Archive of Our Own

“This time your journey really is over.”

Johnny seethed as those words echoed in his head. Who did Gyro think he is? Trying to tell him what to do with his life? Telling him to abandon what he worked so hard for?

He wanted to yell so badly, but Gyro practically had him pinned down as he stitched the bullet wounds on Johnny’s cheeks with laser focus, moving with precision gained from plenty of experience. But was holding him down like this really necessary? Did he think Johnny would try to escape if he let up even a little bit?

The physical contact only served to frustrate Johnny. He clenched his hands into fists, felt his eyes swell with the familiar threat of tears. If he cried now, could he convincingly blame it on the pain? He wasn’t so sure. But he just barely held it back on account of his dignity. He still had his dignity. He’d lost just about everything else.

He must have been trembling, because Gyro scoffed at him and muttered, “Hold still.”

Johnny felt the urge to talk back, but he knew moving his mouth right now would only mess up Gyro’s work and earn him a lecture. So he settled for a short puff of breath through his nose.

“Relax,” Gyro said. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll be done soon.”

But “done soon” wasn’t even the whole truth, because he had a few more wayward bullet wounds, so they’d be at this for a while yet. Gyro was just trying to shut him up. Give me a break, Johnny thought.

“This is coming off,” Gyro announced flatly before pulling the bloodsoaked hoodie off of Johnny. Well, at least he had finished stitching Johnny’s face.

And wasn’t it just great to be half naked at a time like this. In spite of himself, Johnny’s heart rate spiked, because unfortunately, Gyro undressing him had that effect no matter how angry Johnny was. Never mind that they were already in a relationship—didn’t make a bit of difference. Gyro was Gyro—stupid, frustrating, attractive Gyro.

At least now Johnny could speak. Pushing past the residual coyness, he cleared his throat. “You really have some nerve, you know,” he said.

“Tell me about it.” Gyro didn’t look up from poking Johnny’s chest with the needle, and Johnny huffed. He had a feeling that some of Gyro’s patients would mouth off to him and that he was accustomed to tuning them out. Gyro was giving him that exact treatment. The thought only made Johnny’s cheeks burn with frustration and embarrassment.

“No. Gyro. You’re not fucking listening.”

Only then did Gyro meet his gaze, his green eyes cold and serious. Johnny refused to look away despite his skin bristling with discomfort. “I’m listening.”

“You don’t fucking understand what this is like. There’s just no way you could.” Johnny knew it sounded immature, but he couldn’t help it. He was pissed.

“Well, I understand more than anyone else you’ve met in your life.”

Johnny gritted his teeth, though it hurt. “Don’t tell me about my own life! You have no right!” He clenched a fist, just barely holding back from punching Gyro in the face, though truthfully he thought Gyro was undeserving of such restraint.

“Johnny,” Gyro sighed, wiping an invisible bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m giving you this advice as a medical professional who wants to see you live. Pushing yourself to complete this race after sustaining injuries like this will do yourself no good.”

“Man, fuck you and your medical professionalism!” Johnny felt the tears threaten to spill again. “No so-called ‘medical professional’ has ever cared whether I lived or died. You’re no different. No different at all.”

To Johnny’s surprise, Gyro actually looked taken aback. Devastated, even. He was stunned into silence for a few moments before he spoke again, stumbling over his words. “Johnny… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was that bad. That you weren’t taken care of very well. I’m so sorry.”

Johnny scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need your pity. Of course it was that fucking bad. I was neglected in the hospital after I got shot, so what? This sorta thing happens to a lotta people—I ain’t special. This really shouldn’t be that shocking. You’re unbelievable, you know.”

“It’s not pity, really! It’s not. I don’t pity you. I respect you, Johnny, and I see you as my equal, as well as a helluva good jockey. And,” Gyro again stumbled on his words, blushing, “you’re the man that I love. I’m just sorry that happened. You should’ve been treated more kindly. It wasn’t fair to you. At all. And I haven’t been fair to you either.”

Johnny remained silent. He could tell Gyro was swallowing every bit of his pride, doing everything just short of kissing Johnny’s ass. It counted for something. Gyro was silent too, refocusing on stitching him up with gentle hands. It made Johnny’s chest burn in a way that had nothing to do with a needle.

“Listen,” Gyro finally said. “You mean a lot to me.” Gyro’s blush deepened. “I hope you know that by now. Even if I’m not great at showing it. I’m tired of seeing you almost die. It scares the hell outta me every time. So maybe that does make me selfish. So I’m real sorry for that. But I want to be a little selfish this time when I say all I want is for you to be safe.”

Now Johnny was crying for real, sobbing quietly into his hands. Gyro withdrew quickly, storing away the needle and thread in his bag. He reached out a hand hesitantly, which Johnny took without hesitation and wrapped around himself in a hug. Gyro accepted it, resting his chin atop Johnny’s head protectively and stroking a hand in Johnny’s hair. Johnny buried his face in Gyro’s shoulder. The hold was familiar and reassuring and Johnny felt comfortable enough to just cry and not worry about what Gyro thought.

“I just want you to know that I can help you, Johnny,” Gyro said. “I know some physical therapy exercises I can help you with. And we can get you a proper set of crutches. It won’t be easy and it won’t be perfect, but you’d walk again. You’ve already shown me you’re capable.”

Johnny pulled back to look into Gyro’s eyes, which he swore he saw glisten with barely restrained tears. Even if those tears never actually fell, Johnny knew Gyro was a sap through and through. “You’re sure? You’d do all that?”

“It’s a promise.”

“How would this work? Where would I go while you finish the race?”

“With me, of course. I’d drop out too.”

“What! Gyro. Think about this. You’re okay with giving this up after coming so far? After everything you’ve worked so hard for?”

“Sure am.”

Johnny shook his head incredulously, although a smile tugged at his lips. “You’re insane, you know.”

Gyro shrugged. “Hey, maybe. But think about it. I like you and you like me, at least I think you do.”

“Eh. I tolerate you. You’re alright.”

Gyro chose not to dignify that with a response. “So why overcomplicate things? I think as long as we’re together, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“And where would we go?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet.”

“What.”

“I said I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose. “Heard you the first time, dummy. Just havin’ a hard time believin’ how stupid you’re being about this.”

Gyro let out a whine. “C’mon, Johnny. You’re thinking about it too hard.” He tapped his chin in thought. “Okay. Fine. Why don’t we travel around the countryside like we’ve been doing? But just for fun this time. You can show me where you grew up and stuff. I’m not ready to go home just yet anyways.”

“Hmmm. Suppose so. You just have to know that my folks are kinda… crazy.”

Gyro snorted. “Join the club. Well, we don’t gotta spend more time with them than necessary. We can go wherever you like, Johnny. Do whatever you want. World’s our shell, or whatever it is you Americans say.”

“Oyster,” Johnny supplied helpfully. “The world’s our oyster.”

“That’s what I said.” Johnny smacked Gyro’s face gently and was met with a shit-eating grin. Johnny sighed. “God, Gyro, I just think you should think about this.”

“I already have.”

“What?”

“I already have.” Gyro looked away, his cheeks turning red. “I’ve thought about our future together. And I’ve just decided that I want to go wherever you go.”

Johnny was silent, studying Gyro. He grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Alright then, Gyro.”

“Alright then what? You’ll drop out with me?”

Johnny smiled. “Yeah. I’ll drop out with you.”

Gyro hugged him. “Yay, Johnny! It’s gonna be so fun! We’re gonna get to cuddle every night, and make out, and drink, and play games, and, and! And ride our horses together, and collect teddy bears, and sing songs and I’ll come up with new gags, and I’ll help you learn how to walk again, and it’ll be amazing.”

“Woah there, cowboy. Slow your roll a little bit. Don’t get too excited now.” He sighed. “Also, you should probably finish stitching me up already. Please.”

Johnny slept like shit.

It’s not as if he usually slept well—not at all. Nightmares where he relived trauma were commonplace. He rarely woke up feeling rested. But today he woke up feeling exceptionally wrecked.

And sore. Very sore.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Johnny groaned. He couldn’t deal with Gyro’s inexplicably high energy right now.

Gyro didn’t look up from the oatmeal he was preparing in a pot over the fire. He was familiar by now with all of Johnny’s little sounds and what they meant. “You hurtin’?”

Johnny stretched and yawned. “No more than the usual.”

Gyro narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t lie to me, Joestar. I can always tell. You literally got shot like all over yesterday. That would knock anybody down for a while. So don’t pretend you’re fine. Because it’ll only piss me off.”

Johnny just held Gyro’s gaze silently.

Johnny had a complicated relationship with pain. He was used to it. It was normal for him to dissociate and pretend it was happening to someone else. Or to try to convince himself that the pain doesn’t even exist and that it’s “all in his head,” as quite a few doctors had told him. And he never wanted to be honest to someone about being in pain, because then what? Then people pity him or think he’s being dramatic. Nobody wants to hear it, so he doesn’t want to say it.

So this was no different. Johnny was content to keep his mouth shut, but truthfully, his left jaw felt tight in a way that felt very wrong and unfamiliar. He was familiar with all his usual pains, but not this one. But he couldn’t just say that. And frankly, he wasn’t comfortable with Gyro playing doctor on him all the time. He hated doctors for a reason. Why should Gyro be exempt from that? He much preferred the Gyro that was simply his boyfriend, nothing more. Gyro didn’t owe him a damn thing.

“You snored last night,” Gyro noted casually, interrupting Johnny’s silent contemplation.

Johnny scoffed. “Like hell I did.”

“No, really, you did. It’s funny ‘cause you never used to before.” Gyro studied Johnny, and Johnny could practically see the gears in his head turning. Whatever Gyro was thinking about, Johnny wanted no knowledge of it.

Johnny shuddered. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s just snoring. Just wake me up next time, okay? I’ll stop. Anyways, I’m going to just lie down for a bit.”

“Sure, get some rest. We’re in no rush to be anywhere.” And that was weird to hear after however many odd months of being in a hurry all the time. Gyro shoved a bowl of oats at Johnny. “Just get some food down for me, capisce?”

Everything was different now. Now that they had dropped out of the race, they were free in the truest sense of the word. Johnny noticed that Gyro was more relaxed. His posture was less tense—he smiled and laughed more, made more gags. Played around with the horses and Tusk more. But Johnny felt quite the opposite, uptight and unable to relax in the slightest. He startled at any sudden noise. He clenched Slow Dancer’s reins tightly enough to ache, trying in vain to ground himself.

And he was beginning to wake up feeling decidedly wrong.

It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with pain. No, not at all. But this was a different kind. His other wounds had healed mostly, but with his jaw it was like the bones themselves were misaligned. Any time he opened his jaw he could hear and feel a click. When he chewed things of certain textures it felt uncomfortable. And he was getting more frequent headaches. Those would make him wanna lie down, but couldn’t lie down without his jaw hurting from the pressure of laying on it. So then what was he supposed to do? Nothing, really, except try to white knuckle it.

Johnny felt like days were passing him by uneventfully as he just stagnated. And worse, he was isolating himself from Gyro. When they weren’t traveling, he was spending more time lying down, sleeping because at least that meant he wouldn’t be in pain anymore, even if that means he’d wake up in pain later for subconsciously clenching his teeth while sleeping. When Gyro asked, Johnny chalked all the sleeping up to being tired from the race, which was in part true. But of course that wasn’t the whole story.

He kept having this recurring nightmare. The exact way that it happened varied, but every time, Gyro died, and every time, Johnny was helpless to save him. Every time, he woke up in a cold sweat, gasping, until he felt Gyro’s warmth next to him, and his soft breathing—sometimes snoring—and Johnny allowed his muscles to relax. But of course, his jaw would ache.

He was constantly in a fugue state. He wasn’t really interested in any of Gyro’s gags, and he definitely couldn’t focus around the pain. He began to feel nostalgic for the race, which was funny because things weren’t really any better back then—he and Gyro used to be in much more danger. But at least then he had a goal to work towards, and right now he had nothing. His goal at this point was to… stay alive? Not shoot himself in the head? He didn’t see a point in any of it. And he was hardly ever interested in trying to walk whenever Gyro brought up physical therapy. He was already dealing with enough pain as is.

His jaw pain was ruining his life in almost every single aspect.

Johnny was frustrated. Everything was cyclical, and if it seemed like anything was certain since his injury, it was that his body would fail him in various ways.

There was a laundry list of ailments that he was used to. His back had a tendency to hurt, but especially after long days of riding. He experienced burning neuropathic pain around his back where he was shot. Muscle spasms in his legs. His arms were built, of course, but his shoulders would still hurt on days where he pushed his wheelchair for too long. And what could he do to relieve any of this pain? Not much. His life was full of pain, emotional and physical, most often simultaneously. It’s all he knew.

Despite his suicidal urges, Johnny never relented. Because then he would look at Gyro and feel guilty. As much as he told himself Gyro would be better off without him, he couldn’t help but worry that his death would hurt Gyro irreparably. After all, Johnny knew that he personally would never be the same if he ever lost Gyro. It hurt too much to even imagine it.

But Johnny still struggled. He still found it hard to want to keep going in this life when every impulse screamed to stop. It could be so easy. A finger to his head, a nail bullet to his skull. That’s all it would take, and it’d be over. Permanently. The endless cycle of hurt that followed him everywhere—it could end. It would be all too easy. And why shouldn’t he just do it?

He just wanted the pain to stop. Was that too much to ask?

They were somewhere in West Virginia, Johnny thought, when they set up camp for the night. He didn’t entirely know nor did he care. He decided to let Gyro lead the way and that was that. Less for him to think about.

But that night, Johnny was in pain. A lot of it. Gyro was talking about God knows what. Just running his mouth, going on and on. And it was on the verge of setting Johnny off. But he tried to tune him out and focus on breathing deeply, as little as that helped. There was simply no breathing his way out of this one. It wouldn’t make his jaw stop hurting.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Gyro said.

Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose, took in another deep breath before mumbling, “Please just shut the fuck up, Gyro.”

Gyro stared at him, mouth slightly agape, blinking a few times in shock. “Jeez, what’s wrong with you?”

“Ain’t a damn thing wrong with me. What’s wrong with you? Just shut yer trap.”

“Stop lying. Seriously. You’re horrible at it. I can tell there’s something that just ain’t right with you, and this will be easier for both of us if you just spill.” Gyro crossed his arms.

Fine, Johnny thought, rubbing away tears from his eyes. “Oh my God. Ugh. It’s just my jaw. It hurts so bad I can’t stand it. What the fuck is wrong with it?”

Gyro was silent for a long time, seeming to be thinking. Johnny hissed when he felt a fresh wave of pain hit him out of nowhere.

“Johnny—”

“What,” he groaned.

“Come here.” Gyro’s voice had softened, which helped a little. He made a beckoning gesture with his hand. “Lay your head here for a bit.” He scooted closer to Johnny, patting a pillow he had placed in his lap.

Johnny obeyed—not worth acting pissy about it. And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel better, the warmth comforting. Gyro grabbed a steel ball, sent it spinning. “I’m just gonna put this on your jaw, okay? It might be a little uncomfortable at first but it should help.”

“Mmhmm,” Johnny muttered. He didn’t care.

As Gyro predicted, it did feel a little worse before it felt better. But it did help.

And he couldn’t help crying again, because Gyro was being so sweet with him and he was so very, very tired and nothing seemed like it would ever get better. Nothing was okay.

Gyro paused, slowed the ball gradually so as to not hurt him by stopping so abruptly. “Am I hurting you?” It probably looked like he was crying because of the steel ball.

“No,” Johnny assured quickly. “Keep going. Please.”

Gyro let out a relieved sigh before speeding up the Spin again. He pressed a quick kiss to Johnny’s forehead, and Johnny blushed.

“Please don’t ever leave me,” Johnny mumbled. He didn’t know where that emotional statement came from, but he knew it was genuine and couldn’t find it within himself to be too embarrassed. Not right now, at least.

“I’m not going anywhere, Johnny.”

Johnny sighed. He felt like in a different universe, maybe they had continued on with the race and something bad would’ve happened to Gyro. He can’t imagine going on without him. Not after all they had been through. What would he do? Where would he go? There wasn’t a physical place he called home. Gyro was like his home now, so anywhere with him felt like home.

Something could still happen to Gyro any time. And that fear held Johnny in a vice grip. But he tried to hold on to Gyro’s words, repeating them in his head like a mantra.

Eventually he stopped crying, his eyes burning, feeling too exhausted to keep them open. His head pounded from crying too much. Gyro was petting his hair with his free hand, which made Johnny even sleepier. He loved Gyro’s hands and the way they felt on his body.

“Go to sleep, Jojo, it’s okay,” Gyro reassured.

So he did.

Johnny was becoming far too used to being in so much pain when waking up. Usually it was his back—and it still was—but now he had his jaw to add to the mix. He knew that sleep always came with a price, so it was getting increasingly harder to even want to sleep at all.

Johnny woke up in the same spot he fell asleep in with his head resting on a pillow in Gyro’s lap, his neck stiff and sore. At some point Gyro must have gotten Valkyrie to settle behind him so his back was supported by something, his hat covering his eyes as he snored. Valkyrie surprisingly didn’t seem to mind much, and Slow Dancer was settled nearby, grooming Valkyrie through little nibbles. It was a sweet moment. His whole little family all together.

He almost didn’t want to even move because it was all so peaceful, and who knows how much his sleeping bothered Gyro last night. Of course there was his snoring, his tossing and turning, and the way his whole body trembled or even “convulsed”—in Gyro’s words—during a nightmare. He felt a pervasive sense of guilt. He wanted Gyro to sleep peacefully, but it seemed impossible when they slept together.

Not to mention, he wished he himself could sleep soundly. But not every wish can come true. And he was well aware of that. Had been for a long time.

Johnny woke Gyro up by rubbing his thigh gently. “Gyro.”

Gyro startled a bit, then took his hat off and stretched his arms with a yawn. “Oh, good morning, baby.”

Johnny averted his eyes, his cheeks warming, still not entirely used to pet names.

“You okay?” Gyro asked, his gaze still bleary with sleep. He rubbed at his eyes.

“Yeah. We should probably get up and let the horses stretch their legs a bit.”

“Aw, why? We’re so warm and comfortable.” Gyro stroked the back of Johnny’s head, reclining a bit again. Johnny could tell Gyro was already falling back asleep.

“Gyro. C’mon,” Johnny huffed. Gyro groaned. He kissed Johnny’s forehead before finally moving to get up.

“We need to talk, Johnny,” Gyro said as they cuddled by the campfire that night.

Johnny shot straight up, eyes wide. “Are we breaking up?”

“Merda, Johnny, no. No. Jesus Christ. Where on earth did you get that idea?”

“Nowhere. Anyways, what were you going to tell me? Spit it out.”

Gyro still looked concerned, but pressed on. “It’s about your jaw.” Johnny winced immediately, and Gyro grimaced. “Don’t give me that look, Johnny. You’re horrible at lying. I know your jaw has been consistently bothering you ever since Philadelphia. I wasn’t born yesterday. This is all to say, we need to do something about it.”

Johnny just stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” What could possibly be done?

“I can fix it. It just needs surgery.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shot straight up. “You can? Wait… surgery?” His face blanched.

“Of course I can.” He sighed. “And yeah. Surgery. Sorry. There’s nothing I can do for it without going under the skin. It would all be pain management without treating the root issue.”

Johnny felt his stomach drop. The last time he woke up from surgery, it was there. In that hospital. That horrible, squalid place.

“Just think about it, okay? We can sleep on it. I’m not gonna force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Johnny’s heart raced. Every gut instinct screamed not to do this. But the reality of the situation is that he was in pain. A lot of pain. And that nothing would change if something wasn’t done about it. He couldn’t stand to stay stagnant like this.

He wasn’t the type of person to stay complacent. Not since his injury, at least.

He had survived the surgery that took place right after he was shot, somehow. Looking back, it was no small miracle, especially since he had received probably some of the worst care possible and had spent a long time in the hospital afterwards. Anemic. In pain. Nothing to keep his mind busy. Nothing to do except cry. And pray.

It was precisely because of this experience that he didn’t want to put himself in a similar position again. But it wouldn’t be like last time. It’s just Gyro. And Gyro loves him and would take good care of him. That was a certainty.

He was lucky to have Gyro. And he wanted to be able to accept help when it was needed. And damn was it needed.

He still had Gyro. Thank God he still had Gyro. He felt ill thinking about where he would be now if he had lost him. And he refused to let Gyro’s skill go to waste, because he trusted Gyro more than he could any other doctor. His trust in Gyro outweighed his fear of what could happen to himself.

Johnny squeezed Gyro’s hand. “I want to do it.”

Gyro had picked up supplies from an apothecary—gloves, masks, alcohol, bandages, meds. He had shelled out a little extra for a nice room at an inn, one he was sure was clean and unlikely to be a breeding ground for infection. They were in a town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere West Virginia, so it was more affordable than it would’ve been otherwise. Still not ideal for a surgery, but it was something. And they’d take what they could get.

Johnny was sat on the bed across from Gyro while Gyro arranged his things, looking them over, making sure nothing was forgotten.

“I have a request.”

Gyro looked up from his work. “What?”

Johnny looked away, embarrassed, before refocusing on Gyro. “You know, like, when you put me to sleep for surgery?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you leave your mask off? Just until I’m like, out? So I can remember it’s just you and not… somebody else?” Just so my body doesn’t freak out and think I’m back in that hospital. Johnny stared at his hands. He felt too scared to explain it aloud. But he hoped it could somehow be understood.

Gyro was silent for a moment, and Johnny fully expected questioning. Maybe even to be laughed at, ridiculed. Instead Gyro simply said, “Yeah, I can do that.” And that was that.

Johnny woke up hardly able to breathe.

It hurt. It hurt so bad. But he felt the warm weight of a hand—Gyro’s hand—in his own, and he squeezed back. It grounded him.

No stench. He wasn’t back there again. He was here, with Gyro. Just Gyro. Not a dozen other half-dead men who smelled of rotting flesh. Just the smell of a clean inn, and Gyro’s warm scent. Nothing attached to his foot either, nobody stealing his blood. He was still wearing the clean clothes he had on when Gyro put him to sleep with the steel ball. The bedsheets were clean and soft. No foul smells. He drew in a deep, shaky breath. He was okay.

Gyro kissed Johnny’s clammy forehead. “It’s okay,” he whispered as Johnny cried gently. Gyro was typically a loud person by nature, usually never whispered, but Johnny felt he needed the gentleness right now. He was glad Gyro was familiar with his needs. “You’re okay. You’re safe. It’s just me. We’re at an inn. You just had surgery, but it went well. It’s all over.”

Johnny sniffled. It felt good to just cry. So he didn’t hold back.

He had noticed Gyro was looking at his chest for a while. “What?” he mumbled, but was quickly hushed by Gyro. A few more seconds passed before Gyro recorded something in his notebook. Johnny squinted a bit, but made out the words respiratory rate.

Gyro delicately took Johnny’s wrist and pressed his fingers there. Johnny belatedly realized Gyro was taking his pulse. Oh, so he was being studied like a lab rat.

Johnny waited until Gyro recorded this number too before speaking. “Hope I get a good grade.”

“In what? Surgery recovery?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re passing with flying colors. Are you comfortable, amore mio?”

“Hurts,” Johnny mumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t use the steel ball right now or it’ll fuck up the bandage.” Instead he offered two pills which Johnny only eyed for a moment before gulping down with the glass of water Gyro brought to his lips. Johnny usually hated being fussed over this much, but right now it was fine. He couldn’t bother to complain.

“Your bedside manner isn’t too bad. You like this with all your patients?”

“I dunno. Maybe.” He kissed Johnny’s lips, then kissed his cheeks and finally his forehead. “Only you get kisses though. So consider yourself lucky.”

“I’m the luckiest in the world.” Johnny’s eyelids felt heavy. He shut his eyes. He would get better. He would stop being in so much pain. He would. It would all get better from here. It had to.

The last thing he recalled before falling asleep was Gyro’s thumb stroking the back of his hand. And a feeling of warmth.

Recovery wasn’t instantaneous, but Johnny knew by now not to expect that.

He acquiesced to a few days spent in the inn while Gyro fussed over him plenty—feeding him plenty of soft foods such as oatmeal and grits, taking his vitals every so often to make sure he was still healthy. Even when Gyro wasn’t actively doing doctorly things, he loved to give Johnny kisses—on his forehead, his brow, his freckled nose—effectively making Johnny blush bright red. Then he would casually ask if Johnny wanted to play a card game to help pass the time, as if this was just another regular travel day for them.

Given his subpar conditions after his last surgery, Johnny was not used to the attention and care at all. And it felt strange—a good kind of strange, at least.

But Johnny became antsy before long and yearned to ride again. So after Gyro deemed him well enough, they set off. Off towards Kentucky. Or wherever the wind took them. Didn’t particularly matter to Johnny as long as Gyro was there.

Things were improving. Slowly but surely. It wasn’t perfect. But the two of them were together, and that was basically the same thing in Johnny’s eyes. They were traveling, and cooking, and bantering, doing all of their normal things together. It’s all Johnny could ever hope for.

He sat watching Gyro, as he often did. Just watching, and thinking. “What kind of surgeries did they have you doin’ in Italy?” he asked.

The question made Gyro jump a little bit from where he was poking at the campfire. “Oh, all kinds of stuff.”

Johnny searched Gyro’s eyes, but couldn’t read them. Talking to Gyro about certain subjects was a delicate matter. Johnny knew by now that he had to tread very carefully or Gyro might shut the conversation down altogether. It was as much of a game as when they played poker, just no cards this time.

Johnny rested his chin on his hand, still studying Gyro. “Anything like what you did to me a few weeks ago?” This question was a safe enough bet. It was justified. Johnny deserved to know what had happened to his body, after all. And if Gyro was the ethical doctor he claimed to be, he wouldn’t be afraid to divulge.

Gyro didn’t immediately respond and Johnny watched his mouth twitch. Micro expressions were everything with Gyro, and Johnny felt a little unnerved, immediately clocking Gyro’s dishonesty. “Of course. All the time.”

Johnny fell silent. Gyro continued poking at the fire with an impressively large stick, trying to seem nonchalant, but Johnny could sense his discomfort. The gears turned in Johnny’s brain.

Johnny allowed just enough time to pass to make Gyro think his lie had gone unnoticed before speaking again.

“Gyro.”

“Hm.”

“Do you ever use that Spin of yours for anything… untoward?” Like, a surgery you falsely claimed to know how to do?

Gyro dropped the stick in the fire and screamed as the flames quickly grew, engulfing it. He yelled a second time as his hat caught on fire, quickly slamming it to the ground and stomping out the remaining flames. “Fuck, Johnny! My hat!”

They had a conveniently placed pail of water for the horses by the campfire—which Johnny effortlessly shot with a nail bullet, knocking it over and putting the fire out. Light work.

“Oh shit, thanks Johnny,” Gyro said, although his eyes were full of tears as he looked at his hat, which had been effectively ruined.

The conversation topic had been dropped. At this point, maybe Johnny would never get his answer, but Gyro’s reaction seemed to be an answer in itself.

“We’ll get you another hat,” Johnny assured, although he had never seen a hat like Gyro’s and hadn’t the faintest clue where to get one. Gyro didn’t need to know that right now.

Neither of them spoke of this incident for weeks.

Johnny was just glad to feel well enough to laugh at Gyro again. Maybe things really could get better.