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Ever since Johnny had gotten into his accident, he felt like he fell into what he liked to call ‘the negative’. In his mind, that was the place where all those who weren’t useful to the world went, and if in that negative there could have been levels, he was sure he would be at the lowest of the lows possible.
He still remembers the fear and the cold when he woke up in that strange hospital, unable to move the legs that had made him into the jockey everyone adored and revered. He still remembers how lonely he was when no one visited him. He hadn’t expected his father to come of course, but he did think some of his friends would show up to support him. But no one ever came, no matter how long he looked at the door for and prayed for anyone to open it and just talk to him. Not even the girl he had cut the line for, which was what got him shot in the end.
He felt so shameful and stupid. Of course, his hubris was what got him there in the first place, it was pretentious of him to think he could ever get a chance at a normal life after what he’d done to his brother. It was silly of him to ever think he could taste happiness when his own father, his very own flesh and blood, thought the world was better off without him. Somewhere along the lines of his ‘recovery’ -if he could even call it that- he started to think that he was right.
He had made a fool of himself and of his brother’s legacy, he was better off in the negative where he wouldn’t bother anyone, just waiting for a quiet end to his miserable life.
The fallen prodigy spent two years wallowing in his self-deprecation and up to this day he knows he would still be there if it hadn’t been for the Steel Ball Run, a strange Italian man and a beautiful girl that he met when he was threatening to kill himself by setting himself on fire.
“I’m serious! I’ll do it!” He shouted, still clinging onto the untamable horse’s saddle, not minding the huge piece of wood that pierced his left calf and left a trail of blood behind him. You had come to try and stop him after witnessing the show he was putting on, just a few hours before the beginning of the race.
“Are you completely insane?!” You shouted back, horrified to see the man in front of you in such a state. You’d heard of Jonathan Joestar’s amazing riding skills, but you had also heard the part about him losing the ability to ride when his legs stopped responding and you were now face to face with him, covered in dirt and blood and clearly out of his goddamn mind.
He didn’t answer you, turning his focus back on the horse dragging him through a mix of the mud and hell. He thought to himself that that was nothing compared to the years he’d spent in complete obscurity, alone and depressed. He’d had a taste of sweet hope again when his legs responded to Gyro Zeppeli’s steel ball, and he felt thirsty for it, as if that twist of his useless limbs were droplets of rain that fell on his tongue after spending days dying of dehydration in the desert heat.
He didn’t care if the Italian said that he could never walk again by using this rotational power, if it worked once it could work again. He didn’t care that the horse was bleeding him dry. He didn’t care if he had to die for it, his life was of no use to him or to anyone like this anyways. He had to try. He had to try and walk out of the negative.
You hurriedly walked away and Johnny thought that was the end of your pestering, hopefully no one else would bother him until he could somehow get on that horse that seemed to reject him more and more every time he tried to get on it.
He soon realized he was wrong however, when he saw your pigtail braids enter his field of vision again and heard your voice call out to him.
“Okay, Joestar, I won’t stop you so please don’t grab a match…” You knelt near the wooden fence of the enclosure. “But at least let me take out that nasty shard in your leg, if you get an infection you won’t be able to ride for sure”, you gestured your head to the first aid kit you had grabbed from the staff of the run in your hands.
Johnny’s first instinct was to shake his head, he had no time to lose to try and tame this wild mare and he didn’t want help. He just wanted to ride, to ride again and learn about Gyro Zeppeli’s steel ball and walk. But he still took a look at the injury on his leg and although he couldn’t feel the pain, he still winced from the sight alone. The shard was bigger than he thought and lodged deep into his flesh. It looked ugly and with all the dirt scattering around it, he realized that yeah, the infection chances were pretty huge.
He let go of the horse after thinking about it for a second longer, which happily strutted to the other side of the enclosure, clearly relieved to be free of the heavy burden that he was. Typical, he thought.
You pushed the enclosure open and made your way inside before kneeling to be eye level with him, and you took a good look at his face. His beanie was askew and his lipstick smudged, blood was drying near his head where new drops joined the old ones.
“You’re really stubborn…” You spoke, turning your gaze to the open case on the floor and grabbing the supplies you needed. “You can trust me, I live in the country side and my family relies on me to treat their injuries.” You spoke calmly while taking a bottle of disinfectant and bandages.
Johnny nodded silently, eager to just get it over with and go back to trying to get on slow dancer. He watched as your hands busied themselves and got close to his lame, injured and bleeding leg which had the shard in it. “This might hurt” you told him softly, apologies in your eyes and your tone.
“Won’t feel a thin’” He snickered, and you grimaced when you realized you’d just told a man who lost all feelings in his lower limbs that what you were about to do would hurt him. You instead turned your attention to the task at hand and removed the shard before cleaning the wound and bandaging it securely. Johnny could see how experimented you were at how confident your moves around his wound seemed, and he felt grateful for the help. Although the gratitude lasted only for a second before he realized he could now go back to his previous activity. He didn’t thank you and instead tried turning around to grab back at the white horse.
He was caught aback by your voice, introducing yourself to him and giving him your name.
“I already knew you were though.” You stood back up and dusted your jeans that had been dirtied up by the way you were sitting on the floor. “Don’t think I was pitying you. I just… admire your dedication, I guess.” You smiled at him, barely enough for it to be noticeable but enough for him to wonder when was the last time a cute girl actually smiled at him. “And I would love to be able to compete against you, if you end up managing to tame that beast” you gestured to the white horse which was now coming closer to him.
It was then that Johnny realized you were actually a racer for the run and not just some stable girl that was around the start of the first stage to help the riders, and was stunned into a silent stupor which took his mind off his current goal for a minute too long. You were already walking away before he could say anything, and he didn’t have the time to try and reach for the horse’s reigns when he felt the head of the animal come from behind his back and give him a push powerful enough to make him roll onto her back.
Johnny, suddenly on a horse for the first time in years, realized that to tame slow dancer, all he had to do was let go and look at something other than himself for a second. He tried how the roll of your name on his tongue felt, although you were already gone, and he was excited by how naturally it fell off his lips. The rush of being on the horse, of being able to join the race, to follow Gyro Zeppeli and learn about his rotation, to have a chance to walk, and to compete against you went to his head and the sweet taste of the droplets of hope filled his mouth again.