Chapter Text
Speedwagon once again had to be careful, for Zeppeli could not walk on his own and his ribs could not have healed yet, making it hard to support him without also hurting him. As far as he knew the man's legs were fine. So this fatigue had to be either from pain, blood loss or fever. Maybe someone noticed as the door creaked open. But they didn't stop to think about it. And so the two got our onto the stone-laid lawn without being seen. The sun was setting behind a broken blanket of grey cloud, vivid colours shining through the cracks and making the sky look like an intricate mosaic. It was surprisingly beautiful. Their steps seemed unnaturally loud in the silence as they walked over to the fountain where they sat down. The still water reflected the colours of the sky and their own silouettes.
"Thank you," Zeppeli mumbled. Speedwagon withdrew his arm, dropped his hands in his lap and said,
"You're going back to the damn hospital."
"Hospitals tend to be on the boring side," Zeppeli chuckled. It wasn't the usual low, teasy laughter, it sounded more careful. Speedwagon realised he was embarrassed. It was probably the drink.
"Damn," said Speedwagon. Now that they had gotten away from the noises his brain had come to a screeching halt. "I was gonna check on that wound meself. Why did I even agree to go outside?" He said dumbly. "Runnin around with injuries like that without lettin' 'em heal... It could kill a man."
"Has it ever?"
"As a matter of fact it has," Speedwagon snapped. "I had a mate a few years ago, nice... Person, but they had a big family an' had to work hard to keep 'em fed. And one day they went 'n got stabbed. And they were out of bed the next day and went right back to work despite me tellin' 'em it was stupid. They were dead by the end of the week."
"Oh. Have I upset you?" Zeppeli sounded genuinely worried. He was remarkably serious at the moment.
"Nah... You get really used to loosin' people on the streets." He absent-mindedly tapped his fingers on the stone of the fountain. Somewhere off in the distance, a bird sang. "Hurt much?"
"Only when I move, or apply any kind of pressure," Zeppeli said. "The doctors said the would would never fully heal," he continued, "it'll leave a big scar."
"No wonder."
"And," and here he laughed again, "it won't be an obvious if pretty addition to my "character design," so to speak, like yours." He abruptly shut his mouth, the alcohol having made him say just a bit too much of what he was thinking.
Speedwagon blinked. Pretty? Fuck. He was _never_ gonna forget that one. He could practically hear his own brain winding up. Nobody had ever _complimented_ the scar before. And not even once had Speedwagon been called something as pure as "pretty." And for Zeppeli to say it? Speedwagon had never exactly considered the thing ugly but...
"Well," he said. "S' not the only scar I've got."
"Really?" Zeppeli mused. "What else?"
"I've been stabbed and shot at more times than I can count. Usually people go for the abdomen, or the neck. I've got one that runs..." He motioned over his jacket with his finger, "here. Right across the shoulder. Deadliest one yet."
"Hm. Are any as bad as..?" Zeppeli motioned to where his own wound was.
"Nah. I've been close to death before, but not as close as you were, baron."
"Baron?" Zeppeli chuckled. "Come now, there's no need for titles. Besides I'm not actually an actual baron."
"What?" Speedwagon laughed. "But--"
"I look like one, I know."
"You're really not?"
"No."
"Okay, well. If I can't call you baron, and if you don't like when I call you "old man Zeppeli" to judge from your rolling your eyes every time I do it... What do I call you?"
Zeppeli smiled. "How about Will?" He suggested. "You call JoJo by his first name nowadays. Same with Erina. Why not me?"
"Will?" Speedwagon said, tasting the word on his tounge. "Yeah. I could work with that."
"You could?" Zeppeli, or Will, nodded satisfactorily, then gripped the side of the fountain. "Sorry..." He mumbled. "Got really dizzy all of a sudden..."
"Hey-- hey!" Speedwagon hurried to steady him. "Knew you had a fever. C'mon you idiot, let's go inside the back way. You need rest."
Will laughed quietly but he let himself be helped.
"Very well," he said. "If, with all your street knowledge, you think I should rest, I shall. But not at the hospital, please, it's so dull."
"Maybe some time in the countryside'd do you good?" Speedwagon suggested. He remembered what Erina had said... If the city became too much. She'd let them stay. "Maybe it'd do us both good."
"Would you, King of the Streets, stay away from London? I thought you had a reputation to keep."
"Nah," Speedwagon said. "That won't go away any time soon I bet, but I don't need it anymore. It doesn't matter what I'm known as on the backstreets of London. What I really care about now, is what I'm known for here. With my friends."
"You're soft."
"Always have been, Will. I just hide it."