Chapter Text
The view was stupendous – the way the Sun brushed the otherwise harsh desert with strokes of warm crimson was so comforting one could forget the state of the world they lived in. The naturally contrasting blue and orange were conjoined in a beautiful union in the wide open sky above, and the clouds were like gentle, almost fragile, sunflower petals being swallowed by the dusk coming in from the east, a heavy blanket ready to cast night over the land. The first stars sparkled high up above.
“So romantic,” Joseph thought, knowing Caesar would surely appreciate the atmosphere were he not currently unconscious next to the Joestar cowering behind a large rock with gunshots cracking the silence around them.
Scavengers – or relic hunters as they liked to call themselves – were a group of people specialised in retrieving objects from past golden eras now considered a sign of wealth, such as old paintings or books or other baubles. Usually such things could be found in old cities left forgotten and ravaged by time, but it was often a stroke of ill luck those relics were already in the hands of others, thus creating the need to break into other’s homes and steal them for one’s employer. The better off saw it all as a game where you could show off your wealth and influence while using the hunters as pawns, and so the job itself was risky. But it was well worth it since it paid so well. With the money a hunter earned from a dainty tea set some mogul wished to collect dust with on a shelf, one could buy a month’s worth of petrol, clean water and non-perishable goods.
If the relic in demand was in someone else’s possession, it was surely protected by whatever means the person who had it could provide. Usually it was mercenaries.
That time there had been a lot of mercenaries.
Joseph’s tommy gun was all out of bullets, having blindly fired it nonstop over his head. He pushed Caesar’s face into the dirt as he ravaged his back pockets for more, of course copping a feel in the process. “If only I could use your buns of steel as a weapon, Caesar-chan!” he gritted his teeth as a bullet hit the upper edge of the rock they were behind.
A sudden explosion somewhere behind them made Joseph drop the bullets from his sweaty palms, and the whinny of a horse dared him to peek over the stone. He jumped out yelling after he saw who it was.
“No, no, no! I had them, I was going to be fine, and so don’t you dare hold this over my head!” he shrieked as he took long strides to a Neapolitan jumping off a stock horse. Giving Joseph only a wide golden grin, Gyro stepped towards the fallen mercenaries to retrieve his steel ball. “And keep that thing away from me!” the Brit added when the other man clicked a small button on it and holstered it.
“My dear Jojo, if only you’d been so careful before agitating so many men instead of just one,” Gyro drawled and went to empty the corpses’ pockets. He scratched his oddly shaped stubble. “Which beckons the question: where is my dear Anthonio?”
“Oh shit, son of a bitch! That’s right! Follow me, quickly!” Joseph turned on his heel and ran back to the rock with Gyro in tow.
During the commotion Caesar had managed to force open his eyelids. He admired the view for a moment’s breath before remembering the situation he and his partner were in. Or had been, by the looks of it when his cousin and Joseph covered the stars the Italian had been staring at.
“Buona sera, Anthonio. Didn’t nonno Zeppeli tell us that “courage must know fear and make fear its own! Fear upsets breathing! Conquer fear and your breath will never fail you!” and so on and so on?” Gyro mimicked their forefather as he pulled him up.
“I didn’t faint because I was scared!” Caesar frowned, punching a snickering Joseph in the gut. “I hit my head, alright? Cazzo!”
“I should look at that. Sit down, Anthonio.”
Like mechanics or fair tradesmen, doctors were also hard to come by those days. Usually Gyro did not flaunt his expertise in public, knowing full well the consequences such an action would bring – besides being not able to do as he pleased, his father would surely learn of his reappearance, which was something he hoped would never happen. And if someone did know of his profession, he never offered his services for free.
“Just a bump, you’ll live,” the Neapolitan advised. “That’ll be 1/3 of the profit you’ll make. Just like you need gas, my trusty steed needs water and blankets for the upcoming cold season.”
“That’s stealing, there wasn’t even anything wrong with him!” Joseph argued. “Besides, Caesar is your cousin! He’s family!”
“You’re right! A half of what you’ll earn then, thanks, Jojo!” Gyro laughed as the Brit guffawed. “I’m joking, of course. Laugh! Don’t look so sombre!”
A while later the three had settled down into a nearby abandoned building where the bulky duo had left their ride, a motorcycle with a sidecar. Caesar and Joseph never took turns driving it – their competitiveness got the best of them every time and the outcome was always decided by a game of rock-paper-scissors.
They started a fire in a stone alcove, and while Gyro tended to his horse, the other two prepared a modest meal of hot herbal tea, some beans and jerky. “A balanced meal is the way to a healthy lifestyle,” Gyro wagged his finger upon his return, and tossed a few hard apples at his companions. “You should had seen the look Valkyrie gave me when she saw me sneak these out of the bag.”
The rest of the night was spent in comfortable silence and when morning came, it was time to part ways. The Neapolitan wished the two a mighty bounty for the silver pocket watch the struggle had been about, and having donned his hat and goggles, he began to make his way west.
He admitted it was lonely traveling companionless, especially when his Walkman would run out of batteries, which seemed to happen faster every time. Fresh batteries were hard to come by, and the wires of a solar-powered reloading device were not the most reliable ones. Sometimes he wished he could be in some city with generators, however that would conflict with his free-roaming spirit. And of course he feared his father’s spies would find him quicker then.
Even though Caesar had lectured him on the dangers of traveling alone, Gyro was sure a sidekick would just be a liability. Someone else to look after, someone else to worry about. His hands were full with Valkyrie, anyway. Gyro decided to push the subject into the farthest corners of his mind, opting for an impromptu rock concert having stuffed the radio into one of his saddlebags.
His only audience being the stock horse, Gyro’s songs were all equestrian-based. He offered classics such as “Trot You Like a Hurricane”, “Carry On Arabian Foal”, and many others. His rendition of “Sweet Home Saratoga” was cut short, however, when he noticed horse tracks in the dried up riverbed he had been following. The rider had come from an opposite direction of Gyro, and having reached the river, went on to trace it.
Seeing another rider was rare. Most people would use vehicles when they needed to, if they could even afford buying one and maintaining it, not to mention the price of petrol that had long since been monopolized. A horse was a difficult and needy animal to take care of; one could almost argue the cons outweighed the pros at that time and age.
Of course he had to follow the tracks.
They were old, about a week’s age, and had been preserved thanks to the dry climate of the desert. Gyro could almost feel the cracked earth beg for the rainy season unleash its fury upon all the land; it was still half a year off. He noticed how the other rider had been traveling upstream, and mentally congratulated him for critical thinking.
After a few days ride Gyro knew that if Valkyrie could talk she would thank him for making her carry such a heavy canister of water. The Sun was merciless, and come high noon there was little that offered shelter large enough for a horse. On the fourth day the Neapolitan walked alongside his horse, carrying his bags himself to prevent Valkyrie from collapsing.
By sundown he finally found what he had been looking for. A very sad tired-looking Appaloosa was lying on the ground beneath a shaggy tarp connected to a roofless saloon and held up with a crutch, of all things. He dragged an empty rusty barrel towards the horse and dumped most of the water from his canister into it. Wearily the old mare stood, but her ears perked up when her nostril touched water. Having made sure Valkyrie herself got some, he tied her up, and cautiously made his way into the building.
Immediately he distinguished the sound of a pistol being cocked, and he threw his hands up in the air. “Friend, not foe!” he yelled as he scanned the room for the rider. He found him on the floor amidst shards of glass and roof planks, sitting up against the bar.
“Go away,” was all the weakly young man said. His voice was husky, lips cracked and eyes unclear – a tell-tale sign of dehydration.
“Buddy, listen,” Gyro tried to ease him. “I have some water, I’ll give you some if you lower the gun.” Usually he would not give away anything for free even in a situation such as that, but since the other man had a horse, all reasons to doubt his ill will were lost to Gyro.
His confidence shaking, the other put away his gun. “It doesn’t have no bullets, anyway,” he sighed wearily when Gyro came to kneel beside him.
When a bottle of water reached his dried lips, he lost all composure and began to drink like a madman. “Hey, moderation!” the Neapolitan yelled as he pulled the bottle away from the tired traveller. “I’m not stingy, but drinking that much after being dehydrated is dangerous!”
“Why, you a doctor?”
“Yes!”
The fair-haired young man pouted at him, but gave back the bottle anyway. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking away. “I gave the last of my water to Slow Dancer two days ago. I was traveling upstream, hoping to find a spring, but… I couldn’t make it. I’m all out of food, too. Feed, as well.”
“Great,” Gyro thought as he stood back up. “I’m running low myself, but I’m not that heartless that I’d just leave them here to die.” He looked around the place. The saloon had clearly been abandoned in a hurry; everything was still mostly as it was supposed to be, save for the broken windows and mirrors. The missing roof, as well. A second crutch was on the ground next to the young man, and a small backpack lied a bit ways off. It was all very sad.
“So, Slow Dancer is the Appaloosa in front, huh? What’s your name? Mine is Gyro Zeppeli, and my horse’s is Valkyrie,” Gyro introduced himself, looking back to the other man.
“Johnny Joestar.”
“You’re kidding me.”
Gyro knew one of them and was mildly acquainted with the other three, and now there was a fifth one. “You have a pretty big family, huh? You know Joseph?”
“I remember him from about fifteen years ago. He’s my cousin. I’ve kind of… lost touch with all of them since I ran away,” Johnny replied meekly.
“Fifteen years on the road and you still don’t know how to ration responsibly?” Gyro jabbed, and was met with an angry brow.
“I didn’t run away when I was six; he moved then. I’ve only travelled alone for a few months. And I know how to ration!” Johnny looked away. “I was robbed when I was asleep a few weeks ago. They didn’t take Slow Dancer because they saw her as a liability, probably.”
With every passing moment Gyro felt sorrier for the kid in front of him, but he was not going to say it. Seeing his crutches the Neapolitan felt like Johnny had had enough pity for a few lifetimes. “Then again, maybe not. No one really cares about the unfortunate these days,” he thought.
“There might be some provisions left here, this place seems untouched. Did you look around?”
“Yes, of course, I literally pranced about the place in my thirst-driven deliriousness with my crutches,” Johnny rolled his eyes at him and took a small sip of the water Gyro had given back to him.
“What’s the extent of your injury?” “On good days I can waddle with my crutches. On bad days I can’t feel my legs.” “So what happened?”
The Joestar looked away again. “Got shot in the back.”
Gyro was sure the universe was playing a dark joke on him now. He, who did not wish to have a traveling companion, was more and more being edged towards partnering up with the horse-riding cripple. But he did not mind it all that much – for some reason, he liked Johnny.
“Well, don’t run anywhere, I’ll have a look around,” he grinned, and was overjoyed when Johnny did not comment on his grill. He only shrugged and muttered a small “I’ll try” before fiddling with the dirty curls springing out of the holes in his knit cap. Gyro pushed his own hat on Johnny’s head, and promised to try and find a new one for him, as well.
He did not find a hat. In fact, he did not find that much at all. All the bar food was well past its expiration date, so he settled on a few cans of fruit in syrup which would surely keep their energy up. He also managed to steal away a few bottles of water, and he thanked the lord above when he made sure they were still sealed. Of course, there was a lot of alcohol, but that would just make their bodies lose water more; maybe later, when they were not in danger of dehydration (again).
“Here’s some pineapples,” Gyro offered when he opened a can, sniffing it before handing it over to the Joestar. “And here’s a… fork,” he continued, but stopped when Johnny had already dug into the tin, gobbling the fruit down like a hungry wolf. “So good,” he mumbled between mouthfuls with tears in the corners of his eyes. Gyro wondered just how long he had been without food.
They ate for a while in silence, and when Gyro had fed the horses as well, he offered to climb up to the edge of the wall to see whether he would notice any sign of a hamlet or the like somewhere on the horizon. Johnny sent him along with his gaze, to which Gyro smirked. “Enjoying the view?”
“Yeah, I really like stars,” the young man offered, and pointed at the sky bereft of the saloon’s roof.
The Neapolitan noticed a faint glow far off in the north. It was probably a week’s ride there, but he feared their current provisions would only last for a few days. If he were alone, he would be fine, but he could not just leave Johnny and Slow Dancer behind anymore; that would be too cruel, and he himself had had enough of cruelty of the world. He did not want to climb down to give Johnny the news.
Being silent as it was, a rumbling sound travelled quick in the air and to Gyro, who immediately deducted it to be a motorcycle. He wondered whether it could had been Caesar and Joseph, driving to a new job, and abruptly jumped down the wall, scaring the hell out of Johnny. “I thought you fell, you dumbass!” Gyro heard him yell behind him as he rushed out of the saloon and into the open desert illuminated by the stars and moon above. And then he saw it – coming up along the dried up riverbed, a big headlight shining bright. One hand firmly on the holster of his steel ball, he began to wave and yell at the nearing vehicle.
The driver stopped, and Gyro now knew they were not Caesar or Joseph; the two always travelled together. After pulling off the helmet, he blinked at Gyro and pointed his finger at him, his mouth an O-shape trying to form the right words.
“… You! You’re the long-haired grill guy!” the muscular young man with strange crossed scars across his face yelled. “I know you!”
Now that Gyro thought about it, the boy did seem familiar. He was sure something was missing, though, that kept him from completely remembering him.
A faint whinny of a buzz echoed against the silence of the desert as another headlight appeared in the distance on the riverbed. A minute later a pastel pink – or it was once, the paint had mostly been chipped off and covered with stickers – scooter pulled up next to the mighty Vincent machine, and Gyro immediately noticed the driver thanks to his outrageous hairdo.
“Jojo!” the Zeppeli grinned, and released the grip on his steel ball. Josuke pulled off his goggles, and smiled. “Okuyasu, look! It’s J-Lo!”
“Gyro, god damn it!”
“Oops, sorry,” Josuke sheepishly laughed, and fixed his hair. He then proceeded to slap Okuyasu on the arm. “I told you not to speed up ahead, you know my little trash can can’t keep up!”
“But Josuke, won’t it take more gas for such a monster to drive at low speed? It would be cruel to not let it live out its full potential.”
“I guess you’re right,” Jojo agreed. “Anyway, Gyro, what’re you doing here? This place gives me the max creeps…” He eyed the place carefully, though upon noticing the horses his eyes went big. “I’ve seen these in only picture books! So kewl!”
“Hell yeah, they’re cool!” Gyro agreed, excited, but before continuing remembered the urgency of the situation he was in – he needed to go far, and take along with him a cripple and another horse. “Hey, listen, think you can help me out? I have your relati—“
As Gyro spun around to point at the saloon, he noticed Johnny had crawled out onto the porch. “Today’s a bad day,” he shrugged, a small blush tinting his cheeks; it was demeaning enough he had to crawl around, and it felt even more embarrassing in front of the man who probably had just saved his life. He did not care about the other two.
“Who’re they?”
“Don’t you know your own family? That’s Josuke Higashikata, a Joestar like you,” Gyro burrowed his brows, and rested his arms akimbo.
“Do you know this guy, Josuke?” Okuyasu asked.
“Never seen him.”
Gyro’s head snapped back to the Japanese duo beside him. “Are you kidding me?” He looked at Johnny again. “Did you lie to me or something? What, did you worry I was going to hurt you? How did you even came up with such a dumb family name like Joestar? Oh, you’ve probably heard of Joseph, haven’t you? And spun out a story of being cousins!”
“Before you call me an asshole or whatever,” Johnny hastily cut in, angry as can be, “I wasn’t lying. My name is Johnny Joestar, I just haven’t seen that fella before in my life. Didn’t even know his name before you saying it.”
An uncomfortable silence fell, broken only by Okuyasu shuffling from foot to foot. “You know,” he began, “you could just check for the star.”
“That’s genius, Oku!” Josuke grinned, and took for his unknown relative, who was now more alert and ready to put up a fight, if need be; the day had already been so very long, and his patience was running thin. Gyro’s accusing had not helped, either.
Josuke squatted beside Johnny and pulled off his leather jacket. He tugged at the sleeve to show him the base of his neck. “See that? Every Joestar has it.”
“Of course, I have it, too,” Johnny huffed, and put his head down so Josuke could see the star-shaped birth mark just above his left shoulder. “Yup, that’s a Joestar, right here!” he grinned, and waved at Gyro and Okuyasu. “I know Joseph, but I don’t know you. Guess that’s to do on my part, my family’s branch is… kind of new, I guess? I’m Josuke, or, well, you already know that. That great guy back there is Okuyasu Nijimura.”
“And you know that I’m Johnny,” the fair-haired man nodded. “And I know I have relatives out there, I just don’t know everyone by name and face.”
“Scusa,” Gyro interrupted them. “Johnny, I didn’t mean to make you angry. I’m sorry.”
Johnny brushed the apology aside, saying he did not need it. Instead, he proceeded to explain the situation he was in to Josuke and Okuyasu, who both squatted next to him, almost gang-like.
“You’re heading for the city up north?” Gyro asked. They both nodded.
“Need more provisions, and hell of a lot of gas!” “Why won’t you just sell the scooter, and both travel on the Vincent? Would save you a lot,” Johnny offered.
Josuke and Okuyasu looked at each other, baffled. “Bro, I’ve never even thought of that,” Nijimura muttered. “Me neither,” Higashikata agreed. “But Oku, think how kewl that would be! Travelling like that with my best buddy! That would be so great!” “Maybe we could even get a sidecar, like Joseph has!” Gyro and Johnny exchanged a tired look that said more than a thousand words.
“Anyway, I’m not really interested in heading to town,” Gyro drawled, and turned to Johnny. If his new friend wished otherwise, it was not his place to persuade him. He probably wanted a warm meal. And a bath.
“I’d stay away, if I could,” Johnny, however, agreed. “Just need provisions.”
“Hey, Johnny!” Josuke stood up and crossed his arms heroically. “You know what, how about me and Okuyasu head to town, sell the scooter, get us some stuff, get you guys some stuff, and bring them to you? As a thanks for helping us out with the idea on how to save!”
Before Johnny could say anything, Gyro cut in. “Yes, that would be great, you guys! Grazie!” “Great!” Josuke agreed, and put his goggles back on. “Okuyasu, let’s go straight away!”
Eagerly the two Japanese youths jumped back on their respective rides, and sped into the night as Gyro and Johnny waved them off. “Want to go back inside?” the Neapolitan offered his hands to which Johnny shook his head. “I got it,” he swallowed, and began crawling back. Gyro kissed the two horses goodnight, and joined him.
He rolled out their sleeping bags side by side, and fell unto his own with an “umph”. “So where’re you planning on going?”
Johnny looked at him solemnly. “Nowhere in particular, which is probably why I got into this situation in the first place. Could… could I come with you? Even for a little while?”
Gyro begrudgingly thought over the situation he was in. He knew there was a big chance Johnny would slow him down, and would just cause more heartbreak for Gyro if a situation arose where he had to leave him behind, but he did not wish to part from him so early; he had a feeling Johnny could surprise him. And besides, travelling would not be so lonely and boring anymore. He kept finding more reasons allowing Johnny to stay with him, he could even maybe try and heal him. Or make him feel a bit better, at least.
“Alright,” Gyro rose to his elbow and watched how his new companion perked up. He took his trusty teddy bear, and pretended it to talk. “But only if you smile more, you’re a big frowny-pants,” he said in a nasal childish voice.
Johnny’s frown deepened, before curving into a small smile. “Alright, I’ll try, but no promises.”
“Cazzo,” Gyro thought. “Che carino.”