A Racer's Pride

[madimpossibledreamer]

*I literally just rearranged the letters of rage to get gear, because I. just. do. not. get. how. Gyro’s. ‘jokes’. work.
Given how many times I keep misspelling Gyro’s name, though, I’m guessing he probably uses Gry SMT spells.
Remember that thing about how I genderbend all the characters with PTSD?  ...Yeah, I have no idea what I'm doing at this point.
~Dreamer~

Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure
Summary: Gyro discovers Johnny's secret.
Word Count: 885
Spoilers are mild.  As is Johnny's potty mouth.

 

          “Don’t you even dare think about following me,” Johnny mutters flatly before leading Slow Dancer off toward the stream to wash.
          “You’re so very bashful, Johnny.  It’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before~,” he calls after, but apparently his racing partner hadn’t heard, because he doesn’t respond, with harsh words or thrown things.
          Still, that anger’s different than his usual anger.  He’s hiding something, some sort of internal problem that if it’s in Gyro’s ability to fix, he will.  A Zeppeli may be better suited as an executioner, but he can find the power to heal within his repertoire as well.
          It’s an imposition on his friend’s privacy, sure, but he ambles off, following the horse’s footprints.
          When he gets close, he finds Johnny’s clothes tossed in a pile, and—hang on.  Are those—bandages?  On a casual glance, they don’t look stained with blood, but…  The American’s foolish pride; if it ends up getting him killed…
          “Johnny, are you okay?” he yells, rushing onward.
          The first thing he notices is the lack of blood, which has him breathing a sigh of relief, before he sees the rest.
          Johnny is…most definitely not male.
          “What did I say about not following me?!” Johnny yells, throwing a branch, and Gyro huffs and turns his gaze away, so he’s at least not being impolite.
          “I was worried about your well-being, Johnny.  You’re the type to hide your wounds in the name of pride, and the assassins after us have been dangerous so far.”  Carefully, he sits, gazing off into the underbrush.
          “What are you doing?” Ahh, just the slightest hint of curiosity in the brew of rage.  He’s trapped in the turning gears of his own feelings.  Perfect.  Nice gag, too, though Johnny’s not in the mood for a little joke.
          “I know you’re the solitary sort, but I thought you might not object to some company,” he responds.  Treating this as if it’s normal is the way to get Johnny to relax.
          “Gyro, you’re so damn weird,” his racing partner responds with a huff after a few seconds.  Good, it’s working.  Rather like coaxing a stubborn horse, really.  “Okay, Gyro, you can’t tell anyone about this.”
          “Okay,” Gyro agrees immediately, which just serves to inflame the temperamental American.
          “I mean it!” Johnny yells and slaps the water.
          Gyro holds in his amusement.  “So do I.  I wouldn’t say anything to put you in danger, as long as you’re willing to put up with an Italian’s harmless curiosity, hmm?”
          “I suppose I don’t have a choice,” Johnny complains, but then, the familiar voice with its American South tones actually sounds relieved, like keeping this secret had been annoying.  “There’s a good reason for all this, more than just traveling relatively alone on a long-distance across-America journey.”  That was a reasonable thought that hadn’t even crossed Gyro’s mind.  It probably was safer to pretend to be a male if you were traveling that far, even with someone like Gyro to protect you.  A long, heavy sigh.  “See, land in America, well, away from Indians, anyway—it’s worth a lot.  The Joestars have a lot of money, but a lot of it’s in land.  Land is passed down from father to son.  That’s the way it goes.”  Silence.  “I…I used to have an older brother, Nicolas, only he died.”  From the sounds of things, Johnny might be crying again.  “This guy came wanting to buy our land, so Dad told him there was still a son alive.  A useless one, sure, but as long as I was male, I still had a single use.”
          Gyro’s happy he’s facing away from Johnny so the former jockey doesn’t have to see the expression on his face.  Horror and anger would probably be mistaken for pity, the one thing Johnny hates more than the crippled legs.
          “And females couldn’t be jockeys, but if I was male, I could compete.  I could try to make my brother’s spirit proud.  Sure, I started to overdo it a little, but…”  Johnny’s voice trails off. 
          Now Gyro feels like it’s a good point to interject.  “What about your reputation?  It’s said you’re quite the hit with the ladies.”
          Johnny snorts in response, before elaborating, voice proud.  “In most cases, keeping the truth out of the public eye was something they were just as invested in, and for those who didn’t agree with that, a little money was enough.  It is, of course, slightly exaggerated, but I think I’ll let you imagine what and how much was exaggerated.”
          “Nyoho~,” Gyro laughs in admiration.  Johnny may not have literal balls, but when it comes to personality, they exist in spades.
          “Just one last question.  How do you want me to address you?  I assume that, in public, you want nothing to change.”  Whatever Johnny asks for, Gyro’s willing to go along.
          “…J-just keep calling me Johnny.  I’m every bit as capable as a male; there’s no reason I can’t be one.”  Johnny sounds surprised that Gyro would even ask, but then, he shouldn’t be.  They are, are they not, friends?
          “None at all,” Gyro agrees, and begins a story about Italy to take his friend’s mind off his troubles until Johnny finishes his bath or they’re attacked by the enemy’s assassins once more, whichever comes first.