hellooooo, I'm the person who asked long ago about the modern au outfits haha, can I ask if you think Gyro and Johnny met each other's parents? If so, how do you think they would react?
HIIII GREAT ASK SORRY ITS TOOK ME A BILLION YEARS TO RESPOND!! ALSO GREAT PREVIOUS ASK THE MODERN AU WAS SO FUN!!
I will say, there’s a little break notation further down this post in which i’ve written i guess a little bit of fanfic abt gyro’s parents meeting with johnny, so if u are interested in that i just thought id specify. anyhow here we go another long post!
I don’t think gyro ever met george, bc when he appears to johnny thats after gyro’s gone. but if he had been there after the final stretch of the race, he’d see how johnny, in the presence of his father, shuts his mouth quietly for the first time since their knowing each other, and retracts back into his trembling little kid self. im not sure if gyro saw any of johnnys backstory during civil war, since he was in the other room the whole time, but maybe after that arc they had a debrief after where they learned about their respective familial issues, so gyro probably feels ire towards george because of this. in addressing george, gyro would probably be tersely polite and frowning, but then at the end of the conversation, pull some spin prank on him. he’d also make sure to emphasize johnny’s skill as a jockey, as they’d probably have just crossed the finish line together. Since gyro is such a reminder of nick to johnny, he’d probably continue that resemblance to george, who, at least after his change of heart, would look on a little bit in awe that this is his younger son’s companion. Like, huh, he keeps strange but good company. If george heard about gyro’s vocation and whatnot, he’d probably be quite impressed and taken aback. after the meeting is over, gyro would totally talk shit about him to johnny, slowly bringing him back out of his shell. He’d reassure Johnny that while he didnt need to forgive george, or even reciprocate his outreach, he reckoned the sad little man did love and appreciate his youngest son.
aaand as far as johnny meeting gregorio, i do think they probably crossed paths, on account of johnny’s travels to italy to bring gyro home ‘to his family’ (sbr chapter 95). so johnny would meet gregorio on his own. johnny would probably have a certain amount of apprehension at the prospect of meeting the person who mentored his mentor; this is kind of like when jonathan pb meets tonpetty or something. throwback. also, in all of gyro’s descriptions of gregorio, he appears to be a very strict and intimidating figure. johnny knows gyro felt like gregorio appreciated him only for his talents and standing as the eldest son. This is the man of extreme intellect who declined to go to his child’s graduation because that, too, was a lesson on how to be perfectly unfeeling. In any case, johnny recognizes that gyro and his father have a very complex relationship that is hard to define as either ‘negative’ or ‘positive,’ probably just as gregorio would want.
sidebar - gyro being a nick parallel is so juicy. because it’s almost the opposite issue, the eldest son being favored and idolized by his father for his talents, vs the eldest son treated with absolute indifference in spite of his efforts. in that way, gyro’s a lot like johnny too, living in shadows their fathers don’t acknowledge.
from gregorio’s perspective, im not sure how much johnny would tell him about his own story. gregorio would probalby balk (as much as he allowed himself anyway) not only at gyro’s incredibly impudent distribution of the zeppeli heritage to a random man, but the fact that this man learned the techniques so well that he achieved something far more ancient and impressive than his own ancestors. but he’d probably be fascinated by johnny’s medical history, too, and maybe a spark of faith would flicker inside him, slowly beginning to understand his late son’s defiant hopefulness.
i lowkey wrote out dialogue for this interraction like, a really long time ago, and im a little embarrassed of it but ill transcribe it here.
Johnny’s footsteps, which had slowly weakened since he set off from the port, came to a slow stop next to Valkyrie’s. He pet her soft nose, not quite ready to say goodbye. If he wasn’t ready now, he was sure he’d never be. But the sun was about to set in Gyro’s homeland, and the door he’d come to knock on was standing in front of him, a darkly polished mirror. Johnny shifted, hearing the ‘tok’ of his cane on the marble step, and watched his wavering silhouette approach in the simply carved chestnut.
Heart and stomach sinking, he knocked three times. His insides squirmed lower and lower, as though the tides of his apprehension were gently pulling his organs out to sea while the wait progressed from seconds to minutes. Johnny anxiously checked the landmarks he was told to spot, feverishly confirming the location. He again raised his hand to the door, when suddenly, it opened impatiently on someone Johnny hadn’t expected to ever see again.
The man was tall, sandy-haired, purple-clad, with striking hooded eyes and strangely patterned facial hair. But, Johnny thought, it can’t be him. That hair has more gray than gold, and those eyes have creases all around them, but not from smiling. His were for his smile, and would never be for age.
That frayed heart of Johnny’s took another tremble as he brought his gaze to the older man’s. He tried not to remember how the lifeless eyes in the box behind him looked just the same as the ones he met now, though this pair were dead in spite of their sustaining breath. Gyro’s father looked down at him indifferently, expectantly, from a vacuum of emotion.
Johnny cleared his throat. “Are you Signore Zeppeli, sir?”
“Are you injured or ailing?” intoned the man.
“Then,” Johnny was interrupted, “I cannot hear you now. I am busy.”
As he turned back inside, Johnny panicked. He quickly, quietly articulated, “Sir, the reason I’m here is because of your son.”
There was no change in Zeppeli’s gaze, only a slight pause. “…You must mean my eldest. Whatever news you have, I don’t need to hear it. Gyro chose his path.”
Johnny closed his eyes, exhaling his repulsion at this neutrality. This man was nothing like Johnny’s friend. How could he have confused the two? He met Gregorio’s eyes again, steeled and determined.
“Mr Zeppeli, I don’t mean to pass judgement on you. Lord knows, I’m the least qualified to do so. But… you need to know that Julius is at least worthy of your respect, just like you had his.”
At the mention of that name, the old mans eyes became imperceptibly wider. He glanced past Johnny to that faithful horse, who was carrying what she always did, though now it had to be in a box.
Johnny continued, letting his words stir into the mind of his mentor’s mentor.
“He didn’t talk about his home often, but when he did, it was about you. You were always in his mind, tellin’ him he was a failure. That no path he chose was his own.”
“But when he… died… he proved you wrong. His stupid ‘sentimentality’ bullshit - pardon me, but that’s according to you - may have got him killed, but it was what he chose to do, and it was the noblest thing I ever saw.”
Gregorio stared at the box, still.
“He’s the reason I’m standing, sir, standin’ here… and I’d appreciate if you took him back home. It’s where I think he oughta be, after all.”
Gregorio slid silently through the narrow gap in the door, and passed Johnny, who watched him as he descended the few steps to the street. The sun had gotten lower, but it looked like how Johnny remembered the sunset in the west, in California, on that night after his legs had moved the first time. At the beginning of his life’s biggest detour. He didn’t want Gyro’s life to just be his detour.
Valkyrie glowed orange in the light, and the color reminded Johnny of secrets and locomotives. Gregorio reached up slowly to pet her nose. Johnny’s watery, half-shut eyes trailed after him as he led her, and the familiar weight of her rider, down the street and around the corner. His heart was starting to skip again, so he sank down to the step, feeling glacial as he placed his cane beside him so it wouldn’t roll. He felt like he was breathing and moving in dry sand. His hands pressing hard down on his eye sockets didn’t stop their wetness, and the pulse of blood through his heart and eyes was matched with heaving breaths.
He stayed like that until he heard a soft few steps behind him, back from the door. Stumbling to his feet, the cane rolling down a step until he grasped it, he clumsily apologized:
“I-I’m so sorry, I meant to leave, I-“
A soft hand gently surrounded his wrist. He looked up to see the recently red eyes of an older woman - and there it was. There was his soul. There was that warmth. This must be Gyro’s mother. She didn’t say anything, but smiled, tremblingly, and beckoned Johnny up the steps and into that dark door.
It was a narrow house, with lots of rooms. Johnny was given a chair at the kitchen table, one of two not in use. All the wood was dark, all the windows made of many circles. There were several other pairs of warm, dark little eyes, curious but silent. Gregorio entered again, and sat in the other chair, with Signora Zeppeli, and Johnny, and Gyro’s siblings. And the family heard about their brother, their son, and about the amount of selfish, selfless sentimentality it took to bring the narrator of that story to their doorstep that day.
okayyyy anyway im not really a writer so please dont pelt me with tomatoes im a little embarrassed of this… hopefully its cool tho and the interpretation is good…
THANKS AGAIN FOR THE ASK 💙💙💙 and if u read to the end, thank u!!!
