Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the Ball Touched the Ground

Chapter One – From the Pan Straight Into the Fire

As the train’s iron wheels were rolling over his limp form, it was not white, all-consuming pain that Diego Brando felt. It was not the sickening, squelching sounds of his ruptured innards spilling out from his bisected abdomen that he heard, nor the gnashing of his spine snapping and breaking into two. It was neither blood nor acid that he tasted in his mouth, and it was not darkness that he saw.

No, nothing of that sordid sort.

His battered body registered nothing but an overwhelming warmth enveloping him from all sides, and it was such a dear sensation.

The blood pounding violently in his ears sounded to him more like the soft humming of his mother during the long winter nights spent in the stables. Her quiet voice was echoing gently inside his head, lulling him to the sort of sweet sleep that only a child could fall prey to. Her slender, shivering fingers traced his cherubic cheeks and wiped his droopy eyes, wet from the chill in the air and fatigue. But he was not cold, and could never grow cold in Mother’s safe embrace, even though the wind was howling over her angelic lullaby. With her, no pain reached the small child, no sorrow furrowed his brows, no troubles could possibly reach him. Her ever loving presence was that of a mother who existed solely for her son, for her lone ray of sunshine in the whole miserable world. And to her little boy, within the caring arms of his mother was the only home that he had ever truly belonged to.

Right then, she was singing so sweetly for him, caressing his face so lovingly, just like she did every bitter night. Diego could only smile, and it was not the charming smile that he reserved for those social gatherings that he loathed from the bottom of his frozen heart, nor the smug grin he had mastered especially for the ever loving reporters that were chasing after his victories. No - it was the smile of a child, oblivious to the grim filth of the world, born into bone-racking poverty but surrounded by so much love.

It was an innocent smile, brilliant and honest.

He had won.

He had won his place back in his mother’s arms, where nothing could harm him. He was home again.

He, Dio, had won!

“You bloody maniac!” a voice screeched into his ears, and the warm caresses over his still cheeks were no more.

And it was then that Diego Brando felt the sort of crippling pain that was more real and raw than any other that he had ever experienced in his life.

His body hurt so furiously that he couldn’t even shout. His throat was constricted and his nostrils flailed haphazardly, stuttered breaths suddenly invading his lungs like arrows piercing them from within. It was as if his stomach turned around like a whirlpool inside his belly. His heart was beating loudly and fast and so unbelievably hard, the rhythmic thumps echoing into his clenched teeth.

His vision, whatever he possessed at that moment, was swimming in bright cotton balls.

Diego struggled to blink, his entire world spinning along with his throbbing head. The initial pain was slowly turning into a chilling sort of ache, though he was so dizzy he couldn’t help wondering if he wasn’t, in fact, falling into some never-ending hole, not just merely lying down on his back. He started making out forms gravitating around him, a bird soaring into the distance, the clear sky above him-

“You absolute madman! Dio in Paradiso, you lunatic!” a woman was angrily shouting at him while shaking him.

A woman? Shouting at him? But why? Where had that wonderful lullaby gone? His mother would have never yelled at him or called him such names.

It was then that Diego realised that it was not his mother that was singing to him, nor was she caressing his cheeks – it was Hot Pants, his more-or-less-willing racing partner, who was yelling profanities at him and slapping him across the face with a force that could awaken the dead.

Her visage was obscured by pink strands of hair as she stared down at his body, her eyes wide and terrified. “What in God’s name were you even thinking?! Good Heavens, Diego! What the Hell is wrong with you?!”

Again, Diego blinked, wondering the exactly same thing as the other rider.

What was happening?

Trying to shift, he began coughing violently, reflexively doubling over. Warm blood slipped between his lips, seeping down his chin in thin rivulets.

“Hey, stronzo, stop coughing and lay the fuck down! Merda!” a man’s voice boomed from seemingly nowhere. Unceremoniously, Diego was pushed on his back and his head was forced to the side, his cheek making contact with the ground beneath him. “That’s what I get for being nice! You’d better not start throwing up either, capisco, you fucking genius? Porca puttana!”

“Ugh?” Diego rasped, his chest aching from the effort of producing that minimal sound.

“And shut up!” yelled the same man.

Irked, Diego felt trapped under the heavy palm that was forcing his head to remain glued to the soil. He began sniffing the air, the tingle of his monstrous transformation gurgling from underneath his skin.

“DIO! Don’t you fucking transform, either! Listen for once and stay the hell down!” the man shouted again, and finally Diego realised who was holding him down.

It was that infuriating Italian, Gyro Zeppeli, holding a curved needle between long fingers that were covered in blood and grime. Next to him, Hot Pants' face came into view, her red lips agape. She was shaking the lighter-resembling recipient of her Stand, Cream Starter, and frowning deeply.

“What part of stay the fuck down don’t you get, Dio?” Gyro said as he lowered the needle. “Cazzo, why am I even bothering with you? Johnny needs me!”

The woman shook her head, trying to disperse the panic that had seeped into her chest after having nearly been killed, herself. Her voice was much calmer and levelled than before when she opened her mouth to speak again. “Diego. Listen to me. You were hurt. Gyro is sewing you up. Just wait a bit longer and you’ll be fine. Okay? Don’t respond, please. Just stay still.”

Normally, Diego would have thrown a tantrum of gargantuan proportions for being ordered around like some dullard – at the very least, that pompous ass of an Italian would have had his garish teeth bashed in with a fist. However, being entirely too confused to process anything without getting a headache, he merely managed to angle his head downwards, wanting to understand why those two were fussing about him, and to assess the damage that Hot Pants was talking about.

What he saw was plainly ghastly.

His legs were bent at an unnatural angle, his trousers sported large red spots all over them, his sweater was a tattered mess of caked blood and fibres that were sticking up in odd places. Most of his abdomen and torso were bare, the skin’s colour ranging from ripe plum purple to black. Right under the diaphragm, a pinkish mass that he certainly didn’t remember having above his navel connected his belly to his chest. Said pinkish mass seemed to be coming from the small, shiny canister in Hot Pants' hand, slowly piling up around the edges of what must have been a very deep wound. With practiced moves, Gyro used some soiled and oily thread to seal the flesh that glued the edges of the gash, leaving even and surprisingly clean stitches behind.

Like in a dream, Brando’s horse, Silver Bullet, came trotting towards them, and Diego noticed a train steaming in the distance.

Oh yes, now he remembered. He had fallen off a train, along with Funny Valentine, the president. Of course, how silly of him to forget. They had been fighting, and Diego jumped with him before the other could have brought another version of him from another dimension, or worse – another version of Diego to annihilate the current world’s one.

They both had fallen under the train, actually, right on the tracks.

That explained the wounds and the pain, yes. It made perfect sense.

He had been run over by a flipping train!

“There,” Gyro interrupted his racing thoughts. “Good as new. Not that it’s a good thing with you, but my job here’s done. Finito!” he declared and rose to his feet. “I should return to Johnny, he’ll need my help with Valentine.”

“Valentine? He’s not dead?” Diego inquired, his voice surprisingly steady. He still hurt everywhere, but it was fading somewhat. He felt like he needed to move, to chase after something. To hunt. To bloody kill.

Gyro shook his head, his face contorted in a very serious frown. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no.”

“But I dragged him onto the railways! I bloody did!”

“Sure you did, I saw you jumping out of the train through the binoculars, but the only thing you actually managed to do was to get yourself cut in half. Valentine got between the wheel and the railway and escaped with his Stand to another dimension.”

“That blooming smarmy bugger of a Yankee-“

“Whoa, okay, potty mouth! You made your point, slow down,” the Italian loudly interjected the other man’s tirade. “Look, Dio,” he pointed to a dark, wet patch of grass. “See all that blood and stuff there? All yours. I just stitched you up with the Zombie Horse to make sure you remain glued, but you should thank your buddy HP over there for sticking you back into one piece. Your legs were somewhere over there when I arrived,” he waved with the back of his hand towards the rails. "How you didn't instantly go into hemorrhagic shock is beyond me."

Anger bubbled in Brando’s chest. He nearly died – no, for all the logic in the world, he should have been dead, after having been torn in half by a moving train. And for what? He had accomplished precious nothing, from the looks of it. The train that had mortally wounded him was still advancing in the distance, and he could make out a speeding blue silhouette – most likely Johnny Joestar, rushing after a pink one - Valentine and his Holy Corpse.

What a mess.

He noticed Gyro making a move to hop onto his own horse, Valkyrie. The mare was waiting patiently for her rider to reclaim his spot on her back, her eyes focused on the ground underneath her hoofs.

“I’m coming with you,” Diego made out of the blue, frustrated with having to declare his intentions.

That made the Italian doctor pause in his tracks. His horse stirred slightly, surprised that her master was still faltering in mounting her saddle. “Come again?”

“You heard me, Zeppeli, and I don’t like repeating myself. It’s such a useless, ludicrous thing! I’m coming with you.”

“Diego,” Hot Pants said monotonously, her demeanour returning to her usual coolness. “You were wounded and we’ve barely managed to revive you. Cream Starter struggled to cover the gap between your two sections. If Gyro hadn’t arrived with the thread, you would’ve been dead. And right now, you’re hardly in a good shape to be moving around, let alone fighting against anyone. You’ve lost too much blood as it is. Be reasonable.”

Brando shook his head. He was many things, but reasonable wasn’t one of them at the best of times. And this wasn’t his best moment, not by a stretch.

“No. I’m going. I don’t know yet how, but I, Dio, will have my revenge.” He looked behind his back at the concerned woman. “Thank you, HP, but this is something I must do.”

Pressing her painted lips together, the nun huffed a resigned puff of air through the nose. “I see.”

The man struggled with getting up to his feet. Silver Bullet scampered towards him, offering his side for his rider. Thankful, Diego grabbed the stirrup and used it to give himself a lift, his shaky legs barely holding his weight up.

Pathetically, the bottom half of his destroyed sweater rolled down to his ankles.

Sneering, Gyro showed his golden teeth in a mocking grimace. He should have already left without a glance back – not to mention he should have left the British jockey to rot in the first place, not to rush to his aide when he had seen him falling off the train. He owed him literally nothing, but something kept giving him pause whenever Brando surfaced like a particularly persistent rash. It was something that made his guts clench, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good sensation, or a bad one.

But it certainly intrigued him to no end.

“Oho, you sure are dressed to kill! Is bloody and tattered a new fashion statement of yours, Dio?”

Diego, not one to live anything down, revealed his own set of crimson teeth. “Ugh, the Italians! All that noise for nothing! I will have you know - I always come prepared, Zeppeli. I own more sets of trousers.”

“You sure came prepared to soil them, huh?” Gyro taunted him, curious where the conversation – if it could be considered one - was going.

Despite himself, the British jockey grinned, his face illuminating with something wicked coming from his lightly coloured eyes. “Not at all, Zeppeli – but you never know when you might have to skip the town in a less than polite state, if you get my meaning,” he commented as he discarded the remains of his useless jumper. The new scar that surrounded his middle like a belt shone in the sun as he wiped the blood off his face and chest with a rag, and put on another sweater from the bags on Silver Bullet’s back.

Taken aback by the frigid jockey’s remark, Gyro stared transfixed, his hand frozen on top of Valkyrie’s mane. He blinked when Diego kicked his boots and trousers along with them, making good work of his statement of owning several pairs. He swiftly changed into fresh jodhpurs, ignoring the Italian’s baffled expression, and thrust his legs back into his high boots. Rolling his bloodied clothes into a neat pile and shoving them in another compartment of his bag, the jockey returned the doctor’s gaze.

“Got your fill of ogling, darling? Need some space to gather yourself, or shall we get going?” he made teasingly. His face, although paler than usual and still splattered with some small droplets of blood and mud in spite of his best efforts, was a perfect mask of seduction and bullshit that only Diego Brando could muster.

Gyro’s golden teeth shone brightly as his grin widened. “Nyo-ho! Gotta give you that - you’re made differently, Brando.”

Diego pushed his chin forward and defiantly cocked his hip. The motion hurt like a bitch, but hell, he was making a statement. He could see with the corner of his eye that HP was making disapproving motions with her head, but was hopping onto her horse nonetheless. They were going to ride together and defeat Valentine, just like they had planned.

There had been some major hiccups along the way, but things were going accordingly to the plan.

Mostly, but oh, well.

Confidently, the British also mounted his horse. The dry bushes surrounding them seemed to be spinning to his dizzy brain. “Why, I am indeed!”

If there was a God who was watching over them, Diego prayed He didn’t let him fall off the saddle in his utterly smashed state.

XXXXX

Being so close to knocking on Heaven’s door – as far as the expression applied to him, of course - had rendered him soft, thought Diego grimly as he pierced the flesh under his fingertips with the same curved needle that had stitched his own skin just a little while before.

His knees were folded under him as he struggled with sewing up an enormous wound on Gyro’s side while being unable to fully retract his claws. By his feet, Cream Starter’s container sparkled dully under a thick layer of dirt.

Clenching his jaw, Diego frustratingly pressed his lips together, but the plump flesh barely touched over the shapness of his fanged teeth.

He was seething.

After having jumped off the moving train and having been rescued by the most unlikely duo of Italians – Hot Pants and Gyro Zeppeli – Diego found himself rushing after Valkyrie, mounted on the reliable back of Silver Bullet. By his side, the nun, Hot Pants, rode on top of Gets Up, her dark eyes scanning the distance.

“I see Lucy!” she announced evenly, the initial shock of almost getting herself killed inside the train wagon having waned. “And there’s Valentine!”

“Figlio di puttana!” Gyro exclaimed as his horse jumped over a boulder. “There’s Johnny, too!”

“Zeppeli!” cried Diego. His cheeks had deep cracks surfacing from beneath the skin. “You run to your little Johnny,” he shouted, “and we’ll go after Lucy!”

“What? No!” Gyro responded. “No way in Hell I’m letting you get to the Corpse! Not you! Johnny needs it!”

The Englishman rolled his eyes, visibly irritated. “For the love of- Zeppeli, do you hear yourself? We can extract the girl and take her somewhere away from Valentine, while you go after Jojo and Valentine! HP can carry Lucy away to safety, and I can create some diversion! He needs to be taken from all sides, don’t you get it, you daft wop?! We need to surround that pink wanker somehow!”

“Absolutely not! You only want the Holy Corpse and will fuck off the moment you get your hands on Lucy, and leave her to die!”

Diego wanted to smack the other man. “I get that you have shit for brains, but Valentine expects you to approach Lucy!”

“Hell yes, so piss off!” Gyro yelled as he took off after Johnny.

“Zeppeli, you idiot!”

What happened in the next minutes was a blur of colours and noises.

Diego and Hot Pants promptly changed course, still determined to get on the other side of the moving train to cause an ambush, as Valentine needed to be somehow distracted, despite not having their makeshift plan reciprocated by the third party. Although Gyro was dead-set on riding to where Lucy Steel laid collapsed and he had virtually no way of preventing that raging bull of a man from reaching his target, the brilliant jockey’s entire being began tingling with the unpleasant sensation that their approach was going to prove a grave error of judgement.

As much as he loved being right about everything, this one time, Diego wished to be mistaken.

What he didn’t suspect was just how absolutely off the case he would actually be.

“DIEGO! WATCH OUT!” HP screamed at him, and Diego turned his head to look at her.

Right behind Gets Up's tail, an exact copy of himself was trotting towards them.

“Blimey,” he cussed and urged Silver Bullet to run faster.

“Not so fast,” a very familiar voice mocked him, getting nearer to him much sooner than it should have. One of Diego’s doubles from another world – one that he apparently hadn’t managed to dispose of, like the others - was chasing after him, pointing a gun at him. “There can be only one of us in here victorious!”

Diego wanted to rip up something. That madman! Was he really the only version of himself with any speck of imagination? He understood the thrill of besting oneself – quite literally, at that – but they would get annihilated if they touched. Didn’t that other-him know the risk? And he was getting too close!

He clenched his fangs, tasting the remnants of the blood in his mouth.

Was his double in a hurry to die? Screw him! Diego was delighted to fulfil his death wish.

“Indeed, and that shall be me!” he screeched as he unexpectedly pulled the reins of his horse to avoid getting shot by his double. Silver Bullet obediently jumped and took a turn, but nothing could prevent Diego from colliding with a flash of golden that suddenly sped by him.

His Stand, Scary Monsters, surfaced violently from underneath his skin, his tail wrapping securely around Silver Bullet’s underbelly. The stallion, ever reliable, didn’t even flinch at the unnatural half-transformed beast that suddenly appeared on his back, but expertly aligned himself with his new course.

However, the other-world’s Diego wasn’t so lucky, not having Scary Monster’s agility at hand, and trampled with his fists wrapped tightly around the reins of his own horse. His eyes went wide and wild, staring in mortification at the golden thing that had suddenly flown from his side to his counter-part’s back.

“DIEGOOO!” HP shouted after the real Diego, or at least the one that she had ridden alongside for a good while. “Catch!” she added, throwing Cream Starter at him. “It’s my Stand from another dimension! Take it!”

Without skipping a beat, Diego extended his hand to catch the falling container, but HP’s throw was aimed extremely poorly. In horror, he almost jumped from the saddle to lengthen his reach.

The same golden apparition that had crashed into him a few moments before abruptly materialised next to him and effortlessly caught the small canister.

A shrill passed between HP’s lips. “DIEGO! Go after the president! I’ll handle this imposter! GO, DIOOO! GOOO!”

Oh, how that gave him a rush! It was like in the races, when Diego was passing by the other contestants – the audience was cheering him on! And why shouldn’t they? He, Dio, was the best of the best!

Even better than himself from another dimension! He was the best version of himself!

With inhuman determination, Diego kept his blue tail wrapped around his beloved stallion and sped into the distance with the double’s Cream Starter and the golden manifestation that had grabbed it.

Right now, the same ‘manifestation’ was protectively standing by his side, ready to spring into action if needed.

After the unexpected appearance of his double, Brando eventually reached Lucy Steel, Gyro Zeppeli, Johnny Joestar and Funny Valentine just in time to see the Italian crumpling from his horse, a flash of blood spraying from his body as he fell down in what appeared to be bare soil. Out of the sudden, waves came crashing above him, the agitated water claiming the purple and brown figure in its merciless embrace.

Johnny watched his best friend's fall with an expression of anguish. He turned to Valentine, who was making his confident bargain of sweet lies.

What Johnny most certainly saw as a tragedy that was about to trample him like the hoofs of a wild stallion, Diego perceived as a stroke of luck.

Hopping off Silver Bullet’s back, Brando used the extra Cream Starter to transport himself closer – and stealthily - to where he had noticed Gyro collapsing. Navigating by the ear, after only having observed HP using her Stand, he reached the man that was submerged in pinkish water.

Oh, how he smelt of death.

Crinkling his sensitive nose, Diego grabbed the Neapolitan by the middle, blood immediately seeping between his clenched fingers. Not understanding why, he felt his chest constricting and his claws surfacing. In spite of it all, he somehow managed to drag Gyro to dry land.

Instinctively, he pulled Cream Starter from the pocket of his, once again, dirty jodhpurs. It seemed that the day was not particularly favourable for any of his garments.

As he lifted his hand to press the button of the lighter, he thought of the golden manifestation that had collided with him, and a huge golden mist appeared by his side.

He realised, quite smugly, that what he had before him was a Stand, and it seemed to belong to him, as it responded to his call. He willed for it to take Cream Starter and start filling in the gaping holes in Zeppeli’s chest and abdomen, and the thing obeyed him.

No, not thing. His Stand.

Well, the other dimension’s Stand, now made his.

“Oh, haven’t I told you, Zeppeli?” he bragged, searching Gyro’s pockets for the needle and thread that the doctor had sewed him up with. “The victory is always mine!”

But as he began sewing the wounds that were yet to be filled by Cream Starter’s meat, he realised that Gyro was not jolting awake as he had when he had been saved, but remained just as lifeless and still as he had been under the water.

His nose was not deceiving him – that man did stink of death.

Diego couldn’t comprehend the intensity of the ache that gripped his chest, and had no time to contemplate it. He began slapping the larger man’s cold cheeks, but he was completely irresponsive.

“Zeppeli? Gyro? Oi, don’t you bloody die on me! Come on, I haven’t rushed all the way here for you to croak, you twit! Blast it!”

His fingers began turning into claws, making it very difficult to hold the needle. His vision was swirling from the recent loss of blood. Under his skin, Scary Monsters was roaring mournfully for a reason his User was unable to grasp.

This was unacceptable.

Dazed and utterly conflicted, Diego shifted his eyes and saw the unmovable face of his newly stolen Stand, and somewhere behind its huge, dazzling form, Johnny Joestar was holding one of his hands up like a gun, his arms trembling and pointing to a haunched over blond man. There was quite a fair distance between them, but the dinosaur’s enhanced vision helped in such times.

He clearly made out the young jockey’s pathetic expression of defeat, his dark determination deflating under deep sorrow and heavy tears.

Diego’s fine ears picked up fragments of Valentine’s deceptive voice, and his mind was made up in an instant. He was so not having any of that.

Inside him, the dinosaur that he commanded was reeling with a purpose that the User embraced like the greatest high.

He was Diego Brando, and he could conquer anything!

“You are the World,” Diego stated commandingly to the awaiting apparition, and the Stand’s eyes shifted with clear intelligence at the mention of its name, a name that seemed to arose from the deepest depths of its new User's determination. “And this time is mine. I shall be victorious!”

With determination, the Stand’s large hand passed through Gyro’s unmoving chest and gripped his heart, and started clenching around it rhythmically.

Diego put a gloved finger over the dead man’s carotid, and like on command, blood began pumping under his fingertip. Gyro’s face began to regain its colour, and his deep green eyes flied open.

His first gasp was like a new breath for Diego, who neatly stitched up the rest of his wounds with a triumphant grin.

XXXXX

Outside the window, the weather was worsening.

The pitter-patter pattern of the rain filled the silence inside the dingy cabin wherein they took refuge – quite the lucky occurrence, given the horrible storm that was raging in the wilderness. Johnny rubbed his frozen hands together, all the while searching for something to get the fire started with in the small chimney. He found some wood and thrust it into the fireplace. Deftly, he began rubbing the flints he always carried together, sparks crowning the friction and igniting the mercifully dry wood.

Proudly, he blew into the flames to get them going, already thinking about heating up whatever provisions they had for dinner. Impatiently, he dragged himself to their discarded bags and began rummaging for the cans that they had rationalised for that evening. It wasn’t much, by any means. The weather needed to clear out soon, or they might not have enough food.

Well, they would make do, somehow. They always did.

The uninteresting beans stew slowly cooked over the fire, and Johnny began wondering what was holding Gyro up. He had gone to hitch their horses in the adjoined barn, but he had yet to return.

He was getting really worried for his friend.

Had he been attacked?

Just as he thought those worrisome thoughts, the door opened and a powerful wind gushed inside.

“Idiot, close the door! I’ve just lit up the fire!”

“How splendid of you,” spoke a suave voice that definitely didn’t belong to Gyro, and the door was shut with a loud clang.

Johnny turned his head like he had been struck by the lightening, his back arching and his arms tensing.

“Hey, don’t be an asshole!” said the voice that did belong to Gyro, and it sounded quite unnerved.

“Of course, of course,” the other replied with false subordination. “My bad.”

Johnny swore he saw red when Diego Brando passed the threshold wearing an expression of both amusement and boredom. He walked defiantly towards the fire, the assortment of bags and his saddle discarded next to the ones of the occupants of the small cabin.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Johnny made angrily. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Gyro!”

Diego did stop his stride, but only when he was in front of the fireplace. “Look, Jojo,” he said, his honey voice levelled and icier than a glacier. “I know this isn’t ideal. But the weather, as you might have noticed, is even less than ideal, and it will be holding up in the same manner for a few days at least. However,” he continued, turning his still gloved palms over the flames, “I am not the only one that is stuck here, until the weather lets up. You are, too, along with your horses and mine. I am not risking Silver Bullet’s integrity again after the stunt that your friend over there has already pulled, so I’m not leaving until it’s safe for him to race.”

As he spoke, Diego didn’t move an inch from the fire, keeping on turning his hands in front of their boiling stew.

It was then that Johnny realised that what he had thought to be a perfectly composed Diego was, in fact, a very heavily shivering Diego.

His pale face was flushed from the coldness and his straight nose was bordering a crimson shade of red. His dark brows were pinched in a frown and his tussled golden hair was covering most of his thin cheeks and getting into his bright eyes. His shoulders were drawn in and his knees were locked in a slight crouch, his slender body struggling to retain some of the heat from the chimney.

In front of the small fireplace, Diego Brando appeared slighter than ever, and that sight was just plainly wrong.

But the blaze in his pale eyes was enough to stir the fire into a greater flame.

“I have provisions that you will need for the next days,” he added, voice just as passionless as before. There went the sliver of amusement that he had entered with, abandoning any pretence. “I know you didn’t stock up properly in the previous town, and what you have won’t last you until the next civilised stop. Therefore, I am willing to share some of my supplies with you if you allow my horse to have a roof over his head.” As he said the final words, his eyes trailed to Johnny’s, boring holes into his head.

“And just where do you land in this?” Johnny exclaimed like a pouty child. “Gyro, what were thinking, letting this asshole in!”

“He’s not wrong about our supplies, Johnny. We barely have enough for us and our girls, and the storm will take a while.”

“Gyro! Don’t take Dio’s side! I don’t want him here!”

“And I won’t be staying here, rest assured,” Diego replied, finally taking a step back from the fire. “I only want to heat up something for me and my horse, and I will go and stay with him in the stables.”

“Like hell you are!” Johnny shouted.

“Johnny!” Gyro made sternly. “Seriously!”

“Yeah, seriously! I ain't letting this horse-poisoning son of a bitch near our horses!”

A murderous flash passed over the blue in Diego’s narrowed eyes.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough! Both of you!” Gyro intervened. “That’s enough. We’re all in the same predicament, so we’ll have to get over it like civilised people. Okay?”

Johnny frowned and shook his head. “No.”

“Johnny!”

“I said no, Gyro! He ain't staying anywhere near our horses, I can’t trust him with them! ” He angrily pointed a finger at Diego, who watched the exchange with a blank grimace. “He’s staying here, and we’re gonna take shifts keeping watch. Now, show us what you’ve got, this stew is hardly enough for three people.”

Gyro’s chest sweltered with pride. “See? In the direst of situations, civilisation wins!”

Johnny’s airborne knitted cap smacked the Italian over the eyes, and Diego snorted at the childish display.

“Oh, shut up, Gyro!”

XXXXX

Gyro’s eyelids grew heavy as he fought against the sensation of waking up. He felt a dull ache permeating his every pore, and his skin was cool and moist.

A hand squeezed his arm, and it was only then when he realised that he was hugging some moving object that was warm and thick, and that another unidentified thing was hovering behind his back.

With a startle, he opened his eyes. What he saw was the flaxen hair of Silver Bullet, carrying him on his muscled back. The hand that was supporting his forearm had a leather glove on.

Wide-eyed, he turned his head to look at who was holding him from behind.

“Ah, Good Morning, sunshine! This commotion must be quite eye-opening, mustn't it?” Diego said with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

“Che cazzo-“

“Ah-ah, don’t start thrashing or we’ll both fall off the saddle. I’m just returning your favour, you see,” he explained, as if the two of them riding together on the same horse made any sense. “And for your part, Gyro Zeppeli, you're going to light up the flame in your precious Johnny and save the day!”

“He’s not my precious!” Gyro spewed.

“Honestly, Zeppeli, I don’t give a damn,” Brando told him trenchantly. “Jojo needs some help and you might be useful for that. He’s right up ahead and things are looking grim, and I want that pink son of a whore Valentine dead. Sounds like a plan, you reckon? It sounds so to me. Why, how lovely that we are on such agreement,” he went on, although the Italian hadn't expressed any opinion about the aforementioned action scheme.

Gyro frowned at Diego’s implicit curtness, finally noticing the big holes in his purple shirt and the red that had infused his trousers’ light fabric, currently drenched. It seemed like bloody and tattered was indeed the fashion statement of the day.

XXXXX

It was starting to get ridiculous, the sheer amount of times that Diego ran into Johnny and his gyrating companion - and the other way around, as well.

This time, a blizzard caught them in a barn, along with their horses. Although Johnny groaned when he noticed that the only refuge that they had managed to find was already occupied by his British nemesis, he looked subdued as he silently crawled to take a seat in front of the fire that Diego had built in the middle of the room, trying to warm himself up. The jockey said nothing to the two invaders, yet he beckoned them silently with a slight nod of his head in front of the not-precisely safe fire pit.

They sat like that for a while, not saying a word. The horses made soft whinnies behind them, the two mares having become quite friendly with the Arabian stallion over their many encounters.

Johnny watched with a deep scowl how Slow Dancer pushed her nostrils against Silver Bullet, and the horse eagerly reciprocated the gesture with a little happy noise. Eagerly, Valkyrie greeted the other horse similarly, and they exchanged loud snorts of air through their noses.

For some unfathomable reason, the two mares had refused to remain in the corner where they had been tied up by Gyro, and became agitated when they weren’t put together with the stallion. The riders had no other choice but to hitch them together.

Even worse than that, the mares munched happily on their oats from each side of the golden stallion that, after every few chews of his own, was gently grooming one of the horses, or the other.

Johnny wanted to scream at those three equines. How dare they get along like that!

He looked back at the other two humans who were with him. Over the little makeshift fire, Diego was stirring the contents of a blackened cauldron, whereas Gyro was whisking coffee in a slightly dented kettle and was humming some obnoxious, but catchy song.

That made him want to scream even louder – even his best friend and his arch enemy seemed to be able to maintain some level of civility around each other!

It looked like the only one who had his full arsenal out was him.

Fuming, he didn’t even notice when Diego extended a plate filled with stew that smelled better than whatever either him or Gyro had ever managed to cook on their journey - and not from the lack of trying – yet he took it in his hands mechanically. By his side, Gyro was already digging into his share of food, clueless in regard to Johnny’s inner turmoil.

Seeing his friend so content with eating, Johnny took his cutlery out and took a bite. The stew was really good, like everything that Diego prepared for the three of them whenever they were shacked up somewhere due to the biting weather. For some unexplainable reason, the Englishman kept on taking it upon himself to make their shared meals, and had yet to poison them.

That uncharacteristic kindness held Johnny right on the edge.

Bitterly, he made his way through his large dish, and only then did he notice that, despite both he and Gyro having received some overflowing platters, Diego had barely filled his halfway. Why was that, he wondered.

The manner in which the Brit chewed was methodical and slow, almost as if he was in pain, his eyes focused on the distance, seemingly not seeing anything. He swallowed the delicious food as if it hurt him, and he took small sips of coffee every now and then.

Johnny remembered how he used to eat in the exact same fashion when he was racing. Small meals, well chewed to trick his brain that he was going to be full from eating almost nothing, the painstaking swallowing of what was more saliva than anything. All the standards and regulations that he'd had to maintain, the weighting, the dehydration, the dizziness, the vomiting before the races...

Seeing Diego nearly punishing himself with what was supposed to be mere sustenance, Johnny remembered all the trouble that the man in front of him had put him through over the years. The British winning every single competition against him, the words of his father as Diego lifted another trophy that would have been his had the other not shown up at the starting line.

The moment when Nicholas, his dear brother, had fallen and been trampled to death by his own horse, and Diego, who was then employed at the Joestar stables, had grabbed Johnny with anguish and put a trembling hand over his eyes and pressed his face into his chest not to let him see the older boy laying crushed and bleeding under his heavy horse.

During every tragedy in his life, Diego had extended a hand towards him, and Johnny had never understood what any of that meant.

It had always appeared like Brando was the one to bring him nothing but misfortune, though maybe, he had been wrong. Maybe there was more than what had met the eye and understanding of the hot-headed loose-cannon boy he had once been.

Both of them had undergone the same gruelling training, they had been hurt and had ached just as badly and must have suffered just as much. Yes, Diego might have been able to walk, unlike him. May it be that he could feel his legs and didn't need to crawl on his hands and elbows. But, even if he appeared to have everything, Diego was still a deeply miserable man, and Johnny, as much as he would have wished to, couldn’t fully enjoy the other’s unhappiness. Not after what they both had gone through over the years, all those situations that had pushed them together on more than one occasion.

Had their rivalry ever meant anything? All that senseless animosity? Had all the restrictions, the anguish, the arguments, the pain, the horrible words of resentment – had they meant anything, when then, in the present, they were eating together, he and the very bane of his existence, under the same roof? Did the other even know what he had put him through? Did he even care? Was all this docility, during this forecast-imposed armistice, just some ploy? What was going to be his punishment for this moment of peace?

And Lord, wasn’t Diego so terribly thin under all that thick, colourful fabric. So very small and tensed like a wild animal.

Listlessly looking at Diego, the ghostly sensations of his soothingly cold fingers and comfortably warm chest lingered against Johnny's skin. Once again, like in those restless moments when the phantom pains of his gun wound were tormenting him and he felt as if he was alone in the whole wide world, Johnny remembered the overwhelming safety of Dio's arms and his nerves turned still, even if he had only felt his touch for a fleeting moment and would have given anything to forget its searing memory.

Yet, for just a second, Johnny wished he understood what was going through that golden head that always seemed to be scheming. He wished to see Diego for who he really was.

He wished to learn if he was the only one plagued by such lamentable thoughts.

From behind his steaming bowl of stew, Gyro watched the two jockeys with careful eyes. Diego was drilling holes into the tip of his shiny boot with his empty gaze, his porcelain face stilled into bone-chilling apathy, and Johnny was staring at him openly – or his friend might have thought he was being stealthy, who knew. There was a disconcerting look in his eyes, something that looked like introspection. He looked sad, a million of words threatening to spill through his big, blue eyes as he glanced at the dead expression that the other jockey wore like a glove.

For a moment, watching the two younger men, Gyro felt like he was looking at his little brothers after they had been scolded, and he wanted to hug them tightly and reassure them that the world wasn’t as dark as it seemed.

That unsettled the Italian more than he liked to admit.

XXXXX

With his heart racing, Gyro tightened his grip around Silver Bullet’s neck. “If only that freaking Dino of yours could fly!” he complained. It was very awkward to be riding with someone else behind him, especially with someone who clung to him like a wet leaf.

Well, that was hardly surprising, as Diego was much smaller than him and they were trying not to fall down, given how tired and bruised they both were. But still - Dio could have held his incredibly sharp knees closer to himself.

But what bothered Gyro the most was that he wasn’t actually bothered by anything at all - and he felt like he ought to be.

“Oh, yes,” the voice behind him purred, and the thighs that were steering the stallion under them tightened slightly to spur Silver Bullet into an even faster pace. “That would be so uplifting, wouldn’t it?”

Gyro chuckled, the noise surprising even to himself. “Nyo-ho! Nothing says shit has hit the fan better than some good humour!”

“To be frank, the situation does stink a bit,” Diego quipped.

“Nyo-ho-ho, but you’re Dio!”

The grip around his hips became just a bit tighter and a deep chuckle tickled his right ear, but he had no time to contemplate either, as they were fast in approaching Johnny and Valentine.

The president seemed to be making quite a case to the young man, who wore his pain in every fibre of his being.

From their side, veiled by a cloud of thick dust, Gets Up sprinted and Hot Pants grabbed Lucy from where she was lying unconscious, along with the thin Holy Corpse. It seemed like Diego’s idea for an ambush wasn’t so farfetched, after all.

With a loud voice, Gyro grabbed the shocked audience’s attention. “Hey, cazzo! We’ve returned from Hell, Valentine!" he shouted, just in time for the World, Diego’s newly stolen Stand, to punch the pink clothed man with a huge yellow fist and make him tumble backwards.

"Oi! Blast your cunt mug, Valentine, you gobshite twat!" Diego spewed vengefully and propped his elbow onto Gyro’s shoulder, firing the last bullet from the barrel of his gun right between the President’s eyes. From his seat at the front of the saddle, the Neapolitan guffawed at the Brit's violent burst. How very classy of Dio, very chic - not petty at all.

The commotion was the exact wakeup call that Johnny needed, who called for the evolved version of Tusk, his powerful Stand, before Valentine could react to the mighty blow and the gunshot he had just received. His eyes burning with unearthly determination, Johnny fired his nails and swept the ground under the president’s feet, burying Funny Valentine in an infinite spin underneath the dirt that he had confessed to loving so much.

Well, he could now successfully bite it to his heart’s content, over and over again, for a lot longer than he might have desired to.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two – He Had Stolen All He’s Got

The ending of each stage marked the moment when all contestants could rest easily, at least for a little while. Many of them went to drink themselves into a stupor, other embraced some willing soul or just licked their wounds somewhere else, and Johnny and Gyro were not faring much differently, having to find something to do with their time.

They were both unbelievably knackered, but they felt like sleep was going to take a while to reach them. The promise of real beds for a change sounded like heaven, and when Gyro returned to their shared hotel room with a bottle of cheap alcohol, Johnny felt like weeping atop the mattress that he had claimed for the night.

Having been the first to grow roots inside the room, Johnny had already washed off all the grime that glued to his skin like a hard shell, so he occupied his hands with shuffling some cards as he waited for Gyro to freshen up in the bathroom – which was actually a bathtub with a curtain, but beggars can’t be choosers. But even beggars could pretend to be fancy.

The older man was happily singing one of his own creations, and Johnny couldn’t help starting to hum along.

“Nyo-ho! I knew my songs were catchy!” Gyro called from behind the curtain.

“Yeah,” Johnny made, and resumed singing along, just a bit louder, and Gyro finished his bath.

Clean after a long period of wondering if dirt was ever going to get out of their pores, the two friends began playing a game of cards. The bottle was passed from one to the other, and its contents began draining merrily.

They had dragged – or, actually, Gyro had – the two beds so that their edges were close together, pretending that they did it so that they could play their game of cards easier. In truth, they had gotten so used to feeling each other’s heat and hearing each other’s breaths at night, that not being near felt like losing a limb.

Over their journey together through the gruelling stages of the Steel Ball Run and through the many perils they had unwillingly faced, the two of them had become inseparable. They had created the sort of bond that only death could possibly break apart, and not even that, perhaps, though they longed not to test that supposition as frequently as they did.

Unfortunately, everything and everyone was trying to kill them, and it was getting tiring and irksome.

Wistfully, Gyro pondered how it could have been if they hadn’t been hunted down at every turn they took. He would have enjoyed a peaceful track with Johnny and the simple thrill of the competition.

Grimly, he realised that, had they not been chased like feral creatures, they wouldn’t have become so close. That would have been a real shame, as he really liked Johnny.

Although, truth be told... He more than liked Johnny. Hell, he could even say he was attracted to him. He wanted to protect him and smother him with all that he had.

Johnny Joestar, who was gazing at him indulgently from the bed that was a breath away from his, looking like a big blue cat lounging on some pillows.

It was during times like these when he wondered what Johnny was thinking.

He was afraid to ask him.

Alas, the bottle was empty, and he was still too sober to be contemplating such problematic thoughts. But perhaps, one day, they could enjoy a journey together when no one tried to maim them, and maybe something more would blossom between them. Who could even guess? Everything was possible, in this world of theirs.

For the time being, they at least had their friendship, and that had to be enough.

“Heeey, Johnny,” he made, his foreign accent charmingly seeping through his words. “This bottle’s empty. I’m going to get us some more of whatever this was, what do you say?”

Johnny’s lips parted in a lazy smile. ”Suuuure.”

.....

With a gentleness that he solely reserved for his beloved horse, Diego brushed Silver Bullet’s luscious mane.

He was surprised to discover that the lodgings where he found an available room were also booked by the magical duo, as he not so politely dubbed Johnny and Gyro. It seemed like fate did make them run into each other rather relentlessly, and he wondered what it meant.

If it actually had any meaning, naturally. Maybe the other two men just happened to be excellent riders and naturally, they crossed paths frequently with him. Maybe it was something deeper than that. Or of lesser importance. Who even knew? Diego was not one to give much credit to spirituality or fate, but he enjoyed contemplating the possibilities.

However, he was glad to see their gorgeous mares, the only other horses besides his own that were not afraid of his predator’s scent. Scary Monsters was a riot of a Stand and he was more than appreciative of the new abilities he had gained from it, but it seemed that most animals were now not too fond of him. Only horses appeared to be brave enough to approach him, though not all of them. Humans steered away from him even further than before, some primitive parts of their brains recognising the danger that he could potentially pose. Not that he cared. His horse had never stopped trusting him with his life, and that was more than enough for Diego, who preferred loneliness anyway.

Although, the addition of Slow Dancer and Valkyrie snorting happily at his sight was quite endearing. Horses were much better creatures than any other human he had ever encountered, aside from his mother and, perhaps, his late wife with her naive kindness of the heart in regard to him. He had always mused over the unknown reasons why such a well-to-do and respectable noblewoman had chosen to support his ascent on the social ladder so fiercely for nothing besides some of his stolen smiles and keen conversations over wine, but he had grasped for all that he could and never looked back.

People did talk rot about this, but what did he care about people, anyway. Lots of babbled nonsense, if anyone asked him.

Noticing the glints in the mares' dark, tender eyes, Diego cracked an apple in two and offered the halves to each of them. Silver Bullet watched him treating his equine friends as he munched heartily on his own sliced apple.

Being so lost in the grooming of his horse, Diego failed to notice that there was someone else in the stables besides him. Only when the air shifted in the still room did he get a whiff of the fresh, but familiar scent.

“Ah, Zeppeli, how very uncanny,” he commented drily, not bothering with saluting. That infuriating man kept on creeping up on him like the plague.

Gyro waved with the dark bottle that he was holding, the motion accompanied by a sloshing sound. “Hey, Dio! Just came down to check on our girls before heading upstairs. And look who's here! Un bravo ragazzo,” he added cheerfully, nodding his head at Silver Bullet, who snorted appreciatively. “Ciao, Silver!”

He must be tipsy, if not drunk, Diego pondered. The smell of alcohol soon reached him, confirming his suspicions.

Oh, Lord, have mercy. Gyro Zeppeli was a handful when sober, he could only get worse while under the influence.

“Yes, they’re quite fine, as you can see.”

“Mmm,” Gyro hummed. “I’m glad Silver’s doing so well. Sorry again for hurting him, you know. He’s a good boy,” he said as he rested against the Arabian Thoroughbred’s stall door. “I hope you weren’t doing anything naughty to our horses,” he blabbered offhandedly. ‘Cazzo, I’m more buzzed than I thought,’ he realised with stupor, but that didn’t prevent him from running his mouth.

“Naughty?” Diego made in that flowery accent of his, his expression aggravated. “What are you insinuating? How dare you!”

“No, no, hold your horses! I’m not here to stir up any trouble!” the Italian replied, attempting to sound funny. Maybe that would stop the smaller man from going all Raptor on him after being so insensible.

“Then you’d better rein in those accusations,” Diego retorted, curious if the other would get his intended sarcasm. He wondered why he bothered, though.

Zeppeli’s eyes went wide at having his pun reciprocated. “Nyo-ho! A man of humour, at last!”

“Yes, I heard they’re something of a dying species,” Diego said and resumed brushing his horse. “Don’t you have to return to your friend?”

“Certo, but I’m just making some small talk.”

Brando peered over the neck of his horse. He looked bewildered, wondering why he was even wasting his breath on that half-witted Neapolitan. “Fine. Are you now done with your small talk?”

“Why? Do you want to get to the big talk?”

Despite himself, Diego chortled. “Alright, you are drunk. Go bother Jojo, I’m certain that he’s better company than me,” he dismissed him as he patted Silver Bullet on the back and then left his stall. He made to leave the stables, but Gyro grabbed his wrist.

“Dio, wait, wait,” he said, letting go of his wrist. He didn’t know why, but his drunken mind wanted to keep the other’s steely gaze just a bit longer. So he blurted the first thing that came to him. “I get that you and Johnny have a bit of a history together, but why does he keep saying you hurt horses? I can see you hurting people – I mean, I saw you hurting people - but I can’t imagine you harming a horse.”

Diego sighed, aggravated. What was that simpleton’s problem? “I would never do that, but people are people. One who doesn’t fit in another’s world is dragged through the mud and slandered, and I couldn’t care less. People are mere flocks of pigeons, to give you my twopence, and I can’t be bothered with their useless accusations or motives,” the jockey concluded bitterly.

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Not when you’ve seen what I have.”

As the other man said it, the Italian executioner couldn’t help admiring just how cold and lethal beauty looked on Diego’s pale face. So unapproachable and lonely. His eyes were haunted by a heaviness that was beyond his years. He wondered what he had experienced that had turned him into such a cynic.

“Hey, Dio,” Gyro persisted, still refusing to let the other man leave. In his tipsiness, he thought he might be able to cheer up their rival. It could make for an entertaining challenge. One that Johnny certainly wouldn’t approve of, but that was a problem for later. “Say, you’d care for a drink?”

Diego was already halfway out of the stables. One of his dark brows rose and he cocked his hip, putting a hand on his rotated waist. “Zeppeli, my advice, not that you’ve asked for it, is to return to your little Johnny and sleep.”

“No, no, I mean it! I mean, come on! You’ve cooped up with us a few times already, why not have a friendly drink or two with us? All on me, of course." He lifted the bottle with an encouraging grin. "It should be fun, right?”

“Unfortunately, I shall have to decline, as it is simply impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because, Gyro Zeppeli, we are not friends,” Diego retorted curtly and left the stables.

XXXXX

Diego all but collapsed with relief from the back of Silver Bullet, his head throbbing with the rush of adrenaline. A few feet away, Johnny was hugging Gyro ferociously and keeping an ear over his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. He had thought that he had lost his best friend. Embracing fiercely, both men were giggling wetly and sniffing occasionally.

Diego felt cold shivers down his spine at the realisation that he was the reason why said best friend was still miraculously alive and why those two were so happy.

When had he begun being selfless and giving a damn about others? Certainly, Zeppeli had helped Hot Pants to stick him back into one piece, but Diego had never reciprocated those kinds of grand gestures. Others could go get stabbed, for all he cared. He owed nothing to anyone.

Was there some disease in the air that made him give a damn? This was disconcerting.

But another idea sprinted in his head, one that would definitely take the edge off.

“We can still race,” he announced evenly, his clear voice cutting through the merriment of the two friends.

“What did you say?” Gyro asked.

“We can still race. This stage is not over, and there’s one more stage after it. We can still race. One of us can still win.”

Johnny stared at him, looking like he had gone through the grinder and came back half-chewed. He thought about the proposition for a moment, then glanced down at himself. Although he was supported by the Italian’s steady arms wrapped around his middle, his very own legs were holding most of his weight.

He was standing up.

He could walk – and by God, he could race, too.

He raised his eyes defiantly. “Well, can you?”

“Hm?”

“Can you still race, Dio?”

Diego grinned, his sharp fangs surfacing from underneath his full lips. “Heh, can I ever! And I could use a challenge after this whole debacle.”

Gyro chuckled and patted Johnny’s shoulder. “You didn’t get your fill of challenges yet, Dio?”

The British shrugged and looked at Hot Pants, who was palpating Lucy for any lesions. She gazed back at him disapprovingly, but that was hardly anything new for her. There were few things that he had done that she had agreed with, anyway.

“Hah!” Diego huffed as he straightened his back. The real miracle of the day was not that Johnny was standing up on his own feet, but how any of them was actually able to stay up after what had happened to them. And that gave him one hell of a thrill. “I’m an apex predator, as you may already know! I am destined for the top!”

Johnny scowled at him, but Gyro howled with laughter. “Then you’d better start climbing up those stairs to the top, Dio-saurus!”

Diego defiantly adjusted his ornate helmet over his golden hair. “See you at the finish line!” he shouted, his voice loud and excited, and took off on Silver Bullet’s back.

The American stared at the Italian, starting to regret his initial confidence. The other man's clothes were clinging awkwardly to his body, the filth splattered all over them drying slowly in the powerful sun. His shirt was decorated with huge splotches crusting over the fabric and sewn green beads, now mostly brown or burnt red.

He was in no state to ride.

“Gyro, no. I said that to get rid of Dio.”

Zeppeli quirked his brow. “What do you mean, ‘Gyro, no’? I need to finish this race, Johnny! Have you forgotten? Me first, you second! We need to beat that self-important asshole!”

Johnny sighed. His friend was playing with danger. Again.

But only imagining Dio’s smug face crossing the finish line with his arms widely spread made his blood boil.

Which gave him pause.

What must have been less than a couple of hours before, if that - although it felt like an eternity and a half had passed since then - the very same infuriating Englishman had fallen off a moving train and Gyro had shouted something about going to see what had happened to him. Just as much time had passed since Johnny had yelled at the Italian to leave Diego be, most likely dead under the train wheels.

Less than an hour before, Johnny had believed that his best friend had died.

No. They were still alive. They could race.

With determination in his eyes, Johnny nodded his head. “Then let’s fucking win this race!”

They returned to their horses that had just come trotting to their respective owners. Hot Pants assured them that she would watch over Lucy and find Mr. Steel, and so, the two friends started marching madly behind the galloping British man up ahead.

XXXXX

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Johnny muttered under his breath.

The only waterhole they found on their course, and obviously it had to be the exact same one that Diego had decided to use to water his horse. And worse, the sun was setting already, and that only meant one thing.

They would be camping together. Again.

This was getting ridiculous.

“Ah, and here I was wondering when you’d show up. I applaud your performance so far,” the Brit praised them, but coming from him, it sounded like mockery.

“Nyo-ho! Already occupying your thoughts, Dio?” Gyro jested, having long made peace with the fact that Brando, along with the Stand Users that were hunting them down and the unbelievable amount of dust surrounding them, was one of the most constant factors in the Steel Ball Run.

“In your dreams, Zeppeli,” Dio retorted as he closed the lid of his filled water bottle. “Or, don’t tell me, am I already in them? Oh, you poor dear,” he teased wickedly as he stepped aside, so that the other horses could bend their necks and drink from the stream.

Slow Dancer was the first to take her reluctant charge to water, and she began drinking without permission. “Oh, come on! Not you, too!” Johnny fumed from her back, now unable to dismount unless he jumped straight into the water.

Gyro shook his head. They were getting way too familiar with Diego, but he was beginning not to care anymore. He was a welcomed distraction – when the Englishman wasn’t trying to rob them of their Corpse parts or get them killed, that is. And them camping together also meant that they would get to eat Diego's food, so all the better. “Guess we’re stuck together again, huh?”

“As long as you’re behind me at the finish line, I don’t really mind it,” Dio said blandly and walked away with Silver Bullet at his toes.

XXXXX

They were racing madly, their horses snorting loudly and happily. The three animals sounded like they were having the times of their lives, running together on the dirt roads of New York.

By some miracle, Joestar, Zeppeli and Brando made it to the end of the eighth stage and were able to continue their course through the ninth – and final – stage of the Steel Ball Run.

They barely had the time to wash up and change into some intact clothes, and they still looked like they had gone through a nasty encounter with a grizzly bear. They had small cuts and bruises on their faces and hands, and the fresh remains of the wounds that they hid under their clothes were horrendous – but the three of them were being fuelled by the inhumane drive of having survived their most fierce battle ever.

Now, preparing to race for the finish line, it was like the crowning of their shared efforts.

Before the beginning of the final stage, the three men did all but stumble into each other as Mr. Steel, having learnt from Lucy about President Valentine’s fate, ushered them to a private room so that they could talk, having missed them the day before. At the end of the previous stage, Johnny, Gyro and Diego had merely dragged themselves into the first decent shelter that they could find, fed their horses with one eye closed and the other half-lidded, then laid over some hay and dozed off like the dead, not minding their close proximity anymore. However, that only made them appear like they had run off from home and had fallen into a ditch somewhere along the way, having forgone any extra freshening up besides dunking their heads into some water before sleeping.

Mr. Steel watched them with queer eyes as the two friends and the other contestant, who he was certain was their rival, helped each other clean up as much as possible and superficially tend to their wounds. The old man stared with raised brows at the angry red scars that Zeppeli and Brando were sporting on their upper bodies, but neither seemed to notice his look of pure horror.

Dressed into something that was clean and having their wounds secured under some bandages carefully applied by Zeppeli, who kept repeating ‘Yeah, I’m a real doctor, shut up’ like a mantra, the three contestants tried to make themselves somewhat more presentable after having slept on hay. Johnny, who was starting to feel his now functional legs quivering after so many years of disuse, tried to lean against a nearby table, but nearly crumbled to the floor in the process.

Surprisingly, the one who immediately caught him wasn’t Gyro, but Diego, who gently helped him sit down on a chair.

Mr. Steel didn’t understand just what he was seeing, but the entire race had been a series of events that he didn’t comprehend.

“Lucy told me what happened by the ocean,” he started, capturing the riders’ focus. For some reason, after having brushed his own messed-up hair, Diego began untangling Gyro’s, who was bent down so that the shorter man could reach his head easier. By their side, Johnny was wiping the mud off their head gear after having rearranged the small bow and the golden letter pins on Diego's equestrian helmet.

“Quite a bit of a mess, right?” the Neapolitan said, and rotated his head so that Diego could work on the rest of his unreasonably long blonde hair.

“Oi, you berk, stop moving,” Diego admonished him with a finger-tap against the forehead.

Mr. Steel decided it was best to ignore the youngsters, and just say his part. “I will seal the Holy Corpse inside Valentine’s vault and resume my place at the end of the track. There has to be someone to congratulate the winner, and it’d be better if we didn’t draw any attention to ourselves. Without the President, there will soon be an uproar, and no one must suspect us.”

Having finished with his self-imposed task, Diego returned the brush to Johnny and retrieved his cleaned helmet. Calmly, he paced towards the older man. Wearing smugness like a bejewelled crown, he patted his shoulder. “No need to worry, my good Sir,” he said pompously. “I shall be there in time to be congratulated for my victory.” Without skipping a beat, he turned to look at Gyro and Johnny, evidently challenging them, then exited the private room.

He made good work of his words.

The finish line was right ahead of them, and Diego was leading by less than a horse length. Zeppeli and Joestar were racing madly by his side, their eyes focused solely on the white ribbon that would be ruptured by the one that crossed the line first.

The crowd was howling an assortment of ‘JOJO’s and ‘DIO’s and ‘ZEPPELI’s and ‘GOOOOO’s, and it was all a sea of screams and excitement.

With their reliable steeds running under them and the wind blowing into their faces, the three contestants felt like it was only them who were racing, only them who were crossing the roads of the New York City at neck-breaking speed.

It was only them and their rivalry that mattered, all the rest be damned.

But there could only be one winner, and that, according to the booming voice of the commenter, was Diego ‘Dio’ Brando, who welcomed his victory with his arms opened widely and a broad, jubilant smile for the press photographers. He was going to be on the front page, again, and he looked the part.

Gyro Zeppeli was the second to pass the line, closely followed by Johnny ‘Jojo’ Joestar, the loud voice in the megaphone announced, but when the points were calculated, the second place was actually secured by Joestar, not Zeppeli. His stunt in the first stage, when he had been disqualified, had come to bite him in the form of having fewer points than his friend.

Gyro wanted to strangle someone, as he was supposed to be the first place winner – but the elated and triumphant looks on the two professional jockeys’ faces as they posed for the flashing cameras of the press reporters gave him pause.

They had survived attack after attack and more attacks that should have killed them a hundred of times, but against all odds, they had managed to cross the finish line. They, who had been the most unlikely of people to form any sort of bond together, managed to pull their weights and defied fate.

Hell, it almost didn’t matter to Gyro that he was the third, not after having gained such people in his life. There was a reason why he’d nearly run Johnny over before the first stage, there was a reason why they’d become best friends during their journey, there was a reason why they’d kept on crossing paths with Diego whenever the weather was bad and needed shelter. There had to be some purpose behind all this. There had to be more to their survival when so many had perished around them.

Maybe he was looking for a meaning where there was none, but Lady Luck rode with him, always. Nothing just happened for the sake of happening.

They were alive for some reason or another. They only needed to find out what it was.

It had been a long roundabout, but the ball that had hit the net had finally reached the ground. He wasn’t even mad about the outcome.

Grinning wildly and showing his golden teeth, Gyro threw his arms around the two rival jockeys and joined them in the photograph. All around them, bright flashes immortalised their victory.

XXXXX

Of course, like Mr. Steel had rightly predicted, the absence of the President at the finish line was disconcerting, but the spirits were still too high for anyone to question anything. At least, for the time being.

The repercussions of their actions could wait for a bit longer.

Hot Pants, having already reached the city long before the contestants, quickly worked with Lucy Steel to hide the Holy Corpse inside Valentine’s vault. It was a real shame, but powers such as the ones that the Sacred Relic possessed were not safe in their world. Greed took over any Divine Purpose.

Mr. Steel managed to secure a private hospital room for the three unbelievably beaten up winners of the race. After having received their trophies, Lucy persuaded the young men to go to their intended isolated ward, and the moment they entered the premises, both Diego's and Gyro’s knees gave up under them, fatigue finally catching up to them. Unceremoniously, they found themselves on their bottoms on the sterile tiles of the hospital floor, cracking up like absolute oafs.

Johnny, for once standing while others were lying down uselessly, placed his palms on the fallen men’s shoulders, and began laughing from the bottom of his heart.

A flash erupted before them, and Lucy Steel smiled as she captured the moment with a camera that she had ‘borrowed’ from an unsuspecting reporter.

XXXXX

Convalescence is a state of wonder.

As the adrenaline that had fuelled the racers began to decrease, they found themselves feeling tired beyond any imagination. Their bodies were demanding for some respite, and they were paying for the strain they had put on themselves quite dearly. Thankfully, the ward that Steel had rented for them was the perfect place for them to gather their strength under the careful vigilance of some heavily bribed doctors. Their only visitors were Lucy and Hot Pants, who brought them news from the world outside their little room.

Drowsily, Gyro counted the sparse discoloration spots on the otherwise clean ceiling and contemplated if he had ever felt so drained of energy. On the bed to his left, Johnny slept with his mouth opened and snored incredibly loudly, drool slowly accumulating on the pillowcase under his head. He looked so pretty and young, his lightly freckled cheeks peppered with the small red blotches of a blush. Although he produced some rather unattractive sounds through his parted lips, Gyro couldn’t remember seeing anything more endearing. If that boy got just a little bit sweeter, he thought fondly, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to stop from eating him up.

He really needed to have a heart-to-heart with Johnny, otherwise all those emotions he harboured for his dear friend were going to choke him up for good. He hoped that they were reciprocated, but the lingering looks and tantalising touches they shared made him quite confident in the positive results of his impending confession. He had been meaning to lay his heart out to his friend for so long, and had been so afraid to do so. The fear of rejection, of losing something as precious and sacred as their friendship, the mere thought of turning his head to the side and not seeing Johnny, had choked him up.

Now, after all that they'd been through, such insecurities felt silly.

Shifting his attention to the bed on his right, he examined the way in which Diego had buried his nose straight into the mattress, his body hogging the pillow like a vice.

The Italian wiggled around a bit to have a better look at the British, realising that it was the first time that he had seen him so heavily unguarded. His position was anything but flattering, given the manner in which he was resting on top of the covers and pillow, and lying crumpled over his belly with his bottom perked up in the air and his arms spread widely, almost hugging the mattress. It was absolutely ridiculous how much he resembled an octopus imitating a banana peel.

That image made him chuckle, and by the volume of Johnny’s snoring, he shouldn’t have been heard.

Much to his distress, Brando seemed to stir back to the land of the living as his head abruptly rotated at an unnatural angle, his dinosaur ability enhancing his already impressive flexibility.

However, the human octopus – as Gyro decided to call the jockey from that point on – only dislodged his nose from the mattress, probably unable to breathe properly. He kept on sleeping soundly, an expression of deep relaxation on his usually relentless face. Mumbling something, he unconsciously pulled the pillow from underneath his chest and unceremoniously hitched one of his legs over it, sighing contently in his slumber.

Now, Gyro thought, Dio resembled an octopus climbing a building.

How very cute.

XXXXX

Although Diego had spent a significant portion of his life surrounded by all sorts of animals that produced different kinds of loud noises, he didn’t recall ever having heard an auditory onslaught like Gyro’s snoring.

Mercifully, after having rested properly, Johnny’s snoozes were no longer accompanied by those stuttered snores from before, but by soft coos. Alas, they were not audible over the cacophony coming from the Italian’s nose and mouth that seemed to be stuffed with not only a trumpet, but with the whole orchestra.

Perhaps the culprits were his overly sensitive senses that were enriching the marvellous experience of the concert from the middle bed. Scary Monsters had allowed Diego some extremely useful abilities, and he would lie if he said that he didn’t revel in them, but he had never thought that his hearing would be abused like that. Mostly because he, Dio, had always steered away from people by the mere principle of it.

Sure, he'd had his fair share of trysts and affairs with women and men alike, but he’d never stuck around for the afterglow – though he imagined it to be anything but glowing. And even when he had been forced to share quarters with others under different circumstances, he had somehow found a way to get as far as possible and not have to listen to anyone sleeping.

However, now that he was stuck with two others in a hospital reserve, he was surprised to notice a certain appeal to sharing a room - if he overlooked the noise factor.

Certainly, he had been forced in the same place as Johnny and Gyro during the race. But then, the two friends had been on their guards and stayed away from him, and Diego had chosen to keep to himself in another corner of the room. But now, he had nowhere to go to isolate himself from them, and the two other men were acting as openly as a book. They were no longer ready to spring into action at the first gush of wind, nor were they sleeping with one eye opened.

And damn his otherwise magnificent Stand – Scary Monsters was having the best possible time with the confirmation of those two letting their guards down in front of him, as if they trusted the dinosaur to protect them.

As if they were some sort of pack and he, Dio, was the unanimously chosen Alpha Male.

Diego rubbed his forehead at that outrageous idea.

“Clearly, I’m going insane from the noise,” he mumbled, although his thoughts amused him with their preposterousness. His Stand could make him rather silly sometimes.

Slowly, he lifted his head from the pillow. The thick bandages were hindering much of his movements, but he managed to shift his head so that he could look at the two other beds in the room, and especially at the relaxed faces of their occupants.

On the furthest cot, Johnny had a little frown marring his shiny forehead, for once devoid of his usual knitted cap. His light blonde hair was tickling his nose, as he kept on scrunching it up. In the middle, Gyro was drooling from his opened mouth, his golden teeth glinting in the little moonlight that was passing through the curtains obscuring the ward’s double windows. His expression was so content that it made Diego wonder what he was dreaming about.

It must have been a pleasant dream.

Maybe he was dreaming about Johnny.

His initial good mood flew right out of the window.

A few days before, Diego had gone outside their room to stretch his legs for a bit. He'd felt his strength sufficiently recovered to attempt a longer journey down the hall. The exertion had left him a little winded, but he was beginning to lose his sanity after being confined to one place with two other people who were either incredibly wary of him, or way too friendly.

In fact, it was only Gyro who was friendly towards him, bestowing his stupid – but funny, damn him – jokes upon him. It was hard not to laugh at his witty puns. And he did talk a lot, about all sorts of curious or inane things. He was well read, despite looking like a very misunderstood cowboy turned into some sort of eccentric bum, and Diego was able to discuss literature, science and even philosophy with him. It was on very rare occasions that the Englishman got to share his extensive knowledge without appearing conceited or an upstart. However, most surprisingly, Gyro was not only more than eager to discuss about every topic under the sun with Diego, but he often sought his opinion on diverse matters, as well, or shared from his own experiences. That’s how Dio learnt about Zeppeli’s occupation as both an executioner - or magistrate, as it was officially stipulated - and a doctor, and was immediately intrigued by the way the Neapolitan balanced things in his life – or actually didn’t, given the many messes he had managed to end up in. But all that made for some interesting conversations.

Gyro also sang completely unprompted. When he didn’t feel the need to share his more bizarre musical creations – albeit infuriatingly catchy – he sang in Italian. Diego liked listening to those melodies and their melancholic lyrics. He didn’t mention that he understood the language, but he somehow felt like the Italian knew it, from the way he was throwing glances his way when he used his mother tongue and studied him for a reaction.

Or maybe he was imagining things. Diego ignored that notion entirely.

However, on the totally opposite spectre was Johnny, who maintained his usual hostility towards him or simply ignored his existence altogether. No matter how hard Gyro tried to engage them into conversations or card games, the American continued to shun Diego and refused any interactions with him that were not necessary. Diego spared no efforts in that regard, unwilling to bend himself over just to mend some nonexistent connection with the other jockey. It was a shame, perhaps, especially given how tirelessly Gyro struggled with bringing some unity to their little group, but Brando was aware that the moment they eventually left the hospital, they would follow their respective paths and maybe meet on some racing course or another, at the very most.

Still, it was a pity.

With those thoughts in mind, Diego had limped a bit around the outer corridor. A nurse had asked him if he needed anything, but he’d assured her that he only wanted to move his feet a little, and that he wouldn’t wander further than the window he had been gazing through. Alone again, he’d contemplated the nice weather for a bit, then had made his way back to the reserve.

As he’d walked down the clean hallway, some incredibly strong scents had invaded his nostrils. The air had smelt of happiness, if that made any sense, and he hadn’t understood how that would be possible in a hospital, of all the places. Without questioning why he had even been able to discern emotions by their fragrance, he’d reached his destination at the end of the hall.

With shock, he’d noticed that Johnny had taken a seat on the edge of Gyro’s bed, with his back to the slightly ajar door, and the other man had rested his hand on his back and slid a thumb under his shirt, their heads being very close and their barely opened lips wearing a deep shade of red.

They had been kissing.

Doubling back, Diego had returned to the solitary window and had contemplated the weather some more, refusing to process what he had witnessed.

Eventually, the same nurse who had first found him urged him to go rest some more, because he looked exhausted.

For having slept so much, Dio had felt unjustifiably tired, and had finally relented to the persistent nurse’s nagging to go back to his bed.

The other occupants of the room had by then returned to their respective sides of the room. Gyro had begun reading some book and yawned fiercely, and Johnny struggled with his newest, and frankly, rather randomly chosen leisure activity of knitting, the wool refusing to cooperate with him.

Nothing had been out of the ordinary, but his nose had known that something was very, very different.

Their smells had become intermingled.

Now, in the middle of the night, Dio still remembered those intertwined scents, and the animal in him churned with jealousy.

That was because he, Dio, from the bed that was the furthest away from the window, was assaulted by unreasonable musings. He wished, deep down, to crawl between the two napping figures and share their warmth and bask in their potent scent-

He put a hand over his eyes, effectively interrupting whatever madness had overcome his senses. “Bloody dinosaur brain,” he scolded himself.

Ruddy apex predator - and a goddamn useless sap!

Sighing, he gathered his hands over his chest and looked up at the ceiling. If such asinine thoughts were plaguing him, it certainly meant that he had spent his overdue in the company of the other patients. His dinosaur Stand, which was still a fundamentally pack-oriented creature, was taking too much control over his disposition. Though, consulting his more rational side, Diego wondered if this bothersome longing wasn’t actually coming from him.

Wanting to have something else to focus on, he willed for the World to materialise in front of him, hoping that its presence might dull his beastly senses gone haywire. As commanded, the Stand appeared and stood guard next to its User, taking a seat next to him. It extended a large but elegant palm to its User and began caressing his head.

Looking at the red eyes of the golden Stand, keeping him company on his lonely bed, Diego felt even more pathetic.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he cussed and lifted his arms in the air, which proved to be a very bad idea, as his shoulder immediately protested in agony. The World disappeared from his side.

“Can’t sleep?” a voice asked over the ear-bleeding snores.

Diego wished he was dead. Not only was he contemplating rubbing his face into other people’s chests, he had been seen having his Stand stroke his hair, as if he needed some comfort - by Johnny Joestar, of all the people!

No, Diego wished to murder someone.

Childishly, he wondered if pretending to be asleep was going to let him off the hook. But no, Johnny rose from his bed and began slowly pacing towards Brando’s side of the room.

“Gyro sure snores like a dying pig, doesn’t he?”

That made Diego chuckle. He decided to abandon pretences and gently lifted to sit up with his back against the headboard. “Indeed, he does. Did he make this much noise on the road?”

“Yeah,” Johnny admitted. He looked a bit lost, now that he was hovering in front of Diego’s bed.

The British noticed his uncertainty. “You can have a seat if you liked, you know. I don’t bite.”

“Don’t you?” the American countered with a little inflexion in his quiet voice.

“Hmph,” Diego blew air through the nose. He licked the sharp fangs in his mouth. “Perhaps I do.”

However, the younger jockey didn’t seem bothered by it, and did take a seat on the farthest side of the bed from him. “My legs are cramping,” he explained, as if that justified his actions.

“Of course. Well, my congratulations on your new ability of walking, though you should take it easier for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

They sat like this, Johnny staring at his bent knees and Diego at his fingernails, all the while Gyro snored like a hog.

“Do you think if we poke him with something, he’ll stop?” Diego asked, the silence between them grating his nerves.

“Neah, tried that before,” the other replied. “He started snoring louder.”

“Bloody hell, is that even possible?”

“Believe it or not, yeah, it sure is.”

“Damn.” Diego shook his head and looked at Johnny. He smelt sweetly. “I guess that’s our life now.”

“Yeah.”

They were once again silent.

“Hey, do you think he’s having a good dream?” the American asked. “Gyro, I mean.”

Diego averted his gaze from the younger man and looked at the snoozing doctor. “I suppose he is. He appears to be smiling.”

“Yeah.”

Again, silence.

Proper interaction seemed to be particularly hard for them.

Johnny exhaled pointedly. “Look, Diego, let’s cut the crap. I just wanted to thank you for saving Gyro. He mentioned you’ve healed his wounds. So, yeah. Thanks.”

Diego swallowed dryly. “It’s more like I’ve patched up his wounds and hoped for the best, but it was only fair.”

“Was it?”

“Of course, he had taken care of mine, as well. We’re even now.”

“Is that so?”

“Pete’s sake, Joestar,” Diego exclaimed. “I don’t get what you’re trying to insinuate. I’m not going to steal your beau or whatever the devil you two are.”

“He ain't my beau!” Johnny made petulantly, not that he hadn’t thought about it on way too many occasions. In fact, he made a mental note to ask Gyro if he wanted to be involved with him, especially now that they had acknowledged nurturing mutual feelings.

But Diego didn't need to know that! He'd just make fun of him or call him some insulting names.

“By George, you’re making me recount all the saints that I know,” Brando commented as he scratched his nose. “I don’t care what you are to each other, or what you aren’t. I am merely stating facts. He helped me when I needed it, I returned the favour. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so.”

“Jonathan!”

“Hey, don’t fucking call me that!”

“Then don’t act like a petulant child! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Johnny!”

Johnny guffawed. “Are you now beginning to list all the saints?”

“And I have yet to get through the apostles and martyrs, so you’d better watch it.”

“Lord Almighty, have mercy.”

“Ah, Him, as well. Let’s not forget about Him.”

The two jockeys shared a look and started chuckling good-naturedly. “Pff, Dio, I didn’t know that the broomstick up your ass could be pulled out.”

“Yes, it’s another miracle performed by the Holy Corpse, really,” Diego made sarcastically. “After all, us the King’s Englishmen are reputed for our remarkably large broomsticks stuck up in tight places.”

The innuendo wasn’t lost to the American, and he found himself getting invested against his will. “Hey, Dio, are you sure it ain't just you?”

He smirked. “Why, certainly! But mine just happens to be bigger and lodged just a tid-bit deeper than most. My very own quirk, you see." He leaned forward, his pale eyes sparkling as brightly as gems, and whispered with a toothy grin, "You must have wondered how I manage to keep my back so straight, surely. But hush, Jojo - it's a secret!”

Johnny broke into a fit of laughter. He looked at his old rival’s face, his expression entirely honest and his high cheeks sporting a rosy tinge from cracking up.

He didn’t recall ever having seen him like that, not when it came to him. Never towards him.

But what he did remember was Diego’s petrified look when Nicholas had fallen off his horse. The feeling of his cold hand over Johnny’s rounded-with-fear eyes. The sensation of his forehead being pushed into the other’s chest, shielding him from the gruesome sight on the training course.

The frozen despair he had experienced when his father had grabbed his hair through his colourful beanie and had pulled him away from Diego’s eerily protective arms. How helpless the other had looked when he couldn’t do anything to prevent Johnny from being hit with a strong fist, nor from seeing the blood coursing from Nicholas’ smashed head.

Without realising, Johnny began trembling, his eyes filling with long-unshed tears.

A cool sensation spread over his forearm, and he lifted his glassy eyes.

He hadn’t noticed Diego having gotten so close to him, and now, the man was tracing his fingers over his arm. His usually ruthless eyes were widely opened. Comforting.

Understanding.

Unthinking, Johnny didn’t push him away. He buried his head into the other’s chest, and strong arms, surprisingly warm and tender, wrapped around him as he sobbed, just like during that wretched day on the training course.

Only then, there was no Father to grab him and hit him.

It was only Diego to stroke his hair.

XXXXX

The first to be discharged was obviously Johnny, as he was the one with the fewest injuries. However, he spent every visiting hours that he could in the hospital room, not wanting to abandon Gyro while he was recovering.

And, much to his chagrin, he also invariably kept company to Diego, who, despite the beautiful weather outside, was currently occupying the same room as them.

It seemed like the higher powers kept on forcing them together even outside of strict necessity, no matter the circumstances.

What irked Johnny wasn’t the presence of the other jockey, but his own reaction to it. At first, he had been reluctant to spend so much time with him under the same roof, even though it was safest for them to stick together, especially as the country was stirring in the continuous absence of its President. However, he soon found himself enjoying listening to the stupid jokes that Gyro and Diego were so eager to share with one another.

They had the same atrocious sense of humour, and not having a reason to harm each other only brought that revelation to the surface.

Johnny pondered on what could have happened to determine Diego to don other airs besides his usual ones of disdain and self-importance. Within their small hospital room, he was chuckling so hard that he was almost snorting, holding his stomach that was aching from the effort. His explosive demeanour only encouraged the Italian doctor to come up with more and more idiotic jokes, and the British kept on telling hilarious or absurd stories about all sorts of people and situations that he had encountered. The more time Gyro and Diego spent in the same room, the more they sought out to converse, which was unexpected, as Johnny had never thought that Diego could actually talk without bragging and could listen patiently without interrupting to say something about himself. He was far more of a pleasant company than he had initially believed, and Gyro actually told him the exact same thing on one of the occasions when their fellow inpatient was out on a walk on the outer corridors.

Gyro seemed to genuinely enjoy Diego's presence, which was becoming harder to ignore. Oddly, this observation didn't bring the American into a state of jealousy as one would have expected of him. Quite the opposite.

Try as he might, Johnny couldn’t help tittering at how hysterically and carefree the others were laughing. Moreso, he slowly grew fond of the sound of their combined snickers and the sight of their big, toothy grins after an especially brain-rotting pun. He relished in the chant of their voices going on and on and on, their words no longer mattering to him, just as long as they kept on coming from them.

One evening, when Diego had been undergoing his usual physical therapy, Gyro had asked him if he enjoyed the Englishman's company just as much as he did. Understandably, Johnny had stared back at his friend rather quizzically, as if the question had made no sense to him. Gyro's phrasing had made it sound as if he believed that Johnny actually fancied Brando's presence, which went beyond tolerating the other's existence as he was doing. Or, at least, supposed he was doing.

But, the truth was, Johnny was enjoying himself with them. He liked being confined with them in that hospital ward and having nothing to do besides waiting for the time to pass.

He wondered where all the bitterness had gone, the tears and the insults. They avoided entering subjects that were too intense, and they had virtually no plans for the future. Maybe not thinking about anything of real importance brought out the pleasant mood. 

Deep inside, Johnny knew that the night that he had spent in Diego’s bed, reminiscing together about the past without a single word, changed something between them. They hadn't spoken about what had happened - as they hardly spoke to each other at all, anyway - but he was sure that he was not the only one revisiting the hours of laying quietly in each other's arms, simply exchanging heat. He had cried in the other's chest until he could barely feel his face anymore, long after the Englishman's shirt had become soaked with tears, and Diego just stood there, holding him and softy humming a slow tune that Johnny didn't know, running his fingers through his hair and wiping his eyes and wet cheeks with his sleeves. Their quiet exchange led the befuddled Johnny to question if he had ever known who Diego actually was as a person, or if his distaste for him hadn't, in fact, stemmed from unfortunate circumstantiality - because the man that he was slowly discovering was a far cry from the one he had loathed for most of his life.

Still, there was a great deal of heaviness that hanged above them, but their surprising amicability held that darkness away. Well, perhaps not amicability, but acceptance. It held their past at bay. At least for the time being.

Now, Johnny was shuffling cards and humming a song about gelato. With the corner of his eyes, he watched Diego reading a heavy, boring looking book, while Gyro was scribbling a letter. He felt warmer only by looking at them.

How very pleasant.

Johnny frowned, his song coming to an abrupt ending.

What was wrong with him?

Diego seemed to notice that the background noise had stopped, and lifted his head from the thick volume in his hands. His intense gaze was first directed at Gyro, as he was the closest to him, and then to Johnny, his blue eyes wearing an expression of strange longing that was gone in an instant.

Johnny had no moment to contemplate the penetrating look, because a nurse came inside the room after knocking.

“Hello, Mr. Joestar! It’s so good you’re still here, there’s a gentleman who asked if he might find you here. He said he talked to Mr. Steel and he’d sent him here. I told the gentleman you’ve already been discharged, but I thought I should check if you weren’t by any chance visiting,” she said with a small smile, and blushed furiously when Gyro’s luminous green eyes lifted to look at her. He had made a sport out of flustering the hospital’s female personnel. “And luckily, here you are!” she added, and Johnny wasn’t sure her words were actually directed at him.

In fact, he was certain they weren’t directed at him - the one who was actually supposed to be found - and he decided he didn’t like that look. He didn’t want that woman looking at Gyro in that heated way, nor the rest of the enamoured staff. With demanding intonation, he immediately turned the lady’s attention to him. “Who is it?”

Before she had the chance to reply, he noticed a dark haired man peeking his head inside the room.

It was his father.

“May I?” the old man asked, his eyebrows low and apologetic.

The nurse smiled sweetly and disappeared in the hallway.

Johnny was stunned, the cards that he was shuffling frozen in his hands. He straightened in his chair, the one that was positioned next to Gyro’s bed, and stared.

“Hello, son,” George Joestar said, a little embarrassed smile lifting his cheeks.

Johnny’s bright eyes filled with tears that he didn’t want to show, not to his father, who had yelled at him for being a whimpering sissy on countless occasions. He hadn’t seen him in years, and he didn’t want to appear just as pathetic as he had been the last time their eyes had crossed.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t help his snivelling.

Diego’s book closed forcefully, and the man snorted rudely. All eyes turned to him and his indignant countenance. “Now, really,” he spat, as if the previous greeting had been addressed to him. On the nearby bed, Gyro tensed and let go of his letter and pen.

“Diego?” Mr. Joestar asked, the name trembling from his lips. “Diego Brando!” he repeated, not believing his eyes. “I would’ve never guessed I’d see you here.”

“Oh, I am here,” he snarled. “But where were you all this time? Why are you here?”

“Dio...,” Johnny whispered, his voice cracking. He was the one who was supposed to be mad at the sight of his father, not Diego, who had nothing to do with them.

Then why were Diego’s fists clenching? Why were his eyes turning into golden slits?

“I came to see my son and apologise to him,” Mr. Joestar explained himself, not knowing where to look.

Despite his still recovering wounds, the English jockey willed himself to stand up, letting the back of his knees touch the edge of his bed. He felt rage bubbling inside him, and the predator that resided in his blood was asking to be set loose. He didn’t understand that sudden urge to jump to Johnny’s aid, who didn’t even need any protection, but he let himself be guided by it. He held himself back, only barely, though he was ready to pounce.

“Hah, that’s rich!” he retorted sarcastically. “Now, you decided to come. And where were you to call Johnny your son when he was shot? When he was alone among strangers? Where were you to apologise to him when your oldest died and you dragged Johnny by the hair because he was crying? When you asked me if I wanted to be adopted by you, because I alone could make you proud and you were heirless without Nicholas, yet you still had one living son who was full of bruises from your beatings and insults, and you kept calling him a failure? Where were you back then, George Joestar?”

“Diego,” Gyro warned and rose from his seat.

Brando lifted to his feet as well, and in spite of his smaller frame, he appeared to dominate the room and over everyone inside. “Where were you, George?” he repeated venomously. “Is Johnny your son now because he can walk and win again? Or did you come to rub it into his face that once again, he’d lost to me?”

“Diego, that’s enough!” Gyro cried out. Gone was the goofy smirk that accompanied his jokes, gone was the mirth in his eyes. The Italian wore the cold eyes of the executioner, and it made Diego’s lungs hold in a stuttered breath. “Let’s go and give them some space. Now.”

Visibly hurt, the Brit stormed out of the room, immediately regretting getting so riled up. His bruised ribs began aching with how fast his heart was beating under them.

He was so dizzy. Scary Monsters was scratching at his insides for retribution and the need to protect the ones that he had spent the past few weeks with. The infuriating sensation was driving him up the wall. Why was the animal that had sprouted from his spirit even able to reign over his emotions in the first place?

Crumbling in a seat from the hallway, Diego grimly realised that Scary Monsters was not a figment of his soul. It was just a power that had latched onto him due to having an Eye of the Holy Corpse at the moment of defeating the original Stand User. The dinosaur worked so well with him and he had absorbed all of its abilities because he was, himself, something of an untamed beast, and his wilderness was only enhanced by the Stand. The World, the huge golden Stand, was in fact his own power.

But even The World had been stolen from some counterpart of his from another dimension who had been burned down to ashes, so that he could be safe from the possibility of annihilation. Not even the essence of his own fighting spirit was truly his.

It was stolen. Taken by force.

Was there anything really his own?

Did any of his possessions truly belong to him? Or were they all taken away from someone else? 

“Dio! Dio, hey, are you alright?” Gyro asked him warily, and Diego barely comprehended what the man was saying to him. A large palm covered his own, and green eyes begged for his attention.

Diego stared, speechless.

“There was no need for you to get so combative,” Gyro told him. “But I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Diego proclaimed and jerkily retracted his hand. “You have no idea what it means to be discarded by the world, to be left for dead and to claw your way through life. To hunger for a place under the sun and to be shunned for your very existence.” Dio’s orbs were burning. “You have no idea, Zeppeli, what it means to be a nobody.”

“But I know that you’re not a nobody,” Gyro whispered gently, as if talking to a cornered animal. “You’re the pain in our sides from the race. You’re the constant meddler through everything we have done in the Steel Ball Run. You’re Dio.”

Astounding himself, Gyro lifted his palm and cupped Diego’s cheek, feeling how, under his fingertips, the skin was beginning to crack. He longed to confort the sad man more than anything, to wipe away the pain and sorrow that marred his handsome features. “But what you’re telling me isn’t only about yourself, Diego, is it? It’s about Johnny, too. What gets you so riled up about him?”

Cerulean eyes regarded him woefully. Diego wanted to move away from the warm hand on his cheek, but he couldn’t.

“You didn’t hear Johnny wailing when Nicholas died,” he said. “His brother was the one who suggested me to start competing. I was observing his training technique so I could copy it at night, when no one was watching, but he offered to properly teach me how to ride. Obviously, I accepted, how could I not? George saw how I excelled and became extremely abusive to Johnny, who was always so clumsy and emotional, but a fabulous jockey in the making nonetheless. The only one who held George at bay was Nicholas. When his brother was killed in the horse accident, we were both on the training track, as well. I tried to shield Johnny away from seeing his brother dead, because I didn’t want him to see the only one who cared about him like I had seen my mother.”

Diego’s beautiful eyes blinked apathetically, his gaze trailing somewhere behind the stunned face of his interlocutor. “It was because I understood what he felt that moment, you see? I remembered how I felt watching my mother dying before my very eyes with high fever from the burns on her hands after having fed me from them when the man who’d tried to rape her destroyed our only mugs. No child should ever see something like that. It stays with you and keeps on replaying in your head when you close your eyes at night. It's haunting. So I caught Johnny, and he cried out and wept in my arms, trembling like a leaf, but when George saw him lamenting like that, he pulled him by the hair and punched him, told him he wasn’t allowed to act like an embarrassment in front of his betters. In front of me, who was just a bit older than Jojo. He hit him until Johnny almost lost his consciousness in front of Nicholas' corpse.”

Diego shook his head and swatted Gyro’s hand away. It almost hurt him to do so. “George should have comforted his son, but he chose to beat him, again and again. No parent should do that. My mother,” he said, pointing at his chest with his index finger that was slowly turning into a dark, shiny claw, the blunt nail lengthening and curling into a sharp tip, “jumped into an overflowing river as the freezing rain water washed me away after my own father had buried me alive shortly after being born,” he confessed with fierceness. “My mother sacrificed everything, even her life, for me, but nooo! Fucking George Joestar, who now suddenly remembered he has a living son, preferred to ditch him and asked me, right in front of Johnny, if I wanted to have a real father and be adopted by him. Me, the bloody stable boy! Can you imagine how humiliated I felt, not to mention anything about Johnny? His father was supposed to love him, not treat him like dirt!”

Enraged, Diego jolted to his feet, but the brusque movement made him dizzy. Gyro barely managed to catch him before he slipped off the chair.

“Don’t touch me!” Dio cried out, collapsing onto the seat. As he blindly clutched the chair with what he'd thought to be just a trembling hand, his claws left deep indentations into the backrest. Only then, did he realise that he was transforming without noticing.

He had lost control over himself.

Everything was so wrong. Diego was furious. He didn't need comforting, he didn't need anyone.

He wanted much more than that, he craved for more than that emptiness that ate him from within - but he had himself. It had to be enough, even if it wasn't.

It had never really been enough.

“Just-- just stop, Gyro,” he said with a small voice. “You don’t know what happened. Just stop trying to understand what is beyond your comprehension. And don’t you even pretend knowing the first thing about me. You don't.”

Gyro was relentless, but he did retract his arm. “Then help me understand, Dio. Is that why you jumped at his father’s neck? Is this why Johnny kept on saying those things about you? Is this your so-called history with him?”

“Gyro, when someone keeps on telling you someone else is better than you, you start believing them,” Diego explained. “Johnny...” He sighed. “I did win every competition against Johnny, that’s true, but it was only because he was the only one who made me drive myself the hardest. When I wasn’t competing against him, I still won, but there was no enjoyment, no fighting to be better. I was already the best against any others. No amount of money that I made from the competitions really compensated for losing the joy of riding my horse against Johnny’s. And yes, the reasons that I've mentioned are why he resents me. I think it’s obvious, even to you.”

Gyro snorted. “Neah, I don’t think he resents you all that much. Not anymore, now that he was forced to spend time with you.”

“Poppycock,” Dio immediately countered. “Utter rubbish, of course he does. But what’s done is done, it doesn’t matter anymore. When all this is over, our paths will follow their separate courses, anyway.”

“Neah, he doesn’t,” Gyro insisted, ignoring the other's resigned end note. “Sure, you’re a pompous arsehole at the best of times and he’s told me all sorts of crap about you, but he wouldn’t just suffer your presence if he didn’t want to. Trust me on this.”

Despite his downcast mood, Diego couldn’t prevent his chuckle. “And that’s supposed to reassure me or something? If that’s your bedside manner, Zeppeli, I pity your patients.”

“Um, well, no, obviously, but my point is that Johnny considers me his best friend and I do exasperate him on a daily basis. And I consider him my best friend, too.”

“How very touching. You should have started with that,” Diego countered, unwilling to listen to some lecture about the miraculous healing powers of friendship or whatever nonsense the Italian was going on about. If best friends kissed like that, then those two were even more delusional than him. “If you like him so much, I can make myself scarce for half an hour and leave you two to your things, as you’re so eager to kiss him up the arse,” he suggested crudely.

Realising what he had just blurted, Diego wanted to groan. He braced himself for a punch, because he really deserved one. He had not only insinuated that the Italian had an affinity for men - which was hardly a lie given what he had seen with his own eyes, though it was certainly not the sort of remark one made carelessly without meaning it as a libel - but he had also insulted the other's friend. He, for one, would have definitely socked the one who'd dared to utter such calumny about him - even if it was just to keep up appearances.

However, what he got was Gyro going into a fit of laughter, the crude jab going over his head, completely ignored. “Half an hour? That’s how little you think of me? Nyo-ho-ho, briccone!”

Diego was taken aback, but he entered the game eagerly. He was pathetic, really, but his head was hurting and the prehistoric monster in his blood was doing flips at hearing the other man being happy. That was even more lamentable.

“Please, Zeppeli, I was being generous.”

“How so?”

“Simple. Five minutes for shagging or whatever, the rest for airing out the room. I have a sensitive nose, I’d very much appreciate your filth out before I returned.”

“He-he, can’t take you by the nose. It knows everything!” Gyro sallied and elbowed Diego in the arm. The jockey smiled at his lame pun, determining the Italian's mouth to contort into a huge grin, exposing his shiny golden teeth. “And, besides, five minutes? What?”

“Why, do you need more, fast boy?”

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Diego stared at him with bewilderment, his grin frozen.

Unhelpful as ever when it came to basic human interactions, Scary Monsters was having the time of its life under his skin, and its User wanted to crawl under a rock.

XXXXX

Johnny sat listlessly inside the reserve, staring at his star patterned trousers.

His father had tended his heartfelt apologies and departed after speaking with him for a while. The old man was genuinely sorry for what he had done, and knew not how to repent for his grave sins. That only added a bitter-sweet taste to Johnny's sorrow, but the hollowness in his chest wouldn't leave him. Not when he thought of the pains of the past. Not when the paternal hand that had come to pat his cheek and squeeze his shoulder in what he supposed was meant to be reassurance only reminded him of the hard slaps across the face and the heavy blows to the rest of his body.

Johnny had long forgiven his father and could only wish him well, but he couldn't just erase the lingering hits. He couldn't just forget the lashing words.

And now, he was alone in the room with three beds, free to contemplate the past few months.

He had entered the race in the hopes of learning about the Spin and regaining his sensibility in his legs. He had accomplished both, and on the plus, he had started walking again, although he still required crutches or a cane when his slowly recovering muscles became too fatigued. But he could move by himself, and feel, and that was something he had never even dreamt of ever being able to do again after his accident.

He had pursued a dubiously looking Italian who didn’t seem quite right in the head, who turned out to be a doctor who was also an executioner and had an infinite arsenal of mind-numbing jests and puns. He had come so close to losing him after having had him by his side for months on end, and something ugly, something forbidden in Johnny’s heart wanted to never let go of the man, to smother him with all the feelings for the handsome Italian with golden teeth that burned inside him.

But Gyro was eventually going to return to Naples, unsuccessful in pretty much all of his endeavours regarding the race, and face the wrath of his king and family. What was worse, he was going to leave Johnny alone.

Everything good in Johnny’s life, everything he had ever loved and cared for, always left him. And he did love that Neapolitan, he really did, and he knew that he was loved back. Gyro had told him so, and he had been so happy upon hearing it.

But no matter how much they ignored the harsh reality, he would need to leave. No promises or wishful thinking would be able to prevent the inevitable. He would need to recommence his former life and leave whatever they had behind. Gyro had his ancestral duties, he would have to abide to his family's traditions, and they could not include Johnny, a foreigner with no real prospects.

Knowing his inadequacies, although they had never been mentioned nor brought up, hurt Johnny more than any wound.

And that damnable Diego. Blast him, upwards and sideways and in all the possible ways! That absolute whirlwind who kept on getting in his path, who gravitated around him like some satellite. Who had seen him at his lowest of the lowest and at his worst, and who, for some reason, continued to appear in his way like some dust bunny from under the bed.

What had gotten into the man to start shouting at his father about Johnny? Why did he even care? He was the very reason why his father had abandoned him, because he could never beat Diego. Maybe Nicholas would have been able to - but not Johnny. Never Johnny.

Not even in the Steel Ball Run race, he couldn’t beat Diego.

And yet, it was the very same unbeatable Diego who had stood up for him in front of his father, far angrier than Johnny himself. He had comforted him a few nights before and never mentioned the incident again. Now, he'd shown support. Diego. Diego Brando, who would likely show no remorse in watching another person burning and who'd warm his hands by said bonfire.

For a moment, he wondered how Diego must have felt to be dragged into a family drama that wasn’t his own, to be pointed out like some monkey doing jumps at the circus.

And the look in his eyes whenever he gazed at him and Gyro... there was something in those pale orbs that he couldn’t understand.

No, he understood that look.

He didn’t want to understand it. He refused to even acknowledge it.

But it made him feel so special.

“Hey, Joh-nnyyyy?” Gyro’s lilting, deep voice startled his thoughts. The foreigner poked his head inside the room. “Saaaay - can we come back in? My back kind of hurts. Buuuut-” he trailed on, “if you need more time, I can force Diego to turn into a plank or something. He might be comfy... though I doubt it. He's got too many bones.”

“You’re a plank, you bloody daft wop! Such nonsense, my brilliance is entirely wasted on you! And you even dare to say you're a doctor - the audacity! I have as many bones as you do! By God, you halfwit, get out of my way,” Diego made flippantly from behind him. Swaying his hips as he always did when he walked, he passed by the confused Italian and returned to his side of the room.

Johnny watched the two men with a sweltering heart.

Shit, he had grown attached to the wrong crowd.

Was he in the wrong to be feeling so?

“Plank also means idiot, Gyro,” the American explained placidly, his tone not betraying his rapidly spiralling emotions.

Realisation passed over Zeppeli’s face. “Oooooh!” He whistled in awe. “Nyo-ho-ho! That’s a good one, Dio!”

The Dinosaur man threw them both some murderous glances, and plopped down on his bed. “Uneducated peasants,” he muttered and opened his discarded book, holding his nose upturned. However, his eyes were twinkling with mischief. One might have actually suspected that he was amused.

Yes, Johnny was absolutely whipped by the worst possible crowd.

But he was beginning to accept that he didn't mind it.

XXXXX

More days were spent in awkwardness.

It was during one of these particular days that nightfall came to envelop the bubbling and blustering city of New York, although Johnny had yet to leave the hospital reserve for his hotel room a couple of blocks away. Their attending doctor, a middle aged man with a round, kind face and impeccable manners, came to see how the two remaining patients were faring and declared that they would be fit to go to their homes soon, but he spared no comment about the third person’s presence. On the contrary, he preferred not to ask what he was still doing in the hospital and why they all had been in such a sorry state after merely competing in a race.

The less he and the staff knew, the better. Besides, Mr. Steel was paying them royally for their services, so it was certainly not the doctor’s place to raise any concerns, and he had claimed exactly that the moment when his patients were sufficiently rested to process what was going on around them. Not his business, thank you very much, moving on.

Given the lax rules that applied to the three racers, they were left alone in the ward to do as they pleased. They were all very tired, and Johnny declared that he was going to spend the night there, yet none of them was as of yet sleeping.

No. Johnny kept shuffling some cards and was wondering if he should really take up knitting more seriously. Gyro once again struggled with writing a letter and idly bit on the cap of his fountain pen, and Diego flipped another page of the novel he held in one hand. Exactly like in the morning of Mr. Joestar’s unwelcomed visit.

However, the air between them was palpably denser.

The first to crack was Gyro, whose bull-headed nature resurfaced with a vengeance. Without a warning, he suddenly threw his arms up in the air. “That’s it, team. We’re not teaming,” he said out of the blue. “I said what I said!”

Diego turned his head at him and regarded him like he had sprouted a second head. He blinked listlessly. “What,” he stated more than asked and turned a page on his book.

“This.”

“Hm?”

“This! I don’t like this.”

“You’re in a hospital, moron, you ain't supposed to like it,” Johnny commented monotonously. Looking at his fingernails over the cards, he decided that he would take up knitting, after all. He was beginning to get the hang of the basic chains, so he could only improve from there.

Anything not to face reality.

“I’m a doctor, Johnny, I do spend a lot of time in hospitals and enjoy them very much,” Gyro said with extraordinary optimism.

“Is that because of those big breasted patients you were telling us about?” Diego remarked unhelpfully, changing the page. “Not that I was listening.”

Johnny perked up. "Then why do you remember what he's said?"

“Oh, come on! You two are too sour,” Gyro exclaimed. “At least that one’s got the right to be sour, he’s English,” he pointed at Diego, who lifted his head as he turned the page.

“And I’m not sour-ry for that."

“Nyo-ho! Don’t think that a pun, albeit an excellent one, is going to stop me from getting to the bottom of this.”

“We can always tie up some rocks to your feet,” Diego said and flipped yet another page on his book, solely for the effect. He needed to remember how many pages he had turned without reading, because he was already skipping to the following chapter.

His eyes rolled to capture Gyro’s. “That way, you’ll reach to the bottom sooner.”

“Nyo-ho!”

“That’s it, Dio,” Johnny smarted up abruptly. “You’re holding him down, and I’m tying up the rocks to his feet. We're dunkin' him into water.”

Diego’s laugh was like Christmas bells. “It’s on, Jojo.”

“Hey! The team is teaming too much now!”

“Shut up, Gyro!” the other two said at the same time.

Laughter burst from their mouths, tension defusing like smoke in the wind.

Johnny climbed up on Gyro’s bed and Diego abandoned his book. Wordlessly, they began playing bridge for the rock candies that Johnny had bought the other day.

The mundane act of playing cards stirred something in the American, who lifted his eyes from his deck. By his side, Gyro had his expression schooled into deep concentration, his head calculating the scores and making plans for his next hand.

His long dirty blonde tresses were tied up in a loose pony tail, the fringes of his side-parted hair getting into his luminous eyes. The excuse of a beard that he styled in those ridiculous square patches followed the strong contour of his jaw and accentuated his tanned high cheeks. The unconscious way in which he was biting his full lower lip as he played his hand made Johnny take a gulp and avert his gaze, ashamed of himself.

That proved to be a mistake, because he immediately registered the sensuous lines made by the light reflected on Diego's porcelain face, unable to move his eyes away. Breathlessly, he began staring at the straight line of his nose and his sharp eyebrows that were getting lost under his golden tresses, at the luscious lips that always had a slight pout, and at the incredibly shrewd eyes that were framed by the long lashes of the one whom he had always resented.

He wondered why he had even harboured such sentiments for the other. Diego was not a good person and had done his share of despicable things, but so had Johnny. Before his accident, he had been a loose cannon, inconsiderate and brash, and his paralysis had only turned him into an even bitterer and more selfish young man.

Was he truly in any position to judge Diego? Who, without any prompt, had argued his case as if he had been waiting to say something to George Joestar for a long time?

And was he in any position to judge Gyro, who, despite being an executioner for his country, had nearly died to save his friend? Who had travelled across the ocean to save an innocent boy who had no connection to him? Who would actually have been dead had Diego not reached him in time?

He realised, and not with much ease, that he was beginning to see Diego Brando with very different eyes. With eyes that desired to learn more about him and what made him tick. And watching him and his best friend sharing frugal glances didn’t fill him with jealousy or disgust, but with longing.

The sort of longing that had no name and knew no bounds. To have those clever blue orbs and the flippant green ones regard him like he was their whole world.

Because those two had become integral parts of his.

He looked down at his light blue trousers, at the small pink stars printed on them, and felt like exploding. He felt so many things at once - good things, overwhelming things. Revelations like those, no matter how illogical, were bound to mess with one’s head.

“I-“ he began, then stopped. He wished to say so many things, but lacked the needed words.

The other men lifted their visions to watch him expectantly. Johnny felt so small under their steady gazes.

But he also felt safer than ever.

The Steel Ball Run had truly been eye-opening and world-turning.

“It seems like we’re going to be discharged soon,” Gyro remarked gently and slowly patted Johnny’s leg, his touch lingering longer than what would be considered an entirely innocent gesture. “Things will go back to how they were.”

‘Yeah,’ the American thought grimly, squishing his previous intense emotions. ‘I will be alone again.'

Glancing down at Gyro's fingers sliding against his leg, the acknowledgement of the inevitable ending left him hollow.

Struggling not to flinch, Diego looked at the scene unfolding before him and pressed his lips together. He desired some of that timid tenderness for himself, and the knowledge of not having such unspoken desire reciprocated made his chest clench with bitterness. “Oh, yes. About that. Weren’t you supposed to win and save some boy?” he questioned pettily, hiding himself behind his biting words.

Gyro shrugged as he absently stroked Johnny's calf. He sighed and retracted his hand. “Heh, that was what I was supposed to do, but guess what – I didn’t. And I wasn’t even the second, I was the third! I should be extremely mad at both of you, especially you Johnny – how the hell did you even beat me at points?! – but I... I just can’t.” He shook his head as his shoulders slumped tiredly. “I’ll just have to find another way to save Marco. There has to be something else I haven’t tried.”

“How much was the bail for the child?” Diego demanded.

“Ehi, my king didn’t exactly ask for any money, but he said I needed to finish the race... and obviously, that meant winning it and bringing the prize back home.”

“So, how much?”

“Fifty million dollars. The initial first prize money.”

“I say, your king isn’t messing around,” the British babbled.

Johnny frowned. “There’s no need to put more salt over his wounds, really.”

“Oh, no, don’t mind me,” Diego said and exchanged a card with another. Looking straight through it, he began glimpsing a route he had never thought he'd ever consider walking. “I’m just making the balance, given that, as so astutely Zeppeli reminded us, we’ll soon be returning to our previous lives and occupations," he explained calmly. "So, I came to win the race, and I won it. I may say I have fulfilled my purpose. Certainly, I would have liked the political influence that I’ve discussed with Valentine, but let’s be fair – he would have given me squat, so good riddance to him. And I got two smashing Stands and I’m somehow alive, so there’s that for me.”

“Do you expect any applauses here?”

“They would be lovely, but no, thank you,” Diego replied matter-of-factly. “Now, onto you, Johnny – you got your legs moving again through the power of friendship or whatever,” he made sarcastically. “So you’ve attained your goal, as well. That leaves you, Gyro. You have not only lost the race, but you’ve also angered your family, if I understood correctly, and they don’t want to lend you any support in that boy’s case. Marco, was it?”

“Diego, I thought we had agreed on being civilised here,” Gyro told warningly.

“Again, you're making me repeat myself. I’m just stating facts, so that’s hardly uncivilised,” Dio defended himself. “Although, as it seems that nothing has gone your way so far, what I wanted to do was to offer my support in fulfilling your goal. Call it... hm, wanting to keep things even.”

Zeppeli pulled a face. “Uh? I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“Let me rephrase it, then. I’ll give you the fifty millions you need from my prize,” Diego offered as if he was giving out peanuts. “And if your fabulous king doesn’t accept money from other sources, I may be persuaded to go and convince him to take them. Of course, it’s just a suggestion, nothing more.”

“To keep things even,” Gyro said, completely flabbergasted.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Brando retorted with ease. “To keep things even. That's what I've just said.” He lifted an eyebrow and pouted his lips. "We do speak in the same language, I hope. Pardon me for saying this, Zeppeli, but it hardly seems so."

The Italian blinked, at a loss of words. “Yeah, we do... Uh, that’s, umm —wow, Dio, that’s mighty nice of you. I don’t know what to say. Thank you?”

Johnny was even more stunned. The ugly head of uncertainty surfaced. He might be holding the Englishman in much higher regards than before, but a leopard, and especially a jackal like Diego Brando, didn’t just change its spots overnight. “Where’s the catch, Dio?”

“Now, I’m wounded,” the British countered with faked modesty, although he was wondering about the same thing. He had just come up with the idea and, for a moment, such generosity felt genuine even to himself. He decided to go along with it and see where it got him. “I don’t need those money, I have plenty enough in my accounts. Besides, I’ll technically still have eleven millions from the prize for myself after giving out the bail money, so there’s no dent being made anywhere. I'd still return with a little something.”

Gyro whistled. “Mamma mia! Eleven millions is a little something? Just how much money do you actually have, Diego?”

“Enough to buy your kingdom a few times over, I suppose,” he replied evenly. “My late wife’s father was an industrial magnate and she had married into even more money before me. Combined with what I’ve earned from racing and my business-related incomes, the bail’s quite nothing, really.”

“Nyo-ho-ho!” Gyro guffawed, startling the bewildered Johnny who promptly smacked him. “Hey, Johnny! You were always complaining about Diego appearing out of nowhere, but did you know we were sharing the room with freaking Croesus?”

Dio shook his head in amusement. Gyro’s surprise was quite entertaining. “But you’re right, Johnny, there is a catch.”

“Oh?”

“I’m considering taking a short break from racing to fully recover after being, you know – cut in half by a train. I was thinking about travelling for a bit.”

Gyro’s golden teeth sparkled in the meagre light coming from their lamp. He liked where things were going. “Any destination in mind?”

“None whatsoever. I am, however, open to suggestions.”

“Hey, heard that, Johnny?”

The American’s face was flushed. “Yeah.”

“Dio, what would it take to persuade you to come to Napoli and – how did you put it, err - convince my king to take your money?”

Diego’s face twisted into a sly smirk. “Perhaps, being asked nicely might work the charm.” He turned his intense gaze to Johnny, whose heart skipped a beat at being the subject of such a scrutinising look. Smelling the nervousness oozing from the younger man, the predator in Dio made its move. He could feel that his offer was not one that was going to be declined. “And perhaps, if you travelled with us, too.” He quirked a dark eyebrow and purred, “Jojo.”

Johnny felt his cheeks heating up. Gyro regarded him with bright eyes, his gaze encouraging. “Now, Dio, that’s a good idea! Right, Johnny? That would be so swell. It would be like we were talking during the race - we could just enjoy the scenery while no one tried to kill us.”

“Yeah, if Valentine’s men don’t reach us once they realise what had happened to him,” Johnny said bitterly. Ever the pessimistic.

Diego shook his head. “They won’t. They have no proof of Valentine’s whereabouts or our connection to his disappearance. But isn’t this just more incentive to stretch your legs for a bit?” he asked, still playing the daredevil. He had absolutely no plan for what he was getting himself into, but he wanted to push his luck. After all, why not?

But there was something in Johnny's stunned expression that gave Diego pause and made him question if he wasn't pushing too much. Though he was already too far ahead not to keep advancing. "Or, is there anything holding you back?" he added, taming his enthusiasm. "Maybe you simply don’t want to travel with me? I can understand your reluctance on this account.”

There, it was out in the open.

Johnny exhaled sharply. Was that really what was holding him back?

He bit the inside of his cheek, considering his options. 

“You know what, Dio?” he said, deciding there was really no decision to be made. He already knew what he wanted. “No, that ain't it. I ain't got nothing against travelling with you. And between you an' me, there’s literally shit holding me back here, anyway. I may have forgiven my father, but I ain't gonna forget the past. I ain't got nobody here.”

“And?”

“And! We’re going to Naples!”

Zeppeli's eyes went wide. "Tell us, Dio, per favore, does this sound asked nicely enough for you?"

Diego's lips curled up into an elegant smirk. "Hm," he contemplated. "I believe it does, yes."

"Allora! We have a plan, then!" Excitedly, Gyro’s face split into what must have been his widest grin so far as he captured Johnny’s smaller hand in his. His other arm extended to the other side of the bed to testily pat on Diego’s thigh. The jockey peered down at the tanned fingers for a moment, then caught them within his cold palm, interlacing them with his. Silently, he offered his consent.

Slightly concerned, Dio looked up to study Johnny's expression at his rather intimate gesture. He found the jockey's gaze watching him carefully, almost shyly. Taking a breath, Diego turned his palm up and moved it towards Johnny in an inviting manner.

He wished to make his intentions very clear. He wanted them both, and not just for a quick romp. Hopefully, his meeker demeanour would translate well.

Nodding his head after a few moments, Johnny clasped their hands together and brought them closer to his lap, slowly rubbing the Englishman's thumb with a fingertip.

Diego's usually cold fingers turned pleasantly warm in the other two men's hands. “Yes, Gyro, it does seem so,” he agreed with a smile that illuminated his eyes. "Sounds like we have a plan."

Gently, the Italian kissed their knuckles, then each of their cheeks, making sure to leave enough time for protests or withdrawal. As expected, Johnny crinkled his nose, small pink spots painting his skin with embarrassment, but reciprocated the sweet chaste press of Gyro's mouth over his. His eyelids fluttered over his blue eyes, and soon found Diego's gazing at his barely parted lips, swallowing unconsciously.

Joestar's breath hitched when Gyro turned to leave a kiss onto the corner of Dio's mouth, then fully over his lips.

Without contemplating even for a second, Johnny lifted to his feet and kissed Dio like he wanted to suffocate him, and the man returned it with the same ferocity.

Laughing heartily at the former rivals' antics, Gyro wrapped his arms around them, and Johnny and Diego eagerly joined in his infectious merriment.

Probably for the first time in his life, Diego Brando reckoned that he'd obtained something that was not stolen from someone else.

Whatever was sealed in that hospital room that night was only his, and he gladly shared it with his newly found travelling partners.

It felt like a good omen. A promise for what was to come.

Something that was right for them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three – Wine and Toffees

The following days were spent with making arrangements for their impending travel.

Given that he could move freely outside of the hospital, Johnny secured tickets onboard a ship to the old continent, graciously paid for with the money provided by the conscious-heavy Mr. Steel. For the rest of the days until the departure, he made lists of what they might need for their journey and purchased what they lacked.

However, as he was still confined to the hospital room, Diego resigned himself to writing numerous letters to ensure that his business venues were secured for a little while longer before he returned to England, and notified his solicitors and banks about his arrangements. Johnny posted every one of them after doing some grumbling that he was not Diego's courier, although he had been the one who had suggested delivering them to the closest post office in the first place. Their little exchanges amused Gyro to no end, who actually started looking forward to the innovative insults and complaints the two jockeys eagerly threw at each other almost fondly.

Now that Johnny was out buying apples and coffee, the Italian was left with the surprisingly busy Englishman. Seeing his fellow inpatient sorting through his correspondence, Gyro contemplated a lot about what he should write to his family, realising that he was going to have to return to his duties once he arrived to Naples.

He was going to have to take over the Zeppeli family’s attributions as head executioner, now that he was approaching the right age, and the fact left him with a terrible taste in the mouth.

He wanted to return to his patients at the practice, but not to murdering people. That was just plainly wrong, and all of his experiences during the race had cemented his conviction. He had always loathed the burden that had been placed upon his shoulders by his family, no matter how much he loved them and wanted to honour their traditions. He dreaded his father’s reaction when he returned to Naples, after having dragged their respectable name through the mud and stirred a horrible fuss in the wake of his departure for the race that, in a perfectly Italian manner, had been done with lots of flipped tables and loud curses.

Certainly, the entirety of the kingdom must have eagerly watched the newspapers for his performance, if his siblings’ and his mother’s letters were to be trusted (his father, as was expected of the stubborn old man, refused to write to Gyro, but kept on interrupting the others’ letters to argue with or scold his oldest through them).

And he hadn’t performed that badly, after all! He had come in third after two professional jockeys who, for good reasons, were considered the prodigies of their generation – but what he must have put his family through! Oh, the gossips of the neighbours! And also almost exposing their real occupation to the masses... Gyro was definitely going to be faced with an inner-family scandal of gargantuan proportions when he came back home.

And his father was bound to badger him – again! – with marrying respectably and stopping pursuing absolutely anyone with a pulse and just being sensible for once.

That was even worse!

Father and his no-nonsense and his freaking values! Gyro refused to imagine how the overly stern Gregorio was going to react when he showed up not with one, but two men in tow. Certainly, there was nothing indecent going on between them at the moment, but if they could help it – if he could help it, damn it – things were going to change.

“Mamma mia,” he muttered and put his head in his palms, groaning. “I am absolutely screwed.”

XXXXX

These days, sleep came a bit easier to Diego, but it left his eyes just as slowly as before. For someone who was used - although more out of necessity than preference - to drag himself out of bed way too early in the morning, he was not that fond of dawns. On the contrary.

Esthetically, he agreed that the sky was stunning when the sun rose and all that, certainly, but he rather preferred seeing it while he was slowly falling asleep after having read all night long with a glass of wine in his hand. That was something he could get behind.

That is to say, he still fell asleep reading until some ungodly hour, especially after having been near comatose due to forcing the note during the last two stages of the race with the injuries that he had sustained and messing up the bare minimum circadian rhythm that he had ever had, but wine was wildly out of the question for him at that moment - alcohol, even as little as a cup dragged on for hours on the odd day, didn't mesh well with painkillers. However, he was slowly coming off the pills, and he was definitely feeling their absence with every pop of his joints and ache in his muscles. But he hardly needed to get addicted to them, so he braved through the random healing pains with the occasional grunt.

Also, it was not like he could get any wine in a hospital - at least, not upfront. The only alcoholic beverage around was the medicinal alcohol, and there was no way that Diego would ever mess with antiseptic.

Although, it did smell nice to his sensitive nose, but that was another thing. Smelling it was different to drinking it.

Now that he thought of it, Gyro also smelt very faintly of antiseptic, which only made sense, given his profession. Diego was quite taken with the subtle edge it brought to his naturally musky scent. As questionable as it sounded - especially given how he had reached to that conclusion - Brando enjoyed the welcoming sensation that Gyro's skin brought him, making feel as if he was under an olive tree's breezy shadow beneath the powerful sun. He was almost certain that he was the only one who could detect the full scope of its nuances, which brought something giddy out of him.

Pursing his lips, he opened his eyes with a deep frown. Scary Monsters had royally messed up his head if he was waking up with thoughts about body odours and antiseptic.

"Buongiorno, bello!" the Italian doctor said enthusiastically, startling the sleep straight out of Dio's head.

Oh, yes. To Diego, the world was divided into two main categories in relation to early mornings. There were the sensible people - like himself - who hated waking up early, and there were the madmen like Gyro who woke up at whatever hour glowing as if they had swallowed a handful of glitter from the fairies and then bestowed their bloody glitter all over the sensible ones. But, despite mentally grumbling about it, Dio found Gyro's sunny disposition quite endearing.

He turned his head on the pillow and visually searched for the other man, whom he saw sitting with his legs crossed at the small table where they took most of their meals. He was spreading some sweetly smelling concoction over some bread. The bread sounded very crunchy under the teaspoon.

"Good morning, indeed," Diego replied, his voice roughened by sleep. Lazily, he sketched a small smile. The too early hour notwithstanding, Gyro made for a nice image in the mornings.

Visibly happy to see him, Zeppeli grinned widely at him, his golden teeth glinting like torches in the sun that was coming from the window. He motioned with a slice of toast topped with a bit too much jam. "Just in time for breakfast! I've just put some jam on toast, a nurse brought it a moment ago. Let me tell you - the jam's really good."

"What type is it?"

"Hell if I know. Something red."

"Ah, marvellous," replied Dio, his smirk turning slightly smug. "The toast was already made, I hope?"

"Watch it, miccino, I even buttered your bread beforehand, so be nice."

"Well, I'll just say that toasting bread without burning it is an art form, and shall leave it at that," the Englishman commented, alluding to the one time when they had been forced into sheltering together and Gyro, insisting that it wasn't necessary for Diego to prepare absolutely everything they ate when they were brought together by the circumstances, had positively torched their bread.

"And you'd speak very correctly, and you'd also better not get any deeper into the subject, because if you think that mine was bad, you've never seen any toast made by Johnny."

"Thank Goodness."

"You should," Gyro said solemnly, a shadow dramatically overcasting his eyes. "You absolutely should."

Getting up with slight difficulty, Diego chuckled, ignoring his still too sore body. "That bad?"

"Bad doesn't quite capture the true horror of it." Gyro shrugged and drummed his hands against his thigh, his expression turning cheerful again. "Allora! Come here, Dio, let's eat," he waved with a hand at the empty chair next to his. "Coffee will be ready soon," he pointed to the covered pot on the table.

Studying the table set for the two of them, Diego swallowed the tremble in his chest and sat down in silence. Gyro pushed a plate with toasted bread and jam towards him, his green eyes sparkling like gems.

On the other end of the table, another set of plates and cutlery was gathered up into a pile in front of a third chair.

The previous night, Gyro and Diego had been alone for a change. Johnny, unlike most nights since his discharge, had slept at the hotel, as he had an engagement with Lucy Steel in the morning and didn't want to accidentally wake them up too early. The thoughtful consideration was something that surprised Diego, and he was even more surprised when, before leaving the hospital, Johnny had asked him if he wanted to borrow some new reading materials for him, as he had noticed that he was nearly done with the book that he was currently reading. He had left with a small list.

Currently, the time for Gyro to go to his morning physical therapy arrived, which left Diego alone with his thoughts. And with his almost finished book and cup of coffee.

He eventually reached to the conclusion of the book and closed it, satisfied with its ending. Contemplating the fate of the characters, he took another sip from his now cold coffee, the rich bitter aroma drawing a sigh from his lips.

Right then, the door of the hospital reserve slowly slid against the tiles, as if the one opening it was trying to make as little sound as possible. Johnny soon surfaced from behind the door, his eyes going wide at his sight. "Oh, you're awake," he mumbled awkwardly, clutching the paper bag in his arms closer to his chest.

"Why, hello to you, too," Diego greeted him acidly. "It's almost noon, why wouldn't I be awake?"

"'Cause you looked real tired yesterday, kinda thought you'd be sleepin' till later." As soon as he replied, Johnny looked startled by his own words. "Anyway. Hi," he added in a hurry. He put the bag on the table. "Gyro's still out, ain't he?"

"An astute observation, Jojo," Diego retorted. "He left some coffee in the pot, by the way, but you might want to reheat it."

"Oh, great."

Diego looked down at his empty mug.

"Actually, Johnny, why don't you go wash your hands and unpack what you've brought. I'll brew us a fresh kettle."

Lifting an eyebrow, Johnny nodded nonetheless. "Sure, sounds good."

While Diego was stirring the coffee powder in the kettle, Johnny emptied the crinkled paper bag. He swiftly threw a paperback book and a smaller package on his bed on the far end of the room, then got out several other books. "Found what you've requested," he told, his cheeks slightly pink.

Diego briefly glanced at the thrown objects on Johnny's bed, trying to make out what was written on the cover of the paperback.

He heard Joestar gulping and immediately returned his eyes to the boiled coffee, which he left to steep. "Wonderful," he said smoothly. "Thank you, Jojo."

"Sure, no problem," Johnny replied, rubbing his neck. He stared at the kettle.

Diego bit his inner cheek. "Did it go well with Lucy?"

The question brought Johnny out of his reverie. "It sure did, everything's in order," he retorted. They had gone out to make sure that the Holy Corpse and that of the President - still spinning endlessly - were secured, and met with some people from the Speedwagon Foundation with whom the Steels had become associated in order to protect that which the race had uncovered.

"Good."

"Oh, and Lucy said to say hi, by the way, but I'm not sure to whom."

Diego snorted. "I'll assume you said 'hi' back to Lucy."

"Obviously, asshole, I ain't no caveman."

"The thought never crossed my mind. So, Johnny dear," Diego interjected as he poured the coffee in two cups, "what extraordinarily illicit objects have you thrown so violently on your bed? I hope it's not something that might leak all over the place."

"It ain't none of your damn business."

Diego clicked his tongue at his tone. "Of course, pardon my intrusion. Here's your coffee."

At a loss, Johnny sighed. He was having a bit of trouble with addressing Diego, but it was not from the lack of wanting to be civilised to him - he just wasn't sure how to cross the bridge with him without making a fumble out of everything, especially now that they were dancing around the subject of intimacy. Or, at the very least, he was, albeit only in his head.

He had no idea what Diego was doing or thinking, and only knew that he, for some reason, was starting to suddenly appear very attractive to him. Or rather, Johnny was finally accepting his fancy for the other jockey without climbing up on a wall, because the man had plagued him for a lot longer than he would have admitted to anyone - most of all to himself.

"Sorry, I, um," Joestar began, but Diego lifted a hand.

"I say, Johnny, there's no need to explain yourself. I was just being curious. No harm meant."

"No, no, I know," Johnny said quickly. "I'm just a bit unsure about all this, you know."

"Oh?" Diego's throat tightened, but the other man didn't notice it.

"Yeah, thing is, I found some illustrated knitting manual and bought some yarn, but I ain't sure I'm any good at it. I ain't that deft, I've got two left hands most of the times. Don't know what I was thinking, really."

Relieved at hearing what Johnny actually meant, Diego picked up one of the new books and his cup of coffee, then returned to his side of the room. He rested his back against the pillow which laid by the wall that was framing the bed on its right side.

"Rubbish, Jojo, you're plentifully deft. You're just learning how to do it, and honestly, that square you made the other day looked very good."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Your stitches were even. I'm absolutely confident that you will become an expert at knitting in no time."

Johnny huffed. "That sure's encouraging," he commented sarcastically, and took a drink from the coffee to shut himself up.

"I hope it is, because I mean it. You're giving yourself way too little credit, Johnny. And, besides, everyone should have some leisure activity to unwind themselves for a bit. Knitting is also useful, you see, and I've heard that it's very relaxing, so all the better."

"Oh... You're serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Johnny shrugged as he went to pick up the new yarn and the little manual, and grabbed the knitting needles that he had already used a few times. He pondered that Diego did have a point. "Sure, I'll see where practice gets me."

"That's the spirit," Brando retorted. He noticed Johnny shuffling around, as if he didn't know what to do or where to stay, and decided to take pity on him. He made more space on the pillow, to his right. "I don't mind if you come sit here with me, you know. No need to ask for permission."

Frowning, Johnny sat down next to Diego, putting his back on the pillow slightly too forcefully. "I wasn't gonna ask."

"Jesus, Johnny, you're the embodiment of an angry mule," Diego chuckled and covered Johnny's knees with a corner of the blanket, which the other accepted gladly. Silently, they got closer to each other under the blanket, their thighs touching.

Just as Diego was preparing to open the new book, Johnny interrupted him. "Hey, Dio. Do you have any activity you enjoy doing when you don't do - um. Whatever you usually do?"

Hearing his extremely coherent phrase spoken out loud, Joestar wanted to strangle himself with the yarn that he was twisting into a ball.

Thankfully, the Englishman didn't comment rudely about his stutter, but decided to make some light of the situation. "Why, it sounds as if I'm some criminal overlord," he joked. "Which sounds by far more entertaining than many things that I do. Especially going to the random ball thrown by some ancient aristocratic stuck up with more money than sense that I can't get out of."

"Ugh, those totally suck."

"Do tell!" Diego chortled. "But to answer your question, I do enjoy riding."

Johnny snorted. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"And cooking."

"Assumed as much."

"And reading," Brando dully added and lifted the novel.

Those were things that he already knew, which made Johnny wonder if Diego wasn't, in fact, making fun of him. Though he tried not to jump the gun. "Yeah, clearly. You read kinda fast, too, you've gone through a lot of books since the race. But I don't think I saw you with a book before."

"It was rather hard to carry anything to read on the road, so I'm making up for it."

"Makes sense."

"I also sketch and paint sometimes. And Beatrix had taught me how to embroider, it's actually rather pleasant."

Johnny's brows lifted. That was new information, alright. "Beatrix?"

"My late wife," Diego explained. "She'd asked me once if I'd like to learn how, and I'd thought - why not? I'd already known how to sew and darn the odd sock, and speaking of which - if you need anything repaired, I can do some really resistant stitches. Not with Gyro's surgical precision, obviously, but they're fair."

"My socks are good, but thanks." 

"You're welcome."

Feeling his cheeks heating up, Johnny looked down at the ball of yarn in his hands. He put it aside with the needles rooted between the strings. He unsurely placed his cheek against Diego's shoulder, curiously chancing a peek at the first page of his novel.

Much to his surprise, Diego's arm slid around his waist, allowing him to get more comfortable. "I guess you're not in the mood to try the new yarn out?"

Johnny had half a mind to rise from his position, but he remained still. "Not at the moment." 

"Then we can read together, how does it sound?" 

"Yeah, I don't think I can read as fast as you. You kinda seem like swimming through the pages." 

Gently, Diego cocked his neck and laid a small kiss against Johnny's forehead. "I have no problem with waiting. Just turn the page when you're done with it." 

Unsure what to reply, Johnny lifted his eyes to look at Dio's. The tenderness that he saw in them both terrified and warmed him.

Biting his lower lip, Joestar turned his gaze back to the book, nodding slowly. As he had been instructed, he turned the page when he was done with it, and feeling Diego, who did as he had promised and waited for him to finish, shift his head to resume reading the new paragraph, made the American abruptly twist his neck and kiss the other man's cheek.

In turn, Diego grabbed his hand and tangled their fingers together.

That was how Gyro found them when he returned, snuggled closely under the blanket with their backs against the pillow on the wall, only that the book was closed and Johnny was asleep on Diego's shoulder.

The Englishman lifted his eyes from his new lecture, aware that at some point, the American's eyes had closed. He hadn't turned the page to advance to the next chapters, but chose to summon The World and had another novel brought to him from the pile on the table. He would wait for Johnny to wake up and recommence the other story.

He looked at the smiling Italian. "Dead asleep, are we?" Gyro whispered, amused by Johnny's ability to fall asleep as soon as he laid his head against something.

Diego replied in a simmilar voice. "We did get through a few chapters, actually."

"Nyo-ho! Must be an interesting story."

"It's engaging, though you wouldn't guess it from Johnny's reaction." He cast a glance at the snoozing man. "Was therapy alright?"

Gyro nodded. "Sure was! Though I'm kind of beat, if you asked me. But got to give these guys some credit, they know what they're doing. And I get the need for it and all that. It's definitely not for nothing, even though I'd prefer using the Spin if I wasn't so tired and out of tune with everything. But, between you and me, Dio - I can't wait to be discharged."

"Oh, whatever happened to enjoying being in a hospital?"

"Aren't you a funny one," Gyro said as he walked to get an empty glass. "Hey, Dio, want some water?"

"Oh, yes, please," Diego retorted. "Make sure you drink some, too, you've been away for a while."

"Will do," the Italian replied dutifully, gladdened by the jockey's concern. He soon brought him a glass of water.

"I meant that I enjoy working in them, not living in them. I miss walking around in the open," Gyro replied as he retrieved the now empty glass. As he turned around, he noticed that Diego had lifted the left side of the blanket, inviting him under it.

"Me, too," Dio admitted. "I want to do other things besides idling around." He shifted slightly as Gyro sat down next to him.

"But I guess we could idle together for a bit longer, I hope," the Italian whispered with a tinge of uncertainty in his voice, hugging both Diego and Johnny from behind their waists and resting his chin on the Englishman's shoulder. Grunting in his sleep, Johnny nuzzled closer into the other jockey's neck.

Leaning his head against the sleeping man, Diego looked down at the expectant face of the Neapolitan. His expression was laid right opened in front of him, his green eyes burning him with the intensity of their gaze. It made him feel things that he had never felt before.

"Of course, my dear," Diego mouthed softly and lifted his hand to caress Gyro's cheek between the square patches of his beard. "We can idle together for a bit longer."

XXXXX

Gyro's and Diego’s discharge from the hospital finally happened during the middle of March, after having spent nearly two months as inpatients. By that time, they were both exasperated with being confined to such a small place, no matter how comfortable. Thankfully, their wounds were completely healed.

Now, they had to wait for April to arrive, so that they could embark their ship to Calais. Diego did make a point out of travelling for the sake of stretching their legs, so Johnny searched for the first charter that would take them to Europe to a port that was at a fair distance away from the Kingdom of Naples, but not overly far. So, Port de Calais it was.

That left them with a few more weeks to kill, and so many possibilities.

As much as New York was an exciting city, having spent so many months in the wilderness left the three racers with an intense longing for the open air. Besides, things were precipitating in the States, the country being left without a head of state as the President still remained missing, and the last thing either of them wanted was to have any eyes drawn towards them. It was enough that they had pretty much disappeared after the race, having landed in the hospital without any explanations to the press – they didn’t need any more publicity.

Mr. Steel was kind to the winners of the race, not forgetting their efforts in protecting Lucy. He didn’t see with particularly good eyes that Diego stuck around the two friends, but it was not his place to comment. He had enough on his plate as it was with the repercussions of the race, as the President’s endeavours in securing the Holy Corpse parts had created a vast amount of Stand Users and unveiled powers that no one knew about – and the Speedwagon Foundation wanted for that to remain the same. So, by the force of fate, Mr. Steel and his young wife, Lucy, became affiliated with the Foundation and became active members, Lucy being more than happy to be useful – much to her husband’s terror. As it so happened, she continued her formal education and pursued all sorts of interesting leads related to the supernatural.

In the meantime, Hot Pants had already returned to Naples while they were recovering. In Gyro’s stead, she announced the king about the money the Kingdom was about to receive, and the monarch gracefully agreed to let Marco go. She wrote about all that in a letter that she had sent as soon as the National Bank of Naples was notified about the approval of the transfer of the fifty million dollars that Gyro and the officials had agreed on, although there were a few more formalities to be handled before the money actually reached their destination. Thankfully though, the young doctor's failure of not winning the race was washed away by the promise of money.

The matter of the failure of the nun’s mission in retrieving the Holy Corpse was another matter altogether, but she wrote nothing about it in her missives.

The agreement of the king left Gyro in a bit of a predicament, as the initial purpose of having his newly found friends accompany him back home was rendered null. Luckily, he still had the beauty of his natal country to make up for a good reason for crossing the ocean with them.

And hell, he actually needed some support for the mess that was waiting for him – his only sister, Lucrezia, had informed him that Father was absolutely livid with his continuous postponement of returning to his duties, and Mother had written to him that she was getting at her wits' end, but she loved him very, very much, anyway.

No pressure, Gyro, no pressure. All was well. Business as usual.

Even though he was an adult and thousands of miles away from home, he could already feel Mother’s slipper hitting him behind the nape of his head.

However, the slipper could wait for when his feet touched the threshold of his childhood home.

In the present time, he was not in Naples, listening to his father lecturing him about responsibility and family honour, but mounted atop of Valkyrie and riding around the outskirts of New York City, where there seemed to be just the sky up above and the ground under his horse’s hoofs.

He felt at peace.

Johnny was humming contently to the Cheese Song, which seemed to be his favourite out of all of Gyro’s creations, and watched some birds flying through his binoculars. “Heeey, the storks are returning home!” he announced cheerfully.

“Ah, they’re headed for England,” Diego said idly, rummaging through his bag. “And those are pelicans. Storks come from Africa during this season, and the States are to the North-West from there.”

Johnny frowned. “I know where Africa is, but are you sure they’re pelicans?”

“Yes.”

“Huh, is that so,” Johnny babbled. “Well, pelicans are flying above us!” he made just as enthusiastically.

“Found it,” Diego declared, taking his hand out of his bag. Silver Bullet neighed under him, as if he was congratulating his rider for his achievement.

“Found what?”

“Chocolate,” he replied and looked at Johnny. “Fancy some?”

“Hell yes, pass it on,” the American requested eagerly, forgetting about his birds. “I’ve got some coffee left, but it’s gone cold. Want some?”

Diego nodded. “Why not,” he agreed and exchanged his chocolate for the coffee. “Oi, Zeppeli! Want some chocolate? Or coffee? I believe I have some apples somewhere, but they’re for the horses. But I think one or two could be spared, I'm certain the horses won't be too cross to share their fruits.”

Gyro smiled. “Some chocolate does sound nice, grazie,” he said, and soon received a bar. “Dio, how come you have so much candy, anyway? I don’t remember seeing you eating any.”

"Because I'm not, not really." Diego shrugged and took a sip from the cold coffee.

Johnny looked down at his half-eaten chocolate bar and continued chewing on the sweet treat that was melting on his tongue. He couldn't help the bashful twinkle on the corner of his mouth, realising that Dio had bought candies for them especially.

They rode in silence, only the occasional whiny of their horses and the rhythmic patter of the hoofs breaking the deafening quiet. However, the mood wasn’t oppressive. It felt like they were riding on clouds. The hospital stay had performed literal wonders for the three men.

They eventually reached a stream and watered their horses, then continued riding to a refuge that was marked on their map. After having lost their trajectory – and map - on numerous occasions during the race, Gyro was banned from touching the map, and given that Diego was already in charge of tracking and cooking, Johnny managed the navigation for them.

By nightfall, after having visited some of the nearby views and touristic attractions, they reached a small cabin that was reserved for those who ventured into the wilderness. It was nearby a small lake, perfect for them and their horses.

As soon as they reached the spot, Gyro took care of hitching their horses, Johnny started a fire with the wood they had gathered from around the place, and Diego began heating up their dinner.

It was absolutely eerie how easy that dynamic came to them.

Their steaming dinner was accompanied by the songs of the critters, and the three men gathered around the small fireplace inside the cabin. After they ate, Diego haunched over the makeshift stove, stirring some condiments and fruits in a kettle filled with red wine. “That’s how we make mulled wine in England,” he explained as he inhaled the sweet aroma of the boiling beverage.

Johnny rested his head on Gyro’s chest, both of them reclining against the pile made out of their bags. His starry beanie was drawn low over his closed eyes, but feeling the Neapolitan’s muscles tensing under his nape made him open them and lift the edge of his hat.

He understood what had gotten Gyro to coil up like that.

Still in front of the fire, Diego was bent nearly in half, with his legs perfectly straight and his round perky bottom dangling in the air, the contour being gently illuminated by the red and golden flames.

He swallowed dryly.

“I wager you’ve never tasted anything as good before,” the Englishman declared proudly as he took the kettle from the fire, oblivious to the looks he was receiving. He began pouring the dark liquid into mugs.

Johnny looked up at Gyro, who blinked dumbly at the display.

“Suuuure,” they said at the same time.

Confused, Diego looked behind himself. “Oh? Is there anything wrong?”

Gyro lifted his thumbs up, as if that helped anything. “We have complete trust in your palate, Dio.”

Johnny cringed. “Gyro, that ain't a good thing to say to anyone British.”

Diego shook his head disapprovingly. He picked up all three mugs and sat down next to the others. He gave them their cups with a snarl. “Now, that’s cobblers, and you know it,” he admonished Johnny. “I didn’t hear you complaining while eating what I’ve cooked.”

Gyro waved his head. “Johnny’s got an acute attack of stupidity, don’t mind him.” He took a sniff of the steam coming up from the wine. “Whew, but it does smell good.”

“And you can bet it tastes even better,” Dio promised as he inhaled deeply, his eyes lowering seductively.

Johnny groaned and pulled the edge of his knitted cap back over the eyes. “Ugh, get a fuckin' room.”

XXXXX

The next morning, after breaking their fast on some dried fruits biscuits and gathering their few belongings, the three returned to the city on the backs of their trusted steeds.

They had spent the night under the same sleeping bag, the mulled wine – which had indeed been the advertised heavenly treat - serving its purpose of loosening them up. Agreeably, they all cuddled together on the little cot that was built for those who took refuge in the cabin.

Being by far the largest among them, Gyro laid in the middle of their sleeping arrangements, with Johnny and Diego at his sides so that they preserved as much heat between them as it was possible without falling off the bed.

Johnny, who enjoyed sleeping better than breathing, didn’t grumble much at having to bill and coo with the others under the blankets, their combined heat and that of the wine in his system rendering him into a docile version of himself. He placed a hand on Gyro’s chest, and the other captured it in his. Smiling a little, Johnny merrily closed his eyes.

On the other side of the sleeping bag, with his cold nose pressed into Gyro’s shoulder, Diego laid rigidly. He wasn’t entirely sure where he fitted in the puzzle, as they had discussed nothing about what they were supposed to be doing together, or if they were actually open to be doing anything more than just acting like some giddy teenagers - although their teen years hardly qualified as regular, so he wasn't really sure how teenagers behaved.

He supposed that things would eventually sort themselves out, but Diego sometimes felt like a particularly poorly placed fifth cartwheel, and that sat rather amiss with him. If anything, he preferred being in the centre of attention, and he was currently anything but. He knew that Gyro and Johnny were friends and had witnessed them acting a lot more than just friendly, though not up to a point that might be considered scandalously 'friendly'. Although he had been included in their little affair, he had admittedly bludgeoned in the middle of it without knowing the exact rules of their game, and he felt rather left out of it - which was a matter he knew not how to bring up to attention. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to.

Displeased, Diego realised that he didn’t even know if he was being desired in the picture as anything more than some reluctant third party, as he couldn't even label himself as something.

Or was this some sort of drawn-out charade before they got into bed together? Were they going to even get into bed together? Although, they were, at least technically, in one. But intimately?

Was this supposed to be some sort of dubious friendship where they were groping each other at odd times? Were they even friends? He thought they were. Kind of. But did they?

What the hell was this?

Great, Diego groaned internally – he was now lusting over not one, but two people he wasn’t sure desired him in any extended capacity. Now that he pondered on it, he wasn't even sure what either of them actually thought of him, as no one had uttered a single word about that subject - not that the previous evidence pertaining to their feelings in his regard was exactly something to write home about, though not exactly without cause. Most mentionably, that he had almost gotten those two killed on more than one occasion just a few months before, and they in turn had tried to murder, or at least maim him repeatedly - even if they were the ones who had started the conflict in the first place - and now they were acting as if nothing had ever happened. At times, their hospital stay seemed more like a fever dream than tangible reality, and laying with them on the bed in such amiable tranquility felt plainly eerie. It simply made no sense, no matter the angle Diego looked at.

That’s precisely why he didn’t associate himself with others outside of dire necessity. Paying any considerations to others was such a hassle. And having to make heads or tails out of the whirpool inside his mind was even more of a bother.

What a mess.

“Hey, Dio,” Johnny mumbled from under the blanket, probably having noticed the smoke coming from Diego’s spiralling thoughts. “I reckon a potato in a sack sits more comfortably than you.”

Brando snorted. “Rubbish, I’m perfectly comfortable, thank you very much,” he snarled.

“Yeah, that’s a whole lotta bull,” Johnny insisted. He retracted his hand from Gyro’s and pulled Diego closer by the wrist, and then united one of each of their hands on top of Gyro’s chest, the three sets of fingers becoming entangled. “C’mere, sunshine, don’t be a cold ass.”

Gyro’s other arm sneaked under Diego’s waist and not-so-subtly cupped one of his bottom cheeks. He chuckled darkly and brought their combined knuckles to his lips, kissing them sweetly. “I’d say he’s more of a squishy ass, but be as you say.”

That made Diego laugh. He decided he could postpone his overthinking until a later date. Far more relaxed, he hitched one of his legs over Gyro’s middle, his calf resting atop Johnny’s thigh.

“Bravo, così va tanto meglio,” Gyro snickered and fondled the warm buttock inside his palm.

“Yep, much more mol-toh bew-ner, or however the fuck it’s pronounced,” Johnny quipped, and Diego’s foot that was propped onto his leg rubbed appreciatively against his backside.

“Nyo-ho-ho, heard that, Dio?” Gyro neighed and patted his bouncy ass. “If you keep on throwing your legs around like this, Johnny will be speaking Italian in no time!”

Now, mounted atop Silver Bullet, Diego began laughing out loud at the memory of the American’s horrible attempts at repeating whatever Italian Gyro was mingling in with his English speech.

“Nyo-ho! Aren’t you cheerful this morning, Dio,” Gyro commented mirthfully, chewing on some carefully wrapped sticky toffees from Dio’s bags. “Mmm, I like this thing,” he lifted the sweet. “I don’t know what it is or where you’ve got it from, but it’s really good.”

“Yeah?” Johnny made. “I want some, too.”

Gyro made a motion to give some of the candies to Johnny, but Diego lifted a hand. “Wait, I have some more,” he said and gave a tin box to Johnny. “Here, help yourself.”

Johnny opened the package and exclaimed elatedly. “Oooooh, no way! They’re toffees! Thanks a bunch, I haven’t had one in ages!” He took a hard, caramelised sugar cube and began munching it gluttonously. “They’re really fresh! Where did you even get these from?”

Diego shrugged and idly rearranged Silver Bullet’s reins. “I made them.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Johnny swallowed another toffee. “Damn. Like, really, God damn. They’re just as sticky and sweet as I remember them from when I was a kid in England. Must be the same recipe.”

“I suppose it is, as I was the one who was making them when you were a kid in England,” Diego admitted.

“No way. Like, no fucking way!” Johnny exclaimed. “Okay, I retract all the shit I’ve ever said about you, Diego,” he said. “Your toffees were among the only good things I had as a kid, y'ain't got no idea. Damn,” he repeated and wiped an unruly tear from his eye. He remembered eating those exact sweets whenever he was sad as a child, but he had never imagined that the candies that he had shared with his brother were, in fact, made by Diego.

Dio recalled helping as a young boy in the Joestar estate’s kitchens for a few extra pennies, whenever he had the time after the duties at the stables had been fulfilled. One day, he had seen the youngest child of his employer crying after his father had screamed at him for having knocked a Japanese vase down while playing with the goose he had brought inside the house. Although he'd agreed that it was plain idiocy to bring any poultry indoors, Diego had resented the treatment the little boy had received, and had immediately thought about what had made him happy when his mother had still been alive.

Toffees had been the first things that had come to mind.

Sweet, sticky toffees that he’d received on every Christmas Day, made from the little sugar that his mother had been able to purchase after saving arduously for most of the year. They had been the best presents ever for the little Diego who’d had nothing besides his mother and the bows she’d loved making for him. Despite having nothing to his name, those years with her by his side had been the happiest in his life.

Silver Bullet felt the tremble in his rider’s chest, and neighed softly.

Diego patted his dear horse’s neck. With a heavy heart, he looked up and saw the happy faces that his road companions were making as they were eating the toffees he had confectioned especially for them to share on their short trip.

“Hey, Dio!” Gyro called for him. “Grazie mille for the toffees! They’re the best!”

Johnny nodded happily. Between chews, he mumbled, “Thwaks, Dwi-go!”

Diego smiled as well, feeling light-hearted again.

It seemed that Mother’s gifts were bringing joy to anyone who received them, even when she was long gone.

XXXXX

Rubbing his wet hair vigorously with a fluffy towel, Johnny looked out of his hotel room's window.

They had returned from their little excursion outside the city around midday with their bodies in a state of blissful fatigue. Johnny mumbled something about going to have a bath, Gyro said something about eating, and Diego announced that he wanted to go to the nearest library to return what books he had borrowed and search for something new to read. Their plans obviously not aligning, they went their separate ways.

What Gyro failed to mention to Diego, who had listlessly disappeared to his room to retrieve the lent volumes, was that he wanted to buy lunch for all three of them. For some reason, he felt it was self-explanatory, so he didn’t return to the hotel with Johnny and Diego, opting to go hunting for a restaurant that would pique his interest, and then chose something tasty for his dear friends.

Friends. This particular distinction in their relationship made him extremely joyful, and his search for food was done with even more enthusiasm.

When he returned and noticed that Diego wasn’t in his room – he had knocked at his door hard enough to be heard from another state and received no answer – Gyro realised it might have been a better idea to let the Englishman know that he was expected – and very welcomed - to share their meal. When he had said that he would get food, he had meant for all of them.

Frowning, he knocked at Johnny’s door, and the younger man opened it with a towel wrapped loosely around his head. “Mmm, that sure smells good,” Joestar told and invited him inside.

“It does,” Gyro agreed, but he sounded rather low in the spirits. An unhappy Gyro when he had food was more than disconcerting.

Noticing that anomality, Johnny put their lunch on the table. “What’s the matter, Gyro? You look like someone’s spitted in your coffee.”

“Nyo-ho, I sure hope no one spitted in my coffee, because I’d blame you first,” he replied. Seeing that Johnny had already laid out the cutlery for three, although it was only the two of them inside the room, made him feel unbelievably sad.

"Ha-ha, funny. If I actually spitted in it, I'd totally tell you and force you to drink it," Johnny assured him.

"Aren't you the perfect gentleman, Johnny."

“Neah, you got the wrong person, go talk to Diego about that top hat crap. I'm American, ain't got no stomach for frilly-nillies and lifted pinkies," Joestar replied jokingly. "By the way, have you checked on him? I ain't sure if he’s back from the library. I haven’t heard him returning, though it's been a while since he left...”

“Yeah, I checked on him... he’s not back.”

“Oh,” Johnny said and sat down at the table. “Maybe he’ll be back soon. Yeah, he’ll be back soon,” he assured Gyro.

“Hope so, or his food will grow cold,” Gyro commented.

“So will ours if we wait for him,” Johnny said. “And I’m really hungry.”

“Johnny, caro, you should dig in,” Gyro encouraged him. “I’ll wait for Dio so that he doesn’t eat by himself. I’m not that hungry, anyways.” As he said that, his stomach began to rumble.

“Yeah, clearly.”

“Well, I am hungry, but I don’t want to leave Diego to eat alone. He might even skip the meal, and he’s already eating too little. I'm a bit concerned about that, you know.”

Johnny put down the fork that he had just lifted up. The other did have a point, as he too had noticed Diego's habits, and, although Johnny wouldn't admit it out loud, he had really been looking forward to having both Gyro and Diego with him that afternoon. He could wait. “Yeah... You know what? You should go take a bath like I had. Maybe he’ll be back by the time you’re done, and we can eat together.”

Gyro lifted his head with a smile. He bent and kissed him dearly. “That’s a good idea, carino. Let’s do that. Oh! And let me dry your hair with the Steel Balls when I’m back.”

“Sure,” Johnny said and lifted a bit to give Gyro another kiss, then watched him returning to his room.

When the Neapolitan was done with his bath, Diego still hadn’t returned. He dried Johnny’s damp locks with the help of the Steel Balls’ Spin, then his own. He took his time brushing their hair.

Despite all that, Diego had yet to resurface from wherever he had gone.

So, after their stomachs started having conversations between themselves, Gyro and Johnny began eating their now cold food, morosely turning their eyes to the third plate with an empty chair in front of it.

XXXXX

Diego walked aimlessly for a while, with new books pressed to his chest.

It took him very little time to reach the library, return what he had lent and pick up a new selection. He should have returned to the hotel, but he didn’t find it in him to do it.

So, he walked.

Eventually, he decided that he should go back and wash up, and maybe start on what reading material he had brought with him.

As much as he was aware that he and the two other riders had made good progress in their relationship, he still felt like he was intruding, and this nagging feeling kept on pestering him. He had always done whatever suited him best, but slicking his way through their friendship felt almost sacrilegious at times. Johnny and Gyro had that easy sort of thing going on between them, where any interaction seemed natural. They matched each other flawlessly, so Diego wondered how one adhered to a completed piece.

That’s how – one didn’t.

What was more, he didn’t understand how he had come to contemplate such queasy thoughts. He had never cared for others and their feelings. When he wanted something, he took it and didn’t glance back for even a fraction of a second.

Then why did he take so much time searching for treats for them? He had noticed that both Gyro and Johnny favoured sweets, so he had spent his first afternoon out of the hospital roaming the city for candies and chocolates. And because, for some reason, he'd reckoned that what he had bought wasn't enough, and knowing that Johnny used to love them as a child and supposing that Gyro might also enjoy them, he had gone as far as making toffees for them in a flipping hotel room, of all the places! Was he - what, courting them? Seriously, him? Goodness Gracious, how farfetched was that!

Though it wasn't too far off the mark.

No - this was ridiculous. Why, when his entire being was screaming at him to climb over those two and bestow the performance of their lives upon them, was Diego even wasting time to consider any consequences or compatibilities? So ludicrous and useless!

Yet, he still hesitated to break their fragile balance. The previous night, when he had almost straddled both men at the same time, he could have taken his chance. Hell, he had smelled their arousals and willingness – and for crying out loud, he’d felt them, if only for the Italian’s insistent groping and the American rubbing his inner wrist. What was he even waiting for? Prince Charming on a horse?

However, he still walked straight to his room, right in the middle of the three that they had reserved until their ship set sail, and closed it soundlessly behind him.

He felt like a right tool as he scrubbed himself with soapy water, cleaning his skin and hair. He supposed that he smelt a bit like horses, no matter how well he had cleaned Silver Bullet for their little excursion.

Later, he sat on top of the bed sheets, attired in fresh clothes, with a new book in his hands. He opened it and began reading. It commenced rather abruptly, but he was soon hooked.

Absently scratching his chin, he listened to the low sound the short hairs produced under his nails. They were practically invisible, but he was bothered by how loudly the grating noise sounded in the empty hotel room.

Refusing to even acknowledge how pathetic he sounded in his head and how Scary Monsters was itching with chagrin, he tied up his by-then dried hair and began shaving for the hell of it, to give himself something to do.

It was late in the evening by the time he was done, having taken way too long to shave the barest of stubbles. As he put his razor back in its leather pocket, he heard knocking coming from the door.

He walked on the tips of his toes to the door, a habit that he had developed after having ridden and walked in high boots for most of his life. He forced himself to rest on the balls of his feet before he opened and saw who was calling on him.

“Hey, look who’s finally back!” Gyro exclaimed with his eyebrows high on his forehead. “I’ve been knocking on your door for hours!”

“You have?”

Diego hated how surprised he sounded.

“Certo, stronzo! You've gotten us worried, you know that? I didn’t think you’d be gone for that long! I would have gone out for food a lot later. It’s gone cold, but I think we can reheat it under the cooking lamp. Though pizza nor pasta aren’t the greatest when reheated, I should have gotten some lasagna, I mean – nothing’s like reheated lasagna, believe me! But they had authentic pizza, Dio! I wanted to get us something local or French or whatever, but it smelled divine at that trattoria I passed by,” he ranted as he entered the other’s room. “And I kinda have to admit I’m a bit homesick, so yeah. But the tiramisu is on point! I know it’s a Venetian dessert and my ancestors are frowning upon me - scusami, bisnonna... but I think you’ll love it, if you’ve never tried it – it’s made with savoiardi, umm, como si dice...”

“Ladyfingers?”

“Exactly, ladyfingers! Quite a funny name, right? They’re dipped in coffee. I’m certain you’ll like the tiramisu a lot. I mean, I know you love coffee. We didn’t eat our shares of the tiramisu, we thought it’d be nice to have it together when you returned. I’m really sorry we ate the rest of our meal, but our stomachs were threatening to leave our bodies. But you still have plenty of the main course left, Johnny divided it in three hefty parts. I ordered quite a lot.”

Diego stared at him, and he must have made quite a face, because Gyro’s oblivious expression turned into concern. “What? Don’t you like ladyfingers?”

The Englishman shook his head. “No, no, I like them, they’re fine.”

“Then? Maybe you don’t like pasta? I can go buy something else, if you preferred,” he suggested, but that didn’t change the strange grimace on the Englishman’s visage. “Oh, did you eat already? Cavolo, Johnny was right, I should have told you I was going to buy us food!”

“No, I didn’t eat anything,” Diego replied, realising that all he had eaten that day had been exactly one biscuit for breakfast.

“You didn’t? Oh, no, Dio, that’s not healthy, and I’m a doctor! I know what I’m saying! I don’t want you getting sick because you don’t eat properly. That's not good! You’re skin and bones anyway,” Gyro went on. “And look at you, you’re so pale! No, you definitely need to eat, I don’t care you’re not hungry.”

“I didn’t say that, and in case it has slipped your notice, I am always pale,” Diego pointed out as he folded the towel he had used to wipe his face with. “But you are correct on one account - I am not hungry.”

“And I said I don’t care, so I don’t care. Let’s get you nice and full,” he said. “Mamma mia! My mother will have a field day when she sees you, she’ll get into a cooking spree to fatten you up! But Mamma’s cooking is a forbidden treasure, you’ll surely love it. I know Johnny will, but he eats anything, anyway. Americans have a crappy palate, I swear to God.” He shook his head. “Oh, and I’ve washed some pebbles for you, I know you swallow them for digestion. Kind of bizarre, if you asked me, but if it works for you, all the better! I’ve rounded their edges so you don’t cut yourself, that would be terrible.”

Puzzled, Brando rubbed his bare forehead, noticing that he still had his hair pulled back and tied up. He didn’t like where the conversation was going. Why was his digestion relevant? Did he ever mention anything about eating rocks in front of Zeppeli?

And most importantly, why was he even suddenly being fed by Gyro’s mother?

“Oh, bello, let me help you with that,” Gyro offered, and grabbed the golden ponytail in his hand to loosen it, his idea of personal space nonexistent. Diego jolted at the sudden movement, and that gave the Italian pause. “Err, I've never seen you with your hair tied up,” he said dumbly, quickly retracting his hand. "It's, umm... interesting. I mean, you always look wonderful, don't get me wrong, nyo-ho! It's just something new."

This was getting tedious, Brando thought. He untied his hair by himself and got away from the persistent Neapolitan, who smelled so strongly of Johnny. It was no wonder, they must have spent the afternoon together, doing God knew what, while he had wandered the city like an idiot. It made his blood boil, his previous musings coming back to him in full force.

“I’ve just shaved, that’s why it was tied up,” Diego explained. He wondered why he bothered. The whole situation was stupid. He wanted to be alone. He was much better by himself.

But that infuriating Italian had other things in his empty head.

“Do you shave?” Gyro asked him sheepishly.

The Englishman blinked. “No, I just like playing with the razor,” he replied sarcastically. “Have you ever seen me having a beard?”

“No?”

“Then why the hell do you think is that? Of course I shave, you bloody twit!” he made exasperatedly. “You should try that, too, maybe in front of a mirror and not in the back of a spoon!”

“Heeey, don’t say anything bad about my beard!” Gyro quipped playfully, though he had a feeling Diego’s remark was meant to be an insult.

“Zeppeli, that’s not even a beard. You literally have squares of hair on your face.”

“Come on, Dio, don’t be a bully! Johnny thinks they’re cool! I agree with him.”

“I don’t bloody care what Johnny thinks! Fuck’s sake!” Diego shouted, unreasonably angry. “Get the devil out of here, Zeppeli, and go to your oh-so-wonderful Johnny. Leave me alone.”

“But I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Get. The. Hell. Out!” Diego snapped and threw the towel at him. He felt like a cornered animal all of the sudden.

“Diego!” Gyro called him. He walked over the fallen towel and grabbed his wrist. “What’s gotten into you, bello, hmmm? We were getting along so nicely, and now you’re acting like I’ve insulted your entire line of ancestors.”

“You can insult them as much as you want, it’s not like I know them,” Diego spat and slapped Gyro’s hand away. “Just... go. I need to compose myself.”

“How very British of you,” Gyro retorted, frowning. “Tough luck, micino, I’m from the Mediterranean, we don’t do that kind of crap in the Southern Europe. We yell curses at each other and then kiss and make up. So, what’s gotten your knickers in such a twist?” he asked, gesticulating dramatically. “Oh, don’t reply, I know what it is! It’s hunger! I knew it! Starvation is impairing your judgement, Dio!”

Diego pressed his lips together. “Is there anything that doesn’t revolve around food with you?”

“I’m Italian. We exist solely to eat. So, no.”

Diego snorted. “Good Gracious, you’re giving me a headache.”

“It’s the famine, Diego!”

Gyro once again approached him, but he didn’t flinch. Encouraged, the Neapolitan cupped his freshly-cleaned cheek and rubbed it gently with his thumb. “You’ve got really soft skin, Dio. It’s lovely.” Delicately, he trailed a fingertip against Diego's smooth chin. "You're lovely."

"Cripes, Zeppeli," Diego sighed. The hand on his face smelled so good. “Alright, alright, I’ll eat. But only to stop you from pestering me.”

Gyro’s face split into an enormous grin. “Really?”

“Gyro Zeppeli. Don’t make me repeat it. I abhor repeating myself.”

“You’re the best, Dio,” he said and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

The Englishman in Diego was having a stroke at the Italian’s lack of personal boundaries, but he followed him to Johnny’s hotel room, where the remaining of their meal was waiting.

It turned out that he really did enjoy the tiramisu, so much that he had eaten most of Johnny’s and Gyro’s portions, too.

XXXXX

Johnny woke up slowly, something soft tickling his nose. The sensations in his body returned progressively to him – the fluffiness of the pillow under his head, the firmness of the mattress against his back, the pressure of the blanket over him.

The heaviness that pressed him into the bed.

He half-opened his eyes and was presented with a handful of golden hair.

He shifted his head a little and noticed that he had half of Diego’s body over his, the other part of the Brit lying slumped over Gyro's shoulders and back, both of them sleeping soundly turned over on their bellies. From underneath the blanket, a long blue tail emerged, falling limply over the edge of the bed.

‘Huh, that's new,’ he mused, studying the big yellow letters that spelled 'DIO' on the heavy appendage that kept him in place. They glinted lustily in the bright moonlight coming from the window, the scales appearing almost wet with how shiny they were. The tail held certain appeal, he supposed, with its thick ropes of muscle bringing an element of danger to its lively colours, alluring him to touch it and learn for himself if it was cold like a lizard's scales or warm like human skin.

He didn’t remember seeing Diego sporting his tail when they were forced into sheltering together before. Maybe it showed that he was far more relaxed.

It didn’t fail to impress him that a freaking fictional creature – as dinosaurs were figments of some delusional writer’s imagination, according to Johnny – with claws as big as his head, could resemble a huge cat so much. Or perhaps it was just Diego who behaved like one.

When he slept, he looked quite lovely. What spoiled Diego most of the time was opening his mouth – though, now that he thought of it, Johnny admittedly enjoyed the arrival of another sharp remark from his former rival. If one got over that whiplash tongue he possessed most of the time, he could be terribly entertaining and resourceful, and he doubted anything could get dull with him. Johnny had never thought he would say something like that about Dio, but they had seen stranger things.

And in slumber, Diego turned rather adorable, especially as he seemed to always be climbing over something and throwing his limbs all over the place, be it over the pillows or the blanket. Or them, apparently.

He wondered if he might have started escalating over the furniture, had they been closer to the table or a chair.

Joestar felt movement on top of him and closed his eyes reflexively. The tail that covered him retracted and disappeared, a great deal of weight leaving him. The body that remained was light, and it slid delicately off him. The mattress barely dipped next to his legs and the heaviness was completely gone.

He squinted in the relative darkness and observed Diego walking across the room on the tips of his toes, swaying his hips at every step, the shape of his muscular legs lost beneath the baggy sleeping pants that he had borrowed from the American. He elegantly tip-toed to the chair where he had left his folded clothes. He lifted his head to look towards the window, the full moon casting its gentle light on his sleep-softened features.

Johnny didn’t see very well in the darkness, but he could clearly read the shame and confusion written all over Diego’s face, twisting his beautiful front into an unapproachable facade. He looked so scornful in the large sleeping clothes that weren’t his own, with his shiny golden hair curling around his porcelain white forehead. His head turned slightly to the side, and for a moment, Johnny was certain that he was found out peeking - but Diego merely gazed at the bed and swallowed nothing. His eyes were glinting in the shy light of the moon, his usually sharp eyebrows shadowing his sorrowfully lowered eyelids. Almost dejectedly, he turned his head away and brought a pale hand over his eyes, shielding himself from the outer world.

Johnny had never seen something so unnatural. The rawness of the scene almost brought him to tears. Diego looked as if he was in agony and the younger rider genuinely didn't know what to do to take that pain away.

Why was the Englishman so distant and cold, when his eyes were so filled with emotions? When he was clearly capable of warmth and compassion, as his little gestures had demonstrated. What was more, he was so suspicious of their affections, and whenever he reciprocated them in any form, he soon withdrew and turned into a certain something that the American now knew was just an act. Johnny couldn't understand it, not when he wore his heart over the sleeve. Diego's every step forward towards him and Gyro was followed by two steps back.

What was holding him back? What gave him pause? What was his game? The Diego Brando that Johnny had once thought he'd known was scheming and vindictive, a miserable loner who walked over anyone and anything without a sliver of remorse. But that was not the same Diego Brando that he had found during the couple of months spent in the little hospital room and during the days spent outside of it.

That Diego Brando was a witty, sarcastic and spontaneous man who laughed and told stories, who asked if he and Gyro were cold or hungry, who subtly drank from their cups of coffee when they were left unattended, who sneaked long impassioned glances at them when he thought they weren't looking, who gently touched their shoulders or hands and grinned toothily at them.

And that night, he was a Diego Brando who seemed to be afraid of showing that he was capable of all those unexpected, but wonderful things that made him who he was. As if he, himself, had forgotten who was the man stifled underneath his unforgiving mask. As if he couldn't believe that a gentle hand extended towards him could be genuine.

Was this why he was still so reluctant?

The American jockey sat up on the bed, careful not to disturb Gyro, who was as dead to the world as a few moments before. Diego’s neck whipped in the direction of the bed, his expression schooled into total blankness. His soles were once again flattened on the floor, his rigid posture akin to perfection.

This was not the sort of Diego Brando that Johnny wanted to see. He wanted the real one, whatever that entitled.

“Dio,” Johnny whispered and lifted with difficulty from the mattress. Walking became far easier with time, but he still had moments when he needed to support himself against a crutch. His legs currently felt a bit stiff.

He limped towards the slightly older man. “What are you doing? You should be sleepin', it’s kinda late.”

“I’ve slept enough, it’s alright,” the other muttered, his low voice flowing like a breeze. “You should go back to Gyro.”

“Asshole, don’t y'all dismiss me like that,” Johnny murmured sternly, his Southern accent seeping strongly into his words. “You’ve only slept for an hour or two, if that. The moon barely moved from where it was when we went to bed. C'mon.”

“I don’t need that much sleep,” Diego whispered back, though it was clearly a lie. His blue eyes looked tired and his eyelids were pink from the fatigue.

Johnny lifted his arm. Gently, he stroked Dio’s sharp cheekbone. “You need just as much sleep as the next hick, Diego. Y'ain't foolin' me, sunshine, you just wanna sneak out like some thief into the night and be on your merry way, so don’t bullshit me.”

Diego pressed his cheek into the warm palm over it, not finding a reason to deny what was truthful. “Tell me, Jojo, if you know me so well,” he began in a low, tired voice, “what am I doing here, in the middle of the night, with you and Gyro? Borrowing your night clothes, eating your food, sharing your bed? Why am I here? Because I, for one, do not know.”

The other blond man sighed. “I oughtta remind you that it was you who first suggested waitin' together until we can leave the US, then going on a vacation with the two of us. Are you having second thoughts now? Don't you like us no more, now that you can move around freely? Don't you want us anymore? 'Cause you gotta make up your mind on this, Dio, gotta decide what you want. Neither me, nor Gyro ain't no mind readers, and we sure as hell ain't some toys you can discard whenever the mood strikes ya. Just say your piece. Was it something else you had in mind when you propositioned us?” he asked, tracing his thumb against Diego’s full lower lip. "No, but that ain't it, right? Dio... what are you so afraid of?"

They stared at each other for a few moments.

“Oddio, ragazzi! If you want to do a staring contest, can you at least do it from under the blanket?” Gyro’s deep voice rumbled from the bed. “It’s kind of cold without you two heating it up.”

“Heard that, Dio? Is that a reason good enough for you to stay? You'd be missed if you left. You've got a place with us. You’re wanted here. By us - both of us." Tentatively, Johnny brought his hand to the base of Diego's spine, at the spot where his tail had just disappeared to, and drew circles with his thumb. Hearing himself speaking, he began believing his words more and more. "For who you are, not for that posh horseshit you wanna show to the world. Ain't no need for pretense.”

“Is that so?” Diego wondered out loud, gazing straight into Johnny’s starry blue eyes from his slightly taller height.

“Yes, Diego,” Johnny admitted simply, and leaned forward, pressing their lips together softly. He parted only for the fraction of an inch, boring deeply into the clear blue of Diego’s orbs. “You’re very wanted.”

Diego lunged forward and kissed him hard on the mouth. He poured himself into their lip-lock, biting demandingly on his lower lip and inhaling sharply through the nose. He broke their kiss, pulling at the lip that he had caught between his teeth and letting it slide slowly from his mouth.

Johnny grabbed him by the hair and smacked their mouths back together. Impetuously, he pushed his tongue between his lips, and Diego’s parted slightly enough to allow access between his dangerously sharp teeth. He craned his head and urged more of that bold muscle inside the wet cavern of his mouth, and his own tongue began swirling around it.

It seemed to lengthen and thicken as he pushed it past the barrier of their joined lips, and he hungrily trailed it across Johnny’s teeth and gums, tangling it lasciviously with the root of the other’s tongue and licking all over the roof of his mouth and inner cheeks.

The hand in his locks tightened and he pressed their bodies tautly against each other, bringing his palms under the American’s opened jaws to urge him even closer. He felt the other’s free hand creeping up his hip and over his bottom, squeezing and parting his buttocks demandingly. Johnny insistently rubbed the spot from where he had seen Diego’s tail jutting out, trying to convince him again about the truth of his words, and the Englishman moaned inside his mouth.

Not parting for even a moment, they manoeuvred each other to the bed. When his knees hit the edge of the mattress, Diego pushed Johnny away from him and on the bed, immediately pouncing on top of him.

Gyro gazed at the display in front of his eyes as if he was admiring a work of art. The sheer ferocity that Diego put into making out with Johnny was mesmerising, sending jolts straight to his groin.

He had meant to shout at them for waking him up in the middle of the night, but he now suddenly didn’t mind being woken up so much, not when those two minxes collapsed on the bed right next to him in a tangle of limbs. Instead, he lit up one of the bedside lamps, the gentle light casting loving shadows over them.

He watched Diego spreading his legs widely from above the other jockey, his body angling like it did during a racing sprint. He pressed himself lasciviously over the other’s crotch and grinded tantalisingly against it, coaxing grunts and stuttered breaths from him. Johnny groped his ass and kept it in place, thrusting his hips upwards through their clothes, teasing them both with how hard they already were.

Fascinated, Gyro pulled Diego’s head away from Johnny’s. The dinosaur-man’s wet lips remained parted, his tongue licking his own momentarily sharpening teeth. The look in his eyes was predatory, a yellow tinge infusing their steely blue, and he resembled debauchery itself.

Without much consideration, Gyro lifted himself on his elbows and captured Diego’s reddened mouth, joining their tongues in a loving dance. It was very different from the kiss that had been shared with Johnny, far less head-on and more like a spin, but it was just as intense.

Johnny continued kneading the covered flesh of his ass and hips, devouring him with his darkening eyes. Abandoning one of the round asscheeks, he lifted his hand and traced Diego’s working jaw line, then Gyro’s. He pressed his thumb between their locked mouths, caressing their gliding tongues. Drool leaked down his finger, and he rubbed it across their lower lips.

He sat up on his haunches, the motion driving Dio’s undulating ass harder over his straining erection, and peppered nibbles against their necks, up to their chins and eventually, across the bridge made by their kissing lips.

Gyro slowly turned his head and left Diego’s mouth to kiss Johnny’s, and the Englishman began licking their skin, greedily inhaling their scents.

They eventually ended their kiss and Johnny laid back down on his back, watching the other two with an impassionated gaze.

Gyro slid a hand under Diego’s shirt. He tugged at the fabric, urging him to discard it.

“Weren’t you so cold a moment ago, Gyro?” Diego purred, his voice low and seductive.

“Not anymore, and certainly nor are you,” the Italian said and pulled the shirt away, revealing the slender but muscular body hidden underneath. He gently cupped his hard chest and flicked his perked up nipples with his thumbs, then bent down to roll his tongue over them, mapping the heated skin up to the sharp collarbones.

The hand that slid inside Diego’s breeches was Johnny’s, who began stroking him languidly. He groaned and lifted to his knees, making quick work of the rest of his clothes until he was completely naked.

The deliciously wicked teeth that were grazing his pectorals left his skin with a kiss, and he noticed Gyro leaving to search inside the bag where he stored their medicine, returning with a small hand lotion tube in his hand. He let it fall on the bed and started undressing, flexing his naturally tanned body as he shed his clothing.

Smirking deviously, Diego made no secret out of visually assessing the proudly standing cock that bobbled between Gyro’s strong, long legs. He extended his hand invitingly and smeared the copious seminal fluids around the red head, as the man kneeled by his side and kissed him behind the ear.

Feverish, Johnny twisted around slightly, and right when he was about to lift the hem of his hoodie, he suddenly found himself buck naked, with all of his clothes piled up on the floor. “What the-“

The look of bewilderment on his face made Diego chuckle, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to caress the velvety, heavy length in his hand.

“It’s just an ability of my Stand, the World,” he said self-explanatorily and bent his head to begin licking greedily on Gyro’s swollen cock, who in turn patted his throat appreciatively.

“Nyo-ho, your Stand has some useful abilities,” Gyro commented slightly breathlessly, and Diego hummed, taking him up within his mouth until the leaking head of his cock was shoved down to his throat. Taking a deep breath, his nostrils becoming invaded with the virile scent of arousal oozing off his partner’s skin, he pushed himself further, capturing the entirety of the cock inside his mouth and swallowing around.

Johnny stroked his bobbing Adam’s apple, the visuals almost making him believe he was the one in his mouth. “Fucking Christ, Dio,” he mumbled and groped his straddling ass harder.

Diego retracted his head just enough to be able to breathe. Gyro’s hand entangled in his golden curls and spurred him on, and Dio began sucking his dick like his life depended on it, using all the tricks he knew, hollowing his cheeks and suctioning powerfully, his lengthened tongue rolling around the hot skin and tracing the bulging veins, and his dangerous teeth grazing just enough to drive the Neapolitan mad. Johnny kept on touching his face, and Diego made a point out of occasionally hitting the inside of his cheek with the cockhead, so the jockey could feel what he was doing to the other man.

He could taste how near Gyro was to losing himself inside his mouth, and he insatiably doubled his efforts. Under him, Johnny’s neglected cock was jumping by itself and hitting his own, making both of them jolt with the pleasure of waiting for gratification. Cursing particularly badly in Italian, Gyro grunted hoarsely and grabbed the back of his head, thrusting powerfully inside Diego’s mouth.

With a wheezing sound escaping his parted lips, he came abundantly inside Diego’s welcoming throat, who drunk up the potent seed with his eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure. His forgotten length made a terribly excited jump, and he jutted his hips into the bare air.

Johnny smacked him hard over the ass and Dio screamed with lust. “Fuck...,” he moaned loudly, his flushed face twisted in bliss.

A dark fire was ignited in Johnny’s eyes as he looked at the whorish demeanour of the stuck up British. “Now, Dio, who would’ve thought you’d be such a slut for some cock,” he mocked him, but he sounded more appreciative than anything.

“Mmm, ditto,” Gyro agreed, his head still reeling with the force of his orgasm. He pressed wet kisses against Diego’s chest and grazed his nipples with his teeth as he tried to catch his breath, and the younger man exhaled harshly.

That gave Zeppeli an idea, and he immediately looked down at Johnny, who was far too gone not to nod his head and agree to whatever he had in mind without knowing what he actually intended to do.

“Hey, Johnny!” he rasped. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

It was all the incentive that Diego needed to slide down the jockey’s legs and take his cock into his mouth.

“Fucking leech!” Johnny screeched and moaned at same time, his hand grabbing the Englishman’s head, who groaned brokenly, sending jolts of mind-numbing bliss to his cock. He began grinding his leaking erection against Johnny’s calf, edging himself further.

Gyro found the container he had brought and opened it, leaving it at his disposal on the bed. He gently grabbed Diego’s hips and lifted them up, spreading his buttocks hungrily. He whistled cheerfully. “Dio mio, Johnny! If you could just see his ass! Cazzo, che bel culo, stupendo come lui,” he praised him, thumbing the pink arsehole that was clenching around his wetted fingertip. “Looks like a delicious treat, my God!”

Johnny chuckled darkly, out of breath, and pulled Diego’s head back enough so that his cock slid past his lips. Helplessly, Brando extended his tongue to try to capture it back.

“Yeah,” Johnny muttered, mesmerised by the other’s desperation. He could see Diego’s raging cock leaking copiously over his leg. “Yeah, Gyro, I can imagine.”

Diego let out a frustrated whine. “Wonderful that you’ve got imagination, but can either of you actually do something besides talking?! Bloody chatterboxes!”

Gyro slapped his ass. He enjoyed the way the flesh trembled with the aftershock. “Put your chatterbox to good use, and I’ll put mine, too,” he proclaimed, and haunched down to lick long stripes against his asshole.

Diego bared his teeth, his cheeks cracking some more. “Allora, che bravo ragazzo, così è molto meglio,” he purred lowly, and that made Gyro chuckle.

“Beautiful ass, and speaks Italian? Mamma mia,” he applauded him cheerfully. “Hey, Johnny! I think I’m in Heaven! Bello, where did you even learn to speak Italian?”

The scandalised face that Diego made was one to behold, especially given that he was still having his hair pulled by Johnny's fist and his tongue lolling out of his mouth over the other's groin. "My late wife, if you must know. She was quite taken with anything Italian."

"Ah, good choice for her! She must have been una grande signora!"

Diego clicked his tongue as he looked behind himself. "Yes, Gyro, a great lady whom I don't want to talk about when you're halfway into my arse!"

Gyro nonchalantly bit one of the rounded buttocks in front of him, then laid a wet kiss over the reddened skin. "Neah, I could hold entire conversations like this. I'm really enjoying the view!"

“What the hell, don't y'all start now! Freaking lunatics, both of you,” Johnny retorted, but grinned nonetheless. He should have been at least a bit disturbed by the odd topic, especially given their current circumstance, but it hardly surprised him. He poked Diego’s cheek, returning his attention to him. “Ain’t you some multi-functional wonder.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Diego teased him, his eyes once again clouded by lust, and extended his tongue a lot more, finally able to connect its tip with the other’s cock.

“Fuck yes, I would like to know!”

Gyro cracked up from behind Diego, and started licking his ass very enthusiastically. Johnny stopped holding the Englishman’s head, and his tongue immediately coiled around the dick he had been previously sucking on, just in time to feel another tongue pushing past the rim of his bottom. He swallowed Johnny’s cock once again, and began sucking on it at the same pace as Gyro’s tongue was pushing into him.

When the Italian shoved the entirety of his tongue inside his ass, his golden teeth grazing his skin, Diego pushed his head low on Johnny, until his length was fully inside and his throat was clamping on it. Gyro slid a hooked finger next to his tongue, and rubbed his prostate incredibly fast, making Diego suddenly jolt backwards and cum hard over Johnny’s legs and abdomen with a guttural, primal cry.

Staring dazzlingly at the white substance splattering on his thighs, Johnny wanted to thank the higher forces for making Diego back up in time so he didn’t bite down on his dick, because those teeth in his mouth looked positively lethal.

“Gyro, Gyro, Gyro!” Diego groggily called for the man who was frozen with a finger buried inside his asshole, startled by the thunderous effect he had produced on the panting Englishman. “Stretch me already, I want to ride Jojo. Hurry!”

“Gyro! You heard the Dino!” Johnny suddenly became animated, pulled out of his daze.

“The Dino'd better hold his ass up, then,” Gyro instructed, and Diego immediately presented his backside, and two digits began fingering him languidly, feeling his muscles relax despite being tender from the impact of his gratification.

Soon, the fingers multiplied and spread his insides against their relentless pace, and he began meeting them enthusiastically. When he deemed himself sufficiently stretched, Dio extracted himself from the four fingers that were pumping into his ass, carelessly spitted over Johnny’s cock and rubbed it twice, then impaled himself with a hiss. Johnny’s hands scrambled to his hips, his knees coming up to support Diego from behind as he began riding him with the same vigour he used in the saddle.

Johnny thrust up in time to meet the hard bounces of the velvety, scorching heat around his cock, hammering into Diego’s prostate with gusto. Scary Monsters was starting to get a better hold of its User’s body, the tail at the end of Diego’s human spine making its appearance and swishing happily along with his rolling hips.

Gyro began stroking Diego’s cock in time with his movements, amused by the way he was spearing himself almost vengefully. His own length was becoming more and more interested in what he was witnessing, stirring into another needy erection. Johnny was petting Diego’s skin everywhere he could, marking his pliant body with worship and his sharp fingernails. He lingered for a few moments to stroke the scar surrounding his midsection, and Diego opened his eyes to look at him, groaning from the back of his throat.

The way in which he gazed at him was feral, all-consuming, the emotions in those glinting pale orbs scorching like the desert sun, and Johnny desired to give him everything he had, be it his body or his heart.

“Dio, that’s it, keep on doin' that,” Johnny encouraged him, and began pistoning his hips up harder to meet his in midair. He managed a strong grip onto the base of his tail, providing him with more leverage. “Gyro, keep on rubbin' him, c’mon, sugar. That’s a boy, that’s it.”

Gyro kissed Johnny's running lips and began stroking Diego much harder, fast squelching sounds adding over their harsh breaths and slapping skins.

Diego bared his teeth again and the corners of his mouth extended towards his eyes. He wailed and ejaculated again, his cum spilling in ropes almost all the way up to Johnny’s chin. He rotated his hips as he pressed their chests together, letting their racing hearts beat against each other, and his ass clamped viciously around Joestar’s cock, milking it deliciously as hot liquid coated his insides. Dreamily, he licked his lips, making Johnny scrunch up his nose in amusement as he shivered with the glow of his completion.

When Diego tried to lift up so he could rest more comfortably, his waist was harshly grabbed by Gyro, who effortlessly slid into him from behind, before any of the ejaculation inside of him was spilt on the sheets.

“Hope you don’t mind it, amore,” he whispered into his ear seductively and wrapped a sure fist around his tail.

Diego slumped forward, and Johnny hugged him closely and stroked his hair soothingly. Rendered completely useless, the Englishman spread his legs wider and grinned against the American’s skin, enjoying the beastly sensation of being taken from behind, with his tail held to the side, the Italian’s precise and hard thrusts appealing very much to both Scary Monsters and its dazzled User.

He was full of cum and was going to be pumped up with even more. He had a thick, long cock pounding into his ass and protective arms around him – Diego felt like he was being worshipped, like only he was supposed to be.

Proudly, he realised where he fitted in the picture. That's where he belonged, where everyone was enthralled with him. Where Gyro and Johnny paid their offerings to him, Dio.

He was the bloody centrepiece! 

He was shivering all over, not hearing anything anymore over the sound of his blood throbbing in his ears. He bit and licked all the skin that he could find, his fingernails slashed whatever flesh he found, not knowing where was up and where was down. He was in Paradise, and he screamed his delight for his partners to hear it.

He sensed his balls tightening again and his aching cock spluttered some more, ecstasy enveloping him once more. His body quivered from its very core.

His middle was grasped more tightly and the body behind him pressed harder against him, more heat painting his insides. He nimbly reached for Johnny’s twitching length under him and rubbed it just a few more times, and his hand was coated in wetness that he spread over his own belly.

His mind hazy, Diego felt so happy, so content.

Exhausted, he collapsed over Johnny, whose panting lips were crimson after having been kissed and licked and bit mindlessly. Gyro slumped next to him and kissed him passionately, and hot liquid slowly slid down his thighs.

Diego’s heart was doing flips, and he sniffed rapidly around him, wanting to forever remember the splendid scents of his partners.

He was shifted so that he laid over both of the other men, almost like he was a blanket. Lazily, he tangled his fingers in the coarse hair on Gyro’s chest and stroked Johnny’s round cheek. Sleep was sweetly creeping up on him, surrounded by such wondrous smells that comforted him.

“Hey, Dio,” Johnny whispered, and the addressed man grunted to show that he was listening. “Do y'all feel wanted yet, sunshine?”

Diego chuckled at Johnny's lilting accent and kissed his lips, then Gyro’s. They were both looking at him with joy in their satisfied eyes. “Hmm. I think I do.”

“Just think? Not certain of it?” Gyro muttered lazily. “Bello carino!” He stroked his cheek. “Mio povero caro cuore!” He kissed his nose. He turned his head to look at Johnny. “Heard that, mio tortellini?”

“Huh?” made Johnny, not knowing what he had been called.

“It’s a type of pasta with filling,” Diego mumbled with his face pressed against his shoulder, and he pondered that the description fitted him a lot better, given how the muscles around his abused arsehole were struggling to tighten back. He smiled indulgently at that knowledge.

“Ah, okay,” Johnny retorted. “Yeah, Gyro, I heard that.”

“Means we’ve got to try harder next time! He’d better feel loved and cared for! And veeeery appreciated, right?”

“Mmmhhm, suuuure,” Johnny slurred under a stifling yawn. He shifted a little to wrap his arms around the other two men. “Yeah, got it, we’re gonna have to do better next time.”

Diego guffawed, his chest warming up pleasantly in a way that, surprisingly, he didn't mind. “Oh, my. Lucky me.”

Gyro playfully smacked his ass and stroked the base of his tail that had yet to retract. “Nyo-ho-ho! Lucky you! And very lucky us! Right, Johnny?”

Johnny grunted. "Yeah, very." He yawned poignantly. "Now, y'all shut up already an' sleep."

Grinning toothily, Diego slashed the air with the tip of his heavy tail and contently closed his eyes. He wondered why he had postponed this for so long.

Well, as the saying goes - better later than never.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four – And Then, Lady Luck Had a Laugh

That morning was particularly pleasant. Only a few milky clouds were marring the brilliant blue of the sky up above, their edges swirling in the gentle breeze of the ocean.

Wearing a happy smile, Gyro made his way through the crowd that was enjoying the warm weather and the gentle spring morning sun. He was in a bit of a hurry, carrying a sizeable bag of pastries close to his chest and another containing toothpowder, soap, some thread, sugar cubes and apples - as requested by Johnny’s latest shopping list.

The assortment of fresh pastries were for their breakfast, one of the last ones in the United States before leaving for Europe. Their tickets to the French port of Calais were waiting for them at the hotel, the ship preparing to set sail in only two more days.

Due to having packed, as Johnny mildly put it, ‘a whole lotta crap’ that had been ‘shoved’ in his luggage with ‘his ass’ when he had prepared for the race, Gyro had been kicked out and banned from anything packing-related. Instead, he was sent to procure a list of necessities, and having done that, he was returning to their joined rooms.

He walked by the many people, thinking fondly of returning to the hotel, where Diego was gathering their belongings into their respective bags – as he alone could fit an entire cow in the smallest of pockets and pack a whole house in a medium-sized trunk, which was an extraordinary feat - and Johnny was checking for the umpteenth time if they had taken everything they owned or needed. From the sidelines, Gyro was still amazed how well the former rivals operated together, once they overcame their initial differences.

He-he, those two worked more than 'well' together, if one judged by how they pounced and caught each other without even a hitch, be it outside or, more notably, inside the bedroom. Gyro was still dizzy with how suddenly they grabbed and trapped him in their collective storm - but he definitely didn't complain.

However, he was beginning to grow nervous upon their impending departure, contemplating what shall come to pass once they finished their little tour through the Western countries of Europe and the bit of sightseeing they had planned around Italy and, of course, the Kingdom of Naples. He wondered what would become of their little affair that had bloomed so magnificently in the few months after the race.

They still had some time to spend together, surely, but Gyro didn’t want their ‘honeymoon’ to end. Not yet, not when everything was going so smoothly and he was becoming more and more smitten with two of the most enchanting people he had ever met.

Neither talked about what would eventually happen when this leisure period ended. Johnny needed to figure out what he wanted to do with his life, and most importantly – where that would be. Diego was probably going to return to racing and his business arrangements in England.

And Gyro would have to become head executioner in his father’s stead, and continue his work at the family's clinic. And probably marry some sensible and respectable woman and have a son who would resent him for thrusting their family’s duties upon him.

Such was his destiny, the one that he had sworn to.

Again, he was thinking of those damned family duties, and they were putting him in a miserable state.

No, he needed to focus on the two wonderful blondes who were waiting for him in their rooms and how he was going to convince Diego to eat more of the pastries – the man ate less than a bird, despite Gyro’s vociferations, and he was too thin. The young doctor made it his purpose to make him put some more meat on his bones, although Dio kept on repeating that he was a professional jockey and had weight restrictions to meet, and besides – he was perfect the way he was.

Accentuating on the perfect aspect, because no one sung Diego’s praises better than Diego himself.

‘Then it’s settled,’ he decided. The Zeppeli family duties could wait a little longer. When he reached Naples, they would still be there.

Better enjoy the moment and the people in his life.

With said goals in mind, Gyro entered the reception lobby of the hotel they had booked and been staying at after having been discharged from the hospital a few weeks before. They had opted for three rooms that were one next to the other, so that they could stay together without rising too many suspicions regarding the affairs of three young men who kept a little too close at odd hours.

That brought an even bigger smile to his face.

“Good Morning, Sir,” he was greeted as he entered the lobby.

“Buongiorno, bella!” he told to the receptionist, a young lady with incredibly dark eyes and pink cheeks that was already getting flustered by the Italian’s expansive manners. He hadn’t seen her before, but hey – a pretty face was a pretty face, and Gyro loved all kinds of faces. At least, aesthetically speaking. “Please, can you check if there’s any mail for room 512?” he requested, an easy smirk adorning his lips.

“S-sure, one moment, Sir,” she replied, her eyes blinking fast. “Yes, there seems to be a letter for a Mr. G. Zeppeli? Are you him, Sir?”

“Sure am! Can I have it?”

“Of course,” she said, ready to give the envelope to him. “Oh! But I have to check your name first!”

Gyro grinned widely, his engraved teeth showing his surname. The lady stared at him, surprised by the grills inside his mouth, but he in turn chuckled good-naturedly.

“Bella, you should see your pretty face, dear me! Of course, I’m merely teasing you! This is my key,” he fetched the key from his pocket, showing the keychain. “And let me take out my identifications-“

“It’s-it's alright, Sir! Here’s your letter,” she retorted with a slight stutter, blushing deeply at the compliment and pushing her cheek into her shoulder in an attempt to hide it. Gyro gave her a wink, and the lady receptionist bit her lip, smiling shyly.

Another victim claimed by his natural charm - score for team Zeppeli!

“Grazie, bella,” he sing-sung brightly. “Ciao! Have a day as lovely as yourself!”

“You too!” the woman replied, and blushed even harder.

Gyro took the envelope with a smile and began ascending the stairs. He spared not a single glance at the white, heavily stamped paper pocket, opting to hum along to one of his musical creations.

He knocked with his elbow on a wooden door that had the numbers ‘513’ above the visor, which was actually Diego’s room, and only then did he glance at the envelope’s back.

His eyes went wide at the cursive under the US Post stamp.

That was his father’s writing.

The door opened, revealing Johnny’s bored face. “You sure took your time with those damned pastries,” he complained and grabbed the bags from Gyro’s unsuspecting arms, who instead remained frozen at the threshold, staring at the envelope in his hand.

“Gyro? Is there a matter?” Diego asked from inside, his nostrils being invaded with a worrisome scent of fear coming from the doorframe. “Come in,” he invited him, placing the jumper that he was folding on the bed.

“Yeah, coming,” Gyro said uneasily, and closed the door behind him.

Johnny was already chewing on one of the vanilla custard rolls. “The coffee’s gone cold, you know that?” he said around a mouthful of cream. He exchanged a part-confused, part-nervous glance with Diego, who grabbed Gyro’s forearm and made him sit down on the balcony chair, so that they could get some air.

Especially the Italian, whose tanned face was absolutely livid.

“As much as I hate repeating myself, I’ll do it, because you’ve clearly not heard me the first time,” Diego said in a low voice. “Is there a matter, Gyro?”

“Um,” the man mumbled. “I’ve received a letter.”

“Yes, I assumed as much.” Diego shook his head. “Then I shall let you get through it. I’ll try to salvage a pastry or two for you, and some coffee. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Grazie, pecorino,” said the Italian and crossed his legs, boring holes into the envelope’s starched surface.

Sighing, Diego returned inside the hotel room to heat up some coffee and prevent Johnny from eating all the cream and custard rolls.

Gyro inhaled deeply. He opened the envelope with his father’s script on it and took out the paper within it.

Inside the incredibly short letter was Father’s writing, too.

The same Father who didn’t write to him even once during his stay in the States, but preferred requesting for his other children or wife to relay his disapprovement concerning his oldest son’s actions.

What had happened that had determined Father to go against his principles and write to Gyro?

‘Dear Julius,’

Gyro groaned. Just like Father to use that loathsome name in the one and only letter that he had ever sent to his oldest son. At least, it wasn't the full name.

‘I hope this letter finds you healthy and in good spirits. One of your acquaintances from the race contacted us on the matter of your continued absence. She said that you were superficially wounded, but are recuperating well. We are very glad for that. She assured us that she has the means of communicating with you, as we do not know your current address. I will write it down once she provides it and send this letter to you.

The situation at the clinic is rather dire without you, as you might imagine. We are extremely busy with our patients and could use your helping hands. However, your Mother insists I take a short break, so we have decided to take your younger siblings and go away for a little while to our vacation place. I hope you will join us for your further recovery.

Come back to us already.

Sincerely,

Your Father

G.Z.’

“Cazzo di putta!” he swore.

In an instant, Diego’s golden head emerged from behind the balcony door. “Although my Italian is rather good, if I say so myself, even Jojo must have guessed you were swearing,” he commented.

“Hey! Don’t be an asshole!”Johnny exclaimed. He swiftly elbowed the other jockey and made his way to the balcony. He kneeled in front of the Italian to get at the same level with his face. “Are you alright, Gyro?”

“I--- I don’t know.”

The clinic being busy and the family going to their vacation place meant they were leaving the country.

Their government was about to be overthrown. That time, for real. Father would have never used their secret code otherwise.

Good Lord, what was going to happen to his family? He had been postponing his return for too long.

“Gyro?”

“Che cavolo, Johnny, I heard you the first time!” he made angrily, swatting the American’s worrying hands away and storming back inside the room. Because the younger man wasn’t holding onto anything, he fell backwards and landed with a thump on his haunches.

“Now, that’s enough, you short-fused swine,” Diego icily admonished the Neapolitan after having helped Johnny to lift up from the balcony’s floor. He pointed an accusatory finger at Gyro. “We both have asked you, and quite respectfully at that, if there’s anything bothering you. There’s absolutely no need for you to pass your frustration onto us, especially as neither of us knows what the source of your discontentment is. And don’t you bloody push Johnny, you heard me?”

“Merda, I’m so sorry, you’re right,” Gyro apologised and slumped on the bed. “Oh my God, Johnny, did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, amore, are you okay?”

“Sure am, I’ve fallen harder from Slow Dancer’s back. It’s fine, Dio’s exaggerating,” he said and sat next to Gyro on the mattress. He rubbed his back. “What happened?”

“It’s just that my father’s written to me. I think the kingdom’s going to be annexed to the rest of Italy, and that’s really bad news for us. The king’s definitely getting overthrown, from what I understand from his letter, and who knows what that would mean to his entourage. Which also incorporates my family.”

“Oh.”

Gyro pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe it!”

“That’s quite a lot of rotten luck, then,” Diego told offhandedly, still bitter about the previous exchange.

“Rotten luck?" the Neapolitan repeated, curling his fingers in the air. "Really? My family could be in real danger, and you say it's rotten luck?! We are the royal executioners, Diego! How do you think we’ll be received by another kingdom, when we are the ones who had executed their revolutionaries? Oh my God, I shouldn’t have left Napoli in such a whirl, I might have jeopardized my family’s safety with the way I protested against Marco’s execution! It’s like putting a mark over our heads! And there are documents attesting to our involvement with the judiciary system! If the government falls, so does my family! What will happen to my brothers and my sister? To my parents? God damn it!”

“And can you do anything about it from here?” Diego asked, his voice betraying nothing. “Can you, Gyro? Let me answer for you – no, you can’t.”

“Diego!” Johnny mumbled after swallowing, having started munching on another pastry. The world could be burning, but only after he was no longer hungry he would begin to show any consideration. That is not to say that he lacked the care for the grave matter at hand, but he required some fuel to function. However, he couldn't remain idle to the Englishman's remarks. “That ain't helping!”

Gyro fumed. “What’s your point, Dio?”

"Christ's socks, am I the only one ever thinking rationally among us?" Diego said as he put a hand over his forehead. “My point is, you headfirst pillock - do you know where your family is going, if your king is actually overthrown?”

The Neapolitan cocked his head sheepishly. “Well, I mean... Yes, we have always been prepared just in case something like this happened. But I didn’t think it would actually happen, you know? Shit, I’d love a newspaper that covers anything else besides the States...”

“You’ll get to hear it from the horse’s mouth in a little while, if there’s actually anything to happen,” Diego retorted calmly. “Listen. If you know where your folks are going, then you know where to find them once you set foot on land.”

“But the money? It looks like I have especially helped the king to run!”

“Good Heavens, man, get a grip,” the British exploded, determining even Johnny to stop his chewing. He was already on his second sausage roll. “You aren’t even certain that there is a political overturn, nor if your king is going anywhere. He might get shot, for all we know. Gyro, you are literally thousands of miles away from your country and can do precious nothing from here, even if anything were to happen! And the money I gave you has yet to be retrieved by your officials. I've transferred my money to an account opened under your name, as I’ve promised to do, and the transaction has just finalised. The conditions on this secondary deposit are written specifically so that only you can withdraw the sum deposited to offer it to your monarch, exactly as you would have done had you won the race. Your charity-case boy is safe, and so are the fifty millions.”

Johnny whistled. “Huh, Dio. You sure take a lot of caution when it comes to the dough.”

“Of course I do, who do you take me for?” Dio shook his head. “In the meantime, you can visit your family in their refuge and see what’s to be done. Only then, you will have two big scenarios. First one, nothing happens, you give the bail money to your king and all is well. Second. Worst comes to pass? If your father is indeed such an honourable and reliable man as you’ve made him out to be, he will protect your mother and siblings until you arrive to Italy or wherever they are.”

“Here's the thing, Dio,” Johnny pointed out, resuming his attack on the breakfast. “You should really start working on the way you reveal your reasoning, 'cause you always sound like a pretentious bastard when you're speaking.”

“No one said I wasn’t a pretentious bastard, so get off my case, you uncultivated Yankee,” Diego riposted, putting his hands on his thin waist. “And, for Pete's sake, Jonathan - did you even leave anything for Gyro to eat?”

“What the hell, stop pestering me with that! He bought a shit-ton of puffs, anyway!” Johnny pouted. “And I’m hungry!”

Gyro began chortling and captured the two jockeys – one sitting on the bed, another standing up in front of him - in a tight embrace. Still laughing, he repeatedly kissed their foreheads loudly and wetly.

“Nyo-ho-ho, leave it to you two to lift up my spirits in spite of anything! My boys are the best!”

“Eww, Gyro, you’re disgusting! Stop that!” Johnny screeched, almost choking on the chocolate pastry that had just fallen prey to him.

Diego groaned, mortified as he nearly landed face-first on the floor when Gyro pulled him. “Ugh, sod off!”

XXXXX

It turned out that Diego was right – Gyro actually had nothing else to do but contemplate the time. He was too far away from home to be of any use there.

The young doctor could only wish that his father knew what to do to ensure their family’s safety.

That particular musing brought a simper to his face.

What was he even thinking - old Gregorio was tougher than nails and a famously resilient man. Nothing could possibly take him down. His family was everything to him. And if his judgement ever failed, his wife, Rosa, could always keep a cool head when the situation dictated. They would be fine, no matter what.

All that Gyro could do, from a hotel bed in New York City, thousands of miles away from the old continent – as Diego so tactfully pointed out - was to hope and pray that no harm would come to his loved ones. Because, as much as they exasperated and exhausted him, he loved his family.

He sighed.

A warm hand crept up over his chest. “Are you alright, Gyro?” Johnny whispered to him.

“Certo, caro.”

“Are you really ‘cer-toh’ about that?”

The Italian giggled at his friend’s horrendous accent. “Absolutely, totally and irrevocably certo, tesoro. But I wonder what’s taking Dio so long. He went out over an hour ago, and now it’s almost midnight.”

“Mmm,” Johnny hummed. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Dio,” he said, running his fingers over Gyro’s bare torso. He trailed a painted nail over the pink scar tissue that adorned the strong chest of his lover. “He’s a big boy, he can handle himself,” he purred and placed a tender kiss over a tanned pectoral, his plump lips leaving a blue smudge of lipstick behind. “To be frank, I’m more concerned for the people he encounters. That lunatic's a menace to public safety.”

Moving his hand over the other breast, he tangled his fingers in the light, coarse hair that was peppered over that sun-kissed skin that he so much adored. Gently, he poked at the teeth marks that surrounded the dusky, perked up nipple. “And if needs be, he knows how to bite.”

Gyro chuckled from deep within his chest, the sound reverberating under Johnny’s lush lips. “He sure does.” Gently, he slid his thumb over Johnny's shoulder, right where it was jutting out from underneath his loose shirt, where a set of crescent moons was decorating the skin. "And has nails like razors."

"Freaking lizard claws," Johnny mumbled, his eartips getting red.

Smiling fondly, Gyro moved his head to look at the smaller American. “I’m so glad I have you. The both of you. Thank you for going along with everything. I mean... Oh, how to say it..." He swallowed awkwardly. "Johnny... It's just... you two make me so happy, caro. I can't even put it into words and do it justice, but I feel it deep within my heart. You know?”

Johnny smiled and his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Ah, Gyro, if you become anymore of a sap, it'll be you who's gonna get decorated for Christmas," he jested lightly. He propped himself up on his elbows and pressed his lips above Gyro’s, who opened his with a contented sigh. His mouth was invaded by a prodding tongue, languidly trailing over his ornate teeth.

Breaking the kiss with a wet sound, Johnny looked at him from underneath long, pale lashes. “Mmm, and I ain't going along with anything I don't wanna, ya know? Don't get me wrong, sugar, I know you are glad for having us. And I’m properly glad, too. Even for his Majesty... S'ppose you were right, he ain't that much of a jackass when he doesn't wanna be a thorn. He can be real decent. Bit of a sweetheart, if he wanna be. I mean-" He scrunched up his rapidly reddening nose. Gyro was watching him with a shit-eating grin, and that's when Johnny knew he was going to die from the embarrassment induced by his own stupid mouth before anything else killed him. "Uh, yeah, now he's sure takin' his time buying some booze. So, yeah, he's an asshole. Yeah.”

As if on cue, a key was pushed and rotated inside the keyhole, and Diego entered with a frown. He locked the door behind him. “Marvellous work, you two! Extraordinary!” he scolded them. “I have to navigate half the city to get us something passable to drink, and you can’t even bloody air out the room, like I’ve asked you to do! Two pigs, that’s what you are! Goodness Gracious, I'm surrounded by animals!” He scrunched up his nose with emphasis as he put a suspiciously sizeable bag full of clinking bottles on the nightstand.

“Har, har, cry me a river, you fucking princess! We did air out, but it’s gotten cold and closed the window,” Johnny replied bitingly and lifted from his position on top of Gyro’s chest. He sat up at the edge of the bed, lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose to give himself a reason to be as red as he was. “And you could have literally walked down the stairs, went to the hotel’s bar, took whatever alcohol they had, and returned. That’s exactly ten minutes, if you walked backwards.”

“And bring back some cheap liquor? No, thank you. That's just beastly. I’ve endured enough during the ruddy Steel Ball Run race not to put absolutely everything into my mouth.”

A pale brow lifted high on Johnny's bare forehead. "Are y'all sure about that, Dio?"

"Pah!"

Gyro snorted. “Va bene, his Majesty has returned,” he said mirthfully.

“Shh, watch that mouth of yours, Zeppeli,” Diego warned him as he kicked his boots next to the other pairs, right next to the front door. “Out of all of us, I alone have a title. So, hush, unless it's some verbal deference to me.”

“Wait, what? You have a title?” Johnny perked up. “How the hell did you even get one? My family is from the old nobility, and I have a pat on the back to my name. And a kick up the ass, if I try a bit harder.”

“Indeed you don’t, but I, Dio, became the protégé of a watery-eyed Lord with blood connections and pigeon shit for brains, and I married well. So, hush, there, Jojo. Respect your betters.”

“Psh!”

“That explains the attitude,” Gyro commented.

Swinging his hips lightly, as he always did when he walked, Diego went to retrieve some glasses from the table under the vanity. He bent slightly as he selected the needed vessels, picking three gleaming glasses between his long, fine fingers. He walked on the tips of his toes, no longer hiding his peculiarity, and placed one foot in front of the other as he made his slow and sensuous advance to the discarded paper bag.

He chose a bottle of wine from the assortment that he had brought. He twirled his fingers slowly, and a cork-opener suddenly appeared in his hands. From the moment he had realised that he could pause time with the help of the World, Diego had been testing the abilities of his newest Stand. It was in times like this, when he had a room watching his every quirk of the brow and quiver of his thighs, that he revelled in his skills.

So, like a magician, he used the opener that he had fetched during the Time Stop to open the bottle, and poured it equally in the three glasses.

“Slander! I’m merely having my rightful place acknowledged,” he said sultrily, and offered each of his partners a glass.

Johnny pursed his lips with a baffled expression. “You know what, Dio? Bullshit sure suits you,” he said and lifted his glass. “You, Diego Brando, are the whole fanfare.”

“Hmm,” Gyro hummed lowly. “But he does sing beautifully, doesn’t he,” he affirmed and, too, lifted his glass. “To your vanity!”

“And to my entranced audience,” Dio countered, clinking his glass to theirs and bringing it to his lips. Maintaining hard, intense visual contact with the Italian who was reclining on the bed, with his glass of red wine against his opened lips, he took a singular sip. The dark liquid stained his full, wet lips, and his sharp fangs gleamed from underneath them.

Johnny watched his former rival with dilating pupils. Diego’s sharp gaze shifted to his, and the American downed his glass in one go.

“Mmm, that’s the Jojo I know,” Diego murmured. “Brash.” He swallowed some more wine, his strong throat undulating slowly. “And headstrong.” He threw one muscular leg over Johnny’s lap. “So... cocky.” He straddled his lap. “So very scrumptious,” he whispered and captured his old rival’s lips in a sensual kiss, carefully angling their jaws so that their other partner, who was attentively observing their every breath, could see them perfectly.

Dio pushed his chest forward and grinded his bottom over the American’s crotch, just as he pressed his tongue inside his enthralled mouth. By their side, Gyro inhaled sharply, watching the long, slick muscle poking Johnny’s cheek from the inside of his mouth, making a clear show of how he was exploring him from within.

Having already carelessly discarded his glass on the nightstand, Johnny groaned and trapped Diego’s golden tresses within his fist. He forced his head sideways and pushed his tongue deeper into his widely-opened mouth, their teeth clicking together. The jockey on top of his lap jutted his voluptuous hips forward and moaned splendidly.

The kiss broke and they parted with drool dripping at the corners of their mouths. Their pupils were blown up, the blue of their irises barely visible in the dim light of the room. At unison, their gazes were fixed on the mesmerised face of their foreign partner.

Gyro could only stare at the flushed cheeks of the two hurricanes that had invaded his life. Sometimes, he felt like they had sprouted from the darkest corners of his imagination, given how perfect they were for him.

“Caspita,” he mumbled and extended his hands, tracing his fingers against Diego’s thin, pale cheek. “Oh, Dio Aiutame,” he breathed as he stroked Johnny’s round, freckled cheek with the other hand. Both males pressed their respective cheeks in his palms, their warmth permeating into his skin. “Voi siete perfetti per me,” he told them, his unflinching eyes pouring his soul out through them. “Almost as if you were made for me and I, to be mesmerized by you,” he whispered as if he was revealing the greatest secret, his vision ablaze.

“Mmm, but I believe we were, my silly little Gyro,” Dio muttered teasingly against the fingertips that slowly found their way over his parted lips. Under him, Johnny’s hips bucked up. “Weren’t we, Jojo, dear? Oh, we were.”

Johnny’s hand in his hair tightened, and his straining erection pressed harder into his inner thigh.

Undulating his hips with emphasis, Diego caught Gyro’s fingers in his mouth, and suckled them suggestively, his eyes drooping with delight.

Suddenly, another hand grabbed him by the hair, and he let himself be dragged higher on Johnny’s body, who grasped one of his buttocks and squeezed it hard, departing it slightly from its counter pair. Gyro’s clenched fist in his hair jerked him closer to himself and captured his lips in a veracious kiss. Diego's exploring tongue immediately jutted out, making out the words on Zeppeli’s garish teeth, and he groaned headily, his belly igniting further with unearthly desire.

Dio barely registered when those tantalising lips left his, and long, precise fingers made their way back inside the wet and hot cavern of his mouth. Although hazily, he skipped no beat in resuming sucking on them like they were the best treat.

A hand urged him to discard his turtleneck jumper, his golden wavy hair cascading around his pale face and over his muscular shoulders like a halo. He lost his breeches and underwear somewhere along the way, leaving him as naked as the Creator had made him.

Like a snake, Diego crawled back over the clothed form of his American lover, who was now laying on his back and holding possessively onto his round, generous bottom, and hoisted himself over his waist how he rode his horse. He pressed his bare ass onto the hard cock that was waiting and weeping under star-patterned trousers, and sinuously flexed his abdomen so his face was levelled with Gyro’s crotch.

The fingers inside his mouth pushed forward, nearly choking him, and he felt tipsy without having drunk more than a few sips of wine. The hand retracted, and his mouth was left aghast, devoid of any occupation.

Chuckling at Diego’s heavy eyes, Johnny opened Gyro’s tacky buckle belt with one hand. “Ain’t you a sight, sunshine,” he told to his former rival, who twisted to inhale the herbal smell of his hair. “You’d better make yourself useful, Dio,” he instructed and patted Diego’s supple cheek.

Diego’s smile turned predatory, his blue eyes gaining speckles of gold. Swatting Johnny’s hand away and urging it to return to his hips, he pushed his hand inside Gyro’s opened trousers and groped him veraciously. He assessed the scorching length that remained hidden under the heavy fabric and wrapped his spidery fingers around it, bringing it to out to light.

Inside his mouth, his tongue became longer and larger at the sight of the thick cock that leaked copiously in front of him, his whorish demeanour not failing to entice the owner. The pointy tip of his tongue extended through his parted fangs and allowed himself a sample of the viscous liquid that was accumulating over the spongy, angry red tip. The animal in his bloodstream thrummed viciously, demanding to take all that was his, and he licked the underside of the agonising dick that jolted at his touch.

His insides coiled with desire and he could take it no longer, for he opened his mouth widely and swallowed around the sizeable length, inch by torturous inch, until the head butted into the back of his throat. Nothing could ever sate Diego’s lust for having everything, and so, he kept on greedily pressing more of it into his mouth, until he couldn’t breathe anymore, and yet, it was not enough.

His eyes shut tightly and tears of mind-numbing pleasure gathered under his lashes. Unrelenting hands clenched over his asscheeks and parted them, and he pushed the entirety of that wonderful cock inside his mouth, fully blocking his airway.

Diego’s head was reeling with the lack of air, but he refused to let go. His throat contracted spasmodically and his belly tightened, his own erection arching with strain against his abdomen.

A forceful hand grabbed his hair and pulled him away from his phallic treat, leaving his reddened lips gasping for air to claim his depleted lungs. He blinked slowly, his lazy gaze basking in the hungry looks that the two other men were awarding him with for his dizzying performance.

Gyro extended a caring hand to his face and wiped the tears away from his eyes. “Che stupendo.”

Dio grinned, and the corners of his lips slightly cracked and curled up. He pressed harder into Johnny’s demanding palms over his bottom. “Oh, I know I am,” he admitted, his voice as sweet as sin. "But I do like to be reminded, lest I forget."

However, it was not Gyro who broke the moment, but Johnny, who once again twisted a demanding hand in his dishevelled golden mane and pressed his head back to the Italian’s forgotten cock.

Johnny spat into his free hand and brought it to the space between Diego’s buttocks, parting them forcefully.

The monster under Dio’s skin was elated with the rough handling that would have cost any lesser humans their necks, and he began sucking on Gyro’s dick like he wanted to detach it and claim it for himself forever.

Two calloused fingers were pushed inside his ass, and he struggled to part his legs more in his awkward position. He bobbed his head and sucked mightily on the cock in his mouth, saliva and seminal fluids flowing freely between his parted lips. His cheeks gained deeper indentations and his colourful tail surfaced with an excited swish in the air, just in time for wet fingers to begin thrusting relentlessly inside him and hitting his prostate with a force bordering on cruelty.

Brando grabbed onto Gyro’s opened trousers and slid them lower, a motion that earned him a third finger inside his quivering ass. Over the sound of his blood pumping inside his ears, Diego could barely hear the melody of moans and groans being sung to his praise or the wet sounds of the kisses his partners exchanged between them. He couldn’t even open his eyes, so filled was his mind with the intense need for taking everything he was being offered and some more. He craved for that musky scent to wash all over him, for the desperation and hedonism surrounding him.

He pulled the Italian’s pants all the way down to his ankles and threw them away, the buckle clinking against the floor. There were now four fingers inside him and they began pumping inside him faster, and his own neglected cock jolted and his testes clenched with fullness.

He wanted everything, all at once. His hips impaled his clenching canal harder onto the fingers that were still pushing against his prostate. He grabbed Gyro from behind the knees and parted his long legs, and the doctor gasped in surprise and cursed loudly. Emboldened, Diego let go of his cock with a wet splat, and his long tongue lolled out to have a taste of the shy hole that was revealed between the hips that he had spread, underneath the balls he kissed tenderly. He lapped ravenously at the reddening rim and bit with sharp, dangerous teeth onto the firm butt cheeks, and his tongue delved inside the velvety heat that was unveiled.

Gyro let out a cry of ecstasy, and Johnny’s nails in Diego’s scalp urged him to lick their lover better and deeper as he abused his insides with his hooked fingers. One of Dio’s hands sneaked underneath him and into Johnny’s pants, and began twisting his wrist over the trapped cock with as much enthusiasm as he could produce in such a tight grip.

Soon, Diego’s tongue was accompanied by two of his fingers, and he widened Gyro’s welcoming hole with ease, the Italian having relaxed beautifully under his ministrations.

“That’s it, Dio,” Gyro encouraged him, his voice strained.

Diego thought he might start purring like a cat, but his ass was slapped suddenly, and he yelped.

Johnny grabbed the root of his tail and pulled him away from Gyro. He smacked his buttocks again, harder, and Diego moaned wetly, almost sobbing with lust.

“Ngh, Jojo,” he groaned.

“Shut up, Diego,” Johnny told him and grabbed his bottom in a steely grip. “Be a doll and spread Gyro’s legs wider,” he muttered, his voice dark and heady.

“Nyo-ho! Yes, please,” Gyro chuckled, enjoying their antics. Two sets of blue eyes fixated on him, and his lips parted in a suggestive grin.

Diego pouted, feigning being clueless to the reason of the obvious demand. “Oh, Jojo! To do... ah, what?”

“To pound his ass into the next week." He smacked Diego's backside again. "Get a hold on his hair and mount him like a stallion would mount its mare,” Johnny instructed explicitly with another lash over his bottom that set Diego’s head spiralling with need and Gyro’s throat grunting at the prospect of being pounded into. “Put him on his hands and knees. Fuck him till he can’t move anymore, heard me, sunshine?”

“F-fuck,” Diego whined, his gleaming, pale complexion having turned a healthy shade of red. His cock jumped eagerly, leaking over Johnny’s trousers.

The American jockey pushed him aside and towards Gyro, who was intently watching the heated scene unfolding and lazily pulling at his aching cock. Johnny discarded his shirt and shook his blue pants away. With a bit of manoeuvring, he kneeled behind Diego, who was just grabbing Gyro’s calves in a daze.

Brando’s hands under Gyro’s hips were joined by Johnny’s, who spread his pink hole between two fingers. “Just look at him gaping, Dio. Insatiable.” His slurred words tumbled like molten lava. "Makin' such an adorable face when he knows it's true... no, it'd be a pity to flip him over. I wanna see that pretty mug lost in bliss. Don't you want that, too, Dio?"

“Ah... You must be reading my mind, my dear Jojo. I say, what a dish, indeed,” Diego chanted along. “Blushing like a little choir boy, just waiting to be filled up, so gorgeous,” he countered, his voice distant and otherworldly due to his half transformation. “Am I right, Gyro?”

The Italian chuckled thickly, feeling his cheeks heating up, and ran a hand through his long, tangled honey locks. “Allora! If we're all in such marvellous agreement, then what are you waiting for?”

As prompted, Diego crawled over him like a predator, claiming his grinning lips in a searing kiss, while pushing his long-suffering dick inside the scorching heat of his Italian lover, who welcomed the burning sensation keenly.

Wickedly, the British man’s tail lifted in invitation as his erection finally bottomed out inside the pulsing canal he was occupying so snugly. Johnny laughed from behind him, and grabbed the root of his tail. “Ain’t you willing like a bitch in heat, Dio.”

“Better put him into his place, tesoro,” Gyro quipped, and Diego’s predatory eyes rolled with overwhelming lust. “Plough him like a field, isn’t that the American saying?”

“Oh, yes, do!”

Without much preamble, his ass was spread opened and the taut hardness penetrated him, making his head twist at an unnatural angle from the sensation of being filled and having his cock buried in such maddening heat.

Like one, as if their movements had been practised a thousand times before, they rolled their hips together – Johnny pushing himself into Diego from behind, and Diego following the precise rocking motion as he shoved himself brutally into Gyro, who bucked up to meet each thrust. Their thighs undulated with the rapacity that only one who had ridden a horse in a sprint competition could hope to achieve. But Johnny and Diego hadn’t just competed as jockeys, they had the art in their blood.

Their pace was hard, brutal, raw, and their breaths were wild and loud, groans spilling freely from their lips. And Gyro, who had lived his entire life by the ear and rebelled against nature itself, threw himself head-first into the onslaught of the two near-beasts, getting swept by their insane pacing that, coming from them, felt almost loving.

Deep mewls escaped his throat as Gyro mounted both of his legs over Diego’s shoulders, the angle in which the Englishman penetrated him allowing him to prod even deeper within him. Mind emptied of any logic, he cried curses in Italian and begged his partner to fuck him harder.

Diego was having a feast on the swirling sensations that were tingling all over his body, his tail twitching and his ass clamping greedily around Johnny, who got fully invested in thrusting so hard in the quivering ass in front of him that he was making the headboard rattle against the wall.

Their tangled limbs were feeling each other indiscriminately, their mouths travelled any expanse of skin that they could reach. Diego barely held himself on all fours as he assaulted Gyro’s chest with his teeth, leaving fresh marks on the tanned skin. He inhaled deeply, capturing the virile scents of his lovers. The Italian clenched harder around his length, and Johnny’s thundering thighs began to tremble with exertion as he pushed himself even further down his limits.

Ultimately, the heaven that they had created between them erupted like a volcano, and they were overwhelmed by white, blinding ecstasy, reaching the highest peaks of completion together, panting like racing horses.

Johnny grabbed Diego by the hair and pulled him to his chest, forcing him back just in time for Gyro to curl his toes in bone-rattling pleasure, cum spurting from his cock and all over his front. Spearing the body on his lap once more, Johnny let himself loose and ejaculated hotly between Diego’s clamping buttocks with a breathy groan. Ruthlessly, he ran a finger though the seed cooling over Zeppeli’s abdomen, and pushed it inside Dio’s awaiting mouth, who licked the digit clean as if he was starving.

With another stuttering jolt of his hips into the warm body in front of his, he too came with his eyes closed in bliss.

Johnny let Diego’s golden strands loose, and together they collapsed over Gyro’s body, who threw his inviting arms around them in a sweaty embrace. “Nyo-ho,” he laughed merrily. “That’s my bucking broncos.” He lifted his head from the pillow and looked over Diego’s shoulder at Johnny. “That’s the right idiom, right?”

 “Yeah, you idiot.”

“Nee-hoho,” Diego imitated the neighing of the horses, lost inside his own world. He rubbed his cheek against Gyro’s heaving chest. “And to think that getting you two into a rutting spree only took me walking aimlessly for nearly two hours to find some alcohol that you didn’t even drink. Splendid. I applaud myself.”

“Hey, I drank a glass,” Johnny made, poking the back of Diego’s neck with his nose.

“And I bought eight bottles.”

“Eight?” Gyro rasped. His throat was very dry, and he coughed slightly. “Why in the world so many?”

Diego patted his thigh enthusiastically. His eyes were filled with impishness. “Because, gentlemen, we --- are getting smashed. Having a bit of a bender. I haven’t frozen my arse out for nothing!”

Johnny huffed and groped his reddened bottom. “Nah, that's bull! Sure didn’t seem that cold to me!”

XXXXX

The day of their departure from the United States of America eventually arrived.

Lucy Steel and her husband accompanied Gyro, Johnny and Diego to the docks. Her big eyes were filled with tears at watching her saviours leaving, and she hugged Johnny and Gyro with as much force as her small arms could muster – which was a lot more than either of them imagined. The Neapolitan kissed her cheeks like it was customary in his country, and she giggled wetly as she reciprocated the sweet gesture. Mr. Steel shook their hands, gratitude – and perhaps a tinge of relief at seeing them go - written over his wrinkled face. They made promises to write to each other and speak of their future adventures, and much to their collective joy - they actually did so.

Diego awkwardly stood aside, idly watching the touching goodbyes with one of his more pleasantly neutral grimaces. He was caught by surprise by Lucy’s sudden embrace, but he returned it kindly, although far more rigidly than her. He tilted his head at her husband and shook his hand curtly and politely.

Johnny and Gyro waved their hands enthusiastically once they were onboard, and Lucy shouted at them to have a safe trip and to send them a telegram once they arrived to their destination.

Far more reserved, knowing that he wasn’t the subject of the teary farewells, Diego descended to check on their horses on the lower deck. He made sure that they were well secured in their pens, and went to search for his cabin.

When he had bought their tickets, Johnny had tried to find three cabins that were one next to the other, but he had only found two that were on the same floor, with a few other rooms between them. The third, which Diego had half-heartedly picked for himself, was on another level.

The Englishman rummaged through his carefully packed bags and extracted one of the books he had purchased for the journey back. He sat down on the fairly comfortable bed, as Mr. Steel had insisted that he wanted to pay for first class tickets for all of them – not that Diego wouldn’t have gladly pulled out money from his own pockets to cover the extra expenses for the upgraded accommodations.

A sharp knocking came from the door, and he went to open it.

“I hope you don’t intend to hide inside for the entire duration of the trip,” Gyro reprimanded him.

“Oops, seems like I've been caught redhanded,” Diego chortled. “That is precisely what I was planning to do. But only if I get you to hide inside with me.”

“Nyo-ho-ho, monellacio,” the Italian provoked him, and pushed the Englishman behind the door. He kissed him deeply, and Diego ran his tongue over his ornate teeth.

Placing his index finger on Diego’s forehead, Gyro pushed him away. “As much as that sounds lovely, we should see what Johnny’s getting up to on the deck. He’s very excited to be on such a big ship after so long.”

Placing a quick peck against his nose, Diego nodded his agreement. “I can only imagine it. Let’s go find him, so that we can hide together.”

Gyro chuckled and opened the door for him. “Don’t I love your way of thinking, bello.”

XXXXX

Being a Transatlantic passenger boat, the ship’s crossing took a little over a week.

Both Gyro and Diego having been on such journeys beforehand, they weren’t overly astounded by the trip. But to Johnny, who had only ever been on a boat when he had been an infant, when his family had temporarily located to England, and then when he and his widowed father had returned to Kentucky – an occurrence when he had been confined to his windowless cabin, and had seen absolutely nothing of the ocean – the entire sailing had been encompassed by awe.

He spent most of his time upstairs, on the large upper deck, gaping at the endless blue surrounding them. He watched the seagulls flying around the ship with wonder, looked with eyes as huge as saucers at the dolphins jumping from the dark waters. For once, he had pulled his knitted cap from over his head and allowed the strong, salty wind to blow through his platinum blonde hair. The initial astonishment on his freckled face soon turned into an easy-going smile, his eyes rounded with exhilaration.

Johnny wondered if he had ever smiled so much in his entire life, and, looking at the two fair haired men who were amiably reading on the reclining seats by his side, he realised the answer.

He had never been happier in his entire life.

Both Gyro and Diego spent most of their time with him in the open air. Gyro, who was used to basking in the sun all day long, wasn’t bothered by the clear sky, his already olive skin gaining more tan. However, being as pale as a beacon, Diego grumbled whenever there was too much light outside and applied over his wind-caressed porcelain skin layer upon layer of the cream that Gyro had prepared for him so he wouldn’t get sunburnt – but he still kept them company from underneath the cover of a particularly dark umbrella.

They pretty much lived on the deck for the few days of the crossing, only returning inside to grab something to eat and spend some blissful time together in each other's arms, canoodling in one of their cabins, away from any prying eyes.

Fondly, Gyro reasoned that they could have very well paid for only one room, given how they haven’t slept alone even for a night. Even their horses seemed to refuse to spend time away from each other, as they kept their long necks out of their pens to sniff each other comfortingly.

What a strange thing they had going on between them, he pondered lovingly as he watched the scenery.

The French ground was right ahead of them, the bustling port surfacing from the ocean line.

Although beautiful, that sight made him ill at ease.

How on Earth were they going to keep whatever they had built together in the past few months, now that they were approaching the land on the other side of the Atlantic?

Disrupting his thoughts, Diego’s leather boots clinked elegantly against the metallic floor. He put a slender hand on his wind-cooled bicep. “I hope that your French isn’t as rusty as mine,” he said matter-of-factly.

“If your French is as good as your Italian, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gyro replied. The Englishman was ever the surprise. Their late night conversations in Italian had been a real comfort to the homesick Neapolitan.

“It is, and I'll admit that I'm quite fond of the mellow 'r's, but I haven’t spoken it in a while. Although I’ve been reading in French quite a lot lately,” he commented. “We’ll have to translate a little for Johnny, though. He’ll sulk during the entire trip if he doesn’t understand what it’s being said when we’re asking for directions.”

“Between you and me, Dio, I think we’ll manage.”

“Oh, certainly. I’m not worried about that. And nor are you, my dear,” Diego countered. “You are worried about what you’ll find out once you’re reunited with your family. No need to tell me I’m right, of course.”

Gyro’s grimace turned grim. During their second day of journey, they had received a short telegraph note from Hot Pants about the news of the fall of the Kingdom of Naples and its annexation to the greater Kingdom of Italy.

He could only guess what it actually meant for his family. He needed to assess the situation once he had all the facts, as at the moment, he knew precious little.

HP hadn’t relayed any new messages after the note, nor had his parents. He had no idea what was going on at home, but he didn’t think they could return too soon to their old residence.

All he could do was hope that Gregorio waited for him at their ‘vacation place’, which was in fact a house built on the bank of the Leman, the lake that traversed the Swiss city of Geneva, where Gregorio’s youngest sister, Francesca, lived with her husband and triplet daughters.

Gyro fondly remembered the mess of his aunt’s departure for Switzerland. He had been a child back then, but he remembered the event clearly, as Aunt Francesca was his absolute favourite among his many relatives. She was the youngest of his father’s siblings, and was supposed to marry some heavily-selected Neapolitan from a very good family that the Zeppelis seemed to favour. Petulantly, Aunt Francesca had rebuked the idea of being forced into anything, and fled her country in the middle of the night.

She’d returned less than a year later with an exuberant Swiss law student at her toes and a huge pregnant belly, and Gyro still berated himself for not having a camera to immortalise Gregorio’s appalled face. She had brought her now-husband to get married in Naples, but only after she had made sure that she had brought alongside another sparkle to add to her brother’s already too long list of familial shocks.

Always the daredevil, Gyro liked reminding old Gregorio about dear Aunt Francesca whenever his father was complaining about him, pointing out that he did have someone to resemble from the family, no matter how much Father bashed him about being too sentimental or brash and wondering whom he was taking after.

But Aunt Francesca was nothing compared to the rest of the family’s records.

He had plenty of other examples. Uncle Geronimo, Gregorio’s second cousin, and his three wives - mind it, at the same time... And Great-Aunt Lucia and the suspicion of having poisoned her husband – thankfully, he had survived, much to his wife’s chagrin - and Cousin Lorenzo’s four bastards... Oh yes, the ever so respectable Zeppeli family.

And definitely not to forget mentioning some very notable examples from Rosa’s - Gyro’s mother – side of the family! Oh, Mother’s darker side of the family – of which they didn’t talk, but all knew about – was abundant of scandals and intrigues. Rosa’s own older sister was responsible for breaking at least three marriages, and one was of a Spanish Duke.

How very ironic that the stern Gregorio fled to wait out the repercussions of the Neapolitan revolution in his not-so-respectable sister’s home.

But the splendid cases of Aunt Francesca and Uncle Geronimo did give Gyro a few ideas how to lay out the news of his relationship with Johnny and Diego.

Naturally, he could just say that they were travelling together after the race because he wanted to show Johnny a bit of the West European countries – he had already told his parents about his good friend from the Steel Ball Run. If his mother didn't already adore Johnny after the many letters where praises to his impeccable character - Gyro's words, certainly not Johnny's - were poured generously, then she had no heart.

However, he had painted Diego through his letters as some sort of seedy, extremely questionable and petty stuck-up whose horse he had almost crippled, and that hardly made for some loving introduction. The description was not all that off from the original specimen, as Diego had his marvellous moments when he wanted to make himself an absolute nuisance and did it with a nonchalant grin, but what was Diego if not versatile - whenever he felt like it.

Maybe the correct word was unpredictable, but eh. Semantics.

Diego’s matter was indeed a bit trickier. Perhaps Gyro needed to make up some plausible lie regarding how they suddenly got along.

Heh. More than gotten along. His back was still aching pleasantly from how well they got along.

Jokes aside, he didn’t want to keep either of them hidden away like some dirty secrets. Not after all they had gone through. Not when he desired so much to spend more time with them, for as long as he could.

He had grown too fond of Johnny and Diego just to discard them like some meaningless flings. They were far too important to him.

His parents were going to flip out. Especially his father. His first born son, therefore their family's heir, showing up after a year abroad only to have discovered his fancy for two men. How scandalous, but it somehow sounded like the very thing that Gyro would do.

Father was going to spontaneously combust when he found out.

Turning his head to look at the Englishman’s pale complexion, with his twinkling blue eyes and golden curly hair, Gyro could only pray that Gregorio wouldn’t have a heart-attack at his oldest son’s newest indiscretion. That was because he longed, deep down, for said imprudence to turn into a permanent arrangement.

He wondered if he was the only one of them who wished so, or if his partners were sharing his desires.

“Ha-ha, very funny, Dio. You could say so,” Gyro admitted to Diego’s hunch. “But I’ll think about what’s to be done once I see them. I’ll follow your advice and take things one step at a time, because... Well. I don't know what else to do.”

“I knew you’d eventually listen to reason.” He leaned against the railing. “So, my dear - where are we headed next, after we leave Calais?”

“Nyo-ho, aren’t you curious like a cat? It’s a surprise, pecorino,” Gyro responded with a smile. “But let me give you a clue – we’ll take our time getting there.”

“Ah, I see,” Diego replied. “Well, then. How very splendid.”

Beneath them, waves splashed loudly as the anchor hit the water, signalling their arrival.

It was time to face the music.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five – Oh, Poor Father’s Heart

Although they had first planned to make a few stops along the French Atlantic shore, visit the capital in the heart of the country, then ride through Italy until they reached Naples, the fatidic overthrow of the Kingdom’s administration changed Gyro’s, Johnny’s and Diego’s route by quite a stretch.

From Calais, Diego could have easily taken a boat across the Channel and reached his native country, but he kept his promise of travelling with his new companions. They cut through the middle of France atop their reliable horses. Valkyrie, Slow Dancer and Silver Bullet were elated to be running together again after having been cooped up in the small stables under the ship’s deck.

They made the occasional stops along the way and tried to make the best of the journey, admiring the scenery and the cities or villages they passed through, but it was obvious – no matter how hard he tried to hide it – that Gyro’s mind was elsewhere.

Diego’s French wasn’t as rusty as he had suggested, demonstrated by the times he rented lodgings for the night or bought supplies for the road. Gyro made some conversation with the inn keepers to find out more about the situation around the border with Italy, but he mostly kept to himself or his fellow travellers. He wasn't like his usual boysterous self, his demeanour withdrawn.

Johnny was a bit frustrated with not being able to communicate with whoever they encountered, though not due to taking any enjoyment out of making idle conversation. He felt like he was missing out on something, but thankfully, Diego kept close to him and translated whenever it was necessary.

They eventually crossed the border with Switzerland and rode the short distance to Geneva in less than a day, entering the city during early afternoon. They followed the cobble-stoned roads of the city and traversed one of the bridges over the Leman Lake to get to the other side. A few more turns, and they were faced with huge flower pots framing the beautiful wood-arched front of a three-storey house that overlooked a portion of the lake’s bank.

They dismounted their horses and Gyro went to knock on the large front gate that was beneath the first floor. Soon, the door that was incorporated in the gate opened, and a man with fashionably styled black hair greeted him with an extended hand, his air very formal.

“Gyro! How great to see you again, mon cher neveu! We’ve been expecting you!” he spoke in a French that was heavily imbued with the local Germanic accent. Rigidly shaking Gyro’s hand a few more times, he broke into laughter, and soon hugged him heartily.

“Oncle Gustave! Great to see you, too!” Gyro exclaimed as he enthusiastically returned the embrace. It was a game of theirs, mocking the more rigid Swiss people compared to their far more bombastic Italian neighbours. Although Uncle Gustave wasn’t a good exponent of the Swiss, especially after having married Aunt Francesca, who was a walking ticking bomb.

Although Gustave Favre had a very successful practice as a lawyer, he was what some might call an eccentric among his peers, as he only called for their butler when he absolutely had to throw some social gathering or when he didn’t feel like answering the door. Aunt Francesca was helped by two maids who came once or twice a week to keep her house spotless, but those were about all the hired hands they had in the big house, as she was very proud of being able to take care of all the domestic inner-workings mostly by herself. Her three nearly seventeen years old daughters, the triplets of the family, were closely supervised by their mother in learning how to manage a household.

“Your aunt said only yesterday that you must have arrived in the country! You know how she has that sixth sense of hers,” Gustave told him as he let go of his nephew. “Your parents will be overjoyed. Come in, come in, dear boy, help me open the gate for your Valkyrie,” he said cheerfully.

It was only after Mr. Favre took a step back when he noticed that Gyro wasn’t alone.

“Eh, ben ça! Seems like you’ve brought some friends with you! Adieu, les gars! We do love a full house here, bienvenu chez nous!” Gustave said amicably and looked at Gyro’s companions. “Oh, oh! But I recognise your friends!”

“I hope you do! Oncle, this is Johnny Joestar, my racing partner, and there’s Diego Brando. They wanted to take a bit of a break after the race and I offered to show them around for a bit,” Gyro explained, presenting the other two men.

Diego, holding Silver Bullet’s reins in his left hand, took a confident step forward and elegantly extended his right one, having already pulled his glove off. “Bonsoir, Monsieur,” he said in his clear French. “Ça va? How do you do, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Mais non! I’ll be! The winner of the race, what an honour! Congratulations for your victory! We all followed the newspaper coverage about the race, we read about your marvellous performance,” Uncle Gustave said as he vigorously shook his hand. “Ça joue, mon gars? I’m very pleased to meet you, too!”

“Merci, vous êtes trop gentil, Monsieur,” Diego replied politely, reminding himself about the differences between the French and the Swiss dialects. “Thank you for your hospitability.”

“Et qu'avons-nous là! Gyro’s racing partner, wonderful to finally meet you! Oh, this boy here wrote us so much about you! What a comeback to the racing stage, so brilliant!” He continued, shaking Johnny’s unsuspecting hand.

“Johnny’s French isn’t exactly as world-famous as himself,” Gyro immediately commented in English, notifying his uncle that the American didn’t understand the language.

“Oh! Please, excuse me!” Uncle Gustave switched to an equally heavily-accented English as his native tongue. “How do you do, my lad! Gustave Favre, Gyro’s uncle, pleased to meet you! I was congratulating you on your superb performance in the race. Gyro wrote to us a lot about you,” he explained. “It’s great to finally meet his friends.”

Johnny’s face flushed instantly. “Thank you, um,” he mumbled, taken aback by having been mentioned in Gyro’s letters to his family. He didn’t see that one coming, though maybe he should have. “Thank you for the appreciation, Sir.”

“Nonsense, it’s well deserved! And please, both of you may call me Gustave, I’m not one for formalities. My brother-in-law’s the one you’ll have to watch out for,” he joked. “Oh, my, having the entire podium of a prestigious race under my roof! Heh, that’s lovely,” he continued as he unlocked the front gates for the horses to enter. “But come in, come in, let’s take your horses to the stables, they deserve some rest, as do you.”

“I’ll close the gates, Oncle,” Gyro offered and gave Valkyrie’s reins to Johnny, who felt like a complete idiot.

“Bien, merci!” Uncle Gustave disappeared in the house to call for the butler to prepare the stables for the three new additions, and ushered the young guests inside.

“I haven’t told them you’ve arrived yet,” he told Gyro with complicity as soon as he returned. “Rosa’s in the kitchen with Francesca, they’re having their evening coffee. Go greet them. I’ll go fetch your father from the study, my dear boy.”

Gyro squeezed his arm in thanks. He had always gotten along famously with Uncle Gustave, who had been a great support to him through all the quarrels with his father. The distance between their homes had been mere formalities as Gyro grew up, the two of them writing to each other frequently.

He turned his head to his road partners, and beckoned them to follow him. He walked them to the kitchen, already knowing where to find it.

When he entered the big kitchen, he flippantly threw his hands up in the air. “Sorpresa!”

“Dio Mio! Gyro, mio figlio!” a dark-haired woman cried out with emotion. She jolted from the chair she was sitting on and sprinted into Gyro’s outstretched arms. “Mio amato figlio, you’re back! Oh, mio bambino,” she wept, holding the much taller young man protectively around the neck.

Gyro lifted his mother in his arms and twirled her around, kissing her cheeks. “Mamma! How I missed you!”

Rosa giggled wetly and kissed his forehead, her dark eyes glinting with tears. “Not as much as I’ve missed you, my love! Oh, my dear Gyro, you’re back to us safely. I prayed so much for you! Oh, my son!”

Diego, having already dragged Johnny aside after having entered the kitchen with Gyro, carefully watched the scene unfolding. He could see from whom Gyro had inherited his expressive mannerism and his ease at getting in other people's proximity.

By his side, Johnny looked completely lost, trying to understand what was being said. “Dio,” he whispered, “what are they saying?”

The Englishman bent slightly towards his ear and began translating for him.

Chuckling, Gyro put his mother down. By her side, a brilliantly smiling honey-blonde haired woman was waiting for her turn. “E Zia Francesca! Come here, I missed you too!” he said, and his aunt dramatically fell into his arms.

“Stupido ragazzo, playing with your poor mother’s heart! She was so worried about you! I told your mother you’re coming, haven’t I, Rosa? I told you I felt it! Idiot boy, it’s good to see you!”

Gyro’s mother looked proudly at her son and rubbed his cheek when he let go of his favourite aunt. “My beautiful, dear son! Let me get your father, he’ll be so happy to see you.”

“If he manages to pull that stick out of his ass, that is,” Francesca commented about her older brother, just as the man himself was entering the kitchen with his brother-in-law. “Ah, there’s the mule of the hour! Hey, Gregorio, big news! Your prodigal son has returned!” she shouted, without meaning any harm with her words.

From the door, Gregorio regarded his oldest son with a hard, disapproving expression. He didn’t raise his voice, but his intonation was heavy. “Gyro, what took you so long? Do you even realise what you’ve put your mother through? What you've put all of us through?”

“See, Rosa? I told you,” Francesca babbled. She punched her older brother in the arm. “You pigheaded idiot! Get off your high horse and go hug that son of yours! You haven’t seen him in almost a year!”

However, Gregorio took no notice of his sister’s jabs, glowering sternly at his son.

Not one to back down, Gyro returned the look with heat, having taken an offensive stance. What betrayed his distress was the slight twitch of his fingers.

Used to the gauche manner in which the two Zeppeli males behaved around each other, Uncle Gustave motioned for his wife and sister-in-law to leave the two hard-headed men to themselves, as they had a lot to talk about. He also waved his hand for the other two guests.

In the sitting room where he took them, he urged them to take a seat.

“Now, this is too much!” Francesca exclaimed, having always made a point out of how much she disapproved of her bother’s attitude towards his first born. “I can’t believe that idiot! Rosa, you’ve got to tell Gregorio to stop acting like Gyro’s made of stone! He’s his father, not his persecutor!”

“Oh, Francesca dear, if it were so easy,” Rosa lamented. She turned her dark eyes to the two unexpected guests, her face schooling into an amicable expression. “I’m deeply sorry for having to witness that scene. Such are families, and unfortunately, the latest developments in our native country had taken their toll.” She spoke in bouncy, heavily accented English.

Aunt Francesca brusquely took notice that they had guests. “Oh? Oh!!! Rosa, Gyro brought friends with him! Now, that’s a surprise! Hey, welcome! Gustave, chéri, why didn’t you say anything about having guests?” she admonished her husband, who simply shook his head at her usual air-headedness and rubbed her hand, as if that explained everything.

“You must be Johnny,” Rosa guessed, her warm eyes almost caressing the lightly freckled face of the American jockey with how dearly she looked at him. “Gyro wrote a lot about your adventures in America. He spoke very fondly of you. I’m really glad to meet you, thank you for keeping my son company through the race and being such a good friend to him,” she continued, taking his sight in with a mother’s eye. “He sent us a photograph with the two of you from the road just a few months ago. And of course, we saw you in the newspapers. I collected all the editions about the race! But you’re even cuter in reality, isn’t he, Francesca?” The fair-haired woman nodded approvingly.

“Mhm, certo! Aren't you such a sweet bun,” Francesca replied appreciatively, as if the topic had been discussed many times before.

Johnny blushed madly. Where on earth was his usual confidence? It seemed like Gyro’s family turned his brain into mush with their overwhelming nature.

“And you must be Diego Brando, I presume?” Gyro’s mother politely nodded her head towards the Englishman, her affable gaze not betraying any surprise at seeing the young man in front of her, although she did recall her son having written all sorts of insults and accusations at his expense. However, she opted to draw her own opinion regarding the young man after actually getting to know him. “I have seen you in the newspaper. You looked very regal on the front page. Many congratulations for your victory, the last stage must have been quite a sight to witness in reality.”

“You are too kind,” Diego replied suavely, completely unaffected by the praise. “Your son, Signora Zeppeli, spoke very highly of you, it’s a pleasure to meet you. And thank you for your hospitability, Madame Favre, your husband had so graciously invited us in. Johnny and I are most grateful,” he spoke for himself and the dumbfounded American.

Francesca looked suspiciously at him, smelling his well-polished manners from a mile away. “Our pleasure, we always love guests, as you might’ve noticed. Call me Francesca, please.” She glanced at her husband, but for once didn’t make any comment.

Diego smiled charmingly at all of them, almost posing for them, but on the inside, he was seething.

What in the world had Gyro written about him?

XXXXX

In the large kitchen of the Favres, Gyro was having a staring contest with his father.

“This is the sort of welcome I get when I finally see my family?” Gyro accused. He was expecting the cold treatment, but that didn’t mean he was going to pretend to enjoy it. “I was extremely worried for all of you, for you, Padre, for Mamma, for my brothers and my sister! I had no idea about what was going on in Napoli!”

“And why do you think is that, Gyro? You should have been there with us! Not in America, racing for some lunacy!” Gregorio countered. “Are you happy now, child? Have you achieved anything besides making an absolute spectacle of yourself?”

Gyro lifted his hands up. “Dio Mio! Does it even matter anymore? Padre, you had to flee from Napoli and my reputation is what bothers you? Seriously?”

The old man shook his head. “Gyro, you stupid, sentimental child! Of course I care about your reputation! About your good name! Especially after we had to leave our country! Don’t you understand, Gyro? I want you to have a future, even if it won’t be in Napoli, or even Italy for the moment. But by racing like some goon, you’ve done nothing but stain your name and everything we had built for you.”

Gyro shook an angry finger at his father. “If that's so, then I’m glad I did race. I’m jubilating! Because I regret nothing, besides that I couldn’t return home to Napoli! But Hell, if returning home meant returning to my ancestral duties, then I don’t want any of it! All I want is for my family to be safe!”

Gregorio’s cold eyes were piercing. “You've endangered your family by going away,” he accused him. “If we hadn’t been as careful in the way we handled our attributions, who knows what would have happened to us? If we hadn’t had all the connections to know when it was time to leave! And we don’t even know for certain what it will mean for you and your siblings to have had our family’s name written all over the papers!”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now, Padre,” Gyro relented. “What’s done, is done. We’re a family and we’re going to face the consequences together, like we always have.” He looked his father pointedly in his green eyes, so similar to his own. “That is, if we are still a family.”

Old Gregorio’s eyes trembled, but the line of his brow was firmly set. “We will always be a family, Gyro, but you must understand that every action has a consequence and you can’t run from responsibility or throw fits whenever it suits you. There’s a way and an order for everything.” He shook his head, breaking the intense eye-contact. “We will continue this conversation another time. Your mother was very worried about your safety, you should go and spend some time with her.”

“And what about you, Papà? Did you even care if I was safe? Would you have given a single damn if I died?”

“Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself, Julius, it's unbecoming of you. Stop this nonsense and go to your mother,” Gregorio dismissed him and left the room without looking back.

Gyro inhaled deeply and pressed a hand over his eyes.

His head hurt.

XXXXX

As night came, the large house started to quiet down.

Gregorio had disappeared from everyone’s sight, having gone to tend to some matters with Gustave.

Gyro’s four younger siblings - Donatello, Raphael, Giotto and Lucrezia - along with his triplet cousins, had all been sent to Athens on a little vacation at one of their many spread-out relatives, until the Zeppelis figured out what to do with their education arrangements and lodgings.

That left Rosa and Francesca to pester Gyro with questions about his journey, and he gladly satisfied their curiosity. The women fussed about him and his road companions, sitting them down for dinner and giving them enough food to feed a small battalion. In turn, they relayed some stories to them.

At some point, the two sisters-in-law deemed the three young men to be tired, and effectively ushered them to go to sleep with the promise of listening to more stories during the following morning.

They were each shown to a different room, and sleep soon took them, being exhausted from the road.

Well, fatigue certainly overcame Johnny and Gyro, who both fell asleep as soon as their heads touched the pillow. Diego, who had problems with sleeping anyway, tried to finish the novel he had begun reading on the ship, feeling very lonely in his appointed bedroom.

When morning came, all of them joined in for breakfast, and Rosa made it her mission to badger the three youngsters to eat enough for ten people each.

“Dio Mio, Gyro, you’ve lost so much weight while you were away!” she egged her son, and Francesca nodded in approval.

“Nonsense, Mamma, you forgot how I looked,” Gyro insisted. “And if I did, I think some of your polpette and stuffoli will solve the matter!”

“Ma certo!” Francesca made, gesticulating with her hands. “You come back after a year and only demand for food! Bravo!” She looked at her sister-in-law. “Rosa, we’ll have to go to the market and cook more for these boys! Look how they’re withering away!”

“You are too thin! You're not sparrows, boys like you should be eating more!” Rosa scolded them as she pushed more fresh cornetti and frittate onto their plates.

For his part, Johnny definitely didn't complain about the new additions to his plate. Food was food, and both Rosa's and Francesa'a cooking was on a whole different plane of existence.

Silently, Diego sipped slowly on his cappuccino, amused by how overbearing the two women were. He ate methodically and thanked earnestly for the meal. He asked for the recipes more as an after-thought, claiming that he wanted to replicate them at home.

It was all it took for Rosa to put him in the same basket as Gyro and Johnny, effectively erasing whatever nonsense her son had written in his letters about the pale Englishman. Gyro was oftentimes throwing himself head-first into his endeavours, so his first opinions about people weren’t always the most polite.

She and Francesca welcomed them to help with preparing all sorts of Italian dishes that didn’t really fit in with the typically Swiss home. They involved their guests in the cooking, and Diego especially paid close attention to the process - going as far as sharing his own culinary knowledge, much to the women's delight. Johnny was more subdued, being an utter mess when it came to anything home-related, but he tried his best to stuff some homemade pasta without making too much of a mess.

Gyro was on a roll, content to be surrounded with the smells of his childhood. He was cheerful and laughed a lot, in turn making his mother and aunt happy with his effortless silliness and contagious mirth.

Rosa was glad to listen to her son’s laughter chiming through the kitchen after one of Diego’s particularly cheesy puns, and suppressed her giggles at the way Johnny groaned embarrassedly. They had a healthy, friendly dynamic between them, and she was absolutely taken with the boys.

She decided that she liked Gyro’s friends, even though she sensed they were hiding something. Their eyes were shifting a bit too much for her not to get some ideas.

Nightfall came again, and after washing the dishes from dinner, as it was her turn, she searched for her son, finding him in the stables. She quickly hid behind the wooden door, noticing that he wasn’t alone.

Gyro held his chin over his folded hands that were on Valkyrie’s saddle blanket, closely watching the careful plaiting of his horse’s shiny mane that was being done by Diego, who was seated on his own horse’s back, with his legs to the side.

From atop a hay stack, Johnny was mumbling while cutting some purple ribbons into smaller pieces. His horse, Slow Dancer, was attentively looking at what her rider was doing. Her hair was tied up with a multitude of blue bows.

“I don’t understand why you’d even braid a horse’s hair,” he complained, measuring another segment of the ribbon.

“Prego, Johnny, don’t be a spoilsport,” Gyro made, balancing himself from his toes to the balls of his feet. “I mean, come on! Look at how cute Dancer looks with all those little braids and bows! She’s like a cake!”

Johnny craned his neck and looked at his horse. “Yeah, yeah, she’s cute,” he admitted. “But why does she have to have so many bows? There’s at least twenty of them. Or thirty, Heaven knows!”

“Because bows are a symbol of elegance and they’re pretty,” Diego said seriously, his deep voice meaning business.

“That’s bullshit,” Johnny countered, but gave Gyro the cut pieces of fabric. “Dio, why the hell do you keep on putting bows on absolutely everything?”

The Englishman rolled his eyes and turned to peer at Johnny like one would look at an unbelievably stupid child.

“Need I really repeat myself? That’s so useless and bothersome,” he dismissed him and returned to the plaiting he was finishing. He extended his hand and Gyro handed him one of the purple ribbons he was holding, and Diego tied it into another neat bow.

“I think they’re kind of stupid,” Johnny commented. By his side, Slow Dancer huffed. He turned to glare at the mare. “Well, they’re pretty on you, girl, but they’re stupid on Dio.” She blew more air through her nostrils, just as disapprovingly. “Hey! Don’t take Dio’s side! Gyro!”

Gyro chuckled. “You tell him, Dancer!”

“See, Jojo?” Diego said, laying his torso over Silver Bullet’s powerful neck. “Even your horse has more aesthetic sense than you.”

“Pfff!”

“Don’t ‘pfff’ at me, I’m not taking that from the one who habitually wears star-patterned trousers.”

Johnny opened his mouth, then closed it. “Okay, fair enough. But you still look stupid.”

“Likewise, darling, likewise,” Diego replied amicably and admired his work on Valkyrie’s hair. “Look at you, beautiful lady! Just gorgeous, like your friend Slow Dancer,” he praised the mare and patted her neck. The horse neighed happily. “Jojo! Keep cutting the ribbons, I’m braiding Silver Bullet’s hair, too!”

“Screw you, Diego, I’m not your servant!” Johnny made exasperatedly, but began measuring up another ribbon, that time a golden one. “I hope you break your teeth on those rocks you eat!”

“Even if that came to pass,” Diego commented charmingly as he rotated on top of Silver Bullet, so he could reach his hair from the saddle, “they’d just grow back.”

“Freaking lizard!”

Gyro laughed heartily as he walked to Johnny to take the first batch of newly-cut fabric and give it to Diego. “Dio aiutame! I’ll go deaf if you keep on jabbing at each other.”

“If you haven’t gone deaf from your own snores by now, I hardly believe there’s anything that can disrupt your hearing,” Brando commented.

Johnny lifted a finger in the air. “I concur!”

Diego snorted. “Now, that’s a wonder. Jojo’s using big words now! Have you perhaps stumbled upon a dictionary on your way, dove?”

“Oh, fuck off, Dio!”

“Nyo-ho!”

Rosa withdrew from the stable door as stealthily as a thief, deciding to postpone her talk with her son for a little longer.

XXXXX

Gyro walked down the hallway with a towel loosely wrapped around his long, damp hair. He descended the stairs to the kitchen, where he found his mother kneading the dough for bread.

It was late in the night and Francesca and her husband had already retired, Gregorio was pouring over some medical book in the library, and Johnny and Diego were in their respective rooms, one most likely sleeping and the other reading. That left Gyro alone with his mother for once.

He took a leftover muffin and began munching on it, looking at the practised way his mother rolled the dough between her delicate fingers.

“Gyro, bambino, what’s on your mind?” she asked as she put the dough to rise in a bowl and covered it with a towel. She walked to the sink and cleaned her hands, then returned to the table to sit with her son. “You seem worried.”

“Mamma... I’m just thinking about what you’ll do from now on. I’m worried for you. For our family.”

“Oh, Gyro,” said Rosa and stroked his cheek. “There’s no need for you to worry about us! We’ll manage just fine. Your father has nearly finished setting up our place and we have plenty of money saved. We’ll wait out for things to quiet down in Italy, and in the meantime, your siblings will go to school with your cousins. We’ll manage, dear, you don’t need to worry for us.”

“I know, Mamma, but I can’t help it. It was my fault for bringing out our family’s name.”

“Oh, you silly dear,” his mother told him lovingly. “It’s not your fault. Your father was the royal executioner, like your grandfather and your grandfather's father before him, and so on. Our family has been in the King’s service for generations, and everyone knows that. No matter what you’d done, we wouldn’t have been able to stay in Napoli for long. And maybe, it’s for the best.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m glad I no longer have to worry about you walking in your father’s shoes.”

“Mamma...”

“But I do worry about your future, Gyro. What are going to do with your life, now that the race is over?”

Gyro looked down and sighed. “Wish I knew.”

Rosa looked at him with kind, dark eyes. Whereas Gregorio was stern with his children, she had always been there to comfort them, allowing her to learn their various expressions and what they meant. “My dear Gyro, but I think you do. You have that certain something in your eyes that makes me think you have a plan.”

He smirked as he rubbed the damp tips of his hair with the towel. “Eh, you know me too well, Mamma. But I need a little more time, to gather my thoughts.”

“Why is that, Gyro?” she asked him with a mischievous glint in her gaze. She decided she could risk making suppositions, and if they proved to be wrong, she could brush them off as silly ideas. “You're a doctor - a good doctor, I've been by your side at consultations and seen you operating. And I know you like what you do, don't you?"

"Well, yes, I do. I've always enjoyed it."

"So? You have a trade, good doctors are always needed."

"Certo."

Rosa smiled gently. "Then, what is it? Do you think that your friends will disagree with your wishes?”

Gyro folded the towel and discarded it on the kitchen table. That was a bit of a turn in their conversation. “What do you mean?”

“Please, bambino, you’re my son. I’ve raised you. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Heh,” Gyro chuckled. “I guess I’m not.”

“Speak to me, then, my dear. What’s going on between you and those two friends of yours? You didn’t bring them with you just to show them around, let’s be frank. And don’t lie to me, either. I’m never going to judge you, no matter what you say or do. I will always support you, my love. I’m your mother. No matter what, I will always be there for you, bambino.”

The young man swallowed thickly, composing himself. “Oh, Mamma, just... I-- I don’t really know, myself.”

Rosa took his hands in hers and watched him seriously. “Gyro. You can tell me. Do you have feelings for either of them?”

“I ---,” Gyro stuttered, and looked down at their joined hands. He had no idea what to reply to her question.

Or, more correctly – he didn’t want to face the reality of his answer. Because he knew very well how he felt, deep down in his heart. And he had previously decided that he wasn’t going to lie about them, though he wasn’t certain it was the right time to confess to harbouring such emotions to his family. He hadn't even discussed them with the objects of his affection.

His mother was relentless, however. “Gyro? Do you love Johnny? Or Diego? Or, maybe...,” she trailed on expectantly. “Is it both?”

“Both,” Gyro replied in a sudden burst, and he felt like a dam had broken inside of him and allowed him to breathe again. “I love them both, Mamma. I love them so much.”

He averted his eyes.

Rosa smiled at him. “Oh, my dear boy,” she told him affectionately, her face opened and accepting. Gyro looked back at his mother, and the honest look in her eyes told him everything that he needed to hear. Her words only reassured him. “I've always known you had so much love to give. This is so wonderful. Love makes the world a much better place. I can see why you love those boys. I like them very much, too. They're good for you."

Gyro bit his lip, suppressing a trembling sniffle. "They are."

"Oh, my love. I’m so happy for you.”

“Are you, Mamma?”

“Of course, bambino. But only if you’re happy, too. Are you happy, Gyro?”

Gyro brought his mother’s hands to his lips and kissed them reverently. “I am. I really am.”

XXXXX

A few days later, Gregorio returned to his sister’s home late at night.

He had gone out to make sure that everything was set accordingly to their needs in their Swiss residence. The family had purchased the home several years before, when rumours about the King’s impending fall began surfacing. As much as he had been a loyal subject, the patriarch of the family didn’t want to risk his family’s safety, not when the children were still young and needed support.

During the past few months, he had arranged to have his medical practice relocated and furnished their temporary – how temporary, only time would tell – abode, and he had sent Gyro’s younger siblings on a forced vacation abroad. His sister’s daughters were sent with them to their relatives, so that they too could enjoy a bit of a break and keep an eye on the three younger sons of the Zeppelis and company to Gregorio’s only daughter, Lucrezia. He reckoned that the change of scenery might actually do them some good, especially to little Giotto, who had inherited too much of his father's seriosity, and to Donatello, who had inherited none of it. For her part, Lucrezia could be a bit scatter-brained, much like Gregorio's sister, Francesca, but she possessed a heart of gold, having been born with a strong sense of empathy and the sort of serenity that could lighten up even the direst of situations and grimmest of outlooks. And, if needs must be, he could count on Raphael to keep his cool and bring balance to their little troop, being such a level-headed and astonishingly wise teenager.

Gregorio had planned to get everything ready for them by the time they returned, and his mission was almost complete, now that Rosa had also agreed with the schools they had chosen, being aided by Gustave who, in his capacity as a lawyer, knew a lot of people.

What kept the stern father awake at night was his oldest son, his much too impulsive and emotions driven Julius, who acted like he was on a perpetual vacation. He made no mention about what he wanted to do with his life, and Gregorio was getting at his wit’s end with that idiot man-child.

A year before, Gyro had left their home, making a huge fuss about some innocent boy that had been caught in the crossfire of the scheming adults. Gregorio had tried to reason with his son, but no, the stubborn mule had gone as far as to convince the King to allow him to compete in some riding tournament in the States for the boy’s pardon. He remembered Gyro returning home straight from his royal audience, shouting that he’s leaving for a horse race, practically neglecting his chores and duties at both the royal office and the Zeppeli clinic. At first, his father had believed that his son had been just trying to rile him up with his hystericals - nothing out of the ordinary for him - and therefore, Gyro had managed to shock them all when he'd actually packed up his bags, taken his beloved horse, Valkyrie, and crossed the Atlantic.

He had sent them frequent letters about his journey and what he had seen, about what things had happened in the race. He had told his family about the other competitors and their peculiarities, and about his newly-found best friend, Johnny Joestar. He had even sent them a photograph with the both of them – which Rosa had promptly framed and brought it with them when they had left Naples – and articles from the American newspapers in which he appeared – that Rosa had glued in a thick notebook, along with the local publications clippings she’d collected about her son’s progress in the race. Although Gregorio never mentioned it, he took great pride in his oldest son's performance. By far more opened in their affection, his younger children were vocal enough in their excitement about their brother's adventure, and wrote to Gyro as often as they could to cheer him on and show their support.

However, the Zeppelis hadn't been the only ones that Gyro had corresponded with, and Gregorio had been mortified when he'd accidentally learnt the real reason behind his son’s racing.

Collecting parts of an artefact that no one wanted to talk about.

It was then when Gregorio had begun to be genuinely terrified for Gyro’s life, but the damned boy didn’t listen to reason – he had kept on competing for months on end, wearing his father down with worry that he'd refused to share with anyone. Ever patient, Rosa had tried to support her husband and children as best as she could, and had written many encouraging missives to their oldest son.

When things had started to precipitate in the Kingdom of Naples, Gregorio had known he needed to think of his family. He'd gathered as much information as he could and, grimly, realised that they might need to flee from home. When a government fell, it was always those that were the closest to the power that took the blame, and he didn’t want that for his children.

But Gyro? He was still in the States, and they had no news from him!

They had seen his photograph on the front page, after having won the third place in the Steel Ball Run. Gregorio couldn’t help his pride at seeing his son’s triumph – and most importantly, seeing him alive. But he'd needed to come home. He had been away for too long.

Shortly after, a fellow Neapolitan pink haired woman, who introduced herself as ‘a friend of Gyro’s from the race’, had told him about what had happened in the States, and had urged Gregorio to leave the country for a while, as she'd also intended to do.

She had given the worried parents the front page of an American newspaper, along with two photographs – one that featured Gyro laughing after probably having fallen on the tiles of some nondescript corridor, where he was with two other young men, one of them leaning against him on the floor, and another picture where Gyro was, this time, accompanied by the strange Neapolitan lady, along with the same young people and an even younger girl in what appeared to be a hospital ward. Rosa readily identified the two males as Johnny and Diego, having memorised their faces from the newspapers, but the girl was a mystery. The pink haired woman had assured him and his wife that Gyro had been recuperating well after some minor injuries, but he'd needed to prolong his absence to get himself back in shape.

Gregorio was a surgeon and medical practitioner – two months in the hospital meant nowhere near minor injuries.

Only then had he written to Gyro and had urged him to come back to them. Gregorio’s youngest sister, Francesca, had insisted he took his wife and children and stayed with her family in their home for a while, at least until Gyro arrived to Switzerland.

And now, Gyro was in Geneva with them, and the boy was doing precious nothing.

“Gregorio,” Rosa whispered in the dimly lit study, where her husband was pretending to read as he contemplated his irresponsible son. “I don’t think those pages are going to offer you any answers, no matter how much you glare at them.”

The man sighed. “Oh, Rosa, if only we could find all the answers in a book.”

She smiled softly and sat on the chair across from her husband. “Even if it were so, I still don’t think ‘A Thousand Ways to Knit a Sweater’ would be the place to look.”

“Oh,” Gregorio made, looking at the first book he had found when he had sat down in the study. “Perhaps not.”

“Oh, you brooding Zeppeli men,” Rosa faked exasperation. “If you just sat and talked to each other, it would so much simpler. But no! You prefer to pretend everything is fine, and not face your problems.”

“But I do face my problems.”

“By asking said problems if they want their coffee with milk or not? That’s hardly solving anything, my dear,” Rosa pointed out, obviously referring to the issue of their oldest son. “And please, for the love of God, don’t wrinkle the book!” she said and snatched the illustrated volume from Gregorio’s worrying hands. “I want to show Johnny some patterns from it, he said he wants to learn how to knit. He’s showing a lot of promise, you see. We made such a lovely scarf today. Didn’t I tell you? He's got some very nimble fingers, and he gets so adorably shy when I compliment his work. Oh, dear, he’s such a sweet boy, I like him very much.”

“He asked you to teach him how to knit?” Gregorio asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes, he did,” the woman replied, seeing the opportunity to paint a wholesome image for her son’s friends. “We spend every afternoon together and practice, while Diego tries some recipe with Francesca. Let me tell you, dear - that boy’s very skilled in the kitchen, if only I got him to eat more of what he prepared! Oh, he’s so effortlessly charming, that Diego. Very polite and well-read, too, he's got such interesting conversation topics. You should talk to him, Gregorio, he's so fascinating. And I think our Gyro likes his jokes, you see, he laughs so hard at them! I’m so happy Gyro has such good friends,” Rosa ranted some more. “Ah, you’ve tasted Diego’s sticky pudding at dinner, haven’t you, dear? Turns out the English do have some wonderful recipes.”

Gregorio frowned, realising he had missed out on a lot of what was happening under his sister’s roof. The amount of praise his wife was paying to the two youngsters - who were not all that much older than the rest of their children - was disconcerting to say the least. “I don’t understand what’s with them, Rosa. They'd just popped up from nowhere,” he said frustratingly. “And I certainly don’t understand what our son’s doing with them. I get that he’s some sort of friend with Johnny, but wasn’t the Brando boy the one that Gyro kept on complaining that was sabotaging their race?”

“Oh, poor dear, dear,” Rosa shook her head.

“Hm? Did I miss anything? I thought Gyro had nearly crippled his horse. Hadn’t he written so?”

The wife smiled indulgently at her husband. For such an intelligent man, he was so oblivious sometimes. He and their first born were more similar than either of them thought.

“Yes, dear, but the horse is fine and they made up. Isn’t it lovely?”

Gregorio lifted his hands in mocking praise. “Bravo! Good for them! But I don’t see what it has to do with the reason why Gyro has to play the guide for either of them. He has to figure out his life, not to entertain some friends! He needs to grow up already!”

For a moment, Rosa pondered if she should shed some light over Gyro’s secret. It seemed like a good opportunity to start introducing her husband to the notion of their son's romantic partners. "Please, Gregorio, tell me you have noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“Noticed the way they look at each other!”

The Zeppeli patriarch stared at his wife as if she had sprouted a third arm out of her head. “Hm? Rosa, what are you implying?”

“Honestly, Gregorio! We have five children. Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“What?!” He gaped like a fish. “What’s this nonsense, Rosa?”

“Really, my dear, it’s not like Gyro hadn’t been chasing after all living creatures around our city.” She turned her head to glare at the man. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed at least that.”

“No, no, I have, but- what? No. No, this is preposterous! I can’t believe this!” He said and rose from his seat. “That’s it! I’ll go talk to that idiotic boy and get to the root of things.”

“Good God, Gregorio,” Rosa groaned. “What root are you going to get at, at this hour? Talk to him in the morning,” she tried to slow her husband down for a bit. It seemed that her good intentions had opened up a whole other kind of reason for Gregorio to be mad at his son – again.

“No, no! I’m not having any of this, I want to hear it from that imbecile, if there’s some sort of-of...“ Gregorio tried to find his words. “Whatever the hell is going on!”

“Oh, dear,” Rosa muttered, watching her usually composed husband storming out of the study. She had seen Gregorio in all sorts of moods, but their son had only ever seen his father with the stern and overly-serious mask he always put on.

The poor boy was in for a treat.

XXXXX

Inside Gyro’s bedroom, Johnny sighed sleepily and nuzzled his cheek into Gyro’s warm chest. He toyed with a strand of Diego’s golden hair, who in turn laid with his head on Gyro’s stomach, reading some epic poetry he had borrowed from Mr. Favre's collection. The Italian slowly stroked their soft tresses, reading his mystery novel with a little smile.

They were all resting cramped up on the bed, spending some time together before they eventually had to return to their separate rooms and retire for the night. Gyro, in one of his very rare moments of decency, had decided that it wouldn’t be polite to do anything indecent in his Aunt’s house, and the others had begrudgingly agreed.

“Now, this is nice,” Gyro spoke softly, looking at his fair haired companions.

“Hm?” Johnny hummed with his eyes closed.

“This. Us,” Gyro said gently. He laid his book aside and lovingly ran his fingers though their hair. “I like how we are, the three of us together. It feels right to me, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” the American murmured. “Yeah, I like it, too. Even if His Majesty the Lord ‘I’m too good for you peasants’ is included in the deal.”

“Har-har,” Diego retorted sarcastically. “You should be honoured by my presence. Just face it, Jojo, if I wasn't here, you’d just miss me terribly. You've said it yourself.”

“Sure, totally,” Johnny responded and put his entire palm over Diego’s face. He began patting him like he patted Slow Dancer’s muzzle. “Like one misses a rash.” He tried to stick a finger up the Brit’s nose, but Diego bit it before he managed that. “Hey! Don’t bite me!”

“Then stop being a brat, Jonathan.”

Gyro gently messed up their hairdos, completely unaffected. “I’m really glad you two came with me to meet some of my family. I appreciate it.”

Johnny rubbed his face against his chest, deciding that twirling Diego’s fringe between his fingers was far more interesting than assaulting his nose. “Gyro, you’ve got some nice folks, you know.”

“Indeed. Especially your mother,” Diego added blandly as he elegantly flipped the page.

Gyro lifted an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. Diego sometimes phrased his words strangely. “You mean my quite married mother?”

“How can anyone be quite married?” Johnny asked. “You’re either married, or not married.”

“Or divorced,” said Diego. “Or widowed.”

“Or that, yeah.”

“Hey, leave my mother out of it! Especially you, Diego,” Gyro told him.

Diego scoffed. “That’s utterly unfair, Zeppeli. I was complimenting your mother, I think that she’s a lovely person. What’s wrong with that?”

“Dio, you do have a past with old women,” Johnny pointed out.

“Whoa, there! Don’t call my mother old! She’s still young.”

“I wasn’t talking about your Mom, dumbass! I was talking about Diego’s records!”

Diego pulled a face. “Records? Good Heavens, Johnny, seriously? I was married once – once, Johnny, that hardly makes it a plural – and yes, my late wife might have been old. Hell, what am I even sugar-coating - she was more than four times my age. But let’s face it – what young woman has that much money? And they live way longer than your average eighty-something hag. Hardly practical, if you asked me.”

“Wow, Dio, aren’t you a romantic at heart,” Gyro commented.

“Pff, romance,” Diego scorned. “That hardly keeps one’s belly full and body warm in the winter. However, now that I have plenty of resources, I can focus on other more meaningful things in life. I’m not going to stand up and explain myself, and I'd much appreciate it if you didn't bring up my late wife's name so casually into conversation when she can't defend herself.” He looked up at both of his partners, his eyes filled with something that could mean anything. He turned his gaze back at his book, and changed the page. This was not a conversation that he wanted to have. “Besides, unless your mother can suddenly make me a royalty, you can rest assured that she’s safe from me.”

“How magnanimous of you, Dio,” Gyro retorted offhandedly, confused by what he thought he had seen in Diego’s eyes. For someone who readily claimed not giving a toss about people, Dio could become very defensive over the selected few. Slightly more guarded, Gyro resumed caressing their locks. “One more act of kindness and people will mistake you for a philanthropist.”

“Will I gain anything from it?”

“People’s undivided respect and gratitude.”

“Pah,” Diego spat. “Even though it breaks my heart that some bored old geezer won’t come shake my hand, I’ll go wipe my tears away with some quids and call it a day.”

“Well,” Johnny pondered. “That’s understandable.”

Diego threw his head back, his expression far kinder. “Now, thank you, Jojo! See?”

The Neapolitan noded. “Sorry, Dio, I didn’t mean to antagonise you.”

Diego lifted his hand and blindly stroked Gyro’s neck, not too differently from how he did to Silver Bullet. “It’s alright, dear. No hard feelings.”

“Nyo-ho, caro, I sure hope so! We’re still in my aunt’s house!”

The Englishman chuckled. “Keep on rubbing that to my face and for that, I am actually going to cry.”

Johnny yawned. “Hate to break it to you, Dio, but I think that’s the only thing you’ll be rubbing to your face for a while.”

“I say!” Diego groped Johnny’s thigh emphatically. “Now, that’s a real tragedy. They should write an epic about my pain and sufferance,” he said and skipped to another page of his volume.

“Dio, are you even reading anything from those pages you keep on turning?” Johnny asked curiously.

“It’s poetry, Jojo. You don't read it. You contemplate it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Bite me.”

Johnny lightly slapped his forehead. “I can’t, ‘cause you're gonna like it and Gyro said we’re in his aunt’s house.”

“Aaaah,” Diego moaned artistically. “The horror! The drama! Bring me a writer to immortalise my tragedy for the posteriority!”

“How will you even survive, Dio?”

Diego began laughing, shaking his head amusedly, and wanted to retort something witty, but felt his skin tingling. He started sniffing the air, his fine senses picking up on a notion of danger.

As if on cue, the bedroom’s door opened widely.

Gyro sat up on his haunches as if he was on fire. Johnny’s face slid easily from his position on his chest, but Diego was sent flying to the floor, his heavy book hitting him straight in the head. “Oi, you bloody git!”

“What the hell, Gyro,” Johnny admonished him, having brutally sobered up from his sleepy state.

“Gyro!” Gregorio exclaimed, his face positively livid.

Diego, rubbing the crown of his head, looked up from the hardwood tiles, assessing the situation. “Oh, joy,” he muttered, bracing himself for the scandal that would soon graze his fine ears.

Gyro was on his feet in an instant, his tanned face drained of colour. “Padre!”

“What is the meaning of this?” Gregorio demanded clearly and without any inflexion, his Italian words not bouncing even for a bit. Only he could make a melodic language sound like nails raking on a chalkboard.

The son blinked, trying to find some plausible lie on the surface of his brain. Thank God they were only reading, but he felt like his father had come to accuse him of something much more than reading in bed with two men. Well – probably the two men factor was the problem, not the reading.

His mother appeared in the doorframe, and she put a steady hand on her husband’s arm. “Gregorio, be reasonable, it’s late, you’ll wake up Gustave and Francesca...”

“Gyro!” his father repeated, completely ignoring the voice of rationality by his side. His voice was louder than usually, and Gyro’s eyes went wide. It was perhaps the first time that Father had raised his voice at him. He had really done it this time.

“I accepted all your faux-pas of the past. I said nothing about your crass indiscretions and all the stupidities you’ve committed over the years. But this. This! What’s even this?”

His sister had appeared next to Rosa, and peeked over the short woman’s shoulder. “Oh, they’re finally talking?” she asked innocently, stifling a yawn. She lived for raising her brother’s blood pressure. She wouldn't want to miss the show for anything in the world.

Rosa thought that maybe it was best for the father and son to solve their discrepancies once and for all, despite not liking to see them arguing. She looked at Diego crouching on the floor, whose bemused expression shifted to one of ruthless interest, never one not to enjoy a bit of chaos. Sensing that he was being watched, he turned his eyes apologetically at Mrs. Zeppeli, but she waved her hand to ease his worries, and he acknowledged her with a sly smile.

She did like that boy a lot.

However, Gyro and his father only saw each other, and their green eyes were glinting dangerously.

“How can you even do such a thing! Where in the world is your head, Gyro!” Gregorio accused his son, pointing to the bed behind his back.

“Did I invite you inside to gawk?!”

“Don’t be insolent, child! You’re bringing even more shame to our family! Is there a moment of the day when you actually think with your head?”

Gyro angrily lifted his hands in the air, his usually clean Italian infused heavily with the Neapolitan dialect. “Shame to our family? What the hell are we even proud of! Padre, we are a family of executioners! We had to flee from our own country! We've played pretend as doctors, but we are all murderers! We've fulfilled our duties, we were loyal to the crown, but where's the justice in what we've done? Is there any pride to be taken from damning the innocent? What makes a crime the reason for another? Are we even entitled to such judgment? Are we entitled to play the angels of death, when the god we answered to wasn't holy?" He pinched his fingers and shook them violently. "Where is the pride in following blindly and passing harsh judgment without being judged ourselves? Don’t talk to me about shame!”

“Gyro, don’t belittle our ancestors with your moods!” his father reprimanded him. “You have philandered enough in the past, but this is too much, even for you! You need to sort your life together, not to fool around with some men you’ve picked up from the road!” he spat angrily.

The younger man saw red in front of his eyes. “Padre, don’t you dare talk about Johnny and Diego as if they’re something dirty or some whores! You have no idea what we’ve been through in the race, what actually happened!”

“Do enlighten me, then! What happened that even begins to justify what you are doing in bed with two men – two men, Gyro! How in the God’s name can you even explain something so unnatural! This is wrong, Gyro!”

“Don’t call my love for them wrong! It is you who is wrong!” Gyro shouted, completely losing his composure. His confession of harbouring feelings for his friends emboldened him to confront his father, and he decided that it was the moment when he drew the line to pretending that everything was fine. “Feeling is not wrong, Padre, no matter how much you’ve tried to brandish that into my head! I love them, and I’m not going to be ashamed of that. My sentiments for them are not wrong! I’m not going to apologise, not to you, nor to anyone else, for loving them! If my duty is to my family, then my family's duty is to me!" He pointed a finger at his father. "You've once told me that every man needs a map within their heart to cross the wilderness. I found the map within my heart, and this is where it has guided me through the darkness. I found the light! My safe haven in the desert! My heart is widely opened and it feels! I know my love is not wrong!”

From the floor, Diego’s smile fell and his face was drawn into a look of astonishment. His sharp eyebrows lowered over his pale eyes, feeling something in him snapping. He bit his lips, inhaling sharply, and brought a curled fist up to his mouth.

Johnny noticed the abrupt shift in his expression and shuffled to the other side of the bed. He warily whispered to him, “Hey, Dio? Are you okay? What are they saying?”

However, he received no answer to his request, for Diego was speechless as he stared at the tall Italian with widened eyes.

“But what you’re doing is! This – this abomination! This isn’t love! Gyro, you're just compromising yourself with this abnormality, don’t waste your life like this!”

“Abomination? How can you say that? Listening to my heart is a waste to you?”

"Good Lord, do you hear yourself? You’re not listening to any heart, Gyro! You’re just indulging in some stupidity you’ve cooked up while you were avoiding responsibility!”

“That’s not true! They mean everything to me! Johnny has been with me through thick and thin and not even once did he let me down. Not once! He listened to me, didn’t dismiss all my ideas as null just because they were coming from me. We talked, Padre, really talked! We shared so much and not even once, did he judge me! He was there for me - with me. He’s saved my life again and again, and he was there for me through anything, and by God, we’ve been through a lot. And I mean – a lot! And Diego pushed me to become a better man - and yes, I swear to God, he's tried every fibre of my patience during the race - but he made me realise that not everything is about walking all over corpses and that nothing is to be taken for granted. And after that, he made me realise that even if the world is cruel and unfair, there's still so much beauty in it. That after today comes another day. He was by my side to remind me not to despair when I didn't know what happened to you. What’s more - he’s the reason why I’m alive to tell you any of this.” He shook his head. “You don’t know what happened to us. I almost died so many times! The King had sent me to win for a royal pardon and our country’s glory, but there had actually been another reason for my participation in the race. And Hell, I can’t even tell you the reason for it, as it’s too dangerous!”

Gregorio sighed deeply, and shook his head. “Gyro, you stupid child. If the sense of owing them something is what drives you to entertain such foolishness-”

“Si cos e pazz?! It fucking isn’t any foolishness, what in the chitestramouort’ don’t you understand?! I’ve told you, Padre, why are you not listening! Why are you never listening to anything I'm saying to you!”

Gregorio’s eyes went cross and took a step towards his son, who was too approaching him menacingly. “Sicchio e lota, sarchiapone! Don’t you dare bring our dead ancestors in this! They’re rolling in their graves because of you, piezz’ e sfaccimm!”

“Vattene ‘affanculo-“

Rosa jumped at once between them. “That is enough!” she shouted at them. “Gyro! Gregorio! Have you lost your minds, both of you? What the hell is wrong with you, swearing at each other?”

Gregorio waved dejectedly towards his son. In turn, Gyro gestured violently with his hands.

“None of that! You’re two idiots! Both of you!” Rosa yelled angrily. Behind them, Aunt Francesca was grinning widely.

“You tell them, Rosa!”

Rosa yanked both men by the ear, and they winced. “That’s very mature of you, Gyro! Chi cazzo taught you to speak like that to your father?!”

Gyro opened his mouth, but his mother slapped him across the nape. “Zitto, stronzo!” She turned to look at her husband. “And you! Are you proud, now? Great example you're setting, shouting like some lunatic at your son!” Rosa threw her hands up in the air. “No, that’s it, I’ve had it with you two. Gyro, be respectful to your father and don't talk like you've been raised on the docks. And Gregorio, make peace with your son this instant, or I swear to God I’m leaving and taking the children with me and you can cook your own damned dinner!” She threatened and pushed past the bewildered men, disappearing into the hallway.

Both father and son looked at each other embarrassedly.

“I—I think we’ve actually done it this time,” Gyro mumbled under his breath.

“Sì... it seems so,” Gregorio agreed, by far calmer than before. He was absolutely mortified. “Gyro...,” he sighed and pressed a hand over his forehead. “My boy... I... I don’t know what happened between you, you’re right. And maybe I won’t comprehend it even if you explained it to me. And no, I don’t understand your choices. But even so, you know that I love you, my son, and I only want the best for you. Do you not?”

“No, not really.”

“Ehi!” Aunt Francesca intervened and her husband, who had appeared sometime during the shouting match, nodded in support. “Don’t start again.”

Both Zeppeli males sighed. “You’re right, Zia,” Gyro agreed. “I was a pig, I’m sorry. I know you love me, Padre, and I love you too, but for once, let me breathe. That's all I'm asking.”

Gregorio’s face was drawn into a look of acceptance, although he wasn’t content with the situation. But for his son, he would get over any prejudice.

He put a steady hand on Gyro’s shoulder. “It’s your life, Gyro. I can’t decide for you, you’re right. If this is what love means to you, if this is how you want to live your life, then fine. You have my support and blessing.” He pointed with his head at the two staring youngsters who were watching the scene in motion. “But please, no matter what, don’t forget that you’ll always be our son. My son.”

“Oh, Papà, I could never forget something so precious like that,” Gyro responded with emotion, and wrapped his arms around his father, who hugged him back.

For a moment, feeling his son’s heart beating over his own, Gregorio wondered if he had ever really embraced his oldest son. He squeezed his arms around him tighter, and Gyro nuzzled into his shoulder.

Johnny poked on Diego’s head. “Hey, Dio,” he called for him again. “Could you translate for me? I think I’ve missed a few sentences.”

Diego rested his head against the edge of the mattress, looking at the hugging Neapolitans. The corner of his lips quivered for a bit, and eventually curled up. “Oh, you think so?”

“Sock it, don’t be more of an asshole than you already are.”

The Englishman gathered his knees to his chest with a smile and gently tapped his fingers on Johnny’s hand. His eyes as he gazed back to the American were filled with luminous warmth. “Jojo, my dear, I think it’s time you learnt Italian.”

Uncle Gustave, who had entered the room by going around the still connected father and son, extended a hand towards Diego and helped him get up.

“We’re deeply sorry for causing such a scene,” Brando apologised, although it certainly wasn’t his fault for having woken the entire household up. Well, not directly, at the very least.

“Don’t worry, lad,” the lawyer reassured him. “I’m a French Swiss married to an Italian, and we have three teenage daughters – that is to say, shouting is more natural than breathing in this house. And, honestly, seeing my wife so content with having her brother lose his cool is the cherry on the top of the cake. She’s been trying to get on his nerves for a while, unsuccessfully.”

“Glad to be of service, then.”

“Mhm,” Gustave hummed. “That's just how we show love around here. And don't worry about anything, by the way, you’re more than welcomed to stay for as long as you want,” he told to him and Johnny. “And you'd better get used to this sort of things, lads. You’re part of the family now.”

Johnny blinked with a stunned face. “That’s--- Thank you, um... Right.” He looked at Diego, who was rearranging his crumpled clothes with a small smile adorning his face, the bashful blush on his high cheeks making him look a bit like a golden angel.

Scratching his chin, Johnny shook his head. Family, Diego and angels - that's one hell of a big blank spot in the conversation that he'd missed, not just a few sentences. “Christ Almighty, Diego! I hate saying it, but you’re right. I really need to learn Italian.”

Behind them, Rosa appeared with her hands on her hips and appraised her family. “Ah, that’s more like it! Bene così! Good! Now, you'd better come down to the kitchen, I put some coffee over the stove to boil. Gyro, Johnny, Diego, my boys!” She called over her husband’s head. “What are you waiting for, special invitation? Come help me with the biscotti!”

XXXXX

The seven souls that were currently residing in the Favre household got along smoothly after the incident in Gyro’s bedroom. Gregorio actually began spending more time with his son and asked him about his journey, and Gyro told him about some of the horrors they had encountered.

At first, the old man wasn’t very pleased that Gyro had taught their family’s Spin technique to someone who wasn’t blood-related, but he was very impressed that Johnny had perfected it. The American offered to teach him about what he had discovered by using the Golden Rectangle, and the father was interested to hear about what the young jockey had to say.

Charming as ever when he felt like it, Diego got along swimmingly with Rosa, and he began discussing about some very deep and thought-provoking subjects with Gregorio, who grudgingly admitted that the young man was very intelligent and sharp. Maybe, a bit too much of both.

Although Gyro could have been more sensible in his personal affairs – Gregorio couldn’t help thinking that – his father finally relented at his son’s preferences. It wasn’t his life, he agreed, and after having seen just how happy his oldest looked and how surprisingly decent his partners were, he admitted that maybe - 'maybe' being the operative word - he had been the one in the wrong in their argument.

Of course, neither Zeppeli pushed the matter much further, because they had already angered Rosa enough, and it was generally a bad idea to upset her too much.

But as much as Gyro was elated to have finally made peace with his father, some of his words had left him in deep contemplation.

Old Gregorio had a point – what was he going to do next? What was his big plan?

Gyro knew what his so-called ‘big plan’ was, but he was anxious to share it with the others, because it involved quite a leap for everyone involved. He might have run away from commitment whenever he could, but that didn’t mean he was irresponsible – though, he oftentimes appeared so. Family and duty meant something to the Zeppelis - they meant something to Gyro. He was sometimes erratic, but his heart was in the right place, he liked to believe.

Right now, his heart was demanding too much from him.

He sighed. He needed to formulate a plan that would also involve the possibility – which was very high – of being rejected. After the many plans he had formulated over the past year, he was beginning to dread failing them, as nothing had really gone accordingly to the blueprints. He tried telling himself that he wouldn’t suffer if he was shunned for his affection, that he could easily survive if things went awry. But he didn’t want to merely survive. He craved flourishing alongside the young men he had come to love.

Oh, he was too sentimental. His father was right, after all.

He frowned. Where was all that Zeppeli courage that he was so proud of?

Hell, he ought to tell Johnny and Diego what he wanted, and faced with their opinions and ideas, he would see what was to be done. It wasn’t like he had ever been good at over-thinking.

That resolution gave him a lot of ease.

He pensively crossed his legs and put his hands over his knees, looking up at the starry sky. He sat in the garden, on a small wooden bench, and thought of what he wished to be a bright future.

The slow, rhythmic clanking of soles on cobble stones made him smile. He knew one person who walked like that, always swaying their hips as they placed one foot in front of the other.

“The sky is certainly starry tonight,” Diego said matter-of-factly and sat down next to him on his right. The bitter aroma of coffee surrounded them, swirling from the dark liquid in Diego's mug.

Gyro couldn’t suppress his smile. “And let me guess – the weather is also pleasant?”

Diego crossed his legs sassily, pointing with the tip of his boot at a spot in front of them. “An Italian could never comprehend the importance of the weather talk to the Englishmen.” He dramatically turned his head to peer at Gyro, who watched him amusedly. “What on God’s green soil would we be talking about otherwise? Can you imagine how many would actually have to search for a conversational subject? How utterly dreadful.”

“Like the weather in England, right?” Gyro made, sensing opportunity.

Brando snorted. “That's entirely a misconception, my dear. Believe it or not, we do have sunny days in England. Between ten others of raining. Alas! My point still stands.”

Gyro guffawed. “Nyo-ho, ever the diplomat.”

“Mmm? What did he say this time?” Johnny’s voice met them. He walked with a crutch, his legs aching after having forced them too much that day.

Gyro made some space for him on the bench, on his left, getting closer to Diego, who kept on sipping his coffee.

“We were discussing the weather, Jojo,” Diego replied pleasantly.

“No shit?”

“None whatsoever. Gyro seems to have a notion that the English only talk about the weather.”

Johnny lifted an eyebrow and adjusted his knitted cap. “Wait, they don’t?”

Diego rolled his eyes with emphasis. “My word, such ignorance!” He put an elegant hand over his chest, faking insult. “We also talk about the state of the stock market and our neighbours’ laundry.”

“I see. Yes, those are equally important subjects,” Gyro commented seriously.

“Sounds fair, sure,” Johnny said.

“Indeed,” Diego agreed and offered his cup of fresh coffee to the Italian, who took it gratefully. The affected air of the British turned into something mellower. “Although, if you two don’t believe me, you can always come to England and find out for yourselves. You might find our late springs and summers rather pleasant.”

Johnny gave him a surprised look over Gyro’s hands that were warming up around the cup.

“Well,” Gyro began as blandly as he could, although his stomach was doing flips. “I was actually just thinking about the future, as I can’t return to Napoli, or Italy. At least, not for a while, things need to settle down a bit before anyone in my family can go there without an issue.”

“Yeah, it’s better to be on the safe side with these things,” Johnny admitted and pressed his back on the bench rest. He spun the handle of the crutch around, staring through it.

“And to what conclusion have you reached, then?” Diego questioned, feeling his chest warming up just a bit.

Gyro took a sip of the coffee and offered the cup to Johnny, who took it wordlessly.

“I've never wanted to become an executioner, as you can imagine,” the Italian confessed. “And now that I’m rid of that obligation... I’d really like to practice medicine. I’m a trained doctor, after all, it would be a waste not to take care of patients.”

Johnny returned the half-emptied cup to Diego. “I kinda detest doctors, but you’re one of the good ones, Gyro.”

Diego hummed approvingly. “Do you have any place in mind for practising?”

“Heh,” Gyro made embarrassedly and rubbed the back of his neck, bouncing his legs a little. “I was thinking about trying my luck across the Channel. You have sick people in England, haven't you?”

Brando’s lips quirked into a dazzling smile. “I’ve heard we do have quite a number of the kind.”

Inhaling deeply, the Italian turned to look at the Englishman. “Do you think you might be able to point me to them?”

Diego rested his elbows on top of his knees, bending his body in half over his thighs. “I might know a physician or two who are looking to sell their practice, and I believe I can negotiate a very good price for you. Although it might seem harder for a foreigner to enter the inner circles, rest assured, I have the required connections to offer you quite an entrance. I can recommend you.” He rotated his head to look at Gyro from his lower position, his blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “If you wanted me to, of course.”

Gyro’s eyes went wide. There he was, making wild scenarios, and the reality was already arranging itself accordingly to his wishes. “Would you do that for me, Diego? I mean, do you really want that? Are you sure?”

Brando lifted his torso and put his chin over the back of his palm. He took a drink from the coffee, then pushed the cup back into the Italian’s hands. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t. I don’t bluff.”

“That’s just bullshit,” Johnny accused. “You do bluff like an ordinary gambler, Dio.”

“Hah,” Diego chuckled. “Perhaps I do, although only when the situation dictates it. But no, this time I actually mean it. I have confidence in your skills, Gyro, and I can lend you my assistance, whatever that might entitle.”

“Seems like your collaboration with HP has awakened your Christian spirit,” the American taunted him. “Thinking of joining the monastery with all this generosity, Brando?”

“Oh, not at all.” Diego’s grin turned feral as he looked at Joestar. “But if you get me drunk enough, darling, I might be persuaded to dress up as a nun.”

Gyro choked on the coffee in his mouth and nearly spit it back. He swallowed with difficulty.

“Actually,” Diego continued, without sounding even slightly affected by his indecent proposition, “have I ever told you the story behind the star on Silver Bullet’s head?”

Johnny’s pale eyebrow once again disappeared under his beanie hat. “I ain't seein' no connection, but I don’t think you have.”

“Then, let me tell you about it.”

Gyro cleared his aching throat and looked at him with slightly watery eyes. He coughed.

“Gyro! Are you alright?” Johnny asked and patted his back, but the coughing Italian nodded and lifted a thumb up.

"Sure thing, caro, I just swallowed too fast," the Italian replied. "What were you saying, Dio?" 

Diego peered at them, taking the cue to tell his story. “Some years ago, when I was just beginning my career as a professional jockey, I was employed by a nobleman who’d hired me to tend to his horses and ride them in contests. I won all the competitions I partook in and, as it was only natural, my employer was impressed with my equestrian skills.”

Johnny snorted at that particular self-praise, but that didn’t stop the story from progressing.

“He came to me one morning, when I was inspecting the state of the racing horses’ hoofs, and asked me what I wanted as a special compensation for my string of victories, as he reckoned I needed to be awarded for my spectacular performance – his words, not mine.” Absently, Diego rotated his wrist and looked at his fingernails. “Naturally, I didn’t waste any time and told him that I wanted to buy a horse from him. As you might imagine, I didn’t have that much money at that point, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He studied me for a few moments, then asked me why I haven’t asked to be simply given a horse. I replied that I wanted that horse to be mine, not given out like some charity.”

“That’s ballsy,” Gyro commented, having regained his voice.

“Hardly. I said what I had on the tip of my tongue. I knew he needed me, as I was more than profitable. Of course, having my own horse also meant that I no longer needed to be employed by him in full capacity, but he relented. He seemed shocked by my insolence, but he had something of a deal in mind – he allowed me to choose a stallion and a mare to have the foal that I would purchase at a fair price, accordingly to its breeding, and in the meantime, I would continue my contract at his stables. I agreed with his terms and picked his best racing horses, two superb Arab Thoroughbreds.”

“Oh, Silver’s one, too!” Gyro pointed out. “Were they his parents?”

“Indeed, they were. I’ve crossed them especially to get my superb Silver Bullet, but I have omitted to tell my employer which horses I have chosen beforehand. Because, well,” Diego said with a savage smirk, “the mare that foaled Silver Bullet was supposed to take part in the Epsom Derby that year, she wasn't on the breeding list. She wasn't supposed to be a broodmare, but, oh well. Accidents do happen.”

“Predictable,” Johnny commented. “Only you would’ve thought of crossing his prize horse right before the race.”

“Please - I wanted the best genes for my horse – the rest are mere details,” Diego retorted nonchalantly. “My employer was especially angry with me, admittedly for a good reason, but he told me that our deal was still standing, as long as I competed in the Epsom that year with his worst-ranked horse - who was actually in line to be a broodmare - and won.”

“And?” Gyro asked.

“And! What sort of question is that! I won the Derby, of course,” Brando answered pompously. “No horse is bad, only the jockey who doesn’t know how to properly ride it is rubbish. And I wanted my excellent foal.” He straightened his back.

“My employer was impressed and kept to our terms. Satin Nights, the dam, foaled Silver Bullet, and the Nobleman was stunned by what a superb specimen he was, with his silvery mane and intelligent eyes. He said he needed to think of a price for the newborn foal, but given the quality of his pedigree, he didn’t think I had the money for it. But as I’ve already said, I wanted my horse, and from the moment I assisted Satin Nights with foaling and saw Silver Bullet dangling on his long legs, I knew he was my horse,” Diego recounted fondly. “My former employer said he needed to reflect a bit, so I asked him to leave any decisions for the following morning and tell me then, so I would know how much I owed him.”

“Dio, what on earth did you to the poor man?” Johnny accused him.

“Oi, I didn’t do anything to him! He’s alive and well,” Diego scolded him. “Why am I always the villain to you?”

“Because you’re usually the villain?”

“Oh, shove it, Jonathan,” Diego scorned, and Johnny narrowed his eyes at hearing his full name. “I didn’t do squat to the man. But what I did do was to buy some red paint and draw a star on Silver Bullet’s forehead.”

“Oh? The star’s not a birthmark, like on Johnny’s shoulder?” Gyro asked curiously.

“Not at all. But here’s the bizarre part of the story – when my former employer saw the red star on Silver Bullet’s head, he seethed with rage. He told me that I had crossed the line if I began painting the horses’ heads just to lower their prices. But I told him no, I didn’t do anything, that the red star had just appeared on Silver’s head.” Diego chuckled at the memory.

“He stormed to the shed where we kept the grooming equipment, filled a bucket with water and began scrubbing Silver Bullet’s head. The paint just didn’t disappear, no matter how much he tried to wash it away. And when he looked closer to his head, he saw that his skin and hair had indeed turned into a red star-shaped mark. And to this day, Silver Bullet has had the same star-shaped mark above his eyes. I’ve never used paint on him even once after that incident.”

Gyro whistled. “Dio, that’s freaky. What happened next? How did you get Silver?”

“My former employer was already exasperated with me. He said that he agreed to sell me Silver Bullet for the price of my last salary from him, and I agreed. It was hardly the sum that Silver deserved for his quality, but as the Nobleman pointed out – he was no longer a perfectly bred Arab, but a painted horse. It was a jab, of course, but I didn’t care. Silver Bullet was mine, with all the needed papers. I trained him and we began winning together, independently from any employer. At first, it was very hard to support both myself and a growing horse, but we managed together.”

The American jockey produced an impressed sound. “I remember seeing you on Silver’s back for the first time. I’ve always thought he’s a good horse.”

“He’s the best,” Diego corrected him. “We’ve won many competitions together, I’m very proud of him.”

“Yeah, you’ve got good reasons for that.”

“Slow Dancer and Valkyrie are excellent horses, as well,” the Englishman admitted. “You make good teams with them, respectively.”

“Yeah, thanks. Well, nice story, Dio,” Johnny said.

“Wait, Jojo, I didn’t finish,” Diego told him. “The point where I was meaning to get to was that, before I'd left England for the States, my former employer had visited me to let me know that he was thinking about selling his horses to someone who knew how to properly handle them, as he wants to retire and travel. He'd sent me a letter of congratulations for my victory in the Steel Ball Run, and reiterated that his offer still stands. He'd written that he hopes to meet with me when I’m back home and discuss purchasing all of his show and breeding horses. What do you think?” He looked at Johnny expectantly.

Johnny scratched the back of his forearm. “I don’t know, Diego, I suppose you have the money for that kind of thing. And you sure have the experience with handling and breeding horses. I guess, why not?”

“No, no, Jojo, you misunderstood my intentions,” Diego shook his head. “I was asking if you'd like to purchase his horses.”

“What?” Joestar made a face. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Diego repeated. “I’m planning on racing for a while longer, but I hardly think that’s exactly the safest idea for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t like agreeing with you, Dio, but you might be right this one time,” Johnny admitted bitterly. “It’s a bit of a stretch that I’ve miraculously started walking after having been a cripple for over two years, and with Valentine’s disappearance... it probably ain't the best idea to race again. It would draw too much attention.”

“Precisely. Despite that, you can still be among horses, as I presume you wish to. I can guarantee you that Lord Harvey’s horses are excellent, and he’s quite fond of me, no matter the stunts I’ve pulled on him - he's always been an avid supporter of mine, as he should! Why, I can most definitely arrange a good price for you, and you could use some of the prize money from the race for them. I also have my eyes on some other specimens that I'd like to show you, but one step at a time,” Diego laid out his plans. “If you agree, I’m willing to provide the needed grounds for raising and training them, and money for the stables and sustenance. I already have a medical team for Silver Bullet, and can give out a helping hand with the training and handling, and of course - the running of the partnership in itself. I already know the ropes, as you might be aware, and I've been considering this niche for quite some time.”

Johnny was taken aback. “Nah, hold on a moment - you wanna go into business with me? Is-is that it?”

“Well, why not? You have vast experience with horses, as do I. And I won’t be able to race forever, no matter how desirable that might be. It's only natural that I consider all possibilities. I’m just being pragmatic.”

“But that would mean that I’m gonna have to move to England, right? And so would Gyro, if he were to open a practice there. We'd have to emigrate and find some lodgings somewhere,” said Johnny, the tightness of his voice betraying his impassible tone.

Diego folded his arms over his lap, looking perfectly composed, although he felt a little light-headed. He was taking really big steps with his propositions. “That could be easily arranged. You see, I have a rather large estate at my disposal. You two could always move in with me, if you so fancied,” he suggested and boldly looked at them. "There's plenty of space and, admittedly, I wouldn't mind a hand in looking after my assets. Fresh perspectives are always welcomed into the business world. Or, at the very least, in mine, they are." He tilted his head. "And I suppose I wouldn't mind the company, either."

"That so, huh?" Johnny pensively pressed his lips together. “You know what, Dio? Yeah, I don't think I'd mind moving in with you, 'cause, you know, you might prove to be manageable in the long run. I mean, someone's gotta watch you so that you don’t use those freaky Stands of yours for God knows what, and you’re gonna need someone to train with for the races and check if you're fine." Swallowing, he rubbed his rapidly reddening neck. "That whole stables and medical practice and stuff, uh, you know, they don't sound too shabby. So, yeah. This, uhm - this might be an idea. Yeah, sure,” he trailed on, extremely flustered.

By far less inhibited than Johnny, Gyro smiled cheerfully. “Ma certo! I know you'll make a cracking team if you put your mind to it! And I suppose you could use someone to remind you to eat and sleep so that you don’t disappear, right, pecorino? Moving together would come just in handy, I like it! This way, I can look after both of you and your wellbeings, as well as start some nice little practice nearby. I’m a doctor, after all, and you need to be in top shape in order to race and win,” Gyro pointed out. "You're right, Johnny, that's not a bad idea at all."

Diego rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes. Nagging and pestering are indeed the things I lacked, thank you," he made sarcastically.

Gyro elbowed him playfully. “Luckily for you, we bring the nagging and pestering in such a convenient and attractive package! How fun, right? And practical!”

“I don’t know about that,” Diego commented, looking idly at the tips of his boots. He tried taming his enthusiasm, but his rapidly thumping heart was betraying his emotions. “But I could see this working rather well, indeed. So, that is to say - Gyro, Johnny. Does coming with me to my home in England sound like a plan to you?”

Gyro turned to look at Johnny, who nodded seriously. They both gazed back at Diego.

“Brando, you’ve got yourself a deal,” said Johnny. “We’re going together to England.”

“Good.”

Gyro grabbed them both from behind the shoulders and kissed the tops of their heads with loud smacks that got the both of them groaning. “Nyo-ho! Now that the deal is sealed, you could even say it’s ex-seal-lent!”

Diego burst into a hearty guffaw, but Johnny crinkled his nose.

“Sure, Gyro,” he said monotonously, rubbing his rapidly reddening nose. “Absolutely hilarious.”

“Really?” Gyro asked sheepishly.

“Yeah. Totally.” Johnny extended his arm and caught Diego’s hand in his, who lightly rubbed his fingers along Joestar's thumb. “Although, now that I think of it. If Gyro’s a doctor, and I’m a horse trainer... Huh.” He looked at Diego with his lips pursed. “I see what you’re doing, you leech. You’re recruiting yourself a racing team.”

Diego smirked charmingly. “Ah, Jojo, I knew your mind wasn’t as slow as you are on the track.”

Johnny puffed. “Pfff, I’ll show you slow, you damned posh lickspittle.”

“Mmm, yes, Jojo, do keep complaining about precisely that,” Diego purred and passed his tongue over his teeth suggestively. “Besides, that’s what a training partner’s supposed to do, hm? Highlighting just how good the other is? Of course, no one else besides me holds a candle to you, but you can't just surpass Dio. It's impossible.”

“Braggin' scones eater, you just watch me,” Johnny spat and pulled the hem of his knitted cap over his eyes, his cheeks getting pink. However, he didn’t let go of Diego’s hand, who was grinning like a cat.

“I'll make sure I do, you insolent prat.”

Gyro squeezed their shoulders with a shit-eating grin. “Ah, now this is lovely, team! Communicating, exchanging ideas! That’s some real collaboration, very civilised! Nice!”

“Ey, Dio!” Johnny called. “Hold onto that thought of tyin' those rocks to his feet and dunking him into water!”

“Will do, Jojo, will do. Gladly.”

“Hey, hold on, you two! Back up a bit on the teaming up! No need to drown me!”

“Shut up, Gyro!”

From his higher position from the study’s balcony, Gregorio peeked on the three youngsters making plans and bickering along the way. He listened to them, hearing a lot more than he had intended to, but he felt at ease that his oldest son might have finally found his place. It wasn’t by any lengths of imagination what he had envisioned for him, but it was where the road had taken him. And for what it was worth, Gyro looked genuinely happy.

It seemed that, no matter what, no matter what anyone would do, once the ball was hit by the racket and it ricocheted back into the field, it could land absolutely anywhere.

By Gregorio’s side, Rosa rested her head on his shoulder and he squeezed her waist fondly. Their oldest son was going to be fine.

Underneath the balcony, the three young men’s laughter echoed in the starlit garden like the clinking of crystal glasses.

The ball had landed where it was meant to.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six – Once Upon a Time, Dinosaurs Were Extinct

As much as they didn't want to do so, the three unlikely companions had to eventually leave Geneva, but they assured the Zeppelis and the Favres that they would visit again when things settled a bit for themselves. Together, Johnny, Gyro and Diego crossed the Channel to reach England's shore, and began building the foundation of what would soon become quite an impressive future.

Having just returned to his homeland after over a year of absence, Diego negotiated with his former employer in Johnny's stead and obtained a good price for his prize horses, just as he had promised. Holding to his end of the deal, he invested into creating new stables on the grounds of his main estate. Soon, a larger training course was arranged for practice, so that he could continue racing. Alongside Johnny, he started training horses, the former taking up breeding and dressage professionally. The horses produced by their estate became renowned for their superior quality and won an astounding amount of awards.

Although all the mounts that Brando used in racing had him written up as their owner, he didn’t hesitate in listing the name ‘Johnny Joestar’ as the trainer for all of them – given that he was his training partner – and their collaboration proved extremely fruitful, if one only squinted at Diego’s continuous string of victories until his eventual retirement in glory after a spectacular career. Once he left the racing stage, he continued with his other business venues and helped Johnny with the horses, fully enjoying the ridiculous amount of riches he had accumulated over the years.

Using some of Diego’s ample funds and listing him as the patron investor, Gyro opened up a small practice with the collaboration of the doctors that Brando had introduced him to. After a while, he was able to set up a larger clinic that he ran as head surgeon and physician, and eventually expanded and began training medical students and young residents. He used the money that he was supposed to give to the long-fallen King of Naples for charity, paying for the treatment of those who couldn’t afford it. Whenever he had the time, he helped with the horses on their shared estate, or supportingly watched Diego and Johnny going into full swing in their mutual endeavours, whatever that entitled - and all was well in his books.

Whenever they could, they travelled to various destinations, living new and exciting adventures together and creating happy memories wherever the road took them that time. When they returned to their comfortable home, nothing ever got dull or mundane. Every passing season only brought the three of them closer to each other.

One might say that they’d quite hit the mark with the half-baked plans that they had made in Aunt Francesca’s garden. Diego, Johnny and Gyro went into business together under the united name trust of their estate, and they knew much success in their ventures. The inklings of the feelings they had initially nurtured for each other bloomed splendidly and strengthened over the many years they spent together. In more ways than one, they became family to one another, never letting go of the bond that had brought them together.

Of course, when they had first reached Diego’s inherited mansion on a late July afternoon, they had yet to learn about that wonderful future, but they were confident enough to march straight into their life together without a second thought.

Upon reaching the huge gates at the entrance of the large, well-kept front garden, a polite but shrewd looking middle-aged man who knew when to make himself scarce – the butler - came to welcome them, announcing his employer that he had prepared the mansion as per the instructions he had sent in advance. In turn, Diego thanked him and asked for their dinner to be served in an hour, so that they could freshen up, then motioned for the other two mounted riders to follow him to where they would house their horses.

Johnny stared in awe, startled upon returning to the sort of life that he had once known when he was a child and his father had raised horses in England. Only that, now, he could truly enjoy its perks.

They took their horses to the stalls, where clean hay and fresh water were already awaiting them. They thanked their horses for having taken them all the way to their destination and promised to see them in the morning, then Diego showed them to their accommodations.

The butler informed them that their baths of hot water were ready, and Diego asked for their luggage to be taken to their respective rooms.

With one brow lifted, Gyro watched him, impressed by the effortlessness of the shorter man’s gestures. “You sure fit the House Master role like a glove,” he said once they were alone.

“I’ve earnt my place,” Diego replied, his voice like honey. “Might as well act accordingly.”

XXXXX

Despite having their own rooms, both Johnny and Gyro made their primary quarters in Diego’s much larger bedroom – as it was expected to happen, anyway. Johnny unapologetically filled what was supposed to be his sleeping chamber that he used for anything but sleeping with lots of pictures of themselves in all sorts of circumstances and nature photographs that he developed himself, along with an alarming amount of wool and other knitting supplies. Gyro turned his own room into something that was more of a cluttered study than anything, and made himself at home in the surprisingly extensive library on the first floor.

“I’ll have to order some medical textbooks, and some atlases, too,” he declared as he perused the rows upon rows of volumes.

“Order whatever you wish and put it under my tab, I’ll give you the names of some reliable distributors and they'll find you anything you may require,” Diego said and kissed his cheek. “If you need more space for them, just tell and we can figure something out.”

The two of them spent many evenings reading, comfortably sunken into the leather seats inside the library, alongside Johnny, who actually took up knitting after having been properly taught by Rosa Zeppeli. He began a knitting spree that eventually resulted in all of them having a closetful of knitted clothes, along with an impressive amount of blankets and quilts.

“Hey, Dio!” he said one evening. “Come here and let me measure your head.”

Diego looked up and blinked. “Hm?”

“You heard me! C’mere,” the American motioned with his hand. Diego slid off his armchair, discarding his novel on the armrest, and sat next to Johnny on the sofa.

“Alright, I'll amuse you this one time. Though why, may I ask?”

“I wanna knit a cap for Gyro. Something nice.”

Gyro grinned. “Aww, that’s so cute! Thanks, Johnny!”

Diego’s brows lifted. “And where does my head fit into all this?”

“I’m gonna make one for you first and see if it turns up well. If it does, I’m making him one, too.”

“I’m not lending you my head for that,” Diego complained and started to get up.

Johnny caught his waist and pulled him down onto his lap. “Tough. I’m still taking your measurements. Stay still.”

Gyro lifted from his seat by the window and crouched in front of Diego, who watched him with annoyance.

“This is ridiculous,” Brando argued, the measuring tape around his forehead pressing his curly fringe to his eyebrows. “You'd better use some teal wool, you heard me? Or maybe scarlet, but definitely not some absurd colours that would clash with my complexion.”

Johnny snorted. “Does his Majesty want a pompon, too?”

Gyro slyly put his chin right between Diego’s slightly parted legs. “Eeh... Make that pompon yellow, Johnny! It would look so good on our golden Highness. Brings out his eyes, ey?”

Pensively, Diego trailed a finger over the Italian’s mouth, pulling at his lower lip. “Hmm, yes. Better knit it very nicely, Jojo.” He pushed his thumb past Gyro’s parted lips. “And I might consider wearing it in the winter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Johnny mumbled from behind Diego. He stared at the lascivious manner in which Gyro was licking the space between Dio’s outstretched fingers and looking up at him with those glassy green eyes of his. He blushed madly. “Whoa there – weren’t you reading? Buzz the hell off, Dio, I ain't your freaking chair!”

Diego began chuckling and patted his thigh as he stood up. “If you’re so adamantly against it - you’d better get to your knitting, Jojo, dear. You never know when I might get cold.”

“God's sake, Dio, it’s fucking August! You ain't that much of a reptile!”

Diego blinked twice. By his side, Gyro cackled loudly.

“Nyo-ho-ho, bless your heart, Johnny! You’re such an idiot.”

Johnny's eartips turned flaming red. “Hey! Y'all can kiss anything knitted by me goodbye, you hear me? You ain't getting nothing!”

Despite Johnny's vehement promise, they did receive some very nicely knitted beanies with big pompons - for Gyro, one that was made with green and purple wool, and Diego's teal and yellow one also had a small knitted bow on its front. They wore them during many winters, along with matching scarves.

XXXXX

One evening, Diego fluffed the pillows behind his back and sat against them most contently. He crossed his legs in front of him and opened a thick book. He settled nicely in the middle of the bed, right next to Gyro's small teddy bear with the cute little green bow-knot on its bright pink head, and took a sip of his dry red wine, then put the goblet on the closest nightstand. Sighing, he commenced reading.

Johnny rotated abruptly and bumped his head into his thigh. “What’cha reading?”

Diego peered down at him. “About the misadventures of some orphaned criminals.”

“Wow. Sounds like the perfect bedtime story.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Whatever,” Johnny blabbered. He slowly stroked Diego’s muscular thigh. “Read some for me, will you?”

“Oh? Or, you could sit up higher and read for yourself,” the other suggested. “You do know how to read, don’t you?”

“Yes, asshole, I know how to read,” Johnny spat angrily and began moving away from his leg. Gently, Diego caressed the top of his head, easing him back closer to himself.

“I’m messing with you, Jojo, don't take it to heart. Make yourself comfortable, my dear, of course I will read for you,” he said, and began reading from where he had left off.

The suave inflexions of Diego’s deeply melodious voice began filling the air as he advanced through the novel. Johnny listened to him talking, not necessarily hearing his words. He liked the way the Englishman read out loud, his tongue almost rolling over the words that he was speaking. It was more of an indulgence than anything else, as the readings were rarely done from the beginning of a story until its end - given how fast of a silent reader was Dio, and equally fast to fall asleep was Johnny - but Diego always obliged his little request, even if reading out loud significantly slowed down the pace of his lecture.

Lost in the lulling chant of the read words, Johnny absently pressed a chaste kiss against Diego’s covered knee, then another on top of his thigh. The soft fabric was warm against his lips.

Not skipping a beat, Diego finished the page and turned it to begin reading from the top of the following paragraph.

That gave Johnny an idea. Smirking wickedly, he crawled higher on Dio’s leg, peppering his clothed skin with small bites. The warm muscle between his teeth quivered slightly, but Diego’s smooth voice continued intoning the written words.

The American nuzzled his nose against his hip, then crawled up towards his inner thighs, smugly appraising the stirring arousal of his partner. He pressed his chin under the obviously interested tent between Diego’s legs, and gently raked his teeth over the firm flesh, following the curved line made by his lover’s length. As he reached the covered tip, he playfully nibbled on it, making sure to press down enough to get the front of his trousers stained, but not hard enough to provide much stimulation.

Feigning indifference, although he could definitely hear how his voice was cracking at the end of the longer words, Diego continued reading out loud.

Johnny grinned impishly, enjoying how perfectly Diego always played along to whatever ideas randomly happened upon him. He continued biting on the hardening member between his teeth, making the light fabric scratch against it.

He licked his lips and lowered Dio’s sleeping pants' hem enough so that he could release his proudly standing cock, and grabbed it appreciatively.

Diego’s tone hitched.

“What were you saying about that lady’s purse, Dio? Was it stolen?” Johnny asked wickedly, his face partially obscured by the thick length pulsing in front of his eyes. Rising to the occasion, Dio continued his lecture, his voice pouring honey over the harsh words of the thugs in his book.

Johnny smiled indulgently and kissed his warm skin beneath the navel, then slowly licked down his lower pelvis. He gingerly caressed the soft skin under his lips, feeling the long length in his hand jumping the closer he got to it.

Mercifully, he pressed a gentle kiss against the blunt head, then collected the clear liquid accumulating at the tip with his tongue, pushing its pointed end against the leaking slit.

Diego inhaled deeply, and turned yet another page.

Johnny relaxed his jaw and lowered his mouth over the throbbing cock. He began rolling it around his tongue, like he was licking a round lollipop from the country fair, and rubbed the root of the long cock with his clenched fist. He caught the slightly tensed testes with his other palm and squeezed them lightly, and a soothing hand curled around his blonde hair and caressed the tip of his ear.

The reading continued, albeit much more strained than before.

Closing his eyes, Johnny opened his mouth and allowed the hard length to slip past his lips, breathing shallowly as he welcomed more of the veined extremity inside. He stroked the rest of the cock with his hand, and began leisurely bobbing his head along the leaking member in his mouth, getting more of its length inside.

The hand in his hair clenched demandingly and began dictating his pace. Docily, Johnny followed the fluent motions, hollowing his cheeks over the hard dick that he was sucking on as enthusiastically as he could, wet slurping sounds echoing throughout the room. His reading completely set aside and forgotten, Diego began thrusting up into the moist heat of his lover’s mouth, who took him up to the hilt with his eyes tearing up prettily.

Smiling, he closed his eyes, letting himself fall prey to feeling.

The bedroom's door opened and then closed with a silent clink, and the hand in Johnny’s locks tightened even harder.

With a hand on the hip, Gyro watched the blissful expression on Diego’s beautifully flushed face and Johnny's strainingly gaping mouth over his girthy cock. The Englishman was holding his head in his clawed fist, rhythmically moving his hips upwards and downwards. Knowing he was being watched, Dio cracked one eye open, the thin blue iris circling around the dilated pupil glinting playfully as he locked his gaze with Gyro's, then closed it back with a smirk.

Amused by the familiar display more than anything, Gyro gently picked up the discarded book that had fallen over Dio’s chest, and bent down to kiss him deeply, running his tongue over his gums. The younger man gladly reciprocated the smooch, rolling his tongue eagerly as he stroked the lines of Gyro's neat patches of beard with his free hand.

The Neapolitan delicately tapped against Johnny’s head, and the American shifted his attention to ravishing the tip of the cock with his tongue, creating some space between his chin and Brando’s upper legs. Gyro sat down next to him on the bed, and lowered Diego’s breeches until he could discard them completely, then spread his legs so he could settle between them.

He reverently lifted Dio's legs and parted his fleshy buttocks to lick against his taint, the golden haired man moaning ecstatically at the swirling sensations of the two mouths worshipping his nether regions. Diego looked down at his quivering body, at the handsome faces of his lovers with their glinting eyes fixed on him, at Johnny’s lips spread around the head of his engorged cock and Gyro’s tongue languidly spiralling around the rim of his arse. What a sight that was.

He threw his head backwards with a rumbling groan.

Gyro licked around the clenching ring of muscles and nibbled on the heated skin. Diego grunted and stroked his ear, cursing lightly under his stuttered breaths.

Johnny looked sideways, catching his friend’s green eyes, and they nonverbally communicated their intentions.

Gyro spitted in his palm and slowly pushed two fingers past the velvety hole that was so wonderfully waiting for some attention. He patiently thrust them inside and withdrew them back to the outside, savouring the way the muscles gave way to the repeated intrusion, and began exploring the hot channel with practised ease, effortlessly hitting all the right spots.

Reluctantly letting the cock in his mouth slip out, Johnny craned his neck to kiss Gyro’s parted lips, sliding his sore tongue inside and sharing the taste of Diego’s need with their lover.

With his nostrils flaring, Diego’s thighs tensed for just a moment, and his long tail emerged from underneath his parted legs, the need to transform tingling all over his overheated skin. Chuckling, Gyro took a moment to kiss the root of the scaly appendage, and Johnny rolled its pointy end around a finger, lightly caressing it with his thumb.

Diego enjoyed how his little peculiarities were simply taken in a stride by his partners. They never questioned the sudden appearances of his tail when he slept and protectively wound it around them, nor of his claws or fanged teeth when he was thrashing in the throws of passion. He was taken as he was, appreciated for himself and his abilities.

It was so liberating and empowering, and Dio simply adored that sense of freedom and adulation. In his own ways, he adored them, and he knew with certainty that his affections were returned.

Not that he would ever admit to any such silly reflections, but it was nice to feel something in his heart where once had been emptiness.

Jerkily, Diego grabbed his shirt and threw it away from his body, allowing himself to be embraced by the crisp air of their shared bedroom.

He inhaled deeply, the beautiful scents of his lovers invading his nostrils, and he moaned loudly into the night. Three fingers pressed into him, each precise shove hitting his prostate as a wet tongue prodded against his hole, and another lapped greedily around his weeping cock.

He was in Heaven, or at least his version of it.

He spread his legs more, and the three fingers became four, relentlessly stroking his innards and igniting hellish fire inside his belly. The scorching cavern wrapped around his length tightened and the bulbous head of his cock began hitting the back of Johnny’s throat, the other's chocked up grunts reverberating through his tensing skin.

Diego’s lips were parted in silent screams, his head was thrown back and his tail thrashed relentlessly against the mattress. His hips stuttered, the fingers inside him curling up perfectly, and he thrust upwards once more into the maddening inferno that was torturing his pulsing need. He felt his entire body convulsing in pleasure, spilling copiously inside Johnny’s awaiting mouth with a mighty cry.

His curled up legs collapsed on the bed, and he trembled in the sparkling afterglow of his high. He lazily opened his eyes and saw Johnny’s flushed cheeks working against Gyro’s mouth in a lascivious kiss, the tiniest droplet of his cum slipping past their locked lips.

With his pupils blown up widely, Diego grabbed the fair hairs of his lovers, and began licking their lips and chins with his tongue, his mind reeling with lust.

He shakily pulled his legs closer to himself and kneeled, his eyes unfocused and his tail twitching jerkily behind his back.

“Hey, Gyro? Just look at our fancy Dio,” Johnny said, his voice rough with exertion. He rubbed his thumb on Diego’s flushed neck. “Wiggling his tail like a dog. He’s begging for it, ain’t he? Begging to be mounted like some bitch in heat, like usual.”

Gyro caressed the scaly tail that was jutting from Diego’s back. He purposefully moved his fingers to reach underneath the smooth transition between the shinny appendage and the round bottom of their half-transformed lover.

“On the contrary,” he argued, his voice low with lust. “I think he’s begging to be riding something.”

Diego grinned toothily. “I can assure you he’s demanding to see you two naked,” he rasped, rotating seductively against the pillows, making sure to show off his plushy hole and his slicked up length. “After that, maybe we can get to talking about further actions.”

“No begging?”

The sharp fangs under Dio’s cracking skin glinted in the dimly lit room. He spread his bottom cheeks languidly, as if he was presenting a treasure chest, then rolled off the bed. He picked up his discarded glass of wine, and drained it in one go.

“Ah, ah! On the contrary, my dearly beloved stallions. I think it’s you who should be begging for me.”

The rounded bottom of his glass clinked with finality against the wood of the nightstand. “I think you should lavish me with the sight I deserve. Hurry, now, my dears,” he purred, angling his naked body in the moonlight coming from the window, the gentle light accentuating the curved line of his needy cock and the round contour of his bottom. His thick tail was curled up in an elegant arch that accentuated his thin waist and strong chest. “Or I might just change my mind, and wouldn’t that be a pity.”

As soon as the other two men shrugged off their clothes, Diego roughly grabbed Gyro by the hair and urged him to lay down on his back. He grasped his neglected cock and rubbed it twice, then hoisted himself over Gyro's groin, sinking down on the engorged length with a seductive smile adorning his face. He rested himself against his elbows and licked across Zeppeli’s gritted teeth, and began rolling his hips circularly, awfully teasing.

He twisted his neck at an unnatural angle, peering into Johnny’s darkened eyes. “Alas! What are you waiting for, Jojo? Gyro’s already came to the party, might as well join in.”

With that, he turned around to rest his body against Gyro’s chest, who hotly pressed pecks over his neck and jaw. Diego’s blue tail lifted and eagerly moved to the side, showing the place where his ass was being impaled by the Italian’s large cock.

“Yeah, ah, 'bout that... yeah, sure looks like an invitation to me,” Johnny commented, swallowing thickly. He grabbed his length with one hand and the other wrapped around Diego’s trembling tail. He slowly rubbed the tip of his cock down the junction between the other jockey’s spine and tail, then smeared his seminal fluids against his spread buttocks, across Gyro’s buried dick and over his tensed testes.

Damn, wasn't that a sight to behold.

“Va bene, but what are you doing still standing at the door?” the Neapolitan questioned, pressing Diego harder into his chest.

“Nothin', sugar... Just admiring the view,” Johnny made. He grabbed Diego’s already widened ass and forced himself inside with a drawn-out hiss.

Diego clenched his teeth and buried his nose into Gyro’s neck, inhaling his soothing scent. He licked his skin as he relaxed his muscles, and Johnny settled his length against the one that was already occupying the tight, scorching canal between his legs. Gyro protectively hugged Dio’s shivering body and brought it closer to his, maneuvering his ass a bit higher, and Johnny pushed himself fully inside his lover’s well-filled hole.

Stretched to an impossible extent, Diego groaned lustily. “Oh! Oh, yes, like that,” he moaned, feeling his muscles fighting to clench over the two cocks lodged within his arse. He felt like he was drowning in pleasure, his blood bubbling inside his ears. He twisted his fist in Gyro’s spread-out hair and inhaled the sunny smell of his skin, and bit his shoulder viciously, drawing a droplet of blood.

Johnny grabbed Diego by the back of his throat and spread his fingers through his hair as he shoved his cock deeper, bottoming out with a drawn-out groan. He could feel Gyro’s length against his own, cramped together between Diego’s pulsing walls, and he slowly retracted until only the head was inside.

He looked over Diego’s shoulder and into Gyro’s eyes, and the other nodded with an all-knowing smirk.

Zeppeli firmly grabbed Diego’s fleshy buttocks and began spearing himself into his heat, following the hard shoves of Johnny gliding against his cock. The Englishman clawed at Gyro’s arms and chest, his tongue lapping over the hot skin, and he wailed from the mind-numbing pleasure.

The fist in his hair lifted him up so that he was hoisted against Johnny’s chest, and Dio worked his hips hard as he rode both cocks at the same time better than he had ever ridden a horse. He couldn’t even clench his muscles anymore, his entrance stretched to the point it was nothing but a hot sleeve, and he cried out beastly, his sharp fangs bared and his tongue tasting the air.

Johnny repeatedly bit the nape of his neck and his shoulder blades, and Gyro pierced his powerful hips with his fingernails as he thrust harder into him. Diego roared, not caring that he sounded like a wild animal, and buried his face into Johnny’s neck, revelling in the sweet scent of his damp hair.

Gyro watched the working body over his own, admiring the usually lean and flat abdomen bulging out from the large intrusions hammering his innards. He took in the sight of the leaking cock that was slapping against his belly with their every thrust, the glistening, heaving chest of Diego resting against Johnny’s. Both men opened their eyes and looked down at him, and he grinned happily at the image of the most precious people in his life.

He grasped them both within his arms, and began pumping his hips up at a brutish pace. Diego scrambled jerkily against him, his legs giving out, and cried loudly as Johnny pounded into him from behind, bruising his back. Johnny gripped his thigh with one hand and grabbed him around the collar, cupping one of his muscular pectorals, and Gyro raked his teeth against his chin and bottom lip. Numbly, Diego began convulsing with pleasure. The Italian wrapped his arms tighter around the two men on top of him, capturing Diego in the middle, and the jockey began cursing, his eyes filling up with tears of desperation, his golden curls of hair sticking to his brow.

He felt like a mess and looked the part, with his tail twitching and his legs spread out uselessly. The other men pounded into him almost vengefully, shoving their cocks inside him like they wanted to get through him, hitting all those spots that made him see stars, and he sensed his completion nearing with the force of a raging bull.

They were all vibrating with their impending highs, fucking harder and harder into Diego’s welcoming body. They were groaning and grunting, their sounds of satisfaction intermingling with the wet squelches of their cocks gliding against each other.

In his dream-like state, Diego wailed as his cock jolted against his abdomen and spurted greedily over Gyro’s front. He slumped forward into the Neapolitan's chest, his head spinning, and with the last bit of energy that he had to spare, he grabbed his own hips and forced them to spread out more.

In a frenzy, Johnny and Gyro began screwing into him even harsher than before, and Diego sobbed elatedly from the overstimulation. He didn’t even realise when another orgasm hit his tired body, but his tingling face split into a toothy grin. “Do that harder, my darlings, I can take it,” he demanded greedily, even though he felt like his nerves were on fire.

“Fuck,” Johnny groaned, and doubled his efforts, and he felt Gyro doing the same against him, until nothing made sense anymore, and their minds blanked under the intense thrill of their union. They both came, dazed by the intensity of their completion, and their muscles gave out, making a pile of quivering flesh and bones out of them.

Diego grinned, his inner beast satisfied with the liquid inferno inside of his body. His lovers slid out of his gaping hole, their mixed cum slowly seeping out of him. Mindlessly, Dio brought a hand down to his taint to collect some of the dripping liquid and smeared it across his parted lips and wet tongue, revering the bitter taste of their love.

He didn’t even know who was kissing his mouth or who was licking around his collarbones, the wonderful aromas of his lovers mingling into the most spectacular blend.

Inside their moonlit bedroom, between the arms of his beloved partners, Diego felt more cherished than he had ever been.

Wearing a fond and tender smile, Gyro grabbed both Johnny’s and Diego’s waists and pulled their bodies over his larger frame as if they were some blankets. Too exhausted to do much, Johnny rolled over on his belly and threw an arm over the doctor’s torso, capturing Diego’s unsuspecting fist in his.

The Englishman’s dazed expression softened. He closed his eyes indulgently as he intertwined his fingers with Johnny’s and brought their joined hands closer to his face. Like a dog, he rubbed his cheek against them. He wiggled higher on Gyro’s chest, burying his nose in the junction between the Italian’s neck and collar, and inhaled with a little gratified coo. His thick, blue and yellow scaly tail wrapped protectively around Gyro's and Johnny’s middles, bringing them closer together under its weight.

“Apex predator my ass,” Johnny rasped and received a playful swat of the tail's tip over his thigh. “More like a glorified lazy cat.”

“Meow,” Dio countered and nipped his knuckles with a still too sharp tooth.

“Can the meowing apex predator reach for the blanket, though?” Gyro suggested from underneath them. “I may be a hot tasty dish and all that, but you’ll both eventually grow cold if you don’t get under the covers, and I can't really move with you two over me, can I?”

Diego snorted emphatically, but hooked his poorly-coordinated foot under the edge of the discarded blanket and pulled it over them. “Happy now?”

“Delighted. Grazie, pecorino,” Gyro thanked him, and felt a gust of breath against his neck as Dio once again began sniffing him conspicuously, tickling him with his nose.

Johnny curiously poked Gyro’s chest with his chin. “Hey, Gyro! Why do you keep calling Dio pecorino? Ain’t that some smelly goat cheese? Doesn’t sound very flattering to me.”

“He calls you tortellini,” Diego intervened, slowly stretching his legs to alleviate the numbness of his muscles after the earlier exertion. “Stuffed pasta is infinitely more flattering, ey?”

“Diamine, nothing can stop you two from squabbling! Dio Aiutame,” Gyro commented with false annoyance. “Johnny, caro, I would call you fusilli, to honour your superb use of the Spin, but it just doesn’t suit your squishy cheeks, amore.” Proving his point, he poked the younger man’s soft and round cheek with his index finger.

“Get that finger away from my face or I’m breaking it,” Johnny threatened, but his cheeks began burning.

“Aaaaand,” Gyro returned to the matter, “Our resident dinosaur here, like any high quality goat cheese, is white like the porcelain. Actually,” he added and shifted his head to look down at the crown of Diego’s head, “I think you might sparkle in the darkness. Cuore mio, are you perhaps a vampire, too?”

“No, but you’re definitely an idiot,” Diego said without skipping a beat, the insult coming out fondly from his lips. He rubbed his nose against Gyro’s neck and Johnny’s palm.

“And Dio might not smell like cheese, but he’s definitely smelling us a lot,” the Italian pointed out, amused by Diego’s unconscious gestures.

Air remained trapped inside Diego’s chest as he stilled.

“Actually,” Johnny suddenly smarted up, “you’ve got a good case going there, Gyro. Dio sure does sniff us a lot. Hey, Diego! What’s up with that, huh?”

Diego exhaled. He clenched his teeth. “That’s rubbish.”

“No, no, no, not rubbish,” Gyro said and patted his back. “You do that. Like, all the time. You were just doing it a second ago.”

“That’s slander! I simply take deeper breaths than most.”

“Now, now, that’s what you call ‘rubbish’.” The Italian gave him an amused glance. “Team! I think it’s high time we shared some embarrassing things.”

“Isn’t huddling naked with two other men embarrassing enough for you?” Diego made defensively, not liking having his peculiarities called out. Where was the silent acceptance that he had been contemplating just a little while before? Admittedly, he had already noticed that he was sniffing his partners rather excessively, blaming Scary Monsters' interference with his daily habits, but he’d hoped that he was more subtle than he actually was.

“Not when those naked men are i miei cari ed begli amori,” Zeppeli declared proudly and kissed each of their foreheads with a loud smack, making Johnny wince.

“Ugh, Zeppeli, I retract my statement. This is more embarrassing,” Diego groaned. “Daft wop.”

“Allora! Story time, bellos,” Gyro said, just as unperturbed as before. “Before we set out to defeat Valentine, Johnny and I each shared an embarrassing secret about ourselves.”

“Gyro, no,” Johnny grunted.

Diego’s interest perked up. “Hold on, hold on! Gyro, yes,” he said. “Do continue, you’ve got my curiosity.”

“But you have to give us a fact, too. So we are all on the same ground.”

“And you’ll tell me what you’ve said to each other back then?”

“Yup.”

“Gyrooo,” Johnny mumbled in agony, his ears heating up.

“Oho-ho, Jojo,” Diego chuckled. He could almost smell the unease coming from the American. He squeezed his hand. “Now, I’m even more interested. Deal.”

“Perfetto,” Zeppeli agreed. “Bene, I’ll start. My birth name is actually Julius Caesar Zeppeli, not Gyro Zeppeli. Not even my siblings know it, so hear me out, Dio - you'd better keep it to yourself.”

“Oh, just like the Roman emperor?”

“Yup.”

Diego sniffled. “Hmmm, Imperatore,” he teased him. “Why, that’s not so bad! Seems like I've caught myself a royalty, after all! Mmm, I rather like how it sounds. Plenty fanciful. Oh, yes, I’m calling you that from now on.” He nibbled on Gyro’s pulsing jugular. “Now, mio Imperatore,” he purred and smacked his tongue against his teeth, “what’s the dirt on Jojo?”

“He likes bug bites. Get him reeeally hot and bothered,” Gyro told on the younger jockey with a sleazy grin.

“Gyro!” Johnny kicked him in the leg. “You promised not to say it!”

Diego couldn’t help his barked laugh.

“And fuck off, Brando! Fucking lizard!”

“Oh, my word! Jojo, if you didn’t get so flustered, it wouldn’t be so amusing,” Dio said between chuckles. “Goodness, you’re so childish, dear. So what if you like them? Although, that explains the looks you give to all those bites and suckles you leave everywhere, you bloody mosquito! Guess we should visit a swamp one day, ey? To get some of the authentic bites on us. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Jojo?” His eyes glinted. “Ooooh, I know what you’re getting for your next birthday!”

“Drop dead, Brando.”

“And who’d make fun of you, then?” Diego retorted. “No, thank you, you need some humbling.”

“No, you need some humbling!” Jojo spat and hid his red face beneath the hand that wasn’t trapped by Diego’s. “Screw you! What’s with your damned sniffing, you wretched mutt?”

“Riiiiight, Dio, you have to share a secret with us, too.”

Diego lifted on an elbow, looking at the other two. He gently kissed Johnny's red cheek, coercing him to return his gaze. “Alright, that was the deal. You do know that Scary Monsters enhanced my olfactory sense, right?”

“So?”

“So, as my nose is incredibly more sensitive than before I gained Scary Monsters, I can pick up on your scents quite easily.” He shrugged. “The dinosaur likes the scent of your skins, so that’s pretty much it. It gets very happy when I get a whiff of you.”

“And what about you, Dio?” Gyro questioned. “You do realise you’re connected to your Stand, don’t you?”

“Eh,” Diego once again shrugged, playing it as nothing. “I suppose I like how the two of you smell, myself. You... well. You smell like home to me. It's rather soothing. Pleasant, even."

Gyro's eyes glinted. "Really?"

Indulgently, Diego nuzzled his neck, affectionately inhaling his skin and sighing. "Mhm. I immensely fancy your scents.”

“That’s so gross, Dio,” Johnny grumbled, his face turning into a crimson hue. However, his fingers around Diego’s tightened.

“That’s so cute!” Gyro exclaimed and kissed his nose. “We’re like a--- err, what the hell is the name --- Yes! Like a pack! Nyo-ho-ho! We’re in a pack with a dinosaur, Johnny!” He threw his head backwards on the pillow with a huge grin. “Whew! Isn’t that a blast? One might say we’re Dino-mates!”

“Lord, have mercy,” the American mumbled embarassedly, and Diego cackled like a hen. His colourful tail tingled with the need to wiggle it, but he willed it to squeeze harder around the two other men he was now sharing his life and home with.

As it was to be expected - they were Dino-mates, after all.

And damn it all, he loved the sound of it so much.

Epilogue – The People at the Derby

“WHAT A RACE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WHAT EMOTIONS! WHAT A THRILL! AND WHAT A PERFOMANCE! WE HAVE A WINNER! THE LEGENDARY DIIIIIIEGO BRANDOOOO, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! DIOOOOOO!!!!!!” the announcer’s voice boomed, and the crowd gathered at the hippodrome roared with ovations.

Diego eased his horse, Lolita, into a leisure trot and regally spread his arms widely for the audience that cried his name ever so enthusiastically. Flashes erupted around him, the reporters capturing his perfectly constructed triumphant pose.

However, he looked above the bustle, unbothered by the adoring masses.

His clear orbs zoned out all the excitement, all the raving madness that exploded at his spectacular victory on the race course. All he had eyes for were the two figures standing up and clapping with huge grins on their rosy faces, one with long blonde hair floating with the gentle summer breeze and golden teeth flashing in the sun, and another with a colourful stars-patterned knitted cap over the head.

Diego had once again won the Epsom Derby, making it his sixth victory on that particular course, and one that would soon be succeeded by many others over the following years, including the winning of the famous Triple Crown. He smiled splendidly for the reporters, answered to their excited questions, posed for the lusting cameras – then withdrew to the back of the crowd as he always did after the races.

He collected Lolita from the track handlers, a superb three years old filly whose dam was Valkyrie and sire, Silver Bullet, and steered her to the edge of the stadium, where two other horses and their riders were waiting for their arrival.

“Oi, Jojo! How’s it to train yet another winning horse?” Diego taunted the smaller man with a mocking smirk.

“You’re lucky I agreed to train your damned horses,” Johnny argued, but his face was split into a fond smile.

“Nyo-ho-ho! Cheers to the most spectacular jockey and his amazing filly! Nice race as always, Dio! Way to go, Lolita, bambola!” Gyro exclaimed loudly, excited to give out praise. “And of course, to the best Mamma horse ever, oooh, we can't forget about her,” he said as he patted Valkyrie’s throat, who neighed happily at the praise.

“Ah, that’s just the sort of music I like to hear, Gyro,” Diego retorted and stroked Lolita’s ear. "Isn't that so, my precious girl?"

Johnny grumbled and urged Silver Bullet to go to his owner, having been brought to the hippodrome instead of Slow Dancer, who was waiting for them to return from the race. The light-skinned horse next to him stood proudly, almost as if he knew that it was his filly that had won the competition.

But what Silver Bullet definitely knew was that his rider had come up on the top of the podium, as he strutted purposefully to welcome Diego with his wet nose. “And to the best Papa horse, of course, my beloved,” Dio told to his mount and nuzzled his thick neck. Carefully, he secured his newest trophy inside the bag at the back of Silver Bullet's saddle, ready to place it next to the others at home.

“Certo,” Gyro agreed. “Allora! Ready to leave, Dino-team?”

Faking annoyance, Johnny spared a loving glance at the two other men and mounted atop Lolita, having retrieved Silver Bullet to his rightful rider. The others took his example and hopped onto their saddles.

“Yeah,” Johnny said in a small voice, looking ahead with a tender smile. Gyro returned it with an enamoured smirk, his sparkling green eyes fleeting back and forth from Diego to Johnny.

The American rubbed his rapidly reddening neck, his heart pounding within his chest. “Sure. I mean, Gyro, Dio. Let’s go home.”

Diego beamed at them with stars shining in his clear, blue eyes, and they looked back at him with more adoration than their lips could ever enunciate. Smiling toothily, he knew that his face was telling the same story to his beloved partners. He was content with how life had turned out for him in the end.

“Yes, my darlings, let’s do just that. Let’s go home.”

And what a wonderful, loving home they had together, the three of them.

Chapter Text

Epilogue - Thunderbolts and Lightning

There is something quite enticing about the world of fiction.

To the feeble minded, it is but a strange realm of wonder and confusion, different from the tangible world that they strive not to question. But to the intellectual - the dreamer, the ever inquisitive mind that feeds on knowledge and is always starved for it - a story is a life lived outside of the living world. It is the essence of reality and whatever it contains, all twisted and reborn into a new reality. It is a fleeting moment when the heavy grandfather clock on the hallway stops and time runs endlessly on black ink rivers, out of order, all at once, capturing the by-passer in its alluring thread.

Such fine thoughts were being contemplated by Diego, who found himself alone at home during a gloomy afternoon. With a hand on the hip and the other occupied by a glass of ruby-red wine, he wondered what book ought he dedicate his night to.

As it so happened, Gyro was on call at the hospital and was due to return the following day. Given the hour, he was most likely out of the consulting room or the operating theatre and doing an equally, if not more important job - that is to say, eating dinner - which had been carefully prepared and packed by Diego the day before. The Englishman's culinary escapades continued even after their random encounters during the Steel Ball Run, much to the Italian's jubilation, who went on as far as badgering his mother to send some recipes from her prized heirloom cookbook. Rosa Zeppeli, who grew to love her oldest son's partners like her very own children, freely shared the secret recipes that her Grandmother had given her on her deathbed, recipes which not even her own Mother had been allowed to learn - for she had not been deemed worthy enough of them. Struck by sudden spikes of questionable domesticity, Diego tried his hand at them, much to both Gyro's and Johnny's delight - but most of all Gyro's, who was in constant awe of Diego's cooking.

It should be mentioned that they did have some very talented staff that seldom cooked for them, but their services were required most infrequently, usually when Diego was away on business or had too many matters to attend to. The need for their services was always notified in advance, ensuring the kitchen's privacy and its owner's reign over it. And, given how well the entirety of the estate's staff was paid, no one raised any questions whatsoever about the eccentricity of the Master.

Returning to the present situation, similarly to the Neapolitan, Johnny was away on an errand for the Speedwagon Foundation alongside Hot Pants, who had left the Church shortly after the race and dedicated herself to uncovering the secrets of the paranormal. How this came to pass was simple - a few months after the annexation of the Kingdom of Naples to Italy, HP had paid the three race contestants a courtesy visit to their newly established common residence in England. She had declared that she was in search of clarity, and clarity was what she had received - in the form of Diego, who had whimsically managed to get her scandalously drunk and then proceeded to chew her ears off for wasting her potential stuck in the monastery.

Gyro had been very supportive of the argument, and Johnny had reasoned that it was none of their business what Hot Pants did with her life - which was a very good point that was altogether ignored. Regardless of what had transpired, the results of that drunken night of deep conversation had been a colossal hangover, a soon forgotten promise to never drink again and a sudden renouncing of vows. After that, the former nun had joined Lucy Steel in her work at the Foundation, and sometimes called for Johnny to assist with certain projects that required his particular abilities. Johnny had yet to decide if he enjoyed those imposed activities, but at least said unicorn chasing wasn't taking much of his time, time that he could have spent at home - not a fact that he would admit out loud.

Therefore, as it went, Diego was at home that evening, alone and passing the time in the library. Picking up a book at random after having abandoned deciding on one, he reclined against his favourite armchair's backseat. He wrapped a colourful quilt around himself, the air inside the ornate room feeling chilly to his perpetually cool skin, and tightly crossed his legs underneath the heavy wool. The blanket was knitted by Johnny especially for him. He had received it after having been seen shivering one night - it had been around four in the morning, but Diego liked to imagine that a day ended only after he fell asleep - when a far too interesting book had plastered him to the reading chair and prevented him from noticing that he had gotten cold. He had always had poor thermoregulation, having been either too thin to properly retain warmth or too malnourished to generate enough heat, and the acquirement of Scary Monsters had only added to the perpetuation of his cold extremities.

On a side note, most peculiarly, whenever he had his partners close, he never felt anything but a soothing feeling that warmed him up from both inside and outside. Despite not being a sentimentalist, Diego merely basked in the sensation and preferred not to analyse it, putting it all on Scary Monster’s pack instincts. Though, when he was by himself, there were times when not even the fire could penetrate his skin, let alone heat him up. But he had grown accustomed to such impediments, the cold being something he barely registered when his thoughts drifted away from what he was doing.

However, this behaviour had caught Johnny's eye very early on in their relationship, and he couldn't have just stood idle in front of the obvious discomfort that Brando very nonchalantly shrugged at. Humming softly as he'd twisted the wool into careful knots to make a beautiful argyle pattern, he had woven the cover in just a single day of continuous work, then had thrown it over the Englishman's head and had called him an irresponsible idiot for getting so immersed into his books to the point of risking getting sick right before the racing season.

Smiling at the memory, Diego gathered his knees closer to himself and snuck his nose under the soft blanket, his eyes rushing after the words on the pages.

It was hours later when a loud, booming sound startled him, the sudden noise scaring the drowsiness out of his body. The predatory instinct deeply seated into his flesh awakened and his senses became alerted, his sharp mind assessing for potential threats.

Another bang blasted and was instantly followed by tumultuous pitter-patters reverberating through the window. As Diego set the book and blanket aside, flashing lights illuminated the dimly lit library.

Slightly less tensed, Diego paced to the closest window and looked through it, barely making anything out through the heavy rainstorm splotching the glass. The darkness remained absolute until another thunder was rapidly followed by a lightning bolt.

"Ah, bloody fantastic," he grumbled and grabbed the woollen cardigan that he had discarded on the sofa. Dressing as he walked, he ventured outside the mansion and into the downpour.

The cold droplets hit his skin and his nostrils were invaded by the earthy smell of wet grass and the metallic scent of water. Rain turned warm like sunshine against the scales covering his body, having transformed into a Raptor as soon as he closed the door of the Observatory.

The world warped around his vision as his senses sharpened even further, and Diego easily navigated the fairly long distance between the mansion and the stables, turning back into himself before entering the first room.

With the corner of the eye, he noticed the small dinosaurs that he had placed by the stables' door for surveillance, the little creatures intently scanning for any disturbances. The prehistoric monsters were extremely handy for such tasks, the whole domain being peppered with different sorts of reptilian creatures that returned amazingly fast to Diego in case of an unwanted incident or, as he had found as a Godsend during the foaling season and not only - monitoring the wellbeing of the horses. That’s how they were able to manage such a big herd with just a few trusted hired staff working over the daytime.

A wet Compsognathus nudged Dio's ankle with its muzzle, shaking its drenched limbs to rid itself of the rain. It had entered at the same time as Diego, having rushed into the storm to alert him about the state of its charges. Dio was able to sense what was happening to his dinosaurs and their whereabouts, but he had allowed them certain autonomy so that he wouldn't become overloaded by too much sensorial information at once.

A pair of agile yellow eyes fixed the small dinosaur’s Master and its little head signalled towards the agitated horses in their pens.

"You don't say," Diego placidly told to the reptile, not impressed by the swiftness of reaction of what was supposed to be an extremely fast species of dinosaurs. But he supposed that the wet soil must have been a bit challenging for the beast that was slightly bigger than a large rooster, and perhaps his instructions hadn't been entirely clear. It was a newly created dinosaur, after all, and perhaps he hadn’t been explicit enough with what he wanted from it. The remote manifestations of Scary Monster were sometimes tricky to program, but nothing too extraordinary.

He pouted his lips in thought, pondering whether he ought to get rid of the little creature or not. It was looking at him with big, trusting eyes, and he figured that undoing his work would be too much of a hassle. "Next time, I want to know when the air smells like thunder. When it's about to rain or snow. I want to know when the horses are distressed by the weather. First, alert me from afar about what is going on with them, and if I don't order otherwise, subtly and unseen, return to me to report," he added, overwriting the instructions that he had previously given to the creature which he had created with his Stand.

The small reptile nodded its bald and shiny head. "This is your only chance," Diego warned it, and, with a swift blue flash in its eyes, the creature immediately bent forward with its muzzle turned upwards and resumed its patrol through the stables' corridors.

Inside their pens, the horses were in a wide variety of states - some were frightened, some were whining, some were bothered by the noises of the others, whereas others were confused or disoriented. Over the cacophony of whinnies and neighs, Silver Bullet was nickering soothingly from his sheltered quarters, drawing the attention of the surrounding inhabitants of the complex. Next to him, within his large private enclosure, Slow Dancer was rubbing her neck against Valkyrie's as two fillies were suckling from their heavy udders, both of them as impressed by the weather as if it was last season's news.

The sight made Diego smile fondly. He extended his hand towards his trusted mount, his fingers running affectionately through his flaxen mane. "Seems like your little ones are the exact copies of Johnny and Gyro when it comes to meals. Nothing interrupts them," he said. Silver Bullet produced a rumbling sound, not unlike Gyro's laughter, drawing a chuckle out of his rider. "Heh, I know."

As if the fillies understood him, they petulantly switched their feeding sources from one mammae to another, continuing their nursing just as unaffected as before.

"Yes, and with the same stubborn attitude, naturally," he commented mirthfully, continuing stroking the Arabian's velvety ear.

A few months before, their estate had welcomed their most anticipated foals. They had come from different mothers but were born on the same night, both Valkyrie and Slow Dancer having carried them at the same time. It was no mystery who had sired the proud fillies, Layla and Lolita, each of them adorned with a red star on the forehead - a detail that had amused Gyro to no end. He had always found Silver Bullet's infatuation with the other two mares absolutely hilarious, teasing Diego about the obvious similarities between himself and his dear horse to the point of being kicked out of bed - kicked out by Johnny, who had promised him that he'd knock his precious golden teeth out if he didn't shut up and let him sleep.

But as it stood, Gyro retained all of his teeth inside the mouth, and the little family remained housed together in the same pen, especially designed to accommodate the stallion and the two mares - and now, their pair of fillies - something that was exclusively allowed in their case. All the other horses that they owned had their individual spaces, but the three equine friends had been impossible to separate from the day their owners had decided to live together - and probably long before that, all of them having been so excited to reunite whenever their riders had crossed paths. And, as much as Silver Bullet was a healthy and wonderful specimen of his breed, both sociable and calm, he had never showed any interest in the existence of any other mares even in the height of the breeding season, solely focused on the comfort of Valkyrie and Slow Dancer. For their part, the mares hadn’t mingled much with the other horses of the estate, the company of each other and the golden stallion proving more than enough.

Therefore, the arrival of the little ones had been no surprise, even though it had come a few years after the race. As unconventional as it was, Diego refused to put the three horses in different spaces and left them to their own devices when he wasn’t practicing with the Arabian, and both of his partners had agreed without a question. They considered the two new additions nothing but blessed arrivals.

Smiling, he patted Silver Bullet's neck once more, silently admitting that maybe Gyro had a point in his assessment of his horse's situation and his own. "I'll let you tend to your girls and see how everyone else is doing," he said and looked around. Most horses were anxious due to the noises outside, but not as dramatically as he would have expected. "Thank you for keeping them at bay, my beloved. Splendid job. And you too, my lovely girls," he told to the mares, who snorted at unison. The young fillies kept on nursing their late night meal, their little beady eyes heavy with sleep.

The Arabian neighed graciously and bowed his head, then resumed nickering softly as he gazed tenderly at his family.

Diego sighed and ignored the pang in his chest. Clearing his throat, he turned to the other occupants of the spacious stable complex.

He checked on everyone, humming as he calmed the scared horses. He made sure that the hay was clean and the water fresh, that they were warm and dry in their spaces. His many dinosaur creations rushed around, obeying his orders of fetching this and that. The horses that he had found inconsolable in their fright, he gently scratched with the tip of a claw, Scary Monsters taking temporary control of them and settling their insecurities down.

As he was about to finish his rounds, another thunder struck loudly. Although most of the equines were sufficiently reassured not to start panicking again, the one that Diego was just checking on spooked tremendously. A mistake on his part was all it took, being with his back turned to the big black horse inside her individual space, and he was suddenly slammed into the pen’s door.

The impact made Diego jolt violently, and even with his sharp senses, he was caught by surprise. His right hip collided with the hard half-door as he was pushed by the horse’s muscular side. White pain shot up his spine as he called upon The World and stopped the flow of time just in time before the heavy mount kicked him and did even more damage.

While time was arrested, Diego turned the tip of a finger into a claw and grazed the horse’s black coat. Carefully, he moved aside and out of the animal’s range, his hip throbbing as he tried not to put too much weight on it.

Time was allowed to flow again, and the horse abruptly put her legs down, listening to Diego’s command of calming down. Balancing on the left leg, he extended a hand and patted her neck. “Shh, Betty dear, it’s alright, settle down, it’s just the storm,” he told to Black Betty, a Shire horse that he had rescued two years prior. He had found her wondering around the edges of the domain, badly beaten and traumatised, and nursed her back to health. She was an extremely loving horse that looked after the young foals on the pasture like they were her own, providing much needed respite to their nursing mothers, but the terrors of her former life were reawakened by the thunderstorm.

Black Betty’s eyes blinked slowly, her inner self battling a bit with Scary Monster’s control. Hearing Diego’s deep, soothing voice, her breathing slowed down and her resistance wavered. “Good, you are doing marvellously, dear,” he said. “I’ll keep you under Scary Monster’s influence so that you stay calm until the storm stops, alright, Betty? Nothing bad will happen to you,” he reassured her as he stroked her neck.

Limping away from horses, the jockey lamented on his lack of precaution, especially given that his Stands were able to control living creatures and stop time. ‘That’s what you get if you let your guard down,’ he mentally grumbled, rubbing his right thigh with a frown.

His leg was going to bruise badly.

XXXXX

Johnny returned home late during the following afternoon after having been away for three weeks. He wasn’t surprised that the butler wasn’t around to greet him at the door, not that he especially wanted to see the otherwise trustworthy man – Diego must have already dismissed him early, as he usually did, so that they wouldn’t be bothered. Not that he would have meddled into their affairs. It was a bit of a wonder why they even had a butler, given that Diego was already administering the large estate and all of their assets without breaking a sweat, but Mr. Blackbow, their butler, had briefly worked for his late wife, like his father before him, and dubbed as a handyman, manager, assistant and secretary whenever the need arose.

Truly, their butler was a miracle of the nature, always being there when needed and not even once being where he wasn’t supposed to be. And his perfect discretion was to be admired – he had never questioned nor brought up the very questionable lifestyle of his employer, managed the sparse staff impeccably, and could also brew a mean cup of tea.

However, it doesn’t mean that Johnny wasn’t greeted by anyone as he entered the foyer with his luggage bag on one shoulder and drenched umbrella in the other hand.

“My, my! Who is this wet, soggy stranger, I wonder,” Diego enunciated slowly, a lazy smile adorning his lips.

“A wet, soggy stranger who’s gonna kick your ass into tomorrow if you bother him, Diego,” Johnny grunted, the marvellous English weather never failing to dampen his mood.

“Why, my darling, aren’t you utterly frightening! Akin to a wet chicken,” the Englishman commented mockingly, his smirk just as sharp. “Alas, allow me to be the bearer of good news! You’ll love hearing that not only it’s been raining continuously since yesterday, but also that Gyro had just called from the hospital. He won’t be returning today, but tomorrow. The surgeries took longer than expected and he has to monitor an emergency patient that he’s just managed to stabilise.”

Taking off his beanie hat, Johnny curled his nose up. “Ugh.”

Diego took his luggage from the shoulder, allowing him to shrug off his wet coat. “Articulated as usual, Jojo,” he replied. “So, as I was saying! Tough times ahead for you – you are stuck with me for the time being.”

“Just my luck,” Joestar muttered blandly and reopened the umbrella to allow it to dry.

With his hands freed, Johnny turned around to look at Diego and took his appearance in. The British jockey was dressed in one of the many turtleneck jumpers that he had knitted for him, a forest green one with large orange bows sewn over the chest. His dark pressed trousers were tight against his round, muscular hips, like he preferred wearing them when he wasn’t riding, and his feet were covered in some hideous red and purple fluffy slippers that had once caught Gyro’s eye, who'd bought them because he thought they looked hilarious. His face was as it always was, pale and framed by thick curls of golden hair that spilled over his brows, but his blue eyes were soft as he gazed back at him. He was holding a towel in the hand that wasn’t occupied by his bag.

“Precisely, how dreadful,” Brando retorted lightly and began to carefully pat off the water that had wetted the younger man’s hair even through the umbrella.

The towel drying his head was soft against Johnny’s skin. Ever the traitor, his stomach did a rumbling flip. “Yeah,” he echoed lamely, his face heating up.

Diego chuckled and enveloped the American with his arms. Johnny returned the embrace, holding the other tightly against his chest. Leaning back a bit, the Englishman looked at his lover’s face and kissed his lips tenderly as he stroked his rosy cheek.

“Come on, Jojo, you must be hungry and cold from the road,” he purred fondly. “Let’s get you changed into something warm and eat, my darling. I’ve made supper.”

Nodding his head, Johnny couldn’t help his smile.

XXXXX

The following morning found Johnny sleeping like a boulder.

After a delicious dinner, both him and Diego had retired to their room and curled up comfortably under the blanket. With a pair of arms around his middle and a heavy tail wrapped around his legs, Johnny had fallen asleep as soon as his head had touched the pillow, and nothing had bothered him until an obnoxious ray of sunshine got straight into his eyes.

He scrunched up his nose, the sunbeam tickling his skin. He shifted a bit, the covers rustling with his sluggish movements, and opened his eyes to see the rare sight of Diego, insomniac extraordinaire, sleeping peacefully with his nose lodged into the pillow and his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

Gently, he moved an ample curl away from the Englishman’s face, revealing his sharp, clean shaved cheek and shiny forehead with even sharper eyebrows. They were resting softly over his closed eyes, lacking the severity of his gaze.

His dark eyelashes fluttered and crystalline eyes blinked slowly, their blue almost liquid. He rubbed his face against the pillow and smirked lazily, showing a bit of his too sharp teeth.

“Good morning, darling,” he whispered, his voice raspy from sleep.

Johnny gazed long at him, his throat suddenly dry. He instinctively swallowed and hoped that his nervous gesture went unseen.

Obviously it didn’t, because Diego’s lips stretched more over his pearly teeth.

“Sure was till I saw you,” Johnny commented, trying to save face.

“Oh, do sod off,” the other replied without any bite. He dislodged his arms from around Johnny and turned around on his back, his tail still wrapped around the other’s body. He stretched his legs as the tip of his tail, cold as a lizard’s, slid under the hem of Johnny’s shirt and pressed against his warm skin.

“Fucking Christ, Dio!” the American exclaimed suddenly, jumping like the mattress under him was on fire.

At his side, Diego threw his head back and started laughing loudly.

“Ughhh,” Joestar groaned and tried to get away from the cold appendage, with no success. “You freaking reptile, stop it! Fuck, you’re cold! Jesus!”

“Can’t say you didn’t miss me,” Brando told him, finally retracting his tail and gathering it closer to himself.

“I sure can say that,” Johnny mumbled crossly. “God dammit, Diego, why you gotta be such a mongrel!”

“Nonsense, I am perfectly lovely.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sunshine, you’re everything but that.” With a hand over the eyes, the American turned on his back. He was surprised to feel the mattress next to him lifting along with Diego. He opened his eyes just in time to see the colourful tail sliding back into the Stand User’s spine, the playful appendage disappearing from existence.

Johnny could have sworn that Diego was going to pull one of his usual antics after rousing him up so violently and was going to climb over him to do whatever the mood struck him at the moment, so he was definitely surprised when he saw the Englishman grabbing his ornate robe and walking away, swaying his hips slowly.

Too slowly, at that.

Before Johnny managed to sober up enough to ask why he was walking like that, Diego was already out of the bedroom.

XXXXX

Twisting another knot around the long needle, Johnny wondered what was going on.

He had been away for three weeks, time in which he had barely found the means to communicate with his loved ones at home, and returned to an odd situation. The previous night, Diego had been his usual self, but in the morning, he had jumped to the polar opposite.

Was it because they were alone? Though it had never mattered before. It went without saying that it didn’t matter who was at home with whom, they were still together in every sense of the word.

Also, whenever he was away, in the morning after his return, Diego always asked him about his journey and how things went with his work at the Foundation. They would dress as they talked, then would proceed to have breakfast.

Which reminded him, he hadn’t even seen a hair of the man in the kitchen, despite a tall stack of waffles and sunny-side-up eggs with bacon waiting for him along with coffee and orange juice – a breakfast that the Englishman assembled for him as a bit of a treat to replicate the one that people had in the States on Sundays.

He doubted that Diego would have wasted any time on him if he'd had any qualms with him, but still, it didn’t explain where on Earth he had evaporated while Johnny took a shower.

Alike a detective, Johnny abandoned his nervous knitting and tried to trace the possible steps that the missing man could have taken since the moment he had left their bedroom.

He started by checking out Diego’s study, and lo and behold – he was there.

“Oh, Jojo,” Diego greeted him with a smile. “I hope you enjoyed your breakfast – I’ll assume you’ve found it.”

Johnny rubbed the back of his head, feeling a bit foolish without his usual knitted hat. “Yeah, it was real good, thanks.”

“Gladly.”

“So, um. Dio,” he began. ‘So far, so good,’ he thought. “What are you doing?”

Diego lifted the papers that he was holding. “Reading some financial reports. Things are well, of course, but I like to stay updated. Nothing new.”

“Oh. Great.”

“Indeed.”

“And how are you?”

“Marvellous. You?”

“Me too.”

A bit lost, Johnny blinked, realising he had gotten himself into a dead end. He was usually less evasive in asking questions, but there was something bothering him in the way Diego sat on the chair, turned slightly towards his left side with the legs crossed very tightly at the knee and his right hip pointing upwards, although not in his usual sensuous pose, when he was demanding to be admired. It looked as if he had found a somewhat comfortable position in which he could somehow sit and hadn’t moved since. However, his face betrayed nothing. His expression was eerily casual.

Johnny didn’t know how to ask if anything was wrong with the seated man without phrasing it suspiciously, though he supposed that he was going to find out eventually. Their house might have been huge, but they still shared a bed – they would eventually talk about this funky disposition of his.

“So, uh, yeah,” Joestar mumbled, staring at the golden haired man in a very poignant fashion.

Starting to lose his patience, Diego expectantly lifted a dark eyebrow, determining the younger man to quickly add, “I’ll go see the horses, I haven’t checked on them.”

“Of course,” Dio replied smoothly and returned to his papers.

When he noticed that Johnny had yet to move from the door, he lifted his head questioningly. “Is there a problem, darling?”

The younger man inhaled. “Nah, Dio. All’s well.”

XXXXX

After the morning’s strange exchange with Johnny, Diego saw to the day’s business with a frown.

Reading financial reports wasn’t something that he terribly minded, especially when they were favourable, but his thigh throbbed horridly. He tried moving his hip to alleviate the pain, but it only grew in intensity, making him want to curl into himself.

He once again cursed his stupidity that had cost him a perfectly lovely morning. He was thankful for his extensive selection of jodhpurs that didn’t constrict his swollen thigh, but he could have gone without the black and purple bruises that he’d earned from the stormy night’s accident. Not only was his injury hurting terribly and the discoloured skin was hot and sensitive to the touch, but it also looked like a blown up battered meat bag – which made perfect sense, because that was what it practically was.

It was ghastly.

That day, he had woken up in high spirits, having missed Johnny and being glad that Gyro was due to return soon. However, the reminder in the form of a pain jolt had smothered his enthusiasm. He moved with difficulty and each step he took hurt, which might have been easily overlooked – as an athlete that took things too far, and who also lived in a humid and cold country, he was used to having random pains. For what it was worth, what bothered him was the sight of the bruise, which he absolutely didn’t want to flaunt to anyone. It was enough that he had to see it.

There was a bit of hypocrisy mingled in the situation. Johnny had a bumpy burn mark on his back from the bullet that had taken the use of his legs away for a few years, and Gyro’s chest sported an extensive mesh of scars from the battle with Valentine - not to mention the vast amount of marks that they both had earned during the Steel Ball Run. Besides, neither had ever commented maliciously on his appearance. At most, his leg would have worried Johnny, who would have then called Gyro at the hospital to ask which of the myriad of ointments and unguents he would best rub on him.

In other words, he was hiding away from the most unlikely people to comment or care about the appearance of his bruise, who also wore the gruesome reminders of their nearly fatal wounds on their skin.

Nevertheless, to a man as vain as Diego, yet another blemish was not something that he wanted to boast about, not to mention put on display willingly.

He already had a jagged scar circling his middle. He could have very well done without another mar to show for his momentary lapse of judgement.

Shifting uncomfortably on the chair with another violent throb chilling up his bones, he decided that standing idle was going to turn him more insane than the pain already did.

Which didn’t mean that he should have ridden around with a contusion bigger than the size of his head, but all be damned if Diego Brando wasn’t also stubborn on top of being proud. Even if Silver Bullet had trotted carefully on the still wet track, sensing his rider’s clear discomfort, by the end of the course, Diego wanted to shoot himself.

Which would only have moved the pain from one part of his body to another, so it would have solved nothing.

That’s what he got for caring.

He passed by Black Betty’s stall, and the shiny black mare looked apologetically at him. He stopped to rest against the door of her enclosure. “I know, Betty, I know,” he told her. He bent a bit over the edge of the door, ignoring his throbbing hip and how his left leg was also starting to hurt, and grabbed some hay from the stack to offer to her. Slowly, the mare accepted the food and began munching on it. “I’m not mad at you. These things happen,” he assured her. If she were human, he would have probably retaliated in some way, but he would never hurt a horse. They had never wronged him. Not like people had.

“It will heal. Eventually.”

‘In a few weeks,’ he thought grimly.

Shooting himself started to sound better and better.

XXXXX

On the way back home, Gyro stopped at the bookstore to pick up a very large package.

The British Medical Journal had published the compendium of the previous year’s editions and he had finally received his copy. Moreover, he had also ordered several atlases and treaties, and his way too long mysteries series had a new volume released, not to mention that Diego had found some obscure authors and had ordered a few books himself... therefore, the bookseller gave him a ridiculously sized box.

They always ordered too many books, though they also had a very long reading list. It was Diego who usually picked up the packages, or they were delivered directly at home, but he had offered to take them from the bookstore that day.

Bad decision, although he hadn’t initially planned on returning home after two days at the hospital, either.

He wasn’t too keen about those sorts of long shifts. As much as he enjoyed his job, he preferred seeing the inside of his own bedroom at night.

But, as it sometimes happens in life, things didn’t go accordingly to the plan. Still, he liked how his life had turned out - he managed. More or less.

However, despite managing his professional and private life, he could have let the delivery man bring that god-forsaken parcel, because it was very heavy.

He somehow accomplished entering the foyer and let the box fall with a thump. “Pfew,” he exhaled, looking at the huge package. “I’m never picking up anything from the bookstore ever again.”

More carefully, he hung up his bag and shrugged off his coat. With the tip of his foot, he pushed the box to the side to sort through it at a later time, then kicked off his boots. He looked around himself, surprised not to have anyone popping up after the commotion he had caused, though it made him all the more excited to surprise the other two inhabitants of the house.

As it so happened, Gyro was a step back, being the one to be caught by surprise. A small Pyroraptor fluttered its tail against his leg, jumping around him like a crow circling some seeds. It carefully held a pair of slippers in its maw and expectantly looked up at him.

“Hey, there,” Gyro told to the little creature that had been created by Scary Monsters. The dinosaur carefully placed the slippers in front of the man, who bent down to pat its head. “Grazie, you’re a very polite Dino,” he praised it as he donned the slippers. “Is your User around?”

The dinosaur blinked twice and put its head down, hiding it under its feathered arms.

“Is he busy?”

The creature looked up and jumped a few times, signalling its affirmative answer.

The other Stand User hummed. “Then go tell your User I’ve arrived, but I suppose he knows it already.”

After it bounced around some more, the little dinosaur scurried back to its Master.

Gyro whistled, very impressed by what he had witnessed. “Mamma mia, looks like Dio’s getting increasingly creative with Scary Monsters. Wonder what he’s doing.”

Enthusiastically, he navigated the hallways to the sitting room, where he found Johnny knitting furiously.

“AMOREEE!” he shouted, making Johnny jolt.

“Jesus Christ, Gyro!” yelled the American and threw the nearest pillow at him. “Why d’you have to yell? I’m using the needles, I could have stabbed myself with them! Or you. Should’ve stabbed you.”

“Mi scusi, tesoro, I was stomping though the house and thought you’ve heard me.” He bent over the sofa’s armrest and hugged Johnny over the throat. He kissed his cheek loudly. “Didn’t think you wouldn’t hear me.”

“You usually don’t think,” Johnny said and playfully nudged him with his head. He gathered the yarn and the needles and set them aside on the coffee table. “Heard you had a tough shift.”

“Certo, don’t know what has gotten into everyone these days, and with the triage, too! Abdominal pains don’t always equal peritonitis, and they nearly sent an intussusception with volvulation at home. I’ve been in five major surgeries, twelve minor, and had, I think... thirty-something consults? Forty? I don’t know.”

“Ain’t that too much?”

“Ah, it is,” Gyro said nonchalantly, “but I’m home until the next week! No more shifts, just lazing around!”

“Your dream came true.”

“Exactly, Johnny, exactly my dream! Soooo,” Gyro sung. “How were you? Missed youuuu,” he made, prolonging the letters into Johnny’s ear and kissing it loudly.

“Ugh, cut it out,” the other brushed him off.

“Don’t want to.”

“Good Lord, Gyro, just sit down,” Johnny told him and shoved him on the sofa.

“Three weeks with HP had turned you into a spoilsport,” Gyro pouted. “You’re starting to sound like Diego when I’m asking him to turn the lights off at four in the morning. Actually,” he said as he looked around. “Where’s Diego?”

“Arguin’ over the telephone.”

“Ah, bene, he’s doing his favourite activity.”

“Arguing? Are you sure it ain’t complainin’?”

Gyro frowned. “Nah, you have a point. Second favourite activity, if you don’t count jumping to conclusions and dramatising. Anyway, did anything happen?”

“Just some problems with a shipment, nothing big. The distributor gave some lame ass response and triggered Dio. He’s been at it for an hour. By the look of things, I reckon we should find another distributor.”

The doctor chuckled. “Nyo-ho, leave it to Diego to solve things, they’re gonna end up paying him to leave them alone.”

“Yeah, probably. We’ve had problems with them before, anyway, so we’re definitely terminating the contract.”

“Need help with that?”

Johnny shook his head. “Nah, I’ll handle it. After Diego demolishes whoever he’s speaking to.”

“Sooo, Johnny,” Gyro said. He leaned his head against the sofa’s backrest. “Everything’s been well? How was your little trip?” His stomach made a rumbling sound, alerting them both.

“I’m gonna tell you about it while you eat, ‘cause I think your stomach’s tryin’ to get in touch with the spirits from beyond. Dio’s left some stuff for you, come on.”

In the kitchen, Gyro jumped up on a counter and cheerfully began munching on his meal, listening to Johnny’s story from his expedition. He occasionally made small inputs, but most of the conversation was carried by the American, who recounted the interesting things he had experienced in his weeks away from home.

As they were drinking their coffee in the sitting room, Gyro looked around with a concerned face. “Ey, Johnny, not that I have a problem with it, but it’s been almost three hours since Dio’s been on the telephone... I know he sometimes gets combative, but isn’t it a bit too much?”

Johnny scratched his neck. “Yeah, about that – he’s been a bit strange since this mornin’.”

“Strange?”

“Yeah. He was the same as usual when I arrived yesterday, but he’s been really out of sorts today. Dunno why.” He tilted his head, his eyes grim. “I might’ve imagined it, but it looks like he’s limping.”

“Limping?” Gyro asked, trying to make light of it. “Nyo-ho, do you have something to tell me?”

“How the hell should I know?” Johnny snapped in irritation. “I think he might be hurt, I’ve no idea what happened.”

The older man frowned. “He said anything?”

“Obviously not,” the other retorted. “You know he’d rather bleed out than say he needed help.”

“Vero,” Gyro hummed in agreement. “Ma bene, good thing that you’ve told me, I’ll go check what’s with him,” he promised and made to lift up.

“Please do,” said Johnny and caught his hand. “But don’t tell him I’m concerned about him.”

“Dio aiutami, you two are impossible,” the Neapolitan mused. “You both know that you’re head over heels and still act like a couple of idiots.”

“I ain’t head over nothin’.”

“Johnny.”

The former jockey made a noncommittal sound. “Well, yeah, sure, whatever, but it’s Diego.”

“...So?”

“He smells weakness.”

“Pfff, that’s ridiculous.” Gyro rolled his eyes. “That’s no weakness, you’re just acting stupid. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove. I mean, you’re sitting on the sofa he’s bought. In his house?” He suggestively moved his hands as he talked. “In which you’ve been living for like, what, five years?”

“Four.”

“Whatever, it’s you and Diego who know the dates and stuff. And look, you’re even knitting a jumper for him! I like the colour, by the way. But, yes. You’re acting stupid, Johnny.”

Johnny made a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, okay, don’t rub it into my face. I know how it sounds, but leave me to my denial. Just go check on him, you’re the doctor here.”

Gyro bent again to kiss Johnny on the top of his head. “Sure, farfalle mio, I’ll go see him and tell you what I find out. I’m concerned too, because if he’s sprained anything, or worse, I’m almost certain he’s forced his legs afterwards. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Sighing, the sitting man gathered his feet under himself. “Me too.”

XXXXX

Unfortunately, when Gyro went to check up on Diego, he was still engaged in a call, but on another matter.

He noticed the doctor entering the study and waved at him with a toothy smile. He put a hand over the receiver’s mouthpiece. “Hello, there,” he whispered away from the receiver.

“Ciao, bello,” replied Gyro, and approached him. “Still on the phone?”

“Mhm, making some appointments. Pardon me for being unable to greet you, the dinosaur grew rather upset when I couldn’t follow it back to you. Some incompetents have completely derailed me.”

“I’ve heard about it from Johnny, don’t worry. The little Raptor was very cute, by the way. Didn’t chew the slippers.”

Diego fluttered his eyelashes at the praise. “Have you eaten?”

“Si, amore, grazie. I hope you ate, too.”

“Mhm.” Whoever was on the speaker began talking, and Diego twirled his fingers. “Yes, that would be the one.”

Gyro leaned down to kiss his forehead, careful to take a quick look at his legs, in case he found something that stood out. Johnny might have had a point, he was sitting slightly different than usual, but he didn’t find him behaving bizarrely. “I’ll leave you to it,” he whispered, and the other man nodded his head.

Much later, when Gyro was already in bed and reading, Diego entered the bedroom.

He focused on the Italian’s face, the eye contact very persistent. His gaze didn’t have its usual possessiveness, but held something akin to apprehension.

Carefully, Gyro did his best to appear clueless, no matter how nervous it made him feel. It was eerie, if not alarming, to see someone who would normally effortlessly dominate a room being so deliberately guarded.

He now understood what Johnny was referring to.

In a way, it took him back to the time when Diego was nothing but his and Johnny’s shared enemy, and it twisted a knot inside the Neapolitan’s stomach. He was certain that they were beyond the need to hide anything from each other, but it seemed that the sentiment wasn’t returned.

He pretended to be reading as he sneaked a peek at whatever the younger man was doing at the vanity – which was to move some small bottles from one side to the other. He walked a bit stiffly towards the window and looked through it, the moonlight casting gentle shadows over his face.

Gyro abandoned his book and approached the shorter man as slowly as he could. “Prego, pecorino. What’s going on with you?”

“Hm?”

“You’re not like yourself.”

Diego lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s nothing, don’t be silly,” he said dismissively and attempted to walk away. Used to grabbing moving objects, Gyro was quick to catch his elbow with his hand, abruptly halting his movement.

In the awkward constriction, unsuspecting of the sudden jerk of his arm, Diego’s legs went ahead of his upper body and they buckled under him. Groaning in pain, he caught himself on the windowsill, but most of his weight was held up by Gyro, who lifted him back to his feet.

“It is something,” the doctor said sternly. “You nearly fell off your feet.”

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t grabbed me like that! Take your hands off me!” Diego snapped. “What do you want?”

“Dio...”

The man inhaled shakily, still holding onto the windowsill. The hands supporting him faltered slightly, but refused to let go of him. He closed his eyes. “I-“

“What happened? Are you in pain?”

Swallowing thickly, Diego nodded his head.

“Can I see where, please?”

Finally, Diego pushed Gyro’s hands away. “It’s unsightly.”

“What’s unsightly is seeing you in pain and doing nothing about it. Whatever it is, Dio, let me see, I want to help you.”

Stubbornly, the jockey crossed his arms over the chest. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Gyro insisted. Impatiently, he tried to take a better hold of the smaller man, but only managed to grasp his hip.

Diego inhaled sharply and immediately smacked Gyro’s shoulder, but his waist was snatched in a strong grip. “Madonna santa! That’s enough, Diego,” Gyro made exasperatedly and lifted him up by the middle.

"Blooming hell, Gyro! Let go of me this instant!”

Gyro snorted and raised the other higher off the ground, careful to dangle him to a position in which the furious man wouldn't be able to kick him so easily. “Want me to drop you?”

“Don’t you bloody dare, Zeppeli!”

“Thought so,” Gyro replied. Gently, he made Diego sit down on the bed, then crouched in front of him. Gingerly, he put his hands over the other’s upper thighs. The flesh was very hot to the touch. “Now that we are being civilised, what happened?”

Diego exhaled loudly. “Will you stop manhandling me like some single-minded brute?”

The other chuckled. “Nyo-ho, I know you enjoy that, so don’t victimise yourself, and don’t think you’re sidetracking me. I’m just concerned, because as much as I hate doing something against your will, you’re clearly in pain, and I hate that even more. So I don’t care, I want to know what happened to you, preferably by hearing it from you.”

Diego looked down, almost embarrassed. “I wasn’t careful.”

“Is it your legs?”

“Yes... There was a storm two days ago and I went to check on the horses.”

Gyro’s eyes went wide. “Did a horse kick you?”

“No, I was caught between Black Betty and the stall’s door. She got spooked and nearly fell over me, but it’s not her fault. I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Oh, amore,” the doctor whispered softly. “Why didn’t you say a thing? You might have broken something.”

“No, I haven’t, I merely managed to be flubbed. I’m fine.”

“Can I see, please?”

Diego made an exasperated sound. “Fine! Goodness.”

Not saying anything else, Gyro helped him out of his jodhpurs. He was expecting to see some bruising, especially given how the other had flinched at his touch, but he wasn’t suspecting just how bad it would be.

Both of Diego’s hips were marred by black and purple ecchymoses with bluish edges, the discoloured skin shinny and swollen. The right leg was more prominently afflicted, the bruising extending from the upper hip to under the knee and surrounding the thigh.

“Amore... This must hurt so badly!”

“No, it-“

“Dio, ti prego. Be honest to me.”

Diego gulped. “It hurts like hell, I can barely move without feeling my legs throbbing. It’s making me nauseous and my head aches.”

“Let me help you,” Gyro asked him. He walked over to the nightstand and grabbed one of his green steel balls that he always kept close. “I’ll do what I used to do when Johnny got hurt when he fell off Dancer during the race, okay?” He lifted the ridged ball. “I’ll use this steel ball on you, the Spin will assist the healing. The swelling should disappear in a few hours, and the blood under the skin should be fully reabsorbed in a day or two. Three, at most.”

Diego’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Sì, very seriously. I’ll put some ointment afterwards, so that the pain will numb much sooner. Deal?”

The other hesitated. “Do I have a choice?”

“Do you want to be bruised for three weeks?”

“Fine. Do whatever,” Dio relented and looked aside.

“Grazie mille, vostra Maestà.”

Diego flicked his ear. “Don’t be an arse.”

“Sì, Signore,” Gyro replied and kissed his hand. “I’ll need you to lay down, okay?”

Slowly, Diego rotated and sat on his back. He cringed as he felt his right leg being lifted and bent delicately, pain shooting up his spine.

Tenderly, Gyro kissed his knee. “I’ll make your pain go away, I promise.”

With a concealed smile, Dio extended his hand to stroke his cheek. “I know.”

Carefully, Gyro placed the green ball on the inflamed flesh. The device started spinning slowly, emitting a low hum as it vibrated against his skin. He carefully directed the ball over the wound, making the bruise look much darker, but the swelling started to subside. Slowly, what was purple turned into a ripe red plum shade with yellow borders, and with the changing of colour, the pain started to wallow.

Diego watched with fascination as Gyro worked on his leg. Of course, the doctor noticed, and he chuckled. “Impressive, no?”

“Rather. Is this what you do with your patients, as well?”

Gyro tilted his head. “Not exactly... I mean, I use the Spin on most, but definitely not to such intensity. It’s really complicated to explain what I’m doing without raising suspicions, and also very time consuming, so it’s not feasible in all situations, but I’m going to do my very best for you.”

“You should teach me about the Spin,” Diego suggested. “You’ve taught it to Johnny.”

“As if you haven’t learnt about it already by watching us,” Gyro replied. “But sure, I can give you a few lessons about whatever you haven’t caught on already. But be warned – I’m a very strict teacher.”

“Oh, my, Professore. I’m already scared,” Diego said teasingly.

“Nyo-ho, trust you to take it as you should,” Gyro jested mirthfully. He shook his head, his face gaining a frown. “But now, seriously, Dio. If you are ever injured, it doesn’t matter why or where or how badly, you should say something. There was no need for you to suffer like this. I’m a doctor, I deal with pain every day - I know what to do to alleviate it. Especially when it comes to you,” he insisted, pointing a finger at him. “If I had to abandon my work to take care exclusively of you or Johnny, I’d leave it in a heartbeat. And Johnny’s more understanding than you suspect, and far more perceptive. He knows how terrible it is to have a medical condition. You’ve really worried him today, you know? He didn’t understand why you’ve disappeared like that. Not that I did, by the way. There’s really no need to hide from either of us, capisci?”

Clearly displeased by the lecture, Diego looked aside.

“I’m serious about this, Dio,” Gyro insisted. “You’re lucky it’s nothing more severe, your hip could’ve dislocated or your bones could have broken, or worse - Betty could’ve fallen over you. She’s a big, heavy horse, and I don't think I need to remind you that in order to ride properly, you need both of your legs - and whole body - intact. Never mind Johnny riding with paraplegia, that stuff was insane.” He rolled the spinning steel ball closer to Diego’s inner thigh, making him shudder from the rush of pain that waned as fast as it had come. “You shouldn't have tried to hide this, you know. You think that Johnny would have said something bad if you’d told him you’ve gotten hurt yesterday?”

“Perhaps not, but it’s hardly something worth seeing. I do have eyes, you know.”

Gyro sighed. “Certo, you have eyes and they’re very pretty, but that doesn’t explain anything. It’s just bruised skin.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“You would’ve thought the same if it was one of us hurt?”

“Of course not,” the jockey retorted hastily, his brows knitted. “But it’s different for me. There’s no need for you to see something so unpleasant.”

Clicking his tongue, the doctor straightened his neck. “You vain creature,” he commented. “I’ve seen your bowels torn to ribbons, dangling out of you and sprawled all over the ground. You seriously believe that some bruises are what’re going to make me draw the line?”

“Oh, don’t remind me of that.”

“Why not? I’m just thankful I could stitch you back to one piece, and between you and me, you actually have some very pretty intestines. Very pink and shiny. Kinda cute.”

If Diego’s already pale skin could have turned any whiter, it probably would have. “That’s definitely not something that I wanted to know.”

“Sfiga,” Gyro reacted heatedly. “I see lots of organs in my daily practice, yours are my favourite so far. I was complimenting you.”

“Kindly refrain from doing so.”

Impatiently, Zeppeli jerked his hand. “Porco cane, you’re impossible. Just because you’re not always flawless, e Dio mi è testimone – you’re full of flaws - you’re nothing but perfect in our eyes. Just because you’ve got some nasty bruises doesn’t make you any less precious or desirable or, I don’t know. Less you.”

Diego rolled his eyes. “That’s bollocks.”

The doctor lifted the other’s leg and bent it at the knee, the skin under the steel ball vibrating. “Oho, pecorino, if you think either me or Johnny is staying with you because of your looks, then you’re out of your mind. Completamente pazzo. Vero, you’re beautiful and gorgeous and all that, but you’re a handful on the good days.”

“Tch.”

“Hey, that’s true! Simply because you’re exasperating and aggravating doesn’t mean we don’t like you for who you are. You’re stubborn and vindictive and sometimes insufferable –“

“Please, don’t make me feel so special,” Diego spat, narrowing his eyes.

“-but you’re also more soulful than you give yourself credit. You can be rude as hell, but you care more than you show. You’re curious about everything and have a hunger for learning that’s admirable. I wish I was this consistent in whatever I did. You’re driven and focused, if you want something, you move the mountains to have your way. You fascinate me,” Gyro said, looking into his eyes. “And besides, Dio, the way you cook – that’s divine, bello, it takes away any faults.”

Diego snorted. “Of course, it all resumes to food with you.”

“Ey, don’t be so sour,” Gyro retorted and focused on another area of the right thigh. “To Italians, food is the ultimate love language. Family and food are the essence of life for us. I’m not going to pretend that your stew didn’t swoon me.”

The Englishman’s dark eyebrows tilted in confusion. “Stew? What stew?”

“Your stew! The one you’ve made the first time we’ve shared a cabin and you exchanged your provisions for shelter, remember? It was soooo good!”

“It was anything but that. It was just some bean stew with carrots, if my memory serves correctly.”

“Ma certo, but I liked it. Maybe I was just hungry,” Zeppeli mused, “but it was amazing! You added your stuff to our bland stew and made it a masterpiece! Caro, I dreamt about it more than once. That first mouthful spoke to me! I know you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth.”

“No.”

“Eh, figures, but you’re British,” he shrugged. He moved his attention to another section of purple skin. “Can I tell you something?”

“Do I have a say against it?”

“Ah, no,” Gyro replied with a big smile. “Allora, let me tell you anyway – I’ve first noticed you right before in the race. I mean, you’re not the type that goes unnoticed even in a huge crowd, and having attacked us beforehand certainly made you more than noticeable afterwards. And you kinda kept on appearing close to the finish lines, I mean, you've really gotten on my nerves on the first stage-"

"I should remind you that you've collapsed a bridge right under me and my horse during the first stage," Diego underlined pettily. "You are very lucky I didn't shoot you after that."

"Ehi, you enjoyed the competition, admit it! Besides, you were clearly seeing things - the bridge collapsed in front of you and Silver."

"Not what I remember."

Gyro made a pacifying gesture. "Heeey, that's not the point! The point is that you’ve shared your food! That made me think you weren’t as bad as Johnny made you out to be. I kinda wanted to know you better. That’s why I tried to convince you to come play cards and drink something with us, you know?” he ranted on. “And, oh! That snake and cougar joke – I pretended I didn’t like it because of Johnny, but it was really good. In my head, I was laughing.”

“Hm? I don’t even remember that joke,” made Diego rather off-handedly. “Is this why you kept on pestering me in the hospital? Because I randomly shared some food?”

“No, but it definitely helped,” Gyro admitted. “And it wasn’t randomly. You always gave us your food.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be poisoned by taking any from you.”

“Maybe you wanted to make sure we were full, you mean,” the Neapolitan corrected him, hitting a sensible cord. “Or, more likely – you didn’t want Johnny to go hungry.”

Diego opened his mouth to contradict him, but Gyro gave him a look. “You can’t tell me you didn’t. You can lie to whoever you wish to, but don’t lie to me, caro. We’ve talked about this.”

Brando exhaled through the nose. He cocked his head, his right eyebrow twitching, but said nothing.

“If Johnny was so indifferent to you, you wouldn’t have jumped at his father’s neck when he visited in the hospital. And I don’t believe for a second that you would’ve saved me in New York if you didn’t think that it would have helped Johnny in some way.”

“I did it to get revenge on Valentine. Johnny was instrumental to that.”

“Cazzate,” the Italian snapped. “You’re full of it, Diego. If you only wanted revenge on Valentine, you would’ve gone directly after him, which you did. In case you forgot, you shot him in the head. Don’t make up excuses, it was never just that! You said it yourself, you’ve made sweets for Johnny when he was sad as a child. You’ve tried to shield him from seeing his brother dead. You didn’t attack us without provocation not because you cared about hurting anyone without reason. You just didn’t want to hurt him. You’ve always cared about him, admit it.”

“I-“

“There’s no need to deny or confirm it,” Gyro said quickly, lifting his hands in front of him. Trying to diffuse the tension, he bent Diego’s hip, so that he could inspect the state of it. “Hey, look at this!” he made in a cheerful tone, though he was certain it didn’t manage to derail the conversation towards a lighter subject. “It doesn’t hurt so much, right? It’s looking better already!”

However, Diego hardly noticed that he was half naked with a leg dangling in the air, let alone the improvement of his condition. His expression was impossibly sharp. “Is this why you’ve insisted on approaching me in the hospital? So that I could satisfy some infatuation you’ve imagined? Played the Godmother Fairy?”

“I didn’t say that-“

“No, but that’s what you've implied,” Diego bit back. “Did you think me so pathetic that I needed someone in my life?”

“I just thought that you could’ve benefited from each other’s company,“ Gyro replied, but realised what he had said only after having heard himself.

The look on Diego’s face was made of pure vitriol. “What, were you afraid that your precious Johnny was going to get lonely when you eventually had to return to Naples, so you thought that I could just fill in the spot when you would’ve eventually buggered off to do your duty?” He frowned and batted Gyro’s hand away from the base of his knee. He straightened up in bed. “Provide some distraction for when you’ve married some purebred girl, so that hopefully, he wouldn’t become depressed without you and shoot himself in the head?!”

For once, Gyro was at a loss of words. He had never considered the beginning of their relationship in that light, but hearing what Diego believed in spite of the years they had spent together made him queasy. He tried touching his leg to comfort him, but his hand was slapped away viciously.

“Don’t, Zeppeli,” Diego warned him.

“Dio, you’ve got it all wrong-“

“How the devil so?” The younger man was livid. “Did you want an easy way out for when you had to return to Naples? Or did you just figure out that if you’ve gotten me involved, he’d become easier to bend over? Was he starting to get bored of you when the race ended and needed something new?” He made a nasal sound. "Or was he no longer exciting, now that he was able to stand up and walk away? When he was no longer dependant on you?"

“Che? No!” Gyro exclaimed, shocked by the other's venom. He was aware of what Diego was capable of saying when he felt cornered, but he had never thought he'd ever be subjected to it. It made him feel cold. “Che cavolo?! You make no sense, I haven’t said either of these things! What... Where are they even coming from?”

Diego’s pale eyes narrowed dangerously. “Then enlighten me. Tell me how you've suddenly decided that what you absolutely needed to spark the flame between you two was the big bad bloke whom you've slandered for months and tried to kill, repeatedly.”

“You tried to kill us just as often as we did! I didn't even want to hurt you, it was Johnny with his stupid vendetta," Gyro explained frantically. "And I really don't know where you've gotten this notion that I was with Johnny during the race, we started being something more than friends only after it. Actually, just a few days before we all got together. The first time I've slept with him was the first time we've all slept together, you know?"

At his words, Dio snarled.

"Hey, it's true! Why would I lie to you?" Gyro slapped his own forehead, frustrated with the situation. It was like he was trying to talk sense into a feral animal. "Caro, just listen to me, okay? I just thought we could all be friends because I liked you already and hoped that Johnny would too, because he disliked you for your race winnings and his father’s treatment, not because he couldn’t suffer you,” Gyro said in one breath, his eyes widely opened. That was precisely why he hated talking about delicate matters, he had a penchant for opening all sorts of cans of worms and not knowing how to close them back. Johnny was much better at handling such things.

But he had already stuck the proverbial stick into the mud, so he clumsily tried to mend the hole in the fence. “The fact that we got involved like we did was just a happy occurrence,” he added in haste. “I’ve never had some masterplan in mind. I just wished for you two to be friendly. It was a pity that you didn’t interact with each other, you work so well together, right? I thought that maybe you and I were becoming friends in the hospital ward, and I hoped that my friend would become yours, too.”

The naivety of the reasoning gave Diego pause.

Gyro sighed, knowing that his good intentions were getting him nowhere. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Why, would you believe yourself if you were me?”

The older man shrugged. “Perhaps not. But that’s all there was to it. I liked you and wanted my best friend to like you, too. You can imagine that, growing up as an executioner’s apprentice, I’ve never trully had any real friends or connections with people, so I don’t actually know how these things work,” he admitted with a tinge of bitterness. “But you seemed like an interesting guy and I was curious about you. I’m glad things turned out the way they did, obviously, but my first intent was just that.”

Diego’s shoulders slumped. He tried gathering his feet closer to himself, but they were still too tender, the Spin having affected only a part of his right leg, the other just as bruised and aching as before. His breathing hitched from the pain, but he kept on trying to move away from the concerned doctor.

“Dio, you’re hurting yourself more, stop it, please-“

“I can’t believe it,” Diego whispered, livid with anger. He refused to acknowledge rationality, not when he had fallen down the rabbit hole. “How the bloody hell have I let myself be led on like this!”

“Led on?” the Italian blurted, filled with disbelief. “Did you even hear what I’ve said? Why can’t you believe that not everyone has ulterior motives?”

Brando made a sour face. “Everyone has ulterior motives, Zeppeli. By coming here, both you and Joestar had secured yourselves a place to live comfortably. He had nowhere to go from the States, you had to leave your country. I happened to offer to share my wealth with you. It only stands to reason that you took the chance and went ahead with it. And why wouldn't you? Moving to a new place must have been an adventure for you, away from your family's expectations, and you knew too well that Johnny would've followed you anywhere. I'm not delusional to think that he would have been remotely keen on my company if it weren't for you.”

Gyro felt his temper flaring up. “And what, you’ve decided to drag us along so that you had some entertainment in a big house? Got some new pet-projects? Offered charity?”

“How dare you,” Diego spat.

“I do dare!” the Italian made explosively, gesturing with his hands. “Sei proprio un coglione, you know that? You’re not even listening to what I’m saying, Dio. You're making it sound like we've basically prostituted ourselves for a warm place, which is both offensive and not even true! Once and for all, I can’t talk in Johnny’s stead, but when you’ve asked me to come to England, all I wanted was to start a future by your side and that’s the only reason why I accepted to follow you. I’m sure that’s what Johnny thought, too. I’m just thankful that I can be with both of you, 'cause I’ve no idea what I would’ve done if either of you decided to break things up,” he admitted, his voice becoming almost imploring. “I’ve told you, meraviglioso amore mio. That’s why I keep insisting on taking care of you, not because I have some grand scheme in which I’m seducing the rich guy and getting the other guy, or needed somewhere to live outside of Napoli. I had money already, in case you've forgotten that I did win the third place prize cash from the race. I could've found some other place to go to. And don't think that your wealth - which is insane, not gonna deny it - actually impresses me. I'm from a well off family that mingled with the nobles. I've known plenty of luxury, we've just never lived too ostentatiously. You might've noticed I do have gold teeth, and I've randomly bought them from my allowance," Gyro revealed, pointing at his glinting denture.

"And what, would you have come all the way here with me if I had nothing to offer?" Diego snorted haughtily. "Please, do not insult my intelligence with such pretence. You wouldn't have even noticed my existence if I were on a lower place in the race. And even if you had, you wouldn't have glanced at me for a second time if I were just some stable boy with easy to spread legs."

"Che..." Gyro's thick eyebrows lowered over his green, all too sparkling eyes, feeling at a loss. "No, Diego, mio caro, you were so exceptional to me! I never wanted your money or status. I didn't follow you because you've got a pretty face. Diamine, I never thought so lowly of you! I just wanted to be with you. I still want that! I only want you to be happy, like you make me happy. Is this so hard to believe after all these years? I love you.”

“Me too,” Johnny interjected from the door, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You’re just too pigheaded to accept that someone cares about you without wanting anything from you.”

With his lips slightly agape, Diego’s eyes darted from Gyro’s to Johnny’s face. His expression was of shock.

“Pecorino, ti prego,” Gyro gently told him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Is this what you’ve believed during all these years? That only your looks and wealth matter? That you’re convenient? Oh, amore...”

Diego looked down at his bruised thighs, his head throbbing. He felt the mattress by his side dipping.

“You idiot,” Johnny told him and circled him with his arms. His skin was a bit damp, having just returned from the shower, and he smelled of flowers. Diego curled into himself as the younger man stroked his hair, ample curls coiling around his fingers. “Darn it, Dio, you’re a fucking idiot, but you’re our idiot.”

“I wanted to use a prettier word, ma certo, it works,” Gyro agreed.

Huffing, Diego slowly escaped from the American’s embrace, the familiar heat calling him back to his body. “Don’t I feel appreciated when you talk like that,” he said sarcastically, although he was all in knots.

“You should,” Johnny added nonchalantly. “I’m supposed to be the bitter one with the existential crises, not you. You’re the thick-skinned, pompous asshole, don’t take away my spot." He rolled his eyes. "I don't think you hear yourself speakin', moron. As if flaunting your money and stupid face can actually compensate for your shitty personality."

"Extraordinary," Dio grumbled with a glower.

"Yeah, get your head outta your ass," Johnny rambled on. He looked down at Diego’s lower limbs, his eyes getting comically huge. “Jesus lovin’ Christ, Dio! Your legs look like crap, why the heck didn’t you say you were hurt this badly? No wonder you were limpin’ around!” He poked his forehead. “Rock-eatin’ dumbass.” He moved his glance at Gyro. “You gotta hurry up with those steel balls, I’m gonna go grab that ointment which smells bad. The one you used for my bruises, you know the one.”

“It’s on the upper shelf of the medicine cabinet.”

“Gotcha,” Johnny retorted and left the room in search of the lotion jar.

Cautiously, Gyro lowered his hand to Diego’s waist, then slid it over his thigh. “Can I continue, tesoro mio?”

Speechless, Dio nodded his head.

“Then lay back down and I’ll make you feel better. Stop overreacting.”

He worked slowly, delicately, methodically, the power of the Spin helping the healing process. After he had returned with the salve, Johnny sat down next to Diego and held his hand, watching how the blood under his skin started to turn green and yellow and was partially reabsorbed.

When Gyro declared his part of the treatment done, Johnny opened the medicine jar and carefully spread the viscous substance all over the affected areas. The cream smelled strongly of herbs and mint, but its coolness soothed the remaining tenderness.

After the cream was absorbed into the damaged tissue, they helped Diego dress himself into something comfortable and get under the covers. Curled by his sides, the two other men wrapped their arms around him.

“You’d better get this sort of stupid assumptions outta your head, you hear me,” Johnny told him with his eyes closed. “If Gyro came up with something as idiotic as you did, I would’ve understood, ‘cause he’s got a grand total of two dying brain cells-“

“Hey!” Gyro quipped.

“-but you ain’t as dumb as him.”

“Such high praise, Jojo,” Diego muttered, trying to act unaffected despite feeling so deeply shaken. He hadn’t expected such devotion, even though he should have. There had never been anything to prove him otherwise.

“Yeah, well, that’s the best you’re gonna get from me. Now, you get yourself comfortable and sleep, you’ve got some healing to do and it sure ain’t involving you talkin’ shit. Shut up and close your eyes. But most importantly – shut your trap. Y'all too loud for this hour.”

Diego chuckled at the frank rudeness that said more than any other overt declarations.

As promised, the bruising was completely gone in slightly under two days, but the two people in his life were just as present as always.

Nothing bad had actually happened, and wasn’t that such a marvellous, curious thing.

Chapter Text

Epilogue – The Cat’s Walk

That day began with a fine morning. The sun was already up and shining gently over the abundant ocean of bushes and blossomed trees, spring being in full bloom in the green counties of England.

That fine morning, as it’s already been established, the weather was pleasant, only a sweetly fragrant breeze blowing softly through the healthy leaves and disturbing their peace. The window of the bedroom was cracked open, the curtain moving calmly with the warm air that smelled like the myriad of flowers from the garden. From the nearby trees, the birds were singing in their ancient language, telling about their wondrous adventures.

Bundled in the blanket, Johnny contemplated the beauty of such a grand morning spent in bed. He had the whole mattress to himself, being alone in the big bed, so he stretched lazily to occupy more space. Such a luxury, to be able to move without throwing anyone – that anyone being Diego, who still climbed over everything and everyone in his sleep - out of the bed.

A slight rustle came from the window, bringing a fresh scent of grass and roses.

What a beautiful day.

Suddenly, something heavy landed on Johnny’s belly and jumped straight on his head, then next to him. Sharp claws caught on his arm and something warm coiled around it, powerful legs enthusiastically kicking him.

“Blazin' hell!” Johnny yelled, startled out of his wits. He straightened brusquely and his aggressor jolted and darted under the blanket. Pointy fangs grazed his foot, then small legs ran back up on his chest, knocking him down on his back.

A huge fluffy mass smacked his face. Groaning, Johnny grabbed the jumping thing and lifted it up. “Ptew! Furrowed Heavens to Betsy! For cryin' out loud, Queen! Are you tryin' to give me a heart attack? Jesus, girl,” he cussed at the big ball of fur in his hands.

Dangling in the air, a visibly irritated cat was glaring at him. “Yeah, not so nice bein’ picked up, huh? Darn mongrel, you’ve scared me,” he told to the feline, who tried to jump away. “Nah, you ain’t going nowhere, you hear me?” He wiggled a bit and lifted his back off the bed, gathering the struggling cat to his chest. He began to rapidly rub her head, annoying her to no end. “How you likin’ being held against your will, girl? Not so tough now, are you, Queen?”

“Queen,” a melodious voice spoke calmly over the bickering. The cat instantly ceased her jerking and pushed against Johnny’s chest with surprising force, then darted to the source of the voice.

The cat jumped right into Diego’s arms, who caught her effortlessly. Contently, Queen began purring loudly and lovingly rubbed her chubby cheek against his chest. “Poor Queen, what was that brute doing to you? Oh, yes, dear, I know, his manners are so unsightly.”

“Yeah? You’re fuckin’ unsightly, both of you,” Johnny grumbled and flopped on his back. “Your freaking cat assaulted me.”

“Why, she is no one’s cat, Queen is her own master,” Diego said plainly.

“Huh?”

“And secondly, it was you who insisted to get her inside the house in the first place.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it was raining! Not to keep her! Why the hell did we need a cat?!”

Diego dramatically covered the cat’s ears with his hand. “Oh, don’t let her hear you talking such rot.”

Johnny stared at the Englishman. “What on Earth,” he muttered under his breath.

“Che cosa, tesoro?” Gyro asked as he circled around Diego, going to pick up one of the books from the closest nightstand.

Tilting his head, Dio scratched underneath the cat’s neck, her purring increasing in volume. “Johnny was disrespecting Queen.”

Gyro gaped like a fish. “Ma no! Johnny, how could you!” He rushed to Diego’s side and began rubbing the smooth fur between the cat’s ears. The fluffy feline looked like she was having the time of her life between the fussing men.

“That freaking beast startled me!” Johnny exclaimed with indignation.

“Bella, don’t listen to Johnny,” Gyro immediately whispered into Queen’s ear, then began nuzzling her cheek. The cat rotated her head and rubbed her nose against the Neapolitan’s beard patches. “Sei il gatto migliore dell'intero pianeta.”

“Indeed,” Diego agreed as he scratched her fluffy chest.

“You’ve both gone insane,” the American concluded, shaking his head. “You and your mutt, Good Lord.”

“Joh-nyyy,” whined Gyro, elongating the name with a powerful accent. “You can’t talk like that to Queen! She has feelings, you know?”

“She can’t flipping understand me!”

“Yes, she can!” Gyro insisted and grabbed the cat from Diego. Stubbornly, he placed the cat on the bed, who took a very regal and imposing pose in front of Johnny.

The American glared at the animal. “What the heck am I supposed to do with her?”

“Apologise to her!”

“What?” Johnny mumbled, and looked over Gyro’s shoulder, at Diego. “Seriously?”

The Englishman nodded his head. “Quite so.”

Joestar opened, then closed his mouth. Frowning, he looked at the cat, who watched him expectantly.

He sighed.

“Jesus, fine. Sorry, Queen,” he said half-heartedly, but the feline seemed content enough. She walked over to him and bumped her head against his forearm. “Yeah, y’ain’t so bad, I’m happy you’re with us,” Johnny continued, rubbing her between the ears. “But you’ve scared the bejesus outta me, stop jumpin’ up on me, you hear me?” He leaned towards the cat’s ear. “And I stand by what I said – when it comes to you, those two ain’t right in the head.”

Turning on his heels, Diego snorted haughtily, not unlike Queen’s little huff.

XXXXX

Later on the same morning, Johnny went out in the garden with a leash in his hand. The leash, a sturdy leather one, was connected to the bejewelled collar that Queen wore around her neck, the fluffy cat walking proudly on one of the alleyways of their vast domain.

Queen was a large – and still growing – cat with a superb shiny coat of a golden yellow hue and big blue eyes. She had appeared over a year before in the middle of a horrible storm, wet and shivering. The one who had noticed her at first had been Johnny, who had glimpsed a small dirty ball of grime trying to find shelter under a bush near their doorstep. He’d stepped outside in the downpour to see what the strange muddy thing was and found out that it was a small, drenched kitten. He had returned with the poor animal tucked under his shirt, trying to warm her against his skin.

Upon his return, Diego had opened the door for Johnny and seen the state of the little animal. Despite himself, he had immediately called after Gyro to get some towels and rushed to the creature to purr at it, his skin cracking around the corners of his mouth as he’d soothed the scared cat. Johnny had patted her dry and Gyro had looked her over, checking for possible injuries, and Diego had held her protectively with his tail. For the entirety of that night, the cat had slept between them, warming up surrounded by three pairs of watchful eyes.

That was how they had gotten themselves a cat that Diego had rather self-explanatorily named Queen. She was a loving, but very pretentious and fussy cat with a strong, stubborn personality. From the moment they had decided to keep her, Gyro began spoiling her excessively and Queen was quite lovely to him, but the only one whom she actually listened to was Diego, whom she followed around almost entranced. At first, Dio had tried to protest against keeping an animal inside, but he’d reluctantly relented to her presence when Queen had lain down with her head against his leg while he’d been reading one afternoon. He didn’t mention it, but he enjoyed her presence very much, going as far as allowing her to sleep on the bed next to him – and on top of him and everyone else, more often than not.

It was a wonder who took up more space in the bed between the two of them, Diego or Queen, given how they threw their limbs and stretched on the mattress. There were times when Gyro had to extricate himself out of the bed in the morning before going to the clinic, because Queen was sprawled over all of them. Luckily, more recently, the cat picked a chair that she preferred sleeping on, so she spent most of the nights snoring on the comfy armchair next to the nightstand, and during the day, she relocated to one of the library’s cushions.

As for Johnny, despite being in a perpetual conflict with her given how much she liked to startle him in the mornings, was extremely taken with the ball of fur. She was an otherwise docile creature, well behaved whenever she wasn’t playing some prank on him, and she lived exclusively inside their home. The only moments when she went outside were when she demanded – with a loud meow and a powerful nudge in the back of the knee – to be taken out for a stroll. To make sure that she wouldn’t get away, Johnny had bought her a leash, but she had never tried to run away from him.

And that is how Johnny had landed himself the ingrate job of walking the cat through the garden. He enjoyed it, it should be noted, but he found the whole situation ridiculous.

That is to be said, he still walked the cat.

Queen sometimes fancied exploring and slightly pulled her leash to the side, guiding Johnny to another part of the estate’s grounds. This was one of those days when the golden feline was feeling very energetic and curious, and therefore she detoured them from the usual rounds around the back garden.

Walking behind the proudly strutting cat that elegantly snapped her fluffy hips and kept her tail up high, Johnny couldn’t help noticing the similarities between the mouthy feline and Diego. She kept herself as if she had the royal staff stuck up her backside and strutted like a cocky peacock, not unlike the British jockey, which amused him to no ends.

He made a mental note not to let the comparison ever slip in the presence of Diego.

Given that he was in no rush that morning, as it was the day of the week when Brando stretched and ran before riding, Johnny was in no hurry to go to the training course. For some reason, Diego kept on insisting that Joestar supervised his training, although he knew damn well what to do even without Johnny watching his every move and shouting what exercise to do with the horses that he took around for riding. Even so, it made him feel quite special. The Englishman took his training seriously, and he took Johnny’s role as his training coach even more seriously, involving him in the choosing of his routine and asking for his opinion about this and that regarding racing strategies. It was strange, to say the least, but Johnny appreciated the gesture.

So far, their little arrangement had been extremely fruitful, as Diego had won every single race he had taken part of, so Johnny didn’t plan on ruining their strike of victory by changing something that worked perfectly.

And, truth be told, now that he was no longer competing, he enjoyed looking at the jockey riding masterfully on the course. There was something serene in the way Diego swayed with the horse, almost as if they were of one body. Furthermore, his presence of the course also guaranteed that he could notice if there were any problems with the horse or with the jockey, so that he could notify Gyro of any strain or possible injury before the Englishman actually hurt himself.

Distracted by his thoughts, Johnny nearly stumbled on a lifted tree root. Jumping on one leg, he regained his balance. “Ooff, darn it,” he muttered breathily, his contemplation ruined.

From the ground, Queen was watching him with a look of judgement.

“Yeah, yeah, you fancy mutt,” he told her. “You know you look like that pompous asshole when you’re like this, right?”

Queen huffed in disdain.

“Yup, you sure as hell do.” Looking around them, Johnny realised that they had reached a part of the gardens where he had never been before. “Uum, Queenie? Where’ve you taken us, girl?”

It seemed that they had reached a shadowy part of the domain, a bit higher than the rest, guarded by old trees and fragrant flower bushes. Butterflies were flying from one branch to the other and birds chirped their songs from the trees, unseen by the naked eye. Under a knotty ash tree, the green branches cast shadows over three tombstones, two of which were made out of black marble, and the other was white. Over and around the lifted patches of grass, a multitude of colourful flowers grew, and more flowers were cut into bouquets and placed into stone vases.

To say that three graves in their garden were surprising to Johnny was to say the least. “Queen, stay with me,” he told to the cat, who scurried back next to his leg and looked up at him. “Let’s see what the stones say.”

The black marble was beautifully sanded and it shone brightly even underneath the thick shadows, its deep colour reflecting a distorted image of Johnny’s face. He could easily see the round silhouette of Queen, who had followed him curiously.

“Yeah, I hear you, girl. I don’t know what’s with’em, either,” he said out loud. “Hm, so... Sir William Greenchester... Lady Beatrix Greenchester,” he read out loud. “Beatrix! This gotta be Diego’s late wife,” he explained to Queen, who paid great attention to what he was saying. “I guess this is where the former owners are buried. Kinda makes sense, they used to live here. Ain’t this marble beautiful, Queen? Huh, must have cost a pretty buck. You reckon Dio’s commissioned the one for Lady Beatrix? Looks newer.”

Strangely, the cat seemed to nod her head.

“Yeah, probably,” he agreed. “They sure are handsome, ain’t they.” The tombstones had different designs carved into the marble, Sir William’s being adorned with elegant vines and round grapes. His wife’s was equally ornate, the marble being peppered with flowers and little hummingbirds sucking from their buds.

"Diego ain't never speaking much about Lady Beatrix, but I have a feeling he held her in some regard. I doubt he would've spent a dime on her grave if it weren't so, let alone leave flowers. Which is kinda strange, when I'm thinking about it... Dio never seemed like the type to care about anything but himself." Huffing, Johnny shook his head and looked at the cat that was watching him with clear, intelligent eyes. "But I guess I was wrong, wasn't I, Queen?"

With his lips turned into a simper, he bent down to read the inscriptions on the stones, but he felt the hand that was holding the leash being pulled aside. “What’s it, Queenie girl?”

Lifting an eyebrow, Johnny saw that the cat was trying to get him to the other grave that was a bit to the side, a respectful distance away from the married pair buried in their resting place.

Intrigued, Joestar followed the feline and walked over to the solitary gravestone made out of white marble. Small pink peonies were gathered into thick bouquets deposited in large vases placed by the sides of the stone. It was simple, with no intricate designs besides a cross and a small carved rose wrapped in a little bow under it. On it, with onyx letters, wrote the name ‘Regina Brando’, and nothing else.

“Brando?” mumbled Johnny, his surprise clear. “Oh...” He looked down at Queen. “This gotta be for Diego’s mum...”

The cat stretched her paw towards the stone, slowly tracing it over the smooth surface, then rested her head against Johnny’s leg. Looking up at him, she sighed.

XXXXX

It was the third time Diego finished a circle around the manor’s perimeter and he was getting increasingly impatient with his jogging. He knew the reason why he did it, though he couldn’t wait to finish with the blasted running around to go ride, then groom the horses, then hole himself up in the library with the more than interesting book that he had commenced the previous day. He loved riding, which was something that would always be true about him, but he had left the story on a cliff-hanger and it was driving him up the wall - literally killing him - that he couldn’t read while running in the off-chance that he stumbled and broke his neck.

Which was undesirable, but somehow, it was more tempting than running that morning.

When he finally finished with the fifth round, he darted towards the training course, eager to get over with the first part of the day. He was surprised to find Johnny already on the bench where he usually sat when he was watching him training, with an opened notebook in one hand and Queen on his lap.

Upon sensing him, the cat lifted her head.

“Jojo! Whatever happened to your feud with the cat?” asked Diego, showing his pearly teeth in a smile.

“Gonna revisit it later.”

“Ah, and here I was thinking you two had finally made up.”

“Never, the fleabag’s got it comin’ if she keeps at it.”

“Yes, Jonathan, the first sign of maturity is holding grudges against the cat.”

Johnny scrunched up his nose at hearing his full name. “Y’all shut your trap and get going on the horse, you’re behind the schedule.”

“I most certainly am not,” retorted Diego, placing a hand over his chest. “If you knew how to read the time, which is indeed a very complicated task for a simpleton such as yourself, you would have realized that I’m earlier than usual.”

“If you’d taken the pole outta your eye, you would’ve noticed that you were supposed to run slower and arrive a lot later.”

“Perhaps, but that makes me ahead of the schedule.”

At that, Johnny snorted loudly. “That makes you an idiot who can’t read a schedule.”

“Why, can you?”

“Oh, fuck you,” the American retorted crossly.

Diego grinned impishly. “What, here?”

That left Johnny with his mouth opened. Smarting up, he motioned towards the entrance of the stables. “Brando, get your ass on a horse this instant or you’re gonna be behind the schedule and I don’t wanna hear you moanin’ you didn’t get your ten hours bath afterwards.”

“I do not take that long,” irritably interjected the other.

“God’s my witness – you take even longer.”

“Sod off, Joestar, I’ll make sure you don’t even get to take a bath.”

Johnny shrugged as he nonchalantly rubbed the cat’s back. “Joke’s on you, ‘cause I ain’t the one with the sensitive nose.”

Diego rolled his eyes. “Guess who’s insensitive nose is going to wake up in the muck tomorrow morning.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, do try me, Jojo, and you’ll get to experience firsthand just how petty I can be.”

Johnny made a face. “Nah, that, I know.”

“Watch it, Joestar,” Diego sassily told him and threw his head back, strutting towards the stables.

Shaking his head disapprovingly, Johnny glanced at the cat on his lap. “Told ya you walk like him. Got the same snotty attitude, too.”

Huffing once more, Queen threw her head back and proceeded to ignore him.

XXXXX

Biting on the cap of a fountain pen, Diego skimmed through the lines and pictures printed on an auction catalogue. He had been invited to attend to it, given his prosperous business of raising horses, but he didn’t particularly feel like travelling to the other side of the country, even if it were to look for show horses. He supposed that some of the presented specimens would prove very beneficial to their stables, and he already had his eyes on some of the ones that had been announced in the catalogue. He had sent someone in advance to take a peek at the auctioned equines, though he was aware that nothing beat his own critical eye and fine nose.

The only one in whom he would place the trust of going to look and choosing on his behalf was Johnny, but as they were preparing for the foaling season – and that meant veterinarians visits and the whole debacle – he needed to be nearby home, and Gyro, although he helped them with the horses whenever he could, had to be at the hospital most days. Also, Hot Pants was due to come over with some artefacts for Johnny to look at – God knew what she wanted to do with them, although as long as she referred from rearranging the herb garden, she was welcomed anytime.

Hopefully, she had abandoned that whole Feng Shui gimmick that Lucy Steel was so fascinated by. Without anyone’s consent, Hot Pants had decided to apply the oriental philosophy on the little enclosure where they had planted tea and other medicinal leaves for Johnny’s nails and Gyro’s concoctions, and where Diego kept his stash of small rocks – he still had the random urge to eat them. At least, now they had a nice, minty taste.

Concerning the issue of the herbs garden, Dio was absolutely certain that the former nun was doing whatever she was doing on purpose, just to get on his nerves. However, he was never one to back away from retaliating in the paltriest ways that he could think of. Of course, that only spurred HP to keep on searching for new ways to poke at Diego’s barely existent better nature.

Chuckling at the bursts of narrow-mindedness that the former holy woman sometimes boasted – as if he was any better – Diego turned the page of the catalogue and made another note under an interesting description. He sighed, knowing that, given that everyone had something to do, it meant that it was him who would have to go to the auction.

“Ehi, pecorino, if you keep on sighing, I’ll start believing you’re reading some love letters and get veeery jealous,” said Gyro from behind him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“If only.”

“Nyo-ho-ho,” the doctor laughed mirthfully. “I never took you for a romantic!”

“So why start now?” Diego replied, leaning his head against Gyro’s. “I was looking at an auction catalogue, there are some interesting prospects here.”

Zeppeli extended a hand to flip through the booklet’s pages. “Ah, want to buy some new horses?”

“Yes, perhaps... I have no desire to go all the way to where the auction’s being held, but I don’t see whom I could send. I’m not letting anyone else besides one of us to act on our behalf for things like this, and Johnny’s busy.”

Gyro contemplated the notion for a moment. “Mmm, I guess I could get away for a few days.”

“You’d buy the painted horse only because it looks shiny,” Diego told him plainly.

“Hmm,” Gyro hummed, then nodded his head. “Eh, vero. Fair’s fair.”

“And, because you’ve clearly forgotten, Mister Surgeon Extraordinaire - you have a planned operation on the day of the auction.”

The Neapolitan turned his head to look at Diego with confusion. “I do?”

“Seriously, Gyro. Why do I know your schedule better than you do?”

The Neapolitan shrugged. “I usually look over it at the beginning of the week, so eh. Besides, why remember it when you are always here to remind me that I have appointments.”

“Oh, yes, very professional, doctor Zeppeli. Perfect work ethic.”

Gyro grinned, his golden teeth flashing. “That’s my middle name!” he exclaimed and kissed Diego’s cheek. “Allora, jokes aside, you feel like going there and seeing these horses? Some might be interesting, and knowing you, you’d get really good prices. Your negotiations are terrifying to watch.”

Diego discarded the catalogue on his lap and looked up at the ceiling. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “I’ll have to think about it.”

And thinking he did. After talking to Johnny, who agreed that Diego was the most suited to go to the auction, the Englishman found himself on the road on top of Silver Bullet, who was more than happy to carry him to his destination.

He could have taken a carriage or the train or a motorcar, but he was going to skip training for a few days anyway – so why not combine the road with doing something useful, especially knowing that the racing season was approaching. Obviously, he wasn’t about to run Silver Bullet as he normally would on a training course. However, a few days away with just the two of them on the road were going to be treasured by him, so he hardly needed a reason to ride on his dear horse.

Nevertheless, there was something that Diego didn’t want to justify, that being failing to mention to both of his partners the reason why he had been reluctant to travel to the estate where the auction was going to be held. He wasn’t even sure that he actually wanted to tell anything about it. Opportunity was something that overwrote anything that the past had inscribed, and ghosts could remain ghosts without digging up any dead.

In a way, he was thankful that he had his beloved steed with him. It took his mind off things.

The journey was easy, the weather being kind for once, and Diego soon reached his destination. The place he had reached was large and well kept, with a sizeable staff. The former owner of the stables had sold it off to a rich businessman who had kept the former employees and hired new hands, expanding on the farming land. Due to his plan of going into cattle hoarding and agriculture, the businessman intended to sell off all of the show and racing horses to an auction.

The plan of the man was sound in a land with such succulent grass, perfect for raising stock. The scenery was a healthy green with vast planes of nothing but vegetation and the odd farm, but the place resurfaced too many memories to Diego.

There was certainly irony in the situation, because, after twenty years, he was back at the very same place where he had spent his first years of life, and where he had lost his only sunshine in the darkness of poverty and hardship.

Now, he was there in the role of the rich buyer looking to make some business.

Oh, how the wheel had turned.

XXXXX

The day of the auction had come and gone, and Diego had shook hands on some very profitable deals. A few telephone calls later, he had also ensured the transportation of the steeds he had paid a deposit for, the rest of the sum to be transferred once the horses reached their destination at his property.

He was pleased with the outcome of his trip and made sure to call back home to tell about his achievement. The news pleased Johnny, who began making plans for the housing of the newly purchased animals.

Although he had intended to leave as soon as he had finished his dealings, Dio found himself dawdling. He wanted nothing more but to go home, though his feet didn’t let him jump on the saddle and be on his merry way.

Instead, he did what he had never been able before, not in that place of distant reconnaissance – he explored.

He walked and rode across the fields and hills of the region, taking everything in like a child that had just opened his eyes. It was the typical English rural scenery, but to Diego, it was a scene of wonder and hurt. He had always been a step away from the wealth of the land, but he had never reached it. He had never soiled his clothes playing in the fertile mud – the washing soap was too expensive to waste on such mistakes, and there was too much work to be done to waste time on suck nothings. Clothes could only be darned so many times, and he had avoided stumbling at all costs, so that he wouldn’t rip his trousers at the knees. He had never played with other children, in the fear that he would leave his Mother alone. What if she had needed him? What if she had gotten lonely? She’d had no one but him – and never had she forbidden him from playing with the other children or scraping his knees.

But Diego, a mere child with big eyes, had tried his hardest to make his Mother’s life easier.

Until he had become the reason why she had died.

After that point in his life, Dio had become insensitive to the consequences of his actions. It didn’t matter how he got what he wanted – what mattered was that he got it. Only recently he had begun feeling anything in the dullness of his heart, had let people in to see him for who he was, and had fallen in love.

But the pain stayed with him. It wasn’t a physical ache, it wasn’t touchable. It was in his soul.

If he had been more careful, if he had seen that the bad man had wanted to hurt his Mother for refusing his vile advances, if he had been more persistent not to let her burn her hands, if he had done more – maybe she would have still been alive.

Instead, she was dead, and he knew who had killed her.

Not the husband who had abandoned her. Not the employer who had worked her to the bone. Not the man who had broken their mugs. Not the cook who had burnt her hands.

Him.

It had been him. Diego.

He had been just a child, but he had already killed his Mother with her love for him.

Under him, Silver Bullet neighed with concern, effectively cutting his rider’s thoughts. Sobering up, the jockey lifted his head and looked around himself. He saw the vastness of the landscape and the farms peppered in the distance with their rock fences marking their border limits.

Without him realising, Silver Bullet had taken them to a place that he had been pondering on visiting, but had been reluctant to go to.

Face to face with the spot under the shadow of the old trees, Diego felt numb. He felt ashamed.

He felt too much.

In front of him, under a slight elevation of grass, was the real grave of his mother. The only indication that someone was buried there was a weathered cross erected from the ground.

He dismounted, his feet feeling heavy on the damp grass. Overwhelmed, his knees gave up, and he found himself on the flower bed. The grave was overpopulated with a multitude of flowers with colourful petals, and it was so beautiful and dignified.

Just like his Mother.

Slowly, Diego tilted his chin and looked at Silver Bullet. Seeing the gentle eyes of his horse gave him the strength to do what he should have done years before.

Under his trusted steed’s gaze, Diego laid down on the old grave and cried for all that he had lost.

Oh, how he cried, for he could barely remember his Mother’s face.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, his body overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sorrow, because he’d smarted up abruptly at the sound of Silver Bullet alerting him of someone else’s presence.

Tensing, he turned his head around, his senses sharpening.

A few feet away from him, an old man was furiously shaking his walking cane. “Lad! Yer daft? Don’t ye see that it’s a grave yer sleepin’ on? Oi!”

Diego frowned, not understanding what the man’s problem was. The grave was outside anyone’s property, so he wasn’t bothering anyone.

“Yes, and?” he demanded, his voice sounding more broken than he cared for.

“And?! Lad, it’s disrespectful!” the old man exclaimed, having reached the young jockey. “Didn’t yer mother teach ye any manners?”

Diego thought he saw red. He lifted up to his legs and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you have absolutely anything better to do than bothering me in the middle of bloody nowhere?”

The man crossed his arms over the chest, puffing it out like a plump turkey. “I happen to look after this grave, so it sure’s not in the middle of nowhere, nooo, Siree!”

That took the younger man by surprise, who suddenly made a connection. “Oh, what a thing,” he muttered, his frown smoothing out. “Wait, I remember you, Sir. You looked after the animals and the farm, didn’t you?”

“What yer sayin’, laddie?” the old man asked, confused. He looked carefully at the face in front of him and soon realised something. His expression turned into elation. “Blimey! Yer Reggie’s wee pip! Yer Diego, aren’t ye? Oi, ye’ve grown, lad!” he said cheerfully and grabbed the younger man in the sort of hug that only someone used to manual labour could.

His movements constricted, Diego couldn’t do anything besides nodding and saying, “Yes, I am!”

The old man let him go from his forceful embrace and leaned forward to better study his face. “Ye’ve grown into a handsome devil, ye! Yer Mum would be proud, bless her.”

With his nose clogged by the amount of tears he had recently shed, Diego could only sniffle as he chuckled. “That, Sir, I do not know, but I’m pleased that you are in good health.”

“Oi, don’t ye sound all fancy! Ye’ve came into fortune! Ye, lad - ye made an old man glad.”

The old man had known Diego as a child when he had been employed as the gamekeeper at the farm where the boy had once lived. He had been the only kind soul in the entire place, always quick with a good word for the young mother and her little son. Nevertheless, on the day of the incident when Regina Brando had burnt her hands, the keeper had been away with the animals on the pasture. When he had returned and had seen what had happened to the young woman, and that no one cared about her sufferance, he had called for his wife to help him bandage her hands. His family was poor and hardworking, but they believed that a kind gesture cost nothing. Unfortunately, malnourished as she was, and working hard with her hands under bad conditions, young Regina had succumbed to the infection and had died in pain, from sepsis and high fever.

The gamekeeper and his wife had been broken by the tragedy of the young woman with soft voice whom they liked very much. Outraged, they had demanded explanations for what had happened to her, but they had been left unsatisfied and mocked for caring for someone down on their luck.

Talking to the old man, Diego found out that he had left the farm soon after the terrible tragedy and had searched for employment elsewhere. Eventually, he had succeeded in becoming the manager of an honest farm and was living a good life.

Dio was genuinely glad for the old man. When his Mother had died, the gamekeeper had taken him aside and asked him to stay with his wife while he had tended to the arrangements. Said ‘arrangements’, as he’d learnt soon after, were regarding Regina’s funeral, which had been a very small and humble affair. However, unlike most who lived in poverty, she had been gifted with a grave and a decent service.

The old man, his wife and his young daughter had accompanied Diego when the priest had said the prayers and the undertaker had shovelled the soil over the cheap casket. To the young boy, it had been the sole kindness that he would experience for many years, and he had never forgotten it.

After the burial, Diego had announced to the old man and his family that he would go away. The gamekeeper’s wife had offered to take him in, even though they barely had anything for themselves, but he had declined politely, refusing to become another mouth to feed. Saddened, but also with a sort of paternal pride, the old man had given him a full guinea that he had saved arduously through hard labour, and had told him to go make his fortune and be blessed. Diego had rejected the money, though on the day when he had left the farm, he’d found the coin stitched to the pocket of his thin coat.

Upon hearing the tale of what Diego had accomplished in the two decades since he hadn’t seen him, the old man started crying with emotion. “Goodness, ye smart chap! Ye bring yer Mum honour!”

Diego couldn’t help smiling. He brought his Mother anything but honour, yet the old man had been too kind to him to shatter his enthusiasm with the full extent of his coming-into-fortune story. The ‘working hard and winning races’ sounded far nobler without the ‘marrying an old, filthy-rich dowager for money and doing absolutely everything for his sole benefit’ in tow.

Sometime later, Dio found himself seated at the old man’s table with his family – the old wife, still healthy and strong; the daughter, now grown and with a kind disposition; the son-in-law, a hardworking man with rough hands; and the little granddaughter, a cheerful rosy-cheeked girl of three years old – and telling tales about his exciting life and the places he had seen. They all listened to him with sincere happiness and curiosity, their good nature not envying his fortunate situation.

They were such good people – too good, Diego thought as he brushed Silver Bullet the following morning. The old man had insisted he stayed with his family for the night and left for home well rested the next day, and for once, the jockey didn’t find it in him to decline the offer. He stood up until late at night and spoke to the little family that was entranced by his tales. In several ways, he felt like his trip hadn’t been in vain. That he had actually gained more than just a good deal for some show horses. Their honest faces as he told them about all sorts of curiosities that he had experienced was more than worth it, especially as they were hard working people who didn’t read the newspapers. Therefore, he was allowed a bit of an artistic licence when it came to his recounting.

“You know, my beloved,” he told to Silver Bullet and patted his neck, “I’m glad that you’ve detoured us for a bit. You knew I wanted to pass by Mother’s grave, didn’t you?”

The horse snorted and turned his large head at Diego, giving him a look.

“Yes, you clever boy, I see you’ve gotten yourself a bit of an attitude after staying so long with the girls,” he teased his mount, referring to Valkyrie and Slow Dancer. The mares had formed some sort of gossiping corner, and it seemed like Silver Bullet had learnt a thing or two about throwing meaningful glances from them. “But still, my lovely. Thank you for taking me there. I....” He hesitated, busying himself with putting the brush back in its bag as he considered his words. “Hm. I really wanted to see it. Needed to. You understand, don’t you?”

Neighing softly, the Arabian stallion nuzzled against his owner’s shoulder and neck.

“Heh. What can I say, my precious – you do know me.” Diego put his hands on his hips. “Right... Well, seems like we’re ready to go back home. Do you miss it? Miss the girls and the little ones?” The horse made an approving sound and pushed against his rider’s arm, who chuckled. “Yes, yes, you busy-body. Me too,” he admitted, referring to the two men who waited for him to return. “May I ask you to take us back home, my dearest? What do you say?”

Silver Bullet shook his head, his shiny flaxen hair flowing freely around him, and stumped his leg twice.

“I’ll take it as a yes, beloved. Let’s go say our goodbyes to our host and go home.”

“Oi, one moment, lad!” the old man interjected and entered the small shed that he had lent to Silver Bullet to rest in. “I’ve got somethin’ for ye for the road, from the Missus,” he said, his red cheeks curling up as he lifted a big basket with provisions. “God knows when ye’ll make a stop, and ye’ll surely be starving!”

Diego smiled charmingly. “That’s very considerate, thank you.”

“Wait, lad! I’ve somethin’ for ye, too,” he added. In the right hand, he held an old envelope that he offered to the other.

“What is this?”

“Ye gotta open it to find out!”

With a lifted eyebrow, the young man opened the envelope and looked inside, where there was a small blue ribbon and a thick piece of paper. Upon taking them out of it, he felt his throat getting tighter. “Oh,” he made, speechless.

He knew that blue bow.

His Mother had made it for him, many years before. It must have fallen from his clothes when he was a child.

Slowly, he turned the yellowed paper around and studied what he discovered to be an old photograph. Involuntarily, his lower lip began trembling, and he had to bite it to stop it. “It’s... Is this-“

“Yes, lad, that’s ye and yer Mum,” the old man said. “I took a picture with the Missus and the sprite, and I asked yer Mum to come get one with ye, too. For when ye got older, to see what a tiny lad ye’ve been.”

“I didn’t know it existed, I don’t remember it...”

“I almost forgot, too, but the Missus remembered! She remembers everythin’, especially what she shouldn’t. Ye take it, it’s yours.”

Diego looked at the sparkling eyes of his Mother, looking back at the photographer with a beautiful smile. In her arms, a small, curly haired boy grinned toothily, his round cheeks widely spread and his pale eyes mirthfully opened.

He was starting to forget it, but now, he could remember the face of his Mother.

Slowly, Dio swallowed the knot in his throat, composing himself. He tightened the fist that wasn’t holding the picture around the small ribbon. “Thank you, old man,” he said. “Thank you and the Missis for everything. You’ve shown me great kindness.”

The gamekeeper patted his shoulder. “Goodness, no need to thank us, chap! Ye go keep on makin’ yer Mum proud, an’ we’ll keep on prayin’ for ye. Get home safely, laddie.”

The family gathered in front of their small house and bid their farewells. They wished Diego a safe journey and told him he was welcomed to return if he ever had the time. He thanked them for their hospitability, and took off on the back of his trusted steed.

When the family returned inside the house, the man’s daughter rushed to her father with a thick envelope. They opened it together and were astonished to find a wad of banknotes and a small note reading ‘For your blessings,’ and nothing else.

XXXXX

On the way back home, Diego made a little roundabout and returned to the lonely grave under the trees. He thought of what a good person his mother must have been to have inspired someone to tend to her resting place even after two decades since she was gone. It must have been pity that had led the old man, and maybe it had been the sight of the young orphaned boy, not much older than the man’s own daughter, that had determined him to spare his lifelong savings on some nobodies. Whatever the reason, it had allowed him a bit of a start, and he was grateful for it in a way that he was rarely for anything.

He liked to believe that there was something in him that attracted his good fortune, a potential mixed with a drop of entitlement. He deserved to be on top of it all. He deserved to have it all.

The world was his.

But, when his Mother had died, he had felt as if the world had turned its back on him.

Thumbing the small ribbon that he had hidden in the pocket of his coat, Diego wondered what his fate would have been if his Mother hadn’t left him alone to strive in this cruel world of his.

Would he have aimed for the top? Would he have achieved his victories, gained his riches? Would he have thirsted to climb higher and higher, walked over everyone to satisfy his selfish desires that left him craving for more?

“Oh, Mother,” he told to the old cross, ”there are days when I’m thankful you didn’t see whom I had become.”

Slowly, he kneeled on the grass. “You wouldn’t have been proud of what I’ve done. Then again, Mother. It was pride that had gotten us in this situation. It wasn’t dignity,” he continued. “But I survived. I strived. I flourished, Mother. And now, I have what someone as good as you would have deserved.” Gently, he picked up some flowers that he reverently placed inside a small tin box. “Maybe your body is now only dust under this dirt, but from it, such beautiful flowers had bloomed. They’re like you were – ephemeral. Ethereal. I picked some of the buds that had blossomed from your body and I’ll take them home with me. I’ll take a little bit of you with me to show you-” He stopped talking, his voice getting thick. “To show you that I’m happy, Mother.”

The gentle breeze blew warmly through his blonde hair, long curls tickling his nose. Diego smiled. “But you already know that, don’t you? Mum.”

With that, he walked back to Silver Bullet, who was waiting for him at a respectful distance, and they both returned home.

XXXXX

Johnny flipped the pages of the documents in his hand, checking that all the horses had been delivered and that their paperwork was in order.

The purchased animals had reached their destination, and he was there to receive them, inspect their wellbeing and issue the check for the difference to which Diego had agreed with the seller. However, there was no trace of the former yet.

“So, Sir, s’everythin’ alright?” the driver asked, looking impatient to be on his way.

The American nodded his head. “Sure, all’s in order. I’ll wire the rest of the money, as agreed. Here,” he said and gave him some coins. “For your trouble.”

The man was surprised by the tip. “Much obliged, Sir. Sign here, please,” he added, far more affable after receiving the little extra.

After the driver left, Johnny was left with taking the horses to their new residences, helped by two of the employees they had at the stables.

Only after the horses were housed and fed and the hired hands had said their goodbyes, had Diego decided to show up, his grin as radiant as the summer sun.

“Of course His Majesty’s showed up after all the work was done,” Johnny grumbled at the Englishman as a greeting, glaring pointedly at him.

“Why, good day to you, as well,” Diego replied smoothly. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Lovely day my ass, where the hell have you run off to?”

The jockey snorted. “Your ass certainly makes my day lovelier, dear,” he retorted and earned himself a blush from the irked American, “and I’m fairly certain that I’ve told you where I’ve been and that I would arrive today.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “Remember, Jojo? Or is it too much information for your little brain to handle?”

“Oh, sock it.”

“Charming,” Diego made. Unbothered, and in a way glad that he was admonished from the moment he had returned – the day when Johnny didn’t jump the gun to insult him with petty things would be the day Diego became worried – the jockey wrapped his arm around his lover’s middle and kissed him under the jaw line. Johnny crinkled his nose, aiming to appear disgusted, but his cheeks were ablaze. “Take your head out of the gutter, dear,” the older man whispered, and bit his ear.

Johnny shoved him, his face getting even redder. “Dio! We’re outside!”

“And alone. So,” he said, completely unfazed at having raised Johnny’s blood pressure. “Do you like what I’ve brought home?”

“If you mean about you, you could have left yourself where you were,” Joestar sputtered embarrassed. “But the horses are nice. Very gentle, lookin’ good.”

“Marvellous,” Diego said, ignoring the jab. “I’m glad you like them. So, you caveman, given that I’ve been to the other side of the country to bring some excellent specimens for our very much shared business, as you might remember, where is my grand welcoming?”

“You went to buy some horses, not hunt with your bare hands in the mountains.”

“Perhaps, but if you were stranded in the mountains, it would have been I who hunted and made sure you didn’t starve, so please, Jojo – show some respect.”

“Shove that respect elsewhere, I know how to hunt, and I wouldn’t be so idiotic to get stranded in the mountains! Where the hell did this even come from?”

“Yes, but I am an apex predator that can defend us better,” Diego retorted and leaned forward. “Admit it.”

“You’re an apex asshole and a freaking reptile!”

Diego laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “See, Jojo, darling? Even a simpleton such as yourself can acknowledge the superiority of my dinosaur and asshole.”

If Joestar had gotten any redder in the cheeks, he would have fainted.

XXXXX

The following day, after the usual routine of the morning, Diego walked the distance to where his late wife was buried.

When she had died, he’d made sure to lay her to rest next to her husband whom she had loved dearly and had spoken so longingly about. He sometimes wondered what the defunct would have said about his wife passing all of their money and assets to a former stable boy turned into a star jockey, but every time the question surfaced in his mind, he reminded himself that he didn’t actually care.

Still, in the few years of his acquaintance with the old Lady, he had grown rather fond of her. He had done his end of the bargain in their deal and stayed by her side in her final moments, then built her a beautiful tomb. He came by to leave flowers to her grave, and sometimes brought a bottle of liquor and poured it over her husband’s grave. The man had loved his cups, just as much as his wife had loved her gardens.

In a moment of sentimentality, he had commissioned a tombstone for his own mother. There was no one buried there, but laying flowers in front of the block of white marble had proved cathartic when he was in need of some quiet or to put his thoughts in order.

He had never shared the location of the shadowed graves, so he was taken by surprise when he had noticed that all three tombstones had fresh flowers in their vases.

‘So much for keeping secrets, I see.’

Carefully, he approached Lady Beatrix’s tomb and patted its stone in greeting, then went off to the mock grave on the side. He crouched in front of it and dug a small hole right next to the headstone. He fished the tin box out of his pocket and opened it. Turning it upside down, he watched the delicate flowers inside fall on the wet ground, then covered them with dirt.

“There,” he said out loud. “Now, this grave has a bit of you, Mother. No longer empty.”

He straightened back up and put his hands on his hips. Inhaling deeply, he shook his head and looked down at the marble stone. “I’ve become too sentimental ever since I’ve returned from the States, but I suppose it might not be entirely bad.”

The gentle breeze changed its direction and Diego became alerted by familiar scents. Shifting his gaze, he noticed Johnny and Gyro coming his way. In front of them, Queen was strutting with her tail lifted up in the air.

The sight of them brought a simper to Diego’s face.

The presence of his little family never failed to warm him, and he had long made peace with the fact that it didn’t bother him that he had allowed them inside his heart. Within his chest, the ancient monster was pleased to see its pack, amusing as the thought was to the Stand User.

“Hey! Look who’s here!” Gyro called after him. “We were just walking Queen,” he added, the name of the cat rolling with his foreign accent.

“Seems like I’ve been found,” Diego retorted.

"Sì! We were wondering where you’ve disappeared. Haven’t seen you since morning.”

“Dio,” Johnny addressed him with a serious expression, brushing Gyro’s idle remarks off. “Why you’ve never said anything about these graves?”

The Englishman’s smile faltered. When Johnny wanted to find something out, he rarely shied away from asking it directly.

“Dai, Johnny, non fare così,” Gyro admonished him. “I don’t think Diego needs to explain himself.”

“No, no,” the jockey said. “It’s not a problem, they're just the former Lord and his wife buried there. Nothing scandalous or secret, it’s just that I... Well. I just didn’t know what to say about them.”

“Oh,” Johnny made. “Is the white headstone for your Mum, then?” he asked, straight to the point, as always.

Dio nodded his head, not seeing a reason to lie when it was clear that Johnny had been there before.

Gyro’s thick eyebrows lowered over his eyes. “Oh, amore...”

“Mind, she’s not buried here,” the other continued. “But I’ve recently visited her real grave. When I was away, I mean.” Sighing, Diego turned his head away and looked into the far distance, where birds were flying in small flocks. “The location of the auction was right where I used to live when my Mother was alive,” he confessed, opening up the subject for the first time. “She had worked and died there, and the gamekeeper helped me bury her when I was a child. I ran into him the other day, that’s why I was delayed. We talked for a bit. It... Well. It took me back.”

“Amore,” Gyro repeated and extended a hand towards Diego, who made a step back.

“It’s alright, I’ve just taken a few flowers from there and buried them here. So that this grave has something of her in it.”

“You know you could’ve told us, Diego,” Johnny said. “There ain’t no need to hide somethin’ like this. Or anythin’, for the matter.”

“Maybe.”

“But it’s nice you went to visit her,” Gyro added on a more hopeful note.

“Yes, it was,” admitted Diego. “The old gamekeeper keeps the grave tidy. It’s filled with flowers.” A corner of his mouth lifted sorrowfully. “She liked flowers. She tried to always keep some in the corner we had, she used to gather them in the morning from under the fence, but they oftentimes withered too fast without the sunlight. They...” He stopped, ashamed of the memory of the little space where he had lived with his mother, in a damp and cold corner of a larger room, kept as clean as it would get. His Mother had always brightened whatever nook she’d occupied, even the grimiest. “They smelled nice,” he finished lamely, bothered by the turn in conversation. His face was distorted in a strange expression.

“That’s really nice, Dio,” told Gyro, his stomach clenching at the conditions of Diego’s former life. He and his mother must have endured so much, and although the doctor was curious, he didn’t know how to breech the subject, mostly because Diego himself had never said much about it.

He looked at Johnny for some guidance, but the American remained silent. He was clearly more knowledgeable on the matter, or maybe he was just more tactful.

“She must have been a wonderful person,” he tried, hoping that he wasn’t going to do any damage with his good intentions.

Thankfully, Diego only nodded in affirmation. “Yes, she’d been a gentle soul.” He sighed. “The old man gave me a photograph of her. He had spared from his money so that I could have a memory from when I was an infant.”

“That’s very kind.”

“Yes, I-“ Diego stopped abruptly. He threw his hands up in the air, his eyes narrowed and angry. “Goodness, this is pathetic,” he exploded. “I don’t even know what the Hell I’m trying to cover up. I lived in God damned poverty and had absolutely nothing, and my Mother died because she’d been too delicate and noble. She died keeping her head high, but Lord up above! I wish she had accepted to eat that blasted stew from our boots. God damn it!” he raged and kicked the ground with the heel of his boot. “Why the Devil did she have to keep onto that blooming dignity!? It bloody put her into her grave, and dash it, what good did it do? Curse it!” He put a hand over his forehead, trying to get a hold of his sudden exaltation.

“Dio-“

“Excuse my outburst,” he muttered, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotions. “I don’t like recounting the past. It’s best left where it is.”

Gyro lifted his hands. “It’s alright-“

“You said somethin’ about a photograph?” asked Johnny, his composure in perfect order, although he was terribly shaken by the other’s outcry.

Diego lowered his hand, exhaling. “Yes, I have it with me.” He took a small envelope out of his coat’s pocket. “Would you like to see it?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” Johnny said encouragingly. He took the envelope and opened it, tilting the small square of photographic paper towards Gyro so that they could look at it together.

“Ma no, pecorino! Is this you?” the Neapolitan asked with surprise. “Mamma mia, your hair was so curly!”

Diego chuckled. “I suppose it was. It still is, rather.”

“Looks like a bird’s nest,” joked Johnny, although his eyes were actually caught by the small bows sewn to the child's jumper. He began understanding Diego's fixation with ribbons. Smirking to himself, he made a mental note to always add bows to what he knitted for the jockey.

“Neah, I think he looked really cute,” pondered Gyro. “Your mother was very beautiful,” he pointed out, looking at the dark haired woman with pale eyes. “You resemble her very much, especially the eyes.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Joestar agreed. “Unfortunately, fair looks are wasted on you, but eh.”

“Aren’t you sweet like a sour grape,” Diego commented sarcastically, feeling a bit lighter in the more familiar ground of meaningless jibes.

“Come on, Johnny, that’s a rude thing to say.”

“It’s Diego who’s in question. I rest my case.”

Brando produced a nasal sound. “Perfectly formed case, of course.”

“Hey, don’t you two get like that, I don’t like when you’re insulting each other unkindly.”

Johnny frowned. “That ain’t making no sense.”

“You know what I mean! Now, you’re just being rude,” the Neapolitan insisted. “I mean, look at those squishy cheeks! Wouldn’t you just want to squeeze them?”

“Gyro, that’s a very strange thing to say.”

“No, come on, Johnny, look at him and tell me you wouldn’t want to eat that cute little face up.”

Diego chortled. “You’ve somehow managed to make it sound even stranger.”

“Come on, I mean it! Where did those cheeks go? You’re all lean faced now, that’s not fair!” He took the photograph from Johnny’s hand, focusing on the woman’s visage. “Mmm, but you have your Mother’s bone structure, it makes sense.”

Johnny looked harder at the image. “Yeah, he kinda does.”

Diego didn’t know what to make of the analysis of his cheeks, so he was taken by surprise when Gyro stopped his tirade about buccal fat and facial bones and asked him a question that he didn’t expect.

“Do you suppose your mother would have liked us?” the doctor wondered sheepishly. “I hope she would have. I mean, I’d hate knowing that she would’ve disapproved of us, she looks like a respectful lady and-”

“Does it matter?” Diego interrupted him.

Gyro lifted his hands. “I didn’t mean to-“

“No, it’s not that,” Diego quickly told, his blue eyes widely opened and darting between Johnny and Gyro. He watched them with sudden intensity, as if he wasn’t seeing enough of them. “My darlings, I think she would have loved you.”

His thought, ‘Just like I do,’ went unsaid, but his face said more than he ever would.

Sighing once more, Diego closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of the turmoil of letting his feelings run wild.

This time, when Gyro walked over to him, he didn’t pull away. He allowed the touch of the hands pulling him towards the broad chest of his lover and the arms hugging his smaller frame.

He felt so warm and comfortable.

Less forward than the other, Johnny gently rubbed his shoulder, but soon joined the pair of arms surrounding Diego with their silent caress.

Not one to back away from affection, Queen meowed demandingly. Laughing easily, Johnny bent down and grabbed her. He pushed her into Diego’s hands. “There, Dio, hold your fussy beast and don’t talk,” he demanded, and wrapped his arms back around the other two men.

“Whoever said that romance was dead,” Diego mused out loud, rubbing his chin on top of the cat’s head. She began purring happily.

“Neah, still kickin’,” Johnny mumbled into his hair, tickling him with his breath. “S’just it’s on its last leg and dyin’.”

Diego huffed. “We should bury it into the back garden.”

“Under the shadow of some old trees,” suggested the American.

“Put up a beautiful, overpriced tombstone.”

“Throw over some big ass flower crown with a ‘We’ll never forget you’ banner.”

“Charge extra for the message, I presume?”

“Totally.”

“Nothing says ‘I love you’ like opening up an undertaking business,” Gyro jested and squeezed his arms tighter around the other two.

“Neah, hear me out - horses and watching Diego’s ass paradin’ on horses is more than enough business for me,” commented Johnny.

“Yes,” Diego told in a lighter voice, ”but what a fabulous ass you get to see, and free of charge.”

Johnny made a noncommittal sound. “You know what, Dio? It’s that one thing that saves your shitty attitude and bad mouth.”

“Sod off, Joestar, I should charge you royalties for letting you watch me.”

“You should pay me for putting up with you,” interjected Johnny.

“You should pay me for putting up with both of you,” said Gyro, ruffling their hair. “You’re squabbling like a pair of old ladies.”

Johnny shrugged. “Yeah, well, you gotta wait ‘till we’re actually old. We’re gonna take your ears off by then, probably gonna be talking a lot louder, too, ‘cause we’ll be deaf from your snoring.”

Gyro pulled his head back and looked at the shorter men. “Wait, what? Are you going to cut my ears off? Why?”

Diego chortled. “No, Gyro, it means to talk so much to someone that their ears fall off. Talk one’s ears off?”

“So, I still remain without ears no matter what I do, no?”

“Jesus, Gyro,” Johnny puffed. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Gyro beamed. “Aw, thank you!”

Diego started laughing. “Goodness! Communication is certainly not our strength.”

“Neah, it sure as hell ain’t, but it still works. Right?”

The Englishman clicked his tongue in thought. “Yes, Johnny. It’s probably the reason why it works.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” commented Gyro, “but that’s fine by me.”

“Yeah,” Joestar agreed.

“Heh,” Diego hummed. “That’s more than fine by me, too,” he added, and snuggled better into the embrace.

Between the arms of his loved ones, he had no need to doubt or question anything. He had what he wanted. He knew that the world was his.

To hell with everyone who might have thought otherwise, he reckoned – he absolutely deserved it.

And that was fine by him.

Chapter Text

Epilogue – Teamwork Is Dream Work

“Doctor!” a woman’s voice called from across the corridor. “Doctor Zeppeli!”

Flashing his golden teeth into a grimace that hopefully seemed friendly enough, Gyro turned around to see who was calling after him. On the inside, however, he was screaming – he just wanted to go home after a long night being on call.

But still, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with his resident doctor, a red haired young woman with a face full of freckles and a smile that illuminated the consultation rooms. Patients were instantly assured by her honest, homely appearance. She was the clumsiest of people in her daily life, but she had steel precision with the scalpel.

As she ran after him, Nina, the young doctor, nearly tripped on her shoe. “Ooops!” she exclaimed as she caught herself against the wall.

“Heeey, Nina, don’t sprawl yourself on the floor!” he told her, walking to where she had stopped. “You’re my favourite, bambina, but I don’t want you on my operating table.”

“He-he, sorry, chief,” she said sheepishly, rubbing her neck. “Guess last night’s shift left me less coordinated than usual.”

Gyro chuckled tiredly. “You should go and rest, Nina, last night was definitely something brutal. I’m very proud of your work, you held yourself very well and did a great job.”

“Aye, thank you so much, Doc,” she replied grinning, her rosy cheeks flaming up from the honest praise. She had a good working relationship with her senior doctor, who was lenient and helpful to her. They had met during her final year of medical school, when Gyro had been invited to hold some lecture at the University, and had encouraged her greatly when she had asked him, a bit shyly and awkwardly, if he thought that a woman had any chance as a surgeon.

She was infinitely grateful for his kind words from back then, because after she had passed all of her exams, she had found him at the hospital where he worked on the days when he wasn’t at his own clinic, and begged him on her knees – yes, she had used that particular phrasing, and had almost put it into practice – to allow her to learn from him.

Gyro had come up with no idea what to do with her, given how he absolutely hadn't wanted to take anyone on for mentoring, but he’d shrugged and said a very unconvinced ‘Sure, why not,’ and that’s how she had become his most reliable resident.

After her, he had welcomed other resident doctors, but no one compared to little Nina.

“Allora, dimmi, bambina,” he said to her, using the endearment in the most benign sense, “why were you looking for me? Need a ride home? I was just heading out to change and leave, so if you give me a few minutes I can give you a lift.”

Sometimes, after a long shift or when it was too dark, her senior doctor offered to take her home. Even if it wasn’t entirely professional, she had never felt anything but safe with him, almost like she was being protected by a paternal figure that looked out for her. She had always appreciated the kind gesture, their familiarity helping a lot with the trust they had built over the years working together.

From work and otherwise, Nina was the only one who knew about Doctor Zeppeli’s strange private life, and she had most solemnly vowed to keep his secret. Under strange circumstances that had involved a snowstorm and an urgent caesarean section on Christmas, she had met both Johnny and Diego, and had visited them many times at home. She’d even spent some holidays and free days over at their mansion, being always welcomed to fill the halls with her infectious laughter. Johnny had taught her how to ride and Diego oftentimes added more food to Gyro’s packed meals so that she could eat properly when they worked longer hours. They had accidentally discovered that she was an innate Stand User when she’d revealed she had always been able to make any liquid boil by simply touching it – she made really good tea, if anyone asked - which had determined Hot Pants to begin investigating more about the bizarre phenomenon of naturally occurring Stands. There was so much that they didn’t know about their world.

This time, however, she shook her head with a great smile. “Not today, but thank you very much, Doc,” she told him with a familiarity that she solely reserved for when she wasn’t on duty hours, “I, umm, have some papers to finish and then I’ll go home.”

“Mmm, papers, hm?” Gyro made suggestively. “Do the papers have a name?”

“Oh, come on, Doc, don’t tease me,” she giggled. “And please, please don’t tell on me to Mister Diego, but I’m having breakfast with a gentleman.”

“Nyo-ho!” Gyro chuckled. “Don’t tell me - George from Accounting?”

“George from Accounting,” she confirmed.

“Pfff, I’m totally not telling Diego,” he retorted mirthfully. “No need to give him more reasons to be smug about it and tell ‘I told you so’.”

“Exactly! Besides, I don’t know... it might amount to nothing.”

Gyro’s thick eyebrows rose. “Nina, if poor George bends over himself any more to please you, he’ll break his back.”

“Weeell,” she trailed on, embarrassed. “Maybe.”

“You’re an evil little spike, Nina,” Gyro joked. “So, if you don’t want a lift home, why were you running after me? I know I’m a catch, but I’m already rather caught, unfortunately.”

“Oh, right! I’ve found this envelope in the ward’s mailbox, it’s for you. Fresh from the post!”

“Hm?” made Gyro with surprise. “Oh, grazie, Nina.”

“No problem, Doc. I’ll go set myself straight for a bit,” she said. “Do I look sufficiently presentable?”

“You look like your gorgeous self.”

She frowned. “You Italians are too charming,” she admonished him. “Uhhh, I must look like death warmed over, Doc, what am I going to do!”

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Nina, it’s been a long night. George from Accounting will be tripping over himself when he sees you, don’t worry.”

Nina laughed. “Don’t call him that, Doc! It’s just George.”

“Eh, it amuses me to call him like that. Besides, little word of wisdom from your very wise supervisor,” he said and leaned forward, as if he was about to reveal the greatest secret of the universe. “Men are simpleminded idiots. You flutter your eyelashes twice and he’ll be beyond himself. Bonus if you show some skin.”

“Doctor Zeppeli!” Nina scolded him.

Gyro moved his hands dismissively. “Nah, trust me on this, Nina. I do know what I’m saying. So, go powder your nose, put on some lipstick and set poor George’s heart on fire. If he dies from it, it’s Pathology’s problem.”

She giggled cheerfully. “Will do, chief!”

“Brava ragazza,” he praised her. “See you tomorrow, Nina. Have fun and take care! And please, get some sleep when you get home, okay? If you have any problems, give us a call, will you?”

“Sure thing, Doc, thank you so much! You rest well, too. Say hello to everyone at home from me!”

Grinning, Gyro waved his hand as goodbye and continued his path down the corridor, going to change into civilian clothes so that he could go home. As he walked, he opened the sealed envelope, recognising the crest on its back as the Royal British Society of Medicine.

He absently opened the door to his office, reading the official letter.

With surprise, he sat down on top of his desk, staring at the folded paper in his hand.

He was being invited to attend the Doctoral School and offered a post as a University assistant professor.

He blinked dumbly. “Huh?” he made out loud and checked if the letter was really addressed to him, not believing his eyes.

Since when was anyone actually considering him to be such a valuable member of the medical community? Certainly, he had participated to different studies and whatnots, but he hadn’t thought that he would actually receive such an invitation. He didn’t remember applying for any positions.

Accepting such proposition would mean that he would have to attend to classes and things like that, but that was also a chance to publish his studies and write articles on his numerous cases. That was an unbelievable opportunity, entirely unexpected.

With uncertainty twisting his insides into knots, he untied his long hair and allowed it to fall over his shoulders.

XXXXX

With both of his feet propped against the training course’s fence, Johnny carefully watched Diego riding his horse.

It was such a marvel to watch the talented jockey working his magic on the course. His body was a continuation of the animal, his legs controlling his mount and his hips rolling sensually on top of the saddle. His arms were arranged in an elegant curve, effortlessly gripping the reins, and his torso was angled perfectly for maximum speed. He was posed as if his photograph was going to be taken at any moment, and Johnny was mesmerised.

It was so relaxing to look at his former rival. Now that he no longer competed, he could appreciate the exemplary poise of the jockey and not feel anything but admiration – of which, God forbid, he wouldn’t tell about to Diego.

He counted the fifth lap around the course, and shouted clearly, “Slow down into a trot, five laps!”

Diego raised a hand to signal that he had heard, and angled his hips into a more suitable position as his stud adjusted to a slower speed and began a neat trot.

Johnny made some signs in his notebook, recording the exercise and his observations on Diego’s and the horse’s performance so that they could review them later. There was something so perfectly picturesque in the way the jockey was bouncing on the horse, so Johnny lifted the camera he oftentimes had on hand and snapped a photograph of him. Carefully, he placed the device next to him on the bench. He turned his head to resume watching the course and his eyes caught some movement in his periphery.

“Ciao, amore,” Gyro told him easily, his golden teeth flashing in the sun. He sat next to him on the bench. “Been out for long?”

Johnny nodded his head. “Yeah, we’ve began kinda early today, Dio’s got some appointments this afternoon and gotta finish earlier to wash up,” he explained, turning his eyes back on the moving horse. “How was your shift?”

“Eh, never-ending, but it ended,” the doctor replied. “I’m lucky with Nina, she worked really hard. We had to repair a ruptured abdominal aneurism last night.”

“Sounds rough.”

“It was, but the patient survived.”

“Did you give Nina a lift home?”

“Nah, she’s meeting over breakfast with George.”

The face Johnny pulled was priceless. “Y’all pullin’ my leg, ain’t you? George from Accounting? No way! Fucking finally! I was getting tired of this whole melodrama of George asking Nina out.”

Gyro snorted. “I told Nina that this was his title, but she said I shouldn’t call him that.”

“Tough. Got a nice ring to it.”

“Nyo-ho! Totally.”

“Huh, that’s gonna make the Saturday nights a lot slower,” mused Johnny, thumbing the camera’s shutter button. “No random telephone calls from Nina to cry her eyes out at Diego that she ain't never gonna get married after going out with some idiot. That shit was hilarious, especially when he was all ‘why the hell is she telling me that’ or ‘what the fuck am I supposed to say to that’.”

“Nyo-ho, that was really funny! Beats me why Nina thinks Diego’s the one with the answers to all her romantic dramas when his general reaction to anything is flipping out, but his replies were priceless. Caro, we should’ve written some of them down, such missed opportunities.”

Johnny snorted. “Oho, hear me out - when he started quoting from women’s publications was a new low for him. I was laughing my ass off.”

“Yeah, and then he parroted them to Lucrezia when she was exasperating him with those boyfriends of hers. What was she thinking? Cazzo, what am I even thinking letting my sister talk to Diego?”

“Nah, that was even worse. Your sister asking for dating advice from Diego of all the people was just the cherry on top of the cake. How in the blazes he’d become the homely reliable guy, 'cause it makes no sense! He even looks shifty, for God’s sake! And the bastard could’ve just said nothing, but no, he likes causing chaos too much to just shut up.”

The American shook his head. “Ugh, reminded me of that asshole your sister met on vacation,” he added, recounting the very unfortunate and also very short-lived dalliance of Gyro’s younger sister with some man whom she had met when she had joined her brother and his partners during a short excursion to Spain’s seaside. The man had tried to grope her in the middle of a bar, and when his advances had been denied, he’d began being aggressive towards her. It all resulted in Diego punching the man right in the teeth and throwing him over the nearest table, threatening him with worse if he ever dared to lay a finger on Lucrezia again, then dragging her back to their hotel while he proceeded to chew her ears off for being careless with her company. After he had chastised her to the point she was nearly in tears, Diego had put a tall glass of sangria in front of her and declared that it was time for her to learn how to spot the bastards with bad intentions, because the world was filled with them.

It goes without saying that he’d instantly become Lucrezia’s favourite person, which baffled Johnny to no ends.

“Can’t say that hearing about Diego getting all defensive over my sister wasn’t hot as hell.” Gyro chuckled at the memory of glimpsing the man the day after the incident. “He made a right mess out of the guy’s face and teeth.”

Johnny shook his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I’ve a feeling he would’ve twisted the asshole's neck if they didn’t have an audience.”

“Ma certo, which would've been perfectly fine by me,” Gyro agreed with a smile, his eyes trained on Diego’s supple form undulating on top of the horse. “Aaah, Joh-nnyyyy... I could sit here with you and watch Dio riding all day long.”

“If he didn’t have something to do later, you’d be watching him ridin’ the whole day. He’d better pull his weight, the season’s starting soon and we have a long list of races to win.”

“Hm, it’s that time of the year already,” the doctor mused out loud, thinking about the letter he had received that morning. He ought to stop daydreaming, he had to evaluate Diego and make sure he was fit to compete, not make up wild plans in his head.

He sighed, leaning on the bench’s backrest.

“Oi, what’s gotten into ya?” asked Johnny, not moving his eyes from the moving horse.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“Will do, later. I’ll just stay here with you for a bit.”

Johnny shrugged. “Do what you wanna do, then, I don’t mind it,” he replied and squeezed Gyro’s knee without looking at it.

The Italian smiled and crossed his legs, resting his mind as he watched the spectacle in front of his eyes. He felt his body growing heavier, fatigue catching up with him, the horse’s hoofs rhythmical clattering on the ground lulling him to sleep.

“Fall into cadence, three laps!” Johnny abruptly shouted, startling Gyro.

“Phew,” he exhaled, putting a hand over his chest. “Mamma mia, my heart! I forgot how you conduct the exercises.”

Johnny smirked. “There’s just somethin’ therapeutic in shoutin’ at Diego. I can’t put my finger on what.”

“I bet,” Gyro said, straightening back up. “Did you notice anything wrong with him?”

“Nah, he’s doin’ good so far. He’s been warming up properly, not pushing it too much. Nothin’ notable.”

“Mmm, bene,” the other hummed.

Johnny eventually leaned forward, inhaling sharply. “Transition turner for a lap, then three loopy B’s!” he yelled, and Diego lifted his hand in acknowledgement. The American settled back down with a satisfied smirk. “Yup, totally therapeutic.”

Gyro chuckled. “Nyo-ho, caro, you little savage.” Once again crossing his legs, he continued watching Diego riding until his eyes closed by their own accord and fell asleep on the bench, hunched against Johnny’s side.

He woke up much later with his head on the pillow and tucked under the blanket. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out how he had reached the bedroom without having realised it.

Next to him, slow, deep breaths were echoing from underneath the covers. Even in the dark room, he could make out the light blonde of Johnny’s hair, who was clearly sleeping peacefully. At their feet, Queen was snoring softly, curled up like a fluffy pretzel.

Carefully, he extricated himself from the bed and tiptoed to the window, realising with surprise that it was already night.

Yawning, he left the room and walked down the stairs to the kitchen, feeling hungry after having slept the whole day.

He grabbed a big bowl of pasta that must have been waiting for him for a while – the food was already cold, but the fact that Diego had thought to make him spaghetti after a long shift warmed him up. The sauce was splendid and the pasta didn’t clump, so he only added more parmigiano over it and stuck a fork into his meal, aiming to go to the sitting room to eat and maybe find some late night show on the radio to pass the time.

However, as he walked the distance to his destination, he noticed the light inside the study being lit, so he slowly pushed the door and peeked inside.

He found Diego sitting with his ankles crossed against the table’s edge, biting on the end of a fountain pen. “’Morning, darling,” he mumbled as he turned his head upside down over the deskchair’s armrest, his words obstructed slightly by the writing utensil in his mouth.

“Buongiorno, pecorino, but I’m pretty certain it’s the middle of the night.”

“It is.” Diego twisted his neck back into a more normal position. “Slept well?”

“Perfettamente,” Gyro nodded and leaned against the desk. “I’ve no idea how I got into bed, though.”

“Why, I carried you there.”

“Hmmh, okay?” the doctor made, impressed. It never failed to amaze him how much force a person as small as Diego possessed. “Is carrying me around now part of your training routine? Johnny’s coming up with some strange techniques lately, but sure, whatever works.”

The jockey grumbled and put his papers aside. “Oh, yes, that. You must have noticed that he’s having a bash shouting at me at the top of his lungs and ordering me around.”

“I’m surprised you let him.”

Diego shrugged and absently inspected the state of his nails. “Yes, well, let him have his fun while he can, it’s rare that he gets to do his number. I’m feeling extraordinarily benevolent these days. Besides, I can barely hear him over the noise of the horse.”

“I call this bullshit,” Gyro replied around a forkful of spaghetti. “You’d hear him even if he whispered, and you let him order you around when you feel like it.”

“Details, details,” Diego dismissed him with the back of his hand. He tilted his head so that his cheek touched his shoulder, and looked pointedly at the tanned face of his lover. “You, on the other hand, look troubled,” he noticed, catching Gyro off-guard with some spaghetti dangling out of his mouth.

The Italian slurped the pasta with a quizzical expression. “Troubled? Mm, I’m not. It’s just, uh. Weeeell.” He took another bite from the bowl. “I’ve received a letter from the Royal Medical Society,” he revealed. “It took me by surprise, I wasn’t expecting it.”

Diego straightened on the chair. “Oh? Is there a problem?”

“Not really,” Gyro admitted. “They’ve asked me to join the University’s staff and offered a place in the Doctoral School.”

“Why, how grand!” Diego exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “That’s wonderful news, congratulations.”

The doctor twisted his fork in the pasta. “It is, but I’m not sure I’m really suited for this academic stuff. I’m alright with patients, but this sounds a bit much.”

“Hardly, I’m certain you’ll be splendid at it,” Diego encouraged him. “Why the reticence? You are a talented teacher, you’ve already lectured a few times anyway and have residents at the clinic. You’ve even managed to teach Johnny Italian, although Goodness, his accent is something else.”

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Hardly, I’m just sore at Johnny’s shouting. I’m considering shoving my boot between his teeth. Oh, I wonder what’s stopping me,” Diego divulged pettily.

Gyro appeared horrified. “Dio, don’t!”

“I won’t, don’t fret,” he assured him. “But I meant the former remark.”

“I suppose so,” the doctor made in a tone that lacked conviction. He tilted his head in thinking. “I guess I’ll get to publish my studies, so there’s that.”

“Precisely.”

Gyro’s shoulder slumped. “I don’t even know where to start! I’m not sure how good I am at writing, and it’ll have to be in English, too.”

Diego snorted. “Pah! You know the language well, you speak it daily. Besides, I am quite knowledgeable in the literary language. I can help you with proofing the manuscripts. And maybe help with the illustrations, if you have anything in mind.”

“I know you’re great at it, you read a lot, and I like your drawings,” Zeppeli replied disheartened, “buuut the racing season will be starting soon, you have lots of training to do, and you also have the estate and the businesses to manage... I can’t give you even more things to do!”

Brando rolled his eyes. “There are always the racing season coming soon and the estate and businesses that need managing,” he said dryly. “Honestly, if my schedule is what’s hindering you, dear, think up other excuses. Besides, if Johnny wants to continue yelling at me, he can do a bit of extra work, I’m certain he won’t mind. And if he does mind it, woe to him, I'll remind myself to shed a few tears for him. But he won’t.”

The Neapolitan gazed at the other with widened eyes. “Would you really help me with this?”

“Gyro, I believe my English is quite clear. Neither can write for you, but we can lend a hand for the other things. We’ll manage.”

The doctor’s face split into a huge grin, his golden teeth glinting in the low light. He put the bowl on the desk and lunged to hug Diego tightly and kiss his smirking lips. “Pecorino, you’ve saved me.”

“I deserve a cult and a shrine, I know,” the Englishman replied with faux modesty, “but gladly.” He slightly pushed against Gyro’s shoulder, the man standing crouched in front of him. “Finish your spaghetti and let’s go to bed, you have patient appointments tomorrow and I have training to do. And to remind myself not to maul my fabulous trainer if he keeps on shouting at me.” He chortled. “Ah, my darling, I should receive a national holiday for my patience. I’m practically a saint.”

“Nyo-ho, and always so modest! Grazie mille, Dio,” Gyro said as he jumped back on the desktop and retrieved his bowl of pasta. “I mean it.”

Smiling toothily, Diego stroked his knee.

XXXXX

In the morning when Johnny opened his eyes, he was surprised by the amount of light coming from the window. He fumbled towards the clock on the nightstand, cursing all the way as he crawled to it.

“Easy, there, worm-man,” Diego told him as he sat down on the mattress next to him. “It’s not that late, besides, I’ve already done the morning exercises and Gyro’s left for the hospital a while ago.”

“Oh, okay,” Johnny made and flumped back on the bed. He jerked his head to the side and looked at the other man with only one eye opened. “Thought you were gonna wake me up sooner.”

“I won’t deny that the thought wasn’t there, but you were sleeping too soundly and I didn’t want to wake you up. Worry not, I managed this morning by myself. You get to rest your voice for later.”

The American crinkled his nose. “I’m kinda surprised you don’t throw a fit during training.”

Diego chuckled. “See, Jojo, that’s why I’m such a wonderful person.”

“You ain’t.”

“Oh, hush. I even let you sleep longer. I should’ve thrown Queen over you.”

“What did the poor cat do to you?”

“Ah, nothing, but you know how she loves jumping on you.”

Johnny groaned as he stretched out. “I sure as hell do! Where’s the fluffy mongrel, anyway?”

“Downstairs, eating.”

“Ugh. Useless creature.”

“You like her.”

“Yeah, I do,” Johnny admitted. “But she’s still a menace.”

“Oh, undeniably.” He folded his legs under him with a sly simper on his face. "You know, Jojo. I was reading the newspaper this morning and saw the most wonderful picture from a rugby match, where the players were captured locked in that lineout lift they're doing to catch that long, spheroidal ball."

"Yeah? What's with it?" asked Johnny, already anticipating the nature of Diego's observations. The last time they had attended a rugby match - because Gyro had been pestering them about wanting to go see the Rugby League, having been a great fan of the game at home, although Italy had no national rugby team to speak of yet - the Englishman had been left positively raving after having ogled the players running around like bulls, lifting one another by the shorts and tackling each other into piles of very muscular thighs. The amount of brain-rotting affirmations he had managed to produce on their way back home had gotten them all heaving with laughter.

"I think I might have picked out the wrong sport."

Johnny gave him a look, clearly pointing to his far too small size for anything related to rugby. "And do what, get folded in half and play as the ball?"

Diego grinned elatedly. "Wouldn't mind if I did!"

Johnny had been right, because what else could come out of Dio's mouth but something preposterous. "Okay, that's enough imaginative work for you this morning." From his laying position, he awkwardly lifted the hem of the blanket, signalling for the other to get underneath it. Diego slid under the warm cover and put a hand under his head, tracing the other up and down Johnny’s back.

“Hmm?” the American hummed with his eyes closed, the gentle motions against his back soothing him. "Thinking if you can actually fold into a ball?"

"Ah, never mind that. I would never give up riding for another sport, and besides, you know I can fold into basically anything." Slowly, Diego drummed his fingers against Johnny’s shoulder. “No, Jojo, dear, we need to talk about something.”

Johnny opened just an eye. “Sure, somethin’ happened?”

“In a sense. Gyro was offered a place in the Doctoral School and a teaching position at the University.”

“What? Ain’t that something, like, really hard to get? Especially for a foreigner?”

“It is,” Diego retorted. “I’m certain that he’ll tell you about it when he gets back from the hospital, he’s just received the invitation yesterday, but I’ll need you to act surprised and very supportive about it. Leaning on the supportive part.”

Johnny frowned. “The heck? ‘Course I’m gonna, goes without sayin’! That’s just... Wow. That’s really impressive, right? His work must be really appreciated.”

“It’s a great opportunity, but last night, Gyro didn’t seem entirely convinced to go ahead with it. It will take a lot of his time and he’ll need great support. I suppose he sees this more as a burden on us.”

“On us? What? That’s bullshit.”

“My thoughts exactly, but do try to talk some sense into that bullhead of his and see where that gets you.”

Johnny snorted. “Yeah, I hear you. Sure, I’ll give him a piece of my mind if he starts talkin’ shit.”

“Grand! I knew I could count on you.”

Underneath the blanket, Johnny found Diego’s hand and squeezed it. “Sure. We’re gonna pull this through together.”

With a smile, Diego nodded his head. “As always.”

XXXXX

With his stomach in knots, Gyro wrote back to the Royal British Society of Medicine to thank for the opportunity and accept the offer. The following day, he received a reply with the details of his new position.

The concept of teaching for real was more than bizarre to him, but he found that it was no different from the random ‘lessons’ he gave about the Spin to Johnny and Diego or what he was telling to his resident doctors or during the lectures that he was invited to hold. He was more than surprised that he was already a teacher of sorts without even realising it.

The students were fairly easy to handle, especially given what a sensation his overall appearance was to them. Among the old fashioned, obtuse professors, an eccentric and broadminded fresh face was more than welcomed, and with his youthful, slightly roguish appearance, way too long hair and flashing golden teeth, Gyro hit the spot with the future physicians.

He actually started enjoying preparing for his courses and lectures, gathering materials and thinking about how to better explore the curriculum. He telephoned his Father to discuss about subjects that might be interesting to bring up during classes, and although Gregorio didn’t say it, he was beside himself with pride for his son’s achievement – his Mother made sure to tell him all about that.

With his new position, Gyro also had to publish, and that was a bit more challenging. He had struggled with writing at first, opting for a too rigid formulation that went over his head. Noticing his problem, Johnny suggested writing whatever he wanted how he wanted, then giving the manuscript to Diego to arrange it in a more organised form. After he did this, he found that writing also came easy to him.

As a bonus, Diego found himself reading about all sorts of organs and diseases and cures, and the amount of new information fascinated him. When an article was in the making, he dedicated a few hours daily to editing it, then gave the corrected draft to Johnny to type up at the typewriter which he enjoyed using. When diagrams or illustrations needed to be added, Diego carefully drew them with the close assistance of Gyro, who pointed out various things to consider.

What at first had sounded as a hurdle became a pleasantly educational activity that involved the whole household. As Diego had predicted, the fact that Gyro had to use more time on preparations and studying didn’t hinder him from winning all the races he participated in, nor did the horses find any reasons not to flourish or the businesses not to thrive.

Of course, oftentimes, night time caught Gyro pouring over thick medical books or scribbling at the desk. Diego had to abandon his novels in favour of reading whatever study the doctor had concocted, and Johnny found himself knitting even more furiously when he wasn’t needed at the typing machine – which he typed at with just as much fervour. He oftentimes helped with writing down ideas as Gyro went over them, alike to how he used to note down the various things his friend said during the race.

Soon, a routine was established around Gyro’s research and article writing endeavours.

One evening, as he was humming one of the many tunes that the Neapolitan had made up over the years, Johnny pushed on the ajar door of the study with his elbow, both of his arms being occupied with wool balls. He discarded them next to an unfinished sleeve on the coffee table and took a seat on the sofa.

Gyro was seated at the desk with his long legs crossed over the tabletop, idly thumbing the corners of some papers that he was reading. Diego watched him alike a snake from his perched up position on the wide windowsill, all the while twisting and twirling a fountain pen between his fingers. He had a thick notebook opened on his lap that had a multitude of little colourful pieces of paper sticking out at various intervals.

Indulgently, Johnny made himself cosy on the sofa and resumed the knitting of the cardigan’s sleeve. He occasionally cast a glance at the other two men, wondering how long the staleness was going to last.

It turned out that it actually took the knitting of both sleeves, the yoke, half of the body and three quarters of the back for Gyro to finally let go of the papers and lift his hands in the air.

“Bene, tutto qui,” he announced with a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This took waaaay longer than I expected.”

“Well,” Diego replied smoothly, noting something down then closing the notebook which he put aside, “it was a long study. It stands to reason that the final reading would take quite a while.”

Gyro groaned and closed his eyes. “I know, I know... Hopefully, it’s all good. I’m sooo done with it - I’m beat!”

Lightly, the Englishman jumped off the windowsill and leaned against it with his body facing the window. He rested his weight against his elbows and looked at the sitting man over the shoulder. “Oh, it definitely is. You worked hard and it’s already approved, anyway, so all you need to do is send this final form to the publisher, wait for the printing and collect your laurels. Simple as that.”

“Ahhh, you make it sound so easy,” Gyro suspired with a big smile on his face, his eyes still closed. “Gotta love your attitude sometimes, Dio.”

“Why, it has gotten me this far.”

The corner of Johnny’s mouth curled up. There was a peculiar way in which Diego amassed the means to fulfil whatever he wanted, and Gyro’s more than inspirational ascent on the academic scene was a more than valid proof. With his articles, he had managed to reach a surprisingly big specialised audience in a very short time, all because of Brando’s startling diligence in encouraging him to write and picking up the right scientific publications. The doctor had yet to process what on Earth was happening with his career, but he very much enjoyed his work, which led to no complaints. He just went along with the flow.

Which would have been very disconcerting if it wasn’t all for a good cause. It was a bit scary, if not terrifying, what a focused Diego could do with whatever fate dealt to him, and worse – the lengths he actually took to have things going accordingly to his desires. Johnny oftentimes shuddered when imagining what someone like him might have done without having an aim, or if the direction he took spiralled into the destruction that he knew the other was more than capable of. Over the years, Johnny became more than convinced that what he had jokingly called as moving to England to keep an eye on Diego was actually a reality.

Which he didn’t mind, but the thought remained.

As it stood, editing medical research and helping the scientific community was nothing too risky – in theory, at least - and Gyro was actually having lots of fun going on and on about all sorts of subjects with their more than curious partner. Which, in turn, put Johnny’s nerves at ease.

Continuing to twist the knots on the metal needles, the American allowed his eyes to rest on Diego’s relaxed form. He was still turned with his back at the room, one of his legs lightly bent at the knee and his upper body leaning over the windowsill. He held his chin against the bottom of his hand, occasionally tapping his index finger against the corner of his slightly parted lips, the plump flesh vibrating with each careless motion. The night was starry and the moon reflected lovingly against his porcelain skin, the golden of his hair setting his pale glacial eyes on fire.

Johnny stared at him for long. There was something in the lines of his body that fascinated him, both light and powerful, deceitful. He was small and still seemed so enormous, he was light as a feather and yet so heavy, delicate but firm and tough. His fine neck was alluringly lined by thick golden curls, the edges of his skin glowing like champagne. His thin waist was twisted elegantly at the junction between his broad back and sculpted legs, his wide hips undecidedly settled between soft and hard, and his buttocks so very round, one of them cocked maddeningly upwards.

There had been many instances when Johnny wondered what Diego would have looked like if he hadn’t taken the path of a jockey in need of remaining compact and weightless. How his body would have been shaped had he not starved for years and had he not toiled under the hardship of poverty. He definitely possessed the built of someone with greater growth potential, if only by judging the width of his shoulders and the length of his fingers. Would he have been tall and lean, or would he have been bulky like an ox? What would have been different? What would have stayed the same? Would he have been just as brilliant as the sun and as sharp as a glacier?

Suddenly, the yarn wrapped around Johnny’s index finger slipped, making him realise that he had finished the entirety of the spool he was using. His absent mindedness has resulted into a too long back for the cardigan. Casting a better look at it, he noticed that he’d also managed to mess up the hem, accidentally having added a few lines that made it descend diagonally into a jagged tail.

He wanted to smack himself over the eyes. It was plainly ridiculous to get so caught up into ogling Diego, who was just looking out of the window, to the point of making a fumble out of some simple knots that he could do in his sleep.

Yet, there he was, with a faulty cardigan’s back and frowning forehead.

But it also seemed like Gyro wasn’t faring much too differently, only that he was still sitting with his legs on the desktop and his hands behind the neck – neck that was twisted to the side, green eyes trained on Diego’s leaning form. His tanned Mediterranean face was drawn into a greedy expression, all consuming gaze hungering over the unsuspecting man.

At least he wasn’t the only one being awestruck – small mercy which didn’t do anything to alleviate Johnny’s spike of sour mood.

However, he wasn’t the one who made a move, still firmly rooted to the sofa with his knitting needles held between clenched fists. Far less inhibited by grumbling thoughts, Gyro set the soles of his feet on the floor.

Diego turned his head at him and flashed his sharp canines in a pearly smile. “Tonight’s a full moon,” he said excitedly, pointing to the round satellite on the sky. “Can you see just how bright it is? Everything else seems so dark!”

“Mhm,” Gyro hummed, humouring the other. Diego always seemed so fascinated by the night sky, its vastness sometimes catching his eyes for hours on end.

Slowly, the Italian walked next to him and leaned against his side.

“What?”

Gyro shrugged. “Mm. Nothing.” He grinned, his golden teeth glinting garishly. “Your face reflects the moon.”

Diego snorted and returned his eyes to the sky. “As all shiny objects do.”

“Sì, but not all that shines has light,” he whispered and nudged his cheek with the tip of his nose. Diego turned his head at him and kissed him sweetly, his lips retaining their smile.

“Ha-ha, smooth. Very profound, Zeppeli. One for the classics.”

“Right? I’m a natural!”

Diego rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes,” he muttered flatly, “however can one resist such devastating charm. Mio incantevole imperatore!"

Gyro chuckled. “Nyo-ho! Precisamente!” he exclaimed and wrapped his arms around Diego’s slight waist. Gently, he placed a fleeting kiss against his temple, then to his cheek and the line of his jaw, eliciting a low rumbling sound from the other’s chest. He peppered more chaste kisses against his skin, until Diego had enough and caught the back of his head with his hand. He brought their lips together in a languid kiss, indulging, like waves crashing into rocks. Inhaling deeply, he pressed his body into the other’s, their kisses turning more aggressive, teeth clashing and tongues rolling demandingly, prodding deeper.

With sure hands, Gyro hoisted Diego against his body, strong legs clasping around his waist. Dio twisted his fingers into the other’s long hair, pulling him impossibly closer to himself, his lips parting greedily to capture more of the mouth gliding against his. His back was studied by grubby hands that felt his muscles tightening, descending lower and lower until fingers parted to clasp his buttocks, digging into the pliant flesh.

His thighs hit the surface of the desk and he was sat down on it, their lips not parting even for a moment. They were already panting, their frantic groping making their heads spin. Diego grabbed Gyro’s ass and pressed him between his spread legs, undulating his body to let him know how hard he was already.

With a groan, Gyro pushed Diego down and pinned his torso to the desk. The other grinned widely, the corners of his lips cracking and his teeth sharpening as he heard the buckle of his trousers being opened. As fabric slid down his legs, he tossed his colourful jumper aside, the cool air of the study hitting his too heated skin. He spread his thighs apart, unashamed, presenting his nakedness like it was a feast for the starving.

Gyro descended upon his face and kissed him ravenously, pulling his tongue into his mouth and sucking hard on it, biting his lips, his chin, his collarbones, then attached his teeth to Diego’s heaving pectoral, raking the skin and making the muscle jump. He licked the hard flesh and bit it harshly, eliciting unabashed moans from the slowly transforming man. A clawed hand clasped the edge of the desktop, and the other twisted around the long, blonde tresses of the feasting Neapolitan.

The pale skin on Diego’s abdomen turned cherry red as a clever tongue rolled over its planes, down to the scar surrounding his middle and ran lower, where bones were protruding from underneath. His belly was smeared with green lipstick and sticky fluids leaking lustily from his curved up cock that jolted every time Gyro so much as breathed over his skin.

His hips were grabbed roughly and he was dragged lower down the table, his ass dangling in the air, allowing for his heavy tail to emerge from the base of his spine. He was unable to fully control his transformation when he was like this, almost delirious with want, and he wasn’t sure that he would have wanted to, not when Gyro was gripping the tail's meaty side like he couldn’t get enough of it between his hands and stroking his fingertips against its shiny scales.

He looked down at his body and saw his thighs being parted and hips being lifted. His knees came to rest close to his head as he was folded in half, more of his ass floating over the edge of the table. It appeared like he was falling off, but he landed right on Gyro’s ever prodding mouth, tongue rolling over his buttocks and teeth biting into the round globes. He breathed wildly, his eyes going wide with delight when the tongue marking his body thrust inside the hole between his legs, nerves suddenly wiring up with electricity.

Twisting his neck at an impossible angle, he looked at Johnny, who was silently watching them from the sofa. The ruined back of the cardigan laid folded on the small coffee table next to it, the needles safely tucked in the knitting project.

His facial expression betrayed nothing about what he was witnessing, but his cheeks were flushed and his blue irises were nearly drowned out by his widened pupils. He sat very still, patiently, controlled.

Diego adored him right then, feigning such absolute indifference to his naked body, while he was laying on a table, thrashing and moaning whorishly as Gyro lapped at his arse as if it was candy.

Of course, it was impossible not to see Johnny’s pants tenting obscenely at the crotch, obviously not unaffected by the little show in front of him.

It made his mouth water. He praisingly rubbed Gyro’s head, encouraging his ministrations, and his breath hitched when two fingers joined the tongue driving him wild. He laughed joyfully, sounding like crystal bells clinking, and extended his other hand towards Johnny.

Making fun of him, Johnny merely caught it and softly rubbed his fingers against his.

Diego slapped his hand away, then grabbed it again, pulling Johnny towards the desk with a lot more force than he probably should have.

Gyro noticed the movement and turned to biting Dio’s inner thigh as he watched them with curious eyes, his fingers slowly hooking and unhooking inside of him, making him jolt.

Impatiently, Brando grabbed the front of Johnny’s starry patterned trousers and pulled them lower, until they fell around his knees. Johnny kicked them away and pulled his shirt off, his blonde hair curling messily above his shoulders.

Unceremoniously, Diego twisted his neck and captured the dangling cock inside his mouth, sucking it within like a vacuum. He couldn’t really move his head from the position in which he was laying, so he grabbed Johnny’s bottom and pulled it towards him, giving him a clear signal to fuck into his mouth. Steadying his head with a sure hand, the American began thrusting into his mouth, occasionally blocking his windpipe and chocking him, making his mind reel with sparkling pleasure.

Gyro turned to sucking Dio off most enthusiastically, taking him down to the hilt, then going up to roll his tongue on the bulbous head that was spilling continuously against his taste buds, four of his fingers prodding and twisting against his prostate. Diego could barely hold himself steady, his tail having wrapped around the desk’s leg not to accidentally throw himself off of its top.

Deviously, he parted Johnny’s thrusting buttocks and slid a finger between them. Surprised, the man stopped moving, but he felt himself being pulled towards the table, his wet cock suddenly left hanging in the air.

Gyro finally straightened from his crouched position and chucked off his clothes, discarding them somewhere. One look from Diego, still fully spread on the desk, was enough to understand what the other wanted.

Easily, he grasped Johnny’s waist and lifted him up onto the table.

“What the-“ the younger man exclaimed, mortified by the handling. “Gyro, what the Hell, put me down!”

Diego also caught him by the legs and helped with positioning Johnny with his bent knees on the tabletop and his back turned to him. “Oh, hush, Jojo, and get your arse closer to me,” he snapped after he swatted a perky cheek to watch it jingle in front of him.

Before he actually managed to protest against anything, Johnny’s middle was grabbed again and he was lowered over Diego’s awaiting mouth, who wasted no time to poke his clearly extended and too pointy tongue inside of him.

Johnny’s eyes bulged, and it would have been very comical to Gyro had he not had other more pressing business. He caught Johnny’s face between his palms and kissed him filthily, using too much tongue, then lifted Diego’s legs and pressed them into Johnny’s arms. “There, hold them up,” he instructed with a grin. He slowly pushed himself inside of Dio, who moaned wantonly as he felt his insides being spread opened. The vibration reverberated through Johnny, who grunted as he sensed Diego licking inside of him with even more enthusiasm.

Gyro brought Johnny’s lips to his and kissed him hungrily, devouring his mouth as he began pumping hard into Diego, who twisted his abnormally long tongue into the American’s ass and abused his prostate with its pointy tip. The sounds they produced were wet, filthy, desperate, moans and groans overlapping. Their bodies grinded against each other, relentless, hard, not getting enough of the intense sensations rolling between them.

Johnny felt Diego’s cock hitting against his bent knee and grabbed it, stroking it in time with the tongue and fingers working inside his ass. The hard appendage grew tighter and pulsed spasmodically, until he felt liquid jutting out and spilling all over his fingers.

A few more flicks against his prostate and he was cumming, too, groaning loudly into Gyro’s mouth, who finished jerkily inside Diego, lights flashing behind his eyelids.

Panting hard, Johnny mustered up the strength to lift up to his knees and allowed Diego to breathe properly. He sat down next to his head on the desktop, and watched the other’s absolutely dazed expression.

“Hell’s bells, Dio, what was that,” he scolded him, though he wasn’t sure that was the proper tone. He looked at Gyro, whose expression was one of lewdly amusement.

“Told you his tongue can get really long,” he told him with a shit-eating grin, like he had just won the jackpot.

“Score for Britain!” Diego exclaimed and thrust his fist into the air, laughing bubbly and freely.

Johnny looked at the other two, not knowing if he should laugh or cry. He turned his eyes at the cum slowly trailing down his hand and shook his head.

He didn’t know how to dignify either with a response, so he began walking away while questioning his life choices.

“Ta-ah, no, you don’t,” Diego immediately halted him and twirled him around. He grabbed his face and kissed him all too deeply, his tongue nearly choking him.

The sudden impact felt electrifying, no matter how much Johnny wished to deny it. He brought Dio closer to himself and made him slow down, kiss him properly, not like he wanted to scoop out his teeth.

His good intentions landed him with his back against the sofa’s seat, the Englishman having slid like a snake between his legs on top of him. He felt the head of his dick prodding at his entrance. He put a bit of space between them, his breathing quickening as their noses rubbed together. “You impossible lizard,” he commented fondly and kissed him sweetly on his full lips that were clearly cracking and spreading too widely over his face. Diego’s tail wiggled happily behind him.

Dio made a chirping sound and searched for Gyro, who scurried to sit next to them on the sofa. He encouragingly slapped his ass, making the jockey snort with laughter, his uncoordinated legs trembling.

“Lord help me over the fence with y’all,” Johnny uttered and grabbed the base of Diego’s tail. “Come here, you prehistoric idiot.”

Lowering himself over the offered body underneath his, Dio sensually slipped inside Johnny. He lifted one of his legs over his shoulder, pinning the other down, and began a deeply unsettling pace, snapping hard upon bottoming out and sliding out slowly, knocking the breath right out of his partner’s lungs.

It should have felt wrong, but it was so right, that gliding and slapping of their bodies. The pace quickened and Johnny felt his whole body being lit on fire, liquid burning in his veins. His fingertips tingled as his prostate was hit dead-on, unforgiving, rushing him into the abyss. Diego’s hands were all over him, over his neck and chest and cock, twisting and pulling and groping and making him feel like he had a thousand hands all over him. A wet tongue left trails upon trails over his too tight skin and suple lips kissed him slowly and reverently. The burn between his legs made him scream, the sound strange to his own ears, and thrash and not get enough of the maddening sensation.

His back arched when Dio changed the angle of his thrusts, and his mouth remained widely opened. His fingers grabbed golden tresses and pulled, his fingernails bit into strong muscle, and he came violently, spasmodically, his pleasure gutting him and making him feel like he was weightless.

He clung to Diego’s shoulders, his eyes rounded and blinking stupidly, dazedly, as the other kept chasing his desire within his body. He watched his face flushing with exertion, golden curls getting into eyes flicking between blue and yellow, his pupils rounding and then turning into slits, harsh breathing escaping from between his plump lips and flaring nostrils.

He was so beautiful, and Johnny kissed him like he wanted to eat him wholly.

With another snap of his hips, Diego too came, warmth spreading between their connected bodies.

Johnny let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his heart doing flips as he embraced the man above him. He felt moist lips gently kissing his temple, and he smiled and giggled, impossibly high.

Gyro watched them lovingly, not a speck of jealousy on his face. His chest sweltered every time he saw his beloved boys simply existing in the same space, never getting enough of their happiness, of their joy. In the heights of their pleasure, they were radiant, and he loved them all the more for it.

Poetic as the whole exchange had been, Diego was a bit more practical in the matters of the flesh, and turned around to kiss Gyro’s jaw and whisper into his ear. Johnny couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears, and was taken aback when Diego slid out of him and pushed him towards Gyro, who was sitting on the opposite side of the sofa.

He discerned liquid sliding down his thighs, which was such a strange and confusing sensation. Diego came to rest behind him as he was pushed over Gyro’s lap.

Slowly, he was lowered over his awaiting cock, hard and straining for attention. It was too much, Johnny’s body still tingling with the aftershocks of his climaxes too close to each other, but he felt greedy, starving, demanding to be used until he could barely understand what was happening to him.

He was dizzy and his muscles were slack, unable to hold himself up properly. He looked at Gyro with imploring eyes, embarrassed that he wasn’t going to be able to give him what he wanted, what he deserved, but hands slid from behind him with sinful caresses against his abdomen and hips.

“Hush, Jojo, let me guide you,” Diego whispered into his ear, then pressed himself tightly against his back.

Johnny could feel every bit of him, his chin above his shoulder, his powerful chest behind his spine, his still hard cock pressing into the small of his back. How his fingers danced over his body, over quivering muscles and old scars, assessing the blushing skin rippling with excited goosebumps. The Englishman kissed his neck and lightly bit his ear, and together, they began riding Gyro’s cock.

The Italian wrapped his arms around their moving bodies, pistoning his hips up into Johnny’s ass and pounding hard into him, loud slaps echoing throughout the study. Diego forced the American’s tired legs into cooperation, slamming him onto the cock jamming into the canal between his legs with a punishing, delirious pace. He was grinding against his back, letting the trails of his fluids run between Johnny’s spread buttocks, and it was absolutely addicting. They were singing their pleasures together into the night, bright lights dancing behind their eyes and heavy breaths slipping through their lips.

They came almost as one, jolting and jerking as the rapture became too much, and their bodies twitched and trembled together as they collapsed onto the sofa’s worn seat.

Gyro remained on his back, extending his legs so that he laid down properly. Diego’s fingers tangled in his hair and greedily inhaled his scent, his body flushed against the other’s right side. His tail wrapped protectively around Johnny, who had flopped onto his belly over Gyro’s stomach, to make sure that he didn’t fall over.

Grinning, Dio allowed Scary Monster have its fun and sniffed the air as if he could taste it. The base of his spine was tingling, wanting to shake his tail. Gyro kept him grounded by stroking the scaly appendage, appreciating its coolness.

Johnny, on the other hand, was almost heaving, his ass protesting the abuse it had suffered.

Looking towards the inner side of the sofa, he saw Diego smirking suggestively.

“Oh, hush your beak,” he snapped breathlessly, clearly understanding what the other was alluding to.

“Why, Jojo, my dear, I haven’t said a single thing,” he replied teasingly.

“Yeah, fuck you,” Johnny spat weakly.

“Mmm, can you scoot over to me?” Diego asked for the heck of it.

Johnny threw him a murderous look. “...no.”

“Thought so.”

“Y’all too loud,” Joestar grumbled and tried to move for a bit, but his backside protested. “Ughh. We live in a huge ass house, and the only place where we could’ve gone at it was on the smallest couch.”

“The one in the Observatory is smaller,” Diego commented, closing his eyes. He rubbed his cheek against the coarse hairs on Gyro’s chest, smiling as he did so.

“It is,” the Italian confirmed. “My legs go over the edge on that one.”

“Damn it, Gyro, don’t encourage him!”

“Ehi, Johnny, don’t be such a pain in the ass,” Gyro admonished him. He kissed the top of their heads, then tensed up abruptly. “Heeeey, team! I think I know what my doctorate thesis will be about! You’re a genius, caro!”

Diego stopped rubbing his face against his chest. He looked up at his face. “About what?”

“I’m thinking about a comparative study for approaching abdominal pain from the surgical perspective. I could describe the new techniques I’ve elaborated for approaching the gall bladder and appendix, too!” His eyes lit up. “And colon diverticulitis! And clipping haemorrhoids!”

“What the actual hell, Gyro,” groaned Johnny, his back muscles clenching sympathetically to the topic.

The grin on Diego’s face was spectacular. “Ha-ha, be glad you didn’t inspire him to write about erectile dysfunctions,” he observed with a wink.

Johnny scoffed. “Fuck off, you should count yourself lucky I’m too sore to kick you, you dumbass.”

“Heavens, Johnny, I’ve had it way worse than you do right now and I didn’t complain this much. I'm uncertain that I even complained at all.”

“Yeah, but you’re you.”

“Excuse me?” Diego exploded. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you implying my arse is loose?”

Gyro cocked his head in thinking. “Well, it can get quite loose when-“

“O-ho,” Diego made, his face flaming up with indignation. “I’ll love watching you two crying over my loose arse and see none of it.” He smacked them both. “Pah! Would you hear yourselves! Such rot!”

“Come on, Dio, don’t bend yourself over this,” Gyro joked tentatively, and earned himself another smack.

“See how I’m going to bend you over with a slap behind the head!” he warned him. He pouted his lips. “You peasants don’t appreciate the perfection I bestow upon your sorry arses.”

“Well, technically, it’s not our asses-“ Gyro began, then stopped. “You know what, Dio? I’m not going to continue that sentence.”

“Smart move, Zeppeli.”

Johnny huffed. “For what it’s worth, at least you have an idea for the thesis. Let’s ignore how you came up with it.”

“Nyo-ho, I’ll be sure not to mention it in the preface,” Gyro promised. Smiling, he stroked their arms. “You know, bellos, I’m starting to enjoy this whole doctorate thesis shtick. Writing articles has proved to be quite a lot of fun.”

“Now, really,” Diego made with a very suspicious lilt in his voice. “Which part, pray tell?”

“Eh, I’ll let you fill in the gaps, pecorino,” Gyro suggested.

“Mmm, I see,” Diego retorted. “Do remind me, how many pages is this thesis supposed to be?”

“A few hundreds.”

Brando’s lips curled up into a feral grin. “Oh, joy.”

Johnny groaned, burying his face into Gyro’s bicep. Next to him, Diego began laughing obnoxiously loud, knowing how much it grated on the American’s nerves.

That is to say, the whole household was involved in the making of Gyro’s doctoral thesis, which was received very positively by the medical community upon its completion. After having impressed the examination commission with an eloquent and well prepared presentation, he successfully graduated the Doctoral School with magna cum laude, adding the prestigious title to his name.

Johnny sometimes mused out loud how an idiot like Gyro had managed to get such a high distinction, and Diego was always close behind to kick him in the shin for his wondering.

Once again, the dubious collaboration of Johnny, Gyro and Diego had culminated in success, although, perhaps, certain details are best left out with regard to the posterity’s sensibilities.

Chapter Text

Epilogue - The Majesty's Many Crowns

Idly sipping some cold coffee on the veranda, Johnny watched the glittering stars and recalled the night sky back at home, in Kentucky.

Geneva was a beautiful city in the summer, with green bleeding into the milky blue sky. The humidity was manageable for a location with a running water bisecting it, but the riverbanks could get a bit stifling when the wind wasn’t blowing, which also attracted a fair amount of pesky insects.

However, the gentle breeze rarely failed to make its way to the street on which Gyro’s aunt lived with her family, which was not something that occurred so often back home, in the States.

Scrunching up his nose, a deep frown formed on his face. The house on his father’s property in Kentucky, although it was where he had been born, hadn’t been his home for many years. He had no place to call home anymore. Not there.

Looking down at the dark liquid in the mug resting between his hands, he saw the stars reflecting into the still surface. It was dark around him, only a shy lamppost illuminating the darkness of the well kept garden. The Favre household was tranquil at that late hour of the night, everyone having already retired upstairs.

And perhaps, he should have joined them, but that night, Johnny’s feet felt restless as he laid in bed, as if the mattress underneath him was boiling. The sheets covering his legs felt uncomfortable, too soft against his too tight skin, and his muscles twitched. His spine tingled with the need to curl until it snapped and he was folded in half, broken and useless.

He was aware that it was all in his head. His legs were just fine, and there was enough proof to that. His atrophied muscles were slowly filling out, the exercises that Gyro pestered him with doing their splendid work along with whatever strange procedures he was applying to them with the steel balls. The ointments the doctor made him rub over his skin and joints soothed all the lingering aches and numbness. Walking was easier by the day, his body gaining its former gait. His spine was working normally.

But that night, unlike any other night, his miraculous legs felt like they weren’t his own. Like they wanted to run away from him, have their own lives, and leave him behind to wallow in whatever ditch he would find himself in. It was such a frustrating sensation, dishearteningly sobering and so undeniably familiar.

He hated it.

Unable to find any rest, Johnny had grabbed a thin hoodie and descended to the kitchen, where he found some coffee left on the stove. He poured it into a cup and went to the garden, hoping to find some peace in the chilly night air.

He found none of it.

During the race, he’d had several episodes such as this one. Of course, those times, he hadn’t had the luxury of getting away from his bedroll, paralysed as he had been. But during those restless nights, he had found his balance in watching Gyro’s chest rising and falling with the cadence of untroubled sleep. He would look at him for hours on end, study the slowly dying camp fire painting red lines over the contours of his face, count the stars peppered in his long hair and the shadows left by the moon over their heads.

Now, such scene was neither here nor there.

He could have easily traversed the corridor to Gyro’s room and have laid down next to him. No one would have minded it, and especially not Gyro, no matter what he had said about sleeping separated while they were still in his Aunt Francesca’s house. He would have probably just woken up, asked him if he was alright, then wrapped him up in the blanket and fell asleep a few moments later.

There would have been no issue.

No shame.

He chose not to do it, although he wished he had done so. He didn’t want to wake Gyro up. He needed to feel the sense of independency that crawling under someone else’s blanket wasn’t going to provide, the feeling that he could stand up and do his own bidding.

But he knew it had nothing to do with it. It was just a deeply ingrained anger at his own uselessness that made him toss around, the denial of his too intensely sentimental nature that had turned him bitter and resentful.

He simply felt lonely, and he loathed that.

He sighed, looking back up at the sky. If waking up Gyro had been the problem, he could have just as well walked over to Diego’s door. He was probably still awake, reading something. He had such a messed up sleeping schedule, it was a wonder how he actually managed to do anything during the day. Johnny had seen him sleeping profoundly, of course, but usually he had trouble falling asleep and would roll around quite a bit before he found some extraordinarily uncomfortable looking position to sleep in. Though he slumbered so contently when he wrapped himself around Johnny or Gyro – or draped himself over them, or under, or between, or however he landed, really.

It was nearly harrowing how much Johnny didn’t mind his fumbling around. He actually found himself missing getting pinned down by Diego’s knees pushing into his stomach just as much as he missed watching Gyro breathing and snoring.

Point at hand – he needed to sort the mess in his head out, because it wasn’t doing him any good.

Besides, he thought, if he had gone to Diego, he might have accidentally stumbled upon him actually sleeping. He didn’t want to wake him up, either. It would have been mortifying, demanding some coddling from his former sworn enemy.

Which was also stupid, because when he had startled awake one night after having had a very strange dream and had also successfully head butted a soundly asleep Diego, the other man had just wrapped his arms around him and hummed into his hair until Johnny had fallen back asleep. He had dreamt so peacefully afterwards.

He groaned, frustration seeping through his pores. He really needed to stop his conflicting thoughts, as they were getting him nowhere.

He was not alone. He had Gyro with him, and now he also had Diego, surprising as it was. And he had a home. A home that he had yet to see, but he would. Soon.

A home together with them, and the promise of a new future ahead of him.

The whole concept of belonging somewhere, of being wanted and cherished by someone was so alien and unfamiliar to Johnny. Having been so violently and irrevocably shunned by the only remaining member of his family when he had needed his father the most, and having everyone turning their backs on him when he was no longer high and exciting had shattered him. It was hard to process the idea of being of any importance to someone else, someone who wouldn’t leave him behind when hardship happened.

Not that this strange affair with Gyro and Diego was guaranteed to work out, but some twisted little thing inside him made him believe that it was going to turn out well.

And next to it, there was another twisted little thing that fuelled the insecurity of the future and the thoughts of inevitable disaster.

Putting a hand over his eyes, Johnny sighed loudly. He had promised himself to stop putting himself into a corner, and he’d managed to do just that.

He wanted to believe with all his heart that the decision of starting a life together with Gyro and Diego in England was the beginning of a bright future. That everything would be alright.

That those he cared for would care for him, too.

That even someone like him deserved to be loved.

That he would no longer be left behind.

The proof that something good could actually happen to him.

Johnny wanted so desperately to be optimistic.

But damn it, it was so hard.

Shaking his head, he opened his eyes. The stars above him were just as bright and beautiful. His eyes were instantly caught by their spectacle, and his mind slowed down, the ruckus within settling to a stop.

A sudden flash of light passed in front of him, and he looked to the side. He noticed Diego approaching him in silence with a glinting bottle catching the light and two glasses in his other hand.

“Oh, do not look so utterly devastated by my sight,” the Englishman said haughtily, rolling his eyes. “I can take so many sighs before wondering who on Earth had died.”

“Huh?” Johnny made, absolutely confused.

Diego waved with the bottle. “Shoo, make some space,” he instructed, nudging Johnny with the back of his hand. Grumbling, Johnny slid towards the centre of the bench, allowing the other to sit down next to him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joestar snapped. “What do you want?”

Snorting, Diego put the glasses between them and crossed his legs. Without sparing even a glance at Johnny, he began uncorking the bottle. “I’d want you to stop suspiring as if someone kicked a puppy in front of you.”

“And what’s it to you?”

Diego threw him a look, just as the cork popped out of the bottle. “Seriously, Jonathan?”

“Fuck off,” the American grumbled. “How did you even hear me?”

With an impossibly irked expression, Brando pointed up with a finger. “This bench is right underneath my window, it was impossible not to hear your existential crisis from upstairs.” He began pouring ruby liquid into the glasses, the sweet-sour smell of wine enveloping them. “So, here. Drink up.”

Johnny looked down at the offered glass. “Is drinking your solution to everything?”

“I shall let this remark slip because I don’t fancy waking everyone up by beating the lights out of you at this hour,” Diego warned him, his dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl. “But I do know when someone could use a drink, and you definitely do. So stop pushing my buttons before I decide to cause a scene, Jonathan Joestar, and take the glass. Now.”

Without replying, Johnny took the glass.

“Excellent! Was it so hard?”

“Oh, shut up,” the younger man quipped. He drained the whole glass in one go, then clanked it against Diego’s, who couldn’t help a chuckle.

“Goodness, you stubborn prat,” Brando said as he refilled the glass. “Clink before drinking, not afterwards.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Johnny echoed. He once again clanked the side of his glass against Diego’s, then took a small sip from it. “Happy?”

The Englishman shook his head with a smile. “Blimey, Joestar, you’re such a bloody mule,” he told him and drank from his wine.

“Yeah, well, deal with it. Ain’t my problem,” Johnny replied crossly and pressed his back against the bench’s rest with a bit too much force.

They exchanged no words for a while, sipping the wine in silence. It was more comfortable than it had any right to be, and Johnny found himself being ashamed of his previous hostility.

Diego once again refilled their glasses, his movements sure even in the dim light. He placed the bottle next to him and cocked his head to look at Johnny’s face, who in turn regarded him on the verge of tearing his own hair out. “What is bothering you, Jojo?”

Johnny averted his eyes. “It’s... stupid.”

“Why, most likely,” Diego retorted rudely. “But it’s clearly affecting you. You wouldn’t be awake at this hour otherwise.”

The other said nothing, instead took another drink from the wine.

With a corner of his lips curling slightly as he did so, Dio pouted his lips in consideration. “You know, Jojo. I’ve been thinking about something and would very much like your input on it. This year’s racing season is out of the question, obviously, but we need to prepare for the next year’s.”

“Hm?” hummed Johnny with surprise.

“What? These things take time, and we need a strategy, don’t we? We can’t exactly rush into something like this head-first.”

Johnny’s stomach did a flip. He hadn’t really considered things so far into the distance. He was too preoccupied with twisting and turning the present. “Uh. Yeah, sure," he answered.

“Precisely. So. We shall need to figure out which horses are best suited for which tracks, train them accordingly, make up exercises, routines, the whole debacle.” On that note, Diego’s eyes pierced Johnny’s, making him feel dissected under their scrutiny. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind about our partnership and would wish to retract it.”

With those impossibly bright eyes boring into his, Johnny couldn’t help shivering as he responded brusquely, “Nah, ’course not.”

His pulse quickened at the sight of Diego’s too sharp canines surfacing as he grinned joyfully. “Brilliant! It’s settled, then.”

Swallowing, Johnny stared at his voluptuous lips, stained with crimson from the dark wine, spread widely over his shiny teeth. Even in the meagre light of the lamppost, the man looked so radiant, the wheels behind his eyes turning with schemes and prospects. He felt the urge to kiss him and taste that too satisfied smirk, but instead, he took another sip from his drink.

Diego noticed his fleeting gaze, and his blue orbs became alight with mischief. He twisted his neck to look at the stars, basking in the knowledge of the other’s flushed cheeks and showing it clearly, unashamed by the implications.

Swallowing to clear his throat, Johnny relaxed his tense shoulders. He was sitting next to a predator, but he wasn’t some lost lamb. They were talking about them being equals in their endeavours. They were on the very same step, together, only with different roles in the scheme of things. “Dio. About that,” he said at last, his own thirst for competition fuelling up. “I was thinkin’, too. If we’re gonna do something, we’ve gotta do it right.”

“Oh? Would you kindly elaborate?”

“We should aim for the Triple Crown.”

Almost impossibly so, the grin on Diego’s face intensified. “English or American?”

Johnny watched him with a look of fierce determination. His eyes were burning. “Both. Let’s win them both.”

Lifting his glass with a very toothy grin, Diego toasted into the air. “You know what, Jojo, dear? Let’s do precisely that.”

XXXXX

“Mamma mia,” Gyro mumbled with awe and whistled. “That’s one hell of a shiny trophy.” He took a few steps back, then approached the golden statue. He grinned in front of it, his equally golden teeth reflecting in the lustrous surface and glittering like a sunbeam. “Mi piace tanto!”

From behind him, Diego chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”

Still smiling, Gyro looked around his shoulder. “Eh, come on! It’s golden and shinny, what’s not to like?” He put his fists over the waist, turning his eyes back on the extraordinarily polished trophy. “Besides, you guys won this thing! I’m really proud of my boys! And girl, too!” he exclaimed. “Our Lolita was on fire!”

Crossing his arms, Johnny nodded his head. “Broke the records in all the three races.”

“And got us our Triple Crown,” Diego added, lifting a telltale eyebrow.

Huffing some air, Johnny made a knowing face. “That, she sure did.”

That year, young Lolita, the gorgeous filly with luscious brown hide, golden mane and a red star on her forehead had been picked to compete in the most prestigious thoroughbred races in the United Kingdom. Diego was always the one selecting what horse would participate in which race, and had chosen her for the swiftness and determination she always showed on the training field. She had inherited Silver Bullet’s innate penchant for strategising the best course and Valkyrie’s massive strength, and proved to be a very fast and intelligent mount. Diego worked very well with her and made an excellent team, her unique traits blending flawlessly with those of her genitors.

At first, Johnny wasn’t too convinced that she would be able to actually participate in all three races required for the Triple Crown, but that summer, the extreme meteorological conditions had pushed the opening course, the 2000 Guineas Stakes, later by a few weeks, perfectly in time with Lolita’s third birthday.

Johnny clearly remembered the morning when Diego had burst into their bedroom with a dazed, almost crazy look in his eyes, holding a crumpled newspaper in his hand. He had pounced on top of him and Gyro with a huge grin, all the while motioning towards the sport’s rubric first title – Uproar in the world of Horse Racing: the 2000 Guineas Stakes, delayed. What will it mean?

Well, it meant that Diego was able to register Lolita in the race, and they won it superbly.

After the race taking place in Suffolk, the Derby from Epsom Downs was won with an even better time by the same spectacular team, closely followed by the last race of the trio, the Saint Leger Stakes in Doncaster.

Long story short, that year’s summer brought with it not only sweltering heat and random rain showers, but also a few more trophies, one of them being the Triple Crown that now shone on the new shelf from the trophy wall.

Gyro had just finished installing said shelf, having taken extreme care in levelling it. He was the one always nailing down the slots for the many trophies and cups Diego brought home from the races, along with the prizes the rest of their horses had won at shows and expositions. Their estate was renowned for the record amount of distinctions it had been awarded, and they all took great pride in it.

It always brought Gyro so much joy to put up a new award on the shelf. He always protested that he hadn’t actually done anything for them, but he was grateful to be allowed the honour of placing them in their rightful spots.

As for Johnny, although he complained very vehemently about whatever Diego did for the principle of antagonising him, was immensely pleased with every shiny decoration that he saw on the tall wall of their drawing room. Whenever the Englishman lifted another trophy on the first place podium, he felt as if it had been won especially for him.

Which was yet another little secret he would definitely never mention out loud.

For what it was worth, he had trained all the horses that had won the awards, and left it at that.

His mirth running rampant, Gyro continued studying the trophy. He looked again at the polished plaque attached to it, his eyes not getting enough of the three names engraved on it – Lolita, as the horse having won the races, Diego Brando for the jockey, owner and breeder, and Johnny Joestar as the trainer.

“I love seeing your names on these things,” he said, finally taking his eyes off the shiny cup. “Goes to show who’s the best Dino-team ever! My boys are Dino-mite!”

“Could say we’re a blast, yes,” Diego commented chortling. He walked over to the overly excited Italian. “Alright, you overgrown child,” he said with laughter in his voice. “This member of the Dino-team wants to celebrate, so let’s get cracking.”

“Fucking finally!” Johnny exclaimed and grabbed an elbow from each man. “I’ve been eyeing those goddamn bottles from the cellar for a month.”

Diego grabbed his waist. “Oh, my, Jojo! Whatever happened to drinking not being a solution?”

“Alcohol is a solution,” Gyro budged in, slinging an arm around both shorter men’s shoulders and pressing them closer to himself.

“You heard the doctor, Jojo!”

Johnny groaned loudly, eliciting a wave of chuckles from the other two. “Ugh, sock it, both of you.”

XXXXX

Summer in England was a very queer and unpredictable affair – one moment, the sun was shining and the heat was unbearable, and the next, warm rain poured by the bucket.

The umbrella was a gentleman’s permanent accessory during any season in Britain, but it hardly prevented the mud from reaching one’s ears.

Especially when taking a very bouncy horse out for a simple walk.

Covered in dirt from top to bottom, Diego wiped off a patch of grass that had landed on his cheek. “If I didn’t like you so much, Layla, you’d be braciole by now,” he told to the playful filly jumping with excitement through the mud puddles.

The horse abruptly stopped her leaping.

“Mhm, you heard me,” Diego told her and motioned with his hand for her to come back to him. With her head lowered, the filly trotted to him.

Shaking his head, the jockey stroked her neck. “Don’t worry, dear, I’m merely jesting. I would never do something like that to you or any of the horses,” he assured her. “But I’ll need to ask you to stop throwing mud all over the place, alright? You can play and roll in it all you want, but let me get a bit farther away from you first, yes? I don’t like messing what Johnny knitted.”

Layla nudged his shoulder with her muzzle that was surprisingly devoid of mud. Her glinting eyes appeared almost scolding.

“Yes, smart-mouth, I know this one’s on me,” Diego replied. “I should’ve worn something that you’ve already stained, but let’s keep it between ourselves.”

The filly seemed to nod.

“Good girl,” the jockey praised her. “Well, since I’m already full of mud thanks to someone,” he told her accusingly, “do you feel like riding around for a bit? And then let you roll around in the puddles?”

Layla perked up. She stumped one of her front hoofs on the ground, bouncing excitedly on her hinder legs.

“Then come on, precious, let’s go for a spin,” Diego told her and effortlessly jumped on her back. He wrapped his thighs tightly around her muscular back, the lack of a saddle requiring him to make the best of his legs’ strength.

Layla was such a free-spirited horse. Unlike her half-sister, Lolita, who was disciplined and focused, Layla enjoyed playing her little games. She was the sort of horse who showed her opinion on things, doing only what she wanted and refusing to do anyone’s bidding if she wasn’t convinced it benefited her or didn’t match with what she wanted to do at that moment. However, despite her surface rebellion, she had the wisdom of an old, well-ridden horse.

She had great fun playing around with Diego, who allowed her to run freely after practice. With Johnny, she was a bit more reserved, understanding that training was training. But afterwards, when her routine was deemed finished, she enjoyed licking the American’s face and hair, much to his exasperation.

Much like her half-sister, Layla had great strength and swiftness, but there was a bounce to her step and length to her stride that differentiated her from Lolita. Johnny kept insisting that he couldn’t see her on a flat race, but Diego was adamant on training her on regular courses, not only on obstacle ones. She had already won several obstacle races in all the categories, but she had yet to compete in a thoroughbred race.

As he dismounted from Layla, Diego pondered on her situation. She was a riot on the obstacle courses, perfectly coordinated and in tune with her jockey. He enjoyed feeling her muscles jolting over the fences, the filly almost weightless as a bird.

Looking at her trotting and then leaping straight into a huge muddle pit that Gyro had especially shovelled last year for Layla to roll into, an idea popped into Diego’s mind.

When the filly decided that she had had enough of the sticky English soil, she followed Diego back to the stables to be washed. He cleaned her carefully with lots of soap, the rich ground clinging to her silvery coat like moss to a tree.

Eventually, the red star on her forehead finally resurfaced from underneath the thick mud, and her flaxen mane was untangled and curled prettily down her neck. The dark spots on her hips and stifles were once again visible, something that had seemed almost impossible after her playtime.

Returning inside to wash away the grime he had collected from his time with Layla, Diego first stopped to make some phone calls.

He very much enjoyed what he had learnt from them.

XXXXX

Humming tunelessly, Johnny wrote a letter into the newspaper’s crossword. Reading the next clue of the rebus, he idly ran his fingers through Gyro’s long hair, who was sitting with his head on his lap and perusing through an article about the properties of new antacids.

Feeling the nimble fingers on his scalp, Gyro caught them and brought them to his lips, reverently kissing each of their fingertips.

Johnny looked at him with a quirky expression. “What’s gotten into ya?”

“Nothing,” the doctor replied with a little smile. “Just happy to be home.”

“You’re a sap,” the American mumbled, his face heating up. He swiftly hid it behind the newspaper.

“Nyo-ho, Johnny! You’re so red,” Gyro chirped. “You’re so adorable, caro!”

Johnny made a non-committal sound and turned his head away from the Italian, his cheeks practically glowing. As he did so, he saw Diego – a full of mud stains Diego – entering the library.

“Hold it right there, Diego! What the hell are y’all doing with all that mud inside?!” Johnny admonished him. “You’re gonna get it everywhere!”

From his lap, Gyro turned around to look at the jockey. “Nyo-ho-ho, now that’s a mess! Are you having a competition with Layla to see who can get grimier between the two of you?”

“Oh, do settle down, I haven’t brought any mud inside, it’s just some smears.”

“And weeds and twigs,” Gyro pointed out. “There’s something green sticking from your hair.”

Diego unstuck a leaf from the top of his head. “Huh, how did it get there...”

“Diego!” Johnny called after him. “Damn it, go wash already, you’re filthy.”

“Now, that’s mighty fine coming from you,” Brando snapped.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Ehi, slow down, you two,” Gyro intervened, sitting up on the sofa. “But, Dio, Johnny’s got a point – you are filthy.”

The Englishman rolled his eyes. “You both are extraordinarily one-track minded,” he commented and put a hand over his chest. “Luckily, I have such a broad view of things.”

Johnny made an impatient groan. “Your point?”

“My darlings, I’ve found our horse for the Triple Crown.” He grinned widely. “The one in the States, that is.”

The American quirked his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“Layla.”

“Nah, no way,” Johnny shook his head. “She ain’t suited for something like this, Dio, we’ve talked about this already! She likes jumping too much, and besides, she will be four before the Belmont. It ain’t doable.”

With his pale eyes shining wildly, Diego approached the sofa. “No! That’s precisely the thing. The next year’s Belmont will be right before her birthday. See, Johnny? I knew my beloved Silver Bullet knew exactly what he was doing with your horses. He’s just so brilliant, like myself, Dio!”

“Ugh, that’s a messed up thing to say even for you, Diego.”

Gyro looked at them with confusion. “Belmont? That’s the final race of the three needed for the Triple Crown, right?”

Johnny grabbed the Neapolitan’s wrist and pulled it indecisively. “Yeah, Gyro, that’s the last one, after the Preakness Stakes.” He looked back at Diego. “Dio... Are y’all sure about the dates?”

Diego nodded. “I’ve just confirmed it.”

The American trainer’s grip on Gyro’s wrist tightened. The doctor started to look a bit alarmed at his own hand, his fingertips tingling.

“Um, tesoro, my wrist-“

“Do you think Layla’s the one? Really?”

Brando’s expression said it all. He was absolutely certain of it. “The American races are on dirt tracks. And I for one don’t know a horse who loves dirt and mud as much as our Layla does,” he explained firmly, pointing at the dark wet patches of dirt smeared all over him. “I’m telling you. We have our horse.” His eyes darted to where Johnny’s fist was clenched around Gyro’s wrist. “But Gyro might lose his hand if you keep on squeezing it.”

It took Johnny a moment to realise what he was doing. He instantly let go of Gyro’s wrist. “Shit, shit! Sorry, Gyro, y’alright?”

Flexing his joint, Zeppeli motioned for him to settle down. “Certo, totally fine. I think,” he said and looked at the red marks at the base of his hand. They were a bit alarming. “So, uh, great! Next year we’re going to America again? That’s what you were talking about, right?”

They both looked at Johnny, who was frowning very deeply. He shrugged and patted his knees. “Ah, what the hell, sure! Next year, we’re going to the US.” He cocked his head towards Diego. “And you’re gonna go take a bath right about now, you’ve got grass on the forehead.”

Dio scoffed, but was already in the process of peeling the mucky, drenched jumper off his torso. “Ugh, I can’t bloody wait to take all this grime off!”

XXXXX

Summer flew away and gave way to autumn. The crude green of the fields turned darker and the forests began losing their foliage. Rains were taking longer and were colder, and the sky was greyer. Even the brightest souls could get disheartened in the grim English weather.

However, Layla was having the time of her life running on the dirt course that Johnny designed especially for her.

As much as he despised the mess, Diego was pleased with the filly’s progress on training. He took her for spins on both the dirt and the turf tracks, both either wet or dry, making sure she was ready for any condition that the course might be in.

Everything was progressing well, but Johnny felt apprehensive over the promise he had made a few years before, while they were still visiting Gyro’s Aunt in Switzerland, long before any of what had felt at first like a fever dream started to come true. Back then, he wasn’t even sure if he should make any plans for the future, uncertain as he was about moving to England in the first place. But now, when his whole life was settled in a direction that he liked, he dreaded returning to his natal country.

There were so many things that could potentially go wrong.

For one, the fact that he had had a direct hand at disposing of the former president of the country was a problem. Lucy Steel might have assured him of his security, as well as that of his other two companions, but he hadn’t set foot in the country ever since the Steel Ball Run, which could have ended into a downright disaster had fate decided to be crueller to them. He could have lost Gyro, the one who had made him want to live again after having lost everything, he could have missed finding out just how well he’d get along with Diego, he could have never learnt what great things he would accomplish as a horse trainer, and not only. It was terrible to think that he could have had none of the wonderful things that happened after the race, if only God hadn’t dealt him the winning blow.

Also, in the States, there was everything he had once had. The only family he had, his Father, and the home where he no longer belonged. He had made his peace with the old man, but had never gathered the courage to contact him.

He didn’t know what to say to him. He knew that he was alive and well - Lucy Steel updated him about the man - but he genuinely didn’t know what to do with that information. Gyro had encouraged him to write his Father a letter, to tell him a bit about his life and how he was doing. He had done so, numerous times, though all the letters were folded and locked inside a drawer.

He had written about so many things – about adapting to the English customs, about the weather, the horses, the stables, Gyro’s strange shifts and Diego’s cooking, their cat, their garden, their vacations. About so many things that he wished to be able to say to his Father, but he knew that he would never actually tell any of them to him. He had never even spoken that much to him when they were living in the same house, how on Earth could he believe that such intimate and mundane letters would be appropriate between two people who didn’t really know each other?

They were of the same blood, but they were as good as strangers. The little thread that connected them was marred by the bruises of the past which Johnny couldn’t forget, as hard as he had tried.

His poor brother would have been heartbroken to see what was left of their family.

But, then again, his brother wasn’t there to see any of it. He was dead, long gone. He wasn’t there to suffer for Johnny. To weep for their family’s tragedy.

In a way, it was a blessing that Nicholas didn’t get to witness the abuse that their Father had dealt to Johnny. He might not have kicked him out of the house had Nick been alive, but he would have belittled him for not being as good as his brother.

However, everything was just one big speculation.

He liked to imagine that the news of Diego Brando racing in the Kentucky Derby would reach his Father’s ears and that the man would come see the horse that his son had trained competing. That he would invite him into his home and talk to him, be proud of him.

And that, Johnny thought grimly, was what a fever dream actually looked like.

XXXXX

The day when Johnny set foot again in his natal country, he couldn’t help thinking how different the sky looked.

It looked foreign. The air was strange.

It was the same as it had always been, but to him, it felt like visiting a new place.

However, he had other things on his mind, besides contemplation.

As expected, the news of Diego signing up for the Kentucky Derby caused an uproar in the American racing scene, as well as the English one. Back at home, the races that he’d won by default were thrown off by not having their implicit star competing in them, and the American sports and betting communities were shook by having the most voracious jockey messing up every possible odd.

Which goes without saying that Diego was having a blast with the knowledge that he’d managed to frighten athletes, owners, sponsors and bettors with only the mention of his name on a list. He loved it.

For the races, he had rented properties in advance and made sure that they were secured and private, not taking any chances with the safety of Layla. He had filled them with his little dinosaurs, just in case anyone had any stupid ideas to mess with him.

Johnny and Gyro had accompanied him as his staff. Gyro took time off from the hospital and brought some work over with him, continuing to give his time to some comparative studies he was doing for the University whenever he didn't make sure that Diego was at his best possible condition. For his part, Johnny tended to Layla so that she was in top shape to compete.

It was all going perfectly well.

The ranch that Dio had picked in Kentucky was charming, remote and not too far away from Louisville, where the Derby was taking place in just a couple of weeks. It suited their needs perfectly as they waited for the first race needed for accomplishing their goal.

However, in spite of the perfect going of things, one night found Johnny restless and wide awake, looking at the sky of his childhood.

Danville was about eighty miles away from where they were currently, but it felt even farther away. England was possibly closer than the city where he had once lived.

He was sitting cross-legged on the porch, a soothing wind blowing over his face. He didn’t feel like pulling off his beanie hat, the soft material grounding him.

His heart leaped out of his chest when a hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Shhh, Johnny, it’s me!” Gyro told him quickly as he put a hand over his mouth to prevent him from crying out. “Don’t shout! Or shoot!”

Johnny’s eyes popped out of their sockets. He slapped the doctor’s hand away. “Jesus, Gyro, don’t sneak up on me in the middle of the night! I could’ve shot you!” he said, bright stars dimming on both of his hands as his nails slowed down from spinning.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t think you’d be this jumpy. What are you doing up? Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Yeah,” Gyro mumbled. “Me neither. I’m kinda nervous, you know?”

“You? Why?”

The Italian shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m nervous about the races. I know that I shouldn’t be, but I’m always a bit in knots before any of Dio’s races.”

Johnny’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s silly, I know,” the other admitted. “He’s the best at what he’s doing, you train the horses the best, but anything can happen on the course. Either him or the horse could get injured, or worse. I know the chances are slim, but they are there. I can’t help worrying, you know?”

The American regarded his friend with wonder. His tanned face was drawn into a stern expression, one that had no place on the usually smiling and cheerful visage of his beloved. His long, luscious hair accentuated the strong lines of his jaw and the strength of his neck. The beard patches that he was so proud of drew attention to his halfway parted lips, his glinting golden teeth peeking out. His thick, dark eyebrows were closed in a frown.

“I know that I’m not here just to support you guys,” Gyro whispered, the crease between his brows deepening. “I’m also in the capacity of a doctor and even a protector, if anything happened. It’s not exactly completely safe that we’ve returned here.”

His expression was so off, so hauntingly serious. But when he turned his head to look at Johnny, his surreal green eyes began glowing like emeralds, and his face was split into a beautiful grin. “But there’s no place I’d rather be but with my best boys.”

Air puffed through Johnny’s nostrils. “You’re an idiot.”

“Eh, sue me,” Gyro retorted lightly.

They sat in silence for a while, until Gyro found the silence too much. “So, does Kentucky look like you remember it?”

“You know the state’s a lot bigger than just a few cities, right?”

“I dunno, your whole country’s administration confuses me. But this state can’t be that big that it’s really so different from one side to the other.”

“Nah, it ain’t too different. Same fields, same sky.”

Gyro watched him carefully. “Are we far from your home?”

Johnny’s lips twitched. “It ain’t my home no longer.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. It ain’t that far, less than a hundred miles away. That way, I think,” he said, and pointed into the distance.

“That's like.... um, less than a hundred and sixty kilometers? It's not that much, you could take the train there, right? There’s a station nearby.”

“To do what?”

The doctor made an obvious face. “Say hello to your dad?”

“Why should I?”

“Oh. I thought you’d want that,” Gyro replied, sounding a bit lost.

“I...” Johnny sighed. “I do. But not like this.” He looked at Gyro. His green eyes, so lively and bright, gave him strength. “I wanna go home as a victor. I ain’t gonna sing it before it happens.”

Zeppeli smirked. He lovingly ran his thumb against Johnny’s round cheek. “I know you’ll sing it loud and clear, mio grande amore,” he said confidently, and bent down to kiss his parted lips.

XXXXX

The day of the Derby was upon them, and the morning started with a colossal rainstorm that lasted for all of ten minutes, and managed to produce an alarming amount of mud.

The spirits at the hippodrome were high in the humid air, a huge crowd having gathered at the stadium to witness the British legend who had thrown off the usual order of business. Diego looked splendid in his teal and golden attire carefully crafted by Johnny before they had left home. As usual, his signature helmet had its bow neatly tied and matching the ones on his knitted jumper.

Layla was drooling at the sight of the mud on the track. Both herself and her rider were aware that they were going to turn into a brown mess by the time they reached the finish line, but they also knew that they were going to be the first to cross it. It was the natural order of things.

On the stands, Johnny and Gyro found spots in the excited crowd, strategically placed so that they could see everything going on the track. Gyro wore some round tinted glasses on top of his lose hair and the sun reflected brightly in his embossed golden teeth, drawing a lot of stares from the people around him. He was certain that a few ladies to the side were fanning themselves a little faster after he had winked at them.

By his side, Johnny had his trusted camera around the neck and binnacles in his hand, ready not to miss even a single movement on the track. He took his role as a trainer very seriously, and even had his notebook to note things down if needed. The camera was ready to snap some photographs for their collection at home, and also for Gyro’s family, who was waiting for news from them. Gyro’s brother Donatello, who was especially enthusiastic about equitation, had specifically asked for a detailed recount of all the races. And, of course, Rosa Zeppeli was waiting for a new photograph of Diego on the podium to put inside her album – along with all the other photographs her son sent her of himself and his partners.

The contestants and their mounts took their places at the starting line, everyone in position inside their stalls. In the very brief moment before the sign was given to change position, Diego turned his eyes towards the spot he knew he would find Gyro and Johnny looking back at him. They nodded their heads at him, and he in turn did the same.

The sign was given, and his eyes focused on the track. Underneath him, Layla was ready.

The gates were opened.

And the race started.

Mud began flying around them like projectiles. Hoofs splashed wetly against the slippery ground and the crowd roared. The hippodrome was an ocean of excitement, even the most reserved hanging from the edges of their seats.

The other contestants were powerful, fast, determined, but the wildfire that was Layla and her jockey was impossible to keep up with.

Silver Bullet’s filly with Slow Dancer was like a comet on the mucky track, the wet splotches of dirt erupting around her making her appear as if she was splitting sewer waters. She looked elated to get dirty, and the way Diego clung to her and directed her course made them resemble a very muddy bullet.

When the ribbon at the finish line was broken by Layla’s chest, the overexerted spectators went wild with ovations after the mad spectacle that they had experienced. There was no one who would say that they didn’t get their money’s worth of thrill, if not extra.

As he always did, Diego welcomed the commentator’s announcement of his victory with his arms widely opened, his grin charmingly plastered and his eyes looking at his beloved partners, who were cheering for him like no other.

Layla was doing small jumps on the spot, enjoying the attention that she was receiving. Whispering his gratitude to her, Diego patted her neck fondly and directed her towards the edge of the stadium, to go through the usual formalities at the end of the races. He was positively covered in muck, but he still radiated like the victor that he was.

After the awards and the mandatory pictures, Diego retreated to check on Layla at the back of the stadium, where specially designed stalls were provided for the contestants. Gyro was away to purchase a souvenir from the track, as he always did after every race that Dio took part of, and Johnny was handling the rest of the formalities associated with the race in his capacity of formal staff to the British jockey.

They never allowed anyone foreign to approach their horses, so Diego took care of cleaning Layla and brushing her after the races. This time, she was a right mess, but not worse than what he had cleaned a thousand of times before.

He set to brushing her, humming as he did his task.

However, just as he was wiping her face, he felt someone approaching their stall. He looked over Layla’s neck, ready to defend them if needed, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed the one peeking inside.

It was George Joestar.

The man looked almost the same as he had a few years before when he had last seen him in the hospital, after the Steel Ball Run. A few new strands of gray were peppered into his dark hair, but he was otherwise unchanged.

This time, however, he didn’t look surprised to see Diego.

“Good evenin’, Diego,” the older man said, voice a bit too timid for the younger’s taste.

Circling around his horse, Diego revealed himself fully. “Mister Joestar,” he made coolly in way of greeting.

Curious, Layla pushed her muzzle over Diego’s head, who gave her a scalding look. “Layla,” he told her, and she backed off with what could only be interpreted as a pout. He couldn’t help snorting at her antics, his supposedly dark introduction going down the drain. “Goodness,” he muttered, shaking his head at her and patting her neck.

Mister Joestar smiled at the display, not having expected to see such an exchange between the jockey and his mount. “She’s got some attitude, that filly of yours.”

Diego nodded with a fond smile. “Yes, she’s got her opinions. That’s what makes her so special.” He gazed back at the older man, his smile no longer so pleasant. It looked sharp. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to congratulate you for your victory.”

“Mm. So you did,” Diego replied smoothly. “I shan’t make the supposition that you’ve come looking for your son, as it would be ludicrous to state the obvious.”

“I heard he trained your horse. He did a mighty fine job with her.”

“Mmm,” Diego hummed again, his deep voice coming out sarcastically. “Why, you can tell him that yourself.”

“He’s gonna be coming here?”

“If you wait for him, certainly.” Brando studied the old man from the top of his head to the tip of his shoes. His gaze was cold and calculating, almost dissecting the other one. It made George unbelievably uncomfortable. “Look, Mister Joestar, I’ll be plain with you,” he told him, trying very hard to be polite. “If you want to unsettle Johnny with some of your usual rubbish, I’ll ask you to leave at once. This victory is as much his as it is mine, as we had been working closely on preparing for this race, and I’ll ask you not to tarnish yet another moment in his memory.”

“I-“

“However,” Diego continued just as trenchantly. “If you wish to talk to him in a civilised fashion, you may stay here until he returns. I’m only offering this compromise because I believe he wants to talk to you, so do not let me be mistaken, George Joestar.”

The old man’s eyes widened comically at the jockey’s little speech. It was more than harrowing to hear the former stableboy - despite having favoured him to his own son in the distant past - talking to him as such, but Mister Joestar found himself feeling petrified by the unforgiving look in his eyes. “I’m gonna wait here, if I may,” he answered at last.

“Be my guest,” Brando retorted with as much hostility as the three words could gather. With that, he turned back to Layla, resuming her grooming.

The older Joestar watched him working meticulously on the horse’s coat. It was clear that the jockey had done such task many times before, but there was a gentleness that he put into the act that baffled him. The young filly was all too happy to be pampered, and she occasionally nuzzled her owner and did little dances when she couldn’t contain her excitement.

He had never thought that he would ever see such a wonderful pair.

The stall’s door was once again opened and Johnny entered with his arms occupied by a leather bag. “Jesus loving Christ, Dio, not again! How on Earth are you gonna get Layla clean when y’all full of dirt,” he complained as soon as he entered the room, oblivious to the company they were having. “Y’all two spent way too much time rolling into mud at home.”

“Why, she’s almost clean,” Diego commented. “However, Jojo, do feel free to continue if you’re so adamant about it, I’d love to take the muck off,” he said and grabbed the bag from him to replace it with the brush he was holding. “And you’ve got a guest, by the way,” he said, pointing at George, who was silently watching them from the corner.

Johnny’s eyebrows shot up under the line of his beanie hat. “Dad! Oh, uh. Hello?”

“Hello, son,” the older Joestar replied. “I, uh, heard a horse you trained was running in this race and hoped you’re gonna be here.”

Johnny’s blue eyes darted from his father’s to Diego’s. The other young man made an encouraging gesture with his chin, then cocked his head towards the old man. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said and left them to go freshen up.

Still holding tightly onto the brush, Johnny stared a bit funnily at his father. He was definitely surprised to see him there, but he was also a bit glad.

He was there in the posture of a winning party, even if he hadn’t been the one competing. But he had been instrumental to that, he liked to believe.

No matter what, he was proud of his work.

He could put that in front of himself.

George walked closer to his son. “I, uh, watched the race. T'was real spectacular.”

“Diego’s races usually are,” Johnny replied, gathering his voice. He waved for Layla to come closer, who obediently approached him and bent her head to continue to be brushed. She looked equally happy to see her trainer as she was to be with her rider, only she seemed more respectful with her little nudges.

“I suppose so,” George commented. “He gathered quite a crowd. But I couldn’t help noticin' how much work must've been put into this filly to achieve such a performance. The track was rough today.”

“We’ve been trainin' a lot,” Johnny admitted as he ran the brush over the horse’s mane. “Layla’s usually an obstacle course participant, but she proved she’s more than capable of running a circuit.”

“You should be proud of your work,” the father said. “I, for one, am very proud of you.”

Johnny’s movement stilled. He looked at his father with rounded eyes.

“Listen to me, Johnny. I should’ve said it more when I had the chance. But I’m really proud of you, son.”

The young man’s lips curled up. “Hah. Thanks, Dad. I’m proud of myself, too, and my team.” He patted Layla’s flank. “Right, girl? Come on, Layla, turn around.”

All too eager to comply, the horse rotated and presented her other side to her trainer.

“She’s a real beauty,” his father continued.

“Yeah, she sure is. Half Arabian, half Appaloosa.”

“Interestin’ mix, that one.”

Johnny pondered on it. “Kinda is, but her parents are the horses who won the Steel Ball Run years ago. My horse and Diego’s,” he explained, wanting to underline the lineage. “Her half-sister won the Triple Crown last year, and she’s a mix of stock horse with Arabian. They’re just made differently, those two.”

“I read about it in the newspaper,” George told him. “Goes to sayin' that their performance counts for more than just the breeding. That half stock horse of yours broke a few records.”

“She did,” Johnny echoed, surprised to learn that his father was aware of his endeavours.

“I suppose y'all aiming for the Triple Crown here, too?”

Johnny nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“I’m sure you’re gonna get it. She looks ready for it.”

The younger man’s cheek twitched.

“Thing is, son, I also came to tell you something. After the races, you’re welcome to come home. If you want to.”

Slowly, Johnny put the brush on the nearby table, images flashing inside his head. He wanted to snap and yell that he had been banished from that so called ‘home’, but as he inhaled, he realised that it would do him no good. He was better than that.

Instead, he looked at his father, and confronted him with what he had been aching to say. “My home's in England, Dad,” he replied, and his heart sunk when he saw the old man’s eyes lowering with clear pain. “But I’d enjoy visiting you after the final race.”

Swallowing the tremble in his voice, the father nodded in understanding. “You can visit me anytime you wanna. The door's opened.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“You’re welcome, son.”

“Can I ask you something, though?” Johnny added on a second thought. “Do you mind if I bring my friends, too? You might remember my racing partner from the hospital, right? I can’t really ditch him and Diego when we’ve came all this way together.”

“Of course, they’re welcomed, as well. And you can bring your horse, too-“

“Layla.”

“Layla,” George corrected himself. “Stay as long as you want.”

Johnny smiled. “We will.”

XXXXX

Wonder of wonders, although there had been no puddles of mud to write home about, Layla had been the first to cross the finish lines of the Preakness Stakes and the Belmont Stakes, the playful and headstrong filly rushing Diego to victory just a few short weeks before her fourth birthday, and with the happy events, securing the second Triple Crown in the jockey’s career.

The sporting community was taken by an uproar alike the one it had experienced during the final stage of the Steel Ball Run. The British jockey came out of nowhere to win everything, took his claim of victory, then left just as he had come.

Well, Diego left thinking about the next races that he would participate in, but this time closer to home. He had come to brag and show off, not to run around in the States.

Besides, he had made a promise to Johnny, and he had fulfilled it. He was most pleased about the outcome.

Now, he was drumming his nails against a train compartment’s window, wondering what mess they were going to land themselves in by going to stay over at the Joestar estate for a few days.

Layla had already been shipped to stay with the Steels while her owners were doing their social call, allowing her to rest in a safe environment under the eyes of someone they could trust. They were going to pass by their residence before leaving for Europe, anyway, Lucy Steel having insisted on having them over. Her husband wasn’t entirely thrilled with the prospect, but he was partially glad that young Lucy had friends close to her age that seemed to bring her so much joy. If she was happy, old Steven was even happier.

Inside the compartment, the atmosphere was a bit tense. Gyro was spinning a steel ball while looking over some notes, Diego read a book and Johnny fumbled with the hem of his shirt, staring out of the window.

The train ride was fairly long, given that they had departed from New York and were going towards the heart of the country, but they eventually reached their destination. The technology had advanced quite a lot from the last time they’d been to America, the faster and more powerful locomotives carving their steady way into the railway system.

At the train station in Danville, a car was already waiting for them to take them to the Joestar estate. After crossing the city, they reached the farm, a huge property spanning over a good deal of acres.

Gyro was the first to notice the mentionable size of the main house, a typical Southern mansion with a grand front entrance. “Nyo-ho, Johnny, you’ve never mentioned that your family was this rich!”

“Yeah, and last I checked, I was disowned,” Johnny replied bitterly.

“Maybe your Dad changed his mind?”

“Don’t really care.”

Diego perked up, carefully studying the scenery as the car came to a stop in the front driveway. “I can always ask him if you don’t want to do it yourself, you know.”

“Dio, no,” Johnny snapped back. “Don’t we have enough?”

“Why, there’s always the principle of simply having-“

“I said no,” the American insisted. “Leave my father alone. I really don’t want to cause any scenes or anything. I just want some quiet time,” he said and got out of the car.

Diego pressed his lips together. “Why do I doubt that,” he commented idly and followed the blonde American with the starry knitted cap. Behind him, Gyro was appraising their surroundings.

“Hey, what a nice place!” he exclaimed, impressed by its vastness.

Mister Joestar came towards them to greet them, holding his arms in a welcoming gesture. “You arrived! Welcome!”

Johnny felt entirely out of place with the whole display, the memory of being kicked out through the same front entrance still etched into his brain. “Yeah, we did, thank you,” he mumbled lamely, his face torn between smiling and cringing. They shook hands in greeting, and it was so nerve-wrecking.

Thankfully, his father said nothing about it, so he was able to muster up his composure. “So, Father, you already know Diego,” he began, pointing a thumb towards the aforementioned man, who wore a smile that could have probably curdled milk as he shook his hand, then motioned towards their taller companion. “And this is Doctor Gyro Zeppeli, if you remember him.”

Gyro was all sunshine and rainbows as he grabbed George’s fist and shook it vigorously, grinning widely as he did so. The old man was startled by the appearance of his glinting golden teeth. “Prego, Signore, it’s just Gyro. It’s a pleasure! Such a beautiful place you have here!”

“Mm, and so kind of you to have us over,” Diego made from the side, his voice smooth as velvet.

Johnny wanted to smack them both and leave them to sleep in the garden. He gave them both some chastising glares as soon as his father turned around to lead them inside.

“What? I’m being polite,” Diego whispered to him as he followed the others inside.

“Fucking stop it,” Johnny warned him, then passed the threshold.

After the initial awkward exchange, the rest of the day was passed in a far more relaxed manner. For once, Diego didn’t pull one of his stunts and behaved exemplarily during dinner, making polite conversation with their host, and Gyro did a good job of making himself look more like the reliable friend and physician than a strange foreigner with gaudy teeth.

By the end of the day, Johnny was actually grateful that he had brought the two of them with him, their presence giving him the courage to face some old ghosts.

The rooms that were prepared for them were, obviously, separated, and Johnny was put in his old room. He was shocked to see it looking as he had left it, with all his little decorations and trophies lined up on the shelves. The posters were there, the little notes, the books and notebooks, his clothes, everything.

It was as if he had returned back in time, and he hated it so much.

He flopped down in the middle of the carpet, his knees suddenly too weak, and cried as if someone had died.

Late at night, he woke up on the floor, stiff and cold and feeling as if he had lifted boulders. He turned on his back to stare at the all too familiar ceiling, and cursed out loud.

“Fucking wimp, that’s what you are, Johnny Joestar,” he told himself and angrily rubbed his eyes. He hated that feeling in his chest. How was he any better than the last time he had slept in that room?

He thumped his fists against the carpet, the sound dulled by the fibres.

“God dammit, I am much better than ever before,” he said with finality. He got up to his feet and went to wash up his face, then practically threw himself on the bed. He stubbornly closed his eyes, willing for sleep to come and make that too long day go away.

XXXXX

The following day, Johnny visited Nicholas’ grave with his father.

Seeing the cold tombstone brought Johnny more peace than he would have expected. He missed his brother so much, but there were times when he felt Nick closer to him than when he had been alive. He took strange comfort in that sensation.

The sight of the green grass growing around the white marble of the tomb made him understand what Diego must have felt when he looked at his mother’s mock grave in their garden.

The departed were still with them, just in another form. They occupied a part of their hearts, and followed them wherever they went.

That night, Johnny forgone tossing around in his bed and wallowing in misery, and climbed down the stairs to the guest rooms. He looked around as he did so, as he didn’t want for his midnight sneaking to be noticed by any employees, and knocked as quietly as he could on a door before opening it.

Gyro lifted his head from the pillow, putting the book he was holding down.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Never,” Gyro said and made a come hither gesture with his hand. Johnny sat down next to him with his back against the bedpost. He looked at Gyro for a few moments, then slid next to him under the blanket.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“Won’t hear me complaining, if that’s you want to know,” the Neapolitan told him. “Want me to get Dio, too?”

“Dunno, he’s finally got the time to read that stupid tome he’s been raving about, I don’t wanna get him all hysterical that we’ve ruined his bedtime story or whatever.”

“Nyo-ho! He’s been drooling at the book’s cover for some time. He might bite our heads off if we take it from him.” The doctor closed his book and shut the bedside light off. “Caro, come here,” he said and gathered Johnny between his arms, who curled comfortably against him.

Johnny inhaled the scent of his skin and buried his nose against his collarbone. Laying there, listening to Gyro’s heart beating rhythmically against his cheek, must have been the most peaceful thing he had ever experienced in that house.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered, not entirely sure that Gyro was still awake. “Tomorrow, I’m telling my father about you.”

“Hm?” Gyro grunted, half asleep. He moved his head to be able to look at Johnny. “What do you mean?”

“I went with him to Nick’s grave, and we talked about what I’ve been doing ever since I’ve left this place. Like you’ve told me.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“But I didn’t tell him about us. I’m gonna tell him.”

“You're sure it’s a good idea, amore?”

“Absolutely not,” Johnny replied with a huge grin. “But I don’t give a damn. What’s he gonna do to me, kick me out? Disown me? He’s already done all that.”

“Nyo-ho, listen to you speaking! Did you swap places with Diego?”

Johnny chuckled. “Nah, but he’s got a point. I ain’t afraid of my father, and although I love him and it hurts, he ain’t got no say or hold over my life. I ain’t ashamed of myself. I refuse to be. If he’s got any problem with any of it, he can write home about it. ‘Cause if he really means that he’s proud of me, then he’d better accept me for myself.”

“You go get’em, tiger,” Gyro jested and kissed his forehead.

Silently, the door slid opened, then closed. Both men looked with alarm at it, but soon heard the telltale click of the lock and light footsteps against the carpet.

“You two talk way too much,” Diego complained and slotted himself behind Johnny. He hoisted a leg over the others’ knees, and his tail wrapped around their middles.

“Weren’t you reading?” Johnny asked with faked annoyance, but grabbed Dio’s hand and put it over his chest.

“I was, before you’ve interrupted me with your yapping.”

“Your ears ain't that sensitive to hear through the wall, asshole.”

“They are, and they're now very much offended by the sound of your voice.”

“Then shut up.”

“Why, I like my voice,” Diego commented as he rubbed the tip of his nose between Johnny’s shoulders.

“Sure you do. I don’t.”

Gyro blindly patted their faces with his palm, effectively stopping their tirade. “Okay, team! I’d like to sleep, if you don’t mind, so both of you shut up,” he intervened. “Buona notte, miei amori! You’d better not start squabbling, ‘cause I’m kicking you out of my room.”

“Heard that, Dio?”

“Na-ah, tesoro,” Gyro gladly corrected Johnny’s assumption, “I’m kicking both of you out.”

XXXXX

As he took a stroll through the garden with his father after dinner the following day, Johnny’s mind wandered.

He thought of so many things, remembered so much, and it was hard to keep them at bay. But in a way, walking side by side with the old man brought him a sense of relief.

He had really grown. He was someone who could go about their day with their head held high. He was proud of himself.

Old George watched his son with eerie longing. His boy had become such a handsome man, compact but with obvious strength in his arms, standing straight with confidence. The baby blue knitted cap with horseshoe ornament rested over his shoulder length blonde hair, the tips curling up like spikes around his neck. His face held immense kindness when he smiled and his cerulean eyes were lively, ever searching, holding so many emotions at bay. His blue painted lips, a very odd choice in his opinion, were curled up easily, and his round cheeks were rosy from the powerful sun.

In spite of everything, his son had never lost his smile. His eyes sometimes looked haunted and his shoulders slumped with unseen burden, but then they became as light as the summer breeze.

He truly didn’t deserve a son as wonderful as his.

Suspiring, George put a hand on Johnny’s arm, motioning for him to slow down. “Johnny, I've been meanin' to tell you something.”

Johnny’s light eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Sure?”

“I shouldn’t have drawn you out. I should’ve supported you, no matter what.”

The younger man opened, then closed his mouth. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve forgiven you, Dad, it’s in the past.”

“But I ain't gonna ever forgive myself for abandoning you, son. I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things. I should've been by your side after your accident. T'was my fault that it’d happened.”

“T'was just some random maniac, Dad. You didn’t shoot me.”

“No, but you should've been home, not wanderin' the streets.”

“Look, it really doesn’t matter no more.”

George shook his head, his eyes sorrowful. “For what it’s worth, Johnny, you should know that I’ve never actually disowned you.”

Johnny’s brows shot up. “What?”

“I never took you out of my will, son. I couldn’t... everything that’s mine is yours, too.”

The young Joestar was taken aback. He wanted to scream.

He had wallowed in so much misery after his accident, unable to access his own funds from racing while he was in the hospital to get decent treatment because he couldn’t contact the bank, when he could have just used his father’s credit?

His father clearly had seen the dark flash in his eyes, because the hand around his bicep twitched.

Johnny, however, exhaled forcefully, very determined not to ruin the carefully constructed peace around them. “That’s, uh. Good to know. You should hold onto everything, though, and mind your health.” He tried to sound cheerful. “I don’t wanna inherit anything, yet. I’m more than well off, anyway,” he said, more to anchor himself into reality than anything.

He was furious. Was his father bringing this up because he was working as a horse trainer? Was that it? Did he think that he actually needed money to afford a place of his own? That this was why he was tagging along with Diego?

Then, it clicked.

His father wasn’t aware of his living situation. Of course he thought that he couldn’t afford a room somewhere - he was living on his employer’s property, after all. Because, as backwards as it sounded, he was hired by Diego to train his horses, the fact that the stables were owned by them both not being much of a public knowledge.

“I’m glad you’re doin’ great in England, son,” his father was hasty to say. “But, are you sure you wanna stay there?”

Johnny pulled a grimace. “As opposed to... where?”

George pointed around them. “You can always come back here.”

“No, I can’t always come back here!” Johnny cried out. “My whole life's there!”

The old Joestar frowned. “There are just as many, if not more opportunities for you here, son. This land's vast and has so much potential. You've got the stables here, the competitions. You can race again, if you wanted. You could even settle down, have a family-“

“I have a family!” Johnny finally snapped, all too suddenly having enough of the conversation. He was not going to be goaded by the man who had forsaken him for years into leaving everything just to live out some fantasy where nothing of their tumultuous past had happened. “I am more than settled down! I've got a great career as a trainer, I don’t wanna race again, and I have a home. And sure as God’s my witness it ain’t here, it ain't never been here! It’s in England, with Gyro and Diego, on our estate! Or whatever, it’s actually Diego’s estate ‘cause he’s the landlord with the title, but his will's written down in mine and Gyro’s equal favours, so same shit.”

Poor George Joestar looked mortified by what he was hearing. “W-what? Son, what are you sayin’?”

“I’m sayin’ what you’re hearin’, Dad,” Johnny told him, his blue eyes turning fiery. His round, rosy cheeks became gaunt and severe as he glanced at his father. “This ain’t how I wanted to tell you all this, but you leave me no choice. I made a life for myself with those two after the Steel Ball Run. I ain't stayin' in England with them ‘cause I ain’t got nowhere to go, but because I love’em and wanna be with'em. They’re my best friends and my lovers, or spouses, or family or whatever the Hell you wanna call them! I love trainin' our horses, love watchin' Dio ridin' in the mornings and complainin' about stupid things and listenin' to Gyro goin' on and on about what really gross surgery he’s performed when he was on call! That’s my life, and it sure ain’t here!”

When he was finished, he realised that his fists had curled into tight balls, his nails cutting into his palms. Shaking, he unclenched them, feeling a biting sting pulsing on his flesh.

“Johnny-“

“No,” he cut him off. “No. If you really meant a single word of what you’ve told me these past few days, y'ain't gonna say anything. You're just gonna accept what I’ve said,” he told to his father. “You’ve dragged me down enough. You’ve hurt me enough. Y'ain’t gonna tarnish the one good thing I have by sayin' anything.” His eyes were on the verge of tears as he looked into the ones of his father. “And if you've any problem with me, I ain't got no problem leavin', either.”

With that, Johnny turned around and stormed towards the house, leaving his father to stare at his retreating form in shock.

XXXXX

Diego closed the book that he was reading with a satisfied smirk. The wait to read it had been worth his while.

He left his room to search for Gyro, whom he found cheerfully grinding coffee in the kitchen.

“Mmm, isn’t it a bit too late for coffee?” he commented sultrily, noticing that the kitchen was devoid of any staff. It was quite late at night.

“Is it ever too late for coffee, pecorino?”

“Hah, perfectly put!” He circled around the table and put a hand on Gyro’s chest. He lightly kissed his shoulder and winked. “I’ll go see where Johnny’s gone off to,” he told him.

“I’ll bring the coffee when it’s done, bello!” Gyro replied, his smile absolutely devastating.

With a bounce to his step, Diego went out looking for Johnny, guessing that he might find him out in the garden, where there was a bench under a willow. He had mentioned that’s where he used to stay with his brother to look at the stars, and the stars that night were gorgeous. The previous nights, he had always found him there.

He was surprised not to see even hair of the man there. A bit alarmed, he returned inside and went around searching for him, this time using his sense of smell to the best of his capability.

He sensed a distressing amount of anger and sorrow oozing from the walls, and quickened his steps towards the source of the disparaging smell. Scary Monsters was already clawing and roaring inside his chest, recognising the scent as that of one of its mates.

He found Johnny trembling in the drawing room, curled into a ball on the piano bench.

“Oh, Johnny,” Diego exhaled. He rushed to his side and kneeled in front of the sniffing man, capturing his clenched fists with gentle hands. “Darling, oh,” he cooed. “Shh, my dear, what happened?” he asked him, his voice low and understanding.

Johnny looked down at him as if his world had been shattered. Slowly, Dio sat down next to him and wiped his tears with his thumbs. “My love, my darling, what’s with you?”

With a sob, Johnny lunged himself at Diego and wrapped his arms tightly around his neck.

Air was momentarily knocked out of his lungs, but the jockey soon managed to wound his arms around Johnny’s violently shaking frame. He brought him closer to himself, then dragged him to his lap, the crying man’s knees coming to rest by his side as he curled up. Patiently, he started stroking his hair and humming a soothing tune to him, not letting go of him even for a moment.

He could feel something in him snapping from the mournful sounds that his beloved was producing.

He swore that if George had anything to do with the pitiful state that Johnny had been rendered to, he’d disembowel him and hang him from a lamppost with them after he’d broken every single bone he had.

At last, Johnny seemed to calm down and loosened his tight grip on Diego’s shoulders, but didn’t let go. He looked down, ashamed of the volatility of his emotions.

“Now, now, none of that,” Dio chided him and cupped his chin. “There’s absolutely no need to hide,” he said and lovingly kissed his tear stained cheeks.

“I’m so pathetic-“

“No, you’re not,” Diego cut him off. “You’re an incredibly strong and resilient man, and I’m not having you dragging yourself down.”

“How can you say that? I can’t even face my own father without having a meltdown afterwards!”

The Englishman’s eyes gained yellow specks as he felt himself getting angry. “Did he say or do anything? Because I’m wringing his neck if he did.”

“No, no, no,” stumbled out of Johnny’s upturned mouth. “No, he just hoped that I might return here, and I just... God, I just snapped.” He looked at Diego’s tumultuous expression with tearful eyes. “I told him that I've got a life with y'all, and then just ran away! Jesus, what was I thinkin'!” He pressed a curled fist over his eyes. “Fuck, I’m such a coward!”

“You’re not, stop it,” Diego insisted and pried his hand away from his face. “Just because George’s fantasising about getting you back here and you told him the reason why it’s not going to happen doesn’t mean you’re a coward.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Or, would you rather return here?”

“Hell no!”

“Then why the Devil do I need to be the voice of reason and remind you that no one’s making you do bloody anything? Pete’s sake, Johnny,” he scolded him, although his voice was gentle and devoid of accusation.

“I know...”

“Oh, you silly prat, come here,” Diego sighed and kissed his forehead. He gently stroked his back. “It’s alright, dearest. You're not alone.”

Johnny thumped his forehead against the other’s shoulder. “How can you even stand me?”

Diego bent his head to the side in thinking, not letting go of the shivering man on his lap. “Well, how can you stand me?”

“What?” Johnny muttered, sniffing and looking confused.

“My point, Jojo,” replied Dio, “is that we are who we are, and it doesn’t drive us away from each other. It breaks me to see you crying, but I’m not going to leave you behind for anything. Alright, dear?” He smiled reassuringly. “So, cry for as long as you want, shout, curse, kick something. I don’t care. We’re together in this and I’m by your side, and so is Gyro. You hear me, Jojo?”

Johnny sniffled as he nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“Marvellous that your hearing works.”

Wetly and a bit grossly, Johnny snorted. “Fuck off,” he mumbled and hugged the other man again, who started laughing.

“That’s my Johnny, articulated as always.”

“There you were- oh!” Gyro exclaimed, coming inside the room with three coffee cups tightly clasped between his hands. He saw the tear stains on Johnny’s apathetic face and blanched. “Ma no! What happened, amore?” He slammed the steaming cups on the closest table, then strode directly to the two men sitting cramped on the piano bench. He crouched in front of them to be at the same level as their faces.

“Just a bit of a sad streak, right, Johnny?” Diego provided, motioning for Gyro to go along with the explanation. The Italian understood and nodded, knowing that he’d eventually hear all about it.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Johnny confirmed, feeling more confident about the whirlwind in his chest. He loosened the grip of one of his arms around Diego and circled it behind Gyro’s shoulders, getting him inside their embrace. Likewise, Dio hooked an arm around the Italian’s back.

“But I’m all fine now.” His smile trembling, Johnny sniffed and looked at the two men who were wrapped around him. He looked at their eyes and saw how full his life was.

He kissed their lips and cheeks and noses, not getting enough of them, and hugged them tightly as he wept happy tears.

“I have all I want,” he whispered into their ears, his eyes closed and his face split into an elated beam. “Right here with you, guys.”

Little did he know that, hidden behind the doorframe, his father saw them. Realising that he had no right to call his son out for what seemed to be his happiness - because he truly looked like stars were hung on the sky for him - he retreated for the night, leaving the young men to be together in their tight embrace.

XXXXX

The very next morning, Johnny was confronted by his father, who told him that he was happy for him and urged him to stay as long as he wished. He even added that he had no problem with him and his friends to do as they pleased while they were there, only to be mindful of the staff, if they could help it.

Obviously, Johnny wasn’t going to scandalise anyone, but he did wonder what had prompted his father to display such acceptance towards his not exactly orthodox ways.

Perhaps the old man had truly changed.

Well, whatever the reason, he, Gyro and Diego remained for a few more weeks, enjoying a very pleasant summer together in the state of Kentucky. Johnny got to talk more to his father and felt like they had truly started to know each other.

After they finally returned home and, once again, Gyro took to assembling a new shelf for the American trophies, they all found themselves looking at the brand new, shiny statues that set their victories into stone – so to speak.

“So,” Diego said airily, watching their reflection into the extraordinarily polished trophy of the Triple Crown, “what races do you want me to win for you the next time, my darlings?”

Johnny gave him a look. “Win for us? What kinda medieval bullshit y'all dreamin' about?"

“Well, of course,” Dio replied smoothly. “Why, you think I really wanted to go all the way to the States just for some shiny statues?”

“Don’t forget about bragging that you’re better than the jockeys there, too,” Gyro underlined.

“Please, that goes without saying! It was obvious,” Diego said dismissively. He sneaked his arms around the other two men’s middles and pressed their hips to his. “Alas, my loves! What’s it going to be, I wonder?”

Johnny huffed. “You vain, pompous lizard.”

"Naturally that a dolt such as yourself cannot fathom the subtlety and complexity of my charm! You're lucky I bring intelligence to your utter imbecility, you ungrateful hick.”

"I can't fathom how you can still talk with your head so high up your ass, you mean."

"Pah! Daft Yankee talking nonsense."

"Stuck-up limey!"

Gyro chuckled, his teeth glowing golden from the reflective surfaces of the trophies. “Madonna santa, wouldn’t have you two other way but at each other’s throats. Dio aiutami, you’re worse than clucking hens,” he feigned exasperation.

“Wouldn’t it be rather boring otherwise?” Diego mused out loud.

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed and looked at the two men standing by his side. “It’s all as it oughtta be,” he concluded, and grinned mirthfully.

Soon, they added more trophies to the ever growing awards wall. Their life was as full as ever.

And not just that.

They were thriving.