Those bothering you?”

“Not too bad. The bandages are just annoying me if anything,” Johnny said. “I'm just glad these cuts on my eyes don’t show that much. They sure bled a lot, though.”

“Keep an eye on them, and tell me if anything changes. You’ll probably bruise a little too, just a warning.”

“You sure know a lot, Doctor Zeppeli.”

Gyro huffed at Johnny. “Quit. I ain’t a doctor like that anymore,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I’m a musician.”

They lined up behind a booth that read ‘Contestant Check-In’. A few other people were lined up as well.

“Contestant 636, Contestant 939. Performing together under ‘Gyro Zeppeli’,” Gyro said to the man at the stall.

Reading from a sheet on a clipboard, the man glanced up.

“Johnny Joestar, Contestant 939?”

Johnny sat up. “Yessir.”

The man looked back at his papers, then back at Johnny, taking a moment to observe the man sitting in front of him.

“Good to see you back.”

Johnny’s head lifted a little higher.

“Here’s your instructions.” The man slid a few sheets of paper at them from across the table. “And if you didn’t bring any with you, you’ll borrow some in-ear equipment from the stall to your right. After that, head behind the main stage and to the left. Someone will be with you to instruct you when to head out.”

An excited crowd cheered loudly from behind them as a contestant made their way onto the stage.

“Good luck,” the man shouted over the sudden increase of volume. “Welcome to the first stage of the Steel Ball Run.”

As they walked away from the booth, Gyro gave a firm squeeze of encouragement to Johnny’s shoulder.

“Hell of a day we’ve had,” Gyro nudged. “You ready to give it your all?”

Johnny looked up, giving him a slight smile.

Just breathe.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

~~~

Chapter 11: Fools Rush In

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Fools Rush In

The early November sunset shone against the windows of the tall skyscrapers, casting an orange glow across the anxious crowd. Thousands were gathered at the main stage, excited to hear the final performances.

Lucy Steel, however, was feeling a little tired.

Lucy adjusted her pink skirt, flattening it on her lap. She shivered and inched herself closer to the warmth of the heat lamp. This November was feeling more cold than usual, she thought.

“Ms. Steel, can I get you anything to drink?”

Lucy jumped a bit as a waitress suddenly appeared from behind.

“Oh, no thank you. I’m quite alright.”

“Very well, Ms. Steel. We do have some hot chocolate at the catering table if you would like some.”

Lucy sat up slightly at the invitation of hot chocolate; a warm, inviting reward for the long days she's sat through.

Oh, but the next performers were about to be up. She might as well stay seated; it was only proper etiquette.
The past year had been long and tiring for Lucy. Her father’s dream had come true, after all; a cross-country music tour to find the best talent in the nation, maybe even the world. Meetings after meetings, late night calls trying to negotiate with performing centers; it was all so exhausting.

And deep down, Lucy wished she was allowed to be up there performing with everyone else.

The main booth was filled with famous musicians, record label CEOs, and rich donors Lucy didn’t know the names of. Some of them seemed to take judging more seriously than the others. A lot of the time, these men would joke about the quality of a performance, only occasionally finding themselves impressed with a contestant.

Her father, however, was focused on every performance. He attempted to comment positively on every contestant, regardless of how well their song went. He really was excited about all of this.

It would be a bit more fun to have one of her own friends here, Lucy decided.

Lucy sighed and clasped her hands together, eyes transfixed on the stage as bright lights lit up the platform.

There were only a few more performances left, anyway. Then she could get someone to escort her back to the hotel to warm up a bit.

Lucy looked to her father as he took a sip of water. He leaned against the railing of the booth, a pen and a well-used yellow notebook in his hands, eyes transfixed upon the stage in anticipation.

A few of the men besides him sipped from their glasses of wine and laughed under their breaths. Lucy was sure they were chuckling at her father.

“Oh, don’t laugh at me,” Mr. Steel whispered over his shoulder. “You know the last batch of performers are our higher paying donors.”

“Oh, no, Steven. If anything, we respect your dedication,” the curly haired man said. He leaned back in his seat and suppressed a yawn. “Why don’t you have some wine with us and enjoy the rest of the night instead?”

“Ah, later, later,” he responded, waving his hand passively. The crowd began to applaud as the two performers made their way onto the stage.

Lucy sat up and blinked. Was that man in a-

“A wheelchair?” one of the men remarked.

“Is that-”

“That’s the poor man who was mugged by that crazed lunatic earlier!” Steel turned to whisper to his left. “I sent him a new wheelchair after the man destroyed it in the fight; it looks like he’s using it.”

“Steven, you’re one good Samaritan,” a grey haired man mused, slapping him on the back.

The crowd seemed to notice this as well, their voices whispering in curiosity. To be fair, it was quite the talk of the day.

The two contestants began to set up their instruments and a few crew members adjusted the piano for the man in the wheelchair.

Lucy pulled out the binoculars from beside her chair to get a better look. There was a tall man with long, golden brown hair holding a guitar. The pianist had short blond hair and wore a cowboy hat. Both of them wore a similar outfit; the man on the guitar was adorned in green while the other was in blue, both wearing some sort of necklaces around their necks.

Lucy watched as the two performers looked at each other nervously. The blue one flexed his hands and adjusted his microphone to his face. The green one took a deep breath and strummed a chord on his guitar, receiving a pleased response from the audience.

The green man leaned into the microphone as he let the guitar chord ring out. “Helloooo, San Diego!”

He flashed a smile and strummed a melody.

“Me and my pianist here actually have a funny story for you,” he started. “Today, you may have heard about… some rumors… I’m sure.”

The crowd bustled after that comment.

“I just want it to be known that, yes, I DID take down that ‘Mrs. Robinson’ fellow. For the safety of everyone here, of course!”

Laughs and applause rang from the audience.

“But we both put up a fight, didn’t we?”

“That’s for damn sure.”

The blue man scrunched up his sleeves to reveal his battered forearms and pulled down a loosely hanging scarf to reveal a large bandage on his neck. The green man held up his right hand, wrapped in gauze. The crowd gasped.

“But as you know, the show must go on!”

Another loud strum of the guitar and the piano rang out simultaneously.

The people cheered in excitement; these two contestants made a name for themselves before they even performed.

Lucy took off the binoculars to look in the direction of her father. He was wearing a wide grin, already jotting down notes in his notepad.

The man at the piano leaned back into the microphone. “We’re Contestants 636 and 939, performing 'Fools Rush In" by Ricky Nelson."

Cheers erupted from the audience. Lucy quickly picked up the binoculars; this was one of her favorite songs.

A moment of hushed silence hung over the block for the briefest of moments. The two men looked at each other, ready to begin.

Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread,

And so I come to you my love,

My heart above my head.

Lucy smiled. She knew this song well. She hummed the lyrics under her breath.

Though I see the danger there;

If there's a chance for me

Then I don't care!

The man on guitar swung around, his energy electrifying the crowd. He looked at the blue man with gleaming eyes, then back to the audience with a smile and a wink. Now this was an entertainer.

Fools rush in, where wise men never go,

But wise men never fall in love,

So how are they to know?

When we met, I felt my life begin,

So open up your heart and let,

This fool rush in!

The instrumental section began. The man on the guitar leapt into a complicated guitar solo filled with precision only a classical guitarist would be trained in.

The men around Lucy were chattering under their breaths, whispering with renewed interest. A few of them threw around a name she wasn’t paying attention to.

The pianist performed a fast-paced improvised section after the guitarist, sending the audience into loud cheers. Lucy was jealous; her ten years of piano lessons have never gotten her to this level.

Fools rush in, where wise men never go;

But wise men never fall in love,

So how are they to know?

The harmonies from the man on the piano complimented the lead vocals of the guitarist perfectly. Lucy suddenly forgot all the boredom she was feeling from before. These weren’t just some offhand musicians trying their luck; these were performers .

When we met, I felt my life begin,

So open up your heart and let,

This fool rush in!

Just open up your heart and let,

This fool rush in!

Well, open up your heart and let,

This fool rush in!

The audience sat in a stunned silence as the song came to an end. And as quickly as a match would light against a matchbox, the crowd exploded into cheers and applause.

Lucy set down the binoculars in her lap and clapped herself, her eyes brightening from the excitement. Her father clearly shared the same sentiment, joyfully cheering with the crowd.

“I’m Gyro Zeppeli,” said the man on the guitar.

“And I’m Johnny Joestar,” said the man on the piano.

“Don’t forget us!” Gyro shouted with a final strum of his guitar.

Joestar… that name sounded familiar to Lucy. And to the crowd, apparently, as they grew even louder in their applause. Was he a local favorite?

As the men made their way off the stage, Lucy listened into the conversations occurring around her. Her father was engaged in a spirited conversation with a few colleagues.

“Now, that’s a performance!”
“Who would’ve thought that wheelchair fellow was Johnny Joestar!”

“I almost forgot about him, honestly. After that horrible shooting he was involved in, I hadn’t heard from him at all.”

“Oh, be serious. That guitarist easily outshone him. He’s the real star of the night.”

“They were both incredible! Incredible, yes!”

The curly haired man made his way out of the conversation, wearing an odd expression on his face. He headed to the catering table, reminding Lucy of the hot chocolate that was offered to her earlier.

She stood up, brushing her skirt of any wrinkles. Humming the melody, she wove between a few men who were crowding around her father, pushing her way to the large banquet style snack bar. As she reached for the cups of hot chocolate on display, her elbow accidentally knocked the side of the curly haired man, who was pouring himself another glass of wine. A slight bit tipped out and spilled onto the tablecloth as Lucy yelped.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, please excuse me-” she began, grabbing a handful of napkins from the table.

The man, completely unwavered by the spill, continued to pour wine into his glass. His eyes were distantly focused on a point beside the stage.

Lucy’s eyes grew wider as the wine glass began to fill more and more. The man’s eyes were transfixed in some other dimension, deep in thought. Should she say something? It was going to overflow any second…

“Valentine! Careful there,” her father said, laughing and approaching him from behind. A few drops dripped down the side of the wine glass and down his hands, covering his fingers and palms with the red liquid.

“Steel! Christ, don’t scare me like that.”

Lucy took a sip of her hot chocolate as her father chuckled and grabbed napkins for the man.

“Don’t drink too much without me, now! We’ve got a few more shows of the night,” he said. “Lucy, dear, are you doing alright?”

“I’m well. That performance was fantastic.”

“One of your favorites, I know! You ought to sing that for us later, Luce. My daughter has a wonderful voice, everyone!”

Lucy smiled shyly. The curly haired man began to take a long sip from his glass, his eyes still directed towards the side exit of the stage. Curious herself, she followed his gaze.

The man in the wheelchair and the man with the guitar made their way out from the exit. The guitar man spun the man in the wheelchair around excitedly, giving him a high five and a pat on the shoulder. Though she couldn’t see from the distance, she had a feeling they were both grinning ear to ear.

The curly haired man cleared his throat after swallowing back another sip of his wine.

Lucy’s eyebrows raised slightly. She went back to her seat, leaving the confusing man to his own escapades. Drinking was a pointless activity for adults, she thought.

The lights began to dim once more, focusing its luminance on the main stage.

Her father was back in his seat once more, snacking from a plate of cheese and crackers, pen still in hand.

“I’ve heard the next one is that performer from Britain.”

“A British singer? Oh please.”

~~~

Chapter 12: I'll Be Here in the Morning

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: I’ll Be Here in the Morning

Johnny’s heart was running a million miles a minute.

A flurry of lights, voices, and movement blurred right past him as he and Gyro made their way backstage, receiving their own set of cheers from the stage crew.

Gyro was surprisingly composed as he packed away his guitar, humbly nodding and thanking each of the backstage volunteers for the showering of applause. Johnny felt everything and nothing all at once as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

Unsure of what to do with himself, Johnny took a bottle of water that was extended his way and waited for Gyro by the exit ramp. His chest rose up and down as he tried to slow his breathing.

Johnny knew this feeling all too well; no matter how many times he performed growing up, he was always overwhelmed with that indescribable after-show excitement.

It was exhilarating.

He wiped the corners of his mouth after taking a long chug from the water, careful not to smudge the lipstick he applied before going onstage. Gyro approached his side, suppressing a smile as he ushered Johnny to go ahead of him.

Johnny rolled carefully down the back ramp of the stage as Gyro’s shoes clicked from behind.

A quiet, reclusive area was waiting at the bottom of the stage. Johnny sighed deeply as he reached the end of the ramp, the overwhelming presence of bustling crew members disappearing. Suddenly, Johnny felt a tug from behind as his wheelchair swung around to face Gyro.

The two locked eyes and grinned.

The golden man was smiling, wider than Johnny had ever seen.

Gyro laughed heartily and raised his hand to meet Johnny’s. The two clasped hands in a high five, squeezing the other’s palms in resolution.

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

“That was insane.”

Johnny grinned. Gyro patted Johnny’s shoulder proudly.

“Hey, handsy,” Johnny laughed. “Watch the knife wounds.”

“Drinks on me? Let's go celebrate.”

“Gyro Zeppeli, you do have good ideas every so often.”

~~~

Three drinks in, Johnny had long forgotten about the stinging aches and pains from the fight from earlier.

The two had made themselves comfortable at the countertop, basking in the ambiance of an upscale city bar.

“How do you do it, Gyro!” Johnny shouted over the loud, bustling bar. The crowds had begun to syphon in for the night, everyone excited to share in the festivities of the final night of the first stage.

“I’m just naturally good, Johnny. Blessed with musical prodigy.”

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Oh shut up. I know how to play guitar, but I’ve never been able to do all the stuff you do.”

Gyro slammed back the last bit of his drink, ice hitting his face in the process.

“I was classically trained for a few years? I don’t know,” Gyro shrugged as he wiped his lip.

Johnny leaned forward into Gyro, grabbing the countertop of the bar for balance.

“Teach me tonight.”

Gyro leaned back in surprise.

“Tonight? Johnny, we’ve played all day. You ain’t even the slightest bit tired?”

“You promised me.”

Gyro, who was also on his third drink, gazed into the slightly bruised eyes of the man sitting next to him, his face blushed with the faintest tinge of red.

Gyro suddenly felt a wave of warmth pass over him. These drinks were stronger than he thought.

“Fine,” he said, sitting back in his chair in resignation. “When we get back to the hotel, I’ll show you one of my tricks.”

“Hotel?!” Johnny said. “When did you have time to book us a hotel?”

“I booked my hotel room months ago. At least for this stage.”

“Wow,” Johnny said, wearing a stunned expression on his face. “I thought you always flew by the seat of your pants.”

Gyro clicked his tongue. “And what do you mean by that exactly?”

“I’m sayin’ you’re spontaneous and unorganized. More than me, that's for sure.”

“I’ve proved I can plan things, Johnny! Leave me alone.”

“Prove to me you can teach me guitar, then I might believe you.”

“Dio mio, Johnny,” Gyro said, rubbing his temples jokingly. “You sure talk a lot when you drink.”

~~~

Gyro quickly found out that night that Johnny drank fast. And that they both could chalk up a very pricey tab.

He was a bit more than tispy himself. Maybe more than that. He definitely couldn’t handle his liquor like he did when he was younger. God, he was getting old.

“Gyro~o, ‘m good, seriously,” Johnny said, pushing Gyro’s hands off the back handlebars of the wheelchair. “I can make it myself to the hotel.”

“Alllllright, if you’re sure.”

“Don’t forget your guitar.”

“sh*t!”

Gyro turned back around in a panic and grabbed his guitar case from underneath the bar.

“Good catch. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“I’m startin’ to think I’m soberer than you.”

“You shush.”

The two devolved into a fit of laughter. They definitely had reason to celebrate, at least. The nerves of performing were quickly turning into nerves of passing the first stage. This was, after all, the biggest and arguably most daunting of all the stages.

Only the top 500 contestants from across all five performing stages would make it to round two.

Nerves of inadequacy were both calmed between them as Johnny and Gyro were mobbed with even more praises as they began to leave the bar.

“Hey, those are the kids from the second stage! I voted for you two!”

“Woah, are you really the Johnny Joestar?”

“Man, you got beat up today! If I were you, I would’ve taken the day off!”

“Aye, guitar man, you’ve got a real thing goin’ for ya!”

The world spun around Johnny as he smiled and thanked the small crowd for their support. Gyro gave Johnny his guitar case and went to shake hands with a few other intoxicated fans.

“Yes, it's really Johnny Joestar! Y’know, I actually met him in a bar a few days ago.”

“A few days ago?” a few people exclaimed at Gyro’s response.

“Yes!” Gyro whizzed back over to Johnny’s side, holding both of his shoulders in a tight grip. “Ain’t he crazy good?”

Johnny felt his heart skip a beat.

Woah. I definitely had too much to drink tonight.

“Haha, yeah. Guess it was my… uh…. re-debut performance. I kinda missed it, actually,” Johnny said, words tumbling out of his mouth. “But please, give your praises to Gyro. He was the one who picked me up, after all. I’m just his pianist.”

Gyro rustled Johnny’s hat. “Nyohoho, he’s too humble! Seriously, I think both of us make a pretty good last minute team.”

A larger crowd began to form, presumably out of bystander curiosity. It was beginning to overwhelm Johnny a little. He gripped to Gyro’s guitar a little tighter. Gyro glanced down at the man, figuring his sudden silence was a sign it was time to go.

“Please, everyone, remember to vote for us. Remember, Contestant 636, 939! Gyro and Johnny!”

Gyro grabbed his guitar from Johnny, holding his hand to the back of his wheelchair and ushered him through the crowd.

The city was alive. And they were drunk.

“Hey, Johnny, I made up a song. Wanna hear it?”

“Don’t give me a headache. Where are we even goin’?”

“Back to Valkyrie first. I’m thinking we might want our suitcases for the hotel.”

“You’re so right. Oh! A shower!”

“You want me to get a shower from the truck?”

“A shower from the hotel, dumbass. What’re you even talkin’ about?”

“I don’t know! Nyohoo!”

The two made their way down the block to the parking deck and checked themselves into the hotel in the heart of the city.

~~~

“There’s only one bed?”

Gyro threw his suitcase in the corner of the room and fell backwards onto the mattress.

“You’re really complainin’ about that after I booked this room in advance?” He said as he gestured his arms around in a wide motion.

“I- guess you’re right,” Johnny resigned. The room was incredibly nice. They were on the 12th floor, high above the city. Johnny could even see the bay from here. “Where’d you get the money for this stuff?”

“My dead grandmother,” Gyro said nonchalantly. “Not like I’ll have much of it left, though. Thanks to my bastard family.”

“Pft.”

“Did you just laugh at my family trauma?”

“You gotta be drunk.”

“I'm not! That,” Gyro sat up to fight back against Johnny’s statement, a little too quickly. His vision spun in circles. “...Drunk.”

Johnny doubled over in laughter as he watched Gyro regain his balance. Gyro laid back down on the bed to quell the dizziness, beginning to laugh with him. To hell with it. They were having fun.

“Been a while since you’ve gotten drunk with a friend, Johnny?”

“Years.”

“That's depressing.”

“What about you?”

“Years.”

They both snickered.

“Hey, hey…” Johnny said, making his way over to Gyro’s side. He lifted himself onto the bed and crawled to Gyro, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him firmly.

“Teach me guitar.”

“God! Sei un bambino!” Gyro groaned as he pushed him away, hiding his face in his hands. “Johnny, go shower. Let me sober up at least.”

“Fine. Get some water from the vending machine. N’ get me one, too.”

“Sì. I think… I’ll get a snack too.”

Gyro fumbled for his wallet and wobbled his way out of the hotel room.

Johnny opened up the bathroom door to find a large, walk-in shower with a sitting ledge. This night couldn’t have gotten better.

He stripped off his clothes and wiped his bleary eyes with the back of his shirt. He flinched back after being struck with sharp pain; he almost forgot that was there.

Damn, a lot happened today.

Johnny looked into the mirror, gazing back at his reflection. There was a large, growing bruise on his left shoulder he hadn’t yet seen; his left arm was completely torn up from the gravel he landed on. Underneath his eyebrows were growing dark spots, irritated by the rubbing of his eyes. The gauze on his neck was growing itchy, he might as well take it off.

Johnny sucked a breath through his teeth as he took off the bandages on his eyelids and neck, revealing three scary looking lesions on his face.

Jesus, he really did get the sh*t beat out of him.

He’s just using you.

Those four strange words seemed to echo around Johnny’s skull like a foreboding and distorted melody. They were almost incomprehensible. Gyro wasn’t using him, right? No. He couldn’t be.

Was he?

Johnny shook his head hard to get rid of the doubts ringing in his ears. There’ll be time to think about all of this later, anyway.

The invitation of a warm shower was calling as he slowly got out of his wheelchair, the cold tile of the bathroom hitting his palms. Thank the Lord he wasn’t feeling all that sore right now; he knew he would in the morning.

Johnny turned the shower to the hottest setting and let the water run down his body, washing the sweat and grime of the last two days run down the drain.

~~~

Gyro was halfway through his second water bottle when Johnny got out of the shower.

“Christ, took you long enough. I’ve gotta piss.”

He sat up from the comfort of the bed, throwing the television remote to the side and ran to use the bathroom. He tripped over his feet a little, tumbling into Johnny who was in his wheelchair, drying his hair with a towel.

Johnny smirked from above as Gyro fell to his knees.

“Don’t even start,” he sighed, pointing a finger in Johnny’s direction. “You were right, I’m drunk. But I’m drinkin’ water.”

Gyro’s eyes rose up to see Johnny’s bare torso, still damp and rosy from the warm shower.

He quickly shuffled himself to his feet and ran to the bathroom.

Just as the door was about to close, Gyro reappeared and backtracked to Johnny.

“You took off your bandages?!”

“They were annoying me. M’ fine without ‘em.”

“You are not fine without them, stupid. Y’know, just..” Gyro threw his hands up in exasperation. “Don’t touch ‘em til I get out the shower.”

He slammed the bathroom door shut, the shower running seconds after.

Johnny rolled his eyes. What a mysterious guy. Who would’ve thought the crazy guitarist was a doting doctor at his core?

Gyro would’ve lost his mind if he knew Johnny as a kid. He and Nick used to rub dirt into their scrapes and scratches on the farm. And if hazy memory served him correctly, he’s pretty sure he fractured his wrist one time after falling off his horse. Nick and him made a pact not to tell his parents; there would be hell to pay if they found out the horses did that. So, Johnny wore long sleeves for a few weeks, and Nick made a tight brace to wear underneath until it healed.

Johnny pulled over a white short sleeved shirt and a pair of boxers, not caring to dig to the bottom of his suitcase to find his pajama pants.

He suddenly felt very sleepy.

Maybe those guitar lessons could wait for tomorrow.

Johnny crawled under the duvet of the soft king size bed, sinking into the mattress. That ringing, confusing four word sentence was unable to disappear from the back of his mind.

He just needed to close his eyes for a bit.

~~~

Gyro came back to find Johnny fast asleep underneath the covers. That was not surprising, especially after the day he’s had.

He sighed deeply. Those wounds still needed to be bandaged.

Gyro pulled on a pair of underwear and scrunched the remaining water from his hair as he threw his towel to the side of the bed. Digging through his suitcase, he found the first aid kit and pulled out a tube of disinfectant and a few bandages of various sizes.

“C’mere, Johnny,” Gyro huffed, climbing to the other man’s side.

“Hey, wake up, ya idiota,” he slurred. He was just as exhausted.

“Mhm?” Johnny muttered, his eyes still closed.

“I’m gonna put some stuff on your cuts. You’ll thank me later.”

“Mhm..” the man grumbled. “S’fine.”

“S’not fine,” Gyro said, mocking the other’s sleepy voice. “Turn your head now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Johnny turned his head to the side, his eyes remaining glued shut. Gyro brushed back some damp strands of Johnny’s blonde hair, his fingers hesitating above the red laceration. He was suddenly caught up in the intimacy of this small action.

His brows furrowed. It wasn’t fair that Johnny had all this done to him.

Gyro applied some antiseptic balm to his pointer and middle finger and gently rubbed them along the cut on Johnny’s neck. The man’s breath hitched ever so slightly.
“Mi dispiace, topolino,” Gyro whispered. “It’ll only sting a little.”

He ripped open a medium sized bandage with his teeth as he positioned it carefully on his wound.

That bastard. I should have been there sooner.

“S’okay. Thanks for savin’ me.”

Did he say that out loud?

Gyro breathed in deeply as he forced himself to focus his thoughts and sober up.

“No problem. You didn’t say it, but I know you’re thinkin’ it. So yeah, I am pretty great,” he smiled. “I’m going to treat your eyes. Keep them closed, I’ll be careful.”

“Mhm.”

Gyro grasped Johnny’s face between the palms of his hands, tenderly shifting his head upon the pillow.

Johnny’s face was littered with pale freckles he hadn’t taken notice of before. His eyelashes were blond, too; just a shade darker than his hair. His lips were a shade of light pink, a significant difference to the blue lipstick he always seemed to wear.

Gyro blinked hard and cleared his hazy vision.

He spread the ointment on his eyelids, watching as Johnny’s face contorted in pain.

“I’m sorry, just one more second-”

Tears slipped down Johnny’s cheeks.

“I know it stings. Let me put on the bandaid-”

Gyro’s arm was stopped as a warm hand grabbed his bicep. Gyro froze as tears welled up in Johnny’s blue eyes.

“Please, tell me you’re not usin’ me,” Johnny said quietly.

Gyro’s brows raised in confusion.

“Usin’ you?”

“Just tell me you ain’t doin’ that. Please, I-”

Johnny took a shuddering breath. His hand gripped tighter around Gyro’s arm, fingernails nearly digging into his flesh.

Gyro was hit with a sober realization.

He got too close.

Gyro gingerly pried Johnny’s hand from his arm, placing it back down at his side.

“No, no. Not in any way, not ever. You hear me?” Gyro said, eyes making firm contact with the other.

“I’d never use you for anything,” he said softly.

“I promise.”

Johnny let out a choked sob.

Gyro sat back for a moment, unable to interfere as his body forced him to watch from a distance. His chest felt impossibly tight.

“Hey, now, stop crying,” Gyro chastised tenderly. “Let me put these last bandaids on and you get to sleep.”

Johnny sniffed. He closed his eyes once more as Gyro placed the last small bandages on the wounds on the fragile skin of his upper eyelids.

Fighting back every urge to wipe the tears from Johnny’s face, Gyro backed away and threw the first aid kit back in his bag.

Gyro crawled to his own side of the bed and reached over to turn off the lamp on the side table. He placed two large down pillows between his body and Johnny’s.

I got too close.

He listened for a few minutes as Johnny’s quiet, shaky cries turned into slow, heavy breaths.
“Guitar lesson postponed, alright?” he whispered to Johnny.

Gyro allowed himself to fall asleep once he realized there would be no response.

~~~

Chapter 13: Amarcord

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Amarcord

Morning light shone through the curtains and spread beams of light across the hotel room, lighting the bedroom in a yellowy orange glow. Johnny breathed in deeply, awakened as the warm sunbeams lapped against his face.

For as peaceful as nature’s alarm clock was, the sentiment was not equally felt by Johnny. He peeled his eyes open, his head pounding with consequences from the night before. The events of the previous night replayed in a hazy flash; the cheers of the crowd, Gyro’s confident grin, the one too many celebratory co*cktails and rounds of shots that followed…

Something else felt like it happened too. Something deep in his memory, echoing a bizarre feeling of solemnity. What was it?

Johnny dug the backs of his palms into his eye sockets in an attempt to focus, making an effort to recount the events after they got back to the hotel. There was something about a guitar, a hot shower, bandages…

He must have really blacked out, because absolutely nothing after that was coming to mind.

He sent up a quick prayer for good luck, pleading and hoping to God that he didn’t do anything too embarrassing last night.

Johnny opened his eyes, squinting as the morning sun shone directly into them. He looked to the side and saw a large pillow wedged between himself and Gyro. Gently, he pulled the pillow down to see what was on the other side. There laid the other man, still soundly asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

For a moment, he watched as he slept. The fight in the alleyway, the thrill of the stage, the laughter, the crowds, the constant excitement of the past few days; all of that, and yet he hadn’t seen him still for even a moment. That was, until now.

A man who never seemed to stop moving laid beside him, breathing slowly in and out from his nose. It was strange to see Gyro in such a quiet and vulnerable position. He looked peaceful.

Johnny’s hand almost instinctively reached up to touch his bruised face, his fingers tracing the edges of the bandages that covered the wounds on his neck and eyes. A strange sensation in his chest began to bloom; it was warm, but uncomfortable, vulnerable, yet closed off, and somehow sad all at the same time.

Whatever this feeling was, it was extremely unfamiliar. And completely unwarranted.

Gyro stirred awake, muttering something under his breath. Johnny quickly withdrew his hand, realizing he had been lost in thought for some time. Johnny gingerly sat up against the headboard of the bed, his body aching in protest. He reached for an unopened water bottle on his night table, suddenly overcome with thirst.

Gyro let out a low, pained groan. Johnny nearly choked on his water, unable to help but chuckle at the man despite his own throbbing headache.

“You sound like you’ve been hit by a bus,” Johnny mumbled.

Gyro snapped one eye open, shooting him a deadly glare.

“Says the guy who looks like he was in a bar fight.”

“Yeah, well. I probably would’ve preferred the bar fight,” he said, raising the bottle back up to his lips, taking another sip.

“Water?” Johnny croaked, his voice shot from overuse. Johnny extended a half empty bottle as Gyro wordlessly nodded in agreement. He pushed himself to a sitting position as he fumbled to grab the water from his hand.

Gyro closed his eyes and took a long swig, relishing in the coolness against his throat. Johnny watched as he continued to drink with no intention of stopping.

“Hey, now I didn’t say you could drink all of it-”

Gyro held up a single finger to Johnny, stopping him mid sentence. He cracked his eyes open slightly and held his finger to his lips as if to shush the other man.

Johnny watched in silence as Gyro went on to finish the rest of the bottle.

“Gah!” Gyro swallowed contently. Johnny’s face was blank with a blatant lack of amusem*nt.

Gyro sighed and tilted his head against the hardwood headboard, his eyes adjusting to the light as he surveyed his surroundings. He met eyes with Johnny who was staring at the empty bottle in his hands.

“Uh,” Gyro started, extending the bottle back to Johnny. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said sardonically.

The two sat in silence for a moment, the pillows between them serving as a barrier for the words going unspoken.

Johnny looked out the hotel window and ran his fingers through his unruly hair, attempting to separate the knots one by one. Gyro reached for the remote, trying to figure out how to turn on the television.

“You gotta switch the TV on first,” Johnny said.

“No, these new hotel TVs do it all for you with this thing, watch.” Gyro aimed the blocky remote towards the TV, clicking various buttons in succession. The screen remained black.

“I swear,” Gyro muttered in confusion. “I had it working last night. Or at least I think I did.”

“I would be a little concerned if you were hallucinating.”

Johnny felt some sort of relief after learning of Gyro’s hesitant remembrance of the events of the previous night, though he wasn’t sure why.

“What all do you remember from last night, Johnny?” Gyro said, creepily reading his mind.

“Ugh, not much,” he grumbled as he swung his legs off the side of the bed. “I guess I knocked out after I took a shower.”

“Great. Yeah. Me too.”

Johnny looked over his shoulder after the shortness of that comment.

“What, did I do something?”

“No! No,” Gyro backtracked. “Just trying to recount the night. I’m too old to be going crazy like that anymore.”

Johnny transferred himself to his wheelchair, his own memories feeling awfully clouded. “How old are you?”

“I’m 26.”

“26?!” Johnny reacted, nearly slipping from the edge of the chair. “Wow, Gyro, you’re damn near 30. And here I thought you were my age.”

A strange look crossed Gyro’s face.

He paused.

The odd expression left just as quick as it came.

“Jeez, knock a man when he’s down, why don’t you,” Gyro snapped back, his fingers flinging up to rub his temples. “And how old are you?”

“22.”

“Makes sense.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Ah,” Gyro clicked his tongue. "Your early 20’s are the years of being un culo immaturo.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Care to translate?”

“It's Italian for, ah… ‘new beginnings’,” Gyro gestured, his fingers pinched together tightly.

For some reason, Johnny felt like that wasn’t the actual translation.

“Hm,” he deadpanned. “Inspirational.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Gyro grumbled as he shoved off the covers. “I’m usin’ the bathroom. Call room service for breakfast?”

Johnny held his hands in his head in an attempt to waive the bout of vertigo that overtook his senses.

“Mmm. Sure.”

Gyro stood off to the side of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. Johnny looked up from his hands and blinked. He was a bit stockier than he had thought – and hairier. Guess he did have a pretty strange beard to upkeep, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

The pounding of Johnny’s hangover headache did not waver. His eyesight went fuzzy as he distantly stared off directly in Gyro’s direction, silently begging his head for some ounce of release from the pain.

Gyro pounded off to the bathroom, his face turning a bright shade of red; one that Johnny did not see.

~~~

“So, how old are you, Gyro?”

“Ah, I just turned 20.”

“No way, really?! I thought you were my age!”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? Do I act like a little immature 17 year old? You’re the high schooler, kid.”

“I’m a full-fledged graduate, thank you very much. I’m even going to college in the fall.”

“Yeah, alright. How do you even get the time to go to college?”

“Ha! You’d be surprised what you can get away with once you know how to get around things.”

“You still going to play music?”

“I… don’t know.

Honestly, there’s something…

…

…

…

SSSSSHHHHHH…

The sink pipes screeched a high pitched whine as Gyro splashed the cold running water on his face, taking away all of the nights’ restless sleep.

He looked into the mirror, blinking away drops of water from his sight.

Huh. Déjà vu.

Not only were strange glimpses of old memories resurfacing; Gyro happened to remember every little detail from the night before.

Watery blue eyes, bruised and red, looking into green with emotions so conflicting; tears, silently slipping down rosy freckle-spotted cheeks. His own hands, carefully, softly, gently holding the battered face that seemed so small.

“Please, tell me you’re not usin’ me.”

There were things he didn’t know about him. Things neither of them had ever said to each other. Hell, they’d only known each other for a few days. Who was he to act as close as a friend right now?

Yet there was something inside of Gyro that had pulled him to Johnny all this time. Was it obligation of circ*mstance? Was it all just a part of the deal they made? Was it pity?

No, no. He didn’t pity him. He was sure of that. He knew there were some out there that viewed Johnny as such, but Gyro was not one of them. The man he knew was strong willed, maybe even more than himself.

Johnny, as Gyro had gotten to see him, was sarcastic, cynical, and at times uneasy; yet, he was equally filled with an unending degree of passion. He was determined, perseverent, and honestly, a little intense at times.

And Johnny was talented. Beyond talented. A very valuable accompanist.

A childhood star.

One that agreed to tag along with him, nonetheless.

He knew how the public would view their partnership. Gyro Zeppeli, the virtual nobody, using the talents of an ex-celebrity who had gone off the grid after an adolescence riddled with tragedy. He would be seen as riding the coattails of Johnny's fame, just to catapult himself into the limelight. No wonder there had been seeds of doubt already sewn in Johnny’s mind.

It wasn’t true. None of that was. Not even remotely so.

It was an inexplicable pull.

Gyro turned off the sink, the screeching pipes coming to a sudden halt. He looked himself in the mirror, locking eyes with his reflection, and swore he’d never get that close to Johnny again.

~~~

The hotel room service had brought up a large breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausage, bacon, fruit salad, and even some orange juice and a pot of coffee. In mere minutes, the two had cleared their plates, feeling more revived after the nutrition and the caffeine.

“Mmhm. Yeah,” Gyro said, patting his stomach. “I feel better already.”

Johnny took a long sip of his coffee, coughing back the sourness of the bitter flavor.

“They forgot my cream and sugar.”

“Drink it black! It’s better for you that way.”

“It’s plain unenjoyable. I’d rather drink something I like drinking than this sh*t.”

Gyro rolled his eyes. This blond headed southern boy wouldn’t stand a single chance against a single taste of real Italian espresso.

Johnny had tuned the television to another local news station, awaiting more information on the tour. It was playing a collection of catchy commercial jingles during the break.

Both of their heads snapped to the screen as the signature news cadence began to play, the cameras showing a spritely young woman reporting live from a large newspaper building.

This just in! From Steel Ball Run Tour organizer himself, Mr. Steven Steel says in a statement that the 500 contestant winners of the first stage will be published in the papers around 12pm today. And as you can see, there are many anxious contestants already lining up at the San Diego Herald building, patiently waiting for the newspapers to fly off the shelves. Mr. Steel wants to thank everyone who voted in person or over the phone and to look forward to seeing the people’s best of the best in the second stage in Las Vegas!!

A beat of nervous silence passed between them.

“You think we’ll…”

“Of course we will! Of course we will.”

The TV froze a bit, then went to static.

Johnny sighed as Gyro wordlessly pleaded for him to fix it. He slammed the unit with his fist a few times as the static continued to fizzle down the screen.

“Stupid things. The black and white sets work better than these color ones. Hey, let me try the remote now-”

And… here we… have … star waiting for the results! Mr. Diego Brando himself!

Johnny stopped dead in his tracks, his fist frozen above the wooden shell of the television.

“...What.”

Gyro was halfway through a piece of bacon when Johnny’s sudden exclamation drew him to a pause.

Mr. Brando, I have to ask; why are you here right now? I’m sure you know exactly where you’ll be by 12:00pm today.

A flock of young teenage girls were surrounding the cameras, yelling and squealing in excitement.

One can never be too sure of one’s place, am I correct! You see, I am a person to consistently check their results. After all, this is a competition, no one is guaranteed anything. Plus, I’m here to say hello to my wonderful fans.

Diego winked to the camera and flashed a sly, coy smile.

Johnny’s jaw had dropped to at least the 7th floor by this point.

Well, I’m sure we will see much more of you these next few months, Mr. Brando. Myself and everyone here are certainly rooting for you!

Johnny yanked the volume knob on the TV, muting the station.

“Hey! What was that about?”

Johnny’s eyes were swirling a dark shade of angry blue.

“That British bastard… showed up… to an American music tour…”

Gyro’s eyebrows were raised as Johnny continued to seethe under his breath.

“I mean… I’m pretty sure this ain’t a national thing only… hell, I’m not from America either–”

“Shut up. You don’t count.”

Gyro resumed eating his bacon. “So I don’t count because I’m not a young, famous, and dashing British pop star?”

“I mean you don’t count because you're just an annoying Italian ass with a weird accent!”

“Hey, no need to get testy with me, I’m joking,” Gyro said, sipping his orange juice. “I sense a rivalry between you two.”

Johnny shot him an angry look. Gyro swallowed his bite with a gulp.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, offering a glance of apology. There was no need to make Gyro the recipient of old wounds. “I guess there is some rivalry from years ago.”

“No offense tak–”

“That dumb bitch,” Johnny interrupted, completely in his own world.

Gyro wanted to pry further but decided to look down and pick at a strawberry stem on his plate. After a moment, Johnny turned the volume back up on the TV set.

Also, a new revelation for contestants: Voters awards! The top 20 most voted for contestants will receive fully paid room and board for the next stage they progress to! And that’s not all; on top of that, the top 5 contestants will receive one THOUSAND dollars a piece and a chance to showcase their talents ahead of time on the local Las Vegas News network KTNV, only on Channel 13!

Johnny’s demeanor perked up at the sound of reward. He met Gyro’s eyes, equally filled with curiosity.

“I think we may have a shot at that, with all things considered. We’re interesting talk, you know.”

Johnny bit his bottom lip and nodded. “What time is it now?”

“Quarter to ten.”

“Whew.”

“What time is check out?”

“Dunno. Shouldn’t you know that?”

“We were both drunk last night. I barely remember checking us in.”

“Well, it sounds like we should get ready and head out, huh?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

~~~

Lucy Steel was deciding between two dresses to wear.

One was a more casual sleeveless shell pink gingham dress, the other was a flowy, ruffled long sleeved dress with a pink and chartreuse floral pattern decorating every inch.

She held each dress up to her figure in the full length mirror of the bathroom, deciding which one would be best to wear for the day. She was leaning towards the flowy floral dress, but the pink gingham was also very chic.

A sudden knock on the bathroom door startled her.

“Luce?”

“Yes, father?”

“I am heading out right now. A few of the higher ups called an urgent meeting; I’ll be in a conference room on the first floor of the hotel. The maid will be in the next room if you need anything, sweetie.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Goodbye! I will see you for lunch! Muah!”

Her father blew a kiss from behind the door. Lucy smiled to herself.

Any of her complaints about boredom or the constantly busy schedules seemed utterly foolish to her at this moment. Yes, her new life was so different than she had originally imagined, but the new warmth of family, of a father, was something she wouldn’t trade for the world.

Ultimately deciding on the floral dress, she pulled on a pair of pink tights and combed her hair into a loose updo. Leaving the bathroom, she returned and sat on the edge of her bed, slipping on a pair of chunky white heels.

After a few moments, she sighed, twiddling her fingers in her hands. She looked around the large room, fitted with a kitchenette and a balcony leading to a stunning view of the San Diego cityscape.

She tapped her toes on the carpet, waiting… waiting…

Lucy stood up to turn on the television.

She turned the channel knob, looking for something to pique her interest.

After watching a few minutes of some sort of western rerun, she decided it may be more fun to check out the hotel.

She turned down the volume on the TV and slipped out the door, heading for the elevators.

~~~

Lucy’s stomach growled as she passed by a waiter wheeling a hefty room service platter, filled to the brim with food. Lunch wasn’t too far away, maybe she would just go wait at the grill until her father finished her meeting.

The hotel was absolutely lavish. It was clear that only the best of the best made their stay here in San Diego’s U.S. Grant Hotel. The floors were made of marble and large chandeliers hung from tall ceilings. Lucy strutted down the hallway, her shoes making a satisfying clicking sound behind her.

It was surprisingly fun to explore a hotel all by herself.

She passed by a large room in the hallway, the door slightly ajar. The booming sound of about 5 different male voices echoed from the inside – this must have been the room her father was in.

Curious about why such an abrupt meeting was called, Lucy decided to hang back behind the door to listen in. She looked around the corner, making sure there weren’t any other passersby to see her creeping at the door frame. After she made sure the coast was clear, she cupped her hand to her ear and listened through the door.

“...What do you mean, disqualified?!”

Her father’s significantly distinguishable voice raised in volume, quieting a few of the other men to whispers. Lucy held a hand to her mouth, too afraid to make a sound.

What was going on?

“Steven, he attacked another contestant–”

“--To save Johnny Joestar from that lunatic! It was clearly out of self defense, even the police agreed.”

“Right, but he–”

“I don’t want to hear it. Do you know what horrible press it would be to disqualify this man only three days into the competition? The votes cast him into the top 20; you can’t just take away the people’s decision.”

There was a pregnant pause in the room. Lucy listened harder, but it seemed as if a pin could drop and it alone would make a sound.

“Steven, I won’t tell you how to run your race, but the PR could swing negatively in the same direction if the tabloids twist a story of self defense into something else.”

“No buts. I’m sorry, I just won’t hear them. You men heard those two perform; they had the most engagement in a single show the entire night, besides Brando, possibly.”

Another unknown voice spoke up from amidst the five men.

“I think you all should listen to Steel. Keep those two around for a little longer; let’s see what could come of it.”

The men muttered quietly amongst themselves. The commanding voice spoke once more.

“I’m not quite interested in the morality of this situation, men. I am, however, quite interested in them. So listen to me if you won’t listen to Steven.”

Another silence fell over the meeting room. Lucy held her breath, feeling like she was listening to a conversation she shouldn’t be hearing.

“Well, I don’t suppose a disadvantage would affect much. Perhaps we drop him from the top 20; then he has to pay for his own room and board.”

“His partner, Joestar. He’s in the top 20 as well, we can’t do that.”

“Well, they are still listed as separate contestants. Until they decide to combine their act, they will be considered as solo performers.”

“What? I thought they had the same contestant numbers.”

“Close.” A shuffle of papers came from the room. “Says right here; they’re listed as Contestants 636 and 939.”

“Could that be a mistake?”

“Quite possibly.”

A few of the men chuckled underneath their breath.

“How annoying for them.”

“So, can we settle this? My daughter hasn’t eaten lunch yet, and I’m meeting her in 10 minutes. I don’t care what you do, knock him down to be 21st if you want. But do not disqualify an honorable man with true talent.”

Lucy took that as her chance to slip past the door and head to the lobby restaurant. She slipped past the crack of the door, hoping no one had sensed her presence.

She giggled to herself as she turned the corner, imagining becoming a top secret spy with how secretive she had been. What a dramatic situation. She felt bad for that guitar man.

What Lucy failed to see was the man with curly blond hair staring directly out the crack of the door. He caught a brief glimpse of a pink floral dress, raised his eyebrows in curiosity, then went back to quietly listening to the incessant, gnawing chatter of the men.

~~~

Chapter 14: The World I Used To Know

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: The World I Used To Know

It was almost 12pm.

The five main stages had already been disassembled across the city. Traffic had resumed its usual routes and pedestrians waited patiently at the corners to cross the streets. Save for a few out-of-place trash cans littered around the city, it would have been impossible to know there was such hustle and bustle just the day before.

Life in San Diego seemed to have returned to normal.

An early winter breeze blew through the city, creating a gust of wind between the buildings that swept up everything in its sight.

A few stray papers flew out in front of Johnny as he stopped in his tracks, his hand reflexively saving his hat from being blown off his head.

Oops. Too late.

The cowboy hat toppled off his head in one fell swoop, heading directly for oncoming traffic.

“sh*t!”

Johnny sat helplessly as his favorite hat rolled down the road.

He sighed, resigning to the unfortunate circ*mstances. He brushed his hair out of his face and continued navigating down the street.

That was until he heard an extremely loud succession of honking that came from directly beside him.

HONK!

In the middle of the road was Gyro Zeppeli, holding his hands out in front of a yellow taxi cab, halting traffic.

He bent down quickly, grabbed Johnny’s cowboy hat, and ran back to the sidewalk, bowing graciously.

Johnny stifled a laugh as the tall man came bounding down the street, his hat in hand.

“Damn, Johnny. Why the hell’d you make me do that?”

Gyro extended the hat and wiped his forehead dramatically. Johnny stared back, completely astounded.

“I–” Johnny brushed any debris off of the hat and put it back on his head. “Did not make you do anything.”

“Anyway, let the record show you begged me to grab it for you in the middle of all that traffic. Now hold onto that thing.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow and continued his way down the street. Gyro’s weird habit of making any kind gesture about himself was the strangest mixture of self-sacrifice and egotism.

They crossed the street in silence, navigating their way to the closest newsstand. Johnny listened closely, taking in the ambient bustle of the city. Some chatted loudly at telephone booths, old car engines sputtered, people’s shoes shuffled behind one another in a strangely cacophonic rhythm.

It kind of reminded him of a song.

“You haven’t forgotten the whole reason I’m here, have you?” Johnny said, interrupting the city’s melody. “I still want to know everything. And get my guitar lesson.”

Gyro turned around to face Johnny, walking backwards as the heels of his boots clacked on the concrete.

“I didn’t forget! You were the one who fell asleep first,” he argued. “Alright. Tonight. Lesson One. After we get ourselves back on the road, of course.”

“Right,” Johnny said. “If we place.”

“Gee, are you always a glass half empty kind of guy?”

Johnny simply shrugged.

~~~

“21st place?!” Gyro shouted with excitement, shoving several haphazardly strewn together newspapers in Johnny’s face. “Holy sh*t! Johnny, look! Look!!”

“I can’t see you doin’ all that. Gimmie it,” he said, snatching the papers away. He shuffled through them, his eyes scrolling the hundreds of names that were printed upon the pages. 100, 80, 40, 30…. 21st. Contestant 636, Gyro Zeppeli.

But no Johnny Joestar.

“Where the hell is my name?” he said. He looked up and saw that Gyro had skipped away, throwing his dumb-looking hat into the air and catching it over and over again.

“Hey, come back here. Where’s my name and number? Why are you the only one listed under here?”

He shoved his finger into the pages, underlining his name with a few taps.

Gyro jogged back and grabbed it from his hand, bringing it closer to his eyes to investigate.
“Huh. Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe they counted us as the same person.”

“That makes no sense,” he said. “There’s multiple other people listed under the same placement in their groups.”

“Lemme see the other pages.”

Gyro scanned through the papers again, handing off another page to Johnny after no success.

A weird pit began to settle at the bottom of Johnny’s stomach.

What did he do wrong?

Not even good enough to place in the top 500.

“I’m not seeing your name anywhere,” Gyro said softly. “But I am seein’ all these other groups under the same placement… they all have the same contestant numbers, too.”

“Ah. Well,” Johnny’s voice trailed off.

Nick would be so disappointed.

“I’ll go ask someone about this,” Gyro started. “Maybe it’s a mistake.”

“No, it’s okay, Gyro,” he said. “I wasn’t even a part of your act to begin with. I mean, hell.”

Johnny struggled to find the right words to say.

“Shut the hell up, Joestar. It ain’t like you to just give up like that,” Gyro said sternly.

You’re wrong. It is like me.

“Look through these papers again, maybe I missed it.”

He scanned his eyes through the papers once more, glancing up and down the endless columns. J… looking for the letter J… Joestar… 939…

Nothing.

“It’s alright,” Johnny smiled, staring at his hands in his lap. He blinked back a surprising stinging feeling in his eyes. “You’re more than good enough to win this thing alone. Although I might need to find a ride home now.”

Gyro wasn’t listening.

He was busy pacing around the street, flipping back and forth through the pages of the papers. Gyro stretched his jaw and scratched his square shaped beard in contemplation.

Johnny chuckled under his breath. The man never failed to attempt to find a solution, no matter the situation.

The pit in his stomach sank deeper and deeper.

I don’t want to go back home yet.

He imagined the return to the darkness of his apartment. The apartment that always smelled like dust. The apartment that was always so cold no matter how many blankets he wrapped around himself in the dead of night. The apartment that had no life in it, even if he was home.

“I can’t find the page that lists the Top 10.”

Johnny snapped back to reality.

“Huh?”

“The Top 10. I can’t find it,” he said, grabbing the stray papers from Johnny’s lap in the process. “It wasn’t in here either, was it?”

“Uh, no… these were contestants 300-200.”

Gyro quickly turned on his heels and ran up to another person on the corner who was also reading a newspaper.

“Mi scusi, signore. Can I see the list of the Top 10? I seem to have lost that page.” He held up his papers, flipping through them for proof. “Here. I’ll just have a moment with it,” he said, reaching over his shoulder.

The man with pink hair shrugged him off with a shove.

“Buy a new paper then. Cazzo.”

“Cazzo?!” Gyro leaned back in surprise. He flashed a charming smile, completely ignoring the curse thrown back at him. “Ah! Parli Italiano?”

The pink haired person rolled up the paper and bonked Gyro on the chest.

“This is my property. Comprati il tuo giornale, idiota. Understand?”

“Jeez, Ci fai o ci sei?! I just want to see the Top 10. ” Gyro huffed as he backed up, his hands in the air in resignation. He paused there for a moment, unmoving.

The pink haired man glared silently back at him.

Suddenly, Gyro slapped the paper out of both of the man's hands. Johnny watched wordlessly from a good 30 feet away as Pink Hair’s newspaper fell smack onto the ground.

Gyro locked eyes with Johnny for the briefest moment as he bent over and took off with the other man’s copy. He began to throw a slew of Italian obscenities at Gyro, lunging after him and wrestling the papers from his hands. Both parties continued to shout in Italian at each other, neither one refusing to back down.

Johnny averted his gaze away from the scene and down to his shoes, refusing to associate with Gyro’s mess. Good God Almighty, what was his problem?

Something on the ground caught his eye.

A sheet of paper was stuck under his right wheel, flipping up and down from the gusty wind of the cool November afternoon.

He reached down and yanked it out from underneath, tearing the corner slightly in the process.

The missing page.

TOP TEN CONTESTANTS OF THE FIRST STAGE:

1. Sandman
2. Diego Brando
3. Pocoloco
4. Dixie Chicken
5. Andre, Benjamin, LA Boom Boom

• Johnny Joestar

His eyes stopped traveling down the page as his name stuck out in the list.

6th place.

He had placed 6th overall.

“Hey!”

Gyro stopped struggling with the other man and let go of the paper abruptly. The person with pink hair stumbled backwards after the sudden release. He walked around the corner haughtily, clutching the paper to his chest, leaving Gyro to run back to Johnny’s side.

“Gyro,” Johnny stared. The taller man stared back into his blue eyes, as wide as the day was long. He turned the paper to face him.

“Tell me you’re seein’ this too.”

It was his turn for his eyes to widen.

“Holy… sh*t! Johnny Joestar! 6th place?!” he said, his voice filled with shock. He looked up from the paper and smiled at him. “6th place! And what’d I tell ya!!”

Johnny smiled.

Yet the pit in his stomach wasn’t going away.

“6th place.” Gyro said, double checking the paper to be sure. “Gee, I’ll be.”

“You had me scared for a second, Zeppeli, I’ll give you that.”

He checked again, his face falling slightly. “6th… place… Hey, Johnny. I’m thinkin. What’s the deal with our names not being together then? I mean, by this logic, I should be 6th place too…”

“Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ jealous of me now,” he huffed sarcastically.

“Jealous? This is ain’t jealousy. It’s the way things should be. We’re a duo, you and I. We should be like the others too. So it doesn’t make sense for me to be lower than you, then.”

“A duo?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“You’ve never called us that ‘til now.”

“Never?” he said, with a tinge of confusion. “I thought it was assumed.”

“I very clearly told you I wasn’t joining your band the first night we met at the bar.”

Gyro’s brow raised.

“So you don’t want to call ourselves a duo.”

Johnny paused. He turned his face away from him, avoiding any sort of eye contact.

“Well, I guess some things might've changed by now.”

Gyro shoved Johnny’s cowboy hat down his face. The man tried to wiggle out of his grasp as his hair went in every direction.

“Quit that!”

“Nyoho, that’s what you get, sixth placer. Don’t get co*cky on me, or else I’m keepin’ my secrets.”

Johnny slapped Gyro’s arm out of the way and took off his hat, combing his staticy hair with his fingers.

“You’re gonna threaten the guy who might’ve scored you 6th place as well?”

Gyro laughed as he placed the hat back onto his head. He bent his knees and crouched down in front of Johnny, getting onto his eye level.

“Here’s my advice, and maybe you don’t wanna hear it, but…” he started, placing his hands squarely on the arm wrests of his wheelchair.

“Don’t doubt yourself so much.”

Johnny bit the inside of his lip as Gyro sat in front of him vehemently, demanding his attention. He suddenly felt cornered.

“I wasn’t.”

“You’re a bad liar, Johnny. Don’t you deny it. You know you’re a good musician. And you’re not a nobody, either. Hell, I should be the one taking lessons from you.”

Johnny smirked.

The pit began to shrink.

“Hmm. Maybe I should. I doubt you can even play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

“You’d be right! Gotta start somewhere, don’t we?”

“Guess we have a deal.”

Gyro tipped the brim of Johnny’s hat upward with a flick of his hand. The bright light of the afternoon sun reflected off of Gyro and into Johnny’s eyes for the briefest of moments.

He squinted in response. It shone, so brightly.

His same hand came down just as quickly to adjust the hat with care, shadowing his face once more.

Green eyes reflected into blue ones.

“Las Vegas awaits us. Let’s go get our show on the road, partner.”

Partner.

Johnny sat up in his wheelchair, suppressing a grin.

Partner.

Gyro got up and started walking away, guitar in hand, chattering about how the parking fees at the overnight deck were far too expensive and how if it were up to him, he’d make everyone pay 50 cents for the whole weekend.

Johnny tagged along from behind, stopping every once in a while to make sure his hat was secure on his head, safe from stray gusts of wind.

And from behind, he let himself smile.

From strangers, to circ*mstantial enemies, to joining the circ*mstantial idiots band on a whim; a few more conversations, coffee, pancakes, muggings, and a performance later… all of that, to partnership.

Maybe this was too bold of Johnny to assume, he thought.

And maybe he would regret thinking something as outlandish as this.

But he was just told to stop doubting himself, after all. So maybe he’d allow himself to assume something, just this once.

Because dammit.

Maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, he had actually managed to make a friend.

~~~

“Mr. Steel, are you ready to leave?”

“Yes! Oh, yes, just one moment!” Steven said over his shoulder to the concierge peeking into the door. Steven was frantically attempting to lock his overpacked suitcase, slamming it down with his elbows to no avail.

“Let me try,” Lucy said, reaching in to assist.

“Oh dear, thank you,” he exhaled, running back to the bathroom to tie the bright red and yellow tie dangling around his neck.

Lucy set out a few of the clothes from his suitcase and folded them, humming a tune to herself.

“Mr. Steel, Mr. Valentine is here to see you,” the concierge noted, opening the door slightly once more.

“Tell him to come in! That is, if it’s alright with Lucy.”

“That is more than fine. He can come in.”

The same curly haired man she had seen from the past weekend walked into the room.

“Valentine, hello!” Steven said, giving the man a firm handshake as he walked into the hotel room. “The votes are in, aren’t they! How’s everyone reacting? I’ve been too busy to even turn on the television!”

“As expected. Pocoloco and Sandman were some particular favorites amongst the initial reactions so far; some stations have been running their performances from the other night.”

“Oh wonderful! Wonderful, wonderful!” he cheered. “I was so anxious all night, Valentine. Sometimes I get these recurring nightmares about the whole tour turning into a… well, nightmare! Ha!”

“Steel, you really need to take a break sometime. I can see this is already wearing strongly on you.”

“It is. Greatly.”

Lucy folded the last shirt and placed it on top of the pile, watching Mr. Valentine pat her father’s shoulder in consolation. It was true; there were countless moments she had comforted him during the past year. The stress of planning something as massive as a nationwide million dollar competition weighed greatly on her father.

“Steel, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Lucy locked the suitcase easily after folding things correctly. She looked up after a moment of silence; Mr. Valentine was looking at her.

“Did you want to discuss this privately?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” He threw a friendly smile in Lucy’s direction.

“Oh!” She started, surprised. “I’m so sorry. I’ll head down to the car, then. Please excuse me.”

She grabbed her suitcase by the door and swung it open, nearly bumping into the concierge who had been sitting close by.

“Miss Lucy! Let me grab your bags for you,” he started.

“I don’t mind carrying them,” she smiled. “Thank you, though!”

The concierge followed Lucy as she bounded down the hallway as the door closed from behind.

…

“Steven, I wanted to make you aware of something.”

“What is it, Valentine?”

“Nicholas and Johnny Joestar, you might remember them from their career when they were children. The JoJo's.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“And you know about his brother’s tragedy, I assume?”

“Yes. So heartbreaking; that poor, poor boy.”

“They were both under my company’s label at the time of his death.”

Steven gasped.

“Oh dear.”

“Oh dear indeed.”

A silence.

“And you know, Mr. Steel, why Johnny Joestar is paralyzed today?”

“A crazed fan shot him in the spine before a concert, correct?”

“A crazed fan shot him in the spine after accusing him of murdering his own brother.”

Another beat of silence.

“I was…not aware.”

“That’s because only I knew the true story, Steven,” he started. “Little Jojo had flown too close to the sun. And I was kind enough to manipulate the narrative amongst the tabloids to ensure his reputation.

“Oh my…”

“What do you think I got in return? Guess, Steven.”

“I…”

“Nothing. Absolutely, utterly nothing. He left me, my company, his family, and ran away to a small city in northern California to drink away his sorrows.”

…

“Do you realize what I’m trying to say, Steel?”

Steven’s heart pounded in his chest.

“I… I’m sorry. I’m not sure I do.”

“I’m saying that I need control of Johnny Joestar once more.”

“In what way?”

“I want him to come back to my record label by the end of this tour, one way or another.”

“Why would you do something so risky for your company if you know all these details?”

“Because!!” Valentine ignited, grabbing Mr. Steel by both shoulders. “Steven, you saw it yourself. The boy is a musical genius. He was my biggest star. And he can become an even greater one for me by the end of all this.”

“What about his guitarist partner, Gyro Zeppeli?”

Valentine’s face dropped, even more serious than before.

“This is why I wanted to talk with you privately.”

Steven gulped, his throat suddenly dry.

“I want you to take away the ability to combine acts. Across the board. I just need you to keep them as separate entities from here on out.”

“Valentine, that’s–”

“You know the other members of the committee don’t trust him. I may have covered for you this morning in today’s meeting, but I agree with them. He could and already has proven to be a liability.”

Steven sighed.

“I don’t like this, but… I’ll let you have it. Only because I owe you so many favors from the past year. And as long as you won’t influence votes, right?”

Valentine laughed, breaking the intensity and seriousness of the air around them.

“You are a true American, Steven,” he said, chuckling under his breath. “How patriotic of you to want this to be a truly democratic decision.”

“It’s always been that way, since the very beginning. The people deserve to choose the winner,” he smiled.

“And that’s why I love you~!” he said, reaching around Steven’s arms to pull him into a hug.

“But remember,” Valentine whispered into his ear. “You do owe me many favors.”

Steven’s body stiffened in his embrace.

“Of course.”

The two separated and shook hands once more. Steven tightened his tie and brushed his clammy hands against the front of his suit.

“B-before you go, Valentine,” Steven stuttered unintentionally.

“You’re not accusing this poor boy of murder, are you?”

“Oh, Steel,” Valentine said as he moved towards the door. “He was just 15 years old.”

A flurry of blond curls flew by as a door slammed quickly from behind. Steven Steel stood frozen, unsure of what to make of Mr. Valentine’s last remark.

~~~

Gyro watched the dusty hills roll by as they drove down the interstate. The roads were pretty much empty, the windows were rolled down halfway, and Johnny had chosen a Dean Martin cassette to play in the background.

“Sorry. The heat gets the truck too hot, but then the air outside is too cold.”

“S’alright. I kinda like it,” Johnny said. “The hot and cold feels nice.”

Gyro looked in the corner of his eye, watching as Johnny rested his head gingerly against the side of the door.

“Your cuts bothering you today?”

“Not much. They’re just kinda stinging all the time, but it ain’t that bad. The music kinda helps to distract from it. You?”

Gyro looked down at his hand. He had put a smaller bandage on it before he left.

“Basically healed.”

“Mm. I thought you said it was deep.”

Gyro grimaced. He was hoping he didn’t remember that.

“Deep is relative. I can still play just fine, but the next week off will be nice to help it heal. Plus I got strong hands. Comes with being a guitarist.”

Gyro drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. His right hand was significantly more sore.

“I don’t have calluses on my hands anymore,” Johnny started. “My brother used to have the gnarliest ones on his fingers.”

“No wonder. He was a great player.”

“He was.”

Dean Martin crooned softly from the radio speakers as the two sat in silence.

My heart cries for you,

Sighs for you,

Dies for you.

“You know, he was the one who taught me how to inside pick.”

“Huh?”

“Inside picking.”

“No,” Johnny sat up. “He taught you?”

“Well, maybe ‘taught’ isn’t the best word for it. I guess it was more of a tip he gave me in passing. I worked on it, and got fairly good at it.”

“What did he say?”

“I dunno. He told me I should get better at it and I wouldn’t hesitate as much when playing complicated riffs and stuff. It helped, especially since I learned how to play fingerstyle before learning how to use a pick.”

“How did you meet him?”

Gyro’s face fell slightly.

“Now I told you I made a prom-”

“I know,” Johnny interrupted, cutting him off. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ve just been thinkin’ of him lately.”

Gyro turned his blinker on and passed a car driving a few miles slower than he wanted.

The bloom has left the roses since you left me,

The birds have left the window since you left me,

I’m lonely as a sailboat that’s lost at sea…

Gyro took a deep breath of the dry, warm heated air and gripped his hands tighter on the wheel.

“We actually met in a diner, believe it or not.”

Johnny looked at Gyro. His eyes were glued to the road. The beaded rosary that hung from the rear view mirror swung gently back and forth.

“You’ve got something for meeting Joestars in dining establishments?”

Gyro huffed, playfully punching Johnny on the arm.

“Fine, I’ll give up on bein’ mysterious for now. But only because you guilted me into it, alright?”

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“I was 19 years old back then, just shy of 20…”

~~~

January, 1962: Hollywood, CA

“Please, sir. Let me play here on the weekends, I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Sorry, kid. I’ve got residencies fully booked up.”

“Pleaaaa~se? I’m crazy good, mister. I brought my guitar too. Wait here, let me show you what I can do.”

“Kid, I…”

Gyro swung his guitar around his shoulders and started playing a tune.

“Hey, now… I think you’re good n’ all, but really my hands are tied here…”

The owner of the diner sat back and watched as Gyro went on to seamlessly rip through a complicated riff of a song.

A few patrons of the restaurant stopped chatting and turned their heads to watch. Some were surprised by the sudden outburst of music this early in the morning, some were enamored with his clear show of talent.

“I…”

Gyro finished the song with a percussive flair at the end. A few people started clapping.

The boy smiled widely at the restaurant owner.

“Well you heard ‘em! They love me!”

The owner sighed.

“I told you, there’s nothin’ I can do. I’ve booked up all my regulars. I wish you the best, but you need to find somewhere else,” he said, wiping a table.

“But I–”

“I said no,” the owner stated, raising his voice slightly. “Find another place in town.”

Gyro frowned. He wanted to say something more, but he better not… not if he didn’t want another shot to play here in the future, at least. He silently packed up his guitar and took a final sip of his orange juice, fixing to head out.

A man in a dark colored jacket and sunglasses tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir. I heard you playing…”

“Mhm?” Gyro muttered, turning around in confusion.

“You see, I work here in Hollywood. And it just so happens that I myself am a music producer.”

“Oh.. really?” he said, his voice raising in excitement.“I mean, ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Really?”

“Really!” the sunglasses man laughed. “I make real stars out here you know. I discovered Buddy Holly and made him the staple he is today.

“Woah… no way! Where can I get in contact with you?”

“Here,” the man started, rustling around in the deep pockets of his jacket. “Why don’t you take my card and give me a call sometime?”

“Gee, I’d be honored!”

As Gyro reached out to grab the card from the man’s hand, an arm stretched out across his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t talk to this guy,” the voice said. Gyro snapped his neck to meet eyes with another boy about his age. “He’s a phony. Bad news.”

Gyro looked back to the man in the sunglasses. He suddenly shoved the card back in his pocket and turned around, quickly throwing a dollar on his plate as he bolted out the side door.

“What the hell?”

The boy laughed under his breath.

“Are you new around here?”

“Uh, fairly. Who was that guy?”

Gyro looked around confusedly for a few moments before meeting eyes with the blue eyed boy in front of him.

“A real nuisance. Word of advice, keep watch around here. There’s some real sketchy guys who lurk around trying to sign up and coming musicians to some real sketchy contracts.”

“And how would you know about that?”

The boy laughed.

“I’ll tell you over a cup of coffee, how about that?”

~~~

“Nicholas,” the boy said, extending his hand in greeting across the red dining table.

“...Gyro,” he said, shaking his hand back.

“I’m a guitarist too. And I really liked your playing, by the way. You’re really good.”

“You’re a guitarist?” Gyro said, perking up. “What do you play?”

“Acoustic, sometimes electric. But I play better with my acoustic.”

“Me too,” Gyro stated. “I learned how to play classically when I was a kid. Part of it never left me even when I started to learn other kinds of songs.”

A waitress came by with a pot of coffee and another mug and set it on their table. Gyro poured himself a cup while Nicholas added a bit of cream and stirred it into his cup.

“So, you’re definitely new around here. No one in their right mind would try playing at Mel’s Drive-In right off the bat.”

“Are you sayin’ this place is famous or something?”

Nicholas laughed as he sipped his coffee.

“One of the more famous places around here, I’d say. And they make a mean stack of pancakes.”

Gyro groaned. “Ugh. I had no idea.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “Now you know at least.”

“You’re right though, I’m not from here,” Gyro started. “I’m from Italy, actually. But I’ve spent a few years in Georgia. Had some family issues this past fall, so I decided to move out here to Hollywood on a dime.”

“That's pretty honorable, Gyro. Making your own name for yourself.”

“Yeah. I’m not making much money though. I might have to drive back to Georgia soon if I’m stuck to playing on street corners for tips.”

“Hah! Well, if it's anything to ya, I definitely think you shouldn't quit doing what you’re doing.”

“Ah,” Gyro sighed. “I might not have much choice.”

“Not much choice?”

“Yeah. Looks like I’ll be drafted into the family business soon, whether I like it or not.”

“And why’s that?”

“They’re all doctors. They’ve got a whole practice in Napoli. I’ve been going to college to be one too, so I guess I’ve got no choice if this doesn’t work out for me.”

“And you’re in Hollywood?! What about your classes?”

Gyro laughed heartily.

“I graduated two years early. Advantage of being around doctors growing up, you know?”

“Wow,” Nicholas stared. “You must be really smart!”

Gyro sat back in his seat, frowning. “Not if you’re my parents. They hate that I’m out here in America.”

“Is it your dad?”

Gyro stopped in his tracks. “How’d you guess?

“I can spot daddy issues from a mile away. Runs in my blood, too.”

The two of them looked at each other. Gyro choked back a snort before they both devolved into a fit of laughter.

“You’re funny, Nicholas!”

“Please,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Just call me Nick.”

Gyro looked down at the pen and notebook lying in front of the boy.

“What’s that?”

“Oh!” Nick said, swallowing his drink quickly. “My notebook. Me and my brother like to carry around notebooks just in case we think of anything for a song.”

“That’s real cool. You play with your brother too?”

“Sure do! He’s a pianist. A real prodigy, too.”

“That’s awesome. I’ve always wanted to play with a pianist.”

Nick smiled. “We should play together sometime! He’s got this crazy natural ability to match with anyone he accompanies.”

“He must be really talented.”

“Oh yeah. Way more talented than me,” Nick said. “I’m real proud of him.”

Gyro fiddled with the corner of his napkin on his lap, trying to take a peek into his notebook without being too obvious.

“Did you wanna see what I’m working on?”

“Yes!” he said, a little too loudly to sound casual.

Nick flipped a page open and turned it around, smiling a devious grin. A song titled “Road to Kentucky” etched the top of the page in blue ink pen.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone I’m showing you this, alright?”

~~~

The gentle hum of the truck’s wheels against the road came to a halt as Gyro finished recounting the memory, hitting a red light.

The cassette tape had finished playing a few minutes ago, leaving the car to simmer in its quiet buzz.

He didn’t dare look over to the other man sitting next to him.

Gyro kept his eyes glued on the license plate of the car in front of him. A Nevada plate. A sign they were getting close to Las Vegas, at least. It wasn’t that bad of a drive at all.

Johnny hadn’t said anything.

Why hadn’t he said anything?

Gyro breathed in heavily. Yet somehow, his lungs wouldn’t let him take a full breath.

The warmth of the heater became stifling once they had come to a stop.

He still hadn’t said anything.

…

Gyro bit the bullet and glanced over to Johnny.

He was crying.

Silent tears.

They slipped down his face, almost imperceptibly.

Oh, you’ve really done it now, Zeppeli.

Johnny took a sudden deep inhale, his nose stuffy from sorrow. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and turned to Gyro.

“Thank you. For telling me that.”

Gyro averted his eyes again, as if Johnny were a hot coal he dared not touch.

“Mhm.”

Johnny sighed deeply and opened the glovebox, searching for another cassette to plug in. Gyro lingered in uncomfort, listening as plastic clinked together as Johnny rummaged through his collection.

He should tell Johnny about the cassette Nick gave him.

It would be the honorable thing to do.

But not today.

Absolutely not today.

Gyro slowly lurched forward as traffic started moving again through the green light. Johnny sat back in the seat after pulling out a few tapes, choosing between the handful of different cassettes before him.

“You good with listening to Jim Reeves?”

“Sure.”

Johnny plugged the cassette into the player and knocked it on the top a few times to get it started. Gyro gunned the gas once Johnny had relaxed again and rolled down his side of the window to cool off as a cold rush of the winter air blew his hair into his face.

~~~

Chapter 15: Ooh Las Vegas

Chapter Text

Chapter 15 - Ooh Las Vegas

“LAAAASS VEGAAAAS!!!” Gyro shouted. Johnny turned his head sharply after losing himself in thought for the past hour.

“Jesus,” Johnny jumped. “What are you so loud for?”

“My bad,” he quieted. “We passed the road sign. Didya see it?”

“...No.”

Gyro sighed. “We should probably find directions to that hotel if you’re getting tired. Could you look on the map for me?”

Johnny took the map with a huff and unfolded it with a flash of his hands.

“I ain’t tired.”

I’m zoning out your nonsense. Johnny chuckled under his breath.

“They called us winners to The International Hotel, right? Was that what it was called?”

“I actually think it was the top 20 that got all expenses paid room and board,” Johnny smirked. “You were just one place away. Sucks for you.”

Gyro frowned. “C’mon. What if I'm actually still in 6th place then? You splittin’ a room with me?”

“Who said I wanted you in my room?”

Gyro stuck out his bottom lip and looked over at Johnny pleadingly.

“Johnny, I thought we really had something here.”

Johnny tapped his index finger on his bottom lip in consideration.

“Hmm… I don’t know…” he said, a smirk teasing at the corner of his lips. “Take a left here at the next light--”

“Money’s tight, and we’ve got a good few months of hotel hopping ahead of us, all things considered.”

“Sound’s like you should take your chances at the casino, then,” Johnny shrugged.

“Fine.” Gyro stated, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe I will.”

A beat of silence. The soft click of the turn signal echoed out amidst the strange air of tension stewing between them.

“...I’d bet you’d lose all you got, though,” Johnny said in a matter-of-fact.

He looked dead ahead at the road as Gyro snapped his head in absolute shock.

“Where the hell do you get off? Do you just like to stir the pot for fun?”

“Green light.”

“I’m serious!” Gyro shouted as he turned through the intersection. “You’re real annoying sometimes, you get that?”

“Start looking for a Super 8, Gyro . I’m the one in sixth place, after all.”

“Jeez, Johnny. I know I told you to stop doubting yourself, but lose the vanity.”

“Oh, that’s rich comin’ from you!”

~~~

“Holy sh*t.”

The two gazed up at the massive building through the car window, towering up above them around thirty floors high.

“Elvis performed here?!” Gyro said, his eyes catching sight of a giant Elvis poster that hung on the wall. “ Elvis ?”

“Yes, sir,” a concierge said, approaching them. “He performed sold out shows here just a few months ago.”

“I’ll be,” Gyro said in awe.

“Are you two here to check in?”

Johnny leaned out the window.

“Yessir. I’m Jo-”

“Oh!” he interrupted. “Johnny Joestar! How are you faring after that horrible attack?”

“Ah, I’m fine, I-”

The man glanced over to Gyro in the driver’s seat.

“And you must be the enigmatic guitarist Gyro Zeppeli. I couldn’t forget your performance if I tried!”

Gyro grinned.

“Oh, thank you kindly, sir,” he said, tipping his hat. “I mean truly, all in a day's work-”

“However,” he interrupted once more. “I believe only Mr. Joestar here has paid board for the week. I can inquire about getting you a room, if you’d like. It’ll just be a moment.”

“Oh, that would be great, grazie ,” Gyro said with a notable lack of enthusiasm.

“Right then. The valet here will take your truck,” the concierge noted, extending his hand for the car key. “And I will go look into a room for you, Mr. Zeppeli.”

Johnny turned around with a confused glance.

“I thought you were gonna stay in my room.”

“Huh?” Gyro said, hopping out of the car and into the back of the trunk to grab the luggage. “I thought you didn’t want–”

Johnny slid open the back window to talk through. “I was jokin’, dumbass. I thought that was obvious.”

“Jeez, Johnny. No, your ‘jokes’ aren't obvious at all.” Gyro threw the last of their bags from the trunk onto the ground and gently rolled Johnny’s wheelchair to his door. “Jokes are supposed to actually be funny,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Like mine.”

“My jokes are funny. You just don’t get ‘em.”

Gyro grumbled under his breath as Johnny transferred himself to his chair. He rolled his eyes. Gyro was denser than a fruitcake.

“We’ve already spent the past weekend together, Gyro. Plus, you’re drivin’ and all that for me,” Johnny shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t mind if we share a room for another week or so. It’s just a place for us to sleep anyway.”

Gyro stared at the man for a moment. A moment long enough for Johnny to think that he had said the wrong thing.

Breaking the silence, Gyro scoffed and turned his head to look out into the city horizon.

“Well, if you ain’t tired of me yet…”

“I am tired of you. I’ll kick you out if it gets worse.”

“Is that a joke, too?”

“ Yes, idiot,” Johnny sighed heavily. “Or how’d you say it in italian? Idio-tuh? ”

Gyro frowned. “Your pronunciation is sh*t.”

The concierge suddenly appeared in front of them out of nowhere, startling both of them slightly.

“Good news Mr. Zeppeli! We have a few rooms left available for the week, but I apologize, prices are significantly steeper due to high demand. Would you be interested in a room with a view of the pool?”

“Actually, hold the room,” Gyro started. “I think I’ll just crash with my partner here instead.”

“Duly noted.”

Gyro gave Johnny a small smile from behind as they walked through the doors to the lobby.

Johnny trailed off from Gyro, taking in the sheer size of the area. People milled around like ants; everyone seemed to be arriving at the hotel at the same time.

“I got a quick question for ya,” Johnny with his slightly voice lowered as he approached a woman at the check-in desk. “I saw that there were some groups with multiple people in them in the top twenty. Do they get their own separate rooms?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Then uh… he… .” Johnny whispered, jabbing a finger at Gyro who was pouring himself a cup of flavored water from a pitcher. “Well, he’s not in the top twenty, that's the problem. But I am. Our acts were supposed to be combined. We performed on stage together and everythin’.”

The woman looked back at Johnny with a confused glance.

“You are Johnny Joestar. And he is…” She trailed off as she scanned her eyes down a list from behind the desk. “I believe that is Gyro Zeppeli?”

Johnny looked behind his shoulder, watching as Gyro had moved onto lounging fully outstretched on one of the rich velvet futons in the lobby, his hat full of holes covering his eyes.

“Yes. That’s him.”

“You both listed as separate contestants, no?”

“I guess so, but we didn’t know that at the time.” Johnny said. “Some of those groups like the Boom Boom Family all had different numbers like us too. I saw it in the papers. Why didn’t Gyro and I place the same?”

The woman adjusted her readers' glasses on the bridge of her nose, looking closer at a clipboard in her hands.

“Ah. I see the issue here. It seems that the ability to combine acts was closed this afternoon at 3:00pm.”

“Huh?” Gyro exclaimed, suddenly appearing from behind. Johnny sighed, hoping to resolve this with him afterward. “Hey, hey, hey…so you’re tellin’ me Johnny and I won’t be counted as one from here on out?”

“Correct. You two are considered separate contestants.”

Gyro dropped his shoulders with a disappointed sigh.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. We were driving all day, how were we supposed to know that?”

Johnny dipped his head and fiddled with the handle of the duffle bag in his lap.

“It’s no mistake,” she said, showing them the piece of paper on her clipboard. “I apologize, Mr. Joestar and ah… Mr. Zeppeli. If I could pull some strings, I truly would.”

The three of them stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say to the other.

“Fine,” Gyro spoke. “I guess we can get some more answers later.”

The woman handed the two their keys to the room with a half-hearted smile. Johnny tried really hard to ignore the growing fear of the unknown that began to settle in his chest.

~~~

The hotel room was, for lack of a better word, unbelievable.

The room, or moreso a suite, had one large king size bed, a long sofa at the foot of the bed, and two plush chairs that overlooked the giant windows facing the city. A small golden chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, and the walls were decorated with elaborate white and gold trimming and columns that added to the opulence of the area. The carpeted floors were lush and new, and the curtains were a shade of bright velvety red.

“Jeez. To the winners go the spoils,” Gyro said, grabbing a complimentary bottle of champagne from the nightstand.

“I ain’t never seen somethin’ so fancy in my whole life.”

“Really?” Gyro shouted over his shoulder as he went to pop the champagne open in the bathroom sink. “I thought you would’ve lived the high life.”

“Yeah. I did, for a while,” he said softly. “But this is crazy even by those standards.”

…

The air conditioning hummed as they both came to a silence.

“You bummed out?”

Gyro was quiet.

“I… dunno.”

“Me either,” Johnny said.

Gyro offered him a flute of champagne wordlessly. It felt strange seeing the man so uncertain. He always seemed to be completely certain of every action he went through with, even if some of it was feigned confidence.

“I was just startin’ to like the idea of us being…” Johnny paused for a moment.
“Y’know…”

“A duo.” “Partners.”

“Oh.”

They both looked at their hands after saying two different things at the same time.

“I- I meant duo. Or somethin’ or other. I guess they mean the same thing,” Johnny stumbled. Why was he stumbling over that?

Gyro took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Hold on now, Johnny. I think we can work around this.”

“Yeah?” Johnny said, his hands entertaining themselves by beginning to half heartedly unload his luggage into a drawer by the nightstand.

“Well… she didn’t say we couldn’t perform together, eh? Who’s to say we can’t get around it that way? We can still play together like we did in San Diego.”

“You think? I’m pretty sure separate acts means we have to perform separately. Which I…” he trailed off.

Which I don’t want to do. I can’t perform alone.

“Well that’d be real dumb,” Gyro said, derailing Johnny’s thoughts with his sudden interjection. “It ain’t fair to drive all the way here just to be told we can’t go on together. That’s what we signed up to do here, dammit!”

Gyro sighed and sat back, pinching his forehead with his fingers.

“What can I do…”

A few cars honked outside on the street from down below. Johnny sat and watched him think in silence. Any excitement he had shared from placing in the top 10 had dissipated into nothingness, replaced with a steady building sensation of anxiety.

“Ugh,” Gyro groaned loudly. “Let’s think about all this later. I can always try to find one of those higher ups and use a little bit of my Italian charms.”

“Charm only gets you so far, Gyro.”

“ Che? Are you saying my charms haven’t worked at all on you, Johnny?”

Johnny stared back blankly. He didn’t respond.

“Well, what the hell,” Gyro relented. “We made it to Vegas.”

“Yeah,” Johnny scoffed, pushing emotion deep inside his chest. “We sure did.”

The two looked at each other as they clinked their glasses together softly. A soft glimmer of solidarity danced between them as they raised their glasses to their lips.

“This is kind of an upgrade from that sh*tty tent, I’d say.”

“My tent ain’t sh*tty. It did the job just fine.”

“Sure.”

…

“So… you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“Hah,” Johnny swallowed the last of his champagne. “Well, when in Rome.”

“When in Vegas .”

“The city of sin, alright.”

“You buying this time?” Gyro smirked.

“Whoever rolls higher is buyin’.”

“Deal.”

~~~

H.P. was sipping on a glass of bourbon in the casino bar when out of nowhere, a huge wave of paparazzi and flashing lights came crashing in through the double doors.

A certain blonde headed man was being followed by a couple of bodyguards, pushing and shoving the paparazzi out of the area.

“Are you kidding me?” a burly casino member boomed. “No photography in the casino! Out! Out now!”

She rolled her eyes and slapped two dollar bills on the table for the bartender. No use in being around this chaos. The glitz and glamour of the city was truly and utterly insufferable.

As she stood up from the stool, someone backed into the chair simultaneously, causing her to lose her balance and fall backwards.

H.P. extended her arms outward in an attempt to catch herself from falling onto the ground when all of a sudden, she was grasped firmly by both shoulders.

“Sir!”

She was lowered deeper into the person's arms as a blond mop of hair fell into her face.

“Or… er… Miss? Uh, sir?”

“Get your hands off me,” H.P. grumbled, pushing the man off. They backed up and eyed one another up and down. The man's eyes were a shade of obnoxiously bright blue, and the glance he was giving her was definitely not the eyes of apology.

“Darling, you were the one who fell onto me,” he said with a smile. His words were thick, like syrup; insufferably sweet, and made all the worse from an annoyingly British accent.

H.P. made a face that could only be described as disgust. She brushed off her suit.

“And you were the one who caused a commotion big enough for me to leave,” H.P. said curtly.

“Well, my dear!” He gestured to the doors that were being held back by the burly employee. “For some reason, I just cannot control my adoring fans.”

H.P. rolled her eyes, scowling in disgust. She turned sharply to leave, but the man caught her by the wrist before she could fully turn around.

“Please,” he stated. “Before you go, let me buy you a drink, love.”

“Ha!” She laughed in his face, turning back around and yanking her wrist from his grasp.

She pushed herself through past the bodyguards and the surrounding bartenders. There were three different bars in the hotel alone; it’s not like she couldn’t find another place to get a drink.

Diego was left standing, jaw agape, and utterly stunned. It had been a long time since he had so outwardly been rejected.

“What could I get for you, Mr. Brando?” the bartender said.

“Something sweet, and make it strong,” he began, sliding a ten dollar bill towards the bartender. “And if that pink-haired person comes back to the bar, anything for them as well.”

~~~

The noise of slot machines and laughter filled the huge casino hall in the hotel. Neon greens, yellows, blues, and reds all illuminated the area, decked from head to toe in elaborately printed carpet floors. Johnny watched people pass by him, one by one, getting lost in the dazzle of the night. If he squinted, it wasn’t that different from Mountain Tim’s on a Saturday night.

Gyro sat next to Johnny at the bar, sighing loud enough for him to hear over the sounds of falling chips and musical chimes of different machines.

“Any luck schmoozing someone into letting us be a real band?” Johnny said, nursing his glass of whiskey. He slid Gyro a glass of wine that he had ordered for him while he stepped away.

“None. Keep your eyes peeled for anyone that looks like they run the place. Or the Tour. That’s the main goal of the night.”

“I thought the main goal was to gamble and pay for the other’s tab.”

“That’s just one of ‘em, Johnny. I can have more than one goal of the night.”

Gyro took a sip of his red wine, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Damn! This is good! What is it?”

“I dunno. I just told the bartender to get you something good.” Johnny said, pausing slightly. “I… made sure it was from Italy.”

“From Italy! Che figo !” Gyro exclaimed, smiling wide.

Johnny blushed a little in his cheeks, grabbing a handful of snacks he had ordered. He really needed to stop drinking on empty stomachs.

“What’s that mean? Che figo?”

“It means ‘ how cool’ ,” he said, swirling the glass and raising it to his nose before taking a sip. “Whatever this is, order it for me again. Mmm! It sure tastes like home.”

“I’ll buy us the bottle if you beat me in poker, how about that?”

A competitive glimmer struck Gyro’s eye as he took another sip of the wine, shaking a few of his chips in his hands.

“What about a game of blackjack instead?”

~~~

Lucy twirled the hair in her fingers in front of the mirror, shaping a perfect coiling curl. This hotel was wonderful, she thought. She might see if there were any activities she could participate in, like karaoke or something. Or even just exploring the giant building itself. Gambling wasn’t something she could do here, after all.

A thought suddenly came to mind as she applied a thin layer of pink lipstick to her lips.

I wonder what Mr. Valentine talked to father about earlier today.

Suddenly overcome with curiosity, she knocked on the adjoining door in the hotel room, connecting with her father’s room.

“What is it, Miss Steel?” a voice said opposite the door.

“I’m looking for my father,” Lucy said. “I wanted to ask him a quick question.”

“Oh!” said the voice on the other side. The door swung open. “How can I help?”

Lucy sighed. It was just another one of the overly eager assistants assigned to keep an eye on her. Really, did her father need to hire so many of them to tag along? She didn’t need a nanny. She was 17. Completely fine on her own.

“It’s a question for him only,” her voice falling flat.

“Ah. Well, I believe he was dragged downstairs for a dinner reservation, Miss Steel. He should be back within the hour. In the meantime, can I help you with anyth–”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said politely, closing the door back carefully. She sighed. The assistant would probably try to follow her out of the room if she wasn’t careful.

Lucy slid on a pair of flats and a navy colored jacket. She grabbed her room key from the nightstand and closed the large room door as silently as she could behind her. She trotted down the hallway, looking behind her shoulder in case the attendant decided to try to follow her out. There was something fun about being able to explore all these new fancy hotels, at least.

She turned the corner to reach the elevator, pressing a button to take her to the 1st floor.

The elevator played some sort of soft instrumentals over the speakers. She hummed a harmony over the melody as the elevator slowly made its way down, dinging at each floor.

As the doors opened, Lucy absentmindedly stepped forward without looking, barreling straight into the tall man who was standing in the doorframe of the elevator.

She gasped in surprise.

“Oh! My! I’m so sorry! Please exc-”

She looked up to see a man in a pink and blue suit, adorned with a head full of long blonde curls. And for some reason that she couldn’t explain, she felt her blood run cold.

“My, Miss Steel, how we keep running into each other. It’s almost like deja vu.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Valentine. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Valentine laughed heartily.

“Oh, my dear, you need to start looking where you’re going more often,” he said, patting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. He paused for a moment, glancing around as if he were looking for someone.

“Are you sneaking out of your room, Miss Steel?”

Lucy smiled halfheartedly.

“I’m just coming down for a snack.”

“Well, I don’t see anyone with you,” he started, holding a hand out between the elevator to keep it from closing. “With all your attendants, I can only imagine that you snuck away from them, just to be caught all alone.”

Lucy’s eyes widened, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. There was an uncomfortable pause between the two of them that lingered for just a moment too long. She smiled again, unsure of what to do or say.

“I’m just joking! Joking, Ms. Steel!”

She forced a laugh with him as he escorted her out of the elevator with a gloved hand, taking her place.

“And what would it matter to me if you snuck out or not? Lighten up, dear,” he said. “How about this; I’ll keep it between us. Our little secret, alright Luce?”

The elevator doors came to a close, reflecting Lucy’s silhouette in the metal.

Luce? She thought. Only father calls me that.

She shook her head, ignoring the way her stomach was turning.

Something about that man felt off.

~~~

Gyro tapped his finger on the small stack of green chips in front of him, flashing a mischievous grin.

“I don’t know how to play roulette, Gyro,” Johnny said groggily, the drinks and laughter and cigarette smoke clouding his vision. “Let’s go back to blackjack.”

“Hush. I’m tired of that game. We’ve been at it for a few hours now, I wanna play something else.” Gyro didn’t want to admit he was beginning to lose badly in the other games and needed to win back his earnings fast. “Roulette’s all about luck, and a little strategy. But mostly luck.”

Gyro picked up a chip between his fingers and held it out in front of Johnny. “You place your bets on the numbers or colors you think the ball will land on once the wheel stops spinnin’.”

Johnny nodded slowly, looking a little lost.

“It just looks like you’re throwing your chips on the table and calling it a day.”

“Basically. Just follow my lead.”

“Alright…”

Johnny observed Gyro and the other players' rapid movements around the table. Gyro seemed to be betting on black, so Johnny hesitantly placed a few of his own chips on the red squares and numbers in front of him.

“And……no more bets,” said the dealer, waving his arm over the table. “Here comes the spin.”

He spun the wheel with a swift motion. Everyone turned their focus to watch the ball bounce and spin round and round along the edge until it began ticking against the frets in increments. The others around the table watched intently with excitement.

The wheel ticked to a slow, finally finding its resting spot. The table erupted into cheers as the ball fell into a red pocket.

“Red 14!” the dealer announced.

Gyro dropped his head remorsefully onto the table, watching the dealer take back his chips. Lifting his eyes, he jumped back up with energy once he had seen Johnny’s bets on red.

“Woah, you lucky bastard! Beginner's luck!”

Gyro raised his arms as if to grab Johnny by the shoulders enthusiastically, but he quickly switched the action to readjust the hat on his head.

“Ahem,” Gyro coughed. “Nice job.”

Johnny smirked as he watched the dealer double his bet. “This is kinda fun.”

“Not when you lose,” Gyro pouted. “Whatever. I’ll go play some slots.”

“Johnny Joestar!” A voice exclaimed from behind.

Gyro stopped in his tracks as he turned around to face the direction of the loud proclamation. Johnny’s face went visibly pale as his hands hesitated over the roulette table, suspending his chips over the numbers.

“...Diego,” Johnny responded curtly.

The rest of the gamblers at the table had also ceased their actions to watch the tense interaction, a few of them starstruck by the celebrity that had appeared in front of them.

“Long time no see, my friend! How are you holding up after that horrible fight ? ”

Johnny placed the rest of his chips towards the end of the table in a big stack, refusing to turn around and acknowledge the man standing behind him. The table hesitantly followed suit as the dealer waved his hands over the table to stop the bets.

Diego sipped his drink, basking in the silence.

“My!” he chuckled, turning to face a very uncomfortable-looking Gyro. “Do you think this is any way to treat me, after all we’ve been through?”

Gyro squared up his shoulders ever-so-slightly, towering over the already smaller figure of the blonde headed British man in front of him.

“Hey, I don’t know what problem you have with Johnny here, but why don’t you just turn around and leave him alo-”

“Black 31!” The dealer shouted.

The table looked to Johnny with wide eyes as the dealer discarded the losing chips, leaving a copious amount of Johnny’s chips on the winning number. Gyro’s jaw dropped as the dealer counted out his winnings.

“I’d like to cash out,” Johnny stated firmly.

Diego forced his way past Gyro, squeezing between them to take a place at the table.

“Don’t cash out just because I got here!” he smirked. “Can I get you a drink, Jojo?” Johnny stared forward as the dealer handed him his stack of his winnings. “Come now, I know how you love those Manhattans.”

Johnny bit his tongue, his face turning stone.

“ Jojo , come on! It’s been so I’ve seen you, the least you could do is catch up with your old friend-”

Johnny shot a dark look in his direction.

“If you’ve got even the slightest inkling of suspicion that what we have is friendship, you are sorely mistaken.”

A few of the tables around them had caught onto the altercation between the two, excitedly chittering amongst themselves as they watched.

“Hah, well,” Diego said, turning around to a few of his surrounding friends he had come with. “Just take it easy now mate, no harm no foul here.”

“Take it easy?!” Johnny said, swinging the last of his drink back in an effort to push forward with any form of liquid courage. “You want me to take it easy after what you did?”

Diego’s eyes went wide. “What I did? What I did?” he repeated himself. “What the bloody hell are you talking about, Joestar?”

Gyro held an arm out between them, stepping in front of Johnny to diffuse the conflict.

“Hey, hey, hey, you two,” he said nervously. He turned around to Johnny and whispered sternly in his direction. “ What are you doin’, Johnny? Don’t cause a scene, idiota.”

Johnny balled his fists in frustration, tugging Gyro out of the way by his belt loops.

“Leave me be,” he said, staring back at him with daggers. “ This ain’t your fight to fight. ”

Gyro shrugged away from Johnny, brushing his pants off in the same turn. He frowned back. He was right. He wasn’t going to concern himself with all of whatever was goin’ on between them.

“Fine,” Gyro said. “I’m cashing out and goin’ back to the room then. Tab is on you.”

“Fine by me,” Johnny spit back. “I never want your help anyway.”

Diego and his entourage oooh’ed as the confrontation shifted focus, a few of them blowing their cigarette smoke into Gyro’s face. Gyro stood frozen solid, his face utterly unreadable. Biting his tongue, he grabbed his remaining chips from the table and left Johnny’s side without another word.

The dealer at the table looked frustrated with the conflict, the game coming to a halt as everyone turned to watch.

“Gracious,” Diego started. “I believe they want us to do this somewhere else , Joj-”

“Call me Jojo again and I’ll knock those pretty white teeth clean out of your head,” Johnny threatened.

“What, you don’t go by that anymore?” he quipped back. “Really? Just Johnny? No longer Joekid, country star of Kentucky? Hah!” Diego threw a strand of his shiny hair behind his shoulder. “Not even what Nicky called you… oh, what was it…” He said, bending closer to Johnny’s face. “Little JoJo?”

Johnny’s fist raised quicker than a bolt of lightning in June.

Just before he could make contact with the bottom of Diego’s jaw, one of Diego’s lackeys grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back.

“My! Such an outburst! I’ll have you know I’ve been nothing but civil.”

“Let me go, f*ckin’ asshole,” Johnny yelled, writhing in the mans grasp. More eyes had turned their attention to the two, garnering concerned whispers and hushed rumors.

“Johnny, my dear, why don’t we resolve this sometime later over tea?” Diego sighed, becoming aware of the sudden amount of eyes glued onto his reputation. “I truly just want to be the better person in this situation, you know.”

“I’m sure as hell you do,” Johnny scoffed, breaking free from the man’s grasp. “You and your perfect,” he stabbed a finger into his sweater vest. “ Stewpid,” he said, mocking his accent. “Life .”

“Jealousy is unbecoming of you,” Diego shrugged. He looked to his group and with a single glance, they all began to walk away. He tossed a final comment over his shoulder as they began heading for a different area of the casino.

“I’ll see you around, Johnny. We’re both in this race now. We can’t be strangers forever.”

Johnny breathed heavily through his nose, attempting to curb the anger brewing in his core. Weighted stares bore through his skin as the surrounding crowds felt suddenly much more crowded.

He looked to his right and left quickly, scanning the area for Gyro. He couldn’t have gone too far.

Yet he couldn’t find him.

Johnny turned his wheelchair to face the table again. Maybe he was there. The dealer started to begin bets once more, gazes turned away from Johnny and melted back into the glitz and glamor of the casino.

Gyro was nowhere to be found.

Johnny huffed, a stinging feeling burning at the back of his throat. He really did leave him.

Guess he deserved that.

He turned back around and stuffed his chips in his lap, heading straight to get a spot at the bar.

~~~

“f*ckin’ asshole,” Gyro muttered under his breath. “That cazzo , piece of sh*t…”

Gyro swung open the doors to the casino, leaving him smack in the middle of one of the expansive lobbies. He pocketed the few remaining dollars he had won in his pockets, not caring to organize it at the moment.

Who was he cursing out here?

He couldn’t really blame Johnny for acting like that. Clearly there was somethin’ between him and that Diego guy.

Maybe it was Diego. That guy did look like a sleazebag.

No, he couldn’t blame him either. At least not fully. Johnny was completely instigating.

Maybe he was being the asshole here.

He swore he wouldn’t get too close to him. He wanted to let Johnny fight his own battles. It was in his nature to feel a sort of protection, yes; he can blame that on the years of medical school. Maybe even bearing witness to his own family's practices were a cause of it, too.

But who was he to step in to protect him after just a week of knowing the guy? And for what, to save his ego? To save Johnny from throwing a deeper hole for himself?

Gyro groaned and laid down on an empty futon in the lobby, listening to the casual chatter and footsteps of patrons echoing down the marble hallways. Gaudy as hell, he thought.

Even with all of that, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of unease he felt from Johnny pushing him away like that.

What was that for?

Did he want his approval? Did he want Johnny to like him or something?

Gyro scoffed under his breath and laid his hat over his head, blocking out the shimmering light of the overhead chandelier. Yeah. As if. He placed 21st out of thousands of people, goddammit. There were so many other people who liked him out there anyway. He was a damn good performer, and clearly it showed. Who cares if one loose lipped cowboy from Kentucky had qualms about him–

“Excuse me sir?” a voice said from above. “I think you’re sitting on my purse.”

Gyro shot up quickly in surprise, being snapped out of his thoughts entirely.

“sh*t, I mean, shoot,” he said, scrambling. He stood up, his limbs almost catching up with him. A light pink clutch was sitting on the futon underneath him. He snatched it up quickly, extending it towards the lady with his hat in hand. “I’m so sorry, please excuse me, miss…uh…”

“Lucy,” she laughed, grabbing the bag with a chuckle. “And…” She paused for a moment, looking the tall man up and down in an attempt to recognize him. “You’re Gyro Zeppeli! I saw your performance, it was electric! Fools Rush In is one of my favorite songs!”

Gyro smiled wide, any sort of previous anger dissipating away with the compliments.

“Really!” he said, placing the hat back on his head in a smooth motion. “It’s one of my favorites too. That guitar solo is real fun to play.”

Lucy’s expression changed ever-so-slightly as she remembered the conversations she snooped on from the day before. Gyro Zeppeli…this was the man that was going to be disqualified from the competition entirely if not for her father and… Valentine’ s interference.

Gyro noticed a shift in the girl’s mood. He panicked, hoping he hadn’t said anything to put her off for any reason.
“I’m sorry again for the purse thing. I just kinda sat down without looking. Very much on me.”

“It’s seriously no worries!” She smiled, her demeanor picking back up from before. “I was just on my way back to my room.”

“Oh, I’ll let you be on your way, then. Pleasure’s mine, Missus Lucy.” Gyro embellished his words with a sickly sweet southern twang and dipped his hat with a dramatic bow, causing the girl to set off into a fit of laughter. Gyro smiled. The girl reminded him of his little sister at home.

And there it was again. A peculiar pause Gyro couldn’t quite identify. Her gaze grew distant, as if she was searching for someone in a crowd—like someone was watching. If there’s one thing he should’ve learned from tonight, it’s knowing when not to butt into stranger’s personal lives. He had to stop asking them–

“Are you alright?” he said, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them. He found himself crouching down lower to her level, the same way he would comfort the children in the sick ward back in Italy.

Gyro watched Lucy’s smile fall. Lucy grabbed her clutch a little tighter against her chest.

“I’m alright. I just–” she stammered. “I’m just having an off night, I think.”

Gyro bit his lip, not content with the answer. “Are you in danger?” he said, getting a strange gut feeling from her strange expressions. Gyro sat back down on the futon, patting the futon parallel to him with a gentle hand, ushering her to sit down if she wanted to.

“No, no. I’m not in danger. I’ve just had…” she tapered off. “A… strange night. A strange encounter?”

“Well, I have too,” Gyro sympathized. “We sure have that in common.”

Lucy half-smiled, staring at her hands in her lap.

“You here for the Tour too?” Gyro started, changing the subject.

“Uh…” she paused, considering if it would be in worse interest to share who she was to the Tour entirely. “I am.”

“You placed in the top 20?!” he exclaimed. “Geez, no wonder I didn’t place. Your new generation will be takin’ over us old people before we know it.”

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “I’m not singing. I’m just the daughter of one of the front runners for the tour. I do… sing a bit myself, though, but I couldn’t participate because of personal biases or something.”

“Ahhh,” he vocalized, his brain gluing pieces together slowly. Daughter of a front runner for the Tour…”Say, do you happen to know anything about why we can’t combine our acts anymore? What’s with that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Me and my partner. The real good pianist that played alongside me. He placed 6th, but I placed 21st. We were listed as separate contestants, but our numbers were just a little off from each other,” Gyro whispered, cupping his hands over his mouth in case sensitive ears were listening or reading lips. “We both played together on stage, and some other people were able to go under the same name even if their numbers weren’t the same. So what sense does that make?”

“Woah, you’re right.” Lucy followed suit, amplifying her whisper with her hands. “Does that mean you didn’t get a hotel room either?”

“Yup,” he said, enunciating the P at the end of the word. “Seems unfair to you, don’t it? I mean, come on, we’ll be here for at least a week or more to prepare for Stage 2.”

Lucy sat back in contemplation, her brows knitting together in thought. “I’ll ask my father about it tonight,” she said. “That truly sounds unfair.”

“It is! It’s not even about the room, really. Well that too; but I just… I want to perform with him.”

Lucy smiled and stood up. Gyro took note; her physical manner had certainly seemed to improve after their conversation. He sighed an internal sigh of relief knowing the young girl seemed to be at the very least distracted from her anxieties for the moment.

“Let me talk to my father about it,” she said with confidence. “I can definitely work something out.”

Gyro raised his eyebrows in anticipation. “Really?!” he said, shaking her hand with vigor. “I can’t thank you enough, Lucy. I mean truly!”

“Thank you, Gyro!” she said, walking away towards the elevators with a curious hop in her step. “I’ll see you around this week and let you know, alright?”

“ Buono . Ah! Also,” he said. “ Stay safe !” he whisper-yelled through cupped hands. She grinned and hopped into the elevator, a single ding causing her to disappear from behind.

Gyro sat back down on the futon, the encounter equally distracting him from his own problems at hand. Even so, he couldn’t shake Lucy’s concerned expression from his mind. It looked as if something was truly troubling her.

No, no. Stop it. He had to look after himself. That girl could take care of herself.

A word suddenly popped back into his mind. A word he had long since willed himself to forget.

Sentimentalismo.

Sentimentality.

His father always said it would be his downfall.

The concerns he had for that girl were not of sentimentalismo . More out of genuine concern for her wellbeing.

Was it sentimentality he felt for Johnny?

A cold rock fell to the bottom of his stomach. Things were beginning to align into place, and he wasn’t quite fond of his father throwing the stone.

Gyro sat back up after a moment of deliberation and pulled his key from his pocket, walking towards the elevator himself.

Maybe a bit of guitar would help him unwind.

~~~

Chapter 16: I'll Paint You A Song

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: I’ll Paint You A Song

November, 1965 : Hollywood; Los Angeles, CA

Woosh. Woosh.

Diego blurred his vision as he stared out of the front window of the taxi, turning the copious amount of traffic lights into a bleary light show of reds and yellows that reflected off of the heavy raindrops plummeting onto the glass.

Woosh. Woosh.

The rhythm of the windshield wipers blended with the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

Woosh. Woosh.

Woosh. Woosh.

Woosh. Woosh.

“A bit rainy tonight, eh?”

“Huh?”

“I said it’s a bit rainy tonight, isn’t it?”

“...Ah.” Diego snapped back into focus. “It is, I suppose.”

“Hope you brought an umbrella.”

Diego didn’t reply back. He also didn’t bring an umbrella.

His hands fumbled with the handles of a small cotton bag laying on his lap. A few items rustled up against one another.

He gripped the handles tighter.

“This is your stop.”

Diego looked out at the tall apartment building. He squinted through the rain. He looked back down to his hand, scribbled with an address in faded pen ink.

“Thanks.”

He shoved the bag underneath his coat and opened the taxi door, a barrage of raindrops pelting him in the process. He quickly handed the driver a few quarters and ran to take shelter under the awning of the apartment.

He looked back to his hand.

Fourth floor. Apartment A.

Diego climbed the stairs, each step an echo of apprehension ringing loudly against the metal vibrations of the staircase. He stopped outside apartment 4A, listening closely to the loud murmurs and hums coming from inside.

He lifted an enclosed fist, hesitating, shaking.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

After a moment, the door creaked open. Waves of bass-heavy music spilled into the corridor, punctuated by clinks of glasses and shouts of laughter.

Johnny stood in the doorframe, his hair disheveled and his face blushed red with alcohol. A flurry of emotions passed by him all at once.

“...Diego?”

Diego paused for a moment before smiling sincerely.

“Hello, Jojo.”

“Holy f*ckin’ sh*t,” he said, covering his hand over his mouth in surprise. “It's Diego Brando.”

Johnny wore a wry grin on his face before he lunged forward and engulfed Diego in a tight hug. Diego jolted at the sudden action, standing stiffly in his grasp.

“Holy sh*t,” he repeated, holding Diego’s arms squarely in his grasp. “What the hell are we doin’ out here? It’s pourin’! Come on in!”

Johnny ushered him inside, the music growing louder as they entered the crowded apartment. Diego took in the scene: a whirlwind of bright colors, drunken laughter, spilled cups, and a haze of cigarette smoke hung over the area like a dark cloud.

“Sorry about the mess,” Johnny shouted over the noise. “Post-show celebration, you know how it is!”

Diego nodded with a slight grin. He gripped the bag closer, close enough the items inside began to dig into his side.

“Want a drink?” Johnny offered, fumbling into the kitchen area decked out with quite a selection of half-empty liquor bottles.

“Ah, No thanks,” he replied, reaching for an excuse. “I’m going… somewhere later.” Nice. Real smooth .

“Alright, suit yourself,” Johnny smirked, his hands slipping as he poured himself another drink into a cup from his makeshift bar. “Why the hell are you in town, Diego? Did you come to see my show?”

Johnny looked at him expectantly with glassy blue eyes.

“I was, actually, but my flight was delayed. I missed it by a few hours. I could only make it here. I’m sorry.”

“No way! You’ve got to come to the show tomorrow then, I’ll get you backstage passes and everything! God, Diego, it’s been years,” Johnny replied, slapping his shoulder enthusiastically. Diego flinched. He was suddenly very aware of how strange it was to be the only sober person in the room.

He looked back to him, his brows subconsciously furrowing. This wasn’t…

Johnny.

Johnny was a completely different person.

Diego watched silently as a few people he had never seen before interrupted their conversation to talk with Johnny. He turned away from Diego, laughing enthusiastically, smiling wide, gracefully receiving compliments and valor they dished out to him. A few of them even began to leave gifts for him in a pile on the table. A makeshift line began to form, all in an effort to talk with the man of the hour; Johnny Joestar.

Diego frowned. He knew the truth; none of these people were his friends. Maybe a handful of them were, but most of them were obsessed fans grasping at the rare chance to attend their idol’s afterparty.

He shouldn’t have come here. He knew it would just make him angrier.

But this was the right thing to do.

“Hey, Johnny,” Diego said, nudging him on the leg impatiently. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you. Privately. Or somewhere more quiet than…” Diego shifted his eyes to a group of girls giggling behind him. “More quiet than here. It’s important.”

Johnny’s playful grin mixed into one of curiosity, tracking Diego’s face for hints as to what he might mean.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” he started, his thoughts sobering up at the intensity of Diego’s expression. “I’ll be back,” Johnny stated, addressing the rest of the entourage fiending at his side. Johnny led Diego into a hallway down to a locked bedroom door.

“Move,” Johnny said to a man sitting against the door. “I’m trying to get in.”

“What?” the man said in response.

Johnny sighed impatiently and pushed the man away with his foot as Diego watched on in surprise. The man yelped from beneath him.

“What the f*ck, man?”

“This is my house. So get out of the way,” Johnny said half-heartedly.

The man shot him an angry glare and begrudgingly scooted away from the doorframe.

Johnny swept a hand along the top of the doorframe, causing a hidden key to fall to the ground with a clink . He unlocked the door and ushered him inside, closing the door behind them.

“So?”

Diego hesitated for a moment, his gaze fixed upon Johnny’s own expectant eyes. “I brought these for you. I should’ve given them back to you a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

Diego pulled the white cotton bag out from underneath his arm and handed it to Johnny. The atmosphere between them shifted; the party’s distant buzz became an uncomfortable contrast to the tension that settled between them. Johnny’s eyes narrowed.

“...What’s this?”

Diego fell silent.

“Some of Nick’s…”

Diego couldn’t do it. His lips refused to form the sentences, his voice refused to resonate. Words stuck to the back of his teeth, refusing to escape.

He couldn’t tell him what he wanted to say. What he had practiced saying out loud to himself in front of the mirror, on the flight from London, on the taxi drive here. He couldn’t tell him that he had selfishly kept Nick’s things for himself the past three years, knowing Johnny would’ve liked to have them back, yet he still wanted cling onto his own stupid hope that maybe, just maybe, if he had them by his nightstand, it meant that Nick wasn’t really dead; he was just far away– maybe then it was all just a nightmare –

Johnny threw the bag back at his feet. Diego stood frozen in shock.

“Get the hell out.”

“But–”

“I said get the hell out of my apartment .”

The distant bass and chatter of the party dissipated into nothingness as rain pelted against the windows of Johnny’s room.

Diego clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palms deep enough to draw blood. Johnny stared back, any sort of the charismatic energy from earlier transforming into resentment and disbelief.

“Fine. Just take these, alright?” he spat out. Diego felt red hot anger rising in his chest. He needed to get out before he started something.

“Now?” Johnny scoffed. “After all this time? You think returning his sh*t changes anything that happened?”

Diego bent down and picked the bag back up, breathing heavily through his nose. He forced his words to come out slower, more softly.

“It doesn’t change anything. I know that. I just thought you might want them back.”

Johnny’s expression twisted with bitterness.

“So you showed up here, to my apartment, after one of the biggest sold-out shows I’ve ever held, just to stuff Nick’s belongings in my hands in the middle of my party…” he said, inching his way forward. “I don’t want his sh*t. And I sure as hell don’t want your sympathies.”

A thick, oppressive silence fell between them. All of a sudden, it was shattered by Johnny’s abrupt outburst of laughter. Diego’s eyes went wide in disbelief.

“You weren’t even there for the funeral , Diego.”

Diego winced, his words cutting deep. Johnny continued to laugh.

“It’s been three years, three f*cking years, ” he said, shoving him against the door. Diego braced himself with a thud. “And you’re the one who left.”

Diego’s frustration boiled over, shoving his words out through gritted teeth as he stood pinned to the door. “You were drowning in grief, Jojo. You wouldn’t listen. I wasn’t going to be around while you self-destructed,” he paused. “And clearly, you still are. Three years wasn’t enough to pull yourself together, huh?”

Johnny’s gaze hardened, the years of pain surfacing back to the top. He let Diego go, sliding against the door in an attempt to rebalance.
“So you didn’t leave. You ran ,” he scoffed. “You ran away. You left me alone to deal with everything myself.”

A flash of lightning caused the lights to flicker for a moment, followed by a clap of loud thunder. Diego clenched his own fists as a mixture of anger and guilt washed over him in waves.

“I didn’t know how to help you. I still don’t,” he said, biting the inside of his lip. “I thought bringing you all his things I kept would be doing the right thing. But if you don’t want them, then by all means, I’ll take it back and treat them with some proper f*cking respect.”

Johnny’s expression turned darker. He narrowed his eyes and snatched the bag back from Diego’s hands.

“You’ll never understand,” he spat back. “You’ll never understand what it feels like to lose someone you love. I lost my best friend. My brother .”

Diego’s anger flashed to the surface, his voice raising louder and louder. “I lost my mother, you bastard. Did you happen to forget that entire part of my life? The years I spent with you and Nick when I had nowhere else to go?” Diego was inches away from his face. “I lost Nick too, Johnny. Do not pretend I don’t know what it’s like.”

“But you don’t,” Johnny retaliated, a soft chuckle of disbelief whispering his words. “You don’t. Because you abandoned me. You abandoned Nick. That’s your fault. Now you’re just trying to make yourself feel better about it.”

Diego felt a slew of emotions rising up inside him, fighting back the painful sting of tears. Memories of the death of his mother flashed in his mind; he was just a child, scared and alone. The only person that fought for him was taken away suddenly, left to grow up with his deadbeat father until the day he decided he didn't care enough to keep watching him, throwing him to the Joestar’s until he was old enough to live on his own.

Diego clenched his jaw as his vision turned red.

“Maybe it was your fault,” he started slowly. “Nick always had an eye out for you, you know. He always watched out for you. For both of us. And you couldn’t even do the same for him.”

Johnny’s shoulders tensed up as Diego took another step forward.

“Maybe you let him die .”

Diego’s harsh words hit Johnny like a physical blow. Diego watched as he was rendered breathless, basking in the fact that he was experiencing the same waves of guilt he had felt all these years.

“So it’s true. You let him die, Jojo. No wonder you crashed like this,” he said, gesturing his arms around. “You’re just a burden to everyone. Including yourself.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about what happened!” Johnny yelled, his voice growing strained with emotion.

“I do know. You know how?” Diego questioned. “Because it was published in every f*cking tabloid around the world.”

“You don’t ,” Johnny emphasized, backing up with a tight grip on the bag of Nick’s items. “You don’t know. You ran away like a scared little coward. I needed a friend, goddammit, but you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“You had your family! Your other friends! You didn’t need me to help with that.”

“You know my family, Diego!” Johnny yelled back. “You know what Dad told me before I left Kentucky for good?” he paused. “ God took the wrong son. ”

Diego scoffed. “Maybe He did.”

Johnny’s face went cold, the color draining from his face. His arms trembled, fighting back from taking action. Losing the battle with rationality and logic, Johnny grabbed Diego by the shirt and shook him hard with every word.

“Do you know what it felt like to feel his blood run cold under your hands? Do you know what it was like to feel his body go limp in your arms?!”

Diego lunged back at him in fury, attempting to push him back by the shoulders. Johnny stepped back out of the way just in time, causing Diego to trip and fall to his knees.

Johnny bent down and grabbed a fistfull of his shirt once more, raising his head to meet his eyes. “Do you know what it was like to promise him you’ll keep going without him, watching him gag his final words, drowning in a throatful of his own blood?”

Diego blinked back tears as Johnny’s words flashed a horrific image in his mind. He broke free from Johnny’s grasp and flipped him onto the ground, wrestling his arms tight to the ground.

“You think I didn’t suffer either? You think leaving didn’t tear me apart?” Diego’s knuckles turned white. “Maybe, just maybe, you didn't need me as much as you thought. Obviously you have it all worked out, don’t you ?”

His words hung heavy in the air. Johnny’s chest heaved in anger, his gaze locked onto Diego’s.

“I lost Nick. I also lost you. You’re not gonna rewrite the past by throwing it back in my face.”

Diego’s eyes flashed with a mix of defiance, and equally, regret. “I can’t rewrite the past, but I can damn well make you face the truth.”

He took a deep, shaky breath.

“You’re selfish, Johnny. Selfish enough to let yourself live in this stupid f*cking life of filth. Selfish enough to let Nick die . I bet you could’ve saved him too if you weren’t so caught up in wallowing in your sorrow.”

Johnny’s face twisted as he tried to free himself from Diego’s grasp. “You motherf*cker. I would’ve given anything to save him,” his voice cracked. “Don’t you dare suggest otherwise.”

“Save me the pity. You’re nothing but a f*ckin’ disappointment,” Diego whispered angrily. “Your recklessness, your self-pity – it all led to this. You’re just a shell of the man you used to be.”

Shut the f*ck up, Diego , he thought to himself.

Johnny’s lip quivered, tears threatening to spill with any more of his words. With one last ditch effort, Johnny used his legs to push Diego off of him. With his free arm, he swung it back, landing him squarely in the jaw. Diego fell back to the floor, shouting in pain, clutching his hand to his now bloody lip.

“I was just a kid, you f*cking heartless bitch. How else was I supposed to react.”

It was less of a question; more of a statement – and Diego was rendered speechless.

“Leave, Diego,” Johnny said, a haunting, cold softness lacing his words. “I don’t ever want to see you again as long as I live.”

Johnny swung open the bedroom door. The same man from earlier fell forward into the entryway, his ear pressed against the door. Johnny glared down at him, kicking him out of the way once more. The man clutched his side in pain, his eyes laser-focused on Johnny. He looked inside the room to see Diego, beaten down and defeated.

The man stood up quickly and ran down the corridor into the living room, sending a deadly glare back at Johnny as he escaped.

“Everyone out!” he yelled hoarsely into the hallway. The music and chatter came to a sharp stop. “Get the hell out!”

People stared back for a moment, uncertain of what to make of the sudden outburst. Johnny pointed towards the front door and they all began to shuffle out in troves.

Diego brushed himself off, wiping his face of the silent tears that refused to stop falling. He slid past Johnny, shards of a shattered friendship scattering with one last glance over his shoulder.

Johnny clutched Nick’s bag to his side as he watched every last person file out of his apartment. Diego hung behind the door, watching as everyone whispered in concern and confusion after seeing the blood running down his face and shirt. The rest of the party all stumbled down the exit stairs into the rain. Johnny slammed the door closed, deadbolting it behind them with a click .

Diego stood at the door once more, hesitating.

He heard a thump and slide from behind, followed by anguished sobs and cries muffled by fabric.

~~~

November, 1969: The International Hotel: Las Vegas, NV

Johnny unlocked the door to the room, his head hung low. Gyro looked up from his guitar, continuing to play a soft melody on the strings.

“You drunk?” he said simply.

“So what if I was?” he replied, his tone a little more aggressive than intended.

“Didn’t say anything if you were,” Gyro said. “Just asking.”

Johnny threw a wine bottle onto the couch Gyro was sitting on.

“Tipsy. At most.”

“What’s this?”

“The bottle of cabernet you liked,” Johnny stated quietly.

Gyro stopped playing and placed his guitar down by his feet. He turned the bottle over in his hands, looking at the dates and the location. Napoli, 1938. Jesus. Over 20 years old. He fought off a sudden urge to play sommelier.

“I’m sorry.”

Gyro looked up to meet Johnny’s eyes. They were filled with sincerity.

“You’re not trying to buy an apology with me, are you? Because if so, I won’t take it. This bottle had to have been a pretty penny.”

Johnny broke eye contact and furrowed his brows.

“No, idiot. I bought that because I rolled higher than you,” he said stiffly. “And because you said you liked it.”

Gyro smiled. Johnny looked back cautiously, testing a small smile himself.

“What I said to you down there wasn’t fair,” he started. “Diego reminds me of a time when I was the worst person known to mankind. And for a moment, I was him again. And I pushed you away. I was awful to you. And I don’t want you to think of me like that.”

Johnny picked at the skin on the side of his thumb, avoiding looking his partner too closely in the eyes. He didn’t want to know his response.

But Gyro laughed.

“Nyoho, Johnny, I’m not gonna think you’re some scum of the earth type of guy just because you told me to get out of your sh*t,” he laughed. “Besides, that Diego guy does look like an asshole. I get what you’re sayin’.”

“No,” he stated firmly, afraid Gyro was missing the point. “I mean it. I can’t ever be that person again. I don’t want that to be the Johnny Joestar you know.”

“I only know one Johnny Joestar, and he is sarcastic, really stubborn, makes horrible jokes, a great musician though, likes sweets way too much, has shiny blonde hair–”

“Gyro–” he interrupted. “You’re not gettin’ what I’m saying. I– I think I still am that person. Sometimes.”

Gyro stopped trying to lighten the mood. “In what way do you mean?”

“For f*cks sake, I literally tried to knock you out at a bar when I first saw you.”

“To be fair, I deserved that.”

“You did, but it’s…” Johnny let his head fall into his hands in frustration, hissing as the backs of his palms made contact with the still-sensitive wounds on his eyes. “I’m awful. I can’t help myself. And I take it out on the people I care about. That's what I did to Diego. And I can’t let that happen to you.”

Gyro sat up, moving closer to Johnny on the edge of the couch. He bit his lip hard before placing a hand on his wheelchair, holding himself back cautiously. Not too close.

Don’t get too close.

“You’ve gone through a whole lot in your life, Johnny. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I know I have,” he winced, pulling at the bandages on his eye. “But God, it’s been years, and I still drink myself to sleep. I still pick stupid fights with people. And I’m still just selfish and pitiful–”

Against his better judgment, Gyro grabbed Johnny’s hand, pulling him away from toying at the bandages. He held it between his own two hands. And he didn’t let go.

“Sure. You may be all of those things,” he started. “But that doesn’t make you any less human.”

Johnny looked up into his eyes and saw genuine warmth, emanating the same golden glow he had seen in Gyro since the day they met. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended together.

“I–”

“You don’t have to explain yourself for me, Johnny,” Gyro interrupted quietly. “We all carry our burdens. God knows I’ve made mistakes too. Christ, more than I can count. But you’re moving forward; taking a step out to do this music tour with me was enough a sign of that.”

Johnny couldn’t help himself but smile. A smile so soft, so small, so much so that it practically screamed to Gyro itself, begging him to stop. Echoes of his fathers voice resonated within his memory.

Your sentimentality leads to your weakness, Gyro. You are nothing if you are weak.

Stop showing Johnny any sort of sentimentality. Leave it all behind. Focus on the performances. Focus on the prize money. Focus on winning.

And for some reason, regardless of what he was thinking, he couldn’t shut his damn mouth if he tried.

“People change, topolino ,” Gyro continued. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of Johnny’s hand unconsciously. “And I’ve got sh*t I want to change about myself too. sh*t doesn’t happen overnight. You’ve got a long road ahead, Johnny. But you’re not doing it alone. Not as long as I’m here, at least.”

Gyro’s expression was genuine and candid; something Johnny hadn’t seen from him quite like this before. This, combined with the soothing feeling of his rough hands against his skin, caused a jolt of electricity to flicker inside Johnny. His breath hitched in his throat, a hint of a strange feeling fluttering inside his chest; something he wasn’t able to put to words.

“I– don’t really know what to say, now,” Johnny said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gyro squeezed his hand back reassuringly. “Well, you could stand to practice your patience. If I can take this time to say something, that is.”

Johnny snorted. “Shut up.”

“See? What did I say?” Gyro replied. Escape this while you can. Leave the moment here. He began to let go of Johnny’s hand softly. Don’t be weak.

Gyro jumped back in surprise as Johnny grabbed his hands back into his own, grasping them gently.

They sat there, for a moment, sitting in the quiet, simply unmoving; blue searching intently into the eyes of emerald green.

“I…” Johnny started. His eyes were blown wide, his brows pulled together: a face full of hesitance. Yet even so, the hands holding his own were resolute, strong, and…

Warm.

Very warm.

Gyro felt his cheeks flush a shade deeper, suddenly acutely aware of his hands being held so tenderly by the other.

“Johnny,” he laughed nervously. “ S– sono imbarazzato –”

“I have something,” Johnny said abruptly, a sudden realization striking like a bolt of lightning. He let go of Gyro's hands in one swift action, as if it were an absentminded reaction all to begin with. Gyro exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Johnny rushed over to his large backpack that sat against the nightstand. Gyro looked on as Johnny’s hands trembled with newfound adrenaline, attempting to unzip the main pouch in a hurry. He watched as he fumbled through its contents until he withdrew a medium sized white cotton bag. He held it carefully, pulling out a small brown notebook bound in leather.

He returned to Gyro’s side, extending the notebook to him.

“Page 14,” Johnny said. “Turn it to page 14.”

Gyro leaned in, a slight curiosity piquing his interest. On the notebook read two capital initials stamped into the leather: N.J.☆

Gyro felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“Hey, now, if this is personal to you, then I’m not doin’ it. I’m done with that. I told you I’m not stepping in the way with anything anymore–”

“Please,” Johnny emphasized, extending it toward him once more. “Turn it to page 14.”

Sentimentality eats at your heart and creates vulnerability. Because of this, you will be the downfall of our family.

Gyro ignored the way his thoughts attempted to defy his actions and took the notebook from Johnny’s hands.

He flipped through the weathered pages, some stained with coffee, others crinkled from being flipped through repeatedly over time. Gyro landed on page 14, dog-tagged at the top of the page. The page itself was filled in with handwritten lyrics, each line penned carefully in faded black ink. Gyro’s eyes scanned the pages. Johnny’s eyes were locked on the notebook itself.

“I’ll.. Paint You A Song?”

“Yes,” Johnny nodded. “I want you to teach me how to play it.”

Gyro looked back to Johnny, his expression resonating with quiet determination.

“There’s no chords or tabs here,” he stated. “I can’t do anything without those at the very least.”

“I can tell you the chords from my memory,” Johnny said quickly. “But I can’t play the melody. It’s all complicated with plucking the strings and stuff. I only know the real basic chords.”

“I…” Gyro wavered. “I don’t even know how it goes. This ain’t a song I know…”

“I know it. I’ll sing it for you. I’ll even hum you the way the strummin’ goes,” he begged. “Just listen and figure it out, alright? You did that with the other ones Nick wrote, didn’t you? Then you can teach me how to do it.”

His brows furrowed slightly, unsure of how to escape. It felt wrong to do this; he hadn’t quite forgiven himself mentally for pulling those songs out at Mountain Tim’s. Hell, he still hadn’t told him how he has that cassette.

The man who sat before him appeared to be the same man from the bar–his satiny blond hair, his uniquely strong physique, and his piercing eyes of determination were all the same. It wasn’t something on the outside that had changed, no; it was something on the inside – and for the better. If Johnny couldn’t see it, Gyro sure as hell could. It was something he couldn’t quite place, but it was something he couldn’t quite ignore, either.

Stop. Put away your emotions. Don’t get involved.

Whatever it was that changed inside Johnny, Gyro felt one thing for sure; it was intriguing. And almost enticing.

Johnny stared up at him pleadingly, his eyes glistening in the light from the overhead chandelier.

“ Please ,” he whispered breathlessly.

Gyro swallowed.

Welp, he asked nicely. Guess he couldn’t say no, now.

He sighed deeply, bending back over to pick up his guitar. Johnny’s face lit up slightly, a soft glow gracing his whiskey-blushed cheeks.

“Fine.” Gyro stood up and walked behind the couch to grab Johnny’s guitar case, already laying open. Johnny’s eyebrow raised slightly.

“I, uh, took the liberty of replacing those strings for you when you were down in the casino,” he started. “Didn’t take me too long. Plus, I figured you’d ask for a lesson again tonight, anyway.”

Johnny smiled, exhaling a laugh through his nose. “Asshole. Why do you play hard-to-get like that if you were gonna teach me anyway?” Gyro offered the guitar to him gently.

“I don’t do that ‘hard-to-get’ sh*t. I’m just me. You get me as I am,” he argued back.

“That is not what hard-to-get means-“

“Whatever. Listen up now, Johnny.”
Gyro placed the guitar on his thigh and turned to face him straight on.

“Alright. Lesson One. Here goes,” he said, clearing his throat. “Don’t expect much from me.”

Johnny frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you only get in as much as you put in,” he declared. “I can’t teach you to be good at guitar; you have to have the will for it. So, don’t expect too much from me unless you put in the work yourself, you hear?”

Johnny nodded earnestly, his fingers traveling up and down the neck of the guitar, feeling the smoothness of the new silver strings.

Gyro sighed. Suppress your emotions. Separate them as much as you can.

“Okay. Let me hear what you got.”

Johnny inhaled steadily and began to strum the guitar slowly, his hands struggling to find the shape of the chords. Gyro watched his movements closely, following along his lead as he played each chord one by one, over and over, until it settled into a calm, peaceful melody. Like a lullaby, he thought.

Johnny began to sing the song to Gyro shyly, his voice softening to sing in a higher register. Gyro looked over to the notebook that laid open beside him, following along with the lyrics, strumming the chords confidently alongside him.

I look inside your eyes,

And find a little boy

Who’s dreams have turned to sand,

Somewhere along his way

But if you’ll close your eyes

And step inside my world

I'll take you by the hand

We’ll find a brand new day

I'll sing you a mornin’ with laughing bluebirds,

I'll sing you a fairy tale, full of ribbons and great paper words

I'll sing you a rainbow, you can keep for your own

I'll sing you a morning

I'll paint you a song.

So won’t you come along?

Johnny came to a stop, looking back up at Gyro expectantly.

“That song about you?” Gyro asked, absentmindedly continuing to strum the chords.

“Yeah. It was something he sang to me when I was little. He used to sing it when I…” he trailed off quickly. “Nevermind.”

“Nevermind?!” Gyro exclaimed. “You tell me right now. Or else I won’t teach you anythin’ else.”

“No, it’s embarrassing,” Johnny complained, turning his head away from Gyro’s gaze.

“Guess we can call it a night then.”

“Fine, quit that,” he muttered. Gyro waited cautiously, continuing to play slower, awaiting his response.

“I was afraid of the dark. Like, real, deathly afraid of the dark.”

Gyro suddenly stopped playing, interrupting the air of the tranquill song with a sudden beat of silence. He looked back at Johnny who was staring back in complete and utter seriousness.

“HA! HAHA!” Gyro laughed heartily.

Johnny frowned, turning a shade of bright red. “What the hell, man.”

“I’m sorry, ahaha, sorry,” he said, a bit of his Italian accent coming out as he stopped himself from laughing. “I just wasn’t expecting someone like you to be scared of the dark. sh*t, Johnny, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve got to hold the Guiness World Record for the world's heaviest sleeper.”

Johnny deadpanned back at him. “I had nightmares.”

Gyro quieted down. “Ah.”

“Yeah. You should feel bad about that,” Johnny remarked. “They were scary as sh*t. They were weird, reoccuring ones, too. I still have them sometimes. They only got worse in the dark.”

“I see.”

Johnny sat back and tried playing the chords again carefully.

“I cried every night. Nothin’ worked, and it annoyed the hell out of my dad,” he proceeded. “He would take out the lightbulbs from my lamps and force me to sleep without the lights on. It just made it worse.”

Gyro began to strum his own deconstructed melody as Johnny continued on.

“After a while, I even stopped crawlin’ back to Nick’s bed because I didn’t want to keep waking him up. Then, one night, he brought his guitar into my room and made something up to calm me down. And from that time on, he’d sing that song to me until I fell asleep.”

Gyro sat the guitar on his knee and traced the lyrics in the notebook with a finger, picturing the care his brother must have had for him as he jotted the words down, careful not to forget them. Out of nowhere, he felt a strong wave of sadness wash over him.

Nick really loved him.

He bit his tongue, fighting the complicated sea of feelings churning in his chest.

Despite the relentless toll of his father’s words, somewhere deep inside of him, Gyro wished he could love someone like that one day, too.

Johnny strummed the last chord of the song before letting his hand fall to the side of the guitar, leaving it to rest against the cold metal bars of his wheelchair. He glanced at Gyro; he was occupying his own hands by attempting a soft countermelody on his guitar. His face was pensive, slightly unsure.

Gyro came to a stop, the two of them abruptly forced to linger in the strangely wired tension festering between the notes of their guitars.

“You know you didn’t have to tell me that,” Gyro spoke, breaking the silence that enveloped the room.

“What do you mean?”

“About the nightmares. The fear of the dark and stuff,” Gyro clarified. “I may joke with you and all of that, but just shut me up next time. You don’t owe me that part of you, Johnny.”

“I – dunno why I told you that, really,” Johnny said as he shifted the guitar on his lap uncomfortably, uncertain of how to respond. “You’re teaching me Nick’s song. It’s somethin’ close to me anyway. Just felt right to share that, I guess.”

Gyro twisted his hair between his fingers, pondering.

“Fair enough,” Gyro responded after a moment. “I guess it is part of this ‘getting to know each other’ sort of deal.”

“Right.”

Gyro leaned back against the couch, staring at the notebook still resting open beside him. “It’s a beautiful song. Nick did well.”

“Mm.”

“You sing it well, too.”

Johnny laughed under his breath.

“I sing it alright .”

Gyro didn’t respond. He began to pick up another countermelody to the main chords, deconstructing the chords gently in soft, rolling eighth notes.

“Wait,” Johnny jumped up. “Right there. Do that again.”

Gyro raised his eyebrows in surprise, repeating the same notes once more.

“There! That,” Johnny exclaimed. “That’s how it starts. Then add a little ‘ do do do diledi do do’ after that,” he said, vocalizing the emphasis in notes.

Gyro repeated it again, watching Johnny’s eyes light up with renewed excitement.

“There! That’s it! How’d you do that?”

“It's uh,” Gyro hesitated. “Put your fingers on C then you sort of uh… sh*t,” he grumbled in annoyance. “Damn, I’m kind of bad at explaining this. Can I…?”

He guided his hands back to Johnny’s, his left hand resting at the top of the fretboard of his guitar. Johnny’s eyes narrowed slightly at his hesitance — Gyro felt a sly remark coming his way.

“You’ve touched my hands enough tonight. I don’t mind,” Johnny smirked with a slight sh*t-eating grin.

Gyro cleared his throat and positioned Johnny’s fingers on the correct frets.

“Right,” he said, refusing to acknowledge his response. “Now pluck the first, third, and fifth string after me. Copy what I do.”

Johnny attempted the same pattern, his movements faltering.

“Try again; put more pressure on the third string there.”

Slowly, but surely, Johnny began to gradually align with the rhythm. He sang the song softly, repeating its words with the slow progress he was making.

Gyro stared back at him as he moved between the frets. For someone as unfamiliar with fingerstyle guitar, he sure learned fast. It was impressive to say the least.

“Damn, you’re gettin’ the hang of it,” Gyro encouraged. He noticed Johnny’s intense focus as he concentrated on each string, each position of his hand, the slight difference in pressure that each note required.

After a while, Johnny’s gaze flickered back up to Gyro’s, the intensity of his focus radiating straight through him. Gyro leaned back, observing his progress with a nod of approval.

“Keep that up, and you’ll get the basics of fingerstyle down in no time. Like I said, don’t expect too much of me. This is on you to do.”

Johnny nodded, his jaw dropping in a yawn.

Gyro suppressed a smile. Music connected to memories, no matter how old, could truly do a lot of things; so could a lullaby made to put him to sleep.

“I think it’s time to head to bed,” Gyro said, catching the yawn himself. “We’ve both had a day.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They both paused, exhaustion catching up to them both at once. Gyro sat up with a sigh, grabbing Johnny’s guitar from him to place it back in the case. Johnny transferred himself from the wheelchair to the bed, pulling on a pair of pajamas he unpacked earlier from the drawer.

Gyro pulled on a white undershirt and laid down on the futon.

“Hey, uh,” Johnny started, brushing out his hair with a brush. “If that futon is too uncomfortable, there’s enough room in this bed to share again.”

Gyro paused.

“Nah, it’s alright. I’m good here. Honest.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Please. I insist. Don’t make me feel bad about booting you to the futon when I’m sleepin’ in a thousand dollar bed for free.”

Gyro debated for a moment. Something about tonight was making it undeniably hard for him to uphold his own set of standards. He was stronger than this; he was usually able to set himself far enough from emotional matters to leave room for the other person and to escape sentimentality when he needed to. Yet for some reason, all of it came to a halt when it came to Johnny. And to Gyro, it was by all means, incredibly unfamiliar.

You’re just getting closer to him.

But what the hell.

“Alright. If you insist,” Gyro relented, a subtle hint of gratitude to his words. “But I’m really alright on the futon.”

Johnny threw a pillow halfway across the room, knocking Gyro squarely in the face.

“Shut up and get over here before I change my mind,” he said, patting the empty side of the bed.

Gyro held the pillow up and threw it back at Johnny, groaning as he made his way over to the bed.

The room quieted, filled only by the soft rustle of sheets and the remaining melodies of the lullaby stuck in both of their heads. Johnny clicked off the lights, leaving the room in darkness.

“Night,” Johnny whispered.

Gyro whispered back. “Night.”

…

“Did you change your bandages?”

Gyro furrowed his brows in annoyance as Johnny pretended to snore dramatically in ignorance.

~~~

Gyro’s eyes had long adjusted to the darkness as he stared up at the ceiling for what felt like over an hour. He fiddled with the bandage on his hand, his thoughts drifting to and from the length and chaos of the day, refusing to shut off inside his brain. And, to make things even stranger, no matter what he did, his thoughts seemed to settle back on the fact that his heart was beating an awful lot for sleeping next to Johnny. For some reason.

Father would surely disapprove of Johnny.

He should be doing this race alone, like he set out to do. It was the honorable, right thing to do. He had to win the money. He had to do some good in the end.

But who was he to care so much about his father, anyway?

Human relationships were important to his line of work. The fact that his father thought that he could take that away from him was cruel. How could he live with himself after the years of emotional manipulation and lying to him about what the family practice was doing behind the scenes?

No. He would never be his father.

He would never be him.

But he knew no matter what, he would always love him.

He would always love his whole famiglia.

Because he was weak.

Gyro sighed and turned onto his side, facing Johnny. He listened as to the rhythmic, slow pattern of his breathing, his chest falling and rising underneath the covers. He envied his ability to quickly knock out in comparison to his lengthy and obnoxious sleep routine.

There were no pillows separating the two of them tonight.

And Johnny was warm.

His hand laid gently on the pillow beside his headful of blond waves.

Gyro’s stomach twisted in a strange set of knots, suddenly overcome with the desire to reach out to him like he had earlier in the night.

That was a lapse of poor judgment, he thought initially. But even so, in the middle of the night, with no internal obligations or momentary sympathetic urges of the heart in the way, he felt a strange pull to him once more.

Was Johnny una famiglia to him ?

No. That felt wrong. He wasn’t like family. That couldn’t be it.

In an even bigger lapse of judgment, Gyro reached out to Johnny’s upturned hand; gently, quietly, barely moving a muscle, ever-so gracing his fingertips on the cotton pillow he rested his head on.

Was Johnny un amico to him?

He had friends a plenty; sure, growing up he didn’t have as much time to be a child as most may have. Still, in his time, he’s had friendships with people that he has enjoyed, many memories he looked fondly upon full of laughter and good times.

But Gyro never opened up to those friends. He never let them know about his family, his situation, nor did he ever really try to give heartfelt advice to them unless it was in passing.

And he never wanted to hold his friends’ hands quite like he did with Johnny.

So no, Johnny wasn’t quite a friend. Or maybe he was. Maybe he was just a different kind of friend, one he had never had before.

Gyro’s hand hovered over Johnny’s, beginning to withdraw it in uncertainty. Whatever he was doing, it felt like a bad idea.

In the quiet of the night, Johnny’s hand moved with a drowsy grace, seeking out Gyro’s own, their fingers brushing tentatively.

Gyro felt his heart jump into his throat.

Without fully awakening, Johnny intertwined their fingers together, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he settled back into sleep.

A whirlwind of thoughts raced through his mind, moreso than they had the entire time he laid awake. He was frozen solid, unsure of what to do or how to respond. Should he pull away? Should he let it be?

Johnny’s hand was so soft against the roughness of his own.

And very warm.

Gyro’s chest tightened once more with the unfamiliar sensation – the moment was so incredibly tender, so incredibly quiet; it felt wrong to take it away so soon.

So he remained still.

Their hands intertwined.

Johnny, completely asleep.

Gyro felt his pounding heart begin to calm down, not even daring to move an inch.

Whatever Johnny was to him, it certainly wasn’t quite un amico .

~~~

Chapter 17: And The World Keeps Spinning

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: And The World Keeps Spinning

Sounds of children playing filled the courtyard. Gyro flipped through a few pages on his clipboard, busying himself with menial work as the day wound down.

“Dottore Zeppeli! Hi!”

Gyro turned around suddenly, surprised by the sudden smallness of the voice behind him.

“Oh! Hello.”

His eyes turned to focus on the young boy standing in front of him. The boy’s face was obscured by the dark shadow of the trees they were standing underneath.

“Whatcha got there, piccolo?”

Though he couldn’t see his face, he could barely make out what the young boy was holding. It glinted in the sunlight that escaped through the leaves overhead.

A razor-sharp scalpel.

“Dio mio, where did you get that?!” Gyro exclaimed, lunging forward to grab the sharp tool from his hands.

The young boy looked up from the shadows, staring back into Gyro’s frightened eyes. He was crying.

His tears were red.

He was bleeding.

“Dottore Zeppeli, why won’t you save me?”

All of the air in Gyro’s lungs seemed to be sucked out all at once as the boy’s face came into focus.

“Marco?”

A bright light flashed his vision, causing him to stumble backwards onto the ground. Gyro clamored himself up quickly, finding himself standing before a small figure laying on an operating table, the bright surgery lights overexposing everything in his vision.

As if second nature, his gloved hands calmed their frightened tremors, carefully hovering over the sterilized operation site.

Another gloved hand stopped him in midair, gripping him so tight he could only be left with a bruise.

“Give me. The scalpel.”

“No. Father, I can save him–”

“Give me the scalpel, Gyro.”

“No.”

Gyro continued to hold the scalpel in resilience, yet he was frozen in place. He looked down – there was no incision, yet the knife was stained with blood.

Gyro gasped and dropped the knife, falling to the floor with a clink. He clutched his right hand as it bled, and bled, and bled.

A sudden deep wound had cut through his gloves before he could think.

How did this happen?

“Father, stop–”

Gyro’s hand continued to bleed as he scrambled for any sort of bandage to stop the bleeding. The attending nurses stared at him coldly.

Each of the blinding lights were turned off one by one as the boy on the table was wheeled out of the operating room.

“You coward!” Gyro shouted, yelling into an echoing chamber. “You’re going to let him die!”

The doctor took off his mask and looked back at Gyro.

“Until the day you learn to separate your emotions from our work, you will never, ever return to my operating room. Do you hear me, son?”

Gyro screamed back in retaliation, but nothing seemed to escape from this voice. He was rendered speechless.

He had no other response than to nod back quietly.

The operating room doors slammed shut behind him, leaving him alone… so very, very alone.

Gyro fell to his knees, the impact of the cold, hard tile of the floor stinging with pain. He picked up the scalpel that fell to the ground, his hands bloodied red. He shivered, from the cold, from anger, from the injustice of it all.

“I will save him,” Gyro whispered. The echoing chamber repeated his words over and over again, taunting him with an impossible dream.

~~~

Gyro snapped awake with a jolt. The uncomfortable memory of a dream slipped away immediately, like a mist in the night, leaving him with an empty, hollowed-out feeling inside his chest. A single teardrop slipped down the side of his cheek.

Tears?

Before he could contemplate the meaning behind his sudden sadness and before he could think about the ache of the healing wound in his right hand, the haze of the new morning cleared instantaneously the moment his brain connected to his body. Gyro’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach as the golden morning sunlight cast beams of yellow and orange over the covers.

Oh.

His hand.

He was holding hands with Johnny.

Their fingers were entwined; it was foreign, yet incredibly familiar all the same.

A strange sort of familiarity, it was; like he’d experienced something like this before. Like the warmth of Johnny’s hand belonged on his own, like that same warmth had imprinted itself upon his memory in a way only he could remember. As familiar as a bygone memory, one that took place in another time, or a dream… or another world.

Except there was no such thing as “another world”, of course. There was only the here and now.

And this definitely wasn’t a dream, either.

And as far as he knew, this was the first time he had ever held hands like this with someone, let alone that someone being Johnny .

Well, until now.

To add to that, sometime during the night, Johnny’s other arm had draped across Gyro’s shoulder, delicately embracing his figure in somewhat of a relaxed hug.

Gyro held his breath, the warmth of an extra body underneath the covers becoming all too overwhelming all at once. The air of the silent room was thick with a sort of intimacy that was absurdly incredulous at 9:00am in the morning.

He was so close to him.

He needed to get out of this somehow. Quickly and quietly. Slip out without a word, grab a cup of coffee downstairs, start planning for the day and the next stage, maybe even talk to a few people from the Tour and figure just what the hell they were thinkin’ when they didn’t combine his and Johnny’s acts.

Combining acts. Joining together. Together; they’d win this tour, hand in hand… hand in hand…

Gyro shook his head, jostling his thoughts out of the random string of connections they were making. What was he sayin’? This was going to be a 1-2 finish anyway, even before all of this dumb sh*t went down. Well, alright. Maybe that wasn’t exactly true. He had thrown in the promise of a 50-50 reward split, but he was pretty sure he did a pretty good job of insinuating to Johnny that he preferred going 70-30.

Whatever. The money talk could come later. That didn’t matter now; getting out of this goddamn bed did.

Gyro took a slow deep breath, quietly listening to the slow breathing coming from the man on his side. Their clasped hands had migrated close to Johnny’s face during the night, just close enough to feel his soft exhales tickling the back of his fingers. A sense of urgency flooded through Gyro’s chest at that realization, his breath hitching at the unexpected proximity.

As he attempted to pull himself away, Johnny, still deep in his sleep, murmured something inaudible. Gyro froze once more, awaiting the dreaded moment he would snap his eyes open and wake up… yet nothing happened. A contented sigh escaped Johnny’s lips as he nestled deeper into his pillow, squeezing Gyro’s hand lightly.

All the internal alarm bells were screaming on the highest level of “red alert” he could possibly think of. This was far too much for Gyro to handle at the moment, or, to be quite frank, ever.

Retreat was the only option. Retreat, pull on a pair of pants as fast as the speed of light, then run out the door and take the elevator downstairs. They had continental breakfast, right? Yeah, yeah… he remembered reading that somewhere on a pamphlet by the nightstand yesterday. Right. Get out of here now; continental breakfast was awaiting him.

Yet, a strange blooming feeling grew; it grew into three words, stamping itself in the forefront of his mind: non ritirati, resta . Don’t retreat, remain.

Nope, nope. Bad idea. Squash that out of existence. Nope. Get out of this, Gyro.

But…

After the briefest, most miniscule moment of indecision, Gyro carefully extricated himself from Johnny's gentle grasp. He rolled over to the farthest side of the bed, his heart pounding. He cast a nervous fleeting glance at Johnny, and…yep.

He didn’t even move a muscle.

That was easier than he thought. Honestly though, maybe he was the one at fault here for assuming Johnny would wake up that easily in general. He wasn’t even quite sure how he got up in the mornings; he must’ve had a really loud alarm clock back at home, because there was no telling how long he could sleep in. To be honest, he’d probably have to come back here after breakfast and wake him up himself. What would he do without him, truly?

Oh.

Gyro felt a sharp pang inside his chest, a dot connecting in his mind that he hadn’t thought to connect before. He had alluded to some things in their conversations; Nicholas, a broken home, severed friendships and relationships of years gone by… Johnny probably didn’t have a reason to want to wake up. He wasn’t quite a licensed psychologist, but he had seen enough cases in his career to remember the signs of depression.

He had to stop makin’ fun of him for that. Especially after last night and the whole nightmare thing. He didn’t wanna make him feel bad for that when it really was something so trivial and unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

Dio mio .

Johnny this, Johnny that. All roads led to Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. Shutting himself up was hard to do in the first place, but shutting up his own internal monologue was becoming even harder by the day.

Was he getting lonely? Was that what this was? A companion sure has been nice to have. It was nice to have someone to share stories with, to banter with, to have someone to spit out some hilarious jokes to (even if it was a tough crowd).

That made no sense. He had always been on his own fine before. Independence was important to him; it had freed him, it had allowed him to come into his own without the constant loom of his father breathing down his neck. And it wasn’t as if he was even alone right now; here was Johnny Joestar, sleeping right next to him, of all things.

Or maybe it was the potential thought of having to perform without him now.

Ah.

He was getting lonely.

Gyro realized that he had been stuck in thought for longer than he had anticipated; a somewhat unwelcome development compared to his normal logistically planned spontaneity. He silently swung himself off the bed, pulled on the crumpled pair of pants he had worn yesterday, and ran out the door, just in the span of a hop skip and a jump. All went smoothly, all according to plan.

Behind the door, Gyro exhaled the breath he had been holding since what felt like the moment he woke up.

Finally, alone. By himself.

His thoughts came to a silence as he listened to the quiet buzz of heating units warming up the other rooms around him.

His stomach growled, interrupting the peaceful serenity of the moment with a loud gurgle. He hadn’t eaten much last night, now that he thought about it.

Continental breakfast. Right.

Johnny hadn’t eaten much either, he thought. Maybe he’d bring back a muffin in case he didn’t make it down before breakfast ended; he’d see if they had jelly donuts first, but--

“Gah!” Gyro verbalized in frustration. No one was around to hear.

Gyro frowned and furrowed his brows, stomping off to the elevator to head down to the lobby, consciously dumping out any and all extraneous thoughts of that stupid blond-headed cuddly cowboy down the drain and to the right.

~~~

Before the rush of the day, before the stress of the upcoming week, before it all; Lucy Steel and her father had their morning tea and the daily crossword.

As the sun continued to stretch into the sky, the Steels sat quietly in their massive hotel suite, fitted with three rooms (one for Steven, one for Lucy, and one that fit two attendants). The attendants had left the suite for the morning, tending to other matters like dry cleaning Steven’s suit and shopping for Lucy’s favorite brand of blush she had happened to misplace at the previous hotel.

For Lucy, it was all a life she couldn’t have imagined. Yet here she sat, bathing in the warmth of the mid-morning sun, drinking tea with her father.

“You know,” she began. “This all seems so unbelievable to me sometimes.”

“What do you mean by that?” he said, looking up at her as he flipped to another page in the morning paper.

“Everything. The Tour, the hotels, the fancy food, the fancy clothes… I just feel so lucky,” she said, her smile falling. “And I feel like I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

Steven’s gaze softened. “Luce, of course you deserve it,” he laughed softly. “You know I’d give you the moon if I could.”

“I don’t need the moon,” Lucy giggled.

“But I would if I could! You’ve brought so much light into my world,” Steven said, folding up his paper and sliding it towards her. “I’m grateful everyday to have you in my life.”

“Thank you,” she grinned, extending her hand for the paper, almost as if it were second nature. He had already turned the page to the daily crossword and attached a pen at the top, ready for her to fill out.

The small things like this were the moments she enjoyed in this new life most of all. Moments that made her feel like her presence really mattered, like a turned page to a crossword, covering her shoulders with a blanket after falling asleep on the couch, making sure she had the last sugar cube reserved for her cup of tea.

“I know you’re not my biological father,” she said quietly. “But I hope I can be a good daughter to you as long as I live.”

“Oh, my darling. You are my daughter, in every sense of the word,” Steven sat up out of his chair and walked towards Lucy, embracing her in a tender hug. “And I hope I can be a good father to you as long as I live.”

Lucy felt a spring of tears prick at her eyes as she wrapped her arms around her father tightly. Love, she thought; she had never had so much love extended to her before in her life before Mr. Steel adopted her. She was truly so, so lucky.

“Thank you, dad,” Lucy said, her words muffled into the fabric of his shirt. Steven bent down and kissed the top of her head and went back to his seat at the table.

“Oh! I have a random question about the Tour if you don’t mind me asking,” Lucy started. This would be a good of time as any to ask about Mr. Zeppeli’s issue.

“Of course, my dear, anything!”

The moment was interrupted by a knock on the door. Steven immediately rose to answer it. It wasn’t entirely atypical to receive knocks at any point of the day, especially considering the man he was. Her question from Gyro Zeppeli could come later.

“Oh! Valentine!”

Lucy inhaled sharply. Speak of the devil.

“Good morning, Steven,” Valentine greeted. “I hope I’m not intruding on you and your daughter this morning.”

“No, not at all, please come in,” Steven said, ushering him inside hastily. “Would you like some tea?”

“Please,” he stated.

Lucy turned back around slowly, occupying herself intently with the crossword.

“And hello, Miss Lucy,” he said. “I see you’re a fan of the morning puzzles?”

“Oh, yes,” she laughed. “I do them every morning.”

“Splendid! Ah, I try to do them every morning as well; such a great way to stimulate the mind. You know, the person who writes the puzzles for The New York Times is one of my very good friends.”

“Really!” she said energetically, feigning any sort of confidence left inside her. “How fantastic.”

“Yes, indeed! My journalist friends are always lucky enough to get the puzzles early. I’ve even called one of them up before when I couldn’t solve it once, hoho!”

So he has lots of connections with the newspapers , she thought.

“Valentine, is there something you’d like to discuss?” Steven said, settling back into his chair. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere between them. Her father’s demeanor seemed subtly guarded, a sign she’d learned to read well over the years.

Her gut feeling was right after all.

“Yes, Steven, if you don’t mind,” he started. “I wanted to discuss the upcoming tour arrangements.”

“Oh, then I’ll be excused,” Lucy said, scooting her chair back to leave. Before she could react, a cold gloved hand embraced her wrist, directing her back to her seat at the table.

“It’s no trouble if you’re here,” Valentine said, his words laced with a twisted sort of congeniality. “In fact, I’d like to hear your input.”

“Well, ah,” she started, catching her father’s eyes. They flicked back and forth to her seat at the table, wordlessly signaling for her to sit back down. “I guess I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Wonderful! Absolutely fantastic!” Valentine exclaimed, taking his place at the table next to her father. “Now, with the matters at hand.”

“I assume you’re here to talk about the complications we’ve had with taking away the ability to combine acts.”

“Yes, I suppose that is one issue,” Valentine smiled. “I’ve heard many of the 500 chosen contestants were not too keen on the change.”

Steven grimaced a bit. “There are already people reporting to the television stations and newspapers about it. They’re not happy. And frankly, Valentine, I’m not even sure if I’m happy with the decision…”

“Of course, pushback is to be expected. You’ve worked long enough in the business to know that, haven’t you Steve?”

“But I didn’t want it to be this way, Funny,” Steven attested. Lucy exchanged a swift, knowing glance with her father.

“Oh, Steven, don’t get argumentative with me,” Valentine chuckled. “You know it was in the best interest for the Tour.”

“Was it truly?” Steven said, sliding a cup of hot tea towards Valentine. “Am I truly going to find the best performers if some of them aren’t allowed to perform with their partners anymore?”

“Steven, Steven; we’re friends, right?”

“Of course, but–”

“Friends do things to help other friends out from time to time, yes?”

“I– yes…”

“Then think of it like this; you were just helping this old friend out.”

“Right. But if we’re just going to continue to get backlash from contestants and fans alike, shouldn’t we just go back to how it was before? Come now, there must be some other way to… get what you want from this, I should say. Without compromising the sanctity of my Tour’s goal.”

Lucy watched the two exchange back and forth, her eyes darting between them as if she were watching a tennis match with words. Suddenly, the icy blue eyes of Mr. Valentine caught her own.

“Lucy,” he began. “Why don’t you give us some of your input on this?”

“I–” she stuttered. “I guess I’m not sure what exactly you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sure you do!” Valentine punctuated enthusiastically. “Of course you do.”

Lucy felt her stomach turn inside out. This man was smarmy, she could see right through his loosely strung words. Her father was clearly being taken advantage of. She thought of the brief conversation she had with Gyro Zeppeli last night in the lobby, thinking about how distraught he was with the changes. Valentine was pulling the strings behind the scenes, it seemed. And if anything, he would just continue to do so.

If she was going to stand up for anything, now was her chance to do something.

“What role do you consider yourself playing in the Tour, Mr. Valentine?”

Valentine’s brows bounced quickly up and down his face as if he were taken aback by the sudden bluntness of the question, if only for a moment.

“Oh, I’m just a humble advisor offering guidance and connections when needed. Ensuring that every artist gets the spotlight they deserve, you know. Your father has a mighty job to do alone.”

“Right, but,” she said, her fingers gripping tighter against the handle of her teacup. “You’re the President of Valentine Records, right? You’re certainly no small name record label. Yet from, um, from my point of view, it sounds like you may have asked my father to bend the rules for your own purposes. Forgive me if I am assuming things.”

Valentine’s expression of amiability dropped, exposing Lucy to a dark, unpleasant glare. Yet, like magic, it disappeared in a matter of seconds; as if what she saw were only an illusion.

“Not at all,” he said pleasantly. “I simply believe that the contestants all deserve a chance to shine individually if they so chose to sign up that way. And your wonderful father agreed with me; at the time, that is.”

“So was it your ‘advice’,” Lucy pressed on, “that led to the separation of more popular acts that didn’t initially sign as one group in Stage One, like Gaucho and his performing band, Wekapipo and Magenta Magenta, and, um, Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli?”

Valentine’s smile widened subtly, a hint of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

“Ah, you are a keen observationist, Miss Steel,” he grinned, looking over to Steven, his eyes widened with uncertainty. “Then yes, you can say my ‘advice’ proposed this sudden change in combining acts.”

“Why?”

Steven interjected softly, “It was a difficult decision, Luce. Mr. Valentine’s insights into the Steel Ball Run Tour’s dynamics—”

“Seemed to conveniently stray from my father’s desires,” Lucy finished, her voice firm yet laced with concern. She understood her father’s position, but there was a gnawing feeling inside of her that knew that Valentine had some sort of benevolent motive, all by the hand of taking advantage of her father’s kindness.

“I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked for this, father, I know this isn’t what you envisioned,” she said softly. “Please, Mr. Valentine, make me aware if I’m seeing this issue in the wrong light.”

Valentine’s gaze lingered on Lucy, his smile strung tight across his face, utterly undisturbed. “We all seek what’s best for the tour, Miss Steel. Sometimes, sacrifices must be made to ensure its success. They’re strategic business decisions, nothing more. You’ll learn to understand it one day.”

Lucy nodded slowly, taking another sip of her tea silently. The unease lingered in her chest.

“I apologize. I was unaware of the logistics.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright. Aren’t we all?” he laughed, patting a playful hand on Steven’s arm. He tensed up, forcing a smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “Thank you, Lucy, your perspective has been refreshing.”

“N– No problem.”

“Let me ask you one thing before I go; are you a fan of Johnny Joestar?”

Lucy froze. Don’t be scared of him, she repeated in her mind. Act confident.

“I guess you could say so. I did enjoy his performance. He was quite talented.”

“And I assume you’re also upset with the fact that his little troublesome guitarist friend was dropped from the top 20, I assume?”

Lucy’s heart jumped into her throat. How did he know? How on earth could he possibly know that she overheard that information at the conference meeting the other day? She was hiding behind the door the whole time…

“He was in the top 20?” she said, her voice faltering slightly.

“Valentine, don’t involve her in our chaos,” Steven laughed; a little too hard.

“Yes, he was, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” he asked, taking another sip of his tea. Lucy felt her hands grow clammy.

He knew I was listening that day in the hotel. Was he watching me?

How?!

“Let me ask you again; were you upset with the fact that Gyro Zeppeli was dropped from the top 20?”

Lucy clicked the pen in her hand twice, considering her response.

Be brave.

“Yes.”

“MY!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Well, this changes things. I didn’t know this would affect someone so close to the Tour!”

Steven looked to Lucy as Valentine gripped his shoulder tightly.

“You know what?” he stated, her father still tight in his grasp. “For all that your father has done for me, I can’t just let his daughter get something she doesn’t want. We’ll allow those two to perform together, how about that?”

“Valentine, isn’t it too late for that?” Steven said hesitantly. “I mean, we can’t just pick and choose now; this was…”

“Steel, you and I both know it’s never too late for anything,” he smiled warmly, cautioning him of his next words. “Besides, your daughter here said it herself. She enjoyed their performance. I’d like to respect her wishes.”

“You don’t have to change anything because of my input.”

“Oh, but I shall!” he said with a wave. “Please, Lucy, consider it done. Your two favorites will be able to perform together for the next stage. And you know what? I’ll even throw in a hotel room for Mr. Zeppeli while we’re here. I heard he was just sleeping in Mr. Joestar’s room anyway, and that can’t be too comfortable.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. The way that Valentine was phrasing his words felt too good to be true; there had to be some layer of malice to it, right?

She was afraid she had begun to dig herself a massive grave the moment she said something to this strange, strange man.

“Valentine, are you sure–”

“Hush, Steven,” he affirmed, finishing off the last of his tea with one sip. He took a napkin from his coat pocket and patted it gently at the corners of his mouth, drying his lips of the sweet tea. “I’ll send someone to notify the two of the changes this afternoon.”

Steven chuckled again. “Well, if you think this is the best decision, then I’m not here to stop you!”

“Of course, Steven! You’re wonderful! Wonderful, you know!” Lucy watched uncertainly as he neatly folded the napkin back into a perfect triangle, placing it back to its place tucked behind his coat.

“Oh, and Lucy,” he began. “I trust you not to tell either of them about my involvement in the Tour.”

“Of course.”

“Good, good,” he repeated. “If so, there might be a problem.”

“A problem?”

“Yes. A problem!”

“What sort of–”

“A problem I assume neither you or your father want to be involved in,” he interrupted. Lucy felt her blood run cold as he embraced her father in a side hug. “Oho, don’t look so afraid, Lucy, it's really quite a simple task to follow, isn’t it?”

She nodded quietly in confirmation.

“Good! Now, Steven, shall we release the contestants’ performance schedule for the upcoming week?”

“Uh, yes! Yes of course,” he stammered. “I think this afternoon is as good a time as any.”

“The second stage performances will begin in two weeks from now, on the dot?”

“On the dot. It’ll be on the week of Thanksgiving; everyone will either be here selling out the performance hall or at home watching live on their own televisions. As for the contestants, it’ll give them enough time to practice with the live orchestra and to narrow down the pool to 100.”

“How wonderful,” Valentine said, standing up from his chair. “I’ll get my men to set you up for a live interview with the news station, then. Oh and thank you again, Lucy, for the fantastic chat.”

“You're… welcome.”

“See you both around!” he said, excusing himself from the room. Valentine’s empty teacup seemed to shiver on its plate as the door slammed behind him.

Lucy and Steven shared another quiet glance between each other, neither of them wanting to state the obvious uncomfort they shared toward the man. It was an unspoken understanding, one they didn’t have to address further.

For now, that is.

Lucy clicked the pen again in her hands.

“Would you like to help me with the crossword?” Lucy said, cutting through the silence.

“Sure,” he smiled, returning back to his seat next to Lucy.

“6 letters; ‘a linen to blot away most certain circ*mstance, it says.”

“Certain circ*mstance?” Steven’s voice raised in confusion. “A certain circ*mstance like what, fate? What a bizarre clue.”

“Yes. Very strange. I’m not sure what it could mean.

The two of them sat staring at the news page with increasingly quizzical looks.

“Cloths? Towels?” Lucy guessed.

“Hm. What about napkin?”

Lucy jotted the letters down in the boxes one by one.

“That seems right.”

~~~

“Do you really need that much goddamn sugar in your coffee?”

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Johny quipped back, setting his plate of food and coffee at Gyro’s table. “Who pissed in your cup this mornin’?”

Gyro frowned as he dumped three pink Sweet-N-Low packets into his cup of coffee, mixing it around with a wooden stick. Johnny quirked a brow; something had made Gyro unusually grumpy today.

“No one pissed anywhere,” he said with a brooding tone. “Mind your damn business.”

Johnny huffed in a sort of half-laugh half-exhale-of-disbelief at Gyro’s sudden change of mood.

“Allllllrighty then… noted.”

He then proceeded to dump three vanilla flavored containers of creamer into his coffee, receiving a displeased grunt from Gyro who was watching angrily from the other side of the table. Johnny’s brows furrowed down his face.

“Listen, I know whatever has you in a mood ain’t just my coffee. If you’re mad at about somethin’, then just tell me, how ‘bout it?”

“Mad?” Gyro grumbled. “I ain’t mad.”

Johnny paused, looking at him expressionlessly.

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are f*ckin’ too.”

“Christ,” Gyro started, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Just leave me alone about it, Johnny.”

Johnny lost all sort of teasing tone he had been leading with, suddenly overcome with an air of seriousness. What happened? Was it something he did?

“Are… you…” Johnny’s voice trailed off as he noticed Gyro’s rising irritation. “Nevermind.”

sh*t . He came back to the room last night and definitely said some things to Gyro he somewhat regretted telling him. It just sort of spilled out after his encounter with Diego in the casino, and with the old memories of their fight four years ago popping up in the foreground, it created a perfect storm, one that Gyro just happened to be in the line of fire for. Oversharing came easy to Johnny a few drinks deep.

But then he remembered the sudden grasp Gyro had taken on his hand. Gyro had calmed him down, whispering things to him that were so soft and quiet, affirming to him that he was alright, that people can change for the better, even if it takes time…

Did he misinterpret his kindness?

Johnny felt his stomach drop. Certain phrases of Gyro’s words came back to his memory.

“ You didn’t have to tell me that…You don’t owe me that part of you, Johnny.”

Oh. It was like that, huh.

“Hey, uh,” Johnny started tentatively. “I won’t do that again. If you’re pissed about last night.”

“What do you mean.” Gyro stated curtly, refusing to make eye contact with Johnny.

“Y’know, just–” he said, struggling to string together his words without saying things directly outright right at the breakfast table. “I tend to do or say things I regret when I drink. And that was embarrassing of me. I’m gonna…uh… start to be better at that. Less drinkin’ from now on when I’m with you. I swear on it. It’s somethin’ I need to work on, I’d admit. I hate it about myself, and it ain’t good to do that on this whole Tour with you, yknow.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between them. Soft music played from some hidden speakers as people chatted quietly amongst themselves at their tables.

Had he misread things between him and Gyro? Was he imagining the friendship growing between them this whole time?

Johnny bit the inside of his lip with uncertainty. “Why don’t we just forget about it and move on?”

“Yeah,” Gyro grumbled after a moment of contemplation. “Alright.”

sh*t. He did mess up things.

“Just…” Gyro sputtered, turning his chair away from Johnny. “Get your own damn teddy bear, you hear?”

…

Johnny blinked, puzzled by Gyro’s abrupt change in tone.

“What?”

“Get your… own…” Gyro faltered. “Wait, wait, wait; what’re you talking about?”

“ I’m talkin’ about droppin’ all that sad sh*t on you last night out of nowhere. You didn’t ask for that.”

“What? No, I don’t care about that. And I meant every word of what I said to you,” Gyro exclaimed, feeling an immediate pang of regret.

sh*t, does he even remember? No shot. He has to. He was practically on top of me this morning.

“So what the hell are you talkin’ about?” Johnny said, derailing Gyro’s thoughts.

“It’s… whatever. Not important. Forget it.”

Gyro stuffed a chocolate-filled croissant into his mouth in one bite. Johnny quirked an eyebrow.

“...Well, now you’ve just got me curious.”

“I shaid forhget it!” he said, sputtering crumbs on the table. Gyro coughed from eating too quickly and chugged the glass of water sitting behind his plate in earnest, pounding his chest with vigor. He was a weird one, but this was stranger activity than any he’d seen before.

“Okay.”

Johnny took a sip of his coffee in utter bafflement.

Gyro squirmed in his chair, unable to escape the piercing blue eyes that stared into his soul.

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s goin’ on with you and get it over with?”

“I had a bad dream, alright? You’re gonna make me admit that to ya’, asshole?”

Johnny stared back.

“Hm. Nope, that’s not it.”

Gyro audibly groaned, prompting a few people from the tables next to them to turn their heads in concern. “You really wanna know, huh? Well it's your fault that you were… the one who… you were … uh…”

Johnny’s brow raised ever-so-slightly as Gyro continued to ungracefully fumble over his words.

“Spit it out.”

“Jesus, fine. Alright,” Gyro sighed heavily. “I woke up this morning and you were, uh, kinda, just… holding my hand.”

It was Johnny’s turn for his eyes to widen.

“What?” he said once more.

“Yeah. And not to mention the fact that you were practically cuddled up on top of me, too. I’m not your stuffie. And I’m warm blooded, you see?” Gyro’s face turned a shade darker, realizing what he was saying sounded incredibly outrageous.

“But, uh… y'know what? Suddenly, it doesn’t matter anymore. Water under the bridge. Anyway, I’m thinkin’ we pick out a few songs to start practicing today. How bout it? We’ll get our performance dates for the second stage before we know it, and we should start sooner than later; I’m thinking a good song with a great piano and guitar solo, well, that is if we can still try to perform together, I guess, but if not I guess you and I can find some backup songs to work on —”

Johnny laughed, interrupting Gyro’s rambling.

“ I was holdin’ your hand ? In the middle of the night?!” he exclaimed. “Hah! Oh my god, really?”

Gyro watched on as Johnny continued to snicker beside himself.

“And all this time I thought you were pissed off at somethin’ I said. Jesus, Gyro, you had me worried,” he said, quieting down his laughter. “I had no idea I did that. I’m sorry about the, uh, hand thing, I do dumb sh*t in my sleep without even knowing. I used to sleepwalk too; before – well… you know.”

Gyro crossed his arms and grumbled under his breath. “Like I said, just forget it. It’s not a big deal.”

“My bad, really. I truly didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anythin’. I had no idea.”

“No, no, I wasn’t uncomfortable, I didn’t mind it either, it was just a surprise to wake up and be… uh…” Gyro trailed off. “Y’know, f*ck off, why don’t you?”

Johnny continued to snicker under his breath.

“So that’s what’s got you so bothered?”

“I told you. I ain’t bothered. Was never bothered. Didn’t mind in the first place. You made that all up.”

Johnny took a moment to look at Gyro up and down suspiciously.

“Right.”

“Johnny, I swear to God, whatever you’re thinkin’ of sayin’, just shut your goddamn mouth and keep it to yourself,” Gyro mumbled.

“Come on,” he smiled slyly, a slight pink blush gracing his cheeks. “I wouldn’t have expected this from you. What happened to all of that so-called ‘Italian charm’, huh? Do you save it for all the ladies? Is there none left for me?”

“I got plenty of charm, sh*thead,” he said. “Can we change the subject already?”

“Oh, never. I’m not gonna let you live this down. Not when you’re in front of me sweatin’ like a sinner in church. Actin’ like you’ve never held hands with someone before, hah!”

Gyro brushed him off with the flick of a hand, returning to his normal facade, shining with a usual boost of confidence. “Whatever. Let’s just focus on the Tour, yeah?”

Johnny leaned back in his wheelchair, picking up a strawberry flavored danish from his plate, still grinning. “Yeah, sure thing,” he said as he took a small bite. “No~ooo problem.”

Gyro shot Johnny a glare.

“I heard that we’re gettin’ more information about the second stage performances soon,” Johnny said, changing the subject. “I guess we’ve better start findin’ our own songs to perform, too.”

The two of them sat quietly, knowing they were in a sort of limbo of uncertainty. The words left unspoken were a louder confirmation than any; neither of them wanted to perform without the other.

“Let’s pretend we can still go up together. You got any ideas?”

Gyro picked at a crumb on his plate in thought, flicking it off the plate and across the table. Suddenly, he sat up, as if a lightbulb had appeared out of nowhere.

“What?”

“I forgot, Johnny,” he said, his eyes glimmering with excitement. “Last night, I met this little lady who said she was the daughter of one of the front runners of the Tour. I told her about our problem and guess what? She said she would talk to her father about it to work it out for us.”

Johnny’s face didn’t look particularly amused.

“A lady said that to you?” he questioned. “Come on, Gyro. I know you ain’t that stupid.”

“No, ew, no ,” he sat back in disgust. “First of all, she was a teenager; maybe 16 or 17? Give or take. Either way, she looked real out of place around a casino. I don’t even think she could get in. I met her in the foyer.”

“Oh. Hm.”

“Second of all, women are bad luck. Always bad luck. And I’m not here to find romance; I’m here to win.”

“And yet you wear that belt,” Johnny scoffed, his eyes darting to the green belt buckles donned with two hands pointing southward.

“I wear this belt because it's flashy and lucky, thank you very much. It ain’t got no other intentions behind it.”

“Mhm. Right.”

A hotel employee turned on a television in the corner, turning the knob to the news station, raising the volume to be slightly more elevated over the casual chatter of the morning breakfast banquet.

– SDPD has released information about the recent attacks that occurred in downtown San Diego during the First Stage of the Steel Ball Run Tour. Mrs. Robinson attacked Johnny Joestar in an alleyway during the weekend music performances, garnering plenty of media attention after being held in custody. Joestar, a recent contestant in the Steel Ball Run Tour, has not pressed charges.

Gyro sat back and sighed. “Anyway. As for ideas? I have few. I’ve had this grand old song written out for a while, but I’m not sure if they’ll let me do it. But if they do, I think we’ve got the Second Stage win guaranteed.”

“And what’s that?”

The news station continued to report behind them, neither of them caring too intently to listen.

The SDPD has stated that the attacker was an affiliate of the same man who shot Johnny Joestar almost two years ago, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. Authorities have now placed Robinson in custody without bond under this suspicion. There has been no statement from Mr. Joestar, the sixth place contestant overall for the first round of the Tour, nor if he will continue to press charges in the San Diego attack.

“You gotta hear me out on it. But I swear, it’ll be a huge hit.”

“Alright. I’m an open book.”

Gyro swung a bag onto his lap and grabbed a well-worn spiral notebook. Stray sheets of paper were sticking out from the sides as he flipped through pages upon pages of writing and ink and…

“Holy sh*t…this is a whole composition for an entire orchestra, Gyro,” Johnny’s eyes widened. “You compose too?”

“Eh. Here and there.”

Johnny smiled in disbelief. “You’re out here playin’ guitar in sleazy bars when you can operate on a patient and compose like Mozart? What the hell are you doin’?”

Gyro scoffed. “I’m a free man of my own free will. And sometimes the other things I do happen to come in handy.”

Johnny shook his head. He felt like he knew so much about Gyro, and so little at the same time. Almost as if they had known each other for far longer than they really had.

“Is this a good time to tell you I can’t read sheet music?”

“……Huh?”

More news about the Steel Ball Run Tour has been released as of this morning. Mr. Steven Steel himself is with us live at the International Hotel. Mr. Steel, what can our contestants look forward to this upcoming week?

Gyro and Johnny both turned their heads to the television as people began to clamor and shush one another in excitement. Johnny held his breath. He wasn’t quite sure why.

Well hello, all! What a beautiful morning in the incredible Las Vegas! And hello to all the contestants tuning in, haha! I know everyone has eagerly been anticipating the new performance dates, held right here in the stunning International. Well, ladies and gentlemen of the public, get ready to buy your tickets now! The SECOND STAGE of the Tour begins NOVEMBER 25th, running all the way until NOVEMBER 30th! That’s right, almost an entire week of performances from the world’s best musicians! Don’t miss your chance to witness this history changing tour LIVE!

“ Geez, five whole days of performances? Are they expectin’ Woodstock crowds or what?”

“Six days if you count the 25th. Guess they have to account for all these people on one stage now, not five different stages at once.”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

And to the incredible Steel Ball Run contestants, I wish you the best of luck! Please meet with a SBR Tour Executive in the greater Las Vegas area to confirm your performance date and time. It will be randomized, so you better all get to practicing, haha!!

“Randomized?”

“We’ll prepare for anything, Johnny, don’t worry. We made it here in a bigger time crunch than that.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

An infographic showed up on the screen notating at least 30 different meeting points scattered around the city; one of them being smack in the middle of the hotel. A handful of people stood up quickly and began to aimlessly walk towards the lobby.

“Should we go too?” Gyro said, looking antsy.

“Wait, let's keep listening to see what else they have to say.”

You heard it here first! The Second Cour of the Steel Ball Run Tour has officially begun. Grab your tickets before they go! And best of luck to the contestants; I can’t wait to hear what everyone has to offer!

Johnny turned around in surprise after someone had backed their chair into his wheelchair in a flurry of movement. They gestured an apology before running off to the lobby.

Gyro glanced at Johnny with expectant eyes.
“Yeah, alright. We should probably head over there.”

Gyro nodded in agreement, sliding his notebook back into his bag. Johnny wheeled himself back from the table. Maneuvering in the new wheelchair was still something he was getting used to.

Johnny felt alive. Nervous, but alive.

It was good, he reckoned, to be feeling this way again.

He felt more than alive. He was determined.

Determined to what? To win? To perform again?

He wanted to perform again like he did in the first stage. To feel the electricity of the crowd again, to hear the cheers mixed together with voices and song, to know the certainty of his fingers hitting each and every piano key like it was a natural born instinct.

He wanted to perform with Gyro, the man who wielded a sort of golden magic every time he strummed his guitar.

His friend.

Johnny sent up a silent prayer to God pleading for a miracle.

“And by the way, Johnny, what do you mean you can’t read sheet music?”

Johnny shrugged. “Dunno. I could always just listen to something and play it on the piano. I never actually bothered learning the notes. I just asked my piano teacher to play the pieces for me and then I’d copy what she did and pretend to read the page. It never worked like that for me with other instruments, though.”

“First of all, you’re a freak, and second of all, I’m not tacking that onto my responsibilities as your lesson instructor. You better figure that out on your own.”

“What do I need to learn sheet music for the guitar for?”

“You’ll learn it for me ,” Gyro exclaimed. “So learn it now or else I’ll make you start a whole piece on your own tonight.”

“Now that just ain’t fair.”

The hustle and bustle of eager contestants began to flow out of the grand breakfast room into the lobby, heading for the performance hall connected to the hotel. Johnny turned around his wheelchair carefully, avoiding the urgent crowd as much as he could.

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind. “Are you Mr. Joestar and Mr. Zeppeli?”

Gyro stood up tall as his eyes landed on the shiny nametag on his uniform. The Steel Ball Run Tour, it read.

“Yessir, that’s us,” Johnny said, turning to face the man.

“Good. Please follow me,” the man said firmly.

Gyro and Johnny shared a glance of uncertainty as the man began to walk in the opposite direction of the crowds.

“What’s uh, the situation, sir?” Gyro asked.

“A few arrangements have changed that involve you two,” he said. “I will explain further in a moment.”

Gyro looked back at Johnny, sending him a grin and a wink of ‘I told you so’. He shrugged in return; maybe that girl Gyro met really did help them out.

If anything, he truly hoped it was some good news.

Johnny squinted to read the back of the man’s shirt as he followed from behind.

VALENTINE RECORDS

Valentine Records?

That was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. Mr. Valentine was a part of The Steel Ball Run Tour?

He sure hadn’t seen him in forever.

Geez, he thought back. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the man since after Nick’s accident.

The accident that happened at his studio.

Johnny shuddered away the creepingly cold sensation growing in his chest. It was an accident.

An accident.

Don’t even think about it. It was an accident.

It sure has been a long time, huh. Even though it felt like yesterday. Just yesterday when he found him…

Move on, Johnny. Keep moving on.

Some sort of inner voice tackled his negative thoughts, snapping him back into focus. He continued to follow behind the man as he led them to a small conference room.

Johnny took a breath. A steady, calm breath.

Keep moving on.

Well, what the hell. Maybe he’d even say hi if he saw Mr. Valentine around.

Chapter 18: Recently

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Recently

“Ahem, I’m sorry for taking your time, Mr. Zeppeli, Mr. Joestar. There are a few things I need to discuss with you.”

Gyro and Johnny followed the man into the conference room; it was dimly lit, the shuttered blinds on the opposing walls letting in only small streams of light, creating long, looming shadows across a massive oval mahogany table. At the table sat a tall, lean man with long, blonde hair tied up in a slicked back ponytail.

“Please, have a seat,” the man gestured to Gyro as he moved a chair to the side to make space for Johnny’s wheelchair. He exchanged a glance with the other man who had escorted them in, nodding his head to the door and ushering him to assume a polite exit.

The heavy door closed shut with a thunk from behind.

The man sat and began shuffling a stack of papers that laid before him in a file.

And for a moment, there was silence.

Johnny drummed his fingers nervously against the arm rests of his chair.

“Ahem,” the man started. “I trust you both are aware of the recent developments regarding the tour and the subsequent changes in the performance lineup?” His eyes darted between them, sharing an even, unwavering smile.

Gyro and Johnny nodded in unison.

“Well, then,” the man continued, his tone brightening. “I have been tasked with informing you of the adjustments that have been made to your performance arrangements for the upcoming segment of the tour.”

“Adjustments?” Gyro asked hesitantly. “You mean the stupid group arrangements you didn’t tell any of us about til it was too late?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Mr. Zeppeli,” he laughed nervously. “Your frustrations have been heard, as have many other performing groups amongst the competition. And, in order to keep public reception in the green, we have decided to rescind certain recent changes for a few select exceptions in the Tour.”

Johnny held his breath, sending up a silent prayer to whoever was listening, pleading that things would work out for them from this moment forward. As much as Gyro was a nuisance to him sometimes, he enjoyed his company.

“Therefore,” he continued, “the Committee has decided that you, along with other contestants in your similar situation, will indeed be allowed to perform together in the next stage, if you still desire to do so.”

Maybe it was a cloud that passed by, or maybe their eyes had adjusted to the darkness; either way, the dark room seemed a little brighter.

“We sure do,” Gyro stated, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Johnny caught Gyro’s grin from the corner of his eye.

“But what's the catch?”

“Ah yes, Mr. Joestar,” the man continued, smiling at them wider. “There is a condition.”

“What sort of condition?”

The man leaned forward, sliding two stacks of papers across the table with a sort of professional elegance. “Steven Steel has graciously offered to ensure both your performances in the lineup. This, of course, is a courtesy only the highest Steel Ball Run Tour management can allow,” he said cheerfully. “However, in exchange, he requests a handful of favors from you both to aid in overall benefits for the Tour.”

Gyro’s brow furrowed. “Ah. So these ‘favors’ have to do with these papers in front of us.”

“Oh, no, no! I’m sorry!” the man quickly interjected, sliding two black pens next to their stacks. “No, no, no, these papers here are simply a professional formality. Nothing more than a quick written agreement about the changes in your performances. Feel free to sign here at the bottom.”

Gyro and Johnny stared back at the man blankly.

“...And what would these favors be?” Johnny asked carefully.

“Oh, very simple ones! Rudimentary, even! Because your general audience appeal has been so high, the Steel Ball Run Tour requests that you will simply comply to appear at special events or assist in any personal inquiries they may have in promoting the Tour. In fact, all of the performers that we are reaching out to today are receiving the very same agreements you are. And besides, there is nothing here you wouldn’t be doing to promote yourselves already, that is for sure. If anything, it’s beneficial to your cause.”

“That sure sounds vague,” Gyro muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry, I understand your hesitance, Mr. Zeppeli,” he said sympathetically, his eyes darting to the pen and paper laying before them. “But this is all in an effort to… how do I say this… well, we want to bring the best of the Tour’s performers into the limelight, yes?”

“Right…”

“And I’m sorry, but if I may go off the record for a moment,” he paused. “…Mr. Zeppeli, it means that we see you both going far in this competition. Very far.”

Gyro’s eyes widened. Ah, that was all he needed. Not much was needed to stroke his ego, Johnny thought.

“I see,” Gyro tapped his chin in thought. He picked up the pen and twirled it between his fingers. “Well, if it’ll get us to perform together, I don’t see why not.”

“Just some extra news interviews and promotions…” Johnny thought aloud. “This ain’t some sort of contractual agreement, is it?”

The man paused for a moment, thinking, before sharing a heartfelt smile. “Mr. Joestar, if I may speak off the record once more.”

“Uh...sure.”

“I know you are aware of your own status among other contestants in the Tour.”

Johnny nodded and picked at his nails underneath the table.

“Your sudden reappearance has, to many, been quite shocking. Not to mention your overwhelming strength through all your, ah, I’m sorry, but, your hardships, in the recent years…”

“I got it,” Johnny said shortly. “So you want a face for the Tour.”

“No, not just a face! A Star ! A Jojo!”

Gyro stopped twirling the pen. A silence hung thick in the air for just a moment too long.

“Again, ahem,” the man chuckled uncomfortably. “These are all my personal biases. All off the record and such. Sorry.”

His eyes darted to see Johnny’s fingers tapping against his legs as if he were playing his keyboard.

“Right,” Johnny said stalely. “Um. Thank you.”

“Anytime! Aha!” the man smiled. “But alas, we do have many big names forefronting the competition. In the eyes of the Tour Committee, we see you all as an overall benefit to making sure the Steel Ball Run Tour is nothing short of a massive success. I’m sure you understand the business side of this, Mr. Joestar.”

A strange sort of awkward tension filled the room. Gyro cleared his throat as the man slid a stack of forms in front of him. He picked up the papers and flipped through them, reading each paragraph closely.

“Let me know if you have any questions, aha,” the man chuckled. He fiddled with his long ponytail as he watched Gyro scan the papers line by line.

“Hm.”

Johnny stared forward uncomfortably.

“Well,” Gyro grunted, turning to face Johnny. “It doesn’t look like anything in here would trip us up in the future, at least.”

“Of course ! We would never make you sign anything that would require more troubles on your end! Again, the extra promotional matters don’t deal with any of this paperwork jumbo. Aha! Yes!”

Johnny clicked his pen open and signed the bottom of the page with a quick jot of his hand. Gyro watched as Johnny pushed the pages across the table, moving in stifled silence.

“Perfect! And, um, I’m sorry, Mr. Zeppeli, but your signature? I won’t keep you all long.”

Gyro raised his eyebrows in concern toward Johnny, who’s eyes were glued distantly to a wooden beam on the wall behind the strange man. With a shrug, he signed the page before passing them to the man’s extended hand.

“Wonderful! And now that that’s over, from my personal standpoint, I am just elated to be able to see you two perform again. Truly! You’re electric together!”

Gyro grinned. “Yeah, well, thank you. I hope you’ll vote for us this time ‘round. Give Mr. Steel our regards.”

“Yes! Of course!” he said, extending his hand toward Gyro with a smile. “I’m sorry, again, about all of the hubbub. My name is Blackmore; please feel free to contact me whenever you like!”

The two shook hands before the tall man awkwardly stumbled out from behind the table, holding the door for the two with a folder of their signed papers clutched tightly to his chest.

Johnny reversed his wheelchair and exited in front of them both, making his way down the hallway.

“Oh! And Mr. Joestar! Before I forget!” Blackmore called out from behind. “President Valentine sends you his personal well-wishes for you in the Tour and wishes for your speedy recovery.”

Johnny bit the inside of his lip and turned around just enough to look over his shoulder. “Oh. Tell him I said thank you.”

“Aha! Yes! I will!”

Blackmore turned the corner and waved goodbye, looking a bit too starstruck for Gyro’s tastes. Johnny continued down the hallway stoically as Gyro trotted to catch up with him.

“Hell yeah, Johnny! Look at us! What’d I say? Never doubted us for a second. I knew it would work out.”

Gyro clapped his hands together enthusiastically as Johnny continued to roll forward quietly.

“...Think this means I’m sixth place now, too, huh?”

“Yeah, Gyro,” Johnny said plainly.

“I bet that means I can get an upgrade now, don’t ya think?”

“Yeah.” Johnny said, lacking in his usual retorts.

Gyro brushed his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Are you, uh,” he stuttered, attempting to breach the subject of whatever happened back in that room.

“I’m great. We got what we wanted, Gyro. We can breathe again.”

“I meant that the whole thing that Blackmore guy said at the end–”

“It’s nothin’ I’m not used to hearing.”

“Right but,” he exhaled, the right words failing to escape from his lips. Johnny’s words from just days prior echoed out in Gyro’s mind.

Please, tell me you’re not using me.

“I just don’t want you to think that I–”

“Don’t worry ‘bout any of that,” Johnny smiled sincerely. “I know you don’t.”

A warm feeling brushed across Gyro’s cheeks; a confirmation of Johnny’s trust. Even after the awkwardness of whatever happened the night before, something about gaining Johnny’s trust made Gyro happier than being told they could perform together again.

“Well, in that case, do you think we made the right decision?”

“Who knows,” Johnny noted. “Sounded kinda solid, then kinda shady, then kinda solid again. I think that guy was just weird. But it really sounds like that girl you met the other day really got us out of the thick of it, so why not take their bait?”

Gyro shrugged. “Guess so.”

“At most, you might have to have a few more Tour-sponsored drinks on camera or do a few more interviews talkin’ about yourself. You’ll get used to it.”

“That sounds easy enough, and I do love talkin’ about myself,” he said as he stretched his arms above his head. “Should we go get in line to sign up now?”

“Guess we should.”

“Perfect. And let me run it by you first, but hear me out, I’ve got just the thing that’ll guarantee our win in the next round. But you gotta promise to hear me out, alright? It’s gonna take a lot on you, but consider it your next lesson from me. Gyro Zeppeli’s Lesson Two, if you will.”

“You sure got a lot of ideas, don’t you?” Johnny questioned. “And all at my expense.”

“Not all of them, just some of them. Let's just say you better start working on that not-able-to-read-sheet-music problem today.”

“I ain’t never had a problem ‘til you told me it was a problem. You never even noticed ‘til I told you.”

“It’s just plain wrong! You’re a musician just as much as me! Put in the effort, Johnny; some of us had to work for our talents.”

“Whatever you say, maestro.”

~~~

Diego smiled wide as a few dozen people crowded around him in line for time slot sign-ups. The attention he got in the States was something he wasn’t expecting, at least not to the same caliber it was in Europe. It felt more… crowded, like everyone here was at least five inches taller than usual. But who was he to complain?

“Excuse me, all, I would absolutely love to talk to you later, but I need to find my place in line alongside everyone else here,” he said with a charming smile, pushing up his sunglasses. “I’ll meet you all outside the hotel to chat, how about that?”

The horde of people chattered happily and moved away from the main line, opening up the area around him. Diego walked backwards slowly to watch them as they filed out and away from him, sighing a sigh of relief.

That sigh was rudely interrupted as he blindly tripped over a passerby’s shoe, flailing backwards.

Diego swung his arms back in an attempt to rebalance himself, but it was to no avail; he squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact as he fell backwards.

He suddenly felt two arms grab him by his waist at the very final moment, saving him from impact and the subsequent embarrassment.

“Christ, look where you’re goi–” the person said, stopping in their tracks. Diego gasped in surprise and opened his eyes as a mop of hot pink hair hung over him. They suddenly removed their grasp, causing Diego to fall to the ground with a yelp.

“Ough! What the hell?” Diego exclaimed, scrambling back up to his feet. “You’re the one from the casino last night, aren’t you?”

Their hot pink hair tossed behind their shoulders as they turned away from Diego in a flurry of movement. “Please don’t talk to me.”

“No, I think I will,” he insisted. “Who are you?”

“That’s none of your concern,” they said. “We’re even now, aren’t we? And why are you wearing sunglasses indoors? Are you trying to cause problems on purpose?”

Diego swooped back his layered bangs away from his face as he placed his sunglasses on his head. He stood confidently, looking up to the person with a smile.

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware, but I’m Diego Brando. I’d be pleased to know your name since we are stuck in line together and I have all the time in the world.”

“I don’t have to talk to you.”

“But you want to,” he winked.

“No. I don’t,” they said, turning back around curtly. The person in the hot pink suit turned their back away from Diego, watching the front of the line move slowly without a word.

“Up, up, up, we’re almost even now. I’ve caught you, you’ve caught me; you know my name, but I don’t know yours. I’m simply curious. And then we’ll be even.”

The person turned back around with a frustrated sigh.

“H.P.,” they spoke. Diego extended his hand for a handshake.

“H.P.! How unique,” he said, shaking their hand delicately. “Two letters. Short and to the point. And you’re a contestant in the Tour as well?”

H.P. released their hand from Diego’s grasp and looked at him dead in the eyes.

“I’m the 5th place contestant overall in this goddamn race and you don’t know my name. Do you really have a stick shoved so far up your ass that you can’t even read the papers or watch the news? Or is everything just about you ?”

Diego laughed awkwardly and pulled at the scarf around his neck. “Aha, well you’ve certainly got me there.”

“Good. Let’s end it there too.” H.P. turned back around and crossed their arms, facing the line.

“Right. Um.” Diego cleared his throat and brushed his hair back. He took a long, deep breath. From the distance, Diego spotted two figures making their way toward the back of the line.

Ah. Johnny Joestar.

Diego’s mood plummeted further than he thought possible. He turned his shoulders and shucked his jacket collar so it covered his face, hiding behind the shade of his aviator sunglasses. A confrontation shouldn’t happen in public. Too many people around would cause a problem. If Johnny saw him after last night, he might have an actual issue on his hands…

“That motherf*cker!” H.P. suddenly exclaimed. Diego turned to see what they were talking about. “Ugh! That idiot made it this far?”

Diego decided to respond back. “You mean… Joestar?”

“No! That lumbering idiot next to him with the dumb looking beard!” H.P. huffed. “He stole my newspaper right out of my hands just to get a look at the results. Ugh. What a cheapskate asshole.”

Diego nodded, admiring the sudden fire in their voice. “He’s the one who took down Joestar’s attacker, I heard. Bloodied the man up worse than Jojo was.”

“ And he’s reckless,” H.P. noted, crossing their arms. “I don’t like him.”

Diego’s eyes widened. “Yeah, uh, me either.”

H.P. squinted. “He’s bad news. A man like that isn’t up to anything good.”

They both stood there staring at the two as they made their way away from the sign-up table. They must be going to another area, Diego thought.

A man behind Diego cleared his throat loudly, ushering both of them to move forward in the line. H.P. quickly strutted forward awkwardly and crossed their arms.

“Why am I talking to you about this?” they said.

Diego shrugged. “Well, I hate Joestar. You hate Zeppeli. They’re partnered together as far as I’m aware. I’d say that’s something we have in common, no?”

H.P. sighed and rolled their eyes.

“Then let’s be friendly,” Diego smiled, folding his sunglasses together and sliding them onto the front of his shirt collar. “We could help each other advance past the idiots of the tour from here on out.”

“You’re one of those idiots, you know. And I don’t need or want your help.”

“Then help me take out Jojo and his little friend from the running. Word of mouth goes far, but the radio and paper goes further. And just being in association with me would run up your chances at popularity, you know.”

H.P. stared back, eyes narrowed. “You’re an actual bonafide bastard.”

“Mayhaps.”

“I didn’t come here to ruin careers. I’m here to make my own.”

“Of course, of course,” Diego raised his hands in an offer of peace. “It’s just an open option. From one hating party to the other.”

To Diego’s surprise, they paused for a moment, seemingly considering the offer.

“You’re a big name already in this race. I’m not.”

“Yes, yes that’s true, I suppose I do have a bit of a leg up in this–”

“You have connections here.”

“Uh, a handful, yes. A few higher ranking officials, and I have been with both Valentine and Roadagain Records…”

“Help me sign with a record label and I’ll go on a date with you.”

Diego’s jaw dropped.

“Date?!” He exclaimed. “Now who said-”

“I’m not dumb. You’ve embarrassed yourself by trying to flirt with me this entire time.”

“I-...I’ll have you know I can date anyone I like.”

“Yet you’re still interested in me.”

Diego bit his lip, struggling to keep up with H.P.’s rapid-fire retorts. This person was ruthless, and worst of all, he could feel himself growing red in the cheeks.

“Just so you know, I’m not interested in you whatsoever. But for some reason, I do pity you,” H.P. continued. “So I’ll give you this. I’ll entertain you for the time being, and you’ll help me find a record label to sign on before the Tour ends. Preferably one that they aren’t on,” they said, gesturing towards where Gyro and Johnny walked past. “Then, and only then, will I even consider a romantic encounter between us.”

Diego stared back at the pink haired person. He blinked.

“...Deal.”

“Great. If you want to chat later about things going forward, my room number is 1608. Now turn around and act like you don’t know me.”

H.P. turned back around and moved forward in the line. Diego pushed his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose, attempting to hide his beet red expression from passersby.

~~~

“Ah. Blackmore. You took longer than I thought.”

Blackmore stumbled into Valentine’s makeshift office with a large stack of papers. A few of them slipped out of the bottom of the folder as he walked in, flipping slowly in the air one by one.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Valentine watched as Blackmore collected the papers haphazardly from the floor, sipping slowly on his afternoon tea.

“Don’t apologize to me, Blackmore. You and all of my other employees are out there scrambling around Vegas today,” he spat.

“I’m sorry for dropping the papers, President Valentine, I’ll try my best not to scramble anymore–”

“If it weren’t for that bumbling idiot Steel , I wouldn’t be in this mess…” Valentine mumbled under his breath. He tightened his grip on the cup handle, huffing angrily. “Blackmore. Fill my tea.”

Blackmore looked up from the floor, holding his breath.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Blackmore scrambled up to his feet and stacked the papers back together and placed them into the large folder, running over to the coffee table with the kettle and sugar. He poured it carefully, being sure not to spill a single drop.

“Stop.”

Blackmore lifted the kettle up and watched with wide eyes as Valentine lifted the tea to his lips. He took a sip and sighed, seemingly content with the pour. Blackmore stood frozen, feeling his own shoulders relax slightly.

“What else do you want?” Valentine asked.

“I- I-”

“‘I, I,’ are you a seagull?” he mocked. “Spit it out, will you?”

“I have the separate signed forms you asked for, sir. From Joestar and Zeppeli.”

Valentine’s eyes lit up.

“Right. Hand them over.”

Blackmore undid the clasps on his jacket and reached into a large pocket on the inside, concealing a file of two separate documents. Valentine snatched the folder out of his hands and quickly opened the papers.

“Johnny didn’t read his papers. Just as you expected, President Valentine.”

Valentine flipped through the two copies, his eyes darting back and forth, looking extremely closely. He traced a finger down the paper on Johnny’s copy, his eyes stopping at one specific paragraph.

Valentine grinned.

“Blackmore, you are my finest employee, you know that?” he said, his words sickly sweet.

Blackmore blushed, brushing his fingers through his blonde ponytail. “I don’t need any flattery, Presiden-”

“You truly are,” Valentine stood, placing a firm, reassuring hand on Blackmore’s shoulder. “You’ve been with me long enough; I believe it’s time for a promotion.”

“Promotion?” he said softly.

“Promotion, my dear boy. I think it's about time you start working with me instead of out there on the ground.”

Blackmore smiled, his shoulders straightening out confidently. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s make that a plan, then. And, before that happens, in the meantime,” he said, stabbing a cold, gloved finger in the center of his chest. “ You will not speak of this to anyone whatsoever.”

“Yes, sir. Of course,” he shuddered. “You can count on me, sir.”

“Good,” Valentine smiled once more. “I’ll schedule a meeting with you soon to solidify the promotion. Be on the lookout for the financial advisors, alright?”

“Right, sir.”

“You may go.”

Blackmore nodded and shuffled out of the room quickly, the door closing shut behind him.

Valentine sat back down in his chair with a sigh, picking back up his cup of tea. He looked through the file folder once more, glancing down to the inked signatures on both Gyro and Johnny’s papers.

He took a sip, staring at the cursive black lines intently.

Johnny Joestar.

Valentine’s hands began to shake as he stared off, his eyes unfocusing, his grip on his own conscious beginning to slip.

The lines on the page began to blur into spinning lines of yellow and gold.

Tea suddenly splashed onto the page, causing Valentine to jolt back to his senses. A small amount had dripped onto Gyro’s signature, causing the ink to bleed into the page.

He quickly took out a small napkin from his pocket and dabbed it dry.

Ah. Good as new.

He breathed in deeply, recentering himself with his surroundings. He placed the teacup back in the saucer, closed the folder, and walked it to a locked briefcase underneath a table.

With a few clicks and a twist, he placed the folder inside and shut it tightly without so much as another word.

~~~

November 20th, 1969

A few weeks’ve gone by since I’ve updated here. I’ve got some free time in my hotel room, so I guess I’ll update you now.

I’m in Las Vegas now. Turns out, I still got it in me, in one way or another. I made it to the top 20 in the race, 6th place to be exact. I still can’t quite believe it. I didn’t do much. Gyro did all the hard work.
My wounds have started to heal up for the most part. Oh yeah, I was jumped by a guy during my second night in San Diego. You’d think I’d have enough of those by now that God Himself would give me a break, but I guess not. On top of it all, Diego’s here, too. It's penance for everything, probably. I guess I deserve it, don’t I.

The police haven’t reached back out to me yet. Probably because of state lines and such. But I’m stayin’ out of the loop on all of that as much as I can. I hate the chatter. And honestly, I don’t really care. Cops are all good for nothings, anyway.

Somehow, even after me and Gyro’s stupid mistake of signin’ up as different contestants, we’re allowed to perform together. Gyro’s had a good time talkin’ up the newspapers for interviews. I don’t really like ‘em, but he’s sort of funny in them, so I don’t mind doin’ all this extra stuff all that much.

The second stages start in five days. Everyone’s gotta perform two full length songs. We got lucky and we’re performing on the last day, the 30th. And Gyro, boy, he wrote out this whole song. Straight up composed it himself, that goddamn Beethoven. He’s good at everything. It annoys me. And if you ask me, I think the song is a little flashy, but that’s his whole brand. I can’t argue too much with him about it. Believe me, I tried. It’s like talkin’ to a wall.

Speaking of being more stubborn than a wall, he’s making me read sheet music, which I don’t really quite get. I can do perfectly fine by ear. Ain’t my problem he can’t do it like me.

Gyro’s a real hoot, though. I thought I’d get tired of his antics by now, but he’s actually good company. He got offered his own room, too, but most days, he ends up spending the night on the futon in my room. I feel bad; he’s so damn tall he can barely fit on that thing. I told him there’s enough room on this California King for the both of us, but I guess he refuses to be comfortable or somethin’. He’s way more modest than you’d think, especially parading that stupid belt around like he does. Maybe it’s an Italian thing. And the former might be a Catholic thing.

I stopped drinking as much. It’s been a little hard, living in a casino hotel and all, but I know it ain’t good for me. Gyro and I go down there some nights to try to get lucky on the slots instead, which is vice in itself, I guess.

We actually won the jackpot one night. 1,000 dollars right then and there, cold hard cash. I split it with Gyro and we got two rounds of whiskey co*kes to celebrate the win, got a little tipsy, decided to go back in and bet our chances, and then lost it all immediately in roulette. It was a sign from above if I’ve ever seen one, so I swore right then and there that I’d stop drinkin’ for good. Well, at least in the casino, that’s for certain.

I’ve been playing guitar lately. Gyro’s taught me a lot. Our second song we’re performin’ is called “A Place in the Sun”. He wrote out his guitar part for me to practice on my own time. Annoyingly, all written on sheet music. He wouldn’t tell me how to play it, so I’ve had to figure out the positions on my own. A real teacher, ain’t he?

Anyway, I can sing and play it now, but I’m messin’ up on a section in the middle. It’s hard to do the fingerings and the strings buzz from time to time if I don’t press on the frets hard enough. It don’t sound as good as Gyro’s playing, but it’s good enough, I suppose. I don’t know why guitar has never come as easy to me as piano.

What was Gyro like when you knew him? From what I’ve gathered, it seems like y’all met right before the accident. I wish you had a chance to get to know him longer. Would we have all been friends if things turned out different? I think we might’ve been.

I’ve only known him about a month, but I feel like I’ve known him a lifetime. I ain’t never had a friend like him before. I won’t say I’m any happier, but it’s a little easier to get up in the mornings now.

I wish I would’ve taken some lessons from you before you were gone. Would’ve been a lot more fun than learnin’ from him. And I know you wouldn’t have made me read sheet music.

Til next time, Nick.

Johnny

—---------—

Johnny closed the small notebook and stuffed it back into his bedside drawer as if it were a live grenade, throwing in the pen beside it.

He flopped back onto the thick duvet. He was still pretending to write letters to his dead brother after all these years. How embarrassing. Johnny put his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes.

Save for the low hum of the air conditioning, the room was quiet.

Johnny looked over to the futon where Gyro had been sleeping. The hotel maid laid out fresh blankets and sheets for him yesterday. They even left a mint on the pillow. He laughed a little at that.

Speaking of, he hadn’t seen Gyro at all today.

They took the day off to rest their voices, Gyro leaving the room early in the morning like he did most other days. Usually, he would come back up after breakfast, leave a chocolate chip muffin and a napkin on Johnny’s nightstand, grab his clothes, and then leave for his own room to shower and get ready.

But today there was a notable lack of a muffin on his nightstand. Johnny’s stomach growled; it was already around 2 o’clock and he hadn’t had anything to eat.

Where’d he run off to?

Johnny groaned. Why did it even matter? Gyro could do what he wanted.

Right. And he could do what he wanted, too. Like taking a nap.

He let his eyes drift closed and his mind wander wherever it liked, daydreaming about whatever came to him. New melodies to play, Gyro’s stupid jokes and songs that got stuck in his head, weird chords he figured out on the guitar, the tall, pretty lady with the long brown hair he saw down in the casino the other night…

Johnny’s eyes snapped open.

When was the last time he… well, he didn’t remember.

His eyes darted to the door in a teenage boy sort of habit. It was locked.

Johnny felt his face turn a deep shade of red. Why was he even thinking like this? Gyro had a key. He could walk in at any moment.

For some reason, and one he didn’t want to unpack in that moment, that thought did not deter him much in the slightest.

Johnny sat up on his elbows and glanced at the door once more. Gyro had been gone all day, no sign of returning…

No. No, he’s not doing this. Nope. Nope.

He shuffled himself up quickly, surprised with himself firstly, and secondly, shocked that he was still capable of even thinking like that. Attraction wasn’t something he thought much about in recent months.

Weird. He wondered what spurred that on.

He needed Gyro to come back to distract him like he usually did. That would get his mind off things.

Where was he?

RING RING! RING RING!

Johnny’s heart rate spiked as the room phone began to scream from the nightstand. He reached over as far as he could and knocked the phone from the stand, toppling to the ground. He grabbed the coiled wire and lifted it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Joestar. There’s a message left for you at the front desk.”

“Oh,” Johnny sighed. “Could someone bring it up?”

“Of course,” the man on the line said. “It’s heading your way now.”

“Thanks.”

Johnny put the phone back on the line and exhaled, attempting to calm down the speed of his heart after that loud interruption.

Any embarrassing thoughts he had a few minutes ago were dust in the wind as two knocks delivered a small envelope underneath the door.

Johnny hoisted himself into his wheelchair and rolled closer, bending down to take a look.

At closer inspection, it wasn’t an envelope; it was a folded up napkin in the shape of an envelope. Something was written inside in a blue ink pen.

“Come meet me in the lounge on the 2nd floor. ASAP - Gyro”

Johnny’s heart began to pound again. ASAP? Why didn’t he just come up and talk in the hotel room? What was going on?
A feeling of dread sunk like a rock in the bottom of his stomach. Johnny’s hands began to shake.

With a few deep breaths, he calmed himself down, feeling the anxious tremors begin to ease.

Johnny grabbed his room key and swung the door open, leaving a click from behind.

~~~

As Johnny made his way to the elevators, a pink haired figure made their way around the opposite corner. They silently slipped another piece of paper under Johnny’s door, looked around twice, and took the exit stairs to the right.

~~~